I had booked an Uber for 2:30 and he arrived on time to haul my baggage down the hill to the bus terminal. It was raining lightly. The first bus that came was going to Punta Arenas, a popular stop that somehow didn’t appear in my guidebooks. I probably should have gone that way. Instead, I stood in the drizzle for another few minutes until the bus arrived to take me to Rio Gallegos. The bus terminal was hopping at that ridiculous hour. It seemed the buses left then in order to arrive at the border when immigration opened at 8:00.
I had booked a seat in the front row on the upper level so as to have a good view of the scenery. When the bus arrived, it was only a single level bus. Seat number two was occupied by the conductor who was using the front four seats as an office. I was reassigned to seat number 45 in the back of the bus. While disappointing, this was not so bad. I had two seats to myself and the seats were comfortable. I slept most of the way to the first border.
When I awoke, the scenery had changed from mountains and trees to flat, barren grassland. We arrived at the San Sebastian border at 7:30 and had to wait for immigration to open at 8:00. Things went smoothly once they opened. We stood in a long line in the howling wind. It was cool, but noticeably warmer than Ushuaia. Argentina doesn’t stamp passports, they merely scan them and enter information into their computer system. Checking out was quick.
Back on the bus, we drove a short distance across more grassland until we reached Chilean immigration and customs. Chilean customs requires you to complete a form online and obtain a QR code. Luckily, we had stumbled across the Marga office on our way home the night before. Remembering the chaos at the Marga office in Puerto Natales, we decided to see if I needed to check in. I did not, but a very chatty and helpful agent filled out the customs form for me and printed it out. That was a godsend, as many passengers were delayed boarding the bus in Ushuaia and again at the Chilean border because they did not have a QR code.
Chilean immigration went swiftly and I was careful to hang onto my PDI form, this time. Our carry-on bags were scanned and the agent proclaimed my printed QR, “perfecto.” We were soon back on our way. Chilean eastern Tierra del Fuego looked exactly like Argentine Tierra del Fuego. It was flat, sere grassland. We saw a few sheep and cows, but more native wildlife. Early on, we saw a lot of geese. Later, we saw herds of guanacos and some rheas. The road was gravel and I was grateful that I had decided against renting a car and driving. It would have been exhausting, dull, and lonely.
There wasn’t a lot to see, so I didn’t mind dozing on and off as we crossed the Chilean territory. Several hours later, we arrived at the port of Progreso. There, the bus was loaded onto a ferry to take it across the Straits of Magellan. It was rough and very windy. I stayed aboard the bus where it was warm and waited to use the restroom at immigration, a short distance north of the straits. Checking out of Chile was easy. This time, I had my PDI form to surrender. Checking back into Argentina wasn’t tough, although I did have to dig out the address of my apartment in Rio Gallegos and they seemed surprised that I was going there, expecting me to be going to El Calafate or Buenos Aires.
We drove north for another couple of hours. The scenery remained unchanged. We arrived in Rio Gallegos slightly ahead of schedule. I had been warned that the trip could take as much as sixteen hours, but we had made it in slightly under twelve.
 |
| The Entrance to My Apartment (Left) |
I took a taxi the short distance to my apartment on a busy street in downtown Rio Gallegos. The landlady had provided me with directions on how to access the unit. The keys were left in a lockbox and I had no trouble opening that. The doors were a different story. My apartment was in the back. To get there I had to pass through a vestibule with locked doors on both sides. The door handles were loose, the keys bent, and the locks worn. Opening them was a battle. The rear one had obviously been pried open at some point and the plate that served to position the key was missing. Somehow, I got through the doors. The door to the apartment was slightly easier to open, although the handle was also loose and felt like it might fall off. When the landlady texted me, she was surprised that I had managed to get in. I guess I wasn’t the first guest to have trouble.
 |
| Mangled Lock |
The apartment was a disappointment. Like most of Rio Gallegos, it was homely and needed repairs. The patio featured in the listing was unpaved and constantly blasted by wind. The chair blew over and the fence threatened to collapse. However, the location was good and the heater worked. While slightly lumpy, the bed was at least not too hard. The hot water was excellent. It would do.
