Three rides, two borders, a short bus, a ferry, one night on the side of the road, and 204 miles in two days to reach Chile and the Pacific Ocean. And it all started with a bit of 'competition.' When I left San Martin de los Andes and headed for the highway, the first thing I saw was another hitchhiker at the entrance. Damn. Luckily there was a bench nearby, so I sat and waited for him to catch a ride first, hitchhiker's code if you will.
Luckily it didn't take long and then it was my turn. I hardly had time to set down my bags and a car pulled over. 'Damn, this is going to be easy today,' I thought as we pulled onto the highway and began our journey toward the Chilean border. It's about 4 hours to the border and he could drive me for 1 of them, great. I waited another hour or so before the loveliest Argentinian family pulled over and made room for me in the backseat.
They were heading for Bariloche on vacation for their son's 6th birthday, and could drop me where the highway split to make my way for the Chilean border. Fantastic, from there it's only 30 minutes to the border. It was still early and I couldn't believe my luck for the day. But that is where my luck would end. I ended up waiting 4 hours in the sun, only to finally decide it was too late to continue hitchhiking, so off to find a place to set up camp I went.
The next morning I made coffee (I cannot tell you how thankful I am for coffee on mornings like this), hid my bags in the bushes, and set off for a nearby lake to try and pump more water. I carry a small water purifier and it just might be the most important thing I have in my bag. Then back to the same highway-split corner from yesterday, trying to convince myself that my luck starts over again every morning.
After about an hour a man pulled over. This may have been the happiest moment of my trip, other than catching my first ride. He was bound for Chile! The first thing he told me was that I needed to bathe, but he just rolled the windows down and kept driving. Thank God for this man.
We crossed the borders (there are two, about 10-15 miles apart, as the land in between is contested between the two countries) with great delay, as customs tore every single thing out of my bag (you'll have to wait for the book to read about the very poorly trained drug-sniffing dog - I can only imagine what was going through the mind of my "chauffeur."). He drove me another hour into Chile, bought me empanadas and coffee, and dropped me at a bus station. I continue to be overwhelmed at the kinds of strangers.
A short bus ride and ferry later, I made it to the Pacific Ocean on the Isla de Chiloé, where my hunt for wool begins.
See you out there,
J. James
