I was up early and queuing at the Aduana before they opened, but I wasn't the only one. Luckily it was a respectful line and had competent, if overworked staff.
This was a far cry from the maelstrom I'd seen in Africa a year before and I was thankful for it.
With my package in front of her unopened, the customs officer listened to my sob story of losing my belongings on the road and wanting to experience the wild nature of the Andes around Bariloche with my own cheap equipment from home.
She didn't even look inside to check the customs declarations, conditions or values were at all correct - she just listened patiently, helping my Spanish where it faltered before handing me my parcel and wishing me luck.
Thanks that lady.
It had taken all morning with the queue, but felt great to be finally ready and Kevin came back from the shops at the same time so we said our final goodbyes to Lorna, Luka and Carla.
At the bus station I was shamelessly trying to steal sugar sachets from tables in the cafeteria when I bumped into Ana (from Crux in Lago Puelo).
We chatted and swapped e-mails, as we'd somehow managed to forget between all the wine, beer and fernet of the last night in Crux.
Before we knew it our bus was in the wrong bay hailing all south-bound passengers and we said a hasty goodbye to Ana and left Argentine civilisation as we would know it.
It was 5 p.m. before we got off the bus at the small village Rio Villegas, and we realised the start of the route was in full view of the Gendarmerie post on Ruta 40, so had to run out of sight as quickly as we could.
Entering the National Park on multi-day hikes is supposed to require a detailed plan submitted to the authorities, along with showing a gas stove and your other professional equipment which we didn't have.
The dirt road was quite well-groomed, and I got paranoid that our route to Cochamo would be a tourist trap full of people, and not the secluded natural paradise we were hoping for.
Over the next two hours we saw a handful of cars, and a few houses as the track bent around the valley following the Rio Manso. It could only get more remote as we went into the mountains, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.
We still couldn't see the river through the forests that the track led through, which was disheartening and made the walk a bit dull.
After twelve kilometres we had come down to river level and came across a bridge, with a strong warning it was only suitable for four people at a time, or one on horseback.
The river was wide and strong - it didn't look that deep, but it's always difficult to tell.
I was happy - the river looked like a tough and resilient partner, but was fresh and clear. I knew if he could forge a way to Chile, so could we.
Crossing the bridge meant we were inside the Nahuel Huapi National Park, which means there are consequences if we were found making fire. Consequences could jeopardise our passage to Chile.
It was past 8 p.m. and we passed a couple of hand-built farmhouses so knew we had to get on a few kilometres to stay undetected through the night.
It was impossibly beautiful. We were walking through lightly forested meadows, with the huge but calming Rio Manso on our left and the tree lined valley cliffs on our right.
We were headed due west now, so had followed the river through the first two mountains of the Andes range which stood between us and Chile.
Walking into the setting sun in such a beautiful valley was calming and invigorating at the same time - I couldn't have been more happy and tranquil. Until I saw the big man with rough, outdoors hands and the biggest shotgun I've ever seen.
We stopped quietly, as yet unseen, then tracked left through some bushes towards the river once he'd passed into a forested area.
Between the bushes we found some nice, soft grass in a small natural bowl to give some wind shelter, so stashed our packs in a bush and took our towels to the rivers edge, while carefully noting our bearings relative to the tallest trees.
We bathed and swam naked amongst the powerful currents while the sun dipped below the Chilean mountains at the end of the valley.
Back at camp we made a small fire for the hobo stove and cooked up a simple rice and salami affair which was to become our staple dinner.
As I was getting my bed-roll out of my bag a small, brown packet I didn't recognise popped out onto the floor. The paper had written on it:
"Every hobo needs a harmonica :-)"
And I knew Lorna must have snuck it in my pack earlier that day. Awwww! Thanks!
After Kev showed me through the basics on the harmonica we laid down in a nearby clearing and marvelled at the Milky Way. I saw two shooting stars, both very high in the sky and we tracked two satellites zipping around our tiny, complicated planet.
I had looked up where to find the Magellanic Clouds (which are visible only from the southern hemisphere) and we gazed into other galaxies, back through time as far as the naked eye can below the equator.
