Feeling a bit Che Guevara

After a night of torrential rain, it's time to leave Uyuni. I'm a bit dubious about the road condition to Potosi. Andreas and Kristina are putting their bike on a train to Oruro, a town that we'll pass through in a few days. I'm thinking I'd like to do the same but Mike's addament that we should ride. We load up, say our goodbyes, get to the edge of town, filling up with petrol, and get about a kilometre up the road if that, before my bike starts making a horrible noise. It's a grinding, crunching sort of noise. It's not constant which makes us think it's something to do with the rotation of the wheels or drive chain. We're getting better at diagnosing problems with the KLR, it's the drive chain. I'm kind of glad at this point that I now have an excuse to turn around and head back to Uyuni. The road is a mud slick for as far as we can see. I didn't fancy that for the 208km ride to Potosi. Although it is the shortest attempt at leaving a town, we limp back to the hostal, settle back into our room and try to establish what exactly is the problem. Turns out its an issue with my maintenance, or lack of it, once again. The chain is in such a state that the 'slack' varries from 2cm to 10cm. (It should be a consistant 5-6cm) Not good! This would explain why it derailed in San Pedro but now that I had tightened it, it was grinding on the tight spot and ran the real risk of snapping. No chance of replacing it here, we give it a good clean, something I should have done quite some time ago, andadjust it quite lose. I'll have to be careful going around corners and over bumps at the same time, easier said than done with the corregations. So its back to Minuteman Pizza for a coffee.

That evening there is less rain and I'm slowly talking myself into the ride over the mud slick. I tell myself I'll be happy to make 50km the next day and what did I expect riding through Bolivia in the wet season.

We have a late start the following day, still can't seem to get out of bed too early, and we were waiting for the drizzling rain to stop. Then off we head. Within 3km of the town we see a casualty of the mud slick, a car has obvioulsy been going too fast and flipped. The entire front is smashed in but there appear to be no injuries as the occupants are sitting by the side of the road and seemed pretty relaxed. I did't feel so relaxed at that moment I have to say.

Eventually the road rises into the hills and the mud turns to a sandy/gravel mix of a road. Which works fine for me. The rain drains very quickly from the sand and the gravel isn't too deep. The rain clouds have lifted this side of the mountains and the view opens up to be some of the most scenic yet. We pass through a few river crossings and we're slightly disappointed that they're not deeper, they're a bit too easy for us hardcore bikers! We pass through some more adobe villages, some lived in, some left to the ghosts and llamas, and eventually hit the high mountains. It's at this point that I finally feel like I'm in the South America that I'd imagined. High, verdant mountains that drop off very steeply, providing a bit of exciting riding and some great views. Weird rock formations that make me dig into the depths of my brain in an attempt to remember what I learned in Science about land formations and geography. And it's at this point I start feeling a bit Che. I don't fancy starting a revolution, but there's a particular scene in The Motorcycle Diaries where he takes a corner too fast, losing the bike in the gravel. No, that's not what happens to me, the chain issue always in the back of my mind, but that's what the road's like. I guess you had to be there.

The road to a revolution? Not quite!

The people of Bolivia suprise me. They're a sour, stone faced bunch. I don't think we saw one smile the whole day, except for three lad's who thought it'd be fun to kick a football right across the path of the bikes. Although I think they may have been sneering rather than smiling. Three times they kicked the ball across my path, fortunately I'd slowed down enough, not wanting to play their game, and only went past when one missed the return kick.

It turns out that the altiplano Bolivianos are a rather aggressive bunch, not only to gringos but to themselves as well. They have no qualms about spitting on or kicking their animals, inlcuding what appear to be pet dogs. Their method of shepparding their flocks involve throwing stones, usually the size of a fist, at the backs of the animals, cattle, llamas and sheep. We later find out that they have no problem with throwing stones through bus or car windows either but fortunately we are spared any of this. They do have a very hard life on the altiplano, its a hard exisitance trying to grow food on the stoney ground and potatoes seem to be the staple diet. Or down the mines. And they have been screwed over by several governments for such a long time. But seeing people so aggressive is a bit of a shock after the past few months.

So after 7 hours, and after being charged 10 Bolivanos each for the pleasure of riding on an unpaved, muddy road (Although we did enjoy it) we arrived in Potosi. Not bad considering I would have been happy with 50km that day.

