Saturday, April 4, 2009
That`s what I get.
Some fucker just broke the lock I had on the locker in my hostel and stole my digital SLR, less than a year old, and along with it the memory card with nearly 6 months of photos, my ipod, and around 800 pesos. I am beyond pissed off. All because I locked my things up. Nearly $1500 and countless photos gone.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
El Calafate
217km of absolute openess connects El Chaltèn to El Calafate. Both towns exist more or less for the sole purpose of supporting tourism to the area but I happen to like them. Unlike other tourist heavy destinations such as those I visited in Peru, these places are still quiet and muy tranquilo. There is no hard sell. No one chasing me down the street harrasing me to get a massage or shoving some tourist menu in my face. No one hounds me when I enter the shops to admire the handicrafts. They actually approach me and begin speaking in Spanish instead of assuming I speak English and therefore treat me like a gringo dollar sign. I appreciate all of these touches.
Though things are more expensive in this area as they are still relying heavily on the ports to import goods, it seems like they have a better understanding of tourism and things are more or less of better quality. This is especially true of the handicrafts. This town being super touristy, has plently of artesanal shops that I could spend hours exploring, so I did. They actually contained things that I would want to buy if I had the space or money for them. Real handmade products, not just stall after stall of massproduced poor quality crap. The knit and woven work is especially outstanding and makes me want a flock of sheep of my own to keep me in enough wool to replicate some of their beautiful work.
I am working on enjoying my holiday (a term I am adopting) and not worrying so much about money. I found a divey inexpensive hostel to stay so I decided to go out for a glass of wine. I am in Argentina afterall. I had a lovely time sitting in the restaurant sipping my glass of sorta crappy house red. Sure I could`ve bought an entire bottle of higher quality wine for the same price, but I would have had to drink it all by myself, in the dingy hostel filled with really loud Israelis. I reminded myself that how cheaply I am able to do something is not really the point and ended up having a quite enjoyable evening.
The weather in Patagonia is known for its unpredictability but since arriving in El Chaltèn I have had nothing but blue skies. Things were a little cloudier and chillier in El Calafate but still nothing to complain about. I was headed to see the Perito Moreno Glaciar located about 80km outside of town. I left sunny El Calafate and drove straight into a big dark cloud.
The Perito Moreno Glaciar is one of the few glaciers in the world that is moving. It wsa immense at about 60m high and 14 km long. It felt like arriving at Niagra Falls and finding it frozen. Well, maybe not that huge, but very impressive. I hung out with the glacier for the afternoon in the wind and cold cold rain. I stared into the unnaturally vivid blue crevices and listened to the massive glacier creak and groan and crack like thunder as pieces broke of and fell into the water below. It was pretty awesome and so much more than just a big piece of ice.
Back in town the weather was a bit better and I walked around the shops a little bit more before turning in for the night. They say it takes around 6 months for a person to adjust to a new job. I estimate that it takes me about 5 months to adjust to traveling. The same thing happened when I was driving through Mexico and Central America. About 5 months in I start to get very comfortable with the language and the pace and finally start to remember what it is all about, and then I have to go home. At this point I just want to keep going forever and continue going south until I run out of continent and end up in Antarctica. In order to prevent this, I bought a ticket for a 24 hour bus ride to take me out of this land before I get in too deep. I am really sad to be leaving Patagonia, it`s so quiet and still so untouched in many ways. But I am in hot pursuit of penguins who have managed to evade me thus far. Someday I would love to return to this peaceful place at the end of the world fully loaded with a tent, a warm sleeping bag, and a rental car. There is so much more to explore.
Though things are more expensive in this area as they are still relying heavily on the ports to import goods, it seems like they have a better understanding of tourism and things are more or less of better quality. This is especially true of the handicrafts. This town being super touristy, has plently of artesanal shops that I could spend hours exploring, so I did. They actually contained things that I would want to buy if I had the space or money for them. Real handmade products, not just stall after stall of massproduced poor quality crap. The knit and woven work is especially outstanding and makes me want a flock of sheep of my own to keep me in enough wool to replicate some of their beautiful work.
I am working on enjoying my holiday (a term I am adopting) and not worrying so much about money. I found a divey inexpensive hostel to stay so I decided to go out for a glass of wine. I am in Argentina afterall. I had a lovely time sitting in the restaurant sipping my glass of sorta crappy house red. Sure I could`ve bought an entire bottle of higher quality wine for the same price, but I would have had to drink it all by myself, in the dingy hostel filled with really loud Israelis. I reminded myself that how cheaply I am able to do something is not really the point and ended up having a quite enjoyable evening.
The weather in Patagonia is known for its unpredictability but since arriving in El Chaltèn I have had nothing but blue skies. Things were a little cloudier and chillier in El Calafate but still nothing to complain about. I was headed to see the Perito Moreno Glaciar located about 80km outside of town. I left sunny El Calafate and drove straight into a big dark cloud.
The Perito Moreno Glaciar is one of the few glaciers in the world that is moving. It wsa immense at about 60m high and 14 km long. It felt like arriving at Niagra Falls and finding it frozen. Well, maybe not that huge, but very impressive. I hung out with the glacier for the afternoon in the wind and cold cold rain. I stared into the unnaturally vivid blue crevices and listened to the massive glacier creak and groan and crack like thunder as pieces broke of and fell into the water below. It was pretty awesome and so much more than just a big piece of ice.
Back in town the weather was a bit better and I walked around the shops a little bit more before turning in for the night. They say it takes around 6 months for a person to adjust to a new job. I estimate that it takes me about 5 months to adjust to traveling. The same thing happened when I was driving through Mexico and Central America. About 5 months in I start to get very comfortable with the language and the pace and finally start to remember what it is all about, and then I have to go home. At this point I just want to keep going forever and continue going south until I run out of continent and end up in Antarctica. In order to prevent this, I bought a ticket for a 24 hour bus ride to take me out of this land before I get in too deep. I am really sad to be leaving Patagonia, it`s so quiet and still so untouched in many ways. But I am in hot pursuit of penguins who have managed to evade me thus far. Someday I would love to return to this peaceful place at the end of the world fully loaded with a tent, a warm sleeping bag, and a rental car. There is so much more to explore.
