20th-21st October: Bariloche, Argentina

After a sleepless night thanks to the paper-thin walls that excluded neither sound nor the cold, we woke in time to catch the 6.45am bus to Osorno.  We arrived at around 11.30, leaving us just enough time to have lunch before catching the onward bus to Bariloche, Argentina.

After an hour or two we crossed the Chilean border into Argentina, and we were greeted by the spectacular scenery of the Parque National Nahuel Huapi.  Even more incredible than the sheer rock faces, dense forest, and beautifully clear lakes was the thick mantle of volcanic ash that covered everything for miles and miles.  We'd heard about the ash cloud from the eruption of Chile's Volcano Puyehue in June 2011, but we couldn't have imagined how a layer of fine, grey ash could cover, completely cover, every square inch within a radius of at least several hours driving.  We passed through one small town where we saw the cleanup still in progress (which explained why the highway was the only place without ash).  Several people (including our bus conductor, who had to hop out at some points) were wearing masks to keep out the dust.

The national park just over the Argentinian border, covered with ash

And more ash

We arrived in Bariloche in the late afternoon and caught a taxi to our hostel, Hospedaje Wikter.  Bariloche's setting is simply stunning, nestled between bright blue alpine lakes and towering, snow-capped mountains.  The town itself, we found while wandering around that evening, is not particularly charming.  It's very touristy, even in low season, packed with shops selling North Face, Salomon, and Haglofs.  It had, however, two redeeming features so far as Clem was concerned.  First, it is home to a lovely St Bernard and her pup, sleeping under a bench in the plaza, with whom one could (and we did) pose for photos.  Second, it is South America's chocolate capital, or claims to be.  On our way to dinner, after organising trips for the next couple of days, we stopped by Bariloche's premier chocolate shop, Mamuschka.  Not quite Paries, France's finest, but pretty good.  We started with a pre-selected box of six, but returned the following evening to stock a larger box with our own selection: a treat for the road.  As we wandered around we could tell we were back in Argentina from the pronunciation of "ll" as "ch" (well, Clem could).

Dinner was at a cheap parilla place, where I was slightly surprised to find out that my dish consisted of one huge lump of sirloin (bife de chorizo), nothing more, nothing less.  Then to bed.

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One of the more accessible parts of the Nahuel Huapi national park is the Circuito Chico, a 28km road along the edge of Lago Nahuel Huapi and Lago Moreno.  This was the day's challenge.

We had a relaxed start to the morning, including one trip back to the hostel to grab more layers because we'd underestimated the cold wind sweeping down off the mountains.  We then caught the bus to Cerro Campanario, a 1000m hill around 20 mins from Bariloche that enjoys 360 degree views of this spectacular region.  We spurned the chairlift and climbed its wooded slopes by foot, through a thin covering of volcanic ash.  The half-hour climb up the occasionally steep slope through fine grey sand was not easy, but the vista once we arrived made it worthwhile.

Climbing up Cerro Campanario through the ash

View from the top

The  chairlift for those too lazy to climb up

After devouring our sandwiches and the scenery, we began the much easier descent, skipping and sliding back down to the road.  We then walked another kilometre or so, occasionally bathed in ash by passing buses, before we reached the bike rental shop.  Having signed away our lives after a very cursory inspection of the bikes, we strapped on our helmets and pedalled away.  We were told the 28km route would take around 4 hours.

The road started in benign mood, undulating gently with the hills, and we started to think we were in for an easy afternoon.  After around four kilometres, we arrived at the first mirador, a very blustery bridge over Lago Moreno.  From here the road became rather tougher, twisting and turning up through the woods to the highest point of the circuit, overlooking Lago Moreno and Lago Nahuel Huapi beyond.  Since we still had 20km to go, we resisted the temptation of artesanal beer and saucisson.

An early stop, still feeling fairly fresh

At the mirador after a lengthy climb, feeling less fresh

Beer and saucisson? Maybe later...

The road continued to rise and fall beneath the mountains, with views of waterfalls and a solitary condor up to our left.  Next we arrived at Bahia Lopez, where there was a small beach with a few people splashing around in what must have been very cold water.  We crossed a bridge under which Lago Nahuel Huapi seeped into Lago Moreno, where we thought the wind would carry us and the bikes off into the water.  Here what had seemed to be a beach turned out to be a thick sludge of volcanic ash, presumably driven into this alcove by the wind and the current.

