Part 13

Lima, Peru

We were waiting for an oil change at a VW dealer in Lima at the end of my last journal entry. We were treated very well there, they just took the van in and started working on it right away. Before returning it to us they washed inside and out! Great service... and the service manager spoke English! We were unable to get a replacement part so will have Toby bring one down with him when he comes. We then headed downtown to the SAEC (which we had located yesterday on our way through town) taking a different more direct route.

Di and I were very impressed with how organized the city was compared to any we had seen in our travels. It had good signage, freeways and best of all drivers that were quite careful and considerate (again, compared to what we had seen to date). I suppose too, that we were becoming more used to not signaling, ignoring any lines that exist on the pavement, and being aggressive when entering traffic.

We were very lucky to get a parking spot right outside the club and several 'attendants', who were along the block, kept an eye on it so we could relax for the day. The club was another oasis of English with a comfortable atmosphere. We had a list of questions for them, delivered some trip reports, exchanged a few pocketbooks, sent some email, perused their library and photocopied several trip reports related to driving and a also a few maps. Diane also purchased a couple of their T-shirts but they had none my size.

Afterwards we took a walk through the crowded noisy streets to try to have a look at some nice buildings we had passed in the main square on the way in. They were very well kept and a good example of beautiful architecture. We didn't last long though, as the smog was intolerable. We made our way back to the parking lot of the previous night (through rush hour traffic) and took off for a stroll and some shopping around the plaza. It was a very bustling area, well used by couples and families, and the walkways and restaurants were packed with people, many of them eating ice cream, which they appeared to have a passion for. The streets and parks were very clean, well maintained and well designed, it was a treat to walk around them and we felt very safe, as there were many obviously well off people sharing the area. We did some emailing before heading back to relax at 'home.'

After another quiet night, we awoke to a foggy city. We headed south, finding the highway with only one wrong turn, and soon found ourselves speeding along a first class freeway, through the suburbs and finally back out into the desert. The fog and cloudbanks came and went as we followed the coastline, climbing up and over many small hills. Diane said it reminded her of a scene from one of Steven Kings novels... very eerie. The clouds began to burn off and we quickly heated up, even with all the windows down.

More snapshots as we raced south... acres of chicken raising shelters, surf crashing on craggy cliffs, large white resort houses dotting the playas (beaches), looking like a scene from the Middle East, cotton fields being harvested, grape and apple vendors lining the road, fields of asparagus, sand, sand and more sand, filled with vehicle tracks looking just like alpine snowmobile country.

We took a small detour off of the main road to visit an oasis we had heard about called Huancachina. It was a wonderful small spot with a small lake surrounded by palms, a walkway and a few motels and restaurants. Outside of the palm trees were giant sand dunes that some entrepreneur had seen an opportunity to create a sport call sandboarding. You could rent sandboards (like snowboards but with arborite bases), walk up the dunes and ski/surf down. You would have to be in excellent shape to do more than one run, as the climb up would be extremely hot and taxing!

We also saw our first travelers driving like us. They were two older German couples who had a 4x4 Fiat motor home and giant all-terrain expedition vehicle... lots of dollars! We just missed talking to them as they were just pulling out when we got back to our van.

The afternoon was more of the same terrain but now it was hotter and the wind was strong, slowing us down and making me fight to keep the van on my side of the road. We stopped and climbed a hill to view the famous Nazca Lines, but could only see enough of them to appreciate the work and surveying it took to create them. We ended off the day by touring the city of Nazca, where the junction was to head into the mountains towards Cusco.

Near the far end of town we lucked out and found a spot beside the airfield that provided overflight tours of the Lines. It was a hotel/restaurant with a pool that had a large grassed area for camping. We were the only guests as it was the off season, so for $7.00 we had a wonderful spot with a guard! We had expected to be in a greasy gas station again so while we frolicked in the pool after dark we counted our blessings. The owner was a friendly, older gentleman from Argentina who had built the place six years ago. We chatted for a while and he gave me some local info on the road we were planning on taking the next day. He said that area had been a stronghold for the 'terrorists' and more recently had a history of armed bandits so it had been off limits until a year ago when the road was paved and there was more of a police presence. Apparently it was quite save to travel during the day now. After spending a quiet night being pestered by bugs in the campground we both agreed on an early start as we expected a long driving day.

A good, but narrow asphalt road quickly began climbing through rock-strewn mountains and sand dunes. We were amazed at the size of some of the sand 'mountains', as they actually were higher than most of the surrounding mountains (about 2500m there). Up, up, and up past giant plateaus cut with gullies tinged with green as we got higher. The sky became bluer; a welcome sight after the haze of the desert, and we even saw large cumulus clouds building in the distance. We had plenty of time to admire the subtle colors of the mountains, (because the van just crawled up the hillside). They we were many-hued and reminded us of the Spectrum Range and Raspberry Pass near Mt. Edzizza. We saw our first glimpses of vicunas and llamas grazing on the open range and passed by several stone huts.

The terrain leveled out on an undulating plain, giving us great vistas all around and leaving us gasping for air as the altitude began to have its effect on us. Before long though, a lush green valley appeared, and we began winding our way down to a village nestled in the bottom. The green was such a surprise to our eyes after so much time in the desert! With the green came clumps of yellow and purple flowers, terraced fields, cattle, sheep, donkeys, stone fences and of course, people. Many flagged us down for rides because we looked similar to the local collectivos (public transport vans) and we disappointed them when we did not stop as there was very little traffic.

