(Puts on big sunglasses)
Laughing like children
Living like llamas
Rolling like thunder
Under the covers.
(Although, after opening the window and vigorously fanning with my towel Maho came to and I was able to apologise profusely for my indiscretion.)
Today we _walked_ to a glacier. No horses involved except to be seen at long range.
I still threw rocks at them though.
Well, actually Maho was still feeling poorly from some random bug, so she didn´t quite make it to the glacier. This allowed me to explore it in an overtly manly fashion.
This was a different glacier to the horsey one. There was buttloads more vegetation for a start. We started off climbing fairly briskly up onto the ridge. When the ridge levelled off after an hour we were on a high level valley. Birds, birds, bees, wasps, butteflies, many flowers. Also an icecold bog that Maho found all by herself.
There were countless lizards.
"I´ve seen 37 lizards!" exclaimed Maho.
She´s allergic to bees, you know..
"38!"
We got to the lake which had a free campsite and two dead mice. The lake was a fair size and refreshingly cool when I dunked my head into it. I disturbed a bunch of waterboatmen and a shrimplike bug thingy.
Maho found a frog. A short while later we saw another two.
They simply have to be remnant fauna from before the mountains were fully raised. There is no way that waterboatmen, let along frogs, could have crossed the intervening dessert landscape, climbed the scree slopes and then jumped into the lake. The streams are also very swift and steep.
I soldiered on intrepidly, having divy-ed up the water so Maho wouldn´t die on the way back.
The path became less firm, and soil gave way to sharply broken rock. On my left I saw a bridgelike rock carve by wind or water. Then I arrived at the glacier.
It sat there like a fractured plug between two peaks. There was a sloping icefield below it and then a scree slop all the way down to where I was.
I had a second look and discovered the scree slope sat ontop of ice!
There were two tunnels into the ice, one with a small stream flowing from it, the other the main river. I didn´t have a torch but I gamely went into the one that wouldn´t sweep me to my death. I only had to stoop a little.
But then again, I am Batman.
On the way back I was buzzed by black and white humming birds. And then saw a few more species of birds I didn´t encounter on the way up.
I checked out that rock bridge. It was ice too.
I stopped in at the parks office at the start of the trail and had a pretty good conversation in Spanglish with the guide there. He was very enthusiastic and showed me from where the glacier had retreated twenty years before. That explained the isolated ice bridge. We discussed the fauna and compared it to the Australian stuff. It was quite useful knowing some of the Latin names.
All lizards are called íguana´in Chile even if they would be skinks or dragons in Australia.
One looked familiar.
"Varanid." he said.
"Ah! In Australia tengo (we have) muy grande (very big) ones called Goanna."
He knew about goannas. He showed me some other posters when I asked him about the rana we had seen.
"Bufo" he said and pointed at the toad whose name I can´t remember now.
Anyway, it was totally cool, I gave it 9 out of 10.
Back at the Naughty Boys we met a Spanish couple who were doing six months at the University of Santiago. She was hot.
We played cards, spoke Spanglish and drank beer.
I was able to tell Artur to take a torch with him when he went to the glacier the next morning.
Baños Morales is a sleepy town that runs on generators. Even then they only come on for short periods. On the first night Carlo gave us a lighted candle. I eventually got our misshappen door to shut, where upon Maho dropped the candle and extinguished it.
"Carlo! How do you say ´spazmo´in Spanish?"
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Baños Morales - Pictures part2
In the last post I mentioned how green the slopes were on the way to the second glacier.We walked up a very dry slope to reach a ridge populated by lizards and short shrubs. After walking for another hour we reached a lush high valley.
I turned to Maho "Rohan!"
She didn´t get the reference, but my Viggo impression was flawless.
She then went on to find a freezing cold bog all by herself. She´s grimacing in this shot because melt water has just flowed into her shoes. Continuing with the whole Rohan feel there actually were horses pasturing here.
See? More vegetation.
See? More vegetation.
Baños Morales - Photos. yes, Pip, Glaciers
The pretty little mountain village of Baños Morales. Most of the town had shut for the season, so we relocated to Los Chicos Malos. After season, Carlo and Jeanette run this Cabañas and meal stop for the benefit of the calcium carbonate mine across the river. The mine runs 24hours a day with two shifts of fifty men. The mine shuts for five months in winter, when it gets covered by up to nine metres of snow. It is, after all, at the base of some extremely steep and tall peaks. The village got more than three metres of snow last winter. A friendly explosives engineer called Emilio was petitioned by Jeanette to give us a lift back to STGO. We talked quite a lot about mining and life in general on the way back. He was quite happy to practise his English. He good-heartedly complained about being married for four months, and explained how he still raced trailbikes. He has a good friend from Australia who stayed with him last year. The Aussie, whose name I forget, is a trailbiking commando who lives in Sydney.
