Just a few photos of where we’ve been for the last few weeks…
Our lovely host Vanessa made this sign for us! The name is spreading… oh dear.
3rd anniversary dinner in “our” little apartment (B & B apartment)
24
Mar 10
This is your brain on…italian?! // El Jefe
To say that the last few weeks have flown by would be an exaggeration and an understatement at the same time. An exaggeration because at times I have been so tired that time seemed to creep by, dragging along just to mock my exhaustion. An understatement because here I am, writing this from the kitchen table in our temporary apartment here in Chiavenna, our new home.
Learning a new language is about the hardest work one can do, and it’s a job which does funny things to the mind. They say that when you learn a new language the brain compartmentalizes it so as to maintain two completely different ways of expressing itself verbally. This concept is wonderful on paper, “Oh sweet, I won’t loose english when I learn italian.”; but in reality, the initial stages of learning said new language are so exhausting for my feeble brain that each evening I am rendered completely useless in either language. My brain has just plain given up on doing the switch – usually stuck in the airlock between the two compartments – and I’m left with the ability to remember only a few small details of each days lessons in italian (a depressing realization to have to replay each evening) and none of the things that I wanted to do with my life in english (also a tad depressing).
During the day isn’t much better. Basic information becomes nearly impossible to maintain: Names of new friends, places where we eat, how to get back to Vanessa’s house, where we’re staying, on the bus, the simple schedule of our lives at the moment. All the little things that your brain handles behind the scenes for you on a day to day basis have become bits of paper swirling around in the wind.
But each day becomes a little easier, each conversation goes a little smoother. I may not remember learning about the differences between imperfect and present perfect but I am sure using them both quite a lot more now. At least some of the information pouring forth from the fire-hose must be landing in the small tupperware box in my brain that’s labeled italian. There is hope.
16
Mar 10
Iniziato di Nuovo // Ribena
My knee feels like it’s on fire, but I know we’re not supposed to move for at least another 40 minutes. My eyes are closed so I can’t see my watch to check. My back is aching from holding me upright and still for so long. And now I’m so busy panicking about the pain (which incidentally is getting worse…) that I can’t concentrate an ounce of my attention on the meditation technique. Eh, whose idea was this??
Matthew, my big brother. He has done a few of these Vipassana meditation courses over the years and recommended it to us. Fortunately, by the end of the course we were thanking him. Ten days: Rising at 4 am, retiring at 9.30pm, with 10.5 hours of meditation each day, sitting still with eyes closed. No talking or communication of any kind allowed, including eye contact. Men and women are kept totally separate. You are to feel alone with your thoughts and sensations. At one of my weaker moments of meditation I was calculating the percentage of the day spent with eyes closed. The number escapes me now…
The idea of this technique of meditation is to learn to become more aware of the sensations in your body as they occur, moment to moment. With an emphasis on the fact that everything in this world is impermanent, everything will change sooner or later, for better or for worse. With this, one can learn to reduce (or ultimately eliminate) their reaction to their sensations. The belief is that it is our exaggerated reactions to our sensations that cause us sadness or distress not the actual stimulus. A simple example: Someone treats you badly causing a negative sensation in your body. You react with anger or sadness, which multiplies and prolongs the negative sensation inside of you. The person who initially hurt you may have gone but you continue to stew and multiply the negative feelings inside. With this technique you can learn to become aware of these sensations as they arise and how to control your response to them. To observe the sensation objectively without reaction. To understand that like everything in the world this sensation too will change, sooner or later. If you let it.
By our last few days we had both learnt to remain still for at least an hour in meditation. In my experience, pain and discomfort still arose but if I succeeded in merely observing it objectively, like a scientist or researcher of sorts, instead of reacting to it, the pain would run it’s course, fade and often disappear. It was amazing to experience, on a very personal level, the mind:body interaction. Concepts which I have been teaching my patients for the past few years, I was now experiencing in real-time high definition. As the days passed I continued my personal science experiment, each day discovering a little more about the power of the mind.
At times I definitely felt like I was going crazy and it seemed like one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, but I can already notice the sweet haze of retrospection covering over the darker moments in my mind. Ultimately, it was a very special and unique experience for us. One which we each explored alone, as individuals, in our own personal way. A bizarre way to start our move to a new country but I think a necessary one.
