Volcanes del Corazón – Guatemala, November, 2023

It’s November and once again my wanderlust has lit its fire under me. 

I’m off to Guatemala. For no more of a reason than that I’ve heard it’s beautiful and I know several people who’ve been there—including one family member on whom the place has had a life-changing effect.

The focus of my trip is twofold: First, my daughter, Amanda, will be joining me for a week; second, I'm enrolled in Spanish school, continuing my dogged quest for fluency.

We're based in the beautiful former colonial capital, La Antigua Guatemala—or simply La Antigua—where, after my morning classes, we explore the town on foot. Then, during the weekend between my two weeks of school, we head for the drop-dead gorgeous Lake Atitlán.

I'll be posting a more detailed reflection of the experience, but for now here's the story in pictures—my ten-minute slideshow.

THE ONES THAT DIDN’T GET AWAY — Catching Trout and More in Pategonia

(This is the sixth and final post in a six-part series on my November, 2019 trip to Argentina)

If you told me a couple years ago I’d ever go trout fishing on a crystal-clear alpine lake in Patagonia, surrounded by the snow-capped Andes, I’d have said “Yeah, in my dreams.”

Well, thanks to a healthy appetite for adventure, and to my brother, Dan, for his world-class travel-planning, those dreams have come true.

THE FLIP SIDE OF FALL
From Mendoza, Dan and I caught the next of our ten flight legs on Aerolineas Argentinas: two hours south to Bariloche, a city of 100,000 situated on the south shore of glacial Lake Nahuel Huapi, in northern Pategonia.

There we rented a car for the three-and-a-half-hour drive north to our lodging near the small town (population 25,000) of San Martin de Los Andes.

Even though the roads are remarkably good, the driving proved challenging for the intermittent rain and high winds. Not to mention the constant distraction of new, neck-craning, post-card views of mountains and lakes around each bend.

Just-blooming wildflowers and the new green of the forests reminded us that we were in the southern hemisphere’s version of November—the same, climatologically, as our May back in Minnesota.

As one might expect on mountain roads, we found ourselves chained to the rear ends of a couple of slow-moving trucks and one maddening hippy-era RV/bus whose driver studiously avoided every opportunity to let us—and dozens of other cars—pass.

With a little help from Google Maps, we arrived at Rio Hermoso Lodge, a jaw-dropping property located inside Lanín National Park. The lodge, built of native wood and stone, is situated right on a bend of the quintessential mountain trout stream.

Our beautiful corner room looks out over the river and the well-manicured lawn where two of the resident horses frolicked, chasing each other back and forth.

    A handsome, 16-inch rainbow trout,
    caught in a crystal-clear mountain
    lake in Patagonia. Could it get any
    better than this?

LAGO FALKNER
The next day dawned sunny and cool. Perfect weather for our day of fishing in some of the most celebrated trout waters in the world. After an excellent buffet breakfast, we met up with Augustine, our friendly, robust guide, and hopped into his truck for the 15-minute ride to Lago Falkner.

Lago Falkner is one of this area’s illustrious Ruta de Los Siete Lagos, the Route of the Seven Lakes. (There are actually at least twice that many gorgeous lakes hereabouts.) Like the others, Falkner was scoured out, west to east, by glaciers during the late Pleistocene Epoch some 25,000 years ago. It is about 12 miles long by less than a mile wide, and runs to an incredible depth of nearly 2,000 feet.

Surrounded as it is by Cerro Falkner (8,000 feet) and several other snow-capped mountains, the lake is a catch basin for cold air, often funneling it into strong winds. So, at last, after two weeks of much warmer than expected weather at our other destinations, our layers of warm clothes would prove their worth today.

    I had to be sure not to give it an inch
    of slack lest it easily slide off of the
    barbless hooks.

WHY IT’S CALLED FISHING, NOT CATCHING
Augustine launched his boat, and, bundled up against the crisp air, we motored down the lake for a couple of miles before he turned toward the south shore and coasted to trolling speed.

Since neither Dan nor I are very good fly-fishermen, Augustine hooked us up a couple of medium-weight spinning rigs (too clunky for this type of fishing; I’d have preferred my own ultra-light gear), with spinner lures. National park fishing regulations call for strict catch-and-release, and every hook used must be barbless.

