Our arrival to the island was a little awks. The team came out to meet us. “Do you have a tent?”… “erm, hi, I’m Charlie, erm, no, sorry”… “do you have sheets?”… “erm, no, sorry, we asked Francis”… “it's fine, we will find you somewhere to sleep, come in”. A quick round of names we soon forgot, harried hellos mixed with my overly enthusiastic “we are so happy to be here”, whilst we established that we’d be having much more of those stunted Spanglish convos. Our beds were two singles tucked into the rafters of the upstairs dorm-style sleeping area, we were given new sleeping bags, told that hot water showers were every other day and that everyone chipped in to help whenever anything needed to be done. After dumping our bags and a few more awkward conversations, we were encouraged to have a walk around the island but also told that it was best to leave Francis to his privacy for now. It turned out that he had a house on the other side of the island, La Soplada. The island incidentally, is small. It took twenty minutes to walk around it, ten if walking through the middle. The edges of the island have craggy, moss-covered slippery rocks, while the middle of the island was slightly sunken with a strange moss-covered clearing. The clearing, almost swamp-like was a mixture of what I imagine walking on a cloud would feel like, whilst sinking in quicksand. On our return to the cabin, we were summoned to meet with Francis. Yikes! Francis’ cabin was utterly charming, corrugated black cladding and almost Nordic looking with a beautiful wooden silver coloured deck looking out west on the lakes edge. Perfection really. A quick ten minute chat later, where we were asked what we did when we weren’t galavanting round the world. We were able to express our gratitude for the invitation and Francis explained that he received at least ten messages a day from people asking to visit the island but that he liked the wording of our message and the timing just worked out. We also established that we were all there because Krug the champagne company and Conde Nast Traveller were coming in a couple of days for a photo story and accompanying feature on Francis for the promotion of a collaborative event with Krug which is taking place in London in July. How, if at all, we would be involved with this, wasn’t clear, nor was it clear what role exactly we were to play throughout the whole week but we were excited to find out. Dinner the first night was a simple affair with Francis, Isabella (his girlfriend) and the team gathering round the staff cabin table for delicious Milanese. After re-setting the table four times over because we weren't using the right tablecloth (witnessing for the first time that Francis clearly liked things to be done a certain way) everyone’s roles started to become clearer. Almost everyone worked for Francis in different parts of the country. Not everyone had met each other before, and it was clearly an honour to have been chosen by Francis to come to the island. Everyone took their roles extremely seriously. By way of brief intro for the sake of the tales ahead, I will introduce the team (and our housemates). Rous, the youngest of the group, was responsible for service and drinks having previously worked in the bar of one of Francis’s Mendoza restaurants. An all round superstar and one of our favourites, surely made for Hollywood, as hilariously gay as they come and one of Argentina’s most exciting up and coming techno DJs. Diego, the quiet leader and head chef in one of Francis’s Mendoza restaurants. A super cool dude with a tendency to bellowing out random animal noises and singing along to music coming out of the speaker he randomly carried above his head in the kitchen post service. Edi the Albanian-American chef who really knew his way round a kitchen and wasn’t afraid of telling people what had to be done and when, prone to unpredictable and spontaneous bouts of PMS with a wicked sense of humour that was guaranteed to make everyone chuckle. Also the only member of the team to not have worked for Francis. Monika, the cleaner, official washer-upper, chain smoker with a quiet soul and warm smile - later realised as one of the most important roles on the island based on the volume and variety of plates, cutlery, glasses, and wooden boards they would get through. Gabi, chief baker extraordinaire and Diego’s right hand; a young but brilliant chef in the making who used to work for Francis but was on the cusp of starting a new job in a San Francisco restaurant. Always eager to please and one of the hardest workers, a deeply sensitive and considerate soul who was always making sure we were involved. I will dream of his fresh croissants for the rest of my days. Nacho, the wood and fire man, a hunter gatherer type built like a tree with a heart of gold whose smile is like a ray of sunshine. Island life would not be possible without this man who broke his back everyday, gathering and cutting enough wood to sustain the appetites and cleanliness of eleven people. Never far from a fire, the smell of wood smoke will always remind me of Nacho. Martin, boat man, expert fisherman and general all rounder with hidden devilish character traits. Constantly playing tricks on us and despite his non-existent