At last, to Iguaza Falls

The third largest falls in the world according to some counts. It all depends upon the measurement—the widest, the deepest, the fastest, the amount of water that tumbles over the cliffs, who knows what else. Waterfalls, that’s catarata in Spanish, are beautiful no matter how they are measured. On hot sunny days in Argentina you also get lots of butterflies—yellow, orange, black and white, ones with eyes on their wings as a form of disguise, and various shades of blue. Some even were still enough for me to lock them in place with my camera. We were blessed by the appearance of a Grand Toucan. Then there were the iguanas, an alligator, the biggest ants you’ll probably ever see (probably 1.5” long) and of course the coatis (the Argentine version of raccoons), the animals that no one is supposed to feed, and many think it’s fun to watch them climb on the table to take your food away. They climbed in and out of the trash cans for food. Needless to say, they were well fed.

The Argentines have done a nice job of providing tourists with views of the falls from many angles. Walkways are throughout the park to save nature and get up close and personal with the spray. A train talks you from one end of the park to the other. There are views from the top and the bottom, and a chance to take a boat ride that goes right up to the falls and gets everyone mightily soaked. Luckily dry bags are included in that excursion. There’s a jeep ride to take you through the” wilderness” for a chance to see the wildlife, and there’s a nice but short rafting excursion for a peaceful way to end the day. When you want to get away from the crowds, there’s a 3 hour hike to play in a small waterfall.

As I was gazing at the falls from the top, trying to take in the expanse of the falls and the force of the water, I was amazed and dismayed to see a turtle cascading down the falls—tail first, head up, indicating to me that he had been trying to swim away, and though turtles are strong swimmers and faster than you might imagine, the force of the water was too much for him. I tried to convince myself he was a creature of water and would survive the fall, but the park rangers weren’t so optimistic. The little museum within the park talked about the differences in the fish above and below the falls, given what natural predators exist, but didn’t say anything about turtles.

The town of Iguazu Falls is not much to speak of. The predominant feature is the red clay. This is noticed from the plane. It rims all the shore line. The streets and sidewalks in town are a rich terra cotta color as are the dirt paths, and brick buildings. The town caters to tourists, with most restaurants accepting pesos, US dollars and Euros. As in other Argentine towns, travel agents are numerous and stay open until at least 11 p.m. to accommodate late arriving tourists, except Saturday night.

Getting to Iguazu Falls meant traveling from Bariloche to Buenos Aires. Aerolineas Argentina (AR) made so many changes to my flights, I stopped paying attention until my travel agent alerted me to the fact that AR changed the destination airport in Buenos Aires, meaning I was going to have to get myself from the international airport to the domestic airport with insufficient time—that is, until they delayed the flight from BA to Iguazu. When I got to the airport in Bariloche, there was a three hour mechanical delay which for some reason caused AR to reroute the plane to the domestic airport. I just made the connection, but my luggage did not. I was okay with that since it had all my Antarctic stuff and I wisely carried on my other case until I changed my accommodations. Luckily, even though my Spanish is horrible, the person at the first hotel was able to figure out my luggage would be arriving at his hotel the next day and without me fretting about it, he somehow conveyed to AR to get it to the hostel I’d moved to. Yes, in this case I preferred the hostel over a single room in the dark, Iguazu-red hotel.

Just "Being" in Barilcohe

Being in Patagonian Bariloche is like being in northern Minnesota. A smile appeared on my face as our bus approached this dazzling mountain town. Maybe that’s because I was on a bus for two days getting here. Someone had said the experience was spiritual, well maybe for some. For me, it was a time to read, something I’ve done little of on this trip, so maybe that was spiritual in a way. I read Three Cups of Tea by and about what American mountain climber Greg Mortenson has done to build 50+ schools in Pakistan. He is an inspiration, and something I need to give me some direction for a future career. Yes, at some point in time, I am going to go back to work. Notice how there’s no date attached to that yet.

