Archive for category Argentina
An Apology
Posted by Delaney in Buenos Aires on March 6th, 2010
So, I´m alive. I’ve let the activity-filled time pass without writing much, so it’s become a bit of a daunting task writing all that I’ve been doing down for posterity. And being slightly witty and semi-well-spoken while doing it.
But! I have a few hundred word in my phone, and quite a bit more in the noggin, so I’ll brief you all on my adventures soon. Until then, rest assured that I am in fact alive and content and traveling North toward Colombia. And very, very tan.
Your Intrepid Exporer.
Deathtrap: Mendoza
I readily came to the conclusion that I could happily spend a fair amount of time In Mendoza. Maybe a few years. I came in at 7:00 in the morning after a long semi-cama ride from Puerto Madryn, and was grumpily carrying my mochila the mile or so to the Damajuana hostel when the tree-lined avenues and burbling (burbling!) canals next to every sidewalk made me realize that I like really appreciate places like Mendoza. It’s not a big town, maybe 200,000 people, and it’s not really a cultural hub or anything, but it’s pretty, and surrounded by beauty, and it’s very, very tranquilo.
But the Damajuana Hostel was pretty bad. Though I just chose it from a list that the tourist information woman at the bus terminal gave me, so it’s my own fault for not planning ahead better. I realized pretty quickly that I’d stumbled into a haven for besotted Brits and Aussies and Americans a few years removed from the frat house. I think it was the overzealous abuse of jams (the shorts, not the condiment) and the lack of any other type of clothing that gave it away. And it cost AR$60 a night, too! And the breakfast was two pieces of toast! But it took me three days to change hostels anyway.
I took a bike riding wine tour, which was, well, a wine tour. And I went rafting, which was a blast (and I fell out!). And I did a “canopy tour,” a misnomer as there wasn’t a tree within miles of the place. They were fun things to do, and they cost money, and I took many pictures:
Wines and Bikes:
Brown Water Rafting:
Zipline-ing:
I’m leaving for Santiago the day after tomorrow, which should be fun. The 5th time in Chile, I think. I must love Chile.
Time in Prison, Hammocks
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, Puerto Madryn, Ushuaia on December 14th, 2009
As you saw in the last post, I found the sign at the end of the world. Fellow travelers had told me that there wasn’t much to do in Ushuaia so I only gave myself one full day there; I’m glad I did, as it was a bit rainy and the activites there were mini-versions of stuff that I’d already done (mountains, a little glacier), or was planning to see later (whales, sea lions). But I really did have fun going to the converted wilderness-prison-cum-museum. The plaster of paris mannequins were just delightful, and there were portions of the prison that hadn’t yet been fixed up and so were still dirty and damp and full of holes and prison stink, which was cool.
The long walk:
Also, I stayed in Ushuaia at a place called Freestyle Hostel, which was nice (and caro) except for the one reception dude who was a totally disinterested snowboarder lifty-type guy. And the nice-looking hotelish bathrooms smelled like some very old sweat socks. But Rasta Max’s kindness (and haircut – guess what kind!) totally made up for it. I also ran into Laura again (for at least the fourth time on my trip down South), so it was nice to see her again before she went back to San Diego.
4:30 the next morning I arrived grumpy and hungry at the Ushuaia bus terminal (actually a parking lot next to a gas station) to find the bus to Puerto Madryn. It was a long ride, longer than one might expect after looking at a map, but the roads down there are circuitious and one has to find one’s way around channels and mountains and whatnot. In all, I think that it took around 30 hours (with an incredibly uneventful stop in Rio Gallegos).
But Puerto Madryn was totally worth it. I expected another small tourist town with dozens of parka stores, and was very happily surprised to find a large tourist town in the middle of an incredibly gorgeous spell of warm weather with a long beach spanning the entire town. There were even some crazy kids swimming in the ocean, and I managed to take my shoes off and walk along the shore a bit. It was exciting, and unexpected, to find myself in a city that looked a lot more like coastal Florida than Antarctica, so I was happy. And I stayed at a great place called El Gaulicho in Puerto Madryn with a friendly staff, good rooms, a big kitchen, lots of friendly travellers, and a cute little courtyard with two(!) hammocks. I really could have stayed there for a week, but I think I’d better get traveling if I’m really going to make it to Santiago before Christmas.
Puerto Madryn, suprisingly:
Oh, and I went on a whale-elephant seal-sea lion-penguin tour, on which we also saw lots of maras (which are kind of like rabbits/dogs) and more guanacos.
