El Fanoos

Hawai'i's Aquatic Garden

2009-09-13T08:47:00.002-06:00

The Tunnels, a dive site on Kaua'i's north shore

Kaua'i, known as Hawai'i's "Garden Isle" features a landscape as lush as any of the Hawaiian Isles. Many come here to hike among the dazzling waterfalls, visit the man-made "glass beach", covered with thousands of pieces of glass dumped offshore then washed and polished by the sea, or hike the famous Napali Coastline. There are relatively few who come here to dive. Yet, the Garden Isle offers just as much diversity and splendor under its waters, as it does above.

Spanish Dancer, an appellation given by the sea slugs movement as it swims

Green Sea Turtles at Sheraton Caverns, on the south shore

Green Sea Turtle at Sheraton Caverns

Among the islands many eels, you'll find the White-Mouthed Moray wedged in the volcanic rocks

The Bandit Angel Fish, one of the islands many species of angel fish, is named for the black streak covering the eyes

A Blue-Finned Trevally dashes past the camera

Next time you journey to this land, don't hesitate to explore the wonders below.

The Sacred Valley

2009-07-28T17:58:00.004-06:00

It's easy to see why they call this the Sacred Valley: rich farmland, crystal clear mountain streams, and white-capped peaks

Of the many ways to get to Machu Picchu, the two most popular with backpackers are to 1) hike the infamous 3-day Inca Trail, at times sharing the trail with 400 other tourists; or 2) take an alternative trek through the surrounding Andean highlands, where the local-to-foreigner ratio is skewed severely in the locals’ favor, and finish with a train ride to Aguas Calientes. At this point in our trip, we were tired of sharing our experiences with dozens of other gringos so we opted for the latter. We couldn’t have been happier with the results.

Researching the trip can be quite daunting. There are scores of operators, each offering similar treks. The 5-day Salkantay Trail, a “challenging” hike by most accounts that reaches 4590m above sea level, was the first to catch my eye. Not only would the remote location and challenging terrain offer more solitude, but we could also go longer without showering. Due to time restrictions, however, we had to pick a shorter trip. The Lares Valley Trek, a 4-day walk that climbs over a 4500m pass, was the group consensus.

Next step: picking a tour operator. I had initially considered self-supporting a trek through the highlands, but the complicated logistics and chance to support the local communities swayed us in favor of a guided tour. Browsing the online lists of operators, you can pretty quickly narrow it down to 5 or 6 reputable companies. From there, it’s just a matter of contacting them and obtaining prices. Since they’re all offering the same services—horse packing, 3 meals/day, a “unique” trail that nobody else uses, etc—we decided to go with the best price, which was Chaska Tours out of Cusco.

Here are a few of the pics… Enjoy.

Quechua women in Quisuarani village

Alpine Flowers

Clouds opening to reveal a glaciated peak

Alpine Lake

Looking down into the second valley

Llama Skull

Cascading Stream

Pack mules crossing the stream

Camp 1 in Cuncani village

Sacred alpine lake above Cuncani

4500m Pass

The third valley

Crystal clear waters

Picture-perfect Camp 2

Waterfalls

Thought to be an Incan-era sanctuary for locals traversing the valleys

Land of the Inca

2009-07-28T15:57:00.004-06:00

View from Machu Picchu ("Old Peak" in Quechua)

Machu Picchu is the Mecca of South America’s gringo trail. For many it’s a starting point, for some it’s the long anticipated culmination, for others it’s just an amazing stop along the way. At one point or another, every serious traveler makes a pilgrimage to the lost Incan city.

The religious complex at Machu Picchu

Leading into the religious complex. The door could be blocked by tying a wooden gate to the niches on either side and stone hole at top.

Early morning at Machu Picchu

This popularity has led to an amusement park-like atmosphere at the southern continent’s biggest attraction. Much like the religious experiences of the Muslim Hajj or Jerusalem during Easter, the spirit of Machu Picchu can be lost in the blur of timetables, long lines, and $7 cans of Coke. From Aguas Calientes, you’ll wake up at 0500 to catch the first bus up to the park entrance (passing those who tried to hike up earlier but underestimated the long, steep hike) in order to run to the base of Huayna Picchu after the park gates open to be one of the first 200 guests who will be allowed to climb Machu Picchu’s higher sister peak (offering a great panorama of the ruins). After that, you’ll browse the ruins with the thousands of other guests before climbing the impressive Huayna Picchu (“…there’s a trail up that?!?”) Then, wander the site for a bit longer before hunger sets in and debate whether or not to pay $20 for a small snack at the park concessions stand or mosey on back down to Aguas Calientes for lunch. In summary, it’s spectacularly draining and it’s one of the most impressive sites you’ll ever visit.

When you arrive on the peak before the sun has burned off the cloudy vale, there’s a hallowed feeling that hangs in the air. When Hiram Bingham rediscovered the site in 1911, the forgotten city was overgrown. Over several seasons the site was cleared and inventoried by Bingham and Yale University archaeologists. Although technically not living, Machu Picchu has in a sense been reborn. The early morning buzz of tourists climbing the cleared terraces while swallows dip and dive overhead lends the sense of a city stirring to life. The city was lost only to be resurrected. There’s something special about this mountaintop sanctuary.

Cliff side farming terraces

View down the valley from the prisoners' area

Steps leading out of the prisoners' area

Located only 50 miles from the Incan capital of Cusco, Machu Picchu remained hidden from Spanish conquerors. Due to this fact, and its importance as an intact archaeological site and Incan holy place, the area is considered sacred to both academics and local indigenous populations.

Scholars who have studied the site believe that it was still being expanded at the time of abandonment. This suggests that the site was a relatively young religious complex of the ephemeral empire. The Incas in the region were believed to have fled to the jungle city of Vilcabamba, where the Spanish finally defeated the Incan empire, in order to conceal the sanctuary’s location.

Harrowing trail up Huayna Picchu, Machu Picchu's sister peak

Steps creatively utilizing stone, which, like the complex's walls, will last centuries

On top of Huayna Picchu

Terraces on Huayna Picchu

Steep, slippery steps up Huayna Picchu

This complex is believed to be either a factory or a nunnery

Practicing levitation using psychic energies

For centuries before rediscovery by western scholars local indigenous populations, who lived amongst the ruins, inhabited the site. Archaeologists and Peru’s tourist economy can thank these local populations’ tight lips, which helped conserve the site as one of the extremely few not plundered and disassembled by westerners. Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Machu Picchu will be preserved and protected for millions to enjoy and revel in the serenity of this mountaintop sanctuary.

Plaza de Armas, Cuzco. This main square was the center of the Incan capital before Spanish conquered and lined the sqaure with churches using stones from deconstructed Incan buildings.

Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Mural depicting the Incan golden age

The Inca

Shooting pigeons in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Graduation parade in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Celebrating Andean tradition in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

One of the positive effects of globalization: you can get great (and cheap!) Indian food in Cuzco. One of the best Chana Masalas that I've ever had.

Incan baths above Cuzco

Life sized indigenous dolls

Eucalyptus forest above Cuzco

Snubbed by a llama

Quechua woman and lamb

Defense portal at Saqsaywaman, the three-tiered fortress on Cuzco's north side.

Saqsaywaman Fortress

A view of Plaza de Armas from Saqsaywaman

Turbulent skies above Cuzco

Old Spanish tiles, Cuzco

Festival decorations in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Children playing on the Cathedral in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Parade in Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Egypt Then and Now: A 5-Year Hiatus

2009-06-17T09:45:00.010-06:00

Looking across the Nile Valley to Giza

Landing in Cairo in the middle of the night can be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you fly through the streets with the cab windows down, free from the oppressive Egyptian sun and annoying honks and back-ups that accompany daytime traffic. On the other hand, it fails to prepare you for the chaos of an awakened Cairo. But I knew what awaited us the following day--a locust storm of people, vehicles, and dry dust--and thoroughly enjoyed the tranquil cab ride from airport to downtown (with a slight detour thanks to the honorable, paranoid President Mubarak who closed all the roads surrounding his palace).

Walking through the crowded streets the following day I was forced to eat a few of my words. In preparation for the trip, Melissa had half-jokingly asked about wearing a niqab, the traditional Muslim face covering, to avoid being heckled in the streets, a nearly unavoidable result of being a good looking Caucasian female. I full-heartedly rejected the idea on grounds that, while the niqab is prominent in rural Egypt, it's rarely worn in the touristed areas of Cairo. Yet, as soon as we stepped outside the tally began, and continued until I was forced to admit that the niqab has become a common sight in all areas of Cairo.

When I left Egypt in 2004, people were talking about a resurgence of strict Muslim tradition amongst all layers of Egyptian society. Until I witnessed the newfound prevalence of the most conservative female Muslim dress, I didn't believe it. Perhaps it's simply that females feel more comfortable sheltered from the scrutinizing eye of the Egyptian male, but the added annoyance alone would have to be great to justify cloaking one's self in all black under the smothering heat of Cairo summer. More likely is the popularization of rejecting everything Western in favor of returning to Muslim tradition. Many Muslims perceive that their society was more dignified and globally influential in its historical heyday when stricter social guidelines were followed. Therefore, returning to those conservative ideals will guide the Muslim World to a heightened global position. This transformation, spanning decades, has been fueled by the last 8 years of western politics. It's an understandable phenomenon in light of how much our past administration and its allies rejected the Middle East's collective identity when forming Middle East policies.

Take for example the Gaza elections in 2005, in which Hamas (considered a "terrorist group" by many western nations including the United States and Israel) received 2/3 of the contested seats. This political experiment, pushed heavily by the Bush administration, backfired on western nations hoping for democratic reform, when what they meant by "democratic reform" was adoption of western-style governance. Historically in Islam, however, there is no separation of church and state. When the Islamic parties increase their overall popularity by implementing social welfare programs with much more efficiency than the current government, and come to power through fair democratic elections, the result is an Islamization of government. It's yet to be seen whether Egypt's transformation will reach this point, or if the current, self-preserving administration will be allowed to continue its authoritative control over politics. Regardless, it's a significant change considering that Egypt is one of the Middle East's most westernized nations.

Muhammad 'Ali Mosque, Cairo

Pyramids of Giza

Minarets of al-Azhar and Al-Hussein mosques, Cairo

Another change that will undoubtedly be beneficial in the long-term is a new government aid program to help replace the antiquated, exhaust spewing taxis with new reduced omissions vehicles. Under the new initiative, a taxi driver is given a certain amount for a down payment in exchange for the old vehicle. Then, advertising space is rented on the cab's interior to help with monthly payments. There are a relative few who have taken the offer, but it's a good start to improving air quality in one of the world's most polluted cities.

Islamic Cairo, looking towards Sultan Hassan and Muhammad 'Ali mosques

Al-Azhar's Court

Train arriving for Luxor

River Taxi in Luxor

Valley of the Kings, Luxor

Night at Luxor Temple

A ruin spanning three civilizations: the original temple was built by New Kingdom pharaohs, the archway was closed and flanked by columns by the Romans, and Coptic Christians covered the pharaonic glyphs with plaster.

When this mosque was built on top of the Luxor Temple ruins, the ground level was nearly 5 meters higher, evidenced by the door now open to a drop. Much of the Luxor Temple was preserved by being buried in Nile silt.

Morning at Karnak, before the oppressive heat and crowds

World's Largest Columnated Hall, Karnak Temple, Luxor

Columnated Hall, Karnak

A less welcomed change is the preference of Euro over US dollar. With the combined strength of the European economy, and uncertainty in the future of the US market, it's easy to see why an Egyptian would prefer to deal in a stronger currency that's becoming more popular globally. Still, when I'm constantly reminded of our faltering market caused by a greedy, manipulative system back home, my American sense can't help but be offended. That being said, I don't like being quoted in US dollars either. Transactions should be solely in the local currency. From Cairo to Upper Egypt to the Delta to Sinai, there's no standardization of currencies used by hotels, tour agencies, dive centers, and various other vendors. It's annoying to continually deal with daily conversion rates, or worse, to be charged a penalty by converting the foreign currency rates to Egyptian pounds at an unfair exchange rate set by the vendor. If the idea is to encourage the use of stronger foreign currency, which is beneficial to a weaker economy, then discounts should be given when paying with foreign currencies rather than penalties issued when paying with Egyptian pounds.

Despite this annoyance, touring Egypt is better today than it was five years ago. There have been significant improvements to tourist sites in terms of better infrastructure and less hassle. In 2004, I nearly got into a fight with an aggressive trinket seller at the Pyramids of Giza who was harassing my father. Last year a wall was built around the complex that keeps the hordes at bay. The vendors privileged enough to be let in are more tempered to avoid losing that privilege. Similar systems have been instituted in Luxor and Aswan to ensure that tourists are able to enjoy the awe-inspiring sites hassle free. Each site has also been outfitted with an air-conditioned tourist center (necessary down south during the Nubian summer) complete with small-scale model of the ruins/tombs/temples/etc. It lends a new perspective to the huge pillars and stone structures that dwarf the largest of men.

Morning in Aswan

Hieroglyphics on Elphantine Island, Aswan

West Bank, Aswan

"Which way to the Pyramids?"

Christian Monastery, West Bank, Aswan

Despite the 120F temperatures outside, it was still cool inside the monastery's living quarters.

Monastic living quarters

"Give us a kiss."

Bread Vendor in Aswan

Nile Sunrise

This unfinished obelisk in the Aswan granite quarry would have been the largest single piece of transported stone sculpture in the ancient world. It was abandoned when a large crack appeared on the face.

Umayyad Tombs (8th century AD) in Aswan

First Cataract of the Nile, Aswan

Corniche at night, Alexandria

Qaitbay Castle, an Ottoman-era harbor defense, Alexandria

Last but not least on our tour of Egypt was Dahab, my old stomping ground in the Sinai peninsula. In 2004, Dahab was a little hippie town where days were spent floating amongst the Red Sea's prolific and colorful aquatic life, and lounging lazily in the dozens of homogeneous seaside cafes. Little, if any, has changed. It's a welcomed consolation that in a country constantly being developed and molded around the tourist economy while trying to balance it's ancient Egyptian, Muslim, and more recent western identities, there are still places that time has forgotten.

Lighthouse Bay, Dahab

Sunrise on Mt. Sinai

Mt. Sinai Taxis

Ras Muhammad National Park, Sinai

Ras Muhammad National Park, Sinai

"The Land of My Dreams"

2009-05-29T16:46:00.006-06:00

Dreamscape

“This is unbelievable,” Melissa uttered half whispering.
“What?” I replied.
“This. All of this. It’s like something from one of my dreams.”

As I looked around, I was suddenly more absorbed into the scene—dozens of colonial-era steam engines abandoned and rusting on a dead end track.

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s incredible.”

This epiphany soon became a common theme. Everywhere we traveled in Bolivia was accompanied by breathtaking scenery, storybook culture, and eerie encounters that sparked a sense of dreamland (and sometimes nightmarish) nostalgia.

I would have to write a book to fully describe Bolivia’s beauty. During the five weeks spent in South America’s land locked nation (Paraguay has an outlet via the Rio Paraguay), we witnessed several global superlatives: World’s Largest Salt Flat (Salar de Uyuni); World’s Highest (administrative) Capital City (La Paz); World’s Second Most Extensive High Plateau (the Altiplano—second to Tibet); and the World’s Highest Navigable Lake (Titicaca). We reveled in indigenous cultures, form the Amazonian Guarani, to the ancient pre-Incan Tihuanacu (who spawned the Aymara), and the Inca’s progeny, the Quechua. We fell from the cold, barren high plains to the sauna-like, mosquito-infested tropical lowlands and back again. Each new place brought new wonders that, when accumulated, produced and overwhelming sensation of affinity towards South America’s so-called poorest nation.

One of the most surprising discoveries was how much Bolivia’s creation resembles that of the United States. After the American Revolution a Venezuelan, born of Basque parents, by the name of Simon Bolivar traveled to Europe and the newly established United States of America to study, among other things, models of revolution. After returning to South America he joined the growing trend for liberation from colonial powers. His military campaigns eventually carried him to Alti Peru (Upper Peru), as Bolivia was called under colonial rule. Joining with contemporary liberators—namely Jose de Sucre for who Sucre, Bolivia’s constitutional capital, was named—the Spanish were finally defeated at the Battle of Ayachucho in modern day Peru. On that December day in 1824, four years after Jose de San Martin, liberator of Argentina and Chile, declared Peru independent, the Spanish crown had been fatally crippled in Peru. In August of the following year the Spanish were driven out of Upper Peru and the region declared independence, naming the new state “Bolivia” in honor of Simon Bolivar. The Bolivian Declaration of Independence can be viewed at the Casa de la Libertad (“House of Liberty”) in Sucre, where it was signed, and from where successive administrations governed the nascent country.

The White City

SUCRE

Sucre itself is a gorgeous city, containing block after block of colonial-style architecture. What sets it apart from other New World settlements is the ubiquitous use of white varnish, giving the city it’s nickname, La Ciudad Blanca or “The White City.” Apparently the modern building codes are very strict about exterior color schemes in order to preserve this title.

Due to a hellish 15 hour bus ride from Uyuni to Sucre—mostly over washboard dirt roads, crossing through wide washes (“We’re in the dry season, right?”), and skirting deep gorges—we opted for a 35 minute flight to the lowlands versus the 16-25 hour bus ride over equally treacherous roads. It ended up being a great investment since we were treated to outstanding service by the Bolivian airline and the aerial views inspired a new perspective on Bolivia’s wealth.

Casa de la Libertad

Bolivian Declaration of Independence

25 de Mayo Square amongst preparations for Bolivia's bi-centennial celebration

Sucre Streets

Fruit Market, Sucre

I could find no apparent reason why there's a dinosaur phone booth in the hills above Sucre, but I went with it.

Biking between mountain towns

Brilliant wildflower in the mountains above Sucre

Bathing Statues in Bolivar Park, Sucre

California Palm, Bolivar Park, Sucre

"Will Ray Park" reminded me of an abandoned fair ground lot

Abandoned Ride, Sucre

Woman selling locally made textiles

Small, wealthy suburb of Sucre

SANTA CRUZ

Santa Cruz, commercial center of the Eastern Lowlands and cultural center for Bolivia’s more western colonial descendants, is a blast into the materialist modern world. Wealthy cruceños zip through the streets in luxury vehicles and strut down the wide sidewalks flashing the newest in western style and elegance. Unlike most cities in the highlands, Santa Cruz was not designed with the pedestrian in mind. Like many cities in the United States, it’s plagued by urban sprawl to the point of necessitating a vehicle. Unless malls, movies, and humid weather are your idea of a good time, a few days is enough to spend in Santa Cruz. Yet, we did luck out to be in town for an international theater festival and the annual Easter procession.

Female federal police carrying the Virgin Mary during Santa Cruz's Easter procession

Chosen to participate in a Dutch acrobatic act during the theater festival, Santa Cruz (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Acrobat Class, Santa Cruz (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Acrobat Class, Santa Cruz (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Acrobat Class, Santa Cruz (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Welcome to Ambue Ari

AMBUE ARI

Our next leg, which we had been anticipating for months, was meant to be a highlight of our South American travels. Parque Ambue Ari, a division of Inti Wara Yassi animal refuges, is located in the dense tropical jungle six hours north of Santa Cruz. The main draw to Ambue Ari is the prospect of caring for a big cat, most of who were rescued form the wildlife trade. Unfortunately, it’s an irresistible draw and many foreigners make the remote trek here solely for the opportunity to play with a big cat. This dynamic frustrated us from first arrival.

