Intense snow and below zero temperatures have killed at least 9 Argentines from hypothermia this week. While thermometers in Patagonia dropped as low as -14°C, Jujuy experienced the most fatalities, sending the northwestern province into a state of emergency as its most important roads have been blocked off by up to 30cm of snow.

The National Meteorological Service predicts that the extreme cold front will start to gradually abate on Monday.

But this still leaves many people at risk, according to Red Solidaria, a government organization that has been charged with protecting Argentines from the cold front, especially the poverty-stricken. The group has dispatched more than 300 volunteers to assist the estimated 200,000 Argentines who live on the street, distributing electric blankets, winter jackets, and soup.

In addition to the fatalities due to hypothermia, 33 people have died from carbon monoxide inhalation this year, due to faulty heating systems and precarious living spaces without adequate ventilation.

The cold front killed two in Bolivia, one in Paraguay, and one in Uruguay as well.

Do you like horse riding? Have you ever wished you could be a gaucho for a day? Have you secretly had fantasies about recreating scenes from Brokeback Mountain? Were those fantasies about riding through dramatic mountain scenery on horseback, rather than doing sexy things with Heath Ledger in a tent? If the answer to any of these questions (apart from maybe number three) is yes, then Cabalgatas Haneck is what you are looking for.

Cabalgatas Haneck is company that provides horse-riding tours outside Bariloche. Don’t let this description give you the wrong impression though; it isn’t a big centralised company churning out pony treks for spoilt children. Instead, it’s the personal project of Monica and Chango Haneck, an Argentine couple in their sixties, who have lived on their estancia for years and who regularly open up their home to visitors to take them out riding.

Photo by Amie Tsang

Chango prepares the horses prior to the Patagonian excursion.

The Haneck’s are the descendents of settlers who arrived in Argentina in the 19th century, and who were among those to originally divide the country from Chile. Chango is now the third generation to hold the estancia, and hopes his children and grandchildren will continue the tradition. However, despite the long family history, the Haneck’s haven’t always been in their present home; previously Chango worked in a bank and Monica was involved in commerce. Nevertheless, their passion is the estancia, and Monica told me that after years of employment in financial institutions, coming back to their roots in the country was a dramatic, and very welcome change.

However, constructing the building where they now live, and where the horses are kept, was also quite a challenge. The house is over 16km from the nearest town, and 3.5km from a water supply. Drinking water literally has to be pumped over the whole distance. Moreover, the house is not connected to the electricity grid, and generates all its power through solar panels. Monica comments that it was a struggle to arrange all of this, particularly as the couple were also working and bringing up three children at the time. However, it seems that all the hard work paid off, and now the Hanecks are able to share their home both with their two grandchildren, and with any visitors who happen to book a visit.

If you do decide to try out horse riding with the Hanecks, you have to call Monica to reserve a tour. The estancia is open all year round, and the couple are very flexible with the schedules: “Whenever there are visitors in town, we’re always open,” Monica assured me. You can either book a half-day ride, which is accompanied by a home-cooked asado, or a whole day tour, which comes with an asado and an afternoon tea (also homemade). Unusually for Patagonia, where lots of actives close down from May until August, horse rides take place here in the snow, although Monica comments that during the cold weather visitors tend to spend more time eating and less time riding.

Photos by Amie Tsang and Hannah Vinter

After ride tea complete with toast and a variety of fruit jams. Monica wakes up the foal sleeping in the sun.

If you do decide to book a tour the Hanecks will arrange for you to be picked up from Bariloche and taken to the estancia. You will be driven for 30 minutes through rugged Patagonian countryside, on roads that become increasingly deserted. Several times, the driver will have to slow down to plunge through streams that cut directly across the dirt road and you wonder whether the car, which isn’t a four-wheel drive, is really going to make it. If you’re lucky like us, you do get there in the end.

When you arrive you meet Chango and Monica, who ply you with sunscreen, water, riding gear and anything else you might need. However, before you’re allowed near a horse, Monica asks you to sign a legal waiver confirming that you are aware that horse riding can lead, among other things, to “illness”, “serious injury” and “death”. This may make you somewhat anxious. But if you start having second thoughts about riding, you only have to see the horses themselves to calm down again. There are about a dozen altogether, and they are some of the most tranquil and tame animals I have ever met. When we arrived, one of the horses had recently had a foal, which was lying on the ground under its mother’s feet. Monica was able to go up to him and play with him on the floor like a puppy. The mare, Luna, was equally happy for strangers to pet him and he followed us around meekly during the whole ride.

Cabalgatas Haneck is meant to cater to both seasoned riders and complete beginners, so Chango will ask you how much experience you’ve had, and will select a horse accordingly. They range from feisty and eager to gallop, to utterly docile, with a tendency to stop every five minutes to nibble the scenery. Then he helps you up onto a horse and off you go!

For me, the experience of riding is usually somewhat uncomfortable. I look at other people on horseback and think “wow, amazing!” Then I get up onto a horse myself, and am suddenly aware of how far away I am from the ground, and how huge the animal’s bum is. However, I have to say that the Haneck’s horses were wonderful. They’re not too big, and my mount, Federica, was lively without being unpredictable. Once you have a little while to get used to your horse, Chango begins to take you faster, and by the end you are galloping across the landscape pretending you’re the Lone Ranger.

Photo by Hannah Vinter

View on horseback of the clear bright Patagonian countryside.

However comfortable you feel around horses, the scenery on your ride will absolutely take your breath away. As far as you can see in every direction there are just mountains and sky, and there is a fresh dry breeze that is the perfect antidote to muggy summer’s days riding the colectivo in Buenos Aires. There are several routes across the estate to choose from, and when we rode in the morning Chango took us up a rocky peak, near the top of the estancia. From there you can see for miles in every direction and count the snowy mountains over the border in Chile. After lunch we were taken down into the valley, with long stretches of green, springy grass and the horses were in heaven. Even Luna, the mother who more often than not was stopping to check on her foal, feed or do a bit of eating herself, was galloping away.

And actually, the galloping was quite an achievement considering how much we ate for lunch. Monica made an asado of lamb (a Patagonian speciality) and sausages, accompanied by salads, potatoes, homemade bread and red wine (be careful with the wine if you don’t want to fall off you horse). We all ate together, and it was excellent home cooking; the meat was incredibly tender, and it was wonderful to eat some good fresh vegetables after so much time on the bus with nothing but medialunas and alfajores. We ate until we were almost ready to explode, at which point Monica bustled off to fetch dessert. Thankfully, it was only fruit salad, but I’m fairly certain that my horse looked a little more long-suffering during the afternoon ride than she had that morning. After the second excursion we were served tea, tortas fritas (which taste like a mixture between a biscuit and a donut) and apple cake. It was seriously good food. “You eat this every day?” we asked the Hanecks in amazement. They both nodded serenely. “Yes, Monica’s a pretty good cook, “ said Chango, in the understatement of the year. I was half tempted to ask if I could move in with them.

Aside from the horses and the scenery, the best thing about the trip was the incredibly casual atmosphere in the Haneck’s house. Monica and Chango treated us as if we were old friends, and as we ate and chatted with them, their children and grandchildren also dropped by to visit. I had the impression that this sort of personal experience was common. Excursions take place with a maximum of eight people, and groups can be quite small; you can easily book a ride and be with just one or two friends.

All in all, if you want to get a taste of the gaucho lifestyle and to see Argentina scenery at its very best, then Cabalgatas Haneck is the place to go. It will give you a great horse riding experience, even if it won’t provide you with Heath Ledger and a tent.

You can contact Cabalgatas Haneck on: + 00 54 (2944) 15316666, + 00 54 (2944) 441558, + 00 54 (2944) 15669897 or via the website: www.wix.com/irnclos/cabalgatas-haneck

The Hanecks have also thrown themselves into the 21st Century with a vengeance, and the company is on facebook (Cabalgatas Haneck) and twitter (cabalgatahaneck).

