Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Luck will find a way

The summer sun at the end of the world crosses the sky at an angle and the wind incessantly whips at the face. Tonight's sleeping arrangement is still left unknown.

An early wake-up and goodbye to C and the baby is followed by a ride to the hitching spot in L's car. Many thanks and good lucks later you and compañero Chileno are on the side of the road with thumbs out.
"Oye W man, take off you pack it's going to be a while..." and a semi pulls over to the shoulder, "hahaaaaa! Conchetumadre huevon!"

Fecundo gives the first ride on the way south, about 40km to a junction, the conversation is primarily about his multiple girlfriends and son. He's got a camping stove set up in his cabin and doesn't hesitate to light it up and pass the mate gourd.

The next spot yields a 45 minute wait until you throw your packs in with Daniel. You chat about politics and the influence of transnationals in towns, they seem to help and beautify at first but then follow with contaminating sludge and worker mistreatment.

Scruff the security pup.
You're dropped of in a highway town and start walking along the road, now the Ruta 3 that will take you all 300 plus km to Ushuaia. The two of you are more or less wandering, kicking up dust and looking for a better spot to place your hook. You laugh as you pass Arroyo California and snap a quick shot before a truck pulls over to the side, without even doing the motion! A quick questioning of the driver and he's got no problem throwing you two in the back of an empty container, rattling with such a racket that it's necessary to put toilet paper in your ears to soften the sharp clangs and clanks. At this time the clouds start rolling, large cumulus mamatus offer a sure prediction for rain. Sure enough, an hour passes and you've donned the rain gear over your shirt and board shorts. The truck stops as the first drops hit and José calls you inside after scolding you for dismounting on the highway side, he's right as a bus flies by within arms length. Like Fecundo and Daniel, José also has the same gas stove that seems to be standard issue for maté prep. That´ll be about 2 liters of the stuff by the end of the day. He drops you off at a roundabout near Azul and gives you the friendly double-honk of good luck as you start wandering down the direction of Bahia Blanca in the light rain.

Around 6:45 you cal it a day as the drops threaten and you leave the asphalt to a pasture in some bushes. A few minutes later and the gear is safely out of the wet. All attempts to start a fire under the lean-to fail and you enjoy a tuna on raisin cookie dinner, the remaining tuna is given to a stray dog who's followed you from the crossroads and he sleeps soundly out of the rain after you've prepared him a plastic mattress over the wet ground. About 400km total and you sleep to the patter above.

Waking up the next day is easy with more than sufficient light at 6. Quickly pack up the tent and brush your teeth then back to the highway. About 15 minutes of walking and fishing brings Pedro the van driving mailman to the side. The dog trails a bit before Pedro guns it and you see your last night's security guard fade away. Pedro seems to have many loves in foods, many of which he can't eat due to blood pressure and diet complications. You still manage to have a good beer conversation with the man. 120km later he drops you off in Tres Arroyos.

Asking around the station only get's you a few laughs from the Argentines so compadre and you take to the walking strategy again. 5 minutes down the road and trucker Luis pulls over. A man quick to lament his status and family issues he nonetheless is an avid helper of travelers. You share some sweet maté on the way to Bahia Blanca and after a dismount and remount, eventually you end up in the service station El Cholo. Stomachs growling from a lack of breakfast, you head to a parrilla to ask to buy some bread and after a confusing exchange, learn that the 2 loaves are free!

So back under the shade it is to feast on gourmet tuna and bread. You're ready to hit the road again when from across the way the owner of the parrilla calls. Thinking you've done something wrong you put on the innocent face as you approach, but something else in in store,
"where did you go buddy? I was looking all over for ya!"
"Ah just under the shade to eat a bit"
"Well, I hope you're still hungry, pull up a chair, lunch is on me!"
And with that you and W sit dumbfounded as your served steak, sausage, kidney, liver, and a bit of salad and soda to wash it down. You eat until walking becomes difficult. " I don't want you to go back to the US and say ya passed through Argentina hungry now!" he laughs.

