After
spending several weeks above 3,000 meters, we left the altiplano and
descended into San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. Country #14 of the trip.
And by descended, I mean descended.
Ike put Sweetcakes into 4LO and we engine-braked our way down the
long, constant descent to the desert... from nearly 5000 meters the
day before down to a mere 2400 meters (7900 feet). Side note: it's
cute that Denver is considered “high altitude” at 1600 meters.
The long descent into Chile
At
the bottom of the descent, we had the pleasure of experiencing
Chilean customs for the first time. Welcome to Chile, please dispose
of all your delicious foodstuffs here. All fresh veggies/fruits/meat,
dairy, uncooked eggs... yup, they can go right in the garbage.
Luckily we had been warned by other travelers about this, so had
tried to consume most of perishable food before the border. The
customs agents asked us to bring all items from our car into the
building to pass through the scanner, but after informing them that
our car was jam-packed with stuff, they were happy to do a visual
inspection of the vehicle. Easy peasy. Just had to wait around a bit
as the workers finished their Sunday siesta.
We
had been warned by other travelers that Chile was expensive, but it
was still shocking to roll into our hostel and have to pay US$11 per
person to camp at a hostel in
San Pedro. Sheesh, is the toilet paper made of gold or something?
(Spoiler alert: Nope) These were prices we hadn't encountered since
the US and Canada. We sauntered into town to fill up on expensive
Chilean gas, exchange the rest of our Bolivians to Chilean Pesos, and
attempted to find a laundromat to wash our mountain of dirty laundry
(at $15/load, we opted to wait...). We spent the night licking our
wallets' wounds, basking in the hot shower, making friends with a
French couple traveling through Chile in a rental truck, and soaking
up the sweet, sweet internet.
The
next morning we hopped back on the road, climbed back up into the
altiplano and through the Paso de Jama, and arrived at our second
border crossing within 24 hours. Bienvenidos a Argentina! Please
remove all your belongings for the customs inspection. Yes, all of
them. After going through immigration and taking care of all the
paperwork, we rapidly unloaded all of our gear from Sweetcakes in a
record-setting 5 minutes. The customs manager then turned around and
saw all of our crap siting on the sidewalk and said “no
mas, no mas!” Well, we warned
you we had a lot of stuff. He did a cursory review of our items, then
offered to help us load everything back into Sweetcakes. Thanks, but
we got this.
Well...they asked for it!
We
continued on through the beautiful scenery, multicolored mountains
and down into Purmamarca, at a meager elevation of 2300 meters. I had
visited Purmamarca and the 7-colored mountain back in 2007 during my
study abroad in Buenos Aires and it was fun to return and see the
changes to the small, touristy town. We spent the night enjoying wine
for the first time in months. Oh, and on the way there, our
skid-plate came loose again, so we miraculously found a scrap piece
of wire along the shoulder of the highway and wired that baby back up
along the side of the highway. #Scavengers
The
next morning we continued south towards the city of Salta, one of the
largest cities in NW Argentina. En route we were stopped no fewer
than three times by Argentinian cops during random police
checkpoints. Each time we were a bit nervous, as we've heard stories
of corrupt Argentinian cops, but we had absolutely no problems. After
a quick review of our documents and verification of where we were
headed, the police wished us “buen viaje”
and we were on our way.
Our
main reason for visiting Salta was to change some of our US dollars
to Argentinian pesos on the “blue market.” Argentina's economy is
in crisis mode and their currency is very weak. It's difficult for
Argentinians to obtain foreign currency (especially dollars and
euros), so many of them try to obtain it through unofficial markets
and convert their savings into US $100 bills or large euro
denominations. Hence, the “blue market”... not quite the “black
market,” but not entirely... how do you say.... legal. We had heard
from other travelers that you can just go to the main plaza in Salta
and ask around about changing dollars and locals will point you to
“the guy.” If you know Ike and I very well, you know that we are
a couple of fairly straight-laced kids, so this was a bit of an
uncomfortable situation for us. We approached the main plaza, looked
around for a bit, spotted a guy carrying a large canvas wallet/bag
and thought perhaps he was “the guy.” So we nonchalantly sat down
on a nearby bench and observed “the guy” talking with a tall,
blonde woman. Then they disappeared around the corner. Hrm, maybe
they went off to take care of “business” in a more private
location? We didn't ask questions.
