Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

February 28, 2015

While you were working – Just a kiss, Puerto Pyramides, Argentina

On a full belly of divine beef and sausages we board the overnight bus from Bariloche to Puerto Madryn, this Latin odyssey is fast nearing a farewell we’re not yet ready to make. It might be the uplifted mentality from the hiking or it might be that we’re enjoying the dabble back into the food that Argentina does well but either way this meat is divine. Strangely enough the meat is both a little overcooked and at the same time delicious and tender, the seemingly incompatible factors don’t seem to rate a thought when it’s this delicious. And a cheeky bottle of wine doesn’t go down too badly either, this is the big lunch phenomenon at its best; we won’t eat much at all for dinner as we’ll be in a bus seat on our way to the penultimate stop in Argentina for us so it’s with bursting top buttons that we leave the restaurant.

Lights out, lights on, we’re in Puerto Madryn. That was easy largely due to the expensive seats we bought, it’s our 13th out of 14 overnight buses and we’re simply over struggling through these things, the better seats are usually $10-$15 more and worth every peso. We’d heard that Puerto Madryn wasn’t that much chop and on the first look that estimation seems about right; not horrific but just another town with little aesthetic appeal. Thankfully Puerto Madryn is at the base of a very large bay so it’s out to the peninsula for us which is where it all happens.

So what exactly does happen out here? Wildlife is the short answer, the bays and peninsula coastline play host to all manner of large aquatic life with whales, orcas, seals, walrus and penguins all common residents. From the heights of the Andes it’s into the depths of the ocean for us in just a couple of days, this is Argentinian diversity in all its glory with attractions abound at every turn. Puerto Pyramides, where we’re staying out on the peninsula and within the National Park, is also close to the site of the famous orca beach hunting where the huge mammals temporarily beach themselves to snatch seals from the sand. It’s a massive long shot, we have no high hopes of seeing this yet it lingers as a testament to the wild and crazy things that happen in this place. Natural appreciation is a drink best sipped without expectation, all we can do is place ourselves in these environments to hope for the best while we appreciate the worst which is usually still great.

A small walk on the beach brings back to us a burst of appreciation for the coast, a rare feeling for these alpine romanticists. Through the little one street town that it Puerto Pyramides we amble in a slow stroll that beachside towns seem to engender past more whale bones than we care to count, we assume that they have just washed up on the beach and have not been hunted. The beach is long and flat with loose sandy headlands dividing the water from a more or less desert like landscape. For us it’s all out there in the deep blue, we stare out just imaging all that is going on in those deep waters. Soon we’ll see.

Of course we can’t stay out of the water for long, it’s into a dive boat to go see for ourselves. The whales have passed to colder waters and the orcas aren’t in the bay thankfully, what we’re hoping for today are seals – friendly and inquisitive which we’ve only ever seen from a boat, never in the water. A short boat ride off from the coast we see a few seals on the bank and we pull up the boat and launch hurriedly into the water. They’re awesome animals and we’re swimming pretty close to them as they jitter about on the rock a little and slide into the water more elegantly than their bodies should be able to.

This is pretty exciting as we see a few sightings pretty close on the surface, the seals extending their large sleek necks high out of the water seemingly scouting out where we are. Checking under water occasionally we catch sight of a fin or shadowy shape twisting and turning in the water that is offering us precious little visibility. Even in this obscurity the excitement is unavoidable, this murky water means they are a mere metre or two away. We venture into slightly deeper water to clearer visibility and away from the other couple we share the water with. They seem to charge at the seals at the first inclination and basically chase them away much to the contradiction of the dive masters suggestions and our patience.

Soon enough we see a couple of seals bobbing their heads above water nearby and we cautiously make our way over. The passive approach works, funnily enough just like the dive master said which really should not be that surprising. In no time at all we have fairly clear visibility and two seals twisting like ribbons of a rhythmic gymnast right in front of us, we’re glued to the spot, this is captivating. Staying completely still they seem emboldened, coming closer with each pass. We have a visual feast in front of us and we take in as much appreciation as possible while they show off their aquatic dexterity in playful dance, we’re suitors observing the performance in awe. It appears Charlie is more attractive to a seal than I am, the smaller of the pair hovers right in front of his face while I watch on dumbfounded. I was dumbfounded at first then I stopped having the words for it, the seal gave a charlie a little kiss, gently bumping it’s whiskered face on his forehead before swirling and darting away. I never thought I’d be jealous of a seal.

We’ve taken a first dip into the water and Charlie basically pashed a seal, it’s exactly what you hope for from wild places. We ventured into a deeper dive soon after and although it was a nice dive it was all about the seals and as they say in the movies, ‘that kiss’. So many times we launch ourselves into the natural world where not much is a guarantee with the highlights only hoped for rather than a contrivance. It’s with this seat edged sense of anticipation that the greatest heights of appreciation and wonder can be realised. We could pay for a zoo or a sanctuary and be guaranteed of an up close look at seals and much more but would it be the same, certainly not. So we’ll keep coming, keep rolling the dice into the wild and ever be happy with the most mundane of outcomes, still usually grand to the appreciative. But sometimes, just sometimes we will be granted an uncontrived high as the wild world blesses us, sometimes the wild will give us just a little kiss.

February 26, 2015

While you were working – Out There Somewhere, San Martin Refugio, Bariloche, Argentina

What a crazy thought, waking up in this place to go and walk to another ridiculously pristine lake hung high in these grand mountains, silly. Strangely enough that’s fast becoming a very standard past time, this area of mountainous wilderness we have plunged so far into just seems to run these things out like a Japanese auto production line. This time it’s Laguna De Los Témpanos and like a broken record it’s stunningly pristine, the water barely perceivable but for the shivering ripple of a surface disturbed from glassy mirror in rashes that sweep ever toward us. Backed by a severe wall of dusty green stone this relatively small pond sits cupped in the smallest of recesses stuck in the upper reaches of this landscape. We’re getting used to this by now and it’s still awesome.