Salar de Uyuni

We reach Uyuni without any trouble and soon find the Minuteman Pizza Restaurant. A restaurant owner from Michigan I think, has set up shop in Uyuni, a very unattractive, not much going for it sort of town. The reason the restaurant is such a success is that Uyuni is the jumping off point for excursions to the Salar de Uyuni and jeep tours down to San Pedro. In the dry season you can also make it to Argentina from here. So it's on the Gringo trail. But that's not the only reason. It's because it serves the best pizza in Bolivia, if not South America, does fantastic fluffy pancakes and makes real coffee. All for not much more than the price of local food. We do try local food on arrival, llama stew and maize. I'm ok with it but Mike's not too keen on the Llama, a bit tough for his palate. So we become regulars at the Minuteman Pizza restaurant. We deserve it after the past few days. The other highlight of Uyuni is out little adventure into the Salar. Mostly, people visit this when it's dry. The largest salt lake in the world. With the wet season kicking off, we get it with about 2 inches of water on top. That's no problem. A good excuse to take a jeep tour, giving the bikes and our throttle hands a well deserved rest. Plus, salt and bikes don't mix, and if the bikes are to last until Alaska there are some things best left undone.

Very pretty

So a day's jeep tour is booked and off we head, via a delapidated train museum, a salt mine - basically piles and piles of salt - and the disused salt hotel. Not looking too inviting after 25 years. Then it's a long, slow drive out to an island with a 1203 year old cacti. This sounds pretty dull but the reflection of the sky on the water of the salar is simply stunning. A bit like the whale watching, we take hundreds of photographs. I'll post them soon enough and hopefully you'll get a glimpse of how beautiful it was.

Pick a track, any track, they're all shite!

I wasn't joking with the title of this blog!

Sorry Mike but I had to steal your title. It is the only apt one for our first two days in Bolivia.
So we leave San Pedro not too bright and early. The clouds have lifted over 'Mt Doom' and we are in excited spirits. We can now see the snow capped volcanoes on the border of Chile, Bolivia and Aregentina. 'Mt Doom' in Bolivia dosen't look so scary now.
The bikes are running extremely well despite the altitude and we tear pass the tour groups heading up into Bolivia. Following the sign we turn off the paved road, the last we'll see for at least a week, and head for the Bolivian border. It's here that I notice oil pouring out everywhere. For *^#'s sake. What's wrong with the bike now. We'd started the morning with Mike's bike leaking fuel, turned out just to be a random incident with a overflow hose, and now this. Fortunately with my new found moto mechanico knowledge, the problem is diagnosed as me not having tightened some bolts enough last night and the cam chain tensioner had come lose. (There'll be a test at the end of this adventure on all the things that have gone wrong with my bike and I expect you all to know as much about motorbikes as I do). It's all quickly reset as the tour groups take their turn in rushing past us.
We get to the border a couple of kilometers down the road, only to find out that the policeman who I'd asked about immigration for Chile, on the outskirts of San Pedro that morning, had either lied or, more likely, not understood me. No exit stamps for Chile then. The Bolivian border is fairly easy although they don't want to see any paperwork for the bikes. Strange but hey ho! The prospect of riding through Bolivia in the wet season is still top on my mind and thinking about anything else is diminished in respect.
We take off around Laguna Blanca, towards Laguna Verde. Mike quickly starts deteriorating as the altitude takes affect. Trying to follow my rubbish Bolivian map, we end up back at the information centre. I lose the first bag of cocoa leaves to the wind while the park ranger draws the correct roads on my map, I´m taking particular note of what roads not to go on. Armed with a second bag of cocoa leaves from the nice guys at the National Park information centre, we head off. By this time it's about 1pm.
An hour or so down the road, we stop just short of the Dali field, cocoa tea and peanut butter sandwiches. So far so good. Thanks to the cocoa leaves Mike is feeling better and the roads aren't too bad.
Next stop, some geisers down a dirt track a few kilometers off the main route. I take particular note not to go down the road I'm sure the ranger said not to. Damn it! Down goes the bike. First time for the day. It kind of got blown over, knocked over as I was getting off and fell over as the side stand sunk into the soft ground. It's right about now we realise just how heavy and inappropriate the bikes are for this terrain. Heading back to the main road, I get stuck in a rut, 2nd time for the day the bike goes over. Mike's way up in front but fortunately the friendly Bolivian's jump out of their jeep beind me, they really don't have a choice as I'm blocking the track, and help me lift it up. Yes, yes, I know it's mucho heavy!
All's going well as the shadows get longer. We're heading for the supposedly spectacular Laguna Colorado. The wind's picked up and the peninsular we were told to camp on is exposed, so we head for the hostal where the tours stop. Then the road deteriorates. Badly. We're now hardly managing 10km/hr stuck in deep soft gravel. Tracks and tracks of it run out before us. After an hour of walking the overweight lardy bikes through this excuse for a road, we're exhausted. It's a case of the grass is always greener and we're constantly crossing from one track to another, anything to find one that has a bit of solidity to it. Third time for the day, over she goes. Double damn it! Out of breathe from the altitude and being exhausted we plough on. It's getting much darker and there are fewer jeeps tearing past us, making short work of the deep gravel. Fourth time, over she goes. This isn't much fun. For the second time on this trip, what I'd give to be in a jeep, or anything on four wheels. In what seemed like less than 5 minutes I drop the bike again. This time there are tears. We can hardly make out the hostal in the distance, it's almost pitch black and we're shattered. And no, Mike didn't drop his bike once that day or in the whole of Bolivia for that matter, thank god.
After what seemed like an eternity of riding in gravel pit, we pull up outside a hostal. I've never been so happy to see an Africa Twin parked up. Kristina and Andreas are there, have been since about 5pm, and have spare beds in their dorm room, they quickly organise for us to sleep there and have dinner with them. The hardest day of riding so far is over.
It's off to bed early but not sleeping too well with the altitude and stress of the day's riding playing on my mind.
Rising early we go for a walk to check out Laguna Colorado. It's only now that I can appreciate the landscape, not only because it's daylight, but because I'm not cursing riding in it. Something that is short lived. This morning we head off with Kristina and Andreas. Between Mike and Andreas's GPS and my shite map, we have somewhat of an idea of where to head. But once again it's a case of riding in a deep gravel pit. Miles and miles of fields of gravel.