I like to give new experiences a fair chance, so I decided up on the three-strike policy. We arrived at dinnertime and soon discovered that even though there was a vegetarian option, meat was being served and consumed by the majority of the 40 foreign volunteers. At any legitimate animal sanctuary it would be anathema to serve meat. It’s incredible ironic to dedicate one’s life to saving a few dozen animals only to destroy hundreds more feeding tourists—strike one.

That night we went to choose our work clothes, two pair of long shirts and pants. These weren’t a primary and spare pair; they were to be worn together. Upon setting out into the dense jungle the following day we realized why. Squadrons of mosquitoes and black flies wage relentless attacks from all directions, finding any patch of exposed skin and even biting through the double layer of clothing. In addition, there are flies that lay eggs under the victim’s skin, creating a pimple-like egg sack. Many volunteers also complained of a foot fungus that was “going around,” easily spread in the unhygienic conditions. It’s safe to say that I’m not a tropics person—strike two.

Praise Pachamama for mosquito netting

Since Melissa and I were only staying for two weeks, and the refuge was overloaded with volunteers for the big cats, we were put in charge of the Quarantine and Monkey Park respectively. I was responsible for a female howler monkey named Talia. Since she had attacked a few human females in her time at Ambue Ari, Talia could not be let out without a leash on orders of the Park Director, who was apparently one of the females assaulted. It was easy to see that Talia was miserable since her “play area” consisted of a wooden porch and muddy grass clearing. I’m no expert, but I’m fairly certain that monkeys need tree time to be content. Sure enough, as soon as I took the end of Talia’s leash and started climbing the surrounding trees, her mood instantly changed. She was missing something in her life that was filled by spending time in the airy forest bows. After exploring all the branches within reach and filling up on leaves, she would crawl into my lap and fall asleep. Again, I’m no behavioralist, but I’m pretty confident that Talia has no behavioral issues other than a possible grudge against the Park Director. When I asked about the potential of releasing Talia in the future (one of the park’s stated goals is rehabilitation and release into the wild, which they have done with several other howlers), the park director stated that she didn’t think Talia would ever be released—strike three. There were other examples of poor education regarding the wildlife trade (one girl wanted to buy a monkey when she got home) and the links between vegetarianism and animal care that just put icing on the cake. After four days at Ambue Ari, it was time to move on.

Melissa snuggling a Brazilian jungle cat in quarantine, Ambue Ari

Talia's cousins, who were previously released, Ambue Ari

The small mountain town of Samaipata

SAMAIPATA

With some extra time to kill, we headed to a small mountain town a few hours south of Santa Cruz. Samaipata’s main attraction is a sandstone monolith named “El Fuerte” by the Spanish. Although the exact purpose is still unclear, most archaeologists and historians believe that the Amazonian Guarani established the site on religious grounds. They cite the carved niches, possibly for idols, and the serpent-shaped drainage carved down a slope, thought to be for sacrifices. Wilder theories suggest that the site held religious significance due to its status as a launch pad for intergalactic spacecraft. Whatever its original purpose, by the time the Inca invaded, it was clearly used for worship. Large depressions were carved to hold huge golden Incan idols, which fell victim to the Spanish conquest.

El Fuerte, Samaipata

Even though El Fuerte is the main draw to Samaipata, there’s much more to do in the region. In fact, we liked the area so much that we decided to stay 10 days, a rare pause on our fast-paced journey. In addition to studying Spanish, we spent time volunteering at a local animal refuge and exploring the region’s biodiversity.

The prize for best Andean dish goes to Papas ala Huancaina, a delicious amalgamation of boiled potatoes, veggies, and peanut sauce

Purportedly Samaipata's best coca vendor

Samaipata is located at the convergence of three ecosystems—the Amazonian tropics, the frontal range cloud forests, and the high Andes. This unique location gives it perpetually perfect weather and a wealth of ecological diversity nearby. During our time there we hiked the mystical semi-tropic cloud forests of Parque Amboró, rode horses through the shrub-forested foothills, and toured the low river valleys. In our spare time we volunteered at El Refugio, an animal sanctuary founded eight years ago by a French-Swiss woman. Although we contemplated staying a month to volunteer at El Refugio and Andoriña, our quaint, Dutch-run hostel, our itinerary pulled us back into the high Andes. It would have also been nice to head further south along the “Che Trail” to see where the socialist revolutionary, Ernesto “Che” Guevara, was caught and executed by the Bolivian military. Alas, we needed something to bring us back.

Wildflower, Parque Amboró

Parque Amboró

When aggravated, this ant attaches with its pincers and secretes an acidic substance from its abdomen. Use 3-4 times daily to treat arthritis. Parque Amboró

Parque Amboró

Parque Amboró

Giant Slug, Parque Amboró

Giant Fern Tree, Parque Amboró. This species of fern has been around for millions of years.

Giant Fern Tree, Parque Amboró

Parque Amboró

Parque Amboró

Cloud Forest, Parque Amboró

The Brink (photo by Melissa Meyer)

They must have imported cheap cars from Japan then converted them to left-hand drive. Samaipata

Butterflies on Dog Scat. Samaipata

Cutting grass for horses at El Refugio, Samaipata (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Pair of Macaws, El Refugio, Samaipata

Morning in Samaipata

Chita and Ñoño, El Refugio, Samaipata

Shortcut into town, Samaipata

This owl monkey, rescued from the pet trade, was blinded by an unknown cause. El Refugio, Samaipata

Looking across to Parque Amboró from the Volcanes area

An "accidental" fire swept across this area of forest so the 4-star Eco Resort next store decided to expand its golf course. How convenient.

Volcanes

Volcanes

Volcanes

River Crossing. Not everyone made it across dry. Volcanes

Doesn't get more raw than fungus growing from feces. Volcanes

Cannonball! Volcanes (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Melissa and Chita. El Refugio, Samaipata

Perfect size. Perfect weather. Perfect spot. Samaipata

Sandwiched between the frontal ranges and the high Andes, smog is often trapped over Cochabamba.

COCHABAMBA

One long, cold bus ride later we arrived in Cochabamba, the center of Bolivia’s coca trade (most coca used for cocaine is grown around Cochabamba, while coca grown for natural consumption is cultivated in the Yungas region north of La Paz). Our pause here had one purpose, to find a way to Torotoro National Park. Located roughly 140 km south of Cochabamba, Torotoro is known predominantly for paleontology, with a treasure trove of dinosaur tracks from the cretaceous period stamped into the area’s mudstone. However, the area is also known for its biological diversity and geologic beauty. During our stay we explored the Umajalanta Caverns, home to hundreds of vampire bats and schools of blind catfish, and hiked through the Grand Canyon-esque Torotoro Canyon, witnessing the endemic and endangered Red-Fronted Macaw. It was a lightening tour, lasting only one day, but well worth the 8 hours round trip by rental car. As an added bonus, I got to practice my rally skills in our Suzuki Grand Vitara over the windy cobblestone and dirt roads leading to Torotoro.

Freeze Fountain, Cochabamba

Sidewalk Foosball, Cochabamba

Bi-pedal carnivore tracks, Torotoro National Park

Morning Sky, Torotoro National Park

Gazing into Umajalanta Cavern, Torotoro National Park (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Staring out of Umajalanta Cavern, Torotoro National Park

Tight Squeeze, Umajalanta Cavern, Torotoro National Park

Demonstrating how the footsteps were made, although according to "experts" they're from a quadrupedal Diplodocus.

Torotoro Canyon

El Vergel, Torotoro Canyon

Paleontologists believe these tracks were made by the armadillo-like Ankylosaurus.

Early morning in Cochabamba

El Prado, Cochabamba

Mercado de Ferias, where Melissa's bag was "slashed", Cochabamba

Mt. Illimani looming above downtown La Paz. The famous peak is the beacon that guides Paceños (residents of La Paz) home.

LA PAZ

Time was ticking. We had a little over a week before meeting a friend in Cuzco, Peru, and we had yet to see the “World’s Highest Capital,” La Paz. Officially, Sucre is Bolivia’s capital. Over the years, however, La Paz has become the de facto administrative center, housing most of the ministries.

La Paz, like any city, is divided into sections—the business district, the upper-class residential area, the commercial strip, tourist town (where the “witches market” is located), and the working class suburbs that have climbed the steep basin walls and spilled out onto the Altiplano 400m above. Although quite busy during the day, the streets were virtually deserted when we arrived at 11 PM. In April, with winter quickly approaching in the high Andes, it’s not monsters in the shadows that keep people indoors, but the drastic drop in temperatures that nightfall brings. Some of the only people who brave the cold are party-hearty tourists who scurry between bars and clubs until the eastern sky is light. We learned right away that La Paz is a party town.

Our Irish-owned hostel had the party started when we arrived. Talking to some friends who I had met a few weeks prior in Samaipata, I learned that parties start at 10 PM every night of the week and go until sunrise. This is of course aided by certain stimulants that are cheap and easy to obtain in one of the largest coca-producing countries. Since it’s not our scene, we retired and focused our efforts on the plethora of physical and cultural activities in and around La Paz.

These included, but were not limited to: downhill biking the “World’s Most Dangerous Road”; browsing the herbal and sacrificial offerings at the witches market; learning about the incredible healthful properties of the coca leaf at the Coca Museum; watching luchadores battle it out with hardy Andean women at Cholita Wrestling; and marveling at the ruins of Tihuanacu, birthplace of Andean culture. We left La Paz with a lot on the plate. There are endless days of biking, mountaineering, climbing, hiking, cultural experiences, and exploring in and around one of the world’s most interesting and diverse cities. Like the Che Trail in southern Bolivia, La Paz’s wealth of activities gives us an excuse to come back. Lake Titicaca was calling. What, for me, felt like an obligatory stop—“Might as well see the World’s Highest Navigable Lake while we’re here”—turned into a magical experience.

Rooftops, La Paz

Dried llama fetuses (to be planted under new buildings to ward off evil spirits), stone idols, and illegal pelts - Witches Market, La Paz

Locals absorbed in Cholita Wrestling, La Paz

Cotton Candy, Cholita Wrestling Match, La Paz

The Cholitas

Rallying the Crowd

Flying Cholita

Bolivian girl guarding her mother's drying San Pedro cactus. The plant contains mescaline, a hallucinogen used in local religious ceremonies.

Dried llama fetuses and sea creatures, Witches Market, La Paz

The Altiplano, near Tihuanacu

Train station outside the ruins

Model reconstruction of Tihuanacu

Most of the stones from the celestial pyramid were plundered by the Spanish to build local churches and residences, but archaeologists are reconstructing the pyramid with mud stone.

Temple gate, through which the sun rose on winter solstice

Recently discovered, the subterranean temple contains stone masks representing the deceased.

Main temple, Tihuanacu

Rock portal displaying the intricate geometric carvings of the Tihuanacu culture. The three tiers represent the three levels of existence: celestial, terrestrial, and subterranean represented by the condor, the jaguar, and the serpent.

Mt. Huayna Potosi, said to be the World's Most Easily Climbed 6000m Peak since base camp is only 1400m from summit.

Like Venezuela, Bolivia has instituted a social program importing Cuban eye doctors for cheap optometry clinics.

Boarding the ferry on Lake Titicaca

LAKE TITICACA

When you hear or read about Lake Titicaca, it sounds like an uneventful place. Delving further into history, however, reveals what an integral part it’s played in Andean culture. In Aymaran lore (descendants of the Tihuanacu culture) Isla del Sol, a large island anchored in the lake’s eastern waters, was the birthplace of the sun. According to Quechuan legend (descendants of the Inca), the firth Inca appeared on this isle, sent by the sun himself to lead the Andean peoples to conquest. When we finally arrived on Isla del Sol’s steep shores by way of a very slow ferry, we almost immediately realized the spiritual aura.

Even today there are no cars on the island. This gives it a very tranquil air. After arrival by ferry, there are two ways to get around—by boat or by bipedal motion. From north to south the island is crossed with centuries- (maybe even millennia-?) old trails. Some are still crude dirt paths, but the majority have for centuries been paved with stones, making a very distinct and comfortable walking track.

To get a head start on the daily tourist rush, we hired an additional ferry to transport us to the island’s north end, thereby avoiding a 2-hour hike. In this way we were able to see the main attractions, a large Incan-era labyrinthine structure and Titikharka (“Rock of the Puma,” for which Lake Titicaca is named) tourist-free. In the rare solitude my mind was able to ponder the cycle of civilization and society—the rise and fall of cultures, political systems, and religions no matter their fleeting grandeur, as well as the superficial values that society prescribes to itself. In these instances life is broken down to its most raw elements and the modern world fades into the background of existence.

Take away the tourism and life on Isla del Sol is subsistence farming. The rocky paths weave between fields of quinoa, habas, wheat, barley, maize, coca, and various other vegetables and herbs, cultivated on tiered steps as they have been for centuries. Life here is simple, as it should be. As the sun was leaving its place of birth, I climbed a small hill to overlook the fields, mud-brick homes, and well-worn trails leading to ancient stone structures—facing time head on and still standing proud. Clouds had cleared in the distance, revealing the majestic, snow-capped Cordillera Real standing well above the 4000 meter-high lake. Pachamama (Mother Earth) was revealing the white crib of the cradle of civilization. As I sat rocking in the quiet cradle watching the son set, nothing could have wiped the smile off my face.

Copacabana, Lake Titicaca

Puffed Rice Vendor, Copacabana, Lake Titicaca

On the docks in Copacabana, boarding the ferry to Isla del Sol

Traditional sailboat, similar to the fallucas of the Nile

Small island on Lake Titicaca

The southern docks of Isla del Sol

Incan-era ruins, northern end of Isla del Sol

Sunset on Isla del Sol, with the majestic Cordillera Real shining in the distance

HUGE eucalyptus tree, Isla del Sol

Cobblestone path leading down to the village of Cha'llapampa on the island's north end

Wheat Field, Isla del Sol

Isla del Sol and the Cordillera Real

Sunrise on Isla del Sol

Crossing the Frontier

2009-05-06T21:25:00.007-06:00

Welcome to Bolivia

There are two options for crossing into Bolivia from northern Chile—one: take a cramped bus for a multiple hour ride over neglected roads, or two: the more adventurous option, hire a Land Cruiser and sail across the Altiplano, Bolivia's high-plains frontier. We of course chose the latter.

Bolivian Immigration

The outhouse at Bolivian Immigration

The highways of the Bolivian Frontier

Because it is a border crossing, no trip is possible without first stopping at the little shack that passes for Bolivian immigration. American passports are dealt with delicately since US$135 is required for the visa. Since they can't accept money on the frontier, our passports were bound in an envelope that we were to deliver to Bolivian customs upon arrival in Uyuni. This system, based on the honor code, can be exploited for those unwilling to pay the large "reciprocity tax". At least one person who I've met absconded with her passport and, upon exiting Bolivia, bribed immigration and her bus driver to let her pass into Peru.

After a cheap breakfast of bread and tea we boarded the Land Cruisers, which were waiting at the border, and set out across the volcano and lagoon-dotted plains. A short while later we had arrived at the Eduardo Avaroa National Reserve for Andean Fauna. For the next two days we would travel through the reserve, passing multiple lagoons speckled with the three local species of flamingo, peak after volcanic peak, jacuzzi-like hot springs, bubbling hot pots, and rocks of every shape, size, and variety.

Directional map at Laguna Verde ("Green Lagoon")

Fuel Stop

Volcanic rocks below Mt. Licancabur

Tough grasses of the Altiplano

The road often turned into a less formal track

Flying across the jagged, barren landscape, it's hard to imagine that much life is supported here. Yet, as soon as you enter the park, vicuñas, a high altitude-loving cousin of the llama, can be spotted grazing on small, tough grasses. On arrival at the first lagoon, you're almost certain to spot a few flamingos. The frequency of vicuña and flamingo spotting increases the deeper you move into the park's interior.

The earth is also very much alive on the Altiplano. The geologic events that created this wild landscape are still in play. Although there are no active volcanoes, geothermic springs bubble from the ground. It's easy to see where the occasional rain and constant wind continue to erode the wide valleys carved by glaciers from millennia past. Raw layers of rock display a mineral rainbow flowing down from the peaks above. Occasionally you'll pass what looks like a neatly kept Japanese rock garden where ancient glaciers deposited huge volcanic boulders on open prairies. Since there's not a single tree masking the earth's contours, and time moves slower on the high, dry plains, both ancient and modern formations can be easily discerned.

The Dali Rocks (said to resemble Salvador Dali's artwork)

Thermal Hot Springs

Thermal waters flowing out onto the flats

Sol de Mañana Mudpots

The Mighty Land Cruiser

I'd recommend Estrella del Sur if you're going to make the crossing

Road leading down to Laguna Colorada

Flamingos on Laguna Colorada, so named because of the lagoon's red hue in the afternoon

Racing across the desert. Many times I felt like we were in the Dakar Ralley. (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Our driver taking a siesta

Laguna Colorada ("Red Lagoon")

The striking rainbow strata of the Altiplano

Laguna Blanca ("White Lagoon")

Flamingos on Laguna Blanca

Flamingos on Laguna Hedionda

Flamingos on Laguna Onda

Vicuña and flamingos at Laguna Onda

Descending from the Altiplano

Volcano Ollague

The Chiguana Salt Flats and surrounds resemble the environment of western Utah

The rail line leading from Uyuni into Chile

Yellow Quinoa

Quinoa Grains (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Red Quinoa

Although the frontier Altiplano, sitting higher than most peaks in North America, is a spectacular place, the highlight of this crossing is Salar de Uyuni. This ancient seabed holds the title as "World's Largest Salt Flat", dwarfing the second-place holder, Utah's Bonneville Salt Flats. It still resembles an immense, white lake dotted with small volcanic islands once teeming with marine life. Today, the primary inhabitants are several species of cacti and vizcachas, a relative of the chinchilla, but ancient corals live on in fossilized form.

Our entire last day was spent sailing our 4-wheeled motorboat across the dried salt sea. Before sunrise we stopped to watch the Morning Star's fall as the primary deity rose bright in the sky. Once the glowing orb breached the distant mountain gates, flooding our world with warmth, we headed to the most famous of the Salar's isles, Incahuasi ("House of the Inca"). From the short peak, there's a spectacular panorama of the bright expanse, ringed with mountain ranges and volcanic peaks. A circumnavigation of the island revealed seaside caves and colonies of petrified sea life. It's a place where earth and time are displayed in crude form, where human existence seems irrelevant. Prolonging as much as possible, we finally accepted the relentless cries of our driver, pulling us back toward civilization. The Altiplano and Salar where amazing sights that well prepared us for the beauty that Bolivia had in store.

Salar de Uyuni at first light

Watching Ra rise

Desert Yoga

Incahuasi's Stats (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Isla Incahuasi

Sea cave with petrified corals

Petrified Coral

Melissa snacking on our Land Cruiser after taking the giant pills

Salt production outside of Uyuni

The small desert town of Uyuni, where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are rumored to have died

The streets of Uyuni, a modern-day wild west

p.s. I had never before sat and watched the Morning Star fall. It was and is one of the most beautiful things that I've ever witnessed, especially due to the eerie surrounds of the salt flats in early morning. Watching the bright star (planet, actually), who had outlived thousands of peers in the brightening sky, fade into the light I remembered a song by AFI that captures what the Morning Star must feel.

Venus, often known as the "Morning Star", setting in the East

Morningstar, by: AFI

I saw a star beneath the stairs
Glowing through the melting walls
Who will be the first to begin their fall?
Or will we become one?

Am I the star beneath the stairs?
Am I the ghost upon the stage?
Am I your anything?

I saw a star beneath the stairs
Glowing bright before descent
And in the morning there is nothing left but what's inside of me.

Am I the star beneath the stairs?
Am I the ghost upon the stage?
Am I your anything?
Am I the star beneath the stairs?
Am I the ghost upon the stage?
Am I your anything?

