Bariloche

The chonologically last instalment, Greetings from Uruguay, had me in Carmelo waiting for the Saturday evening ferry.

The bars were showing soccer. Uruguay was not involved in the rugby world cup, so why would their television devote time to it? I found an Internet cafe that was open and followed the score on the official web site. O woe for NZ.

So it was with shock and a heavy heart that I queued to board the Delta Cat II. This is a modern vessel, but not as rocket propelled as the Buquebus that I left Buenos Aires on. The sun was low, but still in the sky, so we had daylight for the start of the crossing.

The wharf is a few hundred metres up a tributary of the main river, so we started gliding down between tree-lined banks. There was actually nearly half an hour before sunset, motoring between low islands. Some had only grasses and rushes, others had trees. A vast improvement on the featureless water all the way to Colonia del Sacramento. There was enough light to see by for about another 30 minutes and then it got very dark.

There were very few navigation lights that I could see, but the skipper had radar, a chart plotter and plenty of experience so we didn´t hit anything and fetched up in Tigre on time.

This was the third time I had entered Argentina and the first time I had been asked to fill in a customs declaration. I confessed that I was carrying bee products (honey), but the customs officer shooed me through. He didn´t want his evening spoiled by people carrying illegal honey. The same honey had been in my pack on the previous two border crossings, but no-one asked about it.

An information desk in the port building directed me to a nearby B&B, but it was full. The port area had lights and grass and a McDonalds so it was perfectly safe to scout around, but the tourist information office was closed. That´s pretty reasonable for 9:30 on a Saturday night. I reasoned that the train station might have cheap hotels nearby or an information desk so I toddled over there. No hotels and no info desk, but I asked at a snack stall.

The lady on my side of the counter conferred with the serving lass and they agreed on a place but, they said, it was quite far and dangerous to walk. The lady came with me to the taxi stand to make sure the driver knew where to take me. Wasn´t that kind?

The streets didn´t look dangerous to me, but it was a drive of several minutes with many turns. Walking would have meant almost certainly losing the way. I was dropped at a large residencial but, alas, they had no rooms either. There were no rooms in anywhere in Tigre that night I was told. It was now after 10pm. Even if there was another train, it would deposit me in central BA after 11 o´clock. Not a welcome prospect.

The couple running the residencial did know of an expensive hotel in another suburb. What was the alternative - sleeping in the park? They generously telephoned and booked me in and then telephoned for a taxi. It was a long ride and the hotel was not easy to find. Journey´s end was getting on for 11pm.

Hotel del Casco is a boutique hotel and very expensive. However, it had a room free and I graciously accepted the neccesity of luxury. The ensuite bathroom had both a bath and a shower. There was a chocolate on the turned down sheet. I had a long shower and used lots of the shampoo and conditioner. The TV had at least 5 sports channels, but they were all in earnest after-match discussion mode, except one that was broadcasting baseball. I don´t know the game well enough to enjoy watching it, so I stretched out in my king-size bed and fell asleep.

Next morning I was either the first guest up, or the last. Anyway, I had the breakfast room to myself. I made the most of a first-class breakfast buffet and the best coffee I´ve had in South America. I selected some fruit for later consumption and souvenired the partly used soap and shampoo.

When I checked out it was the first time I had used my credit card for anything but a cash withdrawal since Lima in June. The scarcity of hotel beds in greater Buenos Aires was due to a convention of dermatologists, the clerk explained.

I don´t think many of its monied guests leave Hotel del Casco carrying a pack and walking to the train station. But the rest of the day was plain sailing. The train took me to Retiro station, which is next door to the long-distance bus terminal. I found a convenient overnight bus to Bariloche and bought a ticket. I watched the last 20 minutes of S. Africa vs Fiji in one of the cafeterias and had a satisfying lunch.

There was a moment of confusion when I tried to board the 14:00 hours bus, instead of the 14:05. Well, only the 14:05 was showing on the electronic departure board. But that was quickly resolved and we set off in a bus so modern the upholstery still had a whiff of that ´new vehicle´ smell.

