Well, I made a hash of that heading. Lack of practice. Should have it fluent by about March though. Sadly, no lie-in for us, as the pickup was scheduled for 7.30. We were there, but no bus until after 8, which meant we could’ve had a leisurely breakfast instead of nipping in for another bit of toast or fruit. But they’d cleared up the party debris, by dint of sweeping all the streamers into an enormous heap and covering it with balloons! Having first extracted all the masks, bowlers and noise-makers. Except for those I nicked, of course. The bus took us across the same bit of pampas as yesterday, to the same checkpoint I found the passport. By then, its owner was, coincidentally, sitting next to me and jolly nice he was too, working in Munich for the European Patent Office. I still don’t really understand what he does, but I’m sure someone needs to do it. I don’t know what the tour cost, but the bus was muggy, the sun scorching and all day, I missed half the scenery by falling asleep uncontrollably. One’s overriding impression in Argentina and Chile is of BIG; distant horizons, nothing manmade but the road, and that’s not metalled, one vehicle every 15 minutes. The flora is tough, desiccated, tenacious and stunted. The low-growing stuff formed cushions of familiar plants, increasingly as we drop from the higher altitudes: dandelions, marguerites, berberis, myrtle, bilberries, a small purple sweet pea, slipper orchids, foxgloves, lupins.
On the tour, we visited the largest of the Milodon Caves. This is 200m deep, and was inhabited 10,000 years ago by indigenous people who caught a grizzly-sized sloth for both food and fur. Not being blessed with pre-historic Greenpeace, all died out i.e. the people and the Milodon. The existing fauna is healthy and well-adjusted, but not very varied or prolific. The guanacos or ñandos are the fourth camelid to complete the set of llama, alpaca and vicuña. They are often seen near a small ostrich-type bird called a rhea, turkey-sized with grey plumage. Red and grey foxes are more nocturnal, but the oversized hare terrorises the grasslands. We saw neither hide nor hair, nor spore nor lair (not a bad rhyme, that!) however, of the puma. Boo hoo. And tomorrow, when we plan to trek, similar, please. We did, though, see a positive flock of forty condors, circling on the thermals, soaring on the long-johns, veering on the vests, as they do. Dots, of course, on the Nikon, and moving, blurred dots on the video. Humility-inspiring, despite the fact that they were there waiting for fresh placenta, thank you, from the sheep. Since the government nationalised the British-owned sheep and cattle farms in the 60s, allocating plots to the workers, the industry has collapsed. Chileans mourn, ironically, for UK rigour and economies of scale. Shortly after, we caught our first glimpse of the principal Torres del Paine, or Towers of Granite. They rise improbably as tall, slender peaks, oddly reminiscent of those Chinese paintings that fade mistily to infinity, but these are solid and deceptively crisp in the clear, distance-defying air. We lunched on a packed bag from the hotel at an Hosteria on a lake with glorious views of the mountains circling. Curiously, the water is so murky, there is no reflection of the peaks. Later we travelled to Lago Grey where the glacier has retreated 2k in 20 years, leaving a windy beach of terminal moraine holding back icebergs in the soupy water, backed by the Grey Glacier. In the walk back, mercifully out of the wind, we saw – oddly – green parakeets in the trees. Just like our neighbouring village of Hornton in Oxfordshire, except with red tails. We are billeted at Hosteria Las Torres, recommended by Betty [driver at airport] as the best in the park. Very reminiscent of a safari lodge, not cheap, but at least the lounge is spacious, ‘cos rooms are poky. Now knackered. Zzzz.