pilgrim of the south

2007-02-04T10:10:00.000-08:00

Journeyman

Once more, we loaded the car with all our luggage and mess and memories from the past, and left Punta del Este, heading to our next destination. Fittingly, my ever loyal Ipod played the song “Journeyman”, (Fromthe red skies on the east, to the sunset in the west....) by Iron Maiden, as we headed north now, direction of Chuy, still 198 kilometers away. Getting out of Uruguay two hours later was a matter of minutes, and after almost two months of traveling, we were back into the Federal Republic of Brazil.

From Chuy to the north over the only interstate BR473 with all its trucks, roadwork and one-lane traffic at an average of 70 km an hour took more than seven hours, and when we finally got close to Porto Alegre, I decided to throw in the towel, and find a hotel to stay for the night. Close to the airport was a decent and reasonable priced Ibis, and so Ibis it was.

We attacked the salad bar in the hotels’ restaurant, and hit the sack at 10 PM, because our wake-up call was expected as 5.30AM, just like the army.

At 7 PM we drove away, and driving through a fine fog we took the BR 101 interstate, which leads you along the beautiful beaches of the Rio Grande do Sul and Santa Catarina states. As traffic was heavy again, around midday we took some small roads, and approaching Farol de Santa Marta, a small bay with a lighthouse, white beach and large shrimps our stomachs ordered us to stop. I parked the Land Rover on the white sand, fine as powder, and sat down at some restaurant, where we had grilled Pescada with shrimp sauce for 34 reais. That’s about 10 Euro’s, and served the three of us. Lucas got into the sea, and no way he was planning to come out. Fernanda ordered another beer, and as my eyelids started to fall I was thinking of another 400 kilometers to drive today. Just then, my almost closed eyes fell onto a very nice brick building, with small veranda’s, hang mats and palm trees. Someone had painted the word “Pousada” (that’s hostel in Portuguese) on a wall, and after we informed if there was room, we checked in, paying 50 reais a night.

In the late afternoon we walked on the beach, visited the lighthouse and had another dose of shrimp with garlic. I wanted to make some pictures of the sunset, so we headed out to yet another beach with even whiter sand and blue-er waves and less people. As the sun fell slowly into the sea, we drove through the dunes over rough tracks with loose sand until we could drive no more. Then, for almost 30 minutes we enjoyed complete silence, only disturbed by the sound of the waves. After the sun was gone, we drove back in the direction of Farol Santa Marta, still amazed by the scene we’ve been presented minutes before. Halfway we found some tourists with their car, sunk about 30 centimeters into the fine sand. No way would they have come out if it wasn’t for us. Any Land Rover Owner’s dream!

They asked for help, and that, my friends, is what the car is made for. See the pictures below.

January the 31st we left early and drove for an hour over dirt roads with mud and water – so much for a washed car – until Laguna where another river with another ferry was waiting. Back on the BR 101 again, and again a lot of trucks and traffic, as this is the only connection over land from Porto Alegre to Cutitiba and São Paulo. At the exit of Porto Belo we took a right turn, and drove to the direction of Bombinhas, a nice and sympatic community, favorite to Argentines. At restaurant Ribeiro we had an amazing seafood platter with five types of shrimp, dover sole and squid, served by a friendly waiter who I would have contracted on the spot. Even after he served me one of the hottest pepper sauces in the universe. From the corner of my eyes I saw the waiters watching if I could handle so much fire. The waiter promptly sat down with us to pose for a picture. The afternoon we stayed on the beach, rented a try-cycle which ride the waves and took in the last rays of sun. We talked for hours about our past seven weeks. About the breathtakingly Iguazu waterfalls, About our juicy steaks at the zucchardi family and about Té fria in Puerto Montt, Chile. About the impressive Perito Moreno glacier, the sea lions in Ushuaia and the funny penguins in Punto Tombo. We remembered Pancho, who sacrificed his siesta for a broken Dynamo, and amazing Buenos Aires with its European flair.

And we talked about what the coming weeks will bring us. We know that after visiting Paraty we will be back in Rio again, and watching the news the past few weeks, we are not really looking forward to it. I have to find a job. Either as a chef or photographer or clown in cirque du soleil. Whatever…..

Now, I took off on December the 12th 2006 in search for something. Peace of mind maybe? I’m not sure. If I have to make up the balance today, after 54 days of traveling, I have a slightly different vision on things. First of all, I am not planning to die from gunfire in Rio de Janeiro. Second, I am going to take it easy. But after all, what I’ve learned from this trip is that beauty is out there, oh yes. But above all, it’s within our selves. You maybe have to look a bit harder sometimes, but it’s there, I guarantee.

Now for all of you, my dearest friends, who have been reading the blog, and virtually traveled with us, I have a surprise. I have three questions for you. If you can answer the three questions right, you win, and I will donate 10.000 airmiles of the Star Alliance consortium to you. These 10.000 airmiles serve for example to upgrade your Tourist class ticket to Business Class. If you are not planning to come to Brazil, you still can use them on TAP Portugal, Lufthansa, Singapore Airlines or many other airlines. Check out the Star alliance website for that. And if you are not interested in these miles, I will be happy to donate them to the Cancer Foundation in Brazil. So here we go with the three questions:

Which wine estates we visited in Mendoza?
How many states in Brazil, Argentina, Chile and Uruguay did we drive through?
Exactly how many kilometers did we drive, from Rio de Janeiro, until back in Rio de Janeiro?

You all have until February 21st to respond.

So here, this Pilgrim of the South is leaving you. I sincerely thank you all for being around. I thank Geoffrey Carpenter for giving me the inspiration for this incredible adventure. I strongly encourage you all to read his book “Pilgrim of the Sublime”. I thank so many other people, like my “amigo de peito” Lamosa who is in London right now, on his own pilgrimage, Mr. Jairo, from Land Brasil, who was (and ever will be) our technical support. Wim, who should be playing guitar in Whitesnake, Margarida, my friend Walter, my cousin Gerard, Danusia, who inspired me to put the notch in my kitchen higher, every single day. Frank T. (you wrote a great e-mail to me buddy), Tatiane, Ton en Loes, Andreas (“f*cking snapper”) Theissen, and so many others, too numerous to mention. But especially I thank my great family; mum and dad, Christa and Otto and their two wonderful boys Jasper and Jeroen. And Fernanda, for just being there, serving me mate, reading maps and our ever loyal Garmin GPS 162, even if it took us to the wrong direction, and for taking care of me. I love you dearly.

I leave you all with some words from a master piece called “A Change Of Seasons”, written by Mike Portnoy, drummer for Dream Theater, which since I heard the song for the first time, deeply impressed me.

“I’m much wiser now
A lifetime of memories
Run through my head

They taught me how
For better or worse
Alive or dead

I realize, there’s no turning back
Life goes on, the off beaten track”

(A Change Of Seasons, Dream Theater)

Bless you all.

2007-01-28T14:57:00.000-08:00

Colonia, Montevideo and Punta del Este

Early, just before sunrise on January the 24th, I woke up, and loaded the car. I didn’t sleep too well that night, as we were home late after the birthday party of Gabriel, Fernanda’s brother, who was back in Buenos Aires. On our way from Pilar to the city’s center we saw a stunning sunrise, coloring the sky above Retiro red and orange.

We booked the ferry to Uruguay a few days earlier, and were expected at 8.30 in Puerto Madero. After the necessary formalities, I drove onto the ferry. This one, called “Buquebus” was definitely bigger than the one in Tierra del Fuego. The cars’ deck was loaded with pick up trucks and mobile homes. After the ship cast off, we sat on the sundeck, had some overpriced coffee, and watched Buenos Aires and Argentina disappear on the horizon. Crossing the enormous Rio del Plata takes about three hours, and at one in the afternoon I put for the first time in life foot on Uruguayan territory.

The small city of Colonia is picturesque, and full of day tourists from Buenos Aires. We decided to just leave Colonia be, and move on right away to Montevideo, 175 kilometers to the east, for lunch in the harbor. Large containerships were unloading their cargo, next to Cruise ships, unloading wealthy Americans and Europeans. Lucas wanted to eat shellfish, and so shellfish it was. He told the waiter, with these innocent looking eyes only children have, to go heavy on shrimp. The waiter was happy with our order, and promised to put some extra shrimps in the stew. We ate like kings, although I believe kings don’t shell their shrimps with their fingers….Afterwards we walked a bit around the city center with its antique market, but with the mercury rising unto 39 degrees Celsius, we fled Montevideo, and promised ourselves to come back one day.

