By: Daisy Bell
Location: Argentina Part 3
Date: May 16th 2007

Back into Argentina for the last time, maybe even South America for the last time, who knows? Those nice folk at Lufthansa take all our remaining money off us and in return wrap the bike in plastic using a giant roll of cling film. Just enough time to soak up the Tango grooves and sounds and the café culture that is to be had on every corner.

Oh and of course to hang around a bunch of dead people…

Also time for a quick summary of what has been before: so then, to give you an idea of traveling requirements and circumstances one may find one in traveling round Central & South America over a 11 month period:

And without further ado, we scoff down the final steak and drop of Malbec, and it’s off to Buenos Aires International we go…

By: Daisy Bell
Location: Argentina Part 1
Date: 10th April 2007

Suddenly everything is wonderful again! Within seconds of arriving in Argentina, we can breathe again, the people are beautiful (either that or we look an utter state, which is likely), the roads have lines down the middle and croissants and mashed potato are back on the menu – this could be Europe! And my Giddy Aunt, the ice cream! Ecuador my friend, it’s no contest!

When you can make Tiramisu and Caramel flavours to this standard, we’ll give you a call! Went in the supermarket – supermarket! Can you believe it?! Obviously had a nosey in the person in front’s basket – bottle of Tia Maria! Knorr stock cubes! Palmolive shower gel! Well, blow me down, I was so shocked I had to go and medicate myself with a Cuba Libre and Passion fruit sundae (with Chantilly cream in a pyramid on top and chocolate sauce hidden in the bottom of the cone).

Oh, mind you, the electrics are sometimes a little substandard…

…and we have to get used to not going out til late, i.e. 10pm onwards, allowing for early evening siesta’s and extravagant lie-in’s and learning to ignore the subtle little knocks on the door from the Landlady wanting you out as it’s passed midday.

By the roadside we see an ominous sign saying “The Falkland Islands are Argentinean”, then see another, then keep our heads down for the next day which is the 25th Anniversary of the war. We sense no animosity; we’ve been told that if there is any, it’s from the Argentineans in the South and luckily we’re in the North at this point. As it goes the people here are super friendly, forthcoming and clued-up – obviously you get the odd grumpster but I’d say this is usually just down to the person at the front of the queue taking the last scoop of Swiss Chocolate with Mandarin Ribbon.

We ride through glorious scenery every day – the rows of Italian-style Cypress trees, gardens and farms with mowed lawns, canyons of red rocks and don’t-look-down mountain passes, cactus after cactus, miles of bright green, flat nothingness with the snow-capped Andes visible in the distance, orange trees, and acres of vineyards as far as the eye can see. Gauchos (cowboys) in their leather and suede finery, mooching on home after a long day shouting “Yee-haa!” (or Spanish equivalent) – they always make time to stop by one of the countless roadside shrines to Mary or JC.

We arrive in beautiful Mendoza where our silky, burgundy pyjama-clad, chatterbox Landlord (Mariano, aka Senor Satin Chic)  welcomes us to his home and recommends a wonderful Bodega (vineyard – one of 600 in this area) to visit. The Bodega had a massive museum full of an array of what may have been Medieval torture devices, though they passed them off as 16th Century wine-making tools. Personal fave being the entire, intact bull hide turned upside down and filled with grapes; the workers then climb in and squash the grapes with their feet and the wine then runs out of the bull’s tail! Wonder if this is how it was discovered that wine goes well with cheese? Safe to say this is no longer the method of choice. Great tour, but they only gave us a weenie glass of Cab.Sav. which we thought was a bit measly of them considering they make about (and this is just an approximation you understand) ten million billion litres of vinos every hour.

Still awaiting another Rear Shock Absorber (RSA, remember?), we decide to groove over to Chile for a few days (any longer than this is sure to bankrupt us – we’re talking 2 squid for a sandwich – outrageous!). We leave Senor Satin Chic in his parlour ironing his newspaper and pondering who finished the ’92 Merlot as we dig out the Chile map and head West…

By: Mark
Location: Argentina
Date: 15th April

Argentina!