 |
| My Apartment in Rio Gallegos |
After meeting with the very friendly and helpful landlady to hand over my cash payment, I unpacked a little and then walked to the corner where there was a grocery store. I bought the usual bread, butter, coffee, yogurt, fruit, mineral water, and eggs. Without Sally, I could omit chocolate and wine and didn’t have to feel guilty about buying some paté. It had been tough traveling with a vegetarian in a country as carnivorous as Argentina.
My landlady had suggested that I check with the travel agent renting the storefront in our building about possible excursions. I waited while the agent helped a couple of ladies research possible getaways. The young woman was very friendly and helpful, but knew nothing about how to get to Cabo Virgenes or Parque Nacional Monte León. I had already failed to find anything advertised on the internet. We had already seen penguins at Martillo Island. I was so frustrated and discouraged with the difficulty in traveling off the beaten path (or even on it, for that matter) in Argentina, that I decided a couple of rest days in Rio Gallegos would suit me just fine. The wind was blowing a constant forty miles per hour, outside. I went back to my apartment, watched Netflix, and had crackers with paté and a yogurt for dinner.
My first morning in Rio Gallegos was relaxing. I boiled some eggs and drank coffee. I bemoaned the lack of a toaster, so had to fry some bread in a pan. My first mission was to attempt to acquire cash from Western Union. Foolishly, I decided to try the Western Union office, which was located in the rear of a convenience store. They didn’t have any cash. They suggested I try the Carrefour grocery store around the corner. This made some sense to me, as grocery stores take in a lot of cash. As it turns out, I could actually have obtained a limited amount of cash at the register with my debit card. I didn’t need to do this, however, because there was a full-fledged Western Union office inside the store.
On my first visit to the window, the amiable teller informed me that I would need to use the app if I wanted to withdraw cash. I stepped aside to do so. I had already set up an account, so arranging the transfer was easy enough until I tried to enter my debit card information. Bank of America wanted to send me a security code, but they won’t send it to my Mexican phone number. I had to call a friend in Mexico with an American phone number, have them send the code to her, and then have her relay the code to me. While I was doing all of this, the line for Western Union was growing longer and longer. Apparently, even Argentines have to use Western Union to move money. I waited in line and had a nice conversation about immigration policy with the gentleman behind me. I showed my confirmation number from the app to the teller and she turned over a thousand dollars worth of Argentine pesos (1,495,000) without blinking. The rate was actually pretty good, as I had only been receiving about 1465/1 elsewhere. I went straight home to drop off the cash.
 |
| Avenida Kirchner |
After securing my hard-won pesos, I began to relax. I no longer had to consider coming straight home because I couldn’t pay for lodging. I booked the bus ticket to get to my non-refundable lodging in El Chaltén. Then I went out to explore. While Avenida José de San Martin is supposedly the main street of Rio Gallegos, Avenida Presidente Doctor Nestor C. Kirchner is the main commercial street. It is a homely avenue, with broken pavement and dilapidated buildings, but the businesses appear to be thriving. While civic pride seems to be lacking, there is plenty of money in Rio Gallegos from the coal and natural gas industries.
 |
| Aptly Named Burger Joint |
I passed a number of tempting restaurants on my way to the main plaza. Rio Gallegos has no native trees. The trees planted in the plaza had suffered from the relentless wind and most were half dead. Still, it was a pretty, green plaza with a nice equestrian statue of José de San Martin and a pond with a fountain (not operating.) The tiny cathedral faced the plaza, but was dwarfed by the buildings surrounding it. It was not open.
