Colombia

I spent September and October travelling around Colombia. I nearly didn't go there, because I'd read an independent travellers website before I left which pretty much said that every country in the world is safe to visit, except Colombia. However, I got a very different story from anyone I met on my journey who had already been to Colombia. They all said it was safe, and worth the effort. They weren't wrong.

I had planned to dose on my bus ride in to the country, but the road from the Ecuador border, winding it's way through wide lush green valleys, with the evening sun adding some magic to the colours, was absolutely outstanding. Had I known of its beauty I would have planned to spend more time there. I had other plans - I headed to Cali, the salsa capital of the world. Almost. It was pretty lively from Thurs to Saturday, but fairly tame the rest of the time. So I danced some salsa. It was a mixed bag. I had a dance with this attractive chick who was a good dancer - but she never looked at me or smiled throughout the entire track. Thus it was one of my least favourite dances. And I had plenty of dances which I really enjoyed with a lot of other different people, who did smile. A smile is so important and so simple - why look so miserable?

Travelling is all about doing the unexpected. So I learned to paraglide. It was a two week course, set up in the mountains of Santander, towards the border with Venezuela. The first three days I spent on the ground, learning, playing with the wing, watching training videos, watching the others fly, getting the take off skills up to scratch without taking off, learning the theory of landing. Day 4 I had to run off a cliff. So run off it I did. In front of the take off site, the ground drops away sharply - there are some bushes, small trees, rocks, and beneath that a concrete road. For the first few seconds of taking off, you feel like you are sinking rapidly towards all of this, and then the glide takes you - you stop losing height and you surge forward. You pull yourself in to your harness, look towards the landing zone, knowing it'll take you about 4 minutes to get there, and you try to relax. Your heart is beating like crazy, your hands - holding the controls - are shaking; you're trying to fly straight, but the odd bit of turbulence pulls you up down left and right. You feel insecure in your seat. And then you're in front of the landing zone. You have to lose a little more height, but the tall trees on either side of the field are frighteningly close. As are the cows in the field - can't they move to the edge out of the way? I near the trees on the left and pull hard right, I near the trees on the right and pull hard left, I reach the middle of the field, pull gently right, straighten myself, and put my feet down ready for landing. Flare. Touch down. I'm alive!

As the two weeks rolled by, my number of flights and time in the air grew rapidly, and I became comfortable with these sensations. I learned to feel comfortable near the trees, I learned to judge my height and speed, look at the wind socks, enjoy the views and flying amongst the birds, soar in thermals, soar along the ridges, land more gently and more controlled, spin 360s. I learned a lot.

It wasn't all plane sailing: on my second flight I struggled to get out of my seat for landing, only managing on my 3rd attempt when I was only 3 feet above the ground; on my penultimate flight my confidence got the better of me when I tried to ridge soar with no wind - I had to do an emergency landing in a gap in the trees in the fading light on the side of the mountain; on one takeoff my wing didn't inflate fully so I lost height rapidly and dragged myself through the bushes before the glider righted itself. Heart fluttering moments, but moments that I cherish.

I enjoyed a lot more of Colombia - the picturesque villages of Villa de Leyva and Barichara, exploring the coffee region around Salento, the white sands of the Caribbean coasts, the blue crabs, bbq pizza and a jam session at a hostel in Taganga, the walled city of Cartagena, the salsa night and the Botero museum in Medellin. My very favourite place though, in the whole of Colombia, in the whole of South America, was Lake Guatapé. The hostel was right on the side of the lake - every morning I would go out for a swim then come back for breakfast. I would spend a few hours doing some research on the web, then I would go for an afternoon walk through the pleasant countryside. I would do some more research in the afternoon and socialise a bit in the evenings. The hostel was an eco hostel - recycling, using local resources, fairly efficient. The place was like paradise. It's almost how I fantasize my life to be. The only thing I would add is the ability to dance blues all night long. That would make it perfect.

Love theme Blues

I was eating a lasagna alone at a café Tuesday night when the love theme to Top Gun came on. It gave me the blues. A woman to hold, to talk about our days,  to snuggle on the sofa, to sense each other's moods, to just know so much about each other. And to share - a glass of wine, this travel experience, our dreams and fantasies, life. To share life.

I went to the climbing gym Wednesday, and they had some dance music on - western dance music, not salsa. It fills you with energy - makes you want to climb really hard.

And I went to watch Chicago el Musical on Thursday night. It was all in Spanish so I could only understand  parts of it, but it was really entertaining. Anyway, the music - particularly "All that Jazz" - brought back so many good memories for me of nights dancing away to jazz and swing.

I love the power of music to bring out these emotions.

"To invent you need a good imagination and a pile of junk" Thomas Edison

Today we visited Café la Huila, the coffee shop of a friend. She set it up with a few friends with a budget of close to zero. The food was really good, but it was the decor that I loved. The bar consisted of three metal barrels with a glass top. The tables were made out of rolled up magazines; chandeliers made from plastic bottles stuffed with sweet wrappers; chairs made from egg cartons. As I'm writing this it sounds like junk - but it wasn't - it looked really good. I think about the hundreds of thousands of pounds spent on decorating classy cafes, and I compare it to this cozy joint - made from waste and ingenuity.

