Dreams Come Alive

This is it. It is time. In a matter of hours we board the ship bound for Antarctica.

It started as a boyhood fantasy. Pictures of the world’s coldest continent…stories of the race to the South Pole…

That fantasy became a dream. How about…what if…could I…?

Next came the declaration, that public commitment. One day I will…

A goal was set. 4 Deserts…

After that everything just fell into place…a plan put into action…options, choices, decisions, sacrifices made…a bigger purpose…

From today onwards and during the race period I will blog here.

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See you soon and may your spirits fill mine with fire and see me through this.

And now I go.

I think I overdid it yesterday. Thought I’d have a crack at Cerro Guanaco in Tierra del Fuego National Park. Meant to be 6 to 8 hour round trip to the summit, the entire way up is a continuous and strenuous uphill through beech forest, multiple times across a small river, through peat bogs and mucky swamps, across snow and ice, and finally straight up along exposed gravel and rock.

Setting off at the stroke of noon, I gave myself a self imposed turnaround time of 3 hours which I followed to the letter. I always like to play it safe and leave myself a cushion, taking into account changes in weather, unforeseen circumstances etc. This meant I was about 10 minutes from the summit when I stopped for a short break before heading back down.

Sitting on the edge of the steep and jagged area, fully exposed to the elements, I have a new-found respect for mountaineers. Just dealing with the voices of fear demons in the head is challenging enough, nevermind coping with the technical aspects of climbing. The going was extremely tough, there were bits of uphill where I had to use my hands and practically scramble upwards and at places where snow had turned into ice, I had to dig my fingers in just to get a grip and stop myself from falling and sliding down. Not a trek for the faint hearted, that’s for sure.

I was mentally exhausted by the time I made my way down and stumbled and tripped several times. Fortunately the worst that happened was sinking my foot ankle deep into the peat bogs. Twice! Total yucks! Still, it could have been worse.

Anyway, am paying the price today and have been laying in bed recuperating. My holiday is now over. Tomorrow we board the ship for Antarctica. Race time.

Ps I have posted a few pictures on my Facebook page. If you want to see all the pics from Argentina, do send me an email and I shall forward you the link.

After the exertions of the last two days, I decided to take today off. Attended Sunday mass in the local church followed by lunch in Ramos Generales ‘El Almacen’, a former warehouse turned museum café, bar and restaurant that still retains the history and stories of the old days.

In the afternoon I enjoyed a 1.5 hour long conversation with my parents over Skype. It’s been ages since we talked and laughed like that. Beautiful. Last time I saw them was at the end of the Sahara Race, so am hoping to see them again early next year. Doubly beautiful.

My holiday in Argentina is fast coming to an end. And it’s a strange and unusual feeling I am experiencing; instead of going home, I shall be going on a 250km footrace in Antarctica. Out of this world! It hasn’t fully registered yet.

Yesterday was meant to be Cerro del Medio day. But the best laid plans can sometimes go awry. A few days ago I was stopped in my tracks on Glaciar Martial by inclement weather and rugged terrain. Yesterday it was the canines.

There are dogs everywhere in Ushuaia. And I mean everywhere. In gardens, around street corners and outside shops, they are strolling, sprawling, snoozing. For the most part, they are benign and give you little more than a passing glance or sniff to satisfy their curiosity.

But the hounds I encountered this morning were a different cup of tea altogether. Less than an hour into my hike along a forest path, I was stopped dead in my tracks, the tranquil silence suddenly shattered.

A hut lay ahead and my presence had set off a blood curdling frenzy of barking, snapping and snarling from the dogs in the yard. I contemplated continuing on my way but they were having none of it. Some of them were chained but there were others throwing their whole bodies at the rickety wooden fence which looked just about strong enough to withstand a whistle.

Their gnashing of teeth and straining at leashes convinced me that they were a different breed from the town softies. I was in their hood and these bruisers were having none of it. Their barking also set off a chain reaction and soon the barks from other distant dogs were bouncing off the forest trees. It was time to beat a hasty retreat.

But just as I turned around, I was confronted by an onrushing blur of white mass hurtling straight at me. At the last possible moment it sidestepped, whirled around and bounded back at me. “Stay calm”, my inner voice screamed, “stand your ground and look like you own da place!”

It was a Labrador mongrel. Not the cute Marley sort used to the pampering of Jennifer Aniston; this fella was built like a tank. Solid muscle rippling through his body, he galloped and snorted more like a horse and had a jaw of canines resembling a leopard seal. This sturdy boy was certainly more at home in Patagonian peat bogs than on Persian carpets.

