The Driest Place on Earth

We arrived at Calama Airport in northern Chile on a beautiful evening and were driven across the Atacama Desert to San Pedro, a small village which is growing thanks to the influx of tourists since it was connected by a tarred road for the first time a few years ago.

The desert is apparently the driest place on earth with around an inch of rain a year and some areas often record zero humidity.  It is mining country with the world's largest open-cast copper mine near to Calama and of course the now famous site of this years mining rescue a few hundred kms to the south.


Moon Valley just before sunset

The geology is extraordinary.  The desert has been created in a basin formed between the surrounding  mountain ranges and volcanos which have been pushed up as a result of the fault that runs all along Chile's coast. The mountains take what little rain and snow there is and the water has evaporated from the basin leaving the world's third largest salt flat. San Pedro sits in an Oasis in the middle as a result of underground water draining from the mountains so it has water and vegetation. For a dry town it has its fair share of bars too!
So far we have been on a tour of the salt flats and seen the flamingos that live in the protected area and visited the lakes that have been created by volcanic activity at over 4200m above sea level - the highest we have ever been. We have also visited Death Valley and Moon Valley which lie within a mountain range created entirely from salt. We explored a cave, learned about the rock formations and watched the sun set over the Arizona style landscape.

Flamingos on the Atacama salt flats

The human history of the area is also fascinating and the local museum charts human development here over 11,000 years through the archaeological finds that have been made in the area. The dryness preserves things superbly (including human bodies, which alas are no longer on show).  We went to two of the main local ruins and heard about the development of the Andean culture, the peaceful conquest by the Incas in the 15th century and the rather more bloody arrival of the Spanish a century later.

It is here in San Pedro that we are seeing out the old year. 2010 has been good to us - especially for the chance we have had to see some more of the world. In the last four weeks of 2010 we have seen Rio, Buenos Aires, the huge falls at Iguazu, glaciers, volcanos, lakes, forests and had the unforgettable experience of Torres del Paine.

We hope for an even better 2011 and wish everyone reading this a happy and prosperous new year.

Volcanic Activity

Leaving the Baobab Hotel behind we drove the truck northwards along bumpy dirt roads and through dense forests with occasional views of lakes shimmering in the sunshine. In the course of the first hour we saw just one other motor vehicle and a couple of ox-drawn carts.  Most of the locals in the only village we saw waved to us - we don't think they get much passing trade.

Leaving the developing world behind, a few kms up the road the scenery becomes more like England's green and pleasant land.  Our next stop was the thermal springs at Huife, one of a number of places in the Lakes where the volcanic activity results in hot springs. We spent a very nice 24 hours at a spa hotel there soaking up the heat of the 41 degree outdoor pools and having some hydromassage.

The highlight of our week in the Lakes was saved till last as we climbed to the summit of Villarrica, the active volcano that towers over the town of Pucon. It's a picture-book volcano, 2850m high and shaped like an upside down cone with the top half covered in snow. Best of all it actually smokes!

Volcan Villarrica - with smoke

Starting halfway up we climbed the remaining 1400m in five hours, trudging slowly but steadily upwards following our guide's snowy footprints. We were lucky as it is often too cloudy to climb or the wind blows the noxious fumes in the wrong direction. We were able to see inside the crater and enjoy the panoramic views of lakes and several other volcanos until the wind did change briefly and we got a couple of lungfuls of water vapour laced with sulphuric and phosphoric acids - time to descend.

The group pauses on the way up

The fuming crater

The descent is quicker. At the crater we donned waterproofs and helmets and tobogganed down the mountain on what looked like green plastic toilet seat covers. Hilarious!

Having grown up in a colder climate than me, Su mastered the toboggan technique more quickly but once I had put it the right way round I managed high speed - mainly because I kept forgetting to use the ice axe as a brake. The other problem was trying to stay feet-first and usually after a few meters I would be hurtling downhill on my back head first.

On one occasion Su had the presence of mind to shout "rocks!" as I rocketed past her which meant I managed to stop myself crashing just in time. It is difficult to see where you are going head first on your back and the briefing didn't cover how to stop yourself in that situation! We got to the bottom in one piece, Su rather more gracefully than me, and my sense of self-preservation has returned.

In Search of the Baobab

Our arrival at the airport in Puerto Montt was our reintroduction to the real world after being thoroughly spoilt at Explora.  However the short ride to neighbouring Puerto Varas with its view of two beautiful snow-covered volcanos across the lake seemed promising.

Feeling rather tired after a five hour drive and two hour flight, we didn't take a photo of the volcanos and it proved to be the last we saw of them in our two night stay.  It seems the Chilean Lake District has a similar reputation for wet weather as its English counterpart.

The low cloud and rain persisted as we headed north on Christmas Eve in the rather unglamourous white pickup truck we have been given by the hire company.  On the way we spotted that our travel itinerary had no address or phone number for our hotel other than the name of a village, Panguipulli.  We arrived in that village five minutes after the tourist office had shut for Xmas but there was a phone number for all the hotels so we headed off in the general direction of where we thought it to be.

The Baobab Hotel

As we headed further inland we lost mobile phone coverage and had to turn back to be able to call.  There was no answer at the hotel or travel agencies in Santiago and London as of course by then on Christmas Eve everyone had, understandably, left.  However by piecing together the information we could get from a roadside map, internet research by Suzanne's sister Carron, our map and a guide book we took an educated guess at where the hotel might be and headed further into the mobile phone black hole that exists on the Argentina-Chile border.Over an hour later, more than 60km from Panguipulli on a dirt road deep in the forest and still unsure of where the hotel was, we pulled up outside the Baobab - the most surreal place either of us have stayed at.  It is seven stories high, built around a tree and hidden in a remote forest between the lakes.  Adjoining it is the equally surreal Magic Mountain lodge and a micro-brewery/pub.  It is, as Su neatly summed it up, bonkers. They are nevertheless sufficiently confident of their business model that there is no address on the website and absolutely no signs on the road.

