Riding the El Chepe Express: A Scenic Journey Through Copper Canyon

 

Boarding El Chepe Express

We were excited about boarding El Chepe Express. We had heard and read plenty about it. But getting our ticket and then getting on the train was work. It can be this way in Mexico. When we attempted to buy our tickets online while still in Baja, the Chepe website was a disaster even though we followed every rule (in Spanish) to the letter (perhaps this was the problem?).  Finally I called FerroMex, El Chepe’s rail company, and after many entanglements with our misaligned languages managed to get an email that proved we had paid for our tickets. But did we actually HAVE a ticket?  I wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, here we were now in the city of Los Mochis, determined to board the train that the marketing brochures wrote would take us through “350 km (220 miles) [passing] Sinaloa up to Creel, into the heart of the Sierra Tarahumara, passing through the majestic Copper Canyon.” The trip would take 9 hours. We would rise 8,000 feet to the land of the Tarahumara people, famous for their ability to run extraordinary distances up and down the mountains. While researching my book Thumbs, Toes and Tears, I had learned that when hunting these native people could run deer down until the animals collapsed.

That morning, a glum taxi driver had juddered us through the dawn light grossly overcharging us before we and our bags were deposited outside the Los Mochis train depot. It was cool and humid. Brooding clouds slowly crept across the sky. At 7:15 the FerroMex-operated Estacion opened. A man dressed smartly in a FerroMex uniform herded passengers with boletos (tickets) into one line, and everyone else in another.  But which line did we belong in? We didn’t exactly have a ticket, but we had payment confirmation. The uniformed agent waved away our concerns. We would be fine; just board when we got the word.

But a few minutes later the train’s conductor, in Spanglish, clarified that we did need tickets. Dutifully, I lined up while Cyn held the fort with our bags. Six people stood in front of us. Departure in 45 minutes. 

We waited. The line was moving at a glacial pace. Evil thoughts began to arise in my mind. We had come several hundred miles out of our way to board this train and didn’t want to miss it, and if we did we were pretty sure that getting our money back would be a nightmare. I fervently wished I was fluent in Spanish. Why couldn’t I make the sounds I needed to make to solve the problems I wanted to solve? The voice in my head spoke: Control what you can. Let the rest go.

A father with two boys and his wife was in the same boat as we were.  He was Mexican, but had worked several years in Texas and spoke excellent English. He had paid for the ride and like us had the proof right there on his cell phone, but he too was told he needed tickets. Now it was 7:30 and a mere two people had moved down the line. The glacial pace, it turns out, was thanks to a FerroMex employee at the ticket counter who was regaling each buyer, in minute detail, about the train’s many amenities.

Our friend was thinking the same thoughts I was. He snagged another railway agent who looked to be in charge and urgently explained our situation. Yes, we still need tickets, she answered in Spanish. Our friend tilted his head in the direction of the ticket agent making the point that we can’t get tickets unless we get through the line before the train departs. She seemed unconcerned, but walked to the ticketmistress and told her to move things along. Six people have now joined the line behind us and four are still in front.

At 7:50 the family in front of us finally makes it to the counter. A pantomime unfolds. The father speaks to the ticket agent. Rapid Spanish ensues.  He holds up his phone. More head waggling on both sides of the plexiglass.  Tick-tock. I can feel things are getting heated. Now the man’s wife enters the picture. She offers the agent encouragement.  Heads begin to nod. Finally the ticketmistress picks up the phone and a minute later she is printing their tickets. Done! I take solace in this. Now that this nice man and his wife have plowed the bureaucratic road for us surely Cyn and I will breeze through.

I step to the counter and show her the email on my phone.

“You must forward your email to to FerroMex,” she says in Spanglish, “and then they will issue her permission to print us a ticket. I jab a finger at my watch.

"No tiempo!” I say, voice rising.

Again, I thrust my phone up to the plexiglass and point at the 8400 pesos (about $500) noted in the email when the mother of the family in front of us re-enters the conversation, earnestly speaking through the plexiglass to the ticketmistress. I love her. In my mind I think of her as “The Virgin Mother of Los Mochis.”  It's now 7:53. Seven minutes and the great Chepe will be gone.

Cyndy sits stoically 50 feet away beside our bags in the now empty train station. By now nearly everyone has boarded. The Mother of Los Mochis implores the agent in Spanish so rapid I cannot possibly comprehend it. Then suddenly, the wife turns, smiling and gives me a thumbs up.

"It's good!"  She says.

“Muchas gracias!” I blurted. I wanted to embrace her. For every difficult human, there are always several good ones.  An instant later we had our tickets in hand. I turned to thank the Virgin Mother, but she and her family had already disapparated.  Was this a miracle?

Cyn and I wheeled away with our bags, tossed them to a waiting porter and bound onto the Premiere Class coach in search of our seats. We plopped down, and then with a bang, the engine of the mighty Chepe began to haul us out of the station precisely on time.   

I grinned at Cyn. “After all of that,” I said, “this better be good!”

Departing Los Mochis

The train’s windows are broad, made to reveal the views. We watched its 12 cars pull us through an immense garbage dump. This didn’t look promising, but trains everywhere travel through the backsides of cities and the views are rarely stunning. We gathered speed and watched shanties fashioned from whatever people have been able to find — cardboard, plasterboard, tarps, plywood, plastic — parade by. White circular tubs stood outside, a flat square of dirt where people can wash. Little flags of plastic or cloth provide a morsel of privacy as the train slides by. Here and there skeletal corrals of old wood teeter in the dirt. A few chickens peck in the dust, an emaciated goat or two munches on tiny clusters of grass, while hand washed clothes hang languidly in the humid breeze and a single rooster patrols a little dirt yard, wings spread, squawking a clear message to all chickens that he is boss. I am reminded of John Steinbeck's descriptions in Grapes of Wrath of the shanty towns during the American Depression.

A few moments more and I witnessed an image that will always remain with me: a solitary young man, maybe 21-years-old, tall, slim with dark hair, raggedly dressed. His paper COVID mask was strapped on his ears as he stood unmoving and unmoved amidst 100 yards of garbage and tumbling plastic bags, gazing blankly into the wreckage. What thoughts, I wondered was he thinking? What dreams did he dream? What dreams was he allowed to dream? And then the train moved on.

