Epic Argentina

What do you do when you have a dream, two weeks, two new countries to explore, and under five thousand Canadian dollars? 
You book the cheap flights (even if that means a lot of them.)

You also sign up for the retreat that seemed too expensive until the universe tagged you three times and made it destiny. You pack the hiking boots, tell your boss you’re not available. You go for it!  Life is fleeting.

I am writing this right now from Mexico, on a rooftop, sipping mezcal, what better office? But this is another story for another day. Just a good way to write about a different adventure – One that started from Vancouver, Canada and ends with me wanting to call a helicopter rescue on an apex in Patagonia, being constipated for a full week (yes, I was full of shit), watching a condor circle overhead like some kind of mythological punchline, and making it to Chile being attacked by a giant cockroach, but getting the answers I seeked and sneaking into volcanic craters for sunrise – the rest you’ll have to follow along. 

Buenos Aires: 
Jet Lag, art, dancing and the dead 

I tried to order dinner somewhere else but woke up mid-nod at the bar, staring at a menu I could not process. I apologized, went home, and did not sleep until 3:43am, still hungry (plane food sucks). Then begrudgingly woke at 6am, lucky me!? Then again at 8:30 to an alarm I did not remember setting. A day had to be gotten at though. 

So I made it to Palermo by subway. The D6 green line runs directly under ‘Teatro Colon’ no less. 11 stops to my next mission, which was nothing in particular but to wander the streets of the cool part of town, so I heard, and to find out what’s in store there. 

Palermo is hot. I needed water and a cold beer. Found a beautiful rose garden with a lagoon and entertaining geese that screamed at each other at ‘Jardin de la Pergolas.’ Watched them long enough to feel human again. Then called a motorcycle taxi to Recoleta Cemetery because, as it turns out, it was Halloween, the greatest annual holiday.

Hanging out with Los Muertos seemed appropriate. The mausoleums are over 200 years old. Extravagant headstones. Angels and mourning women carved in stone over their loss of a husband. Praise! Never a mourning man on a woman’s grave. Some plots were cobwebbed, locked behind rusted gates, thus made it more eerie. The clouds made everything dramatic. I took a hundred photographs. I love gothic graveyards. 

That night I painted my face like a skeleton with all I had, just eyeliner. I get into the spirit of Halloween ok. One European lad understood, he poured me pity wine from his bottle. The fellow locals, geriatric patrons at the tango show did not get it however. I was alone and excited, looking dead faced while the performers were very much alive clapping, stomping, twirling, dipping, staring into each other and possessed by the art of the dance. One performance with the drums got my heart beating. It was ever so inticing, I sat there helplessly intrigued. Tango truly is the most passionate and powerful dance. I’m sure even those seniors wanted to pop a Viagra after that show! 

I should have gone to many recommended bars or restaurants, as I am in that industry. Yet I did not. I opted for an opportunity to finally catch up on my lack of sleep… Except a goddamned rave started under my apartment at 1am and the DJ kept going until my 4am, when my alarm was intended for. If it were 10 years prior I would have found myself going off on the dance floor also. This is not the case now, I was still exhausted. When my taxi passed the university district en route to airport, I saw the kids stumbling out of clubs with their sloppy attempt at Halloween makeup, now begrudgingly smeared from the wild night they endured, costumes falling apart. I smiled. That’s the spirit, youth of Argentina!

El Bolson: 
Dogs, Yoga-jungle dome, legendary meals and peaks

Flew closer to God, or Patagonia at least. Greeted my long time friend for our rendezvous in Bariloche, she’s an air stewardess so I have traveled with her before. She had surprised me weeks earlier by booking the same retreat.  We walked the hilly town dragging luggage, bought loads of their infamous chocolate, tried to pay with a card at a shop with no network. Left all the souvenirs and treats behind sadly. 

Gorgeous drive up to the mountainous, vintage Cowboy vs Indian esque, film-set-of-a-town, that of El Bolson, from the sea side, windy Bariloche through stunning surroundings of yellow spring flowers in bloom, contrasted to the smooth, black tar roads. 
Our journeys begins – The retreat was everything I needed and nothing I expected. Necessary and unforgettable. 

Five women in total; each one so interesting and with like-minded attitudes. I travel solo usually but these are three awesome Americans, none of them Maga, thank god, then us two Canadians gals. We all bonded immediately. The incredible hosts (husband/wife duo) became instant friends as well. And the dogs! Three rescues who greeted us with wagging tails, both demanding and giving affection. I fell in love with each of them and was so happy to see a South American country actually caring about dogs for once.

