Ushuaia's "Prison without Walls:" A Book Review

Over more than four decades, I’ve visited the city of Ushuaia at least a dozen times—first, in 1979, when Argentina had nearly provoked a potentially ruinous war with Chile over three small islands in the Beagle Channel. At the tip of the South American continent, Tierra del Fuego had long had a reputation as the “uttermost part of the Earth” but, with only about 11,000 people, Ushuaia then was nothing like the Antarctic cruise ship capital it is today.

At that time, about to enter grad school at Berkeley, I had only a general understanding of the area’s lengthy penal history and, given Argentina’s brutal military dictatorship, poking around places like the former Presidio Nacional (National Prison)—then under naval control—was inadvisable. It’s this history, and related developments, that Ryan C. Edwards explores in A Carceral Ecology: Ushuaia and the History of Landscape and Punishment in Argentina, recently published by the University of California Press.

Ushuaia has always enjoyed an imposing setting, but it was once a  rugged frontier outpost.

In 1884 Argentina initially established a lighthouse and military prison at Isla de los Estados (Staten Island), a rugged offshore island at the eastern tip of Tierra del Fuego, but the extreme climate—incessant winds, rain, and snow—dictated its abandonment for a site on the big island’s southern shore in 1902. What is now the city of Ushuaia had been a rather less rugged encampment of British missionaries and Argentine gold-seekers for decades before that.

There's now a national park footpath to the Chilean border (though it's formally illegal to cross).

By some accounts, Ushuaia was nevertheless a “natural prison” from which escape was nearly impossible. The Isla Grande de Tierra was then a roadless wilderness—even though the Chilean border was technically within walking distance—surrounded by violent seas (Anarchist Simón Radowitzky, who assassinated Buenos Aires police chief Ramón Falcón 1909, did make a valiant escape attempt). Still, the Argentine government built a solid prison to confine its convicts—or did it?

Cellblocks of the former prison (now the Museo Marítimo)

The prison, which closed in 1947 but reopened as a museum 50 years later, took its architectural inspiration from Philadelphia's Eastern State Penitentiary. Of an initial plan of eight radial cellblocks, only five were completed and it was, in fact, a “prison without walls,” many of whose inmates worked in and for the community. There were violent criminals, such as the serial killer Cayetano Santos Godino, who were confined to small cells, but many others worked on outside projects—some of them dangerous, such as logging in the forests that would eventually become Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego. Others were confinados (political prisoners), such as journalist Ricardo Rojas, who enjoyed “off-campus” housing and could meet with his colleagues away from penal supervision, could purchase better rations, and could even publish accounts of their internal exile in the “Siberia of Argentina.”

Inside the cellblocks

Originally built for timber extraction, the restored railway is now a tourist attraction at the national park.

The prison closed when a consensus developed that Ushuaia’s extreme environment, in a thinly populated area, was not conducive to reintegrating prisoners into society. That said, it was the prisoners whose labor, including building a short-line railway for timber extraction, laid the foundation for what is now the national park in a city that has also become the gateway to Antarctica for a growing fleet of international cruise ships.

The port of Ushuaia is now the gateway to Antarctica for cruise ships.

The prison facilities themselves became a naval base but, as a museum, they’re a visible part of what’s become known internationally as “dark tourism” that also includes similar sights/sites as California’s Alcatraz Island and South Africa’s Robben Island. Again, when I first visited in 1979, this was still to come. The story of how it came to be is engrossing.

This mural of prisoners in Ushuaia is a reality check on what it was like in penal days.

If I have one quibble about this book it’s that, despite the fact that the author was an undergraduate in the Department of Geography at Berkeley, he seems unaware that the author of this review (a Berkeley PhD) had written about Ushuaia in a multitude of guidebooks for various publishers over the last four decades. While I wouldn’t suggest that I have greater insights on the city and its history than his exhaustive research in both primary and secondary sources, an analysis of guidebooks (not just mine) might have added something to the topic of tourism.

