As we pass the controls at Paso Don Guillermo, we find ourselves at the border of Chile and Argentina.  Lancha Carrera then Santa Cruz, and here we are in Argentina.  We spot a marked difference right away; perhaps the deathly inflation rate of over 200% influences the geography of place and people. Starting with the littered landscape and the dozens of dead guanacos in rigor mortis roadside, I sense the chaos and unruliness of Argentina to Chilean order and control. 

We head up the motorway to the small border town of El Calafate, on the shoreline of Lago Argentina, the largest and deepest freshwater lake in the country. The lake flanks an entire swath of glaciers, some of which we will get dangerously close to: the Upsala, Viedma, Pope Pius XI, and the Perito Moreno Glacier all in the Los Glaciares National Park in Argentina. In preparation, we make a stop at the Glaciarium, the Patagonian Ice Museum, dedicated to the interpretation of glaciers. It provides an education on the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the early explorers and scientists, how snow turns into ice, and how glaciers move. Alongside Chile, Argentina stretches over the third largest ice field after Antarctica and Greenland. 

We settle into El Calafate, a town of about 25,000 bustling with wanderers, tourists, and ne’er do gooders. Next morning, we depart from Punta Banderas and board the Estancia Cristina ship toward Upsala Glacier and later to Estancia Cristina itself—the ranch that put this land on the map of the world. We watch icebergs stand in sculptural magnificence in the North Channel, and when we return at the end of the day, we see that the iceberg has changed orientation—it is now flipped bottom-up. We ride a 4×4 to an overlook for the Upsala Glacier.  This is an open schoolhouse of nature, where one can view the entire range of an interconnected universe. 

Deep in the heart of the Argentinian Patagonia, Estancia Cristina is only accessible via a 3-hour boat ride from El Calafate, sitting in the middle of 3000 square miles of rugged Patagonian wilderness. Cristina Estancia is named for Joseph and Jessie Masters’ daughter, Cristina, who died in her young 20s. The Masters were English immigrants who founded the Estancia in 1914 and lived there till 1997, when the last remaining family members passed away. 

A gem of a museum on the Estancia showcases the rich history of Estancia Cristina and the story of the Masters’ family’s obsession with Patagonia. It is filled with details from daily life—who the Masters were, the impact that they had on the land and its people even as new immigrants. From shearing equipment to carriage fittings, mountaineering equipment to milking technology–the museum has it all.

The journey to the Upsala Glacier is precarious and not for the faint at heart. From the overlook, we view a benign and pristine scene, but a reminder emerges from deep in its belly ever so often. Crackling rifle shots pierces the air, sudden bursts of water resemble gun-shot wounds. Snow hydrologists tell us that these are the sounds of the glaciers giving, of breathing and moving and moaning—making its presence known. 

The Perito Moreno Glacier likewise is a massive structure of ice filled with crevasses pockmarking its surface. The till and moraine of the silt lines the sides of the pristine glacier in caramel goop. The immovable block of ice exists as a source of great beauty and catastrophe at the same time.

In Chile, we have encountered Magellan, Ladrilleros, Bernardo O’Higgins, among others. In Argentina, we hear of explorers Moreno, Fitzroy, Prichard, and Masters. In each Patagonia, the landscape is different, Argentina is made up of active glaciers versus the Chilean mountains, lakes and deep valleys carved out by glacial activity. Argentinian Patagonia is dry and rugged, scrabbled together with vegetation that can be described as “xelic”–  it can hold water without getting dehydrated. Chilean Patagonia is made up of dense forests and rugged mountains which are lushly green. Even to a new traveler, each Patagonia looks distinct in its geography and temperament.

Patagonia reaffirms for me yet again that death and life live in proximate reality to the other. Both are intrinsic parts of this same, one life and both are meant to make us whole.