This is one of my favorites.

Speaking of gaiety, I’ve reached 5% of my $2,000 goal on Spot.Us! Thanks to Alan Lindsey and Kelly Beck (Tobin) for your help! Someone asked me today if it’s possible to support my cause without joining Spot.Us. We’re forced to put our names and email addresses and credit cards into so many questionable forms on the web; I understand the hesitation. My response is an equally hesitant yes. If you’d like to support me but want to keep it a bit more private, we can work something out. I appreciate any help that someone is willing to offer. However, by donating through Spot.Us, you’re holding me accountable for completing my project. You’re legitimizing my work and demonstrating a vote of confidence in my abilities as a professional journalist. This is about more than helping me pay for a night’s accommodation in Santiago; this is paying me for my hard work in researching and developing the story of the inhabitants of Patagonia’s Aysen Region! So, however you choose to support me, I will thank you profusely. But please do consider typing your name and spam-email-address into just one more online form. C’mon. It’s easy. Do it for the Ayseninos.

When the next train approached, it was equally loaded, but this time I was at the front of the platform and forced my way into half a square foot that was open near the door. There was a prolonged squeezing sensation as two more people wiggled on board and then pressed themselves against the crowd to avoid the closing door. I couldn’t reach any handholds, but I didn’t need to. The train bolted forward, and as a unit, the crammed mass of humanity leaned backward slightly, cushioned and held upright by proximity. Sleepiness forgotten, I studied the people around me with all of my senses save taste. I counted seven split ends in the orangey dyed hair of the woman in front of me, and heard the breathy laugh and eye roll of a woman behind me. With one elbow I experienced the starched six pack of a man to my left; with my forearm, the tired back of a woman who smelled of lemon cleaner and dust. For six stops, I rode in intimate and anonymous communication, protected and supported by this complacent and temporary association of metro-riders.

Disembarking at Universidad la Catolica, I felt giddy, elated, uplifted by the brief but fascinating ride. For those ten minutes, I was a part of a whole: a Chilean whole. Not a tourist, just a body against five others. Weird, perhaps, but it cleared my head of the entire day, buoyed my reeling mind and renewed my sense of purpose. I do belong here! I am capable of not only completing, but nailing this project.

This was my state of mind when I opened my email and saw that I have earned %3 of my fundraising goal in one day! Katie Leum, Brin Finnegan, Syreena Mortimer, and Jordan James: THANK YOU. Thank you for being part of my supporting community. Thanks for validating my efforts and holding me up in the speeding subway train that is my life. Thanks for feeding and housing me for four days, which is exactly how many days I’ve been here! Let’s keep this up. If I can get at least $20 worth of donations every day for the next two and a half months, I’ll break even. Who will be the next to step up to the plate? Find out more here: Hydroelectric Dams Proposed in Patagonia meet Fierce Resistance.

There are two ATMs in the narrow arrivals terminal, with a uniformed security guard to watch the backpacked-backs of the Gringos and Europeans fumbling with money belts and wads of pink pesos. Got cash. Set my luggage in a corner and sat down for a minute to regroup and consolidate my carry-ons into my large pack. Public transit with a 60-liter pack requires organization. Careful not to put any valuables in the outside pockets, I also stuffed CHP20,000 into my bra (hard for someone to pickpocket that without my knowing about it). The Centropuerto and Tur Buses waited just outside the terminal. I paid my CHP1,400 and sat by the back door (the correct exit point). The first thing I saw as we pulled out of the airport compound was a PATAGONIA SIN REPRESAS billboard. A bubble of excitement swelled and burst, and I leaned my face against the window to hide my huge grin. As the bus neared the center of town, I asked the person behind me to tell me when we got to Pajaritos, the start of the Santiago Metro. Centropuerto also goes to Los Heroes, another stop closer to the center, but the metro is famously overcrowded. Hopping on at the start of the line meant I had room for both myself and my backpack to sit. At Pajaritos, I bought a “Bip!” card.

“Can I buy a B.I.P. card?” I shouted to the heavyset girl behind the window. She looked back blankly. “Bay, eee, pay?” I tried, enunciating each letter in the acroynm.
“Ohhhh. Beeeep?” Oh. Bip! is not an acroynm, but a clever onomonapoeia of the noise that the card reader makes when you brush the card against its face. “Vale miltrecientos” (it costs CHP1,300), the girl said, at the exact second that a train passed below us, washing away everything she said except for “ciento.” I thought for a minute.
“Uh…yes, I want to go to el centro.” I could feel the clerk’s sigh through the window.
“NO. VAH-LAY MEEL TRAY-SEE-EN-TOS.”
“Ohh! Okay!” I slid the plasticky notes under the glass, plus a few extra thousand to load the card for use on the subway and buses.

