Travel Planning: What to Do – Page 6 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Day 1: Hiking from El Chalten to Monte Fitz Roy

I am excited but at the same time nervous. I’m geared up and waiting for the rest of my group outside Rancho Grande Hostel to begin our first day of hiking. Today’s plan is to hike along Chorillo del Salto and get our first glimpse of Monte Fitz Roy, one of the two that tower over El Chalten in this part of Argentina’s Patagonia. I am carrying about thirty pounds worth of clothes, my sleeping bag and our toiletries, while the Dr. is carrying our tent with his own gear. We’ve split our provisions between us, but I still made sure he carried the heavier jjajang tuna cans.

Yesterday, I was antsy during the five-hour drive from El Calafate to El Chalten. When I started to see Glacier Viedma up front, the largest glacier on the eastern slopes of the Andes, I turned to see if my companions were awake. My heart thumped: I made it! I made it to Patagonia! Rain flecked my window and I thought, Rain all you want now but please, please stop for the next five days. I am reminded that the name Chalten comes from a Tehuelche word meaning “smoking mountain”, due to a cloud that usually forms in the top.

We all stopped by the National Parks office to get an introduction and to listen to the rules of the park before the bus dropped us off at Rancho Grande where we had reservations for four bunk beds. Our humble room will be one of the many reminders of our hike in the Spanish Pyrenees back in 2006. It’s the beginning of peak season and we were surrounded by people who were also ready to hike: tall backpacks leaned against the walls and boots stacked up by the main door. Some of them we’ll encounter again on the trail and all of them we’ll share this Patagonian experience with.

We start walking towards the yellow house at the end of the road. The sun is striking at 10am and there is barely a cloud in the sky. I quietly hope that it stays that way. Here in Santa Cruz, Argentina, the weather is finicky and unpredictable. From reading Greg Crouch’s Enduring Patagonia before I left New York City, I learned that the wind will be our enemy. We start slow and up; my shoulders getting used to the weight on my back. I’m bundled up, but I’m hot and I know if I remove my fleece, I’d have to put it back on again when I turn the next corner. The trail is well-marked but rough. The soil is very dry and padded with small rocks and I can’t stop to take photographs of the dots of yellow and purple flowers along the way because there are others behind me.

We reach our first viewpoint where we could see the swirls of the Chorillo River. At last, rest. I’m surprised at how green everything is. I imagined tumbleweeds rolling along the flat plains while the wind whistled in the background. It hasn’t been an hour yet and Patagonia is already throwing surprises at me. We mostly hike narrow paths through the forest until the trail finally opens up where we walk on cliffs and then onto flat land with small ponds.

All of a sudden, there it is: Monte Fitz Roy and its ever-recognizable shape. I know because I’ve spent five months planning this trip for the group and I have seen numerous photos of its grandeur and glory. Right now, I can’t believe I’m finally looking at it in person. Its name was bestowed by explorer Perito Moreno after the Beagle’s captain, Robert Fitzroy, who sailed the area around 1834. Even though it’s not even half the height of the Himalayas, its granite makes climbing it harder even for the most experienced. More than a hundred people summit Mount Everest a day, but only one successfully ascends Monte Fitz Roy a year.

Everyone is taking photos and it takes a few tries and more energy than I can muster to jump for one of my Cia photos. I haven’t worn my sweater in the last hour and I already have a criss-cross tan below my neck. I want to stay and savor the view even though I know there will be more.

At Camp Poincenot, we pick a spot where the boys set up our two tents. We stretch and get used to our backs without all the weight and we eat our first energy bars for lunch. Because it was the middle of the afternoon, we decide to take a quick walk to see Lago Piedras Blancas where the glacier truly looks like flowing water frozen in time. It’s a much easier hike without our packs, but not less rewarding.

Back in camp, we begin to unwind and rest for the night–just in time when that swish of a cloud around Fitz Roy start to look like it’s going to make its way down. The clouds are more gray and we feel some rain coming. We are all surprised that the hike up here took less than four hours, but while we cook and eat our first meal of vegetable Jambalaya, miso soup and Korean tuna, we know that it was enough for today.

