Tierra Colorada: Jujuy

The province of Salta had a lot to offer, and I fell in love with the beauty of the country and the warmth and earnestness of its inhabitants.  However, the time came to venture further from Salta and head north to the province of Jujuy.  Jujuy is situated in the northwesternmost corner of Argentina and borders Chile, Bolivia and a tiny bit of Peru.  I struck out from my “home base” in Salta to explore this enchanting, sun-baked stretch of colored earth.

First, I set out for the Salinas Grandes, the salt flats of Jujuy.  I headed north up the gently ascending mountains and descended down the other side  toward an extensive plain of pure white.  As I approached the salt flats, there occurred a sudden shock when the car I was riding in collided with a vicuña (a relative of the llama) that had decided that it was a good time to cross the road.  Esteban (or Steve), as I named him, died quickly and without much pain by the side of that lonely stretch of road in northern Argentina, and we each mourned in our own way at his passing.  The car was damaged but driveable, but when I reached the salt flats I could not open my door and had to climb across and out of the driver’s side.  My brief period of mourning over, I headed out to get a look at the vast stretch of thirst inducing whiteness.

The space left when the salt is extracted for use on pretzels around the world

Thirsty yet?

Salt and sky forever

Later that day, I dined on llama for the first time.  I had a moment of silence for Steve (que en paz descanse) before devouring one of his cousins.

My next journey was a long one.  I traveled north from Salta into Jujuy once again.  The world was transformed dramatically from the bleak, unending white of the Salinas Grandes into the lush greens and startling colors of the Quebrada de Humahuaca.  My first stop was the small village of Purmamarca, situated at the foot of the “Cerro de los Siete Colores” (Hill of the Seven Colors).

At one time, Purmamarca may have been a quiet little village situated at the base of these picturesque hills, but today it has become so famous for its amazing location that it is filled to bursting with tourists and row after row of vendors, most of whom are sell the same thing as the person next to them.  There are plenty of amazing, handcrafted, artisanal goods to be found across Argentina, but most of what can be found here is geared toward the tourist crowd and seems anything but genuine.

That being said, this pueblito is famous for a reason.  If you can ignore the masses of tourists and find a quiet little corner of your mind to retreat into while staring, awestruck, at the amazing surroundings, it is more than worth your time.

Purmamarca, tucked snugly into the Quebrada de Humahuaca

El Cerro de Siete Colores

Prime real estate at the foot of imagination

From Purmamarca I continued north into the Quebrada, eventually ending up in the small village of Tilcara to get a look at some indigenous ruins that offered a glimpse into a time before the Spanish conquest of South America.

Who slept here? I can only imagine

A splash of color crowns an ancient wall

Have you hugged a cactus today?

Step through the portal and travel back in time…or at least to the other side

The Quebrada de Humahuaca stretched out farther northward still under mountains and sky, past the Tropic of Capricorn and through a hundred little moments of wonder, eventually reaching the pueblo of Humahuaca.  I had a bite to eat and turned around to head back through the quebrada to the south.

When my spirit leaves, bury my body here

The end of my northward journey: Humahuaca

On the way back to Salta, I stopped in the city of San Salvador de Jujuy, the capital of the province of Jujuy.  Tired from a long trip, I only lingered long enough to have a coffee and take a few photos.

The stop was worth it for this picture alone

Back in Salta, I relaxed with a glass of wine and pondered the days events.  I marvelled at my good fortune.  Once again, I had traveled the line between dream and reality and seen things that I had never imagined possible.  However, my time in the northern reaches of Argentina was drawing to a close and the moment was approaching to say goodbye to this region that I had come to adore.  But I had one more adventure in front of me before boarding the bus back to the big city.  What better or more poetic way to end my time in Salta than with “un salto” (A leap, saltar in spanish means to jump!)  The day before my departure, I headed to the Dique Cabra Corral, a stunning body of water near the city of Salta, to finish things with a bang.

Dique Cabra Corral and the home of someone even more fortunate than I

The platform

The moment of anticipation

The moment of action

The leap: el salto en Salta

The fall

The splash

The next day, filled with satisfaction from everything that had come to pass during my time in Salta and, at the same time, filled with the pain of regret from leaving behind such an unforgettable corner of the world, I got on the bus to make the 22 hour trip back to Buenos Aires.

I ended yet another amazing journey in the best way possible: with a leap of faith.  Who knows, maybe my next leap will be the leap home…

I Left My Heart in the Andes: Salta, cont.

Having returned from my treks through the mountains under the brilliant sun of Salta, I set off to explore the city a bit more and to experience more of the rich local culture.

First, I traveled to an estancia, or ranch, just a bit south of the city of Salta to get a taste of the gaucho life.  Gauchos, for those of you that don’t know, are a bit like the cowboys of the U.S.  They are the hunters and cattle herders of the rural parts of Argentina, southern Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay.  The Argentinian gauchos are strong symbols of the culture here and represent ideals of freedom, machismo, and a life lived free from the rules of law and order in the cities.  They were, and continue to be, riders, ranchers, drinkers and fighters and some of the most iconic works of Argentinian literature are written about the gaucho and his lifestyle in the wild country.

