Derek's Travels

Barceló Maya Resort and Clearing Weather

2011-11-01T23:47:00.011-04:00

The true reason for this trip down to Mexico was my brother's wedding. Though I don't have any pictures of his actual wedding to Victoria, but those may be coming soon...

(Breakfast burritos, fried plantains and lots of salsa!)

(Gideon, my four month old nephew. And yes, he's big for his age. You have a problem with that?)

(Tegan, my two and a half year old niece.)

(Finally, the sun came out, the water cleared, and we had a beautiful beach waiting for the beach wedding on Saturday.)

(In the mini golf course, Tegan stands tall atop some Mayan ruins, with a bit of help from Craig.)

(Nice water, nice beach, etc.)

(In the middle of these palms trees is a nice sandy spot where we had the wedding, overlooking the beautiful water and a long, arcing bay. Craig and Victoria were a bit worried with the weather forecast, but everything turned out wonderfully.)

(Clear water.)

(Our last night at the resort before heading back on Halloween day.)

Barceló Maya Resort and Hurricane Rina

2011-11-01T23:44:00.004-04:00

(Though it was rainy and a bit windy, Hurricane Rina didn't have TOO much of an affect on us, though we were certainly worried, since my brother, Craig, had his wedding two days after the hurricane hit.)

(Mom, Jess and Baby Gideon along the nice wide beach at the resort where the wedding would be held, the Barceló Maya, situated about halfway between Playa Del Carmen and Tulum - about an hour and a half South of Cancun.)

(Craig, on the left, and me, noticing that it was eerily calm before the storm...Yes, we're twins. No, we've never switched places on our teachers.)

(Roger, Tegan, Jess and Gideon roaming the beach before the rains. We played a nice soccer match in the pouring rain just before the hurricane hit and locked down the hotel one evening.)

(Hurricane Rina.)

(Roger has a patented ninja kick, and Craig can never quite get it right, those his is also not bad.)

(More hurricanes and ninja kicks. I think Roger must've been floating backwards in this one.)

(All you can eat buffet was one of the highlights of the resort. I had dozens of breakfast burritos and tacos for lunch.)

(Finally, after the hurricane, the sun started to peak through the dark skies.)

(The hurricane "hit" on Thursday, though it was never all that bad, Friday was ok, and Saturday, the day of the wedding, turned out to be really nice.)

Izamal, a hint of Mérida and back to Tulum

2011-11-01T23:40:00.006-04:00

(A random little church in a random Mayan town. I loved passing through these little villages.)

(Entering the convent at Izamal. Known as the Yellow City, this is a beautiful little village of about 15,000 people, with the center covered with yellow buildings and cobblestone streets.)

(Pope John Paul II visited back in 1993, hence the statue and the proclivity of everyone in the town to tell you all about it. The people there were very nice, and I actually stumbled upon a street party and carnival that night in honor of our of the saints from a local town. It had a live band, carnival rides, fried food stands, games for kids, etc.)

(The convent sits right in the center of town, actually built on top of an ancient Mayan temple, in a very obvious effort to promote Catholicism over the prevailing beliefs of the time.)

(The myriad arches of the convent of Izamal are quite impressive, enclosing a grassy square about the size of two football fields, fronted by the facade of the church.)

(An arch leading to the center of town, on the backside of the convent.)

(Another streetscene in Izamal.)

(Burritas! They were filled with chicken, and the green salsa on top was great...and spicy.)

(The Yellow City. Unfortunately, I didn't have a lot of time to explore the town, but I was very impressed with what I did see.)

(A cheaper version of salbutes, with some sort of ground meat. I'm not exactly sure what it was, and it's possible that I might not want to know.)

(One of the municipal buildings in the central square of Mérida. I was just back in Mérida for about an hour to drop off the car and take the bus across to Tulum, heading right for Hurricane Rina that was on a path to hit that Caribbean coast the next morning. Smart.)

(I made it to Tulum, as did a lot of rain, so I mostly walked up and down the main street in between the storms and got some great food at a little house off the main road.)

(Many of the businesses were boarding up their windows for the impending hurricane. Fortunately, the hurricane was downgraded to a tropical storm just as it was making landfall, and it wasn't as bad as expected.)

(Chilaquiles - basically a soggy, more Mexican version of nachos. Really good.)

Cenotes of Cuzamá - Chelentún, Chacsinic-Ché, and Bolonchojool

2011-11-01T23:33:00.009-04:00

The tiny town of Cuzamá is the gateway to three of the more impressive cenotes in the Yucatán. Cenotes are basically sinkholes/underground caves filled with groundwater. The area has no rivers, so all the water seeps through the limestone rocks and finds its way into these clear blue pools. This site has a tiny railroad track connecting the three cenotes, pulling you on a small cart drawn by a horse.

(We took the cart about 20 minutes down the tracks to the first cenote. At each stop, the driver gives you about a half hour to go swimming and take in the beautiful serenity.)

(The hot sun beats down as you glide along, making your way to the caves.)

(The entrance to the first cenote - Chelentún. This one is partially open to the surface, with a set of steep stairs heading down into the water.)

(Apart from my first five minutes with two other Americans, I had the place again to myself, a recurring theme for this trip. I swam around in the stunning blue water, though I did manage to scare myself a bit when thinking about what prehistoric creatures could be lurking in a remote place like this.)

(The water color here is unbelievable.)

(Looking back towards the mouth of the cave and entrance to Chelentún.)

(One final shot of Chelentún before moving on to the next cenote.)

(The entrance to this darker cenote was a little tight, just wide enough to climb down the long, narrow ladder with my backpack brushing the rock wall as I made my way in to Bolonchojool.)

(One of the Spanish tourists hanging out in beautiful Bolonchojool. Two small openings in the top of the cave let in just a bit of light on the blue water. Later, I swam out to the middle of this and was able to barely reach the hanging roots coming all the way down from the ceiling about 100 feet above.)

(Once the other swimmers left, the water was still, and the place was even more amazing. I had been to this set of three cenotes back in 2007, though I decided to do a bit more swimming this time, which is impressive to anyone who knows my attitude towards swimming.)

(Here's my driver, turning the cart around and getting ready to take me down to the final cenote.)

(Another very steep set of stairs requiring you to pass under a rock entrance only about 4.5 feet high leads you down to Chacsinic-Ché.)

(Here you can see the stairs leading out of Chacsinic-Ché. If you look very closely, you can see a platform near the bottom right of the picture that is a diving platform into the pristine water below. I actually made two jumps off here, though it turned out to be a lot higher than I thought upon first inspection.)

(Again, roots from the trees on the surface come down all the way to the water level, eventually turning into stalactites as they calcify.)

(This was probably the deepest of the cenotes. The clear blue water seems to go down forever, and a lot of the cenotes in the area are actually connected, allowing scuba divers to connect between a few of them.)

(A partial view of the entrance to Chacsinic-Ché.)

(A sign on the walls of the town warning against Dengue Fever.)

Campeche and Mayapán

2011-11-01T23:28:00.010-04:00

Campeche city, the capital of Campeche state, is a nice looking colonial city right on the Gulf coast, with its beautiful city center designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Leaving Campeche, I stopped the next morning at the ruins of Mayapán, another lesser known temple site that had some incredible structures.

(The main square in the center of Campeche.)

(Another side of the main square. If you're familiar with geometry, you'll realize that squares have four sides, so you'll just have to imagine the other two sides. If you're not familiar with geometry, you should really still know that.)

(Random street tacos covered in avocado. Good, messy and cheap. Exactly what you'd expect from street food.)

(Part of the city walls protecting Campeche. This was a popular stop for pirates, so the city had to try to protect itself.)

(Nice tilework on one of the downtown churches in Campeche.)

(Pastel colors and cobblestone streets always make for a pleasing walking experience.)

(Some of the many columns in the city center. Apparently the Spanish colonists really liked them.)

(Church bells.)

(Chicken fajitas in another tiny Mayan town square on the way out of Campeche state. This was actually the first or second time I've ever been given chips with a meal in Mexico.)

(The beautiful ruins of Mayapán. Anyone familiar with Chichén Itzá may recognize some of this, as some of the temples here are replicas of those at the more famous site.)

(Again, I was the only person at the site for a couple of hours, along with one of the workers mowing the grass on the edge of the entranceway. This was taken using my self timer and tripod.)

(During its heyday, this site was actually one of the more important Mayan strongholds, though it has not become as famous for tourists as many of the other spots these days.)

(I spent about an hour daydreaming, looking at the clouds, in the shade under the tree here, staring up the steep steps of the huge temple above. Finding untouristed temples is one of my favorite things and having the chance to lay out on the grass with puffy white clouds passing by the blue sky makes for a pretty perfect day in my mind.)

(And I even found a tarantula in the grass, though luckily this wasn't near where I was laying. This one was probably about the size of my palm. There were also quite a few iguanas wandering around the site, sneaking away into their holes in the rocky temples when they heard me coming.)

(Be impressed with this photo. I set the timer to 30 seconds (the max) and sprinted across the field and up the very steep steps to make it in time for the shot.)

(I also spent about an hour sitting on top of the temple, surveying the beauty below, imagining what this city must've been almost 1,500 years ago. Underneath the thatched hut below are some engravings and murals that are now protected from the sun.)

Edzná and Hacienda Uayamón

2011-11-01T23:21:00.008-04:00

(Getting closer to the Gulf coast and the capital of Campeche, I stopped off at Edzná ruins, and again had the entire place to myself for most of the 3 hours I spent there.)

(While sitting atop one of the temples, a few vultures kept circling overhead and landing on the tops of the ruins, trying to show me who was boss. It was a bit of a surreal experience because in some of these temples the local animals were worshiped as gods.)

(Me, Edzná and the beautiful grassy square in front of the temple. Many of the sites have nice grassy patches cleared out around the temples before falling back into the jungle behind them.)

(That tiny group of three people was the only interruption to my solitude at the temple. This was another site that would be quite popular if it were closer to a main town, but its isolation keeps it quiet and magical.)

(The main temple at Edzná. Unfortunately, you can no longer climb this temple...well, you might be able to since nobody is really around, but I decided to follow the rules here.)

(I had originally just planned a quick stop at Edzná, but it was such a beautiful, peaceful place that I ended up staying for about 3 hours before finally convincing myself to keep moving.)

(Making my way to Campeche city (not the state), I saw a sign for Hacienda Uayamón. I had seen a picture of the pool of this hotel in some tourist brochure, and I had no idea where it was, but luck brought me to it, and I knew I had to stop.)

(This incredible pool with a few lounge chairs and a hammock over the water in the back corner was built inside the middle of an old plantation building, leaving a few old columns intact. I decided to take a quick break on one of the chairs.)

(A few stunning flowers were floating outside the pool in a bit of a zen garden.)

(Once an old plantation, Hacienda Uayamón has been partially restored and cleaned up into a boutique type hotel with 12 rooms. Although it's expensive, the atmosphere is unbelievable, set in these semi-decaying ruins in the jungle.)

(This is literally the entrance to two of the rooms (one to the right, one to the left). The hotel only has 12 rooms, and each of them seem to be equally impressive.)

(An old, semi-restored chapel on the site. The only problem with this hotel is that it's in the middle of nowhere, so you have to be content just hanging out and relaxing on the beautiful, hot, steamy property. Fortunately, there is a good bit of shade there.)

(A massive tree and a few chairs sit at the entrance to the hotel. I spoke to a few workers who let me wander around the place even though I wasn't staying there. I was even offered a margarita by one of the workers delivering room service, but it clearly wasn't for me, so I politely declined.)

Ruta Puuc - Kabah and Labná

2011-11-01T23:17:00.005-04:00

Further along the Ruta Puuc, there are plenty more small temples to see, and I visited two of the sites, as well as passing through small villages and deserted roads almost covered in vegetation.

(A typical, small Mayan town more or less in the middle of nowhere in the Yucatán peninsula.)

(Poc chuc, a very traditional Mayan meal in the area. Basically seasoned pork with pepper, onions, and lime juice, to be wrapped up in tortillas and eaten like tacos.)

(The main road down the Ruta Puuc. I saw very few cars and lots and lots of lush, green vegetation. At first I thought some of the signs painted on the road were speed limits (140 km), but it was actually pretty hard to get going that fast on the narrow, hilly roads, so I later realized it was actually just a mileage marker, since signs on the side of the road get quickly overgrown.)

(One of the partially restored ruins of Labná. A nice site, and I was only one of three people there, so that always adds to the drama.)

(The other main piece of Labná. Not as expansive as some other ruins, but that's part of the interest in exploring it on your own.)

(Some beautiful ruins at Kabah, just before the gate closed for the day at 5 pm. Again, I was literally the only person at the site, so I had it entirely to myself.)

(A second structure is adorned with hundreds of masks representing the gods along the front wall, often with long, protruding noses.)

(If you look very closely, you can see all of the masks etched in this wall.)

(One more view of Kabah just before leaving and letting the gate guard go home for the night. Despite being about to close, he encouraged me to take my time and walk around all I wanted, since I think he actually lived in the adjoining house. The people I met in this area were incredibly nice and hospitable.)

(More salbutes. It's a very common meal in the area, and it's amazing, so I had this for a couple of my meals.)

Ruta Puuc - Uxmal Temple

2011-11-01T23:09:00.006-04:00

The Ruta Puuc is a lesser-known trail of roads passing through little, old Mayan villages and a few different sets of ruins. With three days in a rental car, I was able to see quite a bit of this area.

(The Magician's Temple at Uxmal. No, I'm not the magician.)

(The backside of the aforementioned temple, surrounded by an elegant courtyard.)

(Faces of the Gods line the stair going up the extremely steep temple.)

(Another view of one of my favorite temples.)

(Adjacent to the temple is this massive courtyard, known as the convent, where a lot of the high class lived during the high period of this city, around 600 - 900 AD.)

(One of the many iguanas in these and other ruins, staring at me before retreating into his hole in the rocks. Apparently I won the staring contest.)

(Another set of ruins with impressive roof combs at the edge of Uxmal.)

(Another steep temple on the edge of the complex, demonstrated by a few groups of exhausted tourists huffing and puffing at the top to catch their breath.)

(Steep steps. Not all that easy to say for a non-native English speaker.)

(Some of the many carvings in the sides of the temples.)

(Uxmal is a fairly large site, and for its size, it doesn't get all that many visitors, so I was quite impressed.)

(On the left, you can see the alley where the ball court stood, playing a simple game hitting a rubber ball through basketball like goals mounted on the sides of the court using their hips and knees. Some of these games may have been played for life or death...though I don't want to start any wild rumors.)

(Finally I made my way back out of Uxmal, amazed at this wonderful set of ruins.)

(Then I also made it back for the light and sound show at night, part of the regular admission price. This is one of the snake gods as told in part of the long, tedious story that accompanies them lighting up many of the different temples in blue, green, red, white, yellow and purple. The show was decent, though I'd say it was a little long....I guess the Mayans didn't have a lot to do when the sun went down...)

Mérida and Hacienda Ochil

2011-11-01T23:06:00.008-04:00

After arriving in Cancún, I immediately got on a bus and headed across the Yucatán to Mérida, a colonial capital and hub of the area.

(My first meal back in Mexico - a gordita stuffed with shredded pork on the bottom and one stuffed with cooked cactus on the top.)

(Salbutes - an awesome mix of fried tortilla, shredded chicken, avocado and so much more...)

(One of the many colonial buildings in central Mérida)

(Hacienda Ochil - an old plantation now converted to a sort of museum.)

(Decaying buildings...)

(Water lilies)

(Even a little train track for tours, though I was too early to use the train.)

Torres Del Paine - Hiking the W - Part 1

2011-05-06T09:00:00.009-04:00

March 25 - 26, 2011

A bit of early morning drizzle pattered down on my tent and knowing that I had enough time to do so, I stayed in my sleeping bag a little longer, with my head wrapped up in the fleece jacket I was using as both a pillow and a cover to keep out the chill of the cold nights, dropping down around freezing at that time of year. Slowly getting up and having a bit of granola breakfast from my pack of dry food, I got out and ready for my trek. The advantage of my new plan was that I could leave my large pack and tent behind for the first day, making a hike up the side valley and back down to the same spot for the evening. Bits of sun were breaking through the clouds, and I hoped that various predictions that it often rained during the night and stayed mostly dry during the day would prove to be true.

Hiking through a narrow U-shaped valley of grasslands, I left the campsite and headed North towards Grey Lake and Grey Glacier. Though this area is incredibly popular for hiking, that doesn't mean it's easy. Climbing up and down the undulating trail, I kept moving along, marvelling at the changing views. One of the best parts about the park is that the views change often, revealing magical bits of mountains, forests, glaciers, lakes and steep river valleys, or any combination thereof. Not long into the hike, I was alongside the long narrow Lake Grey, a darker lake with steep banks of rock and scrubby vegetation, populated with occasional small icebergs coming off the glacier at the top of the lake. As the sun shone down and I climbed up and down, I got hot in my jeans and t-shirt, though all it takes it a minute or two of standing on a windy cliffside with chilled air coming off the lake and glacier or down from the mountains to cool down quite quickly. My jacket came on and off, and I even held my gloves and woolly hat for most of the hike, since I was often putting them on or taking them off. To me, this was close to perfect hiking weather, not too hot or humid and cold enough to cool down quickly without being completely freezing, though I just hoped things didn't change.

Alongside the lake, a few steep climbs over rocks and roots led me to the top of a beautiful lookout point, catching my breath and having a snack as I peered over the water at the distant glacier, split into two by a large rock intrusion where the glacier reaches the ice cold water. With the lovely lake to my left, the scenery climbed steeply to my right, leading to the edge of the cluster of mountains crowning the middle of the park. This was quite an amazing start to the walk, and I was excited to see more and more, though halfway through the first day, I was already feeling a bit tired. I reached the glacier face and spent time at the lookout point just across the water from the sprawling mass of ice before heading down to the water's edge to check out a few clumps of ice that had drifted into a tiny bay and gotten stuck in that corner until the winds changed. My timing was also good, as I was able to avoid a group of hikers coming in just after me, particularly with one young American trekker who had already failed at endearing himself to us on the boat the day before, breaking out a few terrible tunes on a harmonica, presumably newly acquired judging by his skill level, and butchering the names of a group of French students with whom he was now hiking. As it turned out, I'd have the pleasure of seeing him over and over again during the long hikes, but the scenery was more than enough to make up for occasional run ins with him.

Coming back from the glacier, I made a quick stop at the Grey campsite to check things out, finding a pleasant, wooded site just near the edge of the lake. The site here is a lot quieter than the Paine Grande site where I was staying, but I was still happy that I didn't have to drag all of my gear up and down those hills all the way up there. As I went back, I crossed a few streams and a mini-gorge, feeling more and more exertion as my legs started to groan and an impending blister began to announce its presence on my toe. Again, this was more of an inconvenience, as the amazing landscapes here help draw your attention away from any physical impediments. I finally arrived back at the campsite late that afternoon, finishing off about 24 kilometers (15 miles) of hiking up and down on rocky terrain, happy to be back to rest my tired body. With it being my first day on the trail and helping to get accustomed to that much hiking, I was happy with my decision to leave my big bag behind and do the day trek, returning to the same spot for the evening. I also opted for the expensive dinner at the refuge, but I topped off my plate at the buffet style meal with a salad, bread, soup, dessert, meat and pasta, trying to at least make the $20 dinner worth it. Another cold and slightly rainy night followed, and I awoke a bit earlier to start my second day.

My legs and joints were a little sore from the constant pounding of the previous day, but I knew I had to keep moving, so I packed up my stuff and headed East over a small ridge and onto a mostly flat trail through a few tiny patches of forest and near the edge of Lake Nordenskjold. This portion of the trek takes you up to the base of the Cuernos, so despite walking almost directly into the fluttering sunlight, the views of the massive black and white striated, rocky peaks were enough to provide some inspiration. Around lunchtime, I arrived at the Italian camp (these sites are named for climbing expeditions by various groups, hence the nationalities), a beautiful spot at the base of Valle Frances/French Valley. Just before getting to the camp, a swinging bridge hangs over the small, fast flowing creek below, surrounded by large pebbles and bordered by thick green forest. Looking up the valley from the bridge, the sight was amazing, revealing a huge, slightly narrow valley with hanging glacier along one mountainside and the beautiful Cuernos and Torres on the other side. I contemplated taking an easy day and staying at the Italian campsite, as it was a very beautiful setting hidden in the trees, protected from the buffeting wind at nights and sitting alongside a picturesque waterway, so I dropped off my big bag in one of the quiet camping spots and headed up into the valley, choosing to decide when I came back.

The hike up to Valle Frances is predictably almost entirely uphill, as you hike from the edge of the lake up into the valley, more or less following the creek up to its source from the glaciers of the mountains. Sometimes muddy, I started off with fairly clear and dry weather, and I was in awe of the great views. To the left, the deep green forest was thick right up until the edge of the ice, presumably dropping an unseen flow of water careening down into the creek that runs down the spine of the valley, topped by mountains up to 3,000 meters tall (almost 10,000 feet). To the right, mangled trees and openings covered in huge rock slides alternate, all the while backed by the exposed rocky tips of the mountains, standing tall at around 2,700 meters (almost 9,000 feet). Moving up into the valley, I could see dark clouds coming in over the tips of the mountains, foreboding some bad bits of weather to come. Just as I reached the top of the 2 hour climb and near the British camp, I caught a quick view of the amphitheater of mountains closing in the back of the U-shaped ring, though the clouds soon obscured the views, bringing in strong winds and a quick, light snowstorm, though nothing too significant. Deciding to keep moving with the impending weather, I hurried back down, taking shelter in the trees as the rain came down off and on, though never quite hard enough to convince me to put the waterproof pants on over my jeans (basically the opposite of waterproof pants for hiking). Back down at the bottom of the valley, I still liked the look of the lovely campsite, but I still had a little over two hours of daylight, which is almost exactly what I'd need to make it to the next stop, the Cuernos refuge.

The hike was the Italian camp to the Cuernos refuge was luckily not nearly as hilly as some other parts, mostly skirting along the edge of the large Lake Nordenskjold. I ended up walking with a group of three girls for part of the hike, one of whom I had met at a communal pizza restaurant back in Puerto Natales featuring one large picnic table for the guests. Though I was tired, I was glad to keep moving on, meaning that I'd be that much closer to my destination the next day. I had originally thought I'd take an easy day and make the next day a lot longer, but this would help even out things a bit. We passed through more dense forest and even walked along the edge of the lake, climbing up and down onto the black and white pebbled beaches of the lake shore, a beautiful site with the steep mountains standing just behind us, though huge winds carrying sprays of water kept coming off the lake, so it's not a place where you'd want to linger too long. I got to the campsite again just before dusk, finding a sheltered spot amongst some high grasses and low trees, as this is a very windy spot, something that can be quite loud and annoying as you try to sleep while the nylon flaps of the tent buffet throughout the night. Just as I was getting everything ready in my dark tent, I felt a creature's presence in their with me, feeling like a bug or something hopped around just behind me. I grabbed my flashlight and searched around the small tent and under my bags, finally seeing a scurrying mouse running around, trying to escape. Apparently I had left the tent slightly open as I set it up, and it must have smelled my bag of food, as I found a small hole in the bottom of the bag and a little pile of granola where it had chewed through the cereal box while I was sitting in the lodge with my tiny dinner. I didn't particularly want to grab the mouse, and before I had a chance, it retreated into my open backpack, so I had to carefully pull out the items one by one until it was just the mouse trying to hide in the back of the bag. I picked up the bag and dropped the little guy outside the tent, hoping that he was my only resident as I tried to drift off to sleep. (In the morning, I heard a few other stories about mice roaming the campsites, though none actually inside tents like mine.)

My first two days of the strenuous W trek were finished, and though I was exhausted, I was loving it. At the end of the day, I had hiked about another 24 kilometers, basically the same as the first day, though more than half of that was done with my big pack of camping gear, clothes and food. The beautiful mix of mountains and lakes provide an ever-changing landscape of unbelievable splendor, and even though it's a popular route, I felt privileged to be able to experience this wonderful slice of nature. There were still two more days of long walking ahead of me, and I just hoped the weather would continue to turn out in my favor. I had experienced bits of rain, lots of wind and even a small passing snow, but all in all, I had been quite lucky in such a fickle environment.

(Early morning on the first day of my trek on the epic W track, named for it's approximate shape. This is a small part of Lake Grey, fed from a huge glacier further up the valley. For the first day, I left my big bag at the Paine Grande lodge and hiked up and back to Glacier Grey. Hiking around 8 hours up and down hills, it's not easy, but the scenery made it all worth it.)

(After a few hours of gusty winds and lots of hiking up and down hills, I made it to the lookout for Glacier Grey, a beautiful blue glacier melting away to create the huge lake on the side of the trail.)

(Small coves in the lake harbor clumps of icebergs broken away from the glacier face. The trail mostly follows the edge of the lake (though sometimes high up some hillsides above), so you have many spectacular views of the area.)