After spending weeks in Peru and Bolivia we finally reach the border with Argentina and suddenly everything changes.  The normal shifts from grubby and poor to good quality and efficient.  Suddenly, we’re in Europe…but a cheaper version…

Smooth tarmac roads…!
Clean streets…!
Decent housing…!
Trees!  Tall spindly Cypress trees….wide Beeches…lush weeping willows.
Roads signs, both in towns and in the country…
Friendly, efficient policemen and border guards…

In awe, we ride along huge Nevada styled open valleys thankful that we can get over the tedious 20mph.  Up over a ridge and into a long valley, stretching south for a 100 miles.  Slowly, it drops in altitude and we see village signs telling us progress.  3,100m, 2,800m, 2,230 metres and dropping.  Past water meadows edged by willows and cactuses.  Past multi-coloured, multi-layered mountain sides, stocked with more shades of browns and reds and pinks then a Homebase DIY store.  The colours enriched by the late afternoon sun - stunning riding.

Down the valley we drop and pass through thick clouds and mist and quite suddenly we’re on the West Coast of Britain.  The mist hangs heavy as we pass rocky streams gushing down the hillsides and lush, green vegetation.  No cactuses here.  No sunlight here.  No warmth here.  Just green and grey.  On down to the first big town (San Salvador de Jujul) and more surprises….

Superb pastas and steaks…
Proper coffee…
Wonderful ice creams…           
Stylishly dressed people…

Through Salta and Tucuman and back towards the dry lands of La Rioja.  The towns come and go with nothing but good riding and friendly meetings.  We bump into a Kiwi called Dave heading north and ultimately across to the UK and Europe.  Stories and contact details are exchanged and we head on our way again. 

The 25th anniversary of the Falklands War (Las Maldives to the Argentines) comes and goes without any animosity towards us.

“Where are you from?” people ask…
“De Inglaterra” we say.
“Welcome, pleased to meet you” is the reply in English.  Nothing but respect, good manners and open kindness.  Not a glimmer of hostility.

It’s only when you scratch under the surface do you start to understand why. Yes there was a war 25 years ago. Yes the Argentinean government and by all accounts people believe the Islands to be theirs. However, it’s a commonly held belief that the war was a mistake initiated by a military dictatorship that was loosing control over its people (despite managing to kill some 3,000 of them to control them). A dictatorship that lost the last few strands of credibility after loosing the Falklands (after taking it for a period of only a few days) and was finally overthrown.

Looking back to before the Falklands, it starts to become evident that the two countries have a little more in common than is first thought.

After a couple of failed invasions by the British in the early 19th centaury, the Argentines found a new confidence and claimed their independence from Spain.  They then decided it made economic sense to become a strong trading partner with Britain rather than France who was at that time allied with the Spanish.  The extensive Argentine railways network was built by the British.  The Argentine Navy was started and trained by the Brits.  Trading connections increased and more Brits (especially those who made their money from the construction of the railways) settled in Argentina.  By the sounds of things business was so good the second and only other Harrods store was opened in Buenos Aires.  Tea was even drunk (and still is) by certain Argentines.

Arriving in Mendoza (760m above sea level), we find a beautiful town, full of tree lined avenues, cafes and a beautiful park (whose gates were built in Glasgow) with has an uncanny resemblance to Hyde Park.  We park the space hopper (I mean bike) and rest up for a couple of days waiting for the second replacement shock to come through from the UK.

After a couple of days of fine wines and good steaks (“Two pounds for a Sirloin Steak Sir?” “Oh go on then…”) we leave our hotel and our satin PJ clad hotelier Mariano and decide to bounce over the Andes and spend a couple of days in Chile (really just so we can put a sticker on the bike!).

Just before the tunnel out to Chile we see a sign and we can’t resist it.  Argentina has some beautifully friendly people, some fantastic countryside, some amazingly high quality living which is keenly priced, but they’ve have quite cracked the art of making truly informative road signs….

By: Daisy Bell
Location: Argentina Part 2
Date: 8th May 2007

….”You take the female Immigration Officers and I’ll take the Vehicle bloke” – this is the plan we agree to before entering the red tape land of the Chile-Argentine Border Control without any bike insurance (oops). We turn on the charm switches, knobs and buttons which includes every bit of (inoffensive) Spanish we know, coupled with massive smiles and perhaps a little eyelash batting. I thought it was all over when the bloke turned round and said:
“Aaaah…British…has anyone given you any problems regarding the Falkland Islands?”
“No, not at all Sir, we’ve found Argentineans to be a wonderful nation of people, much nicer than the Bolivians”.
Fibbing and degrading ourselves worked a treat, and we were through, a step closer getting the Shock and a decent drop of Malbec.

