I know that I am so ridiculously behind here. I have covered a great number of kilometers and done an incredible number of activities of ever kind possible. But, thanks to transport issues, I have a few extra days to relax and enjoy Punta Arenas, Chile and hopefully I will have some time to work on the blog. So let me continue where I left off...

South via El Bolsón
1-3 October 2006
(El Bolsón Photos)

OK, so I knew I wanted to continue south, but how? I had two options in Bariloche. The first was to catch one of the frequent buses that follow Ruta 40 to Esquel or take the Tren Patagonico due east, all the way across to Viedma on the Atlantic coast. I have yet to experience a long train distance trip in Argentina. It would be a nice alternative to the bus. However, going east meant leaving the mountains, with which i had fallen in love. It also meant missing out on another train trip, a trip that could be counted as one of the top ten must do trips in the world - "La Trochita" or more commonly know outside of Argentina as "The Old Patagonian Express", thanks to Paul Theroux.

So the decision was an easy one. There was no way I would miss out on La Trochita! La Trochita departs from Esquel, just less than 300km south of Bariloche. Although this is a short bus ride by Argentinean standards, I decided to break the trip up by stopping in the small town of El Bolsón, roughly halfway. The road winds its way along a valley in the pre-cordillera, frequently switching sides as it goes. The thickly forested landscape of Bariloche quickly is swapped for dry, treeless scrub that characterises most of Argentinean Patagonia.

El Bolsón
In complete contrast El Bolsón, which literally means bag, sits in a lush, green valley. The derivation of this rather odd name became apparent when I got off the bus and did a 360 degree turn before throwing on my massive backpack. El Bolsón is hemmed in by steeply rising mountains to its east and west. "Bag" would not have been the first name that came to mind. But it seemed like a pleasant enough town in which to spend a day or two.


For the last 30 years or so El Bolsón has been a hippie magnet. It is green, isolated and almost idyllic, so I guess it is no surprise that they started coming with the dream of establishing some kind of eco-friendly community. I am not sure if this ever materialised. What they did do, however, was start to brew beer and make jam. Even more of an incentive to hang around for a little while.

I found a comfortable looking hostel, the Refugio Patagonico, which was located by a field (doubles as a campsite/horse pasture) less than a 10 minute walk for the centre of town.The two young guys who were looking after the place were very friendly and extremely relaxed (they shared their dinner with me the two nights I was there). I had the place to myself. I was in a dorm room with four bunks and an en-suite bathroom, all of which was for my exclusive use. In conditions like this, of course a place is comfortable. Though, I hate to think what the hostel, and the town are like during the peak summer months. Absolutely heaving, I expect! My guide book does note that the El Bolsón maintains its tranquil character during the high season.

However, it was only the start of October and there were virtually no out of towners around. In my view this is the ideal time to come. It can get cool at night, but fine during the day. There are plenty of good hikes to be done and a number of mountain refuges in which you can stay. I am not sure if the refuges are open all years around. I think some may only open from November to March, or something similar. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays the hippies come out and set up stalls in the town centre to flog their beer, jam, knitted hats, wooden salad utensils and dangly earrings. The Saturday market is supposed to be the main market day.

I my passing though coincided with the Tuesday market. Every city, town and village seems to have its "craft" market. However, El Bolsón's was one of the nicest I have come across. There could not have been more than 25 stands, but what was on offer appeared to be of good quality, the stall holders were cheerful and friendly and some of them had home brew on tap - can't go wrong! There was also some good, cheap food available to - a good place to grab lunch. It goes without saying that I sampled some of the beers. I came across three types of beer: lagers, "rubias" (slightly darker than a lager) and "negras" (very dark). The rubias were my favorite. I really did not enjoy the negras. I thought the malty/coffee like taste too sharp and they left a bad after taste. They could aim for a smoother taste in my somewhat ignorant opinion and I am really not fussy when it comes to beer (by the time the average western male has reached 29 years of age, he has had enough experience of beer to know what is good!).

