| Submitted by: Edward Unruh , United States |
| Submission Date: 28 March 2005 |
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Low and behold, later that day we came upon what appeared to be a provincial checkpoint and quickly found no one to be there! It was a spectacular landmark with tall pillars on both sides of the road and an archway connecting them.
There were also toll-booths at provincial borders. Motorcycles however, turned out to be exempt from paying tolls. As we rode up to the booths, the attendants would energetically wave us around, to the far side, giving us free passage. One more great reason to be riding a motorcycle in Argentina!
We did get sick on something we ate a couple days earlier, and assumed it was from when we had taken the hover-craft ferry between Argentina and Uruguay. The snacks on board appeared a bit out of date by U.S. standards, but since our hunger was more than we could bear, we both gave in and partook of some lousy tasting food anyway. We both ended up with upper stomach aches that were actually quite painful. These aches would effect us about every half hour.
Peggy was still feeling rather miserable after Firmat and as we came into Rio Cuarto, she insisted we find a Farmacia, so she could get some anti diarrhea medicine.
It took a while, but we finally found a pharmacy open during siesta and after some persistent and exaggerated hand gestures-to the extent of being embarrassed-the pharmacist finally understood the medication Peggy was looking for.
By this time Peggy was extremely nervous about the local food. I told her that it couldn't all be unsafe and convinced her it could only be rare occurrences where we might end up getting sick again. Not to mention, now we were hungry again, and we knew that we needed to eat something. So we went to what appeared to be a fancy restaurant just across the street and ordered hamburgers with fries and pop. Have you ever had hamburger with a fried egg topping instead of cheese? It really wasn't that bad, but the quality of meat didn't live up to our expectations.
As we finished up our meal-I leaned over to two gentlemen sitting next to us and said something like: Donde esta es ruta ocho? Obviously they had a hard time dealing with my U.S. accent and poor pronouncing of Spanish, so one of them-in perfectly understandable English-asked me to speak English also! That was surprising! As Peggy kept saying: "Just another Angel sent at a time when we really needed one!"
After giving us directions, the English speaking gentleman, whose name was Daniel, kindly insisted on leading us to the edge of town, just to steer us correctly on our way west. Daniel also told us of a wonderful place to stay about 100 kilometers further, in Merlo, where he also lived, in the western foothills of the Cordoba mountains.
The Hotel Flamingo had a setting to die for. The owners were Andrea, who spoke a entertainingly British style of English and her husband who spoke only Spanish. They were the owners and truly impressed us as absolutely impeccable hosts. We felt like celebrities the way they pampered us and catered to our every single want. Andrea wanted us to park the Shadow in their tuck under garage, where they parked their cars, and I told her she had already done to much and how I couldn't take her spot.
Merlo is a popular mountain retreat for many Argentines and we could certainly understand why.
During the month of February-all the children were on summer break and the business area of town was filled with over-energized adolescents, chasing each other around, laughing and singing loudly together, as we made our way to the laundry mat.
The gentleman operating the place was super nice and full service again was the only choice. For 11 pesos it was a simple decision! He told us to come back in a hour and half and everything would be folded up and ready.
We had just enough time before dark to make it to the scenic overlook at the top of the mountain.
The view as the sun slowly settled below the horizon was absolutely mesmerizing. As dark settled into the valley below, slowly overpowering the daylight that occupied the quaint village of Merlo, we carefully wound our way back down the mountain road.
Back in Merlo...the laundry attendant was still working on our clothes, so we just waited outside by the motorcycle. Some young men walking by really were grooving on the bike, and asked if they could have their picture taken while they sat on the bike. I enjoyed their enthusiasm and eagerly agreed.
People of all age groups were milling about outside, engaged in a wide variety of social activities. Apparently no-one cared to be indoors. A far cry from our home country, where most people seem to be quite comfortable to be isolated from others.
Dinner hour, once again included with the room, was at 9p.m. We were just a little bit late getting there because of the laundry and found everyone already seated at their pre-assigned tables, marked with their very own name tags. Andrea, helped us with ordering a good local wine and explained how dinner would work. The wine was soft and sweet, and the meal was an excellent example of well thought out cuisine prepared with gourmet quality. Just at the end of dinner-Peggy felt sick and urged me to take her back to the room-ending a wonderful evening in a rather inauspicious way. Then I sensed her urgency as I hesitated for a moment, trying to extend the special occasion just a little bit longer. So we quickly got up to go out and just as we got outside, Peggy felt very sick, so I grabbed her arm to steady her, and found her a bench. She wouldn't have made it to the room without sitting down and actually became very weak. I encouraged her to try and make it to our room, and before we could get there, she fainted-passing out completely-for a couple seconds in the hallway.
The following morning-with Peggy feeling much better-we got busy. We quickly packed everything, hurriedly wolfed down complimentary pastry and coffee and were on our way. Our first ever chance to see the Los Andes was now merely a days ride away.
