Patagonia and Iguazu Falls

Introduction

I am setting off again for another tour, this time the destination is Patagonia, a desolate land and very far from Italy.

The itinerary calls for crossing Argentina until reaching Tierra del Fuego, the so-called end of the World, landing (time and authorities permitting) at Cape Horn, the southernmost point of the globe, going back up Chilean Patagonia, stopping to observe the Perito Moreno, the enormous and imposing glacier, and finally visiting the majestic and boundless Iguazú Falls on the border with Brazil. A very demanding route in terms of travel, climate variations and humidity. The clothing I am preparing ranges from heavy to light and, looking at the weather forecasts, even though it is late spring in Argentina, cold and snow are forecast in some places.

Following my traveler's list I prepare the inevitable "accessories" for the tour; my digital reflex camera (Nikon DX40) with three spare cards, my inseparable Moleskine® (the notebook), some pens, my passport, the travel program, the guides and not least the indispensable airline tickets.

For the trip I chose the guides: • Argentina published by Lonely Planet-EDT – 4th Italian edition – November 2008; • Chile and Easter Island published by Lonely Planet-EDT; 6th Italian edition – June 2009.

I consider both guides interesting for the list of places to visit, as well as for providing a lot of "useful information" for the trip. In the diary I will refer to the places I visit by indicating the page of the guide with the nation preceding it to make it easier to find. Example: Argentina (A-LP pag.), Chile (C-LP pag.), so that anyone wishing to go deeper can find the necessary references.

The program calls for meeting at Milan Linate airport at 13:00. We leave from Rovello by car; Lorenzo picks up Ambrogina, me and Luigia: in the car, fitting people and suitcases together requires contortionist moves, but the desire to visit Patagonia overcomes any logistical difficulty. Arriving at the airport we find part of the group; I happily meet Giorgio and Rossella with whom I have shared other trips; the introductions are quick: in the coming days I will get to know the other members of the group better. The last to arrive, but punctual, is Salvatore, the group leader; we are all here, so we check in the suitcases for Rome, where we will retrieve them to send them on to Buenos Aires.

Many friends, before leaving, "urged" me to take notes for the now customary travel diary, but above all to take good photographs both to publish on my website and for the multimedia version of my stories. On board an Alitalia MD80 we depart on time; since I have not yet studied the tour in depth, I focus on reading the Argentina guide and look up the places we will visit. I read that on some occasions lunch is not included, someone worries about what to eat, but this difficulty does not exist: Argentina is the kingdom of grilled meat, we will surely find some eatery that will satisfy our palate. We arrive in Rome right on time at 15:20, collect our bags and head toward check-in for Argentina, we are at counter 409, where we find a long line of people all headed to Buenos Aires.

Fearing a low temperature on arrival, we left home wearing heavy clothes, but we did not take into account the hot Roman climate, some change, others take off their sweaters. At check-in they inform us that we cannot check the bags through to Trelew, the city where our tour begins; we will have to collect them in Buenos Aires to check them in again. We board the Airbus 340 of Argentinas Aerlines; the last goodbye texts and then I turn off my cell phone thinking about when I will return to my usual ways of communicating; I am on vacation and it is right that work calls remain in Italy. The only calls I want to make are to the people dear to me.

The plane is partially full, I am sitting by the window; it is 19:50 when the route we will follow appears on the on-board monitor; the route calls for flying over Africa and then crossing the Atlantic Ocean; in fact shortly afterward the lights of the cities of Tunisia appear, looking into the darkness I make out the coastline, the port, the sea which appears black but dotted with the bright lights of the fishermen's boats. We are flying at an altitude of 9,330 meters when the city lights give way to the immense African desert and the darkness of the night. The flight will last 14.30 hours and arrival is expected in Buenos Aires at 5:50 local time. After the heat of Rome I think about the temperature we will find during the trip, the forecasts call for cold, rain, snow and a few sunny days: what a dilemma, the clothing to wear.

Sitting next to me, a priest; Father Tommaso of the "Figli di Maria" Order, is Italian, from Lazio, and has lived in southern India for years where he runs a mission with a seminary and some schools; with 2 confreres he is traveling to Chile for an international conference on the formation of seminarians. During the flight we have dinner and then sleep, suddenly we are told to fasten our seat belts: encountering an Atlantic storm we bounce around. The first light of day arrives, the dawn illuminates the sea of clouds below us, we are descending toward Buenos Aires, and passing beyond the clouds I catch sight of a stretch of coastline; it is 5:30 local time and in a few minutes we will land.

Part One

The city of Buenos Aires (A-LP 73) offers a unique panorama from above; straight streets that intersect continuously creating a regular geometric design. The city, partially lit by streetlamps, is about to be bathed in sunlight; skyscrapers rise toward the sky and numerous green parks can be seen; the sun rising gives us its welcome. We disembark, customs check, baggage collection, then going out we find our guide: Silvia, a distinguished lady who will accompany us during the day until the afternoon boarding for Trelew. On board a coach we head toward the city. Near the airport there is a neighborhood of villas, they are well kept and harmonious; it is one of the most exclusive neighborhoods of the city; Maradona also lives here. A short distance away are the training grounds of the national soccer team, which, as in Italy, is the most popular sport.

We proceed slowly, we are in the midst of traffic heading toward the capital; an immense and cosmopolitan city of over 16 million inhabitants out of a national population of about 40 million. Having arrived in the metropolis the first stop will be for breakfast, we travel along immense avenues, pass in front of the parliament, cross July 9 Avenue and then stop at the "Caffè de los Angelitos" (A-LP 122), a historic venue; during the day it is a renowned bar and in the evening it is one of the great attractions where tango is danced. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, the decor is from the early 1900s, on the walls hang photos of famous Argentine figures, among whom I recognize Fangio and Che Guevara. We sit down and the abundant breakfast arrives; coffee, orange juice, sweet cakes, savory pastries; enough for a full meal, excellent and exquisite.

We leave the venue and by coach we prepare to do the city tour. We start from July 9, 1816 Avenue (A-LP 92); it is the date of the union of the Argentine provinces, practically the birth of present-day Argentina. The avenue is enormous, over three kilometers long, 149 meters wide and in its roadway there are as many as 16 lanes. The streets we travel along are all adorned with plants that are blooming at this time of year; there are numerous jacarandas displaying their beautiful purple flower, and more sporadically plants with red flowers: the Seibo, the symbolic flower of Argentina. We arrive at Plaza de Mayo (May Square) (A-LP 89), at whose center stands an obelisk, the Piramide de Mayo (A-LP 90), which bears the date May 25, 1810, the day of the removal of the Spanish viceroy and the declaration of Argentina's independence from Spain.

On one side of the square stands a beautiful white colonial building, the Cabildo (A-LP 90), now used as a museum, beside it a beautiful French-style building, while on one side we find the Metropolitan Cathedral (A-LP 90); built in colonial Baroque style, fronted by a colonnade. The church, whose interior is enriched by a mosaic floor, has a large central nave, flanked by two side naves where chapels stand; the altar, also Baroque, is silver. In the side chapels there are funeral monuments among which the main one is the mausoleum of San Martin, historic Argentine leader; a short distance away is the chapel with the statue of the Madonna protector of Argentina.

Leaving the church we go around the square, heading toward the marble obelisk and I notice that around it, on the brown pavement, white scarves tied at the neck are painted; this place is rich in meaning: during the sad period of the dictatorship, the mothers of the disappeared for 1,500 Thursdays, that is for thirty years, gathered to perform a silent round dance around the obelisk. At the sides of the square there are the access stairs to the old city metro dating back to the early 1900s and still operating with a limited number of stations. On the side opposite the Cabildo museum stands the "Casa rosada" (A-LP 90) the palace of the President of the Argentine Republic, the name derives from the coloring of this colonial-style palace. Walking through the streets and the square I observe a fair number of people sleeping on the street: wherever you go, unfortunately, poverty you find.

Resuming the tour, we travel along streets with flowing traffic where I catch sight of an INAS CISL office (an Italian patrons' association); being able to regularize and align one's pension contributions with Italy is truly useful work, truly a valuable service to our compatriots residing in this country. In the Palermo neighborhood (A-LP 97) we can see beautiful parks frequented by people engaged in sports activities, the zoo, the botanical garden and a short distance away we see the Italian embassy. Then we stop near a park where a metal sculpture is placed, the "Floralis Generica" (A-LP 96), a flower whose stamens are illuminated in the evening, the petals open and close following the course of the sun, like a real flower.

Arriving in the Gomero neighborhood, we stop at a flowerbed where a majestic Ficus Macrofilas stands, an enormous plant over 200 years old; it is impossible not to have your photo taken under this giant. Having reached "la Regoleta", we visit the Iglesia Nuestra Senora del Pilon (pillar), built in colonial style in 1732, with a Baroque interior. We then visit the monumental Recoleta cemetery; among many imposing tombs, very few plants live; in this place that appears like a sad city of the dead, we can see the tomb of Evita Peron. A short distance away, I am struck by a tomb with a life-size statue of a young girl and a plaque written in Italian: the dedication of the father who, a sculptor and poet, created everything for his daughter.

We return to the coach but the vehicle has broken down and while waiting for it to be repaired we take the opportunity to wander among shops, change some money and with Argentine pesos drink a good coffee, an excellent method to fight the latent sleepiness. The driver manages to repair the breakdown, so we resume the tour and passing through the Telmo neighborhood we reach "La Boca" (A-LP 94), a characteristic and colorful neighborhood on the banks of the Rio de la Plata. Originally this was the place where the Genoese who arrived in Argentina disembarked, then it became the residence of the workers who painted ships at the port; they used leftover paint to color the sheet metal placed to protect the wooden houses and over time this chromatic quality became the characteristic of the neighborhood.

We walk along the caminito, a street where you can observe the colorful houses, rich in tourist attractions such as tango dancers, musicians, painters whose paintings sometimes appear truly valuable. In the shops you find both cheap and precious objects. I enjoy photographing and observing this slice of the immense metropolis. The time for lunch has come and while heading to the restaurant, as we drive along the Rio de la Plata, I notice that on the riverside panels with paintings and their captions have been placed: they are reproductions of some works present in the Louvre in Paris; a beautiful idea to reproduce these masterpieces to spread knowledge of them. We arrive in the area of the old English warehouses which, renovated, have become public venues and residences; the red brick structures are pleasant to look at.

The lunch stop allows us to taste good Argentine cuisine: little pastries filled with meat "the empanadas", grilled beef, ice cream or fruit in syrup.

