And yet, up and down the country, at the end of these dribbly roads, behind the next mountain and around the next curve, is something truly amazing. It’s happened to me before many times in Patagonia. And it’s happening again up here. Who would think that you could drive for hours and hours and hours through an unhospitable landscape and end up with braised duck, a facial treatment and a truly outstanding copa de vino made out the back?

We are two tough customers. A pioneering hotelera who has one of the finest boutique inns in the country and a travel writer who makes a living critiquing hotels, we’re hard to please on the road. Don’t like the upholstery. Windows too small. Hall too big, receptionist too cold, furniture too stiff. Coffee isn’t espresso, shampoo has an unpleasant smell, bathroom lighting is off. That so-hard-to-explain special feeling just ain’t there. It’s a constant evaluation, and joy in finding the small details down well.
We’ve been fortunate enough to spend the night in some of the finest hotels in the country - and they are very fine. But to us, the are, well, um, mas o menos.
Sometimes, we go undercover, as at the incredibly silent and massively historic Hosteria de Molinos, where we stopped for lunch. Others, we are not in the slightist subdued. We get into kitchens, investigate laundry rooms, try out the bikes and the tubs and mingle with anyone in sight, sommelier to maids. We get private wineries tours with enologos (winemakers) who come out of the laboratory to spend time with us and anser all my questions.

We gave poor Teresita, a 26-year-old Saltena with dreams of creating a small hotel, a crash course over a few bottles of Torrontes. But time with her was also an entry into the world we visited. In Cafayate, we had coffee with the heir apparent of the largest wine family, shook hands with the pobladores and sipped wine (again, wine!) with the coolest, most unpretentious wine folks I’ve met anywhere. Then, today, we had a few hours with a elderly man (few teeth, an extra 65 lbs, bad hip, bad eyes, heartattack at any minute) from rural Salta who’se had a zillion lives and kept us captive until we finally had to continue down the gravel. He ended up being the ultimate insider and gave us all the scoops any traveler could want when exploring. We figured out who is who and are puting the pieces of the puzzle together.
This morning, at the stunning Colome Hotel and Bodega (aka the Kingdom of Hess), I wondered if it’s all too perfect. Given what we’ve come through to get here, the dirt and the emptiness, was this espresso and homemade granola any good at all? Employing only locals from this tiny pueblito, this was five-star luxury that’s a good 8 hours from the airport. There is much to say about Colome, a world in and of itself. It’s incredibly plush, a real treat. But just how much is that all worth?

It’s a question well have another week to contemplate as we keep pointed north.

There are many places in this country, Argentina, that could be considered the middle of nowhere. It’s a huge place with massive spaces. We’re talking places that are hundreds of miles from anywhere. Places where it appears the world ends at the horizon, where if you continue to follow the yellow line down the road you’ll end up obliterated, melted, frozen, reduced to zero, just like the pavement that seems to burn into an oasis as far as you can see.

To the left, there are rugged, dry mountains. To the right, the same. In between, you on a road.
This is San Juan, Catamarca, La Rioja, Tucuman, and finally, we arrive in Salta.

In between the supposed emptiness we have come across little treasures of life. The odd pueblito, with decaying adobe homes and old teethless men at their window watching the world go by - which it does every few hours. Our bright yellow 4×4, with two chicas inside, must have been the highlight of this senor’s day, or week, or month. Everyone we see waves at us; we wave back.

There are abandoned adobe homes melting back into the earth, boarded up shops, and the railway tracks that are overwhelmed by weeds, brushes, dessert sand, relentless sun and wind.

This endlessness of the horizon seems to be having an impact on us, encouraging us to reach out and make contact. We stop in towns for gas and for an empanada or two, chatting with the petro-pumper. Then we follow our nose down a dead end, roll down the window and ask for directions. “Thanks senor, have a nice day” we smile, assured we are on the right track. Then we ask one another, “What the hell did he say?” Two days into this trip, we can’t seem to remember what someone tells us two seconds after it’s said.

