Musings on bus trip and a hike

I have two diary entries that I want to essentially copy into the blog but i don`t think I shall have time, so i will give the first one if I can.

This is what i signed up for. I left (on the 26) from Biota Maule, an ecoreserve hostel sor of thing, and headed up to Cerro Peine (2450m). Biota Maule is located in Vilches Alto, about 2km from the entrance to Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay. I am the only person here in this huge wood replica of a church in Chiloe (an island in patagonia), aside from the guy who works here, Camilo. They treat their water naturally, compost and are generally very conscious of the environment.
So I left just before 10am with trekking poles and some food and water as well as a few layers. the trail wound up through the different types of forest - one temporate and the other, located in the river valley, more jungle like. At the first lookout the lush forest was already below me, flanked by rocky, snowy peaks. As I looked straight out, the trees met the clouds and were smothered. Beyond that far below the clouds stretched until i could no longer see them - an ocean of white-grey out of which came small peaks of hazy hills, like islands emerging from the neverending blanket of clouds. I continued on and even the stout shrubbery dropped away among the hundreds of switchbacks. At a certain point the rocks marking the sketchy path blended in so much that I lost my way. I scrambled upwards several 100 meters until I hit the path again - only a few short moments of panic. Eventuallyl I passed a plateau of white crumbly rock that pointed my steep ascent to the summit. I stopped many times to both find my way and orent myself as I steped over black (volcanic?), red and green rock. I crossed some massive snowfields, that vertically stretched more than 50 feet. When I got to the summit - or just wshort of it I looked over the other sid and could see a small lake surrounded by massive majestic snoy mountains - the snow came all the way to the shores of the lak. Black, white, blue. The view from here is panoramic. I climbed higher and stood on a giant snowdrift and turned from the black and white, I turned 180 degrees to see the contrasting soft curves of the trees, green. I looked to the misty hills, to see the rivers winding through the deep forests. Two extremes and I inbetween. - white cold snow on frigid black lifeless rock; lush green brimming with life, forest. But the meltfrom the frigid apparently dead mountain snow is what gives life to the green on the other side of this frontier. on my descent, I skied on my boots, down snowfields, for fun and to cut down on the pounding of the descent.
Before I arrived in Vilches Alto I went to Talca. I sat in the bus station and got talked at by a street vendor. the first 15 minutes centred around the glory and prowess of the chilean military and the second 15 minutes, ironically was an elaborate attempt to make me believe in god!!! I tried not to get bitter but it was pretty frustrating - i didn`t bother arguing, i just smiled and said that i thought war was bad...
The bus from Santiago was better than a greyhound, took three hours and cost the equivalent of 6 canadian dollars. In contrast the bus from Talca to Vilches was a rickety old job, but comfortable nonetheless. Both busdrivers let street vendors come on the bus at stops and while loading, selling anything from icecream to crafts to tomatoes.
The rickety bus took 1.5 hours and picked up anything from old men to schol children. It is the only public transport that goes to the remote community - this was made obvious by the fact that everybody knew everybody else. As we laboured upward the paved road turned to a red mud, embedded with rocks and the driver dropped people right at their houses - permanent wood shacks, sometimes in groups, with corrugated metal roofs slapped on, surrounded by small gardens.
Well thats time for there is a whole lot more to say but it will have to wait until i come down from the volcano!

a footnote

as a continuation of my poor post (quantity not quality) I have something else to say, which I forgot. There is an old custom here related to Yerba Mate, which is a sort of tea. While we were up in el Cajon de Maipo. The three of us as well as some other climbers that were there, sat about on breaks and while belaying, and poured hot water from a thermos into the gourd full of tea leaves. The gourd is packed with the leaves and there is a metal straw that sticks in it that you suck on. You pour the hot water in, offer it to someone and they take one draw of the bitter, sharp tea until all the water is gone. You then fill it up again and pass it to the next person (hope nobody had communicable diseases!!)

I just arrived back from a little post dinner stroll about the neighbourhood. As I meandered about the tree-lined floorlit streets in this bohemian hideout I heard the sound of beautiful singing voices coming from a little house. I talked to some local girls who were standing outside and they invited me in to watch a dress rehearsal of Jesucristu Superestrella (Jesus Christ Superstar). They were apparently professionals from musical theatre school... It did not turn out however, to be particularly great, but it was a neat experience!

This is Chile

I had the opportunity to wind my way out of the smog-settled city to the mountains that always sit there in the background like a painting. I drove up into el Cajon del Maipo (Maipo is a river that tumbles and turns its way from the high Andes close by). Two guys that i met at a climbing store drove me up. I shall just say that the trad climbing that we did was not half as dangerous as Armandos driving skills. We screamed along the river valley, winding our way on narrow roads at 90-100km/h and passing lines of cars on tight corners.

As I am sure is true for most urban centres in the world, Santiagos downtown core could be any big city, although it has its own flavour and peculiarities, it is nonetheless an aglomeration of large buildings, small buildings, an almost perfect grid of one-way streets wandered each day with purpose by working chileans (both blue-collar workers and government/corporate officials). Chile has the strongest economy in Latin America as well as probably the highest standard of living. However as we distanced ourselves from the centre of what the tourist sees and the image of a developed Chile that is exported to the masses I found along the road delapitated ramshackle homesteads, frames with tediously affixed corrugated metal roofs and walls, whole families sitting by a fire that burned in their open home. All seemed to have a trade of sorts, that is they sell something to the public whether it be food or crafts, but the only thing that is certain for them, it seems, is that nothing is certain.
I fear I have been too melodramatic: this is not Bangkok slums by any stretch but it does show a side of the country, a decidedly bitter alternative to the apparently very "developed" nation (I am well aware of the baggage that this term carries but I will use it nonetheless!)