Heavy rains here had taken their toll on the road and we passed many rock and mudslides, at one place we had to stop until they had blasted some giant boulders that blocked the road. It was very picturesque so we pulled over many times for photos. Diane referred to it as a 'Dr. Seuss landscape' as all the eroded rocks and cliffs were highlighted by rushing waterfalls.

The town, Piquio, had muddy streets, many pedestrians and few cars. We noticed too, that there was not an abundance of smiling faces, which was similar to other places we had been where there was a history of guerrilla or terrorist activity. After climbing out of valley, into the clouds and rain, the road turned to gravel, then to mud as we reached the altiplano. We passed by a major road construction camp and expected that it would only be a short distance until we again reached pavement. However, it was not to be. The higher we ascended, the worse the road and weather conditions got. The natural soils were very difficult to work with, and even a little moisture bound everything together in a slippery slurry.

To compound our difficulties, the van began rebelling at the altitude, sometimes refusing to provide enough power to climb the grade until we stopped and revved up the engine for a while. Obviously the elevation was playing havoc with the electronic fuel/air ratios and delivery system. Our main concern was that we might power out going through one of the numerous mudholes. We saw few vehicles, and they were either transport trucks or 4x4's and getting by them was difficult because the road had deteriorated to a rutted one-lane track. We asked an oncoming driver how long before we got to pavement again, and he said only about seven kilometers, so we bravely kept moving forward. The fellow was accurate, thirty minutes later we got onto new pavement but it only lasted about five kilometers before reverting back to a mud track!

Up until this time the weather had been good but we had read how the altiplano was subject to heavy rains every afternoon. We tried to imagine how much worse the road could get after a heavy rain... We stopped for a snack and discussed what to do. While munching on our sandwiches, we were engulfed by a tremendous hailstorm that quickly turned the whole countryside white.

This was the final cue to turn around and head back. It was a difficult decision since Cusco and Machu Picchu were places that were extremely high on our list of locations we wanted to visit but we rationalized that we could find an alternate route, fly, or take the train up later. We slipped and slithered our way along the altiplano gradually working ourselves down to the construction camp where we hoped to be able to park for the night. The hail had turned to heavy rain; it was getting towards dusk and we were both very tired as we had been driving steady (but slow) all day. At the camp (heavily guarded and enclosed with high fences topped with concertina wire - because of the terrorist threat) we were passed up the chain of command until we finally got an audience with someone able to make a decision as to whether we could park inside the gates for the night. His answer was a curt no. He had enough troubles without having to be responsible for tourists!

I slogged back to the van through the mud and disappointedly started out the gates when one of the guards asked us for a lift down to his village as his shift had just ended. We were in a poor humor and not very welcoming but allowed him in. He was an angel in disguise. He told us about the problems in the area and where we could safely camp for the night. So as the night descended, we found ourselves back in the town of Piquo, parked in the main square in front of the government building.

The van had been making disturbing noises throughout the day so I donned my white disposable coveralls (that were several sizes too small), drove the van up on the chocks, and crawled around underneath to check things out. We were the evening entertainment for the locals! I finally isolated the noise down to being the electric fuel pump but it still seemed to work okay and it was nice to at least know what the problem might be. During the day we had also noticed several other mechanical anomalies because of the altitude. The cooling fan by the rad sounded like it was going to break apart, the power window motors strained to raise the windows, the heating fan shrieked and the tires became rock hard (such that we had to let air out of them), and of course the engine would not idle and did not respond quickly to any changes in the throttle.

Piquio was a very active town and to stretch our legs, we circled the plaza and surrounding streets several times and we bought bread and some matte (coca) leaves to make tea. The night was quite noisy, as there were restaurants and bars lining the plaza. When they closed down (about 2:00) we were serenaded by several inebriated groups who moved to the plaza center. Early in the morning military/police from the post down the road filled the plaza (a show of force) and did their morning exercises and marched around town, their feet keeping in time with their voices (sounding off). We headed back the now familiar road, the trip down going much faster, and soon we found ourselves out of the cold and wet, and back into the dry heat haze of the desert.

After a couple more days of desert driving we found ourselves at the Chilean border waiting in line behind numerous taxis and cars filled to capacity with passengers. From what we had read, we had expected this to be a quick and efficient border but it was not to be. Our van and possessions received the most thorough search to date, by very serious men. Later, we found out that this was a main crossing for drug smuggling (cocaine) and that just the day before they had seized several millions dollars worth.

Once past the customs people, we had difficulty finding anyone who knew how to process our papers for the vehicle. After several hours, the process was complete and we were off to Arica, a major town on the coast just a few miles away. The first order of business was to find somewhere to change money, as this border was the first that had no moneychangers, only a bank that converted Chilean to Peruvian funds!

The difference in countries struck us again. Here, traffic was very organized and everyone adhered to all rules of the road! They even came to a full stop at yield signs! What a change from the free for all that we had become accustomed to! It was immediately apparent that this was an extremely organized and controlled country. We saw police (caribineros) everywhere, all dressed in green uniforms with white gloves, and it was evident that the populace had great respect for them.

