the bats here are enormous. like indiana jones style enormous.

well, i’ve finally left patagonia. my last stop was a ski resort town in the lake district of argentina. it’s extremely beautiful, and very popular for camping, especially for argentinians. however, i only did one hike. partly because i was still relaxing after all the trekking i did in the south, but mainly because every night went until sunrise as most everyone you meet in bariloche is on vacation from buenas aires and extremely interested in hanging out with the gringo backpackers. maybe i didn’t hike as much as i should of, but i’ve now got tons of spanish practice and friends in buenas aires. and i’ve found that after a couple beers i can roll my r’s like they’re going out of style.

on my last day, however, i was able to wake up early enough to try paragliding for the first time.

wow.

many people said that there would be no way i could make it out of puerto natales, a city in the very southernmost province chile, to bariloche, a city in the very northmost argentinian patagonian province. namely it was every bus ticket agent that assured me it was impossible to make it as far as i wanted in less than a couple weeks. so, i just kept booking trips on the earliest available bus in the direction i was heading, deciding that i would hitchhike before staying more than a day in the various uninspiring bus hubs of southern argentina.

after 5 different bus trips over the course of 2 and a half days i finally made my escape from the end of the world. and it was quite the journey, to say the least. the number of foreign travelers on these bus was extremely low, i was often the only one. as such every leg was delayed by a half hour as dozens of families prevented the bus from leaving before they finished saying goodbye to their son or daughter going back to school. then there were my layovers in such cities as trelew, a welsh settlement with a memorial for some guy named chuck jones with his hand extended ready to slap somebody five, 28 de noviembre, argentina appears to be completely obsessed with naming things after dates, and rio turbio, a small border town with graffiti endorsing arnold schwarzenegger for governor of california.

i just returned from 4 days hiking/camping by myself in torres del paine national park in chile. i’ve found that whenever i’m hiking by myself i’ll get songs stuck in my head for an hour or so at a time. unfortunately the song is usually “mamma mia”. double unfortunately - i only know the chorus.

patagonian tree

base of the torres del paine

what a totally amazing, envigorating morning.

in the past two days i’ve seen the perito moreno glaciar calving, hiked to lake argentina, and squared off with a pack of stray dogs after i got lost in the outskirts of el calafate, the most hick town i’ve seen in argentina.

so on my last night here me, belgian guy, and a japanese girl decide to indulge in some of the local moonshine.

now, the sun doesn’t set until 10:30 and gives most travellers a distorted sense of time. so after it started to get dark three things occurred to me.

• i had a bus to catch at 8 am.
• i didn’t have enough cash to pay my hostel bill.
• i hadn’t packed. everything i owned was carefully strewn everywhere, including under other people’s bunks. people who were already asleep and people for whom the stereotype of obnoxious american would be further entrenched as i jammed my pack at 7:30 in the morning. not to mention that i’m staying in the smallest dorm room possible (only one person can stand up at a time). so i’m bound to hit someone with my fat ass.

i couldn’t change the first one unless i wanted to buy another bus ticket and stay another night it what is universally accepted as the worst hostel in argentina. a statement i eventually agreed with after i realized that my only option for doing number two was an albeit clean, but seat-less toilet with absolutely no privacy. the unisex bathroom was even open to the courtyard!

i handled the remaining issues by applying my single strongest guiding principle - why put off ’til tomorrow what i can put off ’til next week.

well, bars and quilmes, a french guy who looked exactly like donovan, and stories of belgian infidelity came and went. and, sure enough 7:30 in the morning also came.

packing became easier after i shoved everything i had into the hallway and packed as noisily as i wanted.

now, chercher l’argent.

there are three atms in town. to each i sprinted. by each i was denied money. and, at each i said, “fuck.” except for the last one, at which i said, “sweet monkey fuck.”

while booking back to the hostel wondering if i could possibly settle my bill with my awe-inspiring dance interpretation of barry manilow’s “mandy” (ask miles), it occurred to me that there’s a reason i keep a little cash outside my wallet and deep in my bag.

i can’t think of a better time to have remembered this.