El Chaltèn
The road to El Chaltèn was a 12 hour stretch of ripio down Rt. 40, Argentina`s answer to the Carretera Austral, but in a little better shape. The lanscape was wide open and brambly. We stopped for a break at Bajo Caracoles a town with about 50 people located in the true middle of nowhere. There, I witnessed one of the most impressive sunsets of my life. The crimsons and peach and apricot spread like fire across the sky in deep brush strokes so magnificent it brought to mind the Sistine Chapel.
It was cold and the wind slapped hard against me as it swept across the wide open pampa. Inside the bus I found no relief. The air conditioning for some inexplicable reason was turned on full blast for the entire ride. I hadn`t been on a bus that cold since Colombia and had fallen out of the habit of bringing my sleeping bag on the bus, though I wished that I had. I sat freezing and trying to sleep through the cold on the bus without much success. At around 6:30am I arrived in El Chaltèn, a small tourist center located inside the perimeter of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares in the heart of Argentine Patagonia. Already chilled to the core from the bus ride I stepped into the night air which felt shockingly cold at 6.6C (42F). I realize that isn`t really cold but try telling that to my body which seemed to be in some sort of revolt. My nasal faucet was turned on full blast, my teeth were chattering wildly, and my whole body shook. I rumaged through my bag as soon as I could and threw on my other jacket and my wool gloves. Bare in mind that this is later summer/early fall in this part of the world. Walking to the hostel I sneezed about 10 or 12 times consecutively. It`s official, I thought. I am allergic to the cold.
After locating a hostel I dropped of my bags and began a hike up to Cerro Torre in the early morning light. Cerro Torre, which means Tower Hill, is huge. If they classify it as a hill I would love to know what they consider a mountain. The hike wasn`t too challenging, about 8 hours roundtrip, but it was a really peaceful and pretty path. I saw some wild hare and my first condor flying overhead. Cerro Torre itself was outstanding, steep, sharp spires of rock jutting out of a glacier which led into a murky green grey laguna which contained three little iceburgs. They were tiny little guys but my first iceburg nonetheless and I was pretty excited. My nose didn`t stop running the entire time and I began to wonder if in addition to this new allergy I discovered, I might also be getting sick.
I poked around the markets and shops in town, many of which were closed on Sunday, before heading back to the hostel where I made lunch, a hot cup of tea, and treated myself to a little recuperating nap.
After a good healthy nights sleep I woke up feeling a little bit less snuffy in the morning, though my nose was already beginning to get raw for the endless rubbing with my hankercheif. I went to a little market down the street and got some eggs and to the panaderia for a little bread for sandwiches and a medialuna, a sweet glazed delicious croissant, and my new favorite guilty pleasure. I took my time making breakfast and began my trek up to Cerro Fitz Roy around 11am. The trek from town and back was about 12.5km, began with a little upward battle and a muddy mid-section but was mostly at a nice comfortable pace. The last hour or so of the hike up to the Fitz Roy was a steep climb up a rocky path. The views from the top were well worth the challenge. The Fitz Roy massif is said to be so steep that snow won`t stick to the sides of it. It was very impressive and has to emerald green lagunas at its feet. I saw a mini-avalanche and sat in awe of such natural wonders while enjoying my lunch.
That night after returning to town I calculated that I had hiked around 47km over the past two days. No wonder I was tired. I am constantly amazed by how open and wild Patagonia is. Wind swept valleys with trees that are blown practically sideways and then all of a sudden these mountains rise up out of no where. And the colors! They are out of this world. I cannot begin to describe the way the landscape transforms itself at sunrise and sunset. This unbelievable mixture of violet, indigo, greens, mustards. Sometimes it breaks my heart to pass by these sights from the window of a bus without the opportunity to stop and get out of the car and admire.
It was cold and the wind slapped hard against me as it swept across the wide open pampa. Inside the bus I found no relief. The air conditioning for some inexplicable reason was turned on full blast for the entire ride. I hadn`t been on a bus that cold since Colombia and had fallen out of the habit of bringing my sleeping bag on the bus, though I wished that I had. I sat freezing and trying to sleep through the cold on the bus without much success. At around 6:30am I arrived in El Chaltèn, a small tourist center located inside the perimeter of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares in the heart of Argentine Patagonia. Already chilled to the core from the bus ride I stepped into the night air which felt shockingly cold at 6.6C (42F). I realize that isn`t really cold but try telling that to my body which seemed to be in some sort of revolt. My nasal faucet was turned on full blast, my teeth were chattering wildly, and my whole body shook. I rumaged through my bag as soon as I could and threw on my other jacket and my wool gloves. Bare in mind that this is later summer/early fall in this part of the world. Walking to the hostel I sneezed about 10 or 12 times consecutively. It`s official, I thought. I am allergic to the cold.
After locating a hostel I dropped of my bags and began a hike up to Cerro Torre in the early morning light. Cerro Torre, which means Tower Hill, is huge. If they classify it as a hill I would love to know what they consider a mountain. The hike wasn`t too challenging, about 8 hours roundtrip, but it was a really peaceful and pretty path. I saw some wild hare and my first condor flying overhead. Cerro Torre itself was outstanding, steep, sharp spires of rock jutting out of a glacier which led into a murky green grey laguna which contained three little iceburgs. They were tiny little guys but my first iceburg nonetheless and I was pretty excited. My nose didn`t stop running the entire time and I began to wonder if in addition to this new allergy I discovered, I might also be getting sick.
I poked around the markets and shops in town, many of which were closed on Sunday, before heading back to the hostel where I made lunch, a hot cup of tea, and treated myself to a little recuperating nap.
After a good healthy nights sleep I woke up feeling a little bit less snuffy in the morning, though my nose was already beginning to get raw for the endless rubbing with my hankercheif. I went to a little market down the street and got some eggs and to the panaderia for a little bread for sandwiches and a medialuna, a sweet glazed delicious croissant, and my new favorite guilty pleasure. I took my time making breakfast and began my trek up to Cerro Fitz Roy around 11am. The trek from town and back was about 12.5km, began with a little upward battle and a muddy mid-section but was mostly at a nice comfortable pace. The last hour or so of the hike up to the Fitz Roy was a steep climb up a rocky path. The views from the top were well worth the challenge. The Fitz Roy massif is said to be so steep that snow won`t stick to the sides of it. It was very impressive and has to emerald green lagunas at its feet. I saw a mini-avalanche and sat in awe of such natural wonders while enjoying my lunch.
