Heading south by bus Day #4 Puerto Natales to Punta Arenas

January 17, 2020

El Puerto Natales to Punta Arenas by bus

I slept OK in stall number two at Camping Güino in Puerto Natales. I had wanted stall number three because it had fluffy grass, but Scott’s lucky number is three so I obliged.

There was scattered light rain throughout the night. I woke up at 6am to go to the bathroom, and then my alarm went off at 7am. The Germans in stall number one were already packed and ready to go hiking. Scott took a shower, but I didn’t see the need. Noisy seagull-type birds were squawking like old-school pulse alarm clocks.

We stopped at a great bakery next to the bus terminal, where I had a machine-made double cappuccino, a cream danish and an amazing walnut danish.

Last night at the ticket office there had been only three remaining seats on the 8:30am bus to Puerto Arenas. I got seat #54, and Scott got #58 right behind me. We realized this morning after boarding that the back windows had white mountains painted on the exterior in a moiré pattern that made it impossible to see and take photos of the landscape.

The bus ride to Punta Arenas passed through barren wind swept plains. The small trees were all bent from the wind.

We were traveling down Highway 9 south which is called the Ruta Fin del Mundo (End of the World). The term refers to Chile being the southernmost country in the world, and the southernmost part of the American continent.

The bus came to a stop and I looked to see what was the matter. The bus was surrounded by an endless sea of sheep. The poor driver was like Moses trying to part a path through the herd.

We passed a wind farm that harnessed the powerful air currents. North of Chabunco we encountered the Strait of Magellan, which we traveled alongside south to Punta Arenas.

Punta Arenas is designated as the largest city south of the 46th parallel south. It started as a fort, and then later became a penal colony. Eventually sheep farming took hold in the area. Punta Arenas provides a safe harbor for ships using the Strait of Magellan to round South America. In addition to tourism and shipping, it’s economy relies on local petroleum production and mining.

We noticed a network of
bike lanes as we approached the bus terminal. This is the largest city I’ve visited since Puerto Montt. There were colonial buildings and churches, as well as modern buildings stretching ten stories tall. Unlike the towns along the Carretera Austral, here there was busy motor traffic, and stoplights.

We googled camping and wound up at the Hospedaje Independencia, a poplar spot amongst backpackers. It was located in a seedy neighborhood rife with strip clubs.

It would be a tight squeeze in the small gravel yard in front of the hostel, as there were already seven tents. Scott and I hemmed our way into the remaining possible spaces. It was incredibly windy, and difficult to erect our tents. I used large stones to keep my tent, ground cloth,  and bags from blowing away. I staked the corners before erecting the poles. The friendly proprietor took photos of us through the window and chuckled. He remarked that there were 100km an hour winds today. Before heading out for food, I sat my panniers inside my tent corners for ballast, as well as placing large rocks on top of all my tent stakes. I was concerned my poles would snap in the wind.

We found Pub Colonial where I ordered steak and eggs with fries and a couple of beers. We then ventured in search of bike boxes. A cyclist at the hostel had recommended Bike Service and said they were extremely friendly. We rode a bike lane along the Strait of Magellan. The wind was dangerous, and several times I feared being blown over.

The clerk at Bike Service was cheerful, but they unfortunately had no bike boxes. She recommended Cycles Tek, a few blocks away. This time we were in luck. The hitch was that the boxes were for smaller framed bikes. We had no other viable options. Scott and I additionally got smaller boxes for our equipment. I gave the clerk the extra tubes and patch kit I had bought in Coyhaique. We left our bikes at the shop so that we could walk the boxes back to the hotel. It was too windy to do it by bike. Actually it was too windy to do it period. The large boxes were like sails.

The small boxes were placed inside the large ones, which had hand holds cut into the sides. The hotel was on the other side of town and a twenty minute walk. I live on a windy street in Brooklyn and am accustomed to transporting sheet goods in the wind from a local lumber yard. Scott was in for an epic struggle. At one point, I looked behind to see him literally swept away as he tried to cross a street. I ducked against a building to wait for him. I waited and he didn’t appear. What happened? I didn’t want to retreat and give up my advancement. Eventually I saw him again in the distance, struggling and battling the wind. He had been swept away in a gust. His small box had shot through the bottom of the large one, which had completely crumpled. He was visibly shaken. This was some serious hurricane force wind, and we still had another fifteen minutes of walking. The bridge over the small river would be another test and small victory. I got confused and led us five blocks out the way. Eventually we made it. Scott would have to rebuild his box.

The boxes took up the entire reception area, and the friendly clerk at Akainik was happy to store them for us.

With the bike boxes secured, the next order of business was to book a penguin tour. Two places had been recommended by the hotel staff. We stopped by the first one and they quoted $100 for  half day tour of Magdalena Island, where it was currently breeding season for thousands of friendly approachable birds. The tour included a second island that featured sea lions.

We stopped at several tour agencies and explored our options. We settled on a tour tomorrow afternoon at 2pm.

We were hungry and were still thinking about a Mexican restaurant we had passed on the bus ride into town. I googled Mexican restaurants and Scott insisted that we pick one with at least a four star google rating.

La Marmita was rather fancy, and definitely wasn’t Mexican. But it was good! I had a lamb shanks with a couple of beers.

I was cold, so we rode back to the hostel so that I could add a couple of layers. We then rode up the large hill to the lookout, to get a good look at the town below. Scott was still hungry, but couldn’t find the box of Coco Puffs he was craving. I picked up a six pack of Estrella, and we continued our ride around town.

There was a demonstration of young people at the town square. Scott recognized the same short horn blasts he had heard at the demonstration in Puerto Montt, that had turned ugly. There was a drum circle and folks were holding a large banner. Dogs were playing a dangerous game with motorists by chasing the cars and, at times, trying to block them. It was almost as if they were working in tandem with the protesters.

There was lots of activity at the hostel when we returned. French travelers were cooking a large meal that included thick slabs of salmon. Those of us camping out front were relishing the warm interior, where I enjoyed my Estrellas.

Travelers traded stories, and the proprietor, Eduardo, had some of the best. He recanted a tale of a dog that had followed a cyclist from Coyhaique to Punta Arenas, and through two border crossings.  He told me that one his windows had broken earlier in the day because of the wind.

After my beers I went back out into the gusty cold and crawled into my tent.

⥢ prev -home- next ⥤