January-February 2008
1/15 In Transit
We started our day a 5:30 a.m. when the alarm sounded in our Ivins, Utah bedroom. After spending much of the day in the air, including an 11 1/2 hour flight from Chicago to Buenos Aires, we landed in El Calafate the next night at 8:00 p.m.
1/16 El Calafate
It’s hard to imagine that we’d be happy after a day and a half in an airplane, but Kim and I ended the night almost giddy to be back on the road, back in South America. Landing in El Calafate was like going back to St. Marys, Alaska: a tundra like look of sparse vegetation, rugged mountains in the distance and an absolute void of human influence anywhere, except for a fence running along the narrow paved highway. Sure, this place is chuck full of tourists, and has hip restaurants and quaint lodging, but the ever pervasive dirt roads, barking dogs and roaring din of ATVs make it seem like we were home in the bush again, except that hip young backpackers filled the dusty streets instead of Eskimo fishermen.
The best part of the day was the 11:00 p.m. dinner. Of course we remembered the insane dining habits of Latin Americans, who could forget, but it was special being desperately starved and waiting for a table as midnight approached. The wait was well worth it. Within minutes we were sipping from a fine bottle of Malbec from Medosa and I was dining on lomo (fillet mignon), while Kim enjoyed her pumpkin ravioli. We were totally ecstatic to be in Argentina. Yes, we may have earned a slight buzz, and were travel weary and punch drunk as Hell, but devouring that succulent, buttery steak while looking off into the distance at the towering peaks of the Andes made us so pleased to be in South America again.
1/17 El Chalten
We awoke to our alarm at 8:30 a.m. (3:30 a.m. Utah time) in an Excedrin P.M. haze. I nearly drained our hostel’s coffee pot as I washed down my mini croissants and toasted slices of baguette.
Kim and I trudged downtown with our 400 pound packs to the bus station, where we waited three hours for our bus to El Chalten. Other than a brief walk down the main tourist drag in search of an ATM, it was a rather long, tedious wait in the bus station.
Patagonia is the land of hot and cold. When the sun is out, you feel over dressed and sweaty. Five minutes later the clouds mass and the ever pervasive wind has a bite to it. Blowing dust from the crudely maintained dirt roads seems to be a daily guarantee.
I thought El Calafate had an Alaskan village appeal to it. In comparison, it looks like Las Vegas to El Chalten, which is 100 miles away from asphalt, and in reality, a lot farther away from the modern world. There are no ATM machines, they don’t take credit cards anywhere and internet is only a dial up maybe. The village, started in the 1980’s to keep Chile from claiming this beautiful region, is a collection of crude, partially built structures, junk laying around in unkempt yards and beater old trucks and cars rattling down the dusty, potholed streets. Conversely, a huge ski resort like lodge sits in the midst of the clutter for those with deep pockets. And all of this, it is located in one of the most stunning vistas on the planet. The Fitzroy itself, a huge jutting finger of granite ascending to the heavens, would make people come. However, it is only one of a virtual visual explosion. It is a land of glaciers, rugged peaks, glacially carved out valleys and the raging gray water of the Rio Fitzroy. The area is simply magnificent.
After the long bus ride into El Chalten, which included a short break at a lodge along the way, the obvious highlight of the day was our evening meal at El Muro, where we both ordered Befe Chorizo, a fat New York steak grilled with bacon, potato wedges, red pepper slices and whole barbecued sweet onions. It was hard to imagine, but it far, far exceeded the previous night’s meal, which was another red meat wonder.
1/18 El Chalten
I’ve hiked Mount Blanc in France, ogled Denali, Blackburn and Iliamna in Alaska, and played endlessly in Wyoming’s Tetons. Marvelous alpine wonders, everyone of them. However, they are a poor second place to the stunning granite fingers of the Fitzroy jutting into the sky.
After two days of cloudy, windy and cold, we awoke to a perfect day of sunshine and calm. We hit the trail at 10:30 a.m. and roared up the face of the mountain at a near run. After an hour we rounded a corner and the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever witnessed blossomed before us. It was breathtaking. The glaciers, the granite columns set against a glowing green foundation and a brilliant blue sky above it made it magical.
As we continued on, the trail wound itself across a fairly flat plateau and then straight up a maze of switch backs to a tarn, which overlooked a perfect glaciated alpine lake at the base of this spectacular range. The four hour walk, a 750 meter elevation gain, was the finest of my life. Kim and I spent nearly an hour perched on a rock staring at this alpine wonder. Sure we were physically whipped, after all we had just climbed six miles, but it was more than that. We felt like we were parked in Heaven and really weren’t sure we wanted to leave.
Upon return to El Chalten, we found the local microbrewery to kill the pain of the half dollar size blisters on Kim’s heels. Two beers later, we ordered a local Argentinean lamb stew, which was tasty but unremarkable. Then it was a short trip to the chocolateria for dessert, the pharmacy for mole skin and home for a much, much needed shower. It had been the perfect, the most wonderful day to be alive on planet Earth. Wow!
1/19 El Chalten
Finally the sleep devil of international travel caught up with me. I listened to every good Latin come home to the Land-is-sys Hostel last night between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m. Therefore, when the early riser’s inevitable chorus of flushing, door banging and heartily exclaimed, “Buenos dias,” arrived a scant five hours later, I was dragging bottom, barely able to pull myself up and climb down the extra precarious ladder from my top bunk.
