Otoño Argentino

I noticed the prior evening that Banco Chubut in town had an ATM, and so I stopped in to withdrawal some cash thinking that I might be able to avoid a trip to Esquel. The transaction seemed to go well at first, but the dough didn't arrive and no receipt was printed. Hm. I decided to go in and explain my problem to a bank teller, but when I opened the door and looked inside I saw a line of forty sad faces winding around the small lobby, all waiting for one teller. This, I thought, is the face of the Argentine economic crisis. As no manager was on hand, and I didn't want to wait for hours or cause a ruckus, I crossed my fingers and headed to Esquel.

Esquel is nice town much like Ft. Collins except without the sprawling chain stores. It is not as touristy as the other towns of the region, and I got a sense that the daily life that I was seeing here was representative of daily life in the province of Chubut, Argentina. One big difference was that most of the stores closed their doors between 1 and 4 in the afternoon, opening again until around 8, with the restaurants open until midnight or 1am.

My first stop was the ATM at Banco Patagonia, where I was able to withdrawal cash, and then over to an internet cafe where I looked up my bank account on line and confirmed that the transaction in Trevelin was void. Phew. By then it was after 1pm, and after passing most of the afternoon in an ice cream shop (one of the few places that was open), I dropped off my laundry and headed over to the Coyote Bike shop. If you are a bicyclist heading through Esquel, a stop at the Coyote is a must. They have a good selection of modern components, and very knowledgeable and friendly staff.

After dropping my bike off I headed over to pick up my laundry, and as I was paying the lady asked me how I was enjoying my trip to Argentina. I replied that the scenery was great, the people were nice, and I was really enjoying my stay. She replied "Sure, great scenery, great people, but let me tell you about the politicians..." Half an hour later I backed out of the door after saying "Si, claro. Ciao, gracias." for the hundredth time.

3/28/2002: 42º50' south; Lago Futulaufquen, Argentina: Rode 52km in 4.5hrs.

Dinner on the shores of Lago Futulaufquen.

Here I sit in my bivy on the shores of Lago Futalafquen tempting fate as I hack out web pages with rain threatening. There were a few slight showers today, but nothing to speak of. Dry as a bone compared to Chaiten. Waves lap the shore, and the sun pokes through every now and then to reassure me.

Before I left town at 1:00pm I added air to the rear tire for the first time since Punta Arenas, thinking that it might be a bit low and with all the weight I did not want to risk getting a pinch flat. So I stopped at a gas station and added more air until the tire was quite full. This exacerbated a slight bulge in the rim which had heretofore gone unnoticed, but it was not too bad so I kept heading out of town. About 10km out of town the rear breaks started binding because of the rim damage, and since I couldn't do anything about the rim I decided to loosen the breaks a bit and let some air out of the tire. As I was adjusting the breaks the cows in the adjacent field walked over to the fence and started offering advice. "Mooove it this way"; "Moooove it that way." "Oh be quiet." I said. Cows, what do they know? Ok, so I'm going nuts- but at least I'm not as bad as another guy I met who could carry on an hour long conversation with his backpack.

An hour after arriving in Los Alerces park I finally see my first Alerce tree; not much of one at that. The information center is surrounded by Arucaria trees. Hm. Apparently Alerces trees are not all that common in the park. There is a boat excursion leaving daily at noon which crosses Lago Menendez to an old grove of Alerces trees, so I guess I'll have to go. At the information center I get my first good photo of an Austral Parakeet, which I have been seeing ever since Torres del Paine. I had always thought of Parakeets as tropical birds, but here they are in Patagonia.

Austral Parakeet

3/29/2002: 42º54' south; Esquel, Argentina: Rode 30km in 2hrs.

Back in Esquel? Alas, it is true; major rim blowout, so it's back to the Coyote bike shop for a new rim. It turns out that the cows critiquing my brake adjustment might have had something worthwhile to say! The combination of high air pressure, a weak rim, and that last rock (kind of like the last straw, but worse) resulted in tube explosion and rim disintegration just as I arrived at Puerto Chucao to catch the ferry across Lago Menendez to hike to the Alerces trees. Well, I wasn't about to let a little thing like rim disintegration interrupt my planned hike, so I left my bike and gear with the lady at the little store there (around back, behind the big dog), and bought a ticket for the ferry.

A cute little Chucao- I want one for a pet!

