Bariloche’s oldest church, the cozy Capilla La Immaculada Concepcion, celebrated its 100th anniversary on April 19th. Just like the Capilla San Eduardo out by the Llao Llao, this is one of the sweetest little chapels anywhere. With wooden panels, wooden shingles and elaborate pews, it’s a enclosed forest. When the pioneers arrived, having journeyed across the Andes from Puerto Montt more than a century ago, they must have found their inspiration in the thick Valdivian Forests, and put that same natural blessing to work in this chappe.
Built in a style that mirrors the alerce walls of homes along the southern coast of Chile, La Capilla is the oldest chapel in Bariloche and the fourth-oldest in Patagonia. Still situated amidst the growing hustle of ‘downtown’ Bariloche, it’s a lovely place. While the bigger, more grandiose Catedral de Bariloche gets a lot of recognition, the heart of the local church beats through this intimate, minimalist, wooden chappel. Built under the guidance of the prolific Primo Capraro (who also founded the school my marido and inlaws all attended and is one of the most important pioneers of our town), this chappel was originally situated a few blocks away on Moreno, but was moved to Elflein and Beschtedt in 1973, the same time it was declared a National Historic Monument.  Over time, the wooden floors were replaced with ceramic tiles, and round roof shingles were replaced by triangular ones - both exemplifying the high degree of woodworking skills in the area.
Earlier in the month, there was a exhibit at the SCUM gallery (wierd name, I know), displaying the past and present of the chappel.

I’m not a Catholic (although I’m married to one) but I absolutely love churches, particularly ones with a simple, natural style like this one. We celebrated Christmas Eve here this past December, gathering on the lawn for some silence and reflection. Just 400 meters up from the coast of Nahuel Huapi Lake, it is an oasis in the city, and a celebration of the wooden forests that continue to inspire.

All this talk about politics on both sides of the Patagonian border made me forget to mention the shocking news out of Chaiten - that Volcan Michimahuida has been erupting since Friday morning, spewing ash from the Pacific to the Steppe.

Next to the imposing Volcan Michimahuida, Chaiten is the main peak inside Parque Pumalin, US eco-magnate Douglas Tompkins’ private wilderness park.  In the small town of Chaiten, residents were evacuated by ferry.
In Esquel, about four hours south down the eastern slope of the Andes from Bariloche and 100kms across the border from Chaiten, people are wearing face masks and trying to keep cover. Classes have been cancelled and water contamination is a big concern. In the town of Futaleufu, things look like a wasteland, and the sky was darkened to a black.

How this will hurt or heal things in the long run remains unclear. But there is a silver lining - it’s late in fall, so there are few tourists coming through the area, and the winter rains should keep the heat under control.

An interesting piece in the Canadian paper The Globe and Mail yesterday. Another example of how, slowly and gently, Patagonia is making its way into the greater northern conscientious. Almost always, it’s about the wilderness here and the ‘eco-gems’ that are threatened.

In this case, Canadian pensioners being amost the main investors in the massive plans to dam two of the most pristine and isolated rivers anywhere on the planet (Rio Pascua and Rio Baker - just the names make me drool with anticipation for fishing and paddling….) in order to feed Chile’s burgeoning economy and fuel its electrical demands. It’s a tidy and simple-to-present story that journalists and producers can wrap their heads around in around 1000 words. Of course, issues are very complicated here, like everywhere.

Everyone agrees, Patagonia’s a vast region; but what you see and how you feel on the Chilean side of Patagonia (lush, moist, spindly wild) is very different from what comes over you here in Argentine Patagonia (vastness, dryness, mind-expanding wild).

Top that with pretty different cultures (as I’ve eluded to before here) and very different political situations (one that works perhaps too well and one that barely puts one foot in front of the other) and you see the split down the spine of the Andes. Although we don’t fight each other for ‘who is most Patagonian’, you can sometimes feel the string start to tighten.

It was in Chile that I first fell for Patagonia, and I keep a close eye on things over there.

