If you think the only hot spots to see animals in South America are the Galapagos Islands and Brazilian rain forests, then you, like me, are quite mistaken. Two days after arriving in Puerto Madryn, we hit the road again, this time with a tour group. Our friendly guide spoke in both Spanish and English, which was quite educational because I learned important vocabulary words like "incubate," "migrate," and "regurgitate."
The first stop was half an hour south of Puerto Madryn, where the four of us plus about two dozen others, squeezed onto a moderate-sized boat and set sail for the sea. Since the Southern Right Whales had migrated past Patagonia two months before, we looked for their cousins, the Commerson's Dolphins, which are a small species that look more like penguins from a distance than cetaceans. A week ago I had never heard of these tuxedo-clad dolphins, and yet here I was leaning over the railing, camera in hand as our boat vied for a small pod's attention. They zigzagged between our boat and another, riding the wakes and occasionally doing tricks.
After the dolphin encounter we went another hour and a half south to a wildlife reserve in
Punta Tombo, which has the highest concentration (nearly one million) of penguins in all of South America. The bus driver did some serious damage to our kidneys speeding down the 10-kilometer gravel road to the entrance of the reserve, but the sight of so many penguins made it worth the journey. As soon as we took to the trail, we found penguins everywhere! In some places I even had to watch where I stepped to avoid squishing a juvenile who was sunbathing in the middle of the path. In April these Magellanic penguins will migrate north so many of the chicks were self-sufficient, although it didn't stop them from crying for regurgitated squid from mommy and daddy. It was an amazing sight to see: penguins waddling past us; penguins nuzzling with their significant others; penguins scampering into the water, some getting knocked down by the waves. "Guards" were posted around the reserve to make sure that visitors respected (i.e. did not touch) the animals. So much for adopting a new pet...
Our tour ended with a quick stop in
Gaiman, an old Welsh settlement in the middle of Patagonia. The town rests in a valley between dusty plateaus, but thanks to the River Chubut and some clever irrigation, the area is quite green and fertile. Gaiman is proud of its heritage and keeps the Welsh language and customs alive— including tea time. After a long day pursuing wildlife, it was lovely to sit down for a spot of tea and a full spread of breads, butters, jams, cakes and just about every carb you can imagine.
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My last hoorah before returning to Buenos Aires, I did solo. It has been years since I've been scuba diving, but the opportunity to explore a sunken fishing ship from the 1800s and to swim with sea lions was too captivating to resist. Although I was nervous to "get back in the wetsuit,"
Scuba Duba's friendly and attentive staff made the experience wonderful. I am particularly indebted to a very cool young scuba master named Amelia who stayed with me when I had trouble equalizing and then showed me around the sunken ship so I didn't miss a thing.
Even though Patagonia is far from the equator, its chilly waters are very clear, and the marine life are all the colors of the rainbow. I wish I had a picture of the old fishing net that is now covered with thousands of little clams or the broken passageways that are home to vibrant sea anemones and sponges. Julia had suggested earlier that I sing
The Little Mermaid song while in the sunken ship, and with such a beautiful scene, I was certainly tempted (although breathing would have made this tricky).
The second dive was at
Punta Loma, a choppy cove that's a hot spot for sea lions. Once underwater, we were joined by a group of about four seals: they nibbled at our scuba gear, swam next to us and even allowed us to pet their flippers. The experience was amazing although my attention was divided between playing with the sea lions and staying warm in the 60-degree water.
All of these adventures made for a wonderful vacation in Patagonia. I slept soundly on the bus ride back to Buenos Aires: eye-mask on and execu-cama reclined.
For the most part, the animals seemed to be healthy and content. But as a bleeding-heart animal lover, the slack attitude of the zoo workers bothered me. Camera flashes were permitted everywhere, including the darkened bat area; a depressed polar bear lived in a habitat that looked like an abandoned swimming pool; people could feed just about any animal, including the monkeys. What's ironic about my last point is that I still have pictures of several signs from a Mexican wildlife preserve advising tourists (in Spanish) not to feed the monkeys. Perhaps the cosmopolitan porteños aren't so sure what to do with these critters since the city's wildlife is limited to dogs, pigeons and cucurachas.
Still we had a fun time seeing the various zoo inhabitants, particularly the ones native to Argentina and South America. Muskrats, which had creeped me out when I saw them swimming in the river in Florence, roamed freely around the park. I'm a bit ashamed to admit this, but they're kind of cute if you ignore the tail (click to watch one swim). Another ubiquitous inmate was the Patagonian Mara which looks like a cross between a deer, a rabbit and a kangaroo. Also, who knew that there were bears in South America? El oso de anteojos (the Spectacled Bear) is named for the markings across its face with each bear having a unique pattern. And while these guys are smaller than their North American cousins, I wouldn't want to cross paths with ones on a walk in the Andes. 
