Impressions of BA

One could easily feel adrift in a city like Buenos Aires. The anonymity that comes in a population center of over 10 million people attracts some and surely depresses others. For me, newly arrived, unable to understand the unique dialect spoken by the Porteños, and used to small town familiarity, Buenos Aires can seem cold and rather unfriendly. There are no nods of recognition and only rather rare passing smiles between strangers on the sidewalk or in the subway. But I knew all this coming in. It is no different from New York or Paris or any other major metropolis.

To keep me going and upbeat until I meet more people and/or begin to work a little, I am exploring, observing, and just being. My knowledge of Buenos Aires is very superficial and it will remain superficial when I return to the US. Three months are not enough time to get to know even rural communities in a meaningful way. Recently, I have taken a couple long walks with little more in mind than seeing what is around me, getting a bit of exercise, and enjoying the gradual slide into Autumn marked by yellowing trees and little clusters of dried leaves to kick through on the sidewalk.

A walk up the sidewalk (dodging dog doo) on the major street of Lacroze in my Chacarita neighborhood leads one past cafes, grocery stores, little kiosks, bakeries, fruit stands, clothing stores, pizza and empañada restaurants, and parillas. Everything one needs to get by. Parillas are a particularly Argentine institution. These restaurants serve up what Argentina is perhaps best known for - meat. Beef, chicken, pork, sausages including blood sausage - sometimes all of it served on a single heaping plate or on a mini-grill that is brought to your table... It's a wonder there aren't more fat Porteños. Maybe Dr. Atkins's diet was inspired here and not in the laboratory. My budget and taste keep me from indulging in such meaty hedonism, but a simple choripan or sausage sandwich for lunch (for less than two dollars) is becoming more than just an occasional treat for me.

The plethora of cafes reflect the Buenos Aires coffee culture. Elsewhere in Argentina, yerba matte, a type of green tea cultivated northwest of here since the 1700s, seems like essential fuel for Argentines. Indeed, gas stations and any place where Argentines are likely to stop have hot water spigots to fill the thermoses that are carried by seemingly everyone. In Buenos Aires, this tea culture is less obvious, although a quick look at a grocery store aisle packed with nothing but bags of tea shows that perhaps yerba is widely drank here too. Still, coffee is king here in BA. As one would expect in a city with European roots, espresso (called a cortado, and frequently served with a touch of milk) is perhaps most popular. Even as I write, I am sitting at a very special cafe (Museo Fotográfico Simik) across the street from my apartment. The windows, as is the norm here, are wide open to the sidewalk and the expectation (if not preference) is that coffee or beer sippers will sit there for hours while chatting with a friend, skimming a newspaper, or reading a novel (in my case, Richard Price's Lush Life). Starbucks is, of course, present here. I counted at least five during my walk down Avenida Corrientes yesterday. I don't believe, though, that it's putting much pressure on the competition.

(Note: Just now it sounded as if gunshots were being fired outside the cafe - at least four very loud pops. People are gawking and looking around for the perpetrator. I just asked an officer about it. Nothing but a backfiring motor!)

A number of groups of people have stood out for me in my comings and goings. The subway train is the site of some rather unique, but sad commerce. Young men can frequently be seen and heard selling random, small items on the train. The men will walk along and place the item in each seated person's lap. When they reach the far end of the car, they turn around and either pick up the cash for the item or the item itself if it isn´t wanted (which is usually the case). The men are not nuisances. They are a sad reminder of the poverty here. More tragic - I have recently seen a couple elderly men handing out religious trinkets using the same process. I was struck how these well-kempt men looked like they could have been businessmen or professionals of some sort not too long ago. These men and the dramatic dips in Argentina's economy in the last 30 plus years make Argentines especially mindful of the ephemeral nature and the dark sides of economic booms.

Almost every evening after the sun has set, the night streets of BA bustle with cartoneros - people who sift through the garbage and remove all the cardboard, which they then sell to companies that recycle paper fiber. Competing against each other for the greatest take, whole families of cartoneros hurriedly rip open garbage bags and throw the cardboard together into huge sacks that are then rolled away atop big two-wheel carts pulled usually by lanky, but muscular teenage boys or early 20 something men.

(For much more on Cartoneros, check out this documentary about them. It is very well done. Thanks go to the anonymous person who shared it with me!)

On a very different human note, there are over 250,000 Jews in BA. Buenos Aires, after New York, is home to more Jewish people than any city outside Israel. I am sure most Jewish people here are invisible, but it is not at all rare to see men wearing yarmulkas or to see either sex wearing traditional orthodox garb. I have yet to see if they are concentrated anywhere in the city. That's another thing to investigate.

The city does not quiet at night. Young people on noisy motorbikes are still cruising, garbage trucks are making their rounds, buses deliver riders all night long, and emergency vehicles can be heard any time of the day (although not more often than in any other big city). But for a bit of visual peace, just look up. This is an enormous city, but some stars are still visible. I can sit on the roof terrace and see Orion and the Southern Cross.