As we gathered speed the level of homes upgraded. Slowly the boarded slats and plywood houses we had been looking at morphed into small enclosed yards with porticos and cement walls and proper rooms capped with red corrugated roofs. Ranches began to appear as we came into the foothills, small brick buildings among scrub, rock, cactus, dry arroyos, dust and hard chunks of grass. A cowboy on his horse clopped through a flat plain of dry prairie grass, his battered straw hat swatting at a few horses and brahmin cows as he herded them into a nearby corral.

In time we broke into broad rows of corn filling the plains through which the train resolutely passed. Before the day was done, the train would haul us into canyons the guide books told us were five times the size of the Grand Canyon. It swayed left and right, but its progress was steady as we moved towards the beckoning Sierra Madre. I thought if there was one set of tracks that would be carefully maintained, it would be this one. The express was the most popular attraction in northern Mexico, and it brought tourists in by the hundreds of thousands each year. Now that COVID seemed to finally be abating, the income was deeply appreciated.

Life On Board Chepe

El Chepe’s Premiere Class passenger coach offered a startling counterpoint to the world through which the train passed. It was indeed first class, recently renovated we were told. Leather chairs throughout, brown leather cloth and metal scones for lighting, a linen like ceiling with more recessed lighting, tan with valances recalling the fine Spanish architecture of the old days, and an entire car devoted to anyone who wanted a drink in the first class section. In the bar car all of the big windows had been opened and the train now chugged up the mountains through fresh, cool air while the patrons helped themselves to drinks and had the party going strong by 10:30 am.   

In all of our experience in Mexico, we had never run into anyone who was unkind or the least bit bad-tempered. That changed on the Chepe. The surliest people that we came across were those riding in Premier class. Many of them considered themselves wealthy, entitled to be loud, rude, insistent on their constant care for the battalion of servers on board, seemingly unaware of the poverty around them or even feeling superior because of it. They would order drinks and food and toss away their trash and expect someone else to take care of it which the servers dutifully did.  I wondered if sometimes I acted like this, being just as thoughtless, entirely unaware that I too was a jerk. If so I could only hope this trip would help humble me, help me realize how truly we are all in the same boat and at least deserve an equal shot.  But everywhere it was so clear that so many did not get equal shots and yet they seemed to continue with a smile on their face, working hard, themselves humble and perfectly happy with the state of their lives. Had I been born into those circumstances, I wondered, would I feel the same?

Climbing Into Copper Canyon

Now the views of the river plain below became stunning. We crossed over one of the highest train trestles in the world, the river valley gaping hundreds of feet below. Onward El Chepe rocked, always higher; we rose amongst cliffs of hanging trees and flowers of vivid yellow, pink and periwinkle. We were leaving civilization. In time a broad snaking river appeared, tumbling out the mountains, the Septentrion, which means “going to the ocean.” It seemed to be in a hurry.

For a few hours the rails followed the channel the Septentrion had formed over the epochs. The higher we ascended green rather than brown became the color of choice - pine (Tule) and White Stick trees, Huisache and Jute bushes. The river became a chasm filled with rocks the size of small homes, igneous domes toppled from the ragged cliffs above.

Despite rocking and rolling upward, a small battalion of waiters with perfect, gleaming teeth glided through the aisles carrying platters of snacks and wine, mojitos or tequila from one car to the next. The service was impeccable and we were often asked if we needed anything. Lunch would be served in the dining car around noon and we chose chicken soup with light Seminola and three small roasted pork chops in green sauce.

Higher … now the turns grew sharper, twisting the train into taut switchbacks, and El Chepe made every noise a machine could make, cracking, clapping and rattling, screeching and hissing on its beds, but it never wavered in its journey. Soon the canyon walls approached like closing, volcanic hands, sometimes no more than 10 feet from our window.  Rail workers had had to blast through every one of the railway’s 27 bridges and 86 tunnels to take us on this route. It was truly one of the world’s great engineering feats. The idea for the railroad was inspired when Mexico granted a rail concession to Albert Kinsey Owen, founder of the Utopia Socialist Colony in New Harmony, Indiana. Owen’s goal was to build a socialist colony in Mexico and he needed a way to get people there. Owen’s dream didn’t come true, but Arthur Stilwell who ran a company called the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway began construction in 1900. The route was so rugged, so challenging that last rail wasn’t laid to its terminus in Chihuahua until 1961.

Now the train’s big blue engine began snaking us through fresh stands of pine, and as we approached late afternoon the train seemed to level off a bit. We didn’t see the immense canyon walls you see in the Grand Canyon, there are too many trees, but the canyons are there, and we would catch glimpses, thick with forest hanging along the immense ravines.

Despite rocking and rolling upward, a small battalion of waiters with perfect, gleaming teeth glided through the aisles carrying platters of snacks and wine, mojitos or tequila from one car to the next. The service was impeccable and we were often asked if we needed anything. Lunch would be served in the dining car around noon and we chose chicken soup with light Seminola and three small roasted pork chops in green sauce.

Higher … now the turns grew sharper, twisting the train into taut switchbacks, and El Chepe made every noise a machine could make, cracking, clapping and rattling, screeching and hissing on its beds, but it never wavered in its journey. Soon the canyon walls approached like closing, volcanic hands, sometimes no more than 10 feet from our window.  Rail workers had had to blast through every one of the railway’s 27 bridges and 86 tunnels to take us on this route. It was truly one of the world’s great engineering feats. The idea for the railroad was inspired when Mexico granted a rail concession to Albert Kinsey Owen, founder of the Utopia Socialist Colony in New Harmony, Indiana. Owen’s goal was to build a socialist colony in Mexico and he needed a way to get people there. Owen’s dream didn’t come true, but Arthur Stilwell who ran a company called the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway began construction in 1900. The route was so rugged, so challenging that last rail wasn’t laid to its terminus in Chihuahua until 1961.

Now the train’s big blue engine began snaking us through fresh stands of pine, and as we approached late afternoon the train seemed to level off a bit. We didn’t see the immense canyon walls you see in the Grand Canyon, there are too many trees, but the canyons are there, and we would catch glimpses, thick with forest hanging along the immense ravines.

