When my plans to visit Southeast Asia fell through, it was pictures of Patagonia that lured me to South America. A desolate region of mountains and plains at the southernmost tip of Chile and Argentina, Patagonia is known for its natural beauty. I wanted to visit so badly, in spite of my low funds, that I braved a 35-hour bus ride for it. I wasn't disappointed. Even the bus ride was beautiful. As we drove across the Andes, we ran into a surprise snow storm. At the beginning of South American spring, these are rare, even in the mountains. The road was lined with frozen trees, their delicate green leaves and pink blossoms encased in sparkling ice. At sunset, we left the mountains behind and moved onto lakes and plains. There was nothing angular in the landscape -- even the mountains were curved. Everything seemed to flow into one another, as if it had all been made from the same lump of clay.

    I arrived in Punta Arenas, the gateway to Chilean Patagonia, at 7 in the evening. Tired after the long bus ride, I didn't bother to change out of my old shirt and tracksuit bottoms before I went to dinner. As I wandered through town, I noticed an unusual collection of drunk Americans. Why were there so many? At dinner, I found out. A U.S. Navy destroyer had docked in town that afternoon. Clearly starved for female companionship, a group of sailors (not drunk) invited me to share their table. Later we all went out for drinks. This sounds less trashy than it was. In fact, it's alarming how not trashy the evening was -- the boys were perfect gentleman. We passed the evening talking about Rodin and our favorite museums in Europe.

    The next morning I dragged myself out of bed early to catch the bus to Puerto Natales, the gateway to Parque Nacional Torres del Paine. I was dreading the thought of another bus ride. Perhaps that's why I dragged my feet and missed the bus. Three hours till the next departure, and I had already checked out of my hostel. With nothing better to do, I returned to the restaurant where I had picked up the sailors. The waiters remembered me and we had a great time chatting. Their patience was infinite. They were happy to repeat everything they said four or five times until I finally understood. We ran through the standard questions -- "are you married?" "do you have a boyfriend?" "you're traveling alone? without your father or your brother?! are you all right? would you like us to walk you to the bus station?" -- then laughed and joked for another hour. When it was time to go, they helped me on with my coat and backpack.

    The next day, from Puerto Natales, I visited Torres del Paine on a bus tour. This isn't an ideal way to see nature, but in the off-season, the refuges are closed and I'm certainly not an experienced or strong enough to hike with a full compliment of camping gear. After trekking to Macchu Picchu and through the Amazon Rainforest, being ferried from one beautiful sight to the next wasn't so bad. My tour was full of interesting people -- a young Korean couple, a Japanese girl traveling by herself for the first time, and a 75-year-old woman who urged me to stay young for the rest of my life. My favorite part of the park was Lago Grey, a lake adrift with icebergs from a nearby glacier. Chunks of blue ice floated serenely in the silvery water. It was impossible to look at the lake without feeling peaceful. Our tour guide fished a small chunk of ice from the water and served it with pisco sours, the national drink of Chile. It sounded like a cool idea until I noticed the pebbles and grass in my glass.

    The next stop in Patagonia was El Calafate, Argentina and Perito Moreno glacier. Knowing that visiting the glacier would entail a boat trip, I popped two dramamine (motion sickness pills) in the morning. I'm not clear on why I took two when I knew that one would suffice, but I regretted it later. I felt like Grandpa Simpson -- no matter where I was or what I was doing for the rest of the day, I could fall asleep. I didn't get seasick though. Exhaustion aside, the glacier was amazing. The bus drew closer and closer, allowing us to get off every 5 or 10 minutes at a lookout point. It was as if the glacier was growing before our eyes. From a distance, it looked like a smooth sheet of ice. Up close, we discovered that it was covered with jagged peaks. The serenity of nearby hiking trails was marred by the gunshot noises of "calving," the scientific term for chunks of ice falling off. Signs warned us not to jump over the guardrail lest we be killed by errant chunks of ice. Once on the boat, we watched in awe as great chunks of ice dropped into the lake. The massive waves rocked our little boat. The new ice bergs must have fallen a long way into the lake because I never saw one surface.

    Traveling overland through Patagonia proved to be an adventure. I loved (most) of the bus rides -- without a car of my own, it was the only way I could see the wide-open plains. They seemed to go on forever. Towns appeared out of nowhere without power lines or out-buildings to announce them. It was as if the buildings huddled together against the cold just like the people. In comparison the rest of Chile and Argentina, conditions were rough. The roads were often unpaved and truck stops were few and far between. Our bus to El Calafate was delayed when an errant flock of sheep surged around it, blocking the road. The bus to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world, was the worse than most of my trips through Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador. Most buses in Chile and Argentina are more comfortable than airplanes, but in this one, my legs nearly touched the back of the seat in front of me. Though it would be a 12-hour ride, there were no movies or TV. When the windows iced over, there was nowhere to look but at the head of the passenger in front of me. The road was unpaved and so rough that the driver placed a metal grill over the windshield to protect it from flying rocks. Twelve hours stretched into 18 and I arrived in Ushuaia, exhausted and bad-tempered, at midnight. My bad mood vanished as soon as I stepped out of my hostel the next morning. On one side were tall, jagged mountains and on the other, the beautiful Beagle Channel. I felt as if I was on the edge of the frontier.

    I spent the afternoon on a cruise through the Beagle Channel. The highlight was a visit to a sea lion colony. I've never seen an animal so good at lolling and wallowing. Unimpressed by the arrival of dozens of camera-happy tourists, they lied motionless on the rocks, fat bodies pressed comfortably together. They moved only to lift their heads and yawn. The next day, my last in Ushuaia, I went horseback riding. I've done that only once in recent memory, near the Pyramids in Egypt, and it was easy. In retrospect, I understand that that was because the Sahara Desert presents few attractions for a curious horse. The paths through the mountains of Patagonia, however, are lined with tasty shrubs and sparkling streams. My horse was very aware that I was not the boss. It thought nothing of dragging my feet through thorny bushes or whacking my head on low-hanging branches. Oblivious to my kicks and commands, it wandered off the trail to eat whenever the mood struck it. When the other horses got too far away, it trotted after them at a terrifying velocity. But even my horse's stubborness couldn't keep me from enjoying the outing. The views over the Beagle Channel and the mountains were amazing. A farm dog and her two puppies followed us the whole way, darting in and out of flowers and bushes. Since my horse was continually the last in line, I was often treated to the beautiful sight of my fellow riders silhoutted in the sun.

    Now I am in Buenos Aires, the last stop on my trip. It doesn't seem real that I'm going home in less than a week.

~Meredith