Back on the autopista it took only an hour to drive to Punta del Este. It is the playground for rich and famous Argentines, Paraguayans and Brazilians. Just before entering the city, you pass by the International Airport. Gulfstreams and Learjets are proudly parked aside rusty Boeing 737’s from Pluna, Uruguay’s national airline. In and around the Barra Mansa area, with the famous Conrad Hotel and Casino, you see Mercedes convertible, Buddha bar and sixty year old women, trying to look twenty, surely spending more money on plastic surgery than on charity.

It is a mixture of Saint Tropez, Cancun and Miami. Apartments for rent, U$D 2.800 a week. Yes, a week! We checked into the Sheraton Resort and Spa hotel, and got ourselves a suite for three days, breakfast with smoked salmon and Moet & Chandon included. Fernanda got herself a massage with mud from the Macchu Pichu, while I tried different types of caviar with seaweed jelly and Prime Vodka on the roof terrace.

No, my friends, just kidding! Fernanda has an aunt, Martha, who lives here, and so we checked into her house, and slept in the maids’ room in the back of the lush garden, while large mosquitoes had their field day and sucked at least a liter of blood from my veins.

Next day we got to know Punta del Este e bit more, had the National Sandwich on the beach. It’s called “Chivito”; Spanish for goat, and has no goat meat on it at all. It’s a bun, slightly roasted, with beef, bacon, egg, tomato, lettuce and onion. Then covered with French fries, and there you go….Later we took the car to Land Rover, for another change of oil and filter, as we proudly passed the 15.000 kilometer recently. For dinner we celebrated Marta’s birthday in an excellent restaurant, where I ordered once more crispy sweetbreads.

Tomorrow, Monday January the 29th, we will leave Punta del Este, and drive north until Chuy, where we will cross the border with Brazil. From there, we will visit Bombinhas; beaches with white sand, a blue sea and juicy shrimps. But that, you will hear later on.

Bye for now

2007-01-21T16:42:00.000-08:00

Midnight at the oasis

At precisely 7 AM we drove out of Puerto Deseado, on our way to Puerto Madryn, 915 kilometers up north. We had reserved a room in a hostel in Trelew the night before, as we thought that Puerto Madryn would be fully booked. (We later found out that that indeed was the case). The trip was uneventful, apart from the long distance and lot of dust on our way.

We read earlier that Punto Tombo has the largest concentration of Penguins in South America, and that, we wanted to check out. We took Ruta 47, 130 kilometers over Dangerous Ripio, to get there. At the entrance of the reserve, we had to pay to get in. Argentines pay 6 pesos, and foreign tourists pay five times more; 30 pesos. So Fernanda got out of the car, paid 12 pesos, while I stayed inside, windows closed, so nobody could see this Dutch boy, innocent looking, hehehe.

After parking the car we walked for about a mile, and there they were; the penguins. Cute little birds, sunbathing or walking around, oblivious for what was happening around them. If you ever watched penguins you know what I’m talking about. They seem to keep to themselves, but don’t get to close please. They pick, and protest and do everything to scare you away. I saw how mother and father penguins feed their babies. Pretty disgusting actually. They feed themselves in the sea, and back on land, they throw the food up, the young penguins picking this out of their parents beak. Bon appetite!

We shot a few films, looked at two volunteers who were registering the penguins weight, nests and all other things, and then left for Trelew.

Next day we visited Peninsula Valdez with its huge colony of seals and sea lions. These fat buddies were lying in the sun at the sea shore, basically just making an incredible noise, and smelling terrible. I got some great pictures of male species fighting. But those are on slides, I scan them back in Rio de Janeiro, if we’re even get back there. We are not in a hurry, especially after we read what’s going on in Rio, this week. We had dinner in Puerto Madryn in a sympatic little restaurant, when tiredness finally hit in hard. I asked the waiter to prepare me a strong espresso, and he laughed at me conspiringly. His espresso woke me up, oh yes! I’ve never felt so much caffeine running through my veins.

January 16th, 2007

After checking out of our hostel, we took the road, knowing it was going to be a long day, as we wanted to get to Bahia Blanca, 700 kilometers away. The trip was long, hot and windy, as we entered the Pampa state. It is flat, flat and flat. Amazing how grass has the courage to grow here. Some skinny cows were looking sadly for some food. Trucks were doing 110 km an hour, literally 50 cm distance from my back bumper. Looked like I was back in Rio again. The sun was doing 38 degrees Celsius, and the Ruta 3 and Ruta 251 were just straight. No curves. And that is suffering, my friends. You loose all sense of distance and time. Every two hours we stopped, drunk some water, stretched the legs and ate some fruit. (Cherries for 2 pesos a kilo; that’s less than a dollar a kilo) Somewhere halfway we stopped for diesel. A gas station, a little shop selling cigarettes, porn magazines and coca cola, and nothing more. Ooops, I forgot. Next door was a whiskey bar/nightclub for truckdrivers. That must look nice at the inside….

As we didn’t book a hotel in Bahia Blanca, we decided to try our luck somewhere outside the city, where we would have more chance to find somewhere to sleep. We stopped again for diesel at Medanos, and saw a parador. Fernanda inquired, and found a room there for 80 pesos, breakfast included. So imagine this parador, in the middle of a flat landscape, some trees, a building, some bricks thrown together for the “Asado”, and nothing more. But the host was so friendly, received us, and cooked us dinner.

Its midnight now, as I am writing this. Outside, a nice wind blowing to cool things down. Mr Johnnie Walker Pure Malt to accompany me once more, a Cohiba Siglio IV at my side; my favorite cigar. And just now, a nice song comes up to me, fitting nicely to this scene; “Midnight at the Oasis”. I got it on my Ipod, played by Bob James. From his CD Heartfelt. Nice.

Tomorrow we have another long day ahead. Right on to Buenos Aires. Fernanda is missing Lucas, her son, a lot, so we skip a few places we wanted to visit. We will stay in Buenos Aires four days, get ourselves together, doing laundry, washing the car, sending 24 films of slides to my favorite laboratory in Rio (Krono Kroma; Mr. Milan rocks!!!).

Talk to you soon, my friends.

Jeroen and Fernanda

Of Dynamos, Polias, Rolamientos and a lot of stress.

So next morning we continued on Ruta 251. 127 kilometers on our way we heard some strange noise from the car’s motor, and when we stopped discovered the “polia’ of our dynamo got into trouble and out of order. Was it really that here, in the little town of Colonel Pringles our adventure would end?

As there were no spare parts, dynamos and Ted the Mecanics (that’s deep purple again) at the gas station, a very nice young man offered to tow us to the nearest mechanic, some 10 kilometers away. When we got there, the mechanic in question said that he was busy until march, and that dynamos for Land Rovers had to come from Britain. And he was about to close his shop for his siesta. And nobody disturbs siesta. “Why don’t you try at Pancho” he said. Once explained how to get to Pancho, we drove without dynamo – and so without water pump, hydraulics and so on - to Pancho, who, just as his colleague, was about to close his shop and leave for siesta.

We heard the same sad news about dynamos being ordered in Great Britain, but he promised to give it a try, waive away his constitutional right for siesta, while we went for lunch in the town’s only restaurant. When we came back, things looked fine, and off we went. Only to encounter the same problem after 37 kilometers. This time, some nasty belt was strung up into the motor. Lonely on a provincial road, nobody around. Finally, after half an hour, a car was approaching, and offered to tow us to Laprida, (Argentines Capital of garlic) where he knew Christian, a mechanic. Christian looked at the dynamo, and said he could fix the problem, but not today. And so we left, booked a room in the town’s only hotel, and spend the rest of the evening having dinner, and watching the life of Elvis Presley unfold in some movie on cable TV.

Next morning we walked to Christian’s office, nervous about receiving bad news, but we found him sweating, with a broad smile on his face. He explained that he practically made a new dynamo, which would last surely to Buenos Aires, most likely to Rio de Janeiro. So again, we drove off, hoping we would this time make it to Buenos Aires, still 434 kilometers away.

