Here I am, away from the large, noisy and overstayed metropolis of BA, sat in a coffee shop savouring the first glimpses of Mendoza. Despite arriving in the dark and only strolling slowly down to get a capuchino, it already feels different. The sky is a deep blue, the weather slightly chilly, but not cold, and the trees have the unmistakable character of a wine region. By this meaning lanky, twisted with sun stripped, patchwork bark and delicate leaves. But first, let us return to the week passed, and its subsequent lows.
I arrived back in Buenos Aires with a feeling in my stomach that I had already had my best days there. As usual I not slept beyond the occassional drift towards sleep before being jolted back by a sharp turn or bump in the road. I made my way back to the hostel and was relieved to be greeted by some familiar faces: Justin and Cameron, two cool dudes from the USA, and Hannah Banana, my last remaining friend from the fiesta days with my bear squad. Having them around made my three days in Buenos Aires bearable (rubbish pun absolutely intended). My reason for returning was to pick up a camera that I was having imported and stock up with necessities for the journey north.
Upon arrival at the hostel I was presented with a letter in Spanish from the courier, DHL, describing all kinds of payments that they would like me to pay (amounting to around £120) and a request for me to come to their office to get it. I arrived at the office a strong minded consumer prepared to fight each and every peso that they expected me to pay, and after a short skirmish the fee went down to £35. Utterly pleased with myself I prepared for my brand spanking new point-and-shoot, only to have this dream shattered by DHL. Apparently it was being stored at the International Airport and I had to go to the Cargo Terminal to pick it up. I returned to the hostel to find that the International Airport was around 50km away and that I'd have to take a timely bus to get there.
The next day I awoke early and hopped on the underground to the bus stop to the airport. Nobody knew where the cargo terminal was, giving me different directions each time and sending me all over the airort. Upon finally finding the cargo terminal I was redirected around that for another 25 minutes before finally finding the right office. It had just closed for lunch. Of course it had; the most surprising thing was that I had been surprised by this. An hour passed before the office finally reopened. And by office I actually mean offices, because I was directed to seven of them before actually receiving the camera, and being charged £30 for "storage and administration charges": of course, someone had to pay for the staffing of seven unnecessary offices. I was that chump.
As the sun set over the traffic jam back into the city I consoled myself that I had my new toy, and that couldn't and wouldn't deflate me. It had been a rather soul destroying day but it had been worth it. I had a cool new camera to play with at my hearts content.
Or did I?
After taking the camera out and charging it, I described my day to the guys almost pleased with the fact that I had got the job done and kept a smile. After a while, I decided that it had charged long enough and it was time for a bit of testing and parading. I turned the switch, nothing happened apart from an error message: "please turn the camera on then off again". I obliged. The message came up again, and again, and again. I consulted the manual which told me in no uncertain terms that the camera was faulty. I was utterly deflated. The ebay seller had much tactical wording in their returns policy to ensure that it wouldn't be worth returning. In total £350 and an unnecessary week back in BA had just gone down the toilet.
The next day I sent some things home and boarded the first available bus to Mendoza. I don't know a soul here and I think my bed has flees but in honesty these just feel trivial. I'm back on the trail to encounter a whole bunch of unknown people, places and experiences. Just like a rolling stone.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Sunday, 22 June 2008
The Road Trip Part 3: Changing Weather
El Chalten was enshrouded by clouds, the mountain that we had seen in so many photographs was not even remotely viewable and we were not even able to guess as to its exact whereabouts. The fact that I could only see from one eye didn't really help my viewing ability either. The day we arrived in El Chalten, we decided to take a little siesta to finally rid ourselves of the previous night's hangover, however when I woke my eyelid was sore and puffy. Within a few hours sore and puffy had become bulbous and bloated, and I couldn't open my right eye. Later, when attempting to read with one eye I found a spider next to my bed and killed the little bastard (who was obviously the guilty party). When popping over to the hostel later for some food, the waitress unwittingly asked what happened to my eye, only to be assailed with a well versed version of the baby and six pumas.
The next day when leaving El Chalten for a long haul drive to Comadore Rivadavia, we left before sunrise, only to be greeted with Mount Fitz Roy itself bathed in a purple and red sky. Slowly the sun rose over the mountain behind us slowly kissing it's majestic peaks, causing wisps of smoke to rise from the mountain as the snow was warmed. In spite of shitty food, spider bites, everywhere being closed and the weather being shit, the 30 minutes of sunrise before parting made it all worth it.
After a long solo effort by Andy, our only two eyed driver at the time, we arrived in Comadore Rivadavia, to find that there was little room at any of the inns. With increasing frustration we began to search less than desirable areas for somewhere to stay, eventually falling upon a rather basic hotel on a street riddled with various creatures of the night. We bedded down and left Vice City promptly. After another long day in the car, our next stop was Esquel, this time hoping to manage to catch the Old Patagonian Express. However, once again we had missed it, and in spite of it already being pitch black, we decided to just smash the last 350km back to Barriloche.
