Woke up this morning about 7:30 and dozed until about 8:10, suddenly becoming aware that my 8am wake up call hadn't arrived. No matter now. Showered and finished packing. I called Chris and Summer to confirm breakfast for 9. We agreed to meet in the lobby beforehand to stow our bags and get our comped lift ticket for the day. Over breakfast Chris visited the raspberry juice chiller with his water bottle one final time, successfully avoiding the ire of the Queen de Sur.
As we made our way to the ski school area to strap in, we noticed the much cooler temperature compared to yesterday. The snow today would be very crusty. We made our way to the top of Mirador but about halfway down decided to head to the Bajo Zero restaurant and let the skiers shave down some of the ice. After one beer and 2.5 hours of sitting in the sun, it appeared as though the conditions had improved.
Summer decided to camp on the snow patio while Chris and I ventured to Andes Express to ultimately brave the Tres Puntas Poma. From Cima Andes we took the wide, gentle curving Lazo run down to Base Ballica and the 1.6km Poma lift. I lost the first one but successfully hung on to the first one. The ride wasn't nearly as steep as the ski patrol we consulted a few days earlier had indicated. Like both Cima Mirador and Cima Andes, Cima Tres Puntas has its own unique perspective of the valleys. As we looked west, a significant and menacing front was quickly moving towards us from behind the Colorado resort. We had to get back to the top of Mirador and fast or we'd be stuck with flat light and possible whiteout conditions. We made it about halfway down when the light changed dramatically. We slowly made our way to another Poma from Base Ballicas that joined up with Retorno Alto and took us to Mirador. From Mirador back to Bajo Zero, the cloud front just kept getting darker and darker.
Having rounded up Summer, we made our way to the Vaiven chair, which took us back to hotel complex, before the low cloud moved in and the whiteout began. I've ridden in similar conditions and they're not fun. It's akin to riding by braille. Though in one way it's good because your sense of fear gets short-circuited when you can't see more than several meters in front of you. Despite all the frustration we've experienced, we did have 3.5 days of cloudless blue sky riding and acceptable snow.
Chris and Summer changed out of their gear. Their board bag supports two separate compartments for boards and clothes. Mine unfortunately has only one and the idea of putting a wet board in with my dry clothes just did not seem like a good idea. Since none of us had eaten lunch we headed back to the lounge whose outdoor patio we met on a few days earlier. This time the service was much, much better.
As we made our way back to the hotel where I would rendezvous with my driver, they ran in to theirs. We could all leave momentarily and avoid any effects of the storm front. The drive down wasn't nearly as bad, in part because with the low cloud you couldn't see in to the valley.
My hotel was a very pleasant oasis in the midst of the vibrant neighbourhood of Providencia in Santiago, just east of the Rio Mapocho. I checked in and got out of my boarding gear and took a nice long hot shower. I vegged in the room, waiting to see what, if anything, Chris and Summer wanted to do for dinner that night. Not surprisingly they were content to hang out at their hotel and were dead tired. I concurred and we agreed to touch base the next morning. I went downstairs to the small bistro, Cafetto, which flanks the hotel's entrance. I ordered a surprisingly spicy chacarero sandwich and a Kunstman Bock Negra. They both hit the spot. Not really in the mood to do much more than sleep, I headed back upstairs and zoned out on a mediocre cop movie starring Harrison Ford and Josh Harnett. The late night at the staff party and the four days of riding finally caught up with me; I was out by 10:30.
29 August 2008
Valle Nevado 2+3 aside
I apologize if they were kind of rambling. I believe I may have come down with a very mild flu a couple days ago. Coughing and being achy peaked yesterday evening while I was writing.
28 August 2008
Valle Nevado 3
I'm not sure if it's because of the routine I've developed here, most recently to catch the shuttle to Las Leñas in the mornings back in Argentina, but I'm finding it very difficult to sleep much past 7:30am, regardless of when I go to sleep. I dozed a little bit more, but with more than an hour to kill before breakfast, I decided to catch up on the blog in the interim. (Ed. note: this really would be so much easier and timely if I'd had my laptop.)
I met up with Chris and Summer at 9:30 for a breakfast that we nursed until about 10:30. Chris once again filled up the water bottle with jugo de frambueses. We weren't sure if we'd encounter the wrath of the Mistress de Sur (the name of our Hotel's restaurant) but we escaped her ire this morning.
We returned to our rooms to change. When Chris called at 11 saying they'd be ready for 11:45, I was basically dressed and chose to make one quick run before meeting them. It was very warm today, probably in the 3 to 4 degrees above zero range. Today was going to be slushy. At the top of Mirador, the wind wasn't nearly as strong or as cold as the prior day but had clearly been scrubbing the mountain of any loose snow during the night. The Retorno Medio and Retorno Bajo runs were both hard packed, bordering on icy. I stored my board at the base of the hotel complex and went to meet Chris and Summer back at the Tres Puntas Hotel.
We made a few runs, noticing the the 4 to 5 degree change in temperature as you went from Base Prado at 2680m to the tops of Cima Mirador at 3300m and Cima Andes at 3480m. We ventured into my powder field one last time and all agreed that it's glory days were over.
Before breaking for lunch we decided to try and enter one of the last untouched areas on the mountain, a gentle sloping hill to the right of the terrain park. While it wasn't powder, with the warm temperature and intense sun, uncooked risotto may be the best description of the snow. If the temperature dropped tomorrow, this would turn into a skating rink. The gently slope led into a natural serpentine halfpipe that eventually led out on to the Prado cat track. We all had a good ride through that.
What a difference a day makes. Being a weekday, the hill was nearly empty. The lift lines were easily 1/3 their size of the prior two days and were slightly better behaved. Even the Bajo Zero restaurant was civilized. Ordering food still involved a rather chaotic ordeal amongst the four tills. While Chris waited for our food, I picked up a round of the oh so delicious and addicting Pisco sours. The mild temperature and clear blue skies prompted another round of Pisco sours as we continued to lounge on the snow patio of Bajo Zero.
It was nearly four when we decided to leave. We all headed back up to Mirador where Chris and I parted ways with Summer and made one more run over to Andes Express and then back to Mirador for the Retorno run back to the hotel.
