Get Down, Get Out

Chile and Argentina are seperated by The Andes Mountains. They are a stark, imposing but ruggedly beautiful feature to look at. On a southbound bus Ger and I had conquered jet-lag, Mount Villarica and the taste of UHT milk with some gusto to spare. Our destination today would be the city of Bariloche, Argentina. Our carrier was the imaginitively named Buses Jac and although we were comfortable we could not relax fully. This was not a direct service. As our bus pulled into the terminal in Osorno I instantly recalled my conversation with John, a fellow amateur mountaineer, the previous night. “Osorno´s a dive”, he said, “There´s nothing to do and the hostels are rotten. Don´t stay if you can help it.” And help it I would. The place, by the looks of it, had all the personality of a ham sandwich. The bus station was a calm enough place. I had been expecting hordes of accommodation touts and shine-box tommies. No such crowd greeted us and I was free to explore the 20 or so bus companies unmolested. After two or three fruitless inquiries I found a desk with daily departures to Bariloche – conveniently timed to leave one hour before the earliest bus from Pucon arrived. After some grilling the lady attested from behind her glass screen that the next possible bus was hers, the following day. It seemed Ger and I would be spending the night after all. On the upside, I had discovered a passtime for tourists – asking about bus schedules – but take it from me, this is a very boring thing to do. It was while contemplating the next dismal installment in my life that I noticed something. Some girls from our Pucon bus were grouped excitedly around a different counter. The lady I was dealing with was now asking a little impatiently if I´d be buying a ticket. She noticed that I had noticed something and I did not fail to notice her change of expression as I stepped away and said I would return in a minute. 5 minutes later Ger and I were kicking back as our new bus sped us to the Argentine border. Competition among the bus companies is cut throat and you can´t always trust what they say. That lying bitch would have to try harder next time.
The city of Bariloche sits lakeside surrounded by snowy purple mountains. The architecture is quite distinctive and you could think you´ve stepped off the bus in Switzerland if it wasn´t for all the Spanish writing and cigarette adds everywhere. We made our way to Hostal 1004. It´s a warm, comfortable place to kick off your boots. The laid back staff blend in commando-style with the travellers – natural smiles and no stuffy ‘I work here’ bullshit. By ´commando-style´ I´m not suggesting they wore no underpants. I´m pretty sure they did. From 1004´s tenth floor perch we had an unparallelled view of the lake and the reflected Andean peaks – the perfect add for a business I was thinking about starting, Andy´s Mountains. Bariloche is famous for two things: ski slopes and high quality chocolate. Since these were all but non-existent in New Zealand, Ger and I were more than eager to dig in. Finding chocolate and snowboard rentals proved easy and tasty. A short bus ride the next morning and we were at Catedral slopes for a day of snowboarding. This was not our first attempt.
A month earlier in New Zealand Ger and I joined our old flatmates, Tyron and Fiona, in the town of Methven near Christchurch. They now worked on a ski slope at Mount Hutt. To the other people I know who have learned to ski or snowboard, it’s been a pricey exercise. Not when your friends are Ty and Fi. From the minute we arrived at their cabin they set us up in their camper van, saving us checking into a costly hostel. Fiona took us up the mountain for our first day, showing us along the way the best hitchhiking spots. There was the option of taking the world´s slowest bus. It climbs the two thousand metres on unsealed road at the pace of a chess match. If you ever got stuck behind the funeral procession of a 200 kilo man you may understand the velocity I´m talking about. Oh and it was $20 per day for the privilege. Now where did I put my thumb? After getting us signed up and helping us fit our various gear Fi gave us a good intro to the basics. Our instructor arrived soon after and we began the lessons. The snow was pretty good that first day and all our falling as we negotiated the novice slope was well padded. Alot of the mishaps were due to an inability to change direction and the profusion of tiny skiing children. One of the rules of snowboarding is that your board will go straight for the thing you´re looking at, though you mean to avoid it. People always talk about how they envy skiing five year-olds as they seem to have the whole thing sussed. I had no time for such sentiments, just hoping not to cut any of them in half. I didn´t manage to end any short lives that day but I earned the hatred a few parents. Day 2 is normally when the previous day’s tomfoolery starts