El Fin del Mundo - The end of the world

It's 13,500km to London and we're closer to the South Pole than Northern Argentina. To our south is the Beagle channel that Charles Darwin sailed through enroute to the Galapagos Islands and to the north we're enclosed by snow capped mountains and cut off from the mainland by the Straits of Magellan. It's also a tad on the windy side.

We finally set off from Buenos Aires on Tuesday afternoon having cajoled our shipping agents into I suspect unprecedented levels of activity, by turning up at the port on Monday morning and harrying them along for 6 hours. Shipping a car to Buenos Aires requires patience. Fact. With the car prepped and good to go and the weather finally sunny side up our morale was soaring and though we've made some good friends there (special shout out to the girls at the hostel, particular Paula who had the unenviable task of walking round with Tom searching for parafin, of which there turned out to be a national shortage) it was great to be finally underway, particularly as our official starting point was over 3,000km away!



We knew our British plates would probably attract attention and within the first hour of leaving Buenos Aires we were pulled over by a slightly rotund policewoman (I'm not fattest; she was) who inspected Phil's passport, driving license, international driving license, insurance, port entry stamp and finally his passport again. Satisfied, potentially disappointedly, that everything was in order she then proceeded to check that our car was ship shape. Surprisingly, it was not. Unbeknownst to us and no doubt all other western travelers, she kindly informed us that our "Roo" bars were infact illegal in Argentina. This constituted an offense that was punishable with an on the spot fine of $300 US that could be conveniently paid directly to her. If however we wanted to pay at the police station it would be a lot more expensive. Apparently it was not necessary to state how much more expensive. After a fairly brief huddle we informed her that we had no money and would happily drive with her to the nearest bank which she had informed us was 60km away. This solution was unfortunately a "grande problemo", we countered with varying degrees of gallic shrugs, it was a stand off, the atmosphere was tense. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. Go, she said, and go we did. Proudly displaying our unaltered Roo bars and resisting the temptation to wave considerably more than 300 US dollars at her.



The rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. We camped for 3 nights at Azul, Rio Colarado and Comodoro Rivadavia which were all pleasant enough. Each day our distances improved as "faffing" (potentially caused by the only member of our team not inclined to wear green and shout hoo-rah after each press up) was replaced by "good admin". On our 4th day we reached Rio Gallegos and then had a bit of a Forest Gump moment. Having missed out on the first ship due to sail Barry to BA we had waited around for 3 weeks for the next boat, then waited in BA for that boat to turn up, then waited for our shipping agents to do anything shipping agent-esque, then waited for customs inspectors to inspect it.... The starting point was finally so close we drove all night, took the ferry across the Straits of Magellan, crossed into Chile, drove over Chile, crossed back into Argentina and finally down to the south coast of Tierra del Fuego to Ushuaia. The drive across the Patagonian mainland had been mind-numbingly dull, with roads so straight you could see the white lines marking the road aligning perfectly all the way to the horizon and with buildings so sparse that our map actually named a hotel on it. But Tierra del Fuego is mountainous terrain and as we twisted and climbed along the steep bending roads the sun crept towards our most southern dawn and the scenery was spectacular.

We drove straight into town and, having only managed an impromptu in-car sandwich for dinner while waiting for the ferry, went straight for the first open cafe. Thank God Ushuaia is a tourist town (and a cool one at that) because eggs and bacon was on the menu. Back of the net! Obviously having had next to no sleep we were keen to get our heads down, but being the kind of macho men that Chuck Norris has nightmares about, we spent yesterday looking around the town instead and then steaked, wined and beered ourselves all the way to the nightclub dance floor for a devastatingly impressive display of British shape-making.



Tomorrow we are onwards and upwards, literally, with the aim of taking in penguins, icebergs and all the spectacular scenery southern Chile has to throw at us enroute to Santiago. Obviously the unfortunate earthquake is going to make things a lot more difficult, something like 500 roads are now impassable, including parts of the Pan-Am, but those difficulties pale into insignificance when compared with the plight of all those Chileans... No doubt my keen wit, Tom's spectacularly lunging and Phil's boyish arianism will cheer them up.

Tender by Blur has just come on the radio. Tender, Tenderloin, Biffe de Lomo, it's steak-o-clock.

Mutiny

I´d be surprised if anyone were to argue against the fact that the dynamics of a group involved in a journey of this magnitude are extremely important, and each potential member's personal characteristics must be carefully considered in order to not just allow the selection of genuinely talented individuals, but also to lay the foundations of compatatibility that will support the development of a fluid and functional team.... And it is with a furrowed brow and heavy heart that I commit the first seedlings of doubt to this Utopian ideal to text. But no longer can I remain silent. A growing resentment festers within me that casts an ever darkening shadow over the noble ambitions of our trip. A resentment that, if left unquenched from the springs of honesty, could threaten the solidarity and subsequent success of ThisRoad and all it stands for.... Ladies and Gentlemen, all is not well aboard our fair ship Barry. I have been constantly undermined, marginalised and indeed belittled by my alleged crew to a degree so staggering I shy from regaling the magnitude of their mutiny. It was clear, unequivicollay, irrefutably crystal clear, that after showering the boys would join me in the pub to watch the second half of the England vs Ireland rugby game. But their malevelont absence was rivalled only by their obvious and inherent disregard for the protocols of rugby and indeed all sporting voyeurism. You may argue that they hadn´t slept after a 24 hour drive to Ushuaia, you may proffer a defense of ageistic lethargy and forlorn beauty sleep, you may scoff at my manufactured misery and self-indulgent scorn. But I ask you this. Would you have left a friend, a friend so close that you could reach over and touch him from your car seat and / or bunk bed, to the incessant badgering of an irrepresible waiter? A waiter so merciless in his pursuit of further assistance that his pitiful victim is compelled to order an ever growing tide of cervezas that carry him tragically towards a state of undesired drukenness? I think we all know the answer to that question. And I can only hope that some residue of our splintered trust will flourish anew, and heal the wounds of it´s contemptible past..... Hola chico, una mas cerveza, grazias...