The Truck (and driver)

In any event we were so pleased that we had found the hotel that would be our home for Christmas Day that we forgot to turn the car lights off and awoke next morning to the flattest of flat batteries.  So Christmas Day started with all three of us (truck included) feeling rather run down but after a kind and very resourceful staff member had revived our truck by starting it using his battery, the sun came out and we felt better again. We gave the truck a run out and visited some remote lakes with beautiful scenery, called home using skype, went for a stroll in the forest down to the lakeside beach in the next town and called in at the neighbouring micro-brewery to sample their excellent produce.

Bizarre though the place is, it is genuinely beautiful with views of the local snow-covered volcano from the roof and a range of lovely lakes surrounded by forested hills nearby. The lakes are almost untouched as the area is so remote and it feels more like Africa with local villages built from wood and corrugated iron. All in all, spending Christmas under the Baobab tree is very nice, always assuming that you can find it in the first place. 

Turning Back

It is a five hour drive from Torres del Paine south to the airport at Punta Arenas, the last town at the tip of the South American continent beyond which there is only the island of Tierra del Fuego, Cape Horn and Antartica.

Patagonia is a beautiful but desolate place with less than one human being per square kilometre (compared to more than 1700/sq km in London and more than 4000 in New York). Here the air is so clear that trees are covered in lichen which only grows where there is no pollution, the sun is strong because of the hole in the ozone layer and the wind whips of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, one of the remaining relics of the ice age.

It is strange to think that here - 53 degrees of latitude south - we are more or less the same distance from the equator as London yet the climate and land is so different.  It has been a real privilege to be here in both Argentina and Chile.

In some ways today is a turning point for us, the end of one long journey and the beginning of another.  For today, after five flights totalling over 22 hours of flying time and two five hour road trips, we complete the journey south from London to Punta Arenas. Now at the halfway point of our South American trip we turn back north starting with a flight to Puerto Montt in the Chilean lake district.

Explora, Torres del Paine

We have had a wonderful four days based at the Explora hotel in the heart of the Torres del Paine national park. The scenery is beautiful and we covered over 40 miles on foot during the various guided hikes.

The hotel has a winning formula.  It has incredible views of the Paine Massif across the lake and is all- inclusive: food, drinks, guided hikes and horse riding (we had a lot of the first three but left the horses alone). But the clever bit is that you can only book four night stays and therefore all the guests arrived on saturday and left the following wednesday which creates a really good atmosphere.

Predictably we ended up in the fastest of the walking groups with four other couples from various parts of the world: Peter (Brit living in New England who builds luxury yachts) & Rosemary (New Zealand), Gillian & David (Irish living in London), Sasha & Esther (Swiss and Korean living in New York) and Amanda and  Camp (Boston).

The best and longest walk was on the longest day of the year here, 21 December.  We covered 26kms, climbing from the lake shore just above sea level to 700 metres among the mountains of the Paine Massif, passing glaciers, rivers, lakes and waterfalls.  We began in rain and thick cloud but, as we climbed through the forest, the rain turned to snow before the sun emerged to give us close-up views of the mountains and a panorama of the park.

The walks are well-organised (i.e. they provide essentials such as beer at the end) and after a hard day trekking we relaxed with a (very) quick dip in the lake, whose water is glacial and therefore less than 5 degrees, and a soak in the outdoor hot-tub drinking champagne with our new friends Betsy and Katie, two sisters from Chicago who are great fun.  It was their idea to get in the freezing lake but it was great for tired legs and amazing how many people followed us in once we had set the example.

All too quickly it was time to move on from Explora which really is in a world of its own.  We shall miss the facilities and the landscape but especially the people.

Over the Border

Despite the relatively small distance between El Calafate in Argentina and Torres del Paine in Chile, our next destination, the journey proved to be a long one. The six and a half hour trip was partly down to geography (the road has to get around some large Andean mountains to find a crossing point) and partly caused by the political relationship between the two countries.  It turns out that sharing such a long border gives almost endless opportunities to argue about where the frontier is and who owns the valuable sources of fresh water that lie in the Southern Patagonia Ice Field.

The first three hours was by road in Argentina through the semi-desert where only small bushes grow in the constant and freezing wind. It was 7 degrees and felt colder due to the wind despite this being summer.  We stopped for a coffee at a roadhouse at Esperanza, which means "hope" in Spanish. Whoever decided to call it hope was either an optimist or having a laugh!

We continued along a well surfaced main road, seeing only a handful of other vehicles, running parallel with the border until suddenly our driver turned onto a gravel track signed only to a local estancia.  This turned out to be the road to Chile which the Argentinians clearly don't want you to find. We then spent nearly an hour queueing to get in to a small bleak building in the company of a few other tourists and under the watchful eyes of a flock of sheep who seemed even more bored than the tourists and the customs officials.  What they did with the travel documents that took so long will have to remain a mystery.

Finally we were off on the 8km journey across no-sheep's land to a similar building on the Chilean side.  The Chileans have a reputation for greater efficiency than the Argentians so, rather than simply waste time by being slow, they adopted a more complex process.  This time the luggage got to come out of the car too.  We joined an orderly queue to have our documents inspected having declared that we were not carrying any apples, cheese or other banned substances.  Then we went back to the luggage and put it through the x-ray machine.  This was all very odd.  Nobody checked the car to see if we had any other bags.  Neither did anyone watch to see if all the bags went through nor put a sticker on them to say that they have been checked.  They didn't open any bags while we were there perhaps because the 7 year old boy who was entrusted with watching the scanner screen (really - I'm not making this up) had not yet been fully trained.

Once this charade was over we returned to the car and sat at the barrier for more than ten minutes until a bored looking man walked slowly over and unlocked the padlock to open the gate.  Our driver was then able to drive us about 100 metres to a cafe on the Chilean side where he passed us and our luggage over to representatives from our next hotel.  As we moved on to the last leg of our journey we wished him luck as he left us to drive the 100 metres back to the border to get back to his own country and presumably negotiate another two sets of unnecessary bureaucracy.  I wonder what time he got home!

Heading South

After a flight of three hours we arrived in El Calafate on the Argentinian side of the Andes in southern Patagonia, leaving behind the scorching summer sunshine of Buenos Aires. Here, despite being close to the longest day of the year temperatures may not even reach 10 degrees during the day.