The main street of Baños Morales. It has a crystal clear stream burbling beside it that meets the main river outside the town.
Mind you, the main street also has a small stream running down it...
The glacier from the horse ride. The lake is brown due to suspended sediment ground out by the glacier. The slopes for the entire ride were as desolate as in this photo - quite in contrast to the abundant vegetation on the slopes on the way to the second glacier.
Dramatic evidence of tectonic deformation: vertical stratigraphy. Many of the refugios in town have a small collection of fossils on display for interest sakes. I also saw four isolated houses on the road in that were advertising fossils for sale. They were mostly amonites or amnomites, but also some bivalves. Anomites?
The glacier from the horse ride. The lake is brown due to suspended sediment ground out by the glacier. The slopes for the entire ride were as desolate as in this photo - quite in contrast to the abundant vegetation on the slopes on the way to the second glacier.
Dramatic evidence of tectonic deformation: vertical stratigraphy. Many of the refugios in town have a small collection of fossils on display for interest sakes. I also saw four isolated houses on the road in that were advertising fossils for sale. They were mostly amonites or amnomites, but also some bivalves. Anomites?
The white at the bottom of the slope is most of the calcium calcite mine.
Talking to the guide in the office, twenty years ago all this ground was covered by the glacier. You can see the valley floor is a jumble of dropped rock from the melt, with furrows cut by vast volumes of water and, presumably, morains. I took this photo of what I thought was a water carved stone bridge on the way to the glacier. You can make it out by the shadow.
After seeing the glacier I went back to the "stone bridge" and found it was an ice bridge - the last remnant of the glacier´s former glory. This isolated piece would have been about one kilometre from the foot of the glacier. The span is five metres wide.
The second glacier. You can make out the tall ice plug sitting above the sloping icefield. At the bottom right you can make out the two ice tunnels. I went up the left one (you can only just make it out in this shot). You can see why I was surprised to find that all that rock was sitting on ice.
The ice tunnel under the glacier. The whole inside was scalloped as in the photo of the isolated bridge. The floor is dropped stone. You can make out the small stream. Where I´m standing the tunnel is about five foot six, but I have no idea how long the tunnel is navigable. The Morales of the story (!): bring a torch when you visit glaciers.
Talking to the guide in the office, twenty years ago all this ground was covered by the glacier. You can see the valley floor is a jumble of dropped rock from the melt, with furrows cut by vast volumes of water and, presumably, morains. I took this photo of what I thought was a water carved stone bridge on the way to the glacier. You can make it out by the shadow.
After seeing the glacier I went back to the "stone bridge" and found it was an ice bridge - the last remnant of the glacier´s former glory. This isolated piece would have been about one kilometre from the foot of the glacier. The span is five metres wide.
The second glacier. You can make out the tall ice plug sitting above the sloping icefield. At the bottom right you can make out the two ice tunnels. I went up the left one (you can only just make it out in this shot). You can see why I was surprised to find that all that rock was sitting on ice.
The ice tunnel under the glacier. The whole inside was scalloped as in the photo of the isolated bridge. The floor is dropped stone. You can make out the small stream. Where I´m standing the tunnel is about five foot six, but I have no idea how long the tunnel is navigable. The Morales of the story (!): bring a torch when you visit glaciers.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Chile Baños Morales description therein etc my eyes
After one night in Baño Morales (a night of pain and cursing Maho for her girlish and drippy love of all things horsey), the proprietress needed to go to Santiago, thus we had to find an"otre refugio". This took a while to communicate. bless her socks she went and grabbed Carlo from up the road and persuaded him to accept us at his better establishment at her pricing.
We packed up and went with Carlo to "Los Chicos Malos" The Naughty Boys, and met his wife Jeanette. They discussed our room: matrimonial.
I was about to protest, as I had at the other place when we were paying.
"In Chile, the men always pay."
"She is not girlfriend. We friends." I replied, then pointing at Maho "Individuale!" To much laughter.
Aha, there was a double bed and single bunks. As a bonus it was my turn for the double.
Baños Morales is a Summer weekend retreat village 93kms from Santiago. The surrounding peaks of the Andean foothills are 3ks high or so. half the houses are weekenders, and thus locked up. Most of the rest are refugios or cabanas or other accommodation.