To work of all that good homemade food and drink I walked up to the "Cabeza del Indio", an easy one hour walk up a gentle hill to a rocky outcrop that resembles the profile of a human head. I actually managed to continue walking for at least another hour until the trail disappeared into the forest. I passed that afternoon peaceful solitude, just me, my thoughts and old Indian Head.

18km south of El Bolsón is Lago Puelo, another beautiful lake surrounded by steeply rising mountains. A local bus runs from El Bolsón every hour or two to the park entrance from where it is a 15 minute walk to the lake. There is a camp site by the lake and as well as some boat excursions. I read somewhere that you can get a boat to take you to the Chilean side of the lake. The border is pretty close. I would have liked to have spent more time around the lake, but I had a mid afternoon bus to Esquel to catch.

San Carlos de Bariloche (but more commonly as Bariloche)
27 September to 2 October 2006
(Bariloche Photos)

Bariloche is a major tourist destination for Argentineans and foreigners alike. In the winter it functions as one of Argentina's main ski centres, and in the summer it is a haven for trekkers. It is in a breathtakingly scenic location on the south side of Lago Nahuel Huapi, in the Andean pre-cordillera. It is also my first incursion into Argentinean Patagonia.

I don't think Bariloche has a low season. The first thing you notice on arrival are the swarms of adolescents in groups of 20 to 50, identically outfitted, singing and cheering as they clog up the town centre. Bariloche is where high schoolers, most from in or around Buenos Aires and on the verge of graduating, come to celebrate and cause mayhem. The closet thing we have in the US is "Spring Break" (around the Easter holiday) - the gathering of college kids on the Florida coasts. Australian high schoolers have their "schoolies" week up at the Queensland beach resort town of Surfers Paradise where they literally run riot. At least here it appears to be somewhat controlled as these trips are organised by their schools and are therefore chaperoned.

Bariloche is also known for chocolate shops, elves and St Bernard's that loiter around the civic centre touting for photos (their owners, not the dogs). Every other store is a chocolate shop, and although I did not buy any I had the thickest, richest hot chocolate at a place with a large statue of "abuela" (grandma) in her apron out front (just in case you ever pass through and find yourself in need of a proper hot chocolate). Fair enough, chocolate goes with lakes and snow capped mountains after all (I wonder where they got this idea?). The elves and Russian Dolls I cannot explain. But it appeared as if shops that did not sell chocolate sold elf-like creatures, some quite grotesque looking, and Russian Dolls along with the standard array of souvenirs.

Anyway, the area initially opened up to tourism in the late 1930's when the railway arrived. Like Pocono, Chile, the log and stone architecture is all over from the civic buildings to the boutique shops and the masses of cabañas. However, a complete anathema to all of this is the tower block where my 10th floor penthouse hostel was located. How could such a building have been built? Who knows. But, "Hostel 1004" (as in 10th floor, apartment 4) had views that could not be believed. You are spellbound the moment you walk through the door. Being about 10 years old, I learned that it was the first youth hostel in Bariloche. Many have sprung up since, not surprisingly. The young staff, who are also partners in the hostel, are very friendly and welcoming. It also had a kitchen that you would expect to find in an upscale restaurant, not a youth hostel. It has a sister hostel, "La Morada", up one of the hills a few kms out of town, that sounded like it was the ultimate "chill out" place. Possibly more apt for couples than lone travelers.
During my stay, I probably did not take full advantage of all the activities on offer. Bariloche has a good bus network that takes you to just about all the nearby sites from the ski centre to the ritzy and reassuringly expensive hotel Llao Llao (pronounced "shaow shaow" in Argentinean accent). I missed out on having a "cafecito" at the Llao Llao, preferring to spend an afternoon exploring the trails through the neighboring Parque Municipal Llao Llao. Also by the hotel and park entrance is Puerto Pañuelo from where day long excursions of the lake depart.

My curiosity took me to El Catedral, Bariloche's ski centre. I was toying with the idea of having a few lessons. I had arrived at the last week of the season and it already appeared that parts of the ski village were closing down. Though, from others in the hostel who can come to ski, the snow sounded like it was still pretty good. Lessons turned out to be a little to expensive for my budget.

