Midwinter in Southernmost Argentina and Chile (1 of 2)

I started from Buenos Aires, having arrived by train from Bolivia (with stops), in completion of a circuit of northern South America in just under a year since leaving New Zealand. My attempt at a schedule had slipped a great deal, so that it was now June, hardly the ideal time to head south, but that was when I was there.

So, onwards, by train to Bariloche, where I learnt that The Old Patagonian Express was not running thanks to too much snow in a pass. Thus to Esquel by bus, to establish that the train would resume running as soon as conditions permitted, then continue to Rio Gallegos.

This is the terminus of the freight train route from Rio Turbio, and at the rail yard I enquired about possible train rides: "No" was the official response. However, I noticed that the guard's vans had seats for many passengers. So on to Punta Arenas, where the duty-free shops (a vast out-of-town area) proved not as cheap as had been advertised, at least for Irish Whiskey, but I bought a bottle anyway.

The town is backed by low hills, and there are many shipwrecks along the strait that you can gaze at, also the site of an old fort some distance south west of the town, but my interest lay in getting to Tierra del Fuego. There is an open car ferry, with unobstructed chill access for the short crossing to Porvenir. The mariner's guides warn that the northeast end of the strait lacks easily distinguished landmarks, and this is what you see. Wide, flat country, over which the bus to Rio Grande rolled endlessly.

There was no connecting bus to Ushuaia, so I had a chance to visit the nearby mission/school before continuing. This was where the last of the area's Indians died out, and there are a few relics. As for the onward journey, more of the same vast open country. Mountains were seen only as we approached close to Ushuaia.

I stayed in the hotel Omo, a place right on the edge of what I'll put up with. It was in the centre of town, rather than a possibly cheaper place further out, but I didn't want to be walking long distances over streets covered with hard-packed snow. The locals (obviously especialistas) seemed unworried, but I wished that I had hobnails on my boots. I was in a room with eight bunks, though all to myself; the problem was that at night there was a lot of noise through the wall from a bar, and by day, the proprietor's children, confined indoors, made a lot of noise also. And it was expensive, even considering the discount for a week's occupancy. Argentine prices, high to start with, increase as you head south. Only French Guyana is more expensive than Argentina, and that's because it is "a part of France".

So I'm in Ushuaia for at least a week, then. The weather was not so cold, being just a little below freezing, and there was no wind, the plague of summer with its dust and also cruel to exposed trees, some of which are impressively twisted. There were blue-sky days, and just two days of light snowfall.

I went on a boat trip to Puerto Williams, the world's southernmost permanently inhabited normal settlement (and with a Post Office). Antarctica doesn't count, despite babies being born at both the Chilean and Argentine bases on the Palmer Peninsula, as part of their attempts to bolster their claims on territory should the issue become 'live' one day. There are huddles of houses further south than Puerto Williams, but they're only occupied for a part of the year. By contrast, Ushuaia is the world's southernmost city, and Punta

Arenas has the southernmost cinema. The day trip offered good views both of and from the Beagle Channel, and also a good whiff of the miasma surrounding Seal Rock. Evidently, the seals do not brush their teeth.

Another day trip was to the nearby national park, an obvious site for camping and tramping. I had a tent, but alas, no companion, nor did any candidates appear while I was in Ushuaia. I also went for a stroll up to the ski field behind the city. Just a little altitude and distance from the sea allowed a great increase in snow thickness. Trekking could well be limited to low areas near the sea.

Back to Punta Arenas via the ferry across the northeast end of the strait, then on to Rio Turbio where I stayed at the Black Cat in much better comfort and lower cost than in the Omo.

Rio Turbio is a grimy miners' town that reminded me of Wales with its stone houses rather than wood. Its streets twist to suit the hillsides, a relief from the ubiquitous grid system normally encountered. One day a woman asked me for some directions, and her beauty seemed luminous by contrast. Long blonde hair, blue eyesÂ… Was I already begrimed enough to seem a local? Well, I had been to the mining museum/school, and been conducted through the teaching area of the mine, and wandered around the railway establishment, talking with the railwaymen. An engine driver had even offered me a ride to Rio Gallegos, on the footplate no less (ecstasy!) but alas, my pack was back in town and he was about to depart.

As for getting a ride, everyone said that I should join the group of schoolkids who were about to finish their skiing holiday, and so it turned out. At 8am I was ready at the station. We were shown to two guard's vans and at 10am we rolled forth at the tail end of a mile of coal wagons. There was no question as to what fuel to use for the stoves. I made many inquiries about paying for my fare, but the conclusion was that it was less trouble all round not to bother. This was the only bargain I obtained in Argentina.

The journey was pleasant though dramatic scenery soon ceased as we were soon out of the mountains, chuffing over the wide plains of southern Patagonia. Despite the downhill grade, it was thirsty work for our distant engine, so there were a number of stops along the way. We reached Rio Gallegos at 10pm. This is the world's southernmost operating railway, steam powered, and Paul Theroux can go and suck cinders. There used to be a railway at Ushuaia, but that was for forestry extraction, and ceased around 1910, or perhaps at the time of the economic crunch caused by the opening of the Panama Canal. There are some photos in the city's museum, and an old engine on display nearby. The railway would be quite an attraction were it to be running now, and not just for los gringos fanaticos, como yo.

In the morning, a bus straight to Calafate, a pleasant small town on the shore of a large glacial-fed (and thus blue-water) lake. Some icebergs could even be seen drifting around as white specks at the far end of the lake. My objective was to get to see the glacier that relentlessly blocks off an arm of the lake, only to have its snout eventually floated up and swept away by the rising water. This required a tour, as there are no settlements to draw transport services, and we arrived to find that the glacier had just re-blocked the lake.

When a breakage is expected, people camp out to wait. The event takes about two days, from rupture to equalisation, but the scenery is worth a visit at any time. I was unable to obtain clear information as to regularity, as the most people would say was about one to three years, nor did there seem to be a record of rupture dates over the last decade or so.

Read Part Two of Midwinter in Southernmost Argentina and Chile