Iñaki's Diversion

The Way Home

2010-01-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

"Once you have traveled the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers, that the mind can never break off from the journey."

Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides

Even the longest journey comes to an end some day and so did mine last week. I had feared the moment of my return home ever since I booked the last flight of my trip, €79 that set the definitive end of my adventure to December the 22nd. The uncertainty about the future, knowing where I'm gonna sleep tonight, the buildings blocking the sunsets, the city lights cancelling out the stars... could I adapt to my zoo cage again?

It is in situations like this when one understands the value of good friends. During my last days on the road I floated down on a continuous stream of old friends that accompanied me all the way to my old home's doorstep. They turned a melancholic end into a promising start (to my new life) difficult to forget.

London
As if trying to draw a perfectly symmetrical end to my round the world trip, a white carpet of snow welcomed me to Heathrow airport. Also like in February, a comfortable couch was waiting for me. This time it was Geraldine's stylish sofa, which happened to be housed in the very same student dormitory where I spent my first night outside Spain ten months earlier. Geraldine (2?, French) was my dive buddie in the Perhentian islands. With her and some friends I walked the streets of London one more time. No need for a map, by now I master the ABC of London's city centre like my own neighbourhood. Candem town, Oxford street, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Westminster, the London Eye, Piccadilly Circus... all where I left them but nicely decorated for the occasion. Minutes after saying goodbye to Geraldine at St. Pancrass station I run into David (24, Spanish) - an old friend from my years as a student in Pamplona. He was too flying home for Christmas and guess what, he was scheduled on the very same flight leaving London Stansted the next morning. Due to the bad weather the two of us had to wait 6 hours more than expected before our plane finally took off. My last flight, the 13th of the year.

Madrid
Still in shock to read and hear Spanish all around me, I said goodbye to David who got off the underground train in Pinar del Rio. Three stations later one of my best friends -Eli (26, Spanish)- was waiting for me. My big hug with Eli was the first of a long series still going. Speaking of reunions, it was time for one of the most awaited: real Spanish food! Eli, Albert, Rosa and Alberto took me to one the thousands of tapas bars that make Madrid one of my favourite capitals in Europe. This was working, no evidence of melancholy.

Vitoria-Gasteiz
I contained my emotions -a strange mix of excitement and melancholy- as I contemplated the procession of traffic signs showing the countdown of kilometers to my hometown. Flashes of my journey struck my mind; places, people, sounds... they've become an essential part of my memories. At last the bus came to a final halt. 10 months -322 days- later I was in Vitoria again. Luckily my brother's clinic lies within minutes from the station, otherwise I wouldn't have made it through without tears. He got another hug, a big one. He was one of the very few people who knew of my return, a loyal accomplice to my mum's birthday surprise.

I had run the plan a thousand times in my mind and now it was time to carry it out. I left my brother and walked through the old town of Gasteiz. I stopped to buy a bunch of flowers. In 15 minutes I arrived to the block of apartments that I used to call home and rang the neighbour's bell to get in the building. Climbed the stairs, shook the dust off my worn out clothes and got ready to ring the door's bell. I rang it and waited for the door to open. And I waited... 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 20 seconds, 30 seconds... then I rang again. I couldn't believe it. In one of the meanest jokes that destiny has known I had traveled the world only to discover that nobody would open the door of my old home. My plan had failed, what now? shall I just walk the entire globe again? I pulled out my cellphone and dialed my parents' number:

- Hello
- Mum, is this you?
- Of course is me, who else on earth could it be?
- Oh, ah, oh, ummmm... happy birthday!
- Iñaki, where are you?
- I just came back from a trip to a national park near here, in Los Angeles, California.
- How are things going?
- Well, I don't know, my travel mates just left me, they're gonna spend Christmas at home...
(meanwhile I rang the door bell persistently)
- Hold on Iñaki, some jerk is ringing the bell and I have to open...

I guess you can figure out the rest of the story yourselves. Yes, my mum got another big hug, probably the biggest. My father followed right after and in the following 48 hours the process repeated over and over among friends and relatives. End of the Diversion, I'm home!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

Candem Town Market in north London -soon to be renamed as Mercado de Candemería due to the ridiculous amount of Spanish visitors- has been tastefully rebuilt after the fire to become the greatest bargain market in London. If you haven't been there in the last 12 months consider it a must in your visit to the UK's capital.
In their attempt to remain low-cost, some airlines are taking extreme measures difficult to believe. To paying €15 to print your bording card at the airport and €40 if your belongins do not fit in a single bag we can add €0.50 each time a passenger must weight his luggage prior check-in. Hilarious!
Having been to New York, London and Madrid the week before Christmas; my personal choice regarding Christmas decoration is Spain's capital.
Do not try to surprise your mother. Recent studies have showed that mothers have developed a special ability to foresee surprises - let alone lies, drunkness and bad decissions. Believe me, don't waste your time!

PS: This is not the last post of this blog. In the following weeks I'll publish new posts about the overall experience, the Tops of the Diversion, How to: Organise Your Round the World Trip and more.

Todo viaje llega a su fin, y el mio no podía ser la excepción. La semana pasada puse pie en Vitoria tras casi once meses recorriendo el mundo. Una última etapa llena de emociones y sorpresas en el que el protagonismo se lo llevaron mis amigos y, como no podía ser de otra manera en estas fechas, mi sufrida familia.

Primera parada: Londres. Como si se tratase de una pelicula proyectada marcha atrás, mi llegada a Londres fue precedida de una nevada intensa, exactamente igual a la que cayó dias antes de comenzar este largo viaje. Como entonces, un sofá amigo aguardaba mi visita. Esta vez fue mi amiga Geraldine la que me ofreció cobijo en -mira tú por donde- la misma residencia de estudiantes donde mi amigo Chiew Kit me habia albergado meses atrás. Con Geraldine y sus amigos recorrí las calles de Londres una vez más. Sin necesidad de planos ni mapas volví a visitar los mismos edificios que meses atrás habia fotografíado, eso si, sin luces de navidad. Minutos después dejar a Geraldine en la estacion de St Pancrass dirección Paris voy y me encuentro -por pura casualidad- con David. David es un viejo conocido de mis años de estudiante en Pamplona que -cosas del destino- volvia a casa por navidad al día siguiente en el mismo vuelo. Él y yo nos comimos con patatas las 6 horas de retraso por el cierre de Barajas.

Ya en España despedí a David en la estación de Pinar del Río y tres estaciones más tarde una de mis mejores amigas, Eli, me esperaba en el adén. Primer abrazo de una serie que todavía hoy sigue su curso y una gran alegría por el reencuentro. Y hablando de reencuentros horas mas tarde llegó uno muy esperado: ¡la comida española! Eli, Albert, Rosa y Alberto me llevaron de tapas dejandome muy claro por que Madrid es una de mis capitales preferidas de toda Europa.

Con la resaca del reencuentro me monté en el último autobus que habría de llevarme hasta mi amada Vitoria. Los carteles de la autovía marcaban la cuenta atrás mientras mi cabeza se llenaba de caras, nombres, lugares y sonidos que formarán parte esencial de mi memoria para el resto de mi vida. Y así, casi sin darme cuenta, el conductor anunciaba la llegada a Vitoria. No me lo podía creer, 322 días después mis malogradas botas hacian pie en la misma estación. Como quien vuelve de un día en la montaña cogí mi mochila y puse rumbo a la clinica de mi hermano. Mi hermano se llevo el segundo abrazo de la serie, uno gordo pues era él uno de los pocos que sabían de mi llegada. Él era mi cómplice para la sorpresa de cumpleaños que la había preparado a mi madre. El plan estaba perfectamente estudiado, lo habia simulado en mi mente mil y una veces. Era por fín la hora de ejecutarlo. Despedí a mi hermano y puse rumbo a casa. Las calles de Vitoria lucían como de costumbre, mojadas por la lluvia y en obras. Tras una parada en la floristería por fín llegué al portal. Un vecino me dió acceso al edificio. Subí las escaleras, me adecenté lo que pude en el descansillo y con mochila y ramo en mano me dirigí a la puerta de lo que solía llamar 'mi casa'. Pero como todo en esta vida -especialmente cuando se trata de sorprender a una madre- las cosas no siempre salen según lo planeado. Mi primera llamada al timbre de casa no resultó como esperaba. Minuto y medio después y tras una segunda llamada entendí que el destino me quería gastar una última broma. ¡Tiene c*jones, date la vuelta al mundo para volver a casa y ver que no hay nadie para abrirte la puerta!
Me tocaba improvisar. Saqué el móvil y marqué el número de casa. Sorpesa, mi madre cogió el teléfono:

- ¿Dígame?
- ¡Felicidades mamá!
- ¿Dónde estás?
- Pues nada, que acabo de volver de una excursión a un parque nacional aquí, en California.
(mientras tanto hago sonar el timbre de casa)
- Oye Iñaki, espera un momento que hay algún pesado llamando a la puerta y tengo que abir.

Supongo que el resto de la historia os la podeís imaginar vosotros solitos. Pues si, más abrazos. Primero mi madre, luego mi padre, horas más tarde mis amigos, luego el turrón que vuelve a casa por Navidad con mis tíos, abuela, etc... En fín, que por fín estoy en casa.

Pics'n'vids: The Way Home

2010-01-01T18:56:00.000-08:00

Pic of the Week: Carousel by the Thames

2010-01-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

Reclame

2010-01-01T14:00:00.000-08:00

USA: Coast to Coast

2009-12-24T16:10:00.000-08:00

The complete title for this post should be USA: Coast to Coast and Nothing in Between. Time constraints forced me to skip the greatest part of the US focusing my visit on two cities: Los Angeles and New York. Some say these cities are not what you'd call "real America"; well, real America or not the places and especially the people that I met over there account for some of the most wonderful and genuine characters of my trip.

Los Angeles

My overnight flight from the Cook Islands dumped me in LA early in the morning. The very FRIENDLY (<- is this clear enough?) staff from customs welcomed me to America and opened the doors to sunny California. Although a few hours in Los Angeles are far from enough, I tried my best to take a little bite to the Californian Way of Life. A bus ride along the ever-impossible web of highways near Los Angeles took me to the beaches. Then a long stroll down Santa Monica beach to revive those cheesy American TV series. No baywatchers within sight nor silicon bimbos on rollerblades but the pier and the hot dogs were still there. Great atmosphere that made for another legendary sunset over the Pacific.

New York

Sunset over the Pacific, sunrise over the Atlantic. Good morning New York City! Said to be the world's capital, NYC really is an amazing place. The city in itself is well worth the visit but if you are lucky enough to share your time there with people like Howard and John... then your hands are boasting aces. I met Howard and John (74 & ?, American) through Couchsurfing, they offered to host me for a few days. Their magnificent apartment (two blocks away from Times Square) is insignificant compared to their kindness and wisdom. Howard guided me through the highlights of Manhattan: Times Square, Bryan Park, St Patrick's, Trump Tower, Rockefeller Center, Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, World Trade Center, Chinatown, Little Italy, Central Park, Guggenheim Museum... I'm sure you all have heard about them before. However only a native New Yorker like him could tell you about the legendary burgers of McSorley's (one of the oldest pubs in NYC) or the impressive frescoes of the museum of American Indians.

Once again it seems clear to me that a place is as good as the people you share it with. New York City is beyond words and so are Howard and John. Thank you guys for making my visit to New York such a wonderful time!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

American hot dogs are nothing but a lousy frankfurt that wouldn't make for a proper snack for a German shepherd. Genuine burgers are, however, small pieces of art.
Americans don't eat junk, at least not more than we do. Some of them are really good cooks that would blow the asses off the French, Italians and Spanish chefs (not the Basque, though! hahaha).
Opera makes sense. Behind the odd look of the old-fashioned heavy-weighted fellows that sign on the stage there are exciting stories including bloody murders, bizarre sex and all sorts of perversions. On top of that these artist comprise the ultimate showman/woman, they are actors, singers and performers all-in-one.
Among other things, the new WTC will include an astonishing transit centre designed by the Spanish arquitect Santiago Calatrava.
Shopping in New York is good and cheap. Don't miss the second hand shops in East Village, especially No Relation Vintage.
Apparently I am not the only one struggling to build furniture with bamboo. During my visit to the National Design Museum in New York I learnt about Ezri Tarazi, an Israeli designer who's tried to build amazing furniture with bamboo. Watch video!

Por motivos de tiempo mi paso por los EEUU se limito a dos de sus grandes iconos: Los Ángeles y Nueva York. Muchos dicen que estas ciudades no representan la "verdadera América"; sea cierto o no los lugares y sobretodo las personas que conoci allí representan algunos de los carácteres mas genuinos de mi viaje.
Tras 11 horas de vuelo aterricé en Los Ángeles a primera hora de la mañana. A pesar de no disponer de mucho tiempo, mi corta visita a California me permitió saborear algo del famoso "Californian Way of Life". Primera y única parada: playa de Santa Mónica. Aunque se echaron de menos a los famosos vigilantes de la playa (sobretodo a ellas), las torres, los paseantes y los perritos calientes estaban allí.
Con apenas 8 horas de diferencia vi el atardecer sobre el océano Pacifico y acto seguido el amanecer sobre el Atlántico. ¡Bienvenido a Nueva York! La también conocida como capital del mundo es un lugar asombroso. Más aun si se tiene el gusto de compartir la visita con gente tan maja como Howard y John. Estos dos newyorkinos no sólo se ofrecieron a hospedarme en su apartamento de Manhattan sino que hicieron de guias improvisados por la ciudad. Times Square, la caterdral de St Patrick, el Rockefeller Center, la Estatua de la Libertad, Wall Street, el World Trade Center, Chinatown, Little Italy, Central Park, iconos de la cultura americana que hicieron las delicias de mi cámara.
Una vez más queda claro que la visita a un lugar es tan buena como la gente con la que se comparte. Nueva York es un lugar excepcional, como lo son Howard y John, sólo espero que todo aquel visitante que se adentre en esta jungla de cristal tenga la suerte de conocerla de tan buena mano.

Pics'n'vids: USA

2009-12-24T16:00:00.001-08:00

Reclame

2009-12-24T14:00:00.000-08:00

Hooked on the Cooks

2009-12-20T20:00:00.000-08:00

Last Tuesday 8th of December I time-traveled for the first time in my life. I took a plane at Auckland's Int Airport at 10pm and arrived to Rarotonga the same day at 2.40am (20 hours earlier), now, how cool is that?

Rarotonga is the main island of the group of seven islands known as the Cook Islands. Less than 15000 souls -most of them Maori- inhabit this volcanic island whose total area covers approximately 67 km2 (the size of San Marino). In spite of the relative bad weather (20-25 deg C, overcast with showers), I managed to do a bunch of interesting things in this idyllic island. You won't find many pictures though, for two main reasons:
1) I thought that the bad weather didn't make justice to the place and 2) I spent a lot of time at the beach and under the water so most days I left the camera at home. The highlights of my trip were the trek across the island (8 km north-south), the bicycle tour around the island (32 km), the long hours snorkeling in the crystal clear waters of the lagoon that surrounds the island and the breath-taking sunsets at the beach.

In conclusion, a very relaxing week that helped to recharge my worn-out batteries. Next stop: America!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

Tiny islands in the middle of the Southern Pacific Ocean are not a myth. I must add that planes don't crash there every now and then unleashing a very intriguing sequence of events with no logical explanation.
A coin doesn't necessarily need to be round. Check out the $2 Cook Islands coin!
The first European to come across the Cook Island was the Spanish sailors Alvaro de Medaña in 1595.
The first European who cooked a tortilla de patata in the Cook Island was no other than Iñaki Merino Albaina in late 2009.

El pasado 8 de Diciembre hice mi primer viaje en el tiempo. Al mas puro estilo Michael J. Fox en 'Regreso al futuro', me subi en mi Delorean particular a eso de las 10 de la noche hora local de Auckland (Nueva Zelanda) y aterrice en Rarotonga (Islas Cook) poco antes de las 3 de la madrugada de ese mismo dia. En otras palabras, retrocedi 19 horas en el tiempo.

Rarotonga pertenece al archipielago de las islas Cook. Con poco mas de 15000 habitantes, esta diminuta isla volcanica -del tamaño de San Marino- ofrece paz y descanso a todos aquellos que puedan permitirse un largo viaje al medio del oceano pacifico. Tal vez fue esto lo que atrajo la atencion del marino español Alvaro de Medaña al convertirse en el primer Europeo en darse un garbeo por la zona. Yo por mi parte buscaba descanso, y a pesar de que el tiempo no acompaño del todo, lo encontre. Mi visita se resume en: caminatas por la isla (especialmente bonita la que atraviesa de norte a sur en poco mas de 8 kilometros), largas horas buceando (con tubo y gafas) en el arrecife que rodea la isla y atardeceres de pelicula en la playa. En resumen, una semanita recargando las pilas para mi proximo destino: America!

Pics'n'vids: Cook Islands

2009-12-20T08:18:00.000-08:00

Pic of the Week: High Up

2009-12-20T06:15:00.000-08:00

The Adrenaline Week (Part II)

2009-12-16T12:06:00.000-08:00

After the skydive in Taupo I was ready to leave New Zealand. Six weeks in this amazing country during which I went from herding sheep, to hiking through the Middle-earth, dancing half naked, climbing volcanoes, and finally to jumping from a plane at 12000 feet. Mission accomplished. Or wasn't it?

I arrived to Auckland on Sunday evening. I'd barely checked in my hostel when I received a message from two old friends from the south island; remember the Swedish Legolas and Aragorn? Cecilia and Lina had just arrived to Auckland from a trip to the north and were eager to explore NZ's biggest city. We met the next morning at the foot of Auckland's Sky Tower. This tower -built between 1994 and 1997- rises 328 meters from the ground offering stunning views of the city. It was at the top of the tower where Cecilia (or perhaps Lina) pointed at the harbour bridge and said: hey guys, did you know that people actually jump from that bridge? In a different context this comment would need further explanation, however in New Zealand everybody understands that what my friend meant was that one can bungy from the bridge. And to Cecilia and me this meant trouble. During our trip in the south we had agreed that if we ever saw each other again in NZ we would bungy together, no excuses.

I guess things like this must be done quickly, avoiding much thinking, but the speed of the sequence of events that took place that Monday morning (did I ever say that I like Mondays?) compares to nothing. Five minutes after the Infamous Comment (a.I.C.) the three of us were at the activities & tours counter paying for our bungy jump. For me that meant no way back, no matter what. 15 min a.I.C. I was lost in the parking lot, desperately looking for a silver Mazda. 28 min a.I.C. somebody was giving me a full-body harness and a helmet. 42 min a.I.C. I was sitting on a metallic chair while someone tied what seemed to be an elastic rope to my ankles. Finally, 47 min a.I.C. I smiled to the camera and adopted the position of "Christ the Redeemer" before leaning forward and fall.

I had done it, I had bungyed. For a long long time the bungy had been in my ToDo list but every time I pictured myself on the edge of an imaginary bridge cold sweat run through my hands and feet. In contrast with tandem skydiving, the bungy requires remarkable balls. There is no one backing you up there, it's only you and the rope. Your mind might want to jump but your body begs you not to do it. I challenge anyone who doesn't believe me to stand up right now, close their eyes and lean forward while imagining themselves falling from a bridge. It is terrifying. Nonetheless and by looking at me in the video you couldn't tell that I was scared, and in fact I wasn't. I guess it was the dramatic pace of the events that pushed me into some sort of ecstasy that made me insensitive to what was happening around me. I woke up when I touched the ocean's water and then it was too late to worry about anything, there was only excitement and fun. I must thank Legolas and Aragorn for that, thank you girls I couldn't have done it without you!

At last I was ready to leave, I packed my bag and left for the airport. It's becoming a cliche but once again I must say that some of the things I've experienced in New Zealand will remain in my memories for the rest of my life. Awesome country! Thanks Aotearoa for keeping me safe, take good care of yourself and see you again someday!

Interesting things that I've learnt during my last weeks in NZ:

The meaning of the Maori haka.
That Auckland's Sky Tower is highest free-standing structure of the southern hemisphere!
That sandals (also known as flip-flops and thongs) and called jandals in New Zealand.
How to overcome personal fears.
The real value of consistency and social observation as motivational techniques (I put to practice some of the social psychology theory that I learnt for my master thesis).
That my kiwi friend Glen does NOT live anywhere near Auckland. Sadly I learnt this the hard way, sorry mate we MUST see each other again in Europe or NZ!

Tras mi salto en paracaidas en Taupo ya me daba por satisfecho con mi visita a Nueva Zelanda. Mision cumplida en las antipodas, o tal vez no? A mi llegada a Auckland aquel domingo recibi un mensaje de dos viejas amigas de la isla sur, Cecilia y Lina. Estas suecas supermajas me habian acompanado hasta Milford Sound y ahora estaban en Auckland con ganas de explorar la ciudad mas grande de Nueva Zelanda. Acordamos el encuentro a la manana siguiente, a pie de la Torre de Telecomunicaciones de Auckland. Fue en lo alto de esta torre (la mas alta del hemisferio sur) donde una de las chicas apunto al puente de la bahia y dijo: Sabeis que hay gente que salta desde aquel puente? En un contexto diferente dicho comentario requiere mas explicacion, pero en Nueva Zelanda todo el mundo presupone que a lo que se referia mi amiga no es sino a que es posible hacer puenting desde la susodicha estructura. Pero la cosa no acaba ahi. Semanas antes y tras ver a unos 'colgaos' en la isla sur, Cecilia y yo habiamos acordado que si alguna vez nos volviamos a encontrar en NZ hariamos todo lo posible por tirarnos de un puente en condiciones. Yo pense que ella no se acordaria (y no seria yo quien le refrescase la memoria) pero nada mas lejos de la realidad, 5 minutos mas tarde y desde el lobby de la torre mis amigas y yo estabamos pagando el salto. Supongo que una cosa asi solo se hace de esta manera, rapido y sin pensarlo demasiado, pero el ritmo de los acontecimientos de aquella manana es cosa de otro mundo. En apenas 20 minutos aparcamos el Mazda a orillas del puente. Acto seguido unos operarios nos pusieron los arneses y nos condujeron a la plataforma de salto. No habian pasado 50 minutos desde el comentario en lo alto de la torre cuando a pies puntillas me acercaba a la repisa de la plataforma. Salude a la camara, abri los brazos cual Cristo Redentor y me deje caer al vacio. Con dos cajones!

A juzgar por el video del salto no se podria decir que los tengo como bolas de canon, que no estaba asustado para nada. Y para mi sorpresa la verdad es que no lo estaba. Todavia no me lo consigo explicar. Durante anos habia sopesado la idea de hacer puenting, sin embargo cada vez que me imaginaba saltando de un puente las manos y los pies se me llenaban de un sudor frio de la impresion. A diferencia del salto en tandem (paracaidas), en lo alto del puente la responsabilidad de saltar es tuya y solamente tuya. Es algo irracional, tu cabeza te dice 'vamos' y tu cuerpo dice 'ni de cona'. La verdad es que aquel lunes mi cuerpo no decia ni mu, o si lo hacia yo no lo podia escuchar. La voragine que me habia transportado desde lo alto de la Torre de Telecomunicaciones hasta la plataforma de salto me impedia sentir nada. Para cuando me desperte estaba tocando el agua del oceano y para entonces ya era demasiado tarde para preocuparse de nada, solo quedaba disfrutar. Una experiencia inolvidable que se la debo principalmente a Cecilia y Lina, sin su determinacion no lo habria conseguido!

