Sometimes it seems to me as if the reason I've gone to the other side of the world is to ponder topics near and dear to my heart. I have written about memory and death, and of emotions evoked by experiences I encounter here. Alas, lately I have been pondering something I would have loved to avoid: when and why shall I return home.
I have been gone from home for almost five months now. My family and I started this trip together, in Florida, the Caribbean, and New York City. After staying for another two weeks in New York, I left for Buenos Aires, and I have been exploring Chile and Argentina (and Antarctica) ever since late October. I am truly having the trip of my life, at least so far; I have no intentions of this being my last long-term trip. And yet, life holds its cards close to heart, so it may be I am never afforded such an opportunity again. I have seen nature in its glory; hiked mountains beyond mountains; met incredible people from every corner of the globe; ate the food, drank the wine, and experienced the life. I have also delved into emotional thinking (and writing) on levels I have never reached before at home, and I am truly glad I have given myself the opportunity to do so.
If I return home, it will be mostly due to an acknowledgment that real life, the one I left behind, comes first. I applied to universities in Israel, and barring any surprises, will be accepted to all three schools I'm considering going to. Should I choose the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, it would be to study a Mathematics and Cognitive Science double major. In the Technion in Haifa or Tel Aviv University, my major would be Mathematics and Statistics. In the latter two, I am trying my luck with specialty programs: Tel Aviv's Lautman interdisciplinary studies program, and the Technion's excellence program. The problem stems from the fact those two programs want to interview potential students; while I'm not keeping my hopes up for Lautman, I'm quite confident I will be invited for interviews for the Technion's program. The program has quite a few advantages: First and foremost, freedom to choose your own course of studies, picking and choosing from different faculties and ignoring prerequisites. There are also several workshops and programs for the students, and scholarships for tuition and dorms. Lautman is both similar and different, but as I am not nearly as confident about it, I will spare the details.
My studies next year are not the only reason to return home, but they are what triggered the dilemma. Should I return home in late April, I might also take another few weeks to travel in Europe with a friend (I considered it, but I doubt I will fly off on another wholly different trip, such as the far east) I could also resume playing Ultimate, perhaps even in time for Windmill Windup or the European Ultimate Championships, should my knee oblige. Lastly, there is the ever-hanging sword of fiscal responsibility. I certainly could afford traveling until September; however, that would leave my with significantly less money saved for my first year of university. Should I return, I will probably find a job until I start studying, and coupled with the fact I will not be traveling, will result in a significant chunk of money saved.
On the other hand, the main reason not to return, is travel! Returning early means leaving South America in early April, to spend a couple of weeks in California (where I have not set foot since graduating high school back in 2008), and perhaps stop somewhere else in the states, before flying home out of New York City. That leaves me with barely another month with which to explore Argentina and Chile - not nearly enough. I could see more of the south, and perhaps taste the culture of the central regions, and the majestic deserts of the north; but by far and by large, there will be quite a lot left to see.
Without any time limits, I would hitch-hike my way up the Caraterra Austral, stopping a few times to hike in a few recommend hot-spots. I could then explore the island of Chiloe, famed for its wooden buildings and phenomenal seafood, and go climbing and hiking near Bariloche. I would be able to partake in urban and cosmopolitan Chile, visiting Santiago and Valpariaso, and see the wineries of Mendoza. Next I should be able to meet with a good friend from home, and meet up to see the magnificent deserts of northern Chile and Argentina. Beyond that, there are a great many other things to see, places to visit, and mountains to trek. To the north looms Bolivia, and its vastly different lifestyle and nature. Beyond that, Peru, with many more mountain ranges that yearn to be thoroughly hiked, and the cultural magic of the Inca. Further yet, Ecuador, and the opportunity to visit another of nature's marvels, the Galapagos Islands.
Moreover, a longer trip would leave me with more time in the states - freeing me to spend a few weeks to a month in California (and perhaps even longer - John Muir Trail, anyone?), and then perhaps make my way up the west coast, to see Portland, Seattle, friends, and natural treasures, before making my way home in time from the school year. Essentially, the opportunity to make an amazing trip even more exciting and fulfilling.
To summarize: on one hand, university programs, ultimate, short term travel, and fiscal responsibility. On the other, the opportunity to see even more of this splendid world, continue enjoying its glory, and grow and evolve with it. Which one shall it be?
Friday, February 27, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
An Emotional Rollercoaster As a Function
I'm currently volunteering in Torres del Paine national park, in Chilean Patagonia (I might actually have just finished my time there, but that's a whole other matter). The first couple of days of the shift I just finished were a hectic mess. The type of shitstorm possibly only when hormones, emotions, the Arctic Monkeys, and character traits (or flaws) get mixed up.
Part I: Increasing / Concave Up (first derivative positive, second derivative positive)
Suggested listening: I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor
I met her on the first night of the ship, sitting outside in the cooking area in camp. I went over to chat with a couple of Americans I remembered from the check-in to the campsite, and she was there too. At some point, an hour or two later, travel plans were discussed, and I mentioned that once I'm done in the park I'll probably head up north to Calafate and Chalten, a few hours away on the other side of the border with Argentina. She said that's exactly where she wants to go, and was hoping to find someone else to hitch-hike there with, as she (understandably) felt iffy about doing it alone. We chatted about it for another while, and as she had split of from her friends and was in no hurry to leave, we agreed to talk about it more the next morning.
The next day and a half were quite blissful. As she set up her tents next to mine, we both realized it's only for appearance's sake, even of those appearances were intended for her subconscious. We spent much of those days together, and it was quite comfortable and easy. The physical part was great, but it felt a bit more than that. The conversation was just very open and honesty, and I told her things I feel most people don't know about me. It felt good.
In retrospect, here's potential misstep number one. I cared. I care easily. While I don't have a trouble with casual sex, or just hooking up, especially if it's been established as that's where we're going. On the other hand, I still care about a woman more after sleeping with her. I generally grow fond of women somewhat easily and carelessly, and allow myself to build houses of cards in my mind. I easily saw myself traveling with her for a week, or maybe even a month, and having a blast. I got excited. It wasn't the first time this has happened to me, and probably won't be the last. Honestly, it's not that I don't want to care. I'd rather care than be disconnected, and feel it's a huge part of being human, and being me. On the other hand, maybe I need to be more gradual or reserved about it. I can't say I'm sure.
I remember telling her that "it won't always be this fun and easy, but we should try to remember how this feels now, for when the going gets harder." Fore, meet shadow.
Part II: Increasing / Concave Down (first derivative positive, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: Fluorescent Adolescent
The evening of the next day, two Israeli girls came by with Jungle Speed. As you've probably never heard of it, it's an addictively fast card game, based on pattern matching and quickness of hand. As they played, I came and went, as I was busy baking bread, of all things - apparently I'm not bad at it. I noticed she was pretty friendly, possible flirty, with another American who joined the card game.