We have come to see the Perito Moreno glacier which flows out of the mountains into the 100km long Lake Argentina.  The Glacier is an hour's drive from El Calafate which is also on the lake shore. The countryside next to the lake is divided into huge ranches where vast flocks of sheep graze and condors circle overhead in front of the distant snow-covered mountains. It is an enchanting sight but nothing compared to the first sight of the glacier itself which is truly a natural wonder of the world.

We went by boat to within 300 metres of the sheer ice wall of the south face of the glacier then viewed the whole glacier from above from the walkways within the national park. In the fissures in the face of the Perito Moreno are ice caves which glow deep blue as if one is glimpsing the embers of a blue fire burning inside.

As the weather got brighter the ice glistened and began to crack. Noises like gunshots echoed around the valley followed by thunderous crashes as large pieces of ice sheared off, dropping  into the freezing water below.  It is incredible to witness nature doing its awesome work at close quarters.

The next day we headed a little further north to visit the larger Upsala glacier. This one recedes at a rate of four metres per day and can't be seen close up because of the field of icebergs created by a huge rupture in it a couple of years ago. Having crossed the lake by boat, we were driven above the glacier where there are spectacular views.  We then hiked back 14km with a group to Estancia Cristina, a remote ranch established by a (presumably mad or very brave) British couple in 1914. From there we made the return 90 minute boat trip across the lake.

So, two very enjoyable days in desolate, remote but beautiful Argentinian Patagonia.  Being outside walking in the icy wind is a great way to work up the appetite for a steak or the local speciality of grilled lamb, both of which are served in huge portions. Tomorrow it will be time to cross the border into Chile which we are looking forward to despite having loved this country.  I'm sure we will be back.

Heroes and Icons

We left Buenos Aires after four days having loved every minute of it. There are more than 20 million people in the greater BA area - a little more than half the population of the country. Like many capital cities, the provincial population and immigrants are drawn in by the possibilities that such a huge metropolis offers with the inevitable consequential social problems. In the last two weeks while we have been in South America tanks have been sent into the Rio shanty towns and violence has erupted in the suburbs here too.

Latin America has greater disparity between rich and poor than any other region in the world and I suppose that's what leads to the emergence of national heroes who fight for or represent the poor.  Add in the taste for passion and drama from the Italian-Spanish heritage that is embodied by the tango and perhaps it is  inevitable that these popular heroes will be transformed into icons such as Eva Peron, Che Guevara and Diego Maradona.

There was a constant stream of people visiting Evita's grave in Recoleta cemetary when we were there, Che t-shirts are on sale everywhere (just like London) and the face of Maradona appears on street corners especially around Boca where he used to play. The emotions they stir here were clear from the tears of the young man in front of us at the cemetary and the passion of the fans at Boca.

In the main square there are daily demonstrations as well as the camp of neglected veterans from the Malvinas/Falklands war and the regular presence of the mothers of those who disappeared during the former military regime.  The city and national governments have a lot on their plate as a new financial crisis threatens the country.

Time will tell if the current president Cristina Fernandez can become an icon, or even succeed, which are two very different things. After all, Evita died very young before much could change, Che's revolutionary ideas never really caught on much beyond Cuba and Diego's dream of leading Argentina to world cup glory this summer ended in humiliation and his sacking.

So like Spain's national symbol of the fighting bull (which invariably comes second in the contest), the icons here tend to represent heroic failure. But at least they tried and the hope they brought had huge value in itself.

In any event if all else fails one can always resort to denial - a great example being the map in the in-flight magazine of Aerolinias Argentinas, which shows the Malvinas islands as belonging to Argentina!

Into La Boca

Just to the south of San Telmo where we are staying in Buenos Aires lies La Boca, one of the traditionally poorer areas of the city. Unlike San Telmo however, Boca is in no immediate danger of gentrification and indeed tourists are warned not to wander away from the safe area around El Caminito, the quaint street of coloured houses in what used to be a fishing village where the small river Riuchelos flows into the giant estuary of the River Plate.

Here bus loads of tourists arrive to photograph El Caminito and to have their photo taken with locals dressed as tango dancers before being whisked back out of danger.

It is a bit of a theme park but worth the walk from San Telmo to see.  We came on monday evening for the other local attraction - to see the world famous local football team, Boca Juniors, play an Argentinian league match against the wonderfully named Gymnastic and Fencing Club from the nearby city of La Plata.

The opposition and the result (a draw) were however irrelevant.  The entertainment here was the home crowd who, literally, made a spectacle of themselves. For the whole 90 minutes they maintained an anstonishing level of noise, singing rather tunefully along to the drum beat and all the time jumping up and down and waving their arms in unison. There was ticker tape, blue and yellow flares and various antics that would have a UK health and safety inspector closing the place down.  As the game wore on the decibel level rose and they were not even silenced by the late equaliser their team conceded. A shame because if the fans had the team they deserved, they would be world champions.  A world away from the polite applause that greets a goal at Arsenal.

Having enjoyed the show, the next morning we walked back down to La Boca to see El Caminito and find a traditional Italian eating place (the community and football club were founded by poor Italian immigrants).

Bizarrely, after opening the door to what seemed a humble Italian restaurant in a back street near La Bombonera (the chocolate box) stadium, we found ourselves not in the company of tourists or impoverished locals, but tables of men in suits. Since most looked like current or former footballers and yesterday was the last day of the season, we concluded that the constant ringing of mobile phones was down to ongoing negotiations of contracts and transfers.

Despite pretty much everyone else being smart and us being dressed shambolically to avoid being mugged, we decided to tough it out and sat down for a rather enjoyable lunch featuring some of the best home made pasta that we have ever had. After ordering some reasonably expensive wine the waiter started to take us seriously and we crossed our fingers that this would not be the day that the bank decides to block the credit card after a series of transactions in South America.

San Telmo - In the Here and Now

We are staying in a boutique hotel in an area of Buenos Aires known as San Telmo, which is just to the south of the centre of the city.  Su chose it as it sounded a little different from the rest of the city - lots of old buildings and known for its antique shops and tango bars.

