Chile puts the "hiking" in hitchhiking

Through this trip we had good days and bad days. And then, there was that day we left Temuco.

First it took us forever to get to the road out of town.

Then, when we finally made it, we stood there, thumbs out, confident and smiling at the passing-by cars by a bunch of nice yellow flower bushes and a load of side-of-the-road-rubbish.

Nothing.

A blurry picture of the flowers. You'll have to imagine the rubbish,

So we decided to make a sign saying "North", because maybe some cars were getting out of town and taking the higway (9 kilometres further) going south. It was our first time with a sign, and we though it was lovely. I held it out while Chey had his thumb out.

It even had a smiley face.

Nothing.

So we made one extra sign, that Chey held, saying "Por favor" (please).

Nothing.

And there were many cars.

After that, puzzled, we started thinking we were going to have to walk some. So we did. And then some more. And then some more.

The backpacks were heavy, the sky was grey, and the drivers were absolutely oblivious of the poor us on the side of the road. It was pretty miserable.

Except for this cute little fella on the ground. He was pretty cool.

At some point we stopped on a little roundabout where a random toothless seemingly homeless man started mumbling things to us while he frantically searched his pockets (I couldn't help thinking he was going to pull out a knife or a gun, but now I think he was probably just scratching).

So we put on the backpacks again and kept going, after deciding that the reason of our bad luck was the lack of trucks, the big friends of hitchhikers. 

Logically, when we made it to the highway there would be trucks, which would mean success!

But... we still had at least 7 km to go. So we walked more, for so long it seemed like ages.

 It was probably not that bad and I'm probably dramaqueening, but the backpack was cutting into my shoulders and I won't say that I had to stop and cry my frustration out, but it might have happened.

When we got to the (oh, glorious!) highway, where other two groups where hitching (luckily in the opposite direction), Chey found a very handsome hat.

Chey's very handsome hat.

And not too long after, we got a lift to the next big-ish town, Talca. Of course, it was a truck.

Yay!

The driver was quite silent, which was nice, and the drive was uneventful. 

We got to Talca and had dinner at the most ugly karaoke/fast food place, where we ordered fries, fanta and salad. The salad was actually pretty nice. 

We went to bed in our random hotel, exhausted and looking forward to the following day when we would finally make it to Santiago and real coffee.

The special features of hitchhiking in Chile

Lovingly dedicated to Chile, the country that everyone talks about as "the easiest to hitch in South America". A hint: it isn't.

Me and a handful of blackberries for Chey.

We left Entre Lagos towards the north on a very cloudy morning. Still it wasn't raining, so we enjoyed walking out of town towards the road, passing little houses surrounded by relaxed chicken and working people. 

In the beginning everything went fine. We got a decent lift with heaps of leg room in a beautiful van, with a guy who bought us caramel peanuts from a street vendor. Sweet.

Said guy was going to the next town, but he said he could drop us before the entrance of the town, where the roads connected, so we could go further. What he didn't mention was that that spot was proper highway.

Slightly confused as we got out of the car and thanked him, we crossed under a bridge-y bit to see what was there...

 Yep, still highway.

We walked a little bit up a side road where no cars were going, that seemed like the entry to a police training field, and then we decided that one of us should stay with the backpacks and the other would go check if there was any spot further where it was not-suicidal to stand on the side of the road.

Chey stayed taking care of our things, and I aimed to go about 600 metres further. The side road was separated from the highway by a little hill covered in blackberry bushes, a pretty nice sight. 

I skipped up the little road, and from time to time I would climb the hill and look down at the highway some 2 metres downhill on the other side. Still nothing.

Finally I gave up and went back to Chey to make a plan B. On the way back I gathered as many blackberries as I could, thinking that bad news are not as bad if you have berries.

We ended up deciding that we would try the ridiculousness of hitchhiking by the highway. Do you know why is that illegal in most countries? Because it's scarily dangerous, that's why.