A rest at the service station is necessary but you hit the road soon after with a rejuvenated force. Having thought your luck was spent, your jaw drops as after little more than 15 minutes of walking and Wladmar pulls off the road in his VW pickup. "Where to guys?"
"As far south as possible"
"Ah great! I can take you all the way to Trelew if you like?" (about 800km) "but one of you is going to have to hop in the bed."

W gets the honor of viewing the countryside pass by windshield free as you hop in the cab. You immediately take a liking to the man as he says "you know, I drove by those other hitchhikers and said 'man, I could have helped them out' but I didn't know where they were going. How great it was I stopped to ask you guys and that I could help!"

He calls himself a "renegade Chilean" and moved away from his homeland in '75 during the dictatorship but harbors a harsh criticism for his mother country's politics and culture.
"its all Chi Chi Chi Le Le Le but it's not backed up. We want to be patriotic of our own soil, but when we buy foreign things because all our industry produces is crap products, what does that say? We want to be a tourist country but what do we actually have that is Chilean? We greet people dancing (gives the cueca spin motion) but then we go home to buy pre-fabricated foreign products. And if you talk bad about the county people get on your ass in a second! They only want to hear good things about their country"
"Welcome to the US" you say.

And on and on he goes about the loco politicians, about the (better) Argentine differences, philosophy on consumerism, and his dream to buy a motorcycle and finance a trip by doing carpentry wherever he rides. He gives a cyclist a thumbs up and a honk as he passes by. They are a different sub-sect the tour cyclists, bus travelers all the same.

As darkness very very slowly falls over the landscape you can tell Wladmar is getting tired and W in the back is freezing his balls off and grabs both sleeping bags to fight the cold night air an 80kmh winds. You too are getting sleepy as you pull in for gas and wait in a ridiculous hour long line to serve about 20 cars. The only thing keeping you from nodding off is Wladmar's own sleep deprived body and wavering eyelids. Numerous times when the conversation stops the car moves a bit into the center divide and then sharply pulls back, Wladmar calmly stating " Oops,I fell asleep, I fell asleep" It's not until 2:30 that you manage to convince him to pull over and get a few hours of rest.
Compañero in the back

You're off again at 5 with Wlad still periodically falling asleep but arrive as Puerto Madryn at 7, you opted out of Trelew to see something a bit more spectacular.

A few hour naps on the beach and you hit the boardwalk. It's nice to walk barefoot after so many days wearing boots. On the pier, W and you make an "artisan fishing pole" that doesn't yield much success, and even after a kind fisherman gifts you a hook and bait, the failure is still obvious.

Leaving W to tend the line you try your luck playing harmonica for coins but after 30 minutes are left with nothing. Heading back to the skatepark you find W and some early teenyboppers. You chat with them and finding a remarkably mature kid on your hands.

You and W walk to the center of town to split up in search of work. Finding a Carrefour and tooting a few notes on the harmonica there nets your first busking prize of 50 centavos from a group of children. Perhaps their generation isn't so rotten and corrupt as we previously thought. A few sour looks from the security guard and it's time to park the ass on some different grass. The boardwalk seems like it's got a good vibe and you play...and play...and play...for almost an hour before a young kid yells something you don't catch.
"Give me 50 cents!"
"What? Man can't you see I'm playin' my butt off for nothing!"
And with that, he reaches down into your hat and takes out a 50 centavo coin. The little fucker! Furious, you shout out a HUEON! and grab the brat, prying the coin from his thieving fingers, more afraid of you than anything.
"Fuck you!"
"Yea Suck it!" as you turn around he tosses his bottle at your back and storms off. This has attracted the attention of a few passerby and a bike cop who turns around and begins questioning before he rides off to catch the young punk.

A few nicer passerby begin to chat and you give your story, perhaps a bit embellished, and they stop to listen to your toots. Toot to tootle. Wah wah hee-wah.
"Hey man I want to give you a bit for your trip, it means a lot more to you than it does to me" and he passes you 4 pesos, or about 400% more than you've collected the whole hour. "I'll add you on Facebook man."

Puerto Madryn by night
You meet compañero Chileno at the car wash he found some work at, and learn that he pocketed 40 pesos in his 2 hours of work. "Well, I guess that's bread, tomato and paté for dinner tonight!" You guys trek it out of town a ways and open air camp in the Million Star Hotel as critters like beetles and scorpions crawl underneath the sleeping bag.
Daybreak.

