Puno

After 26 hours of bus travel, I finally arrived to my first destination in Peru: Puno! I say that like I have an actual plan for Peru (which I don’t). Puno is a city nestled along the shores of Lake Titicaca, the lake seated at the highest altitude in the world and let’s just say, the inability to breathe properly reminds you of the difference in elevation. Being as exhausted as I was, I need a day to just say phhh and relax. I wandered through the streets, in and out of markets and eventually back to my hostel to watch Netflix.

When I woke up the next morning, the woman working at my hostel asked if I would like to spend a night or two on and island in the middle of the lake with a Quechua family – how could I possibly say no? What she didn’t tell me was that this trip to see a pre-Incan society was actually a tour with thirty other people.

Our first stop was on a floating island made out of totoro (basically reeds). The island is home to twenty five people of all ages and about five homes. We received a demonstration on how the island was built, a boat ride on a boat also made out of totoro and then were shown the inside of these families’ houses. This would have been an amazing experience if tourism hadn’t completely destroyed the authenticity of it. From the get go, it was obvious that we, as tourists, were supposed to treat the inhabitants of the islands like circus acts or zoo animals. Any time one of the children would run past, the guide would scream look at the child so wild and indigenous without shoes. While some people loved it, myself and the two other people my age hated it.

The boat ride to the next island was three hours and of course I laid out in the sunshine, braving the wind and the cold from the high altitude. Upon arrival we were greeted by our Quechua family and taken home to eat lunch; we had quinoa soup, veggies, and fried cheese. Afterwards, we were taken to the sacred temples on the island; one for father earth and another for mother moon. The trek to get to the temples stole the air from my lungs as the elevation got higher and higher. Then back to the plaza to enjoy a te macho, which was basically a warm mojito, then dinner.

After dinner we were dressed up in full Quechua swag, colorful skirts and boldly embroidered shirts included. We went to a dance for all of the tourists on the island, everyone wearing their fancy Quechua clothing.

The next morning, we said our goodbyes and moved onto the next island and another beautiful trek to the top. We ate lunch and watched a demonstration on how to make soap (I can’t explain this one). Then made our way back to Puno where I quickly hopped on a bus to Cusco.

I have my reservations made on the Salkantay Trail, which is a six day/five night trek to see Macchu Picchu. I am incredibly excited and I’m sure my next blogpost will be very exciting.

Besitos.

San Pedro de Atacama

Simply because I am on the second long bus ride of the day, I am going to devote an entire blog to my last few days in Chile and some random information that you might not find interesting but I enjoy. More specifically Day 54-55 in San Pedro de Atacama.

Now before I get started, understand that the Atacama Desert is the driest non-polar place on the planet (yes the poles are in fact deserts and the ice/glaciers that are there are actually snow that has been collected and compacted over thousands of years; just take a moment to think about the global ramifications if we do nothing to stop them from melting; including rising sea levels, changes in oceanic temperatures which is predicted to bring an ice age to Europe thus inducing a worldwide refugee crisis; can we please stop this “climate change doesn’t exist” nonsense NOW? Rant over). Anyways, the Atacama Desert falls in the middle of a double rain-shadow, meaning that moist air from the Pacific is blocked my the Chilean Mountain Chain and air from the Atlantic is blocked by the Andes, making it the driest place in the world. With a simple burst of bad luck, I was there when it was raining. Let’s just say, the town’s dirt roads and grass roofs are not well prepared to handle rain. I arrived at my hostel to buckets in the doorway and a lack of power; this continued over the next three days.