Friend or foe? That thought seemed to be on both our minds; my unannounced arrival arousing his curiosity as much as his excited prancing was stirring my distress. That he had not attacked me right away was reassuring and I knew that I would be okay as long as I maintained my composure and didn’t do anything silly. It reminded of a piece of advice I’d received donkey years ago on being on first dates. The fact that the girl had said yes to coming on a date was already a positive sign. I simply had to not mess up and the second date would be in the bag.

Anyway, back to the hike. As the Labrador escorted me back the way I had come, we began to look more like owner and best friend, so much so that a group of French tourists thought he was my dog. He had come to check me out, ascertained that I was not a threat and was now happily going on walkies with me. He would bound up and down the track, sniffing at everything and marking his territory everywhere and once every so often, dash back and look up at me as if to check that I was okay and that we were on the right path.

He walked me all the way back into town and when I finally got into a taxi, he stopped, gave me one last sniff and looked at me with his head cocked, as if to say “What, I’m not coming with you?”

I was sad to see him go. It may sound bizarre, but it seems in that half hour we had built up a bond and become companions. I looked back as the taxi pulled away but he was already off burying his nose in yet another flower. And so our lives move on.

With my hike up Cerro del Medio now abandoned, I went back to have a second crack at Glaciar Martial. Yes, just like a dog with an old shoe, I just won’t let go.

What an absolutely glorious day yesterday was! Blue skies, light breeze, warm sunshine – the perfect spring day – very rare for Ushuaia. Patagonian saying has it that at 40th parallel south, there are no rules. At 50th parallel south, there is no God. Well, at 54th parallel south, on a brilliant day with no rules and no God in Ushuaia, I had a great guide and the perfect conditions for sea kayaking the Beagle Channel.

Daniel Urriza is a professional guide with plenty of experience. Having rounded Cape Horn in a kayak, he was the man you’d want to have along for multiple crossings of the Beagle Channel. Lest I was lulled into any complacency due to the terrific weather, he educated me on the potential dangers of open water crossings**, especially in the treacherous and unpredictable waters of the Beagle Channel where the tides and weather can take a turn for the worse in no time.

I also overheard a brief exchange between him and a diving guide on leopard seal# sightings in the area during the winter season, which left me more than a little uneasy. For those of you who saw the movie ‘Eight Below’, that movie does not exaggerate on the dangers and fearsome nature of these predators. In fact, it was Daniel’s sighting of two leopard seals further out east that led to our decision not to undertake that particular two-day kayaking trip in favour of this one.

With the knowledge that there have been no reported sightings so far this spring in these waters but also well aware that low risk doesn’t mean no risk, we set off in our kayak. It didn’t take long for us to establish our paddling orderliness and I quickly found myself putting to use all the good skills I had picked up in my past life as teacher in charge of my school’s kayaking team.

We soon settled into a hypnotic, rhythmic paddling. There’s something about the entire combination of breathing in the fresh, crisp air; soaking in the warmth of the sun; feeling the glacial breeze against my face; hearing the cries of sea birds above the sound of paddles slicing the sea; and being so close to the icy waters in an area of such magnificent beauty ringed by the majesty of towering mountains that makes me feel so…so alive.

Maybe there is no God here, but he must have stopped by at some point in the past and crafted his artistry; such is the elegance, the exquisiteness, the enchantment, of the place.

That and my ever present, underlying fears – general fear of being out in open, unknown waters; specific fear of encountering dangerous predators; honest fear of capsizing and being swept under by the powerful currents – complete with the discomforting truth that out here we are all on our own, heightened all my senses and lent an edge to the entire experience.

I was fully in the moment, my awareness fully centred on the here and now, everything is complete. This is what living in acceptance means. That is what living is. Everyone should be so fortunate to experience that. Every day.

Feel alive.

** (from Sea Kayaking Safety and Rescue by John Lull) Open water denotes a relatively large body of water with a fetch (length of an area where ocean waves are generated by the wind) of several miles or more. Wind is common in such areas and the long fetch will result in the formation of relatively large seas (local wind waves). Seas can reach from 3 to 8 feet in height. Tidal current is a major factor.

An open-water crossing (an area of water stretching out to an island or across a wide channel) of 3 miles or more has substantial exposure with no bailouts. The lack of bailouts is particularly important because the paddler must deal with whatever conditions arise during the crossing. Pick a time for crossing when weather and tidal currents are favourable but there is never any guarantee that the conditions won’t deteriorate.