The arid region of northwestern Argentina was getting considerably hot (caliente), so we stopped frequently to drink liquids and keep hydrated. I kept the bike running at about 130 (about 85 miles per hour) kilometers per hour most of the way, feeling confident by this time, because numerous motorists were going faster. Frequently people waved or flashed their lights in curious, contumacious support for us. The weather was definitely hot by mid afternoon and I was totally drenched and soaking wet...especially under my black helmet.
By the time we got to Mendoza, my energy had evaporated and I desperately needed a much deserved break! We rode down the tree lined streets, contemplating whether to find a hotel here for the night or push closer towards the Andes, just 60 kilometers away. Several times hotel merchants came out on the street and waved us towards their establishments. This aggressive style was not what we expected or wanted at the time and ultimately we decided to move on.
Getting lost that afternoon was not what I planned to do either, but who would ever plan to get lost? That set us back over an hour and as late in the day as it was, with threatening clouds coming our way, I was concerned about making it to the mountain resort town of Upsallata.
The Los Andes were a magnificent display of multicolored peaks, ranging from chocolate brown to crimson red. There were no trees and hardly any vegetation at all. Even so, the destitute mountainous country was mesmerizing. We admired the beauty, overwhelmed with the realization that we were actually in the southern hemisphere, riding through South America, in February!
The mountain village of Upsallata was extremely inviting-a refreshing oasis-with green trees and plants growing everywhere. We passed a couple resorts and noticed one that looked fairly nice. Then I noticed a military checkpoint looming ahead, so instead of dealing with another communication breakdown, I defiantly whipped a u-turn in front of the guard and hastily retreated to the nice lodging.
At check in we paid for a combination of room and board-including dinner and breakfast. We met a couple from Argentina, who's names were Felicia and Juan Carlos, from a smaller town north of Mendoza. Felicia is an English teacher and we found her extremely helpful in helping us order our food.
After breakfast, we motored up to the military checkpoint, thankful it wasn't the same guard as the night before, showed our papers and were okayed to continue.
The sky was clear and a cool soft breeze made for perfect riding conditions. Both of us were comfortable wearing long sleeves and light jackets. Considering the more than 8500 feet elevation, we knew it would be a perfect day to see the summit of Mt. Aconcagua!
Mount Aconcagua is the highest peak in the western hemisphere. Its summit is higher than McKinley's in Alaska, reaching over 22,800 feet. It was a spectacular sight and an awesome feeling for us, standing there, in the Andes, looking at that mountain! Neither pictures or words can describe the feelings we had that particular moment.
The border crossing into Chile was kind of annoying. We were stuck in a line up of cars and trucks that didn't seem to be moving at all. There were several check stations, but only one of them was open. Eventually they opened another one, and we finalized our documents with customs after about two hours of waiting time.
It was downhill all the way from there. The border crossing was at the highest point on the Trans American highway.
Chile seemed to be economically superior to Argentina, and the people seemed so much busier. We did not sense the amicable disposition like the Argentine people. The mountainous countryside was heavily developed with agriculture. Fruits of every kind were growing in the temperate climate. Vina Del Mar was very big, crowded and chaotic. We were perplexed as we rode into the resort area, worried about finding our hotel. We asked A military policeman, who was directing traffic at Ocean Boulevard, how to get to the "Best Western, Marina Del Ray." He was really helpful and gave us a map, pointing as he spoke in Spanish, towards the hotel location. Fortunately, by that time we were only about 8 blocks away.
The Marina Del Ray Hotel was really nice. Monica was our English speaking Angel in Vina Del Mar, and always seemed so willing to answer our questions.
Chile continually proved to be much more enterprising than Argentina. For instance; one day we went to a shopping mall for supplies and a man insisted on washing the bike while we shopped. In fact, there were several young men competing to wash vehicles with total approval from all the motorists as well as the establishment! This was just one example of how everyone so willingly worked together, no matter what the task.
Argentina had nothing like this at all. Although the people of Argentina seemed to be substantially more accommodating in most every way.
Maybe there is a message here: that hard work creates unneeded stress and anxiety, and laid back-less hard working cultures-are much more relaxed, friendly and hospitable.
We had dinner in Valparaiso one afternoon and ordered a shrimp entree that was less than adequate in our opinion. The shrimp were popcorn size covered in some sort of creamy sauce. The service at that particular place was appalling!
The day before leaving Chile, we picked up some copper souvenirs from a local merchant, and because of the limited supplies we were capable of carrying on the moto, had them packaged and shipped home. It was interesting-trying to get the postal workers to understand what we wanted to do. Not a single person in the post office knew English. But I'm happy to say everything arrived to our home address unscathed, a few weeks later. |
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| Copyright © - "Edward Unruh" |
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