Attitude at Altitude

Valle de Luna is so called because it looks like the surface of the moon. It is also hotter than the sun and at night affords the most spectacular stargazing on the planet.


En route to putting me on to a plane from La Paz to New York we had dropped in to San Pedro de Atacama to take in some of the spectacular scenery, and the final site on our hit list were the hot pools and geezers, a further 2000 meters above sea level and the highest in the world. At 2500 meters we barely noticed any effects of altitude but it was abundantly clear from the stark warnings from traveldoctor.co.uk that attempting to climb more than 300 meters a day from that altitude would invoke a brutal enviromental retribution. 3 hours later we had driven to the edge of the geezers with the plan of a nightime swim in the naturally heated pool while supping on Chilean vino and barbequed steak. Unfortunately, having driven Macbeth to an untimely death, the three Shakespearan witches had taken it upon themselves to prevent tourists from any such nightime chennanigans and we were reluctantly invited to spend the night in a dormitary at their outpost, 2k short of our destination. (Apparently the fact that these geezers shoot out boiling water is not condusive to nocturnal tourism - there is no light, we will die! Phil eloquently argued that our car had lights but unfortunately snakes, snails and indeed puppy dogs tails would not have moved them)


So, having thouroughly ignored the traveldoctor´s advice regarding Altitude Sickness, we commited the final atrocity of spending the night at 4300m. This was a bad choice. The next morning (to borrow another bit of army slang that is contaminating my vocabulary) we all felt utterly rats. The general consensus was to just get 5 minutes of the glorified kettles on film and then descend quicker than a cliff-dwelling lemming. Upsettingly when we got there it was an incredible sight to behold. Deserts (particular at that height) get a wee bit chilly at night, and the subsequent heat contrast spectacularly illuminates the huge jets of steam that each of the 20 or so geezers shoot into the air. This really should have been Tierra del Fuego (the land of fire), although considering our current physical state Phil was keener on The Valley of Death.


When we had left the witches cavern earlier that morning, the first bus loads of tourists had started to arrive and so, keen to avoid the crowds, we drove over to the naturally heated pool to have a quick swim to ourselves. At this point it was still absolutley freezing and, feeling like death with the prospect of stripping down to swimming trunks ahead of us, morale was hitting an all time low. Luckily ThisRoad is made of sterner stuff, or more accurately we are all shameless exhibitionists in front of the camera. To be fair the swim was very pleasant if slightly unnerving. Rather than having a uniform temperature the gratifyingly steaming pool is a turbantly mix of cold currents to make you shiver and bursts of heated water that thankfully fall just short of scalding. Filming done we hurriedly dressed into every bit of warm kit we owned and pointed Barry down the mountain to the oxygen rich oases below. Admittedly not quite soon enough for my vaulting stomach, another lesson in altitude awareness.


Our final destination in Chile before heading over to Bolivia was the northern coastal town of Arica. Its a surfers paradise and although we had no time to experience it, the follicly challenged of our group were reliable informed by our Point Break wannabe, uberman companion that the surf was excellent. The next morning we began the long ascent to the Chilean Bolivian border, a mere 5000 meters above sea level (where we had probably lost any of the acclimatisation from the Atacama the night before!) Barry, as utterly inescapely perfect-in-every-way as she is, is not the best climber, particularly when struggling to burn diesel in the oxygen depleted air, so we spent much of the journey crawling along at 20 miles an hour.


We arrived at the Bolivian border and were greeted by utter third world chaos, not entirely welcome at the best of times but even less so when breathable air had been reduced to 40 percent plus car fumes. We spent an hour trooping back and forth between different offices, trying to work out the order of stamps, photocopies, signatures, counter-signatures and tickets each utterly unhelpful "official" required. Finally everyone was satisfied and we drove to the exit gate, only to be told that our right hand car was not allowed into Bolivia. Fortunately just before our sense of humour failures began to register on the Richter scale Tom produced his International driving licence and blagged the guy into believing this meant our car could go anywhere we were allowed to drive in. It was quite obviously unashamed rubbish but the military-clad muppet waved us on, clearly content that he had dilligently defended his country´s borders.


