3,500 km. Yes, that's what I've driven around New Zealand's South island in my van since I last wrote. 3,500 km. and that's only the South of the South island. And I though this country was very small!!
I lied in my last posting. I didn't start the exploration of the island the day I intended, but the next one. A person with hourly hiccups and daily morning job interviews (some of them non-existent) is to blame for my delay. But we'll get to her later.
My first destination was Mt. Cook National Park, and for the first time since I arrived in New Zealand I could see the sky, which was surprisingly blue, like in the rest of the world. And I couldn't ask for a better day to enjoy the wonderful landscapes that Spring creates in this country. Think of the rarest color you can and some random flower will have it in New Zealand. The landscape was so spectacular that only the narrow roads with no space to stop prevented me from taking pictures from every corner.
There are two color are really prevailing in this country: the green of the grass, and the white of the sheep. I have never seen so many sheep and so many green meadows in my life. Statistics say for every New Zealander there are at least 12 sheep, and I believe it. Unfortunately for the locals, has allowed their neighbors to create a quite uncharming legend of their interactions with these animals, if you know what I mean.
Postcard-like blue-water lakes surrounded by more flowers and snowed peaks also contributed to make my first long-distance trip in New Zealand truly memorable. And finally, Mt Cook National Park and the spectacular Mt. Cook itself, the highest mountain in the continent.
I decided to camp in the official camping site, since it was my first night in the new van. So, after cooking some flavorless nooddles in my brand-new outdoor stove, I went to sleep in my new home. To say that night was the most uncomfortable I can remember is being very optimistic. It was cold, humid and the bed I tried to create using the fold-down seats could have been used to make the toughest Al-Qaeda member spit all the information in a matter of seconds.
Despite the horrible night, with temperatures below 0, I gathered enough strength to do 2 half-day walks in the national park the next day. This time, with the typical weather New Zealand has offered me since I arrive. The views of the peaks, the valleys and the glaciers where, nontheless, spectacular.
So, after another incident with the petrol (the petrol station on the park does not take cash or foreign credit cards; lovely!) that forced me to drive 50 km. with a 10th of a tank using all known petrol-saving techniques, I finally arrived in Arrowtown, in the middle of what already was a thundering storm. I decided to rest in a hostel there, before reaching the next day my destination, the extreme-experiences capital of NZ: Queenstown.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Here I go New Zealand
Well, it finally feels like Christmas. It's freezing, raining and snowing in the mountains. And this is the end of the Spring, I'm scared to think what New Zealand must be like in the middle of Winter.
Anyway, I just bought a new van, this time a newer and better one, and it's a passanger van and not a camper-van. I think I'll be able to sleep in it by folding the seats, but I will be trying that tonight (it the cold doesn't make me change my mind and look for a central-heated hostel). If that doesn't work, I can try to make some money back by competing with bus companies and start transporting backpackers around. In any case, those of you dying to visit me on the other side of the world will be glad to know that, again, they will have transportation around the country guaranteed (not that I think that will make any of you come).
And not much has happened since my last posting. I changed hostels, because the one I was staying in was one of the most uncomfortable and anti-social ones I've ever stayed at (which didn't stop it from winning the Best Tourism Awards 2 years in a row) and the new place is so nice, that it's been very hard to decide to leave. Nice place and lots of nice fun people, just what every packpacker looks for. Anyway, I decided to pack and head today for Mt. Cook National Park, that hosts the higher mountain in the Australasia continent.
I tested the van yesterday going to the Banks peninsula, a beautiful area not too far from Christchurch with provides spectactular views of its many bays from the mountains and endless photographic opportunities. The main settlement there is Akaroa, the site where the first French settlers arrive and that stills maintains some its French atmosphere (rues instead of streets) and that is filled with beautiful wood houses full of flowers (which, under the heavy rain, was the only sign that is actually Spring).
So, today I begin the exploration of the South Island in my van. I'll keep you informed about how this adventure goes.
Anyway, I just bought a new van, this time a newer and better one, and it's a passanger van and not a camper-van. I think I'll be able to sleep in it by folding the seats, but I will be trying that tonight (it the cold doesn't make me change my mind and look for a central-heated hostel). If that doesn't work, I can try to make some money back by competing with bus companies and start transporting backpackers around. In any case, those of you dying to visit me on the other side of the world will be glad to know that, again, they will have transportation around the country guaranteed (not that I think that will make any of you come).
And not much has happened since my last posting. I changed hostels, because the one I was staying in was one of the most uncomfortable and anti-social ones I've ever stayed at (which didn't stop it from winning the Best Tourism Awards 2 years in a row) and the new place is so nice, that it's been very hard to decide to leave. Nice place and lots of nice fun people, just what every packpacker looks for. Anyway, I decided to pack and head today for Mt. Cook National Park, that hosts the higher mountain in the Australasia continent.
I tested the van yesterday going to the Banks peninsula, a beautiful area not too far from Christchurch with provides spectactular views of its many bays from the mountains and endless photographic opportunities. The main settlement there is Akaroa, the site where the first French settlers arrive and that stills maintains some its French atmosphere (rues instead of streets) and that is filled with beautiful wood houses full of flowers (which, under the heavy rain, was the only sign that is actually Spring).
So, today I begin the exploration of the South Island in my van. I'll keep you informed about how this adventure goes.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
How to become a travel wanker
I first heard the term "travel wanker" while enjoying dinner with some British, Australian and German friends in the laidback Argentinian city of Mendoza and, since then, it's become one of my favorite terms.
For those unfamiliar with the term, as I was then, let me give you a brief description of its "technical" meaning. Wanker is an English term that it initially referred to a person who... ehem... doesn't need other people to have sex. The term then broaded its meaning to include those that have such a high image of themselves that wouldn't consider having sex with anyone else. And that's the most common meaning nowadays. In other words, wanker is what in Spain we would describe a "pringao", "que va de guay" or simply "gilipollas".
So, taking it from there, a "travel wanker", as described by my British friend, would be a person that thinks of himself or herself as being the ultimate traveller, above the hords of pathetic tourists or frivolous backpackers that don't know what REAL traveling is about. And you'd be surprised by the numer of travel wankers I've encountered while traveling as a backpacker.
My friend even came up with a point system to help evaluate a person's level of "travel wankerness". I forgot how the point system actually worked, but most of the attributes that made you earn points are included in my description.
The easiest way to describe a travel wanker is by what he's not, rather than by what he is, since the essence of travel wankerness is trying to be as different as possible from the "standard" travellers. Therefore, if a place, a style, an activity or a type of food is very popular among most travellers, you must avoid it at all costs. Even if it's fun, interesting, beautiful or unique, you cannot afford to be confused with a regular traveller.
Another key element to become a travel wanker is coming up with some sort of unusual hair style. Dread-locks are usually travel wankers' favorite, but being bold, saving only part of your head, long hair, plaits, ... all that is acceptable. And funny facial hair for guys is certainly another plus.
Piercings and tattooes are also a must, and you must try to have as many and as visible as possible, specially now that both tendencies risk becoming mainstream. Piercings in lips, tongue, nipples are great ways to show everybody else that you're a real travel wanker, and ethnic tattooes are also another excellent travel wanker choice.
You must immerse yourself in the local customs. If in Argentina, always prepare mate. If in Australia, play the didgeridoo. And always wear local clothing. In South-America wearing the typical Inca wool hat that covers your ears is an absolute must, and ponchos will make you part of the elite. Australian Aboriginals don't wear any clothes, so while in this country you must try to go shirt-less and bare-foot as often as possible, even if walking on asphalt or broken glass. And wearing the local handycrafts, such as shark-teeth necklaces or wool bags, is always a classic touch. In South-America, a Che Guevara t-shirt must be part of every travel-wanker attire.
Remember that travel wankers are people deeply concern with all (well, let's say most) of the world problems. Therefore, avoid laughing as it's a sign of frivolous attitude. Be specially carefull when around non-travel-wankers, as your fellow mates may think you enjoy their pathetic way of traveling. In fact, try to always avoid regular travellers, talking to them or being seen in the same places. That's the safest rule.
Get involved with the ethnical natives. It doesn't really matter if you really care about them or if you've done anything to improve their living conditions, but wearing a t-shirt with slogans for the "liberation" or "power" of local ethnicities will always make you look like a concerned travel wanker. You must also defend all local practices of the native people, even if they are by all means ridiculous, and take active part in their fights for their rights, even if you don't know what rights they're actually fighting for.
Of course, oppressed people in other countries also make great conversations. In fact, in your limited interactions with regular travelers try to always bring up this subject to show them how deep and cosmopolitan you are and, by opposition, how provincian and heartless they are. But be careful, as the oppressed people subject is quite tricky. For example, Iraqis, Australian Aboriginals or Bolivian farmers are oppressed, but Cubans, women in Islamic countries or people threatened by mafias or terrorists are not. If in doubt, just start bashing the Americans or show your support for any community that hates them.
Looking ecologicaly-conscious is also a great way of being a travel-wanker. And the good thing again is that you simply need to pretend you are like that (you know, wearing the classical "save the Earth" t-shirts), but you don't need to act like that. That way you can drive your highly contaminating old car, avoid recycling stuff
I know, being a travel wanker doesn't look like a lot of fun. You will miss great things just because they're popular with other travellers, you will often look angry because of your continuing concern with all the problems in the world and the fact that you never smile may make you look very unfriendly. But I think the admiration you will gain both from other travellers and locals makes all that pain absolutely worth it.
For those unfamiliar with the term, as I was then, let me give you a brief description of its "technical" meaning. Wanker is an English term that it initially referred to a person who... ehem... doesn't need other people to have sex. The term then broaded its meaning to include those that have such a high image of themselves that wouldn't consider having sex with anyone else. And that's the most common meaning nowadays. In other words, wanker is what in Spain we would describe a "pringao", "que va de guay" or simply "gilipollas".
So, taking it from there, a "travel wanker", as described by my British friend, would be a person that thinks of himself or herself as being the ultimate traveller, above the hords of pathetic tourists or frivolous backpackers that don't know what REAL traveling is about. And you'd be surprised by the numer of travel wankers I've encountered while traveling as a backpacker.
My friend even came up with a point system to help evaluate a person's level of "travel wankerness". I forgot how the point system actually worked, but most of the attributes that made you earn points are included in my description.
The easiest way to describe a travel wanker is by what he's not, rather than by what he is, since the essence of travel wankerness is trying to be as different as possible from the "standard" travellers. Therefore, if a place, a style, an activity or a type of food is very popular among most travellers, you must avoid it at all costs. Even if it's fun, interesting, beautiful or unique, you cannot afford to be confused with a regular traveller.
Another key element to become a travel wanker is coming up with some sort of unusual hair style. Dread-locks are usually travel wankers' favorite, but being bold, saving only part of your head, long hair, plaits, ... all that is acceptable. And funny facial hair for guys is certainly another plus.
Piercings and tattooes are also a must, and you must try to have as many and as visible as possible, specially now that both tendencies risk becoming mainstream. Piercings in lips, tongue, nipples are great ways to show everybody else that you're a real travel wanker, and ethnic tattooes are also another excellent travel wanker choice.
You must immerse yourself in the local customs. If in Argentina, always prepare mate. If in Australia, play the didgeridoo. And always wear local clothing. In South-America wearing the typical Inca wool hat that covers your ears is an absolute must, and ponchos will make you part of the elite. Australian Aboriginals don't wear any clothes, so while in this country you must try to go shirt-less and bare-foot as often as possible, even if walking on asphalt or broken glass. And wearing the local handycrafts, such as shark-teeth necklaces or wool bags, is always a classic touch. In South-America, a Che Guevara t-shirt must be part of every travel-wanker attire.
Remember that travel wankers are people deeply concern with all (well, let's say most) of the world problems. Therefore, avoid laughing as it's a sign of frivolous attitude. Be specially carefull when around non-travel-wankers, as your fellow mates may think you enjoy their pathetic way of traveling. In fact, try to always avoid regular travellers, talking to them or being seen in the same places. That's the safest rule.
Get involved with the ethnical natives. It doesn't really matter if you really care about them or if you've done anything to improve their living conditions, but wearing a t-shirt with slogans for the "liberation" or "power" of local ethnicities will always make you look like a concerned travel wanker. You must also defend all local practices of the native people, even if they are by all means ridiculous, and take active part in their fights for their rights, even if you don't know what rights they're actually fighting for.
Of course, oppressed people in other countries also make great conversations. In fact, in your limited interactions with regular travelers try to always bring up this subject to show them how deep and cosmopolitan you are and, by opposition, how provincian and heartless they are. But be careful, as the oppressed people subject is quite tricky. For example, Iraqis, Australian Aboriginals or Bolivian farmers are oppressed, but Cubans, women in Islamic countries or people threatened by mafias or terrorists are not. If in doubt, just start bashing the Americans or show your support for any community that hates them.
Looking ecologicaly-conscious is also a great way of being a travel-wanker. And the good thing again is that you simply need to pretend you are like that (you know, wearing the classical "save the Earth" t-shirts), but you don't need to act like that. That way you can drive your highly contaminating old car, avoid recycling stuff
I know, being a travel wanker doesn't look like a lot of fun. You will miss great things just because they're popular with other travellers, you will often look angry because of your continuing concern with all the problems in the world and the fact that you never smile may make you look very unfriendly. But I think the admiration you will gain both from other travellers and locals makes all that pain absolutely worth it.
Monday, November 22, 2004
G'd on ya, Australia!!
After almost 3 months in the land Down Under, today I finally left for New Zealand. More precisely, for Christchurch, that only has 300,000 habitants but it still is the largest town in the Southern island and the second largest in the country. As evertytime I spent a lot of time in one country, leaving was a bit sad, specially since it's the country where I spent more time in my trip and after the many great memories I bring with me from there.
Australians are without any doubt the friendliest and more approachable people I have ever met. Cosmopolitan yet humble. Proud citizens of their country, but lacking that annoying nationalistic attitude that many nations (and regions within nations) frequently display (yes, I know you know who I'm talking about). Australians are open, always eager to help, truly funny and very outdoorsy. Sure, they're not the most politically correct people I've seen (specially regarding the still often scorned, although much less than before, Aboriginal culture), but I'm so tired of the worldwide PC obsession that even that is like a breeze of fresh air.
In addition, travelling in Australia is extremely easy, probably easier than anywhere else. Walk into a visitor center and you're likely to come out with enough free guides, maps, accomodation information and activities to fill a container and keep you busy for ten years.
Buying a car is also another pleasant surprise. There are hundreds of extremely cheap cars (less than 1,500 euro) for sale, and the process takes 5 minutes and can be done through the mail. Priscilla is a clear example of that.
Australia is also the land of a thousand landscapes. And although this title can be deservedly claimed but quite a few other countries of its size, the landscapes you will find in Australia are very unlikely to be found elsewhere in the world. Red deserts, giant monoliths, spectacular gorges, croc-infested rivers, sandstones with millions of colors, unreal cliffs,... and animal life so unique and reachable that only Africa is comparable. Without ever visiting a zoo or animal reserve you can see (most at arm's length distance) kangaroos, koalas, guannas, water dragons, whales, dolphins, sharks, turtles, penguins, seals, camels, wombats, platypuses, wallabies, snakes, emus, deers and enough birds and fish to fill out several books.
And if all that wasn't enough, Australia is safe, extremely safe, safer than any country I've visited in my life (with the possible exception of Andorra). My friend Virginia, who is a detective in the New South Wales Police Homicide Department (and brave enough to host me in her Sydney home for quite a few days) is a good example of my point. She's very disapointed because in the over 3 months she's been in the department, she hasn't had any new cases. That is, there hasn't been a single murder in all NSW in 3 months. NONE. And we're talking a state that is double the size of any European country (excluding Russia) and that hosts Australia's largest city (over 4 million), Sydney. Not many countries can present such statistics.
Australia is certainly a unique country and one that will see me again. Someday.
The only truly annoying thing about Australia has little to do with Australia. Ironically, in the country where I found the most welcoming locals I met some of the most unfriendly travellers. And not 2 or 3, but lots and lots of them (and most with a EU passport, for the shame of those of us who also have one). Trying to avoid the crowds of rude, conversationless and unbearable European teenagers soon becomes the main objective of any reasonable traveller visiting the country (specially when traveling in Queensland), and it certainly became mine. Sure there's very nice people travelling in Australia, but it's not easy to find them in the midst of these crowds of partying teenagers (mainly because, as I said, they're also trying to escape from them).
Meanwhile, I'm now in a very different place. The landscape has changed more in the 2 and a half-hour flight to Christchurch than it would in a 4-hour one along the Australian central desert. Flying over the spectacular snowed peaks of New Zealand's Southern island while talking to my Swiss seat companion it was hard to tell whether we were still in Oceania or we were flying over her country's Alps. Soon the mountains gave way to endless green flat meadows, until we landed.
However, once in land the differences seemed to be quite less (except for the fact that Greek souvlakis have beaten kebabs in the battle for the exotic fast-food market): still driving on the "wrong" side of the road, same type of cars, same road signals, people look the same, school kids still wear uniforms and Queen Elisabeth is still smiling in coins and bills. However the Kiwi one-dollar coin is identical to the Australian 2-dollar coin, and the same happens with NZ two-dollar and Australian 1-dollar, dealing to a lot of confusion when paying and opening big-gain opportunities for those willing to introduce 1-dollar coins in Australia.
It's still early to give a true impression of what Christchurch is like (I've only been in New Zealand for around 3 hours), but as I said at the beginning, the town is a lot more quite and relaxed than I had ever expected. But we'll see tomorrow, when I have a chance to walk a bit around it.
Oh, and by the way, I still don't have a mobile here and the guys from Vodafone Australia (why do I always have trouble with this company no matter what country???) have not activated my international roaming (even though I was told they had), so you cannot reach me either at my Australian phone (at least yet). But be patient, maybe tomorrow.
Australians are without any doubt the friendliest and more approachable people I have ever met. Cosmopolitan yet humble. Proud citizens of their country, but lacking that annoying nationalistic attitude that many nations (and regions within nations) frequently display (yes, I know you know who I'm talking about). Australians are open, always eager to help, truly funny and very outdoorsy. Sure, they're not the most politically correct people I've seen (specially regarding the still often scorned, although much less than before, Aboriginal culture), but I'm so tired of the worldwide PC obsession that even that is like a breeze of fresh air.
