Spring Break Trip The Final Days: Ice and Dirt

Las Glacieres National Park/El Calafate

Possibly my favorite part of the trip was seeing the glaciers. They’re just . . . stunning. The mountains that rise on all sides look cut from a Japanese ink painting – all black and white, and infinitely dramatic. Beneath the zebra-ed mountains sits the glacier, shimmering oddly blue before a lake. We got postcard perfect view of it from a set of balconies, or platforms, set on the side of a mountain.

The glacier we saw, Perito Moreno, is bordered by a large lake on one side. When the glacier grows so large that it extends from bank to bank, it creates a dam. The blocked water rises to the tree line, and if any of the water manages to slip up under the ice, it begins to lift it up and erode it, making ice tunnels. This glacier is famous because it moves. It grows and shrinks in the seasons, and even as we watched it began caving: little avalanches of snow announced by a noise like a prolonged thunder boom.

Perito Moreno is named for the man who never saw it. Argentina and Chile were fighting over their border: Argentina insisted that the boundary line should be marked by the mountains’ highest points, while Chile claimed a river should designate the border. Moreno, through some means (digging, or explosives, or other techniques) forced a different river to shift its course. With this he proved that a river was an unreliable boundary. Argentina got the land it wanted, and Moreno got a glacier.            

Our next stop was a boat ride up to the glacier itself. Surprisingly, cows ate on the banks, undisturbed by the giant table of ice. The glaciers, like a bulldozer, shove the earth before them as they move, making hills of fine, almost powdery rocks, and larger jagged stones. Devoid of grass and plants, the land is like a natural junkyard. Glaciers bulldoze over mountains, too. When this happens they sculpt the mountain, as if the glacier was a giant nail file, shearing and tearing off the top, and leaving behind the classic fin shape.  

The glacier ice by the land isn’t pretty; it’s dirty, like city snow, from all the sediment blown onto it from the shore. We hiked through these earth piles, and into a woods. The trees were huge but many lay collapsed. One guide told me the culprit was very thin topsoil, combined with strong winds.  At our previous mountain, we saw calafate plants, the namesake of the town we stayed in. It’s a small, spiky plant whose berries are used in ice cream, jams, and alcohol. In both places a type of whispy green moss-like plant, called Old Man’s Beard was visible on the trees. According to our guides, it can only grow in air  where there is no pollution.

The glaciers are perhaps the purest place on earth. No plants nor animals live on them, save a small type of insect. When walking on them, you can snap off a piece of the thin ice that tops rivers in the glacier, and eat it, and if you were to drop food, the 5 second rule could stretch into 5 hours or more.

At the end of our hike the guides gave us hard candies, harnesses (to help them lift us out in case we fell into a crevice in the ice) and crampons. The ice near the edges of the glacier moves more quickly than the ice near the center, I assume because it is has more surface area exposed to the sun’s heat, to water’s currents, and to anything else the land can offer. This causes pressure and fissures, or crevices. People do fall into the crevices and die (thanks to harnesses, the guides could pull us out). Throughout our walk, our guides would stand right at the edge of any hole, prepared to catch us and keep us safe. I have no idea what would keep the guides alive if we stumbled into them. These men did have astoundingly sure footing, leaping and running on the ice while we tourists trudged along. (That they work 8 days in a row, before having a 2 day break surely has something to do with this.)

On the ice glacier itself, our crampons seemed to slot into the ice as if the shoe was one side of Velcro and the glacier the other. There is no real snow on the glacier, just ice and it makes a crisp, crunchy noise as you walk. (In comparison, the thin ice on the rivers has more of a tinkling sound as it breaks). On the return journey when I took off the crampons, walking felt so light and carefree. I was clumsy, tripping on rocks, because I no longer had to pay attention to where I put my feet.

There is water in the glacier, sections of rivers or lakes near the surface, where the ice has melted. Each part has a thin ice covering, and gleams a neon blue so vivid it seems unreal, like antifreeze or mouthwash. That was one thing I noticed, as I tried to describe my journey: all my vocabulary degraded it.  The glacier was like antifreeze, brush dotted the hills of Patagonia like a rash of pimples. I compare to what I know, and nothing I know is sufficient.

The whole trip, I was astounded by the glacier, and the mountains. The captivating expanse of dazzling white and a blue so unknown it seemed artificial. The mountains surrounded us on all four sides, their sharp planes of snow covering forest so dense it looked black. And yet all the while I looked at the mesmerizing scene, the back of my mind wondered if our ancestors appreciate the snowcapped mountains, or if they only saw cold and harsh and an obstacle to climb? In a way, seeing beauty in a cold, rough land feels like a modern luxury. From the safety of my world of airplanes and bus systems, I can afford not to worry about the challenge of a winter climb.