Luckily we got that horse ride in. I knew it was the end of the season, but I didn´t realise the woman had dropped her price from $50K each to $40K for both because we would be their LAST customer for the season.
That´s why the proprietress was going back to Santiago.
And that also explains why everyone had run out of icecream.
I worked out that any room with a double bed was called a matrinomial. Our matrimonial room had a double, two single bunks and a trundle single.
I don´t think there´d be much matrimonial activity in such a room.
Although, maybe that explains the six hour horse rides.
Bye, kids!
Anyway, I better get back to the room before Maho realises I´m wearing her bikini.
We packed up and went with Carlo to "Los Chicos Malos" The Naughty Boys, and met his wife Jeanette. They discussed our room: matrimonial.
I was about to protest, as I had at the other place when we were paying.
"In Chile, the men always pay."
"She is not girlfriend. We friends." I replied, then pointing at Maho "Individuale!" To much laughter.
Aha, there was a double bed and single bunks. As a bonus it was my turn for the double.
Baños Morales is a Summer weekend retreat village 93kms from Santiago. The surrounding peaks of the Andean foothills are 3ks high or so. half the houses are weekenders, and thus locked up. Most of the rest are refugios or cabanas or other accommodation.
Luckily we got that horse ride in. I knew it was the end of the season, but I didn´t realise the woman had dropped her price from $50K each to $40K for both because we would be their LAST customer for the season.
That´s why the proprietress was going back to Santiago.
And that also explains why everyone had run out of icecream.
I worked out that any room with a double bed was called a matrinomial. Our matrimonial room had a double, two single bunks and a trundle single.
I don´t think there´d be much matrimonial activity in such a room.
Although, maybe that explains the six hour horse rides.
Bye, kids!
Anyway, I better get back to the room before Maho realises I´m wearing her bikini.
Chile. Baños Morales
What´s the best thing to do after a three hour bus ride into the Andean foothills?
That´s right: a six hour horse ride! Especially when you´ve never ridden a horse before.
(Harry parousing a menu at a restuarant called ¨Life Experience¨)
Waiter: Good morning, sir. What would you like?
Harry: Well, the horse looks good. I´ve never had that before.
W: How would you like that? An hour of gentle riding or a gruelling six hours?
H: Um, the gruel, I think.
W: It´s ¨gruelling¨.
H: Fair enough.
W: And how would you like your testicles?
H: What do you offer?
W: We have lift-and-separate or repeatedly-squashed.
H: Repeatedly squashed.
W: An excellent choice, sir. See you in six hours.
The landscape was scarecly vegetated steep scree slope (say that five times fast) with a white river tumbling in the valley. All the water was melt water from the galcier we ended up at. It was a small sized glacier, but still very impressive. I´m not about to argue with the size of my first glacier. It probably wasn´t all that impressed with me, surely having seen Australians before. If it had a glacial lake of soothing ointments, that really would have been something.
My thighs. My thighs, I tell you.
Look, I just don´t get horse riding, ok. Genuinely, I would much rather walk. Yes, for six hours. I only vaguely knew what I was doing, and the horses (particularly mine, which had to be abandoned after two hours) were tired and hence hard to control. Fernando, the fifteen year old cowboy, effectively herded Maho and I up the path, which was a bit embarrassing really. And I was so physically uncomfortable that when we finally got within sight of the village I jumped off with a petulant cry of ¨That´s me done!¨
So, fuck horse.
And the horses they rode in on.
That´s right: a six hour horse ride! Especially when you´ve never ridden a horse before.
(Harry parousing a menu at a restuarant called ¨Life Experience¨)
Waiter: Good morning, sir. What would you like?
Harry: Well, the horse looks good. I´ve never had that before.
W: How would you like that? An hour of gentle riding or a gruelling six hours?
H: Um, the gruel, I think.
W: It´s ¨gruelling¨.
H: Fair enough.
W: And how would you like your testicles?
H: What do you offer?
W: We have lift-and-separate or repeatedly-squashed.
H: Repeatedly squashed.
W: An excellent choice, sir. See you in six hours.
The landscape was scarecly vegetated steep scree slope (say that five times fast) with a white river tumbling in the valley. All the water was melt water from the galcier we ended up at. It was a small sized glacier, but still very impressive. I´m not about to argue with the size of my first glacier. It probably wasn´t all that impressed with me, surely having seen Australians before. If it had a glacial lake of soothing ointments, that really would have been something.
My thighs. My thighs, I tell you.