This is but a short side trek for the morning though, we are back to Bariloche today and the hike out is somewhere close enough to 20km so it’s time to get going. A quick stop off at the refugio for one last look at another reason to discard believing in heaven, we’ve already found it. The water surface is smooth in the tranquil morning in contrast to the abrasive mountains that surround it. Yesterday we sat atop mountains gazing out across rows and rows of peaks each more imposing and inhospitable than the previous; who could have imagined that this could be here? Fittingly this oasis tucked deep in the midst of such a foreboding world is available only to those who make this trip, easy access would surely diminish the appeal of this place. But we did venture and we discovered, there’s more than just a passing thought to staying here, the world seems so far away and in this place that’s just where it feels like it should be.

Our walk out begins, not difficult plunging trails into valleys and up again this time, just a bloody long way. Steeply dropping switchbacks take us by a canyon waterfall running off from the lake that feels like ours, a final goodbye with the inviting oasis behind us and daunting trek in front. Why exactly are we leaving? Sadly flights of fancy remain so, devoid of form that might surely diminish the romance of a place that will no doubt forever retain a sense of magic for us.

And on and on, this walk is pleasant but it’s hard to overlook that we’re not going to anywhere special, we’re just leaving. Much of the trek takes us by the stream that carves this valley granting us numerous magical views that sadly barely raise the pulse, but none the less it makes for a far less horrid trek than it otherwise might be. Four hours later we reach the park exit and we’re snapped back to reality by dusty eroded paths, car tracks and heaven forbid, gates. This is the part that gets really wretched. Close enough to 15km now and we’re onto a hot dusty dirt road, our undervalued stream would be really nice about now. Previously impenetrable stoicism erodes in an instant as car after car passes our failed hitch-hiking attempts. It’s hot, we’re tired and we just want it to be over, what a rude plunge back into reality.

We do eventually reach the road and jump in a bus even without a card to pay with, no cash on these buses but there’s no chance in hell we’re tacking on another 11km back to town. We’re on the bus looking beaten and still not sure how we’re going to pay for this when an old lady passes us her travel card, gold. I rush to the driver and punch out two tickets as Charlie gives her far more cash than we used on the card, who cares right now. We’re nearly there, 39km in three days mostly on steep mountain slopes and all of a sudden we don’t have an inspiring wonderland to keep us up, we’re on a shitty dusty commuter bus and the veil is off, we’re stuffed. Getting off the bus is a short glimpse into our elderly lives, everything hurts; the few blocks to the hostel feel no easier than anything we’ve just done, it’s pain.

We groan and grumble through showers and into bed for a siesta without sleep, for now moving is just a bit difficult. With slowly relaxing bodies we drift off to something like escape, we’re momentarily back in the mountains so far from the world in our secret little paradise. We’ve all looked at grand photography of endless mountains so inhospitable, foreboding and aggressive only to wonder what is out there? Appearances can be deceiving and accurate at the same time. Foreboding yes, inhospitable no, the stark contrast of serene comfort with severe aggression could never be so clear. Take another look at one of those photos, go get one now. Stare at it long and hard and picture the most beautiful scene your mind can conjure out of it; you’re probably half way there.

February 25, 2015

While you were working – A Little Secret, San Martin Refugio, Bariloche, Argentina

Frey refugio turned on a sunset to die for last night to send us off to bed, blazing skies erupting from behind the row of soldiers that form the amphitheatre around the lake. From a beautiful sunrise we are brought into a new day in which we farewell this amazing place on the walk to refugio San Martin. It’s different to nine years ago but no less spectacular, our visit then took in a short walk around the lake afoot the refugio and up to another smaller lake, that time in snow, this time in baking dry sand and rock. How times have changed yet how our feelings don’t seem to.

Atop a short but steep rise we come to the other lake, called laguna Schmoll in all it’s pure crystal water glory, not a frozen patch this time. A little puffed from our sharp ascent we pull up a rock near the shore for a bit more of that glorious Bariloche chocolate, it really is what Bariloche does well. With a delicious chunk of bitter heaven we’re bathed in sunshine and watch the world go by to the sound of the lapping shore. In a rare quiet moment free of breeze the regular irregularity of the lapping sound becomes oddly the principle sense in our world. It’s a discordant chop and flop of sound that seems to conjure some sense of rhythm, a pacifying droll that’s calmly deafening. To this sound I sit gazing at large boulders clearly visible under the water surface, clarity often reserved for tropical reefs, for a moment I’m content to finish the day and we’re barely even started.

But on we move, my trance broken by an unspoken farewell for a place that anyone might dream of when planning a holiday. In no time at all we’ve skirted the smaller ridges of Catedral and emerged out to the opening of a monster valley granting a view from up high on a depth and breadth that is really quite disorienting. The broad sweep of a river scythes through the valley floor below spines of bounder outcrops that are just made for photos so photo time it is, an excuse to rest on this long day of trekking. The world seems so big from here.

This day takes us up to pristine lakes hanging high in mountain cradles, through forests, valley floors, across windswept barren desert like expanses, waterfalls and close by to snow; it’s got it all. This long day takes us through three major valleys as we endeavour to stop more than usual and enjoy the scenery. We often walk fast but today is a time to appreciate where we are more than trying to get somewhere, the variety of scenery on this hike demands constant re-appreciation in the place of determined walking. This long day continues, a final push for what should be our last summit is barren and exposed to the beaming sun, our regular stops giving us the energy to push up a steep rocky climb.

We can see a summit but we know all too well by now that the summit you see is never the last one, on we push. As our eyes slowly draw level to the top of the path we are confusingly confronted by no rearing mountain to obscure the sky, for now it’s only blue. A griping sense of denial from so many false hopes constricts our joy, it’s impossible, we can’t be there. Only when we start down again are we freed of the restraints of our previous disappointment, we have actually made the top. The elation of seeing blue sky straight ahead calls for high fives and in about ten metres we gaze down to an oasis of shining jade and blue surrounded by harsh desert like mountains, that’s our refugio. We’re nearly there and this big day of varied wonder has saved the best till last, a fitting reward for those who have made the trek.

