Basically there are two roads south to Patagonia. One in Chile, the Carretera Austral – 1240km of tough dirt road, crisscrossing over mountains down the most beautiful and unspoilt countryside, with snowcapped peaks and glaciers surrounding you. The other road, Ruta 40, is in Argentina and while some parts of the road are still dirt, the scenery is mostly flat which can make for long and boring drives. We naturally chose the Carretera Austral. This is the drive we were waiting for - this is what we bought the 4x4 for, we were psyched! Fate, it seemed, would have a different plan for us. We have come to realize that no matter what we plan for or what we want to do or see on this trip, it is pretty much out of our hands.
Here’s how it went…
We did a final stock up of food and supplies before leaving Chiloe – food, wine, water, chocolate, you know the essentials. But when we went to hit the ATM, the only one in town, it was frozen. Well we thought, there is a ATM when we get off the boat, we can wait.
Went to catch the midnight ferry, was told to be there at 8pm, we didn’t board until 1am, leaving at 2.30am, all the time there is torrential rain. The ferry was packed, kids drinking, old men snoring, the works. Greg resorted to sleeping on the floor, only to be stepped on numerous times. Not the best start, but we just kept dreaming of that open road. We arrived at 8am to the flooded streets of Chaiten. A volcano erupted here 4 years ago, destroying the town. Houses were flattened by mounds of ash and they are only starting to get some infrastructure back. The ash, mixed with the pouring rain, grey skies and devastation all around, made for a pretty depressing place. So we thought, we will get money, get gas and get out. Naturally the only ATM in town wouldn’t take our card and the bank wouldn’t exchange Argentinean money (the only other cash on us). So now we had a bit of a cash shortage. Next stop, gas station –
“do you take credit card?”
“Yes!”
“Great! Fill ‘er up.”
“but our machine is down”
“shit!”
Now we risked being short on gas. We couldn’t use our only cash, so now we just needed to make it to the next “town”, where we would find the next gas station. We did have one full jerry can, so knew we could make it. The next town, La Junta, was a 150km away. Doable. But on these roads and in the rain, that takes a good 5-6 hours of intense driving, concentrating on every pothole that polka dots the road. Not something I would advise on very little sleep. To add to the fun, because, why should it be easy?, our window wipers were sticking in the middle of each wipe, making driving nearly impossible. Greg would have to stick his arm out of the window and push the wipers back to get a full wipe. It was ridiculous.
As our gas gauge was edging toward E, we rolled into the gas station at la junta
“Do you take credit cards?”
“yes”
“great!”
“But there is no gas.”
“double shit!”
At this point other people rolled in to the station too, coming from the south, and were demoralized when they saw that La Junta had no gas. It was about this time that our plans went out the window. We were told by people coming from the south (where we were heading), that locals were protesting, blocking roads, preventing tourists from leaving and gas trucks from entering – ALL the way down the austral Highway. We were in disbelief. So we retreated to the car, found a spot by the river and took shelter from the rain. All kinds of thoughts went through our head, just head north and come to terms that Patagonia just may not happen. Take all of our issues on this trip as a sign, sell the car and fly to somewhere for a less complicated vacation, cut our losses and head home or keep telling ourselves that things can only get better- something that has become a bit of a slogan on our trip. We drank wine until we could laugh at the situation (it took a lot) and tried to come up with a plan. Ha, plans, we were so naïve.
Here’s how it went…
We did a final stock up of food and supplies before leaving Chiloe – food, wine, water, chocolate, you know the essentials. But when we went to hit the ATM, the only one in town, it was frozen. Well we thought, there is a ATM when we get off the boat, we can wait.
Went to catch the midnight ferry, was told to be there at 8pm, we didn’t board until 1am, leaving at 2.30am, all the time there is torrential rain. The ferry was packed, kids drinking, old men snoring, the works. Greg resorted to sleeping on the floor, only to be stepped on numerous times. Not the best start, but we just kept dreaming of that open road. We arrived at 8am to the flooded streets of Chaiten. A volcano erupted here 4 years ago, destroying the town. Houses were flattened by mounds of ash and they are only starting to get some infrastructure back. The ash, mixed with the pouring rain, grey skies and devastation all around, made for a pretty depressing place. So we thought, we will get money, get gas and get out. Naturally the only ATM in town wouldn’t take our card and the bank wouldn’t exchange Argentinean money (the only other cash on us). So now we had a bit of a cash shortage. Next stop, gas station –
“do you take credit card?”
