A second look

Judy. You know, you get an idea set in your head, and before you know it, something changes it. Bariloche has opened up my head, and here are some random observations.

View across Lago Nahuel Huapi

This place is gorgeous. We are in the Lake District of northern Patagonia. We could neither afford further south, nor did we want the cold weather it would bring. It’s a touristy town—if you’re from the southern US, it’s reminiscent of Gatlinburg, Tennessee: Calle Mitre, the main street, is filled with expensive hiking gear shops, souvenir shops, and chocolate shops. Except the chocolate here is fabulous—the Germans and Swiss who settled in this mountainous area brought their skills with them. And the scenery makes up for it all.  

View down Calle Moreno

The oldest chocolate shop

We live on Mitre, but further east, about three blocks from the high-tourist area, much like where we lived in Las Palmas. It’s quieter, shops cater to locals, and restaurants are not as expensive. Last week we stopped at an empanada shop in the downtown area for takeout. The empanadas were ok. Today, we found a Mom and Pop shop down our street with cheaper, bigger, and tastier pastries. Of course we had to wait in line, because all the locals were ordering, which was fine, because they gave us recommendations for other foods to try. Once again, it’s the people who make the difference.

To our great delight, almost no one speaks English. This has forced us (finally) to really depend on our Spanish. We’ve managed to communicate to a pharmacist about a skin issue I was having, and with the help of Google Translate, get an answer. We’ve learned when we use our credit card to have ID and our driver’s license number available. I went into a Mapuche (indigenous peoples) women’s cooperative and bought hand-spun, natural-dyed yarn. And we’ve managed to buy the bus card and load it up—which led to another issue.

Yarn spun and dyed by Mapuche women

Overnight, the bus fares went up. So when we took a bus about 30 kilometers outside of town, we were left with not enough on our card to get us home. A gentleman ahead of us in the queue used his card to get us on, and we paid him back. I saw this happen several times to others. The public transportation is great—for a couple of bucks you can head out to Parque  Llau-Llau  for hikes through the woods and around the lake. Problem is, EVERYONE takes the bus there. Once we made the mistake of getting on in city center, and stood for the hour ride, with folks packed in like sardines. (Backpackers hadn’t figured out that if they took their packs off and put them by their feet it might make for more room.) Lesson learned. Next time, we caught the bus before it hit downtown.  

Typical bus ride to Llau-Llau

Once you get to the park, the forests and views are worth every moment of standing. Ted hurt his back in Las Palmas, and we both caught bad colds our first week here, so we’re taking it easy and not doing mountain hikes as we originally planned. The forest hikes make that okay. Even better than okay.

Sunken path in the Bosque 

Lunchtime view during a hike

In town and on hikes, people carry thermoses of hot water and the ever-present yerba mate “cups”. We see couples sitting on benches on Mitre, by the lake, and on the trail sipping the tea from these iconic gourds through a silver straw. It's considered a "social drink," as you share it. At the top of a mountain, outside a café, we saw a gentleman mix the tea for his family to share. We asked a young couple if we could take a photo with their mate--they not only obliged us, but also offered us a drink. Pretty good stuff!

Sharing their mate

Pollution control

There's a moss on the trees here--turns out it dies at the slightest hint of pollution. Nice to know we're breathing clean air!



One day we took a tourist bus tour around the area. The last folks on the bus were a couple from Barcelona, here in Argentina to visit family. Our driver chatted away in Spanish, slowly, so I could follow much of what he was saying, but Jose Mari, concerned that we’d miss something, whispered important information to us. When we rode a chairlift to the top of a small mountain to catch the views, he and Cristina waited for us and sat with us

Cristina & Jose Mari

for hot cocoa, and let us converse in Spanish. 

View from the top

Another night we went to a restaurant for pizza, and got into a conversation with a gentleman soothing his grandbaby. He told us how he loved Miami, then, seeing our Spanish needed help, called over his teenage granddaughter, who spoke beautiful English. (She had learned from the Cambridge School, a private business, and also spoke German, French, and Italian.) At one point, she told us she was afraid to visit the US, because of the violence. (I get it.) What I didn’t tell her is that we cut our visit to Argentina short because we heard about violence in the streets. Maybe all the police in the streets keep it down, or maybe it was just bad press. But the only “violence” I’ve seen is kids pushing each other in the street for fun. We did see one protest in Buenos Aires, but that was something about the Falkland/Malvinas Islands, and was just loud, not violent.

In every grocery store we visit, wine takes up full shelves for several aisles. The wine is really good, but who buys all this? 

A few of the bottles for sale

Even when the buses are packed all the way down the stairs to the front door, people press their bus cards to the machine to pay their fare. I suppose it would be easy enough to cheat, but no one does.

It finally really hit me that just because Argentina LOOKS like Spain, its culture is all its own. The combination of immigrants from Italy, Spain (in equal measure, I’m told), Germany, Switzerland, and other countries has truly given it a unique culture .

Meanwhile, I continue to learn to release preconceived ideas and smell the roses that flourish everywhere here. And eat some really good chocolate. And now I want to go back to Buenos Aires.