There are few things more annoying to me whilst on the road than a bad dinner, especially one where you feel you’ve overpaid for. It always seems like a good idea at the time, trundling along the cold street, with the evening wind picking up, churning up dust and debris from the ground and whipping it past your face. Pulling your jacket higher, in a vain attempt to keep out the cold, you see it.
Just round the corner, with an audible buzzing of the neon sign, like a miniature hive of bees.
A warm orange glow emanating from within, a promise of warmth and sustenance.
The clues were there from the beginning, the many empty tables and the bored looking waiters, the menu board outside, proclaiming the offerings in a multitude of languages, surely a tempting sight for many a gringo.
But the warmth! Oh! The warmth!
Like the proverbial moth to a flame, we drifted nearer, taking a peek inside. A voice sounds out from the side, we had not even noticed him, with an alpaca poncho, he was standing on the street, hustling for customers.
“Trout! Straight from the lake to your plate!”, he offered, in Spanish.
“Come in!”
The wind picked up just that bit more, an icy whip lashing at us.
He opened the door a little, and a brief cloud of warmth drifted out.
We took another look down the street, the glow of a few other restaurants further down the street looked ever further away, with a sea of black and cold separating us, we turned to him, and nodded.
And that was pretty much it.
I left my job as an advertising Creative Director in August 2012 to travel Africa and South America for a year with my wife, documenting these beautiful places with my Fuji X-Pro1. View the rest of my RTW adventures on Handcarry Only and follow me on my journey by subscribing/following/bookmarking.
Gorgeous architecture and bright colours are the hallmark of Valparaíso
Kent, the owner of Hostal Mariposas, where we spent restful nights, sharing insider tips of the hostel business
A vague smell of the sea (ok, rotting fish) and the less ambiguous stench of dog excrement greeted us as we stepped out from the bus station, wobbling under the weight of our bags, which were hanging off us like awkward stumps off a tree. The temperature was cooler than Santiago from whence we came and I saw a couple of seagulls in the sky overhead.
We had arrived in Valparaíso, Chile.
Read more
I’m terribly pleased to announce that Handcarry Only is now a contributor to CNN Travel, arguably one of the web’s leading authorities on travel and leisure. But mostly, I’m just chuffed that Handcarry Only gets to be seen by even more people around the world.
A few months ago, as part of my African adventure, I ventured in the fabled Okavango Delta in Botswana in a creaky wooden dugout canoe, ploughing through the seemingly never ending sea of reeds and spotting some hippos (which are a lot more dangerous than their somewhat friendly appearances might betray!) along the way. It was definitely one off the bucket list for me and an unforgettable experience.
Read the rest of my Okavango writeup on CNN Travel.
The makoro, or traditional wooden dugout canoe glides silently across the water in the Okavango Delta
A poler pilots the makoro, with a cargo of tourists. The tourist dollar is an important source of revenue for the locals.
Apart from occasionally getting whipped in the face by the reeds, it was a most relaxing way to travel.
The polers of the Okavango Delta
Check out the other posts and photos from my time in Africa
I left my job as an advertising Creative Director in August 2012 to travel Africa and South America for a year with my wife, documenting these beautiful places with my Fuji X-Pro1. View the rest of my RTW adventures on Handcarry Only and follow me on my journey by subscribing/following/bookmarking.
The most strenuous activity might be getting in and out of the hammocks
A stream with crystal clear glacial water provided the soundtrack for the idyll afternoons
The late afternoon sun peeked through the leaves on the walnut tree, flickering as the breeze swayed my hammock ever so slightly from side to side. I had been in this same position for the past two hours… or was it three? In any case, time seemed of little consequence as I looked around, a similarly tranquilo scene was played out all around me. A couple was lazing in the sun next to the stream, watching the butterflies as they flitted from one lavender bush to the next. Another girl was on a swing in the far corner of the garden, and judging from the glee in her eyes, quite possibly the first time in many years she has been on one.
We were in El Bolsón, in Patagonian Argentina.
I hadn’t heard of El Bolsón until I was researching the route to take from El Chaltén to Bariloche in Argentina. A small hippy town two hours south of Bariloche, the centre of the Argentinian lake district, El Bolsón sways to a distinctly different vibe. Whilst Bariloche is busy and somewhat upmarket, a ski resort town with a Swiss-styled architecture, El Bolsón is the counter-culture capital of Argentina. A haven for hippies in the 60’s and 70’s, who settled in the town and declared it a non nuclear zone and an ‘ecological municipality’. Nestled in the valley between two mountain ranges, it has its own unique micro climate, suited for the cultivation of cherries, raspberries, boysenberries, apples, and hops, which goes into the production of artisanal beer, for which the region is famous.
