Los Antiguos, Patagonia, Argentina

A day by the lake - the water was so clear!

The hostel/fruit farm entrance

We get a late bus from Perito Moreno to Los Antiguos, and arrive there at around 1am. The taxi drops us at the hostel and we knock timidly, both wanting to be let in, but without the disturbance of waking anyone. Eventually, someone hears us and comes to the door. The thing we have discovered thus far into the trip, is that even though you may have booked a room and called in advance to say you're on the way, South Americans are just so relaxed and chilled out that they always seem to have forgotten the plan, always surprised to see you. This of course was one of these cases, and we were relieved to be let in to find we had an 8 bed dorm to ourselves. Sleep, lovely sleep!

A lookout over the town of Los Antiguos

 The village itself is small and pretty, and although it is farther off the beaten track than Perito Moreno, it has a much busier atmosphere and a real sense of community to it. There are some gorgeous locally hand made craft and cheese shops, an active town hall and a beautiful clear water lake on its outskirts. We fill up our mate flask, stop by the bakery, and bring our picnic to the lakes edge for the day. Our first chance so far on the trip to lay out on a beach of sorts for the day...and just relax.

Monument overlooking the town

Our lovely handmade Mate cup from the Buenos Aires San Telmo Markets

We return later that evening to the hostel, where there are some Argentinians about our age, whom have a gazillion bucket-loads of cherries, which we then discovered were growing on the property. It turns out we are staying on a fruit farm! They grow cherries, apples, peaches and pears and we wander the property gorging on fruity goodness....oh wow they were so delicious!

Nommm

After cooking dinner & eating cherries until we're ill, we are at a bit of a loose end, so we take a stroll around the nearby land. We are giddy and silly thinking we're hilarious taking these photos. Apologies in advance...they're not the most interesting!

Although there was nothing much of interest on our walk (besides the tractor), there was a stunning sunset!

Ou est le lapin?!

Awh haw haw haw! Foux foux du fah fah...

Drunk on Cherries

 

We arrive back at our hostel room to find it invaded by a very large and very loud group of Israeli's. One guy makes an effort to chat to us, he seems pretty nice & we decide to head out for a few drinks with them. They drink in the room for a few hours, and by the time they decide to head off, we have decided not to join them as we have to catch a bus early in the morning.

Drifting off to sleep a few hours later, our Israeli friends return, a few drinks all the merrier and I stick on my ipod to block out the chatter. Two hours later the chatter has become loud peals if laughter and shouting and I am a very cranky angry lady. So I wait and I wait, patiently plotting my revenge. I can see Donal on the bunk bed opposite, tossing fitfully, and I know he must also be awake. The din dies down at around 5am when they all finally set to sleep and I get an hours sleep before we have to get up for our bus at 6am.

At 6am I jump out of bed, knowing that what I'm about to do isn't entirely ethical, but I know it will be satisfying, oh the revenge! A bottle of water lies beside my bed, it gets smacked accidentally off the floor, a few times in quick succession. The zipper on my bag will not close and so I open and shut it quickly over and over again. Donal cooks breakfast in the adjoining room and we call and shout loudly across to one another about various irrelevant information. The plastic bags which separate the clothes in my backpack are packed and re-packed until the loud russle sparks an enraged reaction from one of our israeli friends. My work here is done, my revenge satisfied, and we head off, tired, and happy to our early morning bus.

This puppy was in someones front garden. I could very nearly have stolen him. So so cute.

Bawwww

This is a border crossing point between Argentina & Chile

Perito Moreno, Argentina

From El Chalten we have great difficulty getting a direct route to any of the towns up North. With the troublesome, unpaved, Ruta 40 (Route 40) being the only direct road to where we need to go and being near impossible to catch a bus willing to use it, we have quite a dilemma! Our other option is to get a lengthy bus right across to Puerto Madryn on the eastern coast, and then back again to the North West border, which would take at least 2 days to complete. Frustrated temporarily by the landscape, we decide to stay another night in El Chalten and catch an early morning bus to brave the infamous Ruta 40.

Next destination, Perito Moreno, home of Cueva De Los Manos, and not much else. 

Ruta 40 is exactly how various authors described and my imagination re-produced it. Vast, barren, dry landscape never intended for the development of technologies such as cars or bicycles or bare feet. Traveling this route by bus had the feeling of cycling a bicycle through sand dunes. Every turn of a bus tyre that led us a step closer to our destination felt like a victory, a quest we would all eventually achieve and live through together. Although I describe the landscape as dry and barren, it was also very beautiful. With a backdrop of intense blue sky against the yellow rock and surprising flashes of bright green shrubbery and the occasional Rhea, I very much enjoyed this unusual journey.

We arrive in Perito Moreno, to our pre-booked 'hostel'. A horrific place to say the least. It was not a surprise to see that we would be the only guests or that the owners avoided us at all costs, even when payment was due. We had great difficulty finding a hostel even listed in this town, and the only reason we came here ourselves was to bridge the gap between El Chalten and the lovely Esquel, and to see the infamous 'Cueva De Los Manos'. The cave of hands.

We are greeted by our 'host' at the door with a blank stare (no words in case one might have mistaken it for a language barrier), followed by a back turned, and an arm which pointed in the general direction of a windowless room. We look to one another in amusement and follow the pointing arm with our eyes. Had we any other option for somewhere to sleep I would have run from the place hands flailing screaming MURDERERS, alas, there is no room for dramatics where a bed is concerned.

My reaction stems firstly from the rooms lighting, with the singular bulb creating a blue flourescent 'people were/will be slaughtered here' ambiance. There are four beds. One set of bunk beds to my right, one singular bed directly in front, and another single to my left. Each bed sags to within an inch of the concrete floor beneath, their bedding threadbare and dark, obviously to hide any mysterious death stains. The concrete is less forgiving, blotched with dark pools of unknown substances and I consider sleeping with my shoes on.

The bathroom, has a convenient hole in the wall, which seems to have been created by an angry fist of the sort that allows our hosts to keep an eye on our (safety?) whilst we shower etc.
A really lovely spot.

Cueva De Los Manos

Our bus to get the hell out of Perito Moreno, is not until 8pm, and so we have a day to spare to see the infamous Cueva De los Manos. We head off into the village of Perito Moreno in search of some kind of tour company willing to take us to see the amazing cave. Having found a tour operator, and communicating very poorly, what we want to do, we get booked on a tour, but leave with no idea who or where we will be picked up. As we try to piece together confused fragments of the spanish conversation, a man in a jeep pulls up alongside us and hurtles mucho espanol out the windows. He motions irately for us to get into his car. I am torn between being a stupid tourist who jumps in a car with a strange man, or a stupid tourist that can't understand spanish. We hop in.

The man, then takes us to his house and picks up his wife and daughter, whom he would also like to bring to the caves...I love how it's always so relaxed and informal in South America.

Oh and what a worthwhile journey it was! It is amazing how well preserved the caves are and our guide explains to us that because of where they are positioned they are protected both from sunlight, which would have faded the ink, and rain which would wash them away.

The cave is famous (and gets its name as I'm sure you can tell) for the painting of hands. The art in the cave dates from 13,000 to 9,000 years ago and the age of the paintings was calculated from the remains of bone-made pipes used for spraying the paint on the wall of the cave to create silhouettes of hands.

I remember this day was so so hot, my head was on fire!

Ruta 40