Bariloche / Villa La Angostura / El Bolsón
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In order to hassle a hitch-hike all the way from Buenos Aires to Bariloche (about 25 hours by bus, 40 by truck), I thought I might use the Grativiajes-Facebookpage for Argentinean carpooling. Result: 200 likes, 150 friend requests and 100 private messages from men from all over Argentina except of Bariloche offering drinks and a bed (which happened to be the same bed they were sleeping in, did I mind?). In short, never again: it’s not always easier to be a woman, it’s in fact very time-consuming. So in the end I decided to go with the trusted old-fashioned way involving the thumbs… which is actually rather complicated from Buenos Aires, as merely getting out of the city cost 3 hours with 1 bus and 2 trains.
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Shortly I fetched a ride to Chabez (or Chavez, you never know here with the interchangeable ‘b’ and ‘v’) with trucker Patricio, a man in his thirties who just dumped his 14-year-old girlfriend. From there I drove along with truck driver Claudio, a caring mustached father-figure, the type that puts blankets over you the moment you fall asleep due to the wobbling of the vehicle. At night he stopped at a gas station in Bahia Blanca, where I tried to catch some very necessary sleep lying in the indoor sitting area under a tl-light.
Shortly I fetched a ride to Chabez (or Chavez, you never know here with the interchangeable ‘b’ and ‘v’) with trucker Patricio, a man in his thirties who just dumped his 14-year-old girlfriend. From there I drove along with truck driver Claudio, a caring mustached father-figure, the type that puts blankets over you the moment you fall asleep due to the wobbling of the vehicle. At night he stopped at a gas station in Bahia Blanca, where I tried to catch some very necessary sleep lying in the indoor sitting area under a tl-light.
However, humans don’t always want to help their fellow-human-beings… the staff kept waking me up with a 30-minute interval threatening that the moment I closed my eyes I must go outside (it was around freezing point), on purpose pumping out cumbia music on maximum volume. You don’t know what cumbia music sounds like, you say? Well, praise yourself lucky and don’t ever try to find out. After 20 seconds of uninterrupted sleep I joined Claudio again on his way to Neuquen, passing Qeuquen (my Dutch readers will understand how funny this is), on the magnificent and rather famous highway of Ruta 40.
I stared at the endless and endless roads cutting through divine landscapes, disturbingly decorated with and unlimited supply of wheel-flattened animals. Argentina is genuinely beautiful: you know it, but sometimes it just hits you. Like someone shakes you up to double-check if you don’t forget registering every single percent of this splendor. Instead of wondering how much time it still was to the destination I decided to get rid of thinking in destinations:
Focus on the journey, as that’s the real adventure.
I stared at the endless and endless roads cutting through divine landscapes, disturbingly decorated with and unlimited supply of wheel-flattened animals. Argentina is genuinely beautiful: you know it, but sometimes it just hits you. Like someone shakes you up to double-check if you don’t forget registering every single percent of this splendor. Instead of wondering how much time it still was to the destination I decided to get rid of thinking in destinations:
Focus on the journey, as that’s the real adventure.
I never really understood those backpackers flying from Buenos Aires to Santiago to Lima to Bogotá in 3 weeks and saying they ‘did’ South America. They know nothing (, John Snow). It’s almost as ironic as how Argentinians drown in pride and patriotism and turn every situation into an opportunity to shamelessly brag about their fatherland, often without even knowing where they are talking about (a big percentage of Argentinians never travel abroad and seldom see more of their country than one or two provinces… it might be for the best, imagine if they really knew how outstanding their landscapes are.
I woke up from my thoughts when I had to say goodbye to Claudio to get a last ride for the ultimate leg of the trip, which was fetched within mere minutes. Then, after a few hours more, I finally arrived at the promised land. First observations: freezing cold and excessively expensive. After I put five layers of clothing on and bought a bread for exactly four times the amount it costs in the capital and paid double for a bus ride fifteen times as short, I met up with Couchsurfer Paul.
I woke up from my thoughts when I had to say goodbye to Claudio to get a last ride for the ultimate leg of the trip, which was fetched within mere minutes. Then, after a few hours more, I finally arrived at the promised land. First observations: freezing cold and excessively expensive. After I put five layers of clothing on and bought a bread for exactly four times the amount it costs in the capital and paid double for a bus ride fifteen times as short, I met up with Couchsurfer Paul.
Second observation: the people are way friendlier here and its beauty is unequaled.
Crystal clear lakes contrast with pink lilac trees, eminent snowy mountain peaks do the rest to take your breath away.