The ferry trip across lago Menendez to the Alerces trees is one of the highlights of Los Alerces national park (duh), and at this time of year there were only Argentine tourists. At first I felt a bit out of place, but when I went up to the upper deck to take pictures of the glaciated peak across the lake (good shots, but I'll give you a break on the peak photos) a nice guy insisted upon taking my picture for me. That kind of broke the ice, and I introduced myself and took his picture as well. Alejandro and his family were up here on a short vacation from a town to the south in the Santa Cruz province. On the return trip I sat with them and discussed business and politics over a cup of matte. Matte is a strong type of tea, and is served in a small cup which is filled with 9 parts matte and one part hot water. One drinks the tea through a special straw (usually silver or brass) which has a filter on the end of it. Drinking matte is the social equivalent of having a beer in the US, and so I gladly accepted Alejandro's invitation.

Upon returning to the parking lot, Alejandro ran around talking to folks trying to drum up a ride for me back to Esquel (he and his family were in a small rental car). When the people he asked couldn't take me, they also started asking around, and pretty soon everyone in the parking lot was trying to solve my dilemma. Soon Alejandro had to get going, and after many a ¡Mucho Gusto! I bid him adieu with assurances that I would find a ride. After a bit I spied a couple and an older lady returning to their truck, and I asked them if I could get a lift back to Esquel. Ernesto was a bit standoffish at first, but after I explained my dilemma he said "Sure, but first we will have some matte!". So I loaded the bike and gear into the back of his truck and sat down for another round of matte, answering and asking the usual questions. After the ride back into town, Ernesto gave me his business card and said that if I needed anything to give him a call. It so happens that he is the warden of the local prison- no wonder he was cautious at first. After dropping off my gear at the local Alberge (bunkhouse), I headed into town and stopped at the first restaurant that looked good. Inside there was another couple that had been on the ferry and hike that day as well. They immediately recognized me and waved me over to their table. After a good dinner and conversation there was much hand shaking, ¡Mucho Gusto!, kisses and photos with which to remember ones friends. It seems that if you meet an Argentine once you are pals, but if you meet them a second time you are friends for life!

3/30/2002: 41º58' south; El Bolson, Argentina: Bus from Esquel.

Well, since my bike trip was aborted in PN Los Alerces, I decided to take a bus up to El Bolson and pick up the route there, thus avoiding re-tracing my footsteps. The bus ride also enabled me to meet up with fellow traveler Chris from Seattle for a few days of exploring around El Bolson. While in Esquel a nice Belgian couple riding bicycles were staying at the same Albergue that I was. They left just before I did, beating the bus out of town by half an hour. As the bus was speeding along outside of town I was mortified when the driver started pounding on his horn and nearly ran them off the road. That's it. No more busses. After Bariloche I'll make my way north and west to Temuco, Chile via Pucon, and then take the train from there back to Santiago.

I arrived in El Bolson at 8:00pm, and upon inquiring at the tourist office I found out that every bed in town was occupied. There was a festival in Bolson celebrating Easter. I told the lady that my friend Chris was staying at Hospedaje Salinas, and asked her to call them so that I could contact Chris. After a few minutes she returned to tell me that I was one lucky guy, because Chris and another traveler were staying in a room for three, and the third bed was open. So I thanked her and rode over to Hospedaje Salinas, where Chris was waiting for me.

Later on Chris and I hit up one of the local pubs for some evening entertainment. A live band was playing, and we thought that it would be good because the cover was a whopping 3 pesos (up from two pesos the prior evening). I don't remember the name of the band, but it was some convoluted blend of the words “sex” and “space” in Spanish. That should have been the first clue. The stage was concealed behind a thin black curtain held up by a string, and a lady with a camera was busy setting up to our right. Then, adding to the suspense, the show started an hour late (1:30am). Finally the lights dim and the theme to “2001, A Space Odyssey” starts to play. Cool- I love that theme. So now I'm thinking that they will pick up on the tune and work it into their first song. Black lights turn on, and various florescent moons, stars and planets light up behind the curtain, while a projector starts displaying swirling galaxies on one wall. Finally the curtain is dropped with a flourish, the intro music ends, and a large silver baby bottle (I guess that would be a rocket) rustles on the left hand side of the stage and out stumble five aluminum foil clad performers. Ok. Let's hear it. Lots of build up- big suspense- I'm ready for a jammin song. Nope. They just hang out and tune their instruments for another 5 minutes. Then, without warning, the woman wearing the large silver diaper starts beating chaotically on a drum, the lead guitar joins in with a shriek, the base player picks up the beat (there must be a beat there somewhere), and off they go, screeching and screaming their way through the first “song”. Hm. Somebody please put the diaper lady in a straight jacket. Ok. Give them a chance. The second song starts with a windy and pretentious political message, after which they start clanging pots and pans cacerola* style, and gradually work their way into something that might have actually had a beat, but I'm not sure. I stick it out for another few tunes, and they get a bit better, but not much, so I squeeze my way out of the packed and smoky bar at 2:30am and hit the sack. Chris informed me the next day that they actually did get around to playing some music later on- something to do with a flute and an exotic dancer. Shucks, I missed it.

