Spring Break in Patagonia

I almost felt like a 5 year old on Christmas morning. Almost, but not quite.

I woke up and finished packing my backpack. Having not had what I wanted in the past, I took special care that this time I would be prepared for anything. I ate the regular breakfast of toast with butter and dulce de leche, a pear, and a cup of tea. Then I had some extra time to do nothing but sit around and wait. That’s when the butterflies hit. Not big ones, but definitely there. I haven’t had pre-departure jitters since I left the US. But I guess a trip to one of the most amazing mountain ranges in the world can get me excited.

When the time came to leave, I met Kelsey and Jessica and we took a cab. I’m not really sure why we arrived so early, because there wasn’t a lot to do except wait some more. And figure out where the heck Charnell was. She said she’d meet us at the airport, but we hadn’t set an exact place or time. So when it was 20 minutes to boarding and still no sign of her, we didn’t have much choice but to go through security and hope she’d show. Kelsey was just about to call ISA when the girl with a bright yellow shirt and matching bright pink messenger bag finds us waiting, laughing and telling some tale about how she got lost and didn’t have enough money to pay a taxi.

The flight was fine, until the last 30 minutes, when it literally felt like we were going to fall out of the sky. The turbulence was the worst I’ve ever felt (and I’ve been on my fair share of planes). Poor Kelsey, who was already afraid of flying, was having a rough time. Thankfully some Argentine lady helped talk us through it, saying that flying to Bariloche is usually really rocky because of the atmosphere. I was so distracted I barely noticed the mountains unfolding under us. At any rate, I haven’t been that happy to get off a plane before.

The airport was about 20 miles outside the city, so we waited for a bus to take us there. Only the bus was almost an hour late. We talked with an Argentine woman for a while, but even that got tiring. We were just deciding on taking a taxi when the bus pulled up and waved the $1.50 fee to ride because it was so late.

I should probably explain the different regions of Patagonia first. Patagonia is the southern part of both Chile and Argentina. We went to Bariloche and the lakes district, which is northern Patagonia. We did not go the furthest south to the glacier area or see Mt. Fitz Roy, although that is on my bucket list.

Our first night in Bariloche was laid back and nice. We checked into our hostel, picked our beds, and made pasta with raviolis. That’s when we met the French Guy. That’s what I’m calling him because every time someone asked his name, he replied something different. First it was Erik, then Josh. Before we were done he was James and John too. None of those names sound very French, and neither did his accent. I’m still not convinced he’s French, even though he had this whole tale about living in Paris and London, and he even sang a French sailing song. But other than that, he spoke mostly in English and some Spanish. His facebook is in English and so is his blog. (If you’re reading this, Erik, I bet you are laughing. But I would really like to know your story some day. The real story.)

The next morning I woke up to the sun rising over the Nahuel Haupi Lake. I could see it from my bunk bed, so fortunately was able to fall back asleep for a bit. The night before we met two guys from California and a girl from Germany. The group of 8 of us decided to make the most of our time in Bariloche and do a hike plus bike ride. The hike itself was challenging. The terrain was difficult and steep. Since it was our first day at any sort of altitude, I struggled more than I wanted to and had to stop frequently. But the view was definitely worth the climb. There were mountains and lakes in every directions, the sky was clear and the air fresh. The wind was cold, but it felt good after the hike.

After lunch (cheese and avocado sandwich), we headed to the bike rental place. They gave us a brief break down of the circuit, saying it should take 3 hours if you ride nonstop. They also said it was a leisurely ride around a lake. Boy, were they ever wrong.

Ok, here’s my brief history with bikes. I used to ride around our neighborhood when I was young. But I remember using train wheels well beyond what other kids my age did. I was pushed down a hill the first time without training wheels, but I didn’t crash so I decided it was ok. My brother flipped over the handle bars when he tried to break. The last time I remember riding a bike in my childhood was with my brother. We were doing the right-right-right loop so we wouldn’t get lost. Somehow I managed to crash, and I remember Devin riding off without me, not even looking back to see if I was ok. I wasn’t really hurt, but other damage was done. I felt abandoned and weak. I didn’t ride much after that.

