Buenos Aires – The End of the Beginning

Three days in Puerto Madryn to rest and recover before the last leg of our journey north to Buenos Aires.

Our first night off was great. Nice ceveceria for some craft beer and some dodgy food. We went for the langoustine option. Not so bad. With french fries. Again, not so bad. Then there was bright orange ‘plastic’ cheese over the top. Starting to struggle now. And a good splashing of heavily processed barbeque sauce all over. It certainly was a plateful of flavour and I would seriously argue that only a biker is strong enough and tough enough to eat such a plateful. We also shared a pizza and 5 pints. Total cost £12. That’s why you don’t complain in Argentina.

On the following days we went on two all day tours to see animals. As I’ve said before the best place for an animal is on my plate and the cuter and cuddlier the better. But Susan had other ideas and we all know who wears the biker trousers in our house.

So we found ourselves on a full-day tour of Peninsula Valdes – world renowned nature reserve. What a lot of overrated rubbish. For hours we bounced around in a mini bus on unpaved roads with other people. That’s the great thing about our motorbike – no ‘other people’.

Okay I hear you asking – how about a photo Clif? You must have seen something? Well we saw these guys – elephant seals.

Yup, you can’t tell they’re elephant seals from that distance. And it gets worse! The big buggers just lay around dozing pretending they were dead! I waited 20 minutes and nothing happened. Nobody appeared with a coloured ball for them to play or a hoop to jump through. They didn’t clap with their flippers for fish. Nothing. Next time I’m going to Seaworld to see real wildlife action!

Oh, we also saw sealions and the little armadillo was kind of cool but you really don’t need to see the video. We’ve all got better things to do with our lives than watch armadillos.

Then we went whale watching again. Yes, we’ve already watched whales in Peru but these were different whales. Well so they told me and it doesn’t really matter what I think. ‘Susan who wears the trousers’ said we were going. She loves whales and as they’re too big for my plate I may as well watch them.

It was late when we got back to the town and I managed a photo of the sunset from the speeding minibus.

Back at the apartment at 9pm and pick up next day at 7:30 am. Who says motorbike touring is hard work? Blinking animal watching is harder work for me!

Today, ‘Susan, who wears the trousers’ had decided we were off to see penguins – bloody little blighters.

On route we stopped to see the largest dinosaur statue in the world.

Now its a life scale model and it’s impressively huge. The skeleton was found locally near Trelew and is being prepared for exhibition.

Interesting story about the missing ‘E’ – it was apparently blown off and disappeared in the afternoon high winds two days previously. We can testify the winds were strong cause that’s about the same time we passed this statue on route to Puerto Madryn.

Eventually we reached the little blighters themselves. ‘Susan who wears the trousers’ was as happy as a llama.

These are Magellan little blighters and there were thousands of them scattered about the dunes. Oh you want a video as well? Well I’m reluctant to show the video as I know some will just think ‘oh that looks like Clif and a couple of pals walking home from the pub’. The aimless similarity is a bit too close for comfort.

After the little blighters we went for Welsh afternoon tea. You can tell its a Welsh afternoon tea because instead of scones and savoury sandwiches they give you buttered bread.

This little town, Gaimen, was established by the Welsh in the 19th century and the language is still taught in local schools. ‘dyna ti’.

We got back to the apartment and had sandwiches for dinner. More sandwiches you ask? Well it was a late return from the little blighter tour but we also had a source for the best french bread we’ve ever had from a bakery next to our apartment. Better than France you ask? Better than France is my reply. ‘C’est la vie’.

After our animal break in Puerto Madryn we hit the road towards Buenos Aires and the wind hit us. Yes, I’m still moaning about the wind.

Nevertheless, three overnight stops later and we were in reach of Buneos Aires and we nearly had a motorcycle companion on our last day.

At breakfast we met a great young guy with impeccable English with a strong American accent. He explained he was a marine based at a town we had recently passed through and he was motorcycling to Buenos Aires to meet his girlfriend. He was a remarkably well build young man even if I say so myself.

We were both surprised America had a base in Argentina. Oh no the guy explains – I’m an Argentine marine!

So there’s a hundred things I could say that could get me into trouble with an Argentine marine. Only the previous day the new Argentine president said he wanted Islas Malvinas back.

He suggested we motorcycle together but I politely declined. Yes, it would be helpful at one of the regular police checkpoints but do we really want an Argentine marine on your tail for 200 miles? Can’t think of a reason not to. Can’t think of a reason to accept.

So we took to our last motorcycle journey on our own. That’s the way we started.

Rather than feeling elation at the end of a long jouney or a feeling of triumph over challenges and adversity, the feeling is of sadness that it’s come to an end.

No more South America. No more Andes. No more back of beyond towns. No more desolate bars with strange beers. No more open roads. No more customs posts. No more meeting people from all over the world. No more Incas. No more bunk beds. No more different bed every night. No more wind. No more little blighters. No more desert. No more most challenging motorcycling. No more meeting fellow bikers on epic journeys. No more dodgy food. No more best steaks in the world. No more adventure.

Well at least for the time being……

It’s probably apt that I now write a quote from a great philosopher

‘Life’s an adventure, embrace the unknown. Let curiosity be your guide and discover the magic within’.

Mary Poppins

So we’re in Buenos Aires for a couple of weeks and it’s the most marvellous city. We finished our journey, as we always do, with a celebration beer. Here’s a selfie.

Until the next time. Next time you ask?

Yes, how about a motorcycle trip from Panama to Alaska? As another great philosopher said:

‘Dream big, for dreams are the seeds of tomorrow’s adventures’

Winnie the Pooh

Where’s Wally and Susan

That’s us at the blue dot on the east coast. Heading for Buenos Aires which is the teal coloured dot just below Uruguay.

Nearly there.

Ushuaia and North

Oo-swy-a (as they say).

Ushuaia, the most southerly town in the world, was founded by British missionaries around 1870. It’s a pleasant enough place visited largely by old aged tourists on Antarctic cruises, smelly bikers on trips down South America and young backpackers with oversized rucksacks. It’s an eclectic mix.

Ushuaia is the Argentine capital for this place 👇 and I’m not even going to start a discussion on this matter.

So what about our accommodation? Well you won’t be surprised to know I’ve just gone and delivered again for Susan. I’m the man that keeps on giving. Take a look at the view from our apartment.

An outlook right out to the Beagle Channel named, of course, after the good ship Beagle on it’s first voyage to the region. No, not the voyage of Charles Darwin and Fitz Roy – that was the second Beagle voyage.

I know you’re thinking ‘magnificent view’ but that’s not the selling point! Oh no! Just take a look at the bottom right of the photo – I’ve only gone and delivered Susan a view overlooking a graveyard!

I’m quite sure international travellers like yourselves appreciate how graveyards are right up there in terms of tourist attractions. Well Susan can pull up a chair and tour the graveyard from her living room. Creepy nice.

That’s not all the man that keeps on giving gave – how about a trip to see penguins! Yup, despite my lack of interest in birds that can’t even fly, I booked Susan and me onto a five hour boat trip along the Beagle Channel to see the little blighters.

On the way we sailed passed a lighthouse. The Argentines say its famous but it’s not really.

We arrived at the penguin island and, unfortunately, this isn’t Disney where everything happens on cue.

Today, the little blighters were busy sitting on nests and wouldn’t budge for the tourists. We could see them in the distance but they were quite happy sitting nesting. Selfish little blighters when there’s tourists waiting to take awesome photographs.

Thankfully one little blighter wandered down the beach and was joined by another little blighter. Two little blighters! Here’s a pretty poor photo one of them – the other just looked the same.

Later, I tried to make up for the little blighter debacle with some humour. After all they say the way to a woman’s heart is through humour (or a big bank balance).

Now I hear you say – you’ve delivered again Clif. Susan wanted to see little blighters and you gave her two little blighters. You also gave her humour and two plastic blighters. Mission accomplished surely?

Yes, I acknowledge your support and you make a strong argument but I’m the man that keeps on giving and, in my heart, I knew I had to give some more. Susan loves little blighters so I knew the man that keeps on giving had to give some more.

In the meantime, we had to move on. We had nearly 2000 miles to travel north to Buenos Aires. The job was not yet done.

After four nights in Oo-swy-a we set off again. Unfortunately, between Oo-swy-a and Buenos Aires there’s nothing much to see. Ruta 3 and a strong westerly wind would be our companions.

On the morning of the second day we crossed the Argentina – Chile border, grabbed a ferry and then crossed the Chile – Argentina border.

I took a photo from the deck after witnessing something strange. Let me tell you. We were in the lounge, which was devoid of people, looking for a coffee as we were chilled to the bone by the wind.

Nothing was happening at the coffee counter. It was closed. Then a guy, dressed like a cross between Adam Ant and Puff Daddy, appeared behind the counter. He had a kind of uniform jacket like Adam Ant with hugely baggy trousers like Puff. On his chest he had a badge that looked like he’d made it himself.

Anyway, as he’s behind the counter getting his own drink, he takes a handgun and stuffs it in his trouser waistband. Yup you’ve got it – we’re in the middle of the Magellan Strait and I’ve got Adam Puff Ant with a handgun in his pants!

Now we see a lot of security people with guns in South America. Even McDonald’s has a man with a gun. However, they’re all dressed like would be ninja commandos and they don’t stuff guns in their pants.

So what would you do in these circumstances?

I did what I often do until Susan gives me a row – ‘will you stop staring!’

I was standing about 20 feet away and I stared at him. Thankfully Susan was unaware. Yes I could have advised her to a potential danger but it would also guarantee a row for me staring. I thought discretion was best.