Following dinner, we proceeded to complete an early checkout before heading up to the pub for 80s night. Summer ordered rounds of Caipiriñas. After the third round, our server told us about a bimonthly staff party taking place at the onsite gymnasium/climbing wall and that we were welcome to drop in. While the tunes in the pub were a real trip down memory lane nothing much was happening at the pub. We agreed to meet in the lobby at 1am, after completing our packing, and head over to the staff party.
The staff party was a riot. $2 cans of Escudo beer (think Pilsner) and a Latin Hip-hop DJ. Both the energy and the crowd were great. After nearly an hour there, we headed back to the hotel. An 8:30 breakfast would come much too early.
I met up with Chris and Summer at 9:30 for a breakfast that we nursed until about 10:30. Chris once again filled up the water bottle with jugo de frambueses. We weren't sure if we'd encounter the wrath of the Mistress de Sur (the name of our Hotel's restaurant) but we escaped her ire this morning.
We returned to our rooms to change. When Chris called at 11 saying they'd be ready for 11:45, I was basically dressed and chose to make one quick run before meeting them. It was very warm today, probably in the 3 to 4 degrees above zero range. Today was going to be slushy. At the top of Mirador, the wind wasn't nearly as strong or as cold as the prior day but had clearly been scrubbing the mountain of any loose snow during the night. The Retorno Medio and Retorno Bajo runs were both hard packed, bordering on icy. I stored my board at the base of the hotel complex and went to meet Chris and Summer back at the Tres Puntas Hotel.
We made a few runs, noticing the the 4 to 5 degree change in temperature as you went from Base Prado at 2680m to the tops of Cima Mirador at 3300m and Cima Andes at 3480m. We ventured into my powder field one last time and all agreed that it's glory days were over.
Before breaking for lunch we decided to try and enter one of the last untouched areas on the mountain, a gentle sloping hill to the right of the terrain park. While it wasn't powder, with the warm temperature and intense sun, uncooked risotto may be the best description of the snow. If the temperature dropped tomorrow, this would turn into a skating rink. The gently slope led into a natural serpentine halfpipe that eventually led out on to the Prado cat track. We all had a good ride through that.
What a difference a day makes. Being a weekday, the hill was nearly empty. The lift lines were easily 1/3 their size of the prior two days and were slightly better behaved. Even the Bajo Zero restaurant was civilized. Ordering food still involved a rather chaotic ordeal amongst the four tills. While Chris waited for our food, I picked up a round of the oh so delicious and addicting Pisco sours. The mild temperature and clear blue skies prompted another round of Pisco sours as we continued to lounge on the snow patio of Bajo Zero.
It was nearly four when we decided to leave. We all headed back up to Mirador where Chris and I parted ways with Summer and made one more run over to Andes Express and then back to Mirador for the Retorno run back to the hotel.
Following dinner, we proceeded to complete an early checkout before heading up to the pub for 80s night. Summer ordered rounds of Caipiriñas. After the third round, our server told us about a bimonthly staff party taking place at the onsite gymnasium/climbing wall and that we were welcome to drop in. While the tunes in the pub were a real trip down memory lane nothing much was happening at the pub. We agreed to meet in the lobby at 1am, after completing our packing, and head over to the staff party.
The staff party was a riot. $2 cans of Escudo beer (think Pilsner) and a Latin Hip-hop DJ. Both the energy and the crowd were great. After nearly an hour there, we headed back to the hotel. An 8:30 breakfast would come much too early.
Valle Nevado 2
After our late dinner and late night with several beverages we elected to make a much later start today. We met for breakfast and Chris, having brought a small water bottle, filled it with the raspberry purée for later imbibing on the hill.
We took a couple warm up runs and we headed to "Curtis' Powder Field." Summer got a good taste of the appeal of powder and it's nasty side when you fall in it: the amount of work needed to get back up again. Today was a nice cruising day trying to find any last vestiges of untracked snow.
By now it was after two so we decided to try Restaurant Baja Zero again for lunch. I grabbed drinks but Chris got involved in an incident while getting our food. (Chris believes that Chileans, and I would further extrapolate to include the Argentinians, have a smaller zone of personal space compared to North Americans. It might explain some of the lift line chaos.) After having several people butt in front of him in line for food and a guy behind him complaining in Spanish about him being either an American or a German, Chris turned around and tore a strip off him in German. Converstaion in the immediate vicinity, including the kitchen, stopped.
Following lunch, we made our way to the first of two lifts to take us back to my powder field where Chris had buried the bottle of raspberry juice. While waiting in line we experienced the most galling display of assumed privilege any of us had ever seen. A single skier pushed past us and the two groups in front of us to accost a chair for herself. We were left nearly speechless. Even during spring break when Whistler is overrun with the kids from the North Shore mountains I never witnessed such behaviour. Perhaps its a matter of the lift operations team being more assertive or a better merging system.
The event was quickly forgotten as we made our way back to the powder field to recover the raspberry juice. We stopped at a rock outcrop immediately above the drop zone to take some photos. Summer, having unstrapped from her board, was walking towards the rocks when one leg immediately sank down nearly three feet. We managed to pull her out and with a couple of shim stones, managed a decent group shot. After retrieving the bottle of red nectar, Chris attempted another jump off a powder precipice but found the landing area a bit too flat. Summer tracked a bit further downhill, gaining more of an appreciation for the butter-like sensation of riding on powder.
After that, Summer went to catch a run back to the hotel while Chris and I went to take in a few more runs. When I next looked at my watch it was nearly 4:20. We decided to make one last trip up Mirador and take the Retorno route back to the Hotel.
That night we decided to brave the international buffet in our hotel's restaurant. The theme was Asian but wasn't executed very well. Chris had a tasty bird drumstick but we all passed on the mashed potatoes. From there we went to the pub upstairs and over a few rounds of beer played a single game of pool that lasted nearly an hour. Yes, the three of us all sucked that badly. After finally sinking the eight ball, we moved back to a table and were joined by two guys, we believe both former military: one, currently in the Air Force and working as a refuelling tanker plane pilot and the other, in private industry as a corporate security consultant. We all chatted a bit and left around 1:00 or 1:30, agreeing to another late breakfast.
