I've been in San Francisco for almost
two weeks now, and find I've arrived in that sweet spot where you
feel as though you know enough of the city to feel comfortable moving
around it but still not too familiar so as to eliminate its potential
to put a smile on your face. San Francisco feels like the end of the
line for travellers making their way out west to find whatever it is
they're looking for. I should make clear that for the most part these
travellers are American kids who've come from the Midwest,
Pennsylvania and South Carolina to California. The hostel I share
with them does have the obligatory sprinkling of Aussies, Dutch and
Germans but they're in the minority and in general they are somewhere
in the midst of their travels rather than their end.
Life here when I'm not out wandering
the streets and parks or visiting a co-op centres around the stoop
next to the hostel. Here the day to day happening of the hostel's
inhabitants are discussed and dreams shared. The inhabitants of the
stoop include: Turtle Smasher, a young guy from South Carolina who
skates and paints cubist art, Sean from Wisconsin, who's setting up a
dispensary business, Benji from Philadelphia a young man who's lived
more in his 20 years than most have in a life time - he's here to
find work (anything will do) and add to his life experiences, and
there's Eva from New York who's here to get away from the insanity of
Gotham and work in PR. All seem to come from entirely different
worlds yet find themselves here in San Francisco united in their
desire to build a new reality for themselves. As you can imagine such
a diverse cast of characters leads to many interesting tales of love,
loss and life. Between the trips to eat a slice of pizza, writing in
the quiet room or reading up on the next coop I'm due to visit I've
sat and listened and learned a little more about how life in America.
I think the single biggest thing I've learned is just how willing
people are here to up sticks and move to another part of the country.
The kids around me who are doing it now, simply mark the latest in a
long line who have chased opportunity here, wherever it may be. This
willingness to move around harks back to the founding of this country
and its vast scale where settlers only finished claiming “new
territories” at the very end of the 19th century –
which is really only around four or five generations ago. I
appreciate that this “settlement' of the interior and west of the
States was in many ways barbaric and I don't think people here
appreciate just how savage these times were. However, the urge to
chase the latest boom whether its the California gold rush or the
more recent flight to Silicon Valley remains intact and in this day
and age much more humane...
Today I'm going to meet up with Oddy
and Vanessa who moved here from New York around the same sort of time
I arrived. We met at Burning Man thanks once again to Alex and his
happy knack of introducing me to wonderful people from all around the
globe. We're going to visit an Urban Adamah, which as far as I can
tell is a Jewish Harvest festival where with luck wine and pickled
feeds will flow – and goats!
Sunday, 22 September 2013
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
Tuesday 17th September 2013
I felt as though I needed
to let some time pass between the event and attempting to write about
it. There were so many different thoughts and feelings provoked by
Burning Man I wanted to give them sometime to settle before I
committed words to the page. I'm not 100% sure the time is now, but I
have the distinct impression there may never be a perfect now in
which to do this as the chains of thoughts its triggered could be
without end. On that basis now is as good a time as any to begin...
To my surprise it seems as though what's stuck with me most is the different mode of operation I have adopted in day to day life, rather than some fond reminiscences of my adventures on the playa (this is the terminology for the desert where Burning Man is based among Burners (those who attend Burning Man)). I seem to have found the space between the words, there's more time to think and to get things done. Perhaps its a byproduct of not spending time thinking about the book I'm trying to write in its totality (something I've been trying to avoid but finding on occasion unavoidable). Now without effort I find a series of smaller tasks that present themselves to me as if dropping off a conveyor belt at a branch of Yo Sushi. With this simplification comes the time to breath in and breath out. I'm sure this is not just Burning Man's effect alone, how truly difficult would it be to ever isolate anyone influence on our person and determine its extent in the wider frame of reference? Impossible I'm sure. But I know its in there in some high sphere of influence driving me forward. Sure, life on the road charges me up, and San Francisco and the Bay Area are bringing me all sorts of good source material for the book but Burning Man meant something else...
What was it about Burning Man that triggered this response? First and foremost the people and their interactions with one another all through the festival. Even before we'd arrived we were subject to a warmth and generosity of spirit I've rarely encountered. An afternoon spent in Walmart in Reno attempting to get everything we'd need to survive in the desert was interspersed with meeting other burners doing the same thing we were, happy to share tips and tales of life on the playa. The lady at the cash-desk was happy to see all of the Burners too, and insisted on packing the shopping as she'd got “a pretty good idea of what would be best packed together” having been “packing for Burners for years”. She even closed the checkout to take Chris to the butchers to get dry ice to keep our cool-boxes really damn cold. This isn't in itself all that remarkable, nice but not remarkable. It does however, mark the beginning of a crescendoing level of friendliness that climaxed one week later in Blackrock City (the name given to the week long settlement in the desert that is Burning Man) with the burning of the man.
As far as I could tell the attitude of every person at the festival was one of unity. An air of permissiveness (not anything new on its own) coupled with a desire to share and exchange ideas (whether they be frivolous or profound – I'll give an example of each in a minute) was underpinned by an awareness that we needed to look after one another and that included the desert (a both harsh and delicate environment simultaneously). No one dropped a cigarette that I ever saw, and if there ever was a piece of rubbish on the ground I was usually alerted to it by virtue of the fact someone had ducked down to scoop it up as soon as they spotted it. This is called MOOPing (Matter Out Of Place) and is a typical behaviour that is promoted here and lies at the very core of Burning Man's ethos and mission. Sure its a big party in the desert but its a party that celebrates and promotes some serious things all be it in a very alternative manner, and the The Ten Principles lie at the heart of that. I won't list them all but to give you a flavour...
Item 1: “Radical Inclusion – Anyone may be a part of Burning Man. We welcome and respect the stranger. No prerequisites exist for participation in our community.”
- Right off the bat the door is opened to all, no exclusivity, although I did read an opinion piece in the Burning Man Gazette contesting the truthfulness of this statement given the necessity of being able to afford a ticket to be included in the first place! But I think even that shows the extent to which Burning Man tries to be open to internal debate and discussion, so much so they allow publication criticising their adherence to a core principle!
I digress, items 2 and 3... Item 2 “Gifting - Burning Man is devoted to acts of gift giving. The value of a gift is unconditional. Gifting does not contemplate a return or an exchange for something of equal value.” Item 3: “Decommodification - “In order to preserve the spirit of gifting, our community seeks to create social environments that are unmediated by commercial sponsorships, transactions, or advertising. We stand ready to protect our culture from such exploitation. We resist the substitution of consumption for participatory experience.”
