A Series of Fortuitous Unfortunate Events

We arrived at the bus station eager to try the semi-cama night bus that we were booked on from El Chalten to Los Antiguos, and from there the next few days became a series of fortuitous unfortunate events.

Our bus was due to arrive by 7:30 pm and depart by 8 pm. When 8:30 rolled around and there was no sign of our transportation, we asked and we told that the original bus had broken down somewhere and a new bus was being dispatched. The new bus arrived around 9:30 and was the equivalent of a greyhound; our dreams of wine, dinner, badly dubbed English films, and a semi comfortable seat were dashed, but at least we were on our way.

Turns out that we did get some dinner, as the bus stopped on the side of the road around 11:30 pm and grabbed tasteless cheese sandwiches from someone before we continued onward.

When we arrived in Los Antiguos we found that trying to cross the border on Christmas was asking for trouble and throw in that it was also a Sunday, was downright idiotic. There were about 20 backpackers that exited the bus expecting to catch a mini bus or cab to the border, only to essentially be laughed at and told to start walking.

The distance between the bus stop and the Argentinan border is approximately 2 miles. The distance between the Argentinan and the Chilean border is about 3 miles, and the distance from the Chilean border and the bus station in Chile Chico is probably another 3 or 4 miles. The rag tag bunch of backpackers split off into smaller groups in hopes of getting across the border and onto other cities by the end of the day. Em and I ended up in a group of about 8 people trudging through the near empty streets of Los Antiguos and out into the country. It was an odd progression, especially because one of our new friends, Elmer (from Germany), was in a wheelchair.

When we got to our first border (the Argentinan exit), we were once again laughed at and told to walk onward. Em, I, and Elmer were the only ones that really needed to be anywhere by the end of the day, so Em and I split off from the rest of the group in hopes of getting to Chile Chico at a reasonable time so we could get a bus out to Coyhuique. Turns outs that everyone else ended up being luckier than us. Since we headed out walking the 4 km loop that took you up and around a barren plant and river area before bringing you back to the same start place (but a km to the side) everyone else was behind us and actually got picked up by someone when they attempted to hitchhike. We ended up meeting up with them again at the Chilean border; us being hot, tired, and cranky, and them being, cool, relaxed, and laughing. The only people I didn't hate at that moment were the other unfortunates that had to also make the hot and pointlessly long walk, and Elmer (cause trying to go that distance in a wheelchair and with a suitcase is on par with some level of Dante's inferno).

At the border, one guy was nice enough to call a taxi for us so that we didn't have to walk the last 5km into town. As the taxi pulled up, another couple asked if they could split the fare. Turns out that the girl component of the couple was fluent in Spanish and able to convey we wanted to get to the bus station so we could go on to Coyhuique. Thus ensued a long conversation where the cab driver was nice enough to tell the girl (who translated and relayed to us) that there were no buses out that day to Coyhuique, but that there was a ferry at 2pm to Puerto Ibanez, and from there a transfer by minibus to Coyhuique.

The cab driver dropped us at the port in front of the closed booking office and drove off. Since it was only 12:30 by this point and the sign on the door said the office opened at 1pm, we decided to stake our claim in the doorway in hopes that they weren't closed for the holiday. Since other cars kept driving up and multiple people tried the door even though we told them the office was closed, we had hope that the ferry was going to run.

At 1pm, two girls came and opened shop and the by that point, the 15 people waiting, all flooded in. We bought a boat ticket from one person and a minibus ticket from another, found out the ferry actually left at 3pm, breathed a sigh of relief that things were working out, and went looking for coffee to saite Em's cravings.

Since it was still Christmas and still Sunday, Chile Chico was a ghost town. There were maybe 20 other people out and about; 5 of which were local kids playing at the skate pack, and 10 of which were other backpackers we'd met crossing the border. All the shops were locked and the place was desolate. Just as it looked like Em was going to break down in tears, a man opened his door and put out a "We Deliver" sign. Em invited herself in.

Turns out the guy was a caterer, but was willing to help us out with coffee. He made an entire carafe of hot water, handed us two cups and a bowl of instant coffee, and then asked if we wanted any food. The coffee was terrible, but the gesture was super nice and well appreciated. If we'd had more time, I would have taken him up on the gesture for food since whatever he was cooking smelled delicious.

Turns out our ferry ride was about two hours and Elmer had managed to make it into town and get a ticket as well. We spent the time sharing pictures of the different places we'd been on our respective trips, and joking about how terrible the day had started out.

In Puerto Ibanez, we once again said goodbye to Elmer, boarded our minibus, and enjoyed the beautiful scenery on the last 1.5 hrs of our journey to Coyhuique.

The minibus dropped us near the center of town and told us to go into the only open restaurant to call a taxi to get to our hostel (it was about 3 km outside of town). Since it was dinner time at this point, we decided to grab a bite to eat. There were no menus and you just told the waitress what you wanted. Not having a clue what they may have, we went with a safe bet and got chicken and French fries. The food was great and we lucked out getting there about 30 minutes before closing. After dinner, another patron was nice enough to call a taxi for us (and then tell us to come stay at his hostel instead; which we declined).

As we were driving, I was trying to figure out what possessed Em to book us a night at a place out in the freaking boonies, when she knew we had to be back in the center of town the next morning, but after a few minutes of arriving, I was okay with the boonies. From the outside, our hostel was a little bit rugged looking and slightly disheveled, but once you entered, you could see that looks aside, it was a wonderful little hippie haven in the woods.

Hostal Salamandras was very Bohemian, but it was the first place I've stayed in a long time that maintained the traditional hostel vibe that existed when I first started my wanderlust explorations. The owners and the other guests were all milling about the common room, reading, chanting, playing with 2 month old kittens; and all of them were friendly and open to conversing.

By the time I'd dropped my bag in our room for the night, Em had already made 2 new friends that were tagging along on our trip to Puerto Rio Tranquillo (PRT) the next morning. In the mist of discussing our plans for the next day, we were invited by other residents to partake in terrible wine and frozen fruit; and thus were pulled in for interesting conversations, and later witnesses to some great drunk Salsa.