And we made it. At 6 PM we got to the house of Claudia, one of Fernanda’s friends, who lives in a nice suburb, surrounded by tennis courts and polo fields and armed guards with dogs and shotguns. What a contrast with what we’ve seen weeks before. After constantly consulting the fantastic Mr. Jairo from Land Brasil in Rio de Janeiro over the past two days, we decided to change the car’s dynamo, and so we did today at Land Rover in Buenos Aires. That, unfortunately, put a serious dent in our budget, but it is inevitable, okay? Last night I cooked dinner for the family. Some white fish with olive oil, tomatoes, shrimps, mussels and basil in the oven, a salad of arugula, oyster mushrooms, green apple and thyme oil with just a hint of limejuice, to balance things out, and young Peruvian potatoes from the Andes, simply boiled, and tossed up with some butter and freshly chopped parsley. Today I am cleaning out the car, washing it on the outside. And in a couple of days we’re leaving. So again, we’re all set for the final leg of our trip; Uruguay, and the south of Brazil.

Talk to you soon.

Jeroen and Fernanda

2007-01-15T04:20:00.000-08:00

Paradise by the dashboard light

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

2007-01-11T05:04:00.000-08:00

Rock you like a hurricane

Before we left El Calafate behind us, we walked around a lake at the edge of the city, where, as was declared in the folder, were a lot of birds to be watched. I shot one film of slides, trying to get one of those animals in the middle of the frame, on the right time, correctly exposed, in focus, without moving the camera and a 400 mm lens, total weight more than a kilo.

At precisely midday we drove off to our next destination; Rio Gallegos. This meant that we would leave the Andes Mountains behind us for good, as we were now crossing the continent eastwards. Rio Gallegos is flat, dirty and ugly. But we were only supposed to sleep there, so we didn’t make a point of it. Finding a restaurant was another challenge, but finally we found a table at a place in the main street. The restaurant was almost empty at that time, about 9 PM. It looked like the seventies to me; pink colored tablecloths, a bunch of waiters in white jackets, the bowtie almost cutting the oxygen from their bodies. With much flair, while a white napkin rests on their left arm, they present you the menu in a fake leather cover with plasticized (?) pages with too many options of sauces and garnishes. Surely Escoffier is looking down from heaven, disapproving.

Little by little, other guests walked in, shaking hands with the waiters, with people already eating and barmen. At a small table in the corner of the restaurant, and old geezer was watching it all. A glass of whisky in front of him, loads of papers and a calculator on the table, and constantly telling the waiters what to do, what not to do, go to table sixteen, “hey, table seven is without wine”, and “let me see the order of table twenty one”. The Boss. Our food came, and was actually pretty tasty.

Next morning, December 9^th, 2007, we drove off early in the direction of Ushuaia, as it was 586 kilometers to the South. From Rio Gallegos it was 91 kilometers to the Argentinean – Chilean border. The first stop was to get us and the car out of Argentine, a matter of some papers and a 20 minute delay. Than we drove on the Chilean customs. Inside the building we found a complete mess. Like hundreds of people trying to get into Chile, just to get out within two hours, all on their way to Ushuaia. Only one officer was attending, so we spent two and a half hours in line, before we got the permission to enter the Republic of Chile. We were warned that it was extremely forbidden to bring in any items like meat, eggs, vegetables, soil or other products that could cause foot and mouth disease. Not even semen was allowed inside the country. “Yes officer, I am carrying semen, but only for personal use”. Imagine.

I postponed Fernanda to throw out the goats’ cheese and salami we brought all the way from Bariloche, but she refused. “Hide it under the cars’ seat”, and put it in the toolbox”, she whispered. I didn’t like the idea spending a night in a Chilean prison cell, and paying a thousand US dollars fine, but as we, - men - , all know: we can’t resist a woman pleading. So the salami and goats’ cheese went under the passenger’s seat. Than we left the customs building. We were stopped at the gate for inspection, and in my opinion, the whole car smelled like salami. The officer looked a bit around, asked if we were carrying food items, and Fernanda showed a pack of cream crackers. “No officer, we know you can’t take food items. We already passed though customs once on our way to Puerto Montt”. Putting on her angel face.

So at midday we finally got into Chile, and drove onto the ferry, which would take us over the Estrecho de Magellanes onto Tierra del Fuego, the final frontier. While waiting nicely in line for the ferry, another Land Rover pulled up, and as Land Rover owners tend to do, they meet, talk and in general are jealous – or not – of the other one’s car. These guys were Argentinean, taking some tourists to Ushuaia, and asked us which road we were planning to take. Because they knew a shortcut, and if we wanted, we could drive together.

And what a shortcut it was. Again over ripio, this time mixed with dirty water, mud, dead goats and other debris. But as the Land Rover propaganda proudly states: “Take your Land Rover to places where no other car can go…..”, we went were noone else went. It took us about two hours to get to San Sebastian, and into Argentina again.

Formalities were kept to a minimum, and off we went to Ushuaia, while Scorpions masterpiece “Rock you like a hurricane” was thundering through the cars’ stereo. Even better; it was the version with the Berliner Philharmoniker. Couldn’t get better.

From Rio Gallegos we had made a reservation in a hotel, because we expected Ushuaia to be full, it is high season. So when we got into the most southern city of the world, there was no need to drive around in search for a bed. We got to know the small city center a bit better, and went for dinner at 9.30 PM. A small restaurant whose specialty was seafood in general, and spider crab in particular. Two waiters were handling seventeen tables, running around like madmen, smiling at the customers and yelling at the fat chef who was working with two assistants in an open kitchen in the back of the restaurant. What a mess! Shelves with plates, glass jars with seasonings, steam everywhere, dirty uniforms, aluminum pots and pans, wooden ladles. I’ve lived that that nightmare before!

The spider crab and octopus stew was really delicious, and after dinner we went right away to the sack.

December 10^th, 2007

Time to get to know Ushuaia a bit better. After breakfast we went for a little ride to a National Park of Tierra del Fuego. There were nice tracks to walk on, we got to know a railroad built by prisoners, and got our passport stamped on the most southern place of the continent. Then it was back to the city center, to board a boat, which would sail around the Beagle Channel. Belen, our guide was a charming young girl, who knew more about sea lions and penguins and birds and marine life in Tierra del Fuego than any book. We saw, just like my parents eleven month before, the lighthouse, the sea lions, the rock cormorants, the seals. We walked around Bridges Island with its strange vegetation. Belen told us about the first Indians, the Yámanas, who lived here. But naked they survived by fishing, and eating sea lions. Chilled to the bone we got back on the boat and eventually back into Ushuaia again. As we didn’t had lunch that afternoon, we went for an early dinner, and devoured a goat and half a sheep, washed it down with a Norton D.O.C Malbec 2004 for the ridiculous price of 36 pesos, (12 U$D).

December 11^th, 2007

Today we will visit Estancia Haberton. I’ll post that later. For now, it’s breakfast, and a internet café. All the best to you, my friends.

2007-01-07T17:43:00.000-08:00

Dust in the wind

January 6th, 2007

So we had a very special dinner last night. Pety, our host had prepared the main dining room so all the guests could sit together, like a real family. A white linen tablecloth, beautiful porcelain plates, crystal wineglasses and silverware. On the walls were pictures of long forgotten times at the farm and at the ceiling a broken crystal chandler.

For starters, Pety’s cook prepared a terrine of sheep; the farm owns 4000 sheep, and a spinach tart. As we sat down, we got to know the other guests in the estancia, like Dorothy and Guy from Pittsburgh, who travel 4 months a year. Or the Swiss couple who kept conversation to a minimum, and the two older German ladies. They were some of a kind. Bought a Volkswagen Van in Hamburg, transformed it in a camper, and shipped it to Buenos Aires. From there they already traveled to Ushuaia, headed north again until estancia Telken. And their trip will lead them eventually to Fairbanks, Alaska.

The main course was a sheep’s stew with rice and swiss chard. Some red wine was served by one of the sheep shearers, as conversation went on. For dessert there was a home made apple pie with a crispy crust, like a German streusel kuchen.

Next morning, breakfast was served in the kitchen, which was in my point of view, much more fun. Another long table, this time with a plastic table cloth. Big chunks of home made bread in a basket, home made marmalade in a crock pot, sheep’s’ cheese, coffee and butter as much as you wanted. Some old geezer with a year worth of beard was scrambling eggs in is blood stained pants. I learned he was the chief sheep shearer.

The American couple, - who I thought would be, just like any American, concerned about uncooked eggs, - dug into their scrambled eggs, wolfing them down like there was no tomorrow, without questioning if the eggs were pasteurized, or in any other way safe.

