Torres del Paine: Take Two

Rebecca would like to start out this blog post with a special message for Vladimir Simovich: The toilets here do not all flush counter clockwise. Some of them do, some of them don't. Myth debunked.

Second order of business: the pronunciation of our names. I have now gotten used to pronouncing Rebecca's name in the Spanish way -- "Rrr-eh-b-ayy-ca". However, my name is more of a problem. Mostly, I get a quizzical look from people when I give my name because there is not a Spanish equivalent. Rebecca and I have been joking about just how exactly my name should be pronounced. Turns out "Blah-keh" (or "Blahqué" perhaps for the French-minded) is in fact how the Chileans and Argentinians do it when left to their own devices. I continue to spell it out for people rather than introduce myself as "Blah-keh".

After being slammed by the mountain last week, Rebecca convinced us all to give it another try. The internet said it would be a full 20 degrees warmer and almost no rain. The folks who live in the area scoffed at the idea that the weather can ever be predicted in the park. The German woman staying in our hostal looked slightly terrified when I told her the good news -- until I clarified 20 degrees FARENHEIT, not celsius. So we packed up what remained of our 10 days of backpacking food and left for a short three day, two night trip to the base of the Torres del Paine -- the three gigantic towers that the national park is named for.

Whatever force of bad luck clouded our last visit to Torres del Paine (literally) had lifted and we managed to trade in the 2 worst days of the season for the 3 best days.

We woke up that morning to catch the 2 hour bus to the park and the sky was beautiful, sunny, and blue. Along the road we saw Patagonian Red Foxes sunning themselves and chasing each other across hillsides, flocks of Ñandus (Emu-like creatures) pecking at the grasses, and of course Guanacos (kind of like alpacas but different) in small herds -- including babies! which are about the cutest things you ever saw. If you need proof, check out this baby Guanaco that Elizabeth and Marty encountered on their way down to meet us.

(Our first visit - the non-view from the foot of Paine Grande

taken while soaking wet and shivering.)

As we started the moderate 6 mile hike to Campamento Torres, the clouds began clearing, kicking off frenzied picture taking -- still scarred from the last attempt, we were all worried that each new view might be our last.

(All smiles this time as we embark. Note the t-shirts and lack of rain gear.)

We got to the park, ate our picnic lunch, soaked up the sun, and stared in awe at the mountain. The clouds were there but giving us amazing little peeks now and then at what lay behind them. We decided that having the good luck to see Patagonian red foxes on our way here was the good omen for this trip -- to replace the bad omen of the dead horse beside the trail on our last attempt.

(Still all smiles after our 6 mile hike to Campamento Torres.)

The weather was idyllic. And instead of the friendly "hello" on American trails, there was a constant stream of "hola"s. "Hola" ... "Hola"... "Hola". We encountered the occasional grumpy Brits "yeah yeah yeah, hola to all of you, hola already", but mostly it was a steady stream of friendly passerbys. Torres del Paine is a gem of the relatively extensive Chilean national park system and so it attracts people from all over the world and helps to fund many of their other parks. But there are tons of Chileans (and Argentinians) backpacking there as well, which is particularly cool because in many Latin American and South American countries you will only find foreigners going on hikes. As far as we could tell throughout our trip so far, the Chileans take great pride in the beauty of Chilean Patagonia.

(Siesta.)

(Elizabeth turns the hole in the ozone over southern Chile into a fashion statement.)

(Highlight of the trip #1: Dulce de leche ("manjar") and cream cheese on freshly made flatbread.)

Having been completely scarred by the cold foul weather of the week before we spent the whole trip consuming lots and lots of very fatty foods just in case it should turn bad again. Clogged arteries be dammed. Hello cream cheese, butter, salami, mozzarella, walnuts, and dulce de leche.

(Highlight of the trip #2: Our new zip together sleeping bags. Highly recommended!)

But the real highlight of this particular part of the park is taking the an early dawn hike up the very base of the towers to watch the sun rise reflect onto them in brilliant golds, pinks, and oranges. We woke up at 5:00 am and started on the trail at 5:30 for an hour-long hike more or less straight up, with sleeping bags, coffee, dulce de leche, and bread.

(Keeping ourselves warm in the height of the Patagonian summer.)

(We watched the mountains as they turned from soft pink to every shade of gold and red and then back again.)

Later that day we took a day hike to the spot where climbers generally make their base, and made a new friend:

And found a beautiful waterfall flowing out of the snowpack at the top of the mountain and decided to eat our lunch there.

The only, and relatively minor hitch to our trip came at the end. After being a little lazy about getting on our hike down, we ended up racing down the mountain at record speed (for us...) My grandfather's signature phrase "off like a herd of turtles" rang true. We made it just in time for the 1:30 shuttle back to the bus pick up area -- with Blake and Marty sprinting the last distance. The shuttle actually left at two. Elizabeth and Marty are experts at getting themselves onto buses quickly and Rebecca and I are still learning this skill -- so they made it on and we had to wait for the next shuttle "coming in 5 minutes". 45 minutes later, we hopped on a shuttle wondering if we'd make to the bus in time. Turns out our bus company's bus broke its transmission on a hill so we all piled onto other buses to meet up with our bus company's other bus 45 minutes away. Again Elizabeth and Marty expertly made it onto the first one while we scrambled for the next. The bus was squelching hot and we all were packed into the aisles. At the transfer to our bus, once again they made it on way ahead of us.

But this time, they realized our limitations and threw their bags on the seats behind them. As Rebecca and I scrambled on, Elizabeth subtly pointed with her eyes to the seats behind them. Rebecca and I excused our way up to the seats and rather guiltily sat down.

(Ahhhhhhhhh. Comfortable seats for the 2 hour ride back to Puerto Natales.)

(Beautiful sky in Puerto Natales that evening.)

We spent a day chilling out, doing laundry, and decompressing in Puerto Natales. The following morning, our leisurely goodbye breakfast with Elizabeth and Marty turned into a frenzied rush -- when they realized at 7:05 that their bus left at 7am not 8am. Ooops. But once again Chacana, the cool guy who ran the hostel we stayed at pulled as many strings as he could to get them onto another bus that would then meet up with their bus. We have yet to hear if it all worked out. But one way or another, they headed to Ushuaia to the south and we headed out for a five hour bus ride across the border to El Calafate, Argentina.

Highlight #3 (of many more) of my stay in Puerto Natales: Chacana taught me to roll my R's. Apparently there is a small phrase that they use in elementary schools in Chile for kids who are having trouble rolling their R's correctly: "Tres tristes tigres trigaban un trigal". (Three sad tigers harvested wheat in a wheat field). It worked like magic and I am now almost effortlessly rolling my R's. Whenever my mouth will not work with me, I simply say that phrase a few times and it works again. At first my ability to roll my R's would last only a minute or two after saying the phrase. But as time goes on, it's pretty constant -- and even just thinking the phrase in my head now helps me get over humps.

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