In general, I have been impressed with the air clarity here. Granted, it is not summer, but I still have not seen an ugly brown layer hanging overheard nor gotten headaches from too much ozone. Very few trucks belch out much smoke and people really do use buses and the subway. Maybe the air will get even clearer in the future. I think bicycling will grow here. The few enlightened young people and the poor who currently ride bikes have to put up with and look out for some fairly inconsiderate car drivers (I actually smacked the side of a car today that drove too close to me as I crossed a street - I don't know what got into me!). But there are already a few designated bike lanes here and this is a city without any hills. Bicyclist heaven!

Alas, another long entry. I hope you enjoyed it.

Making My Way In BA

Yesterday was April Fools Day and it was no joke. A couple significant things transpired - I will tell you about them later.

I am still in Buenos Aires. At this moment I am seated comfortably in the home of Stafford and Fernando in one of Buenos Aires's nicest neighborhoods, Belgrano. It is a holiday today, a memorial day of sorts for the people and the pride and opportunity lost in Argentina's 1983 fight for the Falkland Islands. The long weekend is a great opportunity to get out of the big city, so this well-to-do wooded neighborhood is even quieter than usual. Stafford is the younger brother of a dear colleague from my year teaching at the Leelanau School. Molly wrote to me as I approached BA that I should definitely meet up with him. He and his partner have been hugely helpful to me.

Stafford and I met about a week ago, probably the day after my previous blog post. I took my first ride in BA's underground (the Subte) to Belgrano and walked somewhat awestruck up his beautiful, quiet, tree-lined street. Stafford took me on a walking tour of the surrounding neighborhood which is home to numerous interesting architecture styles, grand high rise apartment buildings, and stately embassies (the German one being the largest). We concluded the walk with a delicious coffee at one of the many sidewalk cafes. At that moment, I knew that I could not turn my back on Buenos Aires. Santiago is a very nice city, but BA is a great one.

Time to start looking for apartments. Years and years ago in Paris, Paul Miotke and I would daily check the bulletin board at the Eglise Americaine for apartment offers. It was a hassle, but it was good to be out walking and exploring as we made the pilgrimage to the church each day. Nowadays people search for things they want on the internet. I used Craigslist, Mercado Libre, and Airbnb to find offers and then emailed my interest. As I checked the offerings and then waited for responses, I became a rather sedentary being at my hostel - barely straying outdoors for a couple days unless it was to check an apartment or get food.

Those days seemed a bit gloomy. Hostel life was getting to me. Nick and Ivanka had left, there were only a few people I was really chatty with, I was getting shifted from room to room, and some of the people in the rooms were rather inconsiderate when going out at 1am and returning drunk at 5 or 6am (BA just might be the latest city in the world). My wardrobe was getting to me - same clothes every day, simply because I don't have any more. By far the most significant factor contributing to this gloominess was news from back in Saint Johnsbury. A lovely colleague, Melissa Jenkins, was murdered by a local married couple. The death of this 33 year old single mother and the unfathomable motives and cruelty of the killers has left everyone who had some connection to Melissa at a total loss. Suddenly, the world seems to be devoid of meaning and logic (even evil logic!).

But life goes on and so did my apartment search. In one day I looked at rooms in three apartments. I could have taken one, but it was dumpy - the landlord never responded to my lower offer. The other two didn't select me because I am only staying until the end of June.

Fortunately, Stafford and Fermando had invited me to stay with them. I have a comfy bed here, great company, both my hosts appreciate great food and drink (Stafford's beef carpaccio is amazing!), Fernando is tutoring me in Spanish, and I have internet access any time I want it.

So, it was with tempered optimism that I visited two more apartments yesterday. The first was across town in a much poorer neighborhood. The rooming arrangement there would not allow me to have visitors and the surrounding area lacked cafes, bakeries, and good food stores. Too bad, because the price was right. At six, I met with Nicole in her apartment about 12 blocks from Belgrano. The walk there brought me past numerous restaurants, cafes, ice cream shops, stores, and internet cafes. The neighborhood (Chacarita) lacks the polish, but also the slightly pretentious feel of Belgrano. So far, so good. The apartment is simple and clean. The roof is open for lounging and visiting. Nicole and I discussed arrangements, what it will be like sharing her apartment, and rent. We agreed upon a very fair monthly rate. We would speak again the next day to finalize things. My 30 minute walk back to Belgrano seemed to take seconds as all the sights and sounds and smells of this neighborhood now had a new meaning.

The evening was not over. Stafford had invited a few friends over for dinner. Delphine (a French expat) and Graham and Brenda (he is from the US, she is Argentine) made for great company. Graham and Brenda own a lovely little hotel in downtown BA (http://www.hotelpatios.com/) and mentioned that they need another receptionist. Stafford knew that the compensation is a free room, so he immediately said I might be interested. Indeed I was!

But what a conflict: Should I take the room in the cool, slightly gritty Chacarita or should I take free lodging and a job and live in a business and tourist district? I visited the hotel this morning and Graham understood why I was torn. The solution? I will take the room in Chacarita and then, when Graham and Brenda are out of town in May, I will supervise the hotel. I am thrilled! If I want to leave Chacarita, I can, but if I want to stay, I may.

