The tranquility I experienced in San Martin de los Andes has metamorphosed into a weekend of action and adventure in Patagonian party capital, San Carlos de Bariloche. Set on the side of a huge, sparkling blue lake, surrounded by mountains and a few miles away from one of Argentina´s best ski resorts, Bariloche is a top destination for travellers and the streets are buzzing with bars, restaurants, clubs and English people with backpacks.
I have spent three nights at a hostel which describes itself as ´Bariloche´s party hostel´ and so far it has definitely lived up to the name. For a start, it´s pointless to even try and speak Spanish here, as the place is full of English, Americans, Irish, Israelis and all the staff (and seemingly the entire town) speak perfect English. I´ve been out for the last three nights with my two English room mates Jon and Richard, getting to know Bariloche´s varied selection of Irish bars, drinking a shocking amount of Havana rum and not getting in until around 5ish.
But the days have not been without their excitement. In memory of early teenage years spent trotting around the Mendips, I booked an afternoon of horseriding in the mountains on Saturday. There were just six of us and the first couple of hours was spent slowly walking across the hills, gasping at the pretty scenery. Then, for the last half an hour, we were invited to attempt a gentle canter. My horse didn´t need telling twice and shot off across the mountain side, with me desperately clinging to the reins, my feet swinging wildly, having fallen out of the stirrups. I´m ashamed to say I screamed like a big girl in fear of falling off and being trampled but managed to cling on, although I´m bearing some pretty hefty bruises in some fairly intimate places from the experience.
Final night in Bariloche today before I venture into the Patagonian autumn towards glaciers near the end of the world.
lunes, 26 de marzo de 2007
lunes, 19 de marzo de 2007
The San Martin Diet
I´ve just started a new diet. It´s one which I would bet a substantial amount of money that the Hollywood size 0 set will not be raving about in the bikini issues come the summer.
It goes like this:
Breakfast - Standard hostel breakfast of two or three croissants covered in honey, possibly with a bit of dulce del leche (sweet, creamy caramel that the Argentines have on everything). Milky coffee with sugar (to disguise that bitter `hostel-coffee´ taste).
Lunch - A chunky cheese and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise. Crisps. A bottle of Sprite.
Afternoon snack - Little puffed bread cake things that have been baked and then fried and are eaten hot with sugar. Another milky, sweet coffee.
Dinner - Deep fried cheese. Pizza with roquefort and olives. Chocolate fondue. A bottle of Mendozan Malbec.
Bedtime snack - A puff-pastry cake filled with dulce de leche and covered in nuts and chocolate.
Ok, so that´s a slight exaggeration for one day, but having arrived in San Martin de los Andes on Saturday I´m struggling to keep out of the multitude of chocolate shops, fondue restaurants and panderias (bakeries) that line every street. No, I´m no in Switzerland, but in a beautiful little town in northern Patagonia in the Argentine lake district. Founded in the late 19th century largely thanks to German and Austrian immigration, it´s easy to forget you´re in Argentina when confronted with the log cabin architecture, beautiful lake and surrounding mountains.
Fortunately, the scenery is at least as impressive as the cuisine, so I´ve been trying to distract myself by getting out and seeing something of the countryside. Today´s visit to Parque Nacional Lanin to see the volcano was breathtakingly beautiful to the point of being overwhelming, but you´ll have to wait for my photos as this computer was made in 1946 (or something). I´ve found someone else´s picture of San Martin to keep you going in the meantime.
Slightly homesick today as I haven´t met another English speaker for over a week now and am in dire need of some conversation without the aid of a dictionary. Thursday´s arrival in party town and favourite backpacker destination Bariloche should sort that out and I´m looking forward to a big night out. Right, I´m off to get some more dulce de leche... I mean grapes.
It goes like this:
Breakfast - Standard hostel breakfast of two or three croissants covered in honey, possibly with a bit of dulce del leche (sweet, creamy caramel that the Argentines have on everything). Milky coffee with sugar (to disguise that bitter `hostel-coffee´ taste).
Lunch - A chunky cheese and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise. Crisps. A bottle of Sprite.
Afternoon snack - Little puffed bread cake things that have been baked and then fried and are eaten hot with sugar. Another milky, sweet coffee.
Dinner - Deep fried cheese. Pizza with roquefort and olives. Chocolate fondue. A bottle of Mendozan Malbec.
Bedtime snack - A puff-pastry cake filled with dulce de leche and covered in nuts and chocolate.
Ok, so that´s a slight exaggeration for one day, but having arrived in San Martin de los Andes on Saturday I´m struggling to keep out of the multitude of chocolate shops, fondue restaurants and panderias (bakeries) that line every street. No, I´m no in Switzerland, but in a beautiful little town in northern Patagonia in the Argentine lake district. Founded in the late 19th century largely thanks to German and Austrian immigration, it´s easy to forget you´re in Argentina when confronted with the log cabin architecture, beautiful lake and surrounding mountains.
