Between Teeth and Towers

Warning: This blogpost might just take you longer than you´ve intended to read. It might also let you dream to such an extent that you won´t be capable of resuming what you´ve been doing until now. So consider the situation and the state you are in, read on and let me tell you about the most beautiful part of the world trough some unconventional perspectives...

It´s been quite a while since my last blogpost: the previous one was one month ago. Reason? I haven´t had the ´ganas´ to put myself in front of a ever-slow computer to type and click for hours when the real adventure was outdoors, because that´s exactly what Patagonia is about: Outdoors. But now I find myself stuck with a minor cold which keeps me from going outdoors in the meanwhile becoming freezing cold. Autumn makes his entrance here and makes for outdoor temperatures of about 6 degrees Celcius, with a real feel of about freezing cold with the wind. It´s a nice cosy hostel in Pt. Natales, and I´m clinched to this household computer that doesn´t even recognize my camera disk. (that´s why I might have some trouble uploading photos later on)
Since my last post I´ve done two serious outdoor treks, crossed borders like 6 times, let a lot of thoughts pass and put them on paper, got some interesting hitches which took me all the way where I wanted to go and made further progress in the Spanish, German and English languages.
The name for this post might seem a bit odd, but refers to the name of the two treks I made: The first one was ´Dientes de Navarino´ which was on the Isla Navarino (with Dientes meaning Teeth for the Spanish-ignorant among you:P) and the second one, from which I came back recently was ´Torres Del Paine´ which is a National Park in Chili and Torres meaning Towers, respectively.
Now, let´s get it on with a bit more creative storytelling display with 13 volumes; I tend to either write a lot or not at all so as I said earlier: Take some time and let me put you in the world of Patagonian splendor.

1. I am a small, tiny refugio in the little port of Puerto Williams, which is the southernmost inhabited point in the world. My windows look out of the Beagle Channel and I´ve been built a long, long time ago. My porch consists of a few dusty wooden planks, a squeaky antique couch and a hammock. I might look a bit overdue, but my interior knows hospitality as no other place in the world. Postcards hang on the wall of people who visited and held this place in their hearts, there´s a book lying on the table inside where people from all over the world thank for the warm welcome. I am the kind of refugio that doesn´t have Wi Fi and is Spanish spoken, even for people who are below level zero, which makes it´s ambience authentic and rustic. Every morning the fishermen from across the street carry in a truckload of freshly fished king-crab over to the little factory at the far end of town, but occasionally a crate full of crab is put at the driveway to nourish the hungry backpackers. I consist mainly of material but what keeps me warm is my mistress, who put´s a block of wood on the fire in my stove from now and then and makes sure the guests are totally spoiled to bear their suffering of the trek on the Island. I ask 20 dollar per night, but in the end our connection is the most important one and I won´t charge visitors for the food or any other thing they´ve used, regardless of the length of their stay. You pay foremost with your story and your intention to converse at the dinner table, whether you´re from Japan, France, Fillipenes of Colorado. I am one of those places in the world that still exists… but for how long?
Recently there´s been a special happening: Three people, a Dutch guy and two Americans came over. They were given the exact same delicious treatment as everybody else but one of these guys was special, because this one American wanted to RUN the Dientes track. About sixty km of highly rough terrain and he wanted to do it in one day. Whereas the other two just wanted to hike it in normal 6 day stretch, this one needed some extra nurturing. I was worrisome that day he went, because he didn´t come back before dawn, which can be a real hazard if you´re not well prepared. Luckily, the other two went with the car of the mistress while she was cooking a fine soup, to search for him and by plain coincidence they found him at the exact point were he hit the road out of the bushes. The view when they first saw his little headlight coming out of the darkness must have been a blast. His shoes were ripped and he was exhausted, but he accomplished…I could see in the eyes of the returnees that they´ve felt this was a special experience. And I think I also hear the athlete say to the Dutch guy that they might meet again at a National Park further up north: Ojala? I wish the best for them all, at least the weather treated them nice this week, It´s been amazingly warm and sunny for this time of year.