- This means no cash and no corporate influence or advertising, and it means bars are free as the drinks (you provide your own cup) provided are gifts! One of the other totally different thing about Burning an vs. another festival is the absence of stages per se. There are no bands or DJs booked to play on a huge stage or vast tent. Instead parties are much more localised and on the whole smaller based in whichever camp is throwing a party at any given time. Burning Man is composed in the main of camps, most Burners join a camp (we were a part of the wonderful Campi camp) but they range in size, theme, experience, centrality, vibe, etc... Our camp was around a hundred people and centred around a Bedouin tent but some were much more elaborate and included huge art-cars: colourful vehicles that travel round the site and out into the deep playa usually kitted out with sound systems and lighting rigs that will blow your average ravers mind. Among my favourites were a huge fire-breathing octopus, a unicorn made from a double decker bus, and a Spanish gondola sailing across the desert. So you're basically only a couple minutes away from some fun and generosity no matter where you are and what time it might be. Gifting takes many other guises beyond simply providing free drinks at a bar, first off the people working at the bars are gifting their time to work there! Chris was gifted among other things a yellow kazoo and an imaginary friendship bracelet but people extend it even further, no one will walk past someone who looks like they might need any kind of help and will do whatever they can to deliver it. This coupled with the complete absence of money from my life for a week was truly blissful. I like many others have felt the stress and strain of exerted by money or more accurately the lack of and its complete silence on the playa undoubtedly has some bearing on the freedom people seem to find.
The rules continue from there and cover: communal effort, civic responsibility, and of course leave no trace (link to the entire listing: http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/about_burningman/principles.html#.Ujjl6mTR32A). Before I go on I should make good on my promise to give an example of a frivolous idea and a more serious one that someone wanted to share on the playa... The place for frivolity was definitely in and around the camps on one day I had the pleasure of swinging in a hammock under canvas at one particular camp before taking my first ever ski-shot. This basically involved three people drinking shots of bourbon from glasses that were glued to a small ski, meaning the guy in the middle (me) has to drink without using his/her hands and rely instead upon his co-drinkers; all of this is served via a picture frame held by the barmen. More serious messages were to be found in the temple, this year it was a huge wooden pyramid that must have been at least 50 meters high. Inside people are encouraged to leave messages to loved ones who might be in trouble or dead or confessions of their own. On the last night the temple is burned and with it in silent ceremonial witness all of the Burners in theory let go of whatever pain they were carrying with them. We didn't get to stay to see the temple burn on the Sunday night but a visit during the day on the Wednesday reduced me to tears as I read some of the messages and felt the emotion of everyone there lie thick in the air.
The long and short of all all this is that the people of Blackrock City and their sense unity, enthusiasm to exchange and share ideas and compassion for one another living under a different set of values / principles have triggered a shift in me. From talking with others I've met in San Francisco since who also attended Burning Man my experience is not unique, and some I've spoken to have talked in even more fantastic terms than I about what their experience meant to them. Perhaps even quazi-religious! Lets see how long it stays with me, and here's hoping it keeps me charged until next year.
I'm wondering if having described what has stayed with me from Burning Man and why I may have inadvertently said very little about what actually happened at Burning Man. This may be so and ordinarily I'd aim to remedy that but this time I think a little enigmatic perhaps fits this desert city best. So I'll leave it here and finish by making sure I thank all of the new friends I made in the desert for their kindness, brilliance and good humour; and suggest that like most things in life if you really want to taste it, best get there in person.
To my surprise it seems as though what's stuck with me most is the different mode of operation I have adopted in day to day life, rather than some fond reminiscences of my adventures on the playa (this is the terminology for the desert where Burning Man is based among Burners (those who attend Burning Man)). I seem to have found the space between the words, there's more time to think and to get things done. Perhaps its a byproduct of not spending time thinking about the book I'm trying to write in its totality (something I've been trying to avoid but finding on occasion unavoidable). Now without effort I find a series of smaller tasks that present themselves to me as if dropping off a conveyor belt at a branch of Yo Sushi. With this simplification comes the time to breath in and breath out. I'm sure this is not just Burning Man's effect alone, how truly difficult would it be to ever isolate anyone influence on our person and determine its extent in the wider frame of reference? Impossible I'm sure. But I know its in there in some high sphere of influence driving me forward. Sure, life on the road charges me up, and San Francisco and the Bay Area are bringing me all sorts of good source material for the book but Burning Man meant something else...
What was it about Burning Man that triggered this response? First and foremost the people and their interactions with one another all through the festival. Even before we'd arrived we were subject to a warmth and generosity of spirit I've rarely encountered. An afternoon spent in Walmart in Reno attempting to get everything we'd need to survive in the desert was interspersed with meeting other burners doing the same thing we were, happy to share tips and tales of life on the playa. The lady at the cash-desk was happy to see all of the Burners too, and insisted on packing the shopping as she'd got “a pretty good idea of what would be best packed together” having been “packing for Burners for years”. She even closed the checkout to take Chris to the butchers to get dry ice to keep our cool-boxes really damn cold. This isn't in itself all that remarkable, nice but not remarkable. It does however, mark the beginning of a crescendoing level of friendliness that climaxed one week later in Blackrock City (the name given to the week long settlement in the desert that is Burning Man) with the burning of the man.
As far as I could tell the attitude of every person at the festival was one of unity. An air of permissiveness (not anything new on its own) coupled with a desire to share and exchange ideas (whether they be frivolous or profound – I'll give an example of each in a minute) was underpinned by an awareness that we needed to look after one another and that included the desert (a both harsh and delicate environment simultaneously). No one dropped a cigarette that I ever saw, and if there ever was a piece of rubbish on the ground I was usually alerted to it by virtue of the fact someone had ducked down to scoop it up as soon as they spotted it. This is called MOOPing (Matter Out Of Place) and is a typical behaviour that is promoted here and lies at the very core of Burning Man's ethos and mission. Sure its a big party in the desert but its a party that celebrates and promotes some serious things all be it in a very alternative manner, and the The Ten Principles lie at the heart of that. I won't list them all but to give you a flavour...
Item 1: “Radical Inclusion – Anyone may be a part of Burning Man. We welcome and respect the stranger. No prerequisites exist for participation in our community.”
