A-fjord-able Travel

Back on dry land after a four day cruise on the NAVIMAG. It was less of a cruise ship and more of a renovated ferry. The swedes and I were upgraded from our hallway bunk beds to a cabin / closet with four bunks for free. SCORE. It was a space that created many lunar landings (bum to bum while getting changed), head smacks on bed frames and humping backpacks to try to get them up into the cupboards. Our windowless cabin coupled with an overly excited heater drying my socks meant some pretty smelly awakenings.

Some of the highlights included a burnt out ship from the '60s that ran aground on shallow rocks and now sits eerily as a landmark for ships cruising the narrow fjords. Rusting and creaking in the cold, empty seas, it was quite a sight when we spotted it drifting towards us during sunrise. When visible, the views were spectacular, absolutely empty hills with lone waterfalls dropping into the seas, rays of sunlight fighting through dark threatening clouds, snow-tipped mountains and deep green water. I think we only passed 3 or 4 boats in our four days. 

Despite a lot of rain, we had one great day of sun in which I spent 6 hours sitting outside watching the sea. It's like a fire that way, you can stare for hours and never get tired. Some friends joined me outside for the afternoon and we had a beautiful afternoon of chocolate, thermoses of tea and rocking out to David Guetta in the captain's bridge and watched some seals jumping around the boat.  

We entered open ocean for a 12 hour stint and had an official "briefing" of what to expect. The crew had little faith in our stomachs, it was going to be a rough ride. Other than a phantom hallway puker and a lot of people passed out down below from their sea sickness pills, there were few problems. Dinner was quite fun in the cafeteria as people tried to hold on to their plates and trays, walking, following by involuntary running for seconds, when the ship keeled hard to one side.

The best part was definitely the people. We were a concentrated assortment of young, penny-pinching back packers who were drawn together by low-season prices. We spent the days reading, drinking a bunch of wine that everyone brought on board in great quantities and walking around outside when the rains and winds calmed. An impromtu toga party was called to order by two losers of a supper-time card game. About 12 of us, adorned in our bed sheets (to the dismay of the crew) danced the night away while the rest of the bar's occupants stared. It only took about two hours to get them all on their feet and competing in white versus black (they were all dressed in dark clothes for some reason) dance-offs. 

There was one downfall. Below the living quarters where cars and trucks were parked, there were several trailers full of hundreds of cows, crammed together, likely seasick, hungry and unable to do anything but stand and poop on each other. They literally cried, wailed for four days straight filling the hallways with their desperate mooing. A vegetarian's dream come true. 

Pata-Scotia

When I was little, father Glenner always used to say "Slow down! You're rushing." Spilled milk, cupboards left unopen, scrappings that missed the organic bin - all were the result of my rushing. I guess I've always had trouble slowing down. I try to breathe and drink in each moment with intention and consciousness, but sometimes I move to the next too quickly.

This week has been a delightful deceleration after several months of constant motion. I decided spontaneously to take the Navimag ferry from here in Puerto Natales, in the south of Chile, to head up north. A 4-day passenger ferry which weaves through salty seas and timeless fjords of a battered Patagonian coast. We will be living in a hallway of fish-hold bunk beds among other budgeting explorers. I'm itching to be on the water with the cold wind and eerie night fog. The only dilemma is that the ferry departs only once a week. So I had one week here. One week to learn to slow down but still feel productive.

Chew slowly, walk intentionally, breathe deeply. Relax. I spent my first day cozied up in the window of a vegetarian cafe, reading in the late autumn light. The low season has begun so seldom did a customer wander in off the windy streets for a caffeinated refuge. I made friends with the owner, a backpacker who fell in love twice - once with this place and another with his wife - and never went home. Jeremy gave me a glass of wine to finish off the bottle; the windows would be boarded up the next day for the 6 month quiet of winter. Bummer. The locally-sourced food and words shared every few page-turns was exactly what I was looking for.

Jeremy's friend had a pile of used books for sale at the front counter. One was from one of my favourite authors, another a book I've been wanting to read for years, and all in english! And to top, the money went to a charity for street dogs. As I left the cottage-like retreat, my backpack loaded with books to entertain my 4 day nautical adventure, I was greeted by my favourite street dog Rocky. How fitting! I named him personally. A bulky German shepard who I swear remembers me every time. He drops a rock at your feet and waits with great anticipation until you throw it down the sidewalk.

He accompanied me home in the cold navy night, as did a fresh young pup eager to play along. Rocky wasn't having it. I felt a little sorry for the little guy when Rocky snapped at him, but I have my loyalties.

Rocky takes his game to the sea. What a guy. 

