Jewel in the Crown, Torres del Paine N.P

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

The Violence of a Silent Siesta, El Calafate

The wrath of a healthy economy. The silent ebbing plague on a tiny tourist town. It's a shame when such ridiculous social customs hinder the spectacle of an otherwise beautiful country. For the most part (from my experience anyway & bar a mere handful of cheerful characters), Argentinians are a bunch of pricks. They're forever slow to say 'hello,' they charge you an exuberant amount for practically every basic amenity, and each afternoon they choose to sit around in exclusive mobs, sipping on soggy maté when they could easily be making a mint in the office. Lazy buggers. I cannot express my hatred & frustration, towards such an innocent sounding siesta profoundly enough. It simply makes no sense!! Take a quick look around this otherwise sound world of ours. Spain, Italy, Portugal, Greece...all fine examples of one mighty big parallelled fuck up. At least a good dozen times over the course of this past week, have I called upon a business, ready & willing to spend a backpackers fortune on a multitude of (not normally so hard to come by) essentials. Bakeries, restaurants, gear rental shops, 'convenience' stores. They all shut!! I mean fair enough in some dusty desert dive, where it's too hot in the midday sun to realistically function; but we're in Patagonia for fuck sake!! For one, outside it's freezing...secondly, these towns can't be exactly rolling in it. They only prosper fully for a climatic four to five months or so during the peak of the tourist season. You'd expect their doors to be permanently jarred open & donning Vegas-styled fluorescent 'open for some major money-making' billboards out front. But no. Common sense never hopped aboard the boat to reach this muddled up mess. If I could only flush my toilet paper, maybe I could be slightly more accommodating. "Dulce de leche?! A ludicrous import tax?? Artesanal jewellery making misfits??" Seriously...WTF?? Why does there have to be so many Argentines here in Argentina?? Lucky for them, their crappy persona's are dwindled by their fortunate natural wonders...and this is where I now chime in, with my usual accordance. A slice of pie on a plate of dog shit. This is the Argentina I'd like to remember. I just somehow hope the vast majority can somehow redeem itself. Good luck to ya'll...

Blissful hiking in Patagonia

Now where did we leave off last?? I'm guessing back up in Bariloche. The land of uncompromising unpredictable weather, who popped us out off the mountains just at the right hour. It was time for beers. Lots of beers. That is one of the best things about smashing out weeks on end of trekking; you can practically eat and drink what ever you like on return. We'd managed to pick up an extra tag along during our three days up in the hills. The first time I met this comical German being now know as PhilipOkles, he was having a little trouble setting up his mangled tent in the horizontal snow. Out of pity I helped the lad, but warned him to keep this thing down with a bunch of rocks. A few hours later I poked my head out of my tent only to see it hanging off the edge of a cliff. What an idiot. Lucky for him it held. Just. It wasn't even his tent!! He'd borrowed a bunch of horrible gear, and came directly from the airport straight to the trail head. One thing I did thank him for was the wad ofParaguayan he'd taped to the underside of his balls as a means to sneak it through the flight. A few quick totes of that stuff would nod you right off to sleep. When we'd finished the trek, of course he didn't have a bus ticket back to town. We sung out the name of our hostel (which he assumed was just the street number) out the bus window as we departed, and I imagined we'd never see him again. We couldn't have been so lucky. Soon that quirky Alemanian face of his pops up in reception & the good times began. We bused to El Bolson (which literally translates as 'the big bag'), where we treated our weary selves to jug after jug of brewery standard cerveza, and round after round of Yarniv (the first, and only multi-player card game I know). Goldilocks & I laughed ourselves to sleep later that night, as DCTalk & PhilipOkles bitched over American politics.

Sorry mum, I've taken up gambling

The following day was practically the same. We slept, got drunk & flirted with our sexy Argentinehostess. Even though she worked side by side with her boyfriend, I think we all somehow believed/dreamt we could break those social barriers & jump her pants. Their dog was pretty cool to. He must have been about 12 years old & dead blind and/or near dead. That night, buzzed up well again after another brewery binge, I got singing some songs. The poor old thing was either trying to join in, or was squirming with disgust & distaste. I in all drunken honesty couldn't take my eyes off this Spanish chick, to who I now found myself attempting in a cloud of disillusionment to serenade. She kind of looked like one of aunties. Would it be wrong if I found her extremely attractive?? Must be a Tasmanian thing...