Photo by Christoph Werner

It’s 5:30 in the morning and I feel kind of strange. All my life I was used to put on my skies in front of my porch in the Tyrolean Alps. Now I am standing at the corner of Parera y Quintana in the middle of Recoleta, dressed in a skiing outfit, with my backpack and skis in my hand, waiting for a taxi. Luckily the first one stops. I fiddle my skis through the front door and jump in the back. Aeroparque por favor! Ten minutes later I check in with LAN, the airport is still empty so nobody notices my funny outfit.

When you fly from Buenos Aires to the south the landscape of the pampa turns from green to brown to grey but suddenly the snow covered Lanín Volcano appears in the first sunlight at my right and I start feeling at home.

My guide, Jorge Kozuli from Andescross.com is waiting for me in Bariloche and drives me to his wooden home. While his girlfriend is preparing a wonderful breakfast, we check my equipment. Jorge is filling my backpack with crampons, an ice axe, food and more food and I start to feel the weight just looking at it.

At 9:30, just four hours after standing at my corner in Buenos Aires, I am sitting on the chairlift, watching the “tirabolas” school classes taking their first skiing lessons, all dressed in the same rented skiing outfits, and breathing the cold snow-filled air I have come to miss so much in the big city.

After taking the top chairlift we finally stick the skins along the bottom of our skis and start climbing the first 300m to the ridge where we leave the skiing area of Bariloche and descend into the deserted infinity of the Patagonian Andes.

We ski through fine powder snow down the Van Titter Valley and stop at the cross with the Toncek Stream to have our first picnic. Skinning up again we climb to Frey Hut, through a fairytale forest for some hours. The refugio is a cozy mountain hut at 1,800m owned by the Club Andino de Ski. We learn that the two managers have to carry everything up on their backs, including gas and wood from the valley. They even bring bottled wine!

Photo by Christoph Werner

The skiing in the Frey Hut area is great. There are steep runs and colours for experts and nice slopes facing every point on the compass. So with some luck you can have powder snow and spring snow the same day. All the slopes start and finish near the hut. Jorge seems to know what he is doing. As I am a little concerned about avalanches at one point. We dig a hole in the snow to check the snow profile and different layers of snow that might serve as sliding surfaces for possible avalanches.

We are skiing the whole afternoon, trying different slopes before returning to the hut, watching the sundown and drying our equipment.

The hut is quite basic with a kitchen – dining room in the basement and a sleeping room with bunk beds and mattresses on the upper floor. The innkeepers cook at night, we have delicious pasta or you can bring your own food and drinks. The other guests are a handful of young American and European snowboarders who pass their northern summer holidays boarding around the cordillera.

At 8pm I am so tired that I fall asleep immediately in my cozy sleeping bag.

The next day we get early for some coffee and mate in the cold basement while our young co-guests are preparing themselves for the ultimate boarder experience with some strange smelling smoking devices. It crossed my mind that fortunately the area is so huge that you do not have to cross them on the slopes.

The cool morning we dedicate to some more slopes in the area before we start our return by descending to the Van Titter valley from where a huge and steep south facing range of about 1000 m height difference is waiting for us to be climbed.

Photo by Christoph Werner

Already exhausted I am glad to have brought my secret weapon, a horrible smelling austrian energy drink which allegedly gives you wings. And really, I got to the top without complaining although I have to admit that Jorge took care of my backpack for the last 100m of steep climb and as I am not quite free from giddiness I was happy to have him climbing behind me.

From the top we see the Lago Nahuel Huapi and ski back down to civilisation where we have a nice cold Quilmes mixed with lemonade at some hut in the skiing area. As I am sitting there, watching the lake I cannot believe that it is just 36 hours since I left my apartment in Buenos Aires.

We ski down the lovely pistes of Bariloche skiing who have the most spectacular views I know.

On the way back to the airport, Jorge is inviting me for some ice cream in the center of Bariloche and delivers me at the LAN counter right in time for my flight back to Buenos Aires.

Waiting in line for a taxi at the Aeroparque if felt being away for weeks so full of emotions and new impressions was my two day trip into another world.

If you would like to join me some day please contact me or checkout www.andescross.com for all the trips Jorge Kozuli is offering around the cordillera.

 

Photo by Joshua Learn

“You want to hitchhike? It’s easy…there’s a provincial border on Ruta 3 just past the turn off for Las Grutas. All you have to do is walk 10km through the desert and you’re there.”

It seemed easy enough. We had spent a fortune on bus tickets from Buenos Aires and were ready to turn the remaining 2,000km to Tierra del Fuego into an adventure. As we virtually collapsed from exhaustion at the check stop after walking through the scorching desert for three and a half hours, we were ready to reconsider the idea. I was just about to declare “Enough!” when we were offered a ride by a trucker.

“I don’t have anything valuable in the truck,” Javier confessed, giving us a suspicious look before we entered.

The thrill of speed instantly abolished our stagnant tempers after plodding along under the burning sun and we were eager to dive into conversation. Fortunately Javier relaxed a little when Luján offered to pour rounds of mate and we spent the next few hours learning exactly why he became suspicious.

“I used to drive a truck selling gas in the poor villas in Buenos Aires,” he explained. “I got robbed more times than I can remember. The first robber was chivalrous – he left me all my personal belongings, even offering to pay for a few of my cigarettes after stripping the truck of everything company owned. The next guy showed a complete lack of principles – he stole everything, my wallet, the truck, even my mate!”

 

Photo by Joshua Learn

After a long flat ride through the desert, we were dropped off near enough to Puerto Madryn to split a taxi into town with a gas station attendant finishing his shift. Javier had offered to take us all the way to Comodoro Rivadavia but we wanted to see the wildlife reserves around Puerto Madryn.

“That’s expensive!” Luján exclaimed as we exited the travel agency offering tours around the Valdés Peninsula. We walked down a pier to reconsider our decision and spotted a group of sea lions herding a huge school of fish into a tightly packed swirl in the water alongside. We watched the feeding frenzy long enough to satisfy our wildlife fix.

“An unforgettable natural experience,” I declared as we walked back into town to catch a bus for Trelew – being that it was only an hour away, we decided we could afford it. “Who needs the Valdés Peninsula?”

In Trelew we did our research. We found out about a gas station at the edge of town and caught a city bus – neither of us was in the mood to attempt another four hour walk through the desert with our packs.

Once correctly placed, it didn’t take much work to get a ride. Or at least it didn’t cost me any work – the Argentine woman conducted most of the public relations while I lurked in the background. After avoiding a few unsavoury looking characters, she got a ride from the first trucker she approached and I jumped out of the shadows to join her.

Twenty minutes down the road, Cabezon pulled the truck into another gas station to buy some beer.

 

Photo by Joshua Learn

“They call me Cabezon because I have a huge head!” the guy told us. “Is it true?” he asked me, turning his massive cranium to glare at me.

“No!” I lied and he burst into a thunderous fit of laughter before taking a big gulp of beer. He passed me a tin full of coca leaves and some sodium bicarbonate and 15 minutes later my mouth was numb. We watched the drab Patagonian steppe rip along underneath us – from the high truck cab it almost seemed as if we were flying. Cabezon pointed out animals between gulps of beer:

“Guanacos, rheas, armadillos and hares,” he named intermittently. It was just like being at the zoo except for the fact that most were road kill.

It took about five exciting hours till we were in Comodoro Rivadavia. My mouth had just begun to regain some feeling, despite the fact that I had made the grave error of chewing the leaves and swallowing them instead of just letting them just sit in my mouth.

“I was wondering how you managed to eat that sandwich with a mouth full of coca leaves,” Cabezon confessed just before we left his truck.

We only walked a block southwards before another driver rolled down his window and asked us for directions to Caleta Olivia.

“I don’t know, but will you take us?” Luján responded and soon we were waving goodbye to Rivadavia in a truck cabin seemingly entirely equipped to host a dance party. The driver had a disco ball, flashing lights, and a whole selection of cumbia CDs. This time we were rolling in style.

