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After saying our goodbyes to the lovely people we met in Mendoza, our 17 hours journey to Bariloche commenced.
We befriended a couple of other travellers at the station: Victor from Germany and Alona from Israel, whose respective vegetarian diets won us a couple of extra meaty additions from the packaged dinner. We offered our super-sweet 'dulche de leche' biscuits in exchange, something that the Argentinians seem to throw at you at every opportunity.
We settled down into our 160 degree reclining 'cama' seats quite late, but were awoken from our broken sleep at about 6am with the servicing staff shoving more of the above mentioned caramel biscuits on our laps for breakfast. After a couple of cups of coffee (served to us with about 3 spoons of sugar already in there) we arrived in Bariloche more or less on schedule.
The town seemed almost as we'd imagined: Alpine-y, by a pretty lake and surrounded by green hills. We took a taxi to our hostel and listened intently as our eighty-year-old driver babbled on to us. He didn't seem to mind that we only understood about half of what he was vividly explaining and that we more-often-than-not replied with just 'Si' or 'No', he just carried on regardless.
After checking in and waiting for my turn to wash off the discomforts of the overnight bus, I decided to go through a few emails and came across one from Navimag Ferries - the company that we'd booked our scenic 4 day boat route through the Chilean Fjords with. My heart sank as the email advised that our trip was cancelled and that an alternative and slightly inferior ferry was setting off the day after, but with only 6 bed dorm accommodation instead of the private cabin that we had booked.
We weighed up our options as we took a few photos around town: If we were to take the ferry, we would go from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales in southern Patagonia and our journey could flow from there without any backtracking; if we didn't, then the only way south was a mammoth 28h bus journey through Argentina with a company that are notorious for their old vehicles with uncomfortable seats, as well as there being plenty of toing and froing navigating between the stops - quite a dilemma.
As we're just not that fond of the dorms anymore, this swung it in the favour of the bus and so we headed back to the hostel and spent the rest of the evening re-jiggling our planned destinations and the order in which we'd see them.
The next day was a bank holiday in Bariloche, so there was a rather sleepy atmosphere around the town. Shaun spent the morning catching up on some work, whilst I kept one eye on the developments in Chile, after a tsunami warning was raised following an earthquake overnight. We of course also sent the obligatory email to our families to ensure them that we were quite safe on the other side of the Andes.
That night, we met up with Victor and Alona to share some drinks and to cook a vegetarian meal together at Victor's hostel. But as Argentina is all about the steaks, we sneaked off to the supermarket's meat counter and bought a huge chunk of tenderloin.
As the vegetarian concoction was our main dish, we realised that we had perhaps just created something amazing that could revolutionise the restaurant industry - The Side Steak. Shaun is adamant that should this become public knowledge, then it will one day be as popular practice in restaurants as ordering a side of chips, salad or onion rings. Let's get the movement started.
We enjoyed our innovative creation whilst sharing a few beers and tales with other travellers, right up until the common area closed. The hostel staff advised us to move onto a quaint little bar by the lake, which is apparently 'the-place-to-be' on a Wednesday night. It sounded like something worth checking out, but we immediately had our doubts on arrival.
After being subjected to the hordes of local degenerates, the awful music and the overly expensive, yet piss-poor tasting pints, Shaun and I decided that we were getting 'too old for this s***'. So, as I didn't quite fancy a hangover the next day for what would have been a pricey and less than satisfactory experience, we made our excuses and disappeared into the chilly night.
After awaking fresh faced the next morning, we decided that we'd seen all the town had to offer, so we hopped onto a bus that took us to the close-by Cerro Otto (Otto hill) and jumped in a cable car to take in what we'd heard were stunning vistas at the summit.
The panoramic views of the Argentinian Lake District definitely didn't disappoint; the revolving restaurant located up there did, however, as tacky 70s décor and very bland food made our first rotating dining experience one to forget.
After taking a few photos, we endured a hair-raising ride down, due to heavy winds causing our car to swing violently 50 metres above the below forest. I'll just say that I was happy to be on solid ground and Shaun's endearing nick-name to me, Granny-Annie, is proving to be a tough one to shift.
Back in Bariloche, more painful admin duties ensued and they proved to be highly frustrating. On the hour round-trip back into town to print our upcoming bus tickets - one that we were forced to take after the printer at the local shop had broken - I slipped on the gravel sidewalk and landed on my bad knee - the one I injured whilst hiking in New Zealand and that was still giving me jip.
With us both already at boiling point before this, we realised that the first stresses of 'Act 2' of our journeys had gotten onto us. Shaun's work and our planned schedule meant it was all getting a bit too much moving on every two to three days, and as can be expected, we weren't actually seeing much at all, let alone being able to relax.
We needed to slow things down and spend around seven days in one location, so it was decided that El Chalten - a small village in the Andes that everyone who has visited only had amazing words for - was to be the place where we would enjoy our extended stay; even if that meant not returning to Chile (their own fault for cancelling our boat).
Thankfully, my knee is a tough nut to crack and so, with the promise of a week-long rest around the corner, we printed the tickets then relaxed as we shared a well-earned bottle of wine with dinner.
The next day was the start our epic and dreaded bus journey and it began grimly enough. After little sleep, we got to the station in the rainy darkness with horror visions of the bus that would pull up imprinted in our minds.
But as it goes, preparing for the worse sometimes has its perks and Taqsa (the bus company) seemed to have stepped up their game since the last reviews left by our predecessors: The vehicle was new-ish, it was clean and whilst the seats weren't full 180 degree recliners, they were far better than what I imagined. We got comfy and wondered what all the fuss was about.
As the day progressed and the rainy alpine scenery passing by our window morphed into moonlike Patagonian pampa, we tucked into our 'beigest meal ever' and enjoyed the English language movies on offer. The only complaint was the lack of a blanket and so as the hills that whizzed by grew bigger and the darkness drew in, Shaun and I drifted off into a chilly, sleep-like state dreaming of side steaks and puppy dogs respectively. We definitely needed this rest in El Chalten.
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