We were planning on scooting off the next day, however we decided to hang around. Some time during the course of that wasted night, Goldilocks & I must have come to this conclusion. DCTalkwas heading off on some hike all by himself so we assumed he might enjoy some company. He didn't exactly have a choice. It was the first time in a long while where I haven't had the slightest idea of where we were going. It was a little strange. Normally I figure out the route, the days & all the goodies in some slightly obsessive compulsion. It was a nice change; and a huge surprise. The weather was sublime!! Three days of relentless sunshine. We couldn't have asked for better. The first day we climbed up from the unrealistically clear blue waters of the Rio Azul, to the nice hut & forest setting campsites below Cerro Hielo Azul. We couldn't believe how empty the place was. These kind of areas would be packed out in the summer time back home. We chatted with Pedro, the hut warden (who makes his own beer), and sat about in the sun until it set & got ridiculously cold.

From camp below Cerro Hielo Azul

In the morning, we'd decided to climb up and pay a visit to the glacier coming down the mountain; terminating in a frozen cirque lake. The walk was spectacular. Waterfalls cascaded over the surrounding cliffs in every direction. The snow cover was more than I'd expected, and proved a fun filled obstacle as always. The sun shone brightly on top of the lake, allowing the waters to show off their glistening deep blue colour & icy secrets. After some sketchy scrambling & a final slog up the slopes, we reached the summit of Cerro Barda Negra; affording us an uninterrupted panorama of the southern Andes. We could make out Mt Tronador near Bariloche, and numerous other peaks of Chilefar stretching in the distance. I nearly fell off the mountain on the way back down, and we kind of had to slide down a snow covered glacier, but that's besides the point. No good story ever came from sittin' on your lazy ass. We lumbered back to camp, packed up our gear, told Pedro where we'd been (funnily enough he freaked!!) & powered across to our second nights camp. On the way we stumbled upon the most perfect swimming hole (if the waters hadn't been glacier melt), where it was possible to bomb four to five meters into the most crystal clear agua I'm ever likely to see. I had to give it a shot. It was a quickie. That water was FREEZING!! No sooner than I climbed out, had the sun set behind the peaks that we'd sat pondering out across earlier. It was a worthy finale to one of the best days of trekking I've ever had. We swore (if the weather held up that was) we'd be back again the following day. All hail the all mighty life giving sun!!

The Andes!! From atop Barda Negra

In the end, the weather did hold up. Choice. Off to the river we go!! What a spot!! It wasn't long before we were diving, leaping & miniaturing ourselves into the ice cold water. The setting made it. The deepest of the pools must have been at least 6 meters deep. Rapids bordered either end. We had it all to ourselves today. Life was happening. We spent about two solid hours basking in the sun between brave bounces, eventually giving into the coming cloud & retreating back to town. By the time we reached the taxi point I was craving the last of my chocolate bars proper good. DCTalk, has made me a little paranoid. Apparently I "crush chow." I guess I do eat a lot. My choco block however, was not ready to become devoured just yet...the sun had cooked him into the shapeless likeliness of milk. I had to hold it flapping under the surface of an itsy stream until it solidified. That wasn't the end of it. Once back in El Bolson, we crushed more chow courtesy of the Churipan Man. God bless him. BBQ never tasted so good.

Diving into glacier melt rios

After a little mix-up with the bus company, we got out of that place just in the nick of time. It was pissing down on the day we left; not the best when you leave the hostel in search of farewell beers & find yourself locked outside the brewery with no where else to hide. I was so fucking pissed. A little bit of Ol' dreaded EvilNick reappeared. It had been a while between re-encounters. These places can simply not run a business. Hand them a manual, and they'll smoke the fucker. I give up. We slagged into another joint defeated; then dripped dry in the bus station munging down on pre-made PhilipOkle inspired sandwiches while the owner stared on in disgust at my bare bruised feet. That bus trip was a nightmare. 25 hours stuck on a shitty bus. They only fed us twice in that time frame, and only got around to showing us one meagre movie. At one point a German girl friendlily enquired whether there would be any more food provided as she was a vegetarian...the attendant rudely & abruptly replied "NO!" That was all she got. They had us roasting in the bus while they took a fucking maté break. At this point my feet had started to swell up like my nans used to. I asked Goldilocks if they looked funny. He said they looked fat. I was scared they might drop off. I found myself truly ecstatic when we finally began pulling into the tiny town of El Chalten; Mt FitzRoy & his surrounding satellites dominated the skyline. This is what you come here for. The rest is trash-talk.