Vegetarianism, too, is a modern luxury. Thanks to an abundant supply of tofu, lentils, and milk and similar products, I can avoid meat and not die. I can even be healthy. Some people say we should eat animals because our ancestors did and so it’s natural. It’s true that in a world without veggie burgers, you got your protein where you could. I’ve always believed in the right of a species to exist; some argue vegetarianism in all cases, but I would never suggest starvation as an alternative to eating an animal. If it’s me or the turkey, the turkey dies. But for the middle class, vegetarianism is an option, a valid option, and that introduces a new kind of morality. In a world where your body and your wallet can afford not to kill an animal, where do we justify choosing otherwise? I don’t mean to preach, and at the moment, I eat meat, but I think it’s an interesting discussion. But, back to glaciers.

It was surprisingly warm being on a glacier. We were lucky not to have wind that day, which helps, and is an uncommon situation. Wind sweeps snow down from the mountains where it turns to ice down here. I was hot at times wearing a T-shirt, long underwear with snow pants, gloves, and a sheet-of-plastic quality rainjacket.

We stopped for lunch on the glacier, and the guides, who were wonderful and made frequent jokes about leaving us to die, gave us hot tea and nut bread. Nearby was a field of what looked like tombs of ice (there is a French name for this formation, but it escapes me). I had heard you could drink glacier water, and began trying to scoop ice into a plastic bottle (the water brand ironically advertised itself as “fresh from the mountains”). Seeing my pathetic attempts, one guide walked over and, taking my plastic bottle, plunged his bare hand into a river to fill it up. Glacier water tastes, honestly, like nothing. Cold, and free of any chemicals or minerals.

            On the boat ride back, they gave us whiskey with glacier ice. It was sweet, spicy, and syrupy, and it being Argentina, they gave us alfajores, too. I dipped mine in.

(The glaciers are 300-500 years old, by the way. I think that’s interesting, but found no smooth way to slip in).

Sunglasses want to be Philosophical Too

Sunglasses are an interesting invention, I think people like them, besides the obvious, because they’re a way to keep your surroundings at bay and domesticate the world. The make me feel detached from life, so I generally hate them. I heard they were a must for glacier hiking, so, too cheap to buy polarized, I grabbed a pair dark enough to make me feel unsafe walking in Buenos Aires. They were pretty handy on the glaciers, I’ll admit, though I didn’t wear them the whole time.

El Chalten

The second day we went to a popular hiking town, called El Chalten. For the longest time, I couldn’t remember what it was called, and just said, “We’re going to the mountain.” People stared it me like I was crazy, because in the Andes, you’re surrounded by mountains. There are a plethora of hikes, from 3 hours to 7 or more hours. The truly dedicated will camp overnight, others have to take the bus back by 6pm (Traveler’s Tip for you there). Apparently a small type of deer inhabit the area. Nature’s little joke is that these endangered deer are almost too cowardly to live. If they hear a dog bark or see it’s poop, they’ll flee. If a tourist rushes after them to take a photo, they’ll have a heart attack and die. They can’t drink from the same water as cows, or the germs will kill them. Suffice to say, we didn’t see any.

The mountains here were pretty, as any mountains are. Behind the rocky brown-and-green mountains we climbed on, the snowcapped majesties loomed, like the backdrop on a theater set. At a few moments we could glimpse the glacier shimmering blue in the distance as if it had been photoshopped into the scene. Even now, it felt impossible that it really existed. (A side not on science; according to our guide, glaciers are so blue because blue is the highest frequency wave. Perhaps it’s actually because it’s so short. The many facets of ice would disperse the blue wave, just like gas atoms in the air disperses blue across the sky).

The town itself must be only 200 people, in brightly colored houses, generally selling arts, food, or hiking gear. We did two shorter hikes, the last one up to a peak to a bird look out (though we didn’t see any; It was not our day for animals). The hills are covered with blond tufts interspersed with bushes so round they seem cut from a children’s book, these dark green and purple-gray blobs looking like a whimsical flock of sheep.

Traveler’s Tips: El Calafate

Trips

We went to a small town, called El Calafate, where many trips leave from for the glaciers. The trips are well known in the town, and your hostel can help you find what you need. What I went on was called “Big Ice”. It cost AR $870 (which is the same price as the MiniTrekking trip offered by the same company).

Equipment

Don’t worry about winter clothes, you can rent everything here. For 100 pesos you can rent boots, snow pants, a winter jacket, gloves, and hiking boots. I bought a pair of thermal mittens in Buenos Aires for almost the same price.  (you can get just boots for 40, and snow pants for 35). In general, what you need is waterproofing, not warmth. Walking builds up heat, and   I had the luck to go on a day without wind. I was fine in a t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, and a very basic rain jacket. I did wear snow pants, which is important, because on my trip, you sit on the ice to eat lunch. Also, hiking boots seem useful, I wore them, and  people will advise you to wear gloves, because the ice is sharp enough to cut your hands (I can’t confirm or deny this one). I do recommend sunscreen and sunglasses.