We took a couple warm up runs and we headed to "Curtis' Powder Field." Summer got a good taste of the appeal of powder and it's nasty side when you fall in it: the amount of work needed to get back up again. Today was a nice cruising day trying to find any last vestiges of untracked snow.
By now it was after two so we decided to try Restaurant Baja Zero again for lunch. I grabbed drinks but Chris got involved in an incident while getting our food. (Chris believes that Chileans, and I would further extrapolate to include the Argentinians, have a smaller zone of personal space compared to North Americans. It might explain some of the lift line chaos.) After having several people butt in front of him in line for food and a guy behind him complaining in Spanish about him being either an American or a German, Chris turned around and tore a strip off him in German. Converstaion in the immediate vicinity, including the kitchen, stopped.
Following lunch, we made our way to the first of two lifts to take us back to my powder field where Chris had buried the bottle of raspberry juice. While waiting in line we experienced the most galling display of assumed privilege any of us had ever seen. A single skier pushed past us and the two groups in front of us to accost a chair for herself. We were left nearly speechless. Even during spring break when Whistler is overrun with the kids from the North Shore mountains I never witnessed such behaviour. Perhaps its a matter of the lift operations team being more assertive or a better merging system.
The event was quickly forgotten as we made our way back to the powder field to recover the raspberry juice. We stopped at a rock outcrop immediately above the drop zone to take some photos. Summer, having unstrapped from her board, was walking towards the rocks when one leg immediately sank down nearly three feet. We managed to pull her out and with a couple of shim stones, managed a decent group shot. After retrieving the bottle of red nectar, Chris attempted another jump off a powder precipice but found the landing area a bit too flat. Summer tracked a bit further downhill, gaining more of an appreciation for the butter-like sensation of riding on powder.
After that, Summer went to catch a run back to the hotel while Chris and I went to take in a few more runs. When I next looked at my watch it was nearly 4:20. We decided to make one last trip up Mirador and take the Retorno route back to the Hotel.
That night we decided to brave the international buffet in our hotel's restaurant. The theme was Asian but wasn't executed very well. Chris had a tasty bird drumstick but we all passed on the mashed potatoes. From there we went to the pub upstairs and over a few rounds of beer played a single game of pool that lasted nearly an hour. Yes, the three of us all sucked that badly. After finally sinking the eight ball, we moved back to a table and were joined by two guys, we believe both former military: one, currently in the Air Force and working as a refuelling tanker plane pilot and the other, in private industry as a corporate security consultant. We all chatted a bit and left around 1:00 or 1:30, agreeing to another late breakfast.
25 August 2008
Valle Nevado 1
Chris called at 8 and we agreed to meet for 8:30. The breakfast buffet was quite good. Next to the two orange juice dispensers was something I had never seen before, raspberry juice. Not some Tang-like mix, but with seeds and pulp, whole puréed raspberries.
We agreed to meet 30 minutes later to begin exploring these mountains. I can't really put in to words the sheer scale of this place. It's hard to draw a comparison to Whistler-Blackcomb or any of the other resorts I've so far been to because the lack of trees gives, perhaps an illusion, of vastly more terrain. I'm not sure if the photo's I've been taking here and at Las Leñas will be able to give the expanse justice.
We spent the first part of the morning doing some cruiser runs; Chris has been riding for about a decade and Summer is doing very well having only started riding last year. While she rode the groomed runs Chris and I would try to locate pockets of powder.
Summer suggested we break for lunch before noon and beat the late Chilean crush at 1pm. A very good idea it turned out to be. She and I had an incredible ceviche while Chris tried the medium rare chicken, sausage, and beef brochette. Arguing members of a nearby New Jersey ski club provided a bit of entertainment while we ate.
At some of the quad chairs at Valle Nevado is a loading system I've never seen before. It combines a very short lift carpet in the chair loading area, moving slower than the chair. It removes the risk of slipping due to very icy or channeled loading areas. While they have a number of chairs, two major areas are only accessible by 1km+ long Poma lifts, one rising through 400m of veritical height. In preparation for taking these, we tried to get Summer to successfully load one. She missed the first two attempts, but did get nearly 3/4 of the way to the top of a short lift before catching an edge and falling in to some powder on the edges of the lift track. At this point Chris and I parted ways, agreeing to meet for aprés at 4:30.
I went off to try a couple more runs in what remained of some slightly tracked powder. I revisited the area we saw earlier and made a few runs through there. My last run brought me back to the hotel complex around 4:30. While walking by the hot pool, found Chris & Summer and the members of the Jersey ski club.
They joined me moments later and over hot chocolate and snacks we commented on how people here just don't get lift line etiquette. I alluded to this in the Las Lenas 2 entry but it truly is endemic here. The situation is so bad that at one chair a lift operator acts as traffic cop literally directing when one line can go and the other must wait. Even then they're not always successful. We coined the term queue rage to describe the frustration that we're starting to experience.
Despite all of this I can confidently say I will be back here again. What has truly surprised me is the number of North Americans present. Though I suppose with the prices one must pay at Valle Nevado, it certainly puts it out of reach of many Chileans. Next time I might splurge and get the helicopter transfer rather than deal with the drive up. However, the driver I had said there are plans to undertake some major upgrades to the road to remove a number of the switchbacks.
We agreed to meet 30 minutes later to begin exploring these mountains. I can't really put in to words the sheer scale of this place. It's hard to draw a comparison to Whistler-Blackcomb or any of the other resorts I've so far been to because the lack of trees gives, perhaps an illusion, of vastly more terrain. I'm not sure if the photo's I've been taking here and at Las Leñas will be able to give the expanse justice.
We spent the first part of the morning doing some cruiser runs; Chris has been riding for about a decade and Summer is doing very well having only started riding last year. While she rode the groomed runs Chris and I would try to locate pockets of powder.
Summer suggested we break for lunch before noon and beat the late Chilean crush at 1pm. A very good idea it turned out to be. She and I had an incredible ceviche while Chris tried the medium rare chicken, sausage, and beef brochette. Arguing members of a nearby New Jersey ski club provided a bit of entertainment while we ate.