- Right off the bat the door is opened to all, no exclusivity, although I did read an opinion piece in the Burning Man Gazette contesting the truthfulness of this statement given the necessity of being able to afford a ticket to be included in the first place! But I think even that shows the extent to which Burning Man tries to be open to internal debate and discussion, so much so they allow publication criticising their adherence to a core principle!
I digress, items 2 and 3... Item 2 “Gifting - Burning Man is devoted to acts of gift giving. The value of a gift is unconditional. Gifting does not contemplate a return or an exchange for something of equal value.” Item 3: “Decommodification - “In order to preserve the spirit of gifting, our community seeks to create social environments that are unmediated by commercial sponsorships, transactions, or advertising. We stand ready to protect our culture from such exploitation. We resist the substitution of consumption for participatory experience.”
- This means no cash and no corporate influence or advertising, and it means bars are free as the drinks (you provide your own cup) provided are gifts! One of the other totally different thing about Burning an vs. another festival is the absence of stages per se. There are no bands or DJs booked to play on a huge stage or vast tent. Instead parties are much more localised and on the whole smaller based in whichever camp is throwing a party at any given time. Burning Man is composed in the main of camps, most Burners join a camp (we were a part of the wonderful Campi camp) but they range in size, theme, experience, centrality, vibe, etc... Our camp was around a hundred people and centred around a Bedouin tent but some were much more elaborate and included huge art-cars: colourful vehicles that travel round the site and out into the deep playa usually kitted out with sound systems and lighting rigs that will blow your average ravers mind. Among my favourites were a huge fire-breathing octopus, a unicorn made from a double decker bus, and a Spanish gondola sailing across the desert. So you're basically only a couple minutes away from some fun and generosity no matter where you are and what time it might be. Gifting takes many other guises beyond simply providing free drinks at a bar, first off the people working at the bars are gifting their time to work there! Chris was gifted among other things a yellow kazoo and an imaginary friendship bracelet but people extend it even further, no one will walk past someone who looks like they might need any kind of help and will do whatever they can to deliver it. This coupled with the complete absence of money from my life for a week was truly blissful. I like many others have felt the stress and strain of exerted by money or more accurately the lack of and its complete silence on the playa undoubtedly has some bearing on the freedom people seem to find.
The rules continue from there and cover: communal effort, civic responsibility, and of course leave no trace (link to the entire listing: http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/about_burningman/principles.html#.Ujjl6mTR32A). Before I go on I should make good on my promise to give an example of a frivolous idea and a more serious one that someone wanted to share on the playa... The place for frivolity was definitely in and around the camps on one day I had the pleasure of swinging in a hammock under canvas at one particular camp before taking my first ever ski-shot. This basically involved three people drinking shots of bourbon from glasses that were glued to a small ski, meaning the guy in the middle (me) has to drink without using his/her hands and rely instead upon his co-drinkers; all of this is served via a picture frame held by the barmen. More serious messages were to be found in the temple, this year it was a huge wooden pyramid that must have been at least 50 meters high. Inside people are encouraged to leave messages to loved ones who might be in trouble or dead or confessions of their own. On the last night the temple is burned and with it in silent ceremonial witness all of the Burners in theory let go of whatever pain they were carrying with them. We didn't get to stay to see the temple burn on the Sunday night but a visit during the day on the Wednesday reduced me to tears as I read some of the messages and felt the emotion of everyone there lie thick in the air.
The long and short of all all this is that the people of Blackrock City and their sense unity, enthusiasm to exchange and share ideas and compassion for one another living under a different set of values / principles have triggered a shift in me. From talking with others I've met in San Francisco since who also attended Burning Man my experience is not unique, and some I've spoken to have talked in even more fantastic terms than I about what their experience meant to them. Perhaps even quazi-religious! Lets see how long it stays with me, and here's hoping it keeps me charged until next year.
I'm wondering if having described what has stayed with me from Burning Man and why I may have inadvertently said very little about what actually happened at Burning Man. This may be so and ordinarily I'd aim to remedy that but this time I think a little enigmatic perhaps fits this desert city best. So I'll leave it here and finish by making sure I thank all of the new friends I made in the desert for their kindness, brilliance and good humour; and suggest that like most things in life if you really want to taste it, best get there in person.
Saturday, 7 September 2013
Saturday 7th September
I'm in San Francisco (I've been reliably informed by a local not
to refer to it as San Fran) its too hot to sleep in my hungover
condition and I don't expect Chris will be making an appearance
anytime soon so I might as well write something; its basically that
or vomiting...
We arrived here yesterday from Yosemite in the late afternoon approaching the Bay area on highway 580. As the road swoops down towards Oakland and the Bay bridge that crosses to San Francisco there was no sign of the prevailing fog; instead clear skies and bright sunlight scattered reflections across the bay and offered a clear view of the Golden gate bridge far off in the distance. For once our luck with traffic on this trip has changed for the better and within 20 minutes we were parked up and at our hostel: Adelaide. Handily placed just around the corner from Union Square in the heart of town.
After our basically carnivorous diet in the forests of Yosemite we decided it would be best to switch up to Japanese and by all accounts San Francisco has some of the best on offer outside of Japan. Fortuitously the hostel is just around the corner from Geary street where a host of sushi places lay in wait. Our appetites didn't allow much time for research and the first place we found was the one for us. The restaurant was called Katana-Ya and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for a bowl of ramen soup, goyza or sushi rolls. Each and every mouthful was a divine and it was a welcome change not to be greeted with the now customary oversized portions that every restaurant here seems hell bent on providing. After dinner we did a little bar hopping where thanks in no small part to a friendly Las Vegan called Stuart prompting some rapid shot drinking we found ourselves pissed as newts and consequently in my now severly hungover condition.
Before I get to far down the road on San Francisco life; not that I have much more to tell than what's detailed above I should probably mention our final slice of Yosemite... After the exertions of the previous couple of days neither Chris or I was up for much more than a gentle stroll. But as luck would have it our last destination required no more than just that...