We scamper down the hill crunching over the loose rocky scree bounding for home on tired legs faring better than this long day should permit. We can’t stop marvelling at this water; we’re at the highest catchments surrounded by pure untouched snowmelt of unbelievable clarity, this is the starting point for purity of natures very best. Our refugio is atop a small rocky point out into the lake, this is what we walked all this way for. Standing atop the rocky outcrop the purest of the pure shimmers below us, inviting us. A quick count to three and we’re temporarily cradled by the rushing air before being embraced by the object of our flirtation all this time. Into the freshness we’re no longer viewing this place but now in it’s icy charge, we know we’re alive.

I can’t believe it could only be us, it can’t be; surely this feeling is what people travel for. Before arriving to Bariloche we didn’t know this refugio existed, it’s just a small fantasy escape for anyone willing to take the time to see, just sitting here ready to destroy any expectation that also crests the mountain above. Finding an oasis unburdened by preconception delivers emotions of exclusiveness and captivation; this instant highlight not on the map until we crested the last mountain to see it first hand. We share our refugio with a rag-tag group with which we now have something in common beyond the warmth of the cast iron stove preparing our dinner, we’ve all discovered this secret and for today it’s ours.

Sadly we have to move on tomorrow but we could easily stay here for days, longer. So often herded like cattle into the more promoted areas that manage to rise to popularity, some inexplicably and some for good reason but not today, today is a discovery, a revelation. As amazing as any big ticket place is there’s a little touch of magic that simply can’t be replaced by finding an unexpected gem that feels like your very own. We took nine years to revisit Frey that captured our imagination and never left, lets hope it’s not so long till we rediscover this little secret that to us shall ever be all our own.

February 24, 2015

While you were working – Going to the Movies, Frey Refugio, Argentina

Metaphorically bathed in chocolate we venture out of Bariloche, not without samples of delicious 80% and 90% cocoa bars, a necessity for any hike we have decided. Our conflict within Bariloche is unavoidable, it’s a crazy place so full of fanciful chocolate that one expects to see characters from Willy Wonka’s factory casually strolling the streets: Umpalumpas operating coffee machines, Veruca Salt directing traffic. Bariloche clings to the side of the mountain that rears up from the glittering lake shore, a setting to inspire romantic flights and indeed on a short trip nine years ago this is what it engendered in us. Now having settled into a less ebullient headspace the novelty passes over us a little, we’re left with the bad food and just another town on the trail to some degree. The fanciful romance of before has left with the Umpalumpas; someone left Veruca in charge and the shine has been dulled.

Today though we shake off our recent lethargy to plunge into the mountains to Frey refugio near Cerro Catedral, the true source of wonder for us nine years ago; at least mountains don’t change. This ritual of checking out of a hostel, leaving some baggage behind is fast becoming an instinctive act for us even telling the new hostel staff how it works, new life skills similarly earned and only usable on the travelling trail. The bus takes us past the lake positively shimmering in the morning sun, lingering uncertain feelings of Bariloche dissolve sweeping turn by sweeping turn. Funnily we pass several playa’s (beaches) which are little more than a few metres of rocky lake edge; I think we refine the term a little more in Australia.

The beautiful drive does deliver a window into the operations of our brains; simple natural environments continue to amaze. Does a grand mountain, a glittering lake, a powerful glacier retain its wonder due to some historic link to an essential instinct or some similarly unfathomable urge from our past? Being a Printer by profession something similar plays out for me routinely, the receptive gamut of colours in the human eye; confused? don’t worry, allow me to explain. In short the human eye is more perceptive in noticing changes between shades of colours that are more varied in nature and not so good at seeing variations in less varied colours. Not surprisingly we are best equipped to note changes in tones of green to account for all manner of plants for food, very important for those of us that came before food labelling laws. Funnily enough we’re poor at noting differences in shades of blue, maybe because common sources of naturally occurring blue are the sky and the ocean with differing colours quite irrelevant to survival.

It’s with this in mind that we constantly venture into the natural world, it never ceases to amaze and inspire while rarely changing. The contrast is obvious, our voracious need devours new innovation and requires varied stimulation on a never ending conveyor belt into the abyss of our consumption. But mountains and lakes don’t change, don’t reinvent themselves like a pop star or need a new menu item every month lest we get bored. It’s not surprising then that a sense of calm washes over us as we begin the walk, it’s not particularly amazing in the early parts but we are notably less disconnected from what our base needs require.

Before I delve into in unrecognisably extreme idealist our trail bends between two mountains and heads up, steeper step by step. On this climb familiar sections of trail surge back to us, we remember this, that is until we reach the top. We know, or think we know that as we creep above the tree line into exposed openness a little before the refugio, but no clearing emerges, have we miscalculated? It seems not. To our amazement the tree line has changed, and changed in a massive way, it’s far higher. Without being professionals in any relevant field we’ll shelve our beliefs on climate change for now, what we can say though is that Catedral is quite a different place, it seems mountains do change after all.

It still has all the splendour of the romantic notions we’ve clutched to our chests for so many years, the small stone hut still clings to the shore of a meltwater lake, the mountains are still dramatic and we’re still thrilled we came. But the proliferation of the short hardy alpine trees is a real shock, they’re everywhere. Bedded at the runoff of the lake the refugio looks out onto an amphitheatre of jagged peaks; I remember describing them as broken teeth in a row surging for the sky and that is exactly what I see before me now, our memories maybe not so dim after all these years. Nine years and two months ago this cathedral was barren, duotone in it’s white and stone grace. The trees that rash their way up the sides of the hill are about 150m higher than they were able to grow before, just as breathtaking but quite a shock.

