Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: My Silver Lining — First Aid Kit

“Just gotta keep on keeping on”

At 4:30 am, the Chilean guy’s alarm went off, and I awoke to a warm and humid hostel room. In fact, I was the only one to wake up to his alarm, and I listened as he tried to snooze it in his sleep. My alarm was set for almost an hour later, but after a few minutes it was clear I wasn’t going to fall back asleep, so I started my preparations for the day. Very precariously, I descended from my top bunk and dragged all of my stuff into the dark hallway to re-pack. The downside of backpacking and staying in hostels is you basically have to unpack everything, every day, and then quietly re-pack without waking your bunkmates. But at least today I had the luxury of time, so I slowly taped up my knees, got dressed, and organized my things.

When I checked in, the woman at reception told me the only hot water available was at the camping area mini-mart, which wouldn’t open until 7:30. So, I figured I would just have to try cold-soaking my instant oats, which I stashed in the top of my bag to have later. Around 5:30am the electricity kicked back in and the lights came on, and the Chilean guy stumbled out of the dorm, said goodbye, and headed off at a near-sprint, now quite delayed in his departure. I was out the door by 6, retracing my steps past the welcome center before hooking left onto a trail in a canyon between two high ridges. The weather was all over the place — first warm, the chilly and windy, then warm again (Patagonia weather, what else is new) — and once again I found myself constantly stopping to de- and re-layer. Finally satisfied with that I was wearing, I followed the trail uphill, once again thinking absentmindedly about pumas and feeling a whole lot like prey, the only moving object in sight in this small valley.

Soon I was climbing again, up out of the valley, around a corner and into more petrified forest, I pushed on and suddenly was treated to beautiful views of Laguna Los Patos — and a wind gust so strong it nearly knocked me over. I stumbled over to the large rock at the mirador, determined to eat my breakfast with a view despite the wind. A rainbow arched over the hills on the far shore, and as I watched a second rainbow appeared as well, shining surprisingly bright in the early morning sunlight. I pulled out my cold-soaked oats to discover that they had not, in fact, done much soaking. I guess with hot water the instant oats don’t really absorb anything, so I ended up with soggy oats in a gross, starchy, cinnamon-flavored soup. It was so windy that as I tried to eat the wind would blow the oat-water out of my spoon and all over my pack and rain jacket, which I at least found funny. I gave up on my breakfast plan and just enjoyed the view for awhile, watching the first hikers coming the other direction from Grey pass me — they must have started early! I asked one, and he said he set out around 4. Wow.

I packed up and headed onwards, and quickly found a small stand of trees by a stream that was protected from the river. still hungry, I sat down there to reassess my breakfast options. I ended up having a handful of pizza, and my last tortilla wrapped around an inch-thick block of cheese. It ain’t pretty, but gets the job done. I followed the trail up a hill — or tried, at least, but the trail markings weren’t always clear and footprints would head off in two different directions. But with some effort I stayed on track, and after a bit more climbing was treated to two more rainbows, these out over Grey lake in the direction of the glacier that I could not yet see. Doubled over in the wind, I almost missed running into two hikers from Kansas City I had met in the Refugio bar back in Cuernos, who had reached the mirador and were headed back to Grey for a ferry. I wished them well and crossed the last few meters to the mirador, which off in the hazy distance offered a view of Grey glacier, icy blue against the dull, well, grey color of the lake. As it turns out the lake and glacier are actually named after the color, not after some aptly-named explorer as I had assumed. However, it was too windy to stay for long to admire, and I could see dark clouds roll in. Time to keep it moving, once again.

For some reason I (and the others I had talked to) had the idea that this was a relatively flat day. Whether that was because it was a short day or because the start and end elevations weren’t too far off, I’m not sure, but that wasn’t really a fair characterization. The rain had started, first a light misting and then a persistent drizzle, and I stopped to put on my raincoat and cover my pack. The timing was a bit unfortunate, as I had just reached the beginning of a very steep downhill section. Either I was sliding on slick, wet gravel, or turning around backwards and essentially rock climbing down some of the steeper pitches, all while water streamed over the trails and soaked my jacket. At least this time, unlike when I got caught in the rain in Nepal in the fall, I had remembered to clean and re-waterproof this jacket, so it seemed to be holding out.

