Wow! What a couple of days!
Yesterday I went to the
Museo Oceanografico
The spiral staircase around which the house is built
What a spectacular place! They had a very nice English translation handbook to take through the place with you that I insisted I didn´t need, but took anyway. I´m very glad that I did. I might not have fully grasped the philosophy behind the place had I not. The museum was an old Welsh house converted into a 3 story exhibit about Humans and our relationship with the Sea. On the first floor they had the flora and fauna of the area, and talked about the indigenous peoples´ relationship with the natural environment.
Yes - a giant frikkin squid...also known as THE KRAKEN!!
The 2nd floor talked about the cataloging and innate destruction of the natural environment. The 3rd floor talked about conservation and a return to the natural methods of producing fiber, harvesting fish, and living sustainably with the environment.
And finally on the very tip top was 4 windows that looked out over Puerto Madryn. Above each window was a picture from the turn of the century out each of the windows, so that we could see the changes. It was really, quite well done, and I was glad that I went back despite me trying it on Sunday, when it was closed.
After that I decided to go down to the water, do a little bit of beach combing as the tide was going out, and work my way around the bay to the other “museum”. A sort of aquarium with a touch pool and exhibits of (alive) sea life; El Centro. I found lots of cool stuff on the beach, including
these very interesting attractions
that are probably both very cool, and absolutely terrifying. What if it popped?!?! Now you´re all wrapped up in heavy duty plastic 50 meters out in the ocean! Ah well, I suppose it´s probably pretty safe.
I bought lunch at a bar on the beach
the only thing missing was you guys!
I made it all the way out to the point where there is
this large statue of a Tehuelchan Indian gazing out to sea,
only to go a little further and discover that El Centro is open from 10-1 when a cruise was in town (which it was) and then from 5-9. Yeah, I was there at 3. Awesome. I worked my way back around the bay (this time on the road) caught a picture or two of the aforementioned folk heroes:
and made it back to the hostel just in time to discover that I had a rip-roaring sunburn. (C´mon, it was just a stroll on the beach!!)
LOOK!! Campers!!
I met some more great folks at the hostel here. Linda and Jack from BC are seasoned travelers who have frequented South America, but this is their first time in this neck of the woods. I must say, it is inspiring to meet such great people traveling at their age. They told me about their experiences in Gaiman which only fired me up even more for my upcoming day there.
Something happened in the last couple of days. Lane (from Alaska) said it just right I think. My magnet has finally clicked over. My first couple of weeks here, my sense of direction, which is usually quite good!, was all haywire and I was getting lost quite easily in the cities – even with a map! Here in Puerto Madryn though, all of a sudden, I am finding my way around instinctively again. Except for this morning. Chock full of confidence in my newfound internal compass, I decided to go a different way to the bus station…and got lost. I had a general idea where I needed to go, but was definitely in new neighborhoods. (slightly more run-down neighborhoods) I stopped and asked a gentleman who was loading up his trunk where the terminal was and he pointed and told me 8 blocks that way. (8 blocks?!?! Jeez, I thought I was closer than that) I started walking, and a block and a half later I hear the guy calling to me from his car. I throw caution to the wind, and hopped in. He took me straight to the terminal, and we talked about his daughter who works here in Puerto Madryn, his job at a hotel in Buenos Aires, and then we might have talked about him calling me at the hostel tomorrow to go do…something…maybe something that has to do with penguins?? Maybe. He definitely took down the number of my hostel and my name. Ah well, I will be checked out tomorrow by 10. I hope he isn´t too offended. I was just so grateful for the ride, and kind of in a hurry to catch my 1030 bus.
I hopped an hour bus ride to Nearby Trelew, and then an inter-city bus to Gaiman – the Welsh settlement that was founded in the 1800´s here in Patagonia. I was a little nervous about it, seeing as I didn´t really have a plan beyond maybe having a cup of tea somewhere. All of a sudden when I got off the bus in Gaiman, I was more than a little nervous. There was nearly nobody around in the streets, I had no idea where to even find a tea house and I had to pee SO bad!
My dire physical needs had me frantically taking pictures of gardens as I irrationally walked past tea houses following signs to others.