In addition, travelling in Australia is extremely easy, probably easier than anywhere else. Walk into a visitor center and you're likely to come out with enough free guides, maps, accomodation information and activities to fill a container and keep you busy for ten years.
Buying a car is also another pleasant surprise. There are hundreds of extremely cheap cars (less than 1,500 euro) for sale, and the process takes 5 minutes and can be done through the mail. Priscilla is a clear example of that.
Australia is also the land of a thousand landscapes. And although this title can be deservedly claimed but quite a few other countries of its size, the landscapes you will find in Australia are very unlikely to be found elsewhere in the world. Red deserts, giant monoliths, spectacular gorges, croc-infested rivers, sandstones with millions of colors, unreal cliffs,... and animal life so unique and reachable that only Africa is comparable. Without ever visiting a zoo or animal reserve you can see (most at arm's length distance) kangaroos, koalas, guannas, water dragons, whales, dolphins, sharks, turtles, penguins, seals, camels, wombats, platypuses, wallabies, snakes, emus, deers and enough birds and fish to fill out several books.
And if all that wasn't enough, Australia is safe, extremely safe, safer than any country I've visited in my life (with the possible exception of Andorra). My friend Virginia, who is a detective in the New South Wales Police Homicide Department (and brave enough to host me in her Sydney home for quite a few days) is a good example of my point. She's very disapointed because in the over 3 months she's been in the department, she hasn't had any new cases. That is, there hasn't been a single murder in all NSW in 3 months. NONE. And we're talking a state that is double the size of any European country (excluding Russia) and that hosts Australia's largest city (over 4 million), Sydney. Not many countries can present such statistics.
Australia is certainly a unique country and one that will see me again. Someday.
The only truly annoying thing about Australia has little to do with Australia. Ironically, in the country where I found the most welcoming locals I met some of the most unfriendly travellers. And not 2 or 3, but lots and lots of them (and most with a EU passport, for the shame of those of us who also have one). Trying to avoid the crowds of rude, conversationless and unbearable European teenagers soon becomes the main objective of any reasonable traveller visiting the country (specially when traveling in Queensland), and it certainly became mine. Sure there's very nice people travelling in Australia, but it's not easy to find them in the midst of these crowds of partying teenagers (mainly because, as I said, they're also trying to escape from them).
Meanwhile, I'm now in a very different place. The landscape has changed more in the 2 and a half-hour flight to Christchurch than it would in a 4-hour one along the Australian central desert. Flying over the spectacular snowed peaks of New Zealand's Southern island while talking to my Swiss seat companion it was hard to tell whether we were still in Oceania or we were flying over her country's Alps. Soon the mountains gave way to endless green flat meadows, until we landed.
However, once in land the differences seemed to be quite less (except for the fact that Greek souvlakis have beaten kebabs in the battle for the exotic fast-food market): still driving on the "wrong" side of the road, same type of cars, same road signals, people look the same, school kids still wear uniforms and Queen Elisabeth is still smiling in coins and bills. However the Kiwi one-dollar coin is identical to the Australian 2-dollar coin, and the same happens with NZ two-dollar and Australian 1-dollar, dealing to a lot of confusion when paying and opening big-gain opportunities for those willing to introduce 1-dollar coins in Australia.
It's still early to give a true impression of what Christchurch is like (I've only been in New Zealand for around 3 hours), but as I said at the beginning, the town is a lot more quite and relaxed than I had ever expected. But we'll see tomorrow, when I have a chance to walk a bit around it.
Oh, and by the way, I still don't have a mobile here and the guys from Vodafone Australia (why do I always have trouble with this company no matter what country???) have not activated my international roaming (even though I was told they had), so you cannot reach me either at my Australian phone (at least yet). But be patient, maybe tomorrow.
12 Apostles and 1,000 views
My trip along the Great Ocean Road was truly memorable, with views that completely surpassed all my expectations. The Twelve Apostles is the most typical picture of this road, but I found other sections even more impressive.
I decided to extend my 2-day rental car to three days and go to the Grampians, the Blue Mountains little sisters, and stop at Sovereign Hill, which turned out to be a shabby gold-rush-based Disneyland, on my way back to Melbourne.
Everything about this trip as usual, when I have time.
I decided to extend my 2-day rental car to three days and go to the Grampians, the Blue Mountains little sisters, and stop at Sovereign Hill, which turned out to be a shabby gold-rush-based Disneyland, on my way back to Melbourne.
Everything about this trip as usual, when I have time.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Farewell Priscilla, hello Melbourne
Regarding my trip to Melbourne, I decided to let destiny decide. I put notices selling my van for a dream price (so I had some room to negotiate) in most of the hostels around Kingcross and Central Station (typical backpacker areas). If I received a reasonable offer within 2 or 3 days, I would sell Priscilla and fly to Melbourne. If not, I would take her with me.
And everything worked out a lot better that I had ever dreamed of. Two hours after I put the notices I got an email from a French couple that wanted it. I told them the little problems that Priscilla has to manage their expectations, but they still wanted. And when they saw her the day after, they gave me $500 deposit so they could buy it the next day. So, in one day I had sold Priscilla, being honest about the problems it had and making a profit (30% more than the price I bought it for). I must say that it was sad to leave her after over 1 and a half months together, but I was so happy that I everything worked out so good (the comments of some people I met along the way made me think I could never sell it for more than $1,000) that I bought my ticket to Melbourne right away.
Unfortunately, I was so excited that I didn't stop to read that the computer was telling me that there were no available dates on the date I wanted to travel and had given me an alternative, that I happily booked without noticing it. So, when I walked to the Qantas check in counter, I was told that I had to wait... 48 hours for my flight, as I was supposed to fly saturday. Luckyly for me, the girl at the counter let me change the ticket for a fee and I was able to fly that same day (although for a quite higher price).
When I arrived in Melbourne it was raining cats and dogs, so I decided to travel straight away to Phillip Island, since there's little better to do with that weather than being in a bus. The next day was surprisingly sunny, so I rented a bike and did some walkings in the island, stopping at the famous racing circuit.
Unfortunately, as the highlight of my trip to the island was getting closer (the famous penguin parade), so did a bunch of clouds. So by the time we where all the beach (after passing under surreal signs counting the minutes left before the penguins arrive, as if they were coming by plane), it started pouring as if all the water in the world were falling on us.
Despite the tragical conditions, watching hundreds of little penguins (the smallest in the world) come out of the water in big groups, helping each other re-align their feathers, hesitating before jumping over a big step to fall down it when the penguins behind him came pushing was a wonderful experience. The 2-hour ride back to Melbourne, completely soaked and arriving and midnight was not so pleasant.
And unfortunately that's what the weather in Melbourne has been like since I arrived. Clouds, rain, then sun. Clouds. Sun. Rain. Rain. Rain. No wonder when the Brits arrived here they felt at home!
So after doing some sightseeing yesterday and meeting Virginia's brother, Alex, and his friends for a fun night in the city, today I'm planning on seeing the rest of it... without getting too wet. Tomorrow I'm renting a car for two days to travel the famous Great Ocean Road. I was thinking of trying to find people to share the costs, but this morning I've decided to do it by myself, as I really want to relax and enjoy what promises to be a breath-taking scenery with the only company of my camera. I'll tell you all about it in my next post.
Oh, and I finally have a new mobile (4th one in this trip), so all of you that were dying to call me or text me can do it again. It's a Vodafone, so it may be cheaper with those that have mobiles from this company: +61 424 46 94 94
And everything worked out a lot better that I had ever dreamed of. Two hours after I put the notices I got an email from a French couple that wanted it. I told them the little problems that Priscilla has to manage their expectations, but they still wanted. And when they saw her the day after, they gave me $500 deposit so they could buy it the next day. So, in one day I had sold Priscilla, being honest about the problems it had and making a profit (30% more than the price I bought it for). I must say that it was sad to leave her after over 1 and a half months together, but I was so happy that I everything worked out so good (the comments of some people I met along the way made me think I could never sell it for more than $1,000) that I bought my ticket to Melbourne right away.
Unfortunately, I was so excited that I didn't stop to read that the computer was telling me that there were no available dates on the date I wanted to travel and had given me an alternative, that I happily booked without noticing it. So, when I walked to the Qantas check in counter, I was told that I had to wait... 48 hours for my flight, as I was supposed to fly saturday. Luckyly for me, the girl at the counter let me change the ticket for a fee and I was able to fly that same day (although for a quite higher price).
When I arrived in Melbourne it was raining cats and dogs, so I decided to travel straight away to Phillip Island, since there's little better to do with that weather than being in a bus. The next day was surprisingly sunny, so I rented a bike and did some walkings in the island, stopping at the famous racing circuit.
Unfortunately, as the highlight of my trip to the island was getting closer (the famous penguin parade), so did a bunch of clouds. So by the time we where all the beach (after passing under surreal signs counting the minutes left before the penguins arrive, as if they were coming by plane), it started pouring as if all the water in the world were falling on us.
Despite the tragical conditions, watching hundreds of little penguins (the smallest in the world) come out of the water in big groups, helping each other re-align their feathers, hesitating before jumping over a big step to fall down it when the penguins behind him came pushing was a wonderful experience. The 2-hour ride back to Melbourne, completely soaked and arriving and midnight was not so pleasant.
And unfortunately that's what the weather in Melbourne has been like since I arrived. Clouds, rain, then sun. Clouds. Sun. Rain. Rain. Rain. No wonder when the Brits arrived here they felt at home!
So after doing some sightseeing yesterday and meeting Virginia's brother, Alex, and his friends for a fun night in the city, today I'm planning on seeing the rest of it... without getting too wet. Tomorrow I'm renting a car for two days to travel the famous Great Ocean Road. I was thinking of trying to find people to share the costs, but this morning I've decided to do it by myself, as I really want to relax and enjoy what promises to be a breath-taking scenery with the only company of my camera. I'll tell you all about it in my next post.
Oh, and I finally have a new mobile (4th one in this trip), so all of you that were dying to call me or text me can do it again. It's a Vodafone, so it may be cheaper with those that have mobiles from this company: +61 424 46 94 94
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Back in Sydney and the (Green) Blue Mountains
Well, Priscilla, Helena (my Greek friend) and I made it back to Sydney, after 800 km. and almost 12 hours in the road. A very tirening trip, but it's good to be here.
We then went 3 days to the Blue Mountains, a beautiful range of mountains with spectacular cliffs and valleys that is claimed to have a blueish haze due to the oil eucaliptus release into the air. But whatever they say, they looked pretty green to me. We camped and cooked in the van, and one day, under the rain, we met Neil the "Swag Man", a real-life bush guy who has been leaving in the wild, with only his swag (a sort of water-proved matress very common in Australia) and his bag after his wife, a drug dealer, was murdered. He showed us some pretty cool places and told us some (hard to believe) stories about his life, and we even tried to go to the cave where he was going to camp in the middle of the forest, but couldn't get there because the river was to high and strong after the morning heavy rain.
Back in Sydney now, I'm thinking about trying to sell my van and enjoy my last days in Sydney before heading for New Zealand, or driving to Melbourne and back on my van. Since that involves another almost 2,000 km. on the road, the first option is becoming the most likely one.
So stay tune, as my Aussie mobile number may be completely (and for good) out of service in the following days. Oh, and the full story of "Cairns, Cape Tribulation and Priscilla" is already online, if you want to read it.
We then went 3 days to the Blue Mountains, a beautiful range of mountains with spectacular cliffs and valleys that is claimed to have a blueish haze due to the oil eucaliptus release into the air. But whatever they say, they looked pretty green to me. We camped and cooked in the van, and one day, under the rain, we met Neil the "Swag Man", a real-life bush guy who has been leaving in the wild, with only his swag (a sort of water-proved matress very common in Australia) and his bag after his wife, a drug dealer, was murdered. He showed us some pretty cool places and told us some (hard to believe) stories about his life, and we even tried to go to the cave where he was going to camp in the middle of the forest, but couldn't get there because the river was to high and strong after the morning heavy rain.
Back in Sydney now, I'm thinking about trying to sell my van and enjoy my last days in Sydney before heading for New Zealand, or driving to Melbourne and back on my van. Since that involves another almost 2,000 km. on the road, the first option is becoming the most likely one.
So stay tune, as my Aussie mobile number may be completely (and for good) out of service in the following days. Oh, and the full story of "Cairns, Cape Tribulation and Priscilla" is already online, if you want to read it.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Groovy days at Byron Bay
I left Brisbone, walked up to Mt. Warning to see the sunrise and landed in Byron Bay, where I expected to spend a couple days but spent a whole week. It's not that there's a lot to do there, but it's such a nice place and I met such a great group of people, that I just couldn't make myself leave.
I stayed at the Arts Factory, and old hippie place that has managed to maintain part of its philosophy, despite most of its guests seem to think that being hippie is simply wearing long hair and walking barefoot. The place had a lot of activities going on, and I decided to explore most of them: I learned to play the didgeridoo, discovered how exhausting a yoga class can be, sat through a movie on a cushion-sofa, enjoyed some aboriginal dances and ate wraps and drink beer while listening to live bands at the (it couldn't have another name) Buddha Bar. And, as Byron Bay is also one of the main spots for surfing, tried this sport by myself and was able to stand on the board (yes, a very long board) on my first day.
Before reaching Brisbane, I had only met 3 Spaniards in my 2 months in Australia, confirming my theory that discovering other cultures is unfortunatelly not one of the favorite activities of my fellow countrymen. However, in Byron Bay I met 5 more, 4 or them staying at the same hostel as me!! It seems this place acts like a black hole for all Southern Europeans, as over 3 forths of all the Mediterranean people I've met in Australia were staying at this wonderful town.
But the time to leave finally came and yesterday I drove to Sydney with Priscilla and Helena, a Greek girl from our group in Byron Bay that certainly made the 12-hour trip much more enjoyable.
I stayed at the Arts Factory, and old hippie place that has managed to maintain part of its philosophy, despite most of its guests seem to think that being hippie is simply wearing long hair and walking barefoot. The place had a lot of activities going on, and I decided to explore most of them: I learned to play the didgeridoo, discovered how exhausting a yoga class can be, sat through a movie on a cushion-sofa, enjoyed some aboriginal dances and ate wraps and drink beer while listening to live bands at the (it couldn't have another name) Buddha Bar. And, as Byron Bay is also one of the main spots for surfing, tried this sport by myself and was able to stand on the board (yes, a very long board) on my first day.
Before reaching Brisbane, I had only met 3 Spaniards in my 2 months in Australia, confirming my theory that discovering other cultures is unfortunatelly not one of the favorite activities of my fellow countrymen. However, in Byron Bay I met 5 more, 4 or them staying at the same hostel as me!! It seems this place acts like a black hole for all Southern Europeans, as over 3 forths of all the Mediterranean people I've met in Australia were staying at this wonderful town.
But the time to leave finally came and yesterday I drove to Sydney with Priscilla and Helena, a Greek girl from our group in Byron Bay that certainly made the 12-hour trip much more enjoyable.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Travelling across Queensland with Priscilla
After my diving trip, I started heading south with Priscilla, my van, and a couple travel partners I picked along the way (which almost deserve their own posting). I travel through the rather dull (although recommended by Lonely Planet) Atherton Tableland to land in one of my favorite places on the East coast: Mission Beach.
A couple days later I was dropping my first travel partner at Tully and continued to Townsville, where I spent another couple days in Magnetic Island and dived the S.S. Yongala wreck. Leaving Townsville I stopped at the Billabong Sanctuary for pictures with Aussie animals and finally arrived at Airlie Beach, to sail the beautiful Whitsunday Islands.
New travel partner all the way to Bundaberg, stopping at the Eungella National Park to (try to) see the very elusive platypus. I spent a day at the Bargara Beach before heading for Hervey Bay, to visit the largest sand island in the world: Fraser Island.
And after that, and a day stop at the surprisingly beautiful Rainbow Beach, Priscilla and I arrived at Brisbane, where I am at the time of writing this.
A couple days later I was dropping my first travel partner at Tully and continued to Townsville, where I spent another couple days in Magnetic Island and dived the S.S. Yongala wreck. Leaving Townsville I stopped at the Billabong Sanctuary for pictures with Aussie animals and finally arrived at Airlie Beach, to sail the beautiful Whitsunday Islands.
New travel partner all the way to Bundaberg, stopping at the Eungella National Park to (try to) see the very elusive platypus. I spent a day at the Bargara Beach before heading for Hervey Bay, to visit the largest sand island in the world: Fraser Island.
And after that, and a day stop at the surprisingly beautiful Rainbow Beach, Priscilla and I arrived at Brisbane, where I am at the time of writing this.
Diving at the Great Barrier Reef (on a military schedule)
After thinking and thinking about it and researching on the Internet, I decided to spoil myself (yes, again, since I don't have anyone to do it for me) and book a 7-day live-aboard diving trip to go to the outter Great Barrier Reef and the Osprey reef, which most people claim is the best one in Australia (but certainly, at about 120 km east and about 200 north of Cairns, not the closest to shore). The stand-by price was quite good and it included 23 (yes, 23) dives. And that was in 5 days, since the other 2 days were spent travelling to and from the reef.
The trip was spectacular, the crew very entertaining and I was lucky enough (again) to have a great group of people. The first day we did 5 dives (including my first, and quite impressive, dusk dive), more than the average number of dives I did in Spain in a year, so although I took with me lots of books and music, I hardly had any time (or energy) left for them.
We saw sharks (although not as many as in Moorea), turtles, lion fish, manta rays and a whole lot of different tropical fish. And I did my first ever underwater photographs, which were much more tricky than I expected. Under 5 meters you have almost no red light left, and the deeper you go the less colors you are left until blue is the only one. You can correct that with a special filter, but I didn't have one so had to play with the white-balance of the camera, but even so you will see most pictures are quite blueish.
And if that wasn't enough, you are trying to capture fast-moving animals, with low light (which means low shutter speeds) while you also move (you're "floating" in water) and in many cases fighting underwater currents. Anyway, I don't mean to bore you with all this, but just wanted you to really appreciate my underwater work :)
Oh, and since we were doing so many dives, I decided to use 5 of them to get my Advanced degree. So watch out divers, I'm now allowed to go down to 30 meters (and deeper).
The complete story soon (I hope).
