Today I was introduced to the “youth hostel” concept, and what can I say except, it must be great if you like community showers, the smell of feet, and sleeping six to a room. In other words, if you like living in a dorm. At school, I lived with this guy in the dorm one year who would never leave the room. Ever. I’m not even sure he went to class. That made it difficult to…entertain. He also loved opera and would just loudly break out in song with no warning. Think of that, but instead of relatively intelligent kids going to school and trying to make something of themselves, replace them with (mostly) dirty, disgusting, unshaven punks with ratty hair, piercings, living out of a backpack and talking bad about the United States, and you’ve got yourself the beginnings of a great youth hostel my friend. Notice how there’s no such thing as a “non-youth hostel”? That’s because at a certain point, things like hygene start to matter.
How did I become such an expert on youth hostels? Because the bus company that makes the run to El Chaltén also owns the main youth hostel in town (yes, there is more than one in El Chaltén). So the drop off/pickup point is at the youth hostel, which means I got to spend a little up close and personal time with youth hostel resident. Holy Schnikees!
El Chaltén is the gravel road community that serves as the launching point for most of the northern portion of Los Glaciares National Park’s hiking trails. Primarily, these trails wind their way near and to two significant mountains: Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitz Roy. Both are massive bare granite spires dominating the surrounding mountains, looking as if though they were arrows fired from below ground, thrust into the sky. Each is surrounded by ice pack and other mountains. Like Perito Moreno Glacier, both are national symbols. They present a very difficult climbing challenge, and have attracted the most accomplished mountain climbers in the world to take a run at their summits. The town itself is basically nothing. Just a place to stay while you’re hiking in the park or for your “base camp,” or for those working in related hiking and mountaineering businesses. The town’s main occupation, however, seems to be “out of business.” The town has no bank or ATM, and the only halfway modern looking building was the police station. Most of the time I was there I could hear roosters crowing. It looks kind of like those towns Clint Eastwood would ride into in the Sergio Leone westerns, although you can at least drink the water and there are even a few cars.
The bus ride took about four hours, not the 2 ½ they advertised. It was largely full, mostly with the aforementioned kids. This included a more reputable-looking group of about six young Irish women. They were cutting up and having fun much the same as the Irish guys from yesterday’s glacier trip. I’d always heard the Irish weren’t so friendly, but maybe these folks seemed different because they were young and haven’t lived through any potato famines (an unfair jab, but Ireland’s economy has picked up considerably in the last decade or so, so I’m guessing the new generation hasn’t lived with or been worn down by the hardships previous generations suffered). Old coots generally aren’t that gregarious. The bus stops first at the park visitor center where an employee explains the park layout, trail conditions, and some of what you’ll see on each of the trails. He said about half the trails were either closed due to ice or they strongly recommended not taking them. Naturally, the main one I wanted to take fell into this category. He recommended an alternative of taking (actually finding and then taking) a taxi along a gravel road to a point north of town to a trailhead that would ultimately give a good view of Fitz Roy. That seemed like a waste, spending $50 on taxis just for a hike, so I decided that because the weather didn’t seem particularly cold I’d take my chances on the trail now that I’m a big snow hiking expert. After all, if he’s so damn smart, why’s he stuck in El Chaltén with a government job?
By the way, hey Argentina, enough with the gravel roads. There’s this new thing, called “concrete.” You should look into it. Tony Soprano can get some for you cheap. New Zealand is a really poor country, and I drove all over the most remote places, which means some of the most remote places anywhere, and didn’t see a single gravel road. At least join the 20th Century Argentina, particularly now that it’s the 21st.
The bus then proceeded to the lovely, mustard yellow colored youth hostel, which dropped everyone off at noon and from which we would leave at six. The Fitz Roy trail I selected led to Lake Capri, near the base of the mountain. It had some initial elevation which required me to hike uphill for a ways, but then leveled out. Midway through the hike it offered a great prospect, a more northern portion of the river running through town, as it flowed through a valley outside town. A couple of large rocky outcroppings and scrub and bush dominated the first part of the trail. The second area closer to the mountains became more wooded and snow covered. It had minimal ice until near the Fitz Roy “mirador” to which I was headed, and even then was easy to negotiate although it did cover the trail. The snow at Bariloche I described earlier was far more difficult to hike through. The mirador has Fitz Roy perfectly framed behind a tree clearing, and was a really peaceful spot-no trains, cars, planes, kids or skate punks whizzing by, or people talking (except for the voices in my head, which in addition to the usual ones urging me to kill, kill, also and oddly berate me for poor personal habits and a lack of punctuality). All I could hear were birds chirping and the breeze blowing. As I was eating some snacks I packed in, another hiker came along and tried to speak with me in Spanish. She knew absolutely no English, although we established she came from Spain and was headed for the lake further down the trail. Of course, she broke out her mate rig. I think I’ve written about this. What can I say except it looks like drinking ditch water?
