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.
 |
| 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.
 |
| 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.
 |
| 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.
 |
| 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.
 |
| 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!!
 |
| 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.
 |
| 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.
 |
| The Andes!!! |
Much Luvin' & Happy days,
all the way from Patagonia...
Mr. Legggs 11, Kokopells xxx
The Violence of a Silent Siesta, El Calafate
19th December, 2012
The wrath of a healthy economy. The silent ebbing plague on a tiny
tourist town. It's a shame when such ridiculous social customs hinder
the spectacle of an otherwise beautiful country. For the most part (from
my experience anyway & bar a mere handful of cheerful characters),
Argentinians are a bunch of pricks. They're forever slow to say
'hello,'
they charge you an exuberant amount for practically every basic
amenity, and each afternoon they choose to sit around in exclusive mobs,
sipping on soggy maté when they could easily be making a mint in the
office. Lazy buggers. I cannot express my hatred & frustration,
towards such an innocent sounding siesta profoundly enough. It simply
makes no sense!! Take a quick look around this otherwise sound world of
ours.
Spain, Italy, Portugal, Greece...all fine examples of one
mighty big parallelled fuck up. At least a good dozen times over the
course of this past week, have I called upon a business, ready &
willing to spend a backpackers fortune on a multitude of (not normally
so hard to come by) essentials. Bakeries, restaurants, gear rental
shops, 'convenience' stores. They all shut!! I mean fair enough in some
dusty desert dive, where it's too hot in the midday sun to realistically
function; but we're in
Patagonia for fuck sake!! For one,
outside it's freezing...secondly, these towns can't be exactly rolling
in it. They only prosper fully for a climatic four to five months or so
during the peak of the tourist season. You'd expect their doors to be
permanently jarred open & donning
Vegas-styled fluorescent
'open for some major money-making'
billboards out front. But no. Common sense never hopped aboard the boat
to reach this muddled up mess. If I could only flush my toilet paper,
maybe I could be slightly more accommodating.
"Dulce de leche?! A ludicrous import tax?? Artesanal jewellery making misfits??" Seriously...
WTF?? Why does there have to be so many
Argentines here in
Argentina??
Lucky for them, their crappy persona's are dwindled by their fortunate
natural wonders...and this is where I now chime in, with my usual
accordance. A slice of pie on a plate of dog shit. This is the
Argentina I'd like to remember. I just
somehow hope the vast majority can
somehow redeem itself. Good luck to ya'll...
 |
| Blissful hiking in Patagonia |
Now where did we leave off last?? I'm guessing back up in
Bariloche.
The land of uncompromising unpredictable weather, who popped us out off
the mountains just at the right hour. It was time for beers. Lots of
beers. That is one of the best things about smashing out weeks on end of
trekking; you can practically eat and drink what ever you like on
return. We'd managed to pick up an extra tag along during our three days
up in the hills. The first time I met this comical
German being now know as
PhilipOkles,
he was having a little trouble setting up his mangled tent in the
horizontal snow. Out of pity I helped the lad, but warned him to keep
this thing down with a bunch of rocks. A few hours later I poked my head
out of my tent only to see it hanging off the edge of a cliff. What an
idiot. Lucky for him it held. Just. It wasn't even his tent!! He'd
borrowed a bunch of horrible gear, and came directly from the airport
straight to the trail head. One thing I did thank him for was the wad of
Paraguayan he'd taped to the underside of his balls as a means
to sneak it through the flight. A few quick totes of that stuff would
nod you right off to sleep. When we'd finished the trek, of course he
didn't have a bus ticket back to town. We sung out the name of our
hostel (which he assumed was just the street number) out the bus window
as we departed, and I imagined we'd never see him again. We couldn't
have been so lucky. Soon that quirky
Alemanian face of his pops up in reception & the good times began. We bused to
El Bolson (which literally translates as
'the big bag'), where we treated our weary selves to jug after jug of brewery standard cerveza, and round after round of
Yarniv (the first, and only multi-player card game I know).
Goldilocks & I laughed ourselves to sleep later that night, as
DCTalk &
PhilipOkles bitched over
American politics.
 |
| Sorry mum, I've taken up gambling |
The following day was practically the same. We slept, got drunk & flirted with our sexy
Argentine
hostess. Even though she worked side by side with her boyfriend, I
think we all somehow believed/dreamt we could break those social
barriers & jump her pants. Their dog was pretty cool to. He must
have been about 12 years old & dead blind and/or near dead. That
night, buzzed up well again after another brewery binge, I got singing
some songs. The poor old thing was either trying to join in, or was
squirming with disgust & distaste. I in all drunken honesty couldn't
take my eyes off this
Spanish chick, to who I now found myself
attempting in a cloud of disillusionment to serenade. She kind of looked
like one of aunties. Would it be wrong if I found her extremely
attractive?? Must be a
Tasmanian thing...
We
were planning on scooting off the next day, however we decided to hang
around. Some time during the course of that wasted night,
Goldilocks & I must have come to this conclusion.
DCTalk
was heading off on some hike all by himself so we assumed he might
enjoy some company. He didn't exactly have a choice. It was the first
time in a long while where I haven't had the slightest idea of where we
were going. It was a little strange. Normally I figure out the route,
the days & all the goodies in some slightly obsessive compulsion. It
was a nice change; and a huge surprise. The weather was sublime!! Three
days of relentless sunshine. We couldn't have asked for better. The
first day we climbed up from the unrealistically clear blue waters of
the
Rio Azul, to the nice hut & forest setting campsites below
Cerro Hielo Azul.