Part Two

We set off again driving along the Rio de la Plata, this immense river with a hazelnut-brown color that carries toward the sea the red earth gathered along its 240 km course, at its mouth, with its 50 km width, it takes on the dimensions of a veritable sea. The opposite bank visible in the distance is Uruguay and between the two nations there is a regular naval service. At times the color of the water, due to pollution, turns from brown to black and oily. We reach Jorge Newberg airport located near the river coast, where we will take off for Trelew, it is hot and after almost two days of travel sleep makes its appearance and to fight it, at the bar I have a strong black coffee. During the flight some chat, some try to rest, I consult the guide to learn about the places we will visit in the coming days, I try to update the diary but it is impossible due to the turbulence encountered.

We all express the desire for a nice and refreshing shower, then we speculate about the weather we will encounter starting tomorrow, will it still be hot or will the temperature be milder? While in flight I deepen my knowledge of Patagonia, I discover that Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (A-LP 493), the author of "The Little Prince" was in Patagonia as director of the Aeropostal Argentina from 1929 to 1931. Part of the descriptions and images present in his book derive from this territory; the boa constrictor is similar to an island near the Valdes Peninsula; the perfectly conical volcanoes are present in southern Patagonia, the mountains, all reported in Asteroid B612 of the beautiful book that brings to mind a person dear to me.

Looking out the window my thoughts vanish at the appearance of Patagonia (A-LP 476): a boundless land that stretches as far as the eye can see and offers a fascinating spectacle; from above the steppe appears dotted with shrubs with very few plants. The contrast with the verdant pampas that surrounds Buenos Aires and that only a few hours ago I was flying over is remarkable. Trelew airport has an essential structure; we collect our bags and going out we meet our guide: Andrea. We board the coach assigned to us and at 19:15 we begin the journey toward Puerto Madryn; during the route I enjoy the steppe, a wild, desolate landscape, a succession of carefully fenced pastures. Andrea tells us something about the locality; we are traveling along Route National no. 3, the Panamericana road that starts from Alaska and after 17,848 km ends in Tierra del Fuego (a place we will later visit).

Patagonia is a mostly flat land and is rich in natural wonders. Anyone can buy plots of land to turn them into pasture. Here the only problem is water, in fact landowners dig wells in search of the precious liquid, but drilling is not without surprises because if while drilling they find oil or gold, it becomes state property, whereas if they find precious stones, they remain with the owner. Andrea, of Welsh origin, tells us that his ancestors in the 1700s, to escape religious persecution and to preserve their culture and traditions, moved to Patagonia; once settled permanently they coexisted with the aborigines learning customs, knowledge and traditions. We reach Puerto Madryn (A-LP 483) while it is still light; here the sun sets around 9 pm, at the hotel they quickly assign us rooms, I share the room with Chen, of Chinese origin but resident in Italy for decades.

Shower and then, for dinner we go to a restaurant on the seafront; vegetable and egg timbale, parrilla, fruit. I return to the hotel and due to accumulated fatigue I collapse; sleeping in a good bed is truly regenerating.

First Part

Before the alarm goes off I am on my feet, the sun is already high, and I enjoy the spectacle of the bay in front of the hotel. I prepare my clothes and photographic equipment for the day ahead; breakfast and at 8:00, departure for the Valdés peninsula: the expectation of seeing the whales is truly great. Leaving Puerto Madryn we cross its outskirts and the industrial zone where we drive alongside aluminum foundries, workshops of artisans dedicated to working porphyry, fishing industry buildings surrounded by an infinite number of seagulls; the birds are concentrated in the place where the processing waste is piled up; the presence of so much food that attracts hundreds of birds has become a problem for the alteration of the natural balance.

Traveling through the steppe I note how water is truly a problem for livestock and farmers; Andrea explains that to partially overcome this difficulty, water purifiers have recently been built for gray water so that the purified water can be used for irrigating gardens and fields. We approach the wildlife reserve of the Valdés peninsula and while we travel along the narrow isthmus that connects the peninsula to the mainland we see the first guanaco, a cute mammal of the camelid family, which resembles the more famous Andean llama. For hours we have been driving without interruption alongside the fences of the agricultural estates and Andrea explains that in Patagonia farms have enormous extensions, from 20,000 to 300,000 hectares of land. The area is divided into fenced plots so as to graze cattle and sheep without losing them.

The herds are cared for by gauchos, the legendary horsemen of the pampas and Patagonia who, living practically on horseback, carry out valuable activities dedicated to livestock breeding and the care of fences. In this area sheep are raised whose prized wool is exported to Asia and Europe. Sheep meat is the main food and to increase productivity the animals are castrated, an operation that is bloody both for the animals and for the workers and requires skill on the part of the gauchos. We quickly see the various castration methods used: • the gauchos tie the animals' testicles for a month until they fall off, but this is a very painful system for the animals; • they cut the scrotum, but this causes severe bleeding; • with a very sharp blade, they cut the scrotum and the gaucho grabs the animal's testicles with his teeth, pulling them off.

This last method seems to be the technique preferred by the workers who, moreover, at the end of the day, after having castrated and cut the tails of the lambs, collect all the severed parts and cook them over the fire. According to Andrea, this seems to be a tasty dish; personally I remain very skeptical. We reach the entrance of the Valdes peninsula nature reserve (A-LP 490), a barrier blocks the passage, adjacent to the road a building houses the headquarters of the nature reserve and a small museum. Andrea gets off, collects the entrance tickets, then we set off again for Puerto Piramides where we will check the sea conditions and the possibility of boarding to go and observe the southern right whales that reproduce here.

If this is not possible, the day's program will change; here it is nature that sets the conditions, it seems right to me to observe that we are simple human beings passing through this enchanting place. Leaving the isthmus, Andrea explains that there are two gulfs; to the north the Gulf of San José and to the south, where we are headed, the Gulf Nuevo; the two gulfs share one characteristic: when one gulf has high tide the other has low tide and vice versa. I notice that in the Gulf of San José there is low tide and birds are resting on the shoreline; they are migratory birds that from Canada are heading to Antarctica. We reach the small village of Puerto Piramides (A-LP 490), a port whose modern development comes from whaling and sealing to obtain lamp oil; but its origin is remote, in fact an ancient Indian cemetery has been found in the locality.

We stop at an agency where they organize sea excursions to spot whales; this morning the sea conditions allow the boat to go out and the boats are already offshore, so we have to wait for one to return: what better occasion to tour the village and, having spotted an advertising sign, drink an Italian coffee? Walking along streets lined with colorful one-story wooden houses I observe the church just rebuilt because the old one was destroyed by wind. Seeing the boat returning to port we prepare for the excursion: we put on life jackets, group photo and then we board the boat moored on the beach. How? On the beach? Of course, here everything is original, and even the boats when they reach shore are caged in metal structures and with tractors carried to the shore where people on the shoreline get on and off the boat.

We take our places on the boat which is taken back out to sea, leaving the metal cage the navigation begins and although the sea is fairly calm, the bouncing especially at the bow is noticeable. With Ambrogina and Luigia I settle at the stern and comfortably seated we contemplate the landscape. In the distance the first whales can be seen, their tails rising toward the sky before disappearing into the blue water, we approach the area and then nothing … for long minutes the mammals seem to have disappeared, nothing moves above the sea surface … the boat moves, the captain looks for other places to spot the cetaceans; the jolting movement produced by the waves creates some problems and some passengers show symptoms of seasickness.

Suddenly, almost as if by magic the sea fills with southern right whales: they appear on the surface to breathe, you can see the blow, you can admire them swimming at water level, turning, playing, courting and then diving; seeing their tail rise and then disappear is always a great emotion. On the boat some film with video cameras, I "armed" with my camera am busy framing and shooting; the operation requires a good mix of luck and skill; moreover I have to calculate the movement of the boat and of the people who are also photographing. After two hours of navigation we return to port while the people affected by seasickness have turned the stern into a veritable first aid station. Quickly crossing the Gulf Nuevo we leave behind the cetaceans swimming freely in the sea.

Having reached the vicinity of the shore the boat considerably increases its speed almost as if wanting to leap out of the sea, what is happening? We are about to enter the metal cage hooked to the tractor that will take us to land. Ladder and we descend onto dry land, we take off the life jackets; those who were affected by seasickness quickly improve. We reunite and quickly reach the coach to set off toward the south-east part of this wonderful natural area. We proceed along a dirt road that runs through the steppe, when we realize that the dust raised by the coach's wheels enters the vents of the ventilation system making part of the cabin truly unlivable. During this journey we can observe guanacos and ostriches grazing freely while in the landscape salt flats appear whose level is 42 meters below sea level.

Second Part

Here homes are very far apart, for this reason where the largest estates stand there are service structures as if it were a small village. Each house, although built of wood, is equipped with all modern comforts; one must absolutely not think of these as desolate, inhospitable and wild places: the population is friendly, lives with a good standard of living and it is not difficult to find descendants of Italians. We arrive at "Il faro" a locality that takes its name from the lighthouse of the same name, there are buildings including a restaurant, a bar and a crafts shop; here we will stop for lunch. In the dining room, large enough to hold medium-sized groups, lunch is served to us; the empanadas, ravioli filled with meat and ostrich eggs, grilled lamb with salad, creme caramel.

The food is good, the meat excellently cooked does not have the classic gamey flavor that our lambs have; it is indeed true that Argentines are specialists in preparing and cooking meat on the grill. While we have lunch, between one course and another the souvenir shop fills with people, I take the opportunity to observe the venue well which, furnished in a simple style, appears organized and clean. On the walls hang small frames that neatly contain Neolithic flint artifacts, I note arrowheads, blades, various tools. Having finished lunch, going outside, I enjoy the immense plain dotted with shrubs and photograph some flowers and a map of the place where we are, then back on the coach we set off for Punta il Faro, where we will be able to observe the sea elephants.

After a few km, we stop at a clearing; all together and being careful not to slip, we descend a sandy slope reaching the beach where, following the low tide, dozens of sea elephants are resting; there are adult males, females and many pups. At the end of the beach, where the coast rises, a sea elephant lies on the sand, it is very far from the others, it seems dead, but Andrea warns us not to approach; the mammal is alive and is molting its skin; from black it will become gray. It is an operation that will last from 12 to 20 days and during this period the animal will remain motionless in the sun to allow the skin to dry and come off. Sea elephants have enormous bulk, reaching up to 7 meters in length and can exceed three tons in weight; on land they move fairly slowly but in water they are very agile.

They go to "eat" in the ocean depths and reach depths of 1,000 meters where they feed on giant squid and other animals present on the seabed. At the end of the beach the scenery is fantastic; the low tide exposes rocks that are full of octopuses, clams and oysters; a real manna for local fishermen. Sitting on the sand we stop to observe the scenery as a whole, the blue of the sea, the gray-green of the rocks, the hazelnut of the sand with the sea elephants. You can see the dominant males positioned far from the other members of the herd, who, still and motionless, carefully check that no one approaches. In the group some males try to mate with the females who promptly run away and it is a continuous chasing. I enjoy observing this enchantment and take photographs.