All is well in Buenos Aires. No joke.

From Ushuaia to Buenos Aires

I should have known. Just after labelling northern Tierra del Fuego as boring (in my previous blog entry), Nick, Ivanka and I had a great drive through the same area. We left Ushuaia late morning, wound our way through the surrounding mountains and followed Ruta 3 northeast. The wind battered us the whole way to the border. Leaning against gale force winds so as not to be blown over or off the road was exhausting. Cooking up some coffee during a roadside break was impossible, as our cookers' flames would just blow out.

It was in that fatigued and wary state-of-mind that we reached the border, crossed over into Chile and once again faced the loose gravel roads of northern Tierra del Fuego. We decided against the same roads we took going south and so pushed inland a bit more this time. At the first crossroad, we asked a surveyor which way to go. He pointed up the smaller road. Hm. To our great relief, this was a dirt road more than a gravel one, so the driving was much more pleasant. Better yet, the wind died down. We passed only a couple pickups on this road, otherwise it was ours alone...along with occasional flocks of geese (they were also going north), guanacos (one of which ran just ahead of us thinking we were chasing it), and a rancher and his dogs herding sheep. This narrower road felt cozier and turned spectacular in a subtle way as we descended into a shallow valley that seemed very significant in this otherwise flat land. The ride became adventurous again when confronted with a little brook blocking our way. There was no quick way to gauge its depth or seek obstacles, so being on the bike with the lighter load, I shrugged my shoulder and cranked the throttle. Water somehow managed to fly up over my windshield. Exhilarated, I hopped off my bike and photographed Nick and Ivanka doing the same.

We were relieved to reach pavement again and then the Straits of Magellan and to have caught the day's last ferry. The sun had set before we reached the northern shore. We pushed on into the dark hoping to reach Rio Gallegos across the border in Argentina. Just before the border it started to rain and our vision was rather limited. So, at the border we asked where we could camp, as driving was unsafe for us. The boss told us we could sleep in the next building just outside the bathrooms. It was a bit smelly, but it was warm and secure. And free!

In Rio Gallegos, Ivanka needed to Skype with her boss. We needed a cafe with wifi. We parked to begin looking for such a place by foot. Out of nowhere, Mark appeared. He and Kevin and Andre had slept right across the street. While laughing about the coincidence, Adrian drove by.

I was worried about my bike's front end. Something did not feel right, but a quick inspection the previous day turned up nothing. There was a squeak too, but we figured it was just the front brake. I asked Mark to take a quick look and he showed that he could wiggle the front wheel from side to side. My nearly new wheel bearings were shot. Adrian also had to get work done, so we found the local bike shops and ordered the repairs.

The ride up Ruta 3 is a long one...nearly 2000 miles. It follows Argentina's eastern coast and is known for relentless winds and a rather featureless (dare I say 'boring'?) landscape. Indeed, the winds were constant and usually perpendicular to our path or against us, almost never at our backs, and the landscape was flat, flat, flat. There were very few trees but lots of scrub brush. It was during the long hours of driving through here that it dawned upon me that the wind is the reason all the trees in southern Chile and Argentina have such tiny leaves. Bigger ones would simply blow away. Nevertheless, to declare this whole region of steppe boring is a grave injustice to the coast. We visited two national parks (Monte Leon and Peninsula Valdez) with spectacular shorelines, tremendous tides (up to 12 meters!), and wildlife - penguins, seals, sea lions and elephants, whales, and orcas. The whale calving season was way past, but we saw magellan penguins, seals, both sea lions and elephants, and we hoped to see orcas rush the beach to snatch a seal snack. The orcas were a no show in both parks, but we still very much enjoyed the natural beauty of these places.

Rain is a seldom visitor to this region, but we drove through when they reportedly received more rain than in any other single storm in over five years. It still did not seem like all that much, but it was certainly impressive to watch the dark clouds roll by and to see how rain would fall straight down from a cloud and then suddenly turn 45 degrees at the elevation where the wind hit it. On Peninsula Valdez we witnessed heavenly art as distant rain mixed with the purples and oranges of the setting sun.

This treeless land is also nearly people-less in many places. Camping was difficult with the crazy winds and fence enclosed ranches. So, our new campgrounds were the isolated gas stations/truck stops along Ruta 3. This was ideal. We could stock up on drinking and cooking water, get a snack, and sit in the small dining areas (after we had eaten our own feasts) and play scrabble.

Slowly, the land transformed. Just south of San Antonio we encountered cultivated land. Fields of sunflowers welcomed us as did the smell of freshly unearthed onions. North of Viedma, Ruta 3 is lined on both sides by vast green farmland with occasional patches of trees. It reminded me of very flat sections of Michigan or what Iowa might look like. Compared to the unforgiving steppe of Patagonia, I felt very at home here.

One more national park was on our list - the Parque National Tornquist. This park protects a patch of mountains that pop out of the flat lands in spectacular fashion. We spent two nights there enjoying the scenery, a couple short hikes, the campground showers, and a dinner with perhaps the best sausages any of us had ever eaten (available at the mercadito in Villa de la Ventana, if you're wondering).