Still life with Fish

Large, easy-to-read maps of the Metro hung on the walls above the stairs, and I quickly deduced that I needed to catch the train toward Los Dominicos. The Metro is clean and well-organized. A disembodied voice announces each stop like any subway in the world. Universidad la Catolica was mine. My strategy for any crowded public space is just to keep moving, leave my hands in my pockets or on my purse, and go with the flow of the crowd until it breaks up and I can step away to get my bearings. I like to stand with my back against a wall or pillar to eliminate the possibility of someone helping themselves to my back pockets or backpack. I consulted my city map, but I needed to ask a peanut vendor on which street I was standing. After an easy,

ten minute walk, I was ringing the doorbell at the EcoHostel. It’s clean and cozy. Dorms line one side of the hallway, the other is open to two small courtyards

with hammocks, chairs, and tables for dining al fresco. There’s free wifi, and breakfast is included (typical for Chile). The showers have plenty of water pressure and the kitchen has a stove, microwave, fridges, and most cooking supplies. A dorm bed is CHP7,000 a night, a private is approximately double that.

A weekly farmer’s market was sprawled across several blocks on the next street over, and I wandered for an hour, buying vegetables and other treats to sustain me for the next week. I’m anticipating being in Santiago for at least one week, but more likely it will be close to three weeks. I prepared an early dinner and brought it out on the patio, inexpressibly pleased with myself. I’m finally here! Ya estoy!

**

You likely noticed the new item in my sidebar: “Help fund this story!” With a big 0% underneath. This, my friends, is the link to my fundraising website, sponsored by Spot.us, a unique site designed specifically to help freelance journalists fund and publish their work! I mentioned above that I’m traveling on a budget of $20 a day. I’m traveling on my savings account, which isn’t huge, but at $20 a day, will carry me through the end of February. $20 isn’t much. Accommodation alone in Santiago costs $15 a night. For the past six years, I’ve traveled around the world, always on my own dime. I’ve always managed to work and save before or during my trips. I’ve never asked for money before – of course not. I wouldn’t ask someone to fund my vacation. This trip, though, is different. The point of this trip is work – I’m actually working as a journalist – but as a freelancer, I won’t get paid unless and until I publish my story. I accept this. It’s good motivation to work hard, to push myself. But I could use your help to gain some breathing room. So begins operation Fund Susan For a Day! $20 will fund one day in my life on my mission to get published. Think you can help?

Please visit the website above. Clicking on the sidebar will bring you to my proposal. Visit, read, and think about it. Clicking doesn’t cost you a thing. You’ll notice that on the right side of my Spot.us pitch is a list of fun incentives. Even donating $5 gets you a little something. Spot.us requires writers to set a deadline for themselves. It’s a way to encourage us to network and actively raise funds. My goal is to raise $2,000 by February 1st. That’s 100 $20 days. Or, it’s enough to cover a $1,500 round trip ticket plus $500 for travel within Chile.

If you decide to donate, you will be required to create a username (with your email address) and log in with a password. Spot.us does not spam. You’ll have the option to pay with a credit card or PayPal. Spot.us will charge 10% of whatever you choose to donate for their operating costs. And then that’s it! I’ll be in touch with profuse thanks and to make arrangements to send you whichever incentive you have earned.

Thanks for reading, thanks for your time, and thanks for your support!

My own jointed bones and square inches of flesh are feeling stretched taut, full of love and friendship. Full of the happy sadness and sentimentality of leaving a place one loves. Last night thirty-odd favorite ski bum friends poured into my home with arms full of food, drink, gifts, and good wishes. Chris set it up as a surprise party, but with so many friends excited to talk about my trip and share their support, the secret was never going to be kept for long. It was a great sending-off; tomorrow as I lift off from the Salt Lake airport, I’ll imagine that the plane is being buoyed by my friends’ excitement rather than jet fuel. I’m excited to leave; I believe as Muir does, that it is easy enough to live out of sight of one’s friends, but only because I know that I’m bringing their love with me, and that they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.

