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Traveling Tales

Travel articles and information

Cherie Thiessen

Patagonia Passage

by Cherie Thiessen

patagonia ferry deckI hold unto the side of the building to prevent the unrelenting Puerto Natales wind from turfing me onto the busy road. It has already scooped up at least five travellers, backpacks and all. One of the airborne was my partner, who is now laid up in our hostería with his left leg in a cast. Ergo I’ve been sent to scout and report back.

An ubiquitous summer presence in Patagonia, this morning’s “breeze” has enough attitude to prevent the hybrid cargo-ferry, the Magallanes, from docking and disgorging its passengers. On the narrow eastern shore of what’s ominously called Last Hope Sound, the vivid primary coloured ship is a hulking presence. The sky and the waters are as angry as the captive travellers who bristle on its decks.

I’m reassured, though, by the vessel’s size – 21.2 meters wide and 122 meters long doesn’t mean a lot until you see it looming in front of you. I want size. This four-day voyage to Puerto Montt takes us through some infamous water:

“Passengers prone to motion sickness should consider taking medication prior to crossing the Golfo de Penas, which is exposed to gut wrenching Pacific swells”, cautions a popular travel book. I get motion sickness on a lakeside wharf.

The wind wracked Magallanes, in Chile’s region X11 beyond 49°S, gives its name to our passenger freighter which lurches across this Gulf twice a week transporting seafood, freight, trucks, cars and herds of unhappy cattle as well as intrepid travellers. The moaning bovines lend a certain ambience, especially after the open seas, when the rural aroma becomes more pungent.

This trip has become famous among backpackers, having been compared to Alaska’s coast, New Zealand’s Milford Sound and Norway’s fjords. It’s not surprising that the company, Navimag, has been experiencing increasing passenger loads since it started its service in 1979.

Eventually the ship’s captain senses a miniscule lull in the wind and when the Magallanes lumbers to shore I return to assist my hobbling husband. Late that evening we board, are shown our cabin and burrow into bed. A few hours later, the shuddering and the jangling of heavy chains signalling departure rattle us awake.

patagonia glacierThe next morning, after we inch through Paso White, the narrowest part in the trip at 80 meters, the mountains close in on both sides and we experience isolation far greater than anything we have ever felt on British Columbia’s coast. No planes, no boats, no settlements, no fish farms, no clear cuts, instead only rivers, a milky sea and glaciers from continental ice fields nestling into the Andes Cordillera.

By dinner the first night we are nudging into an ice floe garden in Laguna San Rafael. Blue with cold, the chunky San Valentín Glacier stretches toward us. We retreat, shivering, and continue our incredible solitary voyage up the sheltered coast.

Each day a flyer slipped through our door offers a collage of information and activities. Twice-daily presentations in English and Spanish range from glaciology to history, from culture to fauna. Also offered are nightly films, pub entertainment and naturally, pisco sour happy hours. While most passengers eat in the cafeteria, we First Classers dine deliciously with the officers, consuming a choice of amazingly tasty local dishes and bottomless bottles of first-rate Chilean wines.

On our second day we idle near Cotopaxi, a wrecked Greek freighter that now serves as a lighthouse and we venture ashore at Puerto Edén. The tiny boardwalk settlement on the northeast side of Wellington Island is home to the last seven Kawéskar Indians who were relocated by the Chilean government in 1969. Other Chileans live here now, however, and all residents make their living from fishing, oyster gathering and us.

At our briefing on the third day we are given an update on conditions in the dreaded Gulf and urged to take precautions. I’ve already concealed a disc behind my hair but why take chances? I swallow gravol and slip on two wristbands, hiding them under my long shirt. I may be a wimp but the world doesn’t have to know.

Soon after, the brave ship shimmies and begins its dance. Its flanks heave, its bow dips and rises and with incredible timing, dinner is announced. How can anyone hang unto their plates, I wonder, as en route to the dining room, I bounce with bruising regularity from one side of the narrow corridor to the other.

“You OK?” My partner asks solicitously. Surprisingly, I am.

Of the ten of us, two are missing. I gloat as I grab for the wine glass sliding away and lift it up to the placid waiter.

“Is this rougher than usual?” asks my pale companion on the left.

“No. We haven’t turned yet. That’s when it gets rough.”