We
stood up and walked to the other side of the plaza and down a side
street where we saw some official money exchanges. A dozen or so
middle-aged men stood along the sidewalk, leaning up against the
exterior walls of the buildings. We awkwardly stood across the street
observing the situation (heaven help us if we ever try to do
legitimately sketchy business deals...), and eventually Ike noticed
one of the men explicitly holding a wad of cash out. We sheepishly
approached him, asked the rate, and proceeded to count out US$1000 in
Argentinian pesos. At an exchange rate of 12.6P:$1, we had to use
both sets of fingers and toes. Ike's wallet wouldn't close, so we
shoved the cash into several pockets and anxiously walked back to
Sweetcakes to stash our cash in the lockbox.
Cash. Money.
After
running a few more errands we made our way to the municipal
campground. Argentinians are big on camping, and we've found that
many towns and cities have official municipal campgrounds. Something
we haven't seen since the US. Having an official campground, with hot
showers, mediocre wifi, and all the other amenities was nice. But
this one was fairly run down, and full of some apparently long-term
residents, which made for some awkward walks to the bathrooms. One
night there and we were ready to move on.
So, these drives aren't that bad....
throat of the devil. Clever names! A little terrifying, but clever!
View from one of the wineries outside Cafayate
Next
stop: Cafayate, one of Argentina's wine regions. Rolling
into Cafayate was pleasantly uneventful. We found the campground
easily [one of several] and parked Sweetcakes. Hopping out, we
started making our way back towards downtown to run several errands.
First we wanted to find a mechanic to get the tailpipe welded, as
well as the skid-plate bolted back in, despite our totally rad baling
wire job. Walking through town we got distracted as we found the
local hardware shop. The nice guy behind the counter got us what he
could [but not all we needed], and directed us further down the
street to the moto repair shop to find the fuses we wanted for the
fridge electrical plug. We were able to get what we needed, then
meandered over to the mechanic's shop that was listed on our GPS map.
Strolling up, we were equal parts confused over not seeing anyone
there and amazed by the incredible overlanding vehicle / tourist
vehicle that was parked next to the shop.
Remodeling idea for us back in Madison?
Would drive.
“$1000
for it as is!” yelled a man to us from across the street.
Intrigued [sorry Sweetcakes!], we went up to him and asked if it
would be possible for us to get work done on our vehicle at this
shop. The man told us of course, and we scheduled time for the
following morning. Dusting our hands off and slapping each other on
the back for hard work done [scheduled?] we proceeded to start the
important part of our time in Cafayate: wine tours. (Also,
we're basically wine tasting pros. We were in Napa in September,
prime harvest time, and now March in Cafayate, also prime harvest
time.)
Not a bad $3. Torrontes is our new favorite white grape!
Our
first stop was the Hermanos Domingo winery three blocks from our
campsite. We strolled in, and hopped into the first tour that was
going on. It reminded us of Napa, particularly the part where we
made our way to the front to buy wine and saw the prices: 12, 25, 50.
And then we remembered the price was in Pesos, so we should divide
by 12.6 to find the price in USD. Bottles of wine for $.90? I'll
take it! We settled for just a couple of bottles since we needed
free hands for wine tastings at the other wineries we were heading
to.
Hahahhha those prices!
So America....why don't we do 5 liter wine bottles more often???
A
short time later we were having trouble holding all the wine and were
making our way to another shop when we hear a sound off to the side
of the alley. Walking over, we found the cutest little black kitten
sitting next to a concrete pipe mewing away. Bethany was instantly in
love: petting it, hugging it, cradling it, asking me if we could keep
it. “Where's its mommy?!?” she kept asking me. I convinced her
that it had just snuck outside and that we should leave it so it
could go home. We visited the next winery up the street, and Bethany
had to broach the issue with the man there. He unfortunately
informed us that people do indeed leave pets at wineries in Cafayate,
hoping they'll have a nice home, but the wineries can't keep them
because it's not hygenic. Bethany promptly wrapped things up so we
could go find the kitten again. Luckily [thankfully?] it was nowhere
to be found, hopefully back with its family.
