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Published: December 24th 2009
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Steves chatter:
Arrival in Pucon was preceded by an amazing view of Volcan Villarica, we could see it for hours before we finally reached the town. Pucon suprisingly had two black sand beaches, both on a lake that looked suspiciously like the sea, including impressive waves. The town was mostly wooden cabins, and our hostel was a cabin, complete with log fire. When we finally made it up in to the hills it was to the thermal baths, which are just hollowed out pools next to the river, the one we chose had the changing rooms above so we could just leap in, whilst we lay surrounded by hot, really hot, water it snowed then hailed, watching the blizzards rip down the valley towards us was amazing...even if i did get a cold head. Our next escape was a trek up to the Monkey Puzzle forest, the final ascent was up a steep mountain side walking through foot deep snow, then we arrived at a small tranquil lake surrounded by these huge primordial trees, the lake emptying into the valley bellow via a large waterfall, it was like stepping back in time, however we soon had to leave the cold driving
us back down to the valley bellow. The border crossing back into Argentina was almost as spectacular, another snow-capped volcano loomed above us, with a large forest of tall Monkey Puzzle trees at its base. A return to Argentina and a walk through the Mapuche reserve, a long wooded valley, with the occasional log cabin, a tiny space left for a once nomadic people. San Martin de los Andes was the start of the "famous" seven lakes, we saw it by bus, as the rain lashed down we could appreciate why there were so many lakes. The lakes varied in size and colour, always surrounded by steep mountains and forests, their beauty not withered by the onslaught of rain. El Bolson ('the bowl') known for its special warm micro climate and rich fertile soils...and hippies....loads of them. Surrounded on both sides by towering snowy mountains, one of our walks took us up to Cerro Piltriquitron, a large mountain with a snow capped summit and as it was a clear day, incredible views over the different valleys and the massive peaks of the Andean volcanoes. The climb was good, trying to avoid the masses of snow, then lunch on the peak,
followed by sliding down the snow covered side sitting on plastic bags, 1hr up the last section, 5 minutes down... and a large collection of snow up my back. Further treks took us towards Chile, through winding wooded valleys, over rope bridges, rotten signs warning about only one person at a time, planks rotted or fallen out, above torrents of glacial blue water that gushed meters or sometimes tens of meters below. Finally reaching a small refugio, with a couple wandering French people. At this point the weather changed to snow, flurries billowed down the valley, then softly landed in clumps around the cabin. Our plan to travel between refugios thwarted and after a cold night we returned to El Bolson. No buses so hitchhiking and it worked first time, returning in grand style in a battered pickup, upon our arrival the surrounding snow line now almost reached the town.
Vik's:
Rain, cold, wind, rain, more rain, wind, more rain, cold, wind, and more rain. Arriving in the Chilean Lake District I felt an immediate flood of affection for a place so reminiscent of home. This affection did however start to wane a little some days into the rain,
cold, wind cycle. But the similarities with Britain surpassed just the appalling weather, and the lakes, the green, the thousands of sheep all fit with the image of back home. However the smoking volcano, visible from the town, would probably cause a bit of a stir in Windermere. It had been our grand plan to climb said smouldering lump, but bad weather sabotaged our adventure and instead Steve had to content himself with an incredibly slow stumble up a snowy hill in search of some majestic looking Monkey Puzzles for his birthday. They were suitably special in their native setting.
From here we continued our logistically ridiculous zig-zag, back into Argentina, arriving in the much-celebrated Bariloche. Famed for its splendid views, we saw nothing. Except rain. We ploughed on, with true British spirit - hoping that the rain would clear, despite all of the evidence that it absolutely would not - but our slog up yet another hill was rewarded only with heavy cloud and a soaking.
Thankfully, however, by the time that we reached our next destination the clouds had temporarily paused to gather more water and our walking was not always synonymous with a wetting. El Bolson was
a real treat, and not just in terms of the weather. Actual cheese, proper yoghurt, decent beer, and a lovely hostel. Amazing walks (in the dry, mostly), a bit of cycling, and two magnificent asados (the argentinian barbeque) courtesy of the family at our hostel. The Argentinian version certainly goes way beyond the burnt sausage and a burger-in-a-bun , but there is perhaps something to be said for a bit of salad with your enormous meaty tea.
With our bellies full of meat, we thought maybe it was time for a change. So back across the border, and off to the sea.
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