Bariloche is the most populated town I've been in since my day in Buenos Aires in December--back in 2008, back when Bush was still president. It's a new year, with Barack Obama as US President, and with the new TV signals making analog defunct. In hindsight, it seems like things do change rapidly, but who would have said that during the long election campaign process? The quickest change down here is the weather--sunny one minute, cloudy and rainy the next, or maybe each at the same time. It's always windy this time of year=--amazingly so.

The guidebooks said to book lodging early as this is the high season. I’ve not had a problem, until my arrival in Bariloche, and that’s mainly because I want to stay at Hostel 1004, the one on the 10th floor of the Bariloche Center Building. Now that might sound like a disconnect with being in a mountain town, but as soon as I came here, I knew the views were worth moving twice before I settled in here for three days. That’s why I don’t feel too guilty about sitting here updating my blog and not being outside, at least for this morning. I’m looking at the Swiss styled buildings along the foreground hillside, mountains in the background and deep blue
Lago Naheul Huapi tinged with white.

The local lifestyle is nicely paced. Sundays are family time. I made contact with a friend of Larry Carpenter’s, actually the parents of his son’s girlfriend. Antonia speaks English, having lived in Australia for five years. His family understands it, but is even more hesitant to speak English than I am to speak my broken Spanish. I contacted Antonio around noon on Sunday and was immediately invited for an asado, the Argentine form of BBQ that afternoon. Lots of meat, including blood sausage, and salad. It goes well with an Argentine Malbec. I spent the afternoon with them and into the evening. I’ve invited them out for dinner tonight to say thank you. He’s picking me up at 9pm, since most people eat dinner around 10 or later here.

I’ve spent the last two days white water rafting and hiking. The rafting was questionable in my mind because of the weather—cool, windy and rainy, yet on the water, despite the sometimes mist, my inner self was reveling in the space. I did have to pay more attention to rafting than usual because the two other tourists had never been on a boat it seemed. The guide afterwards thanked me for knowing what I was doing, though he could have managed the whole thing himself. Of course, the way some paddles were going into the water, he might have feared we would flip. Luckily he chose to do a course with no more than Class IV rapids. We could have gone swimming at the end, but if we lost control or were enjoying ourselves too much, we’d cross the Chilean border and might have a difficult time getting back into Argentina. Given the cool water temp and overcast sky, he didn’t have to worry about us taking a purposeful dip.

Yesterday I meandered through Parque Municipal Lloa-Llao, rhymes with “how-how”, though with a “j”. A nice parque with good signage, between peaks and alongside clear blue lakes, but not the blue I’d been seeing from glacial waters south of here, more like Lake Superior, with the ever present white caps. Last night I took in some local culture: “From the Andes to the Beatles”.--Four musicians played all kinds of wind instruments, various types of drums, rain sticks and guitars of course. This afternoon I’m doing one of my other favorite activities—kayaking. Being so close to the water will be a joy, especially since Dutch isn’t alongside to chastise me about flipping the kayak over!

If all goes as planned, I’ll be in Iguazu Falls, the third largest falls in the world, tomorrow night. I say that because I’m flying on Aerolineas Argentinas, which has probably changed something with my flights about 30 times. The latest was the airport I’m landing at in Buenos Aires, so my connection to the domestic airport might be a tenuous. Then it’s back to BA and the flight that will get me home in a week.

Note about Antarctica: If you’ve made it this far in the reading, and haven’t seen anything about the Antarctic Peninsula, go to the posting on 23 Jan. I’m just getting caught up and posted it today.

El Calafate and El Chalten

After spending so much time in Torres del Paine, I needed to work my way up to Bariloche. That meant a couple days in El Calafate and El Chalten, which worked out very well as both were small towns geared to tourists. One never knows what one will see along the way. Our first stop had us dividing a herd of goats and cows, and seeing a persistent male trying to have a way with a particularly pretty and clean female, the male being particularly dirty. It was definitely to action people were drawn to, but alas we left while the pursuit was still on.