My companera, a mendocina by birth, by character, by outlook on life, is thriving on the pueblitos, on the traditions that seem to be on the verge of disappearance. “This is my kind of highway,” she says.  We pick up hitchhikers (usually indigenas with whom we discuss the terrible nature of the mines that are leaving - or coming to - the area). She gives apples to donkeys. She asks the questions I seem to distracted to get to.  Really, honestly, interested in life here, then discussing how it compares to life in Mendoza.

I stare out the window, following thoughts. She says she loves this kind of driving. No cars, no traffic, random people in extremely random places.
The little moments are adding up to a remarkable journey already. From our smalltown politician buddy in Belen to the toothless woman who served our dinner in Chanarmuyo, these are characters in every sense of the word. Full of life and refreshing, they are marking our map with stories, memories, and impressions, filling the ‘emptiness’ and keeping us alert, always, for the next curve in the road, for the next surprise.

I just couldn’t resist stopping by the new Starbucks in Buenos Aires. The first in the country, it’s just a few blocks from my homebase in la capital, and there’d been such a hullabaloo about the whole thing, I figured it was worth checking out. A Starbucks in one of the world’s greatest cafe centers was either a natural fit or a complete disaster.

This is a city with a cafe on each corner and here, a cafe is a place you go to daily with a paper to sit, relax, read and watch the time go by — not a place to grab and go. As I’ve mentioned before here, Argentines love their cortados and they love their cafes. I’d been to Starbucks a few times in Santiago, Chile, a place without the porteno cafemania, and I’m faced with one each time I fly through the Santiago airport, where it is the last place I want to get a drink (trying to sleep…. trying to sleeeeepppp….).

In our little town in the Rockies, there is a Starbucks, which I very rarely go to. This is mainly thanks to the many, many outstanding little independent coffee shops - remarkable, really for a town of 12,000 souls. Starbucks, however, is where I’ll stop en route to the airport in Calgary, or when I’m in Toronto with my niece, or when I’m meeting a friend on Granville Street in Vancouver. It’s comfortable, non-distracting, and I’m personally a big fan or their beverages.

And yet, I was not prepared for the emotional feeling walking in there produced. Everything was just so familiar, so comfortable, it almost made me cry. The grande americanos, biscottis, half-caf soy lattes with shot of vanilla (fav of my sis’), the loaves (here known as budines). There were the same displays talking about the different blends of coffee, and the thermos mugs for sale. Thermal mugs and organic coffee are not regular items in Argentina - yet!
Apparently the day it opened, there was a two-block long line to get in. Portenos were anxious to check it out too. From what I saw, most of them are there for a frappucino, or some other cold drink with a lot of syrup and whipped cream. The majority of the clientele appeared to be chic, fashion-forward teenage girls.

The staff were friendly, if a bit frazzled, and my americano was yum. I took it to a table, read through the local paper’s Olympics section, nibbled on my marble loaf and forgot, for a minute, where I was (well, the paper in castellano and was about Manu Ginobili, judo and yachting, so I’m obviously not in Canmore any more, Dorothy).

“Starbucks is humbled and honored to be welcomed into Argentina, a country with a rich coffeehouse culture,” said Buck Hendrix, president of Starbucks Latin America. “We look forward to becoming a part of this great tradition and contributing to its prosperity. We have found that when we share our passion for the highest-quality coffee available and the Starbucks Experience in a new market, we help the local specialty coffee industry flourish, benefiting consumers and other coffeehouses.”

As a local columnist wrote, portenos are now faced with a new dilemma: to take or not to take the coffee away.

I know where I’m going for an americano con room for milk and a budin next time I’m in the city and homesick. Simple.
It may be just like everywhere, but it’s somewhere that still makes me feel at home.

We had to get to the dentist. That afternoon at 5:15. We had an address complete with cross streets, but in a city of 9 million people and thousands of corners, that was little help.