Sunlight on Mt FitzRoy

Thankfully I was inconceivably tired. The bus had wrecked me. I passed out well good, while Goldilocks suffered a dose of Israeli hospitality. The lights stayed on for most of the night. They sat up chatting loudly well past three o'clock. Then they turned the flickers back on for a morning pack-up; early early. I've acquired a lot of incredible Israeli mates over the course of my travels, but you've gotta wonder about the bulk majority. Them or the Argentines?? I can't make up my mind. The rest of that day was spent watching rom-coms & preparing for the upcoming days of trekking. There's not much top notch grub in El Chalten in all honesty. Buy your bits & pieces in Bariloche or El Calafate if you're coming down this way. I enjoyed a good bed one last time before my return to the bumpy soil. It was bliss.

Then it was back on the trail. Back where I belong. No more temperamental spats of unease aimed at the modern world; this is where I find myself comfortable & happy. Our first day however sure had its ups and downs. The weather was all over the place. Actually, it kind of resembled that of back home. Four seasons in one day. We're kind of far flung down here at 50 degrees south. Anything could happen...and that it did. Arriving at Laguna Torre early in the afternoon saw us hemmed in by close cloud. This wasn't on the postcards from memory. We wandered around the rim of the lake, and I spent a great deal of time perching my ass up on a rocky outcrop above our campsite. Huge chucks of ice had broken off the glacier in the distance & had made their way towards the foreground shore. One time a slice broke off & the iceberg span and splattered about in front of us. It was pretty cool, but I was teeming to spot that phat chunk of rock; the one I came here to see - Cerro Torre; a sheer peak shrouded in mountaineering fame. For now I'd have to wait. At the camp we met an Austriancouple who were coming off a six day epic around the back of the range. The winds had been so strong blowing across the ice fields that their tent had been practically destroyed. This guy had visited the area three times over the course of eight years, and not once had he sighted the elusive mountain. Maybe I'd have to wait longer than I'd hoped.

Glacier of Laguna Torre

In the morning we chanced ourselves one last time on the rim of the lake to no avail. I was sure I'd never get my glimpse. After a while we took off in the direction of FitzRoy; our plan was to now camp at Pointcenot for two more nights since we'd heard the wankers at the edge of the park charge some ridiculous amount for camping AND entry. How they justify it, I have no idea. As we rounded Laguna Madre the skies opened up, affording us some magnificent views. First we spotted the impressive tower of Mt Pointcenot itself. We sat in one spot for a while enjoying the vistas & taking ridiculous Mortal Kombat posed photos. Then the mighty Mt FitzRoy came out to play. What a hefty chunk of rock that turned out to be. I've seen a lot of impressive mountains in my day, but this hands down stole the crown. The thing was bloody huge!! The peaks of the Huayhuash only really rose out from the high plateau; here FitzRoy loomed at least 2000 meters directly overhead. What a sight. All of a sudden the tiresome trip was well worth it. That afternoon after setting up camp, we payed a visit to the obligatory Laguna de los Tres, a highlight to any trip into the park. This single spot was sensational. The bright blue lake was covered in a thin and sometimes choppy layer of ice. The now close peaks towered above us. I was smitten. We spotted a couple of tiny climbers heading up the snow slopes. I once climbed with a guy who had got within 30 meters of the summit before the weather blew in and forced him down. Hopefully these guys would have better luck. I didn't want to leave this place. Maybe I'd be back. I still had plenty of time left on this continent, so to speak. We sat that night at camp, cooking our regular dose of pasta, in awe of the sight before us. In Patagonia after all.

