Santiago - Feb 25, 2010

Sheri and Curtis arrived at Mendoza for one last time. We stayed at the Alamo Hostel which is a really nice spot with a big 50's style room. We chilled then headed on down to Parque San Martin. Being Sunday afternoon it was quite busy with picnickers and people sipping mate, and joggers, and guys cruising for girls, and vise versa. After, we headed out to restaurante La Florencia which has great food and wine. Next day we caught a bus to Santiago Chile on El Rapido bus lines. Everything was groovy until we hit the border then nothing was 'el rapido'. Waiting and waiting on the bus to drive into a big building. Finally the driver got us off the bus and we walked into the big building. We stood in one line then in another then wandered around and found the folks from our bus standing in a room. They searched our luggage then loaded it back on to the bus. They did a head count and we were 5 people short of the manifest. So after counting and recounting the other five people showed up because they had been standing in the first two long lines forever. They got the headcount straight then they x-rayed our handbags and searched them. We were released outside into a group of people who were standing around, so whatever searching and head counting that was done was useless.
It was a very windy road down the west side of the Andes and into Santiago three hours late. We took the Metro over to the Las Condes neighborhood and taxied over to the Marriott. Back to five star luxury. Santiago was busy. The setting is something like LA without the ocean. Comparing Santiago to Buenos Aires: Santiago is new and under construction and busy with new cars; Buenos Aires, except for Puerto Madero, is old and peaked out about a hundred years ago and has been slowly decaying since then. We boogied around the city and jogged in a nearby park. Sheri is obsessed with Chileno sandwiches. We tracked some down and ate a few. Chilenos love them. They are big and have things like green beans and thick slatherings of mayonnaise on them.
We caught a night flight back home at about midnight on Feb 24. Fortunately for us, but unfortunately for Chile, they suffered a level 8.8 earthquake about a day and a half after we left. Even though Santiago is 200 mile away from the epicenter it sustained damage and the airport is still closed.

SAN JUAN

Departing Cordoba via a night bus we arrived to the dry and dusty city of San Juan which is the capital of the province of San Juan. Sheri had a bug to rent a car and drive around. We rented a car from the friendly owner of “Classic” rental agency. We picked up a two door Suzuki Fun. San Juan is a city of 400,000 and Argentine drivers are aggressive and most intersections are uncontrolled. So its whoever has the biggest balls gets the right of way. So cautiously we made our way to the edge of town and then we were free. The province of San Juan is a land of rocks, and vast desert-scapes and the occasional giant glacier topped mountain in the Andes. We took a windy road to a village called Barreal. We landed at a shady hostel with nice grass and a little above ground pool, and an obsessive cleaning staff that never stopped. All this was nice because we were surrounded by a sea of scrubby desert and burning hot sun. From Barreal we visited a dry lake bed (in Spanish Barreal means dry lake bed) and put our little Suzuki through its paces. From there we went to a national park that has two astronomical observatories. Then we trudged around in the desert to a little waterfall where Sheri stripped off for a dip but that was short lived as a group showed up and one old guy in particular got a big thrill from seeing her au natural. It was desiccatingly hot so we walked along a small creek and took a nap under a huge willow tree. From Barreal we drove north on a gravel road. We were along there for four hours and saw one car (of course it passed when Curtis pulled over for a crap). We stopped at a village of three houses and a police station (Tocato) and had lunch under a tree. A guy came out just to see if we were OK. We could stay at his place if we were broke down. But we were OK and carried on to the paved road and to a town called Rodeo that’s on aa reservoir. Sheri wanted a swim so we went to a beach, but the wind was ripping and swimming wasn’t allowed. Instead we stopped at a wind surfing complex called Puerto de Palos. It’s like a wooden plank fortress that has been smeared with mud. Inside is a bar restaurant and stacks of wind surfing boards and dudes sitting around playing cards and bunches of folks on the beach and on the water ripping back and forth. And of course there is a large picture of The Man: Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara (did he wind surf?). We had a coke and a beer and a yummy piece of dulce de leche and coconut cake. Moving on were enjoyed the weird rocks and super narrow windy roads and landed in the dusty town of Jachal. They don’t get many tourist in Jachal. People love to ride bikes there and all over San Juan. We sat in the square at night watched as people went round and round and round. Jachal is a town of 21,000 and it doesn’t have one stop light or stop sign - an interesting system. Moving on we drove through the nothingness to Talampaya National Park and camped. Access is tightly controlled so we went on a tour. The land is something like the red rock canyons around Moab, Utah; with petro glyphs and guanacos and condors and parrots. They also have big rabbits that almost look like the have hoved feet (jackalope?). We picked up a French hitch hiker and boogied on over to Ischigualasto National Park. The park is another bizarre landscape like the Canyonlands in Utah. Another unique thing about the park is that because of the tipping of the Atlantic and Pacific plates there is a complete record of all the geologic layers from present going back hundreds of millions of years in one place. Access is tightly controlled so people are required to caravan into the park in their own cars, and a guide jumps into the first car, we made about five stops. We drove on down to San Augustine in Valle Fertil for the night. The “fertile valley” in reality is quite infertile. From there we drove through more emptiness and stopped at a shrine called Difunta Correa. It is based on a “miracle” that happened in 1841. A woman, Deolinda Correa, followed her husband who was in the army across San Juan. She succumbed to thirst and heat and died. Miraculously her baby survived and was found nursing at the dead woman’s breast. So based on this a shrine was set up were she died on top of a small rise in a place called Vallecitos. This story has caught on all over western Argentina especially with truckers and there are many road side sub-shrines. People give thanks to Difunta Correa for all the things they have received, especially cars and houses, and they leave water to quench the woman’s thirst and burn candles to honor her. So there are tens of thousands of bottles of water laying around, and a lot of car parts and license plates. Where they burn candles the wax is thick on the ground and is drained off into a pit at the base of the hill. Thousands of people were visiting, a few were climbing the stairs on their hands and knees, and some others were crying. At the base of the hill are dozens of gift shops and chapels and parrillas and camping and picnic areas. We drove on to San Juan were the friendly owner of Classic car rentals drove us to a gas station to fill up and to the bus terminal where we caught a bus to Mendoza.

