We had a fantastic time in Argentina but due to the rather hefty
prices we left Argentina for good and enjoyed a beautiful bus ride to Pucon, Chile.
To find out what Chilean dogs are like, we rented some bikes and
took along Amitay (Israel) as bait. We rode 40kms up and down dirt roads and
apart from the usual parade of dogs we shared the road with herds of cows, a
horse, some pigs and numerous gigantic ducks. We soon realised that dogs and
even pregnant cows don’t mind cycling intruders and therefore Ritchie was able
to leave the Swiss knife in his pocket and Amitay survived unharmed. Apart from the faunal highlights we came past
some beautiful waterfalls called Ojos del Carburgua and the Lago Carburgua.
The ride home was a little painful for the already de-chocolated
Ritchie due to a puncture of his front tire but thanks to the reunion with
Karim later that night, Ritchie’s mood quickly lightened.
The next day we boarded the
rollercoaster-in-disguise-of-a-micro-bus to the Los Pozones hot springs. With
temperatures of about 6 degrees we were a little hesitant to take off our
clothes, but once we had made it into the water we were rewarded by a sizzling
feeling that we had last experienced in Doha, Qatar.
We discussed this revitalising sensation with our fellow bathers
and started chatting to an Australian/Brazilian couple. Mick asked me if I get offended when people
make fun of Germans, once I said that I’ve lived with this for more than 31
years he started telling us about this crazy German who he had met in Peru about
5 years ago and explained how this guy was part of some weird carpenter
brotherhood that travels the world in weird clothes. From there it took us
about 30 seconds to figure out that he was talking about my brother… SMALL
WORLD!
The previous days had been rather overcast, but on the
rollercoaster ride back to Pucon we finally saw what we had come for: Volcán
Villarrica! 2,847m high and one of only five volcanoes worldwide with an active lava lake within its crater. Incredible
that this massive volcano had been able to hide behind clouds for so long!
I’ll only say this much, what followed was the most amazing,
breathtaking, exhausting and by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done! Rich
will be able to fill you in on the details….
THE REST OF THE STORY
Bolivia offers many things, it however dose not offer fast
internet. Therefore, in order to break up the monotony of learning Spanish,
this instalment is rather long. Sorry in advance.
My side of the story is a tale of the importance of information;
information that is withheld and information that is misconstrued.
Inevitably, when travelling you will go to places that you don’t
know, which is why information is so vital! There is a definite process of thinking
when entering a new town for the first time, excitement, trepidation, fear,
nausea and relief. Specifically in that order. The initial blast of anxiety
exists because what you know about where you are going is based on someone
else’s experience. If you meet a traveller that has been to where you are
heading and tells you “wow, Pucon! The dogs are like gorillas there!” or “wow,
Pucon! You could bite the air it’s that polluted”. My impression of course will
be that of a city which is run by gorillas that have emphysema. In this
particular instance, I failed to hear or was not told (probably the latter)
that Pucon is famous because of a gigantic god damn active volcano called big
bastard volcano (my terminology). As
soon as I was informed about the existence of big bastard, I jumped two states
of thought straight to fear because I knew
that the German I had been travelling with had aspirations to scale this
monster.
It is almost a habitual that I begin my relationship with a new town
by cursing the bus driver that brought us there and for dropping us off in the
most inconvenient out of the way place possible. I’ve been told (lectured) that
I need to learn how to let go and I shouldn’t judge a town by its shanty
outskirts. But that’s very difficult to do especially when each kilo of the
30kg that I’m carrying is laughing at my newly acquired astronaut-like weakness.
Pucon was not what I had expected, I did not see any bananas so I concluded
there were no gorillas and at 4pm there was no evidence of smog. We quickly
found accommodation with our Swiss friends which turned out to be a very
comfortable abode. The hostel was occupied by a beautiful black dog called
Negra, which means black in Spanish (oh the irony). For most of the time Negra had a pleasant
sleepy demeanour but raging out of sight was a deep hatred for Chilean men. I
don’t know how she could differentiate between Chilean men and me? It couldn’t
have been the smell because at 0 degrees no one smells. It must have been shoe
size, as I had noticed that all Chilean men have small feet. It became a
highlight of my day when we opened the gate Negra would leap into action,
booming right past me to abuse the closest unsuspecting Chilean male. Their reactions was always the same;
confusion. Negra obviously had her reasons but no one knew why.
