Impactivism

Glaciar Perito Moreno

It takes a lot to take my breath away.

The Perito Moreno glacier may be the most spectacular thing I have ever seen. And I have been lucky to be in many spectacular places in my life.

It makes you gape in wonder constantly and, approximately every 20 minutes or so, makes you gasp in a reality-defying awe.

Here’s the deal with the glacier: you could stare at it for hours and never get bored. You might want to trek around to get different views of it, you may want to get out on Lago Argentino in a boat to get views from the water or you may want to go ice-trekking on the glacier itself (my traveling companion Greg and I did all three at the end of February).

But a few times an hour you get a special, special treat: bits of it break off.

If you are fortunate to be watching when a giant, oh, say 20-foot-long shard of the glacier shears off and crashes into Lago Argentino perhaps a couple of hundred feet below, with a pitch approaching that of a thunder clap, and throws a spray of water 30-50 feet in the air, there are few experiences in nature that approach the sheer magnitude of witnessing such grandeur.

Glaciar Perito Moreno is one of the world’s most accessible icefields. It is in Argentina and it is part of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field. The glacier is stable. That is, sections of the face detach all the time (I believe it moves about 10 feet a year), but it is replenished by the ice that is continually being formed from the packed snow coming off the Andes.

When the sunlight shines through the ice, it gives the ice below the glacier surface a wondrous, almost cerulean blue color beneath the white ice on top.

Ice-trekking on the glacier was a special treat, especially once you get further in and all you see is ice and sky. And sinkholes, with the most vividly-coloured light/water exchanges, attract your gaze much as a bee is drawn to a flower. Multi-day trekking with overnight camping on the glacier is possible too, if that is your thing.

Oh yeah, and near the end of our “mini-trekking” (two hours) on the glacier, our guides rounded a curve in the ice, where, about 30 feet away, sat a wooden chest and table on the glacier. That was odd. But the chest contained chocolates, glasses and bottles of Scotch. Which we proceeded to enjoy (see photos).

To get to the Perito Moreno glacier you can fly roundtrip to El Calafate from Buenos Aires for about US$300. The glacier is about an hour and a half by bus from El Calafate. Tour agencies such as Hielo y Adventura in Calafate organize boat excursions to and trekking on the glacier.

El Fin de Mundo

Jueves, 1 de marzo, 2007

Quick tidbit from Ushuaia:

We got out sailing on the Beagle Channel on Wednesday, Darwin's route (on the Beagle) from the Atlantic to the Pacific through Tierra del Fuego en route to the Galapagos Islands (I might be making that up but I feel it in my gut so it must be true; eager beaver factcheckers have at it...). The channel is a couple of hundred kilometers south of the Straits of Magellan. There is a mountain range called the Darwin mountains which you can see from the water. There is an intersection in Ushuaia between Darwin and Magellan streets. For a country proslytized by Catholic missionaries, the Argentinos certainly have no problem adopting Darwin as somewhat of a hero.

 

Maybe it's only in the United States that there is any organized religious resistance to evolutionary biology.

joga bonito

Viernes, 2 de Marzo, 2007

So no trip to Argentina would be complete without a futbol game. Or at least that was my take, but I am a bit of a footie fanatic. So tonight Greg and I went to see Boca Juniors from Buenos Aires play Cianciano, a top Peruvian team, in the Copa Libertadores.

[Sidebar for those of you who know anything about soccer: Boca is the top team in Argentina at the moment. Diego Maradona used to play for them and their current star player is Riquelme, who some of you will remember from last summer's World Cup. The Copa Libertadores is the (Latin) American equivalent of the European Champions League.]

Earlier today, Greg and I visited the interesting and storied Recoleta cemetary, where Eva Peron and many other prominent Argentines are buried (although interred is probably a closer description, as this cemetary has more mauoleums than graves in the ground). We also visited the rather vine Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, which I would highly recommend, especially if you want to see impressionist and post-impressionist works by artists like Manet, Sisley, Gaugain, Degas and Picasso that have escaped the clutches of European and American museums.

