Buenos Aires

I spent a few days visiting Buenos Aires. It is one of the largest cities I've biked into, requiring me to follow an 18 lane traffic artery from the suburbs to downtown. I was of course the only bike out there. The city is nice. It is clean. The streets are lined with attractive buildings in the 6 to 12 stories range, if there are tall skyscrapers I didn't find them. Despite the population of four million it never felt crowded. At times it even seemed quiet. I took long slow walks, frequently stopping in restaurants as I went. I made friends to go partying with. In Buenos Aires the parties don't even start until 2am and people will arrive for a few more hours after that. A more typical night for me is falling asleep shortly after it gets dark at 7pm. Why siestas are part of the culture here makes more sense to me now.

I was mugged after one if those parties while walking back to where I was staying. A tourist experience that I hadn't had yet. It was very late at night, or early in the morning depending how you look at it, the small bakeries I passed were already starting their day. Two men approached walking down the wide dark sidewalk in front of me. The shorter man grabbed my arm and pointed the barrel of a gun at me from within his coat pocket, pressing it hard against my ribs. Or it could have just been his fingers poking me. I wasn't convinced either way. I had showered, washed my clothes and shaved within the previous 48 hours so these two guys did not realize I was homeless, out of a job for years and at that moment nearly penniless. I only had 5 pesos on me, the equivalent of 50¢, no phone, no passport, nothing else. The rest of my cash I had just given to a man spending the night on the street a few blocks back. The karma quickly paid off. The mugger, with his fingers on my ribs, patted my pockets and when he came up with nothing the two of them quickly left without a word. The whole event took just a few seconds. I carried on too, back to slowly meandering the dark and quiet streets, smelling the fresh bread, trying to pick out the stars shining between the tall buildings.

I also had my bike fixed up while in town. I've lost track of my exact distance but I think I'm about 18000 miles from Fairbanks. Few things on my bike started there and have made it here. I had everything cleaned and a couple more pieces replaced. This tuneup will hopefully get me across the barrens of Southern Argentina. The road ahead gets shorter every day.

Oddly enough the actual time is the average of these three clocks.

A mushroom for you. 

Down from the Andes

I've crossed the Andes. It was by far the most difficult mountain range I've been in. Literally blood, sweat and tears were spilled in the three and a half months I've been rolling through that range. I was in a valley cresting a low hill when a view of the plains spread out before me. Just like that there were no more ridges to cross. I sat there for a while to play guitar and look at the terrain ahead, reflect on all the climbs behind me, catch my breath. The final descent took me through a landscape of technicolor. I felt like I had stepped into the land of Oz. It was a fittingly spectacular exit. 

That exit deposited me on plains of vast pastures and occasional cotton fields. To emphasize the contrast between the new landscape and the mountains I spent seven days biking a stretch of road that had no turns to speak of. Relaxing is the best way I can describe it. I've been hanging my hammock in tree farms and sleeping in my tent on the pastures with the cows and horses and occasional ostrich running by. The standout bit of scenery was Iguazu falls. They were loud, massive and beautiful. I think it is best just to let the pictures elaborate for me. 

I've had great interactions in Argentina too. Twice I've been invited inside for the night, wonderful meals, home made cookies, bon fires and good company included. In the small towns I've had new friends make me sandwiches, give me sticks of salami, fill my water bottles. Occasionally a cowboy will ride up to me in the early morning or on their way home for the evening as I am camping in their pastures. Their big concern is always that I will be cold in the night. It is about the nicest thing they could say. Their immediate concern for my well being warms my heart. 

On a side note, I get a lot of compliments on my photos, thank you for that. By far the single most complimented blog post was from a year ago. The post where all the photos were taken by Emily. Since we parted she has past her first year of med school and I have managed to be somewhere else. Apparently being somewhere else is what I excel at. Currently Emily is spending the summer helping conduct a survey of prenatal care in Africa. She spends most of her time in Rwanda and has a blog full of pictures. If you would like to check it out you can find it at climbathousandhills.com. 

Salt harvesting.

A lovely day for biking.

Brunch at an abandoned gas station.

Flowers for you.

Finally back in my hammock!

Humahuaca painted hills.

Down a side road to find camping.

Looking back at my last climb of the Andes, for now.

Horses visiting me in the morning.

Iguazu falls.

I took this photo in the morning from my hammock.

A short visit to Chile

My time in Chile was so quick that I can give you a play by play. It started with a short stretch of dirt track before reaching the first paved road I had seen in nearly two weeks. Turning right here would drop me 6500 feet in 30 miles to San Pedro in the Atacama desert. Going left would take me to Argentina. I wanted to go to Argentina but to get my Chile entrance stamp I needed to go to San Pedro. It was not a hill I was excited about climbing back up but I didn't seem to have a choice. I had just started toward San Pedro when Tori, a New Zealand cyclist that I had met briefly in Columbia, crested the hill coming toward me. We stopped to say hello and he informed there is a Chile immigrations office at the Argentina border too. With that I turned around and joined him heading towards Argentina. 

It was a day and a half ride to the border. We camped one night in a national park dotted with rock towers. They were fascinating to look at and served as a nice wind block. It was another cold night but we were slowly descending toward the Argentina border and, I was hoping, warmer weather. 

When I got to the border I handed over my passport. The border agent that gives the exit stamps looked at my passport and asked where my entrance stamp was. In broken Spanish I explained my situation. He was unimpressed but with a little pleading the border agents decided to let me through with no entrance or exit stamps for Chile. The Argentina agent gave me a stamp with a smile and I was on my way. My shortest visit to a country yet. 

 Welcome to Chile.

 Rocks!

 Bike dudes.

 Tori and I camping with a serious wind block.

Chile wildlife. A wolf? Or a warm fox? I'm not sure. 

 Argentina already!