On board the Mamasita: Part II

This is the second part of my adventures through Patagonia.

7 November—El Calafate, Argentina

Drove to Calafate.

Nancy, Ramona and I shared a pizza for lunch, although by the time we ventured out it was around 4:30pm. Looking out the window, the three of us were amused to see the boys standing on the pavement, laughing their heads off, the reason unapparent to us until a saw the sign on the stop next to them, which read ‘Tit’ followed by a picture of an icecream. The whole thing was meant to read ‘Tito’ but it just looked like ‘tit’ and the boys were finding it very funny. We laughed at them laughing at ‘tit’.

I spent the afternoon walking around with Nancy, picked up a neck-warmer, and then spent three hours in a net café updating my blog. A few people appear to be reading it, which is nice.

I got a bit lost that night so I got myself a coffee and some food in the petrol station and gazed out the window into the darkness. Luckily Becks, Jane and Steph were walking past and I was able to drop my idea of staying overnight at the petrol station (as exciting as that may have been).

8 November – the Perito Moreno Glacier, Argentina

Visited the Perito Moreno Glacier by boat. Every now and again, an immense roar could be heard like Thunder rolling over the glacier and shortly afterwards, the edge crumbled and crashed dramatically into the water. I loved the undulations in the ice and the deep blue folds. This is something that Shelley describes magnificently in her writings.

For dinner, we all went to a crepe restaurant where I had some lovely thick tomato soup and a glass of Malbec. Then I got to pig out of a delicious crepe for dessert with honey, walnuts, banana and cream, and caramel lace as decoration, all for about 50 Argentinean dollars (around AU$17). Good think I heeded Clare’s warning (she had eaten here before) and shared.

I slept incredibly well, and didn’t even get through a page of my book before drifting off.

9 November—to El Chalten, Argentina

Left after breakfast this morning and drove to El Chalten.

10 November—El Chalten, Argentina

Walked to Lago de los Tres, to view the lake and Mount Fitzroy. Can hardly describe the scenery. Sky overcast and leaden. The lakes glistened and changed colour as we moved past them: from frosty white to steel grey, silver or even golden hues, and deep blues. The whole spectrum of the rainbow can be found in those lakes. More tiny wildflowers, red and yellow, along the way; the group stopped when we heard a woodpecker in the tree, and then saw that it was directly above us, furiously pecking away in search of grubs. It had a fabulous, bright red head; presumably the male. Shortly afterwards, another woodpecker, this one with a black head and splendid head-dress of black feathers, that wobbled back and forwards with its funny pecking motion. We were so amused, and lost half an hour at least watching this funny show of nature.

Patches of snow began to appear in the last few kilometers as we drew closer to the Lago de los Tres view-point. I fell behind, and just before the look-out I collapsed in the snow, feeling an immense wave of vertigo washing over me. I tried standing up but I felt like I was going to slip on the ice and go sliding down the mountainside, such was my fear, albeit illogical. The white cover of snow had a funny effect on my eyes, making me unable to tell whether the ground was sloping, or flat, or undulating. Clare was heading back down, so she helped me take little steps back down the slope. I was disappointed to turn back, however I got a good view of the peaks of Mount Fitzroy.

I felt that the middle peak looked like a shark being pulled up towards the sky by an invisible fishing line.

I had a good chat to Clare on the way down. I was tired when we got back. My legs had become, in Juan’s words, “jelly legs”.

11 November—El Chalten, Argentina

Some of the group went iceclimbing today. I stayed in and tried to recover from the cold that is creeping down my system. Drinking ginger tea and honey all day.

12 November—Chilean Fjord coast

Most of the day driving towards the Chilean border. Stayed overnight at a small lodge near the Cuerva de los Manos, in what I think is called the Santa Cruz district. The owner was a heavy man with a slightly grumpy face and white hair, but easily pleased and very chatty.

Visited the Cuerva de los Manos (meaning cave of hands, now a UNESCO site since the 1990s) which I found really interesting, particularly the similarities between the cave art I saw here and cave art in Australia. The way that people, animals, watering holes etc. are depicted, are remarkably similar.

It was a very windy day – helmet blew off and disappeared down the hillside.
Had a long chat that night to the charming young Juan. He had a lot to say about the Chavez government of Venezuela , that echoed Luis’s opinions; the true nature of socialism; the point (or lack thereof) of investment properties; the meaning of happiness, greed in human nature, and so forth. I don't think I'd ever talked to somebody before who was exactly at my level of thinking; we were reading each others thoughts. The clock struck midnight, I got my first birthday hug, and I went back to my bunk with a lot to think about. There was a lot Juan had to say that I didn't know, about the history of latin America. There weren’t enough rooms, so Juan slept on the concrete floor of the kitchen by the heater for warmth.

13 November-- Chilean Fjord coast

What a wonderful, wonderful day. Had porridge for breakfast and some presents – chocolate, the best possible thing to receive on a road trip, from Becks, Claire, Steph and Jane, and a gift from Rob that I haven’t opened yet.

Then back on the road, towards Chile. Nature presented its usual wonders. The Argentinean steppe is, to me, a form of heaven. The soft grass stretches seemingly on forever, and the bordering mountains glisten and provide endless awe and wonder. Meadows of yellow wildflower floated dreamily by. Saw eagles, condors, rabbits, sheep and their young, guanacos and a fox.

Gaetano and Juan decided to take a shortcut over the border, at a road that supposedly turned off at an estancia. We became lost and stopped for lunch at an unknown place by the side of the road. The weather was glorious; the wind had dropped and the sun made a brief appearance, which we felt on our backs. We set up chairs, a table, our washing up bowls, and prepared a pasta. I was delighted to be given the job of chopping tomatoes - my favourite poem is ‘Ode to the Tomato’ by Pablo Neruda, and we were approaching his land. I “assassinated” the tomato in this dreamy setting. Sitting down with a cup of red wine, my pasta, great company, and snow-capped mountains filling the view before me, I thought to myself (and said out aloud), I have never had a better birthday than this one, my 26th.

After lunch, I clambered back onto the Mamasita (I conveniently did the washing up so I was last) and everybody sang Happy Birthday. I was a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but really touched. The girls had constructed a ‘cake’ of a mountain of cup-cakes, with a lit candle on top, and underneath was a sheet of brown paper on which they had drawn balloons. I was seriously touched that they’d done this for me.

Then the boys and I got to ride on the roof of the Mamasita until we reached the control point for Chile. It was the most fun I had had in a long while.

At the control point, we played soccer with a dog and some of the guys that work at the border. The official was taking an incredibly long time to stamp each passport. When I finally got inside, I saw a cheery young man, who was taking his job very seriously hence the delay. Juan mentioned it was my birthday, bless him, and I got a line or two of ‘happy birthday’ in English. I guess the job must be a bit dull and that the officials amuse themselves with soccer, flirting, and making chit-chat with the voyageurs passing through.

We are now over the border. Could not continue on the roof unfortunately. But the view out the window is truly spectacular, and ever-changing. We have passed yellow meadows, flood plains glistening green and silver, waterfalls, gushing streams of white water, mysterious woods that would take a lifetime to explore, and rocky hills that climb to the sky.

Patches of white snow appear from time to time. Let’s hope they will be forever there, outside of the warm season. The soft rolling hills remind me of home in their golden hues, and of the poem ‘I love a Sunburnt Country' by Dorothea Mackellar...

Short, dead trees spout from the ground in places, like hands reaching out from their graves. This country can evoke terror and love simultaneously – what power it has over the spirit and the human mind...

The wildlife is abundant here, though much is hidden to the unwatching eye.