At some of the quad chairs at Valle Nevado is a loading system I've never seen before. It combines a very short lift carpet in the chair loading area, moving slower than the chair. It removes the risk of slipping due to very icy or channeled loading areas. While they have a number of chairs, two major areas are only accessible by 1km+ long Poma lifts, one rising through 400m of veritical height. In preparation for taking these, we tried to get Summer to successfully load one. She missed the first two attempts, but did get nearly 3/4 of the way to the top of a short lift before catching an edge and falling in to some powder on the edges of the lift track. At this point Chris and I parted ways, agreeing to meet for aprés at 4:30.
I went off to try a couple more runs in what remained of some slightly tracked powder. I revisited the area we saw earlier and made a few runs through there. My last run brought me back to the hotel complex around 4:30. While walking by the hot pool, found Chris & Summer and the members of the Jersey ski club.
They joined me moments later and over hot chocolate and snacks we commented on how people here just don't get lift line etiquette. I alluded to this in the Las Lenas 2 entry but it truly is endemic here. The situation is so bad that at one chair a lift operator acts as traffic cop literally directing when one line can go and the other must wait. Even then they're not always successful. We coined the term queue rage to describe the frustration that we're starting to experience.
Despite all of this I can confidently say I will be back here again. What has truly surprised me is the number of North Americans present. Though I suppose with the prices one must pay at Valle Nevado, it certainly puts it out of reach of many Chileans. Next time I might splurge and get the helicopter transfer rather than deal with the drive up. However, the driver I had said there are plans to undertake some major upgrades to the road to remove a number of the switchbacks.
Valle Nevado: The Arrival
(Ed. note: To those who have been wondering where the other meat stories are, I find it rather awkward to coordinate meetings from internet cafés. And my phone just barely functioned in Buenos Aires. I'll see what happens in Santiago. Things get started so late here and I've usually got something planned for the next day. In addition, the language thing is a little bit of an issue.)
After that harrowing ride up to Valle Nevado, I went to check in but the room wouldn't be ready until 4. I stored the board bag and went for a wander around the complex. I returned about an hour later according to my watch, but I had forgotten to turn it back upon arrival. Realizing I still had at least another hour to wait, I decided to grab something for lunch.
My second pass through th outdoor patio yielded a free table. I overheard English from the couple next to me and asked if they were checking out or checking in. Chris and Summer from Minnesota with the requisite long Os were waiting to check in. This trip is their honeymoon, having married the week before. We bonded over the appallingly bad service the waiter working our section of the patio was giving us. I was hoping to order a pizza but they said I'd be waiting at least two hours and generously offered the remainder of their's.
In typical resort fashion, dinner reservations must be made at one of the four restaurants before 6pm that day. Chris and Summer had stashed their resort service guide when they stored their luggage but I had mine so we reviewed the choices and agreed to meet for fondue later that evening. They're an incredibly charming couple and we had some great conversation over the three course meal of meats and broth, vegetables and cheese, and chocolate.
After dinner we headed to the pub in our hotel. A nice space with incredible views. We all ordered the complimentary pisco sours. Shortly thereafter the DJ started his set but the tunes were geared more for 2am rather than 11pm. We agreed to meet for breakfast in the morning when Chris and Summer left about 11:30. I departed for my room about 15 minutes later.
If nothing else, the bartenders Luis (we gave him a cover story of being in the US Federal Witness Protection Program for turning evidence on the Cyclones 13 in LA) and Paola were great fun to watch. The cashier, who was really getting into the tunes that evening, also received a cover story: accountant for a coke lord in Miami.
After that harrowing ride up to Valle Nevado, I went to check in but the room wouldn't be ready until 4. I stored the board bag and went for a wander around the complex. I returned about an hour later according to my watch, but I had forgotten to turn it back upon arrival. Realizing I still had at least another hour to wait, I decided to grab something for lunch.
My second pass through th outdoor patio yielded a free table. I overheard English from the couple next to me and asked if they were checking out or checking in. Chris and Summer from Minnesota with the requisite long Os were waiting to check in. This trip is their honeymoon, having married the week before. We bonded over the appallingly bad service the waiter working our section of the patio was giving us. I was hoping to order a pizza but they said I'd be waiting at least two hours and generously offered the remainder of their's.
In typical resort fashion, dinner reservations must be made at one of the four restaurants before 6pm that day. Chris and Summer had stashed their resort service guide when they stored their luggage but I had mine so we reviewed the choices and agreed to meet for fondue later that evening. They're an incredibly charming couple and we had some great conversation over the three course meal of meats and broth, vegetables and cheese, and chocolate.
After dinner we headed to the pub in our hotel. A nice space with incredible views. We all ordered the complimentary pisco sours. Shortly thereafter the DJ started his set but the tunes were geared more for 2am rather than 11pm. We agreed to meet for breakfast in the morning when Chris and Summer left about 11:30. I departed for my room about 15 minutes later.
If nothing else, the bartenders Luis (we gave him a cover story of being in the US Federal Witness Protection Program for turning evidence on the Cyclones 13 in LA) and Paola were great fun to watch. The cashier, who was really getting into the tunes that evening, also received a cover story: accountant for a coke lord in Miami.
22 August 2008
The Road to Valle Nevado
Oh! My! Gawd! 60 Freaking switchbacks. The count is conveniently displayed on the road signs.
40 to the Farellones turn off, and another 20 to Valle Nevado.
This road makes the Sea to Sky highway from Vancouver to Whistler (pre-upgrade) look like a walk in the park.
40 to the Farellones turn off, and another 20 to Valle Nevado.
This road makes the Sea to Sky highway from Vancouver to Whistler (pre-upgrade) look like a walk in the park.
Back to Mendoza
Woke up about 7:30 and quickly headed out to catch some shots of the pink light of sunrise on the "nearby" peaks. I think I caught some good shots, but it's kind of hard to tell from the camera's screen; too many trees and man-made stuff in the way.
I returned to the room and started packing. Afterwards it was off to the newer net café. The systems were much faster than the one across the street. Caught up on some email and then had to hit the bank up the street because I needed my AR$100 notes broken into something a bit more friendly. I wandered around town for a little while taking some miscellaneous pictures.
