Livin' the Dream!: My Trip to San Carlos de Bariloche

Only days before a long holiday weekend, my friend Léa told me that she really wanted to go to Bariloche, but she wasn't sure if there would be... The end of the sentence faded out dramatically. A trip to Bariloche. Suddenly, I envisioned Léa and myself scaling a towering, imperious Andean peak, stopping periodically to gnaw on decadent logs made of chocolate. It was a struggle, but I had been convinced. And so, in a moment of spontaneity, it was decided: the yanqui and the francesa would head south to la Patagonia. To San Carlos de Bariloche. We bought our bus tickets, packed (in my case, overpacked), and the following day, headed off to the spectacular chocolate capital of Argentina.

Bus rides in Argentina never disappoint, and the trip to Bariloche was no exception. About 30 minutes into the 14 hour bus ride, I realized that I was not actually riding on a bus, but instead, some sort of enormous portable human freezer. Indeed, the temperature unexpectedly dropped 30 degrees, and I watched enviously as Léa whipped out a sleeping bag. She had packed half as much stuff as I had, and yet, miraculously, was twice as prepared. Thinking that I should really step up my packing game, I covered myself absurdly with a light jacket and moved into fetal position. It would be a long trip.

I was grateful for a distraction from the frostbite entering my appendages when the bus attendant put on a movie. To my great dismay, it turned out to be quite possibly the worst movie of all time. I do not remember the title or the plot, only that Adam Sandler was playing a woman, and that it was more than I could handle. I put in my headphones and shut my eyes, praying the movie would soon end, and that the temperature would rise above freezing.

Here we are pre-depature, warm and unaware of the upcoming Ice Age

I must have dozed off to Adam Sandler's atrocious attempt to speak like a woman, because I awoke the following morning to a gentle tapping on my arm. I opened my eyes with a jolt: there was a women's face, only several inches from my own, and she was opening and closing her mouth. When I realized that this was in fact human speech, and also remembered that I was currently in Argentina, I switched on the Spanish mode (or at least, so I thought), and heard a single word: 'chocolatería.' Qué lindo! Not in the mood for a hot chocolate at such an early hour though, I thanked the woman, shut my eyes, and eagerly returned to my slumber.

I woke up 10 minutes later to three very alarming realizations.

          1: We were not at a chocolatería, as I had mysteriously understood, but rather a                   bus station.
          2: This bus station was not in Bariloche.
          3: Léa and I were the only people on the bus.

Extremely flustered and very confused, I shook Léa awake. We frantically gathered our things and booked it off the bus, where we saw our ride to Bariloche preparing to drive off. With only moments to spare, and on the verge of a heart attack, we loaded the bus. By this point I was fairly certain that the woman had not, in fact, said 'chocolatería,' but more probably something along the lines of 'bus transfer.' Nevertheless, her true words, and my auditory processing in this moment, will forever remain a mystery...

The trip was mildy traumatic, so once we arrived in Bariloche and checked into our hostel, we kept it tranqui and explored the city:

View of Lake Nahuel Huapi

Awesome mural in the city center

Our first morning in Bariloche I woke bright and early, and hopped out of bed. This is far from what I would call habitual behavior, but I had a strong incentive: the woman at the front desk had told me to expect 'panqueques' at the hostel's complementary breakfast. Ever since, I had been fantasizing longingly about my favorite American breakfast delight, a fluffy cake of cooked batter served with sticky sweet maple syrup.

"Ali! Vení, vení"

'Had my pancake been run over by a truck?' I wondered as I entered the kitchen. Turns out 'panqueque' is not the same thing as pancake, but is instead more comparable to the French crepe's Latin first cousin. I would say identical twin, except that it was served with dulce de leche, Argentina's favorite caramel-esque spread/filling/frosting that is magical, and a national staple. Despite my initial disappointment as to my pancake's lack of depth, my flat panqueque breakfast was delicious, and I savored every bite.

Vertically challenged panqueque. Yum!

After breakfast, we headed to Cerro Catedral, a massive 2388m peak and the area's most important winter sports center. Having arrived in fall, skiing was not an option, and so we prepared for the all-day hike up to Refugio Frey. When we arrived at the base of the mountain looking for the path, a crowd of dirt-bikers in very tight spandex onesies cryptically directed us to the 'wooden backpacker man.' When we ultimately found this very cool dude, we knew that good things were in store.

