Rays from the setting sun spill through the cracked windowpane of an open garage. The tiny dust particles catch in the soft light, swirling ethereally around cars used in the time of our great grandfathers. Phonographs, paraffin lanterns, antique water pitchers, wooden wheel barrels, time appears to have stopped long ago. However, its 2008 and one of Uruguay’s oldest estancias near the town of Carmelo is in its sixth year running as a refurbished luxury bed and breakfast.

The estate dates back to 1732 when an esteemed Spanish architect built the nearby Narbona chapel. In the early 1900s Italian immigrants moved in, bringing with them vines transported from the best terroirs in Europe and the tradition of making delicious cheeses. In 2002, owner and developer Pacha Canton had the vision to refurbish and bring back to life the historic estancia. He found some of the best interior designers, staff, and cheese and wine makers, to emulate the life and flavours of the early 1900s.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

The rooms adornment of crystal chandeliers, plush white cushions, and simple elegance borrowed from another time is important but it’s the spectacular food that sets the place apart from just another up-scale boutique hotel. Behind the scenes of the relaxing, elegant bed and breakfast, there are people artfully making fresh pastas, artesian cheeses and Tannat. The gastronomy of Narbona is what makes the place so interesting, the history and work behind each delicious morsel and drop of wine.

The view from the two guest rooms overlooks Narbona’s greatest asset: the vineyards. Nine hectares of the emblematic Uruguayan grape, Tannat, stretch out over the rolling hills into the horizon. While Narbona does produce a Viognier and Pinto Noir, its Tannat is arguably the best.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

Carmelo is one of Uruguay’s biggest wine producing regions and its wines have special characteristics due to it’s unique geographic location. It is located just two kilometres from Punta Gorda, where the Río de Uruguay ends and the Río de la Plata begins. The temperature of the Río de la Plata at this latitude is significantly warmer than anywhere else due to the proximity of the Río Paraná estuary, which brings warm water from the centre of South America.

While Tannat grapes are picked in the middle of March in other parts of Uruguay, they are not picked until the end of the month in Carmelo due to the warmer river temperatures. These extra 15 days allow the fruits to further mature, thus producing wines of higher quality.

Other factors of course play a part in distinguishing the Tannat from Narbona to those of others, from the calcite rich soils to the deeply rooted tradition of hand picking the grapes.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

Uruguay, the small country that it is, is actually the world’s largest producer of the grape. Originally from the south-western part of France, it grows well in South American soil. Even though it best pairs with Uruguay’s favourite food, beef, Narbona’s infamous parmesan cheese can hold its own against the rather tannic, deeply coloured red wine.

Jorge Jaen, the master cheesemaker, has been working at Narbona since its conception and before then he made cheese with his Uncle for 20 years. Each day, about 3,000 litres of milk are taken from the 100 cows on the property and made into fine quality mozzarella, colonia and parmesan cheese.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

The parmesan cheese from Narbona is special and has a unique flavour because unlike most, it is guarded in the cooling rooms for four years. Technically parmesan cheese can be stored for just 10-12 months and even most other high quality parmesan cheeses in Argentina are only stored for two years. The extra time sitting on a shelf in a temperature-controlled room intensifies the hard Italian cheese’s pungent flavour and flaky texture.

For those interested Jaen, or his apprentice, will give tours of the tambo. One can see the hoses that pump the milk fresh from the cows, the sterilised rooms where the fermentations are added to make the different cheeses and the salt baths where the cheeses bob around for days on end. The tour ends with a tasting in the storage rooms where the smell from the rounds and rounds of maturing queso is so intense it’s almost intoxicating.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

Back in the restaurant’s kitchen, the chefs pair the cheeses with their culinary soulmate: fresh pastas. Egg fettuccines, ham and ricotta stuffed sorrentinos or spinach and cheese canelones, nothing is more delicious than hearty servings of homemade pasta with freshly grated parmesan cheese fit for an Italian king.

The menu at the restaurant is simple – pasta dishes, platters of meats and cheeses or salads straight from the organic garden – yet decadent: very much in tune with the rest of Narbona. It is a place to relax and enjoy the simple things in life of the very highest quality.

Photo by: Sanra Ritten

Narbona could have been the country house of an aristocratic family of South America in the early 20th century. So be warned, don’t go there with a peasants (ie backpackers) change purse. For more information or to make reservations check out www.fincanarbona.com .

It’s long past midnight high up in paradise, and Atilio Csik’s hand-rolled cigarette has cast a wispy haze across his mountain cabin. Atilio washes down the smoke with a gulp of red wine, then continues to regale three eager city slickers with a patient profile of his life in the mountains.

He’s no raconteur – preferring to explain the right of public access to rivers and lakes rather than to wax on about the adventures that have coloured his 28 years in the mountains – but he plainly likes conversation. At 1:30am, with only a few amber lights still glowing, Atilio finishes his wine, and sets off to bed. He will wake up long before sunrise the next morning, setting off on one of his occasional journeys out of the mountains and in to town.

Photo By: Eric Benson

Every day of the year, Atilio’s home, a wooden cabin perched above the Río Azul, is open to throngs of hikers seeking a warm meal, mate, and a place to the rest their heads. Refugio Cajón del Azul, the public name of Atilio’s home, is set against the startling beauty of the Andean Comarca of the 42nd Parallel, a mountainous area west of El Bolsón and Lago Puelo that has become of one Argentina’s most treasured wilderness sanctuaries.

In 1960, the Club Andino Piltriquitron (CAP) was founded to help open these mountains to those who felt their call most strongly. CAP began with only a few refugios (the name given to these South American alpine hiking huts) but has now swelled to become a confederation of 11 with a network of trails crisscrossing the peaks and valleys of the region. Most of the CAP refugios are privately owned and operated, gaining entry into the CAP network based on their adherence to the group’s governing philosophies, which emphasise conservation and low-impact, non-exploitative, alpine tourism.

Photo By: Eric Benson

On an early December trip to the region, I made the trek up Piltriquitron, carelessly underestimating the snow and freezing winds at the top. I arrived back at the refugio with a growling stomach and numb fingers. Inside, I found a crackling fire, oven-cooked pizza, and the refugio’s own home-brewed beer.

Camping is all well and good, but stumbling off the frigid summit of a mountain into a cabin where you can get a hearty pizza and a few pints strikes me as the ideal mix of stark nature and rugged civilisation.

My experience in Atilio Csik’s refugio, Cajón del Azúl, was no different. Cajón del Azul lies a three-hour trek from Wharton, a place that is nothing more than a four-way intersection an hour’s bus ride from the centre of El Bolsón. The hike up is spectacular – the trail winds along the side of the strikingly turquoise Rio Azul as it cascades down from its glacial source.

Photo By: Adam Bloch

Thirty minutes into the hike, you find yourself making a perilous crossing of two bridges that, in my mind, have come to define the word ‘rickety’ (think ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’, subtract a few planks from the bridge and stop worrying about the crocodiles).

