Torres del Paine, Patagonia Part 1: hasta el fin del mundo.

I was going to bed Friday night before our trip feeling fit, lean, excited, and jittery. I had been healthy all winter despite the boys full-time daycare status, their countless illnesses, and despite working full time in a tertiary university hospital during a terrible influenza season.. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had been exercising consistently and felt strong. I had been sleeping enough. My gear was perfectly functional and minimalist. It was gonna be so great. Our Patagonia trekking adventure was finally here! I’d been eager to go to South America for years, but it was just too far or impractical to justify in recent years. Now was the time! 

Al’s parents arrived earlier that day and were getting oriented to the simple yet complicated duality of taking care of 2 strong-willed toddlers, just 1 and 3 years old. How hard could it be, right? They won’t be going to daycare. They can hang around the house and play on their own timeline and schedule for 2 whole weeks. What a piece of cake! 

My internal self bursts out laughing at the thought. As generous as my parents-in-law are being and as grateful as I am, I can’t help but feel a haunting nervousness over the enormity of the task we are giving them. They really don’t know what they’re in for. It sounds easy, but it’s not. I know as well as anyone, it’s not easy taking care of those kids. Every weekend leaves me feeling drained and burnt out. 

I feel a combination of guilt and tremendous gratitude that my boys both go to daycare full-time since infancy. 8+ hours per day. Every day Monday through Friday. As well-behaved as my boys generally are, they are both at the peak of relentless neediness. They need you for everything, from eating to sleeping to bathing to playing. It is exhausting. I hope my in-laws will be OK, and I feel great relief and gratitude that my sister-in-law will soon be joining my 70s-year-old parents-in-law during the trip. 

I made itineraries and found contacts for friends around town who could help in case of emergency. Al is showing them around the house as they make videos of him explaining in Vietnamese uses of various essential household items (rice cooker, bottle warmer, washer/dryer).. We did everything we could to anticipate crisis so that we can let go and enjoy the trip. It is gonna be OK. I snuggle under the covers and drift off to perfect, deep and dreamless sleep.

As the sun peeks through my balcony window and I squint my eyes open, I stretch and smile. This is it! Today is the day! I swallow, and faintly realize a sore throat. “Oh no! I’m getting sick!” I roll over to complain to Al, but he is fast asleep with his eye covers on. I roll back, trying to calm myself. I think, “It’s probably nothing. It’s just your subconscious nervousness. It’s this relentlessly dry New Mexico winter air,” I say. I feel a faint trickle of snot dripping from my nose. “Shit.”

I roll out of bed, ready to spend the last half-day with my boys before going off the grid. Our flight is at 4pm, so I have a good day off to hang out with them. I’m packed and ready. I’ve been healthy all winter, my body is strong. I'm sure I will be fine.

I go down to make some coffee and find my in-laws awake and waiting impatiently for the boys to wake up. As usual, I start to make my coffee, and as soon as the final drip. drip. drip. drops into the pot, I hear Simon crying. The day begins. It’s a pretty typical day with my boys, completely revolving around their needs and wants. Breakfast full of requests and cleanup. Playtime. Naptime. Lunchtime full of requests and cleanup. Playtime. Reading. Naptime. All the time, feeling the insidious but increasingly definite viral infection invade my respiratory tract. Ugh. Oh well, my colds are usually pretty mild. This one doesn’t seem to be particularly virulent… I got my flu shot. I’ll be fine.

About 2pm, both boys are sleeping and it’s time to head to the airport. We grab our backpacks and duffle with our trekking sticks and are off! Al’s dad studiously plugs in his Garmin GPS to the car and gets us to the airport. As usual, we get through the Albuquerque airport security in about 10 minutes and have ample time to spare. Nothing to do but wait. 

I decide to download a few “patagonia”-related books. I choose “In Patagonia” by Bruce Chatwin, “Enduring Patagonia” by Gregory Crouch, and “Voyage of the Beagle” by Charles Darwin. I also still have the “Leonardo da Vinci” biography by Walter Isaacson in my Kindle que, which I downloaded months ago but have yet to read the first page. I’m feeling free and ambitious for my reading list with the time-suck of caring for and raising toddlers temporarily relieved. I also can't quite remember what one does with one's time without access to wifi or data for at least a solid week. Sounds like heaven on earth, and I’m ready to enjoy it. Sniffle.

