After a relatively calm period, with less dog attacks, than
I’d experienced in
Tierra del Fuego,
Chile and
Santa
Cruz, I even escaped attack from some of the street
dogs in Bariloche. Though, that was probably because I’d made good friends with
Negra; the adopted dog of the Patanuk hostel- they would never come near me if
the smelled the scent of Negra! However, things were about to change in El
Bolson!
El Bolson may well be described as a laid back, hippy
paradise; but nobody has told the dogs yet. On my birthday, you’ll recall I
decided that a day of fishing was in order. There were so many signs saying
that you need permits, I decided an organised session was what was needed. I
was speaking to a guy in this internet cafe and he gave me the details of a place
to go for an organised trip. After a chat with Silvano, I decided that I’d
cycle down to book the trip. The feeling of cycling without the burden of
trailer full of camping gear is brilliant and, I thought, less likely to spook
El Perro. I was wrong! As I was cycling into town from the hotel, I heard a dog
barking and instinctively slowed down. As it continued to bark, I got off
the bike and walked. That normally ensures a loss of interest. The challenge of
trying to tear of a leg muscle is nowhere near as good, when the cyclist isn’t
cycling. This was the most horrid ugly mongrel which was snarling and snapping
as it dashed for me. I lifted the bike up and held it out to keep a degree of
separation (as advised by all the best “how to handle dogs when you’re cycling”
books). This evil beast was having none of it. It tried to get around the bike,
under it and over it. My jabbing movements with the bike was having no effect.
It was all for having calve, thigh, hand, arm, neck; or anything it could get its
teeth into!
At this point a guy came out of his house. I at first
thought it might be his dog, and was prepared to take him out instead of the
dog; but he opened the gate and invited me in. The dog continued bark and snarl
at the gate. I said thanks to the guy. He said “fucking dog- needs to be shot”.
Perfect English, perfect response. It eventually went away as I walked towards
the guy’s door. We chatted and explained what I was doing. He suggested that I
might want to carry a gun! The dog got bored and I waited until it was out of
sight. I then headed down to do my uneventful and typically unproductive day of
fishing! It was relaxing and I met this German guy who invited me back to his
place for a birthday celebration. I explained I had to get back to Bariloche,
(a) because I need to get into
Chile
in the next few days and (b), because Patanuk insisted that I join them for a
party.
This guy moved from
Munster
20 years ago and he and his wife and a whole community of Europeans lived about
30km outside El Bolson in what could be best described as a hippy commune. He
was clearly worse for wear having a near empty bottle of
Quilmes in hand. He explained that he was an
artist. I didn’t ask which art form; it seemed obvious! We had a chat about
what I was doing and he explained to me what I the sort of natural food of the
land I might want to consider! Knowing me however, I would find the poisonous
berries, so decided that I would listen, but perhaps leave it to Bear Gryllis
to eat the food of the land! I’ll stick with porridge, magi soup and pasta!
So with uneventful fishing complete, I aimed for Bariloche
and for my birthday celebrations.
