Lima Longer

From Buenos Aires I travelled to Lima, Peru to meet up with my friend James. We would be spending a few weeks teaching youngsters in the highlands, but beforehand we had two nights in the capital. We visited the city centre and wandered from square to square (something to do with us not knowing where on earth we were), I ate ceviche (Peruvian specialty of raw fish in lemon), we bought bus tickets for our trip into the highlands, and we saw some art that made us giggle. The centre of Lima is nothing to write home about, and so I won't.

One of the many squares of Lima with a fountain. They all look pretty much the same, with variations on the placement of the fountain and palm trees.

That evening we drank the compulsory pisco sours of Peru and tried to find a restaurant that served vegetarian food for James. We were hounded into a restaurant with the promise of plenty of vegetarian options. However, they had basically nothing on the menu that was vegetarian (didn't seem to understand that vegetarians don't eat meat or fish) and James ended up with some very bland pasta. I have my suspicions that the reason it took so long was because our waiter was picking the meat out.

On the day of our bus into the highlands, we took it easy with a late breakfast, and time on the internet. We then took a taxi to the bus terminal. Shortly before we were about to board the bus, I told James that we might need our passports as ID for the bus. At that point, James turned a very pale shade of pale and started rooting through his bag. Not only had he left his passport at the hostel, he had also left a few other important things like all of his bank cards, his international driving license, all of his US dollars, camera, all his flight tickets, vaccination records, staff ID card, watch, USB drive with copies of all his important documents, and travel insurance documents.

A few things James decided he didn't need to take with him!

For this reason we missed our bus to Huancayo and James swore a lot. However, as James dashed back to the hotel in an attempt to get back his belongings, he met a taxi driver full of character, who tried to get him to shout at girls out of the window, and who taught him some filthy Spanish phrases. I ate a nice packet of crisps. So we both got something out of the missed bus. With an extra afternoon and night in Lima we headed to a Miraflores and checked into a very kitsch "Hotel Eiffel".

James had already looked stupid that morning, this was his second chance!

Miraflores is a beautiful part of Lima with nice parks, cats, market stalls and also great views over the sea. We wandered around and did what everyone else in Miraflores seems to do at sunset, headed down to the viewpoint to watch the changing sky. It was lovely and relaxing wandering around the area that overlooks the sea, it has a raunchy sculpture and mosaic walls and seats remniscent of Barcelona. Everyone there seemed to be in high spirits. Even James had finished cursing himself by this point, and we were both glad that his forgetfulness had bought us an extra day in Lima. Thanks James:)

James feeling pensive...

Here's Jimmy!

View from Miraflores

The next day (like Groundhog day), it was time to do it all again, and maybe this time we would get out of Lima...

La Paz and Lake Titkaka

Christian writes (yes, he is able):
I hugged Fiona goodbye and made my journey by plane to La Paz. I was expecting warmer weather for some reason but being Bolivian winter (no idea), it was colder here and to add to that the altitude winded me like a fist to the chest - I had to walk very slowly from the plane and tell myself I was not going to keel over!

After a nap, some dinner, a visit to the night market (three ties for £8!) and a good night's sleep, I went exploring the city properly. It reminded me that in South America so far we've been in two fairly prosperous countries; many people in Bolivia are scraping a living together offering whatever services or goods they can. Highlights were men on the street with typewriters (we write your letter while-u-wait), we-laminate-what-you-want and women making and selling jelly and ice cream. At the same time, La Paz has a sort of tourist ghetto, so sometimes it felt a little awkward and a bit contrived.




The following day I took a bus to Copacabana, the main town on Lake Titikaka. The town itself is really nothing to write home about, with another tourist ghetto strip. However, the lake itself and the mountains surrounding it were truly beautiful. I took a boat to see some floating reed islands (although when I got there I was told they were made for tourists) and took a breathtaking walk back to town along the lake. Parts of the trail were made by the Incas, and there were lots of locals to say ¡Hola! to, or who tried to sell me bits of tat or a rowing boat trip or a taxi journey or their faces in a photo (yes because I am tight (maybe Fiona's influence!), I deprived a family of Bolivians their photo fee for the image below).



Now, many have asked me along the way of this trip, "have you found yourself?" or "has the experience changed you?" or "do you feel closer to the spiritual energy of the earth?". Well little did I know that the Isla Del Sol, in the middle of Lake Titikaka was going to help me answer these questions. To get to the island, you have to take what can only be described as a death trap (three people to a two-person seat, no life jackets in site) with many an unwashed Argentine hippy. The island itself has some interesting Inca and pre-Inca ruins and some charming little towns run by highly authentic Bolivian ladies.