Travel

If you, like we were, are arriving from Puerto Madryn, there are two bus options. A brand new option is a direct bus, which I’d recommend. I didn’t take it, because it didn’t exist when we bought tickets. We took a bus to Rio Gallegos (17hours) and then switched to a 4 hour bus. Online, it looks like only 1 bus a day leaves from Rio Gallegos. This is lies and trickery; you will find several buses leaving throughout the day. Argentine buses are notoriously unreliable time-wise, and ours arrived 2 and a half hours later, making us miss our connection. Most other passengers seemed to just wait until they arrived to do that.

Water

Be careful about the water in Patagonia. In Puerto Madryn, our hostel host thought it would be fine, and I drank it with impunity but 3 friends got sick. One reported stomach pain, diarrhea, and constipation. Once she switched to bottled water, she felt better. In El Calafate the hostel told us not to try drinking it.

Food

One good restaurant on the cheaper side of what you can find, is 13 Gustos. It’s a s bit cheaper than anything on the main road, and they’re lentil stew is fantastic.

Muy Amable

A few weeks ago, I ran into a German woman at MALBA, a well-known Latin American art museum, and translated between her and the ticket seller. The German had only been in the city a few days; while Buenos Aires was nice, she complained that the people were all unfriendly.

It was raining when I left the museum, an hour or so later. A few minutes into my walk, a young woman (who turned out to work for a law firm) offered me a space under her umbrella, and we chatted. Barely 30 seconds after our paths diverged, another woman, probably 40 years old, shared her umbrella with me, happy to tell me about interesting cultural centers. She walked two blocks out of her way to bring me to the door of my university.

While it’s true that you can’t set your bag down in a restaurant for fear of it getting stolen, and that men will whistle at you on the street, especially if you have any bare leg showing, Argentina is an amazingly friendly country. Pull out a Guía T map book, and strangers will come up to you and offer directions to anywhere you want to go.

Yesterday, I tried to go to a community tango class. The teacher and us had a confusion over the every changing start time, and missed each other. Not wanting to go straight home after the hour bus ride here, a from my program and I and an Argentine who we just met, ended up hanging out. The Argentine, Fernando had planned to come to the class for the first time that day. Who knows what the he had planned for his day, but  he took the time to come have dinner with us for 2 hours, then invited us to a friend’s birthday party that night. I ended up going, and it was astounding how friendly the people were. It was a grand mix of 20-somethings, mostly law or political science grad students (everyone in Buenos Aires seems to be a lawyer), including among the Argentines an El Salvadorian, two Brazilians, a Venezuelan, and several people from the US, here teaching English. No one cared that I didn’t know the man who’s birthday it was, and everyone was eager to talk.  (I’ve been feeling more like a real Argentine now that I’m taking in a bit more of the night life, though tonight I went home at 3:30am. I think that’s about the earliest it’s acceptable to leave in Argentina, but still makes you a little lame).

Today, several friends and I went to a neighborhood called La Plata. It’s an hour away from Buenos Aires central, and is a nice little town, that sports some beautiful European architecture. There’s an impressively tall and elaborate church with gleaming stained glass and a nice crafts fair (every town seems to have one of the weekends). The city was one of the first planned out cities, and is structured around 2 major diagonals. We mostly wandered about, and found that every few blocks seemed to have a park complete with playgrounds. In our part of the city, all the playgrounds have fences around them, presumably to keep out homeless at night, and it was nice to find playgrounds that didn’t seem to judge you for entering.  On the way there, we met two men from La Plata. One seemed quite the hipster: skinny jeans, oversized bright blue sleeveless T-shirt, and a small mustache. He’d moved to Buenos Aires to escape the violent treatment he got in La Plata for dressing the way he did. Though Argentina is liberal enough law-wise to allow gay marriage throughout the country, the further you get away from the city, and it seems, the city center, the more conservative the people are. These men assured us that we could call them for anything we wanted (and they weren’t hitting on us, we had two guy friends in our group), and that it was important for them that we feel at home in Argentina. 

Flash History Lesson: ESMA

Friday I went to ESMA, a startlingly beautiful complex of buildings, full of green, graceful trees and the smell of lavender. The place itself was home to a large Navy school, and a center where kidnapped civilians were routinely tortured and imprisoned before being thrown into the ocean to drown.

Argentinean had essentially it’s mini version of the Holocaust, in which the national government turned on its own citizens.

The short version of events:

1. Juan Domingo Perón, beloved by the left and the right, returns to Argentina from exile.

2. Fighting breaks out between the left and right Peronists, resulting in combat between terrorism by leftists Peronists, and equivalent violence by the Peronists government, who sides with the right.

3. Perón dies shortly after, leaving his third wife in office. While Perón’s second wife, Evita, had left behind women’s suffrage, workers rights programs and the like as her mark, Isabel leaves behind an government run death-squad, the Triple A.

