A Penthouse in Bariloche

After an amazing 3 weeks in Chile, I decided it was time to cross the border into Argentina to visit the extremely popular town of Bariloche.  I set off from Ancud, Chiloe at 6:40 am in order to arrive early to the Puerto Montt bus terminal and ensure that there would be at least one departure for Bariloche that day.  I made a reasonably quick connection and was off into the Andes for about a 7 hour bus ride (which is NOTHING!).  It was a pretty noneventful bus ride, and we quickly went from sunshine and warm weather to windy and gray weather throughout the Andes.  There were a number of alpine lakes and reservoirs, but I spent the bulk of my time updating the blog (you're welcome :), reading "Treasure Island" (in case you were wondering who Ben Gunn was from my last post, and also observing fanatic tourists snapping hundreds of photos out of the windows, rather than enjoying the views.

The border crossing was pretty uneventful, with the exception of the photo-opportunistic Chinese tourist we left behind at the Chilean exit point, and I made it to Bariloche by around 7pm.  The hostel I had booked in Bariloche, called Penthouse 1004, was a spectacle in itself.  I had schlepped all of my stuff about 3km to reach the hostel from the bus terminal, and had barely escaped the rain and wind that persisted for the rest of my trip by Lago Nahuel Huapi.  From the top floor of the tallest building in the city, the wind, rain and whitecaps were quite a spectacle.  Check out the photos below from the corner of the penthouse!!

The vibe of the hostel was very friendly and I immediately made friends with some folks from the States, and I went with my new amigo Matt Kolb (from Bend, Oregon) to the store to buy some Argentine steak to cook back at the hostel.  We enjoyed a wonderful dinner with some Malbec and local beer, had an awesome chat with a new friend from Lodi, California named Sorel Roget, and then we all set off to bed at curfew time hoping for an improvement in the weather the following day.

After a great breakfast of locally made bread and jam and real coffee, my Oregonian friend Matt and I set off to catch a local bus and go for a little hike along the "circuito chico" along Lago Perito Moreno in the Llao Llao region.  After being denied entrance to the fancy-schmancy Llao Llao hotel, we walked more or less aimlessly until we found a trailhead leading to the lake, called Sendera Los Arrayanes.  We met an Argentine couple along the path who explained to us that the Arrayanes are tress that grow in only a few places in the world (this being one of them), since they require cold temperatures and wet weather almost year round.  If ever there was a place, this was it!  According to our new friends, the arrayanes trees, pictured below, grow only about one centimeter per year and we were standing amongst a grove of trees several centuries old, though their size was not staggering.  The wind was blasting through the forest and a lot of the taller trees had fallen and were knocking up against each other, but we were enjoying mild weather under protection from the forest.  When we did get to the lake, we found some great views of the surrounding hills and some lakeside willows, and decided we were hungry enough to call it good and head back to the hostel to observe the weather from the penthouse. 

That night, Sorel and Matt and I decided it was time for a full fledged Argentina Parilla - steak in its finest form.  We had heard recommendations from others in the hostel who said they enjoyed a meal eating the best steak and ordering anything they wanted, all for a reasonable price.  And so it was - we met up with two other friends and after a bit of a wait and a 45 minute bar detour, we were seated for dinner at El Boliche de Alberto.  If you google it you will find the best picture of Alberto holding up some HUGE steak (in this case Lomo).  Our dinner there was epic.  We enjoyed a great bottle of Malbec, four filets of Lomo, two larger cuts of "Chorizo" (not to be confused with mexican sausage), salad, french fries, and local beer.  Man oh man was that steak epic!! The filet was like butter, and we were ogling over it the whole time.  The steaks were cut and prepared right by our table and cooked on a huge grill over red hot coals - it was quite an experience - and it cost us like $16 US each. 

Speaking of money, the exchange rate fiasco is quite the topic of conversation in Argentina.  If you use the ATM or charge to credit cards, you will be hard pressed to get a rate any better than 5 or 5.5 pesos to the dollar.  In contrast, using black market "cambios," which are often solicited in the streets, or using a service like XOOM.com, you can get a rate as good as 7.2 pesos to the dollar.  All the stores accept numerous forms of cash and it seems that everyone from tourists to locals to businesses are constantly working to stretch the value of a peso. 

After dinner, the five of us went to an awesome local brewery and enjoyed a wide variety of beers, shared stories about our travels and rasped the Australian for her enjoyment of vegemite.  We had a very succesful night out and we were all happy with the way we finished our time spent in Bariloche.  The next day, after stocking up on local chocolates inspired by the swiss / alpine heritage of the city, we all parted ways and headed in all sorts of different directions.  For me, it was time to say goodbye to northern Patagonia and head back to a warmer climate.  Mendoza was only a twenty hour bus ride away!!  Back to wine country!!!!

One interesting side note is that the flags all around Argentina were flying at half mast to mourn the passing of their fellow south american leader Hugo "Huge Chach" Chavez

The view was worth it!