This was a far cry from the maelstrom I'd seen in Africa a year before and I was thankful for it.
With my package in front of her unopened, the customs officer listened to my sob story of losing my belongings on the road and wanting to experience the wild nature of the Andes around Bariloche with my own cheap equipment from home.
She didn't even look inside to check the customs declarations, conditions or values were at all correct - she just listened patiently, helping my Spanish where it faltered before handing me my parcel and wishing me luck.
Thanks that lady.
It had taken all morning with the queue, but felt great to be finally ready and Kevin came back from the shops at the same time so we said our final goodbyes to Lorna, Luka and Carla.
At the bus station I was shamelessly trying to steal sugar sachets from tables in the cafeteria when I bumped into Ana (from Crux in Lago Puelo).
We chatted and swapped e-mails, as we'd somehow managed to forget between all the wine, beer and fernet of the last night in Crux.
Before we knew it our bus was in the wrong bay hailing all south-bound passengers and we said a hasty goodbye to Ana and left Argentine civilisation as we would know it.
It was 5 p.m. before we got off the bus at the small village Rio Villegas, and we realised the start of the route was in full view of the Gendarmerie post on Ruta 40, so had to run out of sight as quickly as we could.
Entering the National Park on multi-day hikes is supposed to require a detailed plan submitted to the authorities, along with showing a gas stove and your other professional equipment which we didn't have.
The dirt road was quite well-groomed, and I got paranoid that our route to Cochamo would be a tourist trap full of people, and not the secluded natural paradise we were hoping for.
Over the next two hours we saw a handful of cars, and a few houses as the track bent around the valley following the Rio Manso. It could only get more remote as we went into the mountains, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.
We still couldn't see the river through the forests that the track led through, which was disheartening and made the walk a bit dull.
After twelve kilometres we had come down to river level and came across a bridge, with a strong warning it was only suitable for four people at a time, or one on horseback.
The river was wide and strong - it didn't look that deep, but it's always difficult to tell.
I was happy - the river looked like a tough and resilient partner, but was fresh and clear. I knew if he could forge a way to Chile, so could we.
Crossing the bridge meant we were inside the Nahuel Huapi National Park, which means there are consequences if we were found making fire. Consequences could jeopardise our passage to Chile.
It was past 8 p.m. and we passed a couple of hand-built farmhouses so knew we had to get on a few kilometres to stay undetected through the night.
It was impossibly beautiful. We were walking through lightly forested meadows, with the huge but calming Rio Manso on our left and the tree lined valley cliffs on our right.
We were headed due west now, so had followed the river through the first two mountains of the Andes range which stood between us and Chile.
Walking into the setting sun in such a beautiful valley was calming and invigorating at the same time - I couldn't have been more happy and tranquil. Until I saw the big man with rough, outdoors hands and the biggest shotgun I've ever seen.
We stopped quietly, as yet unseen, then tracked left through some bushes towards the river once he'd passed into a forested area.
Between the bushes we found some nice, soft grass in a small natural bowl to give some wind shelter, so stashed our packs in a bush and took our towels to the rivers edge, while carefully noting our bearings relative to the tallest trees.
We bathed and swam naked amongst the powerful currents while the sun dipped below the Chilean mountains at the end of the valley.
Back at camp we made a small fire for the hobo stove and cooked up a simple rice and salami affair which was to become our staple dinner.
As I was getting my bed-roll out of my bag a small, brown packet I didn't recognise popped out onto the floor. The paper had written on it:
"Every hobo needs a harmonica :-)"
And I knew Lorna must have snuck it in my pack earlier that day. Awwww! Thanks!
After Kev showed me through the basics on the harmonica we laid down in a nearby clearing and marvelled at the Milky Way. I saw two shooting stars, both very high in the sky and we tracked two satellites zipping around our tiny, complicated planet.
I had looked up where to find the Magellanic Clouds (which are visible only from the southern hemisphere) and we gazed into other galaxies, back through time as far as the naked eye can below the equator.
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