That night after returning to town I calculated that I had hiked around 47km over the past two days. No wonder I was tired. I am constantly amazed by how open and wild Patagonia is. Wind swept valleys with trees that are blown practically sideways and then all of a sudden these mountains rise up out of no where. And the colors! They are out of this world. I cannot begin to describe the way the landscape transforms itself at sunrise and sunset. This unbelievable mixture of violet, indigo, greens, mustards. Sometimes it breaks my heart to pass by these sights from the window of a bus without the opportunity to stop and get out of the car and admire.
Fish Rising
The stretch of road between Villa Cerro Castillo and Cochrane was 343km of ripio in various states of disrepair. It was slow going but the scenery on either side of the bus was worth the slow pace and high price. One side of the bus passed by burnt pastureland, silver stumps of trees laid on their sides strewn across the hillsides like Lincoln Logs, the hills rising up into mountains and colliding with blue cloudless skies. The opposite side of the bus was priviledged to so Lago General Carrera (Lago Buenos Aires on the Argentine side) the second largest lake after Titicaca in South America. It was one of the prettiest bus rides I have been on so far. The tourqouise water shone iridecently and lapped at the foot of mountains with snowy peaks.
Cochrane has just under 3,000 people living within its borders and is a quiet little village located at the convergence of a few rivers. There isn`t much to do there but walk around to the different grocery stores and markets, explore the panaderias (bakeries) to sample the pastries and learn where the best rolls are baked, so that is exactly what we did. We must have gone into the markets 3 or 4 times a day, just to poke around and look at the aisles. When we first arrived we walked around a bit with our packs trying to find the elusive free camping spot near the river. Unable to locate one the first night we settled for `tent city´ a camping place suggested in my guidebook which was no more than someones backyard filled with what seemed to be every camper in the area. But it was good enough, there was a toilet, hot showers, and the ability to have a campfire - wood provided. We went out to dinner that night at a nice local joint with slow service but good beer from Kunstmann in Valdivia.
In the morning we packed up camp and set off yet again to try to find a nice place near the river. Josh was really certain that the ideal location existed and was determined to find it. I asked the woman at the grocery store if she knew of a place and she pointed in one direction but we set out in another, Josh following his fisherman nose, or something. We didn`t find a thing in that direction and so continued in the direction that the woman pointed us in earlier. We found a nice place near the river that would provide a great opportunity to swim, weather permitting, but it was a bit out in the open and wasn`t a designated place to camp so we would`ve preferred to be a little more secluded and where we would be able to have a fire. We took a break for a bit while deciding whether to set up camp there or not. In the river the fish were literally jumping out of the water, called rising. I had never seen anything like that before in my life. Bryan set up his pole to try to catch some dinner and could hardly cast his line in without catching a fish. Unfortunately the only fish biting were tiny little trout, not big enough to eat so Bryan gave me my first fly fishing lesson. It took a lot more coordination than I thought it would but I started to get the rhythm of it after a few attempts with a very patient instructor. I learned how to cast and how to mend and the theory and skill behind fly fishing. The fish weren`t going for my fly though, I just couldn`t get my line out far enough. After a nice tour around town and an afternoon by the riverside we found ourselves in Tent City once again.
My last day in Cochrane was again spent next to the river where we almost camped. The boys tried to catch larger fish to no avail. We did our regular rotation of the markets in town and just relaxed. There is nothing to do in Patagonia and it forces you to slow down and be still your surroundings, a quality of the area that I really appreciate.
In the morning I was headed to Chile Chico to cross the border into Argentina at Los Antiguos. Bryan and Josh were staying in Cochrane one more day until their bus to Villa O`Higgins where the Carretera Austral ends. They were doing a border crossing into Chile that involved ferries and 14km of trekking across the frontera on foot. The style of the crossing intrgued me a great deal but it was going to take too much time so I went the easy route and rode across the border in a minibus. Los Antiguos is a nice town with little to do. Its main attraction is the fruit farms which produce huge amounts of cherries and have an annual Cherry Festival every year. I visited one of the farms during my stay and found out that the cherry season ended on January 15th, so I bought a bag of dried bing cherries that were delicious nonetheless.
I spent two nights in Los Antiguos waiting for my bus to El Chaltèn to depart. I was enjoying Patagonia so much and the unquenchable urge to keep going and going farther into this land. I felt a little bad that I wasn`t heading back north to go to the farm I had planned for March right away...wasn`t that the `goal´ of my trip anyway? But then a handsome little froggy reminded me that I don`t need to be so focused on what I am supposed to be doing, or what I planned on doing, or what I am expected to be doing and that if I am drawn to see more of Patagonia then I should, because there will be plenty of time to learn more about farming. This was all the reminder I needed to remember that this is my trip and I can do whatever I want with it. So I bought some Dulce de Leche Oreos (a strange buy I know) but they intrigued me, went to a cafe that served real coffee and enjoyed it while sitting on a little couch doing crossword puzzles. Afterwards I hiked up to a little Mirador (lookout) and sat by myself for a while overlooking Lago Buenos Aires without a sound but the wind. It was a slow and pleasant day.
Cochrane has just under 3,000 people living within its borders and is a quiet little village located at the convergence of a few rivers. There isn`t much to do there but walk around to the different grocery stores and markets, explore the panaderias (bakeries) to sample the pastries and learn where the best rolls are baked, so that is exactly what we did. We must have gone into the markets 3 or 4 times a day, just to poke around and look at the aisles. When we first arrived we walked around a bit with our packs trying to find the elusive free camping spot near the river. Unable to locate one the first night we settled for `tent city´ a camping place suggested in my guidebook which was no more than someones backyard filled with what seemed to be every camper in the area. But it was good enough, there was a toilet, hot showers, and the ability to have a campfire - wood provided. We went out to dinner that night at a nice local joint with slow service but good beer from Kunstmann in Valdivia.
In the morning we packed up camp and set off yet again to try to find a nice place near the river. Josh was really certain that the ideal location existed and was determined to find it. I asked the woman at the grocery store if she knew of a place and she pointed in one direction but we set out in another, Josh following his fisherman nose, or something. We didn`t find a thing in that direction and so continued in the direction that the woman pointed us in earlier. We found a nice place near the river that would provide a great opportunity to swim, weather permitting, but it was a bit out in the open and wasn`t a designated place to camp so we would`ve preferred to be a little more secluded and where we would be able to have a fire. We took a break for a bit while deciding whether to set up camp there or not. In the river the fish were literally jumping out of the water, called rising. I had never seen anything like that before in my life. Bryan set up his pole to try to catch some dinner and could hardly cast his line in without catching a fish. Unfortunately the only fish biting were tiny little trout, not big enough to eat so Bryan gave me my first fly fishing lesson. It took a lot more coordination than I thought it would but I started to get the rhythm of it after a few attempts with a very patient instructor. I learned how to cast and how to mend and the theory and skill behind fly fishing. The fish weren`t going for my fly though, I just couldn`t get my line out far enough. After a nice tour around town and an afternoon by the riverside we found ourselves in Tent City once again.