Nonetheless, as we stood there being immensely careful and pretty much blending into the guardrail, we saw a strange thing: not one, but TWO other people stood 100 m away from us (in front, not behind, in an absoultely no-code-y fashion) and were picked up in no longer than 15 minutes!

We couldn't believe it, but after a while we had the same luck. A family car stopped for us, completely disregarding the fact that dozens of cars were zooming by. We climbed in and they took us to a more normal crossroads...

A more normal crossroads where there were three groups of hitchhikers. We started to notice a pattern.

It took us a while to figure out a strategy there, but after all I think we all got lifts in the order we arrived.

Me and Chey got one with a cotton-candy-making family, where we sat on the back of a van with two little girls that asked us the best questions so far, like "Do you like elephants?" and "Are there beds in Australia?".

Cotton candy making gear.

Chey trying to sneak a picture of me and the little girls. 

One more crossroads, one more lift with a lovely couple, and we were left (finally!) at the next big town: Temuco.

We walked into town through a suburbial, gray and ugly area. After some 20 minutes walking we asked a girl how to get to the city center. She explained we had to take a bus, and gave us enough cash to pay for both our tickets! (FYI we never asked for the money, of course, just mentioned our moneylessness during the conversation without any intention. It was just the kindness of her heart).

So after that long day, the bus left us in front of another "hotel California", where we spent a night full of fun and giggles, and recovered our energies to continue the following day.

Chile is a VERY catholic country. For some reason that night
we thought that was HILARIOUS. 

Happy (and grumpy) end of the day selfie.

Welcom to the hotel California...

Such a lovely place.

We also went for a walk "downtown". It was beautifully ugly.

...and we LOVED it. 

Crossing into Chile... this time for real.

In my country we don't really do breakfast.

I mean, we do, but it's not really a thing. Nobody will be too surprised it you were to say "I never have breakfast". And in general when breakfast happens it's coffe with milk and something sweet made of flour, like bread and jam, or medialunas. Many times just mate. Actually, now that I write this I have the feeling I wrote about it already. I hope it's not Alzheimer's kicking in,

Traveling has showed me different, though, and ever since I visited a friend in Sweden who would make apple and cinnamon porridge, home-made bread and real coffee for breakfast, my standards have been a bit higher.

All this introduction is just to say that in all the time we've been traveling South America so far (remember as I write about Chile we're actually 4 countries ahead in real life), it's been more than difficult to have a really good breakfast. But the day we left Villa La Angostura we had actually what I think was the best one on the trip.

It was so good I'm almost tempted to just describe it and not write anything else. It had capuccino, rocket and sun-dried tomato wraps, home-made muesli with yogurt, real orange juice, scrambled eggs on toast (that toast!) and a muffin.

Om nom.

More om nom nom.

Ridiculous amounts of omnomnomness.

If I believed in God I would think that it was his way of compensating us for all the lousy breakfasts past and future, and all the instant coffee to come. Instead I'll think this brings balance to the force.

This was actually on the menu. Only makes sense in Spanish.

(Note: the awesome breakfast was here)

...

So after that awesomeness we were ready and full of energy to start our hitching. We got a lift with a nice old man who took us to a (yet another) Gauchito Gil roundabout.

Lift on the run.

The house of El Gauchito.

Someone lost a perfectly good pair of thongss.

From there we got one of those lifts you don't know if they're a blessing or a curse. Crammed with our backpacks and the guys' luggage on the back seat, and forced to listen to a big amount of reggaeton... but a lift is a lift, right?

Our view during the ride.

At the border crossing on the Argentinian side, there was a line of one hour or more. We were trapped inside the car because a crash barrier thingie prevented us from opening the doors, so we just devoted ourselves to sweat profusely.

Crossing the border.

The Chilenian side of the border was much smoother (of course, if there's one thing I can quickly say about Chile is that it's a much more organized country than Argentina).

A not fully viewed Chile flag in the wind,

After al the paperwork, we got a lift by a truck driver that was already carrying a couple of hitchhikers with thick, thick dreadlocks. They were from Chile, and recommended that we get off at the same town as they did, since it was the most practical option and it was getting dark.