This was not to be so easy. Within 15 minutes of leaving Esquel it began to snow quite heavily, and our pace slowed greatly. For 45 minutes I trudged Seniorita timidly through the raging snowstorm as the weather worsened. Before long the road had become an ice skating rink and every slight turn of the wheel or touch of the brakes took what little control I had of the car. Then after slowly climbing a hill we approached a lorry, or could at least see it's headlights in the blizzard. From first glance it appeared that we had ample room to pass, until it was too late. The lorry had jack-knifed in the road slightly, and by the time I saw it it was too late to stop in time. I turned the wheel to the right, sending the car skidding into a ditch and just narrowly avoiding the lorry itself. Prolific swearing followed. After much messing around we managed to get the car out of the steep ditch and put the snowchains that we had borrowed onto the front tyres. They were the wrong size. More faffing around followed trying to get them off with our freezing hands. We began to discuss whether we should wait out the night's storm in the car, until Andy, who had more experience in these conditions, decided to take the wheel as we slowly crept through the storm. Only one kilometre away from where we had ditched Seniorita, we turned a corner to find no snow and perfectly dry, driveable roads. Such is the changing weather of Patagonia.
We arrived in Barriloche in the early hours of the morning, spending the next few days uploading pictures, sorting out the car (which returned without a scratch), settling our money and saying our goodbyes. The road trip had ended, along with my time in Barriloche. I returned to Buenos Aires to prepare for my journey North.
The next day when leaving El Chalten for a long haul drive to Comadore Rivadavia, we left before sunrise, only to be greeted with Mount Fitz Roy itself bathed in a purple and red sky. Slowly the sun rose over the mountain behind us slowly kissing it's majestic peaks, causing wisps of smoke to rise from the mountain as the snow was warmed. In spite of shitty food, spider bites, everywhere being closed and the weather being shit, the 30 minutes of sunrise before parting made it all worth it.
After a long solo effort by Andy, our only two eyed driver at the time, we arrived in Comadore Rivadavia, to find that there was little room at any of the inns. With increasing frustration we began to search less than desirable areas for somewhere to stay, eventually falling upon a rather basic hotel on a street riddled with various creatures of the night. We bedded down and left Vice City promptly. After another long day in the car, our next stop was Esquel, this time hoping to manage to catch the Old Patagonian Express. However, once again we had missed it, and in spite of it already being pitch black, we decided to just smash the last 350km back to Barriloche.
This was not to be so easy. Within 15 minutes of leaving Esquel it began to snow quite heavily, and our pace slowed greatly. For 45 minutes I trudged Seniorita timidly through the raging snowstorm as the weather worsened. Before long the road had become an ice skating rink and every slight turn of the wheel or touch of the brakes took what little control I had of the car. Then after slowly climbing a hill we approached a lorry, or could at least see it's headlights in the blizzard. From first glance it appeared that we had ample room to pass, until it was too late. The lorry had jack-knifed in the road slightly, and by the time I saw it it was too late to stop in time. I turned the wheel to the right, sending the car skidding into a ditch and just narrowly avoiding the lorry itself. Prolific swearing followed. After much messing around we managed to get the car out of the steep ditch and put the snowchains that we had borrowed onto the front tyres. They were the wrong size. More faffing around followed trying to get them off with our freezing hands. We began to discuss whether we should wait out the night's storm in the car, until Andy, who had more experience in these conditions, decided to take the wheel as we slowly crept through the storm. Only one kilometre away from where we had ditched Seniorita, we turned a corner to find no snow and perfectly dry, driveable roads. Such is the changing weather of Patagonia.
We arrived in Barriloche in the early hours of the morning, spending the next few days uploading pictures, sorting out the car (which returned without a scratch), settling our money and saying our goodbyes. The road trip had ended, along with my time in Barriloche. I returned to Buenos Aires to prepare for my journey North.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
The Tale Of The One Eyed Freak Boy
They arrived in town, two windswept travellers and one who kept his hat pulled down low. The dust was blowing the town into a hazy whirl of obscurity, which was what the weary travellers had been hoping for. The chance to get established before the locals saw what was hidden beneath the hat of the third traveller. Blondie McCarthy slipped silently into the quietest looking hotel and requested three beds. "Downt get many trav'lurs in these parts nowt mist is ont mountain" the proprieter said cautiously
"what be your bus'ness here?". Blondie explained that they were just passing through, but the northern mountain pass was closed, and they were hoping to wait out the storm. The proprietor slowly handed over the key for the room. As Blondie brought the bags in 'Skunk Stink' Whitlock opened the window to let the One Eyed Freak Boy slip through unnoticed.
Night passed without event as the three travellers ate canned fish, played cards and drank whiskey, without leaving their temporary habitation. The next morning Skunk Stink, Blondie and the One Eyed Freak Boy decided to try for the town's favour boy joining them for breakfast in the eatery of a more popular hotel. The One Eyed Freak Boy pulled his hat down low as they entered the restaurant. They found a dark corner, sat down and ordered eggs from the waitress. As the waitress brough three teas and the eggs over she noticed that one of the three was wearing a hat "arm sorry but it be mighty impu'light to wear hats in deez parts". The Freak Boy was suddenly paralyzed with terror. If the town saw him properly then they would be chased out like last time. This time, however, Blondie had an idea, he immediately lept to the table and ripped off his coat to reveal a flourescant Pink Vest. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls; Behold a tale of selflessness and heroism in the face of great danger, behold the story of Crazy Hair and the Six Pumas"
The room was deadly silent, and all eyes were on the storytelling stranger, including the waitress who had now taken a seat next to Skunk Stink to hear the tale. He continued with his story: "One dark and cloudy day three wayward travellers were passing through a rocky gauge when one of them, who was riding up ahead, heard the sound of crying amongst what sounded like the rumble of thunder. Without so much of a thought he ran to where the sound was to discover a bonnie baby surrounded by six unnaturally large snarling Pumas. Sensing the threat to their new found lunch the Pumas turned on the man. He grabbed a branch and managed to beat their first wave of attacks with just enough gusto, but he knew that he couldn't hold them off forever. They relented and regrouped for what seemed like an age and then attacked again. He kicked one and beat another off with the branch before retreating on to a large rock. Sensing victory the Pumas started to return their hungry gaze towards the baby. It was do or die time for this defensless baby. He fished into his pocket and found some matches and a bottle of whiskey. He doused and set fire to the branch, before leaping fearlessly into the throng of snarling beasts. Upon seeing the fire, all but one of the Pumas fled from the scene, however the remaining Pumas stood his ground.