# Leopard seals (Hydrurga leptonyx) rank alongside killer whales as Antarctica’s top predator. Named after their spotted coats and fearsome jaws, leopard seals have large, reptilian heads and streamlined bodies. They propel themselves using powerful fore-flippers, reaching speeds of 25 miles per hour (40 kilometers per hour). Females grow larger than males, weighing up to 990 pounds (450 kilograms) and measuring over 13 feet (4 meters) in length.

Leopard seals will eat almost anything and are notorious for being manipulative, aggressive hunters. They have unusually large jaws with long and sharply pointed canine teeth, in contrast to many other seals. The death of a British marine biologist in Antarctica in 2003 is thought to be the first human fatality caused by a leopard seal. But scientists are worried that increased human activity in Antarctica could lead to more life-threatening encounters with leopard seals.

Glaciar Martial was breathtaking and beautiful. The snow from the previous day had spread across the upper reaches of the mountain a thick blanket of white, giving the place a dreamlike quality and making it inviting and intimidating at the same time.

There were only a sprinkling of people around; one was a guided group of energetic and boisterous American students snaking their way up toward el Cañadón Negro and the other was made up of 3 local hardcore snowboarders who were marching up the snowfield. It was clear that the only way down from the top of the glaciar was on skis or snowboard, so I decided to follow the other party.

Halfway up, they called a halt and decided to head back but after a word with their guide, I decided to continue toward the top. I didn’t get very far. Cutting a zig zag pattern* up the slope, I tried to scramble up the rocky bits as much as I could but there were many areas where I didn’t have a choice but sink my feet knee deep into snow and ice.

About an hour later the terrain just got too steep (I was literally on my hands and knees and reckon the incline to be about 30 to 45 degrees), the scree got too loose, the area was too exposed, the wind began to pick up and a light snow began to fall. All that, combined with the danger of hidden crevasses, seemed to be Mother Nature’s way of saying “Enough”. Common sense prevailed and I made my way back down to safer grounds.

I live to live another day.

* By climbing straight up a slope or mountain, you’re covering the shortest possible distance to reach a particular height. That also means you’re lifting your legs and body the maximum amount against gravity with each step you take. By zig-zaging, you walk a path diagonal to the one straight up. Yes you do take more steps and cover a longer distance but your ascent is gentler and easier since you expend less effort per step. Essentially you are breaking your climb into more manageable pieces.

One of the challenges of The Last Desert race is the lack of knowledge of the actual itinerary. This is unlike the other desert races where the route is drawn up beforehand and competitors know the exact number of kilometres per day and so can plan their race strategy. In Antarctica, the organisers and competitors have to keep very flexible and ever ready as the set course can vary dramatically due to the volatile conditions.

Even here, in Ushuaia, as if to underscore the unpredictability of the weather, we have had 4 seasons in one day. The morning started bright and sunny before storm clouds quickly moved in and brought showers along with them. By lunchtime huge flakes of snow began falling and as I sit here by my window, I can no longer see the snow capped mountains, hidden as they are by the thick clouds. Once in a while, as if by tacit agreement, they part ever so slightly to allow some rays of sunshine to stream through.

Much as I am unaccustomed to the fluctuating elements that unfold all around me, I do enjoy the sound of the blustery wind as it whistles and howls its way through the trees, shakes the leaves off their branches and drives the snow about in all random directions. The dogs too, seem to share my sentiments, albeit a lot more energetically, as they prance about in the garden and wrestle each other to the ground.

But I do have to shake myself out of my repose. It’s about time I got up to something of a more physical nature. Tomorrow I will limber up for The Last Desert by hiking to Glaciar Martial, a snowfield with views that stretch across The Beagle Channel and Chile.

Feel alive.

It’s official. I am now at the southernmost city in the world – Ushuaia. Any further south, and I will be in…Antarctica! That’s in a week or so, but right now, I have finally made it to Fin del Mundo or End of the World. My prayers were answered and I was blessed with very smooth travel from Buenos Aires in the wee hours of the morning.

Our plane wobbled past snow capped peaks to touch down to a round of applause in the city sandwiched between the Beagle Channel and the Andes mountains. Ushuaia very much retains that frontier feeling, muck coated cars manoeuvring through one-way streets of cafes, bars and abandoned wood shacks. The onset of tourism has also brought along bed and breakfasts, souvenir shops and travel agencies to cater to travellers bearing a myriad of languages and accents.