Laguna de los tres & Mt FitzRoy

We slept in a great deal the following morning. It was about twelve in the afternoon by the time we got going. We'd decided to pay a short visit to the Glacier Piedras Blancas. There are so many cool side trips in the park that you could spend weeks covering all the trails. When we got there I decided to scramble up the unstable side slopes and wander along the ridge. Again FitzRoy rose up in front of us, dominating the view. It made all the other mountains around it look like lesser beings. It wasn't their fault. I should have retraced my steps on the return. Of course however I didn't. Instead I slid down the scree towards the lake, causing a scene in an otherwise tranquil setting.

Laguna Piedra Blancas

That night was piercingly cold. I had trouble sleeping. Not due to the cold I'm sure; I just couldn't nod off. I woke that following morning to the sound of scattered feet. I was a little confused. What was going on?? All of a sudden my tent started shaking. Was the world ending a little early?? "Nick...Nick," it was Goldilocks waking me up. Thank fuck he did. The mother of all mornings!! The skies were as clear as freshly glazed windows. FitzRoy, once again was plushing his feathers. The peaks were now tinted by shades of ochre orange, an almost pinkish illusion. The cameras were out in force despite the inclining cold, and we stood there motionless to watch the show unfold before us. Once it was all over, we knew what now we had to do. It took me a quick-fire fifteen minutes to pack up all my shit. I was off once again. Back in the direction of Laguna Torre for once last glimpsing chance. It didn't take long at all; I must have been flying with excitment. Coming down the banks from the hill top forest, there she was. Piercing the perfect sky. I relaxed a little in my pursuit, and kicked myself with satisfaction. Patagonia kept on impressing. Each & every time. How much better could it get?? Goldilocks soon arrived, and not too long after duck-stepped DCTalk. There we were, los tres amigoes, sipping cheap black coffee below one of the worlds undisputed spectacles. Our luck had struck once again. I'll never forget that view across the lake to Cerro Torre. It was once of those special particulars of my short lived life.

Cerro Torre

Once back in town, it was back to bindging. O' how sweet good times can taste. Two rounds of raspberry waffles con creama were soon followed with numerous beers, vasos of vino & one giant burger. I'm not too sure whether this is a healthy way of being. Who cares anyhow. It's not too long until the grand finale. Fingers crossed our luck continues. I now reside here in El Calafate, a shitty boring town on the edge of the barren Patagonian plains. The only reason you'd be here is to visit the unbelievable Perito Moreno Glacier. Did I mention things just keep getting better?? I mean Machu Picchu was cool and all, Chichen Itza proved its point; but nothing can prepare you for THIS!! Raw nature at its finest. My friend & I compared it in likeliness to cricket. We stood there for hours on end, blankly gazing in anticipation upon a usually uneventful playing field of ice. Every now and then some significant event would unfold, sparking an uncontrollable jubilation. At least four or five times, huge 60 meter high slabs of the glacier front tumbled & crashed into the milky waters of the lake. It was like a fourteen story building toppling over in slow motion. Small sections snapped off from high above & plummeted like cannon balls. A fine end to this lengthy stint. Now it's time to get the fuck out of Argentina & make for that forthcoming prize. Torres del Paine awaits just across the border. One final Patagonian show down. Let the clear skies continue and allow the asado to settle.

The unbelievable Perito Moreno Glacier!!

Merry Xmas to ya'll, and have a wild & happy New Years!!
See everyone after the upcoming apocalypse. 
Much lovin' from this stray cat xxx
The Raddest Dawg.

P.S: If you get the time, you may also enjoy browsing through some of my friends travel blogs also...
Here is my pick of the bunch - 

http://www.worldoutsidethecube.com/

http://betterbringbells.wordpress.com/

http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog/touristtom/1/tpod.html

Painting with Pictures, Bariloche

Some people say a picture can speak a thousand words. I could only agree. However in practise, this normally only holds true until you pay an actual visit to the place on profile, rendering that picture of yours redundant, and leaving oneself without a whisper of a worthy word. You now find yourself...speechless. All of a sudden, this is happening. I see it everyday. When planning this grand ol' trip last year, the awaiting spectacle of the Patagonian Andes infected my imagination more than anything else. It was practically what drew me to this continent in the first place. And now here I am. Finally. Staring in astonishment at the physical portraits of these fantastical places I'd read & heard so much about. No matter what you think you might know: nothing can prepare you for what you will see. Because a photo can't see. It can't smell. It can't speak. As a matter of fact, maybe I should try not to speak so much...?? Whacking off with all this meaningful crap. It won't be getting me no literary credentials anytime soon. Let's just say it's real good. I like it. And there's still a long way south to go!! Yiiieeewww!!! 