The Puma fought hard and long, slashing with his claws and dodging the burning branch. In one final attempt to defeat its opponent the Puma leapt at the man gashing his eye with his claw before taking to the flames and running for the hills where his friends were in wait. Bleeding heavily, the man named Crazy Hair returned to his friends holding the unharmed baby aloft. Amongst his severest injuries was the disfigured bulb of an eye that would refuse to heal. The baby was returned to it's grateful family and the three men continued along their way. These three men are sat in this room including the most unlikely hero. At this point Blondie removed the hat from The One Eyed Freak Boy's head to reveal a throng of crazy hair and a half closed disfigured eye. At first the crowd gasped in shock at the hideous injury, including the waitress who leapt from her chair. But after a short silence a man at the back of the room stood alone and begun to clap slowly. Gradually the rest of the room followed suit, and the three men were accepted into the bosom of the townspersons' warmth. Free beer came from all directions and the three travellers were invited back to the town whenever theu wanted.
A few days later the three left for their ride north beaming with smiles. In truth there had never been a baby or six enormous Pumas. The One Eyed Freak Boy had actually been bitten on his eyelid by a spider in the night causing it to swell up and look and make him look like the freak he was. The above was a true story that I just made up while on a rather bumpy dirt track in between the mountains and the coast.
"what be your bus'ness here?". Blondie explained that they were just passing through, but the northern mountain pass was closed, and they were hoping to wait out the storm. The proprietor slowly handed over the key for the room. As Blondie brought the bags in 'Skunk Stink' Whitlock opened the window to let the One Eyed Freak Boy slip through unnoticed.
Night passed without event as the three travellers ate canned fish, played cards and drank whiskey, without leaving their temporary habitation. The next morning Skunk Stink, Blondie and the One Eyed Freak Boy decided to try for the town's favour boy joining them for breakfast in the eatery of a more popular hotel. The One Eyed Freak Boy pulled his hat down low as they entered the restaurant. They found a dark corner, sat down and ordered eggs from the waitress. As the waitress brough three teas and the eggs over she noticed that one of the three was wearing a hat "arm sorry but it be mighty impu'light to wear hats in deez parts". The Freak Boy was suddenly paralyzed with terror. If the town saw him properly then they would be chased out like last time. This time, however, Blondie had an idea, he immediately lept to the table and ripped off his coat to reveal a flourescant Pink Vest. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls; Behold a tale of selflessness and heroism in the face of great danger, behold the story of Crazy Hair and the Six Pumas"
The room was deadly silent, and all eyes were on the storytelling stranger, including the waitress who had now taken a seat next to Skunk Stink to hear the tale. He continued with his story: "One dark and cloudy day three wayward travellers were passing through a rocky gauge when one of them, who was riding up ahead, heard the sound of crying amongst what sounded like the rumble of thunder. Without so much of a thought he ran to where the sound was to discover a bonnie baby surrounded by six unnaturally large snarling Pumas. Sensing the threat to their new found lunch the Pumas turned on the man. He grabbed a branch and managed to beat their first wave of attacks with just enough gusto, but he knew that he couldn't hold them off forever. They relented and regrouped for what seemed like an age and then attacked again. He kicked one and beat another off with the branch before retreating on to a large rock. Sensing victory the Pumas started to return their hungry gaze towards the baby. It was do or die time for this defensless baby. He fished into his pocket and found some matches and a bottle of whiskey. He doused and set fire to the branch, before leaping fearlessly into the throng of snarling beasts. Upon seeing the fire, all but one of the Pumas fled from the scene, however the remaining Pumas stood his ground.
The Puma fought hard and long, slashing with his claws and dodging the burning branch. In one final attempt to defeat its opponent the Puma leapt at the man gashing his eye with his claw before taking to the flames and running for the hills where his friends were in wait. Bleeding heavily, the man named Crazy Hair returned to his friends holding the unharmed baby aloft. Amongst his severest injuries was the disfigured bulb of an eye that would refuse to heal. The baby was returned to it's grateful family and the three men continued along their way. These three men are sat in this room including the most unlikely hero. At this point Blondie removed the hat from The One Eyed Freak Boy's head to reveal a throng of crazy hair and a half closed disfigured eye. At first the crowd gasped in shock at the hideous injury, including the waitress who leapt from her chair. But after a short silence a man at the back of the room stood alone and begun to clap slowly. Gradually the rest of the room followed suit, and the three men were accepted into the bosom of the townspersons' warmth. Free beer came from all directions and the three travellers were invited back to the town whenever theu wanted.
A few days later the three left for their ride north beaming with smiles. In truth there had never been a baby or six enormous Pumas. The One Eyed Freak Boy had actually been bitten on his eyelid by a spider in the night causing it to swell up and look and make him look like the freak he was. The above was a true story that I just made up while on a rather bumpy dirt track in between the mountains and the coast.