Our exhilaration was short lived however. Twenty minutes down the highway we were stopped by a policeman who explained a truck had blown off the road a kilometre ahead. We sat still for almost two hours watching the sun set over the hills that represented the first sign of topography we’d seen on the journey. When the road was eventually cleared, we cruised into Caleta Olivia a couple hours after dark.

Faced with the option of paying for a hotel or paying for an overnight bus trip to Río Gallegos, we decided to temporarily abandon our hitchhiking endeavour. We lay back on the reclining bus seat and snoozed till Río Gallegos. The ride seemed so luxurious after all the hitching that it was easy to convince ourselves to take another to Tierra del Fuego. In any case, the question of crossing multiple borders and the Straight of Magellan seemed too many complications for hitching, especially since there was only one daily ferry crossing.

 

Photo by Luján Viñas

The writer, Joshua Learn

Instead of buying tickets all the way to Ushuaia, we got off the bus at Río Grande and warmed up our thumbs beside a massive trout statue – homage to Río Grande’s renowned status as the International Trout Capital.

We rubbed the fish’s belly for luck and Luján had the idea of getting some mate going. Possibly tempted by the hot drink, a man driving a large van pulled over and coasted us gracefully over the southern end of the Andes. After 2000km of flat, dry Patagonian steppe, the setting sun seemed to illuminate the snowy peaks of the mountains with a halo-like quality. Soon after we were on the road, the man pulled the van over to fill several water jugs from a tap protruding from a cliff side.

This is the best water I’ve ever tasted,” the man praised as I stuck my head under the flowing tap. I took a long sip and it tasted, well, rather like water.

“Damn fine,” I answered, doing my best to render a satisfied smile. After Luján had been subjected to 2000 km worth of dirty trucker jokes, I figured it was my turn to step up and take some responsibility in the department of keeping the driver entertained. We got back into the van and passed the 3000th kilometre marker – there were only 40 more till Ushuaia.

“It’s not like the capital down here. People hitchhike all the time.”

Indeed, we made such good time that we rolled into Ushuaia just after the bus forsook at Río Grande.

“Right on time,” Luján laughed as we stepped out of the van.

Photo by Frances Holloway

“The most southern city in the world” is the sales pitch for tourism in Ushuaia. However, this remote city on an isolated island disconnected from the Argentine mainland by water, mountains and the Chilean border, offers the adventure tourist much more than just a sign proclaiming “End of the World” and a gateway to the Antarctic.

Travelling to Ushuaia overland is an adventure in itself. After eye-numbing endless hours journeying across the wearying and extensive nothingness of Patagonia, tedious border stops passing through Chile, crossing the Magellan straight in a ferry, various changes of bus and a stop at a touristy chocolate shop the expensive airfare becomes a more attractive option.

However, as we reach the final stretch traversing the Andes on winding roads with shimmering green lakes below and snow caped mountains above, both the tedious landscape of the Patagonia and the exasperating boarder crossings become distant memories.

Harberton and Gable Island

The first white people to settle in Tierra del Fuego were Anglican Missionaries who came over from the Malvinas/Falklands Islands. Thomas Bridges was one of these missionaries. He worked closely with the Yámana people (one of the four indigenous communities that occupied the island for over 10,000 years), learnt their language and even compiled a Yámana-English dictionary. As a reward for his efforts the Argentine government offered him his pick of fueguino land. Bridges humbly chose 20,000 hectares of rolling countryside complete with islands, rivers, woods and marshlands on the coast of the Beagle Channel. He named his new home Harberton.

Harbeton, the largest estancia on the island, has remained in the Bridges family for several generations and become the envy of other estancia owners in the area. This fueguino paradise is where my guides from adventure tour operator Canal Fun, Estéban Abregú and Agustín Aldao, took me for the day. They explained that Canal Fun has a special agreement with the Bridges family, allowing them exclusive use of the estancia.

“Thomas Bridges made a good choice,” confirms Estéban. “Harberton is the most beautiful part of the island and totally untouched since it has belonged to the Bridges for over a century.”

Photo by Frances Holloway

We begin the day rowing downstream enjoying the wildlife and the serenity of the unspoilt countryside. We arrive in rafts to the Bridges’ very English-looking white washed country cottage where we warm up with a cup of tea and homemade cake.

From there we take a speedboat over to the penguin colonies, stopping en route to take look at sea lions sunbathing on a rocky cliff face. At Martillo Island, home to Magellan penguins, we disembark and spend half an hour mesmerised by these black and white fluffy birds wobbling back and forth along the pebble beach.

Dragging ourselves away from the penguins we jump back on the speedboat and zip over to Gable Island where we find a charming deserted wooden shack wallpapered with old newspapers, which was once inhabited by a farm labourer. Estéban and Agustín put on a feast of meaty sandwiches, olives, cheese and red wine. Unfortunately there is no time for a siesta in the sun after lunch as we begin the trek around the idyllic Gable Island, stopping occasionally to taste wild berries and take in the majestic views of the world’s end.

I agree with Estéban that Bridges chose a good spot to settle. Far away from Ushuaia and without another tourist in sight you begin to feel that you really are at the end of the world.

Cerro Pelado

Having explored the flat and marshy coastal countryside of the island I decide to head into the Andes. The mountains surrounding Ushuaia, the only town on the ‘other side’ of the Andes, form the tail end of the cordillera and are therefore not so high and easily accessible for day treks.

“Do you mind getting your feet wet?” was the first question my mountain guide Marcelo Molle asks me as we begin planning our expedition into the Andes.

“There are two types of tourist,” he explains, “those that want to see the Andes from the comfort of a heated bus, and those who want to get out and experience the mountains.” Wintek Expediciones, run by Marcelo and business partner Miguel Casalinuovo, specialises in mountain trekking for the latter type of tourist.

Mountaineering is still not big business in Tierra del Fuego. “Most people who want to climb mountains go to El Chaltén or further north,” explains Marcelo. “The mountains here are really unexplored which means there are hardly any marked routes and you almost always have the whole mountain to yourself.”

The trek is not too challenging but very varied: we start in woodlands, then cross a swampy valley (where I do get my feet wet), scramble over loose rocks and finally reach the snow, which we trudge through in single file carefully treading in each others footsteps.

Photo by Frances Holloway

On the top of Cerro Pelado with the view of the converging valleys, mountain ridges carved by glaciers and the sparkling green Lago Esmaralda we stop for lunch followed by mate.

Trekking with Marcelo and fellow mountain guide Eric Karst is like spending a day with friends. They show me how to ski down the snowy parts in my boots and pick me up out of the mud when I slip over.

With no sign of any human activity we feel totally submersed in nature. Walking back down the mountain we can recognise our own undisturbed tracks.

We stop on the way down to watch a condor circling over head. Marcelo tells me that this impressive bird with a two-metre wingspan and smooth cruising style is most probably a baby learning to fly.

On the way back we stop at mountain refuge Valle de Lobos owned by ‘El Gato’, who is famed for being the first South American to cross Alaska on a sleigh. The traditional wooden refuge is full of newspaper cuttings, medals and photos of expeditions in the snow and homes his heard of 90 lively sleigh dogs with beautifully fluffy winter coats.

Ushuaia

Although the best thing about Ushuaia is the dramatic setting and isolation from the rest of the continent, the city also has a quirky history. Its inhabitants have ranged from indigenous tribes and Anglican missionaries to Argentine prisoners and labour immigrants with moving houses and its most recent population boom is connected with the increase in tourism.

I get an overview of the city and its history by taking a ride on the southernmost route master bus. Luis Vuoto and his wife Mónica Barbato de Vuoto imported the London route master, which they have painted blue and decorated with images of Onas and Yámanas (two of the indigenous populations), Bridges and fellow missionaries and maps of the island. They run twice daily city tours with Luis behind the wheel and Mónica providing the commentary.

