Let me start with a quick caveat: the purpose of my visit to Costa Rica was purely to give myself a week of unadultered beach & surf vacation. No stress, no grand plans to see every historical building, natural landmark, national park and exotic animal the country has to offer. My choice of location, Jaco, made a couple of days before flying in to Costa Rica, pretty much reflected these lofty ambitions. It's a small surf town, basically consisting of one street, surrounded by surf shops, restaurants, bars, internet cafes and tour operators (zip-lining, ATVs, jet skis, boat rides, shuttles...) along the length of some 15 blocks. You can walk from one end of Jaco to the other in 25 minutes without breaking too much of a sweat - that is, more of a sweat than you would sitting still under the sweltering sun.
My base of operations was Las Camas Hostel, run by a Hungarian couple, Edit and Csaba. They rented the building (then an empty warehouse) about 9 months ago, and basically built the hostel from the ground up. The place has a nice hippie vibe to it, with slogans such as "Pura Weeda" painted on the walls. All hostel visitors get photographed and small portraits hung on one wall. Other decorative elements include footprints, flower patterns, "Cheers" in every imaginable language, giant lit-up peace signs, a couple of swings, a mini basketball set... The rooftop terrace (with stairs that should not be attempted when drunk) has a hammock, a BBQ, and a stereo system housed in a cottage built entirely of Imperial beer cans. Las Camas has to be seen to be believed.
Thanks to American Airlines I arrived to Costa Rica 3 hours later than scheduled, landing in San Jose long after midnight and still having a 2-hour taxi ride to Jaco ahead of me. Thus, I arrived at Las Camas around 2:30 in the morning. Seth, a Texan dude staying at the hostel (and completely wasted at the time I arrived) let me in, and showed me where Edit and Csaba's apartment, also doubling as the reception, was. So, having just been woken up in the middle of the night and wearing just a towel, Edit handed me my keys and linens. Great introduction. Poor Seth spent the next hour locked outside on the balcony, as after letting me in he accidentally pulled the balcony door all the way shut, and none of us have keys...
Anyway, met a fun bunch of people at the hostel, including Seth's two buddies from Texas (one of whom took a tattoo in Jaco, to complement one he'd gotten in Peru), a Swedish post-doc lung researcher in Costa Rica for a month of surfing before his move to New York, two teenaged sisters from small-town Canada spending 6 months on the road, three Canadian guys who seemed to be cursed with bad luck (one got robbed of his watch and sprained his ankle, while another spent $30 on "weed" that turned out to be mud off the beach), three girls from Salt Lake City who definitely did not follow Mormon restrictions on alcohol consumption, and a long-haired Spaniard who was stretching his dime to the point where he would not order food in a $4 restaurant, as it was too expensive.
I spent most of my days sleeping late, enjoying a huge breakfast of "gallo pinto" (beans and rice), scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and/or "batidos mixtos" (milkshakes of miscallaneous fruit juices), surfing for 3-4 hours in the afternoon (as the high tide came in), then sharing a few beers with the folks at the hostel. We had a couple of excellent dinners recommended by Edit and Csaba; Italian and burgers, so not very authentic Costa Rican, but hey, great food is great food.
We also had a couple of fun nights out on the town. On my first day, we headed out to Ganesh, a bar/dance club by the beach in Jaco with a great laid-back vibe. Laser lights sweeped the beach and the sea, and they also had a couple of bonfires on the beach. Girls drank for free all night, and various audience members of the fairer sex were picked to participate in a "fashion show", which meant they got to strut through a space cleared on the dance floor in their underwear - the whole thing was very cheesy, and over in 5 minutes :-) I also spotted a few people very openly snorting cocaine on the dance floor, not even making the effort to hit the restrooms. A bouncer spotted one of the incidents, and politely asked that the patrons do their coke in the backyard parking lot, out of plain sight. Drugs (including cannabis) are definitely illegal in Costa Rica, but it appears the law is not very enthusiastically enforced - I was approached on the street several times with offers to sell weed, coke, etc., in broad daylight (a couple of times even when I was coming back from surfing, in wet boardshorts and splash top, and obviously had no money on me).
Easily the best party of the week was at Dolce Luna, a hotel just outside Jaco, celebrating Quiksilver's release of a major surf video. Being an upscale resort, Dolce Luna had a couple of pools, and an extensive garden for us revellers to use. The organizers had a bunch of tents up, live bands and DJs on three stages, fire-jugglers, trapeze-artists (of sorts... they basically climbed up and down wide strands of silk cloth suspended from trees), big screens showing the surf footage, and of course once again free booze for the ladies - which was great, since I was hanging out with the three girls from Utah and was offered generous "tasters" of their drinks :-)
I really only spent one day outside Jaco, when the Spaniard, the Utah girls and me headed out to Manuel Antonio National Park. It meant a brutal 5:15 wake up, but we did get to see a waterfall, some cute monkeys, a three-toed sloth (we were lucky enough to see it climb to the ground and back-up, a ritual the sloths undergo about once a week to, uh, clear their bowels), and a beautiful white sand beach much nicer than the one in Jaco. Apparently this is the beach where the movie "Blue Lagoon" was shot. Thieving raccoons kept beachgoers on their toes, but we had a great time and I finally got the sun tan that would get people to believe I just spent 6 weeks in South and Central America.
The low point of the week was definitely the night we got a surprise visit in our hostel. I was woken up around 4:30am by the girls in my dorm (I was the only guy in the room on that particular night) excitedly discussing something... As I shook off the sleepiness, I gathered that Lindsay (one of the Utah trio) had woken up to see someone standing at our dorm's door, staring into the dark room. The figure had quietly closed the door, then proceeded to crawl across the floor to check out our luggage. At this point Lindsay had loudly asked "Hey, what are you doing?" or something to that effect, waking up one of the Canadian girls who turned on the light. The burglar had stood up, apologized ("Sorry, sorry, I'll pay") and retreated from the room. The excitement wasn't quite over, however. As the only guy in the room, I got the thankless task of following the creep to make sure he had actually left the building. I threw on my shorts and T-shirt and walked upstairs (we slept on the ground floor, but the thief had gone toward the second floor where the balcony - his most likely entry point - was).
I switched on the lights to the living room on the second floor, and noticed the balcony door was wide open. The contents of a purse and a backpack had been spread over the living room sofa. From the open door, I assumed the thief had escaped through the balcony, and went over to see if I could still spot him on the street (although at this stage I hadn't actually seen the thief, so had no idea what he looked like). At this point, Coral (the Canadian girl who had turned on the lights, and who had followed me upstairs) gasped something like "He's here!". The thief, instead of escaping through the balcony, had gone to one of the upstair dorms, and now of course had spotted the lights I turned on. I found myself staring at a skinny, nervous looking kid, maybe 19 years old. His wildly darting eyes and body language suggested he was probably drugged and definitely very scared. I found myself wondering whether he would be armed, and cursing myself for not grabbing something for use as a weapon in case this came to a fight. I challenged the guy with something like "Hey amigo, can I help you? What are you doing here?". The thief mumbled something, then sprinted for the balcony and jumped down, grabbing the backpack in the living room on his way out. Momentarily after this, Coral came back with Csaba, whom she had found in his apartment upstairs. Csaba looks like he's spent some time at the gym, and would definitely be a good guy to have on your side in a fight - but of course it was a little late now.
Edit and Csaba spent part of the night cruising around on their ATV, hoping to catch a glimpse of either the thief or maybe finding the backpack (assuming the thief would dump it after taking any valuables), but had no luck. In the meanwhile, everyone in my dorm (none of the other guests had woken up) tried to go back to bed, despite being shaken by the incident. However, not long after this, Lindsay snapped up again. She thought she saw someone on the street trying to get in.
I got up to check on it, and sure enough, there was a group of three guys standing outside our locked gate. One of them had a pair of sneakers in his hand - not the most likely accessory on a 4:30am stroll through town. At this stage I remembered the thief had been bare-footed; so these were his buddies here waiting for him to emerge with the stolen goods. They looked pretty surprised to see me instead! I asked what they wanted, and the guy with the sneakers made some lame excuse about noticing our gate was open (the outer gate does not lock; the inner one was securely locked). He then spotted a lighter left on the porch and asked if it was mine and whether he could have it. A friggin' lighter! I replied that yes, it was mine (it wasn't), and no, he couldn't have it. He went on whining that he needed a lighter, and asked if he could borrow it to use it on the street, then bring it back - I said no. At this stage it was getting hard to keep a straight face; what did he think the lighter was worth, 20 cents? Anyway, I had no way to get anything out of these guys, and they shortly made their excuses and left - but not before offering to sell me some dope. The nerve! I almost went out to follow them to see if they would lead me to the thief, but got a wave of protests from the dorm when I started unlocking the gate and so didn't - probably a good thing, as I would potentially have put myself in a situation where I'm alone against four guys. Instead, I went back to bed and eventually got back to sleep, after the adrenaline wore off (in about an hour).
