Travel shouldn’t be painful right? We often choose travel to escape the mundane, explore new worlds, seek pleasure, lose ourselves and find new ways of being. Painful pleasure are two words not often used together when we think about travel. But what if we choose both the pleasure and the pain in travel? It seems contradictory but it often conjures up the most memorable travel experiences becoming the moments we talk about years after the trip has ended. There is actually brain science that backs it up. According to neuroscientists, the neurotransmitters and neuropathways of pain and pleasure overlap significantly, meaning that the gray matter in our skulls process both of these sensations through similar regions of the brain, engaging both the dopamine and opioid systems which can be ignited by both pleasurable or painful stimuli. They are not opposite sensations but experienced on a spectrum. Think of tasting spicy food. We know it is going to be painful to eat, but we enjoy it and go back for seconds. While we often associate the pain/pleasure principle to food, childbirth, parenting or marathon running, it can also create a more memorable travel experience.
Patagonia, by its mere location on the map conjures up the very concept of pain and pleasure. This ruggedly beautiful place at the end of the earth is situated at the southern cone of South America and is shared by both Chile and Argentina, covering 800,000 square kilometers and is home to volcanoes, glaciers, fjords and mountains. It is flanked by the Pacific Ocean to the west and Atlantic Ocean to the east and has some of the most dramatic weather on the planet. It’s no wonder the founder of the outdoor brand Patagonia was so inspired by his travels there that he named an entire company after this region.
As an avid hiker, I was familiar with and a fan of the Patagonia brand, sporting the ball caps and sweaters with that mythical land embroidered on my chest. I guess the thread of the Patagonia patch finally made its way into my heart. In November of 2023, my daughter and I booked two round trip tickets to the end of the earth. We may have two separate hearts, but they beat to the same adventure drum.
As mother and daughter we have explored travel together as a duo for the past fifteen years, traipsing across the globe in our hiking boots and lugging backpacks. Both born in the American West, trees and trails are natural magnets, pulling us to them, often unconsciously just as our ancestors converged on them making their way across the United States to settle in Utah. Their blood still flows in our veins and I pay homage to them who trekked, not for thrill but for survival, often pregnant, wearing skirts and burying babies along the way. With our foremother’s DNA imprinted on our skin, we inherited that generational yearning to go outside and see what is around the bend or across continents, knowing the journey may be both agonizing and angelic.
With our pioneer blood, being raised in Utah’s mountains, and weathering New York winters my daughter and I considered ourselves hardy women well prepared for intense weather, so we confidently signed up and paid for the famous W trek in Patagonia. The W trek is no small feat even for the most experienced backpacker or hiker. The trail traverses three valleys in the shape of the letter “W” thus giving it its name. The world renowned hiking trail is famous for its iconic views of the famous towers of Torres Del Paine, the Grey Glacier and the French Valley with an elevation gain of 8,956 feet, and 55 miles trekked over five days. The elevation gain and miles are considered moderate, but its the severe weather and remoteness that gives the W trek a black diamond trail rating in my book.
We arrived in Santiago, Chile in a downpour and made our way through the torrent to warm up with tea at the charming Wonderland Cafe where we made like Alice through the slanted stairwells, befuddled bookcases and tilted teapots and settled in to wait out the storm. That rainstorm was our first introduction to the weather there, but we had no idea that this deluge would be seen as just mere puddles compared to what would come at us on the W trek.
