Thursday and Friday in Torres Del Paine

Plot and Duck were in a minivan on Thursday with five Germans and three Chileans, as they drove to Torres del Paine National Park, which seems to be the treasure land of Patagonia. Every thing smells grand here, which is to say the air tastes like candy. It's too good to be just air, in the same way that The Great PD once described swimming in Lake Keuka to be H 3 0 -- it was just too damned nice to be only H 2 0.

That's what the sky in Patagonia looks like too, huge and untamed. There are just not any people here, so the country is practically virgin. It makes a big difference. These rock columns, the towers in the Torres del Paine, are not like the Sierras, or the Rockies, or even the Alps. They're so much newer that they haven't been completely eroded yet, so they burst from the landscape in strange, unimaginable geometric shapes, and some of them have glaciers suspended halfway down them, so the light reflects off the jagged edges and the ice to create brilliant, azure blue and snowy white monoliths.



At the moment, The Great Plotnik is trying hard not to become The Sick Plotnik -- he's got that kind-of uh-oh feeling in his throat that hasn't gone away, so he's not going to stay awake trying to describe Torres del Paine too much, you'll see it in the pictures, and he needs to get some sleep tonight.

And anyway, the Wi-Fi is down again in the Hostal Rincon, perhaps due to the winds, so you won't be reading about this for awhile anyway. Plot and Duck are taking an early bus into el Calafate tomorrow (Saturday), crossing the Argentine border for the first time and saying adios ciao ciao to wonderous Chile. Plot's got that great immune system stuff that P-D and 5-H gave him, so it will probably keep the cold away; still, he's got to get some sleep.



But first he's got to show you the pictures he took this morning at around 6:30am, in front of the Hosteria Laguna del Toro where he and Duck had spent the night. The Hosteria sits in a little brown and green valley surrounded by the bends of the Serrano River, and Manuel the guide told Plotnik to make sure to get up very early, just after the sun appeared, because it was only then that the mountains would glow red for a few minutes. They did just that and Plotnik got his camera out for the end of it, and Duck hurried out a few minutes later, and what an unforgettable sight that was.



And Lago Amargo yesterday, a day unseasonably warm and calm, so that the water on the lake was clear and glassy, able to reflect the craggy mountains right down into the water. P and D are in front of Lago Amargo on the top picture.

And the Hosteria de Laguna del Toro itself, which Plot and Duck got to after an older man in a beat up minivan picked them up where the tour bus had dropped them off, after a wait of only half an hour or so. The minivan had a cracked windshield, but every car or van or bus that Plot and Duck saw in Torres del Paine had a windshield cracked in at least three places, and half a dozen rock pings too, and the doors dinged up with rusting once-paint. But what would you expect? The wind is almost always gale force out on this plain and nobody in their right mind would bring a new car up here.

When the Plotniks walked into their Hosteria, a low welcoming brown building that was supposedly the economy choice of the few choices available at the mouth of the Serrano River, they were almost bowled over by how sweet a sight it was: two wood-burning heaters creating a roar of warmth, a dining room set up with glassware and tablecloths and bottles of wine in the little cabinet, two waitresses in red uniforms ready to serve all their guests, except there weren't any guests because it was only 6:30, and nobody but Americans or Germans would want to eat at a ridiculously early hour like 7 or 8pm.



They hosteria offered only one option for dinner: goulash. And was it ever delicious, and the wine was too, and the wood heaters made the room so hot that by the time dessert came (come kind of weird flan or bread pudding) Plot and Duck were three layers of clothing down from earlier in the day. No money was mentioned -- apparently they'd find out what dinner cost the next morning.

And the next morning they found that dinner had not been expensive (though the room was costly, being in the national Park), and breakfast was very nice and then Plot and Duck put on their packs and walked out next to the red mountains to find their guide for the zodiac boat trip down the Serrano River, past the Serrano and Ballmaceda Glaicers, and eventually a transfer to an old launch and a ride on the water all the way back to Puerto Natales.



The zodiac boat started off warm but got colder and colder and colder, the closer the boat motored to the glaciers. At one point it got - just almost -- too cold to take, but that didn't last too long,and the zodiac company had provided Duck and Plot and the two Spanish women traveling on the boat with them with huge orange windbreaker overcoats which seemed like overkill at the start but saved everybody's bacon later on.

In the middle of the day, the zodiac boat changed to a launch, with two levels, the bottom of which was filled entirely with Japanese tourists, so the Germans and French and Italians and Brazilians and Plotnik and Ducknik had to stand upstairs, where it was nicer anyway.

They stopped at an estancia, or sheep station, for lunch.

Two Japanese men sat down at Plotnik's table. He WANTED to speak to them in Japanese, he really wanted to. But he knew he could never understand them, so he just asked them where they were from and they said Osaka and Nagoya, and Plot said something very very simple that made both gentlemen's eyes open wide, and then they changed tables.

Don't ask, he doesn't know.



The estancia prepared a huge asado of lamb and chicken and sausage and wine and all the Japanese drank beer and got a little rowdy, while Plot gorged himself on the cuts of Patagonian lamb and, if you remember, he started out by telling you he wasn't going to stay up writing tonight.

Chileans are so nice, proud and helpful at the same time,and they genuinely enjoy all the foreigners who come to their country. They make life simple. Muy amables.

8.8 is a lot of earthquake though.