He appeared quite calm for a person with an old guy staring at him. I could tell he was slightly uncomfortable because he looked up frequently at me staring. However, he just went about whatever he was doing seemingly unconcerned.

Now that’s not the behaviour of a guilty person? I thought I might get a reaction but I didn’t. Well that’s my reasoning anyway and so he passed the old guy staring test and as Susan had no idea what was happening I didn’t get a row. That’s a double result in my books.

Coming off the ferry, Susan has to walk whilst I ride the bike. That’s ferry rules. As Susan is waiting on land she said, over the intercom, that she would take a video of me coming off the ferry ramp.

Great I thought. So I made sure all my buttons and zips were done and I got ready for Le Grand Depart. I decided I would stand on the footpegs to make me look more heroic and I cued Susan as I was rolling along the car deck.

Susan set the iPhone camera rolling.

Now if you’re sharp you may notice something odd about this video. If you’re not sharp have another look.

It’s not bloody me!!

If you look at the very start of the video you will see a bike with yellow lights. That’s me! Looking good and slowly moving forward waiting for the camera operator to focus on my best side.

‘Susan, Susan I’m coming off now’. ‘Yes I know’.

(camera operator not looking at subject)

‘Susan, Susan, now, quick, now’ (old bike man ready for action)

(camera operator looking in the opposite direction of old bike man)

‘Susan, Susan I’m on the ramp’ (slightly irritated) ‘Yes I know’ (slightly irritated)

(camera operator clearly filming the guy in front)

Susan, Susan, that’s not me! (more than a bit irritated)

(silence from the camera operator)

(old bike man disembarks with no rolling cameras)

‘Well he looks like you’ (camera operator doesn’t really care)

You will appreciate this was a one off opportunity. I really couldn’t see the ferry operators allowing me to reboard the ferry for the camera operator to have another chance. This wasn’t Hollywood.

So I don’t have a heroic video of me leaving the ferry but if I did I would look exactly like the guy who looked like me. So please use your imagination. Didn’t I look good?

After the ferry, for the next two days, we travelled Ruta 3 with the most extraordinarily strong wind. This wind roared in our ears and pushed us all over the narrow single carriageway road. I struggled.

When the wind became more ferocious, we dropped our speed to 30mph which made the journey longer. By the end of the second day I was totally and utterly exhausted.

Even though I was at the end of all my energy, the man that keeps on giving, gave again. Sometimes I’m just remarkable.

So please, please, don’t show the next photo to your partner for they will be very jealous saying ‘why can’t you give me a hotel room with a pool table like Clif gives Susan?’

Yes a bloodypooltable and you’re also looking at chandabloodylier lighting.

In the background is a fully equipped kitchen with indoor BBQ. Off to the left is the master bedroom with outside patio and directly behind the photographer are two single beds for friends. The man that keeps giving had just delivered again. Remarkable.

And what was the house called? Sweet Home Patagonia. That whole top floor was our ‘pool suite’. Sweet.

The howling wind woke us up several times throughout the night and the wind was back with us in the morning.

I really wanted to delay our journey but the seven day outlook was ‘very windy’ so we just got in with it. A couple of times we were so nearly blown off the road into the Patagonian scrubland with sustained gusts. I fought for control of the bike and kept it on the road. Just. Scariest moments of the trip? Yes probably. Certainly even scarier than Susan’s spinach ravioli.

That night, after four days struggling with the Patagonian wind, we arrived at Puerto Madryn. We had three days rest as we were a bit ahead of schedule.

Why here and why three days I hear you ask?

Well I can tell you – the man who keeps on giving was here to give.

He was here to deliver some little blighters and he was about to deliver the largest little blighter colony outside the Antarctic!

What a remarkable big blighter I am.

Homeward Bound

‘On a tour of one night stands’

‘And every stop is neatly planned’

To recap. Blue dot at the top is Bogota. From there we headed north to Cartagena and that’s where the long road south began through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina.

The blue dot at the bottom is Ushuaia, the end of the world.

8,365 miles or, to say in another way, one third of the circumference of the earth around the equator.

Now we turn and head for home.

That means we head north to Buenos Aires (green flag on the east coast). That’s 2,000 miles. From there we can courier the bike to Edinburgh.

There’s not a lot going on between Ushuaia and Buenos Aires apart from a few days stop at Puerto Madryn which is about the half way distance. So essentially its head down and get the miles done. Head down is quite appropriate because it’s a pretty windy journey for the first week then the winds should ease off as we clear this region.

How long will it take us to get to Buenos Aires?

‘The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the wind’

‘The answer is blowin’ in the wind’

Honestly, I sometimes marvel at myself and how I’m able to sledgehammer song references into this blog.

‘I’m the lyrical gangster’.

So I will update the blog when we break in Puerto Madryn. Until that time ..

‘So long, farewell, auf Weidersehen, adieu’

‘Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu’

Fin Del Mundo

Where will we go next? After a few days in El Calafate it was time to head south again.

On the one hand we could detour to Puerto Natales and see more Andes mountains. On the other hand we could head toward Ushuaia, our southerly destination.

Well, we’ve actually followed the Andes for the last three months and crossed them more times than we can count. We could live without more mountains. So Ushuaia it was.

And so it was 190 miles across country to Rio Gallegos then up early the following morning for a 7am start. We made the border for opening time at 8am. Yup, we were crossing from Argentina to Chile again.

Then it was a short run down to the port to catch a ferry across the Strait of Magellan to Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire.

Our bike is hidden at the back and the other two bikes are from Brazil. Interestingly we’re all two up. Lovely people.

We compared stories of crossing the sandy ‘road’ on the way to El Chalten. Unfortunately, one of the lady pillion passengers landed in the mud when their bike fell and she hitched a lift by holding onto the wing mirror of a passing lorry. She proudly showed us the photos. Stay strong biker girl 💪

We landed in Terra del Fuego and headed for the border. No I’m not losing the place, we were heading back to Argentina – it’s not me that’s mad it’s the lines of the border that’s mad. I would show you a map but if you’re really interested you will look yourself.

Two hours later, we were back into Argentina and it was early afternoon. We had the chance of accommodation at a petrol station and Susan made a persuasive argument to stay.

‘I know it’s very basic but we can get an early finish and snacks for dinner from the garage’. ‘Snacks for dinner’ wasn’t a persuasive argument when I had ‘beers in Ushuaia’ as the counter proposal.

We both knew, however, that we had a problem and this was in Susan’s mind when she suggested an early finish – wind. No, no I’m not talking about Susan having wind. I’m referring to real wind, the blowy kind.

I’ve mentioned before the wind in this part of South America is notorious. It comes right off the Pacific Ocean and, generally, the rule is it gets worse in the afternoon. Second rule is dont ride if it’s over 70 kph as the gusts will be unbelievable and take you over the other side of the road. It’s not pleasant.

Today the wind was devilishly bad by early afternoon. We feared it may get worse as the afternoon progressed. There were a couple of moments when I thought Susan’s judgement was right and we would have to turn back and shelter in the garage with ‘snacks’.

We pushed on. It was nature versus man going for beer. Nature really didn’t stand a bloody chance!

Now the Andes mountains run north south all the way down South America until they get to Tierra del Fuego where they turn east west due to tetonic plate movement. So as we later turned west towards Ushuaia we were sheltered from the wind by the Andes. Thanks tetonic plate movement. You’ve made an old man happy.

We even had time for a photo or two.

That’s Susan looking fresh after 360 miles on the bike. Still smiling. Remarkably as we rode into town Susan said ‘I’ve really enjoyed today on the bike’. Ten hours riding with one break, absolutely battered by wind, no breakfast, couple of empenadas for late lunch, two border crossings and a ferry, potholed roads and she ‘enjoyed it’. Stay strong biker girl 💪

A few miles later we reached Ushuaia. The end of the world. Fin del Mundo.

How did we feel?

To be honest, probably more emotional than our cycles across Canada, Australia and the USA. This was different.

The magnitude of multiple countries, the stunning but challenging landscapes, wilderness and the magnificent Andes mountains challenged our confidence daily. Every day there’s a slight nervousness as we began each journey. We both feel it. It’s the uncertainty of what lies ahead that particular day. Once we’re moving we’re fine.

Then there was the always present mechanical uncertainty of the bike. Our progress depended on the bike and the mechanics of the bike was something outwith my control. Of course, it’s carried two lardy llamas the length of a continent without fail but if anything was to fail I would have been like a baby with a spanner – the best I could do was hit something!

Cycling on the tandem journeys taught us how to be strong and resilience is perhaps our greatest strength. We just know how to keep on going. The tandem journeys were immensely tiring and this motorcycle trip was no picnic either. We would do all of these journeys again in a heartbeat and we look back on them as amongst the best days of our lives.

After the obligatory Ushuaia photos we headed into town towards a nice craft beer establishment. The town was reasonably quiet and I didn’t want to sit in an empty bar so I did a reconnoitre and peaked through the windows.

One barman polishing glasses, an old local with a beer and a big black stray dog wandering about the tables. I kid you not. My heart sank – tonight I needed somewhere with a bit of life so we headed off to my reserve.

Yep it was a feckin Irish bar, The Dublin.

It’s actually the best bar in town and we managed to get the last table. They had their own draft beer and I had a few lovely New England IPAs. Susan was on pints of rubia and we had langoustines for dinner.

And guess who we sat beside? Only a feckin Irish lad from County Kerry with his Mexican wife. What a wonderful small world we live in.

Thank you Irish Argentinians. Without you our celebration in Ushuaia would have been Susan, me and a black dog.

Then again that’s not so bad is it?

Mori memorias non somnia.

