Valdivia - where nothing is as it seems

VALDIVIA, REGION X, CHILE - 13th March 2010

Chile has become the fifth of South America's 13 countries to allow me passage into their territory, but it wasn't quite as plain sailing an experience as I've come to expect - but then again you rarely expect yourself to have to munch through a foot long ham salad sandwich in 90 seconds.

Rocking up at the Chilean border control after a wonderfully scenic ride from Bariloche, passing the Andean lakes and mountains that mark give this part of the world its "Lake District" name, we discovered that mere stamping of passports was only half the story at the Chilean border - these guys are judicious, it seems, when it comes to protecting their agriculture and thus X-ray all baggage entering the country, with anything food-related having to be declared. This included, it seemed, rather large ham sandwiches that had been long-term strategic purchases - bought in Bariloche specifically to appease my never-ending need for food across the 5 hours, change of buses in Osorno, and general hoopla of getting from A to B. The option of throwing the sandwich in the bin was not one that I was willing to even vaguely entertain, so I exited the bus faceplanted inside 12 inches of bread, ham and cheese - must to the amusement of the bus driver, and much to the disapproval of the Chilean customs official. The latter extended his disapproval be refusing to allow me to put any of my hand baggage on the belt until the sandwich was fully eaten - and with the rest of the bus already on the other side standing around waiting, all eyes were on me and my damn mouth. Thankfully, the bread was beautifully soft and the ham and cheese melted in the mouth, but even with this on my side, and aided by pats on the back from our bus driver who clearly appreciated by dilemma a great deal more than the stalwart customs official, it still took some outrageously large mouthfuls to chomp the whole thing down. Whether it was intended as a compliment I'm not sure (in fact, decidedly skeptical), but according to Anna "that last mouthful was the size of a meal".

Anyway, we found our way to Valdivia after a quickfire switch onto a local bus from Osorno - a switch that was almost scuppered by whacky time zones. In theory, Chile is an hour behind Argentina - so I put my clock an hour backward when we crossed the border. However, it turns out that because of last the earthquake from a few weeks back, the Chilean government have postponed the shift away from Daylight Saving Time, meaning that Chile remains 3 hours behind GMT instead of its proper 4. Almost disasterous for us, but all's well that ends well and we were safely lodged in Airesbuenos Hostel by early evening and headed out into the small town to find some grub to eat.

It was at this stage that we started to develop suspicions - suspicions that would only increase - about whether Valdivia was one giant April Fool's Day joke on us, being delivered an antisocial 3 weeks premature. Basically everywhere seemed closed - something we initially put down to being in a country with "normal" eating times (after weeks of outrageously late dinners in Brazil and Argentina) - but when we found ourselves wandering down roads that apparently didn't exist, and right past spots where our (admittedly poorly drawn) map suggested restaurants should have been (but patently were not), the whole situation began to rouse our suspicions.

Eventually we ended up in a nice little pub and I snagged my first taste of pisco - the local spirit brew that Peru and Chile both claim to have invented. Pisco sour, as I had it, is the most commonly drunk form - and went down very nicely with our classic dinner of bife de lomo (steak) and chips.

Over the last few months, I've stayed in a whole host of hostels of various quality - good, bad and ugly and most of the in between. Tucano House in Florianópolis is always gonna take some beating - its 95% approval rating on Hostelworld speaks for itself - but Airesbuenos here in Valdivia is something very special. After returning from dinner, the two of us somewhat sheepishly sat at the computer; while seemingly everyone else in the hostel was sitting around the table drinking wine and having a nice chat, we were trying to figure out what we were going to do the next day (a discounted night in a casino-spa swanky hotel was an option thanks to business contacts of my Dad). However, it wasn't a moment before the American lady who managed the place came over with a glass of wine for each of us and got talking about where we'd come from, where we were going - the usual jazz, for sure, but enough to make us comfortably join the circle of backpackers and hostel staff and sip Chilean wine well into the early hours. The scene was unlike anything else I've known in a hostel - around the table were 4 Frenchies who spoke Spanish, an Argentine with just Spanish, Anna with Spanish and English, and myself with French and English... but to top it off we were joined by the manager of the hostel (who could do all three) - a lovely Californian who, while a tad whacky, was friendly to her core and passionate about the Permaculture environmental recycling system she wanted to create at Airesbuenos. An interesting chat ensued about The result was the most incredible string of conversations that, depending on the protagonists at any given stage, seamlessly switched between all three languages. At some stage the topic turned to my Indian heritage, and my ability to cook (and how cooking was probably what I missed most travelling), and in a flash I was down to cook up some "tandoori-style" (read: standard Rodrigues nondescript concoction) chicken for lunch for everyone in the hostel!

