Across Argentina

Across Argentina a dedo.

After recently being sacked from my volunteer job, because apparently my blogs sucked, I decided that it was time to hit the road and leave the beautiful city of Buenos Aires behind.

I have been here for 2 months, and in this short period of time I have lived more life than I feel I ever had in Melbourne. I have grown to call Buenos Aires my home, and I would certainly return here one day, but for now, it was time to go. I packed my bag, said my goodbyes, left the apartment keys, and the next morning, I was off.

I had a vague plan of where I was going to go. I was going to cut across Argentina, cross into Chile, and continue north from there.

So at about 9 AM, I took my last ride in Subte to Plaza Italia, and caught a bus to a small town of Mercedes, which was situated on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, from where I intended to begin my journey. I had bought a tent before, which was now resting inside my pack, so I was ready.

After a mild case of confusion as to which bus I should take, since there is a number of buses of the same number that run to completely different locations, I finally was able to take the right bus. As I took a seat in front next to an old lady named Gloria, I asked here to reassure myself that this bus indeed goes to Mercedes, to which she replied affirmative, and after a brief period of silence, inquired as to my plans there, if someone was going to meet me, or if I was going to see someone.

"No," - I said, "I´m going to Mendoza, and I was going to start hitchhiking there from Mercedes."

She looked at me, a bit surprised.

"But there are plenty of buses that go to Mendoza" - she said.

"Well," - I said "Hitchhiking is a lot more fun anyways"

"Have you done it before?" - she asked.

"Sure" - I said, - "many times".

She continued to share with me her story about living in Buenos Aires.

"My family lives in Mercedes. I visit every 2 weeks or so, and my son prepares asado" - she said.

She had also told me the story of her husband, which was somewhat related to the road I was intending to hitchhike.

"The road that runs from here (Mercedes) to San Andres de Gilles is known as La Carretera de la Muerte, the Road of Death. My husband died on that road.The old fool took a bicycle to San Andres de Gilles, and was almost there when he got ran over by a passing car. That´s why they call it the Road of Death. Cars drive too fast and generally don´t look where they´re going, and there are a lot of treacherous curves. So be careful."

I assured her that I will be. The prospect of hitchhiking the Road of Death to start the day only made me look forward to the journey.

As the bus approached my destination, I bid Gloria goodbye, and she gave me a yogurt and a pack of cookies, wishing me luck. I thanked her and set off.

From Mercedes to reach the Ruta 7, which goes all the way to the Chilean border some thousands of kilometers away on the other side of Argentina, it is necessary to take Ruta 41 northwards to San Andres de Gilles, also known as the road of death, apparently. As I climbed onto the pista from the intersection and started walking, the reality of the situation dawned on me: I have never hitchhiked before. Not a single time, despite me telling Gloria that I had. I felt a bit nervous then, but it didn´t stop me from lifting my thumb for the first passing car. It didn´t stop. Neither did the following 4 or 5 cars.

"This is not so bad" - I thought, as I walked on.

For some illogical reasons instilled deep in the human consciousness, I stopped feeling awkward because the drivers were ignoring me. The day was early and bright, and I found a smile on my face.

After about 20 mins, I got my first ride. It was a bridge over a forest creek, and there was a bit of elevation involved, forcing a sedan with 3 people in it to slow down long enough for me to ask them if I could come with. They didn´t seem to have a problem, so I jumped in after putting my bag in the trunk.

As it turns out, these guys live in Mercedes, but had some work to do in San Andres de Gilles. Which type of work I never found out.

The man in the back had a lot of questions about my journey, where I was going, what the hell I was doing in the middle of the road at 11AM, etc, as well as cracking an occasional joke with the other 2 members of the company. Unfortunately, my Spanish was not yet at that level to understand all of the humorous comments, but the others seemed to laugh very hard numerous times. I was pretty sure it wasn´t about me, however.

After a short 20 mins, the Road of Death officially came to an anticlimactic end, at the intersection with the Ruta 7, where I got off and bid goodbye to my travel companions as they zoomed off into town. I crossed the road and looked on into the vast distance.

"Mendoza - 947 km" - read the sign.

I faced the traffic and stuck my thumb out. Funny thing, after the first experience, I did not feel uncomfortable anymore. In fact, I was smiling at every passing car with genuine enthusiasm.

I didn´t have to wait long. A pickup truck - yes, a pickup! turned from the corner and came to a stop. I ran up to the front door explained where I was going.