San Telmo has an interesting history.  It was the home of the rich when Argentina was one of the richest countries in the world in the second half of the 19th century, but when yellow fever began to spread from the poverty of nearby Boca the rich suddenly left, abandoning their mansions never to return.

The mansions were then used by groups of poorer families and, as Argentina went into steady financial decline, there was never the money to restore them.  More recently however, drawn by the bohemian reputation of the area, restoration has begun. On sundays the entire area goes into fiesta mode as the main square becomes the antique market and the surrounding streets become spontaneous open air concert venues. Small groups of musicians play samba, tango, Spanish guitar music and many other varieties and as evening draws on the market stalls are removed and the locals (plus some suitably trained tourists) start to dance the tango.

San Telmo is now a real draw for tourists and locals and the renovation is gathering pace such that the area can forget its sad past and look forward to a brighter future.  As it celebrates the bicentenary of its independence this year, Argentina more generally will be looking forward to greater prosperity and stability than it experienced over the course of the last century.

However on a sunny sunday afternoon watching the tango and dancing to the samba band it is not time to dwell on the past or think of the future, for San Telmo lives in the here and now.  In that spirit we too are simply savouring the moment.

Water, Water Everywhere

We flew from Rio on an internal Brazilian flight to Foz de Iguaçu, close to the border with Paraguay and Argentina.  The objective of the visit was to see Iguazu Falls, one of the natural wonders of the world.  The Falls are the widest set of waterfalls in the world and has one of the longest drops.  Í haven't been to Niagara but apparenty Iguazu makes it look like a leaking roof.

Our hotel was on the Argentinian side but having landed on the Brazilian side on a beautiful day we took a spur of the moment decision to visit the Brazilian national park that afternoon - a great decision because at the same time the next day there was a massive downpour.  The panoramic views get better and better as you go around and it is possible to get very close to one of the biggest falls on a precarious loking walkway, although you get pretty wet in the process.  It was a truly memorable afternoon.

We joined the same tour group again this morning and visited the Argentinian side.  Predictably the rivalry over who has the best national park is a bit like that between the national football teams.  We called it a draw - Argentina has 80% of the falls area but Brazil has the best views.  The things that Argentina does best is the walkways which take you right out under and over the main falls and the boat ride which we did in the afternoon. 

The ride is called "the Great Adventure" and we went out on a motor launch with around 30 other people towards the face of the two main falls.  They give you an opportunity to take photos from the boat really close to the water before they warn you to put your cameras away before they go closer.  And they get really close.  We had been warned that we would get wet and from our place near the back it was clear that those at the front would get really soaked as the launch approached the wall of falling water.  However just to make sure that we all benefitted from the experience the captain kindly turned the boat around and reversed into the waterfall.  It was a great experience and absolutely hilarious being in the spray of a huge waterfall only a few feet from where the water was falling - trying to admire this majestic sight from close up while water comes at you as if out of a fire hose.

It is a long way to go to get here but really worth it.  It has also been nice to get over the border and be able to hold a conversation with the locals, for now we are in Spanish-speaking Argentina, home of the gauchos, the best beef in the world, tango and of course the legendary Diego Maradona.

Churrascaría and Caipirinhas

Before leaving Rio we wanted to sample the most typical local food and drink. So on our last night we visited the Carretao churrascaría in Ipanema, another of the famous beach suburbs of the south zone of Rio where the better off part of the population live.

As a culinary experience this was unique.  We were recomended to this type of restaurant by our Brazilian friends Kevin (who lives just round the corner from us in Spain) and Isabela (from pwc in London) and we were not disappointed by either the quality or quantity of food.

What happens is basically this: there are no menus and a guy comes over to seat you, take your drinks order and tell you that the "salad bar" is self-service.  The salad bar is groaning with all kinds of salad but also paella, fish and varios other hot dishes which are presumably there on the off chance that someone turns up who doesn't want meat.

We sat down with a plate of salads and started to eat. Within minutes the first of the skewers of meat arrived and the waiter carved it at the table. Then came another and another and another and another. We had flank, rib, brisket, sirloin and several other lots of beef barbecued on skewers in different ways.  We are not talking about kebabs here but whole joints of meat that have been roasted on a spit.  Then there was the chicken, the pork, prawns, a couple of types of sausage and even wild boar.

Neither of us have ever eaten so much.  The turnover of tables is incredible and the restaurant, which must sit well over 200, was full. The vast quantity of meat comes out at a bewildering pace and when we checked the bill at the end it told us we had been there for all of 57 minutes!  Getting up to go to the toilet (or salad bar, but that was unlikely to be happening given the volume of meat on offer) meant risking running into squads of waiters bearing hot meat on sword-sized skewers!

In order to recover we walked back to Copacabana and spent another hour or so sampling that other great Brazilian institution - the cocktail Caipirinha which is made mostly of lime, ice and of course a local spirit.

We sat at a simple bar within metres of the waves lapping on the beach watching a couple of families go out into the sea with fishing nets to catch some fish to eat. Having finished our drinks we left them to cook the fish on a fire in the sand.  A fine way to say goodbye to Rio.

Copacabana

So here we are in South America for the first time and a whole new continent to explore. What better place to begin than our hotel overlooking the Copacabana beach - probably, as Su put it, the most famous beach in the world.

View from our hotel

The word Copacabana conjures up many images such as beach volleyball, very small bikinis, Ronnie Biggs and of course the locals practising their reknowned football skills. However, for me, it mainly means I can't get that damned Copacabana song by Barry Manilow out of my head! You know the one - "Her name was Lola, she was a show-girl etc..."

Anyway Copacabana (her name was Lola...) is probably not the nicest beach in the world and we have been a little unlucky with the weather.  It is often sunny on the beach but the famous views from Sugarloaf mountain and Christ the Redeemer statue have been almost non-existent due to low cloud.  That rather limited the value of the city tour.  The natural beauty of the place is beyond dispute but the buildings aren't much to write home about, so we won't.

