I cannot move that rock. I can move a smaller one.

One of my favorite Bill Murray roles – other than as the greens-keeper in Caddyshack, of course – has to be his moving portrayal of Hercules softened by many months of inactivity. “If you do not exercise, the muscle turns to flab,” laments the mythic hero as he is challenged to move a massive boulder.

As I walked up the trail, surrounded by the stunning scenery of Torres del Paine National Park, this Saturday Night Live skit came to mind, as the toll of months of sedentary travel manifested itself in my legs, knees and lower back.

Or to be more accurate, it became apparent on day 2, when I tried to lift myself out of bed. Looking for a pull-up bar, I was a bit confounded by a sharp soreness in my lower extremities – nothing three Advil couldn’t handle of course.

So off down the trail we went, for five more days of walking through one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Fitness challenges aside, Torres del Paine is a place everyone should see. The mountains rival the Tetons or El Capitan in terms of sheer size and severity (Estremo, as they say down here). But the location, on the tip of South America, feels more remote by several degrees.

And the refugios inside the park make this wild unspoiled place incredibly comfortable to visit.

Refugios are like backcountry hostels, with restaurants and hot water. While they have their own challenges (to be covered in a moment), they make visiting the backcountry of Torres del Paine as easy as hiking with the clothes on your back – no tents, stoves, cooking pots or other gear required. As people on a long trip without camping gear, the refugios were a godsend for us.

Spaced three to seven hours walk apart, the system within the park works efficiently, leaving me to wonder why we don't have something similar in US parks. Because hiking is required, the RV crowd is left far behind. But without heavy packs, it is possible to cover lots of ground in a day. And cover ground we did, walking over 100km in five days through mountains, forests, meadows and boulder fields.

The primary challenge of refugio life involved sharing a room with 6-8 other strangers. While people were uniformly friendly, on our first night this meant having a woman with a tubercular hack at the foot of my bed. As I ruminated about the diseases festering in the fetid, close quarters, I had ample opportunity to consider the costs and benefits of the refugio. Luckily, our roommates the other nights were mostly fine, other than a bit of snoring.

On the plus side, the refugio experience did renew (as if it was necessary) the awe-inspiring sense of appreciation I have for sharing a room with only Erin – who doesn’t snore even a bit.

As an aside, I observed an interesting cultural phenomenon: Social norms aren’t really well defined in the refugio setting, which feels like a cross between a hotel room, living room and bus station. Most people don’t spend enough time in such settings to develop or understand the norms.

As a result, I had the pleasure of witnessing a bizarre Canadian man sand down his toenails – with a full sheet of sandpaper. As a guy who appreciates a well-groomed finger or toenail, I only regret I did not ask him about the grit number.

Instead, I watched in amazement as he went to work on his digits, which were obviously toughened by the miles walking over scenic Chilean landscape.