Posts Tagged ‘extreme’

In Limbo

Sunday, October 29th, 2006

Scary to think so, but today it is exactly one year from the day the first snow came to Boston, and we set out to circle the world. For those of you who know our route so far, also know that we’ve failed in our plan to finish the trip in a year and now are barely on our second continent. I thought about summarizing the past year by posting its highlights, but soon realized it was impossible – way too long of a list. Instead, I suggest you take a look at this page. It has thumbnails from every place that we’ve been to and to me it’s like an hors devoirs platter. SmugMug changes them every time you load the page and, even though I can recognize the link by its name, I still wait for the random choice of “hors devoirs” to load.

Our route in South America – coming to your screens straight from my 11 year old sister’s bedroom wall.

We are now in Israel, where we are stuck in limbo – by far not done with our trip, but are yet to start its next leg. Between my painting and Shurik’s Hebrew lessons, we managed to squeeze in an adventure or two.
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Eureka! Villarica!

Saturday, May 6th, 2006

Suck up the flu because today, my dear, we are up this morning at six to go climb an active volcano. Villarica is her name, and she is that steaming, angry-looking summit glowing red you see from your bedroom window.

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To W or not to W?

Sunday, April 2nd, 2006

Actually, the question was more like to Circuit or not to Circuit. I know it sounds complicated, but it’s really not, so just bear with me. The two best and most popular treks in Torres del Paine are “The Circuit”, which goes in sort of a circle hitting all the important sites, and “The W”, which is a part of “The Circuit” that takes you to the most important parts and from a bird’s eye view looks just like the letter W. Now, this is a huge national park, and only the W takes four-five days; so when I heard we are doing the week-week and a half Circuit I pleaded, cried, stomped my feet, but nothing helped. I did think of fake fainting to underline my protest, but though that would leave me with no dignity at all, so I didn’t.


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Back in the USofA

Wednesday, January 18th, 2006

We spent a couple of days in Lima without an incident and even visited a Russian speaking doctor that was recommended to us in Miami on the day before we left the US regarding a small pre-trip medical problem and a more recent one. Tests have shown that everything is fine, so after a few days of shopping for presents we boarded the plane back to Miami.
( Captain America )

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Lima revisited

Wednesday, January 18th, 2006

Huacachina was awesome! If time permitted, we would have stayed there another week practicing our sand-boarding skills and drinking Tacama Sangria. However, Lima was only four hours away, and a not to be misseed flight from there to Florida for Tamaras, Shurik’s mom sixty fifth birthday on 21st of January.
( Scary Stories )

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Oh Huacachina, how will I miss thee

Sunday, January 15th, 2006

Located half an hour from Ica, Huacachina is a tiny oasis town set deep among the sandy dunes of the Peruvian desert. A few hostels, a few restaurants and artisan shops, all surrounding a beautiful lagoon on the shores of which the local children swim and slide on boards from the nearby dunes. “Tranquilo” they call such places. Tranquil and quiet this place is a real getaway, ten times better then what they try to depict in those vacation retreat commercials.




( Wild Dune Ride )

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“Whine” Potosi

Wednesday, January 4th, 2006

Traveling, you end up doing many things that are exciting and fun only in recollection. After the wounds have been licked shut and the pain in your lungs does not feel like a knife through the chest anymore – only then you can say with a straight face you would have done it all over again given the opportunity.

In Bolivia, having just done the famous Death Road, we were not exactly in the lets-do-it-again mood. Still, the adrenalin of hurtling down a steep mountain road dotted by shrines commemorating those who fell off the perilous path, with nothing but the brakes of our rental bikes to stop us from going over the edge of a cliff and into the harrowing depths of a canyon swimming in murky clouds was still with us, as were our sore muscles, bruised bottoms, and the soaking wet shoes. In retrospect, all that could have been more or less bearable and fixable if only we did not decide to tackle a nearby 6,088m peak the very next day.

Originally, we didn’t plan to do any extreme climbing until Kilimanjaro in Africa (5,895m high), but when we heard that Huayna Potosi, a 6,088m mountain near La Paz, takes only three days and requires no experience, we were hooked. Actually, to both our surprise, I was even more enthusiastic than my husband Alex. I don’t know what got into me, but I kept thinking about the ice axe and crampons that we would get to use, and how cool would it be to conquer a 6,088m summit. I was like a little girl about to use her new tea-set for the very first time. Alex was not against climbing either. He did keep asking me over and over if I was sure, surprised I felt so passionate about such a demanding physical task, but the fact that this would be an extremely cool experience that would cost us less then Kilimanjaro would, eventually won both of us over, and we booked a guide to lead us up the day after we did the Death Road. If only we knew how we would feel after finally getting off our bikes, we might have taken a day off to take it easy for twenty four hours. Alas, the trip was booked, and we were not the only people in the group going up; so we wore plastic bags over our spare socks, put on our still soaking wet shoes, and set off for the mountain.

