Chile

Crossroads, San Pedro de Atacama
4th November, 2012

I've hit a fork in the road. A black spot obscuring the clarity of my map. For nearly nine months now I've been ever so gradually heading south, always slightly conscious of where I was going, and what I wanted to do. Now comes a definite turning point in my journey. There's no sure direction where to flow. It's as if I've returned to the 'real' world, or at least vaguely that of the world which all those months ago I left behind. The contrasts couldn't be more astounding & baffling. A mere line in the sand dictates & differents between South America's wealthiest economy & its poorest. Bolivia made me a millionaire; Chile shall bleed me dry. After three fun-filled, aw-inspiring days crossing the Uyuni salt flats & the high volcanic Andean Altiplano, I find myself here; smack in the middle of the scorching hot Atacama desert - flat broke, sleeping in the dirt & painstakingly weighing up my realistic options. North? South? East?...or West?!? Any could suffice. Bus? bike?...or hitchin' on the hike?? Right now I'm yet to know. I guess I didn't actually expect to make it down this far. I wish someone would just make my mind up for me. It's no fun being a serious decision making adult who's out living the hard life. But here I am. Take a punt. Roll the dice.

Laguna Colorado

After my little escapee in Sorata, I made the dash back to La Paz refreshed & revving. The views along that stretch of road are spectacular, with the entire Cordillera Real fanning out in a single unbroken line, acting as a contrasting back-drop to the open alpine plateau. Thankfully Bolivia's natural beauty took my mind off the disgusting fat fuck gnawing his way through an entire fried chicken beside me. My days in the hills, had me ready for one final wild ride at The Rover...this was going to be it. Most of my old crowd had long ago moved on, but it doesn't take much to make a bunch of one-night-worthy friends. It was on. Things got a little out of control yet again, and apparently I'd tried to jump into bed with some classy English chick who'd pissed herself earlier on. Haha, actually she'd pissed all over some poor Israeli guy's passport, and all morning he was spreading out his stuff, trying in vain to get things dry & minty fresh. She sure made a quick exit the next day I must say. Just like that Pom in Bocas...the bloody English, they're all the same.

Horayyy for jumping on that bus. I was actually out of there this time. You know it's time to leave when the bar staff are putting vodka in your cornflakes. I was saved. After much debate, I'd left on a night bus with two girls I'd met at the hostel, bound for Sucre. To be honest, this was the best bus I think I'd ever had!! That didn't stop the hoards of beggars & buskers hopping aboard at the obligatory out of town stop. It's a sad image seeing so many people struggling through life day to day; but in the end, you can't help them all. Most of every ones spare change went to the first guy (with no arms) who'd sprung up, the next got the crumbs, & the rest that followed got next to nothing. There was grief and desperation in their eyes as they went from seat to seat, hands extended, repeating the same pleading lines over & over again. I think it's healthy to witness, but it's hard to watch.

I got a decent sleep that night I think. I'm never too sure on those overnight buses. You have some crazy dreams. From the station we caught a cab into town & crashed out upstairs in a hostel. The town seemed nice, however very sterile. Maybe this would be a good place to settle down and get some proper Spanish lessons done finally?? We hit up the weekend markets, and annihilated strawberry thick shakes. After that I found there was little else to do. Everyone else went shopping for Halloween outfits for the party later on; I chose to make a retreat. I felt I was partied out. I should be giving myself a break. It didn't feel like the loosest of party towns after all. I grabbed some cheap food & flicked my way through an autobiography about a Welsh marijuana smuggler. Then I headed back to the room and planned where I wanted to head to next. It was turning into a quiet night. Well it was...BOOM!! Lia had lost the keys to her lock & had been zipping around town searching frantically for a pair of bolt cutters. "Nick, you coming out?? Yea you are!!" How could I say no. I had no costume, but I've got enough random crap in my bag to make any ordinary sucker look like a freak. The cheap wine was soon on the guzzle, then the $1 cocktails. I ended up with some Dutch chick in a pirate hat. Apparently I'd tried to to take her back to my room in the hostel. It would have been perfect!! The girls were still out. But as my luck seems to roll, the door was locked & I had no way of getting in!! I remember banging pointlessly for a good five or ten minutes...fuck my life!! The chick left. Sure sucks...she was cool. Meera & Lia found me asleep sitting against the wall when they returned some time later. They must have been a little confused. The key had been in my jacket pocket the entire time!! Arrghhh...what a night. What an idiot.

Halloween in Sucre

I was meant to leave the next morning, but that wasn't going to happen. We spent the day sleeping & eating lots of fine food. Sundays in some smaller cities can seem like you've woken up in a ghost town. There was nothing to do. I couldn't stay here. Spanish lessons would have to wait yet again. I was off to Potosi the following afternoon, a large town cemented into South American history due to it's famous silver mines within Cerro Rico, which supplied much of the mint for the colonial New World Spanish Empire. The town itself is quite impressive; narrow streets wind their way up and down the hillsides, there are plenty of intact colonial buildings & churches, and at night the public spaces seem to come alive with an unexpected youthful energy. I actually wish I had a bit more time to hang out here for a few more days. I'd tried to get my visa extended in Sucre, but the official just kept sending me away time after time & telling me her boss wouldn't be back for another hour...every time. I cracked the shits and took off. I had just enough days left to avoid overstaying much like I did before in Peru. Everything in Bolivian law seemed to come with a price. I wanted to avoid these technicalities if at all possible.