Day 1 itinerary:

Searching for a Good Taco: El Barrio, East Harlem

East Harlem, the neighborhood bordered by 96th and 125th Streets between Fifth Avenue and the east river, is referred to as El Barrio because it has been a predominantly Puerto Rican enclave. It literally means “the neighborhood”. Some people would even say it goes all the way to 142nd because Dominicans and other Caribbean groups have assembled in that part of Manhattan. Mexicans have also moved in to take advantage of the still-affordable rents above 116th Street. But with the on and off plans of a giant Home Depot and a Wal-Mart on the east side to match the condos going up, young families driven by rising rents downtown have also called El Barrio home.

Today, an Old Navy, H&M and a Starbucks on 125th Street co-exist with the historic Apollo Theater while juice counters, fabric stores and chicharron shops are struggling to keep their businesses open. The future of El Barrio is iffy and we all just have to wait and see what the rezoning of Harlem brings.

Searching for a good taco in this side of Harlem–I live on the west side–was easier and less contentious than recent events in the news. I knew it as soon as I walked in Taco Mix, tip-toed and caught a glimpse of the big vat of pork simmering next to the grill. I thought I was going to need some of my friends to help me scour the many–and there are many–Mexican holes-in-the-wall in East Harlem, but after comparing several tacos from all four of the stores below, Taco Mix’s buche taco took the cake.

1. La Lomita Del Barrio, 209 East 116th Street, 212/289.8138

I stopped by La Lomita because they had beautiful fruits and vegetables for sale outside their store. I saw my first watermelon of the season, decided against buying and carrying such a heavy load, and instead sat at the tiled counter to eat chorizo and carnitas tacos. The chorizo was crushed and crumbled before the lady put it on the grill. I loved the sharpness of the chiles and the aroma of the cloves, but I would have rather eaten it as a sausage without the tortilla. The carnitas was just all right because some of the bigger chunks were a little dry. A lot of cilantro and onions helped me finish them off.

2. Michelle Deli & Grocery, 215 East 116th Street, 212/828.9097

Just next door was another deli with a tiled counter selling tacos. The tripe was not on the menu but I watched an older man devour a bowl of it while I waited for my order of beef tacos: cecina which is more jerky and therefore chewy, and suadero, or beef stew, which was a little on the dry side and needed some fat content. I sure wish I got the tripe stew instead of their tacos.

3. Cart run by two ladies off the corner of 116th and Second Avenue

I stopped by the cart covered in blue tarp off Second Avenue to ask the ladies what they were selling because the tortillas they were pressing looked like arepas. They were for tacos, they insisted, so I bought a chicken and a beef one. They didn’t hear my usual request of skipping the mayo-like white sauce, so I was forced to eat them like messy gyros. They were bigger and needed to be packed and taken at home to enjoy. Back at home, I realized that the tortillas were thicker and more dense. Though I like that combination for my cakes, it wasn’t the best tortilla for tacos.

4. Taco Mix, 234 East 116th Street, 212/831.8147

I’ve gone back to Taco Mix several times after my initial visit for this write-up. When I go, I always order the buche, or the pork belly, and the oreja, or the ears, for some texture. I’ve since tasted their carnitas, chorizo, al pastor and suadero tacos and must say that all their tacos are far more superior than those of the surrounding delis and stores.

When the lone table in the back is unoccupied, you can sit, eat in and watch the Mexican soap opera blaring from the TV screens. Young men walk in and out, order their dinner and stand over the condiments counter to eat swiftly, while the two guys who work the kitchen chit-chat behind all the meat-smelling smoke. Just another slice of life in Harlem some of us call home.

A nice rewarding bonus–$2.50 for a quarter pound of chicharron from Chuchifrito off Third Avenue:

Meeting the Locals in Pigeon Point, Tobago

Our stomachs full of roti, we continued the drive on Windward Road to Roxborough. We saw the sign for Argyle Falls and decided to stop and walk off our heavy lunch. From the parking lot, we told the rangers that we didn’t need a guide so they just let us walk to the falls ourselves. It was only a 15-minute walk on the well-paved trek. Cocoa and bamboo trees lined the side of the road. In the river, fish swam hungrily near our feet expecting us to throw them some food.

The falls is the highest in all of Tobago at 177 feet with three main cascades. We were eager to move when we paid our entrance fee but not so eager to walk up the steep steps next to the falls to get a better view. We just hanged out and watch a couple take a dip in the pool.

