This time last year I was sat in a little hostel in El Chalten, South Argentina going walking for the day and then watching my first ever Superbowl final with Americans in the hostel.
Sunset on my first night in El Chalten.
View of Fitz Roy after a long but amazing trek.
This post is about when I went travelling the way walking in the mountains of South America helped me to find a little bit of peace and a place to grieve.
My Dad always encouraged me to follow my dreams and the part he most wanted to see in my trip was South America. South America made the list for me as I wanted to be in Rio de Jenerio for Carnival but also to walk and trek in the mountains. Me and my Dad never set firm plans for him to come out and travel with me. In fact not much of the section in South America leg of my travels was set in stone until the last minute. However it was the only section of the trip my dad was interested in joining up with me to do but then never got to do.
Many times in South America I felt his absence especially because I was doing a lot of walking and trekking, something my Dad loved to do. My Dad died 3 months before I left the UK and I left even though I was still in pain from that because I know my Dad would not have wanted me to cancel or delay my trip I had worked hard for. However once South America came it was a lot harder then I was expecting to deal with some of that pain.
The mountains became my spiritual place. A place to remember, to think and to reflect.
The Incas believed that to be at the top of a mountain was to be close to the Gods. To be able to please the Gods they left children as sacrifices at astonishing heights which have survived in one piece and can be seen at different museums in South America. Of course this is all speculative, a very simplistic explanation and many would have various different opinions and arguments about what the Incas believed. I am not a religious person and have not been for a long time but the mountains became another place for me. Being in these places at heights of up to 4000 metres was a very moving experience and spiritual place to be. A place to be at peace, a place to remember my Dad. I hardly spoke to anyone about the pain I was carrying apart from a select few but the mountains I did not have to say anything.
The picture is me climbing Villarrica Volcano in Pucon, Chile. It is the highest point I got to as I was struggling due to still being ill and my guide turned me and a couple of other walkers around. Before this picture I stopped for a rest stop with others and I just sat and cried. I had found the climb a lot harder, I do not really like walking up its the hardest part for me but I found it mentally tough. One of the other climbers, not even from my group asked if I was ok and I replied something along the lines of yes but also missing my Dad because he died just over a year ago. The man was probably old enough to be my dad heard my story and truthfully replied that he was sorry for my loss and that I made him cry himself.
Pucon was the first place I told somebody fully and truthfully what had happened to my Dad and the pain I was carrying deep inside me. It set the story for my South American adventure meeting people weeks later or friends of friends from that hostel in Pucon. Meeting some very good people made my trip in South America.
This photo was taken on the second day of my trek in the Lares Valley in Peru near Cusco. We had slept at 3,800 metres above sea level and climbed up to just over 4,000 metres and over the top of a ridge. That climb that morning was tough. I usually do not like walking with my ipod on but that day I needed something to get me up the mountain and Queen was the choice that day. The relief and achievement of getting there and the view the other side was amazing. I know my Dad would have loved to be there and would have been very proud.
The mountains and walking are a place to challenge yourself, to push your limits both mentally and physically.
A place to remember and relfect. To be away from everything.
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