Puerto Madryn 28/01/2010

Cette année, année du phénomène climatique El Niño, est chaude en Patagonie. En 5 voyages ici, il me semble que je n'ai jamais autant souffert de la chaleur, même dans des endroits où je ne m'y attendais pas, comme plus en altitude ou bien sur un bord de mer reconnu pour ses vents frais.

Je suis arrivée avant-hier à Puerto Madryn, où Julio s'est levé tôt pour aller m'attendre à la station de bus (je devais arriver à 7h) pour rien. Des problèmes mécaniques ont fait que, tout de suite en sortant de la gare de bus de Cipoletti, nous avons du aller au garage local faire vérifier un truc. Comme il était presque minuit, je m'étais endormie, aussi, que ne fut ma surprise, une heure plus tard, de me faire réveiller pour que nous sortions tous et de réaliser que nous étions à nouveau à la station de Cipoletti! Et cette fois-ci, le locutorio étant fermé, je n'ai pas pu appeler Julio pour l'avertir que nous partions en retard. Nous nous étions parlé quelques minutes avant mon départ et avions convenu qu'il irait me chercher.

À l'heure prévue de mon arrivée, nous venions de quitter la province de Rio Negro et d'entrer dans celle de Chubut, et étions en train de faire fouiller nos sacs par des chiens et des policiers qui cherchaient de la marijuana et autres drogues. Ils ont passé au peigne fin une bonne partie de mes baggages, et c'était vraiment très gênant (et quand même aussi hilarant) d'avoir à expliquer ce qu'était qu'une pissette (le petit truc en caoutchouc avec lequel voyagent beaucoup de femmes et qui permet de faire pipi debout sans avoir à enlever ses pantalons, bien pratique à bien des endroits de la nature) de même que plusieurs autres articles qu'ils n'ont pas l'habitude de voir. J'ai eu un petit attroupement autour de mon sac, et j'étais la dernière personne à pouvoir remonter dans le bus, pffffffffffffff!

Lorsque je suis finalement arrivée à la station 3 heures en retard, Julio était au travail, ne sachant plus quand j'arriverais.


Il est venu me chercher et me laisser à la maison, et après avoir jasé un bon bout et lui avoir donné les trucs qu'il avait commandés (un brûleur avec bouteille, une frontale) et son cadeau d'anniversaire (une bouteille de whisky), nous sommes allés à la plage avec le chien pour manger un petit truc rapidement avant qu'il n'aille travailler. Une fois le temps un peu plus frais, je suis allée courir, cela a fait du bien! Mais dès que la brise de mer disparaissait, on sentait à quel point le soleil est brutal.

Et maintenant, ce sont les vraies vacances, voir des amis, se promener, sortir le chien. Hier après-midi, nous sommes allés faire du kayak, et la mer était remplie de petit ténaphores, des petits êtres gélatineux et transparents à travers lesquels scintillent de délicates lumières de pulsions électriques. Ils ressemblent à de merveilleuses petites décorations de noël.

À certains endroits ils étaient si nombreux que la mer se teintait de lilac, on pouvait voir de loin où ils formaient des genres de nuages. Nous nous sommes arrêtés et avons laissé nos mains dans l'eau, sentant la caresse des ténaphores qui glissaient doucement entre nos doigts.




Ce matin je me suis levée trop tard pour aller courir dans une température plus ou moins raisonnable. Car 37 degrés, je ne trouve pas ça raisonnable. Je vais attendre que la brise de l'après-midi se mette à souffler, et que le soleil soit moins assomant.

Jan 25th Zapala to Puerto Madryn

I woke up way too early today (I am on Argentine schedule, going to bed and getting up later than I do at home) so that I could go running in the surprisingly cool morning temperature in Zapala. This being a desert, although it gets stifflingly hot during the day, it gets very cool and often right down cold at night, and this morning, being covered in goosebumps for the first few minutes of my run was the most wonderful feeling of the day! I saw two other runners, one a woman, and quite a few walkers, all exercicing on the side of the highway, that being the only long stretch of anything to be able to run in. I am trying as much as possible to run whenever I can, although that is always a challenge, particularly when other activities like trekking are involved.

By the time I got back, the sun had risen, and by 8h it was already too hot. I had breakfast, bought another adaptor plug (this must by my 8th, I keep on forgetting them plugged into walls) and recharged my camera battery and ipod. I went to the internet cafe, had lunch, and grabbed a bus from Zapala to Cipoletti, where I am now. It's a city close to the city of Neuquen, that one being the capital of the province bearing the same name. Very soon, I will be entering the province of Chubut, where Puerto Madryn is. It is 20h, and I am still dripping with sweat and immensely aggravated by it, urgh! I have nearly 3 hours to kill here, in a very small but very busy bus station. I think I will go buy a book, I've finished the other two. I hope it's cooler where I'm going!

Leaving Chile, Sunday Jan 24th

I was glad my bus was only at 10h30, which allowed me to pack my tent dry. As I mentioned previously, volcanic ground makes for wet tents, as a lot of humidity comes back up during the cold of the night and wets the inside, as if it were raining from under. It is difficult to get out of the tent without getting wet. I had experienced this in Puyehue volcanoe too, a few years back,but had felt that I would not be in volcanic areas long enough this time around to warrant bringing something extra to avoid the problem.