Once you cross these treacherous obstacles, you find yourself deep in the forest, occasionally peeking out at the river and the rest of the Comarca range as you make the steady ascent towards the refugio.

The final approach to Cajón de Azul evokes a sense of fairy-tale wonder. You’ve been navigating perilous bridges, scrambling over rock faces, and trudging up and down an endless series of heavily wooded hills, and suddenly you find yourself in a bucolic clearing with a vegetable garden, a bright green lawn, and an immaculate log cabin.

Photo By: Eric Benson

It has a perfect, somewhat eerie beauty. When I knocked on the door, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a grinning wolf dressed in an old woman’s rumpled garb.

Cajón del Azul does have its own grinning wolf, but he’s of the most benevolent sort. Atilio, with his wizened face and full white beard, has a mythic air about him that is reinforced by the romantic arc of his life story.

The scion of Hungarian immigrants in Buenos Aires, Atilio left the bustle of the city behind at the age of 27, purchased the property on which Cajón del Azul currently sits, and began a life that of rugged isolation that would put Henry David Thoreau to shame. For 12 years, he lived exclusively off the land, raising crops, livestock, and his own family, before converting his home into a refugio in 1992.

Like Refugio Piltriquitron, Cajón del Azul is a careful mix of wilderness and bare bones humanity. There’s electricity, but it depends on a series of old car batteries. The lights in the central room range from dim to dimmer as the batteries slow lose their charge. Every few hours there is a brief blackout before Atilio or one of his staff members hooks a new battery into the system. Then, the flickering towards darkness resumes again.

Photo By: Eric Benson

There are hot showers at Cajón del Azul, but they’re only available for a few hours at night. The oven is wood burning, and specialises in pouring out rich stews and warm bread – the perfect complements to the starry mountain night.

This fairy tale existence, however, is in peril. Tourism to the area is unrestricted, and in the height of the January season, Atilio has found himself playing host to as many as 280 guests. It’s his policy never to turn a hiker away, a decision that reflects his idealistic hospitality, but also results in overcrowding.

Lest anyone think that financial concerns drive this inclusiveness, Atilio says that when the place is packed, he lowers prices if he doesn’t think the experience is up to par. I didn’t need to hear this to know that the bottom line had little to do with the workings of Cajón del Azul.

When my hiking companion asked if he could buy one of the Cajón del Azul T-shirts that Atilio and his three staff members were wearing, Atilio gave a soft smile and replied that he regretted that he couldn’t please my friend, but that ‘he didn’t like engaging in that sort of commerce’. My friend was never so pleased to have been refused service.

Despite this anti-commercial posture, Cajón del Azul and the rest of the CAP refugios have embraced tourism even as worries mount that the growing numbers may compromise the area’s splendour.

Photo By: Eric Benson

“The era of massive tourism coincides with the era of greatest risk to the forest,” Atilio said in our late night conversation – he pointed to the increasing number of fires that have torched the region in the last 15 years, many due to human carelessness, and to the growing incursion of foreign plants that has crowded out fragile local species.

Protecting the Comarca from the full brunt of human development relies on the continued collaboration of public and private forces. All the land in the Comarca is privately owned, much of it by cattle and sheepherders who use the high plateau as pasture area. Yet, all of the land in the Comarca is under the stewardship of the provincial government. If a landowner in the Comarca wants to do so much as fell a tree on his property, he must consult with a provincial officials before legally carrying it out. It means a lot of hassle, but also a real commitment to conservation.

Even in this carefully controlled zone, the balance of tourism and nature is a constant concern. In the last ten years, three new mountain houses have cropped up within an hour’s walk of Cajón del Azul, threatening to inflate the already high number of visitors.

One of the new mountain houses, Refugio El Retamal, is a year-round CAP refugio that is a kind of sister facility to Cajón del Azul. The other two houses, La Playita and La Tronconada, occupy a more shadowy area in the Comarca landscape.

Photo By: Eric Benson

Neither La Playita nor La Tronconada has been granted entry into the CAP, and both advertise their presence with the commerce-promoting signs that Atilio shuns. One of the bylaws of the CAP is that refugio owners should ‘impede the creation of other similar mountain houses in the areas serviced by already existing refugios ’. It would be silly to cast the owners of these new mountain huts as crass capitalists, but their decision to do business on the mountain poses another risk to the delicate balance between access and exploitation.

While the Comarca is an increasingly popular summer destination, it’s worth remembering that its exposure to humanity is limited almost completely to a two-month window. In the winter, Atilio spends his time in almost complete isolation at Cajón del Azul, working on carpentry projects and relaxing amid the snowy splendour. The only interruptions to his solitude are visits from his daughter and the friends and neighbours who occasionally make the snowy trek from El Bolsón. It’s rare though, that Atilio sees more than 30 people in these winter months.

The fairy tale charm of the refugios of the Comarca stems from the solitude that they maintain even as tens, even hundreds, of hikers file in and out of their walls. There were 40 other guests staying with me during my night at Cajón del Azul, but as the lights flickered and the last wisps of smoke drifted off of Atilio’s cigarette, it could have been the dead of winter. These mountains, threatened as they are by human incursion, have the spectacular power to make you feel small without feeling lonely. Here, I’ve experienced joyous solitude amid the pleasures of company – a feeling that maybe only a wooden cabin on the side of a mountain can bring.

That’s the problem with small towns: the lack of choice. The long, enthralling drive from Salta had left us peckish, but a lack of options meant we had to wait for the curiously named ‘Los 3 Chinos’ restaurant to open at who-knows-what hour. No choice but to watch the handful of village kids spill onto the dirt football pitch. No choice but to watch lightning flash innocuously above the vast mountains. No choice but to place our beer on the jagged mud wall and amble onto the arena for a kick of the ball.

We had joined Ruta 40 that afternoon in Cachi, and made a tough decision not to stay in that beautiful, spotless town of cobbled streets and adobe houses whose low roofs ducked modestly beneath the grandeur of the sierra. We had given the romantic evening air of Cachi’s Plaza 9 de Julio a miss, and with it the chance of seeing the dying sun bathe the façade of Iglesia San José in deepening shades of gold.

Photo By: Elizabeth Clancy

But we did not regret swapping this for the play of morning light in Molinos, after the street-game laughter of boys and girls had given way to peaceful slumber in a $30 hospedaje. Taking its cue from Cachi, Molinos cast a calming spell that remained unbroken as we followed the Río Calchaquí south to Cafayate.

The winding, crushed-rock road commanded a slow pace, ideal for soaking up scenery and spotting roadside hitchers such as the San Carlos farmhand off home for siesta or the two girls escorting their wizened abuelita to a doctor’s appointment.