John (from Colorado) and Macarena (from Santiago, Chile), joined our adventures for the next day and a half. We all woke up early in the morning and taxied to town to pick up our Toyota Expedition, so that we could drive 5 hours back toward Chile Chico to get to Puerto Rio Tranquillo (PRT). Em's internet research had told her that due to PRT's remote location, going up to Coyhuique, renting a car, and driving back down was the best option for getting there. Turns out this information wasn't accurate at all, but things worked out anyways.

The drive to PRT is beautiful and right before you start 100 km of unpaved, dusty road, there's the "blink and you'll miss it" town of Villa Cerro Castillo that was notable for us for two reasons: food and ruins.

As to the first, there was an adorable set of two old-school style school buses that had been turned into a small sandwich shop and screamed to be eaten at and taken a picture with. The cheese sandwich wasn't much to write home about, but the shop and experience was fun.

The second reason the town is noteworthy, is because just outside it,there is an archaeological site. A couple that John had met previously happened to also be eating in the bus diner (not much of a coincidence when you consider it's about the only food joint on the only road that leads to PRT) and told us not to miss going there. The site is Paredon de las Manos (Wall of the Painted Hands).

The Wall is a Tehuelche archaeological site approximately 5,000 - 6,000 years old containing a rock wall with dozens of pairs of handprints. The prints are in positives and negatives. This means some were painted there by adding a mixture of ground minerals (and possibly blood) to the hand and putting the hand on the wall and others were added by laying the hand on the wall and spraying a mixture around the hand to make its outline. While no one really knows why the hands were added to the wall, the traditional persisted into the late 1700s.

Below the actual site was a research center and museum. We didn't get to visit either of these locations because we partially didn't have time, but mainly because of the four people in the car, I was the only one that wanted to see them and thus was vetoed. We did however end up having an archaeologist from the area hitchhike up the hill to the site with us. Even though he only spoke Spanish, I was able to have a decent conversation with him about the site and the area.

When we arrived in PRT we ended up running into a lot of our fellow border crossing backpackers. They had all stayed in Chile Chico the night before and taken a small minibus to PRT that morning. That would have been the smarter idea, but when we were planning this trip, everything we found said the buses were few and far in between (turns out there are at least 2 a day).

We decided to hook back up with a few of our border pals so that we'd have enough people to rent a boat to go out to see the Capillas de Marmol (Marble Caves) (the boats only accept a minimum of five people and we only had four with John and Macarena). Since the wind was currently too strong, none of the boats were going out that evening and we had to wait until the next morning to try again.

At seven am, a bunch of burry-eyed and half awake tourists lined up at the boat docks to receive a life jacket and climb into a small fishing boat for a slightly terrifying 20 minute boat ride across the still windy and 3-4 foot swelling water to reach the caves. Luckily the area around the caves was calm and the sun was out, allowing everyone to see the beauty of the caves.

The caves are natural formations of marble that have been eroded by wind and sea for thousands of years; creating interesting and exciting openings and shapes. While the brilliant blue and purple hues from the online images that enticed us to this area were not actually part of the marble walls (they were different variants of whites, browns, and yellows), but rather reflections from the azure waters, the caves were still marvelous.

Due to our once again tight timeline, at the culmination of our boat tour, Em and I said farewell to our new friends (who were headed out to hike a glacier in the area and go into glacier caves...I really wanted to go with them) and started the long drive to Balmaceda to catch our evening plane to Puerto Varas.

Cute Towns and Hiking Captials

The town of El Calafate is super cute. I feel like we've stumbled into cross between Mill Valley and Tahoe. There is a mix of small wooden and metal homes in all different styles, but mostly in harmony with the nature around them. The downtown is a mix of restaurants, artists markets, and outdoor sport clothing stores. Add in the crisp fresh air and blue and green vistas, and it's a lovely little place to spend a few days (or about 36 hours in our case).

The town originally sprung up in 1927 to shelter wool traders, but became much more popular and accessible (paved roads were added) when the area nearby became the Perito Moreno and the Los Glaciares (Glacier) National Parks in 1937.

By wasting a day on the bus to get to El Calafate, instead of waiting for the plane, Em and I were able to rebook our mini glacier trekking tour (if we had waited for the plane we would have run out of time and had to skip it). The only downside of rebooking is that we got in around one in the morning and had to be up and ready to go the next morning by 8; guess it's a good thing we're used to little sleep.

The glacier tour we were booked on was an all day event that was comprised of a few different parts: we drove 80km to Los Glaciares National Park, spent a few hours waking the balconies that give you vistas of the Perito Moreno Glacier, took a boat across Lake Argentina, and finished with a mini ice hike.

Glacier National Park is the largest national park in Argentina and was deemed a UNESCO heritage site in 1981. The park is home to the largest ice cap outside of Antarctica and Greenland. The ice cap forms 47 different glaciers, 13 of which flow out towards the Atlantic Ocean.

The glacier that most tours take you to visit is the Perito Moreno Glacier; the third largest glacier in the park and also the world's third largest source of fresh water. The Glacier has been in relative balance since 1917; expanding and breaking at constant rates, so it appears to always be the same. The Glacier stands between 40m and 70m tall and is approximately 30 km long from its top in the Andes (up near Chile) to the edge we were seeing at Lake Argentino (Argentina's largest lake).

Our tour guide dropped us off at the viewing balconies for the Glacier and essentially said, "Wander. Have fun. Meet me at the parking lot in two hours". We spent at least half of one of those hours standing at one of the lower balconies as the light rain fell, freezing our hands that were holding our cameras, in a vain hope of catching a picture or video of the icebergs breaking off of the glacier edge. As we had been heading down to the balcony, we just caught the tail end of one chunk careening into the water and thought it happened pretty frequently. Turns out that it does and it doesn't. Pieces of the glacier fall into the water frequently, but from different areas, so we kept hearing the giant cracks and plunges, but didn't see them.

In the afternoon, satied from the first decent food we'd had in a day and a half (bus stops don't tend to have great cuisine), we headed to the boat dock for a blistering cold trip across Lake Argentino. Everyone crowded atop the deck, huddling for warmth and stability, as we added a few dozen more photos to our collection of the Glacier.

The boat trip was about 15 minutes and takes you to the shore at the base of the Glacier. From there we hiked 20 minutes through the woods and across the beach to the start of our glacier trek. The company running the tours supplies everyone with a pair of crampons that were probably hold overs from Shackleton's expedition to Antarctica in the 1800s, splits you into smaller groups, and then you're on your way.

