The explorations of women have never gotten their proper due, and it’s time that changed. Women have partaken in some of the most spectacular exploratory feats in history. I realized I failed to make that point in my earlier article The 10 Greatest Travel Adventure Books of All Time, terrific as those books are. This article is a small attempt to remedy that shortcoming.
See more: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/best-womens-travel-books
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
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?
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.
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
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/
