Patagonian blisters and buses...wait, when's the bus???

Well I am happy to see that I almost completely covered Buenos Aires Pt 2 in my last blog. So I can start with my more recent adventures of Patagonia.

New Years Day morning I got on a bus out of Buenos Aires. A bus ride that I was told would be 36 hours, but turned into 40. It sucked, but let's be honest here...after 36 hours on a bus, what is 4 more? I arrived in Rio Gallegos at about 2am. (Gallegos is pronounced Ga-che-gos with the Argentinian accent, and I LOVE saying it. It was the first word I actually liked better with the Arg accent and I fell into a love for the entire Argentinian version of Spanish after this. I love all of the "a vos" and "che"s they can throw at me. If only they could throw them a little slower so I could have time to digest what they are actually saying...) I spent about 40 pesos on a cab ride that took me to 3 different hostals before I found one that was open and had a bed available. (I had tried to make reservations ahead of time but the lack of hostals listed on the internet is shameful and the two phone numbers I did have never led to even the ability to leave a message requesting a room.) I slept for about 5 hours before getting up to go to the bus terminal to cross the border to Chile. Of course, the next bus direct to Chile was not until two days later. But you can take another bus to the entirely all too small border town of Rio Turbio and switch to another bus, or take a taxi across, to get to Puerto Natales. So we arrived in Rio Turbio, found the bus company that would take us across the border, and then had about 5 hours to kill.

And thus began the never ending wait for buses. Whether it be 5 hours, or 2 days,the transportation in Patagonia is as sparse as they say it is. Fortunately, I eventually made it to Puerto Natales and the transportation INTO Torres del Paine is not sparse. (Well, at least when there isn't a strike in the entire region with the roads blocked and people dying because of the tax hike on tax.) So I got into the park alright, and began trekking. About half an hour into said trekking, I started to develop a blister. So I searched my bag only to realize my medical kit (with loads of mole skin!) somehow did not make it into my backpack. In my search, I also came to the realization that my packed lunch had leaked tuna and tomato juices all over the inside of my daypack. Nevermind all this, I was still going to do this5 day trek. I didn't come all this way to have a little blister and some nasty smelling food juices stop me. And so I began to hike. After about an hour of trying to get on the right trail, I came to the realization, along with a couple that I was with, that we were on the wrong trail, heading AWAY from where we wanted to be going. And THAT was how my first days started. It was a litte rough. But once we got on the right trail, and my friends gave me a piece of their mole skin, things were starting to look up.

Another hour into the hike, I could feel a blister starting to form on my other heal, and the one on my right heal was worsening. So I made the decision to only hike to the Glacier Grey Mirador instead of all the way to the glacier. (After all, haven't I already seen plenty of glaciers in Alaska and New Zealand, and wasn't I going to see more in Argentina?) On the way we passed beautiful lakes, reminding me of Yosemite. And when we came up the hill and just over it you can see the enormous Glacier Grey, the trek was already well worth the pain. Glacier Grey is massive and beautiful. It was a clear day and you could see all the way to the ice field behind it. At the top of the mirador the wind blows incredibly strong and I almost lost my hat. So after quickly appreciating the full expansive view, I retreated to the cover of the forest and began my hike back to the refugio I was going to camp at for the night. Day 1: 7km.

The next day I managed to painfully squeeze my blister swollen feet into my hiking shoes and continue on. The amazing views never stopped and although the estimated hiking time alots for time spent taking photos, my trigger happy finger barely allowed me to make it. As I passed the turn off to the Valle de Frances mirador, and my feet felt like fire, I second guessed whether I shouldn't just climb it that day instead of waiting to backtrack back to this point the next day so I could do it without my pack. Since I had planned a day into the trek to backtrack, I decided to keep going and save it. But when I started to make my way downhill I regretted this decision. I realized not only would I have to trek up this hill tomorrow, but more regrettably, I would have to trek back down it. Upon arriving at the refugio, I got my tent, and immediately removed my shoes for the remainder of the day. The blister on my right foot was bloody and disgusting. Just a little pain, I kept telling myself. Don't be such a baby. Day 2: 12 km.


That night I was reunited with a German couple I had met on the bus to Rio Turbio. The girl, Miriam, had actually lived in Palo Alto the summer after she finished high school. She had even worked at Pizza-A-Go-Go on University. I found it uncanny that the chances that I had ordered pizza from her all those years ago was incredibly high. They were doing the exact same route as me but they were one day ahead.