"I´m going to Mendoza" - I said, "But really, as far as you´re going down this road."

"We´re going to Carmen de Areco for the festival."

They were two brothers. So I jumped in the back of the pickup and was hauled along the Ruta 7 for a good distance, and it was amazing.

This was my first pickup experience, and as I´m sure every hitchhiker will tell you, it was out of this world. I sailed down the road, looking at the passing cars, with the sun shining and the wind in my hair.

The older brother, the one who was not driving, offered me a choripan, which I gladly took, and made it my lunch. Did I already mention that everything is more delicious in the back of a pickup?

Tragically too soon, they approached their destination, and I had to get off. I wished them farewell, and they sped off down the road with a sign ´Carmen de Areco´. Many small towns/almost all of them as far as I´ve noticed in the Province of Buenos Aires, don´t actually connect with the main Ruta that passes by them but are instead some distance away like a residencia. So even though I passed by Carmen de Areco, I´ve never actually been to Carmen de Areco.

"Oh well" - I thought, - "The good folk of Carmen de Areco will have to enjoy the festival without me today" - and I stuck my thumb out.

Here I did actually wait for quite some time.

Eventually, after about 20 mins or so, I decided to just walk with my thumb raised in plain view for any driver who might have it in mind to stop for a wandering hitchhiker. Unfortunately, there weren´t many of them, as all of the fun drivers seemed to be turning for the festival, and the ones that didn´t were not hitchhiker friendly.

I eventually reached a gas station. To my incredible surprise, as I didn´t fathom anyone else doing it, there was another hitchhiker, flagging down the cars. A local, by the looks of it. After watching him trying to get rides with little success, I went over and asked him where he was going.

"Ruffino" - he told me - "About 250km that way" - he signaled into the distance.

"I´m going to Mendoza" - I introduced myself.

"Ohh, far man!" - he said.

As I was walking back towards the gas station, I saw him successfully hitch a ride, and considering I was waiting there too for a huge amount of time, he became my sworn arch-hitchhiking-rival for that day.

"Could have been my ride, damn him!" - I thought to myself.

But anyway, it wasn´t long after that I finally got a ride. It was a couple in a sedan, coming out of the gas station. They said they could get me to Chacabuco, about 80km further west. It was perfect, so I quickly got in.

In the back was what appeared to be one of those police bats, and the man, the driver, also had a radio installed, which went off every now and then, which made me reach the conclusion that they were police. They told me they live in Junin, but are going to Chacabuco for some business.

As we drove, we passed my arch-hitchhiking rival, only about 20km or so down the road, and I smiled to myself, feeling satisfied.

"Ha!" - I thought.

The police couple dropped me off about 10km from Chacabuco, driving off down some shady dirt track.I crossed the road and tried to hitchhike again.

Very quickly, an elderly gentleman from Chacabuco who was headed right there, stopped. He gave me a lift to the town entrance.

Once again, it was off away from the Ruta down a street under an arc that said ´Chacabuco´. It was a bit down a hill however, so it was possible to see the town. Looked like a lovely place.

From here I got another ride from another elderly gentleman, who was also from Chacabuco and was going to La Curva to buy something, so I got in with him to get there. After he dropped me off, there was a moment of confusion. He sped off further down the Ruta.

"Oh well" - I thought, "maybe he doesn´t want me to see what he´s buying."

But as I walked on in the aftermath of his car tracks, I started noticing something strange. The road turned very narrow. There was absolutely no traffic. And before long, it became a dirt track.

"This can´t be the Ruta 7" - I thought.

Only then did it click with me. La Curva, he said. The Curve! The Ruta actually turned left in a curve and I kept on walking straight! For about 20 mins!!!

Well, there was only one thing I could do. I turned around and started trodding my way back, my pack suddenly that much heavier on my shoulders.

I finally reached the curve again, now seeing it with new eyes. Of course it was the Ruta. All of the traffic turned that way, and it looked like the actual Ruta continuation despite roadworks. Yes, it was obvious from this perspective.

Oh well, I quickly hitched a ride on an old pickup, but unfortunately, the guy insisted I get into the cabin with him since apparently “it’s dangerous to sit in the back of a pickup”. Outrageous! He also turned out to not be very talkative, but overall he meant well. He got me all the way to Junin, which was a whole 150km. Still, would have been nice if I had been in the back, given the distance, with the wind in my hair and all.