FAQ

Q1: Where does the El Chepe Express route begin and end?

A: The El Chepe Express runs between Creel, Chihuahua and Los Mochis, Sinaloa, passing through the heart of Mexico’s Copper Canyon. Most travelers ride from Creel to El Fuerte, or vice versa, to capture the most stunning scenery without committing to the entire 9-hour journey. The full El Chepe Express route between Creel and Los Mochis takes approximately 9 hours, though it can vary depending on the number of scenic stops and dwell time at stations. Shorter segments, like Divisadero to Bahuichivo or El Fuerte to Divisadero, offer gorgeous views in 3 to 5 hours.

Q2: What kind of travelers ride El Chepe Express?

A: You’ll find a mix of Mexican families, older tourists, and intrepid travelers, especially in Clase Turista (Tourist Class). The vibe is more low-key than luxury trains in Europe or Japan — but it’s authentic, unhurried, and social. Passenger behavior varied sharply by class. While many travelers were quiet, kind, and respectful — especially the servers and working-class passengers — those riding in Premier class were often loud, entitled, and dismissive of others.

Q3: What is the experience like on board El Chepe Express?

A: On our ride, the train was comfortable, clean, and modern, with huge windows, friendly staff, and surprisingly smooth rail. The food and drink options were solid (think sandwiches and beer), and the onboard vibe was relaxed — part transit, part sightseeing.

Q4: Is getting tickets for the El Chepe Express complicated?

A: It can be. Even with a payment confirmation in hand, travelers may still face confusion and delays when converting proof of purchase into actual tickets — especially at the station in Los Mochis. We had paid 8,400 pesos online but were still asked to line up again and submit the email confirmation to FerroMex before tickets could be printed. The process was glacially slow due to a chatty agent and unclear protocol.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/riding-el-chepe-express-through-mexico-copper-canyon

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Arctic Secrets: A Trip to the Svalbard Global Seed Vault

The Global Seed Vault up close

This wild place we are visiting goes by multiple names and that can be confounding. The archipelago was once named Spitzbergen, but now it's known as Svalbard (apparently a treaty was involved). Only the largest island is called Spitzbergen these days. The largest city on that island is called Longyearbyen, and that is where we and our cold noses stood at the moment. I've shared a video that gives you a glimpse of it all.

Longyearbyen is the home to the Svalbard Global Seed Bank, created as a backup to ensure the human race preserves the world's crop diversity. The idea is to provide long-term storage of duplicate seeds from around the world in case of war, disaster, plague or other forms of armageddon. If rebuilding is necessary, this will provide a lot of what is needed to get us all up and running again.

There's not much to see and no one is allowed in, unless you work there. Nevertheless, here we were and I wanted to see it. Since a rifle was required to hike up to the vault, we took a bus in the interest of not having me shooting everything but a bear. We were lucky to find it open with a fresh supply of seeds from India and Africa coming in. This almost never happens.

A TV team from Spain thought this was big enough deal that it was covering it for the news or a documentary. As we stood standing in the frigid air, I caught a few pictures and videos of thousands of the husks being hauled into the vault's entrance, which is nothing more than a slit of metal that burrows deep into the mountain where the bank sits, far from any disasters that might taint or damage it.

Boating Around Longyearbyen’s Harbor

Back at sea-level we visited the North Pole Expedition Museum, dedicated to all things Svalbard and loaded with fascinating bits of information about famous polar expeditions. I learned for the first time that Roald Amundsen was not only the first human to reach the South Pole but was the first to cross over the North Pole, by dirigible! We felt a slight kinship with him since we had just covered nearly 12,000 miles getting from Antarctica the previous February clear to the opposite end of the planet, all without ever traveling by jet, well, except for this one last leg.

We ended the day boarding a ship that would take us beyond Longyearbyen's harbor and then back. It felt like evening, but it was really mid afternoon. The sun was already low in the sky and descending fast.

As we skated out of the channel, I could only describe the land around us as an awful beauty, barren and forbidding, a place as stunning, and as alien as any on Earth with gargantuan mountains that rose up all around.

With the sun dying, we passed immense buildings that looked like ancient coal plants, tiny against the immense mountains. This was Barentsburg, one of Spitzbergen's remaining Russian coal towns with a population of about 400 Russian and Ukranian workers, though the word now was most of the Ukranians had departed once Russia invaded their nation. From our ship, the buildings looked abandoned, on their last legs, and maybe they were.

Soon the enormous mountains, 1000 to 2000 feet of rock as smooth and hard as anthracite grew dark against the orange and pink of the setting sun, gouged by epochs of ferocious winds, rain and snow.

Sam, our guide, a big, bearded marine biologist from Minnesota who was celebrating his last day on the job told us the hottest air temperature of the year is 50º F in these parts, and so the sea ice is melting rapidly, and that's a problem because one of the things that keep the earth's temperature in a reasonable range is because bright snow and ice reflect sunlight away from the planet. This is known as the albedo effect. As snow and ice melts the planet grows darker and therefore absorbs more of the sun's heat, accelerating the loss of still more ice and snow. Case in point, last summer was the first time there was no ice in the Longyearbyen harbor. "The Arctic," Sam told us, "is the energy system that drives every ocean current in the world." And if goes south (so to speak), it won't be good. Meanwhile he pointed out that with the warming of the north pole, polar bears were struggling. There were about 5000 in the planet's Northernmost regions. About 2500 lived around Franz Joseph Island, the only land farther north than Svalbard, and on Svalbard itself a mere 675 were managing to hang on, for now.

After Sam finished his presentations, I walked to the prow of the ship feeling melancholy. I gazed a long time at the unearthly evening as it descended and found my mind wandering toward the ways the world might be coming apart. Seed vaults as insurance against disaster, the proof around us of climate growing increasingly unhinged, too many people and too much war in Ukraine and the Middle East, along with 39 other murderous conflicts by last count. I thought about it.

It was hard to shake the feeling that we might not survive ourselves, but I still remained optimistic. Surely we would figure out that turning on ourselves and our own, our only, planet was senseless and our disputes tiny. Though it might feel like we were doing worse, all of the indicators were that we are, in fact, far less violent and stupid than we have been in the past.