Later that morning, Edit and Csaba caught up with the same group of three guys (but not the thief), but were also unable to get anything out of them. Once everyone woke up, we found out the stolen backpack belonged to an Australian guy who had just checked in the day before. He was a little shocked, but surprisingly cool about the whole thing. He filed a report with the police, and apparently was able to recover the value of the lost goods from his travel insurance. The whole experience was a rude reminder of the poverty and drug problems still rampant in Costa Rica, though - even simple backpackers seem incredibly wealthy, and thus attractive targets, for the poorest segment of society.
Despite this little incident, (and giving my surfboard a little kiss at high speed, which lead to a few bruises on both my face and my ego), I had a great time in Costa Rica. The relaxed pace of life, the all-encompassing "pura vida" attitude, the fresh fruit, the eagle rays jumping out of the water around my surfboard... yeah, could definitely get used to this. However, one week is enough for now, and it's time to head on over to Italy and Switzerland for a Christmas and New Year with Ulla, my folks, and my brother - can't wait!
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Head in the clouds, feet firmly in crampons
So this was the big day - my first attempt at mountaineering. I'd done plenty of rock climbing, from simple top-roping to leading climbs and multi-pitch routes, but nothing that required scampering through miles of glacier wearing crampons. Exciting stuff.
I was a little worried about how the altitude would affect me. As you'll remember from before, I felt terrible on my first visit to Quito, as well as during my time in Cuzco, and those two cities are only about 3,000 meters above sea level. Here I was planning on conquering a mountain at 5,897 meters. The recommended acclimatization program for Cotopaxi requires climbers to spend at least 5 nights above 3,000 meters (e.g., in Quito) AND doing at least two training climbs to about 5,000 meters (a couple of nearby volcanoes provide a good opportunity for this). I cut a few corners, i.e., only spent 3 nights in Quito plus one in the PapaGayo hostel (a little higher than Quito at 3,200m), and the highest point I had been to was Quilotoa's 4,100 meters. Ah well, "lahjattomat treenaa", as we like to say in Finland. ("Practice is for those who lack talent").
The day was off to a less-than-perfect start: we were scheduled to leave PapaGayo at noon, but by 12:30 my guide, Fernando, had not shown up. Around 12:45 Fernando called to say his car had broken down, but he was on his way (using a bus) and would arrive within an hour. In the meanwhile, I should check the equipment with one of the Gulliver Travel Agency guys at the hostel, and grab some lunch so we'd be ready to leave as soon as Fernando got there. The Gulliver guy furnished me with fleece pants, a GoreTex jacket and pants (to go on top of the fleece ones), climbing boots, crampons (metal frames that fit on the boots, with 4 cm steel spikes for traction on the ice), an ice pick, a headlamp, gloves and "gators" (a Spanglish version of "gaiters", i.e., protective sleeves worn on the lower leg that stops snow from getting in your boots). I then stuffed my face with a double-decker cheeseburger, accompanied by PapaGayo's delicious orange-strawberry-mango juice (I'll have to try making some once I'm no longer living out of a backpack). Fernando showed up around 13:30, and we were off in a clanky old Landcruiser dating back to the early 80s.
Fernando, a native Ecuadorian, was a nice guy who spoke pretty good English. Probably around 35 years old, his leathery face was tanned to a coffee bean color, he sported a thin moustache and longish hair. He was probably around 165 cm tall, weighed maybe 55 kg, and I had no doubt he would totally kick my ass on that mountain. But it was good to know I'd be roped into someone who could definitely handle the climb. On the drive up, Fernando spoke about his move from Quito to the countryside in search of a quieter, less stressful life. He mentioned living with his Ecuadorian girlfriend and having a daughter, and also spoke about a Swiss girlfriend he had previously. Fernando clearly had great memories from his trip to Switzerland and climbing the Matterhorn - possibly his only time abroad, as he talked about getting to Miami Beach one day as a distant dream (I did however have to burst his illusion about Miami Beach being filled with Baywatchesque model babes...)
We got to the Refugio (base camp) around 16:00, and had to climb about 300m up from the parking lot (more like a dusty dirt field) to the shelter. I had to stop to catch my breath maybe 5 times during the climb, and we were only going from 4,200 to 4,500 meters. "Damn", I thought, "if this hike is this tough, how much worse will it be 1,400 meters higher with the snow and wind?". Oh well, too late to back off now. In the shelter (a two-storey concrete building with a fully equipped kitchen and dining room downstairs and a huge dorm upstairs) Fernando cooked up some hot soup and tea. We met his younger brother who is also a mountain guide, and was taking another client up at the same time as us. His client was a British guy, a former London City headhunter, who had quit his job to travel the world for a year, basically planning to wait out the worst of the economic slump. Both me and the British guy had elected to go solo (i.e., just one client with the guide), because while this is a more expensive option, it pre-empts the risk of having to abort the climb due to someone else having problems. There were three large American rope-teams, with maybe 6 climbers per team, who were clearly taking this risk very seriously. One of the climb leaders (they had their own American guides) basically told his team that if any of them did not have spare batteries for their headlamps, they were not allowed to climb the next day. The US teams had pretty military discipline, e.g., setting their departure time as "0030 hours exactly".
After the soup, Fernando and his brother Willy walked me and the Brit through the equipment. We were shown how to attach the crampons, how to walk on the glacier so as to use all 10 of the crampon's bottom spikes (the two spikes at the front are only needed for ice climbing - Cotopaxi, while physically challenging, is more of a hike and does not involve technical climbing), how to wear the harness, how to use the ice pick during ascent and descent, and how to arrest a fall (basically, dig the ice pick into the ice and make sure you don't hurt yourself in the process). After this, we crammed down a huge pasta dinner. Having run a couple of marathons, I knew the importance of stocking up on carbs, and the Cotopaxi climb at 8 hours was actually twice longer than a marathon. So, despite still being full with the soup, I made myself clean my plate, then spread my sleeping bag on one of the beds upstairs and hit the sack, full as the proverbial Turunen's gun. (Again, works better in Finnish...)
In theory, we had a good 6 hours to sleep, from 18:00 to midnight. In practice, we had a dorm full of 30 or so climbers, each going to bed at random times, clanking their equipment around, testing their headlamps, chatting with their mates, etc. Add to this the fact my sleep rhythm was more geared toward going to bed at midnight, the room was freezing cold, the bed hard as a rock, and my makeshift pillow (a folded GoreTex jacket) not particularly comfortable, and I probably got 2 hours of sleep.
More or less at midnight, everyone in the dorm got up, donned their equipment, and after a light breakfast, headed out. The trips have to leave at this unsociable hour, because the climbing is much easier when the snow is at its hardest - as soon as the sun comes up, it starts to warm up the snow and make it softer, making the climb significantly harder. It was, as expected, very very dark. Slightly unexpected, the wind had really picked up during the night. We were greeted by a howling gust and snow flying horizontally in our faces. I was grateful for my jacket's hood, which provided some protection for my face. I attached my harness to Fernando's with the classic figure-eight knot, leaving maybe 5 meters of rope between us. Then we turned on our headlamps, and started the climb. The first 20 minutes were more or less on dirt, then we hit the glacier itself. At this stage we attached the crampons and started using the ice picks as instructed. The various groups of climbers had all left roughly at the same time, but as soon as we hit the glacier the groups started dispersing, with some moving considerably faster than others. Fernando and I were probably near the middle. All around, I saw nothing but darkness, falling (more like blasting) snow lit by my headlamp, and the distant halo from the other groups' lamps.
We deliberately paced ourselves, walking slowly and taking short steps. The air was very thin, and so even at this snail's pace, I felt my pulse racing at somewhere around 160 bpm as my heart was desperately trying to pump enough oxygen into my leg muscles. Every 20 minutes or so I had to stop for a minute or two, often sitting in the snow to conserve energy, and just catch my breath. While we moved, I just basically kept my head down (to put the hood between the wind and my face), stared at the patch of snow lit by my headlamp, and took one very deliberate step after the other, carefully digging my crampons into the ice. This went on for maybe four hours, with the boredom occasionally broken by passing or being passed by another group of climbers, or maybe digging in my backpack for a Gatorade or a chocolate bar. I briefly tried listening to my iPod to pass the time, but found that a) the tracks on my "Workout mix" playlist were far too fast-paced for this activity, and made me speed up and exhaust myself, and b) the iPod battery wasn't going to last very long in this temperature anyway. After maybe three songs I gave up and settled for listening to the howling wind - it was impossible to hold a conversation with Fernando due to the wind and the fact that I was constantly so out of breath.
During some of the breaks, I would ask Fernando how high we were. "4,800" came the first reply, then "5,200", "5,400"... He had told me beforehand that the first 600m of ascent were steep, then we would hit a slightly easier section with a long traverse, and the final 100m were again brutally steep at 60 degrees ascent. Around 5,500 meters we hit a couple of cool crevices that we had to cross via narrow ice bridges. Fernando went across first, but given he was probably 25 kg lighter than me, there was still an element of anxiousness when it was my turn to cross. Both bridges held fine, though.