That is, until I won a townie last year in Gunnison. Ironically, it was for a scavenger hunt for the Pro Challenge that came through Colorado. I had to get stickers and signatures from famous pro cyclists and answer questions. And for some reason, my name was drawn. The first thing I thought was, seriously? Why me, and why the bike? I would have been much happier with a hoodie from the bookstore. But the little black townie was mine, and I had to get on it sometime. Slowly, I learned to trust myself on a bike again. You know they saying, it’s like riding a bike: once you learn you never forget. Well, that’s only partially true.

Because when I was trying to climb the Andes going uphill in a high gear, I didn’t remember how to use the gears or the brakes of a mountain bike (seeing as how my townie didn’t have gears). I had asked the others in our group for a quick break down, but nobody explained to me what I needed to do.

About a mile into our 25K ride, I was doing my best to fight the emotional and physical battle. I had to stop and walk up most of the hills, and even then I got winded. A few more miles in, I really thought about turning around. But I kept going—even though I felt weak and stupid for not being able to ride a bike. The rest of the group was waiting for me and it took all I had to catch up to them.

Somehow, Kelsey and Charnell got me through the first part; they kept me from turning around at least. They told me I wasn’t weak or slow, that I was doing great for not having been on a mountain bike in over 10 years, that I wasn’t expected to be in some extreme sport or adventure club right away. The simple fact of being there, riding the bikes (however slow or painful it might be) was enough.

It helped considerably when Jessica taught me how to use the gears, and I slowly gained more confidence. However, my muscles could only do so much. I didn’t have enough water and the sandwich was starting to feel like forever ago. The lack of oxygen due to the altitude made my quads seize up and I got cramps in my calves.

We stopped a lot and went on little hikes to nearby trails and lakes and ponds. Somehow we crossed the half way point, so there really was no turning back. At one point, I was highly considering grabbing onto a passing car and letting them pull me up the hill, or just jumping into the back of a pick-up. But we kept moving.

The views were absolutely spectacular. I appreciated the landscape more because I was experiencing it in such a personal way. Every time I reached the top of the hill, I just stared at the panoramic views. I appreciated the power of my body too. It was just me and this little device with two wheels, and it was amazing how far we went.

When we finished, I had never felt such a feeling of accomplishment. At least physically, I have never felt so challenged, and continued with the task. Not that I usually give up easily, but there’s something to be said about hiking 5 miles and the biking another 20 miles the same day. I seriously felt like a champion.

That night at the hostel, the boys cooked us pasta and ordered pizza. It was a good was to end the day.

The next day we spent recovering. It was painful to sit down, but other than that my muscles weren’t as sore as I had expected. We had a picnic on the lake, listened to music, lingered until we got cold, and headed back to the hostel. I read the Hunger Games in a hammock and chatted with a guy from Uruguay. That night we made guacamole and had drinks made with cana, the cheapest South American liquor there is. But mixed with lemon and sugar, it takes better than a margarita.

San Martin de los Andes was next on our agenda. We took a 4 hour bus ride through the 7 lakes district. It really reminded me of Colorado, but with more water. And bigger mountains. The ride was peaceful until we got to the gravel road part, and the sketchy construction that made me feel like we were going to fall off a mountain. Needless to say, all 16 wheels remained on the dirt road and we arrived safely, if not a bit nervous and motion sick, to San Martin.

The town itself reminded me of a mix between Gunnison, Crested Butte, Estes Park, and Breckenridge. So really, it’s just another little mountain town. This is the area where all of the Swiss settled when the Europeans colonized Argentina, so it has a very chalet feel…and lots of good chocolate. I took the opportunity for indulgence quite seriously. 

We went out for dinner that night after making plans for the next few days. It was frustrating at points because the Argentine’s run on their own schedule, and tying to coordinate 4 people’s desires with the actuality of the situation was difficult. But we made it work, thanks to Kelsey’s superior Spanish skills.

The next day we woke up early, stole some medilunas from the hostel breakfast before it opened, and hopped on a bus to Chile. Our tour guide’s name was Pablo, and I couldn’t quite decide what to make of him. He seemed nice, but spoke really fast Spanish, which is hard for me to keep up with, and he was not very patient with our attempts at speaking. Anyway, the 3 hour drive was very scenic and we stopped several times to take pictures. We drove through the Villa La Angostura national park and saw the Volcan Lanin. It looked pretty impressive covered in snow, but it really wasn’t that different from the surrounding mountains.

