A young traveler's journey to the end of the world
Monday
This morning, we arrived at the end of the world. Our plane set down in Ushuaia, Argentina, the world's southernmost city. Beyond lay the steppes of Patagonia, the untrammeled region that includes parts of both Argentina and Chile, and narrows to the national park of Tierra del Fuego, and from there to Cape Horn. The plane ride from Buenos Aires was a little rough, but we were lucky to be among the few people whose bags did not get left in B.A. Our tour guide for the next day picked us up at the airport and brought us to our hotel, the roads short and uphill. Las Hayas Resort, our destination, resembles a ski lodge, the rooms small and cozy, very clean and comfortable.
Tuesday
I have never seen a bird as absurd as the Steamer Duck; it cannot fly but runs on top of the water, creating quite a commotion. They are common on the bays of Tierra del Fuego, where we spent our first day. In the morning we canoed to Lapataia Bay, surrounded by mountains. The weather was clear and cool, and very windy. The landscape makes one feel insignificant, yet privileged to be a part of it, the mountains imposing, the land relatively untouched. When we shored our canoes, we encountered a sign announcing the end of the Pan-American Highway.
Lunch was arranged by our tour guides at a campground in the park. They set up a tent around a picnic table to discourage falcons from disrupting our lunch. We were served a feast, the American style burgers with all the toppings seeming somewhat out of place next to the sausage and Alfajores, a type of cookie made of wafers, chocolate and Dulce de Leche. After lunch, we hiked up through a forest to the top of a hill where we could see the Beagle Channel, named for the ship which completed two hydrographic surveys in the early 19th century, the second of which carried Charles Darwin. We could even see some of the Darwin Mountain Range, magnificent and snow-peaked. The channel eventually leads to the Pacific Ocean, and is about 150 miles long, the eastern portion the border of Argentina and Chile. No one else was in sight the entire time. On our way down the hill we came across a beaver dam. Our informative tour guide explained that beavers were introduced to Patagonia for their pelts, yet because no natural predator lives here, the beavers don't produce adrenaline, and so their pelts are thinner and therefore less valuable. The beavers in these parts prosper, building dams, creating artificial lakes, and killing the trees around their dams by flooding them.
After our tour, we spent some time in Ushuaia, considered the portal to Antarctica. The streets are short and hilly, and the houses aren't more than a story high. Though the town is plain and unimposing, it is a duty-free zone, and so the shopping is great-everything is half the price it would be in the US.
Patagonia owes its name to the Spaniards, who referred to its indigenous population as "patagones," because of their physique, relating them to a giant called "Patagon," a character popular in novels of the time. Popular perception that Patagonia was home to a race of giants fueled interest in the region, especially as other explorers such as Sir Francis Drake seemed to confirm these accounts after their own expeditions to the end of the world.
Later, we boarded the Mare Australis, a small cruise ship that would take us around Cape Horn and eventually end up in Punta Arenas, Chile. The cabins on the ship were large and everything was very tidy and inviting. The crew was very available to our every need, and the two main lounges were extremely comfortable.
[[BREAK]] Wednesday
Like Magellan, we came upon Cape Horn this morning, and attempted to disembark. It's one of the world's roughest stretches of waters; there have been over 800 shipwrecks. Ideally, all 200 passengers would have taken zodiacs to the beach and then climbed 166 stairs to the top of the Cape. But though we suited up in waterproof attire, the ship's crew deemed the waters unsafe; we'd risk being unable to get back to our ship. Although the water looked calm enough to us, we trusted their judgment. Instead we remained on the ship and viewed the Cape from a safe distance. In minutes a storm picked up; visible on the horizon, it was upon us in no time.
The rest of the day we spent sailing back up to Wulaia, once the site of one of the region's largest indigenous settlements. We watched a documentary on Shackleton and his Antarctic expedition, the crew's way of making us feel like explorers ourselves, and then heard lectures on the native people, the Yamani. The weather was alternately rainy and then sunny, but the landscape was full of mountains and hills, never ending as we sped by. We hung over the rail to watch seals and porpoises swimming alongside the boat.
We reached Wulaia Bay in the early evening. Here we disembarked for a hike up to the hill where we could overlook the bay. Our guides told us that the Yamani who used to inhabit the island wore no clothing, an incredible feat considering how we were dressed - bundled up in rain and wind gear. The trees are a testament to the strength of the winds; their tops have been flattened against the hillside.
Upon reaching the top of the hill, we spent a moment in silence, the only sound the whistling of the wind. Patagonian landscape is pure and spare, the landscape around us undisturbed except for an abandoned house that once belonged to a solitary military family. Although we could see our ship, there was no one else on the entire island. The hike down was more difficult, as it began to drizzle and the path was muddy, but the crew met us at the bottom with hot chocolate, coffee, and brandy before we got back on the zodiacs and returned to the ships. We were roughing it, but in style.
