Travel broadens the mind...

Not having made enough southward progress to this date I cancelled my trip to Parque Pumalin (now on the list of future places to visit) and, though not really needing a rest per say, decided to change up my travel routine by voyaging south to Puerto Natales via boat instead of bus. Joining something like 200-250 people from around the world I boarded the Esmeralda, a cargo ship with sleeping cabins, a restaurant and bar on the top three levels. The four day-three night voyage would take me from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales, winding through the Patagonian Channels, stopping to re-supply a small port/fishing town on the route, and even setting out for a time on the open ocean. I had heard good things about the trip and so was looking forward to seeing what would develop.

Day one was spent getting to know the ship as well as the people in the bunks near me and many others on the boat. I was in “C” class, which meant bunk beds and shared bathrooms. But everything was surprisingly comfortable and ended up working out very well. Perhaps because everyone knew there were four days ahead with little but each other for company, or perhaps because travelers (or the people on this boat) are just wired in a certain way, everyone was quite amicable and social toward one another. One (of the three) “groups” of people my age, with whom I would hang out with quite a bit, was a group of four kayakers that had spent the previous month running the world class white-water rivers near Futalefú. Coincidentally enough, one of the three was from and grew up in Boise (yes, we knew some of the same people), and two others lived and worked in McCall. What a small world…

As I would do over the next several days, I spent a few hours outside on the decks taking in the mountain scenery. The landscape consisted of a foreground of green hills and foothills over a backdrop of the not too distant Andes Mountains. The constant though shifting landscape was almost hypnotizing and it made it very easy to get lost in my own thoughts, something that would happen frequently over the next few days. After dinner I returned to the deck to watch the sunset. With a cold wind in our faces the people on the boat were treated to a spectacular sunset over the ocean; and as we all turned around to go back inside we were blown away by the site of a full moon rising over the Andes. Truly a unique and memorable moment.

After sharing a bottle of wine with another group of people that I met I decided to take in the movie that was being shown that night, then hit the wall around 11:30 and was asleep soon thereafter.

Days two and three were very similar in that they were spent reading, watching and photographing the landscape, sun bathing, or catching up on my travel journal on deck; playing cards or chatting with the other people; or participating in some of the activities on the boat. Midway through day two we left the calm, protected waters of the island channels and set out for the open sea. According the captain and crew we were lucky in that we had pretty mild seas for our trip. In spite of this, many people became sea-sick and spent the night in the bathrooms or in their beds while most others, not feeling sick but not feeling well either due to the rocking of the boat, opted to spend the night reading in their bunks. But not everyone. A small group that included an hilarious retired Norwegian couple, several people from the UK and me passed the night in the bar until the wee hours of the morning. The Norwegian, Bjorn (whose joking motto of the night “we’re going down like the Titanic, we must drink like there is no tomorrow!”), and two of the English would not let anyone at the table be without a drink and so before long there were many, many empty bottles of beer, wine and liquor scattered about the empty bar and nearby tables. Between the antics of Bjorn, the humour of the Brits and the stories that everyone told (and in turn fed off of to tell another), and several rounds of drinks I laughed more and harder that night than I have in a long time.

On day three we also detoured to see one of the glaciers/snow drifts that are scattered throughout southern Chile and Argentina. The sheer size of this huge, though comparatively small, “ventisquiero” is hard to convey, nor can I express how cool it was to see this river valley walled up by a 55 foot wall of centuries old ice. In either case, it was incredible to see, particularly in that, crass and negative as it may be, the odds of this existing in even a few years are slim… Night three the whole boat gathered in the bar for a last night party that was filled with bingo, dancing (for the bingo prizes), and many, many drinks; I was amazed that almost everyone on the boat participated in the party and most were up until well after 2:30.

On the morning of our last day we began to see the spectacular part of southern Chile. We passed mountains that you could tell were big and sharp even from a distance, and we continued to weave through the islands that were occasionally spotted with fishing boats or villages. More than anything the journey heightened the sense of anticipation of coming to southern Chile, with some of the most beautiful terrain in the world.

In all, the trip was better than expected. I met many new people, many of whom I hope to meet up with again (such as the Idaho people) and was able to recharge my batteries in anticipation of my soon to be realized excursion into Torres del Paine and other national parks/wilderness areas in the south.

I have wanted to visit the island of Chiloé for some time now and since I had a few days to pass over until my boat down south I filled up my day pack and caught a series of buses and ferries to the island. I didn't really know what to expect but had been told on several occasions by other travelers and Chileans that with its history, mythology, culture, and historical influences it was an interesting stop.