Plus, I jump across the border every chance I get. I’ve yet to venture all the way down to Aysen (it’s a really long way….and I mean realllly looong); hopefully one day when I have the time. It’s increasingly becoming the place for Patagoniaphiles to be. I was trying to track down one of the main Argentine Patagonian eco-warriors a few weeks ago and was told he was down in Aysen, about eight hours from the nearest phone and wouldn’t be able to call me back for a few days, at least. If Mr Eco left his homestead outside El Hoyo to be there, it’s definitely the place to be.

The hydropower issue is getting a lot of press these days, including an editorial in the New York Times. When I first paddled the white waters of Chile back in 1997, this dam vs free river issue was already big one locally. We were amongst the first to run the BioBio post-dam, and we were part of the early protests against fighting for the Futaleufu. So it’s not a new issue. There are so many rivers in Chile generating massive strength as they roar down the Andes to the Pacific, there’s a long list of potentials to dam. One by one, they make their way to the top of the list. Some survive (Futaleufu for now), some don’t (Bio Bio).

The Pascua and Baker are just so remote, it’s incredible that Santiago thinks it can make them work. Why not promote alternative energy, or try to get Santiaguenos to reduce consumption?

The more your know, the more you want to know. The more you learn about Patagonia, the more you realize it’s going to take you an entire lifetime to see and learn and do it all.

Where in the world is he? He was with us all weekend!

Well it was a lot of work for only 4:30 of tape, but hopefully this segment will introduce the world to our beloved Patagonia. The horseback riding, hiking and fly fishing we did with ML were all lovely; he and the rest of the crew are all gems.

Here is a photo of the three of us gauchos on horseback.

You can watch the video here or find out more on www.todayshow.com

We’ve spent the past frantic days showing a very big VIP from NYC around the area, followed by his producer, a hunky cameraman (my new hero) and hilarious sound gal from Long Island. It’s been very exciting and they all have fallen under the spell of this mystical, magical place called Patagonia.

Needlesstosay, the identity of MR VIP (hint: he’s traveling around the world this week…) has to stay under wraps until tomorrow, Monday afternoon. The show will air tomorrow, Monday, morning.

It’d been all bluebird skies for a week before the VIP showed up. He brought drama, busy clouds and plenty of good ol’ Patagonian wind. Good for the cameraman! We took him to shear a sheep, then went horseback riding and fly fishing and finally to dinner at a cozy look parrilla. A wonderful day!
I’m heading to BA this afternoon to participate in the mega-production his travels entail during the short time he’s in la capital. Should be a bit of a gong show but fun. I’ll fill you all in on Monday afternoon.

In the meantime, here’s a quote he gave us:

“Christie and Max, a short but amazing tour. Finally a place that truly exceeds expectations. I look forward to returning. Does the wind ever stop blowing here!?”

With all this back and forth-ing, we’ve managed to squeeze in two winters, two summer and two springs each year for going on five years now. Pretty lucky, yeah, and also well organized to maximize our favourite seasons. The sacrifice, of course, has been autumn, and I must say that I am absolutely delighted to be in Bariloche in late April this year.

I love autumn, like any good northern gal would, having grown up amidst the stunning display of the Shield, with a caleidoscope of colours in the maple, oak and birch trees up north. I love fall clothes - a cozy sweater, light hikers and a pair of jeans. I like how the days shorten enough to make gathering with friends for a glass of wine slightly more romantic and inspiring, and i love the fact that we can begin to catch up on the sleep we put off through the crazy, long days of summer.

The fall colours here are impressive, with golden poplars, reddened lengas, orange maitenes and amazing rust-coloured nires up on the slopes of Cerro Lopez. I passed some folks today out harvesting rosa mosqueta (rosehip) on the side of the road, no doubt planning to turn it into yummy marmelade or perhaps rosa mosqueta cremes and oils which have superb skin-enriching properties.

There’s a big bowl of apples on the kitchen table, picked right off the tree in the front yard and I’m planning to crisp them up as soon as I can find some decent brown sugar (I’ve tried and come close in the past, particularly during rhubarb season in November).