I looked at what remained of the spectacular sun that had just slipped beyond the lip of the planet's cap and took some solace knowing that the planet had survived far worse than anything we could dish out and would do just fine. The bigger question was, would we?

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/vagabond-journal/vagabond-adventure-day-633-longyearbyen-global-seed-vault-and-harbor-boating

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10 Great Things to Do in Patagonia for an Unforgettable Adventure

 

Sprawled across the southernmost tip of South America, far away from the cramped and entangled cities of North America, lies Patagonia. It’s a big unspoiled wilderness, an antidote to urban life, and, unless you’ve lost your senses entirely, or your last sliver of curiosity, it will captivate you. Monstrous glaciers, spectacular and unique wildlife (condors to guanaco), towering Andean peaks that run down the region’s spine, and on either side its endless pampas and shimmering lakes. If you want heat, Patagonia will deliver that, or bitter cold, and winds that will knock you sideways.

You can hike the world-renowned Torres del Paine National Park, marvel at the imposing Perito Moreno Glacier, or lose yourself in the wild serenity of Tierra del Fuego, a land Charles Darwin explored 150 years ago. And, if you’re up for it, there are plenty of exciting ways to get well off the beaten path: kayaking, white-water rafting, horseback-riding, week long hikes into the wilderness, even ice-climbing on Patagonia’s glacier fields. It’s an enormous place that spans two nations and reaches to the South Ocean and some of the most ferocious seas on earth. All you have to do is get there.

I first entered Patagonia from the northwest, heading from Peru to make my way down Chile’s coast to the town of Puerto Montt.  There I had booked passage on a ferry called Navimag that would take me to Puerto Natales, Patagonia’s southern gateway. I had heard about it during my cruise from Miami to Lima over dinner with an inveterate traveler named Mike, a man who had already scrambled into and around 100 of Earth’s countries.

For five days Navimag coasted me, my wife Cyndy and about 100 other truckers, sailors, travelers and locals through the vast archipelago. I had never seen any part of the world that looked like this — the sea, immense mountain islands, fiery sunsets, a luminescent full moon, all as majestic as anything earthly could be. I struggled to hold it all in my mind because I knew no words could ever do the experience the remotest justice. In one stroke I realized how fortunate I was to witness this, and how sad to know I would leave it behind.

Patagonia still feels like a frontier, even as its few cities are slowly encroaching upon the wilderness. Sheep roam the steppes nourishing the wool industry that has long been the backbone of the economy, guanaco lope freely, condors arc and sweep across the broad sky in search of dinner, and if you’re lucky enough you may come across a pride of wary Puma. There is history too. Ancient native peoples — the Tehuelche, Yaghan, Ona, Haush and Alacaluf — thrived in these wild places for millennia before the expeditions of Juan Diaz del Solis, Magellan, Robert Fitzroy and others wiped them out. Descendants of these native people, their names and heritage nearly forgotten, now blend into a population of ethnic German, Croatian, English, Criollo, and Mestizo peoples.

Patagonia’s beauty, history and isolation, of course, are the very forces that are expanding the region’s tourism so if you are looking to get off the beaten path, make your move now. Unplug, find solace in the vastness of this place and marvel at its profound silence and unspoiled beauty … at least when the winds aren’t howling.

Here are ten great ways to do it …

1. Lose Yourself in Torres del Paine National Park

The crown jewel of Patagonia. Named for its three famous blue towers the Torres claw their way out of the earth and swallow the sky. The mountains are 60 million year old, igneous rocks that emerged when the magma chamber below bulged upward cooling into a gargantuan hump. The advance and retreat of glaciers over the eons created the immense beasts we see today. They are the sine qua non of Patagonian exploration. Along with the glaciers, valleys, lakes and rivers that surround them, the towers are so big and powerful they generate their own weather.  Together they offer all the adventure you need. Hiking, climbing, horseback riding, kayaking, and more!

Other highlights include Gray Glacier, Cuernos del Paine, and Lake Pehoé. You could easily spend weeks exploring the park. Wildlife lovers will enjoy the guanaco herds grazing on the plains and soaring condors floating on the mountain’s thermal winds.

For visitors there are many available hikes through the park, both leisurely and brutal. Those with time on their hands should consider the O Circuit, a 6-10 day adventure looping around the Cordillera del Paine. This is a challenging hike across 66 miles (110 km). The W Trek is the most popular portion of the O Circuit, taking about half the time to traverse. The W can even be completed without food or equipment, taking advantage of the many campsites along the route.

The Hosteria del Torres is a charming place to stay. There is also the Grey Lake Hotel. For food, consider the Pampa Lodge, Hostería del Torres or Grey Lake.

2. Cruise Tierra del Fuego and Stand at the Tip of Cape Horn

The archipelago across the Strait of Magellan is the southernmost tip of South America. Shared by both Chile and Argentina, the island chain has been inhabited for over 8,000 years. But here, today, the land is nearly empty. This is truly the definition of nowhere, but it’s not easy to get there. Australis operates a five day expedition from Punta Arenas through the islands, pausing to visit some of the most stunning and remote places on Earth. This is where a young Charles Darwin cut his teeth on evolutionary science and the region is filled with stories of adventure and death, from interactions with the native Yahgan and Fuegian people and hair-raising nautical adventures experienced by the likes of Sir Francis Drake, Ferdinand Magellan and Ernest Shackleton.

Australis Zodiacs take hikers from the ship to wild sites that very few people have seen, including a hike to Cape Horn (weather permitting), the southernmost bit of South America. Standing by its single red lighthouse you can imagine Magellan’s fleet sailing past, led by Trinidad. The weather is cold, rarely higher than 45°F in the summer. You won’t find much at the Cape, but visitors will see a tiny chapel and functioning lighthouse and a battered metal sculpture to visit. Enjoy the 270 step hike to the Horn’s highest peak. Unfortunately, the native Yaghan people are gone. Aside from a few Chileans, visitors will only encounter the people you’ve met on the cruise.

Another Australis highlight takes passengers through Glacier Alley fjord offering magnificent views of five tidewater glaciers extending their great tongues of ice from craggy valleys to the waters below.

