We pull into a dark and rainy town called El Bolson at midnight. For some reason we haven't booked a hostel, and the town, which is a small one, seems entirely shut down. We follow some friends from the bus through the rain and the cold in an attempt to find a hostel. Hostels, for all their benefits, are extremely hard to find, but eventually we do run into one, nice enough, (although the stairway up to the dorm is made of rickety, random pieces of wood haphazardly nailed together, bit scary). We settle down, make friends with an American from DC named Dave, and before long have fallen into an exhausted sleep. 
Bolson, as it turns out, is the Argentine version of Sebastapol. It calls itself a non-nuclear ecological collective as opposed to a town, and is famous for it's hippie identity, beautiful artisan crafts, and marijuana. It lives up to it's reputation on all counts. Great hippie spirit, multiple people trying to sell us vast amounts of "special flower", and totally incredible crafts. We are there luckily on the day of an artisans market, and so we stroll through a beautiful park with impressive wood carved sculptures, passing stands selling every possible incarnation of Argentine silver, Patagonian hardwoods, Alpaca (an lustrous alloy of silver and nickel for which the region is famous), Chilean lapis lazuli, and rodacrosita, a lovely pink stone found only in this stretch of the Andes. The craftsmanship is truly stunning, and the artisans are charming rather than aggressive in their attempts to sell. We buy very little but make friends with a few of the artisans. With bellies full of market empanadas, we lounge in the sun and continue wandering around the eclectic town. Eventually the beautiful morning transitions into a dreary drizzling afternoon, and we head back to the cheerful hostel, a place unusually much more Argentine than gringo. We talk for a couple hours with Mathias, the friendly and loquacious guy at the front desk, drinking mate and discussing everything from indigenous populations (he is full blood Mapuche) to world politics (he has been unconditionally denied entry to the US). The hostel fills up with interesting people, an we have a fantastic asado (barbecue), in the rain, with mathias cooking, us playing music, and everything wildly, contagiously happy. We meet a girl from BA who makes up a song about potatoes (as she slices them) as Casey and I play accompaniment and supply backup vocals. We chat with Dave (who knows and loves Sublime, first person abroad we have met) and another American, Pepe, who is going to Stanford (first American we have met on a gap year)  and plays the violin (my violin) beautifully. It's a night packed with excitement, music, laughter, and red, red wine. Eventually around 11 the asado is done, and we feast on chorizo and a questionable (but satisfying) cut of beef. Dave wipes out (bit too much wine) making a huge scene and adding to the hilarity, and we all fall asleep in the wee hours in good spirits. 

The following morning starts grey and drizzly and we decide that Bolson can no longer hold our attention. So we hop on a short bus north to Bariloche, the capital of the Lake District, which is the most scenic and beloved region of Patagonia and in fact Argentina. Incredibly, as we approach, the clouds clear, and dazzling sunlight illuminates a land of green forests (with interspersed trees of brilliant gold), snow-capped mountains (there is good skiing here in July), and stunningly blue lakes. We spend our afternoon in Bariloche, which is windy but beautiful, immaculate, friendly, and a bit too touristy. We get some lunch with Dave and then wander through the town to the plaza, which is beautifully designed (sort of a Patagonian version of Alpine architecture) and finally get to the chocolate shops. Bariloche is renowned for it's chocolate and ice cream, which is apparently the best in the country. We end up at a shop that is somewhere in between Hogwarts and Willy Wonka in terms of magnificence. Gorgeous chocolate fountains, splendid displays, chocolate Easter eggs and bunnies as big as a small child. There is even chocolate beer, which we try (it is surprisingly delicious). The decadence is wonderful. 
Eventually we wander back to our hostel (called hostel 41 below, very gringo-y but one of the best hostels we have stayed in) to make a much needed laundromat run. Who should be in our dorm room but Jana, the wonderful Australian that I befriended on a cold morning in Chalten. The coincidence is wonderful, but even more so is the chance to hang out with her. Dave (who as it turns out is a great cook) makes us all a gorgeous dish of bolognese, and we all settle around red wine, in the coziest of hostels, and hang out. It is a warm wonderful evening. Casey and I decide to go river rafting the next day (we don't really have the budget for tours etc but we make an exception because we love rafting and this area is apparently world class), and we convince Pepe and Jana (who actually is so won over by our persuasion that she abandons a bus ticket and a rendezvous with friends in Chile to come with us). The cheerful night ends with us all rushing to get some much needed sleep before and early start for rafting