Farewell to Nova Scotia ... and hello Newfoundland

Wow, it's been a while since I wrote here.  I got back to Toronto safely (and my bag eventually showed up, just a day late) and had a short week to hang out there before heading off again.  I didn't get to see nearly everyone I wanted to, but will do better when I'm back again!  (And it was GREAT to see those of you I did get to spend some time with ... there's nothing like old friends.)

Right now I'm sitting in a ferry terminal in North Sydney, Nova Scotia, after a gorgeous sunny day of driving up from Halifax.  I'd forgotten how spectacularly beautiful the Cabot Trail is, on Cape Breton Island (it's been about 25 years since I was here ... yes, I am old).  For the Canucks out there who haven't made it to this particular corner of the country, make a point of getting here -- forget about the exotic foreign destinations for a bit, the Maritimes are worth it!

I took the train out on Wednesday, after spending a couple of days in Barrie with the family -- despite a minor miscalculation of leaving it too late to get a bus back to Toronto on Tuesday night, I raced back to the city on the first GO train (5 o'clock in the morning is a very uncivilized hour) and threw some stuff in a couple of bags and headed back to the train station to meet my sister and brother-in-law and catch the train to Montreal.  From there, we switched to the overnight Halifax run -- surprisingly comfortable, even in economy, and not at all crowded so we got to eat with the posh folks in sleeper class in the dining room. 

After a day in Halifax and Peggy's Cove (possibly the most photogenic village in Canada), we hit the road today for Cape Breton.   The villages are tiny and colourful, the houses painted every colour of the rainbow (my favourite was the cute wee purple house -- I think I'll paint my house that colour, when I eventually have one).  A huge national park takes up most of the northwestern corner of the island, as the Cabot Trail winds its way around the coast -- my ancestors (Irish and Scottish all) must've felt right at home here, as it looks very like the west of Ireland or the highlands of Scotland.  Stunningly beautiful Kodak moments in every direction ... and as an added bonus, we saw a huge bull moose grazing peacefully by the side of the highway, completely uninterested in the paparazzi tourists snapping his picture.

I feel much more like I'm from "away" now -- the accents have noticeably changed, and road signs are sometimes sporting Gaelic as well as English.  (I plan to make that my next language to learn.  Possibly not as useful as Spanish, but definitely would reclaim my Scottish roots.)  We ran out of time to make a pilgrimage to New Victoria (where the MacLellan great-grandparents are buried) but will make a visit on the way back through.

Assuming the ferry's on time, we'll leave in about two hours for Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland, on the southwestern tip of the island, arriving about 7:30 in the morning.  We'll stop in the Codroy Valley (also ancestral MacLellan homeland, where my grandfather was born) before heading up the coast toward Gros Morne National Park.  With a bit of luck, the sunny weather will continue and we'll actually be able to see the mountains -- always a bit iffy in misty, rainy Newfoundland.  But it'll be beautiful, regardless.

Then it's up to L'Anse aux Meadows and the Viking ruins, and possibly a quick side trip to Labrador, before heading around the island to St. John's.  Buchans, at the end of a road in the middle of the province, is a necessary stop along the way, since my father was born there before Newfoundland was even part of the country (but the fact that he was born British doesn't help me get to the UK any more easily -- I checked into that years ago when I first came home to Canada).  We get the ferry back from Argentia (on the east side) in about two weeks.

I can't wait!  I haven't been to Newfoundland since I was 15 or 16 -- so never as an adult and never without my parents.  Going to George Street in St. John's will probably be a very different experience this time around ...

In Bavaria

No, I haven't crossed the Atlantic recently. Technically, I'm still in Chile, but if I ignore the Spanish street signs, I could swear I was in Germany. I'm in Puerto Varas, just off the boat this morning from Puerto Natales, and this town was settled by German immigrants in about 1880. So the architecture is very reminiscent of the Black Forest (the main cathedral is modelled on the Marienkirche) and opportunities to eat sauerkraut and kuchen abound.

The boat ride was fantastic; it takes you through some of Chile's most stunning scenery, through the fjords off the coast, and you even have the chance to get off midway for a morning exploration of a remote community on one of the islands in the archipelago.