PHOTO: Pixabay

Within minutes, we could see the trout swimming around, but they weren’t falling for our baits, even when dragged right in front of their noses. To manage expectations Augustine hinted that, with the lake’s water level quite high, he didn’t expect a ton of action.

Determined to prove him wrong, we spent the rest of the morning drifting along that southern shore. Even in the breezy conditions Augustine skillfully maneuvered the boat, keeping the shore just beyond reach of my longest cast.

Despite a couple of halfhearted strikes, our batting average was dwindling with each cast. But watching the changing shoreline, with its rock-strewn banks, driftwood “sculptures” and occasional cascading creeks—not to mention just taking in the amazing views all around us—proved reason enough to keep at it.

PHOTO: Dan Willius

PHOTO: Dan Willius

Finally, after a couple hours’ work—attested to by some serious blisters erupting on our casting hands—I managed to tie into our first fish. It put up a good fight, and I had to be sure not to give it an inch of slack lest it easily slide off of the barbless hooks.

A handsome, 16-inch rainbow trout, caught in a crystal-clear mountain lake in Patagonia. Could it get any better than this? Well, I hoped, yes, if we could now just get Dan hooked up with one too.

Augustine, between boat maneuvers, had been fly fishing—with no luck. At one point, he borrowed Dan’s spinning rod and made a cast. Wouldn’t you know it, after Dan’s and my combined barrage of hundreds of casts, he’s suddenly one for one! (Isn’t a guide supposed to make you feel good about your own fishing skills?)

    After such an amazing meal I would
    have enjoyed a nice nap in the sun,
    but we had work to do.

A SHORE LUNCH LIKE NO OTHER
At any rate, it was time for our shore lunch. Augustine found a good spot, with room to land the boat, start a fire and set up a folding table and chairs. We’d have been quite content with sandwiches, or maybe some fried trout, but no, this is Argentina; he proceeded to whip up a full-on asado for us.

PHOTO: Dan Willius

Salami, cheese and bread to keep us occupied while he grilled; and then some lovely beef tenderloin, pork sausages and morcilla, or blood sausage. It was all complimented with a colorful and delicious beet-and-carrot salad and a bottle of nice Argentine Cabernet.

After such an amazing meal I would have enjoyed a little nap in the sun, but we had work to do. We had to get Dan at least one trout.

Working our way back along the south shore, we finally found a bit of action. Dan reeled in his own nice 16-incher, and I managed to land another, just a bit smaller.

That turned out to be the sum total of our catch for the day. But Augustine had worked very hard for us and given us a true full day of fishing. (Unlike the Mexican Pacific game fish charters I’m accustomed to, which almost always end by about 1:30, he kept us at it until 5:00.)

We headed back to the lodge, settled up with Augustine, and proceeded to the bar to celebrate our memorable day.

SAN MARTIN DE LOS ANDES
On our final day in northern Patagonia, we made the winding, 30-kilometer drive to the village of San Martin, stopping often along the way to photograph the mountains, lakes and swathes of yellow and orange wild flowers that seemed to pour off of each embankment. Once again, the weather was ideal.
 

San Martin, founded in 1898 by loggers and leather merchants, many of them of German descent, sits at the eastern tip of beautiful Lago Lacár. Today, it’s best known as a tourist destination, a jumping-off point for anglers, hikers and hard-core bicyclists. It is the seat of administration for Lanín National Park.

We spent a couple of hours walking around town, checking out the European Alpine-inspired architecture, some fascinating trees and plants, and people watching. We bought sandwiches and soft drinks and sat on the terraced promenade that runs along behind the municipal sand beach.
 

It had turned quite cool again, with a steady 20-30-mile-an-hour wind channeled down the lake’s long, narrow trough, right into our faces.

The morning of our last day, we checked out, chatted briefly with Giselle, the owner and our host, and hit the road back to Bariloche. We were tempted to stop at every scenic pull-over—many of which we’d already done—if only to more indelibly etch the beauty of this place into our souls.

We did stop a few times, but mostly the ride was quiet and reflective.

   …most awesome of all, sharing this 
   great adventure with my smart,
   thoughtful, multi-talented brother.

