How popular is smoking here? At the Salta airport, I saw a woman sitting right under a “no fumando” sign smoking. And there was an ashtray under the sign as well. Everywhere around, people ignore rules and signs, like “go” and “stop” or “no smoking” or “no passing.” After awhile, you start to miss people following rules, like the five times I've almost been run over since I've been here. This is definitely the opposite of England in that respect.
This was mostly a travel day, so there’s not much here other than my introduction to Bariloche.
Leaving Salta was a bit difficult, as flights were again delayed all over the country, this time due to Buenos Aires air traffic control. But my flight to Bariloche wasn’t terribly delayed in the end. Its another crystal clear day, and a bit cooler than in Salta. Snow is ominously piled up at the airport near the gate and edges of the runways.
Bariloche is basically a ski resort in Argentina’s “Lake District,” an area in the middle of the western border, close to the Andes and surrounded by seven mountain lakes. Bariloche is located on the south shore of Lake Naheul Huapi. Surrounding it for a huge expanse is Nahuel Huapi National Park, the first national park in Argentina, and other ski communities such as San Martin de los Andes and Villa La Angustura. Its only about 100 years old, relatively new for Argentina, and also noticeably larger than other ski towns I’ve visited. It was settled originally by Germans and other central Europeans. Although it hasn’t exactly succumbed to outright tourist trap-ism, its choked with traffic and people, and has a sort of “nothing special” feel to it. There’s not much in the way of interesting architecture, and the main streets are filled with relatively downscale (for a ski resort) shops and restaurants. It does have a slight European feel to it. The views of the lake and mountains to the north are compelling, however, and the air has that clean, crisp mountain feel. A welcome change from the still-resonating Buenos Aires air.
The town seems to be filled with kids, teenagers and early to mid-20 year olds, staying in hostels and rolling around in packs of 5-10 at a time. They appear to spend all day skiing, and all night out. I was behind three girls in the supermarket check out line, obviously only a few days older than the legal drinking age of 18, stocking up on their week’s worth of booze (or night’s worth). No, I did not introduce myself or follow them, thank you. Give me credit for some class.
The other thing filling the town is chocolate. I’ve never seen so many chocolate stores in one place in my life. There’s even a Museo de Chocolate on the north side of town, which actually makes chocolate. Nearly all these chocolate stores have been filled every time I’ve been walking around the town. And they stay filled until late in the night, as many have small attached cafés.
I’m staying at a small family-owned “hosteria,” which is like a glorified motel. Its perfect, with a cheap rate, nice room, in-room internet access, etc. Walking around that evening, I stop in the local “cathedral,” which is on the lake shore. Its also new by Argentina standards, but has elements of Catholic church architecture from other parts of the country, including the Renaissance style domed interior ceiling. Also stopped in the National Park headquarters to get hiking information from the allergy-riddled, non-english speaking desk attendant. That was fun. I had dinner in a small but excellent restaurant, Santos, located in an old house. The owner kept visiting with everyone in the place, including me, particularly when there was a brief power outage and he was lighting candles everywhere. I had an outstanding meal of trout almandine (which rivaled even Galatoire’s) and potatoes with spinach. I’ve noticed in staying here that potatoes are a very big menu item, which must come from the town’s German origins. At the table next to me was a couple from Colorado. The guy is working in town for six months, and unfortunately sounded exactly like Michael Murphy from the Woody Allen movie Manhattan.
Neither the restaurant nor my hotel take credit cards. I've begun to notice that lots of merchants don't either, and those that do often have a "minimum charge" that the credit card companies officially prohibit but in practice do nothing to enforce. Not exactly sure why there's such widespread non-acceptance of credit cards. I'm sympathetic though-the credit card companies make money hand over fist. They charge the merchant a fee for every transaction, and make tons of money off the users in late fees and interest. So I'm all for sticking it to them, but it makes it incredibly inconvenient to have to carry cash, particularly in a foreign country. I think the real reason is that merchants don't want a paper trail documenting their revenue. You may be shocked to learn that some bar and restaurant owners don't exactly scrupulously report every cent they earn to the taxing authorities. See what failing to enforce little laws leads to? Coca leaves and tax fraud.
Tomorrow-hiking in Nahuel Huapi National Park and Llao Llao Peninsula
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