Tras tachar el puenting de mi lista ya estaba listo para abandonar Nueva Zelanda. Os sonara a topico, pero mi visita a las antipodas me ha deparado un punado de experiencias dificiles de olvidar en lo que me queda de vida. Que pasada de pais! Gracias Nueva Zelanda por los ratos que me has hecho pasar, cuidate y nos vemos de nuevo algun dia!

Bungy from Auckland's Harbour Bridge

2009-12-16T00:04:00.000-08:00

Pics'n'vids: Adrenaline Week (Part II)

2009-12-16T00:03:00.000-08:00

The Adrenaline Week (Part I)

2009-12-08T18:00:00.000-08:00

Here a funny thing about time, sometimes a second can last for hours and some other times a week seems to go in less than an hour. One can squeeze a life in 25 years or waste it in one hundred. I've spent the last ten months celebrating mine and after lots of planning I was ready for a colossal party that I called 'The Adrenaline Week'.

Monday:
In contrast to the Boomtown Rats and Brenda A. Spencer I DO like Mondays. I believe a good start of the week can shoot you over the tedious Tuesdays, Wednesdays, etc... and bearing that in mind I cracked my adrenaline week with a bunch of insane downhill mountain-bike rides. The terrible weather (pouring rain) and the world-class mountain-bike trails near Rotorua teamed up to provide what's probably been the scariest of all the activities I've done in New Zealand. I know that after reading what I did the following days you won't believe what I've just said but it's absolutely true. Forever carved in my memories the two young wild boars running in front of my out-of-control bike as I rode down the Split Enz. Watch movie!

Tuesday:
After a few days of rain the weather finally gave us a break. To celebrate it we signed up for a rafting trip down the Kaituna River. The river features grade 5 rapids plus the awesome 7 meter (21 feet) Tutea Falls, the worlds highest commercially rafted waterfall. To be honest I prefer slightly calmer waters because in this kind of rivers there is not much you can do on the raft, basically you go down at the mercy of the rapids praying for your life each time the instructor shouts: DOWN!

Wednesday:
The rain was back in town so we decided to hit the indoor climbs at a local gym. Nothing special really, but a good way to keep the body pumping. We topped the day bathing in the thermal waters present in this volcanic area of the country.

Thursday:
Drove from Rotorua to Taupo stopping at the very impressive Huka falls and the supermarket to stock up for the next's day challenge.

Friday:
Our prayers for good weather didn't work - not even the Maori haka. After five days waiting we decided to set off for the Tongariro Alpine Crossing anyway. This 19-km trek -said to be the best day trek in NZ- features dramatic views over volcanoes and pristine lakes. I guess they were still there but due to the adverse climatology we could barely spot some peaks. Certainly a shame but at least we can say we did it, which was far from easy under those conditions.

Saturday:
After the previous night's celebration I woke up with a head cold and a mild hungover. Luckily I had some ColaCao left and this was indeed a good time to use it. Timid sun beams found their way through the cloudy sky. I looked at the calendar, looked up to the sky again and said: now or never! One hour later I was sitting on the lap of a Hungarian skydiver on a plane at 12000 feet above the Lake Taupo. The door slided open, a wave of strong wind blew my face, my feet hung in the void, and eventually I felt the final push, off we went!

For three seconds flashes of the shinny pink fuselage mixed with others of the far ground in a sensation that can only be compared to being inside a giant washing machine. We stabilized after five seconds or so, from there on a dramatic free fall towards the clouds. It was when I felt the moister of the clouds on my face that I started to realize what was happening and I just loved it! We left the clouds level behind (or above) us to discover the snowed peaks and the massive lake Taupo -the size of Singapore- growing lager. Then the pull, the sound of something unfolding and a jerky stop in the air. Finally I could hear Laci (the Hungarian Siamese twin attached to my back), How would you like to play with the parachute? He supervised while I maneuvered the life-saving device with the right and left cords. Finally he took over and asked me to raise my legs. My ass landed smoothly on the green paddies near the airstrip.

I couldn't believe what had just happened, 45 seconds earlier I was sitting on a plane and now I was on the ground. That had been, without a doubt, the most unbelievable minute of my life. Thanks to all those who made it possible.

Sunday:
Emulating the good Lord I decided to rest on the seventh day. It had been an amazing week with very few hours of sleep and way too much excitement. My body needed some rest and found it on the couch of the hostel. What it didn't know then is that there was one last surprise awaiting.

To be continued...

La paradoja del tiempo es que a veces un segundo puede parecer una eternidad y sin embargo otras veces una semana se esfuma en un minuto. 25 años pueden valer una vida o tal vez 100 no sean suficientes para cumplir tus sueños. Yo me he pasado los ultimos diez meses celebrando este regalo de mis padres que es la vida y tras echar un ojo a la hucha me agencie un billete para una montaña rusa que bautice como 'La Semana de la Adrenalina'.

Lunes:
Tal vez no suene demasiado excitante en un principio, y menos cuando leais el resto de la semana, pero descender las laderas proximas a Rotorua fue sin duda la actividad mas excitante de la semana. Los barrizales, las sendas con badenes, los conejos y jabatos saltando delante de la rueda delantera de mi bici y las caidas (sin mayores consequencias) permanecen en mi recuerdo como una de las experiencias mas extremas del viaje y tal vez la mas arriesgada. No habia gozado tanto sobre dos ruedas desde mis carreras por el 'rompeculos' de Armentia.

Martes:
El mal tiempo por fin nos dio un respiro y para celebrarlo nada mejor que un descenso en rafting por el rio Kaituna. Este rio incluye rapidos de grado 5 y varias cataratas, incluyendo una de 7 metros que es la mas alta que se puede 'navegar' en el mundo. Todo sea dicho yo me quedo con las aguas mas tranquilas de Nepal pues en un rio como este no hay mucho que hacer sobre la barca, basicamente uno baja a merced de los rapidos agarrandose al remo y la barca cada vez que el instructor grita: abajo!

Miercoles:
La lluvia volvio a hacer acto de presencia. Nuestra alternativa para mantener los niveles de adrenalina altos fue una visita al rocodromo de Rotorua. Nada nuevo pero sin duda una buena manera de matar el tiempo cuando la climatologia no acompaña. Para acabar el dia nos dimos unos baños en las aguas termales de la zona.

Jueves:
Dia de transicion. Mis compañeros de viaje Greg y Bryony (24 y 23, ingleses) condujimos los 90 kilometros hasta Taupo parando en un supermercado para abastecernos para nuestro proximo reto.

Viernes:
Nuestras plegarias no fueron escuchadas y el tiempo no mejoro. Cansados de esperar, nos decidimos a intentar la Travesia al Tongariro. A lo largo de los 19 kilometros de caminata (desnivel de 800 metros) uno pasa de las laderas volcanicas a las cumbres nevadas y los crateres y lagos de aguas pristinas. Supongo que todos ellos estarian alli pero lamentablemente y por culpa del mal tiempo no pudimos ver casi nada. La travesia se convirtio en un desafio contra los elementos que me costo un catarrillo que cure a base de cervezas de celebracion.

Sabado:
Etapa reina de la semana. Tras una noche movidita desperte con un ligero dolor de cabeza, nada que un buen tazon de ColaCao no pueda remediar. Entonces vi la señal, unos rayos de sol que se abrieron paso entre las nubes sobre el lago Taupo. Tras meses esperando a este momento era la hora de decidirse: ahora o nunca!
Una hora mas tarde una avioneta rosa despegaba del aerodromo local y yo me sentaba al regazo de Laci, un paracaidista hungaro que habia prometido devolveme a tierra firme en una pieza (viva o inerte). Ser el ultimo en subirse al avion no solo significaba sentarse al lado de la puerta de metacrilato sino tambien que yo seria el primero en abandonar la nave. El altimetro alcanzo los 12000 pies (3500 metros), la puerta se deslizo dando paso a una racha de viento que despejo los sorprendentemente pocos nervios que me tenia. Mis pies colgando fuera del avion, Laci sacude mi hombro y se impulsa fuera del fuselaje. Los siguentes 3 segundos (o 3 horas?) se resumen con flases de avioneta y suelo en la lejania, algo asi como estar dentro de una lavadora gigante. Tras esto Laci consigio estabilizarnos, desde ese momento y durante 10 segundos (o 10 horas?) caida libre sobre las nubes. Fue al sentir la humedad de las nubes sobre mi cara cuando me di cuenta de que no estaba volando o flotando sino cayendo. Increible sensacion, imposible de explicar. Pasamos las nubes de algodon y descubrimos los picos nevados y el lago Taupo (del tamaño de Singapur) haciendose mas y mas grande. Un sonido electronico es sucedido por otro similar a una vela hizandose sobre el oceano y entonces paramos en mitad del cielo, como si nuestro ascensor se hubiera estropeado a mitad de camino. En la calma de las alturas oigo una voz, es Laci, me pregunta si quiero maniobrar el paracaidas a lo que respondo gustoso. 'Tiro de la cadena' derecha e izquierda a lo que el parapente responde con sendos giros en espiral, por primera vez siento que estoy volando de verdad. La tierra se acerca a nosotros y Laci retoma el control. Me pide que levante mis pies en lo alto. Mis posaderas se posan sobre la hierba del aerodromo tras una habil maniobra de mi gemelo siames.
Que ha sucedido? hace 45 segundos estaba sentado en una avioneta y ahora estoy aqui, sobre la hierba. Que ha sucedido? porque no puedo evitar sonreir? porque tengo ganas de correr y saltar como un crio? La adrenalina supongo. Gracias a todos los que han hecho esto posible.

Domingo:
Siguiendo un buen ejemplo yo tambien descanse el septimo dia. Habia sido una semana llena de emociones fuertes y pocas horas de sueño. El sofa del hostal y la compañia de Greg y Bryony son suficientes para llenar mi domingo. Mi cuerpo descansa sin saber que la montaña rusa no ha llegado a sus destino. Continuara...

Pics'n'vids: Adrenaline Week

2009-12-08T04:00:00.000-08:00

Skydiving over Taupo

2009-12-08T02:00:00.000-08:00

No, I haven't gone surgery to become an American blonde (yet). I stole this video from a fellow skydiver to recreate every second of the jump without paying the ridiculous amount of money that I was asked for my own video. Hope you enjoy it!

No, la del video no soy yo (por si quedaba alguna duda). Este video pertenece a una de las chicas que salto ese mismo dia y a la cual pedi una copia para rememorar el salto sin pagar la salvajada que pedian por mi propio video. Espero que lo disftureis tanto como yo!

Iñaki & Co Performing the Maori Haka

2009-12-06T23:00:00.000-08:00

My Embarrassing Journey through the Maori Culture

2009-12-06T22:00:00.000-08:00

Back from the Middle-earth it was time to continue my tour around the world in miniature. Bye-bye adrenaline bursting Queenstown, hello Sunday-at-the-library boring Dunedin. On towards the big balls on the beach, followed by my reunion with the sheep, a couple of boring days in Christchurch (again) and finally off to the north island.

From what I've seen so far the north island is completely different to the south. Here the footprints left by the Maoris over the last centuries are much more obvious and easy to track. Did you ever wonder how America or Australia would be today if someone else (instead of the Europeans) had taken the lead in the discovery? Well, New Zealand is a good example. It is estimated that the first wave of Pacific immigrants arrived from Hawaiki as early as AD 800. Having realised the potential of the natural resources present in the area they hurried to bring some beautiful women from their tiny native islands and settled in what they called Aotearoa, which means 'Land of the Long White Cloud' (people still talk about those legendary 'dobbies').

Dutch explorer Abel Tasman arrived in 1642 (possibly in search of those legendary smoke clouds) and named the land Niuew Zeeland hours before out-sailing for his life after a violent encounter with the Maori settlers. In the years that followed convoys of British and French sailors revived the experiences of the Dutch seafarer including the infamous encounters with the locals. Battles and unscrupulous purchases of Maori land took place throughout the islands for the next few hundred years until in 1840 some Maori leaders signed a 'take-it-or-die' treaty with the Europeans.

Nowadays the descendants of the Maori, European and later to come Asian immigrants live together in a remarkable example of multiculturalism. I've been long interested in the Maori culture. It always fascinated me the courage of these peoples who one morning woke up in their idyllic tropical islands and said: hey bro, fancy a life-threatening boat trip to nowhere? Not only they managed to survive the not-always-Pacific ocean but they also found a better place for their families. They adapted to a much colder environment and established a thriving civilization.

A visit to the impressive Museum of New Zealand or Te Papa Tongarewa in Wellington was a good start for my journey to Maori territory. However I always claimed to be more of a 'do' person than a 'read' or 'stare' fella, consequently if I was to discover the Maori culture I had to do it the right way. Why limit oneself to staring at some Maoris performing the traditional 'haka' dance when I could give it a go myself? F*ck me, as embarrassing as it was I had a blast doing it! The most hilarious part was the post-interview with the crew of Shangai TV (who paid for the lessons) during which I had to sell New Zealand's cultural heritage to an audience of millions of potential Chinese tourists.

To conclude I most deeply apologise for the embarrassing video to the entire Maori community and to my friends and family; what can I say, I couldn't take another long rainy day in paradise!

De vuelta de la Tierra Media prosegui mi vuelta al mundo en miniatura. Adios a la capital mundial de la adrenalina Queenstown, hola 'mas aburrida que un domingo en la biblioteca' Dunedin. Reanudamos la marcha visitando las pelotas picadas en la playa, mi reencuentro con mis viejas amigas las ovejas, un par de dias mas en la aburrida Christchurch y por fin despegamos rumbo a la isla norte.

La isla norte se parece poco o nada a su vecina del sur. Aqui la huella dejada por los Maoris -primeros pobladores de Nueva Zelanda- es mucho mas facil de rastrear. He aqui mi version resumida de los ciclos migratorios de las antipodas:

Una soleada mañana del 800 DC dos bilbainos (de nacimiento) residentes en la preciosa isla de Hawaiki en mitad del Oceano Pacifico se encuentran en el bar de la esquina. Tras discutir sobre el arbitraje del ultimo partido del Athletic uno de ellos salta con la siguiente proposicion: A que no hay huevos a montar una gabarra y navegarla hasta tocar tierra allende los mares y volver a este bar a contarlo? Como todo el mundo sabe si hay algo que un bilbaino de pro (resida donde resida) no puede resistir es lo de hacer tragarse el 'a que no hay huevos' a un compañero de txikitos. Asi pues nuestros amigos de Hawaiki pusierson rumbo oeste y no pararon hasta dar con Nueva Zelanda. Comprobada la calida de los viñedos de las islas, nuestos intrepidos compañeros se apresuraron a traerse a las Maris para que les preparasen las alubias en su nuevo hogar. Años mas tarde, cuando en 1642 el marino holandes Abel Tasman se atrevio a decir que el mus de verdad se juega con 8 reyes la cosa fue a mayores y el tulipan se vio obligado a volver a su pais no sin antes bautizar las dos islas como Nueva Ziganda (en homenaje a aquel gran delantero del Athletic). Durante los proximos 200 años marinos ingleses y franceses se repartieron el bacalao de los Maoris despachandoles a golpe de mosqueton hasta que por fin en el 1840 los residentes Maoris y europeos firmaron el Tratado de Waitangi. Desde entonces Maoris, Europeos y Asiaticos han convivido en un clima de multiculturalismo ejemplar en este precioso pais.*

Mi viaje por la tierra de los Maoris comenzo en el Museo Nacional de Nueva Zelanda en Wellington. Mi paseo por las salas dedicadas a la historia de esta civilizacion tan interesante me fascino de veras, no obstante y como ya he dicho alguna vez en este blog yo no me conformo con visitar o leer sobre una cultura, no si puedo evitarlo. Y fue asi como una mañana lluviosa cualquiera y de la manera mas tonta mis compañeros de viaje y yo acabamos poniendo en escena la haka, o baile tradicional Maori, para un equipo de la television China (que se ofrecieron a pagarnos las clases). Momento de oro aquel en el que me dirijo a los televidentes chinos animandoles a descubrir Nueva Zelanda al mas puro estilo Ramon Garcia en la gala anual de 'Nueva Zelanda que bonita eres'.

En fin, pido disculpas a los pobres Maoris y a mis familiares y amigos por sufrir la verguenza ajena pero que se la va a hacer, cuando el tiempo no acompaña y alguien menta las palabras magicas 'a que no hay huevos' los resultados son impredecibles. Mas experiencias fuertes en 72 horas!

*Puede que mi version de la historia de Nueva Zelanda no sea 100% fiel a la realidad, pero sin duda es mas divertida y sorpendentemente fidedijna. Si quereis leeros el ladrillo hacer clic aqui.

Pics'n'vids: Dunedin to Rotorua

2009-12-06T18:00:00.000-08:00

The Lord of the Cola Cao

2009-11-24T23:00:00.000-08:00

Legend has it there was a time when men shared the land we stand on today with many other living creatures. There were the animals - providing food, clothing, force and amusement to men. There were the trees and the plants - offering shelter with their timber and thatch. There were also orks, giants, hobbits, dwarfs, playmobils and smurfs; all coexisting in harmony with humans. The world's balance relied on one solid element, a mighty substance gifted by the Gods to all the Middle-earth-landers. They called it 'Cola Cao' or 'the Gift from the Gods'. The miraculous mixture of the substance with cow milk produced an elixir that bestowed immense power to those who drank it. For centuries the substance was secretly guarded inside a golden urn resting in the remote confines of the world, as agreed by the leaders of the Middle-earth-landers. But one day the golden urn went mysteriously missing. The disappearance of the precious dust unleashed a fierce war between the Middle-earth tribes. Surprisingly humans won the battle - which can only be explained by assuming that it was one of them who stole the Cola Cao. Every living ork was terminated. So were giants, except for those whose height didn't exceed the 5m - those were sent into exile in the Lowlands (where one can still see their descendants riding bicycles and swimming in the canals). A few hobbies were spared too, which explains why some people are shorter than the average in some south American countries. The dwarfs were petrified to decorate gardens. The smurfs were reduced to powder and dissolved in water to produce the ink that flows from our pens. Finally the cheerful playmobils - who instead of fighting decided to enjoy the last days of their lives drinking at the pubs - were turned into plastic toys for our children (note the pint-glass shape of their hands). From then on men would own the earth in solitude.

As sad as the story goes I couldn't help to feel guilty for the atrocity committed by humans. But I was also determined to restore the lost balance. Last week I packed food for a week and set off to cover the last steps to the confines of the world.

My journey commenced with a spectacular motorboat ride from Queenstown to the west end of Lake Wakatipu. From there I commenced a long walk up the Caples valley. Four days that transported me back to the Middle-earth. I saw herds of cows and wild deers -providing only amusement to me- in the vastness of the valley. I saw waterfalls, some as high as 174 m, and I wondered if the giants ever used them as showers. I also saw lakes, the purest my eyes have witnessed and God knows I couldn't resist to try them! But above them all I saw the mountains, snowed peaks so beautiful that it's going to hurt not seeing them every morning. On the fourth day I reached the west end of the valley to discover that I was still 40 kilometers away from my final destination. It was then when two loyal companions came to assist me. My Legolas & Aragorn I suppose, named Cecilia and Lina (30, Swedish) who didn't hesitate to offer me a lift on their car.

In less than an hour we darted into Mildford Sound, the sanctuary where the golden urn had once rested (according to the legend that I just made up). A breath-taking scenery featuring the calm Tasman sea intruding a small section of land flanked by 1500+ meter fjords in all directions. Certainly a legendary place that skyrocketed to the Top 2 most beautiful places I've seen during this trip.

The final ceremony took place in the quiet solemnity of the last cruise of the day (one should never visit Mildford between 10am and 4pm). I took the golden urn of Cola Cao that I had carried for so long in my bag, unscrewed the lid open and spooned the divine powder into a cup of warm milk. I drank half of the cup and poured the other half over the Tasman sea. This tribute to those who perished in the battle fields won't bring them back but it will help to remember, to learn from our mistakes. Never again shall the Cola Cao belong to anyone except to us all!

Author's Note: This was my lame attempt to play a funny version of the Lord of the Rings, a movie that I've never managed to watch (fell asleep twice) and in which I have no special interest other than the fact that it was located in one of the most beautiful countries on earth, New Zealand. My apologize if it wasn't funny after all.

Vaya de antemano que no soy fan de 'El Señor de los Anillos', de hecho e intentado ver la peli un par de veces quedandome sopa a los cinco minutos en ambas ocasiones. Sin embargo y dado que estamos en Nueva Zelanda, tambien conocida como la Tierra Media, aqui va mi cuento para el deleite de los frikis:

-- Cuenta la leyenda que hubo un tiempo en el que el hombre compartia la tierra que pisamos con gran variedad de seres vivos. Por una parte estaban los animales, ofreciendo su carne como alimento, sus pieles como abrigo y su fuerza al servicio de los hombres. Tambien estaban los arboles y las plantas, ofreciendo cobijo con su madera y sus hojas. Junto con ellos tambien existian otros seres: orcos, gigantes, hobbits, gnomos, pitufos y playmobils; todos ellos viviendo en perfecta armonia con el ser humano. El equilibrio universal descansaba sobre un unico elemento, una piedra filosofal, una sustancia magica regalada por los dioses a todos los habitantes de la Tierra Media. Ellos la llamaron 'Cola Cao' o 'El Regalo de los Dioses'. La mezcla del magico elemento con leche de vaca producia un elixir que otorgaba un poder inmenso a aquel que lo bebiese. Si lo tomaba el ciclista se hacia el amo de la pista, si lo tomaba el boxeador golpeaba que era un primor. Para preservar el orden establecido los jefes de las tribus de la Tierra Media acordaron salvaguardar la sustancia omnipotente en una urna de oro que habria de descansar en los cofines del mundo. Esto fue asi durante siglos hasta que un dia la urna desaparecio misteriosamente. La desaparicion desato una guerra feroz entre los habitantes de la Tierra Media. Sorprendentemente los hombres ganaron la batalla, lo cual solo puede explicarse si se presupone que fue uno de ellos el que robo el Cola Cao. Los orcos fueron masacrados. Tambien lo fueron los gigantes, excepto aquellos que median menos de 5 metros, ellos fueron exiliados a los Paises Bajos donde todavia hoy pueden encontrarse algunos de sus descendientes pedaleando alegremente entre canales. Algunos hobbits tambien sobrevivieron en las frias montañas andinas. Los gnomos no tuvieron tanta suerte, ellos fueron petrificados y muchos decoran hoy nuestros jardines con rostro impasible. Los pitufos fueron reducidos a polvo y mas tarde disueltos en agua para generar la tinta que fluye de nuestros bolis Bic. Por ultimo los risueños playmobils, estos se lo tomaron con filosofia y decidieron disfrutar de sus ultimos dias emborrachandose a cubatas en los bares. Ellos fueron plastificados para el disfrute de nuestros pequeños y todavia hoy puede apreciarse la forma del vaso de cubata en sus diminutas manos. Desde el final de aquel infausto genocidio, el hombre ha sido dueño unico de la tierra que pisamos. --

Esta leyenda no es sino otro ejemplo de la atrocidad del ser humano. Una injusticia mas para sumar a nuestro vasto curriculo. Pero yo no estaba dispuesto a dejar las cosas asi, no señor, ya iba siendo hora de que alguien restaurase el equilibrio perdido. Asi pues hace unos dias y al mas puro estilo Frodo Bolsom llene mis alforjas para una semana y me eche al monte para recorrer los ultimos kilometros hasta los confines del universo.

