Aug/092
Argentina to Chile
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I had high expectations for you, Bariloche: Skiing the most beautiful off-piste the Andes has to offer by day. Partying with hoards of Brazilian tourists by night. (Although in Argentina, Bariloche’s lifeblood is Brazilian tourism… so much so that it is called “Braziloche”.)
If only it had snowed instead of drizzled ice bits and freezing rain for twenty days (worst South American snow season in 15 years). If only the Swine Flu hadn’t scared 90% of Brazilians into canceling their vacations.
Oh, and Thoreau, mi amigo, you forgot to mention one thing: Cabins are boring and lonely places.
For me, Bariloche was Boriloche. By day, I found myself in a Walden-esque cabin waiting for snow that never came, passing the time working on my computer. By night, I found myself in an Irish bar called Wilkenny drinking beers with an Irish backpacker/ski bum, pondering what our lives would be like if the Brazilians had shown up.
Then I got an email from a friend in Santiago, Chile, inviting me to visit her. I had already paid for my cabin for two more weeks, but I jumped on the opportunity to leave. A little rent money lost and a 16-hour bus ride was a cheap price to pay for my happiness and sanity. So here I am in Santiago.
