My passport is filling up fast with stamps from Chile and Argentina,
since you get a stamp from the country you are being checked out of,
and then another for the one you are checked into - and in Patagonia,
you are constantly crossing between the two.
The border 10 km east of Futuleufu was relatively relaxed, with quite a pleasant atmosphere in the 'out of Chile' office, where there was a nice woodburning stove, and where the official taking my passport from me said in English "Nice to meet you!". (As if taking my passport from me and handing it back was actually meeting me . . ) It seemed a bit over the top to say to him "Encantanda te conosce" (or something like that), so I just said "Y usted". (The correct response, I believe, should have been something sounding ike 'Igual'.)
Unlike most other crossings, the whole procedure, including checking back into Argentina, taking everything off the local Chilean bus and loading it onto the Argentinian one, took no more than 40 minutes. Though heading for Esquel, I got off a few miles away at Trevelin, since it seemed only courteous to do so, my home is being in Wales: Trevelin is supposedly a Welsh village, complete with a dragon flag on the tourist office roof, and a couple of tea shops - with nobody in them, but with a nice smell of fresh bread, and a few cakes. The woman in there told me that she didn't speak Welsh, but her grandfather had been a Welshman called Underwood. (Hey, Tom - did you have a great grandfather or great uncle who emigrated to Patagonia?)
The bakery items I was unable to indulge in, because the cash machine had run out of cash. After an hour of queuing to change some Chilean money into Argentinian inside the bank, I was told I was in the wrong queue, and would have to start again for the service. By that time I couldn´t be bothered, and decided to head straight for Esquel, since I at least had the bus fare in Argentinian money. (And yes, there were buses running in Argentina, despite the fact that a lot of Chileans were crossing the border, purely in order to buy fuel, thereby creating a shortage there too.)
Esquel was convenient for an overnight stop, since it is on the edge of Los Alerces National Park, which has some lovely lakes, and some trails, most of which go through old forests, with occasional miradors over the lakes. (One bus a day, leaving at 8am.)
If you want to see the oldest tree (reputably 2000 years old), you have to catch a boat before walking to it: but at a cost of something over 40GBP, decided to give this one a miss. (Promotional material showed photos of the base of a tree too tall to photograph, with tape around it, and about 25 people taking photographs.) Apparently, there is a very beautiful trail with views of this lake, but at the time it was closed, due to the danger of a puma who had cubs there.
I duly caught the bus, parked my tent by a lake in one of several free campsites, and spent a lovely sunny day on a forest trail, and looking at some more old handprints (see Villa Cerro Castell post). Glad I made the best of the day, because the next day was decidely grey, and at times soggy. Camped at another free campsite at the end of the National Park, then caught the bus to El Bolsen on Saturday.
El Bolsen
Wandered into town to look at the craft and food stalls, once I´d got my tent up in a pleasant, spacious campsite: so well organised that it had a ´quiet´zone, a 'bit more noise allowed´ zone, and ´let´s have a party´ zone - all of which were just academic this weekend, since it was the town´s feria (´party´) weekend, meaning that sleep was not likely to be possible, anywhere.
Shortly afterwards, it began to rain, and now it had set in for the next couple of days, making the prospect of trekking uninviting. There was therefore nothing else for it: time to eat everything in sight, and put back some of the weight I´d lost! Suddenly felt the need for sugar, and headed for a sumptous cake shop. Ordered a coffee and a portion of a gateau that resembled the German black forest cherry cake, and was surprised to be served with the most enormous slice I have ever seen, together with a small glass of ice cream and a piece of chocolate: estimated calorie count of about 3 million!
Other than food, there was a waiters´ race (a first for me!), rides for children on some tiny ponies, with the kids dressed up in gaucho hats, some Peruvian pipers, a didgery-doo or two, and various other acts. Added to which, the town appeared to be full of old bangers: I wasn't sure whether there were just a lot of clapped out cars in this village (nowhere else have I seen cars driving around without even a bonnet: what happens when it rains?), or whether it was all part of the act. (Note later: it appears to be the norm, in many Argentinian towns.)