The trip was spectacular, the crew very entertaining and I was lucky enough (again) to have a great group of people. The first day we did 5 dives (including my first, and quite impressive, dusk dive), more than the average number of dives I did in Spain in a year, so although I took with me lots of books and music, I hardly had any time (or energy) left for them.
We saw sharks (although not as many as in Moorea), turtles, lion fish, manta rays and a whole lot of different tropical fish. And I did my first ever underwater photographs, which were much more tricky than I expected. Under 5 meters you have almost no red light left, and the deeper you go the less colors you are left until blue is the only one. You can correct that with a special filter, but I didn't have one so had to play with the white-balance of the camera, but even so you will see most pictures are quite blueish.
And if that wasn't enough, you are trying to capture fast-moving animals, with low light (which means low shutter speeds) while you also move (you're "floating" in water) and in many cases fighting underwater currents. Anyway, I don't mean to bore you with all this, but just wanted you to really appreciate my underwater work :)
Oh, and since we were doing so many dives, I decided to use 5 of them to get my Advanced degree. So watch out divers, I'm now allowed to go down to 30 meters (and deeper).
The complete story soon (I hope).
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Cairns, Cape Tribulation and Priscilla
Cairns is probably the best town in Australia. If your idea of fun is spending your time with pissed British teenagers, expression-less post-modern Germans or fashionably hippie Japanese (all hanging out with their own community), Cairns is definitely your place. There's absolutely nothing to do in that city except drinking jugs of beer and dancing on top of tables. Every activity in this city (except for the typical Barrier Reef diving or Cape Tribulation trips which quite often are simply an excuse to continue drinking but in a new spot) is geared towards making this party-obsessed crowd drink in your bar. Free meals, free drinks, wet t-shirt contests, (supposely) sexy female dancers with big breasts,... Anything so they can leave their drinking dollars (and believe me, they have lots of them) in your pockets!!
When I asked a nice guy who worked in my hostel why all British seemed to like Cairns so much, his response was "it's just like London!". So Cairns is without any doubt the Magalluf (Mallorca) of the Southern hemisphere.
Anyway, despite this inviting and attractive atmosphere, I decided to dedicate most of my time in the city (after I booked my diving trip, that I will cover on my next posting) to search for a cheap camper-van that would take me out of there as fast as people downed their pints in the Woolshed pub.
I searched for a while, but didn't find much to choose from. A girl was selling her van because it had some minor rust "that could be fixed", but that prevented her from passing the roadworthness certificate which, unfortunately, made it impossible to re-register it on my name. After my scepticsm she texted me later saying that she had double-checked with a mechanical and it was not repairable, but she would give it to me for a third of the initial price (a mere $500 AUS) and I could drive it on her name. I must say that the offer was as tempting as my lack of trust on this girl after all these different stories, so I decided to go for a more expensive, worst looking one but whose owner looked much more honest as he told me (almost) all of the problems the van had.
Independenza (or Priscilla, as I like to call her since the other name disturbingly reminds me of the annoying nationalists we have on Northern Spain) was a 26-year old Toyota van, with over 500,000 km., dirty seats, broken dashboard, rust all over her and a paint job that seemed done by those graffitty "artists" that "decorate" local trains in Spain. She was like a dream come true.
Travelling in Australia is extremely easy. You have excellent hostels, more free travel information and booklets that you could read in your life-time, incredibly friendly people always ready to help you, lots of backpackers around and fantastic facilities. So, if you want to have some sense of adventure, you need to travel in a very old, trashy lookin car, with a wicked paint job if possible (not to mention that cars with these characteristics are usually cheaper). In short, the least it would resemble something I would drive to work in Spain, the better. In addition, after meeting my lovely travel-mates in Cairns, I decided that a camper-van would be better, since it would allow me to get off the beaten track and probably meet people with more similar interests to mine. So, as I said, Priscilla was like a dream come true.
After negotiating with the previous owners (a British and a Swedish who had done the opposite route I wanted to do and who previously bought it from some Israelis who had done 30,000 km. travelling around Australia) and proving again how terrible my negotiating skills are (I got 20% off the asking price, but later had the feeling that could have gotten it for even less than half), I decided to get the van as soon as possible so I could drive it before my diving trip to Cape Tribulation as see if anything was seriously wrong with it, while the previous owners still were in Cairns. That meant buying it without a mechanical check up since it was a weekend and everything was closed, but when you're buying a 26-year old vehicle with half a million km. on it you know it's not going to run like a brand new Mercedes Benz anyway. So I took the risk, and headed for Cape Tribulation, claimed to be the only place where the rainforest meet the sea.
Priscilla handled very well the whole trip, not giving me any problems except some over-heating on the way back that was due to a leak in the cooling system (nothing serious, as it's easily solved by adding water every so many days). I stopped in some of the Northern Beaches, some of the very pretty although the constant wind (paradise, if I had my kite-surfing gear) didn't invite to stay there for a long time.
My next stop was Port Douglas, a very nice upscale town with the lovely 4-mile beach (Australians, or Captain Cook, love naming water-sites by their lenght). A guy named Christopher Skase was the main developer in the city and responsible for the spectacular Sheraton golf resort, but apparently he fled to Mallorca owing over $1 million in debts. And despite most Spaniards have probably never heard this name before, almost all Australians know the story and are not precisely happy with Spain for not allowing to extradite this guy back to Australia (whatever the reasons were, I certainly don't know them).
After enjoying the Sunday market in Port Douglas, which had a surprisingly hippie atmosphere with lots of handy-crafts and fresh fruits being sold (I treated myself with the best thick pinaple juice I've ever had), I headed for the Daintree and Cape Tribulation National Parks, crossing by ferry the crocodile-infested Daintree river. These parks are like domestic jungles, because even though they are just across busy roads and cities, once you walked into them you're suddenly immersed into a real rainforest (in fact, one of the oldest in the world) filled with bird and insect noises, and with incredible mangroves and buttree-root trees growing everywhere.
I did a few walks before looking for a camper site where I would test all the van's electricaly-powered gadgets (mainly the fridge). Unfortunately I couldn't find the power cable to get electricity, so decided to camp in a hostel were I met again Remo, a 29-year old South-African and the first person over 22 and the funniest guy I had met since I arrived in Cairns. He was with another great guy, Retro from Switzerland, who was later joined by his fellow country-mate Daniel. It had been so long since I had been around truly funny and interesting people, that I decided to ditch the night rainforest walk I wanted to do and spent the evening sharing beers with them, witnessing some of the worst karaoke performances ever (only surpassed by the ones in Alice Springs) and eventually meeting two really nice Italian girls. Well, it was actually Remo who met them after one of them did a quite good karaoke performance, he asked her so sign his pants in admiration... and she did!
The next day was still quite windy, so again no beach time. I decided to some more walks, relax by the pool and eventually, head back to Cairns, as the following day I was starting my diving trip.
Not much more to say about Cairns. I did treat myself to a full kite-surfing afternoon that costed me a fortune, but I was really desperate to do it after all this time. I was joined by my Scottish roommate, John, an truly nice 18-year old guy (and much more mature than most of his older country-mates) who was my dinner and drinking partner the few times I ventured into Cairns' annoying night life.
So, everything was ready for my live-aboard diving trip. 7 days and up to 23 dives. Would I be able to handle all that underwater activity? Well, that's another story (and another post)
When I asked a nice guy who worked in my hostel why all British seemed to like Cairns so much, his response was "it's just like London!". So Cairns is without any doubt the Magalluf (Mallorca) of the Southern hemisphere.
Anyway, despite this inviting and attractive atmosphere, I decided to dedicate most of my time in the city (after I booked my diving trip, that I will cover on my next posting) to search for a cheap camper-van that would take me out of there as fast as people downed their pints in the Woolshed pub.
I searched for a while, but didn't find much to choose from. A girl was selling her van because it had some minor rust "that could be fixed", but that prevented her from passing the roadworthness certificate which, unfortunately, made it impossible to re-register it on my name. After my scepticsm she texted me later saying that she had double-checked with a mechanical and it was not repairable, but she would give it to me for a third of the initial price (a mere $500 AUS) and I could drive it on her name. I must say that the offer was as tempting as my lack of trust on this girl after all these different stories, so I decided to go for a more expensive, worst looking one but whose owner looked much more honest as he told me (almost) all of the problems the van had.
Independenza (or Priscilla, as I like to call her since the other name disturbingly reminds me of the annoying nationalists we have on Northern Spain) was a 26-year old Toyota van, with over 500,000 km., dirty seats, broken dashboard, rust all over her and a paint job that seemed done by those graffitty "artists" that "decorate" local trains in Spain. She was like a dream come true.
Travelling in Australia is extremely easy. You have excellent hostels, more free travel information and booklets that you could read in your life-time, incredibly friendly people always ready to help you, lots of backpackers around and fantastic facilities. So, if you want to have some sense of adventure, you need to travel in a very old, trashy lookin car, with a wicked paint job if possible (not to mention that cars with these characteristics are usually cheaper). In short, the least it would resemble something I would drive to work in Spain, the better. In addition, after meeting my lovely travel-mates in Cairns, I decided that a camper-van would be better, since it would allow me to get off the beaten track and probably meet people with more similar interests to mine. So, as I said, Priscilla was like a dream come true.
After negotiating with the previous owners (a British and a Swedish who had done the opposite route I wanted to do and who previously bought it from some Israelis who had done 30,000 km. travelling around Australia) and proving again how terrible my negotiating skills are (I got 20% off the asking price, but later had the feeling that could have gotten it for even less than half), I decided to get the van as soon as possible so I could drive it before my diving trip to Cape Tribulation as see if anything was seriously wrong with it, while the previous owners still were in Cairns. That meant buying it without a mechanical check up since it was a weekend and everything was closed, but when you're buying a 26-year old vehicle with half a million km. on it you know it's not going to run like a brand new Mercedes Benz anyway. So I took the risk, and headed for Cape Tribulation, claimed to be the only place where the rainforest meet the sea.
Priscilla handled very well the whole trip, not giving me any problems except some over-heating on the way back that was due to a leak in the cooling system (nothing serious, as it's easily solved by adding water every so many days). I stopped in some of the Northern Beaches, some of the very pretty although the constant wind (paradise, if I had my kite-surfing gear) didn't invite to stay there for a long time.
My next stop was Port Douglas, a very nice upscale town with the lovely 4-mile beach (Australians, or Captain Cook, love naming water-sites by their lenght). A guy named Christopher Skase was the main developer in the city and responsible for the spectacular Sheraton golf resort, but apparently he fled to Mallorca owing over $1 million in debts. And despite most Spaniards have probably never heard this name before, almost all Australians know the story and are not precisely happy with Spain for not allowing to extradite this guy back to Australia (whatever the reasons were, I certainly don't know them).
After enjoying the Sunday market in Port Douglas, which had a surprisingly hippie atmosphere with lots of handy-crafts and fresh fruits being sold (I treated myself with the best thick pinaple juice I've ever had), I headed for the Daintree and Cape Tribulation National Parks, crossing by ferry the crocodile-infested Daintree river. These parks are like domestic jungles, because even though they are just across busy roads and cities, once you walked into them you're suddenly immersed into a real rainforest (in fact, one of the oldest in the world) filled with bird and insect noises, and with incredible mangroves and buttree-root trees growing everywhere.
I did a few walks before looking for a camper site where I would test all the van's electricaly-powered gadgets (mainly the fridge). Unfortunately I couldn't find the power cable to get electricity, so decided to camp in a hostel were I met again Remo, a 29-year old South-African and the first person over 22 and the funniest guy I had met since I arrived in Cairns. He was with another great guy, Retro from Switzerland, who was later joined by his fellow country-mate Daniel. It had been so long since I had been around truly funny and interesting people, that I decided to ditch the night rainforest walk I wanted to do and spent the evening sharing beers with them, witnessing some of the worst karaoke performances ever (only surpassed by the ones in Alice Springs) and eventually meeting two really nice Italian girls. Well, it was actually Remo who met them after one of them did a quite good karaoke performance, he asked her so sign his pants in admiration... and she did!
The next day was still quite windy, so again no beach time. I decided to some more walks, relax by the pool and eventually, head back to Cairns, as the following day I was starting my diving trip.
Not much more to say about Cairns. I did treat myself to a full kite-surfing afternoon that costed me a fortune, but I was really desperate to do it after all this time. I was joined by my Scottish roommate, John, an truly nice 18-year old guy (and much more mature than most of his older country-mates) who was my dinner and drinking partner the few times I ventured into Cairns' annoying night life.
So, everything was ready for my live-aboard diving trip. 7 days and up to 23 dives. Would I be able to handle all that underwater activity? Well, that's another story (and another post)
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Crocs, waterholes and Mad Matt
Arriving to (very) hot Darwin was a lovely change after the quite chilling days I had spent in Alice Springs and Ayers Rock.
Darwin is very nice, small and laidback tropical city, and the Northernmost place I'll be in Australia (only a few kilometers away from East Timor), and I liked it much more than I expected. It has quite a few nice sand beaches where the water is meters and meters away at low tide, and that's probably good, since that's where the dangerous salt water crocodiles are almost all year long and the box jelly fish, the most venemous animal in the world, swims from October to around May. So a general rule in Darwin and surroundings is stay out of the water unless you are completely certain that is safe or it's a private swiming pool.
One of my favorite places in Darwin was the sunday Mindil Beach Market that, even though has become quite touristry, is still worth visiting. Besides the typical Asian and Australian souvenirs you find in this sort of markets, Mindil has a great selection of cheap Asian food from different countries and some of the best live performances I've ever seen, including local groups Jabaru (soft music) and Em Dee (didgeridoo dance music), which I absolutely loved and had to buy their CDs (which were not cheap). And if that wasn't enough, you can also see on of the best diabolo acrobats I've seen in my life (although his practicing was far more impressive than the night show he did).
But the main reason most people (including myself) go to Darwin is to visit the spectacular Kakadu National Park. Since in this park you need a 4x4 to access most of the best sites and it's absolutelly huge (20,000 square km!), I decided to book a 5-day tour that also visited the other highlights of the area: Litchfield National Park and Katherine Gorge. And so far, I think it was the best guided tour I've done in my life and certainly one of the highlights of my visit to Australia.
We had a great guide, Matt, a perfect mix of experience, organization and CRAZINESS!! And an absolutely great group, including Ineke and Gerard (a cute and really funny young Dutch couple), Martina (my silently cute German platonic love :), Dean and Allison (a hilarious Melbourne couple) and Pete and Bridget (who patiently stood, and sometimes participated in, some of our crazy activities).
Our first day we visited Litchfield National Park, stopping on the way to watch Matt feed huge barramundi (around 1-m long fish) with his mouth. An apperitive for what it was to come.
Litchfield was beautiful, full of nice water-holes where you could swim and jump. One of my favorites was Tolmer Falls, where only the company we went for is allowed to take people swiming. And so we did, including swiming into a dark cave that was quite an experience. Buley Rock-hole was another great place, with naturally-formed jacuzzi-size water-holes were you could swim or relaxed. We ended the day seeing hundreds of spectacular termite mounds, some of them over 5 m. high.
But probably the highlight of the day was the end of it, where we camped under the starry sky with just our swags (a water-proved thing that you put your sleeping-bag into) and no tents in McDonnell airstrip, an abandoned runway from World War 2. No cars, no noises, nobody. Just us and a bunch of wild animals around us that, fortunately, we didn't see. Matt said in many occasions he had taken snakes out of people's swags; as they sleep there because they're warmer (I imagine the face of that person when he wakes up in the morning and finds his/her new little companion).
The next day we paddled for a few hours in canoes along the first two spectacular gorges of the Katherine river. There were fresh water crocodiles, which are very shy and not dangerous unless you provoke them, but that made Ineke quite nervous.
The third day we finally enter Kakadu, and spent the next three days visiting spectacular waterfalls, swiming in beautiful water-holes, seeing old Aboriginal paintings, spotting salt water crododiles and other fauna, camping in the open, sleeping under the stars, cooking with real fire (Matt proved to be one of the best firewood chefs I've seen in my life) and having a lot of fun. And despite how popular this park is, most of the time we were just by ourselves, which was a truly unique experience and the only time I've really felt in the wild in Australia.
Even though certain places where we swam were though to be completely safe to swim, I must confess it was a bit scary going into the water in a park that you know is full of the dangerous salt water-crocodiles (and with warning signs everywhere). Specially knowing that a German girl was killed by one of this crocodiles two years ago because she went swimming in an unsafe are. But rangers remove the crocs from these places and guides know where and where not to swim.
I don't want to bore you with the details, but I'll just mention some of my favorite annecdotes of the trip to give you an idea of what was like.
In Katherine Gorge Martina and I went down the rapids in our canoe, even though Matt told us we were not supposed to. Later he would confess that he just says that in front of the rangers, but he's the first one to do it when he's paddling. Then, our first night in Kakadu, we went swiming at night in a water-hole, after looking around (and into the clear waters) with our torches to make sure that Matt's comment that there can't be crocs in that area was true. Matt even climbed some slippery rocks and dived into the waterhole. At night!
Another fun night was when it rained in our camping and we had to sleep in the toilets, after watching Matt play golf with cane todds, which is the only way to kill them (cane todds were introduced from South America and are now a plague, killing all local animals). And certainly one of the highlighs of the trip was Barramundi gorge, where there are some spectacular natural pools ontop of a waterfall and some incredible jumps into them. Only Gerard and I decided to jump from a 16m high rock (I can't tell you how small the water-hole looks from up there), but Matt, with an injured foot and only 8 toes (he lost 2 in a bicycle accident) jumped from another one at least 8 m higher. Mad Matt!!
We finished our trip spotting more salt water crocodiles in a river, starting a water fight inside the car that Matt had just cleaned and playing games drawing on Gerard's leg. A truly unforgettable trip.
The night we arrived we all went out (including Matt) and had a lot of fun hoping from bar to bar and discovering Martina's spectacular dancing skills.
My last day in Darwin were quite relaxed, and included a tour to the jumping crocodiles (they hang a piece of meat from a boat and the crocs jump out of the river to get it).
I really have great memories from Darwin and I think, so far, is my favorite place in Australia.
Darwin is very nice, small and laidback tropical city, and the Northernmost place I'll be in Australia (only a few kilometers away from East Timor), and I liked it much more than I expected. It has quite a few nice sand beaches where the water is meters and meters away at low tide, and that's probably good, since that's where the dangerous salt water crocodiles are almost all year long and the box jelly fish, the most venemous animal in the world, swims from October to around May. So a general rule in Darwin and surroundings is stay out of the water unless you are completely certain that is safe or it's a private swiming pool.
