17 Extra unscheduled time in and around Buenos Aires - then home at last!

March 28th - April 7th

With an extra ten days to fill, due to the stolen passport and delay in being able to get home (see previous post), it seemed that the only thing to do was to put the incident behind me, and try and make the best of the extra time - in between visits to the Embassy. (Too bad I couldn't have spent that extra time in Bariloche, where I would have loved to have had more time with good weather!)

I hoped to get out of the city for at least a few days, once my passport and ticket were sorted out, since having to be on the alert all the time was not relaxing. Meanwhile, there was still plenty to see in Buenos Aires. Since I was going to be there on a Thursday, I went to see the March of the Mothers, Plaza de Mayo, calling in at the small Evita museum, on the way.  The mothers of some of the 30,000 young men and women who 'disappeared' during the  Dirty War  (1976-1983) still march around the square every Thursday at 3.30, to keep the memory of them alive; even though as recently as December 2010,  the generals responsible for the torture and killing of some of these young people were eventually sentenced to life imprisonment. The women's white headscarves, symbolising their missing children's blankets, are embroidered with their missing children's names. http://www.buenosaireslocaltours.com/2011/08/11/las-madres-de-la-plaza-de-mayo/

Photo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothers_of_the_Plaza_de_Mayo 

Apart from the Thursday march, there is always something going on in Buenos Aires, be it demonstrations, car races, mass cycle rides through the streets. Observing people in the streets is always interesting, whether it is watching a cartoonist draw a caracature of a client, a group of five or more dogs being walked by one person, a man on a bike with 'balloons' of  candy floss on  strings, covered with plastic, and attached to the handlebars; or, bizarrely, a man carrying a golden life-sized 'human' mannequin under his arm, while walking with a big floppy-eared dog on the end of a lead! However, there is also evidence of extreme poverty in parts of the city, despite prices that even for a European are high:  notably near the bus station at Retiro, and away from the tourist areas at Boca. As in some European cities, it is not unusual to see people rummaging through rubbish to find food, and other items.

The advantage of staying in a hostel is that there are normally plenty of other independent travellers to talk to - at breakfast, in particular. At Hostel Obelisc, among other people, I met Paola, a young doctor from Colombia, who was in Buenos Aires for a medical conference, and had a spare day before her flight home. She and I decided to go together on the Saturday to visit Tigre, the starting point for visiting the green  Paraná Delta. To get there involved taking the underground (subte) train to Retiro, before transferring to an ordinary train to Tigre. From here, we jumped on the public ferry for about an hour, enabling us to get a good view of the delta, and to walk along the river for a little way, before taking the ferry back.

Tigre Delta (photo: Wikepedia)

On Sunday, I had arranged to meet Jens, whom I'd last seen at Coyhaique, and who had just arrived in Buenos Aires. However, I did not have a working phone with me, and with the preparation for the Grand Prix event that was taking place in the city streets,  the crowds were so thick that it was almost impossible to move, so we didn't make it. Instead, I ended up joining a tour around Casa Rosa on my own.
http://www.demotix.com/news/1135787/buenos-aires-prepares-super-tc-2000-car-race-buenos-aires

With the streets being crowded, people climb on anything they can for a better view: see link above for photo acknowledgement

In the evening, with the races over, the cars were being loaded onto lorries, and now it was the turn of the bicycles: not for racing, but to ride through the otherwise empty streets: there were literally hundreds of them, of literally all shapes and sizes.

With anti-British demonstrations planned for the Monday (anniversary of the start of the Falklands War), it seemed wise to lie low, and keep right away from the part of the city near the Embassy: just as well, in the event. (See previous post.) With one spare day before leaving the city for a three-day stay at a smallholding a couple of hours away, I took the opportunity of going to the Puerto Madero area: a business area with its tall skyscrapers and interesting architecture, within reasonable walking distance of the Obelisc: but also with a peaceful green area with lots of birds, adjoining the river estuary.

Puente de la Mujer: photo, Virtual Tourist (follow link below)

http://www.virtualtourist.com/travel/South_America/Argentina/Distrito_Federal/Buenos_Aires-1541981/Things_To_Do-Buenos_Aires-Puerto_Madero_and_Catalinas-BR-1.html

The Puerto Madero streets are nameed after women, and a shapely white bridge (Puente de la Mujer), translated,  means 'Woman's Bridge'. This being a public holiday (the first of three this week), the market was buzzing with local people, and there were any number of food stalls, selling steak, sausages and hamburgers.

Photo: Betancourt Zuluaga - follow link below
http://www.mondoexplorer.com/buenosaires/neighborhoods/puerto-madero.php#

For futher images:  https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=Puerto+Madero+photo&hl=en&rlz=1C1RNPN_enGB406GB406&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=nTuRT6TbBMXY8gPvrdSWBA&ved=0CCsQsAQ&biw=1967&bih=960&sei=zzuRT7H7I4Sy8gOW4r25BA AND http://www.danheller.com/ba-puerto-madero.html

In contrast to the apparent wealth at Puerto Madero, there is extreme poverty in parts of Buenos Aires, despite prices that even for a European are high:  notably near the bus station at Retiro, and away from the tourist areas at Boca. As in some European cities, it is not unusual to see people rummaging through rubbish to find food, and other items.  


Stay on a Smallholding: and the worst electrical storm in 100 years!


With the emergency passport now in my possession, and the demonstrations over, I was free to get out of the city for three or four days. And so it was that on Tuesday morning, I made my way to the 'Family Farm Hostel' at Las Malvinas, just outside the city, where I had arranged to spend three days staying in their Hobbit House accommodation.

Family Farm Hostel: photo from website (see below)

The arrangement is that you pay a nominal charge to stay there (similar to price to city hostels), but you help out for a few hours on the smallholding, and get fed in return. The smallholding is run by Mark from Derby (ex Bangor University!), and his Colombian wife Sol: a vegetarian who is an absolutely fantastic cook http://familyfarmhostel.blogspot.co.uk/ , and who goes out of her way to make everyone feel welcome. Gus, an electrician from north of California had already been there a week, when I arrived. And Ted from Texas, who had recently graduated in geology, arrived just an hour after me.

The smallholding was not very big, consisting mainly of a vegetable garden that had recently suffered damage not only from the wind, but also from their two rather beautiful Jersey steer who had broken loose and caused havoc. Ted and I did some work on it next day, in the warm sunshine. When early that evening  a few spots of rain fell, we could hardly have imagined that 10 minutes later the rain would be torrential, the wind, swirling round in circles, would gain momentum to an extent that huge trees would be ripped out of the ground, and that we would be right at the epicentre of an electrical storm, the likes of which had not been seen for about 100 years! (See link below: though the death toll later rose further to at least .)
http://www.buenosairesherald.com/article/97462/death-toll-rises-to-15-as-buenos-aires-recovers-from-heavy-storm


. . . . the districts that were affected the most were: Moreno, Ituzaingó, Ensenada, General Rodríguez, Lanús, Morón, La Matanza, Florencio Varela and Suipacha. Besides, the storm also affected Malvinas Argentinas, San Miguel, La Plata, Lezama, Pergamino, 25 de Mayo, Pilar, Brandsen, Chascomús, San Isidro, Navarro, Villa Gesell, General Viamonte, General La Madrid, Coronel Dorrego, Ramallo, Carlos Tejedor and Castelli. 