And I don't want to die tonight, will you believe me?
And I don't want to fall into the light
Will you wish upon?
Will you walk upon me?
I don't wanna die tonight

Will you believe in me tonight?
Am I the star beneath the stairs?
Am I the ghost upon the stage?
Am I your anything?
Am I the star beneath the stairs?
Am I the ghost upon the stage?
Am I your anything?

Breadbasket of the Andes

2009-04-11T15:52:00.008-06:00

Andean Farmland, near Sucre

A few days ago we took a 35-minute flight from Sucre, Bolivia’s constitutional capitol, to Santa Cruz in lieu of the 20-hour bus ride. As soon as we were airborne, it was easy to see why there’s such a disproportion in the times of air vs. land travel. North-to-south-running parallel mountain chains stretch into the distance in all directions. Dirt roads snake across razorback ridges and down steep, eroded slopes. In between literally each ridge flows a waterway, ranging in size from the smallest mountain stream to raging river, each supporting a local agrarian community.

Like a giant accordian, parallel valleys stretch into the distance, each cradling a waterway.

A wider valley containing several plots of land

The Andes fade into the Lowlands, dumping out dozens of rivers to slowly wander the fertile plains

In a land that’s notorious for being the “poorest” country in South America, there’s a noticeable lack of destitution. Venture into the mountains and you find no mansions, no McDonalds, no SUVs rollin’ 22s. What you do find are different types of wealth—agricultural wealth, cultural wealth, environmental wealth—and no one appears to be in want of the essential ingredients for a happy life—shelter, sustenance, and liberty.

Maize is the most popular crop in the areas surrounding Sucre

A farmer delineating his or her squash field with brambles

High-mountain farming. Because of the distance to large markets, the majority of crops are stored and traded in local indigenous communities.

On a recent trip through the mountains near Sucre, each vista presented rich farmland sweeping into the distance. I kept thinking of Thomas Jefferson’s vision of the Americas. His outspoken admiration of the Yeoman Farmer helped to shape the United States as an agricultural nation. Of course, most campesinos (small farmers) in this region lack an essential quality of Jefferson´s ideal Yeoman, which is an education, at least in the Western sense. A local farmer may be able to walk you through a high-Andean field and pick out 20 different plants to use in cooking or herbal medicine, but ask him or her about civics or regional economics and the conversation will likely flop. This may be changing. Now with an indigenous president, a former coca farmer who should understand more than any past president the plight of the indigenous farmer, Bolivia has an opportunity to revive its agricultural class and shift from subsistence farming to a strong agricultural export economy.

Wakatao (sic?), a local herb similar to rosemary used to spice potatos

The kiwi-like fruit of a local cactus

Taku-taku, a sweet bean pod that is chewed on as a snack

This argument, however, assumes that the people want to participate in a global market. At the moment, they grow their own food, trade with local farmers for other essentials, and live relatively removed from global society (other than the occasional tourist). Opening this Pandora’s box would expose traditional societies to potentially harmful elements of Westernism, primarily materialism and classism.

For thousands of years, pockets of civilization have matured and died in Bolivia’s highlands. Now peering down from the air, it’s easy to see why small, local populations were able to remain culturally isolated, a fact supported by the 36 languages spoken throughout the region. In a rapidly globalizing economy, Bolivians are going to have to decide whether or not to participate and potentially endanger their cultural diversity and traditional lifestyles. Of course, there are other ways to become involved without abandoning the past. Many are riding the tourism wave, providing venues for eco-tourists and the culturally curious to learn about local ways of life.

Drinking Chicha, a traditional maize refreshment, with our adopted grandmother

Grind Stone

"We take care of the animals to maintain balance of the ecosystem"

If this sounds like your cup of tea then Bolivia is the place to explore. But you better hurry. As Bolivian politics shift further left, and President Morales implements social programs that increase ties to other socialist governments in Latin America, a rift is threatening to divide the nation. Several eastern provinces, which control large agricultural, oil/gas, and timber industries, are calling for autonomous governance, citing disapproval with taxation and nationalization of industries. Talks are currently underway that could potentially unify or further disrupt national politics. Growing pains are evident, but Bolivia has a strong backbone. Containing both the Altiplano, breadbasket of the high Andes, and the fertile eastern lowlands, it’s a rich land that has potential to grow into a large player in the agricultural and natural resource market. The quandary facing the people is whether they want to continue regional and political isolationism or step into the global arena.

The Atacameños

2009-04-10T15:58:00.001-06:00

The San Pedro River Valley, home to the Atacameños

The Atacameños are an indigenous people local to the San Pedro River valley, which flows through the driest desert in the world, the Atacama. For thousands of years they farmed this valley, until the arrival of foreign invaders who threatened their way of life. Today, many relatively recent ruins can be visited throughout the region and mummies are on display in San Pedro's museum.

From a sign at Pukara de Quitor (from Quechua: "Quitor Fortress"), a fortified city built on the banks of the San Pedro River to defend against successive invasions of Inca and Spanish conquistadors:

"Atacameños were cattle breeders, farmers, and warriors who defended bravely and fiercely their territories, they were organized at Pukara de Quitor to oppose resistance to the european invader who found people rose in arms no matter the defeats suffered they could resist during twenty years.

"In 1557 a peace treaty was reached which evolved in the surrender of atacameños people. This was the starting point of the adoptions of another culture process of the atacameños ethnic group who couldn't face the deep impact because most of them were baptized with christian names and even Ayllos were changed from the 17th century on the power of spanish magistrates was strengthen and the organization of old Ayllos was restablished because they proved to be very efficient."

Pukara de Quitor was built in a defensive position overlooking the river valley

The large precipice defending Pukara from the north

The dry wash giving Pukara a defensive advantage from the south

The San Pedro River's fertile shores

Around 1536, Spanish conquistadors appeared in the Atacama. Resisting other invasions, Atacameños had already built fortifications, from which they repelled Spanish attacks until 1540. At that time, the Spanish enlisted the help of freed slaves of the Inca to break the defenses of Pukara de Quitor.

Aside from adopting Christianity, Atacameños have retained their identity and culture despite several regional power shifts. When Bolivia claimed independence from Peru in 1825, San Pedro fell under Bolivian control. In 1888, Chile annexed the region by force. In recent times the area has been flooded with foreign tourists seeking a desert retreat. Though the 20th century brought westernization and challenges to land rights, Atacameños continue to farm the San Pedro River valley as their ancestors have done for thousands of years.

"My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?" - Psalm 22

Stone statue of an Atacameñan face

Stone statue of an Atacameñan face

Stone statue of an Atacameñan face

Stone statue of an Atacameñan face

A Potential "Top 5"

2009-04-08T18:27:00.009-06:00

The classic volcano, Mt. Licancabur

Toconao River Gorge

Climb rated 5.8, Toconao Gorge

Toconao Gorge, where the locals grow fruits and maize

Climb rated 5.11, Toconao Gorge

The Andes form a very effective barrier against weather systems drifting off the Pacific Ocean; one resulting in a very dry interior. Having climbed off the coastal plain and crossed the frontal mountain range, the landscape opened up into a vast, barren flat ringed wiht sharp peaks. It was apparent, we were officially in the Chilean high desert.

Our bus rolled into san Pedro de Atacama in mid-afternoon. We had left the paved road dozens of miles back and wouldn´t see pavement again until leaving this dusty desert town. We unloaded into the dirt lot and immediately recognized the town´s charm--the narrow, dustry streets, simple adobe-style structures, and lack of automobile traffic (although there are few cars as it is in San Pedro, the main street is pedestrian-only). The plan, to spend one or two days here, was quickly altered.

Waxing up our boards for the first run

Shreddin' Some Sand

Textured Steps

Hiking the Ridge

A Different Way Up

Out of four days spent in this quaint tourist oasis, surrounded by opportunities for outdoor activity, it´s hard to choose a favorite. One day was spent sandboarding on nearby dunes, followed by a sunset stroll in the unearthly Valle de la Luna ("Valley of the Moon"). Outside of town is perfect for star-gazing, especially after the moon sets. The French astronomers who walked us through the souther hemisphere´s constellations were knowledgeable and humerous. One afternon, I mountain biked between ruins of indigenous Atacama peoples, who were forced to high, defensive villages during the subsequent invasions of the Inca and Spanish conquistadors. I passed my final, and arguably favorite, day climbing in a lush, stream-fed gorge near the town of Toconao.

For an outdoor junkie such as myself, San Pedro de Atacama is paradise. there are scores of opporunities to mountain bike, climb, mountaineer, hike, sandboard, and whatever else tickles your fancy. There´s even decent vegan food. Our last night we discovered a gourmet restaurant on par with any New York kitchen. Doubling our normal dinner budget, we dined on fungi in sauce made from a local nut served over quinoa, a delicious spinach soup, and vegetable curry--with potatoes, carrots, and diced eggplant--over rice. It was a rare treat that perfectly complimented our action-packed stop in the world´s driest desert.

The unearthly landscape of Valle de la Luna

Biking between ruins, trail turned to river

Sleepy morning air in San Pedrot

Because we´re on a limited time schedule, I couldn´t do it all. Given the liberty I glady would. From San Pedro´s bike-friendly, alley-sized dirt streets to the diverse natural wonders surrounding the string of indigenous towns--from salt flats to flowing dunes to crop-filled river valleys to towering volcanos--the Atacama Desert was a surprising delight. Originally just a brief stop on the road to Bolivia, San Pedro has potentially become one of the Top 5 Coolest Towns in South America.

A handcrafted arch frames Licancabur at a local ruin. The volcano holds an important position in indigenous lore. Another arch opposite the volcano frames a recently built cross.

Looking up at the local tribute to Christianity

Volcano Licancabur and his little brother reflecting the sunset above San Pedro's streets

Gourmet Veg Curry with Quinoa, US$10 (with spinach soup and fruit salad)

Pirates, Catholics, and Fishermen! OH MY!

2009-04-07T07:53:00.010-06:00

Coquimbo Fish Market

Fishing vessels lined up in Coquimbo´s harbor

Interesting statue in one of Coquimbo´s squares

La Serena, like most coastal towns in Chile, has a lot of history. At one time it served as a garrison for Spanish troops as they marched between Santiago and areas further north. La Serena’s old Catholic churches, of which there are 27, were frequently attacked and burned by marauding pirates over the centuries. Today, it´s the quiet backdrop to a large, popular beach, which reportedly draws hundreds of Chileans and Argentinians during the summer months.

We ended up here by circumstance. Melissa’s friend from Tucson has family here. For two days Skip and Mary treated us like family—giving us a place to sleep, touring us around the area, feeding us some of the best (home cooked!) food we’ve eaten in South America, and introducing us to their nephew, Cristian, who drove us around to all the major sights.

Nearby Coquimbo is a small port city. At time of visit, it had several fishing boats and a lone cargo ship moored in the bay. Above it all sits the Millennium Cross, built by the Catholic Church to commemorate the 2000 birthday of Christ. Ironically, the cross was built right in the middle of Coquimbo’s slums (packed with Palestinian immigrants, who defiantly erected a mosque in the cross’ shadow). I’m sure the billions of dollars spent on this expression of devotion to the teachings of Christ could have built homes for thousands of poor families. Instead, you can ride an elevator up the cross’ shaft and look out over the slums while browsing the life-sized bronze busts of cardinals and popes.

After, we drove over to a hill overlooking a secluded baby. Rumor has it that pirates used this area as a hideout and shelter several centuries ago. The claim is supported by a huge statue of Sir Francis Drake that has since been defaced and re-dedicated to the fishermen of Coquimbo, supposedly after locals grew weary of pirate attacks. Even so, the local population seems to retain a bit of rebellious sentiment, honoring pirate culture in restaurants and shops.

Pirate Bay

Sir Francis Drake´s statue towers above Coquimbo. The plaque has been ripped off and replaced with a sign honoring local fishermen.

"Fire!" (photo by Melissa Meyer)

The next day we were surprised when Skip offered to take us on a small airplane flight. We drove over to his air club where the Cessna 182 was parked. He gave us an option—coast or valley. We opted for the latter and hopped in. Leaving La Serena we cruised, 3000´ high, up the valley. In the distance we could see astronomical observatories crowning peaks and a patchwork of farmland below. Twenty minutes later we were flying over Vicunya, an idyllic country town surrounded by grape and avocado farms. We circled Vicunya and headed back. One thing I noticed from the air was all the roads and tracks criss-crossing the hills. Apparently off-roading and mountain biking are popular with the locals.

Skip readying the Cessna

Bird´s eye view of the river valley east of La Serena. The light green plants leading up into the hills are grapes grown to produce Pisco, the local fire water.

The idyllic country town of Vicunya, surrounded by farmland

A private astronomical observatory crowns a nearby peak. The clear desert air in this region offers unobstructed views of the night sky.

Back in La Serena we enjoyed another delicious home-cooked meal, watched Chile beat Peru in soccer, 3-1 (a heated match due to political emotions over Peru´s claim to part of the Chilean coast), and prepared to leave for San Pedro de Atacama the next day.

We were sad to leave, mainly because we were eating so well. We can´t thank Skip, Mary, and Cristian enough. Their hospitality made La Serena a stop with all the comforts of home on our hostel-filled trek.

One of our awesome vegan homemade meals, with traditional (and delicious) Chilean bean soup and corn cake.

Cristian playing some Sublime while Black Kitty Kitty grooves on his shoulder

The Palestinean owner of a seaside falafel shop wouldn´t accept a tip, so I inscribed an 1000 peso note with Arabic poetry.

Yet another awesome homemade vegan meal with veggie lasagna, fries, and fresh vegetables (and more corn cake! my favorite)

Our gracious hosts, Skip and Mary

Cities By The Sea

2009-04-01T11:42:00.007-06:00

Overlooking Valparaiso´s bay from Cerro Concepcion

Many of Viña del Mar´s stoplights have a juggler or fire-eater performing for spare change

An old shipping pier in Viña, now only frequented by sea birds

Viña del Mar´s wide streets and seaside hills

We were headed to the beach. Viña del Mar, from what we had heard, was a nice beach town where one is able to relax. It´s also situated next to one of Chile´s most aesthetic, historic, and important cities, Valparaiso. After nearly a month of arid, mountainous interior we were excited to see the Pacific.

I expected Viña an Valparaiso to complement each other very well—beach town and port city side-by-side, much like South Beach and Miami. At first glance, Viña was much more like Miami, with a large, commercial downtown, large malls, and slummy sections of town that time has forgotten. To give Viña credit, unlike Miami it´s blessed with seaside hills that lend the town a romantic charm.

We soon realized that summer was over in this part of the world. Stepping off the bus on a seaside hightway, I had to pull out my jacket to shield me from the cold breeze blowing off the Pacific. The next day we confirmed that there would be no beach time. The weather forecast called for cool, overcast days. The water around Viña is the type that causes hesitation even in the summer. The chilly Humboldt Current turns some away all together. With no hope of warm, sunny beach days, we turned our attention to Valparaiso.

Someone needs to bring this to the US. You can pay to have your car washed while it´s parked for the day and come back to a sparkling, clean ride. Brilliant.

The colorful neighborhood in which we stayed, Viña del Mar.

Waves lapping Viña´s shores

Natural History Museum, Valparaiso

Vegan lasagna bolognaise and Gluten pizza, Bambu, Valparaiso. Delicious!

The view from Cerro Panteon

Cemetario de Disidentes (The Protestant Cemetary), Cerro Panteon

Cemetario de Disidentes, Cerro Panteon

Situated on a large, sheltered bay surrounded by 42 cerros, or “hills”, overlooking the water, Valparaiso (or Valpo as it´s known to the locals) has played an important role in Chile´s history and culture (it´s often called Chile´s cultural capitol). It´s from here that Spanish conquistadors re-supplied Chilean colonies, then, conversely, the Chilean Navy (with the help of the British) fought for independence from colonial control. Valpo was frequently attacked by pirates such as Sir Francis Drake, as he patrolled the coast looking for opportunities to weaken the Spanish colonies in the name of the Crown (and probably fill his personal coffers while he was at it). The famous Chilean Nobel Laureate, Pablo Neruda, had a home here, which he named La Sebastiana after the architect who was able to capture the tight, labrynthine essence of Valparaiso in the structure. In 1980, the Chilean dictator, Augusto Pinochet, moved the legislativge branch to Valpo to divide power, controversially building the new government building over the neighborhood of his childhood home. The oddly shaped structure now dominates El Plan, the city´s commercial center. Today, the bustling port city plays a key role in Chile´s relatively strong economy, bringing imported goods into the country and shipping out, among other things, a bounty of fresh fruits.

For two days we scaled the hills of Valparaiso taking in magnificent views of the rainbow-colored hills—covered in brightly painted houses and brilliant urban art—against a maritime backdrop. It´s an incredibly romantic place to spend a few days, but since it´s a functioning port city it´s less geared towards tourism than a longer stay would warrant.

Although it could take a lifetime to explore Valpo´s maze-like streets and alleys, we felt we had made a sufficient dent. It was time to move on from both the quiet hillsides of Viña and the steep, busy streets of Valparaiso. Even though hiking Valpo´s hills is a great workout, both Melissa and I looked forward to the seclusion and natural wonders of northern Chile and Bolivia. But before that we were going to make one more stop along the coast, in La Serena, where the family of Melissa´s friend from Tucson was awaiting our arrival.

The view from Cerro Carcel (Prison Hill)

Ex-Carcel, prison turned community center turned tourist attraction

Ex-Carcel´s walls are covered with spectacular urban art

Ex-Carcel

The old door that led between the upper and lower prison yard, Ex-Carcel

Upper Yard, Ex-Carcel

"Vegan Straight Edge", Ex-Carcel

There´s even fine art covering Ex-Carcel´s walls

Deep Thoughs?, Ex-Carcel

Looking across to Cerro Miraflores

Steep alleyway leading up to Cerro Alegre

One of the thousands of dogs who roam Valpo´s streets (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Urban art on Cerro Alegre

The oldest acensor in Valparaiso, built in 1883

Streets of Cerro Concepcion

Acensor Concepcion

Covered fruit market in El Plan, the commercial port area of Valparaiso

Acensor Artilleria

"Danger, High Voltage", Acensor Artilleria

The stilted homes of Cerro Arrayan

Cerro Arrayan

Intricate mural near Estacion Baron, the nearest metro stop to downtown Valparaiso

Outside a home on Cerro La Florida, where Pablo Neruda´s home, La Sebastiana, is located

Statue of Pablo Neruda in Poets´ Square

View of Valparaiso from La Sebastiana (photography wasn´t allowed inside the house)

Most beautifully painted bathroom in Valparaiso

Valpo´s Harbour

Valpo´s Dockyards

Santiago de Chile - City of the Americas

2009-03-29T23:14:00.004-06:00

Northern Santiago from Cerro San Cristobal

If I were to go off everything that I had heard, Santiago de Chile was dirty, dangerous, and offered little for American tourists such as myself. Story after story about the thick smog, pickpockets, and stolen mountain bikes had prepared me for the worst. Yet, what I discovered was a delightfully metropolitan American city full of huge, California-style super malls, forested hills overlooking skyscrapers, high-rise apartments, and luxury hotels in a city with a vibe much more Latin American than Europe-obsessed Argentina.

Providencia, one of Santiago's upscale neighborhoods

Eating an awesome vegan meal at El Huerto, one of Santiago's all-vegetarian restaurants

Urban art in downtown Santiago (there's only one real person in this photograph)

Chilean Orangutan

We took an overnight bus from Mendoza, arriving in the early morning. In this part of the world, where destinations can be a long ride apart, overnight journeys are a good way to travel. Not only can you more easily sleep through the ride, but also save on a night in a hostel. We were more tired than usual after this particular trip since we were awakened mid-trip to adda a new stamp to our passports. When we got to Santiago, we checked into the Bellavista Hostel--voted one of the best in Latin America--and slept until noon.