After Argyle Falls, the need for an afternoon nap set in. We stopped in downtown Scarborough to get gas and buy some fruits and vegetables for dinner. Inside the Penny Savers supermarket, the vegetables were as scarce as in Castara Bay. Luckily, we caught a glimpse of a vegetable market stand outside the parking lot. It was a small store full of vegetables and fruits that were local to the area. We happily stocked up on tomatoes and cucumbers, as well as a big chunk of watermelon.

We continued on the airport road determined to end our day at our last beach stop in Tobago. Pigeon Point Road is where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Caribbean Sea. The sand was definitely more Caribbean than anything we’ve seen in the country: powdery and almost white. In fact, Tobago’s best beach is Pigeon Point and they keep it that way by charging an entrance fee. Past the checkpoint, we parked out car and joined the revelers at the bar; there were no locals in sight except for the uniformed staff members and security guards patrolling the area.

After a couple of beers and rum punch, we sat on the beach to while away the rest of our afternoon. I went in the water a few times to cool off while jet skiers, parasailers and windsurfers made noise in the background. The Dr. remained reading under a tree to avoid getting more burned.

On our way out the gate, we noticed a couple of fishermen bringing in the day’s catch from a boat. Intrigued, as we haven’t really seen a lot of fishermen at work on Castara, we stepped out of the car to inquire if we could buy some of the flying fish in their basket. We imagined a civilized fish dinner with nice big salad for the night. The men were just waiting for a truck to pick up their haul. They told us that the fish will eventually end up in Europe’s supermarkets. We bought six for TT$1 apiece and started off back to our car until one of the boys from the jet ski rental shop stopped us. He ended up inviting us to stay and join the rest of his crew for dinner. They were already preparing to grill theirs when we joined them with a few bottles of cold beer bought from the store down the street.

We watched the sun go down and exchanged stories with the locals while we waited for our fish to cook. We told them about living in New York and they told us about growing up in Trinidad and living in Tobago. A few more men joined us by adding more fish on the grill. Using big leaves plucked from the trees as plates and our hands as utensils, we dove in and ate our grilled fish just like the rest of them.

Back in Castara Bay, I put together our tomato and cucumber salad with the little we had in our makeshift kitchen. We ate our second course out in the patio and drank some more beers before retiring for the night. We were grateful for the invitation from the jet skiers and glad that we made new friends during our last night on the island. It just seemed like the perfect experience to end our stay in Tobago.

Windy Roads of Tobago: From Englishman’s Bay to Speyside

We never really saw the rest of Trinidad because we only stayed in Grand Riviere, so during our second day in Tobago, I convinced the Dr. to rent a car from The Naturalist and drive us around to check some points of interest on the map. It was our fifth day in the country and our time there was coming to a close and yet, we still haven’t had a decent cup of hot coffee. We signed all the rental paperwork by 8:30am (You told me it was 10am!), and as soon as he got the small Nissan up the hill from Castara Bay, we were on Northside Road to the next beach over, Englishman Bay.

The long stretch of sand appeared untouched yet smooth, and not because of the time of day, but because the entire area remains undeveloped. Not even the familiar purple and poisonous balloon-looking Portuguese Man O’ Wars were scattered on the beach. There was one restaurant but it was just opening up, so the lady could only offer us black coffee. It was still among the worst coffee I had in the country, but I needed the quick boost of caffeine which prepared me for the windy roads of Tobago.

As the Dr. maneuvered the wheel from turn to turn, I cringed at every other speeding car or truck that met us head-on. I was on my toes the entire time and my shoulders hurt from flinching. I can’t imagine paying attention to driving when your surrounding is a constant yet welcomed distraction. From the side of the road, I liked how below us was a grass-covered hill that rolled all the way down to the beach. Everything around was a rich green. And even though the sun couldn’t decide whether to come out or not, the tropical breeze was enough to keep us content.

It was finally time to eat something by the time we entered the town of Speyside. We parked our car across the large playing field where we were both welcomed and harassed by the local Rastas into giving them some change. I walked over to the bakery to buy something to eat for both of us and was quite disappointed that it was actually an abandoned storefront. The lady waiting for the public bus asked me what I was looking for. Roti, I said. I haven’t had roti since we arrived and I really want to try them. And in that heavily-accented Creole English, she told me to go over to the bright yellow house across the way and buy them from there.