Fall is a quiet time in Patagonia, a calm after the storm that the local tourism season has become. Up and down the eastern slope of the Andes, people are taking a deep breath, relaxing and taking some time for themselves. Just standing on the corner of Moreno and Quaglia in downtown today, we spent hours chatting with friends, one seemingly passing by after the other. Everyone was relaxed and happy. In the fall, people have time to visit, to socialize, to go for a cafe or meet up for mate. Many of our friends are back in town from a season in the mountains down south, and some have managed to squeeze in a much-deserved vacation to Brazil. The only people roaming about are locals, there’s hardly any traffic, and the nights are crisp and clear.

We were married on a spectacular autumn day in the Great White North, and the kind of fresh air and shimmering colours of Patagonia this time of year bring a familiar cozy feeling I’ve longed for during all those lovely springs (no complaints though!). Reminding me of turkey and apple pie a la Thanksgiving in Ontario, autumn promises adventure ahead as we wait for the first snowfall, and time to reflect and enjoy the area stripped to its most hearty folks. We’re definitely giving thanks.

Once again, there is trouble brewing over at Ted Turner’s massive Estancia La Primavera just north of Bariloche. La Primavera is a 5,000-acre slice of paradise that the media mogul purchased in 1996 to pursue his passion for fly-fishing. The previous owner was the president of National Parks and had set up a long-standing relationship between private landholders inside the park, ensuring the continued enjoyment of the area for all.
It’s a stunning place, straddling the rugged pre-Steppe of Confluencia with the majestic mountain lake of Lago Traful. The Rio Traful, one of the premiere fly fishing rivers in Patagonia, runs gentle through the ranch, teeming with trout and an alluring peace. It’s also inside Nahuel Huapi National Park. And now, parks has had to step back in to ensure we can all enjoy the river.

The whole scenario started out friendly. Turner was helping local causes, donating vehicles and making friends with his neighbours. Over the past few years, however, things have turned ugly.

We’ve spent much time with his next-door neighbours, the Lagos Family, who own the Rio Minero ranch right across ‘the street’ from La Primavera. The Lagos are a very humble, old-time family of gauchos and horsemen. While they say they have no specific problems with “Sr Turner”, there have been a number of run-ins with his mayordomo, or ranch manager. Just unneighbourly-like conduct where Mr Mayordomo has strutted onto their land to make demands like a bully. Apparently, he’s neither a friendly dude nor good at PR.
The real problem Turner is having these days is with the shores of the Rio Traful, which runs through his ranch. It’s technically public land, and a very desirable location for flyfishing and kayaking. In the past, the ranch has forbidden anyone to run the river, even though it’s public. We have friends who paddled the river a while back and arrived to find their tires punctured at the takeout, allegedly by La Primavera people who wanted to make it clear that the public is not welcome.

This past summer, folks in the Bariloche area got together to fight for public access to the coastal areas of the park, including areas of Nahuel Huapi Lake (where new private housing developments are trying to restrict coastal access) and rios like the Traful.

This week, the Clarin newspaper from Buenos Aires is reporting that the National Park’s intendent is formally requesting that La Primavera not only stop harrassing people trying to access to the river, but actually make it easier for them by constructing a path through the ranch to the river itself.

Juan Salguero, the superintendent of the park, said that if the ranch refuses, the park will investigate the possibility of expropriating part of the ranch for public access. One of his spokespeople told a local paper that parks is even studying opening the entire mouth of the river, on the far east of the lake and just below Turner’s mansion, to the public. It’s a similar process that Parks has already successfully accomplished on the Rio Limay nearby.
Turner, and many of his friends who are apparently buying up ranches closer to Confluencia, are basically absentee landowners, who make a trip or two a year to their ranches and leave things in the hands of managers.

