Saturday 19 March 2011

... in the empty plains of Patagonia

Two full days on a bus, often rattling over gravel road, with hardly a sign of life outside might sound like a nightmare to many.
But our epic journey on Patagonia´s Ruta 40 proved anything but.
For the first time, I understood what people mean when they talk about "big sky".
All around you see the horizon, giving the effect that clouds seem much lower than normal, as though you could almost reach up into their layers.
It´s quite a powerful effect and one I don´t remember seeing, even in outback Australia.
For some six hours after our 7am departure, the snow-capped Andes were ever-present to our right, while the bus wound between the gentler slopes.
We then turned away from the mountains to a flat expanse of earth, covered with scrubby little plants.
We passed few vehicles and what towns we saw got progressively smaller. By the middle of the second day, the service stations amounted to little more than tumbledown shacks selling empanadas and the odd slice of pizza.
The barren landscape seemed populated only by a few hardy sheep and cattle, with little sign of the huge estancias that produce some of the world´s best meat.
However, the steppes must harbour plenty of rabbits or rodents because it proved ideal territory for hawks, giving the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie and I our first glimpse of the Andean condor along with vultures and other raptors.
We were also treated to a real "Patagonia moment" when the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie woke me from a nap to see a greater rhea (an ostrich-type bird) standing silhoetted on the horizon.
The emptiness gives a real sense of being an insignificant creature on a wild planet - some might point out that´s pretty close to the truth - particularly when at one stage we passed through some red earth hills with a distinctly Martian feel.

Those "essential item" packing lists that guide books love to put together usually include things like a penknife, waterproof jacket or first aid kit.
There´s never a mention of a father-in-law.
But it turns out they can be pretty handy - and not just by being quick to buy a beer or a bottle of wine. (Though some may suggest that´s just being a bad influence).
The Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie, it turns out, is something of a conversation starter, with all manner of folk keen to come over and chat to him.
Meanwhile, two Swedish guys have become particularly enamoured with him.
Handily, they´re both called Anders - so they´re a bit like the Two Ronnies except that one isn´t short and Scottish and the other isn´t portly and, erm, dead.
Anyway, they are very funny guys and along with a Finnish lady called Hannah, we´ve formed a little team as we´ve headed south.
It´s funny the way that happens sometimes and it´s nice to feel like you know someone, rather than having to go through the "where are you from, where are you travelling" conversations every time you arrive at a hostel.
However, the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie seems to have taken his relationship with The Two Anders up a notch to the extent they have started calling him "Papi"
And I´m sure I detected a note of disappointment when he realised the beep of his phone signalled the arrival of a text message from his missus back home, rather than an eagerly-awaited reply to an earlier text from "Chunky" Anders. (That´s as opposed to "Tall" Anders).

The introduction to dormitory life proved something of a baptism of fire for the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie.
When we stopped at a run-down place in the one-horse town of Perito Moreno, at the mid-point of our epic journey,  it was the first time he had shared a room - complete with creaking bunks and a tiny equipped bathroom - with a stranger.
The logistics of getting ready the night before an early start, allowing a quiet departure with a minimum of fuss, proved a little too much.
So it was a cacophany of rustling plastic bags, noisy zips, much frantic whispering and a lot of puffing and panting under a scalding shower that greeted the poor bloke in the bunk below me at 6.15am.
Still, it didn´t take long for "Papi" to get to grips with dorm etiquette.
It´s funny how travelling with your father-in-law forces you to re-examine your daily hygeine.
I initially began resisting the usual tricks of getting a third day out of a T-shirt or doing the inside-out thing with my underpants. (If you don´t know, it´s best not to ask).
But when the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie began using the sniff test on his tops and one morning announced it was "a change-of-socks day", I knew I was out of the woods.

After two days on a bus, we were desperate to stretch our legs and there can be few better places to do that than Argentina´s Parque Nacional de los Glaciares.
From our base in El Chalten, we embarked on two day-long walks.
And eating sandwiches while sitting on a rock opposite the pale blue expanse of Glaciar Grande, with chunks of ice floating on Laguna Torre before us, was something special.
We spotted some 16 Andean condors making their slow circles above the snowy mountainside above us - a sighting confirmed by a park ranger.
The sheer variety of birds living around the rivers, lakes and forests of the area, including parakeets and families of a fantastic red and black woodpecker (carpentario negro gigante), has amazed the twitchers among us.
Other sightings have included the rufous-collared sparrow, grey-hooded sierra finch and the fabulous penguin-coloured mountain caracara.
Meanwhile, The One With The Common Sense (latin name Grizzly ClaraClara) does her best to remain patient.
Our second trek was to involve a steep climb up to a viewpoint to look over the Fitz Roy Massif.
But with wet weather closing in, we decided against it.
No matter, as we made our way back via a viewpoint beside another lagoon, the clouds that had shrouded Fitz Roy´s peak all day parted to offer us a few seconds´ perfect view of the jagged cliffs.
The fresh air, streams carrying delicious icy water made milky by minerals and snow-capped peaks ensured quite a welcome to Patagonia. And the rest of Ruta 40 beckons.

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