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The Americas
  • Richard Ellis
Oct 2016 – Aug 2017

The Americas

A 302-day adventure by Richard Read more
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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Torres del Paine, Chile (Part 1)

    April 24, 2017 in Chile ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

    Torres del Raine.

    It's Autumn by every measure. The trees are red, orange, yellow, green or simply bare. The ground is wet, frozen, muddy or a combination of all three. Blustery winds gut heat from any warm space and if they sky isn't looking threatening, it's already raining. That's almost exactly what greeted us on arrival to Torres del Paine and little did we know, it wasn't about to change.

    After hours of bussing, a $36 entrance fee and a thoroughly unenjoyable wait to watch our driver eat breakfast, we finally stepped off our coach into the drizzling rain to embark on six days of pure Patagonia. TDP has several options for multiday treks, the two major ones are the 'W' and the 'O' (which essentially links the two ends of the 'W'). There is also a 'Q' which is the 'O' or 'W' with a longer entry or exit. Of course, all these letters refer roughly to the plan course of the tracks. At this time of year the 'O' is closed so we geared up for the 'W' with the extra part of the 'Q' tacked on for good measure.

    Cat and I were the only two hikers to embark from Administration - everybody else skipped that day's walk by catching a ferry across Lake Pehoe. As a result, we had the track to ourselves which was brilliant and oh so peaceful! It was a miserable start but we gave thanks for the absence of the troublesome Patagonian winds, lack of human contact (seriously, we saw two hikers the whole day) and stunning scenery. It was so nice to have such a vast park all to ourselves and for once, to be on our own clock. The rain eased and the winds held off and as we got deeper into the park, the scenery continued to amaze. Glacial blue lakes settled into shallow rocky depressions, grey rivers cut through vibrant autumn valleys and snowy mountains backdropped every vista. On occasion giant hares and even wild llamas crossed our path! It was quiet. Deathly quiet. So quiet that when we stopped walking I could hear my ears ringing in silence. The only thing missing from a near perfect day was the sun. The wretched, elusive, stubborn, meddling, flaming ball of much desired heat and light.

    It took us a smidge over five hours to reach our first stop: Camp Paine Grande. It was not at all what we expected. The camping facilities had indoor flush toilets and, wait for it...hot showers! A cooking and dining facility had also been constructed with sinks, running water and rubbish bins. That was just the camping facilities. If we had US $100 pn each to splurge on the adjacent refugio we could have had a cosy made-up bunk bed and for around $20-30 more we could have partaken in a hot three course meal from the kitchen before retiring upstairs to the bar. There was even a bloody convenience store! I honestly don't know why I bothered carrying any food in at all! Actually that's a lie, you and I both know I'm way too stingy to pay $4 for a snickers.

    That (the savings) was about the only joy I took in eating my rice and beans that night. I did however take great relief knowing that we were not one of the miserable campers from the night before, who were trying to dry their entire kit (sleeping bag and all) in a damp and cold dining hall. Our tiny two man rental tent popped up like a jack in the box and hosted two tired trekkers for a very reasonable night's sleep - all things considered. I was buzzing from what we'd already seen and excited for what else was to come.

    We were a bit slow off the mark the next day. There was plenty of reluctance and very little will to leave the warmth of the sleeping bag, and our unfamiliarity with morning camping routines made for a fair amount of faff. We still managed to set off just after sunrise (sunrise is at 8.40am - this was hardly an achievement) and begin our three and a half hour climb to Camp Grey. There was a lot of up, followed by a lot of up-down and with five days worth of food still weighing us down it was slow progress. Frequent rain showers were cause for much frustration and I'll take this as an opportunity for an aside to whine about how difficult temperature control is in TDP...

    It's always cold. At least at this time of year. Around camp you're wearing everything you could carry and still cupping your tiny gas burner for a whiff of warmth. During the day it's possible to get down to two layers but if you stop for more than about two minutes you'll be frozen again. If you try to go without a jacket it will rain - it's a park rule with no exceptions. If you wear your jacket, the track will turn uphill until you sweat your guts out so much that you may as well have just taken the rain. If you stop to take it off you'll be cold before you can put your pack back on and if you stop to put it on the rain will be gone before you can. It's a battle you can only lose and one that we would fight every single day on track. We adopted a 'no sweat' policy in the end, stopping to let nature cool us off before we wet ourselves with sweat. Slow but tactical and still quicker than playing the layers game. Also, saying you're 'hot' as an excuse to stop is much less embarrassing than saying you're 'tired', especially when you can't hack the pace of that march your girlfriend calls a 'walk'.

    Temperature aside, it was a spectacular day. We weaved through autumn trees, barren landscapes, around mirroring lakes and glacial runoff. We passed Lake Grey - floating icebergs and all - and witnessed an ever closer Glacier Grey - our destination. We took a brief pitstop at Camp Grey to pitch our tent and drop our packs before setting off on the out-and-back, feeling light as a feather. It was a fittingly grey day (no pun intended) and the wind was building creating the wild weather for which the park is famous for. It was weather that always kept you guessing 'what next?' Whilst hiking, deafening thunder-like cracks could be heard as large chunks of ice broke off the toe of the glacier. We made the second swing bridge in good time (a little over an hour) and summited the knoll for a spectacular view of the seemingly endless Glacier Grey and Lake Grey extending as far as sight permitted in the opposite direction. It was incredible! We were unlucky not to see any ice break off, but we hung around as long as we could before early signs of frostbite set in and we were forced to leave. On the way back a slither of sky opened up and let the afternoon sun peep through. We found a view point out of the wind and basked for some time in what would end up being our only sunshine for the entire trip. It was splendid!

    Refugio Grey, for those campers who are a little sneaky is equally as delightful as Refugio Paine Grande. Cat and I took advantage of a hot shower, a couch in a (semi) heated room and even helped ourselves to their boiling water...well Cat did whilst ignoring some shooting glances. Dehydrated spuds with salami hunks made dinner for that night, which was wolfed down with Pisco (Chilean brandy - for warmth of course) and tales with a cheery pair from Washington state. Speaking of warmth, let me fill you in on our most treasured little secret: Nalgene bottles. They safely hold boiling water, which is exactly what we filled them with right before bed each night. Drop that toasty treat into your sleeping bag just before yourself and you'll be snug as a bug until it cools about two hours later. We're sworn to them now - I can't imagine the trip without it.

    A good night's sleep was had amongst the trees at Grey, topped off with a lie in as we'd planned a short hike for the day back down to Paine Grande. By now the wind had returned to its usual bazillion knots, tearing guy ropes off tents and blowing over unsuspecting anti-aerodynamic hikers. It blew us all the way back down the valley, fortunately without incident or embarrassment - save for a few unintentional 180's as gusts caught our packs. Safe back at Paine Grande and finding no entertainment from our Chilean playing cards (not actually playing cards, oops) we mosied into the Refugio, scored a free dessert and then naughtily succumbed to pre-finish beer at the bar - perhaps cursing our days to come. The wind that night kept us up, rattling our tent like a cage full of monkeys and instilling a mild fear for the external state of our accommodation and how that would fare in days to come.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Torres del Paine, Chile (Part 2)

    April 27, 2017 in Chile ⋅ 🌧 11 °C

    Day 4 started with a stunning sunrise, the pinkest I've seen - so beautiful in fact that we forgot to heed it's 'red sky in the morning' warning. We trekked on through some really (I mean REALLY) strong gusts and up to Camp Italiano, under a darkening sky. Italiano is CONAF operated and free, so you can say goodbye to refugios and flush toilets. We found long drops and a cooking shed smaller than the kitchen at Windmill Rd to accommodate the now numerous free loaders. We pitched our tent around lunchtime, dropped our bags and darted up Valley de Frances under developing rain and brutal winds. Before we knew it we were sodden from head to toe and beginning to freeze under the icy conditions. We were almost at the snow line and we could hear distant avalances crashing down the face of the mountain and out of the clouds every 15 minutes or so. Just before the first lookout (or Mirador if your speaking spanish) my knee locked up. The same injury that causes you not to make it home on a MERC run. I crawled to the lookout which was horrendously wild! With rain and wind battering the exposed hill and ripping through any cracks in layers, I hurriedly decided to pull the pin and hobbled the hour or so back down, livid with the weather and my incapable limb. Fearless Cat however, marched onward to the second lookout even further into the storm and can report both the weather and the view were worse. We returned separately to a wet and now very muddy campsite with next to no shelter and an ever increasing number of wet and cold hikers. Getting warm and dry involved some acrobatics in the tiny tent followed by a few hours listening to podcasts in our sleeping bags. By the time dinner rolled around we were very unenthused at the thought of cooking and getting wet again. Due to a rather large and recent forest fire, CONAF forbids any form of fire (cigarettes and gas stoves included) to be had in any location other than those specified. Unfortunately the only location within 10km of Italiano was a tiny wooden shed with one small picnic table and a floor resembling a pig pen on a wet day. It was jam packed with hikers and all their wet gear, leaning over each other and reaching between. It was probably one of my most awful cooking experiences and made hostel kitchens seem like heaven. To make matters worse, getting water from the river involved getting drenched and a tricky little descent for which my crook leg did not thank me for. Undoubtedly the least enjoyable night on track.

    We rose to a break in the rain, a dry tent and were on the track for another glorious sunrise which lifted our spirits from the gloom of the the previous day's shortfalls and failures. When I say sunrise, I mean pink skies. We never actually saw the sun. The sky just went pink and then the day was light. It was as if nature was playing a magic trick and we had to guess how the act was done. Two hours of rain free walking with more marvellous views and many chocolate raisins was enough to bring us up to full spirit, despite my distinctive hobble, monotonous moaning and snails pace. If I weren't carrying her tent, I have no doubt Cat would have left me on that mountain.

    Day 5 was a big day. We had 25km to cover which included the climb to our highest camp and the past few days and nights had begun to take their toll on the bodies (injury or otherwise). Despite taking it easy we managed to climb to Chileno in good time for a long stop before our final ascent. That of course, was after watching a pair attempt to cross a football field sized bog in trainers whilst trying not to wet their feet - ever more grateful that we invested in expensive waterproof boots! Chileno was another flashy Refugio in which we cowered near their fire, and took a break from the rain which had settled in over the last few hours. We had a cheeky game of chess and bode our time, not wanting to spend any longer at the next camp than was absolutely necessary. With a couple of hours before dark we set off to Camp Torres (another freebie) in the wind and rain.

    As we neared camp it was still raining and we turned a little loopy, as if it couldn't get any worse than five days without sun. Then it started sleeting. Bitterly cold sleet stung the face just enough to hide the tears. And then the magic - just before dark and whilst we were setting up our tent - it snowed. I'm not talking inches but there was a layer of snow on our tent. There was shelter in the forest and the wind eased and for a teeny weeny moment I enjoyed the snow. Then my wet hands froze, our tent got sodden and the admin of cooking and bedding ourselves seemed like an insurmountable task. Fortunately, the tiny cooking house was filled with just the right amount of people including some friendly Chileans with whom we dined with and managed to con into planning the next part of our trip for us. Chocolate, Pisco and hot water bottles were just what we needed to see us through our last night. We dozed off to another podcast, praying and dreaming for at least a cloud free sunrise.

    Our prayers were unanswered and our dreams still just dreams as the next morning it was still raining. Or snowing, I couldn't tell. Our aim was to make the highest mirador on the 'W' before sunrise to witness the spectacle of the sunrise on the towers. The towers of Paine. And no, despite what we thought could be nothing other than the truth, towers of pain is not the literal translation. Paine is an indigenous word for 'blue'. Lame. Getting out into the rain was tough, but the pack free climbing was a welcome change from the day before. It was snowing and windy but hope pushed us onward to the top. After an hours climb in dark, we huddled under a rock and waited in the windy snow, eating cookies and drinking lemonade like a kid in a candy store. To crush our dreams, the sun rose unceremoniously behind cloud and the spectacle of the towers were partly visible for a brief moment before sealing the day in agonising grey cloud, biting winds and more snow. A view for which we had put so much effort into, withheld by relentless bad weather. Two very unhappy hikers descended back to camp to pack up a miserably wet tent and start the four hour trek out of the park.

    We hadn't walked that fast all trip, smashing the descent and all our remaining food in under three hours, feeling no sorrow for those ascending to our wet and wild origin with tents, ponchos and assorted flailing items soon to be drenched or blown away. The extent of just how close to the end of the season we came was reinforced with the Chileano staff taking selfies in front of the 'Closed for the Season' sign. Notwithstanding, the view of the valley and park below the cloud was impressive - perhaps the view we needed to remind ourselves as to why we just endured what we did. We reached the Torres Hotel at the base just as another blustery squall blew through, stinging the face with horizontal rain. Perhaps natures idea of a slap on the bum and 'thanks for coming'? A short wait and a confusing bus system later and we were on our way to warmth and comfort. We had completed just over 100km of trail in some fairly adverse conditions and although we missed out on the view from a few key miradors, I remain convinced the beauty of the park is in a league of its own. Perhaps next time we won't hike it on the last six days of the season.

    Hot showers, soft warm beds, Chilean lamb AND steak, beer, and red wine rounded off a fantastic last night in Chile, despite the pouring rain. No surprise there. It's been a while since we really appreciated heat, sleep and good food and we won't be taking it for granted again anytime soon. Bye for now Chile, Argentina here we come!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    11

    El Calafate, Argentina

    April 30, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    Glaciers and a spot of luxury.

    El Calafate is the quaint and quiet hub of Las Glaciares National Park. More specifically, it's the closest town to the natural wonder that is the Perito Moreno glacier and that's exactly why we're here. We've also managed to swindle a great deal on some fairly luxurious accomodation (hot tub and all), which we intend to make the most of given our hurried and early exit from Puerto Natales.

    Getting to the glacier from El Calafate was easy, but it wasn't cheap. It involved an exorbitantly priced, hour and a half long shuttle, plus an equally exorbitant park entry fee. The park infrastructure is almost as impressive as the glacier itself; modern cafes, bathrooms, information and bus stops mark the entry, and even a full time ambulance awaits any unfortunate injuries. That is all before you embark on 8km of neatly constructed elevated walkways which twist around the headland opposite the glacier, providing views from every angle and a variety of elevations.