The time of departure approaches, we go back up the sandy ridge and having reached the top, before leaving, we go to see another bay also populated by sea elephants basking in the sun. We return toward Puerto Madryn; we cross the Valdés peninsula and having reached the checkpoint we stop to visit the local museum where themed rooms are set up: fauna, flora, geology, main localities, history; the main room is dedicated to the queen of the place, the southern right whale present with a skeleton over 15 meters long. In a display case baleen is preserved, the whale's teeth that were once used by inhabitants as raw material for making tools for many common uses; some are very particular such as umbrellas. Leaving the museum we are greeted by a cloudy gray sky that threatens rain; a blessing for farmers and ranchers but a curse for penguins and birds; this is nature and the game of parts.

We return to the hotel, shower, then meet for dinner which, like the previous evening, is at a restaurant. We walk along the seafront toward the venue.. and we walk.. we walk, we ask for directions: the direction is correct, and after a good 3 km we reach the venue; an appetizer of cold cuts and cheese, fried fish fillets and for dessert a tiramisu. For the return the group splits up; some choose a taxi and some walk back. I am in the second group and after a good walk of over half an hour we arrive at the hotel when more than an hour past 11 pm has gone by; before going to bed I prepare my suitcase for tomorrow's departure.

First Part

At 5:00 the alarm goes off, breakfast and having loaded the suitcases onto the coach we set off for Punta Tombo, where we should see the penguins; given the hour sleep affects many of us. Leaving the city we return to traveling along Route National no. 3 and heading south, after 2.30 hours of travel through the steppe, we arrive at a turnoff where via a dirt road we access a private farm; we are on an estate of 65,000 hectares with over 7,000 sheep grazing and in the part of the territory that borders the sea it hosts the Punta Tombo nature reserve (A-LP 503): one of the nesting sites of Magellanic penguins. The stretch of coast involved in laying and incubating eggs is 15 km long and the penguins venture inland up to 2 km to build their nests; the local bird population is estimated at 500,000 animals.

While we enter the park I observe with curiosity that sheep and guanacos coexist harmoniously with the penguins. Magellanic penguins are one of the 17 existing species; they are oviparous, up to 45 cm tall, black and white in color. Like other species, they have scales on their backs that allow excellent waterproofing when they are in water. To protect themselves from predators, in this area, they build their nests by digging holes in the ground under the thorny shrubs that grow abundantly. This strategy allows them to protect the eggs and chicks from seagulls and other predators that, with their presence, are a constant threat. Usually the penguin lays 2 eggs which are cared for in turn by the pair that alternates in incubation and then in feeding the chicks. Touring the Reserve we are lucky to see some nests where the hatching of the eggs has not yet occurred.

I notice that many nests are lined with feathers because the eggs are either hatching or the chicks have just been born; I am fortunate to admire the birth of a chick that is coming out of the egg. The newly born chicks are black/brown in color and are protected by the parent who lovingly cares for them. On the ground between the shrubs I observe amused some penguins that awkwardly and with a swaying gait walk toward the beach where they dive into the sea both to wash and to search for food. While I walk among the nests the wind carries the smells of the animals, making the air very pleasant, but as soon as it dies down a little, a strong and intense "scent" of fish reaches the nose.

With Andrea, who illustrates many details about the penguins for us, we take a beautiful trip in the nature Reserve and being the first visitors of the day, we can calmly enjoy and savor the spectacle and the magic of the place. While we prepare to leave other groups of tourists arrive filling the area. We leave the nature reserve taking Route National no. 3 again heading toward Trelew where we will take the plane to Ushuaia, but since we are perfectly on schedule and the program calls for a visit to a Welsh village we ask Andrea to take us to visit it. At first he is reluctant, but given our insistence he agrees to accompany us even though he does not know if we will find a place for lunch. We head therefore toward Gaiman (A-LP 501): a locality inhabited by Welsh people who moved here.

Along the road the barren landscape transforms into green and lush, rich in plants with wide cultivated fields; why this radical change? We are near a river and the water wisely channeled and used offers the possibility of developing plantations of poplars, weeping willows that with their tall crowns create a useful and precious barrier against the constant wind characteristic of Patagonia; this produces a microclimate suitable for growing fruit, vegetables and produce. We can observe plantations of strawberries, potatoes, alfalfa as well as plants with cherries, figs, peaches and walnuts; much of this fruit is ripening and we will find it in a few weeks, at Christmas, on our Italian tables. Stopping at Don Julio's farm, Andrea asks if it is possible to make a stop for a snack; it is possible but we have to wait a little.

In the meantime, while the strong sun warms us, we take the opportunity to walk among the fields and orchards that surround the farm. After a few minutes we enter the house where we are kindly welcomed by the owner, an elderly lady who quickly, in the large living room, has set up three tables; in managing an improvised reception she was truly good, precise and tidy. I notice that in an adjoining room, which is being renovated, there is a fireplace and a bar counter, the environment is clean and welcoming; on the walls hang many family photos and sports trophies that the owners won when in their youth they competed in track and field competitions. They serve us: apple cake, chocolate cake with cream, pastries, bread with lightly salted butter (a true delight for the palate), strawberry and melon jams, salami, warm bread; a snack? Not at all! A real abundant meal rich in sugars.

It is noon and we must leave the venue to head to the airport. Having arrived there, checked in the suitcases, we pay the flight tax; the airport structure is small and crowded with passengers, so we look for a place to stay as a group to wait for the departure of the flight to Ushuaia, in "Tierra del Fuego." The moment of boarding arrives, the plane is full and passing between the seats I hear a familiar dialect inflection, I ask the Italians where they are from and discover that they live in a town neighboring mine: the world is truly small! On board the MD 80 we take off 30 minutes late; but here time seems to take on a whole other dimension and other values compared to the frenzy of Milan.

During the flight we talk about dinner which is not included in the program, Salvatore has an address for a typical venue, but by calling he found room for 10 people, so it was decided to make two groups at two different restaurants. During the flight I read the program and the guide, discovering that Tierra del Fuego is a very important area naturalistically. Flying over the flat, arid Patagonian expanse my gaze is lost among the omnipresent shrubs and observing my travel companions, I notice how the early wake-up call has brought tiredness to all of us. The sky is becoming cloudy and I take advantage of the calm of the flight to organize my travel notes; my continuous note-taking arouses curiosity among the travelers and someone asks me why; I explain that I write travel diaries and provide them with the indications where to find them.

Almost three hours have passed since takeoff and we are preparing for landing, we are traveling lit by the sun, but below us the sky is cloudy, passing beyond the clouds lakes

Second Part

We disembark, collect our luggage and get on the coach that will take us to the hotel; here we find a lovely young woman waiting for us; she is our tour leader, of Italian origin, and her name is Karina Bonanno. We cross the city and in a short time we reach the hotel, built on the mountainside, totally immersed in the woods, offering an enchanting view over the city, the bay and the islands lying opposite. Just above us are the snow-capped peaks of the mountains; Karina tells us that a few tens of metres from the hotel there is the departure point of a chairlift that leads to a glacier coming down from the mountain. When we get off the coach we are greeted by a cold, brisk temperature; is it just the evening temperature, or is it really the local climate? Besides, with snow a short distance away, we must forget the heat.

Room assignments and then we prepare for dinner; Salvatore sets off with the first group, while we meet shortly afterwards in the hotel lobby, heading to the "Kaupe" restaurant where we have booked; once reunited we call three taxis to take us, we go down into the city and in a short time we arrive at the restaurant. The initial idea was to take a little stroll around the town before dinner, but since it is snowing lightly we decide to go straight to dinner. We enter the venue, where the atmosphere is warm, welcoming, refined and elegant. At the hotel reception they had told us that this restaurant is among the most expensive in the city; we have some fears about the bill, but we decide to sit down at the tables. They bring us the à la carte menu and, scanning it, we see the price expressed in dollars; we are struck by an apoplectic fit: the figures are exorbitant.

We ask the waiter the exact price and he explains that although the American dollar symbol is shown, the numerical amount indicates Argentine pesos; since the value is a quarter of the dollar, everything is put into perspective. I choose the menu: plain crab, black hake, chocolate dessert; some accompany the food with an excellent Argentine wine. The dishes are refined, with an excellent presentation; the food is truly tasty. During dinner, from the restaurant's windows, we can admire the bay still lit by the sun, while the sun heads towards sunset and the gaze is lost in the lights of the streets and those of the port, in the moored ships, in the planes landing. When dinner is over the bill arrives; 200 pesos per person (about €40), a truly low price compared with Italy.

We call some taxis to return to the hotel; in the sky the clouds let through the last rays of the setting sun, making the view of the bay very evocative; we shall see whether it will be a good sign for tomorrow, when an excursion in a park awaits us. I am in the hotel lounge updating my Moleskine when the other group arrives and, on discovering that their evening was so-so, they are not very happy with the dinner, which they consider poor both in quality and in service; the crab was served cold and the venue was little more than mediocre; a little disappointment shows on their faces. While I am writing, my gaze follows the enchantment of the illuminated city and port, whose lights are reflected in the sea. The hotel lounge is little frequented, and the Italians gathering to play burraco bring cheerfulness that fills the whole room.

Before going to bed my thoughts turn to the clothing to prepare for the next day, but seeing the changeable weather conditions I decide that only on waking will I decide what to wear.

First Part

The alarm goes off at 7:30, but Chen and I have been watching the bay and the movement of the ships for over an hour; there is good light, the sky is grey and cloudy but for now there is no precipitation; I decide to dress in layers with warm clothing and keep the waterproof ones within reach. In the hotel lobby we find today's guide; his name is Luca and he speaks good Italian. Breakfast, then we prepare the suitcases that we will load in the afternoon and in the meantime leave in the hotel's custody; finally by coach we set off for the visit to Lapataia Natural Park (A-LP 605). Having left the city we follow a road towards the north-west and in a few km we reach the edges of the Park. Entrance fee and then we continue the journey up to a clearing where a colonial building stands; it is the railway station of the "Train of the End of the World" (A-LP 608).

Originally this train departed from the town and, travelling through the valley, stopped in the wood; it carried the prisoners of the local prison who worked as lumberjacks; along the mountain slopes the felled and abandoned trees are still visible. At the station they tell us that both little trains are full, so rather than wait a long time and find the park crowded with tourists, we decide to continue the journey by coach and get ahead of those travelling by the little train. Making our way into the park we skirt the last remaining virgin peat bogs and, travelling along the roadway that winds among beech woods, we reach Lake Roca. Here we get off and begin a hike along the lake shore; as we walk we can admire plants, flowers and animals.