The next day I'd organised a tour into the working Potosi mines. I was expecting a bit of a tourist tout; would miners be lined up for photos with pick-axes like the seven dwarfs, 'slaving' away in predictable unison?? I was shockingly surprised. After kitting out in our mine attire, we jumped into a bus and made for one of the 'miners market' stores. There one could buy a whole array of ridiculous crap. Dynamite was offered out to us in a plastic bag, along with the line detonator & some kind of gun powder looking stuff. Apparently it's all legal to buy this. Anyone can. I wonder now why they were so anal about the dynamite we had back in La Paz. Our group chose to buy coca & water for the miners instead. Apparently they get quite disappointed when all the tourists just want to blow shit up. When we arrived at the mines, a lot of workers were hanging around outside. Most were starting to knock off for the day. If we wanted to run into any we'd have to search them out or ask around. The ceilings of the mines were much lower than I expected; most of the time we had to walk in a kind of squat. All of a sudden our guide shouted out for us to jump off the tracks!! Scooting out from the darkness came this wooden cart filled to the brim with rock; behind pushed these two tiny soot covered men. This was legit business. I was excited.

Mine carts

Soon we found ourselves squeezing through itsy holes, and climbing up and down rickety step ladders. I'm glad I brought my face mask, as the fumes & dust at times were overwhelming. We paid a visit to the miners devil god Tio, who was draped in colourful streamers and had a spent cigarette dangling from his mouth. Our guide lit him up another & we took shots of some kind of 97% alcohol. Tio is more like the devil, as god doesn't watch over the realms of the underground. Miners pray to him for protection against cave-ins, and also to provide them with plentiful minerals. I'd be praying all I could too. Cerro Rico is known as 'the mountain that eats men alive.'  During the colonial times of approximately three centuries, it is estimated that more than eight million indigenous & African people died working in the mines. Most miners these days still only have a life expectancy of around 55 years. The most recent death was only two months ago prior. After a few hours, we eventually ran into a some of the workers. At the bottom of a six meter deep pit, in which we had to abseil down into with no more than a knotted rope, we met Leo. He'd been working in the mines for a good 25 years. He was only in his forties so he claimed, yet appeared much older. I couldn't imagine spending every hour of daylight, practically every day per week, huddled down here, slaving away in this dusty confined, claustrophobic area.

Leo working deep down in the mines

It was a welcoming relief to see the bright sun light at the end of the tunnel on our way out. After leaving the mines, we visited the refinery plant. Huge machines crushed & filtered through all the chunks of raw rock. Apparently all the run off goes directly into a river which feeds the Rio de la Plata, the same one which flows into the Atlantic besides Buenos Aires in Argentina. Later that night in the hostel, a bunch of us decided to watch a documentary called 'The Devil's Miner,' about a 14 year old boy who was working in the mines trying to support his family. It was quite a moving tale, especially since we'd just seen the conditions ourselves first hand. There are supposedly still dozens of young boys working illegally in the mines.

Outside the Cerro Rico Mine

I left Potosi the following day, continuing my rapid spiralling stampede out of Bolivia. The bus was crammed again, and it was bloody hot. The starkness of the terrain began to take over every aspect of the environment. Red towering walls of rock, rose sky high out of the grass-less hills around us. The final stretch descending down into the obscure town of Uyuni proved spectacular. In the distance you could make out the flat saline plains, spreading out into the mirage like distance. GermanGeorg and I took our time exploring the town & finding a cheap place to crash, before searching out a decent tour for the following day. What a strange place. We were in the middle of no where. I kept expecting the tumbleweeds to roll on by & trip me over. That night I treated myself to the slowest Internet I've ever used, and three of the greasiest yet cheapest beef burgers I'm yet to devour.

Uyuni

So thankfully, the oddness of Uyuni pays no resemblance what so ever to the absolute beauty of the surrounding salt flats. I was aw-struck. I have never seen anything so other worldly or mesmerising. With a total of six of us loaded up in our Landcruiser, we took off into the horizon. We visited a train cemetery, resonating the former reason for this small desert towns existence. There were swings, seesaws and all kinds of rusty machinery. I felt like a little kid again, messing around for hours down at Tynwald Park.

Chillen on a train

Then came the real cool shit. We stopped for lunch in the middle of the salt flats. All around us for miles stretched an endless white crust. There was no way you could handle the glare without a pair of shades. Tiny salt mounds piled up in lines formed eerily perfect hexagons. Taking photos was fun...but hard!! I had seen so many hilarious photos from friends that had passed by this way, and I had this perception that it mustn't be to difficult. We'd brought toy dinosaurs, Barbie & a Rubik's cube. Getting Barbie to give me a blow job was near impossible!! We spent an hour or so mucking around after we ate. GermanGeorg thought it'd be a great idea to get a photo jumping off the truck...not so...his heel hit the hard surface in a nasty way and he was practically hobbling for the entire following three days.

