Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: Hey Jude — The Beatles

“So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin”

Listened to this one throughout the trek, actually, but figured it made sense to save it for the last day. It’s funny how I’ve known this song my whole life, but recently it’s gained traction online and I’ve found myself listening to it in a new light.

I slept in (till 7am, proof that I’m a different person on the trail than in my normal life). I actually slept long enough to remember my dreams, the first time in probably a week that’s happened, so my head was a bit cloudy as I started my day. I noticed Lukas’s things were still by the fire, so he was still here.

I began packing up my pack and also preparing a day pack — I had plenty of time till my boat, so thought maybe I would go back to the mirador for the morning and write. However, when I swung by the reception to ask about how to get to the dock, he told me he thought the boat may be cancelled due to wind — a possibility I was aware of when I booked but had completely forgotten about. So instead I headed back to my room and started to get ready just in case I would need to walk back to Paine Grande…perhaps I shouldn’t have been so cavalier about my blisters yesterday.

Meanwhile, there was still no sign of Lukas. I wandered by his tent and left some food I was donating to him outside with his still-damp clothes and headed back to the Refugio, where I reported the update to Peter and Rosie, who also were on the same boat. I sat around chatting with them and with Jan, one of Lukas’s O-trek friends who was taking a rest day in Grey and hoping to do some kayaking. Around 9am, the receptionist confirmed that the boat was cancelled and we would need to head back to Paine Grande and catch the catamaran from there.

Lukas also appeared at this point, coming by to grab his things from the fire and thank me for the food. I updated him on my new plans. “This is great! Now we can walk together!” He responded. I normally don’t like hiking with others (he feels the same) but I was willing to make an exception. However…when I asked him how long he needed to get ready, he said an hour. In Lukas time, this meant at least two. I was already ready to go and had been sitting around for a few hours now, so was not keen to wait quite that long — plus the pain in my knee had gotten quite bad, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d need to make the trek. We agreed that I would set off alone, and he’d either catch up to me on the way or meet me in Paine Grande. Even so, I lollygagged, taking a long time finishing packing, making couscous for lunch on the way, and hanging around the camping area. Somehow Lukas was slower, and after almost an hour had passed he was only just starting to make breakfast. With a laugh, I gave up on waiting and set off as clouds rolled in, almost as grey as the lake. Today was forecasted to be the worst day, wind-wise, that I had experienced.

It was lovely walking the same trail again today, in a new direction and with less rain. I found myself better able to appreciate the scenery — the purple and white flowers dotting the sides of the trail, the trees rustling in the wind, the dark outlines of the mountains. Rock climbing up the steep slope on dry rock was much easier than coming down had been, and despite persistent knee pain I was making good time. The wind was strong but at my back, which helped. I even passed Tim and Camille, headed to Grey, and said a final hello / goodbye to them. Once I was most of the way up the hill I found a rocky outcropping where I planned to eat lunch. However I was quickly disabused of the idea as the wind blew grains of couscous into my face. I retreated behind a rock for a few bites before giving up and moving on.

Soon enough I was back at the first mirador, watching the Dutch couple last night pose for photos with two other Dutch guys. They were all so tall — I’d watched them stride past me with ease earlier on the trail, even with their massive packs and camping kit. Impressive. As I crested a hill I had a view behind me to the glacier — a chance to say a proper farewell, since who knows when I will be back — and ahead to more lakes and peaks. The wind gusts had gotten even stronger, which I hadn’t thought was possible, and I had to brace myself to keep from tumbling off my rocky perch. Between gusts, I sent off again on a grassy path, powering along to get to yesterday’s breakfast lake for a quick pit stop. It was threatening rain, so I had stuffed my raincoat’s pockets with the things I needed to keep dry and on hand — my phone, headphones, camera, etc. I noticed a woman walking towards me, smiling, and I stopped to say hello, thinking we might know each other. Instead, she pointed to my bulging pockets and asked “it’s not a baby?” Shocked and mildly humiliated, I managed to shake my head, mumble a “fuck you, who asks that?” as she walked off, and set about repositioning my pockets to look a little less pregnant. With typical Patagonian flair, the weather was all over the place, and I tore off my beanie to try and cool off, shoving it in my pants pocket.

I was close to the lake now, only a half hour or so, was pushing onwards past other hikers I recognized from dinner last night. Finally, I reached the same rocky outcropping where I’d had breakfast yesterday and paused to check on my feet and give my knees a break. It was chilly again and so I reached for my hat…only to find it gone. I looked around, retraced my steps a bit, but it was gone. Must have latched itself to a shrub as I walked by. Well, RIP my black beanie, purchased when I was 14, sacrificed to Torres del Paine. I hoped someone would find it and use it, at least.

