The author tells of the journey of a lifetime down the Andes, from the tropics of Venezuela to the icy tip of PatagoniaThe Andes fascinated me long before I got to see them. I had been brought up on the Andean tales of my paternal grandfather, a former railway engineer in Chile and Bolivia. On my mother's side I had ancestors who hailed from the Italian Alps, where so many of the great Andean climbers and adventurers originated. The Andes, as the world's longest continuous mountain range, came to hold the promise of an endless succession of extreme and sublime landscapes.Eventually I realised my childhood dream of travelling their whole length, from the tropics down to Tierra del Fuego. A framework to my journey was provided by the exploits of the great Andean adventurers of the past, one of the most influential of whom was the German scientist Alexander von Humboldt. He toured the Andes from Colombia to Peru at the turn of the 19th century, drawing conclusions that would later form the basis of a massive unfinished study of the cosmos. His writings are filled with a constant and infectious sense of wonder.Hundreds of Humboldt's contemporaries, including Charles Darwin, were encouraged by him to come and visit the strange and marvellous lands he described. A no less significant response was that of the South American liberator Sim�n Bol�var, who thought frequently of Humboldt while pursuing down the Andes his dream of a united continent freed from Spanish rule.I planned an ambitious transcontinental route that would begin by following Humboldt and Bol�var through the northern and central Andes and end up with Darwin at South America's southernmost tip. I estimated that it would be six months of near-continuous travelling, largely by bus, but also by train and boat, and even on horseback and on foot.I started in Venezuela, climbing into the Andes along a road that Bol�var had taken when marching his army towards one of his earliest great victories against the Spaniards, in 1813. On the ascent from the small town of Trujillo to Venezuela's mountain capital of M�rida, lush tropical scenery dotted with coffee plantations, sugar cane and banana palms gave way to steeply inclined fields still ploughed by oxen, beyond which came the bleak high moorlands or p�ramos.I spent three days hiking through the p�ramos, an area whose main vegetation in the higher and rockier reaches are haunting, triffid-like plants called frailej�nes. Freezing fog set in during the afternoons, but the mornings were unfailingly crystal clear and sunny, allowing occasional views towards the faraway snowy profile made up of Venezuela's three highest peaks, named in descending order after Bol�var, Humboldt, and the latter's faithful French companion, Bonpland.On reaching Colombia, I concentrated my attention on the magnificently preserved Andean colonial towns, uncanny reminders of a bygone Spain. Travelling from the vibrant salsa capital of Cali to the whitewashed colonial jewel of Popay�n, and then south through emerald green scenery towards the Ecuadorean border, I began imagining myself on a journey ever closer to paradise. I found my own personal Eden in the Laguna de la Cocha, a secluded lake outside the far southern town of Pasto, surrounded by flower-filled meadows and forested mountains, and with a Swiss-style wooden lodge where I ate delicious trout before being rowed out to the island of Corota. This surviving enclave of rainforest, dense with lianas and giant bromeliads, was described to me as a "centre of energy" rivalled only by Peru's Machu Picchu.At Pasto there were numerous indications that I was approaching at last the heart of the Andes, including guinea pig, a famous Andean delicacy, being served at the local restaurants. Overshadowing the landscape was the active Galera volcano, which marked my arrival at a long corridor of volcanoes forming the backbone of neighbouring Ecuador.I enjoyed unworldly views of Cotopaxi while staying at San Agust�n de Callo (incahacienda.com), a rustic archaeological complex now transformed into one of the Andes' most unusual and enticing hotels. Still a working farm, and with the atmosphere of an eccentric private residence, the place incorporates a former Augustinian monastery. My book-lined bedroom, set behind a cloister strung with hammocks and warmed by an open fire, had Inca foundations, and adjoined a bare stone chapel thought by some to have been an Inca place of worship.From San Agust�n de Callo onwards, I would be confronted by remains of the Incas' austere, autocratic, and remarkably short-lived empire. I was particularly keen to travel along a section of the great network of Inca roads that had extended from southern Colombia to central Argentina. In the south of Ecuador I hired a horse and guide to take me on the section of Inca road that leads from the exposed mountain village of Achapullas to the ruins of an Inca palace and temple at Ingapirka, huddled in a deep valley.The achievement of the Incas' efficient transport system over some of South America's most difficult terrain seemed even more extraordinary when compared with what I would soon find in Peru. For much of the next two months I would be travelling on rickety buses along perilous mountain roads.The sensational 150km dirt track from the remote northern town of Chachapoyas to Celelend�n climbed up to a height of more than 4,000m before descending along a crumbling ledge clinging to a sheer precipice.The roads remained largely unpaved and vertiginous as I continued along the Andes' spine to the battleground of Ayacucho (in 1824 the Spaniards suffered their final defeat here, which led the independence of Peru), and then down towards the Inca capital of Cuzco. From southern Peru, through Bolivia, and into northern Argentina, my route alternated between the luxuriant jungles on the Andes' eastern slopes, and deserts on the west. Each day brought landscapes more spectacular than the next, though perhaps my most memorable walk was into Peru's Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. Condors hovered above as I descended a near-vertical slope before ascending the other side to some half-deserted 16th-century hamlets accessible only by footpath.The autumn was well advanced as I headed south into Patagonia, through near-uninhabited landscapes of lakes, forests and glaciers; the first flurries of snow had begun to fall as I reached the point when the Andes is shattered into a labyrinth of fjords and islands. I finished my journey on a small boat that sails every week from the Chilean port of Punta Arenas to the intimate island town of Puerto Williams, the most southerly community in the world. The exhilarating boat trip, lasting 36 hours, took me across the notoriously stormy Straits of Magellan, through the glacier-lined Beagle Channel, and to places where Darwin had concluded that life barely existed at all. By now I had come to think of the Andes almost in human terms. On seeing them disappear into the choppy, icy seas, I could have been waving a final goodbye to a dear old friend.South AmericaVenezuelaAdventure travelChileColombiaEcuadorPeruBoliviaArgentinaPatagoniaguardian.co.uk © 2011 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
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