A northward drive to the "eight lakes" and the much touted town of San Martin de Los Andes. Exactly why it is much touted is still a mystery to me, but anyway, it is the place to be if you want to spend time in this part of the lake district.
The road to San Martin started with four attempts at finding our way out of Bariloche which, given the fact that the town only has two main streets, seemed to defy logic. Eventually we found a side alley behind someone's backyard that eventually led to Route 40, and the open road was ours. This was my first experience of Graham's driving which, I was soon to find out, often combines cavalier bravado with momentary lapses in concentration. Also, for a first-class degree from Bristol University, an astounding non-comprehension of the fact that if you wheel spin on gravel, the tyres will very soon wear out.
Regardless of this, the first hour of driving was a pure joy as we snaked between the yellow and green mountains of Patagonia in autumn. The sky was patchy in parts but there was no threat of rain. I can't remember what we were talking about but it was funny.
Now, at some point we knew we had to make a left turn, the only problem being we had no frame of reference of where we actually were on the map. This is because the map we were using showed Bariloche being a mere half a centimetre away from San Martin. A map of the world would have been more detailed.
As it happens, there are several ways to make this journey and the left turn we chose was the same one that mountain bikers and cross country motorcyclists choose for sheer difficulty. As we passed Patagonia's version of Kashmir, I found myself actually talking to the car to give it moral support. I really thought it would drop dead.
Well past nightfall we finally arrived at the Seate Flora hotel, by which time we were too exhausted to go to a restaurant and happily settled for whatever food they were able to offer us on the last day before closing for autumn.
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