Here comes my second error. I let jealousy rear its ugly head. Even at the moment, I could tell myself on how many levels that's absolutely absurd. I've only know this woman for two days - as intensive as they might be, two days are still forty-eight hours. Beyond that, she was being excited and bubbly and nice, which are some of the qualities that led me to like her at first place. Further, when I think about it rationally, I'm very much opposed to jealousy. I truly want to give an open (or perhaps even poly) relationship a try, both to see how I like it, and perhaps to learn to work through some of these faults of mine. I'm not sure I could or should be the be-all-end-all object of someone's desires, and feel I have enough emotion to sustain more than one relationship.
I caught myself feeling it, and getting a little bit more touchy-feely than I should have. Once I realized what I'm doing, I excused myself, and recomposed. I realized I'm being ridiculous, and noted in my head to talk to her about it tomorrow. I felt that with how comfortable and easy our conversation has been, maybe she could help me work through it, and call me out on my nonsense. (You could argue this was another mistake, and I should have dealt with it by myself, but I believe in sharing and dealing together.)
Later that night, the other park rangers and us played quite a bit of cards. We also might have not been entirely sober. After several rounds of 'come-mierda' (the local version of 'asshole', played with the Spanish cards), and more drinking of all kinds, I was getting ready to call it a night. I could blame my possible lack of sobriety, but I'd be giving myself the easy way out - I mentioned to her that I want to talk to her about something, and that she should remind me tomorrow. I imagine we can all see where this is going: she insisted I tell her tonight, I wasn't wise enough to insist otherwise, and I told her. She seemed very understanding, and said she did notice I was acting oddly earlier. She told me that we'll talk tomorrow, and I should go to sleep if I'm tired, and she'll be over soon.
Part III: Decreasing / Concave Down (first derivative negative, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: Snap Out Of It
It rained all night.
I woke up in my tent around six in the morning, alone, with my glasses still on. I remembered that I read for a while after getting back in, with my light still on, as I thought she might not have a light, and it would help her find her way in. Naïve up until the last moment.
As I woke up, the range of options ran through my head. Did she sleep in her tent? But her sleeping bag was in mine. Did she end up crashing in the house? I hope she didn't sleep on the floor. But where did she sleep? I stopped dealing with that train of thought, but nonetheless didn't fall back asleep. An hour or so later she came in, and told me she slept in the bed with another one of the guys. And made out with him.
I can't say I was angry. I truly wasn't. I was hurt though. After pondering it for a while, I realized it was because it came exactly after I told her about my slight jealous streak. I showed a vulnerability, and instead of receiving support, I got the exact opposite. I'm very open and candid, apparently at times to a fault.
She took a walk, and so did I, end I ended up talking about it with one of the Israelis from the night before. The Israeli was very kind and listened, and gave some well-needed advice, until at some point she came back. We went off to talk. She was very, very sorry, and talked about how she hurts before she gets hurt, how she says she hates drama, but just created a load of it, how she felt we were just hooking up, and more... I listened, and I understood, especially when she kept talking about how crazy she is, and her sexual history... I was hurt, and understanding, but I wasn't angry. I tried to understand, and as awkward as it was, I never asked her to leave or disappear,.
I talked to the other rangers, and they implored me to just put it behind it and leave it be. I'm pretty sure they also didn't understand about how I was so un-angry about the whole thing; it was certainly not the Chilean way to handle it.
Part IV: Decreasing / Concave Up (first derivative positive, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: 505
I guess I might be somewhat of an emotional masochist, as I still saw myself traveling with her afterwards. It would have never been what it could have been at first, but I still saw it as being fun. I certainly would have learned something about myself from it.
The days afterwards were increasingly less awkward, as eventually one of her original friends also made it and stuck around with us for a few days. Apparently she's not the only source of drama - he broke up with his girlfriend of two years on the trail, and left her and her two friends. We played cards, cooked together, and generally lived together for those few days, and at some point it became less and less awkward.
It's interesting that it didn't make me run, or hate her, or get vengeful. I'm happy about that about myself. I feel that if we each only got one chance in life, nothing could ever succeed, and that it she's still a very interesting person. Crazy, but interesting.
Addendum I
I'll probably write about it more separately, but I've worked very hard over the past few years to develop an inner locus of control. It suits me incredibly well when doing things by myself - I don't think I would have successfully rehabbed from two knee surgeries (another topic for another time) if I didn't fully and truly believe that enough hard work will get me through. With emotional matters, though, the line is finer, as to whether or not that's positive or negative. Rationally, I understand this isn't my fault, at least not wholly and entirely. On the other hand, I couldn't stop myself from thinking that maybe had I not had that jealous streak, or had I waited to talk about it, or had I not cared, who knows where we'd be. That's life, though, isn't it?
Maybe I'm hard on myself so other people don't have to be? I wish I knew.
Addendum II
Up until now, I wasn't sure I'll post it. It's highly ridiculous and deeply personal, and exposes more character flaws than I entirely feel comfortable with. I do want to learn and grow from it, and I felt it was a good writing experience, so on it goes. A week later, I guess the best way to describe how I feel about it would be to paraphrase the ending of Ocean's Eleven: I'm not sad about it, but I'm sure as shit ain't happy about how it turned out. It is a rather ridiculous story though, and in retrospect quite hilarious, so at least we've got that going.
Part I: Increasing / Concave Up (first derivative positive, second derivative positive)
Suggested listening: I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor
I met her on the first night of the ship, sitting outside in the cooking area in camp. I went over to chat with a couple of Americans I remembered from the check-in to the campsite, and she was there too. At some point, an hour or two later, travel plans were discussed, and I mentioned that once I'm done in the park I'll probably head up north to Calafate and Chalten, a few hours away on the other side of the border with Argentina. She said that's exactly where she wants to go, and was hoping to find someone else to hitch-hike there with, as she (understandably) felt iffy about doing it alone. We chatted about it for another while, and as she had split of from her friends and was in no hurry to leave, we agreed to talk about it more the next morning.
The next day and a half were quite blissful. As she set up her tents next to mine, we both realized it's only for appearance's sake, even of those appearances were intended for her subconscious. We spent much of those days together, and it was quite comfortable and easy. The physical part was great, but it felt a bit more than that. The conversation was just very open and honesty, and I told her things I feel most people don't know about me. It felt good.
In retrospect, here's potential misstep number one. I cared. I care easily. While I don't have a trouble with casual sex, or just hooking up, especially if it's been established as that's where we're going. On the other hand, I still care about a woman more after sleeping with her. I generally grow fond of women somewhat easily and carelessly, and allow myself to build houses of cards in my mind. I easily saw myself traveling with her for a week, or maybe even a month, and having a blast. I got excited. It wasn't the first time this has happened to me, and probably won't be the last. Honestly, it's not that I don't want to care. I'd rather care than be disconnected, and feel it's a huge part of being human, and being me. On the other hand, maybe I need to be more gradual or reserved about it. I can't say I'm sure.
I remember telling her that "it won't always be this fun and easy, but we should try to remember how this feels now, for when the going gets harder." Fore, meet shadow.
Part II: Increasing / Concave Down (first derivative positive, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: Fluorescent Adolescent
The evening of the next day, two Israeli girls came by with Jungle Speed. As you've probably never heard of it, it's an addictively fast card game, based on pattern matching and quickness of hand. As they played, I came and went, as I was busy baking bread, of all things - apparently I'm not bad at it. I noticed she was pretty friendly, possible flirty, with another American who joined the card game.