Photo By: Elizabeth Clancy

Along the route, the river kept the valley floor green and fresh, where elsewhere the elements had battered rock into otherworldly shapes, most notably the pink arrowheads of the Quebrada de las Flechas.

In Cafayate, we ditched the car in favour of bikes hired for the cost of an empanada, back-tracking up Ruta 40 to taste limey torrontés wine at the 150-year-old Bodega La Banda before a sobering dip in the retro town pool.

Where Molinos appealed for its simplicity, Cafayate was full of places to stay and reasons to linger. Indigenous stallholders sold everything from ceramics and Andean rugs to ponchos woven from the wool of the baby llamas we would later see roaming the puna between the mining town of San Antonio de los Cobres and the shimmering salt pans of the Salinas Grandes.

Photo By: Elizabeth Clancy

Instead of having to wait for the 3 Chinos – who, incidentally, never showed up – we could take our pick of places to delve into north-eastern cuisine.

Upon good advice, we ended up with local malbec and barbecued baby goat at a packed house at El Patio, where dreams evoked by the timeless landscapes were sung over the relentless strumming of a guitar.

Photo By: Elizabeth Clancy

‘Patagonia’s most present characteristic is its endless expanse of nothingness, both an attraction and a lesson in boredom for the overland traveller’, I read as the plane veered its course towards El Calafate.

Having found a direct flight out of Ushuaia for the same price as a 2-day bus/ weather-dependent ferry/bus/overnight stop in ‘wind-pummelled service town’/bus option, I had, happily, forfeited the first leg of the Ruta 40 that starts in Río Gallegos.

Instead, watching the ill-defined gravel road snake its path through the wide, brown Patagonian plains proved no better introduction to the utter sense of isolation that both the route and its setting inspire.

And anyways, I’m told that this is where it starts to get exciting. From here the road runs parallel to the Andean cordillera (range), crossing some of Argentina’s most inaccessible parts and passing by some of its archaeological and geographical gems.

Photo By: Kate Stanworth

None of these sparkle more brilliantly than the glaciers around El Calafate. This lake-side town is text-book ‘tourist’ – overpriced, overcrowded and tacky – it’s the nearby Perito Moreno and Los Glaciares national parks that pull the crowds.

By day the streets clear as visitors are either day-tripping to the parks or cramming themselves into the main street’s put upon supermarket, frantically stocking up on biscuits for the long journey out of town.

Obviously, you don’t come all this way not to go on a glacier safari. Taking a boat up close to the 60m-high wall of Perito Moreno or overlooking the snout of Upsala glacier – South America’s largest – it is hard to find the best camera angle or the right word to do the hunks of ice justice. Time to wheel out the big-gun adjectives – magnificent, awe-inspiring, breath-taking – that sort of thing.

Photo By: Kate Stanworth

A three-hour side-step by bus takes you towards the jaggedy, granite peaks of the Fitz Roy Range and into the hills and meadows of El Chaltén. I found myself happy as a pig in clover in this magical little place – climbing mountains, camping in the wild, swimming in glacial lakes – this is the kind of setting where even the grubbiest of souls can get a good spring clean.

A week later I arrive back in El Calafate. My R40 adventure was about to begin.

There are three ways to tackle the road: hire a car (requires patience and cash, lots of – this is a very long drive and this option is frighteningly expensive); go on an organised four-day road trip (Overland Patagonia offer the trip from Nov – Mar for $950, food not included); or take the cheapest option and buy a bus ticket for $220 with El Chaltén Travel bus company – quite literally the only one that dares to go where others think it’s best not.

Divided into two 12-hour journeys, the first runs to Perito Moreno (town), where everyone, very cosily, stays at the same hostel that is booked and paid for when you by the ticket. Then you take another bus that heads toward the blessedly (trust me, it will seem this way when you get there) tarred and oh so sealed highways around El Bolsón, and then Bariloche.

Photo By: Kate Stanworth

Two hours into the first journey, I’d seen three Australian water pumps, two cars, a whole lot of steppe (shrub like plant that covers the ground) and the emergence of a battle of the wills on board the bus. Rude Dutch man opens roof window, it is hot and he needs to cool off. Nice French lady is being rained on by dust pouring in from outside, she shuts the window. Round One…

… Round Seven. I cast my mind back to a friend in Buenos Aires who laughed out loud in my face when I told him of my plans to take this part of the Ruta 40. With an irritating self-righteousness he had informed me that ‘they don’t have any buses that can manage that road, you have to go round it via Comodoro Rivadavia and Puerto Madryn on the Atlantic coast’. Ha! Look who has the last laugh now friend, I say to myself, seven-hour bottom ache just setting in and finding it hard to manipulate my lips into a smile, let alone shut them, after having inhaled so much dust.

Just in time before the rocking in chair/tugging at hair stage of boredom took hold, we make a stop at a rickety wooden estancia (farm), one of the very first I’d seen in over eight hours of travel. We all feast on home-baked (no shops round here) pie, go to the loo and scan the barren, dusty land looking for life. Nope, none there.

In fact, the only signs I spotted were the elderly couple who run the cafe, an ominous cow’s skull presiding over the doorway and a couple of pet monsters, sorry guanaco’s (deer-like creature native to these parts) – one of which attacked me and sent me running back to the dreaded bus.

Later that night, we arrived in the pretty, lake-side oasis of Los Antiguos – world-famous for its annual cherry festival. With a sense of timing that so often accompanied me on my travels, I had arrived a day late: cherry town one day, cherry-pip town the next. But, thankfully, by the time I left town I had easily managed to devour my fair share of the glorious red fruit.

Trips to see the rock art at the ‘Cuevas de Las Manos’ (Hand Caves) can be arranged from here or from Perito Moreno (town) which is just a half hour away and back on the R40. Dating back to 7370BC, these polychrome rock paintings cover recesses in the near vertical walls with thousands of imprints of human hands. One of them has six fingers! See if you can spot it.

Photo By: Kate Stanworth

Heading back to the hostel in Perito Moreno that evening, I catch sight of a big painted wall on the main street. The picture is of a man waving his fist triumphantly in the air under the words ‘Perito Moreno is radical!’ It doesn’t take me long to realise that this is political propaganda, not a message from the local tourist board. Luckily, the bus north leaves early.

The second leg of the journey was much like the first – lots of steppe and few cars. Interestingly, I saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road.

Good reading intentions were soon set aside. My ‘Complete History of Latin America’ and my friend’s copy of Cervantes in Spanish quickly found their rightful places wedged between the seats with the biscuit crumbs. It was time to surrender to the onboard entertainment programme, this was no time to be fussy. A quasi-religious teen-snowboarding movie and two Vin Diesel films coloured/ruined the journey, but nicely passed the time.

That evening we pulled up in the town of El Bolsón – fruity, beery and lovely. After a couple of weeks spent drinking raspberry juice and working on a chacra (farm), it was time take the last leg of the R40 to Mendoza via Bariloche. Here, the road is like any other and several bus companies do the job.

