The Dog that Wanted to Eat the Sea

Wouldn’t that make a nice Dr Seuss story?

But it’s actually the story of one of the dogs we met along the bank of Lake Nahuel Huapi.

Although it is called a “Lake”, Nahuel Huapi is HUMONGOUS. You can barely see the shoreline of the opposite side of the bank. More incredibly, the lake was large enough to have its own wave system. This could be partly due to the (at times) insanely strong winds in the region (apparently, that’s the price to pay to be at the edge of flat, barren, beautiful Patagonia). And since it was winter, the average temperature around the lake, with the ridiculous wind chill could go down easily to -15°C DURING THE DAY.

And it was in this special, frozen part of hell that I found out that one of the things WE love most in the world was to go for strolls along the lake. Specifically, strolls along the lake at sunset when the temperature is the coldest and the wind the strongest.

To be fair, the scenery around the lake was something else. The trees that were recently “botak” from winter provided a nice foreground to the impossibly clear lake. Across the water, the snow capped mountains of the Andes was the perfect setting for some truly spectacular sunsets.

At the side of Lake Nahuel Huapi

Also… Jo can do her Rocky pose along the lake

Seriously… the sunsets were ridiculous

Anyway, one day, while we were doing our “usual” sunset walk (where I was NOT bitching about being dragged around in typhoon speed winds), we saw this…

And he/she/it carried on dashed madly/happily up and down the coast trying to eat up the lake for the full 20 minutes we were waiting standing there, waiting for the sun to set (this was right before my nose fell off from the cold).

Before you say anything, I have to mention that the temperature of the lake never goes above 15°C… even during the summer.

So, that is one very determined, or incredibly stupid dog. I am sure that there is a parable about finding the simple joys in life, or a lesson to learn about chasing your dreams fearlessly, but at that moment in time, the only thing I can think of was that Chumbawamba song – right after “extreme brain freeze”.

Switzerland!

Actually… we’re still in Argentina.

But you can’t blame us for thinking otherwise.

To us, Bariloche will always be remembered as the Land of the Godly Meat. (Yup… I am aware that came out slightly wrong). But to many Argentinians, it’s the premier ski resort in the country. The town is situated at the foot of the majestic Andes and surrounded by the HUGE Lake Nahuel Huapi.

The buildings in town are primarily made from stone and wood. Along with the crisp mountain air and the sight of snow capped mountains in the background, we could almost hear yodeling in the distance.

The town hall of San Carlos de Bariloche

Jo in the town square. She’s taking a decent photo for once… only to be photo bombed by Drogo from Game of Thrones

The townfolks certainly did their part to help perpetuate the “Swiss-ness” of the place.

Happy, shiny people walk around the town with snowboards and skis; touts with huge-ass adult and baby Saint Bernards (the dog, not the 11th Century monk) roam the town square; tourist trains ply the narrow alleys, and (very importantly) chocolate boutiques and breweries line both sides of the streets in the main drag of Bariloche (Av San Martin and Av Belgrano… of course)

Tourist Train in Bariloche

What’s better than chocolates? Oodles of Chocolate IN Chocolate Ice Cream

Yup, I think we could stay here for a little while longer…

A Bite of Heaven

This is a bit embarrassing to admit, but upon arriving back in Argentina, we felt the pinch on our wallets… unfortunately, that feeling only lasted for a grand total of one night.

On our second night in Bariloche, we found ourselves heading to one of the more expensive restaurants in the resort town for our dinner.

For Some Reason, after a day in Bariloche, we felt it would be more than a little unfair to ourselves if we spent the rest of our time in Argentina munching on cheap (but good) panchos and oversized (and also good) hamburgers.

The view as we walked out of the hostel. Or as I call it, “Some Reason”. The crisp,and sometime heady mountain air probably didn’t help in our powers of decision-making as well.

