Saturday 13 November 2010

On Words

This alphabet, these lines
With meaning,
A path to the divine,
A way of gleaning
Truth, or pretending.
Giving permanency
To mind-swirls,
Or persuading fools,
Ensnaring girls,
A library, never ending.

Powerful words, you are my friends,
But you are futile in the end.

Travel Haikus 1

The mountain conquered,
We descend through snowy woods,
Back to the wild world.

It´s rare in the West,
For time to be your best friend
Not an enemy.

No news today,
No morbid stories to bore me.
I feel much better.

Why do I travel?
To be happy and content,
And not ask questions.

With her at my side,
There is no road or mountain
We cannot conquer.

Daily objectives,
See the new, write, be amazed,
Are what we live by.

Sizzling asado,
Share the meat, pass round the wine,
True purpose of food!

On the road, recall
What we all take for granted:
Comfort of England!

In Argentina,
A dog rode atop a car!
It was not a dream.

New collectives form
Every day, no nucleus,
They soon will decay.

Where we will be in
A week is a mystery.
Unknown joy and fear.

I don´t know the names,
In English, at any rate,
Of creatures we see.

Naturaleza,
Fuerte y poderosa,
Mas que la gente.

She looks so serene,
Lying in ways I can not.
Asleep on the bus.

Where are the people?
Emptiness, bleak and humbling.
Patagonia.

The West would be best,
If we had a spare planet.
We will invade space.

I try to ignore this:
Ultimately in our world,
Numbers outweigh words.

With a gurgling growl,
The whale cuts through the water.
Magnificent beast.

Odd-looking dancer,
colour, your gift to this land.
Desert flamingo.

Thursday 11 November 2010

Wales And Whales



Near the Patagonian coast, in a valley sheltered from the incessant winds that whip in from the Atlantic, there is a village called Gaiman. In Gaiman there are many quaint little teahouses, where one can see love spoons, teatowels adorned with stranglely named castles, and flags emblazoned with bright red dragons. Yes, Gaiman is a Welsh settlement!

We had arrived late afternoon - Tash, myself, Alice and Missy. We had been travelling together since Bariloche. They studied in Wales, so wanted to come here, and Tash and I have a good Welsh friend, so wanted to come here!

Gaiman was a bizarre little place, and nothing like what I expected. Places never are! I had an image of a charming village with sandstone houses, smoke billowing out of chimneypots and well-manicured gardens. The reality was a non-descript village that could be driven through and instantly forgotten. It was only when we looked closer that things took a turn towards the surreal. Welsh dragons above restaurant doors, street names like Juan Evans, and very Welsh teahouses everywhere. These places did have well manicured gardens! The place we went to was run by a portly, friendly lady, but sadly she spoke Spanish. I was half expecting a "hello boyo," when I stepped through the door.

We lowered the average age in the tearoom by a few decades, and ordered the mandatory huge plate of cakes. It was an insane amount of food...scones, flans, Welsh cakes, bread, all washed down with a lovely pot of tea. I think my arteries hated me that day.

After buying a postcard for our friend LLoyd, we shuffled back on the bus with bloated bellies, and headed to Puerto Madryn for the main attraction in this part of the world: Whales!

We were up at 8, as we had to get a bus early to Puerto Piramides, a tiny village on the Valdes Peninsula, from where we took our boat.

Waiting for our boat to depart, we stood on the shore and could see black shapes in the distance; fins poking out from under the waves, surely too big to be real. They seemed very close to the boats, and this got us all excited.

When we boarded, I got on first - by luck more than by planning - and secured us seats at the front of the boat before people started jostling for positions. Then we were off, racing out of the bay, the wind in our hair, eyes peeled for a glimpse of the magnificent Southern Right Whales. We had nearly two hours for our tour. I am no Ahab, and so thought it might take a while to come across a whale. Come to that, maybe we wouldn´t see anything. But, within five minutes we could see a fin the size of a man splashing playfully on the water. The guide told us that some of the whales like playing with the boats, but what this calf (yes, a calf...it looked big enough to be an adult to me, it was at least 6 metres long!) was doing was making noise to call its mother, who was plumbing the depths of the ocean for krill. After watching the fin, mesmerised, for a few minutes, we saw a gleaming ridge of a back break the surface, and then an enormous double pronged tail. It was magnificent to behold.

