The Ubiquitous Kiosko

You can always count on finding a kiosko to buy a beer, cookies or even agua caliente for your mate tea, just about anywhere you go in Argentina. You could be deep into a hike in the woods in Patagonia and out of nowhere you come upon a farm house with a kiosko in the front yard. You could be lost in the far reaches of the deserted altiplano where all you see are barren plains and fluffy llamas, but just when you feel a hint of cotton mouth there is a kiosko amongst a handful of camouflaged adobe huts. You could be camping in a seedy municipal campground on the edge of a grimy, hopeless town and at midnight realize that you don´t have enough food for your next 3 days of cloud-forest camping but never fear because there is a maxi-kiosko across the street which is technically closed but again no worries because the owners, without anything better to do, are still hanging around and happy to sell you more pasta and powdered soups than you know what to do with. In Bolivia as well we realize, you could be backpacking in the rain for days on an ancient and little used Inca trail from high tundra to thick rain-forest and still manage to squeeze in a pau hana cerveza at the end of each day, thanks to the ubiquitous kiosko. And you could also be back in Gualeguaychú, pedalling up the river under a sweaty sun and spot a kiosko past the bushes on the left bank… and then of course be obligated to pedal your bicibarco up to the bank, leap off with a few pesos in hand, run barefoot across the grass and buy a bien fría Quilmes from the owner even though he is in the middle of his lunch with his wife around back, then jump back in the boat for one final vuelta in the Huck Finn river before returning the empty bottle and catching the current back to the dock. You gotta love the kiosko.

Carnaval in Gualeguaychú

I see bikini-clad bathers all around me, lathering themselves with tanning oil, standing ankle deep in the river water under the hot sun, drinking steaming hot mate, plucking in vain at the ubiquitous women´s semi-thong (or v-string) and grooving on the competing boom-boxes from around this riverside beach. Carnaval Fun is in the air and everyone feels it. Today is a day to groove and party and be merry all day and all night long. Carnaval, synonymous with Mardi Gras, (or Fat Tuesday) is when the whole world indulges in a multitude of “carnal” pleasures in anticipation of the following 40 days of self-deprivation for Lent. Of course Carnaval in Gualeguaychú happens every Saturday in February, soooo its doubtful that anyone actually fulfills the 2nd half of the tradition.

The breeze kicks up and reminds me how comfortable I feel, sitting here in the shade, drinking a Brahma beer, next to my honey. I see 5 bicibarcos (pedal-boats) strolling up and down the river. A couple hours ago that was us, as we spent an hour and 10 pesos peddling the river around a little island. Everywhere we went we saw people relaxing and enjoying life, whether it be rowing a boat, sitting on the riverside playing scrabble, lolling in a hammock, or preparing the parilla for an asado. We even crossed wakes with a row boat complete with its own strolling (or floating) minstrel plucking at a guitar and singing while perched on the bow. We even managed to score a cerveza bien fría for the ride from a kiosko we found conveniently located on the bank of the river. Ahh, the ubiquitous kiosko…

After a totally relaxing day, we geared up for the party, watching the sunset while drinking strong Fernet & cokes (the Argentine specialty of mixed drinks) at a bar over the river, dawned our wildest outfits, and even bought agaudy feather tiara on the way into the Sambadromo. And it was a wild night, dancing on the bleachers along with the sexy can-canners parading by below us and bumping hips with all the other baracho party-goers around us. The festivities lasted until almost 4 in the morning when we finally stumbled amongst the herds across town and collapsed in the tent.

Esteros de Iberá, NE Argentina

So we traded the far south’s cold and icy sea, filled with whales, seals and penguins, for the far north’s hot and muggy swamps with caymans, monkeys, and giant amphibious rodents, when we abandoned Tierra del Fuego and our Antarctica plan, spun 180º and made a b-line for the Esteros de Iberá. This place, like Antarctica, is also very remote and rather difficult to get to, but unlike Antarctica, we actually succeeded in reaching it, as it was only isolated from the nearest major bus route by a 200 overland kilometros, instead of 1000 over sea.