4. To everyone’s relief, the military overthrows Isabel Perón.

5. Promising to return stability, the military government begins pursuing leftists. And people who know leftists. And people who generally walked on the same street a leftist walked on. This quote in a newspaper pretty much sums it up:

“First we will kill all the subversives, then we will kill their collaborators, then their sympathizers, then those who remain indifferent and finally we will kill those who are undecided.” – General Ibério Saint-Jean (March 20, 1977)

The junta also make sure to remind the public that it was the citizens who voted for Perón, and thus the Triple A is the public’s fault. Like a parent taking away a child’s toy because it’s dangerous, the junta condescendilyg reminded Argentineans that they weren’t responsible enough to have a democracy yet.

5. A decade of secret abductions begins, in which plain clothes policemen break into people’s houses at night, kidnap them, rob their houses, and occasionally take the children for their own. The desaparecidos or “disappeared” are held and tortured in secret detention centers around the city, while the government completely denies knowledge. Children born in the centers are adopted by military personnel and raised with false identities. When the military decides it’s done with a  desaparecido, he or she is drugged, loaded into a plain, and thrown alive into the ocean to die. Usually his or her stomach is cut open to facilitate it being eaten by fish.

6. There’s a fantastic slew of propaganda insisting that the desaparecidos are merely run-aways, who abducted themselves, and that countries calling for an end to this military regime are really anti-Argentinean and completely ignorant about Argentinean life.

7. Due to economic problems, mismanagement, the government’s not doing so well. They decide to war with Britain for the disputed Malvinas/Falklands Islands, which causes the nationalistic fervor the government had hoped for. Until Margaret Thatcher resoundingly defeats Argentina, and the public add the soldier’s deaths to the blood on the government’s hands.

8. Declaring their mission, their “Dirty War” a victory, the junta government shuts down.

Later, when the government attempts to try the torturers, the military, appalled, marvels that Argentina is the only country that would try it’s “victorious heroes”.

The scariest part:

These events still haven’t been resolved.

Democracy returned in 1983, and the president, Alfonsín, began to try the military perpetrators. The military grumblings got loud enough that the president feared the democracy was at risk of being overthrown again if he didn’t quit it. So he pardoned everyone who could claim to be “just following orders” (that has a Holocaust ring to it, no?) and promises to end trials by 1987.  And that was it for a while; the military went free to wander in the same society, go shopping in the same supermarkets, as their victims. Only the cases of kidnapped children could still be tried, as those were counted as on going crimes, because the kids were still living with false identities.

Carlos Menem became president next, and, presumably thinking this would let  Argentina move on, pardoned everyone. Spain and England were rightly horrified, and, calling the military’s actions “human right’s abuse”, insisted they would try anyone they could catch. So the military perpetrators hid in Argentina, from which the president declines to extradite them.

Néstor Krichner became president and re-opened trials. The only reason the military didn’t freak out this time is that being tried by their home country beats being tried by Spain. They trials are still going on. According to our guide at ESMA, who himself had been imprisoned there for 2 years, 100 kids have recovered their identities, and 400 are still living, unwittingly, with the people who murdered their biological parents. A few months ago, a witness in a desaparecido trial testified about being tortured and kept in one of the detention centers. During the weeks of the trial, he was disappeared again. He still hasn’t been found.

New and Interesting Info:

Desaparecidos at ESMA were forced to work falsifying documents, something I hadn’t heard about before. In general, they made fake passports and visas for members of the military, so the members could go abroad (including to the US) and use information they found in other countries to help them spy on their own people. Argentina, who at the time was in conflict with Chile, also made counterfeit Chilean currency to drop into the country and damage its economy. (Always an interesting military tactic. I hear the Union did this to the Confederacy during the US’s civil war. The Union’s counterfeits were so much better quality, that no one would accept legitimate Confederacy bills, thinking they were fakes). Our guide told us that anyone sent to work counterfeiting currency knew it as a death sentence. The operation was so secret, they would never be allowed to live. 

ESMA is a chilling place, whose museum includes photos of the murdered, and photos of the military abductors. They offer a guided tour of the detention center, two cultural arts centers, and a fantastically cheap café.  

To Twitter or Not to Twitter

In order to keep the internet a free space for everyone, Argentina’s justices decreed that political candidates and their parties cannot write anything in Twitter that might influence voters. (The average Juan can write whatever). It’s an odd interpretation of the situation when the government sees intellectual freedom as contingent on restricting others’ free speech.  Still, it’s produced some interesting Twitter posts, as candidates search round-about ways to speak their mind:

 * Frente de Izquierda (Leftist Front, abbreviated FIT): “How do you say “foot” in English?? FIT, right?”

 * Binner-supporter (socialist): “I have my first car. I bought a model K”

(Binner had commented earlier that the K (Krichner) model of government goes hand in hand with mass poverty;  Link to that comment: http://www.binnerpresidente.com/binner-el-modelo-k-convive-con-10-millones-de-pobres/)

* “How do you make a  (“RICA”) DELICIOUS pizza (“CARDITO” )COUNTRY STYLE?”

