Tag: Argentina

Homewards Bound

After a relatively stress free night, knowing that I had a box sorted for the bike, I awoke early and finished up packing my bags for the flight. Rodrigo from the bike shop got in touch to let me know that he was in early, so when I checked out of the hotel, I headed straight there.

He was friendly and helpful, and spoke excellent English, helping me out with some tools that made dismantling the bike easier than it would have been with just my multitool. He also phoned me a taxi, and directed me to the nearest cash machine, things were finally coming together.

The time he’d booked the taxi for gave me quite a long time to dismantle the bike, which wasn’t really required, especially when he started helping himself, so by the time I arrived at the airport, there wasn’t much more than one hour until the flight. Fortunately it was a very small airport and they were prioritising the 11 o’clock flight at the check in desks, when I arrived.

Although I had an aisle seat, for the 3 hour flight back to Santiago, I could still make out the impressive shapes of the spires of Torres Del Paine, out of the window – shortly after the plane took off – partially making up for the fact that I’d missed them during the trip itself. I was taken aback to see the scale of the icecap and glaciers that were situated to the west of the route that I had taken, features I had only really caught glimpses of.

Arriving into Santiago airport, I was glad of the decision I’d made to book into the Holiday Inn hotel at the airport, which lay directly between the National and International Terminals and allowed me to wheel my bike and equipment to and from the hotel on an airport trolley, with an onwards flight the next day.

The hotel had been recommended to me by Marlen, when I had been travelling with her and Pablo at the beginning of the trip, but what we hadn’t realised at the time was that we would both be at the hotel on the same day. They had arrived in Chile on the 24th of December – the day after me – and Marlen was flying back from Santiago on the 23rd of January, the same day as me. Pablo, was leaving her at the airport in Balmaceda and continuing down the rest of the Carretera Austral with some friends from Argentina. He was then taking a long route back to Switzerland via Buenos Aires, and Barcelona, where he also used to live.

So, after a quick shower at the hotel, I messaged Marlen to see if she had arrived yet, and quickly got a response to say that she had taken a ‘Cabify’ taxi into town, was sitting in a café at the bottom of Cerro San Cristóbal and was planning to take a cable car to the summit to drink a Mote con Huesillo. Although I had no idea what that was, it sounded like a good plan.

It was about 10 miles across the city to the base of the mountain, and it was nice to pass by the Santiago skyscrapers on the way.

Meeting her at La Subida cafe, she had just finished and paid for her lunch and drinks, but was in no rush, so we ordered another couple of drinks. It was great to catch up on the last few weeks, having not seen each other for almost a month at this point, but I monopolised the early conversation with my tale of delayed boats and fully booked buses. You should tell this to Pablo she said, and sure enough, before the afternoon was out, I had messages from Pablo asking about the Villa O’Higgins boat.

Marlen and Pablo had had a great trip, although both of them had suffered for a few days with the fever that had initially struck down Marlen, and Pablo’s knee had remained a problem. They had taken numerous side trips to see glaciers, and to see a glacier calving into the sea, as well as a boat trip to the caves that Desiree and I had kayaked to.

Eventually, we took the cable car up to the San Cristóbal summit, where there was a church and some drinks stalls, and a very impressive view of Santiago spreading out beneath us.

Marlen recommended the Mote con Huesillo, which she’d already had earlier, and thought I should try for the novelty value if nothing else. The drink was an unusual one, featuring dried peaches, husked wheat berries, and syrup. It was super sweet but pleasant enough, until I got to sampling the wheat berries at the bottom and decided that I’d had enough.

That evening we had dinner at the hotel, one last opportunity for me to have Merluza Austral (southern hake) served on a bed of risotto and coriander, a delightful combination.

The next morning we met again for breakfast, and after we’d checked out, and headed the short distance to the International terminal, we quickly discovered that not only were our British Airways and Iberia flights at the exact same time, of 1:05 in the afternoon, but the planes would be at neighbouring gates, so we didn’t have to say goodbye until the last few moments before the flights.

On leaving Santiago, my flight hugged the west coast of Chile, before crossing into Peruvian airspace, and starting to turn east at Arequipa and heading towards Lake Titicaca. Names and places firmly being planted into my consciousness for the future.

What a trip it had been, the scenery, the weather, the people. I had allowed myself more time on this occasion, and it had only served to increase my enjoyment of the trip. I hadn’t needed rest days from a cycling standpoint, but ultimately it had allowed me to spend more time with the people I’d met on the way, and ultimately those relationships are always what make these trips worthwhile.