But of course when was anything this simple? The evil, EVIL men at UPS have taken to lying to us – the damn thing was still in Buenos Aires, had been for over a week! A few choice words to the poor sod behind the counter in the Mendoza UPS office (namely Mu sarcastically coming out with “DHL would have been f@@king quicker than this”), and it magically appears 2 days later. ‘The poor sod’ also chips in that Argentineans hate the Chileans for politically siding with the British – what COULD he be talking about?! Handbags at dawn!!!!

We finally leave lovely, warm Mendoza, heading South, and feel the temperature drop straight away – then more, then more. The beautiful Autumn cuts both ways: the scenery is glowing yellow and orange, yet the majority of my skin is glowing red with cold. 8 layers of clothing does very little to combat this. Camping with crazy Belgian cyclist Dirk at the start of Patagonia was fun until the wine wore off and the campfire burnt out. Camping in Patagonia in Autumn is rapidly abandoned in favour of little wooden Alpine-style cabins and finally getting to make our OWN coffee.

Temperature whinges aside, Patagonia is utterly spectacular – wild horses, ostrich and deer wander about trying not to get run over by the one-truck-a-day (many still manage to be unlucky in this challenge). There is so much space, you can ride for hours and see nothing except flat landscapes, the Andes rolling along in the distance and the odd shrine (bizarrely, empty plastic bottles are often left as offerings – is there nowhere Coca Cola hasn’t infiltrated?!). What people there are stop on the roadside and knock up a BBQ (“Asado”) for lunch, full of whole animals; adorable children come up and chat away as soon as they see you; the police salute and smile AND the mashed potato is still on the menu.

THEN we bizarrely enter the world of dragons and cream teas – a number of Welsh settlements spread across central Argentina. I’m not personally one for tea, but the scones and jam went down a treat! Princess Di even drank tea in one of the villages – they have her lipstick-stained tea cup in a cabinet as evidence!

Then over to the Atlantic coast for camping by the beaches, now out of season and beautifully deserted. Getting up at the crack of dawn to visit the only place in the world where Killer Whales slide up the beach to eat the Seals on the shore sadly didn’t pay off – they’d obviously feasted well the day before. But we did get to hang out with the four Seal colonies and overly friendly birds and Armadillos. And we did manage to buy a lovely, fluffy white sheepskin rug to sit on on the bike – maybe 11 months too late, but quality sheepskin rugs come to those that wait! Dinner is steak, wine and Frank Zappa in the one café that stays open in the wintertime. Oh, that is except for the petrol station which did a nice line in machine coffee and plastic sandwiches.

Taking our Orca disappointment with us, we headed North through fields of fruit (not literally, the farmers wouldn’t be too impressed) to the wonderful home of Jorge and Monica who open up their home for passing bikers to stay and hang out. That night Jorge knocked up an enormous meat feast on his 8 foot BBQ and we drank til the early hours with his local friends and a couple of Germans, plus one old chap telling dirty jokes in Spanish (cue the non-Spanish folk looking at each other saying “Did you get that one?”. It was emotional to leave their home after they’d shown us such hospitality – if we’d been there any longer I think we’d never have left.

But with the days and hours rapidly ticking away, it was to Buenos Aires next. Beautiful city, very similar to the City of London with just as much rain. Quaffing beer in The Dark Bar listening to Depeche Mode and Bauhaus, we could have been at home. Except for the lunatic couple telling us how bad people are in Buenos Aires (“We know, we’re talking to them!”) in between yodeling Pink Floyd songs and finishing our beer when we’re not looking. After sorting out a small ‘hiccup’ with our flight tickets and booking the bike it’s place on a flight with those nice people at Lufthansa, we leave Buenos Aires to sneak in just one more country before leaving South America.

No sooner have we left Buenos Aires than the heavens open – I mean REALLY open – electrical storms fill every inch of the sky and  almost every vehicle on the road pulls off to the petrol station for a machine coffee and plastic sandwich to await clearance. Clearance comes an hour or so later so we head for the Uruguay border; tired, soaking wet and (needless to say) trying to avoid breathing in the stench of the now filthy minging sheepskin!

