Nobody Can Eat Fifty Eggs.

Arriving in El Chalten, the hiking capital of Argentina, the bus dropped us at our Hostel, The Ranco Grande. El Chalten is a village inside The Parque Nacional Los Glaciares and a  virtual ghost town at this time of year. Businesses were boarded up for the winter. The much grander Rancho Grande was in this condition so we were ushered to what seemed like the manager’s quarters. This cosy little place would be our abode for the night. To complete the scene the cabin came with a friendly St. Bernard  dog for company.

Donned the necessary clothing for the occasion and set of for Chorrillo del Salto, a cascade fed by Glacial run off. The gradient was easy but the conditions underfoot were mushy. The rangers had told us that two days of ‘hot’ weather had made the tracks at lower altitudes muddy.

Chorrillo del Salto

The cascade was two hours return to El Chalten. I had eased my way into it so after gauging there would be enough daylight remaining to make the trek to Lago Capri and return to the Hostel, that is where I set off for.

This track was a little more challenging but the effort was worth it. Half an hour into this walk, an opening in the escarpment, about ten meters wide, affords a view to the valley from which I had come.

I was admiring the view and fishing in my pocket for my camera when a condor glided from right to left about five meters from me. These birds are big. A three metre wing span flashing along a ten metre opening in the cliff is a spectacular and intimidating sight. I was very close to soiling my pants both on the outside and the inside as I stumbled backwards. It was only a speak when I looked through the camera’s viewfinder after regaining my composure.

The upper sections of the track had iced over so it was slow going closer to Lago Capri. Logo Capri lies in the imposing shadow of Mount Fitzroy. When I reached it I felt the sense of stillness that only solitude in nature can produce.

Mount Fitz Roy.

Frozen Lago Capri.

Returned to the village of El Chalten calm and content seeing a woodpecker pair, pecking wood. Wonderful.

Woodpecker pecking wood.

I searched the village in the evening for food but to no avail. I was resigned to the prospect of going to bed hungry when I opened the door of the hostel to see, Pierre and Vincent, French guys I had shared a room with in El Calafate, tucking into a steaming hot ham and cheese omelette, fresh bread in a basket close by and even closer, a drooling St. Bernard.

El Chalten.

Wiping my own drool, I asked, could I have what they were having? Paul Newman, playing the character of Lucas Jackson in ‘Cool Hand Luke’, ate fifty hard boiled eggs. I may have been hungry enough to eat fifty eggs but it would be hard to match the taste of just a couple of those eggs beaten and fried and eaten as if it were the last supper.   

If the Mountain won't Come to Mohammad...

To see an unconscious, limp body crash to the canvass is a disturbing sight. The action that causes it is a beautiful study in motion.

In delivering a blow, a boxer fighting in the orthodox stance, places the left foot firmly in front. The right foot is raised at the heel, placing pressure on the ball of the foot, the fighter pushes through the hips. As the muscles of the abdomen tense, the core swiftly twists the torso to launch an extending arm, on the end of which are clenched fingers forming a fist, much as the field athlete launches a javelin. Unlike the field athlete, whose target is a position farther down field that his opponent, the boxers target is his opponent’s head.

On the 25th of February, 1964 Cassius Clay defeated Sonny Liston to become the youngest boxer ever to take a title from a reigning heavyweight champion. In the rematch with Liston, which was held in May 1965 then Mohammad Ali, who had  publicly converted to Islam, won by knockout in the first minute of the first round as a result of what came to be called the "phantom punch."

Ushuaia was Ali and I was Sonny Liston. Ushuaia delivered to me the “phantom punch.” 1000 km north of Ushuaia is the small city of El Calafate. A short distance from the city is the Perito Moreno Glacier. The Glacier and I have been in an entirely different contest.

On the 6th of February, 1967 Mohammad Ali was to defend his title against Ernie Terrell. In the pre match press conference Terrell refused to acknowledge Ali’s conversion to Islam and continued to call him Cassius Clay. Ali vowed to punish him.

And punish him he did.

