San Junin de los Andes- Via Christi

Quick update as we move north...

The little falls before Inacayal Falls

Slowly progressing north... we spent two days in Villa de Angostura. We backtracked along the road we came into Bariloche on originally, and ended up in a kind of mini Bariloche- all the same kinds of restaurants and shops, just on a smaller scale. It turned out to be a fairly lazy couple of days in Angostura. We walked one day to Mirador Belvedere and saw some impressive cloud formations hanging over the mountains by the lake, and then cut through the forest to Inacayal Falls, a fifty metre cascada of icy clear water. The next day we walked to a neighbouring village to see if we could hire a boat and get out on the lake. Being a Sunday, everything was shut, and the utilitarian paddleboats tied up on the beach weren't actually in service- just there to look pretty in their own way apparently.


Next stop is San Martin de los Andes, a nearly comatose little hamlet shielding itself from the elements in a small valley. Once again, the imported Swiss aesthetic of stone and lacquered wood dominates the architecture- how many places can there be like this? Apparently the bus ride was pleasant; winding and bumping through lakeside roads for a few hours, but due to an early morning jaunt back to Bariloche to pick up some international mail (vegemite), I slept through most of it. The HI Hostel we stayed at had the air of some kind of YMCA school camp/ boarding school. On arrival we were shown to our separate dorm rooms (one for boys, one for girls thank-you) and informed of the strictly held kitchen hours which ensured we ate at a reasonable hour. No mid afternoon snacks here kids. The 'Your mother doesn't live here, clean up after yourself!' signs plastered on the fridge in multiple languages drove home the point that we were lucky to have kitchen privileges at all.

Walking up a mountain...

Warning: Lots of words ahead, feel free just to look at the pictures.

The weather came back the day after our mountain exploration, but the day after that it seemed to be holding off- just. With our friend Pablo (from London) we decided to walk to a refugio in the mountains (on a scale from cave to Hilton, a refugio is one step up from a hut). Over ten kilometres we climbed 700 metres, and taking it easy meant we took around four and a half hours to get to the top. We set out just after lunch and entered a chameleon landscape that morphed into something new every five minutes. It began as a red dirt wasteland, with heavily sculpted canals muscling their way through the earth. Those soon gave way to an eerie stonescape, populated by the skeletal forms of thousands of dead trees and dominated by a looming, dark, jagged hill. A stream of grey rocks, frozen mid-flow, ran from the top of the hill down through the white and sliver trees. The monochromatic setting was broken up in places by green shrubs that enclosed the trunks, leaving only the spindly branches to reach out, giving the impression that they were trying frantically to escape the new plantlife. The whole scene had a post-apocalyptic air; it felt like we were standing in the middle of the remnants of a disaster.



As we walked on, the environment opened up and we had lake views across to the mountains we had climbed a couple of days before. The yellow scrub stayed low and sparse, but the largest of the twisted trunks remained spread out. The track began to climb slightly, and wet rocks covered in fuzzy green moss stood guard along the track. We rounded a corner and in the distance, through more of those distorted torsos and beyond the mountains we were traversing, giant, vertical columns of rock stood straight up into the grey sky. Orcs were expected to pounce at any moment.

Swords at the ready

A little further on, the scenery became much more Zen, as we entered a bamboo forest, the kind normally frequented by panda bears and water wheels. This environment soon intermingled with a kind of Japanese garden plant theme, complete with precarious wooden bridges and gentle waterfalls. Plenty of babbling brooks too. Much less intimidating. It was also at this point that we saw two of the four animals that we came across during the whole two days. A pair of the punk rockers of the avian universe, woodpeckers, banged their mohawked heads up and down some trees about 5 metres above our heads. (if you're wondering what the other two animals we saw were, one was a sparrow, and the other was the refugio kitty, Tormenta, which is Spanish for storm).

Pretty soon the trees got all European on us, and a carpet of brown leaves covered the bare forest floor. This was Robin Hood's turf, and Little John would not have looked out of place on any of the tree trunk bridges that spanned the increasing number of rapids. The log cabin built into the side of a huge stone and enormous wooden cross really drove home the olde-English vibe.