After changing some money at the bus depot we explored the area and stopped at a few 'campsites' that were not inviting (we actually set up at one but lasted only a few minutes because of the millions of flies... it was in a mango orchard full of rotting fruit, and was next door to a chicken farm.... you get the idea). Diane had not been feeling well all day and wanted some privacy, so we found a hotel with parking and air conditioning. While Diane slept, I walked downtown and enjoyed the sights.

It was so nice to be somewhere that was 'civilized' and where it felt safe to wander the streets. The city was used to tourists, as this was a jumping off place to Bolivia and the Andes. Besides, it had a fantastic beach area, with walkways and piers where a person could enjoy the cooling breeze.

Diane was feeling better the next day but we decided to take a break from driving to do the laundry, find maps, walk around town, and most of important (especially for Diane), to walk up and down the beach with the crashing surf as our music. Chile is expensive, most prices being similar to our own. However, we did get a major shock when we picked up our laundry and found the bill to be $78 Can!! I must explain that this was not the first time we had to put out a lot for laundry, it seemed to be a difficult service to come by as most people did it themselves. It was done by weight and we did have five large bags, which included two complete sets of bedding, but it still was a shock. Imagine, your laundry costing more than what you spent on an upscale hotel.

Even though we were a little gun-shy of back roads into the Andes we wanted very much to see some of the sights that we had seen pictures of at all the tour companies around the town. So we decided to leave early the morning and take a day trip up to the mountains with the understanding that we would turn back at the first trouble.

With all our gas containers full we turned off the main highway and headed east towards Putre, a small village 150 km away but up, up and away at an elevation of 3500meters. The first 30 km of the road was under construction and extremely rough and dusty, challenging us to carry on. Then we got to asphalt and began the tortuous ascent, the van struggling to keep itself from overheating. The views were dramatic, climbing a seemingly vertical face up an awesome canyon and then winding up exposed ridges until we reached another level where we began to see the tremendous size of the mountains that we had yet to surmount.

The climate changed and we entered the familiar 'wet zone' that guards the Andes at every approach. Heavy rains and fog closed in on us and all views disappeared. It was difficult even to see the road and we crossed several slide areas. When we arrived at one corner that had been washed out in an earlier storm and that crews had been rebuilding, we stopped to assess the situation.

It was Sunday, so the crews were not working, but their heavy equipment was still there, but water was already eating away the road that they had repaired. It is difficult to describe in words how much water was flowing everywhere, there were literally mud rivers pouring off of the hillsides and the ditches and culverts just couldn't keep up with them. We momentarily rolled the windows down and tried to capture the scene with the camera while deciding whether to carry on or not.

Hating to be defeated again, we forded the washout and proceeded for a short ways before becoming weak of heart and turning back because of the heavy rain and zero visibility. After fording the creek again, we pulled over for a bite to eat and then made the decision that we were going to turn around and cross the washout one more time, rationalizing that if we headed back the next day, the crews would be working and would have some access open. In this short time of indecision, the washout had eroded the road considerably and this time as we went through there was no doubt that in a matter of minutes it would be impassable to us.

Everything turned out well, though, within an hour the rains had slackened and the clouds dispersed enough for us to appreciate the scenery. The road surface was fairly good and there was almost no traffic, only the occasional turbo charged truck (thank goodness, because there were many switchbacks and hairpin corners). The road was only truck route from the coast to Bolivia and during the week had more traffic.

Anyway, we dropped into Putre; it was perched on the edge of the steep mountain slope and was smaller and quieter than we had expected. On a clear day the view must have been stupendous from there. The sideroad into the town (about 5 km) was extremely steep and we wondered if the van would pull itself out of there. It did, but just barely. It surely was the steepest pitch we had encountered, compounded by the loss of power because of the altitude.

We continued chugging up the switchbacks, climbing through a canyon like pass and finally found ourselves in the beginning of the altiplano. The trees were gone now, replaced with low bushes, grassland, and rock. It was wonderfully open and alpine, but windy and cold. Herds of vicunas and alpacas grazed everywhere, free ranging as it was a National Park.

As we moved higher, a beautiful view of Lake Chungara appeared, with snow covered volcanoes surrounding us. Wow, were glad we hadn't jammed out and turned back! The scenery, wildlife, flowers and the indigenous homesteads were fantastic!

Before we knew it, we found ourselves at the border crossing, a place stuck out in the middle of nowhere, and with most of the traffic being trucks and busses. It was now five in the evening and we had been on the road for twelve hours so it was time to stop and then re-evaluate the situation in the morning.

We backtracked a few miles and found a level spot off the road beside a historical rock building on the shores of Lake Chungara. It was a wonderful, peaceful place and reminded us of camping in the alpine at home. The down side was the altitude change. That morning we had been at sea level. Now we were at 4677m (14,971 feet)! We had taken some preventative medicine for altitude sickness and had not felt too bad (just giddy and sort of space out) until we stopped. We brewed up pots of matte tea and tried to sleep but I became quite ill, losing everything (out of both ends) throughout the night and suffering a nagging headache.

We awoke to freezing temperatures, the morning sun shining on snow capped volcanoes, and a resolve to carry on into Bolivia. How ironic, just several days ago, we had given up the idea of getting to the altiplano, let alone Bolivia. We had emailed everyone telling them we were on our way to Santiago! Such are the twists and turns of being free!