2. I am an Icicle on this little green one-man tent that´s standing on the first stop of the Dientes del Navarino Trek. I was formed last night, when the moist of the previous day froze despite the harsh winds. It´s about 8 o´clock in the morning now, and the sun hasn´t come over the ridge of the mountains yet: This makes it harder for my occupant to get up. If I look to the right I see the tent of another guy, he´s American but he just as almost hasn´t stuck his American flag out. Right in front of me there´s a beautiful crater-like lake and it´s all surrounded by green mountains that go high across tree line. I don´t understand why exactly these two put their camp up at THIS side of the lake, since it´s colder and windier up here. Must have something to do with the other Czeck people, standing at the other side of the lake and who arrived there earlier yesterday afternoon. Additionally, there´s no one and it´s awfully quiet except for the wind and the running water from the falls. Last night these two went to bed early because of the bad weather (and bad mood), so it should be about time that they wake up, it´s eight-thirty already!! Besides, the tent of this Dutch fellow is so small that almost the whole tent rolls over when he does in his sleep, and he does so a lot. Ah, there he comes. Pour soul, must have been shivering all night because he´s still accustomed to the nice warm hostel beds...Well, everybody´s got to learn. There he zips up the flounce right next to where I am, and I can see him wishing he´d brought gloves when he sees me. Next they try to make breakfast on their little stoves but their bodies aren´t warm yet, and although the sun can come up from the ridge any moment now, they keep blowing in their hands. Aren´t these folks used to anything? Finally, the sun comes and they stand with their arms spread to welcome the new day. Sadly for me, the sun means warmth and I begin to melt immediately; I have to go now, but it was worth seeing these two making their way trough these surroundings.

3. I am lago Windhond, and I am the biggest lake on the Island of Navarino. Centuries ago I was named by the Dutch who fared here, after the famous racing dogs which have almost the same denomination in English: Windhound. My southernmost points can look out to Cape Horn with clear weather and to the north I can see backpackers pass from time to time on the Dientes trekking. I wonder if they can see Cape Horn too... It should be possible, but sometimes I just think they mistake another part of the island for Cape Horn, even though it has pretty characteristic features after which it is named. Anyway, it´s odd to see people walking around at the Dientes trek so late in the season, it´s almost April, and it´s totally ridiculous when they try to run it in one day as one guy recently did. A couple of days ago I saw two young men passing by, diligently looking for trail marks that would get them further. But they were also relaxing at a little cousin of mine, the lake of the Dientes which has fairytale like sceneries. Because of all this drooling, I saw they couldn´t really make a lot of kms everyday, but the condition of the trails and the enjoyment of the view made them take their time. Being so southern sometimes is hard, it makes you want to come back to the rest of the world, but I guess I have to wait on another massive earthquake that moves my ass hence where.

4. I am a woodpile next to the mirador of Lago Guanamaco. I was left here, because the construction workers who made the mirador (a little wooden terrace which you can sit on to watch the view) didn´t need any more of my wood, and the Chilean craftsman didn´t bother making an extra ridge of ledge, nor taking me back to Puerto Williams were my containments were made anyway. But I don´t mind at all, I must say, because Lago Guanamaco is a place that I like. It´s hard to describe. The lake is well held up high in the mountains, or more accurate, a HUGE mountain range. When I look down south I look over the oblong formed lake which has a deep blue color, and alongside it the banks are immediately running up as steep mountain surfaces. At the far end, the mountain reaches it´s highest point and there is were a lousy 2 tons of eternel snow hang above the lake. It´s dazzling. It´s pourly overgrown and most of the valley it forms is formed by hundreds of thousands of rocks, in all forms and sizes. If a gust of wind comes and knocks me over, I look to the other side, up north, and that is were the valley continues down, which would make me able to look at the Darwin channel again, if it wasn´t for the tall trees that blocked my view. Anyway, I frequently see backpackers coming by and gaze at this beautiful view: It takes their breath away and some more than others. But that´s a matter of taste of course. You would think it´d be impossible for hikers to enter the valley but that´s not entirely true: On the upper left part of the far side the stones very small, they have been grinded by ice presumably for ages. This doesn´t make it less steep, but people can come down by sort of skiing down when they´re walking. That is, for every step they take they move about 3 meters downward. They literally make one big sliding down the valley, and it looks kindof cool! And one can read it from their faces as well..I would´ve done it, if it wasn’t for that I´m a pile of woodblocks, waiting for somebody to make a nice fire out of me.