“Yes!”
“Great! Fill ‘er up.”
“but our machine is down”
“shit!”
Now we risked being short on gas. We couldn’t use our only cash, so now we just needed to make it to the next “town”, where we would find the next gas station. We did have one full jerry can, so knew we could make it. The next town, La Junta, was a 150km away. Doable. But on these roads and in the rain, that takes a good 5-6 hours of intense driving, concentrating on every pothole that polka dots the road. Not something I would advise on very little sleep. To add to the fun, because, why should it be easy?, our window wipers were sticking in the middle of each wipe, making driving nearly impossible. Greg would have to stick his arm out of the window and push the wipers back to get a full wipe. It was ridiculous.
As our gas gauge was edging toward E, we rolled into the gas station at la junta
“Do you take credit cards?”
“yes”
“great!”
“But there is no gas.”
“double shit!”
At this point other people rolled in to the station too, coming from the south, and were demoralized when they saw that La Junta had no gas. It was about this time that our plans went out the window. We were told by people coming from the south (where we were heading), that locals were protesting, blocking roads, preventing tourists from leaving and gas trucks from entering – ALL the way down the austral Highway. We were in disbelief. So we retreated to the car, found a spot by the river and took shelter from the rain. All kinds of thoughts went through our head, just head north and come to terms that Patagonia just may not happen. Take all of our issues on this trip as a sign, sell the car and fly to somewhere for a less complicated vacation, cut our losses and head home or keep telling ourselves that things can only get better- something that has become a bit of a slogan on our trip. We drank wine until we could laugh at the situation (it took a lot) and tried to come up with a plan. Ha, plans, we were so naïve.
The next morning we woke by the river to a beautiful day and we thought let’s make the best of this situation, head south a little, go to some hot springs, a national park and wait for this thing to blow over. As we drove through town and past the gas station, we saw cars queuing for gas. Great! Problems are over, they have gas! We were told that there was a limit, and that limit only got us about 20 litres. But we thought, we can make it to the hot springs, and maybe to the next town and then it will all be over. The more people we talked to the more we realized that we were dreaming. Backpackers were stranded as a bus came into town but no buses were leaving, and now they were all trying to hitchhike back north. Which meant everywhere we went we were hounded by people, “Are you going north? Can you take us? You shouldn’t go south, north is the only way out, please, please take us. They are going to block the road north soon.” Ok now we were getting a little scared.
We escaped 1km out of town to get away from the madness and to assess the situation. We needed to know how bad this really is, so we found internet and did some reading. Protests down south were getting extreme, police were now fighting back with tear gas, water cannons and rubber bullets. After seeing photos and reading travel advisories, we came to realize that north was really our only option. We were gutted, it meant back tracking, wasting money and gas but the real kicker was that we wouldn’t get to drive to Carretera Austral. But continuing was a risk that we couldn’t take.
We needed to head 150km north and cross over into Argentina and go to a gas station 80km from the border. But we knew with our guzzler of a car, we wouldn’t make it. With the limit at the gas station, we knew the only thing we could do, would be to do a clothes change, stick on a baseball cap and try our luck at rolling through a second time. It worked! Although I think he realized as we were paying that we had been through before – hey every man for himself! Now it was our moral duty to help out some fellow travelers. Although we knew how unsafe it would be driving these roads with people lying in the back, we couldn’t just leave them stranded. With the town now having 30 or so people trying to hitch hike out, we found the couple who asked first and who we had been crossing paths with, Jeff and Aggie and said we would give them a lift. Just in time too, as when we found them, they were gearing up to hike the 150km through tough terrain to get to the next town- crazy!
Next problem – The bridge to go north was now blocked. Perfect. So we waited in line for them to open. At first they told us we could go at 5pm, then 6pm, then 10pm – we were like hostages. Only when I say the road was blocked, this barricade was pretty pathetic to say the least and there were only about 40 people standing around, 10 of which we tourists. The “barricade was a couple of logs in the street with one burning tyre. Nothing like their fellow supporters down south.
