Rio Gallegos

On the ferry I took a photo of our dashboard, the start of the drive up the mainland from Primera Angostura, which translated means “first narrows.” It’s where the ferry takes barely half an hour to cross. 

Punta Delgada - narrow point- is a collection of ferry offices a snack bar and a convenience store on the north shore. We stopped to check out a restaurant but it was long since closed so we pressed on. Monte Aymond, the border, was just 25 miles away. 

There was one more village in Chile just before the border and we braved a mile long bouncy gravel road to check out San Gregorio. Lunch beckoned from Layne’s guidebook. 

This is sheep ranching country. 

And they have a Wal Mart, kind of, or at least a sense of humor. 

But we were hunting for lunch at the San Gregorio Hotel, lovely in pink. 

Twelve bucks each for fish soup, delicious: 

Bean stew full of smoke flavor from the meat. I liked it more than Layne did. She felt like we were getting two soup courses. 

And vanilla custard to finish which even Layne liked but I found perfect. 

We were fortified against the rain and mist descending into the valley. 

And Argentina welcomed in with a big smile and the usual quota of potholes. You get your passport stamped and then you get your vehicle papers checked by customs then the police stamp Rusty’s Chilean border pass. And in ten minutes we were on our way. Too easy. 

I liked this guy with his arms crossed. A hero of the war of independence from Spain. He also fought for the rights of the cowboys (gauchos) and was known as the Father of the Poor. 

We got to Rio Gallegos and went to the modern clean gas station to get hot showers ($5 each) and to load back up with fruit and groceries after getting our fruit confiscated by the Chilean customs. Then we went wild camping with our friends Julia and Konstantin, Russian immigrants who live in Seattle. 

We last them in Puerto Montt in Chile and they wanted to go see penguins with us in southern Argentina so they showed up. Very cool. 

They have  got short in their huge Dodge Sprinter van so while we showered at the gas station they went ahead to a campsite. 

It was gorgeous, one of those failed developments with roads through the brush leading to nowhere. 

Next the penguins. 65 miles of dirt road from Rio Gallegos. 

Leaving Tierra Del Fuego

I need to vent so forgive me but the way the southern tip of South America is cut up by national borders and ferry services makes travel back and forth absurdly complicated especially for people earning their living driving. And we’re just one time tourists, so pity the lives of truck drivers stuck at the borders. 

In Argentina you leave Ushuaia on Highway 3 and drive through the Martial Mountains, the tippy toe of the Andes and you enter the plains of Tierra Del Fuego, the big island of what is technically an archipelago. We drove up the slice on the east that is governed by Argentina which is also curiously the most heavily populated part of the island it shares with Chile. The black line is the border and obviously the red line is our route, the only road we could follow to get to Rio Gallegos in mainland Argentina:

Tierra del Fuego is wooded on the south slopes of the Martial Mountains but most of the island is rolling prairie and as I had no idea what to expect so here are some photos to describe this famous mysterious island in pictures. 

The sections of road filled with potholes and patches are in Argentina…

…the smooth well maintained parts are in Chile: 

There’s some ranches obviously and some mining - gold mining even- and fishing but from my perspective the two countries should flip a coin and winner takes all. Luckily they aren’t coming me for geopolitical advice. 

We left Ushuaia after lunch on Saturday and drive north with a plan to get our laundry done. Our favorite laundry we discovered on the way down in the town of Tolhuin was closed so we pressed on to Rio Grande a much bigger metropolis, and not terribly pretty. Saturday night though the waterfront was packed with families enjoy the evening warmth and notice they weren’t all wearing puffy jackets. 

The air was noticeably warmer away from the Antarctic chill of Ushuaia and we found an iOverlander spot to spend the night just north of town. 

A small Swiss van and a large Spanish expedition truck had the same idea and pulled in just before sunset. I hailed the young Spanish but no one apparently felt like chatting. 

In the morning Rusty dragged me out of bed as usual and we went to the shore to watch locals digging for bait, hunting worms on a Sunday morning for fun. 

Neither Rusty nor the anglers noticed the little zorro (“fox”) slipping by. 

Sunday Cape (Cabo Domingo) the early explorers baked this prominent headland. There was I noticed another expedition truck from Luxembourg parked here. Often we prefer not to park directly in the beach not only to avoid getting stuck but and I because it’s where you often have less peace and quiet. 

Atlantic Ocean sunrise, and it wasn’t too cold at all. I was in shorts…

Rusty likes these cool wild places. Plus I’m giving him a daily glucosamine pill so he is rediscovering his lost youth. 

First border, a quick stop at the Argentine border post where they zapped our passports and stamped Rusty’s cross border permit and we drove four miles to the line where the potholes ended and smooth Chilean cement started: 

I like Chile, I hope I shall enjoy mainland Argentina as much. 

Entry into Chile was equally efficient and swift except we had to give up our fruits and vegetables to Chilean agricultural authorities. “Do they do the same in the US?” the young inspector asked. “”Identical” I said because that was the last border where we got our fruit confiscated on entry. In the countries inbetween no one cares. Our camp for the night was a windy pull out along the highway. We watched an English mystery series called “Shetland” set in the wilds of the outer Hebrides. It seemed appropriate. 

In the morning we passed a reminder to drive carefully. It looked like it had caught fire. 

Shock! Horror! Some patches in the Chilean roadway… whatever next?

There are town Chilean towns in the vast tract of Tierra Del Fuego governed by this country. We took the ferry to Porvenir, the capital of the island with 5,000 inhabitants, on our way south and now we passed through Cerro Sombrero, 700 inhabitants, on our way north and what an odd little place it is.  

It was built as a company town to service a nascent oil exploration industry that has run out of product. 

Above they built a cinema now a museum and below was some other public buildings slipping into decrepitude. 

There used to be a highly rated municipal campground with all services but iOverlander reports no one was found to continue running it so it is closed. What a shame: 

It was just my impression but this place felt a bit like a ghost town, interesting but we were pleased to press on to the ferry twenty miles north. 

We drove up to the line waiting to board, I had already paid our fare online ($25 for the van passengers ride free) for the thirty minute crossing of the Straits. Just like at the borders the big trucks line up in a separate queue from the cars and pick ups and vans. We were second to last onboard, just made it.

And with that we across the fabled Straits of Magellan and back on mainland South America. 

One more border to go and we were back in Argentina. And Penguins, more penguins in the plans.