english he was always the first to make sure we had everything we needed with smiles on tap. Having once lived on the island alone for seven months, there is nothing about this place he doesn’t know. Maria, Francis’ assistant and general whip-cracker. If there was something to be done, Maria was the one to make sure it happened and if this meant rolling up her own sleeves she’d be right in there. Warm natured, easy to laugh and deeply protective of the team, she was the first to pour the Malbec rewards at the end of service. In summary, it was safe to say everything was covered, and that we’d be well fed and looked after. Wood is the key to the island. We discovered this the hard way on our first morning. We rose just as the sun was breaking over the mountains and the dawn mist was still lingering over the lake. After a breakfast of freshly baked bread (at least two loaves are baked everyday, the best taken to Francis) and homemade jams from locally picked Patagonian berries, we headed out on the boat with Team Wood, a couple of axes and some chainsaws. Two back breaking hours later after cascading chucks of wood down a hill, and we had a boat load of freshly chopped dry dead wood. I’m told dead and dry are the key components in wood collecting. After a quick turn around back at base we headed off on a hike up the mountain to have lunch in Chile. Very casual. Walking to Chile with Francis Mallmann. The terrain we walked through was wild. We were hacking our way through the shrubbery, trampling through uncharted territories. There were no paths and no signs. Francis was following his nose as the mountains are his home. He knows it better than anyone. We packed two bottles of water with us for the trip and wondered why the others just packed tin mugs. Silly us. You drink straight from the stream of course! As someone said, if it isn't good water out here in the middle of nowhere, there’s no hope for the world! The scenery along the way was spectacular and after two hours we reached our lunch spot. We sat to eat our sandwiches on top of the mountain at the border of Argentina and Chile, whilst Francis told us about one of his latest projects - a movie set in the very spot we were sitting. It was all pretty surreal. And then of course, what Mallmann lunch would be compete without fire and some apple and dulche de leche pancakes? Heavenly. Dinner was spent celebrating Diego’s birthday in Francis’s cabin. Complete with a giant magnum of red wine, birthday cake, and Francis telling us stories about his beloved dog. And hearing about the cabin that Nacho built and re-built four times over in various filming locations after his narrow escape during a storm that blew it away. That is where the name of Francis’s cabin, La Soplada, came from which translates as ‘wind’. And then it was party time; picture melon negronis, multiple bottles of red wine, techno dancing round a fire, with a backdrop of the most incredible stars. The following few days passed us by in a blur. The Krug / Conde Nast people arrived and there were some tense moments as the team adjusted and changed plans as quickly as the wind when Francis changed his mind at the last minute. It was a strange time for us, everyone had their roles, and were being paid to be there with a purpose. The Krug people were being wined and dined as the guests and were the object of Francis’s sole attention but we were unsure of our place. We pitched in as often as we could, helped with the cleaning, wood cutting, and washing up, but we found ourselves constantly asking what we could do. We would have loved to have gained more of an insight into the cooking but that was clearly off limits. Francis had certain standards and expectations that could not be interfered with. We did however help with the seemingly constant baking, but after a batch of flat scones and even flatter croissants, that too slowly became off limits. You learn more about people when you can't understand them because you don't have the distraction of conversation, you become more observant and notice things about them that you wouldn't otherwise. I will admit that it did just feel like we were in the way a lot of the time. I’d even go as far to say we felt excluded at times. It isn't a nice feeling to not feel a part of something. And with very little to occupy oneself, it starts to become the focus of your day, an unhealthy obsession - “what’s on the agenda today and how much of it will we be a part of?” But as the days passed, we started to understand that we weren't here to play any role, but to simply lean into this wonderful experience we had been given. To read, relax, sit back and enjoy the view. Meanwhile, Rob continued on his quest to catch a trout, spending hours on the lake shore whilst improving his casting technique. Martin had made it look so easy on our first night! And then finally, we witnessed the event we had been looking forward to most, a proper Argentine asado, on the beach Francis Mallmann style! The hours of preparation that went into this meal was ridiculous, it kept everyone busy from dawn until past nightfall. First thing after breakfast, Martín, Francis and Nacho went out to scout for the perfect beach setting, it needed to be west facing for the