And now here we are in Milano trying to put into practise some of what we learnt while we make our way through language school and living through a foreign language. We have been greeted with open arms and real Italian warmth and generosity by many, but especially by our new friend (and host!) Vanessa, the Pradella family and of course Marina and Gianca our old friends from Blacksburg, who are “neighbours” to us again but now on this side of the ocean.
Grazie 
La vita è bella.
21
Feb 10
Up and atom // Ribena
So tomorrow we move to Italy. Hmm. How does that make me feel? Absolutely terrified.
Reality hit about mid last week and all of a sudden I became aware of a strangely familiar uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach. Like someone you disliked in school and haven’t seen in a long time. I’d actually forgotten what it feels like to be anxious and stressed. Seriously. Our bodies have this amazing ability to forget negative sensations, like pain. You remember the idea of them of course, but I would venture to say that actually feeling the memory of the sensation is impossible. Enough of this. I’ll stop being a chicken. Up and at them.
We have just had one of those wonderful weeks, filled wih family and friends, that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. To all of you who have been a part of it, thank you. We have missed you all dearly, and will do again when we find ourselves suddenly gone from here. Each of you are special and precious to us. With all your warm welcomes this week, we have felt like the luckiest people alive.
We will be keeping this blog up and running while we make the move to Italy. It has been a lovely way to keep those that care in the loop, and for us to pause and think about where we are and what we are doing. But a blog is nothing if nobody ever reads it, so thanks to those who have been following along with our journey. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far.
13
Feb 10
The beans are back in town… // Ribena
People have asked if it is bitter-sweet coming home from our travels, but I think we both agree: there’s nothing bitter about it. And yes, returning to Virginia feels like coming home to me. One of two homes of course. What a wonderful, magical feeling – coming home. It fills me with a warm sensation, like hot chocolate in my belly. Everything familiar is a treat. Our cosy bed, my favourite jeans, the cheese I love that Asia/South America apparently do not… and the pleasure of savouring dinner and a glass of wine in the warm company of my in-laws.
By the time we boarded our plane in Buenos Aires, Jeff and I were well ready to be back with family and friends. With our upcoming relocation to Italy fast approaching, reuniting with folks back in Virginia is doubly special because we know our time with them will be brief. Watching the snow from the plane window as we came down to land in DC made me think of Christmas and all the excitement that surrounds it. Crisp cold air rushing up my nose as we step out of the airport under bluebird skies, like liquid contentment filling every part of me. Home sweet home.
It’s funny though, usually when you return from a long holiday you are thrown back into your “normal life”. This time there is no “normal life” for us. Our journey is merely on pause for a few days. Such a delicious pause. But nine more days and we will be back on a plane. Headed for Italy. Soon to be Home Number 3.
Watch this space.
04
Feb 10
The Luckiest // El Jefe
We lay in the tent in the fading light of dusk. Every so often a freight train tore through the tree tops above. The noise of each passing gust precluded any reading outloud or talking – all we could do was lay there, listening and wondering. I looked at my watch again. We had lost altitude, only a few meters, but a step in the right direction. The pressure was rising.
All climbers know the meaning of the word Patagonia. No matter that the real definition refers to a massive area of southern Argentina and Chile; when you are speaking to climbers, the word has one and only one meaning. Some of the best climbing on earth, situated in an area renowned for some of the worst weather on earth. It is a word that inspires awe and fear in a single breath.
The lore that surrounds these peaks has held me in a trance for years now. The legends of climbers and summits, snow mushrooms and rime ice had gelled into a knot of emotion in my stomach. A sort of reverence for the powerful extremes present in this landscape. So I had been prepared for the overwhelming sense of awe but it was the minute beauty of the place took me completely by surprise. The lenga, gnarled into natural bonsai by the ceasless wind; the small racketball sized birds, with feathers sticking out at odd angles and mohawks raised in defiance to the weather; the way that constant wind can become a tangible object – like cotton shoved into your ears or a brace to lean on while hiking. My dreams that night were filled with trains, jet planes and birds circling around while I rappelled down frozen “shrieks turned to stone” (as Maestri so aptly described Cerro Torre).
Dawn was shrouded in silence. No freight trains, not even the rustle of leaves. It had been a cold night: Gina had reported snow on an early morning trip to the bathroom. I looked again at my watch, we were 180 meters lower than we had been last night. Could this be right, I wondered sleepily? I dragged myself from the tent to make porridge and was hit squarly over the head with a blunt object. Appreciating the minutiae would not be necessary today. Monte Fitzroy, flanked by Cerro Poincenot, stood sentinal over our campsite, wrapped in ice and fresh snow. Needless to say, breakfast was quick.