(Semi)-Holiday in Patagonia

The harbor of Ushuaia, on the north side of the Beagle Channel

Argentina’s a small country, after all. In Ushuaia after a late arrival from Buenos Aires, my wife María Laura and I took a short walk from our cozy hillside B&B down to Kalma, a sophisticated restaurant whose talented young chef Jorge Monópoli turned out to be her brother’s former physical education student in the northern Patagonian town of Villa Regina. Recently relocated to stylish contemporary quarters, Kalma rewarded us, at day’s end, with creative versions of king crab appetizers, Patagonian toothfish (often called, inaccurately, Chilean sea bass) and Patagonian beef.

Merluza negra (Patagonian toothfish) and vegetables, Kalma, Ushuaia

When I first saw Ushuaia in 1979, as a budget backpacker in the aftermath of the near-war with Chile over the Beagle Channel, it still felt like “the uttermost part of the earth” that the  Fuegian pioneer Lucas Bridges described in his memoir. In the interim, I’ve revisited at least a dozen times but my wife—from Olavarría—hadn’t had the experience of seeing a town grow into a city that’s become a major international destination and the gateway to Antarctica.

Ushuaia's international airport has helped make it the gateway to Antarctica.

In fact, I’ve seen far more of Argentina than she probably ever will. California has been our home for more than three decades, but I’ve made a career out of traveling in the Southern Cone countries and writing about them for several different publishers. I’ve driven hundreds of thousands of kilometers through every Argentine province, but only rarely have we traveled together. In December, though, I had the opportunity to show her some of the places I’ve visited repeatedly while she, with a fixed job, could mostly only dream about.

The hilltop Hotel Arakur, above the city of Ushuaia

The Arakur has its own forest reserve, with hiking trails, on Cerro Alarkén.

That said, I hadn’t seen everything in and around Ushuaia. Two years earlier, a summer snowstorm whiteout had kept me from visiting the hilltop Arakur Ushuaia Resort, but this time we were able to hike through its Cerro Alarkén forest reserve and lunch with views of the Channel. I’d always wanted to hike the steep trail up Cerro Guanaco, in Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego, but my work obligations and the weather had never cooperated until our second full day. Then, we rented a car and drove to the trailhead where a bilingual signpost warned us that “If you are not wearing walking shoes and clothes…” you should not continue.

(Exaggerated) warning sign at the Cerro Guanaco trailhead

A view of the freshwater feature formerly known as Lago Roca

In fact, as we climbed the switchbacks, a chicly kitted porteño couple critiqued my footwear. We received condescending encouragement from younger hikers even though we had reached an overlook, where we could see down the slopes to Lago Acigami (ex-Lago Roca) and across the Channel to Chile’s Isla Navarino, ahead of them. The day’s only regret was that a late start kept us from visiting Harberton, the Bridges family’s historic farm.

Views from the Cerro Guanaco overlook include Chile's Isla Navarino, across the Beagle Channel.

View of the Spegazzini Glacier, on Lago Argentino

From Ushuaia, we flew on to El Calafate, where María Laura’s cousin resides but was leading a foreign tour group elsewhere. We’d both been there before and, because the local tour operator’s rigid guidelines deemed me too aged for a hike on the ice—which I’ve done elsewhere—we declined to visit the Moreno Glacier once again. Instead, we chose a leisurely catamaran day trip on Lago Argentino where, unfortunately, the company’s photographers badgered everyone to order cabin snapshots and park regulations kept our vessel from approaching the Upsala Glacier (though we saw the Spegazzini at audible range). We more enjoyed our stay at the Hotel Kosten Aike, for its quiet comfort, first-rate service and walkability to restaurants like the hybrid wine bar La Zaina, with its rustic décor, and pleasantly surprising pub grub at the Mako Premium Bar.

Hostel Kosten Aike is easy walking distance from nearly of El Calafate's restaurants and other services.

La Zaina is one of El Calafate's best dining (and wining) options.

La Leona is a popular stop along the highway from El Calafate to El Chaltén.

The interior of La Leona includes a snack bar and souvenir shop.

