So... I believe I left off in Ushuaia just before we left...
We hitched back from Ushuaia to the next big city (ish) called Rio Grande. We had several stops to make as we left town, and after the 300 or so kilometers to Ushuaia we ended up getting into that wind capital of Tierra del Fuego, Rio Grande near midnight. We strolled into the hostel we had stayed in last time dead tired and with the intention of fixing a quick meal (the only one we had had time for that day) and hitting the sack. Plans change. We got caught up in the bustle of Hostel Argentino and ended up staying up until just past 2 in the morning. Among the people who managed to force us to tap into our reserve energy was an anorexic looking man from Nottingham who talked and smoked like a blow addict. There was no cocaine racing through hjis veins, he was addicted to fly fishing. Rio Grande proclaims itself to be the fly fishing capital of Tierra del Fuego, and has the 40 ft trout statue with appropriate plaque to prove it. The Englishman was down in Patagonia with the intent of writing an article for a sporting magazine once he was finished. ¨Most people think of fly fishing as a sport for old men, when there´s an air of excitement and spirituality that most people don´t see. I´m trying to show people that it´s not just for old men, but rather that the sport is full of energy and is not only a way of life but a religion as well.¨ The following said in a thick English accent that even replayed at half speed would still be to fast to understand.
Leaving Rio Grande we decided that it would be more economically efficient to hitchhike as buses leaving the island are very expensive. This is the part where I tell you why I gave the title of Wind Capital of Tierra del Fuego to Rio Grande, for once we got a bit out of town and began to hitch hike to wind was free to ravage us without the hindrance of any nearby buildings. The wind was blowing in gusts that exceeded 80 km/h and were strong enough to push us around like an elementary school bully. We stood and slowly froze in this weather for over 3 hours before we got a ride, and even that ride was to San Sebastion, the town right on the border of Argentinian Tierra del Fuego. I use the town very loosely here as a gas station, overpriced hotel, and military barracks can hardly count as a town or even a settlement. We decided that instead of wasting our hard saved money at the hotel we would pitch a tent in the junkyard that lay behind it. It smelled a bit, but luckily it was sheltered from the wind and spend a very comfortable night on a concrete pad with the tent tied to cinder blocks to help keep the racket from the wind blown rain fly to a minimum.
The next day we began our second attempt in money savings and tried to hitch hike from the border. Not as much luck as you would expect. We even had a couple in a truck tell us they would give us a ride if we met them on the other side of the gate (i.e. border), where, shortly after, they continued on their way without us. They were courteous enough to wave as they passed though.
Admitting defeat we purchased a discounted ticket on a bus bound to Punta Arenas. We were more than happy to pay the fare that went directly into the drivers pocket. Upon inspection of a map however, we discovered that if we wanted to do some trekking in Parque National Torres del Paines we would have to take another bus to Puerto Natales, about 300 km north of Punto Arenas. We asked the driver if there was any way we could be dropped off at the intersection (north to Puetro Natales and south to Punta Arenas) where we could continue our ill fated hitch hiking attempts. The bus drivers were kind enough to get in contact with another north bound bus that would take us to Puerto Natales at a fare of 100 pesos for the three of us. We only had 60. We made the transfer on the highway and boarded the bus without incident.
So we arrived in Puerto Natales and set up camp in a camping hostel where we spent the next 6 days. Upon further examination of our funds and gear we decided that a trip into the park would be out of budget and out of practicality. Lainick share a sleeping bag and it frequently snows at the camp sites in the park. We decided that it was in our best interest to try and leave for the north as soon as possible. So we quested out to find bus tickets for Puerto Montt and, to our horror, discovered all the buses were full for the next 6 days. We booked the earliest one we could and set ourselves down to wait it out.
It was a very relaxing wait. I think we all needed it as we had spent the last 2.5 weeks in a constant state of motion. I spent a few days running and trying to quench my insatiable thirst for exercise (although there was not a gym within 300 km) and made a piss poor attempt to study Spanish. I did read several good books in English though.
As far as towns go this was a very picturesque town to spend a few days in though. Puerto Natales sits on the southern coast of the last chance sound and gazes across that glacial carved body of water to the Chilean Andes, and 100 km distant you can see the Grand Torres. This colossal series of jagged monoliths is the highlight of the park and attracts people from all over the globe... especially Israelis.
Next update: Entre Lagos and beyond...
Here´s a couple of bits that I have forgotten to mention, and a few random observations:
Meat is Cheap. I Believe I have mentioned this once or twice. Most the Beef in any Argentinian Town is grown in the general vicinity which helps the cost and is probably one of the reasons for the exceptional flavor. Now in Ushuaia they don´t grow a lot of beef in the area, but rather a lot of lamb... and what exceptional lamb! Especially for the price. We bought a whole leg of lamb (just over 5.5 lbs) for US 10 dollars. In my humble opinion the only way to eat good red meat is raw... or very nearly so. Luca, the jovial owner of our hostel of choice in Ushuaia, accused us of not cooking it, I accuse him of possessing unrefined taste buds.
South American toilets are ideally designed to leave skid marks. I don´t know if this is intentional or not, but I don´t think I could engineer a john to bare those excremental badges any more efficiently than either the Argentinian or the Chilean sanitary engineers. We shall soon see if the Bolivian and Peruvian toilets meet the same standards...
Before leaving Rio Grande we decided that our clothes NEEDED to be
washed. Anybody familiar with how long our clothes often go between
washings will not take that statement lightly. While Laina was fulfilling her proper duties of washing Nick and my laundry, Nick and I
went into town to run a couple of errands. Once in town we were like
animals at a zoo. We were a great amazement, a cause for children to
gape in open mouthed wonder and for their parents to give disapproving
looks. Because we were doing laundry I was wearing the last few
clothes that were clean enough to wear, which happened to consist of
blue and yellow flowery boardshorts, a bright pink shirt, and flannel jacket, complete with bright red locals slippers and
navy blue hat of the style commonly seen on hunters in the winter. I
began to wonder as the fashion obsessed Argentinians shot us looks of
pure violation, if they thought all Americans dressed as myself and
Nick (similarly clad)on laundry day.
