El Bolson

The first stop along the journey into southern Patagonia was to the town of El Bolson. I’d read this place was some kind of ecofriendly hippy town, so needless to say I had some preconceived notions on what to expect. It was of course nothing like I was envisioning – no crazy dreadlocked ferals wandering around smoking pot or even people dressed in multi-coloured Indian inspired clothing – it was pretty much a standard town.

With the cost of bus trips so expensive in Argentina, I was a little surprised, and
somewhat annoyed, by the fact you need to tip the baggage handlers. I was
already paying three to four times the cost for a bus ticket compared to the
previous countries on this trip, and here were guys very directly asking you if
you had money for them to store or retrieve your back pack from the cargo hold.
I had already given the guy back in Bariloche $2 peso (as that’s what the
locals were giving him), however upon arriving in El Bolson I realised I had no
small change and just pretended to look for some cash as I discretely walked
away.

Having small change, or the complete lack of it, is apparently a major problem in Argentina. The Lonely Planet has a section on this and it’s difficult to believe this is an actual issue. I was even in a supermarket in Bariloche buying deodorant and
toothpaste, and even then the cashier couldn’t give me change for a $23
purchase from the $25 I gave him. What’s more astounding is they look at you as
though it’s somehow your fault! So when I came to have lunch in El Bolson and
had to pay with $100 peso note, as that’s all I had on me, the girl shrugged
and said she had no change. After which we just stood staring at each other,
waiting for one of to do something about it, when she finally asked another
patron if they had some change. It’s utterly bizarre.

It wasn’t tourist season here in El Bolson as far as I could tell, as hostal after hostal
was closed. Even places that had big signs out the front had no answer as I
rang door bells and banged on doors. Eventually I found a place that actually
answered and a lovely old lady welcomed me in. It was a four bed room that was
overpriced, but I figured at this point I was only going stay a night here, and
agreed.

There’s really nothing to do here and half the restaurants were either closed or opened later than the usual 8pm opening time. I soon found myself at the bus office purchasing my ticket for the next morning to Esquel, and heading back to the hostal to sleep the night away.

The next morning my alarm went off and I wondered if I had set the wrong time of 7am. It was still pitch black, and this would become the norm travelling this far south of the globe. The sun doesn’t rise until around 9am, so it’s quite
disorientating at first. Making my way downstairs I had a couple of coffees
that had already been set out on the breakfast table and looked around for the
owner. My bus was 9am and I had an hour to kill before leaving. However I
couldn’t find the owner and hadn’t paid for the night, and as the time grew
ever increasingly closer to my leaving time, I wasn’t sure what to do.

With 15mins until my bus departed I decided I couldn’t stay any longer and simply left. There have been a few occasions when I would have been happy to skip out on paying for shitty accommodation, but this was far from one of the occasions. The owner was so nice and she even was planning a trip to Australia this year. Wracked with guilt I arrived at the bus terminal, this time paying the baggage handler as I had $2 pesos on me, and left for Esquel.

Esquel

The town of Esquel is a quaint little town surrounded by mountains, with a small tourist vibe going on as the ski loving folk have some slopes to adventure down. Other than that there aren’t many things to do other than just chill and enjoy the
tranquillity.

The rule of everything closing at 1pm is pretty much strictly followed here – there is an entire one café that stays open all day, so unless you don’t mind waiting until past 8pm for dinner you have to eat there. I was still wrapping my head around the coffee at 6pm ritual followed by a late dinner, so I kept returning to this place for the two nights I stayed in Esquel.

What was becoming increasing apparently with the food in Argentina is the sheer size of it. At face value you look at the menu and think the food is expensive, but
when the plate arrives at your table you eyeballs bulge as the mountain of food
is served to you. I’m baffled that there isn’t a plague of fat people overrunning Argentina, which does make you wonder if lots of coffee throughout the day and a late night dinner aids in digesting food better.

After keeping an eye on the temperature in El Calafate, always hovering around the 0 degree mark, I bought my bus ticket to there and prepared for the cold. I even gazed over some clothing stores beforehand contemplating on whether to buy from gloves or some other cold weather gear. I was already wearing two shirts at this point to keep warm, and in the end I decided to just arrive in El Calafate and gage the lack of cold when I was there and buy additional cloths if need be.

It would be a 22 hour bus ride to the southern end of Patagonia, and annoyingly they only served dinner on the bus, no breakfast or lunch the next day, and for the cost of the bus ticket I expected more than just one meal.

What felt to be a surprisingly quick bus journey, we arrived in El Calafate early in the afternoon, and as I waited to get my pack from the cargo I felt a slap on the
back and a hearty hello, and turning to find the Dutch guy from back in Pucon,
Chile. So off we both went in search for a hostal and see what El Calafate had
to offer.