The landscape quickly changed into Chile mode, with volcanoes and deep blue mountains that seem so close but yet are so far. Pretty quickly we made it to Entre Lagos.

The town of Entre Lagos has a beautiful location by a lake (as the name indicates), and it seemed nice and peaceful. With some slightly weird "art" going on.

Some interesting stuff in Entre Lagos.

A crazy slide. It looks amazing and slightly unsafe.

A fish made out of bottles that looks like it just lost a cigarrette.

 We walked around for a while, taking it in... until we discovered there were no working ATMs for us (not again!).

We had to give up camping, and instead stay at a fancy looking "hostería" where we could pay on card. It was also where I got bitten by bed bugs for the first time in my life. Not amusing.

In the morning we decided that we couldn't stay if we had no cash, so we would head slowly up north, looking for greener pastures or better ATM machines.

 Before leaving we struggled to find a place that served coffee, but there was none in the whole place, except for a restaurant that offered us instant coffee. We felt insulted and left, incredulous.

We were in for a big surprise when we discovered that this is actually the most normal thing in Chile and that in every city, Santiago included, they have "Nescafé" on the menu, many times as the only option.


A note or observation: This is probably the most whiney post I've ever written, so I apologize. Though everything is true.

On the road again

 After surviving what probably was the most dangerous bit of our travels, we had to spend a couple of weeks in El Bolsón.

The pros: seeing my family, eating 4 meals a day again, and having some time to relax.

The cons: dozens of frustrating calls to Visa international, Suncorp bank, Western Union and DHL. I swear those people get training on being annoying.

I won't bore you with more details of that phase, but I'll say that after what seemed like ages, on a rainy day, we got an emergency card on the mail, which meant we could keep on traveling.

We had another last minute packing, another emotional goodbye, and another lift to the road with my dad.

It was a beautiful sunny day, and after a short while we got a lift by one of those vehicles that you're not supposed to hitch to: a fuel tank.

Beautiful lift.

It was a fun ride, with me hiding behind a courtain not to be seen by the driver's colleagues (since it's illegal for them to pick up hitchhikers), and loads of conversation.

We got out of the truck at the crossroads to Villa La Angostura, a few kilometres north of Bariloche, and a nice lady and her niece picked us up because "we looked so sweet" (we actually did look very sweet, according to me).

Villa La Angostura is a lovely, lovely town. We were lucky enough to get there for the regional festival, called La fiesta de los jardines (the gardens' party).

In all of Argentina, regional festivals are a huge thing. Around the area where I grew up alone, there are at least 5. They always happen in summer, and they are traditionally the place where teenagers go to try and hook up with other teenagers (especially if they come from a different region).

Yes, small town life is very boring.

The previous week I had taken Chey to see La fiesta del lúpulo (party of the hops) in my hometown, and I'm sad to say that it's the most crappy one in the region. Maybe also in the country. Maybe also in the world.

The stage at La fiessta del Lúpulo in El Bolsón.
Around: few people and tons of garbage.

I'm sorry to say the music was dreadful too.

They have an amusement park that would never make it in any country that
cares about safety. Here: the 5D simulator. One can only wonder.

More of the sad amusement park (I have to confess that Chey and I took this
pictures while laughing like the evil hyenas we are.)

More: the little horror house.

Villa La Angostura, instead, puts a lot of effort into their festival. During the whole year, the inhabitants of VLA take great care of their gardens, and a couple of weeks before the festival, a group of judges go around town and choose the most beautiful one.

At the festival they also have a food court, crafts stalls, and folklore dancing and performing.

Typical Argentinian "asado" that we don't eat but can still
appreciate for its picturesque tradition.

Brilliant musicians on stage.

Folklore dancing.

We had heaps of fun going around the festival grounds before going for dinner at a cute restaurant.

After that, it was back to our cozy tent, just happy of being on the road again and ready for more adventures.