Then it was time to go, and before Pety allowed us to leave, we had to pose for a picture, as she makes pictures of every guests she receives. We turned south on Ruta 40, which has been since Mendoza our friend and foe. The sun was already hot, and while Sarah Brightnam was singing “Dust in the Wind”, we left kilometers and more kilometers behind us. At noon we stopped in Bajo Caracoles to get diesel. The gas station functioned as well as grocery store, restaurant and hotel. All in one, and easy for its population, which counted recently only 33 inhabitants. The landscape was monotonous, the Ruta 40 became smaller and smaller, and a fine dust settled onto anything in the car, even with our windows closed. At 4 PM we took a break close to Tres Rios, to have a coffee at restaurant Siberia. So far, we were the only customers, that day. The old lady offered us raviolis of Guanaco, Milanesas de Ñandu, but we passed this time. At the bathroom I washed the grey layer of dust of my hands and face. I looked a bit like Mel Gibson in “Mad Max”. Hahahaha

Finally, in the early evening, and 655 kilometers since Telken, we arrived in El Calafate, and found this little hostel, full of backpackers and drifters like us. Our room looked like a prison cell; very basic, but the bathroom was clean and we had a shower with hot water.

El Calafate looks pretty fashionable in its way, with nice stores, cool people, internet cafe´s and a lot of restaurants. Now, when we drove into the center, I already saw something I liked; “Toma Wine Bar”. That’s where we had dinner. A nice menu, good wines on the list, and toma accepts American express, what a relief!

We ordered a Doña Paula Malbec, and then came our starter. “Slightly caramelized sweetbreads”. This dish was probably prepared by the pastry chef. Too sweet that I didn’t tasted the breads anymore. For main course, I ordered ñandu, the smaller version of an Ostrich, but that animal was not available today, while I had seen hundreds of them along the way. What a pity. So I ended up ordering “ojo de bife”, the finest cut of prime rib. Juicy, pink on the inside, slightly blackened on the outside with just the right smell of woodfire. So tender I could almost suck the meat with a straw. Combined awesome with our wine, by the way. The service was very nice, and all in all we had a great evening.

January 7th, 2007

Breakfast this morning was like I was on death row. Instant coffee, fake juice and stale bread. I didn’t bother complaining. We took Ruta 11 to the “Parque de los Glaciares” to see the famous Glacier Perito Moreno. 55 meters high, a kilometer wide and 14 kilometers long. That’s a whole lot of ice, I guarantee. An impressive sight it was indeed, and when sometimes parts of ice broke loose, and fell into the lake, it sounded like canon shots. We took a boat ride afterwards to get even closer to the Glacier. A funny thought occurred to me, thinking I was treading in my parents’ footsteps, since they were here last year. In the afternoon we walked a bit around El Calafate, had some empanadas and a Quilmes beer (1 liter bottle). Then I did my performance as Ted the mechanic (that’s a deep purple song), and changed the air filter and diesel filter of my car. Filled up all kinds of fluids Jairo from LandBrasil gave me. (well, not exactly “gave”, since I paid for them, hahaha)

Now its dinner time, and soon I will post this, before we leave. Tomorrow it’s 320 kilometers to Rio Gallegos. If we’re making good time, we will drive on to Rio Grande. But that, you will read soon.

Lots of hugs for you all.

2007-01-06T16:40:00.000-08:00

Flower Power in 2007

January 2nd, 2007

El Bolson is about an hour and a half south from Bariloche. But Gabriel, Fernanda’s brother had previously been in Lago Puelo, close to El Bolson, and it’s there where we would stay two more days, before heading to Tierra del Fuego.
Now we’re here at this lodge, about 300 meters away from the Cordillera de los Andes, and not more than 20 kilometers from the Chilean border. If "In The Middle Of Nowhere" exists, Lago Puelo comes pretty close to it. I have to check out my GPS for the coordinates later, so if you want, you can find it on Google Earth.
To get to the lodge where we would stay, you have to drive over small roads and scary bridges and through shallow riverbeds. The lodge is made of stones and wood, surrounded by little streams full of trout, by pine trees and ducks and goose and horses and goats and rabbits. And a large wooden table that sits easily12 people, and it exactly there where I am writing this, while the sunset colors everything around me yellow and orange, at 9.30 PM. Next to me Mr. Johnnie Walker Pure Malt to keep me company.
Earlier today, after leaving Bariloche, we visited a "Smokery", or "Smacktory". That’s my word for a factory where they produce smoked salmon and trout. (If the English speaking among you can please post the right word for it….) The Weiss family smokes almost everything they can lay their hands on for already more than 50 years, and we saw the whole smoking process taking place. Afterwards we tasted smoked deer, smoked trout, smoked boar and smoked cheese. All very delicious. Now the interesting part is that they make seasonings too, like smoked salt, smoked curry, smoked balsamic vinegar and smoked chocolate. Imagine a smoked chocolate mousse, or a smoked chicken and cilantro curry……We bought a little bit of everything, and headed for Lago Peulo.
Later in the afternoon we visited El Bolson, and it’s true in every word they say; Hometown for Hippies. At the entrance of the city, the mayor declares proudly that El Bolson is a nuclear free community. We saw flower printed trousers, long skirts and weird haircuts. Leather sandals and paper bags in supermarkets. Bob Marley look-alikes and in general youngsters who like to kick against anything that smells even distantly like authority. If Woodstock in ’69 was like this, I’ve had my portion already. The only difference here is that they, instead of discussing Greenpeace and how to change the world, spend their lazy afternoons in internet café’s or on the latest models cellular phones.
We bought some things at the local supermarket, and later on, I cooked for the whole family a simple dish of Penne Rigatone with a creamy mushroom sauce.
January 3rd, 2007
We woke up on this beautiful day, and decided to visit the Puelo Lake and its surrounding national park. After some 30 minutes driving, we arrived at the lake, and found out that you can hire small boats with big outboard motors. And fat captains, but that, we discovered later. At the stall, the friendly lady told us the captain was late, as he uses to drink a lot and sleep little. So we waited for about fifteen minutes, when George arrived. I don’t know what scared me more; his 200 pounds or bloodshed eyes. At least he didn’t smell like alcohol, and quickly, we set sail, without paying; that could be resolved afterwards.
George appeared to be a local, and knew almost everything about the surroundings, wildlife and fish in the Puelo Lake. We got close to the Chilean border where the lake has e depth of 180 meters. The water was turquoise, really beautiful. When Gabriel asked George what he usually did in low season, our captain responded with thundering laughter: "Just what bears do in winter, eat and sleep", while patting on his belly.
Afterwards we walked through the "Bosque das sombras", the shadow woods, before we drove on. Gabriel promised me some dirt tracks, Camel Trophy worthy, and so it was. About 12 kilometers of almost impossible to drive through mud and stones. But the reward came after half an hour; Lake Epuyen. Green shores, birds flying, huge rock formations and pine trees. Close by, we saw a fisherman with his red Land Rover Defender. And as a lot of Land Rover defender owners do, they compliment each other, or have a quick chat, usually about the car. So we talked a bit, and this guy asked us if we had been in Malargue ten days ago. Because he had seen our car with our Brazilian registration number.
A little bit further on, somebody was camping, his small Ford fiesta parked beside his car. We couldn’t believe our eyes. His fiesta against our Land Rover on the "almost impossible road full of mud and stones", the irony!
For dinner, we put our trust into Juan’s hands, as he has the reputation of preparing the best trout in town. I had one with lemon-cream sauce, and Fernanda choice was a trout with walnuts and brown butter. Again, desert was a disaster, but Rosanna, Juan’s wife, was serving us with so much flair that I forgave her. After dinner, when all the other guests were gone, Juan and Rosanna sat down with us, and they opened another bottle of wine. Two black Labradors at my feet, both wanting all my attention. Between wet snouts and dogs feet I couldn’t do more than quickly sip my wine, before the dogs started to complain. We left at 2.30 in the morning.
January 4th
Again, a beautiful day, and Fernanda and I visited the local market with its local art and local produce. The art was okay, but what interested us most were the cherries. One kilo, that’s about 2 pounds for 5 pesos, U$D 2, or 1,70 Euros. Then we went looking for a tent and sleeping bags, be cause we both find that

* We wanna be more in touch with nature.
* Hostels are overpriced in Patagonia.
* We have to cut costs to keep the budget in control.