We escaped 1km out of town to get away from the madness and to assess the situation. We needed to know how bad this really is, so we found internet and did some reading. Protests down south were getting extreme, police were now fighting back with tear gas, water cannons and rubber bullets. After seeing photos and reading travel advisories, we came to realize that north was really our only option. We were gutted, it meant back tracking, wasting money and gas but the real kicker was that we wouldn’t get to drive to Carretera Austral. But continuing was a risk that we couldn’t take.
We needed to head 150km north and cross over into Argentina and go to a gas station 80km from the border. But we knew with our guzzler of a car, we wouldn’t make it. With the limit at the gas station, we knew the only thing we could do, would be to do a clothes change, stick on a baseball cap and try our luck at rolling through a second time. It worked! Although I think he realized as we were paying that we had been through before – hey every man for himself! Now it was our moral duty to help out some fellow travelers. Although we knew how unsafe it would be driving these roads with people lying in the back, we couldn’t just leave them stranded. With the town now having 30 or so people trying to hitch hike out, we found the couple who asked first and who we had been crossing paths with, Jeff and Aggie and said we would give them a lift. Just in time too, as when we found them, they were gearing up to hike the 150km through tough terrain to get to the next town- crazy!
Next problem – The bridge to go north was now blocked. Perfect. So we waited in line for them to open. At first they told us we could go at 5pm, then 6pm, then 10pm – we were like hostages. Only when I say the road was blocked, this barricade was pretty pathetic to say the least and there were only about 40 people standing around, 10 of which we tourists. The “barricade was a couple of logs in the street with one burning tyre. Nothing like their fellow supporters down south.
While we understand and agree with what they were protesting about, it was a huge inconvenience to us, and certainly rubbed tourists up the wrong way. We would have much preferred for them to kick off in a week or so, when we are well past the area. The protest were based around many things, general cost of living in the south being 3 times as much in the north, fishermen not getting enough money, fuel being so expensive. The one that was most legitimate was the protest of the government wanting to put dams in Patagonia rivers as well as the world’s longest stretch of high tension power lines to supply energy to the north for mining. Goodbye beautiful unspoilt Patagonia. It would be sacrilege. So we got it, we just didn’t get why they had to bring it up at this very minute.
So 6pm came and went. We were thinking about just trying to drive over their “barricade”, until we saw a motorbike trying to do the same, and the driver and his wife on the back were pushed off, a few punches thrown, emmm maybe we will just wait. So we started up our grill, chorizo anyone? The protested were bound to get tired at some point, we had hot food, a bed, we can certainly out last them!
So once their one buring tyre came to a fizzle, they opened the bridge and chaos unfolded as cars made a dash for the exit. We drove past the bridge, picked up Jeff and Aggie waiting on the other side and drove until it got dark. Many backpackers were stuck at the side of the road, with a long, cold and wet night ahead of them, including Aggie’s brother and friend. We camped at the side of the road, praying tomorrow would be a better day. After very little sleep, every time we heard a car go past, we thought, what if the protests are moving north, what if someone tries to siphon out our gas, what if the next bridge is blocked? So we got up at first light, and hit the road.
After 4 hours of a bumpy ride, we reached Futaleufu, near the Argentinean border. It was a beautiful town, surrounded by mountains and lakes, it was the R&R we needed. So we checked into a b&b and had a much needed shower – hygiene has gone out of the window on this trip. We spent the day sharing stories with Jeff and Aggie and drinking some much deserved wine.
Our good friends from Boston, Kevin and Dilek are travelling around south America at the moment and we had hoped to meet up in Patagonia in 5 days and although this seemed like a very unlikely task, given our turn of events, we still were determined to try. So we pushed on to Esquel over the border. Everyone seemed to be crossing at the very same time, and the one passport control guy couldn’t handle the influx. 3 hours later, we had left Chile behind us. It was a relief.
So drove through the tiny town of Trevelin, where we saw a gas station, but the lines were around the block. We thought, people must be dry from coming from Chile, the next town should be quieter. 25km to the next town, 4 gas stations- all without any gas, back to Trevelin we go, to an even longer gas line. 90 minutes of waiting we were sure that they would run out as soon as we pulled up, but luck was on our side, for a change, and we now had a full tank.