The Lonely Planet guide book recommended a certain type of sandwich called lomo: thin sliced beef, ham, cheese, tomatoes, and sauce on French bread. I wandered into a local cafe and ordered one. That is one excellent sandwich. I felt strangely out of time here because while I was eating the proprietor locked the door. Many places close between 1pm and 5pm, for the weekday siesta. It's kind of eerie to be on a street that was bustling with activity only a couple hours earlier, now essentially deserted.
My bus to Mendoza departed on time. As we rolled through the literal desert scrub I could see odd parallels with my own country. Some live in the depths of poverty in literal mud brick homes and others in modern structures, in some cases within blocks of each other. What I found particularly distressing was how everything, glass, paper, plastic, was all thrown out. I wasn't expecting a coherent recycling program but seeing what we were like a couple of decades ago, it is quite frightening how far the eco/recycling movement has yet to go. Plastics permeate the landscape, everywhere.
My last night in Argentina I thought I'd splurge for a real non-tourist, upscale, restaurant-grade slab of beef. However, about 10 minutes before I made my order, the kitchen ran out of steak. So I thought I'd try the oso bucco, but they had also run out of potatoes. The alternative was sweet potato, something I detest about as much as liver. So instead I had pork with beets. An interesting though tasteful combination.
It's been an effort to remember to order beef down here. I'm so used to eating chicken in Canada, and the occasional serving of fish, that the option of steak rarely crosses my mind. (Sorry Jeurgen)
I returned to the room and started packing. Afterwards it was off to the newer net café. The systems were much faster than the one across the street. Caught up on some email and then had to hit the bank up the street because I needed my AR$100 notes broken into something a bit more friendly. I wandered around town for a little while taking some miscellaneous pictures.
The Lonely Planet guide book recommended a certain type of sandwich called lomo: thin sliced beef, ham, cheese, tomatoes, and sauce on French bread. I wandered into a local cafe and ordered one. That is one excellent sandwich. I felt strangely out of time here because while I was eating the proprietor locked the door. Many places close between 1pm and 5pm, for the weekday siesta. It's kind of eerie to be on a street that was bustling with activity only a couple hours earlier, now essentially deserted.
My bus to Mendoza departed on time. As we rolled through the literal desert scrub I could see odd parallels with my own country. Some live in the depths of poverty in literal mud brick homes and others in modern structures, in some cases within blocks of each other. What I found particularly distressing was how everything, glass, paper, plastic, was all thrown out. I wasn't expecting a coherent recycling program but seeing what we were like a couple of decades ago, it is quite frightening how far the eco/recycling movement has yet to go. Plastics permeate the landscape, everywhere.
My last night in Argentina I thought I'd splurge for a real non-tourist, upscale, restaurant-grade slab of beef. However, about 10 minutes before I made my order, the kitchen ran out of steak. So I thought I'd try the oso bucco, but they had also run out of potatoes. The alternative was sweet potato, something I detest about as much as liver. So instead I had pork with beets. An interesting though tasteful combination.
It's been an effort to remember to order beef down here. I'm so used to eating chicken in Canada, and the occasional serving of fish, that the option of steak rarely crosses my mind. (Sorry Jeurgen)
Las Leñas 3
Another beautiful blue sky day. No snow last night but I decided to head north and try the middle. The chunks had been skiied down and while it was very hard pack it was not the trash it was the day before. I made a couple runs there and headed over to a more southern (or left if you face the mountain) area. There was an off-piste zone that is a fairly uninterrupted constant slope to the cat-track from hell. The powder was nearly skiied out and the wind crust didn't help but it was still a good run. At this point I decided to break for lunch.
I've always thought a tostada involved tortillas in some way. Here in Argentina, it's a toasted sandwich made with bread that comes in sheets about 25cm square and 5-10mm thick; typically filled with ham, cheese, and this case chicken. Quite tasty.
I looked at my watch and thought, "Can I make another off-piste run from Marte before I have to leave?" That and still hit the gift shop and have a beer or submarino (steamed milk with chocolate in the bottom, not syrup or powder but actual chocolate). The clock said yes! So another 30 or so minute ride to the top began. For the last third on the way to the top of Marte, my solo partner was an Australian who told me an interesting story. Apparently, Las Leñas was the dream of an Argentian. However, the year it opened and the following year saw little to no snow and left him bankrupt. The resort then passed from bank to bank until a Malaysian group recently purchased it. Aside from a couple of Poma lifts, they have not invested in any significant upgrades. It shows.
The top of the southeast peak is really hard to read and I still don't have a full understanding of where things are, but I ended up coming out of a chute in a completely different area than I had anticipated. I'd like to say I rode it most of the way but the first half was basically a side to side traverse. The snow had been windblasted and had almost an ice-like feel. Playing it safe was the only way I was going to do this. At about the halfway point, things softened up and I started linking my turns again. But then the conditions turned to what remains behind after an avalanche, rough, chunky snow. This too had been wind blasted and alternated between very hard pack and oasis of shallow powder. I did get some incredible photos though.
I think this could be a better mountain, but like any resort its fortunes are at the whim of mother nature. With a fresh dump of powder, say at least 30cm and no wind, much of it would be incredible but the high winds quickly crust what does arrive or carry it away. I'm sure even soft snow can be found if you're willing and know where to hike, but that would not be this trip.
I've always thought a tostada involved tortillas in some way. Here in Argentina, it's a toasted sandwich made with bread that comes in sheets about 25cm square and 5-10mm thick; typically filled with ham, cheese, and this case chicken. Quite tasty.
I looked at my watch and thought, "Can I make another off-piste run from Marte before I have to leave?" That and still hit the gift shop and have a beer or submarino (steamed milk with chocolate in the bottom, not syrup or powder but actual chocolate). The clock said yes! So another 30 or so minute ride to the top began. For the last third on the way to the top of Marte, my solo partner was an Australian who told me an interesting story. Apparently, Las Leñas was the dream of an Argentian. However, the year it opened and the following year saw little to no snow and left him bankrupt. The resort then passed from bank to bank until a Malaysian group recently purchased it. Aside from a couple of Poma lifts, they have not invested in any significant upgrades. It shows.