As good as I felt at the Suizandina, I was glad to be leaving. I feel slightly uncomfortable around Chileans sometimes. I couldn't quite figure it out, but I think it's because they don't quite know how to take me, and try real hard to categorise me into boxes that have nothing to do with what and who I am. I think it would be easier if I could say that only one of my parents is from Chile. The fact that both are means they think I am too, despite the fact that I was born and raised in Canada. They see my foreigness in my way of expressing myself, in my clothes, but somehow still expect me to think like them, and are not as forgiving about little cultural differnces as they would be with a ¨gringa¨. There is a contradiction there that they don't know what to do with. I felt very ready to shed this clingy, sticky identity that I hadn't adopted.

I breakfasted in the restaurant, having run out of oatmeal, and the food was great and plentiful. Packed my stuff and walked out to be on the side of the road waiting for the bus (which was due at 10h45) at 10h30. It came at 11h10. I had prepared myself for a more or less long wait and had my towel wrapped around myself as protection against both the sun and the tabanos. I waived energetically and repeatedly at it before it stopped. They had not been warned that I was to be picked up here! They stopped a bit further ahead and had to backtrack. I would not have been happy had I been left behind!




A few hours of travel and customs tediousness later, I was back at the same little hotel in Zapala with the same lady. I now found out that she is of Lebanese descent, so we got to talking a bit in French, which was fun. It being Sunday, the entire town was closed, and after a call to the same family I had had dinner with a week previously whom I wished to invite, we set up a time of 21h30 at their place where we would order pizza from, and I had a quick nap.

At 21h30 I was there with wine and cheese, but we ended up eating out the five of us left: the parents, Patrica and Manuel; the youngest son Santiago and his girlfriend Alexia and myself. The others, the 3 I had met on the bus ride back from Copahue, I knew would be back in Buenos Aires by this time, and I plan on seeing them there.



We had another very enjoyable evening, they really are great people! After dinner we had ice cream and then it was bed. Tomorrow, long bus ride (12 hours or so) to Puerto Madryn, where I will arrive the following morning.

Proyecto viva la naturaleza conocienco los senderos de Malalcahuello y Curaucatìn

Quite the mouthful, isn't it? That is the name of the group I joined on Saturday to go walking with. I'd found out about it through my use of the internet one evening, which was in someone's house, one of the few people with internet connection, and whenever anybody wants to use it they either bus a half hour into town or walk 5 minutes to his home. So he told me about this group, and I thought that if I were still around on Saturday and out of the park, I would join in the walk.

So I got out of my still wet tent to grab the bus (it is a 45min walk from where I was camped to the town) and went to the meeting place.

My first surprise was how many people there were, about 30. My second surprise was how many of them were kids! And everyone dressed as if going for a picnic, in a good mood, smiling, a young girl immediately invited me in to go get my snack: a little box of juice, cookies, a banana and an apple. Wow! Never had that handed to be before going for a walk in the woods! I mentally added it to the bread, cheese and fruit I already had and thought that I hoped this would be a long walk, as nothing but that would give me enough of an appetite to wolf everything down.



But no, the walk itself was more of a stroll, and the entire experience a cultural highlight, as I was able to chat with loads of people. This group was very recently created, and this was only their second outing. The reason for its creation has many purposes, among them encouraging physical activity and quality family time, cultivating a love of the outdoors and the beautiful surroundings, as well as teaching respect for nature. I was thoroughly impressed. Heading the walk were a young and energetic phys ed teacher, and experienced mountaineers. We stopped often so that the group would always stay together, encouraging lively exchanges and a feeling of comradship and belonging. No one was left behind. At the stops, there was also a scientist who explained things about the trees, flowers, insects and mountains. There were people as young as 7.

On our way up ( a very leisurely, very broken up 2-hour climb) I chatted with a guy who's been involved in quite a few search and rescue attempts in the area. There have been accidents, as there always are in the mountain, particularly in winter, and he told me about the ones that affected him the most. They affected me, too, hearing about them. A young German guy out walking who fell unluckily and hit his head, probably just enough to knock him out. He fell in a small pool of water and the autopsy showed he drowned. It took them months to find his body, the parents came from Germany. Another man driving who was in a hurry to get somewhere and missed the tunnel opening hours (there is a 4.5 kilometre tunnel at the entrance to the town, and it used to be closed at night) so instead of turning back or waiting in the car he went trying to walk over the mountain in a coming storm. He fell too, injured himself badly, and in the 20 minutes of agony that followed, pulled out a recorder from his pocket where he left messages to his entire family, apologising to them for going away. He was found the next day. That story brought tears to my eyes, and we walked on in silence for a bit. Too often, we forget that nature is still wild, that we have to be careful. It's sometimes easy to forget this in the luxury of our civilised cities.

We arrived at a spot in the shade (by this time, the heat was brutal) and sat down for a picnic. The field was covered in flowers, the tall trees swayed in the wind, a dog who had been eagerly following us was going from person to person to be petted, and we had the view of the small town of Malalcahuello where we'd started off below us and Lonquimay volcano ahead.