    The Perito Moreno glacier is part of the Southern Patagonian Icefield which is frankly gigantic. The glacier itself is one of 48 in the Icefield but this one is famous for what goes on at the toe. It's 5km wide, 170m deep and sits up to 70m above the surface of Lake Argentino. That's 23 stories high! At the toe, directly infront of the view platform, the glacier is well and truely alive. Gigantic chunks of ice break of and plummet into the lake below at astounding frequency and with deafening cracking sounds that fill the valley. It's exhilarating and simultaneously stressful. We spent almost four hours watching intensely - too nervous to leave a view point for fear of missing a collapse but ultimately we saw many and it was well worth it! The scale of the collapse was just impossible to comprehend.

    Apparently, despite the destruction occuring at the toe, the size of this glacier is stable. It regularly (every few years or so) crosses Lake Argentino entirely, creating a dam. The water on the upstream side has risen to 26m above the down stream side in previous years and there is visible evidence to support this all around the lake. When the ice dam burst it is a spectacle to behold and one we could only wish to witness. Even now, the toe of the glacier is subject to some strong river flow which is one of the main causes of its frequent collapse. A must see if you're in this part of the world!

    Argentina's once struggling economy has made a massive and rapid recovery to the point where expenses here would have to be comparable, if not dearer to those back home. We've been battling to find cheap food, accommodation and transport. Beer too. There's a long way to go...wish us luck!

    PS - Cat actually opened the window in our hotel room to cool it down. Not kidding. I think I even heard to words 'too hot' at some point.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    El Chaltén, Argentina

    May 2, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C

    Hikers heaven.

    We're starting to get a grip on the size of Argentina. By area it is the eighth largest country in the world, and Patagonia alone comprises one third of Argentina. Zoomed out on a map, the trip from El Calafate to El Chalten seemed almost walkable, yet the 210km journey still took five hours on a bus. Extrapolating this journey time to any longer distance was daunting to say the least. Our plans to conquer this giant continent are diminishing with every crippling passage.

    There's really not much to El Chalten. A bus terminal, a handful of restaurants, cafes, and outdoor equipment shops are all that services this sporadic array of hikers accommodation. That's right. We're in hiking and climbing heaven. When the clouds lift, snow peaks are visible in the back drop of some barren outcrops and the braided Rio de las Vueltas courses through a wide and autumnal valley. Its quiet, cool and spacious aura gives an overwhelming urge to relax. So we did. At least for an afternoon.

    Opening hours in Argentina are a confusing. Opening hours in Argentina on Sundays are a complex mindboggler, and opening hours on a public holiday in Argentina are an outright mystery. Such is life, we spent much of the day racing to shops which we thought were open only to find them actually closed, as we had very little to eat and it momentarily looked like we might be missing lunch and dinner that day. Fortunately we had some bits and bobs with us and were able to prepare a meal. To his credit, the owner of our hostel offered to call his mate to open his shop for us. I think you get the gist. Travelling with our pantry is beginning to become the norm.

    We managed to stock up on food early the next morning and embark on the Lago de las Tres hike which started at the edge of town. It was one of three easily accessible (and free) day hikes which this town offers - amoungst a multitude of longer or shorter and far more challenging hikes and climbs. It was windy. Violently windy and raining, and with my knee still unfit we really had to question what we were doing. We ascended and the rain turned to snow and the winds grew claws and pincers which stung our hands and faces. We only had 20km to cover and halfway in we were seriously contemplating an early retirement to hot drinks and central heating.

    Stubbornness pushed us onward and to our surprise the weather took a small turn for the good. Modest glimpses of blue sky were cause for profound celebration. Daring not to stop for fear of losing our hard earned body heat, we laboured onward up the final kilometer and its associated 400m of elevation gain. The reward? A great view of the valley which we had just trekked and an acceptably good view of the lake and it's surrounding peaks. The real prize - The Fitzroy Mountain Peaks, remained hidden in the afternoon cloud.

    During our descent the weather steadily improved and sunshine finally struck us halfway down the hill. It was our third hour of sunshine since we landed in Punta Arenas (two weeks ago) and we took great delight in celebrating it! We frolicked on the slopes, soaked our faces in warmth and thoroughly appreciated the now golden view of the valley. We even attempted lunch in the sun, before the cold winds drove us into shelter. It didn't last long. Cloud quickly returned, followed by snow, then rain and the day ended very much as it started, only our physical condition was much worse for wear. It didn't phase us, the buzz from an hour's sun was enough to last us through much more rain, considering the rate at which it's falling around here.

    We would have hiked again the next day, but my leg has reached it's limit and some feet up time is in order. We cancelled that night's accommodation and hopped on the 9pm bus to Esquel. Upon boarding we were apparently told the 17 hour journey would be five hours longer - we actually didn't understand this at the time - and were left to ponder the translation as our journey progressed at disgraceful pace. It took 25 hours to cover the 1200km (I'm sure it was more - there must have been a large detour while we slept) and we were lucky to reach Esquel in time for our prebooked night's accommodation.

    We did however take some joy in travelling the not-overly-famous Ruta National 40 - Argentina's equivalent to a now virtually defunct Route 66. RN40 runs north-south over almost the entirety of the country, covering a distance in excess of 5000km. The Patagonian stretches are desolate. The most desolate and uninhabited area of the planet I have ever witnessed. There is nothing between the blips of towns which lie deathly quiet in isolated solidarity. On the immensely long stretches of road, time stops. There are no gas stations. No telephone wires, no power lines, no side roads. No intersections. No fences, no farms and virtually no animals. The only signs of life are the tiny shrubs which struggle for life in this Mars-like landscape. Yet for us, it was merely a few moments of awe in a journey we would otherwise love to forget. We welcomed the comfortable beds and real food of El Chalten with open arms. There's a lot more RN40 to come, so don't expect this to be the end of the whinge!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Esquel, Argentina

    May 4, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ 🌬 13 °C

    Tea, treats and trees.

    Esquel is one of many stop-offs we'll have on our way north. We didn't intend on being here specifically but we've got a lot of ground to cover so may as well enjoy it (or at least make an effort to disperse the long and boring bus trips as best as possible). It's the advantage we gain from not flying - an opportunity to see the little things.

    Esquel is a small town in Patagonia which exists solely to service the farmers who capitalise on the rich soils of the valley in which it lies. There's a small tourist industry but you wouldn't pick it. Esquel is the largest town within reach of Las Alerces National Park - home of some of the biggest and oldest trees in the world. But, that's the second reason we chose here. The main reason we're here is for tea. Trevelin is a blip on the map, a mere stones throw from Esquel and it's famous for high tea. That's right, we travelled 1200km for tea. Not dinner. The drink.

    Trevelin is tiny, but remarkable for the fact that it's Welsh. The primary language might be spanish if you're speaking to a shop keeper, but the town will have it otherwise; the landmarks are titled in Welsh, as are momuments, museums and street names. The culture is welsh - high tea is at five daily and baking and cooking competitions litter the monthly calendar. Cat dragged my sorry soul to this miniscule town on a very wet afternoon for a brief visit to the museum followed by high tea. The museum was relatively unexciting (as we expected) and the tea was just tea, but the sweet treats - they were worth the trip and some! Cake, custard pie and raspberry slice were the highlights of a table full of delicious afternoon snacks which left both of us feeling slightly ill and heavily flooded with tea - specifically in the bladder. It didn't help that we'd already indulged in sweet treats and tea earlier that morning as well as wine with lunch. Yes, we're getting piggy but food is one of the few delights we can find in the continuous days of buses, rain and exhausting hikes. Don't judge.

    In fact, as if to justify the gluttony, the next day we picked up a rental car and headed out to Las Alerces National Park to burn off the cakes on the trail. It was still raining on and off, and the thought of venturing into the wild was unappealing. However, on our way out there we picked up some younger and more enthusiastic hitchhikers, who boosted our enthusiasm and with with whom we spent the remainder of the day - hiking short trails to lakes and waterfalls and rivers. Although it did rain for most of the day, it was light rain and the hope of sunshine lured us on. Unfortunately, to get to the really old Alerces trees, you need to take a boat ride. Said boat was no longer operating and there was no other way to get to that part of the park - much to our dismay. Of course, they take no shame in advertising a wonder you physically cannot see. The park was beautiful nonetheless and despite the rain we thoroughly enjoyed the day. We did not see the sun but we witnessed plenty of flora including apples (delicious), blackberries (also delicious) and mushrooms (too scared to try). As far as fauna goes - cows and birds were about the only things dumber than us to brave the autumn weather.

    We were also reminded that we're not really travelling on a budget - rental cars, hostels and wine for dinner are a far cry from hitchhiking, tents in the rain and plain couscous on a portable stove. Lucky us! Speaking of luck, our exit plan landed us on the flashest coach I have ever seen. Virtually brand new with all the gadgets including wifi, power outlets, blankets, pillows and a tea/meal service. Not willing to admit we may have bought tickets with the wrong bus company, we sat back and enjoyed the ride through yet more of the endless RN40.

    Don't be fooled by the pictures. They're all taken in the tiny absences of the rain - it really is bad weather!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    El Bolsón, Argentina

    May 6, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ 🌬 13 °C

    'It's raining Cat' and dogs.

    El Bolsón is another hikers wonderland. If you haven't yet caught on, there's not much else to do in Patagonia. But when the hiking is world class, do you need anything else? You absolutely do. You need food - stacks of it. And grog. Appropriately, on offer is a mouth watering array of delicious and reasonably-priced meat (lamb and beef on point) and a ridiculously accessible and cheap selection of red wine. Artisenal beers and chocolate are unavoidable, as are tortas, empanadas, medialunas and all things pastry. How's that for a complimentary combination?

    We arrived in El Bolsón in the rain at lunchtime to a very welcoming hostel full of like-minded hikers. By like-minded, I mean tired of the rain and steadily increasing the red wine consumption to compensate. Half a day of exploring town in the rain was enough to sodden us and our moods and provide us with common ground to whine about with the other guests. We spent the remainder of the day on the research and lined up an overnight hike, before retiring to beer and steak.

    I'm not sure why you're still reading - this story has become very predictable. Our days in Patagonia revolve exculsively around walking and eating, and have done since we got here. Perhaps I'll call when we're done and you can tune back in...

    The next day we engaged in a few short walks (told you!) to view points around town and to the nearby Lago Puelo. It was meant to be a light day on the legs yet we still clocked up almost 20km. We gave thanks for the serenity and lack of company and also for not getting mugged, as we later discovered was highly likely - woops. Glimpses of sun and the absence of rain made for an enjoyable day. We also prepared ourselves for the next day's overnight hike, with a food shop and a hard earned $3 bottle of red (told you again!). The next two days were spent on the track. I'll do another footprint 'cause we took a million photos of the sun (and moon!).

    It's worth a mention that stray and owned dogs are equally as numerous as each other in El Bolsón (and in Patagonia for that matter). Even our hostel had four dogs which includes the most hyperactive puppy I have ever seen, much to Cat's delight. The dogs appear tame - aside from the incessant barking which breaks every spell of silence in the valley - but they are also very loyal and have a particular taking to following hikers, alone or en masse. Obviously it's in the hope of food but they'll go to great lengths - trotting entire days alongside their best friends for the chance of some granola bar crumbs. We thoroughly enjoyed their company and at times even relied on them for navigation (not kidding!).    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Cerro Piltriquitron, Argentina

    May 8, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 3 °C

    Great balls of fire - it's the sun!!!!!!

    Our time in El Bolsón saw us bring up our eleventh day hiking in Patagonia. Out of 17 days in the region and a hefty toll of overland transport, I'd say that's a pretty good effort. But what we were buzzing about - and it's been ten days of hiking without it - is the sun. That's right, we finally caught a break in the weather and have been treated to two delightful and desperately needed days of sunshine and blue sky. It took many days of rain to procure this passion but we were absolutely elated and couldn't help but show it! We were particularly happy about our meteorological fortune for the reason that we were walking for the majority of the next two days and, at the risk of sounding like a drama king, more rain would've made us curl up and die.

    Enough weather talk. We challenged ourselves to summit Cerro Piltriquitron (shall we just call it CP?). It's one of the copious amount of peaks that encircle El Bolson, towering over the town at 2260m. It's a wee lad in mountain speak but a treacherous climb for an old fart.

    We commenced our hike directly from our hostel opting not to drive the first half of the elevation, which we would later regret. A quick stop for pastries before we left town was absolutely necessary and we continued up a gravel road fueled by a short lived sugar rush. Classic fools. Teetering energy levels forced an early lunch which we ate on the quiet road, in the sun and without a view, both secretly regretting not driving. After a very steep three hours, we reached El Bosque de Talladas (the forest of carvings) - a unique clearing of wooden carvings and autumnal trees. As with all good art I never really understood what I was looking at, but the craftsmanship seemed apt and the trail signs grossly overstated the walking times leaving me content with my visit. Onward and upward we went for a short distance more to the refugio for rest. We wrapped up snug and savoured every last drop of our internally generated heat - temperatures were dropping quickly and I was beginning to lose sight of Cat beneath her layers. The view was spectacular! Lago Puelo to the south, with the entirety of El Bolson extending north from there and the seemingly endless snow-capped peaks trimmed our view in every direction. In the foreground, those glorious autumnal trees continued to delight and of course, the best part, the shining sun lit that scene up like the Fourth of July!

    The refugio, unlike those at Torres, was a glorified hut. A bare stone-and-timber structure with a central fire (in a barrel) and a strong sense of character was to be our accommodation for the night. In our company we had Eric, the lisping Spaniard, a group of young Europeans and several hut staff, who split their time between baking tortas, manning the chainsaw and keeping us in line. We took great delight in hot chocolate, bottomless tea and our precooked mince and pasta as we dwindled the evening away playing games, taking pictures, cooking and just generally trying to keep warm. A very cool and cloudless night had begun to set in and it was definitely winning the battle against the fire in a barrel.