3. Ferry on the Navimag

Navimag operates a round trip ferry system through the Chilean fjords between Puerto Montt and Puerto Natales. This is transport for both locals and serious travelers. The riders hail from all around the world on weeks and month-long excursions to discover some of the most remote locations in the world. These ferries curate a collection of books and movies which, along with shipboard activities, can teach you about Chilean history and culture. Multilingual guides are onboard during the high season from October to April. There’s a charming little, glass-enclosed lounge for reading, daydreaming, conversation and beverages. A great place to pass the time, but not too much. You want to be outside as much as possible.

I enjoyed the cruise on Navimag’s newest vessel, Esperanza, with room for 244 passengers in spacious, but spartan accommodations. The cabins are shared among four or more riders, but two can buy out the whole cabin at a reasonable price. Common activity space is limited. You’ll find a not terribly usable gym, yoga room, and the lounge. Food is served cafeteria style three times a day. It’s good and there’s plenty of it, but it’s the conversations you have at the big tables while eating that are the real bonuses.

The ride is usually four days, but it took five when I made the trip. Sustained winds of 40 mph made it impossible for the ship to wrestle its way to the harbor so we anchored an additional full day. This is not uncommon for this voyage so make sure you have a flexible schedule. Riders can count on Patagonian winds to keep them alert across 10 degrees of southern latitude: 41°S to 51°S. That’s the origin of the saying, “Below 40º (of latitude) there is no law. Below 50º there is no God.”

4. Take a Hike Above Laguna Sofia

Laguna Sofia is about 30 minutes from Puerto Natales and you can reach it via a brand new highway. It may be one of the most underrated destinations in Patagonia. On this day-trek, you’ll climb several hundred vertical feet through grass and trees into scree to a promontory high above the lagoon. Beyond that lay rocky cliffs and snow-capped mountains in every direction. You might even be lucky enough to see a condor perched nearby. The winds, as usual, are out in force, powerful enough to knock you over. A side bonus: unlike other hikes in the Torres area, you can usually expect this one to be deserted.

5. Explore San Carlos de Bariloche

San Carlos de Bariloche is a charming tourist town with a striking resemblance to the Swiss Alps, tucked along the immense and pristine alpine lake Nahuel Huali. If you’re entering Patagonia from the north, Bariloche is a spectacular way to do it. Enjoy it for its scenery, hiking, winter skiing and upscale amenities. Besides the Alpine feel, the town itself underwent a tourism renaissance in the 1930s that added Swiss architectural touches to the town’s architecture. Even its chocolate is famous.   

The region has a strange history too. Bariloche was a refuge for Nazis escaping Europe following World War II. Argentine president Juan Péron was a known Nazi sympathizer who courted European dictators. One legend has it that Hitler faked his death and fled with Eva Braun to Bariloche.

6. Tour Ushuaia

Long regarded as the worlds southernmost city, with protestations from its much smaller Chilean neighbor, Puerto Williams, Ushuaia, also known as the “End of the World” is the capital of Tierra del Fuego province. Dress warm. The climate is an ocean moderated sub polar mild tundra; just a fancy way of calling it “cold.” If you’re looking for counterparts, think of Anchorage, Alaska, Reykjavik, Iceland, and Nuuk Nuuk, Greenland. But don’t let this keep you home.

Ushuaia’s breathtaking landscapes rival any on Earth, with snow-capped peaks, pristine glaciers and sparkling fjords surrounding the city. And it’s the launch point for adventures throughout Tierra del Fuego and beyond. Tierra del Fuego National Park, Martillo Island, and the Beagle Channel are reachable by ship. For those who love winter sports, this is your place. Skiing and ice hockey are immensely popular. The ski resort at Cerro Castor has the longest season in South America, thanks to that sub polar climate.

The End of the World Train takes visitors from Ushuaia on a two hour scenic tour of Tierra del Fuego National Park. The steam railway once transferred Ushuaia’s prisoners into forests where they harvested the lumber that built both the city and the prison in which they lived, the original reason the town was created!

For food, visit warm and vibrant La Parrilla Restaurant, famous for its flame roasted lamb. Hosteria Restaurante America is a good mid-range option for lodging, but if you want more upscale digs, consider the Albatros Hotel.

7. Visit Cueva del Milodón Natural Monument

The huge Mylodon sloths, enormous beasts up to 12 feet tall that roamed the Patagonian landscape thousands of years ago, were the inspiration for Bruce Chatwin’s famous book, In Patagonia. Mylodons’ and their hairy coats were first discovered and cataloged by Darwin during his time with HMS Beagle. Although mylodon extinction is attributed to multiple factors, their disappearance also coincided with the arrival of certain two-legged pack hunter 11,000 years ago.

Cueva del Milodón is located near Puerto Natales. It is not a single cave, but a complex of three, each with a different character. The largest and most popular, Cueva Grande, is impressive for its size and its notoriety for Mylodon preservation. Equally compelling, for different reasons, are the other caves. Cueva del Medio sheltered humans over 11,000 years ago under a less forgiving climate, while the third cave, Cueva Chica, is deeper and darker than the other two. Spelunkers will enjoy exploring Chica’s nooks and crannies.

8. Hunt Down Butch Cassidy’s Ranch

Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid is a classic American western tale (and Oscar-winning movie). Outlaws Butch Cassidy, Harry Longabaugh and Etta Place, strike it rich ripping off banks and trains in the Western United States until a special posse is sent to hunt them down. They collect their loot, escape to the remote South American plains and buy an 800 acre ranch, determined to go straight. For several years they do, but then they are found out. They sell the ranch and eventually (after Etta departs) the bank robbing begins again. Their fate isn’t as clear as the movies might tell you, but their Patagonian estate in Cholila, just a few hours from Bariloche still stands and is a fine place to explore. So is the bar just a half mile from the bandits’ old house, filled with fascinating paraphernalia and excellent beer and empanadas.