At 5,600 meters (I was really hoping we would be at least at 5,700 when I asked Fernando for the altitude figure) I was starting to really feel the exhaustion. We had climbed maybe 4 hours, the approaching sunrise was just starting to provide a little light, and my legs felt like lead, my heart was ready to explode, and my lungs were screaming for air. The last 200 meters of ascent took 1.5 hours and were pretty much a willpower game; I had come this far, and was not about to give up without getting to the summit. The last 100 meters, where the ascent became steeper than ever before, were especially bad. I would climb maybe 30 steps, using both my ice pick and my free hand for support (basically crawling up on all fours), then collapse in the snow panting. At sea level, I don't think this hike would have been such a big deal, but at almost 6 km higher, it felt worse than either marathon I had run, or the Officer Training Course graduation march. I was seriously doubting whether I would make it as close as 50 meters below the summit.
But when we did reach that summit, the feeling was unbelievable. We made it! YEEAAHH! Here I was, with zero mountaineering experience, and a half-assed acclimatization program, standing at the top of the world's highest active volcano. 5,897 friggin' meters, baby! The wind was even stronger here at the top, and the falling snow severely limited our visibility, so we missed out on some of those postcard-perfect views, but at that moment I couldn't care less. I dug out my camera (almost freezing my fingers off in the process), and snapped a couple of shots of what I could see - the outline of the crater, a couple of fellow climbers, my snow-covered backpack and ice pick. The Brit climbing with Willy arrived at the summit a little after us, and took a couple of photos of me with Fernando. Veikka Gustafsson ain't got nothing on us!
My backpack and ice pick at the top of the world (well, at least Cotopaxi)
Me and Fernando - can you guess which is which?
We only spent maybe 10 min at the summit, as the wind made it really cold. Then it was time to begin our descent. Fernando had gone first throughout the ascent, but for the descent, it was my turn to lead - the idea is to always have the guide higher than the client, so that if I slip, Fernando can stop my fall with the rope. F*ck knows what I'm supposed to do if Fernando falls, but luckily that didn't happen... The climb had taken us just under 6 hours, but the descent was supposed to only take 2 hours. It went by in a blur, and I spent most of the time fantasizing about either the warm shower that awaited back at PapaGayo, or the sunny Costa Rican beaches that awaited a couple of days ahead. By the time we got back to the Refugio, I was cold, wet, tired, but still ecstatic about what I had just done.
We grabbed a quick tea and soup at the Refugio, then drove two hours back to PapaGayo (after the wind claimed Fernando's sunglasses as a sacrifice), with me sleeping most of the trip. The folks at PapaGayo were kind enough to let me use a room to shower and change, and I started feeling vaguely like a human being again. I returned the gear, tipped Fernando $30 (pretty generous by local standards, but the guy got me on top of Cotopaxi - he deserved it!), had another one of those PapaGayo double-decker cheeseburgers, and got a bus ride back to Quito.
Back in Quito, I checked back in at Jhomana, spent an hour on the phone with Ulla at a nearby cybercafe, then thought I'd take a quick nap before heading out for dinner, as I was feeling super tired. 14 hours later, I was woken up by the beep of a text message arriving on my phone. It was 5 am, I had slept right through dinner and would actually need to get up in an hour to catch my flight. Well-rested, I took my time packing my stuff, checked out and caught a cab to the airport. A quick breakfast later, I was sitting on a plane bound for Miami, where I would spend 7 hours before continuing on to Costa Rica.
Hasta la vista, South America. I had a great time, and I will be back!
I was a little worried about how the altitude would affect me. As you'll remember from before, I felt terrible on my first visit to Quito, as well as during my time in Cuzco, and those two cities are only about 3,000 meters above sea level. Here I was planning on conquering a mountain at 5,897 meters. The recommended acclimatization program for Cotopaxi requires climbers to spend at least 5 nights above 3,000 meters (e.g., in Quito) AND doing at least two training climbs to about 5,000 meters (a couple of nearby volcanoes provide a good opportunity for this). I cut a few corners, i.e., only spent 3 nights in Quito plus one in the PapaGayo hostel (a little higher than Quito at 3,200m), and the highest point I had been to was Quilotoa's 4,100 meters. Ah well, "lahjattomat treenaa", as we like to say in Finland. ("Practice is for those who lack talent").
The day was off to a less-than-perfect start: we were scheduled to leave PapaGayo at noon, but by 12:30 my guide, Fernando, had not shown up. Around 12:45 Fernando called to say his car had broken down, but he was on his way (using a bus) and would arrive within an hour. In the meanwhile, I should check the equipment with one of the Gulliver Travel Agency guys at the hostel, and grab some lunch so we'd be ready to leave as soon as Fernando got there. The Gulliver guy furnished me with fleece pants, a GoreTex jacket and pants (to go on top of the fleece ones), climbing boots, crampons (metal frames that fit on the boots, with 4 cm steel spikes for traction on the ice), an ice pick, a headlamp, gloves and "gators" (a Spanglish version of "gaiters", i.e., protective sleeves worn on the lower leg that stops snow from getting in your boots). I then stuffed my face with a double-decker cheeseburger, accompanied by PapaGayo's delicious orange-strawberry-mango juice (I'll have to try making some once I'm no longer living out of a backpack). Fernando showed up around 13:30, and we were off in a clanky old Landcruiser dating back to the early 80s.
Fernando, a native Ecuadorian, was a nice guy who spoke pretty good English. Probably around 35 years old, his leathery face was tanned to a coffee bean color, he sported a thin moustache and longish hair. He was probably around 165 cm tall, weighed maybe 55 kg, and I had no doubt he would totally kick my ass on that mountain. But it was good to know I'd be roped into someone who could definitely handle the climb. On the drive up, Fernando spoke about his move from Quito to the countryside in search of a quieter, less stressful life. He mentioned living with his Ecuadorian girlfriend and having a daughter, and also spoke about a Swiss girlfriend he had previously. Fernando clearly had great memories from his trip to Switzerland and climbing the Matterhorn - possibly his only time abroad, as he talked about getting to Miami Beach one day as a distant dream (I did however have to burst his illusion about Miami Beach being filled with Baywatchesque model babes...)
We got to the Refugio (base camp) around 16:00, and had to climb about 300m up from the parking lot (more like a dusty dirt field) to the shelter. I had to stop to catch my breath maybe 5 times during the climb, and we were only going from 4,200 to 4,500 meters. "Damn", I thought, "if this hike is this tough, how much worse will it be 1,400 meters higher with the snow and wind?". Oh well, too late to back off now. In the shelter (a two-storey concrete building with a fully equipped kitchen and dining room downstairs and a huge dorm upstairs) Fernando cooked up some hot soup and tea. We met his younger brother who is also a mountain guide, and was taking another client up at the same time as us. His client was a British guy, a former London City headhunter, who had quit his job to travel the world for a year, basically planning to wait out the worst of the economic slump. Both me and the British guy had elected to go solo (i.e., just one client with the guide), because while this is a more expensive option, it pre-empts the risk of having to abort the climb due to someone else having problems. There were three large American rope-teams, with maybe 6 climbers per team, who were clearly taking this risk very seriously. One of the climb leaders (they had their own American guides) basically told his team that if any of them did not have spare batteries for their headlamps, they were not allowed to climb the next day. The US teams had pretty military discipline, e.g., setting their departure time as "0030 hours exactly".
After the soup, Fernando and his brother Willy walked me and the Brit through the equipment. We were shown how to attach the crampons, how to walk on the glacier so as to use all 10 of the crampon's bottom spikes (the two spikes at the front are only needed for ice climbing - Cotopaxi, while physically challenging, is more of a hike and does not involve technical climbing), how to wear the harness, how to use the ice pick during ascent and descent, and how to arrest a fall (basically, dig the ice pick into the ice and make sure you don't hurt yourself in the process). After this, we crammed down a huge pasta dinner. Having run a couple of marathons, I knew the importance of stocking up on carbs, and the Cotopaxi climb at 8 hours was actually twice longer than a marathon. So, despite still being full with the soup, I made myself clean my plate, then spread my sleeping bag on one of the beds upstairs and hit the sack, full as the proverbial Turunen's gun. (Again, works better in Finnish...)
In theory, we had a good 6 hours to sleep, from 18:00 to midnight. In practice, we had a dorm full of 30 or so climbers, each going to bed at random times, clanking their equipment around, testing their headlamps, chatting with their mates, etc. Add to this the fact my sleep rhythm was more geared toward going to bed at midnight, the room was freezing cold, the bed hard as a rock, and my makeshift pillow (a folded GoreTex jacket) not particularly comfortable, and I probably got 2 hours of sleep.