My last day in Cochrane was again spent next to the river where we almost camped. The boys tried to catch larger fish to no avail. We did our regular rotation of the markets in town and just relaxed. There is nothing to do in Patagonia and it forces you to slow down and be still your surroundings, a quality of the area that I really appreciate.
In the morning I was headed to Chile Chico to cross the border into Argentina at Los Antiguos. Bryan and Josh were staying in Cochrane one more day until their bus to Villa O`Higgins where the Carretera Austral ends. They were doing a border crossing into Chile that involved ferries and 14km of trekking across the frontera on foot. The style of the crossing intrgued me a great deal but it was going to take too much time so I went the easy route and rode across the border in a minibus. Los Antiguos is a nice town with little to do. Its main attraction is the fruit farms which produce huge amounts of cherries and have an annual Cherry Festival every year. I visited one of the farms during my stay and found out that the cherry season ended on January 15th, so I bought a bag of dried bing cherries that were delicious nonetheless.
I spent two nights in Los Antiguos waiting for my bus to El Chaltèn to depart. I was enjoying Patagonia so much and the unquenchable urge to keep going and going farther into this land. I felt a little bad that I wasn`t heading back north to go to the farm I had planned for March right away...wasn`t that the `goal´ of my trip anyway? But then a handsome little froggy reminded me that I don`t need to be so focused on what I am supposed to be doing, or what I planned on doing, or what I am expected to be doing and that if I am drawn to see more of Patagonia then I should, because there will be plenty of time to learn more about farming. This was all the reminder I needed to remember that this is my trip and I can do whatever I want with it. So I bought some Dulce de Leche Oreos (a strange buy I know) but they intrigued me, went to a cafe that served real coffee and enjoyed it while sitting on a little couch doing crossword puzzles. Afterwards I hiked up to a little Mirador (lookout) and sat by myself for a while overlooking Lago Buenos Aires without a sound but the wind. It was a slow and pleasant day.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Carretera Austral
The trip from Coyhaique to La Junta should have taken, according to the calculations of Andres who gave me the ride to La Junta, about 5 hours. Had I continued by car he may have been right. But I continued on the slowest bus ever. It crawled down the ripio (gravel) road at a snails pace. The rocks were loose and the gravel was wet, the roads washed away in parts from the recent rain storms. I was surprised we made it up some of the hills as I heard the wheels fight for traction below me. I expected to arrive in Coyhaique with plenty of daylight so that I could find my hostel without trouble. When I eventually arrived 10 hours later it was midnight and I was in the middle of Coyhaique, a town of about 43,000 people, and the commercial center of the Aysen region. But at midnight, the commercial center looked decidedly uncommercial and though I had the name of a hostel, it was located a 2km walk out of town and I hadn´t a map or any idea which way to go. I approached two English speaking travelers, Josh from Montana and Bryan from Colorado. They didn´t have a plan either and were hoping for an ideal camping spot next to the river but it was no looking like that wouldn´t be happening. So we decided to grab a taxi rather than attempt to walk somewhere in the dark without a map. The hostel was a log cabin outside of town and felt very ski lodgey with a warm woodstove in the center of the common area, a kitchen to use, and 3 baby kittens to make me smile.
The next day I explored the town and went to the airline office to ask about a flight down to Punta Arenas. The flight was definitely affordable and seemed promising. Until the woman told me the next available flight wasn´t leaving until March 4th. At this time it was around the 23rd of February and I definitely couldn´t wait that long for a flight. Later at the hostel I was telling Bryan and Josh about the letdown at the airline and since they were headed south as well they invited me along. They had a three person tent and were planning on camping their way down the Carretera Austral and eventually crossing over into Argentina when the Carretera ends. They were attracted to this area for the incredible fly fishing it is well known for and had all the gear needed to camp. I had no gear and a weak sleeping bag, but we decided that it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement if we traded my language abilities for their tent. We spent one more night in Coyhaique where we made our ininerary for the next few days. Since my sleeping bag was only graded for +55F they suggested I buy asleeping pad to try to keep off the ground. The only one I could find was not much more than a yoga mat, but it was only two bucks, so I bought it anyway.
Josh and Bryan ran into Greg, a biker who they had met earlier in their travels, and the four of us continued farther south along the ripio road to Villa Cerro Castillo a town with about 500 residents. We inquired about campsites, but most charged money so we set out to find the ever idyllic campsite by the river. We followed signs to Camp 3 Hermanos, but we never saw the 3 hermanos and instead ended up with a great spot near(ish) to the river with an outstanding view of the Cerro Castillo peaks above us, shrouded by clouds as they were. My first night camping I was freezing. I had on two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of pants, a tee shirt, a long sleeve shirt, a hoodie, a fleece jacket, and a hat. I was still cold but woke up feeling rested.
We did a nice 8 or 9 hour trek the following day through pastureland, forests, and windy bluffs. We returned to camp and made a badass pasta dinner and decided to reward ourselves after the hike with a little alcohol. After some beer, some wine, and a copious amount of whiskey around the campfire and the addition of a down jacket borrowed from Bryan I was nice and toasty the second night. After two nights of possible trespassing in Cerro Castillo we got a bus to Cochrane, 343km south of Coyhaique.
The next day I explored the town and went to the airline office to ask about a flight down to Punta Arenas. The flight was definitely affordable and seemed promising. Until the woman told me the next available flight wasn´t leaving until March 4th. At this time it was around the 23rd of February and I definitely couldn´t wait that long for a flight. Later at the hostel I was telling Bryan and Josh about the letdown at the airline and since they were headed south as well they invited me along. They had a three person tent and were planning on camping their way down the Carretera Austral and eventually crossing over into Argentina when the Carretera ends. They were attracted to this area for the incredible fly fishing it is well known for and had all the gear needed to camp. I had no gear and a weak sleeping bag, but we decided that it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement if we traded my language abilities for their tent. We spent one more night in Coyhaique where we made our ininerary for the next few days. Since my sleeping bag was only graded for +55F they suggested I buy asleeping pad to try to keep off the ground. The only one I could find was not much more than a yoga mat, but it was only two bucks, so I bought it anyway.