The Road Trip Part 2: Handovers and Hangovers
We arrived in a Hostel called America del Sud, in Calafate because we had half arranged to meet two cool Dutch girls there. Upon arrival it was clear that this was our kind of hostel. It had spectacular views of the lake that Calafate straddles, heated floors, all you can eat BBQ every night and a really cool bunch of young and banterous staff. We grabbed our books, commandeered the most impressive looking chill spot and demanded the opportunity to challenge the concept of 'all you can eat'. The girls turned up a while later and many games of cards were played.
One thing about travelling, which becomes massively apparent very quickly, is the amount of surplus time that you find yourself with. However, the usual distractions of home aren't. Your Wednesday fix of Eastenders, Playstation, Gym and new DVD that you bought last week aren't around. These are substituted with Cards, Books and Alcohol, which is, at least to begin with, a refreshing change. In the last calendar month I have played countless games of Blackjack, Poker, Hearts, Shithead and Gin-Rummy, read around 5 books and been drunk more times than I care to calculate. A stark change from the day-to-day activities of home.
So, the next day came, and been highly anticipated for at least three reasons: 1. Despite having a brilliant time on the road trip, we hadn't really done much tourist stuff thus far. 2. We were about to see arguably the most magnificent glacier in the world. 3. Today was the day I handed the Pink Vest to a worthy suitor. Andy one of my fellow roadtrippers was genuinely interested in the plight of MyPinkVest and, in addition to being banterous and not without confidence, seemed like the kind of guy that would take the responsibility and flaunt it about. By Puerto Madryn it had been decided that Calafate and Andy were respectively the correct point of handover and recipient. The decision had been made.
The three roadtrippers and two dutch girls packed ourselves into Seniorita and headed for the Perito Moreno glacier. Sadly it was the time of year in which we were unable to actually go on the glacier itself but there were many viewpoints with which to see it's entire spread of 14km. Upon finding a perfect spot to do the handover we took off our tops leaving nothing but the pink vest on me, sang the french national anthem, Andy climbed inside the vest, posed for some press shots and then I slid out leaving Andy with one Pink Vest and a new quest for him to embrace. It's been great fun and a pain in the arse at times and I'm sure that it'll be in good hands from here on.
Redressed, we continued down to other viewpoints to take pictures, however being rather quiet and secluded we decided to hop over the railings to follow a path that I had spotted earlier. Although not strictly allowed, we were hardly going to start hanging off the glacier so we thought it would be fine. We followed the path down to a large rock around 35 feet from the glacial cliff. What we saw was probably the most spectaculor view of it that one could hope for, and perfect for some great photographs. We returned over the 'do not cross' railing, back to the car and to Calafate, stopping to let Paul chase a skunk, get 'fumed' and stink the car out. The night back in Calafate was a night of beers, whiskey, wine and lots of drunken banter. Oh and I made a pretty successful Gaucho Shepherds Pie for the guys.
If the day before had been the day of the Pink Vest Handover then the next was definitely the day of the Pink Vest Hangover. It was also another day of driving, this time around 300km to El Chalten, the home of Patagonia's largest and most beautiful mountain. After some of the long range slogs that we have endured on this road trip, 300km was nothing and we were there within no time.
One thing about travelling, which becomes massively apparent very quickly, is the amount of surplus time that you find yourself with. However, the usual distractions of home aren't. Your Wednesday fix of Eastenders, Playstation, Gym and new DVD that you bought last week aren't around. These are substituted with Cards, Books and Alcohol, which is, at least to begin with, a refreshing change. In the last calendar month I have played countless games of Blackjack, Poker, Hearts, Shithead and Gin-Rummy, read around 5 books and been drunk more times than I care to calculate. A stark change from the day-to-day activities of home.
So, the next day came, and been highly anticipated for at least three reasons: 1. Despite having a brilliant time on the road trip, we hadn't really done much tourist stuff thus far. 2. We were about to see arguably the most magnificent glacier in the world. 3. Today was the day I handed the Pink Vest to a worthy suitor. Andy one of my fellow roadtrippers was genuinely interested in the plight of MyPinkVest and, in addition to being banterous and not without confidence, seemed like the kind of guy that would take the responsibility and flaunt it about. By Puerto Madryn it had been decided that Calafate and Andy were respectively the correct point of handover and recipient. The decision had been made.
The three roadtrippers and two dutch girls packed ourselves into Seniorita and headed for the Perito Moreno glacier. Sadly it was the time of year in which we were unable to actually go on the glacier itself but there were many viewpoints with which to see it's entire spread of 14km. Upon finding a perfect spot to do the handover we took off our tops leaving nothing but the pink vest on me, sang the french national anthem, Andy climbed inside the vest, posed for some press shots and then I slid out leaving Andy with one Pink Vest and a new quest for him to embrace. It's been great fun and a pain in the arse at times and I'm sure that it'll be in good hands from here on.
Redressed, we continued down to other viewpoints to take pictures, however being rather quiet and secluded we decided to hop over the railings to follow a path that I had spotted earlier. Although not strictly allowed, we were hardly going to start hanging off the glacier so we thought it would be fine. We followed the path down to a large rock around 35 feet from the glacial cliff. What we saw was probably the most spectaculor view of it that one could hope for, and perfect for some great photographs. We returned over the 'do not cross' railing, back to the car and to Calafate, stopping to let Paul chase a skunk, get 'fumed' and stink the car out. The night back in Calafate was a night of beers, whiskey, wine and lots of drunken banter. Oh and I made a pretty successful Gaucho Shepherds Pie for the guys.