“During the fight, Ali kept shouting at his opponent, "What's my name, Uncle Tom ... What's my name?" Terrell suffered 15 rounds of brutal punishment, losing 13 rounds on two judges' scorecards, but Ali did not knock him out. Analysts, including several who spoke to ESPN on the sports channel's "Ali Rap" special, speculated that the fight continued only because Ali wanted to thoroughly punish and humiliate Terrell. After the fight, Tex Maule wrote, "It was a wonderful demonstration of boxing skill and a barbarous display of cruelty." When asked about this during a replay of the fight on ABC's popular "Wide World of Sports" by host Howard Cosell, Ali said he was not unduly cruel to Terrell- that boxers are paid to punch all their opponents into submission or defeat. He pointed out that if he had not hit and hurt Terrell, Terrell would have hit and hurt him, which is standard practice.”

The road from El Calafate stretches out on a wide treeless plain. On one side sits Lago Argentino, a tranquil body of water that was once the frozen Glacier that would shortly batter me senseless. On the other side of the plain, a high snow capped mountain range. The drive to Perito Moreno is just like Ali toying with Terrell. The lake calms you, the vastness of the mountain range draws away your focus. Two condors riding the currents, something is going to happen.

Then a glimpse. No it couldn’t be. The punches start to rain down. Water is supposed to move. Is it a torrent frozen in time. If I blink will it return to a ragging torrent and wash me away. Whack. ‘What’s my name…’ I don’t know how much more I can stand of this. Whack. Ship sized chunks crash into the water below. A slow grinding creak. Something has got to give.

Faced with something of this magnitude the only response is to submit to what is greater. His name is Ali and this is Perito Moreno Glacier.

 

 

Sit Back and Relax, This Could Take a While.

I am writing from the warm comfort of the Hostel Antarctica, Ushuaia, Argentina. Ushuaia is the southern most city in the world. Outside the sun is shining down on a winter wonderland. More of this later.

Since last posting the World Cup has been run and won. The Spaniards deserved the accolades of World Champions. As much as I would have hoped to be in Buenos Aires to celebrate an Argentine win, it wasn’t to be.

The day after the final I traveled by ferry (yes this counts as sea time - Benn could you ensure the appropriate paper work is lodged) to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay. The historic quarter of Colonia is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Control of the city passed back and forth between Spain and Portugal, then briefly to Brazil before the formation of Uruguay as an independent country.

Looking across the Rio De La Plata towards Buenos Aires

Coloina, Uruguay.

Colonia, Uruguay.

Despite its charms, my primary purpose for going there was to renew my 90 day tourist visa for Argentina. It is possible to pay a fee for renewal but it is more than the cost of the day to Colonia.

This done the next day was for goodbyes. Giselle, Alicia, Alejandro, Martin, Marcos and Vanessa at Café Origen, where I spent the majority of my time outside the Hostel, my last day coffees were on the house. Dennis, Natalia, Andrea, Armando and Chicho at the Parrilla. Rosario, Alejandro, Maria, Elva, Alfonso and Adi from the Hostel Carlos Gardel.

By midday of the next day I was I was high above Buenos Aires bound for the city at the end of the world.

Ushuaia spreads out on a bank of the Beagle Channel. The backdrop for the city is the Martial Mountain Range. Down here it is as if someone used geology as their plaything, they thought to themselves, let’s just see what we can do.

During the winter the days are short. I arrived in the afternoon and after settling in at the Hostel I did not have time to fully appreciate where I was. The evening I spent arranging passage to Cerro Castor, the ski field 30 kms from Ushuaia, where I would spend the next five days snowboarding.

For these five days I did little more than rise in time to have breakfast and catch the bus to the mountain at 9am when the sun was just starting to reveal itself. I tore up the mountain, and a few parts of my body, then returned to hostel each night with enough energy to cook a meal then fall into bed to recharge for the next day.

It is hard to find superlatives for this place. Any day is good when traveling. No work, at no one’s beck and call, as free as a bird. Good is the starting point. Add to this extraordinary scenery and a mountain to slide around and you can find the adjectives.

I may not be able to find the words but I have become accustomed to the feeling I get when I am somewhere special. It is a feeling that I don’t deserve to be where I am, I don’t deserve to be seeing what I am seeing. This is the feeling I had each time I rode the chairlift back up Cerro Castor.

In awe. Do I really deserve to be here?