We left the park for what was Nick and Ivanka's last big ride. Buenos Aires is their departure point for flying home. Our arrival in Argentina's famous capital happened the next day though, after one more night camping at a gas station (albeit a natural gas service station - lots of Argentine's are driving with natural gas that cost just 2 pesos a liter - gasoline costs at least 5 pesos a liter).

We wisely rolled into this city of 13 million on a quiet Sunday morning. The traffic was minimal and considerate. We asked and were directed to a great little breakfast nook where we enjoyed tasty sandwiches and sinfully indulgent churros. Neighborhood men came out and appreciated our bikes and took pictures with us. Soon we were deep in the city, in awe of this urban cityscape with grand buildings overlooking plazas and narrow streets with apartment buildings reminiscent of Paris. With a little leg and phone work from Ivanka, we selected a hostel and made our way there. That short drive put us on Avenue July 9, which, with a total of 18 lanes, is the widest avenue in the world. Our hostel overlooks this avenue, the surrounding business edifices, and the very phallic obelisk.

One remarkable thing about this city`s traffic is the very spare use of horns. New York streets echo incessantly with audibles of frustration and indignation. Buenos Aires` streets are quiet and cool for the most part. This fits with my positive perception of Argentinians. Walk into a store or restaurant and you are greeted right away by perfect strangers. Lots of people ask us about our bikes and the journeys we have made and all wish us well. Many Argentinians are also considerate when speaking to us in Spanish, slowing the pace so we can grasp what they say or even writing out directions as opposed to just pointing and gesturing where we should go.

So far, Buenos Aires has been fantastic. Nick and Ivanka and I enjoyed the enormous San Telmo Sunday street market that teems with shoppers, vendors of all sorts of crafts, and street musicians, some of a remarkable calibre. And speaking of music, Nick, Ivanka, and I saw Roger Waters` The Wall last night. I call it a show rather than a concert because this really was more of a rock opera or perhaps a rock oratorio than a band playing and interacting with its audience. Images and names of dead soldiers and other victims of war and hatred from the First World War up to current conflicts were projected on the Wall. Clearly Water`s anti-war, anti-capitalist, anti-fascist philosophy has not waned. In a country with a history like Argentina`s, especially the latter of those three is very well received. Regardless, it was amazing to see music that has been with me nearly all my life performed live...and under the Southern Cross with 60,000 good people from all around the world.

Aside from the imminent departure of a number of my rider friends, the only bad news to share is that someone has stolen money from my bank accounts...and not just a little bit. Mark, Kevin, and Andre have also been victims of someone we are guessing is in Peru. I will sit tight here for a few days until a new bank card arrives. I was planning on staying here for at least a week anyhow and there is soooo much to see that I am not at all bummed by this imposed wait.

If you would like to see a fun video of our ride through Patagonia, arrival  in Ushuaia, and a debate of the EggGate scandal, follow this link. You might also enjoy the music from New Order.

Ushuaia

In terms of latitude, Ushuaia is about as far south as Calgary is north, but Calgary is nowhere near the end of the road in North America. South America's travellers reach the fin del mundo in this blustery tourist magnet where the southern shore of Tierra del Fuego meets the Beagle Channel.

Setting out from Vermont, Ushuaia was not my primary objective. It was and still is my goal to settle for a couple months in some major city so as to satiate my urban cravings before returning to Vermont, that most bucolic of states. That is still my plan (and Santiago, Chile will be that city), but Ushuaia has long been in my sights. Almost all my fellow riders planned on coming here and curiosity has also made Ushuaia appealing. As a teacher of history and geography, how could I not seize the opportunity to cross the Magellan Straits and explore this contested tip of the Western Hemisphere? Even the Beagle Channel is significant, being named for the historic HMS Beagle whose crews surveyed this area on two separate voyages. Darwin was aboard during the second voyage and wrote many observations about Tierra del Fuego in 1833. So, it seemed I should go.

Nick, Ivanka and I left Punta Arenas, Chile around 9am (our typical departure time) and drove along the north shore of the Magellan Strait for a couple hours until we reached a ferry crossing to Tierra del Fuego. We were not alone. There were trucks, cars, and about a dozen riders from Sweden on rented BMWs. The thirty minute crossing was over almost before we were able to take pictures and appreciate what Magellan must have seen as he cautiously entered what he hoped would be a southwest passage to the Pacific.

We hit the shore, headed inland and were very soon riding gravel roads again. That part of Tierra del Fuego belongs to Chile, but most of the people passing on that road are going to Ushuaia in Argentina. It seems Chile doesn't care to pave roads for the benefit of Argentina...nor for our benefit!

I was happy to fixate on the road both for my safety and because the scenery was boring. In the first couple hours I counted a total of three rather weakly trees. The landscape was mostly flat with a few very gently rolling hills...probably ancient moraines from the last ice age.