The adventure begins tomorrow…

My job while I’m there will be to create a guidebook of local trails, day hikes, and longer treks that will attract more Western tourists.  Hiking AND writing?  It’s perfect.  When I read the job description back in September, I thought, this job was made for me! And then I thought, I’m going to make it happen.  I’ve been working three and four jobs since I got back to Utah in order to save enough money to make the trip a possibility, and it’s finally coming together.  Two years ago I spent four months hiking through the Peruvian Andes, practicing my Spanish and learning Quechua, the language of the indigenous mountain people.  I was lucky to meet many locals who helped me to trek far off the beaten tourist path and explore regions rarely visited but unparalleled in their history and wildness.  It was this experience, as well as my passion for writing, that I described to Awamaki to indicate my unique qualification for the guidebook job, and they agreed to take me on. I won’t be getting paid, but I will be a hired writer.  Being able to put the experience on my resume is going to be worth every penny.

Like most non-profits operating in the third world, Awamaki is constantly seeking donations of time, money, and supplies.  In order for me to participate in the program, I will be paying a one-time donation of $650.  This donation will cover my first month of room and board in a homestay (almost half of the funds go directly to the local family that will host me), project materials, and a donation to the guidebook project. It also covers the expenses that Awamaki incurs in hosting volunteers and running the volunteer program.

Now that I know for sure that I’ll be going, I’m reaching out.  I’m talking to my contacts at REI, and planning presentations to talk about my past experiences in Peru as well as seek donations and sponsorship for this upcoming trip.  I’m talking to the owner of Brighton Resort to request permission to hold a fund-raising bake sale and to see if Brighton would be interested in being a sponsor of the trip.  And I’m asking all of you to consider supporting me and Awamaki.  The program is currently requesting baby and kid’s clothes, prenatal vitamins, school and art supplies, used digital cameras for a community photography workshop, and a used laptop computer.  I know many of you readers are far from Salt Lake City, Utah, but if you have any of the above supplies and would be willing to mail them to me, I know that Awamaki will be exceptionally grateful, as will the local Ollantinos who receive your donations.

Thanks for reading, and thank you for your support.

This blog, I sometimes feel, has become that hungry beast.

It began innocently enough – I could whip off a light, informative entry in about fifteen minutes, a half an hour if I was being thoughtful, an hour at the absolute maximum if I’d been slack in reporting on my travels.  You all read it, and wrote wonderfully encouraging comments.  Once stroked, my ego began to purr, and I started putting a bit more thought into each entry.  Themes emerged, and I got excited about organizing my updates around ideas instead of events.  Reader reviews (bless you all) were positive, and the beast began to grow.  Once informed that I had something good, I wanted it to be better.  And better.  I needed substance, depth, details!  Internet sessions became longer and more expensive, and entries came fewer and farther between.  The pressure began to build.  Weeks now pass between entries as I struggle to find the time and energy to tend to the beast which will no longer be satisfied with quick updates.  This creates both a backlog of events on which to report (with feeling and wit) and a certain sense of suspense among you all, faithful readers.  “Where are you?  What’s happening?” you ask.  I’ve begun to avoid my email account guiltily, but I can still hear the blog-beast as it paces, testing the hinges, ready to break out.

The following, therefore, is the hiss of the safety valve as it vents a jet of steam, relieving some of the pressure.  Quick and artless, but effective.  I’m letting the beast out the back for a run.  Apologies if it eats any of your kids.

So, back to the place where I fell off the track…
There was the curanto.
Then the Navimag.

Then the Parque Nacional de Los Torres del Paine, the jewel of Chilean Patagonia.  I hiked for the first three days with Angus and with Clementine, Ben, and Jerome from the Navimag, then went my own hardcore way.  I trekked for ten days in all, in the hottest, clearest weather in Patagonian history, then came back into civilization (Puerto Natales) and took the job at the erratic rock hostel.

The job at the rock led to a trip to Cabo Froward, the southernmost tip of the American mainland – visited by the Pope in the early 90s – accessible only by boat or by a two-and-a-half day hike along slippery beaches and through vicious, sucking turbal (peat bogs) and across freezing, chest-deep rivers.  There were eleven of us, all self-sufficient and keen trekkers, but despite our high spirits and determination, were turned back a half-day from our destination because of dangerously high rivers.  Instead of succumbing to disappointment, we spent an evening drying our underwear on sticks over the campfire and bonding as “Team Toasted Panties”.

