Patagonian Expedition Race 2012: stepping into a world of ice

Patagonian Expedition Race 2012: stepping into a world of ice

It’s been seven days since a total of 19 teams set off into the far south of Chilean Patagonia, and through a mix of settled weather, good preparation, dogged persistence and scenic inspiration, a surprising number are still racing through the wilderness.

Traditionally, between 30 and 50 per cent of participating teams usually finish the annual Patagonian Expedition Race, and its always the closing stages when the going really gets tough. This year it's also where it course is at its most spectacular.
This year the route has taken participants into the Cordillera Darwin, in the south of Chilean Tierra del Fuego, and the names of the different checkpoints offered a hint at the terrain: Paso de las Nieves (Passage of the Snow), El Turbal (The Peat Bog) and Paso Glaciar (Glacier Passage).

Previous editions of the race have seen racers steered through the far Western fjords, around the mighty pointed peaks of Torres del Paine and all the way down to the spiky summits of the world’s southernmost trekking routes on Isla Navarino.

With 245 miles – more than two thirds of the overall journey – already clocked up, it would be easy to think that the remaining 106 miles would be considered the home straight. But when you’re greeted by some of the most remote landscapes on the planet, that’s simply not the case.

Since Friday night, the leading team, which includes Briton Nick Gracie, has been setting a strong pace, despite the varied and difficult terrain.

At the Paso de las Nieves, recent snowfall created some interesting trekking conditions, to go with cool temperatures at up to 2,000 metres, while El Turbal, a spectacular wild peat bog which glows bright orange, is equally challenging. Firm and well structured to the touch, it appears to be safe ground until you step on it – if the ground is wet, you'll find yourself sinking fast. American racer Chelsey Gribbon is so short she admitted concerns about drowning in El Turbal when she took on her first race two years ago.

Peru cruise: eating up the Amazon

Peru cruise: eating up the Amazon

In the observation deck of the M/V Aria, the most opulently-appointed cruise ship on the Amazon, there is less appetite than usual for the communal Jacuzzi. Passengers would normally be immersing themselves in the cool, clear water to soak away the heat and humidity of this spot, close to the equator, where the Marañon and Ucayali rivers meet. Today they have formed a huddle round the tub, but no one has ventured in and, on closer inspection, I can see why.

Not only is it filled with muddy river water that smells faintly of methane, but the surface is broken every few minutes by a gargantuan fish. "It's a paiche," says Victor Coelho, one of four naturalist guides on board, leaping into the Jacuzzi in his shorts to wrestle with the prehistoric leviathan and to present it for a photo opportunity. "The paiche is at the top of the food chain and has a bony tongue to rake in smaller fish. Like a mammal, it has to surface every five or 10 minutes for oxygen. A large fish could feed a family for a week."

On the 147ft-long Aria and its sister ship the Aqua, both operated by Aqua Expeditions, gastronomy is high on the agenda. Last September the Aria hosted Ferran Adrià, of El Bulli fame, with Gastón Acurio – the chef who, seven years ago, took Peruvian cuisine to new heights and has promoted it worldwide in his 33 restaurants. Both were in Lima for Mistura, South America's biggest food festival, along with René Redzepi of Noma in Copenhagen.

This one will feed 32 passengers at a dinner showcasing the talents of five top chefs, among them Nobu Matsuhisa – owner of more than 30 restaurants worldwide, including two in London with a Michelin star each – and Yoshihiro Murata, arguably the most influential chef in Japan. His Kikunoi restaurant in Kyoto has three Michelin stars while Roan Kikunoi (also in Kyoto) and Akasaka Kikunoi (in Tokyo) have two stars each. In Peru for a conference, they have been invited to cook on board by Pedro Miguel Schiaffino, the Aria's executive chef, himself dubbed "South America's Heston Blumenthal" for his use of esoteric ingredients both here and at Malabar, his acclaimed restaurant in Lima.

One day they might release baby turtles back into the wild, the next they might visit a sanctuary for manatees, seal-like river mammals. They arrive back in time for a rain shower in their air-conditioned, Italian-styled suite, followed by a pisco sour (grape brandy, lime juice, sugar, egg white), elegantly mixed by Robinson the bartender, and a sumptuous Peruvian feast.
In the mornings and afternoons, passengers set out on motorised skiffs with the Aria's naturalist guides – all local – to fish for piranhas and spot pink river-dolphins, caimans, iguanas, monkeys, bats, sloths and a bewildering variety of birds in the Pacaya Samiria National Reserve west of Iquitos, the main city in the Peruvian rainforest.

Away from the desk: Philip Johnston (and John Major) in Colombia

Away from the desk: Philip Johnston (and John Major) in Colombia
Yopal must be among the more unlikely destinations for the visit of a British prime minister. It was to what was then a sleepy cattle town in the province of Casanare, in Colombia, that John Major travelled 20 years ago this summer, accompanied by the usual posse of political correspondents (of whom I was one) and by enough military hardware to fight a small war. In fact, getting caught up in a small war was exactly what we feared: Colombia in the early Nineties was a pretty unstable country even by South American standards. Not only were the drug traffickers armed to the teeth but a rebel outfit called the National Liberation Army had a few days earlier fought a pitched battle with Colombian troops just 50 miles from Yopal.

More than that, we were travelling with César Gaviria, then the Colombian president, whose crackdown on both the Cali drug cartel and the guerrillas had made him a must-kill target for both, which is why a detachment of marines had come along for the ride. So, an invitation for one of the British reporters to fly from the capital, Bogotá, to Yopal in El Presidente's official plane did not exactly trigger a rush of volunteers. We drew lots – the loser went with the president; the rest of us took the bus.

Travelling with a prime minister is an experience that makes it hard ever again to fly with the hoi polloi. An official minibus and a fleet of cars transports the PM's entourage directly to the VIP suite; there is no queuing at the check-in or passport control and no security searches. Even though the press effectively paid for the whole trip, we were pretty much regarded as economy-class passengers, certainly in terms of importance. But the one compensation was that the food and service on board the prime ministerial plane were always of the highest standard. More Krug champagne with your beluga caviar, sir? Oh, if you insist.

So what had brought us there? A few weeks earlier, Major had won a general election victory against the odds and what better way to celebrate than to play the role of statesman far from the trials and tribulations of domestic politics? Prime ministers are, by nature, a suspicious bunch and tend not to like being out of the country for long in case their colleagues start plotting. But this trip was a glorious exception: it would last seven days and take in the United States, Colombia and, finally, Brazil, where Major was to attend the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro.