A Remedy for Sour Grapes

In southern Patagonia the sun does not sleep, which has meant, for the time being, that I do not either. Dealig with a sun up and a clock that reads midnight is probably the hardest adjust ment that I have had to make so far. Of course, it has been made no easier by the 6 foot long bunks that torment me while I sleep--or don't for that matter. However, despite my sleeping ailments I have just had more time to effectivbely explore Patagonia with the utmost fascination. My journey started a few days ago, in the town of San Carlos de Bariloche--the chocolate capital of South America, and the first snowy destination on my intinerary.

Before leaving Mendoza, I tried my best to remove the sour taste in my mouth of the low calue wine tour and attempted theft by treating myself to a sensory wine tasting at the Grapes of Mendoza--a classy establishment if I do say so myself. In three glasses of wine I think I learned more than I had in my prior years as a server. And, of course, after three glasses of wine and all of that information I was feeling a whole lot better about the place that had initially captured my admiration. Though, three glasses of wine will do that to anyone...

Twenty hours and a sunburn later, I left sunny and hot Mendoza in search of something cooler. 16 hours later, I found it in Bariloche--where it was snowing (a grand punctuation on the temperature change from 40 degrees C to 0 degrees C). I stood outside the bus awaiting my backpack, shivering in my shorts and thong sandals, all the while cursing the jackass that stole my other jacket in Mexico.

I was immediately, as is often the case, captivated by the quaint Swiss-log-cabin-like town set on the stunning Lago Nahuel Huapi. The architecture, roaming St. Bernards with tiny barrels around their necks, little old ladies offering you homemade chocolate, and much much more make you forget about the cold and wind. Plus, there was this awesome view from my hostel:



After some rest and a little kayaking in the freezing cold water the next morning, I decided that I would spend the next day on land, peddling the Chico Circuit--around the lakes in the area. I returned in the evening hopefull that I would be able to find the Seahawks game on TV somewhere, despite the time difference. Unfortuanately there would be no football in Bariloche on that day. Despite an abundance of satellite dishes in the town, nobody had the game. I was left to my solitude, ironically reading the book, One Hundred Years of Solitude.



I eventually went out to scour the town for something quick to eat, but nothing 'affordable' seemed to exist. It was about then that I realized that half of the towns population consisted of tourists and it all made sense. About 15 minutes later I found myself eating a subpar fajita at a faux Mexican restaurant, paying what I probably would have in the states for the same thing. Still, it felt good. Yet, I did feel some remorse, and have since vowed to cook for myself the rest of the way through South America. After all, it would be easy, right? ... Defiitely not, especially when you can't even find olive oil anywhere and don't feel like either wasting a bag of rice or carrying it with you for the duration of your trip. In short, Argentina--despite its steak and wine--is seriously making me yearn for a balanced diet, a kitchen, and the ability to stay in one place for an extended period of time...

But I digress. I left Bariloche, at 5AM some five or so days ago, for the small town oasis of El Chaltén and Fitz Roy... I leave you with this to ponder...