Aotearoa to the Andes South America by Motorcycle

#73 This Is It - The Final Blog

The final photo of the bike

We rode into Bogota with the knowledge we may not ride out again. This was where we were to, fingers crossed, sell the bike or ship it back to New Zealand. It didn't take long while held-up in a bedraggled hostel to acknowledge the issues we were facing and appreciate that our stay in Bogota may be longer than intended.

For a long time our blog anticipated we would ride from Santiago, Chile to Tijuana, Mexico. We had even discussed the possibility of continuing all the way to Canada. During our travels we met many with the bold aim of crossing the Americas in their entirety, from Alaska to Ushuaia. This is entirely possible, just not at our pace, or not in a reasonable time period at least while still giving each country the time it deserved. Ushuaia had taken us 2 months. We left Buenos Aires more than a month later. So though we may not have admitted it to one another until 6 months into the ride, for much of our trip the end goal had been to reach Colombia.

So I've come to realise I'm all about milestones. It started with travelling a certain amount of kilometres, then it was about getting to Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world, though once we were there we weren't sure quite what to do. However, on heading north we started running out of milestones. I mean passing from one country to the next is cool, but until you get to the top of South America no one really cares. However, we would soon be passing another pretty special milestone. High up in Northern Ecuador, we would eventually pass from the Southern Hemisphere to the Northern Hemisphere. The middle of the earth, or middle earth for short. (I've also come to realise that New Zealand is famous for two things, little people with large feet, and one giant rugby player with a mean fend).

Back inland toward Baños, we had a repeat of the ride to Cuenca, only this time the cause was a very badly potholled road. We did at least manage to find accomodation before nightfall stopping in a small town where Saturday night meant continuing festival celebrations were at their most rowdy. In the past we would have viewed stumbling on such an occasion as good fortune but now we felt only frustration knowing the difficulties it would mean finding accommodation, and the knowledge our sleep would be interrupted by Ecuadorian 'music' (which sounds a lot like Japanese karaoke) on repeat throughout the night. We were starting to have an appreciation for how many varied and amazing things we have had the opportunity to experience. Festivals, thermal pools, and waterfalls just don't cut it any more. Well one thing we hadn't tried was bungee jumping. More on that to come.

Ecuador began a little as Peru had when two police officers stopped us and tried to elicit a bribe. Only we didn't know that is what they were trying to do at the time. Reece had blatantly contravened the road rules by passing a truck on a speed bump when we heard the sirens. A man in uniform told old us it was going to be a $120US fine! Ouch. Well under my breath I was muttering to Reece we would simply leave the country without paying it. The policeman hadn't counted on our blatant disregard for the Ecuadorian justice system. It was only later as we discussed the incident did we realise they had assumed we would offer them a little something to make the whole thing go away. Unfortunately they struck the two most naive tourists in history. We left baffled, ticketless, and in posession of all our money. Where did we go so right?

With the border into Ecuador fast approaching we passed the 25,000km mark. Our journey began on a concrete parking lot outside the airport at 0km; passing cotton floating through the air like snow at 1,000km; passing fields of sunflowers all staring at us at 10,000km. And now, some might say against odds, on a Peruvian highway cruising along, we passed 25,000km.

Almost more exiting than Machu Picchu and the Nasca lines was the knowledge we would get our first glance of the sea in the many months since leaving the Atlantic coast in Uruguay. After three months in Bolivia, the plan was to pass through Peru with haste, admiring the scenery from the back of the bike. That meant long days on the pan-American highway: almost 50,000 kilometres of road extending from Alaska all the way to Ushuaia in southern Argentina. The pan-American cuts through the desert along the coast of Peru. At its most beautiful it follows the wild pacific coast to the west, and winds through waves of sand dunes lining the road. At its worst rubbish lies strewn on either side dropped from passing cars in contravention of the many signs imploring drivers against this.

