How strange things are at the bottom of Argentina. Towards the top end of Patagonia (sort of like the beginning of the end of the world) lies Puerto Madryn. The main attraction is the wildlife on the nearby Peninsula Valdes. However, on arrival we were helpfully informed by a pleasant British chap, Jonathan, that the tours are quite pricey (about £55pp including park entry) and we had managed to turn up in time to see almost no wildlife. Incidentally, Jonathan was travelling alone because, as he put it, it would be unfair to inflict his company on anyone for an entire 5 months. Kizzy nodded sagely and reminisced at the 18 hours on the bus with me. I bent down to tie my laces but sadly she was out of range of the cricket bat handle.
Puerto Madryn Is quite pleasant as a beach resort with blue seas, a sandy beach and a climate that’s lovely in the sunshine but turns chilly whenever a cloud gets in the way. In other words, it’s a bit like Cornwall, which had me and Kizzy pining after pasties and cream teas. After debating the merits of 18 hours on a plane and 4 hours on a train to have afternoon tea in Penzance, we stumbled across the somewhat surreal existence of “Welsh” communities that sprung up in this part of the world about 150 years ago.
Our trip to Gaiman, two buses and an hour and a half down the road was a surreal antidote to homesickness. The Welsh settlers here found somewhere a little bit drier than Cardiff and now in their 8th generation or so they still maintain a close affinity with the homeland, dual-language signage and truly embarrassing clothes for the kids and all. Tris, I have to ask, is this really how your mum dressed you back on the borders?
We stopped in one of the 5 tea houses in town to indulge in a “Welsh” tea with more sticky and sweet cakes than Kizzy could manage. The proprietors were pleased to see us, as was the young man in tourist information. We were the only tourists in town when we arrived. We were later joined in the tea house by an Argentine family who looked a little bewildered by the place but clearly realised that this was it for the town and ordered the tea out of curiosity. We were directed to the town’s first house, built by David Roberts. Dave, if you’re reading this, your first house is nothing to shout about but at least you’re on the property ladder. I don’t think you’ll convince Clemmie to move to Gaiman any time soon.
Incidentally, this blog is as you can tell about 4 days behind the times. Today was the first day in which we started heading north. We took a day trip to Fuerto Bulnes, 60km south of Punta Arenas at the bottom of mainland South America. To put this in perspective I will put a map up with the next post.
No comments:
Post a Comment