Despite the rain, I was determined to see everything I possibly could in the time I had allotted in this touristy pueblito. I rented a bike and headed towards the Valle de la Luna. I was prepared to have a long journey out there but it was only a fifteen minute, mostly flat ride from town, however once inside the National Reserve the flat paved roads I came in on quickly turned into steep sand dunes mixed with a little bit of gravel. When the lady at the park entrance said 800 meters (half a mile) of downhill, it didn’t occur to me that I would also have to do 800 meters of uphill. I wish I could say that I rode my bike all the way to the top but my legs, that haven’t exercised in almost two months, wouldn’t carry me there so I did a fair bit of walking. On the way back, on one of the downhill stretches, my tires got sucked into the sand and next thing I know, I have flipped over my handlebars and am laying on my back; nothing more than a scraped elbow and some bruised pride. The views were amazing; with the storm the sky was a magnificent purple contrasted by the orange of the sand dunes. Even though I have said this too many times to count by now, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Completely empty spaces, free of all plant and animal life.

My second day in San Pedro I boarded a bus with 34 other people to see some incredible things. First we visited a flamingo reserve (yes mom, it did smell); our guide was telling us that flamingos love to eat and will often spend more than thirteen hours a day feeding, I instantly thought me too. They are also filter feeders, meaning they draw water into their mouths then filter out the little sea monkey creatures for food. We stopped for breakfast before heading to Piedras Rojas, salt flats that are surrounded by red volcanic rocks that look like they were transported directly from outer space. Our third stop was cancelled due to weather but on our way back we stopped in a small village where I coincidentally got to feed a llama. All I am saying is these creatures are misunderstood and are actually moderately terrifying.

We returned to the city, where I packed up all my stuff again and prepared for my overnight journey to the northernmost city in Chile. Upon arrival in Arica, I switch terminals, hopped in a taxi and soon was speeding towards Peru. This border crossing was perhaps the worst of my entire life; an hour wait outside in the hot desert sun, only to be hit on by the customs agents. Besides these two annoyances, I made it across the border without problems and am now on my way to Puno, a Peruvian city on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the entire world. I am halfway through the eight hour journey and am already kicking myself for not taking a rest in between bus trips. However, there is some on board entertainment: the lady next to me is illegally transporting whisky (and I am assuming other drugs) so the police have boarded our bus numerous times to interrogate her and take her bags. Very interesting to watch.

Wish me luck over the next few hours as my bus climbs higher and higher into the mountains, as the air gets thinner, and as I die slowly of boredom.

Besitos.

(I can't get the pictures to upload properly so excuse the lack of cool and awesome photos)

Si'po

Long time no blog.

Where I last left off, I was running out of a bus thinking that my lifeguarding skills would be of use. Let me backtrack to the days before this and then tell my stories up until right now, sitting in this bus terminal waiting to go to the driest place on the planet.

Day 38-40: El Calafate, Argentina.

Having seen a few glaciers already, I wasn’t overly excited to see another one; I was expecting another big chunk of ice coming down a mountain side (not that these other glaciers weren’t cool). I booked my seats on the bus to Perito Moreno and headed outside of the little Patagonian city. On the way, we stopped at an estancia, which was beautiful. They had horses and goats and yellow, baby ducks. After everyone had satisfied their bathroom needs or coffee addictions, the bus started back on its winding course. An hour later, I caught my first sight of the glacier, woah this is huge. We continued forward and were eventually released to do our own exploring. Let me describe it this way: half a football field is turned on its side and is now sticking out of the ground as a moving wall of ice that extends back farther than you can see and creates thunderous booms as chunks break off and fall into the space below. Three hours of exploring later, we piled back into the bus and I took probably the best bus-nap of my life.

The other thing I did in El Calafate was try to go rock climbing – let’s just say I messed up. All of the good rock climbing was in El Chalten, the city I had just left. I ended up hopping on an adventure tour so I went zip lining, rappelling, rock climbing, and cliff-scaling. Good last day in Argentine Patagonia.

Day 41: Cue motorcycle accident (if this doesn’t make sense, I direct you to my previous blogpost).

Day 42: My last day in Patagonia – Punta Arenas, Chile.

What is my Patagonia?

Turquoise blue waters that spark a never ending curiosity.

Mountains that you see in those wild, adventure films.

Shrubs mom nicknamed “blumpity blumps”

Winds that want to blow you over.