We weren’t that lucky in El Bolson; only summer tents were available, and we are trying to find a heavier version, as we are looking at sub zero temperatures within a week in Tierra del Fuego.
Well, then we had our last lunch with Gabriel and family. Juicy sausages, tender rib eye, roasted bell peppers and green salad, and then it was on our way to Esquel, but this time not by route 40. We decided earlier to visit the last National Park of Patagonia before heading south, Parque Nacional Los Alerces. 89 kilometers of Ripio, with a lot to do in between. We walked for hours, got lost, found our way back again, and I shot two films. Then at eight o’clock we found this camping. For 54 pesos we could stay in one of their tents, and that’s were I am writing this now. I got a light from one of the Land Rovers headlights, my laptop on a pick nick table, and again Mr Johnnie Walker beside me, to keep me warm.
Tomorrow I hope to find an internet café where I can post this. Than it is on our way to Ushuaia, with a two day stop at the Perito Moreno Glacier. I send big hugs to you all, especially my parents, who are somewhere in India now, to my sister and her lovely family.
Cheers
Jeroen and Fernanda

January 5th, 2007

So this whole idea of camping turned out to be a disaster. We had only one mattress, no sleeping bags, and overnight temperature fell down to about 7 degrees. Fernanda slept with 2 sweaters, socks and the whole lot, while I, who suffered all kinds of discomfort in the army in 1988, decided to sleep only in boxers and a t-shirt.
We woke up before sunset, about 6 AM, chilled to the bone, and decided to leave this evil place as soon as possible, because:

* We wanna be in touch with nature OUR way
* We don’t want anything like hypothermic situations during our vacations, and
* F*ck the budget

Just outside the camping we stopped the car for one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve seen recently. The Cordillera de los Andes colored red and yellow, some mist thrown in, and the moon still visible. Some rabbits seemed to enjoy it too, as they seemed oblivious to our presence.
But still, we had a long day ahead, and we took off, to rejoin the Ruta 40, who will lead us eventually unto Tierra del Fuego, but today only to Perito Moreno. During hours and hours over Ripio I was again amazed by the controversy of this country. Fourty million people, half of them concentrated in Buenos Aires. Endless pampas, as flat as Holland. Colors, too difficult for a painter to paint, or a photographer to reproduce. I saw today Ostrich, Armarillo and Guanaco, lonely sheep and wild horses. Sometimes, in curves, the car was almost skiing, as ripio can be as slippery as snow. Then I drove for more than 50 minutes a straight line, tiring the eyes, settling a fine dust on everything in the car, while Diana Krall sung that everything was "‘Swonderfull".
Finally we arrived in Perito Moreno, but there was no way we could find a place to sleep. At the tourist information we learned about an "Estancia". That’s something between a hostel and a farm, and so we went. If I wrote earlier about "in the middle of nowhere", I was dead wrong. It is Estancia Telken that in the middle of nowhere, or like the Argentinean say, "No culo del mundo". Translate that yourself!
As we stopped our car, Pety, the owner came out, saw our Dutch flag on the Land Rover, and welcomed us in Dutch. Talking about controversy! She had a grandfather who was Dutch, that’s why. Well, she showed us around the farm, told us the dogs bark, but rarely bite and that the house was ours. We were supposed to have dinner at 9 PM with all the other guests; Germans, Chileans and Americans. Don’t even think of being late. No credit credit cards accepted. Imagine. The generator is switched off at 11 PM, and if you want to make a phone call, be prepared to drive 25 kilometers. The room has soft beds and large pillows, just like Pestana’s and holiday Inns, and got Fernanda’s approval right away.
It’s a quarter to nine right now, full daylight. I hear the rattle of pots and pans, I smell a delicious roast, and so it’s time to "Save and Close", and "Windows is shutting down". A laptop doesn’t fit in this décor anyway….

Take care my friends.

2007-01-02T13:48:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year

We left Puerto Montt on December 27th, and decided to visit the Osorno vulcan anyway, clouds or no clouds. Through beautiful green fields with yellow and white flowers we drove on a nasty road full of stones, sharp enough the put an end to the tires of my car. More than 30 kilometers an hour was impossible. Then came the exit to the Vulcan. The track once again changed into nothing more than mud, so I blocked the cars differential, put it in reduced traction, and up we went. Mozart’s masterpiece “Requiem” was playing on the cars stereo, as we took the sharp curves on the dark, sometimes slippery mud. The higher we came, the colder it became, and finally, at the end of the track, we got out. It felt like 10 degrees Celsius, and probably it was like that. There was a nice bar with hot chocolate, and a fire burning, and it looked like if Fernanda never would leave from there.

As I checked out the ski lift (you can ski here in winter) a light snow fell from the grey skies. Looking up, I saw the snow topped vulcan, and below the green pastures of Osorno. Pretty weird, no? Then it was time to go, and it took another hour and a half on “Ripio” until the 215 motorway which would leave us eventually to the Chilean – Argentinean border. In a roadside “bodegon” - something like a café for truck drivers - we shared a huge juicy steak and fries, washed it down with a bottle of sparkling water for the ridiculous price of 6700 Chilean pesos, about 14 U$ Dollars.

At the Chilean border there was no bureaucracy at all which gave the impression they rather love to see you leave. Only an innocent looking Labrador sniffed around our Land Rover, in search for drugs, peaches or prunes……

Until Villa la Angostura it was only 45 minutes, and arriving there, we found this sympatic little lodge, Hosteria Roca de la Patagonia, where we checked in for three nights. And finally, after 17 days on the road, I got to eat Lamb. We had dinner in a modern looking restaurant, and ordered a little starter of smoked cold cuts, like venison, boar, salmon and trout. Afterwards came a nicely prepared leg of lamb with walnuts and mushrooms. For wine, a Santa Julia Malbec 2005, aged on oak, from our friends, the Zucchardi family in Mendoza. The “symphony of chocolate” for dessert was a disaster, and I would have fired the pastry chef right on the spot, but hey, I’m on vacation, and determined to relax…

We slept like babies, and woke up next day full of energy. And as we traveled already 6320 kilometers with two mountain bikes on the roof rack, we decided to give it a try in the National Park Los Arrayanes. The first two kilometers were a steep climb with rocks and broken off braches of centuries old trees, and so we did like a lot of other bikers do; we walked. Then, during a good two hours we enjoyed nature with its colors, smells, sounds and silence. Only a few time we met anxious youngsters on modern bikes, oblivious to all beauty, dressed in bright yellow, red and blue shirts and matching spandex shorts, tight enough to restrain blood circulation. On our way back we stopped at a small local restaurant, where one old lady was handling about 15 tables, and doing very well in it. (I thought of the waiters in my restaurant in Rio, where one lousy waiter hardly can handle 4 tables without complaining…).We had a small selection of Parrilla with kidneys, ribs, entrecote, bowels and sausages. Then, in the hostel, it was time for siesta, and we napped until 6PM. At night, we walked a bit around the city center, drunk a hot chocolate, and posted a message on the blog in an internet café.

Next day we took a boat trip over the Nahuel Haupi lake to the other end of the Los Arrayanes National Park, to visit the protected area, with thousands of arrayanes; centuries old trees with a beautiful cinnamon-like color. We saw al kinds of birds and flowers, which even under the slight rain, looked beautiful.

For dinner we shared half a goat, roasted above a wood fire. December the 30th we woke up, ready to move to San Carlos de Bariloche, where we would meet with Gabriel, Fernanda’s brother, his wife and three little children to celebrate New Years Eve. Only 78 kilometers away, it took little more than an hour to get to Bariloche. AC/DC’s “Back in Black” was thundering over the car’s stereo, when we drove into the sympatic neighborhood of Llao llao, to find “Le bouquet”, where we would sleep three nights. Our nice and simple hostel looks out over a small lake, beautiful flowers in the front of it, and in the back, just for good measures, some huge mountains thrown in. Looking out from our small bedroom window, it appears a painting. We are the only guests this weekend, the owner tells us. He is walking around with hammers, screwdrivers, wood, cables and more, to get everything in order for the season. Well, for me it is already season…

He complains that it’s hard to get good labor force here in Bariloche, if there is any at all. He lived in the U.S for more than 10 years, and after some family problems, he tells me, he got this 20 room hostel thrown into his lap. What a burden!