Seed and Poetry Festival

A part of our course was to do with seeds - these are vitally important for organic agriculture. Well, we were told about this "Seed festival" which was in a convenient location on the way back to Quito, so I went there with two friends. It's in a community house called  "Casa de las Abuelas" (The house of the grandmas), on the banks of Rio Caña. A stunning location - lush green vegetation, fast flowing river, far from the nearest city. It started for us in the mid afternoon with a play which included music and dancing - including grabbing people from the crowd. 

Then we had a sing-along - a beautiful melody "El río va fluyendo, hacia el mar" (the river is flowing, into the sea). Then there was a break in the entertainment, so we went for a swim in the river. A man on a horse decided to join us. Later in the evening, we saw some traditional dances performed by kids, then a brilliant contemporary dance performance by three teenage lads involving fire and juggling. There were some short videos on the importance of water and the problems of water in the world. Watch "Abuela Grillo" (grandmother cricket) it's a great animation - no Spanish required - it's loosely based on the privatisation of water in Bolivia and the subsequent riots when too many people didn't have a reliable supply of water. Perhaps the best bit of the evening was the poetry conversation - where a man and woman speak to each other in verse - all completely improvised. I couldn't follow much of the Spanish, but the rhymes were good and there were squeals of laughter and appreciation from the audience. The salsa dancing went on until late and was followed by a bonfire by the river which lasted until dawn.

The end of the course - passion for change

We've come to the end of the course - it has absolutely flown by. Living here on the farm as part of the community has been really good - helping out with the chores, working , learning, sharing social time. It's similar to the HotRock experience where we took it  in turn to cook, and otherwise helped out with any chores that needed doing. Here at the farm it has been easier to find quiet time, comfort, privacy - that was harder whilst camping with the HotRock truck. I think back to my living as a single man in a one man flat in a city. I loved the flat, the location, the control and the personal space. What I didn't love as much was always doing the same chores, always cooking for just one person - I particularly disliked the washing up. I had friend's nearby, I had the dance community and the Couchsurfing community - but I didn't have a neighbourhood community. I think that's important - someone to share meals with, someone to just drop in on when you need company. We had that as kids, growing up in the country where neighbours all know each other. But not in the city. I want to live in a city, and I want to be a part of a neighbourhood community.

I've learned so much at Rio Muchacho and really enjoyed it. The people here are brilliant - the people who own the place, the local workers, the volunteers and others on the course. It's a fun loving crowd with a good respect for nature. The teachers here have talked of many subjects  - but they are all related - they're all connected to a simplicity of life, a focus on happiness. And the people here are happy. They aren't wealthy, but they are healthy and they enjoy life. They talk of change and a better world. It's great to hear the passion with which they talk. I've always joked about not wanting to be labelled as an "accountant", that I want to be a "future business leader" that I want to rule the world or change the world. These jokes have a lot of truth in them - I've just never quite found my niche to bring these thoughts to fruition. But I am getting there now. I'm getting together the knowledge, the passion, and the direction that I need to help change the world for the better.  Vamos - Let's go.

They call it puppy love

There are four female dogs at this farm. As it happens, three of them are on heat. And that means that we have the male dogs from the entire neighbourhood constantly hanging around the farm. The fighting is horrendous. They are always kicking off on each other - the girls included. Throughout the night, we are kept awake by the sound of foreplay and fighting. In the mornings we can see new wounds on the ears and faces of the dogs. It's pretty grim. There are amusing moments as well - like when two of them got stuck together, or when the tiny male tries getting it on with girl who's twice his height - he is stood on tiptoe and jumping up like a pogo stick.

The bee day

Today was bee day - we learned a lot about bees, their behaviours and functions. And then we went to the bee hives. We didn't have enough protective suits to go around so half the group dressed up whilst the other half kept their distance. We were taught about how these bees are normally fairly placid so long as you don't scare them. So move calmly, be calm, and don't, whatever you do, bang on their hive. This is where it all went a little bit pear shaped: our bee teacher tripped over a log and crashed straight in to one of the hives. Within moments the bees flew out of their hives and aggressively surrounded all of the people close by. These people later reported that they could see the bees trying to sting them through the wire mesh in front of their faces. Scary. 

I wasn't wearing protection, and I was fairly close when the first shouts came that the bees were in a very foul mood. So I started to move away with the others. One bee did land in my hair which caused me to do some erratic rain dance to try to get rid of it with out annoying it any further. We legged it away from the hive and back to the farm. The people in the suits had to get away from the hives and then wait - they couldn't come back to the farm in case they brought all of the bees with them. The total injury count was light. One guy got 5 stings on his hands and another got one on his neck and on one hand. The bee keeper, who wasn't even wearing gloves, was completely unaffected - clearly he's got the right pheromones going on.