When the clouds finally do part in Patagonia it creates a sense of panic deep in the pit of your stomach (at least it should) and you just keep thinking, “This could be the only time I get to see anything!”. Forty-five minutes. We had done the Lago de los Tres trail in half the suggested time. My lungs felt like they were bleeding, my breaths came in ragged, shortened spurts. But the view more than made up for it.
The high pressure lasted for two days. Nearly half our time trekking in and around the Fitzroy massif was in clear weather. In addition to the frosty view of Fitzroy, we watched the sunrise on Cerro Torre and spent our day hiking back to town throwing glances over our shoulders at the entire range, standing in clear relief against a cobalt sky. The significance of this is best illustrated by the first comment we heard upon returning to El Chaltén: “It’s been almost a month since we’ve gotten any view of the mountains.”
Jackpot.
25
Jan 10
Cochamó // El Jefe
I first heard about Cochamó through the grapevine in Camp 4, the climbers dustpit in Yosemite, in 2005. The vague rumors were of a barely known valley in southern Chile with multiple El Cap sized walls, many of which had only one or two ascents. Five years later we finally arrived in Cochamó; the rumors have long ago been confirmed and the walls have quite a few more ascents now, but the jaw dropping power of the huge granite walls hasn’t been diminished in the least bit.
Many of the comparisons between Cochamó and Yosemite hold true (beautiful granite, lots of climbing potential) but there are some pretty major differences. The most striking of which (besides the weather) is the method of entry into the valley.
In Yosemite, you drive right into the valley floor, craning your neck to see the tops of the walls through the windshield. In Cochamó, the price of entry begins with taking a two hour bus to a backwater town, then walking 6 km of gravel road to the trailhead. From there 4-6 hours of walking on the muddiest, most rutted trail I have ever seen brings you up into the valley proper. It’s only in the last half hour of this slog that you begin to get glimpses of the walls through the thick canopy above you. And those glimpses knock the air out of you: Literally leaving you speechless. You have arrived in a place every bit as awe-inspiring and powerful as Yosemite, but not the tourist meat grinder that the park has become, the Yosemite of John Muir lore. This price of entry may be dirty and difficult but it acts as a wonderful filter; helping to effectively maintaining sustainable numbers of visitors to the valley. Cochamó is barely touched, except for a few permanent structures the valley is completely natural. And the semi-permanent residents are fighting hard to keep it that way.
A few years back a partnership between American and Italian companies expressed interest in buying the water rights to Cochamó so they could dam and flood the valley for hydropower. In response, the residents, headed by Rodrigo (Chilean) and Daniel (American), formed the group Conservación Cochamó. Speaking in terms that the Chilean government could understand, namely tourism jobs and profit, they took their plea up the ladder until it finally made it to the desk of the Chilean president. The then president, Michele Bachelet, recently signed a bill protecting the water rights forever.
But as Daniel told us,
Water is only one part. Cochamó is still at risk. And God forbid the mining companies become interested, because in Chile, the mining companies get whatever they want, period.
For now, Cochamó isn’t a National Park, it isn’t a reserve, it’s not even on public land. It’s just a beautiful valley that is protected by its distance from people and its difficult access.
After spending two days hiking and gawking in Cochamó and a day on either end to hike in and out, we both hope it stays just the way it is.
For more general information about Cochamó check out: http://cochamo.com
To see how you can help with the conservation effort check out: http://www.cochamo.org
23
Jan 10
Ready to sit still for a bit // Ribena
About to embark on about 35 hours of bus travel to El Chaltén in Southern Patagonia. Only 3 weeks until our flight back to the US. We were sitting here wondering where the time has gone and why we feel so tired…
I think we’ve worked it out…
Since reaching the Andes we have spent:
- 20 days trekking
- 3-4 days climbing
- 4 days on buses
- 6-7 days resting or waiting out bad weather ( and gorging on fruit and Dulce de leche mmm
And yes, I am a nerd.