Road winding down again

 

Volcanic ash porridge in one corner of the bay

Another 5km along the circuit, through woodland between Moreno and Nahuel Huapi, brought us to Hotel Llao Llao.  Allegedly Argentina's most exclusive hotel, it didn't get off to a great start, gutted by fire only two years after it was built in 1938.  Below was a golf course whose incredible setting more than compensated for the slightly unkempt fairways and greens.  Too bad my clubs were only 8,000 miles away.

From there we rode the final 8km along the shore of Lago Nahuel Huapi, culminating in one last climb up to the bike rental shop.  We handed back the bikes and walked five minutes back towards Bariloche, looking for the small cafe we'd spotted on the way there that had a terrace overlooking the lake.  Clem had been looking forward to a chocolate fondue since we'd arrived in Bariloche, and we decided this was a good spot to indulge.  The chocolate was good, not too sweet, and well-accompanied by a Patagonian beer.

Chocolate fondue overlooking the lake

As the late-afternoon sun faded and the terrace became distinctly chilly, we walked back up to the bus stop.  After several passing tourbuses had spat ash in our faces, the bus back to Bariloche finally arrived.  We spent the evening planning horse-riding for the following day and our trip east to Parque National Valdes on the Atlantic coast.  Dinner was not memorable, but a couple of glasses of red prepared us well for sleep.

19th October: Visit to Mapuche village - Curarrehue

After two consecutive days hiking, we decided to have a relaxing day.  We started a bit later than usual with a delicious breakfast at the hostel.  After some shopping (looking for waterproof trousers for me), we caught the local bus to Curarrehue, which took approximately 45 minutes.  Thanks to John's orientation skills, we got off at the right stop right by the tourist office.  Unfortunately, we had quite a fruitless talk, and thus headed to the one attraction of the village: the Aldea Intercultural Trawpeyüm, the museum on Mapuche culture.  The museum involved lots of reading, all of which in Spanish.  The group of schoolkids that arrived shortly after us scared John off to the library on the second floor (to look at pictures).  I listened to the tour organised for the kids and heard interesting explanations on Mapuche culture, which complemented the rather sparse information on the museum panels. The guide was of Mapuche descent, and was thus very enthusiast to share elements of her culture.

We walked 20 minutes out of the village and arrived at Cocina Mapuche, where we tasted typical food, just before the same group of schoolkids invaded the small eatery.  The starter involved fried bread (Sopaipillas) with two sauces: one spicy mix of garlic, oil, cumin, and a red spice called merken, and the other made with olive oil, onion and a typical plant similar to rhubarb called nalca.  The main dish was a tasty dark quinoa and vegetables mix, together with a salad of the same typical plant, which was very acid unseasoned.

Sopaipillas with accompanying sauces

Vegetable quinoa with nalca salad

View of the river in front of the Mapuche eatery

View of the Mapuche eatery with the schoolkids' bus

The cook, the famous Anita, was very friendly. I wish we could have stayed longer to talk, but we were hurried out by the group of schoolkids. We took the local bus back to Pucon.  As we arrived closer to the volcano, we could see a great amount of smoke coming out of the crater.  However, everybody else on the bus seemed unimpressed.  We spent the rest of the afternoon chilling at the terrace of a café.  

Last view of the smoking Villarrica volcano

In the evening, we had a really nice dinner in a Peruvian restaurant, called Viva Peru, and enjoyed THE avocado picked up by Carolina, Macarena's sister, in Santiago de Chile.  It was very creamy, extremely tasty, probably the best we ever had.

THE avocado

18th October: Climbing volcano Villarrica

The strident alarm of John's watch shouted at 6 a.m., time to get up and finalize our bags before heading to the travel agency.  We picked up the bags prepared for us (with waterproof gear, crampons, and gas masks), put on rigid mountain boots, and hopped on the minibus. We had a clear view of the volcano, which confirmed the agency's prognostication that it was a good day to climb up. After a 30-minute ride, we arrived at the bottom of the volcano. The guides distributed ice picks that we tied to our backpacks, and we began our walk up to the first chairlift, 30 minutes away.