'Whale'

I remember as a small child blessed with chicken legs and a high pitched voice, watching a documentary on the Nasca Lines. These mysterious lines, sprawled out across the desert, sometimes stretching for kilometres. These mysterious lines, only viewable from the sky - forming triangles, squares, monkeys, condors, astronauts? Like the Bermuda Triangle or the City of Atlantis, these lines were indeed a mystery - why were they made, for whom, and for what purpose? The documentary talked of alien beings, water cults, and mapping of the skies. Who knew I would one day find myself in Peru, boarding a small plane to see these wonders.

Llamas keep the grass trimmed to perfection

We overheard a guide telling his group as we arrived at sunrise to one of the seventh 'new' wonders of the world that Machu Picchu means 'Muchos Photos' and it was easy to see why he must make this joke day in day out - it was more magical than we could have expected. As we took in our first glimpse of the Inca palace it was hard to imagine such a grandiose feat of architecture could have been hidden from the invading Spanish and then the world for centuries, buried under a canopy of forest until its western 'discovery' in the early 20th century. We took the guide's word from it and took quite a few pics - a few of the best are included below.

The good fortune we expected from having a Priest bless our bike lasted all of about half an hour. Crossing the border into Peru we were extorted by the Police for not carrying bike insurance. Having only just entered the country and insurance not being available for sale on the border I would have thought some leniency would be in order but he was not letting us leave without a little sweetner, proudly pointing out in the rule book exactly which law we had broken.

View over Lake Titicaca from our cabin.

After the road blocks, dirt roads, hold ups, friend chicken, and rain storms, I didn't think I would miss Bolivia. But it has its distinctions: the scenery is unparalleled and the experiences equally unmatched. Where else in the world can you chill out for an hour with a monkey around your neck, or walk a puma with no big-cat experience, stay in a rustic cabana for $13US (including dinner), step in the footprints of dinosaurs, be alone in an Inca ruin, tour a working silver mine, or swim with pink dolphins. Of course such unreal experiences are usually followed by some sort of disaster, as was the case with Sorata, confirming it really was time to leave.

A dried, llama fetus on sale at the Witches Market in downtown La Paz.

Sitting in a descending canyon, surrounded by moon valleys, La Paz is famous for its unique topography, and altitude (3,600 m.a.s.l) and even more famous for its unique tourist attractions. During the day visitors flock to bicycle down the road dubbed 'The World's Most Dangerous', despite at least 18 tourists having died since 1998. During the evening many sample cocaine in bars where white powder is sold over the counter. Ten years ago the big thing to do was take a tour of San Pedro prison, located in the heart of the centre next to a leafy plaza, where inmates must purchase their own cell and daily meals.* Rest assured parents, we did not try any of the above, but only include it to demonstrate that La Paz is not your average city.

The tour began with a lazy three hour boat ride up the river. It gave us a chance to relax, enjoy birdlife, and, most importantly, nature (that's why I come up here). We disembarked for a short walk to our base camp surrounded by abundant foliage. Almost there, I was busy reflecting how pleasant life was when suddenly I noticed small black things swarming my jandals. Screams erupted and suddenly everyone was trying to run. I realised why when I felt a sharp pain and a burning sensation on my left toe. I joined in the stampede and thought to myself, WELCOME TO THE AMAZON JUNGLE.

After surviving the mud to reach San Ignacio de Moxos we were both under the impression we could conquer anything, a conviction we came to rely on sooner than expected.

Arriving in Santa Cruz we finally found a bed to sleep in. One so comfortable we hardly left it, spending most of our time in the city watching television. Even our hostel's pool couldn't drag us away from the comfort of a mattress. Four days turned into five after a night on some heavy cocktails. Admittedly only two of them, but we have become such lightweights it was enough to get us to karaoke! Clearly it was time to move on.

We are not sure why Jesus is holding a baby
T-Rex as advertisement for the National Park....
A comment on creationism perhaps?