Here comes my second error. I let jealousy rear its ugly head. Even at the moment, I could tell myself on how many levels that's absolutely absurd. I've only know this woman for two days - as intensive as they might be, two days are still forty-eight hours. Beyond that, she was being excited and bubbly and nice, which are some of the qualities that led me to like her at first place. Further, when I think about it rationally, I'm very much opposed to jealousy. I truly want to give an open (or perhaps even poly) relationship a try, both to see how I like it, and perhaps to learn to work through some of these faults of mine. I'm not sure I could or should be the be-all-end-all object of someone's desires, and feel I have enough emotion to sustain more than one relationship.
I caught myself feeling it, and getting a little bit more touchy-feely than I should have. Once I realized what I'm doing, I excused myself, and recomposed. I realized I'm being ridiculous, and noted in my head to talk to her about it tomorrow. I felt that with how comfortable and easy our conversation has been, maybe she could help me work through it, and call me out on my nonsense. (You could argue this was another mistake, and I should have dealt with it by myself, but I believe in sharing and dealing together.)
Later that night, the other park rangers and us played quite a bit of cards. We also might have not been entirely sober. After several rounds of 'come-mierda' (the local version of 'asshole', played with the Spanish cards), and more drinking of all kinds, I was getting ready to call it a night. I could blame my possible lack of sobriety, but I'd be giving myself the easy way out - I mentioned to her that I want to talk to her about something, and that she should remind me tomorrow. I imagine we can all see where this is going: she insisted I tell her tonight, I wasn't wise enough to insist otherwise, and I told her. She seemed very understanding, and said she did notice I was acting oddly earlier. She told me that we'll talk tomorrow, and I should go to sleep if I'm tired, and she'll be over soon.
Part III: Decreasing / Concave Down (first derivative negative, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: Snap Out Of It
It rained all night.
I woke up in my tent around six in the morning, alone, with my glasses still on. I remembered that I read for a while after getting back in, with my light still on, as I thought she might not have a light, and it would help her find her way in. Naïve up until the last moment.
As I woke up, the range of options ran through my head. Did she sleep in her tent? But her sleeping bag was in mine. Did she end up crashing in the house? I hope she didn't sleep on the floor. But where did she sleep? I stopped dealing with that train of thought, but nonetheless didn't fall back asleep. An hour or so later she came in, and told me she slept in the bed with another one of the guys. And made out with him.
I can't say I was angry. I truly wasn't. I was hurt though. After pondering it for a while, I realized it was because it came exactly after I told her about my slight jealous streak. I showed a vulnerability, and instead of receiving support, I got the exact opposite. I'm very open and candid, apparently at times to a fault.
She took a walk, and so did I, end I ended up talking about it with one of the Israelis from the night before. The Israeli was very kind and listened, and gave some well-needed advice, until at some point she came back. We went off to talk. She was very, very sorry, and talked about how she hurts before she gets hurt, how she says she hates drama, but just created a load of it, how she felt we were just hooking up, and more... I listened, and I understood, especially when she kept talking about how crazy she is, and her sexual history... I was hurt, and understanding, but I wasn't angry. I tried to understand, and as awkward as it was, I never asked her to leave or disappear,.
I talked to the other rangers, and they implored me to just put it behind it and leave it be. I'm pretty sure they also didn't understand about how I was so un-angry about the whole thing; it was certainly not the Chilean way to handle it.
Part IV: Decreasing / Concave Up (first derivative positive, second derivative negative)
Suggested listening: 505
I guess I might be somewhat of an emotional masochist, as I still saw myself traveling with her afterwards. It would have never been what it could have been at first, but I still saw it as being fun. I certainly would have learned something about myself from it.
The days afterwards were increasingly less awkward, as eventually one of her original friends also made it and stuck around with us for a few days. Apparently she's not the only source of drama - he broke up with his girlfriend of two years on the trail, and left her and her two friends. We played cards, cooked together, and generally lived together for those few days, and at some point it became less and less awkward.
It's interesting that it didn't make me run, or hate her, or get vengeful. I'm happy about that about myself. I feel that if we each only got one chance in life, nothing could ever succeed, and that it she's still a very interesting person. Crazy, but interesting.
Addendum I
I'll probably write about it more separately, but I've worked very hard over the past few years to develop an inner locus of control. It suits me incredibly well when doing things by myself - I don't think I would have successfully rehabbed from two knee surgeries (another topic for another time) if I didn't fully and truly believe that enough hard work will get me through. With emotional matters, though, the line is finer, as to whether or not that's positive or negative. Rationally, I understand this isn't my fault, at least not wholly and entirely. On the other hand, I couldn't stop myself from thinking that maybe had I not had that jealous streak, or had I waited to talk about it, or had I not cared, who knows where we'd be. That's life, though, isn't it?
Maybe I'm hard on myself so other people don't have to be? I wish I knew.
Addendum II
Up until now, I wasn't sure I'll post it. It's highly ridiculous and deeply personal, and exposes more character flaws than I entirely feel comfortable with. I do want to learn and grow from it, and I felt it was a good writing experience, so on it goes. A week later, I guess the best way to describe how I feel about it would be to paraphrase the ending of Ocean's Eleven: I'm not sad about it, but I'm sure as shit ain't happy about how it turned out. It is a rather ridiculous story though, and in retrospect quite hilarious, so at least we've got that going.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Falling in love with Isla Navarino
When I head out traveling, I heard I would run into places I'd simply fall in love with. No one seemed able to describe the sensation very clearly (akin perhaps to real love, which I can't say I'm sure I've ever experienced either). The quote by former supreme court justice Potter Stewart (which I generally love - the quote, not the justice) comes to mind: "I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced within that shorthand description [hard-core pornography]; and perhaps I could never succeed in intelligibly doing so. But I know it when I see it." Understandably, I hadn't much of a clue what they were talking about, and at times being quite cynical, I wasn't sure that I'd experience such a feeling. I thought it might be for more emotional, softer people. Well, I was wrong. I absolutely loved Isla Navarino.
Isla Navarino is a Chilean island, on the southern side of the Beagle Channel. If it's not Chile's southernmost inhabited island, it's certainly the southern-most one that's still reasonably easy to reach, accessible through public transportation both form Ushuaia (in Argentina) and Punta Arenas (in Chile). We arrived on a thirty-minute zodiac ride, followed by the most relaxed boarder control I've ever seen - quite literally a house in the middle of nowhere, where two families live, the man from one of whom checked our passports. After a short wait, we then took a van to the largest city of the island, a sprawling metropolis of all of two thousand people (about half of whom are members of the Chilean armada).