So 6pm came and went. We were thinking about just trying to drive over their “barricade”, until we saw a motorbike trying to do the same, and the driver and his wife on the back were pushed off, a few punches thrown, emmm maybe we will just wait. So we started up our grill, chorizo anyone? The protested were bound to get tired at some point, we had hot food, a bed, we can certainly out last them!
So once their one buring tyre came to a fizzle, they opened the bridge and chaos unfolded as cars made a dash for the exit. We drove past the bridge, picked up Jeff and Aggie waiting on the other side and drove until it got dark. Many backpackers were stuck at the side of the road, with a long, cold and wet night ahead of them, including Aggie’s brother and friend. We camped at the side of the road, praying tomorrow would be a better day. After very little sleep, every time we heard a car go past, we thought, what if the protests are moving north, what if someone tries to siphon out our gas, what if the next bridge is blocked? So we got up at first light, and hit the road.
After 4 hours of a bumpy ride, we reached Futaleufu, near the Argentinean border. It was a beautiful town, surrounded by mountains and lakes, it was the R&R we needed. So we checked into a b&b and had a much needed shower – hygiene has gone out of the window on this trip. We spent the day sharing stories with Jeff and Aggie and drinking some much deserved wine.
Our good friends from Boston, Kevin and Dilek are travelling around south America at the moment and we had hoped to meet up in Patagonia in 5 days and although this seemed like a very unlikely task, given our turn of events, we still were determined to try. So we pushed on to Esquel over the border. Everyone seemed to be crossing at the very same time, and the one passport control guy couldn’t handle the influx. 3 hours later, we had left Chile behind us. It was a relief.
So drove through the tiny town of Trevelin, where we saw a gas station, but the lines were around the block. We thought, people must be dry from coming from Chile, the next town should be quieter. 25km to the next town, 4 gas stations- all without any gas, back to Trevelin we go, to an even longer gas line. 90 minutes of waiting we were sure that they would run out as soon as we pulled up, but luck was on our side, for a change, and we now had a full tank.
We drove until well after dark, something we never wanted to do, but we had miles to make up. We pulled into a dusty town in the middle of nowhere to catch some shut eye before hitting the road for a long 8 drive the next day. Useless detours seem to be our thing, so keeping with tradition, we reached lake Buenos Airies, which is on the boarder to Chile. I had so badly wanted to photograph the amazing marble caves in the middle of the lake , but once we got there we were told you can only do it from the Chilean side. Things were still shaky in that part of Chile, and there was no gas to be found, so we gave it a miss, again and backtracked to head south down the infamously bumpy route 40 on the Argentinian side. The gas situation wasn’t much better in Argentina, finding a gas station with gas was like finding a needle in a haystack. Another painful 8 hour drive, rattling all the way led us to the Perito Moreno National park. According to the lonely planet it only gets 1200 visitors per year, compared to other national parks that receive 100,000 visitors. The reason is, no buses go here, and to get there you need to drive down 90km of a side dirt road and when there are gas shortages on top of that, not many people take the risk. We did! And wow was it worth it. We stopped at a house at the edge of the park that said they sold gas. This is the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE and somehow this guy has wifi (albeit powered by a generator). Bizarre! So we bought 15 litres at a hugely inflated price and continued on. We saw 2 cars in 3 days. The park was so wild, like something from a movie, with wild lamas and horses roaming against the mountainous backdrop. We saw lots of flamingos, ostriches, foxes and condors circling overhead. The park had a lot of puma warnings, but to our disappointment we didn’t see any.
Our car started to give us some jib. The revs seemed too low, and the car kept stalling out. It wasn’t Greg’s driving (this time), and while we weren’t going to miss the park, this issue was at the front of our minds.
Our car started to give us some jib. The revs seemed too low, and the car kept stalling out. It wasn’t Greg’s driving (this time), and while we weren’t going to miss the park, this issue was at the front of our minds.