Standing on a massive Rubik's cube

The Uyuni salt flats & the surrounding environment turned out to be three days spent witnessing the ultimate whackness of mother nature. The world is a twisted & temperamental place. We bumped into giant cactus, volcanoes, geysers, acidic lakes, flamingos, thermal springs and tangled rock formations. The skies at night were crystal clear. If it hadn't been so damb cold I could have slept under that plethora of stars till day break. The company was also terrific. I think this can make or break a group excursion. Saying goodbye at the border on the third day, is something I'm growing tired of doing. I keep meeting these amazing people, and then they disappear. Most likely I'll never see many of them ever again.

Geysers

But that's the way it goes my friends. Now I'm stuck here in San Pedro de Atacama, trying to get my bank cards to work!! I arrived on the Saturday, smack in the middle of some Chilean long weekend. The camp grounds were packed, and there were people everywhere!! Now it's decision time. I've still gotta figure out what to do and where to go. I think I'll hang out for a few more days & sort out my mind, eat cheap & bask in the harsh desert sun.

Flamingos!!

From Isla de Incahuasi

Backstreets Back!!

Until next time...happy livin'!!!
Nicko. xxxxx

Where O' Where is My Taco Bell?! Valparaíso
20th November, 2012

Massive fail. We've searched the city high and low to no avail. I've come to believe our drunken Google search back in Santiago may have slightly betrayed us. We had had quite the anti-climax of a night...after all, hadn't we?? And I do have a tendency of resolute confusion. There is definitely one in Indiana, now that's for sure. Yet, what was that bullshit our temperamental taxi driver was obviously on about?? Where the fuck is this dambed Taco Bell?! I can't take it no more!! Only two days ago, I lost my blessed burrito virginity. Since then I can't get the godly stain out of my brain. We walked, talked, trained & stalked all our way from the aesthetically pleasing pastures of Valparaiso, to the ghastly mediocre sky rise resort town of Viña del Mar, solely to bathe our taste buds with this more than worthy appetiser. Now I find myself distraught. I'm so terribly confused. MaccyD's, Kentukey, BK & Subber's...they're all here. What is wrong with this country!! A double dose of Dirtyol'Doggi's might just have to do for now. Huh?? No salsa de fuego?? En serio?? WTF?!?

Looking out over Valparaiso

Life for me as a general rule, hasn't always been so desperate. Back home I would never even consider the wrath of franchised fast-food chains, even if I was stumbling on down to Red Chapel Ave after another heavy dose of Friday-Night-Fever. Yet, it seems the weeks of gnawing through stale tuna sandwiches have taken their toll. Leaving Cafayate was a disaster. After successfully hitching from Cachi earlier, I thought I'd have little trouble picking up a ride from a much more populated town. The plan was to make for Tafi del Valle, another small village where I could possibly camp to stretch the funds & continue 'the great detox.' As it turned out, it simply wasn't meant to be. I waited on the side of that highway for a good three hours. I even resorted to making up a cardboard sign, with the hope it may entice some spontaneous car-pooling, from people off holidaying in that certain direction. I received many waves from locals in pick-ups signalling "I'm only heading down the road a little..." - yet still more commonly, mostly only flags from grumpy old, disdain faced codgers which fashioned in my mind as "I payed for this car. I payed for this petrol. Get a job you dirty twat!" At least they pretended to want to pick me up. No actually in hindsight, giving me the finger would have been preferable.

My first ever Taco Bell!!

So for now, I was stuck in Cafayate. Should I try again tomorrow?? No way - bugger that. I had to get out of here, pronto. As I've found out the hard way, Argentinian transport is expensive!! But if I wanted out today, realistically I had no other choice. I reluctantly handed over the cash for Tafi, and in due time, bailed. The craic of that trip was a young breast-feeding mother sitting in the seat next to me, who kept on wanting to chat. In limited Español I spluttered out my best, but soon it just got awkward, and I'm pretty sure she had it in her head after a while that I was dubiously trying to sneak a peek at her tits. Over the course of the next few days, I made a quick succession of bus journeys that led me from Cafayate to Tafi, then onwards to Tucuman; before finally biting the bullet and taking the long haul south all the way to Mendoza. Individually they were all fine enough places, but none of them truly stands out above anywhere else I've already been. In Tafi it was raining for the most part, and the only real memory I have is standing under a wobbly gazebo, as I munched through a bunch of steaming hot empanadas. Tucuman had a bit of life about it; but there was little in little time to actually do. I got drunk & terribly stoned with a mob of binging Argentinians, who were celebrating the upcoming marriage of one of their entourage. I myself received a drunken invite during all the developing ruckus - yet as the groom made promptly clear; I'd be in no way not required to go out and find some slightly more respectable, freshly pressed attire. Agreed??...well, of course. He told me he'd be back the following evening for more diabolicals. I didn't intend to stick around. After some afternoon ping-pong, I had already wandered off & cleared out.