Josh and Bryan ran into Greg, a biker who they had met earlier in their travels, and the four of us continued farther south along the ripio road to Villa Cerro Castillo a town with about 500 residents. We inquired about campsites, but most charged money so we set out to find the ever idyllic campsite by the river. We followed signs to Camp 3 Hermanos, but we never saw the 3 hermanos and instead ended up with a great spot near(ish) to the river with an outstanding view of the Cerro Castillo peaks above us, shrouded by clouds as they were. My first night camping I was freezing. I had on two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of pants, a tee shirt, a long sleeve shirt, a hoodie, a fleece jacket, and a hat. I was still cold but woke up feeling rested.
We did a nice 8 or 9 hour trek the following day through pastureland, forests, and windy bluffs. We returned to camp and made a badass pasta dinner and decided to reward ourselves after the hike with a little alcohol. After some beer, some wine, and a copious amount of whiskey around the campfire and the addition of a down jacket borrowed from Bryan I was nice and toasty the second night. After two nights of possible trespassing in Cerro Castillo we got a bus to Cochrane, 343km south of Coyhaique.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Leaving Reserva Añihue
Since Añihue Reserva wasn`t turning out to be the farm of my dreams I decided within the first week that I didn`t want to stay for the entire month I originally planned for. Getting out of Añihue however proved more difficult than expected. Because of it`s remote location it is only accesible by boat. On a nice day the boat ride can take anywhere from 40 minutes to 1 hour. When the weather is bad, the farms boat is unable to cross from Tonina to Añihue over the rough waters. This meant that I spent a week or so more than I wanted waiting on a sunny day in order for Felipe to come and retrieve me. Luckily the company at Añihue was welcoming. The two girls had a lot of energy and kept me entertained most days, the library was stocked with great books to read and research, and Gonzalo only spoke Spanish which forced all of us to speak Spanish and was great for increasing my language abilities. Our days were even less active in the rain and usually just meant caring for the animals in the morning and evenings. I spent time watching the gusts of wind distrub the surface of the bay like a giant invisable hand. The trees creaked and bent under the force of the howling wind and rain pelted endlessly atop the tin roof.
But eventually, a sunny day did come. We were beginning work on a shelter for the animal manure when we heard the boat coming in the distance. I gathered my things, said a hurried goodbye (Felipe doesn`t like to wait) and sat in awkward silence for the duration of the ride. I don`t think that Felipe is the type of person who likes to be challenged in what he`s doing and I guess that is exactly what I did. He dropped me off at the tiny beach and said our goodbye`s. When I thanked him he snorted out a little laugh. Maybe he thought I was some ungrateful American, but I was thanking him genuinely as the experience, though not what I expected, was still enjoyable. The Chileans have an expression, no me cae bien, which translates to: He didn`t fall well on me. And Felipe just didn`t. I thought he was a puny egotistical little man who needed someone to burst his bubble.
I walked back down the forrested path to Raul Marin. The last time I was in RM I didn`t see a single car. The roads aren`t so much roads as they are wide sandy paths and I had trouble believing cars would have an easy time passing them anyway. This is understandable considering the fact that the town itself had no use for cars at all until recently when the rustic Carretera Austral built an extension connecting it for the first time by land where it was previously only accesible by air or water. There are no busses running to Raul Marin and the only way out is to try to catch an expensive and infrequent ferry or hitchhike. The ferry wasn`t coming for another 4 or 5 days so I went `a dedo´ and was happy when the second car that stopped (also the second car I saw) happened to be headed to my destination La Junta, 75 km from Raul Marin. The pickup truck was packed with people and bags so I hopped in the short half bed of the truck on top of some suitcases and leaning against giant blue plastic drums. We headed down the dirt road and stopped before long at the side of a river where Andres, the driver, rearranged the people and bags to allow to a spot inside the truck. We crossed the river on a one-car ferry to the other side and continued on down the ripio (loose stone) road to La Junta. Andres dropped me off right in front of a bus that was headed in my direction and leaving in about 15 minutes. I couldn`t have had more perfect timing as transporation in this region is very hard to come by and I have heard tales of people getting stuck in towns for days waiting for the next bus.
Since I had a few weeks to spare after leaving Añihue early I decided that I would head South. It wasn`t originally in me plans for the trip but as I got closer I just couldn`t stop. Something kept pulling me further and further down into the depths of Patagonia. I hadn`t expected to want to keep going like that but the drive to see more barren wild landscapes and glaciers and snowy mountains and lakes just kept getting stronger and became this magnetic draw that I couldn`t ignore. From La Junta I planned to take a bus down to Coyhaique and splurge on a flight to Punta Arenas to go to the famous Torres del Paine National Park. But travel never works out exactly how you have it in mind and after arriving in Coyhaique I had a change of plans.
But eventually, a sunny day did come. We were beginning work on a shelter for the animal manure when we heard the boat coming in the distance. I gathered my things, said a hurried goodbye (Felipe doesn`t like to wait) and sat in awkward silence for the duration of the ride. I don`t think that Felipe is the type of person who likes to be challenged in what he`s doing and I guess that is exactly what I did. He dropped me off at the tiny beach and said our goodbye`s. When I thanked him he snorted out a little laugh. Maybe he thought I was some ungrateful American, but I was thanking him genuinely as the experience, though not what I expected, was still enjoyable. The Chileans have an expression, no me cae bien, which translates to: He didn`t fall well on me. And Felipe just didn`t. I thought he was a puny egotistical little man who needed someone to burst his bubble.
I walked back down the forrested path to Raul Marin. The last time I was in RM I didn`t see a single car. The roads aren`t so much roads as they are wide sandy paths and I had trouble believing cars would have an easy time passing them anyway. This is understandable considering the fact that the town itself had no use for cars at all until recently when the rustic Carretera Austral built an extension connecting it for the first time by land where it was previously only accesible by air or water. There are no busses running to Raul Marin and the only way out is to try to catch an expensive and infrequent ferry or hitchhike. The ferry wasn`t coming for another 4 or 5 days so I went `a dedo´ and was happy when the second car that stopped (also the second car I saw) happened to be headed to my destination La Junta, 75 km from Raul Marin. The pickup truck was packed with people and bags so I hopped in the short half bed of the truck on top of some suitcases and leaning against giant blue plastic drums. We headed down the dirt road and stopped before long at the side of a river where Andres, the driver, rearranged the people and bags to allow to a spot inside the truck. We crossed the river on a one-car ferry to the other side and continued on down the ripio (loose stone) road to La Junta. Andres dropped me off right in front of a bus that was headed in my direction and leaving in about 15 minutes. I couldn`t have had more perfect timing as transporation in this region is very hard to come by and I have heard tales of people getting stuck in towns for days waiting for the next bus.