Rain soon dampened our ride and our spirits. We found temporary shelter in official buildings as we crossed from Chile into Argentina. We pushed onward and arrived in Rio Grande after a couple hours. Camping didn't seem very palatable in such weather so we looked for lodging and found nothing affordable. However, after sharing a couple pizzas and another hotel search, the rain had stopped. So we left town determined to find a place to camp...in the dark. After an hour of riding, we saw a home behind a fence and stopped to see if we could camp behind the fence. The owner was already outside and immediately said we were welcome. Indeed, he apologized repeatedly for not being able to offer any hot water or other amenities. We were just happy to set up camp and sleep in a safe location.

The next day's ride was considerably more interesting. Soon there were trees and then bigger hills and then mountains and lakes and herds of guanacos (like a mix between llamas and vicunas) and even a ski resort (closed for the summer). Ushuaia is nestled between these mountains and the Beagle Channel. At the city gates, we stopped for photos and did another dance routine for Nick and Ivanka's Ushuaia video.

There are lots of bikers here. I'm sure some of them party like crazy when they get here. I suspect though that a lot of them feel like I do - it's great to be here, but it is a bit of an anticlimax and even a bit sad as this signals the end...even if that is still months off. Nick and Ivanka will be heading to a home in Croatia (Ivanka has a big chat with her boss coming up and Nick is looking forward to being a house husband - only partly tongue in cheek.). Andre will soon return to Switzerland. Carole and Laurent (who I met in Palenque, Mexico) will ride up to Rio before flying home to France. Kevin, who has ridden all through Asia, and Mark who rode with his wife for three years around the world...both of them will be going home to their women in Australia. Other riders I know are scrambling to find good rates to ship their bikes home from here. So, to be sure, we have thrown back some drinks, toasted with champagne, and eaten our share of Argentine beef, chicken and mutton, but the mood is not necessarily jubilant. Almost all of us would keep riding and exploring if the money and circumstances would permit.

What have I done in Ushuaia? Not a lot really. I have slept well in a nice hostel with a very stern caretaker (n.b. I am NOT sleeping with the caretaker!). I have visited with friends and cooked much more than eaten out. I have changed the oil of my bike and had the pannier rack welded for a third time (this job was very well done and should last.). I have not visited the very good maritime museum nor the national park. Both are simply too expensive. I understand why food and many things cost a lot in such a far-flung location. However it is also clear that tourists are being fleeced here. I am keeping my fleecing to a minimum.

Tomorrow we will leave this nice little city and Tierra del Fuego. It is extremely satisfying to have been here and to have a greater understanding of this place...and of course the getting here has been amazing, both in the last couple weeks and ever since Vermont for that matter.

I am very grateful to all of you who have made this trip possible and who have supported me even if it's just been a kind comment on Facebook. Now keep that love coming for a few more month and I will do my part not to let my guard down - there are still a lot of miles to go!!

Patagonia

Patagonia in southern Chile and southwestern Argentina is a remote area. People come here to enjoy the amazing scenery and wildness and to get away from civilization and all its trappings including the internet. As much as I enjoy those aspects of this amazing region, I am now very happy to have reached Punta Arenas and to be staying at a hostel where I can access my blog. The backlog of photos I need to upload is enormous, but all I can hope to do now is to share some highlights from the last couple weeks.

My last posting was from a very rainy Chaiten, Chile in northern Patagonia. This is where I feel our adventure on the Carretera Austral (The southern highway) really began. My friends and I headed out the next day and were rewarded with blue skies and a warm sun. We drove past gorgeous mountains through green valleys and along rivers gushing with glacial melt. Rain returned the next day and what a shame. That day's drive took us past some stunning scenery...and that was just the parts we could see through the cold fog and rain. At one point, we stopped for a break in a mountain pass where we could seen dozens of waterfalls dashing down from their hidden glacial sources. It was really cold and I was soaked to the bone. I have known since the beginning of my trip that my rain gear would not protect me from the elements we would encounter down here, so I resolved to do some shopping in the next big town.

While Patagonia is known for its nature, it was its people who made the biggest impact on us for the next couple days. As we pushed south, we started encountering roadblocks. "Patagonia sin Represas" was a message posted in many locations. I had forgotten what the word 'represas' was since I had first learned it in Ecuador. Patagonia without dams. There are plans already being put into action to build a major dam in Patagonia and the locals don't like it. Environmentalists from around the world are also upset. We encountered our first road block at La Junta. A small group of indigenous peoples blocked a bridge. We met a German heading north from the bridge on his BMW bike. He told us about the blockade and suggested a very long way around it. We decided to check things out on our own. We concocted a story about needing to deliver meds to a friend south of us, but when Ivanka and I walked up to the people we were rather surprised. First of all, these people were more interested in getting government support for a new school and bank in their town (other protesters express frustration at the high cost of living in Patagonia - think Alaska). Second, they pointed out a path around their blockade that motorcycles could take, but not cars. Perfecto! We hopped on our bikes, cleared the path of obstacles and went around their blockade.

