The big day begins far too early, but the excitement of what is in store pulls the four of us out of bed and we dress and descend in the silent hostel (as partying epicenters, hostels rarely have anyone rising before noon, unless they are off on an expedition, like us) and eat some breakfast and coffee. We are carrying bags full of layers of clothes, unsure of weather and whether we will get wet. There is slight tension stemming from the fact that Casey and I basically begged the charming Jana to come with us, forcing her to spend money, forfeit a bus ticket, and do something she has never done before. We are confident she will love it, but equally sure that our reputations are on the line. Finally the van arrives and we pile in. The four of us make quite a troop, and to our ranks is added the immediately amiable and charismatic Will, a quintessential Brit and resident of Clapham, the London neighborhood where I lived in december. We share stories, sign ominous liability release forms, listen to lectures from the cheerful and amusing river guides, and eat complimentary chocolates from one of the fancy chocolate stores in town. The weather is neither good nor bad, but simply grey, when we arrive at the riverside estancia that will serve as our base. We eat a second breakfast of medialunas and coffee and explore the little farm, with it's grungy kittens and chickens, as the boats are inflated.  Then we don various layers of gear, wet suits, life jackets, helmets, and paddles, and head down to the river. Our crew of 5 leaps into one boat while a larger but older group of Argentines amble into the other. Guides leap in and, after a short lecture on safety and rowing commands, we are swirling away down the frigid mountain river Manso, through National Park Nahuel Huapi, east towards Chile. Casey and I are sitting in the front of the boat, coordinating the rowing and taking the brunt of any incoming water. Surprisingly our experience (rivers in California and Washington with T Stubbs, Oregon and others with School) kicks in and we find ourselves exceedingly coordinated and effective. The coordination may have something to do with the fact that 7 months of near constant companionship has made us very nearly telepathic. Will is a powerhouse, sitting behind me, never breaking rhythm or
faltering. Jana squeals a bit too often with fright and cold, but is otherwise a decent team member. Pepe is a disaster of weak, out of time, and more than once casey delivers a viciously condescending, well-timed comment about Pepes ineffectiveness. Our guide is a brilliant comedy routine. He instigates a misplaced flirtation between Jana and another river guide, and calls Pepe Pepe Le Piu (a smelly Disney character, a bit horrific as a joke since Pepes feet really are abominable). We stroke admirably and in perfect time, and we stream down the river. We hit some
hard rapids, and the boat is all but overturned, with 4 of us floating rapidly away through the frigid ice melt. We pull each other back in and power onwards. We try to "surf" on a big hole in the waves, and after four traumatic attempts, give up, and continue down the river. The surfing requires nerves of steel, as Casey and I have to paddle ferociously until the final moment, and then keep paddling as water pours into the boat. Then we all have to leap to the left to avoid flipping. It was the nerves of steel that got me, as I always leapt a millisecond too early. We go swimming down the easier rapids, and the water is chilling but thrilling. The team work is fun, always the most unique aspect of a rafting trip. At one point we come around a corner and find a vast pile of rocks filling the entire river. The guide freaks out (Very convincingly) "oh my god, there's been a rockslide, we are gonna have to abandon the boats and swim. Everybody out!! Jana, go!!!" we are all in a panic until e reveals the joke, and we give him credit for the deadpan acting. We make it through various "rock and a hard place" moments, past jagged boulders and high imposing rock walls. Throughout it all, humor flies through the boat in various colors, absurd puns from Casey, dry British wit from Will, and morbid jokes from me. Other than the light humor, the whole thing is characteristically thrilling, albeit very exciting. Adrenaline keeps us warm as it  occasionally showers with cold rain, before returning to broken sunshine. And if the rafting itself is extraordinary, the scenery we pass through defies description. By the river banks of carved granite (forming strange shapes, forms, and tunnels of black smooth rock) the forest is lush and verdant and dense, almost jungle like. But higher up the forest seems to become alpine, with surreal snowy jagged peaks visible high above. When we come around corners to see glittering waterfalls pouring diamond drops of sun-refracted water into the river. Natural perfection. Mist rising over the trees evokes undiscovered jungle, and truly we are some of the only people to see this stretch of the river and the national park, which is only accessible by raft. Finally, with a solid heave, we paddle into a sheltered cove where the adventure ends. A grizzled gaucho (argentine cowboy) awaits on horseback, in incredible garb of furry animal-skin chaps and spurred boots. He is like something out of the history of Argentina. He deflates the boats and throws the big bundles on the horses spindly back. 
We climb up, sopping wet and freezing, through the steep dense forest. When we get to the top of the rise, we find that we are in Chile, that we have crossed the border while rafting. Though strangely similar to Argentina (which is only about ten feet away), it is funny that we have ended up here, since we spent the previous evening convincing Jana Not to go to Chile and instead to come rafting. We change into dry clothes and leap back in the van, still buzzing with adrenaline. We speed back to the estancia, everyone including the driver eager for asado. The feast that awaits us there is beyond compare. It is not our first asado, but we have probably never been so hungry for anything. We eat heaps of salad and potatoes gorgeous sourdough. But of course it is all about the meat, bife de lomo and chorizo, which come out in unstoppable waves from a seemingly endless supply in the kitchen. We feast, ravenous and exhausted and exhilarated, drinking good red wine and reminiscing about our recent adventure as if we were lifelong friends. When we literally cannot consume another bite of beef, out comes a gorgeous raspberry tart with fresh cream and delicious coffee (the best we have had in Argentina). Basking in the sublime nature of such a perfect day, and full to bursting with great food, we climb into the car, laughing, and fall into deep sleep. We arrive back in Bariloche and, not ye totally sated, Casey and Jana and I walk into town and go to the incredible chocolate shop Rapa Nui, where we order vast heaping piles of ice cream (three huge scoops of various flavors with incoherent names in a vast, bowl-like cone, slathered with chocolate sauce), too good to be true, and recline in a colorful little booth in the kids play area of the cafe. We eat until the ice cream is gone and our stomachs are, again full to bursting (what a day of indulgence) and then lounge in a near-comatose state, as Casey translates (or more accurately, repeats from memory) the words of Aladin, which has just begun to show on the kids area TV screen. We slowly meander home, collapsing into a relaxed stupor in our cozy hostel. For a while we read and catch up on admin, then Will shows up (he is staying in a hostel down the street but by now we are all inseparable) and we all gather round in the hang out room for a long, wonderful, utterly memorable evening of drinks, travel stories, plans for the future, favorite Argentina tales, and various other warm, joking "banter" as Will (a gap yah-like Londoner) would probably say. That night, as we pack our things to head out the next morning, leaving seems again like a horrible prospect, as it always seems to be.