One of the clearer moments at Christ the Redeemer

However in the three days here the place has really grown on us and it is clearly a nice place to live as long as you can cope with the potential for crime and live with the inequality.  Perhaps in those respects it is just more extreme than London.  The big plus points are the outdoor lifestyle and the huge potential of a vast and growing country that you can feel in the buzz of the nightlife especially.

We had a marvellous meal last night in a brazilian-japanese-french fusion restaurant (their description!) where our host really made us feel welcome and the food was superb. For once we were pleased to find someone who spoke English.  I suppose we have got used to speaking English or Spanish wherever we are and didn't expect Portuguese to be so alien.  It sounds like Russian to us and our attempts to respond in Spanglish have failed completely.  I don't know what can have happened.  Did the Portuguese meet some Russians in the 13th century and think they sounded cool and if they copied them everyone would stop mistaking them for Spaniards?

Anyway shortly we are off to Argentina so we should have more chance although from what we have heard of the other South American guests at our hotel that might be misplaced optimism.  At least I can understand Barry Manilow!  Her name was Lola, she was a show-girl.....

The Great Escape

When we decided to travel via London to get to South America we had no idea how complicated it would be.  A combination of heavy snow in the UK, a strike by Spanish air traffic control and an impressive electrical storm here in Rio meant we were very lucky to complete our journey with a delay of only about 3 hours and no delay at all on the trip to London.  It could have been an awful lot worse.

When we booked 2 months ago to go to London we chose Stansted instead of Gatwick. That was the first piece of good fortune as Gatwick was closed by snow on the thursday that we travelled.
We got out just in time because the strike started on friday and stopped most planes to and from Spain.

Luckily by saturday night the snow had stopped in London and the Spanish government had forced the air traffic controllers back to work by declaring a state of emergency and effectively putting them under military control.  As a way of making things happen (or happen faster) in Spain this seems to open up endless possibilities. We might be able to get the car ownership documents we have been waiting for for 6 months, the certificate of house completion (nearly 5 years) or even get served a pina colada in Zensa beach bar in less than an hour.

As for landing at Rio we narrowly avoided being diverted to Sao Paulo but by the time we landed many streets had turned into rivers and there was traffic chaos. Nevertheless we got here and now the South America trip begins.

A Quiet Sunday - Sheep and Shotguns at Dawn

Since returning from our trip around the mountains of southern Aragón we have been enjoying the last of the beautiful warm autumn weather here at Monte Pego.  We live in a cul-de-sac on the far side of the development and, with all our immediate neighbours away, it has been incredibly quiet here.  On a Sunday morning the sun comes up over the mountain in almost complete silence.  Until, that is, a small band of hunters start blasting away with their shotguns at anything that moves - as well as quite a few inanimate objects.  At times they are only 100 metres or so from the house and while it was a bit unnerving at first we have grown used to it and we amuse ourselves by cheering on the local rabbits as they bid to escape the hunters and their dogs.

This Sunday morning, unusually, the hunting was disrupted  by the sudden reappearance, after months of absence, of the local herd of goats and sheep.  Many of those of you who have visited us here over the last 4-5 years will remember them fondly.  We have wiled away many a half hour watching their antics as the flock makes its way across the hillside below us - young billy goats getting lost and rescued by the sheepdog while sheep graze fearlessly on seemingly vertical cliff faces. 

The small line of dots are sheep - we must get a zoom lens...

The hunters were not amused.  It is fair to say that the unexpected appearance of a couple of hundred sheep and goats with bells ringing somewhat cramped their style and we imagined the rabbits all legging it while shooting was suspended so that the herd could pass.  By 9.30 the hunters had trudged off and the last of the sheep had disappeared over the hill.  The excitement was over and silence settled once again over the valley.

On the Trail of El Cid

Leaving the wine-drinkers to finish their breakfast in the hotel we left Teruel and headed further north.  For those of you fed up with hearing how great the weather is in Spain, the previous day was grey and raining and only 3 degrees at lunchtime.  Thursday dawned a bit brighter but as we climbed up into the Maestrazgo mountains of southern Aragón through a series of high mountain passes to an altitude of 1,700 metres, the temperature dropped below zero and we saw snow for the first time in Spain. 

The mini at 1700 metres with a light dusting of snow at the pass

The views in these remote mountains are jaw-dropping and there are two ski resorts in the area as well as a variety of old villages with names such as Cantavieja, La Iglesuela del Cid and Ares del Maestre.  The names of the villages recall the history of the christian reconquest from the 11th to 13th century when most were founded.  El Cid was the spanish nobleman played by Charlton Heston in the classic film of the same name who ran Valencia for a while until the Moors regained control in 1099.  His legendary heroics paved the way for the later reconquest by the King Jaume of Aragón and Catalunya who, having driven the Moors further south, used these mountains as a kind of buffer zone.  The reconquest was a war and recolonisation effort by the spanish that took more than 700 years to complete and the fortified nature of the towns reflects the almost endless war-footing that these places would have been on.  In order to maintain control the spanish handed operational control of the mountains to the christian military order, the Knights Templar after whose Grand Masters, the Maestrazgo area is named.



King Jaume I

After a beautiful day's driving with the hood down despite the cold we headed for Morella which, like our previous stop Ares, is a fortfied town perched on a hill with incredible views and lovely restored buildings in narrow medieval streets. 

Ares del Maestre

All the towns in the area seem to have something different to offer and Morella was certainly a friendly place with the owner of the restaurant we ate in telling us about the time he went to Brussels aged 13 to watch Valencia beat Arsenal in a European final.  We ended the evening wandering back to a bar we had visited earlier for a glass of wine until the locals started watching a film in serbo-croat with spanish subtitles and we decided that it was time to turn in.

Teruel Exists!



Last tuesday we left for a four day road trip heading north-west into Aragón.  In a 2.5 hour drive we left behind the warm sunshine of Denia and climbed 1000 metres to the cold of Mora de Rubielos and its near neighbour Rubielos de Mora in Teruel province.  It is amazing how confused two supposedly intelligent people can become as a result of such similar names - asking each other questions such as: which one has the castle? which one are we staying in? and even, which one are we in now? 