More or less at midnight, everyone in the dorm got up, donned their equipment, and after a light breakfast, headed out. The trips have to leave at this unsociable hour, because the climbing is much easier when the snow is at its hardest - as soon as the sun comes up, it starts to warm up the snow and make it softer, making the climb significantly harder. It was, as expected, very very dark. Slightly unexpected, the wind had really picked up during the night. We were greeted by a howling gust and snow flying horizontally in our faces. I was grateful for my jacket's hood, which provided some protection for my face. I attached my harness to Fernando's with the classic figure-eight knot, leaving maybe 5 meters of rope between us. Then we turned on our headlamps, and started the climb. The first 20 minutes were more or less on dirt, then we hit the glacier itself. At this stage we attached the crampons and started using the ice picks as instructed. The various groups of climbers had all left roughly at the same time, but as soon as we hit the glacier the groups started dispersing, with some moving considerably faster than others. Fernando and I were probably near the middle. All around, I saw nothing but darkness, falling (more like blasting) snow lit by my headlamp, and the distant halo from the other groups' lamps.
We deliberately paced ourselves, walking slowly and taking short steps. The air was very thin, and so even at this snail's pace, I felt my pulse racing at somewhere around 160 bpm as my heart was desperately trying to pump enough oxygen into my leg muscles. Every 20 minutes or so I had to stop for a minute or two, often sitting in the snow to conserve energy, and just catch my breath. While we moved, I just basically kept my head down (to put the hood between the wind and my face), stared at the patch of snow lit by my headlamp, and took one very deliberate step after the other, carefully digging my crampons into the ice. This went on for maybe four hours, with the boredom occasionally broken by passing or being passed by another group of climbers, or maybe digging in my backpack for a Gatorade or a chocolate bar. I briefly tried listening to my iPod to pass the time, but found that a) the tracks on my "Workout mix" playlist were far too fast-paced for this activity, and made me speed up and exhaust myself, and b) the iPod battery wasn't going to last very long in this temperature anyway. After maybe three songs I gave up and settled for listening to the howling wind - it was impossible to hold a conversation with Fernando due to the wind and the fact that I was constantly so out of breath.
During some of the breaks, I would ask Fernando how high we were. "4,800" came the first reply, then "5,200", "5,400"... He had told me beforehand that the first 600m of ascent were steep, then we would hit a slightly easier section with a long traverse, and the final 100m were again brutally steep at 60 degrees ascent. Around 5,500 meters we hit a couple of cool crevices that we had to cross via narrow ice bridges. Fernando went across first, but given he was probably 25 kg lighter than me, there was still an element of anxiousness when it was my turn to cross. Both bridges held fine, though.
At 5,600 meters (I was really hoping we would be at least at 5,700 when I asked Fernando for the altitude figure) I was starting to really feel the exhaustion. We had climbed maybe 4 hours, the approaching sunrise was just starting to provide a little light, and my legs felt like lead, my heart was ready to explode, and my lungs were screaming for air. The last 200 meters of ascent took 1.5 hours and were pretty much a willpower game; I had come this far, and was not about to give up without getting to the summit. The last 100 meters, where the ascent became steeper than ever before, were especially bad. I would climb maybe 30 steps, using both my ice pick and my free hand for support (basically crawling up on all fours), then collapse in the snow panting. At sea level, I don't think this hike would have been such a big deal, but at almost 6 km higher, it felt worse than either marathon I had run, or the Officer Training Course graduation march. I was seriously doubting whether I would make it as close as 50 meters below the summit.
But when we did reach that summit, the feeling was unbelievable. We made it! YEEAAHH! Here I was, with zero mountaineering experience, and a half-assed acclimatization program, standing at the top of the world's highest active volcano. 5,897 friggin' meters, baby! The wind was even stronger here at the top, and the falling snow severely limited our visibility, so we missed out on some of those postcard-perfect views, but at that moment I couldn't care less. I dug out my camera (almost freezing my fingers off in the process), and snapped a couple of shots of what I could see - the outline of the crater, a couple of fellow climbers, my snow-covered backpack and ice pick. The Brit climbing with Willy arrived at the summit a little after us, and took a couple of photos of me with Fernando. Veikka Gustafsson ain't got nothing on us!
My backpack and ice pick at the top of the world (well, at least Cotopaxi)
Me and Fernando - can you guess which is which?
We only spent maybe 10 min at the summit, as the wind made it really cold. Then it was time to begin our descent. Fernando had gone first throughout the ascent, but for the descent, it was my turn to lead - the idea is to always have the guide higher than the client, so that if I slip, Fernando can stop my fall with the rope. F*ck knows what I'm supposed to do if Fernando falls, but luckily that didn't happen... The climb had taken us just under 6 hours, but the descent was supposed to only take 2 hours. It went by in a blur, and I spent most of the time fantasizing about either the warm shower that awaited back at PapaGayo, or the sunny Costa Rican beaches that awaited a couple of days ahead. By the time we got back to the Refugio, I was cold, wet, tired, but still ecstatic about what I had just done.
We grabbed a quick tea and soup at the Refugio, then drove two hours back to PapaGayo (after the wind claimed Fernando's sunglasses as a sacrifice), with me sleeping most of the trip. The folks at PapaGayo were kind enough to let me use a room to shower and change, and I started feeling vaguely like a human being again. I returned the gear, tipped Fernando $30 (pretty generous by local standards, but the guy got me on top of Cotopaxi - he deserved it!), had another one of those PapaGayo double-decker cheeseburgers, and got a bus ride back to Quito.
Back in Quito, I checked back in at Jhomana, spent an hour on the phone with Ulla at a nearby cybercafe, then thought I'd take a quick nap before heading out for dinner, as I was feeling super tired. 14 hours later, I was woken up by the beep of a text message arriving on my phone. It was 5 am, I had slept right through dinner and would actually need to get up in an hour to catch my flight. Well-rested, I took my time packing my stuff, checked out and caught a cab to the airport. A quick breakfast later, I was sitting on a plane bound for Miami, where I would spend 7 hours before continuing on to Costa Rica.
Hasta la vista, South America. I had a great time, and I will be back!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Action Jackson and Adventures of Ecuador
I picked Hostal Jhomana, Quito, as my base for my last week in South America, largely based on positive feedback on Hostelbooker.com and the fact it´s owned by a Swede - a pretty sure sign that the place will be decently insulated (Quito´s nights are freezing) and I´ll be able to conduct business in English if needed. Practicing Spanish is great, but some of the more complex stuff is just painfully beyond my linguistic ability.
Anyway, Jhomana turned out to be a great choice. Even though 23 dollars a night is a ripoff by Quito standards (rooms in the Mariscal are available for around 8 dollars if you´re really looking to pinch pennies), I got a warm, ensuite shower, a comfy double bed and most importantly, three warm blankets for those cold nights. The place is also well located in the Mariscal Sucre neighbourhood, next to all the services but on a quiet enough spot that I could get sleep when needed. And the owner, Patrick, turned out to be a great connection - in addition to running the hostel, he is on the board of Gulliver Adventure Travel, and was able to hook me up with a killer itinerary for my visit.
The first day I spent just getting to know Quito a bit; the Fiesta Quito was on this week, meaning there are "Chivas" (trucks full of musicians and cheering, dancing crowds, not unlike Finnish "Vanhojen Paiva") cruising the streets, bullfights every day, and huge parties every night. I went to see a bull fight, but after three toros met their demise, it started raining heavily, so I headed home. Also took a stroll around Quito´s old center, with some very nice colonial era churches. I grabbed dinner at a very nice restaurant called Boca del Lobo ("Wolf´s Mouth"), with cool, quirky decor and super friendly staff. My food was Ishipinga Salmon, with ishipinga being a spice that tastes like a mix of chilli and cinnamon - delicious. The nutella crepe with mint chocolate sauce dessert also deserves a mention. I skipped the partying afterwards, however, as the following morning´s wake up call was painfully at 5:45.
The morning wasn´t as painful as I had feared; I was still more or less on Buenos Aires time (3 hours ahead of Quito), and had gotten to bed early. I was picked up at a nearby hostel (decided to walk, although walking in the Mariscal after dark is not recommended - I assumed any would-be robbers had already gotten their pick of drunken tourists by 6am) to go rafting near the Amazonas forest, in Valle del Quijos. After a tasty eggs-and-juice breakfast, a thorough safety talk, and a joint effort to pump up the raft, we hit the Borja-Chaco-Bombón section of the Quijos river. Our guide explained that it had rained heavily the night before, and therefore the last canyon section was not safe to raft. Instead, we could do the first section twice. It would still be a class IV+ (on a scale that goes up to V), so we should expect a pretty rough ride. And indeed, we got what we bargained for. All six of us had to work hard to navigate the rapids, although luckily only one of the group (an older Ecuadorian guy, who was scouting out rafting sub-contractors for his travel agency) fell out of the raft. After a couple of hours of fun on the river, the guides prepared a delicious guacamole and beans tortilla lunch, with a plethora of fresh fruits for dessert, served out of the back of our mini-van. It started raining just as we started eating, so perfect timing for getting out of the river (not that the rain would have gotten us any wetter than we already were).