Qué zarpadoooo!

The hike up Cerro Catedral was fantastic, and we passed the hours admiring the vibrant fall colors, chatting about life, and singing our respective national anthems. Luckily for everyone, we only crossed paths with a handful of hikers...

Léa leaves our mark on a log cabin at Cerro Cadredral. Qué tierno!

After a solid ascent, we reached Refugio Frey, i.e. Mordor. As I admired this stone 'refuge' perched alongside an incredible lagoon and staggering rocky peaks, I waited for Frodo Baggins and crew to emerge from the eerie mist, mate in hand and speaking hobbit Spanish. Before I could ever confirm whether Frodo likes his mate amargo o dulce (bitter or sweet), it began to snow...

In the end, Refugio Frey really did turn out to be a 'refuge.' We took cover inside where we watched the snow fall, and ignored the fact that we would soon have to brave the storm...

Now, I am not a superstitious person, but when I locked eyes with the demonic feline pictured below (and above, lurking ominously in the background), I was overcome by a sense of impending doom. We should leave now, I told Léa, nervously. It would give us more than enough time to hike down and catch the last bus to Bariloche, leaving at 6:35. Todo tranqui. Oh how wrong we were...

Let's just say that we nearly spent a very cold night at Cerro Catedral, with our buddy the wooden backpacker man. How, you may be wondering, did this hike go from peaceful day trip to near catastrophe, i.e. mega quilombo? In addition to being cursed by a malevolent black cat, there were several major contributing factors:

1) We got slightly lost. This is the obvious, classic downfall of any hiker, of which we must admittedly join the ranks. Luckily, we had only just started to panic when we discovered a familiar stream.

2) Léa fell into the stream. To cross, we had to hop from stone to stone, and Léa, one determined lady, selected the most difficult path possible. I watched helplessly as Léa, apparently unaware that you needed the hops of an NBA basketball player to make it across, prepared to jump to her watery doom. Just when I suggested, 'Maybe we should head down stream a little bit where the rocks aren't so....," there was a splash. Call me immature, but there is something undeniably and timelessly funny about someone unintentionally falling into the water. I first verified Léa was not injured (obvio!), and proceeded to laugh hysterically for the half hour it took Léa to dump the 2 liters of water out of her boots and attempt (unsuccessfully) to dry off.

A little damper and somewhat delayed, but feelin' good!

3) Dead trees. Yes, dead trees. Léa revealed an inexplicable affinity for photographing these charred, burnt trunks. Incidentally, there were hundreds, each apparently with its own ashy charm. It seemed a little odd, but I reminded myself that I enjoy learning about grammar, running in the rain and shucking oysters, and realized I couldn't talk. I have included a small selection from Léa's exhibition, "Deciduously Dead: Bariloche and the Burnt Tree":

After these various trials, tribulations and tree trunk stops, we arrived at the parking lot at 6:35 sharp, only to see our ride (the last bus!), driving away. Now, as Léa would later remark, had come my moment of determination. I switched into track mode and began sprinting full speed across the parking lot, yelling 'Stoooopp! Stooooooppp!' at the top of my lungs. In retrospect, I recognize that it would have been very helpful in this moment to shout in Spanish. Nevertheless, when the barilochense spandex-clad dirt bikers saw a psychotic girl (me) careening toward the bus, shouting incomprehensible gibberish, they gathered what was going on and began to yell as well. The spandex dirt-bikers had pulled through for us yet again- the bus came to a halt! I was wheezing, and Léa was laughing hysterically, but we were saved. 

Chau chau Cerro Catedral! Un besito!

Now, San Carlos de Bariloche is not just famous for it's incredible landscapes and to-die-for chocolate. Every year, thousands of young Argentines from around the country flock to Bariloche for the 'viaje de egresados,' a celebratory trip for recent high school grads. And it sounds like it is indeed, quite celebratory. As it turned out, many of our bahiense friends were quite familiar with the Bariloche nightlife, and provided a lengthy and comprehensive list of bars and boliches (clubs) 're copados'. That being said, Léa and I had no choice but to see for ourselves.

