From Washboards to Wonder: Our First Steps into Argentina
Where were we? Ah yes, I promised to tell you more about this brave new world, didn’t I? Or at least about the dreamy, washboardy, and unexpectedly pricey details. Argentina, here we go!
Barely a few kilometers from the last border checkpoint, we parked our motorbikes to soak in the view. To our left, a glacial blue lake rippled and shimmered, framed by the last snowy Chilean mountain tops glistening in the distance. It felt like a farewell to a lover, this type of landscape would soon be behind us, but we couldn’t tear our gaze away.
Once back on the motorbikes, however, our focus quickly shifted to the road. Endless washboard gravel combined with rocks and sandy patches demanded our full attention. As if that wasn’t enough, the wind decided to add a spirited challenge, determined to blow us off track. Heck, that’s what I call an adventure! Kilometer by kilometer, we battled along, standing on the pegs, our bodies twisted and blown into positions that would make a ballerina proud.
This time, the air wasn’t filled with an unspoken promise of adventure but rather with Jonas inventing increasingly creative ways to express his washboard frustrations. We wanted to keep up the pace, but there’s only so much punishment a person’s buttocks and neck can endure.
Lost in concentration, we nearly missed the view of Lago Ghio in our mirrors. Hell, how can water be so blue without being poisonous?!
Time ticked on, and so we ticked along. Tic-tac, stones grinding beneath our wheels. Nick-nack, rocks pinging off our bash plate. Click-clack, the symphony of our necks as they twisted and turned along the wobbling road.
Even out here, seemingly lost on an endless stretch of gravel, distractions were abundant. We should have been focused on sticking to our rut, avoiding deep gravel, and staying upright in the wind. But the wandering rheas (~South American ostriches), guanacos darting across the road, and a curious little grey fox watching us from afar made it nearly impossible to stay on task.
With a mere 40 kilometers to go to the one and only fuel stop in the region, Bajo Caracoles, a sign caught our attention: a camping spot down in the valley. While we usually prefer reaching our actual destination at the end of a riding day, the uncertainty of Bajo Caracoles offering any camping options left us willing to take a chance. Slowly, we gravitated our way into the valley, and lo and behold, there really was something there.
As it turned out, we’d stumbled upon the southern part of Patagonia National Park. After registering, we were directed to a cozy campground with wind-protective trees, a dry toilet, and even potable water, all for exactly zero Argentinian pesos. What a gem!
These first impressions of Argentina were something to treasure, because once we hit the tourist trail, the story would take a completely different turn.
