BA

It is said to be "Sex with your clothes on" .... the Tango

Buenos Aires …. A city with style, edge and contrasts. Around 40% of Argentinians live in greater BA. There are no suburbs on entering the city, it goes from agricultural farmland growing the huge quantities of beef required to sustain this nation’s meat devouring habit to light industry. Then it’s directly into high density housing in an almost never-ending monotony of grid streets lined with dirty apartment buildings decorated with clean laundry.

Plaza de Mayo

Highway flyovers conduct traffic past the barrios with toll-charging ease. Exits drawing off and adding to the fast moving masses of metal, their pilot’s masters of aggression and arrogance.

selling bongs in front of a copper!!

The streets of the city are filled with every walk of life. Down and out bums litter the occasional doorway shouting a litany of hard edged banter to their neighbour, their well-fed dogs sleeping through the alcohol fuelled exchange. Walls and shutters strung with random graffiti, brickwork and masonry almost impossible to be seen. Some, the simple inelegant tagging known the world over, tarnish on any surface its ‘artists’ touch. Contrasted with this are sides of buildings that are themselves works of art. Occasionally religious, often political but undoubtedly thought out and visually provocative.

All this bordering streets sporting litter and evidence of the cities canine population. But this city also appreciates the beauty and monotony-breaking natural outline of nature as trees, wide boulevards and parks dominate the inner city streetscape.

 

It’s the people that give this city a feel. Hipsters haunt the marketplaces. Their abstract art just as much confusion as their haircuts, their zippered and tied clothing as intriguing as their stares. Browsing the art and antiques is a collection of tourists and well-to-do locals. Vendors sharp eyes cataloguing each browser with practiced discern. Simple rubber-necked tourists or potential buyers, their judgements reflected in their attentiveness.

On the streets a myriad of humanity. Always on show, the Latin passion as a young couple trade harsh words and flailing limbs. Around the corner a community playground filled with screaming kids over-looked by over-weight mothers, their attention more dominated by the local gossip than the shenanigans inside the fenced municipal area.

Meanwhile well-dressed folk walk furry companions, chatting on cell phones and adjusting expensive sunglasses, their canine mates getting some out-of-apartment exercise while giving the street sweepers something to do.

It is a city that feels both beautifully European with its architecture and fashion conscious shoppers as well as edgy, its riot barricades in place around the parliament, not having been removed for 12 years, covered in un-selfconscious slogans. Where else can you have the sensual tango next to a cocaine addicted national football hero?

Argentinian Patagonia

Leaving the Caraterra Austral

We crossed back into Argentina after ten stunningly beautiful days on the Caratera Austral in Chile, and immediately noticed the landscape changing into windswept, barren pampas (plains). We had heard a lot about this stretch of the infamous Ruta 40, which we had already encountered further north (it runs the whole length of the country ) 

Back on the Ruta 40

Here, it was supposed to be rough and bumpy, with howling gales thrown into the mix. However, it seemed that the Argentine road workers had been busy, and most of the 40 down here in the south had been paved. But there was nothing the road workers could do about the weather. This weather is a topic I will visit time and time again in this entry – it really had such a major impact on everything we did, how we felt and where we went.

Notice something? No trees. The wind had blown them all away.

The first day heading south, I was wrapped up as much as I possibly could be (I counted 31 individual items that I was wearing) but still I was shivering as we made our way. Stopping for a quick break on the side of the road I actually lay down on the ground next to the bike to get out of the wind. A man in an empty tour van pulled up to ask if  everything was OK, when we told him it was just cold, he offered me a lift to the next town. I thanked him, but was determined not to take the easy way out –all for one, one for all, and I was going to stick with Mark and Zorra. The tour guy then did the only other thing he could think of, offered us plastic shopping bags to put over our hands. Fine for me, but not so useful for Mark riding the bike. For the record, the shopping bags did nothing except flap around in the wind for the next 80km, where we stopped for a blessedly hot coffee.

Eventually we had to tear ourselves away from the warm rest stop and get back on the bike for the next 218km stretch, to the next ‘blip’ on the map, the small town of Gobernador Gregores. The road was smooth, the wind was surprisingly still, but boy was it cold. I peeked over Marks shoulder and watched Zorras thermostat drop degree by degree,8,7,6,5.. Could it go any lower? 4,3.. THREE DEGREES!?!? What the hell were we doing out here? But there was nowhere to stop so on we went. Soon it actually started snowing. Horizontally. This was not fun for a tropical Cairns girl, and I can only imagine it was worse for Mark.