After coming down the mountain, which today was not nearly so difficult, I walked back through the “town” to the park visitor’s center to hike the Los Condores trail in the remaining 2 ½ hours until the bus leaves. This is a shorter hike through a canyon, with some moderate inclines that initially give great views of both Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy, and at the end, a really impressive panoramic view of the other direction, including the valley below and mountains on three sides. Spanish signs along the trail (and the trail name itself) suggests that this is condor habitat, but unfortunately, I didn’t see any. On the way back, I saw a creek at which some horses were watering, that looked like a cross between a stock tank and a pond (“we’ve got a pool and a pond; a pond would be good for you.”).
The ride back was uneventful. My hoped for good sunset didn’t happen. We stopped at a place in the absolute middle of nowhere called La Leona, a road hotel, for the bus driver to take a break and the passengers to get coffee, use the restrooms, etc. We had made this stop on the way to El Chaltén as well. Its pretty much non-descript, except it claims that its been in business for more than 100 years, functioning originally as a place for sheep farmers to stay while making the lengthy river crossing with their herds. The only reason I even mention it is that the information said that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the Kid’s wife Etta, stayed there for about a month once while on the run after a bank robbery. Apparently Butch had bought a ranch in western Argentina and lived there for a long time, before moving on to Bolivia. The movie skipped that part altogether.
We didn’t arrive back in town until close to 10. I stashed my backpack back at the hotel (two blocks off the main drag), got changed, and went looking for somewhere to eat dinner. As I returned to the main drag, I noticed most of the cars were honking—incessantly. No obvious reason suggested itself, until I realized it was Saturday night and maybe this was young people cruising. I haven’t seen cruising main street since I lived in Alexandria, Louisiana in 1991. In other words, since the last time I lived somewhere that had absolutely nothing to do at night. Obviously, its time to leave this place and go to my final stop on my Argentina 2008 Tour-Puerto Madryn.
Tomorrow-Going to Trelew and Puerto Madryn
How did I become such an expert on youth hostels? Because the bus company that makes the run to El Chaltén also owns the main youth hostel in town (yes, there is more than one in El Chaltén). So the drop off/pickup point is at the youth hostel, which means I got to spend a little up close and personal time with youth hostel resident. Holy Schnikees!
El Chaltén is the gravel road community that serves as the launching point for most of the northern portion of Los Glaciares National Park’s hiking trails. Primarily, these trails wind their way near and to two significant mountains: Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitz Roy. Both are massive bare granite spires dominating the surrounding mountains, looking as if though they were arrows fired from below ground, thrust into the sky. Each is surrounded by ice pack and other mountains. Like Perito Moreno Glacier, both are national symbols. They present a very difficult climbing challenge, and have attracted the most accomplished mountain climbers in the world to take a run at their summits. The town itself is basically nothing. Just a place to stay while you’re hiking in the park or for your “base camp,” or for those working in related hiking and mountaineering businesses. The town’s main occupation, however, seems to be “out of business.” The town has no bank or ATM, and the only halfway modern looking building was the police station. Most of the time I was there I could hear roosters crowing. It looks kind of like those towns Clint Eastwood would ride into in the Sergio Leone westerns, although you can at least drink the water and there are even a few cars.