We fly through Dallas, then connect direct from Dallas to Santiago de Chile. It’s about 1.5 hours to Dallas, then another 9 hours to Santiago. Not too terrible, but long enough. The flight is uneventful except for my escalating viral URI. In Santiago, we have about another 4h layover to catch another flight to Punta Arenas. There, we have a nice hotel, shower, and bed awaiting us after an epic travel “day.” I cannot wait. 

In Punta Arenas, there is the typical cadre of aggressive taxi drivers waving signs and ushering us to their taxis. I yearn with all my being for the ease of jumping in a taxi after traveling for about 20+ hours and counting. But, I didn’t get married with my eyes closed. I know for certain that our path to the hotel will be more complicated and circuitous than a simple taxi. Al definitely has a cheaper plan. 

He read about city shuttles that are about half of a taxi, closer to $5,000C total than $10,000C. The exchange rate is about $600 Chilean pesos to $1 US dollar. So maybe we can save $8, if we're lucky. Sigh. 

I mindlessly follow him around in a zombie-like state as he dodges all the available taxis and searches for this theoretical shuttle. One of the taxi drives walks with me and asks me what we are looking for. I tell him, and he explains to me in Spanish that the shuttle service he is searching for no longer exists. He tells me that the group shuttle in service now charges the exact same rate as the taxis. It's no use trying, I explain to the driver. I knock my head with my knuckles and point at my husband, indicating "hard head." He grins and shrugs and walks away. I know one thing. You will never persuade my husband to take a normal taxi from the airport. It is just not gonna happen. 

We find a group shuttle charging $5,000C per person and hop on board. I don’t bother pointing out that it is that same rate the taxis are advertising. I just want to get to the hotel.

The drive around Punta Arenas is interesting. It is a poor city, but does not appear dangerous. Their trash is placed outside in raised wrought iron baskets. They are uniquely designed and each different. I couldn’t help but think this could be an easy trend in New Orleans, except that with the size of these baskets, we would need garbage service several times daily. 

We arrive to the hotel, Patagonia B&B, and enjoy some nice R&R before heading out to dinner. It is cool, 50 degrees, and pleasant. It’s a Sunday, and a brief survey of Trip Advisor shows most restaurants closed. We make our choice amongst what is available and head out, headlamp in our pockets. We choose a Chilean seafood restaurant with favorable reviews called Sabores. We have ceviche and fish entrees. I have my first Austral de Patagonia, which was a nice refreshing beer. The food is fresh from the freezer and tasteless, which is fine by me. I have no appetite whatsoever. 

We finish up and head home. At this point, it is about 9pm and the sun is still shining brightly! No need for headlamps tonight! Love these long summer days! Back in the hotel, I flip on the TV and the Superbowl is on! What a strange, unexpected surprise at 10pm in Punta Arenas, Chile! I tune in during the 2nd quarter to an exciting game. I’m hoping for an Eagles victory. Shortly after, the longest halftime show ever with Justin Timberlake’s “greatest hits” compilation and my eyes begin to droop down with heavy eyelids. Blink... Blink..... Blink....... I crash at the beginning of the 3rd quarter. The sun is still up, well past 10pm.

I wake up to a full blown viral illness and bright sunlight at about 4:30am. Oh no you don’t, I think, and scramble around for my eye covers, blow my nose, and roll back over to sleep. We wake up for breakfast a bit later and enjoy the typical continental European breakfast of coffee, juice, cold cuts, sliced cheese, and bread. I am feeling dreary and congested with a bad cough and bit of jet lag. We head back to the room to pack up, and I have a terrible coughing fit. Suddenly, the coughing gets so severe that it induces vomiting of my my entire breakfast! I watch it all come back up into the toilet: chunks of ham, turkey, bread, some jelly, and yes - all of my coffee. I groan and wash my face and brush my teeth again. Great.

Today we are heading to Puerto Natales by bus. It is about 3-4h bus ride, then we will be staying in Puerto Natales for the night before heading out early the next day on yet another bus to the park begin the trek. I stuff my pockets with tissue and pray I don’t mix my tendency for motion-sickness on the bus with my already queasy stomach from the morning vomiting. I load up my pack to walk to the bus station. 

