Casa Dulce Casa.

Let’s just say that Bariloche is starting to feel a lot like home.


We’ve moved our few belongings into a spacious two-story apartment at kilometro 7 on Pioneros, we’ve befriended the local transportation system, I’ve started my job training at a hostel downtown, we frequent the verdurería down the block, and are starting to fall into the swing of things.




This is the view from our bedroom window!




The sun is hot. Very hot. Please remember, dear readers, that the days here are sunny and summery. It’s my first real December summer. No matter how much sunscreen I put on, I inevitably get burned. It’s unfortunate, but with the sky so crystal blue, who can complain?

About a week ago, we put on our hiking shoes (both of us sport sneakers with gaping holes in them) and made our way to Cerro Catedral. From the lower parking lot, we followed the signs to Frey. The sign said that it would take us 4 hours. We heard from fellow backpackers that without packs, it would take us 3 hours. Nate wanted to do it in 2 hours.




We hike. The sun scorches. The flies circle. The view takes breaths. The dusty path winds.





We pass the dead forest and look over Lago Gutierez. We’re making good time when we get to the edge of the forest. We jog and make up silly songs to pass the time.



After the 2nd hour, the path heads up. Up! The going is a little tougher, but we’re still passing people. We reach the snow line and keep moving. All of a sudden, the view opens up! It’s incredible! A serene blue lake sits within a chain of snow capped mountains. We munch pb&js as we take it all in.




Nate tries his hands (and climbing shoes) at a boulder or two.





After a brief rest and a tour of the refugio, we start heading down. We didn’t have a tent or sleeping bags, so we had to catch the last bus into down. GO!

We jog past families until my knees can take no more. Then a fast walk will suffice. We make it down in under 2 hours.



Here are some more pictures from Cerro Otto (only a few km from our house) where we spent a few hours of Nate's 24th birthday! Feliz Cumple!




In other news, after a couple of weeks of job searching, I got an offer from a hostel chain, TangoInn hostels. I started receptionist training a week ago and I love it. It’s fast-paced, energetic and sociable. Perfect! I’ll use my English, practice my Spanish, and probably learn some Hebrew through osmosis. It feels good to be working; too much idle time drives me loca. Meanwhile, I haven’t given up my relentless search for an English-teaching job.

And the Conroys and Larner-Lewis descend on Bariloche in T-3 days. Bienvenidos!

Success in Bariloche!

November 25. We left on the 12:15pm bus to Buenos Aires. That meant that we arrived the morning of the 26. It’s funny how each 20 hour bus rides gets easier to handle. Especially when there are alfajores are involved.

The taxi driver and I got into an argument on the way to the corner apartment building. Nate and I picked up the key, figured out the elevator, explored the never-been-lived-in apartment and settled in.

My Dad and Adriana arrived shortly thereafter. Bagels, cream cheese, and lox! And real Zabar’s coffee. Mmmmm… Luxurious dining.

After breakfast I explored the goodies my dad had in his suitcase for me. Oooh, interview clothes, climbing gear, peanut butter, and a whole host of awesomeness from home (thanks, ma!)

The next few days Buenos Aires were like being in a pressure cooker. Walking down the street was draining. On the third day, the sky opened up and shot down rain in amazing quantities.

The days passed and we did a few touristy things. Saw a Che movie, which taught me that the Cuban accent is terribly difficult to understand. Went shoe shopping. Explored an old theater converted into a bookstore. Walked through a street market in search of mates, tango, and super panchos. Watched Kung Fu Panda. We ate some tremendous food, drank copious amounts of fantastic wine, and talked the night away with hilarious people.

On Tuesday December 2, we said goodbye to Dad, Adriana, Virginia, and all the wonderful people we met in Buenos Aires. I wish I could thank them enough for all the kindness they showed us during our visit. Che, ¡qué bárbaro!


We had front seats on our semi-cama ride to Bariloche. Which meant that the panoramic view was our travel companion. We must have slept for 12 hours before waking up the movie, Jumper, being played three times in a row.

Wednesday, December 3 found us back in Bariloche. But as of December 1, the hostels had abandoned the temporada baja prices for the heftier temporada alta prices. Yikes. That meant that we had to leave our beloved 1004 in search of a more economical hostel. But we found the awesome Hostel la Bolsa. Fully equipt with a kitchen, grassy outdoor patio, pingpong table, and a beautiful wooden interior.

On Friday, December 5 we picked up the ABC classifieds magazine promptly at 4pm and flipped through it for apartment listings. In the cabina we called the first place and it was still available!! We arranged to see it that very afternoon.