We couldn't believe how empty the place was. These kind of areas would
be packed out in the summer time back home. We chatted with
Pedro, the hut warden (who makes his own beer), and sat about in the sun until it set & got ridiculously cold.
 |
| From camp below Cerro Hielo Azul |
In the morning, we'd decided to climb up and pay a
visit to the glacier coming down the mountain; terminating in a frozen
cirque lake. The walk was spectacular. Waterfalls cascaded over the
surrounding cliffs in every direction. The snow cover was more than I'd
expected, and proved a fun filled obstacle as always. The sun shone
brightly on top of the lake, allowing the waters to show off their
glistening deep blue colour & icy secrets. After some sketchy
scrambling & a final slog up the slopes, we reached the summit of
Cerro Barda Negra; affording us an uninterrupted panorama of the southern
Andes. We could make out
Mt Tronador near
Bariloche, and numerous other peaks of
Chile
far stretching in the distance. I nearly fell off the mountain on the
way back down, and we kind of had to slide down a snow covered glacier,
but that's besides the point. No good story ever came from sittin' on
your lazy ass. We lumbered back to camp, packed up our gear, told
Pedro
where we'd been (funnily enough he freaked!!) & powered across to
our second nights camp. On the way we stumbled upon the most perfect
swimming hole (if the waters hadn't been glacier melt), where it was
possible to bomb four to five meters into the most crystal clear agua
I'm ever likely to see. I had to give it a shot. It was a quickie. That
water was FREEZING!! No sooner than I climbed out, had the sun set
behind the peaks that we'd sat pondering out across earlier. It was a
worthy finale to one of the best days of trekking I've ever had. We
swore (if the weather held up that was) we'd be back again the following
day. All hail the all mighty life giving sun!!
 |
| The Andes!! From atop Barda Negra |
In the end, the weather did hold up. Choice. Off to
the river we go!! What a spot!! It wasn't long before we were diving,
leaping & miniaturing ourselves into the ice cold water. The setting
made it. The deepest of the pools must have been at least 6 meters
deep. Rapids bordered either end. We had it all to ourselves today. Life
was happening. We spent about two solid hours basking in the sun
between brave bounces, eventually giving into the coming cloud &
retreating back to town. By the time we reached the taxi point I was
craving the last of my chocolate bars proper good.
DCTalk, has made me a little paranoid. Apparently I
"crush chow."
I guess I do eat a lot. My choco block however, was not ready to become
devoured just yet...the sun had cooked him into the shapeless
likeliness of milk. I had to hold it flapping under the surface of an
itsy stream until it solidified. That wasn't the end of it. Once back in
El Bolson, we crushed more chow courtesy of the
Churipan Man. God bless him. BBQ never tasted so good.
 |
| Diving into glacier melt rios |
After a little mix-up with the bus company, we got
out of that place just in the nick of time. It was pissing down on the
day we left; not the best when you leave the hostel in search of
farewell beers & find yourself locked outside the brewery with no
where else to hide. I was so fucking pissed. A little bit of
Ol' dreaded EvilNick
reappeared. It had been a while between re-encounters. These places can
simply not run a business. Hand them a manual, and they'll smoke the
fucker. I give up. We slagged into another joint defeated; then dripped
dry in the bus station munging down on pre-made
PhilipOkle
inspired sandwiches while the owner stared on in disgust at my bare
bruised feet. That bus trip was a nightmare. 25 hours stuck on a shitty
bus. They only fed us twice in that time frame, and only got around to
showing us one meagre movie. At one point a
German girl
friendlily enquired whether there would be any more food provided as she
was a vegetarian...the attendant rudely & abruptly replied
"NO!" That
was all she got. They had us roasting in the bus while they took a
fucking maté break. At this point my feet had started to swell up like
my nans used to. I asked
Goldilocks if they looked funny. He said
they looked fat. I was scared they might drop off. I found myself truly
ecstatic when we finally began pulling into the tiny town of
El Chalten;
Mt FitzRoy & his surrounding satellites dominated the skyline. This is what you come here for. The rest is trash-talk.
 |
| Sunlight on Mt FitzRoy |
Thankfully I was inconceivably tired. The bus had wrecked me. I passed out well good, while
Goldilocks suffered a dose of
Israeli
hospitality. The lights stayed on for most of the night. They sat up
chatting loudly well past three o'clock. Then they turned the flickers
back on for a morning pack-up; early early. I've acquired a lot of
incredible
Israeli mates over the course of my travels, but you've gotta wonder about the bulk majority. Them or the
Argentines??
I can't make up my mind. The rest of that day was spent watching
rom-coms & preparing for the upcoming days of trekking. There's not
much top notch grub in
El Chalten in all honesty. Buy your bits & pieces in
Bariloche or
El Calafate if you're coming down this way. I enjoyed a good bed one last time before my return to the bumpy soil. It was bliss.
Then
it was back on the trail. Back where I belong. No more temperamental
spats of unease aimed at the modern world; this is where I find myself
comfortable & happy. Our first day however sure had its ups and
downs. The weather was all over the place. Actually, it kind of
resembled that of back home. Four seasons in one day. We're kind of far
flung down here at 50 degrees south. Anything could happen...and that it
did. Arriving at
Laguna Torre early in the afternoon saw us
hemmed in by close cloud. This wasn't on the postcards from memory. We
wandered around the rim of the lake, and I spent a great deal of time
perching my ass up on a rocky outcrop above our campsite. Huge chucks of
ice had broken off the glacier in the distance & had made their way
towards the foreground shore. One time a slice broke off & the
iceberg span and splattered about in front of us. It was pretty cool,
but I was teeming to spot that phat chunk of rock; the one I came here
to see -
Cerro Torre; a sheer peak shrouded in mountaineering fame. For now I'd have to wait. At the camp we met an
Austrian
couple who were coming off a six day epic around the back of the range.
The winds had been so strong blowing across the ice fields that their
tent had been practically destroyed. This guy had visited the area three
times over the course of eight years, and not once had he sighted the
elusive mountain. Maybe I'd have to wait longer than I'd hoped.
 |
| Glacier of Laguna Torre |
In the morning we chanced ourselves one last time on
the rim of the lake to no avail. I was sure I'd never get my glimpse.
After a while we took off in the direction of
FitzRoy; our plan was to now camp at
Pointcenot for two more nights since we'd heard the wankers at the edge of the park charge some ridiculous amount for camping
AND entry. How they justify it, I have no idea. As we rounded
Laguna Madre the skies opened up, affording us some magnificent views. First we spotted the impressive tower of
Mt Pointcenot itself. We sat in one spot for a while enjoying the vistas & taking ridiculous
Mortal Kombat posed photos. Then the mighty
Mt FitzRoy
came out to play. What a hefty chunk of rock that turned out to be.
I've seen a lot of impressive mountains in my day, but this hands down
stole the crown. The thing was bloody huge!! The peaks of the
Huayhuash only really rose out from the high plateau; here
FitzRoy
loomed at least 2000 meters directly overhead. What a sight. All of a
sudden the tiresome trip was well worth it. That afternoon after setting
up camp, we payed a visit to the obligatory
Laguna de los Tres, a
highlight to any trip into the park. This single spot was sensational.