One of the reasons I loved the island has to do with little more than sheer luck. As we asked in the tourist information (a shockingly well-run affair for an island of this size) about hostels, explaining our preference as "the cheapest", we were given two options, One of them was a tiny bit closer and about $1 a night cheaper, so that's where we started. In a brilliant stroke of good fortune, that place happened to be my favorite hostel on the trip, at least so far. Refugio El Padrino is run by a lovely woman named Cecilia, who simply makes you feel like you've arrived to visit a long-lost aunt. She knows everyone by first-name basis, but also as "mi amigo de Israel." She starts every morning with a trip to the hostel, about two minutes from her house, to check on everyone, but generally matters are left to run on their own. Breakfast included eggs (already a real treat coming from a land where cereal and bread with manjar often qualify), and we were left to cook them as we liked. We were allowed to camp outside, access all of the facilities, and pay as much as we felt is appropriate.
Beyond all of that, it was the feeling she created among us that just made it such a home. The love she had for all of us made us feel as a family, and we treated each other as friends. Food was shared, as was beer, wine, or anything stronger that we happened to buy. Card games were played, as stories from the treks on the island and before were regaled. Christmas dinner (my first ever, in fact) was at her house, her family of four and fifteen hostel guests. She later threw an eighth birthday party for the place, essentially throwing a free barbecue for everyone. The lack of wi-fi probably also helped; internet on the island, as it turns out, only exists in four places: the museum, the library, the bar, and a restaurant. The first was especially appropriate, as it was about as rapid as what I had at home in the late 90's (hello, ISDN!).
Beyond all of that, the trekking was also phenomenal. The differences to where I'm currently spending time (Torres del Paine (TdP) national park) are simply astounding. We left for the trek with a booklet (supremely useful, and actually published by the state), a topographical map, and a compass, and still spent quite a bit of time wondering where the route goes and what they actually intended us to do. On the other hand, in TdP we had a map, but it was nary needed - the sheer amount of people walking the trails guided us quite well. Campsites were generally of the "previous hikers have found reasonably dry, reasonably flat areas, and there's water nearby." Camping in TdP felt like a five-star hotel, in comparison (albeit one with too many rules). The free campsites have toilets and organized cooking areas, while the paid ones have hot showers, stores, and some even have restaurants. In Isla Navarino, we'd run into ten or twenty people each hike. Over a four to five day hike, that is. In some places in Torres del Paine you could encounter that many in, oh, a few minutes. And we could have campfires. Campfires make everything better.
Nature there is simply wild. Raw. Primal. The views from the circuit itself are stunning, and the mountains are just gorgeous. Simply nothing man-made was to be seen, except for the occasional marking pylon, and one generally-un-maintained refugio (which was actually in quite a good condition as a French man has been living there for over a month when we visited). The weather was also quite harsh - we slogged through a day of on-and-off snow on one trek, and spent another day hiding in our tents from non-stop rain.
The island features two main treks, which diverge a day or so in. The famous of the two is the Dientes Circuit - anywhere between three and five days' worth of hiking, depending on your pace and the weather. The second is the trek to Lago Windhond and back. The Dientes Circuit was the more impressive of the two, for me, and the trail was slightly better, and especially less muddy. The mountain passes (out of five, the first two are shared) were more impressive, although maybe the island's best panoramic views, from Cerro Bertinelli, were only seen as part of the trek to Windhond. It would be quite possible to combine the two, and either do one longer circuit, or tack on the side-trip to Bertinelli from the Dientes. Either way - the hiking is stupendous. and is quite probably my favorite on the trip (thus far).
As for how falling in love with a place felt, well, I'm not quite sure I can describe it either. Something between how nice the people were, how marvelous the hiking was, and the atmosphere at the hostel I was staying at, just made me have love waking up there every morning I was there. That, and the wonderful people I was hiking with, is how I ended up spending almost three weeks somewhere most people spend about a week.
A word of advice: if you're ever heading over, give yourself a few days of leniency. You might want to wait for a better weather window, the boats might not be running due to high currents, or the flights might all be booked. It is, after all, the end of the world.
Isla Navarino is a Chilean island, on the southern side of the Beagle Channel. If it's not Chile's southernmost inhabited island, it's certainly the southern-most one that's still reasonably easy to reach, accessible through public transportation both form Ushuaia (in Argentina) and Punta Arenas (in Chile). We arrived on a thirty-minute zodiac ride, followed by the most relaxed boarder control I've ever seen - quite literally a house in the middle of nowhere, where two families live, the man from one of whom checked our passports. After a short wait, we then took a van to the largest city of the island, a sprawling metropolis of all of two thousand people (about half of whom are members of the Chilean armada).
One of the reasons I loved the island has to do with little more than sheer luck. As we asked in the tourist information (a shockingly well-run affair for an island of this size) about hostels, explaining our preference as "the cheapest", we were given two options, One of them was a tiny bit closer and about $1 a night cheaper, so that's where we started. In a brilliant stroke of good fortune, that place happened to be my favorite hostel on the trip, at least so far. Refugio El Padrino is run by a lovely woman named Cecilia, who simply makes you feel like you've arrived to visit a long-lost aunt. She knows everyone by first-name basis, but also as "mi amigo de Israel." She starts every morning with a trip to the hostel, about two minutes from her house, to check on everyone, but generally matters are left to run on their own. Breakfast included eggs (already a real treat coming from a land where cereal and bread with manjar often qualify), and we were left to cook them as we liked. We were allowed to camp outside, access all of the facilities, and pay as much as we felt is appropriate.
Beyond all of that, it was the feeling she created among us that just made it such a home. The love she had for all of us made us feel as a family, and we treated each other as friends. Food was shared, as was beer, wine, or anything stronger that we happened to buy. Card games were played, as stories from the treks on the island and before were regaled. Christmas dinner (my first ever, in fact) was at her house, her family of four and fifteen hostel guests. She later threw an eighth birthday party for the place, essentially throwing a free barbecue for everyone. The lack of wi-fi probably also helped; internet on the island, as it turns out, only exists in four places: the museum, the library, the bar, and a restaurant. The first was especially appropriate, as it was about as rapid as what I had at home in the late 90's (hello, ISDN!).
Beyond all of that, the trekking was also phenomenal. The differences to where I'm currently spending time (Torres del Paine (TdP) national park) are simply astounding. We left for the trek with a booklet (supremely useful, and actually published by the state), a topographical map, and a compass, and still spent quite a bit of time wondering where the route goes and what they actually intended us to do. On the other hand, in TdP we had a map, but it was nary needed - the sheer amount of people walking the trails guided us quite well. Campsites were generally of the "previous hikers have found reasonably dry, reasonably flat areas, and there's water nearby." Camping in TdP felt like a five-star hotel, in comparison (albeit one with too many rules). The free campsites have toilets and organized cooking areas, while the paid ones have hot showers, stores, and some even have restaurants. In Isla Navarino, we'd run into ten or twenty people each hike. Over a four to five day hike, that is. In some places in Torres del Paine you could encounter that many in, oh, a few minutes. And we could have campfires. Campfires make everything better.
Nature there is simply wild. Raw. Primal. The views from the circuit itself are stunning, and the mountains are just gorgeous. Simply nothing man-made was to be seen, except for the occasional marking pylon, and one generally-un-maintained refugio (which was actually in quite a good condition as a French man has been living there for over a month when we visited). The weather was also quite harsh - we slogged through a day of on-and-off snow on one trek, and spent another day hiding in our tents from non-stop rain.
