HAPPY NEW YEAR AND A FEW PAGES FROM THE JOURNAL 2012

PRELUDE

May 14th, 2012 “The end of America”

Strait of Magellan

“Please don´t take me to Punta Arenas”, I tell Juan Carlos, the truck driver whom I´ve been travelling with for the past two days from Bariloche. 

“I don´t know anybody in Punta Arenas, so better I stay on the road and camp in a place less crowded.”

It gets dark around five o´clock. The winter is about to start. Wouldn´t it be too cold? Last night I camped in Fitz Roy petrol station beside the truck, it was around 8 degrees Celsius. An agreeable temperature considering the season.

Now having come another 900 km South what would the weather be like? In the dark I see a wide stretch of water- the Magellan Strait, which marks the end of American mainland. From Alaska it looked so far away, and now I am finally here. Yet somehow instead of a proud feeling of having made it I feel frustrated – what next and where to?

Juan Carlos drops me off by a little police station just 11 kilometres before Punta Arenas. I knock and enter. 

A man in an olive coloured uniform greets me from behind a reception desk.

After a short self-introduction I ask for a permission to camp. The officer makes a phone call while I wait creating a plan B in case they say no. 

Hanging up he smiles and says: “Unfortunately we cannot allow you to camp – it is too cold and about to rain, but you could sleep in the house if you like.”

A great relief – of course I would like to sleep in the house! I am guided into a wide apartment with several dormitories for the officers, a kitchen and a spacious living room. Later that night the place livens up – I meet many police officers, most of them coming from different parts of the country. They tell me that I am not the first traveller to have crashed at their place, that not too long ago four guys biking through Patagonia had also stayed over.

A new word to learn: Chilean national police are called “Carabineros”, who on one hand watch after the public order but on the other are a reserve for the army with their paramilitary organization.

After the most filling meal that I am invited to: fried potatoes with rice and an omelette, I extend my camping mat on the floor. The room is too warm to sleep in a four-season sleeping bag, so I lay it out on the floor to make my bed a bit softer.

May 15^th 2012 “jamais deux sans trois”

“So where ought I go from here?”

Carabineros suggest I try luck in the Chilean Navy headquarters for they have a base on the Antarctic continent and make regular trips to provide provisions.

I say good-bye and step out on the road. It is 8 AM – I have plenty of time before it gets dark.  As I walk looking for a good spot to catch a ride I remember a story about a Russian hitchhiker I read in a book by another Russian hitchhiker Anton Krotov. While travelling Argentinean Patagonia the lucky fellow caught ride with an expedition going to Antarctica…and joined it. I daydream of such a “happy end” raising my hand to a passing vehicle, obviously not an expedition car. The car stops…I am even disappointed.

-      "Where to?"

-       "To Antarctica, preferably"

-       "I can give you a ride to Punta Arenas"

-       "That´s on the way."

The man is a curtain salesman going to Punta Arenas who to my biggest surprise tells me that he has been to the South Pole during his military service.  I ask him if he knows where the Navy headquarters are and feel lucky to find myself in front of their door just ten minutes later. 

“If they say no, try going to the University of Magallanes – they have an Antarctic research centre that might perhaps use a translator,” suggests the curtain salesman.

Well, so much for the Navy – I am not even allowed to pass the security gate. What did I expect? To be guided on board?

I step out of the building and look around. Where would I find the University? The curtain salesman had shown me the right direction, yet I cannot remember. Whom to ask? I see a taxi pull over. I hesitate – should I disturb the man, he might think I would be a customer and later be disappointed.  No other people around, the taxi driver is my only hope.

-       "Excuse me, sir, Where would I find the University of Magallanes?"

-       "UMAG is over there, a kilometre and a half away."

-       "Thank you!"

-       "I´ll give you a ride."

-       "I appreciate it, but prefer to walk. I would not be able to pay you."

-        "Don´t worry about it. I´m going in that direction anyway."

Having squeezed my backpack into the trunk I sit into the car thanking the driver. After introducing myself, I learn that the taxi driver Juan has also been to Antarctica.