Due to the complicated nature of coordinating a bus to get across the border of Argentina and into the town of Bariloche from Ancud, I came to the conclusion that it would be best to extend my stay in Ancud by a night, allowing myself a bit of time to secure the necessary arrangements for bus tickets and lodging.  Having made these arrangements, I had from 11am to make one final exploratory adventure on the island of Chiloe, and again I consullted Mirta for her advice on how to spend the day.  My initial thoughs had been to venture down to the city of Castro, by all means the capital city of Isla Chiloe.  My plans quickly changed when Mirta deplored the city of Castro, even going so far as to say "Castro -- es mierda!"  Instead I was jumping on a bus bound for Castro, but with instructions to get off at a junction in the road called Mocopulli, and to hop from there onto a bus headed for the fishing town of Dalcahue. 

Once in Dalcahue after a total of about an hour and a half on incredibly overcrowded local buses, I was determined to search for the next item on Mirta's itinerary, a restaurant identified only by a single sign reading "Cocinera."  Just walking around the city was an adventure, and the air of the city along the eastern coast of Chiloe was filled with the odors of a true seafaring place - oysters and sea breezes and paint from fisherman painting their boats along the shore of the inlet.  My search for the Cocinera ended in vain, so I settled on a panaderia instead, stocking up on empenadas and doritos and then heading for the ferry.  When I got to the ferry dock, I waited for a couple cycles of ferries to cycle through in order to get a lay of the land and make sure I was not about to maroon myself on an island and suffer the fate of Ben Gunn.  Two ferries made a continual loop from the shores of Chiloe acorss to the ferry dock on the island of Quinchao. Pedestrian passangers such as myself didn't need to worry about paying for the ferry service, as their primary purpose was to transport trucks and cars, as well as the one local bus that made it to each ferry crossing.  I walked onto the ferry and we set off for what could't have been more than a 7 minute ride across, and when we were almost ashore I boarded the local bus, which was by this time probably 10 people past its liberal estimates for passenger capacity.  Up to this point the journey had been quite a hassle, especially given the number of people on the bus and the fact that the back of my neck was inches from the ceiling of the short and overcrowded bus. 

Finally I reched the final destination that Mirta had given me: the viewpoint known as Mirador Le Palome, a few kilometers before the city of Achao.  Despite all the buses and uncomfortable situation along the way, the view itself from this mirador was enough to justify both the ida and the vuelta.  From the lookout I could see across a number of small islands scattered around the bay, and in the distance the Andes and the Hornopiren National Park.  Off to the right was the city of Achao, set back a bit from the coastline with a beautiful beach and a lot of naval activity as fishermen were constantly coming and going.  I hung out at the mirador for a good 45 minutes, and a number of people came and went, including a couple that had been sitting next to me the day before on the Penguin excursion.  Once I had taken enough pictures of the view and I had gotten my fill of blackberries growing all around, I walked down into the town of Achao and found another place to grab some more empanadas.  Achao was a very busy place, and there were a ton of seafood processing plants all along the coastline of the city.  If I had been born as a seafood lover, it would have been a match made in heaven, but even so I was glad to walk around in a place so far off the tourist circuit that I was sure I wouldn't speak a word of english all day. 

After setting off from Achao and embarking on a handful of buses, which were by now even more crowded as it was the first day of school for all the children of Chile, who had just finished the last of the summer breaks and filled the buses beyond capacity.  The day had surely been an adventure, and it was a great sendoff from Chiloe.  The next day I would board a bus and cross the border into Argentina, bound for the lakes and mountains of the swiss town San Carlos de Bariloche.

The awkward photos of me were all taken in moments of boredom as I waited for one of the 7 buses I rode during this crazy day!

My First Costumbrista and a Visit to the Pinguineros

The day after my adventures at the first inaugural Ancud Beerfest, I mentioned to Mirta during breakfast that I would more than likely be making a trip to see the penguins of Chiloe, something that seemed almost obligatory for anyone visiting Ancud between September and March.  Once again, I was in luck!!  The rural beach area in which the penguins are found would be very accessible and festive on this particular Sunday, since the Punihuil Costumbrista would be taking place throughout the evening.  This meant that catching a ride there would be much easier and would cost much less than ususal, since there would be large vans taking people back and forth from the beach all day, and the penguin boats would be making visits to the little black and white dudes all day.

When I arrived at Punihuil, I was happy to see that it was not too crowded as of yet, and that the scenery was once again breathtaking.  Immediately after jumping out of the van, I paid about $8, received a life jacket and was on my way to check out the penguins.  I learned a bit about the penguins on the 30 min trip, discovering that these little guys were only about 30 or 40 centimeters tall, are monogamous (our guide likened them to the natives of Chiloe, the Chilotes), and would be taking off from the island pretty soon.  I was happy just to be out on the ocean, and tried my best to get a decent photo of the penguins using my camera phone.  You can see how successful (read: not at all successful) that was below!!

