I would like to thank this statue for allowing me to be here

I owe the chance to live and work in Chile to the foot on this statue. I touched it three years ago when I was here, and guess what? I’m back. According to legend, travelers that touch — or kiss — the toe of the Ona man on the statue in Punta Arenas’ central plaza will someday return to Patagonia. The statue was commissioned by wool baron José Menéndez in 1920 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Portuguese navigator Hernando de Magallanes’ discovery of the Strait of Magellan.

I touched the toe again last Saturday, which means… maybe I should open a bank account here.

Thanksgiving in Patagonia

Cranberries are next to impossible to find in Patagonia. Gabriel and I hunted/gathered at three separate grocery stores on Thanksgiving and finally had to give up on the idea of cranberry sauce to accompany our turkey parts (turkey, too, is difficult to find). But we did manage an otherwise delicious feast to celebrate the day the Pilgrims and the Indians sat down together at a table and shared a bursting cornucopia, despite their differing hat preferences (square buckle/feathers).

It was comforting to celebrate ye old American holiday all the way down here in Patagonia, to eat semi-accurate renditions of the dishes my mom puts on the table back in North Carolina. We whipped up the feast in the kitchen of Gabriel’s apartment and partook of it with Gabriel’s girlfriend Gloria, who was born and raised in Chile but more than willing to help us celebrate the all-American holiday.

Gabriel preparing to peel apples for the stuffing

Here’s what was on the menu: • Turkey parts (with, ummm, butter, salt, rosemary and whatever else I found in Gabriel’s cabinet. Failed to look that one up on epicurean.com beforehand.) • Sausage, apple and cranberry stuffing (minus the cranberries, sage and cooked turkey liver, which Abu Gosch grocery does not carry). This was the definite highlight of the meal for me, which is why I had 2-3 servings. • Cornbread, with tiny bits of green pepper baked inside • Carrots, cucumber and celery salad • Instant mashed potatoes, remembered last minute, purchased at the corner store across the street 10 minutes before the plates hit the table. As we clinked glasses of sparkling apple cider, we took a minute to give thanks for what we have. For me, that includes the chance to be in a place that doesn’t have cranberries, whole turkeys and the other trappings of a culture I already know.

Go ahead, take a sip. Everybody's doing it.

I’ve heard enough horror stories to reject any water taken straight from the creek. I’ve had friends incapacitated for days on end by the giardia bug that rejects, projectile-style, any food or drink that dares enter the body. ‘Purify, purify, purify’ has been pounded into my head during so many backpacking trips and outdoor leadership training sessions that I can fix a broken water filter with my eyes closed. That’s why, when a friend assured me on a hike that Paine water is safe from it’s source, my first reaction was ‘Whaaa? No way! That goes against everything I stand for!’

But, as I stood in front of a mountain waterfall sipping a Nalgene of water taken from the bathroom sink at work, I grew tempted by the clear, cool H2O flowing by my feet.

Then, I did something unthinkable. I poured out my carefully chlorinated sink water, submersed my bottle in the creek until no more bubbles rose to the surface — and, without taking any precautions whatsoever, took several long, deep gulps.

After that, I waited. I waited through the afternoon and evening and into the next three weeks for some sign that what I had done was a really, really bad idea. But a sign never came.

My conclusion: Paine water really is safe to drink from its source. And, it’s damn delicious.

All quiet on the Southern front

A 7.7-magnitude earthquake rattled the desert 780 miles north of Santiago yesterday morning, but we felt nothing down south in Torres del Paine. While the plates shifted under Chile’s second region, injuring hundreds and killing at least two, they remained really quite still under its twelfth. Oblivious to the news, the people in Paine appreciated blue skies behind the often-clouded rock towers and thought to themselves, ‘I wish those damn gulls would quit their squawking.’ Now, as Navy seals unearth the laborers trapped in a collapsed highway tunnel and relief workers hand out food to those left homeless by the quake, the people of Paine check the news, but strap on their boots and hit the trails anyway.

The advent of the bicycle in Torres del Paine

Las Torres hotel took a bold first step in creating a mountain biking program: they bought the bikes. Two guides and I agreed to sample the merchandise for company photographer Gabriel Ortega, who needed some pictures for marketing material we’ll put out soon. We three did our best to look like bad asses as we rolled over the trail toward Laguna Inge and Los Cuernos: We took downhills extra fast and splashed extra big as we rode through streams that crossed the trail.

Though the hotel has not yet decided which routes it will open to the bikes, the terrain we rode that day was ideal for biking: smooth, fast and in the shadow of some incredible snow-capped mountains. Give me a bicycle, and I'll sample it anytime.

Photo by Gabriel Ortega

Un cumpleaños feliz!