Special thanks must go to those who I shared the road with, but in particular Marlen, Pablo, and Desiree, who I hope won’t mind me sharing her beautiful words about her trip here, translated from a Spanish language vlog:

And well, I realised that it has its charm, really, going slowly and taking your time is a luxury, taking your time, forgetting about time, no longer knowing what day of the week it is. Even though we live in a society that sells time like currency, not everything has to be fast and instantaneous, so slowing down is a luxury.

Wise words indeed, and also an explanation as to why she never needed to apologise for slowing me down.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Villa O’Higgins: At The End of The Road

I was almost at the end of the road. After Villa O’Higgins, the road continued for 7 kilometres more to Puerto Bahamondez, where the only option was to take a boat across Lago O’Higgins to Candelario Mancilla, 1 km from a Chilean border post and 20 km of no man’s land in a disputed area with Argentina.

Eventually, I’d reach the Argentinian border post, and then have to cross Lago Del Desierto on a small tourist boat, before pedalling out the 20 or so miles to the Argentinian mountain resort of El Chaltén, in a popular hiking area.

The next morning, I made for the Ruedas De La Patagonia office as soon as I got up, only to find that it wouldn’t be opening until 11 o’clock. After a wander around town and finding what was clearly the best stocked supermarket, I returned to check on the possibility of booking a place on the boat.

The ticket agent shook his head, ‘oh no no no no, Monday’, he said. Ok great, I said. That would be fine. He asked if I also wanted booked on the second boat, across Lago Del Desierto while I was at it. Yes, please, and thank you.

On the Friday night, on my last stretch into Villa O’Higgins, I’d finally had reception after a day and a half in the wilderness, and I received numerous messages from Desiree all at once. She was hoping I was doing ok in the bad weather, telling me that her accommodation at Giselle’s in Caleta Tortel was great, that she was feeling exhausted on her day off, that she’d got up for an early morning hike, and that she’d got back on the road, before taking a lift to the Puerto Yungay ferry, from Felipe, who was Chilean, was travelling in a campervan, and she had met before back down the road at El Blanco campsite.

From the ferry, she’d then pedalled to the Río Blanco María campsite, so she was now only around 50 miles from Villa O’Higgins. Her rental bike was to be returned in Villa O’Higgins on the Monday, and my ferry was now scheduled for the Monday too, it seemed possible now, that I might see her again, beforehand.

As it happened, she had a great day on the Saturday, in beautiful weather, making it 50 km to the glacier-clad mountain that I’d seen the day before, and leaving herself 30 km to do on the Sunday, to reach Villa O’Higgins.

The rest of my weekend was largely spent wandering backwards and forwards between the campsite and the town, a walk of under ten minutes. It was a picturesque little location, but an incredibly sleepy town. I did need to stock up on some supplies for my planned long day to El Chaltén, and of course I needed to keep stocking up for my extended stay in Villa O’Higgins as well.

Then late on the Sunday afternoon, just as Desiree was arriving in town, she messaged me asking if I wanted to cycle with her to the end of the road, as her bike would be getting returned the next day, and she wanted to make it to the end before she took it back.

We had a pleasant ride in warm sunshine, and soon covered the 7 km to the port, despite having to wait for a campervan to be rescued from a ditch, a short distance from the end.
It was a lovely moment and Desiree, was delighted to accomplish what had probably seemed like a – potentially – unrealistic goal, for someone with no previous experience of this type of trip.

We decided to celebrate by going out for dinner, and were almost ready to go when I received the bombshell news, that the boat crossing on the Monday was cancelled. I looked ahead at the forecast, the weather didn’t look any better on the Tuesday. Oh dear, I thought, before accepting that I could now have an extra couple of beers to accompany the excellent burger at La Travesia, restaurant. And, what would be the harm in a little Calafate Pisco Sour as well?

After an unintentional cake breakfast at Café Norwest 340 – due to it being all that they served – it was now Monday afternoon, and I still had not received an update about the boat, and wasn’t really sure about what to do next. The options were, wait for a boat, which was – very much – at the mercy of the weather, before taking 2 buses, totalling over 400 km: the first from El Chaltén to El Calafate, in Argentina, and the second from El Calafate to Puerto Natales, back into Chile, where I had a flight booked on the Thursday morning. The alternative was, it seemed, to get myself back along the Carretera Austral to Coyhaique, with my bike, hope to pick up a box there, and then make for Balmaceda airport – by Thursday evening – when a flight was available. A third, more costly, option was to keep waiting for a boat, and hope I could eventually make it for a 7 hour flight from El Calafate airport, to Santiago, via Buenos Aires.