The island features two main treks, which diverge a day or so in. The famous of the two is the Dientes Circuit - anywhere between three and five days' worth of hiking, depending on your pace and the weather. The second is the trek to Lago Windhond and back. The Dientes Circuit was the more impressive of the two, for me, and the trail was slightly better, and especially less muddy. The mountain passes (out of five, the first two are shared) were more impressive, although maybe the island's best panoramic views, from Cerro Bertinelli, were only seen as part of the trek to Windhond. It would be quite possible to combine the two, and either do one longer circuit, or tack on the side-trip to Bertinelli from the Dientes. Either way - the hiking is stupendous. and is quite probably my favorite on the trip (thus far).
As for how falling in love with a place felt, well, I'm not quite sure I can describe it either. Something between how nice the people were, how marvelous the hiking was, and the atmosphere at the hostel I was staying at, just made me have love waking up there every morning I was there. That, and the wonderful people I was hiking with, is how I ended up spending almost three weeks somewhere most people spend about a week.
A word of advice: if you're ever heading over, give yourself a few days of leniency. You might want to wait for a better weather window, the boats might not be running due to high currents, or the flights might all be booked. It is, after all, the end of the world.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Untitled Thoughts About Death in December
Death has been on my mind lately. Allow me to say first and foremost: this is not a call for help. I do no wish to due, and I hope that it happens very far in the future, after I've lived a long and happy life. If I've made some sort of positive difference in the world, all the better. On the other hand, if this makes you wish to talk, for any reason whatsoever, I'd absolutely love to. Not merely because I love to talk about my writing; but as this is a topic better discussed than allowed to linger freely and ferment within one's mind.
As I write this, it is late January, but truth be told, death has been on my mind since December. December, month of Hanukkah (usually), Christmas, endings, beginnings, solstice (depending upon which hemisphere you happen to find yourself in), and New Year's Eve. Before I delve into why this month has formed a connection with death, I must admit I have been quite lucky. My nuclear family is all well, as well as all of my grandparents. Hell, one of them is still skiing at the age of eighty - if I'm half as nimble and youthful as he is at that age, I'll be a ridiculously happy man. On the other hand, both deaths I have been forced to deal with occurred around this time of year, forging the unhappy and unfortunate connection.
(A disclaimer: there will be some minimal detail of the manner of the deaths, as well as how I know the deceased. I will not use names. Some of you may have met one, or maybe even both. If for any reason you are troubled by anything here, please, tell me. I will edit and censor myself as necessary. I do not wish to offend anyone, and should it happen, I apologize in advance)
I met A very early on my military service. We served together in the same section, which ranged between twenty and thirty men and women, give or take. While I can't say we were particularly close, it's hard not to know someone in your section. His brilliance couldn't be doubted. He was a an extremely talented software engineer and architect, and for most of our acquaintance, he toiled away on a though and innovative project hampered be half-baked technology. On some level, the project died with him; while he was gone in a bang, the project died off in a whimper, but it was never the same without him.
Perhaps the only thing more pronounced about A than his talent was his cynical attitude. Yet, as dark and critical as he was, there was no sign A was going to take his own life. The act and the manner in which is was done shocked us all, and if the writing was on the wall, we didn't have the sense to read it. Those who were closer to A must have felt a far stronger sadness in their hearts - for whatever troubled him, I know not how much he shared. I can't claim to the most emphatic person I know, and yet, a terrible sadness struck me as well. How could I not know someone I interacted with daily, consulted with when I was stuck, or shared a snack with when hunger struck, had such demons within him.
In the aftermath, I first experienced the different manners in which people deal with death. Some took it head on, and preferred to talk about the sorrow and grief with those around. Others attempted to put it away, get back to work, and quarantine their pain to deal with by themselves. Other few dealt with it in a manner A himself might have, on some level, using dark humor, with hushed tones and sadness in their eyes. Myself, I can't honestly remember how I managed. I was far less emotional mature than I am now (which is saying something), and this may very well be the first time I sit to ponder this loss.
Up until this year, I have never missed the memorial service. As the years passed, it turned into somewhat of a somber reunion. While the context is undoubtedly awful, it is the only time I see many of my old colleagues from the section. Life moves on, as it always has and always will, and I feel that the ability to empower the memorial as a reunion of sorts is a testament to our strength, to adapt and grow. We do not forget, but nor do we linger.
(As an aside, I can't imagine anyone is surprised, but I'm the last of A's section colleagues to be in some sort of military service, other than our section head at the time, who currently in a military career. While other representatives from the unit certainly come, I felt that as someone who was and still is there, it's even more important for me to attend the memorial services, both for his family as well as for myself.)
I missed the memorial as I'm traveling to South America (which you almost certainly know if you happen to be reading this). In an odd and unusual twist of fate, I'm closer than I've ever been to where the second person I've known to die lost her life. I barely knew N, to be honest. We also met in the army, but while I spent close to a year in the same section with A, N was only around for a few months, and only on the same floor as I was - we never worked together at all. It was a very different sort of tragedy; from the little I knew her, N clearly loved life and all it had to offer, and she was eager to live, explore, and see the world. She perished in a terrible hiking accident, the details of which I don't exactly know and don't think are very relevant.
As I truly barely knew her, I can't quite say what drove me to go to the funeral. I imagine on some level it was the nature of the death, a life cut short; on another, it was a sense of duty, as my section was on the same floor as hers, and I felt that someone from our section must be there. Perhaps it was for the many people I know who knew her better, and were sure to be there. Most of all, it was the impression she made, and the tragedy of a life lost prematurely. I can't say the first death prepared me to deal with the second one, on no level. However, I was far more mature at the time, and knew how to deal with my and my friends' emotions better.
Like life itself, I truly can't say this post carries a meaning, a logical conclusion, or even really much of a point. However, realizing these deaths came close to each other on the calendar, and that within a month I might be at the same national park as N was, I felt I had to get my thoughts and emotions out there. I have no idea how I'll feel once I'm there, or how might I handle death the next time it strikes in my life. Be that as it may, I feel more mature and more prepared than I've ever been before, to the extent one can be to deal with this level of grief.
Once again, if this makes you want to talk, about anything, I'm all ears, and (figuratively, unless you're in Chilean Patagonia) here for you. If not with me, share your thoughts with someone else, or with a pen and paper. Don't let these thoughts crawl in your head unimpeded.
Thank you for reading.
Rest in peace, A and N.
As I write this, it is late January, but truth be told, death has been on my mind since December. December, month of Hanukkah (usually), Christmas, endings, beginnings, solstice (depending upon which hemisphere you happen to find yourself in), and New Year's Eve. Before I delve into why this month has formed a connection with death, I must admit I have been quite lucky. My nuclear family is all well, as well as all of my grandparents. Hell, one of them is still skiing at the age of eighty - if I'm half as nimble and youthful as he is at that age, I'll be a ridiculously happy man. On the other hand, both deaths I have been forced to deal with occurred around this time of year, forging the unhappy and unfortunate connection.