Sailing up through the islands made me think of one of the Narnia books (all of which I have read approximately one thousand times, as I love them all) -- do you know the Voyage of the Dawn Treader? The characters sail to the end of the world, through remote and beautiful islands -- I felt like I was doing the same as I cruised up through southern Chile. This side of the Andes is the rainy side; over the mountains in Argentina it's almost shockingly dry, but cruising up through Chile brought a lot of mist and rain. If anything, the fog improved things: it added to that sense of remoteness, being in our own little world.

We boarded in Puerto Natales on Monday night and spend the night on board; the ship actually left on Tuesday morning. Sleeping options range from berths in a corridor with communal bathroom (which I went for, at about $336 US after a 20% discount), upwards to 4-person cabins with no window and shared bathrooms, to cabins with windows and bathrooms, to the ultra-luxury (relatively speaking) two-person cabins with private bathrooms, desk, closets and large window, as well as access to a private dining room and lounge only for the people in the posh cabins. Fares at the high end went up to $1200 US.

But I was quite happy with my little berth ... and quite frankly, it would have seemed a waste of several hundred dollars just to have a door that closed. They ate the same food (albeit some of them ate in a separate dining room with tablecloths and real china, instead of the main cafeteria), slept in the same kind of bunks (just fewer people in a room), and had the same views as I did.

Unhappy passengers on the ferry

The only downside of the bottom-of-the-scale accommodations, I discovered, is that they're at the back of the boat just up from the cargo deck. Oh, the "ferry" isn't a typical ferry -- it's primarily a cargo run that has been partly outfitted for human passengers. Some of the cargo on this trip included four trailer loads of cattle, squashed in like sardines so they couldn't turn around, with no tops on the trailers so they suffered through the wind and the rain with no protection. It seemed very cruel that they should have to travel like this for 3 1/2 days! And the "downside" I mentioned came when the wind blew a certain direction, carrying that lovely bovine smell all through the back of the ship.

There were only 50 or so human passengers, in a ship that could hold 300, so it was easy to get to know most of the folks on board. I was glad to see again that it wasn't mostly couples -- there were a few older couples, mostly from Canada and the U.S. (they were staying in the posh cabins), but for the most part, it was solo travellers just like me.

We had communal meals in the cafeteria (costs of which are included in the fare) and hung out in the top deck lounge or on the outer decks during the days. A few people spotted wildlife along the way -- dolphins and a few sea lions -- but I wasn't so lucky. I was hoping for blue whales in the Golfo Corcovado on day 3, where I'd been told about 250 whales lived, but saw nary a one. Evenings, there were movies on offer (I sat through one very dreadful Matthew McConaghey flick, but saw a very good Argentine film too), or the lounge to hang out in, with fine Chilean beer on sale for about $2 a bottle. Wine was a little more expensive.

Puerto Eden, in the middle of the Chilean archipeligo

Day 2 took us to Puerto Eden, an isolated little fishing hamlet on Wellington Island. Primary industry -- only industry, really -- is fishing for mussels and crabs, but like many other fishing communities, marine populations have been declining dramatically in recent years, and it's become harder and harder to make a living. But the 300 or so residents carry on -- some of them try to supplement their fishing income by offering crude little handmade souvenirs for sale, and the ferry company collects a 4000 Chilean peso fee (about $8) from passengers who go ashore, donating all the funds to the community.

Day 3 brought us through the Golfo de Penas (literally, Gulf of Sorrows), which is notorious for rough weather and big waves, as it's open to the Pacific. But we sailed through with hardly a ripple in the water, so I still haven't been seasick ever in my life; there were a few folks on board moaning and groaning in the Gulf despite the calm, but clearly I'm a better sailor than those.

Day 4 brought us to Puerto Montt early in the morning, and we disembarked after breakfast on board (before the cows, thank goodness, or we'd have been waiting a while). A few people scrambled to get ready in time, having enjoyed themselves a little too much at the farewell party the night before. We danced, and (oddly) played bingo; the winners got prizes of bottles of wine, but had to do a dance in the middle of the lounge to earn their prize. I was sitting there at one point with one number left for a full card; I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when someone else won. I could've handled the first few songs (I can dance to Elvis, or Chubby Checker, or Abba) but the later numbers switched to merengue and salsa. And I have NO latin rhythm at all (must be the Celtic blood).