    It is gradually dawning on us that we are old farts. Lousy knees, frail backs and the need for good food and a comfortable night's sleep are all signs of an age group I wish not yet to join. The fact that we cannot handle the cold combined with the fact that I cannot stop writing about it, is increasingly unnerving. That said, I took great delight in my mattress on the floor of the hut's attic than night (in the accumulated heat from the fire) and passed out in seconds.

    The next morning however, when the heat had dispersed and the 6 a.m. alarm was blearing, I found no great delight. We wanted to be on the summit by dawn and the thought of two and a half hour of climb in sub-zero mountain air was hardly motivating. Actually, I'm not sure if Cat even realised she was awake. Zombie like and only semi responsive, I accompanied this eskimo and two german shepherds to the trail head and up. We crunched through ice, snow and rock under a beauty of a full moon and a star-filled sky. Down to one head torch and about three fingers between us, we began to realise our altitude under the brightening sky. The snow got thicker and the track so steep we had to scramble on our painfully cold hands. The dogs, not bothered by the cold, continued to pee on every rock and obstruct our path as best as possible. Ultimately we were grateful for their guidance and we lost the track in the snow near the top and backed them to take us up!

    We made the summit around 8.30 am in the nick of time to see a perfectly-sized cloud obscure our sunrise. Dammit! It was so disappointing, especially as we could have seen it from the valley which we had had just ascended. The remaining 330 degrees of vista was incredible - although short-lived - as Cat was literally turning blue and I had long lost feeling in all my digits (really should have invested in some decent gloves). We scurried down out of the wind and cloud into another stunning day and basked in the sun like we'd never seen it before. Oh how I love the mountains when I'm warm.

    The remainder of our descent was uneventful, aside from our whinging about our declining health, praise for the warming sun, the eskimo turning back into Cat and the fact that Billy, one of the dogs, loyally stuck with us all the way back to town.

    Absolutely spent from an 1800m descent (almost without break) we smashed a coffee and chocolate treat before running to make our 3 pm bus to Bariloche. It goes without saying how that bus ride was spent.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Bariloche, Argentina

    May 10, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ☁️ 8 °C

    Bavarian Bariloche.

    Bariloche was once just a German-owned lakeside store - a stop on the perilous route from Buenos Aires to the rich ports of what is now Chile. Perhaps the Germans saw what the Argentinians didn't or perhaps the climate and geography felt like home, who knows? What we do know is that Bariloche now looks straight out of Switzerland. Stone and log cabins sprawl out from the lakes edge, artisenal cervecerias scatter the region and dozens of chocolate shops front the main street. About the only things missing are good cheese and German punctuality but those are easily replaced by Argentinian BBQ and afternoon siestas. If you're still not getting the picture - it's like Argentina and Germany got together and built Queenstown.

    It's understandably a popular destination. Adventure sport, skiing, hiking, eating and drinking are all top notch activites to be found within this Patagonian paradise. It's good enough for Obama. It's good enough for the Italian president (as we discovered by the excessive presence of police). And it's even good enough for Argentinian schoolies! In fact, it's rumoured to be good enough for Hilter and Eva! Conspiracy theorists will have you believe he escaped to Bariloche via a secret tunnel from his crows nest and took a submarine here to live out his old age with his two daughters. Believe what you like, but it's fact that several German war criminals were found hiding out here after the war.

    Like Queenstown, Bariloche is expensive so we decided to make it short and sweet spending just a day here. We treated ourselves to a ridiculously large meal at El Boliche de Alberto. We both ordered half portions of what must have been the biggest steaks you've ever seen, served with a mountain of fries and a bucket of salad. Obviously one requires a decent amount of beer and Malbec to eat that much food - so there was. We found the place on a recommendation from the lady at our hostel. I think I've mentioned it before but it's so nice to have friendly and helpful people greet you in a city. This lady (I forget her name - classic) asked us how long we had and what we liked to do and what our budget was. Then she planned our itinerary infront of us like a travel agent, giving directions, prices, making bookings and suggestions and then she took our washing. Not just that - she was sure to follow up with genuine interest as to how it all went. Top lass. I wish I could report the same for all hostel staff but the truth is they're few and far between.

    The next day, as Cat was suffering from 'sore legs' (likely a sore head or other associated over eating and drinking related illness) we decided to take it easy with a wee bike ride around Nahuel Huapi National Park on the Circuito Chaco. We hired some awesome bikes that had brakes, gears, helmets AND inflated tyres and took to the roads, chuffed not to be walking for once! It was a grey and windy day which detracted a little from the otherwise incredible scenery but it was still undoubtedly worthwhile. Particularly worthwhile was our stop at the Patagonia Brewery which offered much appreciated western comforts including delightful beer, wedges and icecream in a cosy building overlooking the lake. Did I mention we were indulging?

    We opted out of the late afternoon hill climb given the weather and the state of our energy levels and bussed back into town for some feet up time - the hours of 'riding' had taken their toll. Our hostel had free pizza that night which didn't happen until almost 10pm (Argentinians eat very late) and turned out to be cooked on a stove. Eating charcoal, tomato paste and cold cheese for dinner was a far cry from the previous two meals, but free food deserves no complaint. So we filled up largely on beer instead and were practically asleep before we even got to bed.

    We had a brief explore of Bariloche itself the next day in an effort to walk off what are unavoidably sugary breakfasts (included in our accommodation). We also needed a leg stretch before what will be almost two full days of transport. We're heading to San Raphael to volunteer on an 'Eco-Project'. It's on our way north but proving difficult to get to. As to what an 'Eco-project' entails, I guess we'll find out soon enough!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    General Alvear, Argentina

    May 18, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C

    Projects on the poverty line.

    Or so it felt. A few weeks ago we signed up to a website called workaway with two motives: to experience a little more Argentinian authenticity and to reduce expenditure - Argentina has really hit our wallet over the past few weeks. As you do with applications, we scatter-gunned them all over the north of Argentina and Chile. Our most promising response came from a man named Esteban who was looking for help on his Eco-project. Ecosur is the very recently established company which aims to promote sustainable living. Its base is a farm in the middle of nowhere, about five or six hours south of Mendoza and they needed help doing all things Eco. After a few emails and a short phone call, that's exactly where we were headed.

    General Alvear is the closest town to Ecosur and it was supposed to be our pick-up point for the project. However, we got messed around for a while and finally found ourselves on a local bus racing through the countryside with literally no idea where we were headed (I still don't even know the name of the place we ended up). Fortunately we were with another few volunteers and later rendezvoused with Esteban, who happily took us the final 20 minutes to Ecosur (his farm) in the tray of a rusty truck along a dark and dusty road. If you were worrying about us trusting the wrong people, this was the time to do so.

    Ecosur is two years old and it very much feels so. It's like Esteban tried to create civilisation again - from scratch. But with tyres. And paint. And mud. Three building's are to show from the last two year's work and only one is an 'eco-building'. A variety of other projects litter the grounds around them - finished, abandoned or underway. Stacked, filled and painted rubber tyres serve sporadically as tables and seating. Stacks of bamboo, branches, bark and firewood lie in heaps around the yard awaiting their various destinies. An abandoned skeleton of a dome can be seen emerging from the long grass, barely hanging on to someone's washing. A listing and apparently well-used table is on it's last legs under a sagging bamboo awning. Smoke fills the air and the nostrils, as the numerous crumbling clay fireplaces churn through locally sourced firewood burning the empanadas above. A lone light above the door to the volunteers hut casts shadows on this mess before disappearing into endless shrub.

    Inside the volunteers hut the place is buzzing. People from all over the world are hustling around the kitchen, oven and tables rolling pastry, preparing filling and folding empanadas. It's Friday night and everybody knows that's empanada night. Saturday is pizza and Sunday is bbq but tonight it's the tasty pastries and they're a hungry bunch. As are we. It's after nine and there's still a lot of cooking to be done.

    We didn't eat until almost 11 that night and I can't say good things about the quality of the food, which could be expected when you're essentially cooking on an open fire. But there was plenty of it and plenty of good company and interesting stories to make up for it. There was also some locally sourced vino to wash it down with. To say it came in 5l unlabelled bottles would require no explanation of the quality. Little did we know we'd be drinking this like it was fruit juice for the next seven nights! We bunked up in the Earthship eco building on a filthy mattress on a dirt floor with a lovely couple from the Basque Country, contemplating the filth in which we were about to spend a week - it truely was another world. What did we sign up for?!

    I know what you're thinking: "here he goes whining again..." This isn't a whine. There was no sugar coating on the ad and we were pre-warned of the quality of the accommodation so read this not as a complaint but merely a description. There was one bathroom for 12 volunteers, which included one toilet and heat-as-you-go 'shower'. The floors were brown with dirt, as were the matresses, the walls, the tables and everyone's clothing. All the dishes were battling to remain their original colour against the relentless attack of soot from the open fires which is irremovable when you're only washing in cold water - which incidently was pumped from the well to the water tank by a bicycle-powered pump. Outside, the most persistent and aggressive mosquitos in the world ate through layers of deet to feast our succulent skin - Cat of course the biggest loser. To top this off, there were seven mangy cats, six dogs, and a sheep to add filth to the filth. It was third world living and some - a real opportunity to teach ourselves to appreciate what we have.

    Arriving on a Friday night meant we had two full days before we were required to work. We spent them hanging out; exploring the farm and projects, reading, chatting, making fires and eating, and making the most of both the sun and good wifi. Yes, if there's one thing Esteban cuts no corners for it's wifi. In fact, he is in the process of installing a 30m tower in his front yard to provide high speed internet to anyone who wishes to join him on his crusade - his wisest move to date of you ask me. He is also offering free land to those who share his dream.

    To help you understand the madness, let me tell you about the man behind it: Esteban. We were only there a week and I only had a few conversations with him so this is just a snippet of the man and his project - the full story, I imagine, would make a good book one day. Esteban grew up in Buenos Aires, with his pop who owned a newspaper stand downtown which they regularly had to protect from numerious rallies and riots. He later met and married an American woman with whom he moved to California to pursue his studies. It took just one year of the American greed and gluttony for him to divorce his wife and abandon his studies and flee to Cuba to pursue political and cultural interests (I think). Sometime later he realised he still had his green card and returned to America to abuse the privilege. He 'bent the system' to gain acceptance to a masters programme in the sciences (without a bachelor's degree) from which he soon graduated. Continuing in his grand scheme, he moved to Silicon Valley where he tolerated several years of work, saving every dime for his farm in the Mendoza region and the associated ongoing costs of the Eco-project. He bought his land a few years ago where he now lives with his dad, his friend Jesus, and an everchanging group of volunteers. Although physically the project doesn't appear to be much, Esteban has put a great deal of effort in awareness, planning and relationships which suggests that the project is much more mature than what meets the eye. He's extremely passionate and very friendly and despite the apparent madness, he has realistic expectations, an excellent sense of humour and a great deal of patience - oh and an unrivalled hatred of consumerism and financial wealth. There you go.

    Work on Monday began at 11am (couldn't believe it!) in the form of sledge hammering dirt into tyres. It was brutal on us holiday-maker's backs and hands and we were quick to jump at the opportunity to make marmalade instead. Almost all of the food we ate was locally grown or sourced which was great for the first day but we quickly tired of the same ingredients, healthy or not. Our cravings for the usual daily treats and high sugar diets became more and more painful as we openly discussed our 'how good would...'s - cheese and chocolate of course, the most consistent winners. Chimmichurri was our saviour - an irresistible mix of olive oil, salt, garlic, chilli and a variety of green herbs which was served (and devoured) with every lunch and dinner by popular demand. Chuck me the chimmi I'm bringing some home!

    The next day I got stuck into plastering the inside of the volunteers hut. It was more hard labour mixing and barrowing the plaster but it was the most rewarding job on site which made all the difference. The days blurred into one over the rest of the week as we worked, slept, cooked and ate in great quantities. What didn't blur was my fascination with the languages. Spanish was dominant (obviously), quickly followed by French (there were five frenchies) and then English. What was really interesting was that no single language prevailed. Everybody could speak varying levels of each; me the worst at Spanish but higher up the rankings in French, a few spoke no English but Spanish rather well, and others no French but reasonable English. The conversational language was usually determined by the primary listener's first language and then interchanged as required to convey the message, all the while various translations branched into alternate conversations. It was a circus of vocabulary and conjugations (or lack there of) which proved extremely beneficial for everyone's learning and humour. Stoked to be forced back into practice even if I was making sentences in Spanish and French at the same time.

    One Spanish word I learnt and will never forget is 'parrilla'. It means 'bbq' and was uncoincidently the name of Esteban's pet sheep. Parrilla was the strangest sheep I've ever met and apparently Kiwis have met a lot of sheep, or so I'm told far too regularly. Adopted as a lamb of just a few weeks, Parrilla was essentially raised as one of the dogs. Unfortunately for her she thinks she is one - only she's a few biscuits short of the packet. Her primary dysfunction is extremely evident in her eating habits. She will eat ANYTHING. From wood to gloves. Shoes to rubbish. Books, tyres, other dogs, bamboo, fence wire, paint and even - I'm not exaggerating - the left headlight of Esteban's ute! She actually still has green lips from an open paint tin from before we arrived. About the only thing she won't eat is grass so it's an absolute wonder she's still alive. Her other dysfunctions include dog-like behaviour such as chasing and sniffing quick moving humans, digging holes and 'baa-ing' at intruders. The fact that her wool is permanently laden with all types and sizes of foliage - some longer than her - is further cause for amusement. She is also quick to avenge our persistent teasing by urinating on anything important at the slightest hint of an opportunity, whilst looking the first responder in the eye and refusing to move or desist. What a wonder.

    The week at Ecosur rocketed by and the work progressed at a snails pace despite the quantity of workers. We did adjust to the conditions and actually really enjoyed ourselves (mosquitoes aside). Plus, we learnt a lot about sustainable living and with the aid of podcasts we were able to get a better handle on what we really need in this every growing consumerist world (at the risk of sounding like a greeny). It definitely got us thinking and discussing the vastly different ways of life and what it takes or doesn't take to lead them. It's always a shame to leave a project unfinished (or rather just a task) and good company behind. We were however, desperate for a shower and some clean - well, anything clean. And we were only there a week! We left in Esteban's ute (which required some serious love and half a can of unlabelled CFC through the air intake to get started) with two of the french girls. We made it back to Alvear in the nick of time to buy tickets and bus out to Mendoza (the city), leaving behind our thanks and good luck and taking with us a few cubic yards of dirt and smoke and a newfound appreciation for, well... everything.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Mendoza, Argentina

    May 22, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    Veni, Vidi, Vino.