After getting back to Quito, showering and hanging my clothes to dry, I headed to an Ecuadorian restaurant called Mama Clorindas, also in the Mariscal barrio. I had been a little weary of "local specialties" after that guinea pig got me sick, but this place looked inpeccably hygienic, so I tried a combo of shrimp ceviche (very different to what we got in Peru, this was almost like a cold soup served with chips and popcorn), Seco de Chivo (goat meat stew, although the English menu mercifully translated it as lamb), and Morocho juice (sweet, thick liquid made of corn - supposedly it can be fermented to create a kind of moonshine). All were delicious, and the goat was actually very tender. On the way back, I came across a massive parade of costumed figures, cheerleaders, marching bands, Miss Quito candidates, uniformed soldiers, and large statues of politicians, indigenous warriors, townspeople, zombies, you name it... The progression blocked my path home across Avenida Rio Amazonas, so I had no choice but to stay and watch. The stream of people in the parade seemed endless, and there were also four rows of spectators on either side of the road. Every once in a while someone would shout "Viva Quito", and everyone in the audience would respond with a loud "Viva!". I gathered that the parade consisted of different schools and organizations, each with their own sign or banner, displaying different styles of music and dance. Lots of fun, and despite Mariscal´s rowdy reputation, I once again got out without getting robbed. Back at the hostel, I watched the night conclude in a display of fireworks that I had a perfect view of from my window. Very appropriate for Finland´s independence day, although I suspect the date may also have some special meaning in Ecuador, especially since one of Mariscal´s largest streets is also named "Av. 6 de Diciembre". Interestingly enough, they also have an "Av. 9 de Outubre" to commemorate my birthday, right next to my hostel. How nice of them.
Skipped the partying again, to get some sleep before the next day´s trip to Quilotoa, a volcano at 4,100 meters, whose crater is now occupied by a lake. The drive was something like 4 hours, and on the way we stopped by an indigenous market. It was fun to see the people in traditional dress, selling fresh fruits of hundreds of variations, flour from exotic cereals, cooked meats, live chickens, dead chickens, pirated DVDs, salsa CDs, and "genuine" 10 dollar Dolce & Gabbana belts. We also had to make several ad hoc stops along the way to let flocks of sheep, cows, and the occasional llama cross the road; at one point we even came across a ditch where the construction workers told us we´d have to wait until after their lunch break so they could place a temporary bridge for us to cross. A bribe of 3 dollars speeded up the process considerably and saved us the wait.
After getting our own lunch (delicious hot soup and lamb with rice), we saw the beautiful crater lake and made our way down to the water. I rented a kayak (for the grand price of 2 dollars) together with Yulia, a Ukrainian woman in our group travelling with her American firefighter husband, Jason. We paddled over to a section of the otherwise cool water that seemed to be bubbling, and amazingly enough, the bubbles felt warm to the touch. The volcano is still active, and the bubbles originate from a crack at the bottom of the lake, with hot magma underneath. According to our guide, Marcelo, the last time the volcano erupted (some 300 years ago), the eruption was equivalent in force to about 10 Hiroshima a-bombs, so we were lucky today wasn´t the day of the next eruption.
The way up was also interesting: we were each given a mule to ride. The journey back was relatively long, and I soon started feeling sorry for my sweating, hard-breathing mule. Every time it tried taking a break, the rider behind me would whack it on the rump. I felt even sorrier for the maybe 7-year old indigenous girl who was supposed to guide my mule. She was barely keeping up with the animal on foot, and was constantly coughing - I felt like letting her ride the mule and walking up myself, but in the end all I could do was give her a dollar in tip (which she seemed very happy about) once we got to the top. Hard work wasn´t the mules´only problem. Mine seemed to have some suicidal tendencies, as given any opportunity, it would try to head down from the steep cliff. Now, I can understand life as a pack mule can be tough, but I would appreciate it if it didn´t end it while I´m riding... Valentin, a Swiss guy in our group, had a mule with a different problem: severe flatulence. The sound of the animal´s farting provided plenty of entertainment throughout the trip, although I´m not sure if the rider immediately behind appreciated the aroma.
After our eventful ascent, we took a breather with some cold cervezas, then drove back down. Everyone except the driver (hopefully) took the chance to catch some sleep. I was dropped off at PapaGayo, a farm/hostel an hour´s drive outside Quito, while the rest of the group continued to the capital. The reason for my staying at PapaGayo was my attempt the following day of summiting Cotopaxi, the world´s highest active volcano (5,800 meters). PapaGayo turned out to be great - they have a hot jacuzzi, which I took full advantage of, and an on-site chef preparing some great foods. I am the only guest for tonight, so have a 4-bed dorm all to myself (8 dollars per night). Funnily enough, the guy working the hostel´s reception turned out to be Finnish; Joonas just finished high school and is in Ecuador learning Spanish in his gap year before college. It was fun being able to speak Finnish after a while, and of course we were both pretty amazed at the coincidence, with my being the only guest. Small world.
Tomorrow I´ll meet my private guide for Cotopaxi, we´ll go over some techniques and check the equipment and get to the base camp at 4,800 meters. The actual climb will start at midnight, hopefully getting me to the summit just in time for sunrise the following day. This should be a worthy finale for my trip in South America (although I´m a little worried about the adequacy of my acclimatization - but hey, at least I will have tried).
Anyway, Jhomana turned out to be a great choice. Even though 23 dollars a night is a ripoff by Quito standards (rooms in the Mariscal are available for around 8 dollars if you´re really looking to pinch pennies), I got a warm, ensuite shower, a comfy double bed and most importantly, three warm blankets for those cold nights. The place is also well located in the Mariscal Sucre neighbourhood, next to all the services but on a quiet enough spot that I could get sleep when needed. And the owner, Patrick, turned out to be a great connection - in addition to running the hostel, he is on the board of Gulliver Adventure Travel, and was able to hook me up with a killer itinerary for my visit.
The first day I spent just getting to know Quito a bit; the Fiesta Quito was on this week, meaning there are "Chivas" (trucks full of musicians and cheering, dancing crowds, not unlike Finnish "Vanhojen Paiva") cruising the streets, bullfights every day, and huge parties every night. I went to see a bull fight, but after three toros met their demise, it started raining heavily, so I headed home. Also took a stroll around Quito´s old center, with some very nice colonial era churches. I grabbed dinner at a very nice restaurant called Boca del Lobo ("Wolf´s Mouth"), with cool, quirky decor and super friendly staff. My food was Ishipinga Salmon, with ishipinga being a spice that tastes like a mix of chilli and cinnamon - delicious. The nutella crepe with mint chocolate sauce dessert also deserves a mention. I skipped the partying afterwards, however, as the following morning´s wake up call was painfully at 5:45.
The morning wasn´t as painful as I had feared; I was still more or less on Buenos Aires time (3 hours ahead of Quito), and had gotten to bed early. I was picked up at a nearby hostel (decided to walk, although walking in the Mariscal after dark is not recommended - I assumed any would-be robbers had already gotten their pick of drunken tourists by 6am) to go rafting near the Amazonas forest, in Valle del Quijos. After a tasty eggs-and-juice breakfast, a thorough safety talk, and a joint effort to pump up the raft, we hit the Borja-Chaco-Bombón section of the Quijos river. Our guide explained that it had rained heavily the night before, and therefore the last canyon section was not safe to raft. Instead, we could do the first section twice. It would still be a class IV+ (on a scale that goes up to V), so we should expect a pretty rough ride. And indeed, we got what we bargained for. All six of us had to work hard to navigate the rapids, although luckily only one of the group (an older Ecuadorian guy, who was scouting out rafting sub-contractors for his travel agency) fell out of the raft. After a couple of hours of fun on the river, the guides prepared a delicious guacamole and beans tortilla lunch, with a plethora of fresh fruits for dessert, served out of the back of our mini-van. It started raining just as we started eating, so perfect timing for getting out of the river (not that the rain would have gotten us any wetter than we already were).
After getting back to Quito, showering and hanging my clothes to dry, I headed to an Ecuadorian restaurant called Mama Clorindas, also in the Mariscal barrio. I had been a little weary of "local specialties" after that guinea pig got me sick, but this place looked inpeccably hygienic, so I tried a combo of shrimp ceviche (very different to what we got in Peru, this was almost like a cold soup served with chips and popcorn), Seco de Chivo (goat meat stew, although the English menu mercifully translated it as lamb), and Morocho juice (sweet, thick liquid made of corn - supposedly it can be fermented to create a kind of moonshine). All were delicious, and the goat was actually very tender. On the way back, I came across a massive parade of costumed figures, cheerleaders, marching bands, Miss Quito candidates, uniformed soldiers, and large statues of politicians, indigenous warriors, townspeople, zombies, you name it... The progression blocked my path home across Avenida Rio Amazonas, so I had no choice but to stay and watch. The stream of people in the parade seemed endless, and there were also four rows of spectators on either side of the road. Every once in a while someone would shout "Viva Quito", and everyone in the audience would respond with a loud "Viva!". I gathered that the parade consisted of different schools and organizations, each with their own sign or banner, displaying different styles of music and dance. Lots of fun, and despite Mariscal´s rowdy reputation, I once again got out without getting robbed. Back at the hostel, I watched the night conclude in a display of fireworks that I had a perfect view of from my window. Very appropriate for Finland´s independence day, although I suspect the date may also have some special meaning in Ecuador, especially since one of Mariscal´s largest streets is also named "Av. 6 de Diciembre". Interestingly enough, they also have an "Av. 9 de Outubre" to commemorate my birthday, right next to my hostel. How nice of them.