Fortunately, the scenery is at least as impressive as the cuisine, so I´ve been trying to distract myself by getting out and seeing something of the countryside. Today´s visit to Parque Nacional Lanin to see the volcano was breathtakingly beautiful to the point of being overwhelming, but you´ll have to wait for my photos as this computer was made in 1946 (or something). I´ve found someone else´s picture of San Martin to keep you going in the meantime.
Slightly homesick today as I haven´t met another English speaker for over a week now and am in dire need of some conversation without the aid of a dictionary. Thursday´s arrival in party town and favourite backpacker destination Bariloche should sort that out and I´m looking forward to a big night out. Right, I´m off to get some more dulce de leche... I mean grapes.
viernes, 16 de marzo de 2007
Traveller´s Fables: The Bus and the Backpack
A young (ish) woman from London town had set forth on a great adventure to far-off lands. After learning enough of the local language to order herself wine and a bed for the night, she felt she was ready to ignore the advice of her trusted companion, the Footprint Guide to Argentina and attempt, by herself, a visit to a strange town where, rumour had it, lay the bones of the largest meat-eating dinosaur that had ever been found on the earth.
So, she reserved a hotel room, not knowing what it might cost, and found a bus that would take her to her destination, not knowing when it might arrive. She sat quietly on the bus, with a feeling of nervous anticpation in her stomach. The bus attendant, a kindly man, who had observed her feeble attempts at communicating with the other passengers, told her when the bus had arrived at her destination, and helped her off with her bag before the bus, full of sleeping passengers, continued on its way.
As she gathered her things together, she looked around and realised that the bus had left her on a deserted highway with no bus station or nearby town in sight and she, alone and confused, was stranded in the dark in Patagonia at 10pm with a heavy bag upon her back and without a map, a mobile phone reception or a clue.
And the moral of the story is: When travelling for the first time to a strange town in Patagonia by yourself, try and arrive during daylight hours, as next time you might not be able to count on the only other person who got off at the same time as you getting her dad to give you a lift to your hotel.
Fortunately, the hotel was lovely (although it did blow the budget) and I could enjoy sleeping with my curtains wide open and waking up to watch the sun rise over the lake. The dinosaur bones were pretty cool too.
So, she reserved a hotel room, not knowing what it might cost, and found a bus that would take her to her destination, not knowing when it might arrive. She sat quietly on the bus, with a feeling of nervous anticpation in her stomach. The bus attendant, a kindly man, who had observed her feeble attempts at communicating with the other passengers, told her when the bus had arrived at her destination, and helped her off with her bag before the bus, full of sleeping passengers, continued on its way.
As she gathered her things together, she looked around and realised that the bus had left her on a deserted highway with no bus station or nearby town in sight and she, alone and confused, was stranded in the dark in Patagonia at 10pm with a heavy bag upon her back and without a map, a mobile phone reception or a clue.
And the moral of the story is: When travelling for the first time to a strange town in Patagonia by yourself, try and arrive during daylight hours, as next time you might not be able to count on the only other person who got off at the same time as you getting her dad to give you a lift to your hotel.
Fortunately, the hotel was lovely (although it did blow the budget) and I could enjoy sleeping with my curtains wide open and waking up to watch the sun rise over the lake. The dinosaur bones were pretty cool too.
jueves, 15 de marzo de 2007
The Condor in the Canon
Well, aren´t I whizzing through Argentina? Today I find myself on my first stop in Patagonia, in the province (and capital city of) Neuquen. As I am aiming to be in Santiago by the middle of April I only stopped in San Rafael for a few days, giving myself just enough time for a visit to another winery and a tour of the local wonder of nature, the Cañon del Atuel.
Not wanting to fork out for a hire car by myself (too hard to map read when you´re driving), I decided it would be easier to book an all day tour. Most of the tours kindly collect you from your hotel in a little minibus, usually with an alarming spider´s web of cracks across the windscreen due to the quantity of gravel they spend their time speeding through.
Although in the same province as Mendoza, the countryside surrounding San Rafael is noticeably different. Where closer to Mendoza city is all towering peaks (some with snow), San Rafael is jagged rocks and gullies. We made several pit stops to appreciate the area´s more aesthetically pleasing aspects, including the Dique de Nihuel, before an atmospheric and nerve-wracking drive through the stunning Cañon del Atuel. I found that there was an optional rafting excursion through the bottom of the Cañon and, as I showed such a natural aptitude in Mendoza, I happily clambered aboard. As we floated along a quieter part of the rushing stream our instructor nudged my shoulder and pointed up. Above us, silloueted against the blue sky was a condor, wheeling against the craggy cliffs. Then, for some still unknown reason (my Spanish is still very sketchy), the instructor made me climb out of the raft and cling on to the side through the next bit of rapid, all the while shouting at me incomrehensibly. I have only just recovered from the combined experience.
Not wanting to fork out for a hire car by myself (too hard to map read when you´re driving), I decided it would be easier to book an all day tour. Most of the tours kindly collect you from your hotel in a little minibus, usually with an alarming spider´s web of cracks across the windscreen due to the quantity of gravel they spend their time speeding through.
