Climbed some hills, slept on some buses

Of Patagonia, the obvious things are true – Patagonia is beautiful, it’s other than everywhere else.

Mountains and glaciers become ordinary backdrops. It is wild and untamed just like my increasingly unruly facial hair. The sheer narcissism of the travel blog writer there – cannot depart my own face while in search of a simile.

Patagonia was landed into out of Buenos Aires. Everything was different save for my inability to get my Spanish to withstand contact with a person speaking Spanish.

The place is enormous, it’s close to the end of the world and it feels closer to it than it is. All skies bigger than the city, air that demands to be paid attention to and that suggests a freshness that’d terrify, ice and elements.

Put my face in a tree, felt close to nature

The two towns we stayed in here were populated exclusively with people there to look at/climb/fall off in a structured manner those mountains. Towns that exist solely to cater to the whims of westerners clad in NorthFace, or any sole purpose town I guess, are weird. Too expensive and always looking at its reason d’etre, or the weather, to justify its existence/prices.

And those NorthFace clad similarly – so much polyglot multilingual conversation overheard resolved back to something approaching oneupmanship. Trails walked, routes taken, times bested.

This was a sound thing we walked to

Patagonia – also the home of the most appallingly empty supermarkets I have ever had to visit.

It’s remoteness, and it’s existence solely for NorthFace clad relatively rich people tripled the price of everything. But the empanadas could come branded with revolutionaries

the revolution will be stamped on takeaway food

The days of walking were long and they were tough, at times. It was good – I haven’t felt as exercised and justified since the days in Spanish school. This traveling life can lend itself to a kind of stasis and indolence, counterintuitively.

Left Patagonia on a series of buses that took 41 hours or so to get to Mendoza. Time on the buses is roughly the opposite of time walking up a large hill towards a lake, but this trip and so much else in life if I’m going to reach for a pseudo-intellectual point this Sunday morning is all about revelling in and appreciating the contrasts.

Also, the seats were reasonably comfortable;

Life aboard bus