If the day before had been the day of the Pink Vest Handover then the next was definitely the day of the Pink Vest Hangover. It was also another day of driving, this time around 300km to El Chalten, the home of Patagonia's largest and most beautiful mountain. After some of the long range slogs that we have endured on this road trip, 300km was nothing and we were there within no time.
The Road Trip Part 1: Wide Open Spaces
Preparation was at best lacklustre, we had heard that the Route 40 south was closed somewhere so decided to go 1000 km east along the coast via Puerto Madryn, then back west to Calafate. Simple really. We popped into Hertz and said we wanted a car for two weeks and decided that we would probably need to get some food or something. And that was it. We returned to playing pool and talking about how great our trip South would be. No real need for thought on such trivial things as accommodation, we'd find them.
The day came and we all awoke late, we ran down to pick up the car, threw our bags in and we were off down Route 40 for a while to see if we could get on the Old Patagonian Express. The landscape changed from green, rich mountain valleys complexly encircling crystal blue lakes to arid, windy and lifeless deserts where the die straight road stretched out towards the horizion. This is the ever changing nature of route 40, a road running parallel to then Andes, the spine that separates Argentina and Chile. We arrived in Esquel as the sun dipped behind the mountains to find the town deserted and closed. Towns are massively spread out in Southern Argentina and it was unlikely that the next would be any better. We headed to the bus station to find out whether there was anywhere to stay only to bump into all three of the only three people who spoke english in the town. They, in turn, explained that the volcano that had exploded 30km west has cleared the town of tourists and that we were the first tourists they had seen since the eruption 6 weeks prior. One of them called a friend who happily offered to reopen her cabins for us for the night.
The next day we aquired a map for the eastern route from Esquel to Puerto Madryn. As Andy had done the 4 hour drive yesterday I had decided to do as much of the 8 hours east as I could and despite never driving a left hand drive car before, and having to relearn, I was happily cruising through the next string of ever changing landscapes. To begin the journey ran through the arid Gaucho-landscape that had touchened it's infamous cowboys with its freezing winds and overwhelming aridity. Around what seemed like the next corner we found ourself climbing to heights that had frozen and whitened the hills that we travelled over. When we descended from the hills, the landscape almost suddenly became orange and red, cut by great canyons with snaking rivers. At one point the road climbed halfway up a lone hill overlooking the canyon clad world we were driving through. We pulled over and climbed to the top ledge silently marvelling at what stretched out in front of us. The final section of the journey returned to being flat, arid, treeless and generally unattractive, however the myriads of roadrunners that ran alongside the car kept us in good spirits.
One other aspect of the journey which has kept us in high spirits is the ipod to radio connector and limitless songs that we have on our ipods. This has meant that much of our journey has been accompanied by Led Zeppelin, The Jackson Five, The Beatles, Radiohead and countless other bands. Notably when driving along the bumpy dirt road to Calafate the Sigur Ros album made us feel like we were in an episode of Planet Earth.
Being the overcompetitive male that I am, when starting to feel Ill after around five hours of driving I decided to not say anything and power through. By the time we had arrived at Puerto Madryn, on the coast, I felt so ill that I went straight to bed without any kind of food, shivering and sweating throughout the night. The next morning I felt shit. I'd clearly acquired a cold and I just wanted to turn over and snooze on through to the next day. This hadn't been helped by the creepy dude below me making noises of satisfaction below me and then spent rest of the night snorgling (snore-gurgling) loudly. But today was the day we were visiting the Peninsula Valdes; to quote the guidebook stated that "nothing can prepare you for the wildlife you will encounter along its ragged coastline". It was right. Nothing could prepare us for the fact that we encountered almost literally nothing. It was supposed to be the middle of Whale basking season, however the water was so choppy and the wind was so high that we couldn't see anything from the coast and all of the boats were cancelled. We returned to the hostel beaten and windswept. After the Old Patagonian Express being cancelled and the lack of any wildlife, we were starting to think that lady luck was against us.
The next day we had a rather long but uneventful 9 hour drive to Puerto San Julian, and after swinging by the tourist office bagged ourself an amazing little cabin overlooking a lake. Furthermore, rock paper scissors fell my way and I managed to get the room with a massive soft double bed! We watched Die Hard 2 and retired for an early night. The final day on our downward tragectory was to take the gravel track (most roads is Argentina aren't paved) towards El Calefate, known for it's proximity to one of the most spectaculor glaciers in the world. The road itself was about 200km, and was worse than any road that I have, and probably wilł ever, encounter in the UK. There were potholes, rocks and countless stones on a mudpath that dipped, rose and twisted. Senorita, the name of our stoic little Chevvy Corsa, took it all in her stride in spite of being caked in mud and being battered by rocks and chunks of ice on her underside for 5 hours straight. We had arrived. People had their doubts but we had arrived on schedule, in good spirits and ready to see some glaciers.