View from the bottom of the volcano

Smiling faces, this is only the start though

The guides advised us that taking the chairlift would save 1h30 and spare us a steep climb. The temptation was great... Nevertheless, we chose the more challenging option together with two Australian guys, a French girl, and a guide who was thus forced to walk with us.  The first 45 minutes went ok: we made it up the first half quite quickly, while we could see the rest of the group passing us above our heads.  Until then, I was confident that we had taken the right decision to walk, it was not that difficult after all.  And then began the "fun part". We took the ice picks from the bags, while our guide (Antoine) explained how to use it by planting the end in the mountain side (in contrast to the ski pole). Holding the ice pick in one's hand presents more of a challenge, but since it efficiently prevented us from slipping down, I gripped it as best as I could. Antoine also told us how to use the ice pick in case we fell, which was not that intuitive, so I repeated the procedure a couple of times in my head, just in case.  We also put on our fancy red helmets.

View of the chairlift

Other volcanoes in the distance

The second part was definitely harder (and I was then envious of those taking the chairlift), but the ice pick was a great help and another 45 minutes later, we arrived at the top of the chairlift.  By then the rest of the group had already gone, but another guide (Leo) was waiting for us.  This was an ideal set-up: we had two guides for 5 people.  After a quick break to reload on food and water, we resumed our ascent led by the other guide, Leo.  It was getting steeper and we nearly lost Caro, the French girl, who slipped down around 10 meters before managing to plant the pick properly and stop.  This was a good reminder on how to use the ice pick and of the need to stay focused.  Another 45 minutes later, we had another break at La Capilla.  There, we installed the crampons (for snow, not ice!) and were told to keep a certain distance between our feet (that makes sense, thank you for the tip!).

Crampons affixed

We kept on ascending the volcano, zig-zagging across the ever-steeper slope.  By that time, the fatigue had caught up with us and our pace was slightly slower.  Leo, who was taking the lead, was thankfully very helpful in showing us the way and making footprints where necessary.  On each side of the slope, we could see the solidified lava from the 1971 eruption, covered with snow.

We passed a couple of groups on the way (Leo was dictating the pace) and finally reached the summit after 4 to 5 hours. We had the crater to ourselves when we arrived and made the most of the opportunity to take photos before slower groups arrived.  We also admired the view over the surrounding area (we were very lucky to have such a clear day).  Other groups then joined and we all enjoyed the toxic gases coming from the crater.

We made it!

View into the crater

More of the crater

View of the Lanin volcano, the highest in the region

We stayed on top of the volcano for around 45 minutes, during which we took off the crampons and put on the waterproof gear: overtrousers, a jacket, gloves and some kind of extra protection for the bottom.  We walked down for about 20 minutes, to a place where there was less ice.  We then sat on our bottoms and began the descent, using the ice pick as a brake!  Although it was mildly unnerving to look down from the top of the slope, it turned out to be a very exhilarating experience. The only down side was the few patches of ice that did not make a welcoming reception.  For less steep slopes, we used a little plastic sledge, which increased the speed.  We did about 5 or 6 of those, enough to really enjoy it and get more comfortable with the use of the ice pick or with speed.

Bibendums ready for the slopes

Ca décoiffe!

We finished this amazing day with a 30-minute walk in the snow.  Back at the agency, we had a cold beer on the terrace with a view on the volcano.

In the evening, after enjoying a beautiful sunset on the lake, we had a well-deserved (or so we thought) grilled steak with a bottle of wine.

We were tucked up in bed, ready for a good night sleep, when a siren suddenly went off.  Knowing that there was a volcano warning siren, we jumped out of bed quickly and started to get dressed.  By this time, however, the siren had stopped, and I double-checked with reception who told me that it was not related to the volcano (there had been a big car crash outside of town).  That certainly got the adrenalin going though. 

16th-17th October: Pucon and Parque National Huerquehue

We spent the first day in Pucon relaxing, talking to tour agencies about our options for the next few days, and walking along the beachfront of Lake Villarrica.  For dinner we tried out a place that had been recommended by one of the Santiago-based expats we'd met in Santa Cruz; the ravioli filled with Antarctic krill and cheese were intriguing, but more a novelty than something I'd want to eat on a regular basis.