Nahuel Huapi Traverse

I caught my first glimpses of the upcoming prize, awakening from a groggy sleep on the overnight bus down from Valparaiso. Goldilocks I thought was knocked out hard in a Valium induced coma, until I gave him a quick nudge & nearly frightened him sky high through the coaches roof. The surrounds were a lush shade of green. Everything seemed moist & alive with life, concurrent with a fresh spring November morning. It felt like home. Frost had settled overnight on the neatly trimmed front lawns of this tiny towns stately streets. Life appeared settled. Simple. We got off in Victoria, an hour or so north of Temuco; where we were hoping to snatch a ride out to the even smaller village of Curacautin. We'd done our math. We supposedly had a plan. How it was to work out, we still had no idea. Of all the parks in the Chilean Lakes District, we had eventually settled (after much debate) first of all on Parque Nacional Conguillio, a bit of a random detour, but one we hoped would pay off in shades of beauty for all the complicated banter. Things were looking up. Cheap coffees from a servo, cheap & quick tickets to the town, and then we practically fell upon the hostel we were looking for. There was even a shuttle running to the park entrance. This was coming along easier than we'd hoped. We stocked up on snacks, walked by a school-born DJ fest in the central plaza & chilled the hell out for the rest of the day. Tranquilo amigo.

That next morning was fucking freezing!! I had the most clothes I think I'd had on since I scaled that big chunk of a mountain back in Bolivia. Add to this; we were locked inside the hostel!! We'd specifically told the guy at the front desk that we were heading off the following day, but somehow it must have slipped his provocative mind. Now what?? We broke down the back door & hopped over an icicle plagued barricade of a fence. Too easy. Too early. Yet done 'n dusted. So...we were told that there is a bus that runs every weekday from the terminal in town to the entrance of the park, leaving at six in the morning. For anyone considering this voyage - Do not wait at the terminal!! The bloody idiot forgot to mention we had to hail down the bus from the main road. So there we now found ourselves; munching on stale bread...shivering by the side of the highway...trying our luck at hitching a ride in the back of a pick-up. No one wanted to help us white boys out. Hitching as it turned out, was harder than I'd imagined yet again. After a good two hours or more, we gave in to The Man, and forked out 20 bucks each for a taxi. Lucky it was worth it. 

The place was practically empty. We had it all to ourselves. Clear blue skies treated us one day after another. It would have been a crime to have wasted them. On arrival we checked in at the ranger station, before a short hike along part of the 'Trail of Chile' which led us to our campsite beside the immense Lago Conguillio. The sierra rose dramatically out from behind dark green wooded slopes shimmering across the lake. On our walk up to one of the view points above, we were chanced to spot a plethora of fauna including falcons, hares, otters & woodpeckers; the latter being my undisputed comical favourite. The vistas back down to the lake were superb. Ancient araucaria forest boldly built the foreground to a stunning panorama. Volcan Llaima towered atop the surrounds. The great lake now resembled the likeliness of a fresh water reefed cove. Colours converged & swirled in all kinds of shades and direction. I was mesmerised. It's difficult to believe what you are witnessing sometimes; as if your watching it all at the cinema. All you can do is to do your best and suck it all up, then prey to your floundered mind that you shall remember. We trudged our way back to camp, cooked up some spaghetti for dinner, before retreating to our tents to soak up the sounds of the world around; nodding slowly off to sleep.