9. Hike Los Glacieres Parque Nationale

Most of epic Patagonia can be experienced from the Chilean side of the Andes. But this Argentinian gem is an exception. Los Glacieres is an immense ice field, one of the largest in the world, feeding hundreds of glaciers throughout the region. The geography has created two distinct areas for adventurers. To the north are the Viedma lake and glacier, along with Mount Fitzroy and Cerro Torre, popular for hikers and climbers. Perito Moreno Glacier, one of the most popular attractions in Argentina can be found to the south, its channel draining into Lago Argentino. Perito Moreno stubbornly resists the warming trend that weakens its glacial siblings; gains and losses are in equilibrium for the time being. Visitors can join tours, ride horseback, camp, fish, and more.

10. Bust a Bronco in Cerro Castillo

You’ll recognize Cerro Castillo by the towering sculpture of a rearing horse at the big roundabout on the town’s outskirts. Perhaps its proximity to Torres del Paine is the reason, but this town has its own western charm. It has a long history in the wool shearing trade that remains a big part of the economy. Mule trains once carried wool across the pampas to Puerto Madryn. The town is also famous for its annual bronco busting horse festivals, called “Jineteadas.” The Jineteadas are divided into several parts throughout the year, one each weekend per month from December to March, where the local gauchos, Patagonian cowboys, compete. Time your visit accordingly to catch one of these great events.

There aren’t many places to stay, but we enjoyed the modest Riverline Lodge. Cozy rooms and a fine local restaurant.

Video - John Fedele

Explore Further

Read about the extensive travels of my Vagabond-Adventure through Patagonia in the Vagabond Journal and our journey around the world traveling all seven continents, never by jet, at Vagabond-Adventure.com.

For more suggestions, including additional information about the services and experiences throughout Patagonia, visit our Patagonian Recommendations. Recommendations are updated frequently. Leave any questions in the comments below or contact the Vagabond-Adventure to learn more. Travelers looking for expert guidance will want to contract with a local expert. I am grateful for the services of Luciano Galvez Martinez who did a wonderful job helping us through this vast land. He grew up in Puerto Natales, speaks excellent English and immensely knowledgeable.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/exploring-patagonia-ten-great-ways-to-experience-patagonia-with-recommendations

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Antarctica Expedition Ice, Wildlife & Southeren Seas

 Embark on an unforgettable Antarctica expedition, exploring vast ice landscapes, encountering penguins, seals, and whales, and cruising the Southern Seas. Experience pristine wilderness, dramatic glaciers, and breathtaking scenery in one of the world’s most remote and awe-inspiring destinations.

See more: https://vagabond-adventure.com/vagabond-journal/category/Antarctica

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The Roshi Khola, Nepal. Evidence of the summer monsoon

 Evidence of the summer monsoon—a season of extreme rainfall—remains visible along the BP Highway. This surge reclaimed the land, sweeping away sections of the roadway and nearby structures. It is a stark look at the fragile balance between critical infrastructure and the power of the natural world.

See more: https://vagabond-adventure.com/

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Exploring Morocco’s Northern Gems: Tangier, Tétouan & Chefchaouen

 

Day 244 - May 28, 2022 – Tangier - Day 1

There are at least ten theories about the origin of Tangier’s name, but my favorite comes from the ancient Greeks who called it Tinjis, a daughter of the Atlas, the titan who supported the vault of heaven near the Gibraltar Straits. Under the Romans the name morphed to Tingis then developed into the Portuguese Tânger, Spanish Tánger, and French Tanger, where it entered English as Tangier and Tangiers. The Arabic and modern Berber name for the town is Ṭanjah.

I love name origins. Don’t ask me why.

On our first full day in the city we walked out the door of the El Minzah Hotel (see Dispatch XXVIII - The Mysteries of Morocco ) to a beautiful day: 70° with a predicted high of 84º. A sweet breeze out of the Mediterranean and not a cloud.

The night before we had prowled the nearby streets filled with Tangerians walking with their children and enjoying the view above the sea. Clusters of young people milled and joked, teasing and flirting the way teens do. Cyn and I found a cafe with Parisian style awnings and small round tables inside and out. The place was brimming with men, smoking, drinking coffee (alcohol is not part of the Islamic experience), discussing and debating in rapid Arabic. There was not a woman to be found, and Cyndy stood out like a rabbit among wolves. But the waiter was kind and we detected not an ounce of misogyny.

Tangier is everything I imagined. Vibrant, but not crammed. Old but not dingy, with the sounds of Arabic music, French conversation, Spanish voices in our ears as we passed scrumptious Moroccan bakeries filled with baclava and tiny, fresh pastries that your palette knows will go perfectly with a cup of hot mint tea — a Moroccan speciality.

The city sits above multiple hills and when standing on one of the them the view of the Mediterranean and the city’s sweeping bay made me feel that, yes, I really was somewhere other than home; somewhere exotic, marinated in history. It was a place I could stay for a long time.

Back in the 1930s, the expatriate writer and composer Paul Bowles thought he was coming to Tangier on a lark. He never left. “I relish the idea that in the [Tangier] night,” he once said, “all around me in my sleep, sorcery is burrowing its invisible tunnels in every direction, from thousands of senders to thousands of innocent recipients. Spells are being cast…” There was something to that. To me Tangier fell in with that small group of international cities that were once entirely independent, a city-state, unencumbered by the nations that surrounded it: Trieste, Monte Carlo, Ephesus, Alexandria. Cities like this take on a flavor and confidence that is more cosmopolitan than most. Bowles called it the navel of the world.

As much as Bowles loved Tangier, he adored travel just as much. While we were exploring the American Legation, I caught another quote of his that captured precisely the attraction that world travel has for me. “I feel that life is very short, and the world is there to see, and one should know as much about it as possible. One belongs to the whole world, not just one part of it.”

We had found our way to the Legation — now officially known as the Tangier American Legation Institute for Moroccan Studies — by way of Tangier’s winding medinas. It and Morocco go way back. Morocco was the first country to officially recognize the United States when Sultan Mohammed ben Abdallah issued the proclamation on December 20, 1777 clarifying for the world that the U.S. was no longer a British colony.  The Legation building was gifted by the sultan to the U.S. government to serve as a diplomatic post, and it remained there for 140 years from 1821 to 1961. It was the first American property to exist outside the United States, and is the only U.S. National Historic Landmark in a foreign country.

The American Legation in the middle of Tangier. Morocco was the first country to accept the United States as a nation, not a colony. 

