Border Crossings

After the constant battering rain, snow or hail of Patagonia, my relationship with camping had taken a bit of a toll. Honestly, I would have been happy to chuck the tent, move on and enjoy hostel travel for the rest of the trip. Some long awaited sun was needed, meaning it was time to head north. We discussed several methods of heading north but our favourite plan was to cross the border north of El Chalten, as it seemed like the most adventures option. This route entailed crossing the Argentinian border, camping in no mans land and then hiking for a day or two to the Chilean border where we would get our passports stamped and catch a ferry to Ville O’Higgens, the start of the Carretera Austral. We managed to receive conformation from the Argentinian border authorities that the border would open on the 1st of November, however when we tried to organize the ferry, every ferryman we Whatsapped was doubtful that the Chilean border would actually open, and therefore refused to sail. This was the end of our plan, as we weren’t willing to hike the two days without assurance that their would actually be a boat waiting for us. When the 1st of November rolled around, the Argentinian border opened diligently, however, as predicted by the ferrymen, the Chilean border remained shut. Thankfully we had made alternative plans, however we heard that another couple biking the route were not as lucky. They crossed the boarder and after a long section of trail and dirt road were met by a closed Chilean border and the realisation that they had to return the way they had come. I can only hope they had enough food and water supplies. How this is possible completely escapes me. The incompetence and lack of coordination required to open one side of a border but not the other is almost comical.

Our alternative plan was to head to another strange border. We found buses to a town called Los Antiguos on the border. At this crossing, the border posts of Chile and Argentina were less than a kilometre apart. Now before we assume too much competence, it is important to point out one of the major idiosyncrasies of this border crossing. While the two border posts are a stones throw apart, they are separated by a river. One might assume that the logical course of action would be to build a bridge over the river between the two posts right? Incorrect! The decision seems to have been to build the fucking thing 3kms down the road. So we found ourselves walking in no mans land. Thankfully, we had company. After rolling out the overnight bus, we sat down on a bench next to an Australian couple who also looked rather worse for wear. After overhearing each others conversations, we discovered we both wanted to cross the border so we decided to join forces. A shared taxi dropped us at the border where we got given a piece of paper that had several boxes we apparently needed to get stamped at different booths in order to complete the crossing. The walk actually landed up being rather pleasant, and we enjoyed some good chats as we ticked off the kilometres on our 6km out and back route. It turned out Megan was a doctor back home and Lachlan was a musical theatre performer turned economist. Too date they remain some of the most easy going badass adventurers I have met. Once across the border in Chile Chico we all had to wait for the ferry, which would only be going the next afternoon, so we grabbed a room in a hostel downtown.

To say the ferry was very windy would be a major insult to Patagonian winds. Too be fair, it started out very relaxed. The four of us spent the first hour sprawled out on the roof of the ferry shooting the breeze and enjoying the sun. Then things got really windy. Our cooling breeze turned into gale force winds that felt like they were going to blow us off the roof. Our boat began smashing into waves, sending metallic crashes through the vessel. All the passengers took refuge in the cabin of the boat or one of the busses parked in the ferry. We, on the other hand… We were not going to let the opportunity for some fun pass. We spent a solid hour messing around in the wind with big smiles and flapping cheeks. The captain, seeing us outside, must have assumed the wind wasn’t actually that bad. He decided to come out and smoke a cigarette with us. As soon as he opened the door his cigarette went out and the wind caught his mug, sending coffee flying everywhere. He beat a rather hasty retreat back into the cabin, fighting the wind-caught door all the way.

One beautiful minibus ride later, and we were in Coyhaique where we ate dinner at the fire station. Too this day I am still a bit confused as to why the fire station had a restaurant, but the food was pretty good so we didn’t ask too many questions.Read more