22
Jan 10
Trompsing Over Mountain Tops // Ribena
Three days in on a four-day traverse of the mountain range outside bariloche. This is high mountain trekking at it’s finest. The route passes up and over multiple high peaks, up and across steep snow slopes and today, the 3rd day, spends much of the time traversing a spectacular high ridge line. Standing on this ridge looking down into the bright blue waters of Lago Azul I feel like I might burst with happiness and the excitement of it all. It’s just all too wonderful to absorb at one time. So much beauty everywhere I look that it turns my thought processes to mush, and I start to sound like someone who has just fallen in love for the first time. Diarmuid would be busy slagging me off right now.
Each morning we set off early to catch the snow while it is firmer and easier to walk on. We spend most of the day walking through the mountains, with nobody else for miles around us. Such a wonderful feeling, allowing us to daydream that we are discovering these mountains and valleys for the first time, making the first tracks across the snow and drinking water from the unspoilt rivers and streams.
Of course it wasn’t all sweetness and light. Finding our way gets tricky at times, especially when the only way past is to walk through a lake, or when loose soft snow is covering the usual route with scary cornices hanging overhead. By the end of each day we are exhausted.
We reach our chosen camp spot for the night, which becomes home as soon as our yellow tent springs into action. It’s funny the bond you make with your tent over time, a constant when most all else is variable.
Life becomes so simple up here; walk, eat, sleep. Free time in between is just that : completely free. Time to sit and chat and watch the beautiful world go by…
13
Jan 10
Está cerrado // El Jefe
Está cerrado. It’s closed. This is a phrase that we’ve heard a lot so far in Argentina. It seems to be the standard approach by the appropriate authorities to dissuade trekkers from treks that might cause said appropriate authorities to mobilize a rescue of said trekkers. The trick, we’ve learned, is to ignore the doomsday warnings and forge ahead with your request. Insist that you have ample experience, proper gear and a strong desire to proceed with the trek. After some time, the authority in front of you will generally begin to smile and then, with no small hint of excitement, tell you all about your intended route. This is how our first trek in the Bariloche area started.
Well, almost. Our trek actually began with us running, fully laden with packs and trekking poles, through the streets of Bariloche on the first day of the new year. We barely made the bus that would deliver us to the start of the trek, the car park at the ski resort of Cerro Catedral. But as soon as you climb from the pavement and onto the the trail, you enter an alpine wonderland. Contouring across fire scoured slopes and climbing higher you find yourself surrounded by golden granite spires. Huge scree fields descend from the ridges, highlighting the distinct treeline. Twinkling, whitecap carpeted lakes shine below you. And all of this transforms Gina and I into little excited kids, running wild in the hills yet again.
“Está cerrado.” The refugiero at Frey was stern. “There is too much snow.”
Pressing for more information, we eventually learned that two Americans had left on our intended route only that morning. Yeah right, closed. Perhaps he had slipped, perhaps he was beginning to trust in our ability but he finally began pointing out the important landmarks on our map, becoming more and more helpful with each passing minute. As we headed out the door, he wished us good luck.
We started early the next morning, figuring that if there was lots of snow on our intended route, it would be better to cross it as early as possible to ensure it would be firm and stable. We walked quickly towards the first snow covered ridge line ahead of us. The constant resistance we had come up against had made us paranoid, would the route be too snowy?
Four and a half hours later, we lounged in the sun, eating lunch at Refugio Jakob. The route was snowy, but not nearly the arctic endeavor we had been led to believe it was. It had been incredibly varied, wildly beautiful and had renewed our confidence in our own abilities. It had also redoubled our resolve to continue with the next “closed” section of the route: From Jakob to Laguna Negra. After a similar struggle that diminished into friendly helpfulness the refugiero at Jakob wished us luck and implored us to let the refugiero at Laguna Negra know we had arrived as soon as we got there (All the refugieros communicate with VHF radios each evening).
Our next leg, as promised, was very snowy. Our day resembled more of an alpine route than a trek: Steep snow slopes, long traverses across scree littered ridges and never-ending descents down bowling alley gullies filled with snow and fallen rock. It was a long, tiring and thoroughly exhilarating day. The refugiero at Laguna Negra greeted us warmly and asked about the route. We confirmed what he already knew from the two that had arrived the day before. There was lots of snow.
We curled together in the tent and fell asleep, before the darkness had even arrived. The next day we’d hike out to the road and get our bus back to town; back to gluttonous meals of pasta, meat, wine and glorious dulce de leche (the golden caramel of Argentina); back to hiding from the weather that was slowly closing in from the west.