The border crossing was slow due to a line of trucks that were waiting for the opening at 9:00 but without incident we departed Chile into the no mans land (8 km) before reaching the Bolivian post. The van was only slightly rebelling at this altitude, no power and not idling well, but still poking along. We were concerned about gas, having seen nowhere to purchase unleaded gas along the way and the ascent had depleted our supply greatly but we were told there was fuel at the town a 100 km down the road, and we hadn't used all of our reserve tanks yet.

At the border there were was no place to change money and we had to pay a toll in Bolivianos, so the guy dispersing the toll tickets made some money by accepting US dollars at a very poor rate. The small border building was very noisy, with a great amount of banging and yelling going on in one of the adjacent rooms. It turned out that some poor local had tried to cross the border after consuming vast amounts of liquor and they had locked him up in one of the rooms to wear it off. He sure didn't seem to like the arrangement!

Bolivia was like taking a step back in time, not as organized and poorer, although the people were very friendly and helpful. The scenery stayed wonderful, the road gradually easing downhill. We passed picturesque villages, wonderful rock formations; ancient Maya stone grain storage houses, and were continually awed at the vast open, green grassed, spaces with mountains in the distance.

The first town we encountered was uninspiring; everything clustered along the highway frontage, dirty, poor and unattractive. We managed to find a bank that would change money and a gas station that had no unleaded gas.

We figured we could just make it La Paz on the fuel we had, so headed out across the altiplano towards the highest capital city in the world (3800m). La Paz is a city of over a million that is set down in a dramatic, crater-like bowl, 400m below the altiplano ledge. It is limited by its geography and no more growth can occur in the 'crater' so the population has spilled up and over the edge to create a poorer area that houses many of the indigenous people. This area grew chaotically, with no real government or infrastructure but is now at the point that they have given it a name (El Alto) and are beginning to improve the main access roads.

We found ourselves following the stream of traffic into this chaos. The main road was closed for reconstruction and we found ourselves winding through the city on abominable roads, the potholes larger than our van! The normal afternoon cloudbursts, which are famous in the altiplano, had just finished and had made everything a mess. We had been unable to find a map of Bolivia anywhere except a few pieced together photocopies that we had picked up at the S.A Explorers Club but nothing showed the city so we were driving blind, just basically following the greatest flow of traffic. There was no unleaded fuel available in El Alto; we had to go 'bajo' (down) into La Paz to find some.

By this time we were on fumes, tired and still slightly ill from altitude sickness (soroche) but were reluctant to stay anywhere up top, as it did not feel very safe. We were going to try the airport, which was somewhere up there, but were unable to get onto the right road before being sucked down into a toll freeway (with no way of turning around without driving 13 km down, paying money again, and coming all the way back) that led us down into the city proper.

While driving down the toll road we were treated to our first glimpses of the city, a jewel set inside a crater. In the distance, snow covered volcanoes loomed out of the mist, and below, earth colored tiled roofs and streets filled every nook and cranny of the scene, tenuously clinging to seemingly shear walls around us.

Within minutes, the direct route down melted into the typical congested city street scene. It was early evening and traffic was horrendous, moving very slowly. Every corner was controlled by traffic police in order to maintain some order. It was too congested for them to give out tickets but we noticed them writing down the license plate numbers of rebellious drivers, perhaps their version of our photo radar! With space being at a premium, the roads were very narrow and parking was non-existent except for underground, which of course with our box on top, we could not enter. Even the service stations were designed as drive thru's, with no area for parking. Being built in a steep valley, the city was crisscrossed with many arroyos and gullies that made the road system extremely difficult to maneuver, especially with all the one way streets that wound around aimlessly, or so it seemed to us. We finally found a gas station (after struggling for more than an hour in the traffic) which had unleaded gas (the only one we were to find in the country).

By now we had been on the road for thirteen hours and were tired and cranky. Coming into congested cities late in the day really challenges your stress and energy levels! We carried on down the 'main' road, actively looking for any suitable place to stop for the night... but finding nothing suitable at all. Shortly we found ourselves at the southern outskirts, climbing steep cobblestone streets and getting into poorer areas.

After much discussion (read between the lines... angry words), and prayers that the van wouldn't stall out on the steep hills, we opted to turn back and park beside the Bolivian Automobile Club building which we had passed not long ago and which was one of our targets for the next day (to obtain some maps). We scouted around the area, pleased to find a military college, several embassies, and many fine residences. There were guards stationed in little kiosks along the streets so we approached one and asked if we could park beside him for the night (for a small fee). Relieved to stop, we stretched our legs by walking around and then settled in for the night. Our guard took a little flak from the owner of the house we were parked in front of (she was scared of us!) but he stood up for us, thank goodness... We didn't want to have to find a new spot in the dark!

The next day was spent exploring and doing chores. The city has fantastic character and setting and we could easily have spent several days there. I found out that the unleaded gas I had bought the night before, wasn't... it was leaded! I had suspected this before, but was too tired the night before to follow my intuition, so I relied on the attendant, who had emphatically stated that it was unleaded. Oh well, had to siphon it all out (some happy customers received free fuel that day) and chalk it up to as a lesson.

We managed to find a VW dealer, as I was looking for a fuel pump. The good news was that they could get one, the bad news that it would take 25 - 30 days! Well, we didn't really need one right now anyway.