Ice Ice Baby

From El Chalten we headed south, 143 miles to El Calafate. What a wonderful quiet paved road for motorcycling. Sensational.

Now El Calafate is a Patagonia tourist hot spot and decent accommodation is hard to source at a reasonable price. But I’m an international traveller with an eye for functional affordable living in any town. Today was another success and Susan loved our private room in a hostel.

We’ve each got our own set of bunk beds. Sweet. You can sleep up or down, it’s your own choice. Susan and Mrs Hip would struggle to jump up top so they sleep below. I’m a drunk and would fall out of the top bunk so I sleep below. Happy as two low bunk llamas in dormitory heaven.

Look how Susan has her own bedside light and a little wooden shelf where she can charge her phone. Bet you’ve never stayed in a hotel with a personal charging shelf? These are the small details that make travelling a pleasure.

Susan and I had one major argument whilst we were there. You’re allowed to sublet the beds. We had two spare bunks and that’s $40 a night times four nights – a potential $160 income. I was sympathetic that Susan didn’t want to share with an extra two guys. Neither did I. So what’s the problem? As usual Susan got her own way but I do think she’s a bit unreasonable and I’m sure you agree.

Here’s the outside.

Okay I appreciate there’s no paved road and the front needs a bit of landscaping but look at the inside where we mix with the young, trendy hostellers. Oh ya! Are you going hiking today? Ya! You just must see the emerald green lake, its awesome. Ya! Ya! Have you been to Tierra del Fuego yet? Ya you must! Ya!

I feel so comfortable in this young people travel environment. Ya I really do. Awesome.

So if you’re ever looking for a quirky alternative to holiday accommodation please give me a call for some advice. My slogan is ‘why sleep with the ordinary when you can have the extraordinary’. Nice.

Next, I’ve got a bit of a confession to make. I’ve got a personal smell problem. It’s quite embarrassing but I’m happy to share it with you.

You see it all started when we went shopping to the local supermarket for dinner. We eat out almost every night so it’s quite nice to occasionally buy something in. On this night we purchased some freshly roasted chicken in a plastic bag. You know what I’m talking about – freshly roasted but you suspect it’s been sitting in the hot cabinet for two days.

We left the supermarket and walked back to our small apartment. I had the carrier bag over my shoulder.

Now let me set the scene. Every town in South America has many stray dogs. They’re everywhere and generally very friendly.

They mope around in packs of three and four, sometimes sitting on street corners and chasing cars. They sleep in the middle of pavements, sleep in the middle of roads, sleep anywhere likely to get under your feet. They don’t care. It’s a dog’s life.

They wander into pubs and restaurants looking for food or just a nice place to sleep. The staff watch the dogs wander in and walk around the tables. The staff don’t care. The dogs don’t care. It’s Argentina life.

The other day a girl was in the bar on a high stool and table when a giant black dog wandered in, sniffed the burger and easily made the high table on his hind legs. He didn’t snatch. He just waited for food. What a polite giant of a dog. Of course the girl squeeled and we all laughed. She wasn’t sharing though so polite giant of a dog moved onto the next table.

So on this day we’re walking home when a big dog followed closely behind. Susan says to me ‘oh he really likes you’, followed by ‘Oh Clif the chicken, the fat’.

Oh no! The fat and chicken juices were running down my jacket, my only jacket, and my trousers, my only trousers. It wasn’t just a bit. It was the whole damn lot. I was a greasy dripping chicken mess.

Susan later did her best in the shower with bathroom soap but the trousers still had stains where a man really doesn’t want stains. ‘Live with it’ is basically the feedback I got from my understanding wife.

So when we arrived in El Calafate I appeared to have a friendly dog issue. It started when we walked into town and a big variety dog followed me. He came right up to me and he was smiling! I kid you not! He had a huge grin!

Now if you know dogs you will know they can smile. It’s a strange almost devilish smile where the lips turn up. It can look a bit like a snarl.

Well big variety dog was smiling at me. More particularly he was smiling at my leg. Susan may have left me with embarrassing stains on my trousers but she had also obviously left me with a smell and this dog thought ‘here’s the biggest damn chicken I’ve ever seen’! Thankfully, he didn’t know what to do with this ‘big chicken’ and we managed to chase him away. He’s probably still dog dreaming of me to this day.

So El Calafate with it’s many stray dogs has been a bit of a problem for me. I’m getting dog stalked. As ‘big chicken’ walks along past sleeping dogs on the pavement their heads lift as they smell me. Then they follow. Honestly, I’m like the bloody dog pied piper! It’s not just the odd dog. Oh no! I can have a few walking behind and they’re all smiling, in that devilish way, at ‘big chicken’ nervously walking along the footway.

It’s been a problem for Susan as well. For two days we walked down to the wetlands next to the town as Susan wanted to take photos of the flamingos. Unfortunately the local stray dogs had other ideas and chased them away. Why are the dogs there? Well they followed ‘big chicken’ of course!

Here’s a photo of Susan forlornly looking out into the wetlands at the flamingos in the very far distance. There’s two strays in photo and their pal ‘mad cross collie’s is behind us siiting in the middle of the road, ‘on guard’, waiting to chase the next car.

The car chasing dogs are great. Love them. Hard as nails trying to bite a car. If I’m reincarnated as a dog I want to be in Argentina. Wandering about pubs eating food then out to chase cars. Wonderful.

So I hear you ask. All that talk of ‘big chicken’ is making me hungry. Tell us about the food in El Calafate. Anything ‘ass slapping’ good?

Yup, just look at this 👇

Now this is a very popular Argentine way of cooking – the parrilla. BBQ over wood fire. This is lamb and we had it with blood sausage and chorizo. Outstanding.

I apologise for the standard of photography. The photo was taken through a window and the ghostly image of me is a consequence. However, as I always say – a ghostly image of me brightens up any photo.

The following day Susan took me on a journey to see glaciers. I have to put up with these side trips as that’s what being in a relationship is all about. Compromise and sharing in your partner’s interests. That’s what Susan says.

Personally, I think there’s enough craft beer bars to keep us entertained for four days so I hope everyone appreciates the caring, sharing, empathetic side of me by going on a side trip with Susan. I’m not looking for thanks. Just some quiet appreciation. Thanks.

So I found myself on a coach heading for a boat. What on earth were two bikers doing on a coach with other people?

Within ten minutes Susan said ‘I really don’t like this, I much prefer just you and me on the bike’. Now I know some of you will think I’m making this up but this blog is censored by Susan and if you’re reading this then it’s got through. Enough said!

Thankfully the coach journey was only an hour and then we got on the catamaran to see some ice.

‘Yo VIP, let’s kick it’

‘Ice, Ice baby’

‘Ice, ice baby’

That’s the icebergs. Here’s the glaciers.

It really was a wonderful day on a boat. We even met a lovely couple from Buenos Aires and we now have an emergency phone number if I get ‘up to my arse in trouble’.

The day ended with a couple of beers from the marvelous Patagonia Brewery. Well the universe needs balance – Susan had her way all day with ice, ice, baby, and now it was my time. Beer, beer, baby.

Oh Sandy

We had a choice.

Two days around Lake General Carrera including over 200km of unpaved potholed roads or cross the lake on a ferry in two hours.

It wasn’t much of a choice and we headed for the ferry. It was a fantastic motorcycling road over another mountain pass.

Unfortunately, sailing times on the internet were out of date and we arrived at the port 90 minutes early for the 1pm ferry to find out it sailed at 7pm. We sat on the ground for the next 7 hours.

We had a short crossing as dusk descended over the lake.

It was 9.30pm when we landed and we went to one of the few hotels in town. Now please, please don’t show this photo to your partner or they will complain ‘why don’t you take me to hotels like Clif takes Susan where you have all your luggage conveniently to hand when you’re lying in bed’. There’s Susan giving a nice wave to say I’m so happy in my convenience bed.

The following day we crossed the border from Chile back into Argentina. Luckily we filled the petrol tank in Chile because the first few towns in Argentina were dry and petrol stations closed.

For an old boy like me it’s sometimes difficult to know what country I’m in at times. A good clue as we motorbike along are the repeated signs declaring ‘Islas Malvenas, Argentina’. They’re everywhere. Then there’s the Islas Malvenas monuments at roundabouts and many main streets in towns are called Belgrano. Thank goodness I am able to say I wasn’t born at the time of the conflict.

Here’s an example of such a sign.

The border crossing itself took longer than it should. We were there for opening at 8am but the Argentine customs lady got the bike import form wrong and listed my country as Ireland. Thankfully, after our experience entering Peru, we rigourously check all our forms and I’m back to being a UK citizen. Thank feck as the Irish would say.

We stopped at a ‘famous’ petrol station at Bajo Caracoles in the middle of nowhere. Yes so ‘famous’ you’ve never heard of it. But it’s a stop for every adventure biker in this part of the world and the old pumps are covered in their stickers.

We filled up the bike, had coffee and fried bread as a snack and headed on. Yes it’s bread and it’s deep fried. Tastes a bit like whatever was in the fryer previously. Nice. Even Susan eats it.

No time to ponder though as we had 270 miles to do that day plus the delay at the border crossing because I wasn’t Irish. Feck. That said, we made it easy to our destination and that night we rested at a nice hotel in Gobernador Gregores. Our only upset that evening was being recommended a restaurant over the road with 5 star reviews and the two girls couldn’t heat up a frozen pizza properly. Life on the road.

The following morning we set off early. We knew what was ahead – nearly 80 km of ripio over a mountain pass. Feck.

Actually it’s inaccurate to even call it ripio. It was really just a track over a mountain. Unbelievable that a major road is this poor. Believe me if there was an alternative we would have taken it. There’s just this bit in Patagonia where the north isn’t joined to the south by paved road. The road is fine for 4×4 trucks but not two lardy llamas on a lardy motorcycle.

