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.
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.
posted by Robby @ 4:34 AM
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