Tuesday, April 25, 2006
The air is better down there
Mollie and I made our final large bus journey...into Chile and back. Torres del Paine is one of the world´s most fantastic national parks, located about 2 hours from Puerto Natales, Chile (which is a city the locals call, Muerto Natales...muerto meaning dead in Spanish...because it is really lame). Here´s is how it went down...
We got on a small bus on Sunday morning, with cans and cans of food (careful not to bring any fresh food across the border) and sleeping bags. The word on the street was that we could take this bus over the border into Puerto Natales, arrive into the town with a little bit of time, and then find another bus into the Torres del Paine National Park departing from a nearby bus office. As we are rather accostumed to long bus rides at this point, we relaxed and enjoyed passing Patagonian scenery of southern Argentina into Chile...mountains, a yellow grassland, and a deep blue, fluffy clouded sky. We reached the border eventually (who is even keeping track anymore of the number of hours on the bus?), and after the customs agents okay-ed the garbanzo beans, we were on our way.
Puerto Natales was one of those towns that you could drive through, and not realize that you had passed through. The streets are small, the storefronts barren and hardly open, and the population seems to be hidden (or at least, they do not walk on the streets). Our bus stopped off at a random corner, and we descended, unsure of our next step. Knowing we needed to get to Torres del Paine, and that the park is two hours from Puerto Natales, we started to look and ask around about more buses. Since the city is really only a few square blocks, we soon learned that not only was pretty much everything closed, but the bus that we had heard of to the park in late afternoon in fact did not exist. Mollie and I only had to take one look at each other to agree that there was NO WAY that we were staying in Puerto Natales, and since we really did not have much time in the park, we had to find a way to get there immediately.
Well, when Mollie and I set our sights on something, we seem to make it happen. Mollie started stopping cab drivers, just to see how much they would charge us to drive to Torred del Paine. We approached an array of ¨mom & pop¨ car rental storefronts, to inquire about the possibility of driving ourselves into the park. The only guy who was available to help us was actually from Avis, and he quickly squashed our hopes of renting when he informed us that just about any car in South America is automatic. Considering both of us can only drive manual, this posed a slight problem (I knew I should have let that random guy in ninth grade teach me...).
But, like most South American men, this guy was genuinely trying to help us. He whipped out his little manual of phone numbers, and called a few of his nearest and dearest friends (I am sure), asking if anyone wanted to drive some Americans to Torres del Paine. By the third call, he had found Ricardo. He even called the bus companies in town, to only find that the only bus out of town back to Calafate left once a day, at 7:30 AM. This meant that we needed to get a ride right away, would spend the late afternoon in the park, spend one full day, and then get a ride out by 4:30 AM the next day to make it to the bus in time. Our friendly Avis friend consulted Ricardo, the price sounded right to us, and we made a deal. The Torres del Paine park would indeed be visited.
Ricardo showed up approximately 3 minutes later. Classic. He was a round man, with a friendly face and a car that smelled a bit like cologne (and necessitated the opening of my window). He was jolly as we drove, and passed quickly through the lame city and onto a long road, lakeside and pointed out highlights through the green, yellow, and maroon valleys in the midst of mossy, snow-capped mountains. The plains were lined with short trees that reminded me of the trufulla trees from ¨The Lorax¨, and a large, thin, golden animal that resembled a llama, almost. Herds of these species grazed and quickly clammered across the road before us, just as we noticed the myriad of overweight chocolate and white cows also roaming the valley. The colorful fall foliage of the grasses in yellow, red bushes, and pale green trees brought hues together that heightened the senses. I inhaled deeply as we drove, my head out the window, and Mollie excitedly pointed out the purity of the air as we got out of the car every so often to take a photo.
Ricardo stopped the car every so often, to point out lakes, lagoons, and entried to the park as we passed. Of course, as we got closer to the park, we amazedly braked to marvel at the actual Torres. These mountain ranges are enormous, splendorful rock formations that look like towers above the mountains, which explains their name (torres is towers in Spanish). Hovering above the pristine mountain range and kissed by a few low laying clouds stand these towers, or torres, as the clear center of the national park. Mollie and I snapped photos, planning to get closer and hike to the closest, best viewing spot for the torres in the following day.
