To lose something you love is often a test of one’s endurance and for me a sad and brave excuse to continually preach that everything happens for a reason. No matter how far I’m pushed I remain open minded to the idea of a predestined search for oneself, which slowly unfolds with each honest step we take. A force governed by an all surrounding energy purposely safe guarded from the radar of a majority too preoccupied to appreciate the juice of a ripe apple when swallowed yet won’t hesitate for a second to spit out the bitter taste of the fruit when it’s bad. We all want to be loved however upon discovery it’s often taken for granted until it slips from our reach and suddenly there we are, rummaging through a jigsaw of tiny opportunities that only really comes to light when that final missing piece is restored. The truth is though love can never really be mislaid because it’s everywhere and without it the world has no pulse. Love is the Godfather of trust, passion, honesty, respect, kindness, friendships and ultimately the trigger of reproduction that feeds our existence! Love is the key to a change in motion. Love is my only real connection with everything and all and most importantly you. Love is my only impression of a true God second to the sun. And why is love both joyful and sad? A careful balance of appreciation I think. An insight into the true potential of our world and our passport to unification! A wifi connection with the big man upstairs accessible from any place at any time! If your there God may I ask “So where was the love when I got robbed?”

No answer hey?

Then excuse me for remaining an iconoclast and helping myself to the little bottles of vino next to my seat in the buses cooler heading for my next destination, “Salute.” As Ryan pours me another glass we journey further into the South of South America making sure to hide our empties down the side of chairs and with Mendoza further behind me I could taste the full sweetness of my free mini ‘Malbecs’ once again.

The name Patagonia comes from the word ‘Patagon’ which is said to describe the native people for being tall like giants. Once a playground for dinosaurs, the final resting place for the Andes Mountains which I’ve followed since Quito in Ecuador and a vast collaboration of mother earths many wondrous faces crossing both Argentina and Chile, I was by now familiar with the scale of things and was thrilled to be leaving the big cities for some of the world’s biggest and most spectacular natural landscapes. Back in the 1800’s the famous outlaws ‘Butch Cassidy’ and ‘The Sundance Kid’ had made the same voyage as me from the USA to Argentina by land and water escaping the law in search for freedom. Sounds familiar!  Even ‘Darwin’ made a trip reminding me of the Galapagos and how much I’ve missed the great outdoors.

Sadly in the 1870s the conquest of the Desert, a controversial campaign led by the Argentine government was commanded to subdue or, some claim, to exterminate the native people of the South. By the mid 1880s the campaign's objectives had largely been achieved. However the many natural landscapes and national reserves remain unscathed and even after the arrival of German, English and Welsh settlers after both world wars the Patagonia is still a unique conservation of gargantuan phenomena.

A long journey isn’t so bad after consuming a generous amount of free wine and witnessing the smiley waiter guys face when offering us a glass with our dinner suddenly turn a grim greyish colour as his mind seemed unable to fathom why the bottle he was so sure was half full was now suddenly empty?

“I’d love another, (Hic) sorry a glass please.”

First time I’ve ever actually slept on a bus! “Should do this more often”, I nudge Ryan but he’s too busy drooling on himself leaving me alone to dodge the evil eyes of waiter guy.

Our first stop was also a reunion with a familiar surfer who I’d shared several adventures with in Mexico and Guatemala, now the city Ambassador for his beloved hometown of Puerto Madryn, Luciano Elizalde (LUCIANOELIZALDE) (89th Official Host). Having returned from his travels he was taking full advantage of the busy months of tourism working as a guide for the overseas rich who flood the area during the whale season. Our original plan was to see the whales but my budget didn’t approve so instead we celebrated our travel stories over a few beers with our host in his dainty little town beside the sea. Only able to host us for the evening due to work we decided best to head further south the next morning. Patagonia’s hefty prices were already beginning to threaten our bank balance so the best solution was to move fast. 