We marched up, marched down, and we marched all around the edge of the Glacier; all while our guide explained a little about how it was formed, why we can see areas of intense blues (mineral deposits), and that the water was completely pure (I ended up filling my water bottle twice with its freezing melt). Of course Em and I (as well as an Italian couple) had to maintain our title of "the difficult ones", as the guide was constantly trying to move us along or wait for us to catch back up or yelling at us not to stray from the path. What can I say, it was just so gorgeous and we were all looking for that epic photo (which I'm sure when I get home will just look like another shot of ice). The culmination of the trek was a shot of whiskey over glacier ice and a local chocolate and then the rare treat of seeing a small ice cave that had formed near the base of the glacier. This activity was by far my favorite part of this trip as it is so far and I'm really happy we got to do it.

To be able to get in the other mini adventure in the area that we'd originally planned, Em and I hired a taxi for the next morning to take us to see the Walichu Caves, and then return us to bus station to catch our 1 pm bus to El Chalten. We'd meet a German girl staying at our hostel, who had also been on our bus from Ushuaia, and asked her if she wanted to tag along since she was just exploring the area for a week. She accepted the invite.

Our cab driver was super nice and was asking whether we knew what El Calafate meant. Em told him "Blueberry", which is what someone told us in Ushuaia (it's really the name of the small plant in the area with yellow flowers and small "blue berries"). Since "blue berry" and "blueberry" sound the same, the driver told Em she was correct and then proceeded to stop the car so that he could grab a few off a nearby bush to let us try. Turns out that Calafate is like a blueberry, but not quite the same thing; they're a lot more sour, with a poisony after flavor. If was a nice gesture though.

When we got to the caves, the front gate was locked and no one was there. The driver called the number on the sign and a woman essentially said that she didn't know why it wasn't open and that maybe the ranger had just slept in. The three of us decided to take sad photos in front of the gate to the amusement of our driver. Just when we were beginning to despair that it would be a wasted trip, a car drove up and a tired looking guy got out and opened the gate. Guess opening hours here are just suggestions.

The Walichu Caves are an archaeological site that contains the oldest pictograms in the region. It is believed that the paintings are at least 4,000 years old and are thought to have been made by the pre-Tehuelche peoples.

Your entrance fee gains you access to a short hike around the sandstone cliffs and the ability to play "what do you see?" with the remnants of the pictographs still visible on the walls. The guide in the main office was offering us an audio guide, but through a misunderstanding of whether it cost more or if we'd have time to listen to it, we ended up declining the guide and wandering on our own. I would have preferred the guide, but too late now.

While the importance of the site, makes it so where I was excited to visit, there isn't much actually there. Most of the original paintings are very hard to make out and appear as random colors on the walls. There are however, quite a few more visible and vivid reproductions.

While I thought that El Calafate was a super cute little town, turns out that El Chalten is even cuter. On your bus ride in they have everyone on the bus disembark at the ranger station so that you can essentially be told to pack in and pack out everything that you take into the mountains, drink the water from the glacier and streams and save yourself some money, and respect nature. Once the introduction talk is over, you reboard to go the additional quarter of a mile to the bus station, and then are released to wander the sleepy town.

El Chalten has an adorable main street, lined on both side with shops, restaurants, and a few hostels. Protruding off the main corridor are several smaller streets with other homes and hostels. The town itself is actually located within Glaciers National Park. It was originally built I 185 to fix a border dispute with Chile, but has since become the trekking capital of the country and now exists solely to support tourism. On all sides you can go about half a mile or less and end up on a trail into the woods. It's a nature lover's dream.

Since the hostel I had originally booked canceled my reservation due to the fact that I had missed the fine print telling me to send them my credit card information through email beforehand, I had booked us into a B&B for the one night we had there. Turns out that this was way better. Our B&B was only 2 years old, had 7 rooms, tea available 24/7, and staff that were willing to let us come back and shower the following day after we'd already checked out and before we boarded our overnight bus to Los Antiguos.

One of the main attractions for the visitors is the 20 km (approximately 14 miles) hike from just outside town to the Lago de la Tres (Lake of the Three). This is a 8-10 hour hike that takes you through various different terrains and culminates with a three kilometer hike straight up the side of a rocky mountain. The signs tells you that the distance is only 1km, but I checked it on my Fitbit and it's 3 km.

When we'd checked into our B&B, the receptionist told us that if we didn't want to see the same thing by hiking from town to the Lake and back, we could get a van to a point above the Lake and then hike back. This was supposed to make the hike only 7 hours (instead of 8), had the added benefit of allowing you to get a great view of the glacier (that you can't see from the other trail), and made sure that once we started we had to finish because there was only one way back to town. We opted for this and didn't regret it at all, especially we we got to the last 3 km and realised that since we were hiking down them, we would have had to hike up them at the beginning of our hike if we'd left from town.

While I do wish we'd had a little more time in both El Calafate and El Chalten, so that we might have been able to decompress a bit and not constantly be running from place to place, I have to say I am super happy that even with the delay caused by the airline's strike, Em and I were still able to do all the activities that we'd originally planned for this trip.

Escape from The End of the World

My last blog post ended with Em and I stranded in the Ushuaia airport due to a strike. Luckily, two of the couples we'd met the previous day on our tour to see the penguins were also stranded, but had cell phones that worked and loaned them to us for short periods of time. We were able to call our hotels in the other cities and let them know that we wouldn't be there when expected (turns out they already knew as the strike was pretty well known and the company Em organized most things through had called ahead to let them know. If only they also had let us know).  After 6 hours waiting in a line that moved forward at glacial speeds, Em and I made it to the front counter so that I could use my bad Spanglish to communicate and learn that we couldn't get out of the city for three days at a minimum. We were rebooked on a future flight, but the desk clerk told me that she couldn't guarantee that the strike would be over and that we'd get out.

By this point, our helpful driver had long since disappeared, we had no where to stay for the night, and we were slightly freaking out over what would happen to our plans if we stayed at the end of the world for another three days.