Omar, the hostel owner leant me his bike and I took off for a coastal ride in yesterday's sun. Amazing how far you can be from home but still find it in the smallest of things, piles of fishing rope, cracked and peeling boats and the way the wind whips up a delicious batch of salty sea air. I rode down an old dirt road along the sea, passing curious stray dogs while fighting gusts of autumn wind on an over sized bike. It was perfect. It felt so much like Nova Scotia with the addition of distant snow-capped mountains. My my heart was glad and hurt for home a bit.

Someone should break the news to the owner of the boat on the left, that his boat sank.... 6 years ago. 

The rest of the time has been passed with the Swedish crew. We made a delicious Mexican meal of veggie fajitas and a taco salad. We've made great use of Omar's movie collection, although his selection of dark and action-packed movies has given my imagination a ticket to ride. We went grocery shopping after watching ''The Road' - a world apocalypse type movie - which made the deserted streets of Puerto Natales subject to invasion by cannabalistic gangs and desperate limbless wanderers in my overly active mind.

But other than that, things have been bright. I spend much time by the sea watching an amazing assortment of birds fight the waves. I never realized how beautiful swans are. They almost mimic the mountains, pure white with a swatch of black and grey feathers hidden at the back and strikingly red beaks. I believe my tea addiction has returned also. There are worse things. Tomorrow we board the Navigmag and ... well, essentially, do a nautical version of the last 6 days. I have my four books and notepad ready. Hope my sea legs are good to go as well. Now to the grocery store to clear out the wine supply.

Well folks, that concludes our Patagonia Torre

I´m looking at a giant map on the wall in front of me, and realizing that I´m almost as far from home as is possible in the Americas. But strangely I feel pleasantly at home.

We wrapped up our Patagonian adventure with a 1 night 2-day camp out at Torres Del Paine before Joel departed for his 3 day airport tour / flight home to Canada. Our plan was to hit up the park´s highlight - four torres (rock towers) that glow pink in the sunrise. We managed to get two sunny and rain-free days which is not common this time of year. The trek up, again, reminded me greatly of Canadian landscapes; tall slender trees swaying gently, golden afternoon light dancing on the trail, meadowed valleys and clear waterfalls passing by. It was heavenly. The weight of  our food (enough to feed a family of 4 for 3 days) plus camping gear seemed heavy and awkward at first. That is, until we saw a solo hiker with gear and food for a 5-day trek. She looked like a drunk giraffe at high risk of cardiovascular disease.... she was so red I thought her face might explode. We had it pretty easy.

We arrived at our campsite much earlier than expected, around 3 PM and discovered that we had brought little to do other than eat and nap. The relaxing turned to restlessness around 7PM when we aspired to climb the last 45 minutes of the hike up to the Torres before dark. That lasted about 8 minutes and by then we had shaken off our ambition and the laziness returned. Thank goodness.While it seems like a slap to nature, I was actually pretty thankful Joel had brought his Ipad (strictly for alarm purposes, as I demonstrated my inability to properly set my alarm last time). So in typical Vervaeke camping fashion, we had a rivoting game of Words with Friends, or Scrabble on the computer (it actually consisted of one person napping while the other stared at the screen for 10 minutes).

Up at 6 30 am for the final ascent, nearly an hour scramble in the dark up a bouldered mountainside to the lagoon and Torres. If I hadn't already done permanant damage to my knees, I now have. We watched the sun cast pink and gold light on the Torres with a mid-rise champagne pop to top. That´s class. At one point, I looked up and realized there was a rainbow stretching across the vista. It was too good to be true. Our travel has been highlighted by rainbows at key moments of peace and appreciation of nature.

Or maybe they just have a lot of rainbows down here. Either way, we took it as a blessing. I´ve yet to tell this to the 2 or 3 people I´ve met who got rained out (one woke up with her mattress floating in two inches of water and had to turn back the next day). Not sure what we did so right. Maybe it was petting stray dogs and making people laugh  with our ridiculousness.

I said goodbye to my bearded dear friend Joel, the condor whisperer, parkouring legend, always silly and vibrant. Sad to see him go but we´ll climb more mountains in the not-so distant future. Thanks Patagonia.

If the shoe Fitz...

Holy smoked sardines, what a crazy three days we've had here in Patagonia. I've been proved wrong. Previously I believed that glaciers were slow moving, relatively underwhelming natural phenomenons. Correction: Perito Moreno glacier was the most amazing wonder of the natural world I have ever seen. Not only is it an unearthly shade of blue, but massive chunks larger than houses crash 75 meters into the lake below at least one or twice an hour, ringing out like gunshot. The whole glacier cracks and groans like the sound of lightning hitting earth. In complete awe.