As a yanqui, my experiences with the gauchesca lifestyle have been limited to reading works of gauchesca literature such as Martin Fierro or Fausto, and attending the Feria de Mataderos here in the city where I got to witness some folkloric dances, hear some of the traditional music, and see the modern-day gauchos ride and play some of their gaucho games.  So, while I was in one of the centers of the gaucho culture, I thought I would try to get a little more insight into this way of life by experiencing a small taste of it first hand.

I headed to the ranch in the morning and, after a light breakfast, we mounted up and headed out into the surrounding countryside for a few hours of riding and conversing with “Patasrios” our gaucho guide.  The weather was magnificent and we were surrounded by lush green fields, deep blue sky and the gently sloping mountainside on the horizon.

“A caballo” On horseback in the beautiful countryside of Salta

A shady spot for a gaucho to rest, drink mate and play a game of “truco”

It’s difficult to take a good picture on horseback

We returned to the ranch around lunchtime.  Dismounting after several hours of riding, is was difficult to walk like a normal person, but I tried my best.  We drank a couple of glasses of wine and sat down to the communal table to enjoy a HUGE feast.  The asado (Barbecue) included what seemed to be an inexhaustible amount of steak, pork belly, ribs, and sausage as well as vegetables, salads and fresh bread and, of course, wine.  The guests, the owner and all of the gauchos and workers on the ranch sat down together to eat.  Enrique, the owner of the ranch practically forced us to eat until we nearly burst, knowing full well that we had to get back on the horses after lunch.

Enrique’s “parrilla”, a grill anyone would be proud of

We finished the overwhelming lunch and set out to ride once again.  This time, perhaps because he had just shared the immense feast with us, Patarios took it easier on us.  We started out at a leisurely pace and worked our way up to a gallop towards the end.  I returned to the ranch tired and a bit sore, but with the satisfaction of having been a part of yet another great experience.  It was then that I earned the respect of Patasrios, our guide, by demonstrating my ability to leap onto the back of the horse without a saddle.  Try as they might, none of the other members of the group could manage it, and Patasrios was quite impressed.

My time with the horses over, I relaxed for a bit in my small but comfortable room and then showered and prepared for dinner.

Only three guests stayed at the ranch for dinner that night: myself, an Englishman named Oliver, and his irish wife Deirdre.  They were a great and friendly couple and I enjoyed sharing the experience with them.  The owner of the ranch, Enrique, was quite a character.  He always had some sly comment to make, usually sexual in nature, and he was always smiling and laughing.  This might have had something to do with the never-ending supply of wine, but there is no way to be sure.  He asked me what I wanted to eat that night and I requested some local traditional favorites: tamales and humitas.  The tamales are similar to the ones we know and love from other latin cuisines and the humitas are very similar to tamales, but a bit sweet and made with cheese instead of meat.  We all sat down to a great dinner full of laughs and fellowship and, you guessed it, wine.  After the dinner was finished, Enrique brought out the big guns, a brand of whiskey which I was not familiar with, but that the Irishwoman (she should know) told me was quite an expensive bottle.  We all drank and laughed into the evening until, finally, we retired to our rooms for a deep and satisfying rest.

The next day, we ate a small breakfast and departed.  I said my goodbyes to Enrique, Oliver, Deirdre and everyone else, including Patasrios, who gave me a very manly gaucho hug.  It was tough to leave the ranch after such a great time with such unique, friendly, and interesting people but all good things must come to an end, and I headed back to the city.

Once there, I took the rest of the day to see a bit more of the city.  I took a ride in a cable car up to the top a of large hill overlooking the city, which provides a marvelous panoramic view of Salta.  At the top, there are gardens, waterfalls and pathways to walk.  You can even rent a bike to ride back down to the bottom if you are feeling adventurous.

Looks safe enough to me

Arrival at the top

And the view of the city of Salta below

Time, my arch-enemy

Salta la Linda, my apologies to those of you who can’t read this

A tiny teaser of an upcoming adventure

So, I made it back down to the bottom alive.  I spent the rest of the day relaxing and went to dinner with some of my new friends from the hostel.  I spent some more time here and there in Salta, and it was my “home base” for my travels into the neighboring provinces.  However, most of the time after this day was spent elsewhere, and these stories will be contained int he next installment, when I travel to the province of Jujuy and see what is has to offer.  So, it is time to say chau for now, but let me leave you with a parting image from the city of Salta.

Because I know you are envious

I Left My Heart in the Andes: Salta

I finished up my week of midterm exams and now I am into the final month of classes at the University of Belgrano.  Last week, perhaps due to the grey gloom that descended upon Buenos Aires and proceed to soak its citizens into submission, or maybe just because I had a bad case of lazy, I did not update my blog.  It feels like I have been going full speed ahead since I arrived here in Buenos Aires in order to take full advantage of every opportunity that I have been afforded.  I told myself that after I finished my exams I would take one day “off” to do absolutely nothing.  Well, that did not happen, but I did slow it down some last week.  This week, I am feeling rested up and ready to take on the world once again.  Unfortunately, the weather has remained wet and cool and that has kept me inside more often than usual.  Since I have been so lax and have not given you a decent post in a while, I thought I would take this time to make it happen.  I have been working on the answers to some of your questions, but first I want to regale you with yet another tale of travel.  The recent stint of bad weather in the city of tango has made me remember how much I miss the sun and soul of northwestern Argentina.  Perhaps reliving some of the experiences I had there will be enough to warm me up, or at least entertain you a bit.  Unfortunately, I did have some technical problems with my camera on this trip, so a lot of the photos didn’t turn out well.  I saved what I could and hopefully they will still be somewhat enjoyable.