Since I had a few weeks to spare after leaving Añihue early I decided that I would head South. It wasn`t originally in me plans for the trip but as I got closer I just couldn`t stop. Something kept pulling me further and further down into the depths of Patagonia. I hadn`t expected to want to keep going like that but the drive to see more barren wild landscapes and glaciers and snowy mountains and lakes just kept getting stronger and became this magnetic draw that I couldn`t ignore. From La Junta I planned to take a bus down to Coyhaique and splurge on a flight to Punta Arenas to go to the famous Torres del Paine National Park. But travel never works out exactly how you have it in mind and after arriving in Coyhaique I had a change of plans.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Reserva Añihue
Like much of the land in this region of Chilean Northern Patagonia, the 10,000 hectares that comprise Reserva Añihue, are owned by rich North Americans. Most of them claim that their primary goal is to protect the land from the lumber companies who have been ravaging it and driving out the native flora and fauna. But as North Americans there`s always a plan to make a profit and so Toninas, the first point of entry into Reserva Añihue, named after the doplhins that are seen almost daily in the bay, has been dedicated to tourism. They market it as `eco-tourism´ which I have come to believe is a contradiction of terms.
I spent my first night in a room at Toninas, the first and more accessible part of the reserve and the part where the tourists stay. The buildings are beautifully contructed with wood from the land (they claim to use only fallen wood in their constructions). There is electricity but it is all solar, and in a place where it rains 80% of the time needs to be used conservatively. I was shocked on my first night by the food I was served for dinner. Fresh lettuce from the garden, served with a side of canned corn, canned green beans, canned olives, and bottled ajì (a kind of hot sauce) made by Heinz or some company like it. I was told that the garden wasn`t producing much because of the rain and so they had to supplement it with canned goods. In the morning, it was homemade bread served with margarine that actually advertised the fact that it contained real milk, powdered instant Nescafe coffee (not unusual in these parts), powdered milk, dulce de leche (I love this stuff), and packaged marmelade. Waiting for my transfer to Añihue, the part of the reserve I would be staying at, I explored the area. I checked out the beautiful cabins that the tourists stay at, saw some dolphins playing in the bay, and I saw the gardens which mysteriously had lots of vegetables growing in them. Beets, carrots, lettuce, onions, cabbage, herbs, and many other things that were absent from our meal the previous night. Something didn`t add up.
I spoke with Felipe, the man who managed the entire reserve. He was from Santiago and has a background in tourism. I was trying to understand what the goal of the land and the volunteer project was and to understand why we were eating so many processed, packaged goods when there was perfectly good produce in the gardens. He didn`t provide any answers to my satisfaction, but rather explained why they chose to use solar electricity to power the 3 computers in his house and how sometimes certain things need to be sacrificed in the interest of comfort. He assured me that things were `very different´ over at Añihue and that a more rustic, wholesome life was led, with composting toilets, etc. He maintained that Añihue was the type of place that `really changes people´ and `people go into Añihue and come out completely transformed´. He was painting a pretty nice picture and I had some high hopes. I was looking to be `changed´.
That afternoon we took his boat across the ocean on a ride that took about 50 minutes over some choppy sea. Along the way we picked up Juliette, a French volunteer who was on her way back to Añihue for her second month there. If she was returning again I thought, it must be a pretty good experience. I focused on the horizon willing myself not to get sick while chatting with Juliette on the way there. When we arrived we were met by Gonzalo, who has been living and working at Añihue for the past two years, and Sarah an American volunteer who also decided to stay longer than the one month she originally planned for.
I quickly learned that life at Añihue wasn`t all that much different or more wholesome or more organic or more rustic than life in Tonina. Yes, they had a composting toilet, but it was located outside and away from the house. There was a perfectly functioning water toilet inside and no one was stressing the benefits of using the dry toilet over the conventional one and so, why would they? Besides, from what I could tell, the byproducts of the dry toilet were not being composted effectively and so rather than harnessing the power of human shit, they were letting it go to waste. Might as well just flush it down if you`re just going to waste it anyway. There was less electricity available to us at Añihue then they had at Tonina. We had fewer solar panels and so most of the energy we had stored, when we had bright enough days to store some, was used toward to internet, watching DVDs on the computer, and charging our iPods. Candles and headlamps were used at night. But again, what really got me was the food, nothing bus cans and packages.
Maybe if I hadn`t had such a phenomenal experience at Sacred Sueños then I Wouldnpt have been so let down and disillusioned by my experience at Añihue. In a lot of ways life at Sacred Sueños was more easily carried out in an environmentally conscious way than at Añihue. The relative proximity of Sacred Sueños to Vilcabamba, a town with regular tourism and a resident hippie population at the bottom of the mountain made access to certain things such as homemade bread (we didn`t have an oven there), real butter, milk for cheese making, and awesome granola more accessible. Though SS wasn`t producing enough vegetables to be self-sustainable at that time they were working toward it, and in the meantime were only a short trip (relatively speaking) down the mountain where they could find shops teeming with fresh fruits and vegetables.
Añihue is in a lot of ways more remote than Sacred Sueños. The nearest town is Raul Marin Balmaceda which has only about 400-500 residents and few resources. There are a few small markets, a medical center, a school, but not much else. The roads through town are not much more than sandy paths. Only recently was the Carretera Austral extended to connect them by road to other towns nearby (the nearest 75km away). Access to fresh produce is limited and most of the goods need to be brought in from far away by ferry. So, once a month they bring in a handful of fresh veggies (4 carrots, 4 onions, 2 cucumbers, 2 heads of garlic, a chunk of squash, a couple bananas and apples) and a bunch of non-perishable goods. But all these canned and packaged goods lead to empty cans and plastic packages, which is waste that eventually gets buried in a hole somewhere on the property (some of it gets taken back to Santiago to get recycled, so they say).