One of my favorite places in Darwin was the sunday Mindil Beach Market that, even though has become quite touristry, is still worth visiting. Besides the typical Asian and Australian souvenirs you find in this sort of markets, Mindil has a great selection of cheap Asian food from different countries and some of the best live performances I've ever seen, including local groups Jabaru (soft music) and Em Dee (didgeridoo dance music), which I absolutely loved and had to buy their CDs (which were not cheap). And if that wasn't enough, you can also see on of the best diabolo acrobats I've seen in my life (although his practicing was far more impressive than the night show he did).
But the main reason most people (including myself) go to Darwin is to visit the spectacular Kakadu National Park. Since in this park you need a 4x4 to access most of the best sites and it's absolutelly huge (20,000 square km!), I decided to book a 5-day tour that also visited the other highlights of the area: Litchfield National Park and Katherine Gorge. And so far, I think it was the best guided tour I've done in my life and certainly one of the highlights of my visit to Australia.
We had a great guide, Matt, a perfect mix of experience, organization and CRAZINESS!! And an absolutely great group, including Ineke and Gerard (a cute and really funny young Dutch couple), Martina (my silently cute German platonic love :), Dean and Allison (a hilarious Melbourne couple) and Pete and Bridget (who patiently stood, and sometimes participated in, some of our crazy activities).
Our first day we visited Litchfield National Park, stopping on the way to watch Matt feed huge barramundi (around 1-m long fish) with his mouth. An apperitive for what it was to come.
Litchfield was beautiful, full of nice water-holes where you could swim and jump. One of my favorites was Tolmer Falls, where only the company we went for is allowed to take people swiming. And so we did, including swiming into a dark cave that was quite an experience. Buley Rock-hole was another great place, with naturally-formed jacuzzi-size water-holes were you could swim or relaxed. We ended the day seeing hundreds of spectacular termite mounds, some of them over 5 m. high.
But probably the highlight of the day was the end of it, where we camped under the starry sky with just our swags (a water-proved thing that you put your sleeping-bag into) and no tents in McDonnell airstrip, an abandoned runway from World War 2. No cars, no noises, nobody. Just us and a bunch of wild animals around us that, fortunately, we didn't see. Matt said in many occasions he had taken snakes out of people's swags; as they sleep there because they're warmer (I imagine the face of that person when he wakes up in the morning and finds his/her new little companion).
The next day we paddled for a few hours in canoes along the first two spectacular gorges of the Katherine river. There were fresh water crocodiles, which are very shy and not dangerous unless you provoke them, but that made Ineke quite nervous.
The third day we finally enter Kakadu, and spent the next three days visiting spectacular waterfalls, swiming in beautiful water-holes, seeing old Aboriginal paintings, spotting salt water crododiles and other fauna, camping in the open, sleeping under the stars, cooking with real fire (Matt proved to be one of the best firewood chefs I've seen in my life) and having a lot of fun. And despite how popular this park is, most of the time we were just by ourselves, which was a truly unique experience and the only time I've really felt in the wild in Australia.
Even though certain places where we swam were though to be completely safe to swim, I must confess it was a bit scary going into the water in a park that you know is full of the dangerous salt water-crocodiles (and with warning signs everywhere). Specially knowing that a German girl was killed by one of this crocodiles two years ago because she went swimming in an unsafe are. But rangers remove the crocs from these places and guides know where and where not to swim.
I don't want to bore you with the details, but I'll just mention some of my favorite annecdotes of the trip to give you an idea of what was like.
In Katherine Gorge Martina and I went down the rapids in our canoe, even though Matt told us we were not supposed to. Later he would confess that he just says that in front of the rangers, but he's the first one to do it when he's paddling. Then, our first night in Kakadu, we went swiming at night in a water-hole, after looking around (and into the clear waters) with our torches to make sure that Matt's comment that there can't be crocs in that area was true. Matt even climbed some slippery rocks and dived into the waterhole. At night!
Another fun night was when it rained in our camping and we had to sleep in the toilets, after watching Matt play golf with cane todds, which is the only way to kill them (cane todds were introduced from South America and are now a plague, killing all local animals). And certainly one of the highlighs of the trip was Barramundi gorge, where there are some spectacular natural pools ontop of a waterfall and some incredible jumps into them. Only Gerard and I decided to jump from a 16m high rock (I can't tell you how small the water-hole looks from up there), but Matt, with an injured foot and only 8 toes (he lost 2 in a bicycle accident) jumped from another one at least 8 m higher. Mad Matt!!
We finished our trip spotting more salt water crocodiles in a river, starting a water fight inside the car that Matt had just cleaned and playing games drawing on Gerard's leg. A truly unforgettable trip.
The night we arrived we all went out (including Matt) and had a lot of fun hoping from bar to bar and discovering Martina's spectacular dancing skills.
My last day in Darwin were quite relaxed, and included a tour to the jumping crocodiles (they hang a piece of meat from a boat and the crocs jump out of the river to get it).
I really have great memories from Darwin and I think, so far, is my favorite place in Australia.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Australia's red red center
Arriving in Australia, and specificaly Sydney, has been a great change from my previous traveling. Although I only stayed in the city for 3 days (will be spending more time in the future), I did got a good feeling for it and I really loved it: nice architecture, spectacular setting, quite sophisticated people, lots of Asian food, good public transportation, really nice beaches, great weather and lots of opportunities to buy the latest of the kind of crap I like (electronics, sports,...) It's an unusual blend of America and Europe that makes it very attractive.
My favorite site was Manly Beach, a nice suburb about 30 minutes on the ferry from downtown Sydney. It has great beaches within walking distance (where you can surf, kite-surf and even dive) and for all preferences, from the small and quiet Shell Beach to the long social Manly Beach, with its nice promenade behind. But one of the highlights of Manly is actually getting there, enjoying a spectacular view of Sydney, with the unique Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. And if that wasn't enough, we got to see the sunset on this setting when coming back to Sydney on the ferry.
However, despite all the attractions this city has to offer, I decided to head north as soon as possible, since it's still winter down here and its the best time to visit the (supposedly) hot central desert and the tropical north. So, I took a 3 and a half hour flight crossing a lot of nothing to arrive at one of Australias' most photographed icons: Ayers Rock or Uluru, in Aboriginal language.
The first surprise was that there is absolutely nothing in Ayers Rock except the Yulara resort, that includes all possible accomodation and a small mall with restaurants, shops and the only unexpensive thing there: the supermarket. No village, no houses, no streets, nothing. I don't know where the people that work there live (and unfortunately, I forgot to ask).
Even though I'm sure most travel wankers get hypnotized by their first view of the famous red rock, I must confess I didn't. In fact, the pictures you see of it are often better than the real thing, as they're taken with the ideal lighting conditions, and I didn't get that on my first day. So, sorry, no big "oooooooh" for me this time.
And of course, despite the fact that I was in the desert and that it's the dry season, it rained. I truly think I should visit all the countries with water problems in Africa, because I could solve that just stepping out of the plane. But this time the rain brought with it a wonderful present: a beautiful rainbow while I saw the sunset on the rock from the distance and lots of truly rare flowers all over the desert (one guide told us she had been living there for 5 years and had never seen any flower).
I did the usual staff: see the sunrise (in a freezing morning), walk around the rock (where I could appreciate all the unusual caves and shapes of the rock, which were truly amazing and a real surprise) and see the sunset, when the rock becomes very red (as in all the pictures you have seen). I didn't get to climb it because the shut it down due to the wind (and after my guidebook, a Qantas video, all brochures and dozens of signs around the rock ask you not to climb it because the religious importance it has for local people, you don't feel very incentivated anyway).
But my favorite spot in the area was the Olgas, a collection of red dome-shaped mountains, forming spectacular canyons and providing incredible views. And in addition, I got to enjoy them with a great group of Aussies, British and Irish.
I decided to take a tour to Alice Springs, so I could stop at Kings Canyon. And I don't think I need to tell you what color it is. It was an interesting bus ride, where we saw kangaroos and wild horses and camels. Yeap, there are camels down here and not only they've gone wild but Australians have created a very profitable industry by catching them and selling them back to the Arabs)
Despite the age of my fellow travelers (I think the youngest person except me, the driver and a pair of Italian honeymooners was alive in WW 2), most people walked up the canyon to enjoy some nice views of it's vertical walls and dome-shaped hills.
And finally, Alice Springs. I was really curious to discover what the city was like, and it was a much nicer place than I expected, clean, with nice buildings and parks, but unfortunately as dull as I expected. Yeap, not much to do or see here, except exploring the West McDonnell Range (not to be confused with the fast-food chain) which a did sharing a rental car with Sara, the British girl from the Olgas tour. We visited some really nice and quiet water-holes, gaps and canyons, saw some wallabies (small kangaroos that live in the rockes) and had a great time driving around, trying to understand some unintelligible explanations regarding the formation of the rang and being able to talk while listening to the hottest bands of the moment (according to Sara) at no less than 500 decibels (yeap, again Sara). We completed the beautiful day by visiting one of the most bizarre Irish Pubs I've seen in my life (with drunk Aboriginals singing karaoke), in the company of our Irish and Welch roommates who drunk beer by hectoliters.
One truly shocking thing about Alice Springs is actually the sight of all the Aboriginal people drunk in the streets. I've heard all kinds of explanations for that, but none of them seems truly convincing. But whether it's racism from the white community or lack of interest in society from the Aboriginal, something is terribly wrong when you see this people completely drunk and not working in shops or restaurants.
Of course, I couldn't live the area where 9 of the 10 most venomous snakes in the world live without visting the reptile center to play with a few lizards, have a 3-meter long snake around me or witnessing 2 Inland Taipan, the most venomous snake in the world (one drop of its venom can kill up to 12 people), eat their lunch only 2 meters away from us and with no barriers in between. This is the wild Australia!
My favorite site was Manly Beach, a nice suburb about 30 minutes on the ferry from downtown Sydney. It has great beaches within walking distance (where you can surf, kite-surf and even dive) and for all preferences, from the small and quiet Shell Beach to the long social Manly Beach, with its nice promenade behind. But one of the highlights of Manly is actually getting there, enjoying a spectacular view of Sydney, with the unique Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. And if that wasn't enough, we got to see the sunset on this setting when coming back to Sydney on the ferry.
However, despite all the attractions this city has to offer, I decided to head north as soon as possible, since it's still winter down here and its the best time to visit the (supposedly) hot central desert and the tropical north. So, I took a 3 and a half hour flight crossing a lot of nothing to arrive at one of Australias' most photographed icons: Ayers Rock or Uluru, in Aboriginal language.
The first surprise was that there is absolutely nothing in Ayers Rock except the Yulara resort, that includes all possible accomodation and a small mall with restaurants, shops and the only unexpensive thing there: the supermarket. No village, no houses, no streets, nothing. I don't know where the people that work there live (and unfortunately, I forgot to ask).
Even though I'm sure most travel wankers get hypnotized by their first view of the famous red rock, I must confess I didn't. In fact, the pictures you see of it are often better than the real thing, as they're taken with the ideal lighting conditions, and I didn't get that on my first day. So, sorry, no big "oooooooh" for me this time.
And of course, despite the fact that I was in the desert and that it's the dry season, it rained. I truly think I should visit all the countries with water problems in Africa, because I could solve that just stepping out of the plane. But this time the rain brought with it a wonderful present: a beautiful rainbow while I saw the sunset on the rock from the distance and lots of truly rare flowers all over the desert (one guide told us she had been living there for 5 years and had never seen any flower).
I did the usual staff: see the sunrise (in a freezing morning), walk around the rock (where I could appreciate all the unusual caves and shapes of the rock, which were truly amazing and a real surprise) and see the sunset, when the rock becomes very red (as in all the pictures you have seen). I didn't get to climb it because the shut it down due to the wind (and after my guidebook, a Qantas video, all brochures and dozens of signs around the rock ask you not to climb it because the religious importance it has for local people, you don't feel very incentivated anyway).
But my favorite spot in the area was the Olgas, a collection of red dome-shaped mountains, forming spectacular canyons and providing incredible views. And in addition, I got to enjoy them with a great group of Aussies, British and Irish.
I decided to take a tour to Alice Springs, so I could stop at Kings Canyon. And I don't think I need to tell you what color it is. It was an interesting bus ride, where we saw kangaroos and wild horses and camels. Yeap, there are camels down here and not only they've gone wild but Australians have created a very profitable industry by catching them and selling them back to the Arabs)
Despite the age of my fellow travelers (I think the youngest person except me, the driver and a pair of Italian honeymooners was alive in WW 2), most people walked up the canyon to enjoy some nice views of it's vertical walls and dome-shaped hills.
And finally, Alice Springs. I was really curious to discover what the city was like, and it was a much nicer place than I expected, clean, with nice buildings and parks, but unfortunately as dull as I expected. Yeap, not much to do or see here, except exploring the West McDonnell Range (not to be confused with the fast-food chain) which a did sharing a rental car with Sara, the British girl from the Olgas tour. We visited some really nice and quiet water-holes, gaps and canyons, saw some wallabies (small kangaroos that live in the rockes) and had a great time driving around, trying to understand some unintelligible explanations regarding the formation of the rang and being able to talk while listening to the hottest bands of the moment (according to Sara) at no less than 500 decibels (yeap, again Sara). We completed the beautiful day by visiting one of the most bizarre Irish Pubs I've seen in my life (with drunk Aboriginals singing karaoke), in the company of our Irish and Welch roommates who drunk beer by hectoliters.
One truly shocking thing about Alice Springs is actually the sight of all the Aboriginal people drunk in the streets. I've heard all kinds of explanations for that, but none of them seems truly convincing. But whether it's racism from the white community or lack of interest in society from the Aboriginal, something is terribly wrong when you see this people completely drunk and not working in shops or restaurants.
Of course, I couldn't live the area where 9 of the 10 most venomous snakes in the world live without visting the reptile center to play with a few lizards, have a 3-meter long snake around me or witnessing 2 Inland Taipan, the most venomous snake in the world (one drop of its venom can kill up to 12 people), eat their lunch only 2 meters away from us and with no barriers in between. This is the wild Australia!
Friday, August 27, 2004
Eighteen days in Paradise
French Polynesia is probably the closest you can get to Paradise. Spectacular white-sand beaches bathed by water of as many tones of blue and green as you can possibly imagine, overwhelming green mountains impossible to reach and an underwater life and coral formations as I have never seen elsewhere (including sharks, sting rays, turtles and whales, to name my favorite).
Unfortunately, Paradise is anything but cheap, but at least once in a lifetime one needs to see how the other half (or the other 2%, to be exact) lives :)
Unfortunately, Paradise is anything but cheap, but at least once in a lifetime one needs to see how the other half (or the other 2%, to be exact) lives :)
Rapa Nui and its Moais
Easter Island, the most isolated island in the world. I toured around the island a couple times (one in a 4x4 and another one in a dirt motor-bike), stopping at some of the sites to enjoy the company of those enigmatic statues that never (except one rare site) face the sea. A truly fascinating experience.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Fog, museums and football
That's all there is to see in Lima, that despite its past importance, lacks the charm of most other colonial cities. I visited the impressive catacombs of San Francisco, went to the interesting National Museum and was fortunate enough to watch Argentina play (and undeservely lose to) Brazil on the final of the Copa América.
Since all flighs heading for Santiago were full after the competition (as I painfully learned spending 10 hours and a full night at the airport), I ended up staying a couple more days doing nothing but relaxing in the last city I'm visiting on the South American part of my trip. Hopefully, tomorrow at 7 am I will be crossing the sky heading south.
Since all flighs heading for Santiago were full after the competition (as I painfully learned spending 10 hours and a full night at the airport), I ended up staying a couple more days doing nothing but relaxing in the last city I'm visiting on the South American part of my trip. Hopefully, tomorrow at 7 am I will be crossing the sky heading south.
Lines, dunes and birds
After Arequipa I went to Nazca, wondering whether or not it was worth it to pay a lot of money to see the famous Nazca Lines on a 30-minute flight. The weather took that decision for me, as our flight was cancelled due to low visibility early in the morning.
That same day I headed to the former luxurious resort of Huacachina lagoon, where I relaxed for a couple days, rode a fun sand-buggie and improved my sand-boarding skills :)
My next stop was Pisco, from where I visited Islas Ballestas (also known as the Galapagos of the Poor) and saw hundreds of cormorans and pelicans, but not many sea lions as I was expecting to. And of course, I tried one of Perú's most typical dishes: ceviche (raw fish with strong lemon and onions; delicious!)
That same day I headed to the former luxurious resort of Huacachina lagoon, where I relaxed for a couple days, rode a fun sand-buggie and improved my sand-boarding skills :)
My next stop was Pisco, from where I visited Islas Ballestas (also known as the Galapagos of the Poor) and saw hundreds of cormorans and pelicans, but not many sea lions as I was expecting to. And of course, I tried one of Perú's most typical dishes: ceviche (raw fish with strong lemon and onions; delicious!)
The other white city
After Cuzco, I headed to Arequipa, known as the white city although only the churches and the Plaza de Armas have this color. I found this city nice but a bit deceptining after all the comments I had heard, so after visiting the impressive Santa Catalina convent I decided to go to the Colca Canyon. There I did a 2-day trekking to an oasis at the bottom of the canyon, had a close view of Condors flying by and enjoyed the festivities of Cabanaconde.
The capital of the Inca empire
And certainly one of the most important cities in the whole continent. I spent several days strolling along the beautiful (and also very touristry) streets of Cusco and visiting most of the inca ruins around it, including the spectacular Machu Picchu. I also did a 3-day rafting expedition on the Apurimac, trekked to the Choquequirao ruins, assisted to the overrated Inti Raymi festival and watched Spain being eliminated and Greece winning the title, among a few others games of the Euro Cup.
The islands on lake Titicaca
Once the road-blockades allowed us to, we travelled to Copacabana, on the Bolivian shore of lake Titicaca, where we visited the scenic Isla del Sol (Sun Island), where the sun created Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo, the founders or the Inca civilization. Then we crossed the border into Perú to head towards Puno, and unattractive city that harbors the oldest passenger ship of the Lake and the base to visiting the floating islands of the Uros and the touristry island of Taquile.