(The view from a lookout about halfway between Glacier Grey and the Paine Grande refuge. That's the glacier in the background, and the trail drops down the rocky mountainside here, following along in and out of forest.)

(Coming back from the glacier, the sun came out for a while, though it continually changed. Hiking up and down all of the hills, I almost got hot, but it simply took a minute or two of standing still to cool down with the fresh air and wind blowing. I wore a jacket at first, but I kept having to take it on and off, so I ended up without it most of the time. For almost the entire trek, I hiked with my hat and gloves in hand, as I would take them on and off over and over again as I got hot or cold.)

(After my first long day of trekking, I got back to the refuge and decided to splurge on an expensive dinner - about $20. I had hiked about 25 km/15 miles, so I felt like I deserved it. It wasn't exactly clear whether or not you could get more, so I loaded up my plate with pasta, meat, salad, soup, bread, juice and even some jello. Not too bad, really.)

(For day two, I packed up my bags and headed off from Paine Grande down by the side of Lake Nordenskjold. This is the view of the looming mountains all around as you hike along the base of them.)

(Moving across from Paine Grande to the French Valley was a fairly flat, though windy, hike, so that was a nice break, especially since I was carrying my heavy bag packed with food, tent, sleeping bag and a few bits of clothing.)

(French Valley sits in the center of the park, a narrow valley between the two clusters of mountains, topped by glaciers. When the clouds clear off, it's a really beautiful place.)

(The swinging bridge at the base of French Valley, leading directly to the Italian camp. These international names refer to the spots used by expedition teams when first climbing these mountains. I left my big bag at the ranger's office and headed up into the valley for a 4 hour hike, hoping the weather would stay calm.)

(Trudging over a field of huge rocks and steeply ascending under the shadow of the mountains and glaciers, the trail then makes its way back towards some forest, with the side of the Cuernos above. The multicolored rock is a result of a magma intrusion from an ancient lava flow.)

(I was still smiling as the clouds mostly stayed above the mountains, revealing this beautiful mix of streams, forest, rocks and ice. On the way down, I wasn't as lucky, as rain and wind came in, though it was never quite a downpour.)

(Another typical view of magical French Valley.)

(I was advised that the valley can get pretty muddy at times, but I was lucky to find it mostly dry, winding in and out of the forest.)

(Near the top of the valley, you get bits of these strange, wind-blown trees. Just past this point, I got to the top of the valley, just in time to see a big storm and dark clouds coming in, covering an amphitheater of mountains that close in the back of the valley. The trees provided a nice refuge as the clouds dropped in, sheltering me first from the snow flurries and then from the stronger rain the flew by on the strong winds moving down the valley.)

(One or two trees were just beginning to turn orange/red. I imagine this valley would be truly spectacular in early to mid April, though you might also get some pretty cold weather.)

(One final view of the massive glacier hanging on the West side of the valley. I wasn't sure if I'd take an easy day and stay at the Italian camp for the night or move on, but I got back with about 3 hours of daylight left, so I ignored my tired legs and decided to push on to the next campsite, Los Cuernos refuge.)

(Beautiful Lake Nordenskjold showing some of its blue/green color. The middle portions of the W Trek follow alongside this lake for long portions of the walk.)

(Two small portions of the trek even walk along the pretty pebble beach. It provides a great view of the lake, but the strong winds coming off the water, carrying large mists of water from the tops of the waves provide good incentive to keep moving. You can see the gusts, white with water, coming across the lake, so I tried to hurry from one tree to another to provide a bit of shelter. If you're not ready for it, some of the gusts are strong enough to push you off the trail.)

(Predictably, Los Cuernos refuge sits right underneath the peaks of the same name, providing some great views when the weather allows. The site is also known for having quite a few mice scavenging for food, and I even found one in my tent just before going to sleep, so I had to chase him around and empty out my backpack where he was hiding before trying to sleep and hoping that he was the only one to infiltrate my sleeping area.)

(A final view just before darkness was setting in. French Valley lies beyond the first ridge on the right, and the Paine Grande refuge and Lake Grey are just beyond the second set of ridges in the background, where I had begun that morning.)

Puerto Natales - Gateway to Torres Del Paine and the W Trek

2011-04-28T15:55:00.005-04:00

March 24, 2011

Advertised as one of the best trekking spots in the world and the best park in South America, Torres del Paine National Park was my eagerly anticipated next stop. I crossed back to Chile from Argentina, only a five hour bus ride including time spent passing through a rigorous border post where each of our bags were scanned, arriving in Puerto Natales, the gateway to the national park. Puerto Natales is a small grid of flat, mostly treeless blocks, lined with a few small markets, clothing stores, quaint lodging and outdoor shops catering to the masses of tourists that pass through the town on the way to the park. In addition, this is also the starting/ending point for Navimag cruises, a ship journey four days long through the Southern fjords of Chile, originally beginning as a few stowaways on a cargo ship and evolving into an expensive and popular option for tourists in the region. I considered the cruise, but after spending 11 days on a boat in Antarctica and hearing more than a few stories of incessant rain and obscured views, I opted against it. Despite being a relative tourist hub, it does manage to retain some charm, particularly thanks to its scenic setting at the edge of a few channels, looking across the water to a few rows of beautiful mountains sinking down into the deep water below. There's also a milodon statue greeting you as you come into town, as well as a little logo on all of the street signs, marking the fact that fossils of this prehistoric massive sloth-like beast was found in the area.

My roommate from Antarctica, Tim, had worked in Puerto Natales for five weeks, so he recommended a place to stay, though it was full, and I ended up in another of the small hostels/homestay sort of arrangements that are popular in town. As it turned out, the place was amazing and one of the best places I've stayed in. The Yaganhouse (named for the local indigenous people) is basically just a two story house converted to guest rooms with nice staff, a welcoming feel and an incredible breakfast (rare for Latin America). I spent a day meandering around the small town, finding a few local restaurants and more importantly, sorting out rentals of a few essentials for my next days of trekking. Being a hotspot for trekkers, it's quite easy to find rentals of anything ranging from sleeping bags and tents to waterproof clothing and portable cooking gear at many of the shops and hostels in town. The weather in the park is completely unpredictable, one of those cliched places where you can experience four seasons in one day. With my heavy pack, I didn't have room or the desire to pack any specific hiking gear, so I rented a pair of waterproof pants, a sleeping bag and a tent. I considered a sleeping mat to help make the ground a little softer and keep me off the cold surface, but I just didn't feel like carrying any more, so I decided against it. I also hoped for good weather considering I'd just be walking in my running shoes (the only pair I bring on trips), so if they got wet, it might be a few miserable, sloshy days on the trail.

Within the park, there are two main hiking routes - the W and the Full Circuit. The W is named for its approximate outline, as you hike in and out of a few valleys, while the Full Circuit includes the W plus a loop around the backside of the mountains. The park can get fairly crowded during the peak summer periods around November to February, so I was happy to be arriving at the end of the season, just before it would be getting really cold and require more extreme gear. This meant there would be less people on the trail and at the campsites, allowing me to not plan ahead to book any campsites or lodges in advance, as well as hopefully giving a little more solitude along the trail. Some hikers opt for guides (and some places even tell you it's required), but this is certainly not the case, as many people go on their own, either continuing on that way or joining up with other groups as they march along. The W can be done in 3 long days or 4 more relaxed ones, while the Full Circuit typically takes something like 5-7 days, depending on speed and endurance. Figuring that I'd rather take my time to soak in the epic scenery, I decided I'd do the trek in four days, instead of trying to simply rush through it and treat it like a fitness routine instead of an escape to nature.

So I hopped on the early morning bus from Puerto Natales to the park (the good thing about being a tourist hub is that there are good, easy connections a few times during the day to the park), took a little nap as we drove into the darkness and awoke as the sun began to shine, revealing a wonderful landscape. Nearing the park, we passed wild, yellow grasslands and a few rows of medium sized mountains near the horizon, a taste of some typical Patagonian scenery. As we got closer and moved onto the dirt road, the iconic mountains of the park appeared, looming largely over the grasslands and bit of forest below. The name of the park, Torres Del Paine (Towers of Paine), refers to three peaks of this clump of mountains that stand tall and thin, not unlike popsicles, jutting out from the other mountains on either side. Paine (PIE-nay) apparently means 'blue' in the language of the indigenous people, possibly refer to the color of the water in the lakes or the slight bluish tint to the amazing peaks, though many people like to think it just means the Towers of Pain, which sounds like a menacing wrestling duo or something. Just around the area of the park entrance, we saw a few groups of guanacos, large light brown camelids and relative of llamas, though they tend to stay out on the edges of the park, away from where any of the tourists walk.

At the park entrance, some trekkers got off the bus and some of us opted to go further on, depending on which direction was chosen to do the trek. Doing some reading, I found that it seemed a little more popular to trek from East to West (starting there at the park entrance at the first stop), though supposedly winds would be more at your back and you could have better views of some of the mountains from West to East, so I chose the latter option, also because it may mean less groups of hikers following alongside during the entire trip. As we passed further into the park with our diminished group, the scenery was incredible. Beautiful lakes of blue and light green in the foreground, backed by small grassy hillsides and the incredible mountains behind. In addition to the Torres, the other icons of the park are the Cuernos (The Horns). These curved peaks have been eroded away, leaving behind slightly curved peaks that form the shape of devil horns. On top of the shape of the exposed rocks, ancient magma flows penetrated the bedrock and have left behind a massive black streak through the upper part of the mountain, leaving just a small portion of the lighter bedrock on the tips of the horns, making for a dramatic look.

I still hadn't exactly figured out my planned itinerary when we got to the next bus stop, a spot where most people take the midday ferry (there are three a day during summer and two a day during shoulder season) to the Western edge of the trail and begin their hike. I had thought I would take the noon ferry and get across to start my walk, but I also wanted to go see a nearby waterfall and lookout point for the Cuernos, so I asked the driver if I had time to make it there and back before the ferry left. I had read it would take about an hour each way, and I had about an hour and 45 minutes before the boat would leave, so I thought if I ran, I could probably make it to both sights in time and make it back to the ferry. Thinking more about it, I realized that I'd like to just take my time, and I'm very glad I did. I left my large pack leaning outside the guard station (a common thing to do there), and I followed the trail, moving up a hill along the edge of a minty green lake called Pehoe. In just 10 or 15 minutes, I arrived at the Salto Grande (large waterfall), a powerful drop of about 15-20 meters as large amounts of water flow down from one lake to the next through a narrow channel in the rock.

After the waterfall, I hiked along to the lookout, passing the edge of another lake and being blown back by strong gusts of wind coming off the water, down from the surrounding mountains. Most of the vegetation here is windswept shrubs and bushes with a few smaller trees hanging on for dear life. In the end, it took me about 35-40 minutes to get to the lookout, so I probably would have had time to get there and back, but I was happy with my decision to take my time. In front of me was the large Lake Nordenskjold below the bench perched at the top of the hill, and just beyond the lake stood the impressive Cuernos and backing mountains. This is one of the perfect views that attracted me to the park in the first place, so I was really, really happy with my split-second decision not to miss the lookout point. Knowing that I had six hours before the next boat would leave, I took my time to relax and soak in the incredible views all around. As I sat on the bench, the weather went from mild to cold, overcast and drizzling to calm and almost clear to gusting winds that almost blow you off the path. A few other people came and went, presumably day visitors to the park, but I was actually surprised that I was the only hiker in the area during my few hours there. I presume most people are in such a rush to get to the trails that they overlook this small part of the park, and it's a shame since it's such a beautiful and sometimes quiet spot. After an hour or two, as the darker weather was coming in, I had started to head back, but just a few minutes back along the trail, I changed my mind and headed back for the viewpoint, and this proved to be another good choice, with the weather changing again and giving me another hour or two to enjoy the area.

Finally, I made my way back, happy to find my bag still waiting for me on the side of the hut and walking over to the ferry with just about ten of us on that last ferry, including Silke, a Dutch woman that was on my Antarctica trip, and her travelling friend that just joined her. The ferry across Lake Pehoe was also a beautiful trip and the spot for many of the advertising photos used for the park. Above the green water of the lake, the Cuernos stand tall and dark, though that's assuming that clouds are not covering the capricious peaks. After 20 or 30 minutes, we arrived at the Paine Grande campsite and lodge, an impressive spot featuring beautiful views of the side of the peaks, a huge camping area and a nice set of rooms. I had initially considered staying in some of the lodges along the way instead of camping, but even the shared rooms are around $40-50 per night, so I decided to save money and do the trek the traditional way. That being said, one of the main attractions of the park is that you can experience the amazing scenery while still staying in decent lodges with food and showers at the end of each night.

As darkness and a bit of drizzle was setting in for the night, I quickly set up my tent, hoping it would all work correctly, since I was lazy and didn't actually test everything before I came out with the rental gear. Luckily everything worked, though my sleeping bag was a bit short, but that was to be expected. The ground was a little hard with a few rocks poking into my side as I slept, but it didn't really matter. I had a small, boring dinner, as I had decided as a single hiker that I didn't want to bother with carrying any cooking gear, and I was fortunate enough to find one of the two jars of peanut butter in the village (Tim wasn't able to find one in stock in all of his five weeks there), so I just brought along bread, peanut butter, some fruit, two pre-made rice dishes from the supermarket, peanuts, chips and lots of granola for breakfast and snacks. The small outer dining room was loud and crowded with campers preparing predictable pasta dishes and other simple plates, so I imagine it would be almost out of control during the summer months. Nevertheless, I headed off to bed and couldn't wait to get going on the trek the next morning.

(The impressive Salto Grande (Big Falls) near the central stop inside Torres Del Paine National Park. Note the tiny people on the rock for some scale.)

(Instead of rushing off to begin the trekking, I decided to take the time to walk to the Cuernos lookout point alongside Lake Nordenskjold. Most hikers rushed off to begin the trail that afternoon, but I was glad to have taken the time to enjoy the waterfall and lookout point before just heading over to the first campsite and deciding to defer my hike until the next morning. I'd definitely recommend taking the time for this lookout, as few people stop by, and it's one of the best overall views of the lake and incredible mountains lining the other side.)

(The blue green water of Lake Pehoe comes from the glacial silt suspended in the water, coming down from the glaciers sitting on top of the nearby mountains.)

(The beautiful and iconic Cuernos Del Paine (Horns of Paine), the symbol of the epic national park. This park is advertised as one of the best in South America, and the first views didn't disappoint. The view is from the ferry taking us across Lake Pehoe over to the Paine Grande lodge and campsite.)

(I spent the night at the Paine Grande campsite, sitting at the base of a few massive mountains. The amazing setting was just a taste of the incredible scenery to come in the 4 day trek around the park.)

Perito Moreno Glacier, Glaciares National Park

2011-04-19T21:16:00.008-04:00

March 22, 2011

An ice blue glacier wedged up into a panorama of surrounding mountains and forests, fronted by a large lake, Perito Moreno glacier is one of the more iconic natural scenes in Argentina, and that was the next stop on my journey. Perito Moreno was an important fighter in Argentinian history, but now the name is more well-known, at least among tourists, as the huge glacier in Southern Patagonia.

I spent one more day in Ushuaia, taking time to relax and hang out with the members of our Antarctica group as we all began to head our separate ways, including a late night meeting at the obligatory Irish bar that graces any tourist town these days. Leaving Ushuaia, a combination of buses and border crossings took me up into Chilean territory, then back across to Argentina, arriving just in time to Rio Grande to miss one connecting bus, leaving me stranded at the bus station in the middle of nowhere for another four hours before the next bus came to take me to El Calafate, arriving a little after dark that night. The 15 hours of bus rides and connections was a bit tiring, but it was still interesting to see the flat, wind-blown landscapes of this region of Patagonia, mostly filled with long stretches of yellow grasslands and farms, dotted with just a hint of windswept trees, leaning hard to one side as a result of the unfettered gusts that blow across the land.

El Calafate is another of Argentina's tourist hubs, the gateway to the iconic Perito Moreno glacier. The small town is lined with wooden buildings and cottages, restaurants, souvenir shops and a few travel agencies. Despite the commercial leaning to the place, it still maintains a pleasant feel among its grid of 10 or 20 square blocks that make up the tourist center of the city. To me, similar to my thought in Ushuaia, it had the sort of feel of a ski resort town during the summer, friendly and laid-back with plenty on offer for the tourists visiting the place. Nevertheless, I had come for the glacier, so I hopped on the short bus ride that morning and headed off for Los Glaciares National Park. Moving out of the city, we skirted the edge of a large, dark blue lake, moving through a wide, shallow valley, closing in on the imposing mountains along the horizon. Small yellow and green bushes dotted the valley, though the majority was just a scenic prairie, eventually sprouting trees as we got closer to the mountains. Just as we entered the park, we came upon the next major lake, following along the edge of the water, looking across to a small series of jagged ridges with bits of snow capping the tops. Clumps of clouds came and went above us, and I hoped for the best as we soon arrived at the boat launch along the lake's edge.

Some visitors opt first for a boat tour of the glacier, heading up to the face without getting too close as to where the falling ice and resulting waves would affect the boat. I decided to just take in the view from the walkways, so I continued on with the bus, up the winding road leading to the main parking lot. Once there, it was an easy 10 minute walk down the boardwalks and stone paths through the green forest to the series of lookouts over the glacier. Shining back at me, the iridescent blue of Perito Moreno glacier was revealed, wedged between two dark green wooded mountainsides. The face of the glacier stretches widely in a semicircle, dropping off into the lake below. At the apex of the semicircle, the mass of ice reaches quite close to shoreline, closing the lake down to a narrow flow of water and ice, not much wider than an ordinary creek, though the icy lake widens back out into two huge reservoirs on either side of the glacier, forming Lago Argentino, the largest lake in Argentina. Soaring up to 60 meters high (200 feet) at the face and stretching 30 kilometers deep and 5 kilometers wide, this is a truly spectacular glacier.

The massive piece of ice is stunning in its own right, and coupled with the backdrop of slivers of the Andean ridge that separates Argentina from Chile, the setting is pretty remarkable. Walking further down the boardwalks, I got a closer view of the imposing ice wall, fronted by mini icebergs broken up by their recent fall from the glacier into the lake below. Staring at the light blue wall, I followed the cracks and pillars, noting the strange lines and shapes formed by the ever-changing ice. The beautiful silence of the natural setting was interrupted occasionally by a passing tour group but more often by small pieces of the glacier calving away, producing a sound akin to that of thunder, following by a loud clap as the ice hit the still water below. I watched for cracks, trying to predict the next piece to fall and witnessing a few awe-inspiring moments as the dynamic landscape dropped a few huge pieces and even one whole column of ice, pounding into the water below as it broke away into a few large pieces of ice that would very slowly float away into the lake before melting. Small arches, caves and pinnacles form precariously here, crunching together to form something slightly resembling a bottom row of very crooked teeth. Perito Moreno glacier is also one of the fastest advancing glaciers in the world, sometimes moving forward at a rate of 2 meters per day (over 6 feet), meaning that there is almost always plenty of action to be seen as the front of the glacier falls away into the water, just before reaching the other side of the valley.

With the clouds overhead and hints of rain and wind, the day had the potential to be very cold, though fortunately, the sun popped out often from behind the clouds, warming up the surroundings and illuminating the omnipresent glacier in its varying spectrum of blue and white. The interesting thing about this portion of the park is that the parking lot is so close to the glacier that there's really not that much to do in terms of hiking, so I decided to take the boardwalks around the side of the glacier, leaving the view of the ice behind and finding another nice mountain lake, ringed by the high ridges and blown by the strong winds coming off the water. After a while of relaxing away from the other tourists, I headed back for a few final looks at the glacier, noting even more chunks of ice in the water as pieces continued to fall in the warmer daytime temperatures.

Glaciar Perito Moreno is definitely an incredible sight, a true masterpiece of ice and mountains juxtaposed together, though I can't help but think I would have been even more impressed if I hadn't come straight from Antarctica, a land filled with massive glaciers. Even so, it was definitely worth the time spent though, but in hindsight, I probably should have visited this spot first to give it its proper due. I made my way back to El Calafate on the bus, getting ready to cross back over to Chile the next day on my way down to Puerto Natales and the stunning national park of Torres Del Paine.

(A small part of the blue face of Perito Moreno glacier. This wall of ice is nearly 60 meters high in most parts.)

(Nestled in between a few mountains and a green forest, the setting of the glacier is amazing. The melting water also forms Lago Argentino, the largest lake in the country.)

(The front of the glacier stretches around 5 kilometers wide, so this is just one side of the U-shaped front. At its peak, the glacier almost touches the near side of the lake, leaving just a tiny channel of water in between the glacier and the forest.)

(The glacier is one of the most accessible and fastest advancing in the world, moving forward about 6 feet per day, meaning that there is plenty of calving/falling ice action to be observed.)

(A few massive columns broke off while I was watching, sounding like thunder as the ice cracks and breaks, creating a huge splash and resulting wave in the water below. Here you can see the spray coming off the water after a fairly large piece fell off. If you wait for the sound, it's already too late to see the carnage. I guess that could be a life lesson.)

(From the parking lot are a few easy trails/boardwalks taking you down to the incredible views only 10 or 20 minutes away, one of the reasons why this place is so popular.)

(Me and the glacier. I was lucky to have decent bits of sunlight during the day, mixed in with some rain and cold wind, just to keep us guessing. This glacier was spectacular, surely one of the best in the world, though I couldn't help but think that I would have been much more awed if I hadn't just come straight from Antarctica. Still, it was a fantastic place.)

(Looking off to the other side of the glacier. At times, there are huge ice arches stretching almost to the other side, but they frequently collapse. Boats also run up to this edge of the glacier, but I didn't think it was worth the extra money, as you get almost as close from the boardwalk, without the package tour groups.)

(Though most people just sit and stare in awe at the glacier, the short trails around the backside offer some pretty nice mountain and lake scenery, with far more solitude.)

Antarctica - Antarctic Dream Group

2011-03-22T20:41:00.009-04:00

March 10-20, 2011

In addition to having an amazing trip scenically, we were also lucky to have a good group of people on our sailing of the Antarctic Dream. Heading down there, I was afraid it might be an older, more solitary group, but I think the fact that it was the end of the season meant more budget travellers looking for the last minute discounts, so we ended up with a great group of 8-10 backpackers in our late 20s-mid 40s or so (and one younger student from Germany with her mother). Tim, my Canadian roommate, dubbed us The Quitters, as many of us had decided to take a break from the corporate world and experience the sights of South America and Antarctica for a bit. On top of this core group, the other families, couples and groups on the trip were great. All in all, the trip was exceptional, and we really didn't want it to end.

(Taking advantage of some amazing weather, we had an experiment in camera timers and musical chairs with all of us setting our cameras on a table and running to any available chair. Tim (UK), Rob (Australia), Silke (Holland), Pallab (UK), Marc (Holland) and me.)

(A contrast in styles. Both Tim's penguin hat and our guide Rodrigo's glacier glasses made quite a statement.)

(In addition to our great day of sunny cruising, the crew treated us to a traditional Chilean barbecue of pork, beef and chicken. The food was good, and the scenery wasn't bad either.)

(Me (US), Cecilia (Italy) and Sebastian (Chile) enjoying the amazing day in Whilermina Bay.)

(Despite the omnipresent penguin watching Tim from above, he managed some incredible pictures that awed all of us on the boat.)

(Roommate Tim (Canada), Rob (Australia), Silke (Holland) and me. Just another bit of posing during our amazing day.)

(After the sun finally went down, we had a nice dinner and a celebration for Cecilia's birthday. This group is a mix of our typical table plus a funny table of Spanish speakers led by Don Pepe, a godfather type fellow in red near the left, and the great waiter, Manuel, on the bottom right.)

(Rob, Isabelle (Germany), Marc, me, Pallab and Sebastian taking a break from taking pictures to pose in another one.)

(Crazy and hilarious waiter Manuel doing a few of his patented dance moves.)

(The chefs made a special cake for Cecilia's birthday, and then when she went to take a bite out of it, they shoved her face into it, which is apparently a Chilean tradition. Or so they say when they do it to tourists...)

Antarctica - Half Moon Island (South Shetland), Drake Passage

2011-03-20T17:51:00.006-04:00

March 17 - 20, 2011

One final day in Antarctica. It was a sad realization waking up that morning, knowing that we had just another day or so to take in the beautiful views of this amazing continent. The day before was indescribably perfect, so obviously our final day would have a huge bill to fill. Leaving the Antarctic peninsula (mainland), we made our way back up into the South Shetland Islands, the last bits of land before moving back into the open ocean and the Drake Passage. Our day began with a Zodiac ride out to Half Moon Island. Obviously crescent shaped, this island is home to a large rookery of Chinstrap penguins, another breed of which we had only seen a few isolated specimens. Dipping our boots in the shallow water, we stepped out of the Zodiac and up onto the rocky beach with a few groups of penguins and a fur seal or two. We made our way along the rocky beach and up over one of the small ridges of the island, finding our way to the other shore where a few more fur seals were hanging out, though these ones were far from friendly.