After plenty of chatting, a volleyball net was set up, and there I was, playing volleyball for the first time since high school! I did most of the serving for my team (which included two mountaineers and two little girls who squealed and ran away whenever the ball came near them) and was laughing at the end of the day from how sore my hand was. I couldn't remember ever being sore there.



Once the game was over, our last activity was all sitting together in a circle, introducing ourselves and saying what we'd like about the activity. It may sound corny, but this really tightened links between everyone, and I think that the group is well on its way to becoming established. It was a really great way to end a beautiful day, and I was really happy to have been a part of it.



We walked down just about as slowly as up, with the leaders filling two big bags with all the litter that others had left strewn around. This also impressed me. I often collect garbage when I go out too, lots of people do, and it's always encouraging to see that. Just because you're not the one who left it there doesn't mean you can't improve things by doing your part and just taking responsibility for it regardless.

The walk down was punctuating by my sneezing, but thankfully, a young guy studying to become a geologist distracted me by telling me interesting things about the landscape and I was able to ignore my allergies a little.

Two ladies offered to take me back to the campground. In the knock-out heat of the day, I didn't feel like a 45 minute, shadeless walk. But before driving me, they invited me in to have a local specialty, motto con hueso. It is a very refreshing, as well as very filling drink, made of dried peaches that are rehydrated in a mixture of juice and spices until they are plump and juicy, served with a kind of quinoa-like cereal. Practically a meal unto itself!

They brought me back to the campground where I showered right away so that my hair would have the time to dry. It is stifling hot during the day (I wasn't expecting that, the town is already at about 1000m above sea level) but gets cold at night. I was greeted by the sad news that the little hare I brought in was attacked by the house cat and didn't survive. Oh well. Can't get mad at the thing, it is kept around to deal with the rats in the area.

I had a light meal of bread, avocado and tomatoes, read a bit but went to sleep early. Tomorrow, I have to break camp, and am heading back to Argentina.

Curacautin

I came to this little village again, this time to get some food (fruit for breakfast, vegetables for dinner, and bread for both), use the internet, and confirm my bus ride out on Sunday morning. They will pick me up directly on the road beside the campground, which will avoid my having to lug my stuff here. Very appreciated. The next local bus leaves in about a half hour to go back to the campground. I plan on having an easy evening of reading.

It's been a lazy day, and I am glad for it. I am a bit sore from all that walking, but it is the first day I am sore, so that is pretty good. I am feeling a bit groggy from the antihistamines I am taking to stop sneezing so much. The flowers are beautiful, but quite potent, and this place is covered in tall, gorgeous lupins.

Comments

Ok everyone, I've tested the comment box and it seems to work, and I had also changed the settings to make sure anyone could comment even without a google account. So, feel free to! I love receiving them! You have to click on comment (not on the little white square to the right of that) write your comment, then choose anonymous when it asks you for you profile, then post. It will ask you to do a word verification, but that is just so I don't get spam.

Also, pictures are coming, I hope to be able to upload some of them on Monday, it just isn't easy in these little towns.

Lonquimay Day V, walking out

I woke up and started packing up my things, leaving the tent to last so it could dry. Camping in volcanic areas means very damp mornings, as the humidity comes back up from the loose pumice and wets the inside of tents. I started off the day by killing a tabano, those detestable horse flies that plague this area when it gets really warm. As winter hung on so long (it snowed last week), they were late coming, and I'd enjoying the first few days without them.

According to the map, I had 30km in 8 hours of trekking to cover today. I couldn't see how that was possible looking at the map (there were a few errors in it) but I also didn't want to end up walking in the dark, so by about 10h, I was ready to leave, but goodbyes took some time! We all wanted pictures and exchanged email addresses and had a long breakfast, so it was closer to 10h45 when I finally left.



The first part of the trail went through the forest and was marked by yellow stakes. This part was a great deal of fun! There were beautiful flowers everywhere,


birds singing and making noises I had never heard before and I wished Sophie was there with me, surely she'd know, and hares running all over the place.


But, to my surprise, the trail soon left the forest to climb back down to the saddle that separated this hill from the volcanoe. There is no way of going through the forest without stepping all over plant life, and as this is a protected area, following the trail is always better. I climbed down reluctantly, leaving flowers and hares behind.



Hello dust and wind! I cursed this way. It was, of course, a great deal easier to just plant stakes in the middle of pumice every so often than actually create a trail through the forest, but a great deal less scenic and a great deal more boring. This trail went all the way around the beautifully covered hill, so enticing with its araucaria trees, colourful flowers and hares seen hopping in the distance. And now, I was also plagued by tabanos.

I took a couple of breaks entirely devoted to killing the ones that were following me, and somehow, I heard my sister gasp in shock at my cruelty. She could tell you stories of my removing bugs from her place carefully and taking them outside, but spiders and the such are useful. I am sure tabanos are too, in some way or other difficult to fathom, but I can't stand them. They buzz as loud as hummers do, ruining the peace that one should feel in such a place, fly fast all around your head driving you wild, and bite chunks right out of your flesh. So I took advantage of the fact that, during those few seconds between when they land on you and when they can actually bite, they are vulnerable, and that is when I wacked them and then stomped them to the ground for good measure. That was my entertainment on this most boring of stretches.