By the time the sun had poked its brow back over the plains, I had already made it to Mendoza. I welcomed in the new day with a crummy breakfast consisting of strawberry yogurt, bread & apricots. By this point I already felt I had seen the city. With a flat spread, low buildings & wide streets, Mendoza is nice - but that is about it. There was many an urban park, and dozens of local wines; neither which I could fully appreciate with such a limited attention span & minimal comprehension. I checked into a hostel, and fell asleep. When I woke, Goldilocks had himself perched at a dining room table, punching away at his laptop. About time. I was sick of the lonely road. We'd always planned to meet back up at some stage to venture south into Patagonia; and as it was, that time had finally come. I hadn't seen him since La Paz, so we spent a good part of the night catching up on all kinds of shenanigans. He had some pretty rad stories to tell, I must say. The mother of them all was an account of his final showdown in Buenos Aires; where all in one great drunken mess, he managed to get held up at knife point...as he punched flat one of his assailants...all before hitching a ride on (before leaping off) the back of a garbage truck...and in doing so, ended up scraping a large chunk of flesh from his elbow...then it seemed he decided to jump a fence or two to find his way home??...only then at least until he was nearly arrested by a cop (for god only knows what)...and decided it was a better option to do the dash & piss bolt. I loved it. He'd more than earned all this attention he was now  receiving as a result of that gouged arm.

We decided to give it one more day in Mendoza before heading back across the Chilean border. We'd be catching the bus that night, saving us time and all that all too precious cash. After an immense & wholesome breakfast, we were chanced into an unlikely acquaintance with a jabbering Canadian biker. He'd rode down from somewhere (Lima I think??), and he too was on his way south over the next couple of days. The only hold up was his mate, who had accidentally left Chile previously without an exit stamp, and was in the process of sussing out a way to sneak back across the border as if he'd never even left. Actually, these guys were full of tall tales. The kind of hilarious banter that makes these arduous adventures worthwhile. I'm pretty sure their paper work is dodgy business; so running into police checks can turn into a bit of a slog. Over time they'd come up with ways to bypass the bullshit. "Just act as dumb & clueless as you can possibly seem, without coming across as vile or disrespectful...that is the key to a successful riding experience." They couldn't be serious surely?? He kept reeling off story after story. We were in stitches. "One time Russ was being sussed out by an officer, so he walked into a nearby McDonald's & brought himself a soft-serve ice cream cone. He just stood there without expression licking that ice cream. After a while the copper just grunted with exhaustion, and simply let him go. 'Shit, just let 'em off. This idiot's gonna die soon anyway'..."

That night The Old Smuggler sure went down a treat. I was well buzzed by the time we got to the bus station. I wouldn't shut up for the life of me, and gladly continued to stir up a couple of Chilean girls sitting across from us until I ate through my packet of Doritos & passed out. I've never slept so sound on a bus before. If only we hadn't the need for passport control. That only got me a bit irritated and ever so twitchy. All this late night crap took forever!! I couldn't understand why. We stood in cues for hours, as more than enough additional viable workers stood around doing sweet fuck all. It was impossible to nod-off again once back on the bus. I lay uncomfortably sideways in my chair, staring out at the silhouettes of bulky snow-capped mountains, illuminated softly by the early morning moon light. Aconcagua was there somewhere, hidden behind a myriad of other minor fortifying peaks. The beauty of the natural world however soon disappeared, giving way to towering structures of man & metal. The lights of Santiago stretched as far as the eye could imagine. I was both excited & slightly daunted. This was the biggest city I'd been in for quite some time. I wasn't too sure what it held in store for us.

My doubts were soon put to rest on a quick first inspection of the basic get-up of the city as a whole. The streets were generally clean, the subway super efficient, and the local people remarkably hospitable. What were all those pessimistic Argentinians on about?? After my first morning stint at Dirtyol'Doggi's, we caught the Metro to our hostel in Bella Vista. Somehow, I'd managed to conjure up a pre-arranged yet entirely coincidental rendezvous with a friend from back home; my first in nine months since saying farewell to BigDawg all that time ago in Mexico. All of a sudden I was transported back to the happenings & repetitiveness of my so beloved Hobart Town. It was a utterly strange & mind-munting experience. On one hand it was excellent & relieving to have someone to converse with on all the familiarities of home; yet on the other, I couldn't think of what to say myself - and all at once it vastly hit how much I've changed in this short space of time. How could I go back to that life?? I'm not so sure I'm meant to. I put all this philosophising nonsense aside for the while, and enjoyed my days in Santiago with Goldilocks, BlackTom, & the rest of our newly acquired crew.

MJ is ALIVE & walking the streets of Santiago

That night was a bit of a bit of a rager. The weekend had yet again arrived, or so it seemed. The end of the working week. Time to flog off a bag full of empanadas from a sweet ol' lady & let the hair down at a Chilean screamo metal gig?? Goldilocks woke me up with his rampaging afternoon wave of buzzed up destruction, and it didn't take me long to catch up. We sussed out a few of the bars down the street, but nothing seemed to be really happening. It was back to the hostel for a little more spice. This dank & ditsy sprouter, who was working behind reception, told us about some gig she was keen to check out not too far from here. It seemed all right to us. I hadn't been to a live show for a long time. All gassed up, we hit the road & made for happy days. The place was decked out like the Brisbane Hotel. In the state I was you could have told me I was. The locals were super friendly, and did their best to impress us with some pretty nasty English. I kept asking them to swap back over to Spanish; I was understanding that better!! One guy just would leave us & the two chicks with us alone for a moment to breathe. "Tu chook his dick??" He was asking one of the girls while pointing towards me. "Yo guys ar da shittt!!" I had no idea at this point what he was trying to get at...I could only think up the Canadian BikerBoy's most idiotic acquired response - "No fumar Español!!" 