Nevertheless, Kim, with her Rhode Island size blisters on each heel, and I hit the trail after our typical South American breakfast of croissants, bread and coffee. Our adventure for the day was a three hour stroll up the Fitzroy River valley to Laguna Torre, which is at the base of Cerro Torre, a 3102 meter spire that looks more like an ICBM than a mountain. According to the people of El Chalten, only the truly fortunate tourists get to see this amazing piece of granite. Most make the long hike only to see clouds.
We stopped three times on the way to the Torre, attempting to nurse Kim’s wounds. I must admit, her tolerance for pain far, far exceeds mine. With a like injury to my instruments of mobility, I would have elected to be stationary, parked in a lounger slowly working my way through a novel.
The actual hike was stunning. Yet, due to sleep deprivation and the fact that we had gone on the greatest walk on Earth the day before, we took it all to be quite average. So what if we were admiring a mountain range featuring several needle like 10,000 foot mountain peaks? Who cared about the beautiful whitish-blue calving glaciers at the base of the range, or for that matter, the raging torrent of the glacial river water as it tore down the valley? It just seemed like another day of tourist trabajo in heaven, otherwise known as Patagonia.
It’s supposed to be cold here, with snow possible in summer. However, with today’s 75 degree miracle, and a sun that seems like a laser, we were both burnt to a crisp, even though we had drenched ourselves with sun screen. You see, this is the land of no ozone, and believe me, this is not a good thing. Melanoma may be in our future after the last two days in Southern Argentina.
Kim and I ate out at another fine Argentine restaurant. I had a fillet in a pepper cream sauce served with potatoes augratin and beets. Delicious! Kim enjoyed a spinach ravioli with squash in a pesto sauce. She said it was “good enough.” Dessert was a flan with cream cheese. Of course, it was all washed down with more fine Malbec Merlot.
1/20 El Calafate
We started our day by attempting to change our bus reservations to an earlier departure, but all the buses were booked, so we were destined to to spend another day in paradise.
As a result of this, we opted to take the one hour ramble to a small water fall near town. Since we were both physically spent from the previous two day’s exertion, it was done at a very slow pace. We lazed about the river on the way to the waterfall, reading and chatting, until the deer flies drove us off.
As usual for the village, the raging afternoon winds off the glaciers picked up and fully sand blasted us, as we sat on a very rickety picnic table visiting with a Dutch couple while waiting for the bus to arrive. It was a full two hours of certified misery.
An interesting thing about Patagonia is that you have these amazingly rugged mountains, lush river valleys and snow covered peaks. Ten miles away you find a rolling waste land where scrub bush is even sparse. From what we’ve been able to see, the vast majority of the region is virtually desert, with only a narrow sliver of the region, the Andes, painted the color green. Considering that the mountains are so rugged and glacial, and that the bulk of the land is near worthless, it’s hard to imagine how the early settlers made much of a life out here raising sheep. It must have been very difficult.
1/21 Puerto Natales
Getting the 6:00 p.m. bus out of El Chalten to El Calafate was a very big mistake. As usual, we got into town late and by the time we finished eating steak for the fourth time in five nights, it was well after midnight. The alarm ringing at 6:30 a.m. the next morning was less than welcome.
We made it through the day, but just barely. My body, in particular, was worn down to a frazzle. The cap naps on the bus no longer recharged the batteries. Too many days with too little sleep had made life difficult. While attempting to get money from an ATM in Puerto Natales, I was so deliriously tired, so puzzled by the situation, that I stupidly turned around and asked a young European couple behind me how much money I needed.
Puerto Natales is a seedy, expensive little port town which now is supported by being the jumping off spot for Torres del Paine. Yes, its buildings are old and dilapidated, but I was very impressed by the warmth of the people. They seemed genuinely friendly and helpful.
The surrounding area is gorgeous; you can actually see huge glaciers and the rugged mountain peaks of the Benardo O’Higgins National Park from the beach. Since a howling wind was blowing out of the north, and we were walking zombies, it seemed unimportant. The best part of the day was our 10:00 p.m. bed check. God, we needed that!
1/22 Torres del Paine - Torre Central
With a full tank of gas, meaning eight beautiful hours of intense sleep, we awoke to a perfect blue bird day. Kim and I were almost giddy on the two hour bus ride to the park from Puerto Natales, craning our necks to see every guanaco along side the road. When we got to the park, for a small fee, they loaded us in a van and took us across the world’s narrowest bridge (the mirrors had to be taken down to make the crossing) to Torre Central, Fantastico Sur’s refugio that we had booked prior the trip. We quickly dumped our packs and in a few minutes were once again charging up the trail. Since it was such a magnificent day, and the internet had warned us that the region didn’t get too many of those, Kim and I elected to charge up the mountainside to marvel at the huge rock spires of the Torres del Paine.
Kim was like a new woman. With a day of rest under her belt, she damn near ran up the hill. The walk was perfect until we got up to the moraine field, where we lost our way and ended up scrambling up a very steep, semi-precarious boulder field to a view point looking out at the peaks. At one point, when one of the large rocks gave way under Kim’s foot and tumbled down the steep slope, she turned into a trembling mess.
We finally found our way to the top, where we were rewarded with an unobstructed million dollar vision. I nearly wore out the poor shutter on my Canon in the first few minutes there.
We stopped at Refugio Chileno on our way back down to get a quick beer prior to making our way to the valley floor. On the way down, just when we started to tire, we met a young man carrying a dishwasher on his back up the steep slope. He had a rope tied around the large box, and was using it to lift the box onto his back. It was so amazing. So stupid.
