During a trip to El Calafate in the Patagonia region of Argentina, I asked a local travel agent about trekking options. I was informed the best place to do this was in a town called El Chaltén. Nicknamed the “trekking capital of Argentina,” a traveler could spend days hiking around the beautiful mountains, forests and rivers of the area. Lucky for me, day trips are possible from El Calafate for 180 Argentine Pesos (about $41) round trip. The bus leaves from El Calafate at 8:00 a.m., and picks you up from El Chaltén at 6:30 p.m. Each way takes about three hours.
While I highly recommend spending a few days in El Chaltén to explore Los Glaciares Nacional Park and Mount Fitz Roy, it is possible to see a lot in just a few hours. In the gallery below, you can see my trek, which took me about four hours total. To access the Fitz Roy trailhead, cross town from the bus station via San Martin Avenue. Walk until the road ends and you’ll see a sign that says “Sendero al Fitz Roy.” Enter here, veering to the left, and follow the trail for Laguna Capri. You’ll be able to complete a moderately intense circuit with unbelievable views that will make you feel like you’re in a real-life Bob Ross masterpiece. From Laguna Capri, walk to Poincenot for excellent views of Mount Fitz Roy. Afterwards, continue walking in a circle in the direction of Mirador, another lookout point that makes for an excellent photography stop.
To see my experience, check out the gallery below.
As we make plans for summer travel abroad and at home, concerns turn to the cost of fuel and how it might affect our projected budget. When studying global destination information, we focus on security matters, currency exchange rates and tips from trusted sources. Getting a good handle on all these topics is part of the travel process.
Now, a new concern may affect some travelers. A transportation bill making its way through Congress could allow the federal government to prevent Americans who owe back taxes from leaving the country.
The provision is part of Senate Bill 1813, also called the Moving Ahead for Progress in the 21st Century Act, was introduced by Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) in November and passed by the Senate on March 14. This far-reaching transportation bill allows the federal government to revoke the passports of citizens the IRS claims owe taxes.
Aimed at those who have a seriously delinquent tax debt in excess of $50,000, even if passed, the new law would not affect most people. Still, there are those that fear fundamental rights possessed by Americans to travel, unrestricted, within the USA borders who may be up for review.
“Be aware that once they allow the IRS to block international travel is there one among us who does not believe it will then be extended to travel within the United States?” asks the Beaufort Observer.
Concerned about laws affecting backpackers, runners, bikers and even walkers, Rails to Trails is a nonprofit charged with creating a nationwide network of trails from former rail lines. They are concerned that the same bill limits continued focus on trails, walking and bicycling opportunities.
Given a moment to breathe, on March 29, two days before the previous extension of our nation’s multi-year surface transportation bill expired, congress passed another 90-day extension.
But what the future will bring for international travel by those who owe taxes – or even domestic travel by someone simply looking for a new place to hike – is unknown right now.
On the international travel front, Forbes says, “If he were in charge of travel, the Soup Nazi might say, ‘No Passport for you!'” In real life, travel may seem unrelated to taxes, except perhaps for those annoying airport taxes on international destinations. But a bigger tax and travel connection could keep you at home – permanently.”
Rails to Trails believes in rights to partake in domestic hiking, backpacking, riding and walking. “For a tiny sliver of transportation funds – less than 2 percent – these programs have provided affordable, healthy transportation options, generated jobs and economic development and preserved historic and environmental assets that provide the quality of life that Americans want and deserve,” Kevin Mills, vice president of programming at RTC told Gadling late last year.
San Carlos de Bariloche, more commonly known as Bariloche, is located in Patagonia in Argentina. It is one of the most diverse and picturesque regions in the world, and a hotspot for hiking enthusiasts and nature lovers. In fact, it is the most popular tourist destination in Patagonia, and the third in Argentina.
