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Bariloche to El Bolsón |
March 11, 2012
Today we're supposed to take a bus ride to the little hippie-hiker
community of El Bolsón.
David gets us up an hour late, having failed to account for daylight savings
time, which change was accommodated by his alarm clock but not by the country of
Argentina, which rejected the practice in 2009. This leaves little time
for breakfast and checkout. The 1/3-mile
walk to the shuttle bus with all my luggage proves problematical, because the
wheels on my suitcase don't handle the coarse gravel very well.
An attempt to transfer shuttles fails again, so we must hail a cab for the remaining mile to the major bus terminal. At some point, I ask David whether it is like this on all of his trips.
But make connections we do. At the terminal, dogs lie around
in the middle of the aisles hoping for a handout, and I must pay for toilet
paper — another first. A little man hands ut tiny rolls
for an expected gratuity, as indicated by the sign that reads, "Your
tip is my salary."
The two-hour bus ride traverses a virtually unpopulated forest with some
pretty rugged mountain spires showing at times. The driver is not
programmed to stop for photo-ops; so I have no pictures of the journey.
In El Bolsón, at least, stores and restaurants are within easy
walking distance. Our little hostel is a bit strange. The lobby
being unattended much of the time, entry is accomplished via a padlocked gate
on the next street. At our former top-rated hotel I slept in a
three-foot-wide bed; now I have the luxury of a queen-sized
model. Go figure. David is happy in one of the bunk beds.
Our room
After checking in, we head back up main street in a light rain for our
first try at a pizza, something that supposedly is extra-good here
due to Argentina's Italian heritage. The thick crust is light and
eminently edible; but the ham is exceptionally salty, and when one asks for
black olives one gets half a dozen whole, unpitted olives on top.
Mushrooms are available on only one of the 30+ menu items, but I could have
trout if desired. I'll probably try pizza again on this trip, but I
doubt that it will change my opinion that if you want a good one, go to
America where the modern-day, goodie-laden pizza was invented
(at 57th & J in Sacramento, by the way).
We cannot access much area hiking info yet, because the mountain information center is closed on Sunday. Our host says that it will be a sunny day tomorrow, but the weather page calls for cooler temperatures and a 60% chance of rain. Needing to do something, however, David and I take a walking tour of the town:
Looking east over the downtown area
A short distance from our room
David admonishes me to keep my $500 camera hidden, and I finally get to use my new windbreaker to ward off the occasional raindrop.
Downtown scenes
In Buenos Aires, most of the art work is on building walls, because that is all that is available; here, murals are painted on fences and signposts as well.
Some of this stuff is wonderful! Due to their more generally festive themes, these drawings are more pleasant to view than most of the graffiti in American cities.
At the front door of the city library
After a second pint of ice cream in as many days, David proclaims that this will be his last. Do you believe that?
Our street (back entrance)
They lock up this place pretty well
Rain or shine, we'll be doing some walking tomorrow.