After many, many visits to la Capital, the basic were clear - main arteries, borders of the barrios, subway lines etc. Mi marido believed the dentist’s office was somewhere this side of the Obelisco, Buenos Aires’ main landmark. And somewhere south of Palermo. Maybe near the German Embassy and the polo field?

“No problema,” said my grandmother-in-law. At 86, she’d been navigating the city her whole life. And she almost always travels by bus. She continues to do so to this day as she makes her rounds to all the stores where her children’s baptism and first communion dresses are sold. On a good day, Abuela Angelita (also known as “Lala”) would find the location in a few minutes. But this was an extra lucky day – Lala’s sister Estella, also in her late 80s and raring with energy, was in town. We had double duty Buenos Aires bus-riding grandmas at our beck and call.

Gathered around the plastic-covered coffee table at her 7th floor flat in the northern barrio Nunez, they took out their maps, looked at Max’s paper where the address was written, and got busy.

If you venture out on the streets of Argentina’s capital, chances are good the grandmothers will make an impression on you. There are many gutsy ladies here. The Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, who have been bringing attention to human rights abuses in Argentina since their children and grandchildren went ‘disappeared’ during the Dirty War of the 1980s, have garnered international attention for marching every Thursday afternoon in front of the Pink House where the Argentine President’s office is.

Abuelas are still running the show. They’re doing the shopping, shuffling down the craggy sidewalks, putting food on the table, taking care of grandchildren, getting their hair done (muy importante!) and generally looking chic.

They hop off and on the colectivos, or city buses, like 40-year-olds. With more than 10,000 buses raging down the streets, and 142 different lines, it’s a very complicated system. No buses have fixed schedules, although there are clear stops. Few, if any, follow direct routes; most criss-cross the city in hunt of passengers. Navigating bus lines ain’t no easy task.

It’s customary for polite Argentine to offer their seat to elderly people or pregnant women. But Lala, who at 86 certainly qualified as elderly, said that she doesn’t ever get offered a seat. Not that she’s complaining. She’s certainly strong enough to hold on tight on her feet. But with her perpetually coloured hair and boundless energy, people regularly mistake her for a woman of 65. She takes great pride in this.

“I’m sure it’s near the Military Hospital,” Estella said. Lala nodded in agreement. They concluded that dentist office is on a street that runs parallel to the MH, another big landmark in the area, about three miles shy of the Obelisk. Lala’d ridden buses up and down this street over and over again, making her way into the city centre. She knew what she was talking about.

Lala flipped through the phonebook, picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

“Yes, good day,” she said. Always polite. “Good sir, could you please tell me at what number of Luis Maria Campos the hospital is located?”

And with that, they located the dentist’s office in the chic Las Canitas area.

“Entonces, okay, so you should take number 50, 51,” said Lala.

“Or you could take 65!” added Estella.

Options abounded, but all were clearly pencilled on to our pocket guide. Confident, with proper change handy, we rode the elevator down and headed out on to the streets. Off we went, with  the sincere hope we could keep up.

It’s one of the most spectacular glaciers in the world and certainly at the heart of the Argentine national pride… right up there beside Aconcagua and Iguazu. The stunning, massive, dramatic and ever-alluring Perito Moreno Glacier never fails to please. It’s the kind of place that makes each and every person say ‘wow’. Once you’ve been there, and sat quietly on your own to witness chunks of ice the size of school buses slipping or crashing into a crystal lake, PMG stays close to your heart.
Every three or four years, the glacier advances to touch the tip of the Magallanes Peninsula, jutting out into Lago Argentino and splitting the lake into two. Over time, the friction between the two split sides of the lake grows, and the dam begins to crumble. This is what is happening right now.

The most interesting point, though, is that this normally happens in summertime, with the help of the hot sun. To have the dam collapse in the heart of the austral winter is a phenomenum that has happened since 1951.