After the saddle, the trail headed back to the forest, and I was shocked to see, a mere 3 hours afer I'd left, that I'd reached that intersection where I had been on the first day with the Swiss. I intended to camp at Suizandina that night, and knew it was only 2 hours away now. That map is seriously wrong!

Jumping fences with a big bag is more difficult than with a small one. It involved a lot of removing and putting the bag back on, but I was in no hurry now. And there were hares again, to my delight! And flowers and trees.

When I figured I had less than a half hour left, I saw something moving on the trail ahead of me. I came closer and saw a baby hare, flopping on the ground. At first I thought it was injured, there were flies around that landed on it when it stopped moving, and I thought it would be kinder to kill it to keep it from suffering (and I was wondering how to go about this, I've never liked having to) but then I saw that it wasn't injured, not that I could see. It didn't look well tough. Had it fallen out of its nest and now was dying of dehydration? I studied it for a couple of minutes, then decided that it only needed a bit of care. I placed it in my foam mattress, which I gently rolled back and carried under one arm.

So that is how I arrived at the Suizandina, covered in ash making streaks all over my face, covered in sweat from the extraordinary heat, and with a hare under my arm. The German girl who greeted me recognized me from a few days before. They got a box, and an employee with a knack for such things got out a baby bottle full of milk (I was too preoccupied with the hare at the time to wonder how she had that on hand, there were no babies around) she started feeding it, and it seemed to calm down.

And I set up my tent in a lovely spot with a tree and a bench, had a delicious shower, and spent the evening reading an amusing trash novel in the reading corner. The sun makes it way too hot to hang around in the tent.

Tomorrow, Friday, I have deemed rest and internet day. Saturday I plan on taking part in a local trekking club, they do a walk every Saturday. Sunday I take a bus back to Zapala, and Monday to Puerto Madryn.

Lonquimay, Day IV, Volcan Lonquimay 2726 metres

Yony Avalancha (Johnny Avalanche) is a tall, young, skinny guide who arrived with his German girlfriend to see whether anyone needed his services. She and I immediately started chatting in German (she's been here a few months and speaks Spanish, but still) and off we were to go to the summit of Lonquimay.

We got a ride with the lodge's four wheel drive, it took us even higher than the ski lifts do, saving us a long and tedious 3-hour trudge through the deep volcanic ash that is the base of the volcanoe. I personnaly wished the vehicle had dropped us off a bit sooner, it made me nervous to be on such steep hills on wheels. I wasn't the only one!

This high up, the climb is actually a short, but very thirsty and steep one.

It took us slightly over three hours of battling against the fierce, raging wind and lose ground to reach a truly spectacular landscape, that of the Lonquimay Volcanoe summit and main crater, and all surrounding volcanoes, among them Lanin, Villarica, Tolhuaca, Llaima etc.

At 2726m (or so), it is high enough to cause some shortness of breath.

Its huge crater is filled with snow, and our guide took us along the rim, half of which is more or less feasible, right into the crater itself. How impressive! Once on the other side, behind a huge rock, in the sun, protected from the wind and the beautiful Volcan Tolhuaca in front of us, we all sat and just took it in. No one wanted to leave. We ended up staying nearly two hours. I've never been in a summit for so long!

But as some point we had to leave. The first part of the descent was slow, with us having to pick our way carefully through the lose rock and steep hill. Once we got to the snow though, we tried skiing.


I am not very good at this (and I also don't downhill ski, which is very helpful in learning) but I did my best. You slide down standing, in your boots, and make sure you don't fall. If you do, you slide down way too fast with no way to self arrest as we didn't have ice picks, and usually stop only when you hit rocks. Not a soft landing. But the snow had been made soft by the sun, we sunk in, and this made manoeuvering rather easy. By the time we'd finished the second large patch of snow, I was getting the hang of it. The 3 hours up took about 40 minutes down. The vehicle came to pick us up and we got in rowdily, exhilarated by the beautiful day and the final adrenalin rush.

Back at the lodge, I met two new campers, a Brit traveling throughout this area for 3months and an Italian biologist who takes even more pictures of flowers than I do. Together with Pia, we all had a very enjoyable evening, even though the language barrier made for some spectacularly one-sided conversations that not everyone always realised were taking place. It was hilarious!

We agreed to all have breakfast together tomorrow. They were planning on staying another day, but I wanted to hit one last trail that would let me walk out of the park and back into town. Pia gave me a beautiful necklace made of Araucaria needles, and I gave her the rest of my chocolate. She'd loved it.

Lonquimay Day III, Crater Navidad

I had an unexpected emergency this morning. It turns out Malalcahuello's ATM is not an ATM at all, it is a machine where people can go pay their electricity bills and the such but no money can be withdrawn. As I needed to pay my two nights of lodging and have some money (they don't take Argentine pesos here, of course), I took an early bus in the morning for the town of Curacautin, a half hour away, to go to the one bank in this area.