Now for the exciting part. After our previous altitude idiocy we had decided to camp in the lower plains (as indicated on our oh-so reliable Bolivian map) before driving up to La Paz, which stands around 4000 meters. Unfortunately from our border crossing at 500m to La Paz 300 kilometers away, we never dropped below 3800 meters. Which meant that we may as well stay in La Paz and hopefully not be too badly affected. We reached La Paz after nightfall which was by no means a good idea. Never in our lives have we experienced such incredibly chaotic driving conditions. It is a complete an utter free-for-all where cars and pedestrians, many carrying babies on their backs, compete for every conceivable inch of space to force their way forward. As we approached what we thought to be the centre, using our GPS as a guide, I congratulated Tom on the almost miraculous feet of not having hit anything. He smiled appreciatively. The driver of the car we crashed into was amiable enough, and having been directed by a traffic cop to a relatively safe place to pull over I agreed to pay him 8 US dollars for his broken tail light (we barely touched him but Barrys illegal Roo bars take no prisoners) However the dilligent traffic cop, obviously keen to ensure fairplay, decided that about 30 pounds worth of Bolivian Dollars would be a more appropriate remuneration. A cynical person may be inclined to summise that not all of that was going to the driver, we however held no such opinion. At least the cop gave us some proper directions and we finally learned a crucial fact about La Paz that is a huge benefit to navigating around it. It is absolutely massive and the city centre is 400 meters below the high point to which you enter (Actually named El Alto). As we finally cleared La Paz part 1 we could see sprawling benath us and absolutely breathtaking view of the second plateau below us, effectively a second city just as big as the first. And finally our maps made sense as up until then we had driven nearly 8kms through a city without a single road being on our map!


Having checked into our hotel we headed out for a quick bite to eat, and, at the advice of the hotel receptionist who definitely used the word commission while making our reservation, enjoyed our first ever llama dinner. The restaurant proprietor had warmly greeted us and, though he had to shoot off before our meal was over, promised us a free "snake schnapps" and unlimited access to the salad bar to welcome us to his restaurant. And on top of that I have to say that Llama is actually really good and definitely one of the better meals weve had on our travels. As promised the waiter brought over our free shot at the end of the meal, the bottle he carried covered by a cloth, no doubt to preserve the liquors intensity. Now, even if you havent worked behind a bar I am sure you are all aware that various drinks are not necessarilly named for their contents. Sex on the beach for instance is happily not a mix of sand and, well you get the drift. So when the proprietor had said snake schnapps earlier I hadnt completely prepared myself for the waiter to wip off the bottle covering cloth to reveal a goddamn boa constrictor staring 4 inches from my inadvisable inquisitive face. The other two may have delighted in the fact that I recoiled quicker than a cocktail bound cobra but seriously, who expects to be served that? The baby boa was sat, immersed in schnapps with its head bobbing from side to side as the waiter poured out 3 shots. Cheers.

The Big Push North

One of the major aspects of this trip is the deliberate lack of timetabling where possible. We like to decide on the hoof where and when to go to next and how long we spend there once we arrive. Obviously we're following the Pan-Am, but little impromptu diversions and excursions here and there are all part and parcel of what makes this trip, well, this road. A combination of these, unavoidable holdups and general tardiness meant that the one deadline we did have to meet was fast approaching. Tim had to catch a plane from La Paz in Bolivia on the 25th so he could make his brother's wedding in New York, before returning to La Paz. Quite a distance to cover in a short time. Not impossible but we certainly needed to get our skates on. First stop, Chile's capital city.