5. We´re two French girls, travelling from south to north in South America for a couple of months. Although we´ve known each other for a while, we decided to do a part of this trip together. Anyway, we have just been in Ushuaia for a while and now it´s time to get to the north and what better way is there to do it Hitchhiking? We´ve heard from a lot of people that it´s doable and we´re two, so what can happen to us? Getting to the entrance of the city is quite a hassle with public transportation, and we have a big bag alongside our backpacks, so we can´t start hitchhiking pretty early this morning. That´s too sad because when we arrive in the morning, the best hitchhike spot is already being taken by this apparent Dutch fellow with this superfancy cardboard that says ´Punta Arenas´ in a nicely painted way, who smiles very gently at us when we walk towards him. We don´t want to pick his spot, that´d make a too great competition, so we walk another 100 meters before we dump our bags and try to get rides too. After 20 minutes one of us goes up to this Dutchie and asks him about how long he´s been waiting and such. We speak in Spanish, with which we seem to be able to express ourselves sufficiently. As a way of play, we make this whole competition of who can flag down a car in a most creative way. After five minutes of mutual outperformances, one riding down the road of Ushuaia could think he´d drive next to a bunch of clowns. But it´s great fun. Cars like fancy Mercedes’s get extra attention and make us put up a whole play, just to get a ride. In the end we all, we including the Dutch boy, get picked up by a rugged little Volkswagen who can get us to Rio Grande. It´s not where we intended to go but it´s on the way so we go for it. At a certain point during the ride the Dutch guy jumps up and starts laughing and pointing at someone at the road where there is a gas station. It turns out that they are Argentinian friends whom he met in Puerto Madryn, and now he randomly bumps into them again! What a coincidence! His friends welcome him all with a hug and they laugh and talk a bit, even play a quick blues goodbye tune with a guitar they always seem to carry with them. But the road is long, and we have to go so the driver kicks his throttle and lets him know we should be heading again. We think that encounter made him smile for about 2 hours after that! Nice, how travelling can put you into situations unexpectedly and pull you in a different state. We arrive safely in Rio Grande and from there on we go on to Puerto Natales, while our Dutch competition tries to flag down a car to Punta Arenas: In which we both succeed within 10 minutes.

6. I am a guitar, but not a guitar just like that. Of my type and brand, there have been made only three in the world. I carry a metal platelet in my body, to aggravate my tones and pitch, and I have a surprisingly light body. I was brought into the home of a nice family in Punta Arenas years ago, when my former owner – a local famous singer – wanted to sell me because my amplifying system didn´t work well enough. And so it occurred that I was bought by a Magallan Petrol Worker, and brought to his house in Punta Arenas. From there on, I was played on little, but when this worker had his first child, a son, it wouldn´t be long until the child would play my strings again. Indeed, he even went to Santiago to study bass on a conservatory. The family has another child, a daughter and she continues living in Punta Arenas with her mother and father. Her father is away every other week, for work on the Isle of Tierra del Fuego: The oil is everywhere where he needs to go. So the house is pretty empty right now, and the restful and easy day to day life has been there for a long time. The daughter studies Gastronomy at the university of Punta Arenas, and likes to be working in her own restaurant one day. A couple of years ago, she enrolled herself in this concept of couchsurfing, which is an digital meeting place for people to offer or search for couches people can sleep on in their houses. (it might be a bed just as well) , but after enrolling she never did anything with it: Until very recently, and that is why this story is relevant to me… Because I was soon to be played on again! This one guy from Holland managed to get in contact with this family through couchsurfing and facebook, and they were willing to receive him for a couple of days! Now my as who it is, as long as it is someone who plays guitar and loves it! This guy was by far not the best player in the world, but he definitely had a glance of eagerness to play when he saw me, and I felt him being a content person when he had me in his arms. The family spoiled him with food and free Spanish classes, but luckily he returned to me in the afternoons and nights to play his favourite classics. It was a great four days, and the two of us had great fun: Even more so because he had brought a Capo of the like I´ve never seem before. With it on my neck, my tones even sounded more crystal clear and lively. I was sad to see him go, but there´s a time for coming and going, so I´ll just be patiently waiting here until the next guest gets invited. (or the daughter of this family finally picks up playing again)