The day came and we all awoke late, we ran down to pick up the car, threw our bags in and we were off down Route 40 for a while to see if we could get on the Old Patagonian Express. The landscape changed from green, rich mountain valleys complexly encircling crystal blue lakes to arid, windy and lifeless deserts where the die straight road stretched out towards the horizion. This is the ever changing nature of route 40, a road running parallel to then Andes, the spine that separates Argentina and Chile. We arrived in Esquel as the sun dipped behind the mountains to find the town deserted and closed. Towns are massively spread out in Southern Argentina and it was unlikely that the next would be any better. We headed to the bus station to find out whether there was anywhere to stay only to bump into all three of the only three people who spoke english in the town. They, in turn, explained that the volcano that had exploded 30km west has cleared the town of tourists and that we were the first tourists they had seen since the eruption 6 weeks prior. One of them called a friend who happily offered to reopen her cabins for us for the night.
The next day we aquired a map for the eastern route from Esquel to Puerto Madryn. As Andy had done the 4 hour drive yesterday I had decided to do as much of the 8 hours east as I could and despite never driving a left hand drive car before, and having to relearn, I was happily cruising through the next string of ever changing landscapes. To begin the journey ran through the arid Gaucho-landscape that had touchened it's infamous cowboys with its freezing winds and overwhelming aridity. Around what seemed like the next corner we found ourself climbing to heights that had frozen and whitened the hills that we travelled over. When we descended from the hills, the landscape almost suddenly became orange and red, cut by great canyons with snaking rivers. At one point the road climbed halfway up a lone hill overlooking the canyon clad world we were driving through. We pulled over and climbed to the top ledge silently marvelling at what stretched out in front of us. The final section of the journey returned to being flat, arid, treeless and generally unattractive, however the myriads of roadrunners that ran alongside the car kept us in good spirits.
One other aspect of the journey which has kept us in high spirits is the ipod to radio connector and limitless songs that we have on our ipods. This has meant that much of our journey has been accompanied by Led Zeppelin, The Jackson Five, The Beatles, Radiohead and countless other bands. Notably when driving along the bumpy dirt road to Calafate the Sigur Ros album made us feel like we were in an episode of Planet Earth.
Being the overcompetitive male that I am, when starting to feel Ill after around five hours of driving I decided to not say anything and power through. By the time we had arrived at Puerto Madryn, on the coast, I felt so ill that I went straight to bed without any kind of food, shivering and sweating throughout the night. The next morning I felt shit. I'd clearly acquired a cold and I just wanted to turn over and snooze on through to the next day. This hadn't been helped by the creepy dude below me making noises of satisfaction below me and then spent rest of the night snorgling (snore-gurgling) loudly. But today was the day we were visiting the Peninsula Valdes; to quote the guidebook stated that "nothing can prepare you for the wildlife you will encounter along its ragged coastline". It was right. Nothing could prepare us for the fact that we encountered almost literally nothing. It was supposed to be the middle of Whale basking season, however the water was so choppy and the wind was so high that we couldn't see anything from the coast and all of the boats were cancelled. We returned to the hostel beaten and windswept. After the Old Patagonian Express being cancelled and the lack of any wildlife, we were starting to think that lady luck was against us.
The next day we had a rather long but uneventful 9 hour drive to Puerto San Julian, and after swinging by the tourist office bagged ourself an amazing little cabin overlooking a lake. Furthermore, rock paper scissors fell my way and I managed to get the room with a massive soft double bed! We watched Die Hard 2 and retired for an early night. The final day on our downward tragectory was to take the gravel track (most roads is Argentina aren't paved) towards El Calefate, known for it's proximity to one of the most spectaculor glaciers in the world. The road itself was about 200km, and was worse than any road that I have, and probably wilł ever, encounter in the UK. There were potholes, rocks and countless stones on a mudpath that dipped, rose and twisted. Senorita, the name of our stoic little Chevvy Corsa, took it all in her stride in spite of being caked in mud and being battered by rocks and chunks of ice on her underside for 5 hours straight. We had arrived. People had their doubts but we had arrived on schedule, in good spirits and ready to see some glaciers.
Looking Out Over The World
Word was sent to the hostel that the evening would be the night of 'The Houseparty'. Text messages, pigeons, smoke signals and peasant messenger boys were sent to spread the word. After masterfully cooking big steaks for ourselves, making some cheap cocktails and calling each other Barry a lot (an Aussie thing, don't ask) we went to the hostel to collect the twelve or so people we expected round. In true house party fashion we had fully underestimated the numbers and ended up marching thirty people to our flat, including two of my old pals from previous cities who had just landed and heard about the big house party only to see me hosting. Glasses were fashioned from cups, saucepans, soap dishes empty bottles and all other water retaining items, and the cocktails were literally sloshed around. Two or so hours later the drinking games, music and conversation were in full force when there was a knock on the door. The landlady. Myself, Alex and James were summoned outside to be told that the police were downstairs and that everyone would have to leave tout suite. Within 15 minutes the party had moved on to the Roxbury (a local club) with the ease and grace of a drunken bear. Inside the club the alcohol and saliva was flowing like a night in ibiza, and it was clear that the tourists had hit the local nightspot. As the evening, and subsequent inebriation, progressed I returned to the pile of coats to find that my fucking awesome brand new all-singing-all-dancing Columbia jacket was missing. I searched the club high and low, and left that evening drunk and deflated.