The #50 bus took us straight to the doorstep of the yellow house with the black roof. We loved it. Two floors, not too spacious. Perfect.

Sunday, December 7 we paid the deposit. It was ours! We move in on Tuesday. Pictures to come.

Let's just say, I'm falling behind in my blogging.

Sunday November 15.

We miss the Cochamó-Puerto Montt bus by 8 minutes and are left to our own devises. Instead of hovering on the dusty street corner, we decide to walk. We shoulder our packs. Mine is the size of me and is adorned with chains for discouraging ladrones. Nate has two backpacks and the water bottles. I’m left with the tiny guitar and machete. We look pretty silly. Some car headed to Puerto Varas is bound to pass by and offer us a ride. Famous last words.

Cars don’t really drive much on Sundays I guess.

A sign announced that we were leaving Cochamó. We kept following the dirt road along the picturesque lake lined with thick trees and wise mountains proceeding over it all.

After an hour, our bags started getting heavy. The only vehicles that had passed us were rather large trucks with no room for us or our bags. They shrugged apologetically as they passed.

Our first ride of the day came from a father and son. The son had lived in Olympia, WA and the father insisted on speaking English with us. Fair enough, he’s giving us a ride, I’ll play along.

They invited us with them to some termales. We declined with a gracias and were dropped off neatly on the side of the road. We had ridden a good few kilometers and had at least passed into paved road territory. We had hardly walked another kilometer when we smiled at the next car as it pulled over. We piled our bags in the back and found that the driver was headed straight to Puerto Varas. Fantastic.

The car ended up being a cab. The driver had just dropped off a couple of German tourists in Cochamó, so the journey had been paid for; he didn’t want a cent from us.

The cab itself had 13 mirrors. We counted.

Nate napped as the driver and I small talked. Before we knew it, we were pulling into the comfortable cobble stone tourist haven of Puerto Varas. Food preparation and cleanliness was in store. Ahhhh… the comforts of modern technology…


Monday, November 16

We were going to leave at 11am for Puerto Montt to meet Daniel. It swiftly turned into 2pm. We jumped out of the combi right after the retorno and crossed the at least 6 lanes of traffic to the Esso Station.

Daniel pulled up, we threw our bags in the trunk and hopped inside. Daniel just had to check one thing… the papers for the car. Without them we would not be allowed across the border. They hafta be here somewhere… right?

We pull over and search the car. Nada. Where could they be? Daniel decides that it could be in Cochamó, so we start driving. Two hours of NPR later, we arrive in the little town. We search for the papers. Nada.

It starts looking like we won’t be able to cross the border. As we begin the drive back to Puerto Montt we pick up an officer of some sorts. He tells us without those papers we have no chance of crossing. And all the offices are closed because of the general strike. Great. Just our luck.


So we take the opportunity to pull over and start stacking the contents of the Land Rover on the side of the road. Suddenly Daniel puts on a grin and holds something triumphantly in the air. The papers!



Ok. It was about 7pm. The border closed at 9pm. There was about two hours left to drive. LET’S GO!

We dropped the officer off in Ensenada and took all the back roads to the border. The unpaved roads. The secret roads. Wahooo!


We flew. We absolutely HAD to cross the border. After all we had gone through that day, they HAD to let us across. It wouldn’t be the first time I argued my way across a border… and probably not the last either.


We arrived. We passed through. It got dark as we drove into Chile. Steak and gnocchi dinner. Hostel and sleep.

Tuesday November 17.

We got beds in 1004. Home again! Translated our resumes into Spanish.

November 18-24


Can’t say that these days were particularly exciting. A lot of resume printing and distributing, apartment searching, steak-cooking, wine-drinking, hostel lounging, and mountain gazing.



I’d like to bring to your attention a few notable events:

November 20. We climbed Cerro Catedral. We took a bus out of the city to the mega ski complex and then climbed up the ski trails following the teleférico. At points it was a pretty rough climb. Nate convinced me to go beyond the teleférico lodge, through the snow, to the tippy top of the mountain. But whoa was it worth it! Here are some pictures.





November 23. We rented bicycles to ride the circuito chico. Stunning views, colonia suiza, well-oiled bikes, steep hills, and alfajores! These pictures just might blow you away.





November 25. We jump on a bus to Buenos Aires.

Leaving Cochamó Valley

Thursday November 12.

Nate is itching to go climbing. Surprise? Not really.

