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    Northward Bound

On our return from the Ice sheet we found that autumn had infiltrated the warm green valleys at the eastern foot of the Patagonian Andes.  The summer tourists had packed up and left, all around bushes and trees were beginning to show hints of scarlet on the edges of their leaves and a decidedly cold wind was percolating through the streets of El Chalten.  The season was changing and for us it was time to move on.  We said our fond farewells to Patagonia with a drizzly visit to the Moreno Glacier and pointed Bee to the North.

Now our biggest issue was finding a campsite that was still open and when we did we were almost always the only tent there.  Volcan Lanin waved as we passed by - we no longer had time to stop and climb, so on a crisp autumn morning she no longer had reason to hide in the clouds.  At Villarrica post office we finally collected a long awaited jar of Marmite (posted to us more than four months earlier).  Two days later, high on Marmite and toast, we arrived in the little town of Graneros, just south of Santiago, to meet up with an old college friend and her family.  In the shadow of Chile's coastal range, with the majestic Andes looking on as ever from across the Central Valley, we spent a truly wonderful weekend among great friends.  Even here among vineyards, fruit farms, pretty villages and meandering lanes filled with farmers riding out in their Sunday best we found that we were still totally surrounded by the awesome power of nature.  The evening sun poured a comforting dusky glow across the western face of the Andes, Just one week after the recent earthquake in Japan however,  the town showed plenty of evidence that it too was still recovering from the huge tremors that rocked Chile onto international television screens in 2010.  Having seen that day the ruins of the flattened church nearby, our hearts leapt into our mouths when, at three o'clock in the morning, a great rumble rose from the depths of the earth and almost shook us out of our beds.  This earthquake we later discovered measured only 5.4 on the Richter scale and in the house not so much as a vase was upset, but we had had jolt and set off to the nearest winery to recover.

In the grounds of 'Concha del Torro' summer had returned briefly, the gardens were bright and fresh and we relaxed as we supped fresh and fruity white wines and even tasted some of the grapes from the vines.  It was a different story when we went in search of the reds.  Led down into the cellars the air turned cold, starved of light we passed row after row of shadowy oak barrels, the pungent aroma of maturing red wine filled the air.  Finally we came to a flight of steps, taking us deep underground, the earth floor or perhaps something more lending a strange silent quality to the vaulted brick cellar in which we found ourselves.  This beautiful subterranean suite was built by the founder of the vineyard to house his finest wines and, to stop the locals sneaking in to help themselves, he invited the Devil in to guard his stock.  It was dubbed the "Cassillero del Diablo" - the Cellar of the Devil.  A horned creature resides there still - we've seen him!

We swayed back into the sunlight and made our escape for Argentina.  In Buenos Aires there was work to do before we could let our hair down again and explore the city.  Bee had an appointment with the belly of a big steel ship and we had several bureaucratic hurdles to jump before we could get her there.  We spent the best part of a week running back and forth across the city until we were finally able to to leave Bee at the quay - ready to sail.  With just one day left we took in the delights of Buenos Aires and treated ourselves to the biggest and most fabulous steak ever!  When in Argentina ...

Adjusting to our new life as backpackers the next morning saw us on a flight to Rio de Janiero.  It would be a whole month before Bee made it across the Atlantic and back to Blighty so we took the opportunity to complete our South American odyssey with a visit to 'the marvelous city' and maybe a sun-kissed beach or two.  Buenos Aires had been warm, but as the aircraft doors opened at Rio de Janeiro, the heat and the humidity hit us.  It had been some time since we had been in the tropics and we had been getting used to the European-ness of Argentina and Chile for many months.  On our arrival in Rio it felt that we had been unceremoniously dumped back into the frantic heart of South America.  Rio was noisy, busy, dirty and expensive.  It felt somewhat seedy, but at the same time had a vitality that could not be ignored.  From the top of sugar loaf mountain at sunset, with the statue of Christ illuminated in the background, Rio could not be described as anything short of marvelous.  This was the run up to Easter however.  Accommodation was scarce and prices sky high.  We soon reverted to type, bought ourselves a bus ticket and a super cheap tent (having just shipped two tents home) and went in search of green hills, peace and quiet.  We found them on the edge of the refreshingly cool colonial hill town of Ouro Preto and in the remains of the Atlantic rainforest that still crowds the steep slopes along the coast of Rio state.  Then to the pristine white sand beaches of the tropical island of Ihla Grande and eventually on to Sao Paulo.

And that was our South American odyssey. 

The Photographs 

Moreno Glacier

Northward Bound

The Map

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