In Junin it was time for lunch. It was already 3PM, riding into 4, and with all of the hitchhiking madness I’ve forgotten to eat and suddenly realized I was very hungry. Since I was on the edge of town, there was only one thing to do. I walked into a gas station and got myself a milanesa sandwich with some papas fritas. It was quite nice. I also got a snickers bar and asked for some hot water, so that I could make some mate, and I spent there a good half hour sipping mate, eating snickers, thinking about life, watching my arch-hitchhiker-rival get out of a car, and going straight back at it with his thumb without stopping. I waited until he got his ride, during which I drank an overall 1.5 liter of mate. I felt relatively good, though it was already getting dark.

It was time to hit the road, and off I was, hitching again. I was picked up by Juan, an electric engineer of about 30, and his girlfriend. They were on their way to Salta for his work, with a stopover in the next town, to visit some family members. So they drove me all the way there.

After I got off, Juan gave me his number, which I unfortunately have since lost, and said to contact him if I needed a place to stay, since the dusk was falling quickly around us. He told me I could sleep in the car if I couldn’t find a ride. I thanked him and set off. Luckily, I quickly found another ride. And what a ride it was!

A huge truck pulled over about 50 meters ahead. I ran over quickly and discovered that this guy is traveling from Buenos Aires all the way to Ruffino. As I jumped in, upon learning I was headed for Mendoza, he started pointing out all of the trucks that were apparently also headed there.

"You see those markings on that trailer? Means he’s going to Mendoza. That guy? Mendoza."

"And where is this guy going?" - I asked as a truck came speeding past us at something like 120km/h.

"Chile" - he said, matter of factly, and made an impression of a speeding focused truck driver. We both laughed at that.

As we got to Ruffino, it was already dark out. I asked the driver where a gas station was so I could camp behind it, but he said:

"Have confidence, someone will pick you up."

"Alright then" - I thought.

And true enough, as I got out, I saw a truck stopped nearby, with letters on the trailer which indicated that he was heading for Mendoza. I was already somewhat an expert in these matters.The driver wasn’t present, but upon closer inspection, I noticed he was taking care of small business around the back. I waited for him to return, then told him about my intention of going to Mendoza.

"No amigo, no puedo llevarte" - was his curt response.

Ok, I thought, surely there are others. I walked for about 15 meters and there tried to hitchhike, but after a couple of minutes beeped his horn and signaled with his hand for me to come over.

"Get in" - he said with resignation.

"Thank you!" - I said, as cheerfully as I could, and jumped into the cabin.

This guy didn’t talk much, and I ended up falling asleep more than once, but he did haul me a seriously long way. At one point we passed a police control checkpoint as we were entering the state of San Luis, and as the policemen waved us through, the driver looked at me.

"Traes algo, boludo?" -he inquired.

We kept going. I fell asleep a couple of more times. Finally, by about midnight, we arrived on the border of the state of Mendoza.

"Mendoza protects its agriculture, do not bring fresh food or plants into Mendoza" - said an electronic sign.

I looked at the driver, expecting a “Traes algo, boludo?”

As we passed the checkpoint, the driver seemed to be going no more. So we said goodbye, I thanked him for carrying me all the way across the country, and set off into the night.

It was just a little past midnight. Time to set up my tent. For the first time. Ever.

"Ok," - I thought, and set out to find a good spot. I found a clearing behind the checkpoint (peaje), and set out removing the little rocks and sticks around, clearing the ground. Finally, it was time to unpack and unroll my tent.

As per my normal personality, where I'd sooner sleep on the ground than read the instructions, I began trying to figure out how to put it all together. Without reading anything, of course. After about half an hour, I looked at the instructions. They were practically useless. From step 2 to step 3 for example, the tent went from lying on the ground to standing upright.

"Well, no shit" - I thought, - "But how the fuck do I set it that way?!"

After about another hour or so of trying, I finally had it about as good as it would be. It was not all that cold outside, and inside the tent felt cozy and warm. After pushing all of my stuff inside, including myself, I slept for what I thought was about 2 hours, until I heard scratching on the outside of my tent. As I awoke and started moving, the thing jumped back and started barking with great intensity.

"Amazing..." - I thought, as the dog basically ran around my tent, barking as furiously as it could. So I just lay there, unmoving, hoping it would get tired and go away. 15 mins later, it did indeed get tired and got lost. I got some more sleep until about 5AM.

"What a night" - I thought.

Rolling up and putting away my tent proved to be a lot more troublesome than vice-versa, and it took me quite a few tries to properly put it all away.

