I Got My Hair Pierced in El Bolson.

It seems like a land that would draw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I grew up adoring that movie, never knowing it wasn't entirely true. My dad, who introduced me to Butch and the Kid, gave me In Patagonia before we left for Christmas. It touches upon the legend of the Wild Bunch and their addiction to hold-ups. Lloyd and I are in El Calafate now, in the heart of Patagonia. The town is full of watery-eyed, gortex-clad, walking stick-toting tourists, who come to walk amongst giants- the famed glaciars of Patagonia. The wind is incessant, and so seems to uproot the majority of the surrounding flora, save for some blustered wildflowers. Artisan chocolate and slow smoked lamb smatter menus. Microbrews and malbec are guzzled while the sun circles the sky lazily, never fully commiting to the concept of setting for a full nights rest. Parrilla is on every menu, and visible from every restaurant window. A meager, smoky fire sits under inclining steak stretched thin and taut over a wooden cross. Glaciers and ice capped mountains always seem to sit just on the other side of the range, accessible by inventive transport methods- mountain bike, 4x4, horse, or boat. The fruit is surprisingly fantastic, and we are frequently offered fresh raspberry jam, small bowls of cherries and, curiously, a plethora of nectarines, whose orchards surely cannot survive a windy, snowy life in Patagonia. Aside from empanadas, fast food life is limited. This is a culture of restaurants and slow cooked meat. Even beverages are slow. Yerba is a drink that requires an immense amount of intricate rituals. Mine is a wooden cup, made from trees up in the north west near Salta. I've been told that the flavor of this wood affects the yerba so dramatically that most people prefer gourds or metal. You fill your mate (the cup) 2/3 of the way with yerba (the tea like substance that Argentines inhale). Placing your hand on the top of the cup, dump the yerba out onto your hand and reverse back into the cup, thus allowing the silt to stick to your hand. Wipe your hand on your jeans, or Lloyd's jeans, as the case may be. Create a mini-hill in the cup after you dig your straw into the yerba, then pour hot, NOT BOILING, water onto the bottom of the hill, the opposite way your would pour a beer to avoid head. Refill infinite number of times. Enjoy. Tada!