Time for a quick lesson on the history of the Welsh settlement of Patagonia. Several or more years ago the welsh pioneers (who for the purposes of national stereotyping we shall call Dafydd and Llewelyn, along with their sheep, Myfanwy) decided to up sticks and leave Wales- an understandable decision. They chartered a lovespoon and, using leeks for oars, crossed the dangerous and wild Atlantic ocean. Turning their noses up at the tropical beaches of Brazil and the gleaming spires of the Southern Andes, they fetched up upon a grey, flat, rainy and windswept peninsula, whereupon they narrowly bested the natives at rugby and, after an Eistedfodd of Thanksgiving, stuck a daffodil in the ground and claimed the land for the Welsh Empire.
I know all of this because we visited the Museum of All Things Welsh in Puerto Madryn. Actually, that's a lie: we had intended to visit, but it was too far away. Instead we went to the oceanography museum where they had a giant squid in formeldahyde, so I have filled in the gaps in the above historical narrative slightly.
However or whyever the Welsh arrived, apparently they did and their lasting legacy is a number of Welsh teahouses selling 'torta galesa' at ludicrous prices and an unshakeable devotion to Diana, Princess of Wales (you see what they did there). The tourist blurb promises an authentic welsh village experience. I suspect the tourist board were rather banking on no-one from Real Wales ever coming to check the veracity of this claim. Although I suppose there is a passing resemblance to the outlying buildings of the power station at Port Talbot. Anyway, there was little of the Pembrokeshire villages to coo over on the rainlashed Friday morning we visited. No one was speaking welsh either, although there was a school in which people were taught in both welsh and spanish. In vain we searched for alumni- imagine the accent!- but there was no one about. Even the tearooms were shut;they don't open until 3pm when the tourist horde arrives- another fact carelessly overlooked by the guidebook. Reasoning that we weren't going to pay for these anyway, since we required all our arms and legs, and since we were becoming dangerously hysterical at the underwhelming nature of the trip we had embarked on, we bought a welshcake from the supermarket and determined to get as much value from the experience as possible we conducted it around town doing an impromptu photoshoot before we caught the next bus home. Supplemented with wine, the welsh cake was rather good. Later the Welsh won the rugby and we didn't, which seemed reasonable revenge for all my sniping.
From Wales to Whales, the other reason that people flock to the Valdes Peninsula. This is a breeding and feeding ground for the Southern Right Whale (look it up). They spend half the year here having babies and congregating offshore. On a clear day you can walk out from puerto Madryn to a beach where they come in close to the shoreline and watch them gliding around like friendly submarines, or you can go out on a boat to get a bit nearer. We did the walk first and were rewarded with several wonderful whales. We were close enough to hear them breathing. They make a weird sound when they do- like someone with a deep voice saying 'whoooooooorrrrr' down a metal dranpipe. For all I know, there could be someone hiding in the dunes with a metal drainppe, but the sound seemed to go with the whale. Later one followed us along the beach waving his flippers at us.
If this was as far as we got with the whales it would have been pretty damn cool but of course it got much better than this when we finally made it out onto the water for a close up encounter. The weather had been crap for several days prior to our trip, sending us slowly mad with cabin fever, and we had decided that come hell or high water we were going on Monday. Fortunately the sun came out although the sea was choppy enough to make Chris distinctly queasy and green. Fortunately as we all know I am exceptionally brave and was wearing a Captain Birdseye rubber cape so I managed to hold onto my sea legs.
If you ever get a chance to do whale watching, just do it. It is quite simply one of the most extraordinary things you will ever see. Southern Right Whales win no prizes for beauty, being knobbly all over and covered in patches of what look like barnacles, but the majesty and elegance with which they glide through the water is utterly compelling. You can feel your heart rate slowly down and all your muscles relaxing as you watch them. Whales are, it turns out, giant floating tranquilisers for the soul. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Eventually after some jumps and tail flicks we were rewarded for our patience when an inquisitive calf the size of a family car and its gigantic mother swam right alongside the boat. I could just about have touched them, if I was willing to fall in the ocean. I think I would have been.
Later we walked along the coast path to a look out point where you can see over the entire bay. From here you can watch distant waterspouts of twenty or thirty different whales and watching them rolling over in the sun and waving their fins in a slow salute. Argentina has declared the whales a natural wonderand part of the patrimony of humanity. Quite right too, and it quite made up for the tearooms.
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