Some people say a picture can speak a thousand words. I could only agree. However in practise, this normally only holds true until you pay an actual visit to the place on profile, rendering that picture of yours redundant, and leaving oneself without a whisper of a worthy word. You now find yourself...speechless. All of a sudden, this is happening. I see it everyday. When planning this grand ol' trip last year, the awaiting spectacle of the
infected my imagination more than anything else. It was practically what drew me to this continent in the first place. And now here I am. Finally. Staring in astonishment at the physical portraits of these fantastical places I'd read & heard so much about. No matter what you think you might know: nothing can prepare you for what you will see. Because a photo can't see. It can't smell. It can't speak. As a matter of fact, maybe I should try not to speak so much...?? Whacking off with all this meaningful crap. It won't be getting me no literary credentials anytime soon. Let's just say it's
good. I like it. And there's still a long way south to go!!
I caught my first glimpses of the upcoming prize, awakening from a groggy sleep on the overnight bus down from
I thought was knocked out hard in a Valium induced coma, until I gave him a quick nudge & nearly frightened him sky high through the coaches roof. The surrounds were a lush shade of green. Everything seemed moist & alive with life, concurrent with a fresh spring November morning. It felt like home. Frost had settled overnight on the neatly trimmed front lawns of this tiny towns stately streets. Life appeared settled. Simple. We got off in
. We'd done our math. We supposedly had a plan. How it was to work out, we still had no idea. Of all the parks in the
a bit of a random detour, but one we hoped would pay off in shades of beauty for all the complicated banter. Things were looking up. Cheap coffees from a servo, cheap & quick tickets to the town, and then we practically fell upon the hostel we were looking for. There was even a shuttle running to the park entrance. This was coming along easier than we'd hoped. We stocked up on snacks, walked by a school-born DJ fest in the central plaza & chilled the hell out for the rest of the day.
That next morning was fucking freezing!! I had the most clothes I think I'd had on since I scaled that big chunk of a mountain back in Bolivia. Add to this; we were locked inside the hostel!! We'd specifically told the guy at the front desk that we were heading off the following day, but somehow it must have slipped his provocative mind. Now what?? We broke down the back door & hopped over an icicle plagued barricade of a fence. Too easy. Too early. Yet done 'n dusted. So...we were told that there is a bus that runs every weekday from the terminal in town to the entrance of the park, leaving at six in the morning. For anyone considering this voyage - Do not wait at the terminal!! The bloody idiot forgot to mention we had to hail down the bus from the main road. So there we now found ourselves; munching on stale bread...shivering by the side of the highway...trying our luck at hitching a ride in the back of a pick-up. No one wanted to help us white boys out. Hitching as it turned out, was harder than I'd imagined yet again. After a good two hours or more, we gave in to The Man, and forked out 20 bucks each for a taxi. Lucky it was worth it.
The place was practically empty. We had it all to ourselves. Clear blue skies treated us one day after another. It would have been a crime to have wasted them. On arrival we checked in at the ranger station, before a short hike along part of the
'Trail of Chile' which led us to our campsite beside the immense
Lago Conguillio. The sierra rose dramatically out from behind dark green wooded slopes shimmering across the lake. On our walk up to one of the view points above, we were chanced to spot a plethora of fauna including falcons, hares, otters & woodpeckers; the latter being my undisputed comical favourite. The vistas back down to the lake were superb. Ancient
araucaria forest boldly built the foreground to a stunning panorama.
Volcan Llaima towered atop the surrounds. The great lake now resembled the likeliness of a fresh water reefed cove. Colours converged & swirled in all kinds of shades and direction. I was mesmerised. It's difficult to believe what you are witnessing sometimes; as if your watching it all at the cinema. All you can do is to do your best and suck it all up, then prey to your floundered mind that you shall remember. We trudged our way back to camp, cooked up some spaghetti for dinner, before retreating to our tents to soak up the sounds of the world around; nodding slowly off to sleep.