Puerto Varas, Chile

Since Puerto Montt is an unattractive industrial port, I opted to catch a mini-bus for about $1 for the half-hour journey north to Puerto Varas on Lake Llanquihue (try saying that five times fast -- I stil haven't figured out how to pronounce it). To the right is a view of the town; don't you agree it could just as easily be a picture from Bavaria? Peter from the UK, who'd also been on the ferry, showed up at the same hostel as me, so there appears to be a backpacker trail in South America as well (but before you get any ideas ... Peter, although a lovely gent, is 70 if he's a day, and while very sweet is undoubtedly too old for me.)

So I spent today wandering the town, after I'd taken care of necessities like buying groceries to make dinner and booking a bus ticket for Bariloche (Argentina) tomorrow morning. I was very pleased that I managed to conduct the latter transaction entirely in Spanish; even though my Spanish was about the equivalent of saying "I want go Bariloche. When bus?", I managed to make myself understood. Perhaps I'll even sound semi-educated in Spanish after a couple of weeks of lessons in Bariloche.

Okay, dinner calls. Plus I'm getting pretty cold hanging out on the porch, and there's a lovely cosy fireplace inside ... spending the evening in front of it sounds like an excellent plan.

In Patagonia (with apologies to Bruce Chatwin)

I'm typing this in Puerto Natales, Chile, where the great unexpected benefit of South American travelling continues: free wi-fi at every hostel! Saves a fortune in internet cafe fees, let me tell you, especially since (as I've discovered) it takes hours upon hours to upload a few hundred pictures. (And I'm not even finished those yet ... can't figure out what the problem is, but some pictures stubbornly refuse to upload.)

So this netbook may pay for itself by the end of the trip at the rate I'm going. Or at least that's what I'm going to tell myself.

And all my security worries before deciding to bring it along were probably for nothing -- the majority of other travellers I've encountered also seem to have a laptop or netbook along, usually nicer than mine. So the odds of mine getting stolen in a hostel are pretty small. I still sleep with it, though, just because I love it.

Anyway ... in Patagonia. I borrow the title from Bruce Chatwin's iconic book, which I'm currently reading. To hear him tell it, Patagonia (southern Chile and Argentina) is a wild and windswept land full of oddball characters, mostly on the run from the law, or just too pig-headed and independent to ever live anywhere else.

Wild and windswept I can attest to. I don`t think the wind has stopped blowing since I set foot here, and as for `wild`, I think that Patagonia -- particularly the Argentine part -- is South America`s answer to the American Wild West, all barren, craggy mountains and dusty plains, an endless expanse of land broken only by an occasional gate for an unseen and faraway estancia (ranch). And the big, big sky that has been full of light since I left Ushuaia, with nary a drop of rain.

Ushuaia itself was a nice enough little town, but I wouldn`t rush out of my way to get there unless you`re on the way to Antarctica. The days I spent there were cold, damp and rainy until late on my final afternoon, when the clouds finally rolled away and I saw for the first time the snow-capped peaks that surround the town and the harbour. So it`s a pretty place, when the sun`s out ... just don`t expect to be able to tell through the fog and the rain.

I flew from Ushuaia to El Calafate, Argentina next -- opting not to spend two full days on the bus just yet, although I`m sure I`ll be doing that later in this trip -- and have now added El Calafate to the list of places I could live. For anyone who hasn`t been keeping track, the list is currently this:

1. New Zealand: anywhere. Gorgeous country, environmental light-years ahead of North America, friendly people, adorable Kiwi men. What more could you need ?

2. Norway: also anywhere. Well, maybe not the far northern bits where the sun doesn`t shine at all in the winter, but otherwise good. Like NZ, way ahead of us lazy North Americans on the green front.

(those are my top two, in that order. the rest that follow are in no particular order)

3. Key West, Florida
4. San Cristobal, Mexico
5. Port Douglas, Australia
6. Marrakesh, Morocco
7. Barcelona, Spain
8. Havana, Cuba
9. Roatan, Honduras
10. Newfoundland

What did I like so much about El Calafate? Well, this part of Patagonia is spectacularly beautiful - vast expanses of arid land with not a tree in sight, jagged mountains, a turquoise lake fed by glacier water and that big, big sky. My hostel (called I Keu Ken) had some of the best vibes of any hostel I've been in (it didn’t hurt that the charming Federico with the dreadlocks at the front desk welcomed me with a hug and kiss on both cheeks) ... and it’s set up on a hill so it looks out over the whole town, and the lake, and the mountains, and the big sky. There's a couch parked right in front of their big common room window that looks out over it all -- perfect spot to sit and type or read, or chat and drink a cheap Argentine beer.