Another month of work at the erratic rock followed before I could start counting down to the Circuito de Los Dientes de Navarino – the Teeth of Navarino.  It’s the southernmost trek in the world, and it’s the only thing I knew about in Patagonia before arriving.  I arrived in Puerto Williams (the tiny town you’ll recall from my last entry), made a stir as the crazy gringa, then disappeared into the wilds for eight days.  The hiking was rough, the weather rougher, and I emerged on the other side of the eight days with a whole new respect for the word “remote”.  I do have a proper update in the works with details of the trip.  It’s three-quarters written, and it’s a story I don’t want to skip.  It’ll get here…eventually.  Photos exist as well.  Stay tuned.

After the Dientes, I crossed the border into Argentina and spent two weeks between El Calafate and El Chaltén, two dusty frontier towns built up for the sole purpose of serving the tourists who descend in droves to either 1) visit the Perito Moreno glacier or 2) hike in the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares.  I did both.  I spent a week and a half in El Chaltén, a town still under construction (est. 1985), sleeping in my tent and going on day hikes, seeking out new and exciting vistas of Cerro Torre and Monte Fitzroy (the two showpieces of the park).  Winter arrived about the same time that I did, and for the last five days of my stay I was hiking and camping in the snow.  Beautiful, but I think it’s time I moved on from Patagonia.  I’ve been in South America for nearly four months, and three of them in the deep south.  Time to check out some new places.  Therefore – I’m off to Peru.  I fly from Puerto Natales to Santiago tomorrow, then get a 26-hour bus to the Chile-Peru border, then through another series of buses and towns will arrive in Cusco, Peru on the 16th or 17th.  It’s going to be epic.  When I get to Cusco, I’m going to be tired.

Hope this fills in the gaps.  In the meantime, here’s this piece of unrelated news: the film “Ice People” (documentary about life in Antarctica filmed while I was working at McMurdo) will be premiering at the 2008 San Francisco International Film Festival, April 24 to May 8.  If you’re in the Bay area, check it out!  If you’re not, but still crave a taste of the cold, you can still enjoy the trailer.

(so you see – this is what i’ve been doing and why i’ve been so behind on the blogging. i’ll do my best to catch up soon.)

I’ve applied for a job working on the American Antarctic research base, McMurdo Station.  I met an American couple from New Mexico when I was still working in Tekapo, and found out from them that the US Antarctic Program (USAP) hires civilians and non-scientists to do all of the grunt work – data entry, housekeeping, garbage removal, ec.  Was I interested in working there, they asked?  YES.   Oh, my God, yes.  It never occurred to me that normal people could get jobs down there – could live down there!  I’ve been going through the steps to get a job in the cafeteria (just call me the lunch lady), jumping through the hoops and scaling the mountains of application paperwork, even conducting my job interview from a freezing payphone in Arthur’s Pass at two o’clock one frosty, 33 degree morning.  Three months later, they want me!  They’ve offered me a job as not just a dining room attendant (DA, as they’re called), but as a Lead DA – a manager.  Here’s the catch – deployment is August 20th.  I’m meant to be working here, in Methven, until October.  My job at the lodge is such that I haven’t been able to tell Jenny, the woman I work for, what I’m planning, what I’ve been doing.  If I take this USAP job and leave, I’ll be heading back to the US within days from now, with no notice, no warning.  See ya later, buh-bye.  This alone is making me feel guilty and heartsick.  But wait, there’s more.  I may not be eligible to accept the USAP job offer.  I’ve got heaps of experience as a manager (CUFS, RA, Seacoast Rep), but not enough specifically in food service.  The hiring people within the USAP are going to bat for me, working to convince the powers that be to bend the rules for me.  Still, there’s no word whether they’re having any success.  I can’t make plans to fly home, to sell my car, to break the news to Jenny, because I still don’t know if I’m going.  And, as I noted earlier, time is a-runnin’.

This is where I’m at…walking the wrong way on a moving sidewalk, waiting, waiting, waiting.  Going nowhere, but finding it difficult to enjoy the place I’m in.  Purgatorio, I feel, just might be worse than Inferno.  You will excuse me, then, if I lack the enthusiasm and energy to be communicative and creative.  I promise you this, though – you’ll know as soon as I do.  Wish me luck, and a speedy resolution!