Bethany's bestest friend.
Our
last winery stop had us outside the front, wondering if we wanted to
wait around for the last tour of the day. “What else are we going
to do?” Bethany asked me. “Great point” came the reply from
the other man standing out front biding his time. Amit told us he
was from Ireland, but with the Irish accent, we initially thought he
said 'Arlington' with a southern drawl. Le
sigh,
we're so American. The tour was nice and we continued trying new
wines, touted in Cafayate because of the high altitude: 2300 meters,
or 50% higher than Denver. This leads to very vibrant colors and
strong flavors, not
to mention the high alcohol content (some were 15-18%!).
We discovered Torrontes and
Tannat
to add to the Malbec
spectrum of amazing Argentinian wines.
Blocks of pressed grape skins and seeds
That
evening we made our way to a nearby restaurant that did Argentinian
grill. We rolled in at 8:45 pm and were the first people in for
dinner. Bethany and I have a long ways to go until we're used to the
schedule here. The food was incredible, though, and we found
ourselves loving the seasoned intestine, and wondering how feasible
it would be to fry it up back home in Wisconsin.
Argentina, I like your spirit.
The
next morning saw us at the mechanic's shop; “we'll be ready in 15
minutes!” we were told at 10 minutes after 10, after being told to
arrive at 10am. 45 minutes later they told us they weren't equipped
to do welding, and would show us another shop in town that could do
it. Turns out that was fine, though, as the new mechanic not only
was happy to do the work, but after finding out about our trip wanted
to talk about all the amazing places in western Argentina we could
[should; WOULD] visit. He also explained that he would have to
remove the muffler to do the welding work so the gas tank wouldn't
go, “Boom!” (All
this after what appears to be the standard Argentinian shake-down:
How old are you? What were your previous jobs? [sidenote: it's not
fun to try to explain healthcare IT and energy efficiency consulting
in spanish] You don't have kids?!?)
Never a dull moment with Sweetcakes! Although she sounded like a monster with this off.
Mechanic at ease; his assistant looking quite formal.
Anything to get rid of squeaky bushings!
Several
days and numerous wineries later, we were ready to leave Cafayate,
but only after Bethany verified that the kitten couldn't be found and
scuttled away with us. We also had filled our fridge completely with
wine [11 bottles or so], and it was with grins that we drove away
along Route 40, through beautiful valleys and mountains and....right
into a road block.
$9 for the tasting...but it's waived if we buy a bottle of wine for $5? I....I think you guys are doing it wrong.
Life is good
Wine making being in family? not a bad idea....
FYI, these three lines are sold in California. Keep your eyes out for 'em!
FYI, these three lines are sold in California. Keep your eyes out for 'em!
The
road we approached was blocked with a half-assed cone and sign. In
America, this means the road is closed. In South America, this
means, “You look brave. Don't chicken out. Also, we're not liable.”
We looked around ,but no one was there to verify for us, so we
soldiered on as we saw another vehicle a mile or two ahead climbing
into the mountains. Driving up, we appreciated the view and couldn't
figure out what the deal was as the road was nicely paved tarmac.
Then it turned to loose gravel and one lane construction. We passed
a motorcycle coming down and stopped him to verify we could go
through. Pausing, he looked at Sweetcakes dramatically, and then
said we'd be fine. We continued on, through the construction zone
and the sheer cliffs. We then pulled up short behind the vehicle
we'd seen meandering up the road ahead of us. Three vehicles
were pulled up short waiting. Hopping out, we asked what the deal
was, and found out the road was closed and wouldn't open until the
next morning at 7 am when the construction workers returned. “The
road looks good over there!” we said, pointing around the next
bend. We found out it was indeed good, but that they'd blocked the
road with a pile of dirt to keep people from using the road on the weekend so
they didn't need to keep people there to guide traffic through the one-lane construction zone.
