The Lakes

The lakes of the Torres Del Paine seem to come in two colors: the milky teal-gray of the photo above and the brilliant rich navy of the photo below.  With no guide to ask, the reasoning behind this distinction bothered me, until I met an experienced Patagonian hiker the first night near Glacier Grey.

The classic blue bodies of water dotting the landscape, while beautiful, are the less interesting of the two.  It's the teal lakes that are unique to this and other glacier regions.  Where the lake meets a glacier, far below the surface, the glacier is constantly grinding against the bedrock, filling the melting water with tiny pieces of rock.  The particles are so small and light they never settle at the bottom of the water and are suspended throughout the lake.  It's these floating sediments, the effect of the glacier scraping against the bedrock, that make the water appear cloudy.

Prepping The W

The 'W' 

• 4 night, 5 day hike through the stunning Torres Del Paine National Park

• 50-60 miles depending on route, almost all uphill/downhill

• Temperatures ranging from 30 - 45°F, winds 40mph+

• All food and equipment must be carried

The Ice Field

The Perito Moreno glacier in Patagonia.

It's Arrested Development

Sometimes I get emails from my friends about how they're getting married and think "Wow, we're really growing up!"

Then I go pick up my 'dinner' and think "Well, some of us are..."

The Way of the Gaucho

The gaucho (cowboy) is a celebrated figure in Argentinian culture.  He is the link to the wild, rural past of a rapidly urbanizing society. ((More than a third of the total population lives in Buenos Aires and less than 1 in 10 citizens now live in rural areas.))  He is the pre-European Argentinian, a relic of a time when the people were proudly untouched by outside influence.  He is the pure and gallant icon of a complicated history - forever roaming the plains, providing for his family and defending his land.

The modern Argentinian sees himself in the gaucho.  He may have moved to the city to work in an office building but he retains his gaucho spirit: proud and noble, self-reliant and generous, courteous but fiercely defiant if challenged.

And yet, the gaucho is no mere frozen stereotype.  These men still exist, albeit in far smaller numbers, and I recently got to spend some time in their natural habitat.

I only had about an hour on the ranch, but in that short time I took as many photos as I could.  Theirs is a fascinating way of life.  Simple, rustic, and fulfilling.  These are happy people.  They work hard but enjoy a good, rich life in return.  They've simply found no reason to adapt to a country that's changing all around them.  I can't blame them.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m the luckiest guy I know.  But these gauchos have it pretty good too.

Note to Vacation Home Owners

These are deck chairs.  The incredible Patagonian sunsets are made even more enjoyable sitting in these casual seats of luxury.

Bonus – This is a fox terrier named Tristan.  I’ve debated on how best to describe Tristan’s unique personality and I keep returning to one word: polite.  This is by far the most polite dog I’ve ever encountered.  I sit out on the deck chairs reading and inevitably start imagining what Tristan would sound like if he could speak.

“Yes hello, if I might just come inside for a moment…oh, I’m not allowed to?  Oh, I’ll just stay on the porch then, quite alright…probably for the best.”

“Is someone opening the door again?  Hello, well, I was just asking another fellow, if I might just come inside for a brief moment…oh, no?  They’ve told you I’m an outside dog?  Oh, well yes of course.  No trouble really.”

“Oh I see you have a few French fries there.  If I might just trouble you for one…I would really be indebted to you…the food they’re serving me, well it really is dog food!  Oh you really are too kind…”

Far From Home

Yea, these distance indicators might be a bit cliché.  But I think most travelers enjoy seeing them. They scan down to get a reference point near their hometown and you can see a small smile cross their face.

“Fuck yea – I am out there.”

To the Fitz Roy

A Journey in Pictures

Why is this a Laundromat?

I challenge you to find a more interesting looking laundromat than the one pictured above.

Oh I have so many questions for the owner of this place.  First of all – why is this a laundromat?  Was this built to be a laundromat?  Is that the original use of this building?  If so, why would you possibility design it in this way?  If not, why did you choose this place to buy and turn into a laundromat?  This is the perfect building to turn into a cool little artsy hostel.  Have you ever seen a laundromat?  One floor, one big rectangle room.  This is a ridiculous layout for a laundromat in almost every way.

Two floors make absolutely no sense, but that’s not even the most absurd thing about this structure - it’s those little alcoves.  There’s not one big space for all the machines to be located, which necessitates the constant lugging of wet clothes from washers to far-away dryers.  And the plumbing must be a nightmare!  Running separate water lines to the alcoves to feed into the washing machines is yet another inconvenience in a building full of them.