Rio Muchacho organic farm and school of the environment

The second main stage of my travels is a stay at the Rio Muchacho organic farm in Ecuador. I’m studying a “Permaculture” course for four weeks. Both the course itself and life on the farm are having a profound effect on me. I originally thought that permaculture was just an agricultural method of living in harmony with the land. But it’s much more than that. It’s about architecture of your house and gardens, of a town or city, of getting the balance of life right, of being part of a community. I’ve had many of these concepts floating around in my head for the last few years, and now I find myself on this course which concurs with many of my own thoughts and conclusions. I find it very inspiring.

We have a healthy lifestyle here. The day begins at 6:30 with sweeping out the animal pens and then feeding them. It’s about half an hour’s exercise before breakfast which will be a bowl of fruit with granola and some bread. We’ll take it in turns to wash up for everyone, and then the classes (which can be quite physical) go until 4:30 with a stop for lunch at 12. This is the big meal of the day, with soup before the main course of rice, salad and some vegetarian sauce, occasionally with fish. We’re then free till 6pm dinner – I’ll fill that time with some exercise on my balcony and then some further reading.

The vegetables are organic, the bread is home baked, the teas are brewed from cardamom, pineapple, camomile or something else grown in the garden here. We’ll try to chat Spanish around the dinner table (the classes are taught in English). In the evening we will watch a video related to permaculture.

On Wednesdays we have a cultural day, where we are taught about local customs, beliefs and institutions. This is taught to us in nice slow clear Spanish by Dario, the co-owner of the farm – I always surprise myself with how much I can understand. This is in sharp contrast to the locals who work on the farm – they have very colloquial Spanish which is so hard to comprehend.

In our free time, we have fished for shrimp on the river, swam in the river, climbed up the waterfall and jumped back in, walked bare foot down the road, feeling the mud squelching between my toes, shared my living space with a beast of a spider (we’ve set down some rules – she doesn’t come within 6 inches of the bed, and I’ll try not to kick her whilst I’m sleeping – she hasn’t broken the rules yet, but she walks a fine line), climbed an awesome tree and, last but not least, visited the environmental primary school (more on that later). We've visited the local paper recycling "factory". This is essentially one room with lots of paper, a shredder, some water, and some biodegradable glue. I turned some trash paper into usable paper - and we all had a go at turning this paper into bookmarks or greetings cards. It is an amazingly simple process - I often think about how we over complicate so many things that really don't need to be complicated at all.
We spend the weekends in the beach resort village of Canoa where we surf in the day and dance on the beach at night – some kind of Salsa fusion dancing.

Every day I'm exercising my mind and body, feeling inspiration all around me and feeling excitement for the future, as well as appreciating the now.

School of the Environment

Government school

The local primary schools around here are few and far between - some kids don't even go to school. The  government schools  that do exist are ugly and basic - they  have four concrete walls and bars over the  doors and windows. That’s about the extent  of the school. Dario and Nicola, the owners of the  permaculture farm, have set up an alternative school. This is made out of  bamboo, like most buildings  around here. It doesn't have walls to keep the kids in, just a roof to keep the rain off. 

Environmental school

There are only four teachers for seven age groups, so several age groups are taught the same subject at  the same time, but at  different levels within one class. They all do physical exercise before classes start  every day, they cover the same syllabus as  the government school, but they also have a heavy focus on the environment. They are taught permaculture methods of  farming, how to recognise trees and plants, what is good for eating and where their food comes from. They have fruit trees  and veg gardens in the school, and they get to visit the farm once a week and other farms or schools once a month. Most of  this  is paid for by the contribution of volunteers on the farm.

This has been going for about 15 years now, and the kids who graduate from this school compare  favourably with those at  the government school, they are also generally fitter and have knowledge of and respect for Mother Earth - Pachamama or  Madre Tierra as it is known around here. Some former kids now work at the farm whilst others go  to college in a town 20km from here.

It's so good to see that two people have spotted a problem with their society and have gone about making it better (and  doing it very successfully in my opinion). I think about the Conservative's notion of  Big Society in Britain and wonder if  something like this will ever happen back home. I truly hope so. 

Climbing ends, salsa begins

The HotRock climbing tour has come to an end for me. I´m now spending a few days in Quito to sort myself out before starting the next leg of my travels which is an organic agriculture and sustainability course on the coast of Ecuador. Meanwhile I´m intensively learning salsa in Quito - let´s see how that pans out.

So it´s time to reflect on what I have enjoyed, disliked and learned over the last 5 months.

I love the great outdoors - mother nature´s finest. I went for another walk by myself the other day - this time up a volcano, though I didn´t get anywhere near the top. I loved the beauty of the place and the physical nature of the walk. But there was something else that made me enjoy this walk - I had my MP3 on shuffle and I listened to good track after good track throughout the whole of the walk - it just made me feel so good. I was walking down a canyon and just as I approached the top of a waterfall a Faithless track which I love came on. So I stood on the top of a boulder at the top of this waterfall and danced to the whole track - it was awesome. I like this saying - "dance like nobody´s watching". Well, there was noboy else for miles around so I really was dancing just for me and I loved it.