A peeling nose that never seems to heal.

Never having enough warms clothes.

Trees bent in the direction of the wind.

Day 43-44: Puerto Montt, Chile.

I flew out of Patagonia into the end (or start, depending how you look at it) of the Lakes Region. I was staying at this lovely hostel with a very protective owner. She quite literally told me I was going to get stabbed and then demonstrated how they would do it with her fingers. Thankfully, no stabbing occurred! This stop was one of the highlights of my trip: I took a tour to see… wait for it…

VOLCANOES!

This city has three volcanoes around it, the last erupting in 2014. We were driven around in a minivan to see beaches and volcanoes, rivers and volcanoes, boat rides and volcanoes, lakes and volcanoes; basically everything that you could see next to a volcano. It was incredible.

Day 45-46: Valdivia, Chile.

After a three hour bus ride, I was slightly farther north in a city with water flowing in from the Pacific. One of my favorite things in the entire world are outdoor markets; I love them. Valdivia has a huge market next to the water so when its closing time, the people selling fresh fish start throwing the scraps into the water. Flocks of birds and sea lions come to purge on the wasted fish. I indulged in fresh blueberry juice (another one of my favorite things) as I watched these creatures emerge in masses.

I spent the next morning in a city on the coast, laying on the beach and relaxing before seeing a friend I had met in Denmark! We drank some Danish beer in a park before I left to head back to warmer beaches.

Day 47-49: Valparaiso and Vina del Mar, Chile.

I call this part of my trip my vacation from my vacation. It is incredibly tiring to constantly be on the move, seeing amazing things every day, and meeting new people everywhere you go. Therefore, I decided to give myself three days to simply lay on the beach and do nothing, apart from a walking tour of Valpo. My last night I got to see yet another friend from Denmark. The night started out with flaming tequila shots, continued with terremotos, and ended with deep conversations and more beer with people at my hostel.

Day 50-51: Santiago, Chile.

Santiago is by far not my favorite city but I decided to give it another chance (I also had a flight out of the city so I had to go anyways). I ended up getting sucked into the largest mall in Latin America, though significantly smaller than the Mall of America. I was only intending to visit H&M but then saw so many brands that I love and gave into my consumerist urges. After pulling myself out from the jaws of capitalism, I headed back into the city to visit Cerro Santa Lucia and an art museum before heading back to hostel.

Day 53: Antofagasta, Chile.

After a 4:30 pick up and a two hour flight, I landed in Northern Chile. The landscape is very contradictory; it is basically a desert next to an ocean, I don’t understand. I quickly got settled then ran to the beach to catch a surfing lesson. If I can put it this way, I will never be a professional surfer. Out of everyone in my class, I was by far the most motivated to learn, constantly paddling in and out of the waves, falling off, trying to regain my balance, laughing out loud at myself, all the works. Apparently there is a phenomenon, called sed in Spanish, were three enormous waves come at once. You aren’t supposed to take the first wave because you will be clobber by the two following. Well… I didn’t know any better so I tried to take the first wave, failed miserably, then turned around only to see a wave beginning to crest over my head. Some instinctual part of me knew to dive through the wave rather than to go over it losing complete control over my body under the force of the water. Repeat the process for the third wave. Both times I came up laughing thinking it was a ton of fun; my instructors were not pleased. Perhaps it was my mom constantly telling me not to panic as I was growing up or my dare devil attitude but I was never once worried for my safety.

A few insights into my mind:

Being outside of the US right now has proved a blessing and a curse. I do not have to deal firsthand with the emotional strain that is Donald Trump. I am tucked away, in my own corner of the world, observing what has been unfolding through social media. In this way, I am protected; I have a tendency to overinvest myself in things and I’m afraid if I was in Minnesota, I would have become obsessed with this political season. On the other hand, from where I am, I am powerless. There is very little I can do to help besides sending positive vibes and taking my opinion to social media. I want to help; I want to be marching with my brothers and sisters from all races and religions. I want to help the resistance… but I can’t. I hate feeling powerless in the face of injustice.