Our memories promise a frozen lake surrounded by brilliant white mountains, our winter wonderland. Our eyes deliver to us a desert wonderland, the gushing river now the barest trickle, no more snow here to melt. Although it’s later in the summer the higher reach of the tree line fortifies our memories from a fanciful notion into a bankable reality.

Travelling to all the places we’ve seen we have thought quite a few times that we’re happy to be visiting now in the rapidly changing societies we’ve seen; Ecuador and Cuba spring to mind. Never for a minute did we think that the same concept might apply to the natural world in a space that our lifetimes could appreciate. Frey refugio is the first truly natural place that we have now been to a second time and this variation paints a very different picture to our mindset. Yes it might not have rained in the Atacama for 400 years and volcanoes may have erupted many centuries ago but maybe it’s all changing in much shorter timelines than this.

In the cresting of a small rise and the blinking of an eye a great big assumption is blinked away like a frozen lake now melted, maybe we don’t race along as a society while the world stays relatively still. We’ve urged other travellers to see Havana in Cuba now before it changes but it seems we should bring a little of that into our own perspectives. There’s never a better time to see a world that a primitive part of our brains needs so much because tomorrow it might not be quite the same, a moving picture for us all.

February 23, 2015

While you were working – Hunting and Gathering, Bariloche, Argentina

The alternative slant that was El Bolson is now in the past, we find ourselves a short skip north on the highway to Bariloche, a place we had visited nine years ago. From everything that represents a simple life and extraction from commercialism we step off the bus into flashy chocolate heaven and a marketers dream. It’s not an exaggeration that Bariloche routinely boasts chocolate shops as big as a small supermarket at home, it’s staggering. This amusement park style concentration is a phenomenon that seems too big to be viable. How much chocolate can people eat? The sad answer to that is found in the general approach to food and diet in Argentina. We joke about a resurgence of the hunter gatherer instinct in the hunt for coffee but that joke takes a notably serious tinge when thinking of finding healthy food in Argentina.

There is of course what Argentina does well, the meat is a standout when done well, strangely much Argentinian meat is overcooked and sadly disappointing but when it’s done well, wow it’s fantastic. The wine is a strong point also, not often critically noteworthy but for young easy to drink and enjoy wine it is sensational, barbecue wine at its best. These are the highlights and as such are just that, highlights and therefore often sadly lacking in the every-day diet. We did attempt the solo wine and meat diet but to disastrous effect in Sayta, these hunter gatherers were forced to reach farther afield, and here ladies and gentlemen is where the Argentinian house of cards came tumbling down.

Initially it couldn’t be avoided noticing that Argentinians are in serious need of a dietician to come and beat them about the heads, imagine a whole nation with the taste palate of a spoilt nine year old. A fairly standard Argentinian day might look like this: On an empty stomach we postpone breakfast till 10am or a little later upon which time we eat a small amount of sugar in the form of a cake, sweet break with caramel or some desecration alike. Lunchtime is a big meal of usually meat, not so bad but often quite fatty and it is a near certainty that you will devour a whole bottle of soft drink with lunch. On this heavy sugar filled meal you have a nap, not ideal. Afternoon tea you find the emptiest carbohydrate you can find and add some sugar to keep you going, yet to see a vegetable. Then dinner is a starchy heavy meal which must have cheese and lots of it, it simply has to; not to mention that it’s often after 10pm or as late as midnight. Oh and if you were hungry from nutrition depravation in the day just have a sugary biscuit or a soft drink to keep you going, simple.

This is not a joke. Our first night in Bariloche sees us catching a cheeky beer and at the table beside us is a family with three young kids. The communal plate of chips smothered in cheese accompanied by a miniature muffin tray type apparatus with puddles of melting cheese is particularly horrifying. Either it was dinner which was frightening or it was a pre-dinner snack and I think that might be even more scary. Sadly this sort of culinary debauchery is not a one off.

So the issue becomes, how does one avoid this? Diversity doesn’t seem to be a strong point either, it seems that Argentina prints one menu and all cafes and restaurants at a reasonable price point have this menu. It reads like this. Entrees: Empanadas or Salad (which means lettuce and tomato only as a token gesture). Menu items are a sandwich of sorts which could be a hamburger or some variant along with pizza with more cheese than pizza, meat or a pasta nearly always with cream. Dessert is a sugar obsession I dare not mention, my gag reflex isn’t that good. Occasionally there might be a variation from the norm but that’s invariably not being served today (no tengo).

So there ladies and gentlemen is where the phenomenon of a chocolate city comes from, a complete abandonment of the connection between food and nutrition. We ventured into a cave with enough marketing material to sink the Titanic and there we find mums and dads wandering around with shopping baskets selecting chocolate items just like a routine shop, it’s phenomenal. Now to be fair the shops here are pretty amazing, they’re huge, they have every kind of chocolate you can imagine, very impressive; the seventh one of these in a few blocks though just comes across as a bit weird.

So in this travellers oasis of boom and bust experience Argentina again delivers the highest of highs with the most dumbfounding of lows. We’ve taken to bizarrely seeking out vegetarian restaurants, the only options that seem to deliver appreciable food along with cooking ourselves if we can. A good Parrilla (barbecue) is second to none and the wine can easily become a daily occurrence sending any food ravenous hunter into dizzying heights of awesomeness. On the other hand we have the food equivalent of a small child’s birthday party gone national, the ones that are a once a year binge set to send everyone home with a doggy bag and a sore stomach.

It’s strange and bizarre, we set out to see different cultures and ways of life with open eyes ready to appreciate. At the risk of sounding silly we’re realising that this constant struggle for food is in simple terms tiring and in more complex terms not such a silly reference to the hunter gatherer instinct after all. After a month and a half in Argentina we’re just about ready to take off the rose coloured glasses on this one, Argentina you’re awesome but can we please have something adult to eat now? In Australia we take food for granted, it’s easy to eat healthy, tasty good produce with next to no effort. Saying that our world is all about food is a flippant and easy comment; only when this normality becomes genuinely hard to find do we appreciate the power of this most basic of assumptions.

