If there is any very important information I have learned about myself onmy trip to Bariloche, Argentina, it is that I'm not cut out for the elite of the Long-Bus-Ride-Travelers. I sat for so long that I could literally feel my bones deteriorating from the constant friction of my tush on the bus seat. I was delighted the entire way to the heady, intoxicating (emphasis on the "toxic") perfume of corn chips and feet. And (intimate friends and family would be impressed to know) I had to pee so bad that I actually braved the horrifying bathroom facilities with female delite and the success of not vomiting out my insides.
In the grand scheme of things, twenty hours on a bus down here is nothing. Certain trips can take 5 to 7 days. Imagine spending FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS. ON A BUS. So I'd like to take a moment to honor those who have heroically perservered traveling by bus around South America by offering them the worldwide recognition they so deeply deserve. They are the few. They are the proud. They are the Long-Bus-Ride-Travelers.
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You can imagine the soil-kissing, tear-leaking relief I experienced as our trusty coach rolled on in to the bus terminal in Bariloche. Erik and I had come to escape what we though would be certain chaos in Santiago during Chile's Bicentennial Celebration. And what an escape it was: even at the terminal we were treated to stunning lake views and towering blue mountains. The air was crisp and smelled of wood smoke curling up through the chimneys of tiny cottages. I was on the frontier of Patagonia and I could not help but feel the giddy magic of my surrundings.
We checked into luxury at La Cascada, a boutique hotel on the edge of town, and I blasted away the dust of our journey with a nice, hot shower. No view on the trip was more impressive than that from our own bedroom window. It left me feeling excited and inspired every time I awoke.
Bariloche is a popular ski resort during the winter. We had luckily come toward the end of peak season, so the town was fairly calm, which felt appropriate in the quiet majesty of our surroundings. We explored the city center our first night there, enjoying some Argentine-German fusion arquitechture.
Cafe del Pueblo serves submarinos (a type of hot chocolate where you stir a submarine-shaped chocolate bar into a glass of steamed milk) as well as live flamenco music every Friday night. We clapped out the beat on the sidelines as the complexity of the songs grew and as more and more intoxicated patrons stood to dance. I smiled at a young girl as she rumbaed alongside her mother. It was a beautiful welcome to Argentine culture - warm, rustic and friendly, which I sometimes miss in the bustle of Santiago.
The next day could have put a smile on Snow Miser's face: it was 1,000 below. Although I might have complained a little as I sat shivering atop Cerro Campenario, the view was absolutely stunning. We were surrounded on all sides by mirror lakes, snow-capped mountains and verdant green valleys.
We also paid a stop to the Fenoglio Chocolate Factory and Museum on the edge of town - $6.00 U.S. per person, roughly, got us a brief guided tour of the museum and factory as well as some personal history of how chocolateering came to be in Bariloche (read: Italian immigrants are always responsible for the best things to be found in any country). And, of course, we got to sample some hot chocolate and bonbons. Erik and I literally flew back with a kilo of chocolate each. (Choclate is very expensive in Santiago, but VERY cheap in Argentina. For comparison, a candy bar here is about $4.00 U.S., while a whole box of artisan chocolates in Bariloche was the same $4.00.)
Our last day in town was spent on Nahuel Huapi, which roughly translates to something about a very big cat, I believe, although with the wind and the rain it was hard tohear the tour guide talking as our catamaran island-hopped across the lake. We stopped first at Victoria Island (the original name was a man's name, but the locals mis-pronounced it as Victoria). The island was purchased for private use and in 1902 all the native wood was forested for profit. Later, a man who bought the island turned it into an arboretum for trees native to North America, Europe, and Africa. Imagine my surprise standing on an island on the tip of Argentina face-to-face with a baby sequoia (still hundreds of years old).
It's got nothing on California, but the smell of the pines made me a little homesick. Ecofreaks will be pleased to know that they are slowly trying to reforest the island with native flora and fauna. It is a VERY slow process, as indigenous trees only grow 1mm maximum per year.
Next we went to Arrayenes National Park. The island is covered in these trees with flaming orange-colored bark that peels away in strips to reveal a white chalky wood underneath. The effect is pretty po-mo. This location was so inspiring that Walt Disney actually based the setting of "Bambi" from a small cottage located on the island, and the small native deer (huapu huapu) inspired Snow White's close friends.
We were tired and beaten traveling back over the mountains, through Puerto Montt, and onto Santiago. But WHAT a journey. Cold, wet snow fell heavy on my face as we walked through the customs line. Erik asked if I wanted to make a snow angel. I must teach him that different types of snow call for different types of snow art.