The ATMs in this one bank are not part of my cards' (plural here) network, so 7h55 found me lining up outside the bank, waiting for it to open (everyone said it was about to, and by 8h15 there were about 20 of us lined up, but it turns out it only opens at 9h; I sometimes hate the local habit of not giving you a precise time but only saying, in just a little bit, not long now, etc) and it was freezing in the mist. When I finally got in, they couldn't do anything about withdrawing with my card (I'd had this problem before, and the bank back then had resolved it by filling out some forms and getting me money that way), so I thought, fine, I'll change some Argentine pesos into Chilean ones. They didn't take Argentine pesos. I could barely believe that, considering their neighbours were less than 100km away. Only Euros and Dollars. Dollars? Not Canadian though? No, not Canadian. Well, I hadn't really thought they would. But now I found myself in a bad position. How was I going to get around?

Someone thought of pointing out another ATM that was in a grocery store, and my problem was instantly solved. I rushed back to Malalcahuello, where my things were packed and waiting, said good-bye to everyone, and Omar drove me toward the park.

I'd decided that the easiest thing to do was leave my big bag at the lodge 15km into the park. If they let me, I'd camp, if not, I'd rent a bed. So, this we did, I left my bag with a delightful girl called Pia, and then Omar dropped me off at Crater Navidad, which I intended to hike up to and around, and then get back to the lodge through a high level route. I thought all of this together could be done easily in 7 hours, I only had a day bag and could move more quickly. This using the park's own estimates, published in their map.

Volcan Lonquimay with Crater Navidad at its feet.

Crater Navidad is also a young crater, growing off the side of Volcan Lonquimay, the top of which was blocked off by another earlier irruption, so it is common in this area for volcanoes to have many craters. It was created on Christmas day (hence the name Navidad) in 1988, and had made necessary the evacuation of neighbouring towns. The entire landscape is barren, covered in volcanic ash, and looks like a desert. It is starkly impressive.

From the road where Omar dropped me off and waved good-bye, a 45 minute, tiresome walk through deep volcanic ash gets you to the rim, which you can entirely circumnavigate. Looking into the crater itself, which you can partly walk down, is very impressive! I've been told that on some days, you can see it smoke. I didn't.

I stayed there a good bit, marveling at the views, coughing my head off at the dust.


An Argentine family made the climb up too, and took a couple of pictures of me (it was a bit too windy to use the timer). I felt like staying there a good bit, but I also wanted to do that other trail before heading back, so I climbed back down.

The road would have taken me back to the lodge in about 2 (very boring) hours. But I chose a high level route over the hills. The map said it took 3 hours but that it was very difficult. I studied the said hills. They didn't look difficult, by which I mean technically challenging. Physically demanding, sure, but any steep hill is that. I couldn't see a trail, but the ridge should be easy to stick to.

I started up. As I went up, the wind got a bit cooler, and a great deal stronger. By the time I made it to the beginning of the ridge, I knew that I had dust and sand and ash in every possible body surface and orifice I possessed, and was sneezing repeatedly. The wind picked up great flutes of sand and twirled it around like in the movies, like little mini tornadoes that enveloped you. The phenomenon was amazing, and was repeating everywhere I looked. Once the awe was gone though, it only left the slight aggravation of hardly being able to see.


Like a multi-humped camel, the ridge went up higher and higher. The stakes had obviously been placed to be seen coming the other way, and I managed to miss most of them, noticing them when I looked back. At the second to last hill, thoroughly tired of sneezing, I hooked left and took the ridge from the other side.

What blessed relief! The wind died down instantly, I was now protected from it. So was the hillside, and where the other side had been barren, this side was full of little colourful flowers that grew close to the ground, and out came my camera.



The walking was also a bit more delicate here, with the hillside a great deal steeper. As I went around, I also realised that if I kept on to this side, I would end up in a completely different part of the park, and very far from my bag and tent. I regretfully said goodbye to the flowers, and crossed over to the other side into the head on wind.

From this high up, the views were fantastic on the many surrounding volcanoes, but unable to enjoy it properly because of the dust and wind, I decided to leave the high level route and follow the loose hillside down back to the road. I could already see the lodge close ahead, and if I timed it well, I would barely have to be on the road itself at all.

It was, if such a thing is even possible, even dustier than the hill. I slid down easily and quickly, the loose volcanic ash wonderfully soft, but then I started sinking in further and more abruptly than is usual, and I remembered reading that an underground animal (which I have not seen but from its description sounds a great deal like a ground squirrel or prairie dog and is called a torundo or something) was problematic here and that horses often broke a leg falling into the holes created by their many long tunnels. I slowed down and was glad I did. Despite being careful, I must have sunk in about 40 times. If you're not careful, you can really snap a knee or twist an ankle.

I got to the road and a further 20 minutes took me to the lodge which, I found out, is actually closed except for the kitchen (the high season being winter skiing) but I could camp and use the bathroom, which is exactly what I wanted anyway. I washed in cold water, and left a tremendous amount of dirt in the bottom of the bathtub. My face had been nearly black with the mixture of sunscreen, volcanic ash and sweat. What a sight! It was ludicrous, and I now wish I had taken a picture, but I was in such a hurry to get it out of my eyes I never thought of it. My bandana had kept the worse of it out of my hair.

I set up my tent in the middle of the Araucaria forest, with a view on the volcanoe. I felt deeply satisfied.

The evening was quiet and fun.