She thanks him, daintily takes a roll from the basket and says a gracious ‘bon appetit’ to the rest of us as she lurches out.

patagonia shipThe exodus continues between courses, one couple retreats after spilling the soup course on their laps, two others battle out midway through the special Chilean dish. By dessert the boat has turned and only three of us remain. We say yes to more wine as the contents of the table clink and careen. I am jubilant with wine and victory.

The next morning Puerto Montt’s harbour unrolls sunshine, beaches, warmth, no wind and the promise of prawns. I am hung over but smiling, proudly wearing my “I sailed on the Magallanes and lived” t-shirt.

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About the author:

Cherie Thiessen is a freelance travel writer who makes her home on Pender Island, near Vancouver BC, on Canada’s West Coast

The photos:
1: Passengers relax and play chess on the after deck. Navimag photo.
2: The Magallanes anchors at the face of a massive glacier. Navimag photo.
3: Our ship in harbour at Puertto Natales. C. Thiessen photo.

Turtle Trekking – In Search Of Costa Rica’s Arribadas

by Cherie Thiessen

arribadas turtlesBeneath a dense black ledge of clouds a full moon hoists itself above the horizon, revealing the best place to cross the swollen rivers. We can’t believe our luck. The downpour that has assailed us since dawn, has stopped just in time for our trek along this deserted beach. There are four of us following our guide, Jorge: myself, my partner David, and our close friends Heather and Eric. Jorge has gone on ahead and we’re to follow if and when he signals with his flashlight. Fringed by a jungle of palm trees on one side and the Pacific surf on the other, and intersected by numerous rivers, Ostinal Beach on Costa Rica’s Nicoya Peninsula is one of the world’s most famed “arribadas” beaches. Here, four to 10 times a year between July and November, Olive Ridley turtles trundle ashore by the thousands to lay upward of 80 eggs each before returning to the sea. Thirty-five to 40 kilograms in weight and 60 to 75 millimeters in length, an Olive Ridley may be one of the smallest of the world’s marine turtles, but it’s still plenty big enough to stub a toe on.

fingers hold baby turtleObserving one of these mass egg-laying phenomena has long been at the top of our must-do list, but we’ve been following Jorge for an hour and one thing is fast becoming clear: there will be no arribadas tonight.

October is a risky month to travel Costa Rica’s roads. Impassable at the best of times, they are also bereft of directional signs. In the “Green Season”, the local euphemism for the May to mid-November monsoons, the country’s back roads turn into truck-sucking quagmires traversed by marauding rivers. We’d left our Samara resort at daybreak, allowing five hours to drive just 50 kilometres. We’d also tried to locate a guide and a place to overnight at Ostinal, but the translated messages were vague. Something about the Nosara River being impassable by car . . . and “Si, Si”, someone might meet us on the other side of the river to take us into Ostional and arrange for a licensed guide.

Five hours later, the sheeting rain had slowed us to first gear and rendered all possible sources of directions invisible. Were we even on the right road? When a raging river appeared suddenly in front of our windshield, we were ecstatic; at long last, the Nosara, We backtracked to a nearby farmer’s home, arranged to leave our car in his field for a small fee, and then set off on foot back to the river with umbrellas, backpacks and uncertain spirits. The farmer had indicated we could cross on a footbridge a half-mile further. The blood-curdling roars of howler monkeys followed us as we slithered through the mud and over the footbridge, our hoped-for rendezvous point.

turtle at sunsetAcross the bridge, no vehicle in sight. Nothing to do but splash on. Half an hour later, hope was revived when we saw a filthy pickup making its way toward us. In animated Spanish the driver explained everything, and we understood not a world. His final gesture was clear, however. Climb in. We did. After several bumpy miles the sight of yet another river slicing the road once again dampened our hopes. Our rescuer shrugged his shoulders and indicated the footbridge we could cross. He could go no further. On our own again. In a moment he had turned around and was heading back the way he had come, waving out the window. Again we found ourselves crossing an unexpected torrent, and squishing onward, but this time our soggy slogging was cut mercifully short. “Hurray, look!” Another pickup was bouncing toward us. Sloppy but enthusiastic greetings were shared all around, and then we were herded into the back of the driver’s open truck. A 15-minute dash through potholes and mud and we arrived at the village of Ostinal where a room in a hostel awaited us and our host pointed to his watch, indicating we would be turtle trekking at 10 p.m. As the four of us vowed to study Spanish more seriously next time, we gave thanks to the power of gestures and to the Gods who had allowed us to bumble on this far.

