Under the blue, blue sky

Our initial S.Am plan had been to go into the south of Chile, from where we would cross into the Argentine Lake District and work our way up north through Bolivia and Peru, finishing in Lima for our long flight back to reality.  However, as we’ve got to know many times throughout this trip, our plans often don’t fit with those of He who knows better, and so once again we have found ourselves upended.  During our visit to Valparaiso we Couch surfed with two Chilean students, whom through we discovered that our grand plan was fraught with flaws; big, unchangeable weather related flaws.  Do our route as planned, and the continent was going to see out its rainy season with us under every cloud.  I love Scotland but detest its rainy disposition (and our journey through New Zealand has given me cause to suspect that I may suffer from SAD), so after some intense planning (and praying)we made the decision to head from Valparaiso to Peru to do our trip in reverse.  And so we find ourselves, following a thirty-one hour bus journey, unexpectedly in Peru, three and half months earlier than we had originally anticipated.  On yet another bus, I am drinking in miles of desert plains, awe-struck that sand can look so beautiful without the ocean to safeguard it from dullness.  The sky has never looked as blue; deep and rich; as it does against the pale yellow of this breathtaking wilderness.  We pass pocket sized shanty towns and the people that occupy them, in traditional dress under the baking sun, and I am reminded of those first few weeks in China, where we first came into contact with communities who, as of yet, remain untouched by technology and change and the desperation that hovers over the western world for wealth and success.  Despite the unforgiving heat, it’s refreshing to see life like this first hand though the culture shock is startling.  These isolated villages seem worlds apart from the cities of Chile; New Zealand a universe away.  That we come from such privilege hits me between the eyes with a thud and all worries about our money stretching to accommodate our extra months evaporate.

We arrive in Arequipa, our first Peruvian destination, and I immediately fall in love.  “The White City” is the aesthetic opposite of Valparaiso, but in no way less charming.  White stone buildings seem more reminiscent of Greece than the colourful Latin America I expected, but walking through the cobbled streets we are repeatedly faced with the startling sight of the snow-capped volcanoes that surround the city; a reminder that this is most certainly not the Mediterranean, but this mysterious continent that, after every hellishly long bus journey, continues to surprise us again and again.  Shops are bursting to their seams with colourful Peruvian textiles that leave me an excitable quivering mess who can barely contain the money in my pocket.  Within a few days I have purchased an alpaca hat and woven bag, and have mentally thrown away the entire contents of my backpack and replaced it with vibrant handicrafts. 

From here we travel to the Colca Canyon, second deepest in the world only to its neighbour Cotahuasi Canyon.  We pass through dusty villages that seem so different in their way of life even to Arequipa, and descend into the depths of this vast crevice in the earth.  How small one feels surrounded by its looming sides under a sky that, by day, is the most startling cobalt blue and, by night, is filled with more stars than my eyes can bear to look at.  I am overwhelmed by this vast expanse of heaven above me; each burst of light like a little glimpse of glory; remembering, in awe, the one who not only created them all, but knows each and every one by name.


(PS - I truly hope you are enjoying the blog as much as I am enjoying writing them!  I have added a new function at the bottom of the screen that allows you to sign up so you can receive new blogs direct to your email account.  We hope that you all continue to follow us on this journey and look forward to seeing you when we return.)

The final chapter begins...

The journey from Auckland to Santiago transported us both back in time and closer to home.  But as we relived July 15^th in this new, unfamiliar land, I had never felt farther from the life I know so well (albeit a little less these days).  We have been catapulted from the comfortably familiar into the daunting unknown, so little do we feel we know about this land in which we now find ourselves.

My first glimpse of Chile is of a dry expanse of thirsty brown land speckled with little coloured houses that sit quietly under the watchful eye of the magnificent Andes.  Santiago, like so many cities in this world, is non-descript; it could be anywhere and is only betrayed by its inhabitants.  But it finds its redemption in the little pockets of beauty that we came upon in unexpected alleyways and around occasional corners; streets lined with Parisian-esque houses, adorned with swirling wrought iron balconies and wooden shutters, each a different colour of the rainbow. 

For the first few days I am a terrible travel companion.  Jetlag equals lack of sleep which equals a woman who wants to do little more than sit in the hostel watching DVDs and checking Facebook.  Though we do manage to venture out amongst the string of brain-mushing rom-coms, doing so forces me to start speaking the little Spanish I know (because the majority of people here speak no English), which is a complete disaster and only worsens my mood.  Then I succumb to a chest infection, and begin to wonder how I’ll survive the next four and half months in this, so far, stressful continent when all I really want to do is go home and make a bloody tiramisu!