We hailed a cab, went back to the center of town, wandered to the tourist office and found out that their was a 16 hour bus that would get us from Ushuaia to El Calafate. Due to everything in the city being open super late, we were able to get to the bus office before they closed and book a one way ticket out of town for the day after (this reduced our stranded time from three days, to one day, but with one additional day lost to travel). Next we acquired a room at a cute little hotel, with a super friendly landlord, ran around trying to find a call center (located in the local convenience store) to reconfirm everything in the other cities, and finally treated ourselves to a nice dinner to celebrate figuring out a tricky situation.

Instead of letting our extra day go to waste, we decided to go hike the Marital Glacier. This seems like a fairly easy thing to do, but we didn't realise that this would be the day the rain decided to come out and play. Martial Glacier is about 3-4 miles  outside of town and can be reached part of the time via chairlift, but not this day. We hiked up the ski slope to get to the trailhead and then it was a 45 minute jaunt along the switchbacks through the rain that turned into hail and finally snow, as we reached neared the apex.

The the entire trail is beyond gorgeous, with various shades of green interspersed with small streams and a mountain made of different rocks. The glacier at the pinnacle is different than those in other areas of Argentina in that it doesn't have large shelves with jagged points, but rather looks just like snow and ice one would expect at the top of any mountain. The hike was fun, we got drenched, and we shared a knowing smile with all the other hikers crazy enough to be out on the mountain with us. It was definitely a good way to spend an extra day at the End of the World.

Our escape plan from Ushuaia entailed a series of two buses that run along Argentinian Route 3 (starts in Buenos Aires at the zero marker in Congress Square and finishes in the middle of Tierra del Fuego National Park (we have a picture of us at the end of the line and I have a picture of the beginning of the line)). Through an interesting twist of country lines, even though you're traveling essentially straight north for the majority of the trip, you have to actually leave Argentina and enter Chile for a portion of the trip, before re-entering Argentina to finish the trip. Tierra del Fuego is owned approximately 40% by Chile and 60% by Argentina, but Chile got one of the best parts, the Magellan Strait.

The Magellan Strait connects mainland South America with the Island of Tierra del Fuego and was the safest place for ships to cross from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean before the Panama Canal opened in 1914. When the Strait was first discovered, there was a tax imposed on anyone trying to cross it, but they didn't realise that it was the top of the island of Tierra del Fuego and so when someone sailed around the island and came up the back way, they threw them in prison saying they had illegally crossed. It took years for them to realize you could circumnavigate the land and that it wasn't all a single landmass.

After 18 hours, numerous bad American movies dubbed into Spanish, some terrible food, and Em terrorizing small children, we arrived in El Calafate, were driven to our adorable hostel, and promptly passed out.

The Waddling Tuxedos That Live at the End of the World

Em and I have made it to the End of the World; well, Ushuaia at least. Ushuaia is called the southern most city in the World (although there is a town, Puerto Williams, of about 4000 people in Chile that is 5km further south that the Argentinians like to pretend doesn't exist so that they can keep their city motto). Ushuaia is equally as far from Antarctica as it is from our next stop, El Calafate, at approximately 1000 km away.

While the Ona (aka Selk'nam) Indians lived in Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire) (the area of which Ushuaia is the capital) starting about 10,000 years ago, it wasn't until 1833 that British ship Captain Robert Fitzroy of the HMS Beagle spotted the peninsula and was subsequently considered its finder.

For the next 40 years the area was largely settled by British Missionaries attempting to help the indigenous tribes of the area (in this area it was mainly the Yamana tribe) but only succeeding in driving them to extinction within 80 years of contact (there s currently only one driving , full-blooded ember of the tribe still alive today). In 1973, the fist Argentinians (a set of teachers) arrived in the area and that same year, future Argentinean president, Julio Argentino Roca, decided to start a penal colony as a way to establish permanent residents and claim Argentinean sovereignty over all of Tierra del Fuego.

The penal colony, and a series of subsequent prisons, were opened and operated in the city from around 1898 to 1947, when they were shut down for suspected abuse of inmates and abesmal living conditions. Even with the penal system in Ushuaia disintegrating, it did its job; the inmates essentially built the town, got married, and created the industry in the area. Today, the city is know for its manufacturing of electronics, fishing, oil, and ecotourism.

Em and I came for three days of lush green and brilliant blues and of course, the waddling tuxedos and their brown furry young.

The hostel that we booked, Alba's, was like a B&B from Fairyland; a cute little house with mini doors and stairwells, that twisted and turned up and away. All the doors were different colors. And lead to rooms that were fit into the house like odd shaped puzzel pieces. We had the attic room, with slanted ceilings and creeky stairs. Alba greet us personally and was very nice as she helped make the place warmer than Hades (apparently heat is super cheap here so everyone tends to have it cranked as high as possible).

The first day that we were in town, we went on a tour of Tierra del Fuego National Park. The tour included a three hour hike along the water at the base of the mountains, the best lunch I've eaten so far on this trip (cheese, bread, chicken and vegetable soup, fruit salad, wine, and mate), an hour and a half kayak ride, and a toast with local liquor (something like rum, honey, and battery acid mixed).

Everywhere in this area is gorgeous. There's something to be said for living in such a remote part of the world. There is little pollution, tons of rains, and the entire place is vibrant and green.

For the kayak portion of the trip, they supplied us with waterproof pants and boots to go with our fashionable life vests. Since I had the smallest feet of everyone (including the teenager that was at least a half foot shorter than me), I got the lovely leapord print boots. As were paddling into the three foot swell, our guide is encouraging the group with calls of "vamos, vamos!". Paddling into wind is a lot different than claim lakes. Our workout was rewarded with an inquisitive seal coming to say hi, and liquor and Afadoras (type of super popular Argentinan cookie) upon reaching land again.

I was a little sad that we only had a few hours in the park and that we didn't get to ride the Train at the End of the World (left over from the penal colony days when the prisoners would go into the forest everyday to cut wood for the furnaces at the prison), but I was glad that we didn't get to see it and that it only sprinkled and didn't rain on us.

Since it's summer here and at 55' latitude, it's light out until about 11 pm, and everyone's schedules are set to meet these hours. Families are playing in the parks at 10 pm, dinner is 9 to midnight, and stores open later and close well into the night. These extended times helped us to visit the Prisoner's museum after our adventure in the park.