Pia, a tourism student from Santiago, lives here for the summer with two other colleagues, and loves companionship. We chatted the evening away while the sun went down. When she had to attend to others (many come just to take pictures, stay 5 minutes and leave), I studied the volcanoe, which I wanted to climb the next day. I was trying to see the route but couldn't quite figure it out. Pia told me a guide came by most mornings to see whether anyone wanted to go up. I resolved to go with him if he came, but to try it on my own if he didn't.


That night, knowing a mountain was watching over me, I slept like a baby.

Lonquimay, Day II

I woke up later than I wanted, despite the apparently 2000 roosters that squwak in unison outside and fight constantly among themselves. First things first, I breakfasted quickly and went straight to the CONAF (the Chilean Park Rangers' offices) to get a more detailed map and information.

To my dismay, they did not want to let me in! A woman alone, no that won't do, it's too dangerous, you'll get lost, you'll get hurt...I looked at them dubiously. The information they were giving me in terms of times and kilometres were in contradiction to what was in the Lonely Planet, and I knew which one I trusted more. This was not the first time that well-meaning, macho men tried to scare me off of doing something and telling me how impossible it was. I didn't want to entirely disregard their warnings, but neither did I want to do nothing. I asked how many people were on the trail. They know this information, as people are required to sign in.

The answer was no one. Some people come in for the day to do a trail, but most go by car, as the highlights of the park are mainly vehicle-accessible. But there is no one walking. I studied the map. There were indeed roads all over the place.

This changed things for me. I've walked alone in parks before, but they've always been parks with lots of other people, many of them alone. You end up hooking up, walking together for a day or two or just a few hours, and at any rate, you meet others at campgrounds. Walking alone in the mountain is not advisable, for the same reason as not wearing your seat belt isn't. Chances are, you'll be fine. But you never know when something may happen. It may be something stupid like twisting your ankle, but having other people around provides safety in the mountain, and if there was really no one, I did not feel that a 6 day solo trek was all that great of an idea.

Before I could fully decide what to do, a Swiss couple signing in for a 5 hour trek came in and, once they realised my predicament, invited me to join them, so I dashed back to the house to let them know I'd be staying an extra night, grabbed my day bag and I was off, with many warnings from the Conaf gentlemen to stay with the couple and not venture off alone.

Which I did and we had great fun! The Swiss are very used to the mountain, I don't think there is a flat parcel of land in their entire country, and these two were very efficient walkers. Slow, steady pace, with a few measured breaks, and many comments on the birds, flowers and trees we saw. I didn't understand most of what they say to one another, the Swiss version of German being a difficult to understand dialect for foreigners, but they made an effort to speak more neutral German with me, so we were able to have interesting conversations.

The trail is so marked, you'd have to be blind and asleep to get lost. I thought if the entire park is like this, how can it be that they are so concerned?

The first part of the trail climbs up into Araucaria forests, the amazing monkey-trees that tower above you. They are absolutely beautiful, and as you get higher up and start seeing the volcanoes, I got goose-bumps from how majestic it was. We stopped to photograph flowers and the landscape and to drink some water. It was really hot in the sun, but cool in the shade of the trees.



The trail forked off after 3 hours, and I could see where it continued deeper into the park. There was a huge sign with a map and arrows to indicate everything, and I made a mental note of it all.

We headed back toward the Suizandina, a lodge 3 kilometres away from Malalcahuello where they were staying. It took us nearly 2 hours to get there, walking by a river that we heard more than we saw, and this being now private land (the place is not actually a park, it is made up of two reservas, and so there are a lot of privately owned places too) we had to deal with fences. Two could be opened, but three others had to be climbed and one had fancy wooden steps put alongside it. This is the one that led to the lodge.

When we arrived, we shared a celebratory beer (ah! Swiss and Germans! Gotta love those traditions) while I looked around. The lodge itself was beautiful and modern, with a large communal eating area and even a reading corner stocked full of books in different languages (but mainly in German), there were many lamas, and... campgrounds! Which you had to pay but which came with bathroom and shower use. I decided I would come back here. It felt good.

I said good-bye to Gabriela and Urs, walked the 45 minutes back to town and Senora Monica's house, whose grandson accepted taking me into the park by car the next day, and a plan started emerging in my mind. At the Conaf office, they said that I could go to the park but would have to stay where there were people. Fair enough, I could handle that, and went to sleep coming up with a feasible plan.

Lonquimay, Day 1

My bus to the small town of Malalcahuello, on the Chilean Andes, only left at 11 am, for which I was thankful after having gone to sleep so late the evening before. I once again left a bag of stuff at the hotel (with my stove, since I was not going to be able to use it, and running stuff), had breakfast, and was off.

It was less than two hours to the border. In South America, you usually have to go through 2 borders: the one of the country you are leaving, where they check your papers to make sure you got in legally and did not stay longer than the allowed time; and the one of the country you are going into, which is the one North-Americans are most familiar with. I've always wondered though, in a case such as this one where there is a half hour ride between the two, when you've been stamped out of one country but have not yet arrived at the next, legally, where are you? Do you even exist in that sense? If a crime is commited in that space, for example, who has jurisdiction? Can a trial even be held or is this a legal black hole?