    Mendoza City is the beating heart of Mendoza the province - which as far as provinces go, is massive; it's nearing two thirds the size of NZ by area yet in Argentinia, it's not even in the top five provinces. The reputable beauty of Mendoza doesn't jump at you like other cities we've visited. That is, of course, until you witness the foothills of the Andes - or beyond, if you're lucky. They're incredible! Blindingly white against the deep blue of the sky and persistently peeping at you through gaps between buildings and around the foliage of tree lined streets. Then it all starts to sink in; the wide, flat and tree lined streets, the lack of high-rise buildings, and the numerous green plazas all work together to create a mental freedom only a small town could replicate. Old men sell antiques from tables in the park, hippies sell art and craft from stalls in the plaza and it's hard to miss a sign for artisenal beer specials or (of course) wine tastings. Surprisingly, with all this selling going on, nobody's actually pushing it and to me that makes all the difference. Good things sell themselves - right?

    We took a recovery day on our first day here, taking great pleasure in the good food, bed and shower amongst virtually everything else we take for granted; clean floors, lights, hot water, comfortable chairs, coffee, and a refrigerator to name just a few. After a brief walk around downtown, we both got our hair cut at a peluqueria and then spent almost the entire rest of the day lying in the park reading, writing, picnicking and watching almost everybody except us drink mate. Pronounced mah-tay, this drink is practically a religion in Argentina and Chile and I'm surprised it's taken me so long to write about it. It's basically a cup full of herbs which you fill with boiling water and drink through a filtering straw. Unlike a tea bag, a cup of mate can be refilled several times, usually at least five to ten but often more. If you were to search the bag of any local on the street, you could bet your house they would have a mate cup, a straw, a container of mate, and of course a thermos full of boiling water - just in case they can't get access to a kettle. Mate drinking in company is not a straightforward activity; it involves many rules and more often than not a burnt mouth or part thereof. As to the flavour, I've eaten tree leaves that taste better but it's bound to be an acquired taste and it's high in caffeine so I'll let them be - yerba mate or not.

    You and I both know we're not in Mendoza for the mate. It's the Malbec we're after and it is all too easy to find. Be it in a bodega, restaurant, supermarket, bar or cafe - you can't avoid it. And when you can't beat 'em, join 'em and that is about all I need to tell you about Mendoza. We passed most of our time exploring on foot, stumbling across our best empanadas yet in a random families living room (which was a hectic experience), and hopping from eatery to drinkery and then on to a full day in the vineyards. Cat is going to pick up the pen for our experience in wine tasting - I'm sure you'll appreciate a break from me!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Maipu, Argentina

    May 22, 2017 in Argentina ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C

    *Guest post by Cat

    At times, it feels like we are on a food tour of South America as we spend some (ok many) days simply moving from cafe to bar to restaurant ensuring we are sampling all the local delicacies, coffees, pastries, beers... the list is endless. And here you thought we were busy hiking and jam-packing our days with activities! I had been looking forward to Mendoza for months as this region produces over 60% of Argentina's wine and is particularly well known for producing excellent Malbec, one of my favourite reds.

    There are three main wine producing areas on the outskirts of the city of Mendoza and we chose one of the most accessible to explore: Maipu. After an hour on a local bus we jumped off at a bike rental shop and picked up some bikes from a lovely Spanish only speaking Mr Hugo to explore the area and some bodegas (wineries).

    The sun gods were smiling on us and we cycled out of the main town under endless blue skies. Ten minutes later, we were cycling past vineyards and snow capped Andes Mountains which were suddenly visible on our right. A stunning view that didn't get old all day!

    The bike path ended and we found ourselves cycling along a tree lined narrow road. Gorgeous autumn coloured trees, vineyards on both sides and regular sneak peaks of snowy mountains - not much could spoil the serenity... except the massive trucks, motorbikes and cars speeding past us every few minutes in both directions! After a stressful 30 minutes cycling, we pulled into our first bodega around 1pm - Familia Di Tommasso.

    This is one of Argentina's oldest bodegas and we opted for a tour and tasting to kickstart our day. A lovely girl with excellent English first showed us the vineyards where they are growing Malbec and Cabernet Sauvignon. Both require a similarly small amount of water but one uses a trench to keep the roots moist year-round while the other requires a drip irrigation system. The Mendoza region is very dry (average rainfall per year is 230mm) which is precisely why Malbec and Cab Sav grow so well here. Too much rain will ruin these grapes and either results in no wine or low quality wine. 2016 was bad as they had early heavy rainfall before harvest. This year was good but the yield low (due to the previous years rain). They are hoping for a better 2018.

    Back inside, our tour guide showed us the original brick vats (made with Italian bricks) they used to make wine in. Due to hygiene, they can no longer make wine in these so they are now used to store bottles of wine before they are sold (after fermentation and 6-18 months in barrels, the wine has to rest for at least 12 months in their bottles before they are ready to go to market). Only about 30% of the grapes harvested at Familia Di Tommasso are used for their own wine. They sell or trade the remainder of grapes to other vineyards. None of the wine is exported or even sold in Argentinian stores -the only way to buy it is directly from them! They produce 30,000 litres each year.

    Every bodega in Argentina must bottle their own wine. This was not always the case and vineyards could transport casks of wine to Buenos Aires and other major cities where businesses could bottle and market the product themselves. But rogue companies were adding water and ethanol to the wine to make it go further so the government now regulates wine making and bodegas have to have their own bottling and labelling capacity in-house. The only way wine can leave an Argentinian vineyard is in a bottle unless it is going to another vineyard, in which case the entire transportation must be overseen by an official in person from start to finish.

    All this talk of wine was making us thirsty and we finally got to sample the goods! Our guide explained how we should taste using multiple senses - sight, smell and taste. First we checked the colour of the wine in the light above a sheet of white paper before looking at the density by swirling it in the glass and observing the streaks. Then we breathed in the aromas before finally getting to taste. We tried a young Malbec (no time in barrels), a delicious Cab Sav that had been in an American oak barrel for 6 months (you could taste the smoky flavour that added) and a Malbec that had been in a French oak barrel for 18 months. All delicious!

    It was 2pm and the wine had whetted our appetite for lunch so we hopped back on the bikes to cycle to our next bodega - back along the death trap of a road which didn't feel quite so scary (either due to one glass of wine or there were less cars at siesta time).

    We didn't have far to go before reaching our next vineyard Tempus Alba, an industrial sized winery. There was a self guided tour which we sped through to reach the sunny terrace upstairs with awesome views over the vines. We each selected 3 wines that were presented with tasting notes so we could taste without the watchful eye of an expert. Although we had enjoyed the tips from our first friend, sometimes you just want to enjoy a wine in peace. This washed down some excellent burgers before we cycled 600m further down the road to the next vineyard - Mevi. This small boutique vineyard also had a beautiful terrace overlooking vineyards, olive trees with the snowy Andes as a backdrop. We basked in the sun while enjoying 3 more wines and wondering if life could get any better.

    Our final stop on the way back to town was an olive farm. We tried not only delicious olive oils and olives but also yummy home made marmalades and jams and then various liquors and chocolates. We dropped our bikes off at Mr Hugo's who had cold refreshing juice waiting for us and kissed us goodbye in friendly Argentinian style. The perfect end to a dream of a day!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    1

    Valparaiso, Chile

    May 25, 2017 in Chile ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

    Art and Armada.

    We're back in Chile! But it wasn't easy. The most direct route to Chile from Mendoza is to head west over the Andes towards Santiago. That in fact, is the only land route to Chile for a long way north or south. Of course, routes through the Andes are limited and - as we found out - very susceptible to snow induced closures. Los Libertadores pass is situated on the Chilean-Argentine border at around 3400m - literally on top of the Andes. Looking DOWN from the customs building, you can see the tips of a ski lift which belongs to a skifield. That's right, the border crossing is at a higher altitude than the skifield!

    When we got there it was no surprise to us that it was snowing. It had been an incredibly scenic drive up the valley through the foothills of the Andes; crossing braided rivers, weaving over and under an abandoned train line and past abandoned buildings standing roofless in isolation. The foothills grew to mountains as we climbed into the cloud under the shadow of the roof of the Americas - Mt Aconcagua at 6900m. We were on edge as we climbed. Not just from the topography of the road, but because the pass is reknowned for it's quick changing weather and resulting abrupt closures (which we had discovered from nightmare stories from other travellers). Luckily it remained open and after a very long wait in the snow we passed through as one of the last buses. The pass closed that night as two days of snow came in and it's anybody's guess as to when it will re-open - lucky us! The 10 hour journey had us safely in Valparaiso just in time for dinner. We celebrated our luck (and hard days travel) at the home of the Chorrillana with Chorrillana - a giant plate of fries loaded with meat, cheese and onion. Ooomph.

    Valparaiso is visually overwhelming, as we discovered the very next day. The port city lies on the Pacific coast of Chile sprawling outward and upward along numerous ridges and valleys. The absence of any town planning has resulted in a maze-like arrangement of streets and alleys which twist and weave up, down and around the mountainous terrain. (It's blazé urban planning can have disastrous results; many houses don't have street access which means no firetruck access and the reason for the numerous burnt out buildings). The only hint of order is found right at the coast, where the ever-growing zone of reclaimed land has provided a flat surface for an orthogonally gridded street network. But the real gem of the city is the architectural diversity and an abundance of street art which can be absorbed from innumerable viewpoints around the city. The geography and urban maze makes it the perfect spot for the Red Bull Urban Downhill (MTB) which is a great watch if you haven't already been 'wowed' by my description.

    It's easy to lose yourself in this place. Not just geographically, but metaphorically too - to lose yourself in your thoughts. And that is pretty much how we spent two days here. We had a fantastic host at our hostel who gave us one of those introductory briefings I have previously raved about. He steered us towards another free walking tour which exceeded expectations and exposed us to the culture and history of this urban jungle.

    Valpo must host the most street art per square metre of external wall of any city in the world. It is absolutely lathered in paint. Whether it's triple storey murals, tasteful graffiti, or unashamedly bold purple or pink walls, the animation in this city is a sight to behold. We lost hours and hours just wandering the streets admiring the art and also the architecture which is an eclectic mix of Spanish, German, French, English, and Croatian between basic, rough and ready dwellings and remains of burnt out collapsed structures. Every house is different yet thoughtfully constructed; usually pokey, colourful and dangling precariously on the edge of a slope.

    From the miradors or elevated viewpoints there is a lot to take in, and the longer you look the more you find. The port is a hive of activity; a mixture of Navy and cargo ships competing for space both on land and at sea, whilst trucks come and go and all the marvellous cranes go about their lifting. Meanwhile on the streets, cars skid up and down hills and anyone on two wheels frantically fends off hoards of stray dogs who - as friendly as they are - have taken a particular disliking to anybody on such transport. Valparaiso may not have a lot to do, but trust me when I say there is plenty to see. And plenty to eat.

    We didn't need to but we ate like Labradors and drank like fish in Valpo. Chilean food inevitably comprises meat, pastry, cheese and not much else and I'm sure you needn't be reminded that empanadas are the popular king of this diet. A few steps behind in popularity (but in no way unpopular) are completos which are giant hot dogs filled with just about anything including avo, tomato, cheese and mayo. Fries are served by the bucket more often than not especially if you have them in a Chorrillana and it shouldn't surprise you that these are accompanied by all the sauces - occasionally by the cup-full. My fading reputation as king of the deep-fry returned in strength during the few days we were here and one meal - the completos - almost digestively crippled the both of us.

    However, when you're able to listen to your head and not your stomach there are some great food options. Menu del dia (or just menu) is a great and cheap way to get a three course lunch. It's often a soup, followed by a meat and rice dish and a sweet treat for dessert and usually set us back around $7-9 each. There's also great beer, wine and coffee if you choose correctly and of course the infamous pisco sour which is literally unavoidable.

    Whilst resting our weary legs in an out-of-the-way (and very good) coffee shop we got chatting with two blokes from Canada. With the help of the shop owner, we got stuck into a game of dice which continued into the evening. The coffee turned to wine (no - not a religious miracle this time) and before we knew it we had picked up their third colleague and headed out for some delicious Peruvian food and much more wine. It's not all that often we share the company with first languange english speakers these days so it was such a nice change to speak normally and enjoy a fluent conversation!

    Valpo is also home of the Chilean Armada (Navy) and it's impossible to miss. If you somehow fail to observe the enormous Navy frigates lining the docks there's plenty more; the main square hosts a statue and monument to those who fought in the Navy in the War of the Pacific, the Navy and Maritime musuem overlooks downtown from a headland, Artillery hill shares a similar presence and the Navy headquarters are centrally located in the most impressive and unmissable French-inspired building I have ever seen. On top of all that, there are an expectedly high number of men and women in uniform, standing guard or otherwise. That musuem by the way, offered some interesting insight into the Navy's history which played a great part in Chile's independence and that they are outwardly very proud of.

    On our final evening, we took a boat ride out through the port to get up close to the ships and to get the highly regarded ocean view of Valpo. It was stunning! We even got up close and personal with a couple of very lazy sea lions and passed under the stern of a container ship - cheeky skipper!

    We're also finally begin to appreciate just having time. Much too often we're hustling for the next bus, the next hostal and the next activity. Life on the road can easily become just that. Valpo was a lesson otherwise and we thoroughly enjoyed it, even if we have to spend the next month working off the effects of our diet.

    From here we'll ride a few buses to get to a teeny village called Las Peñas - two or three hours south of Santiago. We're trying our luck on another Workaway, this time as help at a reasonably high end lodge. The internet isn't meant to be too flash so you might not hear from me much for the next two weeks. I am absolutely spewing that I can't watch the America's Cup and desperately hope we'll be back to civilisation before it ends. In the meantime, the rest of you best be getting behind our boys and appreciating the public rise of the hydrofoil - pun intended. Go ETNZ!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Las Peñas, Chile (Week 1)

    May 28, 2017 in Chile ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C

    The slaves of luxury.