-       Seems like a popular place, just around the corner, I note ironically mentioning that my previous ride had also been there

"If in the University they tell you no, try speaking with the people in the Antarctic Centre by the central square, says Juan as we part by the front gate of the UMAG."

After an interesting hour with the head of the Antarctic project who tells me about a German woman who had walked to the South Pole I try to “invent” a reason of what my personal project could be

"It is not about the places, or about “Touching the Oceans” as I sometimes call my journey, but about the people – who are they, how are they living in different places of the world; from Siberia to Japan, from California to Alaska, from remote Central American villages to multi-million South American capitals. I enter as a nobody, am received as a stranger, if invited I stay to sooner or later become one with them and their everyday; and then when I finally stop being a stranger, I leave.  If there are people living in Antarctica, I´m interested. I expect nothing. A man I met for five minutes fifteen minutes ago told me of you. A door? I thought and came to knock."

He is interested, I can see it in his eyes, or is it wishful thinking?  Yet he is unable to help.  I understand.

“The projects are written long before they are carried through. It is not the season. We don´t really have funds, all I can say is try DAP airlines – they fly to Antarctic and hold the key that might help you, “ says the man.

I walk out with another clue on my hand – well at least I have somewhere next to go. The taxi driver told me of an Antarctic Centre, and now this guy mentions the airlines. What will this day bring?

I take the wrong turn and end up by a closed gate. A sign? I have to go back all the way and ask for directions. As I finally step out of the University ground I look around – how far would it be to the centre? Which direction should I take?

At the same moment I see a passing taxi pull over. I´m about to say that am not interested when recognize Juan.

-       "How did it go?"

-       "Not so good."

-       "Come, I´ll take you to the centre."

I cannot believe the coincidence of our second meeting! Juan just smiles. We get a chance to speak about my journey on our way to the centre.  This would have been a long walk, and even longer with the 17 kilos on my back. I am sincerely grateful. Juan passes me his number if I had no place to stay and tells me how to get to the square and to the Antarctic Centre as he drops me off at the corner.

Well what would my chances be? The Antarctic Centre is as white as I imagine the continent to be, the interior is modern and seems to have also an educational function. I see leaflets for movies, symposiums, expositions, invitations for participation in projects, but do not stop to explore further. I go to the front desk and ask whom I ought to speak with introducing briefly my “project”.  I am invited to take a seat while waiting. I am somewhat troubled. When I show the man a map of a journey I am on with a black line drawn across four continents, he asks to borrow it, disappears behind the corner then returns. Hope is gone when I hear the first words: "Unfortunately…

The man gives me a name of a company who works with the German Base. I don´t really know why. It takes me another hour to find their building and speak to the secretary who is new there and looks at me with my backpack with an awe of compassion mixed with curiosity. Wrong door.

I walk out of the building to look for O´Higgins Street where I am told the DAP airlines´ office is located and then suddenly see just ahead an open horizon – the Magellan Strait. Immediately drawn to it I start walking towards the sea. Walking downhill is easy and I soon reach the sidewalk running parallel to the water. The day is cloudy. The beach looks abandoned and there is garbage everywhere. Must say I had a more romantic image of that place and of that day. I continue walking looking for an entrance to get closer to the shore. Finally see a wide enough crack in the concrete barrier and make my way to the beach.

I let the backpack fall from my shoulders - what a relief. Tired, I sit on it to take off my shoes. A magic moment with or without a question mark: I walk into the water, wash my hands, my face, this time no dip – I´m still in town. I spot a little black stone with a white line and pick it up.

Back on dry land I am tempted to open a pack of cookies but change my mind deciding to find that DAP airlines office first.

I´m surprised to find the O´Higgins street fairly quick –  in fact it is the first random street I take back towards the town centre. I ask the only person I see on the street for the DAP airlines. The young man points to a building with a relatively big sign – DAP.  I cannot see well without glasses is my only excuse.