The bright blue lake was covered in a thin and sometimes choppy layer of
ice. The now close peaks towered above us. I was smitten. We spotted a
couple of tiny climbers heading up the snow slopes. I once climbed with a
guy who had got within 30 meters of the summit before the weather blew
in and forced him down. Hopefully these guys would have better luck. I
didn't want to leave this place. Maybe I'd be back. I still had plenty
of time left on this continent, so to speak. We sat that night at camp,
cooking our regular dose of pasta, in awe of the sight before us. In
Patagonia after all.
 |
| Laguna de los tres & Mt FitzRoy |
We slept in a great deal the following morning. It
was about twelve in the afternoon by the time we got going. We'd decided
to pay a short visit to the
Glacier Piedras Blancas. There are
so many cool side trips in the park that you could spend weeks covering
all the trails. When we got there I decided to scramble up the unstable
side slopes and wander along the ridge. Again
FitzRoy rose up in
front of us, dominating the view. It made all the other mountains around
it look like lesser beings. It wasn't their fault. I should have
retraced my steps on the return. Of course however I didn't. Instead I
slid down the scree towards the lake, causing a scene in an otherwise
tranquil setting.
 |
| Laguna Piedra Blancas |
That night was piercingly cold. I had trouble
sleeping. Not due to the cold I'm sure; I just couldn't nod off. I woke
that following morning to the sound of scattered feet. I was a little
confused. What was going on?? All of a sudden my tent started shaking.
Was the world ending a little early??
"Nick...Nick," it was
Goldilocks waking me up. Thank fuck he did. The mother of all mornings!! The skies were as clear as freshly glazed windows.
FitzRoy,
once again was plushing his feathers. The peaks were now tinted by
shades of ochre orange, an almost pinkish illusion. The cameras were out
in force despite the inclining cold, and we stood there motionless to
watch the show unfold before us. Once it was all over, we knew what now
we had to do. It took me a quick-fire fifteen minutes to pack up all my
shit. I was off once again. Back in the direction of
Laguna Torre
for once last glimpsing chance. It didn't take long at all; I must have
been flying with excitment. Coming down the banks from the hill top
forest, there she was. Piercing the perfect sky. I relaxed a little in
my pursuit, and kicked myself with satisfaction.
Patagonia kept on impressing. Each & every time. How much better could it get??
Goldilocks soon arrived, and not too long after duck-stepped
DCTalk.
There we were, los tres amigoes, sipping cheap black coffee below one
of the worlds undisputed spectacles. Our luck had struck once again.
I'll never forget that view across the lake to
Cerro Torre. It was once of those special particulars of my short lived life.
 |
| Cerro Torre |
Once back in town, it was back to bindging. O' how
sweet good times can taste. Two rounds of raspberry waffles con creama
were soon followed with numerous beers, vasos of vino & one giant
burger. I'm not too sure whether this is a healthy way of being. Who
cares anyhow. It's not too long until the grand finale. Fingers crossed
our luck continues. I now reside here in
El Calafate, a shitty boring town on the edge of the barren
Patagonian plains. The only reason you'd be here is to visit the unbelievable
Perito Moreno Glacier. Did I mention things just keep getting better?? I mean
Machu Picchu was cool and all,
Chichen Itza proved its point; but nothing can prepare you for
THIS!!
Raw nature at its finest. My friend & I compared it in likeliness
to cricket. We stood there for hours on end, blankly gazing in
anticipation upon a usually uneventful playing field of ice. Every now
and then some significant event would unfold, sparking an uncontrollable
jubilation. At least four or five times, huge 60 meter high slabs of
the glacier front tumbled & crashed into the milky waters of the
lake. It was like a fourteen story building toppling over in slow
motion. Small sections snapped off from high above & plummeted like
cannon balls. A fine end to this lengthy stint. Now it's time to get the
fuck out of
Argentina & make for that forthcoming prize.
Torres del Paine awaits just across the border. One final
Patagonian show down. Let the clear skies continue and allow the asado to settle.
 |
| The unbelievable Perito Moreno Glacier!! |
Merry Xmas to ya'll, and have a wild & happy New Years!!
See everyone after the upcoming apocalypse.
Much lovin' from this stray cat xxx
The Raddest Dawg.
P.S: If you get the time, you may also enjoy browsing through some of my friends travel blogs also...
Here is my pick of the bunch -
http://www.worldoutsidethecube.com/
http://betterbringbells.wordpress.com/
http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog/touristtom/1/tpod.html
Meet the Foca's, Puerto Madryn
8th January, 2013
It was feeling just about right, by the time I eventually ditched my mates back in the drab & dreary desolate south lands of
Tierra del Fuego and began the long & tiresome journey north. It had taken me ten wild months and seventeen extra-ordinary days to get to this point thus far (to be precise), and I wasn't about to let the cogs become dwindled with rust all so soon. I was acting a little jaded. Something had to change.
New Years Eve came and went for another year, in typically rowdy fashion. Could
2013 hold up strong against its grand extravagant predecessor?? Sitting by the computer one day; smashing out another shit weather induced coma-rised session, a friendly
Dutch guy (aren't they all?!!) asked me about all the cool things there were to do with ones self down here in
Ushuaia. It was pretty embarrassing when I literally responded with
"ummm...to be completely honest bud, I've done nothing at all." This was my third night in town by this point, and I'd barely left the hostel - no wait, we did
change hostels...that took up the better part of a day of course. I forced myself to take a walk, to scale the steep streets and wander the busy wharf. There was a big sign down near the waters edge,
"El Fin del Mundo!!" (the end of the world); and with this, I gave myself a slight pat on the back for the achievement. Once that was done, I had no further desire to continue any further south. I had nothing else to prove to myself (or to
anyone else for that matter). From here on in I did what I wanted to do; I go where I wanted to go. And for me, that meant getting the fuck out of this cold diabolic.
 |
| The water front of Ushuaia |
To begin with, I guess I better skim over the antics of
New Years for good measure. As always, I'd got myself a bit overly revved up with anticipation. It's my second favourite day of the year after all (a slither better than an
AFL Grand Final showdown, but nothing in comparison to an
Australia Day Hottest 100 cracker!!), and I'm sure I let everyone around me know it. I'd already become unpopular with the hostel owners; I don't really know why to be honest. One day the crazy bitch was sweeping the floors of the dining area & I hadn't yet noticed - she screamed something illegible at me and I spun around wildly in confusion, only to land a foot square in her pile of trash & dust. I thought she was gonna beat me to death with that broom of hers. There were balls of fire raging in her eyes. I thought she looked like a rat. Anyway, all things aside, we for some reason weren't invited to join the 'family's' exclusive asado that night. They made us revellers feel as if we were invading their private religious underground function. We squeezed into a corner & scammed chunks of bread off the more friendly folk. It was still daylight outside till well after 11 o'clock, and this took a bit of the jizz out of the hose. My alcoholism more than made up the difference, and when
DCTalk called the countdown by his watch I well wanted to jump up on the tables & run down the street with excitement!!