Another thing I love is bivvying out. Literally just a sleeping bag outside - no tent. It feels so nice. The stars are hanging over your head throughout the night. You wake up to the pre dawn light. It´s a beautiful feeling that lasts with you throughout the day. Closely connected to this is an early morning swim. I love swimming outside at anytime, but waking up and dropping straight in to the ocean is so special and infinitely better than a morning shower. I have really vivid memories of similar experiences with a swimming pool at a friend´s house in Spain and a fresh water lake in Portugal.

At this beach spot there were some Australians living in the house next door. The location was beautiful but so remote. They talked to us for hours - I guess that they get to enjoy their ocean views every day, but don´t get much in the way of company. Much as I´m an outdoors person, and much as I appreicate my own time and space - I know that I couldn´t live in such isolation.

Dancing for me is a big part of my life, and it is very natural - just letting your body flow with the rhythym of the music. Going to bed just after dusk and getting up at dawn also feels very natural to me. Yet these don´t go together. Dancing is predominantly a nighttime activity - it just feels better that way. I guess I´ll have to find the balance between these two things.

A final thing that made me laugh the other day. I walked by a funeral home and it advertised a "permanent service". Perhaps death is only a temporary concept over here.

House building

Yesterday we built our ideal homes out of cob. This is something that I've given a lot of thought to over the last few years - building a sustainable home. We've covered landscape and building architecture in this course, which is what led us to building our homes yesterday. Mine was a round design, with a glasshouse to catch the morning sun on the east side, adjoined to the kitchen. Large windows and patio doors open on the south side, overlooking a pond/natural pool. And a door on the west side leads on to the dance floor (for the late night Blues and Tango). There will be a circular wood burner and stove in the middle of the room with a bench around it for eating. It will be built out of cob and crafted by hand. Natural, breathable, warm. Awesome. Can't wait to get started for real.

Balance

There was a definite change in atmosphere on the truck after about 10 weeks. It's hard to pinpoint what caused this change. Some people had been on the truck for 10 weeks, some for 20 and some for only 2. We'd gone from the generally warm climates of Argentina and Brazil to the beauty but bleakness of the Andes. Both the altitude and the coldness were having an impact on us. We were also travelling further north and further into winter and so the days were getting shorter. Much shorter. Perhaps SAD (seasonal affectiveness disorder) was also affecting the group.

It's kind of natural to go to bed shortly after dark and to get up at sunrise. Now we were sheltering in our tents until well after sunrise, waiting for either the breakfast gong or for some general warmth in the atmosphere outside. Some motivation to get out of bed was required. Whereas previously we had stayed up in the evenings a while after dinner, entertaining ourselves with dance lessons, bridge playing, slacklining (more balance required), learning spanish, or drinking and chatting, we now scampered to our sleeping bags immediately after dinner. So we ended up spending up to twelve hours in bed - this can't be healthy.

This new pattern and atmosphere began in Tuzgle which is beyond doubt the coldest and windiest place we've been, but it has stayed with us even through milder climates. There is one other factor it could be, and that is sickness. We'd never had much sickness on the truck throughout Chile, Argentina and Brazil, but throughout Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador there's been at least one or two people ill at any one time. I've been sick a few times, and am certainly sick of being sick. Most times when you are sick you start to think about being in more comfortable places, mostly back in England. Hatun Machay was the one exception - I was sick but still so happy to be there.

I went through a phase of thinking about life after HotRock. Perhaps 10 weeks of this lifestyle was enough for me - I equate 10 weeks with a university term, and maybe there is something about that period of time that fits with our natural cycles. Having said that, I've had a second wind where my climbing enthusiasm has returned. And having said that, today is a day which is a little bit drizzly, but otherwise good for climbing, and the climbing is very good here - yet still I choose to spend the day in an internet cafe, having good food, good coffee, and catching up on internet life. Another thing that makes me laugh is how our group of chilled people who have all the time in the world on our hands get so vexed when we have a slow internet connection. The internet giveth and the internet taketh away. As a bonus, there's a pool table here and so we've spent half the afternoon playing pool - something I haven't done since I was a student, and how much fun it was!

I know some people who work far too hard and it isn't good for them. Right now I am playing way too hard, and that isn't good either. I think we have too much free time on our hands. Whilst it's great to have a relaxed lifestyle, where you while away the days reading and climbing, there is a limit to how long you can do this for. Much as many people complain about work, I think many of us want to apply our minds in ways that add value. I've certainly been thinking a lot about setting up my own business when I return to Britain. In a way it's frustrating because at the moment all I can do is think about it and not actually do anything. Still, it's a start...

When I began this journey I had the basics in my tent to get me through the nights - not even a pillow, just clothes bundled up under my head. Now I've added two blankets, two rollmats, and two pillows.  So I guess that whilst I can live with minimal comfort for a while - this too has its limits. Everything has a balance.