Later in the day, Youssef, our guide, led us through the part of town where local looms turned strung wool into fabrics of all kinds — pillow covers, blankets, rugs and wall hangings. These looms are the pre-industrial variety where wool threads of different colors are strung through the loom one by one. It is hard work, but the results are rich, colorful and unique.

Local looms turned strung wool into fabrics of all kinds.

But that wasn’t until after we first toured the city’s Portuguese battlements where we got an eye-popping view of the straits that sweep in a great white and blue arc along Tangier’s coastline.

Not far away we found a newly built museum dedicated entirely to Ibn Battuta, one of the world’s truly great travelers, at least if you read his remarkable book, A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Travelling, more commonly known as The Rihla. The museum is a beautiful, multi-story building with an open courtyard and excellent interactive descriptions of the man’s journeys. Battuta was born in the 14th century and departed Tangier on 2 Rajab, that’s the Muslim year 725 Anno Hegirae, or by the western calendar, 14 June 1325 AD). A descendant of the Lawata Berber tribe, Morocco’s native inhabitants, he was twenty-one when he set off on a pilgrimage to Mecca. Normally that would have taken sixteen months. Battuta didn’t return again for 24 years.

Abu Abdullah Muhammad ibn Battutah - Was he the world’s greatest traveler?

“I set out alone,” he wrote, “having neither fellow-traveller in whose companionship I might find cheer, nor caravan whose part I might join, but swayed by an overmastering impulse within me and a desire long-cherished in my bosom to visit these illustrious sanctuaries. So I braced my resolution to quit my dear ones, female and male, and forsook my home as birds forsake their nests. My parents being yet in the bonds of life, it weighed sorely upon me to part from them, and both they and I were afflicted with sorrow at this separation.”

It’s arguable Ibn Battuta travelled more than any other explorer in pre-modern history, 73,000 miles (and never by jet :-). He passed across northern Africa, deep into Egypt, explored most of the Middle East, headed into Persia, then north into Europe and East toward India and China. If true, his odyssey would have out-explored other great wanderers of the era like Zheng He , Marco Polo and Leo Africanus. Not all scholars agree that Battuta made everyone of these journeys, especially into eastern Europe and the far East. He apparently never kept notes and when he wrote his famous book after decades of travel he very likely fictionalized some encounters and plagiarized others. But even if he did, his book leaves a remarkable record of what much of the known world was like almost 700 years ago.

Near Ibn Battuta’s museum we heard a man playing his Oud, an ancient eleven-string Moroccan instrument, a kind of cross between a balalaika and guitar. We sat with him in a small, room off the square, shared some mint tea and watched his fingers fly over the strings. Big black glasses hung on his weather face. He didn’t speak a word and except for his fingers he hardly moved. He and the instrument were locked, two symbiotic creatures, each needing the other; each better together than apart.

A man plays the Oud near Ibn Battuta’s museum.

Early afternoon — Youssef sat us down for our first Moroccan meal together in a small cafe. We ordered and dug into tomatoes and olives and beets, calamari, and chicken tangine, and shrimp using khobz, coarse Moroccan bread, to place the food in our mouth instead of forks and spoons. It was all delicious. Moroccan cuisine is considered by many to be among the world's finest, and Cyndy and I weren’t going to disagree.  We had already witnessed  delicious food our first afternoon at the Diblu Restaurant, but with every meal the food only seemed to get better. Moroccan cooks specialize in spices, lots of them, including ras el hanout (a blend of 10 to 30 spices), coriander, cinnamon, cumin, saffron, dried ginger, and paprika. The combination of these flavors makes all the difference, IF you get them right.

Tangines are among one of Morocco’s more spectacular culinary gifts — stews of roasted lamb, fish or chicken with vegetables and spices of all kinds cooked in a cone-shaped terra cotta vessel that gives the meal its name. But you’ll also come across couscous with raisins or nuts and Harira cooked in a thick, tomato-based soup with chickpeas and meat traditionally served during Ramadan. During our explorations of the country, we found that every sector has its own specialties. But no matter where we ate, every meal was excellent, and healthy.

Day 246 May 30th 2022 – Asilah - Day 3

Food was still on our minds in the morning when we watched one of the cooks at the El Minzah making pancakes called msemen or rghaif, a kind of crepe you’re meant to enjoy for breakfast after you’ve rolled it with chocolate, honey or butter. One more delicious Moroccan concoction.

A cook at the El Minzah making pancakes called msemen.

That and some coffee and we were off to meet Jebriel and Youssef and head east toward the old town of Asilah where the Mediterranean Sea meets the Atlantic ocean. White beaches darted with colorful little umbrellas ran along the sandscape, but there was hardly a soul around except for a few teens enjoying the water.

Asilah is not far from Tangier and is famous as another fortress expanded by the Portuguese in its hey day, this time after it took the city in a massive sea assault in 1508. The fort is enormous and I could see the proof that Portugal had once been one of the world’s most formidable nations with a massive navy, a global trading system and colonies that extended from South America to the Far East. They remained formidable until the earthquake and tsunami of  1755 struck Lisbon and decimated the empire.

The ancient fortress city of Asilah where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic Ocean; a city lost in time; old double door knockers and local tapestries and artwork. (Photos - Chip Walter)

Though the fortress still stands at the edge of the sea, Asilah now is a tiny town made of walled and winding buildings hundreds of years old, a step back in time. The streets are narrow and both donkeys and the locals use them to navigate their way around. We walked past doorways with big wooden doors surrounded by high adobe walls. The doors, Youssef explained, usually have two knockers. One, larger and higher up at the center of the door and a second that was lower somewhere to the side and smaller. They existed to let people know what sort of person was knocking. Children and women generally clapped the smaller knockers and men usually wrapped the taller ones.

We were wandering the streets and the ancient battlements when I saw a man working inside the basement of one of the buildings. He stood at a big brick oven inside a floor of dirt, taking patted cakes of dough and passing them with a wooden paddle into the oven. He was making khobz, a grainy wheat dough patted with olive oil. Together they create a delicious soft crust as it is slow cooked in the stone oven. I bought a couple and we ate them fresh and hot right out of the oven. If only I could have gotten my hands on some tangine.