Some of the photos below were taken during a drive through Bariloche, while others were snapped during various hikes. The first hike was to Cerro Campanario, which presents a 360-degree view of the land from 3,442 feet high. You can take bus 20 there, which costs 6 pesos, and get off at the sign that says “Cerro Camanario.” Note: Don’t ask the monorail ticket seller for directions to the trailhead, as they tend to try to trick locals and give them wrong directions. Simply walk behind the sign and the trailhead will be there. It is a steep, uphill hike that takes about an hour. Once you make it to the top, however, the mountain, water, and forest views will have been worth it.
The other hike was up Cerro Catedral, a 7,835-foot high mountain with many different trails to trek. Most of the sections are intense; however, the diverse landscape of the area will keep you preoccupied. There are many slopes, jumps and special paths for other activities as well, like mountain biking, skiing, mountain boarding, rappeling and riding quads. To get there, you take the Catedral bus line, which costs 8 pesos. Unlike with the other buses, you pay the driver directly instead of purchasing a ticket beforehand.
The photos below were taken by me on a recent trip to the city. While I’m in no way a professional photographer, Bariloche in so stunning, the pictures seem to take themselves. No matter where you go in Bariloche, you’ll be immersed in vibrant nature. See for yourself below.
Summer months in North America open up a whole realm of possibilities for travel into higher latitudes. As the deep frost starts to fade and the rivers pick up speed, Alaska turns into a beautiful respite from the sultry weather in the contiguous 48 states.
Pick any reason to make the journey. The Pacific Northwest air that blankets all of southern Alaska is crisp and clean, a noticeable contrast from the city air in New York and Chicago. The landscape is dramatic with mountains soaring out of the dark blue Pacific, snow capped peaks lining the horizons and dark green conifers rolling through the valleys. Wildlife is everywhere, from the ambling moose wandering the fertile plains to the bears and goats dotting the mountain trails. It’s far enough away to feel like a different country yet is filled with the same old fast food and Walmart standbys that you know and trust at home.
If Alaska enjoyed the same weather year-round as it did in July it would be the nation’s most populous state. Instead, visitors enjoy big open spaces, friendly, relaxed residents and over 650,000 square miles of rugged beautiful landscape free of the hustle and stress of the lower 48. In short, Alaska is a blessing.
Considering these virtues, one would expect that the cost of travel to Alaska would be sky high, but surprisingly, ticket prices don’t go up that much over the summer months. Airfare varies from $450-$750 for passage through the summer months with Anchorage hosting the majority of inexpensive flights (though Fairbanks and Juneau can always surprise you).
The dirty little secret about airfare to Alaska isn’t the cost of the ticket though; it’s the cost of the mileage award. Most airlines batch Alaska in with the rest of North America (as well they should) when they calculate the cost of mileage tickets. This means that an economy ticket between Miami or San Diego and Anchorage can only cost 25,000 miles round trip – the same cost as a flight between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Compare the distance between those two flights and it’s easy to see the value.
There are few moments more startling than waking up to a jungle primate seeking refuge in the warm recesses of your crotch. Consider the fact you’re sleeping in an abandoned, open-air, concrete nightclub in the middle of a Peruvian cloud forest, and the entire ordeal takes on a new aura of peculiarity.
This, however, was exactly how I started my morning in the rural village of Santa Teresa in the 6,000-foot highlands of southern Peru. One of the stopping points along Peru’s Salkantay Trek – the budget friendly and more adventurous alternative to the famous Inca Trail – is Santa Teresa, a remote little village that modernity seems to have forgotten.
Level of development aside, the real draw of Santa Teresa is undoubtedly the muscle-soothing hot spring, which percolates on the outskirts of town. From the confines of a massive thermal swimming pool set on the banks of a raging river, local women wade waist deep in the tepid waters and sell baskets of cold beer while attempting to simultaneously bathe. A surefire way to dehydrate yourself and welcome a morning hangover, the entire scene takes place alongside torrid waters hell-bent on draining into the Amazon Basin as part of a muddy, eventful journey to the Atlantic.
Completely unregulated and awash with the stench of freedom, in a word, it’s utterly perfect.
