Tent down, face washed, coffee and back on the road, there was lot of ground to cover so I tried to get riding by mid morning and make distance through the provinces of La Pampa, Cordoba, Buenos Aires and into Santa Fe on a good afternoon. I was approaching the periphery of the country's industrial heartland, busier roads and grumpier faces. I'm now blending in with the middle aged men eating lunch alone in simple restaurants, staring at the television, picking at the bread from our baskets until the hot meal arrives.
The weather was mainly fine until the skies opened up above and turned a dark shade of grey by late afternoon. Despite thinking I'd waited out the storm coming from the north in a gas station lounge, I got caught in the dark for 100km's in a mix of thunderstorm and torrential rain, drenched to the bone until escaping in the closest highway town of Rufino for a hotel bed for the night. To make matters worse, the highway was frequented by many trucks and clearly no weighbridges in this part of the country as the tarmac was unpredictable and difficult to see the deep waves due to overloaded trucks. Perhaps the most dangerous riding I've endured.
A day later I cross the Rio Parana, an instant tropical change and miles of riding through the wetlands. On a rare occasion after months in Argentina, the police at the provincial checkpoint pull me over rather than wave me through. License and bike title isn't enough this time, they ask for my insurance. ''What insurance?'' I say, ''I don't have insurance in Argentina''. ''But it's compulsory, you must have third party insurance in Argentina''. ''I didn't know that, customs never asked me at the many border crossings I've made, the police have never asked me up to now''. I thought it would blow over and they'd let me carry on, but with a group of cops now around me, one of the guys was out to make a point. I was forced to pull over, brought into the roadside office and sternly shown the road laws and a schedule of offences and the corresponding fines, $1,400 pesos for lack of insurance, that's somewhere around $190 aussie dollars now that I had very little cash and would be potentially forced to use my bank card at official rates.
I casually laughed it off and did my best at playing the subtle balance of ignorance, patience, innocence, surprise, frustration and dumb gringoness. He had my title and license so I had little room to move. ''What are you going to do'' he asked. ''I don't have that money'' I insist and stick to my story that I repeatedly asked customs officials at every crossing into Argentina and they say insurance isn't compulsory so I haven't bought it. Being a Saturday the bank isn't open so I'm told if I don't have the cash I have to wait until Monday to make the payment. ''Monday! What am I suppose to do til then? Where do I put my tent?''. ''Over there points the older cop, beyond the guard rails.
I'm sent out of the office and forced to wait by the roadside until something further. Several hours go by, they're waiting for me to give in I figure. I've found patience is always the way to go in these situations so I sit and watch the traffic go by. As it gets dark, I fetch my tent from my bike and set it up where I was told was possible. No one approaches so I get my sleeping bag out and settle in for a documentary then some music on my laptop. A few hours later, at 11pm, I head out of the tent to take a piss, hoping to catch someone's attention, surely they won't allow me to camp by the highway overnight. As I'm shaking off one of the senior cops shines his torch my way and calls me over. ''Cold, hey'' he says. ''What do you think?'' I reply, making it sound a lot colder than what I was used to further south. ''Go on, pack your stuff up, get out of here''.
After six of so hours, he agreed to give me my documents back and continue on the highway. I approached the office and the cop inside had a few questions for me. ''So, what's your job? You're a dentist aren't you?'' ''No, I'm not a dentist.'' ''You're a doctor''. ''No, I work in construction. Why?'' I find out he'd been google-ing me during this time and mistakened me for a dentist from California. Maybe that got me out of the fine, who knows, but he kindly wrote out a formal fine in case I was caught further on I could plead guilty and say I'd already paid the fine then we sat by the computer while I showed him my blog and what I'd been up to in Argentina. Tough going but luckily I wasn't far from a town so I took a hotel room for the night.
Sun setting over the Rio Uruguay in Belen with Argentina in the distance. The most precious thing about leaving the Andes is riding and resting with sunsets like this across the broad plains of Argentina and northern Uruguay. To take a memorable line from my eternal buddy Phil, riding into scenes like this just never gets old, first heard the evening of our sunset ride into Comodoro Rivadavia now months ago further south.I didn't stay long but I'll be returning to Uruguay after Brazil, my first impression was of a similar feel to Cuba, but functional, perhaps what a democratic Cuba would be like - fields of quality farmland, deserted highways, old cars and simple living.
The weather was mainly fine until the skies opened up above and turned a dark shade of grey by late afternoon. Despite thinking I'd waited out the storm coming from the north in a gas station lounge, I got caught in the dark for 100km's in a mix of thunderstorm and torrential rain, drenched to the bone until escaping in the closest highway town of Rufino for a hotel bed for the night. To make matters worse, the highway was frequented by many trucks and clearly no weighbridges in this part of the country as the tarmac was unpredictable and difficult to see the deep waves due to overloaded trucks. Perhaps the most dangerous riding I've endured.
A day later I cross the Rio Parana, an instant tropical change and miles of riding through the wetlands. On a rare occasion after months in Argentina, the police at the provincial checkpoint pull me over rather than wave me through. License and bike title isn't enough this time, they ask for my insurance. ''What insurance?'' I say, ''I don't have insurance in Argentina''. ''But it's compulsory, you must have third party insurance in Argentina''. ''I didn't know that, customs never asked me at the many border crossings I've made, the police have never asked me up to now''. I thought it would blow over and they'd let me carry on, but with a group of cops now around me, one of the guys was out to make a point. I was forced to pull over, brought into the roadside office and sternly shown the road laws and a schedule of offences and the corresponding fines, $1,400 pesos for lack of insurance, that's somewhere around $190 aussie dollars now that I had very little cash and would be potentially forced to use my bank card at official rates.