Um, what happened to the road?

Great. Mike's got the hang of it and is managing to get some speed up, lucky thing. I'm still struggling with the weight of the bike and fear of dropping it at any speed faster than a walk. I have no idea how Andreas is managing on their bike, not only the weight of the bike and luggage but also a passenger. They do however drop it, the first time for their trip that morning.
There are a few quiet tears to myself as I struggle on while the jeeps tear past, but I push on, somewhat consoling myself with the knowledge that this is the toughest riding I will have to face on the entire adventure. And somewhat proud of myself for not whimping out and taking the paved route via northern Chile. And of course, we're rewarded with some spectacular scenery. This really is another world, high up on the altiplano surrounded by volcanoes, no vegetation, just miles and miles of weird rock formations in an amazing array of colours (although to be fair, most of it is red) and gravel. After lunch we head a bit higher and reach some solid ground. We can also see in the distance, dark, ominous clouds. Nothing to worry about, yet! There's a bit of confussion over which direction to head but we end up following some jeeps down by a lake. The landscape is slowly changing, unlike the weather, which is changing at a rather alarming rate. Before we know it, it's raining, hailing, then snowing. We're in a barren landscape and feel somewhat exposed when the lightening starts. The thunder is thrown in to complete the atmosphere. It's right about now we realise that washing our gortex trousers all those miles ago maybe wasn't such a good idea without re-proofing them. And Mike gets starts to develop hypothermia when he stops to put his jacket lining in, both his t-shirt and lining getting saturated in the process.

Let's throw some snow in, just to add to the fun!

It's just after this that I myself become a tourist attraction. It's snowing, the gravel tracks, although not as bad as earlier in the day, are causing me grief and soaked through to the bone and freezing, I admit I am once again struggling. So having a jeep full of Argentinans or some annoying nationality (It was them that were annoying, rather than the entire nation) leaning out of the window taking photos of some chica struggling on a bike way to big for her, in the snow, waving a cheery hello was the last thing I needed. What's worse, they pull up right next to Mike who was waiting for me - again - jump out of the jeep in their little shorts and t-shirts to take photos on themselves in the snow. And of course, of all the places in the vast lansdcape to stand, they pick the middle of the only track that's working for me at this point, blocking my path. For god's sake, get back in your jeep and 'f' off!
Not to worry too much, we kind of get the last laugh when towards the end of the day, after it's stopped snowing, and I've got my heated grips melting my hands, we get into some terrain I love. Rocky paths. It's what we were riding on in Wales and for the last few hours I'm loving the ride. Especially when we pass a jeep, I'd like to think it was the one with the annoying Argentinians, with a puncture. In this type of terrain the jeeps have to go slower up the steep, rocky paths, so we kick butt. I don't stop to take a photo though.
Eventually we hit a fantastic road. It's gravel, but smooth and hard. We pick up speed and pass through a crazy lava field. Mike's off and out of sight as Andreas, Kristina and I crusie into Villa Alota. Torrential rain has started again but it's a 'propper' road all the way to Uyuni from here. And god am I happy about that!