to take shape and you feel like you´re getting somewhere. Unfortunately for Ger and I 2005 has been one of the region´s worst years for snow and all we found on successive days at the slope were hard icy runs and hard icy falls. It was too much stick and not enough carrot for me and I left Mount Hutt with a fairly thorough knowledge of putting on boots and boards but sadly not much else. Anyway I still felt cooler than the skiiers. Their one piece jumpsuits reminded me of Moonraker and watching them walk around like the John Wayne Robocop in their plastic boots took my mind off the bumps and knocks. The baggy clothes and super padded boots that snow boarders wear at least resemble actual clothes and it´s kind of like dipping into a giants wardrobe for a day.
Ty and Fi´s help was not wasted on us. I could see that they got fairly good in a short time and that with the right conditions so could I. Stepping off the bus at Catedral I was immediately impressed with the size and complexity of the operation: an array of clockwork wheel houses propelling chair lifts and gondolas of every size to snowy, forested heights. At the feet of all this perpetual motion stood pretty Swiss pavillions, each one a purveyor of something tasty or stylish or fun. Snowboards, chocolate, huge jackets. The only smudge in the portrait, albeit a necessary one, was the ATM on wheels – guarded, as is common in these parts, by a man with an uzi. Not here for the snow, are you mate? The most interesting structure in my country is a gigantic metal spike that, given it´s muti-million euro price tag and completion several years after the millenium it commemorates, has managed to get stuck firmly in the paw of all who gaze upon it. It also has no secondary purpose – observation deck, museum, suicide point. It´s just a fucking spike. What joy to stand there and appreciate the difference. The map of the various lifts Ger and I would have to take was no less impressive. With all it´s interconnected transports snaking through favourably rendered alpine terrain it looked more like something from my childhood: An adventure map of Colonel Valiant´s Mountaintop Ultra Defense Command (figures sold seperately). We made our way to the top of what proved to be a wide, forgiving and thankfully childfree slope. What a difference: to fall and feel nothing; to see a slope clear of kids and lawsuits; to finally get from top to bottom and feel like we belonged on the slope. Despite a couple of setbacks I spent that day and the next honing the fundamentals. Run by run I built on what I´d learned. Tackling halfpipes and 100 foot ramps would probably be a bit premature. Poor Ger took a wrong turn on day two and ended up on 2 hour trip down the mountain. Alot of flat ground and mucky patches. Great if you have poles to push you along but if you´re snowboarding it´s the equivalent of running in soup.
We spent nearly a week in Bariloche. The atmosphere at our hostel meant alot of new friends. I´ve come to despise the solitary travelling one does when staying in hotels. In some countries they´re as cheap as hostels and this may seem great if you’re a couple and want privacy. You lose out, though. In hostels you get to trade stories and advice about places on the backpacker trail and the opportunity to cook your own meals can be a welcome break from constant cafe and restaurant eating (and you’ll get a gold star from your cardiologist). The staff at hostels are often travellers themselves and can give great insider advice about the country. One of the staff at 1004, an eager guitarist, included me in a three-way guitar session. Apart from the band I was in at home, I´ve never been much for multiple partners but this threesome went well. With the other guests looking on excitedly we played with each other for nearly two hours. At some points feverishly, at others calm and unhurried, like we had all night to finish. With encouragement and sometimes applause from our audience we continued. Some of them filmed us in action and seemed quite pleased watching it days later. What I´m trying to say is that you just don´t get to do that kind of thing in a normal hotel. Someone could be doing it in the next room and you probably wouldn´t know. Privacy is over-rated. Argentina was probably the easiest country to travel in. The best buses, the nicest food, the livliest hostels hands down. I know travelling isn´t supposed to be about comfort and convenience all the time but it´s important to enjoy them while you can. There´s no way of knowing when you’re going to be stuck with another hellish road, stone age toilet, 10 hour wait with no book or whatever. The easy times make the hard seem like a distant memory and the hard times, for all their roughness make the easy so much more enjoyable.
(ie – It’s about to get rough)

Tags: Travel

This entry was posted on Monday, October 10th, 2005 at 6:06 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.