Patagonia Pt. 1

I’ve been in Chile for a little over a week now, slowly working my way south from Santiago towards Patagonia where I am trekking the 85-mile O Circuit in Torres del Paine National Park. (I heard that 85 miles are just the straight-shot distances between campsites and not the actual length of the trails!) After six nights in Santiago and two nights in Punta Arenas, I have arrived at Puerto Natales, my last stop. Tomorrow morning I’ll take a bus to the trailhead and begin my trek. As the hike looms closer, I’m trying to channel my inner Cheryl Strayed in Wild, or Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love. Both women were tangled in messy life situations until they carved their way out by physically removing themselves from the mess. Sometimes, all you need is some distance to put things into perspective. Sometimes, all you need is simply to worry about the next step.

With the many logistical hurdles of this trip, taking steps one at a time is the only way I stay sane. To quickly recap all I’ve been through up till now, I spent a week in Santiago eating Nutella and backlogging writing for work. Afterward, I took a flight to Punta Arenas, a small town (but largest in Patagonia) in the southernmost part of the continent, and stayed there for two nights. I left on a bus this morning for Puerto Natales. Each of those steps required many little ones. Additionally, as a solo female traveler, I’m constantly vigilant yet simultaneously making sure I enjoy myself.

The whole experience is a challenge, privilege, joy, and blessing. It is messy and sometimes scary and tiring, but worth it. Maybe that is why travel is the means of healing for so many book and movie characters. It mimics all the ups and downs of life and teaches you that the whole experience can be beautiful. Take this afternoon as an example.

I reserved a bed at a gorgeously unique adobe-like hostal. The only issue (that initially began as a super cool idea) was that it was up in the countryside hills and far from the city center. Not too bad, but there were only two roads to get there. Road #1 had two aggressive, sometimes violent, large guard dogs. They are chained 50% of the time. Road #2 had four similarly large dogs that only act aggressively. They are never chained, but will most likely not lunge. Getting to the hostal was hard enough without GPS, but sprinting from dogs was a bonus. Unfortunately, after settling into my hostal, I needed to leave again to buy groceries for my trek.

“Tengo miedo.” I’m scared. I laughed nervously.

“Yeah, they’re scary, huh? All you need to do is stand your ground and say, ‘FUERA!’” The young woman who worked at the hostal responded to me in English while leaning against the front desk. She had a partly shaved head, purple highlights, and avant-garde tattoos.

It was getting late, and I needed to go. The woman gave me a thumbs up and a “buenos suerte” as I walked out the door. I nervously paced outside for 15 minutes before finally walking down road #2.

I rounded the corner and thought, “You are Walter Mitty getting on that helicopter in Greenland. You are Cheryl Strayed traversing the PCT trail buried in icy snow. You are brave!”

The dogs lay curled up on the side of the road. “Cute,” I effortfully thought while adrenaline heated my body, urging me to run. The good news was that the dogs were sleeping deeply enough that I could quickly walk around them, delaying my opportunity to face them, at least until I had to return.

After stocking up on all my meals for the week, I began the long walk back, hoping the dogs were still asleep. “You are brave!” I repeated in my mind as I left the town center, as I crossed the stream, and as I made my way up the hills towards my hostal.

I walked alone, up the dirt path, between tall yellow grass. The snowy Patagonia mountains were visible in the distance. Colorful homes and a glacier-blue lake painted the foreground of my panoramic view. As I looked out in awe, two dogs stepped out of the grass and onto the road before me. My eyes widened. Tails in the air, they barked and bounded towards me.

“YOU ARE A BRAVE WOMAN!” I screamed internally. My heart was pounding!

I took out the baguette from my grocery bag and swung it like a sword. “FUERA!” I said!

Weird, but it worked! They continued to bark but they stopped running. As I walked through, still swinging my baguette, the dogs moved to the side and barked until my back was towards them.

Heart still pounding, I speed-walked into the hostal and plopped into a chair. The woman with purple hair asked how it went, and I gave her the story. She laughed and said she was proud.

The dog experience may not seem like a big deal, especially if you live in an area where fierce dogs roam free, but hey you gotta cut me some slack. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, where we’ve got 99 problems, but stray dogs ain’t one. Regardless, having to face them was unexpected, scary, and undesirable BUT I believe I am a little better because of it.

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Anyway, see ya in a week. Torres del Paine, here I come.