Sleepwalking in Río Gallegos

Days 5-6, Wednesday-Thursday, December 25-26, 1996

I woke up in the morning with a slight sore throat. It worried me very much, because I had the feeling that this was only the beginning. In retrospect, I regret that we had pushed ourselves a little too hard amidst the initial excitement.

Checkout was early at ten o'clock. We had a quick breakfast, packed, and set out. We were to meet the Singaporean couple at the gas station around the corner to go see Hito Argentino, where there is a stone marking Argentine territory at the the confluence of Río Paraná and Río Iguazú. We didn't find them there. We had agreed that we should do whatever we planned to do if we didn't see each at the meeting time. The heat was oppressive. I wasn't feeling too well, so I decided to go back to the hotel. Ed went to Hito Argentino alone. Later at the airport we saw the Singaporeans again. They couldn't get up early enough, so they decided not to come.

The hotel lobby wasn't air conditioned, but it was much cooler inside. Miracle on 34th Street, which had been on TV the previous night, was showing again, so I switched channel and watched John Goodman's The Flintstones.

After Ed came back, we went out in search of lunch, but gave up quickly because not a single place in sight was open on this Christmas morning. I bought some water and a roll of cookies at the YPF gas station.

On the airport bus, we saw the lone Japanese traveler whom we had seen on the airport bus two days ago and at the Falls. He spoke a little English. We found out that he sells diapers, and he had been traveling all over the world during his vacations. On the bus was also a soft-spoken elderly Swiss gentleman who later chatted with us in the airport waiting hall. He was traveling alone too. Besides English, he speaks French and Spanish, as well as some Italian. He griped a bit, which made our conversation not as interesting. He shook his head when he told us that he had helped out the Japanese guy the other day. "He doesn't speak English. How does he get around?" Granted that the Japanese guy did indeed speak very little English, I thought the answer was still self-evident given how many places he had traveled to.

As the departure time neared, people went through security check and crowded into a small and dark waiting area. Somehow the topic got onto the Pope. He told us that in Spanish, papa, the word for the Pope is the same as the word for potato. He then went on to comment on the Catholic Church's policy on population control, etc. He asked about our religious affiliations, but Ed and I found it very difficult and uncomfortable to discuss this topic with a stranger. For once, I wished we could be talking about the weather. The small stores in the waiting area were all closed. Some people sat on the empty bar. The temperature was high; the wait was long; and people's patience was short. A woman and two men sitting on the bar started to kick the panels rhythmically. The Swiss gentleman took exception to this discourteous and rude expression, to the point that he actually went to find a policeman, in order to put a stop to this nonsense. Luckily, boarding began before the he could find a policeman.

He broke two rules that I follow when traveling. Never discuss politics or the like with strangers where a passionate opinion is likely expressed. Never intervene or interfere when the locals don't. I did find the people who made us suffer through their expression of impatience rather inconsiderate and their behavior annoying. I also found it especially inelegant for a pretty woman to sit on a bar and do that. Now this is just my assessment. I don't know how the locals feel about it. In all likelihood, this type of behavior is not acceptable almost anywhere, but as an outsider I am not going to intervene.

It's generally tricky to assess what's socially acceptable and what's not, without a certain depth of understanding of a culture. For instance, in China, burping is generally acceptable and is considered to be a compliment to the dinner host. It signifies that you have enjoyed the food very much, are quite full, just burped to get some more room in the stomach, and should be fed more. Well, burping is considered offensive in the U.S. On the other hand, blowing nose hard is somehow acceptable in the U.S. Often during a lecture in school, I'd hear some people blow their nose like an accordion. It's tremendously annoying to me, but somehow socially it's not considered to be so bad. Now how do you explain the different treatment here? There is little logic, and if there is any, it's pretty twisted logic. It is dangerous to view a different people and a different culture through the colored glasses of one's own culture, customs, and prejudices.

On the flight to Buenos Aires, we saw the same pretty stewardesses again. I stayed away from the Champagne this time fearing that the alcohol would worsen my condition. Ed bought some Tango CDs. I tried to take a nap.

