South America Summertime BARILOCHE
Photos
Viajes Patagonia
By snowmystr
One afternoon I am floating the McKenzie River with a beer in my hand, flipflops on my feet and a straw hat to keep the sun from baking me. The next day I am on a plane to Patagonia. A mere thirty-two hours later the scenery outside my Aerolinas Argentina plane window and I canâ€t differentiate between the approach to Jackson Hole, or possibly the high desert of Central Oregon. My destination Bariloche. A friendly face from my FIS technical delegate associations waves from the other side of the security window at the airport. Lille is a notable face on the slopes of Cerro Catedral. He runs a ski school at the resort and year round a small deli and lotto store in the center of his home town, Bariloche.
What leads one to experience such an extreme shift in latitudes? As a member of the Federation Internationale du Ski (FIS) I am fortunate to have these unique opportunities. Eight days of ski races at two resort in the heart of the Patagonia. Wow. My ski boots hate my feet the next morning but who would listen to my complaints. Lille plays tour guide for this foreigner from the far north. A quick review of the race arenas and we are off to the summit to spot volcanoes, soak up the view of the lakes and valleys below. The skiing is similar to northern Italy or the non-jet set resorts of Switzerland. Like Stelvio or Grimentz. Hometown charm without the invasion of shopping malls at the base of quad lifts. T-bars and aging chairlifts transport me over immense waves of snow.
My hosts are the chief of race, Ernesto Cingolani, and race administrator Magdi Kast. These residents of Bariloche are invested in ski racing. Having travelled the world themselves racing in their adolescence. Now paying back to the sport as officials. We share that bond. People who think it is great to load the lift before dawn, stay on the slopes all day. Nourishment a sandwich and soda. Your backpack complete with water, goggles, spare gloves and sunscreen. It isnâ€t a glamorous life, but the rewards immeasurable.
My tour of the slopes of Catedral over it is time for work. Diving into the preparations for tomorrowâ€s South American Cup slalom. The Team Captains meeting is where we will ratify the start list. Struggling through the conversations with my lame rendition of Spanish I am made to feel at home. Regardless.
Two days of heavy snow, fog, and challenging race conditions give way to bluebird by third day. To experience a resort well before dawn is to form an attachment unusual to the tourist. The camaraderie of a race crew is common on any continent. We have battled the elements for two days. Now the reward is sun on the face, the moon still in the early dawn sky, life is good.
I partner up through the day with racers and coaches from distant lands. The young son of a friend from Chileâ€s La Parva speaks flawless “Americanâ€� after pulling his ear buds out to humor this American that invades his space as we balance our backsides on the t-bar. His father and I met on a previous trip to South America, then again at NORAMâ€s in British Columbia. The fraternity is tight. Another t-bar trip with an Italian coach who is working with Romanianâ€s this time. In our winter he will be touring the Europa Cup with the sonâ€s and daughterâ€s of his countrymen. Our common language is skiing, the dialect: alpine ski racing. Suisse, Francia, Italiano, Chilean or Argentine. We are comrades together to pull off ski competitions whether it is pounding snow or baking the sunscreen into our well creased faces.
But tell us about the skiing, dammit. The slopes of South America that I have skied to this point share some things…open spaces, surface lifts, an occasional modern quad or gondola. Catedral has a mix of this all. Another thing? The caféâ€s and ristoranteâ€s sprinkled across the slopes. Sometimes the tables outside are buried in snow. At others they are slathered with skiers basking in the sun, warm smiles and warmer conversation. Scenery? Oh, Dios Mio! Volcanoes and lagos. Conflagrations of peaks reminiscent of the summit at Panorama, B.C. Like a thousand sharks all baring their teeth consuming the sun, wind and air as far as the eye can see. I have seen the Rockies, traversed the Alps. The Andes carry the weight of their magnificence easily. One difference? The sky a deeper blue, unspoiled by pollution. Well, here in the Patagonia for sure. You canâ€t say that for the slopes outside of Santiago.
Tree skiing is surely an alternate experience, oaks and other hardwoods pose their own challenge to our firs and pines of the Pacific Northwest. If the snow is deep it doesnâ€t matter. The goal the same, link your turns and donâ€t hit the trees. Simple. No? For the most part the actual skiing takes a backseat to the scenery and the culture. But, hey. What do I know. I am here to work ski races. Maybe someday I will return “a la tourista.â€�
So, one bluebird day follows another. At night I wander the village soaking up the ambiance. Dinner at Rodeo doesnâ€t quite match the bars and restaurants of Jackson. But the beer flows just as fine and the wine is “que bueno?â€� My recommendation for finding good food and a shot at good conversation? Keep tromping along the boardwalks until you find a place just a few people short of packed. Wait for a table and join the fun.