The Via Bariloche cama service has restored the reputation of Argentinian buses. It was very comfortable. There was coffee and a sandwich for afternoon tea and a hot meal with wine for dinner. There was even champagne, but it was served so late I was too tired to want any.

We cruised smoothly over the province of Buenos Aires. I have come across so much flat land in South America. From the top deck of the bus I could see to the horizon in every direction and it was FLAT. There were fences and trees and cows and buildings all on flat, flat land. I even imagined I could see the curvature of the earth. This continued until the daylight failed 6 hours into the journey. As far as I could see it was still flat when I woke to visit the loo in the night.

In the morning we were gently but firmly awakened. And there were scrub-covered hills outside instead of grassy plains. Were we on a different planet? To our left, so I could not see it well, was a slow-moving river. Either that or an immensly long lake. Coffee and breakfast helped to get the brain working properly.

The timing of the wake-up call was just right. By the time breakfast had been served and the empty trays gathered in, there was just enough time to pack up and put my contact lenses in before we drew up in Bariloche bus terminal a quarter of an hour early.

San Carlos de Bariloche is soooo like Queenstown. All that´s missing is jet boating. It is on a lake with tree-clad mountains at the back, a large ski-field nearby and all facilities for tourists, including over-priced restaurants. Many Swiss have settled in the area and it has the additional attraction of chocolate-making. Many shops in the town sell nothing else. One of the more prominent chocolaterias is called Rapa Nui. Why is it named after Easter Island? A Spanish-speaking Austrian at the hostel went in and asked. "No reason."

I stayed at Hostel 1004. The unusual name has a very good reason. It is on the 10th and top floor of an apartment building near the lake in Bariloche. It is apartment 1004. Simple. The views over the lake from the common room are stupendous.

Having got my bearings I set out to enjoy the mountain scenery. A local bus took me along to withing easy walking distance of a national park. I followed a trail through the woods where the heard-but-unseen bird was abundant. Amongst a school party coming the other way I spotted a youth with iPod earphones in each ear. I fear the birdsong was wasted on him.

In the afternoon I took a boat ride on the lake to visit Isla Victoria. The significance of this island was lost on me because I could not understand more than 5% of the commentary. On the Altiplano I usually understood 50% or more of what the Spanish-speaking guides said. Anyway I had an hour to roam this island before we re-embarked and carried on to a special area that is a park in its own right within a national park.

The tree that makes this area so special is the arrayan.

It has lovely cinnamon coloured bark and there is one peninusla where it particularly flourishes. We were only allowed 45 minutes there, but that was ample to go round the walkway and take many photos of the beautiful trees.

That evening the hostel organised a "wine tasting". Everyone bought a bottle of wine, they were all carefully opened and set out on a big table, and then the music was turned up and it was party time! No-one made any tasting notes. I can´t explain why, but the ambience of Hostel 1004 generates a special atmosphere. Conversation flows particularly freely. It is one of the sleeping places I can most heartily recommend.

On Wednesday we all got up a bit late for some reason. Patrick, the Spanish-speaking Austrian, planned to trek around all of Bariloche´s chocolate shops. I opted for a more prosaic walk up Cerro Otto. The tramp was harder than I expected. The last kilometre was through and around patches of snow. This would not have been such an issue if I had remebered to change into my tramping boots, but I set off in sneakers. Silly Bill. However, the views were glorious.

Back in town I elected to cook myself a steak meal in the hostel´s excellent kitchen. The supermarket offered, amongst other labels, wines of the "Aberdeen Angus" brand. I am not making this up. There is a photo of the label in the camera. It was not a premium product, so I selected a bottle of the syrah for about $4. It wasn´t as good as the meat was, but it was better than some of the wines tasted the previous evening.

Today I have moved down the road to El Bolson. It´s a very laid back town and I like it. The craft market today has some interesting stuff, but there`s no room in my pack. However, it provided some interesting snacks for lunch and some very good locally brewed beer.

Oh dear. This reads like I´m becoming an alcoholic. I promise it´s not true, dear readers.

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