It was 3 Degree people!! Taken just after the snow storm.

Before we reached G.G. we also encountered 4 hail storms and some horizontal rain. There was no question, we were staying in a hotel that night. And the next 3 nights. I put my foot down!

The next morning dawned clear and slightly warmer, so we headed off to El Chalten, a small trekkers village set at the base of Mt Fitzroy a jagged peak in National Park Los Glaciers. We could see the range from over 100km away because the surrounding landscape was so flat. Stopping to take some photos on the way into town proved prudent, as we never actually saw the peaks again over the next 3 days.  

The ride into Chalten - Mt FitzRoy

After spending all but one day of the past few weeks in the tent, it was nice to splurge a little on a BnB. We had a cozy meal in a microbrewery and the next day went for a hike up into the hills. Early in the day, the hiking trails were full of Europeans, but by the afternoon, the Argentines had dragged themselves out of bed and joined the rest of us on the trail! It was a nice hike, but there was no ‘wow factor’ probably because the hovering clouds hid the spectacular peaks.

on the trail...

the town of El Chalten

a VERY early morning and walk up a steep hill rewarded me with this site

.. and this sunrise...

Next stop, and only 220km away by road was the Perito Moreno Glacier. One of the most breathtaking vistas on the entire trip so far, this blue-hued, mammoth hunk of ice stands 60 metres high, stretches 5km across the face of a lake, and continues to move forward, down from the mountains at a rate of up to 2 metres per day. This excess ice breaks of in huge chunks and crashes down into the lake below.  Before you actually see any visible evidence of an imminent break appear in the ice, the sound of cracking reverberates around the valley, as internal fissures widen. It was though the whole ice massive was alive.

this glacier is 60m tall!

Back at the campsite that night, we made a decision. Enough of this ice and snow. Enough of the wind and cold. We had planned to continue south into Southern Chilean Patagonia to hike for4 or 5 days in the Torres del Paine National Park, but with the weather for the next week forecasting 3-8 degrees, high winds and daily rain, we decided to give it a miss. The next morning we change our trajectory and head north and east. Somewhere in that distant direction was glorious warmth.

Before we could start north, we had to cross Argentina to the Atlantic coast. Down this far south, the South American continent is quite narrow, and it was only a little over 200km from West to East. This dirt road track took a day to ride, and we saw little more than a few estancia (ranch or station) houses. This is the real Patagonia, that few camera toting tourists see. Long stretches of nothingness. We couldn’t even work out what these people were farming out here  -  it was all fenced along the roadside, but we saw no livestock and no crops, only countless Guanacos (Patagonian llama like animals) and Rheas (emu like birds). 

a whole lot of nothing, because you can't take a photo of the wind!

mini Emus!

The next leg of the journey was the Ruta 3, the national highway, perfectly paved, that runs all the way from Tierra del Fuego in the south to Buenos Aires. We joined this road at km 2400 – the countdown distance to Buenos Aires. This route is known to be long, straight, scenically boring and full of big trucks. As we headed north, the temperature rose, but unfortunately the wind remained unabated.  

We took a 5 day break in the town of Camerones (translates to Prawns in Spanish). Our guide book nominated this town as ‘the sleepiest coastal town in Patagonia’ and this suited us just fine. The campground was close to the water, a relatively sheltered bay surrounded by pebbled beaches. The campground restaurant served piled plates of calamari and prawns, which we feasted on daily.  And the sky remained clear and dry. 

Camarones

Camarones

Sunset at Camarones

Sunset at Camarones

We took a day trip to a nearby headland to visit a penguin colony. I had been wanting to spot these cute little creatures since we missed them in the Galapagos back in June. 

romantic?

off for dinner in their 'suits'

Penguins and Guanaco

After 5 relaxing days, we realised we had to continue north. For one of the first times on this trip we have a few deadlines – a motorbike travellers meeting at Iguazu Falls on February 22 and a flight to visit Australia leaving from Rio on March 6. In a way these deadlines are good, otherwise we would proably find ourselves still in South America in 3 years time – they keep us moving along!

We had a quick stop at Peninsula Valdes, a World Heritage site jutting out into to Atlantic Ocean. For 6 months of the year there is amazing whale watching here – Southern Right Whales that come so close to shore that you can view them clearly from the beach. Our timing didn’t coincide with this event, but there was still plenty of other wildlife to see.

Peninsular Valdez

Armadillo

C'mon Orcas, look at all those tasty baby seals!