And what a place!!! After a long, hot and extremely bumpy ride across an expanse so green & flat it could have been a golf course for giants, we finally arrived at the sparsely populated Colonia Pelegrini. The village lies on what was technically a peninsula jutting into the huge Iberá lagoon, but the connecting isthmus was so skinny that one lane of traffic could barely squeeze onto it, making it feel more like we were camping on just one of the many floating islands on the lake. Although we got thoroughly munched by mosquitoes and were sweating bullets in the hot, humid, treeless terrain, it was a most satisfying visit. In one day, we saw the largest rodent in the world (carpincho) who spends most of his time in the water, over 20 yacuré negro (black cayman) lurking among the floating islands, a gaggle of yellow monkeys nibbling at the nuts in a palm tree, a rare miniature deer (pudu), and a ton of colorful and bizarre birds. During a 2-hour pole-boat tour among the floating islands we saw one bird so big it looked as if it could fall through the floating grass at any moment, martín pescadors (king fishers), cormorants, another bird who yapped like a chihuahua and flew like a mosquito, with its spindly legs hanging limply below, and even a giant, slow flying bird of prey, called the caracole. All this with a backdrop of water reeds silhouetted in front of a blazing red ball as the sun sank behind the islands and disappeared into the dark pink of the lagoon.

Talk about instant satisfaction and constant stimulation! If it weren’t for the excrutiatingly slow, hot, boring, uncomfortable bus ride you gotta suffer through to get there, Esteros de Iberá would be the All-American traveller’s dream come true.

Good Times Are Here Again

Arriving at the butt crack of dawn in one of the most cosmopolitan cities in South America, we had it in our heads that we would find a dance club or some such nonsense to bring in the day. After Wendy got changed and prettied up and we got our backpacks stashed at the airport luggage storage, our window of opportunity for these grand plans had closed and we were stuck with sharing a Budweiser at some weird bar named Satan or something and watching the drunk party-goers stumble their ways into cabs, towards home, or to their newly found friend’s home. Without wasting any more time than necessary in Buenos Aires, we walked around and checked out the Museo de Arte Popular de Jose Hernandez. We made a few unnecessary loops, as is my custom in Buenos Aries. For some reason, I always, always get turned around in that city. We took naps in the botanical garden to catch up on our sleep. The one drawback to airplanes as opposed to buses is that they are nowhere near as comfortable, and therefore, much harder to get some decent sleep in. We found a good pizzeria ¨Roma¨ on the pedestrian mall after buying our bus ticket. We picked up our backpacks at the airport, went back to the bus terminal, made a quick trip to the store and a pottie break, and we were in our cama (bed) seats on a brand, spanking, new Nuevo Expresso bus on our way north to Mercedes. We slept like little angels and were actually disappointed to arrive right on time at 0600 the next morning. Mercedes was a lovely little town filled to the brim with real, live gauchos. It is also home to the primary shrine to Gauchito Antonio Gil. If you have ever traveled the roads and highways of Argentina, then you have seen sub-shrines to the Robin Hood-like popular saint marked by red flags and little red houses. We paid a visit to the tree where he was supposedly hanged from and left him a note on the back of a picture of us taken in Vista Flores. As you may read later, this did not bring us the amazing luck that our visit to Difunta Correa did. Around 1300 (1pm) we boarded a much different class of bus to arrive in Carlos Pellegrini in four and a half or five hours. Welcome to the wonderful world of wildlife. I think Wendy is going to speak to you now about the beautiful Esteros de Iberá.

A Hasty Exit from Ushuaia

We made a hasty exit from Ushuaia after five disappointing days of searching in vain for a last minute berth to Antarctica that we could afford. It was time to move on. Carnaval was calling. After hurrying ourselves up to get there, we waited and searched and did not do much else. We stayed in a pretty nice hostel that was slightly expensive for our budget. We ate there almost every meal, making use of the free breakfast and the kitchen and with fridge, thus helping our budget. We walked all around the town of Ushuaia and considering the frustrating time we had, it is a testament to how good a place it is that we still liked it up until the day we finally left. We checked out the great prison museum one day and made it out to a new brewery bar two km. out of town that had a lovely view of the Beagle Channel.

We considered our options for getting out of there and we were not at all excited about the prospect of getting back up north by means of 60 plus hours on a handful of different buses. We spent 38 hours over two days on the way down here and that was less than half the distance we needed to cover to get back up north. The day we decided we had enough, we walked out to the airport to find out about last minute flights. We were told there would be a number of flights and that we might have a chance. We walked the hour walk back to the hostel, packed up, paid up, ate, and caught a cab back out to the airport with our packs and all our gear. We got booked right away on a midnight flight to Buenos Aires for about US$120. That was great! Not even considering the huge amount of time we would save, this cost less than taking buses. Not surprisingly, the flight was slightly delayed, but we still touched down in Buenos Aires around 0400 the next morning.