The next morning our party paradise had turned into a stinking landfill, complete with sticky floors and empty cans everywhere. To boot we had slept in, and had to check out in 45 minutes. It seemed like mission impossible, especially since Alex was still pissed out of his skull and James was 'hosting' some Danish girl in his bedroom. After 45 minutes of fumbling around and getting nothing done the fateful knock on the door came. It was the landlady. However in a curius twist of fate she had come to apologise for ruining our party and told us to have another hour! The Aussie boys left and I managed to get about 20 steps into the hostel before being dragged back out to go up Cerro Alto, a big mountain with a cablecar and spectacular views of the surrounding area. The fact that everyone was ridiculously hungover made for a very banterous time on the mountain, including a whole album worth of brilliant photos. After such an adventure the 8 or so of us intrepid travellers did what intrepid travellers do: we went for a massive steak. The next day was another day of touring round the lakes in a rental car with the guys and taking another album worth of ridiculous pictures, to be uploaded as soon as possible. Kitty, Sam, Adam and Dan were trying to convince the rest of us to come Skiing with them in Mendoza, but Paul, Andy and I had bigger plans... Road Trip! This was to be drunkenly cemented that evening as we had a night out to celebrate/commiserate our awesome group splitting up. It was such a shame that we couldn't stay together as I hadn't laughed so much, so hard, for as long as I could remember and everyone was brilliant fun.
We also met up with two cool Argentine guys, one of which, Nano, turned up with my coat as he thought I had left the club without it. A happy ending and the remedy to the only blemish on an amazing time in Barriloche.
The Skiers were waved off in a taxi and Andy, Paul and I were left to plan; The Road Trip!!!
The next morning our party paradise had turned into a stinking landfill, complete with sticky floors and empty cans everywhere. To boot we had slept in, and had to check out in 45 minutes. It seemed like mission impossible, especially since Alex was still pissed out of his skull and James was 'hosting' some Danish girl in his bedroom. After 45 minutes of fumbling around and getting nothing done the fateful knock on the door came. It was the landlady. However in a curius twist of fate she had come to apologise for ruining our party and told us to have another hour! The Aussie boys left and I managed to get about 20 steps into the hostel before being dragged back out to go up Cerro Alto, a big mountain with a cablecar and spectacular views of the surrounding area. The fact that everyone was ridiculously hungover made for a very banterous time on the mountain, including a whole album worth of brilliant photos. After such an adventure the 8 or so of us intrepid travellers did what intrepid travellers do: we went for a massive steak. The next day was another day of touring round the lakes in a rental car with the guys and taking another album worth of ridiculous pictures, to be uploaded as soon as possible. Kitty, Sam, Adam and Dan were trying to convince the rest of us to come Skiing with them in Mendoza, but Paul, Andy and I had bigger plans... Road Trip! This was to be drunkenly cemented that evening as we had a night out to celebrate/commiserate our awesome group splitting up. It was such a shame that we couldn't stay together as I hadn't laughed so much, so hard, for as long as I could remember and everyone was brilliant fun.
We also met up with two cool Argentine guys, one of which, Nano, turned up with my coat as he thought I had left the club without it. A happy ending and the remedy to the only blemish on an amazing time in Barriloche.
The Skiers were waved off in a taxi and Andy, Paul and I were left to plan; The Road Trip!!!
Sunday, 8 June 2008
Mountains and Molehills
Leaving Buenos Aires was a pretty simple affair, I packed my bag, said goodbye to a few people and jumped on a bus. After a whole month I had almost forgotten the joy of moving on to somewhere totally unknown with nothing but a bag and an abundance of uncertainty and enthusiasm. I think that's the joy of travelling. The second I stepped onto the bus I had the very same feeling that I had encountered when leaving for Rosario.
The 20 hour bus journey, which sounds so normal when your travelling but doesn't really feel like a lot when actually doing it, was interesting. The situation with the farmers is still escalating and the farmers have taken to the major trade routes to protest. So every time we got to an intersection you would see droves of tractors, Argentinian flags and farmers only allowing passenger vehicles through. Consequently, on the side of the road there would also be dozens of stranded lorries and their respective drivers waiting for the strike to end.
The journey itself was brilliant, as far as 20 hour bus journeys go. My seat went all the way back to become a bed, there was hot food served long with wine and champagne, and I had been allocated the front seat on the top deck of the bus. The latter part I didn't fully appreciate until the next morning when upon opening the curtains to be presented with hills, mountains and lakes. At that very moment I was struck with the realisation that I was about to encounter a different side of Argentina. This feeling was to be undoubtably surpassed the next day.
After a sleepless night on the bus I arrived at the hostel with energy levels as low as the bags under my eyes. However, the hostel I was booked in was just off the shore of a beautiful, mountain encircled lake, and given the fact that it was too early to check in I grabbed my camera for some scenery shots. Thus far on my trip, with the amount of time I have had to spend in relatively unsafe cities, I have not really been too enthusiastic to go out papping, but in somewhere as aesthetic as this I have had my camera everywhere I have gone.
Later I return to the hostel to bump into a fellow camera enthusiast who took me down to the shore for some long exposures. Wes, an American dude, mentioned that he and a few others planned to go on a two day trek through the mountains and invited me along. That evening the group, which had increased to 7, sat down to plan the next day's trek, with a ridiculous amount of beer and a pack of cards. The result was no planning done whatsoever and a large number of very drunk people pulling a 4am drinking binge.
The next morning, in our hungover states we all tried our best to acquire a couple of rental cars and the provisions requires for a two day trek. However, after jumping in one car with two very banterous, but totally and utterly disorganised, Aussie guys we managed to lose the other four people and get totally lost in the car. We also had no sleeping bags and time was running out before the entrance to the black glaciers national park closed. So we just decided to wing the day and see what came out of it.