We easily find the bus station with Bus Sur close by. We load our packs and hop in. We look with amusement at the digital speedometer on public display above the drivers cabin to alert us if the driver goes too fast. It is a clean and comfortable bus, and I’m feeling a little better. We take off several minutes early. Off to Puerto Natales!

As we pull into Puerto Natales bus station, we immediately realize a change in town atmosphere. This is clearly a tourist town full of kitschy shops, outdoor gear meccas, pizzerias and coffee shops. Everyone around town is walking around with a huge backpack. We giggle at how silly all the tourists look, and we acknowledge our clear membership of the clan. We walk over to our hotel, the Temauken Hotel, and admire the clean simplicity of the place. 

Our room isn’t ready, so we store our packs and begin to look for lunch destinations. We decide to take advantage of the wifi and timing to call home and check in on the boys and Al’s parents. FaceTime is such a wonderful gift of our time. I feel much better after talking with them. They look happy and have plenty to update us on back in Albuquerque. We take lots of FaceTime screenshots and leave for lunch with smiles on our faces.

 

We have lunch and wander around the touristy area of town. It is bustling and alive. A beautiful, sunny summertime day. I feel terrible. I keep finding benches to lay and rest on while Al searches for a good topo map of Torres del Paine. My cough is in a full bloom at this point and just terrible. I can feel the tightness and wheezing deep in my chest signaling my rare, but real, asthma. I didn't bring my albuterol inhaler, I think, with a foreboding feeling. I never need my damned albuterol inhaler. Except when I need it. 

We decide to try to look for cough drops in the many farmacias scattered around town. We find some chewable, chalky substitutes which maybe work with a slight placebo effect. I’m thinking, well this is already 3-4 days into the illness, which will probably be about 5 days, so things should start calming down soon. I just need to rest. We walk by the water and get introduced to the powerful winds we have to look forward to on our trek. We watch kids in a skate park doing tricks on their trick-bikes and skateboards. 

We soon realize we will need something for lunch for the next day on our trek and search for a sandwich shop to takeaway. At this point, I am completely beat and fall asleep on a bench while Al navigates the sandwich menu with the aid of his google translate app. After we get the sandwich, I beg to go home and sleep. To hell with dinner. It is shockingly 7pm despite a sunny afternoon summer feel. I have no appetite. I need to rest and recover.

Back at the hotel, Al decides to go out and find takeout to bring back for dinner. I call my Mom and sister, Lisa, from the hotel room for one last FaceTime before we lose service tomorrow. I lay on the bed and stare out of the magnificent picture window to the start of a spectacular sunset. After laying for what seemed like forever, I motivate myself to get up and finalize the packing.

First, I fill my water bladder and slide it into it’s new home. Then, I go through my clothes and pare it down to what I consider the absolute minimum:

-Hiking pants (soft shell, water resistant)

-gators

-2 hiking shirts, one long-sleeved, one sleeveless

-2 sports bras

-3 layers of thermal underwear (light, medium, heavy)

-4 pairs of underwear

-2 pairs of sock liners

-2 pairs of hiking socks

-1 pair of warm wool socks

-2 pairs compression socks for recovery

-1 soft shell rain jacket

-1 warm down jacket

-1 large-brimmed sun hat

-1 warm fleece beanie

-1 pair xero sandals
-1 pair rain pants

Amazingly, this minimalist list essentially tops off my compression sac. Somewhat depressed at the aspect of new underwear only every other day, I cinch my compression sac and tossed it in my pack. I put on the pack. Hmm, maybe I could handle a few more pairs? No, I decide. I’d been reading backpacking websites going on and on about weight. How every ounce counts. I tell myself I’ll be a dirty bastard anyway after a few days. I’ll try to save my legs and back. The pack is not bad. The 2L water certainly adds weight, but we are saving tons of weight with our rich person “elite” package. 