Sure enough, at 10 PM, Jorge arrived and led us down a lonely stretch of beach. Now our eyes strain for a sign that far ahead, he’s tracked down a Ridley. He has. The light flashes, and we hurtle forward, eventually to make out tracks leading from the sea to the banks of a rivulet. And yes, there’s our valiant mamma Ridley trying to climb the crumbling bank. Programmed to return to the same stretch of beach each year, she has tumbled down the bank several times, unable to reach her destination. Jorge raises her up and over. She hesitates, crawls a short distance, and then seems to know she’s home. She begins to dig with her back flippers.

turtle laying eggsThe four of us hug each other. The howler monkeys are back, roaring in the trees, but they no longer sound ominous. The universe has tipped toward us, and we can’t believe we are here at last; two hypothermic couples with a pathetic smattering of Spanish and a non-English-speaking guide, yet we understand. We understand we are blessed. For two hours, while the moon spills its light and we stand entranced, the valiant Ridley first pushes her eggs into the deep, funnel-like hole she has scooped out then covers her eggs with sand. Crying from exhaustion, the Ridley now begins to rock, but this is no lullaby. She’s gathering momentum for gigantic slams over the covered eggs, packing the disturbed sand solidly to protect her ‘nest’ from scavengers. These baby turtles will hatch without the comfort of their mother.

An hour later, we are still watching as she retraces her tracks, tumbling yet again down the riverbank, until at last she bathes her face in the waves of the Pacific.

Walking back, we keep smiling at one another. How will we get back tomorrow? Who knows? Where will we find anything to eat in this tiny village devoid of tourists? Who cares? Stepping off the secure path, we have entrusted ourselves to the kindness of strangers and been rewarded.

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IF YOU GO:
Airlines:
Continental Airlines has daily flights to Costa Rica’s capital of San José through Houston airport with connecting services from Vancouver and Toronto, Canada, via Air Canada. (www.continental.com)
www.aircanada.com
Delta Airlines: Non-stop service to San José from Atlanta, Georgia, with connecting services from Canadian and American cities.
(www.Delta.com)

Where to stay
Check out Casa Romantica, located close to the beach. www.casa-romantica.net

Other lodgings, car rentals, and general information: www.visitcostarica.com

Turtle and Park information: www.costarica-nationalparks.com/ostionalwildliferefuge.html


Tortuga Squad: Kids Saving Sea Turtles in Costa Rica
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About the author:

Cherie Thiessen landed her dream job as a travel writer at the age of 50, and now writes and teaches travel writing from her Canadian Gulf Islands’ home.

Photos by Casa Romantica:
1. Arribadas
2. Baby Turtle
3. Sunset Turtle
4. Egg Laying

Romancing the Stone: Streaking Along the Sunshine Coast and Visiting Rockwater Secret Cove Resort

Story and photos by Cherie Thiessen

In the old days we knew it as Lord Jim Resort, a collection of chalets and cottages on a pretty part of British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast, picturesquely named Halfmoon Bay. We would drop in for a decent meal overlooking the sea, or sometimes we would sail there from Vancouver Island and tie up for a few days of R & R after the frequently adventurous Georgia Strait crossing in our 23′ Crown sailboat.

But that was then and this is now, and Lord Jim is now Rockwater Secret Cove Resort, the hottest romantic getaway on the coast, with 67 weddings on the books this year according to President, Kevin Toth. Toth, who was 17 years with the Fairmont Hotel Chain, is telling us how he was influenced by African Safari properties when he started looking at the resort and trying to decide what he could do with the undeveloped, gorgeous strip of oceanfront property to the left of the main buildings and marina. He wanted a development with a low environmental impact but it had to be classy, effective, and luxurious. He started thinking tents.

sunshine coast british columbia

So we started looking and found a circus tent design we liked, then found a local tent manufacturer and explained what we were after. He delivered. Everything was built by hand, and when we started developing that section of the property we didn’t use any machinery. We had a goal to cut down as few trees as possible. Each tent site was personally inspected and chosen. We then put in 2400′ of boardwalk to link them all together.

Now if you’re thinking tents can’t possibly be luxurious or romantic, you don’t know the Serengeti. Or Okavango Delta. Start picturing luxurious carpets, marble floors, four posters, spacious bathrooms and every imaginable luxury.