This is literally the most ill-suited structure I can possibly imagine becoming a laundromat.  If you were going to design a laundromat, this would be a lesson in what not to do.  Wait…that’s it!  I think I get it!  The point is that this doesn’t make sense.  It’s a comment on fundamental architectural ideals!  It’s saying form does not follow function – function follows form.  It’s a plea for creativity in an art form paralyzed by efficiency, a monument to design at any cost!  It’s like designing a doctor’s examining office with floor-to-ceiling windows, an open air bank, a prison made of balsa wood!  It’s a statement saying that a building should always be aesthetically pleasing, even at the expense of its own efficiency!  That must be what’s happening here.

I had my whole architectural theory speech ready to go when I walked up to this place but alas, it was closed.

Town Placement

Nerd alert: for about 5 months last year a few friends and I became obsessed with a board game called The Settlers of Catan.  I won't bore you with all the details, but a large part of the early game involves the placement of settlements, from which you try to build a civilization capable of dominating your opponents.  There's a great deal of strategy involved in placing settlements - you want access to a wide variety of useful natural resources, a network of ports to facilitate trade, and enough isolation that you won't be encroached upon by the expanding empires of the other players.  Well-placed settlements set you up for a swift victory, granting you bragging rights over your vanquished opponents. ((As long as all girls are out of earshot....))

The founder of El Chaltén would have made a strong Catan player.  Excellent placement!  Right at the fork of two rivers, in the shadow of a beautiful mountain range, multiple sources of fresh drinking water within a short distance of town.  Plus, it's only a short connection to Route 40 - Argentina's Longest Road. ((And at 3,107 mi, one of the longest roads in the world.))  Very well-played.

Waterfall in the Woods

The cold, clear water of Salto El Chorillo.

El Chaltén

El Chaltén is a place that seems like it’s perpetually gearing up for a big storm.  It’s a place of wood and stone, where everything looks simultaneously sturdier but somehow more worn-down.  The people, locals and travelers alike, are always checking things: straps on big backpacks, jeep tires, window shutters, climbing ropes.  They test their strength, frown and turn up their collars, then walk over to check something else, quickly and with purpose.  Even the dogs, huskies and German Shepherds, don’t wander up friendly and curious.  They run in packs through town, anxious to get somewhere.  The land has weeded out the uncommitted.

Emptiness

The road ahead in Patagonia.

The Wind

Like the Eskimos with their snow, if someone told me that the people of Patagonia have a hundred different words to describe this wind, I'd believe them.  It's constant, overwhelming, all-encompassing.  But a few adjectives don't do it it justice.  Here are eleven ways I've come up with to try and convey what this Patagonian wind is like:

It’s tears-in-your-eyes, blow-your-hat-off wind.

It’s a suffocating blanket of bitter cold.

It’s always as strong as wind can be, until it becomes stronger, then remains at maximum strength, until it becomes stronger yet again.

It’s a wind of lost maps, ruined hair-dos, slamming doors, unintelligible conversation, unlit cigarettes, thick soup, and double socks.

It’s the wind that makes it make sense that birds can fly.

It’s one of those inanimate things you can’t help but humanize, only so you can curse at it angrily into the turned-up collar of your deficient coat.

It’s a harsh mother shooing a child back from an edge.

It’s a wind that makes you nervous about the strength of the roof and the weight of the car.

It’s a wind that forces itself into the beginning of conversations, an element so strong and omnipresent that it must be commented upon, vehemently and passionately, when you first start speaking with someone.

It’s a wind that strips away any attempt at image enhancement – a woman who is beautiful in this chaos is truly beautiful.

It’s a wind that lets you know you’re near the end of the earth.

Impressionism

Taken from a bus barreling down the famous Route 40 into Patagonia.

The movement and lack of light blurred the image into what I thought would be an unusable photo.  But, when I saw that the camera had still captured some vivid colors, I realized the result looked a bit like one of those impressionist landscapes people pay so much money for.  So, I’m happy to throw this in a frame and call it a painting if anyone’s interested.

Guanacos

Look closely – that’s a pack of guanacos.  Closely related to the llama and the camel, these animals lick desert cacti to survive, a needed skill as some herds roam deserts where it hasn’t rained in decades.  They spit when they’re scared, can run 35 mph over rocks, and their wool is apparently some of the finest in the world.

A guanaco pelt is considered second only to that of their Peruvian cousin, the vicuña.  People pay thousands upon thousands of dollars to be draped in the wool of these animals; ((Men’s jackets generally sell for around $20,000, suits start at $50,000)) in the Inca kingdom it was simply against the law for anyone but royalty to wear vicuña.  For reference, cashmere - which I’d always thought of as the world’s finest wool ((It should be noted that some sources technically consider cashmere a hair, not a wool.)) - goes for about $100 per yard on average.  Lower-end vicuña sells for $1,800.