The first few days in Pucon were draped in clouds and like
clockwork, as the temperature fell the streets of Pucon would fill with grey acrid
smoke from every chimney to the point that it was within your best interest to stay
inside. Ah there’s the smog but still no gorillas. As there was still cloud
cover coupled with the nightly smoke, Pucon’s surroundings remained largely
hidden. Out of sight out of mind….. but not Charly’s or should I say Sir Edmond
Hillary. Later that night we were having dinner and we overheard a Brazilian
chap who that morning had attempted to climb the volcano but was unsuccessful
due to bad weather. He went on to explain that it was the most intense,
draining and terrifying thing that he had ever done and he only made it up half
way. He continued to say that he almost got left behind on the return trek as
his tour group had accelerated ahead of him. Charly joined in on the
conversation declaring that it was in fact good that the tour returned and did
not attempt the summit because TWO PEOPLE IN MARCH DIED ATTEMPTING TO SUMMIT!.........
Pardon…….come again! With this development I casually glanced at the predicted
four day forecast on the wall and to my horror the conditions were clearing in
the coming days. The fear had returned.
In light of discovering what I didn’t know, I quickly canvassed
the room, hungry for information. What do you know about big bastard!!!! I must
know!!! Every story had a common theme; It was the most intense, draining and
terrifying thing I’ve ever done, but you look like you are fit so you should be
fine. I’ve never liked assumptions nor the people that dish them out. Charly
and I discussed the pros and cons of climbing big bastard. Pro = nice view. Con
= It’s exhausting. Pro = nice view. Con = you may die. My argument was not strong enough. Charly said
it was ok if I didn’t want to do it but she wanted to still. So, long story
short, I agreed to accompany her on her expedition up big bastard as she was
already wearing the pants in our relationship and I didn’t want to surrender
the little testosterone I had left.
We had to wake up rather early. This usually would have been an
issue for me but not on this morning because I didn’t sleep. I was practicing
my ‘surprised face’ in reaction to a compound fracture or a serious head
injury. We were driven to the tour shop where we met the rest of the group and
we had to try on crampons, which are things that you attach to your shoes that
look like knifes to aid traction when walking on ice. Oh, and also an icepick.
The rational part of my brain was screaming for attention but nobody on this
adventure wanted to listen to it, so its mouth was wired shut. We were then
driven up a portion of big bastard to1400m and from this height Pucon already
looked like a grain of sand. The sun was rising behind us and it was welcomed
as the cold was blistering.
We started
our ascent at a very modest pace set by our tour guide Uber. The difficulty
gradually increased and we were teased by an out of order chair lift which
paralleled our route. The cold was soon forgotten when exertion took hold and
layers of clothing were shed. 90mins and 400m later we stopped for our first
break right next to the terminal of the chair lift. From this point on we had
to use our crampons, which indicated that the difficulty was about to increase.
I noticed that I was not the only one hiding nerves because as soon as we were
told that it was getting harder at least 8 people in unison went behind the
terminal to pee, presumably.
The crampons were less cumbersome than I had expected and did
offer much needed traction. Initially, I think we became a little complacent
with our new found grip but having to step over various skeletons of previously
fallen explorers quickly remedied us of our bravado. The incline gradually
offered more resistance but not enough to wary one particular Frenchman walking
behind me, who continuously insisted that the shadow casted by my body with his
ice pick between my legs was humorous.
In multiple successions with increasing concern “GET BACK IN LINE” was
yelled out. The going was tough and we
were not going fast, we needed another break.
The 70 degree incline made it
difficult to confidently manoeuvre the entire body around to enjoy the view and
just as I mastered the technique, we had to push on. Because the incline was so
great, attacking front on would have been futile, so a snaking method was used
not to exhaust the climbers. Before embarking, our guide reiterated the life
preserving importance of the ice pick and how important it was to use it in the
correct manner. Keep the pick on the high side; if the face of the mountain was
on your left that’s where the pick had to be and vice versa. Like the two
talons of a Bald eagle gripping a small mammal I chocked the crap out of that
ice pick until eventually I had the manufactures insignia embossed in my hand.
We ascended another 400m to reach our last pit stop. The view was
amazing and as it was still early the smoke from every ones fire lightly tainted
the city of Pucon below us. Even from 2400m above and at least 4km away I think
I could still hear dogs barking. After having just enough time to finish the
last of my Nutella we were off again. Up until this point Uber’s tone had been
what you may describe as professionally playful. Meaning, he wanted us to enjoy
ourselves but not hurt ourselves, so occasionally he would make a joke which I
could only muster the energy required to move air in and out of my lungs in a
show of acknowledgement so my laugh was more like a wheeze. But this stage was
different. His face resembled that of Clint Eastwood who was just about to blow
someone away, all business and no fooling around. Where we were about to go was
the area where two months earlier two people died. He again reinforced the
critical need to use the icepick correctly and drew our attention to what I
didn’t previously notice. 20m to our left was a glacier, smooth ice that ran
the entire height of the mountain. In order to summit big bastard, everyone has
to walk on the glacier, no negotiating and no way around.
Apparently, one of
the two people that died slipped and in the panic dragged another person with him.