As I spent more time at Añihue I realized that the main problem with the land was not its location or even the climate, it was the vision (and the soil). I couldn`t figure out why we were there. It didn`t seem like we, as volunteers, were working enough for someone to support us. I was able to gather that they were primarily there as an act of conservation, and secondarily there as a tourist destination. No one could provide me with a third reason for our presence. I didn`t get it. The food we ate was packaged or canned, the cups we drank from were `Designed for Starbucks, Made In China´, the blankets we slept under were made in Indonesia or some other far off land. Purchasing these goods, rather than the quality products available locally (thus cutting down on carbon emmissions from transportation and in turn supporting the local economy) didn`t make any sense to me. Instead of buying real butter that comes in minimal packaging we`re buying this crap that comes in a big plastic tubs. If for some reason it is necessary to exist on packaged or processed foods, they could at least make smart choices about which products they purchase.
Our daily activities went like this:
- Wake up between 8 and 10, have breakfast (oatmeal, instant coffee, bread) and then go to the animals. Free the sheep and chickens, collect the eggs, sweep out the sheep and pig pens, feed the pigs, and check on the tomatoes growing in the greenhouse.
- Go back to the house and drink some tea or coffee. Eat more bread.
- If weather permits (10 or so out of the 15 days I was there it rained stormy horrible cold windy rain) we might do some small tasks like cut firewood, build a house to put our boots and shoes in, clean a beach (this meant moving trash out of the sight of the tourists, rather than removing trash for the good of the environment), clearing trails, or making a spot have a campfire.
- Make lunch, usually some sort of soup or pasta with fresh veggies while they lasted, canned once they were gone, and maybe some beans, and bread. These meals were actually pretty decent, based on what we had to work with. The afternoons were mostly free. I usually spent them baking bread, reading, or spinning wool by hand and the girls usually went out in the rain and tried to catch some fish.
- Around 6 or so, we went back out to the animals.
- We usually spent our late evenings checking our email and/or watching a DVD.
Sounds like a lovely and relaxing way to spend a few weeks, right? It definitely was, but I wasn`t just looking for some remote holiday. I wanted to learn and I wanted to get my hands dirty. We did a few small jobs here and there but most of it seemed like busy work and all for the benefit of the tourists when they make the day trip from Tonina to Añihue to see the volunteer program. The eggs from the chickens that we spent time caring for were handed over to Felipe so that they can be cooked for the tourists. I overheard Felipe tell the tourists that the volunteers are living all organically and about how we`re using the dry toilet...all a bunch of BS. We were expected to put on a little routine for their benefit and show them all the wholesome activities we`ve been up to. I didn`t want any part of this so I his upstairs and read a book. I felt like the whole place was just a big farce. It felt the way I felt the first time I put on my new North Face 30 SPF quick dry, zip-off pants made by small hands in Bangladesh.
They were doing some good things at Añihue and it was nice to see that it is possible to retain some ¨comforts¨ of technology in a more conscious way, that woodstove heating systems can efficiently cook your food, heat your water and heat your home. It was just the lack of gardening and the fake image of the place that really put me off. If they could just identify their goals, such as making their garden more productive and therefore reducing the dependence on non-perishable goods, then they could take prioritize steps to composting more effectively (both the animal and human shit) and eventually transform the sandy soil into usable soil so that the next time they get a sunny spell they don`t loose all the crops because the water runs straight out of the soil and the roots burn. I talked to Felipe about they way they were currently composting (all fresh vegetable matter is fed to the pigs, rather than composting, and the pig shit is then cleaned every day and added to a big pile that gets rained on, does not have any other material added to it, and evenutally ends up looking like a big shit lake) and he told me that he believes that with that system, if left long enough, it would just somehow magically turn into wonderful usable compost. I discussed with him what little I knew about composting but with arrogance like his it didn`t make much of a difference.
By the end of my stay, there were talks of doing the animal compost differently. Maybe after our conversation Felipe actually read a book and realized that a lake of shit won`t turn into compost overnight. Hopefully they follow through with it and start to identify goals, clarify a vision for the place and prioritize self-sustainability. In the end, it could be a wonderful place.
I spent my first night in a room at Toninas, the first and more accessible part of the reserve and the part where the tourists stay. The buildings are beautifully contructed with wood from the land (they claim to use only fallen wood in their constructions). There is electricity but it is all solar, and in a place where it rains 80% of the time needs to be used conservatively. I was shocked on my first night by the food I was served for dinner. Fresh lettuce from the garden, served with a side of canned corn, canned green beans, canned olives, and bottled ajì (a kind of hot sauce) made by Heinz or some company like it. I was told that the garden wasn`t producing much because of the rain and so they had to supplement it with canned goods. In the morning, it was homemade bread served with margarine that actually advertised the fact that it contained real milk, powdered instant Nescafe coffee (not unusual in these parts), powdered milk, dulce de leche (I love this stuff), and packaged marmelade. Waiting for my transfer to Añihue, the part of the reserve I would be staying at, I explored the area. I checked out the beautiful cabins that the tourists stay at, saw some dolphins playing in the bay, and I saw the gardens which mysteriously had lots of vegetables growing in them. Beets, carrots, lettuce, onions, cabbage, herbs, and many other things that were absent from our meal the previous night. Something didn`t add up.
I spoke with Felipe, the man who managed the entire reserve. He was from Santiago and has a background in tourism. I was trying to understand what the goal of the land and the volunteer project was and to understand why we were eating so many processed, packaged goods when there was perfectly good produce in the gardens. He didn`t provide any answers to my satisfaction, but rather explained why they chose to use solar electricity to power the 3 computers in his house and how sometimes certain things need to be sacrificed in the interest of comfort. He assured me that things were `very different´ over at Añihue and that a more rustic, wholesome life was led, with composting toilets, etc. He maintained that Añihue was the type of place that `really changes people´ and `people go into Añihue and come out completely transformed´. He was painting a pretty nice picture and I had some high hopes. I was looking to be `changed´.
That afternoon we took his boat across the ocean on a ride that took about 50 minutes over some choppy sea. Along the way we picked up Juliette, a French volunteer who was on her way back to Añihue for her second month there. If she was returning again I thought, it must be a pretty good experience. I focused on the horizon willing myself not to get sick while chatting with Juliette on the way there. When we arrived we were met by Gonzalo, who has been living and working at Añihue for the past two years, and Sarah an American volunteer who also decided to stay longer than the one month she originally planned for.