In contrast to Conception, Santiago appeared far less affected by the earthquake. By the time we arrived it was hard to determine what was recent damage and what was existing decay. All in all Santiago felt very western and first-world as far as western cities blessed with a warm climate feel first-world; sunshine (and smog) cover a multitude of sins. We spent a day in Santiago and then left town in the evening with the aim of knocking out a 24-hour drive in order to eat up a serious chunk of the mileage to La Paz. Fuel tanks full we pointed ourselves north once more and set off into the inhospitable Atacama Desert. Despite our lights conking out (faulty relay) in the dark, in the fog, in the middle of nowhere, we made good progress.


Tired and grubby we nosed our way through the narrow streets of the little tourist oasis of (another) San Pedro, bang in the heart of the second-driest place on earth. Even though it hasn't rained here since records began, the Gobi Desert, north of the Himalayan mountain range (every day's a school day!) holds the title of world's driest place. Apparently. Anyhoo, we pitched camp and the next day took time out to explore the desert. And what a desert it is. Millennia of erosion and land-shifts have sculpted the salt, gems and nitrate encrusted land into weird and wonderful mountains, valleys and flats. The Valle De La Luna does indeed look like a moonscape and much fun was had speeding around, getting our Buzz Lightyear on!

Concepcion

We had some discussion about whether we should alter our route in the light of recent events, namely the earthquake, and the potential dangers and difficulties it still presented. We were also very keen not to become disaster-tourists or whatever the phrase might be; voyeurs of others' misfortune. We decided that we would be in little danger and therefore not present a liability to ourselves or others (any more than normal, that is) and that since Concepcion and Santiago were on our original route and that the earthquake is perhaps the most significant event to have occurred along the Panamerican in recent years, and that the Panamerican was open again, it would be quite acceptable to go and see the aftermath for ourselves. We also had friends in Concepcion's neighbouring town of San Pedro who warmly welcomed us.


Prior to heading on to Concepcion we spent 2 nights in the university town of Valdivia. This gave us time for a routine service on the car and to have a bit of a break from the road. Valdivia felt the earthquake and still suffered aftershocks along with powercuts and phone and internet outages. We stayed in hostels in Valdivia and unhappy with the first stumbled upon a second hostel which although full was blessed with the most hospitable and helpful owner, Eliana Solis. Eliana arranged accommodation for us at a friend's equally agreeable hostel across town. She then treated us to a pot of tea as she explained some of the background of the town as well telling us about the recent earthquake; she had been in Valdivia at the time of the 1960 earthquake.

We moved on to Concepcion after our second night in Valdiva and arrived late in the evening. I guess it hasn't escaped your attention that a rather large earthquake hit Chile at 0334 on 27 Feb. It measured 8.8 on the Richter Scale, making it the third largest earthquake ever recorded. It also lasted around 3 minutes, making it the longest-lasting major quake recorded to date. Pretty powerful stuff. Especially when you remember that the Richter Scale is logarithmic, meaning a 2 is ten times more sever than a 1. Haiti was hit with a 7, meaning this ground-shaker was almost 20 times more powerful. What is amazing is how the country has coped with such a disaster. They learned their lessons after the 1960 hit and the majority of the infrastructure has not been badly damaged. Of course there were buildings and bridges that did collapse with the tragic loss of more than 400 lives. Some of the smaller towns along the coast from the epicentre (which was around 5km out to sea from Conception), including the surf mecca of Pichilemu were totaled by tsunamis; we gave it a miss so our surf boards remain untouched by the sea.

