Kafkaesque

Some days don’t work when you’re on the road. The past couple of days have been like that and we have been trapped in the sort of hell only bureaucracies can create.

When we approach a border we start looking for the blue “pet services” tag on the iOverlander app. Below you can see the purple line of the border between Brazil to the north and its village of Chui. To the south is Uruguay and the village of Chuy. The two villages are separated by a street that you can walk across freely. The pick up truck below is in Brazil in Chui, the car is in Uruguay in Chuy. Crazy isn’t it?

Brazilian customs don’t stop you as you drive in to town. If you want to stop and get your papers done you stop otherwise you are free to pass. We’ve passed through several times in our mad search for dog papers to cross to Uruguay officially. Uruguayan customs in the highway south stop all traffic for checks apparently so we can’t just drive into Uruguay. See below, the circles are customs and the red line is the border. :

So we drove three hours down the peninsula into Chui looking for one of two vet’s listed on iOverlander. That’s what we always do when we approach border: we find out what the requirements are for our dog. Then we look for a vet who has been listed by a satisfied overlander who preceded us. In Chui this whole plan fell apart.

We found a number for the vet and sent messages back and forth. She made three appointments and missed every single one. The other vet office was closed permanently and the agriculture office that reviews the paperwork was also closed and locked. We had nowhere to turn to. 

We were wondering if we had to go back three hours to Rio Grande where Layne went to the hospital. That plan fell through as we texted various vets and they had no idea how to prepare the paperwork for Rusty to enter Uruguay. 

Our final back up plan was to go back to Paraguay and enter Argentina to get around Uruguay and then drive to Buenos Aires to meet our friends. It seemed ridiculous  and we were severely bummed.

I started another round of studying iOverlander to find something we could try. And there it was, buried in another icon, a contact for a vet. Why they didn’t put a tag on the vet so everyone could see it if I don’t know and I have rectified that. But we now had a chance to get this miserable paperwork done. 

We had driven out a half hour to the next town of Santa Vitória which it turned out is a pretty little community of 30,000 people far removed from the dusty scrubby border mess that is Chuy. We parked by the plaza and waited for the vet to let us know where and when to meet. 

She never called us. That was when I started to hunt for an alternative and amazing to relate the second vet mentioned as an aside in iOverlander was six blocks away. 

We drive over to see what we might find  what we found was a German couple we hadn’t seen since Ecuador whom we’d first met outside Oaxaca in 2023. Mattias had noticed the same connection I had in iOverlander and he too had tried to get a vet to help in the big city and had obviously failed as we had. That was reassuring that we hadn’t missed anything.

To enter Uruguay the vet had to produce a health certificate as normal but then Uruguay requires leishmaniasis test. It’s a parasite infection caused by sand flea bites and can infect humans and dogs. Both Laila, Mattias and Silvia’s dog as well as Rusty came up negative. The vet sent our packages to the Agriculture office for approval by email and we paid $115. We should get a reply within 48 hours. What a relief. I took a wide angled shot of the action. 

Rusty never feels the vaccine needles but he did not like the blood draw. I told him he was going to be fine but he didn’t believe me even when I pointed out I’d be a basket case if he was dying. He looked scornful. 

His negative test result for leishmaniasis. The vet was incredibly patient and sweet. 

It’s funny how stressed he gets at the vet, it must be the smell of hospitals or sick dogs or something because he never reacts to treatment. I remember this every time I take him to the vet and I try to do the same for him as he did for me in 2018 after my accident. 

We left the vet relieved after 36 hours of stressful fretting. I told Layne it would be easy looking back but for a while we couldn’t figure out how to cross this damned border.

While we were at the vet I looked out the window and saw these kids staring at our travel stickers. Don’t speak English? I asked. They shook their heads. I told them in my awful Portuguese to get a van when they turn 18 and live their lives. They laughed at my attempt to subvert the dominant paradigm. 

Purcplan now is to wait for the papers. 

We’d like to get them Wednesday as we have a shop we want to visit in Uruguay.  It’s run by two German brothers and we need some of the work done in Brasilia checked out. 

The mechanic is gone from Friday through Monday on a long weekend. That means if we don’t get the papers until Thursday we won’t see him till next Tuesday. Not the end of the world but…

So last evening we drove some terrible streets suggested by Google Maps to get to a campground on the edge of town.

City streets? Oh Brazil. 

The campground is free until it isn’t. The employee told us it was free and then said her supervisor was charging us $17.  Not cheap for a parking spot in a union trade school offering hot showers and toilets. Complete with two stray dogs who got a massive dinner from us.  

A nice enough spot but I think we got charged a gringo tax. We decided it was worth it for a night after a long day. 

Easter Rest

We didn’t do much on Sunday. I walked Rusty,

Layne cooked and we did some little jobs to fix up our home. The usual. 

It wasn’t very crowded for a Sunday. The showers were lovely and hot and we got wet midday as nights are cold around here, mid sixties, but days have been warm.

The campground has strong WiFi which saves us some electricity not having to use our Starlink and our 860 watt solar panels have an  easy time keeping up with our needs as we don’t need a/c here. Even under bright overcast we make 15-20 amps  

Rusty takes his guard duties seriously especially with three fun filled campground dogs running around playing. He doesn’t join in the old grump, besides they don’t speak English. 

Today we have decided to drive to the border with Uruguay and start getting Rusty’s vet papers together. 

