Most people
have heard of this ethereal and beautiful land but how many people know exactly
where it is? Given that I know a few people who think that Argentina lies
roughly in the region of Greece and Turkey, I suspect it is probably not common
knowledge that Patagonia lies in the bottom third of this diverse and quite
huge country! Having been lucky enough to travel around this area (three times
the size of Britain) in 2004 and 2009, I feel I’m in a good position to give an
honest account of the life and places of this land and convince you to throw
caution to wind and give it a try! Adventure awaits you…
Orientation
Patagonia is
triangle-shaped like Argentina itself and a place of barren and lonely
stretches of land interspersed with sights and national parks of extraordinary
beauty. We’re going to begin our journey in Puerto Madryn before travelling
west to Bariloche and San Martín de los Andes
and then south to El Calafate,
Torres del Paine and the southernmost city in the world: Ushuaia.
Puerto Madryn, Trelew & Gaiman
After the
bright lights and chaos of the capital, Puerto Madryn makes an underwhelming first
impression with its quiet residential streets and unimposing city centre. That
said, despite Argentina’s immense size, with a surface area roughly 11.5 times
that of Britain, the rugged coastline of Puerto Madryn represents one of the
few places in the country where the water takes centre stage. To take advantage
of the views over the Atlantic, I took a bike ride along the coast back in 2004
with a fellow backpacker. For hours we cycled against roaring winds down empty
roads and I got my first glimpse of the desolation and wild charm that
characterises this part of the world.
However the
real draw of Puerto Madryn is the Peninsula Valdes national park and its whale
watching opportunities (winter only). Having a disappointing whale watching
experience in Iceland with which to compare Puerto Madryn, I can confirm that
the whale watching at Peninsula Valdes is in a different league. In contrast to
the ship I boarded in Reykjavik, the dinghies at Peninsula Valdes seemed
worryingly small as they sped into the swirling black waters of the Atlantic.
But Peninsula Valdes is famed for this excursion and navigating the ocean is
second nature for the experienced guides. Sure enough, we were soon showered in
ocean spray as one thrashing tail after another thundered through the waves and
we were treated to an out-of-this-world encounter with one of nature’s most
magnificent beasts. As with most things in Argentina, the tour was relatively
low-cost but experiences like this are priceless.
Summer
visits to Peninsula Valdes are somewhat less spectacular with the whales out of
action, but that means the penguins are in town! That’s right, on a yearly
basis up to one million penguins waddle their way to this part of the world to
set up home and they can also be spotted in Trelew, one of the traditional
Welsh-Patagonian villages.
The
Wales-Patagonia link is famed and no visit to Patagonia is complete without a
sojourn to these villages, which lie just a short distance from Puerto Madryn. The
impression that I formed of Trelew was that of a very quiet grey town, offering
no monuments of interest, few eating establishments and none of the famous
teahouses that we had heard so much about. Discouraged, we boarded a bus to the
nearby Gaiman and immediately stumbled across a teahouse offering a mouth-watering
selection of cakes with fresh cream and pots of tea. Strangely for a Brit, I am
no fan of tea, but I was so enchanted by the whole experience that I managed to
swallow an entire mug as I strained my ears for any notes of Welsh drifting my
way. I was sadly disappointed as I heard only Spanish and English and asking
one of the tea ladies whether I was likely to hear Welsh on my visit, she
replied that while she had Welsh ancestors, she spoke no Welsh herself, nor did
she know of anyone that did!
With the
illusion shattered, we walked to the bus stop to journey back to Puerto Madryn
before heading down to El Calafate the following day. But as we waited, tired
and weary, we heard the unmistakable tones of a Welsh accent coming our way: a woman
and her husband were on the trail of distant ancestors they believed hailed
from these parts. I never did find out whether she found them but I the following
day, I left happy, my Welsh-Patagonian experience complete.