From: Mark
Location: Argentina (Mendoza to Buenos Aires)
Date: 8th of May 2007

After a little delay in Mendoza waiting for the new rear shock it finally turns up.  In the meantime we change the rear tyre on the twin and Daisy does her best Pirelli calendar posing, successfully lowering the tone of our plush neighborhood.

At about this time, a friendly footy match is played between Argentina and Chile.  When I ask the man at UPS whether it’s an important match he answers
“Of course, we hate the Chileans”
“Oh, why is that?”
“Because they always support the British and Americans” he continues without a glimmer of menace or hostility in his voice. 

Out of Mendoza and the wine country we finally enter Patagonia and the distances between human habitations open up to over hundreds of miles.  Riding in the second autumn in six months, we notice the temperatures start to drop and the trees start to shed their leaves. We pass very little in the way of habitation or other traffic, but are kept company by eagles, stags, guanacos (small deer), rheas (emu like birds) and a decapitated horse head.

A quick visit to some caves up a dirt track, then we stop to camp in a small village with Dirk, the Belgium cyclist.  Without a hint of Mango about him, he explains how the last time he slept in a bed was a couple of weeks ago and he’s spent most of the time in the bush.  Despite this, he turns out to be pretty sane and we feel satisfied that camping next to him means we won’t be lumped onto the fire with the other meat we purchased in the pursuit of the perfect ‘Asado’ (barbeque).

Following the edge of the mountains south, we edge towards Bariloche, a town nestled on a large lake, surrounded by woods and breathtaking peaks.  The area is known as little Switzerland and is quite beautiful.  No time to rest though.  Time is ticking on, are flights are booked for the start of May and we’ve got so much to see.

We stay on the Ruta 40, heading south towards the town of Trevelin.  On the way, the temperature continues to drop, as does the snow line on the hills.  Daisy, who seems to feel the cold a little more than me, seems to be suffering quite badly.  Thankfully though, my heated grips have blown a fuse, so I get to experience the bone numbing cold first hand along her.  We decide to stay in and around Trevelin for a couple of days then make our way towards the warmer east coast.

Trevelin, as the name suggests, is a Welsh town.  Founded some 150 years ago by Welsh settlers, the streets bear witness to their Welsh heritage, as do the people, who speak their old mother tongue as a second language.  Expecting to find a town full of people in tracksuits listening to “Goldie Lookin’ Chain”, we instead find a small town full of tea shops.   You knows it Bra!

Our Rover 45 (complete with Cymru sticker) driving landlord points us in the direction of a good Tea Shop and off we head.  MMmmmm proper tea….and tasty cakes…..

Eastwards, towards the warmth of the Atlantic and yet more Welsh towns.  A brief visit to Gaiman (said in your best Geordie accent) provides good opportunity for an evening of piss poor jokes.  Then onto the Peninsular Valdes nature reserve to try and see the phenomenon of Killer Wales hoovering up seals straight off of beaches.  We spend several days there, but only catch sight of friendly Armadillos and very tame birds.  A poor substitute in my opinion. 

With the flights now booked for the 14th of May we push on towards Buenos Aires, on the way stopping in at quite a famous (in overland bike circles at least) little pad in a town called Azul.

La Posta del Viajo del Moto, is a bunk house run by Jorge and his wife Monica.  A Mecca for motor and pedal cyclists from around the world, it’s a place for weary travelers to catch some rest and meet other smelly biker types.  With the walls covered in messages from the last 15 years, from people of near to 100 different nationalities, we feel as if we just walked into something very special.  Over the time, people have rested here and word has spread.  Jorge has been whisked off to both Germany and Japan by different bike clubs, and has been given guided tours of the countries and of the Honda and Beemer factories.  This place is so deeply engrained in biker folklore that the helmet of a Japanese guy who died in the Sahara a few years back, has been laid to rest in a Shrine at La Posta by his parents and friends, purely because he enjoyed his visit there so much!

Leaving La Posta, Jorge waves us off until we are out of sight and we ride, warmed by the last couple of days.

From Azul we aim to get to Buenos Aires that day then spend a couple of days in Uruguay before we return to BA again for the flight to Germany.  The end of the Southern American road is nigh.

Continue on to Chile