Look, I just don´t get horse riding, ok. Genuinely, I would much rather walk. Yes, for six hours. I only vaguely knew what I was doing, and the horses (particularly mine, which had to be abandoned after two hours) were tired and hence hard to control. Fernando, the fifteen year old cowboy, effectively herded Maho and I up the path, which was a bit embarrassing really. And I was so physically uncomfortable that when we finally got within sight of the village I jumped off with a petulant cry of ¨That´s me done!¨
So, fuck horse.
And the horses they rode in on.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Missing Pieces #1
England: Slobro met me at Heathrow at the improbable hour of stupid o´clock. He told me that our Aunt couldn´t put us up for two days as she was ill. So instead of heading west to Dorset we headed North to Suffolk, in the mighty Peugot 407 6 cylinder turbo diesel. I offered to take first driving shift as it was the sensible option, (1) Slobro would be all confused being from wrong-side of the road Canada, (2) I really really really wanted to drive that car right away.
So, trusting in the kindness of friends (whom we hadn´t called yet) we vroomed off north stalling 18times.
In Colchester we had a snack, a walk around the castle, and got Pip´n´Susan´s phone number from teh email.
"Hello Pip, it´s Harry from Australia."
"Hallo!"
"I was wondering...."
He gave us directions to Stowmarket, a bit north of Ipswich with instructions to call once we got there.
We had a drive and did some brotherly catching up, and got to Stowmarket.
No worries. Except that we didn´t have any more small change.
Slobro trooped off to a bakery.
"Eat this," he instructed. It looked horrible.
If you dropped it, someone would compare a really ugly girl´s face to it.
"What is it?"
"It´s an Eccles cake. haha!" (joke due to SCA name of Harry of Eccles)
We called Pip and were able to convey bugger all appart from our location before we were cut off. I didn´t know if he was going to come and meet us, or not. So we waited.
Evidently we had to call him again.
Through tears of laughter Slobro announced there was no option but to buy me another Eccles cake.
A two pound conversation later and we had half the directions before being cut off. I have nothing to offer by laughter, tears and Eccles cakes.
Then, the public phone rang. It was probably someone from the phone company wondering what was so funny.
No! It was Pip using the wonder of technology.
We only got lost once.
Anyway, Suffolk is a beautiful part of the world.
Photo´s are at Pip´n´Susan´s website here
Thorpeness is a gorgeous seaside heath which is so pristine and remote that they put a nuclear power station on it. The pubs and villages are all beautiful, and it Pip is an awesome guide.
Considering that in my week in England I didn´t expect to see them, it was simply a fantastic time.
Toronto: (puts on Joanie Mitchell hairstyle)
They took all the shoes and put ém in a shoe museum.
And charged everyone eight dollars Canadian to see ém.
(Interestingly, that week she´d been inducted into the Canadian hall of fame.)
My flight to Halifax was delayed, so we took it as a sign from god that we really should go to the Bata Shoe Museum. BigRob, Lyen, boyfriend Chris and I spent about 2 hours there. I was very impressed. It was the museum with the best display to information ratio I found in Canada. The other museums always left me wanting more info.
The bottom floor is a history of shoes and it was fascinating.
Of particular note was an Egyptian story from 2000BC of a rich man who had servants and slaves. The daughter of one of his slaves was so beautiful and graceful that he gave her a pair of ornate gold sandles. The daughters of one of his servants were extremely jealous that someone socially inferior to them should be so favoured, and hated her guts. Pharoah came to town and all non-slaves went to a grand banquet/celebration. Horus, in the form of a hawk, fly through a window of the rich man´s house, picked up one of the gold sandles of the slave girl and fly to the banquet where he dropped it in Pharoah´s lap. Understanding that such a fine sandal meant it was owned by the best of women Pharoah stood up and announced he would marry the owner. A search ensued and the slavegirl marries the Pharoah.
Toronto2:
"Life is not a problem to be solved.
It is a mystery to be lived.
And it takes courage to make life a celebration,
a dance."
I found this randomly on a white board the day Aveline died.
So, trusting in the kindness of friends (whom we hadn´t called yet) we vroomed off north stalling 18times.
In Colchester we had a snack, a walk around the castle, and got Pip´n´Susan´s phone number from teh email.
"Hello Pip, it´s Harry from Australia."
"Hallo!"
"I was wondering...."
He gave us directions to Stowmarket, a bit north of Ipswich with instructions to call once we got there.
We had a drive and did some brotherly catching up, and got to Stowmarket.
No worries. Except that we didn´t have any more small change.
Slobro trooped off to a bakery.