The last time it ruptured, in March 2006, Max was lucky enough to be on hand and he snapped some amazing photos. The now-president, then-FirstLady Cristina Kirchner even hopped on her jet in 2006 to be there to watch, and major television stations were all broadcasting live. Cristina is apparently on her way back down again this time for the ultimate photo op.  TV crews are gathering,  reporters are trying to keep themselves busy,  local hotels are smiling since this will bring a quick mid-winter boom. The snow and ice epitomizes the heart of winter in Patagonia.
When we were working with the crew from NBC a few months ago, they asked me about the importance of the PMG. I compared it to the Grand Canyon in the US of A. It’s a destination that makes a worthy pilgrimage for many Argentines, with a remoteness making it an option only for the middle and upper class. To be Argentine and to have your foto taken on the pasarela (boardwalk) in front of PMG is to be a true ARG citizen.

We have a number of friends who spend half each year guiding on the glacier itself. Two years ago, I joined two of them for an epic hike deep into the glacier, part of what is now a mainstream tourist excursion known as ‘Big Ice’. It’s a big day and a chance to explore one tiny little corner of the massive ice.

If you are interested in keeping an eye on PMG while it gingerely eases towards rupture, you can follow the progress on line here.  

While this has nothing to do with Patagonia, I wanted to comment today on the watershed moment for Latin America from late yesterday, the release of Ingrid Betancourt in Colombia.

I remember reading her book eight years ago, and first hearing of her kidnapping what seems like a lifetime ago.  A few months ago, there was word that she was in very poor health, and we all held our breath. Today, she’s on the cover of papers around the world hugging her children, a moment she called “Nirvana, paradise.”
This is the beginning of the new era for Latin America, with the emergence of an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, dedicated and influential leader - a woman with real substance (not distracted by the next cocktail party….). She has become a celebrity in Europe as well, thanks to the relentless efforts by her French family to have her released, and for her French style of intellectualism.
Betancourt is an outspoken, morally-motivated and serious politician and person. In Colombia, she is taken very seriously.  Her voice is heard around the world, and it is obvious from the coverage of her release that we all yearn to hear more from her.
That she survived six years in captivity is a joy for all, and a promise that the future holds a large spot in the spotlight for this woman. I expect to see her making a major difference in the world for decades to come.

While folks at home in Patagonia are waiting for the snow to fly, counting the clouds rolling by overhead and trying to keep busy with home renos, we are in gorgeous Vancouver, British Columbia (aka “the most beautiful place in the world”) catching up with dear old friends, meeting new babies, biking, kayaking, fishing, pushing Patagonia, working, signing contracts and spending as much time as possible on the Pacific Ocean.

It’s delightful to be here in early summertime, with snow still capping the Coast Mountains and warm sunny days offering up so many adventures. And to be at ‘home’ in Canada.

This is a perfect way to skip out on the late shoulder season in Bariloche, which can drag on and on. As I get emails from friends and collegues down south with daily reports of winter’s gentle arrival, I’ve got butterflies about the adventure ahead once we leave BC and meet up with winter in full force. I’ll be back south in a month, Max in two weeks when we starts a busy few months of ski guiding. So here’s hoping the snow’s flying!

There’s lots going on in Patagonia these days and I’m waist-deep in a lofty new project which is about bringing more of this magical place to the world, and hoping that said attention will bring good things right back here where they are needed.
Meanwhile, issues I’ve written about here over the past continue to keep us on our toes here.

The Ashes at the Airport situation remains strained. Flights are still cancelled and the choir of those suspicious about the true nature of the closure is growing. Are there real technical malfunctions at the Bariloche International Airport that are so bad they must close the airport down and hide it behind the ash curtain? Does this have something to do with bad management? Is it related to plans to dig for oil not far from the airport? It’s becoming quite a polemica here, with people suggesting the airport is actually closed for something besides ash in the air. The number of people who have been unable to work due to the airport closure is really quite phenomenal, and people are on edge. The only people who are happy are the folks at the local longhaul bus companies.
The somewhat dodgy local government has stepped in and this is the first real challenge for our new mayor. He’s joined forces with other local ‘leaders’ and called on the Ministry of Defence (in charge of the AirForce and airports) to sort out the mess.  It’s now considered a ’supposed’ closure due ‘allegedly’ to the ashes in the air.
The ski season is set to begin in Bariloche on June 29th. The snow is on its way, but flights still aren’t.