Leaving in the late afternoon we traveled far enough north to see the sun set over Chile’s perfect conical volcanoes. If there is one thing you remember about Patagonia, it’s the sky. Endless streaks of amber and red soon disappeared into the twilight, revealing yet another night’s sky dripping with stars.

Nearing Mendoza the next morning, I woke to a syrupy-sweet coffee and the awesome spectacle of mighty Aconcagua – the tallest peak in the Western Hemisphere – looming in the distance.

For El Chaltén bus timetables www.thetravellersguru.com
For Ruta 40 Travel Packages www.overlandpatagonia.com

Aliens live among us. No, I’m not being euphemistic, referring to the ghastly tourists who swarm upon Buenos Aires and indeed the rest of South America in the hope of ‘finding themselves’. I am talking actual extraterrestrial, Encounters del Tercer Tipo, high possibility of ‘probing’, aliens. And they are right here in Argentina. Specifically Córdoba.

Photo By: Olivia Ketch

Over the town of Capilla del Monte, amongst the gorgeous sierras, where condors swoop, gauchos are real gauchos, and alfajor factories make the air sweet, looms Mount Uritorco, an ‘energetic center’, towards which many UFOs are said to gravitate.

Everywhere in Capilla, on office walls, are posted photographs of ‘sightings’. Everyone here has seen a UFO, or believes whole-heartedly in their existence. On 9th January 1986, the mountain became the subject of much scrutiny when 11-year-old Gabriel Gomez and his grandmother Esperanza saw a large luminous object in the sky. According to official accounts, the following morning they found a huge fire and soot imprint, 122m in length and 64m in width, on the side of Mt Pajarillo, near Uritorco and forming part of the same small mountain chain.

Since that day, Mount Uritorco has become one of the most mythically important locations in the world, written about in thousands of papers, on the internet, in books, and of course, visited by thousands upon thousands of people who come searching for enlightenment, exercise, and maybe a peek at ET.

Photo By: Olivia Ketch

Rare light visions have been seen around Uritorco for centuries. One rational explanation for the phenomenon could be that under certain meteorological conditions, the rock, rich in quartz, favours electric discharges of sparks, also known as St Elmo’s fire. Capilla itself is otherwise an ordinary small colonial town, so clearly the tourist board is monopolizing on their claim to fame.

During my investigation, I managed to get an audience with Jorge Suarez, the director of the UFO Information Centre in Capilla del Monte. What struck me most was the zen-like quality to his character. He has written five books on Mount Uriturco, and has studied UFOs for over 20 years – a veritable alien-guru. Open-minded skeptic that I am, it was hard to swallow everything he said with a straight face: “The angels in the Bible were aliens? Oh of course – they were only given wings in pictures because people couldn’t think how else they would be flying…”

Right.

I asked him what he thought about the theory that extraterrestrial creatures have built a city called Erks under the mountain, which serves as the base for their operations on Earth, and is also apparently the gateway to the fifth dimension. He paused before admitting that although there is no proof, unlike the watertight grainy photos and first, second or sometimes third-hand testimonials for the UFOs, he does personally believe in it.

Photo By: Olivia Ketch

The mountain stands at just under 2,000m, so obviously it’s not Everest. At the departure point for the hike, on the outskirts of the town, street vendors offer stones with special ‘healing powers’ and dream catchers hang from the trees. This is not a place for philistines. Pay your $10 entry fee and leave your skepticism at the base of the mountain. Signs painted on the rock pointing upwards to the hill might as well say ‘Enlightenment lies this way, brave soldier, trek on’.

My hiking companion, a sprightly, energetic Argentine, actually confessed that he hadn’t wanted to bring his credit cards with him in case Uritorco’s ‘magnetic forces’ wiped all of his information. Cue lots of jokes about how the Erks were funding their earthly operations. And then an awkward silence in which everyone resolved to check their bank balance as soon as they got back down the mountain.

Despite the dreamy, hippy vibe, the climb isn’t in any way laid back. It’s a hefty four-hour trek, though my companion had me bounding up the rocks rather impressively for the first hour or so. He lost me when it started getting a bit more difficult, preferring to clamber on ahead, thoughts of nirvana no doubt spurring him on.

He left me, be damned ten-a-day smoker that I am, struggling up the rocks, falling over, and at one point getting so frustrated with the stupid path that I gave way to a furious hissy fit in which I pounded my walking stick on the ground and shouted rude words into the ether. A passing marathon runner advised me to ‘Have a rest, Señorita’. Ever the lady-like hiker, I responded, quite truthfully, that I was ‘quite all right; it’s just the path is pissing me off!’

Photo By: Olivia Ketch

The sierras themselves are jaw-dropping. And quiet… Every so often I would stop, catch my breath, promise ten-fold to quit smoking, and take in the view. I felt detoxed, fresh-aired, liberated, at one with nature, and very, very sweaty. Still no aliens though.

The summit is unassuming; a cross marks the highest point, festooned with bits of material, trinkets, a small shoe, a sleeping dog. I scanned the horizon for a good half an hour, double-checking every bird, every cloud: literally every flying object. Alas, I could identify every single one. So down we went, where I fell over some more, had another hissy fit, and got left behind again by my extremely keen Argentine hippy.

I once read an interview with Bill Bryson in which he commented that one of the best things about being a travel writer was that even if nothing happens, you can usually write something about it. With this in mind, I am slightly less disappointed that my strangest encounter in Córdoba was with a chivalric Peruvian businessman. Maybe the timing was wrong, maybe there was too much light and I wasn’t far enough into the wilderness. Maybe, oh just maybe, they don’t quite exist…

But I have an open mind. Ish. And I will always wonder when I look up into the sky at night, is the verdad really out there? As Suarez maintains, it is a bit ludicrous for human beings to believe we are alone in the cosmos. But, as he also mentions, the Earth itself is a ‘wonder’, so why do we need to look elsewhere?

Capilla del Monte, four hours from Córdoba city. See www.capilladelmonte.gov.ar for more information

Centro de Informes Ovni (UFO Information Centre)
Int. Cabus 237
Capilla Del Monte
Córdoba
03548 482 485

See www.ciouritorco.com.ar for more information or email cioluz@hotmail.com .

Related

Inexpicata – The Journal of Hispanic Ufology

Just ten minutes ago the white sands of Playa Cerro Chato were dotted with a few beach blankets and sunbathers. However, the people begrudgingly head for shelter as the infamous winds in the national park Santa Teresa gain momentum and waves of sand tumble down the coast.

While most people head to Punta del Este, Punta del Diablo, or Cabo Polonio those adventurous few who are not deterred by unreliable bus companies and useless park rangers head to the blue waters and soft rolling dunes of Santa Teresa, in the Rocha province in Uruguay. Each summer visitors are drawn to its beaches and the park’s other main attraction, it’s namesake.

