Patagonia: Chile to Argentina
A travelogue from Chilean Patagonia
Previously on LatAm Diaries: Chilean Patagonia : Torres Del Paine
We leave for El Calafate, Argentina tomorrow and today is a day of rest. We gather our dirty clothes and head to the laundromat. As we park in front of the laundromat, I see someone ahead getting a parking slip. I don’t see any counter for paying any parking fee in the block, so I am a bit confused and move to a different street to avoid getting a ticket myself. When I pull over on a parking spot marked con concessionado, which I just assumed to be free, another orange-vested man appears from nowhere and gives me a slip. As it turns out, instead of installing a parking vestibule, there are only human counters.
The laundromat will vend our minty fresh clothes only at 6.30 pm. Since we have a few hours at hand, we head back to the Airbnb, pack a sandwich, and head to Milodón Caves. The mouth of the 200m cave overlooks the mountains and we are welcomed by a life-size replica of Milodón, an extinct bear-like herbivore whose remains were found in the cave. I’m not particularly interested in prehistoric anthropology, so the place was a bit meh to me.
Since we no longer need the car, we return the rental car and take a stroll along the water. It’s quite windy, but the sun is out, and the clouds have cleared a bit, bringing out the mountains. A few meters ahead, we spot a black furry dog walking aimlessly. Its fur is dripping as if it just came out of water, and its canines immediately scare me. Since we knew Chile has a street dog problem, we had immunized ourselves against rabies before coming. But fear is irrational. I have an abnormally hysterical fear of dogs which Sabarish doesn’t.
At first, he just continues walking as if it’s nothing. Then we notice the dog following us slowly. It pauses when we pause. It changes direction when we change direction. So, we hang around (hide behind) a few construction workers and ask them if the dog might be following us. They laugh away the possibility. So I ask if it would bite us. They laugh again and ask us to just keep walking. One of them tries to chase the dog away. But he quickly realizes that the dog was indeed following us. Despite the obstacles he put up with his shovel, the dog kept trying to come our way. But ultimately the dog relents and curls up elsewhere. We seize the moment and we sneak our way through the inner streets putting an end to our stroll along the water.
Having made the trip twice to Chilean Patagonia, I don’t think this is goodbye forever. It’s a landscape like none other on Earth. People are kind and friendly. I could use fewer dogs on the street though. But, after the day of my butterflies, with its perfect weather and cloudless sky when we could have spotted Orion at night, clouds persistently hugged the skies and we never got to camp during this trip. I guess Torres del Paine was affectionately advising me — Carpe Diem.
The purgatory of transit
Our bus is at 8 am. True to habit, we arrive around 7.15 and realize we need to check in at the ticket counter. There is already an enormous line. Since we are crossing a non-porous border, the bus administration checks whether our passports and visas are in order before letting us board. It feels strange to have such strict border control between the two countries; seamless borders between Austria and Germany, or Germany and Poland come to mind.
It’s a 3–5 hour bus ride to El Calafate, depending on the delay in border control. And to my horror, I discover that some passengers haven’t seen a soap bar in days. I’m glad Sabarish is as germaphobic as he is. He has stuffed masks in every bag, and I grab myself one.
We reach Chilean border control at 9. Along a straight road in the middle of nowhere stands a tiny building with three counters where officials meticulously collect everyone’s entry slips and grant an exit stamp.
5-minute drive away on a similarly unassuming building on a gravel road sit two other officials ready to hand out entry stamps and welcome us into Republica Argentina. A furry friend is strolling in and out of the border control, giving me a larger scare of its molar than of being denied entry in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, other passengers aren’t afflicted by my hysteria. The whole ordeal takes roughly 30 min and we’re off on our way.
The pretentious audiobook I am listening to is quite dense and boring that I sleep through half the bus ride, after which I switch to Ari Shapiro’s entertaining memoir. An hour into the entertainment, when there’s still another hour left to get to our destination, the bus ride starts feeling like a roller coaster, twisting my empty stomach. The roads are paved, so I’m not sure why it is bumpy. But my entry into El Calafate comes with a blessing of nausea.
El Calafate
It’s 14 degrees and 29kmph windy. We try to walk with our backpacks and suitcases to the town center, which is a 30-minute walk from the bus station. But in 3min, we spot a pack of dogs lazing around. So we promptly retreat into our shelter and seek a taxi in pursuit of lunch.
The lunch costs us 24,900 pesos, and xe.com tells me that’s 62 EUR. Either I’m confused about the currency conversion or the less than mediocre lunch was very expensive. But when I check the credit card transactions, the charge is 26 EUR. It’s a bit dizzying. With an annual inflation rate of 143%, I don’t even know what to expect the next day. Thus far, the trip has been extremely stressful. Between the chilly wind, the dogs that stalk you, and the currency troubles, peace is elusive.
Now that we’re well fed, although still reeling from our currency wooziness, we go to the airport to take our rental car. The rental agent asks me — tu licencia es de alemania? At first, I am a bit lost. What is Alemania? Then I remember that Germany was Alemania to Hispanics, named after the Alemannic tribes who lived in Upper Rhine Valley.
It feels oddly relieving to have the car; sort of a refuge from the dogs. In all fairness, dogs here are extremely calm. They aren’t the chasing, barking, biting dogs of India. But fear is indeed irrational.
The roads in El Calafate are strange. Some junctions are like two Ys joined with no traffic signals or boards to organize the traffic. Excessive caution subs for traffic control. We stop for some groceries before heading to the Airbnb, which amount to something similar to our lunch. Plant produce in this part of the world has abhorrent quality and poor variety. Vegetarianism is rare and red meat, abundant.
Our Airbnb overlooks Lago Argentina, the largest lake in the country covering a total area of 1514 sq km. There’s nothing other than a few sporadic houses around. I guess the residents will have a starlit night when the sky is clear.
The night takes over the chill from the day. There’s only a single summer blanket in the apartment. We twiddle with the radiators in every room but nothing happens. So, Sabarish texts the host, who brings us a portable heater and two extra blankets promising to send the technician tomorrow.
Stray dogs, rotten vegetables, and a broken heater — I hope we’ve put the pains behind us.
This is part of a series of travelogues. Coming next: Argentinian Patagonia — Perito Moreno Glacier
