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D L M M J V S martes Destino: El Calafate

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Modo : Pies y ómnibus
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10 de diciembre
29 30 31 Distancia : 200 kilómetros
Puerto Natales, Chile a El Calafate, Argentina

We woke at 5:00, packed the mochilas and prepared to leave the

! Hotel Bulnes with empty stomachs. Unfortunately, we were leaving the
hotel too early to get our complimentary desayuno. The hotel owner
would be sleeping soundly for at least two more hours. On the way out
of the front door, we placed our lodging pesos in a small wicker basket
behind the front desk. Express Check Out...Chilean Style.
As we were strolling toward the bus station, a small
dog passed by us. Seconds later, six wild
canines came barreling around the
corner, viciously attacking the
little mongrel and flinging him
around like a rag doll. Some
concerned locals joined Andy and me as we yelled and tried to distract
the savage pack. We finally succeeded in scaring off the dogs and their
four-legged victim scampered away. By this time Andy and I were
emotionally shaken but undeniably awake.
We continued on to the bus station
where the Cootra bus was waiting and A lonely coaltrain engine
running at 6:30. For fifteen pesos apiece,
we would be back in El Calafate by
lunchtime. With tickets in-hand, we
found a couple of seats near the rear of
the bus. Unfortunately, we made the sits in Puerto Natlaes’ city square
mistake of choosing the aisle directly
above the rear Michelins. Paved roads would be a luxury reserved for the
first five miles of the trip, so the resulting bounce factor was high.
An hour later we changed buses and continued on to the Chile/
Argentina border where we crossed without incident. A white Christmas
tree on the checkpoint’s porch reminded us that we only had fourteen
more shopping days until Christmas. We got back on the bus and slept

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for about an hour until we reached the
Last Chance Petroleo!
most remote hotel in the region. We
stopped in the hotel’s restaurant for the
requisite jamón y queso sandwich, two
alfajores and a cold Coke. I made a
bathroom stop before getting back on the
bus and discovered two cartoon drawings Next Exit: 150 miles
on the wall. As a reminder to visitors to
toss their toilet paper in the wastebasket, the owners had drawn a fearless
toilet character (Captain Potty?) diagramming the
wrong (No) and right (Sí) way to throw away
your papel higienico.
Back in El Calafate, we found ourselves at
the familiar Terminal de Omnibus and learned
that we had, of course, missed all of that days’
buses north to Mt. Fitz Roy. Contrary to
popular belief, the word “calafate” does not
mean “wait” in Spanish. The town is actually named for a type of wild
berry which grows throughout this region. El Calafate was founded
back in 1927 when it became a popular stopover for stagecoach travelers;
little would change over the ensuing seventy years. The only discernible
difference would be that today’s transients are mostly European and their
preferred method of transport is not a trusty caballo but a reliable forty-
eight passenger Mercedes bus.
Inside the bus station, we bumped into a Canadian couple who were
also on their way to Mt. Fitz Roy. Gary and Shauna, both from Toronto,
had been hoping to catch a bus to Fitz Roy that afternoon. Andy and I,
the resident experts, explained just how things worked around here to
the Calafate novices, and they followed us outside to begin our quest for
lodging. We stood on the corner for desayuno: breakfast
a minute until we saw the familiar jamón y queso: ham and cheese
alfajores: Argentine dessert biscuit
red Renault of our friend, Rodrigo. sandwiched in layers of chocolate.
Rodrigo took the four of us to the papel higienico: toilet paper
caballo: horse
Hospedaje del Norte, a spotless hostel
which cost a reasonable twelve pesos a night. Once settled, we took a
brief siesta, knowing that our fellow Calafateans would be doing the
same until 16:00.

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 Intent on putting a dent in that Christmas shopping list, we went to
$ town and found a gift shop that sold hand-
painted t-shirts and other handmade
crafts. In the spirit of giving, we each
bought a t-shirt for ourselves. In all
fairness, it is somewhat difficult for us
to load up on gifts for friends and loved
ones, because we’ll just have to carry them around
on our backs for the next three weeks. We then took our new
purchases next door to the town laundromat where we washed a basket
of dirty clothes for eight pesos. Our fine washables would not be ready
for three hours, so we had some time to kill. We resolved to figure out
how we were going to handle the leg of our trip after our three-day trek
around Mt. Fitz Roy.
We wanted to go north from El Calafate to either Puerto Montt,
Chile or the Bariloche, Argentina lake region by bus. We were told at the
bus station that if we wanted to go north, we would have to go back
southeast for three plus hours to Río Gallegos, where our journey began.
We got a similar story at the Tourism Office. Ditto at the only travel
agency in town that sold airline tickets. Ground transportation was our
only hope. All possible flights were either sold-out or departing from far
away coastal towns like Trelew or Comodoro Rivadavia. One option
was to take the bus from El Calafate northwest up to Bariloche. But the
thought of being cooped up for forty-eight hours in the winding lakes
region was rather unappealing.
Finally, we went back to the bus station and sat down on the
floor in front of a giant map of the Patagonia. We decided to analyze the
problem from a different perspective. As long as we had
to go south in order to go north, why not make the
southern leg count. In a flash of brilliance-or maybe
dire confusion-we decided to try Chile’s southernmost
airport in Punta Arenas and fly out of there on the
cheaper and often more reliable LanChile.
We made an unsuccessful attempt to contact LanChile from the
telefonica in town and finally decided to put off worrying about the trip
north until we had completed our Tour de Fitz Roy. We would definitely
be flying by the seat of our pants by traveling over eight hours down

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south to Punta Arenas without confirmed reservations out of there, but
that was the plan that we agreed upon. So after one week, it seems like
this uncertainty drug is the fuel feeding our adventure. Our addiction to
this thrill of the unknown is quite serious and will obviously have to be
treated upon returning to the perfectly-functioning, nonstop, on-time
world that is the United States.
We had dinner at a cornerside café downtown on Avenida San Martín
for twenty pesos which included lomo, a salad and a Quilmes Cristal. On
our way back to the Hospedaje del Norte, we picked up some alfajores
and other premium bus snacks at a nearby autoservicio. Back at the hostel,
we sat up until 23:30 talking to Gary and Shauna about traveling which
they, like most everyone we encountered, had done extensively. After
midnight, we repacked and got ready for a good night’s sleep. Just as we
turned off the bedside lamp though, a rock band started playing in the
garage across the street. The Patagonia jam session would last until the
wee hours of the morning. Apparently, the son of the hostel owner plays
guitar in the band, and they were rehearsing for an upcoming gig on
Saturday night. By our estimates, the group’s practice was much-needed.

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