I would have been more than satisfied with this glimpse of a calf, but soon we could see whales on all sides. See them, and hear them too. They make a thunderous, husky growling noise as they surface and breathe, blowing fountains of spray into the air. One was so close to our boat it sprayed us from its blowhole!

Just watching those creatures was beautiful, even with dozens of people on the boat, all pointing, shrieking and gasping. Despite that, there was more than one moment when everybody fell silent, and tranquility reigned as we all gazed in awe and admiration at those elegant behemoths of the deep. The adults were bigger than our boat, some 16 metres long, and moved almost in slow motion, poetically.

Often seeing wildlife is a tainted experience, as many species are endangered precisely because of our existence. As our cities grow, so their kingdoms shrink. But, the Southern Right Whales of peninsula Valdes are a heartwarming success story. Our guide bombarded us with encouraging facts. The population has grown on average 7% a year for the last 15 years, so now, in the peak breeding month of October, there are over a thousand whales in the bay. So, it was with light, not heavy hearts that we watched calves playing with their mothers, rolling and tumbling over eachother. They are noble, powerful creatures, but peaceful and graceful too.

I was upset when we had to go back to the shore.

Saturday 6 November 2010

Neruda, The Queen.

In the previous post I spoke alot about Pablo Neruda. Here is a sample of his poetry. This is my favourite love poem:




I have named you Queen.
There are taller than you, taller.
There are ourer than you, purer.
There are lovlier than you, lovlier.
But you are the Queen.

When you go through the streets
No one recognises you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
At the carpet of red gold
That you tread as you pass.
The non-existent carpet.

And when you appear
All the rivers sound
In my body, bells
Shake the sky,
And a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
Only you and I, my love,
Listen to me.

PABLO NERUDA, THE QUEEN

Wednesday 3 November 2010

Bariloche - Trekking, Beaches, Elves and a Shed.


Bariloche. A town in the heart of the Argentine Lake District. Ski resort in the Winter, and a Mecca for trekkers in the Summer. We arrived in Spring, between the two high seasons, not knowing what to expect. Our previous two stops in the Lake District, the lakeside twin towns of Junin and San Martin de los Andes, had been relatively dull and uninspiring. San Martin especially was hard to like. It felt like it wanted to be in Switzerland, and what charm it had was consumed by its own rapid, unchecked development in the last few years. The weather was grotty and the prices high.

Coming this far South had always been my idea...I was beginning to think I had dragged Tash on an expensive detour. So we arrived in Bariloche a tad deflated. There was good weather on the horizon, but we had not set our expectations high.

However, the moment we set foot in our hostel, Pudu (named after a small Patagonian deer) things began to change. We bumped into two Irish girls, Roisin and Sarah, who we had lunch with in the Atacama and got on very well with. By chance, three weeks later and 2000 miles away, we met again. We got chatting, and as the artesanal beer got flowing, we soon had a group of friends ranging from Argentina, to New Zealand, Australia and the US.

Our second day in Bariloche, and finally some glorious weather. Tash and I took a bus to a small hill called Cerro Campanrio. National Geographic place the view from the summit in their top 10 views in the world. I am not a fan of this list-mania, or things you must do before you die! But, the view was astounding. From the top, you had a 360 degree vantage point of the enormous Nahuel Huapi lake (a 100km behemoth of a lake that could comfortably fit all of England´s quaint lakes inside it) and many tiny islands covered with pristine forests, all with a backdrop of snow-capped peaks.

