To the ends of the earth

I adored the bus journey from Puerto Natales, Chile to Ushuaia, Argentina for many reasons.  Firstly, because there was a modern day gaucho on our first bus, attired in gaucho boots and gaucho hat with North Face accessories. Secondly, because this bus drove for two hours into a dusty wilderness where another bus was waiting for us, our bags were thrown from one hold to the other, we were thrown from one bus to another and off we went.  Thirdly, because this next bus was almost empty and we were able to stretch out and have our pick of seats.  Fourthly, because we stopped at a ramshackle estancia which inside, looked like something out of 50s America, and served fantastic cherry pie.  And fifthly (I will stop soon because you must be getting bored), the scenery was amazing.  I could have stared out of that window for much longer than 7 hours.  I had Karen Carpenter and Mick Jagger (quite a mix) singing to me as the scenery changed around me.  The views of Patagonia were remote and endless, but as we travelled further south, the landscape closed in on us, until for the last few hours we were bound on all sides by towering mountains.  It was stunning.

Modern-day Gaucho sporting a North Face shell jacket

As an aside, I would encourage anyone travelling in Patagonia to move between places by bus.  The views, the feeling of isolation and the comprehension of distances are fantastic by road. 

Ushuaiua was not what I was expecting at all.  In my head (and for no real reason) I thought it was going to be dreary and grey.  Perhaps that is how I envisage the end of the world to be?  However, when we arrived the sun was shining and a pretty bay stretched out in front of us. We walked alongside the bay to get to our Bed and Breakfast, which was a homely place in which we had to take our shoes off before we went upstairs.

That evening we walked into town looking to eat the local specialty for dinner; King Crab.  We found a popular restaurant (Freddy’s) and Christian sat next to a tank of King Crabs whilst we both ate one of their brothers or sisters.

Christian with a crustacean friend

The next day we walked up hill until we came to the ski lift and restaurant.  Although it was out of season the chair lift was still running and the restaurant served us a tasty lunch that we ate outside in the sun.  Rather than skiing, another activity was available, and we both opted to do zip-wiring through the trees.  It was fun being tarzan for an hour or so.  Afterwards we hiked up the rocky piste and kept climbing until we reached the glaciar.  Although the glaciar is very small (and seemingly insignificant) compared to the others we had seen (in New Zealand and Patagonia), the views of Ushuaia were terrific and we were able to walk onto the glaciar safely. 

Someone had carved a slide into the glaciar’s snow and while our can of Coke Zero was chilling in the ice, we took turns at sliding down it on our bottoms.  It was so much fun!  Probably the most fun I had had on a glaciar.  When we were well and truly wet through we sat on rocks looking out at the view and drinking our glaciar-chilled can of coke.  Bliss

Slipping and sliding down the glaciar

Wet bottoms but happy

Walking down the mountain, dry bottoms!

We then took the chairlift down the mountain and strolled home, before enjoying a pizza and sushi dinner.  It had been our last full day in the deep south of Argentina and it had been so much fun.  I took a walk around the bay at sun down to get some photos, they will remind me of how much I liked Ushuaia. 

 

Reflecting on Ushuaia

The next day we had breakfast with the other guests at our B and B, and walked with our new friend Hadrien into town.  We found the ubiquitous sign that you HAVE to have your photo taken next to, and then we got soaked as the rain pelted down.  It was then time to get to the airport for our flight to Buenos Aires. 

I felt a little sad leaving Ushuaia, it marked the end of our journey in Patagonia.  It had been such an adventure and a place more remote than I had ever encountered before.  The landscapes are so immense that they make you feel tiny, and really help put things into perspective.  Patagonia had been my favourite part of the trip so far.

And so on we went, from empty Patagonia to populous Buenos Aires, where among other people I would be meeting dad again.  Adios Ushuaia, I hope one day to make it to the end of the world (fin del mundo) again.

I went to the end of the world with Christian

Torres del Paine in the rain

After a week of protests, the government appeased the Chilean protesters by lowering their proposed 17% rise in gas prices to a mere 3% rise.  The ports were re-opened, the roads unblocked, and people were able to move in and our of Chile once again.  Tourists who had been stuck in Puerto Natales moved out and made space for new tourists, like Christian and I.