I don't know exactly why, but these fur seals were quite aggressive, and technically being sea lions (able to prop themselves up with their flippers and move fairly quickly on land), they actually bared their teeth and made a few lunges towards our passing group. The guides hurried us along behind their protective barrier, formed by two of the Zodiac drivers holding big sticks to push back the sea lions. Next, we came to the water's edge where a solitary elephant seal was frolicking in the shallow water, rolling over and doing a few spins before heading out to the deeper water. Along the shore, a group of about 20 or 30 Chinstrap penguins came to join us on their way into the water, hopping from rock to rock in the tiny tide pools with awkward, yet delicate, precision in each jump, finally making it to the water. The Chinstrap penguins are similarly black and white, yet their main distinguishing feature (and namesake) is a thin black line that circles around the underside of their face from ear to ear, giving the appearance of a chinstrap attached to the cute little creatures.

We moved further along the pebble beach and up the small, slightly steep hill to where the main rookery of the island is located. Up here, hundreds of little penguins squawked and fluttered away, each claiming its own little space in the crowded rocks on the hilltop. Most of these ones were still in the molting process, leaving patches of white feathers along the edge of each tiny nesting site. Nestled among the group, our guides spotted one solo Macaroni penguin, long since lost from the rest of its colony. It had been spotted on an earlier trip, so the guides had a good idea that it might still be around, otherwise, it might have been quite difficult to recognize it amongst the chaos of the colony. The Macaroni penguin is named for a few protruding yellow feathers just above its eyes, sticking out towards the back like a feather in a cap. Coming back down from the rookery and passing another angry fur seal or two, we headed back towards the Zodiacs, knowing this was our last stop on this cruise. People lingered around, reluctant to get back onto the boat, and one Greek passenger even insisted on being the very last one to leave the island, trying to savor every final second of our time there.

Back on the boat, we learned that the rest of the afternoon would just be spent riding along past the remaining South Shetland Islands, and that evening we'd be making our way into the dreaded Drake Passage. This was probably my one real complaint about the entire cruise, as we were told that we'd have this last day as a full day to see Antarctica, though we were only given the chance to see the islands during the first half of the day, and the rest of the time was just spent speeding along with the islands as our backdrop. The trip alternatively runs as a 10 or 11 day itinerary, so perhaps there's not a huge difference between the two, or perhaps we went extra slowly through the Gerlache Strait and Whilermina Bay to take advantage of our perfect day. Either way, I was still glad that our 11 day trip did have the extra (half) day.

We would soon be heading back into the Drake Passage, the stretch of water from the tip of the Antarctic peninsula up to the Southern tip of South America that can be terribly wild if the weather doesn't cooperate, and it often does not. Our experience coming down was rocky but not terrible, so we all hoped for the best on the way back. As it turns out, we got very lucky, and most of our time crossing back over the Drake Passage was relatively smooth sailing, moving a bit with some swells up and down, but with relatively few waves or huge troughs. After having been on the boat so long, I felt that I had become a bit more accustomed to the movement, and the calm water also helped, so during these two days I, along with the majority of the passengers, felt almost perfect, well enough to walk around the top deck, enjoy all the meals, share stories and pictures and play card games to pass the time. I watched some of the royal albatrosses with their gigantic wingspans follow behind the ship in the open water, and every once in a while a few dolphins would appear alongside, surfacing more often as we neared the continent.

The last two days on the water passed quickly and easily, though each of us knew that our amazing journey was coming to an end. With mostly clear weather, we even got an unobscured view of Cape Horn, another mythical spot for sailors passing the rough waters around the tip of the continent if not passing through the Magellan Strait. In fact, with the weather and conditions being so favorable, we actually ended up slowing down and even idling for a while at the edge of the Beagle Channel, as we would have to wait until late into the night for the pilot to come aboard and guide us through the first part of the pass. Meanwhile, we prepared for our last dinner where our guides gave a few last words and handed out certificates for those brave enough to have swum in the coldest of water. A few people dressed up for the final occasion, and the super-friendly Japanese couple, Hidetoshi and Sachiko, were the stars of the show, arriving fashionably late to make a grand appearance dressed in impeccable kimonos, drawing cheers and warranting pictures from the rest of the passengers.

The evening was in good spirits for the final night, and our group decided to continuing our tradition of making way too many toasts (often followed by a competing toast from either the Spanish-speaking or Chinese tables). We grabbed our glasses and circled the entire dining room, toasting each of the tables and fellow passengers, shouting a few "Eyyyyyyys" or "Saluddddd" at each stop. Our round was followed by a round by the Chinese group, spreading the goodwill around the ship. We even decided to go salute the captain on the top deck, as there is always an open door policy to the control room, so we found the captain and one helper sitting quietly at the controls, sipping a juice box that worked out perfectly for our toast. Back in the dining room, we returned to finish our last dinner and dessert, followed by a night of chatting and dancing as we made our way through the Beagle Channel. Up on the deck, I went outside for another bit of fresh air, finding the nearly full moon reflecting off the still water as we neared Ushuaia. Though we arrived late that night, we stayed at the pier and slept there overnight, finishing off with a breakfast, saying our goodbyes and disembarking around 9 that next morning.

It was a bittersweet ending as most of us would be going our own separate ways, but every one of us had had an incredible journey. Coming into the cruise, I had a few hesitations about the group, the fact that it's a cruise, the seasickness and mostly the sheer price of the expedition. Coming out of it, I can say that I was incredibly happy and far above satisfied with the entire trip. Antarctica proved to be unimaginably beautiful and majestic. No pictures or stories can capture the epic grandeur of the place, only giving you little hints of what can be experienced there. It was every bit worth the money and then some. Many of those wonderful moments and views will remain in my mind forever. As much as I've been able to travel these past few years, this is a truly unique, mind-blowing journey, lasting not a few moments, but for the better part of the five days that we had cruising around the islands and Antarctic peninsula. Simply wonderful.

(On our final day, we took the Zodiac out to Half Moon Island, another of the South Shetland Islands, predictably shaped like a half moon.)

(The main attraction for us on this island was the large Chinstrap penguin rookery. These five passed right in front of me on their way down to the sea.)

(It's pretty obvious to see why they're called Chinstrap penguins.)

(This lineup hopped from rock to rock, one by one, until finally making it to the water. Each jump is slow and calculated, kind of like a dog getting ready to lay down but not quite doing it.)

(On top of the rocky island, there was a rookery with a couple hundred of the penguins yapping away, probably bragging about all the feathers they had just shed or their pretty new coats. Once they've dropped all the old feathers, the new coats will be warm and waterproof, helping them survive in the cold ocean. There was also one solitary Macaroni penguin in their midst, long lost from his group of peers. They are so named for a small patch of yellow feathers sticking out just above their eyes.)

(A couple of the fur seals (sea lions) on the island were quite aggressive, so our Zodiac driver help them off with sticks while we passed by quickly. This was our last landing, so we were all a bit sad to leave, knowing that would be our last real experience with the continent. Though we were scheduled to have a 5th day there, this just turned out to be more of a half day, so that was probably my only real complaint about the trip. Still, it was amazing.)

(Dulce de leche crepes. Dulce de leche is essentially like the Argentinian version of caramel, and manjar is the Chilean equivalent. All are good. Mmmmmm.)

(On our last night, we had a nice farewell dinner, and the moon came out to greet us.)

(Steak, risotto, purple stuff, Sunny D....well, no Sunny D. Good meal, though.)

(Sachiko, me and Hidetoshi. This hilarious couple from Japan was a lot of fun, and they were the stars of the show that last night when they showed up just a few minutes late to dinner in their beautiful kimonos. Later during dinner, our table decided to start a round of Cheers, walking around the room and toasting every table and even making our way up to the captain's deck and toasting him as he steered our ship.)

(After a night of eating, drinking, and a bit of dancing, we arrived in Ushuaia late that night and spent the night in the harbor, disembarking the next morning after breakfast. It was sad to say goodbye to our tour, but we had to go our separate ways. The group was great, the weather was really good for the most part, and the sights were simply amazing. I couldn't believe how incredible each day was, far exceeding any of my wildest dreams about the place. Antarctica is definitely a unique, beautiful travel gem, and I was so glad that I took my chance to visit.)

Antarctica - Gerlache Strait/Whilermina Bay, Enterprise Island

2011-03-20T17:50:00.013-04:00

March 16, 2011

The perfect slice of Antarctica. My first three days in and around Antarctica had been amazing and more than I could have hoped for, but Day 4 was the day to top them all, one that defies description and will surely remain etched in my memory for a long time to come.

The day actually began with a bit of a letdown, as we awoke to find a low-hanging fog blanketing the area, meaning that we'd have to forego our scheduled excursion just after breakfast due to the low visibility. We had already been fortunate enough with the conditions to have two or three outings every day, so it was hard to complain. Instead of making the stop, the ship continued on, and that's when things began to change. The low hanging clouds turned out to only be a thick fog and not an entire cloud bank, so as a few of us made our way to the top deck to see what we could in the haze. Slowly, bits of light began to break through as the fog burned away, revealing glittering white snow and tantalizing bits of blue sky above the thin layer of clouds hanging barely above the water's surface. Soon enough, layers of the fog were disappearing, unveiling magical views of the morning light reflecting off the jagged horizon of white mountains for as far as we could see.

As the views continued to clear, we could see that we were traversing a somewhat narrow passage lined with the majestic, sharp ridges of mountains on each side. Passing slowly through the Gerlache Strait, passengers began to pour out onto the top, side and front decks, taking in the vast beauty. Cruising at low speed through the calm water, there was little wind, and the bright sun warmed up the day a bit more, feeling something like 40 or 50 F degrees (5 to 10 C), making it a joy to be out admiring the views and the fresh air. The glassy water, dotted with random pieces of ice and icebergs, reflected the shining white mountains and glaciers for a fabulous mirror effect. Along with the pristine blue skies, the scene was far beyond beautiful. With weather being so variable in this part of the world, we couldn't believe our luck to have such a perfect morning, and each of us took full advantage of it, basking in the warming sun and natural majesty.

In addition to our surroundings, we also found a few small groups of penguins swimming around, seals laying around on the occasional iceberg, and a few passing humpback whales. February and March were said to be the best time for spotting humpback whales, and this was also an area known for them, so our fortunes continued as sets of one or two whale could be seen breathing at the surface and then diving below, leaving their signature whale tail in the air for a moment before heading down into the deep water. We were now moving from the Gerlache Strait into Whilermina Bay, making our way very slowly, so that our engines wouldn't scare away the whales. A few different pairs were spotted off the side of the boat, but before long, we had two incredible sightings. Each time was a pair of humpback whale floating at the surface, seemingly oblivious to our presence, as our boat seemed to pass only about 30 yards away from the massive mammals. With the clear water, you could see the entire creature, leaving a huge, beautiful outline just below the surface. I had never thought I cared much about whale sighting trips, but these massive creatures obviously have a sublime beauty with most of the passengers staring and snapping pictures just over the side of the boat as we silently slipped by.

In Whilermina Bay, we encountered a few larger icebergs of various shapes, and the shimmering white backdrop of rolling mountain ridges and reflections off the water remained, as did the many passengers on the decks. I was in absolute awe of the entire scene, the vast beauty of the epic landscape, moving from front to back, side to side of the ship, trying to take in every different angle of the view. As the hours passed, we continued slowly sailing forward, always flanked by the marvelous vistas. I couldn't help but smile and try to take a step back and appreciate how incredibly fortunate I was to be in such a stunningly beautiful part of the world, treated to a perfect day there.

The crew also had a great day planned for us, choosing today for the traditional Chilean barbecue. They brought the large grills outside and cooked huge quantities of beef, pork and chicken out in the fresh air as the icebergs and mountains passed by. Along with a nice accompanying sauce called pebre, with diced tomatoes, onions, peppers and seasoning (sort of like pico de gallo salsa), the meats were quite good, fairly comparable to the world-famous Argentine grilled meats. Even after a huge meaty lunch, I fought the instinctive urge to sit down and rest on the comfortable chairs, following my much stronger desire to run back outside and take in more of the spectacular scenery. As before, the splendid blues and whites mixed together perfectly forming one idyllic scene after another in this icy paradise. The crew had now arranged rows of chairs outside along the side decks, so most of us simply sat and chatted or just stared off into the distance, amazed at the views passing by on either side.

Eventually, our guides decided to take us out on another Zodiac excursion that afternoon, after having spent the better part of four or five hours admiring the views and perfect day. We took a Zodiac cruise out around Enterprise Island, finding a few more closeup icebergs, and another very close encounter with a leopard seal. This large one was laying out on an iceberg not much larger than its own size, presumably taking a break from hunting or possibly also enjoying the nice day. Fortunately, this one wasn't aggressive, so we were able to coast up within just a few yards of the small iceberg, getting perfect views of the seal, dark grey on top with a white underside covered in dark spots. These seals have a bit of a prehistoric looking face (sometimes even resembling the plesiosaurus of the dinosaur age) with huge, dark eyes and a massive mouth stretching around the side of the face to create a slightly evil looking grin. Circling around the seal, we soon moved on, coming to a long-lost shipwreck. The Governoren was one of the whaling ships back in the days of whaling on the continent, sometime around 1910 or 1920, and it hit an iceberg and began to take on water. Realizing that the ship was unsalvageable, the captain made the decision to intentionally run it aground in the bay instead of letting it sink in the deeper water, allowing them to save some of the cargo. With the cold, dry climate, the ship has rusted a bit, but remains in fairly decent shape, sitting with its bow still protruding from the water in the small cove surrounded by a small ridge of snow. Arctic and Antarctic terns, small white birds, flock around the area, along with a few other cormorants and gulls that followed our boat for a short time. The Arctic terns literally fly the length of the globe, moving from one pole to another to follow the weather. Finishing up our Zodiac, we sped after a few humpback whales, finding them when seeing their huge sprays of water when exhaling at the surface. An up-close encounter at their level would have been incredible, but the whales decided to dive down as we got closer, and given that they can stay underwater for 20-30 minutes per dive, longer if necessary, we chose not to wait around too long to find out.

Back on the ship once more, the magical day had one more surprise for us. As the sun dropped down to the edge of the horizon, a few vivid colors began to appear. The white edges of the continent glowed in the warm evening light, portraying a soft white that was then topped with a rim of pink and orange crowning each of the peaks as the last rays of the afternoon reflected back at us. I was again on the top deck, having it mostly to myself as others scampered around trying to get a few more pictures of whales or penguins near the boat. It was beginning to get a little colder, but it really didn't matter at that point. The scattered clouds on one side of the boat picked up the last bits of light and reflected them over the water for a beautiful sunset, while the peaks and valleys on the other side shone with the remaining bits of orange and pink, fading slowly off into dusk. Even after the last bits of sunlight faded away, I couldn't bring myself to leave the splendid day behind, so I simply laid down on the surface of the top deck for another 20 minutes, looking all around a few more times to make sure I took in every last piece of the moment.

The evening progressed with another good dinner, and all of the passengers were in a great mood after such a wonderful day. Speaking with the researchers who had lived on Port Lockroy for four months, we were extraordinarily lucky to have such great weather for the entire day, especially at this time of year. Each day of our Antarctic cruise had been incredible, each day blowing me away. Yet, with our luck, each day somehow managed to better the previous days, providing something new and spectacular at each turn. The trip had already far exceeded any of my greatest expectations for this place, and this day was far and away the most memorable. The perfect combination of lasting sunshine, pure blue sky, shimmering white glaciers, snow capped mountain ridges lining the horizon, wonderfully shaped icebergs floating by, close encounters with humpback whales, beautiful reflections off the glassy water and capped with a spectacular sunset and stunning pink fringes along the mountaintops made it a truly perfect day for us.

I knew to expect something spectacular and unique when coming to Antarctica, but I never realized it could be this amazing. For me, the most unexpected aspect of it all was the vast scale of everything. You can see pictures of glaciers, snow capped mountains, sculpted icebergs, and groups of penguins, but after seeing the place firsthand, those don't come close to capturing the essence of the place. You can even experience glaciers or penguins in other spots around the world, but for me, those can't compare to this. Here, these epic landscapes continue in every direction for as far as the eye can see (or as far as the sun chooses to shine). Untouched, raw, unique beauty is all around, and that's what makes this continent so special, so much more than just a cold, icy spot at the bottom of the world for a few adventurous travellers. We had the perfect day to experience what has to be one of the most beautiful spots I've ever seen, and my fond memories of that day will surely stick with me forever.

(Early morning in the Gerlache Strait, low hanging clouds made us cancel our first Zodiac excursion in the morning, but things soon starting clearing up to reveal some incredible scenery.)

(As the clouds floated away, massive mountains covered in snow and ice appeared in all directions.)

(Though we couldn't do our Zodiac cruise earlier, we simply cruised through the strait in our ship, treating us to incredible scenery and a few bits of wildlife along the way in the form of penguins, seals and whales.)

(When the sun came out, the reflections off the glassy water were marvelous. By this point, many of the passengers, including myself, couldn't help but stand on the open decks of the boat and just stare at the beauty.)

(Massive icebergs floated by our boat, though the incredible scale of everything on this continent is hard to grasp in pictures.)

(Another massive mountain providing great views for all of us on the boat.)

(Ditto.)

(After a few sightings of humpback whales common to Whilermina Bay, we got a close up encounter as we quietly floated by two massive whales, literally just over the side of our boat. Look closely and you can see the whole outline of the gentle giant. I guess they're gentle; I didn't have a chance to talk to him/her.)

(Along with everyone else on the ship, I couldn't stop taking pictures of the unreal beauty of this place and with such perfect weather. Speaking to a researcher who lived near there for four months, we were very, very lucky to have an entire day of great weather at that time of year.)

(Another large iceberg floating by, this one with four crabeater seals on top. The hint of red is actually reflecting from the red underside of our boat.)

(Iceberg, mountains, reflections. It never gets old.)

(With the warm sun, temperatures that day were probably a little above freezing, so it really wasn't that bad, plus it didn't matter, as we were all enthralled by the surroundings. And the hole in the ozone layer around there makes the sun a little more powerful, too. See, killing our atmosphere can be helpful.)

(Every day in our trip seemed to get better and better, and this combo of scenery and weather was almost too good to be true.)

(Leaving the ship in the afternoon, we took a Zodiac cruise around the area, coming upon this crabeater seal hanging out on a small iceberg.)

(A little less friendly is the leopard seal. These predators are quite fierce, even killing at least one scuba diver in the area. Fortunately, as they are seals, they aren't much competition on the ice, though we did circle within just a few feet of this seal-sized iceberg.)

(The leopard name presumably comes from both the spots on its underside and its predatory prowess. Check out the size of its mouth. Perfect for chomping and posing for pictures with big smiles.)

(The cruise then took us around a few beautifully sculpted icebergs.)

(Around the corner near Enterprise Island is the wreckage of the Gouvernoren, a whaling ship that was intentionally run aground when it began slowly taking on water, realizing that they could still salvage their cargo this way. Now it sits in a small bay, slowly rusting away and serving as a perch for a number of terns, cormorants and other birds.)

(The afternoon began to come to an end, though a few whales made some final appearances, though we weren't able to get all that close in our Zodiacs, as they dove out of sight when they felt us coming. And yes, that is the fin of a whale in the dark water.)

(Striated iceberg. Not too bad.)

(As a fitting end to a perfect day in Antarctica, we were treated to a wonderful, prolonged sunset, offering bits of orange and pink reflecting off the white snow.)

(Just before the final bit of light left us, I caught this whale tail as one of them was diving off the side of our boat.)

(The colors of the day fading away...)

(Finally the sun passed behind the mountainous horizon, leaving behind some spectacular colors before the night set in. As you can see, this day was unbelievably amazing, and the whole boat was in a good mood after such a spectacular display by Mother Nature. This perfect day was truly unforgettable and the obvious highlight of our incredible trip.)

Antarctica - Yalour, Pleneau and Hovgaard Islands, Port Lockroy

2011-03-20T17:42:00.016-04:00

March 15, 2011

Paradise Bay and the Kodak Gap. Just the names of two spots along our third day of cruising through Antarctica gave us an indication of the beauty that was to come. The morning began with a relaxed breakfast as we approached the entrance to Lemaire Channel, aka the Kodak Gap, among other nicknames. Again, our weather was a bit overcast with some clouds hanging just below where the mountains seemed to peak, but it was calm enough to provide some nice cruising conditions. This entrance to Paradise Bay is many peoples' favorite part of their Antarctic cruise, providing some of the most spectacular beauty in all of the continent. Passing into the straight, I hurried through my breakfast, put on a few bits of warm clothing and headed up to the top deck to enjoy the views. I was a bit cold, but I had the top deck to myself most of the time, watching the high mountains pass by both sides of us in the fairly narrow channel. A few dolphins appeared around the boat from time to time, drawing a few passengers out from the warm dining room and its nice views, but for me, it was more about the never-ending scenery. If the sun had been out, it would have been incredible, but even with the mystical fog, I enjoyed the quiet and solitude, watching the walls pass by on each side.

We eventually made it through the pass down to the Southernmost point of our cruise, Yalour Island. Some cruises add another day or two to the itinerary to simply cross the Antarctic Circle, but ours was not one of those, with our main objective of Yalour Island being the chance to interact with the large colony of Adelie penguins living there. Thus far, we had mostly seen Gentoo penguins, with a few Chinstrap penguins mixed in, so these little birds would be about the same size as their knee-high brethren, it would be something different, and another great excuse for another excursion off the cruise ship and onto one of the numerous little islets dotting the long Antarctic peninsula. It was another very quick ride in the Zodiac late that morning, dropping us off on the rocky portion of the island where a few nearby seals took notice of us, ignoring us at first and then deciding to slip away into the water after posing for a few too many pictures. Because most of the land masses are covered in snow and ice, and the overhanging snow could give way at any time and also make a slippery landing, we always had to find a small rocky cove or beach on which to make our stops. On the island, we wandered around the small patch of snow and rocks for about an hour, watching the little groups of penguins waddle past us, occasionally opting for sliding on their bellies during some of the downhill portions, a much more graceful look for these birds that are often awkward on land, opting between waddling and hopping around with measured jumps from rock to rock.

The Adelie penguins aren't as common as the Gentoo penguins, so it was a treat to see them, and they are more of a pure/traditional black and white mix that you'd expect from a penguin, almost uniformly black on the back and sides and white on the front with a darker bill, as opposed to the Gentoos who have a white spot on the top of their heads, a larger white coloration on the front/stomach, and a bit of an orange bill. Watching the little penguins make their way down to the rocks, some scurried along and others took their time, making the final cautious hops and steps over the large rocks and finally sliding into the water and disappearing into the darkness.

After another impressive three course lunch, we headed back North, again passing through the impressive Lemaire Channel before reaching the area of Pleneau and Hovgaard Islands where we'd embark on another Zodiac cruise to take in the sights. The weather was still dark with a tiny bit of drizzle coming down, but with calm waters and little wind, that certainly wouldn't be enough to keep us from getting out to see more of the continent. Piled into our groups of 10-15 people per Zodiac, we all boarded our boats and headed off, wondering what we'd see on this round. Having grown a bit accustomed to the sheer spectacle of some of the ubiquitous mountains and snow patches, the ride started off a bit slow for most of us, as the dreary weather and wind generated from zipping through the cold air weren't ideal, but we still found a few wonderful sights, beginning with another penguin rookery, a few seals lounging on icebergs and another closeup of a jagged glacier face with caverns, nooks and protrusions in every direction. The interesting thing about the penguin rookery is that they're easy to spot from afar, as they will always have a different color in the snow, usually either a gray patch or a red/pink color generated by some algae that grows near them in the snow, breaking up the whiteness of the hillsides. Not that this little outing wasn't beautiful in its own right, but it had a lot to live up to after our first few amazing days.

Some of the passengers were getting a bit cold and weary, but then things began to pick up. As we caught back up to where the ship was meeting us, we entered an incredible area dotted with large, sculpted icebergs. With our maneuverable Zodiacs, we were able to quietly slip in and out of the narrow openings between a few of the amazing icebergs, most about the size of a small house above water with around 80% more of the area below water. In the calm water, you can often see the iridescent blue of the glacier jutting down below, fettering off into the deep. Different shapes and sizes of icebergs appeared all around, some with picturesque archways melted away, others with pointy spires and jagged edges, some with pock marks like a golf ball, some with visible gashes along the top or sides, picked up while sliding along the glacier before being deposited into the water, and some smooth as...well, ice. One even had two parallel blue streaks running diagonally the entire length of the iceberg, apparently a gash that had refilled with another flow of water before refreezing and creating a different type of ice. At one point, we found a fabulous iceberg that had melted away into three-quarters of a circle, large enough to allow us to enter inside and do a tiny loop around the interior, taking in the beautiful views of the light blue ice against the grey skies. Each iceberg was completely different and yet enchanting in its own way. Finishing up after half an hour in the area, we passed one last group of amazing icebergs and headed back to the ship, again greeted with warm hot chocolate and the friendly crew.