Not all so good

I had a scary experience last night. Loads of the locals are very friendly. They will stop to chat to us, ask us a bit about our lives. Some will try to sell stuff, and others are just interested. So I didn't think anything about it when I stepped out of our hostel the other night and this guy offered to shake my hand. Our truck was parked right outside the hostel, effectively creating a small dark alleyway. I shook the guy's hand, and went to walk away, but he held onto my hand. I couldn't understand what he was saying - it seemed friendly and I had previously experienced other people holding on to my hand for longer than comfortable, so I wasn't overly concerned. I started moving us both towards the end of the truck. Then another guy appeared there, blocking my exit. Now I was concerned - the two guys conversed with each other and I couldn't follow what they were saying. Eventually the first guy let go and I pushed myself past the other guy. Watching later from our hostel window, these two guys were hanging around the street corners - I would guess they were up to no good, but thankfully I was of little interest to them.

Noisy south america
We were chatting the other day about "pet peevs". One of mine is excess noise - and there is a lot of that down here. Traffic noise is everywhere - loud motors, and horns used relentlessly. People hoot to tell you they are there. They do this at every intersection rather than pay attention to traffic lights. Taxis hoot to see if you want picking up - some vehicles have several different horn tones. Everyone hoots to say hello, and everyone hoots to say hurry the hell up and get out of my way. Relentless. This both amuses and bugs me. It's impossible to get away from. The one time it really got to me, is when we were stuck in a traffic jam, the cause of which was a dead body in the road from a traffic accident. Still everyone honked to say hurry up. Vexating!

I've struggled to get into the music as well. Brazilian music was terrible. Loud drums with people shouting over the top -played very very loudly, everywhere. I went to a salsa club the other night, and every track sounded the same - drums everywhere with a bit of trumpety type thing over the top.

Although I always try to seek a cultural experience it was such a pleasure when we went to a bar in Huaraz, Peru and another "Sergeant Pepper's" in Lima and they played lots of Western music. We danced the nights away and they were fantastic. Equally, we've had some great nights on the truck, playing lots of disco music and dancing in the tiny confines of the truck.

Perhaps The Grass Is Greener

We´re camping near this mountain refuge high in the Peruvian Andes. There´s a small field surrounded by a stone wall, big enough for a handful of tents. Outside of this wall is mile upon mile of grassland, suitable for cows to graze upon for an eternity. Why is it then, that the cows insist on climbing over the stone wall, and chewing the grass next to our tents?

Have you ever heard a cow munching just inches away from your head whilst all else around is completely silent? It feels like a train is about to plow through your tent.

This is a place of stunning scenery. Hatun Machay. Inside the refuge is a wood fire so we can warm ourselves at night before retiring to our frosty tents. The mountains are rolling grassy plains with outcrops of rock on them. In the valley, a forest of rock spires. In the background, snow clad peaks and further back the Pacific ocean.

It´s a rock climber´s dream; an outdoor enthusiast´s dream. The sort of place I travel for. Yet it is in this place that I´ve most found myself yearning for home. The landscape reminds me of both the Peak District and the Lake District. The mountain hut reminds me of skiing trips throughout Europe. The stone wall we camp next to reminds me of Wales.

So why, when I am in this place that is fantastic in its own right, am I yearning for distant, but more familiar, places? Maybe it´s some atavistic connection to England´s green and pleasant lands, but I suspect it´s actually the people. I am surrounded by friends here - a really nice group of people. But they´re not my friends and family of old. I think I´m missing my friends of old. Why can we not travel and take all of our friends with us? I never wanted to settle in New Zealand, beautiful as it is, simply because it is too far from the people that I love. That same instinct to return home is returning to me now.

I walked alone to the top of the nearest big hill (4400m above sea level), and sat for an hour contemplating my position. (It´s strange how we have so much time on our hands, and yet for real clarity of thought you have to find isolation at the top of a mountain.) I´ve been away for almost six months, I´m living a life that I regularly am so thankful for - it´s such an easy existence at present - but once again I find myself looking to the future and searching for something different. So in this moment of clear thought I´ve managed to plan the rest of my travels, and to put together a business plan for when I return to the UK early next year.

If only I could climb a hill every day.

Emergency in the mountains

We arrived at Lago Antacoche, Peru, in the late morning. The place is stunningly beautiful and the sun was beaming down. We were camped right down on the side of this pristine(!) lake with the climbing mountain right behind it and snow capped peaks in the distance. Four of our group headed off to climb a multipitch route whilst the rest of us decided to just chill the afternoon away. I describe the lake with a (!) because it looks crystal clear and screams at you to come and swim, however we had been warned that the waters are contaminated with arsenic and cyanide from nearby mining in the past. I couldn't resist a quick dip though.

All went well for several hours, but then some clouds from the distant snow capped peaks drifted into our blue skies.
It wasn't long until the wind picked up, we heard some distant thunder, and then we were bang in the middle of a hail storm with temperatures plummeting. We could see the four people on the wall, three pitches up and only wearing summer clothes. We knew they would be cold, but that it shouldn't take them too long to get down. An hour later, they hadn't moved and it was beginning to get dark. We later found out that their rope had got stuck and one of them had to climb up a wet rope with frozen hands to try to free it. Once free they still had to abseil down the rest of the route. They eventually made it down - all four were soaking and shivering, the girl who had climbed back up the rope was hypothermic. What was brilliant about this experience is how everybody in our group jumped in to action to help these four. We were fairly impotent whilst they were still on the wall - we couldn't help get them down, frustratingly, they had to do that for themselves. But as soon as they were down, we brought them warm and dry clothes, stuffed the girl inside a sleeping bag with another girl and some hot water bottles, we supplied hot water constantly, and hot food as soon as possible. Every single person did something to help - that was fantastic to see and to be a part of.