Haha...we fucked that one up hey
Hayes?? The hostel chums didn't take lightly to all this, since
their countdown was to be a few minutes later on the fucking television.
BooHoo'd...we'd apparently wasted the limelight on ourselves; screw 'em!! I'll take two good countdowns any day!! We gave it a second go (with the hostels approval this time), and got plenty joyous.
Now why would the coolest pub in town shut up shop for the first & biggest party of the new year?? And an
Irish pub called
'Dublin'??? Well, as my
Irish friend rightly put it,
"it obviously isn't an Irish pub." Too true!! I'd bought some wristband pass to a festival in the forest somewhere out of town near the
National Park, which was apparently meant to go all night; but since the hostel guys didn't follow through with their promise to hook up my pals with some extra tickets, we decided to all bail to this strange dive not to far down the street. From here things get a little more than hazy. I lost my wallet somewhere (which had in it more cash than normal, stashed away for a bus ticket which I never bought), and then I spent a large part of the night searching high & low for it to no avail.
Shit. Then I fell asleep in the corner, and accidentally smashed a glass.
Whoops. Then
Goldilocks started manging some fat shit. Again,
whoops. He was pleasant & kind enough to take his prize into the reclusiveness of the TV room, along with his camping mat questionably tucked under his arm. Poor boy. He'll be chewing that arm off tomorrow morning. You win bruz. Hands down,
haha.
So it was time to leave the so called 'end of the world,' in search of greener pastures. I'd spent sparingly minimal time alone in the past two months, and I'd become adjusted to
Goldilocks doing much of the overall planning. It was nice for a while, but it makes one lazy; it makes ones
Spanish significantly worse, and being part of a group can tendingly lead to less random interaction with other travellers. It's been fun lads.
Tata for now. I hopped into a
colectivo (as there were no more buses out of town), and pushed on to the sprawling mess of
Rio Grande. I'm pretty sure this place used to be an old oil operation, I could be wrong, but I can't for the life of me figure out why any one would live here for any other reason. The scenery around & out of
Ushuaia was illustrious; my final foothold in the great
Andes for some time I believe - but the soaring mountains soon deminished to parched wastelands; endless flat pampas plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, only broken & made interesting by the odd glimpse of a grazing
guanaco. When I reached
Rio Grande, everything was shut, including the bus terminal.
O' goodie. A plump grandpa out front explained that the offices would be open again within the hour, after siesta of course. I toddled off to find something to munch on; as it turned out - cold empanadas. I still had some time to kill, so I browsed the deserted streets for a place to crash if need be.
Please let this not eventuate!! I was starting to wish I'd simply stayed on a bit longer in
Ushuaia. My trusty travel book had few options listed, but I was sure I would find somewhere.
Never have I not been able to find at least
something to suit in the past. However, this time it looked like I was out of luck. The hostel I was betting on had shut down, and the only other I could find was a smelly expensive rip off. I returned to the bus terminal in a gruff. It was open, but there were no tickets for tonight. Not from all three bloody companies. The only thing they had was an early afternoon bus to
Punta Arenas for the following day.
Great..."ok I'll book that then I guess." Turns out they couldn't sell me a ticket until 5 'clock!!
What the fuck??!! Here is my money!! Take it! I want to buy a ticket from you now, from this office!! Why are you open if you can't sell any tickets?? I'd lost it. I stormed out back into the street and made for the highway at the end of town.
It took much longer than I anticipated to reach a half decent spot to hitch. I still had cuts on the backs of my heels from the final day in
Torres del Paine, and now they'd become re-opened & were rubbing ferociously against my two sizes too small second hand
connie's which I'd found in a bathroom back in
Bariloche. Wind was violently raging across the open sea, slapping me in the face. Things weren't looking promising. After about two hours more or less, standing in the miserable cold with my thumb out, the only car which had stopped had been a young kid who was only travelling about 20 minutes or so down road, and would probably have just beaten the shit out of me with a couple of his mates had I jumped in. This was demoralising. Now it was getting quite late.
Shit!! Maybe now I'd lost that chance at buying the bus ticket!! I cursed my impatience & powered back to the terminal.
Wow...vacation can be
so much fun. Thankfully the devil of a witch had a few tickets remaining; I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise. Still, I had no where to crash tonight, and it had just started pissing with rain. Looks like I was in for a long one.
I hung out in the service station until about 10 o'clock playing solitaire & reading my
Spanish phrasebook. I must have had myself five or six coffees by the time I was made to leave. I came up with a grand master plan to camp somewhere out of town; to wait till just before dark when I could set up my tent and wait the night out. It sounded good in theory, but everything 'out of town' so to speak was miles away, and even when I'd reached these spots I'd most likely be blown away across the windy plains. Change of plans - I find myself a soccer field, park, or a nook on the beach. Dogs went nuts when I'd walk on by their treasured golden gates; every runner in town was out & about for a midnight run - what the fuck was this?? Does anything here ever get to sleep during normal hours?? Just off the beach I found myself a small park with a few swings & a seesaw. It looked like the kind of places we used to hang out 'back in the day' when we wanted to get pissed, away from the prowling eyes of our parents or the fun wrecking cops. So in truth, it probably wasn't the wisest place to pitch. However, there was a restaurant over the fence to where I gathered I could retreat if shit got real. And there the night passed me - in & out of my tent like a paranoid schizophrenic not dosed up enough on tranquilisers. I can't say I got much sleep. At one point a pug came running over to investigate the intrusion after escaping the clutches of its human. I wanted to throw rocks. But then I guessed the owner might because of this choose to call the cops. He buggered off after a while, and in time the sun began to poke over the horizon. I packed up the tent and lay in my sleeping bag along the pebbly beach, relaxing to the sounds of the waves. What a messed up scenario, I could only laugh. It's a good life lesson I guess - things always seem to work themselves out. Tomorrow can only be a better day.
 |
| Sleepy sunrise at Rio Grande |
And in some ways it was!! The only shop which seemed open for business early in the morning confused the shit out of me when she refused to let me pay.