But we were out to discover what a resort had to do to qualify as romantic. The 13 tent house suites spaced along a boardwalk connecting to the main lodge, and curling through the arbutus-studded canopy was inspired. It definitely qualified for an “R” rating. Oceanfront views accompanied by the sound of surf never do any harm either. The extensive, covered, and largely private decks with comfortable furnishings, which enable lovers to come out, cuddle up and get some fresh air are also a nice cozy touch. We checked off fine linens, the king sized bed facing the ocean, the fluffy bathrobes, the fireplace, shoji screen the radiant floor heating and the amazing hydro therapy tub for two that massaged with water jets while bombarding us with flashing colored lights. Well, that got three checks actually. Finally, we approved of the book selection, the tea and coffee makers and the mini refrigerator. The final check was when I opened the refrigerator and yes – there it was – a container of real cream instead of that plastic dried stuff.

So far this place was measuring up in every little detail. Even the fact that tents don’t hold in the heat too well didn’t harm this romantic survey in the least because if you’re snuggling up together, a little cold can be a good thing.

manzanita restaurant

But we were still not finished. Another touch is the hand carved gongs at the pathway to every tent, located far enough away to keep visitors at a respectful distance until you’re ready for them.

So what else defines romantic? Wine, roses and oysters, no doubt. So we head to the intimate, dreamy dining room and find it warmly lit. Rockwater has lucked out in its chef, Ben Andrew, who tosses off dishes like West Coast Bouillabaisse, Pacific Albacore Tuna, seared, with créme fraiche, and crisp capers, or Qualicum Bay Scallop Ceviche with preserved lime and scallions. We consider ourselves créme brule experts, and his classic creation was the finest. The wine selections were extensive and we were happy to see a good selection of wines by the glass, something many restaurants still overlook. We had no intention of falling off the boardwalk when the night was still young. And aren’t spas considered seductive? More checks then. The resort’s spa has had a special presence on the Sunshine Coast well before the tents wove their magic here. Clients have been able to walk along a boardwalk to a massage room without walls and enjoy a variety of relaxing treatments while listening to the gulls and the waves chasing each other just feet away. Now double that and make it a couple’s massage, and you have more accolades. Was there anything where it lost points? Well, while walls have ears, tent walls have hearing aides – sound is magnified. We were too shy to put this to the test, but if you are worried, may I suggest you ask for the waterfront tents located closest to the sea down their own private staircase? There’s a good chance the melodious sea might cover whatever sounds of delight issue from your Arabian Nights’ paradise.

Finally, the icing on the bridal cake, really, is our discovery that Rockwater actually employs someone whose job description is an elopement coordinator!

It’s time to go. We knew it had to happen. It’s hard enough to kiss romance goodbye, but after thirty years of marriage, good food is even harder to leave behind. For us, as possibly for you, there was solace in knowing that Spence on the Coast wasn’t too far away. This enterprising gourmet chef, who also has his own TV show, has opened a popular restaurant in nearby Sechelt, so where is it written that you have to leave the Sunshine Coast today? You’ve come this far, take another night and visit Spence, and then if you’re not ready to say goodbye to these incredible ocean views, book yourself in at Peter and Norma Bond’s nearby Bed and Breakfast, At the Shore. There should be another category to describe this place, as ‘ bed and breakfast’ just doesn’t do justice to the wholesome, gourmet ‘breakfast’, delivered to your room, or the ‘bed’, which comes with a fireplace, a Jacuzzi tub, an ocean knocking on your door, your own entrance, a mini kitchenette, a welcoming tray of sherry and cookies, an oceanfront hot tub, and hosts Peter and Norma Bond, whose special brand of hospitality combines a tactful respect for privacy with a willingness to help in whatever way they can. The older you (and your marriage) get, the more you come to realize that romance needs to be wooed. So, if it’s missing in your life these days, go on out, find it, experience it, and drag it home.

Photo credit: Cherie Thiessen

1. At the shore beach – guests can enjoy beachfront privacy.
2. Lund marina – the public docks looking over to Sevilla Island
3. Private tent – Rockwater guests wanting extra privacy might want to ask for a seaside ‘tent’ like this one.
4. Manzanita Restaurant, located in the old courthouse in Powell River’s old townsite.

Websites:

Rockwater Secret Cove Resort, http://www.rockwatersecretcoveresort.com/
At the Shore, (Peter and Norma Bond), http://www.attheshore.ca/
Spence on the Coast Restaurant, http://www.spenceonthecoast.com/
Manzanita Restaurant, http://www.manzanitarestaurant.com/

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