Bariloche and San Martín de los Andes
Typically
the coming-of-age destination for newly graduated 18-year-olds, Bariloche is
something of a legend in Argentina and before I had even set foot in the place
I had been regaled with poetic descriptions – “it is a slice of heaven”, one of
my students told me – of its beauty along with countless photos of
turquoise-green lakes, cobalt-blue skies and snow-capped peaks. Expectations
were high and as we coiled around the lake-lined roads and eased ever closer to
the city, my excitement mounted as I clutched at my camera, lest I miss what
turned out to be a mere warm-up for the wonders lying in store. The waters of
the lakes sat poised and stock-still with barely a ripple to break their
surface, as they shone silver with crystal-clear reflections of the trees
lining their banks, each one more spectacular than the last.
And that’s
Bariloche for you; a place so photo-ready that picturesque somehow fails to cut
it. On my second visit, I arrived mid-afternoon and took a walk into the town
to re-familiarise myself with the place. The wood-coated city centre is wonderfully
cosy and situated right on the waterfront and I took a walk down, stopping to
browse in the stores packed with mementos and outdoor gear before purchasing
some delicious artisan chocolates encased in red tins from Mamuschka. The
centre is easily small enough to navigate on foot and makes for a pleasant
stroll, giving you chance to get your bearings and visit the many travel agents
scattered about offering outdoor
activities aplenty. As with all natural spots, stunning stands shoulder to
shoulder with rugged, and Bariloche is perfect for fishing, hiking, climbing,
biking and water sports in summer, and skiing in winter.
After a
foray into the shops, I wandered down to the shores of the Nahuel Huapi Lake,
which lies just a stone’s throw from the main street. There, I gazed down along
the lakefront, studying the houses and apartment buildings which, in contrast
to many famed holiday destinations in Europe, remain low-key and in keeping
with the tranquil feel of the city. It is difficult, somehow, to imagine that
Bariloche is such a holiday hotspot and as I made my way back to the hotel,
passing locals shooting the breeze, I felt that I had left city life behind me
and reconnected with something more authentic. Indeed, travellers in search of
club lights and glamour would be advised to stick to Buenos Aires and the
lively Cordoba but Bariloche still offers a pleasant selection of restaurants
and bars packed to the rafters with locals and backpackers alike.
Probably the
most famous attraction of Bariloche is the Nahuel Huapi national park, just a
short bus ride away. The park has its
charms all year round, but I had a very different experience on my first visit
in winter then my second in Autumn. While Argentina is famed for a hot Latino
spirit, Patagonia is in the southernmost reaches of the country and in winter
months, temperatures plunge and the beautiful skies in the pictures may turn
white as the snow comes down. And so weather can have a large say in whether
your photos turn out dark and moody or sparkling with an ethereal glow. My
first visit took place in July, in the depths of winter and the forest floor
was blanketed in thick white snow, the sky dark and brooding, and all of my
photos show black and white vistas, the landscape devoid of colour.
On my
second visit at the end of March, the contrast was dazzling; it was as though a
black and white film had been switched to colour. We pulled up at the
pebble-strewn shores of Lago Gutierrez and I didn’t recognise the place as I
posed happily for pictures, with the sun beating down.
Our second stop took in
the Islas de Corazon, a duo of heart-shaped islands floating on a bed of shimmering
turquoise and one of the most sensational sights I have ever seen. The shadows
fell perfectly on the water, blending with sunlight and the deep turquoise
waters seemed to hold secrets in their depths. With the Tronador volcano rising
strong on a blue horizon, Nahuel Huapi national park was a different place to
the park I visited five years earlier. That said, Patagonian weather is
changeable all year around so check the weather forecast, book and hope for the
best!
For a real
feeling of escape, Bariloche’s lesser-known neighbour San Martín de los Andes
offers one of Argentina’s most peaceful and tranquil experiences. More of a
village than a town, it sits and minds its own business, tucked away in a crook
of the mountains. Ideal for outdoor pursuits or the tired and weary to rest and
recharge their batteries before resuming their jaunt, San Martín de los Andes
is the perfect getaway.