    Because our last Workaway was a little light on perks, we've signed up to another. This time however, we've learnt from our mistakes and upgraded a little (okay a lot) in our free accommodations - granted that wasn't hard to do. Tumuñan Lodge is a luxury lodge complete with vineyard, walking tracks, horse paddocks, pool, spa, numerous gardens, cabins, barns and other utilities. It's located in a valley in the middle of the Chilean countryside, a wee jaunt from Las Peñas - the nearest notable village (if you can call one shop a village). By car, it's about two hours south of Santiago. We've locked in two weeks here where we'll be helping out wherever no paid employee wishes to help (read: shovelling horse shit).

    The lodge is run by an Englishman named Will and his lovely Chilean wife Carolina, who have built and owned this place over the last ten years. They have a nine year old daughter and an eleven year old son who we don't see all that much of. They also have two enormous St Bernard dogs who love attention and two horses who have taken a particular disliking to me despite my attempts to win them over with food. Also living and working on site is Yanet (the maid and Colombian refugee) who shares our cabin and a Huaso (cowboy) named Juan who comes and goes on his horse with a chainsaw and is so intimidating I am yet to speak with him.

    Our little home is perfect. It's the gatekeeper's cabin at the entrance of the property and modestly hosts four bedrooms and a nice kitchen and bathroom as well as an outside laundry (finally we can do washing without paying by weight!) It's well built but not well enough to withstand the valley's chill which can get down to minus 6° at night! We do battle with the cold for about 20 hours of the day (inside or out) and have taken to burning disgraceful quantities of firewood and kerosene in attempts to temporarily gain the upper hand. For the remaining four, an enticingly warm sun heats the estate leaving even the eskimo in nothing but a tee. We're provided with most of our groceries to cook and eat three square meals in our cabin, occasionally with Yanet when our hours coincide.

    I think we both agree that this is largely an exercise in reminding ourselves how good travel is. We haven't done real work in at least six months and even though we're only working six hour days (a demanding six at that), knowing that we have to is a killer. Our first week of work has had us raking, pruning trees, feeding animals, shovelling shit, gathering and stacking firewood, barrowing stones, doing dishes and our least favourite but most time consuming - carrying rocks. Almost unbelievably, we're clearing the horse paddock of rocks. Many, many rocks and it's grueling and unrewarding work. Even the horses think it's a joke; excreting intentionally in our work area and refusing to accept our love. Cat has also offered up her teaching skills and gets two hours off her physical torture to teach Yanet English. I don't remember learning English but last time I checked it wasn't all tea and giggles! (Yes that is jealousy you sense.) Outside our work hours we spend most of our time cooking and cleaning our cabin and trying to heat it. There's no internet and the tv is in spanish so we're starting to get cabin fever. Speaking of fever, Cat is coming out of a pretty hardy cold which hasn't been helped by the freezing temperatures. I'm sure you can imagine where she stands on this one!

    But we wouldn't be here if there wasn't something in it for us. Free accommodation and food are the obvious draw cards, but we could get that at home without the six hour days, right dad? Actually - don't answer that. Spending time with the family is giving us insight into life in Chile, as well as what it takes to run a lodge and a vineyard in the middle of nowhere. Speaking of wine, we got a tour of the vinyard (post harvest so it's a bit of a mess) followed by a free wine tasting which escalated into dinner followed by liquers. Turns out Will likes a drink! We are also forced to practice our Spanish daily, largely with Yanet but also with just about everyone who enters the property. It's interesting to note we can have dinner conversations with Yanet who speaks Colombian Spanish ("the best Spanish"), yet for the life of me I cannot understand a word of Chilean Spanish - which according to Yanet is a disgusting butchery of her beloved tongue and she doesn't blame us for not understanding. She actually has a point.

    But I digress. On our days off we get to explore. We did a day trip to a lovely town called Santa Clara for a delicious lunch and a fantastic museum which covered the history of Chile from about 9000 years ago until the day 33 miners were rescued from the bottom of the San José mine. It was thorough, fascinating and emotional with free english audio guides. We also have all the wilderness to explore. We did a short day hike up into the hills for some amazing views of the valley and surrounding mountains. We had the whole place to ourselves (even got a break from the dogs!) which is a real advantage of getting off the gringo trail. Mi gusta.

    The cold weather may be painful at times but it's been stunning almost every day - cloudless skies and incredible stars and moon. If you look carefully on the last photo, I miraculously caught a shooting star for you all to wish upon!

    Whether we like it or not, it would appear that we passed the test. Will and Carolina have deemed us responsible enough to run the show while they go to Argentina for the week - guests, cooking, animals, contractors and all. That escalated quickly! Such is life with no written contract. I think things are going to get pretty hectic around here quite soon.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Las Peñas, Chile (Week 2)

    June 8, 2017 in Chile ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    And we thought last week was tough.

    Taking the reigns of a high end lodge didn't seem like an unreasonable request when Will suggested it. It seemed like an apt challenge. A step up from our mundane tasks and a chance to see if we had what it takes. We accepted - with a little viticultural and financial incentive - and stepped up to run the place for the week with an eternally growing list of jobs, errands, maintenance, guests and ultimately working hours. Six hour days were to be a thing of the past. No surprises there!

    I spent most of my Monday dropping the family at Santiago airport. The two hour drive was nothing short of baffling beauty. Watching the sun rise over the Andes and punch through the lofty clouds with morning fog below is a scene I won't be forgetting anytime soon. (In fact, the end-of-the-week trip back was even more impressive; unlimited visibility with an afternoon sun turning the endless mountain range a light orange on a blue backdrop. Insane! Too bad I don't have photos as I was being a safe, responsible and efficient driver.) After a little detour (for lack of any maps - actually signage here is very good) I found the supermarket and spent a good few hours shopping for groceries for the week from Cat's neatly prepared list. A list for a menu that would be chopped and changed with every lacking ingredient. I only got laughed at twice by the same butcher for failing to identify meat cuts and then stumbling over the rest of the verbal exchange. You think I would have learnt Spanish by now.

    I returned to panic in the kitchen. Our daily cooking requirements were lunch and dinner (Yanet took care of breakfast). Sounds easy enough, right? Well it does. But it's not, ask Cat. Dinner was starter, main and dessert, and lunch had to be packaged up for reheating the next day. It had to be ready within 10 minutes of the guests returning, a time which varied almost daily. We were in a kitchen we didn't know with an oven that fluctuates temperature more than a fever and a stove that only goes piping hot or even hotter. All our ingredients were labelled in Spanish or unlabelled, as were the cooking instructions and occasional cookbooks. We weren't allowed any repetition or leftovers and the food had to be good quality and well presented. The nearest supermarket was a half hour drive and the nearest fruit and veg was 20 minutes. Ah and just to top it off, the internet was too slow to load recipes. I think we found that stress we needed reminding of!

    Threatening to buckle under pressure Cat pulled through and delivered some great dishes. Curries, beef bourginonne, roasts, stuffed chicken, pan fried fish, Moroccan stew, delicious soups, omelettes, prawns, and a variety of salads were all part of her menu, catering for anywhere between two to five guests. She came through on dessert too with sticky banana slice, chocolate brownie, lemon cake, pancakes and a ready made apple stroodle. Cheat. Although I'll be happy to take a small share of credit for a few of the aforementioned dishes. And the expert spooning of icecream - you don't need a summer job to learn that one!

    But that was just the kitchen. With Yanet taking care of the bedrooms, washing and cleaning our daily responsibilities grew to include the following: cooking, setting the table, serving, washing up, keeping up to five log fires going (including stocking firewood, lighting fires and clearing ash), feeding the horses and dogs and walking the dogs, grocery shopping/stocks, day and evening lighting, heating and music, sweeping, raking and pruning, looking after the pool and spa (the spa pool took two days of blazing log fire to get from frozen solid to hot), teaching spanish (or drinking tea - the two are indistinguishable), as well as a myriad of other time consuming chores before we even got started on looking after ourselves and our cabin. And that was just the daily routine.

    To make sure our backs and souls were well and truely broken, we had various projects around the lodge. I had the outdoors: doing firewood runs, clearing the horse paddock of rocks and weeds, piling up horse dung (to fertilise the vineyard), tidying up the barn, gardening and the like. Hard yakka as Dr Jenks would call it. Cat had the more mentally challenging job of computing. Perhaps more accurately, fixing the computer. In a freezing study she spent many hours waiting on the internet; syncing accounts, making mailing lists, designing email flyers (first wine being bottled shortly - exciting news!), insta and facebooks posts (#tumananlodge) and I suppose all other things computer that have become increasingly distant over the last few months.

    You must know by now that I like a good whinge but to tell you the truth, I enjoyed co-managing the place for a week - only. We clocked in at 10am and out at 10pm almost everyday with a few short breaks. That's not fun or sustainable for any decent period of time, hence the 'only'. Learning, however is fun. And so are a pair of 50kg dogs who love attention. And an always-purring kitty. And free reign on Will's wine. And the company of a friendly Colombian. And making fire. Oh, and the fraction of pressure combined with the relief of relieving it (I'm talking about the kitchen of course). Those things are fun. And that's what we'll remember.

    I'm glad Will gave us the opportunity to step up. I don't know how willing I would be to leave my life's work with a pair of randoms. I think he was grateful we saw that running a lodge isn't all wine and fly fishing and we were grateful for his gratitude (and a big old block of duty free lindt dark chocolate). I feel for them coming back from holiday and straight back into it - cooking dinner tonight and they won't be back until 6pm! We're now breaking the back of Chile with a 24 hour bus from Santiago (where we gave back the car to Will and family) to San Pedro de Atacama on the border with Bolivia. It's good to be back on the road and we've got an awesome itinerary lined up: Atacama, Salar de Uyuni, La Paz, lake Titicaca, Copacabana, Machu Piccu (pending), Amazon river (also pending), Lima and two weeks around Vancouver - can't wait! Flights booked to NZ on the 1st of August.

    PS following the Louis Vuitton on live updates is excruciating. If anybody knows how I can get a live stream please, please, please let me know! Or my next post might just be from Bermuda!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    San Pedro back-dropped with the Cordillera de las AndesDusty main street, San PedroAwaiting anothet delicious menu - lamb chops and rica rica icecream!Hot waterfall, mmm.

    San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

    June 12, 2017 in Chile ⋅ 🌧 17 °C

    Downtown desert.

    The Atacama Desert has been top of my list since we left Torres del Paine. It's an unworldy, arid wonderland which offers hugely diverse and unusual scenery and geography. Not only that, it's also the driest and one of the highest deserts in the world. San Pedro is but a tiny blip in this enormous wilderness and has become the undisputable tourism capital of the region - the 'downtown of the desert', if you like.

    The 24 hour bus from Santiago wasn't all bad. It was actually quite comfortable aside from a noisy group of Americans, no food and only getting one stop. Seriously, one stop?! Fortunately we had snacks with us but there's only so much chocolate you can eat before your body starts demanding real food. Our one and only stop was in a seaside town called Antofagasta, (what a name!), 19 hours into the trip. Judging on building height and transport quality it sure felt like a measly mining town. However, this shanty-esque mess is the second biggest city in Chile, believe it or not. A lack of food options and no wifi for the Louis Vuitton final didn't make hangry Richard any less hangry so I had to rely on my beloved ability to sleep anywhere, passing the remainder of the the journey unconscious and uncomplaining.

    I did briefly awaken to panic when one of the passengers discovered his bag has been pinched in Antofagasta. A cheeky blighter had snuck onto the bus while we were stopped and, after failing to pinch somebody else's bag, proceeded to his and left the poor American without his credit cards or electronics. According to the bus drivers, this happens all the time yet they still let ticketless strangers on during a stop (and fail to warn anybody). We had our bags with us this time but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't previously taken that same chance myself. Never again!

    We arrived in the dark to find a very dusty and sleepy San Pedro. The lack of streetlighting combined with the absence of people made us feel a little uneasy as we nervously proceeded down what might be hyperbolically described as an alley fit for murder (daylight would later relieve these nerves). But our signless accommodation turned out to be a lovely homestay - albeit freezing (as with every other hostel in San Pedro) - and we were the only guests to a friendly young couple for our entire stay. Bueno!

    Daylight brought the true San Pedro to shine as well as some much needed warmth. Tour agencies occupied every second building which were more often than not constructed of mud (adobe to be specific) and straw to a surprisingly high standard on occasion. Dust, however was an unavoidable problem lining every uncleaned surface as well as the inside of my throat and lungs. Beer, as you would expect was the best cleaner of the mouth and throat. There's not much to do in San Pedro itself and getting to the natural attractions proved difficult if not impossible without booking a tour. Cat and I were both absolutely gutted that we couldn't get to the Geysers of Tatio due to snow-induced road closures - the first of what would be two disappointing closures. Instead, we managed to hire some quality bikes for one afternoon and visit Valley of the Moon (see next footprint) and we did eventually succumb to the less appealing Thermas de Puritama (hot pools) tour. Said 'tour' was actually just transport but even at an extortionate price it was still cheaper than the next best option (a cab). Don't even think about calling me a wimp for not biking - you try biking through a desert!

    The hot pools were surprisingly natural and consisted of a series of nine pools linked by a river of hot water. The further downstream you went the cooler they became, thanks to the frosty temperatures of the valley in which they lay. By frosty temperatures I mean there was snow on the ground and by hot pools I mean warm pools (max 33°). The icy air and ground made getting from pool to pool somewhat torturous and it's fair to say that neither the Eskimo nor I made it lower than pool five. The atmosphere however was fantastic (waterfalls and all) and full immersion in the water was enough to keep the shivers at bay - just. A thoroughly enjoyable dip at 3500m above sea level if you ask me. Breathing at such altitude was noticeably more difficult to San Pedro and just a taste of what was to come.