Turner’s local company, ““La Primavera Argentina LLC” said last week that they had not been approached with expropriation demands. They claim they’ve never ‘closed’ any naturally-existing access points to the river and are not opposed to working things out. Ojala!
Driving past the Traful, and past Turner’s ranch houses, is bound to bring up envious thoughts. Patagonians can relate to Turner’s love for this area. We know it’s a paradise worthy of attracting a wealthy foreigner like him,. someone who appreciates open skies and rugged landscapes. The most beautiful part of Patagonia, of course, is the freedom to roam wild spaces and pursue solitary activities. No one wants to run the Traful river in a boat cruise or as a stagparty. We won’t be looking for public washrooms in his mansion or wandering aimlessly amongst his horses. We’re not asking for much, just what is supposed to be protected for all.

This is a place for quiet contemplation. Surely, Sr Turner can see why we all want to enjoy nature. Hopefully, he’s willing to open just a tiny gate to share.

I laid down on the pebble-strewn shores and looked up at the sky. We’d argued our way across the lake, bowman versus sternman, each pulling in separate directions. Upon reaching the shore, I walked away, by myself, to breathe.

The clouds were whizzing over the snow-capped Andes to the east, as they almost always do in Patagonia. Picking up steam from the Pacific and a chill from the glaciers, and preparing to cruise across the wide open spaces of the Steppe. With a deep blue background, I watched as light cloud layers expanded, contracted, overlapped, spread out and always, always, changed. In the spaces between the clouds, my mind too opened, moved and changed. Peace. The more I watched them, the smaller I felt, and the sillier the previous battle out on the lake seemed. Ah, relief.
A few weeks later, on the bus leaving the south and heading to the city. My dear friend was wrapping up a transformative few weeks in the wilds of Patagonia, and was reluctantly preparing to face ‘reality’. How can you keep the openness of Patagonia in your heart and mind as you venture into the busy, bustling face of ‘regular’ life?

How can you stay changed and avoid reverting to your pre-Patagonia life?, she wondered.

The sense of distance, the relief of space to roam, the promise of another discovery right around the corner — these were all things that had healed her broken spirit (oh and a brief romance, a new sport, some fine wine and nights high in the Andes).
Back to those clouds, I said, and we both looked out above Confluencia. Remember how they always move and change, and open and close. Just think of them, and your mind will open. Amidst so much space, there is such great comfort.

We smiled, and just couldn’t believe our luck.

I understand there is a new trend called the “100 Mile Diet”. The concept is to eat local. Seems like a good idea, but it’s nothing new in Patagonia. With our home being place that produces an incredible amount of edible goodies given the climate and the wind, we try to live, and eat, as close to home as we can. To illustrate this point, I thought I’d take you through a menu of our meals from the past spring/summer. We had a busy time cooking up the local goods.

It all started the day that my bro-in-law returned from a long drive across the wild Steppe in his blue 1960s Jeep truck with a poor little hare he’d gently knocked off its feet somewhere east of Pilcaniyeu. The hare, or liebre in Spanish, was a goner, but it was in remarkably good condition. Inspired, the boys in the house set to work, skinning it and preparing it for a meal. In fact, this turned into many, many jars of liebre a la escabeche, a homemade kind of pickled hare. It was tender and delicious. Waste not, want not.

We thanked the little buddy, and enjoyed watching the cycles of life roll on. And the tail still hangs in the garage for good luck.

The, a few weeks later, we were out on the lovely Isla Victoria hiking, kayaking, horseback riding and generally living the good life. The island is populated by an almost-menacing herd of white tailed deer, a non-native species brought to this part of Patagonia almost a century ago by European immigrant. Luckily, they’ve not ever managed to get off the island (except for the odd spotting at the Peninsula Quetrihue), so the population has stayed under the watchful eyes of the park wardens of Nahuel Huapi National Park. How to manage sooo many deer with no natural predator? Well, wardens will regularly section off parts of the island and go on some ‘population control’ missions (aka hunting). It’s a bit sad, but there is no other alternative.