The next morning we woke early and caught the first bus to Parque National Huerquehue, around 45 minutes east of Pucon.  The French-run agency we'd spoken to the previous day had talked us into renting snow-shoes ("raquets"), and although there was no snow at the entrance to the park we were assured by the park ranger that they would be useful (in any case we'd agreed that we wouldn't need to pay if we didn't use them).

The trail starts out through beautiful woodland, with tall old trees forming a thick canopy above, before emerging onto the shore of Lago Tinquilco (a great spot for swimming in the summer, but a bit chilly in very early spring).  After walking for around half an hour on flat ground, we started to climb up through the forest, reaching a park checkpoint after another half an hour or so.  Still no sign of snow, although the muddy path suggested that it hadn't melted too long ago.  From here the path became gradually steeper, and soon the trekking poles we'd rented together with the snow-shoes became useful (if only for balance as we hopped between muddy patches).  We passed a couple of turn-offs signposted to waterfalls, leaving them for the way back.

View of Lago Tinquilco as we started the trek

By now there were patches of snow on the side of the path, but still the snow-shoes hung from the side of our bags.  After another hour or so uphill we arrived at two "miradors" with beautiful views of Volcan Villarrica (the next day's challenge, weather permitting) across the bright blue Lago Tinquilco and the dense forest covering the mountains.  A little further up the trail, climbing quite steeply now, and here the snow had not yet melted from the path.  The snow was not too deep, and footprints meant there was no problem walking with boots (as Clem continued to do).  I decided, however, that I may as well get some fun out of the snow-shoes rather than hauling them up and down the mountain, so strapped myself in.  It wasn't really much help, as I now couldn't fit into the footprints in the snow, but it was at least entertaining.

Mirador 1: Lago Tinquilco and Volcan Villarrica

First sighting of snow

Getting some use out of the snow-shoes

Mirador 2: same lake, same volcano, higher up

After another hour or so from the miradors, we arrived at the first of the alpine lakes, called Lago Chico.   We crossed a wooden bridge over the stream coming down from the lake, and could hear the roar of the waterfall just below.  Here the stunning view was rather impaired by the sight, albeit in the distance, of the backside of some loon who'd decided to take an ice-cold dip (not before posing for a photo from his pal).  Thankfully Clem wasn't wearing her glasses.  We waited til he'd put his clothes back on (after a very brief splash), then walked through the trees lining the lake-shore.  By now the snow was thicker and we were both wearing our snow-shoes.

The stream running from Lago Chico off the edge of the mountain

Lago Chico

We then reached a fork in the road, one path leading to Laguna el Toro and another leading to Lago Verde.  We walked another hundred metres down to the shore of Laguna el Toro, but the path was closed due to deep snow so we turned back, even though we were tempted to see how effective our snow-shoes could be.

Path closed!

We followed the path to Lago Verde, although here the path was far less clear.  We plodded along the edge of a gurgling stream, leaning into the side of the mountain.  Our progress was slowed by a large tree that had fallen across the line of footprints, no easy task to clamber over in snow-shoes.  Just as we were starting to worry where this "path" was taking us, we arrived at Lago Verde.  The thick layer of snow that covered most of the lake hid the colour of the water, but there was a small break in the ice, leading to the stream we'd walked along, where we could make out the clear green water that gave the lake its name.  We paused here for lunch (bread and salami that we'd bought at the supermarket in Pucon), and tried to continue along the narrow path around the edge of the lake.  The complete absence of footprints persuaded us, however, that it might be wiser to retrace our steps.  Again we had fun climbing back over the fallen tree, but we arrived safely back at Lago Chico.

Lago Verde, without the verde

Picnic

The coniferous Pehuen tree, also called the Araucaria (named after the region) and the Monkey-Puzzle

To be fair to Clem (see video above), there was a very steep slope on the left.

Here we took advantage of the absence of naked men to go down to the shore and take photos, before heading back down the path.  We took off our snow-shoes and bounded along as quickly as possible, trying to avoid a French woman who was blabbering away very loudly to the guy walking behind her.  We remembered to stop off at the waterfalls, whose beauty was thankfully not ruined by the garrulous woman, who stopped talking just long enough to take our photo.