In DAP I meet a lovely woman Isabel who tells me about their Antarctic program which starts running for tourists from November to March and has a humble cost of 4000 US dollars. In turn I tell Isabel about my journey and she asks many interesting questions. I answer generously appreciating her personal interest and traveller´s soul.  Isabel passes me her card and tells me to come back during the summer season –  six months later. I smile and thank her for her time.

As I take the stairs down I feel my mind completely blank – no more clues, no more ideas. To look at the map – where would I go, if I could only travel by land – back to the Caribbean?

My stomach has plans for these cookies I´ve been carrying for I don´t know how long and from where. My feet promise to find the best bench in town for the occasion.

I am about to cross the street when see Juan and his taxi pulling over next to me.

“Third time? Are you following me?” I ask with a big smile on my face.

-     "How did it go?"

-      "Not so good. Looks like I´m here in the wrong season."

-      "Do you want to go for lunch, he asks."

-       "Sure! I´m quite hungry, to be honest."

And this is how I meet Purisima – Juan´s wife. She had invited me after Juan had met me for the second time. He called her, but we had already parted, so there was little to no hope I would be able to get that invitation. But like in that French saying jamais deux sans trois – what happened twice would also happen the third time,  our paths with Juan, the taxi driver, crossed again and he passed me the invitation.

On our way to Juan´s place I ask why the taxi has a number 15 on its roof.  I learn that what I thought to be a taxi is in fact another form of transportation popular in Punta Arenas and known as “el colectivo”. The system is very much like a public bus which has a certain route in town and where you pay a fixed fee, yet at the same time el colectivo (each with a corresponding number), has no special stops – one can enter and get off wherever he or she needs.

Juan in his colectivo

THE HOUSE

I cannot believe the interior of that apartment hidden behind a brown garage door.  From the curtains to furniture, not mentioning the decorative mirror, porcelain clock, little sculptures, big vases, lamps on a marble base, a crystal chandelier above an eye catching central table with a pink marble top framed with ornate wooden carvings, the six chairs around it, their wide cushioned backs decorated with a tapestry of an idyllic peasant scene, and all that exuberant visual accompanied by the most elegant table setting - it is French Rococo no doubt about it and yet it is not in a museum where one tends to see such items, this is a home, all of those things are in use and very much alive.

The first impression is somewhat left aside when Dreny the housekeeper serves he food. I really am hungry.

“How long has it been since your last home cooked meal?” asks Purisima.

“Since last night´s supper,” I say noticing that my answer somewhat surprises her.

“You might find it strange, but I eat three times a day and quite well. The lunch, the breakfast, the supper are set before me but never by me. I am every day hungry and every day satisfied. And even though this has happened daily since I left my home nearly five years ago, I cannot stop to wonder how it happens and am always very grateful for every plate of food that just like this one magically appears.”

I share the latest travelogue of my getting to Punta Arenas from Tiiu´s place in Buenos Aires, how every night there was a safe place to sleep and every morning a road full of unknown people who gave unconditionally without expecting anything in return.

The television is on. News about killing, rape and theft form a strange, surreal background to those tales.

After we finish lunch, I look towards my backpack by the door.

“Thank you very much”, I say, “but I ought to continue while that the day is still young”.

“Wait, would you like to stay here for a couple of days? You have had a long journey behind you, our children are grown and we have space. Your room is ready for you if you agree,” says Purísima.

I look at Juan – he smiles approvingly.

“If so, then I would stay gladly!” I say.

“You ought to go out and see Punta Arenas,” says Purisima, “take walk on the cemetery, see the coastline, the centre.”

“Yes, but I´d rather help you if there is something I could do for you,” I reply.

Who is she? What is her secret? When she tells me I cry.

 PURISIMA

Purísima. Photo: Juan Contereras

"My dad, a child of a French nobleman and the housekeeper, unrecognized by his father, lost his sight in an accident at the age of 18.  His wife and four out of five children died in an earthquake.  He married my mom when she was just fourteen and they had thirteen children. My Father played violin and earned our bread preforming in trains. Since I was eight I had to accompany him singing. I never went to school to learn how to read and write. It was a hard and humiliating life, especially for a teenager. All I wanted was to be able to leave home. I got married when 17, but soon after our daughter was born my husband died in a car accident. He was only 18. I did not want her to grow up without a father nor stay alone myself  - I met Juan, an innocent soldier of 20, he was just a friend at first, but he liked me and I didn´t care.