But the whales were definitely the best part. I caught the very tail end (so to speak) of the whale watching season, so there evidently weren’t many left in the harbor to see, but the moment our super-sized Zodiac came within 50 meters of the one pair we did track down, the baby started jumping out of the water like a lunatic. It breached seven or eight times before its mom came over, jumped out of the water herself, and calmed baby down. I also managed to find myself pretty much the best spot on the boat, standing in the bow with a railing to hold on to and the guide’s girlfriend (also a biologist, I think) telling me exactly what was going on the whole time and how lucky we were to see that kind of stuff so late in the season. Not that you can tell from my pictures, of course, but I’m ok with that. I’ve got it all up here (point at head). And then I partook in the communal asado at the hostel, during which I drank just a smidge too much vino.
The next day I got up, ate free breakfast, and promptly fell asleep in the hammock. And then I went to the EcoCentro, which was a well-produced marine ecology museum and a great way to spend some time on a rainy afternoon (which is what it turned into), and fell asleep on a cushy couch in the upstairs library while waiting for a squall to pass. I needed some sleep, evidently.
This is Why I Came to Ushuaia
I keep looking at this photo and cracking up:
Think of what this photo means. It mean that an Ushuaian had to rent a penguin costume, get a buddy to lift weights (and ride a stationary bike!) in the penguin costume, Photoshop it all together with some real penguins, and have it professionally printed. That’s advertising; that’s comedy. It’s like something from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
P.S. When you, faithful readers, view my interesting and varied photography on the Flickr page, you sometimes miss my hilarious and subtle witty captions. If you want to read them, you have to view my Flickr photostream.
Addendum 12/11/09:
This is actually why I came to Ushuaia. Seriously, the only reason:
But these guys were a nice surprise once I got there:
Like Defrosting the Freezer, Only Grander
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, El Calafate on November 28th, 2009
The virus on my laptop has mutated into a strange beast. The young Albanian that programmed it was kind enough to incorporate in a friendly message that pops up every 10 seconds and bounces happily around the screen saying “This Computer is Being Attaked” (sic). And there’s a picture of a fairy wand, which is nice. The only thing I don’t like about it is that it makes doing anything on the computer absolutely impossible. So, my apologies for the intermittant photo uploads. It’s the Albanian’s fault.
Perito Moreno was nice, but I just have to speak the truth a little bit here: it wasn’t that great. I’d been hearing about it for 3 and a half months now, mostly surrounded by superlatives and hyperbole. Usually, I would think that nothing could live up to hype like that, but my experience in Iguazu made me think that maybe yes, it really will be that stupendously life-changingly out-of this world.
Don’t get me wrong, it was really cool. And we had outstanding weather. But it’s kind of like looking at a big, blue, snowy cliff for 6 hours. Every once in a while a car-sized chunk of the big snowy cliff falls into the water and eveybody cheers, and there’s comraderie and everything, but the park is really developed, almost Disney-esque. They’ve erected metal sidewalks where trails used to be, and the massive flow of foreign tourists has made the Argentines become really organized and funnel all of us into specific zones to see the glacier. It was kind of like watching a really big movie about a glacier, with lots of noisily chewing Italian and French people in the audience.
A giant, unflavored Slurpee:
An untitled short film about my experience:
I opted to dole out some serious pesos for “MiniTrekking,” which allows you to take a catamaran embarque to the other side of the glacier, where you get out and follow a guide up onto the glacier, wearing crampons to stay upright. It was fine, and a cool experience, but we were in a single-file line like school kids the whole way, going very slowly and stopping about every 45 seconds for the middle-aged Germans to catch up. In 3 hours, I bet we walked one kilometer. It felt like we were moving at a you-know-what’s pace. But there was Scotch at the end, a highlight.
MiniTrekking:
Scotch at the End:
So, in a word, Perito Moreno: meh. Un-hype-live-up-able.
Serendipity
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, El Chalten on November 25th, 2009
I didn’t realize that places like this still existed. El Chalten was a town built in 1985 to beat Chile to a land grab. I knew this before I came, but expected a 30-year-old town to be fairly well established, not a frontier outpost. There are maybe 100 buildings in total, including local residences, two smallish supermercados, a few souvenir shops, some restaurants, and about 50 hostels/hotels. Wooden sidewalks and seriously grizzled dogs line the streets. The draw of El Chalten is not the town, however. It’s the absolutely gorgeous, blindingly amazing wilderness surrounding it.
