Bariloche – Chapter I

In order to hassle a hitch-hike all the way from Buenos Aires to Bariloche (about 25 hours by bus, 40 by truck), I thought I might use the Grativiajes-Facebookpage for Argentinean carpooling. Result: 200 likes, 150 friend requests and 100 private messages from men from all over Argentina except of Bariloche offering drinks and a bed (which happened to be the same bed they were sleeping in, did I mind?). In short, never again: it’s not always easier to be a woman, it’s in fact very time-consuming. So in the end I decided to go with the trusted old-fashioned way involving the thumbs… which is actually rather complicated from Buenos Aires, as merely getting out of the city cost 3 hours with 1 bus and 2 trains.

Shortly I fetched a ride to Chabez (or Chavez, you never know here with the interchangeable ‘b’ and ‘v’) with trucker Patricio, a man in his thirties who just dumped his 14-year-old girlfriend. From there I drove along with truck driver Claudio, a caring mustached father-figure, the type that puts blankets over you the moment you fall asleep due to the wobbling of the vehicle. At night he stopped at a gas station in Bahia Blanca, where I tried to catch some very necessary sleep lying in the indoor sitting area under a tl-light.

However, humans don’t always want to help their fellow-human-beings… the staff kept waking me up with a 30-minute interval threatening that the moment I closed my eyes I must go outside (it was around freezing point), on purpose pumping out cumbia music on maximum volume. You don’t know what cumbia music sounds like, you say? Well, praise yourself lucky and don’t ever try to find out. After 20 seconds of uninterrupted sleep I joined Claudio again on his way to Neuquen, passing Qeuquen (my Dutch readers will understand how funny this is), on the magnificent and rather famous highway of Ruta 40.

I stared at the endless and endless roads cutting through divine landscapes, disturbingly decorated with and unlimited supply of wheel-flattened animals. Argentina is genuinely beautiful: you know it, but sometimes it just hits you. Like someone shakes you up to double-check if you don’t forget registering every single percent of this splendor. Instead of wondering how much time it still was to the destination I decided to get rid of thinking in destinations: 

Focus on the journey, as that’s the real adventure.

I never really understood those backpackers flying from Buenos Aires to Santiago to Lima to Bogotá in 3 weeks and saying they ‘did’ South America. They know nothing (, John Snow). It’s almost as ironic as how Argentineans drown in pride and patriotism and turn every situation into an opportunity to shamelessly brag about their fatherland, often without even knowing where they are talking about (a big percentage of Argentineans never travel abroad and seldom see more of their country than 1 or 2 provinces)… it might be for the best, imagine if they really knew how outstanding their landscapes are.

I woke up from my thoughts when I had to say goodbye to Claudio to get a last ride for the ultimate leg of the trip, which was fetched within mere minutes. Then, after a few hours more, I finally arrived at the promised land. First observations: freezing cold and excessively expensive. After I put 5 layers of clothing on and bought a bread for exactly 4 times the amount it costs in the capital and paid double for a bus ride 15 times as short, I met up with Couchsurfer Paul.

Second observation: the people are way friendlier here and its beauty is unequaled

Crystal clear lakes contrast with pink lilac trees, eminent snowy mountain peaks do the rest to take your breath away.   

The touristic center has the feels of a wintersport-village in Austria, which [to ruin the fairytale] might be related to the fact that this appears to be the favorite hide-out for many Nazi war criminals who escaped Europe after WWII. Nevertheless, it totally makes sense why the stunning Bariloche functions as a strong magnet for holidaymakers from every direction the wind blows.

After 2 sessions of drained coma-sleep and a day at the rhythm of a 75-year-old, I finally regained the energy to go out on a first little exploration. Cerro Campanario is easily reached by bus 20 and 22 and has a cute little, but seriously overpriced chairlift to take you up to the viewpoint. However, my legs are more enduring than my wallet, so I went up walking… climbing. It might be a short ascend, but don’t let that fool you: it’s brutal! I consider myself of strong physical (and sometimes questionable mental) health and I was struggling. However, once up the reward is intense and overwhelming:

The panoramic vision over the pristine lakes, green and white-capped mountains and clear blue skies are not to be processed instantly… A modern Julie-Andrews-the-hiiiiiiillls-are-alive-with-the-sound-of-muuuusic-moment, slightly disturbed by the always exaggerated voices of teenage American girls screaming how much they looooooove Berry-lodge-ay. You know, I have nothing against teenagers (ok that’s a lie) or Americans or girls, but why they all speak in the same moaning way, pushing 5 ‘likes’ and an inevitable low cackling emphasis on a distinct group of about 2-3 words in every sentence (yes, I have been studying it)? I try to ‘let people be’, but can they just not be like that?