Having learned to distinguish the twins, Rubielos turned out to be our favourite - a beautifully preserved medieval village with a great hotel called Los Leones in a restored palace in the centre run by the very friendly Manolo.

The sun sets on Rubielos de Mora (or is it Mora de Rubielos?)

On Wednesday we moved on to the capital of the provence, Teruel, where a little while ago the local government came up with the slogan "Teruel Existe" to remind people that it actually exists.  This was deemed necessary because nobody ever went there and we can now confirm that it does in fact exist.  Only just, however, as there wasn't a whole lot happening from a social perspective!  To be fair though, there was quite a bit to see including the mausoleum of lovers (recalling a supposedly real-life 14th century Romeo & Juliet story) and some very impressive Mudéjar architecture (referring to the muslim designed style built after the christian reconquest of the area).



The Mudejar Torre de San Martín

Another highlight is nearby Albarracín, an even more well preserved, almost surreal medieval village built into the mountain side.  The place is like a film set and has apparently benefitted from a private foundation which has helped to conserve the buildings and ensure that restoration is carried out sensitively - a pattern we were surprised and pleased to see repeated to a greater or lesser extent in the various villages we visited in Aragón.

Albarracín

The whole area is well worth a visit and we really enjoyed it, especially the rather surreal ending in the breakfast room when we realised we seemed to be the only guests not tucking into red wine at 930am!  

Friends

We have just treated ourselves to a restful day in the sun at home, walking on the beach and reading on the balcony, recovering after a brief, hectic and emotional return to England. 

The main motivation for the trip was to attend the memorial service near Coventry for our friend Rob who died suddenly a couple of weeks ago but we managed to fit in a few more visits while there.  Having arrived on a cold and wet thursday afternoon I made it to Charlton to see my sister Silo before we spent the evening with my oldest friend Lee in Croydon.  Having stayed the night in my home town for the first time in nearly 15 years we travelled to Coventry where we stayed overnight before heading back to London for Sally's 40th birthday on saturday.  We were back at Gatwick by 1030 on the sunday morning! 

The church in Bubbenhall near Coventry was packed on friday afternoon for the service to celebrate Rob's life and there were some superb and fitting tributes to him and much laughter as well as tears.  I'm glad we made it back to support Kate along with a number of our old friends from Warwick University.  We don't see each other as much as we would like but these events have of course made us all appreciate even more the value of friendship and time spent together.

Spain - on the road again

At some point during 2009 while over here we latched on to a TV series imported from the US called "Spain - on the road again" about an american chef and his journalist mate who travelled round Spain in a convertible sampling the best food that they could find in the company of a stunning model from Barcelona and Gwynneth Paltrow.  The series gave us the inspiration to explore the country while we are living here and we are planning a few road trips of our own to fit between the international travelling.

First up, as a taster, was a day trip to Sagunto just north of Valencia which has an ancient hill-top castle, a restored roman theatre and a fascinating old Jewish quarter (no sign of the jews of course as they went out with the Spanish Inquisition a few centuries ago). 

Sagunto's castle and roman theatre

Sagunto's history and the remnants of its temple to the Greek goddess Diana go back to well before the siege by Hanibal in 218 BC which triggered his war with Rome.  The subsequent Roman era was followed by control by various islamic Moorish groups prior to the Christian reconquest in the 13th century AD.  The influences of the greeks, phoencians, carthaginians, romans, moors, christians blended with the original iberian tribes have blended to form the culture and language that we know today.

Our road trips won't be featuring famous film stars but as you can see above we have our share of glamour! We are looking forward over the next few months to getting around some of the major cities and exploring the back roads of this fascinating country that we have come to love.

Heading for the Hills

Having got back to an emotional reception at the airport after five weeks away from Suzanne (actually the reception was slightly delayed as a result of her being stopped by the ever vigilant Guardia Civil) it has been back to Spain for me and the opportunity to explore the area further.  We have been out in the mountains with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers - a group of mostly retired Brits who love nothing better than yomping around the countryside usually followed by a few beers (at astoundingly cheap prices because as well as meticulously researching the waking trails, they have also found all the cheapest bars in the region).

The best walk so far has been the route around the Castell de Castells area which starts at over 500 metres above see level and reaches nearly 1100 at the highest point.  The truly panoramic views are astounding such that the pictures can't really do it justice, but here are a couple just the same.

As a contrast to these well organised walks, today I led the intrepid Suzanne on an attempt to find the track which the herd of sheep and goats take going past our house.  As those of you who have been here know it is pretty overgrown and consequently the wife is now sporting more than a few scratches!  She looked a bit unimpressed at times as we hacked through the undergrowth, which is worse than I experienced in Cameroon, but we made it back in time for a hard-earned and (if I say so myself) beautifully cooked omelette.

The Scots Invade!

We travelled 90km north to the normally refined city of Valencia to find that it had been put under siege by an invading army of scotsmen, here (like us) to watch Rangers - Glasgow's bastion of unionism and protestantism - take on Valencia in the Champions League.  They gathered in the morning in the Plaza de la Reina at a place known as Finnegan's Bar, hung up their union jacks and sang "God Save the Queen" and "No Surrender to the IRA" at regular intervals, while consuming a month's worth of beer in the sunshine.  What they said about the Pope in their thick Glaswegian accents was difficult to comprehend, but in any event is probably best not repeated.

We lost them for a while as we went for a civilised lunch in the old town and strolled through the royal gardens but some of them had even made it up to the top of the cathedral bell tower where we watched the sun set.  Fortunately I do not have photgraphic evidence of the blue-clad horde but am pleased to say that their attempted take-over was short-lived and they departed with their team having taken a good 3-0 hiding from our local favourites.  So we left Mestalla stadium happy but with me under strict instructions not to make any wisecracks at the visitors, which I just about resisted!

Nasom

The Cameroon trip (or at least the first one of the year) is over and its time to say nasom (thanks in the local Douala language) for a great trip that has meant an awful lot to me. Having lived here (and I mean lived rather than visited, or come on holiday) for over a month I feel more at home than I ever have in Cameroon before and I've learned a lot. The chance to be with Dad has been fantastic and we have worked well together, having made progress on several fronts: the web-site, the ongoing management of the Global Health Dialogue foundation and conference centre and the future of the family property in Cameroon.  There is more to do in all these areas between now and when I return in the new year.

