Okay, so we've seen a lot of grandiose, jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring sights of this trip, making it indelibly memorable forever. But what I really love about traveling are those bajillion little things that remind you all throughout your day that you're not in Kansas no mo'. For instance...
- Milk in a box (no refrigeration necessary; try the banana flavor!)- the car horn: not just for jerks and emergencies anymore - pop music blasting on the city bus (no one minding) - Nescafe instant coffee passing for coffee (with FDA-banned mystery sweetener) - recycling? not yet - T-Shirts in unintelligible English worn by dignified older ladies ("Ultimate Varsity Party Love!!") - Panaderias on every street corner (the smell swoons me) - Mullets & mullet dreads - Reggaeton blasting tinnily from a teen's bike-mounted cell phone - dearth of peanut butter - the little scar visible on ladies' shoulders from their childhood vaccines - packs of stray dogs roving/sleeping in the street - Roadside shrines to La Virgen (honk if you're Catholic) - very bad pizza - all stores & banks closed from 1-3pm - the smell of roast lamb on the evening breeze - late dinners - kissing hello & goodbye, even with strangers - hysterical families meeting/sending off at the bus station - no Mexican food - sheep - diabolically aggressive large wooly horse flies - machismo - soccer being cool/sacred - Pugeot & Fiat cars - public make outs - the scrappy little Patagonian tree species - runny yogurt - fanny packs - B.Y.O. toilet paper ( and don't flush it!) - Dulce de leche (caramel) spread used like jam - Politically funded graffiti - Children operating toy vehicles which would result in class action lawsuits in the U.S. - Men wearing black wool bere'ts - Daylight till 10:30 pm - birdsong that sounds like the jungle - PSAs about cholera, dengue fever, & hanta virus - walkie talkies used as cell phones - mayonnaise on everything - Juggling instead of hackey sack- Everyone smokes... and always Lucky Strikes
We all know who and what a blow-hard is. They're everywhere and we've all enjoyed their company. Most easily described as a person who will, at the drop of a hat, share all their opinions with you on a variety of trivial and disconnected topics. They are experts in most anything colloquial, folksy, and pedestrian. And granted, most of us have an inner blow-hard wrestling for control of our being, but things such as manners and the fear of being alone keep him in check.
They are the most easily met type of traveller. They spring into the conversation over some shared experience and before proper introductions have been made they are opining about all the various things they've seen. This is their passion: The places they've been. If the places are where you're heading to, they'll undoubtedly have some negative things to say. "The food only gets worse." "The people seem disinterested in all forms of hospitality." "The volcano erupted, covering the overly-touristy town with ash. You should avoid this place. There is nothing to see." If they happen to be discussing places you've been, they'll steer the discussion towards some obscure life-changing site you'd missed and how your travel experience as a whole is now suffering.
Mark Twain, being both gracious and a genius, dubs these folks "Old Travelers." He describes them at length in The Innocents Abroad. After verbally thrashing them he says, "But I still love the Old Travelers. I love them for their witless platitudes, for their super-natural ability to bore, for their delightful asinine vanity, for their luxuriant fertility of imagination, for their startling, their brilliant, their overwhelming mendacity."
Personally, I love them for another reason. I love the way they become so absorbed in what they are telling you that they seemingly lose control over their most basic bodily functions. I like to let them settle into a story, and as it unfolds they begin to struggle for breath. At this point, I turn, grab a book and walk away. In normal social circumstances this would mark the end of the conversation, however, not here. They will keep step and continue their monologue. No matter where you turn, they're on your hip. So I walk directly to the bathroom and upon arrival I open the door and look at them expectantly. Most of the time, they will enter and I shut the door and run off. However, some of the more self-aware individuals will not enter and may even pause their conversation. When this happens, I enter and shut the door. Here I begin reading my book and after 35 or 40 minutes of them yelling through the door, they become hoarse and wander off to find some water.
Bariloche, Argentina has been a much-discussed destination, both among respected and disrespected individuals. It sits on a lake called Nahuel Huapi. It's near a multitude of hiking and fishing. Twelve miles outside of town, there's a short hike to a viewpoint which National Geographic ambiguously says is "one of the best views in the world." Recently, I believe in June, a volcano erupted and covered this town and the surrounding mountains in three feet of ash. We were told that every day the wind stirs this ash into a post-apocalyptic haze, eliminating all aesthetic qualities and covering everything and everyone in filth.
