Don't Fear the Blow-Hard

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.