Angie and Pablo on yet another perilous bridge

Then the climb really began. As we got higher, the plant life changed again, this time into stunted and squat shrubs. We were in the middle of a forest of bonsais, getting closer and closer the snow line. When the enormous mini-trees momentarily parted, we had the chance to look out across the valley we were climbing up the side of. What we saw was a fire-red oil-painting of tree tops firmly carpeting the bottom of the valley, and halting abruptly where the snow had now begun to sit in patches. 'HUGE' was the first word that came to mind when we found rock to raise ourselves above the leafy roof. 'Prehistoric' was another one, and the longer we stood still in awe of the whole landscape, the word 'cold' seemed more and more suitable. Then 'wet' and 'windy' came to the fore, as rain began to fall, and a gale whipped right through us.



A final, brutal, uphill trudge began. Packs very heavy now, knees getting extremely wobbly. A final dodgy crossing of rapids and the refugio came into view. The cold was momentarily forgotten when trying to take in just what we were seeing. A crown of mountains, patchy with snow, encircle a hilltop lake, and on the edge of it all sat the little stone cubic form of Refugio Frey. Then, swooooooshh- there's that word 'cold' chattering out of my lips again, plus my arms felt really strange and....tingly. Did I mention I was still in a t-shirt? I dragged my pack and myself inside the refugio and glorious electric bar heaters began the job of thawing out the blood that had frozen next to the surface of my bare arms.

1700 metres

Angie tumbled in soon after, followed by a very disheveled Pablo. Apparently the cold had infected the core of his mind, and still not quite thawed, he states he is considering pitching his tent in the arctic conditions beyond. I tell him he is mad, but he explains that he bought the tent, carried it up this mountain and there is now a principle at stake. Principle or no principle, the idea is revolting, and he soon comes around. He slightly tempted soon after when he learns there is a girl out there who has already put up her tent and will sleep out there tonight. 'If she can do it why can't I' is what I see written on his face, but common sense prevails. We eat pizza for dinner and crash early in the 18 bed dorm (no space between mattresses at all-very cosy when full I'm sure).

View from the bedroom window

See the refugio on the left-hand side? It doesn't have a phone. Sorry I couldn't call for your birthday, Dad!

Day 2

Breakfast on day 2

It is raining. It is windy. I think we are in the middle of a very thick cloud. It looks like we are inside a giant fluorescent tube. It is far less then suitable for us to be in nature. But we have to go somewhere. Rather than pushing on six hours through the sub-zero elements to the next refugio, we decide to descend the mountain and eat apple strudel in the carpark at the bottom. We layered up, and ventured out looking like waterproof marshmallows. At that point the snow started. Another milestone for Angie, as she had never been snowed on before. But it was more like we were being snowed at, as ice flakes weren't really falling, they were moving sideways trough the air at tremendous speeds, really slicing into any exposed skin or eyeballs. Next time I will take sunglasses and gloves...


The descent was much wetter, but much quicker than the climb yesterday. Powered on by the freshest water I've ever drunk (collected from the very first rapid after that mountaintop lake), it takes two and half hours to cover the ten kilometres, and the strudel at the bottom was most deserved. A short bus ride later, we back in Bariloche, where there is running hot water and no snow. I think I still may prefer it up there in the clouds though.

Heavens part- But for how long???

Free At Last...

One morning we awoke to blue skies and only the faintest fraction of the gales that have been keeping us housebound. Determined not to waste it, we ventured out into the day to climb the same mountain I had been outsmarted by a few days ago. After finding the start of the road up (a feat of suburban navigation in itself), we began the climb and found ourselves huffing and puffing topside a couple of hours later. Huffing and puffing so much that we decided to laze our way back down the mountain in one of the cable-car's cute-as-a-button red pods. With closing time fast approaching we thought we'd fit in a quick 30 minute walk to one of the very many lookout points.

This is the entrance to the look-out walks. Apparently the sign says 'Wet Paint', but I didn't see any paint at all.

Outside- No paint here either.

Trying to do the circuit backwards was not as clever as we thought and we ended up on the 90 minute course. It didn't matter in the end as the cable-car stayed open longer than we expected, and the fantastic upside of it was that Angie had her first encounter with real snow! (there were also some spectacular views-again). As an added bonus, we got to find out if food really does taste better when you're revolving, as we consumed cake and coffee in the hilltop restaurant. The results were inconclusive, but delicious.

Angie, meet Snow.