Not content with getting up close and personal with a puma our next stop was Torotoro National Park, home of the Tyranosaurus Rex. Well its footprints. In between our jurassic adventures we had been invited to the home of Kiwi-Bolivian family living in Cochabamba whom had read about us on the net. Cory and his family have recently returned to Bolivia to set up Bolivia Bound, which offers motorycyle and 4x4 tours of Bolivia www.boliviabound.net. In our days with them, we were treated to some kiwi hospitality, and had a ball playing with their adorable bilingual children, ages 4,5, and 6. It was to be our last taste of home comforts in a while, as the next few days proved challenging.

Looking for more excitement from your work? Interested in walking a puma every day for a month? No. Then how about a bear, or possibly a jaguar? If large mammals aren't your thing there are opportunities to work with spider monkeys too. The word 'job' is used in the loosest sense of the word as you will be required to pay a small daily allowance for the privilege and in return receive only basic food and board - no money. If you a daredevil by nature, fit, and would not object to living in modest surroundings then read on for further details. (I'm serious about this - it's really possible).

We wound our way into Uyuni, a dusty empty town on the outskirts of nowhere, but buzzing with tourists. Why? Because around the corner is the Salar de Uyuni, the salt flats of Bolivia. And a little further south, the emptiness and stunningness of South West Bolivia.

At 4,030 metres Potosi has a claim on being the highest city in the world - a fact not easily forgotten while wheezing our way around the city's streets. Between gasps of air we admired the colonial-style cathedrals, which can be found on every corner of the city's cobbled stoned streets, a relic of its former grandeur. But the real reason we, and so many other tourists came to Potosi, was to take a tour through the working silver mines of the multi-tinged mountain which casts an imposing shadow over the city.

While not slaving away on the grass plantation we were partaking in local customs, playing football, and trying local delicacies - generally being one with the Bolivian people. Or something like that.

Turns out that February/March is the end of the rainy season in Bolivia - not the best time to be travelling dirt roads on a motorbike. So to pass the time we had arranged a 'workaway' at a hacienda outside Sucre - a programme through which workers are provided food and accomodation in exchange for a few hours labour a day. Our first thought on arrivial - no matter what the work, at least we would be living in luxury. The property was set on a 10.5 acre piece of land high up in the outskirts of Sucre, mountains visible from every direction you turned. The house was shaped as a cylinder constructed enitrely of local materials, mainly adobe and terracotta tiles, overlooking a 17m pool and mosaic jacuzzi. But it wasn't long until we were being read the Riot Act, so to speak.

Bolivia: the poorest country in South America; the cheapest country in South America; a country with bland, unflavoured food, where you are guaranteed to contract food poising at least once; a country with unpassable roads, roads likely to age your bike by years in months. All this we had heard before arriving in Bolivia. So why did we want to go? Well aside from the favourable fiscal aspect, we were willing to rough it for a while for what promised to be an adventure unprecedented to what we had previously experienced. How wrong, and right, we were.

With baited breath we felt the end of Argentina approaching; but not without some magical moments. I will give a quick rundown of our final experiences in Argentina after finally making it to Cachi after 'crossing the brown sea'. We had intended to treat Northern Argentina as simply a necessary passage in order to reach Bolivia, but every day we were struck by the dramatic and diverse scenery we encountered.

#50 Parting the Brown Sea - The Road to Cachi

Thinking we were done with river crossings we faced an even bigger hurdle leaving Cafayate. Although there was a perfectly adequate asphalt road to east we chose the route which would wind us through the Mars-like landscape of the Quebrada de los Calchaiques. Our decision was sealed by the recommendation by Jo and Gareth Morgan, in their book 'Up the Andes'. It's possible that the route would not have been so highly rated had the Morgan's, like us, being travelling during the rainy season. But at only 150 kilometres it seemed that even if did prove difficult, as we had been told by the service station attendant, and other locals it would, little was to be lost in giving it a go. After all we would be in Bolivia soon which would be a whole new set of challenges. Time to step it up.

On a long and lonesome road in Argentina (and Chile), where your only company is your own thoughts, emptiness stretches out to the horizon. Nothing but small shrubs and hard dirt cover the desolate landscape. However, in this distance, etched into a rock, on the top of a smal hill, or even just by the side of the road are small shrines. Either in red accompanied by red flags, or a surrrounded in waterbottles. What are these shrines? To whom do these mysterious shrines celebrate, commeserate or accommodate? Huddle round the campfire children, for there are stories to be told.

