First Milestones: Camping at Imbil State Forest

Forget the usual childhood milestones like starting solids or learning to crawl or even baby's first word. Really, they're pretty average. I mean appropriate childhood development aside, aren't there more exciting milestones to mention than a first solid poo? What about the first hike or the first camping trip?

I've always proudly boasted that I've been camping since before I could even walk, which in itself is an achievement since I started that activity pretty early too. If you'd asked I would have said that this proud moment in my life took place when I was just 6 months old.

Unfortunately I recently did the maths, to discover that I was probably a little older. While everyone may think their parents are a little crazy, I don't think mine would have taken their baby camping in the dead of winter. In fact, I'm disappointed to say that walking probably came first.

Well at least now one member of the family can boast to going camping before, most of the usual mobility milestones. Our niece Ava was undoubtedly excited all week about spending her first night under coated polyester. 

Refreshed after a nice two hour nap on the way up to Kenilworth, she greeted us and the gum trees with big smiles before needing to eat. Post morning tea-time entertainment was watching us struggle to set up our big tent - the Taj Mahal - before piling out immense amounts of camping gear out of the car for our one night away. And people say kids need a lot of stuff!

Next on the baby schedule (between a nappy change and lunch) was a walk through the rainforest. From the comfort of the baby backpack hoisted on her tall dad's shoulders she had a great view of sunshine filtering through the tall palm trees. Even though it was cool, the air in the rainforest was heavy and humid.

While napping in her pram after lunch, she went for another walk, this time up Sunday Creek Road past trees that seemed full of bellbirds. It was quite a climb up the winding road to the lookout and her dad and uncle took turns pushing the stroller along the dirt road. Just in time she woke to look at the view into the valley which was awash with sunlight.

As the sun set and it got cool, the benefit of her immobility became clear. Rugged up in a fleecy jumpsuit and happy to regularly change her vantage point, her warm snuggles kept everyone warm while her aunt battled to get the campfire going.

After just a couple of moans and groans through the night, she was awake and ready for action at 6am. According to Australian lore, seeing a black cockatoo is supposed to signify the number of days until rain. The day before they were everywhere in the campsite, which should have meant rain was far off. But apparently either the cockatoos or us got it wrong, as that morning it started to drizzle.

While we tried to feed her breakfast in the tent, Ava looked exactly like every camper does when it starts to rain - bored and miserable. She clearly much preferred to be outside with the bush turkeys. Luckily it didn't last long so she still got to go hunting for two caches and watch all the kids playing in the park at Kenilworth while we ate ice cream and bought yoghurt from the cheese factory. After good nap on the way home, she was in great mood. In fact, I think she enjoyed the trip so much, 'camping' just might be her first word!

 How old were you when you first went camping? Do you remember it? Had any child related camping disasters?

A European Christmas

There's only so much you can fit into a backpack and after travelling for two weeks with someone, you get to know the wearable contents of their pack pretty well. So as we casually scanned the people waiting outside of the 'arrivals' gate at Frankfurt airport, we almost didn't recognise Sebastian who'd arrived the previous day.

A snow storm was predicted for the following day, so the airport authorities had set out temporary beds in preparation for stranded passengers.

 Europe had been an after thought really. Our return flights either required a trip home via the US or Europe and so we'd decided to spend a white Christmas with my family in Poland. But along the way we'd made new friends who invited us to visit 'next time we were in Germany'. And so on a snowy afternoon in December we were welcomed back to Europe for one of the friendliest months ever.

Heidelberg couldn't have been more pretty that first afternoon we spent walking around while waiting for my cousin and her partner to finish work. After traipsing the broken footpaths and deteriorating buildings of Chile and Argentina, Heidelberg seemed like a perfect fairy tale town. With a soft layer of fresh snow on the ground the locals seemed to be enjoying the Christmas lights and markets almost as much as we were.

After two days of wandering the streets, staying up far too late and hanging out in Heidelberg we headed south to Tübingen where we did pretty much the same.

But in Tübingen, bum sliding was also involved. This time, we tried plastic bags filled with snow while the locals with real sleds looked on with pity. Compared to our attempts just on jackets, this method was really fast. But added speed made it virtually uncontrollable and by the bottom of the hill, the plastic bags had usually ripped open caking us in snow. Add a few rolls in there before we'd stop and there was snow...everywhere. 

On route to Poland, we swung by Prague to compare Christmas markets and mulled wine.

And then did the same in Krakow the following morning.

Jeff's first white Christmas with my Polish family was a blur of divine food, relatives, hot chocolate in our favourite cafe, skiing right in town, markets and a tense wait for the birth of our niece or nephew back home.

The New Year was rung in with family friends on the snowy top of a hill in the Gorce mountain range.

During the few days we spent with them, we tried exploring in the nearby national park, but knee deep snow prevented us from going very far. So bum sliding it was, this time on a flying saucer type sled which was by far the most successful method.

