Reflections

This time we are taking a break from describing our journeys and adventures in order to look back and share some of the reflections that this travel evokes.

The Discreet Charm of Rough Tourism (Esther)

What I thought were the advantages of backpacking and rough tourism in my 20s –a more adventurous, less expensive way to see the world—have broadened in my 60s to include something even more precious: access to untouched natural landscapes and a window on local cultures and customs not yet americanized or blasé by meeting visitors who are clearly from another world .

We have seen so many beautiful places in the last weeks, so awe-inspiring, that we often turn to eachother to say how lucky we are. And indeed we are. But much of the beauty we have seen is precisely because it is vast and unpeopled and uncluttered by the volumes and infrastructure of mass tourism and economic development.

Peninsula Valdes, Chiloe Island, and the high Bolivian and Chilean Andes have particularly touched all four of us. Mostly we were alone among glaciers, gigantic sand dunes, snowcapped volcanoes and lagoons inhabited by flamingos, or salt water rivers created when entire forests were sunk during the last earthquake. Often we each found a small corner to enjoy the solitude that makes a spectacular landscape something more personally meaningful, even spiritual. And so, the same glacier or desert geyser experienced alone or shared with thousands of others becomes a different experience. One is nice, another life-altering. Which brings me back to backpacking and the pleasures of rough tourism.

In many ways backpackers are the thin edge of the tourism wedge. Mostly (very) young—20s and 30s with a few geezers thrown in – they thrive in shared dorms, showers and stories of rugged adventure. Lack of mass tourism infrastructure from hot water, toilets, and paved roads, to hotel and restaurant chains is catnip to them, ensuring only the hardy show up. Meals are found in common hostel kitchens or in the hospitality of a local family that makes rooms available in homes that range from rustic to falling apart.

Many of the places we hiked, kayaked or biked through had no powerlines for thousands of miles. Because of their beauty, within 20 or 30 years many will undoubtedly have flush toilets, WiFi and heavily roped off areas to protect the tourists as much as the delicate environments and animals. Access for all types of tourists will be available, but something will have been lost.

That´s why we are so grateful to be here. When we are biking uphill on the rockiest roads we have ever seen, or are faced with a meal that is not particularly recognizable, we know we are experiencing the area´s first experiments with tourism. Each time we are brought for the night to an adobe hut with rattling tin roof, broken or no toilet and a cold-water shower, we tell ourselves this is the price for access to some of the most beautiful, spare and lonely places on earth. And in the end, it is a very small price

A reflective moment (Annice)

One of the joys of this trip has been the natural beauty we have taken the time to sit, roll or walk through. So many memories come to me as I sit on a rock at the edge of the Laguna Colorada in Bolivia. In my minds eye I recall walking along the beaches of Peninsula Valdes marveling at the cliffs composed of crushed shells. Sitting by the glacial waters at the base of Fitz Roy and Torres del Paine, and kayaking around Grey glacier, and being in awe of the colours particularly the deep blue. The numerous sunsets, and occasional sunrises, especially kayaking at dawn on Chiloe island. The simplicity of standing on the deck of the ferry as it moves through the fiords. I feel the wonder of cycling along beaches and in the desert with no traffic, only the stillness of the vastness. At this moment the lagoon is red and thousands of flamingos pink and white are spread over the red water. Our altitude is over 4000 meters and there are no trees. The mountains in the background look as if they are carpeted in green and brown. In the distance there is a line of white salt, marking the edge of the water. The flamingos slowly walk, making a duck like sound, their images reflected in the clear water. Occasionally one flies by exposing the blackness at the bottom of their wings, making their flight an exquisite thing to watch. This is an ideal place to reflect on the beauty of this trip.

On travel photography (Simon)

As the chief photographer of this expedition I end up thinking (and talking) a lot about photography in general, and travel photography in particular. Many (most?) of our fellow wanderers snap a lot of pictures. Most carry small point-and-shoot cameras, some shlepp big and heavy packs with DSLR cameras and 2 or more lenses. I recently bought a nice Nikon DSLR with an additional large telephoto zoom lens, but before departure got cold feet, thinking about carrying it on the treks, in all weather, and in cities known for tourist predators, so I bought a much more compact Canon (not DSLR), with a lens too long to hide easily, but with a very powerful zoom, which I learned is very difficult to use without a tripod.

As a relative beginner and a learner I have to put  lot of thought and effort into trying to get the pictures I want, without disrupting too much the rhytm of our activities. My fellow travellers are mostly patient with me, and I hope they are rewarded by the visual memories of some remarkable views and moments we have shared.

Hummingbird

I find capturing images of animals (and particularly birds) in nature especially challenging, so I rarely pass by an interesting bird without trying to snap it, often without success, but I'm learning and slowly becoming better in overcoming the camera's and my limitations.

There is a lot I want to say about travel photography, but at this point I'll just use the opportunity to show our readers some samples my version on the birds of South America.

Vulture at dawn

Imperial cormorans

Petrel, I think