Since we’re avid hikers, my wife had long wanted to visit El Chaltén, so we hired a car to reach Argentina’s “trekking capital.” En route, we stopped for snacks at the photogenic Parador La Leona, a rejuvenated roadhouse that’s retained a certain rusticism even as it’s become a stop for tourist buses en route to Chaltén and points much farther north along Ruta 40. Its current owners, the Kargauer family, have cinema connections and Francis Ford Coppola even paid a visit here.

When Francis Ford Coppola visited La Leona

María Laura on the trail to Cerro Torre (center right in background)

The Hotel Don Los Cerros sits atop a promontory in the middle of El Chaltén.

Even with a late arrival, the long December day permitted her an afternoon hike toward the iconic Cerro Torre—which I’d done several times—as I caught up with some writing at the Don Los Cerros Hotel, a luxury lodge atop a promontory that offers panoramic views of the town and its surroundings. When she returned, we walked down the hill to La Vinería, Chaltén’s only dedicated wine bar, for some empanadas and a glass of Malbec. Even for a village that lives off tourism, the quality of services—both accommodations and food—is remarkable here. My personal favorite is Estepa, where a succulent lamb with a calafate sauce is the specialty.

For fine days, La Vinería has sidewalk seating.

On the road from Lago del Desierto back to El Chaltén

We’re both also avid cyclists and, the next morning, we arranged an excursion with the Travellers’ Hostel Patagonia, which hauls riders and bicycles to Lago del Desierto—an area where Argentine and Chilean forces staged a 1965 firefight over the precise location of the border. Now, a truly adventurous route leads by boat across the lake and then overland into Chile, where another vessel carries cyclists and hikers to the Carretera Austral, Chile’s dazzling Patagonian road.

At what is now Plaza Soberanía, Chilean Carabineros and Argentine gendarmes had a 1965 firefight over the location of the border.

We had neither time nor resources to do that, but we unloaded the bicycles to pedal the 37 kilometers back to Chaltén with the wind at our backs—viento a favor. My friend Javier Vásquez, who organizes the excursion, gave us the option of phoning for a pickup if we tired or the weather worsened, but we were fine until about four kilometers short of town—when María Laura’s bike suffered a flat. As we pushed our bikes back to town, that didn’t flatten our spirits even as the wind worsened and, with rain the next morning, we decided to depart early for El Calafate.

The Olivia Coffee Shop has a fine selection of pastries.

Back in Calafate for a night, we moved uphill to the Hotel La Cantera, which gave us a view of the town and, after dinner at the now classic Casimiro Biguá—where our bill included a 39-peso “covert charge”—a more strenuous climb to burn off the calories. At mid-morning the next day, we met María Laura’s newly returned cousin for brunch at the new Olivia Coffee Shop, where the Scandinavian in me found a delectable cinnamon roll.

I’ve often heard the comment that, doing what I do, “You’re getting paid to be on vacation,” but visiting these places has always been a job—a pleasurable job, but a job nonetheless. That afternoon, though, as we boarded our flight back to Buenos Aires, I felt the satisfaction of having been on a vacation of sorts, or at least having accompanied a loved one on vacation.

Around Ushuaia - Cerro Guanaco & More

Over the past several decades, I’ve made at least ten trips to Ushuaia, often visiting the nearby Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego for its scenic mountains, forests and seashore. I’ve walked many of its trails on day hikes but, until last Friday, the weather had never cooperated for a climb to the slopes of Cerro Guanaco, a 967-meter summit that overlooks Lago Acigami (ex-Lago Roca). For what it's worth, there are no guanacos on this part of the island.

When I first saw Acigami, lenticular clouds hovered above it.

When I first saw Acigami, in early 1979, spectacular lenticular clouds hovered above it and, even though the scan of my old slide may be imperfect, it still brings back fond memories. Later, I hiked the undulating trail along the lake’s north shore to Hito XXIV, a marker that indicates the border between Argentina and Chile (on the Chilean side, its name is Lago Errázuriz). In fact, I have crossed the border there—technically illegally, even if the chances of being apprehended in an utterly unpopulated area are slim (it’s worth mentioning that a Chilean friend, exploring the other side of the border, got lost here, eventually needing help from Ushuaia’s Chilean consulate to return to his own country).