Up to this point, the posts on my travels have been very in-depth, detailed affairs.  From now on, I am going to try to limit them somewhat.  I hope to still include the feeling and descriptive prose while keeping them a bit shorter.  In other words, we are going to try to skip to the important parts.  That being said, let’s get right into my trip to the north-western edge of Argentina, to the city of Salta in the province of the same name.

Whereas my trip to Patagonia was all about big imposing and breathtaking sites, this trip was more about the culture, the people, the food, and the beautiful weather.  The people are warm and friendly and the culture is rich and steeped in the traditions of folklore and gauchesca.  That being said, there were plenty of amazing things to see and do, and I did most of them.

This trip began with a long bus ride, about 22 hours, from Buenos Aires to Salta.  I started the adventure with a bus ticket and a couple of nights booked in a hostel.  The bus was actually quite comfortable, a far cry from the greyhounds at home.  There are several different bus companies to choose from, and most of them offer similar accommodations.  The buses are large, with two levels of seating. On the bottom are the “full-cama” seats.  These are the most comfortable, and most expensive.  They are larger and convert in something resembling a bed (a cama).  That’s about all I know about the bottom level, since I have never actually been seated there.  On the top level is the “semi-cama” seating area.  This is where I have spent all of my time on the buses here in Argentina.  They still recline and provide support for your legs, but they are not as comfortable or roomy as the “full-cama” seats.  On long trips, something resembling food is provided and there are lots of bootleg movies playing on the televisions to keep you occupied while you travel.  Overnight, the televisions go off and you can try to catch some shut eye.  I usually end up staring out of the large windows and marveling and the innumerable amount of stars that appear once you get outside the bright lights of the Capital Federal.

Eventually, I made it to my hostel and began planning what I would do for the next week.  There is a lot to see in the province of Salta and in its neighbor to the north, Jujuy.  I made some plans for the next few days and, after that, I took my first in-depth look at the city itself.

The world needs more pink churches

An altar like this just begs for a sacrifice

Ah, so that’s what blue sky looks like

The fountain in the main plaza in “el centro” of Salta, where they make the cherubs do all the heavy lifting

The “Cabildo” or government building from the Spanish colonial era

Gratuitous graffiti shot

One of those instances when the doorway is undoubtedly more interesting than what is on the other side of it

And finishing where we started: at church

My first few outings were trips through colorful quebradas and canyons, and up through the mountains of the Andes of northern Argentina to visit small pueblos full of wine, food, and buildings that preserve the feel of the colonial villages of old.

First, I traveled through the Quebrada de las Conchas, a colorful landscape full of strange and magnificent rock formations that looked as though it belonged on an alien planet.

It was still a bit cloudy as I made my way into the quebrada, but that didn’t spoil the view

Blue Sky on Mars

The Amphitheatre

The view from below, I wonder what it’s like looking down

Los Castillos

On the other side of the quebrada lies the pueblo of Cafayate, a small town know for its numerous bodegas that create some amazing high altitude wines.  By the time I got there, the sun was beaming down upon me while I beamed back up at it, once again marvelling in my extreme good fortune.

Just one of MANY bodegas in the pueblo of Cafayate

If you are going to make wine, why not do it with style?

From the vine, to the wine, to my belly

I tried to drink directly from the tank, but for some reason they frown on that

The obligatory iglesia

From Cafayate, I made my way back through the martian landscape of the quebrada to the city of Salta.  The next day, I took a trip through the mountains to another pueblo: Cachi.  This trip was much greener at first, but it transformed into a world like nothing I have ever seen.  Part desert, part mountains, all beautiful.  As is the custom for the people living and working in the mountains, I chewed coca leaves to combat the effects of the altitude.

Green and blue forever

10 points to whoever can tell me what makes the rock red like that

Ruta del Vino, sign me up

I can see my house from here

The window to wonder

Is this real, or a dream? I think it was a little of both

You guessed it…another church

After another great adventure, I once again returned to my “home base” in the city of Salta.  I found it hard to sleep during this trip.  After all, why bother sleeping when your dreams have to struggle to match the amazement of what is happening in your waking life.  The best part was, this was only the begging of my amazing experience in Salta.

Remember when I said I was going to skip to the important parts and try to shorten up these posts a bit?  I lied.  I realized as I was writing this that they are ALL important parts.  So, I am going to end this post here and give you something to read while I work on the next one.  There is much more to come, including the province of Jujuy to the north, so stay tuned and I will try to get the next installment up as quickly as I can.  Until then, Chau!

Now There’s a Man with Class…

So, I have realized yet another exciting adventure but, unfortunately, I can’t regale you with all the amazing details of that or much of anything else at the moment.  I have returned to face one of the busiest weeks yet in regards to my classes at the University of Belgrano.  We have reached the mid-point of the semester and, as such, it’s time for midterm exams and all the excitement that comes with them.  I had my first exam today and I have one tomorrow, another on Wednesday and, to complete this fun-filled week, one on Thursday as well.