I casually laughed it off and did my best at playing the subtle balance of ignorance, patience, innocence, surprise, frustration and dumb gringoness. He had my title and license so I had little room to move. ''What are you going to do'' he asked. ''I don't have that money'' I insist and stick to my story that I repeatedly asked customs officials at every crossing into Argentina and they say insurance isn't compulsory so I haven't bought it. Being a Saturday the bank isn't open so I'm told if I don't have the cash I have to wait until Monday to make the payment. ''Monday! What am I suppose to do til then? Where do I put my tent?''. ''Over there points the older cop, beyond the guard rails.
I'm sent out of the office and forced to wait by the roadside until something further. Several hours go by, they're waiting for me to give in I figure. I've found patience is always the way to go in these situations so I sit and watch the traffic go by. As it gets dark, I fetch my tent from my bike and set it up where I was told was possible. No one approaches so I get my sleeping bag out and settle in for a documentary then some music on my laptop. A few hours later, at 11pm, I head out of the tent to take a piss, hoping to catch someone's attention, surely they won't allow me to camp by the highway overnight. As I'm shaking off one of the senior cops shines his torch my way and calls me over. ''Cold, hey'' he says. ''What do you think?'' I reply, making it sound a lot colder than what I was used to further south. ''Go on, pack your stuff up, get out of here''.
After six of so hours, he agreed to give me my documents back and continue on the highway. I approached the office and the cop inside had a few questions for me. ''So, what's your job? You're a dentist aren't you?'' ''No, I'm not a dentist.'' ''You're a doctor''. ''No, I work in construction. Why?'' I find out he'd been google-ing me during this time and mistakened me for a dentist from California. Maybe that got me out of the fine, who knows, but he kindly wrote out a formal fine in case I was caught further on I could plead guilty and say I'd already paid the fine then we sat by the computer while I showed him my blog and what I'd been up to in Argentina. Tough going but luckily I wasn't far from a town so I took a hotel room for the night.
Packing my bags in the car park the following morning I meet Pancho, a Chileno riding east to Brazil for the World Cup. We compare maps and routes and decide on riding together for the day. It's not much chop riding alongside a 200cc cruiser, often not realising Pancho is out of my rear vision so I make some stops so he can catch up. Over lunch and perusal of our maps, we spontaneously decide to cross into Uruguay shortly for a change of scenery. My lack of insurance comes to bite me again, I pass through both immigrations and customs before a man approaches me and says I can't enter without insurance. What frustrates me most is that if insurance is compulsory, as it is in some less developed Central American countries, there should be facilities at the borders to purchase it. At the crossing I had no option but to return to Argentina for the night. I had to leave Pancho behind, fix insurance in the border town the next morning and re-enter that afternoon.
Sun setting over the Rio Uruguay in Belen with Argentina in the distance. The most precious thing about leaving the Andes is riding and resting with sunsets like this across the broad plains of Argentina and northern Uruguay. To take a memorable line from my eternal buddy Phil, riding into scenes like this just never gets old, first heard the evening of our sunset ride into Comodoro Rivadavia now months ago further south.I didn't stay long but I'll be returning to Uruguay after Brazil, my first impression was of a similar feel to Cuba, but functional, perhaps what a democratic Cuba would be like - fields of quality farmland, deserted highways, old cars and simple living.
When I turned off the highway for a night in Belen and some petrol I was given directions from these two hitchhikers only to meet them shortly after by the river where I decided to camp. Carlo and Lalo were true bohemians, the sons of freemasons who had spent the past decade on the road between odd jobs, spending time in all corners of their country and well as the neighbouring countries. I spent the night trying hard to understand their thick accents, shared some cask wine and a slow cooked pasta fagioli over a campfire.
Tuesday June 3, 2014. I wake up with the sun by the river in Uruguay, hug it out with my new friends, get on the road early, cross freely into Brazil, stop for coffee, cross into Argentina a couple of hours later, throw down an average plate of ravioli for lunch and take the 12 towards Misiones province and the sub-tropics. This is the sun setting on approaching Luis' place at day's end.
Sixto's room with a view
After a long day of over 500km's on the road and three countries, seeing the sun setting as above is enough to call it a day and watch it melt away. I was in need of a wash so when seeing a restaurant sign on the highway with 'toilets and showers on offer' I made a U-turn and pulled into the driveway. As soon as I got to my feet, a jolly man presented himself. I asked if I could camp in the front of the property and maybe use the shower. In true Argentinian fashion there was no hesitation, Luis suggesting I park beneath the undercroft. I watch the last of the light with a couple of avocados fallen from the tree and soon enough I'm introduced to a couple of guys who work there as well as a couple of others who have come to drop off some timber. Then arrives Luis' gentle father and brother Lolo who insists the night will be too cold for camping and suggests I set up inside a small brick building away from the wind. I'm invited in for a beer and find a new energy for some interesting chat with a friendly group of guys, all connected with the restaurant. Later on Luis and one of the guys get on the guitar and drums in the corner of the restaurant for a private session of folklore music from not just this part of the country but samba from various areas until we share a great plate of rice, lentils and pancetta.
With Luis and his father. I farewell Luis and the boys and head to Puerto de Iguazu the following morning after I'm fed an energizing Argentinian breakfast - a big cup of cafe latte, bread and dulce de leche and a lesson on the secrets to making perfect bread by the padron. A fantastically warm family and more unforgettable hospitality.
Why doesn't this happen in the more developed world? I made a brief stop on the highway to Puerto where a man was grilling from a 40 gallon drum on his trailer by the road, $2 got me a well roasted piece of pork belly, a chorizo, chimichurri, a basket of bread and a glass of water.