The top of the southeast peak is really hard to read and I still don't have a full understanding of where things are, but I ended up coming out of a chute in a completely different area than I had anticipated. I'd like to say I rode it most of the way but the first half was basically a side to side traverse. The snow had been windblasted and had almost an ice-like feel. Playing it safe was the only way I was going to do this. At about the halfway point, things softened up and I started linking my turns again. But then the conditions turned to what remains behind after an avalanche, rough, chunky snow. This too had been wind blasted and alternated between very hard pack and oasis of shallow powder. I did get some incredible photos though.
I think this could be a better mountain, but like any resort its fortunes are at the whim of mother nature. With a fresh dump of powder, say at least 30cm and no wind, much of it would be incredible but the high winds quickly crust what does arrive or carry it away. I'm sure even soft snow can be found if you're willing and know where to hike, but that would not be this trip.
21 August 2008
Las Leñas 2
The terminal at the locutorio internet I went to on Tuesday was abysmally slow and I was too tired to bother posting last night.
Got up a bit late today and thought I'd missed my shuttle. However, it drove up around 8:20; I was tempted to go back to bed and nurse my twisted knee but thought I'd try and see what I could do. Two runs and I'd had it. Riding itself wasn't the problem, it was the sharp bend when getting up and my rear foot in and out of the binding. I was not in the mood to try goofy the rest of the day. I stored the board and went looking for the Las Leñas merchandise store. It wasn't open yet but there were a couple things I'd pick up tomorrow. The thought of spending the next six hours just sitting around was too much to bear. I stopped in to the farmacia downstairs and bought some 600mg Ibuprofeno tablets. I went to one of the open air patios and followed one tablet with an espresso chaser.
I headed back to Marte because the two runs I took on the east face of the mountain had crap snow; unforgiving chunkiness.
Today there was no guard handing out waivers but instead a Poma lift was operating. I'd never been on one of these. I'm not a fan of T-bars and this looked worse. A bit jittery at the beginning but I found it easier than a T-bar. At the top, on the way down, at the top, on the way down, at the top and on the way I got some incredible shots.
The soreness in my knee had quickly fading. Yes, I know masking discomfort with medication is wrong and that this may be soft tissue injury. However, I'm not doing anything I don't normally do (I'm not taxing myself any harder than normal) but I can't wait 2-3 weeks for this to fully heal. I don't feel pain, just soreness. (ed note: three days later and the knee is fine.)
I have mixed feelings about Las Leñas. On one hand, it's quite different from your typical Canadian resort. Another Canadian I met on the chair today had an interesting perspective. The resort managers merely provide you the means to get to a location, what you do at that point is up to you. As such there are no more than a handful of named runs. The lack of trees to clearly demarcate them makes it rather pointless (viz. the south mountain of Sunshine, near Banff). It's nice to have these types of choices available. On the other hand, getting to those starting points is a whole other issue. Most of the lifts are doubles but the way people line up for these is rather odd. Unlike the extreme conformity and protocol with bus stop lines in Buenos Aires and taxi stand lines at Mendoza airport, couples enter, single file, into separate though side-by-side paths but there isn't an explicit singles line. The result is kind of like trying to get served at a Chinese bakery, ordered chaos. You get your egg tarts eventually but not without at least a couple people butting in front of you.
Well, that was Tuesday. I need to break some bills and the bank here closes in 30 minutes. Later today from Mendoza, Las Leñas 3: The Off-Piste Day.
Got up a bit late today and thought I'd missed my shuttle. However, it drove up around 8:20; I was tempted to go back to bed and nurse my twisted knee but thought I'd try and see what I could do. Two runs and I'd had it. Riding itself wasn't the problem, it was the sharp bend when getting up and my rear foot in and out of the binding. I was not in the mood to try goofy the rest of the day. I stored the board and went looking for the Las Leñas merchandise store. It wasn't open yet but there were a couple things I'd pick up tomorrow. The thought of spending the next six hours just sitting around was too much to bear. I stopped in to the farmacia downstairs and bought some 600mg Ibuprofeno tablets. I went to one of the open air patios and followed one tablet with an espresso chaser.
I headed back to Marte because the two runs I took on the east face of the mountain had crap snow; unforgiving chunkiness.
Today there was no guard handing out waivers but instead a Poma lift was operating. I'd never been on one of these. I'm not a fan of T-bars and this looked worse. A bit jittery at the beginning but I found it easier than a T-bar. At the top, on the way down, at the top, on the way down, at the top and on the way I got some incredible shots.
The soreness in my knee had quickly fading. Yes, I know masking discomfort with medication is wrong and that this may be soft tissue injury. However, I'm not doing anything I don't normally do (I'm not taxing myself any harder than normal) but I can't wait 2-3 weeks for this to fully heal. I don't feel pain, just soreness. (ed note: three days later and the knee is fine.)
I have mixed feelings about Las Leñas. On one hand, it's quite different from your typical Canadian resort. Another Canadian I met on the chair today had an interesting perspective. The resort managers merely provide you the means to get to a location, what you do at that point is up to you. As such there are no more than a handful of named runs. The lack of trees to clearly demarcate them makes it rather pointless (viz. the south mountain of Sunshine, near Banff). It's nice to have these types of choices available. On the other hand, getting to those starting points is a whole other issue. Most of the lifts are doubles but the way people line up for these is rather odd. Unlike the extreme conformity and protocol with bus stop lines in Buenos Aires and taxi stand lines at Mendoza airport, couples enter, single file, into separate though side-by-side paths but there isn't an explicit singles line. The result is kind of like trying to get served at a Chinese bakery, ordered chaos. You get your egg tarts eventually but not without at least a couple people butting in front of you.
Well, that was Tuesday. I need to break some bills and the bank here closes in 30 minutes. Later today from Mendoza, Las Leñas 3: The Off-Piste Day.
18 August 2008
Las Leñas 1
Damn I hate Spanish keyboards.
Anyways, the hosteria I´m staying in doesn´t serve breakfast until 8am, the same time my shuttle to Las Leñas arrives. I stopped by the local supermarket, Super VEA (think a smaller, cleaner Superstore) and picked up some bread, ham, and cheese. (A breakfast I became very familiar with in Amsterdam a little over a decade ago.)