Joel and Paulina

Streamers hanging in a museum under Chile's capitol building

There's always the trouble of locating vegan food hot spots in each new city or town. Lucky for us, Little Palestine was a few blocks away. We stuffed our aching bellies with falafel and eggplant, just happy to be eating something other than pasta.

Acensor leading to Cerro San Cristobal

Larger-than-Life Virgin Mary

Flowers and candles rest at the base of a cross on Cerro San Cristobal

Taking the sky tram to the eastern suburbs

Fully satiated, I called my long-time neighbor from Farmington, Joel, who had moved to Santiago to wait on his wife's American visa (it came through and Joel and Pauline are moving to Utah in April. Congrats you two!) For three days, Joel and Paulina proved to be more than hospitable, taking me to the modern, SoCal-style super mall in the wealthy eastern suburbs to look for a new camera (mine is lost, maybe forever, in the bureaucratic ball of yarn that is Argentinean customs), then to all of Santiago's few tourist attractions. We soared above the city on Mt. Cristobal's sky trams, humbled beneath the larger than life virgin Mary, toured the executive government section of downtown (the legislative branch was moved to Valparaiso in 1980), strolled through O'Higgins Park (the "Central Park of Santiago"), and were welcomed into Paulina's grandparents' lovely home in the northern suburbs.

Santiago's modern subway system is efficient and expansive

Strolling through O'Higgins Park south of city center. Once the bastion of the rich, O'Higgins park is being transformed into the "Central Park" of Santiago.

Joel and Paulina's local knowledge made our time in the Chilean capital far more worthwhile and interesting. It's true that there's not a whole lot for tourists in Santiago, but the city, full of Native American and Colonial history, beats with its own unique vibe. Before this point I thought that American culture was largely limited to, and defined by, the United States--that we had the genuine style and attitude that everyone else emulated. After walking the streest of Santiago, it's clear that we're not the only ones who get it. Unlike in Argentina, where the style is blatantly European, here I felt comfortable, at home. Sure there's a Latin flare, but no more than southern California. We also found that there are some elements that need improvement, such as the large class divide perpetuated by the classist educational system. It appears that even though first worldy, Chile is having some adolescent growing pains after shedding its military dictatorship of the 1980s.

Colonial fort sitting atop Cerro Santa Lucia, where Santiago's founders held their ground against hostile indigenous peoples. The more colorful structure was built in the early 1900s to promote tourism.

The Catholic church on top of Cerro Santa Lucia

There's a prevailing attitude across the Americas that binds us all together. We journeyed to these lands, apologetically displaced native peoples, cut a new life from the wilderness, fought European super powers for autonomous governance, and created new cities and cultures according to our own wants and desires. Being in Santiago I welcomed this realization, which brought a fondness for my American Chilean kin. Had I listened to those who harangued me about Santiago's faults, I wouldn't have seen it for what it really is, a metropolitan New World capital with a population etching out a unique identity in a globalizing world. Welcome to Santiago de America.

Dogs roam the streets all night long and sleep through the day

Recovering from a late night in Bellavista, Santiago's party district

Las Altas Montañas de los Andes

2009-03-23T20:31:00.001-06:00

If you're ever in Mendoza, make sure to stay at Hostel Simplemente near Plaza Independencia.

It was early morning and we were barreling across the Argentinean plains gazing out of the panoramic windows of our double-decker bus. As the sun's light followed us west it slowly lit the coming tide. A sea of mountains was pouring forth, growing larger with each kilometer. Soon the large, white hulls of a mighty fleet of towering Andean peaks appeared one by one out of the gray morning mist. It was the crow's nest that I sought; the highest point of those mighty masts holding up the Americas.

Mashed wine grapes

Fermenting barrels

When we pulled into Mendoza, Argentina—“gateway to the Andes”—early that morning, I didn't know what was in store for me. Plenty of online research had revealed that Mt. Aconcagua, the highest peak outside of the Himalayas, was an expensive endeavor. My goal was to find a local who could take me there cheaper than the competition.

But first, we had other plans. Part of the reason we came to Mendoza was because it was described as a quaint little town sitting at the foot of the Andes, surrounded by wineries stretching miles in every direction, and filled with outdoor-loving Argentinians. Sounds like a good place to spend a while. Truth is that it’s a bustling provincial capitol of over 150,000 residents—everything from suit-clad businessmen to job-shirking hippies to leather-clad biker packs to anti-authoritarian youth—filled with smog, night clubs, and parks galore.

Mendoza wouldn’t be such a bad place if the local government would pass and enforce omissions laws. Unlike Buenos Aires, many of Mendoza’s vehicles drive through the streets spewing a thick, noxious cloud of exhaust. It makes walking outside an unpleasant affair. Otherwise, it would be a charming place to spend a few weeks.

Mendoza: old, smog-spewing automobiles, tree-lined streets, and gutters that could hold the Colorado

Sitting at the foot of a frontal range, Mendoza is divided into square blocks with north-south and east-west oriented streets, all lined with meter-deep gutters that run like rivers when the arid mountains looming above bleed with snow melt that feeds the city's only saving grace, thousands of huge trees sapping their life source from the urban waterways. At city centers is spatially intensive Plaza Independencia, celebrating Argentinean independence from Spanish rule. A few blocks off each corner is a park celebrating Argentinean heritage. There’s Plaza España and Plaza Italia, honoring local bloodlines and traditions, Plaza Chile recognizing Mendoceneans’ relationships with their close Andean cousins, and of course the ubiquitous Plaza San Martin, venerating Argentina’s liberator hero. We even found a small plaque and gazebo curiously recognizing Mendoza’s relationship with the Syrian Arab Republic.

What exactly is the Syria-Mendoza connection?

We arrived on a Sunday, just in time to start a weeklong Spanish course at a local school. I intended to study for a week or two then look into scaling America’s leviathan, Aconcagua. My first day of class we were discussing my plans in broken Spanish when my teacher informed me that it was the end of the season and I may not be able to achieve my goal. Several others confirmed this fact. I started to worry. One of my least favorite emotions is regret, and it’s not one that I often feel, but I was starting to wish I had done a bit more research. It was time for swift action.

Luckily we moved to a hostel whose owner, Romina, had lived in Chicago, spoke perfect English, and knew the local activity scene. She and her husband called all of the guide outfits and finally found a man who would sit down and talk about a cheap late-season expedition. Pablo showed up to the hostel and immediately transmitted through Romina (Pablo doesn’t speak English) that it could be done but not guaranteed. It was just the attitude that I sought. Ascension can never be guaranteed, but I wanted a shot. Without delay I started making arrangements, rented the necessary gear, and informed my school that I’d be missing the last day of my week-long course. I was heading for the mountains.

What follows is a journal-style account of my time in Aconcagua Provincial Park.

Vegan Will Ch. 3: Mt. Aconcagua

2009-03-23T07:57:00.010-06:00

The Beginning

Day 1: March 6, 2009

Just finished the long bus ride up to Los Penitentes. I thought I was on the wrong bus at first because we were traveling away from the mountains, but we soon circled back around to head up a wide valley.

Staring up at these mountains from the valley gives you some sense of their grandeur—the snow covered peaks sat a few thousand feet above the scattered cloud ceiling today—but it’s not until you’re traveling up through them that you realize their true height. Valley after sparsely vegetated valley (this is a very hot, dry region) the mountains continued to rise sheerly above us. It wasn’t until we reached Los Penitentes that we were actually below one of the lesser snow-capped sentinels.

As anyone who has visited southern Utah or Arizona can attest, the desert can be breathtakingly gorgeous. Here is no exception. Steep slopes of scree crumbling from dark rock faces are covered with small grasses that lend them green and yellow hues. Above these, dark and sand-colored ridges lead up to saddles beneath the majestic, white crowns of the Americas. I’m so happy to be out of the smog-filled streets of Mendoza breathing the fresh, thin mountain air.

Looking down on Los Penitentes

The plan is to spend two nights here in Los Penitentes acclimatizing in a little log cabin hostel aptly named Campo Base before heading up to the next camp, Confluencia. It’s easy to tell that I hit the season’s end. Los Penitentes, which I’ve heard can be quite happening in mid-season, is devoid of much human life. There’s no one else in my hostel and the only sound that can be heard is the Spanish soap operas that are entertaining the hostel attendant. I think it’s going to be a long two days, but there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be right now than in this crisp, cool mountain air staring into near solitude.

For some reason the air here seems thinner than other places at comparable altitudes. I’m no higher than Brighton, UT but feel more of the altitude’s affects than I normally would. I do feel good. This afternoon I walked around Los Penitentes, which took all of ten minutes, then read and napped for a bit. At around seven, I decided that I better get some exercise lest I never fall asleep tonight. Los Penitentes, I discovered, is the name of a small ski resort. It took about 30 minutes to hike half way up the mountain, although to be fair hiking the second half would have taken considerably longer due to the increase in slope.

Los Penitentes ski lodge

When I reached the base there was a man and a boy taking mountain bikes out of a Ford Econoline camper. They drove south through Mexico and Central America, took a ferry to Ecuador (skipping the drive through Colombia), and then continued south through Peru, Chile, and Argentina. They boy is home schooled. Evan, Susan, and Roberts plan to settle in Argentina for a good three years before moving on. It’s amazing that more people don’t do these things.

Now I leave you with a passage from my newfound, horribly translated reading material: Mountains of Light – Cord of the Silver [a direct translation of the nearby mountain range, “Cordon del Plata”]
“In this chapter, which we will offer to them will be the possibility that you they can know each mountain that is in the Cord of the Silver, where we will indicate to its routes normal and their possible climbs and new virgin routes [oo la la] to them to conquer.”

You have to take what you can get when fighting cabin fever.

Day 2: March 7, 2009

I’m beat. Sara and Melissa met me up here at 11 AM off the bus from Mendoza. After a quick lunch we took off up the mountain for an acclimatization hike. I was a bit concerned that Melissa or Sara might experience mild AMS hiking up to 3800m without spending any time in Los Penitentes, but they were fine.

Crystal clear mountain stream

There was one point during the hike where we got off trail and had to scramble up a scree slope to relocate the trail leading up the ridge to summit. Other than eating up a little extra time, it wasn’t an issue. When we reached the top we were rewarded with stunning views of the valley below and surrounding peaks.

Looking across at Los Penitentes ski resort

Our hike lasted about six hours, so when we got back we were famished. All day I had hyped up our host’s cooking since the night before she had made rosemary potatoes, grilled veggies, and a soy patty. All were delicious. We were very disappointed tonight when she brought out a pile of spaghetti noodles with canned veggies on top. I’m not sure why, but Argentinians always default to sauceless spaghetti when you ask for vegetarian fare. I figure that the only reason I got good vegetables the night before was because she brought them out with a slab of beef. I asked her to swap it with one of my soy patties and I had her leave the delicious sides. I’m dumbfounded as to why she thought we would prefer dry pasta with canned veggies? It’s clear that the Argentinians don’t understand vegetarianism.

Melissa and Sara crossing an Andean slope-side meadow

After dinner a man came by requesting my gear, which will be carried by mule to the higher camps. After five minutes of miscommunication in Spanish, I learned that I’d have to carry my bag from Confluencia (3380m) to Plaza de Mulas (4300m) because the last mule caravan of the year is leaving tonight. I realized that by attempting a summit so late in the season (and for a reduced rate) there would be cutbacks, but the lack of communication from the guide company is starting to weight on my nerves. The guy who was supposed to meet me in Los Penitentes never showed, I’m not sure if I have a sleeping bag waiting for me in Confluencia (Pablo, my guide, said he has an extra but never told me where it will be. He’s meeting me in Plaza de Mulas), and no one at the hostel has been informed any more than I have about gear transfers. I just hope that Pablo climbs more professionally than he organizes.

Heading back down to dinner

Now it’s lights out. We have to take a 60 peso [US$17] “transfer” five kilometers to the park entrance tomorrow morning. There are no taxis up here, so we don’t have much say in how we get around. I’ll just be happy to get on the trail.

Day 3: March 8, 2009

Confluencia (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Today had some ups and downs. After a carbo-loaded breakfast (ugh… it never ends) we headed up to Horcones to start the actual trek. We got a late start trying to make a last minute decision on whether Melissa would stay up in the mountains instead of returning to Mendoza. In the end, she opted to join the expedition instead of returning to the city’s smog-filled streets for another week of Spanish study. We made up lost time by reaching Confluencia in less than two hours (we were quoted three). After a protein-packed lunch (those beans and rice backpacker meals are a life saver) we hiked around Confluencia’s surrounds. A few hours passed and Sara had to leave us to start her long journey back to the contrived world of desks and deadlines.

Sara heading down with a group of Argentinians (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Standing in the presence of such geological giants is a humbling experience. Staring at grand vistas I recognize that the mountains are big, but it’s not until you begin to move that you begin to comprehend the spatial majesty. It almost induces a sense of vertigo when trying to walk and gaze up at surrounding peaks. Which reminds me, we actually got a brief peek at Aconcagua today. We thought at first that a closer, lower peak was the destined prize—that is until the clouds cleared and revealed the goliath. I’m not going to lie. My heart sank an inch. “Wait. I’m trying to go waaaaay up there?” Intimidating to say the least.

Overlooking Confluencia

But, I’m in high spirits despite a few disparaging remarks at the ranger station in Horcones. We met a German man who tried to solo the summit but was stymied by high snow levels on the Polish route, then ordered down by medics when he developed a mild frostbite in his left trigger finger. The rangers also mentioned that there are 120 km/h winds at Camp Berlin—6000m (~1000m below summit). They hadn’t meant to discourage me, but it’s hard not to ready myself for disappointment in the event that we are forced to abandon our summit bid.

Sun setting on a nearby peak

The day ended on a gorgeous note when we were rewarded with a blazing sunset resting on a nearby peak. Even if Aconcagua denies us this time, just being up here is reward enough.

p.s. The night sky up here is spectacular, although dimmed by a ¾ moon. I can finally pick out the Southern Cross.

Day 4: March 9, 2009

Last night I hard some American accents so I ventured out into the mild night to say hello. All three were front Montana and had summited Aconcagua six days prior. Although a storm had forced them down from camp Alaska after three days of waiting, they headed back up and had a beautiful summit day with winds at only about 40-50 km/h. It was a ray of sunlight on the otherwise dismal horizon.

Looking across Horcones Inferior glacier on the way to Plaza Francia (photo by Melissa Meyer)

When Melissa and I awoke at 7:45, the Americans had left. After our umpteenth breakfast of toast and jam, we set off for Plaza Francia (4250m), an acclimatization hike to the south side of Aconcagua that will hopefully prepare our bodies for Plaza de Mulas (4300m). We hiked out to the fork yesterday and I thought the sign said “Plaza Francia 5km”. Easy. However, when we got closer today it actually read “Plaza Francia 5hs” [5 hours]. It wasn’t bad. We made it up in four hours with a few stops along the way. This hike was the first time I actually felt any negative effect from the altitude. As we neared our target my head started to throb and breathing became labored. I slowed down the pact and sustained long, deep breaths and the pulsing subsided. However, after thirty minutes up top Melissa’s head started to ache. Time to head down. (She was fine once we descended.) We’ll see if my body is prepared for the altitude tomorrow evening after the 8-10 hour trek to Plaza de Mulas.

Aconcagua blazing in the sunlight, Horcones Inferior below

On a positive note, standing at the foot of Aconcagua in Plaza Francia offered another ray of hope. Even from 10000’ below the summit, it looks obtainable. Also, today’s weather was perfect for a summit attempt. When we awoke, the mountains down to 12000’ were shrouded in clouds. As the day progressed, they dissipated to the point where Aconcagua’s summit was blazing in the sunlight by the time we were approaching Plaza Francia. In addition, winds had almost completely subsided. If the mountain will grant me a day like that in four or five days, I’ll be set for a summit. I know ho fickle high altitude weather systems can be, but I’m hoping for the best.

Day 5: March 10, 2009

It’s been a tough day. I’m now in Plaza de Mulas after completing the 30km climb from Confluencia.

Just above Confluencia, staring at the long path to Plaza de Mulas

After dinner last night we were informed that our hosts was charging Melissa much more than we had expected per night (my stay had already been paid by the company). Furthermore, the higher camp would not be able to provide her with services (tent, food, etc) at any price. Sadly, this meant that she had to return to Mendoza this morning while I headed up. It’s a bit frustrating because had we self-supported, as we’re accustomed to doing when we head outdoors, then she would have been able to stay.

Mid-way to Plaza de Mulas, looking down

Mid-way to Plaza de Mulas, looking up

So I began up to base camp alone. An initial steep climb out of the river valley in Confluencia opened up onto a huge sandy, pebble and boulder strewn glacial valley with a gradual slope of no more than 5-10%. That meant easy walking other than a few non-technical stream crossings. I set my legs to cruise control and made great time to Ibanez, the temporal and psychological mid-point. As I approached this section, the trail became more fluid and I found myself having to stray from the mule paths since they tended to ford the stream wherever, and it was deep and wide in most places. So, I skirted the bank until finding a good spot to poll vault to the other side. Once or twice this method nearly resulted in a very wet me, but I came out unscathed.

One of the many deep, wide mule crossings

Much more than half way by distance, Ibanez is the psychological mid-point from where you start to climb

Climbing up out of the river valley

With Melissa gone I turned to my iPod for companionship. This is when I realized how eclectic and cynical my music collection is. Being in the mountains evokes in me a feeling of joy. Listening to song after song about political reform (e.g. Anti-Flag), dysfunctional relationships (e.g. Bob Dylan, et al), and sci-fi doomsdays (e.g. Misfits) forced me to ponder the music that has shaped my outlook on life. I’ve managed to turn the cynicism into realism—recognizing true human instinct—and put it to practice with pragmatism—realizing limits and making the best out of situations. It’s a good way to live life, especially when you combine these practices with risk association. If one learns to turn risk into opportunity then the world is his or her oyster. As Aristotle said, “Those who act win, and rightly win, the honest and good things in life.”

Trail side casualty

Old, dilapidated park building dwarfed by the peaks above

Mules coming to take end-of-season loads down the valley

Groovin’ to my tunes, I started to climb out of the river valley, up and down hills, higher and higher. I made good time until about 5 km from Plaza de Mulas, where the trail took a sudden shift in grade—any more and I could have taken out my rock climbing shoes. This is where I hit a literal and figurative wall. Step-by-step I trudged up the slope, hoping I was close to my destination. All day, mule trains heading up to the high camp and coming back down with end-of-season gear loads had been passing. The mules’ dexterity on the mountain is a constant amazement. At one point, as I scrambled across a scree slope taking a shortcut in the trail, I looked down and saw mule scat. (As a bi-ped with two trekking poles, this route was precarious enough.) Now, on the last leg of my grueling climb, there came a mule train easing down the dangerously steep slope fully loaded with gear. A part of me (my legs, that is) wanted to curse the beasts for their ease of negotiating this terrain. The rest of me bowed in a show of respect. I can’t help but think that the mules’ athleticism is due largely to the park’s laws and regulations on animal welfare (conditions are monitored by the World Society for the Protection of Animals and local organizations).

Mules raised by mountain goats

Praying that Plaza de Mulas is just over the next hill (it was a few more)

Running on fumes I continued to climb, praying that my destination was just over the perpetual next hill. Finally it came and right as I reached the ranger station Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird started to flow from my ear buds. As I looked back on my grueling ascent I thought, “What a perfect coda to my long, crescendo-filled concerto.”