Next my time in Chapelco. I have made good friends in Anibal y Coto. Two great guys who think being on the slopes before dawn is a gas. For now it is off to dinner with them and others from the Organizing Committee. Hasta Luego…
RR
By snowmystr
One afternoon I am floating the McKenzie River with a beer in my hand, flipflops on my feet and a straw hat to keep the sun from baking me. The next day I am on a plane to Patagonia. A mere thirty-two hours later the scenery outside my Aerolinas Argentina plane window and I canâ€t differentiate between the approach to Jackson Hole, or possibly the high desert of Central Oregon. My destination Bariloche. A friendly face from my FIS technical delegate associations waves from the other side of the security window at the airport. Lille is a notable face on the slopes of Cerro Catedral. He runs a ski school at the resort and year round a small deli and lotto store in the center of his home town, Bariloche.
What leads one to experience such an extreme shift in latitudes? As a member of the Federation Internationale du Ski (FIS) I am fortunate to have these unique opportunities. Eight days of ski races at two resort in the heart of the Patagonia. Wow. My ski boots hate my feet the next morning but who would listen to my complaints. Lille plays tour guide for this foreigner from the far north. A quick review of the race arenas and we are off to the summit to spot volcanoes, soak up the view of the lakes and valleys below. The skiing is similar to northern Italy or the non-jet set resorts of Switzerland. Like Stelvio or Grimentz. Hometown charm without the invasion of shopping malls at the base of quad lifts. T-bars and aging chairlifts transport me over immense waves of snow.
My hosts are the chief of race, Ernesto Cingolani, and race administrator Magdi Kast. These residents of Bariloche are invested in ski racing. Having travelled the world themselves racing in their adolescence. Now paying back to the sport as officials. We share that bond. People who think it is great to load the lift before dawn, stay on the slopes all day. Nourishment a sandwich and soda. Your backpack complete with water, goggles, spare gloves and sunscreen. It isnâ€t a glamorous life, but the rewards immeasurable.
My tour of the slopes of Catedral over it is time for work. Diving into the preparations for tomorrowâ€s South American Cup slalom. The Team Captains meeting is where we will ratify the start list. Struggling through the conversations with my lame rendition of Spanish I am made to feel at home. Regardless.
Two days of heavy snow, fog, and challenging race conditions give way to bluebird by third day. To experience a resort well before dawn is to form an attachment unusual to the tourist. The camaraderie of a race crew is common on any continent. We have battled the elements for two days. Now the reward is sun on the face, the moon still in the early dawn sky, life is good.
I partner up through the day with racers and coaches from distant lands. The young son of a friend from Chileâ€s La Parva speaks flawless “Americanâ€� after pulling his ear buds out to humor this American that invades his space as we balance our backsides on the t-bar. His father and I met on a previous trip to South America, then again at NORAMâ€s in British Columbia. The fraternity is tight. Another t-bar trip with an Italian coach who is working with Romanianâ€s this time. In our winter he will be touring the Europa Cup with the sonâ€s and daughterâ€s of his countrymen. Our common language is skiing, the dialect: alpine ski racing. Suisse, Francia, Italiano, Chilean or Argentine. We are comrades together to pull off ski competitions whether it is pounding snow or baking the sunscreen into our well creased faces.
But tell us about the skiing, dammit. The slopes of South America that I have skied to this point share some things…open spaces, surface lifts, an occasional modern quad or gondola. Catedral has a mix of this all. Another thing? The caféâ€s and ristoranteâ€s sprinkled across the slopes. Sometimes the tables outside are buried in snow. At others they are slathered with skiers basking in the sun, warm smiles and warmer conversation. Scenery? Oh, Dios Mio! Volcanoes and lagos. Conflagrations of peaks reminiscent of the summit at Panorama, B.C. Like a thousand sharks all baring their teeth consuming the sun, wind and air as far as the eye can see. I have seen the Rockies, traversed the Alps. The Andes carry the weight of their magnificence easily. One difference? The sky a deeper blue, unspoiled by pollution. Well, here in the Patagonia for sure. You canâ€t say that for the slopes outside of Santiago.
Tree skiing is surely an alternate experience, oaks and other hardwoods pose their own challenge to our firs and pines of the Pacific Northwest. If the snow is deep it doesnâ€t matter. The goal the same, link your turns and donâ€t hit the trees. Simple. No? For the most part the actual skiing takes a backseat to the scenery and the culture. But, hey. What do I know. I am here to work ski races. Maybe someday I will return “a la tourista.â€�
So, one bluebird day follows another. At night I wander the village soaking up the ambiance. Dinner at Rodeo doesnâ€t quite match the bars and restaurants of Jackson. But the beer flows just as fine and the wine is “que bueno?â€� My recommendation for finding good food and a shot at good conversation? Keep tromping along the boardwalks until you find a place just a few people short of packed. Wait for a table and join the fun.
Next my time in Chapelco. I have made good friends in Anibal y Coto. Two great guys who think being on the slopes before dawn is a gas. For now it is off to dinner with them and others from the Organizing Committee. Hasta Luego…
RR
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