It had been another long day on the trail, seven and a half hours and 12 miles, so I didn’t blanch at all in ordering two $6.00 beers upon our return to Torre Central. We ate a pleasurable dinner that night with a couple from Holland and two men from New Jersey. Later we enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine with two girls from Minnesota, who were full of fun and made us laugh with their lively banter. It had been another exceptional day to be alive and on the road in South America. A+
1/23 Torres del Paine - Refugio Los Cuernos
Kim and I strolled along the shores of Lago Nordenskjold under the towering peaks of Monte Almirante Nieto and the Cerro Mascara. In the beginning, it was a fairly ordinary walk through grasslands, but as the day wore on, God turned up the visuals by a good 300% and with it the fun meter registered at maximum. Glaciers, the placid gray water of the lake and the rugged peaks covered and then uncovered by the clouds made it a marvel. And the walk, only 4 1/2 hours this day, was just right for our tired legs and pounded feet. A light sprinkle, coupled with the cloud cover, made it a perfect day for carrying a pack.
We had no knowledge of any creek crossing by reading information on the web, so when we came across a good size, fast flowing creek, we were very pleased with our decision to carry water shoes. A few folks hadn’t, and it didn’t look like much fun slowly wading across that creek full of ice cold glacial water in bare feet.
When Kim and I strolled down to the beach in front of the refugio to relax, we found that the supply boat had just come in with a full load of freight. Two young men were push/pulling a cart up the hill to the refugio. Seeing them strain, and remembering my days at Togiak River Lodge, I soon joined them in this very, very laborious endeavor. For my efforts, the guys rewarded me with one of the company’s beers.
That night we shared our dorm with a Swiss and a Belgian couple. Only the Swiss man snored. It was good. I slept hard.
1/24 Torres del Paine - Refugio Cuernos
It may have been one of the top three walks of my life. Kim, who hadn’t slept well due to her concern over bug bites, which were quite impressive bright red mounds the size of a dime, and I set out early in the morning after downing our typical refugio fare of toast, scrambled eggs and coffee.
An hour later we left the lake shore and embarked up one of the most dramatic vistas on God’s earth, the Valle Frances. Off to our left sat the highest peak in the park, Cumbre Principal at 3050 meters, and the rest of the Cerro Paine Grande. Huge booming reports echoed off of the canyon walls as large avalanches tore down the steep mountainside. At one point, we stopped for a break and during our 15 minutes of relaxation, three separate avalanches broke loose. “It’s so-o-o-o-o amazing,” I said over and over, all day long.
The mountain was a hundred streaking waterfalls, located below each of the glaciers and ultimately, they all poured into an out of control, raging torrent of white water tearing down the valley. The perfect blue sky, with small wisps of clouds being generated by the snow pack of the highest peak, was magnetic to the eye. The other side of the valley, the boring side, was only filled with the towering black and tan rock monoliths of the Cuerno Mascara, which anywhere else in the world, would have been national park material by themselves.
As the day wore on the temperatures rose to an unheard of 86 degrees, which sapped nearly every bit of energy out of us. By the time we had climbed up to Campo Britanico, desperate and unsuccessful in our search for a vaulted toilet for Kim, we were exhausted, so the long walk back down the valley was done slowly. The last three miles of the twelve mile walk were a push. Both Kim and I struggled to make our way back to Cuernos.
It was nice to drown the trail dust in the shower and then relax with a few glasses of wine before eating our fish dinner. It had been one of the most perfect days of my life. What a pre-birthday present!
1/25 Torres del Paine - Cuernos
It was another sleep abbreviated night. The refugio staff gathered outside our window to sing Beatles songs until midnight, and then the elderly lady in the bunk across the room started intermittent, but highly obnoxious snoring for the rest of our hours of slumber.
That morning, while enjoying breakfast with a couple of from Malta, I noticed the foul odor of smelly feet and dried sweat on clothes that had been worn for far too many days. Almost immediately, I nervously wondered, “Is it me?” Such is life on the refugio circuit. You never know if you’re the stinking one.
Kim and I spent the day lazing about on the lake shore, where we would read, snooze and then swim to cool off from the oppressive 90 degree heat and high humidity. Even though the water was colored by glacial silt, it was extremely comfortable, as long as you didn’t dive deep, which was an instant migraine head ache. Sadly, my sunscreen did not adequately cover all of my parts, which meant the tops of my feet and back were burned to a beet red tint.
The hikers coming into camp that day looked beyond wasted. Several went right to their beds to lay down, suffering from heat exhaustion. Here we were, in the heart of Patagonia, where you’re supposed to be concerned with hypothermia and frost bite during summer treks, but yet it was 90 degrees, and heat stroke was your biggest enemy. How can they question global warming? Crazy!
1/26 Puerto Natales
We finally got a good night’s sleep at Los Cuernos. They transferred us to another room, due to Kim’s complaining. Our new abode was next to the creek, which drowned out all noise other than the gurgle of running water.
We got up at the crack of dawn, had a quick breakfast and then roared down the trail like teen age greyhounds on speed. We did the 13 KM, 8 mile trek in 3:15, which may be a new all Patagonian World Record for Old People. The walk out was absolutely stunning. It was hard to leave such beauty behind, as we knew we were doing with every step towards the boat. The mountains, glaciers, and Lago Skottsberg were incredible.
As we sat waiting for the boat, my tired feet felt like they had been held over the flame of an old gas stove, and my boney shoulders and neck ached from carrying my 35 pound pack. However, it had all been worth it. We had walked through one of God’s true miracles on Earth.