I went to the gas station, and while performing hygienic procedures such as brushing and flossing teeth, I asked around some of the people if they were truck drivers and if they were going to the city of Mendoza. It wasn´t that far, only a few hundred kilometers, but it seemed that nobody was headed that way. Literally anywhere but Mendoza, the most obvious destination. One guy was going to freaking El Calafate! But nobody to Mendoza!

Outside was the same story. I have located a few who were actually going to Mendoza, but they have told me the same story I´ve already heard before about their seats being equipped with sensors and the company can track if they pick up hitchhikers.

"Sure" - I thought, - "The left signal light doesn´t work, but the seat is equipped with motion sensors!"

After having a hearty milanesa sandwich and sipping some mate with the hot water generously provided by the attendant of the gas station, I went over to the checkpoint and tried hitching over there, until I was told by the booth guy that hitchhiking was not allowed here and I had to move away from the toll.

Fair enough, I thought. So I went and stood about 50m down the road, where the cars were still going slow enough after passing the checkpoint to be hitchhikable. There it seemed to be allowed, as I didn´t have a problem trying to hitch for about 20mins until a truck rolled over to a stop.

It was a friendly guy who lived in Mendoza and was on his way home from Buenos Aires, and was happy to give me a lift. He told me no truckers who are headed for Chile actually pass through Mendoza, and that I should instead go to this massive YPF service station where they do pass. But I was resolved to go all the way to Mendoza, I could stay a night in a hostel and continue on tomorrow, and this way I would discover the city itself. The driver, shrugging, took me all the way, dropping me off at the entrance to the city. He explained to me that there is a bus terminal, and that I should get a bus to Lujan de Cuyo in order to leave the city and go to the Ruta 7 to continue on to Chile. I asked him if I could walk to Lujan de Cuyo, and he sort of just gave a shrug.

"Sure, I guess."

Well, I have learned why this was a terrible idea the next day. But for now, I set off in my quest to find a hostel. The one I knew about from earlier research was shut down for renovations, so I sort of just wandered the city in search for either a hostel or a wifi. I found the latter on what looked like could be the main street, with plaza that included some fountains. So I looked up the address of a couple of more hostels, and went to the first one I found, which turned out to be a good choice. Relatively cheap, for $8, I stayed in a tranquil place that was away from the main street and all of the fountains.

It was very cosy and had a lot of friendly people with whom I chatted away the night passing the mate around. A real Argentine evening. Damn, was I going to miss Argentina, but my pass was set north. I was going to come back. Definitely.

The next morning, after restocking on mate and snacks, and having breakfast at a hostel, which consisted of bread with dulce de leche, I set out walking to Lujan de Cuyo.

After about 1 hour more or less, this elusive town being no closer, I stopped by a fruit shop to buy some bananas.

"How far is Lujan de Cuyo?" - I asked the vendor.

"Lujan de Cuyo? Es lejos, loco! Tenes que agarrar un bus!" - he replied.

"But how far?" - I insisted.

"Oh, a good 10-15 kilometers, che. Thaaaaat way" - he stretched his hand emphasizing the distance.

"Damn", - I thought, - "Well, where do I take the bus from" - I asked him, defeated.

"Oh, there is one just around the corner over there. But you gotta buy a RedBus card first! I´ve got them right here!"

$16 pesos seemed like a reasonable price to catch a bus (around $1 dollar), so I bought the stuff and was on my way.

Around the corner apparently meant down 2 blocks, right 3 blocks, 1 block up, and finally, another 2 blocks to the left. After 15mins and asking about 5 people, I managed to finally locate bus stop, and before long, I was in this Lujan de Cuyo, from where I walked another 200m or so, and finally, the Ruta 7 was once again in my sight.

But this wasn´t yet to Chile, this was technically the Ruta 7-40, or more commonly known as 47, which goes down to Patagonia as the Ruta 40 and turns west to Chile as the Ruta 7. I quickly hitched a ride with a truck, which was a really cheerful and friendly guy.

"I really like Chile!" - he said, which took me completely by surprise, since he was practically the first Argentinian who has said that.

He took me over to the intersection, and off I was, walking on now only the Ruta 7 with significantly less traffic over towards the Andes.

It was a while since the first wave of cars, but they drove by indifferent to my cause. The view was incredible though.

"This might well be the most beautiful road I´ve ever walked on" - I said to myself

The beautiful plains of Patagonia with occasional growths of Pine Trees spread on the outskirts while the ever present Andes stood formidable in the distance.

