Relaje en Uruguay

Colonia, Uruguay - Here I am, all jazzed to be "driving" for the first time in over four months. Yeah, it´s only a dune buggy, and it probably had the motor of a lawn mower, but a great means to explore the little town of Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay.

So let´s face it, it´s the end of my trip, and I´ve grown a little weary of being a "slave" to the computer (just wait until how I fell when I get an actual job again!) so let´s keep this short and sweet. And if I know most of you, it´s the pictures you´re all more interested in anyway.

Punta del Este, Uruguay, was the most recent spot of our bechside relaxation. The resort boasts soft, warm sand and your choice of either calm waters or surf on two sides of the small peninsula.

We´d been warned both my travel guidebooks and fellow tourists at the St. Tropez-meets-Miami Beach, upscale feel of this uber-wealthy resort town --- and it lived up to its reputation. In my humble opinion, a perfect punctuation to several months of wet, humid air or bitingly cold winds. Our skin, however, is still complaining about the splotchy bits of red our SPF 40 failed to protect.

And now it´s back in Buenos Aires, where we wait with baited breath for our 3 p.m. check-in to the the five-star city hotel, the Pan Americano. We intend to immediately disrobe, and then re-robe, so to speak, in the hotel granted whites before hitting the famous terrace level pool with a famous view of all the downtown action. And we´re milking the place for every penny, so we will not emerge until precisely noon on Tuesday when they kick us out screaming before making our way to the international airport for the long journey home.

It´s been a trip, to say the least, and one that I´m glad we had/made the opportunity for. If you ever find yourself headed to this part of the world, hit us up for our favorites - helado (ice cream), carne empanadas, licuados and pinguinos among just a few.

-JMH

The stone hands that draw not just sunbathing tourists to the beach on the Atlantic side of Punta del Este.

Alex lubes up with that SPF 40 - note that he´s now wearing a hat and t-shirt to further aggravate the ever-darkening pink hue.

Complete Circle

Photos: The journey started out in Buenos Aires during election time. Christina Kirchner was elected, above. From there it took us through most of the country, up to the more indegenous Salta (photo by JMH), across the Straight of Magellan, through the vineyards of Mendoza and under the pink flamingos of Patagonia in El Calafaté, below top to bottom.

Three days ago, the circle was completed. January 17th, exactly three months after we landed in Buenos Aires for the first time, we were again wandering down Avenida Santa Fe gazing into the endless shops and cafés. This time, the city looked different. It was not as overwhelming, the language wasn´t as foriegn and the city itself seemed more romantic as we strolled, more at ease with our surroundings.

We had good reason to stroll, hand in hand without care. In the three months since we had last been in El Capital, we had seen nearly the entirety of Argentina and some of Chile. We had been north to Salta and Humhuaca, mere kilometers from the Bolivian boarder. We had been west along the Andes - through the vineyards of Mendoza and along the lakes of Bariloche. We had been south to the glaciars of El Calafaté and the mountains of El Chaltén. We saw a flock of pink flamingos take flight. We had been through the Patagonian grasslands and across the Straight of Magellan and the barren plains of Tierra del Fuego to El fin del mundo and Ushuaia. We had seen the penguinos in Puerto Madryn and we had mingled with locals in the heartland of Córdoba. We had taken the trip through the Andes, passed Acongagua, the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere, to Santiago, Chile and swam in the Pacific Ocean. We had tasted beef, lamb and Malbec until we grew tired of it. The circle had taken us counter clockwise around the country, with a couple of detouring time changes. We had had some adventures and we had relaxed. And now, with just over a week left in the trip, we have completed the circle.

Even with such a grand circle coming to a close, the journey is still not over. We´re off for a week at the beaches of Uruguay tomorrow. When we get back it´s down the coast to Mar del Plata for a Boca Juniors / River Plate game and then we close it all out with a night in the luxurious Pan Americano for some last minute photos of Avenida 9 de Julio at night and a celebration before making the long flight back home.