The Yámanas, occupying the southern coast of the island, were masters of the channel: these naked tribesmen smothered their bodies with sea lion fat to protect them from the icy waters and fed off the fish stock of the Beagle Channel.

Their northern neighbours the Onas were nomadic hunters roaming the undulating woodland to the north of the island beyond the Andes. It was their warning system, which they initiated when Fernando de Magallanes arrived in 1520, of lighting fires and filling the air with smoke to alert fellow tribesmen further down the coast that christened the island Tierra del Fuego.

Photo by Frances Holloway

Although various explorers and missionaries passed through or settled on the island between the 16th and 19th centuries, the town of Ushuaia was first put on the map in 1902 when Argentine authorities decided they liked what the British had done with Australia and founded a prison colony in Tierra del Fuego. The isolated location and harsh climate made Ushuaia an ideal setting for punishment and abandonment.

The prisoners contributed greatly to the building of the city. They constructed roads, the electric grid and sewage system and laid the railway tracks, which are used today for the tourist train to the end of the world.

In the fifties the prison closed and the Argentine government found other ways to populate the region. These included tax exemptions, an electronics industry and the naval base.

This period of immigration was marked by the moving houses. As Tierra del Fuego was still not a province and no one owned land the new inhabitants built portable houses and were often seen lugging their abode from one spot to the next as they were turfed off or just fancied a change.

Now people don’t need any encouraging moving down to Ushuaia: with unexplored mountains, a bay populated by penguins, whales and sea lions, a national park and traditional estancias all on the doorstep both winter and summer tourism possibilities are endless.

For more information, please visit Canal Fun: www.canalfun.com; Wintek Expediciones: www.wintekexpediciones.com.ar; Bus Trip: www.citytourushuaia.com.ar

Accommodation Advice:

Ushuaia has made it onto many travellers’ hit lists in the last few years and dictated by demand the offer of accommodation has increased and diversified. The range of accommodation in the austral city and surrounding area includes five star hotel resorts, remote estancias immersed in forest, cabañas overlooking the bay, wild camping in the mountains and city hostels for the budget traveller. I explored a few of the options…

Photo Courtesy of Las Hayas

Las Hayas Hotel

Las Hayas This five star luxury hotel, designed to resemble a medieval castle, dramatically sits on a throne of mountains embedded in natural forest. The 96 individually designed rooms are classically decorated using the finest materials. The heavy wood furniture, fluffy carpets and abundance of lamps exude luxury while the patterns of the cloth wallpaper carefully reflect and compliment the patterns of the curtains and bed clothes creating a natural harmony in each room. The Martial restaurant with a panoramic view is an ideal spot to watch night fall over Beagle Bay while tasting the hotel speciality, Antarctic king crab. www.lashayashotel.com

Utaka Cabañas Perched on a hill over looking the bay these three small wooden huts run by Graciela Gamarino and husband Ricardo Lovisolo offer a homely refuge for a group of friends or family. Graciela and Ricardo came to Ushuaia in 1971 when population was less than 4% of what it is today. “There were just three streets in Ushuaia back then and you could only read yesterdays’ newspapers,” she remembers. On a clear evening you can sit out on the balcony and watch the deep purple sunset. Graciela describes how “the scene changes minute by minute as the sun sinks beneath the horizon”. www.utaka.com.ar

Photo by Frances Holloway

Yakush Hostel

Yakush The first hostel in Ushuaia was opened by brothers Damian and Cristian Muriel in 1986 on returning from a back-packing trip around Europe. In the first years only the hardy travellers made it as far south as Tierra del Fuego and you can read some of their traveller’s tales in 20-year-old guestbook. yakush@speedy.com.ar

Haruwen This traditional family estancia 35km from Ushuaia also run by Damian has a guesthouse for hosting groups of travellers. The refuge is decorated with animal skins, old artefacts and framed newspaper cuttings. Over delicious homemade alfajores and fresh coffee, Damian, a born and bred fueguino, shows me his collection of photos that tell tales of shipwrecks, beached whales and excursions to Mitre, the most remote point of the island. www.haruwen.com.ar

Photo courtesy of Asociación MAPU/ Johannes Schade

“We want simple things,” Atilio Curiñanco of the Santa Rosa community says to me through a crackling connection. “Most people don’t understand that.”

It is 11th February, and in three days the families of the community of Santa Rosa will mark the two-year anniversary of their reclamation of their ancestral territory. In the early hours of 14th February 2007, Atilio, his wife Rosa Nahuelquir, and 30 others of Mapuche descent stepped over a rusted fence and began cultivating and camping on a piece of land from which their grandparents had been displaced over 100 years ago. The land, a sizable 535 hectares, stretches alongside the small mountain town of Leleque in the province of Chubut, about 180km south of the tourist town of Bariloche.

The soil in Leleque is both rich for cultivation and rich with history. Historians believe the Mapuche, or ‘People of the Earth’ as their name means in their native Mapudungun language, have been living in the fertile valleys of the Patagonian Andes for more than 13,000 years. With the creation of state of Argentina, the Mapuche were decimated and displaced by military campaigns of extermination such as ‘The Conquest of the Desert’ from 1876-1896 led by General and former President Julio Argentino Roca, aimed specifically at wiping out native communities.

Encouraging the colonisation of Patagonia, the Argentine government awarded 900,000 hectares of confiscated Mapuche land to the British company, Tierras de Sud Argentino who held onto it until in 1991, when it was purchased by the Benetton Group for US$50m, making the Italian clothing company the largest private landholders in all of Argentina.

To Benetton – which pulls in over 2 billion euros annually, is a major producer and exporter of wool and mutton in the region, and is currently exploring the possibility of mining in the area – those “simple things” that Atilio speaks of are a simple matter of stealing private property. In response to the small hand-tended crops, the short metal-roofed huts, the water tank, and the Mapuche flags, Benetton claims irreparable damage is being done to the land and has met the community with criminal charges, restrictive measures, and an ongoing legal battle for possession.

Edgardo Monosalvo, lawyer for the community of Santa Rosa, says that Benetton’s bitter fight to retain this fraction of their extensive holdings, is “purely and exclusively an issue of pride”. He says that when the Mapuches set up camp on the territory, Benetton had not been using it for anything and he believes the company has no specific plans for its future. 

Photo courtesy of Mapuche Nation

So far, judges involved in the case have rejected Benetton’s criminal charges as well as claims that the land is being irreversibly damaged and their request for its return to the company for the duration of the trial for possession. 

“We have won two hard battles,” Monosalvo says, but the past two years of legal proceedings, claims, appeals, and the rest, he says have been “exhausting for the community”. In the coming months, the Mapuches and Benetton will begin presenting arguments and evidence as part of the trial for possession. However it is unclear when the trial for ultimate property rights, different from those of possession, will begin, says Monosalvo.

To many, the chances of a small community of Mapuches winning possession of hectares owned by a private corporate giant such as Benetton would seem like a noble but lost cause. That is if it weren’t for a pesky article buried in Argentina’s constitution that gives the community of Santa Rosa and many other indigenous communities entrenched in similar battles a foundation from which to fight.

Amended only in 1994, section 17 of article 75 of the national constitution is surprisingly explicit about the recognition of indigenous peoples “ethnic and cultural pre-existence” to the state of Argentina, and “recognises the legal capacity of these communities to the possession and property of land that they have traditionally occupied.”

The application of this constitutional amendment, however, is of course left up to each province to manage. Because of its relative newness, Monosalvo says, provincial judges are slow to apply the amendment and generally defer to the civil codes of private property.

“It’s not that the civil code isn’t applicable, but when there is a case of an original community, the judges have to apply the constitutional law and give it priority,” he says.

Backed by this constitutional amendment, Monosalvo and the Santa Rosa community have reason hope. “Ten years ago you couldn’t even think about doing something like this.”

