The transition

Location: Bariloche

Weather: Rain and 10 degrees Celsius

Forecast: Rain for 5 days

Date: behind schedule

Decision: Bus north

We arrived in Mendoza like we had just got off the bus for a holiday. Our smiles were proportional to the amount of leg we could expose to the outside, "And at 9am!"

The sun eased us into a hostel and we went for a celebratory beer in the local park. A young skateboarder named Fede stops to chat. Handsome, tanned, friendly and clearly affluent. He describes his recent jaunt skiing in Canada and surfing in Hawaii. A short conversation full of wity remarks from Dave nailed an invite to his parents house for dinner and a recommendation to a winery, 'Is our luck changing?'

 

The famous Argentinian 'Asado'. 3 cuts of beef, chorizo and morcilla

A lovely welcoming family eager to impress a key part of Argentinian culture on us. Our thanks to them.

Fede's family and the bearded Drs. FYI: she has a boyfriend

The next day a spring like one, perfect to use Fede's recommendation and take a trip to the local 'Altavista' winery. We pretended to listen during the tour about fermentation times and award winning wine but only really engaged during the tasting.

The 'Alto' voted 31st best wine in the world and not available for purchase

 

The formalities over, we bought two expensive bottles and preceded to flaunt our ability to drink them throughout the town. Setting up shop wherever we thought appropriate. Partly as middle finger to the dark, cold and gustatively uninspiring South. Partly as a self-congratulation for the trials that had come before.

 

Flagrant public boozing #1

Flagrant public boozing #2

 

The bus had been so kind to us that we decided to head further north to Tucamán (another 1000km) and the entry point to the more indigenous (interesting) Northwest of Argentina.

Here the trials were to begin again. Our first task to climb out of Tucamán up to 2000m into a desert valley. We left the greenery behind, picked up some coca leaves to aid our acclimatisation and set off (see Characters from The road: Pablo). One and a half days of climbing and we popped out from the forest at 2000m into a stunning mirage.

 

Lunch outside Tafí del Valle

 

In the valley we adjusted to the arid, cacti strewn landscape. Suddenly having hot water wasn't the issue, but having continuous water was, hearing that the area was often affected by incapacitating drought. We pondered the issue whilst gourging on oregano infused cheese and sinking a red artensanal beer. Memories of my last blog entry faded as the setting sun caressed our faces. "A drought doesn't seem like such a bad thing."

 

All local products purchased for pure enjoyment

 

Kyle

 

Posted with Blogsy

The hypothermic pass

Creaking knees and piles and piles of rain created a forced hiatus in Puerto Montt. After which we were free to cross the border back into Argentina. The hope that the Andes would offer our bodies some protection from the precipitation drove us to cycle northwest toward the border.

The first kilometers covered in over a week were a welcome relief and we sucked up the tarmac around the great volcano Osorno, albeit with less sunshine this time. Two days in the saddle, the familiar mistakes recurring, the appetites reawakening. Things felt back to normal. We sat at sea level in Entre Lagos fuelling up, a trucker town with some questionable inhabitants, 71km from the 1300m pass over the Andes. Another granny host telling us where the paneneria was and wishing us a good journey.

The clock struck 10am and we set off, hoping to cycle a cool 110km to Villa la angostura in Argentina, just a small climb between us and a bed. The sky was surprising clear and we plowed on, only stopping for a sopaipilla sandwich (two bits of fried bread with some cheese in the middle) and 3 empanadas. We had learnt our lesson about food.

The climb began and we made some headway until we hit the Chilean border, Dave looked classically confused when they asked where his visa document was, polite attempts at looking for it ensued, "Nobody told me it was a visa document."

The road just went up from the Chilean border. No idea of how far away the pass was we just turned the pedals over for an hour. The temperature began to drop and the rain that was forecast slowly started to fall. It was fun at first, the challenge increased by the rain and a wry smile washed over my face, "Bring it", my internal voice stoically holla'd.

The climb went on and on. The rain fell with increasing intensity, permeating all layers and becoming awkwardly familiar with our skin. The climb went on and on. The wind picked up insidiously, doing a heat stealing deal with the rain. We awaited the border at the peak, dreaming of the dry warmth.

Finally we breached the Andes, camera signs indicating good views appeared from the rainy fog. 1300 m up but visibility 50m and no sign of the Argentinian border. Suddenly the realisation that we had no idea where the border was became clear. Wet through, cold and 40km from our final destination, the darkening skies confirmed the 5 o clock sky and a little panic crept in.

No words were spoken, we knew what wet and wind did and we endeavoured to lose altitude as quickly as was safe. Kilometers ticked by but no border, without the exertion of cycling uphill our bodies leaked heat into the environment. Dave stopped at the side of the road, "I'm in a bit of trouble, I can't stop shivering and I need to change my clothes."

That's strange, "I was just about to say that if it were a couple of degrees colder I would be in trouble, but I feel ok. I'll cycle on and I'll see you there."

 

"I'm fine", I thought, "I'm not even shivering." I began to sing to myself as I rolled down the hill in torrential rain and with the wind licking my chest.

"Oh too-da-loo-da, where's the bloody border control. Boo-ba-doo-da." Dancing on the bike, not peddling.

15 minutes later and I got to the border. I got off the bike and rushed inside with a change of clothes, food and a towel. The drivers watching me with interest as I began to take off wet layers next to the customs queue and eat a banana. Rocking rhythmically and laughing to myself. "Almost got a little sketchy there Kyle."

Dave arrived, "You don't look well."

"I'm alright, I'm not even shivering." I changed some clothes and went through passport control. Strangely I could hold a pen but was unable to get my hand to write with it. Using two hands I fobbed a signature and one of the customs officers handed us some mate tea, "You look cold, drink this."

"Yeah, it's pretty cold", I laughed, not seeing the hint, but preceded to drink everything hot that came my way.

Dave intruded, "You don't look well, you look half dead. I'm putting my foot down, you're not allowed to go outside."

"That's strange, I'm not even shivering." Dave's unusual seriousness was funny.

I unwrapped my hands from the mug of hot water I'd been cradling. I'd scolded my palms without realising. The last hour began to repay in my mind.

"Ok.......maybe that's a good idea." Amazing how a little reflection can change your tune.

 

Kyle

 

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