From El Calafate we had an uneventful but long bus journey to Puerto Natales.  As soon as you cross the border between Argentina and Chile you notice the difference.  The people are considerably shorter than their Argentine counterparts, they look more native, and seem to be friendlier.  For Christian and I, much of Chile felt like the poorer neighbour to Argentina.  If South America was a street, Argentina is the white-washed house with perfectly preened roses whilst Chile is the scruffy student-house next door where they party all hours (in actual fact, depending on how you cut the figures, Chile is now richer than Argentina).  Of course, this is all relative, and the UK would live in a different area altogether!

Puerto Natales is a scruffy town next to a beautiful lake.  If it weren’t so wet when we arrived it would probably have had the feel of a dusty frontier town, but as it was, the roads were mud instead.  We stayed at Lili Patagonica hostel and were really impressed with the helpfulness of staff there. 

The only reason to stay in Puerto Natales is because it is the gateway to the Torres Del Paine national park, 70 km away, and we soon made arrangements to visit.  Our very original plan was to trek the famous “W” trail for three or four days.  However, when the gas price protests thwarted our plan we were only left with a day in the national park.  We booked a guide who would take us up to the most famous view of the Torres (towers in English) and we started off early the next day.  We drove to the National Park entrance, signed in with a man who gave us a ticket and pointed us to a man just next to him, stepped over to the next man and gave him our ticket, paid this man, and were then pointed to the original man again who gave us a leaflet. (Great use of resources once again, why use one man when you can use two).

Christian filling his water bottle

We met our guide and fellow walkers (an older British couple Graham and Marion) at the base of the park.  We filled up our water bottles at the stream and started upwards.  The walk was varied and interesting in terms of views and surroundings but one thing remained constant… the darkening skies.  Rain jackets were needed pretty early on but by the time we were making the final ascent to the viewpoint the weather had subsided.  This is the only really tough part of the walk with a couple of scrambles over rocks, but generally it was pretty straight-forward.

The highlight of the Torres del Paine national park are the three Torres themselves, but as we climbed higher and higher we realized that the weather was closing in, and that we weren’t going to get the view that we had climbed for.  In fact when we reached the top we only had a view of about 2/3 of the Torres, with the rest shrouded in cloud.  Very disappointing.

 Christian with the beginnings of the Torres behind him

Disappointed and cold faces at the top

We cheered up a little on the way down, especially after we had eaten a gourmet lunch (great work from the guide!) and a rainbow had come out.

Christian!  I said that we cheered up when the rainbow appeared, you still look miserable.

At the base of the climb, Christian and I had the worst hot chocolate of our lives in a fancy hotel, full of noisy Americans.  Our guide told us that Pinochet had granted one of his friends access to development in the National Park, and as a result a hotel had been built, the National Park are not happy about it, but there is nothing they can do.

The bus drive back to Puerto Natales gave us some amazing scenery as the sky brightened up, probably better than we had seen all day, and we also saw some ostriches and guanacos.

Spot the ostrich

Back in Puerto Natales, we found the bus station and booked our next day’s journey to Ushuaia, and went for a delicious barbeque meal.  After a final night in Chile, we were heading to the ends of the Earth, and crossing over once again to Argentina.  It is worth noting that once upon a time all these border crossings were not necessary.  Patagonia used to belong to Chile, but when Chile was at war with Peru and Bolivia and the northern border of Chile was in jeapardy, they decided it would be pertinent to avoid any upset of their other borders, by ensuring peace with Argentina.  At this point they gave the Argentine’s a large piece of Patagonia, and so only a narrow slither of Patagonia remains as part of Chile.

And now down, down we go.  To the ends of the Earth!

Angry penguins on a glaciar

Christian, Emily and I met our two guides Felipe and Waldo at 6.45 am in El Chalten. I had thought that the early start was due to our guides being “morning people” or the fact that the glaciar was better to climb in the morning. Little did I know it was because we would be hard-pushed to be back before dark! Two Dutch guys joined us (there are a lot of Dutch guys in South America) who looked completely underprepared, and made me look like Ray Mears.

We walked up hill for a few hours before we came to a campsite on a lake and took a break. Here we were met by three large Argentines (I’m not talking about their personalities) who would be joining our excursion. We were all fitted with harnesses, which posed more difficult for some than others, and we continued walking. We soon reached a gushing river and found that the only way to cross it was by rope. We were harnessed onto the rope and had to pull ourselves over. We were crossing at the same time as a large group of Americans who were whooping and high-fiveing for all they were worth. In true European style we crossed quietly and swiftly, and smiled politely at the Americans.