Becuase of a punishment from the soccer authorities here for previous violence on the part of fans and/or the players (my Spanish is too poor to quite grasp the full story), the soccer game was moved from Boca's home stadium in La Boca, a Buenos Aires neighborhood, to San Lorenzo, a further afield suburb and in a more dangerous part of town, especially for turistas. The area around the stadium is close to a slum. Maybe not in comparison to parts of Mexico City, say, but certainly by Argentinian "standards."

I had bought the tix from an agency, so they provided transportation to and from the stadium from our hotel--very cool. So it was me, Greg, about 7 Swedes from Gothenborg (don't ask) and one guy from England on the minibus to the game.

As we neared the stadium, we heard the stream of police sirens and saw the flashing blue lights behind us--it was the two team coaches apoproaching the stadium with their police escorts. We saw the players cruise by us one lane over on their buses. Cool.

The fans are quite amazing. The barras bravas (the loyal fans, some of whom occasionally cause trouble) were in full force, with drums and chants that did not cease for the duration of the entire game. The unveiling of giant Boca banners were an added visual bonus, that must have covered about 3,000 fans at a time.

The game, which was supposed to start at 9pm but probably started closer top 9.30pm (the TV people would just have to wait): Boca had a multitude of chances in the first half. Palermo hit the post once, and other players narrowly missed many more times. They were unlucky, and the Peruvians had clearly set out their stall for a draw. It looked like it was going to be one of those days. 

In the second half Boca came out determined, but were again frustrated. Cianciano, generally playing a conservative game, had the occasional break and might have scored with about 20 minutes remaining.

But then late in the second half, the ball was knocked back by a forward to Ibarra, a defender who had advanced to about the edge of the penalty area (18 yards out). I was seated along the halfway line, directly between Ibarra and the goal. He flighted the ball so beautifully and purely. I saw it rise from the green grass and head directly for the top left corner of the goal. This shot was never going to be saved. The stadium erupted. (Always interesting when you see grown men hugging and kissing each other at a football match; some had tears in their eyes.)

Boca won 1-0. We left happy. And then went to dinner, where Greg and I just made the 1am kitchen closing at a cool restaurant/bar called Bar Dansen in the Recoleta/Retiro district of BA. And now it's after 3 and I'm tired. Chau!

Music while traveling

Lunes, 26 de febrero, 2007

 

The wind in Chalten last night was, how to put it... a muthafucka. It howls and roars. It sweeps you along the dirt streets in a sandstorm. Late yesterday afternoon, it picked up with unimaginable fury and didn't let up all night.

 

Fortunately, I was in town most of the day, planning our next couple of days in Tierra del Fuego, and not out on the trails.

 

Not so for Greg. He hadn't seen Cerro Torre yet, so he hiked up in the afternoon, later to return with a lungful of dust and dirt. The mountain wasn't visible. He said he wouldn't have missed it though--experiencing the raw power of nature in that way was at once terrifying and exhilarating. 

I ran into an Australian woman in town in the afternoon who was returning from the Poincenot campground becuase of the potential danger in staying overnight. The Lonely Planet advises you to bring a "bombproof" tent if you plan to camp in El Chalten. 

Navigating the half a kilometer or so from the hosteria to the brewpub (and back) became an exercise in eye and lung damage control (the cazuela alone was worth it though). 

I have been reading only a little on this trip. Mostly, while traveling on buses and planes, I have been listening to my ipod. I have most frequently found Kings of Convenience the finest accompaniment the last couple of weeks. If you don't know them, they're Norwegian. And they occasionally play at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco when in the U.S. Check them out. I have probably listened to "Suprise Ice" and "The Buildup" (which features guest vocals from Feist) from their second studio album, "Riot on an Empty Street," more times than I can remember. Also in heavy rotation this trip: Juana Molina (who's Argentinian), The Postal Service, Mos Def and Laura Veirs. I might be done with Damien Rice for good. (Just kidding, Damo, you know I'll be back the next time I'm feeling broken-hearted.)

I am back in El Calafate now. This afternoon we fly over the Straits of Magellan to Ushuaia and the southernmost part of the world. We're going to see if we can get a friendly boatman to take us to Puerto Williams tomorrow, across the Beagle Channel in Chile . Nineteenth Century missionaries and, later, fortune-seekers established a European settlement there. It's now an official port of entry for yaughts bound for Cape Horn and Antarctica. If only we had the extra couple of weeks for that Antarctic cruise...