At Bisi's flat in Douala

I've also been able to spend some time with Bisi, my elder sister who I only met for the first time five years ago, and we have also got on really well. Over the last few weeks I've seen all my seven remaining brothers and sisters except one, seen many more relatives while visiting the family village and had the chance to catch up with friends in Douala, including those in the PwC office who took me out and gave me some good tax advice.

Zaks takes a short pause from work

Everyone has made me very welcome but I would like to say nasom especially to Grace (Dad's wife) for looking after me for most of my time here, Bisi for putting me up in Douala and Mr Zaks who works here at the house in Buea doing a variety of jobs and who is always smiling. He also has an uncanny ability to predict the rather volatile weather of Mount Cameroon.  For example, if it is sunny at dawn and it is either a Tuesday or Saturday it will rain later.

Nasom too, of course, to my colleagues at PwC London for supporting me in coming here and to Suzanne for agreeing to do without me for all this time. In 23 years together we have never before been apart for more than a week and even then only twice. I've missed her enormously but we have spoken once or twice a day by phone or skype. Indeed the ability to see each other on a skype video call has caused great excitement and now everyone here is learning to use it. A real highlight of the trip was seeing my 12 year old nephew Carl, who lives here, manage to get through to his mother in the USA by video call. I will never forget the look on her face - it was a beautiful moment.

But time to go home. The end of trip has also featured a terrible emotional low with the sad news last sunday of the sudden death from a stroke of one of our friends, Rob. We are all so shocked to lose such a great guy so early in life and our thoughts are with Kate and their three young children. We will always remember Rob especially for making us laugh - from his impression of the Sphinx on the floor of an Indian restaurant on my stag night and the Braveheart performance at Eugene's wedding, to his poetry and the blow-up crocodile races in our pool in Spain. So nasom to Rob for all those memories.

When I decided to come away for the year it was because I believed that you don't get too many second chances in life. For all the reasons above I'm so glad I did it.

Nasom.

Cameroon - a emerging country?

Some closing thoughts after over a month here which has left me loving the country more than when I arrived but feeling deeply frustrated like many of my compatriots. This has been my first trip home to Cameroon since I’ve worked in international development at PwC so it has been interesting to look at it frmo that perspective and gather the opinions of people locally.

There is good news. I certainly see signs of modernization and entrepreneurial spirit. Mobile phones are being used innovatively to make up for gaps in communications and banking infrastructure – e.g. sending money and avoiding the limited fixed-line capacity. If you have the money you can install satellite tv and the young population (50% of the roughly 17 million people are under 18 years old) are connected on facebook just like in Europe. The crumbling Bonaberi bridge and approach roads that link us with Douala across the Wouri estuary have been repaired for the first time in 50 years of independence. There is enough food for everyone so no one starves and the level of poverty in urban areas is said to be relatively low by African standards, at about 12%. Almost all primary school age children receive education and the country has huge reserves of natural resources to exploit.

On the other hand, the average life expectancy at birth is 46 and poor health hampers development. HIV/AIDS remains an issue, among other infectious diseases that should not be spreading or killing people in the 21st century. Rural poverty is a much greater issue (very visible in my family's village) and according to some estimates half the population live on less than $2 per day. Major infrastructure is missing and, as I saw in Kribi, planning for development is poor. No motorways exist and the two main cities are linked by a dangerous single track road. Internal air travel and trains are limited, making transport of goods slow and expensive, for example our beef comes from cows that travel by train from the north then walk 70k from Douala (having walked along way to the rail station in the first place) as there are limited facilities for refrigeration. Tourism – a potential source of income – is under-developed despite huge potential, while corruption is endemic, hampering business and reducing the value of local government expenditure and international aid.

So what to do? Locally we need better management of natural resources, more investment in human capital (health and education) and infrastructure and in particular the eradication of corruption. The developed world could help by writing off the debts it gave to the corrupt leaders it often supported, lowering trade barriers against Africa, ending subsidies to developed world farmers and reducing the threat of climate change by changing their own lifestyles.

Among people I've talk to here there is scepticism that the west has the political will to do all of this because of self-interest, so countries like Cameroon will have to help themselves. As a starting point stronger leadership across Africa at the highest levels is needed to end the dependency culture that has grown through the time of slavery, colonialism and post-independence aid.

Kribi - Cameroon in a Nutshell

I went down to Kribi for a couple of days with Dad and my cousin Lobe to have a look at the Global Health Dialogue Conference Centre that my Dad built and which was inaugurated two years ago on the occasion of his 80th birthday.

The International Dialogue Centre

While there we also inspected a development site at Bebamwe just to the north of the town that he owns and which we are considering developing into a complex of apartments to meet the demand primarily from the ex-pats arriving here.

Kribi beach

There is no doubt that the Kribi area in the south of Cameroon on the Atlantic coast offers real opportunities. It has beautiful white sand beaches and is surrounded on all other sides by lush tropical rain forest inhabited by pygmies and wildlife that, in many places like Bebamwe, extends to the beach itself. In addition it is the second busiest port after Douala and a new deep water port is being constructed as part of huge planned infrastructure developments. These developments include an aluminium plant to exploit the nearby bauxite reserves and a new power plant to add to the already operational gas pipeline from Chad that runs the length of the country to come out into the sea here. International banks and contractors are looking at Kribi with great interest and the beaches, abundant fresh seafood and national park rain forests offer good touristic opportunities.

But all is not well in paradise. There are already signs of pollution on the beaches, the electricity went off during the day for an average of five hours while we were there and for an area that promises high quality new infrastructure, the main road through the town is an embarrassment with its huge pot-holes. One might also ask how the huge developments that are planned are going to operate if the town can’t even provide electricity to meet current needs during the day? Power cuts are common enough here when the peak load occurs after dark but failing to power the town at 4pm in the afternoon in broad daylight on a sunny day really isn’t good enough.