Ricardo dropped us off close to the entry, but still about 20 minutes driving from the beginning of the park. He showed us to a Refugio in the middle of the valley, which we were expecting to be a heated shelter. Turns out, the refugio not only had heated (relative) beds and bathrooms, but also had a small cafeteria (and by cafeteria, I mean kitchen with woman who will make you food...like slamon...what?) which served food. This was expensive, so were happy with our cans and dried soup, but was rather surprising nonetheless. We got beds, spread out our sleeping bags, and said goodbye to Ricardo. He seemed to really want to come get us the next night, after our day in the park. He kept pushing this idea, because he claimed that there was nothing to do in the park at night and would be happy to come get us and bring us back to Puerto Natales for the night. This would make it easy for us to wake up and get to the bus the next day. Since we had been traveling for a long time, we really wanted to stay stationary the next day, post-hike, and did not mind the whole getting up at 4:15 AM to get to the bus. We would just sleep in his car anyway. Understandable, it is not fun for him to get up at 2 AM and drive into the park and out in the middle of the night, but he agreed before we left the city. Mollie took out some Brooklyn, and the issue was settled...easily. Ricardo gave us his card with phone number, and it turned out that he is actually in the tourism industry...who knew?
That behind us, and Ricardo on his way back, we set out to explore the land a bit before the night set in. The land was silent, and Mollie and I felt like the only people in the park at dusk. The sunset set a shaow on the torres, and the large horses dispersely grazed along our path. We wandered along a road, inhaling slowly, and allowed our mouths to open widely as we watched the sun´s night time routine cast begin in an orange and purple sky behind the torres.
Dinner was tasty, and by tasty, I really mean tasted great in our ravenous state...but really reminded us of our 36 hour bus ride. We laughed eating, and working on the songs that we have been writing for entertainment along the way. By the time 9 PM rolled around, we had to throw in the towel. The refugio was quiet, and we slipped into our sleeping bags.
In the morning we set off on the hike to the torres, the world famous nakesake for this park. It began in the valleys, complementing the yellow, green, and maroon of the grass with the harsh brown-toned rock of mountain. The first hour or two was uphill, seeping ourselves over the mountainside bordering with this valley that we ha already fallen in love with. Once we got onto the mountain, the hike turned into a steady walk through forrest. This section allowed for an insider´s glimpse at fall foliage in Patagonia, as the babbling river flowed past and brushed against the gold, orange, red, and firey purple shadded tree leaves both on the trees, and blown by the wind to meet the rushing water. Mollie and I walked through the forrest, touching tree trunks over rocky sections, and stealing moments on the bank of the river. The final section of this hike, in almost the four hour, was as close to rock climbing as we have experienced in Patagonia. This section was as if the mountainside had been bocken up by ill and angry boulders, and their boulder vomit had not been cleaned up. I liked the challenge of using my arms and legs to push myself up. It reminded me of a puzzle, as if I had to decide which pieces made the most sense for my arms and legs (and knees), and once I made it up, it was again time to re-evalute with the new selection. Mollie and I laughed as we pushed onward, thinking that our mothers would be proud of us...strong Jewish women. Ah.
And then, there were no more rocks. We had reached the top, and the foot the torres, greeted by a small, faded teal lagoon. The torres were trying desperately to burst through a very cloudy sky at this point, but we were able to see them relatively well. The sun came in and out, and as we sat down beside the lagoon, we turned around and around. This was the closest that I have been to snow since last winter (I missed the snow this year in Michigan, thank goodness), and just as I thought that, small pellets of hail began to fall. Rediculous. The wind blew through us as we ate our lunch of bread and jam, and the hail got into my sandwich. But, the torres kept us there. Looming in greatness, they were amazing. And, although we were open to the elements and feeling that wrath, we still could not help but notice the fresh air.
We hiked down slowly, wrapped in the warmest of our gear and nibbling on granola alongside the racing river. Before dusk really set in, we wanted to get through as much of the return as possible. We stopped periodically to soak in the scene or play a new game, ¨where in the world are we?¨, which really just consists of one of us hiding in nature and the other taking a picture (should make for some good additions to the Mollie and Marci trek through Patagonia calendar that will be reaching a bookstore near you next holiday season).
Now, you may be asking yourself the obvious next question...did Ricardo come the next day? Absolutely. 4:20 AM...the headlights of Ricardo´s card illuminated the refugio walls. And, we made it back without a hitch, and spent just enough time to really see the torres. Another wonder. I guess they call that luck.