Mi viaje comenzo con un paseo en lancha desde Queenstown hasta el extremo oeste del lago Wakatipu. Desde alli comence una larga travesia de 4 dias a traves del valle del rio Caples que me transporto directamente a la Tierra Media. Vi a las 'bestias', vacas y corzos salvajes en la grandiosidad del valle. Tambien vi las cascadas, algunas de hasta 174 m. de altura, y me pregunte si tal vez los gigantes las habian usado algunza vez como duchas. Tan bien vi lagos, los mas puros y cristalinos que jamas he visto, y Dios sabe que tenia que probar sus aguas! (bueno eso y el odor de tres dias sin ducharme). Pero sobre todos ellos vi las montañas, cumbres nevadas tan bellas que duele despertar por la mañana y no verlas. Y asi, en mi cuarto dia llegue al otro extremo del valle para descubrir que todavia me quedaban 40 kilometros para alcanzar mi destino. Fue entonces cuando dos fieles escuderos acudieron en mi ayuda. Mis Legolas y Aragorn particulares se hacian llamar Cecilia y Lina (30, suecas) y en vez de cabalgar a lomos de un caballo conducian un Mazda. Juntos recorrimos los ultimos kilometros hasta adentrarnos en Milford Sound, el santuario donde tiempo atras se habia confinado la urna dorada que contenia el Cola Cao. El lugar sin duda alguna era magico. Una pequeña porcion de tierra bañada por el mar por el Mar de Tasman en el oeste y flanqueada por gigantes de piedra de mas de 1500 metros en el resto de direcciones.

La ceremonia final tuvo lugar en la intimidad del ultimo crucero del dia. Una vez alcanzado el epicentro de los fiordos saque la urna dorada de mi mochila, abri la tapa y prepare un buen tazon de Cola Cao. Bebi la mitad del tazon (pues bien sabeis que necesito su fuerza) y verti la otra mitad al mar a modo de ofrenda a los que perecieron en el campo de batalla. Se que esto no los traera de vuelta pero al menos nos servira para aprender de nuestros errores y prevenirlos en el futuro. ¡Nunca mas debera el Cola Cao pertenecer a nadie sino a todas y cada una de las almas que pueblan esta, nuestra Tierra Media!

Pic of the Week: Ailsa Mountains

2009-11-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

Pics'n'vids: Fiordland

2009-11-24T14:00:00.000-08:00

The World in a Nutshell

2009-11-20T19:00:00.000-08:00

My days as a farmer are over. I said goodbye to my beloved sheep and jumped on a bus heading north. Someone once said that New Zealand is like planet Earth at a smaller scale. Well truth is that the south island alone comprises some of the most extraordinary sights in the entire globe. Let's take Kaikoura -the first stop of my journey- as an example, how many places do you know where sun, sea and snow-capped mountains blend in a unique picture?

Second stop of this world in miniature: Abel Tasman National Park. Being so close to Antarctica (3932 km) nobody would expect NZ to boast sunny gold-sandy beaches. False, it surely does. My two day walk along the Abel Tasman coastal track brought not-so-old memories of my days as a Robinson.

Want more? the world's tallest pile of pancakes? Yep, Kiwis got it! World's darkest sense of humor? Probably. Back to natural marvels, does anybody know where the most accessible glacier on earth lies? I'll tell you, six hours drive southwards from the previously mentioned beaches, its name: Franz Josef. Drive another 6 hours south and you'll arrive to Queenstown, the world's capital of extreme sports -for those who can afford them- and home to the most impressive day climb I've ever done: Ben Lomond Mount (1746 m).

As you can see NZ doesn't require more than 10 days and three paragraphs to impress the keenest of the globetrotters and all this without mentioning the people that I met during those days: Mark (23, Swiss), Emilie (24, French), Wolfgang, Anna, Markus, Stephanie (30, 19, 2?, 2? German). Terrific guys for a promising beginning, believe me when I say that you don't want to miss he upcoming stops of my journey!

Mis dias en la granja son cosa del pasado. Tras despedirme de mis queridas ovejas tome un autobus rumbo al norte. Alguien dijo que Nueva Zelanda es como una replica del mundo en miniatura. No se si esto sera cierto pero la verdad es que la isla sur en si misma presenta algunos de los paisajes mas inauditos del planeta. Pongamos como ejemplo Kaikoura - la primera parada de mi viaje. Conoceis algun otro lugar del planeta donde sol, oceano y picos nevados tienen cabida en una unica fotografia? Proxima estacion: Parque Nacional Abel Tasman. A menos de 4000 kilometros de la Antartica nadie se esperaria encontrar playas de arena dorada en las costas de Nueva Zelanda. Falso, las hay. Mi travesia por este parque nacional trajo a mi memoria no tan lejanos recuerdos de mis dias de Robinson. Mas? Tal vez la montaña de talos o tortas mas alta del mundo? Ellos la llaman Putai. El glaciar mas accesible del mundo? Franz Josef, a apenas 6 horas en coche de las playas paradisiacas anteriormente mentadas. Seis horas mas en direccion sur y llegamos a Queenstown -la capital mundial de los deportes de aventura- y en mi caso el campo base para la mejor cima de un dia que he hecho (Mount Ben Lomond, 1746 m.)
Asi que como podeis ver Nueva Zelanda no necesita mas de 10 dias y 3 parrafos para impresionar al mas avido de los trotamundos, y todo esto sin mencionar los buenos ratos con los compañeros de viaje que me tope en mi camino. Un comienzo prometedor sin duda alguna. Atentos al blog porque las proximas entradas pueden ser algunas de las mas espectaculares de lo que va de viaje!

Pics'n'vids: Kaikoura To Queenstown

2009-11-20T18:00:00.000-08:00

Pic of the Week: Kea in the Midst

2009-11-20T17:00:00.000-08:00

Iñaki goes Kea!

2009-11-20T04:00:00.000-08:00

Reclame

2009-11-20T03:00:00.000-08:00

Gezellig World: Glenariffe Farm, New Zealand

2009-11-04T23:25:00.000-08:00

Looking back to my sweetest childhood I remember some of my relatives calling me mummy's boy - an appendix of my mum who would never ever leave her lap. Funny how things have turned up, twenty-something years later I couldn't be any further from her, at least not in this planet. Guys, welcome to New Zealand!

Two weeks ago a stewardess woke me up during my flight from Sydney to ask me whether I wanted Teriyaki chicken or potato salad for lunch. I chose the chicken (who trusts mayonnaise on a plane?) and turned to the window to discover the snowed caps of NZ's Southern Alps looming on the horizon. Two boring days in Christchurch later I was approaching the Southern Alps again, this time from the east and on a bus. At this point you probably wonder what I was up to after covering the 40000 kilometers that separate my home from these mountains. The answer is sheep. More precisely Merino sheep.

Believe it or not herding some Merino sheep had been in my to-do list from the very beginning of this trip. Beyond the obvious connection between these beasts and me, I've been long fascinated by the legend of the New Zealand shearers able to shear 500+ ewes in 8 hours. So the questions now is: how the hell does a lousy Spaniard get to herd some sheep in NZ? Easy, through Helpx. Helpx is a help exchange network where people who need any kind of help offer free accommodation to those willing to help them. And that's how I ended up at the Glenariffe farm.

The Glenariffe farm proves that there is some kind of universal justice when it comes to natural wonders like the Rakaia valley. The generosity of the family who run the station is comparable to the beauty of the place. Mark and Belinda share their 880 ha of farmland with 1 cat, 5 dogs, 19 ponies, 15 horses, a bunch of cows, some chicken, and 6000 Merinos, well 6001 while I was there. I forgot to mention my three housemates: goose #1, goose#2 and naughty goose.

During my stay at the farm I did my best with some ordinary farm works such as fencing, tree-pruning, pulling weeds, steering the sheep, collecting the dead lambs, scratching the dogs and other not so ordinary like Jeep-chasing the sheep, racing the quad, putting-off some bush fire, adding an exotic touch to the local rodeo and flying a light-plane! Oh yes, Mark's dad had one.

In conclusion another unforgettable experience to the list and an unbeatable start for my journey across New Zealand. More stories from the antipodes soon!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

Most sheep are shorn twice a year during a process that can take up to 4 weeks.
Merino wool is the best and most expensive wool in the world. Who else?
How to ride a quad safely (most of the time).
Kiwis haven't escaped the madness about disgusting bread spreads. They produce their own version of the infamous Australian Vegemite, they call it 'Marmite'.
15-19% of new born lambs don't make it. However and in opposition to European farmers, Kiwi farmers do not mess with (= leave alone) their sheep during the lambing period. Who cares when you've got more than 6000!
A lot of farming stuff which might not be so interesting for you after all.

Todavia recuerdo como de pequeño algunos de mis familiares solian llamarme nene de mama, siempre a las faldas de su mama. Quien nos iba a decir entonces que veinte años mas tarde no podria estar mas lejos de mi madre, al menos no en este planeta. Y es que hace dos semanas aterrice en Nueva Zelanda, nada mas y nada menos que el otro extremo del globo.
Muchos son los viajeros que llegan a este pais con intencion de escalar sus montañas, descender sus rios, y disfrutar de la naturaleza salvaje. Yo por mi parte llegue a las antipodas con un plan un tanto diferente, al menos en principio. Mi mision: convertirme en pastor de ovejas merinas por unos dias!
Se que os sonara inverosimil, pero pasar unos dias en una granja de las antipodas estaba en mi lista de quehaceres desde incluso antes de comenzar este viaje. Y todo esto a raiz de una historia que oi a mi amigo Lucas sobre la leyenda de los esquiladores de ovejas neozelandeses, capaces de esquilar mas de 500 ovejas en 8 horas (1000 con ayuda de otra persona).
Y asi es como fui a parar a la granja Glenariffe. Una joven pareja -Mark y Belinda- comparten 880 hectareas de este idilico lugar del planeta con 1 gato, 5 perros, 19 ponys, 15 pura-sangre, un puñado de vacas, y 6000 ovejas merinas (6001 mientras yo estuve alli). Yo por mi parte comparti mi txabola con 3 ocas.
A cambio de pension y comida, durante mi estancia en la granja ayude a Mark con sus quehaceres diarios. Para sorpresa mia (y de mis familiares supongo) manejar la pala, instalar el cercado, arrear las ovejas o podar los arboles no se me da tan mal como cabria esperar.
Y aunque algunas de las jornadas de mas de 10 horas fueron bastante duras la experiencia merecio la pena. Como sino podria haber tenido la oportunidad de explorar semejante paisaje en quad, o mejor incluso, en aeroligero. Olvidaba decirlo, el padre de Mark recompenso mi dura labor en su huerta con un inolvidable vuelo en su avioneta.
En conclusion, dos semanas que valen su peso en oro y un inmejorable comienzo para mi viaje por la tierra de los kiwis. Mas historias en proximas semanas!

Pics'n'vids: Glenariffe Farm

2009-11-04T23:17:00.000-08:00

Flying over NZ's Southern Alps on a 2-seater

2009-11-04T22:19:00.000-08:00

Sun, Sea, Sandals... Sydney!

2009-10-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Back on my flip-flops (or 'thongs' as they are known locally) I took the streets of Sydney heading to nowhere -as I usually do- expectantly for the city charms to assault me. It didn't take long before the botanic gardens stroke me. I'm not what you would call a tree hugger but I must admit that some of those woody fellows were quite impressive. Accidentally I exited the gardens to run into my every New Year's Eve lunchtime. I guess this needs some explanation. For us Europeans there is no 31st of December without the ordinary lunchtime TV news showing Sydney's harbour in all its glory packed with people celebrating the new year. I have to say that -even without the fireworks- the sight is stunning. Looking at the pictures it seems that I spent all my time in Sydney staring at the Opera House, well perhaps I didn't spent ALL of it, but certainly a great part. The building is just awesome, an intriguing mix of simplicity and complexity that hypnotized me for hours.

Nevertheless what made my visit to Sydney such a great time was meeting Scarlett (Spanish, ?) again. Almost one year ago Scarlett and I threw a joint farewell party in Holland. Months later the two of us happened to be in Pushkar (India) at the same time, but I wasn't aware of this until it was too late. Finally, days before I arrived to Sydney I got to know that Scarlett was in the city after a few months traveling around Australia. To the great fun of catching up with old friends, I must add the interesting insights that this talented architect (<- looking for work, just in case somebody knows someone...) gave me about the city's architecture. Moreover Scarlett showed me Darling harbour and the beaches, legendary Bondi and Manly. I reckon I know no other big city on earth where you can find such a beautiful beach escape within 30-minute distance.

In conclusion Sydney is just how I imagined it in my mind, a pretty laid-back major city where even bats and dogs know how to enjoy the sun!

Sydney me devolvio a mis sandalias de dedo por unos dias. Cielos despejados y 22 graditos de media que hacian las delicias de patateros, murcielagos y perros por igual. Mi paseo rutinario para familiarizarme con el entorno me llevo a traves de los jardines botanicos hasta el puerto de Sydney y de alli -por arte de magia- al txoko de mis tios en Marauri. Me explico, creo que todos asociamos de manera automatica la imagen del puerto de Sydney a la hora de comer del 31 de Diciembre, cuando el telediario -con poco que contar- se recrea en imagenes de miles de personas dando la bienvenida al nuevo ano en Sydney. Pues si, ahi mismo estaba yo, mirando embelesado al mitico puente y sobretodo a la Opera de Sydney. Aun sin los fuegos artificiales la panoramica es increible.
Vistas aparte, lo mejor de mi visita a Sydney fue reencontrarme con mi amiga Scarlett. Por casualidades de la vida esta barcelonesa y yo hemos coincidido en tres paises en menos de un ano. Hace casi un ano celebramos nuestra fiesta de despedida conjunta en Holanda, donde yo estudiabamos/trabajamos. Meses mas tarde coincidimos en Pushkar (India) el mismo dia, pero por desgracia para cuando me entere era demasiado tarde. Finalmente, dias ants de llegar a Sydney, me entere de que Scarlett estaba en la ciudad en mitad de sus viaje por Australia asi que no dude en pegarle un toque. Al placer de encontrarse con un viejo amigo he de sumar las charlas superinteresantes sobre la arquitectura de la ciudad (Escarlata es arquitecta, y buscar curro, por cierto). Ademas esta conocedora de Sydney me enseno las legendarias playas de Bondi y Mandy, dos delicias a menos de media hora del puerto.
En conclusion Sydney no ha defraudado mis expectativas, una gran ciudad.

Pic'n'vids: Sydney

2009-10-22T13:30:00.000-07:00

Reclame

2009-10-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

Melbourne To Become The Coolest City In The Southern Hemisphere

2009-10-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

A travellers cliché says that a visit to a new place is just as good as the company you enjoy throughout it. I couldn't agree more with this and last week's visit to Melbourne is a good example.

It all started when my -second consecutive- JetStar flight touched down at Avalon's airport. The unexpected chill of the south coastal spring put a sudden end to the 8-month summer that I had been living in since I left London. I couldn't help, however, to feel comforted at the idea of being back home that the drizzle and the green fields of Victoria evoked in my mind. Wake up Iñaki, it's time to dream on!

On my arrival to the city centre my new visitor's routine was disrupted. Instead of the usual pilgrimage to the local hostels I had an appointment with Roan (30, Australian), an old friend who had offered to host me at his place. It's hard to explain how good it felt to see a familiar face again, and this was just the beginning of a cracking week!

Most visitors will remember Melbourne as a huge, slick, modern city famous for its thriving cultural scene, overwhelming sports calendar and fair share of beautiful sights. Thanks to Roan I will remember Melbourne as The Capital where one can easily jump from a Bronx-style backyard bar to a cosy pub full of grandma's sofas in less than a minute. The only city that I know where Spanish churros smoothly complete a perfect Japanese sushi dinner. The one place that pops from the top of my head when someone asks me for a gig of Brazilian percussion at twilight. In other worlds, the coolest city in Australia and, as far as I am concerned, in the whole southern hemisphere!

For all this I must admit that the idea of settling in Melbourne for a while was very tempting, especially now that the lifespan of my batteries is starting to shorten. Nonetheless there is something inside me that pushes me forward in this diversion, an eager spirit to discover new places and new people. And I owe it some respect, after all it was thanks to this that I've met amazing people like Roan. Lots of chops and plynkton for you mate, and let's keep rollin'!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

Kangaroo steaks are delicious.
All the kangaroo meat sold in Australia comes from wild kangaroos as breeding these animals is strictly prohibited due to the current overpopulation.
Australians love for TLAs (Three-Letter-Acronyms) has gone too far in Melbourne as most locals would address the 'MCG' (a famous sports venue) simply as the 'G'.
Australia's national football squad are proudly named the 'Socceroos'. Other master pieces of Aussie marketing applied to sports include the 'Hockeyroos' and the 'Wallabies'.
Australia is home to almost as many rare sports as animal species. For the starters we've got footy, netball, ultimate frisbee, frisbee golf...

Mi experiencia me dice que la visita a una nueva ciudad es tan agradable como la compañia de la que se disfruta durante la misma. Un buen ejemplo de esto fue mi visita a Melbourne la semana pasada, donde gracias a mi viejo amigo Roan (al que conoci en Nepal) pase unos dias estupendos.
Para la mayoria de los turistas Melbourne es una gran urbe de estilo moderno, con una agenda cultural muy agetreada y un calendario de eventos deportivos impresionante (GP Formula 1, Open de Australia de Tenis, Phillip Island Moto GP...). Gracias a Roan, un MTV en toda regla, Melbourne permanecera en mi recuerdo como una de las ciudades mas interesantes y divertidas de todo el mundo. El unico lugar que conozco donde uno puede encontrar sushi japones, pan tibetano y churros con chocolate en un mismo menu. La perfecta combinacion entre rascacielos, parques, graffitis y playa. Y a nivel mas personal, una estupenda estacion de servicios donde reconciliarse con el sofa, la tele, la cocina casera y los kilos que deje en los baños de Queensland.
Roan y sus amigos me hicieron sentir tan 'en familia' que fue dificil despedirse de Melbourne. Sin embargo algo dentro de mi me empuja a seguir descubriendo nuevos lugares y nuevos amigos. Y todo sea dicho, este espiritu viajero se ha ganado mi respeto, pues gracias a el he conocido a gente como Roan. Un abrazo fuerte compañero y nos vemos en Europa!

Pic'n'vids: Melbourne

2009-10-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

Iñaki Riding The Aussycle!

2009-10-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Sky On Fire

2009-10-13T01:00:00.000-07:00

My Australian Road Trip (aka Iñaki's Toilet Tour 2009)

2009-10-12T19:28:00.000-07:00

We all have done it: jump in the car, start the engine, lower the windows, play some good music and drive!

The idea of hitting the Australian roads on a car had been bouncing in my head for quite a while. This became even more clear when I realized that 'backpacking' has become one of Australia's most profitable tourist businesses. In contrast with Asia, tourist agencies in Oz monopolize most of the attractions forcing the so-called backpackers to sign up for organized trips and package tours. The only way around it (when possible) is renting your own car, but this can be very expensive as a solo traveller. Luckily after one week stuck in Brisbane I met Daniele, Matteo (25 & 23, Italian) and Kevin (25, German). The four of us were determined to travel the 3000+ kilometers that separate Brisbane from Cairns. Thus the only thing left was sorting out our carriage. If you were to explore some of Australia's another-worldly landscapes which vehicle would you choose? Easy, a Spaceship!

Sunshine Coast

During the first three days of the journey we drove up the Bruce Highway taking several detours to visit the beaches. First stop: Coolum Beach (near Maroochydore). The beach was good for swimming but apparently it was even better for sleeping (the Italians set a furtive camp on the sand while I shared the bed in the car with Kevin). In the afternoon of day 2 I was suddenly confronted by an unexpected travel companion that would leave an imprint on the rest of my trip. Something or someone was throwing a party in my stomach and I wasn't invited. It was then when I discovered -and very much appreciated- the comfort of Queensland's public toilets. After a night(mare) in Imbil I woke up feeling better. The first endless stretches of asphalt appeared as we approached Rainbow Beach. This is a very picturesque strip of sand but my guess is that it must be nothing remarkably special in the area - for the locals have decided that the best way to enjoy it is racing their massive 4WDs up and down the beach.

Capricorn Highway
Here one of the funniest moments of the road trip. One of my travelmates -whose name I won't mention deliberately- insisted on visiting Maryborough. The reason was that two weeks earlier he had locked two bicycles (of dubious origin) at Maryborough's railway station. His plan was to pick them up and trade them at a cash converter or something. Unbelievably when we turned up the bikes were still there (despite of the sign that specifically warned of the prohibition of parking at the station). However destiny had a surprise for my good friend. The lock he had used wouldn't open, either he had forgotten the code or it had magically changed. After considering his options the poor fella decided to ask for help at the local police station (!!!). They forwarded him to the firefighers' department. I still remember the epic moment in which the enormous firefighter's truck showed up at the station. It took our heroes less than a minute to free the bikes, which were later sold in less than an hour.

We resumed our collection of pictures adding some shot of the local fauna: fake sharks, kangaroos, beloved dingoes, nasty snakes and crocodiles. As for me, well, I kept collecting credentials for the nomination of Queensland to the "Best Public Toilets Award". By the way, check this out: Salma vs. Iñaki, no match baby!

When our spaceship reached the Tropic of Capricorn we deciced to turn left and head inland. And we drove and we drove, for hours, for days, until the petrol gauge got dangerously close to the red-shaded area. Our effort was rewarded with a mind-blowing sunset at Lake Maraboon, without doubt in my top 5 of beautitul sights of my diversion.

Whitsunday & North Coast
Back from the pseudo-Outback, we drove on to Airlie beach. As I remember it now, Airlie beach is only interesting if you are planning to enrol in a cruise around the Whitsunday Islands. Unfortunately navigating is one of the very few things that "The Shrek" -our Spaceship- couldn't do, therefore we skipped the islands. After another night at one very clean rest(room) area we reached Townsville. With only three days left to reach our final destination we decided not to waste too much time. A quick splash in Paluma's National Park, a visit to banana-heaven Tully and a last attempt to fish something at the Flying Fish Point summarizes our last days.

Cairns & The Great Barrier Reef
14 days and 3178 km after we departed from Brisbane we finally set foot on Cairns. This beautiful and cozy city witnessed another cold war between my stomach's settler and I. Even though my diving trip to the Great Barrier Reef was at the stake, I decided not to use chemical weapons (ie Imodium) in favour of a lactose-free diet. My strategy was successful and on day 15 I was ready to board the Tusa 5. I must admit that the cruise was a little bit over my average budget but one doesn't get the chance to dive at the world's greatest coral reef everyday. I saved my money not buying the underwater pictures but if you're interested you can take a look at this clip (note that I didn't get to see some of those cute fish, but I promise that the coral was still there!). That evening, back in Cairns, we celebrated the end of our trip with a pub crawl. Fantastic end for a fantastic journey!