Until 80 years ago these same unceasing winds and shifting sands hid one of Uruguay’s greatest historical treasures, on a perch not far from Playa Cerro Chato: the Fortaleza Santa Teresa.

Photo By Sanra Ritten

The pentagonal shaped fortress, started by the Portuguese in 1762 and finished by the Spanish years later, was the site of battles between the Spanish and Portuguese, the Spanish and English, The Spanish and indigenous tribes, the Uruguayans and the Portuguese and even between the Uruguayans themselves. During the Uruguayan Civil War, ‘Guerra Grande’, the ‘Blancos’, or conservatives, took refuge in the impenetrable enclosure.

Finally, the fortress was abandoned, pillaged and left to the mercy of snakes, spiders and sand.

Uruguayan historian Horacio Arredondo rediscovered and began restoring the nearly buried fortress in 1928. The Santa Teresa National Park is now a rustic beach resort of sorts, although you won’t find fancy hotels, reliable electricity or hot water in most parts. The disorganisation and lack of maintenance is all part of its charm and serves as a built-in crowd control.

Photo By Sanra Ritten

The park is in the Rocha province between the fishing town of Punta del Diablo and the beach of La Coronilla. Its main attraction is its pristine coast. The beaches extend for 15km and are divided by curving shorelines and rock formations.

The Playa Cerro Chato is one of the smaller beaches, somewhat shielded from the fierce winds. This is one of the better beaches for those seeking solitude, or for those who are camping nearby and are too lazy to walk any further. (Choose your campgrounds wisely, the park is expansive and a lot of walking is involved if you want to get from one area to another.) Playa Cerro Chato is also popular with the local fishermen, who lounge all day on the rocks waiting for their catch.

The park’s northernmost beach is its most popular and crowded. Playa de la Mosa, or Waitress’ Beach, reputedly got it’s name because the decapitated body of a waitress washed up on it’s shores in the early 20th century. Now it’s the site of a Brazilian themed bar, the only one within walking distance of Fortaleza Santa Teresa. Hence, it’s the centre of activity. Although you can’t count on the bar to have good food or even water, they do sell the best Uruguayan beer, Pilsen, ice cold which you can enjoy under the shade of the bamboo and leaf umbrellas.

Photo By Sanra Ritten

If you want to hit the waves but couldn’t fit your long board on the Rutas del Sol bus-ride-from-hell, there is a little stand beside the bar where you can rent surfboards and boogie boards. The surf isn’t world-class, but compared to the rest of Uruguay, it’s not too bad. Kite surfing is also very popular at the park’s beaches but for you’ll need to bring your own if you want to partake in the action.

There are several campgrounds in the park, the two most obvious options for the proximity to the beach are La Moza and Cerro Chato. In the summer months La Moza resembles a refugee camp – but with beer and lively music. Uruguayans, Brazilians and Argentines, who all once spilt blood on the same earth, camp side by side in the overcrowded party central camping.

Camping Cerro Chato is less popular and a much better choice for those seeking peace and quiet. It is a little farther from the park’s amenities – the grocery store, pizza place, ice cream parlour and telephone booth – but you will have much more privacy.

The lack of services, like a tourism office, hot water, and electricity for example, are reflected in the prices. The cheapest campgrounds are about 18 Argentine pesos a night for a parcel that can hold up six people. The next option up includes campgrounds with lights and running hot water, in La Moza, which are about 27 Argentine pesos a night. However, this also means you will have to greet packs of Brazilian men every time you poke your head out of the tent first thing in the morning. Which might not be a bad thing.

Photo By Sanra Ritten

If you don’t want to rough it, then the best options are the Cabañas Londrinas. They provide a living/dining room with a wood burning heater, a kitchen complete with a refrigerator, stove, cupboards and, most luxurious of all, hot water. Even if you imagine that you don’t need to bathe in hot water during the sweltering summer months, it will come as a surprise that after the subtropical bouts of torrential rain you will, in fact, want to take a hot shower.

The various cabañas range from $60 to $200 a night during the high season, before the prices drop dramatically from March until December.

While the Fortaleza Santa Teresa is not the easiest place to vacation, considering the distance from Buenos Aires and its lack of a tourism infrastructure, the beautiful beaches and walks through the eucalyptus, pine and palm trees are well worth the trek.

By Eric Benson

Nestled in a river valley with the granite peaks of Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitzroy looming in the distance, the Patagonian village of El Chaltén has quickly become one of the most sought-after spots in the region. Yet despite it’s recent surge in popularity, El Chaltén remains pristine – an idyllic counterpoint to its bustling, more tourist-centred cousins like El Calafate and Bariloche.

Click to view slide show – Photos courtesy of patagonia-aventura.com and fitzroyexpediciones.com.ar

It’s not only its quaint size that sets El Chaltén apart; it’s the village’s unique location inside the boundaries of Los Glaciers National Park. “El Chaltén is the only place in Patagonia where the mountains, the forest, and glaciers converge. Bariloche has forests and mountains, other areas have mountains and glaciers, but El Chaltén has all three,” says Alberto Del Castillo, director of Fitzroy Expeditions and Patagonia Aventura, a longtime resident of El Chaltén, and a bona-fide mountaineering legend – he’s summited both of the area’s august peaks: Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitzroy.

Those peaks cast a mythic spell over the region, and are El Chaltén’s most prominent claims to fame. Notoriously dangerous due to the harsh Patagonian winds that keep climbers wary of storms on even the most seemingly pacific of days, Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitzroy anchor the landscape of Los Glaciers National Park. Neither mountain was summitted until the 1950s, and many in the mountaineering community believe that Cerro Torre’s heights were not successfully reached until 1974. These are peaks that punish false steps with free falls, and reaching their summits requires both world-class expertise and the good favor of the mountain gods.

Photos courtesy of patagonia-aventura.com and fitzroyexpediciones.com.ar

While conquering Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitzroy is out of reach for mere mortals, all who set foot in El Chaltén can appreciate the dramatic beauty of Los Glaciers National Park. An expansive network of trails winds through the park’s wooded hills, providing views of mountains, glaciers, and over 100 species of birds that call the area home. Unlike other Patagonian towns, all of the trekking surrounding El Chaltén can be accessed simply by strapping on a pack and heading for the hills – no vehicles required.

El Chaltén may be an international Mecca for trekkers and climbers, but it’s a relatively new spot. It was founded in 1985 not for its proximity to the mountains and forests, but as a settlement staking Argentina’s claim to the Lago del Desierto region, then contested with Chile. (An international jury ruled in favor of Argentina’s claim in 1994.) Mountaineers quickly turned the town into much more than a border marker, yet despite its international flavour – during the summer months, there are more foreigners than Argentines – El Chaltén retains a strong sense of its native culture. “The people in El Chaltén feel very Argentine,” says Del Castillo, “but they’re not very nationalistic. We don’t get too caught up in things like politics and the presidential elections. We live in the real world down here, not the virtual world of the cities.”