Among the plants the local beech stands out, enormous expanses of these beautiful plants, a beech-like tree called Lenga (Nothofagus pumilio), that is, a southern beech curiously called by the locals "not authentic." Among the flowering shrubs one distinguishes the Cafante, a native plant from whose fruits jams and liqueurs are made; as we walk we can admire rabbits, hares and ducks. A curiosity: the rabbits and hares are truly undisturbed since, besides being protected animals of the park, here they are not the basis of delicious dishes as in Italy: we are the world's biggest consumers of such meats. Argentines do not appreciate these animals "with little meat and many bones." We arrive near an equipped campsite where, despite the harsh climate, a few campers are present.

In the area there is a refuge; we enter and in a large room we find a fireplace where we can warm ourselves at the heat of the crackling fire. When I go out to take photographs, it begins to rain; after all, the grey sky certainly did not promise sunshine. This too is a characteristic of Tierra del Fuego, but the cool climate and the natural scenery before me amply repay me for a little rain. We resume the journey among the beech-like woods and, as soon as it stops raining, we stop to walk along a path which, developing at the foot of snow-capped mountains, winds among woods, hills and lakes. We see rabbits, geese and ducks, while on the river some hikers paddle their canoe gently. We arrive at a panoramic point where, in the lake below, we can admire a dam built by beavers, animals that, imported in the last century, have now become a real scourge and for this reason are hunted.

Souvenir photos, then Luca asks whether we want to continue on foot further; the answer is yes. Travelling through the wood we skirt a peat bog, we climb up the side of a mountain where we can observe a colourful flora until we reach a viewpoint; the view over the bay below is truly wonderful; the colours and shadows create a scene of incomparable beauty. Leaving the viewpoint we descend towards the bay and find a dirt road with a small roundabout: it is the end of Route National No. 3, "the Panamericana", the road we travelled when we were in Trelew: a sign indicates that we are 3,079 km from Buenos Aires and 17,848 km from Alaska. We set off into the protected area where, so as not to ruin the delicate ground, comfortable walkways have been laid, and this allows access to places otherwise unreachable because of the marshy nature of the peat bog.

We see a catamaran of the local navigation line entering the bay, crossing it and docking at the pier, unloading the passengers; a fairytale sight; I am immersed in a dimension different from the consumerist world, an enchanted and pleasant place where it is nature that determines the times and the events that follow one another, and I feel not like a visitor but like a privileged guest who can admire this magnificence. During the return to the city we ask Luca where he learned Italian so well; Luca, born and raised in Buenos Aires, by choice has moved here to live in contact with the unspoilt nature of these places; he likes to travel, go on excursions, spend nights camping and in winter go on ski trips; in 2002 he attended the University of Perugia and travelled around Italy and Switzerland.

He recounts in a fascinating and engaging way the history and characteristics of the park, and shortly before arriving in the city he shows us some photos of the animals that live here, the map of Tierra del Fuego and the Strait of Magellan. He promotes some books, printed in English and Italian, on local flora and fauna, written by a friend of his. Some of us take the opportunity to buy them; an excellent choice because afterwards we will find only prints in other languages. For lunch we return to the hotel where from the dining room we can enjoy the sublime view over the bay and the islands surrounding it, all lit by the sun. Lunch arrives: crab meatballs with salad, cordero (baked rolled lamb) with vegetables, sbrisolona with chocolate accompanied by a banana and coconut ice cream; a refined and tasty lunch.

The room is very warm; we ask them to lower the heating, but they open the windows; I wonder why such behaviour. Luca explains that since the region has methane deposits, here heating costs are negligible and the custom for regulating the temperature is to keep the window open. During lunch we chat and observe the panorama. Returning to the city, we check in for boarding on the ship, hand over our luggage and passports, which we will get back only on disembarking in Chile. Strolling through the town we dedicate ourselves to shopping; some buy books, some clothes, some souvenirs, and some phone home. I look at some items of clothing; I notice that they are well finished and well made, and the prices are reasonable. While we wander around the town, we find the tourist office; I have the stamps of Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world, stamped in my Moleskine.

Second Part

The temperature is pleasant and the sun is shining in the blue sky; together with Chen, Salvatore and Luigia we decide to go and visit the local museum housed in the old prison. We quickly cross the city and reach our destination; the five-spoke prison building today houses the prison museum and the naval museum — or rather, the naval museum has been created in one spoke of the prison, and the two museums are integrated with one another.

After paying for the ticket we begin the visit, and the first rooms are those of the naval museum, where we can see models of the ships that plied this stretch of sea and that made local history; then we enter one spoke of the former penitentiary, and as we walk along it we notice that in the cells on our left the prison environment has been reconstructed; there we can observe mannequins depicting some of the inmates, along with a brief description of their stories; there are murderers, thieves — in short, the worst criminals of the era had been "channelled" into this remote prison. The prisoners were employed in constructing the building, in cutting wood for heating and for the common services of both the prison and the city. Escaping from this place was virtually impossible, given the cold and hostile environment.

The few escapes that did occur proved futile, since the fugitives were always found dead from the cold. In the cells on the right side of the building there are equipment, figures, uniforms and nautical maps from the maritime museum. Once we have completed the spoke, we reach the central rotunda, and we see that spoke no. 3 is in its original condition; the walls are grey, the cells were closed first by doors with metal bars and then by wooden doors, and in the middle of the corridor there are two spartan stoves that were used for heating. You understand the harshness that reigned in this structure built at the end of the world. At the far end of the corridor are the toilets: washbasins, latrines and showers, all very spartan and made of concrete.

Once the museum visit is over, we head back towards the city, and while waiting to board I browse curiously in the shop windows, where I observe "Made in Italy" products — a sign that quality exists and is recognised. I look at some mountain shoes, look down at my feet and see I'm wearing the same brand: Italian pride surges up. Meeting other members of the group, we decide to board; we pass through customs checks and walk along the pier where the ship that will take us on the cruise is moored; once on board the "Mare Australis" we are given a warm welcome by the crew. The ship is not large, the cabins are comfortable, and the common areas are large, spacious and welcoming.

Chen and I have a cabin on the first deck, just above the waterline, and this will not allow us to take photographs from inside the cabin because the porthole glass is constantly wet with spray from the waves; to take photographs we'll have to go up on the upper decks, but this will not prove to be a problem. We explore the ship, and having gone up to the upper deck we take a few photos of the bay before we set sail; then we go down to the bar lounge and take part in the meeting on safety and rules of conduct: on this occasion we get to know the captain, the officers and the staff who will accompany us on the excursions; finally, the welcome toast. The officers explain the route we will follow, the list and timetable of the excursions, and the clothing to wear.

The cruise is described as an "expedition cruise" because the programme may change significantly in the event of adverse weather conditions, and in any case the excursions always require a great deal of care and suitable clothing. During the voyage there will be lectures on various topics such as wildlife, flora, geography, glaciology and history (Magellan, Cape Horn, Antarctica and Chile). The ship's engines are started, there is a slight rolling motion, and slowly the vessel moves off, pulling away from the pier; we have set sail and the cruise begins — our adventure in the southernmost part of the globe. In the roadstead, the vessel turns around and points straight towards the Beagle Channel, and the voyage begins; the sun illuminating the snowy peaks seems to bid us farewell and wish us a good trip.

While the ship glides slowly and silently over the water, hugging the coast and the mountains, in the lounge on the fourth deck the first lecture is held on "the history of Cape Horn," called Cabo de Hornos in Spanish, and in the bar lounge a film is shown about the place we will reach tomorrow morning, weather permitting. Dinner time arrives; crab meat, pea soup with salmon, then a choice between fish and a trio of beef fillets with different sauces. I savour the Chilean wine — dark red in colour, with a barrel-aged flavour, a distinctive taste quite different from Italian wines. The voyage continues along the Beagle Channel, but before entering the open sea the ship stops and the Chilean maritime police come aboard to check the documents; in the darkness of evening we can see the bay with the lights of Ushuaia.

After dinner we gather at the bar, where we play cards and chat, then I go to the cabin for the night and fall asleep lulled by the pitching of the ship.

First Part

It is the middle of the night; the ship is lurching, the waves are pounding noisily against the steel hull, and at times they break against the porthole glass; everything is shaking. At 5:00 my alarm goes off — I had set it because the evening before we had been told that at that hour we would be passing through an enchanting area, well worth photographing; I get up, look out of the window and see only fog and high waves; visibility is terrible; I don't even bother wondering how to dress to go out and take photographs: I get back under the covers. The programme calls for a wake-up at 6:00 and a rendezvous at 7:00 to disembark at Cape Horn. Punctually at 6:00 the alarm goes off, hot coffee is ready on deck for anyone who wants it, but seeing how the ship is tossing, I decide not to take in any liquids to avoid seasickness problems.

At 7:00 we gather for the possible landing on the southernmost land on the planet. With difficulty we sit down on the little armchairs in the bar; we are completely bundled up and wearing tightly fastened life jackets, moving clumsily; we look like fluorescent penguins. The crew members who will accompany us give us the information on how to get into the zodiacs, how to sit, how to get off; then, little by little, making our way to the stern of the ship, we begin to board the zodiacs that will take us ashore. The outside temperature is 2.5°C, there is a strong wind, and the sky is cloudy and grey. From the ship I notice that some crew members are already in the bay to secure the spot where we will land. On the "zodiac" boats you get on one at a time, sit down, and then another person gets on; in total there are 10 passengers besides the boat handler.

We pull away from the ship and set off towards the rocky shore. The sea is as dark as the sky, white waves create beautiful ripples in the dark water, and we bounce along in the zodiac as some waves wet our backs; from the sky something begins to fall: water and snow welcome us to Cape Horn (C-LP 460 C). We come alongside, and in order to disembark without problems we must follow exactly the instructions given by the ship's staff; a sure, quick movement avoids being sucked in by the waves as well as taking an unplanned dip in the icy waters.

As soon as we land, a long wooden staircase awaits us; climbing it will allow us to reach the top of the black cliff; we start climbing, the wooden steps made slippery by the water and snow, we must walk carefully, but in a short time we reach the top of the sea stacks, where stands the station for the cable car that goes down to the sea — an indispensable means for transporting things and food for those who stay in this place. Here a Chilean navy soldier awaits us, checking access to Chilean territory; nearby stands the lighthouse and a military base with a helicopter parked on the landing pad. We are on Cape Horn island, the southernmost land in the world; here the ground is covered only by low grass in shades of green and brown, and the strong wind is a constant presence.

For tourists and for those staying in this place, a wooden boardwalk has been built — a way to preserve nature but also to make walking easier; with difficulty and fighting against the biting wind and the insistent, freezing rain, we walk along it entirely until we reach the Cape Horn monument: a metal structure installed in 1991, depicting an albatross in flight. Hindered by the strong wind, I struggle to take souvenir photos; it is cold and it keeps raining. We stay a few minutes at the top and then head towards another promontory where a small house with the lighthouse stands. All around, the sea covered by clouds is grey and the water continues to be ruffled by the wind. Observing this scene, I understand the difficulty faced by the sailors who navigate these waters, and I understand why it is so feared.