When I got back to the van (we had parked illegally at a collectivo stop, we could write a book about trying to park in La Paz) and found Diane very upset. She had spent the last half-hour trying to communicate with two fellows, who were trying to get her out of the van, supposedly to visit their store but I suspect for more devious reasons. It was her first time alone, where she became cognizant of the language barrier and the frustration that it can bring. Boy, did I get a tongue lashing for leaving her by herself in a spot she didn't want to park in!

We climbed the long road out of the bowl, checked out the airport for a backup parking spot for the night, and then headed out towards Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. It was so peaceful to be back out in the country, with no traffic and wonderful pastoral scenery. The lake was surprisingly large and we began to feel great respect for the locals who fished with the famous reed boats, powered by colorful sails.

The relaxing drive soon brought us to a small village, which has wooden barges that could ferry your vehicle across the straits. The place was a hub of activity and we enjoyed a rest and a meal while checking out the crossing system. To our standards, it all looked pretty flaky, but after watching a few busses and trucks negotiate the crossing we decided to give it a try. Loading the van was a little bit of a challenge as they had to place a bunch of rocks as an impromptu ramp but after spinning out a couple of times we lurched up onto the old barge. A bunch of locals saw their opportunity and jumped on (with all their goods) for a free ride. The crossing took only about fifteen minutes and then we were on our way again, winding along exposed ridges, which presented outstanding views. We picked a lonely pullout for our camp and enjoyed a quiet evening to ourselves, graced by a beautiful sunset and a friendly dog that stationed himself beside the van.

We awoke to a beautiful day, happy to be in the quiet countryside. After a short leisurely drive, passing by people herding animals or waiting for busses, we found ourselves looking down on Copacabana, the last town before the Peruvian border. It was in a wonderful setting, nestled at the base of a wonderfully lush, green valley, and resting on the edge of Lake Titicaca.

We were greeted at the town by a serious soldier who examined our passports and van at length, not quite believing us when we said we were not carrying on to Peru, just visiting the town for the day. A friendlier fellow issued us 'tickets' for entry into the town (for a small, mandatory fee) and we continued on down the road trying to find our way into the town square.

The road was abominable and we considered walking, but a smiling fellow came and encouraged us to continue pointing the way, so we dodged potholes and overflowing sewer manholes and shortly came to the main square, which was very pretty and well kept. We spent the day walking around, enjoying all the markets, craft shops and gawking at the many tourists, most of them younger backpackers as this was not a resort destination by any means. Tired from all the walking we were happy to get back in the van and head back to the ferry. We had decided not to carry on to Peru because of the poor road conditions and our now short time left before we had to meet up with Toby and crew.

Once across the ferry, we stopped at the port to make supper and were lucky to see a celebration of sorts. A new Merecedes drove up followed by a giant bus, several small naval vessels (from the base across the channel) docked and disgorged about forty fellows in dress uniform, some with musical instruments, and then several Mercedes pulled up. There were news cameras, dignitaries, priests (about twenty of them, some speaking other language) police, and of course the token indigenous people.

After speeches and photos, a statue was carried by a select entourage (almost like a funeral) onto the naval barge. All this accompanied by a blaring band and marching men. The flotilla eventually got underway, the barge escorted by two navy vessels, and with the band still playing, they crossed the channel, presumably to place the statue at a church across the way. For us it was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon, being able to see some Bolivian culture first hand.

Before long we were winding down through the now familiar 40 km detour route to the gas station in La Paz, and after topping everything up we headed out onto the altiplano, retracing our steps towards Chile. We drove until dark and pulled over for another quiet night, pinching ourselves to make sure that the last few days had not been a dream! We had made it Bolivia, seen Lake Titicaca, La Paz, and all the wonderful mountains and sights in between! And we started out just going into the Andes for a day trip!

The weather was good the next day and we got better views than when we had traveled this road before. The border formalities were no problem, except for me being a little confused (the altitude made us a little giddy, me especially) as to whether we were exiting or entering the country. Diane had a good laugh over that one, with me always standing in the wrong line.

The trip back to the coast went quickly as we coasted most of the way, at speeds far exceeding the crawling ascent! What a ride... and soon we were back to the dry heat of the desert and the crashing surf on the beaches. After availing ourselves of all the amenities in town and stocking up we headed into the famous Atacama Desert, one of driest places on Earth where in places there has been no recorded rainfall. The desert started at the edge of town and we saw no sign of habitation or services for the next 368 km, just wonderful changing scenery.

We filled up with gas, (never miss a chance was our motto) and carried on until the next human presence (250 km) which was a small restaurant with rooms, in the middle of nowhere. By this time the sun was going down, turning the whole scene a wonderful red/orange so we asked for permission to park for the night... no problem as it was very common for trucks to stop here also.

We were up at dawn and while I was washing up, Diane went for a morning stroll, not walking along the highway (as I always recommended) in front of the restaurant, but wandering out a trail into the desert. As she was coming back, just a few hundred meters from the van, a pack of six or seven large dogs (which included Rotweiler and Sheperd crosses and belonged to the outpost) caught sight of her and streaked over to her, barking ferociously. They surrounded her and began nipping at her legs, whereupon she gave a short cry of fright. I heard this, looked out the window and knowing she was in trouble, grabbed a 'weapon' (a 24' long hard plastic stick that we carried) and ran over towards her, grabbing the steel lid from a five gallon can along the way.