Our first child drowned when only one year old. Then our daughter passed away soon after birth. I think I was going mad. Death followed me, but instead of me, took my children. I don´t know how, but we came through and had three healthy babies. They are all grown up now. It was a difficult time. My oldest son spoke for me when he was nine and I went to school. I learned what I could but it was hard with a big family in need of attention.  Reading and writing is still very difficult for me.

Then, when the kids were still small I was operated on my back, was in hospital for eight months and tied to my bed at home for another year. They said I would never walk again nor be able to work. I came through. The poverty I lived, I do not want my family to ever experience. And this is the reason why I wake up every morning." 

THE CRYSTAL BUSINESS

It is late, I am already in bed, when hear the doorbell. 

“Come,” says Purísima, “I will show you my business."

We walk downstairs into a dark yard where see to ladies waiting for us.  A short walk through the garage, Purísima opens the door and leads us into a long hall packed with plates, cups, glasses, pots and other kitchenware one could only imagine.

“I forgot you were coming,” she says apologetically to the ladies, “but no worries, your order will be ready in no time. What was it again you needed?”

I observe her climb the stairs taking down boxes with wine glasses and heavy piles of plates. I notice she is not well in health, her head is spinning and several times she almost falls. The three of us try to help as we can receiving and counting the dishes.

After the girls leave I say I would help her while here.

KEY

I am sewing. It is my first time and the work advances slowly. I see a young woman about my age enter the textile storeroom. We greet each other and given away by my accent she asks where I come from and how I met Purísima.

“It is just for a few days I´m here”, I tell Tamara answering her third question.

Tamara and Olaf are planning to hold their wedding party in Purísima´s event salon and have come to fix up the place. I help decorate and am eventually invited to join the celebration.  

Tamara´s and Olaf´s wedding

An elderly lady I meet that night gives me a little key holder as a present.  A key holder? But for which key?

“I think you are staying in Punta Arenas this winter,” says Tamara. 

“I think I have to leave here on Tuesday,” I reply.

When the party ends it begins to snow. In the morning Punta Arenas is covered with a thick white blanket. I fall into bed ill with flu. Purisima, Juan and Dreny take care for me and less than a week later I am back on my feet. The snow is gone and the road clean.

“I am well now,” I tell my kind host family, “the road is also open. I ought to move on before the next  snowfall.” 

Hearing this makes all of us feel very sad. I look up: “Purisima, Juan – and what if I stayed with you for the winter? I could help out wherever needed in turn for the Hope I would then have to be able to one day continue my journey South.”

Purisma embraces me. Juan invites us to go to a movie theatre. I am given a key to the brown garage door. Purisma’s everyday becomes my everyday, her grandchild is my piano and English student, I join the church choir, Tamara becomes my friend, cold porcelain teacher and later colleague when I start helping her to give art classes in a school for young people with special needs. Purisima´s daughter Sandra gives me running shoes and I start training for half a marathon. Punta Arenas has tamed me. I have no plans or perspectives to continue – it is a perfect place. Would I even want to continue.

It is late September, I have come back from Torres del Paine, have run half the marathon, the everyday seemingly continues just as it used to. Another Thursday, another art class with Tamara. 

"I have a feeling you are leaving soon," says Tamara.

Indeed, next time we meet, I confirm my departure from Punta Arenas. How did she know?

 A BIRTHDAY PRESENT

It is October fourth, my 31^st birthday. Purisima rents her dishes to Chilean Technical University and asks me to help serve the coffee in the lobby. It is a special day for another reason. The project we worked on has been approved and Purísima is receiving the cheque for 3 million pesos to improve her storage rooms.

Another casual conversation, random questions, one of these would soon change my life.

"Do you think you could give a course for our university on English and tourism? We would like to interview you tomorrow. Please send us your CV."