Reaching altitude

I'm all about experiences, good or bad,although I prefer the former.  So here are some more elements of my trip that have had an impact on me...

We climbed in an area in the north Argentinian Andes called Tuzgle. To quote a friend (please excuse my language), "It's in the middle of buttfuck nowhere". The climbing was incredible, we were camped down in a gorge and on both sides of the gorge were miles of superb rock. Climber's paradise - almost. When the sun was shining it was hot, but when the sun wasn't shining it was very very cold. The temperature inside our tents at night was measured at -9 degrees C. Our condensation quickly froze on our sleeping bags and our water bottles froze as well. Now I'd had a suspicion that my sleeping bag wasn't really all that good, but only here did I appreciate how inadequate it really was.

The wind would invariably pick up in the early afternoon. The wind was bitterly cold and very strong which made climbing difficult if not impossible. Most days a dust storm would kick up as well, covering every thing in a layer of dust. Including the inside of our tents.

These conditions meant that most people would take refuge in the truck throughout most of the afternoon and evening. The truck's a bit too small to cope with that many people couped up for that time. I think that this is about the time when some of our group began to tire of this lifestyle and long for creature comforts and space. More on that in a later blog.

It was my turn to cook in these conditions, and this was probably my first truly miserable experience of this journey. Cooking outside where everything that you aren't holding on to is blowing all over, trying to keep dust out of the food, and trying to wash up in water where you have to break the ice on the surface first. The pain in my fingers made me want to cry.

This was the first time we'd been up to high altitude - about 4000m. And the altitude was definitely affecting us. We were feeling so tired every day. Short climbs were very hard, even short walks were difficult. We set off to walk up a volcano. Each step was a plod. A short hard plod. We managed to make about a 400m height gain before we hit our limit and had to return.

The Grass Is Always Greener

On a walk the other day, we passed a cow in its field which was full of, what appeared to me to be, delicious grass. Yet Daisy had stuck her head through a barbed wire fence to eat the grass on the other side. How often do we do the same? On this trip we have to choose between one fantastic experience or another because of time constraints. The paradox of choice. If we only had one option, we would do that experience and no doubt love it. However, we’re always weighing up whether we will make or did make the ‘best’ decision. We’re in such a lucky position to have such things to worry about. But do we put too much pressure on ourselves to maximise these ‘once in a lifetime’ opportunities? Does this contemplation of the options actually detract from the overall experience so that we enjoy it less rather than just relaxing our way through it? Is it a reflection of our own goals? If we weren’t the kind of people to try to make the most out of life, would we even be on this trip in the first place? So, are we happier to have goals to work towards and to attain or would we be better to just breeze through life enjoying each moment for what it is -‘Wherever you are, there you are’.

Beautiful and tormenting moments

Beautiful moments

Travelling has its ups and downs. Now for the ups.

Climbing a mountain face in the Andes bordering Chile and Argentina, about 100m off the ground, and this black condor starts circling overhead, literally a few meters overhead. I can see its head craning forward as it stares down; its wingspan is probably twice my arm span.

A few days later, on a higher route, we’re looking down on a pair of condors, with different wing patterns - one a jagged brown wing tip. A lovely couple. I looked back over the route we had climbed that day - about 2 miles from our camp at 2700m above sea level, for a gruelling hour and half up a steep scree slope (for every step you take up, the mountain puts you back half a step), topped off by a vertical climb of about 150m, taking us to an altitude of 3200m. It had taken about 5 hours in total. The condors covered this ground in about 20 seconds.

There are many lizards here, crawling easily over the rock faces that we labour over for hours. It was a beautiful place to camp. In the mountains, alongside a stream. The sky was so clear at night and packed with an inconceivable number of stars. It was a full moon whilst we were there, and some guys went climbing by moonlight. It was noticeable how every day the moon was an hour later than the day before when it crept up over the opposite mountains.

The power of the sun continues to amaze me. Bathing in the stream was a glorious and freezing experience, yet even without a towel, we would dry within minutes. However, when the sun drops the temperature plummets, and the shorts and t-shirts are rapidly exchanged for full thermals, several jumpers, a hat and a campfire.

I’ve pushed my climbing standards. I’ve been able to move my body in ways that I didn’t know I could do, and also my mind - putting myself into daunting situations, and having the composure and control to pull myself through. I love this kind of self awareness and development.

This morning I saw a tiny black frog, so slimy looking. Yesterday we saw lots of large butterflies, with dark bottom side of wings, but bright blue (almost fluorescent) upper side, so that it looks like they are flashing when they fly. A humming bird, glistening green as it hovered in front of its flower.