The Mariposa grove is located at the southern end of the park on route 41 and its where the biggest living things in the whole wide world reside... There are around one hundred sequoia trees there, some as much as 1,800 years old which means they we sprouting up form the ground back when civil war raged in the Roman empire and the Han dynasty in China fell. Chris seemed a little underwhelmed but for me the ambience of the grove was pretty special, in his defence we've seen so many mammoth natural wonders here in Yosemite its easy to begin to accept leviathan such as these as the norm. As we meandered through the forest I felt as though I was walking on the forest moon of Endor (sorry Star Wars reference), sadly there were no Ewok or Imperial stormtrooper sightings but these majestic red giants were good enough. On an even more trainspottery note I feel I should mention the biggest sequoia we saw: called the Grizzly Giant and although it wasn't the tallest one around (apparently the top came off at some point a couple hundred years ago?) its girth was absolutely mind blowing – around 35 feet in diameter I think?
I'm sorry to have to leave Yosemite and I'm sure I'll be back, I feel as though we managed to do a fair whack in the three days we spent here but talking with a Yosemite veteran called Jim who's been coming here every summer for around 40 years, it takes that long to exhaust all of the trails and activities on offer. Here's hoping I get closer to that feat!
We arrived here yesterday from Yosemite in the late afternoon approaching the Bay area on highway 580. As the road swoops down towards Oakland and the Bay bridge that crosses to San Francisco there was no sign of the prevailing fog; instead clear skies and bright sunlight scattered reflections across the bay and offered a clear view of the Golden gate bridge far off in the distance. For once our luck with traffic on this trip has changed for the better and within 20 minutes we were parked up and at our hostel: Adelaide. Handily placed just around the corner from Union Square in the heart of town.
After our basically carnivorous diet in the forests of Yosemite we decided it would be best to switch up to Japanese and by all accounts San Francisco has some of the best on offer outside of Japan. Fortuitously the hostel is just around the corner from Geary street where a host of sushi places lay in wait. Our appetites didn't allow much time for research and the first place we found was the one for us. The restaurant was called Katana-Ya and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for a bowl of ramen soup, goyza or sushi rolls. Each and every mouthful was a divine and it was a welcome change not to be greeted with the now customary oversized portions that every restaurant here seems hell bent on providing. After dinner we did a little bar hopping where thanks in no small part to a friendly Las Vegan called Stuart prompting some rapid shot drinking we found ourselves pissed as newts and consequently in my now severly hungover condition.
Before I get to far down the road on San Francisco life; not that I have much more to tell than what's detailed above I should probably mention our final slice of Yosemite... After the exertions of the previous couple of days neither Chris or I was up for much more than a gentle stroll. But as luck would have it our last destination required no more than just that...
The Mariposa grove is located at the southern end of the park on route 41 and its where the biggest living things in the whole wide world reside... There are around one hundred sequoia trees there, some as much as 1,800 years old which means they we sprouting up form the ground back when civil war raged in the Roman empire and the Han dynasty in China fell. Chris seemed a little underwhelmed but for me the ambience of the grove was pretty special, in his defence we've seen so many mammoth natural wonders here in Yosemite its easy to begin to accept leviathan such as these as the norm. As we meandered through the forest I felt as though I was walking on the forest moon of Endor (sorry Star Wars reference), sadly there were no Ewok or Imperial stormtrooper sightings but these majestic red giants were good enough. On an even more trainspottery note I feel I should mention the biggest sequoia we saw: called the Grizzly Giant and although it wasn't the tallest one around (apparently the top came off at some point a couple hundred years ago?) its girth was absolutely mind blowing – around 35 feet in diameter I think?
I'm sorry to have to leave Yosemite and I'm sure I'll be back, I feel as though we managed to do a fair whack in the three days we spent here but talking with a Yosemite veteran called Jim who's been coming here every summer for around 40 years, it takes that long to exhaust all of the trails and activities on offer. Here's hoping I get closer to that feat!
Thursday 5th September
I started the day dropping Chris off in Curry Village around a
mile or so up the valley. He'd arranged a one to one rock climbing
lesson for the day, leaving me an opportunity to explore the southern
side of the valley. After I'd deposited Chris I popped to the grocers
in the central tourist development in the valley called Yosemite
village for a sandwich, energy drink and other sundries for today's
hike... There's a pretty expansive grocers come gift shop here, as
well as a grill restaurant with terrace, sports shop, ranger station,
art gallery, lodge that in actual fact is a low rise luxury hotel
complex complete with swimming pool, recycling depot, workshop and a
smattering of grand chalets (or should I say cabins?). It all sounds
a bit much but the design of the buildings sits pretty well under the
towering lodge pole pines, incense cedars and Douglas firs; faced
with greenish brown shingles and sloping roofs, marking their base
close to ground level.
Returning to the camp the fire I'd somehow remembered to start before I dropped Chris was ready to go and in no time at all I was enjoying a bacon and egg doubler with a smoky taste permeating the sweet bacon, complementing the iron like ouse of the egg yolk. Next stop Trailhead around two miles up the valley where the mist trail begins...
I'd decided to go for a walk that a) gave me options (i.e. an easy way to back out if I was feeling it on my dodgy knee); and b) was orientated around the southern side of the valley. The route I'd opted for ascends a canyon that marks the route to many of the more extreme treks available to the most intrepid, many go all the way to the top of half dome from here (perhaps Yosemite's most distinctive landmark?); this is a twelve hour plus walk that is often undertaken over two days camping in the high Serria overnight. Other routes such as the John Muir route stretch on for hundreds of miles and require a commitment of weeks rather than days! My plan was more humble... All going well I would climb up a canyon that leads to Venal falls and from there up higher still to the top of the valley where the high Sierra south of the valley begins and the even taller Nevada falls drop nearly 600ft! Both of these waterfalls run all year so the hiccup with Yosemite falls yesterday – there weren't any water to fall wasn't going to be repeated. And as I mentioned earlier if I wasn't feeling great after yesterday's exertions I'd be able to back out at Venal falls.
Thankfully I felt even better today than yesterday, in no small part to being better fuelled and hydrated and setting out before the very hottest part of the day (10am vs. 12pm). The path as it really can only figure to be given the vertiginous heights of the valley was steep, although perhaps not as relentlessly steep as yesterday? Even so getting up the side of each waterfall's cliff face certainly pushed me endurance to the limit – again the 90 degree heat couldn't help but take its toll. But once more the views back to the valley as I climbed ever higher (a more modest ascent to just under 6,000ft, but still over 2,000ft of climbing) were awesome and although I didn't have Chris on point with the camera I still managed to get a few great shots. That said if we exclude the different perspective of the valley the south side provided a couple of distinct elements I didn't encounter yesterday: two active (can I say that or is it just for volcanoes?) waterfalls streaming their misty ribbons of ice cold water over sheer granite walls polished smooth; and a fleeting brush with the southern high Sierra on my arrival at the top of Nevada falls. These highlands felt completely different in terms of the landscape and flora of its northern sibling we'd visited yesterday.