Sink or Swim

This evening I had the pleasure of observing Argentine Roadside Assistance. The equivalent of our state motoring bodies (RACQ, NRMA, RACV etc) the objective is the same - to coax reluctant cars to start.

I am as familiar with the workings of the combustion engine as I am with advanced quantum mechanics, that is, I can pronounce the words. Hand me a ring spanner and I would be as likely to assemble a carburetor as I would to build the Large Hadron Collider.

I am told there is a certain satisfaction in ‘doing it yourself’. Some would even go so far as to say that you are less a man if you have to call for help.

It is not that I think the concepts are beyond me, it is more a question of probability. The time I would invest in understanding a car and the likelihood I would have the right tools or parts should a breakdown occur are significant. The fact I have owned or driven some real clunkers in my time still has not been enough of an incentive.

This is not isolated to vehicle maintenance. I am not proactive. I would prefer to be confronted with a problem than prepare for something that may not occur.

This explains why travel appeals to me. You are confronted with unfamiliar situations daily, if not hourly, for which there is no manual.

When the guy from the automobile club started the car he proceeded to explain what was wrong and how he fixed it. I could tell that the nodding heads of the two guys peering into the engine bay were not in recognition but satisfaction that the car started and they could be on their way.

I nodded in agreement.

Your input is required.

My usage of Spanish is still rudimentary but during my time here in Buenos Aires I have been exposed to a full vocabulary. I can understand words and phrases that are commonly used. Being able to follow a conversation is still a long way away.

Up until yesterday I had not registered the term ‘dar’ meaning - give. I think it is used in conjunction with ‘en’ meaning - to. Phonetically the term I hear is more akin to ’dali’.

I have asked Spanish speakers if it is commonly used and they tell me it is very common. I am perplexed by the fact that up until yesterday I had not registered its use.

Is it true that we hear only what we want to ?

In the spirit of Aristotle’s ‘aim of studying ethics is not the acquisition of knowledge about action but action itself - we read Ethics, not in order to know what good men are like, but in order to act as good men do.’ I would like to be told the things I may not want to hear.

If there is something in the way I behave that you think I could improve I would like to be told. If required be brutally honest. This is a quest to be a better person.

The Wheel of Fortune

This notice was placed in the kitchen of the Hostel Carlos Gardel today by Juliette and Michelle, two young ladies from France.

They arrived in Buenos Aires the day before this notice was placed, the beginning of a two month journey.

Full of the spirit of adventure they set off to see La Boca. La Boca is notorious. All advice to travellers is to remain in one small area called, Caminito and should you wander from there the police usurer the unwary back to the Caminito.

I have been there several times and nothing untoward has happened. In fact if people I meet are reluctant to go there I offer an escort. I have become complacent and I was of the opinion that La Boca’s reputation was unwarranted.

Juilette and Michelle were stopped by three men and had their backpacks physically removed and then stolen but did not suffer any injuries. Their backpacks contained their passports, credit cards, cameras and guidebooks. All the eggs were in one basket. No assistance was offered by passers by.

At the same time this was happening I was in The Walrus Bookstore. I happened upon a copy of Aristotle’s Ethics. The last time I held a copy of this work was 14 years ago. I was in the ski village of Spindleruv Myln and had been told by Stepunka of her interest in Philosophy. Although I cherished the book, it was littered with my comments and passages of note, I didn’t hesitate in offering it to her.

Libor and Stepunka, were a couple that I met on the bus to the ski fields. They accommodated me on the mountain, entertained me, taught me how to snowboard on equipment from their shop and when it was time for me to leave, handed me a set of keys to their apartment in Prague where I stayed for a month.

It sounds fanciful but their generosity was extraordinary. The impression stays with me now and will for a long time to come.

In Aristotle’s words, ‘…the characteristic aim of studying ethics is not the acquisition of knowledge about action but action itself - we read Ethics, not in order to know what good men are like, but in order to act as good men do.’

In the pursuit of happiness Aristotle says, ‘By common consent the beginning is almost half the whole task.’ An eastern proverb may put it as, ‘every journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.’

Travel has its pitfalls and rewards. I have found this book again or it has found me but not by chance.

‘That the most important and finest thing of all [happiness] should be left to chance would be a gross disharmony.’ Aristotle.