I have been, and will continue to be, busy preparing for the exams, but I thought I would take a break from studying to write a short post.  Since one of the questions last week was about the University and my classes there, I thought this would be an appropriate time (while my mind is filled with positive thoughts on the subject) to provide some details.

So far, I have provided some pictures of the U and a list of my classes, but little else.  Last week, before I left the city for the weekend,  I wandered the main building of the University of Belgrano, where I have my classes, with camera in hand to take a few photos.  This, as I now know thanks to the kind words of campus security, is not allowed.  Why I am not allowed to take pictures of the University that I attend is still unknown to me.  I asked the security guard, politely of course, why taking pictures was prohibited, but he was not able to provide me with an adequate response.  So, what else was I to do but wait for him to leave, no doubt to rain on someone elses parade, and continue taking photos.  That is what I did, and these are the results.  I hope you enjoy them all the more knowing that they are the fruits of my clandestine photo shoot on campus grounds.

“Science and Culture to All” …but no photos please

So, while we are on the subject of things I am NOT supposed to do at the University of Belgrano…

The couches where I am not allowed to sit

These comfy couches (yes I know because I tried to sit in them once) are for professors only.  The only problem is that I have never once seen a professor, or anyone else for that matter, actually sit in them.  What’s more, this picture doesn’t even show half of the plush seating that adorns the lobby.  So, these leather beauties, and several more like them, sit empty and alone, waiting like a spider’s web to ensnare any unsuspecting students while the spider stands watch in an itchy blue sweater.

Now let’s see, where were we?  Oh yes…

The elevators that I’m not allowed to use

You guessed it: professors only.  These babies stop on every floor, whereas the student elevators do not.  The elevator I take from the lobby goes to 7, 12, and 17.  It’s not a big deal, just interesting.  My classes are on floors 9 and 10, so I usually just get off on 12 and walk down.

Anyway, enough about what I can’t do.  What I am allowed, ok expected, to do is show up to classes.  When I do, they take place in a classroom that looks roughly equivalent to this:

Most days there are some students in there and MAYBE a professor

It is from these fairly comfortable seats that I listen attentively to every word the professors have to say while at the same time filling my notebooks with copious amounts of detailed notes.  That, or I daydream while doodling pictures of monkeys.

Anyway, if you have been paying attention, you already know what classes I am taking, but here are some of the exciting details of each one.

In Argentinian Literature we learn about…well…the literature of Argentina.  We started with some pretty early stuff that was quite difficult to read including some stories that were important to the development of the Argentinian Nation and some “Gauchesca” literature that related stories of the Gauchos of the Argentinian countryside.  We have since moved on to some more modern literature like the “Vanguardista” poetry of Oliverio Girondo.  Ariel, the professor, is a very interesting man with some unique insights into not only literature, but just about any other divergent topic we wander into.

Next, I have Latin American Cultural Studies, where we learn about the discipline of cultural studies in general, as well as the specifics of Latin American culture.  This includes reading essays and stories, and even listening to songs, that relate to how Latin American culture has developed in the past, its current trends, and where it might be headed in the future.  Lara, the professor for this class, is one of the two professors that I had for my intensive spanish class when I first arrived in Buenos Aires.  I liked her so much that I actually decided to take this class based on the fact that she was teaching it.

Another class that I have, taught by the same professor as the Cultural Studies class, is Latin American Literature.  The title is pretty self-explanatory.  We study literature within the broader scope of all of Latin America.  This class and the other literature class cross paths now and again. This is interesting because I get to experience some similar topics from two different points of view and, sometimes, it cuts down on my reading time.

Finally, my favorite class: Tango: The Expression of Buenos Aires.  I have this class two times a week, just like the other classes, but one day is spent studying the history of the tango while the other is spent experiencing it first hand by learning its steps.  The professor, Jose, is a very likeable guy who knows his stuff when it comes to the tango.  The interesting thing about this class is that, out of 30 students, only about 8 are guys and the rest are girls.  The guys have to switch partners a lot in order to make sure that all the ladies get to dance.  While this may seem like the perfect set up, it means that I barely have time to get comfortable dancing with one person before I have to switch it up.  Also, the little time spent dancing each week always leaves me craving more. Because of this, I have begun taking extra classes each week outside of the U in order to learn more of this amazing dance.

Alright, speaking of classes, I need to get back to preparing for them.  I’m not sure how, but this short post became a lot longer than I had planned.

I know this doesn’t compare to glaciers and mountain sunrises, but it should serve to answer one of the questions I received last week and, perhaps, tide you over until I can truly attempt to satiate you with something a bit more exciting.

Chau chicos…

Burning Questions

Ok, I continue to receive questions from everyone about the life here and I appreciate each and every one.  I have answered several of the questions directly in the comments section.  Those of you not following the comments should check to see if I have answered yours.  Other questions that were asked repeatedly or merit an entire post will be answered shortly.

