Link #13
05 Apr - 23 Apr, 2000
Ushuaia to Las Grutas, ARGENTINA (744 km)
At 54º68' S, Ushuaia claims the title of the southernmost city in
the world. Even Merriam-Webster agrees. But one best not press the point
with a Chilean possessing a smidgen of national pride. Chileans contend
that their tiny village of Puerto Williams across the Beagle Channel on
the island of Navarino deserves that title. The Argentine response? With
a cursory stroke of dismissal, they simply deny Puerto Williams the status
of a "city." They may or may not be right. Neither Mr. Merriam
nor Mr. Webster tell us at which point a town becomes a city.
Regardless of its latitude or municipal distinction, Ushuaia, pronounced
"OOSE-SWÏ-YAH," is a scenic city-like establishment surrounded
by spectacular glacial peaks rising from sea level to nearly 1500 meters.
Like many of the southern Patagonia outposts, Ushuaia started out as
a penal colony. Some of the country's most notorious criminals and political
prisoners did their time here. After the jail closed in 1947, Ushuaia
became an important military base supporting Argentina's Antarctica claims.
As recent as twenty years ago the military was called to action over border
disputes. Surrounding hillsides and seashores still contain decommissioned
long range artillery once locked on Chilean "settlements" across
the Beagle Channel. But that's another cannon of worms...
Today Ushuaia is mostly a tourist town of about 50,000 inhabitants. In
the peak seasons of Dec-Jan and Jul-Aug tourists may outnumber locals
four to one. We were there in the lull of April and thus enjoyed a little
more tranquility than usual. During our five day stay we got to see a
fair amount of the area.
The first couple days we mostly ate and slept and got to know the town
a little. Though one of our favorite hangouts was our hostel's communal
kitchen where we took advantage of the full-size stove and frying pans
larger than 6 inches in diameter. Whipped up a curry feast one night.
Apparently Ushuaia has some special tax exempt status making it a "duty-free"
town. While bargains are not to be had everywhere, we did key in on the
good, cheap wine and "facturas," or pastries.
About midway through our stay the temperature dropped from chilly to
nippy. The surrounding peaks dressed in white and the locals starting
wearing hats, scarfs, and gloves.
One of the days we visited the National Park Tierra Del Fuego, a few
kilometers to the west of Ushuaia. The park lies on the north shore of
the Beagle Channel and extends to the west, encompassing part of the Cordillera
Darwin. We started exploring the park by boat - hopped a lift on a zodiac
to Isla Redonda, one of the small islands in the middle of the channel.
Nice, quiet place. After a few hours hiking the island, the zodiac returned
us to the shore and the main part of the park. The autumn colors were
again raging. Wildlife was abundant - fox, cormorants, steamer ducks,
geese, and other marine birds.
On another of our Ushuaia days, we were invited on an excursion with
a few locals in their car. How could we resist speeding along at
such obscene velocities in total comfort? Including the two of us, we
were six. We drove east, visited Estancia Harberton, and got most of the
way to Estancia Moat, the mostly easterly estancia on the Channel, before
we hit a totally submerged section of road. Apparently Tierra del Fuego's
eager beavers had struck again. We double-backed and went north, along
some the road that we had pedaled a few days earlier. Still gorgeous,
but far colder - perhaps because we weren't traveling under leg power.
The Central Coast Mesetas
From Ushuaia we flew to Rio Gallegos and then bussed to Comodoro Rivadavia
- a leap of about 1100 km - thus skipping a good part of the windy, arid,
and desolate Argentine coast. Map
In Comodoro the bikes got new rear tires - good ol' Goodyear slicks.
With a wry grin the bike store owner warned us about the uphill leg just
north of town. Under a warm sun and clear skies we started north on the
Ruta 3 and shortly came to the 35 km climb.
We don't really mind hills. They usually offer a good challenge. What
we do mind are gale force headwinds on hills that can't seem to make up
their minds - ones that go up and down and up and ... That particular
hill out of Comodoro we didn't like. Coming off five days rest in Ushuaia,
our knees despised it. After a few hours, it topped out at 650 meters
and delivered us onto the meseta, or small mesa. We traversed this
meseta and other pampas for four days.
We cycled the entire length of Chubut, one of the two least populated
regions in Argentina (their 23 regions are not unlike our 50 states).
While the map provides different names for different stretches, it all
looked pretty much the same to our untrained eyes. Meseta de Montemayor,
Pampa de Salaman, Bajo del Gualicho.
With often 350 km between villages and over 100 km between human dwellings,
this section of road redefined "desolate" for us. Think of the
flatness of Nebraska and the desert chaparral of Arizona, Nevada, or southeastern
California. Add hugh Montana cloudless skies with an occasional circling
bird of prey and you start to get the picture. Great place to do some
thinking.
The vacuity of space out there was truly amazing, inspiring even. The
roads were flat, smooth, and sparsely trafficked. Winds were mostly at
our sides. Weather was warm but not too warm. Bikes were in tiptop shape.
