From Southern Winds to Northern Lights: A Two-Year Journey from Patagonia to Alaska

---

Table of contents

▸ Patagonia, Kingdom of Wind and Stars

▸ The Peruvian Andes, Breathless and Burning Legs

▸ Caribbean Interlude: Between Carefreeness and Commitment

▸ Crossing Canada through various seasonal Jobs

▸ Alaska, the Last Frontier

▸ From the winds of the South to the Northern lights: a new calling

---

October 2024

When I set off after my studies, I didn’t have a clear destination in mind. Just an overwhelming urge to hit the road, to feel the wind of freedom, and to see how far my steps would take me. It wasn’t an escape but rather a quest—to experience the nomadic life and learn, mile after mile, what school had never taught me. What began as a simple journey through South America eventually turned into a two-year odyssey all the way to Alaska, with no set itinerary but a backpack full of stories…

Patagonia, Kingdom of Wind and Stars

It all began at the southernmost tip of the continent. Ushuaia—end of the world, beginning of the journey. The icy wind of Tierra del Fuego lashed against my face, but the landscapes swept away any doubt: I was exactly where I was meant to be.

I spent several weeks in Patagonia, exploring its desolate trails, camping by its glacial lakes while admiring icebergs floating peacefully on the surface, and sleeping under starry skies that seemed endless. I learned to slow down, to embrace the unexpected. In this part of the world, there’s no middle ground. The wind blows relentlessly, the mountains rise like walls, and the nights are of rare intensity.

One night, camping near the Perito Moreno Glacier, I thought the wind would eventually carry my tent away. I spent half the night outside, in the middle of a storm, clinging to the poles to stop everything from flying off. The next morning, soaked but alive, I opened the tent to an unreal sight: the sun was rising behind the glacier, and everything sparkled under a layer of frost. This is Patagonia: every night is an adventure, every morning a reward.

It’s these moments, simple yet powerful, that marked the beginning of my new nomadic life.

The Peruvian Andes, Breathless and Burning Legs

After several months of slowly heading north, I arrived in Peru, ready to challenge the Andes. This country caught me off guard: grand landscapes stretching as far as the eye could see, towering mountains, and treks that pushed me to my limits. Peru, the cradle of the Inca Empire, transported me to another time, where the mountains were sacred, and the traces of this ancient civilization were still visible everywhere. The Incas had learned to live in harmony with this raw nature, and I felt that every step I took on this land was a communion with their history.

When I finally glimpsed the ruins of Machu Picchu at the summit, wrapped in morning mist, a shiver ran through me. There, I was face to face with one of the greatest wonders of the world, a silent witness to the ingenuity of the Incas and their ability to merge nature and culture in a single magical place.

Still heading north, I reached Huaraz, this little Peruvian gem. The next day, I started the trek of the Huayhuash mountain range. Eight days of intense effort, crossing passes over 5,000 meters high. Every ascent burned my legs, but every summit revealed a new reward: sparkling glaciers, turquoise lagoons, and total silence. Up there, in the face of such vastness, I understood that I was far from finished with the road.

Caribbean Interlude: Between Carefreeness and Commitment

Central America was a different kind of interlude. After several months of living on the road, I longed to put down my backpack for a while in a country I had fallen in love with a few years earlier: Costa Rica.

There, I let myself be carried by the rhythm of the Caribbean. Beach volleyball games at sunset and nights on the beach, bathed in the sounds of the sea, seemed suspended in time. But as the days passed, I found myself a bit lost in this gentle stupor. The nights stretched into endless conversations, lulled by the music of local bands and the laughter of travelers from all over the world. Time crumbled, the energy of the place consumed me, and it became hard to tell if I was truly living in the present or if I was simply carried away by a wave of immediate pleasures. This Caribbean interlude, full of lightness, also forced me to turn inward, to seek a balance between escape and the meaning of my journey.

I then became involved in several volunteer projects. One of them focused on protecting sea turtles on the Caribbean coast. The camp was on the beach, isolated by the jungle on one side and the ocean on the other. No electricity, no running water—just a few wooden huts, hammocks, and the ocean as far as the eye could see. The nights were marked by the cries of howler monkeys and the rumbling of the waves. My mission: to patrol the beach each night to protect the nests from predators and poachers. The first time I saw a leatherback turtle come ashore, I was breathless. It moved slowly, leaving deep furrows in the sand, before it began to dig its nest. For nearly an hour, I witnessed this ancient ritual, illuminated only by the light of the stars.

