Chasing dreams

How do you reduce hours into mere instants? The question we office workers all silently whisper to our respective windows a little too often. The answer’s easy: go traveling. The past year felt as if time slipped through without even passing. Until all of a sudden my return journey no longer was a faraway concept. So with this post I conclude my World Trip series. Enjoy.

On the move
Two and a half weeks ago, you found me in Santiago de Chile. The hot breath of my rapidly approaching return date fueling my inner restlessness. At the time I was nurturing fantasies about hiking around the world famous Torres del Paine mountains. Plus visiting Chiloe’s wooden churches and penguins. Plus climbing at the remote valley of Cochamo, also known as the Yosemite of the south. But a slight Euro-Dollar-Chileno mix-up quickly drowned all hopes of flying to Patagonia. And I wasn’t up for another 50 hour bus trip down. Faced by limited travel distance, the decision became easy: skip the far south and go to Cochamo! Step one: an overnight bus to the city of Osorno. To which my travel guide dedicated a single column listing the central plaza, a "rock-bottom" lodging option, and every single way to get out. My cup of tea exactly

Freezing cold
Except that the city did not match up to its shady reputation. Granted, it was ugly to say the least. But also the safest I have come across in Chile. And it had lots of cozy bars and cafes, the last of those serving mouth watering pastries. Also, I ran in to the first Italian coffee maker in five months. Belonging to climber-teacher-musician Claudio. Who showed me around the local climbing rocks and – unsuccessfully, thank god – tried to persuade me to swim in an ice cold neighboring lake. Equally freezing was the Pacific Ocean. This time, the idea of sunset surfing with the dolphins managed to lure me into the water. Even in spite of the fact I had to wriggle myself into the world’s most unsexy wetsuit ever. Though saving me from total hypothermia, the wetsuit didn’t fence off a watery cold. Which, complimented by a toe infection, shoulder injury, eye irritation, persistent jungle cough, and sprained finger, did not exactly make me feel climbing fit for Cochamo. Oops.

Climb thou shalt
Easter weekend. My last weekend on the road. And how better to ignore my upcoming return to reality than to go as far as possible into the wilderness? Together with Claudio and Bariloche friends Jennifer, Javier, and Lucas we were off to the remote valley of Cochamo. Weighed down by kilos of climbing gear, tents, and food we embarked for the strenuous four hour hike in. Although I felt weakened by the cold and injuries, the path was a treat. Guiding us through man-deep trenches, and past ice blue-greenish rivers lined by orange pebbles and driftwood. The forest floor speckled with light raining through moss covered trees. While the giant granite domes popped their heads out of the tree line ever more often. These were the mountains we were going to climb, how exciting!

(Dis-)orientation
Once at camp, we found the climbing even more wild than its reputation. The ‘guidebook’ consisted of an odd stack of handwritten papers, upgraded by the climber’s collective memory in the person of rifugio worker Mono. Approach and route descriptions proved to vary from challenging to very sketchy. Often not even mentioning on which spire a climb was to be found. To give you a sniff of the extent of our disorientation: Jennifer and I managed to get lost on a fifteen minute approach hike. Only to discover the crack was slimy wet and way harder than the guide suggested. The following days things got easier, as Claudio knew the area well. The day our friends were getting lost (see “Where are you, friends?”), we climbed a beautiful seven pitch route named Camp Farm. With a full total of climbing four days on granite ever in my life, I was shivering to say the least. And silently thanking all those nasty Fontainebleau slabs for their valuable lessons. But as we progressed up the route, I grew more confident and whimpering turned to proper enjoyment and laughter. Great weather and dry rock conditions helping lots. At the top we were treated to magical views of the valley, and a little chocolate.

This is it
Then, all of a sudden it was Tuesday. With an inner promise to return next season we set off to civilization and tasty food. And to the start of my journey home. From Osorno I traveled to Bariloche, where I got to spend a few more hours with Jennifer and Javier. After which it was time to board my 22-hour bus ride to Buenos Aires. For two final days of friends, Fernet, and way too little sleep… What an end to fourteen beautiful months of freedom. And what a starting point for chasing new dreams.

And you, my reader? I hope this blog managed to inspire you to dream some too. Little or lots. And maybe one day to realize on of those dreams. For now, take care. And surely we will meet here again for the next adventure.