It started off bearable and within my skill level. It wasn’t long before I was in over my head. I try not to cry as it would sap the confidence of my precious cargo. I pretend I am capable and know what I’m doing. Honestly, I feckin’ deserve a Bafta!

The road was essentially sand. Sometimes reasonably firm sand but it’s still feckin’ sand. Cars and trucks make tracks with ridged sand sides. Every time I changed tracks the bike slipped.

The weight on the rear wheel is considerable and it struggled in the soft sand. Our pace was 15mph. I reckoned at that speed it wouldn’t be so bad when we fell. Any time I went faster I just got us faster into trouble.

We had a big moment when we nearly went down. The front and back wheels slide, I jiggle about like I’m dancing to ‘saturday night fever’ and, miraculously, the bike stays upright and we keep moving.

Susan is great and doesn’t say anything but obviously she feels what’s happened. She lets me fully concentrate on my panic attack. A minute or so later, we speak when I’m ready to speak, after I’ve processed what’s happened.

Soon after that very wobbly moment I stopped before soft damp sand. It was too soon for a wobbly repeat. So the precious cargo got off and walked and I went on with the bike. Yes I got stuck. Bedded down. A dozen stalls of the engine later I managed to get it out. It was touch and go. I was so nearly back to being that guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

‘Stranded at the drivin’

‘Branded a fool’

‘What will they say Monday Monday at school?’

This road is in the middle of nowhere, about 20 miles from civilisation but at least every 20 minutes someone would pass in the opposite direction. So there was always potential help arriving if the bike got stuck.

Time for a photo. This is nice sand. We can’t stop in the bad sand. As you can see it’s an absolute wilderness. It really is beautiful. Not as beautiful as the deep fried bread but beautiful in a different way.

Yup the adventure motorcycle sticker boys have been here as well.

And here’s Susan sitting in the desert.

‘I sit, I wonder why’

‘Oh why you left me’

‘Oh Sandy’

‘Sandy, Sandy’

‘Why?

I always know things are tough when Susan sits on the ground. It’s a habit she picked up on our tandem cycles.

Now that’s a bit of retro memories.

The road was absolutely dreadful but at least it was sunny, largely dry and we coped. Most of the time I spent riding on the wrong side of the road as that’s where the best track was. Trucks coming the other way understood and were happy to give us the right of way.

After nearly 72km, in the distance, we saw the sand change to gravel and then tarmac. Oh, what joy!

Within 100 feet of glorious tarmac the gravel got deeper. The bike was unsteady. We were on a downhill so I gently braked. The bike was having none of it. It just skidded over the gravel. So I let it run. Then the gravel was deeper. Then the steering went. It was just like the roadworks in Peru when we went down hard. Almost a carbon copy. Feck.

The front wheel felt like it was on ice and I was, in that split second, certain we were going down within six feet of the tarmac. Unbelievable. After all that to fail right at the end.

But fortune was on our side and my dancing like John Travolta on the steering worked. We stayed upright. I think it’s called natural talent – though to be fair that’s not how people describe my dancing.

The gravel had just enough firmness to support us and, just as we were about to go down, the front wheel bumped up onto the tarmac, we got some stability and we made it. Feck that was close.

We stopped for a break and a chicken empenada at the first village, Tres Lagos. Here’s Susan in the outside dining area talking to the owner.

We travelled on heading for El Chalten. This was a last minute 180 mile change of route to see Fitz Roy, a famous Patagonian mountain. The weather was clear, sunny and it was too good an opportunity to miss.

And here’s the mountain. It’s stunning and motorcycling along the route is breathtaking.

So why is the mountain called Fitz Roy I hear you ask.

Well, let me tell you. In 1831 Captain Fitz Roy sailed the ship ‘Beagle’ on an expedition mapping the South American coast.

So what I hear you say. Well let me tell you who was the famous passenger on the ship. Yeah, yeah more famous than the petrol pumps with the stickers in the middle of bloody nowhere.

The passenger was a certain Charles Darwin who was employed as the ship’s naturalist. Darwin later called this five year voyage ‘by far the most important event in my life’ and his observations gave him the seeds of his theory that he would develop into his 1859 book ‘On the Origin of Species’. If it wasn’t for Darwin you wouldn’t be an ape.

Now back to Fitz Roy, the man, and a final interesting fact.

Fitz Roy was a pioneering meteorologist who made daily accurate weather predictions. What new name did he ‘invent’ for these predictions? He called them ‘forecasts’. And there you now know why we have weather ‘forecasts’ – what an information giving machine I am.

Oh, and finally, from the information machine that keeps on giving, in 1854, Fitzroy established what would later become the Met Office.

We spent a lovely couple of days in El Chalten under the shadow of the great mountain. Yes, yes another photo of Susan sitting down again.

That evening, I had the most magnificent pork and roasted vegetable dish. I asked the barmaid what cut of pork it was and she said something in Spanish and slapped her ass. Good enough for me I thought!

The restaurant was so busy we had to sit at the bar. I love eating sitting on a bar stool. Susan tolerates it because I love it. What a symbiotic relationship we have.

The following night we met up again with Baz and Nanja at the same place. I was back for another helping of ‘ass slapping’ pork. I know it’s got another name but it’s Spanish and you wouldn’t understand it anyway.

So if you’re ever in the Cerveceria in El Chalten just ask for the pork and slap your ass – the barmaid will know exactly what you want.

Now the last time we saw Baz and Nanja was on the 5th September at Cotopaxi in Ecuador. They’re travelling through South America by bus, plane and car. We’ve kept in touch over this time and it was great that, by coincidence, we were all in El Chalten at the same time. Things just happen when your unconscious mind is at play.

Okay I’m going too deep there. I appreciate you’re more comfortable with ‘ass slapping pork’ than my theories on unconscious decision making so let’s leave it there.

Good luck and have a great journey Baz and Nanja. You never know when our paths will cross again. The unconscious mind is already at work.

The Gentlemen Germans

We didn’t want to leave Bariloche as we both decided we wanted to move permanently there. Well, to be honest, that wasn’t the only reason. The weather app wasn’t being nice to us. Bad weather app. Naughty little weather app.

We seriously considered staying onto the weekend in Bariloche to avoid travelling in the forthcoming weather. But we’re tough old buggers and so we decided to bugger off down the road.

Thursday was a good day before the weather closed in and we spent the night at Freddy’s Hostal in Esquel. What a lovely guy. Wish I could say the same about the accommodation but I suppose you can’t have everything.

We couldn’t fill up with petrol in Esquel because there’s a petrol shortage in Argentina and the petrol stations were closed. Why is there a petrol shortage? Apparently, oil companies are stockpiling until after the national elections in November when they expect inflation to go even more bananas than the 140% it currently is and they can make a killing. However, the Argentine Govt is now blackmailing the oil companies so it should get back to the ‘normal’ poor supply it usually is. I don’t mind a good bit of blackmail if it keeps us on the road.

Thankfully, we had enough left in the tank to make the 41 miles to the border. Yup, we were heading back to Chile where petrol is plentiful but double the price. That’s the way our route goes south – zig zagging across the Chile Argentina border. This is our eighth border crossing.

Our journey from Esquel was very windy as we crossed a high plateau and then it rained. After three months in South America we had our first rain. A new experience for Susan on the motorbike but it didn’t bother her one bit. She was probably recalling how much worse rain was when we cycle toured on the tandem.

We reached Futaleufu and our wonderful wooden hotel.

Inside it was an eclectic wooden palace.

Everything wooden in this photo was made by the owner, Silvano. There was a magnificent detailed model of a sailing ship (on the left of the photo) and even wooden WW1 planes hanging from the ceiling.

Silvano is Italian, once an architect in Milan and now a wooden hotel owner in the middle of nowhere. Well the middle of nowhere for everyone unless you are a salmon fisherman. Apparently, it is a salmon hotspot.

Silvano is also an expert flytier. He had thousands of his own flies and, on his wall, he even has a ‘Speyside fly’ that he picked up on his travels to Scotland.

Was that the limit to Silvano’s talents? No of course not! He’s Italian and he cooked the best damn pasta I’ve ever had, made from ingredients imported from Italy.

Then, after a few complimentary Italian aperitifs, we had a great night with Silvano and his fishing pals telling tall stories. The night ended with a photo with Pinocchio.

Now please go back and look at the photo properly! Susan is holding Pinocchio’s hand! Honestly it is!

The following day it rained and rained. And the road was terrible and terrible. They call these unpaved roads ‘ripio’ and it’s basically layers of gravel spread on the mud base. You want gravel to make the mud more solid but you don’t want gravel because the bike slips on the gravel.

Here’s the bike on a relatively good patch of ‘ripio’ road where the surface is relatively firm and there’s no loose gravel.

We spent that night in a cabin with a wood burning stove. Look how happy Susan is drying off her pants eating Ritz crackers that are never far from her side.

Susan was as happy as a toasted Llama sitting by that fire. Happy because she didn’t yet know what was to happen the following day.

You see the following day was Saturday and snow was forecast. When we woke in the morning we were delighted to see the ground was clear. It was raining heavily but we could cope with that.

The road started off paved. Nice. Then it was very poor ripio. Not so nice. Then we started climbing to go over a mountain pass. It wasn’t too high, about 3000 feet but the road was steep hairpin after steep hairpin on the way up.

Not such a long climb compared to what we had done over the Andes many times. This time, however, it was different. The road was mud and gravel with small streams running down it.