Volcan Llaima, Lago Conguillio & Araucaria trees

Visiting Conguillio had proven a lucky stab. I was surprised how little traffic passed on through, even on the weekends. In truth, we'd kind of been betting on a great influx as our way back out of the park. After a second incredible full day of hiking, which took us around the snow-lined base of the volcano, we set about packing our stuff for our planned retreat back to civilisation. How hard could it be to hitch back out?? Everyone stops to say 'hi!!' in National Parks after all. Again we struggled to smile. Sometimes things simply don't want to work out. After hitching a ride to the ranger station, we got stuck...hit a wall. People would stop, look at us, then come up with some lousy excuse why they couldn't take us at least to the main road from where we could catch a bus!! I think we waited well over four hours before packing it in & calling for a ride back into town. It's all we could really do. I couldn't complain. I'd had three perfect days of perfection. A little bit of money is a small price to pay. In no time we were back in Curacautin, back on a bus, and off on another adventure.

Up the slopes of Llaima

Now, I love Chile, and I love Chileanos. This surprised me more than most. I wasn't even sure whether it was worth the visit apart from the obvious pilgrimage to Torres del Paine down south, but of what I've seen thus far, Chile would have to be for me the most livable country in all of Latin America. At it's heart, is the tiny town of Pucon. Not many places adhere this kind of aura. I'm not even too sure what it is that splits it apart from the rest of the pack. It simply sucked me in. We got there late on a Saturday night, there wasn't really much time to 'find a party,' so I made my own. Pringles, noodles & cheap vino. Winning combination!! The next day crept up quicker than I'd planned. I had parked myself at the popular campsite on the outskirts of the town. I'd only found it so late at night with the help of some deranged local lunatic who pointed me down a deserted dirt track. When I got there, no one seemed to be hanging about in reception. I just assumed I'd come back in the following day, (and for now, this story shall be continued later). Goldilocks & I had planned to meet back up after breakfast. We were off on the bikes. A pair of shitty, rusty broken-down bikes. What do people always say?? 'You get what you pay for...' and we did. Saving ourselves a pity two dollars or so, had us struggling our way up hills, cautioning our descents down hills, and eventually banging rocks against the chinks of Goldilocks' chain which had chose to break 17 kilometres out in the middle of bloody no where!! Piece of junk!! Now what?? Our fun day appeared to be screwed. A few Israelis did their best to bust the chain back together, but it was no use. I rode slowly beside, as GCBoy dishearteningly pushed his bike to the next plausible stop over. To be fair, I guess it was lucky where we ended up. We weren't so far at all from the popular day trip hangout known as the Ojos de Caburga, where there was a kiosk, a spot to make lunch, and most importantly a phone. Tuna sandwiches went down a treat, and the waterfalls were a great place to wander around while we waited. Our saviours came in good time, and before too long we were back on the bikes, and back on the road. Happy days.

Bike problems. Yayyy!!

That day on the bikes had been one of the best in a long time. It felt so good to be out doing active things once again, in such beautiful places. There seemed to be volcanoes everywhere - and lakes. I guess that's why they call this The Lake District after all. We finished off the day with a refreshing swim in Lago Caburga. It reminded me of the lake in American Pie 2. It was a cool place to chill for a couple of hours. We wooed a few Chilean chicks with smiles & smooth talk, before the ride back. My ass was numb by this point. I needed a feast & a fiesta. Boxed wine was back on the menu, literally, and it wasn't long before we were knocking back burgers, beers & stealing trekking books from unaffiliated hostels. The next morning I felt like utter shit. Why do we do this to ourselves?? Because it's FUN. No Brainer. I wearily packed up my tent & summed up my options. There was still no one of yet occupying that reception booth out front. I conjured up a grand master plan of idiocracy. When I was good to go, I made for the toilet block, from where I could see the dirt road on the other side of a wobbly & high wire fence. I could just jump that. Piece of piss. This is what I do. I then wouldn't have to walk past the booth again, resulting in two free nights of camping accommodation. Sweeeeeeet!!! Of course the backpacker karma comes back to haunt you. After a bit of a struggle, I was over the dambed fence. Yayyy!! Away & free!! I soon realised however, I was not on the same dirt road I thought I was. Actually, this wasn't even really a road. I was in someones backyard!!?? Or it could have been some flashy guest house hotel or something. There was a massive glass door leading into a sublime looking living area, staring straight at me across a perfectly trimmed lawn like a giant rich watchful golden-eye. The dogs started to bark. What the fuck had I got myself into this time!! I was way too hungover for this. The fence around the perimeter was topped with barbed wire. The front gate was like that of a medieval fucking fortress!! I had no idea what to do. If I got busted here, I don't think the camping costs were to be my biggest worry. I spotted a pool. I could drown myself. That was an option. Around the pool was a high hedge. I guess I could go back the way I came?? Hang on. Flashback eight years!! I used to jump into hedges all the time. I'm practically pro. Pool. Rail. Hedge. Road. Done. I darted across the lawn. This was to stupid to believe had anyone actually seen me out that big glass window. I stepped up onto the pool deck, climbed on top the wooden rail, and leapt for the hedge - side first. I bounced (kind of), rolled a bit more through the roughage, and fell onto the road over the other side. What a way to begin a morning. My knees were a little cut up, and my heart was racing, but apart from that - I was off scot free!! I celebrated with dos takeaway coffees & dos empanadas enorme.

