Rumor has it Magellan named Patagonia for the relatively tall natives inhabiting the land, after the giant Patagons of myths and stories. Even if the original occupants of the region have been killed off by Europeans and sundry, the geography of the place is enough to inspire the awe one might have in the presence of a colossus.
That is to say, the mountains are huge and scary.
Honestly, it's the holidays, school is over, and I think I've just about had it with all the rhapsodical rhetoric. I'll probably want to get mushy wrapping this whole experience up later, so I'm going to keep it pretty bare-bones here.
Guy, Jon, Murph and I flew to Punta Arenas on the Straits of Magellan. We met up with Gina and her brother Matt and took a bus north to Puerto Natales. There were lots of sheep. From Puerto Natales we took a day-long car tour into Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, the main tourist attraction of Patagonia, where hiking trails encircle a series of jagged peaks and glaciers. We came back to our hostel and shared an asado set up by the owners, a pair of rambunctious brothers who then stayed up all night with Guy and Murph. The next day, Gina, Matt, Murph and I went fishing. Murph caught a trout and fried it for lunch. We rented camping equipment. The next day we took a bus back into the park and began a three-day hike.
By the time the hike was finished, I was almost out of money. I spent the next four days laying low in Punta Arenas, walking around town taking in the sights and museums. I met an Australian, an Englishwoman and a Swiss fellow and we shared a hostel and had dinner together.
I flew home to Santiago, bought some last-minute gifts, met up with Guy, Jon and Murph at Basic Bar for a few farewell beers, then went back to Ñuñoa and stayed up all night with my host family drinking more beer and frying empanadas.
I went to bed at two and woke up at four to catch my cab to the airport. My final goodbyes to the Arevalos were a night of greasy fried food and tipsy cheerfulness, which I think is the best possible way to do it.
After 36 hours on five planes in five countries, I got to Milwaukee International at two in the afternoon, caught up with my mom, and we drove home. We met up with friends and drank cider with brandy and played liar's dice.
Christmas morning, I woke up early to wrap gifts which were quickly unwrapped. I shaved my beard and my mom cut my hair. The family came over and we exchanged yet more gifts, and stayed up late singing and drinking.
Behold:
Wreckage on the Straits of Magellan in Punta Arenas
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