Skipped the partying again, to get some sleep before the next day´s trip to Quilotoa, a volcano at 4,100 meters, whose crater is now occupied by a lake. The drive was something like 4 hours, and on the way we stopped by an indigenous market. It was fun to see the people in traditional dress, selling fresh fruits of hundreds of variations, flour from exotic cereals, cooked meats, live chickens, dead chickens, pirated DVDs, salsa CDs, and "genuine" 10 dollar Dolce & Gabbana belts. We also had to make several ad hoc stops along the way to let flocks of sheep, cows, and the occasional llama cross the road; at one point we even came across a ditch where the construction workers told us we´d have to wait until after their lunch break so they could place a temporary bridge for us to cross. A bribe of 3 dollars speeded up the process considerably and saved us the wait.
After getting our own lunch (delicious hot soup and lamb with rice), we saw the beautiful crater lake and made our way down to the water. I rented a kayak (for the grand price of 2 dollars) together with Yulia, a Ukrainian woman in our group travelling with her American firefighter husband, Jason. We paddled over to a section of the otherwise cool water that seemed to be bubbling, and amazingly enough, the bubbles felt warm to the touch. The volcano is still active, and the bubbles originate from a crack at the bottom of the lake, with hot magma underneath. According to our guide, Marcelo, the last time the volcano erupted (some 300 years ago), the eruption was equivalent in force to about 10 Hiroshima a-bombs, so we were lucky today wasn´t the day of the next eruption.
The way up was also interesting: we were each given a mule to ride. The journey back was relatively long, and I soon started feeling sorry for my sweating, hard-breathing mule. Every time it tried taking a break, the rider behind me would whack it on the rump. I felt even sorrier for the maybe 7-year old indigenous girl who was supposed to guide my mule. She was barely keeping up with the animal on foot, and was constantly coughing - I felt like letting her ride the mule and walking up myself, but in the end all I could do was give her a dollar in tip (which she seemed very happy about) once we got to the top. Hard work wasn´t the mules´only problem. Mine seemed to have some suicidal tendencies, as given any opportunity, it would try to head down from the steep cliff. Now, I can understand life as a pack mule can be tough, but I would appreciate it if it didn´t end it while I´m riding... Valentin, a Swiss guy in our group, had a mule with a different problem: severe flatulence. The sound of the animal´s farting provided plenty of entertainment throughout the trip, although I´m not sure if the rider immediately behind appreciated the aroma.
After our eventful ascent, we took a breather with some cold cervezas, then drove back down. Everyone except the driver (hopefully) took the chance to catch some sleep. I was dropped off at PapaGayo, a farm/hostel an hour´s drive outside Quito, while the rest of the group continued to the capital. The reason for my staying at PapaGayo was my attempt the following day of summiting Cotopaxi, the world´s highest active volcano (5,800 meters). PapaGayo turned out to be great - they have a hot jacuzzi, which I took full advantage of, and an on-site chef preparing some great foods. I am the only guest for tonight, so have a 4-bed dorm all to myself (8 dollars per night). Funnily enough, the guy working the hostel´s reception turned out to be Finnish; Joonas just finished high school and is in Ecuador learning Spanish in his gap year before college. It was fun being able to speak Finnish after a while, and of course we were both pretty amazed at the coincidence, with my being the only guest. Small world.
Tomorrow I´ll meet my private guide for Cotopaxi, we´ll go over some techniques and check the equipment and get to the base camp at 4,800 meters. The actual climb will start at midnight, hopefully getting me to the summit just in time for sunrise the following day. This should be a worthy finale for my trip in South America (although I´m a little worried about the adequacy of my acclimatization - but hey, at least I will have tried).
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Iguazu
I got to the Brazilian side of the Iguazu Falls, known as Foz de Iguacu, around 1:30am, and got a cab to my hotel. Vila Canoas was amazing value for money; at USD 25 per night, I got a big double bed, a huge bathroom, a nice breakfast. I was really pleased with my find, until I tried to get some sleep. As soon as I killed the lights, I started feeling itchy, first on my legs, then arms, torso... Bugs! I hate few things more than biting bugs, but especially at 3am when I have less than 6 hours until the alarm goes off, they drive me nuts. Bleary-eyed, I got dressed and wondered downstairs to complain to the hotel receptionist. I asked if I could get another, bug-free room, but he insisted they're mosquitoes and would be as likely to be found in any room. So, not much I can do here, just spray on loads of insect repellant and hope it'll work. I got back to sleep at maybe 4:30am (the bites I had already gotten were quite itchy...) and was not happy to wake up 5 hours later.
Demonstrating my love for mosquitoes...
However, after this little mishap, the day turned out great. I took a tour of the Itaipu Dam, a hydroelectric powerplant jointly built, owned and operated by Brazil and Paraguay, that provides 90% of Paraguay's electricity needs (and around 20% of Brazil's). The dam is huge, at around 1km in length and a 170m difference in water level across the dam. We were shown around both the outside and inside, including one of the generator rotors (there are 20 generators in total). Pretty impressive piece of engineering, although there are also some drawbacks - building the dam destroyed a huge set of waterfalls, and eroded a bunch of forest, displacing the species that inhabited it. As a side effect of visiting the dam, I also got to set foot in Paraguay, which would otherwise not have made my itinerary. One more box to tick :-)
After the dam, I headed to the national park containing the falls. I started off in the Parque des Aves, a park dedicated to birds. Inside, I met a bunch of exotic flyers, including paraqueets, eagles, vultures, hummingbirds (a.k.a. colibris), toucans, and a huge Australian monstrosity that looked a bit like an emu but is apparently capable of killing human beings with its clawed feet. Strange how all the deadliest species always come from Australia... The highly sociable toucans were definitely my favorite - in addition to their weird, oversized beaks, they really loved posing for the camera, turning their heads and hopping toward me for some nice close-up photos. The hummingbirds were the hardest ones to photograph, being tiny and FAST. I got maybe 3 good photos after snapping some 40.
After a couple of hours at the bird park, I entered the falls area, and the hype was definitely well deserved. The Iguazu Falls are truly impressive, pushing through more water than Niagara and Victoria combined. They are also loud, and there's enough splash that getting close to the falls means you get soaked. Luckily I brought both a waterproof shell jacket and a waterproof camera. The Brazilian side of the falls was already good, but the Argentinian side I visited the following day was just amazing. Argentina owns a bigger chunk of the falls, and consequently the hikes along the footpaths in the Argentinian park gets you much closer to the falls. The photos can't do justice to this wonder of nature, but let's just say this easily makes it to my top 3 natural areas (the other two being the Grand Canyon and Yosemite), and is a serios contender for number 1.
As an added bonus, I met some cute animals on the Argentinian side. My hostel had unusual guests: 6 black puppies (I think they were Lab Retrievers) sleeping next to the reception area. In the park itself, I came across some furry raccoon-lookalike creatures with long tails. They seemed pretty fearless, crossing the paths in front of huge groups of tourists.
After a full day at the Argentinian side of the falls, I caught a flight to Buenos Aires, and crashed at my most luxurious accommodation on the trip so far. A proper 3-star hotel, I got a room at the Concorde at an unusually low rate due to an admin error. They had entered their rates into Opodo incorrectly, meaning I got a reservation at 6 dollars a night! A bit after making the reservation, someone at the hotel contacted me, begging me to cancel the reservation as the price was an error. I wanted to be reasonable, so agreed to pay UsD 40 (normally their best Internet rate is USD 66, which Opodo was supposed to show). So I got a nice, big hotel room for pretty much what a private room in a Buenos Aires hostel would have cost. A proper, long warm shower followed by a full night's sleep in a comfy double bed never felt this good!
Unfortunately I didn't have time to do anything in Buenos Aires this time, as this was literally just a layover between flights. First thing in the morning (after a nice hotel breakfast buffet, of course) I jumped on a plane to Ecuador via Chile. The plane offered some gorgeous views of the snow-capped Andes mountain range, otherwise the flight went quickly as I worked through my photos from the last few days. One overpriced lunch in Santiago later I'm ready to continue to Quito, the last leg of my trip in South America.
Demonstrating my love for mosquitoes...