That's why they are called sea LIONS

There were lots of penguins, sea lions and elephant seals, and the real drawcard, the orcas. Each year in February/March the orcas (killer whales) put on a real show here, beaching themselves among the sea lion colonies to grab a furry seal snack! Mark really wanted to see this spectacle, so we headed across the rough gravel road of the peninsula (210km round trip) to the potential sighting spots. 

No Luck. Not an orca to be seen, although we met an Aussie couple who a few hours earlier had watched the orcas stalking the seals close to a beach. For us, the Peninsula Valdes was a bit a disappointment – a waste of money, time and effort. This is a bit of a jaded attitude, but I think we were just so spoilt with our time in the Galapagos that the wildlife experience in other places just doesn’t cut it. I think the fact that the roads were exceptionally tough to ride (we were lucky that the bike only went down once in the deep gravel), causing Mark stress and me a little nervousness didn’t help the matter.

We got our morning yogurt out of our 'fridge', the river. It was stuck on a branch, these guys are the helpful Argentinian navy. There's a joke there somewhere.

After Peninsula Valdes it was a straight boring ride of around 1400km up to Buenos Aires – the big smoke. After so long in nature, it would be interesting to be back in a city again. 

Into the roaring 40's

It was with a heavy heart that we said our goodbyes to our awesome hosts, Susan, Dave and Tiv and hit the road, southward bound.

After almost a month in San Rafael and Mendoza with few kms ridden, we now had a date on our calendar. So far we had succeeded with keeping our temporal movement around the continent organic. That is to say, have no deadlines, let the road and our mood determine the pace of travel. With a March 6^th flight booked out of Rio for a quick trip home, we now had not only an immovable duration, but thousands of kms to ride if we wanted to visit the southern part of the continent. It was this part of South America that had long fascinated me, the cold, windy yet by all accounts, stunningly beautiful Patagonia. Not only had I heard of brutal weather conditions but road states to match. I was half excited, half worried, half nonchalant (last half was my ‘manly’ side!)

To date we had clocked up 17,000kms on the journey so far. This was in 10 months on the road and now we had to knock out around another 10,000 or so within 8 weeks. It was time to become ‘real’ motorcycle travellers. Many of the motojeros we had met on the road had either finished their journey or were returning north by now while we found any excuse to pause and get comfortable. For the last time in what we expected to be around 2 months we got out of a bed that had legs under a roof that was supported by walls and shrugged off the inertia that we had readily embraced.

First stop was the Lakes District of Argentina, 1000kms south. Rarely do we do more than 400kms a day but this was about to change and on the first day we clocked up two milestones, longest day on the bike and crossed into the official region of Patagonia. Almost as soon as we saw the sign the wind picked up. Caused by cold air from the glaciated peaks of the Andes rushing down to fill the void left by the rising hot air off the eastern plains, this wind is famous, or should I say infamous. Apparently there are days when there is no breeze at all, I liken this to finding chicken lips. By 6pm, with the sun still high in the sky in these southern latitudes, we still had time and energy to go on but the cross-wind saw us pull over and find a small stream to camp beside. Here we learnt a valuable lesson, finding proper shelter for the tent will help avoid sleepless nights of flapping nylon and mini dust storms in your sleeping bag.

View from near the camp site

 My hope for a windless morning was blown away by the raging easternly gale made worse by the crossing of a mountain pass and hairpin turns by midmorning. The wind was steadily worsening and by the time we reached the small decrepit town of Zapala, dust was obscuring the sky and streetlight poles were bending like glow sticks. A study of the map and I knew that the next 150kms would be a hellish blend of swirling crosswind, dust and oncoming traffic. I was not proven wrong as sudden gusts would push us over 2 metres sideways and unfortunately into the opposite lane. It was nerve-wracking stuff, my whole body tensed and ready for an unexpected jolt, forever hoping that it wouldn’t coincide with a passing truck, car or chicken.

The 2 and a half hours passed painfully slowly until finally we pulled into our destination, Junin de los Andes. We planned to camp in the national park by a huge, beautiful fresh water lake, overlooked by a 1700m high snow-capped volcano. What we got instead was cold icy wind carrying stinging mist and rain dropped by low, dirty, scurrying clouds and the chance to pay over triple the normal entrance fee because we didn’t have the right passport. The two tier fee structure in some countries annoys me beyond belief. I understand that the local population pay taxes that help fund the national parks but I too have been paying tax on the fuel I need, the food I eat and the items I buy, asking now for exorbitant, triple the normal fee is simply poorly disguised extortion. So we found a lovely campsite 300m from the entrance next to a crystal clear stream brimming with trout. It was free and came fully equipped with three black dogs for Carlie amusement.

