Every moment at Bustamante is packed with sublime adventure and serene relaxation. We wake in time for a simple breakfast and then leap onto excellent complimentary mountain bikes and pedal fiercely out to the end of the spit. We have been told that it is an undertaking of several hours but we speed there, against tearing wind and over deep gravel, and back in an hour and a bit. The wind and the sunshine and the ocean spray at the end of the spit are wild and exhilarating, as are the panoramic views of Bustamante and the surroundings. Arriving back at the cabin sweating, we strip down and sprint into the water, which is brilliant and refreshing and cold. Then we put ourselves back in order rapidly in time for the days first organized activity. We tour the farm and village, and are told all the history that I related earlier by a funny old woman who has been around since almost the beginning of the operation 60 years ago. When dad tried to touch a piece of seaweed she smacked his arm viciously and mercilessly, and he retreated, ashamed. After the tour we played music on the lovely windswept veranda in front of our cabin, and attracted a few of the staff, including Kelly from California and a musician turned tour guide from Buenos Aires. Made friends and made music. Lunch of onion empanadas and guanaco stew followed by traditional dessert of cheese and quince jam was too good to be true. After a fulfilling nap we were back on the road, bouncing along to a distant cape in two impressive land rover defenders. Oohing and aahing at sea lions, armadillos (never seen one of those before ever), foxes, crabs and fish. Our guide was an amusing Serbian dude who was very friendly, but extremely cautious about getting too near the deadly sea lions (they can apparently get extremely aggressive). Afterwards we picked our way back to the landrovers through gorgeous tidepools and, arriving at one with crystalline turquoise water and a perfect hot tub size, could not resist another swim. Leaping into the icy clear water and floating on my back beneath a blue blue sky was one of the most sublime moments I can ever remember experiencing. The swim was one in a million, or maybe ten. That evening we had a great talk (over lovely frosty pints of Quilmes) with the owner Mathis (grandson of the entrepreneurial Soriano) and his wife Astrid (who bizarrely enough went to Marin Academy on an exchange from Buenos Aires) two of the friendliest, most charming people you could ever meet on the road. Another splendid dinner of seafood risotto and chocolate mousse. Dad very cavalierly dismissed the wine as mediocre, flourishing loudly the fact that he was a California vintner, and demanding another bottle. Afterwards, we watched Oceans, a beautifully filmed and narrated nature movie that should be on every nature lovers top ten list. Though riveting, the swirling images of blue and green gently lulled us into sleep. 

This was the Greatest Day, so action packed and wonderful that it will henceforth be a national holiday. We woke early and went for a long sunrise hike along the beach. At that early hour, the hour about which hardy writes so exquisitely in Tess of the durbevilles, language is set aside for silent camaraderie and the simple but incomparable enjoyment of sunrise. We trudged back to the dining hall for breakfast, over which we gradually awakened into life. In the dim morning we piled into the defender, and from thence embarked into a boat with Mathis, Astrid, Tibor (not, as it turns out, the best boat driver) and a cheerful group of italian tourists. We sped along the coast through ominous weather until we arrived at a Magellenic Penguin Colony!! I had never imagined that I would see penguins in the wild, and it was a revelation. The cute little fellas hopped and flapped cheerfully as we learned all about them. Easily some of the most bizarre animals ever. Not to be outdone, the sea lions showed off their adorable little crowds of offspring and their strange noises. Swinging past a vast cormorant colony (the area was first industrialized for cormorant guano, fun fact) we returned to the beautiful estuary and disembarked, as the weather took a dramatic turn for the better, with winds dropping and blue skies opening up above. Back in the defender (soooo reminiscent of Toby Stubbs epic drive to Badminton) this time just us and Tibor. We bumped over miles and miles of deserted Soriano property until we arrived at an unusual landscape of rolling hills and massive rocks. After a much needed lunch of torta (like a huge hot quiche) 
and Quilmes, we set out to explore the Petrified Forest. At first our expectations were low (big deal, stone trees) but we were stunned by what we saw. Vast trees, as big as sequoias (the same prehistoric species in fact) entirely frozen and preserved by the flow of mud. These trees had been washed all the way from the Andes millions of years ago, and had metamorphosed to various degrees. Some looked exactly like perfectly frozen trees, others vast sculptures of crystal and obsidian, others of red crystal, and every incarnation of stone that one could imagine. Breathtakingly beautiful and geologically astounding surrounded by rolling hill that we could climb to the top of for panoramic views. It was baking hot in the windless desert and felt like we were walking on some distant planet. After some cheerful mate, we bumped back to camp in the defender. Somehow we all managed to nap in the rolling and leaping vehicle, quite the feat. A quick swim in the cold ocean and then back into salty dusty clothes and soon we were pulling ourselves up onto horseback. The three of us and Mathis rode slowly around the property, to beautiful beaches and coves as yet undiscovered, as he talked in a low rasping voice about the estancia and it's story. Being on horseback for the first time in years (for Casey the first time Ever) was wonderful and relaxing. They were sweet friendly creatures and allowed the perfect way to see the idyllic land. But even when we returned from this epic exploration our day was not yet done. We grabbed our instruments and headed to the villages little chapel, where we had been asked (or rather demanded) by the owners of the estancia to play. So we played, in the thrilling acoustics of a church lit only by three candles, filled with all the staff of the estancia who were interested. They were an adoring audience and we pleased them with renditions of everything from Bach and Wilco to Sublime and Jon Swift. The improvisations, fed by the beautiful acoustics and the perfect circumstances, were the highlight. The parallels to our playing in the church in Grimault were eerie, bur we were glad to add to our resume. It was a fun "show" and we had heartily earned our dinner. After a farewell drink with Mathis and Astrid who gave and open invitation to return and work (added to the Gap Year number 2 file) we went to another sublime dinner and, after prolonged farewells to all our new friends, we fell again into the soft feather beds (which I forgot to mention are the best beds I have slept in since leaving home).