Around Pucon

That feast didn't sit to well to be honest. My gut was churning. No fizzy drink flavour could savour my taste buds. We crossed the border into Argentina, all over again, and before to long we were standing at the bus terminal in Junin de los Andes, wondering what the hell we were doing there. I hate siesta. It's the most unpractical disturbance to a backpackers life. I want to spend money. There is no where to spend it. What the fuck?! Our plan had been to venture from here, out into Parque Nacional Lanin for a few more days of trekking; but this was easier in theory than it was in practise as it turned out. We'd seen the volcano crossing the border, and the walks around this part of the park didn't seem all too enticing. Another taxi?? That was seeming the only way. We bailed. Left that town  behind to bake in it's own dischargement. We decided it was best to spend a couple of days relaxing in San Martin de los Andes instead. So that's what we did. Nothing. For two days. It was great.

Sometimes my mind scares me. I hope when I get back I'm not some fried friar chuckling about the ways of the world, and all it's out of sync logic. The dreams freak me out the most. That night I became a gold teeth smuggler of old, wandering across the cowboy prone plains of Canada making sure not to pick out the poison. This somehow converged into an autobiography on Roger Federer, how his parents were murdered when he was a young child, before someone discovered him in a guitar case. He was brought up as an orphan, also in Canada??, before turning to tennis & beer. Cooked. It was my 23rd birthday. Old age approaches. What a 22nd year it turned out to be. We were off on a bus to Bariloche. I had high hopes. Here lied supposedly, some of the best trekking on the planet. The commute hinted this potential. The Seven Lakes Drive, as it is commonly known, provided the perfect introduction to the area. Peaks rose out above everywhere. The forests were back, hugging the lake shores. We snagged some shitty hostel for the night, cooked some munch & played innumerable games of pool until we got chatting to these two chicks & two Italian lads. Argos was hilarious. We came up with a rendezvous for the following day; to hike up into the hills, and get the hell out of this shabby hostel.

Lago Nahuel Huapi

The weather continued to hold out. We made the most of it. By mid-afternoon the following day, we were already huffing & puffing, scaling the lower hills of Cerro Lopez. Above the tree line, the views soon opened up. Lago Nahuel Huapi is huge!!! Its arms branch off in a splatter like tangled mess. In a way, it kind of reminded me of the man made Lake Pedder back home. Once past the hut, the track claimed character. We were flying!! Up & down rocky crags, across rubbley boulder fields & trudging through snow banks. It was a great day out. At the top of the ridge, we were granted another million dollar view. What a place. In the distance we could see the mighty Mt Tronador converged in cloud. Below lay a Lake Judd like lago. The Andes stretched sky high in every direction. I love the mountains. This was more than I could have asked for as a birthday bash. On the way back down we slid through the snow, making a mess of our dry boots. We then decided it was a great idea to trail run back down; which in truth was more like Brisso's Tibetan mountain spray than anything. I was sore for the next two straight days!!