These experiences gave a new meaning to my journey. I was no longer just passing through: I was participating, sharing. I learned how to grow tropical fruits, build shelters from salvaged materials, and cook dishes I never would have imagined liking. What had started as a simple geographical exploration was slowly transforming into an inner rediscovery.

I then continued my journey to Canada, passing through Nicaragua, Guatemala, Belize, Mexico, and California.

Crossing Canada through various seasonal Jobs

When I arrived in Canada, I wasn’t sure how long I would stay. I quickly realized I would need to work a bit to fund the next leg of my journey. I took on several jobs: helping at a fishing lodge in British Columbia, serving at a biker bar, and even working as a dog sledding guide in the north of the country.

Upon arriving in the Northwest Territories, I plunged into the vast wilderness of Canada. There, I worked for two seasons as an outdoor activities guide, an experience that deeply marked me. Taking care of a pack of huskies, each with its own personality and boundless energy, was certainly a first for me! Over time, I felt a connection forming between the dogs and me. They taught me to listen to them and understand their moods. The temperatures were freezing, often reaching as low as -50°C. The icy air bit at my cheeks, but there was something magical about this frozen vastness. Watching these huskies take off at full speed, their ears flapping in rhythm with their paws hitting the snow, was a feeling of pure freedom. I will never forget those moments when I was alone with them, the sun grazing the horizon in the distance, and the howls of the huskies breaking the stillness of the vastness.

It was also an opportunity to meet the Inuit people who live in these extreme regions. Their way of life, their deep knowledge of the land, and their harmonious relationship with nature inspired me. They perfectly embody the quiet strength of those who live in harmony with their environment, despite the challenges posed by such a harsh climate.

These work periods were an opportunity to immerse myself in the local daily life. Between jobs, I continued to explore Canada in a van I had managed to find locally. I hiked in the Rockies, toured Vancouver Island, and spent nights observing the Northern Lights in the Far North. Every day, I got a little closer to Alaska, even though it wasn’t a true “destination.”

Alaska, the Last Frontier

Then, one morning, I was there. Alaska, the last frontier. This vast, wild, timeless land. The arrival was less of an achievement than an awakening: this journey had never been about a destination. Alaska was not the end, just a new chapter.

I stopped there for a moment, to catch my breath and reflect on what these two years had changed within me. The young woman who had left without a clear plan had grown. She had learned to trust the journey, to let herself be carried by the unexpected, and to appreciate the detours.

In the first nights in my van, the rain drummed on the roof and the oppressive silence of the forest was only broken by the unsettling creaks of the branches. Every rustle made me jump, convinced that a grizzly was lurking around the vehicle. Far from civilization, I fully realized what it meant to be at the heart of raw nature, where man is just a mere guest. Gradually, I tamed this solitude, and these nights became moments of listening and contemplation.

One day, following a river, I witnessed a spectacle that seemed only possible in wildlife documentaries: a grizzly hunting.** Stationed at a safe distance, breath short, I watched this massive predator plunge its claws into the tumultuous water and pull out a wriggling salmon. Within seconds, the scene ended in a splash, and the feast began. The raw power of nature in its simplest form.

In the southern fjords, Alaska also offered me moments of tenderness. During a kayak excursion, I crossed paths with the curious gaze of sea otters floating on their backs, holding paws to avoid drifting apart in the waves. They watched me for a moment before diving back into the water with effortless grace, disappearing into a carefree aquatic dance. It was another side of this wild land: no longer one of harshness, but of grace and lightness.

Alaska wasn’t a destination, but a revelation. This land showed me that the unknown, however intimidating, holds moments of pure magic for those brave enough to venture into it.

From the winds of the South to the Northern lights: a new calling

Today, I look back on this adventure with a smile. Two years on the road, thousands of kilometers, and a journey that took me all the way to Alaska, far beyond what I had imagined. It wasn’t perfect, far from it. But it was real, honest, full of encounters and suspended moments.

I’ve now made a decision: to shift my career to become a day expedition guide in polar environments. This idea came almost naturally. It brought together everything I had discovered about myself during these two years: my love for wide open spaces, my need for movement, my ability to adapt to the different extremes of nature, and my desire to guide others through this kind of adventure.

This journey has been the most profound education I could have ever experienced. And I am certain that it is only the beginning...