Cordoba

After trudging around Aconcagua we headed back to Mendoza and caught a night bus directly to Cordoba. A girl we met recommended Cordoba and the Sierra around it which would be much warmer and easier than Aconcagua and have, swimming holes, etc. We arrived and looked at some really sub-standard rooms or everything good was booked so we finally landed in Hostel Art. Hostel Art has been around for ten months and is run by a French guy named Maty. It’s a little run down but there are murals and multi levels and a sweeping marble staircase. We stayed in the “Jim Morrison” room which is accessed from the roof top, has its own fireplace and bath and little balcony over a busy street. We laid around there and it was really hot, but most importantly we had our laundry done. We ate some strange Arab food and tried the grog that’s popular locally called Fernet. It is dark and strong and tastes like medication and is served with Coke Cola. Next we bused it over to a small town we read about in the Central Sierras called La Cumbrecita. It sounded good because they have a no car policy. We arrived and the whole place is like an Austrian – Barvarian themed village. We stayed at a very clean and comfortable and quiet guest house called Casa Rosita. The village is very popular with Argentines because is at almost 6000 feet and has mild summer weather. There are lots of evergreen trees and waterfalls and swimming holes. People arrive in the morning at about 11 am and walk on the dirt (actually granite sand) streets. There are lots of shops and ice cream places and shady tea houses. It clears out about 8 pm and is very quiet. We ate at Bar Suiza (Swiss Bar). One night they had polka music and set the tables out in the street and we ate and drank and listened to an um pa pa band. We hiked above town in the Sierras which are open rolling granite hills with green pastures and interesting rock formations and many clear running streams and waterfalls. They go on forever. After a nice relaxing few days we boogied back to Cordoba, restocked and headed to another place called Los Gigantes for backpacking. We bused up there and it was interesting to go from a bustling city of 1.4 million to being dropped of in the middle of BFE out in the open pampas at a hut by a gravel road. The main road from Cordoba was primitive and rough. We walked on a dirt track to a refugio called Rotunda where we had to pay $1.50 to enter Los Gigantes. Los Gigantes is a complex of granite towers and fins, sort of like the Fiery Furnace in Arches national park only bigger and with more relief. We trudged up a route (no real trails) with two substandard maps to guide us. There are all types of granite formations and gullies and springs and grass pastures with the odd cow roaming around. We got off route a few times but kept climbing up until we made a pass and could look down on a refugio. Immediately the clouds closed in and we wandered in the fog to the hut. Amazingly someone was in there (a friendly guy named Emile) and we chatted and had mate and coffee and the weather turned awful. It rained and thundered and whited out. Emile said we could stay there with his three friends which very was nice. The refugio had a big dining kitchen area and a separate bunk room. Next day was a little better but the weather deteriorated. We set up the tent down in a granite valley and hung out until about 4 pm when the clouds parted and it was beautiful. We hiked around on all these weird rocks up to another hut were we rested and two condors came low overhead. The fog came back and we departed for the tent. The night was literally dark and stormy and in the morning water was running everywhere. Sheri wanted to catch the 12 noon bus so we got up and packed the tent in soaking rain and trudged out. Backtracking a few times in the maze of rocks, walking in streams, and finally after a few hours arriving at the hut on the dirt road for the bus. We dried out in a hotel room and from Cordoba we caught a night bus to San Juan.