La Luna is the closest climbing wall to the refugio. We trespass onto cow pasture in search of the trail. Being us, we get lost. But only for a little while until we find the two bridges. Turn right after the second one. Walk walk walk. Mushy mud further coats our sneakers.

We find ourselves staring up at a gigantic rock wall. Nate is bug-eyed, but disappointedly points out that it’s dirty and not suitable for climbing. So we keep going.

But promptly lose the trail. The next few hours are spent hacking through trees, bushes, very prickly things, and bamboo. Emphasis on hours.

Finally we reach the dirty wall again. Only to find a few bolts on it. Bolts? This is it! It was here all the time! Ugh.



So we unpack the gear and get set up. Nate climbs. I climb. Now, it’s been quite some time since I’ve climbed. Since West Virginia, if you can remember back that far! So when I had to work through a few moves, I thought nothing of it. It must be a 5.9, I exclaim.





On the way back to the refugio, Nate remembers being told about a boulder. A climbable boulder over the rushing river water. He adorns a wet suit and with a little hesitation, he hops in the frigid water.



Climb climb climb. I don’t want to fall, I hear him yell from my dry seat on rounded white stones a good distance away. But fall he does, it’s inevitable. Soon he’s splashing furiously through the water all the way over to where I’m sitting. With dry clothes on, we make our way back to the refugio.


Where we find out that the 5.9 we had climbed was actually a 5.11b/c , which is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever climbed. Haha. Cha-chinnnng.


Another intimate dinner with the family, the neighbors, and Nate, the aspiradora.

Friday November 13.



Climbing at Pared Seca required a short hike and the construction of a small fire. It was dry (imagine that!), but not far from freezing. We tried a 10b that gave me and my frozen fingers a beating.



I spent the rest of the daylight hours reading Kerouac.

Saturday November 14.

While I was reading the day before, Nate found Daniel bolting a new route. New route? Well, clearly we have to climb it before we leave. We forfeit the 5pm bus back to Puerto Varas to sneak in a climb.

I had never been on a fresh route. So as I followed Nate’s line of cams, I hauled hunks of dirt out of potential hand holds. The last move was nearly impossible for short people like myself until I uprooted a few plants and made a new hold for myself. It was fun and included figuring out a conundrum at the anchors.


A quick lunch and a goodbye to Daniel and Silvina (Zenon was down for his nap) before beginning our hike back. The days of sun we had enjoyed during our time at the refugio had seriously dried out the path. Gone were the mushy gushy parts of the trail. Gone were the raging river and streams we had to cross… well, almost gone. Nate managed to retain dry feet throughout the walk. My right pinky toe was not so lucky. But all in all, so much better than the week prior. Plus it only took us 3.5 hours to get down this time!

But once on the road, we walked. And walked. And walked… No car in sight. Finally a nice family picks us up and carries us a few kilometros. Thank them and keep walking. And walking. When we get to the main road, we hardly have to wait before a pickup truck comes by and we plop ourselves and our bags into the back. Breeze in our hair, we whip around corners and get dropped off pretty close to Cochamó itself. We retrieve our bags from Residential Edicar, grab a bag of chips and a bar of chocolate and hit the road. It’s getting dark so we take our spot on the side of the road and wait. With every headlight we stick out a thumb, but no one stops. It gets cold and dark, so after an hour or two, we head back to Edicar for a hot shower and warm blankets.

Cochamó Valley: Trekking galore!... but why oh why do we keep getting lost?

Trees trees mountains trees hiking trees snow mountains rock smiles horses woodburning stove climbing no electricity.

That’s what I would say if someone asked about the last five days.

Here’s what I’d say if they threw up their hands and gave me a quizzical look with regards to my last statement:

Tuesday November 11.


One of the guys staying in our hospedaje gave us a lift to the fin de la carretera, some 12 km out of Cochamó town. We handed him a few thousand pesos for his trouble, shouldered our packs and turned our back on civilization.






We were free! Out in the countryside. Nothing between us and raw nature.




Except that we reached an obstacle only minutes into our trek. The trail ended. And private property began. What? Private property?!


Timidly we entered the gate with the barbed wire. Up and up we stumbled over rocks. Skipped over rushing streams. Squished through the mud. Crunched over branches. Munched our pre-made pb&j sandwiches.



Hours. And hours. And hours of trekking. Even though we had left the biggest pack in Cochamó town, our bags were certainly not a pleasure to carry up into the valley.

Suddenly the trees open up revealing a perfectly spectacular view.






