The Patagonia beer trail

‘Long time no blog’ was an accusation levelled at me recently. Not entirely unfair. The majority of the summer months (yes, I count October in that; yes, I appreciate that’s ridiculous) have been devoid of big adventures. Instead, there have been a lot of little trips: watching friends get married in England and France (more correctly, stuffing my face on oysters and foie gras); running my way around the French Alps (highly recommended); eating my way around Rome and Puglia (also highly recommended). Just spending time with friends and trying not to get on Kiki’s nerves.

Now, in my last couple of months of freedom, the adventures are kicking back into gear. The latest was an exhausting week chasing around the Duracell Bunny (Josh is small and has too much energy) on a short but substantial bike pack through Argentine Patagonia.

There is nothing like being frogmarched off a 14 hour flight to Santiago and straight into a family barbecue to put you in a South American mindset. Generous hospitality, good wine, even better steak and oh my god the sausages. If you know where you can get salchicha chilena in Blighty, hit me up. If not, does anyone fancy getting into the import / export game with me?

The following morning (take a 14 hour flight, family barbecue and meat sweats, then throw an 05:30 start into the mix) we left Santiago for San Martin de Los Andes, a lakeside town over the border in Argentina. From there, we would cycle to the town Bariloche over the course of three days, using the dirt paths and remote passes that connect isolated settlements on the way.

And so after a 12 hour drive, we arrived in San Martin. In my head, we then had a contingency day to check over our bikes and grab an ice cream by the lake before the hard work started. It turns out Josh had different ideas. His gentle suggestion of a trail run to explore one of the hills around San Martin turned out to be less ‘gentle suggestion’ and more ‘stern instruction’. No surprise, then, when ‘trail run’ turned out to be less that and more ‘scramble through the undergrowth shouting for each other after you get separated on the top of the mountain.’ The views from the top were sensational, but I am still trying to work out the moral of the story: it is either ‘do not run with someone with unlimited energy’ or ‘it is always worth it for the view.’ I know what Josh would say…

Thankfully, when the cycling started, the views continued and the Duracell Bunny calmed down. The climbing began immediately as we ascended into the hills above San Martin for a spectacular view of town, the lake and volcanoes beyond. For much of the route, we were on our own, passing through forests and alpine pasture. By the time we reached out our base for the night – a hole in a wall in a kind local’s basement – we had seen no more than a handful of other people. The hole in the wall proved a very welcome rest from the weather which had, over the course of the day, turned from slightly overcast to bloody awful. I have never been more grateful for a wood burner to help me warm my toes and dry my kit.

The weather improved overnight and there were hints of blue sky as we rolled out of town on glorious dirt road towards the Paso Cordoba. In our planning, we had not really paid Cordoba too much attention. The first hint that that might have been an oversight was the glint in our host’s eyes as we were readying the bikes in the morning... and as we reached the foot of the climb around midday, the reason for said glint became apparent. Cordoba is not massive – 500m at most – but what it lacks in elevation, it more than makes up for in surface and exposure, neither of which show up in an elevation profile. We suffered for a good hour crawling up the side of that bloody mountain on a lumpy dirt road in the midday heat. I suppose that is one point for: 'it is always worth it for the view.'

Josh enjoying the tailwinds on the far side of Cordoba, courtesy of generative AI

The height of the pass meant the weather was markedly different on each sides. Gone was any trace of bad weather and as we descended, we were treated to a sensational tail wind. We flew across the wide open plains that bordered the river before turning back onto the main road for the last sprint to our accommodation for the night.

La Maroma lodge is a family spot perched on a cliff above Villa Llanquin, a small village of 300 people, and is one of the more remarkable places I’ve ever stayed. From the outside, it does not look like very much, but inside it is a true gaucho lodge on the inside, complete with fully stocked bar and hot showers. We spent a very pleasant evening watching the sun go down over the river below and being spoiled rotten by the family that run the lodge. Quite the reward for our toils.

The following day, we returned to civilisation. We left Villa Llanquin and worked our way out of the wide valley it sat in. Coming over the crest of a hill about 20km from Bariloche, the views suddenly exploded: our destination and the glacial lake it sits on dominated the foreground; the massive expanse of the snow-capped southern Andes stretched for miles beyond it. We rejoined the road (incl actual stretches of actual tarmac!) for one last sprint into town before we earned our beer, chocolate and quintessentially Argentine steak…. Success.

The reward for all of this (in addition to the steak) … two weeks touring around South America with another friend from work. Stay tuned.