That evening, I had booked a night at an Estancia. For those who don't know, this is a farm stay type affair, with home-cooked group meals and is typically an authentic experience. I arrived in time for dinner to meet three ladies. Two Argentine homeopathic and spiritual-psychological healers. And one Australian lady who had spent the last eight years finding herself, by means of travelling the world, listening to her guru, banishing all pills, singing at ancient ruins and you can imagine the rest. And so it was that I found myself in the company of these wise and potentially life-changing ladies for several hours whilst being served under-salted overcooked food without any wine. I can honestly say this is the closest I have been to a life-changing experience. But then that's probably because I've never been anywhere near one before. Let's say I was in bed by 9.30pm. In South America!

Bolivia is a truly beautiful country, with some of the most stunning scenery on the trip and it did feel like raw South America. I only spent a few days there and I knew there was much more to see. Though I couldn't help feeling the tourists and locals were a bit misaligned. The country seemed to attract a born-traveller type that I was surprised to feel didn't really fit in with the locals.




Leaving the country I got a fairly long grilling as to why I was travelling alone, having visited the coca-loving country for just a few days, going to Brazil as a non-Brazilian national. You'll be pleased to know my English charm spared me from 'secondary screening.'

Christian and Fiona

Location:La Paz, Bolivia

Fakes, poetry and cockroaches

On dad’s penultimate day in Buenos Aires I took him to one of my favourite places, San Telmo market on a Sunday. San Telmo is an old part of town with cobbled streets which remain fairly quiet most of the time. However, on a Sunday the place comes alive. The streets are closed to traffic and a huge market extends about fifteen blocks along Defensa street. It is made up of artesans selling jewellery, paintings and crafts, and also antique dealers selling everything that is old. It is a great place to spend a few hours pottering, unless you are my dad, whose least favourite pastime is shopping. We decided quite quickly that he would leave me some cash and I would buy the presents he needed to buy (perfect situation for me since I get to shop with someone elses money!). After a quick visit to a cashpoint, I spent a happy afternoon wandering the scorching cobbles of San Telmo buying gifts, whilst dad went home to enjoy some air condicioning.

Poetry in a taxi

After shopping in the heat I was exhausted and found a taxi to drive me home, and what a character I met in the taxi! My taxista was 73 years old and had lived in Buenos Aires all his life. He told me all about the good old days in Buenos Aires and how he should not be working at his age, he moaned about Christina Fernandez and her government, and told me the only riches in Argentina these days are in nature. I tried to keep up with what he was saying and ask appropriate questions and we managed to chat (well, him mostly) all the way home. When we pulled up outside the apartment he stopped the car and turned to face me. He told me he was not just a taxista, he was also a poet. He asked my name and when I told him, he made up a poem off the top of his head, each sentence beginning with the letter of my name, F, I, O, N, and A. It was very complimentary about a girl he met in his taxi. I thought he had finished and I gave him a round of applause and showed my gratitude. He then asked for my surname! And again he continued the poem with each line beginning with the letters M, C, C, R, E, A, D, Y. It was somewhere around the line beginning with R that his eyes welled up with tears and he began to cry. It was very touching and it almost had me crying along with him. I don't know what moved him to tears but he squeezed my hand very hard when we parted.

Coackroaches

That night we celebrated dads last meal in Buenos Aires by going out for steak. Christian and dad sat opposite Emily and myself. We had a good meal and bad service (I am now used to this). During the meal I saw something crawling up the wall behind a table at the other end of the restaurant, it was the size of a mouse and it took me a while to realize it was a cockroach. By the time I realized this, the creature had fallen down from the wall (presumably the weight of it's massive body had become too much for it), and no-one seemed to believe me. I soon forgot about it. Towards the end of the meal, Emily let out a loud scream, grabbed my arm and pointed at Christian, just above his head on the wall was a huge cockroach. I also screamed and we both stood up scraping our chairs along the floor. Everone looked at us, assuming something must be really wrong, but when they saw the cockroach on the wall, everyone continued eating as though it was normal! Luckily a waiter took action (eventually, probably because the noises Emily and I were making were putting people off their food). He knocked the cockroach to the floor and stood on it.

Fakes

We decided that we should probably go somewhere else for dessert and after we had paid up we went outside to get our bearings and decide where to go. On our way out of the restaurant an older lady pretended to jump at Emily like a cockroach, her and her husband then laughed their hearts out. It was pretty funny I have to admit. Once we were outside, out waitress ran after us. We had paid her with fake money! She passed back the fake notes, and we realized that it was the money dad had withdrawn from the bank machine at San Telmo. She gave us all a valuable lesson in how to spot a fake 100 peso note (which I actually learnt last time I was here) and we went to a cash point to get her some real money.