New Years Eve and are shims connected to the thigh bone!

'$25000 for dinner, you must be joking'. 'Welcome to San Pedro' I'm quickly told. Ok, it only equates to 25GBP but still, we're in Chile and 25GBP is a bit much to pay for a three course dinner with only a Pisco Sour and Champagne at mid-night to drink thrown in. We opt for a 15GBP three course dinner with no Champagne but music all night. Shame I only make it until 11:30pm before the mix of red meat, melted icecream, alcohol (And not even that much) and altitude takes its toll. It's stuffy in the restaurant so Mike has no problem leaving either and we head back to the hostal to drink our own alcohol, you'd think I'd learn, and celebrate the coming of the new year by ourselves. But the sound of the fireworks is too much to resist and we take a stroll in the fresh air. I have to say, San Pedro has been one of the coolest places I've celebrated New Year's Eve. It's all very chilled and relaxed, locals and gringos walking around the streets moving from effigy to burning effigy, fireworks going off around your feet (OK that bit can be a little scary but not as scary as what I've spent in London on my mate, Mark's, balcony) with drink in hand but very few drunks. A very nice way to welcome in 2007. I hope you all had a suitably happy New Year's Eve celebration.

Pre-burning, our Wickerman!

So what's to do in San Pedro? Not much except hangout with other hippy gringos. Or you can head out of the village to an assortment of activities. We decide for New Year's Day to take a ride to the Lagos about 80km or so down the road. As usual, this is an adventure in itself as my chain derails and jams. Fortunately it doesn't break. This incident is qucikly followed by Mike getting bogged in sand, not something you want to rectify at this altitude. Ahh, the joys of motorcyle travel. And all this just to be told we can't have lunch by the lake because the birds are breeding.
It is a small world however and we do happen to bump into a couple travelling overland. Him in his jeep (He's been travelling around the world for 9 years. First on a motorbike than after a year long break to work bought himself jeep). She, Martina, travelling around on a motorbike for the past 5 years. I say a small world because if my chain hadn't derailed we wouldn't have passed them. And also because when I first looked into getting kitted out for this adventure, Martina had her bike advertised on the overland website, Horizons Unlimited, and I nearly bought it off her. Plans change and she is still riding it and I bought another one. But it is weird to think that I'd emailed this complete stranger over a year ago and now through a random incident, I actually meet her. About an hour later, they've convinced us to ride through Bolivia thus changing our own adventure entirely.
A chain de-railment isn't the KLR's only concern. Just outside of San Pedro you can also visit Valle de Luna, particularly pretty at sunrise or sunset. The wet season has hit Bolivia and with it brings clouds and a bit of rain to San Pedro, usually in the afternoons. So we opt to get up early and view the Valle at sunrise, without the tourists. Just our luck but we choose the only morning it's cloudy. The setting is still pretty but not as spectacular as promised by the guide books. Not to worry, after sitting for an hour or so waiting for the sun to make an appearance, we continue our ride through the valle. A bit of a grind and a crunch later and I'm left very little clutch. It's not my morning. I get it into 3rd and hope to god the clutch cable doesn't completely fray on the 15km ride back into town.

So we're heading into Bolivia hey! This is the part of the trip that scares me the most. Especially with the wet season kicking in. I look at the KLR workshop manual and decide it's time to do some serious maintenance. Plus fix the problems already present. For three days, the KLR resembles an insect as it is pulled apart, checked over and in some cases put back together. We moved hostals to where we can work on the bike under shade and on concrete. I'm setup near the outdoor kitchen and this provides me with constant company as I work. There is quite a mixed bag staying at the hostal from the self proclaimed oldest backpacking Israel (He was nearing 70, so may be he was the oldest), to an extended German family, a lovely couple from Portugal, two crazy Dutchman, aren't they all, and a motorcycling Dutch couple who were on vacation without their bikes. Mike does some work to his bike before moving onto mine. I need the moral support if nothing else as I attempt to check my valves, realise the reason the brake fluid is low is that there are no brake pads left on my rear brake calliper (just as well I tend to use the front brakes more) and attempt to figure out what is wrong with my speedometer. So while Mike fixes my speedometer and diagnoses the problem with the brakes, I replace the clutch cable and attempt to check the valves. Damn it. Unlike Mike's, they're not good. This means a 200km round trip back to Calama to get some new shims (I only found out what these were when I pulled the engine apart and read the manual but hey, doesn't it sound like Iknow what I'm talking about, almost!) and new brake pads.
We'd planned to head into Bolivia the following day and after having the brake pads rebuilt and shims ground down - you have to make do when there aren't parts available in the whole of Chile - we get the KLR going at about 9pm that night. There is a small cheer from Eric and Nanette, the Dutch couple, Andreas and Kristina who've also arrived in San Pedro, and of course Mike and me when I turn the key and the KLR starts first go and suprisingly, with no weird noises. Phew! I admit, I almost have tears of joy at hearing the engine start. It's the first major work I've done to the bike by myself and I can't believe that I haven't wrecked the engine.
Bolivia here we come!