Starting at the top of the photo, the first few corners were tricky and I thought of Susan getting off. Too fast and you won’t make the turn around the hairpin. Too slow and the bike will slip on gravel, forward momentum is lost and over we go. The bike has great torque and pulling power in low gear but the balance is absolutely unforgiving at slow speed on this type of surface.

So we got through the first few hairpins and pushed on. Then we hit the snowline. Snow at the road side but that’s fine, the actual road was still clear.

We climbed higher around another hairpin to find some slush on the road. That’s fine we can cope with that. We climbed higher around another hairpin to find light snow on the road. That’s fine we can just cope with that. We climbed higher around another hairpin to find a couple of inches of snow on the road. ‘It’s time for you to get off Susan’.

Whenever we bike in difficult conditions there’s effectively three of us on the bike – me, Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement. I don’t need to tell you who I’m most concerned about.

Susan got off the bike like Olga Korbut and was standing on the road before I had actually finished my sentence.

‘You walk and I will take the bike up’ I said.

Susan was more than happy, almost laughing at the relief. ‘Yes that’s fine’ she replied.

I breathed a sigh of relief as Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement started walking. Just looking after our £16K investment.

Without the precious cargo I pushed on with the bike. With Susan walking the bike felt half the weight and I skidded on through a few more hairpins in the snow. Then Susan and I lost comms through the helmets as I went out of range. So I stopped. Bad mistake.

Well it was a bad mistake and in some respects it wasn’t.

It was bad because I lost all forward momemtum on a 25 degree hill. It was snowing and I was now standing in six inches of snow. I couldn’t put the stand down because the ground below was too uneven. I tried to start again and the rear wheel just spun and embedded itself.

On the other hand it was the right ‘mistake’ because I had to stop and keep in contact with Susan.

So there I was stuck and ‘up to my arse in trouble’. I couldn’t even get off the bike to walk down the hill to find Susan.

Thankfully, Susan walked into comms range and said she was fine. I started to think about a plan to get out of there. We had two options. Turn the bike around and return to our hotel and wait for a few days for the snow to clear. Second option was to ask the next vehicle coming over the hill about the conditions ahead. If not too bad Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement would continue their snowy forest hill walk and I would somehow get the bike going again.

Then a miracle happened.

First, I heard Susan speaking to someone. It was obviously a truck coming up the hill. They must have found it bizarre to find a woman walking up the snowy mountain in motorcycle gear with no motorcycle.

I heard her saying she was fine and her ‘esposo’ (husband) was further up the hill on the motorcycle. I’m standing there listening to this conversation thinking I’m not fine, I’m stuck and ‘up to my arse in trouble’.

As I stood there straddled over the bike, four guys on motorcycles came around the hairpin below me and stopped. What a delightful sight – four German Gentlemen motorcyclists.

The German Gentlemen Guide at the front politely asked if I was okay. I could tell by his quizzical expression he thought I looked like a guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

‘I could do with a hand to push me out of this snow’ I asked as confidently as I could, pretending I wasn’t a guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

On the intercom I suggested Susan get in their truck (I still couldn’t see the truck as it was a few hairpins behind). Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement actually didn’t need this advice for she was already in the front passenger seat sitting on Big Martin’s lap.

With the precious cargo safe in the truck, the Gentleman German Guide gave the guy who was ‘up to his arse in trouble’ a push and, eventually, we got the bike back on track.

We were off, up the hill and the guy who was only a few minutes ago ‘up to his arse in trouble’ was happy to be moving.

Well, happy to be moving for around 30 seconds. Then his front wheel hit an icy pothole, slipped to the side, the bike went down and he was back ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

As he lay there at the side of the road looking upwards to the sky and snow flakes settled on his face, he could hear Susan over the intercom speaking to Big Martin.

‘Oh why have we stopped?’ I could tell by the easy conversion she and Mrs Hip Replacement were relaxed and comfortable. Well as comfortable as a woman can be sitting on Big Martin’s knee!

‘It’s me’ I said. ‘I’m down’ I said.

‘Ah okay’ she replied and continued chatting to Big Martin. There was no ‘are you alright’? No concern. Nichts.

So it was with help from a Gentleman German I got the bike upright again and we were off again. Tentatively. Very tentatively.

Oh you want to see a photo of the snow. Well I suppose it’s about time for a photo.

This is the Gentleman German Guide’s bike. By now we had passed the last hairpin and we were going over the summit. Gentelman German Gude and I were stopped because the other Gentlemen Germans behind were falling down like skittles.

Each time they fell down they got up again. What Chumbawamba German Gentlemen they were. ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’.

Ich werde niedergeschlagen aber ich stehe wieder auf’.

I admit the lyrics are quite as catchy in German.

The road was treacherous but I managed to get the bike over the top and back onto tarmac without falling again.

Yes we were still riding on snow on tarmac but it was a lot easier than snow on ripio. I no longer was ‘up to my arse in trouble’. Oh what a nice feeling. Thank you Gentlemen Germans.

A few miles later, once we reached below snow level we all stopped and Big Martin then passed over the precious cargo.

Here’s the Gentlemen Germans further down the road.

We rode with these guys for another 50 miles over another mountain pass and through a blizzard. Thankfully, there was only a light coating of snow on the road. It was reassuring to have the support truck behind as we pushed on.

That night Susan informed me that her Apple watch gave her a critical alert for her heart rate. Now this watch gives you a warning when your heart rate is very high and it doesn’t detect you’re doing any exercise.

I obviously thought that moment was on the back of the bike when I was at the limits of my skills keeping the precious cargo safe as I negotiated a tortuously tortuous gravel hairpin.

‘I’ve worked it out’. she said. ‘It was 12.32pm’ she said. ‘That’s when I was sitting in the truck’.

‘Oh really, whilst sitting on Big Martin’s knee’ I exclaimed.

Susan didn’t reply as she pondered that thought.

Gentlemen Germans indeed! 😀

Bariloche – Gott in Himmel

‘Gott in Himmel’ – the first German words learned by many a young lad growing up in the 60s in the UK. Along with ‘schweinhund’, ‘tommy’ and the infamous ‘achtung spitfire’ we were a lot more language aware than the youth of today. Education through ‘Commando’ comic was better back in the good old days.

Why are we talking German? Well today Frau Susan and Herr Clif are in San Carlos de Bariloche. Oh, that’s a nice alpine setting.

And here’s Frau Susan with Herr Bike.

And we checked into a nice apartment with a ‘balkon mit aussicht’ – that’s a ‘balcony with a view’ if you’re not a German speaker like me.

Susan was so happy she went down to Lago Nuhiel Huapi and washed her feet. She calls it paddling but I say it for what it is.

She’s actually quite brazenly brave standing there because this lake has a monster! Records of witnesses back to the 1800’s talk of a huge snake type monster in the lake. It even has a name – Nuhuelito. Does this monster sound like another you know?

‘Och’ you’re kidding me!

Do you see how easily I slipped into Scots language? I’m the language melting pot that keeps on giving.

Anyway that’s just a cropped photo of the ‘Bariloche’ town sign. There were tourists at the other end and they would clutter up my nice photo.

So before we get back to our German theme, let’s not forget that this land belonged to the indigenous Mapuche people. The Mapuche lived in this land, fought the Incas and the Spanish for this land and today comprise 80% of the indiginous people of Argentina and 9% of the total population.

Oh I know, I know – you don’t want to read politically correct acknowledgements to indiginous people. You’re sitting there thinking ‘yeah, yeah that’s good to know but let’s move onto the Nazis. Tell me about the ‘Nasty Nazis’

Okay, but be patient and let’s set the scene with a bit more history.

In the 19th century there was a great wave of European migration to South America. Amongst those immigrants were the Welsh. No, no they’re not Nazis – I’m just diversifying and trying to make this a multilingual multicultural conversation.

Anyway, the Welsh (well about 500) came to Patagonia in 1875 and today about 70,000 residents of Argentina have Welsh surnames and 5,000 speak Patagonian Welsh as their first language. Towns such as Trevelin and Trelew were established and even today local cafes and restaurants proudly serve cakes, scones and breads made to ‘grandmother’s recipes’.

Oh I know, I know – who really wants to talk about the Mapuche and the Welsh? All you’re interested in is the ‘Nasty Nazis’.

I’m just setting the scene of the waves of European migration to South America including the Germans! Yes, now it’s the turn of the Germans. Happy now?

In 1895 a Chilian German named Carlos Weidehold established a shop called Le Aleman (The German) in what is now known as San Carlos de Bariloche. Since that time Germans have immigrated to this area and the town now resembles an alpine resort with gingerbread houses, chocolate and fondue shops which has led many people to compare it to Bavaria. I can personally testify that the Bavarian cheese selection in the shops is particularly nice.

So when WW2 ended it is common knowledge that Argentina was a safe haven for many ‘Nasty Nazis’. President Juan Peron, yup that’s the guy married to Eva, was a sympathiser and he helped arrange passage for many high ranking officials to come to South America. Eva Peron herself allegedly received Nazi gold and art in return for facilitating the smuggling of 15,000 Nazis out of Europe. Of course, she’s now been whitewashed as the tragic heroin in the musical Evita but the truth is far darker.

So that’s dasterdly Juan, Eva and the Nasty Nazis. But let’s not hold off there – wait until you hear who else was involved.

It’s well evidenced that the Pope, the Vatican and the Red Cross were complicit in the ‘ratlines’ giving false papers to fleeing Nazis. This network became known in common culture as ‘Odessa’ (remember ‘Odessa Files’ by Frederick Forsyth) though there’s no actual proof that it formally existed. Instead, it was probably a network of who you knew, what contacts could you establish and how much could you put into the right dasterdly hands.