That night was Halloween, and we went out hunting for cheap costumes. I managed to find a waistcoat for 30 pesos, (about a fiver) and so decided to dress up as a "duende," an elf like mythological creature that´s popular in Argentina. Tash was a duende too, and looked adorable with her rosy cheeks and painted waistcoat, but I think "idiot" would be a more fitting description for me! But, for everyone in costume there was free pizza, and travellers will definitely humiliate themselves for a meal.

After a day of recovery, our friend from New Zealand, Paul, came up with a crazy idea. Why don´t we all go off to the beach and have a swim? I agreed, as long as he got in the water first. I didn´t think he would call my bluff, a couple of hours later we were down by the lakeshore in our swimming shorts. I dipped my feet in the water. Freezing. Ice cold. Then Paul charged past me and in he went, without hesitation or thought. Not wanting to be seen as unmanly, I went in to. It was testicle shrivelling stuff, but invigorating and refreshing...so cold you felt clean when you came out. Luckily, the Sun was hot enough to warm us up quickly.

The next day, seven intrepid trekkers said goodbye to civilisation and set out for Refugio Frey, a shelter up in the mountains, where we would spend the night. I had my tent, we had food, wine, and vodka, and off we went! Our group included Jamie, a wise Australian doctor, Roisin and Sarah the crazy Irish girls, Alice and Missy, who had been travelling for a few months, Tash, and myself. We had become friends fast in the few days we spent together in Bariloche, and had decided to go on this adventure together. Sadly, Paul the Kiwi was ill, and could not come.

The first two hours of the trek was across gentle, undulating terrain, winding around the base of the mountains. We had to cross several gurgling streams, using logs as makeshift bridges. They provided good opportunities to fill our bottles...the water was fresh, sweet and delicious.

Then, the trail turned up into a valley and began to climb. I was worried about the weight of my bag (I was carrying all our equipment, and tash had nothing! Husband or pack horse?) but it was fine. Any heavier and I would have struggled though, as we wound our way through enchanting Andean forests.

As we walked, I realised being in a group was good. We could alternate who dictated the pace, and you can talk to many different people as you walk, keeping things interesting. Also, I think you subconciously spur eachother on.

The final part of the trek was the most difficult, and the most rewarding. We had reached an enormous, snow covered bowl at the head of the valley, and the trail turned sharply to the left and climbed steeply. Once past the snowline it was tough going. It was only 1km or so, but my feet kept sinking, and my meagre lunch had allowed fatigue to kick in. My pole did its job though, and kept me on my feet.

Once at the refuge we pitched our tent against a stunning backdrop - a frozen lake surrounded by jagged peaks. Our home built and ready for the challenge of a Patagonian mountain night, we went into the cosy cabin the others were sharing to warm up.

A schoolgroup of about 50 kids had arrived just after us, to our annoyance. So much for solitude! They took up the whole refugio, so we were demoted to the second, tiny kitchen. Whilst we were cooking our vegetable pasta and getting stuck into our wine, we realised that two people were sleeping on a thin platform that had been put across the roofbeams, just feet from our heads! So, we ate, and then moved to the bar, expecting to party late into the night (it was Sarah´s birthday, and mine and Tash´s 5th anniversary, so a big celebration was in order.) However, the place was so full people were sleeping in the bar too. Expecting to have to retreat to our icy tent early - it was snowing now and this was not an appealing prospect - our merrymaking was saved by Santiago, the ranger who worked on the mountain. He told us there was one last place we could go, and led us through the snow to...the toolshed.

So, at the top of a cold, lonely mountain in Argentina, a 6 foot square corrugated iron shed became a nightclub. I fetched my speakers, and teachers of the schoolgroup joined us. It was a crazy night; we had wine, music and warmth at our little shed rave. When everyone was nice and tipsy, the Irish girls, life and soul of the party, went out into the snow and performed a medley of Irish folksongs and tunes from Broadway musicals. Surreal and dangerous. Jamie and I, the most sober of a drunken bunch, were quite worried that someone would come to harm, and were relieved when Santiago sent us to bed.