There are still strays but they are not abused nor neglected and hence not aggressive. They are for the most part healthy and respected, as communities seem to feed and allow them to sleep on their property. They get pets from everyone, I fully support this. Other countries in S.A. are brutal towards them and it is devastating.

*Side note: I was recently rejected from an Ecuador hiking trip in the Amazon because, as I’m in my 40’s, I was considered a liability. The company bluntly told me, lost in translation, that my age was “too old”. This became an inside joke for the week, especially as now I was in fact the youngest one. Literally was told to take a hike, but that I couldn’t even take that hike! 

Our home for six nights was a property of repurposed shipping containers turned charming cabins. Mine had a kitchenette, sitting area, and private bedroom. Others had rooftop terraces. Trade-offs.

My Spanish there I quickly realized was not the greatest, as the accent is completely different to where I’ve traveled before. Argentinian Spanish uses the “sh” when I was used to other South or Central American way, sounding like a “ha” or “ya”, ex: pollo is posho, cebolla is cebosha… it tripped me up but I tried when I had the opportunity. 

Behind the property the hosts had built an intricate trail to three vistas viewpoints. The first evening we hiked up with the dogs leading, then descended into a yoga dome surrounded by jungle. Anyone would want to practice in there, with the huge window that looked out at the trees. It felt like you were meant to do yoga in there, and luckily we had 3 hours a day of it, one morning session and a night class. Bless. 

Our beloved instructor kicked our asses! Squat holds that destroyed our hamstrings. 3 breaths is 2 minutes. None of us could walk properly after. But the reward for our efforts was a fire-grilled steak dinner with the best zucchini I have ever eaten, accompanied by wine we had earned. Balance, after all… I swear the beef is good because the cows get to roam freely. 

Days 2-4, Patagonia:
Bahias de Perclas, Lago Epuyen and mysterious Samanthadarta. 
Utter beauty in nature, serene, dire, cold waters (it was glacial run off and as a Canadian I felt I had to prove something by going in, the only reprieve being that the sun was scorching enough to dry out and bathe me in its rays thereafter.) Picturesque, snow capped mountain views, crossing rivers, those darned yellow flowers in bloom taunting us with how special it is to be there, morning and night yoga in the sacred dome, a random Buddhist temple in the middle of nowhere, the end of day epic, foraged, home cooked meals. We  rode bikes, crossed riverbanks through meadows and Stoney terrain, endured happy dog cuddles, and all the while having the best time, but not having a good time with my belly. I couldn’t connect with my bowels one could say. I felt so bloated and shitty, pun intended. One day I couldn’t wake up, despite being shouted at and shook. The toxins got to me after all that time. 

Day 5: The Piltriquitron climb, constipation at its finest/worst hour, dizzy spells and not falling off a cliff 

This was the day. I had waited by now eight days for a release, I was getting worried. Felt horrid. The laxatives I bought in town decided to work only when I was descending a steep mountain with no discretion. Finally though! I lost my pike staff whilst squatting. I am such a lady. 

The mission was simple: do that incline, see a magestic condor that one can only see at the very top.  

The hike started fine. The laxatives did make me cotton mouthed and therefore with unquenchable thirst, but I had a ration to obtain. As we climbed furthermore our small group dispersed and it became a mental, solo journey. For me the altitude hit hard. Every step up felt like two steps backwards. The incline was near vertical in parts. I would stop, remove my sweater because I was sweating, then immediately put it back on because the wind chill cut through me. I have inner (annoying) ear problems so my focus was not concentrated on the task. My balance was not the best.

There were moments I wanted to turn around. Then I would look back and see how far I had come. The obstinate goal seeking ego in my brain would not let me quit. I needed the apex to find that fucking condor! 

My throat was dry. My water was soon running out. I could not see anyone ahead or behind for a long time. At some point I started climbing with my arms because my legs were shaking.

When I finally reached the top, I made the rookie mistake of turning around too fast to see below. The world instantly spun. I spent the next unknown amount of time on my back, eyes closed, yet the clouds were crashing sideways in my memory vision. A fellow hiker eventually found me and helped me to a safer spot where I could sit with my head between my knees.  My friend arrived later with our host, who gave me an overly sweetened coffee and a sandwich. Color returned slowly. Gimme some sugar! There was one more peak to climb. I chose not to. I would never regret staying grounded when my balance was this fragile.Then my friend screamed it aloud! One word that echoed through the sky. “condooooor!” This was my reward, I didn’t cry. I looked up and knew I completed my mission. This regal, vulture-like bird that represents power and freedom in Andean mythology just circling overhead. Timing its appearance like it knew I needed permission to descend.