This seems to reference RICrdo Alfonsín, and, somehow, Cristina Kirchner (I feel like something is lost in translation here . . . )

Are you persuaded?

The full article: http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/elpais/1-179493-2011-10-22.html

¡Pólitica!

I’ll get back to writing about glaciers soon, but first: politics! This Sunday is the presidential election, and it’s just starting to get exciting.

Cristina, the incumbent, is the wife of Néstor Kirchner who was president before her. I’ve seen a good deal of signs reading “vuELve” (“he returns”) or the slogan “Nésto viva” and Néstor’s face next to Cristina’s running mate. (The background you should know is that during Cristina’s first term, Néstor died). I find theses adds odd, and insulting to quite a variety of people.  On the one hand, they seem to imply that Cristina’s not a valid candidate, or at least not good enough, without her husband, and imply that he was always the power behind the throne/democratically selected chair. According to my creative writing teacher, Néstor’s death did the opposite of this: her smooth continuation with her presidency definitively proved that Cristina governed in her own right. The signs also seem disrespectful to the dead, as they march around Néstor’s face as an advertising tool. Still, the seem to work.

If no one wins the majority vote this Sunday, there will be a new vote held between the top two contenders .Unlike the U.S., there are a plethora of candidates, and it’s impossible to vote on party lines because the Peronist party alone has 3 candidates. (Of course, Peronism is such an ambiguous force,  they could well be very different. Think of Peronism as a authoritative social welfare party. Instead of the revolution of Socialism, Peronism believes in a strong state, and Juan Domingo Perón, for which the party is named, brooked no strikes, but did create worker protections, retirement rights, and more days off. Both the extreme right and the extreme left loved Perón, something that ultimately blew up violently and jump started the descent into a decade of appalling murder and torture   . . . . but that’s for another day, or another paragraph).

I'm pretty certain Cristina will win. In her favor she has support programs for the poor, workers, and students (although many complain about her passing out cash instead of creating societal structures that would make a more permanent change. As the unemployed told their provinces in the 90's, "create jobs not soup kitchens"). My new door guard also believes she has a lot going for her in relations to human rights. It was her husband who re-opened the trials of those responsible for desaparecidos (the institutionalized violence in which the military government kidnapped, tortured, and secretly murdered anyone seen to be potential opposed to them or to be neutral). As for the other candidates, I can't say I know much. I know a socialist, Binner, and Duhalde (I believe he's a type of Peronist, from the "Popular Front") are rumored to be doing well.

The plaza by my house was crowded with flag waving youths playing drums, cymbals, trumpets, and whistling. Most flags were of the Argentinean flag with references to Juan Domingo and Eva Perón, or to Cristina, and some rainbow flags represented the diversity of Cristina’s supporters. My favorite flag displayed the “Nésternaut” Néstor Kirchner’s face on El Eternauta, a comic book time traveler. (I just began reading that book today.

Until the 90s, presidents served an unrestricted number of 6 year terms, but could not serve two terms consecutively. Menem changed that, and now Argentina is on a 4 year term system, without the break term limits. (I’m not sure if they have a max number of terms set).

Day 5: Elephant Seals

Our guide drove us out through more Patagonian emptiness to see the elephant seals in their natural habitat. To get down to the beach we had to descend a path that seemed to waver somewhere between “steep” and “vertical”. At one point we had to cling to a rope so we wouldn’t fall; the guide of course, galloped down like a natural. It’s an funny thing, the difference between U.S. and Argentinean safety laws. In the U.S. we could never have done something like this; likely there would be wider paths and secure guardrails, but at the same time, I doubt the US would have let us get as close to the sea elephants as we did, at least not without signing a waiver. As it was, we were able to get within ten feet of the napping  sea elephants (“elefantes” in Spanish). The elephants are named for the males, who sport a ridiculous nose. The females are more or less like large versions of female sea lions, but with red iris bordering a gigantic pupil.

 

20% of male sea elephants reproduce, and keep harems of 2-4 females. In general the male and the females, who were with their babies, might glance at us tourists, or even open a mouth and show off teeth, then go back to napping. The elephants spend 2 months in the sea, and 2 months on land; during the latter they essentially don’t eat. (Their diet is squid). The elephants we saw had also just given birth, so were more than content to lay about, recuperating and tossing rocks on themselves to cool down. I think the elephants realized that we tourists weren’t worth the energy it would take to chase us away. I felt like I was to the elephant what a bird is to a human: something you notice, maybe even keep an eye on, but really is no threat.

Babies stay with their mothers for 40 days, after which they get kicked out and live alone, until they mate when they are about 5 years old, and they die at about 30 years. The babies we saw were 2 days to a week old and had fuzzy coats that made them look like little black bears. Later, they’ll shed the coat as they get older. Adults, too, shed winter coats for summer coats. The fins of elephants have nails which are both used for scratching off old skin, and for fighting over mates. (The males sported an impressive collection of scars).

