Saturday, January 28, 2012

Patagonia: El Calafate

Calafate is a strange place and I can't figure out whether I love it or hate it.  I'd say it feels a lot like Jackson Hole, with maybe half the pretense and twice the kitsch.  It's located in Southern Patagonia and often serves as home base for people traveling through the region as it contains the area's only airport.  Like most I didn't spend much time in town; instead I used Calafate as a jumping off point for a week-long excursion to the climbing/hiking town of El Chalten and a day trip to the Perito Moreno Glacier.  I would have loved to have continued on from Calafate to Puerto Natales, Chile, and Torres del Paine National Park but my time in Argentina had run out and Torres del Paine was on fire at the time.  So I called it quits after Calafate -- which itself provided much excitement -- and headed back to Toronto to recharge my batteries before the next stage of my around-the-world trip.  (If you're wondering there are several tour buses that head to Torres del Paine daily and reasonably priced tickets can be purchased in Calafate the day before your trip.)  
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Lago Argentina, on the outskirts of Calafate.
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Map of the area.

Calafate played host to one of the crazier hours of my life, which took place between 12:00 p.m. and 1:00 p.m. on January 8, 2012.  As late as 11:59 a.m. that same day I was sitting calmly at my hostel, still under the impression that LAN Airline's assurance that they'd deliver my lost luggage "as soon as possible" after the 10:00 a.m. flight from Buenos Aires (my previous location and where my luggage sat stranded over night) meant I would receive it before noon and in time for my bus to El Chalten at 1:00 p.m.  (I continue to believe that this was entirely reasonable, though others have suggested otherwise.)  At noon I realized "as soon as possible" did not mean in time for my bus and decided to take matters into my own hands.  

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I called a taxi to take me to the airport and several bribes later had him going 140 kph down a road marked "60 Maxima."  His toll machine was set to beep every time he exceeded a certain speed and it literally beeped the entire way.
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The road out of town + Patagonian sheep.

At 12:42 p.m. I ran into the airport screaming "Hola, Hola, Hola" at every LAN agent in sight until someone clearly understood I had urgent business in mind.  I got someone's attention and told them I had arrived to pick up my luggage only to learn that the airline had just minutes earlier sent my baggage to the hostel.  ("Are you kidding me?!" )
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I asked the agent to have the luggage delivered to the bus station instead and jumped back in the cab hoping the instruction was understood.  Again it was 140 kph on the speedometer and a constant beep from the toll machine.  I arrived at the bus station at 12:56 p.m, ran inside, picked up my ticket, ran back outside hoping my luggage had arrived (which, thankfully, it had), and jumped on the bus with a minute to spare.  I wanted to high five the other passangers as I skipped down the aisle but refrained and took my seat peacefully.
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The whole ordeal calls for a big shout out to the cab driver.  So thank you, sir.      
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In fact, the people I interacted with in Calafate were fantastic.  The most friendly people I've met thus far.  The staff at my hostel (America Del Sur) were great, as were the folks at La Lechuza Pizzeria, where I had one of the better pizzas I've eaten in my life.  (That's high praise coming from a self-proclaimed connoisseur.)  I highly recommend both if you're in the area.
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Dining room at the hostel.
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Delicious pizza.
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Calafate is not, however, a place to experience true Argentina.  It's very much a tourist town and every time I was in public it seemed as though there were 100 different languages being spoken (and English generally wasn't one of them).  My Spanish is coming along, though.  Thus far I've gone from absolutely nada to "hola," "pardon," and "un cafe con leche por favor."  I'm not sure if the last one is proper grammar but it seems to be doing the trick.
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Downtown Calafate.  Many tourists.

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Nice skies, though.
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Also, sights in town are limited.  The main street is packed with tourist shops and you really need to get to see the best of what the area has to offer -- e.g., Chalten and the Moreno Glacier.  Traveling by bus is the best option, though I know someone who rented a bike and tackled the 80 kms to the glacier because she was "on an eco-friendly trip."
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On the way out of town be sure to check out Lago Argentina -- the largest freshwater lake in Argentina.  It borders Calafate and, fed by the glaciers of the surrounding mountains, makes for a pretty picture.
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Flamingos in the lake near town.
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Finally, I should note that Calafate marks the spot on my trip at which I began spending the better part of each night getting moderately tipsy off local beer.  It was bound to happen but even I was surprised at how quickly it did.  I've convinced myself that the practice is OK since I need to regain the weight I lost on Aconcagua, though (1) I'm doubtful I lost weight; and (2) even more doubtful that if I did lose weight I need to gain it back in order to return to good health.  (Editor's Note:  The author actually wrote the majority of this post while drinking one evening in El Chalten.)