The Mammas and the Pampas
Actually, the real tittle should read "The jungle and the pampas", since those are the two areas I visited from the wonderful and laidback city of Rurrenabaque, on the bank of the Beni river. We saw all sort of animals, ranging from alligators and anacondas to monkeys and all sort of birds, and went through an interesting (and short) jugle survivor course.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
The city of "highests"
You don't need to spend a lot of time in La Paz to learn that this is the city of "highest": it has the highest commercial airport in the world, the highest golf course in the world, the highest skiing slope in the world and, presumably, many other "highest" records. Ironically, the only undeserved title is the one most people know it for, since, as I said before, Sucre is the actual capital of Bolivia.
No matter how you arrive in La Paz, by plane or ground transportation, your first view of the city will be from above. And it is a spectacular one, since La Paz is located at the bottom of a canyon in the Bolivian Altiplano. Spaniards chose this site to protect it from the winds and cold temperatures of the high plane.
I must say that La Paz is not really a city, but a huge street market surrounded by buildings. It's almost impossible to find a piece of sidewalk where nobody is selling anything. You can buy deliciusly cheap food (salteñas and fruit salads were my favorite), all types of Indian handycrafs, pirate CDs and DVDs, drinks, calculators, clothes,... just anything that you can think of. There are no supermarkets there, but what's the need when the city itself is one of the world's biggest open air markets.
One of my favorite spots in La Paz is the Pampahasi viewpoint, where you get a spectacular view of the whole city. Also worth visiting is the impressive "Valle de la Luna" (yeap, another one), where you can walk between amazing peaks strangly shaped by the rain and water. And not to be missed either is the Coca Museum, where I learned a lot of interesting facts about this controversial veggie (among other things, Coca Cola still uses nowadays about 240 tons of coca leaves for its famous drink, although just for flavoring purposes).
Visiting the world's highest skiing slope, Chacaltaya, was another great trip. Not only I got a spectacular view of La Paz, most of the peaks of the "Cordillera Real", lake Titicaca and quite a few colorful lagoons, but it was probably the easiest (and fastest way) of climbing a 5,488 m-high mountain, since the bus droped me off at 5,300.
However, if you think walking the remaining 188m was a piece of cake, think again. Walking up at that altitude is a good challenge and we had to stop every 10m or so to recover our breath. One of the girls in our group suffered high-altitude sickness and had to be taken down to be administered oxygen. So given these "favorable" conditions, I found truly mind-blogging that anyone would attempt skiing at this height, specially considering that the slope has no mechanical lift and you have to walk up, in the snow, carrying your skies and all your gear. In other words, you must really, really, really love the sport to go skiing in La Paz :)
We also decided to visit the Tihuanaco ruins, claimed to be the most important ones in Bolivia as they were the main site of the pre-Incan Tihuanaco society. I must confess that I found them quite deceptioning, since there is very little to see (most of it is underground, waiting to be excavated) and even that seems to have suffered heavy reconstruction.
Additionally, we got the feeling (and this applies to most guided visits of Incan and pre-Incan sites in the continent) that the information we were given was little more than guesswork, specially considering that these cultures had no writing and it's virtualy impossible to uncover most of their secrets. Most guides seem obsessed with making these societies look much more evolved than they actually were, and quite frequently you are giving information that is plainly false. During this tour, for example, our guide tried to convince us that 48 little soldiers on one wall together with 4 other soldiers on another wall represented the 52 weeks of the year. But how the Tihuanacos discovered the 7-day week concept created by the Romans remains a mystery for all of us (including our guide).
But my favorite activity in La Paz was the breath-taking downhill bicycle ride to Coroico, certainly one of the most exciting things I've done in this whole trip. Riding a state-of-the-art bicycle (double hydraulic disc-brakes) and descending 3,600 m in only 64 km along a narrow, bumpy (and ofter muddy) dirt road with vertical drops of up to 1,000 m, enjoying spectacular views of green rain-forest valleys and peaks is an experience hard to match.
This road was declared in 1994 "The World's Most Dangerous Road" by the World Bank, and there's a reason for it. There are dozens of fatal accidents every year (our guide told us one every 2 weeks) and all the crosses placed along the road are a disturbing and constant reminder of how many people have lost their lives here. The main cause for that tragic record is that the road is extremely narrow (at some points I don't think it's wider than 3m) and land-slides on the cliff-side are frequent due to the various waterfalls that drop on the road. In fact, it's the only road in Bolivia where you drive on the left, so drivers can see how close the are to the cliff when they are maneuvering to avoid on-coming traffic.
Unfortunately, when we rode down the road it was raining and foggy, so we could't enjoy the magnificent views of the cliffs. Although you could also say that luckily, it was raining and foggy and we could not see the drops of the cliffs! Anyway, that made it even more fun, riding on the mudd, crossing rivers and controlling the bike sliding on the turns. Spectacular!
After that thrilling experience we decided to relax for a couple days at the wonderful hotel Esmeralda at Coroico, escaping from the cold of the heights for the first time in many weeks and enjoying the swimming-pool, the sauna (well, I didn't get to use it but it was there) and the beautiful views of the valleys. That was without a doubt the best place I've slept in the whole trip, and also the best value-for-money (3,5 euros per night is a true bargain).
We intended to take a 10-hour jeep trip from there to the jungle, but unfortunately the roads where being blocked by demonstrators and when the blockade was finally over, a bridge collapsed. Ten people died the day before trying to cross through the river in a truck, so we had no alternative but to go up to La Paz by bus (on the most dangerous road in the world, something I wanted to avoid by all means) and then fly to the jungle. So if you think going down this road on a bike was scary, I cannot describe what the return trip was like on a bus almost as wide as the entire road. On the bicycle you go as fast and as close to the cliff as you want (or as the oncoming traffic lets you), but in a bus you are no longer in control (I'm affraid not even the driver was in control all time). And this time there was no fog to hide the drop.
I was sitting at a window on the cliff side and I can tell you that many times, when I looked out the window, I could see the vertical drop, but not the road or where the drop ended. That was, without a doubt, the "most dangerous ride of my trip".
No matter how you arrive in La Paz, by plane or ground transportation, your first view of the city will be from above. And it is a spectacular one, since La Paz is located at the bottom of a canyon in the Bolivian Altiplano. Spaniards chose this site to protect it from the winds and cold temperatures of the high plane.
I must say that La Paz is not really a city, but a huge street market surrounded by buildings. It's almost impossible to find a piece of sidewalk where nobody is selling anything. You can buy deliciusly cheap food (salteñas and fruit salads were my favorite), all types of Indian handycrafs, pirate CDs and DVDs, drinks, calculators, clothes,... just anything that you can think of. There are no supermarkets there, but what's the need when the city itself is one of the world's biggest open air markets.
One of my favorite spots in La Paz is the Pampahasi viewpoint, where you get a spectacular view of the whole city. Also worth visiting is the impressive "Valle de la Luna" (yeap, another one), where you can walk between amazing peaks strangly shaped by the rain and water. And not to be missed either is the Coca Museum, where I learned a lot of interesting facts about this controversial veggie (among other things, Coca Cola still uses nowadays about 240 tons of coca leaves for its famous drink, although just for flavoring purposes).
Visiting the world's highest skiing slope, Chacaltaya, was another great trip. Not only I got a spectacular view of La Paz, most of the peaks of the "Cordillera Real", lake Titicaca and quite a few colorful lagoons, but it was probably the easiest (and fastest way) of climbing a 5,488 m-high mountain, since the bus droped me off at 5,300.
However, if you think walking the remaining 188m was a piece of cake, think again. Walking up at that altitude is a good challenge and we had to stop every 10m or so to recover our breath. One of the girls in our group suffered high-altitude sickness and had to be taken down to be administered oxygen. So given these "favorable" conditions, I found truly mind-blogging that anyone would attempt skiing at this height, specially considering that the slope has no mechanical lift and you have to walk up, in the snow, carrying your skies and all your gear. In other words, you must really, really, really love the sport to go skiing in La Paz :)
We also decided to visit the Tihuanaco ruins, claimed to be the most important ones in Bolivia as they were the main site of the pre-Incan Tihuanaco society. I must confess that I found them quite deceptioning, since there is very little to see (most of it is underground, waiting to be excavated) and even that seems to have suffered heavy reconstruction.
Additionally, we got the feeling (and this applies to most guided visits of Incan and pre-Incan sites in the continent) that the information we were given was little more than guesswork, specially considering that these cultures had no writing and it's virtualy impossible to uncover most of their secrets. Most guides seem obsessed with making these societies look much more evolved than they actually were, and quite frequently you are giving information that is plainly false. During this tour, for example, our guide tried to convince us that 48 little soldiers on one wall together with 4 other soldiers on another wall represented the 52 weeks of the year. But how the Tihuanacos discovered the 7-day week concept created by the Romans remains a mystery for all of us (including our guide).
But my favorite activity in La Paz was the breath-taking downhill bicycle ride to Coroico, certainly one of the most exciting things I've done in this whole trip. Riding a state-of-the-art bicycle (double hydraulic disc-brakes) and descending 3,600 m in only 64 km along a narrow, bumpy (and ofter muddy) dirt road with vertical drops of up to 1,000 m, enjoying spectacular views of green rain-forest valleys and peaks is an experience hard to match.
This road was declared in 1994 "The World's Most Dangerous Road" by the World Bank, and there's a reason for it. There are dozens of fatal accidents every year (our guide told us one every 2 weeks) and all the crosses placed along the road are a disturbing and constant reminder of how many people have lost their lives here. The main cause for that tragic record is that the road is extremely narrow (at some points I don't think it's wider than 3m) and land-slides on the cliff-side are frequent due to the various waterfalls that drop on the road. In fact, it's the only road in Bolivia where you drive on the left, so drivers can see how close the are to the cliff when they are maneuvering to avoid on-coming traffic.
Unfortunately, when we rode down the road it was raining and foggy, so we could't enjoy the magnificent views of the cliffs. Although you could also say that luckily, it was raining and foggy and we could not see the drops of the cliffs! Anyway, that made it even more fun, riding on the mudd, crossing rivers and controlling the bike sliding on the turns. Spectacular!
After that thrilling experience we decided to relax for a couple days at the wonderful hotel Esmeralda at Coroico, escaping from the cold of the heights for the first time in many weeks and enjoying the swimming-pool, the sauna (well, I didn't get to use it but it was there) and the beautiful views of the valleys. That was without a doubt the best place I've slept in the whole trip, and also the best value-for-money (3,5 euros per night is a true bargain).
We intended to take a 10-hour jeep trip from there to the jungle, but unfortunately the roads where being blocked by demonstrators and when the blockade was finally over, a bridge collapsed. Ten people died the day before trying to cross through the river in a truck, so we had no alternative but to go up to La Paz by bus (on the most dangerous road in the world, something I wanted to avoid by all means) and then fly to the jungle. So if you think going down this road on a bike was scary, I cannot describe what the return trip was like on a bus almost as wide as the entire road. On the bicycle you go as fast and as close to the cliff as you want (or as the oncoming traffic lets you), but in a bus you are no longer in control (I'm affraid not even the driver was in control all time). And this time there was no fog to hide the drop.
I was sitting at a window on the cliff side and I can tell you that many times, when I looked out the window, I could see the vertical drop, but not the road or where the drop ended. That was, without a doubt, the "most dangerous ride of my trip".
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
The white city
After a ride in the fastest bus south of the Panama Channel (it leaned so much in every turn that many times I thought we were going to tip over), we arrived to Sucre which, unknown to many (including myself), is the official capital of Bolivia.
We arrived in Sucre, without planning it, for the 25th of May Independence festivities (a great time for a Spaniard to be there :) so we were hoping for a wonderful spectacle, dances, music, fire-works... Unfortunately, all we got was three days of school kids, army forces, policemen, politics and basically everybody in town parading non-stop on the streets to the bit of drums and trumpets. And, unfortunately as well, we chose a hotel located on the main parading street, so we had to fight the crowds everytime we wanted to get out (and wait for the owner to come everytime we wanted to get in, but that's a different story).
Most people will tell you there's not much to see or do in Sucre, and that's true, but the city is so nice and relaxing that those same people will end up staying there 3 or 4 days (at least, we did).
Sucre's center is very nice, with green plazas full of flowers, beautiful buildings and colonial churches and little streets filled with white houses that resemble those on the little Andalucian villages in Spain. In fact, all Sucre's center is white: houses, theaters, museums, churches, public buldings,... (yeap, you probably guessed that's why it's called "the white city"). And if you add to that how clean everything is and the fact that most people dress in Western clothes, it's easy to forget you're still in Bolivia (specially after having visited Uyuni).
When the parades finally let us, we visited the dinosaur footprints in Cal Orck'o (one of the most important sites of this type in the world), went to the mirador of La Recoleta to enjoy a beautiful view of Sucre (some friends told me they had stayed there for 2 days!! We stayed for around an hour) and enjoyed some excellent Bolivian traditional music on the open-sky theater, standing up at midnight (it was the night from the 24th to the 25th) to listen to and sing the Bolivian national anthem, to celebrate that a hundred and something years ago they finally got rid of those nasty Spaniards. I don't need to explain to you how ironic it was for me to take an active part in this celebration :)
We also decided to go to the classical football match Bolivar-Stronger (both teams from La Paz, but played in Sucre for the festivities). We chose to cheer for Stronger, since Bolivar was the favorite (and no Atlético de Madrid fan would ever cheer for a favorite :) and, after the anthem-singing the night before, I decided it would be pushing it too much to support a team that beared the name of an independence revolution leader :) Since we were the only "gringos" at the game (and were wearing quite obvious Stronger memorabilia) we were received with strong hishing by the Bolivar fans when we entered the stadium, but with a big applause by the Stronger supporters, who immediately offered us to seat next to them. Needless to say, Stronger beat Bolivar 1-2 (not a coincidence that we were there :) and we proudly walked home with our brown and yellow scarfs and flags.
Before the game we visited the "chorizo" (spicy sausage) fair, where we tried one of Sucre's specialities in a place with quite worrying hygenic conditions (so deficient we decided to enjoy our "chorizo" as a "bocadillo", sandwich, rather than using plates). Luckily, none of those of us that dared to try this delicacy (very tasty, by the way) suffered any unpleasant secondary effects on the following days.
We did some other unusual stuff, such as racing each other around Bolivar Park with some go-karts we rented, but who hasn't done that when visiting Bolivia! :)
However, my favorite anecdote in Sucre was visiting the market. Not only I had there the best peanut-butter cookies I've had in my life (and for a ridiculous price), but we also had a unexpected encounter with the kids working there. One little girl asked me to take a picture of her, and right after I showed it to her (one of the advantages of digital photography) we were surrounded by 10 or more kids asking me to take their picture. They posed in front of their fruit stands, behind them, with their friends, with other kids that walked by,... And they couldn't stop laughing when they saw their faces, or some of their friends' gestures. I think they had a great time (we certainly did), as it was like playtime break in the middle of their working day.
I found Bolivian kids extremely cute and sweet, specially considering their tough lives combining (or too often substituting for) work and going to school. It is amazing how little it takes to make them smile and have a good time, sometimes just talking to them with a funny accent or, as my case in the market, showing them their own picture. Quite different from the increasingly spoiled Western kids of our societies, who need to have the latest Play Station or the most expensive Nike shoes to be happy. Truly something to think about.
Our last day in Sucre we visited the cemetery, a surreal mix of Buenos Aires' mausoleums and piled colorful graves, some of them equiped with the latest gadgets, such as awnings and music boxes. Unlike the kids in the market, those working here (they offer stairs to the people that need to reach the highest graves) did not want to be photographed. Perhaps they feared that if someone saw that picture they could lose their jobs. But even so, they were also very nice and curious about us, so we sit down and chatted with them for a while.
And finally, after 4 wonderful days in Sucre, we decided to take a 15-hour night bus to La Paz. For some reason Bolivian buses don't have heaters or toilets, and I can tell you that a 15-hr long bus ride on a winter night along the Altiplano at 4,000 m on those conditions is not a truly enjoyable experience.
We arrived in Sucre, without planning it, for the 25th of May Independence festivities (a great time for a Spaniard to be there :) so we were hoping for a wonderful spectacle, dances, music, fire-works... Unfortunately, all we got was three days of school kids, army forces, policemen, politics and basically everybody in town parading non-stop on the streets to the bit of drums and trumpets. And, unfortunately as well, we chose a hotel located on the main parading street, so we had to fight the crowds everytime we wanted to get out (and wait for the owner to come everytime we wanted to get in, but that's a different story).
Most people will tell you there's not much to see or do in Sucre, and that's true, but the city is so nice and relaxing that those same people will end up staying there 3 or 4 days (at least, we did).
Sucre's center is very nice, with green plazas full of flowers, beautiful buildings and colonial churches and little streets filled with white houses that resemble those on the little Andalucian villages in Spain. In fact, all Sucre's center is white: houses, theaters, museums, churches, public buldings,... (yeap, you probably guessed that's why it's called "the white city"). And if you add to that how clean everything is and the fact that most people dress in Western clothes, it's easy to forget you're still in Bolivia (specially after having visited Uyuni).
When the parades finally let us, we visited the dinosaur footprints in Cal Orck'o (one of the most important sites of this type in the world), went to the mirador of La Recoleta to enjoy a beautiful view of Sucre (some friends told me they had stayed there for 2 days!! We stayed for around an hour) and enjoyed some excellent Bolivian traditional music on the open-sky theater, standing up at midnight (it was the night from the 24th to the 25th) to listen to and sing the Bolivian national anthem, to celebrate that a hundred and something years ago they finally got rid of those nasty Spaniards. I don't need to explain to you how ironic it was for me to take an active part in this celebration :)
We also decided to go to the classical football match Bolivar-Stronger (both teams from La Paz, but played in Sucre for the festivities). We chose to cheer for Stronger, since Bolivar was the favorite (and no Atlético de Madrid fan would ever cheer for a favorite :) and, after the anthem-singing the night before, I decided it would be pushing it too much to support a team that beared the name of an independence revolution leader :) Since we were the only "gringos" at the game (and were wearing quite obvious Stronger memorabilia) we were received with strong hishing by the Bolivar fans when we entered the stadium, but with a big applause by the Stronger supporters, who immediately offered us to seat next to them. Needless to say, Stronger beat Bolivar 1-2 (not a coincidence that we were there :) and we proudly walked home with our brown and yellow scarfs and flags.