For dinner, Gabriel prepares what he already promised by e-mail weeks ago: Parrilla. I already get the drill; hours and hours waiting, gazing into the hot coals, my stomach revolting. I prepare four Caipiroskas with peach, a hint of lemon and Absolut Vodka. It takes only a minute to hit the spot our empty stomachs. But again, the reward of waiting is there, half a lamb, roasted to perfection, and a succulent prime rib, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. We opened two bottles of Norton Cabernet Sauvignon – Syrah, an interesting blend. This and many other superb wines you just buy in the supermarket for a few pesos.

December the 31st we visited the harbor, and afterwards walked a few hours through a forest until the kids got bored, started to cry and becoming incredible noisy. Then we asked them to find the rabbit with the red nose, the chicken with two heads and al the other characters from Grimm’s fairy tales, and things calmed down. After lunch we visited the center of Bariloche, but as I try to flee from everything cities stand for, I called it a day pretty soon.

In the afternoon we planned to take the children for a ride in one of those ski lifts with a little bench – I don’t know how you call that in English – to a mountain top, where there is a little teahouse. But arriving at the lift at 4.31 PM, some very rude guy said the lift was closed. Even with a little begging, and three pairs of sad children’s eyes there was no way to the top. Even Argentina has assholes, Fernanda told me.

Dinner was another dose of Parrilla, and at midnight we drunk some champagne. I lit my favorite cigar; Cohiba Siglio IV, thinking what 2007 will bring to us. For now, another 10.000 kilometers on the road, about 25 rolls of film and 6 more weeks of traveling. For all of you, who are following us on this incredible journey, Fernanda and me wish you all the very best for 2007.

El Bolson e Lago Puelo is our next stop. Take care……..

2006-12-28T15:40:00.000-08:00

Christmas

Imagine arriving December the 24th, at 5:30 PM at a gas station, and you want to change the oil of your car…..Only in San martin de los Andes, Argentina…From Junin de los Andes we drove 87 kilometers over dirt roads with scary curves and deep voids until the very sympatic San martin de los Andes. Heavily influenced by German architecture, it serves as a base for another ski paradise; Chapelco. But even in December, when it’s summer here, the temperature hardly rises above 18 degrees.

It is here where I finally changed the oil and filters of my car. Luckily, we are traveling with extra oil, filters, pumps, light bulbs, fuses and other parts, so there is never a problem in getting hold of spare parts. Afterwards, we walked around the small center and tried to find a restaurant for our Christmas dinner, something almost impossible. But restaurant Kaimen was serving a Christmas buffet, and we made a reservation with the owner, and old wrinkled German looking man, who probably escaped the Nuremburg process. He said he was serving home cooked food, and so Kaimen it would be. At midnight, he served Champaign, and all the waiters and cooks came to the dining room, wishing us a merry Christmas. Through a very chilly night, we walked back to our small hotel, where I, before hitting the sack, watched an excellent Christmas episode of the Simpsons.

December the 25th, we left San Martin de los Andes at 10.30 AM, and took the Ruta Nacional 234 on our way to the Republic of Chile. Three and a half hours through the National Park Lanin on a mud track that led us along yellow and blue flowers, red fire bush and blue lakes until the Argentine border control.

On our way, we saw whole families camping at lakesides, doing what Argentineans do best: Barbecue. With Capital “B”, because barbecue in Argentine is almost religion. A woman never touches Parrilla, (the Argentinean word for Barbecue), and every man has its own way to light the coals, how to roll the newspaper underneath the coals to lit the fire with only one match, how to season the meat and how to actually grill it. Surely there exists a special way to eat parrilla too, but that I don´t know yet....Hours and hours are spent here just discussing Parrilla. Anyway, after the formalities at the border we drove on, and again, at the Chilean border the regular formalities. We had to throw out our peaches and prunes, because these Chileans are dead scared of all kind of diseases a peach or prune can bring to their country and people. I was asked to open the back of the Land Rover, and when the customs officer saw the mess, he found it quite all right, and went back into his office, thinking of home, his wife and kids and Christmas dinner…

Then it was another two hours on Ruta 215, while the Oscar Peterson Trio was playing on the MP3, to the small village of Frutillar, overlooking the lake and the famous Vulcan of Osorno. There is a pretty modern building at the lake, looking a bit like a mixture between a lighthouse, the bow of a ship and a theater. Inside, to our surprise, was a nice bar. We enjoyed cappuccino in soft sofa’s, reading newspapers and magazines. Afterwards, we visited the art gallery. Later, for dinner I had a German fare; Kassler ribs with sauerkraut. A lot of restaurants here advertise German cuisine with Strudel and Kuchen.

After a good rest, we woke up next morning with heavy clouds and rain falling from them. The volcano, which I wanted to make some pictures of in the early morning light was completely hidden by fog, clouds and thunder, and so after a delicious home cooked breakfast with raspberry cake, French toast and – unfortunately, instant coffee – we headed to Puerto Montt, the largest city in the province.

The outskirts didn’t look too good; old, wooden barracks, stray dogs and dirt, but hey, when it rains, everything looks kind of sad. We decided to find someplace to sleep in the center, so there wouldn’t be the need to walk through rainy mud covered streets. The President Hotel at the harbor looked okay, but we always have the issue of the car; it’s pretty high with the roof rack and bicycles and headlights and stuff. The car didn’t get into the parking, and so we moved on, and very unlike tough travelers and drifters like us, we checked in a comfortable Holiday Inn. It was like an oasis, with even bigger beds and softer pillows than the Pestana in Curitiba.

Anchelmo is an old neighborhood with the fish market, and for us the only attraction in the center of the city, if you stay only for one day. A fish market is always nice to visit and photograph, so we got into a cab, and went there. Luckily, it was already time for lunch, and I was getting a nice appetite for oysters, mussels and clams. Even the sun came through, and gave an special light to the scene.

Little stands with smoked salmon, trout and conger eel, smoked mussels, hanging on a twine like a necklace, jars with escavèche, local cheeses, we saw it all. A lot of little restaurants where the National Health Service wouldn’t come close to, with women in white aprons inviting us in to taste the best merluza, the freshest oysters and simply the best food in Chile. We walked around a bit, and decided that Sonia, on number 20 looked the cleanest to us.

So there we sat down on wooden benches, at wooden tables. There was a menu, but nearly half of it wasn’t available, so we simply asked what was the best to eat here. Curanta, the girl said, and so Curanta it would be. It is a mix of mussels, clams, other unidentified shellfish, cooked in a pot with potatoes, smoked pork ribs and some weird looking pasta, made of bread and eggs. It comes with a cup of the broth, with a lot of cilantro.

It was, in one word, delicious. We ate it with some spicy tomato salsa, and drunk “Te frio”, the cheapest white wine in the house, served in teacups. Now this “cold tea” has some history, and here we go:

From the early days, when the fish market operated, the little stalls didn’t have a license to sell alcohol, so they served white wine in teacups. If you wished red wine, you ordered “Te caliente”, hot tea.

The late afternoon we walked a bit around the center, and went to bed pretty early, as next day we would go back to Argentina again.

2006-12-26T13:00:00.000-08:00

Into the wild…

Rio de Janeiro, December 12th

Dear friends,

I woke up at 4 AM, had a quick shower, and went down, with two months worth of luggage. I put the cars’ odometer on zero, and programmed the GPS on Curitiba, some 895 kilometers away. That’s about 12 hours driving, a few stops included. I inspected the car for the last time, and at exactly 6.25 AM we were ready to go. I said a little prayer to whoever was listening, and asked for a safe trip. The first hour we drove through the horrible neighborhoods and suburbs, where all the drug trafficking and robberies origin. Not a pretty sight. Sao Paulo, at midday wasn’t much better; the usual mess, and it took about two hours to cross. We had a small lunch just outside the capital with its 16 million inhabitants, and continued on the BR-116 highway, which lead all cars, trucks, buses and even horse carriages to Curitiba, still 6 ½ hours away.

We were received like kings in the Pestana Curitiba Hotel. A nice 5 star hotel with soft beds, warm showers and overpriced beer in the minibar. That night we had a memorable dinner, prepared by tatiane, a friend of mine, who works in the kitchen. I believe it took me about 30 seconds to fall asleep afterwards.

Completely rested, we left Curitiba at 8.30 AM. Next stop: Puerto Iguazu, in Argentine, again, about 12 hours away, 793 kilometers. The beautiful BR-277 highway lead us trough endless cornfields and pastures. Cows were chewing green grass, the skies were a kind of blue your rarely see. Amazing how landscape changes every hour or so. I realized I hadn’t touched my camera’s yet; but that would change soon. But then again, some views are so incredible beautiful that you basically want to keep them for yourself.