Unlike yesterday today's route was a loop rather than a straight up and back down retracing the steps we taken upwards on the way back down. The mist trail I'd gone up took me to the top of Nevada falls where routes fan out in the shadow of liberty cap, a towering granite monolith that rises from the shelf the falls plunge from which just as promised looks exactly like the top of a liberty cap mushroom. The way back down would take me down the start of the John Muir trail back to the valley floor. Happily it was a little less steep than the mist trail, avoiding the waterfalls and instead following a more gentle contour down the opposite side of the granite valley walls to the canyons edges the mist trail follows. The sun dappled through the trees as I walked back down to the valley below and I found so much wonder walking along the dusty tracks, not a thought of anything other than this magical land out west existed in my mind.
I should before signing off mention this evening and its two notable features (I'm not going to count getting my ass kicked at Scrabble by Chris as a notable feature). The first was the cooking of the marinaded baby back ribs and new york strip steak (an extremely well marbled thick cut of sirloin to you or I) cooked over wood in our fire pit. And second of all the stars... I don't think I've ever seen such bright stars, even in the desert. The Milky Way stood out like a ribbon of white tinsel and the moonless sky was still bright enough with starlight alone of mark our the edges of the cliff faces towering far above. I'll miss Yosemite so. It seems as though I live the right way here with little or no conscious effort... Days are filled with hikes in an environment that I cannot quite comprehend, its vast towering peaks, its calm cleansing air; writing, reading, and even a little yoga! If I can keep this time and the desert with me there's no telling where this could lead. An exciting thought to end another inspiring day.
Returning to the camp the fire I'd somehow remembered to start before I dropped Chris was ready to go and in no time at all I was enjoying a bacon and egg doubler with a smoky taste permeating the sweet bacon, complementing the iron like ouse of the egg yolk. Next stop Trailhead around two miles up the valley where the mist trail begins...
I'd decided to go for a walk that a) gave me options (i.e. an easy way to back out if I was feeling it on my dodgy knee); and b) was orientated around the southern side of the valley. The route I'd opted for ascends a canyon that marks the route to many of the more extreme treks available to the most intrepid, many go all the way to the top of half dome from here (perhaps Yosemite's most distinctive landmark?); this is a twelve hour plus walk that is often undertaken over two days camping in the high Serria overnight. Other routes such as the John Muir route stretch on for hundreds of miles and require a commitment of weeks rather than days! My plan was more humble... All going well I would climb up a canyon that leads to Venal falls and from there up higher still to the top of the valley where the high Sierra south of the valley begins and the even taller Nevada falls drop nearly 600ft! Both of these waterfalls run all year so the hiccup with Yosemite falls yesterday – there weren't any water to fall wasn't going to be repeated. And as I mentioned earlier if I wasn't feeling great after yesterday's exertions I'd be able to back out at Venal falls.
Thankfully I felt even better today than yesterday, in no small part to being better fuelled and hydrated and setting out before the very hottest part of the day (10am vs. 12pm). The path as it really can only figure to be given the vertiginous heights of the valley was steep, although perhaps not as relentlessly steep as yesterday? Even so getting up the side of each waterfall's cliff face certainly pushed me endurance to the limit – again the 90 degree heat couldn't help but take its toll. But once more the views back to the valley as I climbed ever higher (a more modest ascent to just under 6,000ft, but still over 2,000ft of climbing) were awesome and although I didn't have Chris on point with the camera I still managed to get a few great shots. That said if we exclude the different perspective of the valley the south side provided a couple of distinct elements I didn't encounter yesterday: two active (can I say that or is it just for volcanoes?) waterfalls streaming their misty ribbons of ice cold water over sheer granite walls polished smooth; and a fleeting brush with the southern high Sierra on my arrival at the top of Nevada falls. These highlands felt completely different in terms of the landscape and flora of its northern sibling we'd visited yesterday.
Nevada Falls
Unlike yesterday today's route was a loop rather than a straight up and back down retracing the steps we taken upwards on the way back down. The mist trail I'd gone up took me to the top of Nevada falls where routes fan out in the shadow of liberty cap, a towering granite monolith that rises from the shelf the falls plunge from which just as promised looks exactly like the top of a liberty cap mushroom. The way back down would take me down the start of the John Muir trail back to the valley floor. Happily it was a little less steep than the mist trail, avoiding the waterfalls and instead following a more gentle contour down the opposite side of the granite valley walls to the canyons edges the mist trail follows. The sun dappled through the trees as I walked back down to the valley below and I found so much wonder walking along the dusty tracks, not a thought of anything other than this magical land out west existed in my mind.
Liberty Cap
I should before signing off mention this evening and its two notable features (I'm not going to count getting my ass kicked at Scrabble by Chris as a notable feature). The first was the cooking of the marinaded baby back ribs and new york strip steak (an extremely well marbled thick cut of sirloin to you or I) cooked over wood in our fire pit. And second of all the stars... I don't think I've ever seen such bright stars, even in the desert. The Milky Way stood out like a ribbon of white tinsel and the moonless sky was still bright enough with starlight alone of mark our the edges of the cliff faces towering far above. I'll miss Yosemite so. It seems as though I live the right way here with little or no conscious effort... Days are filled with hikes in an environment that I cannot quite comprehend, its vast towering peaks, its calm cleansing air; writing, reading, and even a little yoga! If I can keep this time and the desert with me there's no telling where this could lead. An exciting thought to end another inspiring day.
Wednesday 4th September
We climbed to Yosemite point today, approximately 3,000ft (914m)
above the valley floor. We managed to do it in a very respectable
five hours in 90 something degrees fahrenheit (34 oC) –
given the estimate the guide book provided of six – seven hours.
The climb amongst the cliffs that mark the north side of Yosemite
valley rise up from the forest and wild pastures of the valley floor
below like stone guardians watching over Eden. Our ascent up steep
hairpins, skirting up the side of the sheer granite cliffs, laid out
in Granite dust, stone and slab (I cannot imagine the efforts of
those men who forged this trail) was exhausting but the views of the
valley as we climbed ever higher through tree lined trails took my
breath away. Many of the trees sheltering the path appeared to be
clenching the granite rocks making it impossible to discern whether
the trees held the granite in place or vice versa? As we passed
through ever more regular periods without shade, the rock face we
somehow spiral refuses even the most pushy of trees is reflects the
sunlight with brights greys, golds and slate colours marking times
slow advance. I felt as if I was walking in some Tolkienesque world.