Death on Ruta 5

North of La Serena there isn't much in Chile except for the Atacama Desert. Ruta 5 is the main route north on the Panamerican. And apart from some stopping at some horrible towns, most people just head straight through onto Arica or into Peru. If you have the time however, there are some wonderful deserted beaches and wild coastline to stop at. So of course that's what we did. Campsites on sandy white beaches became our home for the next few nights. It was a welcome break from the monotony of Ruta 5.

It's a hard life, but cooking isn't too bad with a view like this from the kitchen!

The un-nerving thing about Ruta 5 was the amount of memorials to people who'd lost their lives in road accidents along the way and the remnants of blown tyres. You couldn't go for more than a mile without a memorial and in most cases, it was for more than one person, quite often what would appear to be entire families. This combined with nothing but desert, alternating between stone and sand where not even the smallest blade of grass appeared to exisit, made you feel somewhat sad. It was easy to see how so many accidents could happen though, drivers falling alseep at the wheel on such a straight and boring road, either at night when there were no street lights or in the heat of the day when the sun burned away fiercely, quickly tiring those without airconditioning. All we could do was have our MP3 players blaring to give us some relief. That was until my iPod also died. Great, at least three hours on a dead straight road with no gadgets to look at, my speedometer still not working, no scenery other than what I'd been looking at for the past 3 hours and now no music. Does nothing survive this road.
The one highlight on Ruta 5, apart from taking detours down to the coast to camp for the night, was the giant hand. But even this had a sour stench. You'd think people would walk a few more paces away and take a leak or dump away from the only exciting thing on the road.
After the beachfront campsites, Antofgasta is horrible. It takes at least two hours of being mis-directed by either well-meaning or grumpy locals before heading to the shopping mall for lunch at about 6pm, only to find, by looking in a copy of the Lonely Planet guide book in the book shop, that there is no Tourist Information Office in Antofagasta. Doh! We take a note of a few hotels with parking and hole up for the night. We can't wait to get out of there.
At least on the road to Calama, the following day, after turning off Ruta 5, there are some somewhat creepy ghost towns to look at. These are entire towns of adobe buildings left to ruin after the nitrate era. We also cross the Tropic of Capricorn and pass some moutainside artwork. These are a few images created on the sides of some stone dunes, a la Nazca Lines style. At least someone has taken the initative to try and enterain drivers enroute.
We pull up in San Pedro de Atacama in time to shower and rest before heading out to celebrate New Year's Eve.

The earth shook and the moon shone.

Ooh, ahhh.....pretty but I can't see any man, or cow for that matter!

Just east of La Serena is a very pleasant town of Vicuña. It was here that we experienced our first noticeable earth tremmor in Chile, whilst taking a nap in the tent, I felt the earth move (And no, Mike wasn't in there with me). Our purpose for stopping in for a night was to take in the public observatory called Mamalluka. It was truely amazing. From 10pm until 1am, yes I know, it was way past my bed time, we were treated to a very passionate presentation of the stars in the southern hemisphere. This included looking through telescopes at the moon, the Southern Cross and all manner of cosmos things. It was late and I was tired so I don't remember the terminology for most of the stuff our guide shared with us but we did get to see the rings around Saturn and a take a very cool photo of the moon. Plus we learnt how to find north by looking at the Southern Cross, and that there are 13 star signs not 12 and Pluto is no longer a planet. Needless to say I didn't wake too early the next morning. All that education was hard work.

The earth shook and the moon shone.