More than Land

Though embroiled in a legal fight over a specific piece of territory, for the Mapuches of Santa Rosa, the struggle is for more than just territory but for recognition of their history, culture, and understanding of the land. 

“I am a native, born and raised here,” says Atilio, whose father worked as a farmer on a ranch owned by Tierras de Sud Argentino.

“Many have died in this place and left their blood in the earth. This is a call to attention for the Mapuche thought and way of life.”

There are currently more than 300,000 Mapuches and those of Mapuche descent living in Argentina, the majority of whom make up the urban poor in Andean cities like Esquel or Bariloche, live in shantytowns, struggle to find work, and are for the most part removed from the rural ways of life of their grandparents.

Darío Duch, lawyer, long-time advocate for the Mapuches, and now a councillor for the city of Bariloche, says that the conflict between the community of Santa Rosa and Benetton is ultimately a question of culture.

Photo courtesy of Asociación MAPU/ Johannes Schade

“It should be understood,” Duch says, “that indigenous territory isn’t just a piece of land that can be traded for another, but a specific cultural space that has a great spiritual importance.” Unlike the logic of private property, where “everything can be bought and sold”, Duch says that the Mapuches operate under the idea of communal property that “doesn’t belong to one person or one family, but a whole community”.

Though in writing the constitution grants indigenous communities rights to their ancestral territory, in practice, Duch says, there is little interest in actually fulfilling them because they are seen as standing in the way of economic development and a particular notion of progress.

“The province wants private investment, just like the national government, because they generate dividends and royalties.” When a hydroelectric, mining, foresting – or in this case clothing – company, wants to set up shop in the region, Duch says “the politicians lean toward the companies because they say they will bring work which shouldn’t be rejected”.

“And of course,” he adds, “there is corruption in the middle in the form of some type of commission, though the politicians deny it.”

Symbolic Struggle

While the timeframe for victory for the Santa Rosa community remains unclear, the implications of it are crystal. If the constitutional amendment is ultimately upheld and Santa Rosa gains possession of the 535 hectares, “everyone is going to begin reclaiming territory with their own hands, and hope that the state recognises them,” Duch says. Yet he admits, each case will be different and will each require a protracted legal battle.

In the meantime, Atilio says that Mapuches of Santa Rosa are  “not mourning and waiting for things to happen”, but are “doing what needs to be done” to meet their basic needs and keep the community going.

His voice full of passion, Edgardo Monosalvo says that though they are facing two long trials that may not be resolved for years, he is proud to defend the community and that the Mapuches have taught him “how to resist with joy in the face of injustice”.

“We know we are going to win,” he tells me calmly.

And when they do? Well, he says, “There’s a lot more land to reclaim in this country. This is historic.”

Photo by Laura Trythall

My parents had already been in Buenos Aires for a week. This time had not gone as well as any of us had hoped. My ‘new porteño lifestyle’ (as I like to call it) had clashed with my parents’ (somewhat misplaced) expectations of their long-lost wonderful middle child.

After seven days of sleeping through my alarm and keeping my parents waiting – ‘my lazy cow lifestyle’ as they like call it – I had some way to go in climbing out of their bad books. Having witnessed the oohs and aahs of people who had been, I looked to the Lake District for help. The weather forecast showed a lovely round full sun logo and 29?C in Bariloche, my parents agreed tentatively and that was that.

A little concerned to hear the Aerolineas cabin crew inform us that the temperature on the ground was 4°C as I sat in flip-flops and t-shirt, I contemplated a potentially disastrous second week. However, when we landed the sky was clear blue, the sun was rising and by the afternoon the temperature had soared to the high 20s. My parents were already starting to smile.

Though I had been zealously recommended the Lake District by many, few advised the journey along the dust road through the seven lakes. A popular option is to find your spot and to base yourself around the surrounding lake. After all, once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all right? Wrong. The charm and outstanding beauty of the route defies description. I persuaded my parents to rent a car to take full advantage of the Ruta de los Siete Lagos; therein lay my triumph. We picked up the car from the airport, unfolded the maps and whacked on our only CD, ready for the Saga tour ahead.

Our heads full of friends’ and guide books’ praise we had high expectations, but nothing can fully prepare you for the sheer beauty of the National Park. ‘Breathtaking’ is a somewhat overused word, but the vistas truly did take our breath away as we steered our trusty Corsa from Bariloche onto the A231 towards Villa la Angostura and caught our first view of Lake Nahuel Huapi.

Photo by Laura Trythall

Over the next three days we would see more natural beauty than some people see in a lifetime (and my parents’ like for me would be restored), but at the moment we were happy joining the oohers and aahers as we drove along the north shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi, marvelling at the cobalt blue water and the sheer immensity of the sky reflected in its glassy surface. Patagonia experts will be well-versed with the area’s wide vistas, and it is this vastness of the open skies, but the unspoilt beauty of the lakes and their surrounding wooded slopes makes it all the more spectacular.

The 150km stretch from Bariloche to San Martín de los Andes would take four to five hours of driving non-stop – though, given the neck-turning views, this could prove impossible. The Seven Lakes drive begins from a fork off the main Ruta 231 a few miles beyond Villa la Angostura. You come across a road sign saying simply ‘Chile’ to the left, and Ruta 234 (the Ruta Siete Lagos) to your right. Here you begin your journey along the stone and dirt road, which will become your friend for most of the trip. Turn on dipped lights and take it slowly, having made sure your screen washer and petrol are topped up before you set off.

The route runs from here to San Martín de los Andes, a chic little Patagonian town, taking in seven spectacular lakes along the way: Nahuel Huapi, Espejo, Correntoso, Escondido, Villarino, Falkner and Machónico. Each twist of the road brings you new scenery, from towering peaks to forested hills and each lake is remarkably different, from their colour to their texture. Some lakes’ sandy banks lead down to icy indigo waters while others sparkle turquoise and are fringed by pebble shores. The water glows under the light of the moon as well as the sun and illuminates the sky.

Photo by Laura Trythall

Guardaparques (National Park officers) lodges and campsites are scattered along the route, all in prime locations. The only other manmade landmarks are the occasional hosterias and cafés as well as the miradors (look-out points). The area remains remarkably unspoilt, considering the world-renowned reputation of the place. This may be in part due to the dusty stone-ridden roads but this, it seems, actually adds to the appeal of the place.

The history of the area is also remarkable. The region has a romantic, if not dark, past. The beautiful isolation of the area lent itself to Nazi exiles and it is rumoured that Hitler spent some time in one of the lakeside estates.

While acres of land now sell for millions of dollars, the government once gave land away in an effort to populate the area. Many key areas are still the property of these original families, although none of them within the National Park. Within these boundaries no-one owns any land and it is impossible to build anything. Looking across Lago Nahuel Huapi at the tree-lined far side, the only development, apart from a couple of houses dotted in the trees, was a local kayaking club. As with all the lakes, development is strictly controlled, and motorised water sports are not allowed. You will find the occasional licensed lake tour or fishing boat breaking the flat green surface of the water, but no water-skiers or jet-skiers to spoil the tranquillity. Paddling is a must when you are on the shore, but swimming is doubtless for the brave – after the warm fringes at the water’s edge have lulled you into a false sense of security, the water quickly becomes deep and icy, breathtaking in another sense. Ice-cream body-ache!

Photo by Laura Trythall

A highlight was a sunset boat trip. Only from the water can you truly appreciate the scale and depth of the environment, quite literally. From the clear shallow waters that lap the shores the depth of the lake quickly drops to icy depths of over fifty metres. Our captain pointed out a bright green plant to us that grew all along the steep rock face that bordered one side of the lake. He explained that it was a type of algae that can only grow where there is zero pollution. I cast a thought to Buenos Aires and the stark contrast between the capital and here, a place with the cleanest water and air you could hope for. Argentine night skies have never looked bigger or brighter.