I gathered the one member of my troop, went inside the yellow house and asked the big black momma inside for a roti. She said a lot that was undecipherable to me, but I ended up ordering two large rotis to eat right on the bench outside. I just know that there was a short lecture about how a small girl like me won’t be able to finish a large-sized roti.

All the signs we saw advertised “hot, tasty roti”, much like how Mexico City had their “rico tacos” on every street corner. Roti, the country’s unofficial national dish, is essentially a stretchy “skin” used to wrap curried meat and vegetables. In our case, we had the buss-up-shut, which is a thin cloth-like skin that was wrapped like a burrito. We tore the skin to scoop up the chicken, chickpeas (channa) and potatoes (aloo) inside. And hot and tasty they were. I returned to the store to proudly let the lady know that I finished the large roti. She showed her appreciation by giving us some water to wash the yellow curry off our fingers before we set off to the other side of the island. Our first ever Trinbagonian roti was enough to make up for the awful coffee.

Sun and Rain in Castara Bay, Tobago

After an early ride to the airport from Grand Riviere, we boarded a 20-minute flight to Tobago. We felt very relaxed and we were ready to actually do some activities on the next island. I initially booked a place at The Naturalist, but a reservation glitch on their end left us without a room. To make up for it, the owner made sure we had a room next door, at The Sea Level, for our three-night stay on Castara Bay. He also had a car pick us up at the airport and bring us to this north western part of Tobago.

I chose Castara Bay because it is touted as a fishing village where the Rastas still use a seine net to haul their catch. The Dr. expressed an interest in fishing and I was attracted to the laid-back vibe our guidebook mentioned, so I thought it would be the perfect place for both of us. We never got to see the fishermen use any sort of nets during our four days there (they just used plastic bins to carry them from the boat to the fish co-op) and the Dr. never had a chance to fish because he wasn’t willing to pay for a US$250 charter boat, but we did use Castara as our base to see the rest of the island.

The sand is smoother and more brown on Castara than it was on Grand Riviere in Trinidad. Most tourists come to Castara in the mornings and leave in the afternoon because they’re staying elsewhere, so by the time the sun would set, we had the beach to ourselves.

Our first full day, we signed up with King David Tours for a snorkeling excursion complete with a barbecue on the beach. The Dr. brought his fishing rod hoping to catch some fish for lunch with our two entertaining guides. Eleven of us boarded the boat and set off to our first snorkeling stop a few minutes away from Castara. I’ve snorkeled so many times during my travels and have seen some of the most beautiful animals underwater, but nothing prepared me for the gargantuan size of Tobago’s fish. The usual parrot fish and yellowtail snappers were there, but imagine them five times the size you’ve seen them before. Imagine a school of anchovies swaying like a curtain in the water–oh, I just wanted to sashimi all of them right there and then.

We made a couple more stops to try and catch fish, but they weren’t biting. We just headed to No Man’s Land for our lunch barbecue. No Man’s Land is actually more like Every Man’s Land. It seemed every tour operator in Tobago was there with the same idea. All the locals knew each other and shared the one grill setup on the island. We were surrounded by young Euros with weird haircuts (can you say double P Diddy-style mohawks?) who made noise like university frat boys. I entertained myself by watching our skipper prepare our lunch of tuna and cucumber salad. A concoction of garlic, coriander, Scotch bonnet peppers and onions was rubbed on the fresh tuna fillets and then wrapped in foil before setting on the grill. Everything else, like the chicken and the potato salad, were prepared beforehand. We drank the rum punch and cold Carib and Stag beers provided while we waited for our feast.

After a very satisfying lunch, we boarded our boat again for our next stop. The Buccoo Reef is a protected marine park off Pigeon Point. Right in the middle of it was the Nylon Pool in all its emerald greenness. We were so far away from the beach, but this small pool of clear, shallow water was right in the middle of the sea. It was pretty cool and as you can see, it made for an interesting addition to my jumpin’ photos.

On our way back to Castara, the rain decided to pour and pour it did. Our entire boat group spent the last hour cheering every time we hit a big wave and smacked on the water. Red-faced and drunk, they all sang out loud while I cowered behind the Dr. to avoid the prickly pelts of rain.

It was a long day in the water and under the sun and I can’t say spending the rest of it in the rain was so bad. When we were completely showered and cleaned for dinner, it felt so good to be on steady land.