Just east of La Serena is a very pleasant town of Vicuña. It was here that we experienced our first noticeable earth tremmor in Chile, whilst taking a nap in the tent, I felt the earth move (And no, Mike wasn't in there with me). Our purpose for stopping in for a night was to take in the public observatory called Mamalluka. It was truely amazing. From 10pm until 1am, yes I know, it was way past my bed time, we were treated to a very passionate presentation of the stars in the southern hemisphere. This included looking through telescopes at the moon, the Southern Cross and all manner of cosmos things. It was late and I was tired so I don't remember the terminology for most of the stuff our guide shared with us but we did get to see the rings around Saturn and a take a very cool photo of the moon. Plus we learnt how to find north by looking at the Southern Cross, and that there are 13 star signs not 12 and Pluto is no longer a planet. Needless to say I didn't wake too early the next morning. All that education was hard work.

Christmas with a view of the Wickerman

After almost two months on the road and no desire to spend money on anything that we didn't actually need (How uncommercial we've become), we decided that what we actually did need was a Christmas mini break. Four days in a semi-decent hotel (Not quite what I'm used to, but I was spoilt with my job) with a balcony and view over the beach to watch the sunsets. We also scored a room with a two plate cooker and minibar - although that was empty on arrival it didn't take us long to fill it with Christmas cheer.
The setting was La Serena and the beach was long and sandy, as opposed to pebbly. For the next four days we chilled out, a little bit of shopping (no matter how uncommercial we'd become, Mike needed a new wash bag and some board shorts, and I needed a pair of swimming goggles) just for something little to open on Christmas morning. A little bit of sight seeing, La Serena is a rather pleasent colonial town. And we also unpacked the frisbee for the first time, so some excercise. The afternoons were spent on the balcony with nibblies and pisco sours trying to take photos of a weird statue across the bay. If any of you have seen the British cult movie, The Wickerman, with the sun setting behind the statue, you were transported to the final scene on Summer Isle. Check Mike's photos for what I mean although it was far from being as creepy.
Amongst all this we also squeezed in a whole lot of eating and drinking as is required at this time of year.
And of course the bikes got a bit of a rest and an attempt at some maintenance.
Ahh, all very pleasant and enjoyable indeed.

Real coffee and Christmas Drinks.

Mmmm......the smell of real coffee (Slightly burnt but better than Nescafe) has greeted us at the gate. We've just arrived at Pablo Neruda's Valparaiso house for a look see. What an amazing house. I think if I lived there, I'd never leave. I would sit in the living room all day, if I'd managed to drag myself out of bed that is, and read a book and look at the view. Maybe I'd get up and go to the bar and make myself a Pisco Sour if I was feeling slightly energetic in the afternoon or if some friends dropped by. The views across Valparaiso from both his bedroom and living room are stunning. The study at the top of the house would make a nice litle get away if you wanted a change of scene, but I'm not sure how much study I'd get done there either.
Valparaiso is a refreshing change from the grided streets of most of villages, towns and cities we've been to so far. The ramshackle colourful houses give the impression of tumbling down the hillsides into the port and you wonder how, in an earthquake zone, they've manged to stay stuck there for so long. There seems to be an art community exisitng healthily on those hills as well for almost every door and quite a few walls are covered in some amazing murals. Looking up the steep stairways, you sometimes glimpse some creative illustrations and it takes a double look to realise that you aren't looking at a real scene.
Back to the coffee. It suprises me considering how European I'd imagined Chile, or Santiago at least, to be, at how shite (Sorry about the swearing but it really is) the coffee is. It's not even the 'water dressed in brown' filter coffee that you sometimes get served in cheap hotels. It's Nescafe and 'con leche' means you get dished up some Coffee Mate. Mmmm, delicious. So on the rare occasion you smell real coffee, its time to stop and have one. And this is how we met Collin and Gill, two ex-UK now Canadians, backpacking through South America. Stopping at the cafe at Pablo Neruda's house, we get to talking. Before we know it, we've been taken under the wing and guided down to the posh area of Viña del Mar. Collin and Gill have rented an apartment for the Christmas and New Year period with views of the beach, a balcony and a kitchen. After a glass of rather delicious red wine (I guess you can forgive them for the lack of decent coffee when they do produce some fantastic red wines) we're invited to stay for dinner. If the truth be known, I think Gill is keen for some English speaking female company and Collin is just keen to talk. Mike's happy to have a bit of company other than me I suppose and I'm keen to cook in a somewhat clean kitchen. Don't worry, I was also keen for some female company and between us, Gill and I run the risk of talking the hind leg off a donkey - just as well there were none in that posh neighbourhood.
Sitting of the balcony drinking Pisco Sours, eating roast chicken and vege, with chocolate coated strawberries (Thanks to Katie for showing me how to make them all those years ago) for pudding, it was hard not to get in the Christmas spirit. And it was rather sad to leave. It was very tempting to stay on in Valparaiso and join Collin and Gill for Christmas day. But it was time to get going again.
By the way, we did make it to Santiago for a day but after a rather long walk down a road that was lined with tool shops, we quickly became rather jaded. The highlight of the day, apart from buying a 14mm spanner at the first tool shop we came across, was lunch at a fish shop in the central mercardo. Highly reccommended but if you catch the bus into Santiago like we did, it's best to then catch the metro up into the city centre rather than spending two hours walking on the same straight road. Dull, dirty and very busy with people. Get me out of the city.