I hiked up to Refugio Chileno on Nov. 5 with a dozen eggs in the top of my backpack and down on the 6th with an apricot cake to share. My roommate Alejandra radioed the folks at Chileno the day of my hike to let them know it was my 27th birthday, and I must say, the folks at Chileno did me right. A 'Happy Birthday' sign, printed in box letters on sheets of graph paper, greeted me above the hiker hostel's entrance. Pato, the gregarious hostel jefe, led the dining room of guests in a 'Happy Birthday' song after dinner. And after the dishes were clean and the guests tucked into their bunk beds, Freddy combined those eggs with flour, sugar and fruit, and we all ate the result. Mmm, mmm, good!

There's no 'I' in team

Here’s my itinerary on a recent morning:1. Pack a gourd with yerba mate, a traditional Chilean tea that, in a very ritualistic manner, is infused with hot water and passed among a group of people who take turns sipping it through a metal straw, or bombilla 2. Saddle a horse. 3. Help a compañero run from one point to another holding a shrieking piglet by the forearms 4. Split firewood and light a fire 5. Clean a bathroom 6. Pitch a tent, taking into account the wind that’s blowing in from the northwest Ok, I’ll admit. That’s not a typical morning for me here. It was actually a teambuilding exercise for some of Fantastico Sur’s employees. I learned a lot about the jobs other people — the gauchos (cowboys) and the maintenance staff — have around the hostería property, how to pack a gourd of matte, oh, and how to work as a team.

My team:

Quick, before it melts!

I almost touched a glacier yesterday, but I couldn’t reach it because it’s rained a lot recently, and the river in front of it was too wide to cross without getting swept away and possibly drowning in ice-cold runoff. But I got really close — and by that, I mean 25 meters close. To a glacier.

The glaciers in Torres del Paine National Park are among the most accessible in the world. You can strap on crampons and hike across the top of Glaciar Grey, a 26 kilometer long finger of South Patagonian ice field. Or you can settle into a kayak and paddle up to the ice mass’ base. In a world of rapidly receding glaciers, that’s pretty rare.

Here’s a brief history of the park’s ice: The Earth’s plates shifted in this area about 12,000 years ago, thrusting the once horizontal layers of sedimentary rock out of the ground and into the air. Then it snowed and it snowed, and rather than melting like it’s known to do, the snow compacted into glaciers. The glaciers advanced, mostly during the Pleistocene era, eroding away at the uplifted rock, carving the dramatic formations this park is known for. Several of those same glaciers still remain, but are receding at between four and 10 meters each year. That means I’d better touch, walk on or otherwise experience the glaciers here quickly, before they're gone.

Check out pictures, like the one below of Los Cuernos, from my hike up Valle Frances.

I need broccoli

After two weeks straight of eating red meat and potatoes in the staff mess hall, I had three free days in a row, which meant … VEGETABLES! I took a bus to Puerto Natales and camped out for about two hours at Concepto Indigo, this chic restaurant/hotel overlooking Seno Ultima Esperanza, or Last Hope Sound. Unlike a lot of Puerto Natales, which is pretty utilitarian, the restaurant is very sleek and modern: Hardwood floors and white walls, cylindrical lamps hanging over the tables, rows of low brown couches accented with bright-colored pillows. It's the perfect haven for someone who wants a bit of pampering. I arrived early and just kept eating. To start: A shot-glass-sized cup of coffee, accompanied by four slivers of cake (They don’t really ‘do’ coffee in Chile. The instant stuffis about all you can find anywhere.)

Then, to warm up for real: A salad topped with smoked salmon, carrot and apple slivers, fried cheese squares and dressing

Third, and mainly: Polenta, topped with skewers of grilled mushrooms, peppers, onions and tomatoes. A wine-flavored paste on the side. And to finish, with a bang: Two brownie domes filled with liquid chocolate and accompanied by berry ice cream. I accidentally spent $27 on the meal (it’s amazing how those Chilean pesos get away from you when there’s good food involved). But you know what? It was worth it, because tonight, it’s back to meat and potatoes.

A night out

The trail to Refugio Chileno climbs the side of the snow-capped Almirante Nieto and enters Valle Ascencio at Paso de los Vientos, or the Windy Pass. As soon as you round the corner into the valley, you have to brace yourself against the powerful gusts that, if blowing in the right (or wrong) direction, could knock you off the exposed mountainside and into the thundering river below. After a long day of work, I started the hike with John, an American in the park to help with trail maintenance, as the sun was setting on Saturday. I was eager to get out of the office and into the park, if even for a few hours.

The climb up the side of Almirante Nieto was tough on my calves, especially since John is 6’8’’ and takes half the mountain in a stride. But once we entered the river valley, we saw the Torres del Paine, the trio of towers that gave the park its name, in the V formed in the distance by the valley walls. They served as an excellent reason to keep walking forward.