Desiree, left me pondering the decision, to help Felipe set up a BBQ, at his campsite, that he’d invited us to that evening. Too tired to decide what best to do, I fell asleep, only to awake 45 minutes later to several messages from her to say that she’d heard from the boat company and there was a sailing on the Tuesday. The message she forwarded didn’t seem to state that, but it did say that the safe passage form I’d filled in to cross the border would still be valid for the next day, which only seemed relevant if there was to be a boat.

I rushed along to the office, and was delighted to find out that it was true, there was a boat scheduled for 5 AM on the Tuesday morning, and the man would WhatsApp me the details. In an instant, my trip was saved. I rushed along to the BBQ to tell the the others the good news, and then we had a very pleasant evening taking it in turns to jam on Felipe’s 3/4-sized travel guitar that he carried in the van.

Day 19: Caleta Tortel – Puerto Yungay

Distance: 27.18 miles

Time: 3:55

Elevation Gain: 2,336 feet

The next day, Desiree was taking a rest day, and I was pushing on the 45 km or so to Puerto Yungay ferry terminal, ideally in time to make the last ferry at 7 o’clock, and continue the 8 miles to Río Bravo María campsite.

By the time that we headed out for lunch though, that was already seeming optimistic, and I soon started to realise that it was likely I’d be arriving at the ferry port after the last ferry had already left, and I’d be camping in the vicinity of the port.

This feeling was reinforced quite quickly, when Desiree, liking the look of the Calafate cake in a craft shop, proposed the idea of having coffee and cake first, and then going for lunch straight after. Sounded like my kind of plan.

The cake was delicious, and the boardwalk around the harbour offered up fantastic views of the layout of the town, as it reached upwards from the coast. A short chat with some construction workers informed us that the wooden boards used in the creation of the walkways required to be replaced every 12 years, no doubt maintaining the place was a year round occupation.

We moved on to El Mirador restaurant for lunch, and when the waitress pointed out that there were only 3 items on the menu, and one of them was salmon, it was a fairly easy choice in what to have, for both of us.

It was almost 4 PM, before I finally moved on, but it had been a very pleasant day so far, so I wasn’t regretting not getting back on the road in the morning when the forecast was good.

It was a tough stretch back out of Caleta Tortel, into the wind, and I hadn’t got very far at all, when I passed the Colombian couple from 2 nights before on their way into town.

If I thought that the initial part was tough, I hadn’t seen anything yet. Conditions had worsened when I reached the bottom of the climb over to Puerto Yungay, and the sign at the bottom warned of 20 km of dangerous curves. Sounded fun.

The opening hairpins were unrideable and I was forced to push up what seemed like a steep open boulder field. As the road climbed, the views back down towards the river had virtually disappeared into the gloom.

The next part was direct, steep and narrow, and with the addition of a few cars making their way over the pass, it was a tricky part to navigate, but eventually the road climbed onto a plateau and swept past Lago Caiquen.

Dropping down the other side, I had to manoeuvre my way around a truck that had skidded into the safety barrier, and was now stuck, at times having to battle with my bike to stop it doing the same, thanks to brakes that were struggling in the wet conditions.

Eventually, at almost 9 o’clock, I rolled down the hill towards the ferry port at Puerto Yungay, dragging my bike up a ramp towards a building with a porch which offered some shelter from the rain, while I looked for somewhere to pitch my tent.

Soon after, I heard voices from inside, and then someone opened the door. You can sleep in here if you want, said one of a pair of German cyclists, Fabian and Noah, who were inside a waiting area that was apparently there for the usage of cyclists.

Fabian and Noah had teamed up while waiting, for several days, for the boat, at Candelario Mancilla, perhaps a precursor of things to come for myself as I’d be taking the same boat in the opposite direction. Yes they had the phone number for the ferry company they said, and that was the first I’d had the correct one, it was evidently a very popular service, I didn’t have a booking and now I was stuck a day away from Villa O’Higgins, without any signal. There was a boat scheduled for the day after next, and unless I was very lucky, I wouldn’t be on it.

Day 8: Puyuhuapi – Camping El Chucao

Distance: 43.14 miles

Time: 5:47

Elevation Gain: 3,858 feet

Having done many of these trips, cycling back to back days, without much of a gauge on how I was recovering, other than how I was feeling, on this trip I have a new watch that gives me feedback on metrics such as sleep quality and ‘body battery’. After New Year’s Eve, my body battery had started the day at 46 out of 100, so I had managed my effort as best as possible, taking it slow and stopping after 30 miles.