Aconcagua Provincial Park

After trekking in Vallecitos we popped back down to Mendoza for restocking and getting paper work together for backpacking in Aconcagua Pack. We rushed around then had a huge steak dinner and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (?) (with a steak? Sheri’s choice) at about 11 pm which is the normal eating time. Next day we bussed it up to a place called Puente del Inca (Bridge of the Inca). Puente del Inca is a natural bridge over the Horcones River plus there is a natural hot springs right at the bridge. A hotel was built there back in the day and a railroad served the hotel. The whole thing is about 12 miles from the crest of the Andes and Chile. The hotel was wiped out by an avalanche in the sixties, the railroad went out in the 80’s and is totally falling apart, people are prohibited from entering the hot springs, and the bridge is closed and blocked by a fence. Puente del Inca village is a ramshackle of tin shacks and dilapidated buildings (except for an army base). So a tourist arriving there parks in a lot by the highway, walks through a gauntlet of tables and shacks selling junk from Peru and crappy wine and rocks, and then peers over a fence down to the river at a natural rock bridge, a closed hot spring, and some foundations. But making up for this is Snack Bar Aconcagua. This multi-celled tin building with a sun tarp by the highway is where anybody who is anybody waits for the bus or unwinds and devourers huge sandwiches before or after hiking (or both), or just drains some ‘Andes’ beers or enjoys endless sips of mate. From Puente del Inca we paid for a ride up to the trailhead on the ‘normal’ route for climbing Aconcagua. Aconcagua is an ancient volcano perched atop massive layers of sedimentary rock that has been pushed up to be the highest point in the Americas at 6926 meters (22,723 feet) (higher than Denali). We had a seven day permit for trekking. Starting at 2950 meters we backpacked on a stellar day up to a camp at Confluencia at 3400 meters (11,150 ft). Everything on the ’normal’ route for Aconcagua is tightly controlled. You must check in and check out at camps and at the trail head. You’re issued a numbered trash bag that must be presented at check out. Upon entering base camp you must purchase the services of an outhouse provider and the provider will sign your permit. Everybody’s saturated blood oxygen levels, pulse rate, and blood pressure are measured by a doctor and recorded on your permit at Confuencia and at base camp. There are no options as to where to camp. Everybody is herded together in large established camps. But ignoring all this, it is a beautiful and challenging walk. From Confluencia we day hiked to a place called Plaza Francia. The route follows a rock covered glacier and then ends at the precipitous, glacier covered, 6000 foot, south face of Aconcagua. Upon return we enjoyed the change from dry barrenness to small flowering plants and interesting geology. Next day we picked up and headed to base camp, a place called Plaza de Mulas. The distance is about 18 kilometers. We started and soon came upon a stiff fresh wind that blew in our face all day. Walking along braided alluvial stream beds for about 5 hours we came to a discouraging sign “Plaza de Mulas – 4 hours”. Fortunately along the way we met a friendly young Argentine called Frederico. He had worked in the park in the previous years and returned to climb the mountain. He walked slowly and gave good encouragement. From the trail sign we started to climb and the trail undulated. There were no good water sources along the way, only muddy side streams that choked our filter. After eight hours we arrived at a steep switch back section going up a rocky face. The packs felt especially heavy and it was discouraging when we arrived at a false summit and realized we had to go down and back up again. With slow steady steps and after more than nine hours we arrived at the alpine carnival known as Plaza de Mulas (4300 meters) (14,100 ft). We set up the tent and Curtis made dinner and we fell into our sleeping bags just as the wind began to build. It was steady and strong, and punctuated with terrifying gusts. Our four season tent seemed wimpy. Occasionally the poles flexed so much that they bopped Sheri in the head. Curtis got up in the dark and rigged a few more guy lines to stabilize the tent. There wasn’t much more to do than put in ear plugs and ride it out. Interesting we had set up near the porters tents and they had a late night drumming and flute session that filled in the lulls in the wind with boisterous laughter and bad drumming and flute. In the morning nothing happen until the sun hit the tent and finally the wind dropped and we managed to have our coffee and feel human again. We trudged around base camp which is a collection of tents and a couple hundred folks involved in the industry of climbing Aconcagua. Guided groups from Europe or states or Brazil, etc. were making merry in large permanent tents, mules and mule drivers dashed through the camp, cooks and guides and workers cooked up food, sipped mate, and had the occasional futbol game. Hearty independent climbers strutted around along with folks who were totally worn out. I think a number of people were just sitting in tents feeling ill. We could buy a bed, a beer, a burger, or visit the world’s highest art galley (how do you get a painting out?). We selected a company (a tent) called Nuestra Tierra as out-house provider and we dipped our drinking water out of a stale barrel in their tent. We hiked up on a rock covered glacier and found a small lake where the water was pure, flowing, and wonderful. We trudged over to a small hotel and had tea and cookies. After some rest and acclimatization we felt much stronger. We day hiked to a peak, Cerro Bonette (16,500 ft), where there was a wonderful view of Aconcagua and over to Chile. We chatted with the girl (Vicky) who worked as the cook in the Nuestra Tierra tent. At 24 she has spent four months per year cooking at base camp for the past several years. No breaks or days off. Her boyfriend is a porter and he carries loads up and down for climbers. We day hiked up the first part of the normal climbing route. First to Camp Canada at 4900 meters (16,000 ft). The wind dropped and after lunch we moved up to a camp called Nido de Condores at 5500 meters (18,000 feet). Fortunately we had just day packs. The climbers had full on winter backpacks loaded to the gills. It is interesting that as we moved slowly along the world narrowed down to concentrating on where to place your foot, taking a breath, and 5 seconds later doing it again. We made the camp and it was quite cold and people were arriving totally worn out and at their limits. A common poise was a climber bent over, resting on their walking poles, catching their breath, and pushing the bile back down to their stomach. I believe that climbing Aconcagua is totally underestimated by most people (the Cordoba paper said that 15 percent of those attempting the summit succeed). People think it’s a non-technical walk up, which it is, but a climber must be extremely fit and be able to carry heavy loads at altitude which means acclimatization which means taking time. And of course there is the cruel wind that can vanquish anyone.