Day 6: March 11, 2009

Days are long here in base camp. It seems that each night spent at a higher altitude is accompanied by a mild headache. Last night was no different. Because there’s not much else to do, I retire early and spend half the night in a sleepless fit before drifting off to a series of strange, lucid dreams (which researchers say is caused by high altitude but offer little explanation).

After several hours of drifting in and out of sleep, unzipping vents and removing or donning layers to regulate warmth, I awake to a cold, dimly lit world.

Our source of water froze every night. Each morning at around 11:00 it would all come gushing down the mountain.

This morning I was ousted from my warm cocoon by the reverberating sound of a helicopter climbing up the valley. From a distance, it looked as if someone had to be airlifted to the park entrance. Apparently this is a fairly common scene. The mountain can be harsh and unapologetic. Last night I talked to three Americans who were using a satellite phone, desperately trying to get in touch with someone who knew the status of their American guide, who had to be airlifted out a day prior due to chest pain. They had spent the day hiking up and down from the higher camps removing their caches. This morning they left, forced to abandon their summit bid after eight days on the mountain. There’s a somber moment of sympathy and life goes on in Plaza de Mulas.

Plaza de Mulas, end of season

Now it’s must be around five in the evening and I’m doing everything I can to fight off boredom. So far today I’ve: ate, studied Spanish, ate, read an issue of Backpacker magazine cover to cover, ate, read an article in Spanish about Afro-Argentinians (as they call themselves) living in Buenos Aires, hiked around to take a few pictures of Plaza de Mulas and its surrounds, washed my feet (well past-due), hung some clothes to dry, and ate some more. These long, low-activity days are boring but necessary for proper acclimatization.

Tomorrow we head to the first higher camp, Canada (5050m), for an acclimatization hike. We’ll return to Plaza de Mulas for one more night before heading back up to Canada to camp and make further yo-yo ascensions to higher camps on the path to Aconcagua’s summit. Weather is holding. Spirits are high. All we can do is climb and hope the mountain allows us.

Sunset over Plaza de Mulas on Day 6

p.s. I just watched a storm system crawl over the mountains to the west and split in two, giving Aconcagua a wide birth north to south. I was so sure we were going to get some snow that I went and battered down my tent fly. The clouds just flowed around us as if affected by an invisible force field, passing even below a much lower technical peak below the leviathan. I’ve never been in the presence of such a weather-altering crag.

Day 7: March 12, 2009

A worthwhile lift is full of new experiences. Today I encountered one of significance to my life. At 5050m (16568’), Camp Canada is the highest that I’ve ever been in altitude while standing on terra firma. Of course the intent is to go much higher in the coming days, but Canada was a welcomed milestone in my climbing career.

Trail to Canada starts here

No sooner had we left up the trail from base camp than I realized that this mountain climbing business is tough. The air is thin, sun beating down (or wind and snow flying), trail steep, and environment inhospitable. For two hours we marched up a 45-degree slope, back and forth on switchbacks. Since we want to conserve fuel, which we’ll need at the higher camps to melt snow for water, we each carried around nine liters of water in addition to all our technical gear and warmest clothes, which we won’t use until reaching 5500m. We cached it all in a weatherproof bag, took in the spectacular views of surrounding peaks (We could finally see into Chile!) and headed back down, trying not to trip and tumble down 500m of scree. Upon reaching the bottom, my knees were thankful. Just like ascending, descending is a lot of work—instead of climbing against gravity you’re trying to resist it.

Steep switchbacks leading to Canada

The plan is to rest in Plaza de Mulas for one more day (all rest and no climb makes Jonny a dull boy) before heading up to Canada to camp. I’d just as soon get up there. Nights are getting colder and who knows when a storm will blow through. Honestly, one of the toughest things about climbing mountains is the waiting.

Where we wait. Our kitchen, guest room, dining room, and social club.

Before I had stated that Argentinians don’t understand vegetarianism. While I still believe that to be the case majority, I now know that some are open to it. One of the most admiring traits of my guide, Pablo, is his unspoken respect. When I was consulting him for the climb I stipulated that I was vegan (which I had to explain was a “vegetarian” who doesn’t eat dairy, eggs, etc). Since meeting Pablo in base camp the food has been great. In addition, all the meals have been vegan, which he also eats (although he likes to add cheese). Most Argentinians who I’ve met turn their nose up to a meal without meat. When they learn that you don’t partake of flesh, they either make a snide comment meant to be humorous (whatever it is, I promise I’ve heard it), or just stare at you speechless. Last night our dinner consisted of squash, yams, potatoes, and garlic roasted in a fire oven (called “asado” style). Four of Pablo’s friends joined us for the feast and not one made a snide comment about the lack of meat. They of course inquired, but after it was explained that we were eating vegetarian due to me, everyone just nodded and chowed down. Everyone was glad to be eating the delicious food (made better by salt, pepper, and olive oil). It’s the first time that I’ve felt accepted as a vegan among carnivorous Argentinians.

While we’re on the topic of sustenance, I learned today that the glacier-fed stream on which we rely for water flows muddier some days than others. That of course meant that today’s Tang (which they lovingly call “juice”) and rice and lentil soup was a bit siltier than normal. However, they don’t mind and neither should I. I’m probably getting a few beneficial minerals from the mix. The ancient Anasazi ground their maize between stones and their teeth lasted a good 10-15 years. Besides, now I can say that I literally carry a little piece of the Andes around with me.

Day 8: Friday, March 13, 2009

It’s so incredibly peaceful in Plaza de Mulas on this Friday the 13th. During high season this plot of land would be a bustling high-altitude frontier town. Inka Expeditions, the only other operator still here, finished packing up this morning and started their long trek home. The few other independent climbers broke camp this morning—five headed down and two gents from New Zealand started up the steep slope toward Aconcagua.

At this moment, with my two companions taking the traditional siesta, the only sounds that can be heard are the wind whipping past rock spires overhead, the gurgling glacial brook rolling by camp, and a lone park ranger raking abandoned plots (the climbing season officially ends in two days, on March 15, but the rangers stay until the end of the month).

Gambling on an end-of-the-season climb appears to be turning out in our favor. We’re enjoying the solitude of an abandoned camp, and the weather report called up from Horcones last night forecasted clear skies and mild winds for the next three days. Forbidding any physical injury, our ascent should go well.

Since I now share the day’s hours with only two other individuals, it seems proper to introduce them: Nestor Pinto is an auto mechanic from Cordoba, Argentina who seems to spend much of the climbing season in the Andes. Last month he scaled a few peaks in Cordon del Plata, a slightly lesser range closer to Mendoza. His sights are now aimed on Aconcagua.

Nestor, like many other locals who gather beneath the rock, doesn’t have money for relatively expensive camp services and thus is forced to rely on the kindness of others. Two days ago he showed up in our camp with no crampons and an empty belly. Pablo kindly offered him some food and he hasn’t left. Nestor’s simple, incessant ramblings appear to grate on Pablo occasionally, but he’s a kind soul with a heart as big as his stomach. Pablo and his friends jokingly call him “Cordoba” or “Gordo” (“Fatty”), but I’ve given him a new nickname, “Mario”, as his short, pudgy stature, Italian features, and thick mustache make him a perfect fit to play the vintage video game hero. Mario is supposed to leave tomorrow for Camp Nido (5500m).

Mario definitely doesn't get vegetarianism.

Pablo Candela is my guide. He works for a company out of Mendoza called “Geotrek”, and as he’ll admit doesn’t speak a lick of English. Communication is difficult at times, but we seem to convey the important subjects. As I mentioned before, he is a respectful and generous soul. Mario generally sits and rambles on and on about some mundane subject (he only has a few as far as I can tell) and Pablo quietly listens, occasionally nodding or grunting to show his interest. In the same moment, Pablo fills Mario’s platter with seconds (and most means, thirds). His long, European face, square-framed glasses, and thick, reddish-brown beard lend him a contemplative, wizened appearance. Most of the day he wears a long, focused gaze. Surprisingly he’s also in pretty good shape for scaling steep grades at altitude despite his habit of smoking several Marlboro Reds each day.

The unapologetic Pablo

And so we three pass the days in base camp—eating, reading, and listening to Mario while cooking or gathering water. Even with the language barrier, it’s nice to have a few more souls with whom to share the solace.

[5 hours later]

My serene solitude soon turned to intrigue when I saw what looked like three figures mounting large boulders across the valley. Some of you may be thinking what I was. When I reached the boulder field I started to notice chalk marks covering many of the rocks. When I walked up there were, in fact, two park rangers and a medic on a V3-ish boulder problem. I ran back to get my shoes and chalk.

Those of you who enjoy this sport can relate to how hard bouldering can be a lower altitude. At 4300m above sea level it’s a real challenge. I hopped on the V3 traverse and had to get off half way through to catch my breath.

We later moved on to a V4-ish face (none of the problems up here have names or ratings). This was much more my style. A few short power movies and I was topped out. I lay there for at least a minute like a fish out of water gasping for air.

When I got back Pablo wanted to hike over to the glacier to test out his new crampons. Twenty minutes later—after passing the (revered) sole living plant in Plaza de Mulas, glacial caves, and a stream that actually flowed straight out of the mountain—we reached the foot of the giant ice flow.

Glacial stream flowing straight out of the mountain

It’s sad to think that future generations may not be able to witness this geological wonder. According to Pablo the glacier stretched several hundred meters further down the valley just 10 years ago. Yet it’s hard to believe this mass of ice is in danger when you’re climbing up through fins 15 feet tall that stretch over the horizon.

Horcones Superior Glacier

Horcones Superior helping a few huge boulders down the mountain

As we weaved up through the walls of ice, we encountered a swift stream flowing over the surface. I bent down to taste some of the freshest water on earth, and then drank my fill. The steam itself was a natural wonder. It flowed down the glacier on a wet bobsled course, curving sinuously back and forth beneath icicle chandeliers.

Hiking back at dusk, sunset reflecting off of Aconcagua

For some strange reason it transported me back to childhood days on the Matterhorn at Disneyland. I half expected a yeti to pop around the corner. This place is what Disney was striving or—the real magic kingdom. I’ll be sad to leave.

There's nothing between Aconcagua and the distant ocean so the sunset's glow is reflected long after the Southern Cross is visible

Day 9: March 14, 2009

Where to begin? My legs feel like they’ve been put through a tenderizer, I’ve broken my altitude record once again, and I just watched a gorgeous sunset over the Andes. I’d like to stay outside to watch the fading glow, but it feels like 10 degrees outside with a 20-degree wind chill.

Plaza de Mulas (4300m) to Nido de Condores (5500m)

This morning we packed up camp intending to hike up to Cambio [aka Alaska] (5200m). My pack was a little heavier than I would have liked considering we had to stop in Canada to pick up our cache. After packing it all in and hurling it onto my back, I sunk under the weight. It had to have been 50-60 lbs. But, it was okay because we were only climbing 200m more.

According to GPS, this altitude marker is 200m low.

We had talked briefly about scaling to Nido de Condores (“Condors’ Nest”—5500m), but I was sure we’d stop in Cambio due to 30 km/h winds. Any higher and the winds would be more severe. Yet, we were feeling good, especially after our New Zealand friends—Jamie and Peter (both males)—who were pitched at Cambio invited us for tea.

I started to tire when we headed uphill from Cambio. When we reached Nido, my legs were screaming for mercy. I’ve asked much of them today and I’ll only push harder tomorrow if we decide to aim for the summit, which we’re likely to do if the winds relent.

One of the reasons we pushed to Nido is that Mario had a tent already pitched. We all left from Plaza de Mulas at the same time this morning, but Mario had fallen several hours behind. This meant that we could use his tent temporarily to recuperate before attempting to pitch our tent in 40 km/h winds with 60 km/h gusts.

It was a trial. After a long, dirty, hour-long bout we came out victorious over the mountain. Granted there were sacrifices: a pole ring broke, the fly sustained a few more rips, we are forced to prop ourselves on our backpacks since the tent isn’t fully extended, and there are several large rocks anchoring our tent from both the inside and out. Mario has also caught up and decided that our tent is a great place to chill—as if it weren’t cramped enough.

Gussfeldt Glacier (as seen from Nido), where it's taboo to tread. They say that the souls of those who die on Aconcagua dwell here, lending the glacial waters an extra pure flavor.

So to summarize our day: 1200m of elevation gain on a 45 degree slope carrying 50 lbs in 4 hours and 30 minutes; fighting the wind to erect our only shelter on an exposed 5500m Andean ridge; and, of course, Mario crashing our already limited personal space. Yet, it’s all worth it since 30 minutes ago we were rewarded with today’s final blaze of glory painting the Andes red. I hope I can get enough sleep. Between the wind, the cold, and our cramped quarters it seems unlikely.

Sunset from Nido on Day 9

Day 10: March 15, 2009

Panorama of Nido de Condores

Tempers can easily flare in high camp. It’s cold out, the wind is howling, and two-person tents forcibly become three when the third is dependent on the other two. Why would you climb a mountain without enough food and gas to melt water? It’s asking for trouble.

Our tents parked at Nido (Aconcagua is the peak on the left, 1500m above)

Pablo’s fuse reached its end today when Mario, who had stopped by for lunch, may or may not have spilled two pots of boiling water and noodles, respectively. None of my stuff got wet, but Pablo’s pad and sleeping bag were soaked. He stormed out of the tent flinging Spanish curse words. Both Pablo and Mario felt bad because in the process Pablo broke Mario’s earphones. Still, it’s easy to tell that Pablo’s patience with Mario’s dependency for both sustenance and social interaction is wearing thin.

As you may have guessed, we didn’t attempt the summit today. Neither Pablo nor I slept well due to the wind rattling the tent all night, and a slight ache in my head that could have been mild altitude sickness or dehydration from trying to drink enough water without having to stumble into the cold, full-moon-lit night to relieve myself.

The kiwis, Peter and Jamie, stopped by on their way to the next camp, Berlin (5830m), with an updated weather report. Winds are supposed to jump to 70 km/h tomorrow and back down to 15 km/h on Tuesday. This is one time that I pray the weatherman is wrong. I’d really like to summit tomorrow and start the long trek back to Mendoza where someone is patiently awaiting my return.

Day 11: March 16, 2009

As forecasted the wind came on strong from the northwest. At some point during the night it shifted direction and has been blowing at 50-70 km/h from the southwest all day.

Our tent is barely hanging on. The aforementioned stripped pole has collapsed under the wind pressure leaving our roof halfway deflated.

Mario also had some issues this morning. I was sleeping great despite the wind, but my slumber was disturbed around 9 AM when Mario came bellowing like a calf out of the white wind,
“Pablo? Paaablo?”
“Que paso, Cordobe?”
Which was apparently an invitation to barrel into our tent bringing all the snow with him. I couldn’t figure out the next part. He was wandering around in a white out with no gloves or hat, even though I know he has both. Pablo was gracious enough to light the burner while Mario just sat and shivered, staring into nothing and rubbing his hands and ears like someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder. If it’s any of my business, Mario doesn’t belong on the mountain. His lack of preparedness and dependency on others is going to get him into trouble. Then again, it really isn’t my business if he wants to lose his appendages to frostbite or wander off a cliff in a white out. I just feel bad for the rangers and/or guides who have to sacrifice their time and lives for his rescue.

So passes another loooong (windy) day at Nido. Since weather predictions have been mostly accurate thus far, we’re planning to summit tomorrow—winds only 15 km/h from the south—then head back down to Plaza de Mulas to pack up and hit the trail Wednesday morning. I’ve seen some incredible sights, but too much tent time, exacerbated by Mario, is enough to drive anyone loco.

Andean sunset, Day 11

Day 13: March 18, 2009

Right now I’m sitting on a bed at Hosteria Puente del Inca, 5 km outside of Aconcagua Provincial Park. Thirty hours ago I was standing at the highest point outside of the Himalayas.

Yesterday started at 5:00 AM in Nido de Condores. We awoke to a calm, cold morning, made a quick breakfast, donned all our warm clothes and crampons, and started climbing the frozen slope to Camp Berlin.

Aconcagua's summit casting a shadow to the west

Before we reached Berlin it was light enough to power off our headlamps. We slowly trudged up the slope watching a gorgeous sunrise ignite the snow-covered sea of mountains. Even though the rest of the world was bathed in sunlight, our path was in the shadow of Aconcagua until around 11:00 AM.

A new day rising in the Andes

Long after the sun has risen, Aconcagua casts a shadow over the world below.

From the time we left Nido I was breathing heavily. Though we had spent three days acclimatizing at 5500m, my body wasn’t yet prepared to go cardiovascular in the thin mountain air. As the day progressed we climbed higher and higher while I gasped for air, the whole time breathing as if running at my cardiovascular limit—even at rest.

Making our way to Independencia with Aconcagua looming overhead

By lunchtime we had made it to Plaza Independencia (6300m). My belly was grumbling and my legs needed a break so I proposed lunch. Pablo reached into his pack to discover that he had forgotten the food 800m below. Luckily I had brought a few Clif Bars. A bit irritated, I sat down and gnawed on the frozen-rock-hard oaty goodness.

While sitting in Independencia, a commercial airplane flew a few thousand feet overhead. At nearly 7000m, Aconcagua's summit is in jet flight territory.

Pablo taking a break on the shelter in Plaza Independencia (6300m)

On day 10, a thin, strong German man had come through Nido on his way to Berlin from Plaza de Mulas on an acclimatization hike. For those who haven’t been keeping track of altitudes, that’s 1700m of vertical altitude gain and back in one day. As soon as I saw a lone figure steadily marching up the slope towards Independencia, I suspected it was the German high-altitude Olympian. Suspicions were confirmed when he trotted into Independencia, briefly paused, then turned up towards the summit. This crazy beast had started in Plaza de Mulas at 4:30 AM and was attempting the 2800m climb from base camp to summit in one day. Sure enough, he summited an hour before us. He had been acclimatizing for several weeks in the Cordon del Plata range, but his is still a marvelous feat.

By the time we reached the Traverse (6500m) the German was already a kilometer ahead. I plodded along a few steps at a time, fully jealous of the German’s level of acclimatization.

The Traverse, beginning of the end (and the hardest part of the climb)

At this point my lungs were working at full capacity just to sustain a few steps up steep slope, pausing at each interval to fill my blood with enough oxygen to move again. Just 400m under the peak, it was the furthest it had seemed all day. My mind questioned the sanity of each step as my heart beat so hard I worried that it would either pop out of my chest or explode. My body prayed for respite, but quitting now would be like ringing out on the last day of Hell Week at BUDS. One step at a time I climbed closer and closer to the summit.

The normal route follows a snow track to below the saddle from bottom-right, then up to the summit (from where the picture was taken)

One hundred meters to go and I dropped my pack of warm clothes and water. If I was going to make it I’d have to risk the summit being as warm as the sun-soaked, wind-free cirque. Finally at 4:00 PM, after what seemed like a never-ending fight for each meter, Pablo and I set foot on the highest piece of land in the Americas—Mt. Aconcagua, 6962m (22841’).

We were greeted by a relatively warm (slightly below freezing) summit with a very slight breeze—a perfect summit day two days after the end of season. The kiwis, Peter and Jamie, had also made it, climbing from Berlin, and greeted us as we all rejoiced in our natural high. They even let me borrow their satellite phone to call my mother, who emailed Melissa to let her know I was alive (I was expected back in Mendoza by March 16th at the latest).

Tapping the summit, Sloper Slapper style

View from the top of the Americas

Pablo and I posing in front of the South Face with the infamous aluminum cross

We spent an hour looking down on the earth and exploring the flat piece of rock for relics left by other climbers. When my heart started beating irregularly I knew it was time to go down.