It's all got rather moist!

Ok, I think we've been smited for our earlier gloating about the distinct lack of clouds here in BA. The heavens have opened up and what could only be described as a tropical storm has hit the city causing entire blocks to black-out and turning the street system into something more resembling Venice...

We went to an open warehouse on Monday to see a precussion band, La Bomba de Tiempo, who were unbelievable good. It was kind of like Space in Ibiza with Latino beats. While we were making shapes on the dancefloor the weather decided to take a turn for the worse. As the old adage goes, the rain in Spanish speaking America falls mainly in an uncontrollable down-pour causing flash floods across the city, crippling the transport network and causing city wide blackouts. I’m not sure how common an occurrence this is but we’ve been here a week and it’s happened twice. Last night we weren’t far off swimming back to the hostel, which was in the dark. Still, it’s a lot warmer than Blighty, which we hear may have been crippled by a snow flake.

Donde esta our car?

Greetings from Buenos Aires. Still Buenos Aires... That’s right, we are well and truly grounded. There is an extremely strong suggestion that are ship did in fact arrive on Thursday (several days late) however the Argentine approach of casual nonchalance means we cannot be sure, about anything. Having called everyday for non-updates they finally contacted us yesterday morning to say we needed to be at the port (half way across the city) in 15 minutes and so after a fairly frantic journey we rocked up, foolishly optimistic that the necessary haste might mean that we were going to get our car... Not so. Our contact at the port said hola, introduced himself, and then suggested we go for a beer, at 11am. Iḿ supremely confidant it was not his first of the day.... Anyway, after much tooing and froing between our agent, our agent’s agent, the agent’s agent’s port contact (aka Fat Tony) and Fat Tony’s customs officials, we still don’t have a car. They told us we can pick it up on Monday, though I suspect they’re fairly casual about that, perhaps even nonchalant.

The upside to this inspirational ineptitude is that Buenos Aires is brilliant. I’m sure the boys (who are currently shlaffing after a fairly heavy night on el towno) may have more to add but I’ĺl give you a quick brief.

We spent the first 3 nights in a nice little apartment in Palermo Soho, a very trendy area of Buenos Aires exactly 2 hours walk from the city centre (2hrs, not the 45 mins my map reading skills expected)

We have since moved into a backpackers just round the corner as this area and Palermo Hollywood next to it are definitely the coolest places to be. The nightlife is excellent but does not get started till late, around midnight is a good time to go to dinner and then hit the bars afterwards. Dinner, as you can probably imagine, is mostly cow related, although you can branch out with some bovine if you’re feeling a little risqué. The first night we had 750g T-Bone steaks, and we have now covered, chorizo, lomo (the best for me), cow cheek and cow intestine. Actually there’s probably more but the meat sweats are making it hard to concentrate.

On Sunday we went to see Boca Juniors play. The atmosphere is unbelievable. The fans don’t stop singing and the noise is incredible. We were in the less rowdy of the two (all-standing) stadium ends, with the away fans in the tier above us. We were warned not to go to the front of our mostly covered stand as the away fans have a tendency to throw missiles. And when I say missiles I means plastic cups filled with, errr, let’s just go with not-coke. Nice. Apparently it can get very dangerous but with a guided tour you feel completely safe, the opposite end had a massive drum and trumpet band that kept the fans bouncing and singing for 90 mins.

Anyway, I’m going to go work on my tan and bone up on my Spanish. Stay classy planet earth.

In Buenos Aires

Getting all touristy...

Buenos Aires Rocks the Party that Rocks the Party

Hola amigos,

This Road has started! We've departed the UK and have touched down in Buenos Aires. What can I say, this city rocks. The weather is on the dangerous side of pleasant, or scorchio, as the locals say, and the whole atmosphere is just cool. A contradiction one may say, but hey, deal with it.

The sky in BA	Looking at the sky in BA

ThisRoad Hits the big time

Consumed by the negativity surrounding John Terry's philandering and Tony Blair's warmongerering (presumably I should say alleged), the national media have hurriedly turned to an altogether more happier tale to lift the countries spirits. It is a story of daring and dastardly deeds, of courage and indeed courageousness, of promises made and records broken (as in we all sound like a broken record)

In today's increasingly Orwellian society the Camberley News stands like a beacon of hope for those who seek the truth. Never afraid to compromise it's integrity for material gain, it's devil may care attitude and razor-sharp reporting have revolutionised local media. And among this throng of journalistic giants, one man stands taller still. A fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants maverick with a nose for a story and a dream of the big time, Mike Wright has galvanised the Camberley News with sensational scoops of the likes of "Who shot Robins family cinema" and "Is my old headmaster a sexual predator?"

And his latest work, incitefully entitled "Intrepid trio ready for Pan-American trip", has all the hallmarks of another best-seller. It is a classic tale of boy meets boy, boy and boy discuss a trip, nobody cares, boy and boy ask handsome boy to come along, handsome boy says yes, people care....

For those of you living in a communications vacuum that even Vodafone can't penetrate, I have reproduced the article below. It is, however, merely the beginning.
 

Oh, there are prizes for counting the number of mistakes in the picture and the article...