The wind was the first thing I noticed. It wasn’t just a breeze; it was a force of nature—howling, unrelenting, alive. As I stepped off the tiny plane in El Calafate, Argentina, it greeted me like an old friend who had been waiting impatiently. It was my first taste of Patagonia, and it immediately stripped away any illusions I had of taming this landscape. Here, nature doesn’t whisper—it roars.
El Calafate: Gateway to Ice
El Calafate is more than a pit stop—it’s a frontier town that pulses with glacier-chasing energy. Nestled beside the milky-blue waters of Lago Argentino, it hums with trekkers, local artisans, and the occasional guanaco wandering into view. But for most travelers, including me, it’s the launchpad to Parque Nacional Los Glaciares and its crown jewel: the Perito Moreno Glacier.
The next morning, I boarded a bus that wound through golden steppe and deepening sky until the glacier revealed itself—looming and surreal. I stood on the viewing platforms, stunned by its scale and sound. Every few minutes, a crack echoed across the valley as a chunk of ice collapsed into the water below, sending mist into the air like a spirit rising. It’s one thing to read that Perito Moreno is 19 miles long and constantly advancing—it’s another to feel it thunder beside you.
I took a boat excursion to get closer. From the deck, the ice wall towered above us, serrated and brilliant, a frozen cathedral. In that moment, everything felt small—my thoughts, my plans, even time itself. Patagonia has a way of humbling you.
El Chaltén: Trekking Capital of Argentina
From El Calafate, I took a scenic bus ride north to El Chaltén, a village that seems like it was invented by hikers for hikers. The town sits beneath the mythical Mount Fitz Roy, a jagged massif that only reveals itself on clear days—and I got lucky.
My first full day, I set out early for the Laguna de los Tres hike. The trail starts gently, winding through lenga forest and along roaring rivers, before it kicks up into the kind of punishing climb that makes you question every decision in your life. But at the summit, all doubts vanished. Laguna de los Tres shimmered beneath Fitz Roy, its glacial waters glowing turquoise, the peaks behind it clawing at the sky.
There’s a quiet community on the trail—fellow travelers who share snacks, encouragement, and awed silence. Back in town, I devoured handmade empanadas and malbec while listening to tales of pumas spotted, injuries narrowly avoided, and new friendships formed. El Chaltén isn’t just a trekking hub—it’s a place where people become more human through shared exhaustion and wonder.
Crossing into Chile: A Border Beyond Roads
Leaving Argentina, I crossed the border into Chile via an overland route that felt like stepping into a dream. Remote outposts, gravel roads, and endless horizons marked the journey to Torres del Paine National Park. The Chilean side of Patagonia has its own character—wilder, wetter, greener.
As we entered the park, the Torres revealed themselves: three granite spires piercing the sky like cosmic needles. If Fitz Roy is elegant, the Torres are brutal—raw and elemental. I stayed in a simple lodge near Lago Pehoé, where every window framed a masterpiece. Here, weather is a language, and you learn to read the clouds.
I attempted the famous Base of the Towers hike, a grueling ascent with a final scramble over boulders. When I reached the viewpoint, rain blew sideways and the towers were shrouded in mist. And still, I wept. There’s a beauty in not conquering nature, in simply being allowed to witness it.
Later that evening, I watched wild guanacos graze under a pink sky. The silence felt sacred.
Reflections on Patagonia
Patagonia isn’t a place you check off—it’s a place that changes you. Its beauty is not convenient or curated. You don’t just “go see” it. You endure it. You become part of it. There’s windburn and wet socks, yes—but also moments of stillness that feel eternal.
In Argentina, the terrain taught me resilience. In Chile, it taught me reverence. Everywhere, Patagonia reminded me how rare and urgent wildness is.
I left with mud on my boots, a glacier’s echo in my ears, and a heart cracked open a little wider than before.
Travel Tips for Patagonia Adventurers
1. Pack for Four Seasons in a Day: Patagonia is infamous for changing weather. You’ll need waterproof gear, layers, and sturdy hiking boots—especially if you’re trekking in both El Chaltén and Torres del Paine.
2. Time Your Trip Right: November through March are peak months with the best weather, but also the most tourists. Shoulder season (October and April) offers fewer crowds and raw beauty.
3. Get Offline: Many parts of Patagonia have no cell service or Wi-Fi. Embrace the digital detox and let nature recalibrate you.
4. Respect the Wild: Stay on marked trails, pack out your trash, and leave no trace. Patagonia’s ecosystems are fragile and irreplaceable.