We reached Refugio Chileno around 9 p.m., about an hour and a half after we started. The hiker hostel sits on the opposite side of the river from the trail approaching it. It’s a wooden building with a windowed dining room, bathrooms with showers and about six bedrooms packed with 2- to 3-story bunk beds.

We took off our boots on the stone front porch and padded inside to meet Christian Morales, who was already there, two visitors from Germany and the refugio staff.

After a dinner of garlic rice, lamb and fried potato wedges, Pato, the refugio’s manager, taught us some Chilean slang. Patagonia has more regionalisms than I’ve ever heard before and the slang changes fast, which might explain why people can be so tough to understand. Rest assured, I can now say “Que rica cola” (“What a nice ass!”) and “Ella es como quieres” (“She’s hot!!!”) like a pro.

Refugio Chileno has a good feel to it. I think it might be my favorite of Fantástico Sur’s hiker hostels because it seems the most comfortable and laid back. At night, gas lamps mounted on the walls cast a warm glow about the dining room and a wood-burning stove heats it against the wind howling outside. The staff usually plays music over an old CD player and is quick to share bits of their culture or invite you to a game of chess (which, by the way, I lost tragically. To quote my opponent, Freddy, as he points to the pieces he’s taken: “I have a cemetery over here!”)

I slept a few hours in one of the bunks and arose for toast and eggs the next morning. Then, I hiked out of the valley and into the office for another day of work.

Day at the office

I did not break out in hives today, as was expected. I survived a 2.5-hour horseback ride without any symptoms that would tempt me to shove an Epinepherine pin into my thigh. My throat didn’t itch, my eyes didn’t run. I didn’t even sneeze more than the normal amount. I joined Christian on a journey from home base to Refugio Cuernos, the hiker hostel 12 km east of here. His purpose was to entertain a business consultant; my purpose was to see the refugio in order to write about it later; and the purpose of the pair who shuttled us there and back was to re-supply the refugio with two cases of Cabernet Sauvignon, six cases of juice mix and two cases of hot chocolate.

To get there, we took a Zodiac boat across Lake Nordenskjold, whose water is the color of the weathered, translucent Coke bottle pieces you find on the beach sometimes. The rocky hills on the opposite shore, muted gray figures, stood out starkly against the white, raining sky. It was a cold trip, and I couldn’t effectively tighten the drawstring to my raincoat hood with my glove shells on, but that didn’t matter. The scenery was beautiful.

We took our boots off in the front entryway of Refugio Cuernos and padded inside to dry off by the wood-burning stove. The refugio employees served us a hot lunch — bread, a bowl of bean, pasta and sausage stew and tea to finish — and we — rather, they — talked business. I listened in and out and nodded some.

Afterward, one of our shuttlers decided the water was too choppy for a safe return via Zodiac. While a few hombres returned to Las Torres for horses, I learned how to play the Chilean card game Quince with Ricardo, a refugio employee on his day off, and another refugio guest. (Should I blame the language barrier on my inability to add to 15?) Though I was never clear on how to score the game, I think I ended up winning.

I was pretty happy to get the horse named Gata (Cat) and not the one named Sin Corazón (Without Heart). As you might guess, I am no expert at riding on horseback, but during our ride home, I gained a great appreciation for horse judgment. ‘You think your hoof will hold on this wet rock? ... Okaaaaay....’ We were always fine.

After I grew accustomed to the feel of the horse body below me, I began to enjoy the ride, which took us over rolling, rocky terrain through Nothofagus forests (I think it’s basically deciduous beech). It snowed some, it rained. We forded a couple of rivers of glacial runoff. I rode a cantering horse without screaming. The view of Lake Nordenskold to our right, the gray hills on its opposite shore and the snow-capped Andes Mountains in the distance, basking in the only sunlight anywhere, was absolutely stunning. While I imagine most of my working days won’t be as spectacular and will probably consist of sitting in an office in front of a computer, I can only hope for exceptions like today.

Hold onto your lugnuts

The wind blew so hard today that I walked to work at a 45-degree angle, with tears blowing out of my eyes and spit blowing out my mouth. Cyclones of dust rose from the ground and hit me in the face at periodic intervals, and I got blown off of my path and into incoming traffic more than once. I learned later the wind velocities reached around 80 miles per hour — and as I sit on my bed ten hours after that walk to work, I can still hear them rushing against the sides of my house. The people here are not nearly as alarmed as I am about this situation. As a matter of course, buildings are constructed to withstand 200 km winds and in towns like Punta Arenas, the central plaza contains rope fences for people to grab onto during especially gusty weather. On days like today, when walking to work sends me into helpless hysterics, Patagons simply zip up their windbreakers and say, “Es normal.”