REFLECTION
San Martin had been the final adventure, our last destination, before the long trek back home. Misty-eyed, I recalled our arrival, just 15 days before, into the busy swirl of Buenos Aires. It seemed like a month.

Buenos Aires, with its amazing parks, the tango show and all those “good airs;” San Antonio de Areco and the unforgettable gaucho fair; our magical, music-infused dinner and those crazy painted rock formations around Salta; Mendoza’s rich, deeply-rooted wine culture; and the breathtaking alpine landscapes and crystalline waters around San Martin de los Andes.

All these indelible impressions; the kind and colorful people we met; the many chances to broaden my grasp of Spanish; the sheer variety of natural and cultural gifts we received. And perhaps most awesome of all, sharing this great adventure with my smart, thoughtful, multi-talented brother.

I’ll never forget it. And if it’s true, as goes the proverb, that “we travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.” then I’d say we both, indeed, captured a bit of living.

AWASH IN MALBEC – The Favors and Flavors of Mendoza

(This is the fifth post in a six-part series on my November, 2019 trip to Argentina)

From Salta, Dan and I flew south to Córdoba and then west to the next stop on our excursion, the west-central city of Mendoza. The provincial capital and its metropolitan area comprise a population of a bit over a million.

Like Salta, this part of Argentina rubs shoulders with the Andes, but here the proximity seems more immediate, with the snow-capped peaks of some of the highest mountains in the Americas serrating the western horizon. At their feet, the broad sweep of the Monte Desert, rendered arable here by constant runoff from the glaciers of the Cordillera.

IMAGE: WinePedia.info

Mendoza is perhaps best known for its chief exports, wine—especially malbec, a robust, fairly dry red whose thick-skinned grapes were first brought to Argentina from France in the 1860s—and olive oil. Today, 75 percent of the world’s acreage of malbec grapes grows in Argentina.

Another of Mendoza’s draws is as a tourist destination. For the wine, yes, but also for a broader, bourgeoning ecotourism industry. The capital city also serves as a jump-off point for climbing expeditions to some of the Andes’s most spectacular peaks, just over 100 kilometers to the west.

(As we cabbed from the airport to our lodging, we spotted one especially stunning snow-capped peak. We assumed it must be Aconcagua, at 22,841 the world’s highest peak outside of Asia. Later we learned that what we’d seen was actually Cerro El Plomo, a mere pipsqueak at just 18,000 feet.)

Aconcagua – IMAGE: WikiPedia

  I discovered that—God strike me dead—
  I don’t really like malbec.

MORE MEAT
We stayed at Lares de Chacras, an elegant-but-unpretentious boutique hotel in the upscale south-metro neighborhood of Chacras de Coria. This part of town is considered the gateway to the Ruta del Vino, or wine route, with stops at a select 15 of the Mendoza area’s 1,500-and-then-some wineries.

(As if we hadn’t known we were in serious wine country, our hotel’s entrance foyer has a glass floor, showing off its own modest wine cellars below.)

Once we’d settled into our room, we headed to Lares’s very inviting patio, where we met two of our fellow guests, women friends from New Zealand, both wine enthusiasts. And here’s where Dan was perhaps most in his element, discussing the merits of various wines, including those of their country and of Australia.

After a nice glass of wine, we were summoned to the outdoor terrace dining area, now joined by a pleasant couple from England, for our asado Argentino, or Argentine barbecue. It appeared that, for most of this group, the wines were the stars of the show. I, with my less sophisticated palette, appreciated the wine, but found that the several-course presentation of various grilled meats gave the vino a run for its money.

(Ironically, it is here, in the malbec capital of the world, I discovered that—God strike me dead—I don’t really like malbec. Maybe it’s the dryness; maybe the ample tannins. But I prefer the somewhat lighter and sweeter Cabernets. In fact, truth be told, I enjoy a good strong mixed drink more than most any wine—though in this wine-centric country cocktails proved hard to come by.)

Five-liter jugs of malbec line the aisles of a small market.

A word about Chacras de Coria: Situated as it is on this broad sweep of flat, open desert, the town surprised us with its lush, oasis-like feel. The streets and roads, well-shaded by phalanxes of gigantic sycamores, pass a range of structures, ranging from modest homes and workaday shops to showy estancias, upscale restaurants, exclusive gift boutiques and of course wine shops.