I think the most depressing and tragic aspect of this disaster is how people responded to what happened. Power was knocked out for quite some time and obviously the emergency services were stretched to capacity. Rather than coming together and uniting in an effort to sort things out and help the needy (of course there were many who did just this), people took to the streets and within 48 hours of the quake looting was widespread and lawlessness prevailed. And before you say well of course people will loot, they need food and water, those basic supplies were left untouched. As I said, Chile is used to earthquakes. It sits on a major fault line where the Pacific plate is being pushed down under the South American/Atlantic plate which gives rise to the Andes mountain range (see, there was a need to remember all about plate tectonics in GCSE Geography after all!) and thus can get its people emergency supplies when called upon. What was being looted were things like TVs, computers, microwaves. One guy was seen running down the street with a bacon slicer he'd nicked from a supermarket. To me this really exemplified the ugly side to humanity. The upshot of this woeful behaviour was that the emergency services had to be diverted from dealing with the quake to looting and riot control. The military had to be called in, which was a very difficult decision for the outgoing president Michelle Barchalette: think back to the '70s and 80's and a certain chap called Pinochet to get an idea of the average Chilean's perception of watching men in uniform carrying automatic rifles patrolling the streets again. See what I mean?


That said, by the time we pitched up to San Pedro (which lies the other side of the river to Conception) to be hosted by Ben and Kez, things were pretty much back to normal. Ben is a friend of Tim's who had only moved to San Pedro with his girlfriend Kez a couple of weeks before the earthquake. Some welcome! Ben and Kez are both teachers at the nearby English school, although the quake has delayed the kids in returning to class after their summer holls. For the past couple of weeks aftershocks have rippled through the region. They only last a few seconds, but some have been up on around the 6 and 7 mark. Aftershocks?? Not in my book! They’re bloomin’ proper quakes! Ben was quick to tell me to stop being such a wuss. Which is fine if you’re now quake-proofed, but I can tell you that in a 9th floor apartment a little tremor (this one was around a 4.5) feels rather scary. Especially when one is in the bathroom perched upon the porcelain throne at the time!


While Ben and Kez attended staff meetings at the school, we took the opportunity to drive across the bridge to Conception to see for ourselves what happened. The main road bridge has collapsed where it meets the Conception bank, so we found ourselves exiting over a military Bailey bridge. To be honest, the majority of the town looked pretty normal. There were a few cracks in the road here and there, some diversions in place, rendering and tiles fallen away from buildings and the odd small pile of rubble dotted about the place. One building, however, did catch our attention. It was a 15-story apartment block that has just been finished, fallen on its side and snapped in two. A classic example of construction firms cutting corners? Ummm, what do you think?? We stopped off to take a closer look (come on, it's not often you get to see a building snapped in two is it?). 'Hey, is that an English car? Where you guys from?' came a North-American-accented voice from over my shoulder as I was framing up a shot to film. Turning round I saw a guy with a hard-hat and hi-viz vest on, clutching boom-mic and sound recording gear. 'Umm, yeah, hi,' I said, 'we're from England too. On a roadtrip. Where are you from?' 'I'm Canadian, my name's Dave," he beamed extending a hand to shake, 'from the Discovery Channel. We're filming a program on why some buildings fall over in earthquakes and other don't.' With a wry smile he nodded over to the apartment block next door, twice the size and twice the age as the one lying before us, with not a crack to be seen. 'Think you've found yourselves a pretty good location, then?' "Right on!"

Volcanoes, Condors & Why Barry Is Not A Rally Car

What the road from Chile Chico to Chaiten lacks in asphalt it more than makes up for in scenery. It's twisting gravel surface both meanders and thrusts its way through by far the most breathtaking landscapes we've seen so far. When its steep it's steep and when it turns it provides little purchase and vertiginous drops. Barry, Barry White or The Baroness Eugene White if you're not into brevity, was made for this. Three blokes, two fuel tanks, and more kit than is strictly necessary is not a problem for our faithful friend. It's quite clear that we are the weak link in this chain but more on that later.