Interesting things that I've learnt:

Australia is home to 9 out of the 10 deadliest snakes on earth. Other world-top dangerous creatures that can be found down under include white sharks, box jellyfish, red back spiders, salt water crocs and the drop bear.
Snakes do have ears but they're covered by skin so they "hear" vibrations rather than sounds.
Mary Poppins' creator PL Travers was born in Maryborough, home base of the Proud Marys Association, a collective of women from all over the world whose name is Mary, Maria, Marguerite...
Automatic transmission cars suck.
Alternative uses for Vegemite outside Australia may include: seaweed fertilizer, big machinery lubricant, mosquito repellent, drop bear repellent, people repellent and all kinds of mean bad-tasting pranks among others.
Apparently (and luckily for me) an endless supply of toilet paper in public WCs is a constitutional right in Australia.

Todos lo hemos hecho alguna vez, subirnos al coche, llenar el deposito, bajar las ventanillas, poner un buen disco en el radio-casette y echarse a la carretera sin un destino en mente, solo por el placer de coducir. La idea de recorrer las carreteras australianas en coche (o mejor dicho, en fragoneta) me habia rondado la mente durante mucho tiempo. Lo vi mucho mas claro tras comprobar que, segun parece, en Australia las agencias controlan la mayoria de las atracciones turisticas obligando a los viajeros a pasar por caja para casi cualquier cosa. La unica manera de conservar el estatus de viajero independiente es alquilando un coche. Asi es como conoci a Kevin (25, aleman) y a Daniele y Mateo (25 y 23, italianos). Los cuatro queriamos viajar hasta Cairns asi que nos aliamos y alquilamos una super-fragoneta para hacerlo.

Durante los primeros dias condujimos direccion norte por la Bruce Highway haciendo paradas en las playas. Tanto Coolum Beach como Rainbow Beach son estupendas, una pena que algunos australianos solo las usen para jugar a pilotos del Dakar con sus todoterrenos. Por cierto, fue uno de esos dias que descubri que no viaja solo. Por lo visto algun virus o bacteria habia decidido instalarse en mi estomago y no tenia pensado abandonarme por un tiempo. Gracias a Dios Australia goza de algunos de los mejores baños publicos del mundo, limpios y con abastecimiento vitalicio de papel higienico.

Nuestro viaje continuo hasta Maryborough, escenario de una de las historias mas subrealistas del viaje. Uno de mis compañeros -que prefiere permanecer en el anonimato- insistio en hacer una parada en esta ciudad, con poco que ofrecer - todo sea dicho. Por lo visto el colega habia abandonado dos bicis -de dudosa procedencia- candadas en la estacion dos semanas antes. Su plan era recuperarlas y venderlas en la tienda de segunda mano mas cercana. Para nuestra sorpresa las dos bicis seguian alli cuando llegamos, y esto a pesar del cartel que indicaba que estaba terminantemente prohibido candar bicis en la estacion. Mi buen amigo se las prometia felices cuando el destino se cruzo en su camino. Una de dos, o mi amigo habia olvidado el codigo del candado o este habia cambiado por arte de magia. El caso es que el candado no cedia y mi amigo, tras considerar sus opciones, decidio pedir ayuda en la comisaria mas cercana (!!!). La policia decidio que tal urgencia quedaba fuera de su jurisdiccion y delego el caso al cuerpo de bomberos. No os podeis imaginar la cara que pusimos cuando minutos mas tarde un flamante camion de bomberos hizo acto de presencia en la estacion. Cuatro hombres uniformados -heroes!- estudiaron la situacion y procedieron a la liberacion de los rehenes. La operacion fue todo un exito y tras los agradecimientos pertinentes mi amigo acompaño a las bicis a su nuevo hogar (un cash converter cercano). Epico.

El safari fotografico por las carreteras secundarias de Queensland se cobro nuevas victimas: tiburones, kanguros, dingos (animal a todas luces querido en Australia), serpientes y cocodrilos. Yo por mi parte continue recopilando pruebas y meritos para nominar al estado de Queensland al premio "Mejores WCs publicos 2009".

Cuando nuestra fragoneta atraveso el Tropico de Capricornio decidimos cambiar el rumbo direccion oeste. Surcamos la autopista y las carreteras menores durante horas, incluso dias, hasta que la aguja de la gasolina se acerco peligrosamente a la reserva. Entonces acampamos. Nuestros esfuerzos se vieron recompensados con el mejor atardecer que he visto en mi vida.
De vuelta en la costa, retomamos la Bruce Highway direccion norte. Airlie beach, Townsville, Paluma, Tully y finalmente Cairns. 14 dias y 3178 kilometros despues de abandonar Brisbane por fin alcanzamos nuestro destino. Por si el trayecto en si no habia sido suficiente recompensa, por delante aun me quedaba lo que me habia traido tan lejos: bucear en la Gran Barrera de Coral. En duda hasta el ultimo momento por los consabidos problemas gastricos, mi dieta libre de lactosa dio resultado y aquella mañana del dia 15 estaba listo para embarcar en el Tusa 5. Siete horas de crucero y tres inmersiones me abrieron las puertas del arrecife de coral mas grande del mundo. Todo sea dicho, me defraudo un poco el volumen de peces del punto escogido, sin embargo el tamaño y la espectacularidad del coral compenso el dinero invertido.

Y asi, con unas cervezas de vuelta en el puerto es como conclui el fantastico viaje por la costa este de este maravilloso pais. "Australia, pais donde se come bien y se caga mejor!"

Pics'n'vids: Road Trip

2009-10-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

Brisbane: Mens "Whatever" In Corpore Sano

2009-10-09T05:27:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Australia, homeland of kangaroos, koalas, Vegemite, thongs and terrible beers.

More than three weeks ago I started the third étape of my tour around the globe in the beautiful ville of Brisbane. The capital of Queensland is the country's third largest city and one of the main gateways for foreign backpackers planning to conquer Oceania. Thousands of individuals of this ubiquitous species mingle around the city in groups, sorted by nationalities (being the German the most abundant) and with two things in mind: finding a job and partying. Provided that the former is rather unfeasible at the moment, most backpackers put all their energy into the latter. As for me, well, I don't really want to engage in this money in/out cycle so I focused on the visit to the city.

After 7 days exploring the capital I concluded that there might be just as many people who love it as who feel trapped in it. Imagine a place where the sun welcomes you to a new day 6 in 7 days a week (average). A city where you -as well as your boss, your priest and your plumber- ride a shinny race bicycle to work every morning. A place where you and your boss (or your mighty priest) can team up for an after work natural rock climbing session right in the heart of the city, minutes away from the office. Finally end your dream day inviting your boss, your priest and even your plumber if you wish to share a beer and a burger at the nearest public BBQ and don't forget to have a swim in the turquoise waters of the free artificial lagoon before heading home!

As you can see Brisbane is all about the outdoors. The unbeatable weather and the magnificent public facilities drag the local folks out of their homes. This elicits a very sporty atmosphere where everybody seems to be engaged in some sort of activity involving motion, sweat, fashionable sportswear and tons of Gatorade. As a result people look healthy (ie handsome) which -I guess- adds to the overall quality of life: mens sana in corpore sano.

However this has a downside. During my short visit to Brisbane I got the impression that some people did not exercise their minds as much as their bodies. What I mean is that in Brisbane -as in some cities back in Europe- physical appearance and image in general seems to be utterly important. An example of this is the main clubbing area. I hate when a bouncer refuses entry to someone for not wearing formal shoes, long trousers, etc. In Brisbane this is a regular practice and everybody seems happy about it. The dressing code issue is just a silly example (I'm pretty sure there are places where one can dress in whichever way they want) but it shows that Brisbaners can sometimes be a little bit too conventional and old-fashioned when it comes to the importance of the looks, at least from the perspective of a cheap Spaniard.

Bienvenidos a Australia, tierra de kanguros, koalas, rancheras tunning, sandalias de dedo y mala cerveza. En efecto, hace tres semanas aterrice en Brisbane, la tercera ciudad de Australia (en poblacion) y capital del estado de Queensland. Esta ciudad sirve de puerta de entrada a miles de mochileros en busca de trabajo y diversion (mas lo segundo que lo primero) durante su año sabatico. Ademas de la fauna aloctona lo que mas me llamo la atencion de esta ciudad es el altisimo nivel de calidad de vida del que gozan los Brisbanenses. Carriles bici, parques urbanos de escalada natural, lagunas artificiales y barbacoas publicas son solo algunas de las instalaciones impecables y a disposicion de cualquier vecino. Gracias a estas y al clima inmejorable, la ciudad es un hervidero de gente haciendo deporte al aire libre, lo cual esta genial. Sin embargo y al igual que en otras ciudades que he visitado (algunas de ellas en España) esta pasion por el culto al cuerpo ha propiciado un ambiente un tanto superficial. Muestra de ello son los bares de alterne donde zapatos y camisa son condicion sine qua non. Supongo que este tipo de cosas van de la mano. En fin, a quien le importan los bares cuando se pueden echar unas birras en el albergue!

Pics'n'vids: Brisbane

2009-10-09T01:04:00.000-07:00

Bye-Bye Southeast Asia!

2009-09-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

Time to head for new horizons but before that some reflections about the second stage of my round the world trip.

If I was to give a practical description of Southeast Asia I'd present it as a family, being Malaysia and Thailand the parents, Laos and Cambodia the children (note that Vietnam would be the missing child) and Myanmar and Singapore the aunt-uncles. Malaysia, a hard-worker tradition-based man that built himself up from a farmer to a successful businessman (with a squillion-worth oil flooded backyard). Thailand, a beautiful woman who has spent the last 40 years of her life offering all her beauty, kindness and delicious food to anyone dropping by. What can I say, I've got a soft spot for her; I spent most of my time visiting her and I cannot wait to come back! Then Laos and Cambodia, the youngsters of the family. Two different personalities though. Laos would be the naive and funny young boy running around offering some of the most genuine experiences in the continent. Let's hope mother Thailand keeps him out of trouble during these difficult years as a teenager (i.e. drugs widely available everywhere plus lots of greedy self-entrepreneurs eager to drain the national natural resources). Cambodia would be a disheartening sad-eyed grown-up girl. Her childhood was stolen by a bunch of assassins. Luckily for her, numerous people (mostly foreigners) have taken her rehabilitation process as a personal challenge. Their good work is showing early results and I'm confident that one day she will be the shinning star of the family (as she used to). Not much to say about uncle Singapore, he's always been the $mart guy of the family. Always looking for new business, he'll be fine. Finally aunt Myanmar, a tired older replica of Cambodia. Different problems, different manners, same consequence: a suffering population. Some say once she used to be even more beautiful that Thailand, difficult to believe now that she's all covered in cheap governmental make up. Please be aware of this the next time our politicians decide to look somewhere else.

That completes my modest interpretation of Southeast Asia. It shouldn't be taken very seriously after all I've only spent 152 days in this beautiful land. However that's how I felt it and that's how I'll remember my diversion around Southeast Asia. All the best and hope to be back soon!

Interesting things I've learnt during my last weeks in Asia:

How to build bamboo furniture, always useful.
How to restrain my desire for killing my-annoying-self after a few days in the solitude of a tropical island.
That old coconut juice shouldn't be drunk.
How to dive from high rocks (well there's not much to learn here, just let gravity do the job).
How to dive underwater rocks (in open waters).
That Nemo's full name is anemonefish from the subfamily Amphiprioninae.
What KL stands for.
That any Malaysian business must be co-owned by at least one Malay person (that excludes the Chinese and Indian citizens).
That due to a discriminatory quota, Chinese and Indian descendants born in Malaysia have more difficulties to join the Malaysian public universities that Malay students, forcing them to complete their studies overseas.
That littering the Singaporean streets with chewing gum or cigarette buts can cost you more than 30 euros!

Es la hora de poner rumbo a nuevos horizontes, pero antes de hacerlo me gustaria hacer balance de la segunda etapa de mi paseo por el mundo. Si alguien me pidiera un resumen practico y pragmatico del sureste asiatico, yo me decantaria por la metafora de una gran familia. En primer lugar encontrariamos a Malasia, un solido cabeza de familia basado en la tradicion y que gracias al duro trabajo (y a una despensa llena de oro negro) ha conseguido pasar de granjero a exitoso hombre de negocios en menos de 30 años. Junto a el mama Tailandia. Que quereis que os diga, a pesar de mi primera impresion esta preciosa mujer se ha ganado mi corazon gracias a su belleza, simpatia y buena comida. He pasado casi 3 meses conociendola y no veo el momento de volver a su encuentro. A las faldas de mama Tailandia encontramos a Laos y Camboya, los pequeños de la familia (junto a Vietnam, la hija prodiga). Laos seria algo asi como Daniel 'El Travieso', un niño revoloso y divertido correteando de aqui para alla regalandonos algunas de las experiencias mas autenticas del contiente. Solo espero que mama Tailandia sea capaz de sacarle adelante durante la dificil edad del pavo (como destino turistico) que se le avecina; drogas y especuladores acechan a la puerta de su instituto. Camboya por su parte seria una adolescente de ojos tristes. Una banda de asesinos le robaron su infancia y ahora trata de salir adelante gracias al buen hacer de cooperantes locales y extranjeros. Para completar la foto de familia los tios Singapur y Birmania. Respecto al primero decir que el siempre fue el tipo li$to de la familia. Serio (aburrido) emprendedor no creo que debamos preocuparnos demasiado por el, es un valor seguro. Por desgracia las cosas pintan de manera muy diferente para tia Birmania. Dicen que en su dia fue tan bella o mas que Tailandia. Es dificil de decir hoy en dia viendo la cubierta de los moratones y heridas inflingidos por un gobierno del todo no-democratico que roba y oprime a su poblacion. Donde esta la justicia!

En fin, 152 dias que aunque paracen mucho no dan ni para empezar. Ha sido un periplo inolvidable que permanecera para siempre en mi recuerdo. Cuidaros mucho y espero volver a veros pronto!

SEA's Glass Jungles: KL & Singapore

2009-09-29T00:18:00.000-07:00

Over the last months this blog has witnessed some of the most precious gems to be found in Southeast Asia. Almost in all cases these beauties referred to the vast nature present in the subcontinent. However during my last week there I got the chance to discover what this continent might be up to in the forthcoming years - these are two of the new "Jungles of Asia": Kuala Lumpur & Singapore.

Kuala Lumpur
The former of the two southern capitals houses nearly 2 million people. This super-modern, super-efficient and super-commercial hub appeared to me even more superlative when compared to the rest of Malaysia I had seen until then - a quiet and rather traditional Muslim country. Despite the limited offer of tourist attractions (basically it sums up to the famous Petronas Twin Towers), I now remember those days in KL with a strange mix of warmth and affection. Perhaps it was the outstanding crew of the fantastic hostel (best of my trip so far) where I spent my three nights in the city, perhaps the conveniences of the city, but the thing is that I really enjoyed my time there.

Singapore
If KL was super-modern, super-efficient and super-commercial, one would need to use a different scale to measure Singapore City. What can you say about a city where the time gap between two consecutive intra-city trains reduces to less than 2 minutes during peak hour? Singapore's state-of-the-art urbanism left me mouth open. I'll omit any further comments about the whooping 1 kilometer-wide avenues and the endless skyscrappers (I guess that what Let Zeppeling were mind-picturing when they wrote Stairway to Heaven) in favour of one picture:

In summary, these two glassy jungles host a fair amount of urban attractions for those concrete-and-steel lovers. As for me, well, I guess I spent to much time in the Island to appretiate the beautiful complexity of the modern world.

Durante los ultimos meses este blog ha sido testigo de algunas de las piedras preciosas que se pueden encontrar en el sureste asiatico. En la mayoria de los casos estas maravillas estan relacionadas con la naturaleza vasta y salvaje que atesora la region. Para completar el album, en mi ultima semana en el continente visite dos de las nuevas "junglas de cristal" asiaticas: Kuala Lumpur y Singapur.

Kuala Lumpur: La capital de Malasia alberga casi 2 millones de personas en una impresionante malla de calles y avenidas. La oferta turistica no es excesivamente amplia, de hecho se podria resumir en las famosas Torres Petronas. Sin embargo he de reconocer que garcias al maginifico y superamable personal del albergue en el que pernocte las tres noches (el mejor de lo que va de viaje), guardo un calido recuerdo de mi visita a KL.

Singapur: Si KL me parecio moderna, eficiente e impresionantemente comercial, que decir de Singapur, una ciudad donde el intervalo de espera en el metro se reduce a 2 minutos en hora punta! Avenidas que se podrian cruzar en avion, centros comerciales donde uno puede encontrar de todo (literalmente de TODO) y rascacielos tan altos que deben rascarle los w*bos al mismisimo Michael Jackson en las alturas.
En resumen, dos junglas de cristal que hacen las delicias de cualquier amante del acero y hormigon. Por mi parte, que puedo decir, supongo que pase demasiado tiempo en la isla como para apreciar la belleza del mundo moderno.

Pics'n'vids: Kuala Lumpur & Singapore

2009-09-29T00:10:00.000-07:00

Reclame

2009-09-20T06:13:00.000-07:00

Life as a Mermaid

2009-09-16T02:07:00.000-07:00

So far during this trip I had been at sea level (e.g. London), well over it (e.g. Pushkar), remarkably past it (e.g. Vang Vieng) and nearly as far as you can get above it (e.g. Annapurnas). However it was yet to be known what if feels like to be in negative elevations, this is under the sea!

For the sake of completeness my loyal travel mate -Linda- and I crossed the Thai-Malaysian border to visit the Perhentian islands. The two small islands -Perhentian Kecil and Perhentian Besar- are becoming increasingly popular among Southeast Asia trotters. Nonetheless the exorbitant price of alcohol in Malaysia (heavily taxed by the Islamic government) and the better accessibility of the Thai islands has kept the levels of development and trashy tourism fairly low. Thanks to this the Perhentian archipelago remains an underwater paradise where one can easily spot lovely creatures such as turtles, sharks and sting rays mingling with schools of tropical fish.

We worked our ticket to this spectacle by learning step-by-step all the necessary theory (books and everything!) to become an open water diver. Thanks to Ravi, Nic and Benita -the professional and friendly instructors of Matahari Divers- we managed to get our licenses in a short and enjoyable time.

It was then time to put our skills to practice starting with the James Bond's back roll, a classic. Once we rid ourselves of the initial bubbles a whole new world unveiled to our eyes. First stop: Nemo's quarters. Hilarious fellow. The seafari continued through the pits and valleys of coral reef where millions of fish traveled in opposite directions emulating an Asian city in rush hour. Although our camera missed most of them (we only took it with us to one of the dives) the list of underwater highlights included a blue dotted stingray, a box fish, some little sharks and a turtle among other delights.

I know this is going to sound familiar to the readers of this blog but those days under the water embodied some of the most unforgettable sights of my trip. Somewhere sometime I read that one can see more wildlife in ten minutes by a coral reef than in ten hours in a jungle forest. Having done both myself, I do agree. Perhaps it is due to a (fake) sense of self-confidence but most of the fish wont hide from scuba divers. On the contrary the carry on with their daily routines and in some cases they might even show as much interest in us -the outsiders- as we do. An example this was an amazing underwater trip escorted by a school of barracudas that engraved forever in my memory.

PS: Thanks to Geraldine for some of the pictures!

A lo largo de mi viaje me habeis visto a nivel del mar (p.ej. en Londres), algunos cientos de metros sobre el (p.ej. en Pushkar), varios cientos de metros sobre el mismo (p.ej. en Vang Vieng) e incluso miles de metros por encima de el (p.ej. en los Annapurnas). Lo que todavia no habia experimentado es lo que se siente al estar algunos metros bajo el mar!

Para resolver esta incertidumbre mi compañera de aventuras Linda y yo cruzamos la frontera entre Tailandia y Malasia para embarcarnos en un viaje a las islas Perhentian. Estas diminutas islas del mar del Sur de China ganan mas y mas adeptos cada dia, especialmente entre buceadores de todo el mundo que llegan atraidos por los fondos virgenes lejos de sus hipertransitados vecinos del norte (p.ej. Kho Tao, Kho Phi Phi en Tailandia).

Tras una semana de preparacion teorica y practica en la escuela de buceo Matahari por fin conseguimos nuestras licencias PADI y con ellas el billete a un viaje inolvidable. Primera parada: la guarida de Nemo (sisi, el de la peli). De ahi en adelante mantas, pequeños tiburones y la perla del dia: una tortuga! Se que os va a sonar a topico pero mi viaje submarino ha sido una de las actividades mas especiales que he hecho hasta ahora. En algun lugar lei que es posible ver mas vida animal en 10 minutos en un arrecife de coral que en 10 horas en medio de la selva. Mi experiencia corrobora esta afirmacion. Es dificil de explicar lo que se siente al ser aceptado como invitado especial en un banco de barracudas atravesando los fondos avisales... los colores, los movimientos, el silencio sepulcral unicamente roto por tu propia respiracion. En fin, inolvidable.

Pics'n'vids: Perhentian Islands

2009-09-16T01:00:00.000-07:00

Deep Water Soloing

2009-09-14T00:34:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I intentionally posted a picture of a skinny Spaniard glued to a rock some 15 meters high by no other means than his bare hands and feet. Reckless? insane? idiotic? maybe, but wait for the second half of the story.

In my previous post I already introduced the epic climbs of Krabi. However what I did not mention is that Krabi is also a one-of-a-kind place in the world to engage in the Deep Water Soloing experience. DWS is a pretty fancy name for something that kids all over the world have been doing for ages: climbing up a rock to jump into the ocean. While this children's game is absolutely unacceptable (provided the potential risk involved), under controlled conditions it represents one of the most exciting climbing challenges ever imagined. Watch the movie!

Neither me nor my climbing buddies wanted to miss the chance and so we joined the professional crew of Mr. Wee Climbing School for a full day of sweat, adrenaline pumping and -needless to say- fun! Early in the morning a longtail boat picked us up at Rai Leh West on its way to the cliffs especially selected for the activity (ie safe). The 20 minutes ride ended by a gorgeous 80+ m limestone wall where one could spot what seemed (difficult to believe though) white stains of magnesium left by some climbers. The level of excitement pushed us into the water and onto the rock. A German guy started the show climbing up to a 15 m high stalactite from where he jumped off. The awkward position of the jumper refreshed old memories of a nasty fall while canyoning in the Pyrenees, thus I opened my personal account with a 8 m free fall. Linda followed with surprising determination. The hours passed and the climbers moved on to new sections of rock. Touché to a French fellow who almost achieved the 'Pile of Pancakes' in his first attempt. Unbelievable.