In a short time we reach the lighthouse and find a surprise: a small wooden chapel — it is the southernmost religious building in the world; inside there is a photo of Pope John Paul II, a portrait of Saint Rita of Cascia and a Saverian priest (whom I do not know). I enter the lighthouse and, climbing to the top, I would like to take some photos, but the windows are all wet so it is impossible to get good shots. In the little house there is a small souvenir shop; I have the Cape Horn stamps put on my moleskine and then I sign the visitors' book at the lighthouse — a tangible sign of my passage. The high tide is about to end and we must quickly head towards the boats; as I go down the wet stairs I notice that in a niche carved into the rock there are flowers and a statue of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, the patroness of Rovello Porro, my small town; here a souvenir photo is indispensable.

We board the boat, taking care to make good use of the sea swell to avoid ending up in the cold waters; we cross the bay again and reach the ship; the zodiacs moor at the stern, where we can disembark; I take off my life jacket and get ready to go to breakfast: after the Cape Horn excursion I am very hungry. Once everyone has boarded and the zodiacs have been hoisted up, the voyage resumes and the high waves of the open sea soon make themselves felt. The day will be spent sailing until mid-afternoon, when we will disembark for another excursion. I take the opportunity to do some laundry, organise my notes and photos, and then at the cultural gathering I listen to the historical and anthropological explanation of Tierra del Fuego and Antarctica.

It is 11:00 and the navigation continues close to the islands to avoid the rough open sea; we are heading North-Northwest at a speed of 10.9 knots; the sky is still grey, it is raining, the wind is blowing, and the sea keeps its dark, gloomy colour. Only in the distance can we see clear sky; I hope the sun will appear in the coming hours when we disembark; we are heading towards Navarino Island (C-LP 456), south of Ushuaia. At 12:00 the lecture on Patagonia and its glaciers, flora and fauna begins; although Maurizio (a member of the crew) gives the presentation in Spanish, it turns out to be interesting and engaging. Lunchtime arrives: Italian cuisine! Truly excellent, and we eat abundantly. The sky remains grey but allows us, in the distance, to admire some islands with snowy mountains.

The early afternoon passes quietly while in the common areas some read, some doze, some play cards; I read the chapter in the guidebook about Tierra del Fuego, both the Argentine and the Chilean parts. At 16:30 we get ready to disembark on Navarino Island; at 17:00 we meet for information on the behaviour to follow. The crew members offer us two options: • a quiet walk on the beach; • a hike through the woods up to a panoramic viewpoint. Divided into two groups, we begin disembarking on board the zodiacs.

Second Part

. Landing on the island, we take off our life jackets and leave them on the beach; we are the only humans present on the island. We are now further divided into groups according to the language spoken; there are three groups: Spanish, Italian, and English/French. With us is Vittorio, a friendly-looking man of about 55 who speaks fluent Italian. We begin the hike, and the first stop comes after only a few steps, near a building; Vittorio explains that the construction was originally a Chilean navy base, while today it is a museum dedicated to Darwin — the English scientist who lived and studied in these places for a time. We continue along a stretch of road and then stop again, where Vittorio tells us the history of Tierra del Fuego. This island, like the nearby ones, was inhabited by the Yámana aborigines.

These indigenous people, of whom some photos and descriptions are visible in the local museum, lived in huts built from tree branches; they were nomads and migrated from one island to another. Clothing did not exist, and to protect themselves from the cold they used seal fat; the women, being fattier than the men, were given the task of using the canoes and diving into the cold waters, while the men devoted themselves to hunting and fishing. It was a simple society whose culture was handed down only orally, since they were illiterate. Their religion was based on idols and local traditions, of which all traces have been lost over time. In winter these peoples stayed on the larger islands, while in summer they moved to smaller ones.

A curious fact is the origin of the name "Tierra del Fuego": the first European navigators who arrived saw the fires of the villages and huts constantly lit and also on the canoes, since the aborigines used to carry lit fire; hence the name we all know. Now we can observe the reconstruction of a hut made from Lenga beech branches. Over the centuries these aborigines, as indeed all local populations, had to give up their lands to the European colonisers who were settling in these territories to cultivate land or raise livestock. As has often happened in history, the impact of the native populations with the colonisers proved dramatic for the locals, who were decimated by disease, violence and abuse; the last direct descendant of this race died about 60 years ago.

At present the island is an ecological park, completely uninhabited, where the only animals living in the wild are those imported by man, especially pigs and beavers. Starting the hike, Vittorio shows us mushrooms growing on the trunks of the beech trees; in ancient times these were one of the main forms of sustenance for the populations. I pick one and taste it; the flavour is neutral — indeed they have very little nutritional value and served only to fill the stomach. We follow a path that climbs the slopes of the mountain, entirely covered in beech trees, and continuing our botanical observation we can see a type of mistletoe that grows on the branches as a parasite; this plant grows and develops only where the air is truly clean. The climb is relatively easy, except for some stretches of very muddy ground, where you have to be very careful not to slip.

At one point we notice that the group ahead of us has stopped and is taking photographs; we quickly catch up and find ourselves at the edge of a dam built by beavers. We let the group returning to the boat pass by and stop to take photos of the lake, which is illuminated by the sun that is now emerging from the clouds, when a beaver pops out from the trunks and, swimming calmly, comes within a few metres of us, poses for photos and then decides to head towards its den. All around the lake there are trees gnawed by the powerful teeth of the rodents, and those felled are truly many. We resume the climb and in a short time reach a clearing where a lovely view of the bay below appears. The sun makes the landscape thrilling; the eye is lost in the colours of the plants, the sea, the mountains and the clouds.

It is a great satisfaction to have completed this hike; I can further confirm how in these places you can observe the climates of all four seasons in a single day. We head back towards the beach; with Salvatore and Ambrogina I bring up the rear of the group, and when we reach the beaver lake, the rodent makes its appearance as if to say goodbye: a beautiful gift from this wonderful land. The descent proceeds quickly along the same route as the climb; we are crossing a wooded stretch when, behind us, from deep in the forest we hear a strange noise: Salvatore and I look at each other and exclaim simultaneously: a grunt? Then another one comes: it is the wild pigs that inhabit the forest. We calmly continue on our way, paying no attention to how close they may be.

Arriving at the beach we realise we are the last ones and have little time left to visit the informative museum about Darwin, so we go in quickly. Inside there are posters with photos and descriptions — a truly interesting historical, cultural and anthropological display — but unfortunately I don't have time to go deeper into what is exhibited. We head off to retrieve the life jackets we left on the beach, when by the seashore I notice a little table; the crew is offering drinks: water, Coca-Cola, chocolate and whisky. I drink a little Coke to quench my thirst and then we quickly return to the ship by zodiac, where we are welcomed by a "shoe-cleaning service"; a jet of water quickly removes the mud covering our footwear. Back in the cabin I check the photos I took, then shower and get ready for dinner: salmon fillets, potato cream with clams, sliced beef with potatoes, dessert.

During dinner, the ship's staff distributes to each table a sheet with some questions: a little quiz with surprise prizes. While we dine we sail between channels and the sea is calm, then entering the Beagle Channel we find rough seas again. From the portholes of the dining room I observe the beautiful sunset illuminating the snowy mountains; I rush to the cabin to get my camera and take a few shots. The evening is enlivened by a fashion show whose models are passengers wearing clothes from the onboard shop; among the models are Chen and Luigia. The evening continues with bingo, where between false wins (those who misread the numbers) and real wins, fun is guaranteed. Back in the cabin I get ready for bed, noticing that the ship is stopped.

In the morning the dull light of the cloudy sky comes in through the window; the vessel is sailing through the calm waters of the channel, and now it is truly a pleasure to sail. At 8:00 the announcement that breakfast is ready. To keep in shape, given the little exercise, I eat sparingly: just fruit and dry biscuits to avoid seasickness. During the morning the route proceeds through various channels, surrounded by snowy mountains, islands and islets; along the coasts many maritime markers are positioned to aid navigation. Observing the panorama I notice how on the islands the grass and plants grow crooked because of the incessant action of the wind; it is 9:30 and the journey proceeds quietly; today the day will be spent on the ship, and only in the afternoon is the excursion scheduled to see the Piloto and Nena glaciers, which end their course by plunging into the sea.

At 10:00 the historical explanation of the Strait of Magellan begins; I follow the description in Spanish when something outside the window catches my eye: there are albatrosses following the ship. I abandon the lecture and go out on deck to take photos: it is wonderful to see these majestic birds with a wingspan of over 3 metres let themselves be carried by the wind and soar in the air. But I don't have my windbreaker and the biting cold is noticeable. I go back inside to follow the lecture, having irretrievably lost the thread, so I set myself to observe the enchanting landscape: on the mountain slopes I notice the millennial work of glacial erosion, the hills are gentle and grassy, and where the weather is less violent, plants grow.

11:00 knot-tying lesson; the boatswain teaches us, or at least tries to teach us, a few knots that we can use when needed; it is a very entertaining hour in which those present have fun making various knots. While the navigation continues between islands and fjords, at 12:00, as the lecture on Chilean wines begins, I put on my windbreaker and go on deck to try to photograph the petrel (an Antarctic bird) that flies continuously changing direction; framing and shooting is quite a test of speed and precision, but in the end I manage, with a bit of luck, to capture it in flight. After the buffet lunch we gather in the common room to wait for disembarkation time. It is 15:20 when we arrive near a fjord; here I see small icebergs floating; the ship slows down, the crew drops anchor, and we begin the excursion towards the glaciers.

For disembarking they have organised three groups divided by nationality; we Italians will disembark last at 17:30. Given the waiting time, I decide to go up to the third deck at the bow to watch the first group disembark, when it starts to rain heavily. The group on the zodiacs, entering the fjord, disappears from my view and reappears after almost an hour; shortly afterwards the second group goes in; hoping it will stop raining, I keep looking out of the window, but the hope is vain. It is approaching 17:00 and soon it will be our turn; it is time to get ready for disembarkation, and at 17:10 we are all gathered on the deck where Vittorio gives us the necessary information for the excursion, and finally we get ready to board the zodiacs. On the boat we are 8 people besides the guide and the pilot.

We leave the ship and quickly approach the fjord where small icebergs are floating on the water; we navigate among them, and as we go deeper into the narrow channel lined with vertical granite walls, the icebergs become larger and larger; the pilot's skill in avoiding them is remarkable. After about 15 minutes of navigation, approaching a rocky spur, a myriad of cormorant nests appears; we stop to observe them, then continue, and having passed a rock face, suddenly the mountain of ice appears: a real, vertical, impressive wall of blue and green ice pouring into the sea; the front is 30 metres high and over 100 wide: I remain spellbound before such a spectacle.