The latest World Bank report says that Cameroon has great potential but significant challenges. Nowhere is this summed up better than Kribi where the harsh reality of poor planning and/or implementation is getting in the way of realising that potential. But if you like drinking beer and eating barbecued fish on the beach then its absolutely fine!

Dibombari - Ancestral Home

My family village is in Dibombari, an administrative region for around 50,000 people around 30k to the north of Douala and 7k along an un-tarred road with incredible ruts and potholes that is impassable at times in the wet season. The area contains a number of small rural villages of which ours, Bwataka, is one. Dad is the chief of Bwataka, as the nominated person from the “ruling” clan, which is known as Bona Lobe (sons of Lobe, the founder of the clan). This is a kind of sub-chieftancy to the main chief of the area, which in turn is part of a larger grouping of Douala speaking peoples known as Pongo. The various chiefs meet regularly to discuss matters of importance to the villages (one current topic being the recent discovery of oil!).

Dad - the Chief of Bwataka

The clan is believed to have originated from the Congo area but migrated here by sea a couple of centuries ago in search of new land and possibly to escape disease. They settled as part of the wave of people that now form the Douala tribal group here and my forefathers have been here ever since. The original Lobe (which is also my Dad’s name) was my great-great-great-grandfather. Surnames do not exist traditionally and identity is passed on orally, such that I was taught at a young age that I am Mukala, son of Lobe, son of Money, son of Ekosso, son of Ngube, son of Lobe. My Dad created the family surname, Monekosso, by combining the names of his father and grandfather and now most of the family uses it. On this trip while researching the family tree I now know three more generations of ancestors going back to a man called Pongo, for whom the local area was named.



Typical village view: across the street from our house


Bwataka remains the spiritual home of the family, despite the death of my Grandma four years ago at the age of 99. Like many African villages there is a Christian church but traditional healing and witchcraft are taken very seriously. Today we visited for a funeral - a very important cultural event for which people save for years. They are occasions when huge extended families come together and I sat under a tree with my older sisters Bisi and Tiki, watching the service and meeting large numbers of relatives, all of whom are incredibly welcoming to me.

Bwataka village cloth from which traditional clothing is made

The village has been a very special to me since Suzanne and I first came here just after my Mum died 22 years ago - half a lifetime ago now. There is sadness too because over the years many of the family have died including my brother Ngube, Grandma (also called Suzanne) and uncles George and Adolphus (the latter born in 1939 and named after Hitler, as my Grandfather was a big fan of the Germans who ran Cameroon before World War I!). But their memories live on in the pictures in the house and the graves that sit outside. Of my immediate relatives only my uncle Emmanuel remains at the age of nearly 70 and, as is customary, I presented him with a bottle of whisky.

Uncle Emmanuel and me

Many of the younger generations have drifted away to the cities - hence the family tree project - but it was good to see so many out in force today.

Beer and Fish

Eating and drinking in Cameroon reflects a mix of European and traditional cultures. Having grown up in Europe I find some of the traditional dishes here challenging, mainly because of the texture of food. However, food is plentiful here and I know I can always survive on the local staples of beer and fish!

Fish is often marinated in hot chili sauce, roasted over charcoal and served with dodo (fried slices of ripe plantain – a large green type of banana) - not a million miles away in spirit from British fish and chips. This is served in many roadside shack-bars along with copious amounts of the many varieties of local and imported lagers. My guidebook says that beer-drinking is “an extremely popular pastime” here, which is not wrong!

As a former health minister my Dad approves of the consumption of fish with beer but feels that some spend too much of their limited budget on the latter! However he also says that, in the case of Guinness, it adds to the diet which is traditionally deficient in vitamin B because the local staple root vegetable has very little vitamins. As well as the many Brasseries du Cameroun breweries which overcome appalling road conditions to reach every last corner of the country, Douala also has a Guinness brewery, one of only five outside Britain and Ireland, reflecting the huge popularity of the drink.

Also good here are the prawns which gave the country its name. When the Portuguese arrived in Douala in 1492 they found the Wouri estuary completely silted up with huge prawns (cameroes in Portuguese), a natural phenomenon that occurred every few years (less so now because of pollution). I've eaten some very good fish, prawns and crab caught fresh locally at Limbe on this trip.

As regards the traditional local dishes I’m not as adventurous as I used to be on trips here. I have avoided the Douala favourite, ndole, a bitter green leaf cooked with spices, groundnuts or melon seeds with meat (not always the best bits!!), prawns and dried fish. I have tried a couple of other green leaf based dishes, such as huckleberry leaves with corn fufu and the local Buea dish of eru, the latter being my Dad’s favourite which is always cooked in the house on a Friday. Last week he warned me I probably shouldn’t try it as it contains too much hot chili. Those of you who know my liking for hot Indian food will know that at that point I felt obliged to have a go. I was pleasantly surprised, on putting it in my mouth that, compared to a vindaloo, it seemed pretty mild. What I hadn’t realised as I reached for some more was that the chili is felt in the throat as it goes down, rather than in the mouth. The result is a feeling somewhat like being throttled as your throat closes and your eyes bulge and start to water profusely!

Web-site launched!

My first challenge from a work-perspective here has been to get the web-site live for Global Health Dialogue. The web-site is the vehicle for my Dad’s vision to spread good practice in community health around through a network of experts, local practitioners and community groups. I'm pleased to say that he was able to announce the launch while in South Africa to speak at a global conference on medical education standards. He has been working as an adviser to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation on quality control for medical teaching around the continent and took the opportunity to introduce the web-site at the conference.

It has been quite an experience working with Dad and his team and some local young web designers to develop the functionality and manage the content we already have so that we are ready to start building the network. The site http://www.globalhealthdialogue.org/ is now live despite the difficulties of working with limited band-width connections, power cuts and ageing technology.

Some things are true everywhere though and I arrived to find a gap between the technology people who know little about health and the health people who know little about technology and web-sites. The plan was therefore to insert me (who knows little about health or technology!) to bridge the gap. The site is far from perfect but I think its a good start. Have a look and see what you think! The more difficult job of actually running a network and building a dialogue which can influence health outcomes on the ground begins now.