in patagonia

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Patagonia. One of those myth places like Mu, Argarttha, Atlantis, Avalon, or Shambala that exist somewhere between the real and the irrational refuge of magic and mystery. Down there, where the southern continent buckles, splinters, fragments and becomes something less that solid, are the Chilean states of Magallanes and Ultima Esperanza (last hope). Nearby is Argentina’s Tierra del Fuego. A few hundred years ago, this was where the world simply ended. If you kept going, you fell off. The place was reputedly populated by giants. Seemed like a nice place to go for a holiday.
Two hours out of the tiny town of Puerto Natales is the National Park Torres del Paine. The 80km ‘W’ trail winds around and amongst the Paine Massif and for us, conveniently circumvented Christmas. A snapshot includes the smurfilicious colored glacier crumbling into Lago Grey and the thunderous crashing of shifting glaciers and avalanches on the side of Cerro Paine Grande, 85km/hr winds, dazzling aquamarine, slate, and jade lakes whose coloring has something to do with glaciers grinding up rocks, the black slate jutting tusks of Los Cuernos (the horns) and the stele-like pale granite faces of the Torres del Paine. Known for unpredictable weather, we had three hours of rain in five days and celebrated Christmas huddled out of the wind in the lee of the tent with a box of wine (notable for finally finding bad wine in Chile), some dreadful pasta.
Further south, on Magdelena Island in the Strait of Magellan, there is a colony of Magellanic Penguins. Predictably, with 60,000 breeding pairs - according to the glossy brochure titled ‘Monumento Natural Los Pinguinos’, the place is lousy with penguins and smells like shit. Ocean breezes can only do so much. The penguins waddled around and were more or less disinterested in the moronic tourists running around trying to get dramatic ‘Animal Planet’ shots. One penguino did decide that carly was in its way and tried to peck her shin. We determined that she showed great magnanimity in restraining from punting the impudent little monster. Nearby on Martha Island, twenty or thirty sea lions lounged about on the beach. They very much reminded me of a certain drunk someone squirming around in a sleeping bag bellowing and wallowing. The sea lions who joined the seals in the water looked considerably less offish. The seals seemed curious. The sea lions hungry.

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