Tuesday, July 28, 2009

FOUR DAY DESSERT TOUR, BOLIVIA; July '09







































































































"By travelling, we discover not only this beautiful, awe-inspiring earth; we also discover our humanity, and that of others."- Dana Snyman, 'On the Back Roads'
July '09 - Four Day Dessert Tour, Bolivia.

Somewhere along the trip I sat overlooking a white mineral lake in the remote south-west Bolivia. The space was immense, the temperature uncomfortably cold, and the sun harsh. This environment cannot tolerate the weak. I only saw one wild animal species during the four day tour - an antelope named vekunas. Fortunatly, they have enough hair to keep them warm. A close relative to the alpaca and llama, they are now endangered. The domesticated sheep and llamas roaming the countryside do so with frost-bitten hooves. It is a harsh palce to live, but unforgivingly beautiful.

We left Tupiza early on the first morning after some warm mate and tamales. Climbing up mountains of craggy pinnacles, we felt a pang of danger sitting in the Land Cruiser. The views continued to get increasingly magnificant. That night we stayed with a local Quechua family in a small village. It was the coldest I have ever been. The water in the toilet froze, so it's not hard to imagine what the streams looked like.

Waking up at 4 a.m. to negative fifteen degrees celcius is no joke, but we all pilled into the vehicles and watched the stars float past our windows as the driver took us into the semi-dessert. We stopped at a view point just after sunrise at 4855 meter above sea level. It was high, it was cold, we were out of breath. Every time we got out of the vehicle to take photographs or find a rock to go to the loo behind, we almost froze. Our fingertips and toes were constantly numb, even inside the vehicle. But excitement and amazement made it bearable as we walked amongst geysers, steaming and boiling. The warm ground and sulphuric air were made the lanscape even more foreign.

On the third day I sat on gorgeous forms of larva rock looking at a smoking volcano. Lunch was prepared by our driver's wife while we played amongst the curious shapes of the larva field. "Amigos," we were called to eat. The sun had at least warmed us up a bit after unbearably cold start to the morning. The water in the basin had frozen the previous night, making the teeth-brushing episode quite a challenge as we were forced to brace the air outside. As the day ages, we drove into a Salvador Dahli painting where huge rocks were strewn on sanddune foothills.

The sheer beauty of the country amazed me, despite it's challenging temperatures. We drove past several lakes, all frozen. The dessert and blue skies emaphasised the white borax mineral on the water's edge. The famous green and red lakes, however, took my breathe away, especially as the sun set and the afterglow from the day's cold and windy sun gave rise to intense pinks and blues on the horizon.
On the third and final night we stayed in a salt house on the edge of the world's largest salt pan. Driving from the quaint setting over the salt flats in the early hours of the following morning, I wrote to the light of the moon through my window. We huddled clode together for the drive over the white salt to our sunrise breakfast spot. It looked as though we were driving thru a vast isolated landscape of snow, the raod never changing ... and never ending.
It was truly an amazing trip through dramatic semi-dessert and dessert scenery. The altitude, riducously cold temperatures adn eventual styench after four days of no showering was insignificant compared to the bueauty I saw. As the moon gradually sank into the western horizon on that final morning, I smiled to myself, knowing I have experienced the untamed Bolivia.

Monday, July 20, 2009

MY VIEW FROM A KOPPIE, ONJUVA, NAMIBIA; Jan '08













Going back in time a bit, but here's a little note on "My view from a koppie: Onjuva, Namibia"
20 January 2008

It is sunset time once again. I am perched on a rock, viewing the changing light from the top of the hill near Onjuva Village in the north-west Kunene region of Namibia. The rain is incoming and it is the first time I have had to cover up since I arrived as the temperature this time of year is swelteringly hot. The coolness is a welcome change from the draining, dry heat. I wrap my dust-covered kikoi around my fly-infested shoulders. The sky turns from pinks to moody blues. My eyes struggle to stay open…life has been so fascinating since my arrival two weeks ago, but tiring too. There have been new people, places, concepts, cultures, languages… the list goes on. Working for a non-government organisation supporting local conservancies, I find myself living out in the open bush as one of the field-based staff. A roof of stars houses me each night. I am at peace with the simplistic life as the locals live. The only material possessions I keep are my camera and the odd bits of clothing and literacy which make my life a little easier.

As I take a moment to gaze above at the intimidating clouds, it seems as if one is uncharacteristically green… or lilac. This phenomenon would not surprise me as out here it seems as if anything is possible. Recently I have had the privilege to witness a rainstorm blow in across the mountains of Angola, over the bordering Kunene River and onto the plains of the Marienfluss in the desolate north-western corner of Namibia. The preceding calmness, followed by violent wind and drops of much needed water were all too exciting. As storms are unpredictable, extremely localized and more often than not a non-existence, they are appreciated even more so by the people and the land when they occur. The few drops that fell teasingly kissed the dry earth only to depart too soon, making way for the unforgiving sun once again.

To add to the list of experiences I am working and living with the Herero and Himba communities in this isolated north-western area. These are some of the most patient, humble, peaceful people I have been in contact with. They are furthest from Western societies’ influence out of all the people in Namibia, and it shows in the manner of most of these peoples. Here, traditions and cultures are still intact. I find the ‘harsh conditions’, as would be described by Western standards, in which these people survive to be fascinatingly intoxicating. Life occurs here, as it does everywhere else; but to the untrained eye it is missed. It is through the ‘harshness’ of the environment that appreciation and respect evolve. People abide by the unwritten laws. Communities are small enough for the traditional authorities to receive and dispatch information in order to manage the people.