 |
| Tiny Cathedral |
 |
| Plaza in Rio Gallegos |
Having heard that Avenida José de San Martin was the main street, I decided to follow it down to the river, hoping to find somewhere to eat lunch. I should have eaten back on Kirchner, because there were no restaurants on San Martin or anywhere along the river. There was a nice, wide, if somewhat uneven, pathway along the river and people were walking on their lunch hours. Rio Gallegos was originally the primary port for the shipment of wool to Europe. The river is tidal and dangerous for ocean going ships to enter. They would anchor offshore and big wooden boats called “chatas” because of their flat bottoms would ferry the wool to the freighters waiting offshore. This practice continued until a deep water pier was constructed in 1970. The chata Swift was abandoned on the shore and later restored and installed as a monument.
 |
| Path Along the Rio Gallegos |
 |
| The Chata Swift |
I was pretty hungry by this point, but wanted to visit the Pioneer Museum before returning to the commercial center. I walked another kilometer or so to the museum, passing the commercial port and some sort of kids amusement park that was closed on a weekday. The museum is housed in the oldest remaining house in Rio Gallegos, dating from the 1880’s. It was ceded to the city as a museum upon the death of its last owner, a half Tehuelche woman named Catalina Parisi.
 |
| Me at the Museo de los Pionerors |
I was greeted at the gate by a lovely young docent named Claudia who was one of the few natives of Rio Gallegos and clearly very enthusiastic about preserving its history. She proceeded to spend the next two hours taking me through every room of the modest house, telling me all about the early history of the town and the three families who had occupied the house. Originally, it had belonged to the first doctor in the area. For a few years, it had been the residence of the state’s governor before passing into the hands of the Parisi family, who occupied it for something like sixty-seven years. Many families of the early settlers had donated items to the museum and it was actually pretty fascinating. My Spanish got a real workout from Claudia’s rapid-fire commentary, but we had a good time. She was interested in my stories of families I knew who had emigrated to Argentina, both Jews and Nazis. Argentina was a real melting pot because it was, for a time, a place that accepted anyone with enough money who wanted to start a new life.
 |
| The Governor's Office |
Claudia also told me about the Tehuelches, the indigenous nomadic people who inhabited the plains of Argentina. They followed the herds of guanacos which provided them with food and skins for tents and clothing. Unlike the Mapuches, who were stationary and came into conflict with the Argentine government over territory, the Tehuelches were peaceful and nomadic and would just move on if confronted. In this way, they managed to survive, although they intermarried with the Europeans and their language became lost over time. The last native speaker was a professor who tried to preserve the language by writing a dictionary and teaching classes but, while it is documented, the Tehuelche language is now considered extinct. This saddened Claudia, who suspected that most people native to the area had at least a few drops of Tehuelche blood.
 |
| The Carding Machine |
The early inhabitants of Rio Gallegos made their mattresses of wool. Once a year, they would take the wool out of its casing, wash it, and let it dry in the sun. Then they would call the “colchonero” or “mattress man” who would use a curious device to fluff it up before restuffing the mattress. This device, which was made by a French company called Cardeuse, had two plates with protruding nails between which the clumps of wool were pressed and shredded. It was a cruder version of carding wool, but quicker and adequate for stuffing into mattresses. Claudia demonstrated it for me, but said she seldom did so because it was too dangerous when children were present.
 |
| Covadonga Restaurant |
I hated to part from Claudia, who was clearly happy to have a visitor who understood Spanish, but I was starving. I walked another kilometer of so back up to Kirchner and stopped into Covadonga, the first restaurant I saw that didn’t serve pizza. I was the only person in the place at 15:30, but I had a lovely ceramic dish full of lamb in gravy served over risotto with peas. I couldn’t eat all the rice, by I managed to devour all the lamb. Then I went back to my apartment to take a nap and digest. I spent the evening catching up my writing.
February 8, 2026
Hermoso Departamento Con Patio en Rio Gallegos
Rio Gallegos, Argentina
I had nothing pressing to do on my second full day in Rio Gallegos. I made breakfast and coffee in the apartment and spent the morning writing and working on my blog. The wind howled, outside. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. I did, however, really need a haircut. With so much wind, half the time my bangs obscured my view.