Moving further North, we came to another base, this one being Port Lockroy, owned by the English. This was another of the bases created mostly to fortify colonial claims to the continent, establishing a settlement, post office and observation base for the English in Antarctica. Situated in a scenic spot in a narrow channel, the tiny huts are dwarfed by the massive white backdrop of the continental land mass. As another rocky island just off the coast with a slight hump in the middle, it also has its share of resident penguins who appear anywhere they find rocky outcrops in which they could lay their eggs and raise their young. We offboarded the ship again, landing on the island and immediately finding ourselves surrounded by curious, almost habituated penguins. Port Lockroy has a little bit more to offer the visitor than the previous Chilean base, in the form of a better gift shop, a functioning post office for sending post cards, and, most importantly, an interesting museum that preserves the original hut with kitchen, bedrooms and communication rooms still stocked and intact as they were when the first settlers lived there. I was even allowed a glimpse into the new building where the current workers reside during the summer months, a small, half cylinder with a basic looking kitchen and large living room. Since this was one of the very last cruises of the season, we were also picking up four of the workers from the base and taking them back to Argentina, finishing up their four month stint working at the base.

On the minuscule island, I wandered around, finding many penguins underfoot, again in various stages of molting and activity. A few of the young ones squawked and chased each other in circles, practicing a bit of territorial behavior that would be useful in the coming years during mating season. Meanwhile, others stepped forward, pecking at my white boots and tugging at a few of our jackets to try to figure out what sort of creatures we were. Half of the island is currently off-limits, as the British group is attempting a study to compare the group living amongst the workers to a group that is a little more unaffected by any human interaction, trying to measure any effects of this co-habitation. Dusk was soon setting in, so we had to leave the cute little penguins once more, heading back to the boat where we actually ended up anchoring in the bay for most of the night, allowing the workers enough time to close up the base and gather their belongings to head home after the long summer on the island. Despite not even having a row boat to get across the tiny stretch of water to the mainland, the workers actually claimed that they didn't feel at all isolated, with plenty of research to keep them busy and almost daily stopovers by one cruise ship or another making its way in or out of Antarctica.

Another amazing day in Antarctica was now behind us. It already felt like we had seen so much, while there was still plenty of anticipation of what remained. A lot more food and card games ensued before finally deciding to let the night come to an end, and I headed back to my room, again just as excited about my next day on this wonderful voyage.

(Our first stop for the day was Yalour Island, the Southernmost point of our voyage. This crabeater seal was on the edge of the shore to greet us, though I didn't understand what he said. Maybe French or something.)

(The main attraction of Yalour Island is the large rookery of Adelie penguins. About the same size as the Gentoos, but they are more of a pure black and white with dark beaks. Simple yet elegant.)

(Not very frightened by people, even with close encounters, many of them simply relaxed on the rocky island as we passed by. One unfortunate passengers also thought she was stepping on just a tiny bit of mud on the way back, finding there really isn't much mud in Antarctica and falling in up to her knees in penguin droppings. Luckily Marc was there to help pull her out while her newlywed husband laughed and took a picture before offering a hand.)

(In the afternoon, we took a Zodiac cruise around Pleneau and Hovgaard Islands. Given that we'd already seen some incredible scenery, the cold, damp afternoon started off a bit slowly, but things picked up when we got to a beautiful piece of water filled with tons of oddly shaped icebergs.)

(A few groups of penguins popped up here and there, causing us to pull out our cameras for a few shots. Here, the Chinese group tries to capture a couple of them. Capture them on film. Geez, what were you thinking?)

(Another amazing glacier up close. The different shades of blues and whites depend on how much air is still within the ice. Whiter=more air. Just like jumping. Or maybe not.)

(One of the many beautiful icebergs from our Zodiac. We went into an area full of these strangely shaped icebergs, and it was fantastic.)

(The vertical streaks down the side of this iceberg would have been from when it was sliding along the front of a glacier, being dragged along the rocks.)

(That's me posing just before we entered into the middle of a massive, nearly circular iceberg, creating a mini-ice amphitheater. No concerts that day, though.)

(Despite the less than ideal weather, cruising around these icebergs in the Zodiac for 30 minutes or so was amazing.)

(That's my Zodiac, taken in this picture by Cecilia. If you look really, really close, I'm on the opposite side, 2nd from left. It's not really worth looking that close, though. Just trust me._

(Who doesn't love these big blocks of ice? You can just slightly see the blues underneath the water as well.)

(The British base on the Antarctic peninsula, Port Lockroy. This one includes a few researchers, a tiny store, a nice museum and a functioning post office. We also picked up a few workers there, going back home after the end of the season.)

(As with most rocky spots along the coast, penguins run the place. On the base, they are doing a study to see if there are any adverse affects to the cohabitation, with one part of the small island off limits for the other sample group.)

(Gentoo penguins wander the entire place, hardly aware of the humans passing among them.)

(One with a bit of a molting mohawk on the left and a more relaxed pose on the right. These penguins come in all styles.)

(Fluff ball.)

(This mother was regurgitating for her young chick. Apparently he's too lazy to get food on his own. Pathetic.)

(As close as penguins ever get to flying, here's one jumping off a relatively high rock. It must have been such a thrill.)

Antarctica - Cuverville Island, Andvord Bay, Gonzalez Videla Base

2011-03-20T17:41:00.014-04:00

March 14, 2011

Splash. The simple sound of it made my heart sink. While out on the side deck taking a few pictures of the passing icebergs and mountains, the unthinkable happened as a camera fell overboard, into the icy water below. High up on the deck of the ship, we knew there was absolutely no chance of recovering it, as a few of us stood there in disbelief, particularly Cecilia, the unfortunate Italian who had tried to tie her camera to her waistband to no avail. As terrible as it was, the two slightly redeeming factors were that she actually had a backup camera with her on the trip, and she only lost some pictures from Ushuaia and not some irreplaceable ones that would come later in the cruise.

Our second morning in Antarctica began with just as much excitement as the first. I woke up for a quick breakfast and couldn't stop staring outside, amazed to actually be within reach of this miraculous continent, with glaciers and mountains extending straight to the water's edge, occasionally broken by a few bits of rocky beach. Though clouds blocked the sun, the cloud cover was fairly high, so we had fairly clear views of the many islands and coastline around us. On any Antarctic tour, there is a basic itinerary, although it is almost certain to change, as everything depends on visibility, weather, and waves, dictating whether or not it's worth the effort or even safe enough to try to make a landing with the Zodiac or to even leave the ship. Knowing that we weren't guaranteed anything, we were happy to find a nice enough day weather-wise with calm seas, meaning that we'd be embarking after breakfast for a landing at Cuverville Island.

After suiting up in the jacket, pants, boots, lifejacket, etc, I was again in the front of the line, ready to be one of the first one the island. Just five minutes on the Zodiac and we were there, finding a coast strewn with large rocks and a big population of a couple hundred Gentoo penguins on a small bluff about 100 yards from us. This island was more of what I expected from Antarctica, a steep little mountain covered in snow and ice with penguins along the sides and a few scenic icebergs floating in the water. While waiting for the rest of the passengers, we mingled with the penguins, eventually heading right beside their rookery, finding them in different stages of development. Some were still molting, shedding off one set of feathers for another set for the cold winter spent in the water, and others were young ones, just a few months old, still a little small, plump and fluffy, preparing for their first taste of the bitter winter season that was on its way. I was worried I would be too late to see a lot of penguins, particularly young ones, so I was happy to see that the breeding season seems to be a bit spread out, so I didn't see any brand new hatchlings, but I definitely saw my share of fluffy juveniles.

Circling around front side of the island by foot, the view became even more spectacular, revealing a small circular pool full of small icebergs, floating along in the narrow stretch of water separating this island from the even more impressive snow-capped hills and glaciers of the mainland just across the dark blue water. We climbed a steep hill of snow/ice, eventually making it up to a rocky spot near the top from where we had incredible views of the penguin colony below and the awesome bay and adjacent mountains. This view was simply spectacular, a classic mix of dark rocks, white snow, and a scenic waterway dotted with icebergs in between. Straying off to the edge of the group, I found a nice seat on the rocks and marveled at the beauty for quite a while, feeling like I had truly arrived in Antarctica. Eventually, 30 minutes or so later, we had to leave, and the guides had a better idea to get us down.

With a steep, slippery slope and big rubber boats that aren't quite suited for climbing, it makes sense to slide down the hill, so that's exactly what we did. We were informed that the captain of the ship hates when people do that (for safety and liability reasons due to a few injuries), so we moved just around the side of the hill, out of sight of the ship and started down, one by one. Sitting down, you simply had to give yourself a small push to start off, then you could lay flat and pick up speed (or dig in your boots or hands to slow you down). Though it was only a few seconds and probably less than 100 yards down, it was a great way to finish this part of the island, and everyone in our group made it without any sort of injury (Rob, the Australian, did an impressive spin move, unintentionally, at the end of his slide, but that was all). After we slid down, we still had another 20-30 minutes on the island, so I circled a little further around the side, finding another perfect perch from which to watch the icebergs float by, a few penguins waddling or sliding near my feet and large mountains completing the perfect backdrop. Words couldn't describe the simple beauty of the scene, so I simply sat back and let it all set in before we finally had to head back to the boat for some lunch and to keep moving South down the Antarctic peninsula.

Leaving the island on the last Zodiac, we intended to do a tiny cruise around a few icebergs in the bay, but at the first iceberg, we encountered something more interesting. Actually, it encountered us. A large leopard seal was looming on the backside of the ice mass, and seeing us invade its territory didn't make it happy. As we slowed to a stop, the large seal dipped into the water and was soon upon us, circling around our small Zodiac. As I said before, these seals are known for being very aggressive and ferocious, towards penguins and humans alike, so we all wondered what would happen. Our guide repeatedly told us to keep our hands inside the boat, and as I was seated in the very back, I saw the spotted underside of the seal appear just a few feet underneath me at the water's surface, emerging in a sideways fashion and sinking its large teeth into the pontoon of the boat. With their huge mouths and strong jaws, I was a bit worried at first, but our guide remained calm, as this has obviously happened before. Fortunately, these Zodiacs are strong enough to ward off icebergs and seal bites, so there was no damage, but the seal continued for two or three minutes, swimming back and forth underneath the boat, as if stalking us, then appearing to take a bite out of one side or the other. My first experience seeing a leopard seal on land was interesting, but it was incredible to see one in the water, as feisty and dangerous-looking as they had been touted.

Later in the day, we cruised along in our ship, enjoying a nice lunch and getting ready for another ride out in the Zodiacs. This time, we were treated to a cruise of Andvord Bay. The weather was still a bit cloudy, but there were tiny hints of blue sky, so we hoped we may even get a bit of sun by the end of the ride. Piling into the rafts, we set out on the bay, a massive arc of water surrounded by large mountains of snow and a few glaciers reaching the water. Most of the water was also filled with mini chunks of ice, called pancake ice, as the surface of the water begins to freeze first, the initial stage of the incoming winter (this cruise would also not be possible early in the season, as it would still be frozen over). Crunching through little pieces of ice and dodging others, our guide, Rodrigo, explained a bit about the scenery and animals as he zipped around the water. The massive scale of everything around us was what impressed me the most. Knowing I'd see lots of snow and ice, I never expected it on such a grand scale. Each small cove or glacier face was amazing in its own right, and they continued, one after another. We found a few of the common crabeater seals lounging on some ice, and we also came upon two or three groups of penguins swimming by, jumping in and out of the water. At the end of the bay, we came to a massive glacier, the face of it with varying shades of beautiful blue and white (the color depends on how old the ice is and how much air is present in it - white=new, blue=old, clear=very old/no air), and we also found a large cave in the front of the glacier where the water was slowly melting away. A few small pieces calved off from the jagged masses of ice, creating a large cracking sound and a wave, though we were far enough away to not be affected by it. The magnificent front of the glacier looked solid from afar, but up close, it is completely the opposite of that, looking like a forest of vertical pillars and lightning rod shaped columns crunched together precariously, barely holding on.

Heading back from the glacier to finish off the two hour cruise, the sun even graced us with its presence, lighting up the back half of the beautiful bay, providing some reflections off the dark water and revealing beautiful blue sky above the mountain ridges. Thanks to the good weather, we even managed one more outing for the day, stopping off just before dusk at a Chilean military base/outpost. The Gonzalez Videla Base is on a tiny peninsula with three or four house sized buildings (one a museum/gift shop and the others houses or supply rooms) and a large colony of penguins living on the rocks that occupy the island. As Chile, Argentina, England and a few others all try to make claims for their piece of Antarctica, many found it a convenient way to stake their claim by building a base, allowing them to say that they have residents, services and even a post office on the continent, though we found that the post office there was actually no longer in service. Mingling with the penguins, these ones were even less wary of humans, as they live with the few residents of the base, so it was another great chance to amble along the rocks, walking just a few feet away from hundreds and hundreds of the black and white Gentoo penguins. Soon the sun began to set, and after taking a quick look in the museum, which was just a few pictures, and checking out the gift shop that was offering a few true end of season discounts, it was time to head back to the boat.

As usual, our evening was spent with a large dinner, great dessert bar and plenty of card games. Our group of most of the younger and/or single travellers usually hung out at night playing cards at our table while another group of friendly Spanish-speaking passengers often hung around, chatting and occasionally playing their own games. Fueled by a super-energetic, outgoing and hilarious waiter, Manuel, we decided to join up for a bilingual game of Uno ("One" for those non-Spanish speakers). Manuel kept the game going at high speed, and we had a great time mixing with the other group, a mixture of Argentines, Mexicans, Brazilians and a Spaniard known as Don Pepe, a short, balding/white haired man with a big belly and a deep voice, sort of a Godfather figure for the group. Don Pepe had trouble remembering a few names and some of the rules, and drew a few accusals of cheating (probably valid), but he was always quick with a few hilarious, borderline offensive, comments when he did decide to speak. In between games of cards, Manuel also taught a few dance lessons and flirted with a few of the women, all the while maintaining an energy level that would make any cocaine addict jealous.

The other significant aspect to our landing at Gonzalez Videla Base that afternoon is that this is not an island; it is part of the Antarctic continent. I'm not much for checking off travel lists, but this was a fairly big one, meaning that I had now set foot on each of the seven continents (actually all within the past 5 years since I quit my job in 2007), though there is still an infinite amount of beauty and culture out there that I know I'll never have the chance to explore in this vast world. Being on the Antarctic continent, though, it's obvious that there is so much more to this place than just completing a checklist, as I sat in awe that evening, amazed by what I had already seen. There's no doubt that it's an expensive destination, but even by the second day, with the combination of the views of the iceberg filled bay, sliding down the snowy mountain, the leopard seal attack, the Zodiac cruise through the ice, and the stop at the Chilean base, I honestly felt that if nothing else happened on the entire trip, it was already worth it. Luckily, I knew there would be much more to come, so I couldn't wait to see what our next days would bring.

(An early morning 'berg. Some of us called them 'bergs and penguins "guinos". I wasn't one of those people.)

(One of the hundreds of little, fluffy Gentoo penguins on Cuverville Island. I bet he'd make a nice, warm winter coat. And no, that's not cruel because I didn't say you'd have to kill him. You can just tape him to your back, along with a few of his friends.)

(Climbing up the steep snowy hill of Cuverville Island, we were treated to amazing views of the bay below and the mainland behind. I found a quiet spot to sit and admire this very view for quite a while.)

(Then after sitting for a while, I even found the energy to stand up for a picture. Amazing.)

(Coming down, we opted to slide on our butts down the icy hill, a much quicker and more fun alternative than walking in our awkward boots. Though we were never quite as awkward as the penguins waddling around.)

(Here at the edge of the island, we had another 20-30 minutes to mingle with the penguins. This island was the perfect mix of penguins, snow, icebergs and nearby mountains, and the views were great.)

(Another group of loud penguins that we'd have to pass on the way back to the ship, sitting in the background.)

(Apparently the longish tail of the Gentoo helps balance them when they walk, but they're so bad already, I'd hate to see them without it.)

(A feisty leopard seal attacking our Zodiac. After passing by an iceberg that the seal occupied, it came after us, trying for about 5 minutes to bite the sides of the boat while swimming back and forth underneath us. This picture was literally just a few feet below me, so I could have reached down and poked him/her in the belly, but I thought better of that.)

(Moving towards Andvord Bay, we entered an area of large icebergs. The weather was still dark and overcast, but the still water cast some nice reflections.)

(After lunch, we boarded the Zodiacs for a 2 hour cruise around the bay, first passing next to a few large icebergs before moving into the large bay and passing over the thin pancake ice beginning to reform for the winter.)

(As the day progressed, small bits of blue sky poked through, along with rays of sunlight, giving us even better views of the beautiful area.)

(Rodrigo was our tour leader/organizer for the entire trip, as well as our driver for this cruise. You can tell by his glacier-style glasses that he's a pro.)

(Edging near the face of a huge glacier, we were close enough to see the many jagged pieces crushed together to form it before falling off into the water below.)

(Much more friendly than the leopard seal that morning, this crabeater seal was just relaxing on the edge of a small iceberg as we passed by.)

(Me on our Zodiac. Most days weren't unbearably cold, so we were lucky that we didn't have the strong winds that can pop up at any time. The average during the day was probably around 40 F/4 C.)

(Crunching through the ice and already fighting off the leopard seal, our Zodiacs were fortunately pretty tough.)

(Another cruise ship heading North as we headed South. I believe this one had a few mechanical problems and was stuck in this bay for a little while, though nothing too serious. Time after time, I was quite glad I opted for the Antarctic Dream.)

(More winter majesty. Or fall majesty that looks like winter. It's confusing down here.)

(Our ship sitting amongst the ice, waiting for us. This ship was originally a research vessel and icebreaker, so it had no problem crushing its way through the puny ice remaining by late fall.)

(Just as we got back on the ship, there were some fabulous views from the top deck of the encircling bay and ice fields.)

(Slightly different, more than slightly amazing.)

(Almost nothing better than snowy mountains reflected off the water. And being in Antarctica. With great, prepaid meals. And a dessert bar. And good times.)

(Look closely to find a seal on the iceberg. His name is Charles.)

(On Gonzalez Videla Base, Gentoo penguins have taken over the small, rocky islet. The base was established by the Chileans to help support their claim to the land mass with a post office, military presence and inhabitants, though after the Antarctic Treaty signed by 12 major countries in the late 1950s and more later, the land is pretty much protected anyway.)

(It's hard not to think of R Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" when you see this picture. But then you start thinking about Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny and the movie, "Space Jam", and soon you're wondering why in the world you're thinking about planets when you stare at this picture. Crazy how the mind works.)

(That's one of the tiny little buildings on the Chilean base. We were disappointed to find the post office wasn't really functioning, but there was a true end of season sale at the gift shop, though their t-shirts weren't so good.)

(I think this was a lamb filet on top of some potato compote thing. Obviously, the high class dining was slightly over my head, but I still enjoyed it, and it's definitely a lot classier than my typical meal while on the road. Or at home.)

Antarctica - Aitcho Island and Deception Island (South Shetland)

2011-03-20T17:40:00.012-04:00

March 13, 2011

Two days of swaying back and forth, side to side, biding our time and staving off hints of nausea were now over, and the eagerly anticipated morning was now upon us; this was our first real day in Antarctica. The intercom system sent out a wake-up call, starting off with a bit of music from the Temptations - "I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day," went the song, and though the claim of sunshine may have been a bit of a stretch, nothing but the worst of weather could have dampened our excitement that morning. My roommate, Tim, got up a few minutes before me, re-entering the room with a huge grin and proclaiming that it's simply gorgeous outside. I quickly suited up in my thermal underwear, thick waterproof ski-type pants, fleece, heavy jacket, hat and gloves and ran up to the top deck to get my first glimpse of land. The chill of the air was obvious, though it wasn't as cold as I had imagined, as I gazed out over the calm water towards the islands. A bit of fog and clouds hung over us, though you could still easily make out the islands all around us, mostly large rocky islands with a few ridges, covered alternately in snow, ice and bits of dark exposed rock. Though we couldn't yet see any wildlife, just the site of this winter wonderland was exciting enough, and little did we know that this was just the very beginning of it all.

Donning our all-weather gear, life jackets and rubber boots to help us trudge through the tide at our wet landings, the mud and the penguin droppings, we lined up at the door, gently pushing our way forward to be the first to get on the Zodiacs, the motorized rubber rafts that are small and maneuverable enough to take us to shore and around the areas. Ten to twelve at a time, we boarded the Zodiacs, and I was lucky enough to be on one of the first ones. This was Aitcho Island, named for the Spanish pronunciation of the letters H O which are an abbreviation for something in the area, one of the South Shetland Islands that lie just North of the tip of the Antarctic peninsula.

In just two or three minutes, we were landing on the shore lined with dark pebbles, exiting the boat into the low tide and hurrying to meet up with the group of thirty or forty Gentoo penguins greeting us upon our arrival just a few yards away. The Gentoo penguins are common in the areas that we'd visit, little black and white birds with yellow beaks and a small white spot stretching across the top of their head, from eye to eye. They only stand about knee high to most of us, but we all crowded around this first group, crouching down to get the view from their level. Once all of the passengers had arrived, the guides explained a bit about the animals and led us down the rocky beach that sloped into the water from a ridge along the middle of the long, narrow island. Another reason I had chosen this cruise over other ones was the size. The Antarctic Treaty governing all activities on the continent by an agreement of many different countries mandates that only 100 passengers can be at any landing site at one time, so large boats have to make landings in shifts, whereas smaller boats like ours could simply unload the whole group without worry. Our ship could carry up to 86 or so passengers, but we were slightly below capacity with about 75 passengers, so it turned out to be a nice sized group.

Moving up the coast of the island, we came upon our first seal, one of the infamous leopard seals of the area. These leopard seals are named both for the spots on their light colored bellies and for their ferocious predation habits. With sharp teeth and mouths much wider than normal seals, they carry a sinister looking smile, reminding me of the Joker from Batman movies. These are also known for their aggression, even having killed a scuba diver or two and attempting to attack others. I wasn't positive we'd actually see one of these large beasts, about the size of a small to medium sized shark, so I was really excited to see one right away. Fortunately, this sighting was on land, where seals are fairly harmless, slinking along with their clumsy bodies, as compared to sea lions who can prop themselves up with their flippers and move fairly quickly in short bursts. We remained a safe distance away, and the leopard seal eventually retreated into the water, and we turned inland, climbing up a damp hillside. The area here is actually covered in large patches of dark green moss, a very slow growing variety that manages to hang on in a continent where anything green is extremely rare.

The other side of the island was covered in pebbles and rocky outcrops, giving us a few more mammal spotting with a pair of lazy elephant seals, the massive blobs briefly looking up at us and determining that we were not a threat before going back to lounging around, and a few fur seals, which are actually a type of sea lion. Down by the water on the back side of the island, we saw more and more penguins, waddling along in their awkward, endearing way, some with flippers outstretched for balance, others boucing from side to side with their arms at their sides. Though we were amazed by this first island, we had to keep moving, so after about an hour on the island, the guides lured the reluctant group back to the boats, where we reboarded for some food and motored down to our next destination, Deception Island.

Deception Island is another of the South Shetland Islands, this one shaped as a nearly complete circle, with a small chunk missing that allows the boats to pass into the center. The ring is a remnant of a collapsed volcano, leaving the signature crater and a bit of geothermal activity behind. With its long black sand beach and sheltered waters, this was one of the few spots where whalers in the early 20th century could dock their ships and take care of business instead of having to do the work on the ships. With whaling long since subsiding in the area, the island now just bears a few remnants of the early business in the form of very slowly decaying pieces of boats and rusting silos used to house the oil harvested from the whales. After lunch, we rode out to the beach for another landing, allowing us to walk around the lower part of the island, backed by steep slopes of snow and bedrock encircling the island. Again, we were greeted by some Gentoo penguins and fur seals, fairly indifferent to the presence of our tour group. Getting away from the bigger group, I found a quiet spot to just sit and observe the raw beauty of the island, watching a group of five or six little penguins pass right in front of me, stopping for a second to take a look and then moving on their way to the water.

Summoning us back towards the boat, it was now time for the other main attraction of Deception Island - the opportunity to swim in the freezing waters of the Southern Ocean. The geothermal activity of the island provides some hot water vents to warm up the water along the edge, though this is only mostly true during low tide. As we were there during high tide, the cold ocean covered most of the vents, meaning that there was little difference between this water and other parts of the islands. Sometimes it's even warm enough for people to lay out in the water like a hot tub, but that certainly wasn't the case given our timing. About fifteen to twenty of us decided to take the plunge. Stripping down to my bathing suit and readying my towel and clothes for when I got out of the freezing water, I hesitantly walked along the black sand into the freezing water, acknowledging that this was not going to be a warm dip in the jacuzzi. I waded and swam around for just a minute or two, happy to come back to land and find a tiny hole in the sand that someone had dug to find a bit of the hot water seeping through, helping to warm up our frozen feet for just a few moments. As I tried to dry myself, I noticed that my skin was mostly numb, so I quickly dried off and hopped on the awaiting Zodiac to take us back to the warm dining room of our boat for some snacks and warm soup. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a dip in these freezing waters.