El Calafate was the base for those who wanted to see the Moreno Glaciar. I took this in, had a nice day, but of course after seeing what I’d seen in Antarctica, it was hard not to draw comparisons. We did get close up and personal with the glaciar, and everyone who spends even 15 minutes there will see some calving. It creeps down the hill quite fast, even on a daily basis. Of course, we’re talking maybe 4 cm. a day, but that’s a lot for a glaciar. I walked around town, had my fill of salads after having been camping without greens for about ten days.

El Chalten is a very rustic town, almost how you would envision a cowboy town. That means no paved streets, some horses along the streets (though those are devoted to tourists or for backpacking) and no sidewalks. It rained all morning, and so I was glad my sightseeing trip had been delayed to the afternoon through unusual circumstances. By the time I was to be picked up, the sun finally came out, showing the mountains’ reflections in the myriad puddles along the way. We hiked a bit to a lookout and were greeted by a smallish glaciar very high up, no calving to be seen in this rather brown looking glaciar.

I’ve been staying in hostels, though the one in El Chalten was definitely geared to 20-somethings. They did have nightly movies, so that was nice, though I wonder what the world thinks about the US based on the movies and TV shows that make it to other countries. My roommates were two guys from Sweden, who I ended up rooming with on my way up to Bariloche. Another was a French woman traveling on her own. She headed back to Bariloche for tango lessons. What a combination—trekking and tangoing.

Patagonia Presence, or maybe Presents

Patagonia is everything you´ve heard about and more. I´ve just spend the past fortnight exploring Torres del Paine in and around the parque nacional. Torres del Paine is awe-inspiring to say the least. I´ve climbed mountains before: the base of Everest, Machu Pichu, Kilimanjaro, and this pulls me more to it than any others. Maybe it´s because it reminds me of the landscape in Cappadochia in Turkey, with this being on a much larger scale, probably more likely it´s because of its spiritualness to me. These mountains are of course millions of years old, being at one time connected to Gondwanna, which connected South America to Antarctica, Austrailia, India, and Africa. To have been to Antarctica, then coming here, might have something to do with feeling so connected to this mountain.

I´ve been traveling with a 31-year old woman from the Antarctic cruise. She´s been a god-send for several reasons. One, as a traveling companion. Two, she's a well-seasoned camper and has camping gear. Three, she´s fluent in Spanish. We enabled each other to hike the "W" in Torres del Paine. Neither of us would have done it on our own. The "W" is one of the main treks through the nacional parque, though one might not be aware of this given the narrowness of the trails and the relatively few number of people encountered along the way. The other is the "O", which circles the Torre del Paine, but I´ve heard is not as spectacular.

Sarah and I met up in Puerto Natales late one evening several days after our cruise, each having made our way north separately. We left by bus the next afternoon after scurrying to provision food, get sleeping bag for me, and take in a traveling Chilean folk presentation to the mayor of Punta Natales. It was very rushed, yet we made the bus with all of our bundles, with 2.5 hours to absorb what we were about to do.

We soon learned that mornings are generally rainy, so we got a late start for hiking the next morning, with me not looking forward to getting out of a wet tent and face wet and muddy camping showers. But alas, the $10 little cook stove Sarah bought, along with backpack and tent in Puerto Arenas cooked us a hot breakfast. We had camped at the right most bottom point of the "W" and hiked the right arm on day one. Day two consisted of us breaking down camp and hiking to the next refugio, i.e. bunkhouse with warm food for me, camping for Sarah. The hike was somewhat treacherous. We actually had to cross a river by foot, along with many smaller streams, so by the time we got to the refugio, our boots were soaked. It took us twice as long to hike the trails than what was indicated on the maps, so we were factoring that in given the weight we were carrying in our packs, and bodies (the additional weight we´d each loaded on while on the cruise).