"Eat this," he instructed. It looked horrible.
If you dropped it, someone would compare a really ugly girl´s face to it.
"What is it?"
"It´s an Eccles cake. haha!" (joke due to SCA name of Harry of Eccles)
We called Pip and were able to convey bugger all appart from our location before we were cut off. I didn´t know if he was going to come and meet us, or not. So we waited.
Evidently we had to call him again.
Through tears of laughter Slobro announced there was no option but to buy me another Eccles cake.
A two pound conversation later and we had half the directions before being cut off. I have nothing to offer by laughter, tears and Eccles cakes.
Then, the public phone rang. It was probably someone from the phone company wondering what was so funny.
No! It was Pip using the wonder of technology.
We only got lost once.
Anyway, Suffolk is a beautiful part of the world.
Photo´s are at Pip´n´Susan´s website here
Thorpeness is a gorgeous seaside heath which is so pristine and remote that they put a nuclear power station on it. The pubs and villages are all beautiful, and it Pip is an awesome guide.
Considering that in my week in England I didn´t expect to see them, it was simply a fantastic time.
Toronto: (puts on Joanie Mitchell hairstyle)
They took all the shoes and put ém in a shoe museum.
And charged everyone eight dollars Canadian to see ém.
(Interestingly, that week she´d been inducted into the Canadian hall of fame.)
My flight to Halifax was delayed, so we took it as a sign from god that we really should go to the Bata Shoe Museum. BigRob, Lyen, boyfriend Chris and I spent about 2 hours there. I was very impressed. It was the museum with the best display to information ratio I found in Canada. The other museums always left me wanting more info.
The bottom floor is a history of shoes and it was fascinating.
Of particular note was an Egyptian story from 2000BC of a rich man who had servants and slaves. The daughter of one of his slaves was so beautiful and graceful that he gave her a pair of ornate gold sandles. The daughters of one of his servants were extremely jealous that someone socially inferior to them should be so favoured, and hated her guts. Pharoah came to town and all non-slaves went to a grand banquet/celebration. Horus, in the form of a hawk, fly through a window of the rich man´s house, picked up one of the gold sandles of the slave girl and fly to the banquet where he dropped it in Pharoah´s lap. Understanding that such a fine sandal meant it was owned by the best of women Pharoah stood up and announced he would marry the owner. A search ensued and the slavegirl marries the Pharoah.
Toronto2:
"Life is not a problem to be solved.
It is a mystery to be lived.
And it takes courage to make life a celebration,
a dance."
I found this randomly on a white board the day Aveline died.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Colon part 2 or 3
It´s damned inconvenient when you return from your dawn wildlife tour and a bunch of workmen have dug up the road directly in front of your hotel.
The manager shook his head ruefully at me. Hey, I feel for you buddy. It must suck to have your business interrupted by douchebags.
His reply was a trifle heated and involved lots of finger poking at me. I don´t speak Spanish so I have no idea what he was talking about.
I returned to the lobby five minutes later, phrase book in hand, to tell him "El banyo es no funcional."
There was swearing from out the front directed at the manager. He then looked at me. I dunno what he expected me to do about it. He then directed an appeal to God. I heard the words "stupido turismo".
I guess his xbox driving game is broken as well as my toilet.
But anyway, the pre-dawn start wildlife excursion was excellent. It was so good that it deserves a post of its own.
This is a post of its own.
Did you just write on my blog? Did you just write on my blog? Come on! Did you just write on my blog?
....I AM your blog.
I don´t care. Did you just write on my blog?
Yes, I wrote on your blog. And I am your blog.
Okay, just so long as we sorted that out.
The manager shook his head ruefully at me. Hey, I feel for you buddy. It must suck to have your business interrupted by douchebags.
His reply was a trifle heated and involved lots of finger poking at me. I don´t speak Spanish so I have no idea what he was talking about.
I returned to the lobby five minutes later, phrase book in hand, to tell him "El banyo es no funcional."
There was swearing from out the front directed at the manager. He then looked at me. I dunno what he expected me to do about it. He then directed an appeal to God. I heard the words "stupido turismo".
I guess his xbox driving game is broken as well as my toilet.
But anyway, the pre-dawn start wildlife excursion was excellent. It was so good that it deserves a post of its own.
This is a post of its own.
Did you just write on my blog? Did you just write on my blog? Come on! Did you just write on my blog?
....I AM your blog.
I don´t care. Did you just write on my blog?
Yes, I wrote on your blog. And I am your blog.
Okay, just so long as we sorted that out.
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