We got to Pucon and had the most delicious food I’ve had in South America. (I think I’ve said that before, but it just keeps getting better!) It was a simple milonesia de pollo—kinda like chicken fried chicken. Also, for those of you who are confused by my last ramblings about being vegetarian, I do still eat chicken (we’ll save that topic for later). It was tender and all white meat and seasoned perfectly. It also came with French fries and a picante sauce that was the only spicy food I’ve had since being here. It’s making my mouth water just thinking about it.

We only had 3 hours to explore the city, so we quickly exchanged money, bought post cards and sent them, and headed for the markets. Chile is much cheaper than Argentina, so I bought a hat and scarf for about $2 each. We also took a quick walk to the beach, The people here seemed nicer, or at least more openly friendly. I’m excited to go back to Chile with Dorothy in May.

The next day we decided to have a “personal day” to take some time away from the group so the tensions that may have rising would hopefully lessen with free space. At any rate, Jessica and I decided to take our personal day together and got up early to see the sunrise over the lake. Unfortunately we hadn’t thought about the direction, and it turned out the sun rose over the mountains and had very little color. But then we got to go back to sleep for 2 hours, which was indeed very enjoyable. After breakfast at the hostel, Jessica and I went to explore the town. She bought yarn and had the store owner ball it for her, a very entertaining thing to watch. And then we found more chocolate and spent some time on the beach of the lake.

We were supposed to meet up with the other 2 girls at the hostel at 4 to go on a hike. After half an hour of waiting, however, we left without them and went on this trail that took us to a nice look out of the town. We saw wild chickens and a Dalmatian was our trail blazer for a while. It was a relaxing hike and very peaceful.

That night we tried to make the Cana, lemon, and sugar drink again. Jessica and I ended up just putting sugar in the lemons and licking it, and then decided to pour the alcohol in the lemon. It was a very interesting evening.

The next day Jessica and Kelsey left because their flights were 2 days earlier because it was cheaper that way. So Charnell and I went to a village called Quila Quina. We took a boat and the views were gorgeous, again. When we got there, it was still pretty early, so we thought that stuff might not have been in motion yet. But it was really just a laid back way of life. We didn’t have a map, so we just started walking down a gravel road. We passed several houses, but they all looked very private and we didn’t know if we were supposed to approach them. Some had signs out front saying food for sale or artisans market. But we kept walking. Eventually we stopped and asked someone where we could get something to eat (having not had much breakfast and hiking though the mountains, we were hungry). They told us to keep going another 20 minutes and we’ll find 2 houses. They will make us food there.

It turns out that Argentine’s have very bad sense of time. The bikes took way longer than 3 hours, and this took way longer than 20 minutes. It was all uphill and weaved in and out of the forest. Just as we were thinking about turning around, we saw a drive way. It’s a good thing I was so hungry, otherwise I might not have approached the house. At first it seemed like I was intruding onto someone’s private property. But when we met the owner and her mother (an 84 year old women), I felt very welcome. Apparently it’s normal for hikers or visitors to ask the village people to cook for them. It was a perfect set up.

We got to see their green house and watch as the old women cut the lettuce for our salad. We saw all sorts of fruit trees too. We sat in chairs that were literally just tree stumps carved into a seat with a larger stump for a table. It was surprisingly comforting and inviting. The woman cooked us a completely natural meal of chicken breasts, eggplant, tomato, salad, and a baguette. For the wayfaring traveler, it was delicious and energizing.

After we ate, we talked with the women and her daughter, who was in her 40s and had 2 teenage boys running around. I was very proud of my Spanish skills. Even though I wasn’t speaking very well, I was able to communicate—and that’s what matters. They were very attentive and explained things over and over until we understood. They said for only studying Spanish for 2 months, we were doing really well. Most other Americans who found their way there only could say, “me gusta!” or “muy bien!” I felt good that I could at least say more than that.

