//dispatches from a far off land

Jeremy Wadzinski takes us to Rorres Del Paine

When we initially planned our trip, we knew we would be on the road for at least six months. Living out of our backpacks and staying in some pretty dodgy areas. For a long time, I debated whether or not I should bring my Canon DSLR to help document our amazing journey. In the end, weight and space became too much of a factor. Plus, we didn’t want to make ourselves too much of a target for thieves and vagabonds. As much as it hurt, we decided to only capture our memories on our phones. And what we sacrificed in picture quality, we would make up for in speed of travel, safety and lightness of packs... I was three cervezas deep and contemplating a fourth when the epiphany hit me: cavemen took selfies. Now, I know what you’re thinking -- Cavemen didn’t have phones. (Or perhaps that I was under the influence of something other than cerveza). But, hear me out. I am absolutely convinced cavemen took selfies, and by the end of this article, you too will believe. See, my Spanish lover and I had recently abandoned our home in Auckland and our careers in TV and architecture to embark on a six month around-the-world odyssey. I won’t call it a mid-life crisis. (With modern medicine, forty is too young to be mid-life). But, things were getting serious. And talk of babies and marriage were starting to permeate every conversation. So, the only sensible thing to do in that sort of situation is to run for the hills. We figured, a good place to avoid the pitfalls of a life-moreserious, would be South America. The Parque Nationale. Torres Del Paine. There are certain places on this planet that seem to call to us. A siren song blowing on the winds of Instagram feeds and condor’s cries seen on saved Pinterest boards. Mythical lands of creatures and people who are far more exotic than we could ever believe exist — except we know they do, because they are documented in click-bait articles with titles like, “Ten Best Hikes in The World” and “Do This Before You Die!” So. With cell phone in hand, ready to document that exquisite moment next to the towers and live in the rarefied air of instagram-fame, we set off on a hike into the unknown…

But first, some logistics; to paint the proper picture:

Torres Del Paine is located on the SouthWestern end of Chile. It is part of a larger national park that has things like glaciers, pumas and icebergs. So. It’s safe to say it’s a bit wild. Now, if you do enough googling you will quickly find out that there are two primary routes most people tramp: the “W” or the “O”. Named for the way the trails mimic the shape of the letters. The “O” is a circuit and takes between five and eight days. The “W” between three and five. We had planned on doing the “W”. But, due to its recent popularity, I wasn’t able to secure campsites along our chosen route. I only tried to book three months in advance… apparently you need to book at least six months in advance. Who knew? (Judging by the Spanish swear words that rained down on me; my Spanish lover knew. She knew very well). Anyway, we decided we could do just about the same hikes as everyone else, by simply keeping a base camp at the appropriately named; “Campamento Central”. At campamento central, the tents were scattered around the grounds like brightly colored sprinkles on a child’s cupcake. No rhyme or reason to it -- just find a place and crash. Every make, model, and brand of tenting kit was on display. All the newest most expensive gadgets; from space-age materials all the way down to rough canvas and Warehouse quality disast-o-tents. And the hikers matched the tents. Your usual collection of vagabonds, hippies, retirees, tourists, gap year wanderers and busloads of very enthusiastic Chinese. As a Yankiwi (an American expat Kiwi) and a Spaniwi (a Spanish expat Kiwi), we fit right in with the collection of world wandering backpackers. We had allowed ourselves five days in the park. Hoping to do a day-hike each day and effectively cover all the same trails as the “W”. But, as we quickly learned, weather was a major factor. After living in New Zealand for ten years, I thought I was used to it. Four seasons in a day, and all that jazz. But, we quickly learned, weather this far South is even more unpredictable. It wasn’t just four seasons. It was four years. Weather cycled from balmy t-shirt sunny, down to frigid parka cold in hours. And then, back again. And then, back again. But, our first day there, the weather dial got stuck firmly in frigid, rainy, cold, and shitty. Winter. We survived the day by driving through the park and guzzling cervezas by the refugio fire before retiring to our tent for a chilly sleep. The next morning we woke up to a brilliant alpine glow on the mountains. Within minutes the entire mountain range was lit up in exquisite hues of violet, sherbet and champagne. The day promised to be sunny, and it was impossible for us to hide our giddy optimism. We wasted no time. Smashed down breakfast, geared up for the day, and went to the trailhead. I quickly realized that you don’t come to the Torres hike looking for solitude. It’s as busy as the Tongariro crossing. Perhaps more so. We joined the human train and began the four hour hike up the mountain. And it got me to thinking (you have a lot of time to think while plodding uphill for four hours). What draws us to these things? A new type of hiker has emerged. The selfieinstagram-twitter-book person who’s only motivation seems to be to get to the top as quickly as possible, take the perfect iconic selfie and run-away. While others seek a deeper more spiritual connection. To the process. The mountain. The mana. And I questioned my own intent. Why was I here? Why had I travelled around the world to put my body through a small form of torture? Just to what? See? Just to experience? To brag? Because that’s it. Isn’t it? As much as I loathed the selfie-taking, instagram-loving, drone-flying masses. Had I become one too? I guess we all like to think we’re unique. That our experiences are just that: ours.