This took only seconds, but by this time, Diane had decided to try to walk back to the van, avoiding eye contact with the dogs and not fighting back, hoping that they would leave her alone. It was not to be, as soon as she started back they attacked her savagely, several of them dragging her to the ground from behind, and then attacking here when she was down. She had her arms up to protect her face and throat area; afraid to fight back and expose herself or anger them further. By now, I was closer to them, shouting and running, a trucker parked near us had heard the commotion and he laid on his horn (to no avail), but the dogs broke and ran as I got closer, leaving Diane lying on the ground.

I got her back to the van and evaluated her injuries. She was still in a state of shock, not yet believing what had just happened. She was lucky that she had been wearing tough ripstop nylon pants and jacket because the dogs teeth could puncture it but could not tear it as they would have other garments. She stripped down and I covered all her bites with a surgical antiseptic solution (Friars Balsam). We found that she had sustained about twenty bites, mostly on her legs and buttocks, but with the worst ones being on her arms where she was protecting her face. She began a program of strong antibiotics to try to ward off infection. We decided it was hopeless to talk to the owners of the place about the dogs (if I had a gun, they would have all been dead dogs!) and Diane just wanted to get away from there so we got on the road and started driving.

In a while, she realized just how close she had come to a tragic end, and she was overwhelmed with tears and exhaustion. If I had not been able to get to her within a few more seconds it could have been very much worse. Needless to say, we stayed close to the van the next few days and avoided any contact with dogs. Her injuries looked worse the next few days as the bruising showed up and she began to feel the pain.

We decided to get to Santiago as quickly as possible, get a comfortable room, and recuperate for a few days. The drive through the desert was beautiful though, again showing us the incredible variety of colors, rock formations, and sand dunes. We experienced several areas of high wind and blowing sand, with drifts building in the road... wouldn't want to hit one of those unprepared!

Some of the coastal scenery was breathtaking. High winds turned the sea into a white froth that attacked the rocky coastline ferociously. Along the way we passed several roadside shrines that were very elaborate, one of which we stopped at for lunch. I foolishly left the van in neutral and leapt out to take a video, allowing the van to begin rolling away across the highway towards a large ditch. What a comedy show, with me running madly towards the van, crawling in and managing to get it stopped before it got too far! I spent a few extra minutes watering the plants at that shrine!

Within a day the terrain began to change and more vegetation began to appear. The excellent road allowed us to reach Santiago by the next day. Along the way we were awed by the organizational skills of the road building crews who were busy twinning the highway to the capital city. There had to have been twenty separate construction projects going on at the same time and each was a textbook case of the proper methods of road construction. Quite a change from the crews in Colombia armed only with shovels and facing six-foot deep mudslides! We sought refuge at the Santiago Airport parking area for the first night as we were late getting into town.

Exploring the city the next day, Sunday, was wonderful. It was a very modern city with a wonderful setting, surrounded by mountains lovely farmland. It was fairly easy to find our way around and we spent all day seeing the sights and getting oriented before settling into a nice hotel close to the downtown area. The hotel had a pool (the last of our bathing suit weather on the trip) for Diane to lounge around, a parking lot for me to wash and fix up the van in, and cable TV.

The next day the traffic became thick early in the morning and I spent the day having the van fixed up at a VW shop owned by an expatriate German who was very helpful and professional. They managed to redo all the brake linings (worn down to nothing after coming down all those steep grades in the Andes), repair our back door latch so we could open the back door again (someone had tried to break in at La Paz and broken the lock), rotate the tires, and do a general servicing. I was so pleased with their expertise that I bought out the bakery store next door and treated the whole shop to lunch.

Getting back to hotel, I parked the van for the next few days, and we walked or took taxis (wow... do they ever drive fast!). The only downside to the city was the horrible smog created by the oppressive traffic. With a population of about six million and being confined in a valley it is rated in the top ten in the world for pollution. We headed out the next day, striking towards the coast to take a circuit trip off the main highway that would take us through some of the Lakes District.

We ended up on a toll freeway that had no place to get off or stop (it was new enough that it didn't show on any of our maps) and we found ourselves pushed along until we got to Concepcion, the second largest city in Chile, with a population of one million. We couldn't find a satisfactory place to pull over for the night and after a hour or so of 'detours' (getting lost due to Diane's poor mapping reading), we managed to get through the city and found a large gas station about 40 km down the road.

In the morning, my bad karma caught up to me. I was being impatient with Diane, wanting to get on the road and letting her know it (in other words not being a nice person at all). After I had rushed her along and we were ready to go... the van wouldn't. It just cranked and cranked, laughing at my temper tantrums! So... we unloaded all the stuff to get at the motor, troubleshooted as best I could... not getting any fuel.

A friendly trucker who was parked next to us (and having his own problems because his battery was dead) directed me to a village down the road where there was a mechanic. There was a mechanic, but he had about ten large transport trucks lined up in front of his place and besides, he only worked on diesel engines. Oh well, I trudged back to the van and then went into the gas station to see if they could help. Two very helpful ladies managed to decipher my plea to please call the Chilean Automobile Association office in Concepcion and inquire if they could help two stranded Canadian Automobile Association members. To my great surprise they had a phone and it actually worked! The wonders of a modern country!

Within an hour, a tow truck was there and dragged us back to the city and a large VW dealer where we soon became the center of attention. The owner, who spoke some English, thank god, and his whole staff looked on our problem as a personal challenge. They quickly diagnosed the problem as being the fuel pump as I had suspected. Apparently, we had got some bad gas along the way (likely during the Ecuadorian fuel shortage), the water had got into the filter, rusted it up and then the pump had worked extremely hard sucking those rust particles into itself before finally burning out.