Musically, Ushuaia takes me back to my teenage years. The songs playing in every café, restaurant and car hark back to the 80s – Modern Talking’s Cherie Cherie Lady and Paul Young’s Everytime You Go Away nestling among hits from Sheena Easton and Air Supply. It’s all very strange and unreal.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna put on my padded jacket, baggy trousers and roller skates, spray on some Drakkar Noir cologne, and play Space Invaders on my Atari and then watch Growing Pains.

Ciao.

18 years after the beating of Rodney King by members of the LAPD and the subsequent acquittal of the police officers sparked off some of the worst racial riots in Los Angeles, it seems King’s plaintive call “Why can’t we all just get along?” has yet to be answered.

Am absolutely gobsmacked at how the current strikes by the pilots of Aerolineas Argentinas came into being. It started on Thursday with a dispute between two pilots from different unions – the objection of one to flying alongside the other led to fisticuffs, then to delays, then to cancellations and finally to a full blown strike.

After the government ordered a mandatory conciliation, operations briefly resumed, only for the conflict to re-emerge late last night. I am now keeping my fingers and toes crossed that everyone will kiss and make up just so my early morning flight to Ushuaia tomorrow will take off without incident.

What’s been an eye opener for me is my entire response to all the delays and hiccups on this trip. There was a time when I would get all hot and bothered and rant about the inefficiencies, inadequacies and idiocies of the world and its inhabitants. But now I let it all slide, focusing instead on the good that result from such crises.

Even I am mildly and pleasantly surprised at myself. Flight delayed? Well, we are put up in a decent hotel, given free food and I still get my aisle seat next to two very agreeable passengers. Spending more time in an airport? Well, there are internet kiosks and I can catch up on emails and blog. Arriving in the dead of night? Well, I avoid the gnarly traffic jams and enjoy free flow of traffic. Having my flight potentially postponed? Well, good thing I am staying in a comfortable place with lovely hosts. It’s amazing how a change in perspective and attention leads to an entirely new experience.

Perhaps that’s what pushing myself to the extremes of human endurance in desert races does. It’s conferred upon me a certain calmness in my approach to life, taught me not to take myself so seriously, showed me how not to sweat the small stuff, schooled me in surrendering to what life throws up and importantly, coached me to choose my thoughts, perspectives and actions.

Get along with life. Que sera sera.

First day in Buenos Aires and here are my initial observations…

1) Thumbs up: The locals are very fond of this; from waving hi to asking for the bill, the ubiquitous thumbs up seems to be the preferred hand gesture. 2) Smoking: It’s everywhere! Everyone, from men to women and young to old, smokes like a chimney around here. 3) Monuments: To commemorate just about every historical figure in just about every age, they dot the landscape. 4) Chinese supermarkets: Why am I even surprised?

Thumbs up for the city so far…

1) Charming boutique hotel (Lola House) that I am staying in and the hospitable hosts who fawn over me. It feels more like a homestay than a hotel and I’m treated more like a long lost son than a silly sod from Singapore who thinks he can run in Antarctica. I can absolutely see why the two owners and two girls who run the place attract that deluge of accolades on review sites.

2) The old world cafes that dot the tree lined avenues. No wonder Buenos Aires is called Paris of South America. At an affordable price too. 

3) Safe and friendly. While the charm and buildings mirror that of Paris, Buenos Aires fortunately imported none of the repugnance that Parisians are notorious for. Locals are patient with my non existent Spanish and I’ve also noticed that they actually respond with a shake of the head or a polite ‘no’ to touts.

Thumbs down for the city so far…

1) Ok so this is not so much the city but the travel agency that is charging $150 for tickets, transfer and a guide to watch Boca Juniors play. If it had been a local derby between B.J. and River Plate, I would have forked out the dough, but not when it’s a cup game with a team from the lower divisions. Yes I can buy a regular ticket but frankly, I am afraid to go alone. Have you seen the crowd at these Argentinian football games? They make English football hooligans look like princesses. 

2) Was looking out for places where I can do some jogging and found a couple of good spots along the waterfront and bigger parks but also noticed there are quite a few stray dogs fiercely guarding their territory. After my Pulau Ubin episode a few years back where I was practically mauled by a wild pack and saved only by pure adrenalin and a $3,000 series of rabies jabs, I’m not taking my chances.

3) Airline strikes. First it was Malaysian Airlines with their plane, now Aerolineas Argentina’s pilots are on strike, making my Sunday morning flight to Ushuaia look increasingly uncertain. Maybe I should run my communications workshop for them…

That’s all for now folks. Am hitting the sack to catch up with much needed sleep. Zzzz…