With muddy sopping feet, we arrive at the sign announcing that it’s only another 15 minutes to the refugio. Hooray!





A house! We see a house! Sign of life!! But… there are padlocks on the doors and, except for a handful of horses and cows milling around, we don’t see anyone. Plus the two tilted wooden structures aren’t exactly what I expected the refugio to look like.



Tired, hungry, and con muchas ganas de encontrar el refugio, we backtracked. It has to be around here somewhere. It just has to.


But every path led to the same place.

What?! We continued on the path where I bit my lip as I forded the frigid waters of river Cochamó up to my waist. My bare feet barely hung on to the slippery rocks as the waves nearly carried me off downstream.

Nate stayed on the other bank as I explored. Didn’t bother putting my shoes back on. They would have only gotten muddy and wet. Plus, the mud felt nice squishing between my toes and soles of my feet were already numb so I didn’t feel the branches crack under my weight.

But all of that effort was in vain because the forest trails didn’t lead to a refugio. They led further than I wanted to go. I returned in defeat to the river crossing where my shrug must not have done much to lift Nate’s spirits.

With sopping wet pants I was just about to give up. We daydreamed about arriving in the refugio for a hot beverage and a soft cushion to sit on to rest our feet. The sun was setting. It was obvious that we would be spending the night on the ground in every layer we had brought.

This was not how we had planned it. It was supposed to be an awesome day. And here we were, exhausted sweaty hungry grumpy lost, without any idea of how to get to the elusive refugio. We saw a few buildings on the other side of the river, but had no idea how to get over there. There was no way for us to cross.

Before giving up all hope, we set off one more time in search of help. Anybody.

We wandered down every conceivable path. Nothing.

But we did find a curious cable running from one side of the rushing river to the other. Two cables in fact. Wonder what they were for…

But then! We heard! Could it be?! Voices?! ¡HOLA! ¡HOLA! It was Daniel! On the other side of the river. We had found the help we needed!!! With the aid of his harnesses and pulleys, we zipped across the cable (oh, that’s what it’s for!). We were so speechlessly relieved as we followed them to the refugio, a beautiful two-story wooden building with friendly occupants and a warm wooden stove. It was music to our senses.

We shamelessly scarfed down dinner and a few glasses of wine in the glow of candle light. The dinner table talk was mostly in Spanish, Chilean Spanish, which is reallyveryfast and with the endin o wor cu of. Daniel and Silvina leant us sleeping bags and we conk out.

Wednesday November 11.

There’s no electricity up in the refugio, but we hardly even miss it. All meals are freshly prepared over the wood-burning stove. I learn how to make a proper Argentinean yerba mate. Three-year-old Zenon keeps us busy with autos and libros.

Just because the 5-6 hour trek the day before wasn’t enough for us, Nate and I set off on a 6-7 hour hike up the Arco Iris trail. Take a sharp left at the three-way-fork-in-the-trail, says Daniel. So we set off looking for the said fork. We find it, we think. But it leads to us hacking through thick foliage. This way? That way? Ugh.

We give up and take what we think is the wrong route, which ends up being the right route. Confusing? It shouldn’t be, but for some reason Nate and I can’t help but get lost. Finally we’re on the right road, we think. Yes! Orange trail markers. Fantastic.

Up and up and up. The trail takes us through a dense forest. Up up up. Not a hike for the faint of heart. Up up up. Every so often we get a glimpse of the stunning mountain view. Up up up. We go the wrong way… have to backtrack back to the real path. Up up up. At a few sections Daniel has hung rope to help you haul yourself up the rock face.


Drip drip drip. The moss-adorned rock is still quite wet. Slosh slosh slosh. My poor beat up sneakers squish with every step. Up up up. The terrain changes from thick forest to pricklies, crunchy leaves, and tree roots. Horas tras horas. We reach the snow. Crunch crunch slip! Our sneakers sink into the melting snow, making walking a cold wet exhausting activity. Sticking to dry rock whenever possible, we scramble to the what we think is the top of the mountain. The view is breathtaking. Snow-covered mountains and rolling greenerthangreen hills for as far as we could see. We savor the moment.


Briefly! Then it’s back down we go. Nate takes giant wild steps to glide down the snow banks. The snow guides us back down to the tree line. We fill our water bottles with fresh snow before heading back into the vegetation. Going down is a lot easier than going up, but a new blister appears on my left heel. Hunger and fear of nightfall keeps our pace fast. It’s such a great feeling to arrive back at the refugio. We eat two dinners that night.