The short catamaran ride through Lago Pehoe was brilliant. The massive spires of the Cerro Paine Grande, the glaciers glistening in the sunlight, the surreal turquoise waters of the lake and the distant three towers of the Torre del Paine were mesmerizing. It was gorgeous beyond words. Later, when I realized that the short 20 minute trip had cost us $45, I wasn’t even upset. That tells you it was truly something to behold.
The two hour bus ride back to town was very hot and extremely stinky. You mass together 40 backpackers in a tin box with no ventilation in 90 degree heat after they’ve been hiking for several days, and it’s not a pleasant experience. I no longer cared about the large herds of guanacos grazing by the road or spotting the circling majesty of the great South American condors. I just wanted a beer and a shower.
We pulled out all of the stops that night and found a high price seafood restaurant to spend our remaining Chilean pesos. I had a wonderful seafood fettucine combo, with oodles of sea food, while Kim enjoyed some kind of a baked whitefish. The cold Chilean beer was so good I ordered a second. It was a fitting celebration for a wonderful backpack through the gates of Heaven.
1/27 On the Bus
We started our bus trip from Hell at 11:00 A.M. with a five hour ride from Puerto Natales to Rio Gallegos. It was uneventful tedium magnified, except for the long lines we persevered through at both the Chilean and Argentine border posts. The flat, arid, endless miles slowly punished us. Occasionally, one would see a small group of nandus, a large ostrich like bird, or a few sheep collected around the infrequent water hole. With a hot sun pouring in my window, I was in a constant state of slumber bordering on near coma. Occasionally, our crazed driver would jerk the bus out of its straight and narrow course and I would nearly suffer a case of whiplash. Other than that, it was a great ride.
1/28 Trelew
After over 16 hours on a double deck, deluxe Andesmar bus, we pulled into Trelew about 12:30 P.M. Yes, we were both hammered from a combined 21 hours on a bus, but we were both impressed with our overnight ride through Patagonia. First of all, the seating gave ample room to lay oneself out comfortably so as to be able to sleep. We were shocked when the steward handed out our dinners, a tough beef steak and mashed potatoes. They also gave us a miniature cup of coffee in the morning. If only the buses in the States were this nice. I think it would be a viable option for Americans traveling our country.
The bulk of Patagonia’s scenery is the definition of the word boring - flat, scrub brush, small parcels of yellow bunch grass and hardly any sign of life anywhere. It makes Eastern Montana look like the Garden of Eden.
We stayed at the Club Touring, a hotel that once hosted Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Believe me, it looked like it. Our room was small and old, with the bathroom fixtures out of the the early part of the 20th century. However, the bar downstairs exuded character, with an ancient 80 year old senora keeping the drinkers in line. The waiters, dressed in white coats, slowly shuffled around the large room, happily taking orders from locals and the always present tourists. We enjoyed two of our dinners there, eating really tasty steak and egg sandwiches. Fantastic!
During the afternoon, we rode another bus out to Gaiman, a small Welch village located a few miles west of Trelew. There we enjoyed an authentic Welsh tea, which entailed snacking on plate of bread, butter and cheese, and then devouring another huge platter of assorted pastries. It was all washed down with numerous cups of Earl Grey. The setting for the tea was magnificent. The old house was filled with antiques, such as guns, swords, china, pictures and other antiquities. Just looking around the room was like visiting a museum. To me, that was the best part of the whole deal.
1/29 On the Bus
The big thrill of the day was going out to see the penguins at Punta Tombo. Our guide, Daniel, drove his Mercedes tour bus like he stole it, making sure that the hour and a half ride was exciting. Considering this was the great void of Patagonia, where they get 1.5 centimeters of precipitation a year, we were especially blessed to see a 25 pound brown colored rodent with long back legs, much like a rabbit, a gray fox and several guanacos.
Punta Tombo is penguin paradise. We found them in dens under the scrub brush, in holes they had dug out in the middle of the sand flats and in transit from the ocean to their homes, waddling by us like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Many of them were babies, just in the process of molting. We watched moms and dads carefully plucking out the sections of their thick down coat, readying them for the sea and their long trip to Brazil. We also watched moms puke up fish to the frenetic begging of two or three babies. It was so, so cool.
The air of Punta Tombo was filled with the stench of penguin guano. Nevertheless, our hour and a half stay there seemed to last seconds. Thousands of these birds, doing their Charley Chaplin waddle, made it an exceptional experience.
Once back in Trelew, we found our way back to the Touring Club for more Quillmas Bock and a light dinner. With the howl of the expresso machine, the loud banter of happy, alcohol fueled Spanish, and the unique character of the bar, it seemed so exciting, so Argentina.
1/30 Esquel
After another all night bus ride, we rolled into Esquel bright and early at 6:00 A.M. We immediately grabbed a taxi to our posada, where to our surprise no one answered the locked door. Every trip has a low point and this was mine. It was chilly, I was tired and it really sucked sitting on the curb waiting for the place to come to life. I knocked and knocked on the door, thinking that the owner lived in the house. When he finally drove up at 8:00 A.M., he was embarrassed that he had misinterpreted our plans. He had thought that we were to come into town at 6:00 P.M. that night.
We dumped our bags and then wandered downtown looking for breakfast. Finally, after walking the streets for a considerable time, we settled for the local YPI gas station, where we had the standard croissants and cafe con leche. It really wasn’t a bad breakfast, not bacon and eggs mind you, but not bad for South America.