IMAGE: Trip Advisor

UNDER THE TABLE
Next morning we headed out on our own little wine tour, to two wineries Dan had researched. First on foot to the small La Bodega Canepa, where the current co-owner’s girlfriend, Betiana, gave us a low-key, yet informative, tour of the facility, which has been owned by members of the Canepa family since the 19th century.

Betiana also provided us with a tasting, comparing of some of their styles and vintages, with the obligatory crackers to cleanse the palate between samples. Dan asked if they provided spittoons, one would assume to avoid having his taste buds dulled by inebriation. I and the two twenty-something  Argentine men who’d joined us had no such concern.

IMAGE: Dan Willius

The tasting room itself was memorable. We sat around a glass-top table whose large barrel base is full of corks. One wall is a work of art, a weave of curved barrel staves. Even some of the furniture is crafted of wine-stained staves.
 





   The wines were wonderful, but were
   all but upstaged by the spectacular 
   “tomahawk steak.”

THE HUE OF A VINTNER’S SMILE
After a nice picnic lunch, we called a taxi for the jaunt to our second winery, Piattelli Vineyards, located in Luján de Cuyo, a distinct wine region some 25 miles south of Lares de Chacras. (Lucky we’d opted against our original plan to rent bicycles for our wineries tour!)

Piattelli had caught Dan’s attention for a couple of reasons. First, he’d found and enjoyed some of their wine back home in Minneapolis. Second, it turned out the owners are actually from Minneapolis. Alas, they were not at the winery the day we visited. Nonetheless, we were treated to a private, two-and-a-half-hour tour and tasting experience.

Just outside the spacious, warmly decorated reception hall is a lovely patio which overlooks a holding pond—used to collect and distribute, as needed, the precious run-off from the adjacent mountains. And just beyond the pond—and all around—the vineyards. Somehow the lovely setting seemed even more idyllic when we noticed the pond is full of trout—good-size trout!

Our three-course tasting menu included salad, main course and dessert, each accompanied by either one or two Piattelli wines, most from this vineyard, but one from the company’s other vineyard back in Cafayate.
The wines were wonderful, but were all but upstaged by the spectacular “tomahawk steak” a bone-in rib eye that not only filled our good-sized plates, but whose bone extended six inches beyond.

The wines were poured by one of the bodega’s vintners who gave us an overview of each selection. Later, the head vintner made an appearance and chatted with us for another twenty minutes, going into greater detail about the wines, as well as their production and marketing. (I couldn’t help but notice how stained her teeth were; I suppose that goes with the territory.)

As unexpected as this unhurried, personal conversation with the vintners seemed to me, Dan had come prepared, with pages of questions for them. They appeared quite impressed with the sophistication of his questions, and I felt happy and proud to see him so engaged and energized in this, one of his chief passions.

BLUE FOUNTAINS 
Our last day in Mendoza we headed into the city center to explore and take pictures.

La Plaza de Independencia, along with a quadriplex of other, smaller parks surrounding it a few blocks away, was created following the earthquake that destroyed the city in 1861 as an open-air refuge for Mendocinos in the event of other such disasters.

There are several fountains, a couple of them spouting blue-dyed water—I think I like water’s natural “color” just the way it is, thank you. The largest fountain is the ambitious Friso de la Independencia, a sweep of squirting sculpture representing everything from indigenous peoples, to the Spanish conquest, to liberation, to more recent political and social strife.

One side of the park opens onto lovely Avenida Sarmiento, a cobbled, shaded pedestrian street lined with cafes and animated with street performers.

Next, we rode out to the western fringes of the city to the Cerro de la Gloria, a hill overlooking Mendoza, and home of the Monumento al Ejército de Los Andes, the Monument to the Army of the Andes. This colossal memorial stands over seven stories tall and embodies some 14 tons of bronze. It is the work of Uruguayan sculptor Juan Manuel Ferrari, who, along with several Argentine sculptors, created it from 1911 to 1914 in observance of the centennial of the country’s independence from Spain.

Among the dramatic allegorical depictions, dominant are figures of the soaring, winged Lady Liberty, the heroic General San Martin, leader of the victorious rebellion, and a huge condor that somehow manages to emerge, soaring, from under the pounding hooves of the horses.