This ‘real world’ that Del Castillo loves is on view year-round in El Chaltén, but it’s the quieter months that he prefers. “Patagonia has the reputation for having a terrible climate, but in truth, it’s nothing like Greenland, or Alaska, or other places far in the north. I lived in El Chaltén year-round for 14 years, and winter is my favourite time there. It’s very isolated and beautiful.”

Photos courtesy of patagonia-aventura.com and fitzroyexpediciones.com.ar

For those souls for whom sub zero temperatures and snow drifts sound less than idyllic, Del Castillo recommends the autumn – especially April and May – when the forest turns a vibrant red, the air is crisp and pure, and stream of visitors has slowed to a trickle.

While the winter and autumn are likely to remain the province of year-round residents and a few intrepid visitors, the high season has been getting ever more popular. El Chaltén’s relative isolation – it doesn’t have a major airport like El Calafate or Bariloche, and the parameters of the National Park set geographical limits on its expansion – has kept growth under control. Yet, longtime residents like Del Castillo have grown worried that the booming tourist trade could prove to be too much of a good thing. “I’d prefer if El Chaltén didn’t grow to the size of El Calafate or Bariloche, but there are really no controls here on tourism, so the growth is, in many ways, out of our hands,” he says. “I’d like there to be a limited, controlled tourism – one with a set capacity for the town and the National Park.”

While Del Castillo’s concerns suggest there may be challenges ahead for El Chaltén, the village remains one of the most pristine spots on the globe. It’s a treasure that hopefully can maintain its lustre for years to come, maintaining its delicate balance between human exploration and natural splendor.

Photos courtesy of patagonia-aventura.com and fitzroyexpediciones.com.ar

By Christian Thiele

"If someone goes over board, throw something after them. Preferably a lifebelt." Boarding a German cruise ship for the very first time, we were reassured to hear the pale northern accents of the blond officers, thinking: "These people were raised by the sea-side. They know what they’re talking about." With the security exercise over and the last line let go, Ushuaia, the last town at the southern tip of Tierra del Fuego, quickly became just a tiny bright spot behind the stern. The MS Hanseatic was heading south, towards Antarctica, towards the cold. In the coming three weeks, she would steer us through the icy waters that surround the Antarctic Peninsula, on to South Georgia, and finally the Falkland Islands.

Click to view slideshow – Photos by Christian Thiele

Apart from a wandering albatross gliding effortlessly around the ship there is nothing – only water. The first day is spent at sea, with the Hanseatic steadily pressing its path through the Drake Passage. Although one of the world’s most violent seas, today Neptune is allowing a calm day bar the occasional tender swing that reminds us who is really in charge. Owing to its southerly latitude, this part of the ocean is referred to as the ‘roaring fifties’. Though today you would hardly notice why.

At last, and just in time to accompany the evening’s main course, the captain serves up a decent-sized tabular iceberg. Portside, almost close enough to touch and towering as high as a skyscraper, its rough cliffs shimmering surreptitiously, eerily remind us of images from ‘Titanic’. Broken pieces of ice float around it, jagged parts of a crumbling, three-dimensional puzzle that will never be put together again. The whales too have provided a welcoming committee: two fin-whales lounge ahead in the water, their breathing creating little water fountains in the air.

Photo By: Christian Thiele

‘Paradise Bay’ is announced and the anchor chain rattles as it plunges into the milky green water. Red, thick parkas so as not to freeze, black rubber boots so we don’t get wet and life-saving vests to keep us from drowning. We are fully geared-up to conquer the hostile territory that awaits us. Clambering aboard our rubber-rib zodiac boats, the ice breathes coolly on our faces.

Faithful to its name, the bay is a magnificent display of grayish rock and blue-white ice, home to several majestically gleaming glaciers. Every cloud alters the sea’s color, one minute it’s a Caribbean green, and the next it’s black as a blind mirror. Fresh snow falls onto the ice as the zodiac’s motor swirls through the soupy mixture.

Mountains of ice that have exploded off from much bigger glaciers surround us. They give off a blue shimmer as if possessing some kind of magic power. The years of pressure and cold have sucked oxygen molecules out of the ice leaving only hydrogen, creating the luminous blue now displayed. Before us a huge gate of icy arches is about to carve – here’s a crack, there’s a rip. Finally, surrendering to the weak polar sun’s rays, everything collapses. White thunder and a small tsunami rolls through the bay, rocking our boat as it heads out to sea.

This season, some 30,000 tourists have gone to Antarctica. On ex-Soviet icebreakers; on US monster-cruisers crammed with 2,500 passengers, slot machines and night-time Broadway shows; or on smaller ‘expedition’ vessels such as the Hanseatic . Dietrich Fritzsche, a glaciologist for the German polar institute has spent several winters on the South Pole and occasionally lectures aboard the Hanseatic , says: "I used to have this arrogant scientists’ attitude against tourism. But over the years, I’ve realized that it creates a lot of awareness and interest for the continent."

Photo By: Christian Thiele

The Hanseatic , chartered on a long-term contract by Hapag-Lloyd, has been rated five-stars by the renowned Berlitz Cruise Guide. Carrying at most 184 passengers and 14 zodiacs, the Hanseatic is able to land in relatively small bays and reinforced outside walls allow the captain to maneuver through up to one meter thick packed ice. At night, dressed in suit and tie, you eat seven-course dinners with silver cutlery. Afterwards, you can prop-up the bar and listen to the on-board pianist, or go one deck further down and dance. You can even go to the cabin and watch ‘Casablanca’ from the on-board video system.

Despite an passengers from 13 countries and a bilingual English-German crew, the Hanseatic is unmistakably a German ship, as you can read from the vessel’s passenger manual: "Since we provide a sufficient quantity of deck chairs, we kindly ask you to abstain from reserving them – in the interest of everyone…"

Life at the pole is usually far more spartan than ours, as we learn when visiting a former British research station on Peterman Island. Only a wooden shack with a ceiling falling just above eye level provides shelter. Here pairs of scientists would record the wind, the temperature, the daily hours of sunshine for two and a half years, or until someone came to take their turn.

Leaving the Antarctic Peninsula the next morning, the ship rolls and pitches, passing pale icebergs as it zigzags through the mist. Going on a cruise for the first time, we thought that the pharmaceutical industry had passed seasickness to the medical history books – how wrong we were. Despite anti-vomiting plasters stuck behind our ears, the food just won’t stay where it’s supposed to.