We purchased the full support package of rented ready-assembled tents and refugios, sleeping bags, and ready-made food for along the way. It may not be a hard-core way of doing the Torres del Paine "O" circuit, but it was the way Al persuaded me to do the full “O” circuit rather than the “W” trek. The "W" trek is much more popular. And quite a bit shorter, too. Adjusting my pack one more time triggers another wretched coughing attack, and I thank my lucky stars that I am one lucky and spoiled rich bastard doing the trek the rich bastard way this time. I’ve never really done a long multi-day backpacking trip. My family used to go backpacking when I was younger, but it was mainly a few weekend short backpacking trips. I’m not ashamed to say that as a full-time working mother of 2 small children, that this support package is what my hard work and money has earned. I’m happy to be the scapegoat and thrilled that I won’t be hauling 2x, potentially 3x more weight on the next 8 days, 70+ miles trekking adventure. While sick. 

"O" circuit Torres del Paine

"W" trek Torres del Paine

No sooner do I put my pack back on the floor does Al barge in, grinning from ear to ear with a brown paper bag. He bows to me, “Your dinner, my queen.” I roll my eyes and thank him for his service. We sit down on the edge of the bed using our makeshift dinner table and open the bag to 2 enormous and beautiful sushi rolls! They look incredible. I glance over at Al’s grinning face and steal a quick kiss to his cheek. He knows what I need.

Apparently the sushi rolls in Chile are absolutely covered in cream cheese. Pity those who don’t like cream cheese, because cream cheese is it. He found the one roll on a huge menu without cream cheese, a salmon avocado roll. The other was the “most famous” according to the waiter, and it was a cream cheese and veggie-filled masterpiece with every piece covered with amazing and delicious ceviche! Fantastic! By far the best food we had. 

Working together, we only ate about half of the 2 rolls, then put the rest in the fridge for our early morning breakfast. We had to be up early. Bus leaves at 7am. Hotel breakfast starts at 6:30. I feel anxious butterflies in my stomach again and pray it is not my body preparing to vomit that delicious sushi back up. Packed and ready, locked and loaded, ready or not, off to bed.

We wake up at 6am to a misty, rainy morning. The sun is already up and we enjoy our private bathroom and luxury items for the last time. We run down to breakfast to cram as many calories as possible before 6:50am. Eating is starting to get difficult for me, both because I have no appetite, but also because I am cautious about potential further vomiting. My stomach is unsettled. My nose is running full-stop. My cough is terrible. I'm wheezing. I am in bad shape. Alas, off we go.

We store our large duffel behind at the hotel with unnecessary items and run off to the bus station. Everyone is loading. It is a bustling, busy morning. The bus driver speaks zero English and has a rushed, annoyed air about him. He speaks rapid accented Spanish and gestures us impatiently onto a bus. We cross our fingers that we are in the correct bus, glancing around for any clues to confirm. It seems correct with lots of backpacks being loaded below and similar-appearing passengers. I am intensely focused on suppressing any latent nausea/vomiting. It’s another 3h ride to the Torres del Paine in a bus, immediately after breakfast. All of my attention is on not vomiting on the bus. I pray my routine prayer that I have been using since about 8 years old, 

“Dear God, if you help me not to vomit on this bus, I will be such a better person forever. I promise. Amen.”

Bus station at the corner of Alberto de Agostini and Simon Bolivar.

I stare out the window as we careen along. I start to see scattered huge birds, like Emus, camouflaged amongst the terrain. I find out later they are in fact “Rheas,” which are distant relatives to Emus. I elbow Al to look up from his phone to check it out. I chuckle under my breath as I recall a drive through zoo we once visited.. A huge ostrich stuck it’s head right through our car window and started eating the food from our ashtray! We tried to shoe it out. It stared at my mom directly on the way out, then plucked her glasses off from her face!  

Soon after, we see lots of large, llama-like animals called Guanacos. They were grazing in the brush in herds of 10-20 calmly watching us drive along. The have the demeanor of grazing cattle, yet their heads appear camel-like up close. Their gallop is shockingly graceful, like deer. I see one mother nursing her baby. My heart rate rises a bit with excitement. Something new! Something different! I feel a cough rising and stubbornly suppress it. I pop one of my chalky “antitussivo” pills and mentally *will* the virus away, angrily. We are moving too fast to capture their photos. 