Ok?? Unfortunately my breakfast consisted of little more than dry bread, fanta & some kind of lumpy yogurt. Maybe that's why. Once on the bus I passed out well good. These two
Swiss guys I'd met somewhere else earlier, chuckled & commented on how shit I looked. Thanks guys. I didn't care by that point. I could have slept anywhere. Another border crossing - another stamp into
Chile. I was losing track of how many times I'd had to do this, and even which country I was in at any given moment.
Woohooo!! Two minute noodles were back!! I stocked up on those babies, then fed the cat my left over sausage. How generous of me. A quick skim over the town proved without a doubt that I wouldn't last here for more than 24 hours; so once again I booked another long bus, and after a night of again doing
nada, got the hell out of there quick-smart. Where o' where was my
Swedish-sweetheart?? Zing-zing, to zig town!!
I had nightmares of missing the bus that morning. That got me out of bed pretty sharp. At the all you can eat buffet breakfast, I managed to eat so much it squeezed the shit right out of me...literally. I couldn't believe it. Had I actually eaten so much bread that I'd shit my self?? Well that was embarrassing. Luckily there was practically no one else in the hostel to witness this misfortune. By the time I'd freshened up, it was time to leave. I quickly paid the supermarket a visit, stocking up on more noodles and bits & pieces for the journey, then sat on the cement footpath chopping up cucumber to put in my ham, cheese & salami sandwiches. Everyone was staring at me. I think I have lost the plot. Well used to it by now - I've long stopped caring. On the bus we were all handed immigration forms for
Argentina (a normal procedure), but for the first time ever I was given a customs form as well?? This was common for entering
Chile, but not
Argentina. Had the new year changed everything?? Was
DCTalk correct in saying we'd now have to pay a massive entry fee for all overland border crossings??
Shit. I didn't want to have to declare my perfectly prepared sandwiches, so I gobbled them all up when I wasn't hungry in the slightest.
Oh no!! What if more shit got squeezed out of my fucked up bowels while stuck on the bloody bus!! This was all too much. As it turned out, I never even got asked to present my customs form, or to have my luggage inspected. What a joke. Now I was a bloated blueberry for no reason other than the bemusement of my bus companions.
Crunching quickly through all that chow meant I didn't have to eat for most of the remainder of the day. Such a shame. Once again I found myself staring out across a busy highway with no idea where the fuck I was.
'Bienvenidos a Rio Gallegos!!' Ahhh, of course. Do you also feel that all these towns are beginning to sound the same?? What now was I to do?? Book another bus outta there I guess!! It seems to be the way of life around these parts. I found a nice place to camp, and set about preparing for a venture into town. Then for some dambed reason my combo lock decided to malfunction once I'd secured it between the zips of my tent. Cheap piece of shit!! More dollars wasted. I hacked the chords apart & restructured the carnage with a little improvisation. And that pretty much summarises my day. How depressing. I did make it into the plaza for a bit, witnessing some kind of teenage mutant ninja turtle break dancing competition. Why was I here?? I had to stumble upon something cool soon surely. Well, in fact I did. Gratefully, cause I may have shortly began to slowly knife myself to death. I guess it is true incredible things tend to happen when you least expect it, and from
whom you least expect it.
 |
| 5 sandwiches for 18 hours, yiiewww!! |
Now I haven't had the best track record to date with
Argentinians, there even seems to be a large portion of the travelling gringo community who have fared much in the same manner. It's nice when something breaks through those progressively developed barriers, and directs things full circle. After eighteen hours, five salami & cheese sandwiches, and a whole one litre carton of pear juice, I arrived in the bustling sea side town of
Puerto Madryn. I had no idea what to expect from the place, only that it would significantly break up my journey from the south to
Buenos Aires, and that there might be some possibilities for some interesting scuba diving out in the gulf. Instantly I noticed the warmer weather - that was a plus. Hailing from the most southern land of 'the great southern land' itself, you'd expect me to be adjusted to the cold. Well I am. But it sucks. I now realise that. I wanna be surrounded by people wearing nothing but beaters, bikinis & short shorts. The hostels here were expensive, yet ridiculously elaborate. I guess it wouldn't hurt to stick around for a few days & spend a bit of hard earned cash. And who would have thought; before to long I was conversing quite freely in
español (quite terribly still in retrospect), sharing wine & sipping maté with a jolly bunch of
Argentines on vacation. If only
Goldilocks &
DCTalk could see me now. I would have never lived it down. It turns out a lot of these folk aren't so bad after all, if you grab them in the right context I presume. We strolled the busy beach, skimmed along the pier, and chilled in all the holidaying tranquillity - before at least I thought I'd lost another wallet and stressed the fuck out all the way back to the hostel, where they had it waiting for me behind the desk.
 |
| Is this seriously me sipping on maté?? WTF?? |
The following day was pretty chilled. I took great favour in a lengthy sleep in, and not needing to rush around in a frantic flabbergast. I'd bit the bullet & was planning to fork out for some diving; it'd been about nine months between drinks & I'd been re-dreaming about the splendour of the
Caribbean night after night. This wasn't exactly bath water, but it would have to suffice for now - plus it's not every day you get a chance to swim with
sea lions!! After a quiet night off the booze train, filled in by long games of pool with a hefty looking
Czech IT wizz, the days flipped over & it was time to roll...backwards roll
¡SPLASH! into the icy waters of the temperate world.
Fuck me, this was something different. I was enwrapped in a straitjacket, or so it seemed. A thick primary suit covered my vitals, while the outer doubled-up then fanned out over the rest of my exposed skin. I was even made to don a pair of booties & a restricting head cap - and I soon realised why!! The water was freezing in comparison to my last underwater encounters, and to begin with it kind of took the wind out of me. The gear-up had been quick, and I hadn't tested anything yet such as my mask or fins; then they chucked a 12 kilo belt around my waist.
'For the two wetsuits' they said...shit, I get that but I don't need
this much!! Then I couldn't reach my air gauge...
errr - not the best start or professionalism, but I was under way and happy to be so.
 |
| Down into the depths |
The first dive of the day was down to an old ship wreck (of what year exactly I have no clue), and as we descended it was evident this was to be a completely new experience for me. The visibility was noticeably terrible; not due so much to the water itself, but from all the sediment collected around and on top of the wreck, floating around like air born fragments of newspaper which had been thrown into a blazing campfire. We had to stick close to one another; it would be all too easy to become disorientated. I spent the first 10 minutes or so re-adjusting to life under the sea. All the small things that become unnoticeable habits after numerous repetitive dives were long gone. To be completely honest, I was a little bit anxious & uncomfortable for a short while, but this momentarily passed as the dive progressed. Below the wreck there were huge hiding salmon (at least that's what we were told), and clam like critters clung to the old frame work & chains of the ship. It was an eerie place. At one point we came to a cabin hole in the decking, and our guide disappeared inside for a few seconds, returning righteously covered in some kind of orange rust like debris - possibilities for the future?? I hoped so.