Bariloche: Chocolate City
With the weather forecast still dodgey for the following days, I gave up on the idea of trekking from El Bolsen - a pity, since there were supposedly some very scenic day hikes from there, as well as multi-day treks.
Bariloche being a town, I headed for a hostel, from where I reserved a bicycle for the following day, with a view to riding the Chico Circuit - around the lake. However, when I arrived at the hire place it was raining again, and the owners advised me to leave it to another day, since I wouldn't get any views. "Any other suggestions for today?" I asked them. They shrugged. "Go shopping, eat chocolate?" Tempting, but having taken half-an-hour on the bus to get there, took up their other suggestion, and walked to 'Colonia Suisse': a rather disappointingly touristy village of Swiss-style houses, with a number of chocolate and other shops: the highlight, as far as I was concerned, being a small exhibition of photographs taken of Volcan Puyehue erupting, in June 2011.
"Our landscape has changed for ever, and therefore our lives too," was the comment (roughly translated).
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2011/jun/05/chile-volcano-eruption-in-pictures#/?picture=375383037&index=14
http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2011/06/chiles-puyehue-volcano-erupts/100081/ (for more photos of Puyehue erupting)
The following day turned out fine, and the mountains called: took a bus to the ski area known as 'Cathedral', and walked to the Frey refugio. Lovely to be in the mountains again, with some good clear views, after so many wet or grey days.
With the weather forecast poor for the next few days again, decided to head west to Puerto Montt. Although a damp day may be the best one to choose for a longish bus journey, the downside was that I didn't get the promised views over the Andes, and even the lakes were rather misty. The volcanic ash from Puyehue was very much in evidence, but to my surprise, didn't look as bad as I had expected: more like slightly greyish sand. The forestry was apparently badly burnt, but again, in the mist, it could not be seen.
The border crossing was fairly painless. All baggage had to be unloaded from the bus, then re-loaded, once the border guards had done their work, but the sniffer dogs picking out just one suitcase, belonging to a Swiss girl standing next to me. She was called over to open it up, but was allowed to close it again almost immediately. "What was it?" I asked her, expecting her to say that she'd forgotten about some cheese or something. "I don't know: I suspect some of my washing might have been a bit ripe!" she answered.
As we approached Osorno, the mountains were left behind, and the green agricultural landscape slightly reminiscent of the UK. Arriving in Puerto Montt, I looked forward to a few days of small fishing villages.
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| Passport control near Futuleufu - note woodburning stove! |
The border 10 km east of Futuleufu was relatively relaxed, with quite a pleasant atmosphere in the 'out of Chile' office, where there was a nice woodburning stove, and where the official taking my passport from me said in English "Nice to meet you!". (As if taking my passport from me and handing it back was actually meeting me . . ) It seemed a bit over the top to say to him "Encantanda te conosce" (or something like that), so I just said "Y usted". (The correct response, I believe, should have been something sounding ike 'Igual'.)
 |
| More roadworks! |
Unlike most other crossings, the whole procedure, including checking back into Argentina, taking everything off the local Chilean bus and loading it onto the Argentinian one, took no more than 40 minutes. Though heading for Esquel, I got off a few miles away at Trevelin, since it seemed only courteous to do so, my home is being in Wales: Trevelin is supposedly a Welsh village, complete with a dragon flag on the tourist office roof, and a couple of tea shops - with nobody in them, but with a nice smell of fresh bread, and a few cakes. The woman in there told me that she didn't speak Welsh, but her grandfather had been a Welshman called Underwood. (Hey, Tom - did you have a great grandfather or great uncle who emigrated to Patagonia?)
The bakery items I was unable to indulge in, because the cash machine had run out of cash. After an hour of queuing to change some Chilean money into Argentinian inside the bank, I was told I was in the wrong queue, and would have to start again for the service. By that time I couldn´t be bothered, and decided to head straight for Esquel, since I at least had the bus fare in Argentinian money. (And yes, there were buses running in Argentina, despite the fact that a lot of Chileans were crossing the border, purely in order to buy fuel, thereby creating a shortage there too.)
Esquel was convenient for an overnight stop, since it is on the edge of Los Alerces National Park, which has some lovely lakes, and some trails, most of which go through old forests, with occasional miradors over the lakes. (One bus a day, leaving at 8am.)
