Wrapping It Up

March 30

LAST DAY IN PATAGONIA

Needing to access an airport, a three-hour bus ride returned us to El Calafate for a third visit.  The same youth hostel we had used previously (where everyone is in their twenties except us), tried to assign us a room with a single bed, but we had not been away from home all that long, so we had them change it.  From there, it seemed appropriate to head out for a celebratory overindulgence at the barbecue house.  Doing so involved a mile of walking in virtual darkness on unfamiliar back roads, but we found it and pigged out.

Being back in the world of passable Internet communications, I worked on these journals while David stocked up on wine at very good prices.  Also, I was able to hear my sweetie's voice on the computer phone for the first time in five days.

THE 34-HOUR TRIP HOME

As is normal around here, the shuttle bus to the airport picked us up at our hostel door.  It then proceeded to stop at a dozen other hostel doors before finally heading out of town.  The stupid and unproductive tailgating by the bus driver, even at high speed, would guarantee a non-tip from me even if one were in order.  Perhaps I should choose a seat toward the rear of the bus in the future, so as not to observe this stuff.

I cleared all airport security screenings without being patted down or otherwise molested; but in Argentina and Chile, David rang the bells every time due to metal parts in his boots.  They don't make you remove your footwear down there.

The dreaded ten-hour flight from Buenos Aires to Houston went better for me on the return.  My legs weren't twitchy this time, although my back still was bothersome.  I even enjoyed the chicken dinner.  At both ends of this leg, as soon as the wheels scraped the tarmac on the landing, everybody clapped, "We're alive!  We're alive!"

My three-hour flight from Houston to Los Angeles was delightful.  I was in the back corner with two windows and a row of three seats all to myself, and there was A/C power right at my chair; so I just camped out back there, sipping tomato juice and working on my laptop the entire time.  They didn't offer any pretzels, though, and they didn't bother to tell us to go to the Continental terminal instead of United for our luggage; so we had to walk down there.

The final lap home was delayed more than an hour, and the ride was bumpy.  I was more than glad to be done with it.  At his own insistence, our friend Ali left his business early to come and pick us up in his wife's nice car.

On our final hike to Lago de los Tres, my box lunch included an apple.  As an experiment, I saved it, keeping it in my carry-on bag all the way home, through multiple customs and security checkpoints.  I still have it; perhaps I'll eat it tonight.

GETTING AROUND

As anticipated, everyone was quite friendly.  As far as I know, no one tried to pick my pocket in the big city, and no one complained that our Spanish wasn't up to snuff.  Every place we visited was geared toward the expectation and the accommodation of language differences.  Most store clerks used a desktop calculator, so that they could pick it up and show us the amount of the bill on the display in case we could not understand what they were saying.  Fewer establishments than expected accepted credit cards, although many would take American currency at the current exchange rate of 4.3 pesos to the dollar.

Bus services are exemplary, which was a good thing, because we relied upon them heavily.  Only once did we have to utilize a taxi, and that was to get to a bus terminal!  In general, however, driving in this country is a dog-eat-dog scenario, with little regard being paid either to pavement markings or the well-being of pedestrians.

HOSTEL LIFE

Staying in hostels was yet another new experience for me.  One facility would feature a good bed, but a crummy shower; another would have a nice bath, but its paper-thin walls afforded little privacy whatever.  Only our first accommodation offered a decent breakfast.  Another advertised itself as a Bed & Breakfast, then wanted an extra $3 for eggs and $3.50 for a glass of orange juice.  Back home, such a place would be sued for false advertising.

Of course, hostel regulars are accustomed to such conditions.  What some of them were not prepared for was seeing an old man (me) traipsing in and out with a big red suitcase!  Since everyone else in Patagonia uses a backpack, I felt like an out-of-place tourist at times.

A major irritation at many facilities, including the fancier hotels, is the practice of systematically disabling electrical outlets in public areas.  At one refugio, I paid two dollars to charge a camera battery, there being no electricity at our camp.  In several other places I unplugged a wall lamp so that I could use that outlet.  Later, I actually praised the L.A. airport, because there were laptop tables and battery-recharging stations all over the place.

I probably watched about five minutes of television on the entire trip.  Even though some broadcasting was in English, and I observed any number of non-Engligh-speaking persons with their eyes inexplicably glued to the set at such times, there was nothing interesting to watch other than perhaps some soccer highlights.  Our first hotel did have a number of movie DVDs available.  Some of those could be viewed in English, but only with Spanish subtitles on the screen.  One of the disks, apparently an illegitimate copy, featured a popular actor named "Johnny Deep"; and it wasn't a porn flick, either.

THE FOOD

Naturally, every culture develops its own eating habits and preferences.  Down here, the dinner hour runs from about 8 p.m. to after midnight.  Most restaurants post their menus prominently, and many are printed in two or even three languages.

I return home, however, with mixed emotions regarding my culinary experiences.  One notable factor is that they don't do much with spices.  It was a week before I even saw a pepper shaker on a table.  Salad dressings as I know them do not exist.  Many dishes are unacceptably bland to this palate.  A good example of this phenomenon is the huge McDonald's advertisement in the Buenos Aires airport, on which a five-foot-wide picture of a Big Mac depicts a bun with a piece of meat — and that's all.  How boring and unappetizing is that?