After a bit of a mosh, and a tad of face-rape on behalf of SweetSeventeen, we made for food and bed. My diet at this point was becoming atrocious; and there is only worse to come. We stopped into the empanada house, which is open all night, and ordered each our own batch of goodies. Someone screwed up somewhere, cause Goldilocks ended up with nada. I quickly mauled my way through three of the things, and we were all about to leave, when there was some confusion behind the counter. There was either another NicholAss hiding somewhere, or he'd forgot to come back for his late night tucker. Either way, I'm not sure; but this proved a vital opportunity to score more much needed nutrients. "Si. I'm NicholAss...gracias." - I grabbed the bag & walked out. Once round the first corner I ran. Woohoooo!!! We'd scored a jackpot!! And what was better - I hadn't got caught...or so I thought.

Hangovers suck. Especially when you wake up on a couch when you had paid for a bed. To top it off, we'd missed breakfast. Shit!! Now what?? There was only one thing to do; Taco Bell!! With a more than hefty posse, we left the hostel that afternoon - demolished some beautiful burritos, payed a visit to a famous beverage bar, and searched the entire town for a titty cafe. For some reason it seemed more appealing being served cappuccino's by topless waitresses than it did if she was dishing out tequila sunrises. Innocence. Sadly, we never found any of these notorious hideaways; however during our search we did stumble upon a few dodgy establishments. We had some beers in a biker bar which was busy blasting Slayer & Iron Maiden clips, before being ushered into a seedy joint known as 'The Tap Room.' There was some weird shit going on down there. We left when some guy told us to "get out...this is dangerous place for you." I took his word for it. Mum wouldn't be too happy if I got stabbed in some midday strip joint.

The crew sipping hangover 'Earthquakes'

We were out again later on that night. It wasn't as good as previous, but it had to be done all the same. This would be it for a good while, and I wouldn't be hanging out with BlackTom again any time soon. As seems to be the way (like at the 'Bakehouse' back home), a night out on the town tends to culminate with a hearty pastry-rich feast. We were back at the empanada shop. Aloft with drunken confidence & a misconcepted ideology, I approached the counter like nothing had ever happened the previous evening. "Buenas noches, NicholAss!!" Woahhh...she knew my fucking name!! This wasn't good. I retreated. Actually, I ran out of the shop & back into the street. There would be no snack for me.

Now where Santiago was a bit of drunken fun in an otherwise unflattering city; Valparaiso, two hours away towards the Pacific ocean, is bursting at it's seams with colour, youthfulness, & artistic flair. I hadn't heard so much about the place in all honesty; it was more a fact of somewhere to head for something to do. I'd now say you have to go to Valparaiso. It could be one of the coolest cities in all of Latin America. The only downside...there is no Taco Bell. Goldilocks, SwissTom & I left on the bus the day after my empanada misunderstanding. Unfortunately, we were also pursued by SweetSeventeen in all her teen-minded glory. Now to be fair, up till this point I hadn't actually minded the girl. She was nice enough & seemed easy going. By the time we finally got rid of her I was ready to explode. We spent the better part of two days wandering the labyrinth of streets & alley ways. It was magical. Pastel colours exploded off the walls, while bizarre and whacky graffiti concoctions danced across these templates with vibrant character. We got lost on purpose. It was the best way to see it all. Up & down, around & round. Sometimes a path would come to an abrupt & sudden end - while some other trails weaved & winded in such a way it seemed they had no end. Exhausted from all the walking, our final stop was out front of an old palace which afforded panoramic views of the entire bay. There you could watch the military war ships coming into port, and also see container ships being loaded up with metal crates before their onward journeys. We even saw the hottest woman in the world, hand in hand with the most unlikely of (lucky) suitors. He must have been loaded. That was the ONLY explanation. I nearly blew my load when she got back into the car, was driving off & gave Goldilocks & I the most 'I know I'm fucking sexy, I know you were both checking me out, and you know that I know I'm only banging this dude cause he's got bucket loads of money' kind of a smile I've ever seen. Holy shit, I love this city.

Street art in Valparaiso

We finally got rid of the sprouter, mere seconds before I punched her in the face. I forgot how young, young people can act. I'd been nice to her to the best of my abilities (I let her come with us, let her stay with us, & even lean't her my fucking camera so she could take photos). Then what did the muthafocker go and do?!! Snatches up my cap & runs on out the door. Down the street. Round the corner. She was gone. Bitch!!! What a little thief!! I'd been ignoring her bragging claims at stealing a bunch of shit over her minute uninspiring life earlier on, and now she'd got one over me & ran off with one of the only remains of my Cusco clothing closet. All I could do was scream on out to hear as she wobbled off down the street, "You fucking bitch!! The worst review you can imagine is coming your way on hostel world!!" I forgot to realise I don't actually have an account. If I can make one, it's gonna happen. That little sucker will get hers. For now, I've gotta buy another fucking hat!! More meaningless money, miraculously disappearing on down the drain. Yay...

Dancers in the Plaza

So I guess that kind of concludes this itsy segment of mine; I hadn't actually realised how much business had gone down in the past week or more. It sure is hard work out here, that is for sure. Oh boy, oh boy - now what?? SOUTH-bound. That's the only way to go. Patagonia is all that's on the current radar. So maybe now this 'detox' can finally begin?? Though if I get hungry out there, I really do hope there is a tasty tasting Taco Bell. Please.

