On thursday the hills were obscured by low cloud and wet snow fell at street level. I spent much of the day reading while cosying upto the really warm radiator in El Mochillero, the backpacker hostel in Esquel. On Friday it continued cold with sleet falling until early afternoon. At two o'clock I set off for a walk through the hilly streets up from the centre, passing by the old railway station before hurrying downhill and into the warmth of the same cafe I sat in the afternoon I arrived. Saturday morning had improved somewhat; enough for me to leave Esquel. I cycled 26km south west to Trevelin where I'm now staying in Casa Verde. The other guests in the hostel are a Welsh couple called Nick and Veronica. And a young guy, didn't get his name, but he's here studying the effect the Spanish languege has had on local Welsh speakers.

Tuesday 10th November: Still in Casa Verde pending improvement in the weather. Yesterday visited an old refurbished flour mill owned by a Senor Mervin Evans. Today cycled a road out of Trevelin south towards the mountains. The reason for me taking this dusty corrigated track which measures 73kms according to my ACA map and is a hilly back road to Tecka, are the places of historic interest along the way. It was slow going, and I barely went further than 25kms, but climbed a pass before turning around at an interpetation board by the side which stated that this was where in 1885 Welsh and Argentine pioneers first saw the valley which they dubbed "Valle Hermoso". Cycling back to Trevelin I stopped at an old schoolhouse with another interpetation board. Together with the text there was an old black and white group-photo taken outside on a day in 1901 when settlers voted against their colony becoming a part of Chile; instead voting to remain in Argentina. A little further along there was the cemetary. I locked the bike to the fence outside and walked through the double gates. There was a family group by a tomb to the right so I veered left walking by gravelstones and occationally stopping to read inscriptions which caugh my eye. I'd reached almost the far side when I spotted the grave of John Daniel Evans who I read about in a book called " Rocky Trip" from the bookshelf in Casa Verde.

The book covers in great detail the Welsh migration in Patagonia; namely, the move from fledgling new colony over in the east by the Atlantic coast, to pioneers that moved inland west to the Andes. Starting with the nomadic Tehuelche native people that migrated seasonally from the Atlantic to the Andes. They struck up an amical relationship with the Welsh when they first arrived in the 1860s, bartering game for bread. Evans referred to the Tehuelches as "Mis hermanos del deserto": my brothers of the desert. He had come out from Wales with his parents as a child and grew up an excellent horseman as well as having a great knowledge of the desert hinterland. He was amongst the first to follow the native trails in an attempt to reach the Andes.

In 1885 the first govenor of Chubut, an army cornnel called Luis Fontana, was installed in the new provencial capital Rawson. It was a time of territorial expansion and Fontana planned an expedition to the Andes and employed Evans as a scout. There were eventually two expeditions: the first worked out the way and the second they went out to found a new settlement. They were few to start with until in 1888 the first wagon train came out and for many years thereafter there'd be a seasonal influx of newcomers.

The book goes into the disciple of the wagons on the first migration. Each wagon was expected to spent a day to the fore using picks and shovels to clear a path of rocks, slash scrubs and fill gullies. All following wagons in line had to strictly hold to the wheel tracks of the wagon in front in order to leave a distinctive wheel rut for next year's wagons. Sunday was kept as a day of rest and to built spirits for the journey ahead. On Saturday afternoon therefore, a place with good pasture with adequate water for the horses and oxen was chosen to stop. They'd remain encamped Monday when the women baked enough bread for the week ahead and washed clothes while the men hunted for game.

I was struck by a surviving diary accounts of those early wagon journeys; short and simple but effective, it discribes a day in November 1892: a woman writes. "Very windy and icy cold all day. Reached Tecka at sunset freezing cold." This is something that could have been written over a hundred years later; showing that the wind in Patagonia is timeless.

Graham, an English motorcyclist that turned up at Casa Verde today remarked "the wind here just isn't cold, it's bitterly cold." He's filming his travel: speaking to the camera in humourous dialog. He calls it Brainrotting and he can be seen on YouTube.

Thursday 12th November: Lost my watch this morning while cycling to the shop. So later cycled to Esquel to buy a new watch but it had gone one o'clock when I arrived and the shops had closed for the afternoon. Then remembered Nick and Veronica departed that morning but would still be at the town's bus station as their bus for Rio Gallegos wasn't scheduled to leave until three. So cycled along there to pass a little time before saying goodbye a second time.

Friday 13th November: Weather has much improved so will leave Casa Verde in the morning. I'm going to miss the company of the other guests and the hospitality of host Vivian. Also the wonderful bakery from which I've bough apple and risotto tarts every afternoon in time for tea at four. A pleasant routine. And the panaramic view of the snowy peaks and wood clad slopes seen from Casa Verde's hilltop location.