One little sea elephant was fighting with his mother over feeding. He kept whining a cry that sounded a bit like a squeaky toy: Eck-Eck Eehh! This mother wasn’t interested at all, and refused to roll over and offer her nipple (they only have one, and its small, the size of a belly button). It’s an interesting balance the mothers have to play, between keeping their children alive and not giving so much milk that they themselves can’t survive. I noticed one mother who was particularly lean, laying next to a rotund baby. I assumed that that meant that child was about ready to go out alone, but the weight differences could perhaps be that the mother had miscalculated how much milk she could afford to give.

The beach itself was entirely rocks, smoothed by the water. We saw a stiff, dead penguin, and a dead baby sea lion on the walk. The cliff we climbed was sandstone with some sedimentary rocks mixed in, holding shells and similar small fossils. When I examined a rock it just appeared to be sheets of sand packed together. It’s a powerful feeling when you can throw a rock and have it disintegrate. (Of course, this wasn’t the case with all the stone. Harder packed sandstone had a darker color and refused to snap in your hands).

Traveler’s Tip:

Seeing the elephant seals makes a good half day trip. My hostel organized this trip, and it was about an hour or an hour and half drive in car (the guide picked us up at the hostel) out to the point. There’s a few more tourists than other places, but by no stretch of the imagination is it crowded. Our guide spoke only Spanish.

Day 4: Penguins, Welsh, and Dinosaurs

First we went to Punto Tombo, a penguin reserve. It was a beautiful open land. The sky looks gigantic, extending without beginning and without end, and the sea sparkles and glitters as if full of drowned fireflies. Thousands of Magellanic penguins come here to mate and hatch chicks. The reserve is a giant collection of rocky hills on the side of the ocean, and penguins and guacanos roam freely. The park is a brilliant set up – visitors aren’t allowed to interact with the penguins, merely to walk a set path through their natural territory. You may not take anything from the park – not even a feather or a pebble, and you certainly can’t feed or pursue the penguins (they made sure to tell us not to bother a penguin by trying to pose with it). The result is, the penguins are completely un-domesticated. And don’t think you can’t get close to them – they’ll walk across the path and go right next to you.

The penguins swam 6,000km from Brazil to their nests in Argentina. The penguins migrate before their food (anchovies) so that the fish will arrive right around when the eggs hatch. As a result, though, the penguins have to keep swimming back to find their food. Male and female partners will switch off turns, with one swimming 600 km (6-7 day trip there and back) to go eat, while the other stays with the nest and the egg. Penguins are monogamous. The males dig out nests, generally small caves or just indents under scrubs. They seem more constructed to protect from the sun and to make sure the eggs aren’t super obvious to predators, than to offer any real shelter. The young males use their nest to attract a female, and the pair will return to the same nest every year.  Eggs weren’t visible yet, but that may just be that the penguins were laying on them. Everywhere penguins were sprawled napping or waddling along. These creatures are clearly not made for walking. They tilt their head side to side, probably trying to make up for having eyes on either side of their head, and stick out their chest and wings for balance. Come to think of it, they’re not really graceful at speaking either. The whole process seems such an effort: the penguins toss their heads back, mouths open upwards, and pump themselves like bellows, their chests jerking in and out. These penguins would call out several wheezing blasts, as if warming up to speaking, then cry out a buzzing note that sounded a bit like an elephant trumpet or a falling vuvuzela note. I spent some quality time trying to imitate them, and no one pecked me to death, so they can’t have been too offended.

This is pretty much what penguins look like when they talk. 

We did see some penguins having sex, an affair involving a lot of flapping on the part of the male, who was on top. The female didn’t seem particularly thrilled, or really invested in the process.  According to our guide, penguins are pregnant for 40 day sand always lay two eggs, presumably to have a spare in case the first one gets killed. The weird thing is, scientists found that if they remove an egg from the nest, the penguin will lay another. And another. Up to five or more eggs in total. This extra egg laying only happens during the first week – if the scientists remove an egg a week later, the female can’t do anything to replace it. Now, to me, this all sounds a little impossible. It seems that the woman keeps sperm alive inside her, but cached away from her eggs for a week, just in case she’ll need to fertilize them.

So far, scientists don’t know how long these penguins live. They started monitoring them 50 years ago, and so far, the penguins are still going strong.

After some time to explore Punto Tombo, our bus took us to a small Welsh town called Gaiman. The town is a surprise – a sudden burst of life in the midst of endless tracks of shrubs and nothingness. It’s the river that gives the tree life, and lilac trees abound. We went to a traditional welsh tea house where they served us black tea with milk and a huge collection of treats: tea cakes, lemon cake, ginger bread, jelly rolls, bread and butter, biscuits and cookies.

