Chaitén -> Futaleufú -> Ezquel -> Bariloche

After my tent pole snapped in Chaitén, it was clear to me that I wouldn't be able to repair it on the carretera austral, because quite frankly, there really isn't anything there. So instead of sulking about the tent and my rapidly disappearing money, I decided to make a move for the border and get my rear over the cordillera and into Argentina, which at the very least has to be cheaper then Chile, right? So I spent the following morning checking out the local museum - dedicated to the construction of the carretera and local settlement, and based on the army base that is responsible for road maintenance and construction - and a nearby waterfall before taking the one daily bus to Futaleufú which serves as the border. I'd already realized that I lack the equipment to undertake Torres del Paine, so I know I'll be back to Chile. (Christoph und Steph, falls ihr das hier liesst ist das der direkte Aufruf, mit mir naechsten Dezember/Januar in Suedamerika Wandern und Bergsteigen zu gehen.)

The ride from Chaitén to Futa is amazing. The dirt track winds its way through pristine temperate rain forests/pine forests, which are crowned by glowing blue glaciers on the mountains above - and shimmering blue lakes below. The ride takes about 6 hours for the 100 or so km, and of course, it gets dusty in the bus. By the time I reached Futa it was too late to cross the border, so I had to find a boarding house, which I was able to do. The following morning I caught an 8 am ride to the Chilean border post, and then on to the Argentine border post. I have been told that crossing this border can be very stressful - stressful to the tune of 3-4 hours between Santiago and Mendoza, where every piece of luggage is x-rayed and hand luggage searched by hand. However, at the Futa crossing, you drop your backpack on the lawn in front of the border post, walk in, and get your passport stamped. They don't even give you the little piece of paper you need to leave the country again! When I asked them about it, they said they didn't do that there, and none of the other extranjeros (because most people crossing there were) hadn't received one either, so I figured I wasn't being picked on more than others, and didn't aggravate the guards any more. For people who have extremely little to do, they seemed quite irritable about their low workload. As for luggage being stolen, it's really not possible: although I wouldn't trust the guards standing outside to stop theft, everyone there is waiting on the bus (and by everyone, I mean all 20 people) so it's not like the thief could make off with your stuff.

As soon as the passport is stamped, one realizes that one is in Argentina. How, you probably are asking? Well, the bus is late..... very argentino. About 45 minutes late, which is impressive for a bus that only has to go about 2 hours total. So everyone lounges around on the front lawn, waiting for the bus, with a number of people drinking mate.

Once on the bus, it turns out each passenger needs to pay either a) 10 pesos to get to Trevelin, which is useless or 15 pesos to get to Ezquel, from where buses run north and south. Oh, and they don't accept payment in Chilean pesos. This presented a considerable challenge to me, as the only arg. pesos I had remaining were the change I had left in my wallet when I left the country after studying abroad there more than 2 years ago. Basically, I had 10 pesos, but getting stuck in Trevelin was not an option as far as I was concerned, particularly as I did not know whether they have cash machines there (probability: fair, desire to be stuck if wrong: zero). So I figured I'd do what probably every other mochilero (backpacker) in my position would do: I hit up the other mochileros for help. And indeed, the first group, two Israeli girls) were willing to spot me a 5er, and I promised them to go straight to the ATM in Ezquel in order to pay them back.

Eventually, I arrived in Bariloche that night after an unexpectedly long lay over in Ezquel. However, during that time I was able to get replacement/fixing parts for my tent pole, as Prachee had kindly been in touch with the tent makers and gotten instructions on how to get around the problem. I walked to a nearby hardware store, and about 20 minutes later I not only had what I needed to fix the break, but 4 additional pieces of the same piping in order to repair any future breaks, should they occur. When I asked the guy what I owed him, he just shrugged and laughed. The way he saw it, the 20 cm of copper piping weren't even ringing up, since they usually sell by the dozen meters to construction companies. Sweet, already the argentines were living up to another stereotype, that of the friendly outgoing middle class. And also, the stereotype of disorganization/general nonsensical organization, which I will elaborate on at another point.

Finally, I caught the 5 hour bus to Bariloche, where I arrived exhausted at about midnight, as 5 hours in Argentina actually means that the bus will leave 30 minutes late, and it will take five and a half hours to arrive. Arriving in Bariloche at night at the height of the tourist season really isn't a problem - if you have a reservation. I of course did not have a reservation. Normally when you arrive at a bus station, there are people standing around offering you alojamiento (housing) in any number of hostels, hotels, and home stays. Unfortunately, at Bariloche there wasn't a single offer, which generally means everything is full. Faced by this unexpectedly bad situation, I swung my heavy pack on my back and began the 4 km walk into the town center. As usual, my luck held and the first place I asked at actually had one bed remaining, though by that time I'd already spend 45 minutes walking, sweating, through some good and some less-than spectacular neighborhoods worrying about the prospect of being on the street for the night, because although I had the replacement pieces for the tent, I had not yet had the opportunity to make the repairs. It was called Bolsa de Deportes, and I would seriously recommend that hostel. However, I was exhausted, went out for a quick lomito, and hit the hay.