Walking in Patagonia
A Journey to the End of the World
“I haven’t got any special religion this morning. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don’t need any other god.” – Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia
The days start at 5:30 am, with the sunlight already beaming. We wake up early to start our journeys, and just in time for hostel breakfast. We check out, and head out.
Like many in our generation, Casey, Alyssa and I first heard of Patagonia as a brand. Their iconic quarterzips were our college Model UN conference’s trademark apparel.1 As I became a more frequent hiker, I saw a photo of the iconic Torres (towers) of Patagonia, which went straight to my bucket list. Four years later, Casey and Alyssa moved to Argentina, and I knew this was my opportunity.2 On Christmas, we traveled opposite Santa’s sleigh towards the South Pole.
Our ride is a bus, a catamaran, a flight, a rental car, or our feet. Sometimes the trailhead was a few minutes away, and sometimes it was across a national border.
Encompassing nearly a million square kilometers across Argentina and Chile, Patagonia has captured imaginations for half a millennium, with the help of some fantastic branding. In 1520, Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan coined the term Patagón to describe the native residents he thought were giants, inspiring countless travelers.3 Centuries later, while much of the world went to war, Patagonia’s remote geography and sparsely populated terrain made it the “safest place on Earth.”4 Since the mid-20th century, the opening of Chile’s Torres Del Paine National Park combined with the retailer’s launch has made Patagonia synonymous with hiking and adventure.
Even though it’s summer, a morning hike always starts cold, but we quickly heat up and de-layer. We begin surrounded by other hikers, but the fast politely overtake the slow until everyone has some room to breathe. Hikers are too busy looking down to fully process the people they pass, which is why an Asian woman says “hola” to an Indian guy.
Travel blogs and sun-dried hikers will tell you that a week is not enough to enjoy Patagonia. They are probably right, but a week is all we had. We all spent three days on the Argentinian side, and Casey and I continued on for three days on the Chilean side (one could drive, one could speak Spanish). We visited Cerro Fitz Roy, Perito Moreno Glacier, the Mylodon Caves, the French Valley, and Mirador Las Torres.
As I walk, I reflect on the difference between looking and seeing – not just to glance, but to absorb. Patagonia’s endless terrain is known for “forcing the mind in upon itself.”5 But after a year of overthinking, I am determined to soak in everything.
Our itinerary required a daily series of cars, buses, boats or flights – one could see this as transit time, or a deeper immersion into mystical Patagonia. (Either way, it was good to have Chatwin’s book handy.)6 On my flight to Patagonia, I swore I could see the Earth bend. Our bus from Argentina to Chile went by an area where there was no demarcated border – apparently, the mountains were protection enough. To get to Torres Del Paine, I nervously drove a rental car down an unpaved and curvy highway, with the ever-present Torres daring me to look away. Its name was fitting: the Road to the End of the World.7
Breathtaking moments process differently when you’re already out of breath. The majesty of ethereal mountains blending into the sky. The graceful stream of glaciers slowly melting into the summer, staccatoed by the sound of a large chunk falling off. When your mind is too fatigued to filter, these moments go straight to your soul.
Over the week, we hiked 50 miles. Twice, I broke my record for the longest day hike ever, peaking at 18 miles. Instilled with an immigrant anxiety (more on this later), I carried more water and snacks than I needed, and checked my Strava often to make sure we’d catch the last boat back. Casey, bless his soul, didn’t complain when I accidentally made us hike three more miles than planned (twice).
Climbing uphill. The body goes to autopilot as the feet traverse through miles of rocks. Without the energy to ask if we were there yet, or the desire to know the truth, we adjust to purgatory. It will never end. Until, around a corner, maybe, is that it?, yes, it is. The picture from the bucket list, the logo on our clothes – the reason we came. We revel in the glory of summiting, and take a break. Sandwiches have never tasted better in my life.
On New Year’s Eve we left Patagonia, with a seven-hour layover in Santiago, Chile. Most of the city was closed, so we went up to San Cristobal Hill to enjoy the city’s skyline.
After filling our stomachs and souls to the brim, we head back. Sometimes we rush, sometimes we stroll. If we could spare the time, we sit by a stream, watching the icy, rushing, newly minted water — maybe filling our bottles as well.8 Tired feet, sprained ankles, blistered toes make their way back to a new hostel.
We landed in Buenos Aires at 12:05am on January 1st, with a mesmerizing fireworks display as our welcome back from the land of giants. I spent the day with Casey reading, playing pool and ping-pong, and hunting for empanadas, before heading back stateside.
The days would end with reviving showers, carbohydrate feasts, and once, a soccer game with 12 locals and 2 dogs. At 10pm, when our bodies would give into the blankets, the sunlight was still beaming.
SM: Casey has a fantastic Substack with deeply researched and skillfully written pieces, and Alyssa’s former travel blog partly inspired Kaloramic!
CW: Likewise, even when I moved to Buenos Aires, I wasn’t sure when I would make the trip down to Patagonia, which is a distance analogous to going from New York to Texas. I was grateful for the excuse to make the trek.
SM: The people he called the Patagons are now believed to have been the Tehuelche, who tended to be taller than Europeans of the time.
Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia
Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia
SM: Check out our post on Casey’s Substack for more on Bruce Chatwin.
CW: I’ve never driven a car before, so I had to take Sidd’s word for it when he told me that there was nothing he wanted more than to go 100 mph on the Ruta del Fin del Mundo. Patagonia’s beauty lay not just in the miradors and vistas that greeted us at the midpoints and summits of our hikes, but in the low shrubs with tiny yellow flowers that were literally everywhere; lakes of a mysterious shade of blue neither of us had seen before; the promise of a puma out there somewhere, even if we couldn’t see it.
CW: Drinking glacial water from a gurgling brook, the ice-capped mountain from which it flowed within eyeshot, even with its peak hidden in the clouds — aside from being the most delicious water I had ever tasted, the experience itself had a special yet simple, spiritual quality.
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This was a treat. As an admirer of Bruce Chatwin, you've lived my dream. Wish the Indo-China border could be a vibe too. Tibet is so close to where I live, and yet so far.
A wonder to read, to travel and to appreciate. Thank you so for subscribing. I will also restack with a note. xo ~Mary