The next road block was the same day as the terribly rainy and cold day mentioned above. Tires were burning across the road and a band was playing oom pah pah music for the participants. We warmed ourselves in front of the fire and waited until they let traffic through, which they were doing every couple hours. Things were more grim in Coyaihaque. Here the problem was a bit different. Protesters in this city of 40,000 were blocking trucks bearing gasoline and diesel meaning there was a severe shortage of fuel in the town. We arrived in the evening, found lodging and then planned our next day. At about 9am, we rode our bikes to the line forming near the station that was supposed (according to rumor) to get gas that day. We waited patiently in line for over 13 hours. By that time, the gas trucks had arrived, but protesters would not let people go to the pumps. At about 10:30pm, a riot started. A small number of young demonstrators started throwing rocks. We were warned to get away, but we saw the kids run past us and start throwing rocks at the local grocery store windows (probably the most appealing glass target in the vicinity). The gas station was also cosmetically damaged, but that still crushed our hopes of a reward for our marathon of a day. Fortunately, Nick and Ivanka were up at the crack of dawn and found a line to a station that was pumping gas...at an hour way to early for the protesters. We filled our bikes and our additional canisters. I had a total of 15 extra liters strapped on my bike. We had a long way to go and weren't sure where we could refuel again.

The next grand natural highlight and the next roadblock coincided at Lake General Carrera, South America's second largest lake. The incredible blue waters were a lovely reward for our perseverance in Coyaihaque. Our progress was stopped though by another small group of protesters. No riots here, just music and dancing. Ivanka and I walked past the protest to shop for dinner fixings while the others waited with the bikes. After a couple hours, we were allowed to pass. We rode just another couple miles before settling in at a beautiful campground with awesome views across the lake.


Buying gasoline (or benzina, as they call it - just like in Germany) was not an issue. Getting to it was. We were now about to head south on the famed Ruta 40, a road infamous for long stretches of gravel, fierce winds, and its lack of towns. Again, we filled our bike tanks and all our canisters and headed south. Surprisingly, more of the Ruta 40 was paved than we thought. Still, we traveled close to 300 miles of gravel in two days...and were not able to refuel until after 372 miles in El Chalten. Driving on gravel is exhausting. The bike wobbles and the driver has to be totally focused all the time. The road typically has three to four narrow channels (a couple feet wide) that all vehicles stick to. Their wheels throw most stones aside so that each of these lanes has gravel piled three to four inches high between them. If you drift unawares into one of those piles you better hold tight and be ready to crash. Nick, Ivanka and I managed not to crash, but they were not quite able to make the distance to El Chalten. I drove the final miles to get gas for them. They managed to get fuel first though from a Czech couple in a van.

Patagonia's mountains are the product of two tectonic plates colliding and the Pacific one pushing under the South American one. A number of spectacular parks protect the results. One is in El Chalten, Argentina. After two hard days riding through treeless brown steppe, the abrupt appearance of El Chalten's granite towers blows the mind. To a boy who grew up in the flat Midwest, mountains always seem majestic, but these narrow towers of light-colored stone are just eye-popping. We spent two nights there and took a seven hour hike to a glacier and a glorious close up view of the Cerro Torre (the highest peak is the Fitz Roy, which attracts climbers from around the world).

A few hours away is El Calafate and an hour beyond that is Argentina's Glacier National Park. Nick, Ivanka and I spent one night at that park, but it was a night to remember. Following a couple tips that Nick and Ivanka had gotten, we drove to the viewing platform for the Perito Moreno Glacier. We cased the premises and then left and waited until 8:30pm when the park closes. When we arrived at the parking lot, only a couple cars remained and all the employees had left. We unpacked our sleeping gear and set up camp on the viewing platform right in front of one of the world's most active (and not shrinking) glaciers. All night long, under the Southern Cross, we listened to the pop and crack of compressed, advancing ice. At 5:30am we were awakened by an earth-shaking mass of ice tumbling from the glacier. It was an amazing night!

The next day we headed further south to the Torres Del Paine National Park - back in Chile! As in El Chalten, Torres Del Paine is known for its torres - towers. We set up camp just outside the park where we had a view across a small salty lake (including pink flamingos) of the towers. It was an perfect campsite...until the police arrived. We were told through a translator that our fire was forbidden and that we were on private property. Perhaps not so coincidentally, the owner of the land also owned a campground just four kilometers up the road. So, at ten at night, we were forced to pack up, move, and then set up camp again. We were upset that there were no signs, no fences, not even anything telling us if we were in the park or not. Plus free camping is so common in Chile that this took us by surprise. The fire ban, however, was not a surprise. Torres Del Paine suffered from a terrible fire, possibly set by an arsonist, just a few weeks before our arrival. The damage is enormous. Some trails now require face masks if it is a windy day. But nothing can obscure the majesty of the Blue Massive, another product of incredible tectonic forces and of the glaciers in the last ice age some 15,000 years ago. Nick, Ivanka and I spent two nights in different campgrounds inside the park. We simply enjoyed the scenery and the relaxed, quiet atmosphere of the campgrounds peopled by hikers from around the world.

Right now, I am sitting in a hostel in Punta Arenas, a former penal colony, and now home to some 150,000 plus people including a sizable number of ethnic Croatians, which is very exciting for Ivanka (half English, half Croatian). Punta Arenas sits on the Magellan Strait - and that is very exciting for me (history teacher). Magellan sailed past here in 1520 just to get himself killed in a stupid skirmish in the Philippines.

