Chile Day 5 - It Barely Rains at All

Argentinians drink tea (or "boldo menta cruz de malta") by dumping copious green herbs into a cup, then drinking the tea through a filtering straw. There are many confusing, rigid social rituals surrounding this practice which carry significant superstitious penalties for breaking. It's tasty stuff and I like the convenience of chucking the tea ball. One of the argentinian guys I ate dinner with last night told me about camping in the US and leaving his paraphanelia near his site. When he returned from a short hike, he was visited by a dozen state police who were convinced that this was some novel new drug delivery system. He said that he finally convinced them that it was benign by showing them the nutrition info on the pouch, on the theory that not too many illegal drugs document their Vitamin B levels. Later, I spent most of the night hanging with the inevitable German crowd. My ability to add the correct adjective suffix declines significantly after a multi-hour hypothermia hike, I think.

This morning, I saw something strange and unexpected: an unusual bright light in the sky. Some say it is called the "sun", whatever that is. Happily, I broke out the sunblock and reconfigured my bandanna from anti-hail face shield to skull protection.

IMG_0103.JPG
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Today's hike was pretty easy in addition to being meterologically pleasant. It was a 700m downclimb over about 10km. Mostly, I followed a river down the valley between two big mountains. Back below treeline I found the coolest shelter site ever, with a cabin and chapel built directly into a boulder. Further along, I walked through a ghostly forest still in the first stages of recovery from a severe fire. Thousands of bony branches rattled in the wind, ghostly bleached fingers aching for a living past. Also, in contrast to yesterday's strictly solitary

I plan to continue my hiking in a different mountain range, but I needed to head back into town first due to the nature of the bus system.

For lunch, I had a huge flank steak with red wine for about us$6. My order was the smallest I saw in the entire restaurant. Most folks were attacking a sprawling multi-species selection of grilled items with a heaping side of frites. Later, I wandered down a street with chocolatiers at every corner. Cocoa smells wafted from each store, enticing me for yet another taste. Argentinian chocolate may not be as good as Belgian, but it's awfully close. Foodwise, I like this place. It would probably kill me to live here, but it's a wonderful place to visit.

IMG_0111.JPG
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Due to a bus fiasco (this will become a theme), I killed some more time by visiting the coast (including ice rink at the harbor!) and the local cathedral. (Why is it that whenever I'm travelling, I always end up looking at churches? It took me 2 years to visit the inside of the church right across the street from me back home.) The central square in town features teams of men leading bored-looking St. Brenard dogs (complete with rescue barrels) and charging tourists for photos. I sought refuge in the shadow of a statue with one of these men and his dog ("helmut"). I wonder what these dogs think of their lives. Do they like the attention? Do they know that they're being exploited? Do theycare?

Bus, take 2. I caught the inconsistently scheduled #10 out to the north section of the mountain park and was promptly left at the wrong stop. Based on the information from a local mountain guide's recommendation, I was now at exactly the wrong end of the trailhead and had a lot of pain ahead of me. In a foul mood, I decided to hike the loop in reverse rather than wait 2 hours for the bus to take me to the correct place. Good thing, too, since I made Refugio Italia just as the sun crept below the mountains. The hike itself was largely uneventful, though the last 1km was a bracingly steep climb up the end of the valley next to a particularly inspiring waterfall.

Refugio Italia sits at the edge of a high alpine lake, seemingly ready to fall into the valley below. It is so remote that the sole electrical supply comes from a small wind turbine. As I entered the cozy downstairs, all the residents were chatting quietly and eating dinner by the light of candles stuck in wine bottles. The power supply was used only to pipe argentinian samba (different from the better-known brazilian variety) into the room. The hutmaster showed me a free bed, threw an extra pizza in the oven, and introduced me to the other english-speakers. In addition to Tom the Judo expert from California, I met Manuel from Buenos Aires. A cellist specializing in classical and tango music, we had a lot to discuss. I supplemented the group's dinner with a truly awful boxed wine I had purchased in town. The argentinians informed me that they call the wine "tetra" (for tetra-pak, the packaging method) and that mostly teenagers drink it with fruit juice to mask the awful taste. At 2 pesos per liter (about 70 cents) I'm glad I wasn't expecting much, but it was the only option which didn't involve a bulky bottle.

Most of the folks at the refugios seem to be argentinian teenagers. I had a theory that because people marry young and immediately have children here, there is not much opportunity for a second childhod in one's 20's.that allows for ample outdoor pursuits. I was later told that Badialoche is a popular destination for post-gradutation trips, hence the concentration of teenagers with awful boxed wine.