The lake the next morning.

Blacky I, II, and III

The next couple of days we wandered through the area visiting the different lakes and waterfalls, camping next to some, riding past others, each turn in the road opening a new vista to behold. The water in the lakes looked amazing; clear, hues of blue unimaginable and varied. The almost irresistible invitation to swim just as appealing as the water was bone chillingly cold. Still, if we wanted to remain with some semblance of hygiene we had to brave the waters at least once a day.

Another perfect campsite

OK, there was some rain!

Inspiration for he movie Avatar

cooking Argentinian style, todays' menu - fresh river-caught salmon

The view from one of our campsites.

Near Bariloche, a very expensive/touristy place!

sunrise on Lago Trafel

Local wildlife

 And trees! It hadn’t been since Ecuador that we had been in a real forest; Peru, Bolivia and northern Argentina, while their beauty lies in that stark rawness and jaggedness that epitomizes high altitude mountains and plains, for us just couldn’t compare with the oxygen rich, chloroform heavy embrace of dense woodland. Maybe it was this aspect or the fact that I hadn’t had a beer in three days but my head was filled with confusion.

sunset, somewhere, nice, calm, and bloody cold!

Looks nice, but no swimming!

One night in the touristy Bariloche and it was time to head once more over the border and into Chile. The rear tyre on the bike had just celebrated its 18,000km birthday and was looking as worn as grandpas old socks and Orsorno was the place to get it changed. In the past I have waxed lyrically on the challenges of border crossings. The almost comical requirements, lining up, disgruntled government workers and inevitable language difficulties have made for good writing material. I am older and wiser now, I would rather just have a painless interaction with officialdom and then write about the pancakes I had for breakfast. That said, the crossing was uneventful and my morning meal a real delight. 

Chileans on one side, Argentinians the other, you choose which is which!

just across the border into Chile

I couldnt decide which picture I liked the best

The good people at Motoaventura were super friendly and the tyre was changed and my money was spent, painless apart from that. They are a BMW dealer and offered us free coffee and biscuits while we waited. I had to quickly tell them that I am a Suzuki rider and that I could not be persuaded otherwise by any amount of complimentary refreshments.

Before and after!

So again we pointed the bike in a southerly direction. The weather so far, apart from the first day in Patagonia, had been nothing short of spectacular. Clear skies, hot sun, cold nights and the trend looked set to continue. Passing through the last town of any note, Puerto Montt, I miss judged the availability of fuel and we would need to return to town if wanted to avoid pushing a 300kg motorbike. On the off chance that we could find a campsite nearby we headed down a disused road following a camping sign. The place looked immaculate, and empty. It had a cute little puppy for Carlie the sun was setting perfectly. The owner however decided that he would require 15,000 pesos, or $30 for us to camp the night. Yea, $30 to pitch a single tent, flush a toilet or two and maybe 3 minutes of hot water. I almost dog napped the puppy to teach him a lesson as we headed back into town. As we passed through towards the gas station I spotted a small café that specialized in artesianial craft beer with tables sitting comfortably on the side walk. The decision was made, we would luxuriate in a hotel for the night before tackling the Caraterra Austral.

first night on the road and Zora was in need of two bolts that hold the back plate on, these roads are rough!

It was this road, the CA, that I had been reading about for near on two years, since we first decided on South America as our starting point. Stretching around 1000kms along the thin spine of Chile, it starts at the 42^nd parallel and requires both terrestrial and water modes of transport to complete. 

getting on the ferry

our ferry coming into port

And when it does finish, there is no crossing into Argentina nor any further to go, just one big dead end. But that doesn’t stop travellers from seeking out its mysteries as it winds through glaciated valleys, between mountain peaks crested with blinding snow, quaint harbours settled by German immigrants, massive ice fields and thick, near impenetrable forests. Not to mention the countless waterfalls, lakes and fishing opportunities. The only down sides, the potential for seriously horrendous weather and road conditions that would have my teeth either gritted or chattering uncontrollably on the corrugations. The list of places, lakes and campsites is long; better just to look at the pictures!

I found myself riding slowly just to make the moment last longer!

They don't think it is too cold

Huge valleys formed by glacier movement

Nice roads, but stay in the tyre tracks or it's loosey goosey

This was a walking track into an extinct volcano

Takin' a break!

Every corner a new view.