Rain again in the morning, so another late start, and another grueling day of hiking, but only four or five hours. We decided to chill out at Camp Italiano at the base of the "W" and hike the middle Valle del Frances early the next day without our packs. What a good decision. The next camp was barren, and the hike would have been difficult with a heavy load, and may have taken away from the splendor of being in the middle of the valley of these glorious mountains. I sat at the mirador meditating, taking in all the inspiration these mountains could pour into me. I felt like the universe was bestowing a blessing on me of which I hope I am worthy. Words to describe the view, as well as pictures, cannot do justice to the scenery here.

The trek down the valley alongside the glacial river was a dream, almost as if we were floating. Of course, without our packs on, we did feel more agile going down the boulders and scree. We quickly tore down camp and trekked another three hours to Paine Grande. We stayed here two nights, one in the refugio for me, and the other camping with Sarah. This was luxury, and where we saw the first families hiking, probably because this left bottom portion of the "W" was accessible by ferry along Lago Nordenskjold, which basically underlines the "W", along with Lago Pehoe to its south. We took a day off from trekking, taking time to read, journal, enjoy the scenery, and take a short hike in search of the Hooded Grebe, which we later learned from the parque rangers is only in Argentina.

The next day, still being leisurely, we left around noon for an eight hour trek to finish off the left leg of the "W". We took in several Glaciars this day, with the largest being Glaciar Grey. Other hikers had excitedly told us about the huge icebergs we were soon to encounter, not realizing we´d been to Antarctica. There was some nice blue shading in these glaciars to make us recall the sites we´d seen three weeks before. Having lingered in conersations with fellow hikers, taken pictures along the way, stopping to admire flowers amidst the rocks, we didn´t reach the left tip of the "W" until early evening. Forgetting our girlscout ways, and leaving the headlamps behind, I was now worried about getting back to camp before dark, so we turned around without renourishing ourselves for the four hour trek back. This time we made it within the map´s estimates and before dark, which here is around 10 p.m.

Alas, we´d completed the "W", but were still thirstly for more. We´d heard about horse riding in the park, along the right side of the "W", so explored that the next day. The following day, we were able to arrange a three-day ride south of the parque. So three days after hiking, we were on horseback, exercising different body muscles. Riding alongside Rio Serrano, we took in several glaciars: Tyndall, Chacabuco, Serrrano, an Balmaceda along with several lagos: Brush and del Jote. We camped at private sites which left one wonder about living conditions here, ate meat that had been freshly butchered before we left, but had not been refrigerated, and drank boilded water from the streams. I´ve not had to use my cipro yet, knock on wood.

We chose to do the trail from a family owned and operated ranch. The horses were well fed, well trained and knew the muddy, rocky, slippery trails. They couldn´t keep us safe from all the low hanging branchs (that´s why were thankfully wore helmuts) and those that protuded from each side, but they negotiated the trails expertly. Seis, my horse, was the biggest of the lot, with shoulders taller than my head, which made mounting him very difficult. There were several spots where we had to get off and lead the horses across particularly muddy or rocky paths so the guide then had to figure in time to get us to a spot with an elevated place for us to remount our steads. We chose his footing well, though obstinate the first day, making sure I knew who was in command. Given that the pack horse was sometimes in the lead, I knew I didn´t have to do much, other than make sure I stayed in the saddle. These Chilean saddles are great--with hand-holds in front and behind, no horn, and fit like a glove. Trotting and galloping became almost second nature, though, when near the end of the last day, close to home, my horse wanted to imitate the dogs rolling in the dirt, forgetting I was on his back. Glad I was spontaneous about getting my foot out of that stirrup. (This was sometimes difficult given I was using hiking boots, not riding boots.) Alas, Seis, given a gallant gallop back to the stables, didn´t seem to want to leave me at the end, though he proved very camera shy.

We´re off the Puerto Natales today, then I start heading north to Bariloche via El Calafate/Glaciar Moranes and El Chalten. I´ve heard that area is spectacular. It will have to prove itself after seeing Torres del Paine.