I am leaving tomorrow to head north once again.  This time I am going to Puerto Iguazú in the Misiones province of Argentina near the borders of Paraguay and Brasil.  Unfortunately, these countries will not let me in without paying entry fees, which I am not going to do.  Fortunately, from the Argentinian side of the border you can visit the Cataratas del Iguazú which, I’m told, are waterfalls that rival those of Niagara.

Upcoming posts, upon my return, will include: my trip to Salta and Jujuy, my trip to Iguazú, food and, by request, posts on the people, the nightlife and a bit more about the University of Belgrano and my classes there.  Of course, there will be much more to come over the next few months as well.

Que les vaya bien

Whatcha Whatcha Whatcha Want?

Ok, I have finally finished the post about my trip to Patagonia, and there hasn’t been much time for anything else in between.  I want to start getting up some shorter posts about Buenos Aires and Argentina on a more regular basis.  I have several topics to get started on, some of which I have been planning to post about for quite some time.  So, I am going to start posting them now.  However, since I am such a nice fellow and since I want to please my adoring and supportive fans, I would like to know if there is anything specific I can post in order to satisfy your curiosities about me, my life here, the people, the city or anything else that might come to mind.  Don’t be afraid!  You can post your ideas or questions as comments to this post or you can send me an email, however you would like to do it.  My email address can be found on the contact page.

El Fin del Mundo: Ushuaia

So, there I was.  I had seen mountains being made by Perito Moreno, and I had watched one catch fire in Torres del Paine.  Now, on a dark and drizzly morning, I boarded a bus in Puerto Natales that would take me to the “end of the world”: the city of Ushuaia in the province of Tierra del Fuego (land of fire), Argentina.  There is nothing about that sentence that I don’t like.

The bus was large and fairly comfortable.  I sat down and started to chat with the Aussie that was seated next to me.  She and her two friends were headed to a different destination than I was, and we started to question if one of us was on the wrong bus.  However, an hour or so outside of town, we were told that those of us heading to Ushuaia would be changing buses.  A few minutes later, in the middle of nowhere in southern Chile, the bus pulled to a stop.  The Aussie (whose name shall be lost forever) joked with me that this was my stop and we shared a laugh.  I stopped laughing, however, when the driver announced that this was, in fact, where I would be getting off.  I said my farewell to my single serving friend and I and a few others piled off the bus stood in a stupor at the side of the road.  As I watched what used to be my bus begin to pull slowly away, another arrived just in time to curb my concerns and carry me further southward.

At first, we drove through a landscape that was, shall we say, less than breathtaking.  Soon, however, we were forced to stop when the road ran directly into a wide body of salty water.  The sky was dull and grey as I beheld, with aroused interest, the Strait of Magellan lapping lazily at its rocky shoreline.

Conduzca con precaución...drive with caution

I got off the bus to snap a few photos and then waited for the floating beast that would carry me to the other side.  Although the day was frigid and wet, the arrival of the ferry and the subsequent trip across the strait was something that I won’t forget.  The boat was massive, and it swallowed up a long line of cars before hungrily devouring our waiting bus.

What a big mouth you have...

A cloudy crossing

After crossing the strait, much of the rest of the voyage was uneventful.  Then landscape was rather flat and brown, and I spent most of the time napping, reading, or running down the precious battery of my iPod.  As we drew nearer to Ushuaia, the landscape began to change, and once again mountains began to rise up around us.  I passed the last hour staring, wide-eyed and grinning, out of the window.

Eventually, I reached my destination.  I walked, uphill unfortunately, from the middle of town to my hostel.

A shade somewhere in between a '57 Chevy and a wedding mint

My first impressions were not great.  This place was obviously not going to be as good as the previous two had been, but I settled in, locked up my things, and went out to get a look at the city.  The light was waning and it was still cloudy, but I saw some interesting graffiti art and got my first good look and the Beagle Channel.

The post office...no kidding

A small portion of a larger piece...viva la mujer!

The Beagle Channel, named for the ship that would eventually carry Charles Darwin

I spent the night in an uncomfortable bed in a room full of Frenchmen.  This is a sentence that, before I began traveling, I would not have expected to write.  I got up early the next morning to take a tour, by boat, of the channel.  Ines, the girl at the front desk, had told me that I needed to be at the dock at around 9:30 in order to get a spot on one of the boats, most of which departed at 10:00.  I ate a bit of the meager breakfast they offered and headed out.  It was still cloudy as I left the hostel and walked out into my last full day in Patagonia.  I arrived at the docks early and decided to take some time to check out the area.

The first bits of blue sky appear

One of the natives appears to see me off

Along the docks there were lots of spots selling excursions through the channel.  I strolled among them leisurely, wandering in and out of the small shacks and inquiring about the particulars of each tour.  Some places offered rides on smaller boats, promising a more personal experience, others on the large and impressive catamarans, but not all of them went to the same places.  I had some idea of what the channel had to offer, and I knew what parts of it I wanted to see the most.  Finally, I found an excursion that could satiate my desires.  Time until departure: two minutes.  I paid for my passage and rushed down the pier where the catamaran “Ana B” was waiting for me.  I climbed eagerly aboard.

Farewell to misty mountains

The "Ana B" heads into the channel

Even during the summer, the weather on the channel is brisk and windy.  I put on my hat and tightened my jacket around me, recalling that I was, in fact, about as close to Antarctica as I could get without leaving the continent.