A welcome respite for the weary, Santa Teresa is the first real town Salkantay trekkers will encounter after having crossed over the 15,200-foot Salkantay Pass the day before.
In the actual town there are a handful of small restaurants, children playing in the town’s only square and shop owners willing to place a cot in their kitchen and firmly call it a hotel. Oh, and there’s also a communal concrete slab for slaughtering livestock, a daily affair which doesn’t seem to turn that many heads except for, perhaps, mine.
Camped out with an adventure tour company in what can best be described as a friend of a friend’s backyard, the last thing I expected to see from the window of my tent flap was a hapless cow on its way to being slaughtered.
Nevertheless, a militia of young boys wielding saws and machetes systematically took to slaughtering the bovine directly in front of our cheerless campsite. With the same level of excitement of someone brushing their teeth before bed, the young troop of butchers dismantled the cow in such a routine fashion their nonchalance spoke volumes towards the realities of rural Peruvian life.
Succumbing to a growing sense of nausea birthed from the morbid entertainment, I swapped the damp board shorts of the hot springs for a dry t-shirt and my trusty thermal underwear. Blissfully ensconced in the comfort of a two-person tent and pulling the edges of my North Face sleeping bag to just beneath my armpits, I settled in for what I deemed to be a much needed slumber.
The strengthening pitter-patter of precipitation, however, ensured that this would be far from a restful night. With drops morphing into rivulets atop the overstretched nylon dome above, it wasn’t long before the skies would open completely and turn what was once a modest campsite into a soggy and swampy mess. With the rain actually forming streams beneath the bottom of the tent, my soporific sanctuary was transformed into a dripping den of misery.
With the downpour causing my wife and I problems enough, the introduction of a violent bout of flatulence really wasn’t helping matters.
Mistaking my nausea as a product of watching the cow slaughter, it was beginning to become apparent the mystery meat from dinner was having an adverse effect on the welcoming atmosphere of our tent. As my sleeping bag finally relinquished its attempt at keeping my body dry, so too did my ability to keep us from perishing in a cloud of high-altitude methane.
Frustrated, cold and weary from days of trekking, I contemplated the few options remaining and finally decided to do the chivalrous thing and preemptively remove myself from the tent. It simply had to be done.
With zero places to turn, however, and the prospect of sleeping beneath the stars vanquished long ago, I grabbed my half-soaked sleeping bag and sprinted for an abandoned concrete building, which once housed the town’s only discotheque.
Slinking into the soggy bag and cringing at the state of my current affairs, I was eventually able to fashion a remedial pillow out of a plastic bag and a dirty towel found languishing in the corner of the shelter. Frigid, bloated and with nowhere else to turn, my vacant stare rested on a dangling disco ball awash in a sea of dripping, wet wires. This, I reckoned, was my Peruvian chateau.
Finally, amidst a fitful bout of thrashing and copious amounts of internal dialogue, I eventually drifted off into an impressively deep sleep. Falling ever deeper into the realm of mental exhaustion, amidst a gastrointestinal meltdown and a torrential tropical downpour, I somehow welcomed a restful and purposeful slumber.
Waking to clearing skies, the first rays of lights were beginning to penetrate the high clouds and twist their way through the verdant valleys above. With the introduction of sunlight, I could tell that the concrete shelter I had chosen had all the charm of sleeping in a construction site.
Feeling an itch against my inner thigh and still searching for an exit from my early morning daze, with much difficulty and little coordination I fumbled with the ability to unzip my still damp bag. Just as the first teeth of the zipper began to chatter, however, in an explosion, which can be described only as mammalian fury, a rambunctious young monkey exploded from the dark nether regions of my sleeping bag.
Nearly climbing over my face in his hasty exit, he too was simply seeking emergency shelter from the sky-opening downpour and brisk evening air. As I would later find out after recounting the story to my guide, the monkey was actually a pet of the property owner and not some wild primate.
Nevertheless, there are few things more startling, scary or downright confusing than waking to a face full of monkey – an unwelcome visitor from the depths of your loins just trying to stay out of the rain.
Want more stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales”here…