They spent all day, emptying the tank, cleaning it, and trying all types of pumps to try to get one that would work correctly with the vans electronic fuel injection system. We spent the day walking the town, appreciating the wonderful square, the stand up coffee bars with girls in provocative outfits, the surrounding shopping, and checking out all the available accommodations as we thought we might be here for a while. We settled in at a place near the dealership and I went back for a final check to see how things were going. To everyone's delight, an identical fuel pump had been found misplaced and collecting dust in a shop across town... what luck! We had been expecting a several week delay, which actually meant the end of our trip, as Toby and crew were almost due to arrive. The mechanics worked past closing time, committed to get our van back to us, what a great bunch of guys! Beer for all, that night, on us! The repair bill was not cheap ($700) but we just happy to be back on the road. Earlier, we had secured a room for the night but it was definitely not a bargain! Forty dollars for a small room that had no soap, towels, heat or parking!

The Lakes District was aptly named, and was very similar to our country. Logging, rural towns, lakes, farming, fishing villages along the coast and a generally laid back attitude that made us feel right at home. We made the decision along the way that we were not going to take the ferry (4 days, $1600) along the coast that would take us close to Tierra del Fuego but rather strike out across the Andes one more time and then turn south in Argentina. It was a hard decision as we had little information about the roads and we were also worried about the route being closed due to snow. We figured that we still had about 3500 km to go and only about ten days to do it in.

It turned out that the Andes crossing was a piece of cake compared to what we had been through before, only a small stretch unpaved mountain road and after crossing the inefficiently run Argentinean border we came into our first town in that country. It was called San Martin de los Andes and it was a resort town very similar to a small Jasper. It was so modern, rustic... and expensive.

We found a cozy camping spot beside a creek at the edge of town and enjoyed the beauty and peace and quiet. A new country, Argentina, we had made it! We felt very safe here and didn't worry about leaving the van as we walked through trails and around town before heading out into the wonderful scenery, heading towards Bariloche. The steep, snow covered mountains and the giant lakes were spectacular and rivaled Canada for beauty and for being unspoiled by man. It would be a wonderful place to have time and money. The town was very touristy, similar to Banff, and everything was priced accordingly.

Driving conditions here were more chaotic, with no stop or yield signs at any intersections. The bravest man got to go first! We filled up with gas, (after getting a Visa advance at a bank) and were horrified to see that the price was about $1.40/liter! After gawking at all the wares displayed in the store windows, buying some of their famous chocolates, cheese, shirts and smoked fish; we headed south, paralleling the Andes.

We were very relieved to find that there was a paved road that headed generally southeast towards the coast, thus saving us about a 1000 km from our originally planned route. We had crossed into Argentina expecting long stretches of gravel roads (no info was available from our books or earlier Internet research) and crossing the vast pampas with good road and no traffic was very relaxing. The countryside was beautiful, as we bounced up, down and around the foothills, passing small lakes and outback villages. Gas got cheaper by half (thank goodness) and the terrain smoothed out and the famous pampas winds increased.

We crossed the Rio Negro, the official dividing line into Patagonia. Diane was ecstatic! This had been her dream for many years, to be in Patagonia. Out in this vast area there are ranches that are bigger than some European countries! We saw few signs of life, only the occasional horseman herding sheep with the help of many dogs and we were treated to the sight of many nandus (ostrich like birds).

In a few days we found ourselves walking along a beach on the Atlantic, marveling how easy it had been to cross the continent. Several more days of easy (but windy) driving found us entering the Parque Nacionale de los Glaciares.

After a spectacular drive along some very rough road (washboard!) we came upon the Moreno Glacier, one of few advancing glaciers in the world. It was awesome! We could almost reach out and touch the giant icebergs that calved off the huge face as we watched! We were so glad that we hadn't missed this side trip as it was truly spectacular. Now that we felt safe, we could really enjoy having the van, stopping when we wanted to cook up supper with fantastic scenic backdrops or enjoying peaceful sunsets out in the country. Just us and the wildlife!

We took a backroad towards the Chilean border outpost (the roads wander back and forth between the two countries several times), crossed without incident at a tiny checkpoint staffed with bored military men (whose transportation was a collection of dirt bikes) and carried on to the Parque Nacional Torres de Paine. Again we hit extremely rough road which we survived by looking on it as a hike in the alpine. The scenery was wonderful, you will have to see the pictures or video to appreciate it, and the 20 km/hr pace allowed us to fully enjoy it.

We found a spot off the road, overlooking a large lake, to camp for the night and found ourselves surrounded by a herd of vicunas (llama-like animals), birds, and foxes. We had to pinch ourselves to make sure it was all real! These memories will stay with us forever.

We ambled along for the next few days, taking short hikes and stopping often, appreciating how lucky we were to be able to be there and assimilating the fact that we would soon be flying home. While signing out at the park gates we ran into two Canadians from Edmonton who were on a tour of the park (they actually were liquor salesmen doing business in Chile). They marveled that we had driven all the way down and it made us think twice of how much we had accomplished so far.

