Buenos Aires

BA:

perpetual motion

El Calafate, El Chalten

14 hours on the bus through the deserts and pampas to El Calafate, to El Chalten: add two hours for detour around the stalled sheep truck. Take the ferry across with another sheep truck; leave argentina, pass customs, enter chile, customs, leave chile, customs, reenter argentina, customs.

vicuñas, condors, whispers of elusive pumas, bedbugs.

fitroy ranges;

Treks in the dark to catch dawn from the beach of the lake, and watch the fitzroy change colour;

waterfalls,

foozeball in the street,

thrown onto the ground off our bikes yet again by the wind

USHUAIA AND NORTH AGAIN

Ushuaia: aka the town at the end of the world, end of the road, the town with more strip clubs than pubs, where more English is spoken than Spanish, cold, muddy and beautiful around the edges. On a good day you can go hiking in the mud in Tierra Del Fuego, or up the the glaciers at the edge of town. When the wind picks up, it is a beast. Why I came here, and how I spent a week in Ushuaia, while unable to hike from hiking damage, I’m not sure. Though I don’t regret my week: thanks Stefan, Richard and Henry, for fantastic company. I never would have realised how many jokes can be made about the end of the world. Or how little spanish you need to flirt with the señorita at the tourist office. Or that what appears to be an unassuming night club is really a lingerie bar. So we move on....

We did find at least one pub which wasn't a strip club.

PUERTO NATALES

Just some moments, in the week in between Chile and Argentina:

(Almost) at the end of the world

PATAGONIA

Patagonia is mindblowing. From Puerto Natales to Torres del Paine: A week of trekking in the mountains, forgetting any other world, meeting every climate. Watching avalanches, feeling invincible. Knowing the proximity of the edge of the cliff, the force of the wind: but let it take everything from me except my balance. Everything becomes more lucid; such certainty that I came miles to be here, gazing at glaciers, sharing whisky with my very suddenly aquired family: Shaun and Serena, and with the two Spaniards, the French couple, the Chilean, the Dutchman, the Brit and the Irishman.
We made sure no-one got blown off the edge unnoticed. We run up a mountain at 4am, drunk on impulsivity and glaciers, in the dark, rain, and snow, to see the sun kiss Las Torres at dawn and a world of ice,

The last night we forfeit our tents for a hut in view of torrential rain and snow. We fail in our attempt to smuggle the allegedly frostbitten boys into the dorm as they explained their whole plan standing in front of the hut owner, who was surreptitiously leaning against his broom.

We crawl back out of the mountains, and eventually to the pub in Puerto Natales to farewell our borrowed family we vow never to forget, forget on the next bus, and meet again in the pub in Buenos Aires.





Fresh out of the mountains...
Shawn, Serena (tentmate), Roberto, Ricardo, (Me), Sebastian and Stefan:
much love to you all!

















































































































































Isla Magdalena: island of the penguins: they have no fear.
The shipman who brought me pastry and coffee from the kitchen.

South= Antartica