The incessant rain wets us inexorably and taking photos proves very difficult; indeed, it is a continual struggle to dry the lens from the drops that hit the glass, and changing the lens without wetting the delicate optics is even harder. Cristobal, the guide, explains some characteristics of the glaciers in front of us: the impressive Piloto Glacier and the more distant and smaller Nena Glacier. Every so often blocks of ice break off from the Piloto Glacier and end up in the water with a dull, gloomy noise; this too is part of the beauty and enchantment of the place. I photograph the glaciers, the panorama, the other zodiacs navigating with us; I try to capture the blue and green colours of the glacier and some details, and although the rain increases, the enchantment of this place helps overcome the biting cold.

Leaving the fjord we quickly return; we disembark from the zodiac, and as soon as we are back on the ship, hot chocolate, vin brulé and whisky await us as a welcome back on board. I arrive at the cabin soaking wet, take off my clothes, put them out to dry and immediately clean my camera. Chen takes a shower while I lie on the bed looking at the photos I've just taken, when the loudspeaker announces the imminent arrival at the Gunther Pluschow glacier. I look out of the porthole and see the ice just a few hundred metres away; I quickly put on the first clothes I can find, grab my camera and rush up to the upper deck to take photos. Back in the cabin, shower and then dinner: crab appetiser, pumpkin soup with potatoes and cheese, beef fillet, dessert and coffee.

In the evening we gather on deck for the captain's farewell, then we play cards and chat while the navigation proceeds calmly through the fjords, hugging the snowy mountains and the glaciers that plunge into the sea. Finally, having gone to the cabin, I pack my suitcases for the next day's disembarkation.

First Part

The alarm is set for 6:00, but well before that Chen is already up; seeing the dawn, he couldn't resist photographing it. I stay in bed until the alarm goes off and get ready for the last outing on the zodiacs. The rendezvous is set for 6:55 on the fourth deck; the destination is Magdalena Island (C-LP 414), where there is a protected nature park inhabited by about 60,000 pairs of Magellanic penguins. In the cloudy sky a few patches of clear sky can be seen, but it is not raining; landing on the island we observe that it is densely populated by penguins, and the ground is completely bare; there is not a single bush, and the penguins build their nests by digging into the arid, wind-beaten earth.

One thing intrigues me; besides the penguins, there are a great many seagulls walking calmly and peacefully among the penguin nests — but aren't they their eternal enemies, who feed on their eggs? Observing the penguins that are brooding, I notice that unlike at Punta Tombo, here the eggs have not yet hatched. The brooding animals look dirty, and when the pair swaps over for incubation, the bird heads towards the sea, where it first washes and then plunges into the water in search of food. Vittorio notices strange movements in the water a few dozen metres from the shore and points out to us that there are sea lions hunting penguins; looking carefully I can see the heads of the sea lions occasionally surfacing to breathe.

We make a circuit up to the lighthouse that stands on the highest point of the island, then return to the ship where we change before breakfast, and finally finish packing our suitcases since in a few hours we will set foot on Chilean soil. We are in the Strait of Magellan and are approaching Punta Arenas (C-LP 410). Suddenly, unexpectedly, the ship is accompanied by dolphins that seem to welcome us. Disembarkation takes place amid administrative delays, passport collection, luggage checks; then in small groups we leave the ship. We Italians are on the foredeck and can see the people gradually disembarking; meanwhile I can observe the brightly coloured houses of Punta Arenas — white, yellow, green, pink, light blue, brown, shades that give a suggestive touch of beauty to the bay. The houses are built on the hill that slopes gently down to the sea.

In the cloudy sky a few patches of blue appear. Finally it is our turn to disembark; we discover that we are the last group, and we get on a bus that takes us to the immigration point, where we find our suitcases again and then the checks. The customs officers are very thorough in checking that no one has vegetables or cured meats; they open all the suitcases, backpacks and fanny packs. Once through the check, on the way out we find the minibus that will take us to Torres del Paine National Park; the suitcases are loaded onto a trailer and we take our seats in the vehicle. We meet Jerdo, our Chilean guide, and he warns us that to reach the park we will have to travel about 420 km and the expected travel time is 6 hours.

We set off and make a stop to admire the square in Punta Arenas, in the centre of which stands the statue of Magellan; in the square there is a local arts and crafts market, a great opportunity to buy lapis lazuli and alpaca wool artefacts; then a stop to see the city from above; here the spectacle is unique, you can clearly see the low houses built to withstand the fury of the wind and the bay illuminated by the sun. I notice how the city is of recent construction, resulting from the development of oil, of the processing of sea products and of metals. I also think of the beauty and the wild landscape that presented itself to the first explorers.

Finally we take the road that leads to Puerto Natales; the road is concrete and there is continuous bouncing because of the joints between the various pours, but after a while you get used to it; the landscape is steppe-like, the immense plain is dotted with livestock farms: I see cattle, sheep, ostriches and the ever-present guanaco. In the distance, against the blue sky, the mountains of Torres del Paine National Park stand tall — our destination. As we get closer to the mountains the landscape changes; you notice hills covered in plants, and the contrast with the steppe is truly striking. After about 3 hours of travel we stop for lunch; it is 16:00; in the restaurant some eat a sandwich, some a dish; I order a sandwich filled with a steak and cheese, and a beer; the cost is 12 dollars.

We resume the journey and find a sign indicating 127 km to the Park; we continue along the road to Puerto Natales (C-LP 429), where we stop. The driver detaches the trailer, moves the suitcases to the minibus while we take a few photos of an immense lake: the guide informs us that it is not a lake but a sea fjord. The place was discovered by navigators looking for another route beyond the Strait of Magellan, and by sailing the entire fjord they arrived at this spot; I imagine how adventurous the voyages aboard sailing ships must have been a few centuries ago, when the area was unknown and there were no topographical or nautical charts. We resume our journey across this desolate land; the landscape is always green and flat.

At a turn-off the driver takes a dirt road; we are approaching the Molodon Park, a prehistoric animal similar to a bear, a plantigrade that lived in the Quaternary era, whose bones were found in a cave that we are going to visit. From this park there is an astonishing view of the mountains and of Chilean Patagonia. This place was also where the journey of Bruce Chatwin, the English writer famous for his work on Patagonia, came to an end. Once the visit to the park is over, we resume our journey towards Torres del Paine. The landscape does not change for many kilometres: fenced land, pastures for sheep, cows and horses; on the hillsides you can see some plants, and in the distance the snowy mountains stand out against a beautiful blue sky dotted with white clouds; the sun is warm and the climate windy.

Suddenly I catch sight in the distance of the unmistakable outline of the Torres del Paine: our destination is rapidly approaching. Along the road I notice fenced fields with barbed wire that is difficult to cross, with clear signs bearing the word "Minas"; we are near the Argentine border, and these minefields lining the road are the result of political tensions between the two states. We reach a border village where, taking a turn-off, we get onto a dirt road, and the journey continues amid breathtaking scenery. The Torres group gets closer and closer; at a scenic viewpoint we stop to take some lovely photographs, then continue to the edge of the park, where a ranger checkpoint stands. There we leave our minibus and, having transferred the suitcases to vans, we get in too; now we continue aboard these vehicles.

I don't understand why, but after a few hundred metres the answer comes: we have to cross a metal bridge built in 1914, whose crossing is permitted only for limited-size vehicles; the minibuses pass with barely any clearance and the driver proceeds with extreme caution so as not to scratch the sides of the vehicles. We continue for 7 km on a dirt road; finally, having passed a campsite, we reach the Hotel Las Torres, a very low wooden structure, pretty and well integrated into the natural setting of the place.

Second Part

Having settled the suitcases in the rooms, we go to dinner when it is already past 21:00; while we eat, I notice that on the lawn in front of the dining room there are horses: they are wonderful animals and it is a pleasure to admire them as they calmly graze in this suggestive landscape. After dinner I want to organise my notes for the day, but before doing so I go outside to look at the sky; it is black and strewn with bright stars; I observe them looking for the constellations, but I find it hard to pick out the Southern Cross. I go back inside the hotel and, while sipping a cold beer, I look at the weather forecast; for tomorrow it predicts rain, but all things considered that's fine: I am at Torres del Paine, a dream of mine. Sitting in the wooden structure, I organise my travel notes while listening to the music of a local radio station.

The atmosphere of the place is magical — perhaps it is the exposed beams, or the glass roof over the bar that lets you observe the sky. It is almost 24:00 and I decide to go to sleep; tomorrow the departure is scheduled for 9:00 and I hope the weather forecast is wrong.

I wake up before 8:00; Chen, my roommate, is out around the park taking photos; I get dressed and go to breakfast. Then, once the group is assembled, we set off in the vans towards the valley floor; after crossing the narrow metal bridge they drop us off and, getting back into our minibus, we begin the tour of Paine National Park; the first stop is at the point with the best view of the towers; here we observe a small waterfall whose natural setting is very beautiful. We set off again and stop to admire the guanacos; every so often we see a solitary animal, and Jerdo explains that it is the male, who from his position dominates the territory, looking after the females and the young.

Then we stop to observe a lake with ducks and flamingos; we continue towards the "Cuernos del Paine," steep mountains that rise up towards the sky; another stop at Salto Grande (C-LP 436), a 50-metre waterfall. At this point the wind channelled between the mountains takes on a frightening force; it is impossible to stay on your feet: anyone wanting to take photographs is forced to lie down on the ground. We continue and shortly afterwards we come to the view of the imposing Cuernos del Paine; here the wind is less impetuous and I can take some wonderful photos. Shortly afterwards we reach Lake Pehoé, a basin of intense blue-green colour. Lunch stop; the sky is cloudy and promises rain; the promise is kept. Since any excursion in the area is impossible, in a shop I buy freeze-dried fruit and water — a nutritious light meal.

Jerdo goes off with his camera; curious, I ask what he is photographing. "Orchids," he tells me; I remain sceptical at the reply, but I will have time to understand that he is telling the truth. The temperature is cool and, since the scheduled stop is 60 minutes, I get on the minibus, update my diary, look at the photos and the park map while I imagine how to put together the trip presentation. Shortly afterwards the vehicle fills up and we leave earlier than planned, heading for Lake Grey, which we reach after a 45-minute journey while it rains heavily. Jerdo announces that we will see icebergs floating in the water; I think it will be a sight similar to the Perito Moreno that I will see in the coming days. Arriving at the car park and observing the rain, I think it is very useful to cover up well, since a walk of over an hour awaits us.

Leaving the car park, the first difficulty we face is a suspension bridge over a river; we must cross it with a maximum of 6 people at a time to avoid too much swaying, and indeed walking on this bridge, where every step creates oscillations, is thrilling. Then, crossing a wood, I come within sight of the lake, where a marvel awaits us: enormous icebergs are floating on the water. Coming out of the wooded area, we are soon at a pebbly beach, the result of glacial erosion. Visibility is reduced because of the clouds; a few photos, and walking back towards the minibus I have the chance to photograph the orchids of Patagonia.