February 22, 2015

While you were working – Fat Day, El Bolson, Argentina

We’ve touched down in El Bolson, hippie capital of Argentina apparently and after our wholesomely pure walk into the forest it’s market day. Considering we are carrying our lives on our backs we really can’t collect souvenirs but there is conveniently no carry on baggage limit to our stomachs so it’s time to suck up. Market day today means fat day, that horrid cliche term for points dieters on their day to forget the counting and eat all they want, why not just eat decent food and do that every day I wonder? The first haze of our visit into Argentina was spent adopting the local diet of meat and wine which then became accompanied by the more everyday plague of sugar, white bread, cheese and fat at strategically bad times of the day. After correcting this diet train smash and hunting down any available vegetable in the last month we are due for a good old fashioned day of indulgence this time in our own way. Some aspects of local culture just shouldn’t be embraced after all.

The walk into El Bolson town shows a tourist town that doesn’t quite tick the usual tourist boxes; maybe town government isn’t too organised, maybe it’s the hippie vibe. Who really knows and in two full days here we’re not going to find out but it’s a town full of eroded footpaths, unkempt parks and an overarching need for a bit of spit and polish, or is it? And the cars, we can’t ignore the cars; safe to say that Argentina doesn’t have roadworthy tests for car registration, the inordinate number of deathtraps still in motion here is equally frightening and hilarious. Opposing this sense of run-down rough edges, El Bolson has a great lively vibe, we see about us plenty of alive smiling faces, we hear music, laughter and the general bustle on the streets shows off a community that is vibrant and social. Rough edges with a great vibe, I dislike the label ‘hippie’, maybe it is a progressively retro-sympathetic town after all.

In no time like the clearing of clouds to rain sunshine down upon an apparition we round the ATM queue to find the bountiful feeding ground that is the market right before us, our bovine pasture. I think I hear a choir sing. Taking a step aside from our recent mountain sojourn we amble slowly taking in all manner of arts and crafts, local produce and of course food. It’s a pumping market even early in the day and the work on offer blessedly steers clear of the cheap import plague that infests so many markets of this kind; it’s authentic, genuine and real. Some artisans working on their goods right in the market stall showing off their skills that matched markets in Ecuador which is a big compliment.

But enough foreplay, it’s food time and we’re starving. There’s plenty of options abound and first up we opt for an arabic empanada before the lamb sandwich washed down with a raspberry and orange juice and a raspberry and yoghurt smoothie, we couldn’t get just one. We devour these little pieces of heaven on a patch of grass beside the market to watch the world go by and soak up the relaxed carefree atmosphere. Only a small deviation though, back into the binge we take down a shawarmi (like a kebab wrap) and cram in a big slice of organic vegie pie, this food is cheese free and genuine, the choir sings again. This is nearly as good as a Mexican market and a blessed abandonment of the limited Argentinian diet which punitively swamps this country. We finish up with a fruit laden waffle and even dare a little bit of cream, crazy I know. Oh and we might have stopped for a couple of cakes on the way out to take back to the hostel, yes this is the most glorious of fat days and a couple of bottles of wine on the way back just seems right today.

Attempting to chill out in town we pass a cafe we wanted to try near the market that is closed from 1-4pm, of course, so typically Argentina, back to the hostel it is. Sitting in a hammock, checking rugby scores we crack out a cake and wile away the afternoon, of course it doesn’t take long to open the first bottle of wine. As well as being a fat day it’s turning out to be a down time day, this most casual of places an unavoidable setting for a much needed unwind, a skinny day in that respect. On the way out our neighbour in our cabin, Ross invites us to his birthday. A little stunned at this odd request we hesitantly agree as he tells us with a broad smile that it’s just a dinner in our cabin. Oh easy, we’re there. We hastily offer to cook for the occasion and throw together an even hastier plan to flesh out our own dinner we’ve started to accommodate our now festively larger group.

And the party does go ahead with all the patched together fanfare that accompanies a travelling birthday, that is to say very light on streamers, party hats and brightly wrapped gifts. Instead these occasions away from home are more often punctuated with a cling to the important, company in the shape of new found friends drawn together by fast forming bonds of the lonely traveller. Ross and his partner Emma are in El Bolson to embark on a farm-stay adventure learning natural building methods, hippies of a sort in common vernacular. But it doesn’t seem right to slap the ‘H’ word on this couple bucking the cliche of the often conservative capitalist American. Having a social conscience and seeking a less packaged-convenience way to live seems to be a much needed approach in our post-modern existence, something to be lauded, not labelled.

Over wine and food our somewhat motley crew forms bonds that might be a little too distant to connect at other times. Capitalist system whipping boy escapists (that’s us) are not after all native companions with broad horizon contra-modernists, but travelling does make social categories seem distant, condescending and absurd. We meet new friends, we learn new things and unsurprisingly the feelings of friendship, connection and community are welcomingly all too common. This blank anaemic day of rest was meant to be a fat day in food sense alone yet we climb to bed tipsy and stuffed to bursting in so many other ways, not a food fat-day but a day that could only have one tag, just a big fat day.

February 19, 2015

While you were working – A Kind of Departure, El Bolson, Argentina

The road trip is soon to come to a slow halt in El Bolson. Towards the end of this migration of buses and nothingness the Argentinian hippie mecca acts as a fitting place to slow down, relax and abandon our recent rapid tempo. It seems that Charles Darwin’s description of eternal nothingness of Tierra Del Fuego applies equally to a much larger part of Argentina’s mainland, four long days of buses have presented us with a never ending sea of open blank canvas, an undercoat of muted ochre grass crying out for substantive colour and form. Oddly enough in this place so notable for lack of notability any quick dart west into the Andes and off the canvas explodes with everything that the bus window view is not, grand, inspiring and picturesque. We journey in the nothingness constantly viewing west to what we cannot always see but what we know is there, the much needed colour for this canvas where art is created only in the no-mans-land of the clash between two worlds.