After WW2 Bariloche became the most prominent enclave of ‘Nasty Nazis’ in South America. They lived here peacefully for years, untouched by justice, because soon after the war the focus quickly turned from Nasty Nazies to Nasty Communists.

So who settled in San Carlos de Bariloche? Well Joseph Mengele, the ‘Nasty Nazi’ who committed human experiments took his driving test outside the town hall. He moved on to Argentina and in 1956 he even returned to Germany for a holiday, travelling under his own name.

Another infamous Nasty Nazi was former SS Captain Eric Priebeck. He was a prominent local Bariloche businessman living under his own name (there was a long held code of silence in the town).

In 1944, this Nasty Nazi was in command of a unit responsible for the execution of 355 civilians. In 1995 he even felt comfortable enough to talk about the massacre on ABC TV. This was a step too far and outrage led to his extradition to Italy to face trial. He was found not guilty for reason of ‘acting under orders’ even though this was not accepted as a defence at the Nuremberg trials. Then there was outrage at the verdict, an appeal, retrial and conviction and a sentence of ‘house arrest’. Even that wasn’t enforced properly and ‘Nasty Nazi’ Eric died in Rome of natural causes at the age of 100.

Lots of other Nasty Nazis settled in Bariloche and the most outrageous allegation was that Hitler settled in a Bavarian mansion with Eva Brauna and died in November 1962. These accounts are disputed by most historians. Okay the allegation that Hitler fled to Bariloche may be far fetched but there’s still talk of annual Hitler parties in Bariloche on his birthday, April 20.

So that’s enough of Bariloche and the ‘Nasty Nazis’. Unfortunately I didn’t see any evidence of them even though Susan and I sampled quite a few ‘German style’ bars in town doing our research.

I will finish with a couple of photos of Frau Susan and Herr Clif. Firstly, here is Herr Susan sitting on her throne giving me orders.

And here’s me with the only two pals I have down here in South America.

Yup you recognise them – it’s my good buddy Mr Beer and his partner Mr Bourbon.

Okay, okay, I hear you, I hear you – ‘forget the photo of three woodentop men. After all this talk of ‘Nasty Nazis’ we like to finish on a nice calming sunset photo from your Bariloche ‘balkon mit aussicht’.

Well here it is. I’m just a wish filling pleasuremonger.

Servicio And The Old Man

We based ourselves in Santiago for five nights to give us time to rest and, more importantly, get the bike serviced. Warning lights were popping up everywhere.

Thankfully the BMW garage was very helpful and accommodated us at short notice. The bike was ready the following day, washed and polished. It now looks better than we do! Well better than I do at least – Susan managed to dye her hair in Santiago so she’s looking as fresh as the bike!

In addition to the usual service maintenance, the tyres were replaced, the rear brake pads were changed as they were critically low and air was bled out the brake system.

The bike now feels as if it can stop in half the distance it did before we arrived in Santiago. That’s just as well because we have been eating rather unhealthily for a few days in Santiago and the bike will be carrying a little bit more weight than usual.

Have a look at this bad boy hot dog.

It’s the ‘famous’ Santiago ‘Italiano hot dog’ with a dog, chopped tomatoes, avocados and sour cream. It’s incredibly popular- everywhere you look someone has one of these in their gob. And believe me this seven incher is the wee boy’s size and I felt inadequate compared to a girl who was tackling a 14 incher. Fair play I thought.

What does it taste like? It’s kind of a squidgy mess dominated by the sour cream. I have no idea why they are so popular.

Of course, I’m not the only one to indulge. Only this morning Susan was having pizza for breakfast. She often sets a standard that sometimes I find hard to follow. Fair play I thought.

Now Santiago is a nice city but it’s still suffering from the consequences of the 2019 riots when many city centre businesses were destroyed. Even today its estimated that 30-40% of businesses are closed and much of the city centre is abandoned and vandalised.

Whilst the unrest was triggered by a 4% rise in subway fares in Santiago, the country has huge underlying economic issues. Although Chile has a stable, prosperous economy it also has the highest rate of income inequality of all the wealthiest nations in the world.

Chile’s elite families, 0.1% of the total population, are an endogamous group of power players, hidden from public scrutiny. They own the banks, insurance companies, mining companies (the core of Chile’s economy) football clubs, forestry and big media companies.

Price fixing between companies is endemic throughout economy. The most famous of cases that have recently come to light is the bum deal Chileans were getting on toilet paper. For ten years two companies formed a cartel to control and inflate the price of toilet paper! And guess who controls these companies? Yes the wealthiest and most powerful families in Chile. Was anyone prosecuted? Well, what do you think?

Essentially, the money is in the hands of the wealthy few and education, health and welfare are seriously underfunded. Against this background of discontent, the rise in subway fares was enough to trigger the protests.

One of the days we were in Santiago was an anniversary of the riots. Shops, bars and restaurants closed early and the police were out in huge numbers. We tried to visit a tourist hilltop lookout but the young chap at the entrance said it was closed. He explained helpfully in reasonably clear English that there were going to be ‘manifestatations’. No idea where he got that word from but it was good enough for me – we’re going nowhere near ‘manifestations’!

Here’s a photo of the cathedral and the main square, one of the few places that looks largely untouched.

So that’s Santiago. Nice place to visit but be aware of manifestations manifesting themselves. Great bars, restaurants and friendly people. Hopefully, they fulfil the plans to rebuild the city centre and McDonald’s opens again and manifests itself in all its golden M splendor.

Leaving Santiago, we took the interstate South and covered nearly 700 miles in 3 days. It’s a fast dual carriageway but it was a tiring few days riding as we were constantly buffeted by cross winds.

We crossed paths with another manifestation of a volcano.

We sat outside a guest house which was being ‘sanitised’ and who didn’t honour our booking. The owners did not manifest themselves so we moved on.

We then crossed another border.

Yes, we were back into Argentina. It was a smooth crossing as our bike was already registered on the Argentine computer.

Unfortunately, the first 40 km of road on the Argentine side was shockingly bad. The road was at high altitude through the Andes mountains and has obviously been ravaged by the weather over the years. Our new tyres took a good thrashing and we were rattled to bits over the very rugged surface. Welcome back to Argentina.

By the time we got to out destination on day three I was like a burst balloon and feeling nauseous. We couldn’t figure out whether I had a man virus thing, whether I was tired from the riding or whether I was just feeling like an old man should.

Either way I was clear about the solution – similar to the bike I needed a servicio or, the next best thing, ice cream and red wine. Yes, I appreciate that’s probably not what I need when I’m feeling nauseous but think about it – sugar for energy and wine to make me happy and forget my ‘old man’s’ health scare.

After a large ice cream I felt slightly better, or so I told myself. Positive thinking. Next on the agenda – a nice Argentinian Malbec.

Then my whole day caved in.

It was election day in Argentina and they ban the sale of alcohol on election day until 9pm. Oh, we walked another mile trying but it was no wine for the old man. Poor ‘old man’ with a health scare.

Then, as we were staying in a relatively shabby apartment with a shabby cooker, Susan cooked some shabby spinach ravioli with tomato sauce for dinner. I’ve no idea what I’d done to upset her but I ate my punishment meal regardless. Fair play to the poor ‘old man’ with a health scare I thought.

We went to bed at 8.15pm that night. Well, we may as well – it could only keep going downhill.

But this old man is always positive and as he drifted asleep he was already looking forward to tomorrow. For tomorrow was definitely going to be Malbec Day.

And we were going looking for Nazis.

Malbec and Nazis – I could hardly contain my excitement as I lay my ‘old man’ head on the pillow. ‘Goodnight Clif’ said Susan, ‘I hope you feel better tomorrow’.

‘Gute Nacht Susan’ I replied.

You can’t keep an ‘old man’ with a health scare down,

Where’s Wally?

So where are we? Here’s a map and an explanation.

We started at the blue dot near the top (Bogota) and looped up to our most northern point, Cartagena, before heading south.

We travelled down through Colombia, Ecuador and the coast of Peru before heading east over the Andes towards Machu Picchu, Cusco and La Paz. Then it was down through Bolivia and Argentina before crossing into Chile.

The ‘blue dot’ at the bottom of the ‘teal dots’ is Santiago where we are today. 6,300 miles travelled.

The blue dot at the bottom is Ushuaia, ‘The End of The World’ and the furthest point south we will travel.

The blue dot in the east is Buenos Aires where we fly home in December.

It’s about 2,000 miles to Ushuaia and another 2,000 miles up to Buenos Aires.

Hope this map of our progress isn’t too dotty.

Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy

Leaving Cafayate we headed south towards Santiago, Chile.

Over the following four days we covered 900 miles down the magnificent Ruta 40 running parallel with the Andes mountains.

We made good, reasonably fast, progress each day. The red sandstone mountains gave way to long straight roads across a desert landscape that enabled us to keep up a good average speed.

Unfortunately, every 500 metres or so, the road dipped significantly as we crossed a dry river bed. We run down the dip, clatter across concrete slabs and then up the dip at the other side. For a hundred miles or more this happened time, after time, after time.

Each time we cross a dry river bed I give Susan pre warning over the intercom. We have perfected a messaging code over the last couple of months:

‘Bumpy bumpy’ is a mild rumble with no need to hold on. ‘Bump’ is hold on but it’s fine. ‘Big bump’ is hold on and brace yersel woman’.

Then there’s the final message ‘fu*k I didn’t see that coming’ – it’s more of an after the fact comment than a warning. Unfortunately, Susan would probably say she gets too many of these particular ‘messages’. It’s just so difficult to judge the roads ahead when they’re an absolute mess.