Several people from the truck we'd been following were petulantly kicking rocks and half-heartedly moving some of the larger ones out of the way along the roadside, implying they still wanted to get through. FINALLY THE PREPARATION WAS COMING TO FRUITION. Striding back to the vehicle, I pulled out the trenching shovel we'd purchased for our bug-out bag and came walking back purposefully. I then started heaving dirt out of the way. The effect was immediate: everyone else jumped in, helping remove rocks to make it easier to shovel dirt, taking turns shoveling. 20 minutes later we felt comfortable to try and get a vehicle across....but we were going to be the test case since we had 4x4. Putting it in 4LO and coming up to the entrance, one of the bystanders waved his hands and started yelling advice to me in Spanish. I turned to Bethany, confused. “He...he says make sure to use 'double traction'.” she said, confusion and hilarity in her voice. “Oooo...oook.” I replied. DOUBLE TRACTION ENGAGE [said no one ever.] We made it across to cheers and clapping. Next up was the guy in the FWD mini cargo truck. With assistance from people pushing, he made it across as well. We loaded up, washed our hands, and hopped back on the road.
Several people from the truck we'd been following were petulantly kicking rocks and half-heartedly moving some of the larger ones out of the way along the roadside, implying they still wanted to get through. FINALLY THE PREPARATION WAS COMING TO FRUITION. Striding back to the vehicle, I pulled out the trenching shovel we'd purchased for our bug-out bag and came walking back purposefully. I then started heaving dirt out of the way. The effect was immediate: everyone else jumped in, helping remove rocks to make it easier to shovel dirt, taking turns shoveling. 20 minutes later we felt comfortable to try and get a vehicle across....but we were going to be the test case since we had 4x4. Putting it in 4LO and coming up to the entrance, one of the bystanders waved his hands and started yelling advice to me in Spanish. I turned to Bethany, confused. “He...he says make sure to use 'double traction'.” she said, confusion and hilarity in her voice. “Oooo...oook.” I replied. DOUBLE TRACTION ENGAGE [said no one ever.] We made it across to cheers and clapping. Next up was the guy in the FWD mini cargo truck. With assistance from people pushing, he made it across as well. We loaded up, washed our hands, and hopped back on the road.
Teamwork! Comradarie! Anything to stick it to the construction workers!
We
made our way towards the mountains and the Paso de Agua Negro, the
highest pass between Chile and Argentina, at just over 4700 meters.
Near the base we stopped at Argentinian migration, checked out, and
were told we'd be stopped again in 40 km's for customs. Customs
came, and with it a pretty intense questioning from the bored guys
working there, not so much interested in what was in the vehicle but
more in our setup. They also quite enjoyed sniffing things in
the car, like the pipe tobacco and the lavender air freshener we had
left over from Monica's wedding in September. The pass itself was
fantastic; great views greeted us, with a fun drive that wasn't too
nerve racking. Or rather, no longer nerve racking by our new
standards of insanity.
And...we'll be going right up and over those huh?
Life at 14,000 feet
Can't help feeling a little intransigent with that background behind our dinky little man-made border. Feels kinda arbitrary.
Coming
out of the pass, we made our way towards Pisco Elqui, a valley along
a river that ends with a village famous for it's Pisco [a brandy made
from Moscato grapes] The valley itself is surrounded by desert, but
the water coming down off the mountains provides enough for
irrigation out of the steam, so the valley itself is quite green and
plastered with vineyards.
The
villages through the valley had numerous campsites [Chile and
Argentina seriously love camping], but the first place we stopped at
we were turned away because the owners weren't returning until tomorrow.
But the gate was left open. Bravo team. We found a nice place
tucked down a small street that was a converted farm / hippie
commune. It had a natural pool [too cold to swim in] and nice
facilities. We strode out into town that evening for dinner, first
going to an empananda shop...that was closed for the day. No one was
out...and all of the restaurants appeared closed. We found a place
that was open to tourists though, and went inside. The food was
extremely expensive. I got exactly what I ordered....which wasn't
what I thought it would be. Dried beef was quite literally a small
bowl of shredded jerky. We finished our food, angry at the price,
the low quality, and how hungry we still were. Most places didn't
even open until 7:30, so we figured we'd stop by the empanada place
again now that it was 9pm and see if they were open. Huzzah! They
were! We promptly ordered 8. “They're quite big” the woman
advised us. “That's fine!” we replied, thinking of all the
delicious leftovers. The variety she had was quite good, and we
excitedly ate two, one of which seemed like an odd combination:
Queso and Choclo. Chocolate and cheese seemed odd, and it was!