Even descending I could only move 20 feet before stopping to rest. We slowly crawled down the mountain reaching Berlin around 6:30 PM. Tired, hungry, and thirsty (my Camelbak tube had frozen), I sunk down and struggled to breathe. Staying at this altitude, I felt, would certainly lead to a case of High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE).

Heading back down through "The Cave", right above The Traverse

Back down through The (knee-jarring) Traverse

Lake reflecting the late-day sun down in Plaza de Mulas

Slightly rested we stumbled down to Nido, disassembled camp, stuffed it into, tied it onto, and lashed it across our packs, and moved towards Plaza de Mulas just as the sun was setting.

In the chaos of tearing down camp, Pablo misplaced his headlamp. Nido to base camp is normally an hour and a half decent in the daylight. Now tired, on a moonless night, with one headlamp, stopping frequently to rest our legs and watch for shooting stars, it took almost four hours.

Stumbling into Plaza de Mulas just after midnight, we dropped our heavy packs, made some Tang, and put some lentils and rice to cook. By 3:00 AM we were full of sugar, carbohydrates, and necessary protein and crashed as hard as I’ve ever crashed before knowing that tomorrow I would start the long, lonely journey back to Mendoza.

I awoke at 10:00 AM feeling surprisingly well. Pablo and I disassembled the Geotrek tent, readied his camp for storage, and I visited the medic to ensure I had no fluid in my lungs since I was still feeling short of breath (no fluid, just a bit of mucus caused by the cold, dry, thin, air). Part of me hoped that they would find something wrong and I could be air lifted to the park entrance by helicopter rather than walk the 37 kilometers downhill. Then again, life would be awfully boring without challenges.

I was readying my gear for the long trek to Horcones when Pablo walked up with a smile,
“Joan.”
“Si?”
“Tu novia es en Confluencia.”
“Melissa’s in Confluencia?”
Elated, I heaved my pack behind me and barreled downhill, head down and poles churning. By 4:00 PM I saw a long body no so patiently marching toward me. She had received the emails from my mother and father and, tired of the exhaust-filled streets of Mendoza, taken the four hour-long bus ride to the park entrance determined to hike towards Plaza de Mulas until our paths crossed. Reunited, we charged towards Puente del Inca, trying to make the last bus to Mendoza at 8:00 PM.

Looking back from Horcones as the sun sets on Day 12 (photo by Melissa Meyer)

At 8:05 we fell out of our new friend Hector’s pickup. He had seen us hobbling toward civilization and graciously offered us a ride. Argentina has a punctual bus system, and at only a few minutes past the hour our ride had left. It worked out, however, because Peter and Jamie appeared and we had a fest celebrating our exhausting achievement.

Meeting new friends during a rest day in Puente del Inca (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Andean hot spring resort that was reclaimed by the mountain (photo by Melissa Meyer)

After ten long days in the mountains, a hot shower was heavenly. Sitting on a proper mattress feels like a bed of clouds.

Summiting Mt. Aconcagua was one of the most physically taxing, mentally draining, excruciatingly long, and blissfully rewarding experiences of my life. Limping on my sore, blistered feet, I wouldn’t do it again soon. Yet, something tells me that I’ll be back here one day. There’s more than one way to scale a peak, and Aconcagua offers a multitude of possibilities.

Argentina's Cascading Crown Jewel

2009-03-02T15:06:00.011-07:00

Chico Falls

I knew Puerto Iguazu was a small town when we rolled in on our 1st class bus (Argentina, we found out, has an incredibly luxurious and relatively cheap bus system), but I had no idea how small until I saw the fifteen-minute queues in front of the only two ATMs in town on a Wednesday night.

The "Panorama" Seats

As the Argentinean gateway to the infamous Iguazu Falls, Puerto Iguazu is a town geared toward tourism. Just as in Buenos Aires, streets and alleys are lined with cheap, tacky trinkets, the kind that people buy to preserve memories then usually brush into junk drawer. Years later they may pull it out, smile, and gently put it back. In lieu of bric-a-brac, I opt for another way to look back on my travels—pictures. Lucky for me Iguazu Falls is as photogenic and wildly appealing as an Amazon princess.

Into the Void (photo by Melissa Meyer)

Grassy valley leading to Isla San Martin

Upon arrival we still had time to visit the Brazilian side of the falls. Most will tell that you’ll get a better view of the falls from Brazil. The problem for Americans (and Australians, Canadians, ETC) is the $120 price of a Brazilian visa. Not wanting to pay over $100 for something I can see on a $1 postcard, myself and my accomplices attempted to persuade the Brazilian border guard to let us in for a few hours. It may have worked if our cab driver hadn’t gone up and immediately stopped the agent from handing us paperwork, proceeding to ask her to let us in illegally. If anyone is thinking about trying this, leave your cab driver in the car. Short story shorter, we didn’t get into Brazil. BUT, the views were just as stunning from the Argentinean side. In addition, you get a full day hiking out of the experience because Argentina has developed a trail system spanning the entire falls and cataracts. Who needs a postcard panorama when you can get up close and personal with each and every cascading fall?

Pictures can speak louder than my words could ever echo, so I’ll let them convey Iguazu Falls’ indescribable beauty. Just believe me when I say that Iguazu Falls is one of the most gorgeous and awe-inspiring spectacles in the world.

Taking a break above Chico Falls

We awoke at 6:45 AM to catch the day’s first bus into the park. If you’re lucky, you can arrive first to the park’s largest spectacle, Garganta del Diablo (“Devil’s Throat”). Here, the falls roar down 10 stories in a white, misty U-shape. From the observation deck clinging to the edge, you get an up close and soaking view. Because we ran out the 2km metal walkway from the first train of the day, we were able to have this view all to ourselves for at least 10 minutes. We stood speechless, drenching ourselves in the misty roar.

Garganta del Diablo

After the crowds came, we moseyed back to the restaurant for lunch. I picked up the menu, completely expecting salad to be the only veg-friendly food. To our great surprise and delight, we discovered that they serve a soy burger. Those of you who aren’t herbivores may not relate, but finding a soy burger in the boonies of a country that is known for its beef-culture is like winning the lottery. We were elated and took our time to enjoy the rare treat.

A view of Ramirez and Bossetti Falls

Thoroughly stuffed, we decided to walk around the Cataracts to burn off some calories. For the next 4 hours, we explored the park’s remote pleasures—completing the entire upper and lower circuits and hiking around Isla San Martin, which you get to by river ferry. When the day grew hot and muggy, it was time for a dip in the river. It felt great other than the little fish who were presumably trying to clean our skin, but may have been trying to remove chunks of flesh. Thankfully, we exited with no open wounds.

Cascading Cataracts of Mgigua Falls

The whole day we had been watching people take a jet boat ride under San Martin Falls. After our dip, and a brief time waiting out a passing shower, it was our turn. I took this as an opportunity to test my new Mountain Hardware Gore-Tex mountaineering jacket. When the moment of deluge came, I cinched myself up tighter than Ebenezer’s change purse. Two rounds of torrential falls later, I was completely dry except for a spot on my chest where the water ran down my chin. I was already a HUGE fan of Mountain Hardware, and this test convinced me of its superior quality.

Getting ready to take the plunge

Another group about to get wet under San Martin Falls

We dried off at the river’s edge, taking in one last view of the stunning falls. Soon, it was time to leave our magical paradise. Originally we weren’t planning on going 40 bus hours out of our intended path to visit Iguazu Falls. It wasn’t until a friend who met us in the Argentinean capitol convinced us of the journey’s worth. I’m thankful that we met up with her in Buenos Aires, or we would have missed this top 5 (Oleson Rating) UNESCO World Heritage Site. Coming from someone who has visited a great many US National Parks, and other World Heritage Sites such as the Tasmanian wilderness (best view of the night sky), Egyptian and Roman antiquities, and Archaeological sites throughout Latin America, it’s easy for me to say that Iguazu Falls blows them all away. Enjoy the pics.

Tranquil waters show no signs of the violent, impending drop

Uruguay: A Genuine First Impression

2009-02-22T16:05:00.009-07:00

Life is full of first impressions—meeting some one for the first time, visiting a new place, fresh culinary experiences—but it’s become harder and harder to encounter a genuine first impression while traveling. Uruguay was just that. Never before had I talked to a friend or acquaintance who had been there, watched a travel special about the small country, or even seen an article in Natty Geo. I had absolutely no idea about what to expect.

Plaza Indepencia

We stepped out of the airport, 20 km away from the capitol, Montevideo, into the heat and only heard one “Taxi?” After a quick, “No, gracias” there was no further pursuit. As anyone who's been to a heavily touristed area can relate, being hounded by relentless local vendors and hawkers is a constant annoyance. This was the first of many experiences that confirmed Uruguay’s location off the beaten path. However, that’s not to say that it was an undeveloped path.

Statue of Artigas in Plaza Indepencia

Mausoleo de Artigas

Montevideo's streets are filled with motorcycles. In Colonia del Sacramento, motorcycles and scooters outnumbered cars ten-to-one.

During the bus ride into Montevideo, residential barrios, some resembling middle class neighborhoods in California or Florida, gave way to a wall of towering buildings. Arterial Avenida 9 de Julio led us to Plaza de Indepencia, where we saw the first of many statues of Jose Gervasio Artigas, “the father of Uruguayan independence.” Descending steps on either side of the statue lead to his underground mausoleum. After a brief rest in the cool tomb, we ascended to visit one of Montevideo’s largest attractions, El Ciudad Vieja (the Old City).

Abandoned Building In the Old City

El Ciudad Vieja

El Ciudad Vieja

El Ciudad Vieja

Taranco Palace Gardens

The Old City is a largely poor barrio on the south side of Montevideo. Although a section near Plaza Indepencia has been gentrified, containing many bars, restaurants, and nightclubs, most of the neighborhood is in disrepair. Crumbling buildings have been bricked shut (presumably to keep out squatters) and young, shirtless children and tourist police are the only keepers of the street. Despite all this, the Old City contains some of the most beautiful architecture in Montevideo with baroque facades and tall wooden doors. We even stumbled upon the beautifully preserved Taranco Palace, built by a French architect in the early 20th century for the Taranco brothers, immigrant merchants who found their fortune in the Americas. After wandering the streets for a few hours, we drifted down to the corniche. Here we discovered what keeps Montevideo’s artist class busy—the graffiti.

Hendrix

Zoot Suit Riot (killing Yoshi while the girl with the bleeding eyes watches in terror?) Photo by Melissa Meyer

Uncertainty, Photo by Melissa Meyer

VISUALKEI

Knuckle Dragger, Photo by Melissa Meyer

We eventually uncovered the reason for Montevideo's urban art scene. Unemployment in Uruguay is around 8% of the 3 ½ million people (over a million of whom live in Montevideo). The country’s traditional industry, agriculture, on which they rely for most of their exports, has been waning in the recent years. Perhaps in an attempt to transcend this industry many young professionals are turning to technologies. Our couchsurfing.com hosts, who were Venezuelan and Uruguayan, both work for an airline reservation call center in Montevideo. According to Wikipedia, Uruguay has become the first exporter of computer software in Latin America. These new industries may be catching speed, but not all of Uruguay’s youth are running to catch up. There exists a substantial demographic of left-wing youth who express their radical desires through graffiti and release their pent-up angst across concrete canvases throughout the city. One of the most surprising sights on first arriving to Montevideo was the graffiti sprayed across the columns of a city government building. Apparently Uruguay’s democratically-elected leftist government is the most liberal grantor of freedom of expression in Latin America. So much that vandalism goes unchecked. When discussing the wall-side paintings, however, it’s hard not to make an argument in favor of the urban art.

We Are 138, Photo by Melissa Meyer

Savanna

The Aliens Who Gave Birth To Human Civilization and Religions. Do the Uruguayans know something that we don't? (Note the pyramid and all-seeing eye at bottom right.) Photo by Melissa Meyer

After a wonderful night with our hosts, tasting the regional fare and chatting about local culture, we headed off to Punta del Este, unarguably the largest tourist attraction in Uruguay.

"Patriotism is Egotism En Masse", Photo by Melissa Meyer

"No More State Terror"

"I'm a Marxist of the Groucho Trend" (Irony is not lost on the Montevideans), photo by Melissa Meyer

If Montevideo is the bastion of young, middle-class professionals and blue-collar urbanites, Punta del Este houses the country’s upper class and wealthy expatriates. The coast here is lined with ocean-side resorts, what would be multi-million dollar condos in the United States or Europe (I couldn’t get in touch with my real-estate agent to confirm the actual prices), and fancy restaurants catering to beach-bound tourists. There’s not much else to say other than the place was filled with Argentineans away for the weekend, and strolling the shadowed, narrow, wind-swept, tree-lined streets at night set off my pirate meter. If not now, this dark, defendable point with it’s sheltered bay was in the past a pirate paradise.

Bikini Beach @ Punta del Este, Photo by Melissa Meyer

Since our daily budget doubled after arriving in Punta del Este, we decided to cut the visit short and took a 7-hour bus ride across Uruguay’s southern coast to Colonia del Sacramento, a Portuguese-built smuggler’s den across the Rio de la Plata from Buenos Aires.

Iglesia Matriz, Built Circa 1680

Calle de los Suspiros

Originally, we were only going to spend an hour in Colonia in transit to Buenos Aires. Most guidebooks suggest no more than a few hours as a side trip from the Argentinian capitol. On the way out of Montevideo our bus broke down for an hour causing us to miss the last ferry to BA. Lucky for us we were forced to spend the night and hence discovered the entrancing tranquility and beauty of Colonia’s quiet, cobblestone streets and archaeological gems.

Calle de los Suspiros

San Francisco Xavier

Colonia del Sacramento was founded in 1680 by Portuguese to smuggle goods across the estuary into Spanish-controlled Buenos Aires. In the 1760s Spain captured the port thus curtailing the “illegal” activities, but Colonia retained its unique foundations. Today one can visit some of the oldest buildings still standing in Uruguay. The Iglesia Matriz (“Main Church”) was building in 1680 and has withstood several partial destructions. The building’s resilience was due in large part to the policies of an early governor who insisted that it be built with masonry. Another old foundation is the Convento de San Francisco, built between 1683 and 1704. Today, the wide stone walls encircle a modern lighthouse. The Calle de los Suspiros (“Alley of Sighs”) is a perfect example of Colonia’s charm. The cobblestone street leading to the water’s edge was built with a V-shaped central drainage. This was (and still is in some parts of the world) the preferred method of drainage when an underground sewer system doesn’t exist to be utilized with crowned streets and gutters. Wandering under the willows on Colonia’s tranquil streets once again set off my pirate-meter. Arguably this was once a pirate stronghold as they smuggled goods across the Rio de la Plata into Argentina. The next day I had to drag myself onto the ferry and leave Colonia. We were heading from paradise into the mouth of a leviathan, the crowded, pollution-filled streets of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Antique Art in Colonia's Streets

Colonia del Sacramento Vibe

I didn’t know what to expect in Uruguay and I was delightfully surprised with what I discovered. From Montevideo’s painted barrios, across Punta del Este’s umbrella-studded beaches, and through Colonia’s outlaw past, Uruguay was a constant delight. It comes as a surprise that more haven’t discovered this lightly trodden path between Brazil and Argentina. Many claim that Uruguay is developing its tourism industry to entice more travelers into her borders. After visiting it’s clear that anyone traveling the region would be sorely remiss to skip over this diamond in the rough.

p.s. I hope to have more pics up on Picasa soon. Internet has been kind of spotty.

Vegan Will Chapter 2: Reservoir Cogs

2009-02-17T02:25:00.005-07:00

The last 72 hours have been a blur. We traveled up to the 24-hour course on Friday afternoon to set up camp. Since 24-hour town fills up fast, we had driven up on Thursday night to throw up a few tents. A member of my teammate’s wife’s team had volunteered to spend the night to ensure our claim was honored. By the time we arrived again on Friday, town was bustling.

24-Hour Town

My teammate, Andy, scored tickets to the dedication dinner. Each year 24 Hours In the Old Pueblo is dedicated to a mountain bike rider who has proved him or herself extraordinary in some way. This year the recipient was Dave Wiens, six-time winner of the grueling Leadville Trail 100 Race Across the Sky. Posters distributed along the tables described how Wiens took first place this year, with Lance Armstrong finishing 1 minute and 56 seconds behind. In the cycling world, this was a huge feat since Armstrong is often touted as the world’s best. Headlines proclaimed, "David (Wiens) Slays Goliath". After Wiens was introduced, he spoke of the Leadville 100 and answered questions about how it is to be so awesome. After the dinner we headed back to camp, sat around the chiminea, then drifted off to dream of the race ahead.

Andy and Laura With Dave Wiens ("When Dave's not crushing cyclist hall of famers he's enjoying the smooth, refreshing taste of Dr. Pepper.")

Andy and Carlos Sitting Around the Chiminea

Saturday morning was spent making final preparations and cramming as many carbs down my gullet as physically possible. I was to take the first lap, which meant that I would participate in the “layman’s start”—a half-mile run to the official start line, at which point you grab your bike and go. In this way a smooth start to the race is more likely than the alternative, attempting to funnel 500 riders onto single track at once. The first lap was one of the most difficult for me since I was riding a single speed. When I encountered the area known as the “7 bitches”—a series of steep, roller-coaster-like hills—I had to negotiate several downed riders who either misjudged the grade or were “bitch slapped” into submission. After this point the pack thinned out and the riding became easier.

Chaotic Layman's Start

At several points during the first half of the course my single gear was too small for my rate of travel, meaning that I was spinning without actually propelling myself forward. During later laps I found this to be a blessing since it forced me to rest, whereas on a bike with several gears one tends to always shift to a gear where he or she is exerting effort.

Once the first lap was down the 24-hour dance began. Andy and I decided to alternate as many laps as possible before rest was needed. We completed 4.5 rounds before sunset and we’re feeling great. For those of you who don’t know how a 24-hour race works, it’s pretty similar to other relay races. There is a team baton (a small wooden dowel) that is carried by the active rider. Once he or she completes a lap, the baton is handed to a time judge then either handed back to the rider (if he or she is continuing for another lap), to a teammate if one is present, or held by the judge until it is picked up by the next rider. All lap times are recorded from the time the baton leaves the previous rider’s hand to the time it is returned to the time judge. A team’s lap times must add up to over 24 hours in order to be considered for placement. For example, I decided to rest between our 7th and 8th lap. Since Andy wasn’t going out, I handed the baton to the time judge at 11:03 PM. Somewhere around 2:15 AM I went back and took the baton for another lap, returning at 3:50 AM. Even though I only took an hour and 35 minutes to complete the lap, my lap time was recorded as 4 hours, 47 minutes since the last lap was completed at 11:03 PM. Whoever completes the most amount of laps in the least amount of time over 24 hours wins the race. What a blast.

Having never participated in such an event, I didn’t know what I would experience. While you’re actually on the trail it seems monotonous and long (especially in the middle of the cold desert night), but looking back I can pick out interesting minutia. During one night lap, possibly my 3rd (arguably my 10th) I heard a cow bellowing in the distance. Ordinarily this wouldn’t seem that strange. Maybe the cow is lost? Maybe coyotes are chasing the cow? Who knows? But at 2 o’clock in the morning, derrière sore from scores of bumpy miles ridden, all alone in the middle of the desert, it was a odd thing to hear. At a few points during the night, I just pulled off the trail and watched the lights dance across the Arizona plain, cacti and rock dimly lit by a half moon. On a sad note, small desert mice are apparently attracted to bicycle headlights. I didn’t hit any myself but their attraction was evidenced by dozens of squashed mice corpses along the trail. Yet, the human side was not without casualties. On every lap I passed at least one person pulled off to the side plucking cholla or cactus spines out of his or her body. As it was described at the pre-race meeting (and a fact to which I can attest) cholla are like little hell raiser balls. You can’t touch them to pull them off because they’ll just stick to your hand. The trick is to get something in between your skin and the ball and quickly rip away from your body. This action is usually accompanies by a Velcro-like sound and wincing of the victim. Rule number 1: Don’t touch the cholla.