Our first day in Antarctica was coming to an end, and the day had already been a memorable one. Swimming in the freezing water, coming face to face with seals and hundreds of penguins, learning about the historical remnants of this foreboding continent and simply seeing the first bits of pristine beauty had been amazing, and there were still four or five more days of this to come. It was almost an unreal sensation to find myself in this incredible place, and I again went to sleep in eager anticipation of what we'd discover over the next few days.

(After a little over two days of cruising down from Ushuaia, we finally found some land in the form of the South Shetland Islands. The excitement on the boat was palpable as we prepared for our first Zodiac landing, taking the motored rafts out from the cruise ship to Aitcho Island.)

(Immediately upon landing at Aitcho Island, we saw quite a few penguins, followed by a leopard seal slinking its way back towards the water, and eventually this fur seal (actually a sea lion) on the backside of the island.)

(A cute little Gentoo penguin. These guys are quite common, and we saw a few different groups of them from the moment we stepped onto the rocky/pebbly shore. Most of them are probably a little less than knee-high. The great part about Antarctica is the animals aren't really scared of people, so you can get fairly close to them, or allow them to come up and investigate you. This guy was just passing by.)

(The South Shetland islands are just off the Northern tip of Antarctica, and one of the few spots in the area where you'll find anything green. In this case, it's mostly a slow growing moss. As you can see, as a part of the cruise, we were given matching red jackets, as well as long rubber boots to help wade through the water, mud and penguin guano.)

(Another Gentoo penguin hanging out in a little stream, trying to decide which way to go. Though we had already seen a lot of them during this first landing, we were still entranced by each one walking by.)

(As most people moved on, I hung around for a few minutes while the penguin took a drink and slowly waddled away.)

(Though we were late in the season (ours was the last sailing of the MV Antarctic Dream), there were still a good number of penguins left on land. As it gets colder, they actually spend the majority of their time in the sea during the winter. These guys are just finishing molting and getting their new feathers ready to spend time in the water. If they were to enter the water while still molting, they wouldn't have the waterproof/oily protection offered by their full coats.)

(Me, Aitcho Island, some Gentoo penguins and our ship, the Antarctic Dream, in the background. Nice combo. Though it was cold, it wasn't as bad as I expected, perhaps hovering just above freezing during the day time.)

(Large groups of penguins came down to bid us farewell as we left Aitcho Island.)

(Some of the beautiful rocky and icy scenery among the South Shetland Islands. Though it was cold outside on the top deck, it was nice to get fresh air and the incredible views.)

(Entering Deception Island, an ring shaped island left as a remnant of a collapsed volcano, we hit the black sand beaches for a bit of wildlife and history. This boat was one used to carry fresh water for whalers back in the early 20th century.)

(One of the feisty fur seals, actually a misnamed sea lion, heading towards the frigid water.)

(Some of the penguins were just lounging around, not unlike a few of the tourists. I took a few minutes on my own to just sit and watch a few of these groups away from the rest of the people, and it was amazing to actually be in a place like this.)

(Other groups of Gentoo penguins opted for yoga and exercise while I looked on.)

(This group of fur seals was a little territorial, guarding one of the former huts used by the whalers. With its long black sand beach and sheltered cove, this was one of the very few spots where whalers could land to take care of their cargo, and remnants such as rusting silos used to hold the whale oil still exist in this island.)

(At low tide, Deception Island has geothermal vents that release hot water and allow swimmers to relax in a hot tub like setting under the backdrop of the snowy mountain ridge. Unfortunately, we arrived at high tide, so it was essentially just freezing water. Fun stuff, but I couldn't resist the chance.)

(Stepping out into the water, it was absolutely freezing, though I didn't expect much different.)

(Trying to manage a smile before my faces freezes. Upon getting out and trying to dry off, I found that my skin was pretty much numb at that point. There was one little hole dug in the sand with a bit of hot water to warm up, but a few warm toes doesn't really do much for a freezing body.)

(I even made an attempt at a dive, which is big for those of you who know my swimming prowess/lack thereof. Fortunately when we got out, we got straight back onto the Zodiacs and to the warm boat waiting for us in the harbor.)

(If you look closely, you can see the splash and my feet just about to enter the water after my dive. About twenty of us passengers decided to swim in the Southern Ocean while the rest just looked on and laughed from the comfort of their warm jackets.)

(Our three course lunches and dinners were quite nice for the most part. This was one of the favorite dishes, a steak on top of a rice and lentil mix. Again, as a backpacker, I'm not really used to eating like this, so we took full advantage of the food and the dessert bar.)

MV Antarctic Dream and the Drake Passage

2011-03-20T17:35:00.015-04:00

March 10-12, 2011

Antarctica - The White Continent. A mythical place in the minds of travellers that has always seemed to be one of those dream destinations that you assume you'll someday see but always just a bit out of reach. After a bit of planning and research, I found that a few last minute specials (almost 50% off) make it much more affordable than I once thought, though it still certainly isn't cheap. Nevertheless, it was a place I knew I wanted to visit, and stories and images of the pristine continent cluttered my mind as I realized that this incredible destination would soon become a reality for me.

In the minds of many, Antarctica may simply be checking a box for visiting each of the seven continents, just a big block of ice without offering much more interest or adventure. Digging deeper, I found the potential for so much more. People are blown away by the beauty, the wildlife, the landscapes - every bit of it. Now that I was in Ushuaia, staring across the water at the pier, watching my boat get ready for the trip, I couldn't shake the anticipation, the excitement of knowing that I was just a few hours away from being on the boat and a few days away from actually seeing this far-off place.

Passing through a few port security checkpoints (and strangely being asked a few separate times if I was a passenger or crew), I arrived for the 4 pm check in, though we were all a bit disappointed to find that the ship wouldn't actually leave until 7 pm, so we had a little while to wander around and explore the ship. While I had hoped to get lucky and not be assigned a roommate, the alternative wasn't bad, as I was paired up with a like-minded backpacking Canadian chef who quit his job to come down to travel South America. Fortunately, we got along quite well, and Tim proved to be as good of a roommate as I could hope for. After some boarding formalities, the ship finally embarked in the late afternoon light, slowly leaving Ushuaia behind as we headed through the scenic Beagle Channel. Bordered by mountains falling into the sea, bathed in the warm glow of the evening sun, the beginning of our journey was pretty in its own right, though our minds were now fixated on Antarctica. Soon, we came upon another small village on the South side of the channel, Puerto Williams in Chile, though by this point, the village was no more than a few sets of lights breaking through the darkness of the night. Later in the night, a small vessel caught up to us, and it turned out to be a special pilot required to navigate part of the channel, so he boarded the boat for a while, steered through the channel and then went back to his small outpost somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Soon enough we were in the infamous Drake Passage. This stretch of water reaching from the tip of South America down towards the outer islands of Antarctica is known as one of the most treacherous bodies of water in the world for sailors, often pitting the ships against massive waves and swells, along with the potential for strong winds and rain. I read stories before boarding about huge waves pounding the deck of the ships and numbers ranging from 50-75% of the passengers being sick and confined to their rooms when given a bad day on the water. Being a bit prone to seasickness, I brought along some pills and wristbands that help ease the nausea, but I was still a little worried about this part of the trip. Though it's usually rough, in which case travel agents like to tout the "Drake Shake", there are random periods of calm, where they dubbed it the "Drake Lake," so I was certainly hoping for the latter.

On our way down, it seems we had a fairly typical, though definitely not terrible, experience with the Drake Passage. The ship continually pitched and rolled, sometimes making huge sways that would send passengers grabbing for anything in reach and almost tipping people over in their chairs, which were luckily all chained down to the floor. During this long two day stretch, I mostly spent my time laying horizontally in bed, which seemed to help me feel more or less fine, though I could feel the onset of seasickness anytime I went up to the dining room/lounge on the top level with huge windows and sweeping views of the volatile water. I tried a few meals, but with the three course service, I usually didn't make it through the entire sitting, often just grabbing a few rolls or some snacks and heading back down to our cave. Fortunately, the small room with two double beds, a little dresser and closet had a small flat-panel tv in which they'd show a few movies every two hours or so, so that helped keep Tim and me entertained. (Tim was taking some pills that made him drowsy, so he mostly napped the way through the passage as well.) From those that managed the somewhat rough ride, I heard stories of large albatrosses and a few other birds following along the back of the ship, and a few pictures confirmed that fact, but I certainly didn't have the endurance to head out and find out for myself.

During the two days at sea, the crew also offered a few different lectures, in both English and Spanish (it's a Chilean ship, registered in Belize), about the history and wildlife of the epic continent, though I decided that I didn't want to push my luck, so I remained in my room for most of those. On our voyage, it seemed that the dining room for most meals was about half full, with the amount of people coming up to the top decreasing as the days passed. Despite being a long time to wait at sea, the two days actually passed more quickly and more painlessly than I had anticipated, so given my expectations, I was fairly content to lay in bed and pass the time as we made our way down. I was also quite happy to find my roommate and a group of about 8-10 backpackers on the trip, as opposed to some older clientele that we all feared would be the norm for a trip like this. We figured that being the last boat of the season, it was probably more likely to have more young people, as the runs at the start and end of the season are often the ones with a few last minute openings, bringing out a few budget travellers willing to make a bit of a splurge for a trip like this. There were offers for two other ships, but I chose the Antarctic Dream because it seemed to be a bit higher quality and had nicer rooms, instead of inner rooms with bunkbeds and shared bathrooms, each of our rooms had a window (though a tiny one that was kept shut during the passage) and attached bathroom. More impressive to us budget travellers was the quality of the meals and service, far exceeding our expectations.

After two days of rough water, rolling up and down through the waves and troughs day and night, we were getting close. The anticipation was building as we were given a briefing after dinner on the 3rd night on the boat, realizing that we had made it past the Drake Passage and were now almost within reach of the first group of islands. My mind raced as I tried to fall asleep, not knowing what to expect, almost like a kid on Christmas Eve, excited but just wanting the night to pass and to get on to the main event - Antarctica.

(Getting ready to board the MV Antarctic Dream on my 11 day/1o night trip down to Antarctica. For some reason, the port agents at a few different checkpoints asked me if I was crew or just a passenger, so I guess I was giving off that working class vibe. Maybe it's the pushed-up sleeves and no-nonsense strut.)

(Though we were supposed to be there by 4 pm, the ship didn't actually depart until about 7 that afternoon.)

(Penguins and icebergs in the logo...basically that's what we're all there for.)

(On the top deck, there's a helipad and the Zodiac rafts that we'd use for the excursions to shore, assuming the weather and water wasn't too rough.)

(Leaving Ushuaia in late afternoon light, the Beagle Channel was quite scenic, though a few were disappointed to spot Puerto Williams on the Chilean side, proving that Ushuaia isn't actually the Southernmost city, unless that one isn't a city. Whatever.)

(As darkness set in, so did a few ominous looking clouds. The Beagle Channel was nice and calm, though the open water of the Drake Passage isn't always so kind. Being a little prone to sea-sickness and spending two days motoring over what can be some of the most treacherous seas in the world, I ended up spending most of the passage laying in bed, listening to music and watching movies on our tv.)

(I don't know what exactly this is, but we had breakfast buffet and three course lunch and dinner every day. The food was well-prepared and way better than the common backpacker fare that a lot of us were used to, so we obviously took advantage, especially starting a trend of lining up for the dessert bar of cakes and fruit before it was even completely set up.)

(My small room with a tiny porthole that they actually closed during the crossing. Surprisingly, the rooms and beds were quite comfortable, and I got very lucky by getting a great roommate - Tim, a Canadian chef/backpacker about my age. He also brought a massive bag of Skittles, so that always makes everything better.)

(Another of the well-prepared and presented meals during the crossing. Although the food was good, many of the passengers skipped most of the meals during the crossing, opting to stay in their rooms and just wait for the rough seas to pass. Though it can be terrible, we had a sort of mild to medium version of the rough seas. I took sea-sickness pills, and I was healthy enough while laying in bed, though I started feeling worse up on the main level, so I often retreated back to the room for the selection of 3-4 movies on closed circuit tv.)

Ushuaia - The End of the World/Southernmost City in the World

2011-03-20T17:23:00.013-04:00

March 9-10, 2011

Ushuaia - The Southernmost City in the World. The End of the World. Or is it???

Ushuaia (pronounced by locals as Uu-SWY-uh) sits at the Southern tip of South America on the island of Tierra Del Fuego, shared by the furthest reaches of both Chile and Argentina; Ushuaia being on the Argentinian side. It was originally an important shipping and sailing port for those coming around the treacherous Cape Horn and Strait of Magellan. These days, tourism seems to be taking over, providing a far-flung destination in its own right at the end of Patagonia, as well as a launching point for an increasing number of tourists heading down to Antarctica, such as myself.

Flying in from Buenos Aires, instead of opting for a long combination of buses and ferries that would take around 48 hrs, we descended out of the clouds, revealing a spectacular view of jagged teeth of mountains dropping straight into the lakes and inlets of the watery region. Snow remained on a few peaks, while the others remained wind-swept and barren for the most part, bits of forest lining the bottom of the landmasses. Here at the Southern end of the Andes, the impressive range falls off into the ocean in a dramatic fashion, and somehow it seemed like our pilot did nearly a full circle on the approach to the airport, allowing us great views of the surroundings. Once on the ground, I made my way past the package tourists heading to Antarctica (and was jealous that they didn't even have to pick up their own luggage), and got a taxi into the small city.

Though it caters to tourism, the hilly little city still has a pleasant feel, especially once off popular San Martin street, lined with travel agencies, restaurants and hotels. Small one and two story houses and shops cover most of the streets, with many of the residents now living a few blocks further up the steep hills and out of the tourist center. The architecture was pleasingly simple, as it often is in these remote cold-weather towns with small houses and A-frames painted in a nice rich variety of yellows, reds, blues and whites. In some ways, it reminded me of a sleepy Rocky Mountain ski town in the offseason, as the season here was also winding down as the chill of winter was about to set in. The extreme weather in this area is well-documented, boasting four seasons in a day, changing from warm and sunny to freezing, blustery and raining in a matter of minutes, which is exactly what happened briefly during my first day there. Fortunately, the rain passed, and I had a chance to walk around town, joined at times by a few of the numerous stray dogs that seem to roam the areas around Patagonia - perhaps former sheep herders, perhaps just wayward souls making their way South for a new life.

While wandering around the main streets of this small town, I came across a group filming a movie on the pier in front of the water, though after watching a few takes, I got the feeling that it's a sort of teeny-bopper movie that probably wouldn't be a shame to miss. Moving on, I headed back for some lunch, hoping to find the small sign that caught my eye from the taxi in a shop window "Mexico Taco." Passing it twice, I finally came back upon the small rotisserie/butcher shop and inquired, finding that they are only served at dinner time. Instead I opted for another local sandwich/meat shop, but when dinner came around, I headed back for the tacos, having to wait 30 minutes for them to be made, but the slightly Mexican taste of the grilled meat and guacamole couple with flatbread in place of tortillas was quite a treat in a place where I'd never expect something like that. Back at my hostel, there was a mixup with overbooking, so my dorm room was already full, though they kindly offered to allow me to sleep in a set of bunkbeds in the tv room for half the price (assuring me that I could kick the other guests out at 10 pm). In the end, I paid less and got a room almost to myself (though a German couple with the same situation showed up later and also shared the room), so it worked out fairly well, as things tend to when you travel, just not always according to plan.

Mostly, though, my time in Ushuaia was spent looking out at the docks and the long Beagle Channel passing by the mountains in its quest for the open ocean. I had come down to fill a last minute spot on an Antarctica cruise that I had booked a week or two earlier, and my thoughts kept drifting to that iconic place, particularly when I saw our boat come in that morning, getting cleaned, refueled and ready for our trip leaving that afternoon. It was meant as a quick stop, and I thought it might be over-touristed, but I was actually pleasantly surprised by Ushuaia. Not that it was an undiscovered gem, but I found some friendly people and a beautiful landscape, ready to whisk me away to what should be an unforgettable journey down to the polar regions.

As for their claim to being the Southernmost City in the World, I guess it depends what defines a city. It is certainly the Southernmost in Argentina, but about 40 minutes away, across the Beagle Channel and a little to the Southeast, sits Puerto Williams, a small Chilean town that is certainly further South, though surely far less developed than Ushuaia. So, whether or not it's true, it certainly makes a great claim for the city and intrigues visitors.

(San Martin street in Ushuaia. This is the main road in town, and it shows. Once an isolated port, this city is now on the map thanks to tourism touting it as the Southernmost City in the World! The End of the World moniker is also thrown around, though both titles are debatable, as there is actually a "city" further south across the Beagle Channel in Chile called Puerto Williams. Suckers.)

(Despite catering to many tourists these days, the city still retains its impressive setting at the base of a few mountains and the Beagle Channel.)

(Ushuaia has a bit of a prototypical Rocky Mountain ski resort feel. Things are definitely centered on tourism, but it still felt almost quaint enough, and the views are spectacular when the weather clears. Though, it will just change again in another half hour with the variable currents and wind patterns.)

(Sailboats still dot the harbor, backed by a few of the cruise ships and shipping vessels that come in and out of port. The leftmost of the big ships is a National Geographic cruise ship ready to leave for Antarctica that evening.)

(Circling around to a small peninsula, I got some great views of the hilly city across the water, just before dusk set in on my first night there. Windy and getting cold, I decided not to stay out too long.)

(The Martial Mountains form a great backdrop for the small city. Our flight in from Buenos Aires offered some incredible views of all the surrounding mountains, lakes and inlets of the ruggedly beautiful area. Many hikes are offered around the city and in the nearby Tierra Del Fuego national park.)

(Even the evocative name of the island is forboding - Tierra del Fuego; the land of fire. It has a mythical status among travellers and sailors. Even more amazing, I saw pictures of the indigenous people from around 100 years ago, and despite the bitterly cold, wet and windy winters here at the tip of the continent, they would often wear nothing more than loin cloths, believing the oils of their skin offered better protection than wet animal fur. Sadly, this culture has mostly disappeared, with supposedly only one native speaker of the Yagan language remaining.)

(Up a few blocks from the main road, my hostel sat on top of one of the small hills, and the entire top floor was a nice loft with couches and huge viewing windows of the city below. Through a booking mixup, the place was overbooked, and I got 50% off of my dormitory and got to stay in the TV room on a bunkbed by myself...until the same thing happened later that night and two Germans joined me.)

(Driving into town, I was surveying the houses and shops when a small sign advertising "Mexico Taco" caught my eye. Of course, I had to try it, and though the tortilla/shell was actually some sort of flatbread, the steak tacos and guacamole were quite good and a nice change from some of the more typical food here in Argentina.)

(Waiting for my Antarctic departure, I finally saw our boat come in that morning, ready to be cleaned and refueled for our trip that evening. This is the MV Antarctic Dream.)

Back in Buenos Aires for a Day

2011-03-20T16:05:00.011-04:00

March 8, 2011

Back to the big city after a short weekend in Santa Fe, Buenos Aires once again managed to impress me. I stayed in the same central area, just a few blocks from the Obelisk in one direction and the Plaza de Mayo and Casa Rosada in another direction. Determined to get another good feel for the city, I set out in the morning, walking randomly from landmark to landmark, as I find exploring a city on foot is often the best way to get a true feel for it and its people.

I began with another stroll over towards the presidential office (Casa Rosada) and the Plaza de Mayo, deciding to then turn down one of the main streets off the plaza, inviting me in with it's European facades and high rises, partially covered by the rows of green trees offering bits of shade along the sidewalk. Browsing along the shops and buildings, I made my way past quaint cafes and apartment blocks, eventually opening back out onto the sprawling, wide Avendia 9 de Julio. I made my way down through another few blocks, coming upon another Congressional building and adjacent plaza with a mix of grass and gravel providing spots to relax under view of the large pillars of the wide palace. Nearby, a few Russians tried to converse with some Brazilians and then with me as they tried to work out the details of a free walking tour of the city that was scheduled to begin at that exact spot. I contemplated joining the tour, though I decided by the clientele that it might be a little past my age demographic. Instead, I turned up another pleasant looking avenue, making my way Northwest of the center, moving a bit into more high-end residential districts, still filled with high-rises, busy streets and sidewalk cafes.

Coming upon a subway stop, I studied the map for a while, trying to remember where exactly I had stayed when I was there 8 years before. I narrowed it down to two subway stops, and then I actually found the street name that I recognized, Virrey Del Pino, so I hopped on the subway and headed back to the residential neighborhood to find the small apartment where I had resided for three weeks during my first stay in the city. Getting out of the subway, things looked familiar, and I followed my instincts, leading me down a small street, each corner looking more and more familiar under I found the fish shop downstairs and exposed balcony above where the apartment was located. Things hadn't changed that much, but it was a strange sensation to re-live some other part of my life that had been reduced to memories and just one or two old pictures. I wandered the area and made my way down the road a few blocks to the spot where the language school had been, hidden in another cobbled lane of beautiful trees, now replaced by a training school that still does offer some language courses, though more geared towards vocational training. Sitting along the sidewalk for about half an hour, I reminisced on my time spent there, feeling the attraction of Buenos Aires not only in its big city attractions but in its quieter, scenic neighborhoods that extend out in all directions (except for the coast) from the urban center.

I took the subway back down just a few stops and decided to get off at the Plaza Italia, finding a nice little stand-up pizza bar with friendly waiters before heading down past the zoo and a few more parks as I entered an area of the city known for its immense green spaces. Passing by consulates and gated houses, I was obviously in another high-end district, soon giving way to the 3rd of February park, a big park on the edge of the city popular with walkers, bicyclists and roller-bladers, as well as families just wanting to get out in the sun and have a nice picnic on the grassy areas. A small lake with paddleboats and a rose garden on the peninsula in the middle rounded out the idyllic scene, much like an old French pointilistic painting of a quaint day at the park. Kids and adults kicked around soccer balls while others sat in the shade drinking tea and talking. Moving on, I passed around into another of the city's many neighborhoods, not really knowing where the exact boundaries were, though you can feel the atmosphere change, as the storefronts and architectural styles transform from one to another. Thinking it was a little bit closer, I had decided to just walk the long way home, though I soon found that the scale of my map was way bigger than I thought. Nevertheless, it was a nice day outside, so I continued walking along.

Eventually I came upon a park with rows of crafts vendors, a scene that jarred my memory from years before. I knew this exact spot from my time in the city, realizing that the famous Recoleta cemetery would be just around the corner. Passing by, my memory of the place also included a few dreadlocked hippies who had strung a taut rope between some palm trees to practice walking as if on a high wire, and that exact scene was again on display. I entered the massive cemetery again, filled with huge mausoleums housing wealthy families from the city's past. Granite, marble and a variety of other stones and colors sculpted into pillars, crosses, doors and windows line the cement alleyways, filled with random stray cats and tourists mostly gravitating towards the Duarte family tomb where the beloved Evita rests. Most of the concrete cemetery is quiet, peaceful and beautiful, but the one row with Evita seems to attract a line of pushy tour groups, all trying to get to the very front to see the small placard of the former leader.

Leaving the cemetery, I headed back towards the hostel, still a long way off, stopping at one of the shops for some of Argentina's famous ice cream, sort of resembling Italian gelatto at times. Just before dusk, I finally made it back to the wide Avenida 9 de Julio, completing a very long day of walking and being taken in by the city that has done the same to so many others. I was also amazed that while in the process of uncovering so many new pieces of this great city, I was able to rekindle so many of my treasured memories of my past stay in the city from riding bikes in the park to walking to class in the mornings to even seeing those same hippies outside of Recoleta cemetery, providing a nice mix of nostalgia and discovery. As I've said over and over, there really is something about Buenos Aires that gets under my skin and leaves me wanting more.

(The famous Obelisk in the center of Avenida 9 de Julio, just two blocks from my hostel in the Microcentro.)

(A typical streetscene near the Plaza de Mayo. Classic architecture and nice trees make this a great city for wandering aimlessly.)

(One of the Congressional buildings of the city. Government stuff goes on inside, so they have a fence to keep riff-raff like me out of it, so I have no idea what's actually in there. Probably just a nice looking restaurant or something.)

(More of the inner city in Buenos Aires.)

(Again, nothing spectacular, but I just love the feel of the city, and it's mostly all flat, so it's easy to walk around for hours and hours, which is exactly what I did.)

(Look closely at the front corner of this building. Above the fish market, on the second floor, is where I lived for three weeks after graduating and finding a homestay with a local family. Wandering down these streets brought back some great memories of my time there taking Spanish lessons and discovering the city.)

(Despite being a massive metropolis, Buenos Aires still retains some greenery, making it a lot more pleasant for walking.)