28 Hairpin bends and more bad luck!

We escape the camp ground of Mendoza on a Tuesday morning through the industrial park. It's not the most picturesque route we've taken but we do hit the scenery a bit further on as we climb up into the Andes to cross into Chile. There are a few sights on the way, including an Inca bridge and a statue of Christo Redentor at the top of the Andes. We don't make it to the statue though as there is still snow covering the track so we have to settle for a view of the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas, Co. Aconcagua. It's not a bad compromise even if I did dropp the bike on the snow covered track doing a u-turn.
After customs come the 28 hairpin bends as we head back down to a reasonable altitude. Trucks, buses and cars, they're all loving it. I did try to take a photo but it didn't capture the 'moment' so to speak. For about 15 minutes, yes I still take corners slowly, I'm giggling like a giddy school girl with every turn.
We have an audience again setting up the only tent in a camping ground but we're getting used to it, even if this is Chile. (Interesting fact that I didn't know but had suspected, Chile is named after being chilly but was a mis-spelling after some French, I think, cartographor got the spelling wrong, a lot like me and my place names in this blog)
So after the heights of the Andes we head for the coast, bypassing Santiago and hitting the coast just north of Valparaiso. It's early on in the day and we're thinking great, loads of time to find somewhere to stay and get some breaky (Can you see a theme developing here, you think the trip is about motorcycling but it's actually about food and making sure we get our breakfast).
Stopping for a photo of the bikes by the Pacific Ocean, all's going to plan. That is until about 500m down the road I go over a bump that I wouldn't even notice normally, except this time, the back end of my bike has dropped and my butt feels like it is dragging on the ground. I know I've put on some weight with my quest for breakfasts but really, this is a bit much! Fortunately there is no traffic and I can pull over straight away. At least this time I've broken down with a view of the Pacific Ocean.
Five hours later and some major sunburn (Reminder to myself, when I break down I must put on sun screen and my hat) the bolt that had vibrated out has been replaced and the bolt that had sheared off under the strain of being the only bolt holding the subframe on, has been drilled out, replaced and all corresponding broken brackets have been re-welded. Another note to myself, Lock-tite all nuts and bolts that hold the bike together.
I'd like to add a very big thankyou to the plumber who was working in the house that I pulled up in the front of. He immediately came out to see if everything was ok, then offer us help when he found out it wasn't. He stopped what he was doing, loaded my luggage, panniers and rack into his van and lead us to a mate of his who was a very good welder, up the road a bit. And to Mike, who once again, knew how to put the bike back together with cable ties and also had the correct size bolt to replace the one that had fallen out, unlike myself. I'd like not to thank the couple who rode past twice on their very nice clean BMW and although it was obvious my bike was in trouble, avoided eye contact, the missus on the back probably saying, 'Don't stop dear, they may need help and we wouldn't want to get our hands dirty!'

What is it with Argentinian's and campsites!

So it's hot and we're in the nicest park (as opposed to San Rafael's) in Argentina. It took a while to find the camping ground in the park and as usual we have a police escort to get there. The camping ground is heaving. It's a Saturday and there are people everywhere. We squeeze into one site and pitch our tent. In a camping ground of over possibly 100 sites, there is only one other tent pitched. We learn that these guys consider camping grounds to be a place where you go for a family BBQ, not neccesarily to pitch a tent and stay the night. That doesn't mean that they all pack up and leave us in the piece and quiet to sleep. The luch crowd dissipate and are replaced by the younger evening crowd. Then a wedding party turns up at about 11:30pm beeping their horns with at least 10 cars in tow (They obvioulsy got the last time slot for the church booking). These guys do know how to party though, they we're still going at 6am. Thank god for ear plugs!
Three nights in Mendoza Municipal Camping ground was enough, that plus the mechanic that we were hoping would work on Mike's BMW can't help us. So after a swim, the excercise nearly killing us) we head off to Chile.