El Calafate & Perito Moreno
With
Bariloche and San Martin de los Andes behind us, there’s a long road ahead to
El Calafate as we plunge south through barren scrubland and cruise along roads
ribboning out into the distance. To put it into perspective, on my last visit
to Patagonia, I spent 30 hours on a coach from Bariloche to El Calafate, with a
brief pit-stop at Rio Gallegos, a small, windswept city in the Santa Cruz
province. As I sat in the bus station, pondering the true sense of, “in the
middle of nowhere”, I experienced a sense of profound isolation as I
contemplated my location: more than 1,000 miles from Buenos Aires and a mere
bus ride away from the tip of the continent and nothingness. While melancholy
is not the best way to sell a holiday destination, as you near the end of the
world, loneliness is part of the territory. This is a place where nature
overwhelms humanity, serving us a bold reminder of its dominance.
The town of
El Calafate owes its existence to Perito Moreno, an immense 250 km2 jaw-dropping feat of nature and one
of the world’s few advancing glaciers. While the town is pleasant enough with
rustic wooden buildings and a tranquil atmosphere, there is really very little
to do here in the way of entertainment. There are a few attractive cafes and a
literary bar that caught my attention early on, but prices are steep by any
standards and interestingly, among the hundreds of photographs I have taken in
Argentina, the town of El Calafate is curiously absent: enough said. It is,
however, the perfect base from which to explore the glacier and the stunning
Torres del Paine national park.
Getting to
the glacier is simple enough, though it is by no means on El Calafate’s
doorstep. Like most far-flung destinations, Perito Moreno is destined to be
viewed only by those who really care to see it, adding another dimension to the
experience. Most accommodation will help you to arrange tours, though driving
there yourself is also an option. Once inside the national park, there are
several ways in which to view the attractions, and the boat trip, allowing you
to get up close and personal with the glacier, is not to be missed.
Climb
aboard, camera at the ready, and prepare to be stunned. Thirty km-long with an
average height of 74m, the glacier is awesome, rearing up ahead like a
throwback to the ice age. The setting is perfect: the boat floats in teal-green
waters and the glacier glows with an ice-blue so fierce it hurts the eyes,
while black mountains loom in the distance, reaching into the heavens and throwing
the jagged spikes of the glacier’s summit into stark relief.
Clicks and snaps
pepper the silence as travellers peer through their lenses, before the silence
is broken by a thunderous roar as blocks of ice the size of double decker buses
come crashing down, throwing the waters into tumult. As the glacier advances
this is nothing unusual, but for those who visit Perito Moreno, that heavy
drumroll lingers into the future, reminding us that the extraordinary is out
there, if you know where to find it.
Following
the boat ride, the park can be further explored on foot along the many observation
platforms which showcase the glacier in all of its glory as it stretches
endlessly into the distance, blending with the clouds on the horizon. Glacier
trekking is also an option for more adventurous travellers wishing to delve
deeper into the mystery of the ethereal Perito Moreno.
Torres del Paine
Long before
I visited Torres del Paine, I’d had a picture of it taped to my bedroom wall.
My hopes to visit in 2004 had been scuppered by the winter snow and with no
plans to return to Patagonia, I’d had to shelve that dream and settle for
someone else’s photo. Missing out on Torres del Paine was probably the biggest
regret I had from the 2004 trip; it was so wild and distant that I couldn’t see
how I would ever visit. Living vicariously through others, I would often read
about this famously capricious and uncooperative national park, devouring tales
of its gushing lakes and ominous towers, but visiting was off the cards; until mid-2009
that was.