Fast forward the best part of a day, and we're now all set to stroll down to the bus station for an evening bus to Santiago that should see us arriving there at about 9 tomorrow morning (the earthquake-induced collapse of a bridge causing a couple of hours delay to all buses). However, in the meantime we were impressively productive - after breakfast I marinaded some chicken with a random mix of whatever I could find in the kitchen, then it was off to explore Valdivia. A fairly embarrassing stop was made at the Casino-Spa-Hotel that saw me impressively crash and burn in an attempt to get free use of the casino (on the basis of knowing someone who knew someone who was important, or something to that effect), but that was soon forgotten as we strolled through the town's riverside market where an army of massive sea lions (like the critter below) sat around waiting for free bits of fish to munch on.


An attempt to find the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo saw us head over to the other side of the river after lunch (fresh local mussels fried in garlic sauce), the bridge providing a beautiful view of the town and the market that looks very much like the photo below. On the other side, however, we once again found ourselves wondering what was the deal with this town - how could nothing be where it was supposed to be?! Failing to find the museum at first attempt did bring the inadvertent reward of leading us to a cool, randomly abandoned 3-floor boat - anchored on the riverside at the end of a desolate little dead-end street with no hint of life in it (cool photos will eventually follow), but our sense of confusion with the town reached fever pitch when we found the museum - or indeed the place where all the signs pointed to - and it still wasn't there!


Half an hour of confused and aimless wandering, and eventually someone informed us of a tiny little staircase that lead to the underground gallery which, alongside some fairly cool modern art, had an awesome photographic display by a guy who's name I've now forgotten... but rest assured it was impressive. But by this stage we were fairly zonked from walking and having our minds screwed with, so headed back to Airesbuenos and kicked back with all the residents and staff in front of a fairly decent film.

The Longest Day - Part IV

COLONIA DEL SACRAMENTO, URUGUAY - 1st February 2010

continued from Parts I, II and III...

If you, like me, have long got tired of hearing the cliché that goes something along the lines of "things rarely turn out accordingly to plan, however good the plan might be", you can probably appreciate that it is even more annoying to have it practically demonstrated in front of your eyes for the umpteenth time.

Earlier today in Buenos Aires, I was happily reporting a successful purchase of afternoon ferry tickets over to Uruguay - something that was looking somewhat dubious even earlier in the day on the other side of the Pacific. With hours to spend, I dropped my bags off at the ferry terminal's luggage room and took on the staggering heat and humidity of what the LPG sees as "still the coolest place in South America". The LPG also informed my first destination - the number one priority was, surprise, surprise, getting some grub - and it wasn't much more than a 5 minute walk to a cool little place called "Filo" located down a bit of a side street from the bustling Avenue Córdoba. Vaulted ceilings with contemporary decor, seats on the bar and an art gallery downstairs were the order of the day, alongside an excellent serving on empanadas and an ice cold beer. At under the equivalent of US$10, it was an excellent gastronomic introduction to the continent.

Avenue Florida is BA's shopping street - pedestrianised and rammed with shops, stalls and thousands of shoppers, traders and tourists looking like rabbits in headlights (or, walking mugging targets, depending on your spin on things). Not emanating the "gringo" vibe in quite the same way as your average British tourist, I blended in and around the crowds and made my way to Galerías Pacifico - a shopping centre whose interior design immediately reminded me of the Queen Victoria Building mall in Sydney - simply stunning, from towering waterfall to vaulted glass ceiling and Roman architecture.

It wasn't long, however, before I was back in the ferry terminal, recovered my bags and attempting to check in - the full (and recommended) hour before the 16.15 scheduled departure. I reach the front of the queue, hand over the ticket printout that I'd been given at the ferry company's desk on the other side of the forecourt, and was promptly imformed that my ticket was for tomorrow - the guy pointing out the "02/01/10" date in the corner of the piece of paper. Once again - and I've lost track of the number of times I've found myself typing these words on the this blog - I was far from impressed. This was only heightened when he tells me that he's changed the ticket for today, but I have to go to another desk, pay the 18 peso (about £3) difference in price, pick up a new printed ticket, and then rejoin the queue to check in. Helpfully, he added that I "probably don't have enough time to do it before the boat is supposed to leave". Great.