The most important part of each morning is my constitutional. Facing this situation, and not being able to get into our hotel room yet, I made the fateful decision to use the YPI bathroom. Things happened naturally and then I looked for toilet paper. None! Paper towels, I thought. With my pants around my knees, I worked my way out of the stall to look. Again, none! The only thing left, my only option, was the trash bin. I leave you there, my dear reader.
The day was spent getting laundry organized, getting future bus/hotel bookings and lazing about. We were both running on empty until we had a short afternoon nap, which had a much more positive effect than the $6.00 we had spent on espresso earlier in the day. We celebrated feeling human again by putting more alcohol in our bodies, sharing a king sized bottle of Quillmas bock from the local supermarket.
Following the advice of our lodge keeper, we walked a mile and a half to the second best meal of our South American adventure, a luscious ravioli covered by a combination of both red and white sauces. It was heavenly. The only negative, it was once again a late night meal, with us not getting to bed until way after midnight.
1/31 Esquel
Kim and I caught the 8:00 A.M. bus from Esquel to National Park Los Alcerces, a three hour ride up a very dusty, bumpy gravel road. The park itself does not compare to the raw physical beauty of Fitzroy or Torres del Paine, but it was still magnificent in its own way.
The big draw was to see the Alcerces trees, some as old as 2500 years. They are the third oldest living thing on Earth. The trees we saw were not the really old or the biggest ones, but still they were amazing, and considering that they were deciduous, like an over grown oak, I found them even more impressive. Their trunk’s diameter was about the size of Volkswagen Beetle. Giant branches, the size of a large Ponderosa pine in the states, jutted out in the all directions, making a dark canopy several hundred feet above your head.
Even though the trees were impressive, the best part of the park for me was the water. We hiked by a string of large, pristine lakes, Lago Verde and Lago Menendez, with their perfect aquamarine colored water. The river, Arrayannes, pooled and tumbled through small rapids. One could count nearly every stone on the bottom, the water was so clear, yet with it’s light glacial tint, it was almost baby blue in coloration.
The five mile stroll through the forest was enjoyable. We visited along the way with a young Argentine girl on summer break from school, a German pilot on his winter holiday and a Danish retiree who told us about marrying a Cuban during one of his many winter holidays there.
As had been the story for nearly all of our vacation, the late afternoon heat was terrible and we had failed to bring our swim suits. We sat reading under the big trees for much of the afternoon, but eventually we had to walk out into the full blast of the sun’s rays to catch our bus. It wasn’t pleasant. The hot, dusty, bumpy, miserable bus ride back to town was three plus hours of Hell. One of the bus’s duals had a flat, so top speed on the highway was about 15 miles an hour. It was beyond misery. Kim stated that she wished she was back home in 40 degree, snow covered Utah. That tells you how awful it was.
2/1 El Bolson
The bus ride into El Bolson was gorgeous. It started with rugged mountains, void of much vegetation, which slowly changed to tree farms and then came the advent of small, lush valleys filled with farms. They were surrounded by steep, towering mountains.
Once we got into town, we spent much of the afternoon organizing our next trek into a couple of refugios. The Andes hiking club has an office in El Bolson, where you can gain information about the eleven refugios in the region.
El Bolson rocks. After a pleasant dinner on a patio overlooking the mountains, we wandered to the park across the street, where a jazz band was playing to a large gathering of youthful hippies gathered on the grass. While the band, two gals and three guys, belted out a Dixieland/Gyspyland upbeat style of jazz, a local hairdresser danced wildly while styling a grungy hippy’s long locks into the hip, modern “do” of an insurance adjuster.
I found it interesting that the average Argentine family, on its summer vacation, and the grungy, dread locked, tattooed, pierced to the max hippies were coexisting in the same area happily. Before us, two girls were dancing while drinking liter bottles of the local micro-brew, and a few feet away, a caricature artist was drawing a picture of a young boy on his family vacation. No one seemed to care about the other. Argentina is one very colorful place.
2/2 El Bolson
Kim and I spent much of the morning wandering through the feria, an outdoor art fair with great food. Although we didn’t find the perfect piece to bring home, we did enjoy eating Belgian waffles with berries and then feasted on tasty empanadas.
The real fun started at 5:00 P.M., when Diego picked us up for our tour of the Bosque Tallado, an old forest fire burn site that has been turned into an art gallery of over 40 different wood sculptures. Some were modern art, meaning a bit bizarre and not overly impressive, while others, such as the giant buddha, the puma, the virgin and the gaucho, were phenomenal.
Diego then took us up to the Refugio Piltriquitron, where we relaxed and shared matte, passing a gourd with metal straw back and forth, while telling him about American outdoor equipment web sites and Alaskan fishing. The matte did taste like drinking boiled alfalfa, but I do have to admit that I got a slight buzz from it and it kind of killed the pain of hiking back down the steep mountainside. I now know why your average Argentinean drinks over 130 pounds of this tea like liquid each year.
We didn’t get back to the hotel until 10:30 P.M., and since we were filthy due to walking in a two inch thick path of dust loam, which kicked up a dust fog with every step, we took a quick shower before walking the ten blocks to our recommended restaurant of the night. Unlike our other midnight meals, this one was disgusting. Over cooked ravioli, unspiced tomato sauce and a few chunks of tougher than nails, fatty stew meat made up our entree. Even the salad was lame. Canned peas and chunks of boiled potatoes mixed with lettuce, tomato and onion. Bad idea! Not even vinegar and oil could rescue this combination.