The old prison contained a central rotunda, with five cell blocks jutting off of it. Now-in-days, each cell block contains different exhibits that comprise five separate museums: the Prison Museum, the Maritime Museum, the Antarctica Museum, the Naval History Museum, and an art gallery. Essentially, each of the cells house mini exhibits on everything to do with the region from the native peoples that once lived here to the different boats that shipwrecked on the different shores to the most notorious criminals that used to be housed here. The highlight for Em and I was the entire wing that was left in the state it was found when they converted the place to a museum. Since is was dark, eerie, and most likely haunted, we mostly had the wing to ourselves to take awesome photographs.

We finished the day off with Centallo, King Crab; a specialty of the area. The crab is caught daily and cooked fresh. If you want, you can actually pick which one you want to eat from the tanks in each restaurant. The crabs are huge and delicious, but no one warned us that that had super sharp, spiky legs and that you end up with multiple small puncture wounds in the process of trying to get at the meat.

Our second day wasn't as jam-packed as the first; a morning the wander the town (which apparently is not open on Sundays) and a tour to see Harberton Ranch and Penguinos in the afternoon. The time to visit the waddlers has finally arrived. We meet in the center of town and were driven via mini bus to the Harberton Ranch, where we eventually took a speed boat across a small section of the Beagle Channel to Martillo Island to see the Magellanic rookeries and some King Penguins.

Harberton Ranch was established in 1886 by pioneer missionary Thomas Bridges and named after his wife's home back in England.

Because our group was so big, they had to take us to the island in two shifts, meaning we had time to visit the museum of natural history for the region's birds and mammals. For me this was great since it was an entire building dedicated to the study of the area's animals and contained the skeletons of all the marine birds and mammals they'd recovered in the area. Got to love dead things.

Eventually we made it to Martillo Island and were allowed an hour to quietly walk around and get up close and personal with the Island's black and white inhabitants. Our guide was telling us about how the Penguins are primarily monogamous and each year the males arrive first, prepare their burrows (kick out interlopers) and then wait for their females to come to the island (they usually arrive 2 weeks after the males). The males make a crying/donkey sound that is unique to each mated pair and that's how they find each other each year. The catch though, is that if the male cannot refind their burrow or is kicked out by another, their mate may reject them upon arriving on the island.

We got to see the king penguins of the two species on the island, as well as a few baby penguins (they're brown and furry and apparently not waterproof yet (they really didn't like the rain that accompanied our arrival)), as well as some bird species with their young (one of these birds is the natural predator of the penguins and eat their babies).

We closed out our time in Ushuaia with a Beagle Channel Cruise on our last morning in the city. Our four hour boat trip took us out away from land to visit some of the islands inhabited by cormorants, sea lions, and various other sea birds. The boat drives out as far as the Les Eclaireurs Lighthouse, the Lighthouse at the End of the World (as named by the locals, but not the same as the as the End of the World Lighthouse in Jules Verne's book) and then returns.

Upon arriving at the airport, Em and I found out we were to be stranded at the Ushuaia airport because the airlines decided to strike the other day. Apparently, our tour company was aware of the strike and informed our hotel in the next city and the glacier tour company of this (since we won't be getting out today or maybe even tomorrow), but they forgot to tell us. We arrived at the airport to huge lines and screens containing redlined flights. We were told that we just needed to wait in line to get booked on a new flight, but the line doesn't move and no one knows when the strike will end. On a more entertaining note, it seems that whenever someone does make it to the counter and either gets on a flight or talks to someone,  the other stranded passengers start banging things, chanting and cheering; it's like the aftermath of a soccer goal, without the preceding action (someone later informed us that that was just the stranded rugby team). Hopefully, the next entry will be about El Calafate and not how we lived in the airport for a week.

Igazu Falls and the North

Em and I set out from Buenos Aires bright and early to catch a plane to Puerto Iguazu. Even though they tell you to be there 2 hours early, an hour and a half would suffice and that's only cause you have to take a tram from your gate to the actual plane and therefore they start boarding an hour before take off.

We arrived in the late morning and were driven to our new home for the following three days, Jasy Hotel. This place is adorable, it has maybe fifteen rooms and they're all set up like multi-story cabins. Each one has a lower level with a few twin beds, a bathroom, and table, and then upstairs is the "parents room" with a loft containing a queen bed and a balcony. The entire place is comprised of wood and concrete mixed and has an urban jungle feel to it. Except for the mosquitoes that think I'm dinner, I love the atmosphere here.

After dropping our gear, we trekked the mile or so into town to get a bite to eat and to explore a bit. The town center is definitely geared towards the tourist trade with a bunch of restaurants that vie for customers in the evenings, wine shops, souvenir traps, and peddlers on the street, but there is a quant vibe to the place as well, especially if you travel a few blocks out of the main center.

Em and I decided to venture to the Tres Fronteras (Three Borders) and see where Portugal, Argentina, and Brasil all meet at the head of the Iguazu and Paraná rivers meet. The official meeting place is somewhere in the middle of the water, but from the Argentinean side, there is a nice outlook that gives a gorgeous view of all three countries and the convergence place of the two rivers. It was a nice little walk to get there for our pictures and due to the heat, the walk necessitated an ice cream on the way back.

So the main reasons that we flew up to this extreme northern region were to visit the Iguazu Falls (one of the modern Seven Wonders of the Natural World and supposed to make Niagara Falls look like a trickle) and to see the Wanda Mines and San Ignacio Jesuit Ruins.

Bright and early the morning following our arrival, we were hearded into a microbus (never sit in the back row if you can avoid it) and set out to see the Wanda Mines and The Ignacio Ruins.

The Wanda Mines are located about 62 km away from Puerto Iguazu (where we were staying), along the National Highway 12. The Town of Wanda was originally settled by Polish immigrants. There are two origin stories for how the locals discovered that there were precious stones in the earth under their farm land: (1) a washer woman was doing laundry in the local river and sliced her hand open on some amethyst that was lying under the surface, and (2) a farmer who's plow ran into a precious stone while tilling his field. Either way, once it was discovered that there were many beautiful gems beneath their feet, a booming gem mining operation was developed.

Our tour was pretty interesting and informative once we got the guide to realise that while everyone else in our group was a native Spanish speaker, we could only understand the gist of his speech unless he translated it; which he did quite admirably. The mine is relatively small with only 10 miners working at a time (all in different tunnels so that they won't fight over the stones) and gets more of its income from the daily influx of foreigners.