Although the Patagonia is vast and rich with wilderness unfortunately its couchsurfing network lacks any similarities. Having spent the last two weeks trying to plan my route and having to wait patiently for the limited amount of hosts to reply without success I wasn’t expected any miracles. I had already been warned about the lack of couches available so without any solid hosts in place I decided to take my chances and hope something would be available at the very last minute. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to book into a hostel at my next stop to the small town of ‘El Calafate’. Ryan agreed to pay for the hostel and I would repay him in food. This was the third time in over two years I’ve been forced to use a hostel; fortunately I’ve always been with a surfer keeping me connected to the network and we only needed to stay a couple of days, just enough time to visit a nearby sight I couldn’t miss, the mighty dynamic ‘Perito Moreno Glacier’, which was even more mind blowing after dropping a space cake with some guys from the hostel. I and Ryan seemed to be the only ones that thought a giant piece of ice was hilarious and for a few minutes distracted the attention of a big group of tourists from an epic wonder to our inability to stop giggling. Each time a piece broke off it would send us both into a rage of laughter and I’d start getting paranoid believing it was the decibels of our mirth that was causing the bloody thing to crack and then of course as soon as I say the word ‘crack’ on space cakes there wasn’t a cat in hells chance of withholding our roars of joviality. I was sure my head was going to explode but luckily the cold temperatures kept my blood levels stable. Seriously though it was simply jaw dropping stuff and my excitement was further enhanced when the end of a rainbow cascaded from the lake at the front of the glacier offering a unique photo opportunity for the two of us. It was the perfect metaphor, the end of the world with a humble site before my eyes and a treasure at the end of a rainbow!

Further south is ‘Ushuaia’ which boasts one of the biggest penguin colonies in the world. With little time, lack of hosts and limited buses running through the week we decided to skip the real so called ‘end of the world’ and instead head back North to ‘El Bolson’. Due to road obstructions the direct road was blocked forcing us to come back along the same thirty hour bus ride route and miss the beautiful scenery of the Andes Mountains. Having enjoyed the luxurious standard bus trends of regular free meals and drinks on board we forgot to ask the sales assistant if food was included in our overpriced ticket. We had to spend the first several hours suffering from hunger and thirst and the frustration of not being able to leave the bus at gas stations to buy some supplies. Karma’s sweet revenge on us for stealing the wine! Once we arrived to ‘Bolson’ the next day we decided it best to immediately purchase a ticket extension and continue with the same bus further north fearing we may have to wait a few days for another. The Patagonia demands a few weeks preparation and at least a whole month to travel and with barely any surfers around I was slightly losing touch with my project. 

In fairness to the Patagonia, I’m actually glad it remains a little obsolete to the world. With an ever increasing demand of economic growth and tourism the government are already proposing new technological developments to utilise the natural power resources such as creating hydro powered stations and running power cables all the way into Chile, which of course poses a threat to local forestry. Even in the remotest parts of the world we are still finding ways to burn the candle at both ends. With that in mind I wasn’t so concerned about having to book into yet another hostel although I was a little disappointed being let down by a proposed surfer upon arrival to ‘Bariloche’, who had instead favoured the opportunity to host two female surfers. I guess my man boobs just aren’t big enough for the great outdoors.

Having made acquaintance with two guys from the bus who Ryan had met back in Bolivia we formed ourselves a small fellowship for the days to come. The guys knew about a renowned hostel by the name 1004, which was situated in the penthouse floor of an apartment block boasting a spectacular view of the surrounding lakes and mountains. Lucky to find room for the four of us the next five days would be my longest stay in a hostel since leaving home. The atmosphere and staff captured my soul and I sensed this would be a pleasant experiment to learn the differences between couchsurfing and staying in hostels.

My first and most noticeable observation was the intense ambience even though the hostel was decorated in a Zen like fashion and everyone was told to respect the presence of others by keeping noise to a minimal.  With over thirty to forty people coming and going at any one time each with a day’s activity planned or a story to tell it was sometimes hard for everyone to get a word in edgeways and for myself incredibly frustrating having to tell the same story over and over again. I wasn’t so comfortable about sleeping in a room with seven other strangers especially after being robbed but beggars can’t be choosers and except for clothes I carried had nothing else worth stealing.

When using couchsurfing I always feel right at home with my hosts or guests within the first few minutes knowing we share a mutual interest and secure in the knowledge that he or she has a profile that I’ve already read through to know a little about the person in advance and which I can use to report any good or bad experiences. In the hostel however this doesn’t exist and I was always curious and weary of how people projected themselves. To be sure of someone I always ask for their Facebook profile so I have some way of contacting them should any mishaps occur. I guess I’ve just been using couchsurfing for so long now that this has become standard practice.

It was hard trying to digest everyone’s ideas and thoughts about the world in the hostel individually so I decided what better way to bring a conversation together than to cook a huge dinner for our fellowship which had now tripled in size. Having a professional kitchen to hand, with the help of my new friends we cooked a dazzling roast dinner fit for a king to celebrate thanksgiving as well as an Italian Ziti with over two hundred of my special meatballs rolled with my very own hands, the biggest dinner I’ve had the pleasure to cook so far. The hostel was so impressed they offered me a job to cook for the staff every night with free accommodation and expenses.