The heavenly sleep zone wasn’t easily achieved that night. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the numerous slurps of matte, perhaps the legion of hotrod Peugeots with no mufflers, or the vocally robust El Bolson hippies celebrating the advent of every 15 minutes by screaming at the top of their lungs. It might have been the “louder than a braking semi” birds screeching outside our open window. Whatever, it was a sleep challenged night for both of us.
2/3 Refugio Retarnal
It was tough to face the world. Kim and I hadn’t slept well, she was stressed about sleeping on a bug infested, filthy mattress at the refugio, and another blazing hot day in Patagonia was in the forecast.
Nevertheless, we hopped on the 11:00 A.M. bus to Wharton, the beginning of the real “longest day.” After crossing two very interesting suspension bridges, which were missing planks, had rotting, thinner than dried fettucini planks, and had a wild, swinging motion with each step, we found ourselves on a 2900 foot elevation gain, death march. As was typical with our hiking, it was one more in a very long string of 90 degree days.
The trail started with some basic long, steep climbs and then it got a lot harder. We found ourselves climbing up crudely constructed ladders over steep, rocky inclines, and then carefully lowering ourselves down rocky outcroppings to face another obstacle. It was a story of many short creek crossings, involving rock hopping 101, and then always one more steep, endless incline. Finally, when fatigue had started to totally set in, we found ourselves carefully picking our way along a narrow trail with a 500 foot gorge and raging river roaring below us.
Unfortunately, when we should have zigged, we zagged. In other words, we missed our trail to Rio Cajon del Azul, the first refugio on our agreed upon schedule. We should have been there at the four hour mark, but now at five hours, with gallons of sweat, and magnified misery having been emanated from each of our overly fatigued pores, we were feeling totally beaten. Finally, just when we were silently each feeling the first hint of desperation, we came upon another sign, this one indicated that we had missed our refugio and was pointing the way to two alternatives, one 14 miles away and the other, only God knew. We stopped, we snacked, we rested, we worried. Then, belatedly, we shouldered our packs and started one more steep, endless incline. As I sit here, I know there is a God, because in a few short minutes we broke out of the trees into the most beautiful meadow in the world, equipped with a picturesque log cabin and rugged granite peaks in the distance. Not since some of our snow machine trips in Alaska has there been a sight so sweet.
The caretakers were more than friendly and soon all the pain of the day had evaporated with a couple of large cups of sweet Malbec. After a short shower using a wood powered water heater in a colorful, rustic shower room, we agreed that all was well again in the Andes. God, I was happy to be alive. It was from Hell to Heaven in a few short miles and minutes.
That night we enjoyed the company of two young Argentinean girls from Buenos Aires. Over dinner, we worked hard in communicating with very limited Spanish and English. Nevertheless, it was a lively, fun conversation. Dinner, box ravioli served with a fresh vegetable and olive oil sauce, was filling, if not wonderful. The positive point was that they gave you enough for three people, something that I can always appreciate.
2/4 Refugio Cajon del Azul
It was such a good night of sleep, all seven hours of it. We awoke to find the refugio’s cat had climbed the ladder leaning on the outside of the cabin and was looking in on us, wondering if we wanted to play.
After a leisurely breakfast, we climbed 30 minutes to the mirador, where we peacefully sat admiring the peaks across the valley. Not the most amazing place I’ve ever been, but it was nice.
Shortly after, we paid our bill, $48 for room and board, and then wandered down the trail to Refugio Cajon del Azul, an impressive quasi-farm complex with hydro-generated electricity, sheep and horses.
Since it was another of Al Gore’s 90 plus degree days, Kim and I elected to head to the river, where we would dive in the ice cold water, dive out and then sun ourselves on the rocks. It was over five hours of doing less than zero. I was even able to take a short nap in the shade, laying on a pin cushion of river rock.
The day ended with an invitation from two Argentinean trail acquaintances, who invited us to drink tea with them. It was pleasant to visit in our pigeon Spanish and their limited English about life, Argentina and the world. The people here are so warm, so helpful and generous. Let this be a lesson to us on how to better live life.
Dinner was good, a real bowl of spaghetti with a huge salad, but too damned late for us old people. When we climbed to our loft dormitory, we found a large room covered with cheap foam mattresses. They were jammed together so tightly that you had to step on someone else’s bed to get to yours.
Sleep would come hard, as the loud banter of the youthful backpackers in the great room below echoed off of our walls. I hated the Brit with the loud voice, who spent hours trying to impress a giggling covey of American girls with his mastery of world travel. After he had left the game, a group of Spanish speakers upped the volume to make sure that I wasn’t going to sleep. The young finally shuffled upstairs to go to bed around 1:00 A.M., shining their flashlights in my face while looking for God knows what in their backpacks, and murmuring long wishes to each other for a pleasant slumber. Then came the chain saw engines being throttled to maximum RPMs. I laid awake until morning, listening to an endless chorus of snoring until their alarms started ringing a few short hours later. It was a night of pure, unvarnished Hell.
2/5 El Bolson
A few hearty souls started to escape our sardine tin of a dorm room around 7:30 A.M. We finally gave up on trying to sleep, and crawled out of the our bags at 8:00 A.M. We quietly crept out of the “room of hell” with our things, although I secretly wanted revenge for the punishment they had put me through in the previous six hours. I fought the urge to yell or stomp out of the room.