However, after this little mishap, the day turned out great. I took a tour of the Itaipu Dam, a hydroelectric powerplant jointly built, owned and operated by Brazil and Paraguay, that provides 90% of Paraguay's electricity needs (and around 20% of Brazil's). The dam is huge, at around 1km in length and a 170m difference in water level across the dam. We were shown around both the outside and inside, including one of the generator rotors (there are 20 generators in total). Pretty impressive piece of engineering, although there are also some drawbacks - building the dam destroyed a huge set of waterfalls, and eroded a bunch of forest, displacing the species that inhabited it. As a side effect of visiting the dam, I also got to set foot in Paraguay, which would otherwise not have made my itinerary. One more box to tick :-)
After the dam, I headed to the national park containing the falls. I started off in the Parque des Aves, a park dedicated to birds. Inside, I met a bunch of exotic flyers, including paraqueets, eagles, vultures, hummingbirds (a.k.a. colibris), toucans, and a huge Australian monstrosity that looked a bit like an emu but is apparently capable of killing human beings with its clawed feet. Strange how all the deadliest species always come from Australia... The highly sociable toucans were definitely my favorite - in addition to their weird, oversized beaks, they really loved posing for the camera, turning their heads and hopping toward me for some nice close-up photos. The hummingbirds were the hardest ones to photograph, being tiny and FAST. I got maybe 3 good photos after snapping some 40.
After a couple of hours at the bird park, I entered the falls area, and the hype was definitely well deserved. The Iguazu Falls are truly impressive, pushing through more water than Niagara and Victoria combined. They are also loud, and there's enough splash that getting close to the falls means you get soaked. Luckily I brought both a waterproof shell jacket and a waterproof camera. The Brazilian side of the falls was already good, but the Argentinian side I visited the following day was just amazing. Argentina owns a bigger chunk of the falls, and consequently the hikes along the footpaths in the Argentinian park gets you much closer to the falls. The photos can't do justice to this wonder of nature, but let's just say this easily makes it to my top 3 natural areas (the other two being the Grand Canyon and Yosemite), and is a serios contender for number 1.
As an added bonus, I met some cute animals on the Argentinian side. My hostel had unusual guests: 6 black puppies (I think they were Lab Retrievers) sleeping next to the reception area. In the park itself, I came across some furry raccoon-lookalike creatures with long tails. They seemed pretty fearless, crossing the paths in front of huge groups of tourists.
After a full day at the Argentinian side of the falls, I caught a flight to Buenos Aires, and crashed at my most luxurious accommodation on the trip so far. A proper 3-star hotel, I got a room at the Concorde at an unusually low rate due to an admin error. They had entered their rates into Opodo incorrectly, meaning I got a reservation at 6 dollars a night! A bit after making the reservation, someone at the hotel contacted me, begging me to cancel the reservation as the price was an error. I wanted to be reasonable, so agreed to pay UsD 40 (normally their best Internet rate is USD 66, which Opodo was supposed to show). So I got a nice, big hotel room for pretty much what a private room in a Buenos Aires hostel would have cost. A proper, long warm shower followed by a full night's sleep in a comfy double bed never felt this good!
Unfortunately I didn't have time to do anything in Buenos Aires this time, as this was literally just a layover between flights. First thing in the morning (after a nice hotel breakfast buffet, of course) I jumped on a plane to Ecuador via Chile. The plane offered some gorgeous views of the snow-capped Andes mountain range, otherwise the flight went quickly as I worked through my photos from the last few days. One overpriced lunch in Santiago later I'm ready to continue to Quito, the last leg of my trip in South America.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
More adventure than I bargained for...
Come Monday morning, I had my alarm on at 7am. I wondered downstairs to get breakfast and check-out, and lo and behold: the weather was PERFECT. I'm talking about the Rio de Janeiro you see in postcards - clear blue sky, bright sun. I contemplated the 22-hour bus ride ahead of me for maybe 5 seconds, and fired up my laptop to look for alternatives. It turned out that TAM had sold out all their reasonably priced flights, but Varig's low cost airline arm, Gol Aerolinhas, had a late evening flight via Curitiba available for around $250. Compared with the $90 bus ride, the 4 hour flight seemed a much more attractive option, and would let me enjoy a really great last day in Rio, to make up for all the rain and the hang-glider incident disappointment.
After getting the flight, I set out to do a couple of things I'd wanted to do the whole time, but couldn't due to the weather. I booked a guided rock climb up Sugarloaf for the afternoon, then headed to Corcovado to see the famous Christo Redeentor (Christ the Redeemer) statue. The train to the statue would have required a 45min wait, and I was a little short on time, so took a guided tour in a minibus instead. We got some amazing views over Rio, and got up close and personal with the statue. Part of the "New seven wonders of the world", the statue was impressive but most of its appeal derives from its location. The view over Rio is just breathtaking, and conversely the statue is visible from most of the city (when it's not obscured by clouds, grr!) and is one of its most famous landmarks.
After visiting o Redeentor, I chilled (questionable choice of words, given the +28C temperature) on Ipanema beach for about an hour with the folks from the hostel. Jill (a girl working at the hostel) said this was the best day she had seen in Rio during her 5 weeks here - once again making me glad I decided to stay an extra day. After an hour it was time to head back to the hostel for my climbing trip pickup. I was whisked away in an old-school Land Rover, quickly checked out my rental gear, and dropped off at Sugarloaf. I had asked to do the most famous climb on it, called Italianos, a multi-pitch 5.9. The guide asked briefly about my experience with granite, face climbs and tougher grades, and I managed to convince him I roughly knew what I was doing.
We got a relatively late start for the climb at 4pm, following an arduous approach through the jungle carrying all our ropes and gear. A couple of climbers were already at the spot, and we had a fun chat about transporting "climbing gear for the head" (the kind that helps you climb higher at the tents after a day on the rocks) across national borders... The guide was pretty open in other ways, too - about 20 minutes into meeting him he divulged pretty personal details about how he landed his Argentinian girlfriend.
The climb itself was great. We had amazing views over Rio, the Lagoon, and Corcovado with Christo Redeentor on top. The sun was shining, the rock was nice and warm without being scorching. By the time I topped Italianos, we had an awesome sunset to admire. The only problem was, my borrowed shoes started seriously hurting pretty early in the climb, and I knew there were still several pitches to go. Add to this the fact I hadn't been climbing in a while and had no protective callouses in my hands, and the granite was tearing my fingers to pieces. The going got pretty painful, and pretty slow, from early on. Given we had also started late, the sunset caught us a bit unprepared.
We had to use the last remaining light to quickly rappel down, and by the time we cleared the 4 pitches to the ground, it was almost completely dark. Neither one of us had a flashlight, but we still had to somehow find our way back to the parking lot. Now, my nightvision is pretty poor due to Lasik, and consequently there are few things I hate more than scrambling through uneven terrain in the dark. This time, though, we had a couple of bonus factors to make it even better: instead of hiking boots, we were both wearing flip-flops. It was wet, muddy, and SLIPPERY. There were big rocks and roots to kick and/or trip over. And, as I realized as soon as we got back on the ground and I put my watch back on again, we were under tremendous time pressure. I had thought I should leave the hostel around 8pm to make my flight, but it was already 7:50pm when we finished rappeling. So we had to move fast.
After half an hour of scrambling, cursing, falling and getting lost in the woods, we finally made it to the parking lot. By now it was 8:30pm, and I had 1.5 hours left before my flight. The guide explained this to a taxi driver, who indeed put Jari Gronholm (a Finnish rally driver) to shame in getting me back to the hostel. Luckily I had all my stuff packed already, but my hopes of a warm shower were certainly dashed. Covered in sweat, sunblock, bruises, mud, and chalk, I rushed back to the cab and held on to a glimmer of hope I'd make the flight. On the way to the airport, the cab driver shamed Kimi Raikkonen himself, and got me there by 9:15pm, 45 minutes before take-off.
To my surprise, the Gol Aerolineas staff didn't seem even slightly concerned, or indeed, even bother to fast-track me. They took my baggage about 40min before departure, and I wasn't even the last passenger - the big guys could learn something from these small, efficient budget airlines. I changed into a slightly less sweaty T-shirt in the men's room, washed off most of the mud, and realized I hadn't eaten anything since noon. So, my last meal in Rio became a couple of so-so meat empanadas wolfed down at the airport, but I've never felt this good about making a flight.
After getting the flight, I set out to do a couple of things I'd wanted to do the whole time, but couldn't due to the weather. I booked a guided rock climb up Sugarloaf for the afternoon, then headed to Corcovado to see the famous Christo Redeentor (Christ the Redeemer) statue. The train to the statue would have required a 45min wait, and I was a little short on time, so took a guided tour in a minibus instead. We got some amazing views over Rio, and got up close and personal with the statue. Part of the "New seven wonders of the world", the statue was impressive but most of its appeal derives from its location. The view over Rio is just breathtaking, and conversely the statue is visible from most of the city (when it's not obscured by clouds, grr!) and is one of its most famous landmarks.