We resurfaced after half an hour or so; I was feeling much more confident by then. I was glad to be back out there. We motored back to the beach, where we picked up half a dozen or so more passengers (some diving others snorkeling), and made for the marine reserve for the days main attraction. Now, back at the dive shop they'd shown me a short video of what you could expect from the outing;
sea lions (lobo marenos, focas) were everywhere to be seen, ducking & weaving between the divers, playing much like puppies. I was slightly sceptical on what we would actually see, but I was surprisingly dumbfounded & utterly stoked with the real-time reality. What an experience!! It was worth all the money within the first few minutes. They were so fast!! They came right up to us with big black curious (almost sad) eyes, chewing on our arms & fins in a playful manner. When we sat on the sea bed, packs of them would circle above us like swarms of giant gnats. Swimming about exploring, we came across many pairs feuding with one another, cartwheeling & gnawing for supremacy; or maybe again it was all just fun & games...so much like a boisterous pooch.
Pug really does = seal. They're one in the same!!
 |
| Wassup pal!!?? |
At the end of the dive I was bursting at the seams with adrenaline & excitement!! It's quite difficult to put properly into words...so instead, I'm not about to try. Let's just leave it at that hey?? Hours of bus, cold nights with no where to crash, expensive everything, crap weather, crap people & unpredictable bowel movements; it all pays off on pay day.
Thank fuck for that ay?!! Ciao amigoes.
 |
| The magical underwater world |
A Wonderful World of Tears & Joy, you never know what it's gonna bring ya'...
Best wishes to everyone back in Taz right now dealing with the aftermath of the recent bush fires...Devastating to hear about. Thinking of you all. Take care of the place for me...miss it a mil...
Also a big fuck yea to all the cool Argentines I got to hang out with in Puerto Madryn,
maybe you lot aren't so bad after all, haha.
Nicko. xxx
The Life & Death of a Melancholy Mind, Buenos Aires
21st January, 2013
Why HI!! Every now and then, ones direction through life
becomes a little hazy. You may begin to ask yourself a lot of impossible
to answer questions. I often wonder what this world is all about.
Sometimes I wish I could simply cruise through the motions as
complacently as my younger brother seemingly does. On other days I'm
glad my twitchyness & agitism never lets me lose that next step
nerve. Yet right now I believe that barrier which has so often blocked
me from a boring existence is broken. I'm acting well cooked. I've
thrown myself into the frying pan, and I'm not too sure how to scamper
back out. Closing in recently on the big one year mark sure hasn't done
my poor head any favours. Last Thursday I rolled on into
Buenos Aires (my supposed ultimate
South American
destination) with a plan scooting along in fine fashionable form. Now I
can't seem to get a grip on what to do next. I want nothing more than
to avoid becoming some haggard unappreciative forever-wandering twat,
but things have become totally jaded. Half way through last year, I
hurriedly organised (without much of an insight) to get my bitchin'
bootie off this continent by the end of February; in theory after one
final showdown in
Rio de Janeiro for
Carnival. At the time
I guess I was caught in a kind of disillusionment. The money sure
disappeared much faster than I would have liked, and the practise of
finding work in
Europe was turning out to be a lot more
complicated than I obviously first thought. Also, I never ended up
running into some smokin' hot
Brazilian babe who was willing to have some scummer sleep on her couch for that one riotous week -
Carnival
too it seemed would have to wait. So when revising my situation during a
fresh stint of ghastly hungoverness, I made the sporadic decision to
chuck all my fortified plans out the window, only to create for myself
some new ludicrous fantastical visionary adventure. I won't be hopping
onto that plane
(why the hell not??). I won't be visiting a lot of wonderful friends
(are you nuts??). Instead I'll probably end up contacting malaria somewhere out on
The Amazon River. The drive behind all this
(and how long will that last for)?? - I'm still not quite sure. However if it manages to mend this dented soul, it may be all for the best.
Yeaaa?? Huh?? I really hope so...
 |
| The 67 meter Obelisk in Buenos Aires |
("So, if you really took a punt on all that
previously stated crap, you may be soon losing a fair chunk of money.
The past week has proven without a doubt that there are a bunch of evil
Kremlings running a dysfunctional roller coaster through the delicacies
of my brain. However all will be revealed later along in the piece; for
now we must return to the first instalment...")
Wellll now. How to begin after that rant?? - pampas, pampas & MORE pampas!!...I
was super excited on my initial arrival into
Buenos Aires. The fabled
Argentine capital, said to be reminiscent in many ways to
Paris, gradually blurred its way into existence as I woke from a long overnight haul from
Puerto Madryn.
I disembarked, collected my ever diminishing luggage from beneath the
coach, and stretched my legs with a bit of a strategised meander through
the surrounding streets. The city was beautiful, I have to say. Busy
business complexes were elegantly decorated with shady trees, and the
many peaceful parks & plazas provided a much welcome escape from
general every day urban living. Place this with the fact that the women
here were the hottest things I'd seen in the entirety of
Latin America.
I felt like a common criminal hidden behind my dark shades. I couldn't
help but turn my head in astonishment at every corner and at more in
between.
Goldilocks had warned me. I will never doubt his wisdom
ever again. The only shit thing I could figure, was the fact I had no
place to plonk this weary head of mine. In truth, I'd kind of forgotten
all about it. I'd survived rocking up in
Mexico City at 1 o'clock
in the morning, fresh faced & unseasoned, with little more than a
pathetic plan to crash out on a restaurant table - and since that
fateful day, I've simply assumed all other situations would play out
like a pre-informed game of rock, paper, scissors. I wish those
New Zealand
girls were still around; they treated me in a much preferred fashion
than what I got stuck with this time around. As far as the Internet was
telling me,
Buenos Aires was booked out!!