The Visa fiasco and a day on the edge (part II)

Previously, on The random adventurers... 

If you read the previous post, you know that Chey and I had decided to give the long hitch (700 km from Los Antiguos to El Bolsón, starting at 3:30 PM) a go.

Since it was late, there was no time for the usual planning, grooming and getting properly out of town. We just walked (our bellies rumbling) 3 or 4 blocks in the general direction of "out of town", and started putting our thumb out... Hitching never felt so strange. 

We probably must have looked pretty desperate, because not longer than 15 minutes after, we got a lift. Our benefactor was going east through Perito Moreno, and said he could drop us at a crossroads where the road met Ruta 40. 

On the way he talked little, which I was grateful for because I could barely think. Meanwhile Chey in the back of the car spotted an interesting thing under the passenger seat.

That thing under the seat is a gun. Yep.

The nice quiet man stopped in Perito Moreno to buy lotto tickets (that I genuinely think he must've won if there's anything like karma in this life), and then as promised took us to the crossroads. In the middle of the desert again.

We thanked him and got off the car, looking at each other and thinking what was going to happen next. But with our luck still intact, as soon as we made ourselves "comfortable" on the roadside, a 4WD stopped. 

The guys in the vehicle were young, chain-smoking, awful drivers with good intentions. 

They didn't go slower than 150 kilometres per hour... and that was only on the bends of the road. The rest of the time was around 180. 

With our hearts in our throats, we both agreed wordlessly that for the time being the best thing to do was to face the risk of staying in the car (versus the risk of staying on the road at that hour). It was a short distance but it felt never-ending.

Finally, back in the Gauchito Gil roundabout where once we were dropped by our first lift south, the young smokey guys dropped us. By then it was getting seriously late, and that is the proper middle of nowhere.

Not many cars were coming, and most of them were going in the opposite direction. I found a piece of gum in my backpack pocket and divided it in two, thinking that it might be our last meal in a while. We had less than a quarter of our water bottle left and the wind was so strong that I was sure we were not going to be able to pitch our tent in case of being left there.

 I started thinking about a night in the desert, hungry and thirsty, only sheltered by our sleepingg bags and each other.

While we saw the last bit of sun slowly going down, I looked at the Gauchito shrine, and said out loud "I believe in nothing really, but Gauchito, if you get us out of this I'll buy myself a red traveling bracelet" (red is El Gauchito's colour of choice).

Not longer that 5 minutes went by, and a truck stopped for us. We were so grateful we couldn't believe it, and you can only imagine how much more grateful we were when we found out the driver was going all the way to my grandmother's town (only 15 km away from El Bolson).

The driver was from Chile, very nice and fun to talk to, though I was struggling to put two words together due to the hunger that was basically consuming my brain.

It was a smooth an uneventful trip, but at a steady 80 km/h, which meant it was also painfully long. It didn't matter. We were on our way.

Back north with a friendly driver.

...

Now imagine you're a lady who lives peacefully on her own. You finished your dinner, read some stuff maybe, and then went to bed. You're aware your grand-daughter is happily traveling somewhere in the south of the country. It's two in the morning. Suddenly, there's a desperate knock on the door.

That was the scenario my grandma was faced with that night.

I knocked again and called her name from outside the front door. I can only imagine the amount of surprise our arrival caused, but she came to the door, hugged us and let us in.

After a short while, me and Chey were warm inside the house, being fed with as much as my awesome grandma could take from the fridge.

She made herself a coffee (it helps her sleep, don't ask) and listened to our story, that was told between loud chewing and swallowing noises as Chey and I filled our empty bellies.

That night, against all odds, we had a full stomach and a warm bed. We still had to face a bit of an odyssey to recover access to money, but we were alive and knowing we would wake up to the smell of coffee and toast rather than the sound of the howling wind in the middle of the desert. Life was good.

The truck that saved our lives.

The Visa fiasco and a day on the edge (part I)

An oblivious Chey skips rocks, unaware of our dark future.

