Admiral Rosenqvist responds, and we prepare for indecision.

Below you will find the letter from the Admiral expressing his most sincere regrets, but assuring us that if there is space that opens up we will definitely be contacted about passage to Antarctica.  So be it. No we are

back to familiar indecision

. 

The ice royalty still rule

This past week has been really fun.  After finishing up the first segment of our volunteering we struck off to explore the park.  Check out the pictures for full detail (in the sidebar).  We went for three nights and four days with our friend Nate from Puerto Varas.  The trek is known as the "W" but we only did the second two legs, starting with the French Valley where we decided that the Snow Queen incites her minions of drunken butterflies to have snowball fights in the heavens.  Elf blood marked our paths, and we lost ourselves in a fairy tale of epic proportions that Caitlin really should write up some time.  It was really just a time of beauty and wandering in the mountains.  On the third day we arrived at Glacier Grey which is part of the South American Ice Cap which is immense (you really should check out the photos if you haven't yet).  We learned a lot about glaciers, we saw the most blue lakes ever painted and I cut myself while jumping on to an iceberg.  All along the way Caitlin took pictures of me that have continued constructing my persona.

For the record and proper notice:

I am still in Torres Del Paine, and will be for at least another two weeks. After that I might be renting a car with a bunch of folks here and going to Ushuaia as far south as one can easily get.  Or I might be going to Antarctica if the Admiral responds positively soon.  But most likely Caitlin and I will be making our way to Buenos Aires by air, bus or hitchhiking.

Of Mountains and Moist Middle-aged Europeans

Location:  Torres Del Paine, latitude 50 degrees south
Job: Unclear
Hours: 9am-5pm
Fun: Yes
Productive: Questionable
Beautiful: Of course (jaded by beauty: maybe)
Horses: check

The view:

Three days ago we sat in the refugio (where guests pay 40 dollars for a bed w/o sheets) after a long day.  Between us, a bottle of scotch and a bar of chocolate.  Our new friends Kendra, Rebecca and Danielle with us around the table listened to the howling wind and relaxed.  But the night had only started and the wet people outside had only started trickling in.  As their harsh language seeped in through the windows and doors of the rustic house we became more curious, but resolved to drink, and stay detached.  Soon we were being greeted by a hilarious Portuguese woman in somewhat broken Spanish.  She thought we really knew how to enjoy our youth and so took a few pictures of us.  But then it started.  The poetry.  We don't know how or why, but the group of ever growing smelly Iberians had huddled, and taken over the entire room, probably 40 or 50 in all.  Around and around they talked and passed a book of poetry.  We were told to be quiet.  We tried to ignore them, but they overpowered us.  As they recited, and we talked in hushed voices, Caitlin wrote her own poem taken right off the bottle of "The Famous Grouse."  Who knows what they were saying. It continued for an hour, then another, finally we left, thrust into the light of the Patagonian night.  

The situation above is part of the strangeness we experience every day.  Somehow as volunteers, we can manage to both eat in the "casino" with the other workers, get free 100 dollar horse rides through the snow capped mountain passes, use the (slow) internet for free, but also relax in the hotel lounges where guests are paying 1000 dollars for the privilege.  Neither workers nor guests can straddle the worlds so effectively or with so little shame.  How we've managed to come upon this liminal existence I can only guess at, but I certainly am liking it. 

Work the first day consisted of breaking down a bridge--I broke two pick-axes--pure fun.  Yesterday we walked to the Towers (as seen in picture above) with a group of 15 year olds.  It's a bizarre existence here in make believe world, where work appears to be play.  

OK, I don't want to get carried away. 

Happy everything, (holidays included I suppose), and I hope to hear from some of you soon--emails are great!

Nathaniel

Much travel, long buses, molluscs forgotten.

It's been a while since I wrote so I apologize in advance for the length of this post. When I last left off I was somewhere in Chiloe, working hard for a somewhat exploitative snail farmer named Ines. Since then I have come a long a way. We spent about a week more at the farm and talked our way into working a little less and getting to ride the horses. We went two or three times on those fairly untrained beasts. But the nights were gorgeous and rode them around the incredible vistas of purple setting suns and seaweed dragging oxen. Then we went back to Puerto Varas to prepare for a 5 day trek into the Cochamo valley (often dubbed the Yosemite of South America), but the pictures will do an infinitely better job relating the story than will my blog, so check them out (in the side bar). We met up with Lenka and Max, two of Caitlin's old rock climbing friends. We did a lot of watching them climb improbable rock faces.

The one part of Cochamo I will relate was what happened on the 25^th of November. Being a ten mile hike into a fairly deserted valley in southern Chile we expected that having arrived the only Americans, we would remain so for the duration of our stay. We were mistaken. On Thanksgiving day like clockwork a host of American's arrived, not only to cook a meal at the “refugio” but also as guests to participate in it. Of course we were joined by a few requisite foreigners for us to relate the tale to, but in all, the turkeys, stuffing and mashed potatoes made me feel pretty much at home. Fabulous meal, and funny coincidences, like the two 2010 graduates of Harvard who showed up, and knew my brother and best friend...

We arrived in Punta Arenas last Sunday after a a 30 hour bus through the Argentine pampas, to the Atlantic coast, about 1000 miles south and then west onto the straits of Magellan. The ride made us a little crazy, but it was mainly due to the sad circumstances of our departure. Caitlin's packpack had been stealthily stolen in the Puerto Montt bus terminal, and I was having a stomach-illness relapse, which after taking a full dosage of Cipro was fairly unnerving. Another oddity which might have contributed to general craziness was the fact that more and more people were French speaking, and fewer than ever spoke Spanish. So thoroughly distressed we decided to hang out in Punta Arenas while we filed insurance claims and stayed near hospitals (don't worry, all is now taken care of!).

So right now I'm procrastinating for what seems like the first time in about six months. You see I should be working on a project proposal for a research study. This feels good. The procrastinating especially. It brings me back to a time of certainty. To a time when I knew what my life was—deadlines were established, procrastinating ensued, and somehow, out of the abyss of Gould Library, surrounded by food scraps and the smell of old books, I would emerge with a document and be told by someone with power whether I had achieved success. The research proposal you ask? I suppose that too brings me back to college. It is a vaguely sociological study focusing on place, and national identity. I am sure that my history professors would be proud to know that I was thinking about both Pierre Nora and Benedict Anderson when I wrote those last few words. And hopefully they will find their way into whatever is written if the judges of the outside world deem the proposal worthy of success. The project in short, is to examine the place of Antarctica in Chilean national identity. The judge: Admiral Rosenqvist of the Chilean navy. Yes, this is my liberal arts education in action.

Next week we start our 22 day volunteer stint in Torres del Paine national park. We still aren't sure of what it will entail, but when I know I'll be sure to post something. I know there is some internet, so check the page out in a couple weeks. Thanks everyone for reading.  Oh right, I almost forgot—happy Hanukkah too.  Write me!