Sunday, February 04, 2007
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.
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.
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. 
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Colonia, Montevideo and Punta del EsteEarly, 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 Sunday, January 21, 2007
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
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
Monday, January 15, 2007
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
Thursday, January 11, 2007
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
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,
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
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
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
The spider crab and octopus stew was really delicious, and after dinner we went right away to the sack.
Time to get to know Ushuaia a bit better. After breakfast we went for a little ride to a
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.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
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.
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.