Backpacking Boredom

Most of the time when you hear about someone’s travels, you only hear about the best parts and it sounds like one exciting adventure leading right into the next. By the same token, as the traveler you don’t waste your breath re-counting the endless hours waiting around for buses, hopelessly hunting around for a decent place to stay while the pack just gets heavier and heavier on your back, or sitting in cafés with medieval computer equipment, reading your neighbor’s emails while waiting for your next page to load. In fact, your brain doesn’t want to waste memory space either and thus after a while you hardly even remember that those moments ever existed. But the truth is that travelling – and especially this long term, low budget, little planned type that Kristian & I are undertaking here in South America – is almost equal parts “eye-popping” and “nose-picking”, with not a lot in between. A few of these moments come to mind right off the bat:

Our first day in Koobah . We arrived at 12am (New Years Eve/Day) with a plan to leave our bags at the airport party in the streets all night until we could check into our B&B the next day. But…there WAS NO party in the streets (at least from what we could find) and the club we ended up at was not that happening, really expensive (especially after the U$D exchange rate and fees) and closed up around 4am AND THEN the sun didn’t come up until after 8am the next morning, which meant tired, hungry, nervous sitting around in the dark for 4 excruciating hours!

Another moment was in Bolivia when we wanted to take a bus to Villazon from Tarija during the day so we could see the famed “Sama” mountain reserve on the way, but all the buses went at night. So instead we caught a short-distance bus during the day to the in between town of Iscayacha, supposedly within the Sama, with the idea that we could hang out there for the afternoon until the night bus came along. BUT this place was so devoid of anything that if it weren’t for the fact that it did in fact have a central plaza, it could hardly be considered a town. The landscape was barren, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, the 3 tiny restaurants were disgusting and food horrible, and the wind was too fierce for hanging out anywhere outside, which left of really nothing to do and nowhere even to sit around and wait. Se we began begging passing truckers to give us a ride and once we got a lift, it wasn´t for another 3 HOURS before we left the barren hills to find the beautiful part of the Sama. Woops.

Even our first day in our new Argentinian “home” (Mendoza) lacked excitement, as we not only arrived on a Sunday, but decided to venture out into downtown just during their sacred siesta period. It was like a ghost town – NOTHING open and NOTHING to do. Plus, our hostel was quite a ways from the center in what we would later find out was their seediest red light district!

Recently, in Ushuaia, however, we experienced a rather unusual type of backpacker’s boredom, which I suppose could be classified as being stuck someplace where you can’t afford to have fun. It takes 3 long, boring and expensive days of busing through the empty pampas in order to get from the lake district to Ushuaia, at the southern tip of the continent. Once you arrive it is indeed filled with incredible things to do and see but everything is so expensive that we spent most of our time gazing at the unattainable scenery as we cooked our own meals in our hostel on the hill.

Return to Ushuaia

Full circle, a drizzly bus ride, the end of a long bus journey. Almost one year to the day that we left Ushuaia by airplane for Buenos Aires and Mendoza. This time we want to go South from here, to the ICE. The search starts in earnest tomorrow. We seek cheap passage of the last minute variety to the fifth largest continent, Antarctica. Last night we walked around the uninteresting town of Rio Gallegos. It had a beautiful plaza, an interesting river coast, and we had a satisfying, average, dinner before falling sound asleep in our tent and missing the alarm the next morning. Luckily we were up, packed, and out in a flash. We got to the bus terminal before the agents arrived and the line was too long, but no seats. We did not want to waste a day in Rio Gallegos. One seat opened up and with a quick discussion, we got it for W, hoping that something would open up for me. At the very last minute, the bus driver came in to say there was one no-show. Sweet, I was in. With a friendly exchange, W and I were seated next to each other. That was two border crossings, one ferry crossing of the Straights of Magellan, and ten hours ago. Now, I’m looking out at the drizzle, listening to RJD2 on the MP3, and hoping there is space available at the hostel. I desire a much needed hot shower.

