Argentinian Patagonia

Editor's Pick Award

Our Editors awarded this travel blog entry for providing relevant information that may be useful and inspiring for other travelers.

On February 9, I moved on from Chile to Argentina.  I first headed to El Calafate, home of the enormous Perito Moreno glacier.  With strict orders from my sister not to see the glacier before she arrived, I headed up to El Chalten, access point for Glaciers National Park and, particularly, the Fitz Roy Range.  Unfortunately, low, grey and threatening clouds obscured all but the lowest slopes of the mountains.  Stewing over a lorco stew (navy beans, squash, sausage and bacon) at lunch, the clouds somehow parted.  I having only 8 hours of daylight left I dashed for the Cerro Fitz Roy trail, purported to take 8 hours roundtrip.  If you only have time for one hike in El Chalten this should be it.  It starts by ascending past an interior range valley through which meanders a glacier-fed river.  Then you advance over a ridge to a spectacular view north and east towards the dry ranges and pampa of the rain-shadowed Argentinian side.  However, standing at this ridge I just happened to look west and there towering above me, seathed in a thinning and ethereal cloud were the jagged peaks of the Fitz Roy Range.  Rarely have I been so astounded by a sight in my life.  After that the hike leads directly to the base of the towers and that was all the inspiration I needed to cut the suggested hike time in half (they always estimate times for the lowest common denominator hiker).  At the base of the towers, there is a 40min vertical ascent to the upper base of the towers and two of the bluest glacial lakes you will ever see (see pictures).  A mountain cathedral.

Liz joined on the 10th and injected some enthusiasm into the exercise.  We headed out of town for a horse ride through a valley in the shadow of the Andes with spectacular views of Lago Argentino, the largest lake in Argentina.  There Elisabeth mounted Electra a horse that did not live up to its name.  It was more interested in eating trees and grass than following the group. Not even Liz´s riding skills (which were supsect) could keep Electra on the straight and narrow.  Of course the young gaucho guide took this opportunity to monitor Liz and horse and to otherwise try and convince her to come for drinks in town after the ride.  He seemed not the slightest bit fazed by my presence and I had not even been identified as the brother.  Afterwards we concluded that they purposefully give the most troublesome horse to whatever young pretty thing shows up on a given afternoon.  Learned strategy.

We also tried mate on the horse ride, which is an Argentinian tea and ritual.  It is yerba leaves stacked in a hollowed gourd (or specially crated mug in the shape of a gourd) which is filled w hot water.  The liquid is taken in by a straw deep in the groud.  The tradition is that once offered the mug you must finish it all before passing it on or back. Many Argentinians, particularly in the country, carry around a thermos of hot water and/or their gourd so it is at the ready when needed.

Next day was to the Glacier.  We signed up for a 6 hour trek across the glacier with a small group and somehow ended up on a 1.5 hour hike with groups of retirees, families and two puzzled Irish guys who also thought they signed up for the 6 hour trek.  Alas, the views of the glaciers were still spectacular, particularly in the changing light, though the hike on the glacier left us wanting and anxious to bust out from the shufflers.  The ice is so compressed in the glacier that oxygen is reduced in the ice, which causes the ice to refract the light in a deep royal blue.  As a result, parts of the glacier looks the blue of curauco.  The thunder that erupts when part of the glacier calves off is startling, particularly when you realize the rumble and thunder you hear was only for a small piece of ice falling to the lake.  We did not see large chunks tumble, but we can only imagine the sound and the waves it would cause in the lake.  A truly aweome sight.

El Calafate is a one trick pony.  It caters to people coming and going from the glacier.  It reminded us of Niagara on the Lake.  However, it did have the restos to keep us stuffed.  An Argentinian tradition from the days of the guachos that roamed the pampa is that the parilla (steakhouse) and asado (bbq grill).  Grilled meets are a specialty and it is quite common for a restaurant specializing in lamb to have lamb mounted on spears over a smouldering fire of coals.  The meat is spectacular and, this being the land of the devalued peso, extremely cheap.  The red wine - malbecs, cabernets, and merlots, too.

Finally, we headed to Ushuaia on the famed Beagle Channel that Fitz Roy and Darwin sailed through over a century before.  It is arguably the southernmost city in the world.  Puerto Williams across the Beagle Channel in Chile is further south, but is largely a naval base and therefore not generally considered a city.  Thus anyone wanting to claim they have been to the southernmost city in the world, heads to Ushuaia.    At about 54 degrees south of the equatory it is really no further south than Edmonton is north, however, the next destination after a some scattered Chilean islands is Antarctica.  The town has a spectacular location on the channel, framed by the mountains of the island on which it is located, Tierra del Feugo (Land of Fire, so called because of the natives´ fires observed when it was first encountered).    The town itself is nothing to write home about, yet every flight in and out was booked for weeks and cruise ships lined up to dock in the harbour.  Liz and I passed the time bundling up against the 15 degree temperatures and the unforgiving winds, hiking towards the glaciers in the mountains behind town and renting a car and riding around Tierra del Feugo.  Our favourite thing in Tierra del Feugo were the wind-bent lenga trees, ravaged by the ceaseless patagonian winds off the southern ocean.  At times there were literally bent at 90 degrees.  We took a fondness for them and named them the ´bad hair day trees´  The poor lengas.

Off to Buenos Aires and the heat...