Bariloche, Argentina: At Escuela De Montaña I was practicing my Español, it was our 5th lesson. At 9:00 a.m., all of the classrooms had students in them and the old Head Master was happy. He offered me coffee and cookies, wanted to know how I was getting along with my instructor. Thinking, ‘So this is how you do teacher evaluation,’ the old teacher in me was still keeping score. Only a few years earlier my boss would inform me that he would be visiting one of my classes later in the week for my formal evaluation. He would slip into the room just before the preceding period ended so he could be there as students came in the room. He sat in a corner with his clipboard, taking notes and left before the dismissal bell. When I went in for the follow up the document was a combination of checked boxes, numbers on a scale and comments. The last comment was on areas for improvement and that was when we got the little sermon of perfection. No matter how good a teacher did their job or how well their students performed, we always had a weakness that needed improvement. When I did the conversion, my evaluation grade came out B+ or B. I agreed that I could tighten up on classroom management. But my relaxed style was comfortable, we got our work done and I never complained about getting a B.
No money on day 5 but the lady at the bank said five days to get there. So day 6 I went back to the bank. Having so much money on my person was disarming. With about twenty pesos to the dollar, I needed 1000 peso bills and still, the pouch I wore around my neck was so full it felt like a ball and chain. With money to spend, my first task was to get a new coat. Other than grocery, most stores in Patagonia operate very different than in the USA. You don’t browse the shelves and racks; a sales person accompanies you, handles the merchandise, watches you check it out, try it on, whatever. If you need a fitting room they wait outside the door. In the end you hand it back and they either return it to the rack or ring up the sale. If you buy something it goes to security and with your receipt, you pick it up as you leave. That was true for clothing and it was true for toothpaste. There was a sporting goods shop where the inventory was really thin. They had 2 or 3 pairs of skis and ski poles but no ski boots. if they weren’t the right length or style, look somewhere else. With clothing the only size and color was the article on display. So the coat I wanted was my size, a color I liked and it was on a manakin. It was Gore-Tex shell that you wear over a fleece liner but the liner had already been sold. I had a good fleece liner, not the same color but that was alright. It was expensive and I was happy to pay the price.
Back at TangoInn I gave my old bomber jacket to Herman who hung it up on the wall behind the counter with a price tag, 800 pesos. That would be about 35 dollars. I packed my new coat away, put on my old fleece liner and headed back down town to buy chocolate. My kids for sure and a few friends were on my Patagonia gift list and what better than the best chocolate ever! They sold it by the piece, don’t want to how much it cost per kilo but I was careful, took great care in choosing an assortment that would please the palate. With all the candies arranged in layers, separated by wax paper, they filled an ornamental tin that was big as a small shoe box.
I didn’t want to carry chocolate around with me all day so I took it back to my room at TangoInn. Welcoming me as I came in the door, Herman was behind the counter, wearing my bomber jacket. He smiled and held up a brown envelope, extending it to me; 800 pesos. There was an unwritten expectation that the staff would give guests a chance at things posted for sale before they took them for themselves. In this case, Herman gave them about half an hour. We had a big laugh about that and both of us hungry, I made a 5 egg omelette and we split it for dinner.
I ask Herman the same question I asked Marcelo back in Santiago. What would be an easy, interesting, over night excursion. After a lot of map gazing, bus schedules and talking with other travelers I settled on going to El Bolsón. The best ticket option was to arrive in El Bolsón after lunch. It’s a couple of hours south of Bariloche in a mountain valley, an artist community and a great venue for fly fishing and rafting. I didn’t have time for whitewater adventures but it was Saturday and there was a crafts fair going on. So I roamed the booths and stalls, admired pottery, sampled empanadas and carbonated orange drink. Two performance stages were set up across the street from each other and the bands took turns. One was indigenous Indios with pan flutes, charangos and percussion while the other was hard to describe, New Wave at best. They were happy and the crowd loved them but all I heard was too much base and no melody at all. The guys at TangoInn had preregistered me at a small hostel there. I needed a taxi, not because it was so far but because it was hard to find. About a quarter mile north of town, tucked away on the other side of the river in a grove of trees, it looked like any other house.
The only person there was another guest, cooking dinner. On the hearth, half of a pumpkin size squash was baking in a tinfoil reflector while a Dutch oven over the coals held beans and lamb. The caretaker wouldn’t be there until morning so you register on your own, fold your pesos and slide them down a slot in the desk top and find an empty bed in the loft upstairs. The cook was a big German on his way north, maybe 35 with shaved head and only a shred of Español. But we got along and dinner was great. An older woman, older than me, German as well, she showed up late. They talked some but she headed straight to bed and was gone before I got up the next day.
The caretaker was there when I woke up, busy with paper work. I had to catch an early bus back to Bariloche so I didn’t have any other plans.El Bolsón has the distinction of being the first municipality ever, anywhere to ban nuclear reactors in any form. In all of Patagonia, especially in the countryside, everyone I met was passionate about environmental stewardship. It would be a place to go back and spend some time.
Back in Bariloche in time for lunch, I fixed a ham & cheese sandwich and opened a can of soup. Magdalena (Meg) was working the desk and she wanted to practice her English so we talked. If Herman hadn’t beat her to my leather jacket she would have snapped it up. Maybe I should have asked a higher price. It was time for me to get out of town. I had a late night bus to catch, east to Puerto Mardyn on the Atlantic coast. The ride would take all night. Puerto Madryn has a huge bay, great for whale watching. Sea lions and other wild life are the areas big tourist attraction but fall was out of season. Still, I was anxious to see the Atlantic.
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