Sad, but not tragic. A forced opportunity. Maybe even a fortunate adaptation…fuck it. Let's make taco salad.

Return to Puerto Natales

The Slovenians are on a mission.  We got back to Puerto Natales and as soon as I have dropped my bag on a bed in the hostel, they have already booked the last bus to Argentina.  In 2 hours.  No fucking way.  I have one foot with a chorizo attached to it, am tired as fuck, and have no money.  Or any clean/dry clothes.  I need a day.

Look away, Grandma. THIS is my foot:


We part ways and I wander the streets in search of a functional ATM, a pharmacy, and way out of here.  After getting a pile of cash, a pile of gauze, and a bus ticket to Argentina (36 hours from now was the best I could do), I’m back to the hostel to check the Internets and get my first shower in 5+ days.  (Delicious.)

After wrapping the living shit out of my foot so it’s somewhat safe for transport, I head out to drop laundry and then get a long-awaited steak at my man Lautaro’s Parrilleria.  Fat steak, spicy potatoes, great wine, aqua con gas (because I’m sophisticated like that), and back to “Love In The Time Of Cholera” (because I’m sophisticated like that).  I look out the window and see a Brit who spent 6 hours with us in the shelter 2 days before.  Along with three kids from The States we had also blessed with tequila and joints during our 36 hours of terror in The French Valley.  (Sorry, Grandma, what else are we supposed to do on a complete washout day in Southern Patagonia?)  Five minutes prior, I’m thinking, “Goddamn!  It is so cool to be on this journey.  Even if I’m alone!”  Now they’re next door getting drunk and waiting for me.  And I’m pretty sure they owe me one. Or five.  Could get ugly tonight.

So I finished my amazing meal and waddled next door where we drank 8 pitchers of microbrew (oh god, how I have missed you).  I also have some vague recollection of a disco, but we’ll just be content to call that a lapse in memory.


I have to keep moving because of a commitment to meet a friend in Santiago in a couple weeks, so I get on the bus to Argentina heading North.  Malbec and fat steaks will surely aid the healing process.


One Response to “Return to Puerto Natales”

  1. Anonymous says:

    That's possibly the WORST blister that I've ever seen on a foot. OUCH!

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