 

Next we had a mountain to climb, both figuratively and literally. The climb was in places steep, in places slippery, and at times there was nothing between the sandy hill you were clinging to and the valley 100 feet below. Luckily our two guides were like mountain goats with sticky feet, and they were always there when you needed a hand to hold or a word of encouragement. When Emily dropped her crampons down the edge, one of them even scampered after them. I hoped they would be as agile if one of us fell.

We eventually got to the beginning of the Cerre Torre glaciar and all put our crampons on. 

Girls with killer feet

We had a quick lesson in how to walk on a glaciar. Basically you had to walk like a penguin, a pengiun that stamped. We stamped over the ice like angry penguins. It felt like you were walking on a very hard slush puppy or frozen daquiri (some of you will be more familiar with one than the other I’m sure). Walking up hill was fine, but as soon as the ice slanted downwards it became very difficult to trust your footing, and all of us, including the boys, were glad of a hand to hold. The ice was dirty white, where layers of soil had been exposed, and there were bottomless blue holes that went down to the water on which the glaciar was sliding.

After finding our glacial feet, it was time to stop walking and start climbing. Felipe asked for a volunteer and I couldn’t resist the urge to go first. I was harnessed up, give two ice piks, and started my ascent. Wow, ice climbing is difficult! The toughest part was ramming my crampons deep enough into the ice (without breaking my toes) so that they took my weight, before I was able to reposition the ice piks. By the time I reached the top my legs were shaking with tiredness. After I had absailed down, I wanted to go up again, but had to make do with watching the others climb. The three Argentines were the only ones not to make it up, which is probably a good thing for Waldo, our guide at the bottom, who would have been pulled up the cliff when he tried to support their decent back down.

 Ice climbing the Torre glaciar

Once we had finished our climb and trek on the glaciar, there was just the small matter of getting back down to El Chalten. With tired legs and weary bodies we retraced our steps back down from the glaciar. We dislodged stones on the walk back and watched them plummet down the cliff, luckily none of us followed. Getting back across the river by rope was much more tiring the second time, the wooden bench at camp felt like the best chair in the world, and the final decent down to El Chalten seemed to go on forever. When we finally stumbled into town, we had been gone twelve hours, twelve long hours. We showered and headed out for a drink at the Microbrewery in town where we learnt a valuable lesson “Don’t assume that because you had a good experience at a place, that it will be repeated the next time you visit”. After 45 minutes waiting for two beers and a glass of wine, we walked out. We then forgot the lesson and went back to the restaurant Como Vaca where we re-learnt the lesson we had forgotten “Don’t return!” This time we waited an hour for our food.

The next day, we walked up to a viewpoint and then I spent the afternoon in La Chocolateria, eating chocolate, writing, and meeting some very posh girls who had taken two weeks off work to trek Torres Del Paine (Chile), only to find they could not enter the country. That evening Emily and I headed to La Tangueria, one of the few late-night bars. To be honest when we arrived we didn’t think we would be having a late-night, since the place was empty, but in true Latin American style, everyone turned up at about midnight, and once again Emily and I partied the night away, and crawled into our beds in the early hours.

The next morning, with very sore heads and dehydrated mouths we boarded the bus back to El Calafate, with Christian who was annoyingly well and hydrated after an early night. This time on our journey South, we were determined, we were going to get across the border to Chile.

In El Calafate, we had the good news that the border was open to Chile and through the rain, the sun shone and a rainbow formed. Good news all round.

Pot of gold, here we come!

Glaciars and Glaswegians

There is only one real reason to come to El Calafate and that is to see the Perito Moreno glaciar. I had double the normal numbers of reasons to come to El Calafate, as I was also meeting my dad there; a glaciar and a Glaswegian were awaiting me. As soon as we got off the bus I missed El Chalten. El Calafate is large and tourist-driven, has cash points that work (but like all over Argentina, these are empty on Sundays and Mondays after the weekend rush), mobile phone reception, working internet, shops selling everything a tourist never knew he needed, and a casino to boot. It is everything that El Chalten is not (but could be one day, so get there fast). Saying that, El Calafate is positioned next to a beautiful lake on which flamingoes and horses wander, and also makes for a handy hub after time disconnected.