Anyway, the restaurant we were headed to – El Boliche de Alberto, was supposed to serve the best steaks in Argentina. And since Argentina is supposed to serve some of the best steaks in the world, theoretically, that would mean that we could have the best steak in the world at this restaurant.

See! Mountain Air Logic.

I’ve never been a big fan of steak, seeing that I… don’t normally eat them. But even I could smell that there was something special cooking in Alberto’s from two blocks down.

We arrived at the restaurant 10 minutes after they were opened. It’s not that we WANTED to be early, but even after all this time, we were not really used to the South American dinner time yet. Anyway, this meant that there wasn’t much of a queue and we were whisked straight to our table.

For (allegedly) the best steak restaurant in South America, the decor in de Alberto is surprisingly low key and down to earth. It conjures up a “family-restaurant-I-have-been-visiting-since-I-was-a-kid” kinda atmosphere and not the “you-are-going-to-give-us-all-your-money-while-we-serve-you-tooth-pick-sized-servings-and-we-will-be-looking-down-our-noses-while-we-are-at-it” snotty vibe.

One of the things that I love about El Boliche de Alberto is its open concept kitchen. Monster sized slabs of meat are barbecued in the Godzilla of ovens behind the counter, and the (rather good looking) chefs slather on the seasoning and slice up the beef in front of our eyes. Great stuff.

Secret shot of el harmosa de beautifique at work… Now I know how those Japanese old men who take upskirt shots feel

So what about the food?

Well… I don’t normally eat beef back in Singapore, so I am not really an expert on the matter (I suddenly came to the realization that for me, steak falls under the same category of “things I don’t normally eat” along with dishes like rotten horse meat and rabbit heads).

I just know that somehow we ended up with a steaming plate of blood and meat in front of us. To be honest, this was the point when I started to panic a little. The smell of the bife de lomo we ordered was AMAZING, but it’s not every day that the meat I am cutting into would ooze/squirt blood in my general direction.

It was all very Dexter-esque for me, but apparently this type of meat is quite common for the rest of the dinner crowd.

We’ve since learnt that beside being totally incapable to take an order for steaks that are cooked beyond “medium”, the scale the Argentinians use to measure how cooked a steak is is one rank off the one that we are normally used to. So if you’ve ordered a “medium rare” steak, expect it to be “rare” by normal standards, and if you ordered your steak “rare”, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just left a live (still moo-ing) cow on your table.

Well… it took some time, but I finally cut a sliver of the bife de lomo and took a tentative bite into it.

The meat was ridiculously tender and every bite of the bife released a literal burst of herbs and blood. The fatty portions of the meat melted in parts of my mouth I never even realized I had.

I think I might have peed myself a little.

All along, I’ve always pooh-pooh-ed at some people when they describe how certain wines have certain characters and how some wines must be paired with particular foods. I’ve always found this to be more than slightly pretentious.

I am a pretentious douche bag.

Impossible as it may seem, the overwhelming experience of eating our dinner was brought to the next level when we accompanied it with a sip of the $12 bottle of Malbec that we bought.

Oh… if only I could find the words…

It was the first time that I think I can understand what people mean when they say that the wine adds a new “dimension” to the food they are eating. Or in my own words, damn friggin delicious, can?

So far, much of our trip had been pretty much unplanned. We would wake up and go wherever we felt like. But right there in that restaurant, I started drawing up a schedule for a meal at de Alberto EVERY DAY we are in Bariloche.

The Steaks of Alberto

We’ve found that Poor-y feeling woaaah that Poor-y feeling

After some time in Chile, we forgot how expensive things were back in Argentina.

View Larger Map

Of course, we were quickly reminded of it the moment we stepped off the bus at San Carlos de Bariloche (or as the locals like to call it: “Bariloche”).

The Bus Station was a good 3km (29837.342928374 miles) (10 Titanics) from town.

We had the options of:

a) Waiting 75 minutes for the next local bus
or
b) Taking one of the many waiting cabs into town for US$35

Even though we’d factored the transport cost into our budget (yes… haha… we have a budget), it still felt just that little bit too extravagant to spend so much on a cab…. (the average cab taking cost in Chile is about US$5).