If you want to see the oldest tree (reputably 2000 years old), you have to catch a boat before walking to it: but at a cost of something over 40GBP, decided to give this one a miss. (Promotional material showed photos of the base of a tree too tall to photograph, with tape around it, and about 25 people taking photographs.) Apparently, there is a very beautiful trail with views of this lake, but at the time it was closed, due to the danger of a puma who had cubs there.
 |
| Tent with a view: official but free campsite |
El Bolsen
Wandered into town to look at the craft and food stalls, once I´d got my tent up in a pleasant, spacious campsite: so well organised that it had a ´quiet´zone, a 'bit more noise allowed´ zone, and ´let´s have a party´ zone - all of which were just academic this weekend, since it was the town´s feria (´party´) weekend, meaning that sleep was not likely to be possible, anywhere.
Shortly afterwards, it began to rain, and now it had set in for the next couple of days, making the prospect of trekking uninviting. There was therefore nothing else for it: time to eat everything in sight, and put back some of the weight I´d lost! Suddenly felt the need for sugar, and headed for a sumptous cake shop. Ordered a coffee and a portion of a gateau that resembled the German black forest cherry cake, and was surprised to be served with the most enormous slice I have ever seen, together with a small glass of ice cream and a piece of chocolate: estimated calorie count of about 3 million!
Other than food, there was a waiters´ race (a first for me!), rides for children on some tiny ponies, with the kids dressed up in gaucho hats, some Peruvian pipers, a didgery-doo or two, and various other acts. Added to which, the town appeared to be full of old bangers: I wasn't sure whether there were just a lot of clapped out cars in this village (nowhere else have I seen cars driving around without even a bonnet: what happens when it rains?), or whether it was all part of the act. (Note later: it appears to be the norm, in many Argentinian towns.) |
| I helped push this one! |
 |
| Gone for bread, leaving the engine running . . . |
Bariloche: Chocolate City
With the weather forecast still dodgey for the following days, I gave up on the idea of trekking from El Bolsen - a pity, since there were supposedly some very scenic day hikes from there, as well as multi-day treks.
Bariloche being a town, I headed for a hostel, from where I reserved a bicycle for the following day, with a view to riding the Chico Circuit - around the lake. However, when I arrived at the hire place it was raining again, and the owners advised me to leave it to another day, since I wouldn't get any views. "Any other suggestions for today?" I asked them. They shrugged. "Go shopping, eat chocolate?" Tempting, but having taken half-an-hour on the bus to get there, took up their other suggestion, and walked to 'Colonia Suisse': a rather disappointingly touristy village of Swiss-style houses, with a number of chocolate and other shops: the highlight, as far as I was concerned, being a small exhibition of photographs taken of Volcan Puyehue erupting, in June 2011.
"Our landscape has changed for ever, and therefore our lives too," was the comment (roughly translated).
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2011/jun/05/chile-volcano-eruption-in-pictures#/?picture=375383037&index=14
http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2011/06/chiles-puyehue-volcano-erupts/100081/ (for more photos of Puyehue erupting)
The following day turned out fine, and the mountains called: took a bus to the ski area known as 'Cathedral', and walked to the Frey refugio. Lovely to be in the mountains again, with some good clear views, after so many wet or grey days.
 |
| Lakeside views from the Frey trail |
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| Small shelter on the way up to the Frey refugio |
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| View from the Frey refugio |
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| Fresh snow in the next valley: seen from a rock above the Frey refugio |
The border crossing was fairly painless. All baggage had to be unloaded from the bus, then re-loaded, once the border guards had done their work, but the sniffer dogs picking out just one suitcase, belonging to a Swiss girl standing next to me. She was called over to open it up, but was allowed to close it again almost immediately. "What was it?" I asked her, expecting her to say that she'd forgotten about some cheese or something. "I don't know: I suspect some of my washing might have been a bit ripe!" she answered.
As we approached Osorno, the mountains were left behind, and the green agricultural landscape slightly reminiscent of the UK. Arriving in Puerto Montt, I looked forward to a few days of small fishing villages.
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