Wood panelled revolving restaurant, red bubble dome cable-car, and now this on the wall at the exit. Can you tell this was all built in the 60's? (the real cable-cars had wires to run along)

Angry at Everything- Lago Nahuel Haupi

Angie and Dave VS Bariloche, round 2

Back in Bariloche, a different looking Bariloche to a week ago. The weather had closed right in and the rain clouds were sitting heavy just above the lake. We checked into the hostel, ate at a VEGETARIAN restaurant. Then the weather really closed in...

Colder than it looks...

...For almost a week wind slammed Bariloche, producing surfable waves on Lago Nahuel Haupi. If I hadn't left my surfing gear in Santiago to pick up later, I might have some photos of me riding choppy little waves with snowy mountains far in the background. Back in the hostel, when the wind whipped around the windows and walls, it really sounded like the roof was about to be lifted off into the night. Visions of tiles launching, clouds rushing past my face and angie being picked up and swirled away in the gale filled my sleepy mind as I was woken every few hours each night. Eventually it all became too much for the roof, and wet patches started to appear on the floor in the bedroom. The brutal weather basically ruled out any outdoor activity, Angie fell ill for a few days and was confined to bed, I ventured out one day to climb a mountain, but the gods sent me straight back inside after moving the mountain (or i got lost) and then drenching me by horizontal rain so it would appear that I had been lying face down in ten centimetres of water. Movies filled most of the days, and on one outing to the chocolate supermarket, Angie got trapped inside a cubicle and, wait for it, had to crawl out underneath the door- disinfectant!! STAT! Apart from that, not much to report, but the lake did throw up some nasty looking photo opportunities, and snow has begun to appear on the mountains where last week laid sunshine.

A rare moment of calm on Lago Nahuel Haupi, this view is from our bedroom window.

El Bolson

so......cold....

El Bolson is framed by two spines of mountains running parallel to each other and straddling the town. Hostel Patagonica is a building in the swiss/german wood'n'stone style that makes up a good portion of the architecture in this part of the world. The hostel is set on a piece of green farmland about a kilometre form the town 'centre'. Chilling out and browsing the local markets took up most of the day, and the next few days after that, although we did manage to visit Lago Puelo one day (and suffered our first encounter with Argentina's 'tourist prices'- double what the locals pay). Lago Puelo is a big patch of icy cold agua, surrounded by faded purple and green mountains. The day we went it was being whipped up by frosty winds coming straight off the top of the snow capped mountains (snow capped, snow capped... someone please send me another way to describe snow capped mountains).

View from the hostel

Angie, never afraid to put herself at risk for the shot

On another day, we went walking up the mountains to have look at the place from on high. The views were stunning- there's not really any way I can do them justice in words or pictures, but take a look at the shots anyway... The river you can see squirms its way through the valley down into Lago Puelo. On the walk home we stopped in a little stone and timber cafe, El Resguardo, about 3 km from the main town and got some coffee and pizza and beautiful hot waffles with hot raspberry sauce.. The Heart of Saturday Night by Tom Waits wandered out of the speakers and I thought of Phil. Hi Phil! El Bolson is your kind of place! Get over sometime....

Come here for afternoon tea

Don't beleive the Janitor- Bariloche

These are for steep hills only

Matt left us this morning, and he shall forever be a black spot on poor Alli's trip. To much macho Americanism can get old quick. Allie got a hot tip from a senile old woman she met about a cable car up a mountain and a leisurely walk back down it. So far all the old duck's sugestions seem to have been completely backwards, but today it turned out that the cable car was there, and we floated pleasantly up to the mountaintop to see some spectacular views over the lake and surrounding areas. The stroll back down was where the fun began. They only put cable cars on very steep hills, so I'm not sure why we believed the random janitor who said we could take an easy shortcut back down. Steep? Steep?

Inland ice cold Whitsundays

No, no, very easy he said... Very easy turned out to be a 4.5 km run(the incline was so severe it was impossible to walk) through a narrow, rocky, tree infested 'path'. Such was the strain on Angie's toes from smashing into the front of her shoes, she was forced to walk backwards for the rest of the day. A quick stop in at the chocolate and ice cream shop followed. These are two things the Argentinians seem to take extremely seriously. The store was at least twice the size of any of the supermarkets in town, and the crowds were thick, full of anxious faces with eyes locked onto the cool cabinets like they were filled with some sort of magic. Turns out they were full of magic, and only $20 a kilo!