We decided on the most sensible option available to us…

Walk into town with our 25kg backpacks.

The start of the walk was a bit dreary since we had to trudge through the outskirts of town. Huge trucks kept blowing large amounts of dust into our faces as they passed us while we marched through (what looked to be) an industrial estate. We were dusty and grimy, so I was not exactly the happiest camper around. Somehow, Jo continued merrily skipping down the road. I think the 12 hours of sleep she got on the bus from Puerto Varas might have something to do with the wall-smashingly high levels of chirpiness.

Of course, her backpack ONLY weighs 16kg

Jo told me the last part of the walk into town was actually very pleasant because we had a panoramic view of the Nahuel Huapi Lake.

Lakeside view. Legend has it that Hitler and Eva Braune escaped to a little village on the outskirts of the lake to live out their lives, instead of… you know… committing suicide in a dirty bunker under Berlin. Hitler probably would’ve gotten a huge kick out of watching his minions march down the dirt road. Note: I am in no way comparing Jo to a moustached sadistic Nazi

But I wouldn’t know…I was too busy massaging the blood back into my arms.

But even I realized that there was something “special” about the trees in town…

Yarn Bombed!!!

Bariloche is known for being the ski resort of the rich and the famous. We quickly realized that it really didn’t help our financial outlook to have jumped from Chile into one of the most expensive resort towns in Argentina.

Our accommodation at Hostal Portofino cost twice what we usually paid when we were in Chile, and you can imagine our horror when we realized that the standard items on most menus in Bariloche were easily three times what we paid for kickass fresh eel and organic sandwiches just the day before.

Feeling exceptionally impoverished, we decided we should go for a poor man’s dinner… well… as poor as things can go in Bariloche without resorting to Oscar-the-Grouch-ing in trash cans – a burger/pancho combo at the local fast food joint.

Milk Bottles, Burgers and Panchos. Note: For us, any restaurant that serve their sauces in milk bottles get HUGE props for creativity

At US$15 a pop for our meal, all I can say it that at least they have the decency to dish out huge portions. And yeah… the pancho came with some kickass dressing as well (we were able to choose up to three).

Seeing that we are going to be spending the next month or so in Argentina, I am thinking we should start hitting the supermarkets and cook up some budget meals…

But then there is the problem of eating our own cooking….

I heard the medical expenses in Argentina is pretty hefty too.

Always. Take. The. FRONT ROW. Seats

“Which seats would you like?”, the girl at the ticket counter asked sweetly.

“Those in blue are the seats available, including THESE…”, she continued, FURIOUSLY circling seat 01 and 02, “the front row seats where you’ll be able have panoramic views. They cost the same as the rest.“

On retrospect, it seems obvious now that she was probably trying to give us a hint and a tip, which was why I’m pretty sure I caught a glimpse of the girl’s eyeballs doing an Exorcist-ish roll around her head when we replied, “Oh! I think we’ll take seats 23 and 24. Somewhere in the centre… near the television screen.”

I can understand her frustration. It’s like trying to give someone the tickets to a Beatles revival concert only to be told they’d rather go for the Justin Bieber one instead, thank you very much.

I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that the eight hour bus ride from Mendoza to Santiago de Chile is one of the most amazing ones that I’ve ever been on.

Next Stop… Santiago

The road starts in the vineyards of Mendoza and continues on into the surrounding deserts before climbing into the complicated and jaw-droppingly majestic mountain ranges of the Andes.

Graveyards in the desert

Villages at the foot of the Andes

The road snakes through numerous mountain passes before stopping at…

Probably the world’s most beautiful immigration checkpoint, with…

…the world’s cutest customs officer

I apologize for the poor quality of these pictures. I think we were not really allowed to do it seeing as we were made to queue up in a line with our luggage open while Bingo ran around gleefully trying to sniff out wrong doers.