The Journey Comes Full Circle in el “Fin del Mundo”

PATAGONIAN PAMPAS, ARGENTINA

This morning I woke up to sky full of glowing, molten, lava, looming over me through the cracked and pitted window of my overnight bus. This ominous inferno hanging heavily above gave me the impression that I was about to witness either the end of the world or perhaps the beginning, the Big Bang. It seemed to indicate the end of one life, one era, one adventure, and the beginning of another, even though I had considered “Phase III” of our South American Adventure to have begun when we moved out of our apartment in Mendoza, more than 3 weeks ago already. (I guess life doesn’t always sit nicely in the tidy compartments in which we try to put its parts. If you think about it, life, like time, cannot actually be sliced into parts, packaged and labelled, in spite of how hard we humans try to manipulate it thus.) But this “full circle” is not just conceptual, but physical as well, as our bus carries us closer and closer to the place where the Argentina part of our South American Adventure first began, Ushuaia. For most, this southernmost city in the world is “El fin del mundo”, but for us it was the beginning, and now also the end, of our Argentinian world. And now I get the feeling like we are headed right into another rabbit hole…….

The Days of Good Beer

Argentina is not known for it’s beer. It has decent, cheap, light, beers; and sweet, cheap, body-less, dark, beers; but for the most part, nothing special. Mendoza has a handful of microbreweries. All of them except for one produce what might be likened to pee. I’m no snob either, I’ll drink just about anything. Sometimes I would marvel at how long it had been since I had a beer, but when you think about all the wine, it all makes sense.

The one good brewery in Mendoza is called Jerome’s and it’s up in Potrerillos, or El Salto, to be exact. This is, even after these past few days, the best beer in Argentina. The trouble was, you had to drive some 68 km to the brewery to drink the beer and we did not have a car, plus, the stuff wasn’t cheap. Regardless, every time we were in the neighborhood, we paid a visit to Eduardo at his brewery in the Andes and drank some of his fine cerveza. Our last trip up there, the day after our full moon rafting trip, Eduardo rewarded our repeat patronage with free beers for us and our friends. I don’t understand why his beer was not sold in Mendoza. He is even looking into exporting to a couple of markets in the US; maybe Colorado (hopefully) and Oregon.

These past few days we have had an abundance of micro-brewed beers. Here it’s called cerveca artesanal. Here, they use the word artesanal a lot. I would even go as far as to say that it is overused. I mean, come on, how can you have an artesanal car wash or dry cleaning? Our luck started in the Swiss Colony near San Carlos de Bariloche. Oh, before I forget, I should mention that these days of good beer have also been marked by tasty food from fairs. Argentina has tons of ferias, or artisanal fairs, and we have been to too many. The one in El Bolsón is the best by far.

Adventuring in Argentina’s Lake District

The Patagonian Lake District is one dazzlingly clear lake after another, each one surrounded by verdant forests of false pines, ancient cypresses and other evergreens, and each with their own unique spectacular backdrop of snowy peaks and craggy cliffs looming over the lakes as if leaning in to admire their own beauty in the reflection of the water´s glassy surface.  We were constantly “wowed” as we made our may down from Junín de los Andes (9-Jan) to San Martin de los Andes along the Ruta de los Siete Lagos (7 Lakes Route) toward Villa La Angostura, Bariloche and finally El Bolson, never tiring of this lush yet rugged terrain.  Any one lake zone could be likened to the paisaje (landscape) around Lake Tahoe, in the US, but instead of just one beautiful lake, we had the pleasure of travelling amongst at least ten, with many more waiting for us to explore on our next trip down there. 

Lago Paimún, Junín de los Andes

Our campsite on Lago Paimún (near Junín), may have been the most beautiful and relaxing part of our journey through the Lakes District, with Volcán Lanin´s white cone looming over the lake towards us and its reflection occupying most of the water´s surface. 