During the journey I can notice how the Andean-Patagonian forests have been destroyed by fires; Jerno explains that some of the forests were set on fire to create pasture, but in recent decades, after the creation of the park, the biggest fires have been caused by campers; this is also why camping is now declared illegal. The last two fires caused enormous destruction: the first burned 5,000 hectares of forest and the second as many as 15,000 hectares. Here vegetation grows slowly, and although some years have passed, the half-charred plants are still clearly visible, standing out white and shiny against the green pastures.

On the way back to the hotel, torrential rain accompanies us almost until we change minibuses to cross the bridge, when, getting out, suddenly a condor appears out of nowhere and begins to circle above our heads; its silent, majestic presence is fleeting and only the luckiest manage to capture it in a photograph. Having covered the dirt road, we arrive at the hotel; since it has stopped raining, Chen and I decide to walk on the green pastures of the park; we photograph birds, horses and flowers; back at the hotel, shower, settle the bill, dinner, and then the evening passes with many activities, from studying the model of the park to playing cards, while the more intrepid take a walk outside. Sitting in front of a lit fireplace where the wood crackles as it burns, I organise my notes from the day just past and through the hotel windows I observe the pastures in

The alarm goes off shortly before 7:00, and looking at the meadows adjacent to the room I can observe horses grazing calmly, birds flying lightly and wild rabbits hopping on the green grass. Today a long transfer journey on unpaved roads awaits us, and given the fine weather I will observe the panorama under a blue, clear sky while the wind blows steadily. It is beautiful to observe these aspects of nature while silence reigns supreme. On the green pasture I take my last steps before departure; I linger to savour the scent of the wood burning in the boiler for producing hot water; the aroma fills my lungs and reminds me that on returning to Italy the fireplace at home will be lit. The good smell of burnt wood and the fresh air remind me of some wonderful days spent in the Alps amid peace and serenity.

I pack my suitcase, have breakfast and then, while I watch the gauchos on horseback accompanying the herds to pasture, we prepare for departure; having checked the suitcases and loaded them onto the minibus, we set off for the valley floor, always resting our gaze on the peaks that stand out imposingly against the blue sky. We reach the valley floor when, for reasons of weight, we must get off the van to cross on foot the old English bridge whose sign warns that the maximum load is 14 tonnes; we get back on the minibus and shortly afterwards cross a recent bridge whose sign indicates not to exceed 10 tonnes; some doubts about the accuracy of the signs arise in me.

Having taken the coach again we head towards the border with Argentina, travelling through the endless expanses of fenced pastures, in which horses and sheep graze; on the journey we see solitary gauchos on horseback checking the fences. While the blue sky jagged with white clouds enlivens the journey we reach the border, where we make a stop. Here we are greeted by the cold, incessant wind, and this is the occasion to take refuge in a small bazaar where I find every kind of merchandise; the place is crowded and heated by a wood stove; some have a coffee and some rummage among books (some truly interesting), aboriginal masks, fabrics and other artefacts; but given the high prices we decide to postpone purchases to another occasion.

I am wandering around the place when I hear Italian being spoken; it is a group from Bergamo that has been visiting Chile for four weeks and is headed for the Torres del Paine. It is always nice to meet fellow countrymen and exchange a few words. We set off again; customs, passport check, visa, then we enter Argentina. We travel on dirt roads and, when we meet other buses, the two drivers greet each other saying "Have a good trip" or "Good luck", a custom respectful of the traveller. Travelling through Argentine territory I notice how the land has turned from green to barren and steppe-like: it is the characteristic of the Cordillera de los Andes.

The clouds coming from the Pacific dump their water on the mountains, creating the Patagonian Andean forest, fully 2,000 km long, present in Chile and in Argentina in the part bordering between the two states; then the clouds dissolve and this is why in Argentine Patagonia it rains very little. During the journey, Jerdo shows us a film that he found in the archives of the Saverian Fathers. The feature film recounts the life of a Piedmontese missionary, Father De Agostani, his explorations and naturalistic research. It is useful to learn the history and studies of one of our fellow countrymen; on my return to Italy I will research this great figure. The film is entitled "Finis Terrae", it has an introduction by Cesare Bonatti and is an edition of the CAI of Turin, Museo Duca degli Abruzzi. The screening ends and we arrive at a small village, where we stop to refuel and have a lunch break.

We enter a venue, perhaps the only one in the village, and are greeted by an enormous Christmas tree all decorated; I remember that Christmas is near. I choose the menu: steak, french fries, beer, all for 35 Pesos (€7). Resuming the journey towards El Calafate (A-LP 552), we listen to some CDs of Italian music and after more than two hours of travel through the infinite steppe fenced for pasture and incessantly beaten by the wind, suddenly in the distance Lake Argentino appears; we are now near the town; we cross it, reaching the hotel that stands on a promontory: from here one dominates the lake with the bay that in this period of the year presents an extensive beach; indeed it will be the hot summer sun that melts the glaciers and allows the lake level to rise.

A warm sun makes the day pleasant, enticing us to visit the city, so, having settled the suitcases, we take the hotel shuttle to go to the town centre. Wandering around the town built with single-storey houses I spend a pleasant afternoon; the group fragments among the countless shops while I devote myself to observing what is characteristic that the city offers. I notice some sportswear shops displaying imported garments, including Italian brands, while others have "Made in Argentina" products; I am captivated by the clothing, which is well finished and appears functional. I linger in the bookshops where I deepen my knowledge of Father De Agostini; this morning's video made me curious and I understand that he was a great figure in the history of Patagonia. It's a pity that the editions for sale are only in English and Spanish; on my return I will look for documentation in Italian.

The town's restaurants have enormous lit braziers where whole lambs are cooked on the grill; first on one side and then on the other, the meats are placed very far from the fire so as to cook slowly and remove all the fat. El Calafate, the birthplace of the President of Argentina and his wife, appears modern and its development has occurred only in the last ten years. It is evening; we leave the town centre and go to the hotel where a beautiful sunset over the lake below gives us good wishes for a good dinner; warm cheese, fillet with potatoes and dessert. After dinner there is a technical meeting since the group will split in the coming days; some will go to see the lakes area and others, like me, will go to see the Iguazú Falls.

During dinner the weather worsened and it is impossible to go out, both because of the rain and because of the strong wind that has risen; I think about what the weather will be like tomorrow: will I be able to see the famous Perito Moreno glacier?

I wake at 6 and outside the window the sky appears cloudy and grey; at 6:45, when the alarm goes off, the sky has changed colour and is blue with a few white clouds. Breakfast, and then we prepare for departure. I have the dilemma of what to wear since I don't know the places we are going to visit; I opt for medium to heavy clothing, always in layers and with the windbreaker within reach. Today's guide arrives; his name is Cesare, a young man who at first appears rough, but after only a few minutes I realise that he is kind, likeable, well prepared, and during the day I will notice that he has a big heart. Having loaded the suitcases onto the coach we set off towards the Perito Moreno, the enormous glacier of which I have seen only footage and photographs; my curiosity increases enormously.

During the journey Cesare confirms something for us: we cannot do the excursion on the ice because it had to be booked the day before, but, not knowing this, we didn't do it. The destination is about 80 km from El Calafate and to reach it we travel along the road that skirts Lake Argentino; the largest lake in the nation, of enormous extent, over 20 km wide and over 100 km long with a maximum depth of 750 metres. The name derives from the colour of its waters, which are pale blue, and as in all glacial lakes this colour is produced by microscopic sediments that float, giving chromatic tones that vary with solar irradiation. Along the route we see some condors; we stop to admire their graceful and majestic soaring;

Wake at 7:30, from the hotel window I observe the grey sky and the buildings of the city centre, where tall buildings stand alongside houses of a few floors creating a disordered and bizarre architectural diversity, amusing to observe. While we have breakfast we agree with Diana on the tour to be done and we calibrate the tour also in function of the shopping to be done, asking for "buying advice". We begin the tour of the city from the Casa Rosada, since on Saturday it is open to the public we would like to visit it; it opens at 10 am but having arrived before 9 am, we opt to see other places and the first where we go is right in plaza de Mayo: via a liberty-style staircase we access the old metro.

Going down into the underground station we can appreciate the structure dating from 1913 preserved in its original state, as are the trains in service on the line; currently only part of the stations, compared to the original route, are still in operation. Back on the surface we continue by bus towards Piazza Dorrego (A-LP 93), a brief tour of the square where there is a craft market, then a stop at the Caffè Dorrego, a historic venue of the capital, whose interior maintains the structure and wooden furnishings of the early 1900s.

Later we take a tour of La Boca (A-LP 94), where I can change some money and buy jewels made of Rosacrosita, "la piedra National Argentina"; what better Christmas gift for the people dearest to me? The morning is drawing to a close and Diana has finished her work, before leaving us she takes us to see a bookshop created in a restored liberty theatre, where the bookshelves are placed on what were once the boxes and the stalls. Some boxes still perfectly preserved serve as a reading room while in the part of the orchestra pit and the stage a bar with its reading room has been created; a truly beautiful and engaging atmosphere.

Being a few blocks from the hotel we decide to return on foot so that we can look at the city in its many aspects and colours; we arrive in the pedestrian area and make a stop at the "Galleria Pacifico" Shopping Centre where, taking advantage of the numerous refreshment places, we make a quick stop for lunch, tasting an excellent grilled steak. The afternoon is dedicated to shopping in the city, we wander through the shops located along the commercial avenue Florida, much frequented by tourists and Argentines. The city appears populated by a multitude of people from the most varied ethnicities, the shops are decorated for Christmas, the merchandise sometimes appears expensive and sometimes affordable, the quality of the products varies: from mediocre to precious and finely crafted.

In the evening, when the shops close, along the streets of the centre a craft market materialises, where the goods range from the cheap to valuable artefacts; here the inevitable animation of the tango dancers instils in the city a unique vitality. A reality that, observing it well, brings out its great contrasts of a cosmopolitan city, rich nevertheless in humanity, from the homeless who populate the streets and who are mainly noticed in the evening, to the harp player, to the musicians, to the artisans who create their products on the spot highlighting their art and skill, to the woman who sitting on a chair calmly breastfeeds her baby, to the seller of water and drinks in thermos flasks, to those, elegantly dressed, doing their shopping: a small melting pot of the community that cannot go unnoticed by an attentive observer.

The dinner hour is approaching, I return to the hotel to change and then by bus in a few minutes we reach the venue "La Ventana - Barrio de Tango", a tango house ( where we will dine while watching a tango show; the dance that at the end of the 19th century found its origin in this city. Diana warns us that inside the venue it is only possible to take photographs while filming is forbidden, so those who have a movie camera leave it on the bus. The venue is in liberty style, the dining room has exposed red brick walls and the tables are positioned at the foot of the stage.

