In Argentina a normal tourist visa gives you permission to stay in the country for 90 days. This seems like plenty of time, but somehow last weekend, basking in a daze of comfortable routine and cookery and fun with our new wwoof friends, we realized the days had been slowly and insidiously accumulating behind us. Already THREE MONTHS have past since we entered Argentina. Improbable as it feels, the Argentinian Gendarmaria, we were willing to bet, would make their count from the date stamped in our passports, not our leaky estimations.
Something had to be done.
We would walk to Chile.
The problem with hiking advice from non-native english speakers, is that they just don't grasp the subtleties and connotations of verbs. We kept running into people, or blogs describing how they "walked" across the border to Chile, when other verbs: hiked, trekked, mountain-climbed, summited many peaks or crawled over incessant boulders and slid down scree, for example--these would have been slightly more adept descriptions. Alas, a dearth of developed diction in "international english."
From the stories we heard and photos of signs we saw online, we pictured a nice stroll through the woods on a wide and undulating, well-marked path. "It goes along the lake" we reasoned, so it must be fairly flat.
Well, mistake number 2: don't ever underestimate the utility of a topographic map.
Mistake number 3: carry extra food
Number 4: be wary of wild dogs
5: don't get lost and summit mountains unnecessarily.
6: Don't be hostile and incredulous to the border crossing guard when he tells you the lovely chilean town, with restaurants, hotels, bars showing the superbowl and frequent bus service, that you've been imagining doesn't exist.
7: don't dry your socks too close the the fire.
Aside from our laughable lack of real information, the problems started with seemingly innocuous, but eventually Bad advice: The Rio Azul is higher now than at other times of the year. Its better to cross at a bridge upstream from the lake, even though it adds 8 km to the 17 k (one-way). We reasoned 2 days, one night was plenty of time.
A sign on the far side of the footbridge pointed us down stream. Pretty quickly the trail went off the edge of small cliff. A common theme, we'd soon realize. We'd back track, find another plausible course, only to have it peter out in the midst of a rose thicket. About 5 km in, our trail of the minute headed uphill towards a private farm. Up we went, despite 2 barking black dogs. Honestly I don't know what the reasoning was, but we kept approaching, until they came snappng at us, nearly getting chunks out of our legs as we back peddled downhill. Nope, not over excited guard dogs, just wild. And mean. Fortunately we were saved by a portly slingshot wielding gaucho in a black beret.
He also confirmed we were going the right way. We walked on, choosing what looked the most worn and promising paths. One, sporting a nice brown and yellow "no motos allowed" sign, led up the hill into the woods. It looked to get a lot of foot and horse traffic. On we hiked. It just kept going up and up, but we didn't want to turn back only to be told "no thats the correct trail" and climb up again. Finally a couple hours in, as the switch-backs commenced in earnest, it was clear we were summiting something. This was not the trail to Chile.
Down, down, down we went, loosing the first trail, ending up on something incredibly steep and treacherous for the knees.
Arriving, for the second time at the small clearing where we turned off, legs getting weary, sun climbing higher, the delusions started. "Maybe we won't even have to go to Chile, we can just get the exit stamp in argentina and turn around and get re-entered"
We vowed to stay closer to the river, made valiant attempts at following little paths through thickets, over fences. Eventually we walked along the rocky river banks until we came at last to a well marked trail "Chile, THIS WAY!!" Eeeeeexcellent, we thought, now just a little further to the Gendarmaria and then. . .maybe. . . home!
When we arrived at about 6pm, too late for an exit stamp. The trip to the Chilean post has to be done in one day, lest you be lost in no-mans land. Oh, and yes, it has to be done if you want a new 90 day visa.
9 hours bushwacking, all the energy of our fresh legs, and apparently the remaining youth in my knees spent getting to what for most people is the starting point. Never before have I felt like such an antique.
After a freezing night, it was a beautiful morning and we started off on the remaining 12 km to the chilean post.
Decrepitude set in. All muscles and joints were unhappy. There were doubts, maybe even some tears, but the scenery was beautiful. There was a brief moment of optimism as we crossed the continental divide; the path was wide and smooth, relatively flat. Hopes rose. See how happy we were:
But this was short lived. Stony, steep and trecherous was the norm. The downhill was worse than uphill. I guess a quarter century was all I could expect from my poor joints.
Visions of nearby chilean towns entered our heads. Tom wanted to watch the superbowl; we were both hungry, not to mention extremely unenthused with the prospect of walking back. Exhausted after 7 hours of hobbling and creaking we arrived at the chilean carabineros.
Which was, of course, in the middle of nowhere. Uninhabited mountains and lakes stretched in every direction.
Night number two: we had a feast of one carefully rationed slice of bread, rest of a tin of dear pate and copious amounts of mint tea. "Should we, maybe try to gather dandelion greens?" asked Tom. It turned out the camp ground was frequented by, not one, but three horses and 2 curious young heifers whose breathy puffs and lippy munchings filled our dreams all night.
After resting the afternoon, and a decent night sleep, we woke early and practically skipped home. It took us under 5 hours to do what had taken 7 the day before. Despite a bit of hunger, and a sketchy moment or two fording the Rio Azul ( no we didn't walk all the way back up to the dang bridge) the walk was nice. And jumping into the sparkly blue waters of lago puelo with the toothy snowy mountains in the backdrop: deeeelightful!