During the couple of days we'd spent in Gorce, we'd seen horses pulling sleds on the road in front of the house. I'd always dreamed of dashing through the snow on a one horse open sleigh and on the first day of this year, my dream came true thanks to our friends.

With one week left of our trip, we returned to Germany to visit friends, soak up just a touch of history and enjoy our last days of a white winter.

Home, it turns out, would greet us with a flood that Brisbane was never supposed to have.

The river in Frankfurt had also busted it's banks that day

So that's finally it - the whole grand 3.5 month adventure. I must confess I've actually enjoyed blogging more since we've been back than on the road and so I plan to post new updates even when our next travels take us much, much closer to home. And as always, we're dreaming of the next adventure.

Volcan Villarrica: Mutiny on the mountain

Neither of us were too pleased when the Wiggles enthusiastically started singing 'Wake Up Jeff' that Sunday morning. We'd been invited to dinner at our German friend's villa the previous evening and after a delicious Chilean meal, mulled wine and attempting to communicate to an Argentinian guy using a German picture book, we'd gone to bed far later than we should have.

After around 5 hours sleep, my one hope for staying in bed until a more respectable hour was cloud cover. Specifically clouds covering Volcan Villarrica. As it was technically Jeff whom the Wiggles were still singing to, he volunteered to wander into the lounge room to see if the volcano was visible. Despite having waited in anxious anticipation to climb it for 4 days, when he returned and started packing in a flurry I wasn't particularly enthusiastic.  

After a large group had gathered at head office, we parted with 35 000 pesos each, then squeezed into a mini van and set off for the volcano via the Conaf office where our national park entry fee was paid. Near the base of the chairlifts, there was already a line of mini vans whose occupants stood contemplating the mountain.

Apart from a couple of buildings near the base, the enormous side of the volcano was entirely barren. Reflecting the sunshine, the snow covered slope appeared invitingly conquerable; it even seemed closer than the 4-5 hour predicted climb.

Wandering amongst the group, while we suited up, our guide pointed out the fierce wind that was driving the smoke from the volcano sideways and whipping up the freshly fallen snow. At that moment we still had the option to turn around and try tomorrow or get a refund. 

Retreating at that moment would have meant missing out on ascending Villarrica altogether, so I confirmed with the guide that the wind wouldn't stop us from reaching the top. He grinned as he told me it probably wouldn't be very pleasant, but not impossible. Being time poor we chose to climb, together with a tall Spanish man in his 30s and a middle aged Dutch woman, while most of the group returned to the comfort of the van and the promise of tomorrow.

Keeping in a single file behind the first guide, we began the slow trudge up the mountain. And oh my was it going to be slow. By the time we reached the first stop to put our helmets on, my heart rate had barely increased and I could see why the walk was going to take so long. Admittedly not everyone agreed that the going was easy. When she caught up with us, the Dutch woman was already drenched in sweat and asked if we were finding the climbing difficult.

If the walking wasn't going to leave me breathless, the wind certainly was. Despite trying to cover every patch of bare skin, I could still feel the snow blasting against my checks. Above us the chairlifts groaned and squeaked as they swung in the wind. The long procession of climbers in front of us all had ice axes in hand, trying to steady themselves against the gusts.

Just past the snow line, in the narrow shelter of some exposed rock, the groups all began to gather. Some climbers were putting on their crampons, while others sat staring down into the valley. One guy off to the side was peeing, which given the wind was a decent challenge.

After a brief exchange with one of the men in the group, our guide informed us that Conaf had closed the mountain because of the wind. He suggested that we could still put on our crampons and head up to the top of the chairlift where we would wait it out in case the wind died down. So while all the other groups turned around, the three of us - we had lost the Dutch woman - continued on.

Five minutes after reaching the shelter at the top of the chairlift, our guide was ready to head back. The Spanish guy tried to delay our return, but the guide stood firm and we started back down the mountain to where we had put our crampons on. In the spot where 50 people had been crammed together just half an hour ago, there was no one, not even the Conaf official.

With rising frustration, we pointed out to the guide that the wind was subsiding and perhaps if we waited a little longer we might still have a chance of climbing Villarrica. But with barely a glance at the mountain he headed downhill.

Initially we had been instructed to walk close together but now our guide, with the Spaniard in hot pursuit, raced away leaving Jeff and myself at least 200m behind. It took a lot of shouting to get him to stop and wait for us to catch up.

Together with the Spaniard we begged the guide, to at least evaluate the changing situation or explain why we'd even started out. He refused. Turning away from our barrage of pleas and questions, our guide walked away leaving us to contemplate our next move.

We felt cheated and ripped off.

Back at the office, we demanded answers from the owner of the trekking company. Pleading innocence, he blamed Conaf for tricking us into paying the park entry fee when they knew the mountain was closed. While he graciously refunded half the fee we'd paid, that bitter feeling lingered.

That evening we returned to Santiago, the place where is all started two months earlier. This time around we barely noticed the broken footpaths and 70s era buildings as we wandered the streets on a hot, hazy day.

The following morning, we flew out of Chile.