Advertisement
Published: November 30th 2010
Edit Blog Post
Tahlei I’m currently working on a soundtrack for our South American trip, made up of songs that have we have heard countless times while on our travels and songs that define or characterise a particular moment along the way. These include “Yo no se mañana” which made its entrance in our heads in Colombia and has stayed firmly there ever since; “Waka Waka” – not because Shakira is Colombian but because it was redone as a campaign song by a political party in Nazca and subsequently belted from speakers hung out of cars doing laps around the city centre; “Ojos de Cielo” which was our favourite song performed by the folk musicians who entertained us during our 10 year dinner; and “Land Down Under” because it came on at a nightclub in Trujillo on Kyle’s birthday and absolutely made our night. What won’t be making the cut is any reggae, which isn’t to say that we haven’t heard any. On the contrary – they go mad for reggae in these parts, and I think we have heard enough to last a lifetime. I mean to say, I like a bit of Bob Marley as much as the next person, but
Big tub of ice cream
for only 5 pesos! bargain there is a limit to how much gentle bopping on the spot one can do. The point of all this is that our last destination with Blake and Rhiannon before we parted ways, San Rafael, was the site of a reggae festival, where I hope to have seen my last rasta hat and Jamaican flag for a while. We didn’t actually attend the festival, but we came close enough to it, during our day trip to the Cañon de Atuel.
We left Malargüe for San Rafael which is not big on the tourist trail, as was apparent when we rocked up to Trotamundos Hostel to find it empty. This was just as well as the large dorm room outside our own acted as a hallway between us and the rest of the house and it would have been terribly awkward to squeeze past those bunks with people in them. It was a great example of a nice house that has been ruined by turning it into a poorly thought-out hostel with as many bunks as possible. It also provided a great example of staff with the sort of attitude that is all too common in South America- the kind
that treats you as a nuisance rather than their source of income.
A lot of our time in San Rafael was spent on the internet and at the bus station, planning the next stage of our respective trips. Blake and Rhiannon had to figure out how to best get to Lima by bus in 15 days – no easy feat if you want to still be talking to each other by the end of it. Kyle and I only had a 17 hour journey to San Martín de los Andes to contemplate. It’s a mark of how far we’ve come that by this stage we weren’t even phased by the idea.
We still had one full day left in the company of our friends, and we planned to spend it with a trip to the aforementioned Cañon de Atuel. We didn’t get off to a great start in this regard because it was a Sunday and the hostel staff were too busy sleeping off their hangovers to actually staff the hostel. The “included” breakfast was non-existent and by 8.30 when we were ready to leave we had yet to see anyone awake and the front door was locked.
The guy who had checked us in the day before was passed out on one of the bunks outside our room and I managed to rouse him eventually after he rolled over and went back to sleep on the first attempt. However by the time he was up Kyle was ringing the bell by the door and the owner grumpily emerged from another room. Never mind an apology or even a good morning – without so much as glancing at us he grabbed the keys and unlocked the door before heading straight back to his room. I bet he was back in bed before the four of us we even out the gate.
The bus to the Cañon was packed with festival goers but I did a good job of pushing my way onto the bus and we at least had seats for the hour long journey. As we entered the canyon the scenery became reminiscent of Tupiza in Bolivia, with the stark red canyon walls contrasting nicely against the green of the willows on the banks of the lovely river. We got off the bus at the end of the line which happened to be across the road
from a small shop with an incongruously gorgeous patio out the back jutting out over the river with lots of comfy wooden furniture. We were able to get a bag of 1 peso pastries for breakfast so the hostel’s failure on this front was not such a disaster.
The original idea had been to do rafting or something similar in the canyon so after breakfast we checked out a few options – there are many operators lining the river so you can just rock up and organize a trip on the day. It was a bit pricier than we were expecting so we decided to think about it – we had all day as there was no bus back to San Rafael until 6.30 that evening – while we took a walk upstream to the dam. The view from the top of the dam was interesting; the blue water filling the red rock canyon was pretty but there were no trees up there and nowhere nice to picnic so when we were done taking in the view we walked back down the way we had come.
We were lucky enough to grab a spot on a wooden platform
over the bank of the river which is used by kids on canopy lines but was empty at that stage. It was a nice place for a picnic; for once we had brought enough food and the shop was close by for beers and chips so we had a pretty good meal there and a bit of a rest afterwards. We were all tired after a poor night’s sleep (did I mention that the beds of the hostel had thin, uncomfortable mattresses and the pokey room was steamy hot?) so we didn’t feel up to rafting; we just dozed by the river to the sound of the festival sound checks. Unfortunately the sun moved over the river and eventually all our shade was gone, forcing us to go searching elsewhere for an escape from the heat. We had trouble finding somewhere else to sit – much of the river bank was either overgrown or private property and one fantastic looking bar with day beds by the river was taken over by the festival. Eventually we ended up back at the place where we had breakfasted and sunk a few more beers while waiting for the bus back to town.
The strange thing was we didn’t seem to hear anything other than sound checks from the festival all day, although it was supposed to start at 2pm. There also seemed to be more people wandering the street, or listening to reggae in their cars than actually in the festival grounds. Apart from the beautiful location it seemed like a pretty lame festival.
Back in San Rafael we had our last dinner with Blake and Rhiannon, though it was probably the worst meal yet. I tried to make
tortilla española but failed miserably when everything stuck to the pan and I got egg absolutely everywhere trying to flip the thing – it turned into scrambled eggs, as my omlettes always do. We remarked later on that we did not eat out a single night while we were with our friends; it’s quite pleasant to be able to cook and eat vegetables, and we are also all on a budget. However maybe on that last night we should have!
The next day we parted ways – Blake and Rhiannon off on their epic bus trip up to Bolivia and Kyle and I down to the lakes district of Argentina. I
was sad to say goodbye; our 11 days together went very quickly and it was great to be with friends who are so easy to travel with. Now it’s back to just Kyle and I, off for a couple of weeks of camping in some of the most beautiful scenery of our trip – now that’s saying something!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.113s; Tpl: 0.026s; cc: 12; qc: 53; dbt: 0.0461s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
anonymous
non-member comment
It is very sad to say off someone... isn't it? Liliana