7. I am a battery designed for a windmill, of German make. People from the different Estancias (Ranches) in the southern Patagonian steppes use my ability to charge and give electricity thankfully, because apart from the wind there isn´t much other things to generate electricity from. I am lying here in the back of a pickup truck, along with 40 other batteries, waiting to get dropped of by an Estancia somewhere between Puerto Natales and Punta Arenas. Driving the truck is a fourty year old guy who´s been in Antarctica for a year, alone, to do research for the Chilean government. Interesting bloke, but he doesn´t seem to bother much about explaining what´s so interesting. Somewhere a 100 km from Pt. Arenas something strange happens. In the middle of nowhere, at a junction of another road that leads to Rio Gallegos, the car stops. The driver has seen a benumbed hitchhiker waiting for a ride, in the cold rain and wind. Since he knows what these conditions can be like he stops and lets this other fellow in. It´s obvious where he has to go, because he´s showing off a huge cardboard which says Puerto Natales. Turns out that that spot was the longest he ever had to wait on for getting a hitch in his travels in South America so far: 1,5 hours. That´s a long time when wind of 60 km/h tries to knock you of your feet: Even more so with a cardboard that big that can function as a sail! But all in all, the two silently drive on with me in the back until they unload me at the driveway. Don´t get me wrong, I´m a heavy battery, I weigh about 20 kg. I could see that Dutch guy and my driver suffering when he had to unload me and my 40 sisters from the pickup. Too bad, should´ve kept his condition in the way it was and not walk around trough the wilderness with a backpack on that only trains one kind of condition. But after all I can´t complain, I´m lying here in the lawn of my estancia, waiting to get filled up to the top with fresh wind energy.

8. I´m a can full of tuna fish, lying around at a supermarket in Puerto Natales. I am sold at a way to high price, but that´s Chili! I look at these dozens and dozens of backpackers that cross my way every day: They just don´t pick me because I am on the top shelve. Until recently, when I was picked up by a traveler, watched closely and I felt horrible compared to other tuna cans which are of a more fancy brand. In the end, he chose me and he let me travel along with him in his backpack until it was the second day of his trek in Torres del Paine. I was opened, my content mixed with paprika, garlic, tomato sauce and some spices, and eventually with pasta, and after that stuffed with trash that´s not supposed to be left behind at certain campsites in the park. I couldn´t see the surroundings in the park since I was sitting in the backpack, but it must have been surprisingly good because I could hear my carrier singing and gasping from time to time.

9. I am a roan (white horse) grazing the fields of the eastern part of the National Park Torres del Paine. The grass here is fresh, because some five years ago there was a huge fire and that gave way for new vegetation to grow. I walk around here on private property and I enjoy my time with the 5 others of my herd. My grassland contains of a beautiful valley with the river Paine running trough it. I offers low grasslands in the down part, but steep rock and huge boulder formation in the upper part. Trees live prosperously, using the resources of their burned ancestors. Usually we see lots of trekkers running by, but since it´s low season and getting cold pretty soon the numbers diminish and we can walk around more freely. However, the warmth and the sun are extraordinarily abundant these late days of march, and a lot of people still come over to do this great circuit, a nine day trek trough the complete national park. As does this blond guy, who comes up at the path and shortly stumbles when he sees me. He stands still and observes me, while getting back his breath from the climb uphill. I decide to come give him a visit with my herd, maybe he has some fresh apples or so he wants to get rid of because they are too heavy: His backpack seems like it must way about 20 kg or so, ridiculously heavy! He seems to enjoy our stillness and friendly interest, and decides to put his pack down for a short lunch. Jeah, you better eat those heavy snickers and fresh fruits first, youngster! Anyway, I hope he finds the campsite at the north side of this terrain in good piece and has a nice night of sleep; the next days will wear him off as the paths will become steeper and slyer.

10. I am a little iceberg floating around in the Lake of Dickson; I broke of from the huge glacier Dickson, which originates from the Campo Hielos del Sur, the enormous ice fields on the Chilean southern Andes. As I am slowly pushed southwards by the current and the wind, I notice this human being strolling down the beach at the Refugio´s campground. He seems to have stayed another day there, to enjoy the sun, the view of the glaciers and to read a book. He takes some pictures of me too, on which I try to stand as handsome as possible, but it´s pretty hard for an iceberg to change form so quickly. He washes himself in the river that debouches in the lake I am floating in, coming from another glacier. That must be freezing cold, when one normally has a body temp of around 37 degrees.. He also does it without soap, and that´s different from what I´ve seen from other tourists. Well, that´s perfectly okay if you think about that the skin he wares is perfectly able to rinse itself without the help of any pharmochemical, as long as he just showers with plain water everyday. It just takes a couple of days for the skin to adjust and to be self-cleaning again. I wonder how long he is going to go on with this after he´s done with the trek in this park. Must be a challenge to continue doing that when you´re back in Europe, where practically everybody uses soap or body wash for his skin. But for now he seems to be doing pretty well, although he seems to get into his clothes pretty quick! That must be the cold… Meanwhile float on and melt slowly to drops of water, to eventually
get to the to Chilean sea in the form of a river.

