San Martin de los Andes

So I'm in San Martin de Los Andes, about 4hrs by bus north of Bariloche. Having left my snowboard behind (a regrettable decision to say the least) I am in the unusual position of having to find other pursuits to occupy my time. I decide to take a hike to a nearby lookout. Armed with a map from the tourist office, small amounts of water and an empty stomach, I set off grossly underprepared in true Bourke and Wills style.

The map I have looks as though it was drawn looking down from outer space, or a very great height at least, for it only highlights major roads with no detail whatsoever. For instance, San Martin, a town of 24,000 inhabitants, is represented by a small red dot! Fortunately the map also includes instructions for the 10km trek. So it is with misplaced confidence that I set off in totally the wrong direction for about 10 minutes before I reach a highway and it dawns on me that maybe I've taken a wrong turn. Not the best of starts you'd agree.

Having back-tracked I set off again with a determined look on my face, somewhat like a dim witted child who is trying to force a square peg into a round hole. The path is actually one of the main arteraries out of town, so again I'm not entirely sure I'm on the right track. My concerns are heightened 5 minutes later when I come across the town's industrial quarter (pictured below). At this point it must be said that this is a family trait (skill if you will) to seek out the industrial part of any town on any given city tour.

I consult the map and the instructions state "head towards the old San Martin de la Sol Hotel before turning left". What the fuck! The old San Martin de la Sol Hotel - I don't even know where the new fucking San Martin de la Sol Hotel is. I consult the map to see whether it is marked anywhere and of course it isn't. This is the sort of advice that you'd give to a local who has lived here for 100 odd years not a tourist who's fresh off the bus and navigationally challenged. At length I come to the sad realisation that the map, if a few squiggerly lines on a piece of paper justifies such an elaborate description, is useless and I am lost.

It is at this point that a car pulls over. A large Mexican in the passenger seat asks where I'm going and whether I need a lift. I reply "I don't know" and "I'd love one". A decision I regret the instant I make it. I climb into the back to join his girlfriend while the Mexican, who seems to be the cars spokesmen, proceeds to ask me all the usual questions, such as:

Where you from?

What's your name?

Are you travelling by yourself?

Why are you travelling by yourself?

Are you gay?

"What?"

"Are you gay?"

"Don't listen to him, his girlfriend assures me" but I catch the subtly seductive glace from the driver in the rear-view mirror and feel anything but reassured. It doesn't help that he is dressed as if he's just come from a Village People appreciation meeting. My mind is running all sorts of Deliverance style scenarios, none of them ending well. I figure the big guy is the enforcer, the little guy the beneficiary and the girl, well she probably just likes to watch.

"So do you like Argentinean women"

"yes very much, in fact I like all woman. Just the other night I made friends with a Brazilian girl, I liked this very much. Yes this is definitely my preference. Girls, girls, girls, yum, yum, yum(maybe a little overstated but desperate times...).

I felt now that if I was to be sodomised than at least they would know it was not of my own free will. At this precise moment we turn off the smallish back road we are on, onto an even smaller country path and start heading towards what looks like a barn (Click here for Soundtrack). I point at the map protesting but the girl only laughs, whether at the deplorable work of the mapologist (or whatever they're called) or my predicament, I'm not sure. The path soon becomes unnavigable. We stop and my heart fills with the type of dread that only an alter boy could understand. The big guy turns around.

"So did she have big titties?"

"What?" "Who"?

"The Brazilian"

"Yeah sure, whatever".

At this point the two guys in the front seat break into a Spanish song (no doubt part of the ritual). My face turns white all the while the girlfriend is in tears of laughter. I turn to her and in broken English she tells me that the song is about Brazilians and their big buzzukas. It was at this point that all my concerns about being sodomised and left to die vanish, for these were just normal guys (we really are the simplier sex). So there was nothing for it but to join in - it was a pretty catchy tune.

As it turns out, they were all very generous and lovely people (was there ever any doubt!). They were touring around and were happy to take me with them for the day, like a lost puppy. We followed the path I was intending to take laughing at how stupid I had been to even consider it. However, they wearn't entirely normal. The Mexican (first photo), his Uraguyan girlfriend and the Argentinian driver (second photo), all met in a internet chat room. If fact just a few days before Manuel had met Laura, his girlfriend of a few years, for the first time. Below are some photos of San Martin and my newfound friends:

More photos at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=16753&l=287d6&id=545465517

Getting there is not, as commonly believed, half the fun

"There is a slight delay on QANTAS flight 155 to Auckland. Passengers will be informed of the new boarding time shortly"

30 minutes later.

"There is a delay on QANTAS flight 155. QANTAS apologises for any inconvenience"

1 hour later.

"There is a major delay on QANTAS flight 155. QANTAS is relieved to have already banked the large amount of money you have paid for this ´service´. QANTAS does not care for you or your petty concerns regarding missing flight connections and would like all passengers from rows 1 - 32 to please bend over while we make our way with you".

Four hours later I finally boarded the first leg of a four month trip to South America, with my itinerary in ruins. On arrival to Auckland my fairly straight forward journey from Brisbane to Bariloche had suddenly morphed into a world tour, taking in towns from other areas of the alphabet such as Dallas and Los Angeles, but at least the logistics people at QANTAS were considerate enough to add in another ´B´town by way of Buenos Aires. Fortunately for me an angelic LAN Chile rep at Auckland airport found me curled up in the fetal position sobbing in a corner of the airport muttering incoherent threats against QANTAS, and no doubt out of pity was able to squeezed me onto the last seat of the Auckland to Santiago flight, saving me from an impromptu tour of North America and an additional 16 hours of travel.

At length I arrived in Bariloche to meet up with Tim, who has being living with his Argentinean girlfriend (a souvenir from a previous trip) in Buenos Aires for the last 6 mths and had taken the 19 hour bus journey. Amusingly (for me at least) he had traveled one-fifth the distance but had taken around the same amount of time. Over a few duty free whiskies we developed our plan for the next week, which basically involved using Bariloche as a base to explore the natural surrounds, not least Argentina´s biggest ski resort Cerro Catedral.

Bariloche, in the heart of Argentina´s Lake District, is south-west of Buenos Aires, sitting at the foot of the Andes and the shores of Lago Nahuel Huapi, one of the districts biggest lakes (actually I have no idea but it looks pretty big). My guidebook informs me that architect Ezequiel Bustillo adopted Central European styles to create a tasteful urban plan. However, in the last two decades rapid growth has undermined Ezies´(as he liked to be called) vision. No other building typifies this than Bariloche Centre, a 10 storey behemoth in the heart of the town and of course the building we would call home for the next week.

The building, no doubt designed by the same people responsible for mass Soviet welfare housing, is modeled on a shape highly prized by Tetras players but less so by architects. As a result it has won the ´ugliest building in town´award every year since it´s construction. The Hostel we had booked graces the 10th floor of the building ensuring it capitalises on its one redeeming feature, brilliant views. What´s more, by staying in the ugliest building in town the view of the rest of the city was all the better for it. With lakes, mountains and alpine architecture to feast your eyes on, the city is very beautiful (as the following images will attest) despite the best efforts of local urban planners.





Image 1: That building
Image 2: View of the lake and mountains from the balcony of our hostel in the Bariloche Centre building.
Image 2: View of the town from the balcony
Image 3: Tim minutes before frost-bite would claim both his ears
Image 4: Bariloche Civic Centre
Image 5: View from the lake shore
Image 6: Speaks for itself

More photos at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=16449&l=823c5&id=545465517