“Tempting but the world is my oyster!”

The one thing I missed the most about cs was my own space. It’s almost impossible to avoid joining others on a night out, sitting down in silence to read a book without someone harassing you or enjoying an early night without being disturbed. The one thing that hostels can never really offer though is the cultural insight that has become my addiction to couchsurfing. Hostels are a business which feeds off the hunger of travellers who are more than willing to pay over the odds for a local tour and who in general are too busy to even notice the lives of the locals around them and especially how they are affected by ongoing tourist booms. With every advantage of new business prospects there’s always a disadvantage such as the cost of living expenses in areas that become more popular and the need to create new space to build trending properties for overseas investors who end up monopolizing most of the local business. In fact the more I travel and continue to live a nomadic lifestyle the harder it will be for me in the future to get back on the modern day motorway of life forever racing from A to B without the time to know what lies in between, which is a unconscionable prospect I embrace rather than fear!

With a huge couchsurfing camping event and the arrival of my uncle pending back in Buenos Aires I was out of time to visit Chile. It would be the first country I miss in two years but will help save me money to replace the stolen items. I have become so wrapped up in my project that I’ve forgotten that I’m the one actually making the rules, hence there are none! Rather than cry about the damage to my budget I can simply skip a few countries and still achieve my goal to cs the world. After all, my project isn’t to understand the countries but the people and I’ve met plenty of Chileans so far on my trip.

Ryan decided to leave ‘Bariloche’ and head to Chile after a conflict we experienced but we agreed to meet back in Buenos Aires. Travelling with someone is both fun and difficult at times because a decision always has to be made with two minds and both are not always guaranteed to agree. I felt a little alone when he left even though I’d made plenty of friends at the hostel yet Ryan was my only link to couchsurfing. Regardless our plans to travel are temporary and I reminded myself not to get too attached to always having someone around, it can be a dangerous mind game once they leave.

My time in the hostel helped me achieve several new insights. It’s wise to travel alone after witnessing so many couples and groups bicker over the smallest of disagreements or argue over money issues and their individual desires. It’s always better to wait for the question before giving an answer and we should show respect to all ages now we are living in a world where answers lie in the young as much as the old. My first real experience in a hostel was actually rather pleasing and I enjoyed the company of many new friends. I even persuaded most of them to join couchsurfing and quoting the words of a member of staff,

‘You’re every hostels worst nightmare.’

“Don’t worry”, I replied, “As long as couchsurfing exists I won’t be in a rush to use them again.”

“Exactly”, he replies!

My visit was short to the Patagonia but for sure I will return again under different circumstances. I look forward to visiting all the epic and unique sights it has to offer, fishing in the bluest rivers I’ve ever seen, hiking untouched white wonderlands whilst inhaling the cleanest of air and coming face to face with some of nature’s most precious possessions and hopefully next time get to live with the locals. My only hope before my return is protecting such a jewel from being hackneyed by a society that’s moving as fast as the very rock we stand upon.

Without Ryan accompanying me on the long bus ride back to Buenos Aires I decided to treat myself to a first class ‘Super Cama’ bed and hopefully sleep most of the way. The clientele was very different from any previous bus I’ve taken, older, obviously richer and slightly weary of the unshaved lone stranger sat on his own at the back of the bus.

‘Don’t worry; I only steal wine from buses’, I glared!

If I could afford to travel this way all the time I wouldn’t hesitate. The full reclining bed was perfect for my knee, blankets and pillow made for a dainty sleep and my own private curtains even posed the possibility of ‘choking the old chicken’ but I didn’t want to push the boat out too far.  I was a little disappointed having strategically booked the back seat, which is usually next to the place where the wine is stored yet it wasn’t in sight? However the young waiter guy was rather generous with the wine and even served us a glass of champagne before our late night movie. I was rather surprised then when he joined me on the back seats to watch the movie and cracked open a bottle of champers just for us.

I woke in the morning with a strange arm around my waste; waiter guy had passed out beside me and it all seemed a little ‘way to gay to start my day.’ I pushed his arm to the side, dodged the three empty bottles of bubbly we had consumed and headed for the bathroom. Upon returning my space had be cleaned and a rather embarrassed red face disappeared swiftly downstairs. It was either a moment of two countries embracing after all the historical hatred or a rather confused waiter ‘gay’ sorry guy who spends too much time alone at work? Regardless it was worth the extra cost.