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Published: September 17th 2012
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Heaven and Hell
Paradise: autumn trees turning from glorious gold to rich red, lovely people in a campground on an island in the rushing Rio Chimehuin, a reading porch overlooking the river, the best sunset I've ever seen and fine walks with my own sweet dog. My planned days stretched to a couple of weeks; why leave when life is good?
Hell: finding a place. I'd come from upscale San Martin de los Andes, an hour away, and knew only that the recommended hostel was closed for the season. I set out from the bus terminal, slowly bumping my too-heavy, barely-rolling bag over dirt roads to an overpriced campground, then to a claustrophobic hostel, and back to the campground. After a sweaty hour and a half, I was not in a pleasant mood.
However, as I re-entered the campground, a whimpering, wiggling black pup cried for attention. I dropped to my knees, and she circled inside my arms, moaning and crying with joy. Suddenly, all negative nonsense dissolved; I laughed with her and felt she was welcoming me home--suddenly, the price didn't matter.
And because I was no longer annoyed or attached to a
price, the universe rewarded me. The charming manager Dulio and owner Lalo lowered the price to my favored $10, led me to the spacious 9-bed women's dorm (which I had to myself in this low season) and gave me a pan and a cooker for my usual lentils and veggies. Best of all, I had Carina (Dear One), also called Llorona (the Crying One) for dog love and walks. She reminded me so of my beloved, black lab of long ago, Jenaii (True Love in Chinese).
Dog Duty
Carina was a vagabond, as they call the many homeless dogs, who survives on little hand-outs, generally bread or bones, from kind people. As I had done with another sweet pup in Chile, I had her spayed to prolong her life. Fortunately, I found a vet and an organization that would also chip in on the fee that was as high as in my California resort town.
After an hour at the vet, she was delivered to my door. I was told she'd sleep through the night, but instead she whimpered in pain. I wrapped her in my wool coat, then lay with her on the bathroom
floor, the only place with heat. Cuddling and soothing her, I practiced Toglen, a Buddhist technique of breathing in her pain and breathing out love.
I spent the next two days lying with her in the grass, listening to the river and the wind and watching the autumn leaves falling in their poignant, wistful dance of death and letting go. Her two playful dog friends came by for comic relief. By the third day, we were taking walks by the river. I stayed an extra week to give her the twice daily antibiotics and dog food to all.
Golden Trees, Sunsets, Hikes
Every day around sunset, I became Artemis and with my dog pack stalked the forests. Actually, we walked the river banks, crossed bridges and rock-hopped shallows to explore the river islands. Sometimes, we'd wade the river, carefully climb through barbed-wire fences and explore the golden mesas, reminiscent of our southwest, on the other side.
We'd often meet shy horses and cows roaming freely and an occasional gaucho and watch the huge flocks of raucous, green Andean parrots that circled the sunset skies. Once, like Artemis, I even came across a stag with
a huge rack of antlers in the middle of the river--thank goodness my bad dogs couldn't reach him. And as usual, I got to know other river walkers whom I'd later meet around town.
When I arrived the poplars and southern beech were flaming gold, but the strong Patagonian winds sent
their leaves sailing through the air to carpet the ground; by the time I left, the poplars were barren silhouettes. However, other trees took their turns to shine rich crimson, amber, and violet. Equally brilliant was my favorite sunset ever with the unique Patagonian flying saucer clouds reflecting the sun's last rays in soft roses that turned fiery vermillion, gold and violet.
The town is sandwiched between the river and hills I'd hoped to hike. This is indigenous Mapuche country, and the hills were once covered with the sacred araucaria tree whose seeds had been a staple of their diet. However, the araucarias had disappeared, cut down by Spanish settlers for their hard wood. Now the hills are covered with sterile-looking plantations of imported, Monterrey pines and rows of poplars imprisoned behind barbed-wire fences.
However, I discovered places in the fences that had
been pulled apart, and like the Mapuche, I slipped through, walking around the chapparel covered hills and up to the plantations for fine views. There was a sculpture garden on one hill, the Via Cristi, with statues of the stations of the cross and of Mapuche legends. I went there with visiting intentions but bailed in the end. I just couldn't get joining a line of walkers and paying to see Christian iconography; I set off again hopping through fences to the wilder chapparel. Thank goodness there were lots of places to walk near my river island campground.
Laura Vicuna, Local Hero
My Laura Vicuna Campground was named after a local hero--a young mestizo girl, 1891-1904, who willed herself to get sick and die to stop her mother from carrying on with a married man. Clearly there was no compassion for a single mother who may have wanted a little companionship and perhaps financial help. Oh well, this is Catholic country.
Little Laura, beatified by the Vatican, is venerated here and in Chile, where she was born, and generally portrayed as a perky, little cover girl, drawing more on her European heritage than her indigenous Mapuche
ancestry. Some years ago, a photo of her came to light, showing her as a dark, rather furrowed-brow, indigenous-looking child.
Both images of her of her were displayed in the cathedral here, which was wonderfully decorated with indigenous Mapuche weavings and images. However, the Anglo image is the one still displayed in shop windows all over Junin and in churches in both countries. Anti-indigenous prejudice dies hard.
Araucarias and Pine Nuts
Junin de los Andes is small with 12,000 people, many of them Mapuche, and has a much more dirt road, local flavor than other upscale resorts in Argentina's Lake District. The town bills itself as the country's Trout Capital, and during the season, my sweet river was evidently teeming with fly fishers who come from afar to catch and release the fish. I had lingered not for trout, but for pups and pinones--seeds, from the araucaria tree (though it's not really in the pine family).
The araucaria is a relic from the Pleistocene and looking at forests of these bizarre "umbrella" trees, you can easily imagine dinosaurs walking among them. Since spring in Caviahue, I'd been watching the orange seed pods of the
male trees elongate and the yellow, round pods of the female trees engorge. I was determined to wait in the latitude of the tree's range to try out their seeds.
I love the tiny, rich pine nuts from our southwest and savored the thought of eating three-inch long ones. Finally, the second week I was here, my veggie store had very expensive bags of them. As told, I boiled them for about three hours until the seed pod opened, then laboriously peeled them. However, they tasted like mealy potatoes. I roasted them with garlic and curry spices, but this helped little.
Clearly, pinones are a survival food, like the acorns the Santa Barbara Chumash ate, not a savory treat. Pretty ironic I'd been awaiting their arrival for six months, only to throw them away in the end. Much more successful had been my hunts for autumn foliage, fiery sunsets, and pup and people friends.
One day the weather changed. Sunny, chilly days, my favorite, gave way to gloomy, gray skies and a penetrating chill. Time to head back over the Andes again to my beloved Pucon and then to little-visited parks in central Chile.
I gave my pups each a big juicy bone, so they wouldn't follow me when I snuck off to the bus station. Leaving had rarely been so hard.
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Dancing Dave
David Hooper
BEING TARA
Life is as always tough with a very tiny t...for Tara with a capital T...gorgeous UFO sunsets...hues & pleasures...what a life! Guess someone has to do it!