Back on the road now we are plunged into that world of limitlessness, both in visual scope but also in emotional impact. The nothingness here does little to paint a picture for you or fill you with an impression, it’s all up to you to fill that space left with your own thoughts and imaginings. In that way the blankness is in its own way a platform for your own inspiration yet not inspiring in itself, a vacuum that wills you to fill it.

Pulling into a heaving throng of people the bus docks in, we are in El Bolson, this noted hippie haven for the alternative Argentinian. Our hostel owner is there to pick us up and we’re away, happy to be bedding down in a real bed in our own room for the first time in a while, this town providing a bourgeois luxury to belie the hippie reputation. Our first greeting is one big reminder of home, the billowing clouds of a bushfire blanket the town, a familiar February phenomenon to any Blue Mountains Aussie. Flanked by the Andes to the west and another steepling ridge of mountains to the east El Bolson runs in a channel that traps the smoke and throws the town into a light bulb like orange glow. The light is moody, atmospheric and strangely comforting,

Not yet ready to wind down the lifestyle to hippie pace just yet it’s hike time. Cajon Azul (Blue Canyon) is the well known walk here so we stay one more stop on the bus to walk up to Encanto Blanco, a refuge that we know little about. The bus pulls up at the base of Cajon Azul and in an instant we’re the only ones on the bus; we wanted to get away from crowds and I think we just succeeded. The bus driver corrects his timetable from 2pm to 2:45pm for the return pickup as we set off for our short day walk. Through a farmhouse, past a few horses and soon enough we’re plunging down a fire trail style path to a river before steeply climbing back upward. We walk through a fairly uninspiring hour or so of bush before the protected park begins and our path shrinks to a more familiar walking track. We’re trading off the probably more picturesque walk for peace and quiet, at this stage we’re not sure if we’re confident in that decision.

Soon enough though the path drops down again and runs parallel to an alpine river, now we’re getting into this. The river is pumping with a steep descent down the valley creating a continuation of rapids and small waterfalls all to the roaring sound of water and the surreal orange glow of our bushfire tinted day. It doesn’t look like we’re scaling a mountain today, it’s the river that is the focus for us, and it is a bit of a cracker. It’s not a huge river, it’s not massive waterfalls; it is however the typical icy cold pure example of what beer commercials might use to symbolise the freshness of their beer, it’s purity personified. At the most rickety bridge crossing ever negotiated by man we shuffle along our contraption that appears little more than a few sticks, some wire, bobby pins, paper clips and coat-hangers to safely make it to the other side.

So what is Encanto Blanco? It’s the cliche caricature of a hippie living in a small shack in the absolute middle of nowhere, I’m pretty sure our three hour trek was pretty much the only way to get to this patch of isolated frontier lifestyle. We’re not sure if we should pay something or register so a quick conversation sees our hippie host look a little bemused and say ‘enjoy’ as he walks back to his table. Apparently this setup is just what it looks like, a permanent and far more extreme parallel of us and our trip; an evacuation of self from the modern world and all its trappings.

Sitting beside this river of purity nestled in the mountains to have our lunch we’re bathed in soft light and the rich lack of fragrance that is fresh water, grass and trees; if ‘pure’ had a smell this would be it. On all appearances this place it is, or easily could be, free of vices, distractions, temptations and loaded with all manner of everything nourishing to the head and heart. The motivations for this trip began in 2010, the year that contained little other than stress at the hands of the emotionally punishing elements of our modern existence. We sought an adventure of course, yet much of our desire was underpinned by escape, escape from illness, uncharacteristic aggression and above all the sapping of fun from our relationship, something needed to change.

So staring at an example of the direct antithesis of the malaise that inspired this adventure the question floats in the freshest of air, could we live like this and adopt the notion of departure so completely? For the moment the resounding answer has to be no. Maybe we’re too dependent on the trappings so linked to our previous troubles, maybe we’re not brave enough, maybe it’s not even about bravery. Regardless of the resultant answer to the swirl of prepositions posed this is a great slice of perspective, our own kind of departure it’s what we travel to see, experience and think about. The more this small world we see the bigger it becomes before our eyes, there appears no end to the number of ways to exist within this place of infinite options. For now we’re happy to stop chasing and continue absorbing; after all, is there a single ‘right way’ to live? I think not.

February 18, 2015

While you were working – No Tengo, Los Antiguos, Argentina

Leaving the playground that is El Chalten we carry fond affections for this place already only after just a few days; for a moment new adventures ahead are tinted with a fondness for what we leave behind. It’s night bus number twelve for us in this South American affair and we’re slowly adapting to our adopted natural habitat. We’re travelling the seldom used Ruta-40 heading north to hug the Andes to Los Antiguos, a small stop off town on the way to the more famed El Bolson. The views will be clouded in night for the most part but the early stages of our exit from El Chalten is fittingly romantic. We skirt a grand lake leaving the snow capped mountains to their blue world surging towards the open plains of purple dusk. Eastward from our mountain niche the geography here is quite akin to Tierra Del Fuego in it’s barren foreverness, a stark contrast to the playground we leave behind.

And so the story goes, we adopt our routines of reading and music before sleep comes in relatively good measure, in the blink of an eye we magically appear just outside of Los Antiguos. Who knew that South America had invented time travel? Entering town we pass a lake with surf bigger than most South American beaches, the northern migration hasn’t dampened the wind just yet. It’s in Los Antiguos that we get a good little dose of the opposing side of Argentina that simply can’t be avoided, frustrating inefficiency that is as relevant to travel as wine and meat in Argentina. To get in the swing of this we all need to understand two words in Spanish; ‘no tengo’ which is the first person expression of ‘don’t have’, I don’t have. Along with cerrado (closed) this is is a phrase up there in importance with Cerveza (beer) Vino (wine) and all sorts of bring-food-to-me-please invocations.