Thursday
I never truly understood what it meant to be on the open ocean. The ship's prow bobbed up and down on 40-foot waves. Those who didn't keep a tight grip were thrown off balance and often were grabbed by other passengers. The ship doctor was continuously paged for sea sickness, but generally the mood was jovial. Patagonia is famous for its huge, glistening glaciers, so that afternoon we prepared to board the zodiacs to get a look at the Gunter Pluschow glacier. As we waited, we watched Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" in the lounge, a reminder that the magnificence we were about to see might soon melt away.
Aboard the zodiacs, each carrying a dozen people, we set out over the icy waters in a slight drizzle. The glacier itself looked more blue than white, and took up most of the small cove; chunks of ice fell regularly into the water. Just before we left to go back to the boat, our guides hauled a huge chunk of ice out of the water and into our boat. They didn't tell us why; they just left the ice at our feet. Aboard the Mare Australis, at dinner, the ice we'd hauled aboard was displayed in lights upon a table. After the meal we applauded all the crew members before heading up to the Star Lounge for a glass of farewell champagne.
Friday
We had heard we should not miss the sunsets and sunrises of Patagonia. But it had been so cloudy and stormy that I hadn't seen any…until this morning. Sunrise was worth an early wake-up call; the view included the sight of Magdalena Island, home to thousands of penguins. We disembarked, and took a path the lighthouse . Countless penguins dotted the landscape, wailing high-pitched cries, hiding out in their underground holes, or waddling to the sea. Later, in the afternoon, the rainbows came out. Never before had I seen them so defined, their entire arcs visible as we sailed into port.
Putting into Punta Arenas, our bags were unloaded and we were met by a cab sent by our hotel, the Hotel Jose Nogueira. The hotel is located in the city center, next to a square featuring a huge statue of Magellan, the explorer whose expedition discovered Patagonia. The wind here, even in the city, is so strong it can blow you off balance. Although Punta Arenas is the largest city in this region of the world, it is dirty and underdeveloped. The city suffered economic fallout when the Panama Canal was created, diverting business from this region.
Saturday
Vans from the Explora Lodge picked us up and we drove through the wild country surrounding Punta Arenas. The landscape quickly changed from dirty city to grazing country, with herds of sheep and cattle dotting the fields. It changed again to mountain scenery as we arrived in Torres del Paine National Park. The greenery surrounding the road, although scrubby and durable to withstand the winds, was in contrast to the snowcapped mountains. Soon we saw guanaco, a llama-like creature in vast quantities along the roadside, hopping over four-foot fences from a standstill, leaping away from the passing cars. The Torres (towers), three slender mountains, are the most recognizable landforms.
The Explora Lodge sits on a lake in front of the towers and near a river's edge, and from the hilltops that surround the lodge, one can even catch a glimpse of the Patagonia ice field, which extends for over 300 km. This afternoon, we decided to hike up a hill they call "the mushroom." It was strenuous, and we again encountered rain just before reaching the summit, which wasn't surprising; in Patagonia you can encounter all four seasons in a day. At the top, another unforgettable view: the lake, the towers, the mass of blue ice known as the French glacier, and, far off, the ice field, where two falcons were attempting to alight. The sun came out, blazing, as we stood at the top of the hill.
Sunday
We came to Patagonia for adventure, and today that's exactly what we had. We signed up for the full day hike to see Glacier Grey, and embarked in the early morning, first taking a half-hour boat ride across the lake. The ride, predictably, was extremely rough due to the high winds. On the glacier, we opted for the longer hike, which ended up overlooking the glacier itself. The trail took us up hills and down, through rocky gorges and leafy forests. Grey Lake was to our left, and we soon could see huge floating icebergs which had fallen off the glacier.
At eleven o'clock, we were given the bad news. A boat was supposed to meet us and bring us to the foot of the glacier and take us back the way we'd come. Because of the winds, the strongest our tour guide says he'd ever seen there, the boat was unable to sail that day. We'd have to hike the way back. First, though, we ate lunch on a rock about a mile away from the glacier, overlooking the lake and Grey Glacier itself. On the rock there was a brass piece, marking the spot the glacier had reached in 1985. In little more than twenty years, the glacier has receded at a rate of close to 10 feet a month. The glacier, like the icebergs, was a brilliant blue. It took us four hours to hike back, and I arrived at trail's end exhausted.
There we were greeted with another surprise: the Explora boat had had to turn back on the lake because of the rough water, and couldn't come to pick us up. Suddenly, we were faced with having to spend the night here. An hour later, we had a way out. Explora Lodge hired the public ferry, already docked for the night, to come and get us. When the ferry docked, everyone was rushed on board as the light faded. We arrived back at the lodge in time for dinner, crisis averted.
Tuesday
This morning we trotted off with a gaucho. Our guide provided us with horses and a cowboy in case his equestrian prowess was needed. We stopped at a small farm for a break, and watched our gaucho lasso horses there. Later, we headed back to the site of a barbecue, where the rest of my family met us for lunch. Two sheep had been skewered and cooked around an indoor fire pit. They served empanadas unlike any I'd ever had, followed by the lamb, meat and vegetables.
Wednesday
My last night. I jumped in the freezing river, just to say I had. I survived all of two seconds. The spa afterward was warm and inviting. I was not looking forward to leaving but prepared to head north all the same, and to leave behind the end of the world.