Reflections

Our drive to the border with Paraguay would be described by most overlanders as boring I think, straight and flat on a levee across a wide barrier island  

I on the other hand found myself remembering many similar drives across central Florida, flatlands often waterlogged and dotted with scrub palms, clusters of cows and not much else. Had the road been smooth and not filled with ripples lumps and dips I’d have enjoyed the drive a lot more. If you’ve ever driven Highway 27 you’ll know what I mean.

It bears pointing out I suppose that in the southern hemisphere we are entering the Fall season and finally we are far enough south to feel a slight drop in temperature to the mid 80s and for a while I drove with the a/c off and the windows open. Humidity however remains high. 

Brazil Highway 427 looks smooth but we were tossed around like a small ship in short period steep waves, bouncing madly even though I was driving around 40 miles per hour. 

Layne was on the bed with her legs raised but only one of her two infected bites was healing. The other burst like an impatient bloody cyst so we had to figure out how to find a doctor when we arrived in Chui at the border. Failing to find one forced us back to the big city of Rio Grande up this same road. When we do go back to the border at Chui that will make our third pass at what might well become a boring road. 

I feel fortunate to have lived in the peak era of internal combustion as I’ve always loved driving and sitting up on the levee looking out at a new river of grass, with prairie and cattle ranges is as good for me as driving the more spectacular canyons of the Andes. I am always curious about places not seen. 

I think a little homesickness is creeping into our lives. We were talking about going home and seeing friends in summer while spending a winter in Mexico on a beach swimming. That was our retirement plan before all the chaos of the post election months swept the country. Hopefully things will settle down a bit moving forward.  This year we will revisit Patagonia, this time next year we’ll have another crack at the coast of Brazil and then the idea is to turn north in Peru and make our way to Colombia. 

This isn’t Krome Avenue north of Homestead though it could be. We’d both like to spend vacation time in Key West again and we have a place to park with friends. There are no plans to get rid of GANNET2 rather the contrary we want to keep refining our living space to make it as self sufficient as possible. Alaska is my goal after South America and we want to stay nomadic as long as we can. 

But all that aside South America which I came to late in life is an excellent place to tour by camper. The big shortcoming for us is the lack of public lands. You don’t find BLM or US Forest Service (or Crown land in Canada) for uncomplicated wilderness camping. I miss that, the ability to drive into the woods, park and camp without fuss. I read the Forest Service is being modified and the headquarters are being moved and employees are quitting and I fear for our access to public lands being sold for profit. BLM land access is being ramped up for mineral exploration not camping fishing and hunting. 

There are national parks in these countries but like in the US they are centered on activities, organized camping, hiking, located in  outstanding scenery and are tightly regulated. Usually dogs are banned even from entry so you won’t see us there. The concept of public land shared between commercial activity and simple public enjoyment is not known in Latin America. Patagonia, that vast wilderness is all owned and is thus lined with fencing. 

Aside from seeing family and friends those public spaces are what we miss. The van life rage, the notion that being a nomad is a threat to suburbia,  an offshoot of life exhaustion is not a phenomenon in South America and because we are tourists we don’t participate in the daily frustrations of low pay and societal shortcomings. The locals want us to enjoy their countries so their anger at stifling bureaucracy and needing three jobs to live is masked for the honored guests.

Fabio in Rio Grande interrupted his Good Friday walk to introduce himself and get a chance to speak English. Whatever we are doing is his dream. His enthusiasm for van life was overwhelming. It’s something we hear a lot, just taking off on an open ended drive is a fantasy come true for middle class South Americans. 

It makes you feel humbled yet privileged to be allowed to camp through these countries and to be welcomed. Stealth camping, hiding your identity is not necessary if you overnight on the streets. 

We slept on the street here in Rio Grande Thursday night after Layne’s discharge from the hospital. 

She wants to go back to the hospital for a check up to make sure the healing is taking place properly. We have no deadlines but we are ready to see a new country.

The lure of living on wheels is spurred in part for many people Stateside by the hope that the cost of living as a nomad is more bearable but to me the joy of being a nomad after years of sitting at a desk is the ability to move. I like the uncertainty of not knowing where we will sleep tonight but I also enjoy living in a well appointed home on wheels. 

A lot of people in the States think of camping as a butch outdoors activity, hewing wood, sleeping under canvas (or the contemporary equivalent) and none of this van living with all modern conveniences. For me camping is temporary living, a few nights and then I move on whether in a tent on a bicycle or in a van. But there are so many opinions about everything in a time of social aggravation people at home seem to have a hard time tolerating differences. I say potato and if you don’t I’ll scream at you until you do. That’s not for me. 

In South America rare is the campground where a dog has to be on a leash. Imagine that at your nearest Kampground of America. Dogs figure out their hierarchies here  and like so many other aspects of life things have a way of working themselves out. Dogs approach, I stay calm and Rusty bares his faces of not as he reads the situation. After a couple of encounters yet she establishes his territory around his home and they wander off.  It’s taken time but he’s figured it out. 

I have this nostalgia for home and the familiar but I am not unaware of the pitfalls awaiting a return from this freewheeling South American life. I will be interested to see how I cope. 

Driving down the highway I saw a movie scene enactment play out in front of me…the crop spraying scene from Hitchcock’s North by Northwest.

The folks waiting for the bus, with the crop sprayer barely visible on the horizon…

…the plane banks for another run…and buzzes the hapless Cary Grant (me) on the return. 

That America, in black and white is long since gone. I wonder what I shall find on my return. Perhaps 2028 will be too soon.

Cattle grid crossing. There were four of these nightmares. 

I only took one at speed accidentally but that was awful. 

No mercy for tires and wheels. 

Soon.

Uruguay, said to be the most expensive country in South America. It had better be worth it.