What!!?? That can't be right. In hindsight I should probably learn to use
HostelBookers a bit better. I freaked out, lost my cool, & ended up in some dive, stuck chatting with a fat
Finnish
homosexual. What is it with gays pouring out their heart & soul to
me?? It always seems to happen!! I instantly regretted paying for two
nights accommodation straight up, and couldn't wait to get my party on
with me
Swede. Hurry up girl!! Save me from such gloom!!
 |
| A park in Recoleta |
I got up & out of there as early as I could the
following morning. That's the thing with hostels at the end of the day,
they are merely just a place to crash - you shouldn't be spending too
much time there anyhow. I assumed the best way to get a quick overall
glimpse of the city would be to buy a ticket for the
tourist bus,
which does a big loop of all the main attractions. By midday, it was
boiling up on roof deck; it must have been peaking at around 40 degrees
in the sun. But once it got moving the breeze took the edge off those
harsh rays, and it was quite relaxing getting about without having to do
too much thinking. I hopped off at the famous football stadium in the
barrio of
La Boca, before wandering along to the brightly pastel coloured streets around
the Caminito.
The whole area had a pretty funky vibe about it, with plenty of live
music & street performers. However it didn't take long to reach the
limits of the touristic complex.
La Boca is also one of
Buenos Aires'
poorest suburbs, and browsing a few blocks in any one direction places
you back in the reality. Many people sleep on the streets, and I
encountered a bunch of folk even digging through the trash for food
scraps. You begin to realise that your 'problems' are nothing more than
small inconveniences.
 |
| The Caminito, La Boca |
Later on that afternoon I felt it was worth forking out a bit of extra cash for a pair of jeans.
Buenos Aires'
nightlife is notorious, and it would be a disaster to miss it on
account of my notoriously lousy attire. I had no idea where the best
place might be to look, so I took a stroll along the well known
pedestrianised shopping street,
Calle Florida. All I could decipher from the mayhem was the
"cambio, cambio"
calls coming from the black market money changers who plague the
thoroughfare; nothing else really appealed to me. I hate shopping at the
best of times, even more so when I don't know where to look. After half
an hour or so, I still couldn't find any jeans that took my fancy, so I
bit my pride & stormed into the chicks clothes section of a
Myer
like department store. When I eventually placed a pair of black
skinnies on the counter, the attendant looked at me as if I were
retarded.
"Estos son para mujeres..." -
Yea!! No shit you wanker...I
just wanna pay & get the hell out of here as fast as I can in all
honesty. I rolled the dice, payed the price & done the dash back to
hide in my hostel. A renewed encounter with the
Finnish dude topped me off the scale. If it wasn't for my
SwedishSweetheart
coming to the rescue at the last possible moment, I think I would have
put my head through the television. It was soooo good to see her!! We'd
met in
Colombia like seven months ago, and she'd gone home &
now returned in between!! Maybe I had been away too long?? This was a
kind of strange scenario. Either way, we had to celebrate - so we
escaped the wrath of my whimsical pal (what an excuse thank fuck!!), and
made for the nearest bar we could find to guzzle down pints of beer
& cheap bottles of wine.
The nights in
Buenos Aires
are scorchers. It'd been a while since I hadn't had to use a blanket.
It'd been even longer since I was grateful for a freezing cold shower in
the morning. I'd decided to check into
Milhouse Hostel the next day. I was eager for a bit of a party, and this place had a wild reputation throughout the city.
SwedishSweetheart checked in next door, and we made a bit of a pre-party excursion to the parks surrounding
Palermo. Now...I'm starting to get a slight inclining of little wonder why the
Finnish freak continued to press me. To my enduring embarrassment - we made the
choice to go roller blading!!
WTF!!?? For
close to an hour I reckon we glided, zoomed, pranced (whatever you want
to call it) around an artificial lake in one of those
Palermo
parks. It seemed like everyone was into it!! Even the machos. I'm not
sure whether this is something to be boasting about, but I've always
been ridiculously good at this 'sport' for some reason - so of course I
found it quite entertaining to watch full grown men (who would normally
annihilate me in a game of basketball or rugby), stumbling around out of
utter anxiety, desperately clinging on to the petite hands of their
wife's (who were struggling enough themselves), not so unlike a baby
taking his first assistance needed steps. The other highlight was when
miss
Swede axed her self in a horizontal display of
lank-limbness. For a brief moment I thought she'd snapped her wrists.
I'm really glad she hadn't, cause I couldn't stop laughing; and somehow
this allowed my hysterics to be warranted without a single mind of
sympathy. Sorry kiddo. The remainder of that day was taken up by being
practically spear tackled by a shirtless homeless guy, and chugging down
one of the best strawberry smoothies I've ever had.
 |
| My SwedeSweetheart Roller blading!! |
As the sun went down across the city for another
balmy Saturday night, things began to heat back up in other ways.
Actually I'm not too sure if I even waited for sun down; happy hour was
on and I was stuck between the walls of a so called 'party' hostel with a
bunch of tight shirt, unsociable twats. I bought two pints straight up
and allowed whatever was to happen unfold. I did get chatting to a small
group of people after a while, but I can't say the conversation truly
intrigued me...who were these people??...and why did they come to the
other side of the world to make such a shit 'sock-dance like' fiesta. We
got kicked off our tables at about 10 o'clock, only to have them moved
into a corner of the room to make space for a large 'dance floor' of
such. I hate when they do that. I'm not going to dance when you
practically force me to dance. Chill the fuck out. To make matters
worse, the music they were blasting was some god awful top 10 cheese.
The only way to numb the pain (or lie to myself that it wasn't so bad)
was to down more pints of whatever this blue stuff was. By late night I
was drunk enough not to notice it. I recall ending up out on the street
with no shoes on, eating some kind of hot dog pie. Good ol'
charliebrown even popped in and payed me a little visit. We hadn't crossed paths since
Cusco,
and I'd intended to keep it that way. But the devil tricks us easy.
Soon I was in fine form, flying down the highway in some packed party
van.
Blllagghaarr!!! Wooo-wooot!! The club we ended up in
was enormous, the biggest I think I've ever seen. There were about six
or seven separate areas from memory, each with its own bar, and a huge
open outside area with a stage draped in energetic near naked
performers. I lost my new friends within the first few minutes. It was
like being at a festival with no cell phone. I spent the majority of the
night huddled in a corner, chatting & chain smoking cigarettes with
this
Argenite girl called
Flopp. A lot of things seemed to happen. Maybe not all of them true. By the time the sun came up out over the
Rio de la Plata I was well famished & ready to bail. The
Argie's were
only getting started by the looks of things. I pushed my way outside,
hopped into a cab with a few other gringos & passed out back the
hostel.
I'd missed breakfast when I finally woke back
up. Of course I had. Holy crap I was feeling terrible!! I couldn't hang
out here in the hostel - it was like being trapped in a pig pen. I
decided it was best to go for a walk, eat some food & rehydrate.