We were staying at La Casona de Odile, a little sanctuary for those who preferred things a little slower. Situated about five kilometres from town, it was accessible only by a dusty track on which a private bus plied once every hour, with a break during midday for siesta. A curious assortment of travellers were gathered there during our nine day stay, a Belgian toymaker, a Luxembourger carpenter, a South African yoga instructor, a television producer from Buenos Aires, a French-Palestinian lawyer, a pair of French doctors and a few other battle hardened travellers who preferred to keep to themselves.
Evening conversations spanned anything from trading travel tips for various parts of South and Central America, to politics and philosophy and stories of home. Such is the camaraderie between long term travellers, unusually open as there was no fear of judgement and no emotional baggage to carry. Secrets flowed with travel tips across the dinner table, all washed down with a generous serving of the local brew.
La Casona de Odile, barely visible amidst the lavender bushes
A portrait of rural idyll
The late afternoon sun on Mount Piltriquitrón
An afternoon mate, the ubiquitous Argentinian beverage
Enrique and Pablo, childhood friends living in different continents, but reunited again in El Bolsón
A rather common sight during our stay in El Bolsón
I left my job as an advertising Creative Director in August 2012 to travel Africa and South America for a year with my wife, documenting these beautiful places with my Fuji X-Pro1. View the rest of my RTW adventures on Handcarry Only and follow me on my journey by subscribing/following/bookmarking.
The majestic Cerro Fitz Roy, with the turquoise glacial Laguna de los tres in front
At the very first mirador (viewpoint) of the hike
A fine shroud of dust hung in the air in front of me, drifting slowing to one side and catching the late morning sun in its ethereal cloud. The trees on either side of the path were absolutely still, with nary a hint of breeze in the air, which was still cool from the night. Trudging ahead on the path, not quite certain if we were headed in the right direction, I stopped to admire the view and tranquility. Surely this had to be the right path, it did fork about half an hour ago but the other path seemed so unlikely, it did not look like it had had much traffic recently, with some of the undergrowth starting to creep towards the centre of the dirt track.
We had to be on the right track.
With 2 hours of walking behind us, and another 2 more before we reached our goal of Laguna de los tres, at the foot of Cerro Fitz Roy. Apart from a couple of hikers heaving massive backpacks headed the other way, we had not encountered anyone else on the hike so far. They must have been returning from an overnight stay at a refugio somewhere ahead. The coolness of the air betrayed the heat that would come later on, in any case, I was not complaining, according to the park rangers, we were fantastically lucky with the weather, it could just as easily have been raining or Cerro Fitz Roy could have been blanketed with cloud, as the name Chaltén, or ‘smoking mountain’ implied. But for the moment, the skies were all clear and Fitz Roy beckoned.
We forged on.
Read more
The blue lakes and rivers break up the landscape dominated by brown
The magnificent Perito Moreno glacier is one of very few glaciers in the world that are still advancing
The view outside of the aircraft window on the flight from Buenos Aires down to El Calafate was dominated by a rather barren landscape, mostly brown and dry, punctuated by the occasional lake, gleaming like a blue gem on a brown tablecloth. Largely an arid semi-desert steppe, most of Argentinian Patagonia is sparsely populated, with settlements in and around the lakes and rivers for obvious reasons. After six weeks in Buenos Aires, it was time to leave the civilisation behind and head south to the land of myth and legend, of giants and impassable mountains, Patagonia held more than just a little fascination for me.
The southern town of El Calafate is the gateway to the fabled Perito Moreno glacier, one of the very few glaciers in the world that are still advancing and a true wonder of nature. Perhaps the most spectacular natural phenomenon I have ever seen, the flowing wall of ice down from the mountains and the haunting blue hue of the glacier seemed almost like an impossibility, a party trick of nature. Even more spectacular are the thunderous cracks that regularly interrupt the icy silence, of enormous chunks and walls of ice calving from the glacier, and splashing into the waters of Lago Argentino.
Trekking on the glacial ice with crampons strapped to our boots was a somewhat surreal experience. Crunching along on the ice and trying to keep our balance, the surface of the ice was interlaced with streams of running water as the ice melted, and drained into various sinkholes, all forbidding and magnificently alluring at the same time, a womb of blue, decending into the unseen depths below. Our guides were vigilant in keeping us, awestruck and gawking, from falling in.
The vast river of ice of the Perito Moreno glacier slowly slides down from its birthplace in the mountains
Calved from the glacier, huge ghostly blue icebergs float in Lago Argentino
Read more