In the morning, I did not like the idea of having to put my shoes on. But the idea of reaching the top of the Valle de Frances, and the fact that it was going to get worse before it got better made me suck it up and DEAL WITH IT. So after eating a nice warm breakfast of scrambled eggs and homemade bread I took off, back up the hill to the turn off, and then up, and up, and UP to the Mirador Valle de Frances. My early start was not so early, and I reached the top at about 1:45pm. The view was stunning. I could see the glacier lake below, and you could see all of the inside of park. At about 2:30, I noticed the dark clouds passing over the mountains and into the valley. It was time to get back to the refugio as fast as I could. So I started going down, and down and DOWN. And my knees hurt, and my heals hurt, but I pressed on. And then it started to sprinkle, and I started to run. (I have been dying to go for a proper run now for about 2 months. This is actually the longest I have gone without doning a pair of Asics in the last 8 years of my life.) Running, despite the pain, made me feel better. It was a relief to have both legs off the ground at once and to cover ground swiftly and quickly. When I finally arrived back at the refugio I was incredibly relieved, and surprised that it was only 6:15. My entire lower body ached, filled with soreness from the long day of up up up and down down down. Day 3: 25km.

The promise of an easier, shorter, flater day was the only thing that got me to put my shoes back on. (And the fact that there were rivers to be crossed that were probably best done in hiking shoes.) I slept in and set off to wind over and around the hillsides to the next refugio. There was still some drizzle left from the night before, but it wasn't too bad. Eventually the sky filled with sun and many hikers took breaks to relax and eat their lunches. I took breaks too, one to eat some lunch and loads to satisfy my trigger happy finger. When I reached the refugio at 2, the German couple was just leaving. Due to poor weather, they had only been able to see the bottom half of the Torres that morning. By the time I got my tent and took my shoes off, I was in so much pain from my blisters, that I decided there was no way in HELL I would be putting those shoes back on the next day. Well, we would see how I felt when I woke up, but I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to wear them. Day 4: 12km.

My alarm went off at 3am. This is what time you need to leave this campground if you want to reach the Torres by sunrise and get back in time to catch the 2pm bus back to Puerto Natales. The sounds I heard after silencing my alarm were of wind and rain. And so I made another decision. There was no way in HELL I was going to try to climb to the Torres at 3am. So I went back to sleep. Got up at 8:30, ate my warm breakfast. And then around 10, I put on my CONVERSE, and started the trek up. The whole way I could see the clouds passing overhead and I worried that I would not be able to see the Torres once I got to the mirador. Up and up I climbed and scrambled over rocks. And when I reached the top, there stood the 3 Torres del Paine. They were incredible. A few clouds still passed through them. But they came and went and it was fabulous. I was so happy to have made it to the highlight of the trek. It had been 5 days of pain and beautifulness, to culminate in a stunning vista. I sat at the top and enjoyed soaked up every second of sun and wind and stunningness. I ate my Snickers and then eventually, grudgingly, made my way down to the refugio to collect my backpack and lunch and head down to catch the bus. Once I arrived at the hotel, I had to wait for the bus...about 4 hours. Waiting for a bus? Nothing new... But the relief, that I was finally done, that I would NEVER EVER put those shoes on again, was enough to keep me happily waiting until arriving back in Puerto Natales. Day 5: 15km.

Back in Puerto Natales, I heard the news that the Chilean drivers were going to start a strike the next day at midnight. To my extreme fortune, I had bought my ticket to Argentina, before I left on my trek, to leave the next morning. I was literally, on the last bus out of Puerto Natales. Since then, the situation in Chile has been bad. Very bad. All the roads are closed, people have died, and friends have been escorted out of Chile by the Air Force. One is even still stuck in Chile, being fed by the Red Cross and waiting transport to safety. Wouldn't this be a better story to tell if I hadn't been on that last bus out? But then, I might still be in Puerto Natales. And I wouldn't be stuck here, in Coyhaique, waiting 2 days for the next bus to Futaleufu. I wouldn't have gone to El Calafate, and waited there for 3 days until the next bus to Chile Chico. And I wouldn't have gone to Chile Chico, and waited there for what should have been 4 days, to take the ferry to Puerto Ibanez. Fortunately, the people who run the ferry, have good hearts. They let all the unfortunate souls without a way out of the small town, onto the ferry, and I didn't have to wait until Wednesday, but rather left on Sunday. Which put me here, in Coyhaique, where I will finally be leaving tomorrow, Wednesday (the day I should have been leaving Chile Chico). So wait and wait and wait, seems to be mostly what I do these days as my adventure is quickly coming to a close. Three and a half more weeks and I will be leaving South America. I will be coming back to reality. And I will be living vicariously through the few friends still remaining in South America.