The first few stops were to see some of the wildlife that is native to area.  There are a few specific spots where large groups of Cormorants and Sea Lions congregate on small islands and these were our first destinations of the day.

Lots of birds...some of them strange

More sun, please

Play nice!

I'll bet not one of them can balance a ball on its nose

Next, we made a pass by the Les Éclaireurs (French for “The Enlighteners”) Lighthouse, an operational but unmanned lighthouse that keeps watch over the watery gateway to Ushuaia.  It is a small and simple construct, but its red and white exterior stands in stark contrast to  rocks and sea that surround it.

Les Éclaireurs and its watery twin

The guardian, with the barely visible spectre of Ushuaia in the distance

Shortly after passing the lighthouse, we were lucky enough to come upon a group a Sei whales.  This massive and endangered species, reaching up to 20 meters (66 feet in the U.S.) long and weighing up to 28 tons, is not always present in the channel.  On that morning, perhaps because of the perfect way my trip had been unfolding up to that point, I was sure they had appeared there just for me.  They were a bit difficult to get pictures of, though, as I was never quite sure where they would appear until the last minute, when they would send up a quick spray of water before breaching the surface with their slick black fins.

Do you have a dorsal fin?

We continued on through the channel with the hills of Chile on our right hand side and the mountains of Argentina on our left.  The day began to lose a bit of its dull grey hue.  I sat back and enjoyed the leisurely trip to our final stop before turning around and heading back towards Ushuaia.  This was another rendezvous with the local wildlife.  Another species of bird, but not one you will ever find in the air.  Yes, those classy creatures that had to learn to dance because they don’t know how to fly: penguins.

A shipload of penguins

Magellanic penguins relax on the shore

A few Gentoo penguins add a splash of color to the party

You lookin' at me?

The money shot: a dapper gent strikes a pose

After watching the flightless wonders for a bit, we headed back towards civilization.  By now, the weather had finally improved and the return trip was decidedly warmer and more pleasant.

Perfect sailing weather

Ushuaia welcomes us back

After being safely back on land, I took some time to explore the town during the daylight hours.  And, of course, no trip to this city would be complete without a shot of the famous sign.

No, that's not the one...

...that's the one

After that, I made a trek to the Martial Glacier.  This small glacier overlooks the town and offered a spectacular view of the channel that I had just traversed.  However, since my camera decided to run low on batteries, and since someone left the spare at the hostel,  that particular memory will remain uniquely mine for as long as I can carry it.

Eventually, I made it back to the hostel.  There I relaxed a bit, drank some wine and made some new friends.  I slept sufficiently, if not comfortably, that night and woke up early the next morning to head to the airport.  I boarded the flight, weary and road-worn, bound for my “home” in Buenos Aires.  During the flight, I pondered all the unbelievable things that I had done during that amazing week, and tried to let the experience sink in.

Back in the city, it was warm and muggy.  It seemed strange to be back, but with time the noise, the light, the smells, and the sights all became normal again.  I missed the mountains, the stars and the salty sea water but, luckily for me, I got to live the whole experience over again while sharing it with you.

It’s All About the…Rocas?

“Tenés algo más chiquito?”  This is a phrase that I hear daily in the grand capital of Buenos Aires.  This is the question that, inevitably, cashiers in the tiny kioscos on the corner, the large supermarket chains and everywhere in between will ask you when you hand them the ubiquitous 100 peso bill.  What they are asking is if you have a smaller denomination. “Do you have anything smaller?”  This is a fair question to hear in the U.S. if you hand someone a one hundred-dollar bill.  The thing is, a 100 peso bill is, in reality, closer in value to a 20 dollar bill (about $22.76 at the current exchange rate).

Apparently in Argentina there is a rampant lack of change.  Most of the time, if you stand your ground, they will, begrudgingly, make change for you.  That is, after they have held the bill up to the light to check its authenticity and given you a hard glance.  The funny part, as if it were part of some large joke being played on the Argentinians by god and the banks, is that most of the atms give out nothing BUT 100 peso bills.  All this fun culminates when you go out to dinner with a group of your friends, the check comes, and everyone promptly pulls out their 100 peso notes.  What follows it usually at least 15 fun-filled minutes of trying to figure out who owes what and how in the hell you are going to work this mess out.

Plata, guita, mangos...The money of Argentina and Julio Argentino Roca's mug on the 100 peso bill

Monedas (coins) are in short supply as well.  The collectivos (city buses) accept only coins, and many people hoard their monedas for this purpose.  Sometimes, when a cashier at your local kiosco or supermercado owes you some small change (usually less than two pesos)  and they can’t, or don’t want to, give it to you, they will try to convince you to take a piece on candy or some other small item instead.  Personally, I find this little quirk to be quite charming.

Dealing in pesos is an interesting thing for someone who is used to the U.S. dollar.  First of all, you are constantly making calculations in your head to try and decide how much you are really paying for something.  Luckily the conversion is, for the most part, simple enough.  Secondly, the money looks so completely different.  It is so colorful in comparison to the U.S. Dollar that, at times, it can feel like you are playing with Monopoly money.  While this sounds entertaining, it’s always important to keep in mind that this real money you are spending and to resist the urge to buy Boardwalk.  Remember, in Argentina there is no community chest.