(A word of advice: If you ever visit the Cerro de la Gloria by taxi, be sure to have the driver wait for you. Finding a cab back down to the city proved to be quite a challenge. We ended up having to share the one that had waited for an hilarious couple from Curaçao, who playfully demanded all but our first borne great-grandchild for the privilege.)

That evening, back in Chacras de Coria, we walked from our hotel to a restaurant with a lovely, tree-canopied deck. Over a beer and a light meal we culled some of the day’s worst photos from our cameras and recapped our brief time in this memorable place.

Tomorrow, poignantly, we’re off on the final leg of this incredible two-and-a-half-week swing through Argentina—to Bariloche, San Martin de los Andes, and some amazing—we hope—trout fishing.

STRATA – The Many Colorful Layers of Salta

(This is the fourth post in a six-part series on my November, 2019 trip to Argentina)

At Jorge Newbery Airport, Buenos Aires’s hub for domestic flights, we embarked on our two-hour flight to Salta in the northwest corner of Argentina.

A city of some 620,000, Salta is capital of the province of the same name. It is located in the Lerma Valley at the foothills of the Andes, approximately 300 kilometers from the border with Bolivia. 

After settling into the gorgeous Kkala Boutique Hotel—in the charming northeastern suburb of Tres Cerritos—we headed into the city center and Plaza 9 de Julio (July 9, Argentine Independence Day). There we explored the park and neighboring streets, people-watched and took pictures.

We stayed in town well into the evening, dining at Aires Caseros, a charming and highly-rated restaurant right off of the park featuring both local dishes and “fusions” with other cuisines.

  A Sherman tank would have been more 
  comfortable than the punishing, nearly 
  suspension-less ride of this bus.

WITH THE FLOW
The challenge for Dan in planning our activities in Salta was that many of the most interesting attractions require a day trip out of the city. So we’d settled on the one such destination he felt might be worth the time and expense: La Quebrada de Humahuaca, a narrow valley known for its location along an historic Inca caravan road and for its breathtaking, colorful geologic formations.

So, next morning we're picked up by our tour guide in a half-full medium-size bus. (Alas, we’d expected an intimate group of six to eight people in something more like a van.) As it turned out, the people were fine; our guide was fine; but a Sherman tank would have been more comfortable than the punishing, nearly suspension-less ride of this bus.

For nearly three hours, though, we made the best of it, observing the slowly-changing landscape, trying in vain to hold a camera still enough to take a picture or two from the window, and Dan striking up a long, animated conversation with a fellow passenger, an amiable young man from Italy.

The first colorful geologic formations abut the edge of the small town of Purmamarca. El Cerro de los Siete Colores, the hill of seven colors—or, as the locals call it, the hill of the seven skirts—features a rainbow of color laid down as sedimentary rock starting over 15 million years ago, and then folded during eons of tectonic plate subduction. Blues, greens, mauve, orange…it’s hard to tell where one color ends and the next begins.

IMAGE: Google Maps

Our plan had been to continue north for another hour and a half to the spectacular Serranía de Hornocal, but when we came to the turnoff we found the road ahead blocked due to a landslide in one of the mountain passes ahead. So we returned to Purmamarca where Dan and I scared up some empanadas for lunch and then split up for a while to shop and take photos.

Our guide got word that the landslide had been cleared, so we got back aboard the thrill-ride bus and gave it another try. But alas, by the time we returned to the same intersection, we learned the road had once again been closed, this time because heavy rains in the mountains were expected to trigger more landslides.

   All around the room people begin 
   singing lustily along. It seems we’re 
   the only non-Argentines in the place. 

SURROUNDED IN SONG
After such a disappointing (and physically jostling) day, we were excited about our dinner at La Casona del Molino, a restaurant known for the groups of talented young musicians who drop in to play and sing traditional Argentine folk music among the diners.

We arrived shortly after the place opened—9PM—and, along with other early arrivals, wandered through the rambling old house’s many rooms and patio areas looking for the best table.

I finally saw one that looked to have a good view of a large room that spills over into an outdoor patio area, and we sat down. (As luck would have it, the table right next to ours ended up being the one where one of the musical groups would perform.)