Before the game we visited the "chorizo" (spicy sausage) fair, where we tried one of Sucre's specialities in a place with quite worrying hygenic conditions (so deficient we decided to enjoy our "chorizo" as a "bocadillo", sandwich, rather than using plates). Luckily, none of those of us that dared to try this delicacy (very tasty, by the way) suffered any unpleasant secondary effects on the following days.
We did some other unusual stuff, such as racing each other around Bolivar Park with some go-karts we rented, but who hasn't done that when visiting Bolivia! :)
However, my favorite anecdote in Sucre was visiting the market. Not only I had there the best peanut-butter cookies I've had in my life (and for a ridiculous price), but we also had a unexpected encounter with the kids working there. One little girl asked me to take a picture of her, and right after I showed it to her (one of the advantages of digital photography) we were surrounded by 10 or more kids asking me to take their picture. They posed in front of their fruit stands, behind them, with their friends, with other kids that walked by,... And they couldn't stop laughing when they saw their faces, or some of their friends' gestures. I think they had a great time (we certainly did), as it was like playtime break in the middle of their working day.
I found Bolivian kids extremely cute and sweet, specially considering their tough lives combining (or too often substituting for) work and going to school. It is amazing how little it takes to make them smile and have a good time, sometimes just talking to them with a funny accent or, as my case in the market, showing them their own picture. Quite different from the increasingly spoiled Western kids of our societies, who need to have the latest Play Station or the most expensive Nike shoes to be happy. Truly something to think about.
Our last day in Sucre we visited the cemetery, a surreal mix of Buenos Aires' mausoleums and piled colorful graves, some of them equiped with the latest gadgets, such as awnings and music boxes. Unlike the kids in the market, those working here (they offer stairs to the people that need to reach the highest graves) did not want to be photographed. Perhaps they feared that if someone saw that picture they could lose their jobs. But even so, they were also very nice and curious about us, so we sit down and chatted with them for a while.
And finally, after 4 wonderful days in Sucre, we decided to take a 15-hour night bus to La Paz. For some reason Bolivian buses don't have heaters or toilets, and I can tell you that a 15-hr long bus ride on a winter night along the Altiplano at 4,000 m on those conditions is not a truly enjoyable experience.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
The silver mines of Potosí
There are 455 mines in Cerro Rico, the famous peak where the Spaniards first found silver over 400 years ago. Currently, 120 of them are still being exploited by 7,000 miners grouped on about 50 cooperatives. So I don't think it's exaggerating to imagine the interior of this mountain as a giant Gruyère cheese.
Knowing that there are 7,000 miners working on 120 uncoordinated mines using dynamite inside the mountain that you are about to visit is not precisely a calming fact. I have the feeling that sooner or later Cerro Rico will collapse under its own weight, as no engineer supervises these explosions and it's impossible for each cooperative to know the direction on which the neighboring mines are expanding. In fact, I recently read that 10 years ago an American geological survey predicted that the mountain would collapse in 7 years, so my prediction is not excesively pesimistic.
Some people claim that visiting the mines is a perverse type of tourism than makes an attraction out of people working in horrendous conditions. While I could understand their opinion, I think that visiting the mines actually makes a lot of people (like me) more sensitive to the tough conditions that miners face everyday. In fact, I have the feeling that most tours are designed with that solely purpose (I'm sure ours was), and nobody that has visited the mines will tell you that is an enjoyable experience or something they would like to do again. Additionaly, most agencies donate 15% of their income to the miners themselves and all visitors buy presents to the miners, so I think that if these tours affect the miners in any way is positively.
The first thing we did when we were picked up by our guides, former miners themselves, was head to the Miners Market, where miners buy their own supplies. There you can find such diverse things as head torches, rechargable batteries, helmets, soft drinks, coca leaves, 96 degrees alcohol (that's 192 proof!!) and... DYNAMITE!! For a dollar you can buy a stick of dynamite, a detonator and a 2-meter long fuse. Coming from a country that has suffered terrorism for so many years, it was quite shocking to discover how easy it was to purchase this material here.
Following our guides' advice of what miners needed the most, we bought coca leaves, soft drinks and, of course, dynamite (the Argentinian one, that was of better quality). Before leaving the market we had a sip of that 96º alcohol and all I can say is that the label, that read "buen gusto" (good taste), seemed to me like a really sick joke.
Nowadays silver is no longer found in pure state, so what the miners extract are compound minerals whose basic elements are separated using "nature-friendly" chemicals such as cyanide or sulfuric acid (I don't need to tell you how healthy the rivers around Potosí are). The main minerals obtained after the chemical process are silver, tin, lead and copper, which are then exported as powder to other countries for further processing.
After visiting one of these "ingenios" (factories) that separate the minerals and walking around toxic chemicals driping over crushed rocks with no protection at all (a bit disturbing experience) and hearing some fine examples of simplistic victimism regarding global trade ("big countries set the prices of minerals to screw up poor countries"), we headed for the mine of Candelaria. Candelaria is around 4,300 m. high and dates from the Colonial times.
We chewed coca leaves to help prevent altitude sickness and entered what I though was a quite low gallery, but would later discover that it was the largest one. We stopped at a museum inside the mine that contained some interesting information together with some shocking (and, in my opinion, completely untrue) facts.
For example, 8 million people are claimed to be killed by the Spaniards in Potosí. Taking the city's peak population (160,000 by the XVI century) and assuming a generation gap of 20 years, it would mean that the Spaniards killed every single person in Potosí for over 1,000 years. Or otherwise, if you consider that at the peak time there were 15,000 miners working on Cerro Rico and that Spain exploited the mines for less than 300 years, it would mean that every miner died (or was killed by the Spaniards, to use the same words as the museum) after only 6 months of work. But hey, why let logic or statistics ruin a wonderful Spain-bashing claim.
Anyway, after the museum the real fun begun. We started the visit of the mine, and I must say that is the most claustrophobic experience I've ever had. We entered 1 km. inside the mine, and descended 100 m to the last level (level 4). We had to crawl on less than one-meter high tunnels (remaining with your hands on the ground if the person before you stopped), descend through slippery holes where you couldn't see the end and had little to grab to, run away from the trolleys that the miners use to transport the minerals (the galleries are very narrow, so when you sense a trolley is coming you have to escape to a wider area before you get run over). At level 4, we had to pass through a hole so narrow that I had to leave my backbag behind. And at the other side of the tunnel things didn't improve much: I had to lay on my back, having the celing of the room 20 cm. above my nose. I was not claustrophobic before, but I was for the entire visit to the mine.
Miners work in 10-hour shifts (sometime double) and the eat nothing all day, they simply chew coca leaves (good for altitude and to eliminate the sense of hunger), drink soft drinks to preven dehydratation and to get the sugar they need for their work, and at the end of the day or before their day off, have a sip of the terribly strong 96º alcohol. Before drinking or eating anything, they spill part of it on the ground to offer it to the Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) and the Tío (the Devil that habits inside the mine).
The conditions the miners stand during their work are truly extreme. 2-ton trolleys are pushed by hand, holes for dynamite are digged with hammers and 50-kg sacks are filled with shovels and lifted by a manual polley to the higher levels. An average miner can load up to 500 50-kg sacks using just his shovel in a single day. Add to that the thin air at 4,300 m, the high temperatures of over 30°C, the narrow tunnels, the complete darkness, the toxic particles floating in the air and having no food (just coca leaves) for the entire 10-hour shift. No electricity, no oxygen pushed in from outside, no mechanical aids. These are the conditions that miners, some of them only 16 years old, face every single day.
Believe me, just walking up and down those galleries for 3 and a half hours and seeing the miners work was a truly disturbing experience. The fatigue (and we had done nothing but walking), the narrow spaces, the lack of air, the high temperatures and the dusty atmosphere made breathing truly difficult. When we started climbing up, we had to stop every few meters simply to recover our breath, which at certain moments I felt I would be unable to do. I have never been happier that when I finally saw the day-light after walking along a seemingly endless first-level gallery.
Although an extremely interesting and learning experience, the visit to the Candelaria mine has been the only thing I've done in this trip that I'm completely certain I will never do again.
Knowing that there are 7,000 miners working on 120 uncoordinated mines using dynamite inside the mountain that you are about to visit is not precisely a calming fact. I have the feeling that sooner or later Cerro Rico will collapse under its own weight, as no engineer supervises these explosions and it's impossible for each cooperative to know the direction on which the neighboring mines are expanding. In fact, I recently read that 10 years ago an American geological survey predicted that the mountain would collapse in 7 years, so my prediction is not excesively pesimistic.
Some people claim that visiting the mines is a perverse type of tourism than makes an attraction out of people working in horrendous conditions. While I could understand their opinion, I think that visiting the mines actually makes a lot of people (like me) more sensitive to the tough conditions that miners face everyday. In fact, I have the feeling that most tours are designed with that solely purpose (I'm sure ours was), and nobody that has visited the mines will tell you that is an enjoyable experience or something they would like to do again. Additionaly, most agencies donate 15% of their income to the miners themselves and all visitors buy presents to the miners, so I think that if these tours affect the miners in any way is positively.
The first thing we did when we were picked up by our guides, former miners themselves, was head to the Miners Market, where miners buy their own supplies. There you can find such diverse things as head torches, rechargable batteries, helmets, soft drinks, coca leaves, 96 degrees alcohol (that's 192 proof!!) and... DYNAMITE!! For a dollar you can buy a stick of dynamite, a detonator and a 2-meter long fuse. Coming from a country that has suffered terrorism for so many years, it was quite shocking to discover how easy it was to purchase this material here.
Following our guides' advice of what miners needed the most, we bought coca leaves, soft drinks and, of course, dynamite (the Argentinian one, that was of better quality). Before leaving the market we had a sip of that 96º alcohol and all I can say is that the label, that read "buen gusto" (good taste), seemed to me like a really sick joke.
Nowadays silver is no longer found in pure state, so what the miners extract are compound minerals whose basic elements are separated using "nature-friendly" chemicals such as cyanide or sulfuric acid (I don't need to tell you how healthy the rivers around Potosí are). The main minerals obtained after the chemical process are silver, tin, lead and copper, which are then exported as powder to other countries for further processing.
After visiting one of these "ingenios" (factories) that separate the minerals and walking around toxic chemicals driping over crushed rocks with no protection at all (a bit disturbing experience) and hearing some fine examples of simplistic victimism regarding global trade ("big countries set the prices of minerals to screw up poor countries"), we headed for the mine of Candelaria. Candelaria is around 4,300 m. high and dates from the Colonial times.
We chewed coca leaves to help prevent altitude sickness and entered what I though was a quite low gallery, but would later discover that it was the largest one. We stopped at a museum inside the mine that contained some interesting information together with some shocking (and, in my opinion, completely untrue) facts.
For example, 8 million people are claimed to be killed by the Spaniards in Potosí. Taking the city's peak population (160,000 by the XVI century) and assuming a generation gap of 20 years, it would mean that the Spaniards killed every single person in Potosí for over 1,000 years. Or otherwise, if you consider that at the peak time there were 15,000 miners working on Cerro Rico and that Spain exploited the mines for less than 300 years, it would mean that every miner died (or was killed by the Spaniards, to use the same words as the museum) after only 6 months of work. But hey, why let logic or statistics ruin a wonderful Spain-bashing claim.
Anyway, after the museum the real fun begun. We started the visit of the mine, and I must say that is the most claustrophobic experience I've ever had. We entered 1 km. inside the mine, and descended 100 m to the last level (level 4). We had to crawl on less than one-meter high tunnels (remaining with your hands on the ground if the person before you stopped), descend through slippery holes where you couldn't see the end and had little to grab to, run away from the trolleys that the miners use to transport the minerals (the galleries are very narrow, so when you sense a trolley is coming you have to escape to a wider area before you get run over). At level 4, we had to pass through a hole so narrow that I had to leave my backbag behind. And at the other side of the tunnel things didn't improve much: I had to lay on my back, having the celing of the room 20 cm. above my nose. I was not claustrophobic before, but I was for the entire visit to the mine.
Miners work in 10-hour shifts (sometime double) and the eat nothing all day, they simply chew coca leaves (good for altitude and to eliminate the sense of hunger), drink soft drinks to preven dehydratation and to get the sugar they need for their work, and at the end of the day or before their day off, have a sip of the terribly strong 96º alcohol. Before drinking or eating anything, they spill part of it on the ground to offer it to the Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) and the Tío (the Devil that habits inside the mine).
The conditions the miners stand during their work are truly extreme. 2-ton trolleys are pushed by hand, holes for dynamite are digged with hammers and 50-kg sacks are filled with shovels and lifted by a manual polley to the higher levels. An average miner can load up to 500 50-kg sacks using just his shovel in a single day. Add to that the thin air at 4,300 m, the high temperatures of over 30°C, the narrow tunnels, the complete darkness, the toxic particles floating in the air and having no food (just coca leaves) for the entire 10-hour shift. No electricity, no oxygen pushed in from outside, no mechanical aids. These are the conditions that miners, some of them only 16 years old, face every single day.
Believe me, just walking up and down those galleries for 3 and a half hours and seeing the miners work was a truly disturbing experience. The fatigue (and we had done nothing but walking), the narrow spaces, the lack of air, the high temperatures and the dusty atmosphere made breathing truly difficult. When we started climbing up, we had to stop every few meters simply to recover our breath, which at certain moments I felt I would be unable to do. I have never been happier that when I finally saw the day-light after walking along a seemingly endless first-level gallery.
Although an extremely interesting and learning experience, the visit to the Candelaria mine has been the only thing I've done in this trip that I'm completely certain I will never do again.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
The Jewel of the old Spanish Empire
The bus that was to take us to Potosí seemed a lot nicer than what I had imagine. Small, but clean, with nice reclinable seats and no sheep or chickens on board, as I had heard in many stories. The only difference from other buses I had taken was that luggage was place on top, and not underneath, and that it was considerable higher, probably to get across the muddy roads when the rainy season kicks in (only 5% of all Bolivian roads are paved). It looked like a 4x4 bus.
But of course, those were my first impressions. As soon as we started the trip, some of the stereotypes of Bolivian road travel turned real: people would jump on and off the bus at any point (sometimes without waiting for the bus to stop) until even the aisles were completely filled, we had to change a flat tyre 20 minutes after begining our trip and we had to leave the bus about 10 km. before reaching Potosi because the teachers (yes, them again) had blocked the road with rocks.
So we took our bags and walked with them across the blockade which was surprisingly not hostile to pedestrians. Once on the other side, we had to take a taxi (shared with as many people as the driver managed to fit in) to the city.
Unfortunately, our driver seemed to be exclusively dedicated to the "bus terminal-blockade-bus terminal" route (a quite profitable one, I believe), so he refused to take us to our hostel and we had to take another taxi that had to take several detours around Potosí's streets to avoid further protests inside the city.
But despite of our arrival incidents, Potosí is a much nicer city than the dull and depressing one I expected to find. The streets were very lively and packed with people, full of architectonic jewels and there are quite a few nice places to stay and eat, where you can try the delicious grilled llama steaks, as I did. However, the fact that Potosí is the highest city in the world (4,070 m), interesting as it is, it also means that walking along the steep streets is extremely tiring and that it gets quite cold, specially now that the winter has begun.
When the silver mines were at full production, Potosí was the New York of the Spanish Empire. It was the largest city in the continent, and even larger than the main European metropolis, such as Paris or Seville. In fact, Potosí is probably one of the few cities in the world that had more habitants 300 years ago than it does today. In Spain, "vale un Potosí" (it's worth a Potosí) is still used today to refer to something of outstanding value.
The heritage from that period is reflected on the large number of fine colonial buildings spreaded throughout the city (UNESCO has catalogued over 2,000 of them), which make Potosí resemble some of the most monumental cities in Southern Spain (Úbeda or Trujillo come to mind).
Potosí also has one of the few museums I truly enjoyed visiting (those that know me well know I'm not very fond of these "agglomerated collections of artistic items"): La Casa de la Moneda (The Mint House), claimed to be a replica of Spain's Escorial Monastery. Putting aside the simplistic and theatrical Spanish-bashing comments that you expect to get on any guided tour on this side of the continent (our guide said that "two bridges could be built from South-America to Madrid: one with the bones of the people murdered by the Spaniards and another one with the gold stolen by them"), the visit was quite interested. We went through the whole old coin production process, from the melting of silver in standard ingots to the minting of the coins. We saw the ovens, the ingot-thinnering machines (brought from Spain), the minting tools and even some of the safety trunks used by the Spaniards to transport the coins, some with truly ingenious mechanisms.
The funny aspect of the museum is that since they seemed to have plenty of room left, they decided to incorporate a few additional items: old Indian skulls, two natural mummies of Spanish babies, all the religious items of one church that had been closed and, my personal favorite, the skeleton of a whale donated by a German scientist.
Our guide finished the tour mentioning a quite ironic fact: Potosí used to produce coins for the Spanish Empire, but now it is Spain that manufactures all Bolivian coins. It's incredible how twisted history can be.
Another amusing fact about Potosí (well, Bolivia in general) is the public transportation system. In Potosí, there are more buses (vans, actually) than private cars. Each of them belongs to a different person, so competition is fierce even within the same route.
Each van is equiped with a little kid (usually a family member of the driver) that shouts the destinations of the bus in a very loud and unintelligible way (even for me, a native Spanish speaker). I ignore the real reason for this practice as the destinations are clearly written on the front of the van, but my guess is that it's either to beat competitors (among all the noise, the louder screamer has a better chance of you noticing him) or to inform those passengers that can't read (I don't know the illiteracy level among Bolivians, but I presume is significantly higher than in most neighboring countries). But whatever the reason, I can asure you is that it's really annoying, specially at rush hour.
But despite all the attractions I just mentioned, the main reason why most travellers visit Potosí is a different one: visiting the old silver mines. And, of course, I was one of them. But that experience was so overwhelming that it deserves a posting on its own.
But of course, those were my first impressions. As soon as we started the trip, some of the stereotypes of Bolivian road travel turned real: people would jump on and off the bus at any point (sometimes without waiting for the bus to stop) until even the aisles were completely filled, we had to change a flat tyre 20 minutes after begining our trip and we had to leave the bus about 10 km. before reaching Potosi because the teachers (yes, them again) had blocked the road with rocks.
