We woke up at 5:00 AM in the pitch black and sleepily fumbled around in our tent, me putting on every layer of insufficiently warm clothing I had. Head lamps on, we ventured into the crisp Patagonia cold for a sunrise hike to see the Torres del Paine peaks, the most popular attraction and namesake of the national park we were exploring in Chile.
It was the Summer of 2009, and I was in my early 20s traveling with four of my American friends and coworkers. We were living in Chile as international volunteers working with at-risk youth in the poorest neighborhoods of Santiago. We had been in Chile for a few months, working, learning Spanish, deciphering Chilean culture, and living the city life—on volunteer budgets. I had never really camped before and was the least outdoorsy and travel-savvy of our group. In fact, signing up for a year-long volunteer program in Chile was by far the most risky and adventurous thing I—the Catholic school-going, honors college nerd with a protective Mexican tiger mom—had ever done.
But there I was, falteringly heaving myself up a rock scramble in the pitch black, feeling like a GUTS contestant climbing the Crag (early 90’s Nickelodeon game show reference for my non-elder millennials). Fumbling around in the dark with fuzzy morning brain, we almost got lost several times. But we were always saved by following the headlamps of other hikers who seemed to know the way. After an hour or so of strenuous hiking my out-of-shape legs barely withstood, we finally reached the crest of the mountain, and I felt a glorious release.
There they were. Rising out of the dusky morning light – the three jutting granite “torres”, or towers, of the Paine mountain range overlooking an otherworldly turquoise lake. I am whatever the polar opposite of a morning person is (beware approaching me pre-caffeine). So, needless to say, I had never watched the sun rise before. Which made it all the more breathtaking for me to stand there watching the sun’s pale yellow rays bring these towering rock formations, reaching for the heavens, into ever more dazzling focus.
I honestly had never even heard of Patagonia or Torres del Paine before coming to Chile and certainly never would have imagined I would go on a multi-day trekking trip at the end of the world. I never knew I would explore this land of pumas (sidenote: thank God I didn’t know there were pumas beforehand, or I would have politely declined going on the trip). I never knew I would see the rushing river rapids our rag-tag group leapfrogged across from stone to stone. Or the Sound of Music-esque rolling green hills we overlooked as we crossed steep bluffs, gusting winds almost throwing me and my ridiculously overstuffed backpack over the edge. Or the lakes of every size and shade of blue dotting the landscape, which gave way to a massive glacier stretching as far as the eye could see.
I never would have found this place without my adventurous friends. I never would have broken bread with the Israelis, South Africans, and adventurers and wanderers from around the world looking to conquer the park’s famous “W” trail as they backpacked through South America and shared stories of far-off lands. And I never would have learned that I can conquer anything – from tents flying away as we tried to make camp, to pushing through a knee injury I got on my first day of hiking, to huddling together on a frigid early morning in light traveling clothes as we waited several hours for a bus station to open, to getting lost for half a day after taking a vaguely-described shortcut. Not only could I get through all of it, I felt alive in a new way, and it changed me forever.
From that moment on I could never go back to “normal.” I could never go back to a sheltered life where I had no exposure to people from other ethnic, cultural, religious, or political backgrounds. Instead, I sought out people who made me think about who I really am and what I believe rather than spoon-feed me the answers I want to hear. From then on, I was a seeker, a finder, and a learner who devoted my life to helping others find their Torres del Paine – their own expansion of themselves. And I would never had done it if I didn’t surround myself with people who brought new ideas, perspectives, and skills to my life and said YES YOU CAN. Yes you can explore new frontiers, and here’s how to get there. A cultured traveler doesn’t need to have all the answers for where to go and what to do. She has to be open to the part of herself that knows none of the answers, and there she will find the way.
Adventure Traveler and Blogger,
Carmen Ronan
Landscape Photographers:
Maciej Bledowski, Dmitry Pichugin, and Noblige