According to Google Maps the drive from Villarrica to Puerto Fuy (“phooey”) should take an hour and forty minutes, but what do they know, after all they call the Gulf of Mexico the Gulf of America. We took probably twice as long though I blame Rusty in part for that.
We were about half an hour away from the ferry terminal in Puerto Fuy when we spotted a rather pleasant open space wedged between the Truful River and the road. Obviously we had to stop.
We parked in the wooded section but Rusty took off down the beach, nose down with no intention of making a touch and go stop.
I don’t know if the smells were fascinating that he found in nature or possibly it was the uncharacteristically trashy nature of the place, such that it looked like Perú, but he was happy as a clam.
We let him have at it as he doesn’t often get the urge to wander as much as he used to in his youth, and we had time before we had to report to the ferry terminal 20 miles up the road.
In a country filled with beautiful scenery Highway 203 which dead ends at the ferry terminal is also quite beautiful, and there are turn outs along the way to let you pause and take it all in, or to buy a souvenir or a hot dog as the mood takes you. The mood seemed to take quite a lot of people as the turn outs were all packed. School summer holidays are ending soon, good for us as of course as we will face less competition for camping facilities.
I suppose I was surprised by the number of people we saw along this backwater as I had expected a much quieter drive but this sort of scenery is bound to attract crowds. 
Yes, Rusty took his time and I left him to it as everyone needs alone time.
It was a lovely spot despite the trash and we had time to relax. We are our empanadas in our home and waited for Rusty to finish his exploration.
Oh another volcano. Ho hum.
More souvenir hunters along Highway 203 which I should point out is a dead end if you don’t get on the ferry.
And here is Puerto Fuy in a scalding hot 80 degree afternoon glinting under the afternoon sun. Our ferry was to leave at three thirty and we arrived just after one.
It was a lot too peopley for us
Ignore the volcano and focus on the parking lot. Imagine having the concession to take fees for this lot for three months of summer. I’d use my winter time to go somewhere far distant for the other nine months, but I never was ambitious.
Eat drink sleep. Puerto Fuy summarized.
The ferries run several times each day and this time of year you need to book in advance. Our license plate (“patente”) in the list and we styled it all the way to the front of the loading dock.
The other ferry left just after we arrived and I went to the office to pay the fare, about $24 for two tickets, one for van and driver and $2:50 for Layne. Rusty had to stay in the van but rode free.
Kayaks and boat rides and swimming to keep the hordes happy.
Rusty got to know the locals on his walk. After a bit they bore him and he snarls at them until they back off.
Not my scene.
Ferries require lots of waiting but Chile runs them on time. We had received an email reminder in the morning to make sure we didn’t forget we had a reservation.
Off with the old and on with the new.
This was our route after we got off the boat at the other end. Six miles of asphalt to the border then 27 miles of Argentine gravel to the town of San Martin De Los Andes.
Meanwhile we had 90 minutes to snooze and watch the hillsides go by.
400 watts of solar cranking as we rode.
We saw this scenery on our four day ride to Puerto Natales but it is a pretty lake a mile wide and twenty long.
Arrival dead on time at 5 pm, four hours until darkness incidentally.
Swift easy unloading.
There is a modern well organized ferry landing but nothing else. iOverlander says there is an improvised campground at a Hostal near the docks and I wish in retrospect we had stopped there. Oh well, onwards and upwards.
The road to the border is perfectly paved. Just to show Argentina how it’s done I suspect.
Chile takes care of its isolated communities with an airstrip, a health clinic and an ambulance on stand by. We had a strong cell signal right up to the border.
Six and a half miles to the border complex at the Hua Hum pass, the lowest altitude road crossing in the Andes just under 2,000 feet. A quiet backwater we thought, no trucks or tour buses and an easy crossing as usual. No worries. How wrong we were…