So we took our bags and walked with them across the blockade which was surprisingly not hostile to pedestrians. Once on the other side, we had to take a taxi (shared with as many people as the driver managed to fit in) to the city.
Unfortunately, our driver seemed to be exclusively dedicated to the "bus terminal-blockade-bus terminal" route (a quite profitable one, I believe), so he refused to take us to our hostel and we had to take another taxi that had to take several detours around Potosí's streets to avoid further protests inside the city.
But despite of our arrival incidents, Potosí is a much nicer city than the dull and depressing one I expected to find. The streets were very lively and packed with people, full of architectonic jewels and there are quite a few nice places to stay and eat, where you can try the delicious grilled llama steaks, as I did. However, the fact that Potosí is the highest city in the world (4,070 m), interesting as it is, it also means that walking along the steep streets is extremely tiring and that it gets quite cold, specially now that the winter has begun.
When the silver mines were at full production, Potosí was the New York of the Spanish Empire. It was the largest city in the continent, and even larger than the main European metropolis, such as Paris or Seville. In fact, Potosí is probably one of the few cities in the world that had more habitants 300 years ago than it does today. In Spain, "vale un Potosí" (it's worth a Potosí) is still used today to refer to something of outstanding value.
The heritage from that period is reflected on the large number of fine colonial buildings spreaded throughout the city (UNESCO has catalogued over 2,000 of them), which make Potosí resemble some of the most monumental cities in Southern Spain (Úbeda or Trujillo come to mind).
Potosí also has one of the few museums I truly enjoyed visiting (those that know me well know I'm not very fond of these "agglomerated collections of artistic items"): La Casa de la Moneda (The Mint House), claimed to be a replica of Spain's Escorial Monastery. Putting aside the simplistic and theatrical Spanish-bashing comments that you expect to get on any guided tour on this side of the continent (our guide said that "two bridges could be built from South-America to Madrid: one with the bones of the people murdered by the Spaniards and another one with the gold stolen by them"), the visit was quite interested. We went through the whole old coin production process, from the melting of silver in standard ingots to the minting of the coins. We saw the ovens, the ingot-thinnering machines (brought from Spain), the minting tools and even some of the safety trunks used by the Spaniards to transport the coins, some with truly ingenious mechanisms.
The funny aspect of the museum is that since they seemed to have plenty of room left, they decided to incorporate a few additional items: old Indian skulls, two natural mummies of Spanish babies, all the religious items of one church that had been closed and, my personal favorite, the skeleton of a whale donated by a German scientist.
Our guide finished the tour mentioning a quite ironic fact: Potosí used to produce coins for the Spanish Empire, but now it is Spain that manufactures all Bolivian coins. It's incredible how twisted history can be.
Another amusing fact about Potosí (well, Bolivia in general) is the public transportation system. In Potosí, there are more buses (vans, actually) than private cars. Each of them belongs to a different person, so competition is fierce even within the same route.
Each van is equiped with a little kid (usually a family member of the driver) that shouts the destinations of the bus in a very loud and unintelligible way (even for me, a native Spanish speaker). I ignore the real reason for this practice as the destinations are clearly written on the front of the van, but my guess is that it's either to beat competitors (among all the noise, the louder screamer has a better chance of you noticing him) or to inform those passengers that can't read (I don't know the illiteracy level among Bolivians, but I presume is significantly higher than in most neighboring countries). But whatever the reason, I can asure you is that it's really annoying, specially at rush hour.
But despite all the attractions I just mentioned, the main reason why most travellers visit Potosí is a different one: visiting the old silver mines. And, of course, I was one of them. But that experience was so overwhelming that it deserves a posting on its own.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
The spectacular trip to Uyuni
Entering Bolivia was breathtaking. Literally. The border with Chile, next to the volcano Licancabur (surrounded by mines, by the way) is at 4,500m, higher than than I had ever been and implying going up over 2,000 m. in less than an hour from San Pedro de Atacama. A nice way of preparing us for what was about to come.
We changed cars at the border (Bolivian authorities don't let any commercial vehicle from Chile enter the country; part of the excellent relations between both countries :) and the spectacle began: lagoons of all colors (red, blue, green,...), hundreds of flamingoes, natural hot-springs (where only 3 of us ventured in), daliesque rock-trees, viscachas (a big rabbit with long tails), vicuñas, volcanoes,... and all that spectacle at over 4,000 m!!
The first night we slept at around 4,300 m, in a "refugio" (shelter) with no heating in the rooms, despite the fact that the lowest temperature recorded there was a mild -25°C! It also meant my first encounter with Bolivian toilet facilities: an outdoor bathroom (well, it wasn't outdoor, but you had to walk in the open to reach it) with no light, no toilet paper and no flushing tank.
I don't know exactly what it was. The altitude, the cold, the constant talk about the symptoms of altitude sickness or the fact that some of my five roommates (and a guy from the other car) were already experiencing them. The fact is that my digestive system decided to go for a test-ride of the most basic toilet I had ever seen. In the night. In the middle of the night.
So I tried to find my flash-light and my toilet paper in the dark, and run for the door jumping over all the bag-packs trying not to fall and not to wake up the few of us that had managed to sleep. At least when I went for the bucket of water to flush the toilet it was not frozen, as it was when another person tried the facilities later in the night.
Before entering the Uyuni salt lake, we went through a military control, where they checked our passports again. That was the first sight of the basic conditions that people have in this country, since they offer to buy cigarrettes or fruit from us.
We finally arrived at the hotel where we would spend the night, and the best thing was that it truly looked as a hotel. And a very original one, as it was completely made of salt: the walls, the floor, the tables, the chairs,... Everything was made of salt! Something that also made the use of salt shakers completely unnecesary: simply scratch the walls :)
That night we had a wonderful dinner including quinua soup (a very tasty Altiplano cereal I had never tried before), but half of our group was sick the morning after. More than the food, I blame a group of local kids that appeared after dinner battering their instruments in the hope that some music would eventualy come out of them. It did not happen, but we took some cute (and soundless) pictures of them.
On the third and last day, after visiting some outstanding pre-Incan mommies in the caves where they were found, we finally reached the Salar (salt lake) de Uyuni, the largest in the world (larger than the entire Comunidad de Madrid and 3 times the size of Luxemburg). Truly impressive, although we didn't get to enjoy the waterly reflections it offers when it has rained on the previous days. Even so, driving for over 100 km. without noticing the landscape around you change and losing sight of the horizon in certain directions was quite an experience.
We had lunch at the Isla del Pescado (Fish Island), populated by hundreds of giantic cactuses (some of them over 10m high) and for the first time in our trip we listened to some Western music. I love South-American songs, but I believe that even the most radical "cumbia" fans would agree with me that 3 days in a row listening to the same tape of "Sagrado", an apparently popular Peruvian group, was a bit too intense.
We continued to the old salt hotel, located in the middle of the salt lake and now only allowed to serve food, and then proceeded to the area where salt is being extracted for commercial purposes. According to Juan the salt always regenerates, so it will never run out, but I'm not sure many scientists would agree on that.
After taking some pictures of the pyramids of salt waiting to be loaded on trucks, we headed for Uyuni, the first real Bolivian city I visited. I found 3 things quite surprising about this place:
1-The amount of garbage and plastic bags that covered thousands of square meters on the outskirts of the city.
2-How many people were dressed in traditional clothes.
3-The lack of harassment, as no one approached us to try to sell us anything.
And of course, we had our first taste of the agitated Bolivian politics, witnessing a massive protest of teachers claiming such diverse things as salary increases, the return of the coastal area that Bolivia lost to Chile over 100 years ago and the nationalization of all gas companies.
It was also in Uyuni where I had to confront for the first time the only truly scary aspect of Bolivia: electric showers. Water and electricity are anything but an attractive combination, so when I saw the two electric wires going directly to the device pouring the water over my head, it took me a while to gather the necessary courage to get under it.
Electric showers are extremely popular in Bolivia, ironical in a country that produces more gas than it can consume. Most electricity in Bolivia is produced in gas plants, so it seems quite inefficient (and expensive) to use gas to produce electricity to warm the water when you can use gas directly for that purpose. But one of the first things you learn in Bolivia is the futility of trying to find a logical explanation to many things that occur in this country.
But other than experimenting with the electric showers, there wasn't much to do or see in Uyuni, a rather shabby place, so I decided to take a bus to Potosí the next morning.
We changed cars at the border (Bolivian authorities don't let any commercial vehicle from Chile enter the country; part of the excellent relations between both countries :) and the spectacle began: lagoons of all colors (red, blue, green,...), hundreds of flamingoes, natural hot-springs (where only 3 of us ventured in), daliesque rock-trees, viscachas (a big rabbit with long tails), vicuñas, volcanoes,... and all that spectacle at over 4,000 m!!
The first night we slept at around 4,300 m, in a "refugio" (shelter) with no heating in the rooms, despite the fact that the lowest temperature recorded there was a mild -25°C! It also meant my first encounter with Bolivian toilet facilities: an outdoor bathroom (well, it wasn't outdoor, but you had to walk in the open to reach it) with no light, no toilet paper and no flushing tank.
I don't know exactly what it was. The altitude, the cold, the constant talk about the symptoms of altitude sickness or the fact that some of my five roommates (and a guy from the other car) were already experiencing them. The fact is that my digestive system decided to go for a test-ride of the most basic toilet I had ever seen. In the night. In the middle of the night.
So I tried to find my flash-light and my toilet paper in the dark, and run for the door jumping over all the bag-packs trying not to fall and not to wake up the few of us that had managed to sleep. At least when I went for the bucket of water to flush the toilet it was not frozen, as it was when another person tried the facilities later in the night.
Before entering the Uyuni salt lake, we went through a military control, where they checked our passports again. That was the first sight of the basic conditions that people have in this country, since they offer to buy cigarrettes or fruit from us.
We finally arrived at the hotel where we would spend the night, and the best thing was that it truly looked as a hotel. And a very original one, as it was completely made of salt: the walls, the floor, the tables, the chairs,... Everything was made of salt! Something that also made the use of salt shakers completely unnecesary: simply scratch the walls :)
That night we had a wonderful dinner including quinua soup (a very tasty Altiplano cereal I had never tried before), but half of our group was sick the morning after. More than the food, I blame a group of local kids that appeared after dinner battering their instruments in the hope that some music would eventualy come out of them. It did not happen, but we took some cute (and soundless) pictures of them.
On the third and last day, after visiting some outstanding pre-Incan mommies in the caves where they were found, we finally reached the Salar (salt lake) de Uyuni, the largest in the world (larger than the entire Comunidad de Madrid and 3 times the size of Luxemburg). Truly impressive, although we didn't get to enjoy the waterly reflections it offers when it has rained on the previous days. Even so, driving for over 100 km. without noticing the landscape around you change and losing sight of the horizon in certain directions was quite an experience.
We had lunch at the Isla del Pescado (Fish Island), populated by hundreds of giantic cactuses (some of them over 10m high) and for the first time in our trip we listened to some Western music. I love South-American songs, but I believe that even the most radical "cumbia" fans would agree with me that 3 days in a row listening to the same tape of "Sagrado", an apparently popular Peruvian group, was a bit too intense.
We continued to the old salt hotel, located in the middle of the salt lake and now only allowed to serve food, and then proceeded to the area where salt is being extracted for commercial purposes. According to Juan the salt always regenerates, so it will never run out, but I'm not sure many scientists would agree on that.
After taking some pictures of the pyramids of salt waiting to be loaded on trucks, we headed for Uyuni, the first real Bolivian city I visited. I found 3 things quite surprising about this place:
1-The amount of garbage and plastic bags that covered thousands of square meters on the outskirts of the city.
2-How many people were dressed in traditional clothes.
3-The lack of harassment, as no one approached us to try to sell us anything.
And of course, we had our first taste of the agitated Bolivian politics, witnessing a massive protest of teachers claiming such diverse things as salary increases, the return of the coastal area that Bolivia lost to Chile over 100 years ago and the nationalization of all gas companies.
It was also in Uyuni where I had to confront for the first time the only truly scary aspect of Bolivia: electric showers. Water and electricity are anything but an attractive combination, so when I saw the two electric wires going directly to the device pouring the water over my head, it took me a while to gather the necessary courage to get under it.
Electric showers are extremely popular in Bolivia, ironical in a country that produces more gas than it can consume. Most electricity in Bolivia is produced in gas plants, so it seems quite inefficient (and expensive) to use gas to produce electricity to warm the water when you can use gas directly for that purpose. But one of the first things you learn in Bolivia is the futility of trying to find a logical explanation to many things that occur in this country.
But other than experimenting with the electric showers, there wasn't much to do or see in Uyuni, a rather shabby place, so I decided to take a bus to Potosí the next morning.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Chile, the different South America
I found Chile to be quite different from most other countries in South America. It's true that each country is different on its own, but it's very hard to find any similarities between Chile and any of the other countries I've visited.
Chileans, unlike most other South-Americans, are very reserved and serious and the society is still shockingly conservative. Also unlike most other South-Americans, I found Chileans to be quite work-oriented, spending long hours in their jobs and being very professional and very trustworthy when it comes to business. Chileans are the only South-Americans I've met who don't blame other countries for their own problems and who seem to face their own challenges. And, in my opinion, this unusual lack of victimism is one of the reasons why this country is one of the most stable and developed economies in the continent.
Another unexpected difference was the language and the Chilean accent. Unlike we think in Spain, Chilean accent is completely different from Argentinian, and people here talk very fast, they cut the words (specially "s") and they use a lot of slang and different words than we use in Spain, making it the most difficult country to communicate both for Spanish and non-Spanish speakers. When traveling in the south with truck drivers, sometimes I couldn't understand a single word of what they told me and when going to a restaurant I frequently had to look at the English version of the menu to know what I was ordering.
To illustrate the differences in vocabulary, here are a few examples (a few of them also apply in other South American countries):
ENGLISH CHILE SPAIN
Beans Porotos Judías
Avocado Palta Aguacate
Peas Arvejas Guisantes
Peach Durazno Melocotón
Apricot Damasco Albaricoque
Strawberry Frutilla Fresa
Butt Poto Culo
OK Ya Vale
Understand? ¿Cachai? ¿Entiendes?
Baby Guagua Bebé
Boyfriend Pololo Novio
Pay/Charge Cancelar Pagar/Cobrar
Regarding the political situation, it was very surprising as well to discover how many Chileans have a good image of Pinochet, and not only people of certain social classes or political ideology. In the south, for example, people were quite grateful to Pinochet for having built the Carretera Austral because these regions had been completely ignored by all previous governments.
It was also quite surprising to learn that Allende was not simply a socialist president (as we think in Spain), but that in reality he started a communist regime in Chile, a fact that seems to have been intentionaly obscured by certain ideologies . Many people had their houses and their land expropiated by the goverment, and most goods were distributed via rationing books, just like in Cuba or the old Soviet Union.
In the present time Chile maintains very good relations with the US and that, together with the wars they won against their neighbors in the past, has led the country to become quite isolated. Peruvians and specially Bolivians still complain about the territories they lost to Chile in the Pacific wars at the end of the XIX century, and the conditions imposed by Bolivia to Argentina, restraining this country from selling gas to Chile, hasn't helped to improve the relationship with the neighbor from across the Andes.
But enough about politics. The landscape of Chile is spectacular and extremely varied, as you could expect from a country over 5,000 km long. The Andes create a metereological barrier that makes Southern Chile rainy and green, very different from the dry and desertic Argentinian Patagonia. Once you reach Santiago, the scenery changes drastically, and the desert is the star, becoming truly spectacular in the north of the country, near the Peruvian and Bolivian borders. Unfortunately, I couldn't visit the fiords on the far south, but that's another different landscape that I've heard it's truly amazing.
Well, that's been Chile for me. One of the longest countries in the world, with beautiful (many still luckily underdeveloped) landscapes and very different from the rest of the continent. Chile was also the first place in my trip where I could enjoy that "like home" feeling both in Santiago and Reñaca and, traveling as a backpacker, it's specially appreciated.
Well, I still have to visit one last area of Chile, the exotic and mysterious Easter Island, but that's so different from the rest of the country, that I don't think it will alter my image of it.
Chileans, unlike most other South-Americans, are very reserved and serious and the society is still shockingly conservative. Also unlike most other South-Americans, I found Chileans to be quite work-oriented, spending long hours in their jobs and being very professional and very trustworthy when it comes to business. Chileans are the only South-Americans I've met who don't blame other countries for their own problems and who seem to face their own challenges. And, in my opinion, this unusual lack of victimism is one of the reasons why this country is one of the most stable and developed economies in the continent.
Another unexpected difference was the language and the Chilean accent. Unlike we think in Spain, Chilean accent is completely different from Argentinian, and people here talk very fast, they cut the words (specially "s") and they use a lot of slang and different words than we use in Spain, making it the most difficult country to communicate both for Spanish and non-Spanish speakers. When traveling in the south with truck drivers, sometimes I couldn't understand a single word of what they told me and when going to a restaurant I frequently had to look at the English version of the menu to know what I was ordering.
To illustrate the differences in vocabulary, here are a few examples (a few of them also apply in other South American countries):
ENGLISH CHILE SPAIN
Beans Porotos Judías
Avocado Palta Aguacate
Peas Arvejas Guisantes
Peach Durazno Melocotón
Apricot Damasco Albaricoque
Strawberry Frutilla Fresa
Butt Poto Culo
OK Ya Vale
Understand? ¿Cachai? ¿Entiendes?
Baby Guagua Bebé
Boyfriend Pololo Novio
Pay/Charge Cancelar Pagar/Cobrar
Regarding the political situation, it was very surprising as well to discover how many Chileans have a good image of Pinochet, and not only people of certain social classes or political ideology. In the south, for example, people were quite grateful to Pinochet for having built the Carretera Austral because these regions had been completely ignored by all previous governments.
It was also quite surprising to learn that Allende was not simply a socialist president (as we think in Spain), but that in reality he started a communist regime in Chile, a fact that seems to have been intentionaly obscured by certain ideologies . Many people had their houses and their land expropiated by the goverment, and most goods were distributed via rationing books, just like in Cuba or the old Soviet Union.
In the present time Chile maintains very good relations with the US and that, together with the wars they won against their neighbors in the past, has led the country to become quite isolated. Peruvians and specially Bolivians still complain about the territories they lost to Chile in the Pacific wars at the end of the XIX century, and the conditions imposed by Bolivia to Argentina, restraining this country from selling gas to Chile, hasn't helped to improve the relationship with the neighbor from across the Andes.