Villa La Angostura

On the other hand, probably the funnest part for me was our stint in Villa La Angostura (our future 2nd home – we hope!).  We camped at the cramped UnCuyo (my university from Mendoza) for 4 nights and went crazy exploring and adventuring during the days.  The most memorable was the day we rented mountain bikes, as we were on fire with adventure from 8am-8pm living life to its fullest.  Our bikes were delivered to us early in the morning and we were just about the first people to hit the trail on the Peninsula Quetrihue. The trail meandered the length of the peninsula leading all the way to the tip where the largest remaining stand of the endangered Arrayanes trees (or Monkey-puzzle in English) can be found. These trees have a startlingly orange peeling bark (similar to the skin of a severely sunburned Irishman) and wriggly twisty branches and their small remaining forest was the climax of the truly fantastic trip through ñirre, coihue, and lenga forests, gorgeous wildflowers, wild horses, lagoons, and sparkling vistas across Lago Nahuel Huapi all along a super fun trail for biking with a great variety of terrain.  After a quick lunch break at camp, we jumped back on the bikes (bums already sore from the morning´s ride but our hearts still thrusting for action and adventure) and headed out the other direction to find the Camino Viejo (the ”old road” which turned out to be fantastic single track) and another exhausting 2+ hours uphill to Lago Espejo (Mirror Lake).  We were totally spent by the time we finally arrived at the lake, but to our delight the crystalline water was a perfect temperature for a refreshing dip to wash the sweat and mud off our aching bodies.  The sun was warm, the sand soft and to top it all off, there was a kiosko selling liter bottles of cold beer for 4 pesos! We were in heaven.  It was so clean, clear, warm and beautiful that my thirst for my Kailua beach was quenched, at least for the time being.

Bariloche 

Further south, in the Patagonian capital of Bariloche, there were so many outdoor adventure options, including a plethora of multi-day hut trips, that we wasted most of our time walking in circles around downtown just trying to figure out which to do.  In the end we chose a 3-day trek called “Paso de las Nubes” (pass through the clouds) that would bring us through a spectacular mountain-scape all the way to the border with Chile, returning by catamaran across 2 glacial lakes.  Unfortunately, the heavens opened and after one night of shivering in a wet tent, wet clothes, and wet sleeping bag and no sign of relief, we surrendered to the forces of nature, admitted defeat and turned back the way we had come.  Although we were disappointed not to fully take advantage of the immense system of trails and really get ourselves into the back-country there, we figure it just gives us all the more reason to make sure we follow our dream to come back and buy property down there, giving us time to trek and bike and kayak to our hearts´content in the not-so-far-future. Plus, even though it was raining cats and dogs, we still managed to make it to up to a huge waterfall bursting right out of a hanging glacier and get up close to the strange but beautiful, Ventisquero Negro (black glacier). And just as the clouds parted for a brief minute, I was lucky enough to see a large chunk of ice shear off and crash into the rock below, emanating a loud, ominous thunderous rumble for which Monte Tronador (Mt. Thunderer) is named.  Quite impresionante.

San Martin & Hua Hum

Near San Martín de los Andes, we did manage to get in a full 2-day trek to the Queñi Hot Springs.  it was a long walk with our packs each day and the tábanos (huge horseflies with a loud buzz and a mean bite) were a bitch, but the area was beautiful and the baths ideal.  This hotspring sprung out of a rock wall and cascaded into a series of small, shallow rock pools, each one hotter then the one below.  Apart from a few extra stones that people had placed around the edge of each pool to help retain some of the water, it was completely undeveloped and natural, surrounded by lush jungle and located in a tiny gulch of red clay and isolated from human access by several hours drive (or trek) and then a 2-hour hike from town. 

El Bolsón

So Lago Paimún was the best view, Villa La Angostura was the most action-packed fun, Lago Queñi the best hot springs, and I would say that El Bolsón – our last stop in the Lakes District – had the best food (and beer!).  El Bolsón has this famous, thrice weekly fería artesanal (artisan fair) where the hops and berry farmers and the hippies combine efforts to offer the most delicious berry pies and jams, healthy whole grain and veggie empanadas, breads, and salads, AND full fledged, full bodied beautifully crafted beer.  Nos volvimos un poco loco! We spent two whole days at the fería, munching and slurping and lounging on the lawn in Plaza Pagano watching all the other “park people” lounging in the sun, juggling, playing music, selling hemp jewelry and performing elaborate tricks with their dogs in clown outfits.

Between our 2 days of blissful indulgence, we bagged our 1st and only peak in Argentina – Cerro Piltriquitron – after staying overnight in a refugio (hut) on the mountain.  It wasn´t the hardest peak we´ve ever “bagged”, as the steep, tricky bit was fairly short, but none-the-less it felt great to finally summit one of these craggy granite giants that have been beckoning to us ever since we began this journey.