I arrived in Castro a few hours later and started exploring. On the outskirts of the city there were many interesting houses, colorful like in the hills of Valparaiso and many propped over a body of water on stilts. The port/docks was also a bustling area of activity. Fishing and the fishing industry is a major part of the economy in this part of the world. Consequently one can find hundreds of boats in the surrounding waters. While there were some other interesting quirks in the city, such as a massive church constructed completely of wood (as were all of the hundreds of churches throughout the island; in fact, one priest long ago described Chiloé as a forest of churches, each with unique architecture and style) and a museum, at its heart the city was just dirty and similar to many others throughout Chile. This wasn't what I came to see and so decided that a few hours wandering was more than enough time.

I then made my way to Achao, a city on an island off the mainland of Chiloé. Here I discovered what I pictured to be and could tell was "true" Chiloé; or in the least, more authentic than Castro. I wandered around the town for a few hours. One of the things that really caught my attention was the woodwork/shingling of the houses. Most of the houses are sided with wooden shingles in one of several dozen different patterns and styles. It was pretty cool to see one style in one house, then next door find something completely different.

In my wanderings I visited the church where I learned that there would be a religious folk-music performance later that night and so spent the evening listening to traditional religious-folk music. The group consisted of two singers, a guitarist (who played both and acoustic and 12-string), a second guitarist that played an unfamiliar guitar, a violist, a harpsichordist, and a guy who played recorder and wood-pipe. The show was "unplugged" and throughout reminded me why I like classical music so much: it takes you back in time. Particularly sitting in that church that felt 150 years old, when you listen to the music you can "be" in any time period, this to say nothing of the fact that its pretty cool that 100 years ago people were sitting in that same church, listening to the same music in this style. There were a variety of songs, one hilarious duet between Death and the Devil.

The next morning I made my way to Dalcahue, another small town that on this particular weekend was hosting both an annual artisan fair and rodeo. I wandered through the fair, and afterward made my way to the rodeo. I chuckle because when I hear rodeo, I think of US/Western rodeos with ropin', ridin' and other activities. I soon realized that rodeo in Chile is very different. Instead of riding or roping or anything like that, two gauchos would ride in a circle herding/chasing a cow (maybe a bull, but there were few horns), then when the bull reached a certain point in the ring the gauchos would slam and/or pin the bull to the wall. Then they would do it again on the other side. I ended up meeting two Chilean girls there that explained parts of it to me; suffice it to say there is technique and points are awarded depending how and where the gauchos pin the bull, etc. Quite different. Pansies.

After Dalcahue I made my way north to Ancud, where I discovered a city that, due to the massive destruction caused during the earthquake in 1960, was almost entirely prefabricated. Didn’t need to spend much time there and I soon made my way back to the mainland and Puerto Montt for the night.

In all a good trip: I got to see the unique, the good, the quaint, the dirty, and the boring, and along the way meet some interesting people. What more could you want?

As I described in an earlier entry there are two routes through the Andes between Chile and Argentina. As I had already made the trip via the highway on the highway I decided to make the trip this time via the lakes (ferries) and roads (buses).

I had been told that this route was absolutely spectacular. While there were parts that were beautiful, I realized after the fact that many of the people that described the trip as amazing were not from parts of the US/world with mountains. Naturally they would be blown away by anything more than a foothill; a western boy is a little more difficult to impress. Nevertheless...

The route itself is pretty cool. From Bariloche you have to take a bus to Puerto Pañuelo, from Puerto Pañuelo a ferry across Lago Nahuel Huapí to Puerto Blest; from Puerto Blest a bus to Puerto Allegre; from Puerto Allegre a boat across Lago Frio to Puerto Frio; from Puerto Frio a bus across the border to Peulla; from Peulla a ferry across Lago Todos Santos to Petrohué; and finally a bus from Petruhué to Puerto Varas.

I ended up missing the first part of the trip. It turns out that there is an hour time difference, and my alarm clock (i.e. - cell phone), which normally changes the time as needed, did not. Ergo, when I woke up at 6:20 thinking I had plenty of time to eat, pack up, and get to the bus station, it was actually 7:20, five minutes after the designated meeting time. Luckily, I was able to flag down a cab and make the trip to Puerto Pañuelo with an affable cab driver that had lived in Bariloche his entire life (75 years) and who en route to the port treated me to a brief history of the area/Argentina, complete with color commentary from his own perspective and experiences.

