Chile Day 3 - On the Perils of being Flexible

As I crest the ridge, things begin to become Worrisome. I am halfway up a steep 1000m ascent with an hour of daylight left. I think I know where the refugio at the glaciated top is, but the chorizo griller at the base wasn't terribly specific. "People die doing things like this," I think. "Maybe this was kind of stupid." And then the rain hit. Hard.

But I get ahead of myself.....

I woke today to the sound of church bells. Mournful ringing from multiple sources filled the town. Might as well get up, then. As so often happens when I'm travelling,I gravitated to the town's cemetery. (Cementerio - I figured it was that or a cement distribution point.) A confusing tangle of concrete family plots, it reminded me of the cemetery in Vieques. Except that half the tombsones were written in German - a plain reminder of the 19th century settlement wave from central europe. It seems a common practice to visit the cemetery and pay respects after church, so plenty of families were out planting flowers and weeding the plots. I even saw a few plots with miniature christmas trees near the patriarch's stone, showing some serious family dedication and seasonal interest. (Also, it was still raining. Dedication indeed.)

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Originally uploaded by wolftone.

On christmas, I'd liike to point out that Santa Claus down here wears fur-trimmed red suits as well. When your traditions are coming from the northern hemisphere, it can cause jarring incongruities.

Then came some shopping for forgotten iterms: A plug adapter, the purchase of which ground an entire department of a supermarket to a halt. A towel, which required a bucket brigade of salesgirls to pass my item down 5 flights of stairs. And a breakfast pastry, stuffed with a far-too-rich caramel-like whole milk paste which seems to infuse all sweets down here.

My most incomprehensible moment of the day: A man standing on a horsedrawn cart, yelling as he trots down the street. He has nothing in the cart, so he can't be selling anything. Nobody is stopping to load unwanted items on the cart,either. Later, I see the same man and he is flagged down at a house. He shakes hands with the man of the house, then the wife loads a small child onto the cart and the driver hands the husband a potato out of his pocket. Then the cart leaves and the yelling continues. Did I just see a child sold into indentured servitude for a potato?

OK, it's probably not that poor here. But there are lots of signs of poverty, including a serious stray dog infestation. Most folks seem to regard them as a nuisance, shooing them awayfrom storefronts. Most seem relatively well-fed, healthy, and not aggressive. As seeing happy dogs makes me happy, I rather like the sight of all these pooches running around free. (Though I cringe when they blithely saunter into traffic.) One even adopted me for quite a long time on this morning's walk.

At the time I booked my ticket to Badaloche (argentina), I wasn't aware that it's only 25km away from Puerto Montt. That's $US350 for a round-trip 50km flight. Ouch. At least I can comfort myself with the fact that the bus trip is anything but direct and takes 6 hours. While negotiating a thoroughly incomprehensible immigation/customs procedure, I ran across a fellow countryman: Lynn has the unenviable position of teaching Geology and Ecology in Colorado Springs (otherwise known as Focus-On-The-Family Country). I'd want to get away from that if I were her, too.

Upon arrival in Bariloche, I began a high-speed information gathering quest to find out how to get into the mountains as fast as possible. Fortunately, the path I wanted to hike is serviced by city busses and the local AMC-equivalent has a helpful office right in town.

I wish I could have stayed there a while longer. It's a beautiful place, rather like a fusion of Berkley and Zermatt. It rests next to a deep blue lake and is surrounded on all sides by snow-capped mountains. People seem relaxed, happy, and fairly well-off. Crunchy backpackers coalesce with frisbees and hacky sacks.

I look forward to appreciating the town after my hike.

I had this silly idea that every cafe in Argentina would be playing a non-stop soundtrack of tangos by Abuele and Piazzola. Folks would bob heads and tap toes, unable to sit still to the infectious music. Turns out I was entirely correct! I should have practiced my tango more before coming.

About the hike: My plan was to roll into Va. Catedral and immediately take the funicular up the mountain to Refugio Lynch, where I would sleep and begin my hike the next day. Sadly, the lift shut down at 3pm and there was limited accomodation in town. I made the questionable decision to hike up the hill with the plan of completing the last hour by headlamp. Things were basically on-plan until the rain started. I knew that hiking above treeline after dark in the rain would be a special combination of Dangerous and Un-fun. Fortunately, this mountain is a ski hill,with many warming huts and other enclosed spaces on the way. Shortly after the rain picked up, I found a nice lodge with an unlocked door. (I complain a lot about hiking on ski hills, with their scarred terrain and idle machinery. For today, I eat my words happily, even the bitter ones. Especially the bitter ones.)

This is to be my unexpected home for tonight. I'm warm, have a roof over my head, and even an industrial carpet between me and the concrete floor. Not the best accomodations, but they're cheap and add color to the story of my trip. Tomorrow, I'll finish the climb to the peak and begin the hike in earnest. Cross fingers and hope that the rain stops.