At home a surprise birthday party awaits. There are the girls from our choir, Mario - a friend of the family, they even sing Happy Birthday in Estonian – how wonderful!

I blow the candles and make a wish: to be selected.

Next day that wish comes true.  Technical University of Chile hires me to give a course to the women of a little community in Port Williams on the Navarino Island just by the Gulf of Beagle opposite to the Land of Fire.

One month and two days later I fly to Navarino.

 NAVARINO

A photo summary

RETURN TO PUNTA ARENAS

 It is impossible to return, I knew that before. But somehow thought this time would be different. 

It isn´t.  The plane has landed, I know this town, I lived here before, but I don´t live here any more. Where do I belong? I need to leave. I need to understand. All I want is to be on the island, even if there is 0 degrees in summer.

A University bus comes to pick us up. I don´t feel like going home. What if I just grab my pack and set off?

No, I can´t do that, they are waiting for me. I better go. And I come home. “I will leave tomorrow”, I tell Juan and Purisima.

I can see she has a lot of work to do, but I cannot see it as mine any more. Is that an egoistic thought?  No, I could not do that. I need their blessing. So I work for one more week and then on December 10^th I take all my things and hit the road. I need time to think.

ROAD TO BUENOS AIRES

My third ride, Santiago, picks me up from the crossing to the Land of Fire, he is 53.  He is travelling from the Land of Fire where he has lived for the past 33 years.

“How did you end up in the Land of Fire?” I ask.

“I was given a job to do for a month. After I returned together with the report I handed in my resignation. The boss thought I was crazy. Instead of letting me go he gave me sheep and fourty employees. I married my girlfriend and then we moved to the Land of Fire,” Santiago tells me.

He is now an owner of a successful business selling wool to international distributors, has been active in politics and is now thinking of cultivating salmon. The purpose of his journey is to find a house in a warm place and move out of the Land of Fire.

“I am tired of wind and cold. I want my family to live in Mar del Plata. I told them that I´d be leaving today but they did not take it seriously. This is why I am alone.”

Santiago drove 120 km per hour stopping only to fill the tank with gasoline. By the afternoon of the next day we had travelled 2300 km to Mar del Plata.

“Your story is my story, Santiago. I just lived one month on one island. Every mile we travel I think more of it. It is as if going far I could see better. I am more and more sure now where I would like to be."

Dropped off by the side of the road going to Buenos Aires I did not even have to hitchhike – Ruben, an ex traveller picked me up and drove me to Tiiu´s house in Chascomus.

The Sufis have a saying: if you think you are lost, then go back to where you came from and see where you have to go.

And so I returned to Chascomus to spend Christmas with Tiiu.

MONICA

“So what´s your next journey,” asks Monica, a 45 year old psychologist whom I know from Family Constellation classes and workshops Tiiu has always invited me to. This meeting is no different, at least in the beginning it seems to be another hello to another acquaintance.  Monica is sitting next to me. We speak briefly before the workshop starts and she invites me for lunch.

“I´m coming with you,” she says. “Tell me what to bring.”

Is she serious or joking? I am still not sure. To say that she wants to come along, well many people have said that. But she wants to know what to bring and that is quite different.

According to Monica she´s done everything in life but hitchhike. It is now or never.

I have a travel companion.

THE JOURNEY

It takes us five days, four nights and ten rides to travel from Buenos Aires back to Punta Arenas. A very funny journey since my travel companion is an opposite of whatever you might think a typical hitchhiker would be. She is a mature beautiful woman who likes to sleep eight hours a day, eat well, you should see the quantity of creams the brought along,  and make-up… and she did not bring the sleeping bag. Monica does not know how to climb down the truck, she falls, Monica powders her nose in a car, asks the driver to drop us off so that we would not have to walk even ten metres, she gives her number to the drivers and flirts with them. This list could be so long…

I can´t remember the last time I laughed so much and so often and of course let the drivers in on the fun.  I could never have imagined that two people so different in so many ways could form such a great companionship. At least part one we passed with flying colours arriving to Punta Arenas happily ever after. Now starting from today we will face part two: Island Navarino. What awaits us? A Happy New Year!