Ascension: Torres del Paine

I slept comfortably the night before my expedition into the Torres del Paine national park and awoke the next morning full of excitement. Part of the fun of travelling, for me, is not always knowing what is around the next corner.

I ate an early breakfast of porridge, eggs, homemade bread and marmalade at the Singing Lamb (hands down the best breakfast I have ever had at a hostel) and boarded the bus to the park.

It is about two and a half hours from Puerto Natales to Torres del Paine, but the ride is not boring.  There is plenty of breathtaking scenery to take in or you can grab a few extra hours of sleep (you lazy bum) before starting your trek.  We made our way, surrounded by the snow dusted Chilean mountains closer and closer to what would be my home for the next two days.  As the park came into view, appearing in the misty shroud that blanketed the peaks, a shimmering rainbow bade us enter.

I entered into the park and took another short bus ride to the trailhead.  As I started along the trail, I came upon the first of several charming wooden bridges in the park.

Pass into paradise...but only two at a time please

I crossed over and into a world of wondrous sights and sounds.  As I rounded the first corner, I was greeted by a looming monstrosity of rock and snow.

Let the amazement begin

I continued up the path, wondering just how good of an idea it was to bring such a heavy pack.  However, I knew that if I wanted to complete the goal that I had set for myself the day before that I would need everything that I carried (and hopefully not more).  The path took me along the side of the mountain.  Beside me, water from the glaciers further up the mountains flowed through the valley in a blue and white stream, its rushing sounds drifting up into my ears while the strong winds carried droplets of its cool water to alight upon my cheeks and lips.  At times, the wind was so fierce that it threatened to knock me off the side of the mountain and I had to kneel or sit down to avoid toppling over.

Stream of consciousness

As I got farther along the path, I turned around to see a never-ending landscape of trees, rolling hills, blue-green lakes and the sharp contrast of the dark and angular mountains against a clear blue sky.

After several hours of walking, I crossed over a long wooden bridge to reach my first refuge.  Here I had a chance to relax for a bit, rest my back and feet, and eat lunch.  It was here that I began to catch a glimpse of the torres, the “towers” of rock for which the park is named.

The view from the refuge with a few of the horses used to carry supplies up the mountain and the torres peeking out, tempting me upwards

The meal: dried fruit, peanut butter and crackers, salami and bread, was simple but tasted like the finest cuisine after the climb up the side of the mountain.  I ate, rested and donned my pack once again to make the trek to my camp.

The second half of the trail was completely different from the first.  It wound its way through the trees back and forth across wooden bridges over the flowing water that had now widened out substantially.  It was shady, cool, peaceful….perfect.  I hardly noticed the heavy pack that contained everything I would need to survive the night.

The path of least resistance

Sunshine, on my shoulders, makes me....sunburnt?

Wood...what more can I say?

I'm sure it's sturdier than it looks...you go first

When the trees thinned out, I could see glimpse of mountain tops, glaciers and waterfalls on all sides.

Sights like this never get old

Making its way to my water bottle

Finally, I emerged from the forest to reach my campsite.  It was here that I would spend the night in my little rented tent, trying not to freeze of any of my important parts.  It was an amazing spot.  The camp itself, Campamento Torres, was down a small, rocky path, nestled in a grove of trees out of the wind, with a cool, clear, stream trickling through its center.  I, gladly, took off my heavy pack and set up my tent.

Bienvenidos a Campamento Torres

It's not much but it's mine....for the night

After getting set up, I ate another simple meal, made a few friends in the camp and had enough time to explore the surrounding area and take some fun photos.

Tranquility in black and white

I went to sleep fairly early that night, exhausted from the physical and mental activities of the day.  The night passed without rain and I managed to stay fairly warm.  If I could remember my dreams from that night, they would pale in comparison to what I would see the next day.

I awoke early the next morning at around 5:00 am, dressed, and strapped on my headlamp for the 45 minute trek, in the dark, up to the torres.  The sky was clear and the moon shone brightly in the crisp morning air.  Looking up, I saw something that I had been missing in the bright lights and big city of Buenos Aires.  innumerable stars looked down upon me, winking at me as if they knew the secret of the wonder that I was about to behold.

The path was steep and rocky, and I walked it alone.  If not for the reflective markers leading me onward in the right direction, I could have easily walked off the side of the mountain.  Sucking in the thin air in deep breaths, I made my way up…and up…and up.  When I reached the base of the torres, the only other person there was a photographer.  He was perched on a rock like a hunter, awaiting the perfect shot.  I found a place among the rocks to sit and await the sunrise.  The photographer sipped at his warm mate (which he didn’t offer to share) while I tried to keep warm under the ever brightening sky.  Finally, the sky began to glow and the time I had been waiting for arrived.  What happened next is something that I will never experience again and I found myself wondering what I had done to deserve to be there at that magical moment as the towers caught fire!

It started with a spark

A flame flickered

The blaze grew

Then, as I watched in awe, the colors began to shift.

Pink became orange

Orange gave way to gold

My feeble words and paltry pictures cannot capture the awe and beauty that I beheld that morning on the mountain in Chilean Patagonia.  An unforgettable experience.  A brush with divinity.