But enough about politics. The landscape of Chile is spectacular and extremely varied, as you could expect from a country over 5,000 km long. The Andes create a metereological barrier that makes Southern Chile rainy and green, very different from the dry and desertic Argentinian Patagonia. Once you reach Santiago, the scenery changes drastically, and the desert is the star, becoming truly spectacular in the north of the country, near the Peruvian and Bolivian borders. Unfortunately, I couldn't visit the fiords on the far south, but that's another different landscape that I've heard it's truly amazing.
Well, that's been Chile for me. One of the longest countries in the world, with beautiful (many still luckily underdeveloped) landscapes and very different from the rest of the continent. Chile was also the first place in my trip where I could enjoy that "like home" feeling both in Santiago and Reñaca and, traveling as a backpacker, it's specially appreciated.
Well, I still have to visit one last area of Chile, the exotic and mysterious Easter Island, but that's so different from the rest of the country, that I don't think it will alter my image of it.
Monday, June 14, 2004
The Atacama desert
I felt it was really taking me a lot of time to get closer to Bolivia, so I decided to fly from Santiago to Calama in order to avoid running into any other "attractions" that would slow me down even more.
I arrived in San Pedro de Atacama that same night and the city was nothing like I expected (yes, I know this is becoming the standard on my trip :) It was quite dark, with unpaved streets and all houses were made of "adobe". Certainly not something you would expect from one of Chile's most touristry cities. However, under the sun light it turns out to be quite a cute place, the adobe houses are very nice and the fact that they haven't constructed any modern looking building is certainly a plus.
I found San Pedro night life to be quite less happening than everybody had led me to believe, as there are no bars and people just seem to simply have a few drinks at the table where they ate. However, I found the city's restaurants to be very attractive, specially my favorite one: La Estaka. They are rustic but with a modern design, sort of like a mix between Catalan modernism and Castillian austerity (sorry for those of you who don't know these wonderful regions). And they served some of the best food I've had in Chile, being both delicious and creative.
There are lots of things you can do at San Pedro, being the most typical ones visiting the Valle de la Luna (Moon Valley), the Tatio Geysers and the Atacama salt lake (third largest in the world after the one in Uyuni, Bolivia, and the one in Salt Lake City, USA). Since I was going to see geysers on my way to Uyuni and the ones at el Tatio were not at their peak (not to mention you had to wake up at 4 am and endure temperatures of several degrees below zero) I decided to skip them. Somebody told me later that it was a mistake, but now I have a good reason to return some day to San Pedro :)
I combined a visit to Valle de la Luna with a initiation to sand-boarding on the Valle de la Muerte (Death Valley). Sand-boarding turned out to be easier than I expected and a lot of fun, but one of the most tiring sports I've ever tried (specially walking up the dune after having surfing it down).
Both the Valle de la Luna and the Valle de la Muerte were spectacular. They are formed by salt covered by clay, creating surreal shapes. Apparently, the name of Valle de la Muerte is due to a communication misunderstanding, when the Belgian priest Father le Paige tried to say that the valley reminded him of Marte (Mars) and the locals understood Muerte (Death). I must say that even the Valle de la Luna also reminds me a lot more of Mars than the Moon. Anyway, seeing the Valle de la Muerte and all the volcanoes and mountains that surround it turn red during sunset was something truly unforgetable.
I visited also the Atacama salt lake, together with some some beautiful "Altiplanic" lagoons and other some other smaller salt lakes at over 4,000 m. Along the way we saw a lot of animals: foxes, ñandús (a big bird like an ostrich) and vicuñas (a sort of wild llama, similar to the guanacos in Argentina). The Atacama salt lake was quite different from most others salt lakes, as its salt has been mixed with mud and clay from the surrounding mountains creating a rough, wrinkled and brown surface. The thickness of the salt layer varies between 20 and 80 cm. and, to my surprise, there is water underneath.
Although part of the salt lake is a national park, most of it remains unprotected. In fact, in some areas salt is being extracted, specially to obtain lithium for the batteries.
At the Chaxa Lagoon, within the Atacama salt lake, we saw quite a few flamingoes (not as many as we would see in Bolivia) belonging to tree of the five species that exist in the world. They eat micro-algaes and other micro-organisms, some of which are responsible for their pink color (when they are young, flamingoes are white).
On the way back to San Pedro, or "San Perro" (Saint Dog), as some locals call it due to the large number of stray dogs that live in the city, we stopped at Toconao, a village whose only interest is that all houses are made of volcanic stones. Actually my highlight there was feeding and playing with some llamas that a local handycrafter had in his yard. They make this funny noises to call your attention and get more food. Very cute animals.
My last day on San Pedro I decided to bicycle back to the Valle de la Luna to see some salt tunnels that we were not able to visit the first time. Unfortunately we had to wipe out the mud from the walls to actually see the salt (we learn that afterwards), so we couldn't find them and went back to the city.
And to complete the day, one of the guys that worked in our hostel had offered himself to take us in a tour to the laguna Céjar, a lagoon that few people know (only a couple agencies talk about it) where you can float, as in the Dead Sea. We told more people to share the costs and at the end it we were six people squeezed into this guy's pick up truck (funny enough, two of the people we recruited were recent graduates of USC, the university I attended in Los Angeles).
Our improvised guide had never been there (or at least didn't remember the way), so we spent 1 and a half hours trying different paths (some of them very rough) and pushing the car when it got stuck in the sand. And just when we beginning to lose all hope, we got there.
It was spectacular, this blue lagoon surrounded by white salt and absolutely no one else. After enjoying the weightless sensation of floating there, we faced the tough part: getting out of it. The walls around the lagoon were quite steep and the top of the salt layer was very strong, sharp and cutting, so our feet (and many parts of our body) looked as if we had been walking on a bed of needles. And I don't need to tell you how pleasant it is to have bleeding wounds all over your body when at the same time you are covered in salt. Ouch!
After the lagoon, we drove (while taking care of our wounds) to the Jere gorge, an amazing oasis created by a river on the bottom of a small canyon. In this oasis locals were growing lots of differen fruits, and it was an impressive contrast to see all those trees on this gorge in the middle of the desert.
And well, that was my last sight of Chile (until I go to Easter Island), because the next morning I entered a very different country: Bolivia.
I arrived in San Pedro de Atacama that same night and the city was nothing like I expected (yes, I know this is becoming the standard on my trip :) It was quite dark, with unpaved streets and all houses were made of "adobe". Certainly not something you would expect from one of Chile's most touristry cities. However, under the sun light it turns out to be quite a cute place, the adobe houses are very nice and the fact that they haven't constructed any modern looking building is certainly a plus.
I found San Pedro night life to be quite less happening than everybody had led me to believe, as there are no bars and people just seem to simply have a few drinks at the table where they ate. However, I found the city's restaurants to be very attractive, specially my favorite one: La Estaka. They are rustic but with a modern design, sort of like a mix between Catalan modernism and Castillian austerity (sorry for those of you who don't know these wonderful regions). And they served some of the best food I've had in Chile, being both delicious and creative.
There are lots of things you can do at San Pedro, being the most typical ones visiting the Valle de la Luna (Moon Valley), the Tatio Geysers and the Atacama salt lake (third largest in the world after the one in Uyuni, Bolivia, and the one in Salt Lake City, USA). Since I was going to see geysers on my way to Uyuni and the ones at el Tatio were not at their peak (not to mention you had to wake up at 4 am and endure temperatures of several degrees below zero) I decided to skip them. Somebody told me later that it was a mistake, but now I have a good reason to return some day to San Pedro :)
I combined a visit to Valle de la Luna with a initiation to sand-boarding on the Valle de la Muerte (Death Valley). Sand-boarding turned out to be easier than I expected and a lot of fun, but one of the most tiring sports I've ever tried (specially walking up the dune after having surfing it down).
Both the Valle de la Luna and the Valle de la Muerte were spectacular. They are formed by salt covered by clay, creating surreal shapes. Apparently, the name of Valle de la Muerte is due to a communication misunderstanding, when the Belgian priest Father le Paige tried to say that the valley reminded him of Marte (Mars) and the locals understood Muerte (Death). I must say that even the Valle de la Luna also reminds me a lot more of Mars than the Moon. Anyway, seeing the Valle de la Muerte and all the volcanoes and mountains that surround it turn red during sunset was something truly unforgetable.
I visited also the Atacama salt lake, together with some some beautiful "Altiplanic" lagoons and other some other smaller salt lakes at over 4,000 m. Along the way we saw a lot of animals: foxes, ñandús (a big bird like an ostrich) and vicuñas (a sort of wild llama, similar to the guanacos in Argentina). The Atacama salt lake was quite different from most others salt lakes, as its salt has been mixed with mud and clay from the surrounding mountains creating a rough, wrinkled and brown surface. The thickness of the salt layer varies between 20 and 80 cm. and, to my surprise, there is water underneath.
Although part of the salt lake is a national park, most of it remains unprotected. In fact, in some areas salt is being extracted, specially to obtain lithium for the batteries.
At the Chaxa Lagoon, within the Atacama salt lake, we saw quite a few flamingoes (not as many as we would see in Bolivia) belonging to tree of the five species that exist in the world. They eat micro-algaes and other micro-organisms, some of which are responsible for their pink color (when they are young, flamingoes are white).
On the way back to San Pedro, or "San Perro" (Saint Dog), as some locals call it due to the large number of stray dogs that live in the city, we stopped at Toconao, a village whose only interest is that all houses are made of volcanic stones. Actually my highlight there was feeding and playing with some llamas that a local handycrafter had in his yard. They make this funny noises to call your attention and get more food. Very cute animals.
My last day on San Pedro I decided to bicycle back to the Valle de la Luna to see some salt tunnels that we were not able to visit the first time. Unfortunately we had to wipe out the mud from the walls to actually see the salt (we learn that afterwards), so we couldn't find them and went back to the city.
And to complete the day, one of the guys that worked in our hostel had offered himself to take us in a tour to the laguna Céjar, a lagoon that few people know (only a couple agencies talk about it) where you can float, as in the Dead Sea. We told more people to share the costs and at the end it we were six people squeezed into this guy's pick up truck (funny enough, two of the people we recruited were recent graduates of USC, the university I attended in Los Angeles).
Our improvised guide had never been there (or at least didn't remember the way), so we spent 1 and a half hours trying different paths (some of them very rough) and pushing the car when it got stuck in the sand. And just when we beginning to lose all hope, we got there.
It was spectacular, this blue lagoon surrounded by white salt and absolutely no one else. After enjoying the weightless sensation of floating there, we faced the tough part: getting out of it. The walls around the lagoon were quite steep and the top of the salt layer was very strong, sharp and cutting, so our feet (and many parts of our body) looked as if we had been walking on a bed of needles. And I don't need to tell you how pleasant it is to have bleeding wounds all over your body when at the same time you are covered in salt. Ouch!
After the lagoon, we drove (while taking care of our wounds) to the Jere gorge, an amazing oasis created by a river on the bottom of a small canyon. In this oasis locals were growing lots of differen fruits, and it was an impressive contrast to see all those trees on this gorge in the middle of the desert.
And well, that was my last sight of Chile (until I go to Easter Island), because the next morning I entered a very different country: Bolivia.
Relaxing at the Chilean summer resorts (who cares it's Fall :)
One of my very good friends insisted a lot on me about visiting her aunt, who lives in Reñaca, near Viña del Mar. So, eventhough I was really lagging behind my planned schedule, I thought my friend's comments on her aunt were reason enough to try to visit her. And I'm certainly glad I did.
Reñaca and Viña del Mar are the typical summer resorts that are quite lively during the summer but where ther isn't much to do the rest of the year (the water is too cold to go swimming and there isn't many people). However, spending three days with Mónica (my friend's aunt) and her family was a wonderful experience. They have a beautiful house on a hill overlooking Reñaca from where you can also see Valparaíso, and they treated me like another member of the family. I felt as if I was home again, which was great after 3 and a half months of traveling.
I had a lot of fun and lot of laughs with her and her son Lucho, learned a lot about Chilean history (Lucho's uncle turned out to be a very interesting person to talk to), drank excellent pisco sours, ate delicious food and visited very nice places nearby. Who could ask for anything more!
One of the places we visited that I really liked is Horcón, a lovely fishermen village where horses are used to pull the boats from the water, which turns into a hippie hang-out site in the summer. However, my favorite spot was Con Con, just north of Reñaca, where you can see truly spectacular rock formations on the coast. Not to mention all the wildlife you can spot on those rocks, including sealions and lots of pelicans, one of my favorite birds.
The highlight of my stay with Monica's family (in addition to having my own private room with cable TV, a luxury I hadn't enjoy since my days as a consultant :) was going sand-duning (is that correct English?) with Lucho and his jeep. It was a lot of fun and a bit scary because we went up some vertical dunes and across some side slopes that really seemed impossible to do in a car. But since that's one of Lucho's favorite hobbies and he's run several times the Atacama Rally, I guess I was in good hands. Well, at least I have no incidents to report :)
So, eventhough I didn't get to enjoy the nice beaches of Viña del Mar or Reñaca or its wild summer night life, my stay with Monica, Lucho and the rest of the family was truly memorable.
¡Muchas gracias a todos por haberme cuidado tan bien!
Reñaca and Viña del Mar are the typical summer resorts that are quite lively during the summer but where ther isn't much to do the rest of the year (the water is too cold to go swimming and there isn't many people). However, spending three days with Mónica (my friend's aunt) and her family was a wonderful experience. They have a beautiful house on a hill overlooking Reñaca from where you can also see Valparaíso, and they treated me like another member of the family. I felt as if I was home again, which was great after 3 and a half months of traveling.
I had a lot of fun and lot of laughs with her and her son Lucho, learned a lot about Chilean history (Lucho's uncle turned out to be a very interesting person to talk to), drank excellent pisco sours, ate delicious food and visited very nice places nearby. Who could ask for anything more!
One of the places we visited that I really liked is Horcón, a lovely fishermen village where horses are used to pull the boats from the water, which turns into a hippie hang-out site in the summer. However, my favorite spot was Con Con, just north of Reñaca, where you can see truly spectacular rock formations on the coast. Not to mention all the wildlife you can spot on those rocks, including sealions and lots of pelicans, one of my favorite birds.
The highlight of my stay with Monica's family (in addition to having my own private room with cable TV, a luxury I hadn't enjoy since my days as a consultant :) was going sand-duning (is that correct English?) with Lucho and his jeep. It was a lot of fun and a bit scary because we went up some vertical dunes and across some side slopes that really seemed impossible to do in a car. But since that's one of Lucho's favorite hobbies and he's run several times the Atacama Rally, I guess I was in good hands. Well, at least I have no incidents to report :)
So, eventhough I didn't get to enjoy the nice beaches of Viña del Mar or Reñaca or its wild summer night life, my stay with Monica, Lucho and the rest of the family was truly memorable.
¡Muchas gracias a todos por haberme cuidado tan bien!
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Bohemian Chile
Or at least that's what I thought of Valparaiso.
This city, which used to be one of the most important ports in the continent (before the opening of the Panama Canal), is a unique blend of old buildings, bohemian houses and truly dangerous slums. Located in natural bay harbour and surrounded by house-crowded hills on which it's impossible to find any green spot, Valparaiso has managed to retain most of its charm.
One of the most distinctive features of the city are its "ascensores" (funicular railways), most of them built at the end of the XIX century. 15 of them are still working today, and the inclination of some of them is really spectacular (over 50% slopes). Unsurprisingly, this ancient mechanical wonders have been declared World Heritage Monuments by UNESCO.
My favorite area in Valparaiso are the Cerros (hills) Alegre and Concepción, where all the bohemian atmosphere of the city is concentrated. On these hills, old mansions have been converted into museums and abandoned houses have been restored attracting many students and artists that now live on them. There are nice restaurants, cozy cafés and chaotic bars, some of them with great views over the bay.
Unfortunately, Valparaiso also has the worst slums I've seen in Chile and, outside Cerros Alegre and Concepción, can be quite dangerous at night. I walked across some areas where I didn't even dare to take out my camera and in others I decided to leave instantly after entering them. High unemployment rate, following the city's decaying economy, and lack of police control are to blame for this situation. But even so, I had heard so many stories about Valparaíso being such a dangerous city that I had gone there prepared for the worst and, fortunately, I managed to avoid all troubles.
Although most of the people I met that had visited Valparaíso didn't seem to like the place, I found it very appealing and ended up spending there more time than I initially planned (as it's becoming the standard for my trip :) In fact, I think Valparaiso, being so different from the rest of the country, is probably one of the most interesting places to visit in Chile.
This city, which used to be one of the most important ports in the continent (before the opening of the Panama Canal), is a unique blend of old buildings, bohemian houses and truly dangerous slums. Located in natural bay harbour and surrounded by house-crowded hills on which it's impossible to find any green spot, Valparaiso has managed to retain most of its charm.
One of the most distinctive features of the city are its "ascensores" (funicular railways), most of them built at the end of the XIX century. 15 of them are still working today, and the inclination of some of them is really spectacular (over 50% slopes). Unsurprisingly, this ancient mechanical wonders have been declared World Heritage Monuments by UNESCO.
My favorite area in Valparaiso are the Cerros (hills) Alegre and Concepción, where all the bohemian atmosphere of the city is concentrated. On these hills, old mansions have been converted into museums and abandoned houses have been restored attracting many students and artists that now live on them. There are nice restaurants, cozy cafés and chaotic bars, some of them with great views over the bay.
Unfortunately, Valparaiso also has the worst slums I've seen in Chile and, outside Cerros Alegre and Concepción, can be quite dangerous at night. I walked across some areas where I didn't even dare to take out my camera and in others I decided to leave instantly after entering them. High unemployment rate, following the city's decaying economy, and lack of police control are to blame for this situation. But even so, I had heard so many stories about Valparaíso being such a dangerous city that I had gone there prepared for the worst and, fortunately, I managed to avoid all troubles.
Although most of the people I met that had visited Valparaíso didn't seem to like the place, I found it very appealing and ended up spending there more time than I initially planned (as it's becoming the standard for my trip :) In fact, I think Valparaiso, being so different from the rest of the country, is probably one of the most interesting places to visit in Chile.
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