pilgrim of the south

After a delicious breakfast in our hotel we were ready for action. Picked up our laundry, went to the Banco Patagonica for some cash, and to YPF for another round of diesel. Then we hit the road eastwards over Ruta 3, in direction of estancia Haberton, the first settlement in Tierra del Fuego.

Over a sand track, mixed with mud and stones we drove along strange looking trees. Their branches all turned one direction because of the strong winds that rule here. Even when there is no wind, those braches remain that way.

Estancia Haberton is nothing more than a few old houses and barracks, where they serve overpriced tea and scones for tourists. I shot a few pictures, and shortly after, we left. At half past one we got onto Ruta 3, on our way to Rio Gallegos, still 586 kilometers away.

At the first Argentinean – Chilean border we had to wait again, and fill in all kinds of documents to clear the car. Then onto the Chilean immigration, more papers, and the first problems. To get into Chile, even if it’s only for 2 hours or 130 kilometers, you have to import your car temporarily. And for that, give all kind of information about the car, like chassis number and motor number. On my car’s documents, only the chassis number is written. But with a lot of talking about Mercosul agreements and me being from the European community and how we got into Chile at Bariloche and more bullshit, we got cleared to get in. Without peaches or prunes or meat or semen, if you’d please.

Then we drove on, took the same shortcut like three days before, and this time the sun was beginning to lower, at 8 PM. But a strong wind against us made the car do only 70 km an hour. We finally arrived at the small ferry at 9.50 PM, and had to wait an hour to get on the boat, while the wind got stronger and the waves higher.

The whole deck of the ferry was wet and slippery, and after I got the Land Rover parked and got out, the rest of the ferry was loaded with trucks. Huge containers with frozen fish, lorries with sheep’s wool and a truck full of live, noisy sheep, protesting against everything around them. I don’t know if they were more afraid of the boat ride or the butchers’ knife which was waiting for them. The ferry got off and immediately we felt the impact of the higher waves and stronger winds and dangerous currents. We got pounded again and again by huge waves which threw showers of seawater on the ferry’s deck and its cars.

Fernanda was not too comfortable, by the way. She had me to switch off my GPS, because it might interfere with the ships navigation system. “And would you please switch off the music (Metallica) as well darling”. The trucks around us were rocking and shaking, and the ferry’s personnel run around with wheel blocks and chains and radios to keep things in control.

After some 20 minutes we got onto land again, and it took another hour to drive into Rio Gallegos, only to find that all hotels were fully booked. There was no single bed available in town. As the first decent city was more than 200 kilometers away, we finally decided to sleep in the car. We found, along Ruta 3, a police control where we parked the car. I made a provisionary bed for Fernanda on the back seat where she could actually sleep pretty comfortable. I got into the passenger’s seat, lit the heating a few minutes, then switched off the motor and tried to sleep a bit. It had nothing to do with the feeling of comfort Meatloaf sings about in his song “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”. After 2 hours I woke up, cold to the bone. Slept some more and at 5.45 I couldn’t take it no more, started the car and drove off.

At eight I stopped the car, slept for an hour or so, and moved on again. At midday, the first gas station appeared. We drunk strong coffee, washed ourselves up, and moved on, Fernanda driving until the intersection with Ruta 47.

Ruta 47 was a shortcut over Ripio, 225 kilometers long. It led us, during three and a half hours through a beautiful landscape. Sometimes dry, sometimes full of little green vegetation. We drove through deep canyons and dried out riverbeds. We saw Ñandu, Guanaco and Armadillo. We saw dead sheep and fox, their skeletons fixed upon a fence. And for the rest we saw nothing and nobody, until arriving at Puerto Deseado at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, our stop for the night.

Again we found all hostels fully booked, but thankfully there were the cabañas, those little houses with kitchen and living room and all comforts. After checking in we got to the supermarket, as we decided to cook for ourselves. Then we booked an excursion for tomorrow. A boat ride to Penguin Island to see penguins alive and kicking. That night we ate a huge salad of crispy American lettuce, ruby red tomatoes, onion, bell pepper and fried chicken breast. Exhausted as we were after almost 36 hours without sleep, we got into bed by 9.15 and slept like little babies until 8.30.

January 13th, 2007

I woke up a renewed man, and after breakfast we drove to the harbor to meet with Ricardo of Darwin Expeditions. Unfortunately the waves were to high and the winds still to strong, and the harbor authorities had forbidden any ship to leave. Anybody who would try to leave, or even think about it would be fined, prosecuted and surely sent to forced labor in Siberia. Ricardo told us we would try again at three in the afternoon, when weather would be better. He gave us some directions of nice places to go, especially with a Land rover like ours, and off we went, driving along cliffs, getting almost stuck in two feet of mud. We showed up at ten to three, and with two other couples we got on board a small jetty, sailed off and saw birds, sea lions and seal, and went to Penguin Island.

Amazing how close I could get to them. Slowly, like a real photographer for National Geographic, I approached them, the final meters almost crawling, just like I learned in military service in 1988. I changed my 400 mm tele lens for a 50 mm macro, and got even closer, about 30 cm away from a penguin who was laying lazy on this summer afternoon. Shot a few frames when he attacked severely, and picked at my lens. (Yes, Lamosa, your 50 mm, f/2.5) I decided to call it a day, and joined the others who were, like real Argentineans do anytime, anyplace, anywhere, drinking Mate.

Drinking Mate is another ritual which is serious business to any Argentine. First you have the herbs. Mainly grown in the Corrientes and Missiones states, they are cut into small pieces, and dried slowly. The best brands are Taraguï, Noblesa Gaucha or Amanda. Then you need water. And instead of water for tea, you don’t boil this water. Just bring it up to 80 degrees. (Any serious petrol station here always, always has hot water ready for whoever needs it). Finally you need a special cup to drink from. Mostly made out of wood, sometimes of aluminum. And a “bombilla”; that’s where you sip from. It’s a small metal pipe, the bottom closed, with small perforations, and the tip like one from your Grandfathers pipe.

Now you put the herbs in the cup, stick the bombilla in, and fill it up with water. Than you slowly sip some Mate, pondering about life and Boca Junior (that’s soccer, my friends). After three sips, maybe four, your cup is empty. You fill it up with water again, and hand it out to who’s next to you. And like that, the cup goes around, sharing this precious moment with whoever is with you. The fact that you invite someone to drink Mate is like inviting him into your “Circle of Trust” (that’s from an excellent movie with Robert de Niro, Ben Stiller, Dustin Hoffmann and Barbara Streisand: Meet the Fockers)

So we drunk Mate, on a beach, 300 penguins watching. And that my friends, is a unique moment for this Pilgrim of the South. We got back at 6, bought some things at the supermarket because Fernanda is cooking tonight. Spinach pie. With another bottle of Malbec from Patagonia. We don’t know if the wine combines, but hey, were are not in a restaurant, I am not a Sommelier, and during our vacation we do exactly like we want. And nobody can change that.

Tomorrow we drive to Puerto Madryn, 880 km away. It’s gonna be a long day. But that, we got used to already.

Cheers to you all.

Jeroen and Fernanda