Farewell to Patagonia

I made my farewell to Patagonia (and Chile) with a four day trek in Parque Nacional Volcán Villarica. The first day slid through a open lovely green forest, full of native bamboo and tree species, and ended at a small lake. The next day the trail climbed above the tree line, and stayed there for that entire day and most of the next. It cossed a barren rocky landscape of sand, lava flows, crossing an old (inactive) crater, and with views of the surrounding volcanoes. The fourth day I attemped a trail that went straight up the side of Volcan Villarica, to the edge of the glacier. I got up before dawn (I was already on a very early schedule, camping alone), to see the sunrise on the volcano. Unfortunately, after 3 days of perfect weather, that day turned that morning to windy, rainty, and foggy. There was no view of the surrounding mountains, and the wind pushed me back down the trail as I made my ascent. I did make it to the edge of the glacier, though without the view of the peak I had hoped for. still, the landscape was amazing, glacial streams cutting a valley through grey volcanic rock and ash. Anyway, check out the photos.

I was now headed to Bolivia, where I had been in contact with a couple NGOs in Cochabamba that I was planning to work with. I had heard about a contact Improv festival outside of Cordoba, Argentina, (pretty much on the way) that I decided to check out. After the trek, I got back to the town of Pucón, and took a night bus to Santiago de Chile. Then another bus across the border to Mendoza, Argentina, and another night bus to Cordoba. After another local bus ride, I made it to the festival.

It was a pretty cool place. Good people, great contact jams in the evenings and classes in the day in yoga, capoera, qi gong, etc., etc. My heart wasnt in it though. I was road weary, and could only think of the journey ahead and what I would find in Bolivia. I was eager to get to Cochabamba, where I would stay for a stretch of time, get to know people, and have a purpose. Lounging at a hippy festival wasn´t doing it for me.

So after two days of R&R I got back on the road, this time trying out my luck with my thumb. Luck was not mine this time around. After a day and a half of hitching, I had made it about 90 miles closer to my destination (still over a thoushand miles away.) I gave up the hitching, as it became apparent that the farther north I made it, the thinner the traffic as the road headed into the vast desert. I managed to flag down a long distance bus (usually they dont stop except at a couple larger towns), and 18 hours of bus later, I was at the border.