On the tour we were able see the stones in their natural earth deposits and the guide explained how the different stones were formed. For example, quartz crystal makes the base for most other precious stones; the addition of various other chemicals (like iron, magnesium, etc.), change this base stone into other stones like amethyst, onyx, Jasper, and many others.

From the Mines, we headed two hours further south along Route 12 to arrive at the San Ignacio Mini Ruins (not to be confused with its bigger brother, San Ignacio Grande Ruins). This site is one of several (30, I think) missions built by the Jesuit Priests in the 1600s.

This mission was originally built in 1610 in what is present day the Argentinean state of Paraná, but moved due to constant Portuguese attacks in 1632, and finally resettled in its current location in 1696. The mission was operational for approximately 120 years and contained about 3000-4000 inhabitants during it's heyday. The Jesuits attempted to convert the native Guarani people to Catholicism and partially succeeded. The head Priest was able to work with the village elders and as such peacefully change the indigenous society's religion and customs.

After listening to a Spanish history of the Mission and informing our guide that we would like an English tour, we ended up with a private tour, led by a decendent of the locals that had lived at this mission. At first we think that the girl wasn't too thrilled to be saddled with us, but as the tour got going and we were all able to converse in a mixed form of Spanglish, she warmed up to us. By the end of the tour, between tidbits of history and the snapping of pictures, we were looking at pictures of her adorable daughter and getting wine recommendations for Em.

The site itself is well preserved and you can see the outer walls of the homes, church, gardens, and workshops. Some were original, while others were restored. One cool tidbit, is that after the Mission was destroyed in 1817, the jungle began to reclaim the land. Ficus trees are very prevalent in this jungle and they sprang up everywhere. There is one tree in particular that they show you on the tour, because it didn't just sprout up like it's brethren, it decided to grow around and devour one of the stone housing pillars. This image reminds me very much of Doctor Who and as such I find it hilarious.

As we were leaving the ruins, we were informed that the van our group had arrived in had broken down and we wouldn't be returning with it. The driver of the broken van made some sort of deal with the tour guide on the giant bus and we were all added to its already packed manifest. Em and I were happy though because we went from expecting another 2 hour cramped and uncomfortable ride in a small van with no air to a 3 hour ride in a big bus with comfy seats, a movie (abet dubbed in bad Spanish) and AC; a much better trade in our opinion.

Day 3 in Iguazu dawned early with the van pulling up to take us on an adventure to the Iguazu Falls National Park. The Falls make up the largest system of waterfalls in the world and the rivers at the bottom form the border between Argentina and Brazil. While you can visit both sides of the Falls, the Argentinean side is more impressive as it contains the majority of the actual Falls, whereas, the Brazilian side contains the majority of the river that flows to create the Falls and is where you get the best panoramic views from. The Falls are also an UNESCO World Heritage Site and were labeled as one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World in the latest selection.

Almost immediately upon embarking on this adventure, Em and I made the acquaintance of James (she's a girl) and Scott, whom we hung out with for the next 24 hrs (when we departed to Ushuaia and they headed back to Buenos Aires). Poor James had had her purse and all identification documents and credit cards stolen the day before in Buenos Aires and thus was reliant on Scott to get through the few days of vacation the had left. We bonded over our share stories of Em and I's almost robbery and her actual robbery.

The four of us became the baine of our tour guide's existence because she was constantly trying to rapidly move our whole group (10 of us) through the different attractions of the park, but we would casually stroll, making sure to capture the Falls, rainbows, jungle, and wildlife from every angle imaginable (I'm pretty sure I have 500 waterfall photos because it was just so gorgeous).

During the course of the day we transversed the three main paths: Devil's Throat, the upper trail, and the lower trail. The Devil's Throat takes you to the point where about 40% of all the water in the rivers fall from the higher plane to the lower plane. The upper and lower trails allow you a chance to see just how massive the park and Falls actually are and the give ample opportunity to take pictures from very angle imaginable.

It's breathttake to stand at the precipice of any of these giangntic waterfalls and see the majesty of nature. Millions upon millions of gallons of water are careening off a cliff to crash upon the rocks below. If one were to misstep, the nature of this place would instantly claim you without mercy or guilt. Most of the thousands of insignificant humans snapping their pictures and staring in wonderment probably aren't really taking any time to truly appreciate what it is they're seeing and the fact that it is our duty to try and preserve places like this for future generations.

We had paid extra to add the Grand Adventure to our tour of the park and it was worth every dime. Our adventure began with a whiplash inducing jaunt through the forrest in an open aired Jeep on crack, where the guide alternated explaining between Spanish and English about the formation of the park, its biodiversity, the Falls, and how the area became a protected site. At the conclusion of the 25 minutes Jeep ride (on which Scott managed to sleep while being jostled around and I was constantly determining whether I'd have the strength to pull him back into the vehicle if he listed too far over the rail), we headed down the slick stairs to the awaiting inflatable boat.

At the boat, everyone is handed a waterproof bag to put their backpacks and shoes in and then they're strapped into a brightly colored lifejacket. You board the boat and fret about whether you should be putting your expensive camera away now or waiting a bit until after you've captured another 200 photos of the falls from this bottom looking up. The boat speeds along the river Paraná, which separates Brazil and Argentina, and you are brought first to as close as you can get to the bottom of the falls without getting drenched, and then, after a quick second to seal anything you care about in your watertight bag, you race to the base of a few different falls and get to experience what being in a shipwreck might feel like. I essentially took my waterproof camera and started snapping away (because of the water doushing you, you couldn't really see what you were taking a picture of) and ended up with some really cool pounding water and drowning rat impersonation photos.

All in all, the Falls was well worth the extra trek north. I definitely now want to add Niagara Falls and Victoria Falls (in South Africa) to me most see list for comparison purposes.

Next stop, the complete other side of the country, Ushuaia, the most Southern City in the World (that belongs to a country as the cities in Antarctica don't count).

Buenos Aires Is NOT My Favorite City!