As I understand it the Yosemite valley was formed thanks to some sort
of massive rift in seemingly impregnable granite. The views of this
rift inspire an emotional response and strangely I found myself
reflecting on not just this tear in the earth before me but another
much smaller one I saw in the Tate Modern some years ago. I suppose
both are in some ways microcosms for so much in the world. Chris once
more very kindly took responsibility for the photography and they are
sensational! I'm especially glad we have them as I don't think I have
worlds to describe what only the eye can behold.
Its late evening now and I'm starting to feel a little more together But I readily admit that today's expedition took me to my physical limit. Happily all of the things that stopped working (blistered feet, sore knee, mild dehydration all reserved arrival for the very moment we arrived back at the car. I never thought I'd say it but thank goodness for Gatoraide a large infusion helped regather most if not quite all my composure, topped off with a fantastic burger cooked on the fire by Chris sealed the deal and I'm now tucked up in bed ready for a deep dreamy sleep (its around 10pm) as I listen to our neighbours speak spanish - which is sure to bring good dreams.
Its late evening now and I'm starting to feel a little more together But I readily admit that today's expedition took me to my physical limit. Happily all of the things that stopped working (blistered feet, sore knee, mild dehydration all reserved arrival for the very moment we arrived back at the car. I never thought I'd say it but thank goodness for Gatoraide a large infusion helped regather most if not quite all my composure, topped off with a fantastic burger cooked on the fire by Chris sealed the deal and I'm now tucked up in bed ready for a deep dreamy sleep (its around 10pm) as I listen to our neighbours speak spanish - which is sure to bring good dreams.
Tuesday 3rd September 2013
After attempting three already convoluted routes of entry into
Yosemite park we've finally arrived at 11pm, five hours later than we
would've had it not been for the fourth largest recorded forest fire
in Californian history that has closed most of the roads into the
park and if memory serves burnt around 357 square miles of forest. We
(Chris Key and I) are sitting at a table under canvas roof, in a
small 4 berth shelter that is both cabin and tent at the same time.
Despite our weary condition we're both in a state of silent
excitement; attempting to unwind by reading and writing respectively.
We've had little in the way of dinner, omitting charcoal from our
otherwise extensive shopping spree at Walmart in Carson City was our
only if somewhat important failure.
Arriving under the cover of darkness means there is no way of knowing exactly where we find ourselves. However, consultation with the guide pamphlet we've been handed alongside our pre-existing knowledge of the location mean I'm certain that I sit within fifty metres of the Merced river, from who's banks an upward glance will reveal the granite wall of Yosemite valley rising up 3,547ft in American money, which I think is over a kilometre high!
Yosemite cloak of darkness offers abundant mystery and wonder but this cloak hides not just inanimate wonders shaped over millennia, life teams here... Our food is stored carefully with not a shred left in the car for fear of the bears we've been warned will be attracted to the slightest scent: noses more sensitive than bloodhounds, silent gait thanks to padded feet, appetite more voracious than a Californian stoner who's been unfed for days, so we've shut everything up in our bear proof locker made sealed with sturdy spring-action steel bolts. Thankfully no insects that bite have come to our lamps, but a gentle hhhhiiiiiizzhhh of crickets flows over the gentle breeze.
The drive was (I think?) the longest I've done. We're riding a huge GMC Yukon XL SUV with the obligatory automatic gearbox. I'd never normally allow myself to use a car like this except in the very specific circumstances of this trip... To get to Burning Man we needed to carry three passengers, not in itself a particularly big ask but once you factor in all of the kit to camp and live in the desert for a week it starts adding up. This included but is not limited to: an 18ft diameter dome tent, an air-conditioning unit, a gasoline generator, three persons clothes and hand luggage (ie 20kgs suitcases and smallish rucksacks), groceries for a week, 36 US gallons (approx. 150 litres) of water, 100 cans of beer, two huge cool boxes, a gas burner and grill plate gas cooker (and gas), a 5 gallon gerry can of gasoline, 2 double airbeds, 3 sleeping bags, a full set of kitchen utensils and steel crockery, and a few other unspecified items... This vast quantity of stuff which reveals just how much stuff we need to survive, though I guess it was to survive in the desert which maybe a little more demanding than more temperate climbs. Anyhow, we now find ourselves minus most of that stuff thanks to a quick visit to storage unit in Reno (£200 for a year!) and free to enjoy the other elements beyond sheer practicality of our V8 powerhouse (bear in mind I recon this thing weighs close to two tonnes).
To get from Reno to Yosemite requires a crossing, or at least if all roads are open a partial crossing of the Sierra Nevada. As things stand with the fires we found ourselves doing a full crossing via Sonoma pass, which turns out to be the first pass successfully navigated by settlers, led by “Grizzly” Adams in something like 1854. At its highest point we were at around 6,950ft which by anyone's standards is pretty high. The pass was a narrow winding road with steep climbs and drops that lasted for something like fifty miles until we reached the beautiful old town of Sonoma. With the benefit of hindsight this appears to have marked around the halfway point of our journey, though at the time we felt as though we were on the finishing straight. After leaving Sonoma behind we travelled further and further south vainly hoping that we'd skirt round the rim of the fire control area and find a route in as twighlight grew large passing through beautiful little mountain villages nestled among the pines. We'd stopped only twice as we travelled from Carson City and lunch, and this second occasion we doubled back having met our third road block of the day. Hoping for some directions and a little local knowledge in one of the small mountain settlements we'd passed though right before we hit the block. In a pizza shop that seemed like something out of my teenage dreams of American life a friendly girl at the counter gave us a definitive set of directions and the finally we were tantalisingly close to the park!
The route she'd suggested was down a very minor road that swept up and down ever steeper mountainsides as night finally engulfed us climbing over the most precarious pass we would encounter. Eventually we arrived in Mariposa, a small town on the south corner of the national park where the biggest sequoias are to be found and we'd made it at long last to Yosemite.
Arriving under the cover of darkness means there is no way of knowing exactly where we find ourselves. However, consultation with the guide pamphlet we've been handed alongside our pre-existing knowledge of the location mean I'm certain that I sit within fifty metres of the Merced river, from who's banks an upward glance will reveal the granite wall of Yosemite valley rising up 3,547ft in American money, which I think is over a kilometre high!