Fortunately, after an excellent sleep at La Sirena campsite last night, and a sleep score of 98, my body battery was up over 90 and I was feeling ready for what was going to be a very tough day, featuring the hardest climb so far.

After leaving the campsite, I did a little shopping, intrigued by the regular trend of supermarkets not to sell any sort of bread products whatsoever, on this occasion I was pointed down the street, so set off in that direction, until I found a sign that seemed to look hopeful.

In entering what looked like the empty front room of someone’s house, a women emerged and I enquired about ‘pan’, to be pointed in the direction of a small box in the corner covered with a tea towel, and only containing about 10 rolls, the sole produce on offer.

As I climbed up to the junction which would see me rejoin the Carretera, an overexuberant, dog emerged from a nearby property, hurtling towards my back wheel, until I slowed and got off the bike. I’ve noticed an interesting trend about dogs in Chile, in that wild dogs seem to have no interest whatsoever in cyclists, whereas the ones that react angrily towards me are all either farm dogs, or presumably pets. It did get me wondering as to whether anyone had studied the effects of nature versus nurture with regards dogs’ behaviour towards cyclists.

The first 7 or 8 miles were a pleasantly undulating foray along the coast, and mercifully still on tarmac. So far there had been a lot more tarmac than I’d been led to believe.

After a conversation the other day, with Steve from Manchester, in which he had asked how my Spanish was, resulting in me laughing uncontrollably for a minute, before explaining that I had been doing Duo Lingo Spanish for quite a while now, but was in no way able to communicate in Spanish. He had recommended the Coffee Break Español Podcast, which was recorded in Scotland, so I had downloaded a few episodes and began to give it a listen.

Although my conversational Spanish was non-existent, I could, at least, take a little satisfaction from the fact that I understood enough to know that a sign reading ‘Puente Sin Nombre’ meant bridge with no name.

After 8 miles the road ran out, and I stopped to let a little air out of my tyres, to take the edge off the jarring effects of the rocky terrain. In passing Camping Las Toninas, the road turned inland and back into Parque Nacional Queulat, where I spotted a restaurant in the trees, and also the friendly Argentinian from the campsite in Puyuhuapi.

His name was Jorge, and he had started cycling from his hometown of Bariloche in Argentina, a popular starting off point for the Carretera Austral. He was waiting for some women whom he’d met at the campsite and who had offered him a lift over the upcoming climb, which they had told him was dangerous with all the passing trucks.

Turning my attention to the restaurant in the trees, Valle Los Coihues, I ordered mushroom risotto and a coke, and enjoyed the shade on the terrace, while noticing that three of the other occupants were also cycle tourists who I was yet to encounter on the road.

The next stretch, back along the coast, of Fiordo Queulat, was rough, and surprisingly busy, with each passing vehicle throwing up large clouds of dust. The temperature had started to rise, and, whereas, for the last few days, it had maxed out at 20°C, the forecast for the next few days showed it reaching the high 20°s.

All in all, a perfect storm was brewing, the suntan lotion on my brow had started to mix with sweat, and was migrating in the direction of my eyes, where it had been joined by dust, and by the time I reached the bottom of the 5 km gravel climb, Cuesta Queulat, I was already having to stop every time a vehicle appeared, and wait for a minute afterwards for the dust to settle. The opening slopes were a real struggle, steep and loose, and I was off the bike as much as I was on it.

The upper hairpins offered fantastic views of neighbouring snow clad peaks, but I could barely open my eyes wide enough to frame the photos on my phone as my eyes’ sensitivity to both, light, and the dust, ramped up massively.

Two hours later, as the landscape opened out and I reached the top of the climb, the road surface suddenly switched to concrete. The descent would have been a delight, if my eyes weren’t such a red, itchy, mess, and I was able to keep them open enough to see the full extent of the terrain below me.

Infuriated that my progress had been so slow, I was still keen to push on towards my planned destination of Villa Amengual, but it was half past 8, and I was at 43 miles for the day, a lot of which had been over challenging terrain, so when I rolled past a sign for camping on the right hand side, I continuing for long enough to see the road ramp up ahead before turning around and admitting defeat.

On arrival at the site, there were momentary pleasantries with my campsite hosts, and the other guests – a Swiss couple also cycling South, and a French girl heading North, before the state of my eyes started to cause some alarm, and the Swiss lady went running off to her tent in search of some eyedrops.