Lago Chico (encore)

Bridge leading to the waterfalls

Cascada Trafulco

Cascada Nido de Aguila

We arrived back at the entrance to the park at around 5, just in time to catch the last bus back to town, now completely exhausted.  We made our way to the agency, Aguaventura, where we returned our poles, gaiters, and snow-shoes.  They then fitted us for the equipment necessary for the trek up the volcano: mountain boots, helmet, and thick snow-suit.  We had dinner at the hostel's excellent restaurant, and went to bed early, ready to wake up at 6 the next morning.

14th-15th October: Wine-tasting in Santa Cruz

Our bus from Santiago arrived in Santa Cruz, the heart of Chilean wine territory, in the late afternoon, and by the time we'd found our hostel and dropped off our bags it was past 7pm.  Everything was closed.  Tourist office, wine tour agencies, all had shut their doors, so we had to wait until morning to decide which wineries to visit, when, and how.  Our search for a restaurant was not much more fruitful, so we decided to indulge and eat at the restaurant attached to the five star hotel.  Prices were in fact quite reasonable, the steak was good, and the wine (Cabernet Sauvignon) was of course excellent.

The wine-barrel cross greeting visitors to Santa Cruz

The next morning we arrived at the wine tour agency as its door opened at 9.30, but they were rather unhelpful.  The fact that we didn't have our own transport completely stumped them.  Unamused by their lack of interest, we went on to the next agency, Ruta del Vino, which was much more helpful.  They recommended a vineyard that could be reached by bus, booked the tour for us, and explained where we could find the bus (avoiding the exorbitant cost of taking the agency minibus).

The tour was at 3pm, so we still had a while before catching the bus.  One vineyard was reportedly within walking distance, so we decided to squeeze that in before lunch.  After a slight detour (not having the benefit of a map), and taking a very brief taxi journey to find the exact location, we arrived at Laura Hartwig, a small but attractive vineyard just outside of town.  We arrived at reception and asked about wine tastings, only to be told that they were preparing for a large group that would be arriving soon, and couldn't possibly take five minutes out of their hectic schedule to pour us a glass of wine.  Resisting the temptation to give the gate a kick as we left, we wandered back into town (without the detour this time).  Since it wasn't quite lunchtime but we were now very thirsty, we decided to stop for a glass of wine and an appetizer.  We found a small restaurant on the Plaza (or rather a Social Club, apparently) that served us a very tasty ham and cheese platter to go with our bottle of red, over which we cursed Laura Hartwig.

Our spirits lifted, we found the bus out to our next, hopefully more successful, stop: Viu Manent.  The bus took around 15 minutes, and we then had a 10 minute walk through the beautiful grounds before arriving at the central yard.  Here we stopped for lunch, another slight indulgence.  I accompanied my steak with a Malbec, Manent's speciality, while Clem went for a very fruity Pinot Noir from their Secreto line.  With our appetite sated and thirst at least partially quenched, it was time for the tour.

Viu Manent, with the restaurant terrace off to the right

We bounded aboard a horse-drawn carriage, joined by around ten very tipsy and loud women, who turned out to be expats living in Santiago.  We drove through the vineyard to one of the buildings where they keep the barrels.  After a brief explanation, we had the opportunity to taste a Sauvignon Blanc that was in the process of fermentation.  It was near the end of the process, but it still tasted almost undrinkably acidic and, pre-filtration, was fairly cloudy.  After a bit more talking, the horses pulled us back into the central yard, where we sat down to enjoy four more pours: a Sauvignon Blanc that had reached the end of the process; a very young Cabernet Sauvignon; a Malbec; and a rather better Cabernet Sauvignon.  Although none of the wines we tasted was outstanding, we did ask about the cost of shipping some wine back to Europe, only to be told that it was significantly cheaper just to buy it at home.

Our carriage

The central courtyard

We started the walk back to the bus stop, but were very kindly offered a lift back into town by a young couple from Santiago who had been on another tour.  We then relaxed in our hostel for an hour or so before catching the bus to San Fernando, back on the main highway between north and south.  There wasn't much to do in San Fernando, but we managed to find a decent Italian place that had wifi where we dined and waited out a few hours before our 11.45pm bus to Pucon.  The bus didn't arrive until after midnight, which made for an interesting 20 minutes or so at a dark bus stop that was deserted except for a caretaker, a couple of other passengers waiting for the same bus, and an old stray dog that the caretaker would occcasionally kick off the bench.  The bus, once it finally arrived, was very comfortable and we both slept well, arriving in Pucon at around eight the next morning.