It took about 3 hours to go through it all, with bags needing to be checked and papers filled and everything. Less than an hour after the formalities were done, I was dropped off in little Malalcahuello, the entry point to the Reserva that I wanted to visit, and where I was hoping to get info so I could spend the evening planning out my route and then get going early the next day. I wanted to see who else was doing the trek.





But it was difficult to find anyone in this little town. Not only was it Sunday, but it was election day. Everyone was riveted to their television sets, waiting for the results. Voting being mandatory here (you get a fine if you don't vote, we should do that in Canada!), it makes people more involved somehow, more interested. And that meant there was no one to be seen outside.

I must have walked around the town for an hour, going to places where camping was allowed that were now closed and fenced off, going to hostals that no longer existed, until a lady offered me a bed in one of the home's spare bedrooms, and that is where I stayed. The other options were staying in cabins, which are not really affordable for a backpacker. In the evening, I went to chat with the carabineros, to get info on the park, but it was difficult, everything was closed, and all they did was try to scare me off. So I left it to the next day.



I have to say a word about the house where I stayed. It is the crookedest thing I have ever seen, with easily a 30 to 40 centimetre difference between the doorways and the centre of the rooms (I thought of David and Laurent here, who would have freaked and would have immediately wanted to repair everything). My bed was just as saggy and I felt the mattress enveloped more than it held me. I lay in it laughing my head off. The house is owned by an old lady with 14 daughters, who are all in their fifties and sixties and many of whom I met, and life centres around the huge, warm kitchen, which is where I spent a lot of my time there. They make do making bread and such that they sell, having a little store, chickens, goats. These small towns are not easy economically, and people do the best they can.

I slept like a log!

Dinner with Zapala locals

As mentioned in the last entry, on my way back from Copahue to Zapala I started chatting with 3 guys traveling together, we shared stories and photos from our stay there and had such good fun that they picked up the stray that I am and invited me to dinner at their house that night. Manu and Pablo's parents live in Zapala, that is where they were staying, with Pablo's boyfriend Damian.

I got there shortly before 10pm, Argentinians never eating before dark, and as he days are long here, that means late dinners! Manu and Pablo had made their mom go into a near panic because they thought I might be vegetarian (we talked about so many things on the bus that we might have touched upon the subject) and, on top of the many dishes of varied meats, she had prepared a variety of absolutely wonderful salads. I was so happy to see so many vegetables!

The Gastaminza family are wonderful, funny, intelligent, full of life and incredibly open about everything. Around the table were the parents and their 3 sons (Manu, Pablo and Santiago, whom I had not met yet), Damian, and a girl visiting from Germany. They seem to take in strays from everywhere, there are always foreigners in their house, and if I had not already had a reservation at a hostal, I think they would have had me stay over too.

The lively conversation never stopped, with everyone offering really well thought-out and researched opinions presented in passionate voices; we talked about everything from politics to climbing, gay rights, the environment, other countries, all mixed with excellent food, good wine, and high spirits. It was 3am before I realised, and the ¨kids¨were getting ready to go out to the pubs and discos (which only open at about that time here anyway) but this little one was tired. They dropped me off at my hotel. It had been a while since I'd had such a wonderfully lively evening. In North-America, such an evening would have been considered too confrontational, but here, it is done in good humour, with lots of laughing and warmth, everyone remains friends, having a different opinion does not mean lacking politeness, on the contrary, and it is such a wonderful way of learning new things and having one's ideas provoked into growing.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I thought how this is such a highlight of traveling. New people, new ideas, wonderful moments.

Parque Nacional Copahue: English (not a translation, but a retelling)

(The pictures in this entry are not the same as in the French version, so you can go have a look at that one too)

I left Zapala after having breakfasted on the omnipresent media lunas, sort of sweet and soft bread rolls in the shape of croissants but which have nothing to do with croissants. The hotel I've chosen to stay at in Zapala is right across from the bus station. As I will be coming through here 3 times, it's pretty convenient.

The nearly 4 hour bus ride dropped me off in the little resort town of Copahue, known for its thermal springs, mud baths, and rotten-egg smelling sulphur baths that are good treatments for allergies, skin conditions and pulmonary problems. Many people come here on therapeutic expeditions.

I munched on a can of tuna with a piece of bread, too impatient to get started to have a real meal, and set off. My goal was making it to the crater of Volcan Copahue, at 2700m. This town is at 2000m or so already.

The trail left off behind a large hotel, past the statue of a life-sized Virgin Mary statue clothed in a real while shawl, which made her eerily real. The trail goes on toward the volcanoe until you get to a beautiful lookout point of the volcanoe with one of the twin lakes in front of it, a truly spectacular sight!


You then climb back down to circumnavigate the lake to a river that joins it to its twin. This early in the season, the river was a bit deeper and I had to remove my boots to cross it, all the while wishing for the water sandals (that I normally carry for this very purpose! Well, that and also to shower in hostels) that I'd left behind. The rocks were painful!


Once on the other side is when you see plenty of people, as this place is accessible by vehicle, with an improvised parking lot. I started climbing back up and met plenty of people on their way back down (of course, most people would have left in the morning, but I wasn't able to make it any sooner and started at 14h). The first I met had made it to the very summit. There was a father and his two sons, and a lot of guys traveling in twos and threes. They all stopped, as is the norm, to talk about the trail and the weather, which gave me a good idea of what to expect in terms of time and the such. I was going up with all my gear, pretty confident that I would be able to find some place where I could camp out for the night.