I honestly feel that all my misery in the rain up North (in Bariloche and sopping-wet Chile) was made up for by the two incredible days that I stumbled across here. I arrived at 10:30 on Sunday night after a pretty long, pretty bumpy bus ride (see Ruta Nacional 40) during which I saw a whole lot of nothing, mostly empty sage-filled high desert. That is until the last 20 minutes or so when we were able to catch a twilight glimpse of both Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre from the road. I ate an excited meal that night with soft-spoken Italian Pietro from the bus and joined him the next cloudless, 60 degree (F) morning for the hike up to Fitz Roy. Pietro would only join me for half the hike, and I would continue on to the highest point accessible without climbing gear.
Thus, dear readers, I discovered Patagonia.
I don’t know quite what to say about this ridiculous mountain, how to do it justice. In Bariloche I often found myself appreciating the surrounding beauty, but sometimes felt that it was very like what we have back home, albeit on a grander scale. Fitz Roy (and later Cerro Torre) were, well, not of this earth. They’re so high, alpine but more jagged, like cathedral spires 50, no 100 cathedrals tall. On top of a mountain, surrounded by enormous creaking glaciers, with perfect crayon-blue lakes below, full of tiny floating (actually huge) icebergs, surrounded by postcard vistas, perfectly complemented by a cloudless, sun-filled sky. I took photos and knew before the shutter closed that no photo I nor anyone ever took would do it justice. I’m almost glad that I didn’t have a big fancy camera, as I would have been frustrated to find that really, it’s just not the same.
Just not the same:
I walked across a frozen lake (Lago de Los Tres) to get closer to the base of Fitz Roy. I noticed that the priests and nuns climbing the steeples had crossed it earlier, and found myself the only one of the four dozen tourists on the hike that made it to that point. It was a good moment, alone with the cold and the high and the sun and the unfathomably big rock looming in front, looking close enough to touch.
And so, I ate a bun and worked my way down, only getting lost once for about 20 minutes.
The next day, sore and tired, I once again accompanied Pietro on a hike that he would complete only half of, the hike to Laguna Torres, at the base of Cerro Torre. I opted to camp in a nearby bosque that I saw on Pietro’s map, so the going was a bit slower with a slightly fuller bag. But the walk was short, and again, worth every second of Chilean Rain Depression. I had a majestic campsite, an amazing view of these behemoth mountains and glaciers and icebergs. I took about a thousand photos of Cerro Torre because everytime I looked up, it got more and more beautiful, as the setting sun began to light it from the side and then the bottom as the evening progressed. At twilight I was walking back to my charming camp site in the woods, singing a little song to myself and jumping from boulder to boulder along the edge of the cloudy white-blue river (because, folks, it was a glacier like five minutes ago), when I missed a rock and fell in. It was pretty cold, but not cold enough to harsh my mellow, as I’d begun to realize how lucky I was to be there on the edge of an amazing, surreal, otherworldly place. I camped, and slept (and froze), and hiked down the next morning to find El Chalten in the throes of a howler of a windstorm.
Cerro Torre:
My camp at Padre D’Agostini:
My hostel in El Chalten:
I had two days of beautiful, completely clear and warm weather, unplanned by me, in a place that people will hang out in for weeks waiting for just a glimpse of a cloudless peak. Climbers will literally wait months for days like I had; the guides that take people up the trail every day of the season all had their cameras out, taking photos of the peaks to show their comrades what a cloudless mountain day looks like. Seren-Ephron-dipity.
I’m headed to Calafate tomorrow to get my mind warped by Perito Moreno. And for that, I give thanks.
Ruta 40
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, El Chalten on November 21st, 2009
Have you seen the movie The Motorcycle Diaries? Because it’s pretty much the story of my life right now. I’m traveling South on Route 40, paralleling the Andes in the foothills much like Che Guevara, but instead of a puny motorcycle I’m in a King-of-the-Road motorcoach. I didn’t really know anything about this road (not a highway, by any means) before I hopped on the bus, but the fellow at Hostel Inn told me that it’s the best, most comfortable way to get down to Chalten and El Calafate, hands down. As I don’t really know anything about anything, I had to take his word for it. And so far, it’s pretty adventure-y. I also needed to read up on El Chalten, so one of the first things I did on my soon-to-be two day bus ride South was to look it up in Lonely Planet. Lots of hikes (Fitz Roy, maybe?), other cool stuff to do there, but what really caught my eye was the two-page spread entitled Surviving Ruta Nacional 40.