Argentina, which even welcomes immigrants in its constitution, gave the Welsh land and sheep to encourage their coming. The immigrants would have gone to the US if not for the Civil War, and instead became part of the effort to populate Patagonia, a land stolen from the native people.

Our final stop was Trelew, another Welsh town. A few flamingos swam in the river there, and in general, the town looked pretty humble, but we mostly just saw the museum. According to guidebooks, the Museo Paleontológico Egidio Feruglio is the reason to go to Trelew. Inside we found complete skeletons of dinosaurs like the T. Rex and Stegasaurs. Dwarfing all of them was the Argentinosaurus, whose tibia was taller than a person.

Traveler’s Tip

We scheduled the trip with InterHabitat for US $55. They send a bus to pick you up at your hostel, and a guide gives info in both Spanish and English. We were taken to Punto Tombo, where we had to pay the entrance fee, then to Gaiman, where we could purchase what we wanted (AR $65 for tea, though a fellow hostel member had to pay more because he went to the tea house that Princess Diana had visited. His opinion was it wasn’t worth the extra cost). Then the trip brought us to Trelew for an hour, the museum price also not included. InterHabitat is handy for giving you transport and background information on the places, plus it does let you choose what you pay for. 

Day 3: Seaside

This day we decided to explore Puerto Madryn. Our hostel advised us to walk along the beach, and I didn’t realize before then how much I love the ocean. I don’t think I can live in a city for any considerable time. 

We made a leisurely walk, making sure to stop at many playgrounds, walk through sand dunes, and generally take our time. Part way down the beach we came across a beached whale. I have to admit, I was excited. In the water, I could never tell what part, exactly, I was seeing of the whale when I saw wet skin break above the surface of the water. Here, the whale must have been 18 feet long, so young. The tongue was a bit larger than my foot (women’s US size 9, Argentina/European size 40), and seemed to take up all the mouth. The whale was clearly dead, laying, unbreathing on the sand. The body was mostly intact, save for some of the baleen which lay out on the ground. Some of the wild dogs were eating it. Men in soft bright orange-red jumpsuits (complete with footies) were overseeing the removal process, their outfits making them look like space travelers in a sci fi show. Using a rope tied around the whale’s tail, a boat tried to pull it out to sea, but failed. A few days later the whale was still there, this time a soft layer of black, like a strip of fake rubber turf, was visible across the shiny, decomposing whale. One man told me he thought it was petroleum, the cause of the whale’s death.

Another interesting find was a section of beach where the sand seemed literally to be feeling, like skin, from the beach. It was literally sand paper, the grains formed into sheets, smooth on the top, and beneath, coarse. If you have any idea what this was, I’d love to know. 

Puerto Madryn Days 1 + 2

My blog updates are far overdue, so I’ll do my best to fill in the gaps now. I spent the last 10 days traveling in Southern Patagonia with three friends.

Day I: Traveling

Friday we took a bus from the Retiro station in Buenos Aires. We were told to arrive 30 minutes early, and ended up waiting an extra 20 for the bus to arrive. This is the Argentine version of fashionably late, but my American self was panicked, especially because the bus station didn’t know beforehand what platform the bus would arrive at.

The ride itself was 20 hours. Argentina has put a lot of thought into their buses and seems to have developed a system as categorized as US planes. There are many levels of seats ranging in sizes and how far they lean back. Each bus has only one type of seat, and some serve meals even. We got a dinner of milanesa (breaded meat, a classic dish), bread rolls, a jelly roll with cold cut and hardboiled egg wrapped up in place of jam, and a mini pie, and stopped for breakfast of coffee and medialunas.

Patagonia is a lot of empty space, occasionally punctuated by a sheep or small shrine by the side of the road, the size of a dog house. The view outside the window was endless miles of blue shrubs and blond tufts of grass, under an endless sky, and dark blue mountains in the distance. In general the whole area looks a lot like a wetter New Mexico.

I had never been to a hostel before, and was prepared for roughing it. Instead of mattresses on the floor and a crowded room, we were greeted with neat bunk beds, 2 bathrooms to ourselves, free use of the kitchen, and all the coffee and tea we wanted. Our hostel, Casa de Tounens, was run by a Frenchman named Vincent, who moved to Argentina 2 years ago and started up the hostel 4 months ago. The hostel felt more like living in a language-interest house than a hotel; we chatted with a Dutchman, some Belgians, a few Israelis, an Englishman and a fellow American in a mix of Spanish and English (Vincent himself is trilingual).

The further you are from home, the easier it is to make friends from home. Americans in other countries are really friendly, because the mere fact that you both speak English and used to live in America already gives you much more in common than you have with anyone else, and gives you tons to talk about.