On the walls are hung photos of historic Argentine figures among which stand out Evita Peron, Fangio, Maradona, Che Guevara, Carlos Cardel (singer), Astor Piazzolla (accordionist); on the perimeter walls seven arches support boxes equipped with tables, while the ceiling is embellished with liberty stained glass; the atmosphere overall appears calm and reserved. Dinner arrives; starters, steak with potatoes, dessert. All accompanied by a Malbec, a red wine from the Mendoza area, ruby red in colour, slightly acidic in taste. The show begins: tango performance, then Argentine Andean music, the gaucho who spins his bolas whirlwind-like above his head and at the sides of his body, the accordion orchestra with the great and incomparable maestro Juo D'Arienzo, finally the closing of the show with a tango.

Leaving the venue we are welcomed by the warm evening air, we return to the hotel and it is past midnight.

First part

When at 7 am the alarm goes off, I am busy preparing the hand luggage to go to the Iguazù falls; breakfast, then leaving the suitcases in the custody of the hotel we set off towards the airport. Being Sunday morning, the city is deserted, the sky is grey and the humidity is palpable; I begin to miss the fresh and dry climate of Patagonia. While we skirt the imposing Rio de la Plata I notice people fishing and others who are busy jogging. On the other bank, near Uruguay, the sky appears white and bright, while above us grey clouds threaten rain and in fact shortly after it begins to rain heavily; the fishermen and the sportspeople look for makeshift shelter, under the bridges or the trees. We arrive at the airport, my thoughts turn to the weather; since yesterday it wasn't raining,

Second part

Few in the group have change, and the return to dry land turns into suffering; a long and steep path takes us to the clearing where trucks are waiting for us. The tiredness, made worse by the late afternoon breeze that heightens the cold of our wet clothes, starts to set in; we ask for a moment's break to sort ourselves out a bit, but the few minutes granted to us pass quickly. In the parking area a truck is parked that will take us to the coach; we climb onto the flatbed where some seats are set up, and we set off travelling through the forest at dusk. A guide points out details about the local plant and animal species; but honestly our only thought is getting off our soaking wet and cold clothes - they are savouring the beauty of the day.

Finally we reach the minibus, and since we are in a pitiful state, we ask them not to turn on the air conditioning; after a few minutes of driving we reach the hotel; a nice property located near the border with Brazil. When we show up in the lobby we look pathetic; the staff scrutinise us carefully, consult the guide and understand that we are survivors of the "soaking" at the falls: for our clothes they offer the drying service the hotel has available. A nice hot shower removes the last of the dampness from my body, but I have to dry the clothes I didn't send to the laundry. Luckily I brought a spare pair of trousers and a t-shirt, so at least I can dress dry and presentable for the evening. Dinner is classic; empanadas, grilled meat with vegetables, dessert.

The after-dinner passes quietly at the hotel - we chat, watch TV, listen to music, and finally I go to sleep after checking that the laundry has dried.

After an almost sleepless night, the alarm goes off at 6:00; for some time now an incessant rain has accompanied our rest, the sky is gloomy and grey, promising nothing positive. Breakfast and then we set off towards the Brazilian side of the falls; the border between Argentina and Brazil is just a few hundred metres from the hotel; we reach it quickly, and after passing through customs checks we head towards the park. On the roughly one-hour journey I can see how Brazil's roads and infrastructure are much better maintained than Argentina's, but surely that's down to the influence of the two large Brazilian cities that rise just a few kilometres away. Once we arrive at the tourist centre of Iguazú Park (A-LP 250), we get off the minibus; after buying our tickets we can enter the protected area.

In the building, besides the souvenir shops, there is a lovely museum where the entire falls area is reproduced, with photos, scale models and archaeological finds discovered in the area; truly an interesting and instructive moment. Adjacent to the building is an immense car park with double-decker buses that will take us to the falls; as we board we try to get to the upper deck, but we have to watch out for the water leaking through the plastic tarpaulins; anyway we find a seat and, despite the incessant rain, the journey through the forest is pleasant. We arrive near a building that stands on the edge of the falls, get off the bus and are greeted by the deafening noise of the river's water as it plunges powerfully and impetuously into the abyss; seeing the falls from this angle is truly striking.

We descend the vertical wall by lift, right up close to the waterfall: it's astonishing to watch the water passing just a few centimetres from us; I can admire its brown colour, the white foam; here the din is really loud and you can only communicate by shouting. From this perspective the view is fascinating, unique and majestic; hearing the noise of millions of cubic metres of water pouring into the abyss is incredible, being able to admire the dozens of cascades that make up the falls is wonderful. While we are taking photos, the rain lets up but the wind picks up, carrying the water from the falls towards us; the result doesn't change much: it's a constant soaking. But the water is also a great opportunity for taking photographs; with the constant change of light, it becomes a unique chance to capture various shades of colour.

Given the time and the continuing rain, we decide to head back to our minibus, stop at the souvenir shops, have a hot coffee, and then, boarding the coach again, we cross the forest and reach the tourist centre, from where we can set off back towards Argentina; now the only question is: how long will it take us to get through customs? Along the way we drive over a viaduct spanning the Iguazú River, the natural border between three states: Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. On arriving at the border post, the crossing proves to be a real dilemma, but all in all we get through fairly quickly, so we can stop for a break at some shops selling local crafts and minerals before setting off for the airport.

The subtropical climate is characterised by showers and sunshine, and over these two days I can say I have seen both, allowing me to capture the thousand facets the falls offer: truly a wonderful experience. Once we reach the airport terminal we say goodbye to Ary and then wait to board the flight that will take us to Buenos Aires; during the flight, besides sorting out the photos from these days, I admire the changing landscape, starting from the subtropical zone, to the farmland, to the endless pampas that ends near the capital. We land and meet Diana who is waiting for us; she takes us to the hotel to pick up our suitcases, where we change for the return to Italy; Milan's forecast is rain, so we prepare heavy clothing and abandon the light clothes that served us during these days of subtropical climate.

One last look at the capital of Argentina with its streets decked out for the festivities, and thinking of Christmas approaching, I can only observe the stark climatic contrast. We leave the hotel around 18:30; the flight scheduled for 21:00 has been postponed to 23:15, so we have to face a few hours of waiting at the airport. Here you really have to fill the time; some read, some chat, some walk among the various gates; the four hours of waiting pass slowly. We have dinner, and watching the closed-circuit TV I am spellbound by beautiful photos of Patagonia and relive the emotions I felt seeing the whales, the penguins, the sea elephants, the semi-desert expanses, the magical light of Tierra del Fuego.

At departure we are delayed by a further hour; the plane fills up and then, finally, we take off, we fly over the Atlantic and pass through a light patch of bad weather, dinner and then a well-deserved rest; the flight hours pass quite well.

The blue sky welcomes us to Italy; we disembark from the plane as it is almost evening, the sun has already set and only artificial light illuminates the airport and the square in front of it. We collect our suitcases, say goodbye to the group with the hope of meeting again on a future trip, and then wait for Lorenzo to come and pick us up by car. Once the suitcases are loaded and, as on the way out, only with contortionist moves do we manage to get into the cabin invaded by luggage; finally we set off for Rovello.

During the journey Lorenzo updates us on the latest happenings in our small town; then, once home, I light the fireplace and while the warmth of the flame heats the room, as I take the clothes out of the suitcase I find the packet of mate I bought; what better occasion to try it while I download the photos onto the PC? The card is transferring the images to be analysed and sorted, while I placidly sip mate, this hot herbal-tasting drink; meanwhile my mind retraces the countless stages of this fantastic journey that will always remain in my heart for the beauty of the landscape, for the simplicity of the places, for the endless and solitary Patagonia, for the imposing Torres del Paine, for the spectacular Perito Moreno, and certainly not least, the members of the group with whom I shared and lived this incomparable experience.

Three reasons to travel to Patagonia

• It is par excellence the fantastic place that offers the chance to travel through immense dimensions, vast meadows where animals graze undisturbed and one is "cradled" by the strength of the wind. THE place where the sea shows its power and where the mainland ends, leaving room for the ocean alone before the Antarctic ice pack.

• The people with their beauty, their good manners and the wonderful Spanish language. The cuisine, unrivalled in its meat, fish and empanadas; wine to be savoured and tasted. Art and culture of a people whose charm becomes overwhelming in its highest expression: tango.

• Being able to observe flora and fauna as in Patagonia is an opportunity not to be missed. The close encounter with so many animal and plant species is by itself a reason to undertake this fascinating journey.

Acknowledgements

At the end of this work, I feel I must express my personal thanks to all those who made possible such a beautiful and fascinating trip; rich in historical, cultural and naturalistic places but also imbued with the humanity, the dignity of the peoples and the people I had the chance to meet. Gratitude also to those who encouraged me and those who assisted me in creating this diary.

A special thank you to: • Salvatore, manager of the Ciba Recreational Circle, creator of the trip. • Diana, Silvia, Andrea, Fabio; Jerdo and Aryo, the guides who accompanied us, for the high professionalism they demonstrated; for bringing us closer with competence, preparation and absolute respect for Argentine and Chilean cultures and traditions. • Foto ottica Balestrini Luca of Rovello Porro (tel. 02.9675.2227) for the advice and the photographic equipment provided to me. • Laura who contributed to the presentation and proofreading of the diary.

Bibliography

• The magazine – Cai – November-December 2009 • Meridiani Patagonia – Tierra del Fuego • Thirty Years in Patagonia • Patagonian Andes

The author

An eclectic character, always discovering new things for constant professional and personal improvement, he has been active in training for over 20 years, initially only for voluntary associations belonging to the "third sector". In his professional career he has been able to broaden and develop his passion for training, designing and managing various courses and training programmes. He has obtained results and appreciation from companies and the association world, where he has collaborated in research, selection, training and motivation of personnel. He is currently engaged in multiple activities, both for companies and associations, for which he consolidates existing programmes and develops new ones, always earning broad consensus and high regard from everyone.

For years he has discovered the pleasure of writing and publishing his travel diaries and, in the multimedia version, enriching them with photographs, which he has always been passionate about, so as to make them engaging for those who read them. Pietro Fondrini Teacher and trainer

He has written the following texts: • Personnel selection: a process to know how to manage • Handbook for first aid • Manual for training courses

Among his successful courses and initiatives we highlight: • The ViVOSA Method – The way to achieve excellent results through strategic planning of your activities • Public and supplementary pensions – The choices for building your own future • Funded training (a great opportunity for companies) • Mental coaching, or how to progress towards ambitious results by knowing how to overcome your limiting beliefs, difficulties or mental blocks.

He is the co-creator of the first portal for matching supply and demand of products and services for businesses, associations and citizens seeking integrated and qualified solutions.