. . . . the massive storm hit the metropolitan and Greater Buenos Aires last Wednesday. Over 30,000 people remain in the dark." De Vido provided a state-of-situation balance of the government efforts to reestablish normality after the meteorological phenomenon. . . . . rescue and relief efforts after the storm left water and power shortages. . .  official also confirmed the deaths of seventeen people as he thanked relief teams . . .“ . . . We realized it was a tornado after seeing some footage,” De Vido concluded. . . .Security Secretary Sergio Berni : "We haven't had a storm of such proportions in the past one hundred years. Thousands of families were affected by it . . . 

Squall Line, Bow-Echo, Tornado, or just a Severe Storm? 

The jury's still out, it seems. See http://www.tornadovideos.net/forum?id=54788&catid=13&func=fb_pdf

See also http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXrm1KoCI_Q

Fortunately for our hosts, they had very little damage to their own property. Yes, there were some trees down, and we spent some time clearing what we could the next day; but unlike those of some of the neighbours, the roof stayed on the house, the Hobbit building did not flood as Mark had feared, and most important, the tree behind the house did not fall on the roof. Mark had had us all out on the veranda during the storm, in the hope that if the worst happened, we could all run. (So he told us the next day.) Ted from Texas was used to bad storms, but not even he had seen anything like it, he told us; and I certainly hadn't. We lit candles for light that night, and next morning filled buckets from the pond, for flushing the loo: the storm had not only ripped dozens of trees down, it had also ripped down electricity and telephone wires, and the area would be without power and water for some time.

All three of us volunteers slept like babies, that night. Poor Sol was kept awake by mosquitoes, that seemed to prefer the main house to the Hobbit, as well as by worrying about Andrea, her 15-year-old daughter, who had been staying overnight with friends, and who she had been able to contact, since neither landlines nor mobile phones were working; and Mark could not sleep for worrying about damage that he could not really check properly for until the morning.

There was great relief when Andrea got home next morning, with her friend's mother. It seemed that they had lost the roof of the house, but had stayed overnight with neighbours. We spent the day clearing up what we could of fallen trees, with the aid of limited tools. That night, we lit the woodburning stove in the Hobbit, and then one by one, every one of us snoozed off!

The Hobbit
Photo:  http://familyfarmhostel.blogspot.co.uk/   

And so came Friday: time to get back to Buenos Aires, in time for my flight home. The weather was still hot and sunny, and the storm damage that could be seen on the way back to the city, quite sobering. There had been damage on the train line, but already I had decided to take the bus back from Moreno to Palermo. The intention had been to spend some time looking around that area of the city, before heading back to the centre: but in the event, after a little wander around Plaza Italia, I decided that really now I'd had enough. I had not seen everything, but then again, you can't.

Happy to report that my journey to the airport next day was uneventful. OK, so at the airport itself there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing because of the emergency passport. ("What's this? Why doesn't it have a stamp on for entry? Take it to the migration office." ) At the migration office, more questions, before a form was produced, to authorize check-in. At check-in, same questions, phone calls to the migration office - and again, at security. But finally I was through, on the plane, off at Madrid, and in due course, back onto another for Gatwick, where we arrived on time. Here my emergency passport was duly handed in, and at last I was on the bus that (following just one more change) was to get me home. And so, my trip was at an end.

16 Time To Go Home: but Major Mishap Strikes!

27th March 2012: At about 7:45 this morning,  I had my passport stolen while waiting at a bus stop just metres from the hostel, for a bus to the  international airport for my flight home. The scammers didn't use the line I'd been keeping a wary ear out for: "You've spilt something on your coat. Let me help you wipe it off."  However, it was spotting a thin line of muck (a bit like toothpaste, only brown) on my backpack, and later coat, that made me realise what had happened.

http://www.tripadvisor.com.my/ShowTopic-g312741-i979-k5257987-Theft_scam_Please_read_to_help_prevent_further_incidents-Buenos_Aires_Capital_Federal_District.html

In brief, a nearly empty No 8 bus to the airport failed to wait for me, even after I'd flagged it down from a bus stop a few metres away from the one I was apparently meant to be at, and was only a few meters from where two other passengers were getting on, when it ignored me and left - even though the driver must have seen me running for it, followed closely by a man who had also been waiting at my bus stop. I had vaguely wondered if it was OK to board the bus with a large backpack on my back, since previously I had been asked to remove it before boarding a crowded bus elsewhere - but this bus had not been crowded.

I didn't have to wait long for the next number 8, which I boarded, without any problems. However, the driver said that this one wasn't going to the airport, so I had to get off again. The man who had run behind me for the first bus, but who had then gone back to the other bus stop, then walked over and said, 'Mochillo!' (Backpack.)  I  thought he was telling me that the bus wouldn't take me while I was wearing it so, not without some difficulty, eased it off my back - thus sparing him the chat line, which would have given me my warning.

As I took it off, I noticed a small dribble of muck, and straight away realised that I was a victim of a scam attack (see link above) - but it still took me a few seconds to register that my hand luggage had gone: as had the man, and also a woman who had been standing around at the back of the pavement, well behind the bus stops. 

Passengers at the other bus stop, who must have watched it all, were pointing in two different directions, indicating that the man and the woman had gone in opposite directions: but didn't show which way I would have had to go to retrieve my daypack, even if it had been possible to run with the heavy mochillo - or safe to try and do so. Had they taken that, I wouldn't have been half as upset - there wasn't much of sentimental (or other) value in it. But in my daypack, among other things,  I'd had my passport, my sleeping bag, my camera, and worse still, all the photographs from my 3-month trip - which, of course, would be of no value to anybody else.

Thinking positive, I should consider myself lucky, since at least I wasn't physically hurt, and after  35 years of independent travel with few problems, I shouldn't be too surprised that at some time, my luck was going to run out. All those photos, though . . 

As for trying to resolve the problem, it was quite a day. The hostel staff were great, making phone calls to Air Europa to see if they could let me travel on a copy of my passport (of course, they couldn't), to the police and to the British Consulate/Embassy. They marked the police station and the Embassy on a map for me and called a taxi, once I had finished emailing the agency who had issued the ticket, asking them to let Air Europa know that I might not be able to travel (depending on what happened at the Embassy). They also printed out a copy of my passport for me, that fortunately I had emailed to myself before leaving home - once a cartridge for the printer on another floor had been found and fitted . . .