All the usual activities abound from horse riding to hiking, kayaking to rafting, and of course fishing and sailing. In winter skiing takes over, but the lakes continue to look magnificent with the bordering mountains shrouded in snow. As with most Latin American tourist hotspots, the rewards are magnified by visiting out of season. Whilst the weather is at its best during the peak summer months, the climate is just as pleasant (if not more so) before or after and the fresh green of spring or the autumnal gold often contribute to prettier scenery. It is also noticeably quieter, which, for some of the sleepy settlements along the route, means deadly quiet but rest and relaxation could be at least two of the lakes’ alternative names. Others could include ‘Fit but don’t you know it’ or ‘Woweeweewaa’.

Weeks later, I am still dreaming about the seven lakes. Turquoise brooks, icy mirrored expanses, and creamy Bariloche chocolate fill my thoughts. Needless to say my parents now love me, but not as much as they love the lakes.

Photo by Laura Trythall

Tips:

Make sure you have lots of film or space on your memory card space as well as fully charged battery. I defy anyone to leave without tens of mirrored ‘which-way-is-up’ photos.

Before you set off ensure your car is filled up – with petrol, windscreen washer and bottled water.

If you can, rent a car. It affords you the freedom to roam at your leisure and explore some of the nooks and crannies around the lakes. A 4×4 would be heaven if you can stretch to one.

Head off the beaten track to Lago Traful, without a doubt my favourite lake. It’s isolation and grandeur are unmatched as is the awe-inspiring view from the Mirador – the best vista in the region, if not the world!

Go now, before the dust road turns to tarmac and the tiny fishermen on the horizon are replaced with the lights from bars.

Photo by Eric Benson

It’s long past midnight high up in paradise, and Atilio Csik’s hand-rolled cigarette has cast a wispy haze across his mountain cabin. Atilio washes down the smoke with a gulp of red wine, then continues to regale three eager city slickers with a patient profile of his life in the mountains.

He’s no raconteur. He prefers to explain the right of public access to rivers and lakes rather than to wax on about the adventures that have coloured his 28 years in the mountains. But he plainly likes conversation. At 1.30am, with only a few amber lights still glowing, Atilio finishes his wine and sets off to bed. He will wake up long before sunrise the next morning, setting off on one of his occasional journeys out of the mountains and in to town.

Every day of the year, Atilio’s home, a wooden cabin perched above the Río Azul, is open to throngs of hikers seeking a warm meal, mate, and a place to rest their heads. Refugio Cajón del Azul, the public name of Atilio’s home, is set against the startling beauty of the Andean Comarca of the 42^nd Parallel, a mountainous area west of El Bolsón and Lago Puelo that has become of one Argentina’s most treasured wilderness sanctuaries.

In 1960, the Club Andino Piltriquitron (CAP) was founded to help open these mountains to those who felt their call most strongly. CAP began with only a few refugios (the name given to these South American alpine hiking huts) but has now swelled to become a confederation of 11 with a network of trails crisscrossing the peaks and valleys of the region. Most of the CAP refugios are privately owned and operated, gaining entry into the CAP network based on their adherence to the group’s governing philosophies, which emphasise conservation and low-impact, non-exploitative, alpine tourism.

Photo by Eric Benson

On an early December trip to the region, I made the trek up Piltriquitron, carelessly underestimating the snow and freezing winds at the top. I arrived back at the refugio with a growling stomach and numb fingers. Inside, I found a crackling fire, oven-cooked pizza, and the refugio’s own home-brewed beer.

My experience in Atilio Csik’s refugio, Cajón del Azúl, was no different. Cajón del Azul lies a three-hour trek from Wharton, a place that is nothing more than a four-way intersection an hour’s bus ride from the centre of El Bolsón. The hike up is spectacular – the trail winds along the side of the strikingly turquoise Rio Azul as it cascades down from its glacial source.

Thirty minutes into the hike, you find yourself making a perilous crossing of two bridges that, in my mind, have come to define the word ‘rickety’ (think ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’, subtract a few planks from the bridge and stop worrying about the crocodiles).

Photo by Eric Benson

Once you cross these treacherous obstacles, you find yourself deep in the forest, occasionally peeking out at the river and the rest of the Comarca range as you make the steady ascent towards the refugio.

The final approach to Cajón de Azul evokes a sense of fairytale wonder. You’ve been navigating perilous bridges, scrambling over rock faces, and trudging up and down an endless series of heavily wooded hills, and suddenly you find yourself in a bucolic clearing with a vegetable garden, a bright green lawn, and an immaculate log cabin.

It has a perfect, somewhat eerie beauty. When I knocked on the door, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a grinning wolf dressed in an old woman’s rumpled garb.

Cajón del Azul does have its own grinning wolf, but he’s of the most benevolent sort. Atilio, with his wizened face and full white beard, has a mythic air about him that is reinforced by the romantic arc of his life story.

Born to Hungarian immigrants in Buenos Aires, Atilio left the bustle of the city behind at the age of 27, purchased the property on which Cajón del Azul currently sits, and began a life of rugged isolation that would put Henry David Thoreau to shame. For 12 years, he lived exclusively off the land, raising crops, livestock, and his own family, before converting his home into a refugio in 1992.

Like Refugio Piltriquitron, Cajón del Azul is a careful mix of wilderness and bare bones humanity. There’s electricity, but it depends on a series of old car batteries. The lights in the central room range from dim to dimmer as the batteries slowly lose their charge. Every few hours there is a brief blackout before Atilio or one of his staff members hooks a new battery into the system. Then, the flickering towards darkness resumes again.

Photo by Eric Benson

There are hot showers at Cajón del Azul, but they’re only available for a few hours at night. The oven is wood burning, and specialises in pouring out rich stews and warm bread – the perfect complement to the starry mountain night.

This fairytale existence, however, is in peril. Tourism to the area is unrestricted, and in the height of the January season, Atilio found himself playing host to as many as 280 guests. It’s his policy never to turn a hiker away, a decision that reflects his idealistic hospitality, but also results in overcrowding.

Lest anyone think that financial concerns drive this inclusiveness, Atilio says that when the place is packed, he lowers prices if he doesn’t think the experience is up to par. I didn’t need to hear this to know that the bottom line had little to do with the workings of Cajón del Azul.

When my hiking companion asked if he could buy one of the Cajón del Azul T-shirts that Atilio and his three staff members were wearing, Atilio gave a soft smile and replied that he regretted that he couldn’t please my friend, but that ‘he didn’t like engaging in that sort of commerce’. My friend was never so pleased to have been refused service.

Despite this anti-commercial posture, Cajón del Azul and the rest of the CAP refugios have embraced tourism even as worries mount that the growing numbers may compromise the area’s splendour.

Photo by Eric Benson

“The era of massive tourism coincides with the era of greatest risk to the forest,” Atilio said in our late night conversation. He cited the increasing number of fires that have torched the region in the last 15 years, many due to human carelessness, and to the growing incursion of foreign plants that has crowded out fragile local species.

Protecting the Comarca from the full brunt of human development relies on the continued collaboration of public and private forces. All the land in the Comarca is privately owned, much of it by cattle and sheepherders who use the high plateau as pasture area. Yet, all of the land in the Comarca is under the stewardship of the provincial government. If a landowner in the Comarca wants to do so much as fell a tree on his property, he must consult with a provincial officials before legally carrying it out. It means a lot of hassle, but also a real commitment to conservation.

Even in this carefully controlled zone, the balance of tourism and nature is a constant concern. In the last ten years, three new mountain houses have cropped up within an hour’s walk of Cajón del Azul, threatening to inflate the already high number of visitors.

One of the new mountain houses, Refugio El Retamal, is a year-round CAP refugio that is a kind of sister facility to Cajón del Azul. The other two houses, La Playita and La Tronconada, occupy a more shadowy area in the Comarca landscape.

Neither La Playita nor La Tronconada has been granted entry into the CAP, and both advertise their presence with the commerce-promoting signs that Atilio shuns. One of the bylaws of the CAP is that refugio owners should “impede the creation of other similar mountain houses in the areas serviced by already existing refugios”. It would be silly to cast the owners of these new mountain huts as crass capitalists, but their decision to do business on the mountain poses another risk to the delicate balance between access and exploitation.