I am still moping around with my new found depression on the fourth day, until we step off the bus in the city of Valparaiso, and here, with the force of a mirror dropped on a stone floor, my grouchy disposition smashes into a thousand tiny pieces.  Everything we imagined South America would be; Valparaiso is.  The scales fall from my eyes and suddenly I can see the magic of this continent that is like no other, and every fear of what we might encounter here melts away.  It is a city that has grown up around its harbour, though its proximity to the sea has little to do with its charms.  As with Santiago, the land surrounding Valparaiso is brown and lifeless, though it is barely noticeable amidst the sheer volume of colour that engulfs this quirky city; brings it to life.  A walk down every vibrant street is more captivating than any museum could ever dream to be; the streets are a gallery in themselves.  Houses are painted in every imaginable shade – red, yellow, blue, green, pink, purple, magenta, turquoise, orange, lilac, mint – and their walls adorned with what one might call graffiti, but much of which is art of the finest quality.  We spend four days doing nothing other than wondering up and down winding roads, totally entranced by the treasures that lie around every corner.  Valparaiso is home to huge numbers of artisans, poets, artists and writers, and it’s easy to see why.  Nowhere in the world has inspired me to draw, paint, write, weave and make music more than this place.  The city is creatively electrifying and, it seems, it’s catching.  I could quite happily spend the next four months soaking up Valparaiso’s infectious energy, but this treasure of a town has sparked an earnest need to discover as much of this continent as possible in what suddenly feels like so little time. 

The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 6)

After the sheer exhaustion that ensued, post-arrival, in Oceania, two weeks recuperation in Sydney was necessary to recover from the whirlwind that was Asia, and now, as our time back in the western world draws to a close, we have been hit by another almighty wave.  For though life in New Zealand is anything but fast-paced, discovery of a new place and its treasures almost every day will eventually take its toll.  The ash cloud drama and two day journey that followed it only increased our need to take a break, and so it was with great relief that we arrived at the Villa Romantica, (www.aldente.co.nz) home to the Delmonte family.

Organised through WWOOF New Zealand (www.wwoof.co.nz), we spend two and half restful weeks working in their home and garden; learning to cook authentic Italian cuisine, make bread and cheese, look after chickens, grow herbs and “be organic”.  A homey, sun-filled room replaces our chilly van, and for the first time in months we experience that unfamiliar feeling that comes with being settled.  When the time comes to leave, we are filled with genuine sadness to be leaving, not only New Zealand, but also this family whose life we have shared, though only briefly, and there is a part of me that just wants to head home to practice making tiramisu and realising the long awaited vegetable garden dream.

Our last night in New Zealand is spent watching the Harry Potter finale with two great friends for whom Auckland is now home; all the time with the knowledge that our Kiwi adventure, the one that we have dreamed about for so many years, is over.  But when one adventure ends, another begins, and so, though we leave with sadness, we do so to embark on the third and final part of our journey – South America. 

Adios New Zealand. The pleasure has most definitely been all ours.

The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 5)

Our time spent in The Catlins, the most southerly point of the South Island, reminded me, more than anywhere else we have seen on our travels, of home.  Beautiful coast gave way to luscious green farmland, whose occupying sheep far outnumbered any other form of resident.  It both looked and felt like rural Scotland, for it rained and poured, unrelenting, throughout the duration of our stay (which, thanks to the raining and pouring, ended up being rather brief).  Not keen to hang around in the miserable grey countryside, we continued our journey round the coast to the charming city of Dunedin.  Gaelic for Edinburgh, it was easy to imagine that one was actually in Scotland (the city was designed there), though at this point we are as far away as we ever possibly could be.  We have, now, literally travelled to the other side of the world and so the only way that remains is for us to start heading for home again (albeit over the course of five months, but every step now is one step closer).

So head north we did, and after an incredibly scenic stop on the shores of ice-blue Lake Tekapo, we began our return to Christchurch, where our epic campervan adventure was to come to an end.  On that final journey through the Canterbury plains, with the ocean on our right and the snow-covered Southern Alps on our left, I felt quite emotional that our time travelling around this fascinating country was reaching its conclusion.  Over the time we have spent driving its circumference, it has never ceased to amaze me how incredibly blessed this country is with such magnificent and diverse landscapes, and we would have been quite content to spend many more months exploring its nooks and crannies.  Though I imagine that no amount of time spent here would ever be enough, for one wouldn’t easily tire of being astounded by the breathtaking beauty that lies, it seems, around every corner.

In truth, we had hoped to keep our time spent in Christchurch to a bare minimum.  Struggling to recover from the events of the past few months, the city fights to rebuild itself whilst always fearing the next disaster.  Though we were dropping our van off there, we planned to head straight to the airport and back to Auckland.  However, as is so often the case in life, God had other plans.  We arrived at Christchurch airport having said an emotional goodbye to the van that, we have since realised with some amusement, was our first marital home.   That emotion (in me at least) quickly turned to tearful distress when we discovered that, because of the Chilean ash cloud, our flight had been cancelled.  With flights not resuming for at least two days, we had to decide whether we wanted to spent that time waiting around Christchurch in the hope that the cloud would pass, or take the two day bus/ferry/bus journey back north.  Though Phil was fairly cool, calm and collected, I knew that my next 48 hours would be spent panicking, and so we chose the latter.  A rather dramatic conclusion to our New Zealand travels, though on the positive side, the journey was, inevitably, picturesque and helped to reduce our colossal carbon footprint.  Though probably only by a little, we know that in the words of Tesco, “every little helps”, and the more I see of this incredible world, the more I desperately want to help in the fight to save it.