El Cóndor Pasa

El Calafate is known as the “Land of Glaciers” as it sits near the entry to Argentina’s Los Glaciers National Park.  As someone who just spent almost two weeks in Antarctica, this sobriquet seems a bit also ran to me, like callling Pittsburgh “Land of Skyscrapers” after spending two weeks in Manhattan.  It’s a nice enough town,that is a bit of a mashup of rustic charm and blatant tourism. You can’t walk 10 steps with tripping over a shop selling those knitted alpaca jumpers that seem like a great idea at the moment but you end up donating to the charity shop when you get home without ever wearing them.   You will also be reminded not to forget your souvenir snow globe, cuddly toy Patagonian lamb or overpriced belt embossed with local birds.  I’m pretty sure the only reason it was included in our itinerary was to give Jane a chance to see glaciers and icebergs given she didn’t join us in Antarctica.  As it turns out, she couldn’t join me in Argentina either, and I’m keenly feeling her absence at the moment. She is a great travel companion.

Yesterday, I had a full day excursion to the Perito Merino glacier in the National Park.  I ignored the little sign at my hotel breakfast table telling me all breakfast food had to be consumed in the dining room, and I made a nice little sandwich to serve as my packed lunch for later. I’m sure I’m the first person ever to think of doing that. The drive took about an hour, and we had a lovely guide named AnnaMaria who explained about the geography, geology, flora and fauna we were seeing.  All the other passengers were Spanish people except a Brazilian family who were more comfortable with English than Spanish.  AnnaMaria kindly repeated everything for us in English. We arrived at about 11:30 and we were given free rein to wander until 2:00.  The Perito Merino glacier is pretty impressive, even when compared to ones we saw in Antarctica.  It descends  from the Andes and ends in the Lago Argentina, the largest lake in the country. What makes it really interesting though is that it ends in an enormous wall that looks strangely like that ice wall in Game of Thrones, the other side of which contains doom, death and destruction. The park is incredibly well maintained with four main “cat walks”  that take you to various viewpoints to see all aspects of the glacier.  It was pretty crowded, but there’s a lot catwalk space, some of which had lots of stairs that deterred most of the Americans.  

I was sitting at one of the benches conveniently located at a viewpoint, enjoying my purloined sandwich when a youngish woman came up to me and asked if I speak Spanish.  I said sorry, but not really (in Spanish, which is kind of funny if you think about it). She then said “do you speak English?”.  “Yes”, I replied.  She then explained that she had sat two seats down from me on the plane from Bariloche and she had recognised me from that.  I was delighted as I was desperate for someone to talk to. I asked where she was from, and she said Mexico.  “Where”, I said.  “Sinaloa” she said. Interesting, I thought (but didn’t say for obvious reasons), Sinaloa is famous for drug cartels and narcocorridos - songs that tell tales of drug lords and their escapades. She then asked if I would take her photo, which I dutifully did. Then, I kid you not, for the next 10 minutes she directed me in a complicated photo shoot involving her doing various poses, me shooting from different angles and even one minor outfit change. I know not to mess with people from Sinaloa, but I did eventually have to make my excuses and leave.

We met back at the bus at 2:00 and then drove a short distance to a dock on the lake where we boarded a crowded tourist boat for a closer look at the glacier.  I hate to sound cynical, but by that time I really was getting pretty much iced out. We eventually got back to town at about 6:00, and after a short rest I went in search of dinner.  This is sheep country and roast lamb is the local specialty. Many restaurants have a giant fireplace with halved lamb carcasses staked across the pit. This is not a place for the squeamish. Or vegans. After trying two places who wouldn’t seat a solo woman (to be fair, they may also have refused a table to a single man), I finally found one that would. I ordered the roast lamb and a mixed salad and what arrived was enough to feed three people. It was delicious, and I had the added bonus of having my photo taken with the bloke in historic costume trying to pull the punters in. 

This morning was an early start with another minibus, this time to Lago Argentina.  There I boarded a boat that took us around the lake to look at icebergs (yawn) and to visit an estancia at the far side of the lake.  The other passengers included 5 couples, 2 of whom were on their honeymoon, two lovely ladies from Columbia who spoke no English and one of the most obnoxious New Yorkers I have ever met.  He was loud (no indoor voice), had absolutely zero self awareness and much like the woman I had kayaked with, gave a running commentary on every thought that popped into his head.  It seems that my desire to meet up with fellow solo travellers was going to be more challenging than I thought.  When we got to the estancia, we boarded a 4x4 and drove up a dirt road into the mountains. The scenery was stunning - not dissimilar to what I saw on the Bariloche hike. 

We eventually got out and walked about 20 minutes to a viewpoint where I saw two condors gliding on the breeze. That made the entire trip worthwhile. They are magnificent birds who don’t so much fly as soar on the mountain’s thermal currents. They can go for hours without ever flapping their wings.  They are some of the largest birds in the world and watching them is almost like seeing living airplanes. They are truly special, and It took all my self restraint not to start singing “I’d rather be a hammer than a nail”.  If you know, you know. 

Once back at the estancia, the elation of the condor experience quickly waned as I was seated at a table for one in the restaurant (it could have been worse, I know) to enjoy a delicious gourmet three course lunch.  I had stupidly failed to bring a book, so I was stuck watching canoodling couples whilst listening to the New Yorker try to explain a Yiddish joke to the waiter who didn’t speak English.  It was a low moment of the trip to date and I really longed for someone that could share my eyeball rolling.

After lunch, we had a short tour of the estancia which almost made up for the less pleasant parts of the day.  Percival Masters was a British sailer who had spent time sailing around South America in the early 1900s. Upon hearing a rumour of gold, he fetched his new wife, Jessie, and came with her to Patagonia in search of weatth. Unfortunately the gold was only of the fool’s variety. At that time the Argentinian government was offering large tracts of land to anyone who would 1. Farm sheep for wool and meat, 2. Pay taxes for 30 years and 3. Fly the Argentinian flag.  In return, they would get the deed after 30 years and the property would belong to the family in perpetuity until the family line ran out.  Percival and Jessie took them up on the offer and built their home in a harsh, foreboding and windswept land.  There is absolutely nothing for hundreds of kilometres other than wilderness, glaciers and lakes.  They had two children - Herman and Cristina, and made a real success of the estancia, farming thousands of sheep and hiring itinerant workers once a year for shearing.  Herman was sent to boarding school in Buenos Aires but Cristina hung around helping to run the ranch. Cristina died of pneumonia at aged 20. Herman eventually returned to the estancia with a Ham radio about which he was passionate, but sadly no wife. As Percival and Jessie reached their 80’s they hired a woman from Scotland, Janet, to help them with their home and managing the ranch.  Percival and Jessie both lived to their 90s with Herman and Janet helping run the estancia.  After they died, and knowing that Herman would never have children, Janet masterminded a plan to turn the estancia into a tourist destination. She finally married Herman when they were in their 80’s.  It’s an amazing story.

I’m now back in El Calafate and I have seen that there are winds of 50 MPH forecast for tomorrow.  I’m told that is not at all unusual here and that my flight to Bariloche and then on to Cordoba won’t be impacted. We shall see.