I should probably clear up the idea of “village people.” Yes, they were very secluded from other people and society. And yes, they still had direct TV and a car. They were pretty well self-sufficient, but they still had contact with the world. They loved our company, which makes me think they don’t get a lot of visitors. Overall, I loved the experience and think it was the most authentic time I’ve had in Argentina.

After many pleas to stay longer, we told them we had to catch our boat back or else we’d have to stay the night. Several kisses on the cheek and a few pictures later, we were on the road down. Our adventure didn’t end, however, as a wild pig came running up the street at us. He paused about 10 feet away, just long enough for me to ask Charnell if wild pigs can be mean, before he decided we weren’t worth his time. More wild chickens and peacocks later, we arrived at the dock and made our way home. We cooked rice and beans for dinner, with corn and peppers to add flavor. Overall, it was a very good day.

In the morning we went back to Bariloche. The scenery was just as good the second time. After checking into our hostel we walked around and tried to find a market. Someone suggested we go to Colonia Suiza, but we had to take the bus for about 20 miles. Somehow I got confused and we got off 8 miles too early and didn’t have enough tickets to get on again and still get home. So we tried hitch-hiking. I’ve never done it before, but sticking out your thumb is pretty popular in Bariloche, so we gave it a go. Unfortunately way more cars were going into town than they were going our direction, so we did not have any luck. We watched one girl get picked up right away, going the other direction. So we decided to give up on Colonia Suiza and try to hitch-hike into town. Sure enough, as soon as we crossed a street, a guy pulled over. He was probably in his 60s and really cool. He spoke English very well, although when we said we wanted to practice Spanish, he was patient. He had spent a lot of time in the US because his ex wife lives there now. But he was born and raised in Bariloche and told us how much it had grown since then. I really enjoyed his company and was sad when the 20 minute ride was over. People like that make me believe that there is good in people.

That night we went to a theater show. It was a mix between a musical and a play, and a see-who-can-shake-their-ass-best contest. I don’t even remember the name of the show, but it was a very interesting cultural experience. I think any form of performance both highlights a culture’s differences and shows how similar we all are in the end.

Our final day in Bariloche, we went on a 7 hour hike to a place called Frey. It felt good to use my muscles again and be out in the open. I had just been reading the part in the first Hunger Games where the tributes are in the arena and hunting each other. So I kept seeing things out of the corner of my eye that made me think about the book in a new way. I also appreciated the landscape better too. I know that if left on my own in the wilderness I wouldn’t survive much more than a day. It makes me want to learn survival skills and be badass like Katniss. That’s the power of books for you.

We reached the top, after many, many stops along the way, and saw the refugee. It was this little hut thing at the end of the trail where backpackers could stay. They had a few provisions, but mostly it was the company that was appreciated. Everyone was very friendly and we all shared at least one thing in common: the hike. Most of the people who stayed there were backpacking for several days, but since we were only doing the day version of the hike, we couldn’t stay long. If I would have known about it, I would have liked to stayed for the night. Either way, it was a great last day in Patagonia.

It took me a long time to write this post (and not just because it’s 4000 words long). I kept putting it off and resisting the words. I think it’s because once I put it on paper, it seems like something of the past. Something to remembered, but not still lived. And I didn’t want to put it in my past. I want Patagonia to continue. I don’t want to be in a big city with oppressive walls and loud streets. I want to be in the open air, on top of a mountain.

This trip taught me a lot about myself. First and most obvious, that I am through and through a mountain girl. I love them and love everything about them. Second, I learned that I am a very strong person. I conquered that mountain bike and kept going when I thought I couldn’t. Third, I like to be in the lead. I try not to be controlling about it, but I tend to be the one who makes decisions. Forth, I always need to have something to do. I’m not good at sitting around and “relaxing” when there’s a whole world out there to be explored.

Most importantly, I realized how important it was to be in the moment, at peace with myself and those around me, and truly having a good time. I always thought the phrase, “did you enjoy yourself” was interesting. Before I would think, sure, I enjoyed my time, I enjoyed the activities, I enjoyed the food. But now I realize the importance of actually enjoying myself. No matter where I go in the world, it’s nice to know that I have my own company to keep me going.

Thank you for listening J