The rest of the trip was a mix of down time, scenery that ranged from pleasant to strangely incredible. The first leg (for me) to Puerto Blest cut through forested mountains that were pretty but not spectacular. The highlight was that most of the tourists on the boat were feeding crackers to the hoards of seagulls that were following us. Their faces, a mix of terror and shock (shock I don't understand as they were holding the crackers out and waiting for the birds...) and made for some damn good comic relief. The trip on Lago Frio was interesting, though short: the water, isolated and comprised of runoff from the mountains, was a strange green color. It was interesting to be surrounded by thick, thick forest on all sides with some views of the just visible peaks of the mountains in the distance. The bus ride from Puerto Frio to Peulla was nothing spectacular as the forest was so thick there were only two parts where you could really see anything. That said, trip on Lago Frio and the road between the lakes proved it was probably a good idea not to make the trek on foot: the road I planned to walk had little views and was quite steep - it would have been a helluva trek with little upside - and there would have been little hope of hiking around Lago Frio, as I had planned, since the forest was so thick. Thus, I would have essentially had to make the same trip as the rest of the tourists. C'est la vie, but I'm glad I didn't learn that the hard way.

The highlight of the Cruce de Lagos was Lago Todos Santos in Chile. The last water leg of the trip treated you to beautiful views of the mountains and surrounding volcanoes, and the water itself was an almost eerie green/blue/turquoise color due to the minerals from glacier runoff. I won't say that this leg made the trip worth all that went into it (cost, time, etc.), but it was truly beautiful.

Arriving back in Puerto Varas, I had dinner at the house of Jim´s (Hunglemann) assistant, Sandra with Jim, Sandra and her two Children. We spent a great night eating (cooked vegetables!), drinking wine, and talking (in a mix of Spanish and English since both Sandra and her son, Juaquin, speak English) about everything from travel to Chile to Sandra's experiences under Pinochet. The family was very gracious and friendly, and was another reminder of how warm and friendly Chileans are.

God I love Argentina. Every time I come here it seems like the country can do no wrong. The food, the scenery, the women, especially the women, all of it.

The bus ride to Bariloche was one of the best I have had yet. Winding through the Andes, the views on all sides for hours were spectacular. At times the sharp peaks seemed to be right on top of you; in other moments you were given panoramic views of mountains overlooking clear or white-capped lakes. I wished throughout that I was in a car and could stop; then again, I may never have arrived at my destination.

I arrived in Bariloche in late afternoon and found the city packed full of vacationers and backpackers. The city itself sits on a lake with views of the mountains in the distance. I wandered around the city taking pictures and often just stopping along the waterfront to sit and people watch (yes, sometimes it was gawking). I thought then that one or two days wouldn’t be enough for this place.

In my wanderings I ran into a guy, Justin, from my hostel in Puerto Varas who was part of the bar/party group. He and I hung out for a while and after talking with him, some other travelers and people in the area, and reading his travel book (mine was with a bag of my stuff in Puerto Varas... bone-head move) I again changed my route and plans. I was sure that two or three days wasn’t really enough; and even if it is “enough”, I wanted to spend more time here.

But wanting to make the most of what time I did have in Bariloche, I woke the next day with intentions to hike the nearby Cerro Catedral to see what I could see. Cerro (hill) is a misnomer as the hill is actually the huge, world-class ski mountain of the area. When I got to the foot of the mountain I came across a kiosk that was renting mountain bikes and gear. Needless to say, I jumped on that opportunity and spent the day mountain biking the mountain trails, sometimes taking the chairlift up just to enjoy the race down, other times exploring on the cat-tracks, looking for trails and/or views of the distant mountains.

One side trip of the day was to the top of the mountain itself. I stored the bike at a point about two-thirds of the way up the mountain and took a chairlift to the first peak. Then trekked up to the next peak where after cresting the ridge you could see for miles.

Being atop the mountain is truly incredible. You breathe in deeply, the fierce cold wind blasting into you, at times almost knocking you off balance. You close your eyes and feel a blissful moment of vertigo, then open them again and see the expanse of snow-capped mountains, partially shrouded volcanoes, and deep green valleys laidout before you and you are left in awe. It is breathtaking and peaceful and inspiring and you feel like you’re on top of the world. You truly can’t help it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hiking about and biking the trails. Afterward, I went into town and treated myself to a massive Argentinian steak, the beast meal I’ve had in quite a while, and met up with Justin for a beer. What a great day.

God I love Argentina. I will be back.

Though this place is 450 years old, I can’t find many redeeming qualities. Were it not for a bed and a shower in the morning, and the low price of lodging, I would say there were none. Mish....