It had been an interesting day, and I think the pieces of it are quite representative of Buenos Aires as a city, there is the romantic side of Buenos Aires (taxi poetry) which is countered with a seedy side (fake money), and however nice the people are, there are some cockroaches around. Fortunately, the cockroaches and seediness are invisible most of the time, we were just unfortunate (or fortunate?) to experience the full range on dads last day.

Back in BA

Second Impressions

It had been two years since I had set foot in Buenos Aires and I was apprehensive about how I would feel about the place.  The last time I had loved the city, and it had demoted Rome to second place in my favourite cities list.  Would I like it as much this time around?

On our flight to Ezeiza International Airport, we were told 20 minutes before landing that we would instead be landing at the Buenos Aires Domestic Airport, because the international airport was too busy.  This was great news for Christian and I, as we were renting an apartment in Palermo, which was not far from the domestic airport.  For other passengers however, this was far from good news, as they had international connections to catch.  The baggage reclaim area was even more hectic than we had become used to, with passengers desperate to get their luggage in order to rush over to the international airport (at least an hour away). 

We had been warned that the taxistas would try and scam us on our arrival, and I said to Christian “we’ll be OK, look, we have a lady driver” as our taxi pulled up.  What was I thinking, that female loyalties would protect us?  She drove off before she would tell us the price and hugely overcharged us despite our objections.  Not a good start to our time in BA.

However, things soon picked up when we arrived at our apartment.  Booked through an Argentine agency (http://www.bairesapartments.com/) we were staying in a two bedroom apartment in Palermo Hollywood (where the film and TV studios are based).  Sergio, the owner of the apartment was charming and showed us around the apartment and communal areas.  It was fantastic!

Can anyone spot a glass of red wine in this picture… and also the fact that the shot is a little out of focus?  The two are connected.

There was even a handy pair of shoes hanging outside, to help us locate where we lived

On our first day in Buenos Aires, Christian hit the sun terrace whilst I wandered around Palermo.  It was just as I remembered.  Cafes, boutiques, outdoor dining, and tree-lined avenues.  The district of Palermo is perfect for strolling, enjoying a coffee, and people watching.  And the people of Buenos Aires are quite nice to watch!

That night we met up with dad (who was staying a night in another fancy hotel) and Emily for dinner at La Cabrera, one of the best steakhouses in the capital.  The meat was magical and the portions huge.  The next day dad moved into the apartment and was amazed at the high standards I had managed to attain.  I think he was worried I would have him staying in a shack (much like our Cuban experience, sorry again dad!).  He spent a while “wowing” at all the fixtures and fittings, and then we headed out to the parks of Palermo.  The botanical garden is beautiful and full of cats, which makes for my perfect park.  Following our first visit, dad and I returned with some cat food and made a good friend out of a scrawny tabby cat.  (at the end of our stay we forgot to take the remaining cat food out of the fridge, so I am wondering whether Sergio the landlord now thinks we eat cat food!)

Clearly signposts do not apply to cats

A statue in the botanical gardens

Very close to the Botanical garden lies the Evita museum, which is housed in a shelter house that Eva set up for people without homes.  It is a lovely building and for my dad and I, who are both fans of Eva Peron, it was a fantastic place to spend an hour or two.  The exhibition charts her life from childhood, through her hedonistic years on radio and film (you can hear her singing and watch clips from her films), to meeting Peron, all the changes the couple bought about for Argentines, the clothes she wore, and finally her death.  You can hear her final shaky speech to the people of Argentina and the footage of her funeral procession is mesmerizing and very moving.  A fascinating museum (with a good cafe).

The Japanese gardens… a good place if you like trickling water and big fish

After a stroll around the Japanese Gardens, we said goodbye to Emily, who had a flight to New York to catch, and had a home cooked meal for the first time in weeks. 

The Stylish Dead

The next day a taxi driver, who was happy we weren’t Americans, drove us to Recoleta cemetery.  The cemetery houses many of Argentine’s rich and famous dead, including of course Eva Peron.  The cemetery is more of a town than a cemetery, and the graves themselves are more like expensive homes. 

Dead Street

We found a fresh one! 

 

Eva Peron, buried in the Family Duarte vault

The cemetery makes for a peaceful stroll in the otherwise busy area of Recoleta, and like the parks, you are likely to meet a few friendly cats on your way.

We lunched in a design restaurant where both dad and Christian attempted to urinate in the sink, before they realized there was a urinal behind them.  We then took a look around the Fine Arts museum which had some fantastic sculptures, and wandered over to see the giant flower sculpture (Floralis Generica) that opens and shuts with the sun.

Late that evening we discovered Emily had not in fact left Buenos Aires, she had sat on a plane for a few hours before the pilot decided there was too much snow to land in New York.  And so back she came, via a swanky hotel, paid for by the airline.