Mt Tronador from Lopez

Not much went down over the remainder of the weekend. We continued to fail at finding a party, it rained constantly (reminding me where I was, 40 odd degrees south...), and I couldn't even book in to get some lame ass pug = seal tattoo for shits & giggles. Oh well, all was good. It was a fine chance for redemption. Between the lines, I managed to buy myself some new gloves - finally!! Cold fingers are not your friend. Goldilocks got screwed after he bought himself a new t-shirt, only to find the exact same one in an outlet store at a third of the price a few shops down. I bought the cheap version. Win on my part. We checked out the new James Bond flick, and talked drunk smack to Dutch girls. I came up with the impression they all sound like they have a bubble in their throats when they speak. "Huh?? I have a BUBBLE??" Yes you do my dear. Then we met DCTalk. Funny fucker he turned out to be. For some reason he still reminds me every now and then of the mental case from The Hangover movie. I'm not too sure why. Saturday night was upon us, and it was still pissing with rain. A bottle of Old Smuggler made life brighter, and we tried to grind out a party. We made a night of it along with Ol' Pops, BigWilly, a buffed up Spaniard & a bunch of boring tango'ers. The lady at the front desk decided she also wanted to make a bit of a party & went about rearranging the living room into some sock-dance teenage disco. It felt like something my mum might have organised in my garage back in high school. It only made things awkward. The girls stood on one side while we stood on the other laughing at the girls. I wasn't too sure what was happening. We just got drunker. The bottle was long gone by the time we headed 'out.' Not surprisingly, I wasn't aloud in with the rest of the crew yet again. I'd left the only jeans I'd worn for nearly 10 months back in Santiago with RayAllen. Shorts aren't welcome in Hollywood. I lost my shit. It's become a touchy subject over the years. The bouncer threw up his hands & stared in utter confusion apparently as I submitted back down the street, abusing him in ogre Australian slang. I'd had enough of feeling stupid; not being capable of expressing myself properly in Español to Argentinian stuck-up wankers. Obviously that stupidity has clearly escaped me...

Sunday was a seedy solitaire session. We'd purchased a pack of playing cards, and now I was rigorously teaching myself new games after 23 years of ignorance. Mum works in a casino. I guess she never liked to bring her work home. The last thing I want to see when I get home from work is a Bunsen burner & a set of dentures. I finally won solitaire after 30 odd games. It was a start. The next day we were to set off across the surrounding mountain range, on a three to four day hike known as the Nahuel Huapi Traverse, one I've wanted to do for years. I was too hungover to shop for food that day. I was too hungover to eat. I couldn't wait to get back on the trail!! The following morning we packed up our gear, slammed down a big breakfast & bused it out to Cerro Catedral, an important ski  village in the winter, and the start of our track. It was raining softly for a good part of the day, but it mattered little since we were buried beneath the canopy. We had a great crew; it sure makes quite a difference. BigWilly had chose to tag along for the day, and DCTalk was here for keeps. By the time we reached our first nights camp, the wind was blowing a gail. We had to search the lower reaches of the slopes for some kind of shelter from the ferocious conditions. It calmed enough for us to set up our tents, but soon deteriorated all over again. By the time we were cooking dinner, there was snow all around us. Sometimes it came in sideways, sometimes it dumped directly down - most of the time it just zipped around in some kind of unorganised emotional mess. That night in the tent was windy & cold!! I was bracing myself for another Cotopaxi incident. The tent managed to hold out however, thank god!! Hopefully this wasn't to be some mad three-day depress-fest.

Cerro Catedral from camp

I was glad to see the sun paying us a visit the following morning. The weather seemed much more pleasant. We acquired ourselves another tag-along, and journeyed off into the snow. The peaks around the lake were majestic. Some serious peaks. No wonder the hut was full of egotistical climbing dicks. At last however, we were on our own. This was one of my best days hiking over this entire trip. The company was entertaining yet sporadic, the scenery unmatchable, and the actual walking itself proved interesting without being all too strenuous. By the time we spotted Jakob Hut, situated on a tranquil lake 200 meters below our eyrie position at the top of some mountain pass, I'd reassured myself why I made this venture so far south in the first place. Patagonia sure steps up to the hype. It's so far, everything I'd dreamt of and more. Looking at a map, it's safe to say that this is only the beginning. Good times; shit weather; re-ripped legs to come. Talk again soon.

The Andes!!!

Much Luvin' & Happy days, 
all the way from Patagonia...
Mr. Legggs 11, Kokopells xxx

Where, O' Where is My Taco Bell?! Valparaíso

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.