Saturday:
It was time to head home. Our shuttle to the airport in El Calafate was due to arrive at 7:30 a.m. I wanted a last view of Fitz Roy and a final hike, so I got up before 5 a.m. and was out the door at 5:15 a.m. It was warm and there was no wind. So different from the day before. I dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt, jogging through town to the start of the Sendero al Fitz Roy. I hiked up the by now very familiar trail, past the 1-kilometer sign, up to where I break cross-country up the very steep slopes of Cerro Rosado. I didn’t pause on the ascent and made the top in 45 minutes from my apartment door. That’s cool. Fitz Roy was shyly cloaked in its customary clouds, but the early morning light still lit up the massif. I couldn’t linger, only taking a couple of photos and gazing one last time at the most amazing mountain I’ve ever been on.
I trotted back to town and our apartment. After a quick shower, some last minute packing, and a quick trip to Que Rika for some travel jamon y queso croissants, we were in the van and starting our 30-hour trip back home. Good-bye Fitz Roy. Good-bye Patagonia. I hope to return someday…
Summary thoughts on trip:
Climbing is possible for us here. Even Fitz Roy is within reach, though we’d need good conditions and weather. I’d like to return for another shot at Fitz Roy. When that will be depends on what Derek does in the next year. He’s applied to grad schools and might be continuing his schooling. Work is obviously the other option and he’s looked at companies all over the nation. So, necessarily, plans won’t be made just yet.
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| Jimena and I at Que Rika |
The apartment (La Avenida) that Rolo recommended for us was functional and very conveniently located above a cafe and a bakery and right across the street from the supermarket. But the walls seem to amplify sound instead of muffle it and the people who stayed in the adjacent apartment stayed up super late here, even the kids, and they were super loud. The last tenants made a tremendous racket until 1 a.m. each night and then their child would not only start crying at 3 a.m. but would throw a complete, extended tantrum. Unlocking and opening the door made more noise than breaking it down with an axe. This was consistent with each group that stayed there. Twice people just walked into our apartment, the last time when we were already in bed. A man burst in with a stream of Spanish. “A donde va. Come se llama? Andela! Cuanta questa? Hola. Gracious. Adios. De nada. Cuestala por favor. Vamos aqui. Como? Que? Cuando? Ole! Ole!” I leapt from the bed, pulled out an ice axe (always “at the ready”) and battled him back out the door, thinking “Why is my Samurai asleep when I need him most?” No matter: faced with overwhelming force, el muchacho retreated and I closed and locked the door, safe at last in our casita. Muy bien. Buenas nochas otra vez.
Inventory at the supermercado is hit and miss. We learned to rush over when a big truck arrived with a delivery. Dolce de leche is the national flavor and they sell it in bulk tubs like the Swiss do with Nutella. I embraced this flavor fully, having it in my coffee and on my waffles. Dolce de leche pudding was addictive and I’ve smuggled a six-month supply back into the US where I intend to start a black market trade. Hence, I’m now in the market for “protection”. Thank goodness for the Second Amendment! Butter is nearly unheard of here, at restaurants and grocery stores. Though we finally found it in the fourth supermercado we tried, it was never served at any restaurant. Also, it’s not called mantequilla, like in Mexico, but manteca. As Sheri would say, “They cray.”
Another prevalent food item here is olives. They come on everything, even on pizzas when you order “no olives.” They figure you don’t mean the required olive staked to each slice with a toothpick.
Dylan and Adrian called out two food items in particular: ice cream and empanadas. Good call, guys. Both are ridiculously good. The ice cream might be the best I’ve ever had. It’s super creamy, almost like gelato. My favorite flavor was Crema Moka (coffee ice cream), but Super Dolce de Leche, duh, was also quite good. Empanadas are in every bakery and we bought and ate the “jamon y queso” in great quantities, taking them frequently on our forays into the mountains, as they travel well. Toward the end of the trip I embraced the jamon y queso croissants for their buttery (they must have butter hidden away in the back of these bakeries!) flakey goodness.
What isn’t found in every bakery is donuts. Apparently El Chaltén hasn’t realized how essential they are to hard climbing in harsh environments. I only found one bakery that made donuts and they didn’t do it every day. I visited this bakery, Que Rika, each morning that I was in town and became friends with Jimena. It got to the point where I’d just walk in the door and she say “no donuts today” or “come back a las diez”. I tell her “guardalos cinco para mi, por favor.” I’m nearly fluent when it comes to ordering donuts. Priorities, you know.
Speaking of speaking…Spanish. I was a regular chatterbox on the trail, though my vocabulary was limited. I used a one-two punch of “Hola” and “Gracias”. My Holas became so authenticate and so authoritative that not only would the Red Sea of hikers part before me, but they frequently returned a complicated response that I couldn’t understand. I’d reply, “Ah, sí.”
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| Chango -- defender of the realm |
There are a lot of dogs in town, but they don’t bother people, seem to be somewhat aware of cars, and don’t fight amongst themselves. Most don’t seem very interested in people, but none was more aloof than Chango — the house dog at Avenida. He was a good looking, small dog which appeared to be the offspring of a Chihuahua and an Akita. We love dogs. Dogs usually love us. Chango wouldn’t come near us for our entire stay. He didn’t bark at us after a day or two, but he patrolled his tiny fiefdom with a detached seriousness, not fraternizing with the temporary tenants.
Thanks to Dylan Cousins, Adrian Weaver, and Sonia Buckley for all the information they gave me before and during this trip. They were invaluable not only for beta, but for psych! Thanks to Chris Weidner for making me decide to take a climbing trip here. I posted to the group if it was reasonable for a guy like me to take a fairly short (3-weeks is short here) trip to climb in the Fitz Roy massif. My buddy Buzz told me not to go there to climb, as it was only for professionals with months to spend waiting for the weather. While he wasn’t wrong, Chris urged me to go and thought there was a reasonable chance that we’d climb something. He was right too and I’m so glad we went.
Special thanks to Rolando Garibotti for his website, his guidebook (I have both editions), and especially his advice and encouragement. He checked the weather for us constantly and told when to head into the mountains. He gave us beta on the lines to climb and the gear to take. He translated for me at the hospital. For the indisputable world’s expert on climbing here to spend so much time advising us was astounding. If everyone pestered him as much as I did, he wouldn’t have time to do anything but consult with climbers.
4 comments:
Read all your posts. So entertaining, such fun to follow along. I felt like I was there, but without leaving my couch. :)
I hope your trip home is easier than the one out there. But that's a low threshold, so I'll go further and say I hope your trip home is blessedly uneventful!
Can't wait to see you. Let's catch up soon.
Wow - thanks for the report - I'm inspired! Not to go back to Chaltén of course, but to improve my trip reports. Sincerely though, a good trip, glad you had family and had a good safe time (except for the chicken bone).
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