Refried Neurons

Good morning, Manchester!
Just kidding—we’re still in El Chaltén. It’s actually our last day here, but first, more walking: Mirador del Cerro Torre.

The trail starts not far from our house, but we drove to the trailhead since we had to check out and leave the premises. Ready for the next adventure, with the AllTrails map downloaded, we set off—for one minute. Until I realised my water camel was leaking. Fuck!

Backpack and the only clean thermal top—soaked. Anyway, we repacked, stuffed everything into M’s backpack (along with our already insufficient water supply), and headed off again.

This trail isn’t as popular. For the first hour, we were completely alone, to the point where we started talking louder—you know, to scare off any lurking pumas. 😂 The hike was roughly the same length as the one to Fitz Roy but definitely less challenging. Most of it followed a plateau along the river, which started as a stunning canyon but gradually opened up into a wide, meandering boulder field, flanked by mid-height shrubs. It was clear that a large part of the area had burned down not long ago—fire warning signs were everywhere.

Once again, the views did not disappoint. The narrow path was initially lined with greenery peppered with yellow flowers, winding through a labyrinth of shrubs. The valley we walked through was surrounded by mountains, and ahead of us, massive peaks covered in glaciers and snow lured us in. It was simply breathtaking. I loved how every few kilometres, the landscape changed completely.

Next up—the forest! And not some neatly planted one, but a primordial-looking wilderness. Though, considering how far the glacier extended not too long ago, I’m not sure how old it really was. Still, I’m calling it primordial.

Finally, we arrived at the glacial moraine—a hill at the end of the glacier’s tongue, formed from all the material the glacier had pushed forward. In simple terms: a very bouldery hill, behind which lay a small lake and the glacier tongue. This bit looked like we’d landed on the bloody moon. Dark, moody, even the lake didn’t have that classic glacial blue—it was murky and beige. Completely different from the other glaciers we’d seen so far.

We got down to the lake shore, soaking in the cold air (and yes, eating empanadas). Most of the hike had been warm—t-shirts were acceptable at times—but here, the temperature dropped. You could feel the glacier nearby. After refueling, it was time for photos. I placed Sheepy on a nice rock, ready to capture her in all her Instagrammable glory when—

A condor swooped down from the mountains, flying ridiculously low, right over our heads. Over mine to be precise. The second I hid Sheepy, the condor veered off and glided along the moraine toward the glacier. We’d seen them the day before, but only in the distance, soaring above the mountains. This? This was about five metres overhead. Everyone around us was just as stunned, but I was convinced that condor had eyed Sheepy up for a meal.

We waited, half expecting it to return, but it never did. Or at least not in the hour we spent at the lake.

There are two trails along the moraine, both dead ends and neither official—just paths marked on AllTrails. We chose the one going right, thinking we’d reach the glacier in 30 minutes. Yeah, no. Half an hour in, we hadn’t even covered a quarter of the distance. Then we spotted people in the distance—thank you, person in the red jacket—and realised reaching the glacier (if it was even possible) would take at least three more hours of boulder-hopping. That group was only halfway and barely visible. Considering we still had a drive to El Calafate ahead of us, we called it. Maybe next time.

By the time we got back to the lake, it was packed. So, less popular than Fitz Roy, sure, but still pretty damn popular. The mountains above the glacier had been hidden in clouds, but about 30 minutes into our return, Fitz Roy finally showed its face. Oh, how stunning. What a view.

For a moment, we considered going back to the lake, but you never know how long these clearings last. Plus, right where we stood, we had the perfect view: green trees and yellow flowers in the foreground, blue sky above, and Fitz Roy, snow-covered and frowning down on us. Every few minutes, we stopped just to look back, taking in the last glimpses.

On our Fitz Roy hike, we’d skipped an extra loop—one that circled another lake and supposedly offered the best view of Fitz Roy (you know, the postcard shot). Checking the map, we found a way to connect our current trail to the missed lake. So we turned left and started climbing. And climbing. This was steep.

Eventually, we reached the plateau where the lake was—same plateau as two days ago, just the opposite end. We pottered along until the path suddenly vanished. A fence blocked the way, complete with a huge sign saying no entry. You could see where the path used to be, but it was clearly no longer accessible. This was meant to be our shortcut. There was another, longer route—probably the official one—but we were running low on water. Highly disappointed (at least I was, not sure about M), we turned back.

At least we saw something new, right? M might not have agreed, considering I’d been adamant about the shortcut.

Anyway, time to head back. Also, we had laundry to pick up! Yes, El Chaltén has loads of laundromats. I guess many visitors come for months, or maybe they’re just as nuts as us, flying with only hand luggage.

Our car was still there—yey! The hike was great; we covered 25 km, and now we were actually excited to sit for three hours on the drive. We left before the tourist buses, so the road was empty. A few more stops to snap more photos of Fitz Roy (now cloudless!), and we were on our way to our fancy hostel—America del Sur Hostel Calafate.

It looked amazing in the photos—the kind of place you dream of stumbling into in your early 20s. Or, in our case, the kind of place we thought we wanted—some socialising, especially after last night’s pub fail. Stunning views from the communal space, a vegan café, organised parties…

Reality check? It was a hostel for posh European kids on trust-fund gap years.

Still, it was beautiful, so we booked a double room with an ensuite. Not very “hostel” of us, but hey, we’re slightly over 25 and need our comforts.

The view was stunning, so after a shower, I headed to the communal space for a glass of wine, a tourist guide, and maybe some food. There was karaoke planned for the evening, so we were actually pretty excited. M stayed in the room for a bit, catching up with family. That’s when I picked up a new friend. Or, to avoid sounding like a desperate old fart—let’s just say I started chatting with a random stranger.

She was a young English girl, travelling solo through South America for months. And people thought we were crazy for going as two girls! See? It ain’t that scary.

Okay, she did tell us she got robbed in Brazil. 😅 As did all her mates she met along the way. But other than that, she was having a blast. We also enlightened her on the wonders of exchanging pounds or dollars—Argentina is so cheap that way. Shame it was her last day—she’d been overpaying for everything.

Eventually, some young lad started chatting her up, so we were no longer her priority. We moved on to planning the next day.

The hostel had flyers for loads of trips, and honestly, we’d saved a shitload of money by just doing things ourselves. Considering petrol prices and the fact that most trips were just day tours (so you still had to pay for accommodation), they were absolute extortion—clearly aimed at Western tourists too scared to rent a car and drive on literally the emptiest, safest roads I’ve ever seen.

Still, we picked one—because this particular place didn’t allow private visitors. More on that tomorrow.

With grand plans to stay up and socialise, we went to bed at 8 pm. Completely knackered.