*Cacerola is the Spanish word for pan, and pots and pans have become a potent political weapon during the Argentine economic crisis. Of the four presidential changes several months ago, three of them were instigated by the people taking to the streets and banging pots and pans. One argentine said “Who needs guns when you have pots & pans?”

3/31/2002: 41º58' south; El Bolson, Argentina: Layover day; short hikes.

Funky cars abound in El Bolson, home of aging hippies and artisans.

El Bolson means "The Sink" in Spanish, and is an appropriate name for the town as it is located in a depression surrounded by peaks. At only 340m above sea level, the region has a warm micro climate relative to Bariloche to the north and Esquel to the south. The climate made El Bolson a popular destination for hippies in the 60's, and the bar scene contained an interesting mix of grey haired hippies and Argentine youth. There is an artisans market each day around the town park, and before heading out for a hike Chris and I sauntered through the booths and perused the wares. I decided to buy a matte cup and straw, so that I would be socially equipped for future argentine encounters.

Berries and Lago Puelo, with Tres Picos in the background.

That afternoon Chris and I headed out to PN Puelo south of El Bolson. Once again the main attraction was a boat ride, this one to the end of the lake near the Chilean boarder. It seems that all of the lakes and rivers in this area drain into Chile- the Futaleufù to the south, the Puelo, and to the north near Bariloche the rio Manso. The trip was nice, and we did the short hike to the border, took pictures and returned. Once again conversation with the Argentines was interesting, and we got a lift back to Bolson with a nice couple from Buenos Aires.

4/1/2002: 41º58' south; El Bolson, Argentina: Layover day.

I had planned to start the ride to Bariloche today, but some nasty little critter found a new home in my intestines, and is having quite the party down there. I sent Mr. Cipro down to visit, and battle is being waged. No worries, nice day to lounge around in the sun.

4/2/2002: 41º35' south; Bivy camp, rode 60km in 8 hours.

Well, I had originally planned to ride 90km today, but that was before I got sick. Considering that my total caloric intake yesterday consisted of two cans of coke, 60km and 500m elevation gain isn't too bad. Mr. Cipro did his job well, and I was feeling much better in the morning, so I decided to pack up and see how far I could ride. Yesterdays beautiful weather has been replaced by clouds and wind, and all night long I listened to tree branches raking the roof. The wind seemed to be saying "Ride, Mark, ride- into the wind you must go." Gads. I'm going nuts.

About 28km into the days ride I was running out of gas while climbing a long hill when I came upon a nice waterfall with a little store next to it. I paused to admire the waterfall (lots of pausing and admiring today) and then stopped by the store for a sandwich and soda. The owner and his family were sitting down for lunch and invited me to sit with them. So I sat down and we chatted a bit; the usual "Where are you from?", "Where are you going?", "How long have you been here?". After a bit the gentleman mention that he too had taken a long trip once upon a time. "Really?" I asked, "how long?". "Well, I drove a '28 ford pickup from here to the United States in 1967. It took me a year and a half." Wow. To prove his point he pulled out old newspaper clippings with his picture in front of the '28 ford pickup under the headline "¡Grand Adventure!". He modestly displayed his passport, which had stamps from most of the countries in south and central America, and towards the back a visa for the USA. That must have been quite the adventure in '67- dirt roads, making your own repairs, not much gasoline to be had. Once again my puny little bike trip is put into perspective!

4/3/2002: 41º10' south; Bariloche, Argentina, rode 65km in 6 hours.

Balmy fall weather while riding along lago Gutierrez just south of Bariloche.

After a cloudy and humid (but not rainy) night out in the bivy sack, I got into the saddle again and started the long hill climb up from Rio Villegos to Lago Mascardi. As I rode the weather cleared, and by the time I rolled into Bariloche it was warm and sunny. One travel guide that I read compared Bariloche to Chamonix, France, and although I haven't been to Chamonix I'm guessing that the French would cringe at the comparison. I had been told that I should not ride through the south side of town at night, and indeed the barrios there were some of the worst that I have seen on the trip. However at 3 in the afternoon I had no problems, riding through unnoticed. The downtown area was much as I expected it, with posh hotels, chic clothing boutiques, ice cream shops, chocolate shops, clothing restaurants, bars and a tour operator on every corner. There is plenty to do here, and I plan to spend a while climbing, hiking and backpacking.