That sounded cool to us, so we got our bus tickets. We found the town to be spotless and beautiful. We rented bikes and rode out to the aforementioned viewpoint and took in the panoramic beauty of lakes and mountains. It was 90 degrees, making the lake perfect for swimming. Our hostel was in the penthouse of the tallest building in town (10 stories - here's a pic from the balcony).
We were planning on doing a 5-day hike but were given pause when it was labeled "a trek for the very experienced." In our hostel we'd met a Czech man named Marek who was also interested in this trek and like us had some reservations. He was in town preparing for his 3-week summit of the tallest mountain in the Americas (6950 meters!) We knew with Marek, there was no stopping us.
It turned out to be the most challenging hike we've ever done. There was a surprising amount of hand-climbing, which is difficult with a pack. Large sections of the traverse could not hold a trail - because of scree fields or very loose gravel - and was only sporadically marked with cairns. A particularly rough stretch was a 1.5-mile decent of 2,500 feet. Through a creek. Literally, the trail was cascading glacial melt where we had to rock hop, wade, and for the big drops, unclip our packs, lower them, and then hand climb down. However, the payoff was huge. Andes Mountains in all directions, wonderful lakes to swim in, and Mt. Tronador ever-rumbling in the background. Oh, and of course, we can now call our selves "very experienced trekkers."
We had been warned against drinking the glacial water here, but since we'd never had any problems in the past we gave it a go. Unfortunately, this particular batch was loaded with pre-historic minerals that our modern GI tracts could not abide. The hike out was pretty rough, as were the following three days holed up in our room but we're currently on the mend.
We've left Bariloche and are now in island town of Ancud, Chile. It sort seems like how Seattle might be if computers and airplanes were never invented. Lazy and cloudy with piles of seafood everywhere and a great public market. Nine months of rain a year. We're currently in blow-hard-avoidance mode and are staying in private room in a guesthouse where nobody speaks English. Conditions are perfect.
Howard can see things about people. He knows the score. Be it the slightest human suffering or if someone is not being honest, he can see it. Whether or not he does anything about it is beside the point. He's been in southern Chile his whole life and has known the Austral Highway since it was just sections of horse-cart tracks connected by sheep paths. Though he has a Ford Ranger now (built in Argentina) he sees no difference in the things around him. This so-called "influx of tourism" is nothing different than what's been happening here since the 1940's when Chile was practically paying those fleeing World War Two to come settle this land.
Howard's a cowboy. He owns a ranch in between La Junta and Villa Santa Lucia. He's been working the land since he was a child and it shows on his face, which can only be described as a very old, well-oiled, dark brown leather boot. Loosely attached to this boot is a push-broom eyebrow, mustache and gold teeth. Like features of a Mr. Potatohead, they're just sort of waiting to fall off.
He's found success recently and can afford to wear (and wear-out) the thickest and densest wool vests in the region. It's 90 degrees and he's sweating profusely, which he prefers to being eaten alive by these horseflies that are hardly slowed by any clothing less formidable.
As a rule, he always picks up hitch-hikers. He enjoys the company on these long drives and every now and then finds his companions interesting. With the locals he picks up it's usually just pleasantries until they asked to be dropped off at some road sign in the middle of nowhere. With the tourists, it's more of a anthropological study. He used to think the travelers were just a bunch of blow-hards, yammering in pigeon Spanish about themselves. When they did ask questions, they would immediately glaze over once he began to answer. However, being astute, he realized that the travelers weren't being rude; They just didn't know Spanish. They had a few memorized phrases they'd scream at the locals, including questions, but they weren't able to understand the responses. Thankfully for Howard, his insight into human nature allows him to see past the stammering and stuttering and learn all about these passengers. He can even impart some wisdom upon them while driving by yelling at them in slow, clear Spanish whilst waving his arms wildly.