Meanwhile, join us as we leave windblown Chile Chico, refreshed by our morning shower (courtesy of a mountain waterfall) and bouyed by our latest successful border crossing as we skirt round the shores of Lake Argentina. The choppy waters lapped the severe shores as we covered the rocky ground and wound our way past its parched but hardy vegetation. The road climbed away from the lake and into the folds of snow-toppped mountains before bringing us back down to the azure waters of a glacial lake and a place to sleep. The following day we continued along the Carrera Austral around its tight hairpins and up its steep climbs; The Baroness always a match for the conditions. A tyre blow out, caused by a mixture of conditions and tyre age and wear (driver error has been ruled out because I'm writing this blog post), slightly delayed our progress and precipitated the purchase of 2 brand new tyres in Coyhaique; a charming centre of civilisation and off-road vehicles in Chilean Patagonia. We then headed on into almost subtropical forests where snowcapped peaks stood incongruously in the distance.

Barry Doesn't Rhyme With Rally

This is where we come to the part about weak links. Now, a 20 year old Toyota Landcruiser is not a rally car. It has a large and powerful 4 litre diesel engine which sings with a deep throaty purr, a large, robust chassis suspended on equally sturdy suspension and an 80s style paint job. She currently weighs about 3.5 tons. The alabaster beast is the vehicular equivalent of Barry White and whilst no doubt Barry White was never a big cross country runner I'm sure he had staying power of one sort or another. And so it is with the Baroness. Off-road she's a cut above the rest. In 4WD in low gears she'll eat up most things you find out there in the way the real Mr White probably literally did. But could you imagine the late great Mr White take a corner at top speed on an uneven and gravel strewn surface without things getting a little out-of-shape? Well, apparently Tim could. I'll give you this: she will perform a neutral 4-wheel slide on a loose surface but such things require a driver with far more than 5 minutes' driving experience. Young Fossey has about 6 minutes. Young Fossey is lucky he's still allowed to drive. Barry isn't going Rally driving again.

Chaiten

With all happy and relieved to be alive, we took 10 minutes out to watch Condors soar on the wind seemingly just out of reach - seriously they were very close. That night, as dusk was falling, we rolled into what can only be described as a ghost-town. Chaiten sits on Chile's Pacific coast in the shadow of an active volcano. The ash of that volcano lines the streets and the inhabitants of those streets are gone. The eruption occured 2 years ago and whilst the town was not hit by the lava and thankfully no-one was killed, subsequent rains inundated the town with copious amounts of the ash produced in the form of a highly viscous mud. The towns-folk fled and have largely remained away. This entire episode was unbeknownst to us and as we entered this erie town in the near dark it was with a certain trepidation. Our chief concern however was to find the ferry port and to establish when the ferry would leave and how we could get on it. This was our link with the north and the next stretch of the Panamerican. We found the ferry ramp but typically no timetable or indeed any information about the ferry or how to get a ticket to get on it. We hoped the morning would provide answers so we set up camp on a nearby beach and warmed ourselves around a campfire.

In the morning, as we struck camp, dolphins swam past us along the shore. They couldn't appreciate our land-locked dilemma. Fortunately we found the ticket office and bought tickets for the following evening's ferry since that morning's was full. We then watched a half-empty ferry leave; funny and frustrating in equal measure. We had tried to persuade various parties to let us on the boat but in this part of the world the document is king and we had tickets for the next day.

Very Cross Borders

It is an art, we’ve discovered, moving from one country into the next. This may not at first be obvious, particularly as back in the UK driving over to the continent is as simple and easy as pie due to the ever-so co-operative nature that exists between EU member states. Not so out here. And in particular not so when you are three Englishmen driving an English car. It is at national borders where the enormity of South American bureaucracy is realised and the unprepared can be left high and dry. Unprepared we were not, and the first three times we moved from Argentina into Chile and vice versa proved to be relatively painless (except when we tried to bluff the Chilean customs bloke at San Sebastian on Tierra Del Fuego than we had no food – see previous blog post for full, embarrassing details). We intended to cross for the final time into Chile at Paso Rodolfo Raballos which is about 70km south of Lagos Argentina.

