travel back in time...the bus to puerto montt

we backpedal a few weeks to a Sunday morning before the Trek, I wrote this one on the bus. ...and I'll continue to catch you all up.


People are beginning to wake up now. An old lady with a spray bottle of air freshener, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some beauty product sways in the aisle beside me, waiting to use the bathroom; she hollers at someone down the aisle. I cringe, it’s not the hour for hollering yet, and I feel protective of Shay as she tries to sleep beside me. It’s flat as far as the eye and I can see, just cold dirt with scattered dry brush. Late last night I peeked out the window and followed a dainty power line, just taller than this bus, as far I as could before it turned a hard left--we drove on. When I woke the sun poked through the closed blinds, which I liked because it was pretty and warm. Now, after a stretch of clouds, it hits my face again. But it passes, and the clouds stretch on, a single plane reaching the horizon. They look flat on the bottom, but I’m sure they billow on top. That lady just sprayed her air freshener generously in and around the bathroom, I can smell it seven rows up. I can feel that my eyes are bloodshot, but it’s not from the spray. This is our second straight morning on a bus, we’ve been on about 38 hours now, except for a three hour break in Porto Montt, and a few short leg-stretchers. We are deep into the Argentinean side of Patagonia, I think. We are on route to Punta Arenas, where we will stay the night in a real bed. Our bus takes us through Argentina because there is no other way; there are no Chilean roads that connect Porto Montt to Punta Arenas. Not bus worthy, anyway. Despite the bloodless tingly toes, the dry eyes, and mild claustrophobia, I would choose this bus trip over a flight in a heartbeat. We’ve seen truly beautiful landscape through these tall, albeit a bit dirty, panes of glass. It was stretches of vineyards at first, which gave way to verdant pastureland, dotted with magnificent wooden homes, and --less magnificent-- farm shacks. Regardless which home it was, happy cows come from Chile (….not California). The pasture led us to Porto Montt. Beyond Porto Montt, we dove headlong into Patagonia; the windy road threaded us between rivers and waterfalls, which threaded themselves through lush dense jungle forest. Behind a stretch of heavy grass, a sheer rock cliff towered, directly out of which grew deep green trees and vines; they covered the cliff face, so only in patches could we see its steel grey color. We crossed the Chile/Argentina border around 6 last night, and drove on. We have even enjoyed a few onboard picnics, the most recent one comprised of salami, gruyere, and a bottle of Concho y Toro’s red blends. It helped us sleep. Its about 8:20 am now, on Sunday, and we arrive around 20:00. We will have a good nights rest in Porto Arenas, and gather last minute items, like warmer clothes, and a tarp if we can find one. Yes, these should not be last minute items, but this is a budget trek full of ‘I forgot this at home!’ and ‘shit, I should have brought that!’. From Punta Arenas, we bus north to Puerto Natales. We had to bus further south than we are going--its just the only way. From Puerto Natales, there is a regular connecting bus north to the mouth of Torres del Paine. Then, we start our trek. We have a twenty dollar tent from ‘Jumbo’ (a Chilean k-mart), and again, we hope to find a tarp we can throw over it if it rains--we’re not confident that the tent is waterproof. We brought the warmest clothes we have. I forgot my old ski jacket shell and layers (…full of ‘shit, I should have brought that!’s) so I picked up a used waterproof layer for ten bucks at a second hand store. I have a sweatshirt, but like I said, we’ll get some last minute warm-me-uppers. The girls bought hiking boots; Greg has his leather Timbaland boots, but they’re the kind built for fashion over function. I have my trusty tennis shoes, from my city college tennis days. This is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and National Geographic says so. No crappy tent, tennis shoes, skinny wallet, or 3 day bus trip will stop us. The glaciers might though.