Another graffed up street

Seeya'll again soon at the end(ish) of the world!!

Yet again, it has been a please-ure...
Much snozzin' 
The empanada haggler
NicholAss.

...and just you remember now: Pug = Seal.

Jewel in the Crown, Torres del Paine N.P
30th December, 2012


My fatigued feet are finally free. The boots are in the bin. My hiking days (at least for the time being) are now well and truly done & dusted. What a run it's been. Over the past five weeks, me and my boisterous buddy's have hiked close to some 350 kilometres; visiting five different National Parks, and eventually spending 17 nights out of that elapsed time span sleeping in a tent with no mattress. O' goodie, such a hoot...I couldn't have really asked for more. The weather was grand, the company was gold, and Patagonia was sprung with its pants down around its ankles, showing off like a high school boy with a boner. There had only been one remaining mark left on our map, yet for us to colour in. The prophesied 'jewel in the crown' of this extensive South American mountain range; the pride of The Patagonian Andes. I was glad that at last we were ultimately to become acquainted. Borders were crossed; buses were booked. Supermarkets even sold two-minute noodles!! The stage was set for one final hurrah...so what more is there to say my fellow amigoes?? Nada. ¿¿Vamos?? ¡¡Vamanos!!

Christmas day in Torres del Paine N.P

The bus from El Calafate in Argentina to Puerto Natales across the frontera in Chile, couldn't have been more torturous. The night before we'd indulged ourselves in a traditional Argentine asado, one of the few fine additions to the predominately vulgar broth. Meats of all kind were grilled on top of an open fire, semi-enclosed I guess into the walls of the kitchen. It was practically all you can eat. The tables were loaded with bowls of various salads & jugs of cheap boxed wine. How could we refuse?? Of course we did no such thing; instead drank ourselves silly while an odd bunch of (typically dead-shit) Australian chicks insisted on driving us silly. Poor ol' DCTalk continued to rack up verbal gun-law banter as a direct response of the recent school shooting. Like he's got any say in the matter?!! I guess he didn't do himself any favours when he decided to throw in an 'Abo' for good measure. The dreaded Patagonia balls were getting the better of me by this point; I've got a feeling I would've jumped any of them if they were to give me even the slightest hint of a wink. What was happening to me?? They were all so awful!! True, it could've been worse. I could have been that sorry soul they were stuck travelling with. Even they had a good laugh about that. Then I kind of felt a little nasty. Just a little...

Three cheers were wailed as we crossed back into Chile. I was saved from the wrath of siesta, and the woeful scent of the maté. Maybe Chile could invade?? Everyone it seems would appear much happier. Some smelly hippie called John, met us at the bus terminal on his pushbike, offering us an on-the-cheap-side of a deal for the night at his rustic old, slightly run down hostel (which no one ever seemed to occupy). When someone was home, they tended to sit in front of the television and play continuous FIFA. We filled in time with the usual necessities; bank, supplies, dinner. It had all become quite the routine by then. It felt slightly stranger to be off the trail than on. We were to be off the next day.

I must say, all didn't begin so well. We forked out the most cash we had up until then on park entrance fees, and the weather was a sombre hit & miss OK at best; but that wasn't the blight of out initial misfortunes. To begin with we missed our intended track within the first few minutes. Leaving the Laguna Amarga office, we followed the road until we reached a foot track 'short-cut' off to the left. There was a sign that said 'Torres del Paine,' why wouldn't we have taken it?? In doing so we ended up adding on an extra hour or so of road walking, through (if it hadn't of been for the distant mountains) an otherwise bleak environment. As we got closer, the views did get better. Only then my camera decided to shit itself. I was in panic mode. Day 1 of a 7 day hike in one of the most spectacular areas of the world without a decent camera...I did have a back-up, but it wasn't worth pulling the trigger. I stooped by the side of the road while my mates wandered off in a hurry ahead, bashing & bending the lens (something that in hindsight probably did more harm than good). By the time it cranked back into action, the views of the towers were long gone. I was pretty pissed when I shouldn't have been. Everything would work out fine. I just had to keep telling myself that. Stop acting like a child.

A lucky shot from the road

Now I had to catch up with the guys. When I want to, I can move pretty darn fast on foot I must say; it's rare to find someone who can keep up over a great distance, so I powered on in this aggressive state as a means to make up lost time. I couldn't see them for a while, and that made my mind wander. Then I got even madder. I don't really know why. Eventually I spotted DCTalk cruising up the hill, and jogged up to meet him. That calmed me a little; at least until we reached a flock of lingering horses. I'm not the biggest fan of the things; "dangerous at both ends, and crafty in the middle." I'd rather face off with a bull. Dodging their back range, we scooted past, and there I could see Goldilocks up ahead crossing a small creek. A series of wooden boards fed the flowing water down the slopes, and I didn't even think twice about charging across them. Amateurs mistake. Sswwhhoooff!! SLAM!! My feet were washed from under me. Hard to the ground I went - horizontal in the air at first, and now drenched completely on one side thanks to the freezing water. What an idiot!! Aggression gets you no where. When would I learn?? Luckily from here, things got better. The 4WD track we'd been following for the better part of the day, soon transformed into a pleasant foot track, passing through endless fields of daisies. The mountains weren't all that visible, but they provided an atmospheric backdrop. Not far from camp, we intersected with a great raging river, similar aesthetically to those throughout the south island of New Zealand. We followed it for the rest of the day, until we pitched our tents in a paddock plagued by mosquitoes beside Refúgio Serón. It was pretty late by then, and I was pretty hungry. During dinner we were 'entertained' by some young chap from Seattle, who asked as many questions as an out of contexted, overexcited parent.