Yosemite cloak of darkness offers abundant mystery and wonder but this cloak hides not just inanimate wonders shaped over millennia, life teams here... Our food is stored carefully with not a shred left in the car for fear of the bears we've been warned will be attracted to the slightest scent: noses more sensitive than bloodhounds, silent gait thanks to padded feet, appetite more voracious than a Californian stoner who's been unfed for days, so we've shut everything up in our bear proof locker made sealed with sturdy spring-action steel bolts. Thankfully no insects that bite have come to our lamps, but a gentle hhhhiiiiiizzhhh of crickets flows over the gentle breeze.
The drive was (I think?) the longest I've done. We're riding a huge GMC Yukon XL SUV with the obligatory automatic gearbox. I'd never normally allow myself to use a car like this except in the very specific circumstances of this trip... To get to Burning Man we needed to carry three passengers, not in itself a particularly big ask but once you factor in all of the kit to camp and live in the desert for a week it starts adding up. This included but is not limited to: an 18ft diameter dome tent, an air-conditioning unit, a gasoline generator, three persons clothes and hand luggage (ie 20kgs suitcases and smallish rucksacks), groceries for a week, 36 US gallons (approx. 150 litres) of water, 100 cans of beer, two huge cool boxes, a gas burner and grill plate gas cooker (and gas), a 5 gallon gerry can of gasoline, 2 double airbeds, 3 sleeping bags, a full set of kitchen utensils and steel crockery, and a few other unspecified items... This vast quantity of stuff which reveals just how much stuff we need to survive, though I guess it was to survive in the desert which maybe a little more demanding than more temperate climbs. Anyhow, we now find ourselves minus most of that stuff thanks to a quick visit to storage unit in Reno (£200 for a year!) and free to enjoy the other elements beyond sheer practicality of our V8 powerhouse (bear in mind I recon this thing weighs close to two tonnes).
To get from Reno to Yosemite requires a crossing, or at least if all roads are open a partial crossing of the Sierra Nevada. As things stand with the fires we found ourselves doing a full crossing via Sonoma pass, which turns out to be the first pass successfully navigated by settlers, led by “Grizzly” Adams in something like 1854. At its highest point we were at around 6,950ft which by anyone's standards is pretty high. The pass was a narrow winding road with steep climbs and drops that lasted for something like fifty miles until we reached the beautiful old town of Sonoma. With the benefit of hindsight this appears to have marked around the halfway point of our journey, though at the time we felt as though we were on the finishing straight. After leaving Sonoma behind we travelled further and further south vainly hoping that we'd skirt round the rim of the fire control area and find a route in as twighlight grew large passing through beautiful little mountain villages nestled among the pines. We'd stopped only twice as we travelled from Carson City and lunch, and this second occasion we doubled back having met our third road block of the day. Hoping for some directions and a little local knowledge in one of the small mountain settlements we'd passed though right before we hit the block. In a pizza shop that seemed like something out of my teenage dreams of American life a friendly girl at the counter gave us a definitive set of directions and the finally we were tantalisingly close to the park!
The route she'd suggested was down a very minor road that swept up and down ever steeper mountainsides as night finally engulfed us climbing over the most precarious pass we would encounter. Eventually we arrived in Mariposa, a small town on the south corner of the national park where the biggest sequoias are to be found and we'd made it at long last to Yosemite.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
1st March 2013
I'm writing
this blog post in Santa Cruz having spent a couple of days in the
sunshine. Its somewhat ironic as my first attempt to get here ended
in my arrival in Sucre whereas this time round I was only supposed to
be here for a couple of hours and I'm stuck here for two days. The
circumstances of my stranding added to my rather low opinion of Santa
Cruz, my first visit lasting only a couple of hours on my way back
from Buenos Aires at which point my impression of Santa Cruz was an
unattractive, unpleasantly hot town and for a lover of La Paz its
relative wealth was visible in the most gaudy, distasteful way with
hummers and luxury coupes speeding through the dusty streets. After
suffering a twenty hour bus journey to get here that should have been
twelve (no fault of Santa Cruz – even though I chose to blame it),
resulting in a missed flight I found myself overwhelmed with a an
almost religious fervour in my hatred of this place. As is the nature
of human intelligence I'd assigning meaning to the patterns I'd
observed. In this case an abundance of unpleasant sensory data
attached to Santa Cruz presenting a pattern that was 100% negative.
Fortunately the story doesn't end there... As all good empiricists
know proof by induction only holds true as long as no contradictory
sense data arrives. And in breaking with my somewhat religious
experience I was ready and able to cast aside my mistaken beliefs on
arrival at a hotel in the central square only minutes after avoiding
most of the costs I would have incurred buying a brand new flight
ticket thanks to Aerolineas Argentinas Handily located on said
square. So what led to the turn around?
First off
the airline sorted me out with a new flight for only $50 dollars
(much better than the $300 I was going to have to spend on a new
ticket) - no SleazyJet / Ryan Air rackets here in Latin America. Next
up the helpful Canadian guy in the square who directed me to the
lovely cafe on the opposite corner of the square where I got some
wifi, next the stroll through the magnificent square itself shaded
with all manner of beautiful trees and a hubbub of happy locals. And
finally the lucky break in finding a boutique hotel right next to the
cafe where I've enjoyed two nights stay for about a hundred quid. I
should add that the hotel's huge bed, amazing views, central
location, rooftop pool, sauna and steam room that no one apart form
me seems to use also help. So there you have it. Santa Cruz ain't so
bad afterall, almost makes me want to listen to that one hit wonder
of the same name by The Thrills that most Californian of Irish bands.
Finally before I get on to my mountaineering adventures I should
quickly mention the women here are beautiful too. I understand this
is a rather well known fact and I'm happy to confirm its true.
Anyway, let me back up to a few days ago and my ascent of Huayna
Potosi...
I was set
to climb Huayna Potosi over my last three days in La Paz and booked
in with the travel agency usefully located in the hostel I stay at in
La Paz (Adventure Brew if I haven't mentioned this before). However,
the day before I was informed the trip was cancelled due to lack of
an available guide! With little time to react I rather dejectedly
headed out to Calle Sagarnaga (the street in town where all the
guides are located). Fortunately my scepticism was quickly allayed as
I found a reputable looking company willing to take me up the
mountain (I should mention Huayna Potosi is one of the highest
mountain in the Bolivian andes clocking in at 6,088m). Spirits lifted
I headed back to the hostel to rest up and make sure all of the
necessary gear was packed and ready to go.