The way down was even more challenging. Sound advice from a fellow hiker: keep your eyes on your feet. Do not look at the horizon. I slipped most of the way. Fell at least six times before I stopped counting. Eventually I added bounce to my steps and started a slow sprint. The buoyancy helped. My toes still have scars from blisters. I had some blood on my shins. 

And then, only then, after eight days, did my belly start gurgling. There was no bush. No where to hide. Just a cliff edge with a view. I lost my walking stick there. Left it all behind, from my behind, ha ha! Felt lighter in every way. Finally! Best toilet ever. 

Days 6-7: learning and appreciation 

Paraiso was stunning and actually reminded me a lot of home. Did not fall through a rickety bridge plank. Did jump in that pristine green water! Cerritos Sur Vista was a memorable experience. Great way to end our time. I returned to Canada in mid-November and am still processing this experience.Sometimes the thing you think you cannot afford is the thing you need most and is of more value. No guilt. The retreat cost more than I planned (USA exchange rate mostly), but all so worth it. The flights were cheap but relentless, all 11 of them. The laxatives cost 200 pesos and worked exactly when I did not want them to. My dizzy spells knocked me out a couple times where I could not stand up, the most vulnerable position to be in, especially in a foreign country; altitude sickness is gnarly man.

We departed for the airport, was sad to leave the dogs chasing our shuttle. We said our farewells, but we know we will see one another again somewhere. 

I flew went to Mendoza for 17 hours. Smelled crack in the streets on my morning walk before coffee shops even opened. Had the most exquisite steak in my life, then went to Lujan de Cuyo for the wine country and visited 2 centennial vineyards, lovely wine and superb olive oil tastings. Los Toneles is a must.

Overall I am obsessed with Argentina and will return one day for more.  I saw a mystical bird. I shat off a cliff edge. I led a yin yoga class the same evening I could barely walk. That was a big one for me, I do feel more confident to teach more classes now. Thanks for the reins to my yogi friend who let me guide a class in her sacred dome. I ate very well. Walked through incredible pastures and over precarious bridges, saw the Andean peaks, got in the sacred waters. The Patagonian border mission is not complete yet however. I need to return for Torres del Paine on the Chilean side; but that is a future story.

This one ends with much gratitude. For the mountains. For the laxatives. For the yoga. For the friends who poured me wine and tried to shake me awake. For the country. For nature. To freedom. For the memoirs. For the renewal. For the challenges. To the love. Todo bien, muchas gracias. 

Part 2 Chile: The big city and thermal baths … spontaneous trip to Easter Island Arrived a bit tipsy from the Bodegas I sampled before my flight. Got into Santiago just before sundown. Walked the kind of sketchy area near my new apartment for the next few days. 22nd floor view though. Found cool graffiti and snacked at many stops. Political rallies were happening. I don’t know enough about the Government here, but it appears the people want to have a voice. Also it was very patriotic, the most flags I’ve ever seen in any concentrated area. Dozens at a time.

My best day was going to Valparaiso, the urban, hip, old school, spray painted, artsy part of town by the beach. Where societies rejected heros went for inspiration, creative types, beatniks, poets and writers, artists expressing their values on the streets walls. It was my jam and I wish I stayed there the whole time rather than in Santiago.  European settlers re-built it several times as it still, to this day, is frequently earthquake prone. You could see down the colourful hills to the oceanfront of Viña del Mar, where I smelled and came face to face with the large sea lions.

Cats and dogs dominant and yet loved in the streets. Anti-American establishment, no Mcdicks, no Shell gas, no Starbucks, only Chilean run businesses. Murals on every single corner, it would take days to look at them all. I only saw a portion and was in absolute awe.

Taking the road trip tour through Maipu was long but worthy. Got to immerse myself in the natural, thermal mud baths from the volcanic run offs that were sulphuric, healing and fucking hot as hell! It felt liberating, especially against the cold air on your skin coming out.  .

This view is why I travel … more to come soon

© Tabytha Towe January 2026
Tabytha has been documenting her life and travels since she was fifteen years old on Hackwriters.