It was going to be a cunning hop across the border as we would have been able to shortcut a massive loop round the Lago Jeinimeni National Reserve while taking in some awesome roads. By the time we arrived at the Argentinean border post it was dark. We had been driving for the past few hours on twisty singletrack, through mountain passes with not a yard of tarmac in sight, let alone any buildings. The small wooden collection of huts that greeted us really did look like some outpost to the final frontier in a western movie. We exchanged all paperwork with the one somewhat bored looking Argentinean officer before the gate was lifted and off we set into no-man’s-land.

A kilometre or so later the lights of the Chilean control post began to twinkle up ahead and soon we were standing in another wooden cabin scribbling out now familiar bits of seemingly unnecessary paperwork. “Where is your car from?” asks the officer. “England,” we reply. “The steering wheel. Is it on the right?” he enquires, to which we nod in conformation. We then hear those four horribly frustrating words. “There is a problem”. What problem? How could there possibly be a problem? We’ve crossed into Chile three times before with no problem. What now? The officer sighs and tells us that it is illegal to drive a right-hand-drive vehicle in Chile. Eh??? To prove his point he prints off some scanned memo dated 2005 with something to that effect. This guy ain’t budging. So we’re stuck, 10.30 at night in the middle of nowhere, with exit stamps from Argentina in our passports and being refused entry into Chile. Great. The officer leans back in his chair. “There is nothing I can do. You have to go away.” Sh*@±ar*et?tsb^l%cks!!! Despondently we turn the car about and pick our war back to the Argentine border. The same Argentine officer as before, looking somewhat confused, greeted us. He called for his Capitan and soon there were five officials and the three of us crammed into the office. The senior offer, an amiable chap in his uniform but with his boots off, padding around in his socks and ok with the fact we’d clearly disturbed his TV-time, took charge he even got on the radio to the Chilean jobsworth to ask what was going on, but to no avail. What he did suggest was to take the road north, hand-railing the border and try the crossing into Chile Chico. “There are more tourists crossing there,” he said, “so they will probably be more busy and not bothered to check!” Sweet! We waved them all goodbye, pointed our car north, drove a couple of k’s and camped down for the night on a dried-up mountain lake-bed. The next day we zipped into Chile unhindered. If you’re reading this, Mr Chilean-spotter-anal-border-guard, HA! IN YOUR FACE!!!!

Ferries, Penguins and Border Crossings – Ushuaia to Chilean Patagonia

Apologies for leaving you all stranded at the end of the world but intermittent internet access is to blame...honest.

We spent a couple of nights in Ushuaia and then turned the Baroness north to begin our long hike to Alaska. We left Ushuaia a little later than planned having decided to get the ball rolling on filming the initial scenes of "ThisRoad the movie". ( The video will be blog-bound as soon as we come to an unlikely agreement on the backing track) Having knocked up some impressive distances cruising down the painfully straight Argentinian Ruta 3 "motorway", we felt we could cover the relatively short distance to the eastern coast of Tierra del Fuego pretty quickly, but the combination of a delayed start, filming, roads with actual bends and a slight run in with Chilean immigration meant we arrived long after dark (Tierra del Fuego is split into the Chilean west and Argentinian east so you cross into Chile before catching a ferry to the mainland). As the ferry was not until the next day (we assumed as we haven't seen a timetable since Heathrow) we camped down by the bay a little out of town.

Anyway, what run in with the Chilean immigration I hear you ask.... Particularly Chile, but also Argentina, have decided to combat the spread of dangerous bacteria by operating a zero tolerance policy against, fruit, meat and lettuce. All the previous checkpoints and borders we had passed through had never bothered to search our car and had indeed okayed various meat, fruit and veg so we assumed we'd get the same treatment this time and happily signed our declarations and then told the guard due to search are car that we were free of undesirables. At which point he asked us to open our fridge, which was a blow. Having since had time to properly read through which food items are banned I can quite confidently say that the whole bunch were present and incriminatingly correct, which, probably with some justification, el Chilean customs muchacho took umbridge with. Having been the one to boldfacedly lie to him I was marched back to immigration and accosted for my duplicity. However, we did have one (not completely unplanned) saving grace. I'd lied in Spanish. Conveniently all my Spanish left me and I explained in English that I hadn't understood the question. Thankfully they simply decided to make me sign a declaration saying that I did have fruit and veg (although this was no longer true since they had relieved us of them) and handed me a leaflet explaining the evils of taking food into Chile; spread of foot and mouth, transportation of little bacteria and beasties etc. They don’t see fit to spray your car for such threats but we are clearly in no place to point fingers.