My one big physical activity while staying in Bariloche was cycling the circular route known as "Circuito Chico". I soon discovered that "Chico" it most definitely was not! At the hostel I found a very "simpatico" Galician, Alejandro, was also keen for a ride. After we spent about an hour and a half looking for a bicycle shop that was open (it was Sunday, but even still!) we finally set off at midday along the very busy road (thanks the bus loads of high schoolers) to Llao Llao. Circuito Chico is about 60km, which sounded like a lot, but seemed doable. However, I was not quite prepared for the near impossible number of hills. Alejandro was also keen to check out Lago Gutierrez, an extra 10km off of the original circuit. After 40km, I was not keen.

When we reached the decisive fork in the road, left for Bariloche and right for the lake, I very near told him, "You can go right, but I am heading back to town" (but in Spanish of course as he did not speak any English, something like "¡No puedo!"). But I gritted my teeth, dug deep for every spare ounce of energy and said nothing. The ride took about 7 hours, including plenty of photo and food stops, and took in some beautiful scenery (I managed to get my St. Bernard's photo at one of the stops). Pero ¡casi me mató! - But it nearly killed me! We celebrated our achievement, which I suspected was not all that significant for him, over a "parilla" (the famous Argentinean mixed grill) and a few beers.

Continuing South
25-27 September 2006
(Puerto Varas and More Andes Photos)

After a day of rest after my big climb I caught a bus to Puerto Montt. I guess you could call Puerto Montt the gateway to Chilean Patagonia. Population wise, there is virtually nothing south of it until you reach Punta Arenas in Tierra del Fuego, over 1300km away. To continue my journey south I had two options: 1) Take one of the four night cruises which sail from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales, about 200km north of Punta Arenas, or 2) cross back into Argentina. Also, immediately south of Puerto Montt is the 'mysterious' (according to my guide book) Island of Chiloé, which I was interested in checking out.

(NOTE: There are train services between Temuco and Puerto Montt, two a day in each direction. This could be an interesting option if you are staying in Temuco. They work out to be a little cheaper than the bus, but take longer. When there are direct buses from Pucón to Puerto Montt, going back to Temuco to catch the train does not make sense. However, I believe that from early 2007 train services from Santiago to Puerto Montt will recommence once they have finished bridge maintenance work south of Chillán. Check www.efe.cl for more information.)

I had heard from other travelers that the cruises pass some stunning scenery, but four nights (in dormitory style accommodation) on a boat did not grab me, the landlubber that I am. There were plenty of places I was keen to see Argentinian Patagonia.

I arrived to a cold, wet and inhospitable feeling Puerto Montt. I headed to the tourist information office, usually my first stop in any new place, to get what information I could on Chiloé. The rain seemed to wash away my enthusiasm for this diversion. Being the off season, transport options were limited. Churning it over in my head over a cup of tea (more like hot milk with a tea bag), I came to the decision. I would make a u-turn and head to the lake side town of Puerto Varas, 20km north of Puerto Montt, and from there cross the Andes back to Argentina. I am sure Puerto Montt is a pleasant place, but in this light it depressed me.

Puerto Varas was also cold and wet, not surprisingly, but felt more welcoming. It looked all the better when I found a very warm and comfortable hostel, the "Compas del Sur". Puerto Varas is a small town of 16,000, located on the southeastern corner of Lago Llanquihue, one of the largest of the lakes in the Chilean Lake District. I had passed by only hours early on the bus to Puerto Montt and got a brief but spectacular glimpse of the lake with Volcanoes Calbuco and Osorno on the far side. Hence my decision to return. Sadly, the cloud and rain had settled in by the time I came back, completing shrouding both volcanoes. I would never catch this glorious vista during my short stay.

On my second showery day in Puerto Varas I explored the town, which did not take long, and bought my bus ticket to Bariloche, Argentina for the next day. One rather inconvenient travel issue I have across in Chile is that very city and town seems to have number of bus terminals. Often each company will have its own terminal. Sometime they are next to each other, but often they are not - something to be aware of when traveling through Chile.