At the police station I had to wait the best part of two hours to make my statement - or rather, to be interviewed, so that the policeman could write a report for me to sign. (Comes of not being fluent in Spanish: there is only one translator to cover 53 police stations.) Until I had this police report, the Embassy couldn't help me. When I finally got to the Embassy, they sent me straight to a nearby photography shop to have my photo taken. By the time that had been done, it was nearly 12.30. 

Next, I was given two forms to fill in, which I completed straight away: but by then they realised it was too late, since they couldn't process them after 1pm - they couldn't hold them for me at the office either, so I had to take them away with me, and then go back next day, to get the last part of the form  filled in by one of their staff ! They also had to tell me that they would be unable to issue me with an emergency passport until I'd got a ticket reservation, and that the passport would be valid only for that specific journey: meaning that if I were to have the passport issued and then be offered an earlier flight, due to cancellation, I would be unable to accept it, unless I paid another £99 to have it re-issued. (The passport is valid for a specific journey - not for that route on or up to the specified date.)

Unfortunately, the agency I booked my original ticket with didn't pick up the email in time to phone Air Europa, as requested; and when my brother rang, he was just told that I should go to the airport before 12:00, to get booked onto a new flight. Even if I had picked up that message, it would have been impossible to have got to the airport as well as the police station on the same morning - so I counted as a 'no show'.

Consequently, I spent most of the afternoon at the Embassy on their computer, trying to get a reasonably priced flight back to the UK. I got nowhere with the Air Europa call centre, who said that I would have to start afresh and buy a new ticket. They wanted over £1000 for just the one-way ticket: about half as much again as the cost of the original return ticket - and with Easter coming up, I wasn't getting anywhere with my hunt for an alternative.

Fortunately, I didn't book the ticket. ("This price is available only for half-an-hour. After that it goes up."). Nor did I take up the option of flying Air Canada via Toronto the following week, and then reclaiming the return part of the ticket. Instead, I went to see a helpful travel agent. He couldn't check the current ticket prices, because his computer was down, but agreed that even taking into account that it was Easter, £1000 was steep. However, he told me that Air Europa had an office just 2 blocks away. (If I'd known that before, it could have saved me a lot of hassle, as well as money!) 

Air Europa staff at the Buenos Aires office were far more sympathetic than their call centre, but confirmed that unless I could fly the next day (impossible, because the embassy would not be able to issue the passport in time), I would either have to pay something over £1000, or wait until 7th April (Easter Saturday), when there was a flight that would get me back to Gatwick on Easter Sunday. What they could then offer me was a ticket that would cost me a penalty 'no show' fee, plus the difference between the fare I had already paid, and the fare on the day of travel: amounting to  'just' £198GBP, which hopefully would be covered by my insurance. (I was less confident that £1000 would have been - but the insurance details were in the stolen bag.) 

The following day, I returned to the embassy to get the final section of the form completed. Even then, I was advised not to submit it until the following week. "You never know, you might want to change your ticket, and if you do that, we will have to fill in a fresh lot of forms and charge you again. We are on holiday next Friday, but you would be better to come back next week . . . " 

Fortunately, having booked my ticket, I decided to go back on Friday, at least to get the papers submitted. Just as well I did, for what they hadn't told me before was that Monday was also a national holiday, and although the Embassy staff would be working, I "might have difficulty getting in" , because it was the 30th anniversary of the Falklands invasion, and there would be demonstrations outside the building. Great!  

The Guardian, 3rd April 2012: The government has condemned violent protesters who attacked the British embassy in Buenos Aires on the 30th anniversary of the Falklands war.

Several hundred demonstrators pelted police officers with homemade firebombs and threw rocks and flaming bottles at the embassy as a series of events were held in Argentina and the UK on Monday to commemorate the 1982 conflict.

Television footage showed riot police using a water cannon to disperse the group of extremists, who had earlier set fire to a union flag and an effigy of the Duke of Cambridge in protest against British rule of the islands. http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2012/apr/03/falklands-protesters-attack-british-embassy

Happily, the passport was ready on the Friday. Petrol bombs, rocks and riot police might just have been the last straw!

Earthquake in Santiago

Afterthought: at least I hadn't booked my flight back from Santiago (Chile), rather than Buenos Aires: the option that many people take, and that I had considered. Had I done so, I would have had the additional 'adventure' of an earthquake, the effects of which were felt in Santiago on Sunday night, 25th March:

http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/03/26/us-chile-quake-idUSBRE82O0HM20120326

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2110051,00.html

The night before leaving for the airport, I had contacted the two Santiago girls I spent 4 days with from Puyuhuapi to Futulefeu, to see that they were OK.

Pilar's version (26-yr-old biologist): "The earthquake was a lot softer than the one we had in 2010. It's funny how we wouldn't call yesterday's quake an 'earthquake', we are so used to them, that is just a big shake for us."

Valentina (medical student, aged 20): "The earthquake here in Santiago was strong, like 7 grades. In that level all the things move a lot but not strong enough to panic, houses didn't get damaged so it was ok, just a little scary."

'Just a little scarey?' Hmm . . . . there was also a 'yellow' alert on a volcano -  some miles away from the active Villarica that I saw, but not so very far:

http://theextinctionprotocol.wordpress.com/2012/03/26/seismic-activity-triples-at-chiles-ilaima-volcano-yellow-alert

Perhaps I'd had enough adventures for this trip, I was thinking - but there was just one more to come .  . . . . . 

15 St Martin de los Andes and back to Buenos Aires

March 22nd - March 26th

From Junin, the bus took just an hour to get to St Martin de los Andes: a beautiful ride, with the sun going down over the mountains. Arriving at 9pm, I made my way to Hostel Puma: an HI (Hostel International) hostel, which seemed to have a much younger clientele than most that I had stayed in. But with a 4-bed 'dorm' complete with ensuite to myself, and some friendly staff who chatted and helped me speak Spanish, I was quite happy.

The point of coming here rather than staying at Junin, was to get an opportunity to ride a bike. Ironically, there were several good bike hire shops here: not true of sleepy Junin, which though even better situated for cycling, had no decent bikes at all for hire.

Next day, I wasted no time. I would have liked to have tried the 'Siete Lagos' route http://www.sanmartindelosandes.gov.ar/tourism/outdoors/seven_lakes_area-villatrafulpor7lagos.html, but  I had not left myself enough time: according to everyone I spoke to, the road surface and the hills demanded at least two days. Instead, at the suggestion of one of the hostel staff, I headed along the north side of Lago Lacar, towards Hua Hum.

Didn't make it all the way - but it was good to be out on the bike on a day like this, nevertheless.

