San Martin De Los Andes

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My plan for the next few days was to travel north about 3 hours from Bariloche to San Martin De Los Andes. San Martin De Los Andes sits at the northern end of the very beautiful route of the 7 lakes and on the southern edge of the Lanin national park (more lakes and mountains, ho hum), which is dominated by the 3,700m+ Lanin Volcano.

Prior to coming to San Martin I had vague plans to join an organised trip to walk/climb around Lanin (this would be good practice for the even higher climb up Cotopaxi when I got to Ecuador). But on arrival, conscious that it might not be the best therapy for my back and finding San Martin less accessible than I had expected, it now seemed unwise and unlikely in the 3 full days I´d given myself to explore the area.

I had expected San Martin to be quieter than Bariloche. And I was right. I had not though appreciated quite how quiet. My hostel, a big sprawling place with a capacity for over 40 was less than half full and most of the traffic seemed to be transient, one night stop-overs.

San Martin sits at the head of Lago Lacar, in some beautiful, mountainous countryside. During the summer it´s a popular resort town with visitors using the lake to swim, fish or sail, or take advantage of the surrounding hills for walking or mountain biking (another option that seemed contra-indicated by my back). During the winter it has a reputation for excellent ski-ing. However, I was between seasons. As a result, despite an abundance of tour agents and outdoors shops San Martin felt less tourist orientated than the other places I had visited, which was at once nice but challenging. What did one do in a place like this during off-season, where it seemed a lot of the usual infrastructure was taking a breather and where those places that were open spoke only Spanish?

I had a quiet but enjoyable day pleasing myself. I took the ferry up the lake, passed imposing basalt cliffs to a place called Quila Quina with with a reputed Indian heritage. Here I walked along the beach, hoping the sun would come out so that I could take some photos that would do justice to the tranquility of the setting, and tried, but failed, to find much evidence of the Indian population. Perhaps they too were on a break?

Back in town I looked for and finally found a path up along the lake to the local viewpoint, which delivered stunning views down the length of Lago Lacar. But it seemed if I was to travel further afield and see a bit more of the countryside I would need to resign myself to organised tours (at least on this occasion I could be pretty certain there would be no tango).

The first of the two excursion I booked onto was along the shore to the other end of the lake to a place called Hua Hum. It got off to an unpromising start. The mini-bus was late and when it did arrive it soon became apparent that the guide´s commentary would cater for what was with the exception of myself an exclusively Argentinian audience. As a result I can tell you that Hua Hum has a rich and varied history, taking in Indian (Mapuche) settlement and early European exploring, but quite what the nature and significance of that settlement is was beyond the grasp of my Spanish.

We drove up to a viewpoint and took photos looking down over San Martin. Finally the sun had put in a welcome appearance. We drove along the lake and parked up so that we could walk down through thick, imposing woodland to a couple of secluded bays, lovely spots that basked in the sun. I would have liked to linger but was subject to the tyranny of the tour. We travelled on before disembarking to walk through more woodland up a hill to a viewing gallery overlooking a picturesque waterfall. The river opposite us emerged from the trees and the water then tumbled some 50 metres to the whirlpool at the bottom. It may not have been Iguazu or Niagra but for tranquility it is hard to imagine a setting to match Cascada Chacin. Finally we stopped off at what was billed an Indian cafe. To be honest apart from the fact that we had to rouse the owners to open up for us, I would struggle to tell it apart from a normal cafe.

As the token foreigner on the trip I found I was myself something of an exotic species and I was soon adopted by the more maternal of my fellow tourists, who were delighted when I tried to tell them in my broken Spanish how much I had enjoyed travelling in their country. More questions followed, which, understanding the occasional word and guessing the rest, I did by best to answer. Judging by the warmth of our farewells I hope I can claim at least partial success.

It had been a mixed day. On the one hand these had all been sights worth seeing, which I would have struggled to get to on my own, on the other it had been frustrating to find that my participation had been limited by a language barrier, and, having got use to pleasing myself to find that my movements circumscribed. No doubt I had been spoilt to date. On balance I think there were more positives than negatives - it had been a nice group, and it was fun to be a small part of someone else´s holiday.

The excursion I had planned for my final day in San Martin was more ambitious - a full day trip to the Lanin National Pak, hopefully to see the volcano from which it takes its name. En route to the Park we stopped off at the town of San Junin Del Los Andes to see some traditional Mapuche arts and crafts. I was not really at the stage in my trip to buy trinkets but it was reassuring to finally see some Indians and at least have the existence of these hitherto mythical people confirmed.

We also took in a church. My expectations were low but I was pleasantly surprised. The church combined Catholic and Indian imagery in a way I hadn't seen before and was really rather fascinating. Tapestries in vivid Indian colours hung from the walls. The ceilings and windows were decorated with carved wooden circles, loops and other shapes with special meaning to the Mapuche. Stain glass picked out religious themes from local daily life. The statue of the Madonna bore an Indian resemblance as did the girl she comforted. Behind the altar carved bulls' heads stood sentry. It felt at once familiar and mysterious.

We moved on to the National Park. Soon we were the only vehicle on the road, which before long became a gravel track. The feeling of remoteness was intensified by grey skies and austere scenery; bare rock, sand and hammocks of dry grass. We crested a ridge to drop down upon Lago Huechulafquen (which, sparing myself, I shall call "the lake"). The plan was to drive along most of its 60km length, taking in the dramatic scenery before catching a catamaran further up to the adjoining Lago Eupulafquen (from now onwards "the other lake"!).

The head of the lake was a magical spot. The water was clear and still, presenting burnished reflections of the clouds. The lake stretched on towards the border with Chile. Mountains disappeared into the clouds on either shore. I´m pretty certain that the place spoke very eloquently for itself and didn´t really need the Enya-light soundtrack our guide chose as its accompaniment. Still there is a good and bad side to being on an excursion and this was very much a moment for counting one´s blessings.

After some time at the water's edge we drove on up its shore, along a track that wound up along steepening banks through thick forest. We had been promised spectacular scenery and the lake certainly delivered. On the opposite shore a series of mountains broke through the lifting cloud, the most spectacular of which was the jagged Cerro Los Angeles. Lanin though remained stubbornly hidden, either totally or partially wreathed in cloud. As we got closer and the landscape became more rugged and volcanic, it was a palpable presence. Occasionally the cloud would part sufficiently to hint at its immensity but frustratingly our experience would be limited to these glimpsed suggestions.

We eat at a small stop off point on the shore of the lake and in the afternoon headed off by catamaran to the other lake (Epulafquen). I was not sure what to hope for from this part of the excursion. I already felt the day was in credit and was unsure how the promised lava field would fit into this experience. It turned out that this was one of the most memorable parts of the day. It helped that the sun shone. Sailing close to the shore gave us an intimacy with the forests and a perspective on the mountains it would not have been possible to experience in any other way. In particular the view back to the still reluctant Volcan Lanin and the more forthcoming Cerro Los Angeles was enough to redefine (or at least expand) the term "Lake District".

The river of lava when got to it was more subtle. You notice the sunken caldera of the volcano (Portezeulo or Achen Nigea?) and its grey mantle of ash and volcanic rock before you appreciate its impact at the lake's shore. Up close the twisted shapes of the lava as it arrived at the water was in sharp contrast to the more classical glacial features elsewhere around the lake but what was really impressive was how quickly nature had acted to take back its own: trees and shrubs had sprang up as if with elemental force directly from the twisted rock.

it had been a really good day. A bonus had been the people I'd met along the way. At the beginning of the day I'd been chatting to a Brazilian guy , Diego, and through him met a Peruvian girl, Melody. This snowballed into a dinner party at the holiday apartment of Diego (#2) and Julia, an Argentinean couple who befriended us along the way.

We ate vegetarian pizzas (were these the only vegetarians in the whole of South America?). Around the table there was no common language. Between us we spoke Spanish, English, and Portuguese. Nevertheless we had an enthusiastic and enjoyable evening swapping travel tales, life histories and ambitions. Perhaps made all the more enjoyable for the inevitable confusions and corrections.

Diego (Brazilian) in particular was an interesting character, a mass of enthusiasms and contradictions. A Brazilian in World Cup year who didn´t like football. A self-proclaimed eco-warrior who preferred to fly rather than travel by bus. His English was at about the same level as my Spanish so meaning was always getting lost in translation...he told me that back in Brazil his life was dogs. I'm still not 100% certain but I think he meant that he was passionate about animals.

On surer footing he told me he was in San Martin for an ultra marathon that is taking place next weekend (the 12th). The distance, a quite ridiculous 100km, will be exacerbated by the course which will cut across country and take in a number of the peaks that ring San Martin. Running, he explained, had changed his life. He showed me a photo on his phone taken a couple of years ago and judging by the physical change he may have had a point. I shall keep my fingers crossed for him next weekend.

The road back to Bariloche, once again traversed the very beautiful route of the seven lakes, I felt grateful to have had this quieter more meditative time, but also, for the first time really, sorry to be leaving a place. I was conscious that I had only just begun to appreciate San Martin but had run out of time. For me this was the end of Patagonia and my travels in the South. Next would be the steak and malbec of Mendoza.

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Photos

San Martin De Los Andes
A town sleeping.quietly in the Autumn sunshine.

The Viewpoint Above San Martin De Los Andes
Looking down Lago Lacar

On the Way Out to Hua Hum
Autumn colours against the basalt plug in the distance.

Cascada Chacin
Quality rather than quantity

Hua Hum
Empty but tranquil.

Lago Huechulafquen
Not a place in need of a soundtrack

Volcan Lanin
Impresssive but terminally shy.

Comments

[Torben Betts]

My God, that looks beautiful!
It's pissing down in Northumberland with a nice addition of grey bone-chilling fog!