Hasta Luego, Patagonia Argentina!

article from May 18, 2011

by Julie R Butler

Well, we packed our car to the hilt, stuffed myself and our growing dog into the passenger seat area, hugged and kissed the people who took us in like family, and left Patagonia behind.

We lived in the Comarca Andina for a total of nearly 16 months, and the whole time we were there, we felt fortunate to have come to such a very special place. Tucked away in a low valley between the high Andes Cordillera and a spectacular Precordillera, the microclimate is perfect for all kinds of berries, fine fruits, and hops. The organic farming movement is alive and well there, and the artisans who gather to sell their wares at the large and well-established feria make for a mix of people that runs from rough and ready gauchos who raise sheep and cattle the old-fashioned way to dreadlocked hippies. Tolerance and coexistence rule the day, and everyone else, it seems, also feels lucky to be able to live their lives there.

We had our winter in the Patagonian Andes. We were content, if a bit chilly, sharing Sunday afternoon asados with our good friends, who gently nudged us along in our attempts to better speak their language. They taught us an enormous amount about Argentine customs, politics, and culture, and showed us how to navigate the uncertainties of Argentine life with grace and humor and love.

We will miss them horribly, far more than we will miss the gorgeous surroundings, because at least we have photos of that, which we can share:

All photos by Jamie Douglas:

Julie R Butler is a writer, journalist, editor, and author of several books, including Nine Months in Uruguay and No Stranger To Strange Lands (click here for more info). She is a contributor to Speakout at Truthout.org, and her current blog is Connectively Speaking.

email: julierbutler [at] yahoo [dot] com, Twitter: @JulieRButler

Expatriating, The Nomadic Way: Uruguay to Patagonia

article from December 29, 2010
The continuing saga of how we got to where we are
By Jamie Douglas

We arrived in Colonia del Sacramento after a quick and uneventful crossing of the Río de la Plata from Buenos Aires. As we moved away from the metropolis, we watched the brown haze disappear on the horizon behind us. I am glad we did not add too much of that to our lungs!

Known simply as Colonia, this city’s Barrio Histórico is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and it was immaculately maintained, with many of the buildings painted in various shades of pastels, and most of the cobblestone streets were traffic free. There were several museums, and for a small fee, you could get a ticket that would allow you to visit all of them over a few days time, which we did. From a photographer’s point of view, it was really fabulous. We enjoyed excellent meals, tried the Uruguayan Tannat, sipped local artisan beers at the riverfront, and found that the laid-back reputation we had heard about Uruguay was true.

But after a few days, it was time to head on in our quest to find a place to live for a while. First, we went to Nueva Helvecia, also known, Colonia Suiza, where the early Swiss immigrants started a thriving dairy industry, which today makes cheeses that rival any coming from Europe. The bus ride from Colonia was a very congenial affair, taking us through lovely farming countryside right to the town’s central plaza. We marveled at the colossal monument to the early Swiss settlers (designed by an Italian), but because that was about all there was to see, we realized that this town was way too tranquil for us.

Next, we headed off to Montevideo, which has one of the most buzzing bus terminals I have ever seen, with a fine restaurant that served us world-class meals, at travelers’ prices, y muy pronto. An hour later, we were on our way to Rocha, where the plan was to hit the beach the following day, but once again, the plan changed en route, and we went straight to La Paloma that same evening.

La Paloma is a vacation town, designed as such by an architect with wide boulevards and streets named after classical Greco-Roman deities. Lo and behold, the day after our arrival, we found a vacation house for US$80 per month at the intersection of Eros and Adonis, in the shadow of the lighthouse. The casco viejo, where we lived, was virtually abandoned, but it was not far to walk to the center of town, where a few stores and businesses stay open in the off-season. We were practically on the beach, where we encountered Magellanic penguins, and an occasional sea lion. The rock formations that make the cape so dangerous for ships are absolutely amazing.

For the most part, during our nearly seven months there, it was cold and sometimes extremely windy. Our roof was secured with 100-kilo boulders, so they were obviously used to the wind. As the summertime tourist season neared, we started looking for a place to rent year round, but nobody was interested. All of the houses are rented out by the day or the week. In the end, we were forced to move to Rocha, where we rented a house from a friend who worked in La Paloma and had relatives she could stay with for the season.