You might wonder what it looks like down here. Driving from Torres Del Paine, we left the mountains behind today. It was almost sad to look back at them. The three of us sat in a wonderful cafe in Puerto Natales with views west over a bay to the snowy mountains which extend farther south to truly remote regions and islands. Then the land levels out thanks surely to the last ice age. The sky is big, not even trees get in the way. Much of what we saw today had only patches of rather stunted, twisted trees. Land is enclosed by fences and signs announce the name of each "estancia" or ranch. The weather has been gorgeous for at least a week now, but it looks like rain is in our immediate future...or snow. Ushuaia has already had a couple small snowstorms. Fortunately, I have invested in rain gear and am ready to go.

Tomorrow we begin our two day ride to Ushuaia...and the end of our journey south. Stay tuned. Hasta luego.

misCHILEaneous

I am writing from Chaiten, Patagonia, Chile. This town was nearly wiped out four years ago when a volcano erupted and dumped mounds of ash here. Some homes are still filled with ash. Others are now homes again, while still others are abandoned - a result of government efforts to build a new town nearby. The policy flopped.

It has been raining like crazy here. It started yesterday as we rode. We arrived in Chaiten and sought refuge. It is high season for tourists here - both foreigners and people from Santiago. The flood of people and the sparse accommodations meant we had to split up for the night. The rain convinced us to stay another night in hope of a drier morrow.

I have really enjoyed my time in Chile, but it has not always been easy going. Certainly the scenery has been spectacular. Most recently, I traveled through the famous Lakes Region. It was great to be back in an area abounding in green foliage. The lakes, mountains, active volcanoes, and German culture made it that much better.

In one of my previous posts I pondered when I would meet up with my rider friends again. It did not take long. I spent four splendid days in Santiago (one of those was actually spent on the coast in Valparaiso with a friend). On the third day, I ran into Andre at a motorcycle shop. He was in the city with Mark and Kevin. We then headed south together. Two days later, as we were on an on ramp to Highway 5, we saw two white helmets on a motorcycle pass by on the highway. Sure enough, it was Nick and Ivanka. I am still in the company of these great folks here in Patagonia.

It has been a while since I have posted a new blog entry and, of course, I could go on and on. Instead, I am going to list a number of random miscellaneous occurrences and thoughts to give glimpses of my time thus far in Chile. Here it goes:

- After about 17000 miles I received my first dog bite in Chile (no worries, it just barely scratched my boot).

- Camping on the beach in Antofagasta two dogs pissed on my tent...while I was in it.

- I was hungry at the beach in Antofagasta and was not going to leave to get food. My neighbors brought a huge tomato and onion salad over without me even asking.

- Chile has immaculate roads, but I hit a rock as I rode into and was blinded by the sun. This broke two bolts and caused my right foot peg and center stand to fall off.

- A mechanic removed the broken bolts with great ease, but then stripped one of the holes, leaving the repair job less than perfect.

- I have used Castrol oil ever since I left the US and have found it in even the poorest communities. It´s really hard to find in Chile. I now use whatever I find.

- I lost my tire wrench when adjusting my chain. I was given one for free at a shop where I had some work done (of course, the work cost an arm and leg)

- Eucalyptus trees win my award for the most versatile tree. I have seen them in every country and almost every climate I have been in.

- Many Chilenos like the USA. What a nice change.

- Cake is called Kuchen in much of Chile.

- Saw lots of familiar plants as we got farther south in Chile: Poplar trees, pine trees, blackberries (yum!)

- Camped on a nice beach south of Concepion and was greeted by an extremely overfriendly drunken family.

- The same family warned us of robbers. That night, robbers stole two tires from Andre.

- Lots of tree plantations in areas where lumber companies must have completely stripped vast regions.

- Needed to catch a five hour ferry ride south in northern Patagonia. The ferry was booked five days out. We got on on the first day when it was raining and would have been awful to be left behind.

- Rainwater started creeping into the area where where I will be sleeping in Chaiten tonight. A bunch of us helped mop it up. The owner says that has never happened here before.

- Santiago really impresed me. I will return there for a couple months after Tierra del Fuego and Buenos Aires.

Northern Chile

I rode over the cold and barren Peruvian altiplano (high plains) from Lake Titicaca and down into even more barren desert and arrived in Arequipa. Peru`s second largest city is called the "White City" because the stone used in building much of the old colonial city is white. I spent just one night there, but still had time to take in the sights of the elegant old city with its churches, arched facades, bustling park, and convent. The latter is especially noteworthy as being the only convent with its own mini-city within. A very gregarious (to say the least) local told some French acquaintances and me that nuns from wealthy families spent their entire adult lives in the convent, not leaving or looking outside even once. They had slaves to look after them. According to him the Pope personally put an end to that in the early 1900s. Arequipa, like many of the more touristed cities I have visited, is home to an Alliance Francaise. This one was paired with an excellent creperie, where I treated myself to a dessert after eating a really inexpensive burger from a street vendor.