Where the trail divides...

A (somewhat exaggerated) warning at the trailhead

This time, though, my wife and I took the fork that leads along the Arroyo Guanaco and then steeply—very steeply at times—to the summit of the peak. Signs at the trail’s starting point inform hikers that it’s difficult and requires good footwear and clothing, but we found ourselves removing layers in this notoriously capricious climate. Part of it goes through turbales (peatlands) that can get soggy, but there was little evidence of any recent rain—if anything, the rocks and soil along the route were mostly slippery dry. Another hazard was the density of tree roots from the southern beeches that lined the trail—it would be easy to trip over them.

The dense southern beech forests of Cerro Guanaco

We got an early start, around 10 a.m., but before long we found ourselves being passed by younger hikers. That doesn’t especially bother me, as hiking is not a race, but it was annoying that a couple of them found it necessary to share their musical preferences on a quiet backwoods trail. Fortunately, they were fairly quickly out of sight (and audio range), and the rest of the hikers who passed us were polite and quiet.

A footbridge over the Arroyo Guanaco, about midway to the mirador

It’s worth adding that the few signs and trail markers are unclear about the distance and elevation, so we weren’t quite sure what distance was left to the summit. Still, after two hours or so, we came upon a mirador (panoramic point) that gave us views of the lake and surrounding summits, and the end-of-the-road at Bahía Lapataia. It’s there, 3079 km from Buenos Aires’s Plaza de Mayo, that coastal Ruta 3 reaches its terminus.

A view of Acigami and surrounding peaks from the mirador

After a breather at the panoramic point, with our legs and lungs resting from the effort, we decided not to continue to the summit (according to my phone, we had walked only two miles [about 3.2 km] to an elevation of about 1,350 feet [some 410 meters]). That left quite a climb to the top, and we had hoped to visit Estancia Harberton that afternoon but, after a quick lunch at the park’s Alakush visitor center, we decided it was logistically impractical, even with long daylight hours.

A view of Lago Escondido from Paso Garibaldi, on eastbound Ruta 3 from Ushuaia

Perhaps it was a rationalization, but my wife also wanted to visit other sights in the park, such as Lapataia and Bahía Redonda, and we also thought we’d take advantage of our rental car to see the mountains east of Ushuaia, beyond the Harberton turnoff as far as Paso Garibaldi, with its views of Lago Escondido. We eventually returned to our accommodations around 8:30 p.m., in time for dinner at a fine new restaurant—appropriately named Paso Garibaldi!

New in Ushuaia, Paso Garibaldi is an excellent dinner choice.

Two years earlier, on my previous visit to Tierra del Fuego, I had attempted to visit Arakur Ushuaia, a mountainside spa-hotel with panoramic views of the Beagle Channel and the nearby Cordillera Vinciguerra (part of which lies within the national park. At that time, though, I drove into a whiteout snowstorm about halfway up, and that obliged me to return to sea level. With an early departure the next day, I was unable to see the hotel, but this time we had a free morning that allowed us to take their hourly waterfront shuttle to the top.

From its promontory, the Arakur Ushuaia offers expansive views of the city, the Beagle Channel, and other sights.

Though we didn’t stay at the Arakur, we did enjoy a hike through their own hillside Reserva Natural Cerro Alarkén, which offers more than 100 hectares of southern beech forests, peatlands and wildflower literally just outside the hotel’s doors. Later, we sat down to lunch at La Cravia, the main restaurant at a 131-room hotel that houses substantial numbers of cruise ship passengers (Ushuaia’s a key airport for round-the-Horn cruise changeovers and for Antarctica-bound vessels). On this afternoon, though, the cruisers hadn’t yet arrived, and even the spa had only a handful of patrons in its indoor/outdoor pools.

From the Cerro Alarkén reserve, there are both ocean and mountain views.