Everything happens at a bit of a pace as our average speed this day was about 60 mph. The road is inhospitable, desolate and not for sallying along. Susan takes it all very well and I can appreciate it must be like riding a rickity roller coaster blind fold.

One river crossing tested her more than most. That’s because it wasn’t a dry river bed like all the others. This was a real river about 35 metres wide.

It looked shallow as we slowed to a slightly too fast speed for the circumstances. The water sprayed everywhere and I thought momentarily that’s good the bike and my legs are getting a good clean.

Then I saw the deeper section of the river a split second before we hit it. It was nothing really, about 20 cm deep but the breaking force on the bike was considerable. So I accelerated through, went up a small river bank, that appeared out of nowhere (fu*k I didn’t see that coming), hit some holes caused by the swirling river current and the bike left the ground.

Now it wasn’t a big jump but I felt Susan lift off the seat and her left hand flew off the bike and up into the air above us. Thankfully, she still held onto the bike with right hand. It was like she was in a rodeo on the steel horse, bucking like a bronco. Well done ‘Cowboy Susan’. Ye ha!

To give you an appreciation of the forces at play I can tell you that even I left the seat. Yes I really did and I’m sure you can appreciate the amount of force it takes to get a lardy like me to defy gravity!

Of course, ‘Cowboy Susan’ got the message ‘fu*k I didn’t see that coming’. She wasn’t impressed. ‘That was bad, I was nearly off’ ‘Cowboy Susan’ says. ‘It was fine’ I reassured her as we accelerated down the road scanning for next river bed. Hopefully it would be dry next time.

To reach Santiago, Chile, we had to cross the Andes mountains, yet again. We don’t mind because they’re the most spectacular, beautiful, colourful mountains of grandure. The outlook and scenery changes at nearly every bend.

So after three days riding the steel horse, ‘Cowboy Susan’ and I ended up in a little western town called Uspallata. The only accommodation with steel horse parking was a hostel but we went upscale and rented a small ‘cottage’ as opposed to the communal dorm. We’re posh hostellers.

It had all the essentials and even included two sets of bunk beds if you had four pals to share. ‘Cowboy Susan’ was a bit of a spoil sport as she wouldn’t let me sub let. I thought she would have been okay with a couple of ranch hands sharing but it was a definite ‘no’. Maybe not a real cowboy after all?

Then there was the common room where all the nice hostel people hung out talking young people conversation. ‘Cowboy Susan’ and I fitted right in.

Now I accept there’s no young hip trendy friends in this photo but I’m not making them up. It’s just that I took this photo at 6am as we were up early to tackle the border crossing. Okay? So let it go because we really did have young hip hostel friends. Please don’t be jealous.

Now may I repeat previous similar warnings – please don’t show these hostel photos to your partner.

I don’t want them saying ‘why don’t you take me to a young people’s hostel like Clif takes ‘Cowboy Susan’ where we can live as if we’re young again, talk about travel and be cool, hip and trendy’. Peace and happiness ✌️

We had some great food that evening in Uspallata. We went to an Argentine parrilla – essentially it’s a restaurant with an open BBQ. We opted for the BBQ chicken and it was outstanding. I thought ‘Cowboy Susan’ was going to order a side bowl of beans and sit by the BBQ and start farting. But she didn’t – maybe not a real Cowboy after all?

The following morning we loaded the steel horse and set off whilst all our young ‘invisible’ hostel companions slept and dreamt of a better world. We had no time for dreaming, we had another border to cross.

First we admired the morning sun rising over the Andes – that’s where we were heading.

90 minutes later we reached the border crossing at over 10,000 feet. The last half hour was relatively awful for a steel horse. The road started off greasy then became icy. It largely consisted of concrete slabs that had become cracked and potholed by the extreme weather. Some of the potholes would throw you off the horse – this was no time for ‘fu*k I didn’t see that coming’.

Arriving at the customs post early Sunday morning was an advantage. It’s a joint Argentine Chile building, a one stop shop. However, even with relatively few travellers it was a bloody confusing mess with no clear process.

Thankfully, we now know what forms we need to complete and get stamped and so we negotiate our own way through various people, forms and queues to get the job done. Honestly, like other borders in South America there’s been nothing stopping us from entering and exiting the other end without getting anything stamped. As long as you’re not carrying any blinking fruit or honey you’re fine.

We left the border post. We were in Chile, our sixth country. ‘Ye ha’ as ‘Cowboy Susan’ would say.

Then it was a steep descent through say 30 or more hairpin bends. We took it easy and a couple of hours later we were in Santiago where we rented a small apartment for 5 nights. Of course, you know that that means?

Yes its ‘Cowboy Susan’, me and Mr Beer for four days. Happy as three non farting llamas.

‘From the end of the world to your town’.

Au Revoir Bolivia, Hola Argentina

After the salt extravaganza, we had hoped to set off early next day and head south towards Argentina. Unfortunately, Susan had other ideas. A combination of sun, salt and altitude confined her to bed for the day. She couldn’t even keep the coca sweets down. Oh, poor Susan.

So Susan slept all day and I ate pizza and drank beer all day. Not such a bad day after all, for some.

Next day she felt good enough to travel. She’s a tough old girl. The road was good and we made great progress. Susan didn’t barf and she was back on the coca sweets and Ritz crackers for her munchies. We were fine. Happy as two non barfing llamas.

After two days riding we reached the border between Bolivia and Argentina around lunchtime. The border was situated along a back street and it took us three attempts to find it. Crazy. Susan had to get off and walk some of it because the roads were so treacherous for the bike.

It took us a couple of hours to cross the border and we rigorously checked the forms the customs agents completed. It’s always such chaos crossing a border. Queues, people jumping in, form after form, ‘no entiendo’, no signal on phone to complete online stuff, scanner checks of panniers, heat, noise, passports out, passports in, temporary import permit cancelled, temporary import permit entry.

Then we were in Argentina – our fifth country on this journey.

The Argentina border town was Quiaca. What a tumbledown dump it was.

We stayed in the best hotel in town and it actually wasn’t that bad. Bit of a problem parking the bike. Had to ride it up a substantial pavement kerb, up the hotel steps, through the main doors of the hotel, up another step, through internal double doors, down the hall, sharp right turn into an internal courtyard, down a step, eight point turn, and park. Just in case you’re wondering, Susan got off and walked. For some reason she prefers it that way.

Big problem in Quiaca was we had no currency and the few restaurants were cash only. We managed to change the last of our Bolivian currency with a guy at the bus station. Rate was poor but we needed food and beer. I mean we needed beer and food – let’s get our priorities right. Picnic in the hotel that night.

The following day we breezed down 250 miles to Salta and checked into a nice bijou apartment.

Salta is a great place to visit and a tourist town. We had one day off but we didn’t have any time for tourism. We had a mission – we needed currency. Cash is king in Argentina.

Now I’m not going to bore the pants off you by talking Argentina economy and currency exchange, so let’s stick to the basics.

Argentina has an inflation rate of 170% and that’s where the problems begin. Argentinians prefer to save their money in American dollars and, over time, this has led to greater demand for the dollar and two different exchange rates.

Effectively, $100 US Dollars is equivalent to 35,000 pesos on the official exchange market. However, because of the demand for the dollar, there’s also the ‘unofficial’ blue rate where $100 gets you 100,000 pesos.

Obviously you want to tap into the blue rate and one of the ways to do this is to travel with crisp $100 bills and change them with scruffy looking guys that hang about street corners. They’re the local ‘cambio guys’.

After a day trading back and forth with the ‘cambio guys’, Susan and I had a wad of cash. I put the beer can in their for scale. Don’t you wish you had a wad like me?

All that said, since the end of last year there has been an arrangement with MasterCard/Visa and they will now give you the MEP rate (kind of near the blue rate and much better than the ‘official’ rate). What happens is your card is initially charged the official rate then four days later we get half our payment back as a refund.

It’s completely bananas and I haven’t even scraped the surface of all the other money issues. But I’ve even bored myself now so I’m moving on.

The one other important thing to mention about Salta is that it’s elevation is 1150m. Yup you’re hearing it right – we’re off the Andean Altiplano and back down to a reasonable altitude and breathing normally.

Of course, you will be interested in how ‘coca head Susan’ is doing. Well I’m happy to report I’ve managed the situation well. Well done me.

I got her off the coca tea through measured doses of cocktails, Ritz crackers and some tough love. When there were two beds in our hotel room, I made her sleep alone. It had to be done. She’s a trooper though – every time I banished her to the other bed she kept on smiling. Well done ‘coca head Susan’ for taking it so well.

Now we’re down to manageable altitude, Susan is feeling better. She still has a bit of a problem with the coca candy but her source for new candy is back in Bolivia. So once the current supply is finished we should be fine.

Susan is still saying she deserves to sleep alone but I’m trying to persuade her the tough love session is over. Soon we will be as happy as two llamas in one bed.

Salta to Cafayate, our next destination, was a marvellous journey. The scenery was spectacular red sandstone.

Cafayate is the centre of an Argentine wine region and we booked into to a lovely wine hotel for three nights. It’s so nice I actually think I may be too good for Susan – I really don’t want her going all soft and ladylike.

We arrived an hour before official check in time and unloaded the bike. Well actually I unloaded the bike whilst Susan sauntered into reception.

Twenty minutes later I’m still outside the hotel sitting in the baking sun on a bench with the bike and luggage. Honestly, it’s not easy being me at check in time. Eventually, Susan returned in that same sauntering manner.

In these situations I always stare at her lips, trying to descern if she’s had a complimentary drink whilst I’ve been waiting. She’s very good at disguising it and the innocence on her face, when accused, is convincing. Oh but I know what’s really going on and one day I will catch her out but today was not that day.