After heading back to our hotel, we spent the evening double checking our backpacks to ensure we had all of the gear suggested by the trekking company Chile Tour Patagonia that booked our campsites and meals so we didn’t have to haul the extra weight of tents and food. Another backpacking bonus was learning that fresh water would be plentiful on the trail so we only needed a Nalgene water bottle to fill and refill as needed. Somewhat confident we had packed appropriately we boarded our next flight to Puerto Natales, the only city in the province, and the primary transit point for the picturesque Torres Del Paine National Park. Flying over the snow capped Andes mountains I recalled the words of Chilean author Isabel Allende who wrote, “Let’s begin at the beginning, with Chile, that remote land that few people can locate on the map because it’s as far as you can go without falling off the planet.” I had read several of Allende’s novels prior to coming to Chile as I desire to pay respect to the voices of each country I visit, providing me an altered lens in which to view its people, landscape, food and culture. Allende also spoke of pain in her novel A Long Petal of the Sea, writing “pain is unavoidable, but suffering is optional.” There hasn’t been a flight where I haven’t experience some type of discomfort, whether it’s the cramping of my legs, trying to sleep upright in coach or holding my bladder during turbulence, yet I book tickets and board planes time and again embracing those aches as signals of an adventure to come.
In Puerto Natales, we walked the nearly empty streets of this coastal town, we talked of the beauty we would see but also of the pain we would possibly experience on the upcoming trek, stopping to enjoy our first beer of Patagonia, Cerveza Austral and perusing through the shops offering luxurious wools and handicrafts. We contemplated, vacillating from confidence to worry, as we wondered if we had packed enough gear to protect us from the elements and keep us warm. As we slept in the warmth of a garden dome, the shadows of the Andes slid over the rooftops of the sleepy harbor town like a flamingo tucking its head under its feathers on the shores of lagoons and fjords of Torres Del Paine. The music of nature lulled us to sleep. The lapping of the ocean waves, the wind gently whistling through the fields of blooming daffodils and the imagined grunting of flamingos in the distance, signaling to their flock to gather.
We morphed into Chilean flamingos during the next five days on the W trek, the relentless wind and rain drowning out our voices on the trail, replaced by grunts to signal to each other to stay close, tucking our faces into the Gor-Tex wings of our waterproof rain jackets, attempting to conserve our energy and regulate our body temperature as we hiked the 55 miles and five days through relentless rain, wicked wind, slushy snow and stunning sunshine. Pain came with a rolled ankle, a pulled muscle, falls, slips and a miscommunication at Refugio Francis where we were informed that our trekking company had reserved a tent for the night but that no meals had been reserved and none could be purchased, other than a Snickers bar and a can of Pringles-like chips. We had arrived at the camp both doused and elated that we would have a warm meal waiting for us. That quickly turned to frustration at the lack of communication by our host and no internet service to remedy the mix up. Our elation quickly turned to exhaustion, frustration and wondering why we signed up for this pain. Our brains were confused, our bellies empty and our hearts a little hard as we trudged down to the restaurant where all other travelers were enjoying a hot meal. We joined the other members of our team who faced the same fate as us. In Oliver Twist fashion we sat at a table, empty plates, our pleading eyes begging, “Please sir, I want some more,” and then made the best of it with our comrades by filling our stomaches with bottles of red wine, of which the refugio had plenty, albeit no food. A little drunk we bonded with our new hungry friends and waited as the kitchen fed the rest of the camp and then were able to offer us a few chicken quesadillas to share. Our brains shifted again to pleasure as the food satisfied and the wine warmed. We experienced pain but chose not to suffer. Salud!
Sliding into our sleeping bags that night we heard the wind howl outside, battering the canvas, our emotions also slid from fear that the tent would crash down in the middle of the night, to gratitude that we were inside, protected from the elements and experiencing this together, not alone. We laughed at our chosen pain, chanting with chattering teeth, “we paid for this!” and then experienced more unease when our wine-filled bladders called to us in the middle of the night forcing us out of our tents onto the platform ladder, where we exposed all of our lady parts to pee into the wind. Aw, pleasure! From suffering to satisfaction.
Throughout our five day trek, we experienced immense pleasure and awe as we hiked to the views of the three granite towers of Torres Del Paine and the iconic postcard viewpoint of Nordenskjöld Lake, a natural wonder of magical turquoise waters. At Grey Lake, blue crystal glaciers floated like giant ice swans off the shores, changing colors as the sun came and went from behind the clouds. We were often speechless as we witnessed Mother Nature show off her best work.
