ANDEAN ADVENTURE - Part II

The trip began promisingly. We left Uspallata on a road bordered by ancient trees, some of whose trunks three of us could not have gotten our arms around. Less than a kilometer along the road was partly blocked with signs. “Danger!” “Rough Road” Wiser heads would have turned around. We did not.

Soon after I spotted a group of shrines on the hillside and, having told our friends, Susan and Wayne Hidalgo, about the three "popular saints" of Argentina--Gaucho Gill, the Difunta Correa (dead courier), and Ceferino--here suddenly were shrines to two of them: Gil and Correa (see their stories in another post).  

Less than two minutes after leaving I saw something I had been seeking for five years: a shrine to Ceferino Namucurá, the son of a Mapuche chief in Argentina who went to Italy to study for the priesthood but, tragically, died of TB at age 18. Ceferino is the only one of the three with any relation to the Catholic Church and was declared venerable by Pope John Paul II in 1972—the first Latin American to receive this honour. This was a lovely shrine with interesting gifts--one a giant, stuffed Snoopy. 

After Ceferino the road alternated between decent gravel surface, occasional pavement (very briefly) and washed-out areas of the road that forced us to follow existing tire-tracks and occasionally make our own.  David is nothing if not determined and we drove 28 kilometers until we came to a wash-out that we could not ford. For much of the way, we were in the Villavicencio Nature Reserve, as signs periodically reminded us. 

 

We're lucky we weren't arrested.

Along the way I kept wondering where the guanacos were and we were finally rewarded. First a group of four, then a herd of almost a dozen. We would later see a female with her baby, too far away for a picture. 

We also passed a mine—apparently in active operation because of the new signage but with no evidence of activity and a few dozen meters further along a stone frame with two wooden sluices jutting out.  

 At a cross road we encountered a Via Crusis--Way of the Cross--with giant crosses planted in the ground stretching over a half-kilometer. In the opposite direction was what seemed to be an observatory--but pictures revealed to be a large microwave transmission station. 

Further on I spotted a red blob in a tree--a Zorro--one of the magnificent raptors that grace the Andes. 

Then there was a wide, dry river bed—with a red car half-buried in the sand. It did not survive the flood. 

 As we were making the decision to turn around, two pick-up trucks appeared, one with Argentine the other with Chilean plates. They carefully but easily crossed the washout--emphasizing the impossibility for us.  I went to ask about the road and, alas, they had been forced to turn round by an impassable wash-out.  I asked if we could accompany them back, driving between the two trucks...just in case. They readily agreed and we made a U-turn.  Little did we know how fortuitous the arrangement would be. 

The cyclist is a Brazilian who thought he could make it all the way through. Wrong. He, like us, is on the way back to Uspallata.

The two middle-aged men were jolly, outgoing, roll-with-the-punches sorts. A young man was nice and charming. There were also two women and two children.  We couldn't figure out the relationships but more pressing issues developed.

The first was that thee lead truck took a wrong turn and found itself around a bend it had difficulty backing out of.  We had followed and got half way around the bend, then had difficulty backing out.  We finally made it with a lot of help and direction from our friends. I told them the Pisco Sours were on us when we got back to Uspallata.  The truck took longer because the narrow road made it difficult to turn.  But, finally he did and we were on our way again.  

Wayne Hidalgo directing traffic.

Until.... David swung too far to right and plowed into a small berm left by a recent Caterpillar. David's later comment: "He must have been drunk when he plowed this road." It took two of us shoveling out dirt from around the front right tire, then three men and one of the women pushing as David put it in reverse to free the car.  "OK," I said, "it's up to 10 Pisco Sours!" Everyone laughed. And we were back on the road. 

No more near disasters befell us and just outside Uspallata the lead truck pulled over and stopped.  I got out and went over to the driver's window and asked them if they had time for a Pisco Sour.  "I never had one!" he said, laughing., "but I'm willing to give it a try!"  

We found a restaurant on the highway in Uspallata (there are several) and pulled enough tables and chars together for what turned out to be a party of eleven.  And what a party.  We all introduced ourselves. It was two brothers and their wives with the young adult son from one family and two pre-teens, a boy and girl, from the other.  

To our astonishment. the restaurant didn't serve Pisco Sours.  But, not to worry.  Between the great Malbec wine that Mendoza produces and Quilmes beer, no one went thirsty. Introductions gave way to riotous banter about our adventure and travel in general. 

One brother and his son are architects, practicing in Córdoba.  At my request Simón, the son, gave us the names and location of three museums in the city--where we will be in two days.  The other brother, his wife and two children live in Santiago because his work took him there three years ago.  We hope to see them on our next trip to Chile--just two months from now.

So, a trip we had thought would take seven hours ended up taking 13. We fell into bed exhausted, but still grinning over the extraordinary encounter that came out of an ill-considered road trip.

David’s pronouncement at the end of the day:  We will never again drive on an unpaved road in anything less than a 4x4. Lesson learned.