After yet another priceless moment in my life, I headed back down the trail, this time in the light of day.  I packed up my things and bid farewell to my camp.  I put on my headphones and hiked down the mountain and slowly, begrudgingly back into reality.  I stopped once again at the refuge to rest and then continued down to the trailhead.  There, I met up with some of the friends I had made along the way and relaxed in a shady grove of trees, pondering all that had happened and waiting for the van to take me back to the entrance of the park.  At the entrance, I was offered a final view of the grandeur that I had been fortunate enough to be a part of.

A farewell to Torres del Paine...just when we were getting to know each other

I left the park and headed back to Puerto Natales.  I packed up my things at the Singing Lamb and headed to Erratic Rock to have a beer with some of my new friends.  I spent the last of my Chilean pesos, said my goodbyes to the people who had I spent precious little time with, and returned to the hostel to sleep away my final night in Chile.

And so, with my adventure there over with all too soon, I got on a bus early the next morning and headed for my Patagonian finale at the end of the world.

Border Hopping: Puerto Natales

Having had my first adventure in Patagonia, I packed up my stuff and hopped on a bus.  I waved goodbye (no I didn’t) to El Calafate and headed towards Puerto Natales, Chile with absolutely no idea of what to expect.  The first part of the trip was great, but as we got closer to the final destination, the lakes dried up and the mountains dulled to rounded hills.  Several small, poor, dirty mining towns began to dot the hillsides as well and my mind flickered back to a conversation I had the night before with the only employee of the i Kue Ken hostel that I was less than impressed with.  “Un poco feo” (a bit ugly) he had said of Puerto Natales.  Riding on a credulous wave of enthusiasm from my experience the with god of ice, I had dismissed his pessimism, but now I began to wonder.

The ride lasted about five or six hours including two stops, one at either side of the border.  You have to “check out” of Argentina and then go through customs on your way into Chile to make sure you don’t have any corrosive gases or milk products.  The town of Puerto Natales is actually only a few minutes from the border.  Under a dull and cloudy sky, we descended from border checkpoint, down the gently sloping hill and towards our final destination.

Puerto Natales is a small town, located on the Última Esperanza Sound in Chilean Patagonia.  Though it isn’t as clean and quaint as El Calafate, the landscape which surrounds it is nothing short of breathtaking.  As we came out of the hills and I began to get a view of the Sound and the mountains surrounding it, any doubts I had about being there vanished and Mr. Un Poco Feo was instantly forgotten (until now).

Latitude adjustment...

There is, apparently, no bus station in Puerto Natales, so the bus dropped us off in the center of the town and I set to work finding my hostel, The Singing Lamb.  Nothing is too far from anything in Puerto Natales so I only had a few blocks to walk.

El Cordero Cantante?

Susan, a New Zealander who runs the Singing Lamb, instantly earned my affection by asking me if I was Chilean and telling me that I spoke Spanish with less accent than her even though she had been living there off and on for over 30 years.  In truth, to hear her speak Spanish with her New Zealand accent always brought a smile to my lips.  What’s more, she is a caring and jovial woman who welcomes everyone into the lamb as if she were welcoming family members into her own home.

I didn’t have much time to get situated at the Lamb because I had to hurry over to Erratic Rock, another hostel/pub in town that rents hiking and camping gear and gives a daily talk (for free) about Torres del Paine, the national park and main draw to Puerto Natales, that is located a few hours to the north.  The guys at Erratic Rock are awesome.  Not only will they tell you everything you want to know (and more) about the park with smiles on their faces, but they will help you in any way they can to ensure that you are prepared to enjoy your time there to its full potential (thanks Koen!).  What’s more, you can grab a beer and something to eat while you are there.

Koen, just one member of the happy and helpful staff at Erratic Rock

I spent the rest of the night uneventfully.  A few friends that I had met in my intensive Spanish class in Buenos Aires were due to meet me at the Lamb the next day, so I returned to the hostel and spent a few hours with some of the other guests (mostly Brits and Aussies that night) having a few beers and talking about what we planned to do once we got to the park.

I spent the next day getting ready for Torres del Paine.  I had to rent a tent and a sleeping bag and buy food for the two days that I would spend there.  Although I could have easily spent a week exploring all the wonders the park has to offer, unfortunately I was on a restrictive schedule.  My friends had some unexpected delays, so I spent the rest of my time that day exploring the town.

Sinners welcome

The Chilean flag flies over an amazing mural

Giant sloth anyone? El Milodón

Along the shore of Última Esperanza (Last Hope) Sound

An eye catching corner in Puerto Natales

Just a few of the mountains surrounding the sound

My friends finally arrived at about 9:30 that night.  We made a mad dash to the market to try to get the supplies they would need while they were in they park.  They spent the next several hours packing their things and trying to get ready for our trip to Torres del Paine.  The owner, and the guests, at the Lamb were less than thrilled about their late-night packing marathon, but they managed to get themselves in order so that we could leave for the park early the next morning.  I, having had plenty of time to prepare while waiting for them that day, relaxed and had a beer.

My excitement grew as the time of departure drew closer but, in truth, I had no idea of the incredible things that were waiting for me in Torres del Paine…