The sun was up, coming in through the front window on the double decker bus. The full reclining seats with leg rests lets you get some rest and I slept well enough. Bus travel is an adventure in itself. Most long distance busses are double decker with first class sleeping berths and luggage storage below. We never saw the driver but seated above lets you see out front, like riding in the front seat with nothing between you and the road but the windshield. Drivers have the status of airline pilots. Their outside door was separate and his inner door to the storage and sleeping areas was secured. With two male attendants, each passenger was tracked by seat, baggage checked, carry ons and destination. If you went down to use the toilet, they assisted to and from the door. Every hour or so one would come by with fruit drinks, pastry or empanadas. If you needed a blanket or pillow, just ask. Naturally, when you reached your destination you paid your tab and left a tip. It didn’t have to be much but the gesture seemed to be important; a show of respect.
The bus station in Puerto Madryn was only a couple of blocks from the hostel. Naturally, my reservation had been made in advance. I left my stuff on the bed, locked the door and went to check out the city. A 10 or 12 stop light town, it lacked the high energy of Bariloche. Everybody apologized, said I was in between seasons and it would get better. No whale sightings had been reported yet but they expected them soon. I signed up for a tour that afternoon. We would drive in a small van, out to the whale watching cliffs and visit the whale museum.
My short trek about the business district left me unimpressed. It was neat and clean, they were nice enough but nothing to keep me there. It’s a summer escape destination for people from Buenos Aires but the beach any other season is just wet. At the tour office I met a couple from Cordoba who were going on the whale tour with me. Her English was alright but she wasn’t really interested in conversation. Our guide showed up in a 4 door sedan, spoke no English, spoke too fast and looked straight ahead as he drove. I thought the woman might help me out but she never did. We stopped at a clifftop overlook. Whales would gather in the cove below but not on that day. There were sea lions on the beach below but from a distance it was like watching grass grow. A 15 minute ride to the Whale Museum took us away from the coast, through a flat, bone dry highland with only small, brushy bushes for vegetation. The road was unpaved and our tires roared in the gravel as the guide talked. Even if I had been fluent, road noise drowned him out.
What I did notice were ostrich like birds. When we got close enough, they ran. I learned they are Rheas, smaller but closely related to the ostrich. I suppose I would run as well. The roar of tires and a cloud of dust coming up behind us would scare me too. We saw several Rhea, all running. One bird ran parallel to our path rather than away. When we rounded a bend in the road it put us on a collision course. Our driver continued his story, never looking away from the road. The couple asked questions and got replies but nobody noticed the bird, closing on our port beam. Fully expecting the bird to give way, I gave it my undivided attention. In slow motion, like a hanging curve ball to a cleanup hitter, the car and the long striding bird closed. I did think of bat and ball arcing into the strike zone and the crack of the bat. But there was no crack, only a hollow thump that registered 3 or 4 on the collision scale. The car rocked a little and the Rhea disappeared. I don’t think my cohorts ever saw the bird. Looking back, only a dust cloud.
El Museo de Ballenas, (The Whale Museum) seemed out of place in the barren scrubland, no water to be seen in any direction. We parked next to the only other car in the lot, that of the curator. The building was relatively new, a spread out one story with big slabs of black stone and lots of glass. The fact that I know something about the Cetacean Family, whales and Dolphins, and that we were in a quiet place let me absorb it at my own speed. More of a self guided tour, our guide became a spectator as well. Placards, posters and dioramas were helpful but still, nothing I didn’t already know. Fossils, video loops and bones, a skeleton in particular were well done. On our way back to the car, the lady who spoke English said to me, “You really missed a lot.”
Headed back the way We came, she noticed something in the road ahead. Our guide identified it, “Es un Rhea.” Then as an afterthought, as we passed it, “Esta muerto.” it’s dead. I couldn’t help but think, ‘Really, you missed a lot.' Stopping again at the cliffside overlook in hopes, maybe, a whale might have surfaced, I couldn’t help but think he didn’t want to get back too early. The view had become stark with overcast and clouds racing up the coast. The four of us, we retreated more or less into our own thoughts. I already knew and was reminded; exploring anything is about discovery, there is no script. Without imagination, if you’re not curious to begin with and if all you expect is information, all you get is the ride.
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