Blown away: Patagonia

We were quite literally blown into the Patagonian hiking capital of El Chaltén, Argentina. After descending from the El Calafate bus, we were immediately lifted 200 metres down the road to our hotel by the harsh wind, arriving dishevelled and discombobulated. Having had a couple of days in El Calafate to adjust to the hyper-brisk Patagonic weather, we expected to arrive in El Chaltén in a similar manner; jackets loosely undone, hats in bags and ankles exposed. No no.

Our hotel, The Fitz Roy Hotel, was a warm welcome after a hostile start in this strange wild-westeque town up in the foot hills of the Andes. The town is shadowed by our hotel’s namesake, the Fitz Roy mountain, which is truly unlike any other mountain we have seen. The jagged outline looks like a healthy ECG rhythm, not undulating but spiking and when caught by the sun, looks other-worldly. After shedding our bags and re-skinning every layer we had, we set our sights on the Mirador des Condores - Condor viewpoint - a short hike out of town promising a glimpse of the gargantuous Andean condors that excite Patagonian ornithologists and laymen alike. With wingspans of 3m, these beautiful birds obscure the sun as they fly over you, searching out their next rabbit-like Mara or human for lunch.

Magnificent Fitz Roy (El Chalten)

Unfortunately, waiting for us at the top of this short and vertical hike were not condors, but instead wilder winds. I do have a tendency towards the hyperbolic but Tom can confirm that we spent a good 10 minutes hiding behind a boulder at the top, just in order to catch our breath. It was like sticking your head out of the door of Concorde mid-flight. The condors had clearly taken the opportunity to conseal themselves in the craggy rock face opposite so we extended our walk for a while enjoying the novel Lord of the Rings scenery and the serious drama of the Fitz Roy flirting with clouds before returning to shelter, faces saggy having lost their elastic.

The incoming wind, it turns out, was a little more than usual for El Chaltén which is often described as ‘blustery’.  The next day we woke to 50mph winds, with snow and rain to boot. This unfortunately was a little too aggressive for any hiking, so we opted for a down day pootling around the town. Pootling did involve 35 layers of clothing, including waterproof trousers (a special mention to Tom’s dad for encouraging these) so we were impenetrable when we set out for our 7 minute walk to a local cafe with just a stamp-sized gap left open to see through.

Wind Proof

The cafe, La Esquina, was warm and welcoming with a relaxed and friendly atmosphere. Our waitress, Florencia, helped to put a few things straight for us that we had missed. They are not llamas, she said in broken English, they are Guanaco. This was in reference to the numerous non-llamas that we had seen from the bus windows on the way into town. Guanaco are endemic to Patagonia, the main difference from llama lying in their coats and their rock-proof w-shaped hooves. We refrained from pointing out that the majority of Guanacos we had seen were hanging legs akimbo like forgotten ballerinas from the wire fences that skirt the roads in Patagonia. These fences, designed to prevent road-kill accidents in fact result in the poor mammals getting their legs caught as they attempt to leap over; it is fairly shocking to see so many of these large, helpless creatures dangling from said fence in varying states of decomposition. When Florencia soon after delivered the Guanaco stew we had ordered, we did take a sombre moment to observe whether Guanacos actually exist in a living form.

Another thing that we were enlightened to on our long cosy cafe afternoon was the Mate ceremony - pronounced ‘mah tay’. This is a form of tea that is as ubiquitous in Argentina as their love for Maradona or Messe and almost everyone drinks it almost all of the time. We had first observed it immediately after crossing the Brazil-Argentine border in Iguazu, the bus driver merrily supping on a cup through a metal straw, as he handed it back regularly to his bus-driver companion for hot water top ups. We traced our observation of mate through the streets of Buenos Aires, to the airport queues for El Calafate and every bus in between. Back in El Chalten, the storm reaching new levels outside, we ordered a ‘mate experience’ from Florencia who explained a little to us. Mate is incredibly important to Argentinan people; it is not just a drink (made from crushed Yerba herb and hot water) it is a way of life. It is a form of expression to be shared between people, when made in a certain way dictates a message; ‘If I ask you to share my mate, I am enjoying your company’, so you tend to see it being shared amongst family, friends, lovers. We heard that it was a travesty during Covid when the ageless culture of sharing of a straw suddenly threw die-hard Argentinians into a frenzy.

The master of a ceremony is known as a ‘cebador’, which is an outfit that Tom took on within seconds of our mate ceremony. As cebador, he shook the Yerba herbs in their cup, jiggled them to one side and added near-boiling water bit by bit, wetting the bottom of the cup only. It is the cebador’s choice who they share their mate with, so I took it as a great compliment that he chose to share with me. Having paid half was irrelevant. On sipping, I found the taste of mate beyond bitter and had to really concentrate in order to keep my face straight as Florencia studied it. Disgusting. After a few backwards and forwards, Tom was quite taken with the tea and found a spare hour to read the little info book front to back. He discovered that the calabash (hollowed & dried gourd in which mate is traditionally served) is usually covered with the skin of bull’s testicles. He also discovered that adding sugar is for women, children and ‘city-folk’ and so with his usual stubbornness he absolutely refused to add any. I fulfilled two of these categories so I felt better about dousing the bitter herb drink in sugar.

Tom taking on Cebador role at our Mate Ceremony (featuring biggest cheesecake slice)

We were lulled to sleep that night by raging storm and images of dying guanacos, full of pent-up energy to get out a ‘do’ Patagonia. So when we woke, completely unrested, we were highly grateful that the rain had passed and the wind was down to a mild 25mph. We donned many layers and headed out of town on the Tres Lagos trek, an 8hour round trip to the foot of the famed Fitz Roy mountain. We knew we were only going half way, not the intrepid hikers we wish we could be, but the steady uphill was special as it was. The route was dotted with multiple miradors, largely instagrammer-free hotspots where the ‘big reveal’ moments just kept coming. Crest of a hill here, round a bend there and stunning never-ending views just behind it. The sheer expanse of Patagonia is unrivalled - the views just stretch on and on and on; flat planes peppered with dust gusts hugged by a daunting ring of mountains. Stunning. It got quite cold with elevation; we hit a point where the snow had settled and we crunched our way past glacial lakes and through petrified forests. Inspired, we attempted to make some Narnia-themed ‘content’ never-ever to be aired on any social media platform…

After a very brisque cheese sandwich lunch on the iciest, windiest outcrop, we headed back down as Florencia had saved us half of yesterday's record breaking slice of blueberry cheesecake just for this moment. The wind picked up again come evening as we battled our way to and from ‘Maffia’ the most unlikely but delicious Italian restaurant. We went back the next night. Our little taste of deep Patagonia left us hungry for more…but onwards our trip must go.

Vast Patagonian vistas