Sheri and Curtis left all that freezing misery for others. We opted to load our packs onto a mule and have it carry them to the road (only $2.00 per kilo). We walked out with daypacks. Sheri got her wish and we stayed at the army base in Puente del Inca, Cazadores de Alta Montania 8. We stayed in a run down dorm and had our own room for breakfast. We talked to a friendly guy who was going to attempt Aconcagua with a an army group. We saw them form up at 8 am, get there instructions, and load on to a truck. We hopped on a bus to Mendoza and reentered summer down below.

VALLECITOS

After arriving to Mendoza in western Argentina on a super deluxe first class bus (bed, bingo, dinner, movies, wine, and champagne), Sheri and Curtis settled into a small locals hotel which had air con which was important because it was hot. We checked out some sights and the following day we bussed out to Maipu, an agricultural suburb of Mendoza, and hired some bikes from Mr. Hugo (30 pesos with a bottle of cold water included). We toured around some vineyards and tried some olives too which are grown here and sampled homemade sweets and hooch (absinthe at 11 am!). We went on a serious tour of Trapiche Winery and a few others but it was pushed 100 degrees and biking and sipping red wine was not a good combo. We headed on back to Mr Hugo’s. The road was busy and a police motorcycle gave us a lights on escort. Arriving at Mr Hugo’s we found Mr Hugo handing out ice water and of course free wine, all you can drink. We chatted with some folks and stayed until dusk. It was still 35 deg (95 deg).

