Whales and a Dusty Tour

I wake up to another breakfast of dry toast, marmelada and weak coffee before being called, along with the Irish couple in my room, to the tour bus. We are touring the wilds of Peninsula Valdez today, guided by our tall, unshaven reggae loving guide, Marco. We see capyberas, rheas and guanacos. The driver slams on the brakes and backs up every time we spot some Patagonic fauna.

We start the morning at Puerto Piramedes where whale watching vessels are being towed to and fro on the beach. A retriever wades in the gulf for a long while. Groups pass by in long yellow raincoats and the standard orange life jackets to board raft style boats which are situated closer to the water and closer to the whales. One such raft was named "Moby Dick." We board one of the regular boats.

We quickly spot a right whale and her calf. The captain of the boat has a timbre of genuine excitement in his voice when we spot the whale breaching or showing tail. At one point we are surrounded by whales. A calf comes up to investigate the boat and slides underneath. They sometimes surface showing the white, wart like growths on their heads.

Our group boards the van and continues on to a long peninsula composed of a sand deposition, also the beach side haven for a few dozen sea lions. I spot the tall Israeli and his red headed girlfriend who I hiked with at Aconcagua. I wave and say hello, but don’t linger for small talk.

We file behind an endless string of buses each one towing along a dust plume. The rumbling ride over gravel is growing monotonous and I am reminded why I avoid tours. I think about getting back and picking up my laundry and buying a ticket to Bariloche. I eat one last pizza, from the favored café, with Serrano ham, which I can barely tear through with my teeth.