We slept in the next morning, resulting in us becoming stuck on the trail with an AllAmericanExMarine. "Hey, hey...I think I'm gonna go work in Australia for a while. Teach your boys how to shoot!! Better work on my American accent I guess then for the ladies..." Was this guy serious?? He couldn't get more American if he tried!! I recalled some tale of chicks in Hobart going wild over docked US Navy boys..."I don't think you're gonna have to worry much about that matey. Your accents quite on the money." The day as a whole was a bit of a slog fest for me; I wasn't feeling the best as my leg was playing up for the worst in a long while, and I guess the heavy pack was making things harder. Maybe I was getting old...?? Not the same unbreakable hiking machine I used to be. This made me sad. But I think that this was a whole lot'a lies in retrospect. I was done for the day once we'd reached Campamento Dixon, situated picturesquely on a small peninsular of the glacier fed lake. I washed my socks down at the pebbly beach, then tried in vain to hide from CaptainAmerica in the small refúgio. Before too long he was pissed on wine & out-doing any of our stories with some incontestable bullshit. He was a bit of a laugh, but too much for me. I was kind of glad when they kicked us all out of the hut to make room for the rich paying patrons, so I could retreat to the peace & quiet of my tent. A hella'valotta klicks to cover tomorrow lads.

Lago Dixon

This was our intended 'rest' day so to speak. A short four hours between Dixon & Perros; a prelude to the much anticipated venture over the high pass. I was feeling much better today. Fresh & well rested, with slightly less food mass to carry. By the time we reached Campamento Perros it was clear that we were intending to push further on for the day. The weather was sublime. It would be a waste to hang around. After a brief stop by a small glacier lagoon, and a quick inspection of the camp, we took off up the hill to conquor the supposed worst of the entire trail. Well when I say 'we,' I seriously thought it was 'we.' It took me a while for my memory lapse to evaporate. Generally speaking, DCTalk walks a little slower than Goldilocks & I, so to counter this he sometimes starts ahead of us as we'll most likely cash up at some point. At the camp, this is what he did once again, however this time was a bit different. After an hour or so I still hadn't caught him, and I was fair flying up the hill. There were also some patches of awkward mud & snow which I felt would have slowed him even further, and in which there were no fresh upward moving foot prints. Once I'd reached the clearing my memory had snapped back into action. I recalled him taking off under the sign in the completely wrong direction, following the path by the river unaware of his mistake. I had paid it no attention previously. Now we were in a bit of a sticky situation. I waited for Goldilocks to catch up, and informed him what I believed to have happened. We watched & waited on the snowy slopes for big stretches of time, hoping he'd just pop out and we could venture on. We'd come too far to turn back at this point, so we devised a plan to radio in at the next camp to make sure he was OK. We made assumptions of what had happened, and guessed he'd just chose to stay at Perros for the night. There was little else we felt we could do. I just prayed he wasn't stuck out somewhere alone & injured, waiting to be devoured that night by the pumas.

Climbing up to the pass

So over the pass we went. The Grey Glacier was quite the sight to behold. It was something else entirely from looking out at Perito Moreno, I guess simply because we were now gazing on from above. All the intricacies could be observed like patterns in the ice. In the middle it almost created a likeliness to a slow flowing river. I could have sat in the sun up there for hours. Well actually, we kind of did. Goldilocks & I still kind of hung onto the idea that DCTalk might pop over the ridge, so we perched up in the late afternoon, mesmerised as the sun gradually set over the glistening blue/white valley. We trudged into camp fairly late, and picked up the final remaining flat sites. We all had a little bitch about the supplied map, before curling up into bed (cold, tree-rooted ground).

Looking down over Grey Glacier

That next day was the Chilean day of Christmas!! Yea yea!! We got treated & surprised with some left over sausage discarded by these two Israeli guys we knew. Score!! Into the breakfast noodles they went. Some welcome & much needed protein. We'd slept in as long as we could, and slowly packed up our gear. We thought DCTalk might have got up early & mished over the pass to meet us if all was well. When we got to the camp the night before, we discovered much to our amusement that Perros (the last camp before the pass) doesn't have a radio. A little dodgy in my opinion with the sheer number of less experienced hiking tourists who pass over this exposed route. Anyway, just before we were set to leave for the day, the man himself stumbles in!! Yiieaaa!!! Stoked. "Man, I was like walking down the pass and these rangers were lookin' for me callin' out my name!!?" The posse was back together, and today was another corker!! The scenery was spectacular; hugging the edge of the glacier visible through the wooded forests & the odd opening. It wasn't long until we reached the next camp, a fairly tranquil spot, not far from a rocky outcrop that juts out into Lago Grey with uninterrupted views of the nearby glacier and all its shedded icebergs. These bob around the lake like enormous frosty corks. I took a book down by the water and sat in the sun for the rest of the afternoon. It had been a lazy day, full of slow paced admiration at the wonders of the natural world.