The ride to Tacna took me through desert of all sorts. Near Arequipa were small mountains that looked like someone had drizzled frosting over a bundt cake. Brown rocks and lighter drifted sand gave these mountains a truly unique look. Later I was cruising down a very straight road at quite an angle, as a constant wind from the west tried to push me over. This wind is generated when the sun heats the sand and causes convection to start. It fades at night. It also stirs up whirlwinds, mostly small. Sometimes dozens can be seen at once.

Tacna is the last major city before the border to Chile. I arrived mid afternoon and looked for accommodations. None were reasonably priced, so I dashed to the border. Peru and Chile have a model border crossing there. It is clean, orderly, and there are no scam-artists of any kind. What a relief. I met an English expat at the border. He led me into town, showed me where to change money and where to get insurance, if I wanted it. What I really wanted was a place to spend the night. I looked for a campground that`s listed in my guidebook, but instead just found people camping for free on the beach. That`s where I spent my first two nights in Chile.

Arica is a nice town with a couple famous buildings - built of steel by Gustave Eiffel. The beach is long and clean and free for all campers. My first full day in Chile was spent running errands so I would be ready to head south. I also had a very nice conference via skype with colleagues back at the Academy. This was effectively my first Academy related activity since a half year. Wow!

The next day I headed south on the road to Iquique. The desert is simply mind-blowing here. It is just rock and mostly sand for a seeming eternity. Some deep valleys don`t have any sign of flowing water - just a smoothly rounded sandy bottom.

I made two stops on the way to Iquique. The first was to see the so-called Giant of the Atacama. This figurine is the largest archaeological geoglyph in the world (I am guessing this is a very specific category). This rather boxy, distorted man on a hill is said to date back to about 900AD. Then I stopped in Humberstone, a ghost town that used to be a boom-town when sales of phosphate were hot - before Germany pioneered synthetic fertilizers during World War One. This little city was done by 1960. Walking through its empty streets and buildings (whose dilapidated corrugated walls and roofs creaked and clapped in the desert wind) reminded me of Calumet, MI which folded when copper prices sank after the Civil War. My visit here was very special though, because I realized something I have been trying to accomplish for a long time. As I walked up the main street, I saw a platform scale. I looked it over and found it was manufactured in Birmingham, England. Bummer. About ten meters farther, another. Finally, a Fairbanks scale!!! I stood on it and it still seemed to work. I canvassed the whole town and found two more, although only one had Fairbanks clearly written on it.

Humberstone also had a nice theater (reminding me of Fuller Hall - I felt like giving a long-winded chapel talk!), a swimming pool with grandstands, an elegant hotel and church, both with typical 1930s architecture. In the town center, I was hailed by a youngish woman. She is a news reporter for Megavision here in Chile. She interviewed me about what I thought of Humberstone and I hope tonight to see myself on national television (I`m so vain!).

My only frustration in Humberstone was with batteries. My camera batteries were dying on me. The cameraman from Megavision gave me two more, but they were duds too (I don`t know if he realized that). Still, I managed to shoot what I wanted. Then it was time to go. I hopped on my bike and...nothing. I hit the starter and heard a little click - no more. Ugh oh. I took the seat off and checked the battery. The connections appeared fine. I read the manual and it said it could be a short somewhere in the system. I checked all the fuses. They were all good. So if there were a short or an exposed wire, it could be ANYwhere

Goal number one in Miami-esque Iquique was to find a workshop. I found that quite quickly. Goal number two: lodging. That was not so easy. Indeed, I was getting discouraged when I met Mike, a local man on a BMW motorcycle. He suggested I stay in his 18th floor empty apartment. I pinched myself and said OK! Mike got me settled and told me we would meet with friends of his who are very good mechanics in the morning.

Mike is a mechanical engineer who works seven days straight at a nearby (300km) copper mine and then has seven days free. In the morning, we looked over my bike and tried to start it, going so far as to pull it with his pickup to try to push (pull) start it. No luck. Mike kept telling me it was something with the battery and I disagreed since the battery clearly had power. Finally, we took off the seat, and Mike tried to tighten the cable connections with a screwdriver. Indeed, the one (the same one I looked over the previous day) was somewhat loose. That solved the starting issue! Already in the bike repair mindset, I decided to get some other work out of the way. I have been carrying new brake pads since San Diego and a new chain/sprocket set since Panama. We tackled the latter. This undertaking made plain just how inadequate my mechanical know-how and instincts are - especially compared to a mechanical engineer! I took a short job and made it longer by not reading directions first and by using a torque wrench when I did not really know how one works. Needless to say, I broke a couple bolts when replacing the rear sprocket. When these special bolts (with threading on both ends but not in the middle) broke, I thought I was going to be very stationary for a long while. Mike told me to relax. We drove his pickup to the House of Bolts and bought replacement "prisoner" bolts (I wonder if they have the same name in English) that are supposedly better than the originals. Mike also got some gasoline so I could clean my bike of all the accumulated grease (from the chain spray) and then we put grease just where it was needed. By the time we were done, the tropical sun had been beating on us for hours. It feels great to have this job behind me though.