Part I: Yosemite/Cochamo
Chile!
No sooner did Fredo get to his home country than we were already heading out to leave it. With no map to follow, we walked across the Andes and made our way into Chile, heading towards Cochamo Valley -- known as the Yosemite of South America. For four days we walked seeing almost nobody, but never did we feel lonely -- Fredo has this thing where animals always come to him, so we met many white horses, pink pigs and a jabali (wild boar) that decided it would like to crawl into his lap. We supplemented our meals with moras (blackberries), murtas (mystery-delicious berry), and what we dubbed the fire nut, because it is good to eat toasted in the fire.
No water!
When we got our passports stamped for entering Chile (yes, there's a passport stamping place in the middle of the mountains!), we finally got a map, which was probably for the worst. The map showed that our trail would be right along a lake and would even have a nice campground for us. But as we walked on, we realized we had been deceived -- the lake was nearby but totally inaccessible because of dense forest and large cliffs below us. The light grew dimmer and we were left with no nice campground and absolutely zero water. We had recently passed an area where a house-sized boulder had broken off from a cliff and rolled down nearly to the lake, leaving a clear cut field in its wake. It looked like it happened last year. We left our bags in a small, tent-sized clearing in the forest and hurried to the landslide spot with our headlamps and water bottles in the last rays of light. Picking our way down the debris and then bushwhacking from the boulder, we were lucky to find that there was in fact a narrow spot of access to the lake. We filled up and returned by dark, relieved to find the path again and proud to have evaded a thirsty night.
Yosemite? No, Cochamo.
On the fifth day, we got to Cochamo town, a sleepy fishing town that sits along the edge of an estuary. From there, we kept walking to get into the valley itself, where we spent the next few days. The valley is fully in Valdivian Forest, which is basically a temperate rainforest, so we were in full shade of immense, dense trees as we walked through deep trenches carved into the soft soil by many decades of walking people and clunking cows. We couldn't see anything around us, and really we just assumed we were going somewhere nice because we'd heard rumors that the Cochamo valley is very pretty. Many muddy hours later, the thick forest opened up into grassy meadows cleared up by ranchers, and suddenly we were surrounded by massive monoliths of granite!! HUGE ROCK FACES EVERYWHERE! Low whispy clouds skirted their edges, reminding us that this is in fact a rainforest, not dry Yosemite. It's definitely not quite so big as Yosemite, but since it took several days of walking to get there, it felt much more deserved.
Mushrooms!
There was a nice campground in the meadow and even a shelter to hang out in at night. Around the valley, we bushwhacked, trudged through mud, crossed a river with a Tyrolean traverse, and swung on vines to discover nice waterfalls, boulders to climb (which were great... if they weren't in the middle of a swollen river), and edible mushrooms to have for dinner.
The Great Chilean Rescue!
Then the rain started. There were two Chileans at the campground too, and they decided to do a hike to El Arco. We did not go with them; it didn't seem like a good idea in the rain. As they walked out the door, they grinned and joked "If we don't come back, get worried for us." And so the hours passed... Fredo and I playing house in the refuge, reading, listening to the rain. Hundreds of waterfalls streamed off the granite domes. The grass outside the shelter turned into a wetland. Two other Chileans showed up. Then night fell. Then more hours passed. The other two Chileans were guides for the area (but on vacation) and said that hiking can get very dangerous when it rains because the rocks get very slippery. Hikers have died even when it isn't raining -- there is a popular hike called El Arco-Iris where you have to hold on to a rope to pull yourself up the last stretch, much like Half Dome. It was pitch black and pouring rain. Fredo and one of the guides took turns shining a light out of the shelter, in case they were nearby. We slept uneasily and woke up early in the morning. It was still raining. The two guides decided to go out and search for them, and we stayed home to get a nearly-impossible fire going (it's pretty hard to start a fire in a wet rainforest, but Fredo is now an expert).
An hour later, the hiking Chileans came back! Trembling, soaked all the way through, but otherwise in good spirits, especially happy to come home to find a hot fire. They told us that a small stream they had crossed when they started the hike swelled to a roaring river on the way back and they could not cross it. They waited by the river bank through the night, huddled under a plastic bag, and feeling the onset of hypothermia. The next morning, the river was a little lower, but still to their necks (but their Chileans, so their necks are not too far from the ground!). Dangerous as the fast river was, they managed to push through it, and ten minutes later they were home.
We waited a few hours until the two guides came back from their rescue mission to find that the hiking Chileans had made it back alone. The hikers recounted their story and the guides asked "Didn't you know there was a bridge?"
It rained some more. The next day the rain stopped and Fredo and I made our way back down the valley, playing hopscotch around big fields of mud. The streams were much bigger now than they were on the way up (but thankfully MUCH smaller than they would have been during the days of rain) and some of them were impossible to cross without just walking through the water.
We got back into Cochamo town, where we planned to wait with our soaked feet until the mystery bus would come take us to Puerto Varas, a real town. I say mystery bus because absolutely nobody knew what time it actually came through. We were eventually offered a ride by a man who was of the conviction that "Women are like flowers, and I am a gardner." He only gave us a ride on the condition that I sit in the front.
Part II: Wind/Mendoza
After getting back to Bolson from Cochamo, we watched Fredo's aunt perform Flamenco, said our goodbyes, then flew from Bariloche to Mendoza. We had the seats 26A and 26B on the flight, which didn't actually exist, so we just had to find empty seats in the back. But it turned out ok, lo pasamos bien.
Mendoza is a lot like Reno, biogeographically speaking. (Culturally? Whole 'nother story). Big mountains to the west, dry desert and sagebrush everywhere else.
There, we experienced the Viento Sonda, a dry wind that lowers everyone's blood pressure and affects their psychological states. Some people get migraines, traffic accidents increase, and so does the suicide and homicide rate. We spent the day napping. The dog of an infamous car dealer escaped and mutilated a family member of a rival car dealer. There is an analagous Foehn wind in Germany, during which it is illegal to perform surgeries.
We got to go climbing at a nearby sport crag called Portrerillos. Other than that, we spent our time in Mendoza watching music shows, hanging out with family, and getting fat. I got to check out L'Aguita, which is Fredo's grandpa's land, where he is building a school. The land goes straight to the base of the pre-cordillera -- that is, the foothills before the really big mountains. There's a lot more climbing areas that are easily accessible from Mendoza, and Aconcagua is only a few hours away. Mendoza is a large city with all the fun cultural things of interesting city life, and some really nice plazas and fountains. But it is not so big that it is overwhelming. It is easy to leave it in just a few minutes on the highway. It seems like a nice place to live.
Fredo's grandma also showed me her studio (she is a painter). That was an interesting exploration in pre-natal llamas, jesus imagery, and feminism. She even gave me two drawings from her special kama sutra collection.
Part III: Back to Buenos Aires!
...in Justine and Allie's new apartment in San Telmo! Debriefing and reloading before I head out to Peru on Tuesday.