Details are fairly irrelevant, suffice to say I rushed around and muttered a lot of abuse under my breath, eventually got checked in and passed through immigration with a few minutes in hand. And then sat on the boat where, while admittedly drifting in and out of conscious, I sat and waited for the next 45 minutes before we actually left. Turned out there were so many people waiting to be checked in after me that they just had to delay it... and that this was pretty much standard practice. There was little care from me though - by that stage the fatigue of being about 32 hours into a day that still had 8 hours remaining had well and truly kicked in, and my cares were entirely based on sleep.

After a little trek into town, I was checked in at El Viajero Hostel and, after sorting myself out with fluids, lockers and general loose ends it was off into the time encapsulated cobbled streets of the old Colonia town - an area designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Area in 1995. A few artistic clouds dotted an otherwise perfectly clear sky, leaving the buildings glowing in amber twillight as I wandered down to the riverside, and sitting on the rocks by the small harbour area I passed half an hour watching the sun perform nature's nightly show that will never cease to get me clicking photo after photo.









With the sun down and a cooler breeze wafting in from the river, I sat down at the fanciest place in town (feeling the justified need to splash out) - the seafood-speciality Yacht Club restaurant by the harbour - and enjoyed a long, drawn out dinner of fresh gambas prawns washed down with crisp local beer. 2 hours later, I sauntered back to the free computers here at El Viajero and, with minutes ticking on to midnight, draw to a close the most epic day of my life.

Milford Sound - so beautiful it's stupid

MILFORD, FIORDLAND, NEW ZEALAND - 26th January 2010

I've already stated how New Zealand's South Island is far too scenic for its own good. That statement came from Greymouth, one hell of a long way up the north end of South Island, and all I can say is that every step you take further south gets progressively more and more scenic; more and more stunning; more and more time consuming as you stop your car, get out, and take yet another ridiculously picturesque photo of some mountain-backed verdant vista.

Then, once you've trekked far enough down the coast and navigated inland through Queenstown and its adrenaline-fuelled activity scene, you end up making the inevitable return trip to New Zealand's most famous attraction; #1 on the 101 Must-Do Things for Kiwis; supposedly the "8th Wonder of the World" - the world famous fjord of Milford Sound.


I realise that over the last 10 days or so this blog has been guilty of the most liberal usage of superlatives - largely in describing landscapes one more stunning than the next. If it were possible at this somewhat late stage, I'd take them all back in order to combine them into one unholy super-superlative and unleash it in description of this, the most spectacularly beautiful, tranquil, simultaneously relaxing and enthralling natural environment on Planet Earth. It never ceases to surprise me how many amazing things there are so see as you go travelling, but I have no hesitation in asserting that Milford Sound will not be topped in terms of outright natural beauty.

Those of you crazy enough to consult a map will find that getting to Milford Sound from Queenstown involves, as the crow flies, a relatively short journey to the north-west. Unfortunately, the hulking great mass of the southern Alps stands in the way of that particular direct journey, and the only alternative is to head 100km south of Queenstown, take a right and head 100km west to Te Anau, and then take another 200km dead-ended road whose culmination is Milford. Given that we're in New Zealand here and the roads concerned are, despite their highway designation, no more than glorified country tracks, doing the entire Queenstown-Milford return car journey in a day was not something I was particularly keen on. Tiredness constraints were one factor, but the bigger factor was the importance of avoiding the glut of tourists who take the day trip from Queenstown, arriving in one of a literal procession of coaches that all arrive in the 12.30-2pm slot after the 5 hour journey from Queenstown. Snobbish and hypocritical as it almost certainly is, one thing travelling soon imparts on you is a passionate dislike of bog-standard tourists...

Avoiding this midday scrum required a touch of advance planning, and my scheme involved an early morning crack-of-dawn drive to Milford from Te Anau - the last town of any significance (and last place to get petrol) before the long ride to Milford and back. An early morning start from Te Anau obviously requires the morning to begin in Te Anau, so following my bungy-jumping exploits in Queenstown yesterday I had time to grab some lunch and hit the road off to the lakeside town that, if it were in any other country, would probably be famous and vastly overpopulated for its location and environment.