The road returned to asphalt as we headed south to Punto Arenas, where we were going to catch the ferry across to the island of Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire). The weather was getting cooler as we went south, and the leaves had turned to brilliant red and orange fall colors, making everything look so much better. The communities were similar to those in northern Canada, rough around the edges due to being so far from supply centers and having to contend with harsh weather. The crossing on the ferry was uneventful and the captain told us that it was unusually calm (even though there were 6' waves).

A ferocious, cold wind and barren landscape greeted us on the other side. The small village appeared empty (they were probably hiding inside, out of the wind) and after a short walk around the colorfully painted houses, we bumped out of town onto a lonely gravel road that wound south along the coast before striking our directly across the center of the island. The only sign of life on the stark grasslands were the occasional estancias (sheep ranches).

The wind was our constant companion, not bothering us too much when driving because of our slow pace, but making sleep difficult as it buffeted the van all night, even we managed to get behind some shelter. They say that some of the earlier settlers were driven mad by the wind and we now understand why! A newly constructed, fancy border post greeted us in the middle of nowhere, they were so laid back here that Diane actually had to get out an open and close the gate! Welcome again to Argentina!

We passed by the worlds smallest oil refinery on the way to the coast and soon found ourselves at Rio Grande, a prosperous town servicing the oil industry (which is very big here, oil wells everywhere).

The last leg of the journey lay just ahead of us, only a couple of days away... Ushuaia, El Fin del Mondo (the End of the World). The countryside changed radically the next day, leaving the estancias behind and entering pine forests, clear lakes and then climbing mountain passes decked out in the wonderful fall colors. It was a good wide gravel road that was being upgraded so we did have to go a lot of construction but it all seemed so minor compared to all that we had come through.

Once over the pass, we struggled down a windy valley (90km/hr winds are common here and in the winter they have a sport called 'wind skiing') and drove down into Ushuaia, our final destination. It was a busy frontier town that reminded us of Innuvik, the Canadian counterpart that lies on the Arctic Ocean. A large infusion of government money and the swelling interest in Antarctica fuelled the growth. People from all over the world came here to appreciate the magnificent scenery and prepare to embark for the South Pole.

The fall colors had a beautiful backdrop of steep, glacial mountains and the waters of the Straits of Magellen attacked the shore, urged on by the ferocious wind. We toured the town, and then drove the 20 km out of town to the Lapataia National Park and the "official" end of the road, to take our pictures beside the sign. What a feeling! We had made it! We were standing at the same place that was pictured in a book that we had read several years ago about a couple who had done the same trip in a VW van. We thought of all the times that we thought we wouldn't make it, the times when we were ready to turn back, and all that had happened along the way! I had been so worried the last couple of weeks that the van would break down and that out trip would have to end before getting here. We found a secluded campsite in the park and spent our last night in the van, hardly believing that our trip was almost over.

The next morning we headed back into town, secured a comfortable hotel with a fantastic view of the harbour, and set out to make plane reservations home. With the pressure off, we set to unpacking the van, trying to sort out what we could take on the plane and what we would have to leave behind. We ended up buying an extra suitcase and even it ended up bulging with stuff.

We had been keeping in close email contact with Toby and crew and they were to arrive tomorrow to take over the van for a shake down cruise. We met them and went out for dinner, trying to pass on what we knew, but it was hard as so many things can only be experienced. They patiently waited as we rambled on (remember, we hadn't spoke to any English speaking folks for a very long time) and then made arrangements to effect the transfer the next morning.

Toby and I went to customs the next day to get some papers that would make it easier for him to exit the country with the van, and then they drove away to the park to test things out. We were at a bit of a loss with our transportation and 'home' gone, but also relieved not to have the responsibility anymore.

We flew to Buenos Aires the next day, enjoying a beautiful view from the plane. The weather was so good that the pilot made a detour and followed a scenic route over the Straits of Magellan, giving everyone spectacular views. Our hotel was right in the downtown area of Buenos Aires, and we spent several nice days there walking around the ocean front walkways, pedestrian malls, visiting flea markets, watching tango dancing on the streets, and riding the busses. Then we began the long haul back (one flight, three stops) before arriving in Toronto, then catching a plane to Calgary within a few hours. Needless to say, we were quite tired and culture shocked to be back in Canada. Everything seemed so opulent! Everyone spoke English (or French, or Japanese)! Near the end of our journey I had become quite tired of the constant struggle with Spanish, it seemed worse near the end because people thought that I could speak more than I actually could, and consequently they spoke very rapidly. Oh, for a universal language!

Diane elected to stay in Calgary to visit her family, who were glad to have us back alive, but I had to get back to work, so I hopped on a bus to Burns Lake, was met there by a co-worker, and the next day was back to work! Now the hard part is assimilate the journey and integrate our new selves back into the daily routine.

Would we do it again? You bet! Perhaps with more language schooling behind us and a four wheel drive vehicle and more time. We just scratched the surface, basically doing a quick drive by but now when we hear anything about Latin America, we know a bit more than we did before!

At this writing (September 3 / 1999), Diane is making plans to go back to Latin America this winter for an intensive Spanish course, I have applied to be a Team Leader for a Rotary Exchange Project in Brazil for 5 weeks next spring and we are planning and researching our next tour... probably around the world this time.

Thank god for dreams and the grace to actually live them at times!

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caravana@vanagon.com
Copyright © 1999-2001 Ron Lussier. All rights reserved.
This page last updated January 16, 2000.