It was a beautiful day, perfect for being on a bike - but as I bumped along, the ripio road surface was such that, even with the front suspension, my teeth felt as if they were rattling in my head. As for the saddle, it was punishing - as were the hills, with only fleeting views of the water, for the first couple of hours. Eventually, the road started going downhill towards the lake, and the first of its beaches. And when it did go down, it kept on doing so: leaving me wondering how on earth I was going to get back up!

A National Park employee coming towards me in a car stopped, when I waved it down. Was there a bus back to St Martin de los Andes from Hua Hum, I wanted to know? He thought there might be, but he wasn't sure. (How could he not know, when he worked here?) There was a boat too, he thought, but he didn't know what days and times that went, either. I carried on for a while, with very few cars passing in either direction. I'd give myself until 4 o'clock, I told myself, and if I hadn't reached Hua Hum by then, I'd have to start looking for a lift back.

With so few cars on the road, I soon lost my nerve, and sometime before the deadline I'd given myself, flagged down a large 'people carrier', containing three equally large characters on a fishing holiday: a  man in a straw hat from Northern Chile, his grown-up son, and a friend of theirs who looked more as if he was going to spend a day in the city, as he sat in the back of the car, hugging his briefcase. Willingly, they moved a couple of things around, packed the bike into the boot, and made room for me. On the way back up, I wondered how on earth I would have coped with such a long and steep uphill, had they not been able to take me.

Next day was 24th March: the anniversary of the beginning of Argentina's dictatorship, that began on 24th March 1975, and continued until 1983 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-12832677. Now known as the Memorial Day of Truth and Justice, it is remembered all over Argentina, and San Martin is no exception. Throughout the afternoon, hundreds of people gathered, and banners with a picture of the dictator, and the words 'Never Again' were very much in evidence, together with reminders of the estimated 30,000 young people who 'disappeared' during the regime. Nevertheless, the anniversary is also treated as a 'party' day to celebrate democracy, with flags, food, music and dancing. Particularly notable were the 20 or 30-strong Children's Latin American orchestra of St Martin, featuring several guitars, pan pipes, ukuleles and percussion: and a group of Argentinian Uruguay dancers, dressed in colourful costumes, with brightly painted drums. I had thought about spending my last day in Patagonia on a day tour along the 'Siete Lagos' route, since I couldn't cycle it, but in the event, was glad that I had stayed: especially since the next day I had a very long bus journey ahead of me, to get back to Buenos Aires.

Back to Buenos Aires

Buying my ticket just 2 days ahead, during low season, it was easy to get a front seat at the top of the Albus coach. The advantages are twofold: you get extra leg room, and great views. The first couple of hours were particularly enjoyable, with views once more of the Lanin volcano, and the landscape of the National Park.

Albus claimed to provide food. However, on Sundays you had to change buses at Nequin. Whether the shorter journeys affected the meals provided, I don't know. At 11.00 we were issued with a 'snack pack' (some crackers, a bit of cheese spread and jam, and a sweet biscuit, as far as I can remember). After that, apart from half a cup of a sweet lemon drink soon after we had changed buses, that was it until 8.30 that night, when we were served a hot meal. Furthermore, what was supposed to be a 22-hour journey somehow got extended to 25 hrs, because just 45 minutes from Retiro, in Buenos Aires, we pulled into a bus station and were told that we would have to change buses, since our driver had been driving for too many hours. (I suspect the real reason was that there were only 12 of us left on the bus at this stage: and a double decker would seem to be a bit excessive for so few passengers!)

An hour later, the bus turned up, and 12 weary travellers boarded it for the last 45 minutes of the journey. As we approached Retiro, I was puzzled: with the brighly coloured houses, surely were were in Boca? Though I couldn't remember seeing any in such bad repair on the approach to Boca, from the bus. When five minutes later we pulled into Retiro, I realised that this could not be Boca, since Boca was just too far away from Retiro: it was in fact Villa 31: an appallingly poor shanty town. http://www.argentinaindependent.com/socialissues/development/mundo-villa-voices-of-our-neighbours/

Two local women who had been on the bus from Nequen took me with them to get the local bus back to the centre: Retiro bus station does not have the best of reputations for safety, so I was thankful for the escort. Only a few weeks before, a French tourist had been killed for his camera - not that I was carrying my camera around my neck here.

From where the bus put me off, it was just 10 or 15 minutes' walk along Avenue de Mayo, to the hostel I had chosen for my last night: a friendly place with great rooftop views. More to the point, the bus stop for the No 8 bus to the airport was only a few metres from the door. I'd made it! Or so I thought . . . . 

14 Border Crossing from Chile for the last time: Junin, Volcano Lanin and the Lanin National Park

 Tuesday, March 20th to Thursday, March 22nd

(Illustrated with borrowed photos, following theft of camera)

Today there were some outstanding views of two volcanoes: in particular, on such a cool clear morning, the gas from the still erupting Volcano Villarica could be seen quite clearly, culminating in a large cloud somewhere above it. On such a beautiful day, it seemed a shame to be on a bus, but at least I couldn't complain that I was unable to see anything. (Many lost photos!) With a stop beside a pretty river, nobody seemed in a hurry to get back on the bus and continue to the border  - not even the driver.

The border guards would have had the benefit of amazing views of Volcan Lanin normally, as well as a pleasant outlook onto a pretty monkey puzzle tree just outside. But today, the cloud decided to come down on the mountain just as we reached the border, and even with the inevitable delays, it refused to leave the mountain top.

Monkey puzzle tree: photo Jan

Lanin Volcano. Photo Paulo Roberto - see below

http://www.summitpost.org/lanin-volcano/151038 

While waiting, and idly flicking through the pages of my passport, I suddenly noticed something odd. For the most part, exits from Argentina were paired with entries to Chile, and vice versa. But what was this? How could I possibly have entered Argentina on 1st December 2012, when it was now only March 2012? My actual first date of entry was 8th January, which was correctly recorded!

Working it out, I traced the stamp to the sleepy border guards at Lago Desierto, where six of us had camped at the border post, on the night prior to trekking 7 hours to cross from Argentina into Chile, and then onto the next Chilean border office. (See post 05, border crossing.)

This being 1st February, the guard had evidently correctly changed the day from 31 to 1, and intended to change January to February. He had evidently moved the month section the wrong way, and changed it to December, instead! (Well, it would only have been 8.30 in the morning, and with 6 campers to check out of Argentina,  the poor guy must have been under pressure, what with dogs and chickens to feed - maybe - before the 10:30 boat got in. He could also have been stressed by being more than half-an-hour late opening the office, having probably stayed up half the night watching TV - and maybe he hadn't yet had his coffee!) Thankfully (surprisingly or not), this bogos date hadn't been picked up by any subsequent border guards - or if it had been, they had wisely decided to ignore it.