Although in the same province as Mendoza, the countryside surrounding San Rafael is noticeably different. Where closer to Mendoza city is all towering peaks (some with snow), San Rafael is jagged rocks and gullies. We made several pit stops to appreciate the area´s more aesthetically pleasing aspects, including the Dique de Nihuel, before an atmospheric and nerve-wracking drive through the stunning Cañon del Atuel. I found that there was an optional rafting excursion through the bottom of the Cañon and, as I showed such a natural aptitude in Mendoza, I happily clambered aboard. As we floated along a quieter part of the rushing stream our instructor nudged my shoulder and pointed up. Above us, silloueted against the blue sky was a condor, wheeling against the craggy cliffs. Then, for some still unknown reason (my Spanish is still very sketchy), the instructor made me climb out of the raft and cling on to the side through the next bit of rapid, all the while shouting at me incomrehensibly. I have only just recovered from the combined experience.
sábado, 10 de marzo de 2007
If at first you don´t succeed
While Mendoza is a busy city and a hub of activity for outdoor sports and, of course, vineyards, I´ve actually done relatively little of all there is to offer as my attempts at excursions haven´t been altogether successful. Firstly was the failed cycling tour of local bodegas (vineyards), as Lindsay, the mad Texan woman I was due to go with, fell down some stairs and was in no fit state to cycle. Then there was the moonlight horseriding, which I sat around all day waiting for only to be told that it was cancelled as not enough people had booked. This is not to mention the barbeque at the hostel where the food I was assured was perfect for a vegetarian turned out to be lettuce and tomato salad.
So you can imagine how I felt when I woke up on the day I had booked rafting and abseiling to see that the heavens had opened. Still, rafting, I thought, gets you wet anyway, so I clambered aboard a little minibus for the drive into the moutains to find the rapids. By the time we reached the lake the clouds were lifting and its surface was starting to reflect the blue sky in patches of brilliant turquoise.
And here we have, ladies and gentlemen, my first piece of evidence that I am really here and not just fabricating this entire story from my living room (that´s me on the far left at the back). If you look closely you will see that stlyish blue helmet I am wearing says ´Argentina Rafting´, so it´s really true, you see? It was lots of fun although it didn´t go on long enough and was easier than I expected.
I never did quite make it to the abseiling, but maybe in San Rafael.
domingo, 4 de marzo de 2007
Wine and Women
The city of Mendoza, on Argentina's western border, nestling next to the Andes, is the country´s main producer of wine. Each year on the first Saturday of March they hold a big festival to celebrate the start of the vendimia (harvest) and enjoy some of their finest produce. Funnily enough, I happened to arrive in Mendoza on the first Thursday in March, just in time to find a place to stay before the festivities began.
It´s a very pretty city, with broad streets lined with trees and inhabitants who seem to take greater pride in their surroundings than in Buenos Aires. On every street is someone washing their car, sweeping the pavement or tidying their garden and the streets are relatively free from the litter that Porteños just drop as they go.
Last night was the Vendimia Acto Central, a huge show in the town´s outdoor theatre to celebrate the start of the festival and select this year´s Reina de la Vendimia (Harvest Queen). I couldn´t miss out so, along with at least 50 thousand patritotic Argentines waving flags, I perched on a stone seat with a glass of Malbec to enjoy the show.
Hundreds of dancers dressed as grapes, wines, water, sun and earth depicted the story of wine production, including, I am sure, a fair amount of local myth and legend that I didn´t recognise. I have to say it was a bit of a "cena del perro" (look it up) with many of the dancers seemingly doing their own thing and bumping into each other on stage, but it was very enjoyable and the rest of the audience absolutely loved it, including those who hadn´t been able to get tickets and had thronged the surrounding hills to peer down at the stadium from above. I regret to say that after two hours sitting on a stone I didn´t stay until the very end to see who was elected Harvest Queen, as I realised that I was bored and didn´t care.
Tonight I might just find a lovely restaurant and enjoy a bottle or two of Mendoza´s finest. Adios. x
It´s a very pretty city, with broad streets lined with trees and inhabitants who seem to take greater pride in their surroundings than in Buenos Aires. On every street is someone washing their car, sweeping the pavement or tidying their garden and the streets are relatively free from the litter that Porteños just drop as they go.
Hundreds of dancers dressed as grapes, wines, water, sun and earth depicted the story of wine production, including, I am sure, a fair amount of local myth and legend that I didn´t recognise. I have to say it was a bit of a "cena del perro" (look it up) with many of the dancers seemingly doing their own thing and bumping into each other on stage, but it was very enjoyable and the rest of the audience absolutely loved it, including those who hadn´t been able to get tickets and had thronged the surrounding hills to peer down at the stadium from above. I regret to say that after two hours sitting on a stone I didn´t stay until the very end to see who was elected Harvest Queen, as I realised that I was bored and didn´t care.
Tonight I might just find a lovely restaurant and enjoy a bottle or two of Mendoza´s finest. Adios. x
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