We saw a ranch in the distance and bumped down the road to see if we could do a horse ride. The next day Pedro got us saddled up and without asking about previous experience, we were off. This was not like a horse tour that you would do in the states where you follow the horse in front of you, everyone in a line, with helmet on. It was also nothing like what I learned at horse riding class as a child. This was real cowboy stuff. Climbing up mountains on rough, loose terrain, walking on boulders, jumping rivers, slipping on steep muddy slopes, all the while our horses all having minds of their own and picking their own paths. It was hard going, nerve wrecking and breathtaking all at the same time. The scenery was amazing, vast and we felt like we were at the edge of the world. That is when we would take our eyes off the ground to see where are horses were trying to walk, and fighting them on their poor choices. Passing wild horses were always a concern, that our horses would start to have a little freak out, as mine seemed scared of his own tail, so much so when he flicked it, I had a bucking bronco experience. We got in some trots and a canter or two, it was an experience we wouldn’t forget and neither would our back sides.
The last thing you want to do the day after something like that is to get into a car for another 13 hour bumpy noisy drive. But we had one day left to try and meet Kevin and Dilek, which we had been really looking forward to seeing a familiar face, so that is what we were going to do.
So we slept at the side of the road, up at 6.30am and drove the rough 90km out of the park. As our gas was low and we had used our jerry can, and we knew that we had a long drive to the next gas station. So we stopped at the little house again for some more gas – and shortly after waking the owner, he told us the news we were dreading, he didn’t have any left. He pointed to a jerry can that had a measly few liters in it. We were stranded. He disappeared for 10 minutes and came back with a full jerry can. Which at first made us a little suspicious but the joy took over. We just figured he had more left in the tank than he thought. So let me first explain the gas terms in South America. Petrol is called “gasolina”. Diesel is called “petrolio”. Our car runs on gasolina. So we said
“Esta gasolina?”
“si gasolina!”.
“ Bueno!”
As he was about to syphon it into the car, we asked again, Gasonlia si? Si si! Ok it’s the right stuff. So we went to pull out and the car started the same problem of stalling again. Greg tried to fix the revs, with no luck and it kept stalling until it wouldn’t start at all. We were thinking - Great another tow truck from a town that is 200 km away – another small fortune. Then just as I said, “it sounds like there is no gas in the car!” We both simultaneously had a slow mo flash back to watching the gasolina being syphoned into the car – back to the “Esta gasolina??” We went back into the guys house – Asked one more time –
“Venden nos gasolina, si? No petrolio.” (you sold us gasoline, yes?)
” No esta petrolio!!!”.
“You f**king muppet!”
Now what?! The nearest gas station is 150km away. I thought this luck was supposed to change. So we syphoned out the petrolio from the tank and our friend now brought out 2 jerry cans of some blue shit.
“Esta Nafta”
“What in the hell is nafta?”
“gasolina”
“yep, ok buddy – if you think we are going to put this in our car, you have another thing coming.”
So we got on our iphones, did some research and while nafta was first used in the dry cleaning business and more recently for cleaning grease of metal, it is also used as a gasolina in South America. We thought, at this point, what is the worst that can happen? We are already stranded, it was Baltic and blowing gale force winds outside and we were willing to give anything a shot. So in went 40 liters, Greg revved the car, smoke spewed out the exhaust and we were away, it purred like a kitten. I think we were all surprised!
So we made it to the next town, which naturally had a limit on gas, so we circled the town and took a second trip through the station – as you would. Now we were set to make it to El Calafate to meet Kevin and Delik, even though they didn’t know it yet. The next 7 hours, were rough. Real long way round kind of stuff, guys on motorbikes were having a tough time, and we saw quite a few falls. At 8.30pm we rolled into el Calafate. We were parked outside of the hotel that Kevin and Dilek were staying at, and as we were unpacking, they came skipping down the street at the surprise of seeing our car. Before celebrating, Greg and I had a much needed shower and scraped 3 days worth of dust off of our skin. The night was spent exchanging traveling tales over some bottles of Quilmes and Malbec. It is about now that I would like to formally thank Kevin for telling me back in Boston to bring a thermal to Patagonia. I have slept in it every single night, with a layer under it! Yeah it’s cold at the end of the world- duh!! The second person is my big bro, who advised me to bring a hot water bottle. While I thought it wouldn’t be necessary, I regretted it from the moment we got here, and after a week of searching, we miraculously found the seemingly last one in Patagonia. You are so smart! Thank you!!