Lake Te Anau, on which the town of Te Anau sits, is the second biggest lake in New Zealand and the largest in the South Island - only Lake Taupo up in the North is larger. Through a combination of clear blue skies and water of the highest cleanliness, and as you can see in the photo above, the water here on Te Anau shares the same perfect shade of deep, pure blue that is found in its sister lakes across the country, while rising up over the opposing side of the lake to the township stand the rocky peaks of a few more Southern Alpine mountains - a constant feature in this region, and indeed island. The guy in the statue is of an explorer whose name I forget, but was the first European to reach Milford Sound by land.

The town itself is pretty tiny - it would barely qualify as a village by English standards - but has a gorgeous waterfront walkway that leads around off the road towards a low key but nevertheless well maintained wildlife centre devoted to endangered native birds, including the kea - the world's only alpine parrot, and the takahe - a rare flightless bird that was thought to be extinct before a trekker strayed across a few hidden away in the Murchison Mountains of the Fiordland region. The decent walk to the reserve and back left me looking for some good grub, and happily I stumbled across Olive's Cafe at 9.40pm, giving me 20 minutes to see away the most delicious roast lamb and gravy I've ever been served outside of my own house. It was one of those meals that will be remembered long into the future, it was that good.


Sharing a dorm room with 3 Japanese/Chinese who apparently weren't keen on uttering a word of English, there was little to keep me from the much needed early night, and I was up by 6.30am and out by 7 in order to beat the crowds down the Milford Road. With time on my side I was able to take the advice of everyone I'd spoken to (not to mention the trusty LPG) and stop off at the various points of interest en route (generally a case of taking a few photos like the one above and moving on), the highlight of which was the "Mirror Lakes" whose still, clear waters provided a perfect mirror of the mountains and trees in the background. The clever reflected sign (right) is also, as I'm sure you'll agree, pretty damn cool.

You can't come to Milford without doing a boat cruise around the Sound (i.e. the water), and I'd booked myself onto the 11.30am "Discover More" departure that included a BBQ lunch. Arriving in Milford at 9.45, I had a good couple of hours to chill out and begin what would be a devastating volley of photographs, so proceeded to snap away and, of course, Back the Bid.




Lunch was served as soon as we were on the boat - an orderly queue formed curving around a good salad cart and an even better selection of burgers, sausages, chicken legs - the works. Naturally I piled my plate up, but got a welcome shock a little later when I realised it was a buffet, and there was waaaaay more food than anyone could want. It goes without say I went to town.

Meanwhile, we were cruising in and around a glacial geologer's dreamworld. Milford Sound is actually misnamed - it is not a "Sound", which is created by rivers, but a fjord - created by ice. This is the reason the landscape features massive U-shaped valleys, with other U-shaped valleys culminating at the border of the Sound. Every corner you move around provides yet another amazing view - we were lucky to have a sunny day in a place that has 260 days of rain per year, and made the most of it up on the open top deck of the boat.


The only downside of the sunshine was that the thousands (literally) of waterfalls that cascade down the steep sided rock faces on a rainy day all run dry when there are more than a couple of days without rain - with the surrounding sheer-faced rocky mountains, there is next-to-no topsoil to absorb rain water, meaning that 90% flows straight down into the Sound. However, there still remain a few permanent falls that splash down regardless of the weather, and we cruised right into the spray of Stirling Falls, below, a huge 150m drop whose mass of spray in the bright sunlight resulting in an awesome rainbow around the boat (right).


The "Discover More" cruise also included a stop at the Milford Underwater Aquarium - down an 8 metre shaft you are able to observe the coral and marine life the lives in the glacial waters deep under the Sound's surface. Most abundant were the critters to the right - there were millions of them buzzing around, but more impressive were the starfish (by the hundred) and an appearance from a big black octopus.

Eventually we were back at Milford's dock - which represents the entirety of the village of "Milford" (other than a small information centre, there is literally nothing else here), and soon after I finish writing this I'll be back on the road all the way back to Queenstown. But for now, it's about making as many mental photographs as humanly possible - Milford Sound is a truly special place.

Finding Nemo (or not)

AIRLIE BEACH, QUEENSLAND - 11th January 2010

The list of things I've got to try at least once in my life has got one item shorter, and the list of things that are gonna cost me a lot of money due to their adrenaline-inducing addictive nature has an addition. Scuba Diving? Check.


