The first night I stayed in a little dive for five American dollars, but I actually spent most of the night on the streets of Santiago. On my way back to the joint, I heard all this music coming from across the road. I took a look, and after winding through a few doors, up some stairs, I entered this Jazz bar - a great little secret. Without looking too obvious, I slid into a seat at the bar, and ordered a Heineken (they are pretty cheap here, and come in 500ml bottles). The night turned out to be a winner. I met a Yankee professor, who said he was teaching English.

Anyway, he gave me the spiel on Santiago, and told me a few things I could do. The next day I arose rather gingerly at 10:00 am, checked myself out of the dive, and into this real cool place recommended by the Seppo, for only ten American dollars, but about ten times better than the previous night. I made my way out of the city (worked out their public system), and into these hills (nay, mountains). I took a bus till it kicked me off, then looked up to one of these snow-capped mountains, and said, "Right, I'm getting me some snow."

I set off, up a little stream that turned into a nice small waterfall, and followed it until it was impassable. Luckily, there was a big canyon-type thing that seemed to lead most of the way up to the top. So I kept climbing all these rocks that had fairly recently avalanched. This was the first time I said to myself, "You probably shouldn't be doing this alone."

I climbed for about half an hour, and came to what seemed an impassable ledge. I thought, "If I could just somehow get up there, I would be all right." And after some very nervous moments, and a lot of loose rock falling hundreds of meters to the stream below, I made it up. I climbed for another half an hour and found myself in a similar predicament. I had come so far now that I could not turn back. Besides, the grade was so steep, I didn't think I would have been able to get back down. After a few close calls, I got up again. By this time my heart was pounding and my mind was repeating over and over again, "You definitely shouldn't be doing this alone."

After another two hours, I reached the top, or what seemed to be the top from where I was situated. I brought out my camera (which by now had taken a fair beating), and took a few snaps of the unbelievable background. The problem was, I looked ahead and saw I was only halfway up the mountain. I checked the rest of the climb out, and realised that it wasn't so dangerous. However, it was starting to get late (dark comes at about 8:00). I thought I had another hour of climbing to go before I had to turn back. With a deep breath, and a few mutterings of "That's it, I'm out of here," I set off again.

Sadly, after an hour, even though I was within about thirty meters from the top, it was just impenetrable. I knew the snow was only a stone's throw away. I thought, "Get a grip, you fool, you're on a hellish mountainside in the middle of Chile, by yourself. It's about three degrees, and night is falling. Get off this freaking mountain NOW!"

And with that, I started my descent. I fell once, and cut my hand but I always carry the old first aid kit. It was on the way down that I realised why the rocks were so loose, and why the ground didn't really look like dirt, or have the same texture. It was volcanic ash! I had been climbing up an active volcano. Oh man, this was all getting a little too much for your brave hero. I scampered my way down as fast as I could.

I made it down and quickly found a little village. I got myself a good cup of well-earned coffee. I walked outside, looked up at the mountain and thought, "Man, that was one of the silliest things I had ever done!" But it was great. Adrenaline...sometimes it takes over.

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