I arrived with Christian, Emily and Daniel, we searched for a hostel and at last found a six-person dorm that was big enough for two people. When we had just managed to squeeze ourselves and our luggage into the room, two Dutch guys turned up with what looked like their entire houses in bags. It was going to be an intimate few days in the dorm room. As soon as we arrived in El Calafate, we started hearing rumours that the nearby border with Chile was closed due to protests. The guy at our hostel confirmed the bad news; the government wanted to raise gas prices by 17% and the people in the South (who rely on natural gas as a household fuel) were protesting by blocking roads and ports, and bringing the tourist industry to a halt. No-one was allowed in, no-one was allowed out. Christian and I were planning on crossing to Chile in order to trek Torres Del Paine, before heading south to Ushuaia for our flight to Buenos Aires. Oh dear, time to rethink our plan…

That evening I trundled up the hill towards the castle at the top (figuratively speaking, it was actually far too luxurious to be a castle). My dad was staying in an amazing hotel with views over El Calafate and the lake. I had not seen dad in three months and it was great to see him. His bathroom was bigger than our dorm room for six.

The King of the Castle

We had a glass of Malbec in the hotel bar before heading into town and sharing a cow for dinner, washed down with a bottle of red. We finished with a glass of Limoncello, and I felt well and truly tipsy as I stumbled down the hill to the hostel. Back at the hostel, a group of Argentines were singing with wine and a guitar in the garden, Emily, Christian and I joined them, until it started raining. We crawled over the backpacks and paraphernalia that littered the narrow path to our bunk beds, and I slept the sleep of a drunk (i.e., not great).

Glacial expressions

The next day, with a slight headache, we headed to the Perito Moreno glaciar. You can spy the glaciar from quite a distance, and it doesn’t quite look real. More like some man-made marvel in Disney. When we got out of the taxi at the viewing platforms, we bumped into dad who had been left to his own devices for a few hours at the glaciar, and who was ready for a coffee. From the viewing platforms you can see the glaciar continuing into the distance, but it is difficult to get a sense of size, as there is little perspective in what you are seeing. From the lake in the foreground, whiteness just stretches into the distance and areas of bright blue break up the whiteness.

We had been told that pieces of glaciar bigger than buses regularly fall off the glaciar face, but by the time we had eaten our lunch nothing was happening, and so we turned to leave. Just then we heard a crash like thunder and turned to see a huge piece of ice crumble and fall into the water. A big boat that had sailed close to the glaciar face, bobbed up and down in the waves caused by the crash, and the ice bus bobbed up and down in the water. Everyone in the crowd “ooohed” and “aahed” as though at a fireworks display. We didn’t have to wait long until the next display. It was hypnotic to watch the crumbling face of the glaciar and once I had witnessed it, I felt I could have stayed all day in anticipation for more. However we didn’t want to miss the boat, literally.

Ice from the glaciar face crumbling into the sea with a sound of thunder!

The boat gives you a much better perspective of just how large the glaciar is. For those of you who like numbers, the glaciar is 250 square kilometres in size, and 30 km in length, for those of you who like your numbers imperial, the glaciar is almost 100 square miles in size, and 19 miles in length. The average height of the glaciar above the lake is 240 feet or 74 m. For those of you who prefer words to numbers, the glaciar is huge-ormous! A spectacle that cannot really be captured in photos, but I have tried.

Approaching the glaciar by boat

And closer still

Christian being overshadowed by a piece of ice

After the enormity of the glaciar we walked alongside the lake’s edge in El Calafate, and saw flamingoes, horses and a kitten. Knowing that we were not going to be crossing the border with Chile, for at least a few more days, we made alternative plans to travel back to El Chalten for more trekking. We had seen a great deal in the window of a travel agents for a day’s trek and ice-climbing in El Chalten, and we went in to book… easier said than done. Anyone trying to book/plan/enquire about anything in South America, should make sure they have a few hours to hand, as nothing is ever straight-forward and simple. We sat with the travel agent for over an hour, as a queue formed behind us (of no concern to the agent) and she typed on her computer. For those of you familiar with the TV show Little Britain, try and imagine the David Walliams character tapping on her keyboard but to no avail “El Computadora dice No!” After a very long and unproductive wait in the travel agents, we left with almost (never quite) what we were looking for, and a bus ticket back to El Chalten.

