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.