Anyway, after our getaway on the island, Max was at a meeting of Park Wardens back on the ‘main land’ and came home with a huge venison thigh, the juicy leg of one of those Isla Victoria deer that had been ‘controlled’ by said wardens. It was already cooked. In fact, it had of course been grilled on as asado by the wardens. So I chopped it into small little chunks and turned it into some scrumptuous goulash de ciervo. Hearty and warm on a windy spring night.

We had to wait a bit longer for the first fresh local trout, trucha, of the year. Again, the industrious bro-in-law brought it home from a pleasureful day trolling out on the lake. We baked it with lemons and simple spices, served it with roasted potatoes and of course some vino tinto. (Whoever said you had to drink white wine with fish has never had a Patagonian trout.)
For our amigo Patricio’s birthday, some of the local gang (I was, alas busy working not sure I was quite up to the whole thing yet anyway) headed out to a friend’s estancia to pick up a sweet little spring lamb. In fact, two were brought back ropped into the back of the above-mentioned old Jeep. One became a family pet at Pato’s house. The other was dinner the following night. The cordero al asador was slow-roasted on a cross spit over a pile of churning coals, typical style. We ate outside under the canopy of the old cyprus trees in Pato’s enormous yard.

Not an ounce of meat was left behind on the cordero. We enjoyed it thoroughly, literally.

Local fruit begins in our back yard with rhubarb in late spring. Throw in some peached from the local verduleria and you’ve got some kind of a crisp, although finding the appropriate substitute for northern brown sugar is a challenge in these parts. If you’ve read this site before, you know of my passion for those cute little bubbly red berries, frambuesas. Luckily, the are all around come summer. There are also mora berries, gooseberries, sour cherries, and boysenberries. Then, come fall, our apple trees offer up so many smiley reds we can’t keep up with them.
Oh yeah, we can also drink locally since there is some decent pinot noirs, merlots (you know how I feel about Merlot) and cabernets from our local province, Rio Negro. I’ll spread myself beyond the 100-mile limit for Malbecs from Mendoza any day, but in the name of the ‘eat local’ game, we can handle it.
For dessert, what could beat either some ice cream from Jauja (locally-made and all-natural) or some chocolate from La Alpine, possibly the best homemade chocolate anywhere, and made about four blocks from our home.

The moral of this wonderful menu then, must be, “Why go anywhere when you can just stay here?!”

We were in Puerto Montt, Chile, on the Pacific Coast, a few weeks ago. As usual, I picked up the local paper to read over breakfast, something I try to do daily no matter where I am.

The headlines were all about the closure of some fish farms, owned by a Scandinavian corporation called Marine Harvest. A thousand people were going to leave their jobs.
The closure was being blamed on some mysterious illness that is plaguing the salmon in the area.

This is a place that has seen remarkable economic recovery over the past few years, as has all of Chile. It’s due to resource-based industries like mining, forestry and fish farming. Fishing is the country’s third-largest industry.
Out the window of the 12th-story restaurant where we ate breakfast, I could see a handful of fish farms on the bay - lines of netting in orderly squares.

Turns out the illness is called salmon anemia or ISA and it’s killing thousands of fish.

Ecologists and biologists have long charged the Chilean fish-farming industry with overbreeding in cramped pens, and warning that this would lead to a kind of contamination of both the waters and of the fish, just as we are seeing today. When the fish are stressed and crammed together, parasites and viruses will naturally breed, scientists say. Many fish farms now have to feed antibiotics to the fish regularly to fight off such illnesses. On top of that, many feed fish hormones to aid in growth.
While it seems the virus won’t have any impact on the health of the fish to potential consumers, it’s a red flag to the industry on the damages it is causing ecologically. The fish export business has taken over the marine life. Fish farms strip the ocean of oxygen, killing other marine animals and spreading disease. Salmon that escape from the farms are on missions to flee, and appear to be invading lcoal rivers, spreading the contamination well beyond the farms’ nets.

Well, there is a lot to say about this industrial fishing in Chile - the hope it originally brought and the mess it leaves behind. Keep your eyes out, and be careful what you eat. Here’s hoping that Chile implements stricter regulations, and that fish farming companies clean up their act, and clean up the South Pacific.