The start of my trip got off to a slight rocky start as I began the 17 hour journey from San Jose, CA to Buenos Aires, Argentina, with the continuation of a already two day old migraine. In order to help appease the jackhammers in my head, I brought along a bottle of herbal medicine I had picked up in India last year (something green and with similar effects to Vipor Rub, but the added benefit of making the migraine lay down and relent for a bit), not realizing until my layover in Houston why I originally hadn't planned on taking the bottle; it has a tendency to semi explode when the pressure changes. So by Houston, my head was feeling a bit better, but I'm pretty sure everyone one sitting around me was wondering why their eyes were burning and it smelled like mint car freshner on crack. I guess there are worse thing to smell on a tin can hurtling through the clouds.

In Houston I picked Em up at her gate (she arrived from LA), we wandered a bit and then continued on the final leg of our journey.

So I may have given Em a bunch of crap before the trip for her incessant planing and preorganization of most of our schedule, but I do have to say it was lovely exiting the airport to be greeted by a man holding a sign with our name, who then handed us nice refreshing cold waters and said "Please follow me", before preceding to take us to an air-conditioned station wagon that drove us into the city and to our hostel.

Since we created our trip ala carte style, we only have certain preplanned events, the rest we are left to our own devices for. Em and I decided that we would be capable of exploring Buenos Aires on our own and as such, we didn't book anything through the tour company.

 So now we get to the reason that I am pretty sure I will never be returning to the lovely capital of Argentina. While the city is pretty interesting historically and architecturally, it is super dirty and full of evil people (that or we just had the super misfourtune of meeting many of them).  Before our trip Em was going on and on about the crime in the city and how we have to be careful and so forth. I brushed most of her paranoia off as I've been traveling consistently for a decade now and felt that as long as we just were aware and such, we would be fine. Well, it seems that two single women walking around the avenues and streets here is a giant billboard advertising "Mark!" 

Twice in two days we've had people try the "throw something on you and then attempt to help while really they're trying to either get your backpack off to steal it or trying to pick pocket you under the guise of helping clean up the "bird shit" that apparently dropped from the clean blue skies" scheme.The first guy got us as we were checking a city map on the street corner of 9 de Julio, the largest and most known avenue in the whole city (and teeming with people) and the second crew was comprised of two men and at least one woman. After the second time (we were sitting under a tree in a crowded public square) we almost thought maybe it was a bird and they were really trying to help. But, when three people just happen to have Kleenex ready and are trying to offer it to you at the same time that they're trying to get you to unhook your sternum strap on your bag to better clean it, something's hinky. Luckily they didn't get anything except frustrated cause we wouldn't do anything but take their Kleenex and then try to move away (I wanted to punch the first guy, but Em would only let me give home a death glare as she yanked us in the opposite direction).

 I'm most upset over the fact that whatever they throw on you, wreaks. Em and I were running for the nearest restroom to try and wash the gunk off; it smelled like Tabacco chew and dead fish mixed. It also stains if you don't get it off fast enough. So anyone else thinking of venturing here, either have a larger group than two, have a male in your group (as much as this pains me to say), or never look down/up/sideways/or into space. Of all the other people we've met or talked to here, except for one lady that said she was mugged after exchanging money, everyone else has been having a perfectly good time, free of unpleasant attempted crime, so you should all be fine.

So now you know the bad, here's some of the good:

In typical fashion for us, on day one, we stopped at our hostel just long enough to dump our heavier packs and lighten the small ones enough before heading out to explore the city. Since we arrived on a Saturday, the banks weren't open to exchange money, but we were informed by many (both previous travelers and locals) that the place to exchange is Calle Florida. Back in 2001/02, there was an economic meltdown in the country and as a result the government laid down some super harsh regulations with some seriously terrible exchange rates. To counteract this, a black market of sorts developed where one could go through unofficial channels and acquire the "blue dollar"; with an exchange rate upwards of 1.5x to double the government rate. 

To acquire this "blue dollar" all one has to do is walk down to Calle Florida and listen for the calls of "cambio [exchange]". Now in days the blue dollar and bank exchange rates are almost equivalent, so the main advantage to the street changers is that you don't have to pay extra commission fees and that they're open all the time. The disadvantages are that you need to exchange larger amounts of big bills to get the best rates and that you also need to be more vigilant to make sure that whomever you deal with is legit (check their card...as they should have an ID card authorizing them to exchange) and make sure when you're following them that they take you to a official looking place (don't go to exchange down any dark alleys). You should also be aware that you could potentially be given counterfeit currency, but if you going to the more reputable black marketeers you should be fine.

Local currency in hand, Em and I began our exploring, which essentially entailed a lot of walking and realizing that we're great with directions in cities with twists and turns and weird round abouts, but we're apparently shit at figuring out how to head straight; we ended up a ways from our target destination multiple times when the directions were "just head straight that way".

Our jaunt for the day eventually took us to the neighborhood of Recoleta, and the cemetery where Eva Peron (better known as Evita) is buried. Recoleta is one of the more affluent neighborhoods in Buenos Aires mainly due to the yellow fever epidemic in the 1870's, where the population of the city decentralized, with the lower classes moving to the south-east and the higher classes moving to Recoleta.

The area was founded by a Franciscan order that created a church dedicated to The Lady of Pilar. When the Order was disbanded in 1822, its gardens were turned into the first public cemetery in Buenos Aires. The cemetery was the attraction we set out to see.

In keeping with the idealogies of many wealthy families, being dead doesn't mean you have to spend your afterlife in squalor, when you can spend it in extravagant tombs and mausoleums. Recoleta Cemetery boast more than 4600 tombs designed with a large variety of architectural styles (if you've ever been to New Orleans, it is similar to Saint Louis Cemetery) and some very popular residents; including Eva Peron.

Eva started with humble beginnings, moved to the big city to get into music and pictures and ended up marrying Juan Peron, who would go on to become the President of Argentina. Eva took to politics like a fish to water and became loved by the Argentinan people (especially the working class). She even attempted to run (and probably would have been elected) as the country's Vice President, but her declining healthy caused her to withdrawl from the race.

Day one ended with a jaunt through the neighborhood of Palermo Soho. Palermo is a barrio of Buenos Aires, that is further subdivided into smaller sections. Palermo Soho is an up and coming section of the city with trendy shops, bars, and restaurants. There are even semi secret speakeasies hidden within the different alley ways.