We snuggled up at night to stay warm, dreamt of warm beds and soft pillows. We were no strangers to cold or intense adventure, we had prepped for this trek and our bodies were strong, ready and prepared, yet the pain still came. Trekking through mud, snow and rain, we laughed, we talked, we bonded, and felt both unease and satisfaction as we munched hungrily on our sandwiches made of guanaco, a protein rich meat harvested from the camel-like creature we admired on our way into the national park. We drank Chilean wine by fireside among new friends before leaving the warmth of the refugios in the evening and making our way to our tent to sleep with the wind that we learned to appreciate and embrace. For it was the wild wind that made this part of the world so mythical and magical. Its fierceness forming the beauty of the craggily peaks. In ancient times, native peoples honored wind as the work of deities and the harbinger of change, for both good and bad.
On day five we exited our tent, greeted again by the relentless wind, and slogged our way to the refugio to eat breakfast and drink coffee, watching the rain come down in sheets sideways. Many a trekker, including us, debated whether to wait it out or pull on our big girl rain pants and head out as we had limited time to complete the trek and make it to the one ferry that would be taking us back to civilization late that afternoon. We chose discomfort over comfort, adventure over inaction and pulled on our rain gear, packed our guanaco sandwich, filled our water bottles, grabbed our poles and and headed out into the deluge. We were rewarded with our decision to face the pain by the parting of the skies. The rain subsided, the wind continued in true Patagonia fashion, the sun shone down upon us and nature presented us with a rainbow, leading us to magnificent Grey Glacier, which can only be described as otherworldly, occupying 100 square miles and running 17 miles long. We stood on the peaks of the surrounding mountains looking like ants against its reverence, recognizing our privilege to view this elegance while also knowing it is disappearing little by little, eventually melting into Grey Lake and its surrounding rivers and streams. Scientists have predicted that this beautiful piece of nature may vanish within our lifetime. We had to embrace our aches and agony to obtain this intimate and vanishing view, touching bliss, thrill and awe.
Those moments of grandeur were followed by grief, a palatable sadness that this journey was coming to an end. We couldn’t stay in that moment of awe forever, however hard we tried to hold onto it. We had to turn our backs and hike away from Grey Glacier. Returning to Grand Paine with the W trek officially completed we celebrated by drinking a beer and taking selfies on the shores Lake Pehoé, holding our fingers to form the letter W to celebrate our accomplishment. As we hiked the hills around the lake to get our last looks at the peaks we had just walked over and through we stood in wildflowers inviting the wind to batter our backs, tussle our hair, no longer viewing it as an obstacle to get through but an element to embrace and revere.
The ferry came and took us away, moving slowly across the icy waters, our noses pressed against the frosty window panes, our eyes clinging to our last looks of this reverent snow-capped land dating back to pre-Columbian civilizations where its ancient peoples hunted and gathered on this sacred ground at the end of the earth. Like us they were battered by those fiercely beautiful winds, chapping their faces and reddening their cheeks turning them crimson like the feathers on the edge of flamingos’ wings. While we are the descendants of our ancestors our brains have evolved and are bigger and more complex as they have adapted to our environments and social structures, so maybe we should challenge our advanced brains and evolve even further by finding new ways of seizing that dopamine hit. For it is those moments of painful pleasure that are the most memorable, the ones we will talk about for years to come, the stories we will repeat again and again at the dinner table, the ones we share with friends and strangers, the memories that bring back a flood of pleasant emotions such as contentment, nostalgia, and joy.
It’s been a year since my daughter and I took that trek at the end of the earth and as we reminisce and recall the glorious views, the mother daughter bonding, the aches and pains, the hunger, the frustration, the friends we made along the way, the sadness that our vacation ended, and the wind, oh that fierce and beautiful wind, we both nod and say at the same time, “Yes, we would do it again, absolutely!” but we are not too proud to ditch the tent next time and stay in the shelter of the refugio.
