Zesty Lemon

The final chapter of my Argentinian adventure. Complete with epilogue and details of summit successes. Click here for the previous part, or click here for my diary on the mountain.

After some revitalisation, we had to get some of our money changed into Argentinean Pesos. Contrary to what Adventure Peaks had advised, it was the most widely accepted currency and the US dollars we had exchanged were largely useless. Although we definitely lost out by switching our money twice, I was pleasantly surprised by the exchange rate offered in Mendoza. With our pockets only slightly lightened, we made our way back to the hotel through the crowded streets. For a relatively small city, I was staggered at how busy the streets were and indeed how slow people seem to walk. The pavements were narrow and the locals seemed to only have two walking speeds; slow and coma. Treading carefully and trying to project my frustrations by telepathy didn’t have any impact on their urgency, and I was left longing for manhole covers to yield in front of them; plunging them out of sight faster than they’d ever moved before.

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Not unusually, I’m sat here scratching my head at the minute for two reasons. The first being that I was shocked to only learn of the ‘impending’ rapture after it was supposed to have already happened, and secondly, because this must be either the second or third ‘end of the world’ epoch that I’ve survived and it’s getting pretty tiring. In the spirit of the internet, I think it’s only fair that we look at the guy; and indeed the reasoning behind the May 21st scaremongering to see how someone could get it so biblically (pun intended) wrong.

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Click here to read part 2.

Landing in Madrid, I was staggered at how cold it was. Whilst I had been preparing for the fridged temperatures I was likely to encounter on the mountain, it stupidly hadn’t even occurred to me that southern Europe had a winter. I had nursed myself through Gatwick wearing just a lightweight shirt on the thought that after takeoff, I’d not have to worry about being cold. However, when I was walking across the tarmac in the Spanish capital with nipples so stiff they could score glass, I made a mental note to be more fastidious in my travel attire for the return journey.

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I received a lot of positive feedback from the first post about my climb of Aconcagua. However; be this lucky or not, I had always aimed to write more chapters. The initial instalment covered my time on the mountain, but as a committed cynic, the prequel to the climb including the planning, preparation and the journey yielded some interesting dramas. It was also pointed out to me that in the first passage, I never alluded to the summit successes within our team and the fate of the others I mentioned on the mountain.

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With the rest of the world in revolt over much more instrumental disadvantages, there has been little coverage of anything else in the media. One such organisation that is probably glad of this convenient diversion is Ofcom because, in their infinite wisdom as the regulating body for UK communication industries, they have decreed that soon, commercial television channels will be able to broadcast up to 12 minutes of adverts in program breaks.

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Firstly I’d like apologise for the hiatus over the festive period. The reason for this has little to do with lackluster levels of concentration or the endless pursuit of the shiny bottom in the Roses tin. Unbeknownst to a lot of my online readers, I’ve been away climbing mountains in Argentina, and in an effort to minimise the risk of my rabbit being boiled by some of my more motivated stalkers, I neglected to broadcast my absence. Whilst it’s a deviation from my normal commentary, I’d invite you have a read of the journal that I kept while I was climbing the highest mountain in the Americas; Aconcagua.

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As I sit here writing this post, I really hope that we are on the cusp of change. Work is well underway to derail the X-Factor ‘talent’ show, Gillian McKeith has; in direct contrast to her own preaching, proved that you are what you eat, and Anne Widdecombe has demonstrated repeatedly that opinion polls can be caressed, simply by being winched around a television studio dressed as a Quality Street.

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I guess that everyone at some point has had some sort of righteous outpouring of emotive dictation. It might be triggered by a debate on a particularly controversial issue or by an excess of the amber nectar, but either way, on reflection most people eventually regain a hold on reality. Previously, I’ve described my political stance as standing just right of Genghis Kahn and thus, some of my opinions extend beyond the realm of drunken tirades, but even my ideas have been eclipsed by the efforts of a plump woman from North Carolina.

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Apart from the perplexed expression on my face upon beholding Anne Widdecombe in a figure hugging dress and clearly not respecting her age in the latest BBC vanity showcase, the most highbrow political scandal of recent weeks was news of Ed defeating his older brother to win leadership of the Labour party. Quite why there was such animated battle for the helm of a sunken ship I don’t know, but I was slightly disappointed that the public reception of this news by David didn’t result in a black eye; perhaps inflicted by a spirited volley of Peter Mandelson’s latest book.

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Finding words to describe my current thinking of the solidarity charade exhibited by unions today has so far been my biggest challenge of the week. Admittedly it’s only Monday and I’m still recovering from the abrasions of an indulgent weekend, but I can’t be the only one concerned about the growing unwelcome influence that they seem to be exerting on the fabric of politics.

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