Today is no different. He's picked up and dropped off several car-less individuals. Now as he crests the hill north of La Junta, he sees a dismal site. Two people: a man and woman with thumbs out. One holding a french press coffee thermos and grinning, the other has a giant cup of instant oatmeal with two spoons sticking out of it. Usually people don't eat on the side of a gravel highway. Cars and trucks passing at 50MPH really tend to pancake everything with dirt, including food. These two don't seem to notice. They can only hold this position for a couple seconds before they start swatting at flies with their thumb-hands.
Stopping, he realizes they camped here last night, and they are in the middle of breakfast. They're a strange sight. The coffee they drink seems to instantly condense and burble out of their skin. The mud-like brew flows down their faces, arms and legs. As they jump in, he realizes the mud is just that. Dust being sweated into mud. "Hermano, he estado aca!" shouts Howard.
Howard can see they've been hitching and camping for several days even before the man screams, "Haciamos dedos por cuatro dias! Desde en Coihaique!" The woman yells, "Quisieramos a ir al Futuleufu, pero algo lugar norte de aqui es el mismo." Howard is impressed by their shouting and by how quickly they'd deduced he's hard of hearing.
It's clear to Howard, without them saying so, that they are sick of hitch-hiking and would have taken a bus, had one ran north more than once every 5 days. He assumes they saw the last bus a couple days ago but they were probably still in good spirits then and had waved it passed. He's seen this before. People trapped in hitch-hiking is not much different than how people get trapped in homelessness. These two want a bus. They'd pay top dollar for one. But there is none to be had. Hitching is the safest, fastest and most reliable way to get around in these parts. He knows they'll look back fondly on it no matter how long it takes. He sizes up their packs and can see they have food enough for another week and he smiles.
Howard explains to them how he needs to stop by his ranch and drop off some band saw blades. They perk up a bit and grin at each other, showing their muddy teeth.
As they arrive at the ranch, Howard notices the way the man keeps looking up and down the passing trees. It's clear to Howard that he's gauging the defects and estimating the standing board footage. This man knows the woods, or at least pretends to. Howard shows him some various units of lumber he has around the ranch and explain to him some differences between the species and what not. The man doesn't understand all the words of course, but he no doubt knows exactly what was said.
After giving detailed instructions to an employee and giving him said saw blades, Howard reloads the hitch-hikers and takes them to Villa Santa Lucia. He points them to the bus station with an ironic smile. He knows they'll check the bus availability, get no clear answer and will be back to sucking dust in the heat on the road heading east. They don't know it yet, but that road is very heavily traveled and they'll have no problem getting to Futuleufu today. Soon they'll be showered and gorging themselves on cordero asado and swearing they'll never hitch-hike again... as if they have a choice. "Bon provercho, amigos."
- Milk in a box (no refrigeration necessary; try the banana flavor!)- the car horn: not just for jerks and emergencies anymore - pop music blasting on the city bus (no one minding) - Nescafe instant coffee passing for coffee (with FDA-banned mystery sweetener) - recycling? not yet - T-Shirts in unintelligible English worn by dignified older ladies ("Ultimate Varsity Party Love!!") - Panaderias on every street corner (the smell swoons me) - Mullets & mullet dreads - Reggaeton blasting tinnily from a teen's bike-mounted cell phone - dearth of peanut butter - the little scar visible on ladies' shoulders from their childhood vaccines - packs of stray dogs roving/sleeping in the street - Roadside shrines to La Virgen (honk if you're Catholic) - very bad pizza - all stores & banks closed from 1-3pm - the smell of roast lamb on the evening breeze - late dinners - kissing hello & goodbye, even with strangers - hysterical families meeting/sending off at the bus station - no Mexican food - sheep - diabolically aggressive large wooly horse flies - machismo - soccer being cool/sacred - Pugeot & Fiat cars - public make outs - the scrappy little Patagonian tree species - runny yogurt - fanny packs - B.Y.O. toilet paper ( and don't flush it!) - Dulce de leche (caramel) spread used like jam - Politically funded graffiti - Children operating toy vehicles which would result in class action lawsuits in the U.S. - Men wearing black wool bere'ts - Daylight till 10:30 pm - birdsong that sounds like the jungle - PSAs about cholera, dengue fever, & hanta virus - walkie talkies used as cell phones - mayonnaise on everything - Juggling instead of hackey sack- Everyone smokes... and always Lucky Strikes
