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 . . . .