Luis Fernando Verissimo: de ‘filho do Erico’ a comentarista consagrado da realidade nacional

Argentina's wild new coastal escape

Argentina's newest park blends marine protection with local-led tourism,mali jogo offering wild swims, eco-lodges and a thriving new future for a once-overlooked coastline.

From my window seat on the three-hour flight from Buenos Aires to Comodoro Rivadavia, I watched the land shift from green to gold. Lush river delta gave way to straw-coloured steppe, eventually turning a vivid cobalt where high desert meets the sea. I was heading to Patagonia Azul, a newly declared provincial park on Argentina's South Atlantic coast.

This is not the Patagonia of postcards. There are no snow-capped peaks, trout-filled lakes or gleaming glaciers. Instead, this protected territory stretches across more than three million hectares – nearly the size of Yosemite – where arid plains collapse into a rugged, wind-battered coast.

Patagonia Azul is one of South America's most recent marine conservation efforts. More than 60 islands and islets rise from the Atlantic here, forming the most biodiverse stretch of Argentina's coastline. Long gravel roads cut through remote hills where guanacos graze and elusive pumas roam, while the sea harbours kelp forests, sea lion colonies, penguins, dolphins and four whale species.

Just 200 nautical miles offshore lies the edge of Argentina's Exclusive Economic Zone, a boundary closely monitored but frequently breached by foreign industrial fishing fleets, drawn by the region's rich marine life. The designation of Patagonia Azul as a provincial park in April 2025, covering both land and sea, aims to spotlight this undervisited coast as a model for immersive, sustainable tourism and protection.

Historically, aside from marine biologists and intrepid surfers, Patagonia Azul hasn't attracted many crowds. But now, with eco-lodges, gourmet local cuisine and guided adventures, this coast is poised for change.

Attracting visitors takes a holistic approach that blends conservation, designation and community. To protect and expand public land, Rewilding Argentina, a nonprofit born from the Tompkins Conservation legacy, began acquiring vast, often neglected ranches around a Unesco Biosphere Reserve, which was officially designated in 2010. Their goal: to create a protected corridor along the Patagonian coast. For more than four years, they've worked with local governments, trained community guides and built infrastructure to support low-impact tourism.

What: Patagonia Azul, Argentina's newest provincial park

Where: A maritime park on the coast of Chubut Province

Why go: A protected portion of sea and coastline, great for hiking, horse riding, snorkelling, wild swimming and dining

When to go: Open between October-April each year

How to get there: By private vehicle or tours arranged through the park

How much: All-inclusive rustic luxury accommodations, gourmet meals and tours packages are

US$200 per day per person. Camping in three designated campgrounds is free.

How to book: www.rewildingexperience.com

"Becoming a provincial park brings national and international recognition for what we're doing. It highlights the importance of protecting the sea," said María Mendizabal, the park's tourism coordinator.

Rewilding Argentina has significant experience transforming remote places. The nonprofit, which also manages three other official parks across the country, acquires land around protected areas, brings in specialists and supports species recovery. In Patagonia Azul, the focus is on safeguarding the existing ecosystem, whereas in northern provinces its work centres on reintroducing species such as jaguars, giant anteaters and river otters.

"It meant working with the local people, park authorities, the municipality and the province," Mendizabal said of the recent designation. "This wasn't a destination; we had to start from scratch. Even locals didn't always see it as theirs. Our goal was to help them feel proud of it. For this to work, it has to be their park, too."

Still, reaching Patagonia Azul isn't easy. After landing in Comodoro Rivadavia, a coastal oil city better known for fossil fuels than tourism, it was a three-hour drive north on highway and dirt roads, crossing scrubland. There were no signs, no towns, no steady mobile phone signal. Only wind and the horizon.

Marine biologist Marti Zaffino met me for a hike along wind-scoured rocks overlooking the ocean. She works for the park and guides visitors on hikes, wildlife outings and ocean swims, moving across the rocky landscape with quiet confidence.

It may have been the most remote coastline I'd ever visited. As I took in the sky, the shimmering sea and tidepools filled with rainbows of algae, I had the feeling of being on the edge of the world. Below the cliffs, Zaffino handed me a wetsuit. The water was frigid. But she needed to collect sea lettuce for our dinner. She dove in, agile, without a snorkel.

I followed her into the ocean, wading awkwardly in my borrowed gear. My feet and head soon adjusted to the cold and I floated in a golden kelp forest, the blades swaying rhythmically in the current, surrounded by flashes of silver fish and glistening ribbons of green. After we emerged from the water, Zaffino poured hot water over a gourd filled with yerba maté, the ever-present herbal drink in Argentina, and shared how her love for this coast began.

"My parents used to take me to the coast of Chubut for holidays, and during one of those trips, I had my first dive in open water," she said. "I was 13 years old, and during that dive, I had an encounter with two whales. They appeared right in front of me. You can imagine how powerful that was. I felt tiny, swimming in the vastness of the sea beside these giants. It was amazing, and I've never forgotten that feeling."

The maté and conversation flowed into the evening, later replaced with Patagonian pinot noir at Isla Leones Camps, one of two eco-lodges operating inside the park boundaries. Solar-powered and plastic-free, the camp accommodates up to 12 guests and offers stargazing, daily hikes and home-cooked meals made with local ingredients. My tiny house overlooked the bay, whose rhythms serenaded my sleep.

The next day, Zaffino and I joined the Patagonia Azul team heading out by boat to the island of Isla Leones, to observe the sea lion colony there and visit the old lighthouse. Just 100 years ago, sea lions, whales and penguins were slaughtered for their fat to burn in oil lamps as far away as Paris. Today, the island is deserted but for their thriving colonies.

Later we drove two hours south through the park to the newly opened Marisma Camps, which offers cosy luxury with room for 15 people, with special options for horseback rides with Rewilding staff and sweeping sea views.

At Marisma, guests eat communally in sunlit dining rooms and enjoy steppe-inspired cuisine prepared by local chef Carola Puracchio. She also owns AMAR Algas, a culinary project based in the small seaside town of Camarones, bordering one of the park's four entrance points, where she crafts seaweed-based snacks and meals using ingredients sourced directly from the Atlantic.

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"Harvesting food from the sea is in my essence," Puracchio said. "I grew up this way, gathering and eating what the ocean gave us."

Her dishes include seaweed pasta, muffins, mussels, clams and mint-wakame ice cream. Each is simultaneously inventive and deeply rooted in tradition. Camarones itself is a key partner in this vision. Its residents are involved in every aspect of the park, from running lodging and cooking meals to guiding visitors across tidal flats and windswept cliffs. Fresh vegetables grown in greenhouses here are used in the kitchens in both camps.

"People have long seen this part of Patagonia as inhospitable and difficult, with long distances," Puracchio said, "but these are places full of life, of joy, of discovery and of things worth protecting."

True conservation on this coast is about living within the project itself and creating something lasting, where communities and wildlife thrive together. Tourism becomes a tool, not a threat.

On my final day, I rode a horse along a seemingly endless and empty strip of beach. Whale bones washed ashore reminded me how untouched this place truly is. As the Sun set over Bahía Bustamante, electric magenta and violet-coloured clouds swept overhead and I understood why those working to build this park believe so deeply in it. The future, here, is made minute by minute, by people who protect what they love.

That evening, I took a hot shower, drank Patagonian wine by a fire, spotted the Southern Cross constellation in the sky and enjoyed the luxury of a warm bed in an undiscovered place. In a world grappling with ecological loss and climate anxiety, Patagonia Azul is intentional and reassuring. It's a place that offers not just escape, but vision and commitment.

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