Fraser Island's team festivities culminated with an all-you-can-eat pizza bonanza back at Hervey Bay on the mainland, which formed the prelude to yet another overnight journey. Waking from an inertial state of slumber that certainly isn't conscious, but is too uncomfortable to be considered sleep, I had to admit that spending 5 nights in 8 days on a bus is far from ideal - not to mention just 3 nights on a bed a bed since leaving Melbourne 12 days back. However, with the age-old adage of "man up" drilled into me from years of Juddian conditioning, it was hop skip and jump out of the Premier Motor Coach when, 14 hours later, we arrived here in Airley Beach - the gateway to the Whitsundays.

To quote the LPG, "just about every outdoor-loving Australian dreams of rocking up the says and reef on a yacht in the Whitsundays". Thanks to a $1000 splurge of bookings back at Byron Bay, I'd already sorted mine, and just about managed to find my way to Abel Point Marina at 1pm all set 48-hour 2 night trip aboard the catamaran "Wings II".

Of the 24 of us on board, a big solid majority were intro divers - and I was far from alone in having doubts about whether I actually wanted to do it. However, just like most things that might involve a morsel of two of fun, I was pretty easily convinced by the dive instructors on board, and just a couple of hours after leaving the mainland we were docked at Blue Pearl Bay, loaded with scuba gear, and out doing our "skills". Confirming we all had the mental capacity to breathe through our mouths rather than our noses was easy enough, so it was straight down underwater and in amongst the schools of fish and vast masses coral that give the Great Barrier Reef the awe-inspiring fame it commands.

With pretty much the whole boat deciding to dive, and being in the last group out, we got to see a bit of a transition between the day fish and their nighttime counterparts, but before we knew it it was time to resurface - cue general elation over going diving!

Back in Byron Bay the travel agent - going by the name of Will Smith - had shown me a few Whitsunday tour operators, but any indecision over which to choose was settled when food was brought up. Wings provides a veritable feast, 3 times a day, for the duration of your trip, and the proof was indeed in the pudding - we arrived back at the boat to the wafting smell of barbecued chicken (there's a barbecue on board everything here), pasta bake, Ceasar salad, all sorts of veg, and all of that followed by apple strudel for dessert. Fantastic.

Beer o'clock followed while we watched a couple of Giant Trevallys circling the back of the boat (see right), but fatigue booze combining with the prospect of an early start (with rough seas) in the morning, I was out like a log by about midnight. Next thing I know its morning and we're in Manteray Bay - all set for another round of diving. This time I'm in group 1, so it's straight underwater in amongst some deeper and more complex reef, seeing sea clams and angel fish and some amazing coral.

Whenever the boat is docked for people to go diving, anyone else is free to go snorkeling to see what they can see. Cool as my early morning's dive was, it was trumped about half an hour later when I went snorkelling with a guy called Robbie. The sun was shining, the water was clear, and thanks to a great stroke of luck Robbie managed to spot a whopping great big turtle that we proceeded to follow for the next 15 minutes, taking turns to duck dive under and around him and give him a pat on the back (/shell). At one stage, his route in and around the bay took us through the middle of a school of millions of tiny fish - everywhere you looked there were these tiny creatures floating in the water, dodging out the way of the colossal mass of Mr. Turtle as he whiled away another of his days. If an underwater camera was ever needed, it was then.

We moved down the coast to Luncheon Bay where, sure enough, we had lunch - but the Subway sandwich-esque array of breads, fillings and salads was not before another scuba dive by "Nemo City". As Adam the dive instructor so rightly said, once you've seen one Nemo fish you've seen them all, but it was still a bit of a shame to not see any! Nemo was not found...

Water-based activities ceased post-lunch, as we took on the wind and ploughed through mega-choppy waters down to the little piece of paradise known as Whitehaven Beach. Ranked by both National Geographic and Lonely Planet as one of the best 2 beaches in the world, Whitehaven's sand is 98.7% silica, giving it the most phenomenal white colour and flour-like texture of anything I've ever seen. A lookout provides spectacular views like these...


While the beach itself isn't half bad either:

Cheesy photos, art in the sand, back the bid and beach football in the sunset all exhausted, we trekked back across the island to Tongue Point, back to our boat, and tucked into another salivatious dinner - BBQ sausages and steak with potato, tuna, and egg salads, with chocolate and/or caramel cakes for dessert.

Post-dinner we headed back north so that we'd be nearer to our final dive point this morning - and I was woken up at 6.45am with the news that we were all set for one last dive before heading back to land. 35mins or so 12 metres under the surface, seeing stingrays, batfish and loads of little guys - then back to the surface, back to the boat, and 2 hours sailing later, back to Airley Beach and dry land. Phwoar.