After visiting o Redeentor, I chilled (questionable choice of words, given the +28C temperature) on Ipanema beach for about an hour with the folks from the hostel. Jill (a girl working at the hostel) said this was the best day she had seen in Rio during her 5 weeks here - once again making me glad I decided to stay an extra day. After an hour it was time to head back to the hostel for my climbing trip pickup. I was whisked away in an old-school Land Rover, quickly checked out my rental gear, and dropped off at Sugarloaf. I had asked to do the most famous climb on it, called Italianos, a multi-pitch 5.9. The guide asked briefly about my experience with granite, face climbs and tougher grades, and I managed to convince him I roughly knew what I was doing.
We got a relatively late start for the climb at 4pm, following an arduous approach through the jungle carrying all our ropes and gear. A couple of climbers were already at the spot, and we had a fun chat about transporting "climbing gear for the head" (the kind that helps you climb higher at the tents after a day on the rocks) across national borders... The guide was pretty open in other ways, too - about 20 minutes into meeting him he divulged pretty personal details about how he landed his Argentinian girlfriend.
The climb itself was great. We had amazing views over Rio, the Lagoon, and Corcovado with Christo Redeentor on top. The sun was shining, the rock was nice and warm without being scorching. By the time I topped Italianos, we had an awesome sunset to admire. The only problem was, my borrowed shoes started seriously hurting pretty early in the climb, and I knew there were still several pitches to go. Add to this the fact I hadn't been climbing in a while and had no protective callouses in my hands, and the granite was tearing my fingers to pieces. The going got pretty painful, and pretty slow, from early on. Given we had also started late, the sunset caught us a bit unprepared.
We had to use the last remaining light to quickly rappel down, and by the time we cleared the 4 pitches to the ground, it was almost completely dark. Neither one of us had a flashlight, but we still had to somehow find our way back to the parking lot. Now, my nightvision is pretty poor due to Lasik, and consequently there are few things I hate more than scrambling through uneven terrain in the dark. This time, though, we had a couple of bonus factors to make it even better: instead of hiking boots, we were both wearing flip-flops. It was wet, muddy, and SLIPPERY. There were big rocks and roots to kick and/or trip over. And, as I realized as soon as we got back on the ground and I put my watch back on again, we were under tremendous time pressure. I had thought I should leave the hostel around 8pm to make my flight, but it was already 7:50pm when we finished rappeling. So we had to move fast.
After half an hour of scrambling, cursing, falling and getting lost in the woods, we finally made it to the parking lot. By now it was 8:30pm, and I had 1.5 hours left before my flight. The guide explained this to a taxi driver, who indeed put Jari Gronholm (a Finnish rally driver) to shame in getting me back to the hostel. Luckily I had all my stuff packed already, but my hopes of a warm shower were certainly dashed. Covered in sweat, sunblock, bruises, mud, and chalk, I rushed back to the cab and held on to a glimmer of hope I'd make the flight. On the way to the airport, the cab driver shamed Kimi Raikkonen himself, and got me there by 9:15pm, 45 minutes before take-off.
To my surprise, the Gol Aerolineas staff didn't seem even slightly concerned, or indeed, even bother to fast-track me. They took my baggage about 40min before departure, and I wasn't even the last passenger - the big guys could learn something from these small, efficient budget airlines. I changed into a slightly less sweaty T-shirt in the men's room, washed off most of the mud, and realized I hadn't eaten anything since noon. So, my last meal in Rio became a couple of so-so meat empanadas wolfed down at the airport, but I've never felt this good about making a flight.
Here comes the sunshine!
Sunday finally showed signs of the weather improving. I got up relatively early, and as the sun was out, organized a hang-gliding trip through the folks at the hostel. My pick-up, scheduled for 11am, was 45 min late (hey, it's Brazil), and once we got to the beach in front of Pedra Bonita (the location of our launch ramp), I met my two Brazilian would-be co-flyers. The guys were from the North of Brazil, in Rio on a business trip, and were lots of fun to chat with. We used a mix of Portuguese and English, and I learned the younger guy was into a lot of the same sports I was (climbing, surfing, etc.). As we had to wait for a bit at the beach, they decided to order caipirinhas (a totally sensible thing to do at noon), and I went along. The younger guy also played me a selection of Brazilian music from his mobile phone, and showed me some amazing photos from around his home town - definitely putting Northern Brazil on my to do -list for later.
The trip to Pedra Bonita was interesting in itself. I got a ride in an old piece-of-junk station wagon, and when we got to the steep ascent section, two of the guys in the back had to get out and sit on the car's hood to ensure the front-wheel drive had enough traction.
At the top, we found that while the beach was nice and sunny, Pedra Bonita was completely clouded over. We put on our gear nonetheless, and the pilots (our flights would be tandem) set up the hang-gliders. Then we just waited for the clouds to part. And waited. And waited. After about three hours, everyone had pretty much lost faith that visibility would ever improve. Furthermore, there was a big football game at Maracana that afternoon (Flamengo against another team whose name I forget) and my two new Brazilian buddies had tickets. Disappointed, we took off the gear and returned to our respective ho(s)tels. At least we got full refunds.
The weather was still decent lower down on the beach, so I spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging on Ipanema and working up my Brazilian tan. I was supposed to take a bus to Iguacu waterfalls very early on Monday morning, so called it an early night after a quick dinner and watching the fireworks for the Christmas Tree's inauguration.
The trip to Pedra Bonita was interesting in itself. I got a ride in an old piece-of-junk station wagon, and when we got to the steep ascent section, two of the guys in the back had to get out and sit on the car's hood to ensure the front-wheel drive had enough traction.
At the top, we found that while the beach was nice and sunny, Pedra Bonita was completely clouded over. We put on our gear nonetheless, and the pilots (our flights would be tandem) set up the hang-gliders. Then we just waited for the clouds to part. And waited. And waited. After about three hours, everyone had pretty much lost faith that visibility would ever improve. Furthermore, there was a big football game at Maracana that afternoon (Flamengo against another team whose name I forget) and my two new Brazilian buddies had tickets. Disappointed, we took off the gear and returned to our respective ho(s)tels. At least we got full refunds.
The weather was still decent lower down on the beach, so I spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging on Ipanema and working up my Brazilian tan. I was supposed to take a bus to Iguacu waterfalls very early on Monday morning, so called it an early night after a quick dinner and watching the fireworks for the Christmas Tree's inauguration.
No sleep till Ipanema
After Santeri took off, and I settled at the Swedish-run hostel Harmonia in Ipanema, I set off to meet my new neighbours. As most backpackers, the folks were laid-back and easy to get along with. On Friday night, I teamed up with a rather eclectic crowd: Patrick, a long-haired oil rig worker from Dublin; Mike, a Brit who spent a whole of 6 weeks as a police officer before moving on to recruiting in the IT sector; Chris, a 7-foot African American college grad, built like a linebacker but with the demeanor of a puppy (and actively flirting with all the nice-looking GUYS we met), and Elaine, a 4-foot something Norwegian blonde who, by her own admission, was after both the guys and girls we met. A few other folks from the hostel also joined us, but this was my main posse for the night. We headed to Lapa (the neighbourhood where Rio Scenarium is located), and unlike our rather subdued experience on Wednesday, Friday night was HAPPENING. The streets were packed with live bands (many using improvised instruments, like trash cans), kiosks selling beer and food, and people of all styles from yuppies to hippies to wifebeater-wearing tattoeed tough guys to dancer girls with some amazing samba moves. We took in the scene for a while, then headed into Rio Scenarium around 1:30am. The place was packed, and despite the samba lessons Kali (who works at the hostel) kindly offered me ("Imagine you're surrounded by crocodiles, and just stomp on them really quickly. Do something creative with your hands, and SMILE!"), I was pretty tired from all the partying up till now, and was ready to hit the sack a bit after 4am.
Saturday was a pretty slow day for me. Slept late, chatted with Ulla (for three hours) via Skype, planned out some logistics for the remainder of my trip, and took a lazy stroll along Ipanema beach.
My dorm was taken over by a group of 5 German guys, at least one of whom snores very loudly, which meant I didn't sleep too well and so felt kind of tired all day. I made a half-hearted attempt to go out in the evening, but after being refused entry to Boox (guys could only get in in female company, and even then only with reservations - this place is more snobby than LA!) got discouraged and headed home after one beer at Galito's. Five days of non-stop partying has kind of stopped working for me since I stopped going to Nummirock at 21.
Saturday was a pretty slow day for me. Slept late, chatted with Ulla (for three hours) via Skype, planned out some logistics for the remainder of my trip, and took a lazy stroll along Ipanema beach.
My dorm was taken over by a group of 5 German guys, at least one of whom snores very loudly, which meant I didn't sleep too well and so felt kind of tired all day. I made a half-hearted attempt to go out in the evening, but after being refused entry to Boox (guys could only get in in female company, and even then only with reservations - this place is more snobby than LA!) got discouraged and headed home after one beer at Galito's. Five days of non-stop partying has kind of stopped working for me since I stopped going to Nummirock at 21.
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