Trails & Techno_text_december 10

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martes 10 de diciembre

Destino: El Calafate

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Modo : Pies y ómnibus Distancia : 200 kilómetros

Puerto Natales, Chile a El Calafate, Argentina

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We woke at 5:00, packed the mochilas and prepared to leave the Hotel Bulnes with empty stomachs. Unfortunately, we were leaving the hotel too early to get our complimentary desayuno. The hotel owner would be sleeping soundly for at least two more hours. On the way out of the front door, we placed our lodging pesos in a small wicker basket behind the front desk. Express Check Out...Chilean Style. As we were strolling toward the bus station, a small dog passed by us. Seconds later, six wild canines came barreling around the corner, viciously attacking the little mongrel and flinging him around like a rag doll. Some concerned locals joined Andy and me as we yelled and tried to distract the savage pack. We finally succeeded in scaring off the dogs and their four-legged victim scampered away. By this time Andy and I were emotionally shaken but undeniably awake. We continued on to the bus station A lonely coaltrain engine where the Cootra bus was waiting and running at 6:30. For fifteen pesos apiece, we would be back in El Calafate by lunchtime. With tickets in-hand, we found a couple of seats near the rear of sits in Puerto Natlaes’ city square the bus. Unfortunately, we made the mistake of choosing the aisle directly above the rear Michelins. Paved roads would be a luxury reserved for the first five miles of the trip, so the resulting bounce factor was high. An hour later we changed buses and continued on to the Chile/ Argentina border where we crossed without incident. A white Christmas tree on the checkpoint’s porch reminded us that we only had fourteen more shopping days until Christmas. We got back on the bus and slept 54

for about an hour until we reached the Last Chance Petroleo! most remote hotel in the region. We stopped in the hotel’s restaurant for the requisite jamón y queso sandwich, two alfajores and a cold Coke. I made a bathroom stop before getting back on the Next Exit: 150 miles bus and discovered two cartoon drawings on the wall. As a reminder to visitors to toss their toilet paper in the wastebasket, the owners had drawn a fearless toilet character (Captain Potty?) diagramming the wrong (No) and right (Sí) way to throw away your papel higienico. Back in El Calafate, we found ourselves at the familiar Terminal de Omnibus and learned that we had, of course, missed all of that days’ buses north to Mt. Fitz Roy. Contrary to popular belief, the word “calafate” does not mean “wait” in Spanish. The town is actually named for a type of wild berry which grows throughout this region. El Calafate was founded back in 1927 when it became a popular stopover for stagecoach travelers; little would change over the ensuing seventy years. The only discernible difference would be that today’s transients are mostly European and their preferred method of transport is not a trusty caballo but a reliable fortyeight passenger Mercedes bus. Inside the bus station, we bumped into a Canadian couple who were also on their way to Mt. Fitz Roy. Gary and Shauna, both from Toronto, had been hoping to catch a bus to Fitz Roy that afternoon. Andy and I, the resident experts, explained just how things worked around here to the Calafate novices, and they followed us outside to begin our quest for lodging. We stood on the corner for desayuno: breakfast jamón y queso: ham and cheese a minute until we saw the familiar alfajores: Argentine dessert biscuit red Renault of our friend, Rodrigo. sandwiched in layers of chocolate. papel higienico: toilet paper Rodrigo took the four of us to the caballo: horse Hospedaje del Norte, a spotless hostel which cost a reasonable twelve pesos a night. Once settled, we took a brief siesta, knowing that our fellow Calafateans would be doing the same until 16:00. 55

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Intent on putting a dent in that Christmas shopping list, we went to town and found a gift shop that sold handpainted t-shirts and other handmade crafts. In the spirit of giving, we each bought a t-shirt for ourselves. In all fairness, it is somewhat difficult for us to load up on gifts for friends and loved ones, because we’ll just have to carry them around on our backs for the next three weeks. We then took our new purchases next door to the town laundromat where we washed a basket of dirty clothes for eight pesos. Our fine washables would not be ready for three hours, so we had some time to kill. We resolved to figure out how we were going to handle the leg of our trip after our three-day trek around Mt. Fitz Roy. We wanted to go north from El Calafate to either Puerto Montt, Chile or the Bariloche, Argentina lake region by bus. We were told at the bus station that if we wanted to go north, we would have to go back southeast for three plus hours to Río Gallegos, where our journey began. We got a similar story at the Tourism Office. Ditto at the only travel agency in town that sold airline tickets. Ground transportation was our only hope. All possible flights were either sold-out or departing from far away coastal towns like Trelew or Comodoro Rivadavia. One option was to take the bus from El Calafate northwest up to Bariloche. But the thought of being cooped up for forty-eight hours in the winding lakes region was rather unappealing. Finally, we went back to the bus station and sat down on the floor in front of a giant map of the Patagonia. We decided to analyze the problem from a different perspective. As long as we had to go south in order to go north, why not make the southern leg count. In a flash of brilliance-or maybe dire confusion-we decided to try Chile’s southernmost airport in Punta Arenas and fly out of there on the cheaper and often more reliable LanChile. We made an unsuccessful attempt to contact LanChile from the telefonica in town and finally decided to put off worrying about the trip north until we had completed our Tour de Fitz Roy. We would definitely be flying by the seat of our pants by traveling over eight hours down 56

south to Punta Arenas without confirmed reservations out of there, but that was the plan that we agreed upon. So after one week, it seems like this uncertainty drug is the fuel feeding our adventure. Our addiction to this thrill of the unknown is quite serious and will obviously have to be treated upon returning to the perfectly-functioning, nonstop, on-time world that is the United States. We had dinner at a cornerside café downtown on Avenida San Martín for twenty pesos which included lomo, a salad and a Quilmes Cristal. On our way back to the Hospedaje del Norte, we picked up some alfajores and other premium bus snacks at a nearby autoservicio. Back at the hostel, we sat up until 23:30 talking to Gary and Shauna about traveling which they, like most everyone we encountered, had done extensively. After midnight, we repacked and got ready for a good night’s sleep. Just as we turned off the bedside lamp though, a rock band started playing in the garage across the street. The Patagonia jam session would last until the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, the son of the hostel owner plays guitar in the band, and they were rehearsing for an upcoming gig on Saturday night. By our estimates, the group’s practice was much-needed.

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