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| Volcan Llaima, Lago Conguillio & Araucaria trees |
Visiting
Conguillio had proven a lucky stab. I was surprised how little traffic passed on through, even on the weekends. In truth, we'd kind of been betting on a great influx as our way back out of the park. After a second incredible full day of hiking, which took us around the snow-lined base of the volcano, we set about packing our stuff for our planned retreat back to civilisation. How hard could it be to hitch back out?? Everyone stops to say
'hi!!' in National Parks after all. Again we struggled to smile. Sometimes things simply don't want to work out. After hitching a ride to the ranger station, we got stuck...hit a wall. People would stop, look at us, then come up with some lousy excuse why they couldn't take us at least to the main road from where we could catch a bus!! I think we waited well over four hours before packing it in & calling for a ride back into town. It's all we could really do. I couldn't complain. I'd had three perfect days of perfection. A little bit of money is a small price to pay. In no time we were back in
Curacautin, back on a bus, and off on another adventure.
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| Up the slopes of Llaima |
Now, I
love Chile, and I
love Chileanos. This surprised me more than most. I wasn't even sure whether it was worth the visit apart from the obvious pilgrimage to
Torres del Paine down south, but of what I've seen thus far,
Chile would have to be for me the most livable country in all of
Latin America. At it's heart, is the tiny town of
Pucon. Not many places adhere this kind of aura. I'm not even too sure what it is that splits it apart from the rest of the pack. It simply sucked me in. We got there late on a Saturday night, there wasn't really much time to 'find a party,' so I made my own. Pringles, noodles & cheap vino. Winning combination!! The next day crept up quicker than I'd planned. I had parked myself at the popular campsite on the outskirts of the town. I'd only found it so late at night with the help of some deranged local lunatic who pointed me down a deserted dirt track. When I got there, no one seemed to be hanging about in reception. I just assumed I'd come back in the following day, (and for now, this story shall be continued later).
Goldilocks & I had planned to meet back up after breakfast. We were off on the bikes. A pair of shitty, rusty broken-down bikes. What do people always say??
'You get what you pay for...' and we did. Saving ourselves a pity two dollars or so, had us struggling our way up hills, cautioning our descents down hills, and eventually banging rocks against the chinks of
Goldilocks' chain which had chose to break 17 kilometres out in the middle of bloody no where!! Piece of junk!! Now what?? Our fun day appeared to be screwed. A few
Israelis did their best to bust the chain back together, but it was no use. I rode slowly beside, as
GCBoy dishearteningly pushed his bike to the next plausible stop over. To be fair, I guess it was lucky where we ended up. We weren't so far at all from the popular day trip hangout known as the
Ojos de Caburga, where there was a kiosk, a spot to make lunch, and most importantly a phone. Tuna sandwiches went down a treat, and the waterfalls were a great place to wander around while we waited. Our saviours came in good time, and before too long we were back on the bikes, and back on the road. Happy days.
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| Bike problems. Yayyy!! |
That day on the bikes had been one of the best in a long time. It felt so good to be out doing active things once again, in such beautiful places. There seemed to be volcanoes everywhere - and lakes. I guess that's why they call this
The Lake District after all. We finished off the day with a refreshing swim in
Lago Caburga. It reminded me of the lake in
American Pie 2. It was a cool place to chill for a couple of hours. We wooed a few
Chilean chicks with smiles & smooth talk, before the ride back. My ass was numb by this point. I needed a feast & a fiesta. Boxed wine was back on the menu, literally, and it wasn't long before we were knocking back burgers, beers & stealing trekking books from unaffiliated hostels. The next morning I felt like utter shit. Why do we do this to ourselves?? Because it's
FUN. No Brainer. I wearily packed up my tent & summed up my options. There was still no one of yet occupying that reception booth out front. I conjured up a grand master plan of idiocracy. When I was good to go, I made for the toilet block, from where I could see the dirt road on the other side of a wobbly & high wire fence. I could just jump that. Piece of piss. This is what I do. I then wouldn't have to walk past the booth again, resulting in two free nights of camping accommodation. Sweeeeeeet!!! Of course the backpacker karma comes back to haunt you. After a bit of a struggle, I was over the dambed fence.
Yayyy!! Away & free!! I soon realised however, I was not on the same dirt road I thought I was. Actually, this wasn't even really a road. I was in someones backyard!!?? Or it could have been some flashy guest house hotel or something. There was a massive glass door leading into a sublime looking living area, staring straight at me across a perfectly trimmed lawn like a giant rich watchful golden-eye. The dogs started to bark. What the fuck had I got myself into this time!! I was way too hungover for this. The fence around the perimeter was topped with barbed wire. The front gate was like that of a medieval fucking fortress!! I had no idea what to do. If I got busted here, I don't think the camping costs were to be my biggest worry. I spotted a pool. I could drown myself. That was an option. Around the pool was a high hedge. I guess I could go back the way I came?? Hang on.