Most salads consist of just two or perhaps three ingredients — tomato and lettuce, parsley and egg, etc.  I could not find one that sounded tasty enough to order.  Due to a substantial Italian heritage, the pizza industry is highly touted; yet most choices are equally dull and unimaginative — featuring just two ingredients, and no sauce.  If you want a good pizza, go to the Shakey's at 57th and J in Sacramento, where the dish as we know it today was invented.  Oh, wait — it's too late for that; Shakey's is no more.

Steak is probably the most popular food in Argentina.  If you order one, however, you might get a big piece of meat on a plate with nothing else.  Most of the beef offered me was stringy and fatty.  I daresay that many northern Californians don't appreciate how good they have it, being routinely able to purchase far better cuts of Nevada-raised beef and lamb at their local supermarkets than most shoppers in the world can obtain at any price.  And, oh yes, there is no such thing as a refill of anything.  Soft drinks and water bottles routinely cost $3, and coffee ran $4-6 for each tiny cup.  One otherwise ordinary place in Buenos Aires even charged an entrance fee of seven dollars just to sit down.

All that having been said, enjoyable dishes can be found.  My three pasta meals were quite good, as was the El Bolson backyard barbecue where the chef took personal pride in his production.  Some of the restaurants, especially in El Chaltén, were delightful to visit.  Excepting the El Calafate buffet, I believe that David enjoyed all of his food — especially the ice cream, which might well be superior to that made in the U.S.  We are agreed that two essential items to pack for a trip to Patagonia are a tube of mustard and some steak sauce, and I would want a bottle of Spike as well.  Be aware that all foodstuffs are routinely confiscated at the Chilean border, but who is going to notice a couple of bottles in your luggage?

Having gotten all the requisite shots and worst-case-scenario pills from Kaiser in advance of the trip, I even filtered my water intake for the first few days.  Then I stopped bothering, because the tap water in every town I visited is perfectly fine for consumption, and I never had the slightest intestinal issue.  Of course, I had to fill water bottles from the bathroom basin, because there is no such thing as a drinking fountain anywhere.  Naturally, I never bypassed an opportunity to fill up from a glacially fed stream.

The one guaranteed common factor in Patagonia's eating establishments is the presence and domination of Coca-Cola products.  One cannot escape them or their attendant advertising.  In any case, I did not travel to South America for the food.  I went there for:

THE HIKING

It can be difficult to plan a long trip to an unfamiliar place.  After extensive research, David arranged for us to visit four areas known to feature good hiking options.  Of course some down-time was inevitable, and once we relied too heavily on advice from a local visitor center, virtually wasting a day.  Another time we got off the trail, and wandered around a ski area instead of visiting a pristine lake environment.  I blame myself for that, for not being better prepared with GPS coordinates and the like.

Our theoretically well-planned five-day tour of Torres del Paine was severely curtailed by the December fire which consumed much of the accessible portions of the park.  As it was, our camp was just three miles from the devastated area, and the third hike of the tour came within just two miles of the fire zone.  At the time, many in our tour group were upset with the guides for changing the itinerary; but subsequent review of a map of the burn suggests that we were lucky that anything at all remained for us to see.  A legitimate gripe was over the lack of communications between the tour guides and the booking agent.  At no useful time were we apprised of the facts of the situation.

Attempting to compare Patagonia with other hiking experiences is a matter of apples and oranges; it just isn't the same.  Our walks included some truly world-class destinations.  If you want good access to big glaciers, this is the place.  If you enjoy drinking safely from any mountain stream, this is the place.  If you need buses or taxis to shuttle you directly to and from trailheads, they can easily be arranged.  As previously described, the Paine Towers and the Fitz Roy complex rank among the most beautiful vistas on earth, and anyone willing to make the effort can get up-close-and-personal with them.  Additionally, there are many other parks and special places that we did not have time to visit.

Not only did I get to enjoy these wonderful outings, but I personally have benefited in an unexpected way.  After incurring hikes involving what were for me unprecedented statistics in terms of mileage and elevation gains, I have been left feeling very good about this aged body's capabilities, and I need to rethink my planning for future outings.  Whereas an 8-mile walk up a 2,000-foot mountain previously was considered a full day, now a 12-mile hike with a gain of 2,500 feet seems like a relative cakewalk!  Of course, time will tell about that.

MY TRAVELING COMPANION

David was an amazing person to have around.  He made all the arrangements for itinerary, plane flights, bus trips, tours, excursions, and lodging; also, his rudimentary knowledge of Spanish helped to surmount any number of minor difficulties.  I didn't have to do anything but take photographs.

David seemingly is ready and willing to carry on a conversation with virtually anyone.  Of course, being able to speak intelligently on a variety of topics is a big plus.  Since I don't tend to talk much myself, my partner took up the slack.

Thanks, Dave, for a wonderful trip.

A FINAL OBSERVATION

Argentina has the friendliest and most well-adjusted cats I ever saw, and that says something to me about the people themselves.  Would I return?  Probably not, but only because there are too many other places I haven't seen.  Should you pay a visit to Patagonia?  Absolutely.  Pack your windbreaker.