Well some good that did me. Standing on a random street intersection at
the lively Sunday
San Telmo markets; minding my own business, contemplating buying a maté pot...I get a tap on the shoulder from behind.
Huh?? At first I'm a little more than confused. I hadn't intended on looking at anyone today. "So you got my email then?!!" It was
PhilipOkles!!
No way!! I hadn't checked my emails at all for like two days. I knew he
lived here in the city, and I was really hoping to catch up, but this
was crazy!!
"DCTalk is meeting me here in like 5 minutes..."
woahhh!!! I couldn't believe my luck. The three of us reunited. So
bloody random!! It was a happy day. We stood around in the streets
drinking beers & listening to live music, catching up on all our
separate adventures. What started out as a painful seedy Sunday, turned
out to be my favourite of the lot. People just kept coming up to us for a
chat. We met a trapeze artist from
London coming over to make the big time, watched a
Paraguayan pan flute band steal the show just for fun, and played football in the park with a bunch of local kids & a scary (yet
somehow sexy??) girl from
Norway
with unkempt hairy legs & underarms. To top it off, we went back
into the centre of town for a few more quiet drinks at an outdoor
restaurant.
Swede tagged along, and I also got to meet
DCTalk's pal from home,
Bernaby.
It was actually refreshing to meet someone like that. I kind of envied
his enthusiasm. Having hardly ever been on a real overseas vacation
before, this guy was bursting at the seams with genuine excitement. He
was like a little kid on the night before Christmas. I remember when I
was like that too, and it made me realise how unappreciative &
unmotivated I'd become. A year on the road can take its toll, and in a
way I was beginning to feel the crunch. Something soon would have to
give. I had a lot to sum up I guess...
 |
| Street Performers in San Telmo |
I started out by trying to fix up my visa for
Brazil
the following day. It didn't sound so complicated, and I had a bit of
time to kill here in the city. I also thought I'd pre-arranged
everything for a swift application; how wrong could I have been!! It
turned into a nightmare. Once I found the consulate, I patiently waited
in line to be served. The first time I reached a window I was sent to
another line - another cue & another wait. This happened two or
three times. When I finally made it to the correct window, the rude
bitch at the counter wouldn't have a second of my attempted
Spanish & began yelling at me about who knows what??
Something!!
Fuck you lady!! What is it you want me to do?? I went back to the
information desk & they pointed me back to her. She began yelling at
me again, a spit about an 'appointment'?? That's the first I'd heard of
it. How does one make this appointment?? She just started screaming at
me again about how she doesn't know everything - ask someone else!!
Ahhh shit...nothings
ever easy when it comes to paper work. I stormed out of the building,
wishing I had a bomb so I could blow the place up. An afternoon stroll
around the
Recoleta Cemetery, and a quick churipan fix soon had
me feeling much better. It was a bit freaky staring down into some of
the crypts. The coffins were sitting there in plain sight. There were
dead dudes in there. Becoming a mummy hunter might be kind of cool.
 |
| The Recoleta Cemetery |
Later on that night we'd all been invited over to
PhilipOkles'
place for dinner. Turns out he likes to cook. He put on one hell of a
buffet!! Herbed potatoes, fresh salads & a ton of fine
Argentine carne. His apartment was beautiful. How he bagged that place I will never know. Downstairs in the courtyard I met his
Italian tango dancing flat mate
Ida, who gave be a thorough rundown on the links throughout history between
Italian &
Buenos Airean
street dancing, at least until we all retreated upstairs to the roof
terrace to finish off the rest of the wine. I was coming to love this
city. This was something I hadn't planned for. I had friends, comfort
& countless things to keep me occupied. Maybe I should stay on for a
while longer??
Europe could wait no doubt...all my confusions intensified.
 |
| Chillin' at PhilipOkles place |
By the time
André arrived mid week, I was already to beginning to build some kind of alternate plan for my near future.
SwedishSweetheart was already booked in for two months studying
Spanish; maybe I should do the same?? There was still so much left to do. The coast of
Brazil, chugging up the mighty
Amazon while swaying away in a hammock, a short climbing stint in the
Venezuelan table-top mountains...not to mention my ever burning desire to make a grand slam return to
Cusco.
During one sporadic moment of yet another hungover afternoon, I made a
snap decision to stay. I posted the news to my friends & family on
the net as to cement this choice out of questionability. Over the next
few days I made some rough plans on what I wanted to do, who I wanted to
see and what I seriously wanted to gain out of this entire trip. I was
still searching for adventure (or so I thought) more than anything. What
better a way than to throw myself into the most dangerous areas of the
continent. Maybe I could write some kind of vagabond fairytale. What if I
found myself somewhere super chilled out on the
Caribbean coast,
diving & bar tending everyday?? I'm sure I could easily talk myself
into settling down for a while. This was my newest 'problem' - I now
had
too many options...
...and that's when shit hit the fan all over again.
I had a weekend of sombreness to sober me up. What was I doing?!? That's the thing -
NOTHING!! For the past few days I'd done nothing of note except forking out 100 bucks for
Spanish classes (which I was now knew I'd never be taking), and hanging out in a park with
PhilipOkles &
Ida
eating dry tuna sandwiches and sipping on my ever so ex-dreaded maté.
My time was done here. I had a flight. I could always come back. In
Europe I
could actually get a job which was fun
and actually payed. I'd simply be buying myself time working here. In
Europe
I had innumerable friends who would be willing to let me crash on their
couches, or at least show me the highlights of their cities from a
locals point of view. That would be unbeatable. Hell, I could learn
Spanish in
Spain!!
It was like I awoke from a bad dream. I regretted posting my plans on
the net more than anything, but I wasn't going to let my pride stand in
the way of what I now knew was the right choice.
Buenos Aires had
been a great time; it really lightened my tainted image of the entire
country, but it was time to leave. I had to come to grips with my
dwindling bank accounts, harden the fuck up & enjoy my time out on
the road while it lasts. There would be a lot of people out in the big
wide world who would kill to be in my position right about now. To my
SwedishSweetheart &
André,
Philipokles &
Ida
- I'm real sorry for bailing in such a dramatic fashion. I haven't been
myself of late. I really hope to see you guys again soon. Have a sick
time on the rest of your travels. As should everyone!! Live everyday
like it's your last. You never know when the game is up.
 |
| Happy days in Buenos Aires - Picnic in the Park |
Much lovin' from a happy go lucky kind of guy...errr yep.
Off now to retribute myself!!
Nicko xxx
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