First Stop in Argentina

It’s inevitable when traveling to hit a low point. We arrived in El Calafate, Argentina, by bus today. It’s a charming town with artesanal chocolate and ice cream, bakeries, cafes and coffee shops. Dogs wander the streets and flop in front of the doors of tour agencies, bookstores, and stores with Gore-Tex gear and hiking boots.

I’m overwhelmed, though, by the options, and much of what’s here is set up for trekkers. I am in mid-life and not fit for trekking. The young and fit gather supplies, and I feel woefully inadequate and, well, old. Shorter hikes are OK, if not too much altitude is involved, but trekking, nope.

My marido’s idea of a vacation is to keep busy, to leave at 8:00 every morning for hiking or sightseeing. Up and at it. Mine is a little slower. I like to take it easy. Sleep in. Read books. Watch the world go by from a café or park bench. So sometimes we compromise. This trip is different from others because I’m not working, and usually when I’m out of the U.S., I am.

The next few days are shaping up to be a short hike (2 hours over rocks) to a really incredible glacier, and then a couple of days for him to do some serious hiking and me to put my feet up and read a novel. It’s hard to come to terms with aging, especially, when in my mind, I’m not much older than the trek set. But in reality, I am, and it’s sometimes hard to come to terms with that.