Since service was not an attribute of the workers of Cajon del Azul, we quickly manned our packs and headed out to take the back trail out of the lodge. After stumbling about looking for this “short cut” for half an hour, we headed out the conventional way, stopping only once for coffee at a refugio on the way.
Two and a half hours later, another world record for the elderly, we chugged into Wharton, whipped to the bone. We shared a taxi back to our hotel with an Argentinean man and his daughter, where we almost immediately crawled into bed for a long, desperately needed afternoon siesta.
2/6 Bariloche
The ride from El Bolson to Bariloche was magnificent. It was one of gorgeous mountains, pristine lakes and greenery everywhere. One can easily understand why Argentina is so captivated with this area.
When we arrived in Bariloche, the bus drove through an industrial and service sector that was plain ugly. Old, poorly constructed buildings, slums really, and a kind of desperate look that made me fell uneasy about being there. However, within minutes we were parked at the bus station along a beautiful lake shore, where I went to work looking for lodging. It took half a dozen calls, but finally I scored Hostel Arko, located in a residential area about ten blocks from the city center. Quiet, clean and fairly new.... and only 130 pesos, $41.53.
We spent the afternoon and evening wandering the streets of the downtown, which easily rivals Park City, Utah, for character and classic ski town architecture. Bariloche is located on massive Lago Nahuel Huapi, over 100 km long, and is backed by rugged mountains and beautiful scenery. It is one of the prettiest settings in the world for a major city.
The area is an adventure tourist’s dream. You can ski, boat, sail, ride horses, mountain climb, hike or ride bicycle. Although it’s really too big and too busy for my taste, Kim and I talked about how exciting it would be to rent a cabin for a month here during the heart of the summer season. You could certainly do much worse.
2/7 Bariloche
It started as the most wonderful day possible and ended as one of the most miserable days in our 27 years of marriage.
We took the city bus out to kilometer post 18, where we exited to pick up our rental bikes. After a lengthy description of our route from a gal at the bike shop, we left on the famed “Short Circuit,” otherwise known as the “Seven Lakes Route.”
The first segment of the ride took us up a steep, dusty dirt road through a thick forest. After we descended the hill, we found ourselves looking at the most famous hotel in all Argentina, the enormous Hotel Llao Llao sitting on a scenic hill overlooking a giant manicured golf course and the deep blue water of Lago Nahuel Huapi. The rugged Andes stood off in the distance.
The roller coaster ride then took us up another incline, where we took a dirt road to a beach access. Kim and I enjoyed a short break, sunning ourselves next to the water, enjoying the pristine beauty of the place.
By the time we made it back on the asphalt, I was starving. Three croissants and two small pieces of baguette do not provide much fuel for one engaging in exercise. We stopped at the next lodge along the road, but to my dismay, I found that they had stopped serving. Siesta time. Nearly all businesses shut down in Argentina between the hours of 2:00-5:00 P.M.
Even though I was hurting, we opted to stop once again, this time to take a short walk into a lake under the canopy of huge trees and a bamboo forest that nearly blocked out all sunlight from hitting the path. There we engaged in a fairly lengthy conversation with a friendly Argentine and his Swiss girlfriend, who were visiting from New Zealand. It was interesting listening to him talking about his country. Obviously he loved Argentina, but he needed to go where he could make a decent living. It was sad when he stated that he was pessimistic about things ever improving there, so that he would be able to return home to live a prosperous life.
After riding up a few more steep hills, we finally, at long last, found food. It was only a hot dog stand next to the trail head for one of the refugios, but it was food. We really, really enjoyed sharing a deluxe steak sandwich with ham, cheese, egg and all of trimmings. The half liter of ice cold Quillmas was like a prayer being answered.
I don’t know if it was the food or the beer, but some how, some way, I made a disastrous decision. You see, the day had been perfect; temperatures were moderate, the lakes and mountains beyond the word “beautiful” and we were biking again, one of my favorite things in the world. I decided we needed more of this perfect fun. BIG FAT, INCREDIBLY STUPID MISTAKE!
Much to Kim’s dismay, I insisted that we should take the advice of the girl at the bike rental place and go to Colonia Suiza, a short extension of the 25 KM route. Almost immediately it proved to be a moronic decision. The afternoon temperatures were rocketing by the time we hit the road again after our relaxing lunch, and the quiet back country gravel road proved to be much more popular than what I thought would be the case. Within minutes we were meeting car after car, each one sending up a huge, thick plume of fine Argentinean dust into the air. We were eating dirt by the kilo. At the same time, our bodies began to tire from the fairly challenging course we had traveled, and my crotch was rubbed raw from bicycling in my hiking shorts.
We finally pulled into the little village, which was nothing more than a large campground on a lake, and a few other assorted buildings. I stopped, carefully surveyed the tiny, worthless map that the bike company had given us and following it, elected to take the right hand turn onto another road. I was tired and hot by now, so all I wanted was for the ride to end. On and on this short, five kilometer jaunt continued. We went by another lake resort, followed the large lake to its end and then paralleled a river for some distance. Finally, desperate, hot, dirty and thirsty, we ran into another couple of cyclists. It was evident that we were not on the right road. I had no idea that we had ridden an extra 10 kilometers, so when the lady explained our situation it was like finding out that we had to turn around and go back across Death Valley with our wagon train.
I was devastated with the news, but Kim, she was spitting flaming arrows at me with her eyeballs. Her knees were seriously aching, the bike’s seat wouldn’t stay in one place and needed constant readjustment, she was exhausted and hopelessly hot. When she found out that we still needed to go 15 KM - well, let me just say it’s good that bikes don’t come equipped with guns. I would have met the same fate as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid found in South America.