We arrive at 7:30am and no taxis at the station, odd but no worries we’ll walk to town. Arrive in town after 8am on a Monday morning and not a soul in motion, no convenience stores, cafes etc; nothing. Again we’re getting used to the ‘open when you feel like it’ approach. Trudge through the wind and the bus is parked at the hostel, would have ben nice to know. After 10am we venture out and the recommended cafe/ bar/ restaurant is cerrado, over to a restobar (combo cafe/ restaurant) for breakfast; no tengo breakfast. Managing to get a tea and some toasted bread chunks we enquire on some jam or honey options; no tengo. By 11am the other ‘cafe’ opens and close to midday we have some breakfast. Sandwiches ordered without cheese of course come with cheese, it’s uncanny how anything you ask a waiter never, and I mean never materialises, too much work it seems. We ventured back later to try a local beer, have a guess: no tengo of course, only one type of big brand beer on offer.

It’s a small series of things of course, just something to laugh about but it’s a feature that permeates Argentina, a constant companion to any waking moment. From taking seven people to run the pumps at a small petrol station and still taking an age; to three separate queues in a pharmacy just to buy paracetamol the easiest way to put it is that doing anything in Argentina is hard work, any simple task; hard work. These most notoriously tardy latinos are responsible for some of the greatest flair, passion and lifestyle that South America has to offer but organised, efficient, streamlined they are not. There are times like today where straight off an overnight bus we’re never that chirpy so it does occasionally get a little grating.

So Los Antiguos, beautiful location nestled into the Andes close to the Chilean border lives up to its reputation as a stop off point, not a lot to see here. In our post night bus torpor we wander up to a viewpoint which is nice but box ticked pretty quick, move along kids. Nothing left but to go back and grab a nap, genuinely not a lot open in the town and it’s after midday.

Our day exit from an inspiring big kid playground is punctuated by an experience as opposite to El Chalten as can be. This contrast does typify Argentina through our eyes, an amazing place to travel, however after the permanently drunk first; however long that haze was, we see a very boom or bust type of place from a tourist perspective. Largely boom thankfully, Argentina is overall saturating and inspiring but we can’t help think that living here might be a very different story. Later in the hostel we meet a local guy that laughs and reinforces our thoughts strongly, his story of eight hours queuing to renew a license just feel right on the money.

In any longer time travelling in a particular country we inevitably see a more holistic view of a place and this travelling phenomenon is no more clearly displayed than in Argentina. We bursted into the country through an amazing mountain pass, we soaked ourselves in wine, jumped into fiery latin flair, topped up on wine, lived a gaucho lifestyle and ensured wine saturation once again. We’ve been from grand cities to the end of the world, witnessed natural wonders, tasted the amazing, been enchanted and we still have one month to go. It’s with an oddly buoyant heart that we come to understand this frustrating side to Argentina, it’s part of a more complete experience. With shaking heads we giggle at a country that opposes its neighbour Chile in all ways except natural beauty, national borders alive and well, we set off to see the world and that’s what we’re doing. Regrets spending much of our time in Argentina? No tengo.

February 17, 2015

While you were working – Playtime, El Chalten, Argentina

I’m up at about 5am but the alarm is not going to go off till 6am, today is a little exciting, a child again on Christmas eve waiting for the house to stir to race to the Christmas tree. At the crude chime of the alarm it’s all battle stations, for the first time in forever I’m up and alive before Charlie and ready to go. Head torches blaze our trail from the campsite in the silver glow of pre-dawn, the upper reaches of the beech forest whistling in this wind which is a constant companion here. The reason for this idiotic hour is a final up close meeting with Fitz Roy, an hour hike up a nearby rise should lead us to a mirador (viewpoint) on the lake at the base of the famed peak.

Perito Moreno glacier was like a proverbial first date for this area and now getting into kissable distance of Fitz Roy is a gleefully accepted invite to a second date. Maybe we did something right? A quick stop off for water refill in the crystal alpine stream sets us off into the slowly crystallising day. In pretty short order we push up, it’s a direct path today straight to the top, the peak hovers above us menacingly far away framed by a halo of dusty blue dawn. It doesn’t take very long for the walking phenomenon that is Charlie to strike out ahead with camera in hand chasing the sunrise leaving me to plod along as quickly as I can. Surprisingly enough we are passed by a steady stream of hikers not ascending with us but descending back down. I’m trying to think of why in the world they would be leaving just as the dawn is breaking but I’m coming up blank; we’ll gladly take the less populated space at the top anyhow.

There is that Andes game that gets played on us all the time, the point you’re walking to is inevitably not your final destination, a leg punishing crest gains us enough altitude to see that we’re now just a little over half the way. This is an uncanny trick here, there’s always more to go, more to be done to earn your view. On I trudge barely glancing back at the sky ablaze in molten orange with the first cracks of dawn against the pervading cool blue screen that is our world, Charlie is long gone by now, those short strong legs are built for this. With eyes fixed to the ground on the rocky path I await a forming shadow, it’s inevitable clarity outlining the rising dawn that I am missing. I make that next peak sweating in the ripping cold wind only to see another peak, this is just a cruel joke. Charlie is basically at the top and with a wave I can see now that this is the last trick, it’s just there and my shadow is not; yet.

This game is still alive as I push my legs, it’s a cloudy day yet to clear and with one last push I’ll be able to make it, no stopping now. Victory declared, Fitz Roy is right there and the ten or more people that have left already leave just four more preparing to walk down. I still don’t get leaving now. In no time we’re sheltered aside a large boulder from the wind, the clouds obscuring Fitz Roy for the moment but it’s a stunning view none the less. As if in a knowing reward for the tricks played the sun peaks out not long after the crest has been made, we make up our breakfast to sit together and watch a new day dawn on Fitz Roy. It’s just a basic cereal yet it seems so much more, the setting defining the meal far more than the meal itself, in this respect we dine like kings in this most magnificent of dining halls.

