Bariloche - A change of Pace and a Superclasico

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Before I came to Bariloche I had felt it might be a bit of a watershed moment, and so it proved. Up until now my route had pretty much taken care of itself. I'd booked or at least planned things well in advance and whilst I'd left some latitude to allow time to make arrangements or act on recommendations I'd had a focus and expectation for each stage of my journey. Bariloche was different. I knew it was in a beautiful part of Argentina but it lacked the big ticket draw such as the iconic mountains in the south. In addition the time I would be able to spend here had always been contingent on my earlier progress and limited by the need to get to Mendoza in order to catch my flight to Salta in the north on April 10th. My plans had therefore remained necessarily vague and beyond doing some walking and seeing as much of the countryside as practical I had no over-arching ambition for the next week or so. Literally on arrival two things happened that would bring these plans dramatically into focus.

First almost as soon as I stumbled off the bus and out of Transitland I felt something pop in my back. It felt uncannily similar in location and intensity that eventually led to my bout of sciatica last summer and naturally I feared the worst. For a sickening moment I had a dizzying vision of how difficult the next few months would be if my mobility were to be severely curtailed. I was suddenly very aware of the gaping and sometimes arbitrary chasm between the sick and well, the able-bodied and the debilitated. My mood was made all the darker by the knowledge that I largely had my own complacency to blame. If I'd kept up the recommended strengthening and stretching exercises... Fortunately I had packed some strong anti-inflammatories and I was hopefully that these combined with a couple of day´s rest and some stretching exercises to loosen the tightness would prevent the problem from escalating. I´d booked my own room in a friendly hostel which as luck would have it came equiped with a very comfortable doublé bed and was able to extend my stay from 2 to 4 days.

If my back hadn't forced my hand then it´s likely the weather would have done. The rain that had started on our arrival continued with very little let up. It seems that any similarity with the UK's Lake District is not limited solely to the lakes.

So I settled down to a somewhat quieter pace of life. Bariloche is a bustling town with a reputation for fine food. It is as busy and popular as you would expect a town renowned for its chocolate to be in the run up to Easter. Every third or fourth shop is crammed with over-sized confectionery. It is also a town that seems to be suffering from a geographical or at least architectural identity crisis. Perched in the mountains with a thriving ski scene it aspires to Swiss style Alpine rusticity, log-framed chalet-style cabins complete with inn signs in cursive gothic script offer savoury or sweet fondue to any passer-by not already sated on chocolate.

Whilst it rained pretty much constantly I focused on my convalesence. I stretched. I eat well (although despite Bariloche's reputation not as well as El Chalten or El Calafate). I found a couple of friendly pubs selling decent, locally brewed beer and offering a generous happy hour. It was in one of these that I caught the second half of the biggest derby in Argentinean football - "El Superclásico" - between Boca Juniors and River Plate. Judging by the reaction within the bar it was no big deal, a couple of guys showed some interest but I assumed the apparent apathy was reflective of the huge distance between Buenos Aires and Bariloche (getting on for 2,000 km). It was the first televised sport I'd seen since watching England beat Ireland in the rugby in Ushuaia, and I rather relished the prospect of settling down with a pint to enjoy the football. In the event it was a decent game won by River Plate with a late goal and thinking that would be pretty much that I left the pub to head downtown to eat.

Within minutes traffic was gridlocked and pedestrians brought to a standstill for the next hour as hundreds of victorious River Plate fans took to the streets to celebrate, either processioning in their cars, horns blaring and club colours streaming or, undeterred by the driving rain and near freezing temperatures, marching, waving scarves, chanting songs and letting off fireworks. I later found out that this had been River Plate's first El Superclasico success in 10 years so perhaps the fans felt they had to make up for some lost time. Even so, and accepting the obvious flaws in the analogy, it's hard to imagine ecstatic Liverpool fans bringing London to standstill should the improbable happen and they beat Man City in a week or so's time.

By the third morning in Bariloche my back was feeling sufficiently recovered to attempt some walking. This would be my last real chance to explore the surrounding countryside. The morning was wet and unpromising but the forecast was an improving one so I decided to catch a bus out along the lake and up into the hills.

Under grey and unpromising skies I travelled some 25 km to a small peninsula called Llao Llao, which had the principal recommending features of being (a) heavily wooded so offering cover should the rain return and (b) offering a flattish, circular walk that would not over-tax my back. Llao Llao was also reputed to be very beautiful, combining unspoilt forest with views across the lakes to the mountains.

The bus travelled out, west along the lake and the clouds began to lift a little, offering tantalising glimpses of scenery which one could well imagine under the right conditions could be described as, appropriately enough for Bariloche, chocolate box.

By the time the bus reached Llao Llao it was clear that my luck was in. The clouds had lifted further and the sun was threatening to break through. It was surprisingly warm and the woods were wreathed in clouds of evaporation that rose like smoke. I walked along a well-marked path, alternately wide and open and narrow and intimate. Sometimes pushing past ever-changing foliage, sometimes looking up through bamboos to the canopy 30 metres above. An unlooked for consequence of my early start was that I had got ahead of the crowds so for the first couple of hours I had the forest to myself. The calls of unseen, birds resonated through the woods, sounding exotic and ancient. It was an enchanted and enchanting place. The rain made everything shimmer and sparkle. The forest felt at once very old and clean and new. After the recent days of enforced inactivity I had a sense of rousing myself, of waking up. It felt good to be walking again. Better than good it felt great. The woods opened out onto viewpoints: small, intimate lakes; plunging cliffs with crystal clear water at the bottom; trees dripping with Old Man's Beard; across the lake mountains disappeared into the clouds, which subbornly lingered, allowing only glimpses of their snow-capped peaks. Still despite the residual cloud cover I was able to get a sense of the majestic panorama. It was a great walk, totally different from any I'd experienced up to now. And best of all my back was fine.

Back in Bariloche I had canvassed the locals and had been recommended a restaurant for dinner - Findo Del Tio - roughly " The Place of the Uncle". I had also sought advice on what to order - Steak Milanese y Napolitano - a thin steak (think minute) topped with ham and cheese served in a tomato sauce with a side of papas fritas. I was also advised to make sure I order the half size. Advice I duly followed. Even so when my dinner arrived I had to check with the waiter, who confirmed that this was indeed the half size. It was an 18 inch shallow dish containing two very large steaks either of which would have struggled to match the description "half". It seemed unnecessary and extravagant to add ham, cheese and tomato to this but it was undeniably delicious. Some considerable period of time later, I rose from the table, chips barely touched, stomach bulging and mind boggling - a half size for the love of god what a full size be like!

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Photos

On the Trail Near Llao Llao West of Bariloche
So pretty they named it twice.

Town Centre
At times feeling more Alps than Andes

Looking Across the Forest towards the Lake
Old man´s beard

Forest Walk Near Llao Llao
Muy tranquilo

Cloud Clearing Above Lago P. Moreno Este
At times more Nordic Fjord than English Lake District

View over P. Moreno Este
Finally some sun!

Comments

[Chris B]

Glad the back sorted quickly. I'm still disappointed not to get a food shot though. ?