Floating chunks of ice

Later on that night as the sun began to dim (since in practise, this far south it takes an eon to fully set), we snuck into the 'refúgio' for a glimpse of all the chandeliers & shenanigans. I was gobsmacked!! We'd hardly seen anyone for the past four days; sleeping in tents, going without showers, surviving off tomato paste & pasta - and now I'd found myself face to face with an elaborate & elegant buffet dinner...in the middle of the trek...in the middle of the park. I almost felt like I didn't belong. Where had I left that collared shirt of mine?? I was definitely under dressed. Shit, I'm under dressed at the best of times!! It was one of the oddest things I'd ever seen. It just didn't fit. Escaping the mayhem, I crept back outside. I wouldn't have been surprised to walk out onto the restaurant strip along Elizabeth Street; however there were the mountains still towering skywards above me. We drank wine & talked crap to these two French chicks who wouldn't have that their prized clothing brand 'Quechua', may just in fact be named after those indigenous mountain folk of Peru.

I slept great that night. Cheers for the knockout vino. DCTalk must have been a bit more on the wobbly side. He woke up at some point in the early morning freezing his balls off, since he'd forgot to make it into his sleeping bag. Today was our Christmas!! A double whammy!! We had a lot of ground to cover; still of course we dozed until the early afternoon. The first part of the trail was a bit of a disappointment. Last December, some Israeli guy decided to burn his toilet paper like they do in the army, and as a result set fire to a significant chunk of the park. The aftermath was devastating. The entire area is fucked. Where there should have been track through scrubby beech forest, black & broken trees littered the landscape. At times it was kind of creepy, like something from a horror movie. I tried my best to put my imagination into work overload; attempted to picture what this place must have looked like. Despite the carnage, it was still beautiful. I just hope the dick that did this keeps a curse on his conscience. Don't light fires. Don't ruin nature. Please.

Destruction caused by a bushfire

After a few hours we reached the magnificently turquoise coloured Lago Pehoé, where we'd planned a short side-trip. The effects of fire continued around the lakes shore, but were countered by the increadible views across to the major mountains of the park. We posed for a few Christmas snaps for friends & family, before returning the way we came. I felt like jumping in a couple of times. The lake water looked unreal. The day was getting on by this point, and we still had a lot still to do. I hate pushing & rushing. It never places you in the best mind frame. By the time we'd reached Campamento Italia, we were wrecked. The day had turned out bigger than we'd expected. We all contemplated skipping the Valle del Frances section as a result; disappointing, but it was simply turning out that way. After a bit of a choco hit along with some soup, I felt at least that I should wander somewhat up the valley to explore. DCTalk came along for a few minutes before heading back. I didn't appear to be too far from joining him. Then I ran into a few groups coming back down the track to camp. They all boasted on how worth while their day had been, and insisted on me making the journey. Something in me snapped, and I went ol' berserk style. I hadn't run for a good eight months, but I guess now seemed appropriate. Soon I was gunning up the hill!! I'd forgot how much I enjoyed it. I passed a few more groups of walkers and they all looked at me a little oddly. At the first mirador, there was a mighty CRACK!! and avalanches began tumbling down from the adjacent mountain. There I was trail running beside this shit, in Torres del Paine National Park, on Christmas day, of easily the best year in my life. I couldn't have been happier!! I reached the top lookout with plenty of daylight to spare. I'd be up & back in less time than it was meant to take one way. I bellowed out to the wilds. I had it all to myself. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Sunset from the 'Valle del Frances'

Now all we had left to tackle were the towers themselves. This was to be another big day of distance, but would also be the last of its kind. After some hours hugging the shores of another giant lake, we reached the shortcut to our next camp which took off steeply up the hill. I was in power mode again, and smashed that sweaty section in no time. We were about to intersect with one of the most popular tracks in the park, and I could see a bunch of horses making their way towards me. I made sure I broke out in front. I wasn't having a replay of the Huayhuash fiasco. The final section was short but tedious. I'd had enough walking for a good while, and was ready to finally call it a day. We set up camp for the last time, before climbing up to the 'Towers of Paine' themselves. It was a little more cloudy than I would have liked, but who could complain?? Torres was done!! Patagonia could be well and truly ticked off!! Heck, the entire Andes it felt had been conquered!! I could rest easy that night. Snug in the reassurance that I was awesome.

The 'Torres del Paine'

Once out the following day we celebrated with a mob of cool Americans who apparently I'd met in Bariloche?? This happens all the time. I'd better start paying more attention. Either that or I get myself a haircut so people don't so easily remember me. I bought fanta, beer & a whole carton of out of date strawberry milk; a deadly cocktail when we still had 7 kilometres left to walk along the dusty road. It was a relief to be done. Somehow my boots managed to survive. By the time they got binned, the soles were practically peeling off. It was time to return to reality; in a way a kind of depressing observation. The 'end of the world' was all that remained, before clicking my heels together & heading north for the first time in ten and a half months. We'll be saving that for the next chapter...and another year. Happy Holidays!!

As far south as I'll be going!!

Enjoy the holidays everyone!! I'm sure you've all earned them (unlike some)!!
Thanks to all the people who've made 2012 so incredible!!
Easily the best time of my life!! All the best in the coming year!!

Much ever lasting love, Nicko. xxx