I was the second stop for the shuttle, a couple from Missoula, Montana, preceded me. Next, an engineer for K2 (hardcore mountaineer skier, ice climber, etc.) and finally an Argentinian couple.
80 kilometers away and about an hour later, we pulled into the main bus/shuttle service lot for Las Leñas. There are at least 10 different "hotels" at the base of the mountain. I made my way to boleteria for my lift tickets. (I am quite certain there are differences in the Spanish spoken here versus Mexico and Spain.) The lift ticket I got was a bit larger than a standard credit card and with no barcode. The lifties ask to see it at the base of the few keys lifts but that´s about it. Unfortunately they don´t have trail maps so I walked over to one of the large outdoor maps nearby. I located the trail the folks on the shuttle were discussing, Mates, and headed there. Two long dual chair rides brought me to the base of the Mates lift where a small group were waiting for the lift to open. About 15 minutes later we started riding up. My riding partner was a guy from Canmore who lives in Squamish. His jacket had a Telus and RBC logo; truly the last two things I expected to encounter on this mountain.
At the top, most folks went right, including the Telus guy, so I followed. Up until they all passed a ski "guard", guarding the entrance to an off bounds area where a number of folks had just passed. Some he stopped to sign a document but they weren´t paying him. I hesitated, and then began to hike back to the lift station, but then decided, "What the hell!" I strapped in and approached him. The were explicit liability forms, you signed one fully acknowledging the risk you were taking and waving any right to sue the resort should you die or agreeing to pay up to AR$5000 should they have to rescue you. Upon signing, I received an orange adhesive band and was on my way. I followed the tracks for what appeared to be a common route. It was challending as my back was quite irritated at lunch. My one majorly frustrating tragedy was the loss of my iPod nano after a heels-over-head wipeout in the powder. There was no way I´d be able to find that again. Back to riding silent again, ech!
I made one more run closer to the base before stopping for lunch, the trip up Martes and back down had taken nearly an hour and a half. Lunch was a leisurely affair as I hoped a bit of stretching would minimize some of the strain my lower back was feeling. It seemed to work as this time I went back up Martes and turned left this time. Fields of windblown but untouched powder. Woohoo!. I took a fairly leisurely final ride down and was back at the base for 4. A couple of beers and some people watching brought me to 5 and time to meet the shuttle again.
Back in town about 6:30 I dropped off my laundry, stopped in to the grocery store for a couple more items and then went for dinner. A simple but great chicken, beef, tomato, onion, and green pepper kebab. All washed down with an Andes, un cerveza blanca.
Two more ibuprofen to calm my twisted knee and then to bed.
The rest of the Buenos Aires entries will have to wait, there´s just too much to catch up easily here.
Goodnight, back tomorrow.
Anyways, the hosteria I´m staying in doesn´t serve breakfast until 8am, the same time my shuttle to Las Leñas arrives. I stopped by the local supermarket, Super VEA (think a smaller, cleaner Superstore) and picked up some bread, ham, and cheese. (A breakfast I became very familiar with in Amsterdam a little over a decade ago.)
I was the second stop for the shuttle, a couple from Missoula, Montana, preceded me. Next, an engineer for K2 (hardcore mountaineer skier, ice climber, etc.) and finally an Argentinian couple.
80 kilometers away and about an hour later, we pulled into the main bus/shuttle service lot for Las Leñas. There are at least 10 different "hotels" at the base of the mountain. I made my way to boleteria for my lift tickets. (I am quite certain there are differences in the Spanish spoken here versus Mexico and Spain.) The lift ticket I got was a bit larger than a standard credit card and with no barcode. The lifties ask to see it at the base of the few keys lifts but that´s about it. Unfortunately they don´t have trail maps so I walked over to one of the large outdoor maps nearby. I located the trail the folks on the shuttle were discussing, Mates, and headed there. Two long dual chair rides brought me to the base of the Mates lift where a small group were waiting for the lift to open. About 15 minutes later we started riding up. My riding partner was a guy from Canmore who lives in Squamish. His jacket had a Telus and RBC logo; truly the last two things I expected to encounter on this mountain.
At the top, most folks went right, including the Telus guy, so I followed. Up until they all passed a ski "guard", guarding the entrance to an off bounds area where a number of folks had just passed. Some he stopped to sign a document but they weren´t paying him. I hesitated, and then began to hike back to the lift station, but then decided, "What the hell!" I strapped in and approached him. The were explicit liability forms, you signed one fully acknowledging the risk you were taking and waving any right to sue the resort should you die or agreeing to pay up to AR$5000 should they have to rescue you. Upon signing, I received an orange adhesive band and was on my way. I followed the tracks for what appeared to be a common route. It was challending as my back was quite irritated at lunch. My one majorly frustrating tragedy was the loss of my iPod nano after a heels-over-head wipeout in the powder. There was no way I´d be able to find that again. Back to riding silent again, ech!
I made one more run closer to the base before stopping for lunch, the trip up Martes and back down had taken nearly an hour and a half. Lunch was a leisurely affair as I hoped a bit of stretching would minimize some of the strain my lower back was feeling. It seemed to work as this time I went back up Martes and turned left this time. Fields of windblown but untouched powder. Woohoo!. I took a fairly leisurely final ride down and was back at the base for 4. A couple of beers and some people watching brought me to 5 and time to meet the shuttle again.
Back in town about 6:30 I dropped off my laundry, stopped in to the grocery store for a couple more items and then went for dinner. A simple but great chicken, beef, tomato, onion, and green pepper kebab. All washed down with an Andes, un cerveza blanca.
Two more ibuprofen to calm my twisted knee and then to bed.
The rest of the Buenos Aires entries will have to wait, there´s just too much to catch up easily here.
Goodnight, back tomorrow.
16 August 2008
More to come ...
I´ve been busy wandering the city. Will have more details on the past couple of days soon. Flight to Mendoza leaves in about three hours.