I eventually caught a ride with a guy from Portrerillos who was going just that way. He criticized my methods of hitchhiking, saying that I should have gone to a gas station and did it there since there was almost no room to stop, and that I was lucky his was a small car, but a truck would definitely not stop here,m etc.

"What, and miss all of the scenic beauty?" - I said cheerfully.

He mused for a bit, but seemed to agree. I thanked him for stopping anyway. He drove me over to Portrerillos.

"If someone is going to Uspallata" - he said, - "take the ride. Uspallata is a good place to hitch rides to Chile. Though very, very cold."

I assured him that I will do just that. I´d take a ride going 20 meters down the road if there was one.

He faded away down the road to Portrerillos and I continued on walking. There was a little clearing along the entrance to the road down to Portrerillos, which looked a bit like some kind of a parking lot. This was a great place to hitchhike from. Plenty of space for the cars to stop and enough vision for them to see me. But I wasn´t having any luck. I noticed there was a dog there with me, just chilling around the place.

I spent a good 20 mins or more waiting for cars and talking to the dog, and suddenly there was a car coming from the direction of Portrerillos. It was a woman, who confirmed my theory of the clearing being a parking lot when she parked there. Some time later, a truck rolled over from the opposite direction, and a man, seemingly her husband, got off, went over to her car, and they drove off back into town. I was once again on my own, and have resumed my conversation I was having with the dog.

"You´re hitchhiking as well? Well, you should know if somebody only stops for me, I´m not going to wait for you. Where are you going anyway? Chile? That´s good, I hear it´s a good country for dogs. But be careful, you might have trouble finding food immediately after crossing, since they don´t allow plant or animal products in Chile. In fact, they might not even let you in. Have you got a passport?"

I started walking at this point, conversation getting more and more deluded by the second. There wasn´t much traffic on this road, maybe 1 car every 15 mins or so. But it was beautiful. Had nobody picked me up, I´d be absoluitely fine camping here in the mountains, and walking all the way to Chile itself. The scenery was simply spectacular.

I was just passing a crystal clear mountain lake as a car passing me beeped and pulled over down the road. As I approached, I took note of the Chilean plates.

"Hola" - I said to the 3 seemingly young people in the car. - "I´m going to Chile. A donde van ustedes?"

"Chile" - said the driver "Get in!"

I stuffed my pack into the trunk and got into the back seat. These guys, as I later learned, were going home to Santiago from Mendoza, from an electronic music party. The driver was Christian, the guy in the front seat Marcelo, an Argentinian, making up the only 2 non-Chileans in the car, and in the back with me - Jorge.

As a also later learned, there was a tunnel through the mountains high above 2700 meters, which effectively acts as the border between Chile and Argentina, and that this tunnel is actually closed on most days due to the high amounts of snow that fall in that area.

"We´ve tried crossing yesterday" - said Christian, - "but the tunnel was closed so we had to go back."

"Yeah" - added Jorge - "I actually needed to go to work yesterday." (it was Tuesday)

"Hope it´ll be open today" - said Marcelo.

And so we zoomed off through the beautiful Andes, stopping in Uspallata for lunch, Marcelo had mate, so we passed that around as we eventually arrived to a security control check.

"You´re going to Chile?" - asked the guard.

"Si. Esta abierto, el paso?" - asked Christian.

"Si" -replied the guard, and we were waved through.

We had Chilean plates after all, and we all looked like Chileans. Eventually, we arrived at the entrance to the tunnel.

"Bienvenidos a Chile. Paso Los Libertadores" - said the sign.

It was snowing a heap, but evidently not enough to close the tunnel today. I struggled to imagine what it must´ve been like yesterday. Probably an Arctic storm.

Thankfully, it was warm where the immigration was.

We had to fill in the declaration forms, they checked the car for fresh plant and animal products, looked in the bags, presumably looking for that half eaten sandwich since it was as good as contraband in Chile, and finally, waved us through. The whole process took about 3 hours.

And off we went, descending the Chilean side of the Andes.

"Chilean side is more beautiful, right?" - said Jorge.

As I disagreed with him, Marcelo immediately took my side. We spent the remainder of the drive singing the national anthem of Chile by Jorge and Christian, Argentina by Marcelo, and I shared the one of the Soviet Union, since I don´t actually know the Australian lyrics all that well.

Ahead of us lay Santiago, a city full of new adventure and exploration. I could hardly wait. But for now, thank you for reading.

More to come!