Once I was past the rock-climby bits, the path leveled out and meandered through fields and trees, with views off to the right of the looming Paine Grande massif. The rain made all of the vegetation seem even more bright and lush, and provided a calming bit of background noise as I wandered along. Strangely, it reminded me of the first multi-day hike I ever did, 7 days on the Appalachian trail as part of a pre-university orientation program. It was nice to remember that hiking could be so enjoyable, peaceful even, when just a walk in the woods with no mountains to climb. And, like on my second day, I had the real sensation of being far away from everything and really deeply immersed in nature. No cell service, no headphones in, no people — just me, the mountains, the grass, and the pattering of rain on the hood of my jacket.

I was close to the Refugio now and starting to feel a bit unwell, so picked up the pace as the rain lightened. I started passing more hikers coming the other direction — everyone who had stayed for a hot breakfast at the Refugio, I guess. I was surprised by the low level of preparedness of some hikers. One guy passed me with just a water bottle — no rain jacket, no backpack, no nothing. These hikes are relatively accessible but it still always surprises me when people don’t take them seriously. But, whatever.

I got to Grey around 10am, and as I entered the porch of the Refugio the rain began to come down hard. Perfect timing. I gratefully ditched my pack and enjoyed listening to the rain, watching hikers headed the other direction prepare to set off. I was zoned out when I heard a familiar voice behind me, and Maarten appeared, shortly followed by Victor. Maarten had run into Marek, who in the end had turned around at the mirador. We headed over to the camping kitchen, and I sat with Maarten as he made cup noodles for an early lunch. I very generously offered to help him polish off his snacks, so helped myself to some Oreos, my first in at least a decade. Like most things, they hit harder on trail.

As we finished eating, the rain seemed to be lightening up. Maarten was going to need to leave soon to catch his ferry, so we collected Victor and set off in the direction of the next mirador, just 15 minutes from the Refugio. We passed through a damp and mossy old-growth forest that was impressive and quite different from any of the others we had seen so far, then emerged onto a rock looking out over the glacier. In the Refugio earlier, I had run into the French guy I met on Day 2. He had just returned from an ice hike experience on the glacier, and told me it was retreating 100 meters a year. The more I repeat this stat the more I think it can’t possibly be true, but at the time I was stunned. And as we looked out at the glacier, still a ways in the distance from this mirador (knowing that it used to be much closer even within the last decade), it felt a bit depressing. But not to let that stop us, we took some celebratory photos, and then clambered down the rocks to the waters’ edge.

Maarten and I tried to lift a chunk of iceberg that had floated to shore up and out of the water — it was surprisingly difficult to get a hold on the ice, and in the end it was a 3 person job. Small pieces broke off, which we joked about taking home as souvenirs. While you could tell that both the glacier and the larger icebergs that broke off were the typical glacial blue, the smaller pieces were clear like normal ice — but you could see the indents of the air bubbles that create the color when there is more ice. We chilled by the water for a long time, giggling and taking photos, and tossing pieces of ice back into the water. Victor commented how ridiculous it was — three late (mid?) twenty-something’s, playing with ice at the end of the world. It was a funny image. And yet, I couldn’t help but think — if any of us have kids and they return to do this trek at our age, where will the glacier be then? Would they see the ice from here?

Soon it was time for Maarten’s return to Paine Grande, so we headed back to the Refugio to see him off. Then Victor and I headed in for lunch — someone had told him the pizzas at Grey were amazing, so we decided to splurge on them at the bar. As it turns out, the advice must have been from a hungry hiker, because the pizzas were pretty standard frozen fare. We talked about the walk over lunch, and I shared my occasional fears about spotting a puma: “I’d love to see a puma, I just don’t want the puma to see me. And I don’t think I can have both.” Victor’s response was hilarious: “Look, Eva, here are the options,” he counted them out on his fingers as he went, “1) You see a puma and nothing else happens. Pretty cool. 2) You get attacked and you fight off a puma. Super fucking cool. 3) You get wounded by a puma. Very cool way to get wounded. Or, 4) The puma kills you, which is still a very cool way to go. And you wouldn’t even know.” All fair points that I’ll keep in mind for next time.