All we had to do was RIDE.
A typical day on the open meseta put us 100 km farther north and had
us sleeping under the stars in the open chaparral. Not knowing exactly
where the next watering hole lay, we carried up to 16 liters at a time
and a few days worth of food. Finding campsites off the side of the road
ended up being one of our toughest challenges. With most of the terrain
fenced, it was often a mad pedal for a break in the wire when sun began
to set. Couple nights had us cranking under the light of the full moon.
A few days ago I was writing a good friend of mine, trying to explain
the sensation of cycling these spaces. In particular I wanted to relate
the experience of getting passed by huge double tractor trucks. I met
Brian Slattery back in college and it was he that taught me to surf. Or
at least he tried. Despite years of thrashing around on my skateboard
and occasionally on a snowboard, I never quite got the hang of the water
version. Undoubtedly his thickest pupil ever, I did manage to get under
control one maneuver, if you can call it that. The duck dive. This basically
involves grabbing the front of your board and thrusting it (and yourself)
under an oncoming wave.
While writing Brian, it occurred to me that perhaps I had found the terrestrial
equivalent of the duck dive. I call it the guanaco dive. It goes something
like this: Cycle a major thoroughfare across extremely large open space
with lots of wind, a Patagonian steppe for example, and punch through
a massive wind curtain created by a 7-ton truck passing you in the opposite
direction. You come out the other side a bit gripped, very blown, and
swerving.
On the evening of our fourth day we coasted a long downhill that dropped
us into the town of Puerto Madryn. Here's what the Lonely Planet travel
guide has to say about Madryn: "This isolated desert port, founded
by Welsh settlers in 1886, took its name from Love Parry, Baron of Madryn,
but only the street names reflect its Welsh past... After 1974, with the
construction of the Storni pier and Argentina's first aluminum plant (ALUAR),
the town's population multiplied tenfold, to 50,000 by 1988."
With knees aching their worst since Santiago, we decided to rest them
for a few. We spent a day doing laundry and working on the bikes. We took
our camp chairs to the beach and basked in the sun. We re-outfitted Nicole's
ride with a new rear rack. We again made good use of our hostel's kitchen.
We caught up on emails. We slept in. We read. We rented South America's
version of a Yugo one day and went on an Argentine safari.
Península Valdés
A few kilometers up the road from Madryn is one of the finest wildlife
refuges in South America, the Península Valdés. From a map
it looks like a tumorous growth on the central east coast of Argentina.
This nob-like formation is indeed odd, perhaps that's what attracts the
wildlife. Sea lions, elephant seals, rhea, guanacos, armadillos, fox,
mara (small deer-like creature that walks funny; at first we mistook a
pair of them for dogs), cormorants, albatross, and other seabirds are
present in large numbers on the beaches and headlands. While we didn't
see any, we were told the peninsula regularly hosts orca and right
whales. Alas, the Magellanic penguins once again eluded us - figure I
can't really count the dead one we saw on the beach.
Most impressive of all were the southern elephant seals. The Peninsula
is the northernmost breeding area of the species and is apparently the
only place in the world you can observe these behemoths without having
to travel to remote islands. According to the ranger, the ones we saw
that day were females and male pups. The "pups" still weighed
in at over 1000 kg, or about 2,200 lbs. An adult male elephant seal is
4-5 meters long and weighs between 2,000 and 3,000 kg! For comparison,
a large adult killer whale, aka, "Free Willy," weighs a mere
950 kg.
Las Grutas
From Madryn, we pedaled another three and a half days through more Patagonian
mesetas, bajos or lowlands, and steppes. They were equally as desolate,
arid, and peaceful. We crossed into Argentina's Rio Negro region and arrived
in San Antonio Oeste by noon on our fourth day. The plan was to catch
the overnight train west to Bariloche and the Argentine Andes. The plan
happened to fall on Holy Week, or Semana Santa. The plan, certainly
not divine, would have to be changed.
With four days until the next train was to leave, we retraced our treads
south another 15 km to Las Grutas, supposedly one of Argentina's premier
beach towns. Again, we luckily hit the crazy tourist spots in the off
season. There we found a posh campsite with showers, lights, electrical
outlets, and running water.
While hanging out in Las Grutas' central plaza on our first night, we
met a group of Rionegrino fruit farmers on vacation. Two brothers, Oscar
and Norberto Sciardis, Norberto's wife Lotti and daughter Antoinella,
neighbor farmers Jorge & Veronica Bante and their son Mathias. It
was our bikes that drew them over to talk to us. Oscar and Jorge are avid
mountain bikers and Norberto and Oscar have done some cycle touring in
the Andes. That night they invited us to their place for an asado,
or BBQ.
The next couple of days, including Easter Sunday, we shared many a meal
and late night conversation with them. Perhaps the best part was the gorgeous
Granny Smith apples for dessert.
< Prev
Next >
|