I had noticed a hair salon a couple of blocks down my street. About 13:00, I left my place and headed over there. The stylist was busy cutting the hair of a small boy. No one even made eye-contact with me. It quickly became apparent that this place specialized in cutting the hair of children. I left and headed over to the main drag. Just around the corner onto Kirchner, I found another salon that catered to adults. They weren’t busy and attended to me, right away. It might have been the shortest haircut I had ever received, but at least my hair wouldn’t get in my face for the next few months. It cost me 25,000 pesos, slightly less than I would have paid in Mexico.
 |
| Chicken Chill |
Most things were closed at 14:00 on a Saturday afternoon. Businesses took a siesta from noon or 13:00 to 15:00 or 15:30. I had been lucky to find the salon open. Rio Gallegos seemed even sadder with all the businesses shuttered. I walked perhaps a kilometer down Kirchner, searching for a chicken fast-food place that had caught my fancy the day before. Eventually, I found Chicken Chill. It was open, but deserted. What I really wanted was a couple of pieces of crispy chicken and some fries. That was not an option. I could either get a bucket of chicken big enough to feed four people or a sandwich. I opted for a sandwich with bacon, cheese, and BBQ sauce. The fries were wide and loosely spiral cut. They were very good, but I couldn’t finish them. The sandwich was very filling.
I had wanted to go to the museum about the Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas, here) War, but it was closed on the weekend. With nothing attracting my attention, I walked back along the street just starting to wake up after siesta and did battle with the faulty door locks in my vestibule. I spent the afternoon and evening reading and working on my blog. Dinner was a hard boiled egg and some paté on rice cakes.
February 9, 2026
Meraki Lofts
El Chaltén, Argentina
I spent Sunday morning working on my blog and then checked out of my apartment about 10:30. An Uber arrived, promptly, to take me to the bus terminal. This didn’t happen in Rio Gallegos, but a couple of times in South America my Uber driver was a taxi.
 |
| Bus Station Dog |
The small bus station was crowded. A large group of noisy Germans had booked nearly the entire upper level of the bus. I had a seat downstairs and was happy to be away from their chatter. The view might have been slightly worse, but there was nothing to see, anyway. I had two seats to myself and it was nice and quiet. I read and dozed for four and a half hours across Patagonia to El Calafate. The bus stopped at the airport, first. Apparently, even the Argentines couldn't fly out of Rio Gallegos.
 |
| Patagonian Estancia |
 |
| El Calafate Terminal |
I had left myself an hour and a half between buses to be sure I wouldn’t miss the bus to El Chaltén and to give myself time to get something to eat. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and both the snack bar and the restaurant across the street were closed. When I checked in, the people ahead of me in line had missed their connection and, even though it was with the same company, were forced to pay for new tickets. Hungry as I was (I hadn’t had lunch, either.), I was glad I had given myself a cushion. El Calafate levied a 4,000 peso tax on each passenger, which we had to pay at a special window before boarding the bus.
The bus to El Chaltén also stopped at the El Calafate airport before turning north and heading to El Chaltén. It rained a little on the way. The weather improved when we turned west and climbed up to El Chaltén.
 |
| The Sun Came Out Near El Chaltén |
El Chaltén is quite small. So small, in fact, that there are no taxis or Ubers. There also isn’t any data service. The bus station is on the downhill edge of town. The waiting room appeared to be closed. Once I determined that I would have to walk, I began dragging my heavy suitcase up the main road, looking for the street where my hotel was located. I had no idea where it was and couldn’t use Google Maps. At the end of the paved road, an impressive stairway and ramp ascended an embankment that was probably left behind when a glacier retreated. The ramp had eight long switchbacks. Before I dragged my bag up that thing, I needed to know where I was going. Fortunately, about that time, I realized the hotel had sent me a map on WhatsApp. Indeed, I had to climb the ramp. My hotel was on the far edge of town. I had to drag my bag several more blocks up gravel roads.