By 10:00 the place was full, with folks enjoying their first bottle of malbec or a few Quilmeses (national beer brand) and ordering their food. Soon some spectacular-looking parrilladas, or barbecue medleys of beef, chicken and various sausages, began arriving, each order presented on its own little hibachi and still-red-hot bed of charcoal.

That looked like more than we could handle, so Dan ordered beef once again, while I decided on the locro, a hearty traditional stew comprising several types of beans, squash and various meats. Both were excellent.

As we’re eating, several young men, one with his guitar, another with a drum set, sit down at the table next to ours and, after a brief warm-up, begin playing and singing Argentine folk songs.

All around the large room and then spreading out onto the patio, people begin singing lustily along. Once again, Dan has done his trip-planning magic; it seems we’re the only non-Argentines in the place. It’s another of those delicious moments when we’re reminded what a special, privileged glimpse we’re getting of a place, not dumbed down for surprise-averse foreigners, but steeped in  authentic, spontaneous spirit.

PHOTO: Daniel Willius

A couple gets up to dance in the aisle right next to us. He's a hefty, ruddy-faced cross between John Wayne and Jeff Bridges; she, more of a plain Jane. But the chemistry between them is palpable, their sensuous convergings, raised-arms flourishes and seductive expressions reminding us of Greek folk dancing (think Zorba the Greek). (I think the quality and intensity of their performance actually discouraged anyone else from taking the floor.)

How amazing to be there, right at the center of it all, close enough to the musicians so I could simply lean over and chat with them between numbers. Though the performers at La Casona are neither paid nor even tipped for their talents, I did manage to buy them a round of beers, for which they all offered a nod and a thumbs-up.

On my way to the baño, I wandered around some of the other rooms and found no fewer than four of them rocking to their own combos. In some, the patrons were actually sitting in with the group, jamming with the musicians like old friends.

LOCAL FLAVORS
The next day, still sated from our musical-immersion dinner, we returned to the city center and Plaza 9 de Julio. This plaza, after seeing a couple of others that seemed less inviting, is more like the ones we’ve experienced in other larger Latin American cities: nicely landscaped with mature trees and shrubs; family-friendly with lots of activities going on; and surrounded by some serious architecture.

Among the notable examples are a couple of the city’s churches, the Cathedral of Salta and the even-more-beautiful Church of San Francisco.

For lunch, we managed to find the much-touted El Patio de la Empanada, a small complex of food vendors surrounding an open courtyard. Each offers its own take on the savory little turnover that Salteños claim originated here. Alas, only two of the stalls were open, but we enjoyed an assortment of empanadas with various fillings. These, unlike others we’d had elsewhere, were baked instead of deep-fried. (I prefer the latter.)

Dan took advantage of the opportunity to try a glass of torrontés, the crisp, white wine for which Salta Province is best known. (Though Salta lays claim to its own wine culture—most notably around the small town of Cafayate, about 200 kilometers south of Salta—we decided to put off any serious indulgence until the next leg of our trip, in the even-more-famous wine center of Mendoza.)

UNCOMFORTABLE HISTORY
The Museum of High Mountain Archeology (MAAM, for its name in Spanish) features both works of art and craft, and artifacts collected in Andean sites known by the Incas as high mountain sanctuaries—areas where many sacred rituals, including human sacrifice, took place. Supporting exhibits explain the incredibly challenging logistics and sophisticated technology employed to excavate in such remote sites under such extreme conditions.

Because of the extreme fragility and sensitivity to light of the artifacts, MAAM’S exhibits are in continual rotation. What we saw centered on the discovery, excavation, preservation and cultural interpretation of the 1999 discovery near the 22,000-foot summit of Llullaillaco, a long-dormant stratovolcano along the Argentino-Chile border. There, archeologists unearthed a site where Inca children were consecrated, drugged and then left to die of exposure.

Included in the exhibit was a truly spooky little mummy of a seven-year-old boy, whose death has been dated to around 1500AD. He is displayed in a sealed, refrigerated case under very low light. We managed to snap only a couple of pretty bad photos before the burly guard charged at us with a scowl and a waving finger.

PHOTO: Angelique Corthals

After a delightful few days in Salta, we were ready to see more of the country. So we headed back to the hotel and started packing for the next morning’s flight to our next destination, Mendoza, wine capital of Argentina.