Choclo is actually the word for corn kernals, so it was a bit of a
surprise as we bit into that one.
We
awoke the next morning excited to visit the Pisco distillery, but
instead we had a flat tire. Thankfully it was one of the old tires,
and after taking it off, we attempted to plug the hole using our plug
kit. We did this with a puncture way back in Mexico during our
second day in the country, but this hold turned out to be more of a
split and less of a puncture. Despite cramming two sticky plugs into
the crack, the air continued to hiss out, so we threw in the towel.
We put the full-size spare on and proceeded to try and wash the
copious amount of caked on mud off the tire. The pisco distillery
was open, but we were an hour out from the next tour...and the cost
was over $10 per person with a tasting. So we decided to skip the
tour and buy a couple bottles of pisco instead. Checkmate,
distillery.
Wine's so cheap here we use it for finding holes in tires!
Several
hours later we were along the coast. Chile is skinny. We rolled
into the city of La Serena and found a shop that did tires, but naturally they
were closed for siesta. They reopened at 3, and we were first
in. The woman helping us was nice, but it seemed like it was her
first day on the job. Eventually, we had the paperwork done, and
went out to have the vehicle worked on....but a big truck had just
pulled in blocking access to the car ramp. “How long until they're
finished unloading tires?” Bethany asked. “45 minutes.” was the reply.
WOOOOOF. But thankfully they took a quick break to get another car
off the ramp and ours on. After the balance and swap, we attempted
to put our spare back up under the car....and the retractable wire
got bound up on itself in it's mechanism. “We seriously can't get
5 minutes without something breaking,” we exclaimed. The mechanic
attempted to lube it and get it back in, but we just weren't having
luck. Eventually one of the side walls of the box for the wire to
wind up into broke off and allowed Bethany to look into it. From
there she could tell what we needed to straighten out a kink in the wire, and
with the assistance of the mechanic we got it fixed.
A
couple hours later we were back along the coast and out of the
mountains. Ioverlander didn't have many camp options, but our GPS
has several listed. The first place we checked out was charging
$80/night for camping. Laughing, we turned around and left it, not
at all surprised it was empty. We passed several other places for
camping, clearly in a tourist zone. Most were closed however, but
upon finally finding an open one, we rolled in and parked before we
could hear differently. Walking up to the admin building....we found
no one around but an open bottle of wine with perspiration on it.
Figuring they'd be back shortly, we took a stroll over to the ocean
and took a long walk along the beach, thereby fulfilling the prophecy
as intended.
Returning,
no one was still around. I took a walk around the campsite to see if
we were actually on an abandoned Indian burial ground, and at the
back found a house with a light on. Seeing someone through the
window, I waved and they came out. Asking if they were open, I
received the answer that they were not, but the lot across the
highway was, and was part of the same park. We thanked them, and as
we walked over to the other side, I told Bethany we weren't moving
the car until we verified they were open. “Why'd you have to go
poking around?” Bethany asked. Seeing no one on the other side, we
crept back to our vehicle and decided we would plead if needed, but
keep a low profile and hope we weren't bothered again. And that's
exactly what happened. We happily took off the next morning, pleased
at our stealth camping success.
The
next day we arrived on Pichicuy beach bright and early. We drove
past the town of Pichicuy to the open beach, sparsely populated with
a few fisherman. Stopping, we aired down our tires like we had for
the salar in Bolivia, but this time actually taking them down
to sand level: ~14 PSI down from 36. Nice and squishy like, we made
our way out over the sand and found a nice spot hidden behind some
dunes. The day was a rough one of reading and listening to waves and
music.