After the border today, the scenery changed dramatically, from the very wooded scenery on the Chilean side (monkey puzzle and other), to a landscape with few trees, but with mountains and rock formations shaped in a way that was slightly reminiscent of photographs I had seen of North American national parks. (Please, has anyone got any photos?)

We arrived only an hour late in the small, sleepy town of Junin, and I made my way to the campsite, situated near the river. Here I was forced to communicate in my dodgey Spanish (which had to be good for me), and one of the friendly staff there showed me which part of the site was 'mas seco'.



Looking at the map, I was excited to see a promising looking valley, running north of Lago Huechulafquen: just south of Volcan Lanin. Enquiries revealed that although the road was ripio, it was not too hilly: so I set off to find the cycle hire shop. In this town, nearly everyone was on a bike (sometimes with 2 or 3 people to one), so things looked hopeful: besides which, the town had a 'feel good' atmosphere, making me feel that this could be the perfect place to end my trip.

However, it was not to be. There was only one cycle hire shop in town, near the bus station. (Separate from the busy cycle repair shop - take note, Vicky and Henrique!) Furthermore, the bikes they had for hire were in worse condition than the average one dumped at my local recycling centre, despite being the most expensive I was to see in Chile!

The one bicycle they had that was anywhere near my size had an unimaginable saddle, and the gear 'box' on the handlebars wasn't even covered. I could not imagine going even a mile on it, though it would have done for just knocking around the little town, I suppose. Deciding to delay the decision until I had explored other options, I wandered down to the river, where I watched a fisherman on the other side, as he threw in his line, then took to playing his mouthorgan, while waiting for the fish to think about biting.

Back at the campsite, a friendly couple in a campervan came and introduced themselves as Jan and Aurelie. They were both mechanical engineers, working as product managers for a company on the French/German border, and were on a year's sabbatical for travelling. http://aurelieundjan.webnode.com/uber-uns .We chatted for a while, and they told me they were going to go and camp at one of the many campsites in the National Park the next day, ready to walk up to the base of the Lanin Volcano the following day.  I was welcome to go with them, though they might be going from there directly on to Pucon. Perfect!

Next day was beautiful, and after a quick visit to the supermarket to get supplies, we were off. The van was not a 4-wheel drive, so Jan took it very slowly, and with clear blue skies, we stopped occasionally to admire the lake, the volcano and the  shape of the mountains - and for photos (ouch!).

Volcan Lanin (photo Jan)

It cost us 50$ each (approximately 8GBP) for National Park entrance, but at the campsite, there were no further charges: the season was over, and although there was still hot water (you could see the steam coming out of a tank on stilts), there was nobody to collect camp fees. A lovely peaceful campsite situated near a lake, and with views of the snowy volcano Lanin to die for, monkey puzzle trees, chickens running around - and a small dog with almost irresistable pleading eyes: one of many that seemed to be everywhere in Argentina.

Araucaria (monkey puzzle) trees -  Photo Jan

 

Aurelie had a headache and needed to rest, so I took myself off up the track to look at the El Saltillo waterfall: spectacular, with the water pouring down from the volcano, through some rocks to a river below. http://irudi.photoshelter.com/image/I0000s6STN_Ap8SM (follow link for photo).

Notices explained that the area had its own microclimate, ideal for plants and animals. It also warned of an insect whose sting/bite could hurt. (You were advised to take precautions if you were allergic to it, but that was something you were unlikely to know, unless you were from South America.)

The trees here were nicely spaced out, so that they let some sun through. Near the waterfall, the rock formations were spectacular, with sobering evidence of major landslides all around. Later, as the sun went down, we were treated to a beautifully pink view of the snowy volcano: a photographer's delight.

Lanin Volcano - photo Jan

Later, at the campsite, Aurelie was feeling better, and Jan got a fire going, on which to barbecue some beef for us all. They had WOOFFed for a while on an estancia, when they first arrived in Argentina. Here they had been told that the best way to barbecue beef was slowly, with only salt. A couple of hours later, we feasted under a sky full of stars, on beef, salad, bread and wine. All the while, we were watched by the little dog . . . .

With the food and the wine, it did not take me long to get to sleep that night. But sometime a few hours later, something woke me. The first thought that hit me, was how snug I was - my feet in particular. But what was that? Something was resting against my feet - something that moved!

I sat bolt upright - but there was nothing inside the tent.  Cautiously lying down again, it suddenly hit me - could it be the little dog?  But if so, where was he? He definitely wasn't inside the tent. And if it wasn't the dog, then  what on earth was it? It was something live, because I could feel it breathing! I jerked my feet, and whatever it was, was launched into mid-air. I went back to sleep - or nearly. Five minutes later, I felt something curl up again, but I was too tired to bother about it - at least whatever it was was warm.

Next morning, with my live 'hot water bottle' still in place, I slowly withdrew  my feet and manoevered myself to the tent door, peering cautiously round the corner, to the back of the tent. Sure enough, there was the little dog, sleeping - curled up against where my feet had been! It was not until I started taking the tent down that he finally woke up, and then went bounding over to Auchalie, as she emerged from the camper van.

Today, the sky was an even deeper blue than the day before, and after registering at the National Park office (here in Chile, they were very safety conscious, and for many treks it was compulsory to register your intention, and then sign back out when you got back). We were told that the trek up to the volcano base and back should take about 7 hours: pretty accurate, as it happened: the first half did in fact take 2 hours, as estimated - though we made up time on the steeper second part. Walking  fast, as we were, we were up and down within the 7 hours, even with quite a long lunch stop at the top, enjoying the stunning views of the snow, and the rock formations either side of the volcano. 

At the start of the hike: with Aurelie (photo Jan)

Jan (photo Aurelie)

 Though the first part was through trees, the forestry here was not as dense as in many other areas I had visited, allowing the sun to get through, as well as occasional views of the volcano - even in the first part, as we followed the river up. As we neared the base, we passed through a section strewn with volcanic and other rock of all shapes and sizes.

Volcan Lanin (photo Jan)

For more photos, see http://www.superstock.com/stock-photography/Watkins

Down again, we went to sign off, and found that the staff had left for the day, but left the list of names to be signed off. At first I didn't appear to be on it. But then, next to the other two's names, I saw that there was someone called A Rozxva (or something similar), from the UK - it could only be me!

We returned to the campsite in Junin: the others had decided to have another night there before going on to Pucon. For my part, I decided that I really did want another day on a bike, so I would take the evening bus just an hour up the road to St Martin, where there would be a lot more options.

Having collected the rest of my stuff, and booked myself into the 'Puma' hostel in St Martin de los Andes by phone, I said goodbye to Jan and Aurelie, loaded up once more, and walked the 20 minutes to the bus station.