They either chose or accidently let go of the ice pick and being on a 70 degree
decline made of smooth ice that ran for 2km, their velocity would have been
impressive. The moral of this tale was not lost on me. I received it loud and
clear. If someone was to fall and grab me I would beat them off with my icepick
or ride their body like a cushion down big bastard to safety. The practicality
of the crampons became most evident on the glacier but it was still unnervingly
tricky as the incline and the mechanical ability of your ankle only allowed one
side of the crampons to dig into the ice. It was particularly tricky when we
had to change direction because in order to change directions you have to go
onto you’re toes, which was the least amount of crampon surface area. Well,
enough with the drama, the last section almost took two hour yet was only 400m
in height which describes how difficult it was.
Summiting big bastard and engorging myself on the first view of
the crater and the surrounds has to be one of the most significant impressions
in my life so far. Yes it was hard, yes it was dangerous and yes it was
exhausting but we made it. The crater looked like something out of Indian Jones
and the temple of doom movie and it smelt as I had envisioned.
The sulphur gas
being ejected by the crater was making our eyes and throat hurt. You didn’t have
to be intellectual giant to understand that having your eyes and throat hurt
from exposure to a noxious gas was not healthy. We lasted only ten mins at the
top and started to make our way down.
On this leg of our journey Uber did not
seem nearly as concerned for our safety as he did on the ascend, which was
comforting. Uber gave a quick demonstration of how to ‘control fall’, by keeping
your centre of balance a few inches behind your knees and using your own weight
to push the crampons into the ice. I felt far more at ease on this journey as
apposed to ascending because it felt
like the crampons became apart of the mountain, total grip! Charly on the other
hand did not fare so well. Her normally unwavering nerve and ability to meet a
challenge head on was failing when facing a challenge down hill, resulting in
the gracious assistance of another guide. Purely symbolic I thought because if
one of them were to have fallen both would have been goners.
What goes up must come down and walking down a hill as if you are
an emu is not advised, especially by your Physiotherapist. Thankfully, after
30mins of truly unnatural walking we had passed the glacier and it was time for
some fun. In order to expedite our descend we had taken what could only be called
a pair of nappies (diapers) that we put over our overalls to be able to slide
down segments of the volcano on our bums. We had a brief demonstration of how
to slide and how to stop by using the icepick as a break. Not hard really. Sit
on the ground and put the stick into the snow to stop. Easy! I was second
inline followed by Charly. I choose to go moderately as it was my first time, I
wanted to get a feel for the dynamics of this transportation. I went down easy
but before I reached the end I started to hear what sounded like an oncoming
train with the horn blaring. Before I could finish the sentence of what the
hell is …….. BLAM! What I thought was a horn was actually a German with no
concept of breaking…….giggling like a madwoman. Giggling very bloody loud! My
initial thought was anger. My second thought was anger so was my third and
forth and so on. Somewhere around the 13th thought, I looked around
and Charly was covered in snow but not as much as me. Es tut mir leid!!! She proclaimed.
I said calmly, please don’t kill me. When Uber arrived he was not impressed at
Charly’s complete distain for physics but he was impressed by the Back to the Future-like
fire trail in the snow, made by the friction from her arse.
As much as I would have liked to, we couldn’t travel all the way
down the volcano on our bums and we had to walk like emus a few more times. Roughly
halfway down and past the danger, we had
more time to appreciate the view which was to our backs on the way up.
Everybody was chilled out and the mood was calm. Without warning like a car
tyre exploding on technical section on the death road in La Paz……………………………..
ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH was screamed! Everybody looked at each other in
horror. No! It couldn’t be possible! We
had done all the dangerous stuff! All that’s left is to walk like an emu and
slide on bum. What happened? Who bit it? I realised that the only person not concerned
and still enjoying the view was our Swiss friend Urs who at that moment was
swallowing like a cat which had meowed too much. For some reason, he was
overjoyed by the intensity of the view so he attempted the loudest yoodohleeeyihooo
ever! There was a collective sigh of relief but not from our guide Uber. He also
had a look of relief but I knew exactly what he was thinking, ‘F*#king Swiss!
Why do they always do that?’
It was only back in Pucon that we could truly measure the grand total
of our effort. From Pucon, big bastard was a little bit bigger than the size of
my thumb. The other measure to gauge the extent of my effort was the inability
to go to the toilette without a shoehorn.
I came to a very important realisation on this little trip. When
an experience is lived and internalised, people will inevitably process it with
their own agenda by elaborating on certain aspects and indulging in the truth
in others. For what purpose I don’t know?
Maybe having experienced something significant gives you that right? I am
not innocent in this process, as I know I talk shit all the time (Charly wrote
this). I now know that the recollections by a person that you fleetingly meet should
not be made into policy, especially while travelling because you run the risk
of always being afraid of what you don’t know. I am happy that I did this.