It’s laidback, friendly and cool, and there’s a clean, crisp wind blowing dust through the unpaved streets, adding to the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere. I also really liked the kind of backpackers that seemed to go there. None of the attempts to one-up each other with the most exotic place they’ve travelled, the most remote destination they’ve reached, the longest they’ve been on the road, or any of the other backpacker snobbery that you can sometimes encounter. (If I do run into that again, though, I’ll play my Antarctica card and win the travel stakes -- that`ll shut them all up.)

I went there primarily to see the Perito Merino glacier, which is in the Parque Nacionale Los Glaciares about 80 km outside of town. (Not to be confused with the Parque Nacional Perito Merino, or the town of Perito Merino, both of which are further north. I must find out who this Perito Merino guy was, and what he did to deserve all these namesakes.) There are many rivers of ice running down from the Patagonian Icefield, which is the 3rd largest expanse of ice in the world, after, of course, Antarctica and Greenland. But Perito Merino is by far the star.

Carol at the Perito Moreno Glacier, El Calafate

It’s unbelievably vast – something like 250 square kilometres , which is greater than the size of Buenos Aires city – and it’s one of the few glaciers in the world that isn’t retreating. Global warming hasn’t yet seemed to take a toll, as the glacier has been stable since 1920.

And it seems almost alive when you strap on crampons (as I did) and go for a trek atop that river of ice. It isn’t a smooth, flat surface of ice – it’s sharp-toothed and splintered in places, and in others, undulating swells of ice. Imagine a vast surging river, frozen for a moment in time; that’s how the glacier seemed, as if it could decide to ‘wake up’ at any moment and continue on its way. It does move, of course, just not quickly enough to be perceptible to the casual observer; the ice travels down from 3,000 metres above sea level, high in the Andes, down to the lakes near El Calafate, where chunks break off with a thunderous clap to form new icebergs. Unlike Antarctica, the icebergs don’t last long; it’s rarely below zero here, even in winter.

I took an extra day, after visiting the glacier, just to hang out in town and enjoy it. It isn’t often I find somewhere new to add to my “where I might like to live” list, so I had to soak it up while I had the chance. And I discovered something interesting while I did; you may know that my dating life has been almost non-existent in the past few years (aside from Work Guy, who shall remain nameless), and that’s mostly because I’ve had no interest. Well, I discovered in El Calafate that my interest in the opposite sex appears to be back, with a vengeance; for the first time in a long time, I looked at someone and found him quite delicious. This was the afore-mentioned Federico: age, almost definitely younger than me; hair, sun-bleached dreadlocks; eyes, turquoise-blue like the glacier lake; style, bohemian hippie/poet. And he played guitar, and sang. And spoke a delightful English in an Argentine accent (I don’t have to tell you that Spanish accents can be very sexy.)

I’m not saying I did anything about it (hey, my parents could be reading this). But I was very pleased to note yet another part of my non-work personality is coming back to life! (What’s that, you say? You thought I had a thing for guys in suits with banker haircuts? Think again, my friend. Give me a guitar-playing hippie poet any day.)

I moved on to Puerto Natales today, as I am catching the ferry from here on Monday, to travel up the Chilean coast through what are promised to be spectacular fjords. I had debated about taking next week’s instead, as the low season starts in April and prices drop by 30-40%, but I discovered that there are benefits to booking at the last-minute as the ferry company offers steep discounts to fill the remaining beds. So I set sail on Tuesday (after boarding the night before), and arrive in Puerto Montt, Chile on Friday. From there, I’m heading to Bariloche, Argentina, where I want to stop for at least a couple of weeks and study Spanish; their language school is supposed to be very good, and the town itself very beautiful and lots of fun.

So I’ll probably talk to you again after I get off the ferry. Have fun in the meantime, and don’t forget to keep in touch!

Oh ... and if you’re ever in El Calafate, give Federico a hug for me.