Photo by Eric Benson

While the Comarca is an increasingly popular summer destination, it’s worth remembering that its exposure to humanity is limited almost completely to a two-month window. In the winter, Atilio spends his time in almost complete isolation at Cajón del Azul, working on carpentry projects and relaxing amid the snowy splendour. The only interruptions to his solitude are visits from his daughter and the friends and neighbours who occasionally make the snowy trek from El Bolsón. It’s rare though, that Atilio sees more than 30 people in these winter months.

The charm of the refugios of the Comarca stems from the solitude that they maintain even as tens, even hundreds, of hikers file in and out of their doors. There were 40 other guests staying with me during my night at Cajón del Azul, but as the lights flickered and the last wisps of smoke drifted off Atilio’s cigarette, it could have been the dead of winter.

These mountains, threatened as they are by human incursion, have the spectacular power to make you feel small without feeling lonely. Here, I’ve experienced joyous solitude amid the pleasures of company – a feeling that maybe only a wooden cabin on the side of a mountain can bring.

Photo by Eric Benson

Dressed in a herringbone sweater, khaki shorts, sneakers, and aviator sunglasses, I trudged through the snow and icy winds that swirl around the summit of Cerro Piltriquitron, a jagged mountain in the Andean foothills. I was cold (no doubt owing to my foolish decision to dress like a yachtsman or a polo spectator rather than a trekker), but the surrounding beauty and the prospect of an even greater pay-off on the summit kept me going.

It was up on this peak with my fingers turning numb and brittle, that I decided that I loved El Bolsón.

El Bolsón is a laid-back town surrounded by some really dramatic mountains. It has one main street peppered with plazas and whimsical sculptures, and a population of 27,000 spread among the central village and the surrounding hills that lead up to Cerro Piltriquitron on one side and the Andean Comarca on the other.

As a human place, it’s cozy, but not overly quaint. Twenty-seven thousand is enough of a quorum to have a real community. There are schools, churches, supermarkets, a radio station, and a legion of rusty old Citroens – and, of course, glacial fed white-water rivers, breathtaking mountain vistas, and the massive Lago Puelo lying near by.

The town certainly has its charms, but you’ll want to get out into the mountains early and often. If you’re short on time, you might consider enlisting the services of a tour company – Huara Viajes and Maputur being two of the more well-outfitted – which can arrange for transportation, guides, and certain activities that are difficult to do on your own: rafting, paragliding, visits to chacras (small family farms). Yet, the region can easily be traversed on your own, especially with a little planning and the aid of the tourist information office near the central town plaza.

Photo by Eric Benson

Dr Mario Arnaldo Oyharcabal in front of his home in the El Bolson area

By all means, if there’s only one thing you do in El Bolsón, climb Piltriquitron. Befitting a mountain of its size there are a lot of different ways to make it take advantage of it, ranging from a two-hour jaunt from the Piltriquitron platform to the mountain’s refugio, to a 14-hour journey starting in the town centre and going all the way up to the summit.

Regardless which route you decided on, you’ll end up taking a stroll through Bosque Tallado (Carved Forest), a thirty-work sculpture garden on the side of the mountain. Bosque Tallado places its arresting works against the spectacular backdrop of the Comarca and the valley. In the midst of this rugged landscape, it’s a strange pleasure to come upon these emphatic human footprints.

Twenty minutes from Bosque Tallado lies the Piltriquitron Refugio, a mountain hut where you can stop over for some mate, pizza, or home-brewed beer (the latter is so much better than the watery brews served in Buenos Aires that it’s almost worth the trip just to get a taste).

This is the point at which most travellers will turn back, content at having taken in the sculptures, the remarkable views of the El Bolsón valley, and the refugio’s culinary delights. If you have any appetite for adventure, I would strongly recommend going further.

The summit lies about two-and-a-half hours away from the refugio and makes this journey a world-class day hike. The whole way up, you’ll be treated to soaring vistas, but the summit itself takes the experience to a different level. It’s a craggy column thrust 50 metres above the rest of the ridgeline, offering a 360-degree view of two mountain ranges, the El Bolsón valley and Lago Puelo. It’s an excursion that’s more than worth the exertion.

Once you’re down from Piltriquitron’s rarified heights, you can check out one of the many chacras that pepper the region. I visited Chacra Santa Teresita, the aromatherapy farm where Dr. Mario Arnaldo Oyharcabal practices a sustainable and mindful form of agriculture. He uses herbs like Rosemary en lieu of chemical pesticides, and creates mounds of compost to use as a natural fertiliser.

Dr. Oyharcabal also raises sheep and chickens, selling much of his produce. In the afternoons, he can be found tending his grounds or sitting in his elegant, erudite office, consulting with patients as to the proper aromatic solutions for their ailments.

Photo by Eric Benson

Other options in the area include rafting Río Azul (a relatively tranquil ride on chilly glacial waters), visiting the spectacular Lago Puelo (a deep and massive lake bordered on all sides by snow-capped peaks), or going on any number of shorter treks from town (one of the nicest is ‘Cabeza del Indio’ (Indian’s Head), a face-like rock formation that offers excellent views of the valley and Lago Puelo).

El Bolsón offers plenty of choices for accommodation. In the summer, pitching a tent at one of the region’s many campgrounds would be an ideal way to pass the nights. If you’re more inclined toward a bed than a sleeping bag though, there are plenty of places to stay in town. The elegant and affordable bed & breakfast La Posada de Hamelin is an especially choice (and affordable) spot, with cozy rooms, a homemade breakfast every morning, and helpful hosts who can direct you toward the best routes up the mountains.

El Bolsón is a worth a trip any time of year, but two standout times are the autumn, when the valley turns a brilliant red and gold and the mountains are still accessible; and the late spring, when the El Bolsón Jazz Festival swings into town. The festival, started by local musicians Alejandro Aranda, Juan Merlo, and Viviana Russo, now brings in many of the top jazz musicians from Buenos Aires and beyond. All daytime events are free of charge, and even if you spend the afternoon trekking or rafting, there’s plenty of jazz to catch at night – the jam sessions that stretch into the wee hours are especially worth hearing.

If you’re beginning to feel a tad claustrophobic in the bustling streets of Buenos Aires, then by all means strap on a pack and head down to El Bolsón. Go south, young man!

El Bolsón is a two-hour bus trip from Bariloche. Companies like Vía Bariloche! and Andesmar run buses nearly every hour during the day.

Tourism companies:

Huara Viajes: www.huaraviajesyturismo.com.ar

Maputur: www.maputur.com.ar

Accommodation:

La Posada de Hamelin: www.posadadehamelin.com.ar

Ruta 40 – Argentina’s Route 66 is the country’s longest road. Running almost the entire length of the country, a trip from top to bottom shows a diverse range of landscape. The Argentina Independent sent two intrepid reporters to discover the northern and southern extremes, and to see if it is more than just a road…

The North

Photo by Elizabeth Clancy

That’s the problem with small towns: the lack of choice. The long, enthralling drive from Salta had left us peckish, but a lack of options meant we had to wait for the curiously named ‘Los 3 Chinos’ restaurant to open at who-knows-what hour. No choice but to watch the handful of village kids spill onto the dirt football pitch. No choice but to watch lightning flash innocuously above the vast mountains. No choice but to place our beer on the jagged mud wall and amble onto the arena for a kick of the ball.

We had joined Ruta 40 that afternoon in Cachi, and made a tough decision not to stay in that beautiful, spotless town of cobbled streets and adobe houses whose low roofs ducked modestly beneath the grandeur of the sierra. We had given the romantic evening air of Cachi’s Plaza 9 de Julio a miss, and with it the chance of seeing the dying sun bathe the façade of Iglesia San José in deepening shades of gold.