- AC

The End of the World

Photos: Above, Ushuaia borders the bay far below one of many mountain valleys towering above. Below, the marina at Ushuaia lays in the flat water below the mountains, cobblestone streets make up the town with mountains towering above, and at bottom the sun rises over the town. - AC

After nearly 15 hours on a bus, which crossed through desolate Patagonian pampas, over the Straight of Magellan via ferry and bumped along gravel roads through Chilean Tierra del Fuego, the road begins to rise up into magestic mountains. It winds it´s way up the walls of valleys far above blue lakes. The bland brown shrubs and yellow grasses which grow short and tough next to the ground throughout Patagonia begin to give way to stands trees and forest. Misty clouds cling to the sides of the mountains, trapping the peaks in a fog with no visible limit. The view is majestic, mysterious and dramatic. Snow still clings to the mountains despite the winter months. Looking up at the grey mist and the black ridges and peaks, it seems obvious even without knowing the destination that beyond those mountains the world will end.

Descending down again out of the mountains the forest completely takes over. The tough stout shrubs of Patagonia and short yellow grasses of Tierra del Fuego drop into memory and the forest makes clear the harshness of this boarder. Trees grow together in tight forest clumps, clinging together against the weather. Entire stands of trees lay on the ground, seemingly laid out by immesureable winds. Inside the forest clumps branches and trunks litter the floor with wood, victim to the wind. The mist remains, but now the sun succedes in shining through, casting a golden glow over the harsh landscape.

As the bus rounds a corner, a vast blue bay stretches out like a giant aquatic valley surrounded by tall jagged peaks of rock. The bay stretches out towards the southeast, dotted with islands. Tucked into the corner of the bay, safe and sheltered into crags and valleys at the feet of the mountians is a small town. Small streets lined with modest homes amongst beautiful gardens of different colored lupine. Connecting the town to the bay is a port with large cruise ships carrying passengers through the Beagle Canal from the Straight of Magellan and the vast islands of southern Chile or Antarctica as well as freight ships carrying supplies for the region. The bay stretches away from the town towards the ocean, and at the far end of bay, when it´s waters meet the Atlantic, the world ends.

Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world. It is located at about 55 degrees south and is the capital of Tierra del Fuego as well as being the major port for Antarctic tourism and shipping. In the summer, it recieves 18 hours of daylight and in the winter less than 7. It is never warm, but in the summer the 18 degree celcius is ideal for hiking among the mountains that overlook the city and the bay.

It is quite possibly the most beautiful city in Argentina. While the diversity and vastness of the country has much to offer, the mountains, Ushuia Bay and the breathtaking majesty of the city are incredible. Despite it´s asthetic appeal, it´s status as the tip of the world and the closest thing to Antartica make it that much more magical.

- AC

Iceberg, straight ahead!

A tourist boat cruises by the Perito Moreno Glacier, offering persepctive to the enormity of the flowing frozen river. - AC

Driving into Los Glaciares National Park in southern Patagonia, the landscape is a strange mix of Nevadan desert, Colorado peaks and Alaskan ice fields.

Once inside the park people are bundled in windbreakers, tightly tied around their heads. And while the air temperature is not all that cold, the gusts can chill you, or at least me, right to the bone. But everyone is smiling, snapping photos of the Perito Moreno Glaciar - one of the largest attractions in Patagonia.

As impressed as Alex his parents, Paul and Chris, and I were with the first, long-distance viewpoint, we had no idea the splendor we were in for.

The glacier is fed by the southern Patagonia ice field, the third largest in the world after Antarctica and Greenland. And this particular glacier - amazing not only for its size and access - is one of just a few that are not retreating.

The ice field looks like just that - a field. It`s not flat, smooth and one-dimensional like when Donner Lake freezes over, but goes for miles and miles with icy blue crags that jut into the sky. And if you stay real quiet, you can hear the glacier speak - it creaks and cracks until finally the heat of the sun`s rays or the pressure from the flowing ice-river pushes forward and huge chunks come crashing into the lake below.

And the thing is gigantic. The glacier face itself is 60 meters high, about that of a 15-story building. One guidebook says you can literally fit the city of Buenos Aires on it.

We were lucky enough to catch both pictures and video when a VW bus-sized ice chunk tore off from the glacier - a noise like that of a crumbling building. And we were so impressed with our first trip to the glacier that we made a second a few days later, and even after hours of waiting for another spectacle, found we were fortunate on our first viewing. We tried uploading the video, but it will have to wait for more up-to-date technology or someone who knows how to do it. For now, enjoy Alex`s still-shot of the shedding iceberg.

