Kate Frost

 The long drive back seemed to take forever.  By now we were covered with so much dust that each time we left the car we shed a coat or two of yellow powder.   We seemed to have the whole wide space around us to ourselves. Even the snobbish guanacos and seemingly neurotic rhea had disappeared for the day seeking refuge in their colour and the privacy of the hills beyond the road.   By the time we arrived back at the estancia, a group of young tourism students had arrived and this made us appreciate even more, the privilege of having been the only guests during the previous day and night.  The following morning our luck with the weather held as there was not a cloud in the sky and the mountains were admiring their reflection in the still waters of the lake below the Mirador del Paine.  After breakfast we took one long last look across to the Massif and the magnificent mountains as they stood so clear and strong and bold against the sky.  We banged and jolted back down the road one more time, Len driving with the more comfortable attitude and relaxed demeanour that came with a certain feeling for and familiarity with the terrain and rugged roads.  We were returning to Puerto Natales with a feeling of regret that we could not have spent a few more days wallowing in the luxurious hospitality of the Hosteria and marvelling at the beauty all around.

The simple process of re-entering Puerto Natales took on mammoth proportions as we encountered blocked off streets and a military band in full regalia, ready to parade.  A teeth grinding fifteen minutes later we managed to negotiate the one way system, avoided the band and left the car in the first space we could find.  There were no parking spaces as such, just room on the roadside here and there.  We’d found out that there was an earlier bus to our next destination of Punta Arenas and were determined to catch it.  We changed our tickets but had to return the car to the rental agent and retrieve the credit card form we’d left with him as surety against serious damage to the car.  This was quite laughable as the car was such a wreck when we picked it up and we had our suspicions that it was not actually a rental car at all.  It was in a dreadful state with dents, scratches, cracked windows and an accumulation of junk both inside the car and in the boot.  Our rendezvous time came and went and after an anxious two hours, four phone calls, three trips around the corner to the ‘office’, interspersed with frantic banging on the door and windows, we finally managed to rouse the man from his afternoon siesta in the room behind the counter.  Few words were exchanged and those that were remain unprintable!  We clambered aboard the bus with a few minutes to spare and settled down for the three hour drive across the pampas to Punta Arenas.