Mike has a run in with the police - again!

We limp into San Rafael, carburetor still playing up. It's quite a cool town, and it has a few wineries which always help. Although if you ever do make here, don't bother thinking it would be nice to go for a walk and have a bottle of wine and picnic in the park. Even the gypsies camp on the outskirts of it as it's probably the most unkept, awful park I've ever seen marked on a map.
But anyway, we locate a fellow called Luis whose teenage daughter collects spiders, scorpions and insects to set in resin and make into key rings and gear lever knobs. A little wierd but Luis can clean out my carburetor, so I don't say anything. So the bike gets stripped down and starts resembling one of the insects from Luis' daughter's collection. Then the police turn up. We start thinking, oops, that was a rather 'orange' light we went through following Luis to his work shop.
They've seen Mike's bike parked out the front and we've been busted. Doh!
A rather scary looking busted up cop comes in, all smiles if that is possible with the bad teeth he has, followed by a rather neatly dressed colleague. Turns out, the busted up cop, who has turned up on a bike, was just checking out Mike's BMW. Can't be much crime happening in San Rafael as we have their attention for over an hour discussing the finer points of the BMW 650GS versus the KLR 650 (You have to ride one to understand). And also the poor quality of gear supplied to the police. We get shown all manner of scars and bruises but in the end it is decided that the KLR650 is a much better and more comfortable bike than the GS. Doesn't stop them both jumping on Mike's bike for a photo shoot though.
It seems the police in South America, rather than hanging out in donut shops drinking coffee, hang out in bike shops or at the bike mechanics.

Ruta 40 - Should I give it another chance?

After the excitment of Bariloche, we start heading north again. Taking a detour off the Ruta 40 through the Siete Lagos. All very pretty and even the ripio was good. But if you don't think there is such a thing as karma, try being me and riding the KLR.
We make it to San Martin de Andes, set in a rather beautiful landscape, by, you guessed it, one of the seven lakes. Stopping for the night at the ACA campsite, which I din't think was too bad, a little noisy but Viedma was worse. When no one is bothered to collect any money off us for the site in the morning, Mike (He'll kill me for blaming this on him but I did warn him about bad karma) decides we should just leave. Apparently the male showers were a lot worse than the girls.
Nothing eventful happens the next day except a siting of a 'wannabe' Mighty Boosh meets Miami Vice hairdresser in an out-of-the-way, nothing happening kind of town. (I lead an exciting life!)
That is until we meet the night caretaker and a little boy in another out-of-the-way little town called Chos Malal.
I can't even begin to describe the weird conversations and events that take place that night, but needless to say, we didn't sleep well. Having the caretaker warn you to lock the bikes together because he is the problem (as far as we could make out) was weird enough, but having the sound of Mike's bike alarm being set, mimicked from the bushes, after dark, was just plain weird. And we were the only ones camping there - again!
So your thinking, bad karma, what bad karma! Well we head back on to Ruta 40. It's not too bad to start with. There's a road, which is always a good sign. And its not raining. What can possibly go wrong. After passing some signs that appeared to mark where towns may have been (and where we were hoping to get fuel and have some lunch) the road quickly disintegrates. There are sand drifts blown across what is left of the road and it all starts looking a bit like Morroco.
Of course I stop to take a photo. It's about 1pm and not a cloud in the sky. So yep, it's very very very hot. The bike doesn't start again. I can smell petrol and of course I can see there is petrol leaking everywhere, but being the kind of girl I am, I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. So I do the only thing I can, wait for Mike to come back and find me and work out what is wrong. So it's a blocked carburetor. Not a problem, except being the KLR, the float chamber screw that would normally drain it, is seized. It is now so bad there is petrol in the air filter. Honestly, I did do two bike maintenance courses, it's not my fault we didn't get past learning what an allen key was! So after an hour or so, we're sunburnt and hungry and we've been windblasted again by the mini tornedoes that like to hit you at inappropriate times, but we manage to get the bike going again. So its annoying but not too bad until I burn my knuckles putting all the tools away in a hurry before the bike stalls again. Just not my day!
Ruta 40 had completely deteriorated by this stage and I wonder why they have allowed a road that was obvioulsy a road, deteriorate into something as bad, if not worse, than the gravel we had been riding on further south.
We eventually got lunch at 7:30pm that evening. I now make sure we pay our campsite fees.