Switching tracks completely, two months of constant motion is starting to take its toll on me. I am always tired and I am starting to get lonely. I am surrounded by people but I see these people for a day or two then have to start over again with a whole new crowd. I am sick of explaining “my name is Amelia, I am from the US, I live in Mendoza – no I study in Mendoza, I did not vote for Donald Trump.” I want someone who already knows these things and I will see for more than 72 hours max.

Besides those two negative things, I am LOVING Chile. The biodiversity of this country is impressive; mountains and sea, Patagonia in the south and the driest desert in the world in the north, and did I mention VOLCANOES? I love it here. Soon I will move onto Peru, where I am sure I will love it equally.

Is there anyone here that speaks English and Spanish?

The second stage of Maslows Hierarchy is security; today on the show so-and-so will be discussing what we need to feel secure. 

I'm about an hour into the five hour bus ride back to Chile and twenty minutes into my podcast; my headphones pinch my ears a bit but not too badly to stop listening to my informal psychology lesson from NPR. The bus comes to a screeching halt.

What is it this time? A flat tire? Squeaky brakes?

Everyone peers forward. searching for answers on why we have made an ungodly stop in the middle of nowhere. Then, they shift their gaze left, my eyes following the movement of the bus.

One motorcycle turned on its side, plastic littering the ground around it.
One motorcyclist on the ground, barely moving.

The bus driver runs out, followed by a man in a brown jacket and then by myself. Perhaps I rose to my feet thinking that my life guarding skills from previous summers had prepared me for what I was now running towards. Perhaps I rose because of my instinctual desire to help. Whatever compelled me into this ditch also released a fearful amount of adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I am a doctor - does anyone here speak English and Spanish?

I do.

Where does it hurt? ¿Dónde le duele?
Can you move your legs? ¿Puedes mover las piernas?
Does your head or neck hurt? ¿Duele la cabeza o el cuello?
Solo mi clavical. Only my collarbone. 

Within minutes that seemed like eternities, the motorcyclists injuries were assessed: likely concussion, broken collar bone, but otherwise okay. The panic and urgency had cooled in the fresh, Patagonian air and we waited for the ambulance. Very quickly we realize how truly isolated we are; the nearest hospital was 100 kilometers in either direction - an hours wait.

I am the only line of connection between the doctor and the motorcyclist and bus driver. The bus needs to continue its course but cannot leave the man in the ditch. The doctor suggests taking the driver on the bus with us.

¿Y el moto?
No me importa el moto.

The next moment we are loading as many of the motorcyclists possessions on the bus, leaving the beat up motor cycle in the ditch. We will meet the ambulance on the road and transfer him from there. He sits in the front, three seats in front of the doctor, six seats in front of me. I cannot help but stare at this man who reminds me of one of my uncles - a little bit skinnier and darker hair, but with the same wire-framed glasses, scruffly beard, and short hair on top. I grew up hearing stories of the wallet that saved Bobby's ass when he fell off his motorcycle.
Who was there to help him?

As I sit back in my seat, I become aware of my racing heartbeat and shaking hands. I was at a loss for words as the other passengers, out of genuine concern and obnoxious curiosity, tapped me on the shoulder one by one wanting details of our new passenger.

Is he okay? What happened? Why did you go out there, are you a paramedic? Where did you learn to speak Spanish? Are we driving him to the hospital? Is he in pain?

I wish they would be quiet, I wish they would stop asking questions. My mind is in shock; words come out but I don't know where they are coming from.

Yes. He was blown off the road by the wind. I know basic first aid, no I am not a paramedic. I study in Argentina. I don't know where we are taking him. Yes.

Twenty minutes later, the bus pulls over again and paramedics board the bus. Yet again, the doctor rises, I follow. A short, translated conversation and the application of a neck brace later, the motorcyclist is on his way to the hospital and I am left stringing together everything that just happened.

Is there anyone here that speaks English and Spanish?