That evening Christian and I ate at dad’s hotel before saying a brief farewell to dad (we would be catching up again in Buenos Aires), and heading into town. It was our last evening with our Israeli friend Daniel and we wanted to say goodbye in style. We searched for a lively bar and found nothing, so we settled for a dodgy-looking sports bar playing dreadful music. We planned on just staying for a couple of drinks, but as if my magic at about midnight, the whole population of El Calafate turned up (they must have heard we were there) and the music took a turn for the better. We danced the night away and crawled over the backpacks and into our bunk beds in the early hours, as the sun was rising. After very shutting our eyes temporarily, we said goodbye to Daniel and headed for the bus back to El Chalten. We tried all the cash points in El Calafate until we found one with money and left for El Chalten with money in hand. I was glad to be heading back to El Chalten and the Fitz Roy range, I hoped that the fresh air would clear my sleepy head and that the ice-climbing would be fun. Little did I know that I had the most exhausting day of the trip ahead of me.

Meeting the Fitz Roys in El Chalten

After a late arrival in El Chalten we checked into the hotel that was included in our Route 40 deal and got quite a surprise, it was a great hotel!  We thought there had to be a mistake because we had not paid enough for the kind of hotel we were in, however, we didn’t tell anyone and just locked ourselves in our room before anyone noticed the mistake.  The next day, after realising we couldn’t afford another night in that hotel, we found a downtrodden hostel, kitted ourselves up and hit the mountain.

El Chalten is a small village at the base of the Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitz Roy mountains.  El Chalten has one main road and to the dismay of all travellers, no working cash point!  However, it is a great base for trekking and seeing the Fitz Roy glaciar.  Emily and Daniel (our new-found travel buddies), together with Christian and myself trekked up to the “Lagos de los Tres” mountain lake and took in some stunning views on the way.

 

Fiona and the Fitz Roy

The trek up to the “Laguna de los tres” is fairly easy until the last hour, when it turns into a steep climb.  At the top we ate our lunches with frozen fingers, put our hands into the water (just because we could) and walked around to get a misty view of the glaciar.  It was very cold at the top and so we soon descended into the warmth.  For a long time on the decent we talked about what we were going to have for dinner, a barbeque (Asado in Argentina) and a good bottle of red wine – we deserved it!  That evening after our eight hour hike we enjoyed a fantastic meal at Como Vaca, it was all we had dreamt of on our leg shaking decent. 

After a good nights sleep in a bad dorm room, we breakfasted on facturas (Argentine sweet pastries) and got a bus to El Calafate.  In El Calafate I would be meeting my dad and also one of the largest glaciars in the world – Perito Moreno.  I was excited about both.

Writing this blog entry with the luxury of hindsight I can safely say that the Fitz Roy mountain range is the most beautiful I set eyes upon in Patagonia, and probably the world.  We didn’t realise when we left but we would be returning sooner than expected…

Ruta 40

Route 40 runs is the longest road in Argentina, and one of the longest in the world. It runs more than 5,000 km, crosses 20 National Parks, 18 major rivers and 27 Andean passes. It was made famous by the trip that Ernesto Che Guevara and his friend Alberto Granado took in Che's Motorcyle Diaries. We were only interested in a section of Route 40 (all be it a very long section!) between Bariloche and El Calafate. However, because of supposed bad relations between Bariloche and El Calafate the road is uncared for and notoriously bumpy. There is also virtually nothing between the two destinations. For this reason we were hoping to avoid the route, but come 6.30 am on January 17th we found ourselves with about 40 other tourists waiting for the bus that would take us in Che's tyre tracks down Ruta 40. On the first day we drove for about 12 hours on route 40 to Puerto Moreno, the road was mostly paved and the landscape desolate. Puerto Moreno is a dusty town that looks like it's out of a Wild West film. We stayed one night, battled with the waitress in the morning to order a cup of tea (Spanish conversation that went something like this: "Would you like tea or coffee?" "tea please", "what?", "tea", "what?" "tea", to Christian "what is she trying to say?" "tea", "what?" and so on), and left for a side trip to some famous cave paintings. On the way we saw our first Guanacos animals that look like a cross between a llama and a deer. 