We are now back in Calafate, and have tickets to fly to Ushuaia tomorrow. I am realy looking forward to visiting this city, as the southern-most city in the world. I have heard that it is nothing much to speak of, but when else would I ever have the chance to be in such a place. I guess that is luck too. Maybe this whole adventure could be catagorized as such.
We got on a small bus on Sunday morning, with cans and cans of food (careful not to bring any fresh food across the border) and sleeping bags. The word on the street was that we could take this bus over the border into Puerto Natales, arrive into the town with a little bit of time, and then find another bus into the Torres del Paine National Park departing from a nearby bus office. As we are rather accostumed to long bus rides at this point, we relaxed and enjoyed passing Patagonian scenery of southern Argentina into Chile...mountains, a yellow grassland, and a deep blue, fluffy clouded sky. We reached the border eventually (who is even keeping track anymore of the number of hours on the bus?), and after the customs agents okay-ed the garbanzo beans, we were on our way.
Puerto Natales was one of those towns that you could drive through, and not realize that you had passed through. The streets are small, the storefronts barren and hardly open, and the population seems to be hidden (or at least, they do not walk on the streets). Our bus stopped off at a random corner, and we descended, unsure of our next step. Knowing we needed to get to Torres del Paine, and that the park is two hours from Puerto Natales, we started to look and ask around about more buses. Since the city is really only a few square blocks, we soon learned that not only was pretty much everything closed, but the bus that we had heard of to the park in late afternoon in fact did not exist. Mollie and I only had to take one look at each other to agree that there was NO WAY that we were staying in Puerto Natales, and since we really did not have much time in the park, we had to find a way to get there immediately.
Well, when Mollie and I set our sights on something, we seem to make it happen. Mollie started stopping cab drivers, just to see how much they would charge us to drive to Torred del Paine. We approached an array of ¨mom & pop¨ car rental storefronts, to inquire about the possibility of driving ourselves into the park. The only guy who was available to help us was actually from Avis, and he quickly squashed our hopes of renting when he informed us that just about any car in South America is automatic. Considering both of us can only drive manual, this posed a slight problem (I knew I should have let that random guy in ninth grade teach me...).
But, like most South American men, this guy was genuinely trying to help us. He whipped out his little manual of phone numbers, and called a few of his nearest and dearest friends (I am sure), asking if anyone wanted to drive some Americans to Torres del Paine. By the third call, he had found Ricardo. He even called the bus companies in town, to only find that the only bus out of town back to Calafate left once a day, at 7:30 AM. This meant that we needed to get a ride right away, would spend the late afternoon in the park, spend one full day, and then get a ride out by 4:30 AM the next day to make it to the bus in time. Our friendly Avis friend consulted Ricardo, the price sounded right to us, and we made a deal. The Torres del Paine park would indeed be visited.
Ricardo showed up approximately 3 minutes later. Classic. He was a round man, with a friendly face and a car that smelled a bit like cologne (and necessitated the opening of my window). He was jolly as we drove, and passed quickly through the lame city and onto a long road, lakeside and pointed out highlights through the green, yellow, and maroon valleys in the midst of mossy, snow-capped mountains. The plains were lined with short trees that reminded me of the trufulla trees from ¨The Lorax¨, and a large, thin, golden animal that resembled a llama, almost. Herds of these species grazed and quickly clammered across the road before us, just as we noticed the myriad of overweight chocolate and white cows also roaming the valley. The colorful fall foliage of the grasses in yellow, red bushes, and pale green trees brought hues together that heightened the senses. I inhaled deeply as we drove, my head out the window, and Mollie excitedly pointed out the purity of the air as we got out of the car every so often to take a photo.
Ricardo stopped the car every so often, to point out lakes, lagoons, and entried to the park as we passed. Of course, as we got closer to the park, we amazedly braked to marvel at the actual Torres. These mountain ranges are enormous, splendorful rock formations that look like towers above the mountains, which explains their name (torres is towers in Spanish). Hovering above the pristine mountain range and kissed by a few low laying clouds stand these towers, or torres, as the clear center of the national park. Mollie and I snapped photos, planning to get closer and hike to the closest, best viewing spot for the torres in the following day.