As I planned
my return to Argentina, a place where I had spent five wonderful months as an
18-year-old, and a place where I found my feet and came of age, I was wondering
where I should go this time around. I was keen to discover some new and
exciting places but there was also a huge element of nostalgia in this trip and
I wanted to return to and rediscover, through adult eyes, the places I had first
visited as an 18-year-old. My north vs. south dilemma was finally resolved by
nostalgia itself when I realised that I had a friend in that lonesome southern
city: Rio Gallegos.
This was my
chance. Situated at the tip of Chilean Patagonia, Torres del Paine is
nonetheless accessible from El Calafate and according to my research, day trips
were common. So the plan was to head south, drop in on the cities I’d seen in
2004, spend a day or two with my friend in Rio Gallegos and then head on to El
Calafate. I could cross Torres del Paine off the bucket list after all! I was
over the moon. After a few weeks of excitement, my friend informed me that she
would be away that week but by that point, my mind was made up. And so it was,
on 6 April 2009, I woke at dawn and boarded the minibus that would take us
across the border and into the confines of the famous Torres del Paine.
Everything
about the day was sublime. The price was reasonable, the minibus arrived on
time and the other occupants of the bus were friendly and charming. Upon
crossing the border, I was befriended by a 50-something Chilean holding a
British passport, as he recognised the burgundy of my own and introduced
himself and his wife. I never fully understood the reason for the British
passport but as they handed me an empanada, gave me some Chilean pesos for a
drink (I had foolishly forgotten to bring any), chatted on the bus and took
photos of me in the park, they became a part of the experience. But approaching our
destination, stopping to snap pictures of grey foxes, we all gazed ominously at
the leaden sky and feared we would see little of the park, known for its
tempestuous weather. That said, spirits remained high and as we trundled along the
dirt track, we were rewarded for our optimism. The bus came to a halt and, as
if on cue, the veil of clouds lifted and the sun shone down, highlighting the
famous duo of towers and the park’s namesake: the Torres del Paine, known in English
as the Towers of Pain.
“We are lucky”, commented my new friend, as it
was so rare for both towers to come out of hiding. I stood at the towers and
snapped photos, noticing that the reflections in the mint-green waters of the
lake came out perfectly in the pictures: no special effects, no photoshop, no
SLR tricks, simply nature throwing its hair back and posing for the cameras.
Guanacos
strutted freely around the park as did we, clicking on the camera shutter ten
times a minute, capturing the wild waters of the lakes as the wind ripped
through them, the sharp black peaks on the horizon, the thunderous roar of the
waterfall and the sunlight piercing through the gap in the towers, throwing its rays onto the waters below.
We walked, we climbed, we travelled in the minibus,
we even braved a few showers, and yet still, we saw only a corner of the vast
and magnificent Torres del Paine.
Campers
spend days or weeks in this national park, travelling in a figure of eight,
braving the wind and rain to witness glaciers, waterfalls and meadows in the
sun. Torres del Paine is a bold beauty, forcefully aware of its pull, demanding
commitment and strength from those who step on its turf. My guide fell for the
park, as many do, and packed up her life in Poland to move to this lonely
spot.
There was no other option she told
me, it got under her skin. There are tough days, she admitted, days where rain
thrashes against your skin and wind howls in your ears, berating your presence.
Torres del Paine is, and always will be, capricious and insolent, breaking
promises and scattering disappointment. There’s no guarantees with this park,
but it may just be worth the risk.
Ushuaia
My trip to
Ushuaia got off to a bad start. I boarded the bus after a four-hour stopover in
Rio Gallegos, tired and weary of the long journey ahead of us. I was sat in a
narrow seat next to a woman holding a small child and as we pulled away, I was
given a landing card. I looked at it, perplexed. We were in Argentina, we were
going to Argentina. Why did I need to fill this out? We’re going through Chile,
an attendant answered brusquely, and so it began. Customs was nothing short of a
nightmare as I stood in a crowded room with no idea of what was going on or how
long we would be there. After waiting an hour to have my passport stamped, I
waited outside for the bus, shivering in the cold with tears running down my face,
wondering what on earth I was doing there. But as the bus picked up and we
trundled on, my mood began to improve; then when the bus boarded a ship and we
sailed across to Tierra del Fuego, I began to understand that we were nearing
the very end of the world, and were closer to Antarctica than the world I knew:
this was to be expected. As we neared the city of Ushuaia, we passed through
tiny communities as we left civilisation behind and I remember wondering what it
would be like to live somewhere so empty and devoid of life. As we pulled into
Ushuaia, almost 24 hours after leaving El Calafate, I hoped the traumatic
journey would be worth it.