 

After a beautiful decent down into a valley we came to the famous "Cuevas de las manos" (Caves of the hands). These are ancient paintings made some 9000 years ago by the indigenous people. It is amazing how they have endured over the years, and there are prints from adults, children and even a 6-fingered hand! Hands up!

After our side trip, we sat in the dust of a little estancia and waited for the route 40 bus to pick us up. Sitting on the ground with a handful of people, in the heat of the midday sun, surrounded by nothing but hills, I really felt like a traveller! Like Che!

The bus picked us up for our next 600 km on route 40, and we enjoyed a day on the bus on unpaved roads, playing games and chatting.  We finally arrived at El Chalten at about 10pm.  Amazingly during the last two days, I had hardly made a dent on the batteries of my ipod, and had managed to stay entertained (or asleep) for the whole journey.  Although it is obviously a very long journey and the road is indeed bumpy, and the views desolate, it was a good experience, we made good friends, had some laughs and it is amazing to be so isolated in Patagonia.

Route 40 – as recommended by Fiona and Christian

Fish and stilts in Chiloe

In a comfortable bus we drove South through Chile, onto a ferry, across the Chacao channel and onto the island of Chiloe. Chiloe is the largest island in the Chiloe Archipelago. We stayed in the capital of Castro in a nice wooden bed and breakfast which had very gracious hosts, and unfortunately bed bugs. Castro is famous for it's houses on stilts which run all along the shore. They reminded us of the stilted homes in Vietnam, and likewise, you didn't feel too safe in them! Restaurant where we had a fantastic fish and chips lunch

We treated ourselves to a massage in town, Christian's first since his traumatic Vietnamese experience. I am not a religious person but I have been wearing a St Christopher necklace throughout my trip and I took it off for my massage. As soon as the necklace was off, things started going wrong! Christian left his debit card in a bank machine, there were no flights out of town (which is how we were hoping to get back to Argentina), the fish restaurant that we went to had no fish, and that evening I got bitten by bed bugs. I remembered to put my necklace back on the next morning but by then Christian was penniless! It is worth noting that I had already lost my debit card at the New Years party and it was winging it's way over to South America courtesy of "DAD Couriers".

After we had exhausted the wonders of Castro town (which took all of about hour) we decided to go and see the National Park. We left on a rickety little bus the following morning which dropped us at the park entrance. Chiloe National park covers over 10,000 acres and includes beaches, forests, lakes and meadows. We wandered along a nature trail for a while before we were forced to retreat by a really fierce flying bug. It wouldn't let up! If anyone was watching us from a distance they would have been in stitches, we were running in the midday heat and swiping the air with a beach towel and my camera case, spinning in circles and screaming. It took forever to get rid of the pest and by that point we were exhausted and hungry. We sat by this lake and had our picnic lunch.

 

After lunch we wandered over to the beach. It was not the kind of beach you see on front of a holiday brochure, it was windswept, empty and glorious. The sea was rough and the wind was blowing but when we laid out on our shared beach towel, we could just about convince ourselves we were sun bathing! After a long walk up the beach with the wet sand in between my toes, and some playtime with my camera (see results below), it was time to head back to Castro.

We could easily have spent longer at the National Park, but Argentina was calling us to return, and it wasn't going to be as easy heading over the border this time, in fact unbeknown to us it was going to take an entire day.

A tall horse and a dark horse story

We took an early morning bus back over the water to Puerto Montt, where we wanted to get a connection over the mountains to Bariloche in Argentina. Soon after we arrived at the bus terminal it became clear that this wasn't going to happen. I consulted the Lonely Planet to find us a place to stay for the night, whilst Christian went off with my Chilean mobile phone to try and get it unblocked for Argentina. We were both successful and Christian pointed me in the direction of a little stall of mobile phones. One of the difficulties with Spanish (and there are many) is that many words sound very similar. Like for instance the Spanish word for horse and the word for gentleman. I approached the stall and asked the lady about unblocking my phone, and for some unknown reason she answered with a story about a tall horse. I told her I didn't understand but she continued to tell me about this tall horse who also wanted his phone unblocked. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that she was talking about a tall gentleman who had come in to ask about unblocking a phone. I don't know what I was more surprised by; the fact she was calling Christian a gentleman, or the fact that she was calling him tall. Either way she wasn't calling him a horse. She was unable to unblock my phone, and when she reached up behind her for a phone to sell me, she revealed the top of a very hairy bottom! Maybe she was a gentleman or a horse?

