Onto Torres del Paine

The road south to Torres del Paine looks smooth and broad as the German Autobahn … at first. It was like this when we passed the Mylodon Cave we had visited with Luciano, and the cliffs we hiked above Lake Sophia, and continues as you ride fluidly toward encroaching mountains to the left and in front of you. The views are so stunning they can make you wreck the car.

But then the gravel road takes over and it does not stop. We juddered on in our Symbol trying to keep our teeth in place. The views continued to shock us, but the car felt like it might at any moment simply clatter apart. We twisted left and right moving into Patagonia’s forests of gnarled trees, some rich with foliage, others bone-white, skeletal, a driftwood artist’s dream.

For 45 minutes the car hammered on through the shoulders of Patagonia’s great mountains, and then just as it crested a hill, it died, simply and completely. The key did not crank, the dash lights and fan and steering went silent. Since I was driving a manual not an automatic and could drift down the hill, I tried popping the clutch. More nothing.

We were not on a road where many people travelled, but we knew they sometimes did. Still, what to do with a car that refuses to revive itself? We needed to get to the National Park to make a horseback riding trip Luciano had found for us. We had no cell service, were a good 20 miles from the park entrance in front of us and Puerto Natales was 30 miles in our rearview mirror. And being me, I was clueless as to how to repair the damn contraption.

Obdurate cars and me do not get along. Obviously the problem was electrical, even I could figure that out. It wasn’t the transmission or engine or clutch, but without electricity, all of those issues were moot. Perhaps if I walked to the top of the hill I could get a signal, and help. About half way up the road a small, white van came our way and I waved, maybe a little too furiously. I must have looked stricken because the young couple inside immediately stopped. Speaking English with a fine French accent they asked how they could help. Their names were Gaetan and Perrine and they had been traveling for almost 14 months making their way from Alaska, across the US, down through Central America and all through South America. We never had never met two sweeter or more helpful human beings. Unlike us, they had cell service. Could we use the phone to call the car rental company?

“Yes, of course. We will stay with you until the problem is solved!” Gaetan assured.

I wanted to chant the Marseilles and then kiss them.

Luciano joined in by phone and we contacted Avis. They would come out, but also suggested checking the battery connections. Of course! The washboard highway had probably rattled the battery cables loose. Gaetan and Perrine, we learned, were were not only seasoned travelers, but seasoned traveling engineers, with degrees in chemistry and mechanical engineering! Perrine immediately deployed a triangular red reflector in case a tourist bus might ram us as it came around the bend, and Gaeton returned from his van gripping a pair of pliers. How good was this? We popped the trunk, gazed into the dust-laden guts of the Symbol and there we saw the left connector dangling loose.

In a trice, Gaetan tightened the connection. I turned the key and the car fired right up. Hi fives and hoots all around in the Patagonian wilderness! We called the rental company and said we hoped we could still make it to the hotel and meet Mauricio and make the horseback ride Luciano had arranged. They promised to bring a fresh car to the hotel.

We exchanged pictures and information with Gaetan and Perrine. They would be returning to their home in Lyon within the month and insisted that we visit once we got to Europe. We promised we would once we made it through Tierra del Fuego, Antarctica and across the Atlantic to Lisbon. Dinner would be on us! (We did, in fact, have dinner with them in Lyon.)

Car cable reconnected, we made it to the charming Hosteria del Torres, hiked the half-mile to the Pampa Lodge (excellent food), gulped soup and, just in time, met Diego, bearded, slim and ready to get us on horseback and off along the Rio Serrano for our ride. Life again was good as we loped into the pampas and skirted the river's strangely blue waters.

Horseback Riding

Diego was from Valparaiso, but met his boss Mauricio when they were both involved in long distance (50 mile) horse races. Eventually Mauricio asked Diego to become part of his team and for that he also got the dubious job of showing gringos like us around the stunning valley through which we were now riding.

We passed corrals of other horses, languid cows munching fresh green grass, while great hawks soared above the Serrano and ducks quacked and paddled along side us. A hiker snoozed with a handkerchief over his face while our horses clopped on, and we turned into a forest that looked right out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Perfect quiet surrounded us as we turned, occasionally avoiding the crooked branches of the ancient trees we had so often seen from the roads we had driven earlier. This is one of the great joys of riding on horseback. You can cover territory that will evade even the most determined gasoline fed Quads or SnowCats. And you can cover more ground than you can on foot. The pace is perfect and when a steep hill has to be climbed the beasts handle it with far greater ease than we do. I felt I could do this for days, or until I developed gringo saddle sores.

Diego took us up onto a ridge and we beheld the artery-like rivers that ran in arcs and curves and hairpins all through the land, rolling out of the glaciers that clung to the magnificently battered spires of the Paine Mountain Range. It was a sight. Shadows from scuttling clouds rippled over the Serrano and Grey Rivers and the mountains stood enshrouded, constantly changing, seemingly generating mist and clouds and snow and rain all at once like a great igneous-made weather machine. Just as we returned to the barn, rain poured out of the sky and it felt as though the clouds had been unzipped. Diego rushed to get the horses settled and we watched a few colts cantering and galloping around the corrals in the wind and rain, as excited a child. We thanked Diego for all of his help and knowledge and agreed to stay in touch before heading back wet but beyond content. All memories of the car had evaporated, except for the kindness and generosity of Gaetan and Perrine.

Torres del Paine Recommendations