    We also managed to solve the mystery as to what on earth 'Rica Rica' is. It had been appearing on menus increasingly often in all kinds of dishes. In my naievity I had assumed it meant 'delicious delicious' based on extrapolation of a single 'Rica' which does indeed mean 'delicious' when used in a food based context. Turns out it's actually a plant with astonishing healing powers (or so the locals say) and - hands down - is the most delicious smelling herbal shrub I have ever encountered. Muy Rica.

    Speaking of muy rica, the Chilean 'menu del dia' has been our number one lunch and dinner choice if we're not cooking or eating on the run. From anywhere between $7 to $16 you can get a starter, bread, main, dessert and a drink (occasionally wine, or if you're really in luck - pisco sours) to wash it down. The choice is usually limited but the quality is always surprisingly good. San Pedro however, delivered a blow below the belt with it's food prices which forced us to have a few very simple meals between splurging on menus. We should have expected it, we are in a desert after all and there's no competition until you hit Calama over 100km away. Duh.

    Our second disappointing, snow-induced road closure was the main road from San Pedro to Uyuni, Bolivia. Part of my desire to visit this place was to witness the amazing colours of the salt lagoons (laguna Colorado in particular) and other stops in the Bolivian Southern Altiplano. Upon inquiring about the three day 4x4 tour to Bolivia, we discovered heavy snow had closed the main route and forced us to take an alternative northern route which by-passed several highlights. I'll be sure to cover that in more detail in an upcoming post!

    Also, findpenguins has just allowed me to caption my images so I'll have to begin the painstaking process of going back and doing so over some 90 odd footprints. Ugh.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
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    Valle de la Luna, Chile

    June 13, 2017 in Chile ⋅ ☀️ 28 °C

    Moon walking and desert biking.

    It doesn't take a linguist or even a third form latin class to translate this one. Nor does it take a genius to figure out what wonders the Valley of the Moon might have in store.

    We chose to attack this lunar landscape by bike and at a meagre 3500 pesos ($7) for a half day, it definitely was one of the cheaper activities on offer. Armed with spare tyres, pumps, locks and headlamps (definitely the most comprehensive rental bike kit I've ever been supplied with) we hit the road. Actually, we almost hit the kerb, then a wall and narrowly missed an unsuspecting pedestrian as the rocky road and a general lack of practice turned our departure into somewhat of a scene. Crossing a river with this skill set was a recipe for wet feet and that's exactly what Cat got. I bounced through only narrowly missing the same demise and still accept no responsibilty for her misfortune. It was the shortest route. I'm sure.

    Our first stop was an old fort which offered good views of San Pedro. It had historical significance as the stronghold of the region and had hosted many conflicts between various indigenous tribes, the Inca and the Spanish. What it didn't host was legible english or much intrigue so it was a brief stop at that.

    Onward to the moon we went, struggling to keep pace with the awesome distractions on offer. Unique and vast desert landscapes littered our route and it took us some time to cover a measly 20km (especially at some 3000m). The last 5 km to the caves was gravel and the old pelvic bones took a beating (despite again recieving some reasonable quality bikes). Whinging about the heat proved nothing but ironic, given the fact that it was a) winter and b) freezing for the other 18 hours of the day. Yet that didn't stop us. The caves were nothing to rave about so we remounted and continued up a steep and sandy road. For once (and I have to make a point of it) Cat did more complaining than I. Hot, tired and battling a very steep and sandy road brought out the worst in her of which I recorded with stills. Lucky for all of us that I have spared the audio. No doubt that in writing this I've put my foot in it and will have all my future tantrums subject to recording. So be it.

    It was the top of that hill (or shortly after - as I will surely be corrected) that the real moonscapes came to life. The rock formations were unique and the sand dunes pristine. It took a short walk up to the mirador for the real awe to set in. Fractured rock faces, wind sculpted rock towers and a dusting of salt made the foreground. In the middle was more unusual geology extending into vast desert. At the very back was an almost endless view of the Cordillera de los Andes; 20+ visible snow capped peaks. It wouldn't even take a soft spot for rocks to get you worked up about this. Then there was the sun and the sky which, by now were setting and turning pink, respectively. You committed readers will have read some pretty colourful descriptions of our top sunsets but this, I think (or at least at the time) was the best of the best.

    And then the cold hit. It's easy to forget the sun is the sole source of heat in this frigid climate. When it goes, the temperature plummets almost instantly. I mean plummets. In the space of 10 or 15 minutes it dropped (and I'm guessing) from a 'feels like' 20°C to 5°C. I went from shorts and a jumper to jacket, gloves and beanie and was still freezing. Cat, as you would expect, disappeared under layers like a fox down a rabbit hole.

    We descended in the dark and gingerly remounted our bikes, under escort from the rangers as the last ones out of the park. It was dark. Blackout dark, except for the increasingly numerous stars. Riding a sandy and gravel road with a head torch no brighter than a wet match proved difficult. In fact, I think our downhill pace matched that of the uphill - caution indeed, the operative word.

    Caution saw us taking an eternity to return to San Pedro. If cold and cranky is a thing, we were headed that way - held back only by how good the sunset had been. A very bland pasta and tomato was dinner that night and tea and chocolate in bed was the ending we couldn't have bettered. Next time I think motorised transport will win, but what fun is having fun if you're always having fun?    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Southern Altiplano, Bolivia

    June 16, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Six strangers, one crazy Bolivian, one 4x4, and several hundred square kilometers of elevated desert full of llamas. This is how you cross the Southern Bolivia Altiplano.

    Getting from San Pedro to Bolivia requires traversing a fairly large unoccupied space. Yes, it's possible to do it the long way by bus, but how boring is that when you could go cross country in a 4x4? At first glance, finding a reliable tour company appeared to be the hardest part of this whole palava. Tour companies have a reputation for treating tourists like luggage and finding sober drivers is (at least in this area) like finding a needle in a haystack. Don't worry mum, I've lived to tell the tale. We spent some time finding a reputable company by sifting through reviews from all sources. Lithium tours seemed the best of a bad bunch, and their sales pitch was polished. After another failed haggle (seriously Chileans don't budge), we locked it in without any further investigation.

    Pick up was at 4-4.30am. Given that our hostel was well back from the street, that meant waiting outside. I'm sure you'll agree that standing on the street for half an hour (it was actually 40 minutes) at four in the morning in 0°C is a pretty shitty way to start a tour. At last, a giant white van (definitely not a 4x4) picked us up and proceeded through the rounds picking up the remaining passengers (who were in similar mindsets to us) and of course, the bread.

    We were, for the first time in a while, actually briefed as to the plan. Our lack of Spanish and our ever changing location has given us a carefree attitude towards the 'unknown' so the knowledge gained from this briefing gave us a particularly strong peace of mind which should have sent us straight back to sleep. However, our driver turned out to be a complete and utter nut job. He had that van approaching mach 1 on the straights and only fractionally less on the corners. The six strangers eye each other anxiously before a Spaniard, Fede, spoke up: "just to let you know this is insane and we're all fearing for our lives". Our driver laughed and replied "It's a race!" At this? I closed my eyes, pretended I was riding a turtle in a sponge playground and unsuccessfully tried to sleep. We had three hours or so to the Bolivian border (not really part of the 'tour') where we would cross to no man's land, have breakfast and switch to a 4x4.

    We came second in the race. Turns out it was actually a race. The border opens at 7.30am (I think) and the tour vans queue up to be processed. There are actually quite a lot of them so the later you are the longer it takes. It was well below zero at the border and the first rays of sun weren't yet offering anything but light. Processing was quick thanks to our great race result, but my fingers and toes were still burning cold. Fortunately, our driver knew how to put a spread on. Breakfast was incredible; served on a table in the Cordillera de los Andes was fresh baguette, ham, cheese, avo, cake, biscuits, fruit, yoghurt, oj, and all the hot drinks. Everyone was starving, nobody held back and there was still food to spare. This was the start to the tour we had been waiting for.

    We loaded up the 4x4, switched drivers and effortlessly cleared Bolivian customs - immediately entering the dusty roads of the Southern Altiplano. At first impression our new driver, Even, seemed much less loco (crazy) than our last - that was good enough to keep us from complaining about the dicky seats in which we were sat. Seriously. Grown adults (well grown at that) in dicky seats for three days off road! I had expected it but there was definitely still a descrepency between my expectations and reality. Perhaps my perception of scale remained skewed towards that from my childhood memories, 'cause that space was small and all the gringos in our van topped six feet. At least our luggage was out of the way: strapped to the roof. And to be fair it was wrapped in tarp - an extra precaution which astonished me.

    We were six gringros; Cat and me, Fede and Pelayo the Spaniards, Lennart the Belgian and Pac the French Canadian. We all took relief in the lack of Americans and French which was cause enough to get along swimmingly. The Spaniards' constant teasing of our guide kept us humoured all the way to our first of what would be many stops that day.

    Snow capped mountains were a running theme of the day, loitering in the background of every vista. Then there were the lagunas: glassy calm and littered with flamingos and sea gulls. Dust and tussock landscapes gradually turned to impressive rock formations and it didn't take long for us to spot our first llamas. What we never spotted was a cloud and that is the joy of being a tourist in the desert.

    Lunch was served in a dining hall by a stunning laguna. Another impressively-sized spread of typical Bolivian food (rice, quinoa, overcooked meat and plain salad). Turns out quinoa is one of the few foods you can grow in the Altiplano. Local villages take advantage of a short rainy season to sew, grow and harvest the superfood for their personal consumption throughout the year. A food they would very much need to be working this land, I imagine.

    The lagunas, rocks, canyons and scenery continued to impress throughout the day, despite being on the alternate route amd missing some key stops (wretched snow!). We arrived just before sundown at a tiny, dusty and very unfinished village (who knows where). A lovely Quechua lady (who was meticulously sweeping dirt off the dirt driveway...?) showed us our beds, offered us beer and took our 10 Bolivianos ($2) for a hot shower. Whilst we washed ourselves, Even washed the car. In the desert. Where there's next to no water. And two minutes' driving will have the car browner than a Brazilian. Unbelievable.

    We were well fed again that night, along with another six or seven car loads who arrived shortly after us. Our party escalated under the influence of Bolivian red wine (yes, it exists) and the dice game. Nothing starts a party like dice, eh Jools?

    Seven blankets kept the cold at bay that night and we rose the next day ready to rumble. The day two scenery was just as impressive as day one. We got really up close and personal with the llamas and strolled upon some magnificent lakes and topography. The highlight of the day had to be arriving in a tiny desert town on fiesta day.

    I don't recall the name of the town but I could have just about thrown a rock from one end to the other. They were celebrating their town's anniversary which appparently is a three day affair, and we had caught them well into the swing of things on day two. The state of intoxication was baffling; barefoot men stumbled around, traditionally dressed Quechua ladies aat on the ground slurring and the band resembled nothing short of a cocophony (especially old mate on the symbols - he was hammered!) But their merriment was abound. The brass band was firing on all cylinders, the dancing was high in both participation and awkwardness and the children ran amuck throwing half full beers at each other and wrestling in the dirt. It was an absolute riot.

    What's more is that Bolivians have very strong religious beliefs. One of the traditions accompanying their religion is that the first sip of every beer goes to Pachamama (or mother earth). Simply put; when you open a beer you pour some on the ground - whether your indoors, outdoors or in your nana's living room. As the night progresses, apparently so does one's respect for Pachamama; more and more beer is sacrificed to the ground (intentionally or not) until the dirt road is headed for mud and old mate on the cymbols can't find his face from the floor.

    Our brief appearance included a few beers, a lot of confusion, a short dance, a quick and rythmic jam on the cymbols and for Cat a lovely few twirls and a sweater full of beer from one of the more lively and less coherent locals. What an outing. It was a bit of a shame to see some tourists taking photos rather than taking part. Yes, it was an outrageous fiesta but this is normal life for these people. Taking photos without joining in is like observing monkeys in a cage, at least that was the impression I got at the time. Tut tut.

    That night we stayed in a hotel made of salt in...well...I actually never found out. But it was isolated except for a hilarious shop keeper who wouldn't let us take beer from her shop - we had to drink it in the shop or not at all. We got carried away with dice and wine and night photography until the icy cold reminded us we should hit the hay. We had a 5am start the next day to make it to the Salar de Uyuni by sunrise.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    1

    Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

    June 17, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ☀️ 32 °C

    The world's largest salt flat.

    The spanish word 'salar' literally translates to salt flat. I'm sure you're all acquainted with the Bonneville salt flats in the US, where Bert Munroe's Indian motorcycle became the fastest on earth. Well Bonneville ain't got nothing on Uyuni - at least in terms of size. It's over 100 times bigger by area and up to 120m deep (of salt!) At an elevation of around 3600m, this time of year the Salar de Uyuni is freezing. Literally. And at six o'clock in the morning on this given Saturday it was minus six degrees. Who said salt flats were always hot?

    Salt flats are also not always dry. In fact, they rely on frequent wetting and drying to become salt flats in the first place. To become a salt flat, an area of land needs a mineral-rich water inlet with no outlet, or an outlet which expels water at a slower rate than evaporation. This means that the primary way out for the water is evaporation, which leaves behind the minerals which said water had been carrying in suspension. The drying process also forms impressive salt crystals which become even more spectacular under pressure from the layers on top. Our unfortunate seasonal timing meant that the flats were bone dry on our visit - which was extremely disappointing as the salt flats become the world's biggest mirror in flood. A magical experience, I'm told. Nonetheless, witnessing the sun rise over this glistening white desert was definitely one we'll remember, if not for the beauty then the numbing pain I was feeling in my ears, fingers and toes.

    Our tour continued once the sun had broken day. At 120km/h travel felt incredibly slow given the vast distances to any distinguishable landmark. Our driver (Ever) was periodically falling asleep at the wheel which was cause for great panic until we realised that there were literally no obstacles to hit if he tried. Even still, our persistent poking kept him conscious enough to get us to our breakfast destination - a small 'island' in the middle of the flat. Bolivian drivers working this tour are notorious for driving drunk and/or tired. Despite our best efforts to get a good driver (we paid extra and were assured 'our drivers don't drive drunk'), ultimately the onus was on us to read the situation. I would hate to have seen the state of the 'bad drivers' - a short read of tour reviews is enough to put you off. Poor form from Bolivia but what can you expect?