(A disclaimer: there will be some minimal detail of the manner of the deaths, as well as how I know the deceased. I will not use names. Some of you may have met one, or maybe even both. If for any reason you are troubled by anything here, please, tell me. I will edit and censor myself as necessary. I do not wish to offend anyone, and should it happen, I apologize in advance)
I met A very early on my military service. We served together in the same section, which ranged between twenty and thirty men and women, give or take. While I can't say we were particularly close, it's hard not to know someone in your section. His brilliance couldn't be doubted. He was a an extremely talented software engineer and architect, and for most of our acquaintance, he toiled away on a though and innovative project hampered be half-baked technology. On some level, the project died with him; while he was gone in a bang, the project died off in a whimper, but it was never the same without him.
Perhaps the only thing more pronounced about A than his talent was his cynical attitude. Yet, as dark and critical as he was, there was no sign A was going to take his own life. The act and the manner in which is was done shocked us all, and if the writing was on the wall, we didn't have the sense to read it. Those who were closer to A must have felt a far stronger sadness in their hearts - for whatever troubled him, I know not how much he shared. I can't claim to the most emphatic person I know, and yet, a terrible sadness struck me as well. How could I not know someone I interacted with daily, consulted with when I was stuck, or shared a snack with when hunger struck, had such demons within him.
In the aftermath, I first experienced the different manners in which people deal with death. Some took it head on, and preferred to talk about the sorrow and grief with those around. Others attempted to put it away, get back to work, and quarantine their pain to deal with by themselves. Other few dealt with it in a manner A himself might have, on some level, using dark humor, with hushed tones and sadness in their eyes. Myself, I can't honestly remember how I managed. I was far less emotional mature than I am now (which is saying something), and this may very well be the first time I sit to ponder this loss.
Up until this year, I have never missed the memorial service. As the years passed, it turned into somewhat of a somber reunion. While the context is undoubtedly awful, it is the only time I see many of my old colleagues from the section. Life moves on, as it always has and always will, and I feel that the ability to empower the memorial as a reunion of sorts is a testament to our strength, to adapt and grow. We do not forget, but nor do we linger.
(As an aside, I can't imagine anyone is surprised, but I'm the last of A's section colleagues to be in some sort of military service, other than our section head at the time, who currently in a military career. While other representatives from the unit certainly come, I felt that as someone who was and still is there, it's even more important for me to attend the memorial services, both for his family as well as for myself.)
I missed the memorial as I'm traveling to South America (which you almost certainly know if you happen to be reading this). In an odd and unusual twist of fate, I'm closer than I've ever been to where the second person I've known to die lost her life. I barely knew N, to be honest. We also met in the army, but while I spent close to a year in the same section with A, N was only around for a few months, and only on the same floor as I was - we never worked together at all. It was a very different sort of tragedy; from the little I knew her, N clearly loved life and all it had to offer, and she was eager to live, explore, and see the world. She perished in a terrible hiking accident, the details of which I don't exactly know and don't think are very relevant.
As I truly barely knew her, I can't quite say what drove me to go to the funeral. I imagine on some level it was the nature of the death, a life cut short; on another, it was a sense of duty, as my section was on the same floor as hers, and I felt that someone from our section must be there. Perhaps it was for the many people I know who knew her better, and were sure to be there. Most of all, it was the impression she made, and the tragedy of a life lost prematurely. I can't say the first death prepared me to deal with the second one, on no level. However, I was far more mature at the time, and knew how to deal with my and my friends' emotions better.
Like life itself, I truly can't say this post carries a meaning, a logical conclusion, or even really much of a point. However, realizing these deaths came close to each other on the calendar, and that within a month I might be at the same national park as N was, I felt I had to get my thoughts and emotions out there. I have no idea how I'll feel once I'm there, or how might I handle death the next time it strikes in my life. Be that as it may, I feel more mature and more prepared than I've ever been before, to the extent one can be to deal with this level of grief.
Once again, if this makes you want to talk, about anything, I'm all ears, and (figuratively, unless you're in Chilean Patagonia) here for you. If not with me, share your thoughts with someone else, or with a pen and paper. Don't let these thoughts crawl in your head unimpeded.
Thank you for reading.
Rest in peace, A and N.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Have Time, Will Recap
Somehow the last month or so has gone by quite quickly, and I haven't found the time to summarize what I've been up to, and what my plans are. In the interest of documentation, and before I forget everything:
Antarctica: Utterly amazing. Worth every penny. To make this easier on me, I'll default to bullet points:
Antarctica: Utterly amazing. Worth every penny. To make this easier on me, I'll default to bullet points:
- The Falklands - cool place, but I can't see why they're worth fighting over. Penguins on sandy beaches are quite a cool view, and there are amazing albatross colonies. Port Stanley is a nifty little British town, which is quite a change coming from Argentina.
- South Georgia - amazing. Animal Disneyland. Utterly magical place. Huge penguin colonies, astounding amounts of elephant and fur seals, and great landscapes behind them. The history behind the place, both the whaling stations and the Shackleton tale, is quite interesting too.
- Antarctic Peninsula - views like nowhere else I've imagined. The best comparison I can think of are the top few hundred meters of your favorite mountain range (say, the Alps), in the middle of the winter, chopped and dropped at sea level. With quite a few more glaciers to boot. The wildlife isn't as astounding as it was in South Georgia, but the nature takes views and forms like nothing else. The last day we had picture-perfect weather, and we cruised through an 'iceberg graveyard' of some sort, with the still water providing absolutely magical reflections.
- The people - these cruises attract quite a mixture of people. Our young crew was comprised of most people under forty (who weren't staff), although quite a few of the older ladies and gentlemen were very, very interesting. The major upside of being together for two and a half weeks is that we had the time to connect and bond - after a month of traveling alone and moving every few days from place to place, it was a very welcome change. I've met some great friends, some I'm very much hoping to see again at some point in my travels, be them these ones or future ones.
- Staff - super friendly, very knowledgeable, and made us feel at home, Ate with us during the meals. drank with us at the bars, and were very happy to share and help us enjoy the trip as much as possible. Absolutely helped made the trip as awesome as it was.
Ushuaia: Cool city, yet not my favorite so far. Felt quite touristy, everywhere we went we saw tourists and heard Hebrew. Hostels never had enough room, and as our plans were day-by-day, we had to move quite a bit. My best few nights there were probably spent out camping, either on a short trek, or out in the national park. I imagine I'd have liked the city more if I wasn't there in peak tourist season. Hikes I did there:
- Glaciar Martial - a small little glaciar. Not all that exciting, but on the way down we found our way and climbed ski chairlift that was closed for the summer.
- Laguna Esmeralda - muddy walk to a pretty lagoon. Nothing special, but a fun half-day hike. If you go, hitch-hike there and back - it's not too hard, and much cheaper than paying for a shuttle.
- Laguna de los Tempanos - very, very pretty. A small lake right off a glacier (Glaciar Vinciguerra), that's half frozen. Absolutely worth the trip - could be a half day trip, or could be combined with...
- Paseo de la Oveja - a neat two-day hike, or one really long day. We ended up doing it in two and a half days, and that was with starting the Laguna de los Tempanos hike at 4pm the first day, and sleeping in until 6pm (!!) the second day. The third day was quite a long walk, and and we skipped a supposedly pretty side-trip, but all in all it's a very nice hike. The pass itself was quite epic, as it started hailing in our face and the winds were out in force, but in the end it was all fun and games.
- Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego - pretty views. a few nice hikes. We didn't have time to do the longer and more challenging one (Cerro Guanaco), but the time we spent there was quite nice either way.
From there, I took a boat shuttle down south to the Chilean Isla Navarino, on the southern side of the Beagle Channel. I'm absolutely loving this place - so much that it will get its own blog post before (or right after) I leave.
Pictures from The Falklands and South Georgia are up, and pictures from Antarctica will be up once I've had a proper chance to sort and upload them. That might take a while... After I'm done on Navarino I'll make my way to Punta Arenas, and from there to Puerto Natales and Torres del Paine. I will trek there for a week or so, and then stay on the park for at least a month to volunteer. After that? I haven't the faintest idea, but I imagine it'll be time to start heading north.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Have Memories, Will Link
Memory is a funny thing. The mere fact we're capable to remember is both a biological marvel and a necessity of survival, but that's not quite what's on my mind. Today (rather, when I wrote this, somewhere between South Georgia and Antarctica) I'm (or was) pondering memory "chains", how some experiences form links in the brain. I imagine I can't be the only one who makes these sort of connections, though - I'd love to hear from you if you do too.
While in NYC, my siblings and I watched "Book of Mormon." It was the funniest thing I've ever seen, over two hours of basically non-stop laughter, with quite an amusing message at the end, too. If you haven't seen it, especially if you live in NYC (or London, where it might also be playing), just drop everything and go. Right now. You'll thank me later. I have the soundtrack on my tablet, and listen to it every so often, especially when I need a good laugh or a distraction from whatever it is that's bothering me. There are very few things I've ever found funnier - perhaps only George Carlin and Louis CK come consistently close.
While listening the the soundtrack, many things come to my mind. The fun I shared with my siblings. Visuals from the show itself. "Previews" of the next lyrics to come, especially if they're hilarious favorites (an un-spoiler-y example: "Heavenly Father, why do you let bad things happen?; More to the point, why do you let bad things happen to me?"). Other great experiences from the week in NYC with my family, whom I haven't seen since, and other awesome images of my time in NYC, which was rather amazing. It's all rather positive and hilarious.
However, there's another memory that seldom fails to attach itself somewhere to this train of thought, somewhat akin to that person you really don't like yet somehow knows enough friends-of-friends to be at every party you go to. Truly, it's a very uninteresting memory: I was stood up by an OkCupid date (OkCupid is an online dating site I've been using, and actually quite liking (at least some of the time), for the best two years or so. There'll probably be a far longer blog post on that subject when the muse strikes me.). The tale is a classic one: gal and guy exchange a dozen messages or so; guy and gal decide to meet; gal and guy pick a time and place; gal goes incommunicado on the day of the meeting (and has been, until present day).Yes, we had also texted, and yes, I also called. Yes, it's also highly possible I did something to dissuade her from meeting. No, that's not the fucking point.
You (the two or three of you who might read this post) are probably wondering to yourself, "What does this even have to do with 'Book of Mormon'"? Short answer: not a whole lot. Longer answer: I mentioned I'll be seeing the musical, and she excitedly said she loves it, and knows a cast member or two (she's in theater (aside: isn't the British spelling of theatre much more pleasing to type or look at?)). C'est tout. I remember her as being rather cute, but couldn't for the life of me tell you what her pictures looked like. I was rather excited about meeting here, to the usual (and rather high) extent I'm excited about a first meeting in person. Again, more thoughts about online dating at some point in the future (sooner rather than later if someone actually wants to read it).
By itself this isn't a very interesting story, not even to me, but I believe it offers a glimpse into how I think about a great many things. Although outwardly I'm rather talented at deflecting blame, inwards I'm the first and foremost person I blame whenever anything goes wrong. I guess it's a rather extreme inner locus of control; while it allows me to draw great strengths (believing in myself to go through six months of physiotherapy twice, and probably a third time at some point in 2015, as an easy example), it can also be quite a burden. As confident as I can be in myself and in what I do, it isn't easy living with the voice inside that questions every move made, every word picked, every text sent, and every emotion felt. Just like I spent quite sometime wondering what made her disappear, I tend to dwell on the negative sides of experiences far more than the positive ones. Case in point: I'm pretty convinced I spend far more time questioning my failed relationships (generally blaming myself for every misstep) than celebrating the fun I had in the successful and awesome relationships I've had.
While these sentiments are centered around relationships, they're far from unique to them. From time to time I ponder how much of a fuckhead (academically, socially, and otherwise) I was in high school, and how different my life might be right now had I worked harder and smarter. This conveniently ignores the fact I'm pretty damn pleased with where I am now (especially as I'm traveling, you can never quite get enough of that), and where I'm headed (for the most part). I feel as if failed chances and missed opportunities get prime-time broadcasting, while successes are often relegated to daytime TV and ESPN 8: The Ocho.
I can't say I'm sure this is all that terrible; however, like most things in life, I should strive for better balance. One of my favorite poems (from the limited selection I know well enough to like), "If" by Rudyard Kipling (and yes, it's very white-patriarchal, but I can still find some inspiration within it from time to time), touches the topic:
While in NYC, my siblings and I watched "Book of Mormon." It was the funniest thing I've ever seen, over two hours of basically non-stop laughter, with quite an amusing message at the end, too. If you haven't seen it, especially if you live in NYC (or London, where it might also be playing), just drop everything and go. Right now. You'll thank me later. I have the soundtrack on my tablet, and listen to it every so often, especially when I need a good laugh or a distraction from whatever it is that's bothering me. There are very few things I've ever found funnier - perhaps only George Carlin and Louis CK come consistently close.
While listening the the soundtrack, many things come to my mind. The fun I shared with my siblings. Visuals from the show itself. "Previews" of the next lyrics to come, especially if they're hilarious favorites (an un-spoiler-y example: "Heavenly Father, why do you let bad things happen?; More to the point, why do you let bad things happen to me?"). Other great experiences from the week in NYC with my family, whom I haven't seen since, and other awesome images of my time in NYC, which was rather amazing. It's all rather positive and hilarious.
However, there's another memory that seldom fails to attach itself somewhere to this train of thought, somewhat akin to that person you really don't like yet somehow knows enough friends-of-friends to be at every party you go to. Truly, it's a very uninteresting memory: I was stood up by an OkCupid date (OkCupid is an online dating site I've been using, and actually quite liking (at least some of the time), for the best two years or so. There'll probably be a far longer blog post on that subject when the muse strikes me.). The tale is a classic one: gal and guy exchange a dozen messages or so; guy and gal decide to meet; gal and guy pick a time and place; gal goes incommunicado on the day of the meeting (and has been, until present day).Yes, we had also texted, and yes, I also called. Yes, it's also highly possible I did something to dissuade her from meeting. No, that's not the fucking point.