So we slept at the side of the road, up at 6.30am and drove the rough 90km out of the park. As our gas was low and we had used our jerry can, and we knew that we had a long drive to the next gas station. So we stopped at the little house again for some more gas – and shortly after waking the owner, he told us the news we were dreading, he didn’t have any left. He pointed to a jerry can that had a measly few liters in it. We were stranded. He disappeared for 10 minutes and came back with a full jerry can. Which at first made us a little suspicious but the joy took over. We just figured he had more left in the tank than he thought. So let me first explain the gas terms in South America. Petrol is called “gasolina”. Diesel is called “petrolio”. Our car runs on gasolina. So we said
“Esta gasolina?”
“si gasolina!”.
“ Bueno!”
As he was about to syphon it into the car, we asked again, Gasonlia si? Si si! Ok it’s the right stuff. So we went to pull out and the car started the same problem of stalling again. Greg tried to fix the revs, with no luck and it kept stalling until it wouldn’t start at all. We were thinking - Great another tow truck from a town that is 200 km away – another small fortune. Then just as I said, “it sounds like there is no gas in the car!” We both simultaneously had a slow mo flash back to watching the gasolina being syphoned into the car – back to the “Esta gasolina??” We went back into the guys house – Asked one more time –
“Venden nos gasolina, si? No petrolio.” (you sold us gasoline, yes?)
” No esta petrolio!!!”.
“You f**king muppet!”
Now what?! The nearest gas station is 150km away. I thought this luck was supposed to change. So we syphoned out the petrolio from the tank and our friend now brought out 2 jerry cans of some blue shit.
“Esta Nafta”
“What in the hell is nafta?”
“gasolina”
“yep, ok buddy – if you think we are going to put this in our car, you have another thing coming.”
So we got on our iphones, did some research and while nafta was first used in the dry cleaning business and more recently for cleaning grease of metal, it is also used as a gasolina in South America. We thought, at this point, what is the worst that can happen? We are already stranded, it was Baltic and blowing gale force winds outside and we were willing to give anything a shot. So in went 40 liters, Greg revved the car, smoke spewed out the exhaust and we were away, it purred like a kitten. I think we were all surprised!
So we made it to the next town, which naturally had a limit on gas, so we circled the town and took a second trip through the station – as you would. Now we were set to make it to El Calafate to meet Kevin and Delik, even though they didn’t know it yet. The next 7 hours, were rough. Real long way round kind of stuff, guys on motorbikes were having a tough time, and we saw quite a few falls. At 8.30pm we rolled into el Calafate. We were parked outside of the hotel that Kevin and Dilek were staying at, and as we were unpacking, they came skipping down the street at the surprise of seeing our car. Before celebrating, Greg and I had a much needed shower and scraped 3 days worth of dust off of our skin. The night was spent exchanging traveling tales over some bottles of Quilmes and Malbec. It is about now that I would like to formally thank Kevin for telling me back in Boston to bring a thermal to Patagonia. I have slept in it every single night, with a layer under it! Yeah it’s cold at the end of the world- duh!! The second person is my big bro, who advised me to bring a hot water bottle. While I thought it wouldn’t be necessary, I regretted it from the moment we got here, and after a week of searching, we miraculously found the seemingly last one in Patagonia. You are so smart! Thank you!!
We spent a day doing car maintenance and laundry before heading out to the biggest attraction of this town – the Perito Moreno glacier. It is part of the world’s 3rd largest ice mass, after Antarctica and Greenland, and is a spectacular sight. Since I had survived horse riding with a broken elbow, we decided to do a “mini-trek” tour on the glacier. Probably not the smartest idea, but so worth it! We were kitted with crampons and told what to do if we fell, I thought, falling, great! That is all I would need. We spent an hour and a half on the ice, ascending and descending what seemed like waves of ice. Admiring the glowing blue caves and crevasses. Being on the ice, gives you the surreal sense of the size of the glacier and made us feel so small and inferior. Especially when the ice would crack and pieces that looked tiny, but were the size of cars or small houses, broke off the ice wall crashing into the water below. The sound was thunderous and you could feel the vibrations. It was amazing and an unforgettable moment.
We spent the rest of the afternoon, staring at the glacier in awe, waiting for the next piece to drop and listening to it creak and split.
It has definitely been a week of highs and lows.
We spent the rest of the afternoon, staring at the glacier in awe, waiting for the next piece to drop and listening to it creak and split.
It has definitely been a week of highs and lows.
click on the photo below to see gallery