I quickly learned that life at Añihue wasn`t all that much different or more wholesome or more organic or more rustic than life in Tonina. Yes, they had a composting toilet, but it was located outside and away from the house. There was a perfectly functioning water toilet inside and no one was stressing the benefits of using the dry toilet over the conventional one and so, why would they? Besides, from what I could tell, the byproducts of the dry toilet were not being composted effectively and so rather than harnessing the power of human shit, they were letting it go to waste. Might as well just flush it down if you`re just going to waste it anyway. There was less electricity available to us at Añihue then they had at Tonina. We had fewer solar panels and so most of the energy we had stored, when we had bright enough days to store some, was used toward to internet, watching DVDs on the computer, and charging our iPods. Candles and headlamps were used at night. But again, what really got me was the food, nothing bus cans and packages.
Maybe if I hadn`t had such a phenomenal experience at Sacred Sueños then I Wouldnpt have been so let down and disillusioned by my experience at Añihue. In a lot of ways life at Sacred Sueños was more easily carried out in an environmentally conscious way than at Añihue. The relative proximity of Sacred Sueños to Vilcabamba, a town with regular tourism and a resident hippie population at the bottom of the mountain made access to certain things such as homemade bread (we didn`t have an oven there), real butter, milk for cheese making, and awesome granola more accessible. Though SS wasn`t producing enough vegetables to be self-sustainable at that time they were working toward it, and in the meantime were only a short trip (relatively speaking) down the mountain where they could find shops teeming with fresh fruits and vegetables.
Añihue is in a lot of ways more remote than Sacred Sueños. The nearest town is Raul Marin Balmaceda which has only about 400-500 residents and few resources. There are a few small markets, a medical center, a school, but not much else. The roads through town are not much more than sandy paths. Only recently was the Carretera Austral extended to connect them by road to other towns nearby (the nearest 75km away). Access to fresh produce is limited and most of the goods need to be brought in from far away by ferry. So, once a month they bring in a handful of fresh veggies (4 carrots, 4 onions, 2 cucumbers, 2 heads of garlic, a chunk of squash, a couple bananas and apples) and a bunch of non-perishable goods. But all these canned and packaged goods lead to empty cans and plastic packages, which is waste that eventually gets buried in a hole somewhere on the property (some of it gets taken back to Santiago to get recycled, so they say).
As I spent more time at Añihue I realized that the main problem with the land was not its location or even the climate, it was the vision (and the soil). I couldn`t figure out why we were there. It didn`t seem like we, as volunteers, were working enough for someone to support us. I was able to gather that they were primarily there as an act of conservation, and secondarily there as a tourist destination. No one could provide me with a third reason for our presence. I didn`t get it. The food we ate was packaged or canned, the cups we drank from were `Designed for Starbucks, Made In China´, the blankets we slept under were made in Indonesia or some other far off land. Purchasing these goods, rather than the quality products available locally (thus cutting down on carbon emmissions from transportation and in turn supporting the local economy) didn`t make any sense to me. Instead of buying real butter that comes in minimal packaging we`re buying this crap that comes in a big plastic tubs. If for some reason it is necessary to exist on packaged or processed foods, they could at least make smart choices about which products they purchase.
Our daily activities went like this:
- Wake up between 8 and 10, have breakfast (oatmeal, instant coffee, bread) and then go to the animals. Free the sheep and chickens, collect the eggs, sweep out the sheep and pig pens, feed the pigs, and check on the tomatoes growing in the greenhouse.
- Go back to the house and drink some tea or coffee. Eat more bread.
- If weather permits (10 or so out of the 15 days I was there it rained stormy horrible cold windy rain) we might do some small tasks like cut firewood, build a house to put our boots and shoes in, clean a beach (this meant moving trash out of the sight of the tourists, rather than removing trash for the good of the environment), clearing trails, or making a spot have a campfire.
- Make lunch, usually some sort of soup or pasta with fresh veggies while they lasted, canned once they were gone, and maybe some beans, and bread. These meals were actually pretty decent, based on what we had to work with. The afternoons were mostly free. I usually spent them baking bread, reading, or spinning wool by hand and the girls usually went out in the rain and tried to catch some fish.
- Around 6 or so, we went back out to the animals.
- We usually spent our late evenings checking our email and/or watching a DVD.
Sounds like a lovely and relaxing way to spend a few weeks, right? It definitely was, but I wasn`t just looking for some remote holiday. I wanted to learn and I wanted to get my hands dirty. We did a few small jobs here and there but most of it seemed like busy work and all for the benefit of the tourists when they make the day trip from Tonina to Añihue to see the volunteer program. The eggs from the chickens that we spent time caring for were handed over to Felipe so that they can be cooked for the tourists. I overheard Felipe tell the tourists that the volunteers are living all organically and about how we`re using the dry toilet...all a bunch of BS. We were expected to put on a little routine for their benefit and show them all the wholesome activities we`ve been up to. I didn`t want any part of this so I his upstairs and read a book. I felt like the whole place was just a big farce. It felt the way I felt the first time I put on my new North Face 30 SPF quick dry, zip-off pants made by small hands in Bangladesh.
They were doing some good things at Añihue and it was nice to see that it is possible to retain some ¨comforts¨ of technology in a more conscious way, that woodstove heating systems can efficiently cook your food, heat your water and heat your home. It was just the lack of gardening and the fake image of the place that really put me off. If they could just identify their goals, such as making their garden more productive and therefore reducing the dependence on non-perishable goods, then they could take prioritize steps to composting more effectively (both the animal and human shit) and eventually transform the sandy soil into usable soil so that the next time they get a sunny spell they don`t loose all the crops because the water runs straight out of the soil and the roots burn. I talked to Felipe about they way they were currently composting (all fresh vegetable matter is fed to the pigs, rather than composting, and the pig shit is then cleaned every day and added to a big pile that gets rained on, does not have any other material added to it, and evenutally ends up looking like a big shit lake) and he told me that he believes that with that system, if left long enough, it would just somehow magically turn into wonderful usable compost. I discussed with him what little I knew about composting but with arrogance like his it didn`t make much of a difference.
By the end of my stay, there were talks of doing the animal compost differently. Maybe after our conversation Felipe actually read a book and realized that a lake of shit won`t turn into compost overnight. Hopefully they follow through with it and start to identify goals, clarify a vision for the place and prioritize self-sustainability. In the end, it could be a wonderful place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)