The following day we rose early and trundled down to the ferry port to see when and if the ferry was departing for the mainland. Our first ferry trip towards the end of our marathon drive to Ushuaia had been pretty fortuitous, as having rocked up to the port at 1’o’clock in the morning we’d simply joined an already waiting stream of cars. This time there were no cars, no people, no information and only the vaguest indication that ferrys ever frequented the area. Our ever improving pigeon Spanish came to the rescue, discerning that there was in fact a ferry arriving at 11am. One of our continual little gripes about the helpful locals though is their inability to see the bigger picture. This chap had kindly answered that it arrived at 11am, and took 2 hours to reach Punta Arenas. We (I) had admittedly failed to ask when it left, but really you would hope at that stage that he might have inferred that that little nugget of information might be right up our strasse. Anyway we boarded the 3pm (departing) ferry and spent the two hours updating our journals and starting across the incredibly flat sea. A pod, school or potentially gaggle of dolphins kept us company for a while and, confident that little now stood in our way on our drive to the top of South America, our spirits soared.

Punta Arenas was our first taste of a proper Chilean city and it was perceptibly cleaner and more Western looking than Argentina. The downtown area was still relatively small but there were a good few bars and restaurants to keep us occupied. The next morning we paid a visit to the city cemetery, where the graves range from fairly typical to incredibly ornate tombs for the richer families. They also had beautiful tombs for their police and firemen. It was very calming and humbling to walk among the shrines and a lovely place to reflect on the trip so far. And we were almost completely reverent and respectful, except for when Tom pointed the camera at us, at which point we morphed into grounded but still flapping angels. Apologies.

After our brush with death we headed north to Punta Natales, via Los Penguinos! It is a genuine fact that penguins are the coolest creatures on earth and we were all incredibly excited to go chill out in their manor. These little super stars had arrived in October / November to begin breeding (they only come as couples) and, with their young finally old enough to take to the seas proper, were two weeks away from migrating north to Brazil (Apparently where Happy Feet gets it’s Samba influence).

That night we stayed in the quiet but pretty Punta Natales and then shot on to Chile’s most famous national park, Torres del Paine (The blue towers) for some luxury camping and car repairs. The park itself is absolutely spectacular. The lakes have been formed by a receding glacier and, according to the guide, the way the sediment particles are suspended in glacier melt makes them a strikingly, opaque turquoise colour that captures the sunlight magnificently. The mountains surrounding the lakes are also hauntingly blue and this gives the whole landscape a beautifully tranquil, almost fantasy feel. Our final night there we brought ourselves back to earth with our first (of no doubt many) all steak barbeques, with a little (a lot) vino tinto under a star-packed night sky.

12 Days On This Road: Time For a Photo Montage

It's been 12 days since we started the Tierre del Fuego to Alaska stage of the trip so we thought we would share those dozen days in picture form. Fear not: The verbal will return shortly.

All Journeys Have a Beginning	Good Things Come to Those Who Wait - Leaving Tierre del Fuego
Punta Arenas Cemetry	Penguins
The Open [and Endless] Road	Tim Gives You: Torres del Paine National Park
Dusk Falls: The Jagged Torres Stand Silent	Lomo
The Star of The Team	The Road Beckons
Ice Ice Baby	This Thing Doesn't Drive Itself
Free Showers	Upon Closer Inspection We Deemed The Tyre Unserviceable
This Road is in Chile	Chaiten: Ghost Town