The course is now set for Elephant Island, whose ice once placed Ernest Shackleton’s ‘Endurance’ into a headlock, never to be released. We have to skip the planned landing on the southern shore – too much swell has made it a dangerous venture. Instead we get a zodiac ride to Point Wild, where Shackleton’s deputy and his men had to wait 182 days to be saved. Sheltered beneath boats turned upside down, alone except for the company of seals, rocks and ice. We, however, after barely an hour of dinghy cruising, long for a hot shower and dry clothes.

Photo By: Christian Thiele

A regular cruise liner would normally try to avoid icebergs. Captain Ulf Wolter, however, seems eager to pass as many of these monoliths as possible on our way to South Georgia. To pass them, to go round them – or even, as we suppose, to pack them in, have them wrapped and take them home. Capt. Wolter, his voice pitching high like a boy unwrapping his Christmas presents, announces the icebergs through the ship’s communication system. Now, to the right, it’s a pure white tabular iceberg, with a smooth top, polished by the wind, like a giant gemstone. Then, to the left, there’s one with a dark top, black as a bruise. Frost, sea and sun are competing for the most bizarre twists and turns. This is just all too big, too beautiful, for human comprehension.

Landing in Grytviken Bay, steep, black rocks rise from the waters and are either green with moss or sugar-coated by snow. There’s an old Norwegian whaling and sealing station, and even a little church brought from home. White bars fence a graveyard containing headstones announcing Scandinavian, British, and Argentine names. Remarkably few passed their forties before dying. All the tombs lie east-west, only one is looking south, towards the pole: Sir Ernest Shackleton. This is where he died in 1922, trying – this time aboard the Quest – to reach the pole for the fourth time.

The captain has come along with us carring a bottle of rum. He gives a toast through the snow to the old hero. "Here’s to the boss," Wolter says, pouring a good slug on to the grave, an old sailors’ custom. The next one is for the captain. We get the one after that; and the one after that; and the one after that.

Sea elephants groan on the beach while fur seals play with old whale teeth. "Savage and horrible," James Cook once wrote about the island. "Not a tree or shrub was to be seen, no, not one even big enough to make a tooth pick."

Thousands of croaking king penguins inhabit the island. Even though they sound rather like Italian mofas, they’re incredibly beautiful. With their distinguished, gray bodies and golden-orange marked chests, they are well within their rights to look as arrogant as they do, heads stuck high into the air. Fur seals play about with bits of old whale teeth while the young ones whimper around, waiting to take swimming classes from the older ones.

Finally, the passage to the Falklands. Three times a day we rush down to ‘Darwin Hall’ to get a seat for the lectures – the Hanseatic also acts as a floating classroom. We learn about the breeding season of the Phalacrocorax Atriceps (the blue-eyed cormorant) and about the way Chionis Alba (the snowy sheathbill) builds its nest. We try to figure out the difference between shelf-ice, packed-ice and pancake-ice. (After all, Antarctica is not around the corner, you just don’t get here that often.)

Photo By: Christian Thiele

As we land at the Falklands, Albatrosses are spiraling up and down in the winds, and rockhopper penguins are quarreling about over the best stands to spend the next few weeks moulting.

Whereas South Georgia was wild and ferocious, the Falklands are milder and gentle. Green, yellow and brown are the colors of the season. Little islands covered with tussock grass look as if they had put on green-fur hats. You can only find a handful of people living here, and thousands of sheep.

It is three days more at sea to return to port and the Hanseatic is steering a course northwards, towards the warmth. The sun is heating up the deck chairs and now iced drinks are being served. At night, the crew gives us, swinging and swaying, a few ’shanties’ – old sailors’ songs telling tales of homesickness and wanderlust. After three weeks in the wilderness, we gratefully see land ahead. Buenos Aires, it appears, has turned on all its lights for us. We walk down the gangway and are welcomed back into civilization – blue icebergs and cawing penguins now replaced by bright-red traffic lights and honking taxis.

Travel facts:

Hapag-Lloyd offers Antarctica bilingual (German-English) cruises on two expedition vessels, the MS Hanseatic and the MS Bremen . The season usually lasts from December through to March, with 21 days on the MS Hanseatic starting from Ushuaia costs 9,740 EUR, including meals, excursions etc. Hapag-Lloyd Cruises, www.hl-cruises.com , Ballindamm 25, D-20095 Hamburg, telephone +49(0)40 / 3001-4600, Fax +49(0)40 / 3001-4601.

Antarctica facts: A continent of extremes
90% of the world’s ice reserves and 70% of its freshwater reserves are found in Antarctica, a land of superlatives.
Unlike the Arctic, Antarctica is a continent surrounded by water and 98% of it is covered by a mighty coat of ice, on average 2km high.
One-and-a-half times the size of the US, Antarctica is the fifth-biggest continent, larger than Europe.
During the polar winter, the ice growth doubles its surface.
Averaging 2,160 metres above sea-level, it is also the highest continent.
And, obviously, the coldest: even in polar summer, only a couple of places get temperatures exceeding -5 centigrade. A record low of -89 centigrade was measured in 1983 on a Soviet research base in Eastern Antarctica.

By Tom Croasdell

In a continent where Catholicism dominates, it is unsurprising that carnaval is a huge deal in South America.

Traditionally, carnaval is a period for people of the Catholic faith to let their hair down and enjoy the vices they are going to be giving up for the 40 days of Lent. Nowadays the religious roots of carnaval are arguably taking more of a back seat, meaning that carnaval typically extends well into the Lenten period. It is not uncommon for festivities to take place throughout the first three months of each new year.

This can only spell good news for us; while the traditional peak of carnaval remains the weekend before the commencement of Lent, there is still ample opportunity to carry on the celebrations which will continue to sweep across the continent throughout February and March.

Click to view slideshow – Photos by Kate Stanworth, Pia Canello, Diogo Dubiela and Marianna Davis

Argentina’s biggest and brightest carnaval takes place in Gualeguaychú, situated in the Entre Rios province 3 hours north of Buenos Aires. Gualeguaychú is a shining example of a city that has adopted the extended carnaval period, this year beginning on 5th January and stretching on until the 1st March.

Carnaval at Gualeguaychú is particularly special, with an energy that is uncontrollable as well as contagious.

The small, greyish city becomes awash with colour and buoyancy as the visitors who descend upon the city overwhelm its 74,000 inhabitants. Led by the comparsas, these large groups of performers will parade through Gualeguaychú every Saturday from 10.30pm until early in the morning. Gifted dancers in elaborate and ostentatious drapery are followed through the streets by equally flamboyantly-clad musicians, belting out samba and Batucada beats from magnificently adorned floats. Batacuda, a substyle of samba, is an African-influenced Brazilian percussive style, characterised by its fast pace and repetitive style. Racy and evocative dancing is in the script, so be prepared for a good flirt!

Photo By: Diogo Dubiela

The fact that these comprasas are in competition with each other guarantees a performance set to enthuse, uplift and liberate dazzled revellers. Each weekend, their costumes, floats, music, dance and level of spectacle are scrutinised by a panel of judges, and a winner declared.