- JMH

Alex catches on the film the glacier as it sheds part of its front face. It sounds like an office building crumbling to the ground. - AC

Penguins and Guanacos oh my...

After endles hours of driving through flat brown sagebrush on the Patagonian Stepp, you come to the Atlantic ocean. From curious little penguinos to native guanacos, which are kind of like a cross between a deer and a llama, sea lions - or lobos marinos as the locals call them, and elephant seals, there´s plenty to see... and sometime play with.

Magellanic Penguins at Punta Loma on the Argentine Atlantic coast live in droves under sagebrush. Their unafraid and curious.

Guanacos, they´re pretty fast and kind of wierd.

Joanna dances the penguin with her little friend.

- AC

Fast Times at 2,000 meters High

This here is a psychological experiment of the blogging variety. Following is the account of the same experience, by one male and by one female, and their different interpretations of the events ...

- AC says

As the speedometer flirted with 150 kilomoters an hour and the tires managed to keep from squeeling around the curves of the mountain road - most likely because of the rain - Tito reached up to the dash and shoved another cracker into his mouth. He had missed lunch, and between checking his cell phone, sipping his Diet Coke and munching away he was shifting gears on the van, pushing it´s less than performance abilities to their limits.

Despite most Argentine bus employees´ disbelief, we had not watched any TV or read any newspapers in Bariloche. In the middle of one of the prettiest places on the planet why would we? Penance for falling of the grid, however, was that we had failed to realize the country was recognizing a time change, one hour ahead.

Of course, we had managed to book bus tickets, reserve a room in our next destination and even sketch out our plans after that. The first leg of our journey from Bariloche to Puerto Madryn, a four-plus hour bus to Esquel, had left on time - an hour earlier.

There were no later buses, no buses would run the next day - New Years Eve, and the hotels in Bariloche were booked with party animals for the holiday. We were left with a solitary option.

We paid Tito, the five-o´clock-shadowed "driver" 300 pesos to drive us the 300 kilometers of two lane winding mountain roads from Bariloche to Esquel to catch our overnight leg which would leave in less than three hours.

For the next two hours and 45 minutes I tried to pretend I was enjoying some of what I think was the prettiest country I have ever seen while simultaneously attempting to keep my heart from exploding out of my chest or my arms from going numb as my fists soaked up all the blood clenching the door handle.

As we emptied out of the mountains into the bigger more open valleys around Esquel Tito was able to really make the engine whine and I relized we were probably going to live after all. My hands loosened up, I had managed to leave the handle intact.

Half an hour later we pulled into the bus stop, 15 minutes early. I shook Tito´s hand and happily paid him his money. Maybe it was too much, but until the moment we pulled into the terminal I never thought we´d make it.


- JMH says

Apparently they have time changes in Argentina, too. Not anything as fancy as "Spring-forward-Fall-back," but someone with power decided tp push to hour ahead by one this year at midnight on Dec. 29. Unfortunately, this person forgot to tell us.

Being the Germanic, puntual travelers we are, Alex and I arrived at the Bariloche bus station about 45 minutes before our scheduled 6 p.m. departure to Puerto Madryn. As the hour drew nearer and nearer, I watched other bus companies come and go, with no sign of ours. I inquired at 6:05 at the ticket booth, digesting the "se fue" response with confusion and then anger. Much to our dismay, the bus had left at its scheduled time, which was an hour before our watches read.

I informed Alex of our error and proceeded to throw the tantrum that`s become my emotional signature - no longer cute at age 25. We weigh our options, and being that it`s nearly New Year`s and everything in Bariloche is already booked and we have reservations in Puerto Madryn, we opt for the $350 peso car ride with a driver I will henceforth refer to as Señor. He told us his name, but in my cries of passenger terror all I could mutter was "Aye Señor." Needless to say, Argentines, as well as most of the rest of the world, drive like maniacs.

I`ve since adapted to the eight minute taxi rides, assuring myself that any accident in the city center would more likely produce a pedestrian or cyclist casualty. But I had no such assurance on this 350 kilometer "3 hour" mountain drive to catch the second leg of our bus ride.