The next
day I met my guide early on an encouragingly bright and clear day.
His name was Pollo (spanish for chicken) - I'm sure he has a more
formal name but that remains mystery to me and he was content to know
me only as Macc so I guess we were even? To my surprise / delight it
turned out that I was his only customer and I'd have his guiding
services all to myself. And after our brief introduction and getting
to know you chat it was time to get fitted out with the required
gear. This included: crampon ready boots, crampons, a down jacket,
another jacket to go over the top, waterproof trousers and ice axe
all of which quickly led me to the realisation that this was gong to
be a pretty full on experience. From there we set off in a typically
Bolivian rickety old toyota people carrier for the mountain. Our
destination was the base camp at around 4,700m. The drive up from La
Paz is only 25kms but the steep and winding road taking us high above
alti plano was spectacular and took almost two hours. As we drove out
of El Alto (city on the high plateau above La Paz) entered a wide
valley lined with different coloured lakes fed by the ever retreating
glaciers that partially shroud Huayna Potosi and past a long
abandoned mine where the graves of miners who fought against the army
during a particularly violent dispute many years ago. As we
progressed the sheer scale of the mountain became apparent as it
occupied more and more of the view. Eventually after passed some sort
of police checkpoint we arrived at the base camp or perhaps I should
give it the more alarming name used by Pollo and most everyone else:
refuge. The refuge was in reality a rather low key compound of four
small stone buildings sitting beneath crags obscuring the white peak
above one of which was manned, well womaned by a local bolivian
cholita called Elvira who greeted us warmly and seemed to enjoying
silently giggling in a girlish fashion.
After
getting unpacked and greeting a middle aged couple from Manchester
and Korea by way of Australia and two young former officers from the
Israeli army who were on their own expeditions to the summit we set
off for our initial day of practice on the lower glacier. To get to
the glacier we trekked for around an hour over a boulder field and
into a basin beneath the higher mountain that looked like a
moonscape. Sadly visibility by now was reduced to around twenty
meters as a veil of cloud that wasn't to lift for the remainder of my
time on the mountain had arrived. This was my first up close and
personal encounter with a glacier and it let me know right away that
negotiating such an obstacle is completely different to a walk in the
Scottish highlands. Despite my crampons and ice axe I slipped and
fell from the sheer face within a minute and cut my hand in a number
of places on its steely cold serrated surface. Thankfully the cuts
weren't deep and the cold serves as a great anaesthetic. Continuing
onward before too long I'd started to get the hang of things and
learned a number of techniques, including my favourite which Pollo
termed the “John Wayne” (basically walking down steep slopes in
the manner of John Wayne). After an hour or so on the glacier Pollo
ushered me down a particularly steep slope and off the glacier. My
practice session was complete, or so I thought. In fact we were going
to the edge of the glacier to find an ice wall to practice climbing a
ten meter ice wall! This I was able to do rather better than I
expected and afterwards it really was time to head back to the
refuge, which now felt like it had been given a much more appropriate
name.
A good meal
courtesy of Pollo ( a man of many talents) and a long restful sleep
and it was time to start our ascent for real. Unlike the previous day
our climb today required that we take all of the gear we'd need for
the final climb tomorrow with us. This meant carrying 20Kgs of gear
(no porters here) up to the high camp at 5,200m, although I'm happy
to say there were no glaciers to navigate. The hike took us up to the
site of the lower glacier we'd visited the previous day then up
through a boulder field zagging back and forth up as steep a slope as
I can remember climbing. The portion of the trek usually takes around
three hours and to both Pollo's and my delight we managed to knock it
off in a couple of hours which boded well for the real test that lay
ahead. The high refuge was a substantial if small stone building
perched precariously on the top of the rocky shoulder we'd climbed
looking down onto a vast glacier that blanketed the mountain up
towards its peak. Sadly the cloud cover was still pretty much all
encompassing and there was little to we could see short of the the
first expanse of the glacier that started just below the refuge.
After lunch and afternoon nap, followed by three course dinner it was
time to hit the hay ahead of our ascent that would commense at 2am
(normally people leave at 1am but Pollo felt I was going to be strong
enough to start a little later – I think he also fancied a bit of a
lie in). So before I knew it, it was time to go. A cup of coca tea
and bar of chocolate gear check, head torches on and off we went.
What we went out into was not what I expected or hoped for. Snow was
falling as we started to climb the glacier and it quickly turned into
a blizzard. Pollo cautioned after we'd climbed for an hour as we
began to traverse towards the steepest part of the climb that if
conditions didn't improve we'd have to turn back. My heart sunk and
with it I lost some of the determination it requires to do this
climb, particularly in a blizzard. I can't explain how difficult each
step is, it literally takes your breath away and even if you pause to
regather yourself the thin air provides little sustenance for your
lungs. My dejection only added to this. We continued or perhaps I
should say struggled onwards for another hour climbing an
increasingly exposed and ever steeper slope until Pollo declared we'd
have to turn back. We'd reached around the half way point and even
through on one level the physical relief I felt instantly on
descending rather than ascending I was more bitterly disappointed
than I can remember been in a long time. Pollo could see how upset I
was and assured me that I'd have no problem completing the climb if
it hadn't been for the conditions but it still felt like failure.
By the time
we reached the high refuge an hour later Pollo said we could rest and
finish our descent in a couple of hours. I asked if we could go there
and then. I just wanted to get off the mountain. But he insisted we
stay as there would be no one to collect us for a few more hours at
the bottom so stay we did. I lay and stewed realising I didn't even
have a photo of the highest point we reached (in any event it would
just be me looking miserable peering through a blizzard with a head
torch in the dark). I'm pleased to say that once we got off the
mountain and into the car on our way back to La Paz I managed to gain
some perspective. It had been an amazing experience like no other
I've known and I don't regret it for a minute. I'd done everything I
could to succeed and I'd be able to come back (in a more suitable
season) and do it another time. Still until I do get back there will
be a piece of me that won't be satisfied but that's no bad thing. So
my last blog post form Bolivia I can conclude by definitely saying
that I'll be back. Thanks Huayna Potosi you sealed the deal...
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