We got to see all of the funky little beach towns between La Paloma and Chuy, Brazil – La Padrera, Cabo Polonia, Punta del Diablo – and we also took a trip inland to Minas, in “the mountains,” and, of course, we spent some quality time in Montevideo. But after almost nine months in Uruguay, we heard the real mountains calling us back. So we packed our meager belongings and hopped on a bus to Montevideo, ate at our favorite bus terminal restaurant one more time, then rode an overnight bus to Córdoba, Argentina. This city’s architecture, history, and culture are so interesting that there will be a separate article to come.

Another overnight bus ride took us to San Rafael in the wine country of Mendoza Province, and yet another all the way to El Bolsón, in Patagonia. And thanks to our friend Miguel at Don Celestino Cabañas, whom we had met the previous year, we found our proverbial paradise: a relatively new house on an isolated farm in a valley within a valley, with a lovely family that took us in like long-lost relatives. We now have a garden, a view onto snow-capped mountains, fruit orchards, dogs, cats, chickens, and peace of mind. We are here now, feel at home and are enjoying ourselves, but we are also aware that we are nomads, and that the world is round, and we are also acutely aware of how big South America is, and how little of it we have really experienced. To see it is one thing, to live it is another. Someone once said: “A tourist knows where he is going; a traveler knows where he’s been!” And to that I add, “A nomad never knows what the hell tomorrow brings!”

Live your life, because you never know what the hell tomorrow brings!

Jamie Douglas

Patagonia

[All photos by Jamie Douglas]

I encourage you to write me at cruzansailor [at] gmail [dot] com with any questions or suggestions you may have. Disclaimer: I am not in any travel-related business. My advice is based on my own experiences and is free of charge (Donations welcome). It is always my pleasure to act as a beneficial counselor to those who are seekers of the next adventure.

Expatriating, The Nomadic Way: Crossing Patagonia by Train

article from December 27, 2010
The continuing saga of how we got to where we are

By Jamie Douglas

We ended up staying at Don Celestino Cabañas, in El Bolsón, at the foot of the Patagonian Andes, for about 6 weeks, where only the winter rains ended up driving us away. “The rains of the century,” they called them. It turned out that we were able to harness the free Internet from the gas station across the street with the computer perched on a pile of suitcases in front of the upstairs window, or we could walk over and have a cup of coffee to do our Internet communicating. (Marina and Miguel are constantly making improvements to their various cabañas, so the Internet access for their guests has improved since then.)

Before the rains, while the weather was gorgeous, we made many excursions, went to the artisan market three times a week, walked to the vista overlooking the valley, to the river, to different parts of town, always with Mora, the faithful companion doberman who was as sweet as they come, at our side.

But soon, it was time to move on. I had heard that there was a weekly train that ran from Bariloche to Viedma, on the Atlantic side, and, being train buffs, we decided that el Tren Patagonico would be a great way to get back to the east coast from the Andes. It was an overnight ride across the Patagonian steppes that gave us a gorgeous sunset view out over Lake Nahuel Huapi, then a moonrise over deserted hills, half a day of passing through windswept badlands, and ended up with us getting locked inside our cabin because the ladder to get to the upper bunk got stuck in the bracket that was on the inside of the door. So when we arrived at the Viedma train station, it took us quite a while to free ourselves. But it all happened for a reason.

We got into town later than we wanted to, and then went to get a bite to eat before taking the romantic, age-old boat ride across the Río Negro to Carmen de Patagones, the old colonial city on the other side of the river, with our computer, our cameras etc...

Well, when we arrived at the dock, there were all kinds of navy and police officers all around telling us that the boat ride was temporarily suspended. We took a few photos along the river, and of the big statue of Argentina’s bigger-than-life heroine, Evita Péron, and then took a very long taxi ride over the old bridge to the other side, which we found to be much more charming, since it had not washed away in the floods a few years prior. There, we took more photos, had a few beers in a little bar, and toward the end of the day, walked down to the river, hoping to catch the boat back to Viedma. No such luck. So we hoofed it back up the steep hill to the cathedral and took a taxi back across the river, via the new bridge this time, to our hotel.

The next day, we booked an overnight sleeper bus to take us back to Buenos Aires, then went to have our customary coffees, and as I was looking at a newspaper from Buenos Aires in the café, I discovered that the ferry we had wanted to ride had exploded mid-river the day before, with all onboard. Many people were badly burned, but fortunately, nobody lost their lives. It was due to our discombobulated circumstances on the train that we still have the our skin, our laptop, and our cameras, which we carried with us wherever we went, because leaving things in hotels is the easiest way to lose them – except for when the boat blows up.