This time Susan was accompanied by the bell boy who spoke English with a French/Spanish accent. Yes I know you’re thinking what the bloody hell am I talking about? Suffice to say when I greeted him with ‘hola mon ami’ the light of multilingualism was switched on between us – we were both language melting pots speaking ‘franspan’ English.

Susan interrupted the ‘franspan’ love in with some reality – ‘we have to wait until the room is ready’ she said, ‘we can wait in the reception’.

No problem I thought because we’ve got a tactic that works time and time again in South America when we’re asked to wait in reception for a room – we make ourselves inconveniently unwelcome.

This time, I plonked myself on the faux french 18th century furniture, put my helmet on the glass coffee table, filled my plastic water bottles from their nice water cooler. As I sit there the dust from the road starts falling and settling around me, flies start being attracted to me and when I stamp my feet the dust rises.

Now you see the nice cream settee on the right, I was about to sit there when I was given a stern warning from Susan. That was apparently a step too far.

Soon, ‘Franspan English’ bell boy and the head receptionist are deep in conversation and within 3 minutes of me sitting down, the room was ready. Sweet. And we were out of their reception. Now you may think, well done Clif, good tactic but, to be honest, that afternoon, I was upstaged.

You see as I was sitting there seeping dirt and stour, a French girl arrived with her suitcase to be told her room wasn’t ready. She waited two minutes then opened out her suitcase and unloaded her clothes into the floor to find her bikini. Right in front of the reception desk. She had decided if she was having to wait she was going in the hotel pool. What came next I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you.

Oh I know anti climax. Susan rushed me out of reception as I was staring and hoping she was going to get changed there and then. Yes, yes what a feeble man mind I have. I only wanted to compare the effectiveness of our tactics. However, I’m sure she didn’t have to wait long for her room either. Well done ‘French suitcase girl’, je vous salue!

So where’s this place we’re staying at. Let’s see.

Nice parking place for the steel horse.

The hotel had a marvellous restaurant, its own wine and served the best steaks I’ve ever had. So we ate, drank and relaxed in the most lovely surroundings wishing we could never leave. Such a lovely place.

‘Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back, to the place I was before’.

Yes holiday over, time to get back on the bike!

Salt Salt Baby

Yo VIP. Let’s kick it. Salt salt baby.

We reached Uyuni after a hot 200 miles. On the way we met a local lady and her husband who wanted a photo of the bike. Susan duly obliged.

Then it was onto the Tonito Hotel in Uyuni.

Marvellous place with the best Pizzas in South America. I appreciate that context is everything and I may be losing my mind in the hot blistering sun but, regardless, they were damn fine pizzas. You may scoff at great pizzas in back of beyond Bolivia but scoff ye not because I present the evidence.

You see, the owner was American and has worked and owned pizza restaurants most of his life. Still not convinced? Then how about a reference from the great man himself, once the coolest restaurant reviewer in the world.

Please indulge me for a minute whilst I give a quote from Bourdain on the meaning of life.

‘Eat at a local restaurant tonight. Get the cream sauce. Have a cold beer at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the rare steak. Eat an oyster. Have a negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you but have a drink with them anyways. Eat slowly. Tip your server. Check in on friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride’. Anthony Bourdain.

If that quote doesn’t do it for you then just stick to 42. I’m fine with that too.

Moving on from Pizzas, let’s talk about why we were in Uyuni. In a word salt.

The town of Uyuni sits on the edge of the Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat. Formed by the evaporation of prehistoric lakes, it consists of salt crust a few metres thick, covering nearly 10,000 sq. km. Following rain, a thin layer of water transforms the salt flat into the world’s largest mirror. Big enough even to see your …. (sorry if I finish this sentence Susan will just censor it so I may well as well stop there!).

So that’s the facts. However, we’re tourists and what do tourists do? They hire a guy in a ‘nature crunching jeep’ and tear over this natural wonder just to get a few ‘awesome’ photos. And today we’ve got such awesome tourist photos you’re going to be so impressed and so sad you missed out on this awesome salt ‘nature crunching jeep’ journey.

We started at a cemetery. A cemetery for dead trains.

Most of these guys are from Britain and were used to haul minerals such as gold, silver and tin from Bolivia to the Pacific coast. Then the War of the Pacific came along (1879-83) between Bolivia and Peru and Chile. It resulted in Chile annexing the coastal area and cutting Bolivia and it’s mineral industry off from it’s export route. The war put these big guys out of a job.

Over the years, more and more of these big guys came here to rest and their massive steel structures have been weathered down by a mixture of salt and strong winds. Rest in peace big guys. Casey Jones is waiting for you in train heaven.

Now back to salt, salt, baby and let’s start with a photo of me. Freakin’ awesome!

The Dakar Rally is the world’s toughest rally race and this salt monument commemorates it’s visit to Bolivia in 2016.

If you zoom in you will notice the old man beard has gone. I thought the white beard might clash with the white salt and photos would show me with the lower half of my face missing. You may laugh but it was a big sacrifice for my art.

Here’s our ‘nature crunching jeep’ and our fellow tourists. You have to admit we’re looking pretty awesome. Actually, if you look closely you will see four people doing the silly poses as instructed by the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver. There’s only one person actually looking awesome. I will leave you to make up your own mind!

Let’s now have a photo of Susan with a salt flamingo balancing on her shoulders. What an awesome balancing act that was.

Then we went to an island in the middle of the salt flats where cacti thrive. We managed to get a great selfie of the pair of us.

The cacti were naturally quite awesome. Some were over 800 year old.

Giants standing guard over the salt flats.

We had lunch in the Salt Hotel where the walls and furniture are made of salt. Great spread provided by the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver. Susan is laughing her head off – she’s just asked the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver if he has any salt to go with the meal. Oh how we laughed for ages over that one!

Then it was a case of ‘you wouldn’t bloody believe it’.

That very morning I answered a comment from ‘Laid Back David’ on the blog. He asked me if we had seen any other touring cyclists on our journey. Well to date, in all our motorcycle travels, we had only seen a couple.

Oh you may be asking who is ‘Laid Back David’. Well he’s the proprietor of Laid Back Bikes in Edinburgh and is the guy that sold us the Nazca Quetzal tandem. He’s directly responsible for all the pain and suffering ‘oh poor Susan’ had to endure cycling across three continents.

So ‘Laid Back David’ asked the question and after my lunch in the Salt Hotel I walked outside and, lo and behold, I met Jo.

It was a slightly embarassing introduction from myself. I started off pretty confident as I had shaved off my beard and no longer looked like a potential seedy old man.

I saw the bicycle propped against the wall and approached the only girl in cycling shorts. That in itself is a risky move but I was confident in my new clean shaven wholesome look. ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked. ‘Well I hope so, I’m English’ Jo replied.

In hindsight it wasn’t the best question to ask someone from England, so as a footnote to myself, I’m reverting to my ‘do you come here often’ initial chat up line.

So this is Jo who has cycled from Boston and will sometime end up in Buenos Aires. She was cycling across the salt flats and had spent the night on cactus island in her tent. A very friendly person who must have astonishing strength and determination. We wish her well on her journey.

Now it’s time for more posed photos. I just know you haven’t had enough!

And here’s a photo representing my life on the road.

I can do videos too with my awesome temporary chums.

Then, as this awesome day drew to a close it became even more, can you believe it, awesome!

Just listen to this – ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver supplied us wellies and a picnic!! I bet you’re beside yourself with excitement to see the next photos.

Yup that’s me in black wellies and pink ones for Susan. ‘Nature crunching jeep’ driver really came through for Susan. I was quite taken aback thinking about all the other feet that had stood in these borrowed wellies over many years. It was like walking in history I thought. Absolutely welly awesome.

‘Nature crunching jeep’ man drove us to a part of the Salar where the salt was covered in water, opened out a picnic table with snacks and a bottle of Bolivian red. Nice.

And please, never say I’m not romantic.

Then the sun set.

And it was back in the ‘nature crunching jeep’ to our hotel and the best pizza in South America and draught IPA beer.

What an awesome day.

Salt salt baby.

The Sights & Sounds Of Colourful Bolivia

A quick catch up post as I’m falling behind on our progress through wonderful South America.

On the way to Uyuni we had an overnight stop in Oruro. Look at this hotel we stayed in. ‘The Royal Blue’ hotel.

The bedroom was just as spectacular.

Do you like the careful artistic positioning of the ‘hats’ on the bed for the photo? I’m just a waterfall of ideas.

Have you ever stayed in a more garishly colourful hotel? I think not! Please don’t show these photographs to your partner or they will be saying ‘why don’t you take me to colourful hotels like Clif takes Susan’.

We checked in and went out for a walk, coming across a parade in town that appeared to be representing the indigenous tribes of Bolivia.

In Medellin, I posted a video of some young people and their rap music. I appreciate such music is not to everyone’s taste and so, to cater for older folk and even the balance, here’s something right down your street – big band music just like the Glenn Miller Band. Diversity is my middle name. Please enjoy.

Now it was great day but there was a bit of a downside at the end. The photos below shows our dinner that night – we shared a polystyrene box of chips.

You see all the local restaurants appeared to specialise in chicken and chips. We couldn’t see anything else on offer and the cooked chicken sat in glass cases in the hot afternoon sun. We had a long day on the bike the following day so we took the safe option and passed on the chicken. The chips looked nice.

Unfortunately, as I’ve mentioned previously their potatoes are not like the soft fluffy things in the UK. They can be rough and tough and these tatties were obviously tough enough to be in the Bolivian marine core.

Oh, and next morning I had a dodgy tummy – when you’re trying to be so careful, life can bite you in the ass. C’est la vie as we say in South America.