We booked bus tickets to a town in the direction of Argentina and had over an hour to waste. If any of you ever find yourself stranded in Puerrto Montt bus station, Chile, we can heartily recommend the bus terminal cafe. Christian had one of his best meals of the trip (for a few quid), a caserole, and with the use of the fantastic wifi, Christian skype-called his bank to sort out a new bank card. In in the meantime spent a happy hour people watching. On the next bus we ended up in Osorno, we were further east and slowly edging our way to the Argentine border. We then got in a local collectivo (bus) and bumped our way past green pastures and chalet-style homes. This is one of the parts of Chile which was colonised by the Germans and it really shows in the architecture, the gardens and the general up-keep of the area. (As an aside, I cannot think of two races of people more different than the Chileans and the Germans, it must have been quite a clash of attitudes when the two met).

The collectivo driver dropped us at our accommodation, and there we met the friendliest, happiest host we had encountered. Marie and her family run Cabins Panoramas in the small settlement of Entre Lagos (Between Lakes). The wooden cabins had a private but rocky beach onto the lake and a serene terrace for breakfast and relaxing.

There was nothing to do in Entre Lagos, but I could happily have done nothing for a bit longer than our one night stay. After a German style breakfast the next day, Marie climbed into the drivers seat of her pick-up truck, atop a fat cushion which meant she could see out of the windscreen, and drove us to where the bus to Bariloche would hopefully stop for us. We stood by the road like hitch hikers and hoped that the right bus would stop for us, and it did. A couple of hours and another tedious border crossing later, we arrived in Bariloche, at the heart of the Argentine Lake District. On the edge of a huge and beautiful lake, Bariloche has the look and feel of a ski resort, except that it was boiling hot. We stayed in a ski hotel called the Slalom hotel which oozed 60s style, and clearly hadn't been touched since then.

 

On our first day in Bariloche, we organsied a day of activities and set off in a mini-bus to the lakeside chalet where they began. On the mini-bus we met Emily who would turn out to be a travel companion of ours for the next month. At the chalet we were due to go kayaking on the lake, which filled me with some trepidation because the water was so choppy. We got into our life jackets, kayak skirts, helmets, and water proofs before the Guide came to the same conclusion as us; the lake was too choppy for us to venture out on. We all bundled into the back of a truck, the kayaks were attached on a trailer and we drove for about 45 minutes to another lake. It was still choppy but not as bad and in no time at all (which is quite a bit of time in South America) Christian and I were bobbing up and down on the waves in our two-man kayak. It was so much fun! We were kayaking with a couple from Alaska, two Argentine teenagers and an Australian couple. The teenagers had previously told us all that they had kayaked many times before, so it came as quite a surprise when they started kayaking around in circles and couldn't seem to stop. One Guide stayed back with them and we continued. After only about twenty minutes in the water, the Australian couple got scared and told the Guide they wanted to get out, it was too choppy for them. And so they sailed ashore and waited for us. And so out on the lake kayaked the brave British and the trained Alaskans. It was so much fun. Christian and I loved it and started talking about our possible entry into the 2012 Olympics.

 

A story Christian will not want told

At one point Christian said something that made me roar with laughter, and he will kill me for telling you all this... (but we are in separate countries as I write this and so feel safe). In a particularly choppy piece of water I heard Christian shout to the Guide who was a couple of metres away "Frederico! I have water in my face, what do I do?" Frederico couldn't hear him over the waves and so Christian kept shouting it "Frederico, I have water in my face, what do I do?". Perhaps Christian hadn't quite understood the set-up with a kayak, but being so close to choppy water, and splashing an oar into it is probably going to mean getting some water on you. As it was, Frederico didn't understand the question, or couldn't believe it was being asked, and ignored him (which by the way happens a lot in South America if someone doesn't think your question is worth answering). Sorry Christian! We kayaked on and I almost wet myself giggling. After we had drank mate, eaten facturas and picked up the shipwrecked Australians and teenagers, we headed back to the chalet.

It was then time to hit the stables and grab horses for an afternoon of riding. I had a jet black horse who seemed very sedate and followed the others with perfect discipline for about the first half an hour.

