Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego

To quickly expand on Hes's thoughts:

I did really enjoy hanging out with the penguins, especially the rockhoppers who reminded me of Lorrin, when he decided that 'le look rockhopper' was translatable into a haircut. Oh heady student days. What I didn't particularly enjoy was watching out with every step for dead baby penguins. Honestly, it was like dog sh*t in Paris. We saw a pretty harrowing explanation (and a clear illustration of the red-in-tooth-and-claw aspect) as the circling skuas slowly picked off another stranded 'youngling', whilst adult penguins waddled by apparently obliviously. And the smell. I couldn't tell what was the fault of the penguins and what came from the sealions but let me tell you, we humans are not the only species who pollute the earth.

Oh, but I also loved the Commerson's dolphins, little mini orcas, or sea-humbugs maybe.

In other news, I have started to learn to manage my expectations, and this has been nowhere more in evidence in the petrified forest. I had recalibrated my first imaginings of a magical world of stone trees to match reports of a few lumps of stone in the desert, and was even a bit undecided about whether we should bother going. Which of course meant that I was happily surprised by the place- a moonscape with great lumps of this incredible material in it- obviously tree, yet somehow stone, in a beautiful rich mix of marbled browns. It was actually just as impressive as seeing dinosaur skeletons, because there was no leap of the imagination required to see these things living. It was clear in the shapes of the knots and the bark. And every so often came the fleeting and intangible comprehension that this stuff is 140 million years old. 140 MILLION. Lots.

We visited Henry Moore's house a while ago and I hoped one day I might have a collection of stones, antlers and natural 'objets trouves' like his. I had even hoped to pick some up on this visit. But of course now you are not allowed to remove the petrified wood from the site, as he might have done. And that actually makes me happy- the site would have been so much more impressive but for the unlegislated years of people doing just that. *leave only footprints take only memories* and all that rubbish.

We gave our little car a send-off by taking it on the '7 Lagos' route early before coming back into Bariloche. We had already had a wonderful drive through the Alerces forests and through beautiful, wide glacial valleys, but the drive up to San Martin de Los Andes was stunning. I think I frustrated hes by consistently stopping for photos. The 7 Lagos route itself was lovely, but we had left ourself short of time so started it at 6am, which made for beautiful views but two rather grumpy, caffeine starved travellers.

It took a day in Bariloche and a wine soaked (well, for me anyway) 30 hr bus trip to El Calafate before we had fully recharged from our camping trip.

El Calafate is famous for the Perito Merino glacier, which is indeed stunning. All of Patagonia seems like a big geography lesson but the shape and deep blue colours of the glacier are stunning- as well as the sounds of this living thing moving, cracking and calving. Most interesting, though, was the preponderance of Europeans clad in vibrant gore-tex in the town, despite there being no real hiking to do. It was pretty quickly clear we were not only back on the gringo circuit, but also entering the Antarctica-Cruise zone.

El Chalten is on the other side of the Parque Nationale de Los Glaciares and does boast incredible hiking, as well as the vertical, spire-like mountains I had so looked forward to seeing. On one incredible (and tiring) trek we started out along the side of a huge glacial valley, took in a view of the cardiogram skyline, walked up to a glacier and cooled our feet in its lake and then walked along the Rio Electrico to see another retreating glacier, miles from anywhere- and then camped. So glad we got the tent.

I shall also remember the beer. I remember having a tearful pint of Pride just before leaving, saying adieu to my beloved ale. But it turns out that these guys in Patagonia aren't half bad brewers. And sitting at the foot of the mountains is a good place to drink it. Or indeed drinking a pint of 'Beagle' by the Beagle Channel in Ushuaia.

