The Cruce de Lagos (lake passage) is the only direct passage between Bariloche, Argentina and Puerto Montt or Puerto Varas, Chile. The route crosses three lakes and is covered by catamaran and bus.

Our host, Gaston Bobillier, wanted to make sure our Patagonian adventure would encounter no unexpected obstacles, so he planned the trip by rehearsing it himself weeks in advance. The plan he devised began with transporting his Range Rover from Santiago to Temuco by rail. The four of us (Gaston, Martita, Carol, and I) would fly to Temuco, transfer to the Range Rover, and drive to Pucón. We would spend a few days in Pucón, at the Gran Hotel on Lake Villarrica, and go whitewater rafting on the Trancura River and climb the Villarrica volcano. Then we would get back in the car and drive to San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina. Our trip would take us across scenic dairyland, through Germanic alpine villages, through national parks of majestic alerce (redwood) and araucaria forests, and into the beautiful city of San Carlos de Bariloche. We would spend two days touring Bariloche. In Bariloche, we would meet Gaston's chauffeur, Freddy, who would be vacationing in Bariloche with his wife, having arrived a couple of days earlier. Freddy would take us to the embarkation point for our lake-crossing trip, and drive the car back to Puerto Varas, Chile via an overland route. We would cross the lakes into Puerto Varas, recover the car from Freddy, and spend one day and night in Puerto Varas, touring the Chilean Lake District. Finally, the car would be turned back over to Freddy to drive back to Santiago, and we would fly back to Santiago from Puerto Montt.

Gaston's rehearsal took him over the planned routes. He refined the routes to account for allotted time and points of interest. He obtained the necessary documentation from Argentine border authorities for bringing his Range Rover into Argentina. He personally selected not only the hotels, but the specific rooms in the hotels, paying for them in advance (not wanting to rely only on reservations), and made himself known to the hotel managers. He scouted the restaurants and compiled a list of the best seafood and Argentine beef establishments. He selected the outfitters who would handle our rafting and climbing excursions. Finally, he purchased all boat and airline bookings. The only thing left to do was to execute the plan.

And what a trip it was. It was like watching a travelogue, except we were really there. Everything went too smoothly. In Pucón, we rafted down the Class V Upper Trancura River (more about that later). Carol and I even competed in a 5k race in Pucón. One glitch was the cancellation of the volcano climb, due to high winds and poor visibility at the summit (an event which did not disappoint us, which will be explained later).

Departing Pucón by Range Rover, we headed east into the Patagonian Andes and into the dense araucaria rainforest of Villarrica National Park. We crossed the Chile-Argentina border at Paso de Mamuil Malal and entered Lanin National Park, stopping at the Puerto Tromen border patrol station. There we encountered a line of motorists waiting in the guardhouse. Gaston assured us that since he had already secured the necessary entry permit for his vehicle from the Argentine consul in Santiago, we were surely going to be waved through. However, the guard said that the customs agent would need to review the documents. And where was the customs agent? "At lunch," said the guard. So we waited along with everyone else.

When the customs agent finally returned and reviewed Gaston's documents, he noticed that the permit listed Gaston's driver Freddy as the driver when the car was to cross the border on the return trip to Chile, and looked at me and asked me to produce my identity card and driver license. Gaston corrected the agent and told him that I was not Freddy and that Freddy was already waiting for us in Bariloche, a hundred miles away. The agent then apologized and said that he could not approve the exit permit unless he could examine the driver's documents. At this point I knew that Gaston was approaching his toleration limit, but he remained cool, wisely aware that nothing could be gained by arguing with an Argentine customs agent. The agent did not offer a solution to the problem, but Gaston calmly asked him if it would be possible to secure the necessary permit from a ministry office in Bariloche. The agent made a phone call and replied that the request was unusual, but he would allow it.