12 August 2008
In Transit 1
Checked out at 5:15 and the airport shuttle appeared promptly at 5:30. We arrived at YEG at 5:45. Printed out my boarding passes via the self serve check-in. When it was my turn to check in through the ticket counter I weighed the board bag and found it to be 57 pounds. So yes Lee, I guess it was kind of heavy. "Do you want to remove seven pounds or pay the overweight charge?" asked the agent. "Pay the fee," I said. Some puzzled searching of various ticketing screens ensued. After about five minutes she waived me through. Nice!
The south wing is much improved over the original airport but it's clear Edmonton is not a major transportation hub. Thankfully DHS and security took maybe five minutes. Prince Albert avoids detection yet again. One highlight in the departure lounge was a Right Said Fred look-alike (wow, does that date me) but leaner.
The actual flight was uneventful but continued on to Baltimore, a city I've always been curious to visit (damn you John Waters) but doubt it still has the charm that was his inspiration. Minneapolis/St. Paul is a nice terminal, in particular the rainbow themed entrance to my concourse, a sign perhaps?
While pacing the terminal looking for someplace to grab a light lunch happened upon a trio of flight crew, one of whom was 6'4" with biceps the size of my head. They do grow 'em big down here. As I'm sure Houston, or possibly even more so someplace like South Carolina would be, the regional accent is heavy in the terminal PA voice. That distinct Fargo or Rose Nylund accent. Oofda!
Wow that margarita from Chili's was strong. Well 90 minutes before Houston, think I'll go play with the camera.
The south wing is much improved over the original airport but it's clear Edmonton is not a major transportation hub. Thankfully DHS and security took maybe five minutes. Prince Albert avoids detection yet again. One highlight in the departure lounge was a Right Said Fred look-alike (wow, does that date me) but leaner.
The actual flight was uneventful but continued on to Baltimore, a city I've always been curious to visit (damn you John Waters) but doubt it still has the charm that was his inspiration. Minneapolis/St. Paul is a nice terminal, in particular the rainbow themed entrance to my concourse, a sign perhaps?
While pacing the terminal looking for someplace to grab a light lunch happened upon a trio of flight crew, one of whom was 6'4" with biceps the size of my head. They do grow 'em big down here. As I'm sure Houston, or possibly even more so someplace like South Carolina would be, the regional accent is heavy in the terminal PA voice. That distinct Fargo or Rose Nylund accent. Oofda!
Wow that margarita from Chili's was strong. Well 90 minutes before Houston, think I'll go play with the camera.
11 August 2008
Trip Genesis
About a year ago, as part of a GTD collection exercise, I came across a file folder with my old Continental OnePass documents. Out of curiosity more than anything, I tried logging into the account. (I haven't flown on Continental in years and no longer remember why I flew them originally.) To my surprise the account was still active and had a balance.
I started to investigate where my balance could take me. Anywhere in North America was possible but that seemed like a waste of found points. My first thoughts were some sort of open jaw trip to Europe. But the balance was insufficient. And then Valle Nevado came to mind. Could I get to South America? Yes!
August 2007 found me in Vancouver one weekend attending a wedding. The day after the nuptials I ran in to some riding friends and their partners at the Pumpjack Sunday beer bust. I mentioned my plans to put a group together to tour a few resorts in the Andes and they jumped at the idea. I said I'd contact them in the new year with more details.
February 2008 and for the first time in over four years I was back in Whistler for Winter Pride (née Altitude). On my way back home, stopped in to the Pumpjack again and ran in to the same group from August and learned they had all made other travel plans for the year. Slowly my group trip hopes were fading.
Which brings me to today, the start of my 18 day trip. Today might better be termed the preface since the actual trip starts tomorrow at 8am. This of course means being at the airport by 6am for processing by The DHS. Continental doesn't fly in to Calgary so this puts me in Edmonton for the night.
I find myself with mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety. Excitement that this is the first major trip I've made since attending Mardi Gras 2000 in Sydney, Australia. Anxiety in part from the language difference. To alleviate some of that I took a Spanish for Travelers language course from the University of Calgary. Like most things, unless you use it, you lose it. Strangely enough I have become much more aware of attempting to pronounce Spanish words using Spanish phonemes, not French (my first and only other language I've studied). I'm trying to temper the anxiety somewhat by this litany from Island by Aldous Huxley:
4am will come far too quickly.
A snowboarding instructor from Argentina I know at Whistler-Blackcomb told me in the early 2000s that he wanted to put together a July/August trip to South America at some point. I thought, "What a great idea for a summer vacation." He was instrumental in founding the Spanish language instructor program at Whistler-Blackcomb. Four years ago while chatting online he forwarded a link to a resort in Chile, Valle Nevado, he frequently recruited instructors from.
I started to investigate where my balance could take me. Anywhere in North America was possible but that seemed like a waste of found points. My first thoughts were some sort of open jaw trip to Europe. But the balance was insufficient. And then Valle Nevado came to mind. Could I get to South America? Yes!
August 2007 found me in Vancouver one weekend attending a wedding. The day after the nuptials I ran in to some riding friends and their partners at the Pumpjack Sunday beer bust. I mentioned my plans to put a group together to tour a few resorts in the Andes and they jumped at the idea. I said I'd contact them in the new year with more details.
February 2008 and for the first time in over four years I was back in Whistler for Winter Pride (née Altitude). On my way back home, stopped in to the Pumpjack again and ran in to the same group from August and learned they had all made other travel plans for the year. Slowly my group trip hopes were fading.
Which brings me to today, the start of my 18 day trip. Today might better be termed the preface since the actual trip starts tomorrow at 8am. This of course means being at the airport by 6am for processing by The DHS. Continental doesn't fly in to Calgary so this puts me in Edmonton for the night.
I find myself with mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety. Excitement that this is the first major trip I've made since attending Mardi Gras 2000 in Sydney, Australia. Anxiety in part from the language difference. To alleviate some of that I took a Spanish for Travelers language course from the University of Calgary. Like most things, unless you use it, you lose it. Strangely enough I have become much more aware of attempting to pronounce Spanish words using Spanish phonemes, not French (my first and only other language I've studied). I'm trying to temper the anxiety somewhat by this litany from Island by Aldous Huxley:
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
4am will come far too quickly.
09 August 2008
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