Sorry, I am going to drift off topic here for a moment, but I just remembered an other observation I made while being in Chile. I have seen more people with crutches and walking sticks here then in any other country I have been. And I am I not talking about people of '3rd Age.' Many seemed to have physical disabilities that prevented them walking unaided. It is as if there was some disabling childhood epidemic in the 1950's and 60's that affected a large percentage of Chileans.

Anyway, where was I...? Ah yes, leaving Chile....

As Murphy's Law dictates, the moment I pulled out from Puerto Varas, the clouds parted and the sun shone warmly. Bugger. Oh well, it did mean I had another spectacular Andes crossing, via paso "Cardenal Antonio Samore", which the Chilean city of Osorno to Bariloche in Argentina. This pass is not nearly as high as the one I took from Mendoza to Santiago, but the road really twists and turns. As we passed jagged peaks rising steeply on either side, crystal clear streams and snow covered forests I was thinking to myself how in complete awe I am of what I have seen of the Andes. I have not spent much time in the French or Swiss Alps and I have never been to the Himalayas or the Rocky Mountains. But this range it truly magnificent. Hopefully I will have the chance to see more.

(I know, I need to make these posts more digestible!)

Conquering Volcán Villarrica
23 September 2006
(Villarrica Photos)

The sky was a brilliant blue as I looked up towards Volcán Villarrica from outside the hostel. We were seven in all: a German pair, a French pair, our guides Frankie and Juan and me. The climb starts from the Villarrica ski centre which is at about 1400m. From downtown Pucón the ski centre is a 30 minute drive. Then you take a chair lift from the car park to the ski complex. The ride, which felt like it took 20 minutes, was incredibly peaceful. Silently gliding above snow covered woods, I had time to contemplate this highly uncharacteristic (for me) activity I was about to undertake. My eyes were fixed straight ahead, sizing up the volcano. "Oh bugger," I thought, "Too late to turn back now!"


We set off from the ski centre at about 9:15am. We were all told that the climb could take at least 6 hours. The French pair were also carrying snowboards. "Craziness," I thought to myself. Frankie had a pair of skis on his back. The plan was that they would snowboard and ski down, while Juan, the German couple and I would walk.


1400m does not sound like it is very far. But, it certainly looked far enough every time I gazed up at the summit. Hour after hour it never seemed to get any closer, but it gradually got steeper. With a warm sun, I only had on my thermal shirt for much of the climb. We stopped every roughly hour and a half for food and water. It was very slow going. I focused only on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to step in the foot holes made by those in front of me. I was mindful the entire time of loosing my footing and sliding down the mountain. We had our ice axes and were shown how to use them in case we did slip. This probably was my second fear. The first being not making it to the crater. "I have to make it," I kept telling myself.


At one point I was ready to push the overly enthusiastic German guy in front of me off the mountain. "Look at the view!...Isn't it an amazing view...It's so beautiful...This is our last day before going home...What a way to spend it!...Look at the view!" "Aaaghhh, please shut up," I almost said. Every time I tried looking up and around at the view behind (which admittedly was spectacular) I would almost loose my balance. And so I did not look up very often.


At about 500m from the summit it looked as if the weather might turn bad. The wind was blowing a little more than I would have liked, picking up a lot of snow with it. I had all my layers on now and even put on the balaclava. We kept on going.

At about 2:15pm, after five and half hours, we arrived at the edge of the crater. I had made it! It took me a moment to catch my breath and realise what I had accomplished. I have climbed my first mountain. I know this is pretty trivial for all you serious mountaineers out there, but for me it was significant. Fortunately that sun had come back out when we arrived. However, the smoke emanating from lava pit below was unpleasant. Some people started to cough with the mildly sulfurous smelling smoke. At one point there was so much of it that visibility was almost zero. I was always very concussions of not stepping too near to the edge of the crater. We chose not to hang around long, and after a few happy snaps we began our descent.


The descent - something that I had not given much thought until now. "What? We have to climb down too!" It was a long way down. Those with skis and snowboards headed on down and we followed, I very gingerly. As you would expect, coming down did not take long, only about 2 hours. To hasten the descent we decided to improvise. We used a method some of you might be familiar with. We sat down and "assboarded" (Juan's term not mine) much of the way down Villarrica. Well, without a snowboard it was the next best thing.