We also learn to appreciate the little things: the taste of good food; a little bit of meat in our mostly vegetarian diet; water clean enough to wash in; water clean enough to drink; the first shower in 10 days; the first laundry in 3 weeks.

Tormenting moments

This is my attempt at a half Spanish pun, as “la tormenta” means storm in Spanish which is the cause of some of the anguish.

Sunday gone, we went to find a climbing area walking for about 90 minutes. About half way there, the scorching sun disappeared to be replaced by a fierce storm. Thankfully, we were prepared unlike the day before. We’d gotten so used to good weather all the time so that we didn’t carry waterproofs anymore. We’d walked to a roadside café for a few beers to while away a Saturday afternoon. We experienced this sudden change of weather there. All of a sudden it was hailing all around us. Fortunately we had a bar of soap on us, so stripped off our t-shirts to make the most of the opportunity to get clean. It was a long and cold walk back.

So on the Sunday, we got out macs on as soon as the storm began. They didn’t help much. We were crossing some very marshy territory so got wet from above and below, feeling the trickles of cold rain running down inside our macs and our shoes. After bashing our way through a bit of jungle, we arrived at the cliff faces which were overhanging and so sheltered from the rain. We built a fire out of any dry wood we could find, and spent the next two hours, stripped down to our boxers, drying our clothes over the fire. We stunk of smoke but we were dry, and we fed ourselves as well. It was a pleasant couple of hours. Once dry, we were full of enough spirit to begin climbing.

Two days ago I managed to do some laundry and had it hanging to dry in the truck yesterday as we drove. It was fully dry in the afternoon and so I put it away in my locker. However, unbeknownst to me, my locker leaks in heavy rain, thus soaking my newly dried laundry, as well as my dry shoes and some of my travel documents and money. Very vexing.

This latest storm began yesterday afternoon. We were at a service station when the sudden change came. The sun went, the sky brooded then flashed. The thunder felt like it shook the building - or maybe it was just me jumping in my seat. The rain started, the hail started; cars were trying to shelter under the roof of the forecourt. The wind whipped around, catching all those still outside under the shelter of the patio. Even the locals seemed amazed at the ferocity of this storm. Then water started gushing down the inside of the walls, soaking the goods inside, and flooding the floor. It started running from the light fittings - quite scary until the power went down. The storm lasted half an hour before dying away. Since then we’ve had fairly constant rain, making camping less pleasurable than usual and making climbing not much fun either. This is about our fourth day of rain in a row - it will be interesting to see how the moods in our group develop if this weather continues - we’re cooped up in any dry spaces we can find. Privacy is scarce.

The spider. I awoke in the night needing the loo. It was still raining so I didn’t really want to get up, but I had to. So I dressed and opened the inner tent. Sitting right on the zip of the outer tent was a spider, large and very ugly. Now, I’m not a fan of small nice looking spiders at the best of times so this beast sitting on guard of my outer zip, and perched nicely to fall in to my inner tent was not at all welcome. There were other bugs as well, flying directly towards my face where my head torch was placed. Some cricket like creature inside, jumping around but unable to get out. There was a stick in my porch so I opened my inner tent only wide enough for my hand to reach through, and used this stick to try to move this spider. I could feel the spider’s weight on the stick. He deftly stepped over my stick and stayed where he was. I was busting for the loo. After a bit of tug o’ war, I managed to wrestle the fiend to the ground where I lost site of him. My rain coat was also on this ground, so I headed into the rain with no coat for a bit of relief. On returning to my tent Sid was now taking shelter on my rain coat. I grabbed a corner of the coat, took it way from the tent, held it as far away from me as I could and gave it a shake. I didn’t see him fall, but I inspected the coat and couldn’t see him any longer. I rushed back inside my tent and zipped up, taking the coat with me. I tried to sleep, but wondered if the critter had somehow managed to hide in the sleeves of my coat and was now making nest in my tent. Grrr.

This final tormenting moment is for the protagonist rather than myself. Camping by a farm in the countryside, five bulls were herded past us by a few local gauchos who gestured to us to follow them. We spent the next hour watching these bulls get castrated - noticing the fight in the bull as the farmers lassoed and bound them, in contrast to their more docile response after the deed.

Leaving Buenos Aires

I'm not ready to leave Buenos Aires. It's not the city that I'll miss - it's not a particularly beautiful city - it's the people, the friendliness, the smiles.


And there's so much more that I want to do. Mostly connected to dance. The Lindy Hop scene is really good, and the tango... well the tango. My tango has improved to the point that I don't thoroughly embarrass myself whenever I shuffle my feet onto the dance floor. But I've not had a bad night. Even when I haven't danced or when my dancing is terrible, I still enjoy soaking up the atmosphere of these places. The music is so mesmerising that I can just listen for hours watching the movement of feet on the floor.