Most of my first-world friends laugh at me when I tell them I prefer to travel with cash. And I do, or at least I did when I was traveling solo. That's because I come from a country where you can't really trust banks (if you don't know what I'm talking about, research Argentinian 2001 chrisis).

Believe me: if there's one country that makes it difficult to access your own money, that country is Argentina.

Of course you're reading the writing of a person who would be happier if I could trade you this goat for that sack of carrots...

But don't let me stray too much from the story.

So we're in El Chalten enjoying beautiful sunny weather and not really giving much thought to the fact that the ATM doesn't work and pretty much no shop takes credit card, because we were actually traveling with some cash.

Cash that was running low very quickly, but we were heading to Chile soon, where (we were sure) we would be able to use the Visa card again.

The morning of the day we were leaving, we went to buy our bus tickets to Los Antiguos, where we were going to cross into Chile. The travel agencies at this touristy place of course take card, and that was good, because we were down to our last 100 pesos.

After trying several times and two different agencies, the card didn't seem to want to work. We couldn't buy the tickets, couldn't buy much food and the town didn't have a working ATM.

Luckily Linda (Chey's mum, to whom I send all my love and gratitude again) could use some sort of Paypal to get us out of there and into Los Antiguos.

And somehow my name ended up being "Linda Demattui", my own
personal version of "Miss Chanandler Bong",

Some of you may wonder why we didn't hitch out of El Chalten and the answer is: 7 armpit hippies doing it at the road out of town (by "doing it" I mean hitchhiking; I clarify just in case).

Waiting for the bus,

Look at that face. That's the face of innocence,

We took the overnight bus after having 2 empanadas each, thinking we could take some hours without food until we reached the glorious Chile, where working ATM machines were expecting us.

It was 9 PM.

...

In the morning very early we arrived to Los Antiguos, and walked 3 kilometres to do the Argentinian side of the border crossing. As breakfast we had a fistful of walnuts and raisins that we had left, thinking about the awesome coffee we were going to get in Chile.

We walked 4 kilometres more, did the Chilenian part of the border paperwork, and happily found a lift into town as soon as we stood by the road.

"Welcome to Chile"

Obviously the  first thing we did when we arrived in Chile Chico was hitting the ATM... which didn't work! Starting to get desperate we talked to a bank person, who knew nothing about anything.

We went to the supermarket and the card failed again.

By then, Chey was starting to sense something fishy was going on, so we found the local library and asked to use the free wifi (for the record, the Chile Chico library people are horrible, unhelpful and rude). Before they kicked us out of the library, he managed to contact his bank for long enough to learn that his card was cancelled. Cancelled. The one access to money we had, gone.

Apparently they saw some "suspicious activity" in his account and, instead of messaging him and asking him, they just killed that card.

Now, allow me to remind you of our situation: We had reached over 16 hours of no food other than a few nuts and raisins, had only 30 Argentinian pesos in my wallet, no accomodation and no way of solving any of those things.

Our first move was to hitch (as quickly as possible) back to Argentina. The border people gave us their best WTF faces before stamping our passports again.

Back in Los Antiguos we sat down drinking the only thing we could afford: two teas that allowed us to use the wifi at a local cafe, where I contacted my dad and told him quickly about the situation, and Chey contacted his family to see if they could contact the bank.

We started thinking that our best shot was to hitchhike (over 700 kilometres) to El Bolson, where I have my family and we could have a roof over our heads and food and some love while we solved the Visa issue.

But by then it was 3:30 in the afternoon, and we were still in the center of Los Antiguos.

With bulletproof determination (or maybe we were just very hungry) we decided that yes, we would try the almost suicidal task of crossing all of the Patagonian desert and beyond in one day to reach safety. We paid for our tea with the last 30 pesos and, backpacks on, headed to the road again.

Patagonian sunset.

What will happen to the Random adventurers? Will they make it across the desert or will they die of starvation, thirst, anger against Visa, or eaten by wild guanacos? 

Don't miss the next episode, as soon as we get decent enough internet!