Interregnum: Ushuaia to Santiago (Days 16 to 21)

I have not posted these last four days for several reasons.  For starters, I needed a break after the intensity of the experience aboard the Polar Star in the Antarctic.  Time to walk, think, breathe, and stretch.  You might say I was on mental administrative leave, before entering the next busy and colorful phase of the trip.  But there were other factors.  Pure exasperation, for one.  Upon returning to Ushuaia aboard our icebreaker on the morning of Wednesday, Jan 26th, I expected to have my computer repaired in about an hour and then hit the ground running for Torres Del Paine National Park.  But the repairs took until deep into the afternoon, and just when it appeared solved, the locals took a three hour siesta.  When I returned, the billete or ticket office for buses to points north the next day had closed 15 minutes earlier.  And the ride would be 12 hours to Punta Arenas, not the three I had estimated from the distance on the map.  Buses only ran once a day.  So no departure until early Friday the 28th. Basically just handled chores all day.  Among them: trying to get a hold of Bank of America to solve a theft of id problem with my fully paid credit card account.  Another victim, of the open computer network one finds at internet cafes and hostels on the road.  Suggestion: always use the “Do you want to view only pages with the secure content download feature?” YES button on it when using wireless!  After beers and goodbyes at the Dublin Pub with those two Dutch scoundrels, Marco and Simon, went to a local out-of-the-way club called Latino.  Ushuaia is a tourist driven port town, and I wanted to see where the locals hang out, dance, eat, woo, and listen to their music.  So different than most places catering to the dollar !  The South Americans breathe their music.   They sway constantly to personal AND collective rhythms.  You can fairly see them pulse with it.  It is embedded in their DNA.  Nobody just sits.  No cigar store Indians here!  People were in the club, of all ages, including a few children.  At first, it was not crowded.  But as the evening continued, it became a swarm.  Now, I have been in cantinas like Hussongs in Ensenada (Mexico) where visitors are packed so tight, if you pass out you never hit the floor but just continue to get swept along like a comatose zombie in the tidal ebb of the crowd.  Or packed in Penguins, circling to avoid the cold.  Latino was twice as crowded as that.  No such thing as dancing, under the circumstances.  More like wiggling, squirming, perhaps standing gyrations.    Left at 3:45 AM.  No bother going to sleep, as the bus was to leave at 5 AM and I was deathly afraid of my alarm clock failing or the hostel attendant forgetting to put in a wakeup knock at my door.  Not when the bus only leaves once a day…

Once on the road, sleep was possible.  Was a very nice bus, modern, comfy, with tv screens, shades, a bathroom, coffee maker and water.  They even served light meal snacks a la the airlines.  But the road was atrocious much of the way.  There was one 70 mile stretch that made a Gold Rush placer gully look like a lacquered bowling alley.  Thought the bus would tip over several times from washboarding.  Finally got to the border with Chile at San Sebastian.  Rather primitive.  Very slow.  Lots of redundancies, and no built-in efficiency at all.  Much well intended earnestness and politeness was obvious on the part of the locals, but yet another situation of “Hurry Up and Wait.”  Finally crossed out of the island of Tierra Del Fuego at the Magellan Strait ferry crossing.  That was handled well.  Afterward, a smooth bus ride to Punta Arenas, a town of 150,000 whose primary function seems to serve as a port landing for some glacier cruise vessels and the airport for long flights north to major cities in Chile and Argentina.  Like Ushuaia, it is a tourist town of sorts, one of several departure towns for Patagonia and the incredible hiking/trekking opportunities that abound here.  Like the one I missed to Torres Del Paine.  But prices are too high.  There are few bargains.  You have to carry pesos in large denominations, as it was exchanging at about 472 to the dollar.  Bank notes of 10,000 and 5000 are not uncommon.  The town layout completely misuses its natural waterfront advantage, and makes much of it off limits.  It is not really built to keep you there, just entice you in.

Only my hostel was inexpensive, about $11 US.  (More about that in a bit)..  Ran into my Israeli friend Rony from our cruise to Antarctica there, and we spent 1.5 days shuffling about town primarily looking for backpacking equipment for her, and a mini-video camera for me.  Both of us walked away happy from the bounty of the port’s duty free zone.  Were joined last night (Sat the 29^th) by Christine from London, another attractive and agreeable member of our little Antarctic excursion.  [Earlier, Colin & Melody from Melbourne had spotted us from a taxi, thrown open the doors to dash over for a quick greeting, and dashed back to their vehicle.  So the fraternity remains active].  The two women and I dined at a seaside restaurant called Puerto Viejo, where I had one of the best large bowls of seafood soup I’d ever tasted for about $9.  Glass of fine Chilean white wine added $3, a large Greek salad about $7 more, burnt cream for dessert another $3, and specialty coffee about $1.50.  Again, too much to do so didn’t get to bed until about 4 AM.  There are always airline flights to confirm online, future hostel or B&B reservations to make, stories to compare with late night stragglers, e-mails to answer or initiate, online inquiries from the bank as to whether charges you made were legit, and so forth.  Up by 8 AM, for a 3.5 hour flight to Santiago.  Looking forward to it, as for my purposes the trip will really begin to pick up in interest and hit the major attractions now.

Before closing, wanted to say a few things about hostel life.  It is a very inexpensive way to travel.  It is for all ages.  Continuously surprised to find so many middle-aged folks hosteling, and not just backpackers.  Financially, it makes sense if you are having a long run and are not gone merely for the standard US two-week vacation.  They are extremely easy to book online.  They are fun, and lack the stuffiness of hotels.  The staff or attendants are always multi-lingual (English being the common lingua franca of the hostel world) and helpful in the extremis.  This morning for example, Cesar gave me a fine quality rosewood wine corkscrew as a going away present.   Apparently he knows of me from leaked scouting reports from Seattle.   The hostels are righteous examples of democracy.  Nobody has primacy.  You clean up after yourself, and you don’t pinch other people’s food or drink.  You meet folks from all over the world, and they give excellent advice about where you should go next.  Comparing notes on common areas of visitation is always a gas.  Bar trips together and pub crawling with new friends is a common activity.  So are daytrips, including hikes, excursions, and trips to local points of interest [Writer/Editor’s note: I am amazed to find at this moment the mouse from my computer works on my leg, crammed as I am into this seat on an Airbus A318.  Too much!].  Some hostels are good, some bad.  Some have great kitchens, and terrible bathrooms.  Others wonderful bathrooms, and terrible common areas.  Almost all have wi-fi (have to, to compete in today’s casual traveler world).  But all of them are FUN, in their own way.  And I haven’t met a staff member I have not liked yet, without exception.

The crowd I have run into the most so far, is Israelis.  They seem to travel primarily in the Middle East, South America, and Australia.  They make great company.  Like Rony.  I find them warm and engaging, eager to help, eager to share, even more eager to be understood, wonderful storytellers, hardy, bright, and optimistic.  Most but not all seem to have a very earthy sense of humor.  I love Israelis!  As noted in a prior log, many of them take multi-month trips after completing their obligatory three year initial army tour of duty.  They are only slightly less traveled it appears, than the Aussies.  Right behind them are the Danes, Dutch, and Brits.  Actually, I think there is a special breeding program for these folks, as they seem to be mass produced and there is no escaping them.  Luckily, they are as agreeable as the Jewish travelers I’ve encountered.  Frankly, having thrown my two sons to the wolves when the youngest graduated from college last May, I am thinking of adopting several as pets.  They are continuously endearing.

Next: Santiago ! (Capital of Chile)