Bariloche is a small but significant town in the heart of Patagonia, nestling on the southern shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi (pronounced NAH-WEL WAP-PEE) where resides the mythical Nahuelito, a Patagonian version of the Loch Ness. To the immediate east there are the dry and barren plains of Patagonia, and to the immediate west there are the enticing mountains of the Andes. The first day I arrived, it snowed for two days and then on the third the sun was so hot that one could sunbathe on the snow. In fact, it was so hot that I suspect that there must be a definite absence of Ozone, considering that my pate was burnt faster than if I had doused myself in petrol and tossed a match.
The people here are exceptionally friendly, and not necessarily because as a tourist one brings those attractive hard currencies, but rather because they are genuine here. Surprisingly enough, the town is twinned with St.Moritz, and the swiss influence is obvious. Not only are the houses and many of the names the same, but there is a chocolate shop on almost every corner. I truly believe this the reason that everyone is so sporty, because if not, then it would be a town entirely populated by fatties. As it happens, as with the rest of Argentina, the gene pool is truly blessed. If one is frail of heart or suffers from bad circulation, I do not recommend coming to Argentina, as the beauty is heart-stopping, for both sexes.

In contrast to Santiago, where dogs roam the streets in gangs, heckling the old and infirm, looking cool on the street corner and generally not giving a toss about that sub-species called ‘human’, the population of Bariloche actually owns the dogs. Every house and courtyard has a dog, be it for protection or for purely decorative use. This in turn becomes interesting at night, for if one happens to walk down a quiet street and one of those canines hears you, it will stay true to its employer and bark furiously, in turn waking the mutt next door, and within seconds a Mexican wave of awaking Poodles and Alsatians alike sweeps over the town and ripples out over the suburbs, only to have this canine version of Chinese Whispers end some 1600 miles away in Buenos Aires.

In my experience, other than Andorra, Bariloche is one of those few towns where one can strap on a backpack and simply walk with unfettered access into the supreme wilderness of roughly 7000 square kilometres of national park that surround this city of 200’000 people. The sheer vastness of the most pristine and sublime beauty is simply impossible to ignore. The food is sublime in its simplicity, where the locals smirk at the notion of trying anything other than their own regional meats and wines, and quite deservedly so. The average bbq leaves you dry-humping anything within reach once you have maniacally stuffed your face with the delights of fresh and unadulterated foods grown in the clean surroundings of Southern Argentina. Even if you hike up to one of the Refugios in the mountains that happens to be manned, they will serve you a simplistic dish of utter taste divinity that you’ll contemplate moving in right there and then.

If, however, you happen to be the more pampered type, try the Llao Llao hotel nestled on it’s own little patch of heaven at the far reach of town, roughly 20km from the centre….this luxury golf and spa resort mixes a history and service that leaves you dragging your heels in a depressed funk as you are courteously checked out by the staff on your last day.

 

See? Told you so.

But if that doesn’t give you a chubby, there is always the skiing in El Catedral, the resort nearby that will give you a taste of sweet sweet powder. As they say, you are not born until the day you ride powder, and achieving that in this remote enclave of paradise is hard to beat. You’ll find many of the ski instructors are well versed in Alpine skiing, given that there is an exchange program with St. Moritz allowing both countries to send their gifted ski Gods to each domaines.

However, if you have made the effort to make it all the way down to the southern tip of the planet, you’d be a fool for not trying one of the more obvious pursuits…..horseback riding.

On the whole, riding in Europe is a lovely affair, but generally restricted to spoilt nags being pampered by their owners to the point of challenging the podium at Crufts. The beauty of this part of the world is that, well, it is all as it should be. When you go riding here, there simply are no fences….just wide open spaces. Personally, I think this should be a fundamental right for every being, but the Establishment has other plans. In any case, there is seldom an experience more thrilling and inspiring than having the vast Patagonian Steps to roam around on whilst plonked comfortably on western style saddles carried by ‘real’ horses. By real, I mean hardy and unfussy beasts that are simply content to do what you wish. In essence, there is none of that miserable frustration of constantly egging your horse on to take a few steps and stay in line…..out here, they do what they are supposed to do….a kind of ‘point and shoot’ style. You wanna gallop, you gallop….there is no health and safety to restrict you for the sake of the bicycle lane, or the dozy dog walker getting in the way of that delicious straight bit of the forest path. Patagonian horses are not prissy about the weather, they don’t need constant preening and emotional counselling, and they enjoy as much of a challenge as the person sitting on them……In all my life, I have had very few experiences that have been of equal stature as that of chasing stag on horseback through a forest and bursting out on the Steps only to witness the stags bound effortlessly away whilst the sun starts to glide cosily behind the jagged silhouettes of the Andes. Even to this day, my heart yearns to return….