It’s a dangerous road, apparently. Not because it’s twisty or mountain-y or anything, just because it’s in the middle of the absolute middle of nothing. It’s a long, straight gravel road that passes through 4000 kilometros of flat. The book says stuff like “Bring two full-size spare tires. Bring extra fuel in a separate tank, as stones will puncture your fuel tank. Buy a windshield protector. Cover your headlights with industrial-strength clear tape.” And always, always stop to help somebody stopped on the side of the road. Our bus, like most others, has what looks like multiple gunshot wounds all over its body from taking this road every week.
More from Lonely Planet:
…rutted Route 40 is every bit a no-man’s-land. It parallels the backbone of the Andes, where nandus doodle through sagebrush, trucks kick up whirling dust and gas stations rise up like oases. It is the ultimate road trip.
Every car or truck or bus we pass flashes its headlights and waves wildly to our driver (who reciprocates, of course) as if to say, “we’re in this together, buddy,” and one time on a particularly narrow portion of road, we actually stopped so our driver could shake another’s hand, just out of solidarity.
I’ve also seen lots of nandues, quite a few guanicos (unfortunately some dead, caught in the ubiquitous barbed wire), a few lonely gauchos far off on the horizon, and a hundred million sagebrush plants. But it’s really really sunny, without a cloud in the sky. I can’t complain.
Edit, four hours later: I’m not sure what the alternate would be, as the nice fellow at Hostel Inn told me that this is the comfortable way to travel down to Chalten. I was expecting a Via Bariloche-type level of service, as I paid out the nose for this ride, but it’s more like a long city bus ride. Hostel Guy also told me that they’d serve some food, but I’ve had to rely on my (thankfully large) cookie stash to get through the day. It’s ok, I like cookies. And now I’m at a very strange place, the Hotel Belgrano in Perito Moreno, which is a granny-type hotel with dorm rooms and a little diner, where I will be eating some papas fritas in a few short minutes. Wish me luck.
Hotel Belgrano:
Some Ruta 40 Stops:
I’ll let you know how the rest of the ride down goes, hopefully we see an Ande or two before El Chalten.
Edit, day two: More guanicos, more sheep. A lot more gravel and cookies. We’re stopping in little hamlets of no more than a few houses each, and they’re absolutely dependent on buses like ours stopping to use the banos and buying empanadas for lunch. Once they finish paving the entire stretch of Ruta 40 (which may, in fact, take decades), I have a feeling these little outposts may disappear.
A stop right before El Chalten, just to take a photo:
The photo:
Bariloche 3
I left Chile. When I walked to the (previously mentioned) trailhead in the rain, the little Chileno actually told me that Chilean national parks are closed to camping until the first of December, because the extended rain sometimes causes trails to get washed out, stranding backpackers. So I knocked on the car window of the only other goofball silly enough to go hiking in the lluvia and asked him for a ride back to Lenca. He turned out to be a nice enough guy, a British expat living in Puerto Montt with his Chilean bride and daughter. He seemed a bit dodgy about discussing his life there in Chile, but when we started talking about hikes in the area, he really opened up and described a dozen or more beautiful nearby hikes (or “walks” as he called them) on volcanoes or to mountain lakes or incredible vistas, but after each one, said something like, “but you won’t be able to do it now, it’ll be covered with snow,” or “too bad right now the rain clouds will make it impossible to view.” So I decided to take a bus as quickly as I could back to Argentina and, hopefully, the sun.
I got to Bariloche (the third time) the next day and checked into the Hostel Inn, a nice place right down the street from Pudu Hostel and Marcopolo. It has a great view and an English-speaking reception, which is nice for those of us who are lazy. And then I went to talk to my hairy malcontent pal at Club Andino. I was all high hopes and expectations as I walked in the office, as the sun was shining a bit (it was only ‘mostly cloudy’!), and I knew that there were many hikes that I’d missed during my two other stints in town. Remember how I wrote that the fellow looked me up and down and told me to go to Refugio Frey the last time I was there? Well, it turns out that he told me that not because I look amateurish or anything (because I don’t, my bright red gaiters make me look like a pro), but because it was the only refugio hikable that early in the year. He told me that they won’t let people go up to the other places without a guide, which cost around AR$2800. So. Guess where I went? Refugio Frey again! I managed to find another campground down on the edge of Lago Gutierrez, which seemed to be connected somehow to the Refugio Frey hike, and so I filled out a little paperwork, asked the grumpy beard about a bus, and went to buy some cookies and pasta.