In other news two nights ago I went with six Brasilian girls to a salsa bar closeby: they all have rhythm in their blood and so did everyone at the bar. I have taken a few salsa lessons in my day but the prospect of leading, that is throwing a girl around in front of a few hundred sultry sweating dancers, brought me to a standstill, a cold sweat. But eventually I said to myself that there was nothing to lose - so I danced... for hours... I was not the greatest but my claim to fame was that I did not stand out and I did not step on anybody.

All of my Brasilian friends have left now, as well as a few Australians that I had gotten close to...that is to say that a wave has come and almost gone at the Hostel as well as in my own trajectory, my own adventure. So tomorrow I shall leave by bus for Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay about 5 hours south of Santiago. There I plan to trek for two weeks in the Andes - I just need to buy gas for my stove (which surprisingly I cannot find). Later I will head to my first small organic farm on Dec 8 to work for two weeks with the Spanish family in the foothills of the Andes.

My climbing experience as well as a free classical piano concert I went to in Plaza de Armas (the main, Europeanesque, leafy central square) have I think rounded off my stay here in Santiago and I feel ready to leave.

Until next time...

Splitting up home

Home is a relative term. Anyone who has ever been on the move knows this well. I have found time and again that relationships with human beings accelerate as we accelerate - the more we move the faster we become close to other people.
In La Chimba, the hostel I am staying in, there is a great group of people (or was). I wont get into details but some brazilian friends that i met left yesterday. It felt like we had been friends for ages- bonds form so quickly. The concept of home shifts so often in this world of jetsetters that it is like jumping on an iceflow: you perceive something solid under your feet but the medium on which it rests is a dynamic entity that flows. The solid footing is the friendship and water is movement. That is how I think of it - not bad or good just flowing. It is something that makes me appreciate the moment so much better than almost any other situation.
One final note on shifting homes is that someone here commented that these friendships that form, solidify and then melt apart with the movement of people, are void of baggage. You can never really reach a point where you are in a rut. Nothing is ever stale. sometimes it is bitter, often it is sweet but it is never stale, always interesting and new. I think ultimately that is what people search for when they travel.

On another note, I went with a guy from the hostel to the indoor climbing gym and we climbed for a few hours! the bouldering was FUCKIN hard but we climbed a bunch of routes. I talked to Bojans friend and he gave me the names of some good climbers in Santiago so im going bouldering (maybe embarrassing myself) in a few hours with them. FINALLY, some LOCALS!!

Thats it from me here today...
ciao

Sensory overload...

I´m just going to have to attempt this. I took a walk yesterday through the streets of a huge outdoor market called La Vega Central. Here there are thousands of people heaving like ant colonies, moving absolutely randomly and without direction, while at the same time maintaining purpose and flow. Its curious. The smells that come from street vendors that line the walkway/road (there is only really a virtual boarder between the two) float up from the juices of rotten vegetables and slaughtered meat that flows into the streets from warehouses and ramshackle trucks. Trucks full of onions, full of apples... wooden crates and pallettes are blocking the crawling traffic and human beings weave like willing water through and around these obstacles.

The section where artisans and clothing vendors petal their wares is like nothing i´ve ever seen - steel frames support low, slanting corrugated metal slabs that seem to be precariously perched and tied down to these frames. underneath are all manner of things. In the mess of smells and sounds and catcalls that escape into the air, boundless, there are beggars and cripples, and it is true, many smiling faces. Its really only the human spirit that allows for this to go on without complete violence and mayhem. Among the colourful fabrics that hang here and there the shrouded and sunlit faces of the haggling shoppers can be seen. Really, this is a mural of humanity and it is too much to take in...

Last night a bunch of us from the hostal went out on the town - not much to write home about, party like any other party. I finally got to sleep, after some drama with falling sick drunk people in my dorm, at about 5am. Today was a day of rest and tomorrow, well, I will write about it when it happens. Only to say that i have met many people and more than half are Brasilians.

Well thats all for now, until next time...

Strays...

I must start by explaining why i named this blog hacia la colmena. In spanish colmena is a beehive but it is also the title of a novel by spanish nobel laureate Camilo Jose Cela. It refers to the place where everything is happening, where all the world is centred for a small group of people. And dont worry, im not saying that this is the centre of the world, it is only the centre of my world for the next 8 months. Which brings me to the word hacia which means toward in spanish. So this blog is essentially an effort to bring whoever wants to go, toward what is at the centre of my world.

There are strays everywhere here...dogs, cats, people. The dilapitated buildings and the slummy sections of town that I watched go by as I was shuttled to my hostel in a van, are like memories of a painful time, but they somehow dont seem so painful now. Everything is dwarfed by the towering andes which I wont say "loom large" because thats cheesy, but they are enormous and snowy, and form a bulwark that separates this city and this country from the rest of the continent. They rise up, hazy, from the riverbed that runs into Santiago. I just returned from a walk in which i ventured down to the artsy neighborouhood. I crossed the river and looked up (it is fastflowing and very low volume, as well as very murky, likely due to all the turbulence) Through the towering highrises and the river that splits them in two, the brown and white of the arid mountains reaches far above everything, making both people and circumstances feel very small indeed.

When the girl at customs asked me if I was a climber and couldnt wipe the smile off her face, wishing me happy travels, I didnt take it as a good omen, merely a little event that make my day.
I think the dogs will be perpetually lost among these buildings and mountains, but they seem to be faring ok, scrounging whatever they can from about the streets. One final thought: Santiago feels small, and that may, in retrospect be a product of its habitat, its place of birth.
Im soaking up everything i can - (even the tap water that im drinking!)
hasta la proxima
Liam