So we headed south across the barren but picturesque Argentine landscape (the east side of the Andes in Patagonia is arid), and descended into the verdant Nahuel Huapi valley and the lakeside city of San Carlos de Bariloche. Bariloche is a good-sized, beautiful resort city situated on the shore of the huge Lake Nahuel Huapi. We checked into our hotel downtown, located Freddy, and dined at a rustic Italian restaurant. The next day Gaston and Freddy spent a couple of hours getting the vehicle exit permit at the ministry office, where the bureaucrat made it known to Gaston that it was her day off but she was performing this unusual task to maintain good relations with Chilean tourists. We still had time to do some sightseeing, shopping, and visiting the Catedral ski resort, the largest in South America, and the famous Hotel LlaoLlao. That night we dined at a genuine Argentine steakhouse, and the next day we turned the car over to Freddy and boarded the catamaran.

The catamaran took us west into the the branch of the lake called Brazo Puerto Blest. We disembarked at Puerto Blest and took a short bus ride Puerto Alegre. From there we rode a small ferry across the (relatively) small Laguna Frias to Puerto Frias. At Puerto Frias we boarded another bus for the cross into Chile and a 26km ride through the Paso de Perez Rosales and into Vicente Perez Rosales National Park. The road penetrates a dense coigüe rainforest and descends to the tiny village of Peulla on the shore of Lake Todos Los Santos. We had tea at the Hotel Peulla and wandered through the forested gardens along the Peulla River and took photos of the towering (3460m) Tronador Volcano. From Peulla we boarded our final ferry to cross Todos Los Santos to the town of Petrohue at the foot of Volcán Osorno. At Petrohue we disembarked and boarded a Pullman coach for the final leg of our trip along the highway at the edge of the immense Lake Llanquehue into the resort town of Puerto Varas. Along the way we visited the spectacular falls at Salto de Petrohue, where we caught a glimpse of the former President of Chile, Patricio Aylwin, who was also touring the falls.

We arrived in Puerto Varas in the late afternoon, ready to check in to the hotel Gaston had prearranged for us, the Hotel Licarayen. The hotel is a beautiful stone and timberframe structure on the shore of Lake Llanquehue, and Gaston was particularly pleased with his selection. Except for the glitch with Argentine customs officials, the trip had been perfect, and Carol and I were unable to fully express the admiration we had for our host for the exquisitely planned and enchanting tour he had arranged for us. The registration clerk welcomed us and then informed Gaston that the rooms he reserved was no longer available, but that they had a nice family-style cabaña in the rear of the hotel which we were sure to find very comfortable.

Gaston was quick to remind the clerk that he did not simply reserve rooms, but had pre-paid for specific rooms, and produced the contract he had arranged over a month ago. The clerk was trying to explain when her supervisor appeared and asked Gaston the nature of his problem. Gaston told her that he had no problem whatsoever, but that the hotel had created a very large problem for itself if it had allowed other guests to occupy rooms that he had already paid for. He then calmly told her that he was going to entertain his guests at the bar, and that he would wait there for up to a half hour to give the hotel staff an opportunity to resolve their problem.

We then went to the bar and ordered tea and coffee, but had just been served when the manager reappeared and informed Gaston that the only solution they could offer was a pair of rooms at another of their hotels in Puerto Montt, a large fishing and timber town 17km south on the Bay of Reloncavi. At this point Freddy appeared, having just delivered the Range Rover from Bariloche. Gaston, visibly angry but maintaining his cool, said that the solution was out of the question, and excused himself to find another hotel in Puerto Varas. By the time we finished our tea and coffee, Gaston and Freddy had returned, and Gaston informed us that he found a nice hotel just down the Avenida Costanera, the Hotel Nuevo Bellavista. The manager of the Licarayen apologized again and offered to cancel the bar tab, but Gaston refused, stating that he would be filing a lawsuit the next day at the prefecture.

We gathered our luggage and loaded the Range Rover. As we were departing, we noticed a large blue Mercedes arriving. We saw the passenger emerge from the Mercedes, and quickly understood why we had lost our rooms. The man who emerged from the car was Gen. Augusto Pinochet.