When she saw a stream a good ten feet down a steep slope, she decided she was more of a leader not a follower, And there was nothing I could to stop her. Well, that horse led me to water and nearly made me drink! It was only by leaning back along her back as she plummeted down the slope that I managed not to fall over her head. From that point on, she wandered off to eat thistles when she wanted to, she stopped to look around when she wanted to, and she stopped for a drink when she wanted to. I still loved her though, she was an independent woman! The ride was great, and really varied, we waded across rivers and had to lift our feet onto the horses not to get wet, and we also strode through the lake. I felt like a proper cowgirl. Back at the stables we accidentally let a horse bolt out of the paddock and it started to cause havoc in the campsite. We went back to the chalet for tea, cake and a lie down in the sun. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable day.

 

Circuito Chico - not so chico

Circuito Chico (little circuit) is the name of a 30 km trail near Bariloche which gives you great views of the surrounding area. We hired bicycles to cover the distance which would have been easy enough if it were not for the god damn hills everywhere! The views were fantastic, my bottom was not.

We returned the bikes to "Cordillera bikes" (highly recommended) and the guy gave us free beers and I laid in their hammock and stroked their friendly cat. Our next mission was to find a way of comfortably travelling the 1400km from Bariloche to El Calafate in the South of Argentina. We had been hoping to avoid Ruta 40 (Route 40), the famous road that Che Guevara travels in his "motorcycle diaries", since it is in notoriously bad condition and offers nothing to see. However, with no flights available, with no other direct buses, and with no other options jumping out at us, we resigned ourselves to our Ruta 40 fate. In the dust and motorcycle tracks of Che, we would follow.

Farming for seaweed

We wanted to head down to Chiloe, an island in the South of Chile, but because of the distance we stopped for a night in Valdivia; a University town. Other than the university, Valdivia is a pretty quiet town, but it does boast one attraction; the fish market. Unlike any other fish market I have seen before, the customers come in all shapes and sizes and species. Cormorants sit waiting for leftovers whilst seagulls fight over head, and in the river just behind the market stalls, huge sea lions loll around waiting to be fed. The fishermen fillet the fish and chop off the heads and throw them over their heads into the water behind them where they are eaten by whoever reaches them fastest. It makes quite a scene. The wharf at Valdivia A sealion arrives for lunch Our hostel was ran by an overly friendly Californian woman who had a goose in a paddling pool in the garden. We downloaded a film to watch that night and in the morning at breakfast she declared that "the internet was down because SOMEONE had downloaded a film last night." We opted to stay quiet because we think she may have been a little mad (no-one if that friendly whilst sane!), and may have killed us and fed us to her beloved goose. Niebla We took a local bumpy bus out to the town of Niebla on the coast. This is a two-bit town, and we saw both bits. We headed to the beach and saw the strangest thing... a group of people sweeping up the seaweed from the sand. Either they were competing in a Beautiful Beach competition or there was someting more to it. Then we spotted some oxen that were pulling a cart full of seaweed off the beach. So, they were seaweed farmers! We later found large clumps of seaweed being sold in shops. Not the seaweed that the Chinese cook with, but huge brown tubes. According to the internet: The basic preparation methods involve soaking over night and/or boiling for 20 minutes or so in water with a bit of vinegar or lemon juice, then scraping the fronds (which may have a soft coating), cutting into bite sized pieces and sautéing or simmering with other ingredients: beans, potatoes and onions, etc. Salads are even simpler: cut prepared cochayuyo into bite sized pieces, add minced onion and cilantro (and other vegetables to taste) and dress with oil and lemon juice. We clambered over the rocks on the beach and sat eating a picnic lunch with a beautiful view. Back in the hub of town we accidentally befriended a goat that we could not get rid off. It bleeted after us as we walked through town, until a man spotted our predicament and held it back until we could make an escape. We headed to the fort and wandered around the overgrown battlements. Valdivia had remained a Spanish stronghold even after Chilean independence, and it was the fort at Niebla and others upstream in the river that kept the Chileans out, until the Chilean Navy made a surprise land assault in 1820. After a delicious lunch of Cerviche (fresh raw fish marinated in lemon) we headed back to the hostel, bid farewell to the mad American and and her goose, and got our next bus to Chiloe; the island the Chileans are most proud of.