As I arrived, one of the men from the campsite reception came running towards me. He had left a paper for me at the booking office, he said. Puzzled, I followed him: he had marked a map of St Martin with the exact location of the hostel, and torn down to the bus station with it - probably in a car! Just another example of the kindness of these people. (I already had a map, but of course I didn't tell him that.) And so, to my last couple of days in Patagonia, before heading back to Buenos Aires . . .

13 Valdivia and Pucon

Friday 16th March to  Monday 19th March, 2012

(No photos of my own, following theft of camera.)

Valdivia is a university town set on two rivers, close to the coast. Its major tourist attraction is the fish market, where sea lions hang around all day: their major activity being at around 3pm, when the clearing up takes place, and 'scraps' (bigger than the average fish meal, in some cases), are thrown out to the animals, which are watched by an admiring crowd: almost like being at a zoo.
http://www.allsouthernchile.com/valdivia-chile.html (for other people's pictures)

With the weather at Puerto Varas having suddenly turned damp and misty, it seemed like a good morning to spend on a bus. By the time we got to the outskirts, where herons could be seen  on the water, it was again warm and sunny.

Checked in at a very pleasant hostel, and had a lovely relaxing afternoon watching sealions, as well as a rowing regatta that was taking place - to the lively accompaniment of a Latin American band on the opposite side of the river to the fish market - enjoyed by a crowd that included equally lively Austral University students, dancing spontaneously to the music. (Sick that I'm unable to upload the video clip I took, and that I no longer even have the book which said what the type the music was, and the name of the group.)

Enjoyed the afternoon so much that I changed my plan and stayed an extra night. (Only partly to do with the amazing breakfast of yogurt with fresh fruit and nutmeg, crepes, fresh bread, jam and real coffee.) Took a short bus ride to Niebla, on the coast, and from there it was just a few minutes by ferry to the island of Corral: probably not seen at its best, since it was once again misty -  though it was quite fascinating to watch a couple of cows harnessed to a cart being driven up the road, transporting tree trunks for construction. Altogether, Corral was a funny little place with a fort, and a tiny museum cum tourist office: If I understood the girls in there correctly, there used to be a piano on the island; but just one, and that one was no longer there. Nevertheless, the museum displayed a copy of the music from Bizet's Carmen. (Believe that's what it was, but having lost my diary, I'm relying on memory.)

Back in Valdivia, a group of fiver or six students dressed in black university gowns sang and played for me in the street - they had been about to pack up and move on. They had been performing together for two years, they told me, some of them studying law, and another one a student nurse. Would they be playing all day? I asked them. Yes, and all night! So no time for studying, I supposed? They  laughed. Again, they were good - but no video clip to upload! (See Ḿajor Mishap post.)

Afterwards, went for a look at the natural history, modern art and anthropology museums in the Isla Teja park, site of the University of Austral, and enjoying some of the graffiti on the side of the modern art museum - probably more than the items inside it!

http://gosouthamerica.about.com/gi/o.htm?zi=1/XJ&zTi=1&sdn=gosouthamerica&cdn=travel&tm=157&f=00&su=p531.56.342.ip_&tt=11&bt=1&bts=1&zu=http%3A//www.interpatagonia.com.ar/paseos/vanmaele/index_i.html

Here, even the lamp-posts were decorated with colourful squares of wool, made into a wrap-around. They reminded me of the coloured woollen squares that we were encouraged as kids to knit, to be made up into blankets.

Took morning bus to Pucon the next day, with its live volcano (Villarica) and black volcanic sand (sadly, with hotels built on it). Original plan was to move straight on to Junin de los Andes the following day, but since the volcano was partly obscured in cloud, decided next morning to stay on a day - even though I was not planning to climb it. Worth it, not so much for the Huerquehue National Park (http://www.flickr.com/photos/38839711@N00/sets/72157594225527788/ lots of trees, including monkey puzzle trees, and more lakes - though not seen at their best in damp weather, especially in the middle of the afternoon, when torrential rain and a thunderstorm took everyone by surprise), as for the views of the volcano I got from my hospedaje window that evening, when the rain had cleared; and particularly for the views of it the following morning as I was leaving. That morning was cold and clear, giving astounding views of the plume of smoke rising from it. Lost my own photos, but see link below for acknowledgement of photo below:

Volcan Villarica (near Pucon)

http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://hostal-don-juan.minihostels.com/content/images/laserenachile/4bf0a96b0ea0b6389aac6f763c22a589.jpg&imgrefurl=http://hostal-don-juan.minihostels.com/page/villarrica&h=438&w=584&sz=43&tbnid=7_yW8sFJ0cRogM:&tbnh=94&tbnw=125&zoom=1&docid=NMeaudzV4CyThM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=NbN3T5XvKOnn0QGz_tDTDQ&sqi=2&ved=0CC8Q9QEwAw

Many people climb this volcano. During the high season, there can apparently be around 500 people on the mountain on any one day. It is considered to be a 'soft' adventure, safe on the whole. Nevertheless, following a tragic accident only three weeks earlier, in which at least two people were killed, and further people injured, there had been some discussion about the experience of some of the guides, the standard of the equipment and the likelihood or otherwise of inexperienced people being able to operate equipment such as ice axes if they actually had to, in an emergency.

All in all, I decided to give it a miss, despite being tempted by the promise of sledging, and the whole experience of activity in the snow with amazing views. Trouble was, with ever changing weather, you couldn't be sure of this - and with a 6.30 start, you couldn't wait until the morning to decide. Instead, I decided to content myself with other people's photographs, since these days I seem to be getting clumsier, and in a way, looking down into the crater of a live volcano seemed to me a bit like looking into the mouth of a crocodile! http://www.volcanodiscovery.com/volcanoes/chile/villarica.html

That said, from the high numbers of people who climb the volcano safely, without incident, it would be a great adventure for the young and fit. (I qualified for the latter, but not for the former, at this stage! Am I getting old and wimpey, or what? Looking at other people's photos, I certainly missed something!)

12 Osorno Volcano: a 3-day bike ride followed by a 3-day trek to Cochamo

Thursday, March 8th to Thursday, 15th March

From Puerto Montt, it's just a short bus ride to Puerto Varas, a smaller town that owes its popularity partly to its spectacular setting on a lake, with a beautifully shaped volcano just behind it, topped with snow.

Volcan Osorno

Here I found the 'Terra Outdoors' bike shop, that not only had bikes to hire, but had one with a rack, enabling me to do a 3-day ride around Lago Llanquihue  (one of the largest lakes in South America), with panniers. Having arranged to pick up the bike the following day, I made my way to a nearby hostel that allowed camping in the garden, with use of bathroom, internet and all indoor facilities: great, since the tent needed to go up to dry out, after that morning's heavy dew. This was to be my base for the next few days, since they were also happy for me to leave unwanted luggage there while I was away. It was managed by Ignacius, originally from Santiago, assisted by Marcos, who made me feel really welcome.