The hostel is named after Orélie-Antoine de Tounens a crazy Frenchman who came to Patagonia (south Argentina/Chile) and declared himself emperor. He went as far as to mint his own money and publish a constitution. Pretty much no one cared, until the Mapuche Indians jumped on the idea. Happy to find someone who also didn’t think Chile ought to own Patagonia, the Mapuche joined up with Tounens. Chile was afraid he might be a French spy, or that he might be representing the French government’s plans, and captured Tounens. France assured Chile that Tounens was  just insane and ought to be sent home. Upon returning to France Tounens promptly spent his money on returning. He was immediately re-deported, and tried to come back again.

Traveler’s Tips/ More Details than Everyone Else Cares About

We took Condor-Estrella from Retiro to Puerto Madryn, and chose cama ejecutive. The seats are wide and leather, like first class seats on American planes. They don’t recline to be flat, but go pretty far.

They played American movies dubbed into Spanish like Talledega Nights, Hocus Pocus, and a pretty entertaining Android Apocalypse. The sound does blast a bit loud, but I found it easy enough to sleep.

For most buses, I would recommend bringing a pillow, if you’re the sort who wants somewhere to put your head.  This one gave us a pillow and a blanket for the night. I didn’t see the bathrooms, but in general, toilet paper and hand sanitizer are a good idea.

As for a place to stay, I highly recommend Casa de Tounens, which you can purchase through hostels.com.  The owner, Vincent, is really nice, and will help find you trips. The house has several bathrooms and two TVs, along with many English and Spanish movies to watch, and two computers (admittedly, the internet is slow).  Each morning he gave us fresh bread from his bread machine, some sweet breads, and jams and dulce de leche.

Vincent was also kind enough to book (and pay in advance for) several trips for us. In fact, the whole money culture at this hostel and the second one was so relaxed it was shocking. Vincent let us in without ever asking for money, and when we questioned him, he assured us that we just had to pay before we left. Our hostel in El Calafate (America del Sur) also set up and paid for trips for us, and only had us pay on our last night.

Day 2: Kayak

We took a bus down to an area called Punto Píramides to go sea kayaking and see the animals.  No one else was on the ocean, just my friends and myself in our two 2-person kayaks and our guide, a marine biologist. It was amazingly peaceful, and wonderful to be surrounded by nature again after so long in the city.

I just wore a few long sleeve shirts and a pair of long underwear pants. With the spray skirt creating a pocket of air, I was surprisingly warm. (The guide advised me to leave my jeans behind so I’d have something dry to change into; a very good idea).

 

 Right whales use the waters in the area as a mating ground at this time of year, and it was full of the gray animals. We saw one mother with her calf, a surprising white color. The whales came astoundingly close, I’d say they were only 2 or 3 kayak lengths away from us. I once went on a whale tour in Boston, and kayaking here, the whales were far closer. During lunch on the beach side, the whales must have come within 15 feet of the shore to splash around. Our was more concerned with keeping us far enough away from the whales than with trying to get to see them. If we let ourselves drift much closer, we could be hit as the whales swam and jump around.

History Tidbit: According to our guide, right whales have a unusually high amount of blubber, making them particularly desirable to hunters. Many sailors would go out and kill a bunch of whales. Given their particular density, right whales’ corpses float, making them stand out from the others. The name “right whale” comes from the fact that sailors knew that the floating whales were the “right” ones to hunt. In Spanish, the name is “ballena franco” or “honest whale”.

We also saw a collection of black and white birds that at first looked like penguins. On closer examination we saw they had long curved necks and could fly.

As for the land, the beach itself was mostly small rocks and fancy shells, and the sea was bordered by natural rock walls and caves.

After seeing the whales, we paddled over to two sea lion colonies. Their eyes are huge, like chestnuts, and the females have smooth heads. It makes them look like gophers or Whack A Mole heads when they rise from the water. When the sea lions popped up, there was always a hiss, like a puff of steam,  they may have been snorting, I’m not sure.  Each colony consisted of one male and many females basking on a rock. The women were far more friendly and would dive into the water and swim straight for us once we approached. At first I was afraid, thinking we’d angered them, but they just wanted to play. Our guide assured us that as long as the sea lions were in the water, we shouldn’t worry: water is the animals’ element, and if they’re in it, they’re not going to feel threatened. Swarms of sea lions chased our boat and one frolicked too close and hit the front of the kayak. Only when almost all his wives had entered the water would the male think of moving off his rock.

In Spanish sea lions are “sea wolves”. It’s interesting how imprecise our naming is; for most sea animals our names are metaphors: “sea lion”, “sea elephant”, “seahorse”, “sea dragon”. When the Spaniards arrived, they named animals all after things they’d seen in Europe. Guacanos (picture a thin orange llama) were called “camel-dogs”.

                                          Guacano

Traveler’s Tip

The kayaking was with Patagonia Explorers and cost US $100, but included lunch, and the loan of spray skirts and water shoes.

http://patagoniaexplorers.com/sea-kayaking/daily-outings-kayak-whales.html

You have to pay 70 pesos to enter the park. I heard many places that you could get your ticket stamped and re-use it, but the officials there told us no.