    Aside from that, Even was indeed a very good driver and tour guide. He gave us all a stint at the wheel through the salt flats (which was actually the most boring driving I have ever done) and did a fine job of treating us like real humans despite the number of times he forced us to listen to his favourite song: 'Despacito' (hourly).

    We climbed the island and admired a fantastic view of the eternal white from between giant cactii. The rising sun provided pockets of warmth which we were sure to linger in as an attempt to thaw our digits. Breakfast on the flats and a drawn out photo shoot was a great way to take it all in before piling back into the car.

    We only spent a few hours driving across the salt flats (thankfully) and barely chopped a wee corner off it. We passed through Dakar before arriving in a very ugly Uyuni. Dusty, rubbish-strewn streets with piles of rubble and unfinished buildings triggered much disgust in all of us who clearly had higher expectations. Unfinished houses are exempt from taxes in this country which obviously creates little incentive to finish them. Hence, perhaps why we felt Uyuni was such an eye sore. We had a quick visit to a fairly underwhelming train graveyard before our last supper: quinoa fritters. The 'superfood' (which is actually a staple here) had a lot of potential but a lack of flavour really let them down in a meal which I'm sure has set the mood for Bolivian dining. The red meat diets of Argentina and Chile, I doubt, will be seen for a long time.

    Even dropped us at the 'bus terminal' (just a regular street) where we said our farewells and searched desperately for the next bus out of town. Next stop Postosi.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    Cerro Rico (the mine)
    Processing plant. And me looking dapperDynamite in the mouth. Safety first

    Potosí, Bolivia

    June 18, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    The world's highest city.

    We're high. Really high. 4060m is higher than Mt Cook and I am really feeling it. My chest feels heavy and at disappointing frequency I am uncontrollably out of breath. Walking up stairs triggers the 'doubled-over' response and the activity of eating and walking is near on impossible...at least for me in my current state of fitness (obviously poor). Postosí claims it's title as the world's highest city but the definition of 'city' is up for debate. Potosí also marks the beginning of our acclimatization period. For the next three weeks or so we won't see much under 2800m (I think).

    Our hostel (Casa Blanca) in Potosí was grand. We had good wifi and friendly staff, a hearty free breakfast, an enormous bedroom with two spare beds, and a private ensuite with a powerful and hot shower (you have no idea how much we value this - Cat is trying to incorporate it as an individual item in hostel ratings. In fact, we've both come to value the morning shower report over the weather report - the worst no doubt being 'cold with a chance of electrocution' which is about as common as a rainy day in London). Take me back already! Also, Lennart (the Belgian from our road trip to Uyuni) is headed the same way and has joined us in our travels.

    After seeing so much llama on our trip, we were all craving a big old Llama steak. That's not true. How can you crave a llama steak if you've never had one? We were more likely curious to taste the furry friend, so we found a nice restaurant, ordered the local beer (unoriginally named Potosina) and tucked into some delicious llama. On the meat scale, I'd say it lies somewhere between beef and venison in flavour and I can't comment on toughness because it was so damn tender it might well not have been llama. Compliments to the chef.

    We occupied day one in Potosí with the usual wandering about. That of course was after a sleep in and finally finding a live stream of the America's Cup (go boys!). We passed the afternoon in the market, sampling creme de limon (similar to raw merengue), pasteles (deep fried batter with cheese), papas rellenas (deep fried mashed potato stuffed with egg and meat), api (hot corn milk) and of course empanadas. I could barely walk home. We also got some fresh veg for dinner before battling back up the steep and busy roads to the hostel. I had my highest non-commericial aircraft beer that night at 4066m (only walked about 66 of those metres but I'll claim the achievement!)

    Potosí really only exists as a product of it's mining industry. Cerro Rico (rich hill) has for hundreds of years offered Potosí wealth in the form of mineral silver, zinc and lead. Miners as young as eight years old take to these hills in search of wealth at the cost of their health or their lives (amoungst other things). Cerro Rico is not only a monstrosity but a monster - it's known locally as the 'mountain that eats men'. Visually, you can't miss it and mentally, well, we couldn't hold back our curiosity.

    So we booked a tour. Of a working mine. In Bolivia - the poorest country in South America. How dumb. (Sorry mums but we're still alive.) Big Deal Tours charged us 150 Bs ($30) for a half day tour. To be fair, we ummed and ahhed about this one for a long time and decided if we booked a reputable company it would be worth the risk (I realise that's a weak argument). But saftey aside, it was the ethical decision which was the hardest. Those who just read about the fiesta in the Altiplano will probably think that by taking this tour I'm a hypocrit for my 'monkey in a cage' comment, but hear me out.

    Mining is life here. It's work, it's friendship, it's religion and it's social structure. And anybody can do it. (Actually, ladies aren't allowed to work inside the mines for superstitious reasons (pachamama gets jealous of other ladies) but that doesn't prevent them working around the mines). It requires no prequalification save for an able body and a willing soul. I won't go into detail of the hierarchy but it's exactly that. Cooperatives own small mines and miners who stay on the job long enough (three years) can buy their own seam to work as they please until it runs dry. Then the process starts over again, more or less every six to ten years, depending on the seam. Hourly wage gradually transitions to commission as they progress up the hierarchy. Once they own a seam, they reap the benefits of their hard work directly with minimal repayment to the cooperative. Overall it's a working structure very much rewards commitment.

    Our tour guide was an ex-miner of fourty odd years and no longer working due to poor health - surprise surprise. He was happy to show off his life, his job and his numerous friends and family (seriously he knew or was related to everyone we passed). Our first stop was a market where we purchased gifts for the miners. Dynamite, fanta and coca leaves were the popular choice. The first two have obvious uses but don't be fooled by the coca leaves; they aren't for cocaine. These leaves are grown too high to be any good as a sniffable powder. Bolivians stuff their cheeks full of them and savour their medicinal properties. If you can call suppressing apetite and the effects of altitude 'medicinal'. That said, miners value them more than water and are known to have a cheek stuffed full of them for most of the day.

    After donning our safety gear, we took a brief tour of the processing plant which was absurdly toxic so we had to put emphasis on brief and get out smartly. Not that the gases troubled Cat. She had blindfolded herself with her helmet and was doing her best not to make a scene whilst falling into unguarded holes and tripping over hoses. All of the raw minerals are sent to Chile for the final phase of processing 'cause Bolivia can't get it's act together and set up a refinery. Oh, and there's that small issue of having no access to the sea and it's ships (thanks to Chile). Apparently this land ownership is under review in the UN supreme court. Although Bolivians doubt they have a chance. Poor old Bolivia.

    Bolivian mines are made for Bolivians, not gringos, who on average are at least a foot taller, if not more. After weaving around the llama skins and dodging the blood stained walls we began our awkward half-squatted waddle into the earth. Every now and again we could relieve our backs in chambers or when climbing up or down ladders to various seams. The miners work hard. All of them were drenched in sweat from carrying enormous quantities of rock to the surface on their backs or in barrows. I'm struggling to imagine tougher work than 8-10 hours of hunched-over uphill barrowing at 4300m above sea level fuelled by nothing but coca leaves, fanta, 96% alcohol and cigarettes (that's right - no lunch)! It's a wonder these guys don't have serious health issues. Well of course they do! But none of them are willing to admit it except our guide. There's no medical compensation and most of them can't afford a doctor so what's the use in complaining? The consider themselves lucky to have to chance to work in the mine (to be fair it's good paying work in Potosí) and none of them are willing to admit it's bad for them. A different world.

    After visiting several miners and giving them our gifts, Wilson offered to set off his dynamite. I nearly shat my pants. Here we were borderline suffering from altitude sickness, battling off claustrophobia deep beneath the earth in the sketchiest mine in the poorest country in South America with not a hope in the world of a rescue and this guy wants to set off a bomb!? I was reluctant at first but with reassurance from the doctor lady who had been accompanying us and with refuge in appeared to be a safe place, Wilson set off the dynamite 200m down the shaft. Four minutes later the boom rocketed past with deafening force. It wasn't as powerful as I had expected (phew!) and we swiftly left the mine to emerge back into glorious daylight and fresh air. Never again.

    I guess the question remains, was all this ethical tourism? Are we creating a 'monkey in a cage' scenario? In my opinion, no. In fact, we're helping them out. We're creating work and income outside of the mine; buying gifts in the market, giving gifts, and more importantly, giving Wilson and his team a source of income when he is physically unfit to work in the mine. Furthermore, me writing this and your reading it is raising awareness and there's no aid like awareness. To seal my opinion, when we were headed back to town our 'safety guide' boarded with her gorgeous two kids, both dressed in private school uniforms. Perhaps change is on it's way?    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Sucre, Bolivia

    June 20, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 11 °C

    Colonial architecture and a cooking class.

    I've got a lot to write and this stop just happened to be in between several highlights so I'll keep it brief.

    The bus to Sucre was horrible but cheap. We've left behind the luxury of Argentinian and Chilean buses along with their crippling prices.

    We did a short walking tour which involved tasting all the local delicacies including Tumba (passionfruit), chocolate, sausages and some other disgusting meat. Wandering the town held it's interest for a while but we ultimately gave in to rooftop beers in the sun.

    That night we had a private cooking class. Of all the places we could have done a cooking class we chose Bolivia - the country with the worst food. On our menu was tumba juice and papas rellenas (stuffed and fried potatoes) as well as salsa and sauce. We chased it all with lemon pie which we didn't make but thoroughly enjoyed. We did also learn that Bolivia has over 1550 different types of potato - watch out Ireland!

    We stuffed up big time and missed the winter solstice party that the locals were having near Sucre. By the time we found out about it, it was too late; the city was empty and everything was closed. Too bad. Our great hostel Casa Isabella made up for it and that was where we spent a lot of time.

    We got the freezing overnight bus to La Paz (12 hours or so) and arrived in the morning just in time for breakfast.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    San Pedro Prison.Llama fetus.

    La Paz, Bolivia

    June 22, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ 🌙 8 °C

    For a name that directly translates to "the peace", La Paz is anything but peaceful.

    It's hectic. The streets are obnoxiously steep, windy and almost always rammed full of bumper to bumper traffic. Cholitas and other vendors line the footpath with their goods spilling out onto the road, creating confusion between pedestrians and traffic. Men, women and children vie for position at intersections or shop fronts to shine shoes for coins. Industry and shop owners struggle to contain their work in their shops, often resulting in welding and auto repairs on the road, where moving buses narrowly miss their equipment. Locals push carts full of nuts, popcorn, orange juice, pasteles (or just about anything you can imagine) through hoards of pedestrians. But if you can diffuse the stress it's a fascinating and lively scene at almost every turn.

    Then there's the noise. If it can't be heard it can't be sold; no doubt you'll hear it before you see it. Noisy engines, squeaky brakes and incessant honking are all part of the medley which tires the senses at astonishing rates.

    All that is on top of the 4000m altitude which continues to affect our eating, drinking, walking and even sleeping performance by way of limiting oxygen. So when I say we're averaging 10 hours sleep per night, hopefully you won't think we're holiday sloths - we need our slumber!

    On the subject of slumber, we arrived in La Paz on an overnight bus from Sucre which was our first full cama (bed) bus we've taken this entire trip. I was super excited about a good sleep (you should know how much I love sleep by now) and almost immediately adopted the full recline position. Unfortunately an hour or so into the journey, the icy chill from Bolivia's highlands seeped through the window and enveloped my body. Having foolishly left the majority of my warm clothes in my luggage, I spent the rest of the night attempting to contain my body heat whilst enviously watching the eskimo (covered in her entire wardrobe) sleeping deeply beside me. Lucky her.

    Wandering the streets of La Paz is great fun in short bursts. To ensure our wandering had a little understanding, we signed up to a walking tour immediately after arriving. We ended up walking for over four hours, embracing markets, witchery, the San Francisco Church, and the infamous San Pedro prison for those of you who've read Marching Powder. After this tour we continued walking for another fourty minutes before catching the gondola for a view of the city and a $1 lunch of fried rice, eggs and plantain. The afternoon saw more walking much to my protest as I was well and truely ready to throw in the towel. Thanks to Cat, we had another great hostel to retire to (York BnB), with a room right above the street in the downtown area.

    We biked Death Road the next day (see other footprint) but spent the day after back in La Paz. My morning was spent watching the All Blacks and then the America's Cup (finally found a good sports bar right beside our hostel). A friend from high school, Kieran and his girlfriend joined as well as Cat and Lennart which made for quite the crowd at midday in a dingy English pub. In the afternoon we spent even more time wandering the city and it's markets, you really have to see this one for yourself. Of course, delicious treats are an important part of any city wander and you'd be foolish to say no to the lady with the ice creams or the man with the chocolate.

    That day we signed up for a tour we would all (at discreet points over the next three days) wish we hadn't. As we ate our tikki masala curry that night (not the smartest choice, I know), the snowy peak of Huayna Potosi loomed at 6088m, just a stone's throw from our indian restaurant in La Paz. Hold your breath - that's next.

    Although we didn't do much of note in La Paz, I really enjoyed this stop (altitude aside). It's like a giant Medellín with more character and cheaper food. Plus, if you come with a slightly higher budget, there are more tours and day trips than you can poke a stick at. Put it on the list.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Ruta de la Muerte, Bolivia

    June 23, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    The world's most dangerous road.

    It's steep, it's ugly and it kills. Death road is probably the world's most famous road and rightly so. The 64km stretch of gravelly danger takes on average two lives per year and technically, it's not even open to traffic.

    Hundreds of cyclists take to this road everyday to witness the sheer cliffs, buenas vistas and thrilling downhills. It's a must do from La Paz so we locked in a guided tour as you'd be mad to do it alone. RideOn was our company of choice (there were hundreds to choose from) and Marcelo was our guide. The price? A wallet wringing 470 Bs ($95) per head. Ouch.