The bus ride took about four hours, not the 2 ½ they advertised. It was largely full, mostly with the aforementioned kids. This included a more reputable-looking group of about six young Irish women. They were cutting up and having fun much the same as the Irish guys from yesterday’s glacier trip. I’d always heard the Irish weren’t so friendly, but maybe these folks seemed different because they were young and haven’t lived through any potato famines (an unfair jab, but Ireland’s economy has picked up considerably in the last decade or so, so I’m guessing the new generation hasn’t lived with or been worn down by the hardships previous generations suffered). Old coots generally aren’t that gregarious. The bus stops first at the park visitor center where an employee explains the park layout, trail conditions, and some of what you’ll see on each of the trails. He said about half the trails were either closed due to ice or they strongly recommended not taking them. Naturally, the main one I wanted to take fell into this category. He recommended an alternative of taking (actually finding and then taking) a taxi along a gravel road to a point north of town to a trailhead that would ultimately give a good view of Fitz Roy. That seemed like a waste, spending $50 on taxis just for a hike, so I decided that because the weather didn’t seem particularly cold I’d take my chances on the trail now that I’m a big snow hiking expert. After all, if he’s so damn smart, why’s he stuck in El Chaltén with a government job?
By the way, hey Argentina, enough with the gravel roads. There’s this new thing, called “concrete.” You should look into it. Tony Soprano can get some for you cheap. New Zealand is a really poor country, and I drove all over the most remote places, which means some of the most remote places anywhere, and didn’t see a single gravel road. At least join the 20th Century Argentina, particularly now that it’s the 21st.
The bus then proceeded to the lovely, mustard yellow colored youth hostel, which dropped everyone off at noon and from which we would leave at six. The Fitz Roy trail I selected led to Lake Capri, near the base of the mountain. It had some initial elevation which required me to hike uphill for a ways, but then leveled out. Midway through the hike it offered a great prospect, a more northern portion of the river running through town, as it flowed through a valley outside town. A couple of large rocky outcroppings and scrub and bush dominated the first part of the trail. The second area closer to the mountains became more wooded and snow covered. It had minimal ice until near the Fitz Roy “mirador” to which I was headed, and even then was easy to negotiate although it did cover the trail. The snow at Bariloche I described earlier was far more difficult to hike through. The mirador has Fitz Roy perfectly framed behind a tree clearing, and was a really peaceful spot-no trains, cars, planes, kids or skate punks whizzing by, or people talking (except for the voices in my head, which in addition to the usual ones urging me to kill, kill, also and oddly berate me for poor personal habits and a lack of punctuality). All I could hear were birds chirping and the breeze blowing. As I was eating some snacks I packed in, another hiker came along and tried to speak with me in Spanish. She knew absolutely no English, although we established she came from Spain and was headed for the lake further down the trail. Of course, she broke out her mate rig. I think I’ve written about this. What can I say except it looks like drinking ditch water?
After coming down the mountain, which today was not nearly so difficult, I walked back through the “town” to the park visitor’s center to hike the Los Condores trail in the remaining 2 ½ hours until the bus leaves. This is a shorter hike through a canyon, with some moderate inclines that initially give great views of both Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy, and at the end, a really impressive panoramic view of the other direction, including the valley below and mountains on three sides. Spanish signs along the trail (and the trail name itself) suggests that this is condor habitat, but unfortunately, I didn’t see any. On the way back, I saw a creek at which some horses were watering, that looked like a cross between a stock tank and a pond (“we’ve got a pool and a pond; a pond would be good for you.”).
The ride back was uneventful. My hoped for good sunset didn’t happen. We stopped at a place in the absolute middle of nowhere called La Leona, a road hotel, for the bus driver to take a break and the passengers to get coffee, use the restrooms, etc. We had made this stop on the way to El Chaltén as well. Its pretty much non-descript, except it claims that its been in business for more than 100 years, functioning originally as a place for sheep farmers to stay while making the lengthy river crossing with their herds. The only reason I even mention it is that the information said that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the Kid’s wife Etta, stayed there for about a month once while on the run after a bank robbery. Apparently Butch had bought a ranch in western Argentina and lived there for a long time, before moving on to Bolivia. The movie skipped that part altogether.
We didn’t arrive back in town until close to 10. I stashed my backpack back at the hotel (two blocks off the main drag), got changed, and went looking for somewhere to eat dinner. As I returned to the main drag, I noticed most of the cars were honking—incessantly. No obvious reason suggested itself, until I realized it was Saturday night and maybe this was young people cruising. I haven’t seen cruising main street since I lived in Alexandria, Louisiana in 1991. In other words, since the last time I lived somewhere that had absolutely nothing to do at night. Obviously, its time to leave this place and go to my final stop on my Argentina 2008 Tour-Puerto Madryn.
Tomorrow-Going to Trelew and Puerto Madryn
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