With a bite of local cuisine safe in our tummies we proceeded to the second climbing site: a massive rock lying right in front of the 'Chicken Island' (inside a national park). Perhaps it was the post-lunch laziness or maybe the deficit of adrenaline but the truth is that nobody stood up to face the new challenge. Alright, I'll give it a try- said chicken Iñaki playing the big boy. A kayak dropped me at the foot of a 6A, sandy-paper wall with tiny cutting edges. Driven by the excitement and the unawareness of what I was leaving below me (more and more meters of free fall) I worked my way up until I couldn't reach anything to hold on. So, I guess this is it, isn't it? - I shouted to the audience down on the boats. Then I received the confirmation and further instructions commanding me to turn around. Sh*t! how am I supposed to turn around, man? No answer to that. Extremely carefully I descended a couple of meters where the wall grew slightly concave. I turned 180º resting on my toes like a ballerina only to discover that the sea was 16 m below me. Legs shaking. F*ck me! And then the thrill, an electric rush traveling from my toes to the head. Time's up, off we go! Too short to scream, too long to go unnoticed. And then the crash. To my surprise I penetrated the sea quite smoothly. Finally the glory. Back on the surface my friends cheering up like crazy.

Another experience to remember, another item down from my list, God bless this diversion!


Chicken Iñaki	Way To Pancakes

Dias atras subi una foto de un diminuto servidor adherido a una roca gigante con la unica ayuda de sus manos y pies (sin cuerda alguna). No di mas explicaciones deliberadamente. Locura? excentricidad? estupidez? Tal vez, pero esperar a leer la segunda parte de esta historia.

En mi anterior post ya explique las bondades de Krabi como meca de la escalada mundial. Lo que no comente entonces es que este pequeño itsmo ofrece ademas una oportunidad unica a nivel mundial para practicar la Escalada Libre en Aguas Profundas (en ingles, Open Water Soloing). Este es el nombre rimbonmante para algo que todos hemos hecho de niños, subirse a una roca para saltar al mar. Aunque dicho 'juego de niños' ha de ser desaprobado (dado el riego implicado), en circunstancias bajo control se convierte en una de las experiencias de escalada mas excitantes que uno pueda imaginar. Ver video!

Ninguno de los que estabamos en Rai Leh queriamos perdernos la oportunidad y tras esperar dos dias a que la mar acompañase por fin nos embarcamos camino de las rocas cuidadosamente seleccionadas para la actividad (por el equipo de profesionales de la escuela de escalada de Mr. Wee). Veinte minutos en barca que nos transportaron a una impresionante roca de mas de 80 metros donde se podian ver (aunque con dificultades para creerselo) manchas de magnesio dejadas por los escaladores. El nivel de excitacion nos propulso al agua de ahi a la roca. El primer valiente fue un aleman que se encaramo a una estalactita a 15 metros de altura antes de soltarse. La postura inverosimil del compañero trajo a mi mente viejos recuerdos de una caida un tanto 'desacertada' años atras en los cañones de Guara. Por ello decidi estrenarme con un salto de 8 m. Nada mal para abrir boca. Tras esto la tribu de treparocas se lanzaron a nuevos desafios, con mencion especial para un frances que casi culmino la 'Pila de Talos' en su primer intento. Increible.

Tras un picnic en una playa aledaña procedimos a la segunda escuela del dia. Seria la pereza tras la comida o el deficit de adrenalina pero el caso es que nadie se atrevia con la nueva pared. Entonces desperto el hombre que NO hay en mi. Venga va, a ver como respira! Y alli que me fui, o mejor dicho, me llevaron en kayak. Emprendi mi asalto a un 6A de piedra porosa con determinacion. Metro a metro ganaba altura impulsado por la adrenalina y por el desinteres sobre lo que dejaba tras de mi (mas metros de caida). Asi hasta que no encontre nada mas a lo que adherirme (y creerme que NO habia nada mas). Pues hasta aqui hemos 'llegao' grite a la audiencia que observaba desde las barcazas. Uno de los monitores insistio en que debia darme la vuelta antes de saltar. Como si eso fuera posible! Cual elefante pisando huevos (los mios no estaban bajo la suela de mis pies de gato precisamente) baje hasta una seccion ligeramente concava de la pared. Alli, cual bailarina de ballet rote sobre la punta de mis dedos de los pies para descubrir el panorama: 16 metros de vacio que acababan en el mar turquesa. El sudor de mis manos (posadas) sobre las rocas me hizo comprender que no habia otro camino. Con dos p*lotas! Shhhhhhhhhh plaaaasssh! Abro los ojos. Negro, verde y finalmente azul celeste. Aplausos y gritos de animo desde las barcas. Gracias una vez mas por esta fiesta en la que vivo!

Where Climbers Go After They Die

2009-09-14T00:31:00.001-07:00

Back in Thailand's mainland Linda (24, Dutch) -one of the volunteers I met in Paksong- and me took a bus heading south, destination: Krabi. If there was a competition to chose the most beautiful place on planet Earth, Krabi would be a forerunner. Think of countless white sandy beaches, turquoise waters, only-in-your-dreams inaccessible lagoons, and rocks, rocks and yet more rocks. Dramatic limestone rocks blasting off the ocean that make of Krabi a lengendary venue for climbers since the 1970s, a climbers' paradise.

When I think of the 7 days that we spent in Rai Leh and Ton Sai (action's hotspots) I can only think of some of the best climbs I'll probably see in my whole life. Yes, beach time was good and so were the rides on the longtail boats and the long open-mic nights with Ondrei and Martina (29 & 23, Czech) at the Bamboo bar. But let's be honest, when someone has the opportunity to catch the turquoise, green and blue colours all in one while hanging from a 25 m anchor why would you waste any space in your memories?

I hope you enjoy the pictures but before then I would like to send a warm greeting and a big thank you to the above-mentioned Czech couple and to Samuel and Linda for those unbeliable days at the crags!

De vuelta en tierra firme y en compañia de Linda -una de mis amigas del campo de trabajo en Paksong- emprendi un viaje en autobus con destino Krabi. Si se diese una competicion para elegir el lugar mas bonito del mundo Krabi estaria entre los firmes candidatos (despues de Vitoria, claro esta). Playas de arena blanca, aguas turquesas, lagunas de ensueño y rocas, mucha rocas. Impresionantes macizos de roca caliza que convierten a Krabi en un lugar de leyenda dificil de superar para escaladores de todo el mundo.

Cuando echo la vista atras y pienso en la semana que pasamos en Krabi solo puedo acordarme de algunas de las escuelas (de escalada) mas impresionantes que vere en toda mi vida. Cierto es que las horas de sol y playa estuvieron bien, como tambien lo estubieron las noches de musica en vivo en el Bamboo bar, pero cuando se tiene la oportunidad de mezclar el turquesa del mar, el verde de las palmeras y el azul del cielo en una misma foto colgado a 25 metros de altura, porque malgastar espacio en la memoria?

Os dejo con las fotos no sin antes mandar un cariñoso saludo a mis amigos Martina y Ondrei (23 y 29, Checos), Samuel (23, Frances) y Linda (24, Holandesa) para agradecerles aqueños maravillosos dias a pie de ruta.

Pics'n'vids: Krabi

2009-09-14T00:31:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Solo

2009-09-13T05:44:00.000-07:00

Reclame

2009-09-10T10:58:00.000-07:00

Islander: Reflections & Considerations

2009-08-22T05:00:00.000-07:00

My adventure in the island concluded happily the morning of Day 4 when some friends from DinDang came over for a visit. Although four days might not seem a very long time, the solitude of New Getaria and the continuous flow of events made those days some of the most instructive (and fun) of my young life. Hereafter a list of funny conclusions that I can draw from the experience:

Food:
Finding food in a tropical island -even if you are up to anything- is not an easy task. I reckon with a little bit more of experience I could manage to fish something bigger than crabs (on Day 4 I went fishing with one of my friends and we caught several decent-sized fish). The coconuts kept me running but on the third day I realized that my tummy doesn't like old-coconut juice (I'll spare the details). If you ever happen to see yourself confined in a tropical island after a shipwreck of similar, pray for a miraculous 7-Eleven, C1000, Eroski, Tesco or McDonalds (worst case scenario) around the corner!

Fresh water:
I got very lucky with water. I chose that beach, among other things, because of the spring of fresh water coming out of some rocks. Very convenient. It is important to remark that nobody should drink any water before tracking it down to its source. If you are in a truly deserted island there should be no contaminants (e.g. chemicals or cattle poo) in the water but just in case make sure this is true. If it tests positive you can always try digging up in search of some pirate's rum.

Shelter:
Once again I got lucky with the abandoned bungalow. Nonetheless I also found a list of strong contenders to replace my modest digs if necessary. A small cave, enough bamboo to build a small hut or even the improvised beach camp can suffice in a place where temperatures never drop below +20ºC. It's up to you and your skills but if time is on your side I'd go for the bamboo hut. Should that be the case do not forget to print my How To: Make Your Own Bamboo Table, a must in any castaway's library!

Tools:
Just one: a big inexpensive knife (unless you are given the choice of a satellite telephone).

Fire:
Lots have been said about fire in extreme situations. Most of it bullshit. Nowadays and provided the increasing amount of smokers it is fairly easy to find a lighter about anywhere. Moral: smoke! it can save your life.

Looks:
Being a wrecker doesn't mean that one cannot take care of their appearance. Or course not. Rambo-style bandanas, sleeveless shirts and dirty shorts would certainly increase your status among the islanders (I noticed that in Mr. ColaCao's eyes). I hope my castaway's fashion would serve as inspiration for future generations.

By now it should be clear that all this extreme survival game was nothing but a big joke. However and just for once I would turn serious to clarify something that has been disturbing some of my friends' and relatives' sleep over the last few weeks.

The biggest of the challenges during my time in the island was to manage the situation in responsible way. Although it might seem crazy at first, I can guarantee that the game had been planned carefully for weeks to avoid risks (to certain extent). Being isolated can be dangerous in itself. If something bad happens, even a small accident, it can have serious consequences. For that reason during my time in New Getaria I did never take any excessive risk such as climbing too high, swimming too far, eating suspicious-looking/smelling foods, etc. Moreover I made sure that my mobile phone had signal to allow one of my friends to check on my every night (+ I memorized the nearest emergency number). Finally and even though this will surely disappoint some of you I must admit that the island wasn't really deserted. Despite not interacting with them I knew of the presence of a few farmers and even some bungalow resort in the island. This facilitated help or food/water if desperately needed.

Three sentences to sum it up:

It was a game and games are meant to be fun.
I might be a little bit crazy but I am not stupid.
What the heck, it was one of the greatest experiences of my life!

Mi aventura en la isla concluyo felizmente la manna del dia 4 cuando mis amigos de Dindang vinieron de visita. Mas de tres dias en la isla en los que tuve la oportunidad de poner en practica unos cuantos trucos que siempre habia querido experimentar. He aqui una breve lista de recomendaciones estupidas (aunque ciertas) que he podido sacar de la experiencia:

Comida:
Encontrar comida - aunque no seas un morrofino - no es tarea facil. Creo que con un poco mas de practica hubiera sido capaz de pescar algo (la tarde que vinieron mis amigos fui de pesca con uno de ellos y pescamos algunos peces espada). Sin embargo los cocos fueron los que me mantuvieron en pie de guerra en la isla, y eso a pesar de que al tercer dia descubri que a mi tripita no le gusta el jugo de coco viejo (os ahorrare los detalles) Por ello, si te ves en la piel de un naufrago en una isla desierta, reza todo lo que sepas para que haya un Eroski o un McDonalds (en el peor de los casos) a la vuelta de la esquina.

Agua:
Tuve suerte con el agua. Elegi la playa, en gran medida, por el manantial de agua fresca que manaba de las rocas. No obstante he de recalcar que no es muy inteligente beber el primer agua dulce que te moje los tobillos. En mi caso trace todo el recorrido del manantial rio arriba para asegurarme de que no hubiera granjas (pesticidas o deshechos del ganado) que pudieran contaminar el agua fresca.

Refugio:
Tambien tuve suerte con la cabana abandonada. Sin embargo encontre unos cuantos candidatos a sustituirla: pequena cueva, bambu para montar una caseta improvisada, o el campamento en Nueva Getaria son algunos de ellos. Si el tiempo lo permite yo iria por la caseta de bambu, al fin y al cabo a estas alturas ya se como manejarme con el bambu.

Herramientas:
Si alguien os pregunta que os llevariais a una isla desierta la respuesta es facil: un buen machete (a no ser que os ofrezcan un telefono satelite, claro esta).

Fuego:
Mucho se ha escrito sobre hacer fuego en condiciones extremas. Tonterias! hoy en dia y dada la creciente poblacion de fumadores deberia ser facil encontrar un mechero en casi cualquier parte. Moraleja: fuma! puede que te salve la vida.

Apariencia:
Ser un pobre naufrago perdido de la mano de Dios no esta para nada renido con el estilo y la clase (juas juas). Moda primavera/verano, muchas transparencias y sobretodo imaginacion. En fin, espero que los espertillos de Cibeles tomen nota de mis pintras de piltrafas.

Por ultimo, y ahora un poco mas en serio, me gustaria acabar esta parodia con una nota aclaratoria que espero devuelva la tranquilidad a familiares y amigos que pudieran haber sufrido serias dudas sobre mi (in)estabilidad mental.

El mayor de los desafios que encontre en la isla fue sin duda el manejar la situacion de manera responsable. Aunque pudiera parecer una idea estupida y descerebrada mi estancia en la isla habia sido planificada durante semanas para evitar cualquier riesgo -dentro de lo posible. Siendo consciente de que estar solo puede ser peligroso de por si mismo, en todo momento en la isla trate de limitar los riesgos al minimo. Esto se traduce en cosas como por ejemplo no subirse a rocas mas altas de lo debido, no nadar demasiado lejos o no meterse a la boca nada que pudiera parecer sospechosa, entre otros. Ademas de esto me asegure de que mi movil tuviera cobertura lo que me permitia mantener contacto todas las noches con uno de mis amigos en Dindang. Por ultimo y aunque pueda defraudar a parte de los lectores he de admitir que no estaba solo en la isla (seamos realistas, hoy en dia es dificil encontrar islas desiertas). A pesar de que no interactue con nadie mas durante mi experiencia, era consciente de la presencia de campesinos e incluso pequenos complejos de bungalows cerca de mi campamento. Esto me garantizaba comida/agua y ayuda en caso de que fuera realmente necesario.

En resumen, se trataba de un juego y los juegos se presuponen divertidos. Puede que este un poco tocado del ala, pero no soy tan estupido como para arriesgar el resto de mi viaje. Y por ultimo, que leches, me lo pase como un enano!

Pics'n'vids: Islander

2009-08-22T02:00:00.000-07:00

Islander Day 3: Castaway's Fun!

2009-08-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

As if still dreaming my eyes opened slowly on day 3 to find my body surrounded by white sand. The sun and the roar of the ocean felt like an angry mum pulling the sheets of a lazy teenager. Five more minutes, please! I needed them, last night was better than yesterday's however I had to wake up several times to fight battalions of crabs attacking my quarters from every imaginable angle.

When I planned this challenge - I mean the Islander game - I conceived it as a 3-day experience. This means that today was my last day here. Yes, one more sunset and I would have achieved my goal.

Last days are meant to be fun. God rested, students party, ex-employees steal pens, ex-smokers smoke... I decided that during my last day in this island I should do all the fun stuff that castaways do. I started my day with a photo-shooting session. The ocean, the beach, my-terrible-looking-self, etc. During the photographic session I noticed that there were some things missing to make a proper castaway. For one my outfit. Where did those tattered clothes go? Nothing that can't be solved in five minute of conscientious tailor work. The second feature missing required a little bit more of work and loads of imagination. Ever since the beginning of the castaway times every respectful wrecker has been known to have a partner, a loyal companion, a soulmate, a friend. Robinson Crusoe had his man Friday, Tom Hanks got emotional with Wilson, but what about me? Well, I've got Mr. ColaCao! (who else). Boy, it feels good to have someone by my side.

After the photos it was time for a swim. The sun shinning in the blue sky and the crystal-clear waters made for a perfect snorkeling day. No big fish though. After a coconut lunch and a short nap I decided to try fishing. Grabbed my rod, my bait and climbed up the rocks. Disoriented fish comprised my initial target. I set the bait that I caught yesterday and sank the hook into the sea. Soon I noticed something pulling the fishing line. Wait. 1,2,3... off we go! Nothing (except for a shiny clean hook). Bastards. Second attempt, something pulling, 1,2,3... up! Dammit! Ok, let's try with something easier: smaller fish swimming amidst the rocks. Here we go... yes, yes, biting, yes, c'mon swallow b*tch... blaaaaast! You stupid son of Nemo! This went on and on until I ran out of bait. Overall catch of the day: two small crabs that didn't make it for a dinner, so I let them free anyway.

When the sun approached the horizon I had time for a last castaway's cliche: the message in a bottle. With the joy of a castaway who knows that the end is close I dropped a few lines hoping that someone someday will remember me. I rolled my message and put it in a bottle. I released it in the sea. I watched it float away, its silhouette shrinking until it became a small point. Then gone.

Congratulations Iñaki! you made it, you survived, you got your answer!

Tras mi tercer amanecer en la isla mis ojos se abieron despacio para descubrirme rodeado de arena blanca. Los rayos del sol y el sonido de las olas del mar imitaban a una madre tratanto de despertar a su hijo para ir al cole. 5 minutos mas, hoy los necesito. A pesar de que la pasada noche fue mucho mas tranquila que la anterior, casi en media docena de ocasiones tuve que hacer frente a ejercitos de cangrejos que atacaban mi mosquitera desde todos los flancos.

Cuando planifique este desafio - jugar a Robinsones - lo concevi como una experiencia de 3 dias. Eso significa que hoy era mi ultimo dia. Un atardecer mas me separaba de mi objetivo. Los ultimos dias son siempre felices. Dios descanso, los estudiantes queman libros, los ex-empleados roban boligrafos y los ex-fumadores fuman. Por ello, en mi ultimo dia, yo me he dedicado a hacer todas esas cosas divertidas que me correspondian como buen naufrago. Para empezar una sesion fotografica. Playa, mar, mis pintas (y que pintas!)... espera, aqui falla algo. Dos cosas para ser mas exactos. Primero mi vestimenta, que ha sido de esas ropas desgarradas? Nada que no se pueda solucionar con 5 minutos de cuchillo y maña. Una vez atabiado como corresponde solo faltaba un detalle: mi compañero de aventuras. Todo superviviente de un naufragio que se tercie ha de tener un compañero de peripecias. Robinson Crusoe tenia al indio Viernes. Tom Hanks en "Naufrago" encontro alivio en Wilson (el balon de volley). Y yo? Pues yo tengo al Señor ColaCao, quien sino! El tiempo vuela en buena compañia.

Tras las fotos un bañito. Cielo azul, aguas cristalinas, dia perfecto para bucear. Un lastima que no hubiese peces. Despues de una breve comida (cocos, claro esta) y una siesta, decidi probar suerte con la caña (de pescar). Con mis aparejos de pesca en ristre me encarame a las rocas. Alli prepare el cebo (los pececillos que pesque ayer) y probe suerte en el mar. Primer objetivo, peces despistados. Al poco de echar la caña senti que algo picaba. 1,2,3... vamos que nos vamos, arriba! Nada, cebo limpio. Segundo intento. Venga que si, 1,2,3... arriba! C*bron de pez, se esta poniendo las botas a costa de mi cebo. Decidi probar suerte en las charcas entre lsa rocas. 1,2,3... traga, traga! arriba! Cajones! Y asi una y otra vez hasta que me quede sin cebo. Balance del dia: 2 tristes cangrejos que devolvi a las rocas pues no hacian ni una sopa.

El sol cayo sobre el horizonte dejandome tiempo para una ultima ceremonia: el mensaje en la botella. Con la alegria del naufrago que se sabe cercano a su fin, deje caer unas lineas con la esperanza de que alguien me recuerde algun dia. Meti el mensaje en la botella y la libere en el oceano. Luego segui la silueta hasta que desaparecio en el horizonte. Felicidades Iñaki, lo has conseguido, ahora ya puedes decir lo que significa ser un Robinson!

Pics'n'vids: Islander Day 3

2009-08-21T08:23:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Sunset In New Getaria

2009-08-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

Islander Day 2: Noises In The Dark

2009-08-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

The events occurred during the last night at the abandoned bungalow will remain in my memory as some of the most frightening moments of my life.

With the taste of cheap beer fading in my mouth I headed back to my improvised lodge for what should have been a second night of quiet (and sweaty) sleep. I encapsulated my body in the igloo of mosquito net. Like every night since I left home, I played the podcast "La Rosa De Los Vientos" (works better than Valium) and blew off the tiny sparkle of candlelight that kept my pupils from fully open.

It must have been during the first five minutes of the podcast that I heard it for the first time. Knock-knock! My eyes wide open. It sounded as if someone was banging the door or the front wall of my bungalow from the other side. Knock-knock! A second series of knocks made me realize that I wasn't dreaming. This can't be happening, I thought as the muscles of my ass tightened like never before. Sawadee krap! (standard Thai greeting), I replied loud yet fearfully. No answer. I got up to light the tiny candle. Hello? who's there? I sat on the bed waiting for an answer holding the torch on my left hand and the knife on the good one. After five minutes of silence my heartbeat finally commenced a steady descent. I ensured that windows and door were properly shut and crawled back into the mosquito net. Who the hell could be out there lost in the jungle? who would be as crazy (read: stupid) to wander around this abandoned bungalow in the middle of the pitch-black night? F*ck it! whoever he or she is must be much more scared than I am! I repeated this last sentence in my mind over and over trying to resume my sleep. It worked, however I woke up no less than 5 times throughout the night.

A few times in my life I've been so glad to meet a new day covered in sweat as this morning. I run down to the beach (knife in hand) for the routine morning swim. After last night's incident I needed the tranquility than only ColaCao can bring to me. I set an ever exotic breakfast consisting of coconut, (sort of ) milk* and the miraculous cocoa powder. I drunk it up and fingertipped the tasty lumps that scattered at the bottom of the can. After this I proceeded to my day-to-day activities. The number one item on my list for today was to build a fishing rod. I cut a bamboo stick and went up to the bungalow to fetch the fishing line and a hook. It was then, while searching my rucksack, that I heard it again. This time it sounded lower. Knock-knock! The door was open, there was nobody in the porch. Knock-knock-knock-knock! The sound fading in the distance. I run out, this time I had an allied: daylight. I completed a circle around the hut before I discovered the source of the noise: a 25+ cm long nosy lizard! You bastard, you scared the hell out of me last night! I went back inside and cursed myself for being such a chicken. But there was more. As if taking the mother of all the pisses a second lizard (also 20+ cm) materialized in the room. This one had reached even closer to my bed, it was glued to the wall no more than a foot from my pillow. You little f*cker, didn't want to miss the party, uh? I chased it away and went back to the beach.

Although the mystery of the noises had been solved, earlier that morning I had decided to spend tonight at the beach camp. I felt too lucky to have a bungalow and I wanted to know how it felt to be a real castaway even if it was just for one night. So, I collected some stones, some wood and built an improvised bedroom with vistas of the sunset.

Hours later, when the tide went out it was time for me to get some bait for tomorrow's assignment: fishing. I scanned the rocks and found what I was looking for: tiny fish trapped in natural pools. With my mosquito net and a bit of patience I managed to catch a dozen of them, not enough for a dinner but who knows, maybe they are the key to escape my monotonous diet (exclusively based on coconuts).