Ah, Ushuaia. a lovely little town. It has great food (the night we had a fresh king crab being a highlight) and access to the nearby Tierra del Fuego National Park. I must admit, the old expectations thing tripped me up here a bit. I suppose somewhere between the name and location I had come to expect a remote and dramatic place of red earth and powerful icy winds. i hadn't expected to be woken up from our tent one morning by a flock of beige-clad British birdwatchers trooping through the campsite (I'm sure I shall be in the background of some of their photos of some tit or other as I sleepily crawled out of my canvas pit, pulling up my jeans). It also turned out to be the preferred barbecue location for all of Ushuaia, and our immediate campground was invaded by an extended family requesting the use of our Parilla for their Sunday barbecue. The big-bellied dad was already handing out the beers to his bemulleted sons and the girls were nursing their babies. It was like waking up in the middle of a Latino 'Shameless'. However, I must say that they were all very pleasant and it is lovely how the people make such use of their beautiful national parks.

Ushuaia also has a museum which really puts the zzzzz in exzzzhibit (except for one very enlightening room focussed on the prison museums of the world, including the Galleries of Justice in Nottingham)- I made a b-line for the 'Malvinas' room- I am dying to know what the general take on this is. I'm ashamed to say I haven't broached it with any Argentinians, but may well try when we return to Mendoza next month. Suffice to say I have mulled it over a lot, and here are a couple of thoughts:

Nobody has mentioned it to us or has in any way seemed at all affected by it, or our being British. Argentinians are lovely, lovely people, that has been abundantly clear. I just can't quite reconcile the government's 'Malvinas son Argentinas' signs which are ubiquitous on the coast and throughout Patagonia. Coupled with the (quite beautiful) memorials to the fallen, they somehow suggest that the deaths of these men strengthen the claim, or indeed that these men died in a worthy and just cause, rather than in an act of aggression. I rather hope that in conversation I'll find that there is some recognition of this, not because I am a die-hard patriot, or even because I particularly remember the war (I don't), but just because I worry about this government-sponsored, nationalistic bombast circling around such complex issue.

That's enough for now. We're in chile, we've left the steaks and decent coffee behind. But thank God the wine remains. Off up another few mountains for the next few days, then heading back northwards on the ferry through the fjords, towards the warm, the insects. I shall miss this part of the world a lot.

Christmas, Joe's mullet and giant woodpeckers

Before I add more musings on Patagonia, a little visual image to picture us on our travels - Joe has lost his long-cherished beard and locks but gained a proto-mullet, curling nicely round the nape of his neck. Our visit to an Argentinean hairdresser has also left me with a very severe fringe- think young and scary-looking Sylvia Plath.

And now, prepare to be bored stiff. Patagonia is the most incredible place on earth. So remote, so huge and wild, so prehistoric somehow. Having our own car for two weeks meant we could visit really out-of-the-way places. Joe has already described our route south from Bariloche and back up the east coast - what he didn't mention is that he drove almost 5000km - the place is so BIG. The coast is totally different from the parks tucked up under the Andes. And in the middle is just dust and round clumps of yellow-and-green thorny grasses and guanacos (wild llama-type things).

We went to two towns on the coast. The first was Puerto San Julian - where Magellan spent the winter of 1520 and Francis Drake the winter of 1578, both using the stopover to execute mutinous crews - and Puerto Deseado, on an estuary and amid a nature reserve further north. They were both frontier places, sort of outposts in the dust. I ate tasty fish in restaurants with weather-beaten locals and Joe continued his quest to eat every cow in Argentina. (And we both continued our descent into red wine alcoholism). Like the Peninsula Valdes the wildlife is amazing. You walk down a coastal path with bright blue-green seas and see penguins dotted among the gulls. New Year's Eve in a penguin colony on a nearby island was bliss. We spent 6 hours sitting with rockhoppers and their chicks, as they hopped around, got smashed against the rocks, resolved their daily squabbles and performed a funny head wobble when they stared at you. And all this amid yellow-lichen-stained rocks, blue skies, red cliffs and skuas mobbing you overhead. Will also insert my interesting fact here - apparently the word penguin comes from the Welsh 'pen' - white, and 'gwyn' head, from the early explorers and settlers of the Southern Hemisphere. Who knew?