The 'vida nocturna' en Bariloche did not disappoint. We had a great time at an Irish pub called Wilkenny's, which, aside from its name and the fact that beer was served, had no apparent connection to anything even slightly Irish. We also went out dancing at the famous 'Grisu,' a multi-room boliche with a coal mine theme. It sounds pretty weird, but it was as fun as our friends had promised it would be.

We woke up very early the next morning, and I was not quite so chipper this time. It was worth it though, when we walked outside, and saw this:

We headed out in a van for our excursion to Cerro Tronador, an inactive volcano located in Nahuel Huapi National Park, along the border between Argentina and Chile. Our guide, Mapu, definitely choose the right profession, because he talked continuously and with gusto for approximately nine hours straight. Mapu's topic of choice during the morning was our zombie-like state. This clever fellow announced, over the intercom, 'to your right you can see a plant with special properties. The girls in the back should consider applying it underneath their eyes.' I swear that Argentines have a sixth sense for knowing when you are tired, and will not hesitate to inform you, and all the other 15 people who happen to be on the bus.

And, we're off!

We made a pit stop at a little restaurant nearby Cerro Tronador. There was also an ice cream shop, but the owners had apparently taken a very extended lunch break.

'Back in 10... Months': Bariloche takes 'chill' to a whole new level

Cerro Tronador is extra cool because it is covered by eight different glaciers. We were able to see one of these glaciers, found at the base of el Tronador: Ventisquero Negro ('black snowdrift'). It is dark brown because the river which feeds into the glacier picks up dirt and sediment along the way, leaving brown icebergs which break off from the glacier.

Apparently, I was not the only one who was impressed

The following day we did the famous 'Ruta de los Siete Lagos' (the Route of Seven Lakes). Not surprisingly, we saw seven different lakes, each stunningly beautiful.

 

We stopped for lunch in San Martin de los Andes, a chill little city tucked into the mountains, bordering the beautiful Lácar Lake. Léa and I enjoyed a delicious lunch, and checked out a small arts and crafts fair in the city center. A highlight was getting laughed at by a street vendor for attempting to buy an ashtray, having mistaken it for a jewelry dish.

Our final day in Bariloche, we took the bus to the swanky Hotel Llao Llao, perched majestically on a hill between Lake Moreno and Lake Nahuel Huapi.

Argentina's most famous hotel

With only a few hours before our bus left, we went on a short hike from Hotel Llao Llao down to the waterfront. Despite my serious lack of navigations skills, and a mysterious absence of helpful signs, Léa successfully led the way down to the water! 

More dead trees! Hooray! 

It was a magnificent view, and before we knew it, we found ourselves (surprise!) rushed for time to make our bus. It was a hilly hike, and we had to hustle. Considering that we could count the hours we had slept the past few nights with our fingers, we were not exactly on our hiking 'A' game.' It was a struggle, but we cheered each other on, and made it to the bus stop. I didn't even have to make a scene this time.

On the bus ride back to Bariloche, it was well past lunch time, and we were famished. When whipped out our lunch and began chowing down, the passengers stared at us as if we were savages devouring a live cow, and not, as it were, enjoying a modest spread of ham sandwiches and chips.

Bus picnic!

The time had come to head to the bus station, and we arrived to a wonderful surprise. Our cheap, partially-inclining semi-cama seats magically reclined completely like the full cama seats that we had not paid for. We were thrilled.

Our joy was short lived: several hours later we arrived at the cursed bus station/chocolatería, where, once again, we were forced to transfer buses and give up our treasured seats. As I took my new, much more uncomfortable seat, my mild frustration turned to utter horror when I looked up and saw Adam Sandler wearing a wig. I hoped it was a joke. It was not.

Not even seeing the worst movie of all time for a second time, however, could dampen our spirits. It had been an amazing trip, filled with remarkable natural beauty, singing and dancing, adventure, and wonderful company. Léa and I left five days earlier not knowing each other very well, and returned feeling like long-time friends, our stomachs aching from laughing so hard, and with a lengthy blog's worth of unforgettable memories. By the time we arrived in Bahía, we were already planning our next grand Argentine adventure...

Nos vemos Bariloche!