The morning sun slowly erodes the cloud cover forming off the ice cold grey stone of the range calling time for us to explore our newfound playground. Around to the left of the lake we cross the meltwater stream cascading down the mountainside over 100m to yet another lake below. We stand at the head of the waterfall, spy over precipitous edges and climb another highpoint, this is Christmas morning and these kids are playing with all our new toys.

The sun slowly does its work, the clouds lift and we are treated to the view we came for, the one we have waited so long to see up close. The day is not as clear as yesterday but we see plenty, pulling up a patch of ground to sit together and allow the view to make our whole world a wonderful place. There hasn’t been a soul sharing this place for nearly an hour, it’s our little domain and it really does feel a little like Christmas morning, two happy boys with exactly what they asked of Santa. Fitz Roy delivers on it’s much anticipated hype, in places like this there really is nothing quite like size; just like wrapped boxes under the tree, big is better after all.

On our way down the weather does start to come in, light rain forcing the hoods up as we pass a new stream of latecomers that will get no sighting of Fitz Roy today. The rain calls for a return to town, it’s down tent and back the way we came for us but the day has already been won, it can rain all it likes. With all the time in the world we make the descent back to El Chalten town floating on a bit of a high with plenty of time in the day, there’s no passing up any present beauty in the chase of a destination, it’s minute by minute for now.

Taking in all the sights that surround this small town it becomes clear that it really is a big kids playground. We’ve spent three days walking trails, seeing amazing sights, being inspired and surprised but above all playing in the perfect playground. Park entry to this outstanding place is free, water is pure and the trails are spotlessly clean, the perfect advertisement for minimal impact into the wild. Visiting this area you live in the playground and visit the town, not the other way around, In El Chalten life is an eternal playtime. Bunking down in our tent for the night we are backed by a blazing orange rock wall illuminated by the town lights under a star laden sky. It seems that even when we step out of the playground and into the town the playground finds a way to engulf us still. The whole world might not be our playground as the saying goes but for now, life certainly is.

February 16, 2015

While you were working – Moving Mountains, El Chalten, Argentina

It’s a common expression really, a mountain being posed as the grammatical expression of an immovable object; one can’t move a mountain after all. With our home on our backs we step by step implant our existence into wilderness grand, imposing and immovable. Burdened with everything we need for shelter and survival brings with us a heightened disconnect with civilisation that rapidly seems so far away. Embracing the independence that camping in the wild delivers makes for a far more simple view of our world, no longer a complex network of supports but refined into a hermit crab like sack that clings to our backs. We set off for a short camping trip, not the embracing of a new lifestyle but in this small slice of time we are afforded a view into a window that we so rarely otherwise do, self reliance. In Freudian terms the need to feel independent is an irresistible one, fitting that it takes place amongst the immovable.

Temporarily hijacking our journey into self we share the path with a rather inconveniently noisy group, some people seem just unable to moderate volume. Slowing down to let them go ahead, speeding up to get ahead of them they seem to always just appear wherever we are, a challenge in adopting the headspace we seek. For the most part we do shake them free and enjoy a rare cloudless sky in the charge towards Fitz Roy. This granite spire is similar in geological terms to the likes of Cerro Torre and Torres Del Paine but where those other famous rocks are slender spires, Fitz Roy bucks the trend with swelling girth and immensity. Granite spires are more commonly famous for their dramatic looking tower quality, not usually a mountain in their own right, immovable and immense.

Through contorted windswept beech forests, skirting lakes and streams we catch regular shots of Fitz Roy and surrounding cohorts, a cordon of soldiers in mountainous uniform. Capturing much of the characteristics of Torre we see densely packed snow and ice surrounded by mountains, grand on any other occasion now supplicant in their relative diminutiveness below Fitz Roy. The day is also a cracker, sun beams down on us illuminating the flora that paints this landscape with more diverse vistas than the limited plant variation should generally allow. Stopping along the way to spy up close to a family of woodpeckers ripping into the trees is quite a surprise, this harsh climate delivering beautiful things at every turn.

After a relatively easy walk we pull up and make our home in the midst of one of the grander beech forests we’ve seen, sheltered from the sun and wind, that Patagonian wind relentless and ripping just never stops. Of course the annoying group turns up but blessedly their superficiality matches their length of stay, peace at last. With the world now a world away whims so often pushed aside come to the fore, a little nap is in order simply because we feel like it and there’s no telephone, alarm or outside noise to challenge the indulgence.

The late sunsets here mean we have a bit of exploring time after the nap, so it’s off to Glacier Piedras Blancas. We’re not sure how this could possibly stack up to Perito Moreno but it’s a great day and in this environment a little exploration would be criminal to not do. Over a boulder wasteland we clamber to sit ashore a typically stunning glacial melt lake, you know the drill, awesome, beautiful and the rest. This glacier is of course a speck in comparison to Perito Moreno but it does have a fantastic cascading quality as it’s frozen halt dances down the layers of bedrock, a waterfall in frozen time. It’s this quality of movement that is so captivating in a glacier, particularly this one, smoother upper reaches crush and shatter together in a violent flow of racing non-motion.

Cradled in an amphitheatre created by the former rage of this glacier we cannot escape an appreciation for the power on display, a constant roar occupies the surrounds as the glacier contorts itself in movement. An age of flowing gouges the mountain to create the theatre while the star of the show retreats back to occupy the stage alone. It’s a powerful display, in nature we see in one view the immovable object and the irresistible force; the glacier pushing aside mountains while having to concede it’s stubborn direction at the unbreakable resistance of the mountain bedrock. Although not a big glacier it’s a humbling display that indeed it is possible to move a mountain; likewise to resist the irresistible. An expanding premise for thought in an escape from the limiting world; here is where mountains are moved in more ways than one.