You (the two or three of you who might read this post) are probably wondering to yourself, "What does this even have to do with 'Book of Mormon'"? Short answer: not a whole lot. Longer answer: I mentioned I'll be seeing the musical, and she excitedly said she loves it, and knows a cast member or two (she's in theater (aside: isn't the British spelling of theatre much more pleasing to type or look at?)). C'est tout. I remember her as being rather cute, but couldn't for the life of me tell you what her pictures looked like. I was rather excited about meeting here, to the usual (and rather high) extent I'm excited about a first meeting in person. Again, more thoughts about online dating at some point in the future (sooner rather than later if someone actually wants to read it).
By itself this isn't a very interesting story, not even to me, but I believe it offers a glimpse into how I think about a great many things. Although outwardly I'm rather talented at deflecting blame, inwards I'm the first and foremost person I blame whenever anything goes wrong. I guess it's a rather extreme inner locus of control; while it allows me to draw great strengths (believing in myself to go through six months of physiotherapy twice, and probably a third time at some point in 2015, as an easy example), it can also be quite a burden. As confident as I can be in myself and in what I do, it isn't easy living with the voice inside that questions every move made, every word picked, every text sent, and every emotion felt. Just like I spent quite sometime wondering what made her disappear, I tend to dwell on the negative sides of experiences far more than the positive ones. Case in point: I'm pretty convinced I spend far more time questioning my failed relationships (generally blaming myself for every misstep) than celebrating the fun I had in the successful and awesome relationships I've had.
While these sentiments are centered around relationships, they're far from unique to them. From time to time I ponder how much of a fuckhead (academically, socially, and otherwise) I was in high school, and how different my life might be right now had I worked harder and smarter. This conveniently ignores the fact I'm pretty damn pleased with where I am now (especially as I'm traveling, you can never quite get enough of that), and where I'm headed (for the most part). I feel as if failed chances and missed opportunities get prime-time broadcasting, while successes are often relegated to daytime TV and ESPN 8: The Ocho.
I can't say I'm sure this is all that terrible; however, like most things in life, I should strive for better balance. One of my favorite poems (from the limited selection I know well enough to like), "If" by Rudyard Kipling (and yes, it's very white-patriarchal, but I can still find some inspiration within it from time to time), touches the topic:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
More than anything else, it was a fun topic to ponder and write about. If you've made it all the way down here, congratulations! I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear some thoughts.
P.S.: A day or so after writing this originally, I realized another one. The Black Keys' Attack and Release is linked in my mind to an awesome woman I knew a few years ago, who was the first to introduce me to them. A, if you're reading this: you were wonderful, and deserved better than how it ended up. I'm sorry.
P.P.S: Since writing this, I haven't spent much time dwelling on that specific memory. I guess writing really does have cathartic qualities. I should do this more often.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Have Sea Lions, Will Dive
The main motif of this week has been ridiculously awesome experiences. That's always a good way to start, right?
It started last Saturday night with a music festival in Buenos Aires. Headlined by the Arctic Monkeys and The Hives, PersonalFest 2014 was a small and yet fantastic affair. I arrived reasonably late Saturday afternoon, after taking my time walking around the Puerto Mardeo area in the early afternoon. The first show I caught was the latter half of James McCartney's - he's nowhere near his father, but makes some nice, if rather generic rock music. Next up were Echo & The Bunnymen, who were apparently famous in the 80s. I've never heard of them, and the best thing that came out of their show is that I met a group of american foreign exchange students with whom I hung out for the rest of the festival.
The ridiculousness started with The Hives. They put on a really fun show (even if at some point most of their songs begin to sound a tad the same), and really got the crowd going. My only pet peeve is that the front-man was rather in love with himself and his band, and wouldn't move on to the next song without some cheering about how much the crowd loves The Hives. Meh. The Arctic Monkeys, on the other hand, simply put together an awesome show. They played an amazing 21 song set, which included most of their hits and several lesser-known songs. The crowd was absolutely wild, and didn't stop moving / jumping / smashing / pushing everywhere. The encore was long and well done, with amazing effects during I Wanna Be Yours, and an extended rendition of R U Mine to close the night.
The next morning saw me wake up late and enjoy a stroll around town with two girls from the hostel, followed by an eighteen hour bus to Puerto Madryn. It was rather unremarkable - the views were rather bland, endless green fields and the occasional village. The bed service (Cama) buses are rather comfortable though - business-class level seats, snacks served, and wine with dinner. All-in-all nothing terrible, but I'm rather glad I opted for a flight for Puerto Madryn to Ushuaia. Puerto Madryn itself is a quiet little town, just under half way down the Argentine coastline from Buenos Aires.
The morning after arriving I went to one of Puerto Madryn's claims to fame: diving with sea lions in Punta Loma. Oh. My. God. It. Was. Amazing. The videos (first, second) tell the story better than I ever could, and the photos came out rather awesome as well. The sea lions (at least the females and pups) are remarkably curious creatures, and they just come right up to you and play with you. As they don't have hands or feet, they just nibble at your hands (or snorkel, or flippers) to see what they can find out about you. I also opted to take another dive afterwards, to a neat shipwreck they have nearby. Other than the fact the Atlantic Ocean is really bloody cold (7mm wet-suits, gloves, and hoods aren't optional), it was a rather fun dive, with some fish and coral as well.
Later that day I biked up to a vista point nearby named Punta Felcha - the views were very pretty, but I ran into some rather destructive headwind on my way back to town, which forced me to walk parts of the way back. The milkshake I had afterwards certainly felt well-earned. I met some other fun travelers during my stay in Puerto Madryn (a couple from Austria, two girls from Germany, three Israelis (whom I met again in Ushuaia), and two more girls from the Netherlands), and cooked some solid meals. It was out of the way, but well worth it. Major props go to Johnny and Inbar who suggested it might be worth a trip.
The flight to Ushuaia was a tad bumpy, but the views were simply beautiful (photos coming soon). It's simply a beautiful place - snowy mountains to the north, the beagle channel to the south, and even more snowy peaks on the mountains beyond. Simply gorgeous. Between arriving here in the afternoon on Thursday, a skype interview Friday morning, and the cruise beginning Saturday afternoon, I actually haven't hiked here at all yet; but there'll be plenty of time for that once I get back.
Next up: Antarctica. Eighteen days, including the Falkland Islands (or Islas Malvinas, as they're known in the collective Argentine cognitive dissonance), as well as South Georgia, sometimes referred to as "The Galapagos of the Atlantic." It's going to be amazing. I'm stoked.
Introspection of the day: I'm not quite sure if (and how) I want to track my expenses on the trip. On one hand, it isn't about the money - it's about the experience. However, seeing that everything does indeed cost money, keeping some track of it makes sense. So far it's early enough that I still remember most of my large expenses (travel, attractions), and can approximate how much I've spent on hostels and living expenses. On one hand I want to have some idea of how much I'm spending and what's it being spent on, and on the other hand, I want to make sure the financials don't consume me, and that I don't mull every dinner out with how much I've spent so far.
Add into that mix the Antarctica trip, which dwarfs every other expense (and probably all of the trip-related expenses so far), and I have no idea and and how I should do. Friends and family who have traveled, should anyone ever read this: What did you do to track expenses? How did it work out?
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