Just when we thought there was no more excitement to be had on the road to Cafayate what did we come across but a washed out road. Actually quite a few washed out roads. As Reece likes to tell people, when reading blogs of bikers falling over water, or being trapped trying to cross a river, we always wondered why anyone would voluntarily take on such a challenge. Well, now we understand that choice has nothing to do with it.

To make it into Reece's Top 5 Ride is to be something special, something magical, something transcending just pretty views or nice scenery. As we've journeyed across South America we've seen many amazing places, but to get into the Top 5, takes a certain something, a je ne sais quoi, an X factor. I don't even have 5 right now, maybe 2 or 3, and that's after 17,000km travelled. So what was special about this one?

'The earth burns with the quenchless thirst of ages, and in the steel blue sky scarcely a cloud obstructs the unrelenting triumph of the sun.' I honestly do not think Winston Churchill's description of the deserts of the Sudan are an elevated portrayal of how it felt to travel by motorcycle through Paraguay (and as it turns out North-Western Argentina) during the oppressively-hot summer season.

#45 Carnaval Paraguayan Style! Encarnacion

No trip to South America could be complete without attending Carnaval but with no plans to visit Rio we were happy to settle for what Paraguay had to offer. We had heard there was more bare flesh, more brazen performers, and more crowd involvement and it lived up to its reputation: plenty of skin on show and a lot of spray snow. I think this is a good one for letting the pictures do the talking.....

As the wildlife of Itaibu didn't quite live up to expectations we decided to try our luck at another National Park further south. That didn't work out too well either. Bad map, no information, usual story. When we asked a local to point us in the right direction and she indicated heading towards Argentina, the opposite direction of where the park was located on our map, it was time to admit defeat. We knew there was a camping spot not much further south with a pool and in the intense heat we were experiencing this was a force too strong to deny. Well we stumbled on paradise. Not just one pool, but three including one with a diving board! The women at reception spoke English. There was a sense of deja vu and we half expected to be turned away, but Parque Manantial welcomed us with open arms.

In our entire time in South America we have only met one tourist who has travelled to Paraguay. Possibly something to do with the little tourist infrastructure available, and the fact that it only emerged from the longest dictatorship in history in 2008. Still, our research suggested there was an abundance of wildlife and nature reserves, religious Mennonite colonies in the North and a down to earth people not often acquainted with tourists. The potential to meet inquisitive locals appealed to our narcissistic side and the possibility of spotting a puma in the wildlife seemed too good to be true (it was). As is often the case with preconceptions they were proved wrong. My first impression of Paraguay was one of absolute chaos, an ecological environment spoilt by progress, and of a people praying on the vulnerability of tourists.

After covering more than 1000 kilometres in two and a half days in drenching heat, electric storms, and thunderous rain, we arrived at our destination: a hostel complete with a swimming pool, table tennis, and a poolside bar. It was a tough decision to leave the cooling waters and caipirinhas. But we had come all this way so off we went five kilometres down the road for our first glimpse of the Iguazu Falls. The home of the falls, the Iguazu National Park, is shared between Brazil and Argentina though it seems Argentina won the war. While you can get a good overview of the falls from Brazil you really don't appreciate their immenseness until crossing the border. There is little to be said so I'll let the (inadequate) photos speak for themselves.

Our experience of Brasil had its genesis in the town of Rivera/Santana do Livramento. One town, two countries - with no clear line. You might cross the road and its Brasil, and then a few houses down you're back in Uruguay. As a lawyer my first thought was if I commit a crime in Uruguay and then go to Brasil, do I fall under International Law?