Ricardo dropped us off close to the entry, but still about 20 minutes driving from the beginning of the park. He showed us to a Refugio in the middle of the valley, which we were expecting to be a heated shelter. Turns out, the refugio not only had heated (relative) beds and bathrooms, but also had a small cafeteria (and by cafeteria, I mean kitchen with woman who will make you food...like slamon...what?) which served food. This was expensive, so were happy with our cans and dried soup, but was rather surprising nonetheless. We got beds, spread out our sleeping bags, and said goodbye to Ricardo. He seemed to really want to come get us the next night, after our day in the park. He kept pushing this idea, because he claimed that there was nothing to do in the park at night and would be happy to come get us and bring us back to Puerto Natales for the night. This would make it easy for us to wake up and get to the bus the next day. Since we had been traveling for a long time, we really wanted to stay stationary the next day, post-hike, and did not mind the whole getting up at 4:15 AM to get to the bus. We would just sleep in his car anyway. Understandable, it is not fun for him to get up at 2 AM and drive into the park and out in the middle of the night, but he agreed before we left the city. Mollie took out some Brooklyn, and the issue was settled...easily. Ricardo gave us his card with phone number, and it turned out that he is actually in the tourism industry...who knew?
That behind us, and Ricardo on his way back, we set out to explore the land a bit before the night set in. The land was silent, and Mollie and I felt like the only people in the park at dusk. The sunset set a shaow on the torres, and the large horses dispersely grazed along our path. We wandered along a road, inhaling slowly, and allowed our mouths to open widely as we watched the sun´s night time routine cast begin in an orange and purple sky behind the torres.
Dinner was tasty, and by tasty, I really mean tasted great in our ravenous state...but really reminded us of our 36 hour bus ride. We laughed eating, and working on the songs that we have been writing for entertainment along the way. By the time 9 PM rolled around, we had to throw in the towel. The refugio was quiet, and we slipped into our sleeping bags.
In the morning we set off on the hike to the torres, the world famous nakesake for this park. It began in the valleys, complementing the yellow, green, and maroon of the grass with the harsh brown-toned rock of mountain. The first hour or two was uphill, seeping ourselves over the mountainside bordering with this valley that we ha already fallen in love with. Once we got onto the mountain, the hike turned into a steady walk through forrest. This section allowed for an insider´s glimpse at fall foliage in Patagonia, as the babbling river flowed past and brushed against the gold, orange, red, and firey purple shadded tree leaves both on the trees, and blown by the wind to meet the rushing water. Mollie and I walked through the forrest, touching tree trunks over rocky sections, and stealing moments on the bank of the river. The final section of this hike, in almost the four hour, was as close to rock climbing as we have experienced in Patagonia. This section was as if the mountainside had been bocken up by ill and angry boulders, and their boulder vomit had not been cleaned up. I liked the challenge of using my arms and legs to push myself up. It reminded me of a puzzle, as if I had to decide which pieces made the most sense for my arms and legs (and knees), and once I made it up, it was again time to re-evalute with the new selection. Mollie and I laughed as we pushed onward, thinking that our mothers would be proud of us...strong Jewish women. Ah.
And then, there were no more rocks. We had reached the top, and the foot the torres, greeted by a small, faded teal lagoon. The torres were trying desperately to burst through a very cloudy sky at this point, but we were able to see them relatively well. The sun came in and out, and as we sat down beside the lagoon, we turned around and around. This was the closest that I have been to snow since last winter (I missed the snow this year in Michigan, thank goodness), and just as I thought that, small pellets of hail began to fall. Rediculous. The wind blew through us as we ate our lunch of bread and jam, and the hail got into my sandwich. But, the torres kept us there. Looming in greatness, they were amazing. And, although we were open to the elements and feeling that wrath, we still could not help but notice the fresh air.
We hiked down slowly, wrapped in the warmest of our gear and nibbling on granola alongside the racing river. Before dusk really set in, we wanted to get through as much of the return as possible. We stopped periodically to soak in the scene or play a new game, ¨where in the world are we?¨, which really just consists of one of us hiding in nature and the other taking a picture (should make for some good additions to the Mollie and Marci trek through Patagonia calendar that will be reaching a bookstore near you next holiday season).
Now, you may be asking yourself the obvious next question...did Ricardo come the next day? Absolutely. 4:20 AM...the headlights of Ricardo´s card illuminated the refugio walls. And, we made it back without a hitch, and spent just enough time to really see the torres. Another wonder. I guess they call that luck.
We are now back in Calafate, and have tickets to fly to Ushuaia tomorrow. I am realy looking forward to visiting this city, as the southern-most city in the world. I have heard that it is nothing much to speak of, but when else would I ever have the chance to be in such a place. I guess that is luck too. Maybe this whole adventure could be catagorized as such.