(I spent a few hours wandering around the 3rd of February park, watching paddleboats, bikers, rollerbladers, runners and kids running through the rose gardens. This side of the city (near Palermo) is known for its many parks and green spaces.)

(Inside the Recoleta Cemetery. The tombs house different families, all done in different styles, lining concrete alleys with a large population of stray cats patrolling the grounds.)

(The Familia Duarte - last resting place of Eva Peron (Evita). If you really want, you can make some terrible Don't Cry for Me Argentina joke here, but I'm not going to sink to that level. Show some respect.)

(Though most of the cemetery is quiet and scenic, the row where Evita's tomb is located gets crazy and pushy when tour groups come through, everyone trying to get a close look at the tomb and placard above.)

(Just one or two rows down, almost complete solitude in the Recoleta Cemetery.)

(The Avenida 9 de Julio (9th of July for those not good at Spanglish). Claiming to be the widest avenue in the world, it's imposing at 7 lanes each way, separated by a big island containing the Obelisk, as well as two lanes on each side separated by another island, that are actually separate, parallel roads. Crossing this thoroughfare can be quite a task, especially if you try to do it in one stretch.)

(A cheap, typical meal of mine - cheese pizza and ground beef empanada. Everything was going well as I ate my food under the Obelisk, watching the day pass into night, until my empanada decided to drip grease all over me and my pants. Luckily I had some water to wash it off, though it did look a little suspicious walking back with wet pants...especially in such a high-traffic area where it would be impossible to go undetected.)

Santa Fe, Argentina - Colonial Capital

2011-03-20T15:54:00.011-04:00

March 6 - 7, 2011

Santa Fe. Announcing travel plans to this provincial capital often elicits looks of bewilderment or confusion from Portenos (residents of Buenos Aires), wondering what it is exactly that you want to see or do there. With only a few days before I needed to head down to the Southern tip of the country, I had initially planned to head over to Uruguay, but with my flight delays and timing, I decided I'd delay Uruguay and instead visit another part of Argentina, opting for Santa Fe, as it's only six hours away by comfortable bus, and its description promised a relaxed colonial city with nice architecture and a calm pace of life. I took the subway over to the busy bus terminal and boarded one of the many double decker buses. Unlike some of my recent trips to Africa and Southeast Asia, the bus system here is well-organized, efficient and comfortable, offering large reclining seats, good legroom and even leaving on time, regardless of whether or not the bus is completely full (gasp).

Leaving the city, we passed by the office and residential sectors and soon made our way into the famed Argentine Pampas, the vast grasslands that surround the central swath of the country and are home to the famous gauchos/cowboys and the feeding ground for much of the prime meat for which the country is famous. Trees dotted the horizon, but most of the ride was simply flat and green for as far as you could see. Crossing a few rivers and entering into the edge of town, we came upon small streets lined with single or double story shops and restaurants and strands of trees, portraying a nice old-fashioned town feel. A few high-rises did appear, but in this city, they are the exception rather than the rule.

After an uneventful night, I spent the next day wandering around the quiet streets of the city on a Sunday morning, finding few others out and about. Along the way, I was treated to views of fading colonial architecture mixed with modern storefronts, leading down to the main plaza of the city, surrounded by two antique churches and a few large, stately government buildings. Finding a bench in the shade, I simply watched the day pass by, stray dogs chasing each other, children singing and riding bikes, couples walking down the road. It was all quite a nice scene other than the pesky mosquitoes that apparently come from the nearby rivers. As I was leaving the town square, I was stopped by two different sets of friendly Argentines, first asking for directions and then simply just wanting to chat and get my impression of their country.

Around the corner from the plaza sits one of the main "attractions" of the city, an old convent constructed in 1680. The Spanish style building in white and black fit in perfectly in the grassy square, and just around the corner, another fine looking building turned out to be a cultural museum. Heading down the road for lunch, I found a small sign for the Syrian/Lebanese association of the city, mentioned in the guidebook as a good place to eat. The little placard and narrow hallway didn't promise much, but then it opened into a huge banquet room, full of tables and loud conversations as the locals were mostly gathering together after church to catch up on all the weekly gossip. Service was rushed and crazy, but I just enjoyed watching the relative chaos as kids ran around tables, parents drank wine and looked the other direction and waiters scrambled to throw bread on tables as customers came and went.

Later in the day, I explored more of the town, finding more tree-lined avenues and quiet streets, eventually stumbling upon a little arts and crafts fair as darkness set in. All in all, it wasn't a very eventful weekend, but Santa Fe's mix of tranquility and heritage was a nice respite from the big-city sights of Buenos Aires, which I'd revisit soon enough.

(Colonial Santa Fe is an understated place where stately architecture sits alongside unassuming restaurants and plazas, making a nice place to wander aimlessly.)

(Around the town square are various government buildings and a few random stray dogs chasing each other around. It was a nice spot to sit on the bench and relax until the ubiquitous mosquitos found me.)

(One of the two historic churches on the edge of the square. Just after leaving the square, I was approached by two different groups of people asking for directions around the city. This was obviously because I look like such a local with my backpack and hat.)

(The old convent, dating back to 1680. Again a pretty sight, but the pesky mosquitoes didn't want me to stay too long in one spot. Fortunately, there's no real malaria risk here.)

(Just off the main pedestrian street running down to the plaza, another typical street scene with this mix of industrial and residential. The city feels like it has a nice relaxed pace, especially compared to Buenos Aires, six hours away by bus.)

(Inside a tiny doorway and down a small hallway, I found the Syrian/Lebanese Club which is a huge, popular restaurant, completely packed early on a Sunday afternoon. Finally finding a table, I opted for the classic salsa rosa (pink sauce) which is pasta with a mix of cream and tomato sauce, one of my fond memories of Argentinian food. This version wasn't amazing, but it's hard for pasta to be bad.)

(One more of the classic looking buildings just down the street from the friendly hostel where I stayed. I also stumbled upon a random street fair with some arts and crafts vendors, but I figured you can only have so many air-brushed landscape paintings and pan flutes in one backpack, so I abstained.)

Buenos Aires, Alluring as Always

2011-03-20T15:46:00.016-04:00

March 5, 2011

Buenos Aires always has something to it, some sort of touch, atmosphere and gritty grace that draws me to it. I lived there for about a month just after graduating university, and though I thought about it often, it took me over eight years to get back. Unfortunately, getting down there wasn't as simple as it could have been. I was flying standby on a buddy pass, so I had to postpone my flight twice at the beginning of the week after checking the capacity of the planes and realizing I wouldn't make it, followed by another night in which I checked in but was left standing at the gate as the plane pulled away with 20-30 empty seats and 10 of us passengers stranded as the plane was already way overweight with the cargo it was carrying. Luckily, it is a direct flight from Atlanta, so I could simply go back home, as I drove my car to the airport for this contingency. The fourth attempt was just as suspenseful, finally getting my clearance about 45 minutes before the flight was to take off. I didn't get an ideal seat, but I was just happy to be on the plane, meaning that I wouldn't have to try to re-route my trip through Brazil or Chile on my way down to the bottom of Argentina in a few days.

I arrived early in the morning, pushed my way through baggage and customs and got into a shuttle towards the downtown area, immediately greeted by the vast open fields of tall grasses, lined with shady trees with cars parked randomly along the highway while the passengers sat in the shade, enjoying the sunny day and a thermos full of mate (MAH-tay), the local tea that is beloved throughout the country. Soon enough, buildings appeared, first some rather dirty suburbs that evolved into apartment blocks and soon into office buildings and a bit of European architecture as we entered the center of this massive city of around 15 million people, around the same size as New York or Sao Paulo. I found my hostel and quickly made my way to the Paraguayan consulate for a Visa application before getting back to the center of town just before lunch. I had stayed in touch with one of the activity directors from the school when I was in Buenos Aires before, so I contacted my friend Majo (Maria Jose), and she was able to join me for lunch in the center of the city. Though I studied Spanish in college, it had been quite a while and to be thrown right into it with real conversations instead of typical tourist pleasantries was a good test, and it was also just nice to catch up on her life as I also was happy to dive back into the great restaurant scene of the city, opting for a plate of the special pasta and a local ice cream, a specialty of the country. Unfortunately, prices have gone up significantly since my last trip there, but inflation like that isn't a big surprise in this country as of late.

After lunch, I simply wandered the busy streets of the area, known as the Microcentro, passing by a few well-touristed zones including the Avenida 9 de Julio, claiming to be the widest avenue in the world, with 7 lanes each way, plus two more going along each side separated by a tiny median. Crossing this monster is almost always done in two phases, making it out to the concrete island in the middle in one crossing and moving to the other side on the next set. Pointing skyward from the center of this spot is the Obelisk (El Obelisco), a Washington monument looking structure, surely commemorating some sort of independence, though I couldn't tell you the exact meaning offhand. The massive office buildings and huge billboards lining the avenue make quite a sight, one of my many memories from my first visit to the city. I also paid a quick visit to the Plaza del Mayo and the Casa Rosada, a large plaza fronted by a few government buildings, a cathedral and the president's palace - the Casa Rosada. Literally meaning the Pink House, it is said to be pink because it was either a combination of red and white, the colors of the two dominant political parties at the time or simply because that was the color of paint available at the time. Every Thursday, nonviolent protests are held by the Madres de los Desaparecidos (Mothers of the Disappeared Ones), a group of women continually protesting the abduction, torture and/or murder of their husbands and sons during a dark period in Argentinian history during the 70s and 80s were somewhere around 30,000 people disappeared. The women march to this day, demanding answers or retribution from the government.

Finishing off the night in the classic city, I opted for a simple Argentine pizza and empanada (a meat turnover), taking it out to the center of Avenida 9 de Julio, sitting underneath the shadow of the Obelisk as I watched night set in on the city. Though I had only been back for a day, I already rekindled my interest in the city with its mix of busy corporate life, Latin flair, European heritage, fine dining and everything else that makes it so special (and causes many to refer to it as the Paris of South America, if that makes any sense). The next day I decided that I'd take a quick bus trip up to Santa Fe, mostly just for a weekend out to explore another part of the vast country.

(The Obelisk of Buenos Aires, poking out of the middle of the road, as seen from the Plaza de Mayo, just in front of the president's office at the edge of one of the business districts of the city.)

(The Cabildo - a governmental building from the 1700s on the edge of the Plaza del Mayo. I believe this building was larger, but then it was cut in half when they decided to extend one of the adjacent streets.)

(Looking out on the Plaza de Mayo. Every Thursday, this spot is the epicenter of protests of mothers whose sons were killed or tortured by the Argentine government during the 70s and who are still "missing" today. Their name, Madres de los Desaparecidos, means Mothers of the Disappeared Ones, as they are known in the country.)

(The Casa Rosada - Argentina's version of the White House. The name simply means the Pink House, and the color is said to come from a) a mix of the red color of one political party and the white color of another a century or two ago or b) from the primary color of paint that was available at the time. The first idea is definitely more romantic.)

(Inside a courtyard in the Casa Rosada. You can actually enter into a small part of the building, though the part open to the public is just a few atriums filled with portraits of Latin American liberators.)

(The Catedral Metropolitana, again on the edge of the Plaza de Mayo. There's a lot going on in that small block.)

The Surreal Landscape of Deadvlei

2010-09-26T16:45:00.009-04:00

September 5, 2010

Deadvlei is a surreal landscape of petrified trees and a flat white salt pan, surrounded by brilliant red sand dunes, probably the second most common image of Namibia (behind only the dunes of Sossusvlei). After our incredible morning watching the sun rise from the high perch of Dune 45, we headed further into Namib-Naukluft Park, rolling along the long flat road, passing through a sort of valley, surrounded on both sides by row after row of undulating dunes. Some are up to 200 meters high (660 feet), others a little flatter and wider, all with the picturesque snaking ridge lines running up the front of the mass of sand, creating one half colored in orange by the morning sunlight and the other half still a dark shadow. At the end of this incredibly scenic road lined with dunes numbered on one side from about 1 to 30 and then running back along the road from around 31 to 60, we came to another small parking lot where we met Boesman (the Afrikaans name for Bushman), our guide for the desert walk into Deadvlei. The shoeless white man in his late 30s or early 40s, clad in khaki shorts and shirt, had come highly recommended by our tour guide and driver who had spoken quite well of him. We piled in the back of his open pickup truck for a short drive down the sandy 4WD road, bumping up and down for a few minutes as we continued to pass a few more scenic dunes on each side with random bits of shrub/tumbleweed and even a few small trees here and there.

Coming to a stop, with his strong Namibian/Afrikaaner accent, he beckoned us out of the truck and began to pour out his incredible knowledge of the area. He explained the vegetation, the history, the people, the animals; it seemed there was nothing he didn't know about the area. He showed how the dunes were shaped in the summer by the winds coming from the desert towards the coast and in the winter by the winds coming from the coast to the desert, explaining that those in touch with nature could actually tell directions by the way the curves on the dunes were facing at a certain point during the year (and this is also why this dune field is fairly stagnant, not moving towards or away from the coast). In fact, these dunes come from the sands of the Kalahari, the oldest desert in the world, and they get the red color from little bits of iron in the sand that actually rust. He also mentioned that he'd be walking quickly ahead of us and not to worry about keeping up, as he'd stop along the way to point things out. After his first few steps in the hot sand, we could see that he wasn't kidding, speeding way ahead of us after every stop, showing a plant that opens with a drop of water after laying dormant for long periods of time and telling us so much information about the recent animals having passed through the area based on just a few prints in the sand. With his incredible knowledge gained from his father and growing up in the area, he explained more and more about the desert, and we soon tracked a few bugs up and down one of the small edges of the dune, finding many different tracks left by bugs, spiders, etc.

We then arrived at the edge of Deadvlei, the terminus of our walk, and Boesman explained a little about the area. Vlei simply means 'pan' (as in salt pan), and it got the "Dead" part of its name as it has been cut off from any water by the surrounding closed area of dunes for hundreds of years, leaving scattered, brittle, petrified trees standing where water once reached them between six and nine hundred years ago. As we walked up the small dune closing off Deadvlei from the rest of the area, we looked over the two circular white patches of hard dirt among the soaring red dunes behind it, dotted with a few small black trees, remnants from long, long ago. Walking down the hill into the vlei, the area did take on the other-wordly feel for which it's known, certainly an incredibly unique place. The white ground was caked and cracked, though fairly smooth to my bare feet, and though it looks small in comparison to the huge dunes behind it, walking among the landscape and dead trees gave us a feel for the size, a kilometer or two from end to end. The strong reds, whites and blacks of the area, combined with the isolation, harshness and cloudless blue sky made for some great photos, though they couldn't even capture the odd, yet interesting feel of the place.

We walked around the amazing area for about 30 minutes before heading back to meet up with Boesman and walk back to the truck, learning more and more about the desert through his great stories. He even found us a gecko in the sand, explaining how it would burrow into the sand if it felt the presence of a bird of prey overhead, so he threw his hat perfectly over the lizard, and we watched as it disappeared into the sand below, but that didn't last long as Boesman sprinted up the side of the dune, jumped down and dug it out within a few seconds. Soon after, he found a trap door spider buried in the sand, demonstrating how to open its door and enticing the spider to come up and look for potential food and shutting its door back again, all in less than a second. The most amazing thing about all of this was that despite doing a few tours a week, probably for years and years, Boesman was still incredibly interesting and enthusiastic to share his environment with each of us. To finish off the tour, he enthralled us with a few traditional stories from the San people/Bushmen of the area, with most of us hanging on his every word, telling a classic tale of a hunter listening to his wife and forgetting the words of his father/ancestors, ending up killing a pregnant animal, which is something that would never be done by a true man of the wild. He also told us more about the San people that originally inhabited the area, adapting perfectly to the desert. Their short stature and yellow skin allowed them to hunt effectively in the desert, and strange adaptations, like being able to eat 10 kilograms of meat in one sitting to store in their bodies until the next meal, made them well-suited for that sort of life. So distinct, they were viewed as a different race of humans, allowed to be hunted until the early 20th century, and there are very few of the traditional people left, as some have been killed off or chased away, others intermixing into the rest of the society and losing their evolutionary advantages. As some of the San people were killed when coming near the dunes of Sossusvlei by other cultures, the area was given the name, Tsossus, meaning the Place Where People Disappear in the Sand.

After taking in the incredible views of Deadvlei and learning from Boesman, we headed back to the camp to relax in the shade and get out of the hot afternoon sun. Later, we headed in the opposite direction, driving over to the edge of Sesriem Canyon, a 30 meter deep canyon that stretches for a few kilometers just on the outside of the park. In one direction, the canyon walls of composite rock, pebbles and hardened sand narrowed to the width of just about 10 yards, with a few tiny pools of standing water before closing off with a few impassible, pock-marked walls. Moving back in the other direction, the canyon opened up, widening out into a dry riverbed with yellow grasses and medium sized boulders strewn about. Simon and I walked through the area under the late afternoon sun, heading back up the rocky incline on the other side of the canyon as the setting sun slightly changed the color of the area, falling behind the horizon just as we got back to the truck and headed back to the camp for the night. Back at camp, a few dust storms had passed through, filling our tents with little bits of sand through any possible opening and flipping over Simon's unpegged tent and depositing loads and loads of sand into it.

Both Deadvlei and Sossusvlei had very high expectations in my mind, and both of these beautiful spots lived up to their billing as some of the most impressive areas in Namibia and some of the best desert landscapes in the world. Unfortunately, we had to keep moving, leaving the next morning back towards the Southern part of Namibia and eventually making our way to Fish River Canyon.

(A beautifully sculpted dune along the road in Namib-Naukluft park, on the way to Deadvlei. The lines and shadows were wonderful in the early morning light.)

(Though you are only allowed to climb on a few of them, such as Dune 45, the lines of dunes on each side of the road offer spectacular views along the way.)

(Nearing the end of the road, we transferred from our large group truck to the back of our guide's small truck to traverse the last few kilometers of the sandy road that sees more than a few inexperienced drivers get stuck.)

(Our guide, Boesman - Afrikaans for Bushman, let us out of the truck on onto a few of the smaller dunes, offering insight and stories about this seemingly lifeless landscape. Having lived in the desolate area, just like his father, he captivated us with his knowledge of every aspect of the area, along with a few great stories about the history of the place and the native inhabitants.)

(The beautifully oxidized sand reveals wind ripples from the strong gusts that alternately come on from the cold ocean or away from the desert, depending on the season. Boesman actually taught us that you could find your way only using the directions given to you based on the curvature of the sands, though I think he might be the only way brave enough to try something like that. Despite the strong winds that occasionally flare up, the dunes are essentially stagnant, as they move in alternating directions during the year.)

(Ahead of us, as usual, was Boesman. He initially warned us not to try to keep up, as he'd teach us a quick lesson and then speed-walk away, chasing after his next set of bug tracks or hidden foliage. Despite the heat of the sand, he prefers to go barefoot, possibly just to add to his mystique.)

(As he noted, the sand can tell many stories of the animals that live there. Here on the side of the dune, he showed us a few separate tracks of different kinds of bugs or spiders. Later on, he also caught a desert gecko for us, with a deft throw of his hat to simulate a bird passing overhead and sprinting up the dune to catch the burrowing lizard in its tracks.)

(Again, speeding ahead of us to his next stop. Despite leading nature tours many, many times throughout the year, it was obvious that he loves this area, and that enthusiasm made him one of the best, most captivating guides that I've ever had.)

(After cresting the hill of one of the smaller dunes, we had our first view of Deadvlei, the white salt pan that you see behind me. Not to be confused with the ridiculously white feet seen at the bottom of my legs. No, I'm not wearing socks.)

(Surrounded by massive sand dunes and eventually cut off from its water supply, the salt pan was closed off, and the few trees of the former watershed petrified 600-900 years ago, leaving an eerie, other-worldly landscape in its wake. This area is known as Deadvlei, simply meaning dead (salt) pan. They kept telling us that the movie "The Cell" with Jennifer Lopez was filmed her a few years ago, but apparently no one ever saw that movie because it didn't really mean anything to any of us.)

(Distances can be deceiving in this unique area, and the diameter of the large pan actually reaches something like 3 kilometers. We had about an hour to roam around the amazing landscape, and I was in awe of every second of it.)

(Another quick view of Dune 45 on the way out of the park. In the midday heat, only a couple of cars remain in the gravel parking lot that can get fairly full for the morning trek to see the sun rise over the dunes.)

(In the late afternoon, after a short break back at the campsite to get out of the midday sun, we headed over to nearby Sesriem Canyon, about 100 feet tall at its highest point. Narrowing into nothingness at one point, it was an interesting little hike.)

(In the other end, the canyon eventually just flows out into a large riverbed, allowing us to climb around and return along the top rim of the canyon, just in time to see the sun set on our incredible day among the amazing deserts of Namibia.)

(Another view down from the rim of Sesriem Canyon, walls made mostly of a composite of large pebbles and cementlike sandstone.)

Amazing Sossusvlei, Dune 45, and Solitaire Apple Strudel

2010-09-26T16:38:00.013-04:00

September 4 - 5, 2010

The iconic image of a glowing red sand dune shaped by the winds is one of the classic shots of Namibia, and it is probably what drew me towards this country, so I couldn't wait to get to our next stop: Sossusvlei. Moving on from our few days of adventure and comfort in Swakopmund, we crossed back into the sunny desert and away from the misty coast, again driving past hours of flat sand and gravel plains with very little vegetation to speak of. Despite the constant sun, the sky was still a bit grey due to all the sand and dust in the air. Without much change in landscape, we entered into Namib-Naukluft National Park, the huge reserve that encompasses the dune fields, a few canyons and sprawling areas of protected desert. As most of us were being lulled to sleep by the bumps and rattles of the fairly decent dirt road, I looked out the window to see a few huge rock walls growing up beside us as our flat road ended, and the road began a descent into a huge canyon. Kuiseb Canyon almost came out of nowhere as its walls are about the same level as the surrounding terrain, with the road dropping down and following the course of the often-dry riverbed weaving through the middle. A few lines of trees stood along the banks of where the river sometimes flows, though we only saw a few spots with water. The canyon itself is fairly impressive, particularly to geologists, as the layers upon layers that make up the area are easily seen in horizontal and vertical stacks, depending on the uplift of the particular area. In fact, two German geologists hid out in the canyon for a few years during World War II, not wanting to be brought into the war. One of them, Henno Martin, wrote a book about the experience called The Sheltering Desert. I can't imagine living in such a harsh landscape with so little to eat or drink, especially when the heat of the summer would be in full effect.

We made a quick lunch stop in another dry riverbed, meaning that we found shade under one of the few trees in the area, and soon after we passed the Tropic of Capricorn, moving from the warm tropics down into the cold winter/spring of Southern Africa, but it actually didn't feel any different. Not long after this stop, we came to an aptly named town called Solitaire, a tiny outpost in the middle of the desert, miles and miles away from anything else. The place has become famous as a snack stop in Central Namibia, partially thanks to being written about in Ewan Macgregor's book, Long Way Down, where he and his friend rode down the length of Africa. We pulled up to the small gas station and cafe, flanked by a few old car and truck frames slowing rusting away next to clumps of cactus, though there were a few other tourists around, all of us heading into the cafe for the attraction of the area, the apple strudel. This dessert is said to be the best in the country or even the region, and the serving was huge, though most of us thought it was a little dry, particularly for the desert, and unimpressive. Not long afterwards, we arrived at our campsite on the edge of the massive dunes of Sossusvlei, though we were still 45-60 minutes away from the key attractions of the park, which we'd see the next morning. For the night, we walked around the isolated area, admiring the low mountain ranges encircling the horizon and watching the sun set over the hills from the vantage point of a tiny sand dune standing above the plain. Simon, Gursheen, Slavek and I then started walking back before being surprised by a slithering snake passing right in front of us in the sand. Gursheen has a snake phobia, so she obviously wasn't happy and screamed a bit, though the snake didn't care to hang around and investigate us. Thinking we were probably past the worst of it, we continued on, and another snake scurried along ahead of us, into the small shrubs around the outskirts of the large campsite. Asking around, we found that the first brown and yellow snake was probably some sort of coral snake, and the second medium sized one, pure black in color, was almost definitely a young spitting cobra, so we were happy that the snakes didn't take much interest in us.