#40 How to cook in a hotel shower - Atlantic Coast to Rivera

Our final night in Uruguay and I'm woken in the middle of the night by the heat and the need to scratch the numerous itchy bites covering my legs. I turn on light to see a large insect crawling up the wall, which I suspect of being a cockroach, probably attracted by the smell of food we cooked up the previous evening on a gas cooker while crouching in the shower. We have been carrying around a mosquito net purchased before we left and it is only now, for the first time this trip, that I ask Reece to erect it over the bed. It's hard to imagine that we are staying in a hotel unit, one of the priciest rooms we have paid for. The previous four nights we slept in the wildnerness, one night bush camping near a still stream, during which came across spiders, reptiles, snakes (kind of), native mammals, men with guns, and this is the most freaked out I have been. Let me provide some background....

Thirsty for new stamps in our passport we headed out of Buenos Aires straight for the Uruguayan border, a trip that would have been much faster had we caught the boat that crosses from B.A. to Colonia del Sacramento (we must have missed the last discount tickets by a mere few hours). My preconception of Uruguay was of a country with many similarities to New Zealand: both have populations of around 4 million inhabitants with 1/3 choosing the capital city as their home; the economies of both are largely reliant on the agricultural sector, and the populations of both flock to the ocean during their summer holidays.

Sunflowers in Buenos Aires province! A welcome change
from the thousands of kilometres of nothingness of R3.

No, we didn't spend our week in one of the world's cosmopolitain cities in the kitchen, we spent it in the sweltering heat. While New Zealand was experiencing one of its worst summers in a while, temperatures in B.A. reached a 50 year high, on one day surpassing 38ºC. It seemed the perfect opportunity to spend some time in an air conditioned apartment watching t.v. After 3 months it was important to catch up on the essentials we had missed - `Keeping up with the Kardaishians, Chloe and Kim take Miami, Chloe and Lamar, etc etc.

In homage to riding over 10,000 kilometres on the trip thus far Reece suggested we each draft a separate post. It could be about whatever we want, provided we didn't read each other's first. So apologies if they're repetitive. Here's mine....

Wildlife time was not yet over as we left Puerto Madryn for Peninsula Valdes to its east. Here if you are really lucky you can witness an orca feeding on a sea lion, a phenomenen which is uncommon at this time of year, but can happen on rare occassions during high tide. Though I sat staring at the waters for some time while Reece did a nature walk waiting for the attack to occur sadly it wasn't to be. We were also a few weeks late for the humpback whales so sea lions and elephant seals would have to do. I couldn't help but be slightly disappointed....

After pouring over the map we worked out we could reach Peurto Madryn for Christms if we pushed it, but meant riding around 400-600kms per day. But in our minds it was worth it to spend Christmas in the warmth, by the sea, and hopefully in a friendly hostel. For the first time since Santiago we booked a place to stay in advance, choosing one which promised Patagonian lamb and seafood for Christmas dinner (on Christmas Eve, when Christmas is traditionally celebrated here in South America).

With its claim to fame as the southern most city in the world, Ushuaia is the place that motorcyclists and cyclists traditionally end theizr South American odyssey. For us, it was just the end of the first leg, but I guess you would say reaching Ushuaia was proof to ourselves that we had established ourselves as bikers. It was prettty exciting riding in, and later we went down to the water to take silly pictures of us with the bike. But to be honest, we hadn't really thought much about what we would get up to while there, or even if there was anything to do in Ushuaia.

Our original worn tyre

It turns our that both Rio Grande and Ushuaia, our eventual destination, are located on an island obstructed not only by water but also Chilean territory. That meant crossing two borders and taking a boat ferry to reach another city described aptly by Lonely Planet as 'just a bleak pit stop for most travelers'. I have griped to numerous people now abut why the border can't simply be moved slightly to the west to allow an easier crossing.

#31 Tyres, Tea, and Politics: Part 1 - Rio Gallegos

After our epic walk and week of touristic activity it was time to give some love to the bike. We were aware that the front tyre in particular had done around 10,000 kms so the plan was to cross back into Argentina and across the pampas to Rio Gallegos. Not somewhere I was looking all that forward to as its a city described by Lonely Planet as a place most travelers stop in just long enough to catch the next bus to El Calafate, Puerto Natales, or Ushuaia.

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