I finally hit the river, found a little out of the way spot to clear my
bladder mind, and walked a couple of yards upstream. I finally came up the bank right smack in front of a manicured yard, and old-fashioned, authentic teahouse. I walked up to the front door, saw that it was 45 pesos per person (considered telling them I was 25 since children from 12-25 were only 20 pesos), and
almost left, but figured "eh, this is what I came here for" and oh my gosh, am I ever glad that I did:
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What a place! I feel so lucky to have found the tea house that I did. I´m the only one here, and the host; Miguel Owens, is full of knowledge and stories about the place that his great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, and now he, are a part of. The tables are all draped in lace cloth and the cups and place settings all seem to be waiting for an afternoon rush. I can´t imagine the people rushing in this place though. I imagine that it would, as it has done to me, slow everyone down as they enter. The cakes, biscuits, tea, and hospitality demand a bit more mindfulness than that. The music playing has a transportative, and somewhat soporific effect. The pipes, strings and accented vocals bring my own heritage into the front of my mind and in some ways, calls me home. They sumon images of rolling green pastures that give way to rocky hills and dark forests.
There is wheat bread, white bread, and biscuits. One of the jams is apricot, and the other made from the figs that are growing out back in the garden. Miguel tell sme that the selection of jams, cheeses and cakes change with the season as to what would be appropriate and satisfying. There are 6 different kinds of cakes.
A traditional fruitcake or "Torta Negra"
Applie Pie
Lemon Pie
Chocolate Cake
Cream Tart (which is apparently what everyone wants when they come - like getting a bagel in New York)
& a Framboise Tart (again changing seasonally)
There are slices of cheese as well, and of course - the tea. A family blend that is, in itself, a little taste of Wales. It is indeed, an elegant high tea!
Miguel takes me around the tea house and shows me the old furniture and tells me the stories behind them.
He was given pictures of his grandfather as a 9 year old boy this morning that he shows me. I can see the joy in his strikingly blue eyes and on his face in experiencing his own history and being able to share it with me.
He shows me a book of family trees of the Welsh families in the area that the oldest woman in Gaiman has spent half of her life putting together.
He tells me about how the Welsh settlers befriended the Tehuelche Indians - who led them to the river and exchanged cultures (and bread for meat) making it possible for them to thrive here in Patagonia.
He encourages me to take my time, step away from the table, and walk through the garden.
I wondered if this had been a good decision - coming to town with no plans - now I see that I have discovered a wonderful gem - its value lying in the generosity, heritage, and calm of the place.
I finally leave after 2.5 hours with a bag of his family´s tea, a wonderful, locally made, seaweed cream (something I had been looking for for the burn, but did not expect to find here) and a list of places to see in Gaiman before I leave.
-The hand-dug train tunnel
-The new museum which is an old, converted house of a famous poet (Evan Thomas) that has all original furniture (donated by Miguel´s grandfather) and housewares.
-The 1st House of Gaiman (made from white stones taken from the hills nearby)
-The plaza, in which the annual competition of poets and artists is held and apparently draws thousands of Welsh travelers every year - a handmade chair goes to the winner!
Miguel tells me that the Welsh are a people who always have their door open and food on the table. I have certainly found that here today. (He even insisted on filling my camelbak before I left!)
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I went to the museum that Miguel had told me about and what a GREAT experience. It was all old original things just like he told me. It was just me and the woman who lived across the street. She showed me everything! I got to touch and smell and experience the place. There were pictures of people sitting around the table with the very flatware that was sitting on the table!! I saw
his old printing press,
a wedding dress,
correspondances from Wales,
and even listened to the old, original record player. (and so much more!!)
Evan Thomas winning his chair with the carpenter next to him.
(and oh yes, the chair in the picture was just below the picture)
What a great day! On my way back from the museum I finally stopped and asked these punky looking kids if I could play one song on their guitar - they said yes! While I was playing they apparently poured me a beer and insisted I drink it when I was done. Right as I was feeling like it was time to move on, my bus pulle dup across the street. I told them I had to go, they wished me luck, and I made it back to Puerto Madryn and my hostel in time to enjoy Linda and Jack´s hospitality once again, this time with a piece of chocolate cake!
I head south tomorrow to Comodoro Rivadavia to stay with a couchsurfing family, and I will soon after that continue south to Ushuaia. For now though I must go which only leaves one last thing:
La Palabra Tehuelchen del dia:
Gaiman: Tip of a sharp rock