Dusk broke in a couple of hours ago. I retreated to my camp. This time I managed to set on the bonfire on my first attempt. I've reproduced the mosquito net + poncho mat igloo on the sand. Got the beer, the pen and the notebook. At last I'm writing these lines. The night is beautiful although I cannot see as many stars as the first one that I spent here. It's been a long day, a good one, but long nonetheless. I'm tired, I think I better try to get some sleep. Let's hope I don't get any unexpected visitors tonight. Talk to you tomorrow!

*I forgot to mention this in my castaway's shopping list. Somehow I figured out that I'd need a ColaCao in this island.

Los hechos acontecidos la pasada noche perduraran en mi memoria como algunos de los momentos de mas acoj*ne de toda mi vida.

Con el sabor a cerveza barata todavia en la boca, enfile camino a mi improvisado refugio predispuesto a pasar la segunda noche de sueno (y sudor). Una vez encerrado en el iglu de mosquitera y chubasquero sobre el colchon, me enchufe a "La Rosa De Los Vientos" en mi MP3 y sople la timida vela que habia impedido hasta ese momento que mis pupilas se dilatasen por completo en la oscuridad de la cabana. No habrian pasado ni 5 minutos de interesante tertulia radiofonica cuando oi un ruido inesperado: Knock-knock! Mis parpados se dispararon. Parecia como si alguien estuviera llamando a la puerta de mi pequena cabana. Knock-knock! La segunda serie no dejaba lugar a la duda, alguien o algo estaba aporreando la pared frontal de mi bungalow. Los musculos de mis posaderas se estromecieron como nunca antes lo habian hecho (gracias a Dios no lo suficiente para que aquello acabase en desastre escatologico). Lleno de inquietud (in-)disimulada exhale un saludo en tailandes: Sawadee krap! Me sente en la cama, encendi la pequena vela y agarre machete y linterna mientras esperaba una respuesta desde el otro lado de la pared que no llegaba. Cinco minutos mas tarde mi ritmo cardiaco emprendio un descenso leve pero continuo. Quien podia estar tan loco (lease mentalmente perjudicado) como para andar merodeando un bungalow abandonado en mitad de la junga a esas horas de la noche? (Quien excepto un servidor, claro esta). Quien quiera que fuese posiblemente estuviera mas asustado de lo que yo estaba pues al fin y al cabo yo era el intruso que estaba okupando el bungalow. Me asegure de que ventanas y puertas estuvieran bien cerradas y me repeti mi ultima reflexion hasta que mis parpados calleron por puro cansancio. Esta noche me desperte un minimo de 5 veces.

Pocas veces en mi vida me he alegrado tanto de despertar en un horno. El sol de la manana me propuslo a la playa para mi bano matutino. Tras una noche tan movidita solo existe una manera posible de restaurar la tranquilidad: un buen tazon de ColaCao. Dadas las circunstacias he tenido que improvisar un desayuno de lo mas exotico: coco, sucedaneo de leche (incluido en mi lista de la compra a ultima hora, preveyedo que necesitaria un buen ColaCao en cualquier momento) y como no el oro en polvo marron! Tras el desayuno revitalizador he procedido con mi lista de quehaceres.

Objetivo numero 1: construir una caña. He talado una pertiga de bambu a la que adosaria el sedal y el anzuelo que guardaba en mi mochila. Fue entonces, mientras inspeccionaba mi mochila en la cabaña abandonada cuando lo escuche otra vez. Knock-knock! Esta vez mas silencioso. No puede ser! knock-knock-knock! La puerta abierta y sin rastro alguno en el porche... que ost*as! Con la luz del dia como aliado, he circundado mi bungalow para descubri que el misterioso instruso no era otro sino un curioso lagarto de unos 25 cm! J*der tio, si supieras el rato que me hiciste pasar ayer noche! En fin, leccion aprendida: Iñaki = caguica. Pero no, no ha acabado ahi la cosa. Como si se tratase de un festival del humor (conmigo en plan estrella invitada), otro lagarto Juancho ha hecho acto de presencia. Este mas cerca, adosado a la pared a menos de un palmo de mi almohada. Una vez me he librado de estos invistados inesperados he vuelto a la playa.

Aunque el misterio de los ruidos nocturnos ya ha sido aclarado, previamente esta mañana habia decidido que hoy pasaria la noche aqui, en el campamento de Getaria Berria. Fue un puntazo encontrar el bungalow abandonado, pero quiero sentirme un autentico naufrago aunque solo sea por una noche. Con ayuda de mi nueva caña, unas piedras, unas maderas y un poco de imaginacion me he currado un dormitorio 1000 estrellas con vistas al mar.

Mi siguiente tarea para hoy era preparar mi mision para mañana: pescar! Con la marea ya baja, he acudido a las rocas en busca de los pequeños peces que se quedan atrapados en las cubetas naturales. Con ayuda de la mosquitera y un poco de maña he pescado una docena de pezqueñines (no gracias, excepto cuando eres un naufrago) que me serviran de cebo mañana y quien sabe, lo mismo abandono mi dieta (hasta ahora cocos nada mas).

Y asi he llegado al final del dia. Fuego (esta vez a la primera), cerveza, boli y papel. Desde mi improvisado igloo de mosquitera y poncho/chubasquero veo alguna estrellas, nada que ver con la primera noche que pase aqui. Hoy ha sido un buen dia, largo y duro pero bueno. Mañana sera otro dia!

Pics'n'vids: Islander Day 2

2009-08-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

Islander Day 1: New Getaria

2009-08-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

From Day 1 on I decided to keep a castaway's diary in which I logged my daily routine. Hereafter I'll publish the entries as can be found in the written version:

I'm writing these lines by the fireside at my beach camp in New Getaria. I named this beach and the two neighbouring ones after the Spanish beaches that witnessed some of the best days of my youth.

Last night I slept smooth like a baby. I guess I was too tired to bother the roaring sounds of the jungle. This morning I woke up floating on sweat. The plastic poncho that I used as bottom sheet didn't allow any circulation from body to bed nor vice versa. Good, let's hope it stays that way.

Early in the morning I packed what I call the basic survivor kit and went down to the beach. I swam in the sea to wash my sweat off and completed the showering with a bath in the tiny pool of fresh water that I found yesterday. After that I set off to explore the shore. I went East, climbed some rocks and reached a new beach: New Zumaia. The strip of white sand runs for about 2 km before it reaches a mangrove area. I don't like mangroves (the characteristic layer of wet mud is home to some of the nastiest creatures I can think of) so I decided to head back West. Found some coconut palms (main objective of my morning expedition). However all of them were some 30 meters high and therefore I couldn't use the bamboo stick+knife technique that I learned in Paksong to pull the fruits down. Apart from the coconut palms I found some berries: small, tasteless and with no drop of juice. Useless. Back in New Getaria I hiked inland. About 100 meters from the abandoned bungalow I found more coconut palms. Goddammit! these guys are taller than the freaking Dutch volleyball player! It was lunchtime and I hadn't eaten anything since I arrived to this island so I decided to give a try to the old coconuts that lay on the ground. The "meat" felt like a boot's sole in my mouth but the juice tasted good.

In the afternoon I went to pick up some wood for the fire. I learnt my lesson yesterday so I put the smallest branches and leaves in one of the garbage bags of the survivor kit to keep them dry. I cut the big ones into smaller pieces and stored the lot in a conveniently located cave by the beach.

When the sun started its descent the tide got lower. I sat on the sand to check the island's voice mail. I had a message from Mother Nature. Up in the sky two sea eagles patrolled the rocks on the west side of the beach. I grabbed my pack and climbed some more rocks. Found another beach: New Zarautz. Gorgeous beach, the best of the three (as it is the case of the actual Zarautz). I closer look revealed what I was seeking. The sea eagles were fishing something at the far end of the beach. I walked there and found a clamp settlement but no fish (at easy reach). I dug holes for a while and found some clamps, not enough for a soup though.

When the sun set down I came back to my beach camp. Today I was decided to redeem last night's bonfire fiasco. I cleared a flat section of sand, brought the dry wood from the cave and stacked it up in order. Fingers crossed, first ball of fire... bsssss, smoke coming out... no, not again! shit! Ok, second attempt (this time adding some dry flurry straws). Smoke, blow, more smoke, blow, more white smoke, blow, sparkles, c'mon c'mon, blow... flame, yes, one last blow, YES, F*CK YES! I MADE FIRE! I know it's pretty lame, I used a lighter, but even then it was more difficult that one might think.

Tonight the sky doesn't offer the stunning view of yesterday. I reckon it's going to rain. Boy, one and a half day in this island and I haven't seen anyone. I'm hungry, let's grab some more coconut and another beer. This is going well. See you tomorrow, same place same time.

Tras mi primer dia completo en la isla decidi registrar mi rutina en un cuaderno de bitacora. He aqui la transcripcion literal del Dia 1:
Escribo estas lineas al calor de la horaguera de mi campamento en la playa que he bautizado como Getaria Berria. He elegido este nombre en homenaje a las playas Guipuzcoanas que tan buenos momento me han deparado.
Mi primera noche en el bungalow abandonado transcurrio sin sobresaltos. El cansancio acumulado me permitio dormir del tiron. Mas que nunca esta manana se me han pegado las sabanas. Tal vez sea porque el poncho-chubasquero que uso de sabana bajera transpira menos que un calzoncillo barnizado. He bajado a la playa y me he pegado un bano para quitarme el sudor de encima. La sesion de higiene personal concluyo en la pila de agua dulce que encontre ayer. Tras esto he preparado mi kit de supervivencia y me he lanzado a explorar la costa direccion este. Tras escalar unas rocas he descubierto una nueva playa: Zumaia Berria. Aproximadamente 2 kilometros de area blanca que desembocan en un manglar. No se si lo he mencionado anteriormente por si acaso aqui va otra vez: odio los manglares. Arbustos espinosos y barrizal, en otras palabras, un spa 5 estrellas para culebrillas, reptiles e insectos a lo makinavaja. Visto el percal me he dado la vuelta. 3 palmeras, demasiado altas para usar mi depurada tecnica de pertiga de bambu + cuchillo que aprendi en Paksong. De vuelta en Getaria Berria he estudiado el terreno que rodea el bungalow abandonado. Mas palmeras, misma historia. Joder, estos arboles son mas largos que una resaca de Martini! Nada, me he tenido que conformar con los cocos viejos que rodeaban la base del cocotero. La 'carne' es mas dura que un filete de 5 pesetas pero el jugo se deja beber.
Tras la comida he ido a cortar lena para la fogata. Ayer aprendi la leccion y no iba a dejar que la lluviera me aguara la fiesta esta vez. He recolectado ramas y hojas secas en una de las bolsas de basura de mi kit y luego he cortado lenos mas grandes que he puesto a buen recaudo en una cueviella cercana.
Hecha la labor me he sentado a descansar. He obserbado a mi alrededor a ver si alguien tenia algun mesaje para mi. En efecto, dos senoras aguilas de mar han respondido a la llamada. Mochila al hombro y segunda expedicion, esta vez direccion oeste. Tras otra sesion de escalada basica he llegado a una nueva playa: Zarautz Berria, la mas bonita de las tres (como en la Zarautz gipuzcoana). Las aguilas estaban pescando marisco y peces que habian quedado atrapados en las rocas por la bajamar. Y alli me he plantado yo, al mas puro estilo mejillonera do Rias Baixas con mi cuchillo y mi lata. Nada, un par de almejas que no han dado ni para una misera sopa.
La noche se me ha echado encima asi que he vuelto a mi campamento playero. Hora de la verdad, seria capaz de montar una hoguera esta noche? He sacado la lena de mi despensa improvisada y la he apilado de manera ordenada. Primer intento: bola de papel en la base del ninot, humo... ssssssss, fiasco! Segundo intento: ahi va la bola de papel otra vez... humo, soplido, humo blanco, soplido profundo, destellos de luz, trata de arrancarlo por Dios, trata de arrancarlo, columna de humo y... SI, J*DER SI, FUEGO!
Y asi es como he llegado a este momento: playa, fogata, cerveza, cuaderno y cielo parcialmente cubierto. Creo que va a llover. En un dia y medio por aqui no he visto ningun alma. Esto va bien, a ver como se me da manana!

Pics'n'vids: Islander Day 1

2009-08-19T01:00:00.000-07:00

Islander Day 0: Time To Find Out

2009-08-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here it goes another adventure to delight my relatives and friends during those get-togethers, and I can assure you guys that this one tops my personal list.

It all started when, as a child, I read Daniel Defoe's classic "Robinson Crusoe". I was fascinated by the challenge posed by the author: surviving in a tropical island isolated from the rest of the world. I always wondered how I'd cope with such situation if one day I found myself in the shoes of the Scottish castaway. The same question came back to my mind years later when I watched the movie "Cast Away" and again the first evening I saw "Lost" with my friends in England. The initial curiosity became a small obsession. I needed to know. I needed to find out. Could I survive in a tropical island isolated from the rest of the world? and if so, how would I do it?

Last week I said goodbye to my friends at Din Dang determined to find out how much of castaway there is in me. I visited a near farming gear store and a convenience shop to complete a special shopping list that I had been thoughtfully composing for more than two months:

Knife
Garbage bags
Lighter
Candles
Torch (Flashlight)
Fishing line + hook
4 cans of beer

I put the new items into my stinky rucksack and hitchhiked 42 km to reach a small pier near Ranong. A few hours later I arrived to the small island that I had carefully selected to stage my adventure. I said goodbye to the boatman and set off in search of a beach to set up my base camp. Just before dusk I found the perfect location: a small stripe of white sand enclosed in a quiet bay and flanked by dramatic rocks on both sides. Three features supported my choice: a spring of fresh water, shade (trees) and the abundance of mollusks on the rocks.

My next goal was to find shelter for the upcoming night. A careful inspection of the area and the 'beginner's luck' gave as a result an abandoned bungalow on the forested hill that rose up from the beach. The place looked quite shabby -full of litter and dead insects- but the roof seemed reliable and the darkness of the night was too persistent by then to turn down this option. I cleaned it up and set my mosquito net. I also unfolded my raincoat over the mattress to avoid any unfortunate contact with bed-bugs.

So far so good, in less than 5 hours I had found fresh water and shelter, not bad. Around 9 pm I went down to the beach to face my next challenge: fire. I collected some branches and what seemed to be dry leaves. I stacked them up and fed the lot with a flaming ball of paper. Smoke came up but it vanished after a short while. I tried again. Same outcome. Once again. No luck. After my fourth attempt I realized that it had probably rained before my arrival to the island and therefore the leaves might not be that dry after all.

That night it took me some time to understand that my first failure wasn't so. Almost by accident In the middle of my desperation I looked skywards only to discover one of the most breathtaking spectacles of nature: thousand of stars staring back at me embraced by an endless milky way. No words to describe it. I savoured my first can of beer as I tried to sketch the few constellations that I learnt in my childhood. Soon my eyelids became too heavy to sustain them open and so I decided to head back to the spooky bungalow were I was to spend my first night in the island. Sleep tight Iñaki, this has just started!

He aqui otra de mis aventurillas para el deleite de familiares y amigos en esas largas sobremesas. Prepararaos porque esta es de las buenas! Todo empezo cuando suendo un nino lei el clasico de la literatura "Robinson Crusoe". El reto propuesto por el autor, sobrevir en una isla tropical, me fascino desde el primer momento. Pasaron los anos y peliculas y series de television me devolvian a aquel sueno de ninez, seria yo capaz de sobrevivir como lo hizo el famoso naufrago escoces?

Cuando aquella manana me despedi de mis amigos de Din Dang tenia un proposito claro en mente, descubrir cuanto de Robinson corre por mis venas. Asi pues pase por dos tiendas del pueblo y complete la lista de la compra que habia preparado concienzudamente durante meses: Un cuchillo, unas bolsas de basura, un mechero, unas velas, una linterna, anzuelo y sedal y cuatro latas de cerveza. Tras un viaje en autoestop de 42 km me plante en un embarcadero cercano a Ranong. A primera hora de la tarde llegue a la isla que habia seleccionado cuidadosamente para albergar mi aventura. Me despedi del barquero y me adentre en la isla en busca de una playa para levantar mi campamento base. A ultima hora de la tarde encontre el lugar perfecto, una pequena playa asentada en una bahia tranquila y flanqueada por rocas que la hacian virtualmente impenetrable. Otros argumentos a su favor eran el manantial de agua dulce que yacia de una roca y la abundante sombra que me daria cobijo en las horas mas calurosas del dia.

La noche se me echaba encima y debia encontrar refugio para dormir. Una busqueda minuciosa y mi suerte de principiante se materializaron en forma de cabana abandonada. Monte mi mosquitera y extendi mi chubasquero sobre el colchon para evitar el contacto con las chinches (que como las meigas, haberlas hailas). En menos de 5 horas habia encontrado agua y refugio, nada mal para un principiante.

Sobre las 9 y ya de noche baje a la playa para afrontar mi siguiente reto: hacer un fuego. Recolecte hojas y ramas secas y las amontone ordenadamente. A pesar de disponer de un mechero y algo de idea mis intentos no daban resultado. Tras el cuarto deduje que seguramente habia llovido esa manana asi que las hojas no estarian tan secas despues de todo. Minutos despues entendi que mi primer fracaso no era tal. Casi por accidente, levante mi mirada al cielo y descubri uno de los espectaculos mas asombrosos de la naturaleza. Cientros de estrellas me devolvian la mirada mientras la via lactea surcaba el firmamento como una bufanda de seda. Y asi, mirando al cielo y tratando de dibujar las constelaciones, saboree la primera de mis cuatro cervezas. Pronto mis parpados se tornaron demasiado pesados para mantenerlos abiertos asi que decidi emprender camino a mi cabana. Descansa Iñaki, esto acaba de comenzar!

Pics'n'vids: Islander Day 0

2009-08-18T01:00:00.000-07:00

How To: Make Your Own Bamboo Table

2009-08-17T02:38:00.000-07:00

Did you ever wonder how to make your own bamboo table? Yes? Sure? Well, this must be your lucky day because here and now I'm going to show you how you can easily build the one and only Iñaki's Original Bamboo Table!!!

Run to your neighbourhood's closest rain forest with a big knife and grab some juicy bamboo. Beware of the mosquitoes, spiders and snakes that hang around since they can make your working day a bit less fun!
Back at home saw the bamboo stick into pieces and chop them off using the same Rambo-style knife. Whenever it's possible use globes to avoid the nasty little pieces that get stuck under your nails.
Cut, saw and polish other pieces of wood to make the frame of the table. They don't need to be perfect but at least make sure that you count a minimum of four legs (a recent study showed that 3-leg tables fail to hold an average-sized watermelon 67% of the times).
Assemble the previously arranged items with a handful of nails and one hammer. If everything went fine up to step #3 it should be easy. If things get overcomplicated, use the POWERRRRR!!!
Convince your friends to come over for an exciting IKEA night, give them some bamboo and let them do the easy stuff (cutting and varnishing)! Just joking. Thank you Linda, Marieke, Marion, Elsa and the rest of the girls for your help, you know I couldn't have done it without you!
Enjoy the 1-week lifetime table that you just built, take some pictures and write about it on your blog!

That's all, I hope it's clear. Enjoy yourselves and remember working with bamboo is always fun!

(Lease usando la voz del barbas de Bricomania) Buenas familia, hoy vamos a construir una mesa de bambu de manera rapida y sencilla. Tan solo necesitais un punado de herramientas basicas y un poco de imaginacion. Venga amigos, vamos a por ello!

Baja hasta el bosque tropical del barrio y corta unas cuantas canas de bambu. Ten cuidado con los mosquitos, aranas y serpientes ya que pueden hacer tu dia de diversion un poco menos divertido!
De vuelta en el taller usa tu cuchillo/guadana Black&Decker 2000 para trocear las canas de bambu al tamano aproximado.
Tala, sierra y pule otros listones para fabricar el marco de nuestra mesa de bambu. Recuerda que no tienen porque se perfectos pero asegurate de disponer un minimo de cuatro patas (estudios recientes evidencian que la mesas de 3 patas no son capaces de sostener una sandia de tamano medio en mas del 67% de las ocasiones!).
Ensambla los anteriores elementos. Si todo ha ido sobre ruedas hasta el paso numero 3 esta tarea debe resultar sencilla. Si esto no fuera asi haz uso abusivo de la FUERZA!!!
Convence a tus amigos o a los mas pequenos de la casa para que te ayuden con las tareas mas sencillas. Pideles que corten listones para el tablero y que los barnicen pero ten cuidado de que no mueran intoxicados (los accidentes ocurren). A que es siempre divertido trabajar en familia!?
Por ultimo disfruta de tu mesa de bambu durante la semana que durara hasta que alguien la rompa. Recuerda sacar bien de fotos y escribir sobre ello a tus amigos pues de que sirve constuir una mesa si no puedes chulear sobre ello?!

Pues nada mas familia, nos vemos en el proximo BRICOMANIA Especial Bosque Tropical. A pasar buena semana... agur!

Gezellig World: Din Dang Natural Building Educational Centre, Thailand

2009-08-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

And now it's finally the time to reveal what I've been up to these busy weeks. As I've said repeatedly on this blog, I'm the kind of traveler that enjoys doing things rather than staring at them. Bearing that in mind during the planning of my trip I searched for projects where I could learn stuff that nobody teaches at school or at uni. One such initiative is Din Dang Natural Building Education Centre. The project -founded in 2007- is located in a small Thai village called Paksong in the area of Phato. It aims to promote ecological and traditional building techniques and it does in the most pragmatic way: by getting your hands dirty!

For three weeks I had the chance to share a wonderful time with Bow (the head of the project) his delightful family, and a bunch of volunteers from France, Holland and Thailand. We built stone walls, lay some clay, cut wood here and there, nailed this and that... but above all, we had a terrific time together!

Beyond the handworks, what I would like to highlight from projects like Din Dang is the opportunity to get soaked in the culture of a foreign country. Visiting a school, walking through the local market, observing carefully how simple things are done, watching the daily routine of the villagers, sharing a beer with them, tasting a fruit offered by a friendly monk, chatting about life, learning a new recipe... those kind of things are what make the different between a real traveler and a mere visitor. Here a modest advice from an aspirant to globetrotter: if you ever have the chance to take the next step, don't hesitate, you'll discover a new world that has been lying in front of your eyes all the time!

More info about Din Dang at http://www.dindangcom.page.tl/

Y por fin llego el momento de descrubir que demonios he estado haciendo estas ultimas semanas. Como ya he mencionado en varias ocasiones no soy el tipo de persona que se conforma con observar las cosas a su alrededor, siempre me gusta dar el siguiente paso. Por ello, antes de comenzar mi viaje recopile informacion sobre proyectos en los que pudiera aprender algo util, el tipo de cosas que no te ensenan en la escuela. Asi es como di a parar con el Centro Educativo En Construccion Natural Din Dang. Esta especie de campo de trabajo fue fundado en 2007 en la bella aldea de Paksong (region de Phato). Su objetivo primordial es promover tecnicas de construccion ecologicas y tradicionales de una manera practica.

Durante tres semanas tuve la oportunidad de convivir con Bow (organizador del campo), su acojedora familia y un grupo de voluntarios franceses, holandeses y tailandeses. Juntos construimos paredes de piedra (ahi queda mi homenaje a mi padre y a mi tia Esther que hicieron algo parecido no hace mucho tiempo atras... saludos!), mezclamos arcilla para la construccion, cortamos madera... en fin, un festival de la bricomania de andar por casa!