The sun's up early as your direction turns south. You catch a ride up the hill with a construction worker to make it the rest of the way to your friend Ruta 3. A little more than a half hour later yields a ride to Trelew and the pursuing walk finds a river. You attempt to fish and cook pasta over a fire, spilling the water 3 times before getting it to boil. The banks are teeming with pea plants so you make the most of it and grab your first veggies of the trip.

Another walk after the river so hot and dry as your water reserves have been depleted. Luckily, there's a service station about another kilometer away that's just been constructed and you drink the water in huge gulps and rinse off a few days of sweat that's been accumulating in your hair.

Hitting the 3 again at the peak sun hour of 4pm isn't necessarily your wish but luck's still with you in the form of Bolivian-Argentine Richard and his big rig of new VW's and Toyotas packed so close that you wonder how the hood of one doesn't scratch the window of the other mere centimeters away.

"To Ushuaia?" he starts, "Well I can help you out a bit, at least to Río Gallegos," in other words 1200km. Rock and fuckin' roll.

...and the first 400 is pampa so flat that you could take 100 pictures various kilometers apart and not tell the difference. "Look over there" points Richard, and you look while he starts cracking at the sides. You look again, nothing but pampa, and realize he's pulling a fast one. Nice work my friend, very funny.

Pampa de mierda
About 5 hours in and he makes a stop to eat dinner, pulling the monster of a rig over with a sharp turn of the wheel as if it were nothing else than a toy kite. W and you take out the bread and tomato, eating the simple and usual combination of carbohydrate and fruit (or veggie?). Richard returns with a bag of milanesa, fried egg, ham and cheese sandwiches and grunts at you "Eat man, c'mon!" The bomb drops on the stomach in about 5 minutes.

As you pass through the following town, Rich cat calls at about every moving thing with tits that he sees, honking his horn and being amusingly crude, or at least as amusing as machismo can be. It's about this time that the truck starts to really loose strength and the engine feels like it's tugging much weaker. Any sort of hill it approaches and the power is simply sapped, forcing the angry Bolvian to throw it into first.
"The bitch of a mother who gave birth to you!" among other flowery remarks are followed with a quick smile and laugh. "You know who's fault this is?" he asks rhetorically "Charqui's" pointing at you. Earlier on it had been established that your nickname would be that of dried horse meat, or Charqui as it sounds similar. You travel late into the night and sleep during the wee hours of the morning in the passenger seat while Richard takes the bunk in back.

You wake up the next morning to Richard's yells as the truck seems to have even less power than the day before. Many stops are made throughout the day to change to oil, check the fuel lines, and other mechanical troubleshooting. Most of these inspections finish with Richard discarding the used chemical or non-biodegradable substance to the side of the highway to rest for 400 years before returning to an organic substance.

It's not until you're within 20km of Río Gallegos that Richard realizes the fuse for the panic button is bad and has been half cutting-out the engine for the last 12 hours. By the end of the ride, you've been in the truck for more than 24 hours.

Another walk awaits you at this time to the outskirts and there seems to be little vegetation to stealth camp in. Out in a field is a shed made from an old shipping container. Using it as a shield from the incessant winds blowing across the pampas, you bundle up in your bag before the sun sets around 10:30.

You sleep well and amazingly the wind stopped as the sun went down, making the tent unnecessary. Other than a mouse that jumped in your hair at one moment, the night was completely tranquil. Getting your things ready for the day of hitching ahead (Ushuaia is sill 587km to the south) you spot 2 other hitchers running to an incredibly large rig on the highway. "Well at least it won't be impossible to get a Sunday ride" you think to yourself.

3 hours later and 6 km of walking down the road the wind is tearing your ears off and causing you to shout a few lines from Richard's book at every vehicle that passes you by. Another truck rockets past followed by a smaller car and you sigh at what seems to be an impossible day. But wait...the car pulls off to the side and put on the reverse "Holy shit, is he stopping for us?!...Yes, he is!" and Juan emerges from the driver's seat. "Where to guys?"