Crystal clear lakes contrast with pink lilac trees, eminent snowy mountain peaks do the rest to take your breath away.
The touristic center has the feels of a wintersport-village in Austria, which [to ruin the fairytale] might be related to the fact that this appears to be the favorite hide-out for many Nazi war criminals who escaped Europe after WWII. Nevertheless, it totally makes sense why the stunning Bariloche functions as a strong magnet for holidaymakers from every direction the wind blows.
After two sessions of drained coma-sleep and a day at the rhythm of a 75-year-old, I finally regained the energy to go out on a first little exploration. Cerro Campanario is easily reached by bus 20 and 22 and has a cute little, but seriously overpriced chairlift to take you up to the viewpoint. However, my legs are more enduring than my wallet, so I went up walking… climbing. It might be a short ascend, but don’t let that fool you: it’s brutal! I consider myself of strong physical (and sometimes questionable mental) health and I was struggling. However, once up the reward is intense and overwhelming:
The panoramic vision over the pristine lakes, green and white-capped mountains and clear blue skies are not to be processed instantly… A modern Julie-Andrews-the-hiiiiiiillls-are-alive-with-the-sound-of-muuuusic-moment, slightly disturbed by the always exaggerated voices of teenage American girls screaming how much they looooooove Berry-lodge-ay. You know, I have nothing against teenagers (ok that’s a lie) or Americans or girls, but why they all speak in the same moaning way, pushing five ‘likes’ and an inevitable low cackling emphasis on a distinct group of about 2-3 words in every sentence (yes, I have been studying it)? I try to ‘let people be’, but can they just not be like that?
I descended from paradise and took bus-10 that drives via the picturesque Colonia Suiza to the southern point of the Circuito Chico, which I decided to complete by foot. My first starting point, Cementerio del Montañes, is the last resting place of the local mountaineers in their beloved nature, some of them Olympic sportsmen… [The creepy thing about Google is that it knows everyone, even the corpses I was standing on.
I marched along to Hotel Alun Nehuen from where you have an exquisite outlook over the Bahia Lopez… a jetty reaching into unsettling blue lake, breeding bird species, majestic mountains, that kind of stuff.
A bit further down the road and a few miradores later you can enter the walking path to Lago Escondido and Bosque de Arrayanes (orang-colored trees, red.).
From there on I moved forward to the scenic and often-blogged Llao Llao Hotel, which is basically the place where you celebrate holiday when you’re 80 years old and physically ruined, after working your entire life to gain enough money to pay for this.
Reading this paragraph back I notice it sounds like a short, mellow family-walk… but it’s about 20km uphill. I was shattered.
Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from walking two full days more. As unfortunately I didn’t arrive in hiking season (which is November-Jan, summer), most refugio’s were closed. However, NOT Refugio Frey, the Frey-die-hards are always open. So I hitch-hiked to the foot of Cerro Catedral, the local, kind of soulless, ski resort from where the hike takes off.
Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from walking two full days more. As unfortunately I didn’t arrive in hiking season (which is November-Jan, summer), most refugio’s were closed. However, NOT Refugio Frey, the Frey-die-hards are always open. So I hitch-hiked to the foot of Cerro Catedral, the local, kind of soulless, ski resort from where the hike takes off.
The trek started warm in rather dry terrain, but after about two hours the snow appeared. You know, it’s a lot more fun to experience this with an Argentinean of 28 years old who never saw snow in his life. These first encounters are of pure beauty. “LOOK, you can see my footsteps!” – “Watch me, I slide, jihaaaa!!!” (yup, that’s what snow does…). The gentleman in question even found it necessary to drop his phone in it from a meter height, in the name of science (why the phone and not an object unaffected by water remains a mystery). It’s supposed to take about 4 hours, but with the heavy snowfall and the hefty backpack you can easily add another 1,5 to that. After that, arriving at the stunningly located Refugio Frey is the best thing that can happen to you. Warm mate, laughing faces and attractive snowboard-boys playing acoustic guitar, what more can one ask for?
Of course, a cozy campfire, of which we were instantly served at our beck and call. Because we weren’t going to pay the 250 pesos ($15) for an uncleaned, shared 10-person bed (I said bed, not bedroom) with a shit-clogged bathroom (according to my companion, I didn’t feel the need to visually confirm it)… we were going camping!
-“But madam, there’s a meter snow.”
– “… and?”
And that's how a bad idea starts.
-“But madam, there’s a meter snow.”
– “… and?”
And that's how a bad idea starts.
Before I knew it I was shoveling the snow off the camping spot, trying to break the ice by slamming on it. There I quickly pitched the one-layer-tent, designed for one person only. Which we used for two. Without gear, without a mattress… just a sleeping bag (designed for 15 degrees) on the frozen ground.
Can you feel the disaster coming up? Because when the sun is still shining and you’re walking and shoveling and moving, freezing point is bearable. But when the sun disappears and temperatures drop below zero… and you lie still on a floor, unable to turn and hugging the humid tent canvas, while you hear the crackling of new ice forming around you…yeah, you realize you made a terrible mistake. At this point, wearing ski-socks, sweat pants, ski pants, two hats, four sweaters and a ski jacket won’t save you. Slyly sneaking into the refugio’s living room to secretly sleep on the small wooden bench does. I didn’t sleep much, but at least the suffering ended.
When finally the sun came up and made life possible again, I finished my sleeping cycle until midday to physically prepare for the challenging and slippery descend. I looked around me to take the last overwhelming impressions of this locality in and grabbed my improvised walking stick for the necessary support. We took a little detour which unexpectedly led us to Cascada de los Duendes via Lago Gutierrez, a startling surprise. However, my body reached the point of collapse… to arrive at Paul’s couch was another highlight during an overall climaxing trip.
I had made a whole list of things to do and I wasn’t done yet, but unfortunately my visa was. 90 days in Argentina is never enough. I was forced to cross the border to Chile, which isn’t the worst punishment to be honest, where I decided to make the most out of my stay visiting Puyehue National Park, Osorno, Puerto Varas and Isla de Chiloe. BUT… now it comes…
Then I returned!
First I made my way to the charming little border town of Villa La Angostura where Mercedes and Mario (Mercy & Marito) where awaiting my arrival. As the rain didn’t show any MERCY - hahahahahah, Mercy, Mercedes, get it? ok not funny – I spent the first day hanging out with our chatty hosts, the female side of the couple being a pale pretty ginger and the grand-grand-daughter of the German settlers of the village (not Nazi in this exceptional case, red.)
Then I returned!
First I made my way to the charming little border town of Villa La Angostura where Mercedes and Mario (Mercy & Marito) where awaiting my arrival. As the rain didn’t show any MERCY - hahahahahah, Mercy, Mercedes, get it? ok not funny – I spent the first day hanging out with our chatty hosts, the female side of the couple being a pale pretty ginger and the grand-grand-daughter of the German settlers of the village (not Nazi in this exceptional case, red.)
The second day could be considered a tad more productive, as the hike to the Bosque Los Arrayanes was on the program. The entrance price of Parque Nacional Los Arrayanes is a shocking 150 pesos for foreigners… but my loyal readers will probably know already that paying such outrageous admission prices is not my style.
Instead, I walked over the alluring Bahia Brava to the left backside of the beginning of the park and climbed up in the bushes. The beaten paths showed I wasn’t the first one to come up with this idea, it’s really too easy to not do it. The hike started with a small ascend to Mirador Bahia Mansa rewarding every visitor with a satisfying view of Lago Nahuel Napi, Ruta 7 Lagos, Cerro Falso Belvedere, Valle Cajon Negro, Cerro Inacayal and ski resort Cerro Bayo.
Instead, I walked over the alluring Bahia Brava to the left backside of the beginning of the park and climbed up in the bushes. The beaten paths showed I wasn’t the first one to come up with this idea, it’s really too easy to not do it. The hike started with a small ascend to Mirador Bahia Mansa rewarding every visitor with a satisfying view of Lago Nahuel Napi, Ruta 7 Lagos, Cerro Falso Belvedere, Valle Cajon Negro, Cerro Inacayal and ski resort Cerro Bayo.
From there it’s another 12km to the Bosque… one way. Oops, that was new info. I looked at my watch (joking, it’s 2016, who has a watch nowadays, I looked at my iPhone of course): 3pm… 24km + the extra 6km back to Villa La Angostura. This was a failed mission. Still in my denial phase I did walk until half of the track, where I spent an hour helping a wounded street dog. There however I realized that there was no other option then returning to civilization, as the park strangely enough isn’t equipped with street lights (that was sarcasm). If any reader did do a better job and can send some photos, that’d be great.
New day, new chances: Mirador Belvedere. I studied Latin for 6 years to understand that that name refers to its Latin roots and is freely translated as ‘beautiful views’. Woohoo, I didn’t waste 6 years of my life! The name obviously couldn’t be more correct and the road zigzagging through some local Mapuche communities is a sweet bonus. To top it off you could check out Cascada Inacayal (waterfall), although I won’t guarantee it will blow you away.
The day that followed I was treated on yet another rainy day again. Argentineans melt when it rains (why else the street are deserted after the first insignificant rain drops?), but I just wrapped myself in goretex and plastic to walk to the Cerro Bayo (basho), a now off-season ski resort.
I cheated a bit by getting a ride the last 5km from 7 seasonal construction workers out on a mild exploration. Once there we discovered the ski lift up cost a scandalous 350 pesos. Luckily I’m in the glorious situation of having a pair of good-functioning legs, so I proposed to simply walk up. This triggered a cynic burst of laughter from the 7 fit, grown up man accompanying me, stating that this is physically impossible. It would be way to steep and if they can’t do it, I for sure couldn’t.
You understand, from that moment on I didn’t give a flying f*ck about that mountain anymore, I was going to proof that I can do wherever the hell I set my mind on.
To add a bit to the drama I decided to ignore the circling mountain path and climb straight up the steep slope, without stopping as I had an audience now.
You understand, from that moment on I didn’t give a flying f*ck about that mountain anymore, I was going to proof that I can do wherever the hell I set my mind on.
To add a bit to the drama I decided to ignore the circling mountain path and climb straight up the steep slope, without stopping as I had an audience now.
I almost died of a heart attack, CO2-shortage or both, but I made it. Like a middle finger on legs.
Pfff, impossible, speak for yourself please. To celebrate my victory a stunning full rainbow appeared in between the mountain range, providing a thrilling contrast with the view over Lago Nahuapi on the other side of the mountain. I went down with the ski-lift, as there no one checks the tickets (they assume that no one is as crazy to walk up a black slope apparently).
Figuring this was an appropriate grand finale from my time in Villa La Angostura I hitch-hiked back to Bariloche, as I had some unfinished business in this hotspot.
Bariloche
After Couchsurfer Nahuel and his young son Mirco welcomed me in their spacious home (Paul was ‘outta town'), I went for a solid night rest to at last discover the well-blogged, -tweeted and –instagrammed Cerro Tronador with all my energy. I read the only way to reach this roaring mountain is with your own vehicle or by tour, but I was glad to proof them wrong. With 2 different hitch-hikes I made it to the park entrance, where I were entered without paying. How? Oh, I was smuggled in by a Jesuit missionary running some religious hostel in the park… how else?
Figuring this was an appropriate grand finale from my time in Villa La Angostura I hitch-hiked back to Bariloche, as I had some unfinished business in this hotspot.
Bariloche
After Couchsurfer Nahuel and his young son Mirco welcomed me in their spacious home (Paul was ‘outta town'), I went for a solid night rest to at last discover the well-blogged, -tweeted and –instagrammed Cerro Tronador with all my energy. I read the only way to reach this roaring mountain is with your own vehicle or by tour, but I was glad to proof them wrong. With 2 different hitch-hikes I made it to the park entrance, where I were entered without paying. How? Oh, I was smuggled in by a Jesuit missionary running some religious hostel in the park… how else?
Once in it’s another 40km to the Tronador though, which meant I needed some more altruistic help from friendly strangers. It took a bit, but it worked. A lovely couple, Ana and Lanislao, adopted me for the day and took me to all the in-park highlights including Cascada Los Alerces and back to my temporary home again.
Just to see the faces of the tourbus-people who laughed at me in the morning it was worth the try. Oh and Cerro Tronador? Almost forgot to mention it: but YES, definitely the highlight of Bariloche, as far as I can judge.
It’s the entrance of a natural holiness, the majestic mountain showing his scary and attractive side at the same time while growling at its visitors (literally, that’s where the name ‘tronador’ comes from).
Don’t skip the black glacier floating in the celeste lake forming the red (no, blue) carpet to the hillside… it’s mesmerizing.
El Bolsón
As a final chord I concluded my time in this northern part of Patagonia with a hitch-hike daytrip to El Bolson. That morning I accidentally exchanged my contact lenses liquid with the disenfecting gel (that hurt) and I wondered if that made the colors like so clear and bright, or if El Bolson is simply a magical place. Maybe you should go there for yourself and document your findings for me…
As a final chord I concluded my time in this northern part of Patagonia with a hitch-hike daytrip to El Bolson. That morning I accidentally exchanged my contact lenses liquid with the disenfecting gel (that hurt) and I wondered if that made the colors like so clear and bright, or if El Bolson is simply a magical place. Maybe you should go there for yourself and document your findings for me…
Patagonia. I want more.
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... Want to visit a place exactly like Bariloche, but in New Zealand? Go to Queenstown!
- The Chile Page
- The Argentina Page
... Want to visit a place exactly like Bariloche, but in New Zealand? Go to Queenstown!