The last hour or so back to Paine Grande was retracing my steps from 6am the previous day. The sun was back out, the wind had died down a bit, and all in all it was easy walking. I passed Sharon and Graham, my bunkmates from Paine Grande, with a quick hello, and sooner than expected arrived again at the Refugio. I spent the first twenty minutes or so trying to deal with my new logistics — booking the catamaran for later in the day, booking a new bus, letting my Airbnb host know I’d be about 5 hours late, etc. I relayed the information to Peter and Rosie, who arrived a few minutes behind me, and then sat to have my couscous with Isabel, an Australian girl who was traveling on a serious budget — relying entirely on hitchhiking and free food she could scrounge from campers finishing their walks. As I polished off almost all of my reserve food — saving some peanuts and chocolate, since you never know — I looked out the window and saw a familiar orange fleece and fur hood meandering down the path. I apologized to Isabel but told her I had to go, and then running as fast as my geriatric knees and Birkenstocks would let me, jogged outside shouting “Luis! Luis!”

He turned around and greeted me with a big hug, congratulating me on finishing the trek. We headed to the bar upstairs to grab a beer (snapping a photo of the bottle with an image of Los Cuernos in front of the mountains themselves) and catch up. He had walked a few stages of the W but was dealing with foot issues, and I showed him some photos and related my own knee problems. Lukas arrived not too long after and the 3 of us shared a drink, swapping more stories from our adventures over the last few days, and discussing plans to meet again in Argentina. Having the chance to see what felt like old friends and share more of my experience was a great end to the trip. And shortly before 5pm a line began forming at the nearby dock, so I headed downstairs, took a few celebratory photos, and the boys walked me to the line for a final goodbye.

The catamaran ride was beautiful, cruising the aquamarine waters of Lake Pehoe, the wind piercing all of my layers. I watched as we (surprisingly quickly) retraced much of the walking of the past days: the French glacier, shrouded in rainclouds; Los Cuernos, stark against the blue sky behind. We reached the other dock in what felt like much less than the advertised 40 minutes, the wind nearly knocking over some of our boat mates as they disembarked. Peter, Rosie, Isabel, and I fought the wind and made our way to the cafe at the dock, where we had hot chocolates and I bought a guanaco sandwich for all of us to try (it tastes like steak, but is tougher. Wouldn’t necessarily recommend except for the novelty). We chatted about food culture in the U.S. and UK (American diners versus greasy spoons, the concept of “cheeky Nandos”) before realizing with a start that two hours had flown by and we were close to missing our bus, again. In a flurry layers were donned, packs thrown on, gloves and hats adjusted, and at a near-jog we climbed the hill to the bus lot and collapsed into our seats.

As we pulled out of the dusty lot, we wound our way back through the rest of the park, past the Torres and to the main entrance, where we picked up more hikers. I figured I would sleep on the way back, but in the end Peter and I ended up in a long and interesting conversation about our lives. He had been working in corporate strategy for a bank, but also extracurricularly had served as treasurer for a nonprofit working on nuclear disarmament. He shared how he enjoyed the treasurer role but wanted to eventually move towards non-profits more geared towards his interest in sustainability. I agreed that this trip had made me more interested in getting involved in conservation work — and the idea of serving on a nonprofit board was an interesting way of doing that, one I hadn’t previously considered. We talked a lot about consumption (in fashion, food, travel, etc.) and he very generously listed to my rant about the declining quality of most goods, especially clothes, and the need for a mindset shift around the prices, quantities, and the expected quality of the things we buy. The conversation shifted to life in general — how he and Rosie had met in university, how I had gone through a breakup the previous summer, what our other plans were.

As we chatted, the sun emerged from dark clouds and cast amber light onto the plains. The bus stopped temporarily for a group of guanacos to cross the road. We once again flew past horses, cows, and the occasional rhea (an ostrich-like bird native to Argentina). By the time we pulled into the familiar bus terminal in Puerto Natales, it was dusk. With pained groans, the three of us stood up, collected our packs from the luggage hold, and made our way back into town. We said our goodbyes at the main intersection, wished each other the best of luck in our future travels, and I headed back to my Airbnb for a much-needed shower and sleep. My W-trek was over, but I had 4 weeks of travel ahead of me still. For now, time to rest and recover.

Distance covered: 9.9mi / 15.9km

Elevation gained: 1011ft / 308m

Total distance walked: 67.2mi / 108.2km

Total elevation gained: 10,649ft / 3,245m