11. I am a rock, one out of thousand (like anyone else), lying on the great El Paso mountain pass. Here I lie, with my million peers, in the endless winds of the walkable pass between Cerro Amistad and Cerro Blanco Sur, the two mountains that shadow me at the north and south end of the pass. This means that from here on you´d have a perfect view on both sunrise in the east and sunset in the west: But that´s the same for every rock in the world. Isn´t it? My views are just a little better than any other, because of the magnificent landscapes. To the east, I look into the valley full of colours. The trees lose their green one by one this season and the enormous rock formations form a delight for me and the people who cross this pass. There, just around the corner I see a lot of people stop to see the Los Perros glacier. On the other side of the pass, to the west, it gets even better: There I look down over millions of tons of slowly moving forward ice; the giganteous Glacier Grey with another mountain range behind it. You can imagine the looks of it, anytime of the day. It´s begin April now, and I´m ready to behold yet another amazing sunset when I hear something coming from behind. Wait, what? Is that a backpacker? At the pass at sunset? But that´s forbidden!! He comes up walking vigorously and seems like he has had a long day. Why didn´t he just stay at the Campsite Los Perros, like everybody else? Must be one of those adventure geeks, who think walking with everybody else during the day isn’t just good enough. But wait: what´s that around is ankle? And why does it seem like he is going to stop here? He´s unpacking his tent! I should warn the park rangers because this is against all laws. Later I figured that he sprained his ankle on the way up (or he didn´t) and that was why he came up so late. Since he didn´t want to go on over to the other side, which is very steep and a dangerous path in the dark, let alone with a sprained ankle, he decided to camp at the pass overnight. Well, that must have fetched him one of the most breathtaking pictures, as well as from dusk and down. He was incredibly lucky by the way, because the wind lay low that night. He could be flying around the high Andes Mountains by now if the wind had wanted that. I don´t think he slept well that night, in his tiny little green tent, since he came out twice to look at the stars, milky way and the moon, and to pee. I guess the whole vastness of the view of such a pass made such a deep impression that he´d felt to little and too lonely to actually fall asleep.. Or it might have just as well been the cold, I don´t know. Anyway, he packed up next morning really early and continued his journey, and I just go on lying around here in the endless winds with the beautiful endless views. But the question still keeps running through my mind… Did he really have that sprained ankle or was It just an excuse to stay up the pass overnight?

12. I am an Austral beer, brewed in Punta Arenas, and exported to the National Park Torres del Paine, the Refugio Paine Grande, to be correct. I am standing here in the fridge, waiting to be sold for a mere 2000 Chilean Pesos, which is about 4 usd. I see a lot of people walking in at this little store from the refugio, look at me, and think: ´´Hmmmm, should I, or should I not have a beer tonight? I am after all in the wilderness survivaling and trekking´´ and then that´s the point I make myself extra attractive and let a little drop of condensation run down my can. But all that wasn´t necessary with this guy that came the other day: As soon as he saw me, he didn´t hesitate for a split second and took me and my brother out of the fridge and straight to the cooking area, where he combined me with some salted peanuts. I felt genuinely well drunk; this guy looked exhausted and ready for a beer. I heard him talk about a 26 km walk that day, up and down the Campamento Brittanico, to some other trekkers, and that he´d done it without his backpack: He kept his tent on this campground for the day. Nice walk, that part of the track is crowded but very outspoken. I know, because one of the water molecules in my can actually flowed down that river not too long ago. In any case, I am very sure this young lad had a good night of sleep that night and was happy to stretch his tiresome legs.

13. I am an army Pick-up truck, driving down from the national park TdP to Puerto Natales. The soldiers in me have just fixed some big radio satellites the last couple of days and now make their way back to Natales. Just before we exit the park, my driver makes me stop at the side of a road, where a lonely little backpacker is holding his thumb up. He looks like he could use a shower and all his clothes with him. But he´s smiling constantly and seems like a person who had had a great mind-blowing time in the park. The people in me and he talk some words in Spanish and then he heaps his backpack over in the trunk, with himself after it. I see him grinning as he greets to the two man that are driving in the army truck behind him. Officially, people from the army are not allowed to take hitchhikers with them, let alone in the open back of a pickup truck, but in the end this lucky guy doesn’t only get taking to the exit of the park, but almost al the way to the entrance of the park. This grants him the opportunity to take some nice pictures at the far end of the park: The location tourists normally soak away into their bus seats. When we drive away at the city entrance after a heartily goodbye I can see, from the utmost point of my rearview mirror, that he get´s another hitch within the minute to where he has to go in town. I drive on.