Moving on we headed up to Uspallata, a small oasis set in a dry, rocky valley, which has formations like southern Utah or Nevada. We stayed at a hostel about 4 miles out of town. We did some hiking and pony riding and every night the hostel manager, Christen, had a big BBQ with wine and a long table for 20. It was a mixed crowd of international travelers and locals all chatting away and of course serious slabs of meat. From here we set out for some backpacking starting at ski resort called Vallecitos. We caught a bus to a refugio and dropped a bag and then hitched up to the resort at 3000 meters (9850 ft) and started walking. We went up a valley in to the Cordillera Plata (Silver Mountains), and arrived to a lovely spring fed meadow. At 2 o’clock we were having lunch, at 3 o’clock we were setting up the tent, and at 4 o’clock we were enduring a violent hell storm. Curtis who had been cursing about schlepping a four season tent through the hot cities of Argentina and Uruguay was now very happy to be protected from violent wind driven hail and rain. Unfortunately our site selection wasn’t so good. What had been the perfect spot next to a large rock actually was a low spot, draining a wide area. The tent was shortly in four inches of water and rising and although the tent didn’t leak it took on the character of a water bed. So during a “lull” we stuffed out gear into garbage bags and ran with the tent to high ground. After some time the storm passed and the sunset and other campers were out chatting in Spanish. At dusk a red fox appeared at a distance from our front door. Next day we hiked to a camp by a big rock. We rested and watched some guanacos and then day hiked up to a moraine at 3900 meters (13,000 ft). Coming back Curtis felt the altitude and our stream had dried up so we had no water. After a long night we moved down to a well water meadow and rested. The following day we felt great and day hiked up to a place called El Salto. When we reached the place, we turned a corner and we entered a place of mountains and glaciers and chill wind. We trudged on through snow to a high camp and chatted with some jolly climbers (one Swiss, one Canadian, and one French). They happily kicked steps for us up to a ridge at about 4800 meters (15,750 ft). We had arrived to the Andes. We came down and next day hiked out and hitched a great ride all the way back to Mendoza.

Mendoza - Jan. 21, 2010

Well we have been tripping around Argentina in the Buenos Aires area and up to Iguazu Falls, and over to Uruguay. Starting in Buenos Aires Sheri and Curtis wandered around the city, enjoying the many districts. The city itself is not a beautiful city per se but has many distinct barrios, each with it's own interesting characteristics and many beautiful buildings. It's a city on cultural overload. We stayed in a businessman's hotel in San Telmo district next to a nice park. Curtis's mom (Norma) flew in and we all moved into the Plaza Hotel on Plaza San Martin in the Retiro district (quite upscale). We were able to do this because Curtis endured living at the Fairfield Inn in Texas for eight months and accumulating credits. We saw some sites, took in a Tango show, and or course devoured slabs of meat. We saw Evita's grave, rode the subway, and explored the delta of the Rio Plata by water taxi. Abandoning the city of 13 million we flew up to the Brazilian border with Argentina and visited the Iguazu Falls. The muggy sub tropical setting was the perfect place to introduce Norma to her first youth hostel stay. The hostel, set on several grassy and treed acres has a ginormous pool. With a little coaxing we got her into the pool along with dozens of twenty somethings from around the world. Next day we visited the falls which were ripping full. The falls which are really a complex of hundreds of falls on the Iguazu River are surrounded by some wild lands so we were able to see lizards, coatis, monkeys and tens of thousands of butterflies. We rode in a jet boat which approached pretty close to a major falls for a nice cool inundating shower. After a nice asado dinner and some tango dancers at the hostel we flew back to Buenos Aires and hopped on a ferry to Colonia in the country of Uruguay.
Colonia is a former Portuguese port that the Spanish, English, and local indigenous invaded and destroyed over and over. Now it is a living museum of old buildings, plazas, and a light house. We stayed in an old house that had been converted into a hostel. We fixed up a big vegetable feed and drained a couple of bottles of Uruguayan wine which was surprisingly good. Next we boogied on over to Punta de Este which is one of the most popular beach destinations in South America. We stayed at a hostel that is a neighborhood house and run by an Uruguayan surfer dude, Rodrigo. We did a little beach time and mingled with the glamorous tanned Latins. Curtis got an eye full of thong bikinis. Uruguay is very advanced in this matter. Next day we visited the Casapueblo which a pure white, nine story, Gaudi-like creation set on a beautiful point overlooking the Rio Plata (which is essentially the ocean). We walked four hours back on a beautiful beach in the burning sun. Rodrigo put on a parrilla (BBQ) at the house and we had a fine time chatting with an international crowd, trying some fine Uruguayan wine, and eating dinner around midnight which is the custom. Skipping on to Montevideo we stayed at a funky, artsy B&B that had a really cool roof top chill-out room and deck. Montevideo is the capital of Uruguay and has a nice esplanade along the water and is much nicer than expected. Sheri and Norma stimulated the economy by visiting a Sunday craft fair and loading up on gifts. We visited the old town but it was dead so we went on down to the port market and ate an enormous steak and drained some more Uruguayan wine (they are famous for perfecting the Tannat variety of grape). After, we visited Porticos beach. It was 95 degrees so a perfect day for the beach (along with 50,000 of our new Montevideo friends). So adios to Uruguay and back to Buenos Aires by ferry. Norma jetted back to the US of A on the 19th of January, and Sheri and Curtis caught a night bus to Mendoza. Cheers to all you'all.