Back on the beach, the vendors were popping up and people had begun to line up for empenadas and seafood dishes, with Chilean music on full blast and plenty of wine and beer was enjoyed on a sunny day here in Punihuil.  The idea behind the costumbrista was still unclear to me, though I did see a bunch of microphones lined up in front of the food vendors, presumably for a bit of a festival that was about to take place. At the moment, all the hulabaloo pertained to the food vendors, or I should say, the one food vendor, for which there were two lines - one line with no fewer than 40 people for the cash register, where you could get a ticket for your food, and then another line to get the food, which was slower and equally as long.  After standing in the wrong line for about 20 minutes, I gave up trying to get a real meal out of it, and decided it would be better to enjoy the day on the long, wide beach with a few cans of beer, some popcorn and some ice cream.  I still stand by this decision!!!  The empenadas looked delicious and were being made right before your eyes, but I am my father's son and I was not about to waste a day on the beach standing in a line!!

I had spent a good three or four hours there before I began to worry about catching a minibus back to Ancud before it was too late.  I was sorry to miss the festival and see what it actually entailed, but Mirta had instilled a bit of fear in me when she told me to make sure not to miss the last ride back into town!  When I got back, I went to a local restaurant, la Chilote Mena, and enjoyed a steak and some papas fritas to cap off another very lucky and successful day on the island of Chiloe!

Arrival in Ancud, on the island of Chiloe

By now its no secret that the destinations of my journey have been selected more or less at random, oftentimes as a result of the availability of a private room on the hostelworld app.  Be that as it may, my destinations have proven to be more than worthwhile, and the uncertainty of the journey has given me even more freedom to follow advice that has been given to me along the way.  Having wrapped up my time in Puerto Varas, with a little Cochamo sandwiched in there, I decided to check out the largest island in Chile, a place filled with traditional fisherman cultures and a plentiful amount of options for a wandering outdoorsman.  I hopped on a bus from Puerto Varas, took a short ride on a bus, and a ferry run by the bus company, and eventually found myself on the northern shores of Isla Chiloe, in a city called Ancud.  My initial reservations had been set for the larger city on the island, Castro, but as luck would have it, an unorganized hostel owner there informed me that there wouldnt be room for me and I was diverted to Ancud. 

Upon my arrival in Ancud, I was greeted with a pleasant welcome by Mirta and Pedro, the owners of Hospedaje Austral.  No sooner than I had dropped my bags, Mirta was awestruck by our difference in height, and was offering me tea and maps and setting the schedule for the rest of the day.  I knew luck was on my side here in Ancud!  Exhasted and tired, I took a quick nap, grabbed a quick little cena, and then hit the hay for the night, with plans to follow a walking tour of the city as prescribed by Mirta.  The morning fog on the island took quite awhile to break away, and I spent the first morning with my mind on job decisions and phone calls back home, eager for the sun to shine and my excusrion to begin.  When it did, I went in reverse order from Mirta's city tour, meandering off the path to explore some little known paths to secluded beaches, making an effort to pet wild horses, and checking out some of the barrios and even some new tract houses being constructed in an undeveloped part of town.  Having no plans for the evening, I happened to strike gold when I came across a flyer for Ancud's first inagural Beerfest, a gathering of food vendors, arts & crafts, music and artesenal cerveza.  My opening for the evening was quickly filled! 
After returning from my walk around town, I again took some time to rest and to let my shoes dry, and I began to ask around and google the location of the alleged beerfest, a place known as parque bellavista.  I knew enough to know that nearly every chilean town has somewhere called bellavista (since the views are always beautiful), and it is usually located on top of a hillside.  I set out for bellavista road, walking up and down hills and asking around, but to no avail.  I followed young groups of people in hopes of finding the right path, but the beerfest proved to be quite elusive.  At one point I was sure I had found it - excitement blaring from a loudspeaker in a town square - but it was an overzealous kickboxing class.  As I walked down the last hill I intended to climb for the night, a woman asked me if I was heading for the beerfest, to which I excitedly replied in the affirmative.  Luckily enough I was on the right path and followed a group of women towards the venue, which was indeed situated on a hilltop, at some sort of fairgrounds. 

What followed was a wonderful collection of brewing companies serving half liter drafts (aka Schop Mediano), a very mediocre showing of food (I have not been impressed by Chilean food in the least), and the centerpiece of the festival, a shoddy climbing wall and a guy with a microphone who was willing to urge anyone up the wall who was brave enough to face the crowd and go for the top.  It was a humble experience, and everyone was very friendly to me - I stick out like a sore thumb in rural towns where everyone knows one another, and the summer season of travelling students had ended the previous week, so its safe to say I was the only extranjero in the crowd!  After a few beers and a wonderful sunset over the island and peninsula, I hiked back to the hostel, eager to see what the next day had in store.