The plan to get to the trailhead was relatively straightforward. I bought a Via Bariloche ticket for a distance of about 25K to a point on a map near the South end of Lago Gutierrez (which only cost two pesos), put most of my heavy stuff into a locker at the hostel, went back to the bus station, got on the bus, pointed at my 30 peso trail map to the place I needed to go, and responded with a “Si, señor” to el conductor’s rapid and lengthy response. No problem, right? I chatted with an elderly man on the short ride for a while, discussing his life and El Bolson* until we came to the end of Lago Gutierrez. And passed it. My only recourse at this point was to make my way up to the front of the bus and say, “Señor, camping es cerca, no?” to which he replied with a lengthy string of words in a language that I really don’t understand at all sometimes. But a short time later he seemed pleased to tell me that “Si, camping. Aqui.” and I got out.
And was immediately lost. I realized after about an hour of wandering around on cow trails and getting stuck in thorny thickets that he’d left me at the North end of another, nearby lake, not the South end of Lago Gutierrez.
So I walked on the highway for a few kilometros (and crossed the continental divide!) to find the entrance to Los Baqueneros, a huge, posh and completely, desperately empty campground staffed by Ignacio and his very pregnant wife, a couple of mean-looking gauchos, and a whole mess of beef cattle. It was comfortable, and expensive (AR$25! For camping!), and I left the next morning to make my way up to Refugio Frey.
My camp at Los Baqueneros:
Los Baqueneros is situated at the South end of Lago Gutierrez, and next to it, in the Southwest corner of the lake, are a string of private estancias. The lake is evidently public, but the land is private, so these landowners build their barbed wire fences right up to the waterline, which meant that to get to my trailhead, I needed to walk in the lake. This was fine until I came to a stream that worked its way through an estancia and came out under the fence to flow into the lake. The motion of the water carved out a chunk of the lake bed, making the water there about thigh level at its deepest. I crossed it, cursed the selfishness of these rich landowners, and hiked the rest of the way up the mountain with soggy boots.
It was of course fun up at Refugio Frey. I said hi to Alan and played Uno with a crazy Brazilian/Chilean/Italian named G’e who came up to the refugio “to drink wine,” which he did in spades. I decided to camp out for an adventure (and to save some pesos), and was warm enough, but the wind whipping over the mountain range kept me awake for a while, and I woke up covered with a thin layer of snow inside my tent.
My camp at Refugio Frey (II):
Entonces, I came back to the hostel, booked a trip to El Chalten for two days later, and did some laundry.
I decided to try another refugio hike the next day against the counsel of Beardy at Club Andino, and it was very pretty, and pretty steep, but a totally different experience than an overnight hike. I felt about 40 pounds lighter (which I was, without a big pack), and had a lot of fun tramping around in the snow at the top. It wasn’t dangerous at all, and took me as long to go to the top and back as the map said it took to go one way, so I’m glad I didn’t heed the grumpy man’s advice. And a very kind man who was collecting tree trimming debris from the side of the road gave me a ride back to a bus stop outside Bariloche, and when he realized that I couldn’t understand him that well, he compensated by speaking VERY LOUDLY. So that was fun.
Refugio Lopez:
*He moved to El Bolson 35 years ago and stayed for 6 years before heading back to Buenos Aires, which makes me think that he, like many others who moved to El Bolson in the 70’s, was fleeing persecution from the military dictatorship. And he said that he had a son still living there, so he may have moved all those years ago, and given up his lifestyle in Buenos Aires for the sake of his son’s safety. At least that’s what I’m going to think.
Blue River, Ska Night, It’s Chile
Originally published at travelswithdelaney.com.
El Bolson got better. The day after I wrote that last, grumpy post, Alon and I headed off to hike a trail to Refugio Cajon Del Azul. At the bus stop to the trailhead we met a very nice couple of young Israelis named Erez and Michal who accompanied us on our trek. It turned into a beautiful day and a magnificent hike to another cozy and welcoming cabin in the middle of absolute nowhere. Unlike Refugio Frey, however, there was no snow at the top, just horses and chickens and goats and an apple orchard and a vegetable garden and a few very angry sheep. And a really nice little family made up of a middle aged couple, their daughter and her husband, and their baby, Tomas, who would not stop laughing and smiling and looking cute the whole time we were there.
Alon, Yours Truly, Horse:
We went to bed early and satisfied, woke up to another beautiful day, ate a nutritious breakfast of dulce de leche and simple carbs and trekked back down the mountain, stopping at the exact same breathtakingly beautiful spot to lunch that we had the day before. We had also crossed two decrepit, ridiculous, handmade bridges the day before, and I was very excited to cross them again. There was just enough danger in crossing these relics to make it exciting and a tiny bit dangerous, and it was probably the highlight of the hike, at least for me. I felt a little Indiana Jones-y.