Now for what I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear about, logistics and statistics. Andy and I completed 12 laps (6 laps each) in 24 hours, 18 minutes and 33 seconds, finishing 25th out of 63. According to the race officials, each lap is 16 miles. That’s 192 miles between the two of us. My bike’s odometer read 99.455 miles, which means that either my odometer is off or the track is a little longer than 16 miles. To fuel this suffer-fest I consumed the following (to the best of my recollection): 3 Clif Bars (750 cal), 2 Primal Strips (200 cal), 1 Backpacker Pantry – Louisiana Red Beans and Rice (600 cal), 1 pita + (salmonella-free?) peanut butter (400 cal), 1 slice of bread (100 cal), 3 bananas (315 cal), 7 GU energy gels (700 cal), 2 handfuls of peanut butter-filled pretzels (100 cal), 2 Hammer Heed recovery drinks (200 cal), 1 bottle of CytoMax recovery drink (100 cal), 1 Hammer raw nutrition bar (230 cal), half bag of tortilla chips (300 cal), 2 packs of oatmeal (200 cal), and half of a Rockstar Juiced energy drink (100 cal). I’m not sure how many calories I burned, but it had to have been more than the roughly 4300 calories that I consumed because by the end of my 6th lap I was running on fumes. As I started the lap I was debating a 7th, but towards the end when I ate the last GU and felt no energy spurt I knew my legs were toast. Perhaps next year, with more training, I’ll get some more laps.

Eating Louisiana Red Beans and Rice In My Recovery Cocoon

Andy Heading Out For His Last Lap

Andy Crossing the Finish Line With Our 12th Lap

Even with all the calories consumed, I was famished by the time we returned to Tucson on Sunday afternoon. At my behest we stopped at Ruby Tuesday’s for a vegan double-murder burger (I think they call it a Colossal Burger, but it comes with a giant steak knife stuck through it). If you haven’t tried Ruby Tuesday’s veggie patty, go… now. It’s the best chain-restaurant veggie burger that I’ve ever tasted and the patty probably weighs a quarter-pound.

Famished. The Murder Burger Didn't Stand A Chance

A full night’s rest later and a day full of running last minute errands before we depart for South America and I’m still exhausted. My legs feel like someone ripped my muscles off the bone, pureed the meat, mixed it with cement, then stuffed the mixture back under my skin. Trust me, it’s a good feeling. For all you hearty souls, I recommend a 24-hour race in the Arizona desert if you ever get the chance. If you do, all I can say is dodge the poor little mice, eat your fruits and veggies, and DON’T TOUCH THE CHOLLA!

Back In Action

2009-02-11T22:08:00.002-07:00

After a several month hiatus, during which I sacrificed precious travel time to get a job and make some money, I'm back on the metaphorical road. After a few weeks in Utah spent packing for South America, competing in a bouldering comp (14th place... there are some good climbers in Utah), and floating through waste deep powder, I've made my way down to Tucson to train for 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo, a 24-hour mountain bike race in the high desert near Oracle, AZ.

I've only logged 17 training miles this week, and before that I hadn't ridden trail since July/August 2008 when I participated in a race series at Solitude Resort in Utah. We're hoping to get in a longer ride today and a few practice laps on the course before race day this Saturday. Andy Meyer and I are riding as a duo team. Our decided goal is 12 laps, but given decent track conditions--i.e. if precipitation doesn't turn the course into a mud fest--we'll hopefully complete more. Last year the team "Shake and Bake" took first place in the duo category with 19 laps (finishing 14 minutes ahead of the team contesting for first). One lap is 16 miles, making 19 laps 304 miles on single track in 24 hours. Although we haven't trained nearly enough to compete for the podium, we're going to give it our all.

I'll post results and pics after the race. In the meantime, I'm reposting the first in what will be a longer series of posts titled "Vegan Will". The main purpose of these stories is simple, to illustrate the health benefits (and more importantly lack of detriment) of a plant-based diet through my semi-athletic exploits. 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo will be next in the series, tentatively followed by several ascents of high peaks in Ecuador.

Vegan Will Chapter 1: Mt. Washington

2009-02-11T16:08:00.013-07:00

Mt. Washington, NH is known nation-wide for its inclement weather. The mountain holds one of the world's highest recorded land wind-speeds with a gust of 231 mph in April of 1934. The Mt. Washington Observatory, a private non-profit organization, has been monitoring the weather atop this behemoth of the East Coast since its inception in 1932. Scores of people, from the avid adventurist to the casual day-hiker, attempt the summit each winter; not everyone makes it up.

One such failed attempt occurred February of 2006. A group comprised of four experienced rock climbing adventurists was turned back at Lion Head, a sheltered staging area for the final summit push, when a 60 mph gust picked up their guide and slammed him against the rocks. Although forced to retreat dismayed, two of them returned February of 2007 to confront the weathered crag once more.

Just Below Lion Head

It all started for me when a friend from last year's attempt mentioned that he was going to organize another trip. Having never mountaineered, and having always wanted to, I expressed a passionate desire for such a venture. After a fourth climber was recruited, we had a full party and logistics were planned--guide secured, plane tickets reserved, gear bought/checked, and research of the infamous weather. As President's Day weekend approached I became giddy with school-boyish excitement, dancing around like a harlequin of the king's court.

Standing at 6288', Mt. Washington pales in comparison to other peaks of fame. Yet, it's a popular training peak for longer, more technical ascents such as Mt. Hood, OR - 11249' (which has received recent national recognition for being a dasher of hopes); Denali, AK - 20320'; and peaks in Africa, South Asia, and Europe. Likewise, Mt. Washington only boasts a 4000' vertical, far less than the aforementioned colossi. If not for the barrage of weather complications one may encounter, this peak would just be another dainty jaunt.

Preparing Gear On the Eve of the Ascent

We started out on the morning of 17 February at Pinkham's Notch visitor's center. An unspoken pessimism ran rank within the group, two of its members having retreated the previous year and the remaining two (now out of a group of five, since a friend from upstate New York was added at the last moment) had researched the mountain's variable moods. I tried to retain a positive attitude; we were prepared, determined, and led by professionals from EMS Climbing School who had scaled the Mt. countless times.

The Trail Begins At the Pinkham's Notch Visitor's Center

After preparing our ice axes and crampons, and donning our cold weather gear in the center's basement, we were ready to depart. After 10 minutes on the trail I had to stop and shed layers to avoid sweating (Lesson #1 - Snowboarding coats are ill-suited for mountaineering pursuits. A breatheable shell [not Goretex] is much preferred].) We trudged up Tukerman's Ravine trail until coming to the Lion Head fork. Here, we left the cat track for an already trodden path through knee-deep powder. Ten to fifteen minutes later we reached the foot of the ascent to Lion Head. Before us was a steep, rock and ice laden slope, out of which we fashioned a stairway using our crampons and ice axes. Unbeknown to us, we were in for a human traffic jam perpetrated by high snowfall the night before.

Our Winter Route Up Mt. Washington

We slowly climbed the 50 degree slope deliberately placing our crampons and using our axes for stability. One slip and we could plummet through the tree line causing severe injury. A third of the way to the tree line we were stopped by a wall of people, who had already been waiting for several minutes. Those minutes turned into a quarter hour, then 30 minutes, 45, etc. Irritation and frustration was obvious as people shouted to the head of the line, "Get a move on" or "C'mon we haven't got all day." They were expressing a common thought within the encumbered mass, that we must reach the summit before 2:00PM in order to safely descend. Any variation in the time-sensitive schedules could spell defeat for a multitude of adventurists who had flown several hundred, even thousands of miles just to make this ascent. As this was the first day in at least two weeks that the weather had slightly abated and a weather system was expected the following day, it was necessary to summit or return home disappointed. We were faced with just such a dilemma after finally reaching tree line, where the trail opened up.

Climbing the Steep Slope Under Tree Line

As we stopped to don our wind stopping layers in preparation for the biting winds that we'd inevitably encounter, it was obvious that at our current pace we would not reach the summit with adequate time left for the descent. It was here that our group made the decision to split in two; Kirk, Travis (EMS guide) and I would attack the peak commando style while Steve, Sean, Chris, and Steve # 2 (EMS guide) hiked around Lion Head and Alpine Garden, the relatively flat region at the foot of the final rise. Travis was skeptical that we could overcome our lost time but Kirk and I encouraged him to set the required pace and we would follow.

Alpine Garden - Only .9 Miles To Summit

On saying farewell to the second half of our group, Travis initiated a trot toward the peak; Kirk and I followed suit. We stopped briefly at the sign reading "Mt. Washington - 0.9 m", rehydrated and reinvested high spirits. We were now confidant that we could summit. Travis kept a blistering pace up the final slope. He later admitted that he was impressed by our determination and that he hadn't expected us to keep up. I was admittedly at my cardio exertion limit and Kirk, who cycles to work every day, later confessed that he was close to his threshhold. It's this aspect of mountaineering that the most addicted adventurists seek. When your body's ability is maxxed, it's only so long before it starts trying to convince the mind to abate. In this state each move is painstakingly deliberate and the mind is concentrating only on the next step, shutting out outward distractions that would normally occupy a resting thought process. (Disclaimer: Alpine meditation does require discipline, determination and an intimate knowledge of your body's ability. If any of these three are absent then there's a potential for serious bodily harm.) When practiced accordingly, this meditation is incredibly refreshing even though your body is a fiery furnace of activity. Back to the climb...

Pushing Toward the Peak With Alpine Garden and Lion Head In the Background

Half way up the slope, we again stopped to rehydrate and suck down some Clif Shot Bloks with added caffeine. This would give us the needed boost for the last leg of our ascent. While steadily trodding up to the peak, we passed several parties who were having a much more difficult time scaling the rocky path. We later discovered that we completed in 45 min what takes the average group twice as long. With spirits soaring we reached the summit 15 minutes before 2:00 PM. Weather up top, as expected, was a relatively mild 5 degrees F with a 20-25 degree wind chill; winds were 40-50 mph from the SE. Despite this fact, our bodies were generating so much heat that a face mask wasn't required.

On the Summit, Beard Covered In Frozen Perspiration

We made our way to the summit post for pictures. Cameras were passed around and sadly a shot taken on Kirk's camera of all three of us never appeared on the film. (It's easy to make mistakes when confronted with deadly weather conditions.) It was now time to descend. Rehydrating and consuming copious amounts of gorp in the Observatory's shelter, we removed our crampons in preparation for the long slide to the bottom.

Clouds and Snow Blowing Over the Summit

Kirk and I (Our Group's Only Two Vegans) Posing At the Summit Post

Observatory Shelter

The descent was much easier than our challenging attack on the summit. Because we had removed our crampons, we let gravity do most of the work. Kirk, who has never skied, snowboarded, or participated in any activity where sliding is involved, had difficulty maintaining balance. After a few crashes, however, he started to adjust. Sliding and bounding through the rock field, we soon came to an open snow-covered slope. Travis thought this a good opportunity to practice self-arresting, the method by which you stop yourself should you slip and start sliding down the slope. If done improperly (by bringing the pick part of the axe to the chest instead of the adze), it can result in unnecessary wounds. After practicing our self-arrest, we glissaded down the remaining snow pack.

Kirk and Travis Sliding Down the Rocky Slope

Kirk Practicing His Self Arrest

Almost Back Down To Alpine Garden

We slid past Lion Head, past the tree line, and all the way down the staircase where the traffic jam had occurred (using a rope in a few select spots to avoid sliding down the tree-laden slope as aforementioned), nearly denying us the summit.

There's no better feeling than summiting a mount, especially when one overcomes his or her body's desire to quit. This experience, which I'm sharing with those of you who have read this far, has resolidified my resolve to overcome any obstacle thrown in life's path. "Adapt and overcome", a phrase frequently used to express this attitude towards life, is no longer just a string of words but an experience that will always remind me that we are able to accomplish anything if we just concentrate on the short steps. Only once we reach the summit are we able to stare back at the entire picture.

Traveling Homeless

2008-10-03T17:14:00.007-06:00

I’m sitting here in another hotel room, the third in two weeks. It’s raining outside. Last night I stopped at the climbing gym before checking in. It feels more like home... less confining... with social contact, the climberhood of the rock. After driving several hours, in the rain, it was nice to spread my wings and boulder. When everyone had gone home to their beds, I was forced to retreat to my dark hovel. I don’t feel sorry, though. I chose this lifestyle--constantly moving from place to place exploring, searching for, if nothing else, what constitutes happiness. In that I’ve been somewhat successful. I’ve identified key components such as climbing (indoor or out), a great vegan meal, This American Life, all activities where in the moment nothing else matters. I’m here on this earth having a good time.

Bouldering at Coopers Rock, WV - photo by Rian Landers

Bouldering at Coopers Rock, WV - photo by Laura Bussolini

Driving several hundred miles and several hours has become unfazingly common. For entertainment I search the lower bands of FM radio for NPR stations. If not available then I usually wrap my headphones around my ears and play a podcast--Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, This American Life, al-Minbar al-Hurr (a German Radio Program in Arabic)--which forces my mind to wander through the realm of thought and away from the monotonous mile after mile of freeway.

This trip it was a This American Life episode on “Fear of Sleep”. Several interviewees recounted experiences that either, through trauma, contributed to sleeplessness or, through science, explained it. Lately it seems that the shows producers are experimenting with the format, including a comedy skit as one of the acts. This episode it was Mike Birbiglia, a (formerly) sleepless comedian who retells his comedic nighttime experiences through his sketch, “Sleepwalk With Me”. Several other narratives involved roaches, bed bugs, faulty dopamine producers, and anxiety. Fortunately, I’ve never been a victim of severe sleeplessness, thus can’t relate. About the closest experience I've had is reportedly trying to smash my fingers repeatedly in a closet door while sleep walking. Nevertheless, the show is a window into the lives of compatriots, lending greater insight into what it is to be both an American and, more generally, a human being.

As the show played on I couldn’t help but peek into adjacent vehicles and wonder about the lives of my freeway companions. Most plates were local, but the occasional through traveler was sighted. I started to wonder about their lives, where they were going, what they were doing, if they were happy, how they passed their time on this giant concrete funnel. From most vehicles little can be discerned about the occupants’ lives. But there is the occasional military or political bumper sticker off which lifestyle sketches may be drawn.

What I was most concerned about at this particular point was the relationship between concern and anxiety. In my case I do not lack concern or live a carefree life, but I never bother being anxious because anxiety is not action but a constant state of worry about some future action or occurrence. It’s very possible that anxiousness could cause a person to overlook the correct action that would alleviate his or her source of worry. It seems to me that in our society there is an emphasis on anxiousness as a companion to concern, rather than a mishandling of concern. It made me question which side is more crazy, the anxious worrier or the insouciant drifter.

When I finished with my mental version of This American Life, I turned to al-Minbar al-Hurr. This episode involved a discussion between Middle East “experts” in Europe about which direction Mauritania should proceed in the wake of its latest failed democratic experiment, which ended in a military coup. One side believed that the former president, Sidi Ould Cheikh Abdallahi, should be reinstated until economic and security stability is reached, at which point the country would be ready for the democratic process. Another argued that no past systems could be relied upon because Mauritania’s past is saturated with institutional stigmas such as nepotism, favoritism, and classism. He favored a form of military rule until a new election could be held. After a while I drifted into a sea of thoughts, mulling over all the world’s nascent democratic experiments and what they all share in common. It seems to me that many of the countries attempting democratic reforms are simply not ready; it’s being forced upon them. Forcing an old world country to democratize is much like taking an American first grader with ADD and forcing him to meditate. Meditation is a gateway to Enlightenment just as the democratic process is a pathway to individual freedom. Yet, even if the first grader has been told that meditation is good, he does not understand why he should meditate, nor does he possess the capacity. In the same way, one cannot be forced to participate in a democratic process if he or she does not understand individual freedom. Most old world cultures lack individual identity, much less freedom, relying instead on social class and/or tribal, national, or religious identity. Where these mentalities are present democracy is prone to failure.

After a few days in this hotel I’ll be headed to yet another temporary residence. And what move wouldn’t be complete without a several hour long drive? I’m comforted knowing that wherever I go there will always be something to climb, great vegan food to be sought out, and more entertaining episodes of my roadway companion programs. If not, I’ll be moving on soon as you can say, “Democratize Now”. Now it’s lights out in this hovel. This traveling homeless is hittin’ the sack.

Tent City at Coopers Rock, WV - photo by Rian Landers

From Quest to Quandary: Buddhism and Islam

2008-09-02T03:06:00.011-06:00

Youngpyeungsa Temple

Shortly after arriving in Korea I was made aware of a “temple stay” program that’s promoted and run by the Templestay Division of the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism. Perhaps because it’s one of the few things a tourist can do in South Korea, and partially because it’s also a good cultural experience, it’s touted as a “must-do” for visitors and expats alike.

The revered lotus flower

We’d been meaning to go ever since I landed in Seoul roughly a month prior. Last weekend was finally our chance. First by subway, then by a number of bus transfers we arrived at our destination--Youngpyungsa temple. Nestled in the smokey hills two hours south of Seoul, Youngpyungsa is renowned for its fields of white flowers, chestnut orchards, and lotus flower tea. It doesn’t receive large crowds like many other temples, partially due to the humility of its temple stay host who insists that the temple be listed with “limited translation services” despite his rather firm command of English. Mr. Jang, as he preferred to be called, picked us up from a local bus stop and took the short ride to the temple as an opportunity to enrich our understanding of the local scene.

Demonstrating how to make lotus flower tea

After all of the seven guests were present and fitted with modest robes we began touring the idyllic grounds. First to the main temple for a description of the murals detailing the life of Buddha and his enlightenment, followed by the revered lotus gardens. Mr. Jang explained the basic tenets and philosophies that form Buddhism as we reveled in the beautiful paintings and architecture. It seemed that everything I was experiencing was unfamiliar and mysterious, leading to more contemplation than understanding. That is until it was time to pray.

First we formed lines with small mats at our feet. Initiated by a chanter, we bowed to 45 degrees then back to standing; fell prostrate to elbows and knees with forehead touching the ground; raised our hands to our ears; then sat back onto our feet before standing and repeating the process. As some may have noticed, this is incredibly similar to prostration in Islam.

My amazement and wonder was soon replaced with intense curiosity. From no previous research or conversation had I ever heard about a connection between Buddhism and Islam, but it did make sense. Buddhism spread out of northern India to other areas of south Asia. Large Buddhist statues defiled by religious extremists in Afghanistan evidence the influence that Buddhism once held in these regions.

After further contemplation I recalled a story from Ibn Ishaq’s Sirat Rasul Allah (Life of Muhammad) in which Muhammad (PBUH) accompanied his uncle and caretaker, Abu Talib, to the Levant, training as a merchant. Later, after marrying Khadijah, Muhammad (PBUH) managed his merchant wife’s trade journeys to the Levant. One of the western-most land routes of the spice trade terminated in what is now Syria/Lebanon. It’s certainly possible that Muhammad (PBUH) was exposed to Buddhist prayer in the Levant and later adapted it to Islam.

Other than prayer form itself there is one other slight similarity between the two religions. Every evening Jogye Buddhists perform 108 prostrations, each one admonishing one of the 108 vices. Performing this daily reminds the Buddhist to conduct his or her life in a manner congruous with religious teachings. Islam has what are called the 99 Names of Allah, each one exhibiting one of God’s traits that should be emulated by the Muslim to draw nearer to Him. The similarity between these two practices isn’t as striking as the skeletal structure of prayer, but I found it interesting.