The
following day I explored the small city of Ushuaia as the rain came down in
sheets and I had to duck into the Irish pub to keep dry. Tucking into British
grub with the rain tapping on the roof and a board listing the Premier League
matches in front of me, I felt as close to home as I had throughout the entire
trip. Comforted and happy, I assessed the city’s layout and decided how I would
spend my three days there. I accomplished little that first day thanks to the
rain though I did take a few snaps along the main street, taking particular
interest in a sky blue London bus, parked at the kerbside: another remnant of
home. Before I went to bed that night I booked a tour to sail the Beagle
Channel and made friends with some Argentinians who had flown in from Buenos
Aires to discover the Land of Fire. Comparing their comfortable flight with my
gruelling coach journey south, I resolved to book a flight back to Buenos
Aires: the back-breaking trek was nearing its end.
The next
day, after taking in a Liverpool match at 11 in the morning, I made my way to
the harbour and boarded the boat that would introduce us to the Beagle Channel,
the stretch of water around Ushuaia, containing islands of seals and cormorants,
and the famous end of world lighthouse.
As I dressed for the trip, safe in the
knowledge that Aerolíneas Argentinas would be zipping me back to Buenos Aires
in two days’ time, my common sense deserted me and I stepped out in a pair of
lovely brown leather ballet pumps and my new, favourite jeans.
I should have
known better: when you book a trip in South America, there is always at least a
30% chance that the day out will entail some form of rock climbing or daring
outdoor pursuit that I would normally avoid like the plague. Sure enough, just
as I was relaxing, the boat docked at a small, mountainous island and the
captain ordered everyone off. I refused immediately, indicating my footwear and
was told to disembark anyway, that the guides would help me to the top to
witness the gorgeous views and then help me back down. Persuaded, I ascended to
the top, realising that the danger is never in the ascent, but rather the
descent. Sure enough, after taking photos of the views out to sea, I proceeded
to tumble unceremoniously down the hill, despite the guide’s efforts to keep me
upright. Note to readers: wear hiking boots on guided tours in South America!
I spent my
last day in Ushuaia taking walks along the coast and visiting the museums, which
give a fascinating insight into the history of the city. The Maritime Museum
houses an old prison that was opened back in 1896 to ensure a permanent
Argentine population in the city and help to secure Argentine sovereignity over
Tierra del Fuego. Strolling about the freezing-cold prison cells, some of which
had been painted in bright colours, and studying artefacts including balls and
chains and letters to inmates, you really get an idea of the
isolation that the inmates must have felt in this barren part of the world.
The
following day, my Patagonian adventure rolled to its conclusion as I boarded
the plane and jetted back to Buenos Aires and the world as I knew it. From the
white vistas I first spied as we sailed to Ushuaia, to the persistent rain and
leaden skies, Tierra del Fuego or Land of Fire seemed an incongruous name for
this part of the world. I later discovered it was named so by European visitors fascinated by the
fires lit by natives to keep warm as temperatures plummeted. As I picture
orange flames flickering against the stark landscapes I can see that this may
have appeared ethereal and alluring to visitors pulling up to the shores of
Tierra del Fuego after weeks or months at sea. I can’t say I looked back as I
climbed the steps to the plane but I feel privileged to have known this distant
land where, away from the noisy distractions of modern civilisation, life is
laid bare to the pounding beat of nature.
13 April, 2009: touchdown in Buenos Aires
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