¿Otra vez? - Chos Malal

Chos Malal is everything the guidebook promised. We arrived in the beautiful former capitol of the Neuquén region after a short hop down route forty from Mendoza, a ride that can in itself be considered an adventure due to the splendor of the Andes located right outside the window the entire ride down, the beauty of the desert around us, and the intriguing small dusty towns we would occasionaly pass through.

The hotel, as promised, was in the centre of this small twenty-four thousand town and was about half the price it should have been. It had no kitchen available to us, but with the prices in the restaurants, ¿who needs a kitchen? Out of this world fresh trout or goat for less than the price of a movie ticket back home.

Of course, we weren't there for the hotel, nor for the food, they were just bonuses, we were there for the land outside the city limits.

First up, las aguas calientes. Natural hot springs that we took a too short soak in, bubbling mud pits that look like a scene from a science fiction movie, and geysers that shoot forth twenty meter sprays like a waterfall in reverse. Las aguas calientes is like being in a waking dream.

After that, a quick trip over to see ancient rock carvings by the Pehuenche. Their work was mostly abstract, and in some senses it's sad that this will never be seen in a museum of contemporary work where it could sit side by side with other modern masterpieces, but on the other hand, it is probably most respectful to them that it remains where it is.

Our final night before leaving, I stepped twenty meters out of downtown Chos Malal and took this picture as the sun was setting:

My spanish teachers, when I would read out my responses and make a grammatical or pronunciation error, would ask me, ¿otra vez? Literally it means, other time, and what they were asking me to do was repeat what I had just said, only this time, without the error.

¿Otra vez?

I have no idea what that ride down the forty looks like because I didn't find out what bus company went from Mendoza to Chos Malal directly, instead we had to take a long detour through Neuquén City, which is further east and south than Chos Malal. Instead of an eight hour ride, we had a sixteen hour ride.

The town of Chos Malal is nice looking, for a small town that is mostly dirt roads, but the promised old country buildings from back when Chos Malal was the capitol are either no longer there, or just not very visible.

The hotel was twice as expensive as what the guide book said, so we went instead with a slightly cheaper option with a room that Audray remarked is "nicer than many prison cells." Still more expensive than anywhere else we've stayed in Argentina.

No kitchen, ¿and that goat and trout? Might be the greatest in the world but we'll never know because they were more expensive than our hotel room, four times the price listed in the guide book.

As for the two outings, well if I had done my research even half-assed instead of not at all, I would have known that the only agency in town that did them was not in operation.

When we arrived we were told that the owner would still bring us, but when I asked about the price, I was quoted a number that could have let us stay in Mendoza for a week, eating steak and drinking top of the line wine every night.

¿But who really wants to go on an outing when one of us is bed-ridden with a virus, and the other with a twisted ankle? The pain from my ankle was such that at night I was worried that Audray wouldn't get the sleep she needed because the moans of pain would not stay in my lungs, hardly conditions screaming for rock-climbing.

And on our final night before leaving, I stepped twenty meters out of downtown Chos Malal and took that picture as the sun was setting.

Arriver à Chos Malal, c'est prendre un bus de 12 heures pour se rendre à Neuquen, puis, reprendre un bus de 6 heures (en revenant sur ses pas) pour Chos Malal. Aucun autre moyen de le faire à partir de Mendoza.

C'est aussi ne pas encore savoir où l'on va rester, parce qu'on ne sait pas exactement quand on y arrive. C'est donc faire le tour des hôtels et choisir le moins cher, mais aussi le plus miteux: coulisses étranges sur les murs, plafond moisi, salle de bain partagée en décomposition.

Chos Malal, c'est réaliser que les agences de tourisme n'existent plus et que le seul moyen de faire les activitées voulues est de payer un particulier très, très cher.

C'est se réveiller avec un rhume puissant qui nous empêche de sortir du lit.

C'est aussi un partenaire qui se foule la cheville et qui n'est donc pas vraiment plus utile que soi même.

Chos Malal, c'est une foire au malheurs de 48 heures que je suis heureuse de savoir derrière moi.

Chos Malal, c'est tout de même un peu drôle, quand on y pense.