Two nearly identical lilies emerge from the dark pond below. Task at hand is to discover what's under the opaque surface.

So now I face this vexing question looming above me. What is the connection between Jogye Buddhism and Islam? Did these two nearly identical forms of prostration develop independently? Do they both follow a more ancient form of prostration? Primary research revealed Korea Buddhism's trek from south Asia to China, then to Korea. It’s a start. I’m in the process of obtaining a translation of the 108 prayers, which may offer some insight. Yet, I’m more interested in the possible human connection between Islam’s Prophet (PBUH) and Buddhist merchants. Does it exist? If anyone can point towards a resource with even a brief mention of Muhammad (PBUH) and Buddhist traders or teachers, please email or leave a comment.

The Latest Blunder: de-Sunnification in Iraq

2008-08-22T01:14:00.006-06:00

I usually try to steer clear of political commentary. For the most part the field is filled with intellectual masturbators whose specialties are rhetoric and debate rather than intellectual, informed, and, most importantly, logical discussion. However, an article posted today on NYtimes.com has infuriated my senses and led to a feeling of utter frustration. I had to comment.

The article covers the polemical discussion on the way forward for Iraq. It’s titled, “Iraq Takes Aim at Leaders of U.S.-Tied Sunni Groups”. For the past two years there has been a growing movement of Sunni leaders using their community ties to battle against extremist groups. Wikipedia describes the purpose that these coalitions serve, “Awakening movements in Iraq are coalitions between tribal Sheikhs in a particular province in Iraq that unite to ensure security.” Before 2006, the United States military and Iraqi security forces were battling uphill in the rain towards their goal of establishing local security. When these local religious leaders began banding together to quell violence, it brought a ray of sunlight onto the battlefield. Since that time, the Awakening movements have gained increased momentum and brought attacks in some areas to a halt. So why is the Iraqi government now attempting to disband the very groups that have given Iraqi and US forces more operability by allowing them to focus on building security infrastructure rather than fighting an endless battle against religious extremism?

The article’s opening sentence relays one of the major concerns, “The Shiite-dominated government in Iraq is driving out many leaders of Sunni citizen patrols, the groups of former insurgents who joined the American payroll and have been a major pillar in the decline in violence around the nation.” Two very important sections of that sentence tell the real tale, “Shiite-dominated government” and “groups of former insurgents”. These two opposing factions are polarized on several fronts--religious ideology, legal practice, and historical ethnic conflict to name a few. Why should they trust each other?

Iraq’s Shi’ite majority has every reason to be skeptical. Sunni leaders who have opposed the new Iraqi government since its inception are now finding themselves in positions of political leverage. As the article states, “...Awakening members are eager to translate their influence and organization on the ground into political power.” It’s a legitimate concern, that these former members of extremist groups--including Al-Qaeda in Mesopotamia--will be in positions of political power. But the Iraqi government should learn from past mistakes of disenfranchising military or militia leaders. De-Ba’athification (removal of political and military leaders loyal to the former regime) left thousands unemployed. Many military professionals whose past political ties left them no place in the new Iraq were forced to seek employment with extremist groups. Whether or not they were ideologically opposed to the new power structure, they were given no other option to support their families. The same dynamic occurred with Shi’a religious leader Muqtada al-Sadr’s followers. When Sadr’s faction was barred from participating in the al-Maliki government, his militias were given incentive to take security concerns into their own hands. If the Awakening movements are disbanded then at least some of those militia members who are now helping the situation will once again become part of the problem. This is confirmed by Abu Azzam, a political leader in the Awakening movement, “Part of [the Awakening militia members] will fight the government if they are not recruited into the security forces.” A senior military spokesman echoes this sentiment, “If [diminution of the Awakening coalition] is not handled properly, we could have a security issue...You don’t want to give anybody a reason to turn back to Al Qaeda.” Iraq cannot move upward when it keeps tripping on the same step.

Yet, the Iraqi government has no intention of acknowledging the Awakening movement’s members. Statements by Iraq’s politicians, quoted in the article, make their stance very clear:

“The state cannot accept the Awakening,” said Sheik Jalaladeen al-Sagheer, a leading Shiite member of Parliament. “Their days are numbered.”

An even more biting conviction from an Iraqi Army commander ordered to round up Awakening leaders conveys the government’s attitude towards the coalition, “These people are like cancer, and we must remove them.”

Emotions like these have understandably led to severe frustration of US military efforts. For months, the US has been building up these militias to provide local security. If control is handed over to the Iraqi government, which to be fair it should since the Iraqi government is ultimately responsible for providing security, there’s a real danger that the past two years of effort will be devitalized, or even become obsolete. Iraq cannot afford such blunder, nor can we.

The US must make every diplomatic effort to ensure that the Awakening movement’s members are not disenfranchised. If modern Iraq is to remain one state--and one could make a strong argument here for federalization--then all political players must be given a chance to express their thoughts and concerns. Continued suppression of factions or ideologies in lieu of logical discussion will inevitably lead to further conflict. In this global era Iraqi government leaders cannot dismiss non-state actors on grounds of past indiscretion, especially if those actors represent a community under the sphere of governance. Reconciliation must become common practice. Otherwise Iraq is doomed to failure and all its citizens subjected to a future filled with violence.

View the article.

As always, I encourage you to leave your thoughts.

A Walk On The Wild Side

2008-08-20T01:12:00.007-06:00

A panorama of northern Seoul

People often debate human impact on the environment. But what about our environment’s effect on us? Our surroundings undeniably influence our physical and mental status. If you live near Chernobyl then you’ll suffer from radiation poisoning. If you jog in the city then you’ll probably end up with respiratory ailments. A child who grows up in a violent home will be prone to violence. These are specific examples. I’m interested in something more general--whether or not mental health is tied to interaction with nature.

I was walking the streets of the world’s second largest metropolitan center--Seoul, South Korea--last week when it hit me. A raw, brilliant green burned into my retinae as if I had never seen such natural wonder. The building, a clothing store, was being consumed by nature. Grass, unkempt and fallow, sprawled out onto the sidewalk. Ivy climbed over the bricks and iron. I was completely arrested. For a brief moment I entered a new dimension. Glass, iron, concrete, and Seoulites melted away, leaving me to my wild desires. It was calling to something deep inside, a primitive desire to leave civilization behind.

The stark contrast between the store's wild, green facade and the gray street captured my attention

I snapped out of my dream when a little old lady knocked me with her purse trying to catch the bus. “Sorry,” I instinctively shouted, realizing that I was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk and the collision was probably my fault. Remembering that I also had places to go I was on my way, inexplicably more delighted than 10 minutes prior.

Wild, yet sophisticated

Throughout the day my thoughts returned to that building. Why was I so mesmerized by grass and ivy? I’m from the suburbs. Grass is the bed on which our neighborhoods are built and ivy is as common as brickwork. My mind, I determined, had been gray-washed. Since coming to Seoul I hadn’t seen any wild vegetation. Lawns, fields, and mountain bike paths had been replaced by tall, man-made sentries lining traffic-filled streets. Fresh, dry mountain air seemed to me as distant as the green hills bordering Seoul, obscured by the rising smog and humidity. Upon seeing nature’s Trojan horse attempting to breach the walls of metropolitan civilization, I was reminded that cleaner, dryer, cooler places exists. I wanted to be there.

That led me to debate how the urban mind can survive in such vast concrete jungles? Over a hundred thousand years humans have adapted to new environments. Populations learned to survive in nearly every climate and region. Over that evolution, we learned to incorporate nature into our lives. It’s become part of our essence, and arguably a key element to a healthy psyche. Looking back, it’s relatively recent in human history that populations have been effectively removed from the natural order, choosing to immerse themselves in technologically controlled cityscapes. Whether or not our mind has the ability to completely adapt to this new environment is a question of the age.

Images of nature cover this Buddhist bell pavilion

One of the strongest proponents for nature’s positive effect on the human psyche was Wallace Stegner. In a letter urging wilderness protection, Stegner eloquently stated his feelings on the subject:

Something will have gone out of us as a people if we ever let the remaining wilderness be destroyed; if we permit the last virgin forests to be turned into comic books and plastic cigarette cases; if we drive the few remaining members of the wild species into zoos or to extinction; if we pollute the last clear air and dirty the last clean streams and push our paved roads through the last of the silence, so that never again will Americans be free in their own country from the noise, the exhausts, the stinks of human and automotive waste. And so that never again can we have the chance to see ourselves single, separate, vertical and individual in the world, part of the environment of trees and rocks and soil, brother to the other animals, part of the natural world and competent to belong in it. Without any remaining wilderness we are committed wholly, without chance for even momentary reflection and rest, to a headlong drive into our technological termite-life, the Brave New World of a completely man-controlled environment. We need wilderness preserved--as much of it as is still left, and as many kinds--because it was the challenge against which our character as a people was formed. The reminder and the reassurance that it is still there is good for our spiritual health even if we never once in ten years set foot in it. It is good for us when we are young, because of the incomparable sanity it can bring briefly, as vacation and rest, into our insane lives. It is important to us when we are old simply because it is there--important, that is, simply as an idea. (http://www.greenfoothills.org/about/WildernessLetter.html)

Stegner recognized the true relationship between humans and the natural environment, arguing that the natural environment’s most pristine form, wilderness, must be protected simply as an idea to ensure human sanity. Wilderness can offer much needed reprieve from societal pressures, feed primitive desires, and provide endless healthy recreational opportunities.

It’s evident that we, as a species, find comfort and inspiration from nature. It’s manifest in our decoration, our designs, our companions, and our past-times. People buy plants to warm up a home, build parks to offer reprieve, design structures or objects to mimic natural frameworks, choose to associate with various other species, and (by-and-large) prefer to recreate outdoors when the weather and air are tolerable. The challenge for the urbanite is to create a balance between this innate connection with nature and the man-made elements of urban society.

Standoff between Eastern philosophy and Western materialism: Buddha looks out over the expansive Coex Mall

As I emerged from the subway an hour later into the thick, polluted air, it made me appreciate human efforts to reconcile our cities’ assault on nature. That wild, urban scene had, now understandably, brightened my day.

El-Fanoos

2008-08-11T23:29:00.003-06:00

El-Fanoos is many things. Literally, it means lantern in Arabic. Most are made from tin or copper and hold candles to illuminate the world around them.

Traditionally it represents the coming of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting. Children carry them through the streets to welcome the holy month. Metal-workers spend months preparing Fawanees (pl. of Fanoos) to supply the inevitable demand.

Historically it has been used to bring light to dark streets. El-Sahwawi (lit. "the waker") used el-fanoos to light his way as he traveled from house to house, calling his brethren to greet God and the world. Muslim caliphs ordered local shaykhs, or religious leaders, to light Fawanees in the streets during Ramadan. Children were also ordered to follow women out at night with a fanoos to provide protection.

El-Fanoos then is a powerful symbol--one of celebration, enlightenment, and protection. In an attempt to see the world around me more clearly, I have begun to write down my thoughts and give life to my photographs. My intention here is to receive enlightenment through analysis and share my views with those closest to me, as well as the world. My hope is that El-Fanoos will burn brightly and illuminate my life for all to see.

I dedicate this blog to my grandparents, whose wisdom and encouragement led me to the Middle East. To my mother and father, whose love and support have carried me to the stars. And to all my friends and family who have added light to my life.

Now, to start things off I've decided to publish a travel article that I wrote about a recent trip to the Northwestern US. All the photographs you will see are by me, unless otherwise stated. I also welcome any feedback, comments, or thoughts that you may have. More pictures can be found at http://picasaweb.google.com/fhc4life. Enjoy.

Walking Among Giants

2008-08-11T20:40:00.017-06:00

Crater Lake

We pulled up to the small booth housing the short-straw-wielding park ranger stuck with gate duty that day. “Where’s the best place for a hike this time of year,” I asked. His blunt response made our hearts sink, “Outside of the park.” Several miles back we had begun to see snow on the side of the road. As we climbed the shallow slope towards the caldera, the snow rose like an ancient gateway leading us to the throne room. By the time we had reached the south gate of Crater Lake National Park, the melting snow pack was five feet deep. This guaranteed that all of the parks trails were snowed over and our objective, the lake’s Crater Rim Trail, bordered by high cliffs of the caldera’s rim and a steep drop to the frigid lake below, was too treacherous for ordinary tourist travel.

A view of Munson Creek with the famous caldera looming above

Since there was no longer a rush we stopped to grab a bite to eat at the gift shop diner, but not before challenging our newfound nemesis to a duel. Melissa and her father, Andy, did their best to beat the snow into submissions but at the end of the day they were vastly outnumbered. Tired from battle, we retreated into the forest citadel for grub. Our Eastern European waiter seemed somewhat new and we added to his confusion, as we usually do, with complicated orders rendering our desired meal as vegan as we can make it. In most cases we’re able to construct a decent meal from the most unfriendly of menus, and this time we were lucky to find ready-made vegan options like the ever-satiating veggie burger. As Melissa and her parents devoured what was left of our meal, I stepped outside to survey the winter landscape. Keep in mind that it’s early June--summer comes late to the Cascades. After the initial snow blindness subsided, I looked up to see a hazy ring around the sun. This usually means a storm front will arrive within 12 hours. Sure enough, five hours later it was raining.

Andy showing the snow who's boss

Sun halo signaling incoming precip

________

Crater Lake, the deepest lake in the United States and seventh place among all of earth’s lakes, was formed with the collapse of an ancient volcano named Mount Mazama around 5,000 BCE. Mazama was one in a chain of volcanoes stretching from northern California to Washington along the Pacific Ring of Fire. Although modern science wasn’t around to witness the eruption and subsequent implosion, geologists have discovered remnants of fallout ash hundreds of miles away in eastern Montana and Saskatchewan, Canada. For an idea of scale, Mount Saint Helens, one of the largest eruptions in the United State’s modern history, was over forty times weaker than the eruption of Mount Mazama.

For years pressure had been building under Mazama. According to Klamath tribal legend, a chiefly battle was being waged between Llao of the below world and Skell of the above. As pyroclastic flows and small eruptions released magma and hot gases, some as far as 25 miles from Mazama’s peak, a giant underground cavern was created. Mazama’s weight proved too great and the mountain collapsed in a giant, fiery implosion 50,000 greater than the nuclear bomb dropped on Nagasaki. The destruction of Llao’s home signaled the great chief’s defeat.

________

Crater Lake and Wizard Island (likened to a wizard's hat)

After taking in views of Crater Lake, we retreated below the snow line for some hiking. After all, it’s what we came to do. We drove south, out of the park, then west down the mountain. After several miles we saw a sign signaling hiking. Since it was getting late in the day and we had no particular goal in mind we took the turnout and headed down a dirt road. After a few miles we reached the trailhead.

Upper Union Creek Falls

We soon discovered our hiking destination--Upper Union Creek. The trail dropped down into a shallow valley to the foot of Upper Union Creek Falls, a series of moss-lined mini cataracts surrounded by old growth forest. As Melissa and her parents hiked ahead I dallied about like a gnome arrested by each forest resident--a funnel web, a babbling brook, lichen-ridden bark, forest ferns, each unique in intricacy and beauty. I took it in and fell behind. After a half hour passed, I decided to catch up.

These strange plants adorned the hillside

Funnel web hiding under a log

I found the group stopped by a small, natural dam. The creek was swollen with snow melt and pouring over the trees, which had fallen into the creek. After some Indiana Jones-like stunts to cross the river and photograph the scene, we trudged down the path. Andy eventually fell back and the remaining three pursued an open-ended goal. Each bend brought a new breathtaking scene as we followed the creek down, down, down. We took intermitted stops to photograph scenes, practice ninja skills, and enjoy life. After an hour and a half, with night quickly approaching, we decided to rush back. Melissa’s mother led as we jogged back to the vehicle in half the time. As I reached the car, brining up the rear, I looked up just in time catch a rain drop on my cheek.

Moss and lichen

Fairy stools upon a felled tree

________

Lava Beds National Monument

From our base in Klamath, OR we were a short jaunt away from Lava Beds National Monument. Having never heard of this geologic wonder, I was excited to explore. We crossed into California and soon reached the eastern edge of the monument.

The misleading "Petroglyph Bluff Trail"

Our first hike was up Petroglyph Bluff. Unlike its appellation suggests this was not a bluff, nor did we find any petroglyphs up top (they were all at the base). We’re convinced this was a ploy to cajole lazy tourists into hiking. Either way, we were rewarded with stunning views of the Tule Lake National Wildlife Refuge and Lava Beds. The plaque atop the “bluff” informed that we had just climbed the back of the great Creator. According to Modoc lore, after the world was created the giant lay here to slumber for eternity. It's sacred ground to the local tribes. From our perch high above the valley floor, as the wind whispered through the rocks, there was a sense of hollowed ground.

Hallowed ground: on top of Petroglyph Bluff

View of Tule Lake from Petroglyph Bluff

Upon descending and discovering the true location of the petroglyphs, we headed into the monument. From the East, we first passed Captain Jack’s Stronghold. From here Kintpuash, or “Captain Jack” as he came to be known, led a small band of Modoc warriors against the United States Army, sent to force the Native Americans back onto a reservation to the North. For five months the Army laid siege to the natural fortress and for five months the small band of Modoc repelled the attacks. The Modoc campaign was doomed for failure, as the odds stacked ever higher against them. Captain Jack was eventually forced to surrender after a band of Modocs agreed to hunt him down. He was hanged shortly thereafter, but immortalized through his bold campaign.

_________

As we drove further into the park we saw vast fields of A’a (pronounced Ah-Ah) lava, part of the Devil’s Homestead Flow. Further down the road, we visited the petrified Fleener Chimneys where we discovered remnants of Pahoehoe (pronounced Pa-hoy-hoy) lava. A’a is formed as the surface of a lava flow cools and forms rough, jagged blocks. Pahoehoe is formed at higher temperatures, resulting in smooth, ropy rock.

From the visitor’s center we embarked on a journey to explore the monument’s dark, sinuous lava tubes. Ever since a botched spelunking trip at Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky, I had wanted to descend into the bowels of the earth armed with nothing more than a few lights and my wits. As we crawled into the earth a cool wave brought a reprieve from the early summer sun.

Mushpot Cave, the neon-laden "beginner" lava tube

When this region was active, the walls of underground lava flows cooled forming protective tubes. The magma rivers eventually subsided, leaving behind a network of natural subways. For hours we ducked in and out of caves, each unique in character. There was the neon-lit Mushpot Cave, an officially proclaimed “beginner’s cave”. Then, the deep, dark Golden Dome cave with multiple branches, low ceilings, and ropy, igneous floor. Last but not least, Sunshine Cave with several collapsed ceilings lending a soft, diffused light to its smooth walls. The last was my favorite, although they were all spectacular.

Spelunkers donning headlamps exit Golden Dome lava tube

Collapsed roof in Sunshine Cave

Like scuba diving, spelunking leads you into a separate realm--a cool, subterranean world where one can explore the earth’s natural wonders in an alien environment. As we crawled out to rejoin the sunlit world, one could not help but feel a fond sense of satisfaction for the day’s deeds. We had climbed the back of a slumbering Creator, learned of a bold warrior’s last stand, received a hands-on volcanologic lesson, and explored some of earth’s most unique geologic wonders. We drove north to Oregon tired and hungry from a long day. I looked out the window to see a few swans floating on Tule Lake. Dozing off, I dreamed of an earlier time, a different culture, and I thought to myself, “Had I been born here in the mid-1800s, the natural fortress might have been named ‘Captain Jon’s stronghold’.”