Casa Rosada

One day dad and I decided to go and visit Casa Rosada (the pink house).  This is the governmental building that stands in front of Plaza de Mayo.  If you are a fan of Evita, you will recall this as the building from which she makes her stirring speeches to the people of Argentina, the balcony from which Madonna sings “Don’t cry for me Argentina”.  Go on, take a look, you know you want to!

 

It is virtually impossible (for me and Christian anyway) to walk around Plaza de Mayo without singing Evita.  We tried to go inside the museum here but it was shut for the day, and when Christian and I visited a week later, it was still shut.  Note: you can’t trust guide books or official opening times in South America, if they fancy a holiday they will take one.

 Don’t cry for me Argentina, the truth is the museum’s never open

After failing to get inside the Case Rosada, we had a giant lunch in Plaza Dorrego, whilst a couple tango danced next to us.  Dad and I also went to the Carlos Gardel tango show one evening to witness some amazing tango and a noisy American (I thought dad might hit him!).

I think she is looking for her contact lens…

The rest of our days in Buenos Aires were spent relaxing by the pool, wandering around the boutiques and cafes of Palermo, and pondering where to go for dinner.  I love the days of your life when the biggest decision you have to make is where to go for dinner!  Our last sunday in Buenos Aires with dad deserves a whole blog to itself, since it was so full of incidents, make sure you read “Poems, fakes and cockroaches”.

Day across the water

One day, dad and I decided to take the ferry across to Uruguay.  Surprisingly (since this involves not one, but two South American countries), this is a very efficient and speedy process.  We arrived bright and early at the modern ferry station at Puerto Madryn, an hour before our ferry departed.  We had a good cup of tea that was served very efficiently and politely to us, I used a bathroom that had toilet paper in, and we boarded the ferry and set sail on time.  It was like being back in Europe!  The ferry over to Colonia takes 2 hours (if you want to go to the capital of Montevideo, it is 5 hours).  Colonia is the closest town in Uruguay to Buenos Aires and this is about it’s only claim to fame.

Stepping off the ferry in Colonia is like stepping back about fifty years.  The streets are cobbled, the cars are antiquated, and there is no-one around.  A dog befriended us very quickly and led us into the centre of town.  Colonia was a Portuguese colony and still has elements of Portugal about it, including some remnants of architecture.  It is probably one of the sleepiest towns I have ever visited, but it has a gentle charm about it, and would be a great place to relax, if you had the money!  It is surprisingly expensive here.  We stopped for an expensive coffee and cake, but after 45 minutes we went without cake (back to South American efficiency) and moved on to look at the port. 

After watching a yacht struggle to moor for a long time (these are the things you can do with time on your hands!) it started to rain, really rain!  And so we ran into the nearest restaurant.  It may have been ridiculously expensive, but it was a great find.  We were the only human guests and were given first-class attention from the staff.  The floor was topsy turvy tiles, the walls were covered with original paintings (that captivated dad) with hardly any space between, the windows were overflowing with plants, and there were seven dogs and a cat inside!  It was a very bohemian place to share a salmon lunch.

Once the rain had stopped and we had parted with too much money for lunch (these are the kinds of thing a Scotsman and his daughter remember), we took a slow walk around the coastline back to the ferry.  As on the way out, we both fell asleep on the journey home, which makes two hours go very quickly.  (once again, I am writing this in a cafe and Bonnie Tyler is singing!)  Back in Buenos Aires, it was time for dad to pack ready for his flight the next day. 

Lots of farewells in Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires marked the end of my time with Christian, I had to say goodbye to Emily, and it was also the end of my week with dad.  Lots of goodbyes.  Dad’s visit had been well timed, as it was exactly half way through my six month trip, it had been so good to see him, and to be reminded of his sense of humour, intolerability to heat, and generosity.  Thanks for all the treats dad!

 

Dad, it’s time to invest in a new panama!

It was also time to say a fond farewell to Christian, my travel buddy of three and a half months.  He was moving on to Bolivia for a week or so, and I was staying in Buenos Aires a few more days before heading to Peru.  Before we left England, I think we both had reservations about whether we would get along for such a long time together, and I can happily say that we got along famously, with no arguments or cross words.  Christian, I will miss you!

What?  You mean I have to go to Bolivia and speak Spanish on my own?…

I spent a few extra days relaxing and meeting up with friends in Buenos Aires, before it was time to leave.  I still love Buenos Aires, for me it is a great mix of history, design, open space, romance, great wine, great food and cats.  I think the best thing about it is the crossing of two cultures, South America with Europe.  Something tells me I will be back… and so once again (all together!), don’t cry for me Argentina, the truth is I never left you.

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!