When Hell Freezes Over
Speaking of the infierno, I could've gone ice skating in a volcano the other day - if only we'd had skates. And if only I knew how to skate. (Mom and Dad, Negra took a great video of me attempting to ice skate in El Calafate and she's threatened me with death if I delete it before I show it to the family.)
But the El Calafate story's a whole other story, so back to the volcano. D (Negra's dad) and C (her mom) manhandled us into their car our second day here and out of Rio Gallegos we drove on our way to visit the volcano.
An extinct volcano, that is - we weren't going to be dangling from ropes over molten lava or anything, exciting as that would've been.
Leaving the city felt a bit like casting off, like a great jump out over some bottomless unknown. Five minutes of driving and we were in the middle of nowhere. Civilisation could've been thousands of miles away for all I knew. And I still can't get over how much the landscape around Gallegos reminds me of the ocean. You could see it especially well on the road to Calafate, how you could've been driving on the bottom of a drained sea - but I digress again.
Around 45 minutes later, it began to change - blackened rocks torn out of the ground, jagged hills. "Volcano country," D explained, slamming on the brakes and taking a 90 degree turn at about 60 kph. The road to the mountain isn't exactly boldly marked.
We bumped and jolted happily up the mountainside and arrived at the top. Barrelling out of the car we stood at the edge of the crater and looked down. I remembered walking into the Molson Centre in Montreal for the first time, and the slightly dizzy feeling of awe looking at the rows of seats cascading down below. The wind howled over with a faint roar, like the sound you make when you blow over the top of a bottle. Far below us, in the depths of the crater, was a frozen lake. "Laguna Azul," C explained. "Blue Lagoon. You know, like the movie."
For a second we all stood in silence, shivering in our parkas, looking down the brown expanse onto the wind sheared ice. "Well, not exactly like the movie," C added dryly.
We climbed down inside the crater and found a cave, which we crawled into for a photo. Then we didn't want to come out because it was so cold outside, and so much warmer in the cave. Then it got cold in the cave also, and we all piled back in the car and drove back down the rock-strewn road, passing around the hot mate with relief.
"Oh, that's Chile right there," C added, pointing, as we reached the main road. "Chile?" I said in excitement. "Do we have to cross the Andes to get there?" As there were no mountains in sight, she gave me an odd look, so Negra explained the details of Becca and my's failed mission. "You want to go to Chile?" D said thoughtfully.
That night they announced we were going to Chile the next day.
But the El Calafate story's a whole other story, so back to the volcano. D (Negra's dad) and C (her mom) manhandled us into their car our second day here and out of Rio Gallegos we drove on our way to visit the volcano.
An extinct volcano, that is - we weren't going to be dangling from ropes over molten lava or anything, exciting as that would've been.
Leaving the city felt a bit like casting off, like a great jump out over some bottomless unknown. Five minutes of driving and we were in the middle of nowhere. Civilisation could've been thousands of miles away for all I knew. And I still can't get over how much the landscape around Gallegos reminds me of the ocean. You could see it especially well on the road to Calafate, how you could've been driving on the bottom of a drained sea - but I digress again.
Around 45 minutes later, it began to change - blackened rocks torn out of the ground, jagged hills. "Volcano country," D explained, slamming on the brakes and taking a 90 degree turn at about 60 kph. The road to the mountain isn't exactly boldly marked.
We bumped and jolted happily up the mountainside and arrived at the top. Barrelling out of the car we stood at the edge of the crater and looked down. I remembered walking into the Molson Centre in Montreal for the first time, and the slightly dizzy feeling of awe looking at the rows of seats cascading down below. The wind howled over with a faint roar, like the sound you make when you blow over the top of a bottle. Far below us, in the depths of the crater, was a frozen lake. "Laguna Azul," C explained. "Blue Lagoon. You know, like the movie."
For a second we all stood in silence, shivering in our parkas, looking down the brown expanse onto the wind sheared ice. "Well, not exactly like the movie," C added dryly.
We climbed down inside the crater and found a cave, which we crawled into for a photo. Then we didn't want to come out because it was so cold outside, and so much warmer in the cave. Then it got cold in the cave also, and we all piled back in the car and drove back down the rock-strewn road, passing around the hot mate with relief.
"Oh, that's Chile right there," C added, pointing, as we reached the main road. "Chile?" I said in excitement. "Do we have to cross the Andes to get there?" As there were no mountains in sight, she gave me an odd look, so Negra explained the details of Becca and my's failed mission. "You want to go to Chile?" D said thoughtfully.
That night they announced we were going to Chile the next day.
posted by SarahT at 9:14 pm
2 Comments:
The Molsen Centre huh Sarah? And just who were you going to see perform there my dear friend? I suppose though that the ommitance of that minor detail leaves you with a little more credibility doesn't it?
Can't wait to have you over on this side of the pond in just a a few weeks now! Keep having fun. XOXO
ssssssshhhhhhh!! i'm a cool kid now!
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