sunset, with enough dry driftwood to sustain the fires throughout the evening. Once chosen, Nacho spent hours stripping the bark off several carefully chosen sticks that would make up the frame of the BBQ. We later learnt they were stripped purely for aesthetic reasons. The chefs were manic as they prepped as much as they could at the cabin before heading over to the beach. Seven hours later and we were tucking into the feast of all feasts. The aubergines, potatoes, sweet potatoes and pumpkin were nestled amongst the embers and cooked slowly for hours, their charred crusts covered in the ash of the embers when served. The chorizo wheel, now known as 'something I will dream of forever', constructed by Jack of all trades Martín and held together by more stripped sticks, resting above the vegetables, the oils dripping with a hiss as they met the fire. Flatbreads cooked directly on the coals that were charred and crispy on the outside, fluffy and doughy on the inside. Then Francis set about preparing the brook trout caught only hours earlier; wrapping it first in cardboard before encasing it in a grey clay found in the lake by the island, before burying it in more hot embers. Later, it would be cracked open to reveal the tender and moist meat inside. The Argentine kobe, wagyu beef rib with its salty, wood smoked crust was undoubtedly the best piece of meat we have ever had the pleasure of eating. For Francis, it's all about the crust. Disturb or move that piece of meat or fish too soon and the crust will be lost. And dessert, a whole peeled pineapple left to roast and caramelise over the hot embers for eight hours, ginger syrup regularly and tenderly spooned over at frequent intervals, cooked for so long it almost fell off the stick it was spiked onto. Oh, and then there were the magnums of Krug chilling in the lake. The next day, Francis and the Krug team's final, was mostly spent filming. Francis sipping Krug, Francis pulling three bottles of Krug from the lake, Francis chopping a pumpkin with an axe, Francis chopping an onion. Meanwhile, I decided to entertain myself and make a mini documentary of my own. It needs some heavy edits before it'll be ready for its premier. I found it far easier to entertain myself, Rob on the other hand was starting to get restless and was suffering from cabin fever. Being in such a small space with so many strangers isn't the easiest of things. Pure unadulterated isolation is at first hard to digest, with no phone reception and few distractions, it is tough to just 'be' and I especially felt rather melancholy at times. But really, what I learnt is that once you find the stillness, you realise that the melancholy you feel isn't a bad thing, it's just your thoughts uninterrupted and you come to embrace it. The others kept talking about the 'island energy', normally I wouldn't buy into that sort of chat but they were true, there really was something about the place that has left a lifelong impression on us. The simplicity of life there certainly puts things into perspective. We need very little in life to be happy. And then, before we knew it, we were spending our last days on the island. We had thought that once Francis had left the team would descend into party mode, but it was quite the opposite! The atmosphere was in some respects more relaxed, no set meal times, longer mornings sleeping in but there was also the feeling that it was time to leave. We had a shit load of Krug to get through (such a hardship) and my birthday eve to celebrate. Techno was played loud and we danced around a fire. Everyone told each other they loved each other. Lifelong bonds solidified. The boys even managed to cobble together a dulce du leche smothered birthday cake, candle and all! It also seemed very important that we leave no red wine behind which naturally helped the festivities along. Island clean up the next day with a heavy head was a bit of a mission. But Nacho presented us with beautiful La Isla mementos, a birthday gift for me and one so Rob wouldn't get jealous. I even had my tarot cards read and was told that a mysterious veil was lifting and that I should celebrate life with the carefree attitude of a child. And then the storm hit and everyone's mood turned south with it. To be fair, it seemed like just heavy, relentless rain to us. But after a run back to the mainland Rous and Martín returned with the bad news that there had been a national disaster and Comodoro airport was closed. Crap. It didn't actually make much of a difference to us as we didn't have any concrete post-island plans anyway, but it cast a downer on our last night as routes home were unclear. After an arduous and cramped journey, involving a boat and two four hour car journeys, we made it off La Isla and finally all arrived in Esquel for the night. One last (relatively uneventful!) drunken night together before everyone scattered. Our island experience was over. 6/9/2022 01:17:31
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AuthorsRob & Charlie's travelling adventures on their long journey back to London after living in Hong Kong. Four continents, twelve countries, lots of experiences. Archives
July 2017
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Robert Ware & Charlotte Nunn |