For a comprehensive guide to the carnaval, including information regarding entrance prices and travel options, visit the official website, www.carnavaldelpais.com.ar .

Entre Ríos’ tourist board’s website also provides useful supplementary information, and can be found at www.entrerios.gov.ar/turismo/ .

Where Else in Argentina?

Many of the towns in Argentina’s north-western province Jujuy offer an extensive carnaval programme throughout February.

The province’s biggest carnaval celebrations are held between 17th and 25th February. For the first three days, participants of carnaval will follow the all-singing, all-dancing comparsas around a number of towns in the province, in a ceremony known as ‘desentierro del carnaval’ (the exhumation of the carnaval). The party will continue until 25th February, when during the last two days, known as ‘Carnaval Chico’, the ceremony of ‘the burial’ of carnaval is held.

In addition to the celebrations in Humahuaca, shows, conferences, exhibitions and artisan fairs are held throughout the month. Local delicacies are particularly important in Jujuy, so great food is always on offer!

Photo By: Marianna Davis

Carnaval Around the Continent

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – Carnaval Capital

Rio de Janeiro is widely regarded as the carnaval capital, and attracts well over half a million visitors from around the globe each year.

For Brazilians, Rio is as much about educating people about the culture of their diverse country, as it is about euphoria, dance and celebration.

Every February, carnaval consumes the city, with parties descending upon every street, square and bar across the city.

People from Rio’s favelas, are one of the most involved groups in the celebrations. They view the period as a time to forget about their daily hardships and have as much fun as possible. Carnaval in Rio is described as “something that comes deep from the fun-loving soul of the Rio people, and a demonstration of life, and of passion.”

Photo By: Diogo Dubiela

Involved in Salvador de Bahia, Brazil

Salavdor is billed as the world’s greatest street carnaval, and it contains a level of crowd participation that Rio is sometimes accused of lacking.

A massive two million people join the city’s street celebrations every year, partying along to the samba reggae music, which infamously accompanies the celebrations.

The Salvador carnaval is perhaps best known for the ‘TrioEléctrico’, a concept which has been adopted by numerous carnavals throughout Brazil: A specially-adapted lorry tours the city, providing the stage for musicians to blast out local genres from the huge speakers on board – the crowd follows, singing and dancing in its trail.

Up ’n’ Coming – Oruro, Bolivia

While the carnavals in Brazil may be the most famous in the world, they are not necessarily superior. ‘La Diablada’ carnaval in the western Bolivian city of Oruro is currently enjoying yet another successful carnaval season, reaffirming its status as one of the most vivacious carnavals emerging in the world today.

The religious-pagan syncretism is one of the most notable themes of carnaval in Oruro, with people dressed as angels juxtaposed with devils and demons. A true sense of Bolivian folklore is very much alive, and is presented by Bolivians themselves, who unite regardless of their age, social class and political persuasion

By Sam Katterfield

Visiting relatives in Porto Alegre, in the deep deep south of Brazil, I decided on a whim to stop by a city that everyone had told me about, yet of which I knew nothing: Florianópolis.

Click to view slide show – Photos by Sam Katterfield

Arriving alone and under cover of night at the bus station (which is never the nicest place in Brazil to be), I began to think I had committed a grave error. Little did I know that in Florianópolis (or Floripa as it’s affectionately known by locals) I would find some of the nicest scenery, best beaches and friendliest company in all of Brazil.

Beaches

Situated on an island, the city of Florianópolis gives the visitor spectacular seaside possibilities in a small area, providing something for all tastes. The signs written in Spanish are a nod to the fact that beaches such as Canasvieras and Praia dos Ingleses are very popular with Argentine and Uruguayan tourists in the summer. Along with fellow northern beaches such as Jurerê, Praia Brava and Daniela, this part of the island is the most developed, with plenty of hotels, restaurants and other amenities for the discerning tourist.

Photo By: Sam Katterfield

Some of the best surfing in all of Brazil is to be found on the eastern beaches of Campeche, Mole and Moçambique. Florianópolis is blessed with some of the finest and most consistent waves in the country and for the past four years the city has been host to what is currently the only South American stop on the ASP (Association of Surfing Professionals) World Tour.

Further south, Armação and Morro das Pedras beaches are less crowded and developed; providing a respite from the beach vendors selling hammocks, porn and sun-block. I took the time to confess my past and future sins at Sant’Anna church on Armação; historically where local whale harpooners and fishermen would attend mass before setting sail. However if you really want to get away from it all, try the southern coast beaches of Lagoinha do Leste or Naufragados. These isolated, unspoilt spots can only be accessed by footpath.

Getting Around

Despite being a relatively small island, it can take a substantial amount of time to get around. For example, to get from Armação in the south to Praia dos Ingleses in the north took three buses and most of the afternoon. Despite this, or maybe because of it, in Florianópolis you’ll see something you won’t see in the rest of Brazil: people queuing for transport!

Photo By: Laura Trythall

If there are enough of you in your group and your funds can provide, it’s worth renting a car. Otherwise, you have two choices: stay in the centre of city, a little way from the beaches, and retain the ability to visit a different one everyday (from the centre you can catch the yellow ‘executive’ buses directly to the popular points on the island for R$4.50). If not, choose to stay right on your preferred beach and content yourself to not move too far.

Food, Drink and Culture

Florianópolis was initially populated by immigrants from the Portuguese archipelago of the Açores. Today the influence of the Açores is most keenly felt by the tourist in the comida açoriana that dominates the local cuisine. A city on the sea that was built by whalers and fishermen is clearly going to feast on seafood, and one item of gastronomy that is unique to Florianópolis is Seqüência de Camarão. The traditional Seqüência is more of a set meal of several courses for two people, so invite that nice local you met on the beach. Depending on the restaurant you’ll receive shrimp prepared in various ways, crab, grilled fish and possibly oysters or shellfish. It’s served with pirão as an accompaniment; an bland fish sauce that oddly works well with seafood.

The more recent arrival of large numbers of Italian and German immigrants has had a noticeable influence on the area, as seen in the high quality Italian restaurants to be found on the north of the island. In terms of nightlife, Lagoa da Conceição is the place to start, as it’s bars and clubs are open year round. Those warm bar-hopping Brazilians are always up for a chat, and are impressed to meet a foreigner who can speak even a couple of words of Portuguese. Consult the website listed at the end to find out the latest on what’s happening in Florianópolis.

Photo By: Sam Katterfield

All in all, Florianópolis is more of a trek than Mar del Plata and Pinamar, with taking a flight a necessity, but such beautiful scenery, beautiful people and a wide range of beach possibilities in such a small area make the trip vastly worthwhile.

Further Information:

bar do Arante, Florianópolis (BrazilTravelBlog)
www.mapia.com.br/florianopolis
www.guiafloripa.com.br