Climb Every Mountain

 

I got a minor case of Nirvana blues (when you are sad things are going too well and that disaster must be imminent) when yet again I spotted my luggage on the belt at Bariloche airport.  I was greeted by a lovely driver who gave me a good introduction to Argentina’s version of Switzerland.  Bariloche is in the northern part of Patagonia,  with snow covered Andes in the distance and a beautiful wavy lake in the foreground.  I could well have been in Zurich except everyone speaks Spanish and not German, and I was unlikely to be told off for jay walking.

I checked into the Cacique Inacayal Hotel, an establishment which was trying hard, and failing miserably to be classy.  The setting is stunning, but the staff are surly and the fittings and furnishings in serious need of a refurb.  Regardless, my room overlooks the lake and the scenery well compensates for the picadillos of the hotel. I quickly dumped my bags and wandered in to explore the town.  Perhaps taking the comparisons to extremes, the center of town is full of pseudo-Swiss chalets and enough chocolate shops to make Willy Wonka purchase a second home here. This is no accident as there was a huge influx of Swiss migrants in the early 20th century and they clearly built in their homeland’s image.  The Main Street is lined with overly friendly locals, shouting “cambia” (money changing)  and “cerveza artesanal” (craft beer).  Maybe there is something liberating in the dulce de leche.

I asked Chat GPT to recommend a local bar where a single woman might feel comfortable. It recommended a bar/restaurant a 3 minute walk from my hotel, and I had a very pleasant time drinking my Malbec, enjoying a burger and eavesdropping on an American man hit on a woman he was really way to old to be hitting on. Unfortunately, I had neglected to instruct Chat GTP only to recommend places that would not give me food poisoning, and I spent a very miserable night regretting that failure.  

Luckily I had thought to purchase some Imodium in the UK, because I had a serious mountain trek scheduled for the morning.  Drugged and plugged, I was just about ok to meet my guide at 9:30. Camila could not have been a better person to get me up a mountain. She has lived her whole life in Bariloche, and she knows every trail, twist and turn in the area.  She gave me a choice of short and very steep or long and less steep. I chose the latter, and in retrospect I am dumbfounded how the former could possibly have been any steeper that the hike we chose unless it was completely vertical.  We walked up for four hours, starting in pine forests, moving on through other enormous trees before eventually emerging above the tree line  to a bracing wind and magnificent views overlooking the lakes.  Camila was very clever in her luring me to keep going, saying things like “ we are almost at the top” and “the view will be worth it” when I was  near tears with exhaustion and muscle ache.  We did eventually reach the top, and ok, she was right. It was spectacular. We sat for a bit eating our sandwiches (me eating nervously, terrified of a repeat of the previous night’s drama, but set on a rocky outcrop.  Gratefully, the contents of my stomach stayed where they belonged and no international incident was forthcoming.

The trip down was, unbelievably, as trying as the trip up, with the added benefit of a leg cramp about a third of the way down.  Camila learned several new English words at that point, none of which I think she should ever use with her clients.  I have never been as happy in my life to see a dusty truck as I was when I spotted Camila’s vehicle.  It transpires that we did almost 25 kilometres and over 35,000 steps and climbed to an altitude of just under 2000 meters.   Yay me, but I can say with confidence that I have zero interest in doing anything like that again anytime soon!