America del Sur: A Far Better Place than America del Norte

The Spaniards

We ended up opting for the asado three of the nights we stayed at the hostel. Apart from the ungodly amounts of steak the chef, who in his flannel shirt and dreadlocks looked like a hipster before the term came into popularity, would throw on the grill for us, cooked to each person’s preference — there was also a buffet of grilled squash, carrots, potatoes, eggplants and a salad. Towards the end of our stay, we would be thankful for these vegetables which would otherwise be a scarcity in our Argentine meals. Beer and wine were also included and our hosts saw to it that our carafes and glasses were never empty, and even brought over extra bottles for us to take upstairs to the lounge after our meal was done.

On our first night, we met two sets of couples from Spain, including the petite, dark-haired and charming Patricia, and her studying-to-be-an-architect boyfriend who understood, but did not speak, English. The other couple didn’t speak or understand any English at all, so it gave me a chance to practice my Spanish that I was quickly forgetting from my study abroad days in Madrid.

Patricia was working in the tourism department of Torres del Paine national park in Chile while studying English so she could fulfill her dream of becoming a travel agent. Her father was a famous Spanish movie producer and if she wanted to, she could’ve easily become an actress — she was pretty enough. So, when I asked why she chose the tourism route instead, she explained how she loved to travel so much and couldn’t think of anything better than to plan exciting trips for other people for a living. This made a lot of sense to me.

Every sentence we shared with her, she would immediate turn to her boyfriend and friends and translate for them, and then quickly turn back to us to ask a follow-up question. They had just completed the famous W trail, which was a challenging 4-day hike in Torres del Paine and high on my list of things to do before I die. While I interrogated them for details, they explained that you didn’t have to be a “world class trekker” to complete the hike. They weren’t.

“You MUST do it! Anyone can do it. Trust me!” Patricia cried.

Then the discussion turned to architecture and we talked about Frank Gehry’s Brooklyn waterfront project and how it was destroying my Brooklyn neighborhood. The non-English speaking boyfriend came alive at the mention of Gehry’s name and expressed a strong dislike. Afterwards, we bonded over our preference of Frank Lloyd Wright and I realized he understood more English that he had initially let on.

In Chile, the foursome were living in Puerto Natales, the gateway to Torres del Paine, and explained how mind-numbingly boring the town really was. It was similar to El Calafate in that they were both “built” to cater to the national treasures they gave access to and otherwise had no purpose of existing, but unlike El Calafate, didn’t have the energy or spirited people that were so clearly in abundance here. But I could easily see why someone like Patricia, so excited, accommodating, and hungry would want more from a town. We met because she spotted my leather-bound journal in the lounge. Kelly and I were digesting our asado meals off to the side, when one of the boyfriends (the non-English-understanding-or-speaking–one) pulled two stools around their coffee table and motioned for us to join them.

“Excuse me, where is your book from?” Patricia asked.

When I told her I got it in India, she squeezed her fists together, shivered and all but squealed, “Ahh! India. I LOVE it!!! I want to go there soooooooooooooo bad,” in her thick, sexy Spanish accent.

It was hard to say goodbye to Patricia and her friends, whom we had only met for one night, for a couple of hours really, and three-fourths of the table didn’t even speak the same language at that. But they were to get up early in the morning to board an all-day bus ride to Puerto Madryn in Southeast Patagonia in hopes of seeing some penguins and whales, and we were due south for Tierra del Fuego.

They parted extending the sincere offer of a place to stay whether we were in Puerto Natales or Barcelona, and someday, I hope to take them up on it.

• Next: The Brits.