Meanwhile, a short ways south of here, there’s another battle underway to stop the daming of yet another glorious Patagonian river, this time the Rio Puelo and its sister the mighty Manso, two of my most beloved spots in the world. On any given day, if I could go just about anywhere, I’d be headed straight there.  Once again spearheaded by Endesa, Spain’s all-powerful electricity company, this particular hydro-electric project involves water on both sides of the Andes, and once again points to the need to understand Patagonia as a bi-national region.

Should be an interesting winter.

It started with our visit with Matt Lauer from NBC’s The Today Show. A real jolt to our quiet, isolated, low-key lives, that brought us and our beloved Patagonia to the attention of millions.

Then, my mom in Toronto rang and mentioned that the ever-chic and classically timeless matriarch Nikki Newman, on everybody’s favourite noon-hour escape telenovela “The Young and the Restless”, was heading to Patagonia for her latest honeymoon. Does it get more mainstream than that?

Now, it’s a 14-page spread in the current June issue of Vogue Magazine (US edition) that has a supermodel in gorgeous high-fashion “exploring the colossal glaciers and craggy peaks of Patagonia”. She’s boating across Lago Argentino in Ralph Lauren, ice-climbing in Fendi, fly-fishing in Vera Wang, and mountain biking with gauchos in a Dries Van Noten shrimp windbreaker - all in the majestic landscapes around El Calafate in Southern Patagonia.

The accompanying article tells how a region that once ‘epitomized the romance of travel to the edge’ is now open to all, thanks to the airport in El Calafate and a handful of high-end estancias and hotels (most reviewed by me in Frommers Argentina).

You can today find some wonderful pampering, the writer tells you, amongst the “remote, vast and breathtakingingly beautiful Patagonia.” There’s even a shot of said model getting a massage on the Perito Moreno Glacier!

There are truly stunning photos by the amazing Patrick Demarchelier in a spread called “Falling off the Map” which makes me wonder: isn’t that exactly what I’ve been trying to do, fall off the map?

What if it’s my job to promote the place I love so much for its vastness and distance?

The beauty is cleary undeniable and the appeal hardly unique to me, but it’s counter-instinctual to want to bring more people to a region I also want to keep all to myself.

Here’s some quick updates from the shadow of Volcan Chaiten, which has been erupting since May 2:

• People have been hearing strange rumblings from the majestic Cerro Lopez, a massive mountain that is Bariloche’s back curtain. For the past few days, there’ve been a few trembles felt. Things got messy yesterday afternoon when a massive slide tumbled down the northeast face of Lopez. Families living near Lopez Creek were evacuated, puzzled and concerned. This science is pretty hard to grasp.
• Another quake that measured 5.4 on the Richter scale hit just north of Chaiten late last night. Specialists are saying it’s not volcanic activity but tectonic.
• Ashes are back in the air in Bariloche. This just one day after the airport was finally opened following 20 days. Today, it’s closed again. While this has garnered little attention from gringos thinking of coming down for a ski holidays, it’s been bigtime news in Brazil, the source of Bariloche’s most important winter tourism market. This has got people really worried about the season ahead.
• The Llao Llao Resort, I’ve been told, has given its staff an unexpected vacation. Not sure if it’s a paid vacation or not (doubtful), but like any highend hotel that relies on air transport to fill beds, the place has been an absolute ghost town latey. Apparently, the option of coming in via van from another airport four hours away hasn’t appealed. Bigger, highend hotels have definitely been the hardest hit by the volcanic ash issue so far.