Amazed at the coincidences of the previous day, we headed down to the riverfront to have a nice meal and use the Wi-Fi at a hip yet comfy little restaurant, took a taxi back across the river, went to the hangout that we had discovered the day before, drank beers and conversed with a woman we had seen on the train, and I went and walked around town to take one more round of photos while we waited for the hour of our departure.

We had talked of meeting up with the woman in Buenos Aires, where she was also headed on an overnight bus, but when we awoke the next morning on our bus, finding ourselves winding our way through the insane city traffic, we suddenly decided to go straight to the Buque Bus terminal from the main bus terminal and head straight on over to Uruguay on one of the giant ferries that the company runs from Buenos Aires to both Colonia del Sacramento and Montevideo. So, by 2 pm on June 10, we touched Uruguayan soil, two months after we left the USA. All was wonderful. We had finally arrived, right where we wanted to be.

 

So, as Paul Harvey would have said, and now you know... the rest of the story (But wait, there’s still more.)

Until then, continue to live your dreams.

Jamie Douglas

Patagonia

[All photos by Jamie Douglas]

I encourage you to write me at cruzansailor [at] gmail [dot] com with any questions or suggestions you may have. Disclaimer: I am not in any travel-related business. My advice is based on my own experiences and is free of charge (Donations welcome). It is always my pleasure to act as a beneficial counselor to those who are seekers of the next adventure.

Expatriating, The Nomadic Way: So, Now What?

article from December 21, 2010
By Jamie Douglas

In the previous installment, I described my wife and my departure from the USA and arrival in Buenos Aires, Argentina. This is what happened next.

After the first couple of days of living diagonally across the street from the Federal Police Headquarters, watching the armored personnel carriers and water canon trucks come and go, with fire trucks literally shooting out of a garage in the middle of the block, we decided not to continue our nightly disturbances, opting instead to move right into the center of town, two doors down from the intersection of  Avenida de Mayo and Avenida 9 de Julio, to the charming and surprisingly affordable, Hotel Reina.

Everything was within walking distance from our location right on the main avenue that leads from the Casa Rosada to the Palacio del Congreso, assuring almost daily protest marches from a large cross section of the population. Nothing ever turned violent, but the armored personnel carriers and water cannons were there, just to make sure. The obelisk was  a couple of blocks away, and we often strolled the pedestrian-only mall on Florida, where there were Tango performances at night, street vendors galore, mostly selling handicrafts from Peru and Ecuador, stores and ice cream shops, and a sufficient tourist police presence that made us feel fairly secure.

But after so much Tango, a fiery Flamenco festival, many great cafés and restaurants, and walking dozens of miles all over the city for over a week, we remembered why we came to Argentina – and it was not to be in one of the world’s largest metropolises. We had read on the Internet about this cute little hippie town in the Andes called El Bolsón.

To get there, we first had to endure a 20-hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to San Carlos de Bariloche, which was brutal. Our attendant was a complete douchebag – about as inattentive as you can get – and we, as unknowing yanquis, had thought that “first class” would mean that there would be plenty of food and water on board, so we failed to stock up. Very Important Note: When taking long distance public transport – anywhere in the world – do yourself a favor and bring your own water and snacks. Our attendant would   disappear for hours, not caring about the well-being of his guests. Finally, at around 11 pm, after seven hours on the road, he delivered the worst form of packaged meal you could imagine. I will spare you the details.

We finally arrived in Bariloche the next afternoon, got a room in a hostería, grabbed a decent meal, and crashed in a quiet room overlooking Lake Nahuel Huapi. We spent a few days there, but it was so touristy that we were more than ready to head on to El Bolsón, which is a few hours to the south, right on the 42nd parallel south.

After booking one night in a budget hotel that lacked the usual facilities but had a fabulous restaurant across the street, we decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, even though it was only cuatro de Mayo, in Patagonian style, with an early dinner of great food, a bottle of Malbec, and for dessert, we couldn't resist a splurge on the spectacularly artful tiramisú and chocolate mousse.