But we did not regret swapping this for the play of morning light in Molinos, after the street-game laughter of boys and girls had given way to peaceful slumber in a $30 hospedaje. Taking its cue from Cachi, Molinos cast a calming spell that remained unbroken as we followed the Río Calchaquí south to Cafayate.

The winding, crushed-rock road commanded a slow pace, ideal for soaking up scenery and spotting roadside hitchers such as the San Carlos farmhand off home for siesta or the two girls escorting their wizened abuelita to a doctor’s appointment.

Along the route, the river kept the valley floor green and fresh, where elsewhere the elements had battered rock into otherworldly shapes, most notably the pink arrowheads of the Quebrada de las Flechas.

Photo by Elizabeth Clancy

In Cafayate, we ditched the car in favour of bikes hired for the cost of an empanada, back-tracking up Ruta 40 to taste limey torrontés wine at the 150-year-old Bodega La Banda before a sobering dip in the retro town pool.

Where Molinos appealed for its simplicity, Cafayate was full of places to stay and reasons to linger. Indigenous stallholders sold everything from ceramics and Andean rugs to ponchos woven from the wool of the baby llamas we would later see roaming the puna between the mining town of San Antonio de los Cobres and the shimmering salt pans of the Salinas Grandes.

Instead of having to wait for the 3 Chinos – who, incidentally, never showed up – we could take our pick of places to delve into north-eastern cuisine.

Upon good advice, we ended up with local malbec and barbecued baby goat at a packed house at El Patio, where dreams evoked by the timeless landscapes were sung over the relentless strumming of a guitar.

By Ed Merrison

The South

Photo by Charlotte Turner

‘Patagonia’s most present characteristic is its endless expanse of nothingness, both an attraction and a lesson in boredom for the overland traveller’, I read as the plane veered its course towards El Calafate.

Having found a direct flight out of Ushuaia for the same price as a 2-day bus/ weather-dependent ferry/bus/overnight stop in ‘wind-pummelled service town’/bus option, I had, happily, forfeited the first leg of the Ruta 40 that starts in Río Gallegos.

Instead, watching the ill-defined gravel road snake its path through the wide, brown Patagonian plains proved no better introduction to the utter sense of isolation that both the route and its setting inspire.

And anyways, I’m told that this is where it starts to get exciting. From here the road runs parallel to the Andean cordillera, crossing some of Argentina’s most inaccessible parts and passing by some of its archaeological and geographical gems.

None of these sparkle more brilliantly than the glaciers around El Calafate. This lake-side town is text-book ‘tourist’ – overpriced, overcrowded and tacky – it’s the nearby Perito Moreno and Los Glaciares national parks that pull the crowds.

By day the streets clear as visitors are either day-tripping to the parks or cramming themselves into the main street’s put upon supermarket, frantically stocking up on biscuits for the long journey out of town.

Obviously, you don’t come all this way not to go on a glacier safari. Taking a boat up close to the 60m-high wall of Perito Moreno or overlooking the snout of Upsala glacier – South America’s largest – it is hard to find the best camera angle or the right word to do the hunks of ice justice. Time to wheel out the big-gun adjectives – magnificent, awe-inspiring, breath-taking – that sort of thing.

A three-hour side-step by bus takes you towards the jaggedy, granite peaks of the Fitz Roy Range and into the hills and meadows of El Chaltén. I found myself happy as a pig in clover in this magical little place – climbing mountains, camping in the wild, swimming in glacial lakes – this is the kind of setting where even the grubbiest of souls can get a good spring clean.

A week later I arrive back in El Calafate. My R40 adventure was about to begin.

Photo by Charlotte Turner

There are three ways to tackle the road: hire a car (requires patience and cash, lots of – this is a very long drive and this option is frighteningly expensive); go on an organised four-day road trip (Overland Patagonia offer the trip from Nov – Mar for $950, food not included); or take the cheapest option and buy a bus ticket for $220 with El Chaltén Travel bus company – quite literally the only one that dares to go where others think it’s best not.

Divided into two 12-hour journeys, the first runs to Perito Moreno (town), where everyone, very cosily, stays at the same hostel that is booked and paid for when you by the ticket. Then you take another bus that heads toward the blessedly (trust me, it will seem this way when you get there) tarred and oh so sealed highways around El Bolsón, and then Bariloche.

Two hours into the first journey, I’d seen three Australian water pumps, two cars, a whole lot of steppe (shrub like plant that covers the ground) and the emergence of a battle of the wills on board the bus. Rude Dutch man opens roof window, it is hot and he needs to cool off. Nice French lady is being rained on by dust pouring in from outside, she shuts the window. Round One…

… Round Seven. I cast my mind back to a friend in Buenos Aires who laughed out loud in my face when I told him of my plans to take this part of the Ruta 40. With an irritating self-righteousness he had informed me that ‘they don’t have any buses that can manage that road, you have to go round it via Comodoro Rivadavia and Puerto Madryn on the Atlantic coast’. Ha! Look who has the last laugh now friend, I say to myself, seven-hour bottom ache just setting in and finding it hard to manipulate my lips into a smile, let alone shut them, after having inhaled so much dust.

Just in time before the rocking in chair/tugging at hair stage of boredom took hold, we make a stop at a rickety wooden estancia, one of the very first I’d seen in over eight hours of travel. We all feast on home-baked (no shops round here) pie, go to the loo and scan the barren, dusty land looking for life. Nope, none there.

In fact, the only signs I spotted were the elderly couple who run the cafe, an ominous cow’s skull presiding over the doorway and a couple of pet monsters, sorry guanaco’s (deer-like creature native to these parts) – one of which attacked me and sent me running back to the dreaded bus.

Later that night, we arrived in the pretty, lake-side oasis of Los Antiguos – world-famous for its annual cherry festival. With a sense of timing that so often accompanied me on my travels, I had arrived a day late: cherry town one day, cherry-pip town the next. But, thankfully, by the time I left town I had easily managed to devour my fair share of the glorious red fruit.

Trips to see the rock art at the ‘Cuevas de Las Manos’ (Hand Caves) can be arranged from here or from Perito Moreno (town) which is just a half hour away and back on the R40. Dating back to 7370BC, these polychrome rock paintings cover recesses in the near vertical walls with thousands of imprints of human hands. One of them has six fingers! See if you can spot it.

Photo by Charlotte Turner

Heading back to the hostel in Perito Moreno that evening, I catch sight of a big painted wall on the main street. The picture is of a man waving his fist triumphantly in the air under the words ‘Perito Moreno is radical!’ It doesn’t take me long to realise that this is political propaganda, not a message from the local tourist board. Luckily, the bus north leaves early.

The second leg of the journey was much like the first – lots of steppe and few cars. Interestingly, I saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road.

Good reading intentions were soon set aside. My ‘Complete History of Latin America’ and my friend’s copy of Cervantes in Spanish quickly found their rightful places wedged between the seats with the biscuit crumbs. It was time to surrender to the onboard entertainment programme, this was no time to be fussy. A quasi-religious teen-snowboarding movie and two Vin Diesel films coloured/ruined the journey, but nicely passed the time.

That evening we pulled up in the town of El Bolsón – fruity, beery and lovely. After a couple of weeks spent drinking raspberry juice and working on a farm, it was time take the last leg of the R40 to Mendoza via Bariloche. Here, the road is like any other and several bus companies do the job.

Leaving in the late afternoon we travelled far enough north to see the sun set over Chile’s perfect conical volcanoes. If there is one thing you remember about Patagonia, it’s the sky. Endless streaks of amber and red soon disappeared into the twilight, revealing yet another night’s sky dripping with stars.

Nearing Mendoza the next morning, I woke to a syrupy-sweet coffee and the awesome spectacle of mighty Aconcagua – the tallest peak in the Western Hemisphere – looming in the distance.

By Charlotte Turner

For El Chaltén bus timetables visit www.thetravellersguru.com or www.overlandpatagonia.com