Day two started with Em and I attempting to find a free walking tour that was supposed to meet at the square next to the National Congress building. Since it was a Sunday, we didn't find the original tour, but we did get sprayed with foul crap by would be thieves. After extracting ourselves from the thieves wandering hands, we saw a group of people gathered around a central figure and wandered over to find that this was a different walking tour that had started about an hour previous, but was more than happy to have us join then for the rest of the tour. Safely ensconced in a group of other clueless tourists, we learned about the history of the main sites downtown. Of particular interest were the following:

The longest and widest street in the city is Avenida 9 de Julio (July 9th Avenue); named for Argentina's Independence Day in 1916. The Avenue has up to seven lanes in each direction and parallel sides streets containing an additional two lanes each. Add to that the metro buses traveling on their own two lane roads in the center and you get the world's widest street.

Besides being so large that it takes pedestrians at least two light cycles to cross, it's entertaining to know that the buses that run down the center lanes of the Avenue, run counter-directional to the cars. This is due to poor planning. The architects who designed the bus roads forgot to take into account which side of the bus contained the door and as a result, on the first day of testing out the new stations, it was seen that the doors and the platforms were not on the same side of the road. So the choice became, redesign and rebuild all of the city buses to have their doors on the opposite sides or just have the buses run the wrong direction down the Avenue.

One of the other salient pieces of history we learned on the walking tour was about the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Mother's of May Plaza). The groups was comprised of the Mother's of the children that disappeared between 1976 and 1983 due to the dictatorship that was active in the country during that time. The government would steal children from people that disapproved with the current government and with the reign of terror that was thrust upon the Nation's people. Some of these children were taken and given to military families to "raise properly" and others were killed. Every Wednesday, the Mother's of these missing children would meet in the Plaza de Mayo and walk in pairs (because anything more than groups of two was a congregation and illegal), demanding the government return their children or at least tell them where they were. While the women never got an official answer from the Argentinean government, they gained international attention and other groups have sprung up to help the now grown children reconnect with their mothers.

After the walking tour, we explored a small museum (used to be the carriage house for the Pink house (Casa Rosada), which is where the President of Argentina conducts business) where we ran into an English couple headed to San Tempo, and tagged along with then, as that was our destination as well. San Tempo is the oldest part of Buenos Aires, and as such it was considered the "first Industrial" section, and later the "first residential" section. The barrio went through different phases like the rest of the city, with various religious orders coming in and making their mark, only to close up shop down the line, then the yellow fever epidemic caused a mass exodus of the middle and upper class residents and lead to lots of vacant lots. The result of the empty properties became two fold in that many were torn down and converted into parks and open spaces and others were converted into crowded tenements to house the multicultural work force that was coming into the city in between 1875 and 1930. The tenements eventually dissolved as they were deemed unsafe and the city welcomed it's new wave of residents; Bohemian artists. Now the area is a funky eclectic mix of shops, studios, and antique stores.

We made sure to go to San Tempo on a Sunday, as in addition to the area's normal fanfare, there is also a huge artist market, BBQs off the street, and Tango/music acts in the square at night. While we explored the artist market, the antiques market, tried a coffee shop Em heard good things about (she got a cold brew and hated it), we didn't end up staying to watch the evening activities as we found a street vendor that sold us on a dinner and Tango show for that evening.

The dinner show we went to was held at Esquina Homero Manzi, a small restaurant with a 1920's vibe, attentive waiters, and a great ambiance. The dinner was adequate (you pick from a preset menu) and the free wine was terrible, but the show itself was amazing. There was a combination of different Tango numbers (complete with costume changes and themes), singing, and a live band. This was by far a highlight for the trip and since our show was such a small venue it had a more intimate feel and I think was over all better. It didn't hurt either that we saved about 50% by going through the street vendor.

Day three was our last day in Buenos Aires and due to it being a Monday, we were seriously handicapped in going to see cultural places such as museums. Since we couldn't explore indoors, we decided to get the most out of the outdoors and booked a bicycle tour of the southern part of the city. Turned out that we were the only people booked and as such got a private tour. Our guide, Barbara (a temporary transplant from Brazil) led us along the relatively new bike paths that transverse the various barrios. Our tour went through the neighborhoods of San Tempo (although further out from the center that we'd visited the day before), through La Boca, across to Puerto Madero, and then back through the main city center (with Plaza de Mayo, Congress Square, Avenida de 9 Julio), where we'd ventured on the walking tour the previous day.

La Boca was on our list of must see places for two reasons: the graffiti ( which we only got to see in passing unfortunately), and the colorful houses and Tango paraphernalia scattered along the few blocks of the downtown and port area. Because the area, like all the rest in Buenos Aires, under went changes overtime, at one point the main Street (Caminito) was a land fill dump and an eyesore. Argentine artist Benito Quinquela Marin, spent three years trying to remedy the situation by painting the buildings and adding some flaire. This movement caught on, and fellow artists joined in, helping make the area the tourists trap that it is.

Tourists typically stick to the few main streets in La Boca, as the neighborhood is relatively poor and those that venture outside this "safe zone" are more likely to be the victims of crime. By riding bikes through the area, I felt we were able to see more of it than most tourist typically see. Also, on our way to the main square, we stopped to admire the Bombonera, the home of the Boca Juniors Futbol team. The team is so popular that only club members can buy tickets to the games and there are often times riots between the fans of the Boca Juniors and their rivals, River Plate.

The other area that Em and I were keen on seeing was Puerto Madero, the newest, up and coming neighborhood in Buenos Aires. In the last decade, the warehouses and older buildings of this failed port (it was built too small and therefore not functional) have been converted into sprawling parkways, elegant skyscrapers, and a lovely waterfront area. It's weird to cross the street and end up in this area that looks like the latest trendy hip city in a dozen countries around the world. Here everything was cleaner and had a different vibe to it (which is exactly what it's creators wanted).

The last thing of note in Em and my's time in Buenos Aires, is that we went to go see a performance of La Bomba de Tiempo. This is a percussion ensamble that performs every Monday night in this super funky industrial space. Their performances are completely different every time as they practice improvisation through signs. The conductor, designs and moves each song each time, so you never hear the same thing twice. It's a pretty surreal experience and I recommend it for all those that visit the city.

For those that made it this far, congratulations. Next installment will be on Igazu Falls and the north.