I descended from paradise and took bus 10 that drives via the picturesque Colonia Suiza to the southern point of the Circuito Chico, which I decided to complete by foot. My first starting point, Cementerio del Montañes, is the last resting place of the local mountaineers in their beloved nature, some of them Olympic sportsmen… [The creepy thing about Google is that it knows everyone, even the corpses I was standing on.]

I marched along to Hotel Alun Nehuen from where you have an exquisite outlook over the Bahia Lopez… a jetty reaching into unsettling blue lake, breeding bird species, majestic mountains, that kind of stuff.

A bit further down the road and a few miradores later you can enter the walking path to Lago Escondido and Bosque de Arrayanes (orang-colored trees, red.).

From there on I moved forward to the scenic and often-blogged Llao Llao Hotel, which is basically the place where you celebrate holiday when you’re 80 years old and physically ruined, after working your entire life to gain enough money to pay for this.

Reading this paragraph back I notice it sounds like a short, mellow family-walk… but it’s about 20km uphill. I was shattered.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from walking 2 full days more. As unfortunately I didn’t arrive in hiking season (which is November-Jan, summer), most refugio’s were closed. However, NOT Refugio Frey, the Frey-die-hards are always open. So I hitch-hiked to the foot of Cerro Catedral, the local, kind of soulless, ski resort from where the hike takes off.

The trek started warm in rather dry terrain, but after about 2 hours the snow appeared. You know, it’s a lot more fun to experience this with an Argentinean of 28 years old who never saw snow in his life. These first encounters are of pure beauty. “LOOK, you can see my footsteps!” – “Watch me, I slide, jihaaaa!!!” (yup, that’s what snow does…). The gentleman in question even found it necessary to drop his phone in it from a meter height, in the name of science (why the phone and not an object unaffected by water remains a mystery). It’s supposed to take about 4 hours, but with the heavy snowfall and the hefty backpack you can easily add another 1,5 to that. After that, arriving at the stunningly located Refugio Frey is the best thing that can happen to you. Warm mate, laughing faces and attractive snowboard-boys playing acoustic guitar, what more can one ask for?

Of course, a cozy campfire, of which we were instantly served at our beck and call. Because we weren’t going to pay the 250 pesos ($15) for an uncleaned, shared 10-person bed (I said bed, not bedroom) with a shit-clogged bathroom (according to my companion, I didn’t feel the need to visually confirm it)… we were going camping!

-“But madam, there’s a meter snow.”  

– “… and?” 

And that’s how a bad idea starts.

Before I knew it I was shoveling the snow off the camping spot, trying to break the ice by slamming on it. There I quickly pitched the 1-layer-tent, designed for 1 person only. Which we used for 2. Without gear, without a mattress… just a sleeping bag (designed for 15 degrees) on the frozen ground.

Can you feel the disaster coming up? Because when the sun is still shining and you’re walking and shoveling and moving, freezing point is bearable. But when the sun disappears and temperatures drop below zero… and you lie still on a floor, unable to turn and hugging the humid tent canvas, while you hear the crackling of new ice forming around you…yeah, you realize you made a mistake. At this point, wearing ski-socks, sweat pants, ski pants, 2 hats, 4 sweaters and a ski jacket won’t save you. Slyly sneaking into the refugio’s living room to secretly sleep on the small wooden bench does. I didn’t sleep much, but at least the suffering ended.

When finally the sun came up and made life possible again, I finished my sleeping cycle until midday to physically prepare for the challenging and slippery descend. I looked around me to take the last overwhelming impressions of this locality in and grabbed my improvised walking stick for the necessary support. We took a little detour which unexpectedly led us to Cascada de los Duendes via Lago Gutierrez, a startling surprise. However, my body reached the point of collapse… to arrive at Paul’s couch was another highlight during an overall climaxing trip.

I had made a whole list of things to do and I wasn’t done yet, but unfortunately my visa was. 90 days in Argentina is never enough. I was forced to cross the border to Chile, which isn’t the worst punishment to be honest, where I decided to make the most out of my stay visiting Puyehue National Park, Osorno, Puerto Varas and Isla Chiloe. BUT… now it comes…

Then I returned!

First to the charming little border town of Villa La Angostura where Mercedes and Mario (Mercy & Marito) where awaiting my arrival. Then to Bariloche again to finish the sightseeing… and then I topped it off with El Bolsón. 

Curious about that? Keep following me then.   

Until we meet.

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