About a half hour later and you're stuck in the customs line to check out of Argentina and into Chile once again. A 2 hour ordeal thanks to the bureaucracy resulting from a conflict over Tierra del Fuego that almost resulted in a war. Instead the island is half and half. Customs takes your garbanzos as Chile is notoriously known for it's strict food regulations. At least you steal an apple from the trash where all the confiscated food is dumped and you consider the trade a fair deal.

Crossing the straight of Magellan leaves you wondering how a wooden ship 500 years ago could have ever survived these seas with an average height of 2 meters and winds that blow seawater clear across the 3 lane ferry.

Estrecho de Magallanes
Tierra del Fuego isn't much different than the panpas you left before, but a bit more hilly in places which really changes the landscape for a more attractive and dynamic photo opportunity. "You know we would stop and fish if customs didn't take so long" says Juan. You're almost more upset that he mentioned it.

2 and a half hours over gravel roads on the Chilean side and passing into Argentina again leave you with probably the quickest turnaround time between entry and exit stamp your passport will ever see. You reach Río Grande at 8:30 and the sun is still clear in the sky.
"Well if you could drop us off at the service station that would be great"
"Yea, I could do that but it's in the center of town and a bit dangerous, or I could invite you to a few beds that my children aren't using at my place with a roof, your choice." Sold.

An hour and your first shower in 6 days later Juan asks "so who's up for empanadas?" and you go out on the town to feast on empanadas of ham and cheese, Roquefort, and spiced meat. You call it quits at 1.

Juan the savior and YPF, the savior of bathrooms and water.

You begin early and rise with the sun as Juan has to be at work by 6. The wind still kills even with 3 layers and a jacket, but at least you're clean and well fed. Today feels like Ushuaia and with 210 to go till the end of the world you can taste it. The first ride was with a good natured trucker driving a sedan at 160 kph (do the conversion) which brought you halfway. The landscape noticeable changing from relatively flat to forests with streams and snow-capped mountains even in the summer. The second ride comes from an Argentine born to Bolivian parents who works as an electrical engineer. He hands you a manual on basement water pumps and asks for help in translating terms you didn't even know existed in English... but that doesn't matter, you've arrived.

The mission is to pound the pavement for dish washing and odd-jobs but every place turns you down. Still, you scored an all you can eat buffet at a Chinese place, even if they were a bit cold to talk to, the kilo of oil soaked potatoes, noodles, and fried mozzarella sticks resting in your stomach feels better than emptiness.

Ushuaia
The town is interesting but after being rejected by so many places it feels cold, not in the sense that there's a constant arctic wind blowing, but the fact that it's all tourism. If it wasn't for being at the end of the world it would just be another tourist trap filled with trinkets that people buy when they travel a few thousand km to say they went there. You hike to the hills and spend the night in the tent, a bit discouraged.

The day began late but you slept well. Packing your camp you tell W "today we need to find work, if not, we're out of here." And so you went, asking more restaurants and shops, but apparently all work is on the weekend, and today is Tuesday.

You arrived at the end of the block and say exasperated "well, let's walk that way" but before you can take a few steps a voice from a red van asked in English "Where you going?"
"Uhhhh, that way." and the van made a U-turn to where you guys were standing.
"You speak Spanish right?"
"Uhhh, yea man"
"So you guys are backpacking eh? When did you arrive?"
"Yesterday morning, but we are probably going to head out tomorrow if we don't find work today, we'll be on our way"
"How much money do you have?"
"Well about 5 pesos each"
"Hmmm, well hop in the car, you can stay at my place and have something to eat, but hurry I'm working right now"
Eban works for the municipalidad and an avid fly fisherman.
"My dream is to one day go to Montana or California or Alaska or something" he rattles off as we sat dumbfounded at our luck. "Man I love Chileans! My last girlfriend, the love of my life, is Chilean. And it's hilarious that you speak Chilean too, I've only known one other foreigner who speaks like that and the guy was a crazy German. What's your name again?"
"S, but most people here just call me Charqui"
We arrived at his place and he told us "Ok, you guys can eat whatever you like, use the Internet take a shower, the place is your place...but it's also mine, I'll see you in a few hours."

And so it is, here you are with all the luck in the world, at the end of the world.

No comments: