Visiting Perito Moreno Glacier

Just like Iguazu, the Perito Moreno Glacier is one of those places you have to visit. So we packed ourselves up, sadly waved goodbye to Omar and our new friends at Kaweskar Hostel and left Chile. Again. But this time we weren't alone standing in the immigration queue for an hour. Our two Torres del Paine walking buddies were headed to El Calafate and Perito Moreno as well.

Given our group size (wow...four people!) we decided to rent a car for the following day – no mean feat on a Sunday – to check out both the glacier and the supposedly 'off the beaten track' Lago Roca.

Well, the car rental turned out to be a pretty good idea. Despite starting out as a blustery but sunny day in El Calafate, as we covered the 80km to Perito Moreno the clouds grew thicker and turned a more threatening shade of grey and the light rain turned into a downpour. So we saw almost nothing of the allegedly spectacular scenery on the drive along Lago Argentino.

 The first sighting of Perito Moreno – still from the drive - lifted our spirits somewhat, knowing that we would at least be able to see the glacier despite the fog and rain. And what a view. That first glimpse of blue ice always takes my breath away!

But really there's no way to miss it. With a 5 kilometre wide terminal face and rising an average of 74m out of Lago Argentino even bad weather can't obscure it. On top of that, it's amazingly accessible with walkways on the bank of the lake that feel like you're right up against it, even though at that size there is no way to appreciate how massive it actually is.

Apart from it's beauty, Perito Moreno is remarkable for the fact that huge chunks of ice regularly calve off the terminal face so it's as much an auditory experience as a visual one.

We stood in the rain until our waterproof jackets were soaked...although still waterproof, waiting for the ice drama to unfold.

From time to time we'd hear the enormous rumble that sounded like thunder and would desperately scan the glacier to see the pieces of ice slide into the lake. And just like at Glacier Grey they seemed really small!

Sodden, we returned to the car and headed for Lago Roca. At that point the weather hadn't improved nor did it for the rest of the afternoon, so the view of what seemed like a very pretty area was a bit patchy, but at least we were warm and dry.

What we did see, were enormous looking birds of prey on the side of the road that didn't mind the least bit being photographed.

The lake itself was rather unimpressive in the grey drizzle, so we entertained ourselves while stretching our legs by jumping in the puddles in an attempt to spraying mud at everyone else. Okay, only some of us did that! And then on the way out we nearly got the car bogged! It took four great minds all offering opinions on how to get up the hill and some skilful driving.

Finally we returned to El Calafate and would you believe that there the sun was still shining!

The Road to Ushuaia

It seemed like a bad place to stop from the moment we woke. The bus had stopped and it was nearing morning, so Jeff went down to check if this was Sarmiento. Through the fogged up windows I could see it was still raining and so I was relieved when he reported this was just a petrol station. A minute later, the bus driver came up to inform the passengers in seats 13 and 14 that this was their stop. The passengers were us; it was 5:15 in the morning and it turned out to be snowing not raining.

We waited in the petrol station until the sun came up, before braving the cold to walk into town in search of a tourist office. It was first thing Sunday morning and there was not a soul about. And unfortunately according to the sign inside the window of the tourist office, there wouldn't be for another 5 hours.

There had been a reason for stopping in Sarmiento, other than for the sake of being sleep deprived and cold and that was to visit the petrified forest in a desert just 30km out of town. But sitting, shivering and hungry in a gazebo in the local park, our prospects of getting there that day, or wanting to go for that matter seemed bleak. With no buses that went out there, we would need to arrange a driver through the tourist office that wouldn't open for many more hours.

Eventually we gave up on the idea and walked to the bus station, hoping to catch the next bus out of town to continue our trip onwards to Ushuaia. The only problem was, that the ticket office didn't open for another two hours and once it did the lady wouldn't sell us a ticket. Jeff had started to ask what time the next bus was, but she cut him off and wrote down 1 and 7. She put a square around one and a circle around the other, before providing a lengthy explanation of what each shape meant and then writing our names and passport numbers down on a sheet of paper. Completely baffled by what she'd said, or even what times the buses were leaving, she seemed satisfied when Jeff informed her we would be waiting on the seat right in front of her office.

But for how long we wondered. Until 7pm perhaps, which would mean missing the connecting bus between Comodoro Rivadavia and Rio Gallegos and having to spend a night in Argentina's ugliest town. So I went up and asked what time the bus left. This time she at least let me get my question out before launching into the circle and square explanation. Now there are two types of people in the world; those that speak slowly and simply to foreigners who obviously don't have great command of the language; and then there are those who say the same thing again and again at an unintelligible speed obviously convinced that by the third time the stupid gringo will have learnt to speak the language.

She was of the second camp, but as I would not budge and kept repeating “Lo siento, no intiendo” and giving her a very sad expression because I really wanted to leave her god-forsaken town (I even have proof of this very fact. It was Sunday and the church was closed. Now go ahead and tell me the town was not god forsaken) she persisted even going as far as using google translate.

Finally, I knew that whether we caught the 1pm bus or not had something to do with available seats. Oddly enough, every other bus company had advanced to an electronic ticket system. So we waited until just before 1pm when she called us over, sold us tickets and we were off. By this stage, it had stopped snowing and the sun was peaking through.

The rest of the trip to the end of the world was rather less exciting. Our second overnight bus in a row took us to Rio Gallegos from where we would spend another whole day on the bus and cross backwards and forwards between Chile and Argentina. I worried the border guards wouldn't let me leave Argentina when the computer took 10 minutes to load whatever information they needed after typing in my passport details. Obviously their dial-up was just really slow.

Entering Chile we all had our luggage scanned and food had to be declared. Two Asian guys on our bus had a whole box which the customs official eyed suspiciously before asking if it was really just food. She opened the box, which was full of noodles and laughing asked them if they didn't like Argentine food, to which they sheepishly nodded a yes.

Finally, already running a couple of hours late, we left behind the barren, windy plains that we had so far seen on Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego and started crossing the mountains that seperated us from Ushuaia. As it was getting dark, it started snowing and we could just make out the fresh snow lying on the road and dusting the trees. When we arrived to our hostel just before midnight, we were covered in white powder ourselves.