We arrive at the entry to the park under an overcast and cloudy sky. The impatient bus driver gets up and motions for us all to get off. We are supposed to go register with the main office, pay the fees, and watch an introductory video. Al left his wallet with his backpack under the bus. He tries to tell the bus driver, who rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, before angrily opening the hatch. Thankfully, Al wasn’t the only one who left his wallet below, and I wander over to the growing line for entry. 

There are a lot of people, maybe 100, waiting in line to pay fees and register. I am surprised at the volume, but it explains the need for reserving space early. You are not allowed in many areas of the park without confirmed reservations including written evidence. Many people are visiting for day hikes or just one night, some portion are doing the “W” hike over 4-5 days, and a small number of us will be hiking the full circuit “O” hike. The full circuit is about 110km. We are doing it over 8 days. We are supposed to start the trek from the “Camping Central” area today for a 5h “medium” rated hike of about 13km(8mi). We shuffle forward in the line past a sign showing “UV” rating of 9. Out of 11. I read in the guidebooks that the UV exposure was harsh down here. I guess it’s true. It reminds me to pull out my sunscreen and lather up, despite the cloud coverage.

After our fees and registration are complete, we head back over to the bus and load back to our seats. Once we are all back in, the driver confirms a correct head count and we drive another 10 minutes and unload. We look around. I guess I expect a “this way” or “start here” sign or something, but we are on our own. I glance around for English-speaking appearing people. Not much luck. Surprisingly few people have spoken any English so far, actually. My Spanish is rudimentary. 

Al sees a sign saying “Cafeteria Pudeto” and references the map. He looks up at me, panic-striken, and says we are at the wrong place! We check our phones, 11am. We still have time to get back. We go to the impatient bus driver and show him on the map where we need to go. He shrugs and tells us in Spanish that there will be another bus heading back to the Main Entry at 2:30pm. We can go get something from the cafeteria and sit and wait. We start to panic. 2:30pm! Can we walk it? Maybe, but 7km adds a lot of distance and time to the day. It will be way too late to get to the start of the trek and get to Camping Seron before dark! If we miss the first day, all of our reservations will be off for the entire trip! Why didn’t we pay more attention!? It seemed like everyone was getting back on the bus! They even counted us! We hadn’t even unloaded! It was all unclear.. Argh. 

We need to find someone who speaks English, STAT. We start scanning the row of parked cars across the way. Aha! A tall, curly blond guy with blue eyes. We run over to him and beg him for a ride back to where we need to go. He answers in thick bro accent, “Sure thing, man, no problemo! Load up. We’re heading that way now. Did they open the road? It's been completely flooded since we got here.” We pile into the car with 3 other guys. They are all potheads from Colorado and came down without any plans or reservations. They rented a car and have been trying to get to the Torres del Paine hike without luck because they needed a confirmed reservation for a shuttle across the flooded road. They were able to make a reservation for tonight from the previous place via skype, so they’re hoping for better luck today.

We blast down the dusty road back to where we came from and find where we need to go.. Across a completely flooded road… There is a park ranger there policing a barricade stopping any traffic, vehicle or foot. We go to her and desperately explain our situation. She speaks English! She asks for our papers and tells us that with reservations, we can go over by truck across the flooded road then shuttle to the start of the trek. She explains to us that the flooding is due to unseasonably warm temperatures melting the snow and ice. She says it hasn’t flooded so badly in 7 years. They are stopping all access to that area of the park except for those with confirmed reservations. She smiles and tells us, “It will be great. You will have the park all to yourselves without the crowds.”

A white truck pulls up and we pile inside. I’m not so sure this truck can make it across that river, but I keep my mouth shut. I see a measuring stick in the water up to 3 meters as we start making our way. OK, whatever, I guess these guys know what they’re doing. Besides, the ranger pointed out to us, there is a boat tied up close by for backup. How reassuring. As we drive onto the flooded road, water surrounds the truck. It seems like it is up to the bottom of the window at least, but nothing is coming in and we are progressing across. The Colorado bro up front is videoing. The Colorado bro next to me asks me what 3 meters means in feet.

We somehow make it across, pile into a shuttle van, and drive the rest of the way to the Camping Central start point. It is now about 12:30-1pm. We should still be able to make it to Seron before dark. We ask the ranger for instructions to get to the start of the trek and go to the bathroom one more time. We get a “starting” photo together, and head out relieved… Crisis averted, for now.