Camping Fitz Roy

After Mom left, I geared up and headed back to Argentina for my first ever, solo backpacking trip.

What lies below is copied directly from my book (with some grammatical and spelling correction of course). Anything in italic font has been added for clarity…

Warning: its kind of long- but that's what happens when you're trapped in a tent for sixteen hours.

Day 35: Fitz Roy, El Chalten, Argentina

Mistakes I have made thus far on my solo adventure:

• Almost accepting a tent without a rain-fly.
• Not getting rain gear… or a hat… or gloves.
• Only planning to eat cold food in a cold place.
• Not having anything to alert people if I am in trouble (i.e. a lighter or a whistle).
• Not thinking about the weight of my pack.

Look up – what do you see in the world around you?

Your mind is so focused on where you can step,

And where you can’t.

Which rocks to avoid,

And which will hold your weight.

Your eyes only looking down;

You miss the view,

The picturesque valleys,

The jagged edges of a snow capped mountain,

The bluest water you have ever seen,

Let alone the purest you have ever tasted.

Don’t be afraid to lose yourself on the journey.

Look up – don’t miss life as it passes before you.

Day 36: Day two of Camping, Fitz Roy, Argentina

I wish I could say I was loving this that every second holds a small treasure of self-defiance and joy, but I’m not. I am cold – I wore two pairs of socks to sleep and my feet are still numb. I didn’t sleep well and now my head hurts. Breakfast will be a god damn granola bar. It is going to rain. I smell buy I can’t change my shirt. Last night I had a nightmare; I woke up thrashing in my sleeping bag, calling for my mom – I felt like I couldn’t breather. Today will be my only full day out here… Let’s hope I make it through.

Later… Trapped in my tent because of a storm…

Did the great explorers, the Darwin’s, the Lewis and Clark’s, the Madsen’s, did they tire of their journeys while they were on them? Did the rain wash away their spirits and the wind blow away their hope? Did they long for home or did their vision – their quest motivate them through the difficult times? Perhaps if my vision for this journey was more than an extended hike I would be in better spirits as I shiver, trapped in my tent as a storm of wind and rain beckons around me. There are certain things one should not do alone and this might be one of them.

Mistakes I have made today:

1. Setting tent up in a location with little wind and rain protection then realizing it after it was too late.
2. Not brushing my teeth.
3. Having very little warm clothing.
4. Dropping my orange on the ground.
5. Bringing oranges on a camping trip.

Because I'm an optimistic/positive person:

1. Quick take down and set up of camp.
2. Building shelter around camp.
3. Mooching food off of couple from Seattle.
4. Letting go of built up anger.

It is as if the mountains produce the very clouds that form around their base. Hiding themselves in white silk before unleashing their torment on the valleys below. It is here I sit bundled beneath my cloth shelter. Rain pitter pattering overhead as the wind winds down the enormous slopes, pushing over hilltops and curling around trees before racing past my tent. I cannot tell if it is the wind or the river that is roaring – perhaps it is both and their cries mix together to form one.

Equality only exists in a utopian society. Utopian societies are unattainable. Therefore, by the law of syllogism, equality is unattainable. Society will always be rigged with a hierarchical system – the rich at the top controlling the dispersal of wealth and power. I wish to create change but there is no changing a system that has ruled society from the moment it was created. Perhaps instead of total change, I should focus on the decreasing the separation between castes. In other words, instead of striving to achieve equality, working to decrease inequality. However, what difference does it make if human society is limited? Almost every other species has gone extinct, what is so different about ours? I have little hope in the human race.

My mind is like a file cabinet, holding categories and subcategories and sub-subcategories; like a concept map but of thoughts – each separated and organized, placed in the folder it best belongs to… Lets take colors for example…

• Favorite color to see: turquoise.
• Favorite color to wear: maroon.
• Favorite complementary colors: purple and yellow.
• Color with most memories: lime green.
• Least favorite color: neon orange or fluorescent yellow.