In the van to the first of two camps we met the third member of our expedition. Julian was a 22 year old Frenchman who traveled whenever possible and always in the most extreme of ways. Since neither of us had any experience in ice climbing, the original plan was to get to the first camp (4700m) by car, and spend the day on a nearby glacier practicing technical skills for our two day climb to the peak. Next, we would spend the night at the same place, and the next morning head out to high camp. There we would eat lunch and go to sleep at about 5pm in order to wake up at about midnight and climb in the dark for the next seven hours to the peak. The reason the final climb is done at night is because it is now summer time here, and the hot Bolivian summer sun softens the snow and increases the risk of an avalanche. Unfortunately, when we reached the camp, the weather was already so bad that a group of men we met coming back from high camp said they didn’t even attempt the peak since the risk of an avalanche was too great. Cautiously, that day our guide decided to not even take us out for training. Instead, we spent the whole day playing the card game “Asshole” in a tiny room behind a little house belonging to the hydro-electric plant guard. To be honest, it was alright with us. We had a chance to dry off our very wet shoes and rest our sore muscles. Actually, I’m pretty sure we were not even supposed to be there at all – we were allowed to use the bathroom only if there was nobody else near the house; and then, right before we went to sleep, and I went to brush my teeth, I was literally shoved back into the room by the guard because, as he apologetically explained later, the Sheriff was outside the door.


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Death Road

Sunday, January 1st, 2006

Change of pace. We have mellowed out long enough and were now ready for some serious action. Even before we entered Bolivia, Shurik was thumbing through the Bolivia section in our guide book and stumbled across something called The Death Road. “Stasya!” He turned to me all excited, “Wanna go up to 4700m on a van and then ride a bicycle downhill 64km on the most dangerous road in the world?” “Ahem… No! Do I look like I have a death wish?” It was an honest response. I haven’t been on a bike since the fifth grade! Now, that was about a week ago and since then the subject didn’t come up until Jurgen asked: “Are you guys doing the Death Road?” To my surprise it took both of us about two seconds to reply “Sure!”, and that very day was spent on searching for the best and cheapest guide to lead us down the mountain. I have to say though; this decision was truly in the spirit of our whole journey. There is a very good Russian saying: “In every joke there is a smidge of truth,” and this saying has been so very true for us. Many things that we have done, including the decision to go around the world itself, started as nothing but a joke. A silly idea that is thrown out there and then actualized against all odds.

Can’t say I wasn’t nervous. They say you don’t forget how to ride a bicycle, but I didn’t believe “them”. All I hoped for were good brakes and for the waterproof garments that were given to us by the guide to actually be waterproof. Well, as usual you can’t always get all you want, but one out of two is still better then none. After they were tuned to my size and strength, the breaks worked pretty well even though at certain points I ended up helping myself along by digging my heels into the ground. The waterproof pants I was given though were a completely different story. The thing is that the first 15km of the Death Road was paved so it was easier to ride on and get used to your bike. However, it was incredibly cold due to the altitude and, to make matters worse, it was raining, and at the speeds we were able to reach on the asphalted road, this rain felt like hail of frozen needles. To say the least, by the end of this first run we were all wet down to our underwear, waterproof pants or not…



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Jungle Trip

Monday, December 12th, 2005




His monkey was of the smallest kind in South America and that is why we trusted him. It was a reason as good as any that we could count on coming up with in this place. We were in Coca, Ecuador – a small jungle town that we had big expectations for as far as being our portal to an off the beaten track adventure, or so we hoped. This would be our first stab at the jungle and the Rio Napo which further along the way merges with the Amazon. The plan was to make our way on public transportation – a dugout canoe, to the border with Peru and then hop a cargo boat going all the way to Iquitos. A bit optimistic and questionable plan, but I hear such ingredients are key when cooking up an adventure.

We encountered Luis Garcia by mistake. Alex read something about him in the guidebook and then when we found ourselves walking by his bar we just couldn’t help ourselves. The man was jolly, hospitable, and what was most important – patient with my questions. As his mouse-sized pygmy marmoset helped itself to some murky liquor in a shot-glass, gripping it like a waste-high bucket, I inquired about the immense amount of amputees we have been seeing around town and was surprised to learn they weren’t the product of past wars, but reckless and illegal fishing with dynamite. Surely, I asked, if not all, then at least some have also lost hands and legs working for the oil companies that have been ruining the local jungle, but was proved wrong again as apparently all the locals are trusted with is clearing the brush with their machetes which they know how to handle since birth. The townspeople, as it turned out, have no harsh feelings towards the oil companies whatsoever, but then we could have guessed that for ourselves as during one stroll through town we found what looked like the town’s Olympic mascot. All things considered it was rather bizarre and ironic to see a smiling oil drop wearing pants and bearing a torch.





( Trusting a man based on the size of his monkey is, to say the least, unwise… )

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