Things Fall Apart (Torres del Paine)

The towers of Torres del Paine.

My friends and I took a bus, a plane, another bus, and then two other buses to go backpacking through the famous Torres del Paine National Park park in southern Patagonia. With enough rice and beans to last us a week, we headed into the mountains for 3 days of fun around 2,500 miles north of Antarctica. I was happily walking along the park when I tripped—on nothing. I felt relatively no pain so I continued on. After dropping off our hiking bags stuffed with sleeping bags the size of a 1-year-old at the camp site, we headed up to see the famous torres, or towers. The view was spectacular, with a pristine blue lake accepting the ice making its way down from the imposing towers surrounded by misty clouds. The low, heavy clouds are one of my favorite parts about southern Chile. Instead of ruining the view, I think they add a mystical appearance to the landscape.

Trafficked was stopped for 2 hours on our way back
because there was a car race on the highway.

Later that night, I was getting ready to go to bed when intense pain started to seep into my ankle. I was told by the camp site employee that I should return to Puerto Natales, the nearest city, in the morning. I had come all the way down to the end of the world and was not ready to end this trip, so I decided to wait until the morning to see how I felt. The next day, we woke up to soaked hiking bags and wet tents and sleeping bags from the 10 hours of rain during the night. We finally left, a few hours behind schedule thanks to the rain, for me to go back to Puerto Natales and for my friends to continue forward with the trek. Despite the fact that I had a waterproof jacket and boots on, I was soaked from head to toe. The rain was so miserable during the three hour hike back down that two of my friends decided to return to Puerto Natales with me.

Beginning of the W circuit of Torres del Paine.

The hike being cut short wasn't the only thing that went wrong on that trip. Bus tickets, a wallet, souvenirs, and a cell phone were lost, causing moments of panic before most of them were found. Bus tickets were sold out, preventing us from going from one city to the next when we wanted to. This was the most frustrating trip I had taken in Chile and probably anywhere recently. It felt wrong to fly all the way down there only to be lounging in a cafe in a city enjoying cake with wine instead of raising one sore leg after another across the mountains of Torres del Paine. I felt restless. Because we couldn't physically change our location to somewhere outside the city, the only thing we could do was change our attitude. Be grateful for the fact that even if we weren't doing the hike, we were still in Chile.

Enjoying the moment by watching soccer practice.

I decided to take advantage of my situation—being in a touristic city—by going out for brick-oven pizza that night. We squeezed in next to a couple of Australians on the only table in the restaurant. The table was actually a long bench, perfect for travelers to enjoy one another's company. Ten minutes later, a French friend we had made in Chiloé 2 weeks beforehand sat down next to us. And then I remembered why I loved traveling: the people. It's not just the locals whom you meet along the way, but also the travelers from all over the world. You hang out with the travelers for a day or two, or even a few hours, and accept the fact that you will never see them again. You store them in your mind and heart as a memory of your trip, as much a part of your travels as the locals and the sights, and move on. But then, out of nowhere, you run into some of them again!

We thought we even ran into former president Bush!
The locals told us that was definitely not him.

Travelers are the people I want to see over and over again. A love for travel and an interest in the place where we meet one another bring us together and give us the fuel to ignite engaging, eye-opening conversations. That night, we talked for hours with the Australian couple as if we were old friends. Then we left them as abruptly as we had met them. No plans to see one another again. Nothing tangible of them to carry on with us: no photos to remember their faces, no e-mail addresses to write a quick hello, and no Facebook names to look up. Just our memories of them. And a regret that we didn't at least ask for a photo with them.