Altogether, we had ridden about 45-50 kilometers, up some pretty good sized hills and over some rather marginal gravel roads. The first 60% had been brilliant, but the last 40%, well, Hell is too kind of a word.
2/8 Bariloche
After the bike ride from Hell, and a steady diet of activity for the last 25 days, we laid low, with Kim nursing her aching knees and legs in bed for much of the day.
It was weird, in that you sort of felt guilty about not going to see one more rugged mountain peak or one more beautiful lake, but truth be told, we both needed a lazy day after our continually frenetic schedule.
We walked up the street for empanadas and beer for dinner. Not much of a meal, but totally adequate considering our day.
2/9 Bariloche
As in our last days in Panama, we elected to go on a horse ride as a culminating activity. The area of our ride was the zone between the peaks of Andes and the flat plain of Patagonia.
Our group of eight, two Dutch girls, a couple from San Francisco and two men from Buenos Aires, rode up and down steep side hills, up a scenic river valley and enjoyed an asado for lunch. Everyone was pleasant and the horses behaved perfectly. A very nice way to end a perfect South American holiday.
2/10 On the bus
After a leisurely wander about the streets of Bariloche, and a delicious lunch of lamb and trout, we hopped on our Via Bariloche bus at 3:00 P.M.
We had booked the super cama, which entailed having a seat that laid down into a full size bed. The snack, the dinner service and the comfort of our seats made the 19 hour journey into the city almost enjoyable. I slept hard from 11:00 P.M. to 8:00 A.M., which is more than I can say for some of the hostels we stayed at during our travels.
The scenery started as rolling hills, a gorgeous emerald emerald colored river and then we traveled past a giant reservoir filled with fish farms. Soon the stark emptiness of the Patagonian plain filled our windows. For over six hours, until dark, it was nothing but arid wasteland. The exception was around Neuquen, where irrigation made endless apple, pear and other fruit orchards possible. When we woke up in the morning, the glowing green farm-scape of the pampas offered an amazing contrast to the visuals of the last month.
2/11 Buenos Aires
After spending a month in the peaceful environment of small town, Argentina, a long day in Buenos Aires came as a bit of a shock.
Our consistently good luck continued the minute we got into the city. I scored a room with a shower on the first call, and only $150 pesos. Sanduzkazas wasn’t great, it wasn’t even really clean, but considering that it was in San Telmo and was close to Puerto Madero, it wasn’t a bad deal.
We set off immediately in search of art, which meant we wandered the busy streets of the city for hours. We walked up and down the central city, the Recoletta and finally Palermo. I don’t know how many miles we walked, but I was exhausted by late afternoon. Dodging the crazed Argentine drivers at crosswalks, fighting the endless surging mass of humanity on the sidewalks, and not knowing what we were looking for but moving forth anyway, made it a very draining experience.
The final blow was our taxi ride to Palermo. The driver took us on the scenic route, making a $15 peso trip into a $25 peso marathon. When he slowed down in the neighborhood we wanted to visit, I insisted that we get out of his car, or else we’d still be in that car, hopelessly looking for the address, extending the already extended to a ridiculous degree. He was the first and only person who attempted to take advantage of our plight as the stupid American tourist.
We checked out one more art store, to no avail, and then opted to break out of the meat, pasta and more meat routine, and eat ethnic for our last night in the country. We had picked a Lonely Planet restaurant, which meant that it was 20% more expensive, but I do have to admit that the food was delicious and very different, a real revolution for our hopelessly bored taste buds.
I have no idea what I ate that night at that Thai/Vietnamese restaurant, but within minutes of leaving trendy Palermo, I had gastric pressure that made me feel like I was going to pop. For much of that night I laid in bed, uncomfortably farting the most noxious fumes imaginable, which meant that I was too busy for the essential, a good night’s sleep. I listened to every young person come home that night, listened to the cars roaring down distant streets and heard every door slam within a twenty block radius. Miserable! Just plain misery.
2/12 On the airplane
Our last hours in the city were spent in our neighborhood, San Telmo, where we found more art galleries than we had in the twenty miles we had walked the day before. Just a scant eight blocks from our hostel, Kim and I settled on buying a colorful paper machete collage of reds, yellows and blues. I have know idea what it’s about, but I know that I like it. It should add color and texture to one of our homes.
The big excitement of the day was finding that all of the ATM machines in the area were down, so that I could not get the pesos we needed to pay for our art and then for the taxi to the airport. Since we had already spent the last of our pesos eating lunch at Puerto Madero, it was a little scary for a few minutes in trying to think how we were going to get the money. Thankfully, the art dealer offered to exchange our dollars for pesos, which gave us enough to pay for our art and the trip to the international airport.
The big trip of 2008 was over. In the 30 days we were in South America, Kim and I had lived highs and lows, eaten a ton of good beef, hiked over 100 miles and had spent a little over $4000. Overall, we both agreed that it had probably been our best trip ever. The first two weeks had been a blow away, visiting the Fitzroy and Torre del Paine were beyond amazing, easily the most beautiful mountains we’d ever seen, and the rest of the tour was simply “enjoyable.” We had met many wonderful people, friendly and helpful, and had enjoyed a variety of interesting conversations. It really was a fabulous experience, one that will certainly be very hard to exceed in the future. South America is simply wonderful.