Fitz Roy. (Roy Roy Roy.)

Domingo, 25 de febrero, 2007

You know you're somewhere special when you dream about snow-capped peaks on which icefields and glaciers appear painted on, with sheer rock spires that tower above lush valleys through which glacial run-off gushes like, well, glacial run-off. And then you go hike in those mountains the next day. Welcome to Patagonia.

Yesterday (Saturday), I started the day in the frontier town of El Chalten, Argentina, at a leisurely 10am. With a massage (seriously). Only, of course, to give Greg a head start on the 3-5 hour trek up to Fitz Roy.

El Chalten is inside the northern part of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, and the peak of Fitz Roy is visible from town. But experiencing Fitz Roy is not about seeing the top of the mountain. In fact, the most remarkable thing about our destination at Lago de Los Tres yesterday is how close you get to the peak when you reach the lake. And yet how arresting it is to think about the people who actually attempt to summit the mountain. As with Cerro Torre, which was shrouded in cloud and fierce wind when I hiked up there the previous day--and would revisit after descending from Fitz Roy yesterday--the people who attempt to summit it each year are, in the word of one English trekker I chatted with while we took shelter from the driving wind and rain that day, "nutters." It's not about the height (both mountains are somewhere around 11,000 feet; of the two, the Fitz is about 1,000ft higher), but the sheer vertical scale of the peaks, combined with the icefields and crevasses to traverse, certainly inspire trepidation for even the most experienced mountaineers. (In my case, it's more like terror.)

Yesterday, the weather was about as perfect as it gets here. Blue skies and little wind. (The lack of wind is important because people do actually get tossed off the trails here; on Friday, a charming and rather portly Australian man was blown over when I was up at Laguna Torre.)

After my massage (it's a rough life here), it took me just over three hours to hike up from town, at a fairly fast pace. I hiked with an Argentinian from Buenos Aires for a while but most of the day I hike alone. The view from Lago de Los Tres, both of the Fitz and of the other peaks and valleys below, is quite simply astounding. I've never seen anything like it. It's world class hiking and trekking. The photos won't do it justice but I will post them soon. (Becuase the internet connection here in Chalten is via satellite and somewhat mercurial, I won't be uploading most my trip photos for a few more days. But you can check them out here. 

Somehow, Greg and I managed to miss each other on the trail yesterday. I got to the top (a ride above Lago de Los Tres that faces the summit) just after 2.30pm and spent about an hour and a half eating lunch and taking in the splendour. Greg was up there from about 3pm to 4pm. But somehow we missed each other, becuase I went to the lakeshore when he was on the ridge. Or something.

On the way back down, I decided to take a cross-country forest trail over to the Chalten river valley, from where you can see Cerro Torre. On the trail I saw six condors together, several jack rabbits, a couple of parrots and an Australian woman who I'd met a couple of days ago on the bus to Chalten. And a partridge in a pear tree.

Being completely in the wild, with no watch, and experiencing spectaular natural beauty has been very theraputic.

Torre was spectalar. Having confronted the brutal weather on Friday, leaving only a couple of the lower icefields visible. seeing the entire mountain with the sun behind it at around 6pm was worth the 4-5 mile detour. The people who attempt to summit are truly nutters. (And people die trying.)

I hit town around 8pm last night, about an hour before sunset. I reckon I hiked 20 miles yesterday. But maybe only about 4,000 feet of elevation so, you know, virtually a walk in the park. Greg made it back too, obviously. Aout an hour after me (he waited for sunset). We had taken different routes back but it's still remarkable we missed each other on the way up.

Too tired to go out last night, I had dinner at our rather fine hosteria, and crashed. There is a fine brewpub in town, called Bodegon. Friday night they were serving a pilsner and a delicious bock. Maybe we'll end up back there tonight after dinner

I plan to write more later, including reports on our days of wine-tasting with the best winemakers in Mendoza (I'm taking one for the team here, people); our trip to Cerro Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the world outside of the Himalayas, to where the Breast Cancer Fund led a team of breast cancer survivors to climb in 1995; our nights on the town in Butnos Aires (with several more to come later this week); and our boat ride around, and ice-trekking on, the Perito Moreno glacier last week (being there when giant shards of the glaciar crash into the water below is awe-inspiring).