At precisely 6.15 PM we crossed the border. It’s a funny situation; you leave Brazil through customs, where I had to register all my camera’s and laptop, and you drive on through no-mans’ land for about a mile or so. You cross the Ponte de Amizedade, and see on your right side a huge shopping mall; the duty free shop. Just a quick stop to get us a digital camera, and on we drove, until the Argentinean border control. How a Dutch passport and a smile open doors, my friends. Without any hassle, we finally got into argentine, and into Puerto Iguazu, where our next Pousada was waiting.

December the 14th we visited the famous Iguazu waterfalls. It is a spectacle to take your breath away, really. Through an incredible humid rainforest were we saw butterflies, strange birds and even Guinea pigs, we arrived at the Garganta del Diablo, the Devils’ throat. The water falls down with so much violence, you can hardly hear each other. It’s so impressing that, as Bruce Dickinson put it so right: “words escaped me as I tried to speak”. It takes about fifteen seconds to become soaked from head to toe. Luckily, my cameras are rainwater proof, and so I shot one film of slides.

That night we ate assado at a barbecue restaurant. Argentinean barbecue, with intestines, kidneys, sweetbreads, ribs and anything else a butchers’ knife can cut out of a cow. Bottles of Quilmes beer cooled us down, as it was still in the lower forties.

Early next morning we drove on, until 8 at night, it were 986 kilometers. Advantage is that those long hours are spent with endless conversations about almost everything; something I had never the time for when I was working those long hours, back in Rio de Janeiro. Somewhere in the afternoon, at a police control, we got our first, and hopefully last fine. The bored police officer said that is prohibited to drive any car with elements passing the car’s bumpers. In our case the winch with steel cable on the front, and the spare tire on the back. He showed us the Argentinean traffic code, an old booklet, edited in 1977. Fernanda tried to explain that that counts for cars with an Argentinean license number, and not for foreign cars, which is true, but the thief in police clothing (!) came with some vague argument about Geneva Conventions, and cars being towed away. So we paid the 98 pesos, and we continued our long trip.

What surprised me was the comradeship and feeling of solidarity between truck drivers and us. As we were stopped by the wolf in sheep’s clothing (read: police officer), immediately a Brazilian and a Chilean truck driver, who were passing by, stopped, and asked if they could be of any help. And in general, when we took over a truck, we were complimented by them, sounding their horns, or waving friendly.

Finally, we then arrived in Federal, some small village, were we slept at the Copacabana hotel, for 50 pesos a night; 17 U$ dollars. The owner of the hotel told us with a broad smile upon his face, when he saw our Land Rover, that his horse was a four by four too. “Only no wheels, just four feet”.

Our next stop was Unquillo, about 30 kilometers into the hills, north of Cordoba, 450 kilometers away from Federal. It’s extremely difficult to find on any map, but apparently, Nalbadian, the famous Argentinean tennis player was born and raised here. Through green fields with horses and cows we drove. Somewhere along the road a cow was lying, all his four legs up in the air. I thought it was hit by a car, but later heard that it often happens in hot summers. Cows eat a lot of grass, and then drink dirty water. The whole lot starts to ferment in its belly, and the poor animal literally explodes from the inside because of the gases.

Here in Unquillo we left Lucas, Fernanda’s son with his father in a small brick and stone house. Like real Argentineans do on Sundays, we lunched on Pasta. Washed it down with two bottles of Trapiche Malbec, 8 pesos a bottle, that is 2,70 U$ dolars. We stayed overnight, and in the morning I took an awesome cold shower with water from the mountains. Looks like Argentineans still practice torture, hahaha.

Today we move on to Mendoza. Hopefully there is internet over there. All the best to you my friends, God Speed we go……………

Mendoza

Arrived in Mendoza in the early afternoon. Like a postcard, we saw the vine yards with the snow topped Cordillera de los Andes on the background, highlighted by the bluest sky I’ve ever seen. Just a few kilometers before the city, there was a sign, indicating the Zucchardi family wine estate, open for visitors. So we took a sharp right turn, and drove through the wine yards for about 5 kilometers until the beautiful building which houses the bodegas, reception and of course a shop. The very friendly Paulo Zucchardi, grandson of the first generation Zucchardi’s showed us around the estate. After 45 minutes of explanations finally began what we came for; the wine tasting.

We tasted fruity Chardonnay, fresh Viognier, and a rich, oak aged Bonarda. Paulo told us they were serving an excellent lunch at the estate restaurant, and so we decided to take a bite, since breakfast had been merely some coffee and toast. The restaurant was situated in the middle of the vineyards, in and stone and glass building, overlooking the Maipu valley. Outside, and old geezer was grilling large chunks of meat, ribs, kidneys and sausages over hot coals. Inside, efficient and extremely friendly staff. One set menu, with combining wines. Fresh baked bread, creamy butter on the table, and some empanadas; meat, onion or cheese filled little pastries, baked in a stone oven. Then came lettuce, ruby red tomatoes and roasted sweet potato with a cool Pinot Noir. And if that wasn’t enough, sausages, flank steak and juicy prime ribs with dark red Malbec. It’s been a long while since I ate such juicy and tasty meat. And so tender, I could have eaten it with a spoon. I was able to embrace the first cow in my way and kiss her all over. For dessert we had a coconut cake with a sublime Tardio, Argentine’s version of late harvest wines. We had our coffee in the library, where I enjoyed my first Cuban cigar of this trip.

Back on the road until Lujan de Cujo, where we found an excellent pousada. Situated in a large garden, the house with thick brick stones, a wooden roof and all the comforts a drifter like me can wish, had only two apartments. The huge kitchen is filled with food if you want to cook (Just the thought of it….), cold drinks to cool down, and whiskey and grappa to warm up again, all included in the price. The son of the owner is always on the background if you need any help. He looks a lot like the actor Ralph Fiennes, by the way.

We ate a very small dinner of empanadas and Quilmes beer, and after walking 15 minutes trough a light rain we went into the sack, and slept like babies.

Next day, we visited the Luigi Bosca bodegas, and basically it’s the same drill; they show you around the bodega, tell that the wineyard is one of the oldest family run wine estates in the valley, and then let you sip their cheapest variety of wines. But then again, they are all extremely friendly. In the afternoon we drove to Tupungato, where we visited the Salentein wineyards. Salentein is a relatively young wine estate, owned by a Dutch millionaire, who happens to like wine, art and Argentine. And airplanes, as he flies in from Buenos Aires or Amsterdam every now and then. The main building, who houses an art gallery, the wine shop and a cinema, is neatly organized. The guide, who took us on the English tour, as a few Brits where stranded here as well, tried to explain us in English how wine was produced. She might as well have spoken Japanese, the poor thing…

Well, the building in which the wine is produced is shaped like a cross, with each wing directing to the north, east, south and west. Inside, stainless steel tanks, forklift trucks without drivers, armed guards and cameras. Just like someone told us the day before; Salentein looks like a labatory. For me, it looked just like one of those innocent looking factories from any James Bond movie, where they, instead of wine, produce nerve gas or some designer drug. But then again, all were extremely friendly, and we even had a chat with Ariel, the Public Relation manager, about some culinary events in the near future. We tasted Chardonnay, which to me had little character, and a Pinot Noir, again, not that impressing. Well, you can’t have your cake and eat it too, isn’t it?

Next day we visit South Americas most famous and best vineyards; Catena Zapata. Although there were no visits planned, we were showed around the modern building, shaped like a pyramid. The girl, who could do very well on any catwalk in Paris or Milan, whispered to us that we had to be quiet and quick, as Doutor Catena was around, and actually, we were not allowed to be here. We were actually not even allowed to be in the neighborhood, because of the reformations. Visiting Catena Zapata without an appointment; just the thought of it!