 |
| The Ramp |
 |
| Meraki Lofts |
By this time, it was nearly 22:00, although still light. The reception was still open and the clerk helped me carry my suitcase up a flight of stairs to my unit. Unfortunately, I could only have that unit for the first night and would then have to move. The unit was nice, if a little cramped, with the bed in a loft above the kitchen. I don’t know if it was because the radiators were on a timer or if it was because I was only going to be there one night, but there was no heat. I was cold and hungry and not happy about the lack of heat. At least there was a toaster. I made some toast with butter and a cup of instant cappuccino, even though I wanted to go to sleep. It was too late to go out and get dinner. Then I climbed the stairs, leaving my suitcase on the first floor, crawled into bed, and watched Netflix.
I woke up about 6:45 the next morning. The wind was howling. I lounged in bed for a while and then got ready and went out for breakfast. I was hungry. I knew that they wanted to clean my room and move my stuff at 10:00, so I packed everything into my suitcase and laundry bag before I left.
 |
| Laguna Torre Trailhead |
I had an afogato and a ham and cheese omelet in a restaurant at the foot of the ramp. A little after 9:00, I headed back up the stairs to the trailhead, which was just at the end of the cross street for my hotel. I elected to take the Laguna Torre trail, a nine kilometer path which was supposed to offer views of Cerro Torre and terminate at a lake at the bottom of Torre Glacier.
The first part of the path was a steep climb up to a saddle. The path then dropped down before beginning a long traverse across the side of a hill overlooking the river that flowed from the lake. About 2.5 kilometers in, there was an overlook where we were supposed to see Cerro Torre. All I could see were clouds. It was still early, so I figured the clouds would burn off and kept going. The weather report had promised zero chance of rain.
 |
| (Non) View from Mirador Cerro Torre |
 |
| Walking Through the Beech Forest |
About six kilometers in, it began to mist. The visibility had not improved. I still thought it would burn off by the afternoon, and kept on going. Knowing that eighteen kilometers was about the limit for what my back could tolerate, I planned to rest for an hour or two when I got to the lake and maybe take a nap. I had all day.
 |
| Climbing the Moraine |
By 11:00, a light rain set in. The last three kilometers were steeper, although not difficult, and I was plenty warm. The path threaded through a beech forest that kept off much of the rain. The last kilometer up the rocky moraine was wetter. By the time I got to the lake, it was definitely raining. The lake was gorgeous. I could see the glacier on the far bank, but still couldn’t see the tops of the peaks. I sat down to drink some water and eat the rest of my crackers about 11:30. I realized that it would be cold if I wasn’t moving and the rain showed no sign of abating. My rest was not in the cards. I turned around and headed down the trail as fast as I could go.
 |
| Icebergs at Laguna Torre |
 |
| Torre Glacier Ends at Laguna Torre |
 |
| My Second Unit |
Maybe I was tired or maybe it was because the rocks were wet and I had to be more careful, but it took me longer to get down that it had to get up. By the time I staggered back to the hotel, it was almost 15:00. I was not too cold, but I was pretty wet. I was very relieved to discover that my new unit had heat. I hoped they wouldn’t turn it off at 22:00. It was only about 43 degrees and had started to rain harder.
 |
My Loft
|
My new unit was larger and included a living area. The couch wasn’t comfortable, however. After putting on dry clothes and draping the wet ones over the radiators, I made a cup of cappuccino and some toast. Then I dragged myself up the stairs for a nap.
It was pouring by the time I got up. There was no way I was going to walk into town for dinner in that rain. I made some more toast and a cup of tea. The weather report for the next day was not promising. They were predicting light snow. I hoped it would stop raining long enough for me to at least get some breakfast. I sat down to write and work on my blog.