And so I started off on Friday, in 'ideal cycling temperature': though with today's cloud, there were no views of the volcano on the way to Ensanada (not to be confused with empanada, a deep fried savoury pastie).

From Ensanada, it was just 14 km to Lago Todos Los Santos (Emerald Lake) at Petrohue, with a ride through the Peres Rosales National Park, by the side of a beautiful green river, popular for rafting and fishing, and with some interesting rocks.

Lago Todos Los Santos

The road surface was not too great, and there was some major work being done on it, with great chunks of rock being taken out of the surrounding cliffs - but after several weeks in Patagonia, this did not come as a surprise, though riding on sand, as well as gravel, was hard going.

Road to Petrohue

Awkward when a roadworks vehicle breaks down . . .

There are bees, Janet!

The lakeside campsite would have been a nice place to stay, had I not decided to make things easy for myself but leaving the tent behind. Instead, I headed back to Ensenada, to spend the night at the friendly Escala II hospedaje, where since they were nearly full with roadmen who were working away from home, I was given a bed in the deep freeze room: comfortable enough, and the farmhouse-style kitchen-dining room was really cosy. The landlady made me coffee, and produced homemade bread rolls, cheese and local honey, after I got back from a walk to the beach, along a track where bushes were loaded with blackberries: my fruit ration for the day!

Saturday was beautiful, with Volcan Osorno gradually revealing itself as the early morning mist burnt off: a hugely enjoyable day, with stunning views of the volcano, as well as a green lagoon (another Laguna Verde), and Lake Lanquihue itself.

Laguna Verde

Today, much of the road was paved, apart from a section on the way to Las Cascadas, and a gravel road from Puerto Fonk to Puerto Octay: hard for the first few kilometers, but with rewarding views.

This road had been recommended by the guy in Terra Outdoors, the shop that had hired me the bike. As for his other recommendation: good job for him he was away on leave, prior to his wedding, when I got back! The idea of riding up to the base of  Volcan Osorno was not a good one: OK, the first couple of kilometers were rideable, but after that, the road got steeper and steeper, forcing me to push most of the way up to the first mirador, taking a couple of hours. At this point I was just about to turn back, when a middle-aged couple from Buenos Aires arrived, helped me haul the bike into the back of their pick-up truck, and took me with them to the base.

Looking down on Lake Llanquihue 

The black volcanic rock here was interesting to see, and the views down onto the lake, with cotton wool clouds below us, stunning. However, with the road being so steep that I would have had had to use the brakes for most of the ride down, I took up their offer of going down with them as well, so as still to give myself time to get to Puerto Octay.

Volcanic rock near the base of Osorno

From here, the road to Las Cascadas got interesting, and with the weather great, there were good views of the volcano for much of the afternoon.

Derrumbe area, on the way to Las Cascadas

Basaltic rock

With potholes like this, you have to keep your eye on the road

In the early evening light, I cursed myself for leaving the tent behind, as I passed an idyllic camping area at the side of the lake. Still, nothing for it: I continued to the Puerto Octay: a very small town, which now that the season had come to an end, appeared to be sleeping, with very little open.

Dinner that night was rather a bad pastie: the chicken and beef advertised on the board outside were finished, and I was too hungry to go all the way back to the other option in town: a fast food place. However, I compensated for the pastie by going to a small shop that had a small cafe section, selling some completely irresistable cakes. (I still dream about the beautiful orange fondant gateau, and since I had the first  slice out of it, that happened to be a corner piece, I had icing on two sides, as well as on the top!)

Next morning, I was to be glad after all that I hadn't brought the tent: waking to the sound of torrential rain, there seemed to be no point in hurrying to get up, so I allowed myself the luxury of reading in bed. At last the rain eased, and I set off on my way, starting on the main paved road, before taking a gravel road to Frutilla, via Los Bajos: bumpy and hilly. At Los Bajos, it started to rain again, as I headed gratefully towards a cafe: only to find that it was closed. With only a sign advertising apple vinegar for sale, and two churches, there was nothing to keep me there, so after sheltering for a while in a small bus shelter, I battled on.

Frutilla came as a surprise: just a small lakeside town, it had an extremely fancy theatre, and a music school with an excellent reputation, it seemed. I was told later that the theatre was owned by some musicians, who had started the school, and attracted some excellent teachers.  From the posters, there appeared to be just one theatre performance per month - too bad that I had just missed the March performance: had I arrived 24 hours earlier, I could have seen Mary Poppins! That was it, until April . . . .

Frutilla theatre

After the hard ride to Frutilla, I felt I deserved an ice cream, after which I continued by the lake to Llanquihue, on a much easier, paved road. From here, it was just a few kilometres back to Puerto Varas, but I was horrified to find that, since the small road around the road was closed due to more roadworks, the

sign to Puerto Varas appeared to take me straight onto the motorway, with no alternative shown. Surely this couldn't be right? I tried flagging down a couple of cars, to check that I hadn't missed another turning, but they were not stopping. Eventually, a pick-up truck stopped, and reassured me that although not signposted, there was a gravel road over the other side of the bridge. Better still, he was going to Puerto Varas himself, so once again, into the back went the bike (pick-up trucks are just great!), and 20 minutes later, I was in Puerto Varas, returning the bike.

Osorno volcano in a haze caused by volcanic ash from Puyehue, on a day when the wind is blowing the wrong way

Cochamo Trek

After a rest day, I was ready to go again: this time with tent, for a trek up the Cochamo Valley, recommended so warmly by a number of people. With the season at an end, the hostel was nearly empty, so I gratefully took up Ignacius's offer of the use of a small and otherwise empty dormitory for the reduced price of 5,000 pesos  (about 7 GBP), so that I could get my kit organised, and didn't have to pack up a wet tent before going for the 8 o'clock bus.

Away in plenty of time next morning, I was puzzled  to find that by 8 o'clock, there was still no sign of the bus - or of anyone else waiting for it. Checking with the driver of the Ensenada bus, he confirmed that I was in the right place; but then it transpired that my watch had somehow mysteriously lost exactly an hour, sometime between leaving on the 7am bus from Chiloe the previous Thursday, and now - which could account for why the evening had already seemed to be drawing in as early as '7.30' on the night I had got to Puerto Octay!

The next bus to Cochamo did not leave for another three hours, and the one for Ensenada was already full,  but the driver suggested I should get the next one for Ensenada, and try hitching from there. So that's what I did: from Ensenada it was easy, since local people were quick to stop, knowing that there are only three buses a day, and not many other vehicles either. Three rides later, I was at the trail head, having come the last few kilometers in the back of a truck, enjoying the wind and the warmth of the sunshine in my face.