By the time we made it back to the ski centre, about 4:30pm, my legs felt like jelly - ready to collapse at any moment. I was looking forward to my solitary chair lift ride back down to the car park, some time to reflect and relax. That was quite a day that 24 hours earlier I had no intention of going through with. I had conquered a couple of fears and could now tick off "climb an active volcano in the snow" on my to do list - one of the most active in South America!

Pucón and the Chilean Lake District
21 and 22 September 2006
(Pucón Photos)

Two nights in Cencepcíon was probably enough. However, it gave me time to figure out where to go next. I knew that the Chilean Lake District was an area not to be missed. But, where to go, where would be a good base? I had met plenty of travelers in Santiago and Valparaiso who had either come from or were heading to a place called Pucón.

If you imagine the very long, very narrow strip of land that is Chile, the Lake District roughly half to two thirds the way down, between the small city of Temuco to Puerto Montt. It is the scenery is frequently compared to that of southern Germany and Switzerland. With its countless lakes and snow capped mountains, the comparison is clear. During the 19th and 20th centuries a significant number of Germans immigrated to Chile, and for obvious reasons settled in this area. As a result many schools, businesses and hotels have the word "Aleman" (German) in their names. You also see the German inflence in street names and surnames.

Going from Concepción to Pucón required a change in Temuco. However, buses were very frequent so the trip was easy. Pucón is a resort village on the south eastern end of Lago Villarrica. The larger town of Villarrica sits on the western end of the lake. Villarrica may have been the cheaper option, but the town itself did not appear as picturesque as Pucón.

As soon as I alighted in Pucón I was "shanghai'd" by a man offering accomodation in his hostel. This is a frequent occurence that can be both an annoyance and useful. In some backpacker hotspots you have to litterally run the gauntlet of hostel touts. However, Claudio seemed afable enough and his hostel was litterally next door to the small bus terminal. "Worth a look," I thought to myself. "Hostel Backpackers" (what an original name) was more like a large family house, with wood panelling throughout and a welcoming fire. It had two small dorms: one with a single bunk bed and another with 2 bunks and a single bed. It felt very comfortable, cosy, central and only CL$5000 a night (US$10 without breakfast). Claudio also could organise various activities including climbing "Volcán Villarrica" the nearby active volcano. That would be quite a feat, but I could never do that, I thought.

Pucón is small with one main street lined with souvineer shops, butiques, restarants and tour agencies. Most buildings have that log and stone architecture typical of a "western" ski resort that you would find in Colorado, the Alps or New Zealand. It certainly did not feel like South America!

I arrived Thursday afternoon in the rain. The next day it also rained. However, Claudio informed me enthusiastically, Satuday was looking good for climbing Villarrica. "That's great," I said, "but it's not for me." I have never climbed anything like that in my life, and anyway, I am in less than good physical shape. "You can do it," he encouraged.

Villarrica, 2850m high, is said to be one of the most active volcanos in South America. From downtown Pucón you can make out whisps of smoke eminating from its creator. Apparently it has an active lava lake, which can be seen from the edge of its creator. If you zoom in on the satellite image on Google Maps, you can make out the lava lake, a orange spot in its creator.

As the day wore on, the idea of climbing an active volcano started growing on me. If I could do it it would be a huge personal achievement. That afternoon I found Claudio hanging around the bus terminal and said that I will do it. The cost for the climb was little expensive, CL$35,000 (US$65), but included all the necessary gear. He only takes up small groups, and in our case there were to be five of us for the climb along with our two guides. We were advised that if the weather turns bad, that we might have to abandon the climb and not get our money refunded.

That evening we got our gear together:
- rucksack
- snow pants
- fleece gloves and waterproof outer mittens
- a waterproof balaclava like thing
- ice axe
- crampons
- helmet
- gaitors
- decent waterproof hiking boots (Salomon's - worked really well for a pair of rented boots)
- sun glasses (I am going to have to buy my own pair one of these days)
- sandwiches, Quaker bars and 2L of water

"This is all pretty serious", I thought, "I guess I am ready." That night I slept a little restlessly and was up just before 6am. Departure was 7am.