Flashback eight years!! I used to jump into hedges all the time. I'm practically pro. Pool. Rail. Hedge. Road. Done. I darted across the lawn. This was to stupid to believe had anyone
actually seen me out that big glass window. I stepped up onto the pool deck, climbed on top the wooden rail, and leapt for the hedge - side first. I bounced (kind of), rolled a bit more through the roughage, and fell onto the road over the other side. What a way to begin a morning. My knees were a little cut up, and my heart was racing, but apart from that - I was off scot free!! I celebrated with dos takeaway coffees & dos empanadas enorme.
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| Around Pucon |
That feast didn't sit to well to be honest. My gut was churning. No fizzy drink flavour could savour my taste buds. We crossed the border into
Argentina, all over again, and before to long we were standing at the bus terminal in
Junin de los Andes, wondering what the hell we were doing there. I hate siesta. It's the most unpractical disturbance to a backpackers life. I want to spend money. There is no where to spend it. What the fuck?! Our plan had been to venture from here, out into
Parque Nacional Lanin for a few more days of trekking; but this was easier in theory than it was in practise as it turned out. We'd seen the volcano crossing the border, and the walks around this part of the park didn't seem all too enticing. Another taxi?? That was seeming the only way. We bailed. Left that town behind to bake in it's own dischargement. We decided it was best to spend a couple of days relaxing in
San Martin de los Andes instead. So that's what we did. Nothing. For two days. It was great.
Sometimes my mind scares me. I hope when I get back I'm not some fried friar chuckling about the ways of the world, and all it's out of sync logic. The dreams freak me out the most. That night I became a gold teeth smuggler of old, wandering across the cowboy prone plains of
Canada making sure not to pick out the poison. This somehow converged into an autobiography on
Roger Federer, how his parents were murdered when he was a young child, before someone discovered him in a guitar case. He was brought up as an orphan, also in
Canada??, before turning to tennis & beer.
Cooked. It was my 23rd birthday. Old age approaches. What a 22nd year it turned out to be. We were off on a bus to
Bariloche. I had high hopes. Here lied supposedly, some of the best trekking on the planet. The commute hinted this potential.
The Seven Lakes Drive, as it is commonly known, provided the perfect introduction to the area. Peaks rose out above everywhere. The forests were back, hugging the lake shores. We snagged some shitty hostel for the night, cooked some munch & played innumerable games of pool until we got chatting to these two chicks & two
Italian lads.
Argos was hilarious. We came up with a rendezvous for the following day; to hike up into the hills, and get the hell out of this shabby hostel.
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| Lago Nahuel Huapi |
The weather continued to hold out. We made the most of it. By mid-afternoon the following day, we were already huffing & puffing, scaling the lower hills of
Cerro Lopez. Above the tree line, the views soon opened up.
Lago Nahuel Huapi is huge!!! Its arms branch off in a splatter like tangled mess. In a way, it kind of reminded me of the man made
Lake Pedder back home. Once past the hut, the track claimed character. We were flying!! Up & down rocky crags, across rubbley boulder fields & trudging through snow banks. It was a great day out. At the top of the ridge, we were granted another million dollar view. What a place. In the distance we could see the mighty
Mt Tronador converged in cloud. Below lay a
Lake Judd like lago.
The Andes stretched sky high in every direction. I love the mountains. This was more than I could have asked for as a birthday bash. On the way back down we slid through the snow, making a mess of our dry boots. We then decided it was a great idea to trail run back down; which in truth was more like
Brisso's Tibetan mountain spray than anything. I was sore for the next two straight days!!
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| Mt Tronador from Lopez |
Not much went down over the remainder of the weekend. We continued to fail at finding a party, it rained constantly (reminding me where I was, 40 odd degrees south...), and I couldn't even book in to get some lame ass
pug = seal tattoo for shits & giggles. Oh well, all was good. It was a fine chance for redemption. Between the lines, I managed to buy myself some new gloves - finally!! Cold fingers are not your friend. Goldilocks got screwed after he bought himself a new t-shirt, only to find the exact same one in an outlet store at a third of the price a few shops down. I bought the cheap version. Win on my part. We checked out the new
James Bond flick, and talked drunk smack to
Dutch girls. I came up with the impression they all sound like they have a bubble in their throats when they speak.