We took the night bus to El Chalten, three hours North to see the Fitz Roy, the FROY - a 'Land Before Time' mountain range piled on top of eachother like drip sandcastles we used to make as kids. It looks as though it could crumble at any moment. Carrying a box full of food, cucumbers and carrots peeled in the bus terminal bathroom (hygienic), we got comfy on the bus and made sure to break the only two rules posted above the driver: DO NOT EAT OR TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES. That's the only reason I take buses. Luckily there was nothing against drinking beer so we made sure to take advantage of that.

The moon rose above the eerie Patagonian landscape. Deserted lands lined by low mountains and meandering blue rivers set aglow by a full moon. As we approached El Chalten we saw the glowing silhouettes of the majestic Fitz Roy range, tall, elegant and jagged - dominating the clearest night sky. I fell in love with one mountain that had the twisted elegance of a swan. The night disguised a black cliff face and the rest of the mountain, covered in snow, created a fairy-tale peak twisting up towards the heavens. We discovered today the peak is called "SOLO" or 'alone' in spanish. Perfect.

We got rained out yesterday on our first climb to see the Froy. Soggy bottomed and wind-burned, we turned back before the final descent. Today however, was a gift from the universe. It started out by spotting two condors soaring above the cliffs outside our hostel. You can literally walk out of town with your pack to get to the trail head. The sun was warm and lit up all the snowy peaks, casting brilliant shadows between the tall forests on the trail. We wound between glacier fed rivers, barren sandy plains, stunted-tree marshes and old-growth forests. The fall colours were incredible - goldens, deep hues of red and orange. It felt like home and the scents of damp leaves, oregano and sweet forest floor reminded me October in Canada. That makes sense as it is currently autumn in the Southern hemisphere. Also reminded us both how incredible Canada is and how excited we are to explore our own country when we return. Now more than ever, I believe I live in the most beautiful country in the world.

We reached the base where a glacier runs into a high mountain lake, grey-blue and white-tipped with the wind. Had a wee nap on a lakeside rock and took in the sun. A sunset bus ride back to El Calafate was equally as inspiring as the first. Yerba mate in hand and a bag of chocolate, we watched a red glow rise from behind the humble mountains, unable to decide if it was the rise of a harvest moon or setting of a lazy sun.   I think not knowing is best.

Also - sorry Argentina but I still think Cabernet Suavignon is better than Malbec, but RESPECT. Tomorrow off to Torres Del Paine - attempt number two, to watch the sun rise over the Torres (towers) there. Luckily tonight we are staying in a room with two others that are taking the same bus tomorrow morning. We figure that with four alarms set, we have a 60% chance of making the bus. Otherwise, I'm keeping my eyes out for cardboard for a new hitchiking sign. VAMOS A TORRES DEL PAINE, TENEMOS EMPANADAS!

Hitchhikers guide to being disorganized in Patagonia

Made it. Celebrating with wine (ever day is celebrated by wine around here) and tupperware gnocchi thanks to Chef Joel. Even managed to find ourselves two pull-out mattresses in this hostel's second floor common room. We are winners (also how Joel signed himself into our last hostel "WINNER", I just wrote STUDENT as my occupation - not nearly as creative). How did we pull it off? Some sweet smiles and fresh cookies.

The wonderful Luis drove us from just across the Argentinian border until halfway to our destination. We wooed him with our pastries, I used my limited Spanish and Joel slept profusely. Luis was the best. Found ourselves in a ghost town where the only trace of human activity was at the gas station. The wind here is bitter cold so we took beer and empanada breaks when our hands beat with the onset of hypothermia.

Perhaps the best part where all the funny hand signals and pity faces we received from the people who didn't pick is up. There was the "Sorry I'm headed the other way but PROPS," the "I am confused and distrusting" the "There's kids and useless stuff piled up in the back seat but good luck" and finally, the "I'm way too ballin' and you may wrinkle my leather seats" face.

After waiting around the gas station, we picked up the last bus out to El Calafate at one of the four different times we were told it MAY or MAY NOT arrive. You just never know. The funny thing was we saw a pal from the hostel on his way back from the organized glacier tour. His impression is that we are the most ridiculous people he's ever met. I definitely take this as a major compliment.

And so we are thrilled to provide you with "ALI AND JOEL'S THREE STEPS TO LAZY HITCHHIKING" free of charge.
1. Lie on the road so that a) they HAVE to stop for you, or B) you can avoid the wind and have a siesta
2. Sit in the local gas station drinking beer and simply place your sign in the window, show the occasional thumbs up and hope someone approaches offering a ride.
3. Take a bus. 

Step 1

Step 2

Step 3