Getting To Chile

Customs officers don’t usually care what you take out of the country, it’s what you want to bring in that sets them off. Fruit is a big no no for Chile, hence the early morning banana.

It was cold, just above freezing but there was no wind so it was bearable and Rusty loved it. 

There are mines around here and there is a certain amount of related traffic. 

Don’t trash the place is the message and no one does. 

The snow covered volcano is the highest in the world at 20,615 feet and it’s called the eyes of the  salt flats. Ojos del Salado. We spent the morning driving around it. 

Julia and Konstantin caught up to us in their Sprinter van with exit papers for their two cats and we drove on together. 

The border post is about thirty miles from the border itself so this is one of those crossings where the two countries aren’t sharing one building. This fox might be scavenging around them. 

As always park and walk  to the buildings. Immigration, customs, agriculture for Rusty. 

The road across the pass and on to Chilean customs is paved. 

Fuel is at Copiapó about 200 miles away. Chañaral is the area on the beach we are aiming for after that. 

A few miles on we stopped to empty the second jug and Konstantin stepped in to help an arthritic old man. It went faster. 

The border. Chile uses winter time so we set our clocks back an hour. Chile and Argentina use the same time in summer but not in winter. This does not suit us as we get less daylight in the evening. Now it will get dark at 6:30. 

Laguna Verde is one of those turquoise reservoirs filled with glacial water. It’s in Chile but before the border and we didn’t want to stop until we were checked in to the country. 

After the border post we got back on a dirt road. Hooray! Highway 31 was dirt for 17 miles but the dirt wasn’t too bad actually. It was compressed and smoothed and not the usual gravel. 

It climbed up to 14,000 feet again. We passed this mining contraption. They waved, we waved back. 

Strange black gravel masquerading as asphalt. 

Back winding through the Andes at twenty miles per hour on a warm sunny afternoon. 

This couple from Uruguay are taking a vacation circuit through northern Argentina and Chile. We chatted briefly at the border and waved as we passed each other on the road. 

And eventually we got back on pavement. 

I still like pavement. 

And then hit the next piece of dirt. We were tired and ready to stop but there were no decent places to pull over. iOverlander was letting us down as badly Chile’s toad department. We were a grumpy crew all told. 

On and on. 

Konstantin spotted this disused quarry at 7200 feet which felt like sea level.  Very good enough. We had ramen for dinner. And white wine. Rusty pushed me aside to get to his kibbles with added cow intestines that Layne had saved from our last grilled meat meal we had in Argentina. 

We went to bed exhausted but content. 

Paso San Francisco

We took two days to cross Paso San Francisco the third border crossing between Argentina and Chile from the north, coming south. It was the third highest of the passes at 15,505 feet officially. Konstantin doesn’t do well at altitude but Layne and I were feeling fine, breathless but no headaches.

This border is only open on Tuesday and Fridays and Rusty’s exit permit had to be used by Thursday so we had to cross on the Tuesday opening. We started out from Fiambalá late Monday morning to be ready. The crossing is 300 miles long with no fuel on the way. We should be fine but we loaded ten extra gallons to be less stressed. 

Konstantin gave us the jugs after he was denied entry to Bolivia where fuel is not easily available. The dog below belongs to the gas station in Fiambalá. The sign says enjoy and relax. I’m forced to believe the dog can read. 

I like to waste our substance giving dog food away to hungry locals so we stopped at the supermarket named for a sea mammal, here, so far from the ocean. 

Rusty picked up some hints from the gas station dog. 

Just be warned: Paso San Francisco is all desert, all the time. And for us the good news was the road, Highway 60 in Argentina was all pavement 120 miles to the border. Highway 31 in Chile was another story. 

Did I mention there is a hotel and restaurant an hour out of Fiambalá? No gas stations but food, that’s a different story. 

This Argentine couple wanted to know our story and they gave us some useful tips about places to see in the region which we will use next year. It was a good chat, and they uplifted us. Too many Argentines are too shy to talk to foreigners. 

The funny looking pottery pot closest to me is the house specialty which they call “pastel de papas” which turned out to be shepherds pie and we liked it.  

The steak was tender and as good as beef’s reputation in Argentina. 

There is something startling about finding a fully functional hotel and restaurant (with vegetarian choices in meat centric Argentina) a full bar and excellent service lost in the middle of this Martian landscape. 

I’d come back and I think we both might have enjoyed staying overnight in this unique environment. 

The views are what you might expect. 

In the van we had those two jugs filled with regular gas and wrapped but not enough to eliminate all the smell. We both wanted them gone. 

Our overnight stop was ten miles further up the road, about 90 minutes from the Argentine border post. The WiFi at this refuge wasn’t working. Too bad. 

The refuges are basic but a couple of hikers in a pick up stopped by before dark and spent the night. 

We parked next to the hut to try yo get out of the wind but the wind backed and my attempt at cover failed. On the plus side I did empty one of the jugs into the tank. It was hellishly difficult in the wind but I got it done. One down. 

The wind rocked us to sleep. At 11,300 feet with temperatures near freezing it was a disturbed night but morning came eventually. Tuesday was the day to cross the pass.