"Huh?? I have a BUBBLE??" Yes you do my dear. Then we met
DCTalk. Funny fucker he turned out to be. For some reason he still reminds me every now and then of the mental case from
The Hangover movie. I'm not too sure why. Saturday night was upon us, and it was still pissing with rain. A bottle of
Old Smuggler made life brighter, and we tried to grind out a party. We made a night of it along with
Ol' Pops,
BigWilly, a buffed up
Spaniard & a bunch of boring tango'ers. The lady at the front desk decided she also wanted to make a bit of a party & went about rearranging the living room into some sock-dance teenage disco. It felt like something my mum might have organised in my garage back in high school. It only made things awkward. The girls stood on one side while we stood on the other laughing at the girls. I wasn't too sure what was happening. We just got drunker. The bottle was long gone by the time we headed
'out.' Not surprisingly, I wasn't aloud in with the rest of the crew yet again. I'd left the only jeans I'd worn for nearly 10 months back in
Santiago with
RayAllen. Shorts aren't welcome in
Hollywood. I lost my shit. It's become a touchy subject over the years. The bouncer threw up his hands & stared in utter confusion apparently as I submitted back down the street, abusing him in ogre
Australian slang. I'd had enough of feeling stupid; not being capable of expressing myself properly in
Español to
Argentinian stuck-up wankers. Obviously that stupidity has clearly escaped me...
Sunday was a seedy solitaire session. We'd purchased a pack of playing cards, and now I was rigorously teaching myself new games after 23 years of ignorance. Mum works in a casino. I guess she never liked to bring her work home. The last thing I want to see when I get home from work is a Bunsen burner & a set of dentures. I finally won solitaire after 30 odd games. It was a start. The next day we were to set off across the surrounding mountain range, on a three to four day hike known as the
Nahuel Huapi Traverse, one I've wanted to do for years. I was too hungover to shop for food that day. I was too hungover to eat. I couldn't wait to get back on the trail!! The following morning we packed up our gear, slammed down a big breakfast & bused it out to
Cerro Catedral, an important ski village in the winter, and the start of our track. It was raining softly for a good part of the day, but it mattered little since we were buried beneath the canopy. We had a great crew; it sure makes quite a difference.
BigWilly had chose to tag along for the day, and
DCTalk was here for keeps. By the time we reached our first nights camp, the wind was blowing a gail. We had to search the lower reaches of the slopes for some kind of shelter from the ferocious conditions. It calmed enough for us to set up our tents, but soon deteriorated all over again. By the time we were cooking dinner, there was snow all around us. Sometimes it came in sideways, sometimes it dumped directly down - most of the time it just zipped around in some kind of unorganised emotional mess. That night in the tent was windy & cold!! I was bracing myself for another
Cotopaxi incident. The tent managed to hold out however, thank god!! Hopefully this wasn't to be some mad three-day depress-fest.
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| Cerro Catedral from camp |
I was glad to see the sun paying us a visit the following morning. The weather seemed much more pleasant. We acquired ourselves another tag-along, and journeyed off into the snow. The peaks around the lake were majestic. Some serious peaks. No wonder the hut was full of egotistical climbing dicks. At last however, we were on our own. This was one of my best days hiking over this entire trip. The company was entertaining yet sporadic, the scenery unmatchable, and the actual walking itself proved interesting without being all too strenuous. By the time we spotted
Jakob Hut, situated on a tranquil lake 200 meters below our eyrie position at the top of some mountain pass, I'd reassured myself why I made this venture so far south in the first place.
Patagonia sure steps up to the hype. It's so far, everything I'd dreamt of and more. Looking at a map, it's safe to say that this is only the beginning. Good times; shit weather; re-ripped legs to come. Talk again soon.
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| The Andes!!! |
Much Luvin' & Happy days,
all the way from Patagonia...
Mr. Legggs 11, Kokopells xxx
Speccie scenery Nicho, green with envy.
ReplyDeleteLove always,
Vonnie xox