Sin embargo, lo que me gustaria destacar de proyectos como Din Dang es la oportunidad que ofrecen de empaparse en la cultura de un pais. Visitar una escuela, explorar un mercado local, observar con detenimiento como se hacen las cosas, aprender una receta nueva, charlar sobre las preocupaciones mundanas de las gentes del pueblo... ese tipo de cosas son las que marcan la diferencia entre un viajero y un viajante. Aqui va mi modesto consejo de trotamundos, si alguna vez teneis la oportunidad de dar el siguiente paso no dudeis, solo al darlo descubrireis el mundo que se esconde justo en frente de vuestros ojos.

Mas informacion sobre Din Dang en http://www.dindangcom.page.tl/

Pics'n'vids: Din Dang & Around

2009-08-16T02:21:00.000-07:00

Full Moon Island

2009-07-20T21:53:00.000-07:00

First of all I'd like to apologize for the long wait. At the moment I'm quite busy with a new project and I don't have to much time to blog. My return to Bangkok three weeks ago closed the Southeast Asian loop that drove me through the north of Thailand, Myanmar, Laos and Cambodia. I really enjoyed this stage of my journey but I'm not done yet.

60 hours after my arrival to the City of Angels I was on the road again. This time my travelmates -Carmen (26, Spanish), Jelle (23, Belgian)- and me were heading south to Kho Phangan. Phangan is a beautiful island in the the gulf of Siam home to the famous Full Moon Party. I must admit that the three of us had serious doubts about the whole party-island business. On the one hand we were excited about the legendary party but the sight of an endless caravan of beer-in-hand teens escorting our way to the island was quite discouraging. Too old for that?

We reckoned that the island should be big enough for everyone and consequently we searched for a quiet spot to become our base camp. Haad Yuan seemed perfect for the job: small, tranquil and at a stone's throw distance from Haad Rin (the party quarters). The favourable weather conditions of the first week elicited some of the most enjoyable days I've had in Thailand. Sun, sea and sand; need more? oh yes, the party. It did fulfill all my expectations which -as I said before- weren't high. Tons of people, countless bars offering buckets! buckets! buckets! and huge sound systems pouring a rather poor selection of house tunes. The most disgusting sight of the night award went to a couple of lovers making out meters away from a bunch of fellows taking a piss in the sea. All things considered I rate the party as fun but to be honest I prefer smaller ones.

The second half of my visit to the island turned out quite different. For one my good friends were forced to leave as they run out of time in the country. Moreover the weather got worse, overcast when not rainy. However there were some exciting moments too. I met Sandro (German, 26) who told me about the beauty of the northeastern shore that he had visited a few years earlier with his girlfriend. I convinced him to trek our way up despite the recommendations of the locals who discouraged the idea since hardly anyone hikes around this part of the island. Next morning we set off with our heavy rucksacks and a few liters of water. The first hour went fine, a dirty trail guided our steps. We arrived to a deserted beach, the kind of place you see in the movies. Then things got a little bit more difficult. The until then hardly visible trail extinguished and we had to navigate through the jungle based on the location of the ocean and a few landmarks that we found in our way. We worked our way breaking branches and climbing steep slopes (some 300+ m) using our bare hands. Finally we found a couple of farmers who pointed at a dirty path which should take us to a village. We reached the village just before dusk. That night we shared our bungalow with a tiny snake and the next morning we hiked and hitchhiked for 4 hours to reach Haad Sadet (our final destination) where we said goodbye.

I spent the rest of the week completing my tour around the island. Days of hitchhikes, snorkeling and delightful reading. After 4 days I realised that the bad weather was not going to change so I decided to leave the island. Once again a bitter end for a sweet time. No worries, my diversion will surely take me to more islands!

Pido disculpas por la larga espera, pero me encuentro inmerso en un nuevo proyecto que casi no me deja tiempo para escribir en el blog. Mi vuelta a Bangkok cerro el circuito alrededor del norte del sureste asiatico. Un tour genial pero insuficiente para calmar mis ansias de aventura. Apenas 60 horas despues de llegar a la Ciudad de los Angeles, mis companeros de viaje, Carmen y Jelle, y yo nos encontrabamos de camino al sur, a la isla de Phangan. Phangan es una preciosa isla en el golfo de Siam, famosa en el mundo entero gracias a su legendaria Fiesta de la Luna Llena. La caravana de adolescentes cerveza en mano que escoltaba nuestro autobus desperto nuestras dudas respecto a nuestro destino, demasiado viejos para esto? Una vez en la isla intentamos escapar la marabunta escondiendonos en Haad Yuan, una pequena y tranquila playa a tiro de piedra de Haad Rin (la playa donde se celebra la fiesta). El buen tiempo y la buena compania propiciaron algunos de los mejores dias que he pasado en Tailandia. Sol, mar y playa, quien necesita mas? Luego la fiesta. Estuvo bien, aunque demasiado masificada para mi gusto.

Tras la fiesta mis amigos tuvieron que abandonar la isla, pues se les acababa su tiempo en el pais. Este hecho junto al mal tiempo hizo que la segunda parte de mi visita fuese bastante diferente. Conoci a Sandro, un aleman que me hablo de la belleza de la costa noreste de la isla. Le convenci para explorar la costa a pie. A la manana siguiente y a pesar de las advertencias de los paisanos (que dudaban que fuese posible atravesar la costa a pie) salimos con nuestras pesadas mochilas, algunos litros de agua y disposicion a dormir en alguna playa si fuera necesario. Las primeras horas fueron bien pero tras un alto en el camino para disfrutar de una playa paradisiaca, la timida senda que guiaban nuestros pasos desaparecio bajo nuestros pies. De ahi en adelante nos guiabamos por la posicion del oceano y las rocas y arboles caracteristicos que encontrabamos a nuestro camino. Tras unas horas nos topamos con una pareja de granjeros que nos senalaron el camino a una pista forestal. Esta pista nos llevo hasta un pueblecillo donde pasamos la noche en un bulgalow acompanados por una pequena serpiente. A la manana siguiente salimos pronto y andando y haciendo dedo llegamos hasta nuestro destino. Alli nos congratulamos y despedimos. El resto de la semana la pase leyendo, buceando y esperando a que el tiempo mejorara. Tras 4 dias sin cambios decidi abandonar la isla. Un final un poco amargo para una historia dulce, pero no me preocupa demasiado pues estoy seguro de que pronto habra mas islas que visitar!

Pics'n'vids: Kho Phangan

2009-07-20T03:49:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Here, There and Beyond!

2009-07-18T05:09:00.000-07:00

Angkor Temples: They Don't Build Them Like This Anymore!

2009-07-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delay, but Internet is all but cheap in the remoteness of a Thai island. I've been wanting to bury the creepy entry about Pol Pot's murders for more than two weeks, it's time to show the bright side of Cambodia's history.

There was a time when Cambodia was the pretty girl of Southeast Asia, a glittering empire that arouse astonishment -as well as fear- amongst the neighbour nations. During those golden years the Khmer devarajas (good-kings) paid homage to the gods by building the greatest religious complex ever created in history: the Angkor temples.

One sunny morning almost one thousand years later a sweaty Spaniard (that would be me) broke through the vast compound on a rusty bicycle. Poor soul! the naive explorador had surely underestimated the area of the worship field. After more than 7 hours pedaling under an evil sun and only a couple of temples glanced the wannabe Indiana Jones cursed himself for not having done his homework before setting off that morning. Lesson learnt: always check the distances before leaving.

The next morning the sunburned fellow (that would be me again), Johanna (28, Portuguese) and Evo (27, German) teamed up to explore the temples emulating Lara Croft's Tomb Rider - except for the fact that she didn't use a tuk-tuk. The tour included a mere third of the total amount of temples, enough to get an idea of the grandeur of the place. The highlights of the day were: Massive tree growing on temple, Big stone heads drooling at the sight of ColaCao and last but not least: the ColaCao handstand in front of the legendary Angkor temple. Regarding the latter, I got the feeling that I had seen it somewhere before... but where?

In conclusion an unforgettable day at the temples in great company. Hopefully this entry will make justice to this beautiful country that everyone should visit at least once in their life.

Interesting things that I've learnt:

At the time that the temples were built, Angkor boasted a population of one million (200x the population of London).
The Khmers used wood for any other construction except for the temples. The gods deserved stone.
20 kilometers -that I covered by bike- from the temples there is a very interesting landmine museum where one can see and learn how landmines are dismantled.

Siento no haber posteado nada, pero la conexion a internet en las islas tailandesas es del todo menos barata. Voy a intentar borrar el mal sabor de boca que dejo mi anterior articulo sobre los asesinatos del regimen de Pol Pot con un resumen de mi visita a los templos de Angkor.

Estos templos representan -por mucho que digan- una de las siete maravillas del mundo. El complejo, el mayor parque religioso del mundo, incluye unos centenares de templos del los que solo pude dar cuenta de algunos. Para mas informacion sobre quien, cuando y por que fueron construidos os podeis dar un garbeo por este articulo de la wikipedia: Angkor. Mi visita, la cual comparti con Johanna y Evo (una pareja muy maja), se resume en tres imagenes: 1) Arbol gigante sobre templo gigante, 2) Cabezas gigantes a las que se les cae la baba ante mi bote de ColaCao y 3) Pino dos apoyos + ColaCao en frente del mitico templo de Angkor. Con dos h*evos! Pues nada mas, solo espero que estas fotos os animen a descubrir unos de los paises mas interesantes (por km cuadrado) del mundo.

Pics'n'vids: Angkor Temples

2009-07-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

Phonm Penh: The Dual Nature Of Mankind

2009-07-04T04:27:00.000-07:00

Eventually I got rid of my viral travelmate in Phonm Penh. The capital of Cambodia is a fairly developed mid-sized city with not many charms. Nonetheless visiting this city is a must for those who want to understand Cambodia and its terrible recent history.

The Khmer Rouge, a communist party led by dictator Pol Pot, devastated the country from 1975 to 1979 in what it is known as one of the most dramatic examples of tyrannical madness. Their social revolution described an agrarian-based society where individual propriety, thinking and even family ties were suppressed in favour of the new system. Thousands of people were forced to leave their cities and jobs to become farmers. The educated Cambodian (people who had higher studies, spoke a foreign language, or simply wore glasses!) were killed along with all their families. Children were separated from their families in order to undergo a brainwashing process that would set the principles of a new and 'better' life for them. Intellectuals were tortured and murdered in the most savage ways that can be imagined (think of the worst). Overall it is estimated that 1.5 million Cambodians (10% of the total population) died under the regime.

Nowadays one can perceive the tragic consequences of these years not only at the genocide museum or memorial but in every street. The lack of education can be noticed in everyday events such as tuk-tuk drivers violently elbowing each other to earn a tourist's dollar, hotel maintenance staff repairing an electric socket without taking any precautions and -above all- in the street children. There must be something wrong when a 7-year old has to make his living selling fake Lonely Planet guidebooks on the streets because his family can't afford PAYING for his school.

Given the levels of corruption of the current government, any hope for a better future in Cambodia relies on foreign aid. It must be difficult for a country that has witnessed the greatest atrocities to understand the passionate and selfless work of anonymous people. People like Chris, an American man that I met in Bangkok and who co-runs an orphanage in PP. There are others. People who build and teach at schools, educate adults, develop rural areas, provide health care... in conclusion people who prove wrong the evil nature of mankind that some Cambodians were forced to believe in during their childhood.

PS: In a recent message my friend Chris explained the financial problems that some organisations are facing due to the global economic crisis. I'm not going to ask you for money because I haven't donated anything myself but if you are interested in helping him in one or another way please let me know and I'll provide you his contact details.

Una vez recuperado completamente de mi pequeno incidente con la fiebre, me propupuse descubrir los encantos de Phonm Penh. La verdad es que la capital de Camboya no destaca por su belleza, sin embargo es un lugar interesante si se quiere entender a la sociedad camboyana. Entre 1975 y 1979, Camboya sufrio los delirios de un regimen comunista liderado por Pol Pot, sin duda uno de los mas cruentos e irracionales jamas concevidos. Los Khmer Rouge (como se les denomino) quisieron implantar un nuevo sistema basado en una sociedad 100% rural. La gente que vivia en las ciudades fueron obligados a emigrar al campo, dejando sus trabajos para convertirse en labradores. Toda persona con estudios o sospechosa de tenerlos (p.ej. todo individuo que usaba gafas) fue eliminado junto a su familia. Ninos fueron separados de sus familias para englosar las filas del ejercito. Intelectuales fueron torturados y ejecutados de la manera mas cruenta. Un autentico genocidio que acabo con la vida de millon y medio de camboyanos.

Hoy en dia se pueden peribir las consecuencias de esta locura en procesos mundanos del dia a dia. La falta de educacion propicia taxistas luchando violentamente por servir a un turista, electricistas que arreglan enchufes sin tomar precauciones, y los ninos de la calle, sobretodo ellos. Ninos que se ganan la vida vendiendo libros porque sus padres no pueden pagar la escuela (la educacion no es gratuita).

Dados los niveles de corrupcion del gobieron, toda esperanza para Camboya reside en la ayuda exterior. Hombres y mujeres como mi amigo Chris que dan el cayo en orfanatos, escuelas y hospitales. Me pregunto si los camboyanos podran entender su labor desinteresada, especialmente despues de haber conocido la sin razon humana.

Pics'n'vids: Phnom Penh

2009-07-04T04:01:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Phonm Penh's Central Market

2009-07-04T02:22:00.000-07:00

Those Blurry Days in Southern Laos

2009-06-25T01:31:00.000-07:00

I will always remember my overnight bus ride from Vientiane to Pakxe as the night that I slept with a monk. Yes, I shared my couchette with one servant of Buddha, not much of an adventure I must add. When I arrived to Pakxe I was exhausted. I first associated this to the 13-hour bus journey. Later I would understand that this wasn't the source of my tiredness. I slept a few hours, then I visited the local market with my new travel partners: Kathie (25, Chinese), Matilde, Ed and Patrick (23, 22, 25, all British).

The next day we followed our host's advice and took a bus to a nearby Tad Lane waterfall. Rewarding sight, however I kept feeling tired. That night I slept 13 hours in a row. Next day's fever confirmed my suspicions: I was sick. I don't know how it happened, perhaps the air-con in the bus, maybe some mosquito bite, who knows. For the next four days I had fever, over 39ºC sometimes! In spite of the well-known presence of malaria in the area I decided not to panic. I fed on soup and juices and soon I felt better. Nonetheless this didn't spare me one of the most difficult nights of my life. It comprised lots of sweating, uncountable visits to a pitch dark toilet and an endless succession of surreal dreams (did you ever wonder what the self-cross-convolution of a sleeping bag may look like? that night I found out). By the time I got better my visa was about to expire so I had to leave the country. A bitter goodbye for a sweet country.

PS: Some say I made it to the legendary 4000 islands in the Mekong river. To be honest I cannot tell, I just remember rain, lots of rain, and sweat, lots of sweat too.

Interesting things I've learnt in Laos:

Laos has been bomb more than any other country in Asia (that includes Vietnam)
Lao Beer is one of the best brews in the world.
Although both in Spain and Laos, students are taught that the World features 6 continents - Africa, America, Antarctica, Asia, Europe and Oceania (aka Australia) - in some other countries they consider North and South America separate continents.
How to lead climb and abseil.
How irresponsible some tourist can be.

Tras mi periplo por las embajadas y demas organismos en Vientiane, prosegui mi camino al sur en un autobus-litera que me llevo hasta Pakxe. Al llegar a Pakxe me note especialmente cansado, cosa logica por otra parte despues de 13 horas de viaje. Tras unas horas de descanso mis compañeros de viaje: Kathie (25, China), Matilde, Ed y Patrick (23, 22, 25, Britanicos) y yo visitamos el mercado local. Nada interesante. Al dia siguiente seguimos el consejo del dueño de nuestra pension y nos fuimos a un pueblo cercano a visitar una cascada. La visita merecio la pena, pero yo seguia cansado. La fiebre del dia siguiente confirmo mis sospechas, estaba enfermo. Tres o cuatro dias de fiebre, nada serio. Unos cuantos paracetamoles, descanso, sopas, zumos y sobretodo un cuerpo de 25 años de edad me sacaron adelante sin problemas, eso si, pase una noche bastante entrenida entre sueños y paranoyas varias. Para cuando me recupere mi visado me decia que debia abandonar Laos. Una despedida agria para una visita dulce!

Pics'n'vids: Southern Laos

2009-06-24T06:39:00.000-07:00

Bureaucrazy in Vientiane

2009-06-23T23:06:00.000-07:00

I was first introduced to the People's Democratic Republic of Laos in 1994. I remembered reading this funny word 'Laos' in some newspaper. The headlines announced the arrest of Luis Roldan in Vientiane. This infamous fellow -former chief of the Spanish Guardia Civil- had been on the run since the authorities had found firm evidence of major embezzlement. His 10 months of delicious baguettes and exotic cocktails came to an end a humid morning of January.

I traced the steps of this modern villano from Luang Prabang to Vientiane. It's hard to imagine a better place to get lost than Laos - especially if you hold a fake Argentinian passport as Mr. Roldan did. While it is true that any white person will stick out in the countryside, Vientiane itself is a decent sized urban salad where Western business men and diplomats mix up with locals.

There is not much to see in this capital. Actually, I wish I could've saved one or two days of my three days there. But I couldn't. Bureaucracy wouldn't allow me. My mission was relatively simple: extend my visa for one week and get a new tourist visa for Thailand. I arrived to the first checkpoint -the immigration office- on Day 1 at 11:26. As I stepped in the office three young ladies came out to inform me that the office was closed until 1pm. This chunk of information didn't quite match the 'opening hours' board standing right behind them where it was clearly stated that the office should be open until 12. No worries, I'm on holidays, I thought. When they came back I was forwarded to four different desks until I finally found the right form. Completed and signed I proceeded to the payment: $17 including a $3 out of nowhere service fee. Apparently stamping a paper is more complicated in Laos than anywhere else in the world and for that reason my passport had to sleep at the immigration office until next morning. I thought I had learnt the lesson on my first day so I woke up even earlier on Day 2. I bicycled to the immigration office and collected my visa. After that I went to the bank where I took 2 million kip out of an ATM (n.b. it's funny when I think of the meaning of this sentence in Dutch: I took 2 million chickens out of an ATM in Laos). I exchanged half of my chickens into US dollars, for I knew I was going to need them for the Thai visa. I arrived to the embassy by 10am, well in time. Here another surprise, the Thai embassy wouldn't issue Thai visas (why would they?), instead I had to apply at the Thai consulate. It took me almost two hours to find it. I arrived at 11:52, 8 minutes to closing time. My hope was gone, they wouldn't let me in. Indeed a guard canceled my first attempt. Somehow I managed to sneak in three minutes later. Aware of the unfriendliness of local bureaucrats I grabbed the first (sample) form that I saw and filled it in with shaky-sweaty letters. A merciful secretary accepted my application form at 12:02 and invited me to pay. This was my last challenge for the day. The Thai consulate wouldn't accept US dollars (why would they?), instead I had to race to the nearest bank to convert a handful of chickens into Thai currency.

I spent that afternoon recovering from the stress at a water park - not the most relaxing place some would think, but undoubtedly refreshing. Next morning I picked up my passport, everything in order, au revoir Vientiane!

La primera vez que oi hablar de Laos fue en 1994, en algun periodico. Para los que no lo recuerden fue en Laos donde se asedió al mas célebre profugo de la historia reciente de España: Luis Roldán. En realidad Luis Roldán se entregó a las autoridades en el aeropuerto de Bangkok tras 10 meses de fuga por, entre otros lugares, el norte de Laos. Aunque no esta del todo claro (hay quien piensa que Roldan nunca llegó a pisar suelo lao, siendo esta una version pactada con el entonces ministro de interior Juan Belloch) a mi me parecio interesante retrazar los pasos de este infausto personaje por suelo asiático. Por ello me propuse completar la primera mitad del tour: Luang Prabang - Vientiane - Bangkok - Carcel de Brieva (Ávila). Aparte de los restos de la cultura colonialista francesa (entiendase baguettes, croissants, 2CV y demas) no encontre nada interesante en la pequeña capital. Mis dias alli los pase de oficina en oficina y de embajada en embajada combatiendo la burocracia lao, la mas pesada que he conocido. Tras tres dias consegui lo que buscaba, extender mi visado una semana mas y un visado para Tailandia. Un bañito en un aquapark cercano, un granizado viendo el atardecer y listo para seguir mi camino.

Pics'n'vids: Vientiane

2009-06-22T02:12:00.000-07:00

Iñaki Completes His First 6B!

2009-06-18T00:47:00.000-07:00

I would like to dedicate this to my climbing instructors Pieter, Jonathan, Adam and Apple for their wise advice and especially to my mum and dad, who must be delighted to see their son hanging from a 28m high wall.

Geography Rocks!

2009-06-15T06:28:00.000-07:00

3 weeks, one more than expected. That's what I took me to complete my therapy against the amazement overdose. First of all I would like to thank those who sent me messages cheering up (e.g. Cry, David, Esti...), reading comments on the blog pays for the time spent at the internet cafes. I guess there must've been some sort of misunderstanding about the whole Willy Fog's disease thing. There was nothing to worry about, it was just a metaphor. It kinda makes me feel guilty that people working hard back in Europe thought that I was suffering while in reality I was enjoying myself in a very relaxing Lao town.

That said I will now unfold the key points of my successful plan. In case you missed it, the underlying goal was to feel like at home for a while. How do you do that when you're +20000 km away, in the middle of Laos? The first thing you need is a temporary home. I chose Vang Vieng, a mid-sized town halfway between Luang Prabang and Vientiane. I did this in spite of a terrible first impression which involves hordes of British teenagers who -literally- fly into the city to get drunk (or worse) day after day for a few weeks. Then, what made me stay? well, this:

Meters and meters of virgin limestone rock calling for anyone wanting to climb it. That's how I met Adam and Apple, my temporary family. These Lao brothers run a modest climbing school which is the main meeting point for any respected climber that makes it this far. After a couple of days climbing together I told Adam about my plan and he suggested that I could move in with them and help at the shop.

This takes me to the third point of my plan: doing something useful. At the climbing school I would learn all about the equipment and techniques. If there were clients I would join for the day, if there weren't I would train, read or cook among other crucial things.

However, working at the shop was never my primary objective when I decided to settle in Vang Vieng. Far from that my main interest was to help the guys at Phoudindaeng's youth centre. In contrast to children, teaching teenagers is something that I can conceive as a short-term activity. After spending some time with the teens I noticed that they lacked some basic knowledge of geography (one of my favorite school subjects). I thought that this could be useful for them if they were to work with foreigners in the future. Thus I put together a two week course on geography rich in games, challenges and interesting stories... (you know, the kind of cool things that only a teacher that climbs and drives a motorcycle would do, hahaha). Preparing and teaching the lessons would add to my list of daily duties which looked something like this:

8:00 am - Up for a bucket shower!
8:30 am - Breakfast with CNN at Phua's
9:00 am - Climbing (when possible) or working at the shop
3:00 pm - Preparing the lessons
6:00 pm - Teaching at the youth centre
8:00 pm - Cooking or dinning out
10:00 pm - Time for a beer (or a caterpillar whisky!)