We woke up around 4:30 or 5 the next morning, wearily piling into the truck and heading up to the park gates, needing to get there the moment they opened the gates. Once open, our truck, along with three or four others sped along the well-maintained dirt road in the darkness, making our way to the centerpiece of the park, Dune 45. As a coincidence, this dune is 45 kilometers from the entrance gate, and many people mistakenly think this is where the name comes from, but the huge dunes lining the road on each side were simply numbered from about 1 to 60, and this just happened to be the 45th one. On the way there, we were passed by a crazy driver from one of the other groups, ignoring the risk of wildlife along the road, though we all arrived nearly the same time at a small parking lot on the edge of the dune. Though there are many dunes around, Dune 45 is the most popular for its proximity to the road, massive size and relative ease of climbing (and I don't think you're actually allowed to climb most of the others). So we staggered out of the truck and started making our way up the ridge line of the dune, beginning with a fairly flat slope but soon raising up to a steep climb on the sand. Being a desert, the morning was quite cold, many of us bundled up in hats, jackets and gloves, though we knew that would soon change once the heat of the day would set in. As we got higher and higher, the first hints of morning light began to illuminate the area, revealing a massive panorama of dunes in all directions, not to mention the steep sand walls sliding off to either side of us on the ridge. Some people opted to only go up most of the way either due to fatigue or wanting to get back down faster, but we continued on, making our way to the top, with probably about 40 or 50 of us all sitting somewhere along the ridge, taking in the awesome views and waiting for the sun to rise up over the hills. Finally, the rays of light and the yellow-orange sun began to appear directly across from us, rising majestically above this natural wonderland, lighting up the red sand of the area, much more brilliant than many of the yellow/gold dunes that you often see. Dune 45 is about 130 meters high (about 420 feet), so we had some great views over the surrounding area. Despite not having the moment to myself, this was still one of those moments that I had built up in my mind as a must-see sort of thing, and I was not disappointed.

After admiring the views a little longer, I decided to take off my shoes and head down the side of the dune, following a secondary ridge that made it just a little less steep and also wanting to not wait in line as everyone descended down the original path. The first few steps off the side were steep, though my feet sunk into the rust colored sand and felt fairly stable, so I soon began to run down the side of the huge sand dune, delighting in having this part of the place to myself, as well as taking in the views of the changing colors of the early morning in the valley. About five or ten minutes later, I was down at the bottom, looking up and realizing how high we had actually been, as it was way more apparent when looking from the steep side as opposed to the front with the gradual incline. I circled around the dune, watching it change shades of orange and red before getting back to the front of the dune for a few pictures of it with just one or two dry and/or dead trees standing in a few spots around the front of the dune. Waiting for us below were our driver, cook and guide, having made us a nice breakfast to enjoy in front of this magical place. I had a quick meal and explored the area for a little while longer, almost not believing that I was actually at the foot of this dune field that had been in my mind for so long. Eventually, we had to move on, trying to take advantage of the cooler morning air and moving further into the park, to a spot called Deadvlei.

(A quick stop through the dry, stacked rocks of Kuiseb Canyon. Two Germans actually hid out in this canyon for a few years to avoid becoming a part of World War II. I, on the other hand, am fairly conspicuous in this picture.)

(A small trail running through the desolate canyon. Driving from the coast and Swakopmund through flat, gravel plains, we found ourselves descending into the huge canyon.)

(Crossing South over the Tropic of Capricorn, heading into the temperate, frigid climates outside of the tropics. As you can see, I was enthralled to be crossing over an invisible geographic demarcation.)

(The apple strudel in a tiny, isolated town appropriately named Solitaire. This dessert is said to be legendary and the best in Southern Africa, but I wasn't really all that impressed. It wasn't bad, but it was pretty dry, especially after travelling for hours through the desert.)

(Solitaire mostly just consists of a gas station, cafe and shop alongside a few farms and a whole lot of nothing. Just outside the cafe are some of these remnants of cars, fuel pumps and some cacti.)

(These cars and the strudel are pretty much the extent of what you'll see in Solitaire. The place gained some popularity as it was mentioned in actor Ewan McGregor's book when he and his buddy rode their motorcycles down across the entire continent.)

(We arrived at Namib-Naukluft Park just before sundown, giving us a bit of time to set up our tents and go for a walk in the sandy plains to enjoy the sunset. Coming back, we crossed paths with two snakes at very close range, the second of which being a spitting cobra, though both of the snakes continued slithering on their way without paying much attention to us.)

(As with many of the groups staying just outside the park, we awoke early and sped into the park the minute the gates opened, allowing us an early morning hike up to the top of majestic Dune 45 for a view of the sunrise over the rows of sand dunes.)

(Though we weren't alone, it was still an amazing sight to watch the sun light up the valley surrounded by lines of massive red sand dunes in every direction. The hike up to the top of the dune, over 400 feet tall, was a little difficult, but it wasn't horrible, as the heat of the morning hadn't set in. On the way down, I opted for a more direct route.)

(Instead of dodging tourists on the way back down the spine of the wind-sculpted dune, I decided to just go off the path and head straight down one of the steep sides. Running down the dune barefoot, my legs sunk in calf-deep with each step in the soft sand, still cool from the previous night. In addition to being a great way to get down, this saved a lot of time and allowed me to get around to the front of the dune for a few more pictures before the rows of tourists made their way down. This picture is courtesy of Slav.)

(Around the side of Dune 45, named for being the 45th of the numbered dunes in the park, coincidentally 45 kms from the entrance to the park. On the ridge, you can see the tiny specks that are a few people climbing down the sand. In the foreground, the gravel desert typifies much of the area.)

(A few petrified trees at the base of the dune gave us a sneak peak of what we'd soon see in Deadvlei later that morning.)

(The magical morning light added to the wonder of this place filled with unreal shades of yellow, orange and red.)

(The view of the 'front' of Dune 45 from the parking area. After returning from our climb, our driver, cook and guide were nice enough to have a big breakfast waiting for us, giving us a few more minutes to stare at the beautiful landscape before heading further into the park for a short trek to Deadvlei.)

Quadbiking the Deserts of Swakopmund

2010-09-26T16:35:00.008-04:00

September 2 - 4, 2010

Continuing on my adrenaline filled day after sandboarding, a few members of my group and I decided to go quadbiking through the dunes around Swakopmund in the afternoon (better known as riding ATVs to us Americans). A driver came and picked up our group, though we drove for about three minutes, circling around to the backside of our campsite, realizing that we could have probably walked there just as quickly, since the site was literally just outside the fences of our area, which is also the edge of the strange town of Swakopmund. Along with me for the afternoon were Simon (British architect guy), Bruce and Stuart (British brothers), and David and Jennifer (retired Aussie couple that were my teammates for chore duty throughout the trip). We were given a very brief bit of instructions, and then we were on the quadbikes, revving the engines and ready to go.

Swakopmund is surrounded by sandy desert, so it's not hard to find empty areas to ride, though thankfully this company sticks to a piece of the dunes to the South of the city that are blocked off for their own activities, preventing too much environmental damage to the rest of the area. Buzzing down a road for just about a minute, we entered the beautiful golden sand dunes, laying down tracks as we went along, slightly tentative at first, though we soon got the feel for what our machines were capable of. Bruce, being one to always go full-speed, opted for the manual transmission bike which had a larger engine, so he soon disobeyed the instructions to stay in line, weaving in and out and past us at times, slicing fairly close to us at times with a huge smile on his face. Riding up and down over the huge rolling dunes with no one else in sight, we began making our way to the faces of the dunes, riding up the front of them at a steep angle and then turning back downhill just as the quadbike would lose momentum (if you don't turn, you'd lose all momentum and then roll down the hill), then picking up a huge amount of speed as you raced back down the large dunes, catapulting back up another mound to the next dune. We did a few circles on some of the more enjoyable ones and continued making our way around the area, having to stop a few times for Bruce who either was too far ahead or behind doing his own thing or, on two or three occasions, stuck in the sand while trying to shift when he shouldn't, leaving himself stuck digging into the soft sand and needing the guide to come pull him out. (Bruce and Stuart always mentioned how he loved to go all out in anything, and he told me that he's made sure to never get a motorcycle, as he knows he'd kill himself, so this didn't surprise me.)

After about an hour of riding over the dunes, we took a quick break, looking over the spectacular patterns of the rolling dunes going off in every direction. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated the area with a brilliant golden hue, making the exhilarating experience that much more magical. Each of us had loved the first half of the journey, and we couldn't wait for more. We turned around and headed back towards the base, taking a track closer to the coast this time. As before, we circled up and down the face of some of the larger dunes before coming to the top of a few huge ones where we actually had to slow down quite a bit to make it safely down the steep descents. Not long afterwards, we came over another ridge, revealing the setting sun reflecting off the dark water of the ocean just a few hundred yards away, providing a perfect ending to an incredible experience. Another guide also got a small gecko in the sand around us, showing his version of an "African earring" with the gecko clamping on to his earlobe with his mouth and not letting go. I had not originally thought that I would do the quadbiking, but I was so glad that I did; it was almost worth it just for the perfect views over the massive field of sand dunes, and the quadbiking part was amazingly fun in and of itself. It was so good that a few of us even talked about doing it again the next day, though we eventually decided not to do that. Another few people in our group did the quadbiking the next morning, and although I'm sure it was great, they had mist and clouds, so I was glad that we had the spectacular views and late afternoon sun when we did our trip.

I also thought about doing a little bit of solo paragliding on the dunes with three of the group members the next day, climbing up the dunes and floating down a little bit above the sand on the air currents, though I decided to relax and save a bit of money, instead taking the day to rest and get caught up on a few mundane things like laundry. Again, the day was mostly shrouded in mist and a bit of wind, making it quite cold on the coast, while it was very hot and dry just ten minutes inland. For dinner, a few of us went to an Italian place the first night; this is one of the few places in Namibia with many culinary choices, so we had to take advantage of it. Some had local meat (oryx) or fish, while I opted for a massive calzone that I barely even finished. It was so good, in fact, that I convinced Simon, Bruce and Stuart to go back to that place the next night, with each of us ordering our own calzone, since they were also impressed by it the day before. This time I went for the springbok version, filled with a bit of the tasty game meat (again, similar to beef) and a sort of stirfry mix. When the four huge calzones came out, we saw a lot of the other guests pointing and talking about our food, as they are quite impressive sights. All in all, I didn't think I'd have much to do in two and a half days in Swakopmund, but I had a great time with the sandboarding and the quadbiking, and the great calzones just added to my enjoyment of the place.

Leaving town, we had another dark, misty morning, heading down the coast to Walvis Bay, one of the most important harbors on this side of the coast and actually the second biggest city in Namibia, though that's not saying much. We passed a few elegant houses lining the waterfront, but most of the city was fairly generic, backed by some large fishing boats and freight harbors. We stopped just past the town at the boardwalk to wander around, checking out a few of the flocks of flamingos wading in the shallow water in front of us before heading back onto the truck on on our way inland again, ready to make our way to Sossusvlei, one of the most eagerly anticipated stops on the trip.

(After sandboarding in the morning, six of us decided to do the quadbiking (ATVs) in the afternoon. We went just outside of town to one of the many dunes and began a guided ride up and down the dunes. We would speed along up and down the hills and then do big semi-circles on the massive dune faces, going as high up as possible before losing momentum and turning back downhill before the quadbike tipped over. This is either me or Bruce, but I'd have to zoom in to see. Looks really cool, so it's probably me.)

(Me and Simon on our quadbikes, having a great time tearing up the dunes. They also assured us that we stick to a specific part of the dunes, leaving the rest of the landscape and habitat of the area untouched, thus not ruining the environment all that much. I had initially thought I wouldn't do this, but it turned out to be incredibly fun, so much so that many of us wanted to do it again.)

(Me making some tracks while waiting for the rest of the group. Bruce opted for the larger bike with the manual transmission, meaning that he'd often speed by us, but then he got stuck a few times trying to shift on the steep hills, so this was one of the times when the guide had to go back and get him.)

(Apart from the exhilarating ride, just getting out into the beautiful dunes in the late afternoon light was worth it, as we had some incredible views of the sand stretching in every direction, finally stopping at the cold Atlantic Ocean.)

(See if you can guess what's missing in this picture. Hint- it starts with a "Q" and ends with "uadbike.")

(Here's the whole group of quadbikers. From left: Stuart, me, David, Bruce, Simon and Jenny. We also did a really cool picture where we all did thumbs-up, but somehow the picture didn't capture the excitement.)

(After getting a massive calzone one night for dinner, it was hard to choose anything else, so I convinced some of the guys to come back the next night, and we were not disappointed. With our four massive calzones, most of the people in the restaurant were looking at us, no doubt envious. Mine was a springbok stirfry, and it was really good. We all had a bit of leftovers for lunch, too. From left - Stuart, Bruce, me (already taking a bite), and Simon.)

(Along with the wonderful calzones, I was also a fan of the donuts from the local supermarket. Apparently I'm perpetuating American stereotypes of overeating all over the world, but that's ok. I like food.)

(Leaving Swakopmund, we headed down the coast to Walvis Bay, where we saw large flocks of flamingos hanging out in the bay. Though the day was a little dark, it made for good reflections on the water. This peaceful little guy was just sitting there until Bruce started to chase a few of them to try to make for a better, more exciting video.)

(Though they're not all that rare, it's still cool to see them in flight.)

Sandboarding Through the Strange Town of Swakopmund

2010-09-26T16:33:00.006-04:00

September 1 - 2, 2010

Swakopmund is, in a word, strange. This little German settlement in the middle of nowhere sits isolated, surrounded by vast sand dunes on three sides and the cold Atlantic Ocean on the other. Driving down along the Skeleton coast, there were vast horizons of sandy and rocky plains with nothing all around, and then, all of a sudden, we came upon this town with paved roads and proper buildings and markets, wedged into a little area of mostly five or six blocks from the ocean to the interior and maybe ten blocks wide, along with just a tiny bit of suburbs and housing on the fringes, though those are also all confined to a few main roads, so the unusual town fits nicely into a little rectangular area when seen from above, in stark contrast to the light brown of the desert all around. Apart from a significant fishing port, Walvis Bay, about 60 kilometers to the South, there is almost nothing around, making the place an oasis in the area, if that's even possible to have an oasis bordering an ocean (though an inhospitable piece of it). In fact, the remake of the show, The Prisoner, a show where a prisoner is isolated in a very strange small town where no one ever leaves because of the desert all around, was filmed here.

We did a quick tour of the tiny village in our truck to get our bearings and then arrived at our bungalows for the next few nights, most of us quite happy to not have to put up and put down tents for a change. The little bungalows fit the quirky character of the place well, entering into a little rest area with some pastel colored A frames that looked like ski lodges built on the wrong continent along with our little boxy two room houses, complete with a tiny kitchen and bathroom in each. Though there were two tiny beds in my cramped room, I got the bedroom to myself, sharing the house with Bruce and Stuart, the two older English men who often kept me entertained. Bruce had incredible stories from his many, many years of travelling to exotic locations, and he and Stuart always had a lively banter going between the two of them, whether in the heat of a nightly cribbage match or just making fun of each other or something they saw out of the window of the truck.

Walking around town added to the strange feel of the place, finding the streets mostly empty, still shaded in the cool fog of the day. The palm-lined boulevards feature a few tourist shops and a number of historic Germanic houses and buildings, nicely painted in a very European style. There was also a nice promenade of palms trees and sidewalk along the waterfront, though the windy day didn't make for a very pleasant stroll. In spite of all its amenities, each of us still couldn't shake the odd vibe that we were getting from Swakopmund (or Swakop for short). For our first night back in some semblance of civilization, we opted for a nicer group dinner, heading off to the Lighthouse for a nice dinner where a few of us tried some of the local meat including oryx/gemsbok and springbok, both tasting like a nice tender meat similar to steak. We finished off the night with a visit to the local pub/dance club, finding a less than lively scene that featured mostly us on the dance floor (not so much me) and a little scuffle between a few of the locals who had too much to drink.

The next morning I walked the ten minutes back into town from our bungalows, finding more of the quiet, eerie streets, and I grabbed a few donuts for the road, jogging back just in time to catch the shuttle for the first of my two big adventure activities for the day: sandboarding. Though I had barely only snowboarded for a few hours, the idea of strapping on a board and riding down the massive sand dunes sounded like fun, so I joined the tour, along with Slavek (a Polish tour operator in his 30s living in London) and Richard (a retired American who teaches online university courses) from our group. Our surfer-dude guide and his friendly dog joined us in the minivan with a few other passengers, and we headed off. Just a few minutes outside of town, we left the fog and haze behind, emerging into the bright sunlight and much higher temperatures (though being winter, it was only about 27 C/80 F). We parked outside a field of massive yellow-orange sand dunes, got our gear and headed up the hill. As all of the others doing the sandboarding had done snowboarding before, there was not much real instruction, so I grabbed my board, along with my big boots and helmet and started the steep trek up the dunes.

I was hoping we'd start on a little slope and progress forward, but we went straight for the big one standing about 120 meters high (about 400 feet), taking about 15 minutes to walk up in the loose sand. The steep descent would have surely been a black diamond ski slope, but the sand creates a little more friction and slows you down a bit (you wax the board every time you go), though it still looked very intimidating to me. Not only that, just in front of us down the steep drop was a small wooden ramp for a jump, though I knew I'd be staying away from that for a while. I started slowly, cutting straight across the huge slope to lessen the angle, sliding down back and forth with my hands outstretched, tapping the sand here and there to keep my balance. At times it felt like I got the hang of it, though whenever I would pick up speed, I feared I was getting out of control, so I either turned back into the hill or fell for a soft stop in the cushioning sand. I never got to the point where I was fast or skilled, but I did have a great time trying out the sandboarding, and I'd love to try it again. Slavek, on the other hand, is quite good, having done a lot of snowboarding back in Europe. While most of us started out slow, he hopped on and sped right down the middle of the mountain as if it were no big deal. For one of his next runs, he decided to go for the jump, losing his balance just before takeoff, resulting in an impressive face-plant into the sand. Though he didn't make it, we all applauded his effort, and he did do a slightly better one the next time around.

After an hour or so of sliding down the hill and climbing back up, we got a chance to try out the other activity of the day, sandboarding on a flat piece of wood while laying down, speeding down the dune. Richard had opted for this from the beginning, not wanting to deal with the stand up boarding. This group had begun at the same time as us, practicing on a few smaller dunes before moving up to the top of the big slope with us. We, the group that did the stand-up boarding also, didn't have that luxury, so we were given a 30 second introduction and sent on our way. You simply lay flat on your stomach on top of a thin piece of some sort of wood/plasterboard with your knees right at the bottom of the board, lifting your legs slightly and then dragging your feet if you want to slow down or need to straighten out. Laying flat on my stomach, face just inches from the ground, I set up on the edge of the huge dune, looking down with quite a bit of anxiety. I had seen one or two runs before me, speeding down the hill and not looking too difficult, but that wasn't much comfort. With my arms bent at the elbows and splayed out like chicken wings, I held the front of the board and simply picked the front up to get myself going, being reminded not to put the front end down, as that would result in spinning out and lots of sand in my face. I picked up a lot of speed very quickly on the very steep slope, sliding past the first hill, slightly leveling out for just a second and then plummeting down into the second pit, feeling a little bit out of control, yet still running straight enough. Just a few seconds later, I flew up the other side of the dune, coming to a stop and hearing the worker with the radar gun tell me that I got up to 70 kilometers per hour (42 mph), which is very, very fast when your face is just barely above the surface. While in action, I was scared and unsure how safe it actually was, but right when I hit the bottom, I wanted to go again.

I grabbed my board and hiked back up the dune as quickly as possible, ready for another run. This time was a little more fun and slightly less scary, though it's still daunting looking down from the top of the sand. Again, I managed to keep the board straight and had another good run, though the guy after me got a little out of control at the very end of his run while slowing down, getting the board turned sideways, kicking up sand and eventually rolling off the board, though at this point, it wasn't dangerous, just a dirty, sandy wipeout. Really enjoying the speed, I hiked quickly up again, making it in time for one last run in which I hit 72 kph, though the record is apparently 80, probably set by one of the workers with a running start or something. To finish off, we made one more tiring climb up the dunes, coming back down on the stand up/snow boards. As before, I wasn't the greatest, but I managed just a bit more speed and agility, though I still have a long way to go before making it down the hill with any bit of flair or grace. We finished at the bottom of the dunes with a quick lunch before heading back, where our instructor talked to me for 15 minutes about Madagascar after learning that I'd be visiting the country later in my trip, since he spent four months there and loved the place. We got back to our odd bungalows for a quick break before starting my next activity for the day - quadbiking (aka riding ATVs).

(The strange town of Swakopmund, a few squares of German architecture and strange houses in the middle of the desert, fronting the cold coastline. This is also one of the tourist centers of Namibia, known for some of its adventure activities. The empty streets of the town have a very weird, surreal feel.)

(For my first forray into the dunes, we left the cold, misty coast and within minutes were back in the hot sun and desert. This is an aerial view of the sand dunes that we climbed for a sandboarding adventure - just using a snowboard with a bunch of wax to go down some incredibly steep sand dunes.)

(Without much/any snowboarding experience, I wasn't the greatest sand boarder, but it was still a lot of fun to slide down the huge dune, though not as fun to climb back up with the board and heavy boots every time.)

(After quite a few runs on the sandboard, most of us switched over to the lie-down sandboarding. This was even more scary to start, as they let us start at the top of the steepest hill, without any real instruction. You basically lay headfirst on this tiny little piece of wood/plasterboard and pick up the front of the board, so that it doesn't get stuck in the sand. Then gravity takes over, and you fly down the super steep dunes, with your face just inches from the oncoming sand.)

(Despite being rather scary, this style of sandboarding was amazing, and I raced back up the hill for a few more runs. With a radar gun at the bottom, they measured our speed, and I got up to 72 kph - 43mph. Pretty fast when sliding down a hill on your stomach. At the end, you come into a huge basin and back up a hill to slow you down, though if you turn just slightly (a few people did), you go flying off and spinning through the sand. Fortunately, I stayed on my board.)

Cape Cross Seal Colony and the Skeleton Coast

2010-09-26T16:31:00.007-04:00

September 1, 2010

The ominously named Skeleton Coast lines the Northern coast of Namibia, an area of vast sand dunes running straight into the sea for nearly half the coastline of the country. With the mix of warm air coming off the dunes and cold air from the frigid water brought up on the Benguela Current from Antarctica, an almost constant fog sits over the untouched area, causing very low visibility for ships in the area and leading to quite a few shipwrecks along the coast, left to slowly rust away in the harsh environment. In addition to the shipwrecks, if a sailor did manage to survive the crash, there was almost no hope of survival once on land, as the desert stretches for hundreds of miles in any direction with very little to offer in terms of food or shelter. According to my guidebook, some Portuguese sailors in the time of early exploration called the area The Sand of Hell (As Areias do Inferno) for that reason. Fortunately, we were travelling in the comfort of our nice truck and were just touching the very Southern edge of this coast, so our visit was a little less treacherous.

Getting to the coast from Brandberg, we passed miles and miles of flat, lifeless terrain of coarse sand and gravel fields, dotted with a few tiny rocks with not much else. Nearing the coast, we could see the distinctive fog bank and darker sky waiting for us, and we immediately felt the drop in temperature. Within a few miles of the coast, there are actually some brown and black spots on the ground that are lichen, coming out to bloom in greens and blues when the scarce rain does hit the area. Soon we got our first glimpse of the dark water of the ocean, marking a cross-continental trip for those who started this journey in Kenya and came from the waters of the Indian Ocean in Tanzania (though I started at the halfway point). Out of the isolation, we came across a tiny little settlement with just a few houses and a tourist center, the home to the Cape Cross seal colony.

Cape Cross is a haven for the Cape fur seals who gather here in groups of up to 100,000 at the peak time of the year for breeding. As we got out of the truck in the gravel parking lot, we were hit by the strong winds, a bit of a chill in the air, and a definite smell of animals nearby (though our guide said that the smell is often much stronger/worse). We walked along a purpose-built boardwalk lining the back of the beach, putting us just a few feet above the beach below, covered for about half a mile with seal after seal, occupying almost every available piece of land or rock. The brown lumps stretched off into the distance, some napping, a few young ones waddling around, and others jostling and barking, in what actually sounded pretty similar to a field of sheep bleating. Offshore, other large groups surfed the waves of the cold water, bobbing around like dark buoys in the ocean. After about thirty minutes of watching the seals, we headed back to the brief warmth of the truck before stopping at a nearby beach for lunch. Though very scenic, the beach was again a little cold and windy, but that was a nice change from the desert environment throughout most of the rest of the country.

Back on the road, we passed just a few tiny outposts, strangely put together towns of 10 or 20 buildings with oddly colored and shaped structures serving as factories and houses for some of the salt mines in the area. With salt being so prevalent due to the proximity to the ocean and evaporation in the area, the mines are common here, so much so that every so often you will find a random, unattended table along the road in the middle of nowhere, stacked with a few examples of the beautiful pink crystalline structure of the salt, sitting with just a small can for visitors to drop a bit of money in for taking some of the crystals. We also veered off the main dirt road once more, driving onto the sand and then walking out to one of the more recent, more accessible shipwrecks; a huge boat beached about 50 yards offshore, with waves constantly pounding against it. A bit more driving and we arrived to Swakopmund, a strange little city in the middle of nowhere.

(Cape Cross Seal Colony has something like 100,000 seals during its peak. Apparently it smells exactly as you'd expect 100,000 animals living in the water and eating fish to smell. Fortunately, the stench wasn't as bad when we were there, though the barking and crying did sound like a huge herd of sheep at times.)