Buenos Aires was cool and comfortable. We had a few hours before our nine o'clock flight to Río Gallegos. Ed wanted to go into town for dinner. We even got out of the door and got to the bus station. I wasn't feeling so bad that I would insist on staying at the airport, but I wasn't feeling so well to be enthusiastic about going into town either. I kept whining about how something might delay us and make us miss the flight, until Ed finally had enough and said, "Okay, we'll stay here." We had dinner at the airport restaurant. It's not cheap, but the food wasn't too bad.

The flight was delayed by more than two hours. It was cold once the plane got to cruise altitude. I regretted still wearing only shorts and a T-shirt from Iguazú. I tried to sleep, but couldn't sleep very well because I was cold. We finally landed in Río Gallegos at 2:40 a.m. I stepped out of the plane.

It was FREEZING COLD!!!

It must be like only 5 C. I couldn't sleep very well on the plane; I was a little sick; now in the middle of night, I stepped into a freezer. My head felt a little heavy, and my legs a little light. I was going to topple any moment. Ed went to get the checked luggage. I somehow managed to get myself to the office of a bus company. Well, it wasn't that big a feat. That office was probably the only place open at that time of the night. I gathered that there are more than a few people like us taking this flight to connect to El Calafate, so the company seems to dispatch buses minutes after the plane arrives. I somehow managed to get two tickets, all the while shivering in only shorts and T-shirt. I was told that the bus would leave at 2:50. After Ed got the luggage, we headed out to the bus. Damn, the doors were locked. We didn't want to leave the bus, so we changed right there next to the bus in the freezing cold wind. I put on my fleece pullover. Not nearly enough. I put on my parka. Still cold. I put on my kaikis. My wool hat. My gloves. Now that's about right.

The bus left at 3:00. I slept. When I woke up, it was 7:00, and we were in El Calafate.

There were a couple of tour buses leaving at eight to the Moreno Glacier. One place had buses leaving at 9:00. By now, I felt really lightheaded. We went to Hotel Amado nearby. The owner wore military issue sweaters, pants, and boots, but was soft-spoken and quite friendly. By now, I felt really sick, with a headache and definitely a fever. We went to check out the buses again, but all the eight o'clock buses were full. The offices of the company that sold nine o'clock tours, both in town and at the bus terminal, were closed. We waited around for a long while, but saw no sign of anyone coming. Apparently, there were other people in the same situation. We were approached twice about sharing a rental car. I was sick and was in no mood to venture out on our own. Ed didn't like the idea of driving rentals with strangers. So we bought tickets for tomorrow's tour, and went back to the hotel. I took some antibiotics and slept the whole day.

Ed went out to explore the town. He hiked all the way to Lago Argentino outside of town. El Calafate is pretty much in the middle of the desert. It's not Sahara kind of desert. Low bushes grow in abundance. El Calafate in fact takes its name from a plant that grows in this region. That's why the place is called "the" Calafate, rather than just Calafate. The harsh weather, however, only permits sheep ranching. The land can't support cattle. The town derives a large share of its income during a few months of summer each year from tourists passing through to Moreno. The town itself is fairly small. The central bus terminal is situated on a small hill, a few flights of steps away from the main street running through the town. Our hotel is right across the street from those steps. Most of the shops, restaurants, and hotels are nearby.

I was still running a fever and having a bad headache by the time Ed came back. But I had to eat, so we went out around seven to a nearby diner. When we arrived in El Calafate in the early morning, the town looked completed deserted. I was pleasantly surprised to find that around dinner time, the streets were filled with people, mostly tourists back from Moreno Glacier. It felt like one of those frontier towns on the Oregon Trail. Everybody descends on the town at the end of the day to find food, to buy supplies, to do laundry, and to take care of other essential needs so that he can get on the next day. Some people looked like very serious and well-equipped campers and hikers. All the stores were out of bottled water.

We had a pleasant but simple dinner, and ordered sandwiches for tomorrow's lunch. By the time we were done, it was about ten, yet the sky was still completely bright.