After spending almost eight months living in Argentina and backpacking around South America, I decided enough was enough. I needed to see the glaciers in Patagonia no matter what. I booked a flight and headed out the next day from Buenos Aires. A big mistake I made was failing to reserve a dorm room, as I wandered the freezing streets of Calafate for hours, lugging my backpack around, preparing to become an icicle that night. Luckily, I found a dorm room with five laid back Israeli guys and one affectionate kitten.
The next day, I took a bus to Perito Moreno National Park, where I embarked on a cruise ship with an onslaught of Spanish and Argentine tourists. We navigated around the glaciers, watching as large pieces of ice broke off and crashed powerfully into the water below. It was the coldest weather I’d ever experienced up to that point in my life- but the fact that my entire face was numb didn’t bother me in the least. The immense, jagged, celeste blue formations surrounded me, juxtaposed by splashes of rich, army green trees. Even in the midst of my exhaustion, after having seen the vibrant colors of Bolivia, the spiritual prowess of Machu Picchu, the foggy mystique of Ecuador’s Cotopaxi, and the permeating tranquility of Lake Titicaca, it felt like I was traveling for the first time again. I absorbed the landscape with voracious eyes, pondering the beauty of the world and how fortunate I was to behold such a gorgeous, wild phenomenon.