(There were even a few little guys squirming around, looking much more graceful than the huge seals that are completely awkward when trying to move around on land.)

(Just down from the seal colony, we had a quick lunch on some windy picnic tables along the isolated coast. My thoughts on lunch - "Hmmmppphhhh." When I become a grumpy old man, I'll be using this face quite often.)

(This isolated stretch of coast where the desert meets the water is known as the Skeleton Coast. With the combination of cold water and warm air, there is almost always mist around, creating huge problems for ships navigating the area. In addition to the possibility of shipwrecks, there would be almost no way to survive in the harsh desert, hence the nickname. This shipwreck is a fairly recent one that we spotted from the road along the coast.)

The White Lady of Brandberg

2010-09-26T16:28:00.009-04:00

August 31 - Sept 1, 2010

Just a few hours from the ancient carvings at Twyfelfontein sits Brandberg, Namibia's highest mountain. Cruising along the fairly well graded dirt roads, we made our way to the campsite around Brandberg around lunchtime, giving us time to set up a nice meal and marvel at the swimming pool, cactus garden and small patch of green grass surrounding the pool, catching our eye after days of browns and yellows. Beyond the campsite sat two massive peaks, with the reddish, rocky Brandberg poking into the sky at over 2,500 meters (about 8,000 feet), standing tall above the adjacent yellow grasslands and random patches of stacked boulders here and there. Drawn in by the allure of the pool, a few of our group decided to relax and stay behind while the rest of us got back in the truck and made our way to the base of the mountain where we hired "Professor Colin", an older man with a baggy polo shirt and slightly unshaven face as our guide for the area, as the locals often work in rotations for guiding the tour groups that happen to show up. He quickly made some introductions and then we were off, realizing that we didn't have a lot of time to make the hike and get back before the sun went down over the horizon.

Walking briskly, our group followed along as Colin pointed out various birds and plant life, giving us detailed descriptions of the local flora and fauna and demonstrating a vast knowledge of the area. As we walked, we passed through a few high grasses and then a dry riverbed with large boulders along the side and smaller pebbles and gravel down the middle. Along the side of the path, rodent-like creatures were scurrying about, moving away as they saw us coming. These small, brown balls of fur, about the size of a small cat, are rock hyrax (also known as rock dassie in the area), the closest relative to the elephant, though vastly different in appearance, since they mostly just look like an oversized rodent or chinchilla without a tail. Moving further along, the wall of the adjacent mountain ridges grew closer, putting us in the vast shadow of rocky Brandberg and out of the hot sun of the day. The name Brandberg means Fire Mountain, referring to the brilliant red and orange glow as the rocky mountain reflects the first and last light of the day, making it almost appear that the mountain is on fire.

An hour or so into the walk, we came to a small climb and a set of steps, leading us around a few large boulders to a partially sheltered tiny cove in one of the boulders. Behind a small guard rail, Colin pointed out some of the ancient rock art on the walls. This legendary art is known as the White Lady of Brandberg, along with a few other sketches of wild animals, livestock and humans. The White Lady was first examined in the late 1940s, thought to be of Mediterranean origin due to the style, though this idea was later dismissed, though it is significant for showing a fairly un-African style of hair, though the presence of male genitalia also brings up some questions about how it even got the name White Lady in the first place. Alongside the "lady" are a few other drawings of hunters, cows and wildlife of the region, though some of the historic paintings have been damaged by careless visitors who have thrown water or other liquids on the art to help darken them for pictures. We spent a few more minutes inspecting the art before walking just around the corner for a nice view of another dry river bed and a few empty rock slides that would be quite impressive during the rainy season when the river would be flowing. Colin then informed us that we had to hurry to get back before the sun set, so we headed off, speeding our way along the trail, past a bit of birdlife and more hyraxes before getting back to the truck and our resting driver (he's been there quite a few times before, so he didn't join us for the walk) and giving Professor Colin a lift back to the campsite. Unfortunately, we missed the sun setting on the mountain, so we couldn't see if the side of it actually glowed as is the legend.

While we were away, we apparently missed a cute game of chase between an adorable labrador puppy and the resident meerkat that was not that much smaller, as Bruce showed us in some of his videos. We had an authentic bush dinner that night, getting kudu stew, though the tasty antelope relative tasted very similar to beef, especially with the surrounding stew. Just as we finished dinner, one of the workers at the campsite came up and invited us to a concert for the evening, joining us with the other overland truck at the site for a few songs. The worker, along with about five other men and three women, explained to us a bit about their culture and soon began with traditional a capella songs and dances, stomping and clapping to the beat as the partially synchronized dancers strutted around with varying levels of interest. The voices harmonized well, mixing songs in their local language (it sounds hard to sing in a language with clicks) with a few simple English songs about the area, the White Lady of Brandberg ("I'm a white lady. I'm a white lady."), and even a Toyota Cressida. All the while, the dances involved were mostly just a few simple steps from side to side or shaking of the legs; nothing too elaborate. To finish the night, the group sand the Namibian national anthem and then asked our groups to sing a few of our own, finally getting a groups of Aussies to sing both the Australian and English anthems. In addition to that, our groups were invited/pulled up from our chairs to join in with a bit of the dancing on their last song, making two nights of dancing in the past few days for me (which is much more than normal for anyone that knows me).

The next morning, we woke before sunset and packed up our tents to get on the road, going only about 20 minutes up to a scenic spot of vast yellow grasslands and a few piles of boulders with the massive Brandberg in the background to watch the sun rise. Pulling off the main dirt track, we moved onto a small trail of two wheel paths and then tried to pull up onto the sandy plain before sinking down a bit into the loose ground. Though the truck was stuck, this is where we were intending to go, so we got out and set up breakfast, watching eagerly as the large red sun came up over the horizon, shining through one of the nearby boulder stacks. The soft morning light brilliantly illuminated the huge fields around us, giving a warm yellow glow to the whole area. Most of us wandered off to take pictures (Simon and Slavek making their way off to a faraway stack of rocks for an epic nude shot - tastefully shot from behind, of course) of the beautiful morning while Jo and Will gathered rocks to stack underneath the tires and get us out of the rut. (Apparently Jo had told Will that he'd be fine to go off the track, so he was a little upset with her for that.) Jo also managed to look up just in time to see Simon standing naked far off in the distance, shouting out for everyone to look at him as he tried to take his discrete shot of man and nature. As we were packing up and getting ready to go, two locals who had been walking from a long way off finally made it to the truck holding a shovel, saying that they had seen us get stuck and came to try to help us dig out of the sand and rocks, though they were obviously too late. The friendly men talked to a few of us for a little while, one of them claiming to have predictive abilities, though his guesses about me and a few of the group members weren't all that accurate. We chatted for a little longer, and then we were off, heading back down the isolated dirt roads, making our way towards the coast. The grasslands soon disappeared, leaving flatlands of slightly rocky plains and gravel as far as the eye could see, topped by a gritty blue sky, darkened by the omnipresent dust in the air.

(Our group walking through the bush towards the base of Brandberg Mountain to see some of the ancient rock art of the area. The afternoon walk was a little hot but quite scenic.)

(Despite looking uninterested, the rock art here was pretty nice. I guess I always look like that...or maybe just when I'm talking to you...)

(The most famous of the various paintings of people, animals and prints is the White Lady of Brandberg, which is very obviously a man, anatomically speaking.)

(The next morning our group headed out from our campsite and had breakfast on the side of the road, under the watchful eye of Brandberg. Sitting in the dry yellow grass, we watched the sun come over the horizon and cover the area in warm orange light...quite a pretty place. Though our truck is actually stuck in the sand in this picture, but Will and Jo eventually got it out.)

(Brandberg, Namibia's highest mountain, on the right and puny mountain on the left. Just offscreen is Simon posing for a tasteful nude shot of him facing the mountains, with Jo yelling "Hey, isn't that Simon naked?!?!")

(Narrow sand tracks are quite popular in this area. I guess a huge paved highway would be a little out of place.)

Rock Art of Twyfelfontein and a Flat Tire

2010-09-26T16:22:00.009-04:00

August 30 - 31, 2010

Driving away from the Himba village and our cultural tour, we had a long way to cover, passing from the desolation and scrub of the Kaokoveld region in Northwest Namibia to the desolation, string of small mountains and washed out river beds of the Damaraland region, still sort of in the West/Northwest part of the country. Our morning drive took us past some incredible scenery, soon passing through mountain valleys covered in short vegetation and rocky outcrops, stretching far along the horizon in all directions, a nice change from some of the flat scenery on the way over from Botswana and the Caprivi Strip. Passing up and down the steep, windy roads, there were very few other vehicles and even fewer people or signs of life in sight. Every once in a while, we'd pass a small set of huts or perhaps a roadside stall, selling dolls, rocks or crafts to passing tourists. Leaving the Himba people and Opuwu area behind, that also meant the end of paved roads for a while, beginning a long journey on the corrugated gravel and dirt roads that stretch over most of Namibia. We made a scenic stop for breakfast on top of one of the steepest passes, at a point where the road was again paved just for a few hundred meters, allowing heavy vehicles to get just enough traction to get up the hill. As we set up our tables of cereal, toast and coffee, we were greeted by a few locals who had walked up the hill, as their small truck taxi couldn't make it up the road (or back down the steep decline) with the passengers inside. Our panoramic views yielded untouched nature and small mountains in every direction, providing another variation of the dry countryside that defines the land here. Coming back down the hill, we had to nearly come to a stop to slowly traverse the large boulders of the riverbed below that also doubled as one of the main roads in the area. We made it cleanly through the pass and on a little while longer before we heard a huge pop, almost like a gunshot, as the front tire blew out and William calmly and confidently slowed the truck to a halt and got out to inspect the damage.

As usual, William was quick to get to work, realizing that we'd need to jack up the truck and put on the spare, hoping to get back on our way quickly and not to lose too much time on one of our long driving days. With things like flat tires, road blocks and other unpredictable events, we didn't have a lot of time to waste on days like this when we knew we'd need to get to our next camp before the sun went down, in which case it would be quite dangerous to drive at night with these unstable dirt roads, wildlife and the possibility of drunk drivers on the road. Looking at the tire, we could all see that it was torn to shreds, so most of us pitched in to give Will a hand as the others gathered in the shade for a quick rest. Unfortunately, changing the front tire also meant that we'd have to change the other front tire, as the spares are a slightly different size, so we couldn't have mismatched tires. This, of course, meant twice as much work, though once some of us got the hang of it, changing the tire wasn't the hardest job in the world, with the help of a hydraulic jack, a few tools and a piece of a broken pipe we used for leverage in getting the lug nuts on and off.

The bigger problem was what we'd do with the blown-out tire, as it had partially come off the rim and wouldn't fit in the back of the truck anymore. Will decided it would be best to hoist it up to the top of the truck, telling me that he'd need my help up top. After a minute of planning and tying the massive tire with some rope, the two of us climbed up through the roof hatches to the top of the truck, each donning a glove on one hand (we only had one pair) and getting ready for a painful lift. Pushing off against the roof rack for leveraged, we heaved the tire up, though we could only get the behemoth wheel up about halfway before having to tie it off. With another surge, we got the tire up a little further, though we were struggling to keep the tire up, knowing that we couldn't drop it, as there were a few people underneath trying to push the tire up to us, meaning that they'd be right under it if it were to fall. At one point, the rope slowly dug into my exposed hand for a painful, slow motion rope burn, though I had no option but to continue on. Just after that, Will got to the point where he couldn't pull past the next level, and his finger was being pinched by the rope, so he instructed me to tie the rope up so he could let go. In the heat of the moment, I misunderstood what he said (I'll blame it on his South African accent, I guess), and the rope continued to pull on his finger, and his tone got a little bit more urgent. "Tie it to the back, THE BACK. Tie the f*ckin' rope to the back of the truck!!" he shouted as I scrambled to figure out what he meant. For some reason, in my head, all I could hear was him telling me to tie the rope behind me (and not to the back of the truck, which was actually in front of me the way I was standing), so for a few excruciating seconds, we struggled back and forth before I finally got a meager knot together on the back of the truck, and he was able to let go and free his finger. Fortunately, the incident was over, and Will did apologize, so it ended well, though we still had the issue of getting the heavy tire up. We tried a few more times, with Jo, the guide, also jumping up top to try to help (and getting her hand brielfy pinched by the wheel) before Will and I finally gave up, just a few painful inches from pulling the tire over the top. Our brute force method didn't work, and Will instructed everyone to clear out below as he cut the rope with a knife and sent the huge tire back to the ground.

Looking again at the tire, we figured out that we actually could work the tire back around the rim after jumping on it for a little while (something that I thought we had already tried), allowing us to slide the tire back into the spot in the back of the truck, meaning that our toil, rope burn and injured fingers on top of truck turned out to be in vain. Either way, the group was all just happy to have the truck back, ready to roll, so we set off again, passing through more of the mountainous scenery before things leveled out a bit, passing by more flat valleys and sandy, waterless riverbeds, mostly noticeable by the string of trees lining the banks, fairly obvious in a land where anything more than dry grass, rocks and a few shrubs catches your eye.

In the evening, just about an hour before the sun went down, we arrived on the outskirts of Twyfelfontein, giving a few of us just enough time to climb the neighboring hill to our campsite for a nice view of the sun falling behind the hills and rock piles, overlooking the camp and another dry riverbed. Early the next morning, we took the short drive over to the site of Twyfelfontein, reaching an area of rocky plateaus, yellow grasslands and huge piles of boulders, eroded away from the remnants of old mountains. Twyfelfontein itself is a World Heritage Site, the first one named in Namibia, known for one of the most extensive collections of rock art in all of Africa. Etchings of various animals and prints litter the landscape, totalling around 2500 in all, indicating a busy past for the hunters of the area. The name Twyfelfontein actually translates to Doubtful Fountain, a name given by a settler in the 1940s who thought it doubtful that a spring would have existed here all year round to support the hunters and wildlife of the area.

Exploring the site, our group followed around our unenthusiastic tour guide, walking a few easy trails among the grasslands bordered by a few rock slides and a larger rock escarpment, stopping along the way to admire the many prints etched into the side of the red and brown rocks. The art varied from pictures of giraffe, elephants, flamingos, lions and other animals including a seal (indicating that the people had been to the coast not too far away) to prints helping the hunters to identify the tracks of the animals. It's believed that most of the engravings are around 6,000 years old, created by the San bushmen that roamed the area in those days. Well preserved by the dry climate, it was amazing to think that the prints we saw today had been around for so many generations before us, sending messages through the bleak area for thousands of years. The information center at the front of the site is also an interesting structure, built in a very environmentally friendly way using lids of old tin barrels and other scrap parts to create pleasant patterns on the roof and walls as well as minimizing the impact to the surrounding area. (The design was particularly interested to Simon, being an architect, though my untrained eye could still tell that it was something a bit more unique than a generic government shack.) Around the area, we passed a few more sets of rock piles/mountains standing in stark contrast to the land which was again flattening out with less and less vegetation along the side of the road, filled more with sandy plains and riverbeds marked by the occasional tree.

(The long and winding road down through Northern Namibia. This part is paved because it would be too steep otherwise, but most of the area was driving on sand tracks or rocky riverbeds. The locals actually had to get out of a small truck and walk up the hill, since the truck wouldn't make it.)

(So I decided to run down the steep hill. Luckily I didn't fall.)

(After passing through the mountainous area, the hills flattened out a bit, and there were some dry river beds and a whole lot of brown and yellow - though still pretty scenic.)

(A huge pop scared us, but luckily Will kept control of the truck, and we pulled off to the side to attempt to change the tire, which turned out to be quite an ordeal.)

(After changing the tire in the hot sun with the hydraulic jack and some huge tools and pipe, we had to try to get the flat tire up to the top of the truck, since we couldn't just leave the tire and expensive rim behind. We devised a pulley with me and Will, the driver, pulling from the top, hoping not to fall off. The wheel was ridiculously heavy, and the people underneath trying to push up couldn't do much once we got the wheel right to the very edge.)

(Pulling in vain. I love our faces here. In the end, we couldn't quite get it, so we cut the rope. Before that, we had a great few moments of pain/panic when Will's hand was being crushed by the rope, and he was trying to tell me to tie the rope to the back of the truck (in front of me), and I misunderstood. Good times.)

(After our tire adventure, we actually arrived to our campsite pretty quickly. In the middle of nowhere, a few of us decided to go for a walk and came across a huge rock that we modified to look like a crocodile. Simon is doing his evil laugh as Gursheen and Slavek are being sucked into the jaws of the beast.)

(Jo and Gursheen in the front with me and Slavek in the back. This is the adjacent little mountain that we climbed to see the sunset, looking back over our small, isolated campsite in the background to the left.)

(Some of the ancient rock art of Twyfelfontein. That one lion have a paw print at the end of its tail. I never understand art.)

(Another of the open air pieces of art, strewn amongst massive boulders in a scenic, burnt orange landscape of rocks and small shrubs.)

(This portion of Namibia has a nice desert feel reminiscent of a few parts of the Western US or Central Australia...except not at all.)

(Lizard man. Or maybe lizard woman. I forget.)

The Himba People of Northern Namibia

2010-09-26T16:11:00.007-04:00

August 29, 2010

Hair braided in mud, leather skirts and shawls adorned with beads and shells, and skin glowing an orange-red hue from the ochre butter mix rubbed all over their bodies characterize the traditional Himba people of Northwest Namibia, one of the iconic ethnic groups remaining in Africa. Being isolated up in the Northwest corner of the country, many of the overland tours of Namibia skip the long journey here, but our group didn't; one of the reasons that I opted for our particular tour. As we drove up from Kamanjab and our amazing cheetah (and giraffe) encounter, we continued along with long stretches of scenic oblivion, one parched landscape after the next. Getting into the small city of Opuwo, we could tell that we had entered the realm of another culture. Walking through the aisles of the supermarket and down the few streets of the town, topless women with leather skirts, braided locks of hair and orangish skin passed by, going about their everyday activities along with others from the town dressed in Western wear. In addition to them, a few other women were dressed in full-Victorian outfits with huge, colorful dresses covering themselves completely from top to bottom with their wide skirts, along with matching colorful hats, announcing their presence with a wide T-shaped piece in the front, said to resemble the horns of cows that are so important to many of these people.

Although they mostly began as the same group, the nomadic Himba people have made an effort to preserve their traditional dress, while the Herero group branched off when missionaries came one to two hundred years ago, opting for the ultra-conservative long dresses and hats of the Europeans that influenced them, though the many layers of clothing and heavy dresses are far less practical for such a harsh, hot climate, particularly in the brutal summers. We arrived in town in the mid-afternoon and set up camp before heading back to the town center to pick up Queen Elizabeth, the robust, regally named woman in her 40s that would guide and translate for us as we entered one of the traditional Himba villages. Though she was not actually royalty, she grew up in the area and now serves as a guide for groups that come through and want to interact with the local people. We had stopped by the main supermarket in town earlier to find her and arrange a pick-up that afternoon, as she's never too far away from that spot.

Heading into the dry, rolling hills of dust and scrub, we moved on to a dirt road taking us towards one of the small villages in the area. This village is mostly just a few extended families, consisting of a few thatched huts of sticks in the main area, along with more huts stretching out in the distance in either direction, fronting a small hillside in one of the nondescript locations along the empty road. Depending mostly on cattle and farming for their way of life, the Himba people are sometimes nomads, adjusting themselves to one of the harshest living conditions in the world with so few resources and so little water around. Along with a donation to the village, we also brought supplies, handed out to each of us to give to the chief as we entered the village. Being given the large bag of maize meal, I balanced the massive bag of grain on my head for just a few seconds, trying to imitate Queen Elizabeth and her large basket of beaded jewelry and bracelets balanced effortlessly on her head. As we entered the tiny village, one by one, we greeted the chief and offered our gifts, mostly food and basic supplies, as he shook each of our hands, supporting his right arm with his left hand behind his elbow or bicep, as is the respectful custom in some parts of Africa. He did not stand up, however, as he had broken his ankle recently in some sort of incident with a donkey, though our guide seemed to think that this put him in a better mood for our visit, happy to have something to do instead of just sitting around.

Walking into the middle of the dusty square, a few women and their children sat around the backs of their houses, smiling and greeting us as we approached them, trying to get to know them and take pictures of their unique style. The women braid their hair with the ochre butter and herb mix, resulting in a beautiful looking sort of mud dreadlock, finished off with small tufts of untreated hair at the very end of each long, thick strand. Though they wear nothing to cover their chests (much to the delight of a few of the older men on the tour), they do have a few other articles of clothing including leather skirts, belts and sashes, some of them decorated with shells and beads, all colored in the distinctive burnt orange that permeates everything in this land. Around their ankles, rows of stacked bracelets are woven together, said to protect the women from snake bites while walking around the bush. In addition to their dress, Queen Elizabeth explained to us that their hair styles say a lot about the women, changing from different ages, when they get married and when they have children, sporting styles from a few shorter looks to the long locks that we saw on many of the mothers. The men from the village were off trying to find food, so our interaction was solely with the women and children, who slowly came out more and more after we arrived. Another immediately identifiable trait of the women is the skin tone, glowing a dark orange, after being covered with the ochre butter mix to help protect themselves from the potent sun, and probably for cosmetic purposes as well. The mix also emits a strong, though not unpleasant, odor, adding to the character of this unique, largely intact ethnic group.

Though isolated, this village was no stranger to cameras, smiling and posing for us, with many of the adolescents (and the chief) turning things around and even having a few chances to take pictures of us with our own cameras. We were also shown a demonstration on how the women prepare and grind maize for food before we all entered a tiny hut where Gursheen, one of our willing group members, was outfitted in the traditional outfit and smeared in the ochre butter mix. While we hung around, a few of the smaller children came up to me and a few of the other men, begging us to swing them around by their arms, laughing in delight every time, though passing them off to someone else was the only way to get away from the insatiable children. Next, we entered a circle formed by about 30 of the women seated around the center of the village, giving us a chance to buy some beaded jewelry, bracelets and pots made in the village as a way to support the group. Finally, we finished our afternoon under the setting sun as a semi-circle of about 15 women formed near us, clapping and chanting in traditional songs. Then, one at a time, a few of the women came out into the circle, stomping, clapping, spinning and swinging their long hair with exhibitions of their traditional dances. A few minutes later, Gursheen and Jennifer were pulled in for a quick little dance, and I knew my time was coming. One solitary woman came out into the circle, slowly, indirectly making her way over to me, trying not to be too obvious, though I could feel it coming. She pulled me out in front of the group, and I tried to follow along, stomping, clapping and swinging my arms as I imitated her movements as the crowd cheered me on. Though it felt like a long time, it was over soon enough, and the dancing (and my attempt at it) was finished. We said our goodbyes and filled up huge buckets of water, draining the supplies we had from the truck for the villagers who filled assorted tubs and jugs with any available water, some pushing their way to the front, others content to wait in the back. Leaving the village behind, we continued to talk about the fascinating group on the way back to our camp, recounting the brief interactions we had and asking a few more questions of Queen Elizabeth before dropping her back at the market and going back to the camp for the night.

(Me and the chief hanging out. Upon entering the village, we each dropped off a small gift for the people and greeted the chief before going into the small arrangement of huts around the dirt field.)

(We picked up our translator/guide, Queen Elizabeth, at the local grocery store where she usually hangs out, and then we went into the dirt roads to find the village. She's much better at carrying things on her head than I am. That's a huge bag of maize meal balancing precariously on my head before I handed it off to the chief.)

(One of the cute little girls of the village, up against one of the wooden, circular huts. As you can see, she has a unique hair style that indicates her age/status in the village. Not to be confused with updating your Facebook status.)

(The women of the village use a combination of ochre and butter to make this red/orange mix that is rubbed all over their skin to give it a brilliant glow and protect themselves from the hot sun. The mix is also used in making braids in their hair.)

(While walking around the tiny village, a few of the more outgoing teenagers wanted a chance to try out the cameras, so here is one of the girls taking a picture of Simon with his camera. You may have guessed this, but Simon is not one of the girls sitting on the ground in the corner of the picture, but a member of our tour group just out of the frame.)

(The Himba people strive to maintain their traditional culture and dress, while a closely related group in the area called the Hereros were elaborate Victorian dresses and hats that must be incredibly hot during the summer.)

(After a chance to look at some of their crafts, they began some chanting, clapping and traditional dancing. Sadly, I was pulled up to join in the dance with this one woman who was frantically stomping, clapping and circling around in her traditional dance. I tried to follow along, but I imagine it wasn't a pretty sight.)

(Some of the local women clapping and singing as the lady on the right does some turns and spins her braided hair around. That hair twirl was one of the moves that I couldn't quite replicate.)

(The baby has rock and roll and teenage angst in her future.)

(The young boys loved being swung around and lifted in the air. It was fun for a while, but the only way you to get them to stop was to pass them off to someone else. Passing off the insatiable children is a good parenting technique, too, for anyone taking note.)