February 10, 2026
Meraki Lofts
El Chaltén, Argentina
 |
| Fresh Snow on the Peaks |
The weather was pretty nice, if cold, when I got up. I was too stiff to even think about hiking, so I took my time getting ready and then walked up the road to get a clear view of the snow that had fallen the night before. The clouds had cleared and I could see Cerro Torre from town, although Fitzroy was still hiding his head. It was becoming clear why there was an ice cap in this part of the Andes. Even high summer can have winter weather. I continued down the stairs (77 of them) into town in search of breakfast.
 |
| Cerro Torre Peeking Over the Horizon |
I should have eaten at the same place I had gone the day before because it was the only place in town with more than coffee and pastry. Even that place only offered eggs in an omelet and I wasn’t THAT hungry. I walked most of the way to the bus station without finding anyplace open. I turned around and went back to a nice looking coffee place near the supermarket. I had a latte and a dry little carrot cake for breakfast. Not too inspiring, but the WiFi was good and I relaxed there for an hour.
 |
| Sculpture at the Base of the Ramp |
I went to the supermarket to buy the usual provisions and then walked over to the bus station to check out what would be available there the following evening. I had to check out of my loft at 10:00, but my bus didn’t leave until 21:00. I found a place where I could leave my luggage if I felt like hiking and a café that looked like it might stay open for dinner. Then I walked back through town and up the ramp.
I spent the afternoon resting my back and finishing a blog post. The predicted rain never arrived. I hoped the next day would likewise be clear. Hiding in the bus station for eleven hours was not my idea of fun.
February 12, 2026
Acol Cabañas
Perito Moreno, Argentina
 |
| Park Entrance |
I had to check out of my loft by 10:00. I took my time in the morning and then left my suitcase in the reception area and went for a hike. I walked over the hill and then down to the highway where I soon came to the main entrance to Parque Nacional Glaciares' northern sector. I wanted to spend as much time as possible in the park, but I was still a little sore, so didn’t want to take on a long hike. I decided to climb up to the Mirador Fitzroy, even though I was pretty sure that the peak would be obscured by clouds.
 |
| Las Vueltas |
The first section of the trail was steep. It climbed to a viewpoint overlooking the meandering river below. This section was called Las Vueltas, or the turns. Further on, I came to an intersection dividing the path that went to the mirador from the path that went to the camp at Laguna Capri. I wanted to see both, so I elected to make a loop. This added another couple of kilometers to my hike, but I had plenty of time and felt good enough to manage it. Half a kilometer or so beyond the intersection, I came to the mirador. Several people were hanging around, hoping the clouds would clear long enough to see the peak. I stayed long enough to eat a snack, but left when I started to get cold. The clouds never parted and I was starting to worry that it might begin to rain.
 |
The View from the Fitzroy Overlook
|
 |
| Piedras Blancas Glacier |
 |
| What I Should Have Seen |
I continued past the mirador to another intersection. I got another couple of chances to see the mountain, but it remained shrouded in clouds. I had a clear view of the Piedras Blancas Glacier, though. Fitzroy is a vertical hunk of stone 3405 meters tall. It towers over surrounding peaks, completely disappearing into the low clouds.
I turned back at the second intersection and gradually descended to Laguna Capri where I found a back country camp complete with the first working latrine I had seen on any trail. I met a lot of young people heading further into the wilderness with their backpacks. Interestingly, many of them were young women traveling alone.
 |
| Laguna Capri |
 |
| The Weather Looked Better in El Chaltén |
The weather grew darker, so I headed back to El Chaltén. It appeared clearer in the opposite direction, but looked like it would continue to deteriorate. Indeed, while I was eating the strangest pupusas I had even seen, the wind came up and the temperature dropped, although it never did rain. By 15:00, I had collected my suitcase and started the trek back to the bus terminal.
 |
| The Capital of Trekking |
Not wanting to carry anything heavy on my hike, I had stowed my computer and other heavy items usually carried in my day pack in my suitcase. It was very heavy and hard to drag over the gravel roads. Still, I felt more comfortable dragging the heavy suitcase than carrying a heavy pack. I made it down the ramp and pushed the suitcase to the terminal, where I repacked into my standard configuration. Then I sat down to wait.
No comments:
Post a Comment