The parks along Argentina's western border are incredible in a totally different way. Everything is on a vaster scale - the (southern) beech trees are about twice or three times the size of English ones, and the woodpeckers are half a metre long. The lakes are massive, often aquamarine or toothpaste blue, with no buildings on their shores and are full of enormous trout. The Perito Merino park that Joe mentioned is stunning. It's so isolated that apparently it only gets around 1200 visitors a year. The park rangers shake your hand, and its very romantic to think that they live there all year round, snowed in with their dogs for most of it. We camped among hares, curious birds and a herd of guanacos, staring through the wind at clouds moving over a pink mountain. 

And a little more on those amazing woodpeckers. They're called Magellanic woodpeckers and rank among my new favourite birds. They're black and red (well, the male is, the female just has a floppy black curl on her head), and apparently you can attract them by tapping rapidly on a tree twice with stones. They think it's a rival and come to scare him off. David Attenborough managed it but sadly Joe never did, despite days of us bashing trees and scanning the canopy expectantly. Even more sadly Joe saw a whole family of them one day when I was having a nap. I still haven't quite forgiven him. But enough of my problems.

A few sites really brought home how little the land has changed since it was Pangea and attached to Africa. We saw a petrified forest in a sort of Death Valley, where 140 million-year old fossilised tree trunks were lying in the desert. And a cave in the side of a huge canyon with Stone Age paintings of hands and pregnant guanacos, where you could almost imagine Neanderthal man swarming up from the valley floor. The place is so devoid of human habitation that such scenes are easy to imagine.

Other lingering memories are Christmas Eve, which we celebrated with a lovely gay couple and the architect and wife that ran the campsite, and also camping by a seemingly abandoned estancia in the desert, with just a dog and cat for company. And to top it off we've just spent a day by a glacier, confusingly also called Perito Moreno. A completely other-worldly experience, especially hearing the ice-field crack, and seeing chunks splinter off into the lake. But I'm sure Joe will describe (and probably paint - his IPad sketches are on Facebook) the blues and translucent whites better than I can. 

Patagonia (part 1...)

I remember my brother once saying that Patagonia is his favourite place in the world. I think I now agree.

First of all, just to pick up on Buenos Aires: best moments were...

-seeing boca juniors at the Bombonera. Although it was the last game of the season the atmosphere was great, and not even very intimidating. Interestingly, the crowd seemed to appreciate the opposite side of the game to British fans- ie lengthy, solo runs culminating in a swan dive, or silly attempted flicks, as opposed to the good old cross-field pass.

-filling ourselves with delicious empanadas in a tiny barbecue shop next to the hostel. Empanadas are so good, like mini-Cornish-pasties, filled with meat, ham, cheese and loads more. And they have a universal shape-code so you can identify what is in them, and avoid the veg ones (they're Hester's).

-ballet performance followed by an evening city tour and authentic argentine (ie in no way authentic Italian) pizza with our new friend, Gustavo, who we met on Roraima.

-the 50something, balding cabbie, humming along to Lady Gaga, with a picture of her on his dashboard, and a huge tattoo of her on his forearm (Madonna was on the other). And Hes saying that 'titanium' is her favourite Lady Gaga song (it is not a Lady Gaga song).

-the cemetery de la Recoleta. It is a wondrous maze of fantastic stone follies- classical, gothic, art nouveau and modern. Like the Jesuit ruins, just a beautiful place where you could wander for hour after hour. Different to but as good as Pere Lachaise.

So, with Hes having adequately picked up on the Peninsula Valdez I shall continue with Bariloche, where we arrived once more as a twosome. It is in the Argentinian Lake District, and we hit such a spell of bad weather that it did feel a bit Cumbrian. I went up a mountain on the first day and came back a sodden, shivering wreck. Bariloche itself is on odd little town, as if someone had to recreate a Swiss village from a written description only, like how olden-days artists got exotic animals amusingly wrong. But it does sit in a beautiful landscape, which is exactly Alpine, and we had a very pleasant few days moseying around local trails, dodging showers, and cooking for ourselves in our beautiful hostel on the outskirts of town.