After
relaxing on the beach, we made our way into Valparaisio along the
coast again. As we approached the city, we kept wondering when we'd
begin the descent, as we were getting awfully close to the sea...but
still were over 1000 meters. Then we crested the hill:
Going down?
We
were thankful yet again to have a small [by overlanding standards]
vehicle, as the narrow steep roads wouldn't have been fun to navigate in anything
bigger. We wound our way down, eventually finding the hostel we had
been looking for, and the bonus was they had secure onsite parking!
We pulled in, checked in, and snapped a picture of the great view we
had.
From
there, we celebrated being in a city by asking where the sushi
restaurant was that was on the bird's eye map of Valpo. “Oh it's
right up the street!” came the reply from our sassy young hostel
boss. We stepped outside and started up the street; immediately
stopping because the sushi place was literally next door. With a
successful lunch under our belts, we read away the afternoon and
built up a strong appetite, making our way to Cafe del Pintor for
dinner. We basically stumbled to the place because we once again
were trying to get dinner too early. It worked out quite well
though, as this place had a friendly owner who spoke English and a
set menu that KILLED. Smoked salmon fettuccine for me and lemon
rockfish with mushroom risotto for Bethany. Love the culinary
options in real cities.
I call this: Thursday
I loved all the street art and couldn't stop taking pictures. Here are a few of the inspiring scenes we found while roaming around the city.
Valpo is full of steep stairways, but thankfully the have acensores (funiculars) sprinkled throughout the city. They are a cheap and easy alternative to navigating the city's inclines.
Even their port is spunky.
Well this is just the best thing in the history of ever
The view afforded us the opportunity to look out over the densely packed houses and spot the cats frolicking on the roofs
Going down!
Beautiful sunset overlooking the port.
We'd
thought about spending another day in Valparaiso, but there weren't a ton of "sites" to see. The charm in Valpo is walking around, soaking up the grungy/artistic atmosphere. We could have easily stayed another night, but Patagonia was calling. The real kicker though was being able to get our
reservation for the hotel in Santiago updated to 5 nights for the
cost of 4, at the cost of all the remaining points we had. We didn't
care though, and rushed towards Santiago, stopping in Casablanca
valley to do some additional wine tours en route since we had time to
kill. We were in for a rude awakening.
After
what amounted to a background search trying to get into the winery, we
quickly strolled into the lobby to try and catch a tour the security
guard told us was just starting. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No, but we hear a tour just started?” “Yes, sorry, you'll
need to wait two hours without a reservation.” “Ooook? How much
for a tour?” “Without a tasting, $12. With a tasting: $20 or $30
depending if you want the reserve wine or not.” It took every
fiber not to burst out laughing or say, “Great! I'm looking forward
to trying wine that's thirty times better than the Torrontes in
Argentina- oh what's that – it's not you say? GOOD DAY
MA'AM!” Instead we politely told them we'd return in two hours,
driving past a BMW and people arriving to taste in suits. I don't
think we were a good fit for them anyway.
Instead
we gave Sweetcakes a quick bath at a gas station to get the seaspray
off, and again found ourselves trying to contain laughter when the
attendant told us their oil change service was $50 and didn't even
include enough oil for our vehicle. We parked next to our hotel in
Santiago, making our way over to the mall area and people watching
with our ice cream. It felt like any mall in the states, which was a
little weird after the rural areas we'd been in the last few weeks.
Moseying over to the hotel at check-in time, we were ecstatic to
hear about the exec lounge on the top floor we'd be spending our time
in, as well as the access to the lounge for breakfast and cocktail
hour. We were going out with a bang! We found ourselves leaving the
hotel twice over the next 5 days: for a lunch one day and a dinner downtown another.
Bethany in planning mode. When you have a bed, take advantage of it!
Breakfast at the hotel can be unintentionally beautiful
Wine flight; sure, we could have made our own, but this is good too.
"You are in one of the 25 best ice cream shops in the world." It was indeed pretty tasty.
With
that time finished, it's now time to head back out into the world and
see if we forgot how to camp or not. It's going to be a whirlwind
couple of weeks though, as we push towards Ushuaia before it gets
much colder. The chase is on!