5. Don’t Rush It: This isn’t a weekend getaway. Give yourself time to get windblown, delayed, lost, and amazed.
6. Get a Passport for your Car Too: The border between Argentina and Chile requires a special certificate for your rental car.
Final Thoughts
As I look back, some of my most vivid memories weren’t the iconic views but the quiet moments in between—the click of my camera as I framed a guanaco against a crimson sunset, the stillness of a pre-dawn hike in Torres del Paine where it felt like the mountains and I were the only ones awake, or the simple joy of sipping mate with locals in El Chaltén. Patagonia sharpened my eye as a photographer and softened my heart as a traveler. In many ways, it mirrored what I’ve been searching for all along: the ability to be fully present, to embrace discomfort, and to tell stories that reflect the rawness of both nature and the human spirit. It wasn’t just an escape; it was a kind of return—to earth, to self, to stillness.
Somewhere between El Calafate and Torres Del Paine, I stopped trying to capture Patagonia and just started living it. I let the wind write its own story on my skin. I let the mountains speak without trying to answer. And I carried those moments home—not in photos, but in the spaces they carved open inside me.
BONUS: Two Nights in Buenos Aires
Before heading south, I spent a night in Buenos Aires, and the contrast between the sprawling capital and the wilderness that followed couldn’t have been starker. The city had a rhythm all its own—melancholic and electric at once. On my first evening, I wandered the cobbled streets of San Telmo, where antique shops spilled out onto the sidewalks and tango music drifted through the air like perfume. I found a corner pizza bar with that felt like an italian street – people bustled in and out. There was something grounding about the chaos, a reminder that this country pulses with life even in its most worn corners.
The final night, on our return from Patagonia and in transit back to Los Angeles we made my way to Palermo, a neighborhood that felt like Mexico City but with better steak. My friend Matt and I went to a parrilla where we shared two giant slabs of steak at what was billed the best steakhouse in the world. We talked about politics, art, and how Patagonia changes you. In Buenos Aires, I felt the edge of the continent, but also the heart of it—a place where past and present constantly collide, and where every conversation feels like it might lead to a new philosophy or a long night.
Windswept Horizons: A Journey Through Argentinian Patagonia and Chile
The wind was the first thing I noticed. It wasn’t just a breeze; it was a force of nature—howling, unrelenting, alive. As I stepped off the tiny plane in El Calafate, Argentina, it greeted me like an old friend who had been waiting impatiently. It was my first taste of Patagonia, and it immediately stripped away any illusions I had of taming this landscape. Here, nature doesn’t whisper—it roars.
El Calafate: Gateway to Ice
El Calafate is more than a pit stop—it’s a frontier town that pulses with glacier-chasing energy. Nestled beside the milky-blue waters of Lago Argentino, it hums with trekkers, local artisans, and the occasional guanaco wandering into view. But for most travelers, including me, it’s the launchpad to Parque Nacional Los Glaciares and its crown jewel: the Perito Moreno Glacier.
The next morning, I boarded a bus that wound through golden steppe and deepening sky until the glacier revealed itself—looming and surreal. I stood on the viewing platforms, stunned by its scale and sound. Every few minutes, a crack echoed across the valley as a chunk of ice collapsed into the water below, sending mist into the air like a spirit rising. It’s one thing to read that Perito Moreno is 19 miles long and constantly advancing—it’s another to feel it thunder beside you.
I took a boat excursion to get closer. From the deck, the ice wall towered above us, serrated and brilliant, a frozen cathedral. In that moment, everything felt small—my thoughts, my plans, even time itself. Patagonia has a way of humbling you.
El Chaltén: Trekking Capital of Argentina
From El Calafate, I took a scenic bus ride north to El Chaltén, a village that seems like it was invented by hikers for hikers. The town sits beneath the mythical Mount Fitz Roy, a jagged massif that only reveals itself on clear days—and I got lucky.
My first full day, I set out early for the Laguna de los Tres hike. The trail starts gently, winding through lenga forest and along roaring rivers, before it kicks up into the kind of punishing climb that makes you question every decision in your life. But at the summit, all doubts vanished. Laguna de los Tres shimmered beneath Fitz Roy, its glacial waters glowing turquoise, the peaks behind it clawing at the sky.