Then we went to the tourist office to inquire about renting an apartment, or a cabaña, for a month or so. The helpful fellow behind the desk recommended a place called Los Girasoles that came complete with Internet and cheery restaurant, but when we got there, most unfortunately, we found that they were booked up. Dejectedly, we began to walk back to the tourist office, and within less than a block, we saw a lovely hand carved wooden sign announcing the Don Celestino Cabañas – a turn of fate. We knocked on the door, met the proprietress, Marina Losada, and her companion Miguel, who speaks some English, and were shown a wonderful, new, yet rustic, two-story apartment by these friendly people. We immediately booked for four weeks.

When we returned to our east-facing room back at the other end of town that evening, we were treated to one of the most astounding sights, as the full moon rose above Cerro Piltriquitrón. It was a truly magical day.

I will have to leave it there until the next installment, when our skin, or at least our cameras, are saved by a broken ladder.

Until then, continue to live your dreams.

Jamie Douglas

Patagonia

Don Celestino Cabañas, Avenida San Martín 3430

Tel 02944 498521 or Cell 02944 15 591069

[All photos by Jamie Douglas]

I encourage you to write me at cruzansailor [at] gmail [dot] com with any questions or suggestions you may have. Disclaimer: I am not in any travel-related business. My advice is based on my own experiences and is free of charge (Donations welcome). It is always my pleasure to act as a beneficial counselor to those who are seekers of the next adventure.

Trout Fishing in the Americas

article from November 25, 2010
Not by Richard Brautigan

Lago Epuyén (photo by Jamie Douglas)

North America’s rivers offer some of the best trout fishing in the world! But did you know that Argentina’s rivers and lakes also have some fabulous opportunities for sportsmen and women to catch the big ones? I am talking trout of 9-15 pounds that put up a valiant fight. Patagonia’s many lakes and rivers are full of trout, and there are many guides and outfitters that will gladly take you to their favorite spots. The best viewing we had recently was on the shores of Lago Epuyén, just an hour or so south of El Bolsón.

We went to the shore last fall to take pictures and pick mushrooms. As soon as we arrived, the caretaker of the rustic campground came out to greet us ( but not to hustle us for anything), inviting us out to the pier. He had a bucket of “slop” – mostly bread and water – with him. First, he stood on the dock and clapped his hands a few times. Within a few minutes, he pointed out the fish in the crystal clear waters, and my jaw dropped. I had never seen trout of this size.

Our new friend started throwing handfuls of the slop into the water, and the feeding frenzy that ensued reminded me very much of Amazonia, where the vaqueros sacrificed the weakest in the herd to the voracious Piranhas a little downriver from where they intended to ford with their cattle and horses. As soon as the cow was herded into the water, hundreds of piranhas attacked, and within 10-15 minutes there was literally just a skeleton on a sandbank picked so clean, you would have thought that it had been there for months. Strangely enough, attacks on humans are rare, as are attacks by trout on humans in Patagonia.

From northern Patagonia all the way to Tierra del Fuego, on both the Argentine and Chilean side of the border, there are hundreds of lakes and streams where one can enjoy a peaceful and undisturbed day or week practicing the fine art of fly-fishing. The rivers run year round, and unless there has just been a major period of bad weather, the streams are crystal clear. For those who are adventurous, camping is a great option, as long as good care is taken with the fire built for cooking your delicious dinner. The best time is from late November until April. For those wanting a little more comfort, there are cabins available in many places, and no area is ever over-occupied. Accommodations range from the frugal to the luxurious, with or without meals, and most places will be happy to prepare your catch.

Fishing licenses are obligatory and can be obtained in many places at a very reasonable price.

One thing to remember is that if you go to Chile, you have to buy the reciprocal visa to that which the US charges Chileans, about $135 at this writing (November 2010). Once you pay for that, it is good for as long as your passport is valid. Argentina just recently adopted the same requirements for US citizens arriving at the Ezeiza International Airport. These rules apply to US citizens and Canadians. Citizens of the EU and Switzerland are exempt.

Happy fishing!

Find information on the ArgentinaTouristica.com website's "Sporting Fishing" page. This is from the English page on El Bolsón: “It is embedded in a picturesque and colourful mountain valley that ends up in the Puelo lake.”

Jack Trout, Fly Fishing International operates out of Chile.

Jamie Douglas
At large in South America

I encourage you to write me at cruzansailor [at] gmail [dot] com with any questions or suggestions you may have. Disclaimer: I am not in any travel-related business. My advice is based on my own experiences and is free of charge (Donations welcome). It is always my pleasure to act as a beneficial counselor to those who are seekers of the next adventure.