So fun, a tad dangerous:
We needed to hitch a ride back to town, and Michal (who happened to be a winsome young lady) and her boyfriend Erez nabbed a ride within half an hour. Alon and I fared a tad worse. I don’t think that it had anything to do with our looks, however, as we saw a grand total of 3 cars in 2.5 hours of waiting, and managed to grab the 3rd one.
Pitiful:
So we made it back to town and beat it over to Refugio Patagonico (our first choice of hostels upon arriving in El Bolson, remember?). And yes, it was as magical as we’d hoped. Really cool hosts, really cool fellow travelers, great food, fantastic building and beds and surroundings. About as far removed from our first El Bolson hostel experience as possible. And Ariel, one of our hosts, took us to a reggae/ska show at the bar in town that stays open late and we ended up dancing our tuchuses off until the sun came up. Which was fun.
El Bolson, Better Weather:
Then I caught a bus back to Bariloche, where I slept the whole day and refused to interact with the entire English speaking population of Hostel Pudu. I also had to wake up the next day at 6:00 to catch a bus to Chile.
The Chilean Border, Ska Band Sighting:
And now I’m In Puerto Montt, which recently retook the title of coldest, wettest place on earth, according to the book of records that I’m currently writing. I’m starting to think that I may have chosen a bad time to go camping in Patagonia. I keep hearing that it’s unseasonably cold here, but this unseasonable weather is likely to stick around for all of November. What gives?
Yours Truly.
The Silly, Foolish
Originally published at travelswithdelaney.com.
El Bolson: The Fool.
Is very cold, and very rainy, and very not fantastic. I had such high hopes for the city, having heard indirectly from Uncle Kevin’s friend that it was a very cool, very laid-back place, which it is, I think, if you’re living here. But if you’re just visiting, and it’s early Spring, the only thing to do is hike around the neighboring mountains. And if it’s 10 degrees and lluvia lluvia lluvia todo la tiempo, there’s not a thing to do. I asked the guy at the tourist desk (my new best friend, BTW) for a place to “drink beer and play pool” and he laughed. In my face.
It also seems to be high school/middle school trip time. We saw a lot of kids in Bariloche (at the teenage dance club costume party, for instance) on these trips, and they’ve taken over the sleepy pueblito of El Bolson as well. Alon and I were looking for a place to stay our first night here and found a very nice looking one called Refugio Patagonico. We walked there in the rain to find that a school group had it booked for the next three days. So we found one close by called Posada del Buscador, which is where I am currently located. It is run by a very kindly, very religious, very mature couple who needed to know what our marital status was before allowing us beds. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice, cozy, dry place to spend a night, but I was ready to go after one night.
Hiking to Cerro Amigo in the rain:
Entonces, this morning I set out in the rain to find a hostel in the campo. I asked my BFF at the tourist office to give them a call for me and reserve a bed for the night, but when no one answered he told me that “they have a place for you, I’m sure.” I took a bus that would drop me off a Kilometro or two from the Altos del Sur and promptly missed my stop. By the time I walked back to the beginning of the mountain road I was soaked, but it took another half hour or so of climbing in the rain before I broke down and hailed a remise to take me the last Kilometro, where we found a big sign on a chain saying “Cerrado.” I know this story is getting long, and sorry, it doesn’t get any more interesting, but I need to describe some of the valleys, no?
I had picked up a brochure for El Pueblito, another promising hostel in the campo while discussing my options with Tourist Office BFF, and asked my kind taxista to drive me across town to find it. We found it, and it was an amazing building in a beautiful (albeit rainy) setting, but the moment I walked in, a good-natured, hirsute man in llama wool sweater told me that the place was booked full for the next two nights. Another school group. I didn’t even have time to take off the soggy 14-year-old on my back.
So here I am, surrounded by doilies, an extensive plate collection on the wall, bible sayings above my bed, and inquiries into my comings-and goings with every departure and arrival.
An extensive plate collection on the wall:
Here’s to better luck in Puerto Montt, no?
In Patagonia,
Soggy McPants
-
You are currently browsing the archives for the Argentina category.
- Delaney on Encyclopedia Peruana
- Steph on Encyclopedia Peruana
- Steph on An Apology
- D on An Apology
- Sister on Bikini, Stuffed Fox, Etc.
