Simple Moments in Patagonia: Camping in Cochrane

Sunset at the Tompkins Lookout

Arriving in Cochrane felt like stepping onto another planet. After over a decade spent living amidst the rainy forests and snow-capped volcanoes of Pucón, the dry, wind-swept landscapes of southern Patagonia stunned us. We drove through vast valleys, passing desert-like steppes, turquoise lakes, and the Baker River’s mesmerizing, milky hues—colors drawn from glacial melt, unlike anything we'd seen so far.

Double-checking the cargo

Our journey south wasn’t without challenges. Leaving Puerto Murta, Jorge's car refused to start, a reminder that traveling in remote Patagonia is about expecting the unexpected. Thankfully, a quick fix by a local mechanic got us back on track. But the obstacles didn’t stop there—just as we approached our planned campsite in Patagonia National Park, we learned a car with broken axle had blocked the road, forcing us to drive deeper into the park as night fell.

Our unexpected detour led us to El Valle campsite, an isolated haven of calm and solitude. We pitched our tent in the dark and woke up to golden sunlight illuminating the swaying grass and hills around us. Here, life slowed down to the essentials: cooking spaghetti, sharing palm hearts from the can, braving cold showers, and layering up against chilly nights. Simple, yet deeply satisfying.

Days in the park unfolded gently. Our kids quickly transformed into adventurous explorers, wandering off with their walkie-talkies, searching for elusive pumas and climbing trees. They returned with epic tales of creek crossings, soaking wet clothes, and apples grabbed right off the branches of nearby trees. Their excitement and curiosity, exploring under vast skies and endless horizons, reminded us how deeply adaptable and free children naturally are.

A special highlight came during our late afternoon hike to the Tompkins Lookout. We timed our ascent for sunset, arriving as the sky began its evening dance of colors. The simple beauty of that moment—our boys running and playing, Jorge sipping his tea, and me capturing it all with my camera—became an indelible memory. Standing there, enveloped by the soft hues of dusk, reinforced a profound realization: life’s richest experiences often come quietly, in these humble, shared moments.

Traveling this way, immersed in nature, makes me feel deeply alive. I've always needed open windows, open doors, and direct contact with the outdoors. Sleeping in a tent, cooking on a small stove, waking to bird calls—it grounds me in ways nothing else can. This journey mirrors a vision I once had of family life, a fleeting dream of camping with two boys in tow - now turned reality. Embracing uncertainty, risking stability, even challenging traditional education norms—it all feels worth it, profoundly right.

Henrique and Paula

Yet, perhaps the most rewarding moments come from human connections. One afternoon, a Brazilian couple approached us, stranded without internet access needed for border-crossing paperwork. Our Starlink and portable printer quickly became their lifelines. Helping them, sharing stories and laughs under Patagonian skies, reminded us again how travel magically brings people together, creating deep connections from fleeting encounters.

If there's one thing Patagonia has reinforced for us, it's the joy found in simplicity: noodles eaten beneath starry skies, cold nights bundled up in layers inside a tent, morning sun warming the grass, birdcalls that punctuate the silence, and chance meetings with strangers who quickly become friends. In these humble experiences lies a profound satisfaction—the kind that stays with you forever.