Volcan Yate from Cochamo

I arrived just as Alice, a young Belgian girl, was about to set off, having booked herself into the refugio. We started off together along the muddy, wooded track, which following the previous day's rain, combined with roots, fallen trees and rivers to cross, some of them with dodgey bridges, was quite an obstacle course. An hour or so into the 5-hour walk, we came across Ernan: a 33-year-old snowboarding  instructor and climber from the north of Chile, who having lost his backpack and the kit inside it on a long-distance bus, was loaded down with some weighty kit, packed into a cheap, badly fitting rucksack. He was clearly struggling, having started out an hour earlier than us, and I was reminded of the day in Torres del Paine, when I had nearly given up on the walk up to Seron. Eventually, Alice continued on her own, while I waited for Ernan.

Ernan

At last we got to the campsite at La Junta: a different La Junta from the one on the Carretera Austral, of course! The campsite was in a sunny clearing, favoured mainly by climbers, attracted by the granite rocks that surrounded it: some had been climbing there for as long as three weeks!

Cochamo campsite

Refugio, viewed from above

Apart from the normal wooden shelter, complete with fireplace, there were no facilities other than a tap and a dry loo. (A sign read: "This toilet is for poo poo and toilet paper only. If you want a pee, go find a tree to water.")

  

Hot water and trekking information were available on the other side of the river at the refugio, built and owned by an American called Danny. Getting there was for me a highlight of this three days: you had to sit in a wooden chair, operated by two ropes and a pulley. First you used the rope to pull the chair towards you, then you got into it, and let yourself be lowered across to the other side - helped by a second person if there was anyone around to operate the rope. Otherwise, you just grabbed the higher of the two ropes as you approached the other side, crossing your hands along it, to get to the platform on the other side, which you could climb onto, using the steps to get down to the beach - that is, if you didn't want to jump. (I didn't.) Not as hard as it sounds, and all good fun! .

Technique demonstration!

With all the mud, my boots were filthy, and soaking wet - as were my feet. I had been speaking pidgin Spanish with Ernan all afternoon, but after he had eaten and rested a bit, he suddenly started speaking English. Since he had a stove with him, and following the Torres del Paine experience I had decided I could survive without one for a couple of nights, he kindly boiled some extra hot water for my instant hot soup; but I was particularly touched when later he brought me over some more warm water: for my feet, he explained. He wouldn't have liked his feet to get so muddy and cold! Somehow, my boots and feet had got even wetter and muddier than his had, and crossing the river to the refugio for hot water didn't seem such a good idea, since it would mean crossing back in the dark!

Alice had stayed at the refugio, but the next morning, the three of us set off together along what was described later by someone as 'a climber's idea of a hiking path': clear for much of the way, but it could have done with some nice helpful blobs of paint on a tree here and there.

At one point I got separated from the others, when a pack strap got tangled up on some vegetation. By the time the others stopped to wait, I found out later, they had missed the turning to the left that we had been told to take. Meanwhile, I was dismayed to find that a hard uphill path finished at a boulder, without appearing to go anywhere else. ]I went down, thinking that maybe I had lost the path, and tried a different one, but ended up at the same boulder.

Demoralised and disappointed, I decided that there was nothing else for it but to give up and go down. I'd hardly been going 10 minutes, before I met a dog. Where on earth had he come from? Round the corner then came its owner: Laura, a woman in her early 30s from Montana in the USA, who coming from an adventurous family, did lots of backpacking on her own - together with Jack, her dog. She had managed to download a walk description from somewhere, and just as we were talking, who should come round the corner, but Alice, followed not long afterwards by Ernan! I'd assumed that they were well ahead of me.

The walk description indicated a path to the side of the boulder that I'd not noticed, and the four of us went back to it (the third time for me), found the path, and then crossed the spectacular rocky (but easy) ridge, continuing eventually up to a roped section that Danny had told us about. At this stage, Laura decided that she would have to turn back, since it was too difficult for Jack.

We had started off late, and I too was unsure about continuing all the way to the top (supposedly 4 or 5 hours), and reluctant to come down the roped section on my own, should I want to turn back before the others. And so it was agreed that I would go back with Laura and Jack the dog, via some waterfalls (though not before I had been up the rope, just for the experience), and Ernan would continue for at least another hour with Alice. Getting up the rock was not a problem, and nor was getting down; the difficult part was getting onto the rope in the first place, particularly on the way down. Meanwhile, Will and his girlfriend Frances, from Maine in the USA, had arrived, together with Elaina from Washington: so now Alice had four people to go with her. (For Will's account of this trek, see http://chile2653.blogspot.com.ar/2012/03/cochamo-valley.html , and also http://chile2653.blogspot.com.ar/2012/03/original-settlers.html)

Back at the campsite, it was good just to relax in the sunshine, and chat to a few other people around.


Later, I was invited to a pasta dinner with Ryan and Jessica, a couple from California. I had only peanuts, cheese, dried soup, crackers and dried peaches to offer as a contribution, but they assured me that wasn't a problem. They were heading gradually north, they told me, where they were going to visit a village hit by a major earthquake two years ago.


At the time, they had been camping not far away, and having realised that they themselves were fine, had loaded up their van with toilet rolls, groceries and anything else they could think of, and then stayed a month in the village helping the people who had been left dazed and shocked: Ryan had come from the construction industry, so had some useful practical skills to offer. They had obviously made some good friends there, and were looking forward to seeing them again.

(Note added 26th March; it seems that there has been a further earthquake, only last night: http://ca.news.yahoo.com/strong-quake-shakes-chile-no-reports-deaths-013630684.html , not far from the original area.)

The next morning, I got up to find Ernan already on the move. He had not been sleeping well, so had got up at 5.30, and gone out to cut some bamboo canes for both of us to use as trekking poles on the way back: useful for river crossings, and testing the depth of mud!

Cochamo Valley

It was another lovely day, and the trek back through the forest was far more enjoyable than on the way up, especially since after two sunny days, it was a bit less muddy and wet. Back by the gravel road, we linked up with Alice, and the three Americans. Soon afterwards, we all piled into the back of the 'scheduled truck' that for a small price would take us back to the village of Cochamo, for the bus back to Puerto Varas. With the weather clear and sunny, and the tide in at the fjord, we got some lovely views past the old church and over the lake, of another snow-capped volcano.

Typical Patagonian village home, Cochamo

Scheduled truck. Will and his girlfriend Frances, from Maine.

Cochamo

In due course, the bus arrived (only 40 minutes later than scheduled), and slowly made its way along the gravel road to Ensenada, where Volcan Osorno could be seen in all its splendour, and onwards to Puerto Varas, where I spent one more night, prior to heading over to the university town of Valdivia for a couple of days; before completing the circuit of the Chilean lake district for further volcano views. Time to celebrate the end of the trek, with a portion of scrummy gateau, from the San Isobel supermarket!