As Señor took the serious curves at over 100 km/hour - irregardless of the "60 km maximum velocidad" signs - I white-knuckled my lap-only seatbelt relseasing my vice-like grip only to grasp the seat in front of me and twist my face into a wrinkly ball of fear. Meanwhile, Señor casually types text messages into his phone, plays with the radio, snacks on crackers and fails to wear his own seatbelt, the safer kind that actually goes over the shoulders. Plus, it`s begun to rain.

My anxiety is palpable, and I remind myself that if there is a god, he/she won`t let me die in a head on collision in Argentina with a man I know only as Señor. I`m thinking that maybe we should nix the whole bus ride thing and hole up with the elves in El Bolson, a town less than 25 km. away. And then I see a road mileage sign. I do some quick math and determine that we need to keep at an average speed of 107 km/hour to catch the 10:30 p.m. bus with no time to spare. That can`t be possible. Or so I think.

The road sign throws me to the wolves and I speak up.

"Are there places to stay in El Bolson?" I ask as though I`m actually interested in the detour. "How close is it to here?" I follow up.

Yes and close are his answers, followed by, "¿Por que?"

I tell him that we`re taking the corners too fast, not staying in our own lane, making blind passes and that the oncoming headlights in my same lane is too much to bare. In a nutshell, "Tengo miedo."

He smiles and tells me he makes this drive three times each week, and when he`s alone he does it in two hours and 10 minutes.

I tell him I don`t want to die. He laughs and says that he doesn`t either.

"Why don`t you wear your damned seatbelt then." But I only think this. I don`t want to be rude to the man who has my life in his hands after all.

So I pull out my pen and notebook to write, realizing it`s easier to whiz be kilometer after kilometer with my head down. Plus, no one likes a backseat driver, especiallt this one.

Needless to say, we caught our ride with time to spare. And I even gave Señor a smile and a kiss when he dropped us safely and in one piece at the bus door.

Throwin` in the towel?

Punto Panorama offers more than a peak at the lush landscape and plentiful lakes in Nahuel Huapi national park, just 15 km from Bariloche. - JMH

Just when I was ready to call it a day, or a trip, really, after another two week bout fighting foreign bugs and bacteriums, we landed here in the land of plenty - plenty of mountains, plenty of lakes and more than enough beauty.

San Carlos de Bariloche, in the northernmost part of Patagonia, is more than a sight for sore eyes. The town itself is cute enough, but the surrounding landscape can only be described as breathtaking - definitely makes my Top 5 list of Prettiest Places. It`s like Tahoe, only nicer, if you can believe it.

The city center itself boasts a dozen chocolate shops, make-your-own t-shirt shops line the sidewalks and hoards of Argen"teens" fill the hotels and hostels to spend their summer breaks dancing away the nights. The place itself is actually more reminiscient of a little Swiss village, which makes some sense at it was settled in the 19th century by Austrians and Germans. It`s situated at the foot of the Andes and on the shore of Lago Nahuel Huapi, a curiosuly shaped body of water - plenty to explore by boat.

Brian, Dad, Alex and I landed here well over a week ago with little chance to blog, if that says anything about how busy we`ve been able to keep ourselves here - with hikes, bikes, drives, coffee, chocolate, red wine, beef and mostly just gaping at the view.

Joanna, Alex, Al and Brian take photo after photo, including the self-portraits, in attempt to share the sights with those back home. - JMH

This was only the second place I`ve been where I really thought to myself that I could stay here. But the economy is all tourist based, and truth be told, I don`t want to work! So instead, we vacationed. A cabin, rented clown car, purchased DVD player and Christmas movie favorites, and a fridge stocked with beer helped make for one of the best holidays ever.

But the time has come, yet again, to repack our backpacks and explore a new place. Alex and I will take a night bus to Puerto Madryn, where we plan to hit up the nearby peninsula`s wildlife preserve. Ever since that movie "March of the Penguins," I`ve been inspired to see the well-dressed little fellows in their masses.

View from Cerro Catedral, one of the biggest and most popular ski resorts in Argentina. - JMH

- JMH