    The three of us (Lennart's still on the scene) got picked up from our hostel in our own private van and got a mini tour of La Paz on our way up to La Cumbre, the starting point of the ride. Marcelo and his team had planned the ride to ensure there would be no uphill on our route - what legends. A quick breakfast and a lengthy gear up (seriously, I was so kitted up that a blow from Superman himself wouldn't even have tickled a nerve) had us ready to rumble. Our descent would take us from 4800m to 1100m, a whopping 3700m of brake burning biking (roughly equivalent to a descent from the summit of Mt Cook to the Tasman Sea).

    The first stretch was on asphalt, where we tested out the bikes amid some awesome scenery. It didn't take long before we were tucking in and bombing the windy road at eye watering speed. It was so much fun and knowing that we got the uphill for free was all the more enjoyable. In no time we had made the narcotics checkpoint (of course there's a narcotic checkpoint) where we stopped for a snack. Yes, an actual snack - I know what you're thinking.

    From here the guides loaded our bikes back on the roof of the van and drove us to the start of the real death road, more accurately known as Yungas Road. Opened in 1920 (as a widening of a track to a single lane road), Yungas road connects La Paz (Bolivia's largest city) to the jungle - it's source of food. Now however, it is unofficially closed to traffic as a new road had been built to replace it. However, the road is not physically 'closed' so tour buses, tour vans and drug traffickers (amoungst other traffickers) still use the route for a small fee. This fee goes towards making the road safer and surprisingly, crash barriers had been installed on many of the corners.

    We barely passed a car on our entire journey down, but you wouldn't need a car to have an accident. Slippery gravel, big rocks, landslides, hairpin bends, puddles, waterfalls, other cyclists and of course the fantastic view are all hazards which present themselves with relentless regularity. Marcelo was the best guide we've had all trip, pointing out all the hazards, the history and the points of interest.

    In more than one occasion he would point out corners where people (many his friends, more tourists) had taken a turn for the worse. If there was ever a debate for ethical tourism, I'd say listening to a guide explain several of his friends' demises is right up there - emotional insight which gave us all heightened respect for the road and it's danger (and Marcelo himself). Corner after corner the crosses, flowers and memorabilia appeared. Empty shells of cars and buses lay barely visible at the bottom of the valley. Numerous corners were named for the nationality of the unfortunate person to have erred there at the ultimate price. Many of these lives were claimed by a lack of precaution; from taking selfies whilst riding, to going too fast or by simply getting too close to the edge. The worst though were the corners where crossed clustered - those were vehicles, often buses with children and families who had no control over their fate.

    Morbidity aside, the ride was full of adrenaline and suberb scenery and in fact, we barely passed a car or bus on the way down - phew! After many stops and photos we arrived at the bottom of the road hot, dusty and tired some six hours later - and greeted by a ten year old selling cold beer. It was an oddly short taste of jungle heat and low elevation. I was thoroughly impressed with Cat for an injury and crash free descent despite some sketchy sections. Well guided one might say (that's Marcelo, not me to be clear). We finished up with a hot shower and a buffet dinner at a nearby hotel before driving two and a half hours bsck to La Paz, via the new road of course!

    Definitely a highlight of the trip and a must do if you're in La Paz - despite the cost!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    Vista from high camp
    Cat new bestie at base campCat using her reach.

    Huayna Potosi Base Camp, Bolivia

    June 26, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 10 °C

    The one to rule them all.

    We've climbed a lot of mountains this trip. Every country in South America has provided some kind of peak to challenge us and let's not forget the might of Acatenango and Ometepe in Central America. Huayna Potosi was not one of these. This my friends, is another kettle of fish. A 6088m summit attempt. Attempt being the operative word; Lonely Planet boasts a 60% failure rate for gringos on this peak.

    To emphasise my point, base camp for Huayna Potosi is at 4800m. That's quite high. In fact, that's some eight/nine hundred metres above our previous highest peak. Peak! Huayna Potosi (appropriately pronounced 'whiner' Potosi) wasn't a challenge of time or distance. It was a challenge of altitude. And given that we were already under strain in La Paz (at 4000m) this was never going to be enjoyable. Yet apparently, it's one of the easiest 6000m summits there is. (I later understood this to mean 'least technical' - the word 'easy' is very misleading).

    We booked in the three day climb wih Base Camp Lodge for a cool 1000 Bs each ($200) - all included (except chocolate and batteries if we're being pedantic). This time of year the weather is unusually reliable; sun for two weeks was the forecast - much to our relief. Despite the heat of the sun we would be enduring temperatures from 12°C highs to early morning lows of -14°C. I couldn't tell concern from panic on Cat's face as she calculated the possibility of fitting into all of her clothes at once.

    We were a group of six: Cat and me, Lennart, Luiz from Brazil and a French couple Guilleme and Ana. For the six of us, we had two/three guides depending on the relative danger of the activities for that day/night. We ascended by van to base camp (cheats!) through La Paz, El Alto and the plateau at the base of the mountain, admiring the beast from a distance.

    We had lunch at base camp and afterward we geared up. This was an ordeal. On top of any base layers we had overalls, jackets, harness, snow boots, garters, crampons, gloves, beanies, helmets, head torches/glasses, ice axes and a day pack filled with the rest of our crap. It took a full hour for everyone to kit up before we headed out onto the track. Our guides were pretty blazé during this process but they did a predeparture check of everyone which gave me some faith.

    We trekked for less than an hour before arriving at the base of the glacier. Today was acclimatisation and practice day. We donned our crampons, lashed ourselves together in groups of three (plus guide) and began working our way over the glacier. All instructions were in Spanish and much to my surprise I understood everything as did Cat who even translated for the group. Maybe we have been learning something after all!

    Despite a snails pace, it was hard work. Our lungs flapped about in the thin air, struggling for efficiency. There was no muscle burn, just hefty puffing. The previously silent glacier now alive with the noise of what could've been a hundred panting dogs on a hot day. After testing ourselves in all the various techniques, we descended the glacier and relocated to an ice wall for climbing practice.

    Under a belay, we all had to ice climb a 10-12m vertical face. It looked intimidating at first, even for me but we all managed to reach the top, Cat included and elated at the accomplishment. It was great fun hacking away at the ice with axes and crampons but the physicality was intense and a worring sign for days to come.

    We returned back to base camp later that afternoon for tea. Coca tea and coca leaves were by far the drink of choice although their health benefits remain unproven to me. Even with an early bed time, the evening dragged on in the refugio as everyone opted for their own ways to maximise rest and acclimatisation. We spent that night in a very spacious and rather chilly Maori bunk in the roof of the refugio.

    The next morning was also quite relaxed, we breakfasted at 8am and prior to that I took great joy in unfreezing the toilet water with my urine. We spent most of the morning packing our climbing gear into packs (as well as our personal gear) and doing the usual faffing that can be expected from a tour group of noobs. After lunch (by the way, all our meals were rice, potatoes or quinoa) we hit the track in the midday 'heat' with laden packs. We had a meagre two hour ascent to Campo Alto (high camp) where we would complete our acclimatisation. Two hours isn't much, but with a full pack in thin air with a 400m altitude gain - it was more than enough.

    It was a walkable ascent and we reached high camp at 5130m in the mid-afternoon. We immediately got stuck into the coca tea and spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering about, taking pictures, relaxing, playing dice (of course) and nervously thinking out loud about the day to come. The altitude (or maybe in fact the vast quantities of coca tea) appeared to suppress everybody's appetites, as we picked at our food during our 5pm dinner. Not one to waste food, and with an engine with a high reliance on it, I managed to finish my meal. After another Spanish briefing, we hit the hay at 6pm in a fairly cold refugio bunk doing our best to get some kip before our midnight alarm...    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
    Boys at the summit.
    1The knife ridgeTalk about forcing a smile.

    Huayna Potosi Summit, Bolivia

    June 27, 2017 in Bolivia ⋅ ⛅ 10 °C

    The hardest night of my life.

    I got three hours sleep, which was good going given the altitude and the cold and the blustery wind which threatened to rip the lid right off the hut. I also needed to pee from all the tea and there was no way in hell I was getting out of my sleeping bag and going outside to do so.

    Eventually the light came on and we crawled out of bed and began the gear up process. We again struggled to get much fuel on board; two pieces of cake and a tea were all I could stomach at this hour and I think I was leading the charge. Not a good start.

    It felt like forever to gear up at this time in the morning and we didn't end up leaving until after 1am for the summit attempt. (The early start of course, to beat the heat of the sun to the precarious snow on the summit.) We left the hut in the snow and frosty temperatures, lashed together, two people per guide.

    The stars were incredible! As were the distant city lights of El Alto. The cold was kept at bay with three layers on the legs, four on top and two pairs of gloves and the pace was slow enough for me to actually enjoy the start. Cat however, was battling. She was already into a really heavy pant and struggling to keep her feet going.

    About two hours in, the altitude was beginning to take it's toll. I lost my enjoyment and began to feel the work. Cat was periodically stumbling out of line and the Frenchman Guilleme collapsed on the snow beside us unable to continue. He descended with the guide and we adopted Ana, who appeared to be in a similar state to Cat. Shortly after I left the girls team and lashed myself to the other two boys and Mario, our guide. Lennart was in good shape but Luiz was on struggle street, big time. The whole affair had begun to look like a disaster.

    The boys set a slightly faster pace than the girls and began to develop a small lead. 'Faster' is a misleading description in this case. A toddler could have crawled faster. Our feet weren't breaking overlap and at one point I estimated my step length to be about two inches. We had nine hundred metres to ascend before light and I physically couldn't see how this would be achieved at a pace so slow it would have made a three legged turtle walking backwards look like a blur.

    About four hours in I started feeling really bad. I had barely eaten or drank and the night had got so cold it was difficult to rest even for a moment without being uncomfortably cold. I felt like vomiting and my legs and back felt weak so I asked Mario for a stop. Then my nose started gushing blood. It was horrible. Luiz too was in a bad place, barely able to take his backpack off for water and panting so hard I was beginning to think he might blow a lung. The fufu valve was well and truely blown. It would only take one of us to quit and we would all have to follow.

    With still about two hours of the steepest climbing left, we needed to switch on. I donned my last layer (puffer jacket - thanks mum), forced down water, chocolate and nuts and as if by magic, some hot coca tea from Mario's backback. It changed all of our moods. I'm not sure if it was the magic trick, the tea or just the warmth but we were new men. My energy returned and although I still felt sick and my nose was still bleeding, we were back.

    At least temporarily. Luiz was pushing himself way beyond what he should have. We were breaking every 15 or 20 minutes for him to catch his breath which was beneficial for all of us to keep the symptoms at bay.

    The top would never come. Walking in the circle of a spotlight for six hours was beginning to drive us crazy, but then, finally, there was light. Daylight. A glorious flaming orange sky preluded the sun and gave us a glimpse of the top. It was close.

    We regrouped at the base of the summit. It was steep (read: ice climbing) and looked like a knife edge in cross section. Mario, clearly worried about our abilities in technical terrain given our physical status, busted out the coca tea one last time.

    It worked. Or it was adrenaline. But we hauled ourselves and Luiz (who looked like he was about to die - "estoy muriendo" he kept saying) up the ice face and onto the knife edge. All that remained was a hundred or so metres along a precarious ice edge. But Luiz was spent. We needed 15 minutes to reach to summit and we had 15 minutes before the sun. Mario fixed us to the ice and we broke. We watched the sun rise from the ridge just metres from the summit. It didn't matter. It was glorious. So good that Luiz got back up and proceeded to stagger along the ridge at everybody's concern. It was barely a foot wide with a sheer drop each side.

    Finally we cleared the danger, staggered up the last slope to the summit and all collapsed. Mario fixed us to the snow and we celebrated with a half arsed high five and lie down. At that time, it was undoubtedly the hardest six hours of my life. I still felt sick, my energy was drained, I couldn't stop puffing and my digits were well and truely numb but my blood nose had finally stopped so I focused on that. We'd done it.

    Meanwhile, Cat and Ana were still some 200-300m in altitude behind. Their pace had slowed to the point their guide had said he couldn't physically go any slower and they were similarly absolutely spent. Both girls taking turns to collapse in a puffing fit, to give the other a break. The 200m was about two hours climbing which would have put them in danger of unstable snow, even if they could summon the energy to ascend it. Their sunrise was equally as brilliant from the less precarious slopes just below the summit. Both of them were equally as gutted and relieved to be heading down as each other - at long last. Given the state I left Cat in, I was amazed at the effort she put in and especially that she never gave up. Well done!

    Our stop at the top was brief. The view was spectacular and the sun was warm so spirits were lifted. Our photos are an absolute hash because we were tied to the snow, had frozen fingers and had the mental awareness of a rag. Plus Mario was keen to get us down quick smart to avoid any unnecessary risk. We axed our way back to the base of the summit with some pretty awful coordination. Luiz collapsed, he'd been running on empty for a while and the thought of the descent (which we could now see disappearing into the gullies) was too much. We got about as close as you get to dragging him down, breaking all the time despite the apparent infinite ease of descending. There was one reverse climb remaining and I honestly thought he would give up when he got into a tricky situation on that section. Lennart (who never really showed any sign of struggle) and I were doing our best to help him but as you can imagine by now it was all too much.

    We finally made high camp some three hours later (I think) and collapsed on the rocks at the front door. We'd been the worst off of the five or so groups who made the summit and it showed. A smidge more experience, fitness and acclimatisation might have made that an enjoyable experience but we were just satisfied with the result. Glad too, to see the rest of the group and hear their stories. All that remained now was the hour and a half descent to base camp. We had soup, packed our backs and quietly descended - all under pack except Luiz who paid the guide to carry his bag. Lennart and I are both indebted to him for unselfishly continuing way beyond his ability to avoid letting us down. Thanks mate.

    A large quantity of Coke (cola) at base camp was enough sustenance to fuel the pack up and see a weary group leave the mountain in the same van in which we ascended. Our levels of satisfaction and fatigue varied but that was one hell of a challenge we won't be forgetting anytime soon. Upon returning to La Paz we were practically all asleep before the door to our room closed. I did however take a shower because the stench from my three day old clothes was borderline toxic and that would be a sad end to this story. We woke only for beer and an excessive quantity of pizza before returning straight back to bed. Job done.    Read more

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