After tasting two of Catenas inferior, but still very nice wines; Alamos Chardonnay, rich in fruity tones like pineapple and mango, and the Bonarda, where we discovered tones like cherry, dried prunes and a hint of pepper, we left to our next destination: Malargue, 335 kilometer to the south. According to our map, about 150 kilometers on Ripio, dirt roads where only four wheel drive cars with courageous drivers who have a lot of bollocks can go. So I filled up the car with diesel, and headed south………

Heading South

Half past four we left the gas station where I filled up the Land Rover with diesel, and after about a kilometer, the asphalt changed into Ripio, a combination of dried mud, gravel and small or sometimes big stones. And that was just the Auto ruta 40, the highway. Five minutes later, the road turned too much eastward for my liking, and, just as planned, we turned right, onto the Ruta Provincial 110. The sun was still very hot, but a nice cool, almost chilling wind was blowing over the flat landscape. The first half hour were kind of easy, with nothing more than sand and gravel, but then, little by little, the road became narrower and the stones bigger. We checked the GPS; it showed us we were heading south, at a height of 1900 meters above sea level. It took us 2 and a half hours to cross this desert. We drove through canyons were the road was no more than 3 meters wide, with on one side a stony hill, and on the other side a deep void. To take your breath away in two senses; the beauty of the landscape and horror of realizing that if something happens, there is no one around to help you. In these two and a half hours, we crossed only one car, and a dozen of wild horses. We refreshed ourselves in a cool stream, and at 6:12 exactly, we left the track at the small village of Sosneado. Then it were only 49 kilometers until Malargue, where we found a nice Cabana, a small cabin, with soft pillows and an extremely nice bed.

Malargue has not too much to offer, although it’s pretty close to Las Lenas, where the rich and famous Argentineans, Chileans and Colombians spend their winter vacations snowboarding, causing an incredible erosion on beautiful mountains they don’t have at home. It has an observatory for Galactic rays, and some evil tongues whisper there had been UFO sightings not too long ago.

We visited a deserted hotel with its thermal baths. Only 78 kilometers on mud and gravel tracks, and when we arrived, a strong sulfur smell welcomed us. The water came out of the ground, and was led into a huge artificial swimming pool, where in the early days the sick and weak found their strength.

Next day we took the road again to our next destination, Junin de los Andes, close to the Nahuel Huapi national park. It took us 11 hours to cover the 798 kilometers through the famous Pampas, where it sometimes took two hours in which we saw no one else. Just twice, on the middle of the road a heard of goats, who just wouldn’t move. Only when a Gaucho, complete with poncho, broad rimmed hat and large boots appeared, they would move, under protest though, to the roadside.

As the sun lowered, the spectacular landscape showed us colors of green and yellow, difficult to describe, and when we finally arrived at 8:12 PM, it was still light like a late summer afternoon. Only when we left the car to find a hostel, we realized we arrived in Patagonia; a wind that chilled us to the bone welcomed us, and quickly, I found a thick sweater in my luggage.

Dinner was in a restaurant on the city square. As they advertised trout as their specialty, we took the challenge, and what a trout it was. Soft, tasty, grilled to perfection, with just some black butter and a hint of lemon. A bottle of Norton oak aged Sauvignon Blanc 2005 to accompany. Through the cold and dark night we found our way back home to the hostel, and after a glass of Johnnie Walker Pure Malt and a Cohiba Siglio II on the varanda, we went to bed under thick and warm covers.

Tomorrow, I change the oil in the car, as we already drove 5800 kilometers, and then we move on to San martin de los Andes, about 60 Km from here, were we will spend Christmas eve. If I can find internet there, with the right configuration, I’ll finally post my messages. And from here, on the southern hemisphere, Fernanda and I wish you all a merry Christmas. We are doing extremely fine, the two of us…..

2006-12-09T03:05:00.000-08:00

The clock is ticking

Dear friends,

After a stressful week fighting Brazilian bureaucracy, we are all set now. A final check-up on the car was concluded. I will travel with spare parts, extra oil, fuses and things, all kindly explained by the wonderful people at Land Brazil (Jairo rocks!!!), and today I am packing my luggage. I checked all my photography equipment, (two Canon Eos-1V bodies, lenses are: 20-35, 24-70, 70-200 mm, all f/2.8, a 50mm f/2.5, a TS-90 f/2.8, a 200mm f/2.8, a tele converter, polarizers and filters and a lot more, like tripods and flashes.) and stored it in two watertight Pelican cases. Picked up 20 packs of Fuji Provia 100 slides, and another 20 packs of Fuji Reala film. Then I spent almost three hours importing coordinates, routes and waypoints into my GPS.

I am planning to get myself at the Duty Free Shop at the Brazilian-Argentinean border a small digital camera, like a Sony Cybershot or so, just to be able to make pictures for the weblog. Tuesday morning the adventure begins, and I hope you all think of us, and maybe say a little prayer sometime.

I thank you all for your kind words I received in my email, and send all my best regards to all of you. As Chris Mc Candless in John Krakauer´s book “Into The Wild” stated:

“I now walk into the wild”

2006-11-18T10:57:00.000-08:00

"Without change, something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken".

Frank Herbert

My dearest friends,

I live in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. After Mexico City, it is the most violent city in South America. Robbings, kidnappings, murder and corruption are the daily specials here. Twice I had a gun pointed at me, and escaped death by handing over about 20 reais; the equivalent of 8 US dollars. After living this nightmare for almost nine years, anybody starts to have his serious doubts.

And that´s just for starters.

Tired of 14 hour shifts at work, tired of working weekends, holidays, evenings and even nights, I decided a couple of months ago to take a break from my nerve wrecking job; Executive Chef de Cuisine in one of Rio de Janeiro´s buisiest restaurants. Time for a change.

I discovered within myself the need to do something completely different, but exactly what, I couldn´t find out. Something in photography maybe? Then, one night in the restaurant, I met a nice couple; she is a painter, and he is an author, named Geoffrey Carpenter, who - to cut the story short -just advised me to travel. And so I decided to travel. I read Geoffrey´s book, called "Pilgrim of the Sublime", wich became an inspiration for my travel plans, and even the titel of my blog.

As I am dating the most spectacular, beatiful and lovely woman on the face of earth, who is Argentinean, the destination was obvious; Patagonia, in the south of Argentine. And slowly, little by little, things fell in place. Why don´t we drive all the way to Ushuaia, through the lush lowlands of the Missiones and Entre Rios states, then indulge ourselves in Worlds´ best Malbec - wines, lamb and parilla in Mendoza. And why don´t we just cross the Andes, and sample Chilean salmon and oysters in Puerto Montt, Chile? Back into Argentine over more than a thousand miles on dirt roads through the state of Chubut and Rio Negro, and finally encounter the bizarre vegetation in Tierra del Fuego. Why not?

Why don´t we, on our way back north, take the Autopista 3, wich passes along beautiful shores, where we can see whales and orca´s? And sit down on Peninsula Valdez, amoung more than 50.000 pinguins, if we´re lucky? We can hang out a few days in Buenos Aires with its European feel, we can visit Montevideo, in Uruguay, and the white beaches of the Santa Catarina state, in the South-eastern part of Brazil. And when we´re finally back in Rio de Janeiro, somewhere in February 2007, we can look back at 16.000 KM of pure beauty.

So an awesome adventure took shape, and me and Fernanda realized that we needed a thorough preparation. First things first; I got myself new toy; a Land Rover Defender 110 Turbo Diesel. Equipped with a Garmin GPS, Satfone, Rescue equipment, an Mp3 player, and the full collection of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Deep Purple and Dream Theater. It looked like we´re all set.

Fernanda flew to Buenos Aires, to renew her drivers´ licence, and brought back a lot of information, road maps and so on. Slowly, our route was determined, and with the use of our maps, I downloaded the coordinates into my GPS.

A very fine young man by the name of Jairo de Arroxellas Costa, of Land Brasil in Rio de Janeiro took care of the preparation of my Land Rover. He equipped it with All Terrain tyres, a winch, extra fuel gallons, and all the other gadgets. We talked for hours about what to do in all possible situations, and a week ago, as the "icing on the cake" I took an "Off Road" course, to know the car´s possibilities, like "How-deep-a-Land Rover-can-be-submerged-in-water-before-your-feet-get-wet".

Then I talked to some people at Fuji Film, and they were happy to donate as many film as I need for my expedition. (Apparently, Fuji is getting a bit nervous, with all those great digital cameras on the market.......) YPF in Argentina is willing to give us some discount on diesel fuel. The date is set on December 12th. We´ll hit the road at 5 AM, and hopefully arrive in Curitiba, in the south of Brazil at 5 PM, 850 KM away from Rio de Janeiro. Next day it´s on to Foz de Iguaçu, and the Brazilian - Argentinean border.

Anyway, the coming weeks we will spend preparing our documents, getting international insurance for the car, and health insurance for ourselves. But for the rest; We´re all set. The clock is ticking.......