We also discussed plans for the afternoon. I had arrived so early in part because I wanted to walk up part of the O circuit to see the suspension bridges that offered glacier views. However, the reception was claiming it was 2 hours each way to the second bridge, which was the one closer to the glacier. Neither of us were particularly interested in another 4 hours of hiking in the rain, so Victor headed to his tent to watch Game of Thrones, and I went to check in early and guarantee myself a lower bunk and shower.

I did have big plans to take a nap and read my book after my shower. However, I started chatting with the mother and daughter staying in my room who had just come back from the first suspension bridge, and claimed it was in fact worth the walk. I could feel my knee aching and some blisters forming, but hey — today was my last day walking. And the rain had finally cleared. Why not? So, I grabbed some water and my rain jacket and set off on a rolling up and down trail through the woods. Along the way I crossed paths with two Spanish-speaking O-trekkers, the first of the day to arrive. Those walking the O trek have a 14 hour massive day before arriving to Grey, where they cross the John Gardner pass. These two asked me in desperate Spanish how close the Refugio was. I struggled for the right words and with increasing desperation they asked “Minutes?? Kilometers?? How many???” I managed to finally formulate “Venti minutos” which, while incorrect Spanish got the point across, and they sighed with relief.

As I walked, in the back of my mind I was keeping an eye out for a familiar red rain jacket. Lukas — yes, Lukas from the Navimag! — was walking the O and we had discovered that we would both spent the night at Grey today. There was a good chance I’d run into him somewhere on the trail. I was looking forward to seeing him and hearing about his walk, and the comfort of a familiar face — crazy that in fact we’d only met just over a week prior. As I scrambled up the steep hill to the first suspension bridge and watched a group of O-trekkers with massive packs make their way across one by one, I heard a shout from the other side. Lo and behold, someone in a red rain jacket was waving both arms at me. I shouted back and waved my arms, and when it was his turn to cross, snapped photos of him, triumphant, with the glacier behind. After a big hug we excitedly got to chatting, swapping stories and cracking up. I learned that he missed his bus to the park (we were supported to be on the same bus) because he, Lucia, and Kostas were out drinking until 3am the night before. Guess it was good I bailed early! But, in classically Lukas fashion, he had pulled himself together, caught a later bus, and then promptly got himself lost on the way to Serron, his first stage. Eventually we parted as I wanted to continue onwards, promising to meet back in camp later.

I continued on, running into Justin and Jess again, who took some photos of me on the swinging bridge. Usually I’m pretty good with heights — I don’t love them, sure, but other than a nervous itch of the brain about dropping my phone I don’t have too much fear. For whatever reason, the bridge freaked me out more than I expected, and I clutched the wire rails for dear life. In my mind flashed the memory of a comment on reddit where someone warned about getting hit with a big gust of wind on one of these bridges. Noooooo thank you. Once on the other side, I decided — fuck it. I’d go to the next bridge. Lukas alleged that it was not another hour and twenty of walking as the reception had claimed, so I figured I would check it out. The way was a beautiful, albeit muddy and steep, forest walk. If nothing else, I was glad to do it just to see this new part of the park.

After maybe 30 minutes or so I made it to the second bridge. This one was much closer to the glacier (and I think not too long ago was parallel to the glacier). It was also much longer and more exposed-seeming that the first. To my own surprise, I got to the edge of the bridge and physically could not bring myself to cross it. Nope nope nope nope was the only word my brain could formulate. Okay, fine. I took a deep breath and joined a British couple, Peter and Rosie, who were sitting nearby enjoying the view of the glacier. We chatted for awhile and discovered there was another mirador just after the bridge that promised a better, uncompromised view. Sheepishly, I asked if I could go over the bridge with them as I was a bit scared. Peter was not a fan of heights so I was in good company, and one by one we made our way along the bridge. I know they say don’t look down, but you really have to on this one — to our horror, we discovered a slat was missing right in the middle of the bridge, leaving a hole wide enough for a skinny person to fall into. And, by the way, what happened to the slat? Did it break? Would others? Suffice to say I took a deep breath when I finally got to the other side.

We found the mirador and admired the view. You really could admire the glacier from much closer here, and the sun had burned off many of the morning’s clouds, revealing a river of ice extending out to the Southern Patagonia ice fields. I’d skied on glaciers before in Switzerland but never seen one like this before. It was pretty incredible to see the ice stretch out for miles, as far as the eye can see. But of course, conversation again returned to its retreat and the depressing implications. The wind also picked up significantly while we were here, big gusts that threatened to blow us off our perch. My brain returned to the two suspension bridges I’d have to cross, and I decided to head back solo before the wind got worse. I bid them farewell, knowing we’d see each other at the Refugio or on our boat from Grey tomorrow, and set off.

