The days off

First up, many thanks for the comments - Arianne, Eugene, Ally, Erin, Shawn, Jess. Know that even though I don´t respond with witty remarks of my own, they are well received and mean a lot. I will try to be a little more responsive now that I know how this thing works, and I have also changed a setting so that you don´t need an account to comment. So comment your heart out.

Anyway, so Paz and Pastor, my host parents as you could call them, were registered to attend this community farming workshop all weekend. Because of this, I was granted my first two days off up front, without having even worked up a sweat.

Mountains tower on either side of the valley that El Bolson lies in, and I set my sights on the highest, a craggy peak to the east called Cerro Piltriquitron (never quite succeeded in pronouncing that correctly). I repacked my bags and hit the road at the early hour of 2pm, since with the refuge system and long days, there really never seems to be much rush. The trail-head was 8km up a gravel road that started maybe 20 minutes walk from my house. I was in the process of removing my bag and getting into a taxi when I asked the price. 80 pesos. Apparently my Lonely Planet guidebook erred a bit with their estimate of 30 pesos. It would be a walk instead. (Incidently this isn´t the first betrayal by my beloved guidebook. Imagine my surprise when trying to call a phone number with no area code or when the time changes from Buenos Aires due to a daylight savings time that is never mentioned).

The gravel road was not an exciting route to follow. It was narrow and without much to see up or down, pounded by sun, and very much uphill. A horse trail ran through the trees just off to the side, a nice break from the heat, but not much better. I passed two scraggly looking dogs, and ten minutes later noticed they were tailing me. As the path got steeper and dustier I eventually lost them, and finally, with most of my water for the day gone, arrived at the trail-head. A dozen or so cars were parked in the shade, silently mocking the grand exertion I had just suffered through.

The remaining hour to the refuge was a little more scenic and busier. At one point I got the feeling I wasn't alone, felt a surge of adrenaline, and then noticed there were three huge, horned cows beside the trail. The looked pretty docile, but they also looked like they would win in a fight. I crept past, ready to bolt at any moment, three pairs of eyes watchful of my every step-

The refuge, at 1500 metres, wasn`t as deluxe as the one in Bariloche. But there was a nice campground, clean water, a swell lookout, and decent pizza for dinner. I ate with two Scots and an Irish guy, we shared a few laughs into the evening, bellowing English into the small wooden room filled with Hispanics. That night the cows seemed to moo without cease, and at one point I opened my tent to see one run by, not 20 feet away.

There is of course a concern about getting ¨hiked-out¨ by the end of this trip. To that end, I was pleased with the two hour climb to the top as it was totally different than anything I had seen so far. I followed a broken T-bar of some sort at first, as the area functions for skiing during the summer. More cows. Then the trail flattened out onto a dry, wide pass between mountains, making me feel especially insignificant in the landscape but in a way that Braun (the camera) could not capture. The last bit was a steep scramble up fine, volcanic rock that shifted and sank with every tiring step.

From the top, when the clouds parted, you could see forever in all directions. Mountains lined up in neat rows, green valleys filled the space in between, and El Bolson just a little village going about its business smack in the middle of it all. The peak itself was just a few feet wide, and a deathly terrifying sheer drop down the front ensured that I kept to all fours. I assure you that in the wind and clouds, you would do the same.

The way down was uneventful, save for the kind Buenos Aires couple who gave me a drive down the long road back to my house. We enjoyed one of those classic broken-English conversations discussing their road trip vacation, their work (for Alcan) back in the city, and their two bombshell blonde daughters.