Making khobz, a grainy wheat dough patted with olive oil.

Later, we drove back toward Tangier. High hills rose up from the outskirts of downtown. It looked to me like the city was thriving. I checked. Its population is growing — pushing  1.3 million people in the metropolitan area.  I saw new rectangular houses and apartments outside on the city’s outskirts that reminded me of the Mediterranean-style apartments that are crowded everywhere in Athens - cement, square, awninged, brilliant white. In between were older homes where small balconies hung above tiny yards strung with sheets, shirts and dresses that furiously flapped in the dry wind. The people in this little sector of the human race were still living their lives not all that differently than Carthaginian laborers, or plebeians under Rome or sailors who had moved from Portugal or fleeing jews from Spain had in years and centuries past. Looked at the windows as we passed. Each had their own story. Each their own dreams, hopes, joys, sorrows and fears. And every day, the city itself evolved, powered by it all.

Day 247 - May 31st 2022 – To Tétouan, Chefchaouen and Fez

First thing the next morning, fortified with fresh msemen and apricot jam, strong Moroccan coffee and papaya, watermelon, pineapple and kiwi, we and our bags left Tangier behind and began winding by car to Fez, one of Morocco’s largest cities and the nation’s religious capital. Its history dates back 1100 years. But first we would stop by Tétouan, renown for its culture and art and one of Morocco’s many UNESCO World Heritage Sites. After that onto Chefchaouen, Morocco’s famed Blue City, also a UNESCO site. (Morocco has nine of them.)

Tétouan

Tétouan is a city of over 300,000 people that lies in a broad, brown valley that skirts the Mediterranean. Nomadic Berbers settled here, though it’s not precisely known when. Historians only know it was before Phoenician traders showed up 2900 years ago. For awhile, it was part of the Carthaginian empire until Romans arrived in the 4th century B.C and made it a colony under Augustus. The Berbers didn’t care for that and eventually drove them out of the nearby Rif mountains.

Many of the people in Tétouan still speak Spanish, partly because thousands of Spanish jews migrated to the city during the Spanish Inquisition in the 16th century when, under Catholic rulers Ferdinand and Isabella and the Spanish Inquisition, Jews were tortured, forced to be baptized Catholic or exiled from all lands controlled by Spain. The city is still sometimes nicknamed "Pequeña Jerusalén," Little Jerusalem.

Ironically, Spain itself came to control this part of Morocco when in 1913 it became the capital of the Spanish protectorate of Morocco. It remained the capital until 1956, when the region regained its full independence, another reason most Tétouans speak Spanish. It was here in this enclave that Francisco Franco raised his army, brought it in 1936 to Spain where he eventually took control of the country and ruled for nearly 40 years until turning it over to a new monarchy under the current king, Juan Carlos.

Despite its long Spanish history, Tétouen itself looks Moroccan down to its toes with its adobe buildings and broad, oak-lined boulevards. We weren't allowed to take pictures in the souks (marketplaces) but we navigated the tight alleys past cyclists, locals dickering over goods, and donkey-pulled carts, as we eyed the labyrinths of fresh fruit, open bowls of spices, iced fish, meats of all varieties, baskets of apricots, tomatoes, nuts, garlic, onions and carrots — all of it fresh and displayed beautifully by the family members who have been running the businesses here from the time in memorial.

“Through here come women who prepare the days meals,” said Youssef, “with fresh, local produce, meats and fish, herbs and of course pastries made with fresh dough, nuts and honey. It all sounded delicious to me, but time was short and we wanted to explore the city’s intimate Anthropology Institute because the relics inside date back to King Juba II, 200 BC, and later mosaics, sculpture, pottery and metal work, under Quito the Roman head of the region. I particularly loved an ancient sculpture of Hercules battling the titan Atlas.

With a few hundred years of ancient history crammed in my head, it was time to get to Chefchouen. Our car swung us away from the valley into the green hills that rose into the Rif mountains, ears popping. Soon were were passing through small, rolling farms of corn and peas and olives orchards winding generally south.

Chefchaouen

Chefchoan is indeed blue. You can see the village from a mile away, its adobe buildings clinging to a steep hill that rises above the flatlands below. We parked on the periphery and walked along the creek that flanks the east boundary of the town.

Everything about Chefchaouen is refreshing: the deep blue, sapphire, azure, lapis colored buildings and steps; the cold, gurgling creek where a local entrepreneur surrounded by every imaginable fruit expertly sliced chunks of chilled watermelon for us, singing a quiet song while he worked; the countless art galleries, woven tapestries and paintings that hung all around us until we reached the town plaza and the location of the old Kasbah and prison, built to keep Portuguese invaders at bay. Along with the Ghomaras of the region, and the Moriscos and Spanish and Portuguese Jews that settled in Morocco during the Spanish Inquisition, they fought to keep the Portuguese to the north. Ultimately they succeeded.

The Kasbah of Chechaouen functioned as a residence, arsenal, and this dreary prison.

Like Tétouan I could have spent days languorously exploring this intimate village, but we were on a schedule and I could only tag it as a place we would have be sure to return to some day. After another fine Moroccan lunch outside above the quiet square, we departed the Blue City and wound more deeply over and through the Rif mountains, past acres of olive orchards that Youssef explained are valued for the salty tang that makes its way from the sea-tainted ground into the olives you eat.

We drove for five hours through this country. Occasionally I would see a cluster of laughing children in a small village as we passed, or silos of grain, once a mule with a rider holding an enormous bundle of sticks precariously on the animal’s back. I'm not sure what sort of geography I expected to see as we passed through this part of Morocco, but it wasn’t the beautiful rolling landscape I was looking at. I felt at home, at ease, grateful.

Morocco’s salt-tanged olive orchards south of Chefchaouen. 

Still, after the long drive, we were happy to see the broad, low buildings ahead, the outskirts of Fez. We passed beneath a long, palm-treed boulevard and then bent toward the old city’s immense ramparts until at last Jabriel and our car took us through them and into Morocco’s holy, Islamic city and then to our rhyad hidden deep within the city’s labyrinthine medinas.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/exploring-moroccos-exotic-cities-tangier-tetouan-chefchaouen

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