After battling that scene, a frantic cab ride followed. All three of us trying to explain to the cab driver that we needed to stop at the hostel, snatch up our bags and then get to the bus terminal to catch the coach to El Bolson, leaving in around 15 minutes. Too close, but we made it. It seems the trick is to bribe the taxi driver with a lolly and they don't cars how fast you force them to go. Two hours on a bus through the dark Argentinean countryside, and we landed in a small country town, found the hostel, washed out the dust from the dirty descent of the mountain and crashed into bed.

olararhenteenah!

We caught a coach to Argentina today, leaving a foggy Chilean morn, bussing our way through some spectacular scenery and overtaking way too many fuel tankers around blind corners. Apart from one or two near misses, the trip was fantastic, I'll write more about the Argentino intercity busses soon, but for now I will say what a pleasure it was to be served coffee and snacks by an attendant while sitting in a chair more comfortable than our old green couch back home. LAN Chile could learn much from its earth-bound people-carting competition.

Intensely sweet, served in a tall glass with a straw, but its coffee and its complimentary!! On a bus!

El autobus climbed the hills into clean, clear air, the muy-serious guards stamped our passports while the dogs sniffed around our bags and we were let into Argentina. The ride from the border to Bariloche is a gorgeous introduction to a seriously beautiful country. We passed lakes coloured intense blues, saw white topped mountains, patches of spiky desert; all that stuff you see on postcards, but in real life!

The bus dropped us off 3km outside of town at the terminal, and there we discovered that you should never place too much trust in a money-changer, even when they are being nice. Against our better judgment, we decided to use American dollars in Argentina at first, as the money man suggested. Of course when we arrived, it became apparent that no, you can't use dollars to catch busses and taxis, so we found ourselves stranded in new country with no pesos and no means of getting into town. Enter Matt, fireman from the US of A who lent us the 50 cents or so each for a bus ride to convenience- and to the bank. Bariloche seems to be a hotspot for the plethora of Israeli travelers here, and the town was pretty much booked out, due to Lent and the Argentinean Easter holidays. After a couple of hours hunting, Angie and Matt found us a set of plastic covered mattresses for the night. The place was was a ghost house, and looking at the state of it (non-flushing toilets were the highlight), it wasn't hard to see why.

Puerto Varas

Puerto Varas is a cute little town in Chile. It has a volcano and German houses. Chameleon-haired Angie made her final transformation and is now dark and mysterious. Plus we adopted a travelling buddy. More soon. The End.

Another day, another volcano.

Optimistic graffiti.

Puerto Mont

Vegetarian Option in a local seafood restaurant.

Volcan Orsorno- Puerto Varas

Moonrise

Valdivia

Uncooperative Sealion

Angie had a close encounter of the sea-lion kind, in Valdivia, Chile's 'Most Beautiful City'. I coaxed her closer and closer to the beast to take this photo, and just as I pressed the shutter release and moved the camera away from my face, a terrible barking roar blasted its way from the lungs of the lion and straight into Angie's red locks. Much to the amusement of the crowd, she covered at least ten metres in the second before the sound died down, skimming across the wet concrete of the markets to safety. That was the photo that got away.

Microseconds from hilarity.

Big Beer in Little Germany

After all the excitement of getting too close to nature, Angie and I, along with our new friends, Heather and Andrew, ate chip sandwiches in McDonalds and caught a collectivo (small rattling bus) to the Kunstmann brewery, just outside of town. There we saw the beer museum, which featured a fascinating display of empty beer bottles from around the world. Australia was well represented, with our national brews of Fosters, Millers and Budweiser making up the collection. The real highlight of this Little German Brewery in Southern Chile was the 2.5 litre column of beer that we drank after- Muy Grande!

Twelve dollars of beer never looked so big.

Volcan Villarrica-Pucon

Back in the sixties, the volcano erupted and the lava flow took out a small town here. Bad volcano.

Volcan Villarrica by night

Rafting

Pucon is a tourist town in the South of Chile. If you go there, the law says that you must do something involving guides and lots of cheering. Rather than climb the volcano, which is the most popular, and most expensive option, we decided to do a spot of river rafting. The icy water was moving at some alarming speeds, and Angie hauled me back into the boat after I accidently went swimming. It was probably the most fun I've had while being constantly yelled at.


Gladiators...Ready!

Even when everyone around her goes to pieces, Angie remains optimistic.