We did a daytrip out of the city to a river delta. It's like a rich man's playground, where people have holiday homes, and boats. There's waterskiing, swimming, camping and bbqs. It's a place of fun, and it's closer to nature than the city. It was such a relief to get out of the noise and dirt of the city and into this place of fun and relaxation. It was difficult to understand what we were doing... Where is this boat going? don't know! Well, let's take it and see what happens. We got drenched on the boat, but just laughed it off. It was lovely. Yet still I craved the tango.


It's not long now till I join the climbing trip, and I'm really excited about seeing the mountains and climbing them. Yet I know I will miss the dancing. There really is so much in this world that I want to learn and experience, but they all compete for the same short amount of time. Most of the places I have visited in this world I have thought of as once in a lifetime visits. Buenos Aires is different - I know I will come back here.

The Comfort Zone

It is now my ninth night in Buenos Aires. I have been tango dancing most evenings and I love it and I hate it. The music is beautiful, but so unfamiliar to me. It's a dance that is so close and so personal. But I can't do it. Well, maybe I can, but I don't. I've really enjoyed all of the evenings I've been to. It's great watching people dance, and I'm letting the atmosphere soak in to me. But I'm not really dancing. I'll do the classes, and maybe afterwards find someone from the class who I'm comfortable dancing with. But asking one of the locals to dance is a bridge too far for me. I have done it. Sunday night, I asked two girls to dance. I only meant to ask one, but I caught the other's eye by accident and overcommited myself. Both of these dances were terrible. I was stumbling everywhere. She was stumbling everywhere, because of me. One of the ladies even sucked audibly through her teeth at one moment - and I'm still completely unaware of what I did wrong at that moment. Neither lady stuck around for another dance, as is the custom here.

I've returned to my comfort zone by going to Swing Dancing a couple of times. There's a really good scene here, quite international and very friendly. They've made me feel very welcome. Both nights we've gone out for food after dancing and so I've got to know everyone a bit better. And I've been introduced to the concept of kissing everyone on the cheek, man and woman alike. This is both when you meet them, and when you say good night. Because of this custom, saying good bye is inevitably a long-winded affair, especially in a big group, but it really does aid bonding. It's a custom I like - but not one to be brought back to the UK.

It's not only the tango where I'm struggling. The language is also difficult for me. I can manage to talk and to make myself understood. However, if the reply is not a stock answer (preferably "si" or "no") I find it really hard to get the meaning. I've tried to have conversations with people, but we inevitably had to resort to English, sign language, or simply "ciao". I was sat in a coffee shop the other day and a rather attractive lady was sat alone on the table next to me. I thought for half an hour about how to strike up conversation with her in Spanish. I knew I could get my opening gambit over the line, but then I would have to concede that I don't know conversational level Spanish and do an embarrassing retreat in to English. I was still thinking about it long after she left the restaurant, my comfort zone unbreached.

Wherever I Lay My Hat Is My Home

As I got on the train out of Nottingham two things occurred to me. First that I was leaving the place that I had called home for the last six years of my life. Second, that I no longer owned any keys - no car keys and no house keys. That surely renders me homeless. Of course I don´t feel homeless. So long as I have family and friends I´ll always have a home. This was evidenced by the kind people who took me into their homes and made me feel welcome during my last three weeks in England. So I now follow the maxim "wherever I lay my hat is my home". Maybe I´ll travel the world like the littlest hobo - doing good wherever I go. I like the sound of that.


Leaving England was easier than I thought it would be. There was never a shock moment, no wake up call, no sudden realisation. I think it´s because I'd been mentally ready to travel for a long while. The thing is, I was expecting shocks. Handing my notice in, buying my plane ticket, moving out of my flat, leaving work. All of these things came and went without any heart fluttering moments or hesitations. I thought that maybe I was not too good at projecting myself in to future situations and emotions and that it would hit me when I was on the plane. But no. I just flew away.


People ask me where I´m from. I´m not entirely sure of the answer to that question. Nottingham - that´s where I´ve spent the last six years of my life. Lincolnshire - that was the first eighteen years. I was only three years at Lancaster, but those years were so influential upon me. I am what each of these places have made me. But I´m not any one of them. So can I tell people where I´m from without giving them my full life story? How about we grab some beers and settle down for a while...

House leaving Blues

Blues


I've just had a fantastic weekend. In the 48 hours between Friday and Sunday evenings I must have been dancing for over 24 of them. I have been through Lindy, Tango and Blues bliss with so, so many nice people. The dance community continues to astound me with how wonderful it is.


Tonight is the last night in my flat. It's now as spartan as the day I moved in. In contrast to the day I moved in I'm spending tonight here alone, which is sad but strangely quite fitting. I'd normally opt for a glass of good whisky to celebrate such occasion, but tonight all I have is an almost (and soon to be) empty bottle of Amaretto. Plus the beautiful tones of Eva Cassidy - that helps a lot.


Actually, I don't think I'm as blue as I expected. It is the end of a major stage of my life, but it's also the beginning of something new. And new is always good, no matter how bad it is. I'd like to write about how I feel right now, but I'm not entirely sure - I feel kind of numb. So I'll take to my sleeping bag, and hope to dream of more blues. Who knows what the morning will bring...