Things I am afraid of right now: the back left corner of my tent collapsing/the pole breaking under the stress of the wind, the rainfly not holding and getting me and all of my stuff wet, a tree being blown over by the wind and onto me, the storm not being finished by morning, not regaining feeling in my toes…

Day 37: Last Day! Fitz Roy, Argentina

Total damage done:

Blisters: three – toe, toe, inner heel.

Sunburn: peeling nose, back of neck.

Scrapes: back of hand.

Bruises: pinky toe (unknown cause).

Phase II: Family Visit

This seems like forever ago but it was only three weeks…

Day 21-23: Santiago, Chile

THE FAMILY ARRIVED! The best feeling in the world was running down the stairs of the hotel into my mom’s arms. Tears were flowing and I never wanted to let go. After the shock wore off of seeing each other, we went on a stroll through the city ending with lunch at Mercado Central and a long nap for Isaak.

Day two of their Chilean Adventure we “hiked” to the top of Cerro San Cristobal and saw the city from above despite all of the smog. Afterwards we went to the National Museum of Memory and Human Rights which was a big deal for me considering I am passionate about human rights and the dictatorships of Latin America are very interesting to me. I’m not sure Isaak and Mom got the same joy out of it as I did…

The next day is known as The Day We Almost Killed Mom… A long six hour hike in the mountains that ended with spectacular views and a glacier (not as spectacular).

Day 24-27: Vina del Mar, Chile

After a kilombo mess with the Rent-a-Car, we made it to the other side of the country (which really isn’t that far, only an hour and a half drive). With all of the stress from renting the car, driving the car through narrow Chilean roads, and then finding food before all of the stores closed for Christmas, everyone was pretty exhausted. Isaak napped, Mom and I went to the beach, and I swam in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my entire life.

My second Christmas abroad was well spent! Fresh mango juice on the beach surrounded by people I love.

Isaak’s last full day in Chile was spent wandering the streets of Valparaiso, a city famous for its street art and steep hills. We walked past numerous murals, through cemeteries, and took an interesting elevator ride. After lunch we headed over to Concon to try our hand at sandboarding. To say it didn’t go well is an understatement. Isaak got a sled and was actually able to do things while I, on my wooden board, couldn’t go very far without falling over. To get all of the sand off our super tanned bodies, we went back to the beach where we got yelled at by the lifeguards for playing too aggressively in the surf.

On the last day, we visited the National Botanical Garden and the beach one last time before all heading to the airport to catch our flights. Isaak went home – Mom and I went to Punta Arenas.

Day 28-33: Chilean Patagonia

Our first day in Punta Arenas was spent wandering the almost antartic city. We saw viewpoints and markets, toured museums, and walked by the sea. The next day we were supposed to go on a penguin tour but the tour company knowingly sold us an overbooked tour and then tried to bait and switch. Bastards. Instead, we took the bus to our next destination and again walked around the city.

Perhaps Mom’s highlight of the trip: the Full Day – Torres del Paine Tour. We were picked up early in the morning and taken by bus around Chile’s most famous National Park. We saw guanacos, condors, foxes, and flamingos, pointed mountains and crystal clear lakes… My words will never be able to describe the raw and untouched beauty that is this small part of the world. See pictures below.

On the last day of 2016, we were yet again swept off our feet for an amazing boat tour through the Patagonian fjords to see glaciers and the endless beauty that is Patagonia. We were served whiskey over ice from an ice berg and nearly froze to death on the deck of the boat. The tour ended on a cattle ranch where we were serve lamb al asado and parrilla. For New Years, Mom stayed back in the hotel room while I went out with some people we met on the tours. Interesting night, but nothing terribly noteworthy.

Mom’s last full day in Chile was spent back in Torres del Paine. The views looked completely different because of weather; this time we were able to see the towers from far away and the blues of the water shined ever brighter. We concluded her trip with a fancy dinner and a long sleep. Teary goodbyes the next day and poof, just like that I am alone again.