There’s a quiet community on the trail—fellow travelers who share snacks, encouragement, and awed silence. Back in town, I devoured handmade empanadas and malbec while listening to tales of pumas spotted, injuries narrowly avoided, and new friendships formed. El Chaltén isn’t just a trekking hub—it’s a place where people become more human through shared exhaustion and wonder.
Crossing into Chile: A Border Beyond Roads
Leaving Argentina, I crossed the border into Chile via an overland route that felt like stepping into a dream. Remote outposts, gravel roads, and endless horizons marked the journey to Torres del Paine National Park. The Chilean side of Patagonia has its own character—wilder, wetter, greener.
As we entered the park, the Torres revealed themselves: three granite spires piercing the sky like cosmic needles. If Fitz Roy is elegant, the Torres are brutal—raw and elemental. I stayed in a simple lodge near Lago Pehoé, where every window framed a masterpiece. Here, weather is a language, and you learn to read the clouds.
I attempted the famous Base of the Towers hike, a grueling ascent with a final scramble over boulders. When I reached the viewpoint, rain blew sideways and the towers were shrouded in mist. And still, I wept. There’s a beauty in not conquering nature, in simply being allowed to witness it.
Later that evening, I watched wild guanacos graze under a pink sky. The silence felt sacred.
Reflections on Patagonia
Patagonia isn’t a place you check off—it’s a place that changes you. Its beauty is not convenient or curated. You don’t just “go see” it. You endure it. You become part of it. There’s windburn and wet socks, yes—but also moments of stillness that feel eternal.
In Argentina, the terrain taught me resilience. In Chile, it taught me reverence. Everywhere, Patagonia reminded me how rare and urgent wildness is.
I left with mud on my boots, a glacier’s echo in my ears, and a heart cracked open a little wider than before.
Travel Tips for Patagonia Adventurers
1. Pack for Four Seasons in a Day: Patagonia is infamous for changing weather. You’ll need waterproof gear, layers, and sturdy hiking boots—especially if you’re trekking in both El Chaltén and Torres del Paine.
2. Time Your Trip Right: November through March are peak months with the best weather, but also the most tourists. Shoulder season (October and April) offers fewer crowds and raw beauty.
3. Get Offline: Many parts of Patagonia have no cell service or Wi-Fi. Embrace the digital detox and let nature recalibrate you.
4. Respect the Wild: Stay on marked trails, pack out your trash, and leave no trace. Patagonia’s ecosystems are fragile and irreplaceable.
5. Don’t Rush It: This isn’t a weekend getaway. Give yourself time to get windblown, delayed, lost, and amazed.
6. Get a Passport for your Car Too: The border between Argentina and Chile requires a special certificate for your rental car.
Final Thoughts
As I look back, some of my most vivid memories weren’t the iconic views but the quiet moments in between—the click of my camera as I framed a guanaco against a crimson sunset, the stillness of a pre-dawn hike in Torres del Paine where it felt like the mountains and I were the only ones awake, or the simple joy of sipping mate with locals in El Chaltén. Patagonia sharpened my eye as a photographer and softened my heart as a traveler. In many ways, it mirrored what I’ve been searching for all along: the ability to be fully present, to embrace discomfort, and to tell stories that reflect the rawness of both nature and the human spirit. It wasn’t just an escape; it was a kind of return—to earth, to self, to stillness.
Somewhere between El Calafate and Torres Del Paine, I stopped trying to capture Patagonia and just started living it. I let the wind write its own story on my skin. I let the mountains speak without trying to answer. And I carried those moments home—not in photos, but in the spaces they carved open inside me.
BONUS: Two Nights in Buenos Aires
Before heading south, I spent a night in Buenos Aires, and the contrast between the sprawling capital and the wilderness that followed couldn’t have been starker. The city had a rhythm all its own—melancholic and electric at once. On my first evening, I wandered the cobbled streets of San Telmo, where antique shops spilled out onto the sidewalks and tango music drifted through the air like perfume. I found a corner pizza bar with that felt like an italian street – people bustled in and out. There was something grounding about the chaos, a reminder that this country pulses with life even in its most worn corners.
The final night, on our return from Patagonia and in transit back to Los Angeles we made my way to Palermo, a neighborhood that felt like Mexico City but with better steak. My friend Matt and I went to a parrilla where we shared two giant slabs of steak at what was billed the best steakhouse in the world. We talked about politics, art, and how Patagonia changes you. In Buenos Aires, I felt the edge of the continent, but also the heart of it—a place where past and present constantly collide, and where every conversation feels like it might lead to a new philosophy or a long night.
dhavalilama