What came out of it was numerous perfectly clear lakes, fresh glacier fed rivers with plentiful fish, a sky blue lagoon surrounded by mountains and one black glacier that creaked and croaked as it slowly shaped the landscape around it. Oh and not to mention a day jam packed with limitless great banter and silliness (including just about crossing a rock strewn river without breaking our rental car). In all honesty I'm sitting here trying to produce the superlatives to accurately describe how breathtaking the scenery was around every corner crossed but to be honest even a cunning linguist like myself would struggle to do it justice. Fortunately my trusty Nikon D40x should do a better job when I upload the pictures from that day on to facebook. The only difficulty will be which of the 250 beautiful pictures to choose from (not through skill of camera but natural beauty). The highlight of the day had to be arriving at the black glacier to find that there was nobody else there. So, we regressed to being ten year olds by climbing up a big hill above the glacier in search of the biggest rock to roll down on to the ice. And a big rock we found. In fact it took all three of us to use all of our strength to get the sorry mother rolling. When we eventually managed to get it off the cliff it rolled the wrong way into the path of a wooden fence. We stood holding our breath as it picked up speed, before finally smashing the fence to pieces. After assessing the destruction and getting some pink vest shots we were back on the road in search for the steak that would change our lives. But first we had to find some accommodation. Alex threw the idea of getting an apartment for a couple of days and we were all over that idea like a fat kid on a chocolate cake mountain, and after making some enquiries at the local tourist office we had an apartment with a wonderful view over the bay for next to no money.
With an empty apartment just sitting around and a load of excellent party people waiting back at the dorm there was an air which could lead to only one thing... Houseparty!
The 20 hour bus journey, which sounds so normal when your travelling but doesn't really feel like a lot when actually doing it, was interesting. The situation with the farmers is still escalating and the farmers have taken to the major trade routes to protest. So every time we got to an intersection you would see droves of tractors, Argentinian flags and farmers only allowing passenger vehicles through. Consequently, on the side of the road there would also be dozens of stranded lorries and their respective drivers waiting for the strike to end.
The journey itself was brilliant, as far as 20 hour bus journeys go. My seat went all the way back to become a bed, there was hot food served long with wine and champagne, and I had been allocated the front seat on the top deck of the bus. The latter part I didn't fully appreciate until the next morning when upon opening the curtains to be presented with hills, mountains and lakes. At that very moment I was struck with the realisation that I was about to encounter a different side of Argentina. This feeling was to be undoubtably surpassed the next day.
After a sleepless night on the bus I arrived at the hostel with energy levels as low as the bags under my eyes. However, the hostel I was booked in was just off the shore of a beautiful, mountain encircled lake, and given the fact that it was too early to check in I grabbed my camera for some scenery shots. Thus far on my trip, with the amount of time I have had to spend in relatively unsafe cities, I have not really been too enthusiastic to go out papping, but in somewhere as aesthetic as this I have had my camera everywhere I have gone.
Later I return to the hostel to bump into a fellow camera enthusiast who took me down to the shore for some long exposures. Wes, an American dude, mentioned that he and a few others planned to go on a two day trek through the mountains and invited me along. That evening the group, which had increased to 7, sat down to plan the next day's trek, with a ridiculous amount of beer and a pack of cards. The result was no planning done whatsoever and a large number of very drunk people pulling a 4am drinking binge.
The next morning, in our hungover states we all tried our best to acquire a couple of rental cars and the provisions requires for a two day trek. However, after jumping in one car with two very banterous, but totally and utterly disorganised, Aussie guys we managed to lose the other four people and get totally lost in the car. We also had no sleeping bags and time was running out before the entrance to the black glaciers national park closed. So we just decided to wing the day and see what came out of it.
What came out of it was numerous perfectly clear lakes, fresh glacier fed rivers with plentiful fish, a sky blue lagoon surrounded by mountains and one black glacier that creaked and croaked as it slowly shaped the landscape around it. Oh and not to mention a day jam packed with limitless great banter and silliness (including just about crossing a rock strewn river without breaking our rental car). In all honesty I'm sitting here trying to produce the superlatives to accurately describe how breathtaking the scenery was around every corner crossed but to be honest even a cunning linguist like myself would struggle to do it justice. Fortunately my trusty Nikon D40x should do a better job when I upload the pictures from that day on to facebook. The only difficulty will be which of the 250 beautiful pictures to choose from (not through skill of camera but natural beauty). The highlight of the day had to be arriving at the black glacier to find that there was nobody else there. So, we regressed to being ten year olds by climbing up a big hill above the glacier in search of the biggest rock to roll down on to the ice. And a big rock we found. In fact it took all three of us to use all of our strength to get the sorry mother rolling. When we eventually managed to get it off the cliff it rolled the wrong way into the path of a wooden fence. We stood holding our breath as it picked up speed, before finally smashing the fence to pieces. After assessing the destruction and getting some pink vest shots we were back on the road in search for the steak that would change our lives. But first we had to find some accommodation. Alex threw the idea of getting an apartment for a couple of days and we were all over that idea like a fat kid on a chocolate cake mountain, and after making some enquiries at the local tourist office we had an apartment with a wonderful view over the bay for next to no money.
With an empty apartment just sitting around and a load of excellent party people waiting back at the dorm there was an air which could lead to only one thing... Houseparty!
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