I am satisfied with my work in Vang Vieng. My friends at the youth centre are now able to recall the biggest-smallest/most-least populated continents and countries in Southeast Asia - which makes me very proud. More importantly I've discovered that even the most incompetent lecturer can teach when there is someone who really wants to learn :). For this and for the rest of the things that I've done over the last weeks I feel that it's time to resume my trip. Be warned, Iñaki is back on the road!

PS: On my last day in Vang Vieng I decided to give a try to the river tubing that attracts those party animals. Done responsibly it's fun, otherwise it can be potentially mortal.

Al final mi tratamiento contra el Mal del Gran Viajero me ha llevado tres semanitas. Tres semanas intentando sentirme como en casa para restaurar mis ganas de aventura. Y como consigue uno sentirse como en casa a mas de 20000 km de distancia? Muy facil. En primer lugar hay que elegir un nuevo hogar. Yo elegi Vang Vieng, un pueblo de tamano medio entre Luang Prabang y Vientiane. Aunque mi primera impresion del lugar no fue precisamente buena (el pueblo es un nido de adolescentes britanicos que llegan con una sola cosa en mente: beber hasta perder la conciencia); los metros y metros de roca caliza que flanquean el pueblo conquistaron mi alma de escalador en ciernes. Y alli me dirigi en compania de Adam y Apple. Estos hermanos lao (<- gentilicio de Laos) atienden una pequena escuela de escalada referente para cualquier trepamuros que se acerque al lugar. Tras un par de dias escalando le comente al hermano mayor que andaba buscando un lugar para asentarme una temporada. Adam me propuso trabajar en la tienda de escalada con ellos. Yo acepte la oferta gustosamente. Desde entonces la tienda se convirtio en mi campo base. Si se daba la oportunidad acompanaba a algun cliente a las rocas; sino, mataba el tiempo entrenando, leyendo, cocinando... entre otras muchas cosas utiles.

Aunque todo esto estaba muy guay, lo que realmente me movio a quedarme en Vang Vieng fue la gente que habia conocido semanas antes en el Centro para Jovenes de Phoudindaeng. Mi intencion era colaborar con ellos por un tiempo. Hable con los responsables y les comente que no queria implicarme con ninos (ya que eso requiere un trabajo continuo durante muchos meses); sin embargo, se me ocurrio una forma de ayudar a estos adolescentes. Durante mis primeras visitas note que algunos de estos jovenes carecian de conocimientos basicos de geografia. Pense que si su futuro esta ligado a trabajar con extrangeros, proveerles de dichos conocimientos podria serles util. Y asi es como me decidi a impartir un breve curso de geografia basica. Con la ayuda de internet desempolve mis conocimientos de geografia y prepare un programa rico en juegos e historietas. Todas las tardes, a eso de las 6 cogia la moto de mi amigo Apple y recorria los 4 km hasta el pequeno pueblo donde se encontraba el aula.

He de reconocer que estoy mas que satisfecho con la experiencia. Los chavales han aprendido algo (son capaces de mentar los continentes y paises mas/menos grandes y/o poblados); y yo he aprendido que hasta el mas incompetente de los profesores puede ensenar cuando hay gente dispuesta a aprender. Por todo esto y por el resto de cosas que aprendi en Vang Vieng creo que ya estoy en disposicion de continuar mi travesia. Iñaki vuelve a la carretera! o

PS: En mi ultimo dia en el pueblo decidi unirme a la marabunta de borrachos que se tiran rio abajo saltando y tirandose desde casi cualquier cosa. Hecho de manera responsable es divertido, de cualquier otra manera es potencialmente mortal.

Pics'n'vids: Vang Vieng

2009-06-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

Why You Shouldn't Drink Before Taking A Swing

2009-06-13T08:51:00.000-07:00


Sober	Drunk

Gezellig World: Phoudindaeng's Youth Centre, Laos

2009-06-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

The preventive treatment against the Willy Fog's disease is probing its efficiency. My days in Vang Vieng fly by as my morale keeps climbing steadily. However today I wont talk about my miraculous cure. Instead I will add a new entry to the Gezellig World section of this blog.

Last week during a visit to one of the many lagoons near this town I met a big group of local teenagers. Apart from their great courage (some of them were jumping into the water from +10 m high branches) what surprised me the most was the fluency of their English. Even though tourism is spreading rapidly in the area, most locals still struggle with the foreign languages. A closer look to the group revealed two young western girls who seemed to be their teachers. A short talk with Rachel (27, Canadian) confirmed my guess.

The group of boys and girls were members of a youth centre located in Phoudindaeng, a charming village 3 km north of Vang Vieng. Established in 2002, Phoudindaeng's youth centre offers a wide range of activities that include - among others - English courses, guitar and dance lessons, social studies and a sewing club. The centre was born as a brother project of the village's organic farm. In 2007, the Korean NGO AVAN (Asian Volunteer Action Network) included the centre within their 'Equal Education For All' progamme. With their support, locals and foreign volunteers built several clay huts that house the centre's library, classroom and computer room. Since then the centre has been sustained by short and long-term volunteers that collaborate with Lao staff.

As I will explain in future posts, I had the chance to see the good labour of these teams in first person. Local children and teenagers have found a place where they can play and learn while they develop a sense of community. This doesn't not only grant them a better future in a region where speaking English can make a big difference, but it also reinforces the links between the families - mostly farmers - who live in Phoudindaeng.

Although it is expected that the centre will be autonomous (i.e. able to run without direct intervention of AVAN) by 2010, foreign travelers are always welcome to share their time and skills. The good results and the rewarding smiles of the students make the visit one of the most worthwhile experiences that one can find Laos. More info here!

Mi tratamiento preventivo contral el mal de Willy Fog va dando resultados, moral alta y subiendo y can ganas de volver a la carretera. Sin embargo hoy no os voy a hablar de esta cura milagrosa sino del Club Juvenil de Phoudindaeng, el segundo proyecto solidario para la seccion Gezellig World. La semana pasada durante una visita a una laguna cercana conoci a Rachel, una voluntaria canadiense que daba clases de ingles en este centro para jovenes de la zona. El centro es una iniciativa de los fundadores de la granja organica de Phoudindaeng. Con el soporte de la ONG coreana AVAN (Red de Voluntarios Asiaticos en Accion) jovenes voluntarios extrangeros y locales contriyeron las chozas de arcilla que albergan el aula, la bliblioteca y la sala de ordenadores del centro. Desde que fue construido el centro se sustenta de voluntarios extrangeros y autoctonos que imparten clases de ingles, guitarra, baile, costura... De esta manera los jovenes locales han encontrado un lugar de reunion, aprendizaje y divertimento donde ademas se estimula un sentido de desarrollo en comunidad, muy imporante en este entorno. Como explicare en futuros articulos, tuve la oportunidad de presenciar el buen trabajo de estos equipos mixtos en primera persona. Aunque esta previsto que el centro sea autonomo (independiente de la ayuda de la ONG Coreana) desde el ano que viene, transeuntes y voluntarios extrangeros seran siempre bievenidos. Yo os puedo garantaizar que la experiencia merece la pena! Mas informacion (en Ingles) aqui!

Reclame

2009-06-10T08:49:00.000-07:00

Northern Laos: Early Symtoms of the Willy Fog's Disease

2009-05-30T23:33:00.000-07:00

No, not dead yet. Once again I would like to apologize to my loyal followers for this 13-day disruption but there is a good reason for it as I will explain later.

During the last weeks I've continued my course across the infamous Golden Triangle. After my short visit to Myanmar I re-entered Thailand just for a few hours before proceeding to Laos. Accompanied by Jane (19, English) I crossed the Mekong river and paid the $35 that would grant me a tourist visa. 35 minutes later our bus to Luang Nam Tha crashed into a cow (R.I.P.). The driver got off, picked the broken pieces of the right indicator, shook off his hands and started the engine again. Welcome to Laos.

The incident with that poor beast (I mean the driver) is pretty much the only exciting event that I can recall from the last two weeks. How's is that possible in one of the most interesting destinations in the entire world? - some may wonder. Well my guess is that I'm suffering the early symptoms of one of the most common diseases among long-term travelers: Amazement Overdose.

The Amazement Overdose (also known as Willy Fog's Disease) stands for the difficulties that some globetrotters experience to perceive the actual degree of coolness of the places that they visit. In most cases the AO is the result of a prolonged exposure to a large set of adrenaline-bursting once-in-a-lifetime experiences. There is no medical treatment for it and even though it is not potentially dangerous for the traveler's life it makes the whole traveling experience a lot less worthwhile.

Aware of the problem I've drawn a list of measures that I'm putting in practice right away:

Iñaki's Plan to Overcome the Amazement Overdose

1. Find a nice place to settle for a while

1.1. It must be cheap
1.2. It must be small and close to nature
1.3. It must offer interesting things to do

2. Hang out with the same people for a while
2.1. Try to remember their names and make them remember yours
2.2. Try to learn a little bit about them
2.3. Try to learn a little bit of their language (if possible)

3. Do something useful
3.1. At the end of the day I should be able to mention one useful thing that I've done

4. Eat and sleep well
4.1. Never skip meals or hours of sleep
4.2. If possible cook, eat (and sleep) in company (hahaha, good luck with that!)

I've already sorted out the most critical aspects of this master plan. Now it's time to put it in practice. I estimate that if everything goes well I should be completely recovered and able to continue with my trip in a couple of weeks (I won't leave until my morale rises above 90). However if it goes too well I might end up stuck in Laos for longer than I thought :)!

To be continued...

PS: I'm so glad that this post gave me the opportunity to honour Sir William Fog. I grew up with these cartoons and they might be the reason why I'm here today. For those who want to know more about Mr. Fog and his friends here you have some info.

Durante las dos ultimas semanas he continuado mi periplo por el infame Triangulo de Oro. Tras mi visita a Birmania retorne a Tailandia por unas horas antes de volver a cruzar el rio Mekong para entrar en Laos. Laos es un pequeno pais en medio del subcontinente sudasiatico con una vegetacion abrumadora y pueblos legendarios. A pesar de esto, durante los 13 ultimos dias he intentado recapitular eventos interesante sobre los que escribir en el blog y no he encontrado ninguno (bueno, tal vez pueda comentar el pequeno incidente entre mi autobus y una pobre vaca que acabo con esta ultima hecha filetes antes de tiempo). La unica explicacion que se me ocurre para esta falta de interes es que tal vez este sufriendo los primeros sintomas del Mal del Gran Viajero al cual he bautizado como el Sindrome Willy Fog.
El Sindrome Willy Fog se define como la insensibilidad que algunos viajeros de largo recorrido presentan ante la continua sucesion de actividades, eventos y paisajes que en cualquier otro contexto serian imborrables en su memorial pero que al confrontarse uno tras otro acaban generando una falsa sensacion de normalidad. Que quiero decir con esto? pues bien, por ejemplo aqui en Laos me he topado con unos paisajes de montana/selva arbolada que gozarian de mi mas alto reconocimiento si no fuera porque hace apenas dos meses estaba surcando los Himalayas. Esto, aunque no es peligroso en si, hace la experiencia de viajar menos provechosa e interesante. Siendo consciente del problema antes de salir de Vitoria, he trazado un plan que me devolvera la capacidad de asombro para seguir con mi viaje. Basicamente se trata de establecerme en un pueblo/ciudad y tomar una rutina diaria durante algunas semanas. Si es posible tratare de hacer algo util e interesante que me haga sentir como en casa antes de volver a lanzarme a la carretera. Si todo va bien un par de semanas deberian bastar, si todo va DEMASIADO bien tal vez acabe atascado en Laos por mas tiempo de lo que pensaba! Continuara...

Pics'n'vids: Northern Laos

2009-05-30T02:26:00.000-07:00

Sweet & Sour Myanmar

2009-05-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

When my friend Linda mentioned Myanmar a few months ago a big question mark popped above my head. Further chatting enabled my to conclude that she had to be talking about Burma (Birmania, in Spanish). The ? shrank but didn't vanish. Who'd have told me then that a few months later I would get the chance to visit legendary Birmania and its great peoples.

For those who - like me then - know little or nothing about Myanmar (or Burma) here it goes a few facts and figures: An estimated population of approx. 56 million Burmese live sandwiched between northeast India, China and Thailand. After subsequent Chinese, Siamese, British and Japanese domination, the country is now ruled by a bunch of scrupleless thieves disguised as pseudo-communists. These insatiable government persists thanks to the interested support of next door's India and China - who suck the natural gas, wheat and teak wood supplies - along with the ostracism of the international community.

Despite most travelers avoid the visit to Myanmar (for the government co-owns most of the tourist-oriented businesses), I'm glad that I did it for a few days. I will skip the fascinating tribe peoples whose description of an average alien comprises a young man carrying a pot of Cola Cao. I will also omit the thrill of being the only foreigner in the entire town (even province I think) for a few days. What I will talk about today is the story of Mr. Yun, my trekking guide in Kengtung and one of the most inspiring persons that I've ever met.

This is the story of a smart man in a country where only smart men get one - in the best case - opportunity to make a good honest living. Mr. Yun (note that this isn't his real name) was born some thirty years ago in a rather poor Shan family. At a young age his understanding teacher would allow him to skip a few hours of school in order to make some money working at a video shop. In addition, every afternoon the young Yun would work as a waiter at a local restaurant frequented by the few foreigners who stumbled here on their way to China. During these years Yun had the best possible language teachers: well-trained instructors who taught him the officially-imposed Burmese at school, Thai tourist and businessmen loyal to the restaurant who would speak only in Thai to him, and finally Bruce Willis' and Sylvester Stallone's voices sounding cracked in those old VHS tapes. And in this our hero reached his 20s, a time when almost every man (and woman) feels the need to expand his boundaries. One of the regular Thai tourists offered help on the other side of the border, which our friend would cross with a fake Chinese passport, no more clothes that those he wore and 60$ in his pocket (that Thai officials reduced to 3$ soon). Once in Thailand Mr. Yun's friend would ask him what he wanted to do next, to what he answered that he's dream was to see the ocean. That he achieved days later. What next? the friend asked. Yun said that he wanted to find a job. And that's how this brave man approached his first job interview. 32 applicants for a position as a waiter in a Thai-American restaurant and only one without a Thai ID card (actually his fake Chinese passport had already expired). It is in this occasions when only smart men can take the next step. While the rest of the candidates waited for their interview, Mr. Yun stood up, entered the kitchen and started bringing plates to the tourist waiting at the tables - after all he knew how to do that. That night Mr. Yun learnt that 'French fries' had little to do with Frenchmen bathing in a fryer. The American owner noticed that the young boy was able to communicate with the foreign customers in English, after what he called him to his room. How many languages do you speak? he asked. Four! Thai, Chinese, English and Burmese. Although the young Yun omitted Shan, it was clear to the manager that Yun was an illegal immigrant. In spite of this he gave him the job. For a few months Mr. Yun worked at the restaurant, where foreigners who enjoyed his company would pay him dinners and beers thanks to which his English got almost perfect. One day and due to some economic problems the restaurant closed. It was then when Mr. Yun experienced the drama of a disheartening majority of Burmese emigrants. Peoples who populate the night markets of the big touristic cities selling everything (this includes their bodies when it comes to young girls) to earn just enough money to pay their 'bosses'. Once again our smart friend would reveal against his doom. He crossed one of the many clandestine bamboo bridges over the Mekong river to sneak in his own country! Back in Burma his knowledge of languages granted him a job helping Benny, the one and only trekking guide in the Shan state. With Benny he learned everything about the business, from dealing with foreigners and corrupt officers to the culture and language of the local hill tribes (currently he speaks 10 different languages). Those were the good days. Unfortunately good days don't last long in this country. An infamous expedition to some remote area of the country ended up with Benny dying from Malaria in dark cell of a Burmese jail [...]. For some reason the amount of tourist dropped dramatically to reach the miserable numbers that they represent nowadays. And although there is no happy ending for this story, Mr. Yun proved his condition of smart man once again by recycling himself into an improvised English teacher, which allows him to bring food to the table around which his two children sit and eat every day.

Without a doubt meeting such a person has been one of the most educative experiences of my life. I was aware of the difficult situations that immigrants have to face when, for example, they arrive to Europe after crossing the sea from Africa; but now I can put a face and give a name to those tired men that we see on the news almost every day. The most annoying thing is that - in contrast with African emigrants - Burmese people come from a country rich in resources where almost anything could grow anywhere. Then one can only blame one of the greediest and meanest governments on Earth for this. I know we cannot do much but being aware of the problem and spreading the word could be the first step towards a better future for the sweet people of Myanmar. If you want to know more please visit http://helpmyanmar.wordpress.com and if you ever get the chance to meet Mr. Yun ask me for contact details.

Interesting things I've learnt:

The Shan people represent up to 9% of the Burmese population. Most of them live in the Shan state (east-most province of the country) and speak Shan. Needless to say that the Burmese government would ignore and even ban any sign of Shan culture.
A '84 Hyunday Accord cost whooping $23000 in 1999 (twice as much as brand-new). In 2003 the government closed the roads of the Shan state and expropriated every car in the province. The good cars would be used or sold by members of the government, the rest would be abandoned (locked) until the rain dissolves them.
The approximate prize of a mobile phone in Myanmar is $40 (more or less the same as in Europe). However the license to use it rounds the $2300 (bought to an officer in the black market). This is cheap if compared with the $2800 that one must pay to purchase a land line.
When operating, a flight ticket from Kengtung to Yangoon costs around $80 to a foreigner. The same ticket would cost $150 to a Burmese citizen!
Eng tribes chew a mix of tobacco and leaves in order to blacken their teeth. White teeth are rejected as they are characteristic of dogs, said to be dumb and lazy.
Akha tribe-peoples accept and practice polygamy. Moreover an Akha couple will not marry until the upcoming husband has granted a child in his future wife's abdomen.
The characteristic Akha hats can be worth up to $2000. Each silver coin (often from th French or British empires) is worth around 100$!

Cuando mi amiga Linda menciono Birmana hace un tiempo poco me hacia pensar que meses mas tarde tendria la oportunidad de visitar dicho pais por mi mismo. Aunque la mayoria de turistas evitan su visita en apoyo al boicot internacional al que el gobierno (dueno de la mayoria de servicios orientados a los turistas) esta sometido, me alegro de haber pasado unos dias alli. Ha sido una experiencia muy instructiva, pues no solo he conocido inospitas tribus Akha y Eng personalmente, sino que ademas he aprendido mucho sobre el significado de la palabra ingusticia. Ingusticia politica, la que ejerce una gobierno de ladrones disfrazados de pseudo-comunistas. Ladrones sin escrupulos que se perpetuan en el tiempo gracias al apoyo incondicional de, entre otros, China e India (socios-chupocteros adictos a las reservas nacionales de gas natual, trigo y madera) y el ostracismo internacional. Esto condena a los casi 56 millones de birmanos a una vida de penurias e ingusticias, especialmente aquellos ciudadanos de segunda provenientes de familias Shan o de las tribus de las montanas.

Ilustrare esto con las historia personal del Sr. Yun, mi guia por las montanas de Kengtung. Yun nacio hace mas de treinta anos en el seno de una famila Shan. A temprana edad sus profesores le permitieron saltarse algunas clases para trabajar en un viejo videoclub, donde aprendia ingles gracias a las peliculas americanas. Todas las tardes tras la escuela, el joven Yun trabajaba en un restaurante local frecuentado por turistas y hombres de negocios tailandeses que paraban en la ciudad de camino a China. Como tipo listo que es, Yun aprovecho esas largas tardes para aprender el idioma Tailandes gracias a los turistas. Llegados sus 20 anos y visto el crudo panorama del pais Yun decidio probar suerte en la vecina Tailandia. Ayudado por uno de los turistas Tailandeses, Yun cruzo la frontera con un pasaporte falso, la ropa que llevaba puesta y 60 dolares que se reducirian a 3 horas despues de entrar a Tailandia (gracias a la inestimable ayuda de unos policias Tailandeses). El sueno de Yun era ver el oceano, el cual se hizo realidad gracias a su amigo Tailandes. Tras esto Yun se presento a una entrevista de trabajo. 32 aspirantes para un puesto de camarero y uno solo sin carnet de identidad Tailandes, adivinad de quien se trataba. Como hombre inteligente que es, Yun se adelanto a sus competidores. Mientras estos esperaban su turno para la entrevista Yun se puso el mandil y empezo a sacar platos de la cocina. Cuando el dueno del restaurante vio que Yun no solo era capaz de servir mesas sino que ademas podia comunicarse en ingles con los turistas, no dudo en darle el trabajo. Esos fueron unos meses felices para Yun, trabajando y haciendo amigos turistas que le pagaban cenas y cervezas durante las cuales mejoraria su ingles. Meses despues el bar cerro. Fue entonces cuando Yun encontro con el drama de los emigrantes Birmanos en Tailandia. Hombres y mujeres que pueblan los mercados nocuturnos vendiendo de todo (lo que incluye su cuerpo cuando se trata de chicas jovenes) para malvivir a la sombra de las mafias. Una vez mas Yun se revelo contra su destino. Se colo de vuelta en su propia patria a traves de uno de los numerosos puentes de bambu sobre el rio Mekong. De vuelta en casa, su dominio de los idiomas (Chino, Tailandes, Birmano, Shan e Ingles) le garantizo un trabajo junto a Benny, el unico y legendario guia turistico en la zona. Durante esos anos Yun aprendio todo sobre el negocio, desde como tratar a los turistas y oficiales corruptos hasta aprender las costumbres e idiomas de las tribus a las que visitaban (hoy en dia habla casi 10 idiomas en total). Anos despues Benny moriria en extranas circunstancias (lease problemas con el gobierno). Desde entonces el numero de turistas ha caido extrepitosamente hasta situarse en una cifra ridicula (durante la mayoria de mis dias en Kengtung fue oficialmente el unico extrangero en la ciudad). Aunque no hay final feliz, nuestro amigo Yun volveria a dar un ejemplo de supervivencia reciclandose a si mismo en un profesor de Ingles, lo cual le permite llevar pan a la mesa donde sus dos hijos comen a diario.

Sin duda alguna conocer al Sr. Yun (nombre falso, por cierto) ha sido una de las experiencias mas instructivas de mi vida. Ya conocia el drama de la emigracion pero ahora puedo poner nombre y cara a los hombres que cruzan el estrecho de Gibraltar. Lo mas triste de todo es que, a diferencia de estos, los emigrates Birmanos provienen de un pais rico en recursos naturales, donde casi cualquier semilla puede germinar y crecer en casi cualquier lugar. Entonces uno solo puede culpar a uno de los gobiernos mas crueles e insaciables del planeta por esta injusticia. Ser conscientes de esto es lo minimo que podemos y debemos hacer como primer paso hacia un futuro mejor para las buenas gentes de Birmania. Que corra la voz.

Pics'n'vids: Myanmar

2009-05-17T20:43:00.000-07:00

Pic of the Week: Welcome to the Rainy Season

2009-05-17T20:19:00.000-07:00