I started meeting groups higher up, slower-moving people with guides. The trail is treeless, and you can see people moving from far away. They all watched as I came closer. I could see that this group needed frequent rest stops, and although I was weighed down and going up, I was still moving faster than they (and yet, I do not like to move that fast in the mountain, I like to take my time). They parted to the side as is the custom, letting those going up have priority on the trail, and I felt my face redden more and more as they looked incredulously at a woman, alone, with a big bag. The guide who closed down the march stopped me just to make sure that I had warned the Gendarmeria of my whereabouts, and the time to expect me back, and to know my intended itinerary. He also let me know where to expect the last water stop, a very precious piece of information as it allows one to carry only what needed, knowing to expect more.

Three hours in, I saw no one else. The way went up and up, allowing for fantastic views of the surrounding volcanoes and lakes... and the long way still ahead. One more hour and I made the last water spot, two little streamlets of meltwater. I hid my big bag behind a large stone at this point, it looked like it might feasible to camp, and I tackled the last, steepier bit, with a small bag containing warm clothes, water, food, head light etc.

The volcanic ash made going up difficult. You go back a lot, your feet sinking in. Wherever possible, I crossed the hard-packed snow. Many people seemed to have done this as there were many trails criss-crossing all over the place where there had only been one or two before.

There is enough daylight to get around until about 10pm at this time of the year. I had given myself 7pm as a turn-around time, and was moving as quickly as I could to make the cut-off time. The smell of sulphur warned me that the goal was close, and I was spurred on. I made it at 6:53.

You go up to a saddle, and the view is suddenly, majestically in front of you; the exploded crater of Volcan Copahue, filled with a very recent lake (the last eruption occurred less than 10 years ago, forced the evacuation of the entire surrounding villages, and covering Copahue in up to 5 metres of volcanic ash), surrounded by hanging glaciers. It is wonderful! I climbed the last bit happily, took in a big gulp of air... and was immediately on the ground gasping. That is really rancid! And those gases actually attack the trachea, closing it down, which makes breathing almost impossible. I pressed my face to the rocks and gulped air, my eyes tearing. Ugh! Wish the strong winds had been blowing the other way today! I had to hold my breath to take pictures, and after a few minutes, regretfully, it was time to go.


Going down in volcanic ash is a lot more fun than going up. You can sort of ski it. I would have made it to my bag in less than 20 minutes had I not made a false turn of sorts. I stopped recognizing what was around me (I make it a point, while walking, to stop and turn around to have a mental image of what things look like to be able to find my way back after) and these 3 minutes down cost me 23 minutes to get back up to the last familiar spot. Well, at least I was paying attention! I probably could have made it to the same village that way, but without my bag!


It was where I'd left it. I started down, trying to decide where to stay. There were plenty of flat spots, but rock strewn. I could pitch a tent, but even with a foam pad it would be uncomfortable and could make holes in the tent floor. I ended up thinking that maybe I could just camp where all those cars had been.

I made it there a bit after 9pm, but there was a nasty surprise; all possible spots, upon closer inspection, were covered in broken beer bottles. Suddenly, I got worried. Sleeping in isolated spots in the mountain has never bothered me, but this broken glass reminded me how accessible this place was, and that I didn't like much. I didn't feel good staying there.

I must have thought about it for nearly ten minutes while the daylight dwindled down. Going back up to one of the suitable spots was out the question even if there had been time, I was too tired after more than 7 hours walking. Crossing the river and going back up to the village through the beginning of the trail could also not be done in the daylight left, and I felt my headlight was not enough to keep me from getting lost, it was an easily confusing place. I was in no mood to fuddle with my compass. Which left another option, that of following this rough four-wheel drive road to the main road and going back to the village that way.

What a boring choice! But I followed my instincts, and in 45 minutes was back on the main road. I'd only seen 3 distant cars during that time, and as I approached, I saw the headlights of another. Although I don't usually hitch-hike, I felt safe doing so here, and so with my headlight on ¨flash¨ mode, I signaled to the coming car. That car slowed down, and it turns out it was the province of Neuquen's provincial police! They were completely bewildered to see me coming out of nearly nowhere, and drove me back to Copahue, asking me a thousand questions, being real mother hens in a very comforting way. They took me to the municipal campground which, ironically enough, is right where the trail starts. Ugh! If I'd known I'd end up back here, I would have saved my energy and left most of my stuff down here right from the first!

I thanked Marcelo and Gustavo profusely as they told my ¨story¨to the campground owner. Being a mother hen is an art here it seems, two men from the campground came over to help me set up my tent (and as my tent is so tiny, having 3 people at it really is a bit crowded) and tell me that if there was anything I needed I just had to ask. After a wonderful shower (pretty modern campground!) I slept soundly.

I woke up and had another small walk before catching the bus back. During the 4 hour ride, I chatted with three guys traveling together. Two of them are brothers, and their parents live in Zapala, and the other is the boyfriend of one of them, and I've been invited to dinner, which I really look forward to!

Tomorrow, off to Lonquimay. I may be off for 8 or 9 days or so.