Except for one night of steak, that is. My steak-eating is improving, almost to the standards of The Vegetarian (see entries passim). I now like a chorizo, or morcilla, or both, to accompany my steak. And looking back, the frequency of intake has been positively Argentinian.

In Bariloche we hired a car for a two week period, to see out the Christmas/ new year period. We also bought camping gear with a view to doing a circuit of northern and central Patagonia, including Ruta 40, apparently a well known road trip which Che Guevara, amongst others, took. And here I'm afraid any previously advised attempts not to get all flowery about our travels are going to crumble. Patagonia is just incredible.

From Bariloche we headed south and spent two nights in a hotel in Trevelin, a small welsh colony. We had a nice relaxed day or so, including a carol service in the local church, which made me a little sad. I'm not really a Christmassy sort, but being so far away at such a time was a little sad and I thought a lot about my amazing family. I also got a nice Welsh tea- ie a proper cuppa with sandwiches, cakes and all. The fruit cake was like Christmas cake and I got a bit sad again, but there were plenty of other flavours to cheer me up. Hester's favourite was the 'cream pie'.

On Christmas Eve we ventured into the nearby Park de Los Alerces, named after a specific tree which grows there. It is a collection of stunning, vivid blue lakes amongst dappled forested hills and was utterly beautiful. We saw in Christmas with the campsite owners and other campers over a big Patagonian lamb meal. It was lovely. On Christmas Day we had a walk along the lake, then I went kayaking on the lakes while she looked at birds, and then we had an open fire and cooked meat and veg on it. It was lovely, again.

We hit the road again on Boxing Day and put in a full day on Ruta 40 as far as Rio Mayo, an absolute backwater town which is also Argentina's sheep shearing capital; we were initially confused by a large sculpture of a man pinning a sheep down, as we thought we had left the Welsh colonies. *HA! Sorry Welsh friends*. The towns along Ruta 40 in Patagonia all seemed a bit redneck at first glance, like rolling in to some backwards pyschoville. The ubiquitous 'Malvinas son Argentinas' signs didn't help with this sense of unease, but we encountered nothing but utter friendliness, as we have throughout this country.

Ruta 40, up until then, had been a little underwhelming. It is famously a dirt road but much is now paved- which wasn't too distressing as the 'ripio' surface made for a very uncomfortable ride, not least due to worrying about the hire-car disintegrating. Winding at speed through the steppe on asphalt was much more pleasing- I felt a bit like Jeremy Clarkson, though Hes seemed to be clutching at the door handle. South of Rio Mayo we stopped for a lunchtime visit to see some cave paintings (13,000 years old, folks), and after that drive became incredible. The arid steppe burst into colour- yellows, purples, oranges and more. It all looked like someone had fiddled with the colours on photoshop, or perhaps a lycergic hand-tinted photograph. I was driving with my jaw on my lap as one incredible vista unfolded into the next.

We came off the most remote road in Argentina and took a further 90km of dirt track to the Park Perito Moreno, a seldom visited bit of Andean Valhalla. I am only concerned that the photos couldn't do this place justice, it is so incredibly dramatic and beautiful. There are two central lakes, one of which is steely grey (ie lake-coloured), the other is bright azure blue. To one side there are foothills which are marbled in browns, yellows, creams and oranges. To the other the Andes themselves, appearing at first glance as black, snow-capped behemoths but revealing all kinds of colours once your eyes adapt. The grass is mostly green, but a lot of it is red, and some is blue, and it is all speckled with little flowers, mostly orchids. A couple of other lakes are just browny green, so they have pink flamingos in them to brighten them up. Yes, I think it is the most beautiful place I have ever been.

We had two nights camping in the wild (the facilities consisted of a tap in the grass and a little shed with a pit-loo, from which you could check out guanacos in your seated position). It was lovely, once again.

I see I have written a lot. Am at the moment on a 30hr bus from Bariloche bound for the south of Patagonia, which is supposed to be even nicer, so all this may look a little premature. I will write about the second half of our circuit (across and back up the east coast) later, or hes may lift a finger, as it was more about penguins than mountains. That's her thing.

Until then, happy new year all.

Joe.