In the tent, with vodka for central heating, I fell soundly asleep. Two hours later I awoke, cold and sober. The rest of the night I slept in fits and starts, jealous of Tash and her rollmat. I had forgotten my mat, and the ground was like ice. Well, it wasn´t like ice, it was ice! It was without a doubt the coldest night of my life, shivering in that tent. At dawn, the slight temperature increase given by the first rays of the Sun granted me a couple of hours comfort, but I know now...never forget your rollmat!!!

In the morning, after a nourishing breakfast of bananas, bread, scrambled eggs and cereal, we set off back down the mountain, towards a comfy bed, normality and the road ahead.

Valparaiso, Chile.


There is a city on the Chilean coast, midway down that long, sinuous country, that breaks the rules set by most South American cities. Here there is no mundane grid system, no predictable central plaza. Instead the layout of the place, dictated by geography, is a labyrinth of stairways and winding roads that spread across dozens of small hills that encircle the bay. It is reminiscent of the chaos of English city planning. And the grafitti in this place, instead of scrawls on walls, has been raised to the level of art, with abstract and political murals splashing colour across the already colourful buildings. This place is Valparaiso, darling city of Pablo Neruda, my favourite poet, and my favourite city so far on our trip around South America.

As is mine and Tash´s custom now, once we had checked into the Hostel, we went to explore the city with no particular objective in mind. After wandering around for an hour or so, marvelling at how photogenic the place was, we met a man called Antonio. He told us where to take a good panoramic view of the city, and then took us on an impromptu tour of his town. He must have been about 70, and had a long ponytail and a cheeky smile. He told me he was a better poet than Neruda, and recounted the history of Valparaiso. For a moment I saw the city through his eyes. A bustling port in his youth, then the bohemian, cultural days of Neruda, then, in the 70´s, the excitement of Salvadaor Allende´s democratic, reforming socialism. Then came the dark days of Pinochet, before, in his twilight years, Antonio saw the tourists arrive. We said farewell to our guide, grateful for his kindness, and touched by his pride for his home. After just a day, Valparaiso was growing on me.

The next day we explored again. We rode up one of the steep hills - Cerro Alegre - in one of Valpo´s 15 acensores; clunky, ancient elevators that take you uphill at impossible angles. It is an ingenious way to travel, and gives you brilliant views of the outlandishly designed houses that claw for space on the cluttered hillsides. All unique, these houses are built practically on top of eachother. It looks as if the whole city has somehow fallen uphill and is as fragile as a house of cards.

Of all the houses in Valpo, however, the best is that of Pablo Neruda. It was a pleasure and a privilege to wander around the poet´s home, examining all his trinkets that were left exactly as they were when he was alive. He had a carousel horse from France, a see-through toilet door for brave (or drunk!) guests, an armchair overlooking the ocean he called "el nube" (the cloud), and ancient maps, amongst a host of other things. Every object had its place and history, and through them we got a real feel for the poet; he was a quirky, playful joker, who loved his women as passionately as a teenager, and his home like a child. The eclectic objects were brought together by the nautical theme of the house. Neruda liked to think of himself as a "land navigator!"

The hostel we stayed at was more akin to a student house than a hostel. It was a really friendly, (if a bit grubby, as student houses tend to be!) place to stay. There were only 4 travellers - ourselves and two Danish girls, Luna and Anna, the other people staying there were all permanent...a mix of students and travellers who had fallen under the spell of the place and been stuck there for months. On the second night we were all invited out with this eclectic bunch, and we went to our first nightclub of the trip. It was an absolute cheesefest, with old classic tunes and new songs like the ubiquitous "we no speak Americano", which seems to be the soundtrack of the trip, but it was great fun.

So, Valparaiso. Rough around the edges, scruffy and stunning. A city of poets, artists, travellers and vagbonds. A party town so full of energy it cancels out the sterile, bland nature of its inland neighbour, Santiago, Chile´s capital. It is a city I will miss, and a city I feel like I know, after only three days.