I made it over the longer bridge in a lull between wind gusts, nervously singing Cat Stevens as I shuffled across, avoiding the gap. Once safely on the other side, I suddenly remembered how a book I read last summer talked about the importance of facing your own mortality — how understanding and embracing the fact that you’re going to die helps you remember what is important and let go of the rest. In fact, the last chapter of the book describes the author’s exhilaration when sitting on the edge of a cliff at the Cape of Good Hope, looking out into nothingness at the end of the world.

I don’t know if it was the glaciers or the bridges or even the puma talk that did it, but I suddenly felt a flood of emotion. All of the reflection I hadn’t had a chance to do, so focused on climbing the next hill or making my next meal or protecting my knees, suddenly hit me. So as I retraced my steps through the woods, I let my mind wander. So much has happened in the last year — even in the last 6 months: a breakup, moving to a new continent, going through the job search, finishing the MBA, preparing to start a new life in a new country again, for the 5th time in two and a half years. How to make sense of it all? And I thought about how you can live without regrets, what makes a life well lived: how many countries you’ve visited? Your job title? How you raise your children? How much money you make? The experiences you have? I’ve been happy with how I’ve chosen to spend the last few years of my life, especially since leaving the US. Will I feel the same way, looking back in 30 years? Who knows. All you can do is try and keep in mind what’s important to you, and prioritize accordingly…right? Just have to keep on, keeping on — as the song goes.

In the middle of this angst I came to the other suspension bridge, and once again sang and shuffled my way across. Not too far after the bridge was another mirador. Suddenly exhausted, I laid down on the warm rock in the sun and stared at the sky, then the glacier, then the mountains off to my right. After a few minutes I dozed off, until the clouds and wind returned with a chill, propelling me to walk the last 30 minutes to camp.

In camp I found Lukas, who gave me a tour of his tent as he hung up his clothes, which had gotten soaked in the rain today. We grabbed a beer and sat down to chat before his 6pm dinner (having had a big lunch, I selected the 7pm dinner shift). I found a group of O-trekkers, a French and a Dutch couple, and sat with them and spectated as they played a version of the game whis that Lucia had taught us on the Navimag. We were joined by Ben from Boston, who regaled me with his stories of the hikes in El Chalten, my next stop on the journey. I was jealous to hear he also had walked the Huemul circuit, the 4-day trek near El Chalten that involves rappelling across a river and crossing a glacier. He showed me photos : strapped into to the harness, swimming in a glacial lake with icebergs, setting up camp. I regretted a bit that I hadn’t given myself time to do that circuit — but, to be fair, I still am not sure I’d be comfortable doing it solo. Have to save something for next time.

I had dinner with Victor as well as the women I met yesterday, Sherry and Sylvie. In the end, Victor was very happy with his choice not to join for the bridges — he’d had a nice nap in his tent. Over a mediocre meal of beef and mashed potatoes (but a very good chocolate mousse dessert) we talked about plans for the next day. Victor had an 11am ferry from Paine Grande, so would be setting off early. My boat was supposed to leave from Grey at 10:30, so I was hoping to sleep in. So, we said our goodbyes after dinner and promised to meet up some time in the Netherlands. He headed to bed, and I joined Lukas and some of his trail friends for a round of Pisco sours and more 500 rummy.

After being resoundingly beaten by one of the guys who had just learned how to play rummy, Lukas and I headed to the campsite to continue chatting while he prepared for the next day, shuttling some of his wet clothes (a which had gotten wet again, as it rained during dinner) to the Refugio fire to dry. I showed him photos from my trek so far and he showed me photos of his — including the birds we had both seen. He had seen a very impressive woodpecker at work, and pulled up a video to prove it. Finally, after more stories shared it was already 11pm and dark — time to call it a night. We said a just-in-case goodbye, since there was a good chance of him oversleeping, and I crawled into bed excited for a restful morning,

Distance covered: 14mi / 22.5km

Elevation gained: 2168ft / 661m