I crossed into Peru in the morning. Last night’s rainstorm caused another landslide. The dirt piles from a roadside mining operation were liquefied by the rain, turning the highway into a soupy mess. Ahead of me, a large semi-truck was stuck sideways across both lanes. There was no easy way to sneak past it. This was becoming a trend I could do without.
Up ahead I could see a procession of barefoot people, shoes in their hands, emerging from between the stopped cars. They opted to walk through the mud instead of waiting for the traffic to be cleared. A bus pulled up next to me in the opposite lane did a quick u-turn and picked up all those who’d walked across. Does happen all the time? After sitting still in my truck for over an hour I got out and asked the guy behind me “Are there any other roads around this?” He was sitting on the hood of his car, a well-worn mostly blue sedan packed with enough fruit in the backseat that the rear fenders were touching the tires. He told me that if this section of road was blocked, the roads up in the mountains would be worse. Another hour went by then a small bulldozer arrived and pulled the semi off the road. Slowly traffic started moving again.
In the more rural, mountainous parts of Peru, anti-government protests led to more roadblocks. The famous tourist destination, Machu Picchu, was closed for saftey concerns. In an attempt to avoid more delays, I decided to take the coastal roads, which pass between miles of ocean and unsettled sand dunes. After a couple of hours of driving, the dunes would turn into rice fields then fruit plantations and then back into dunes. This cadence repeated for a few days. On the outside of every town the road sides were covered in man-made garbage. Nearly every fence was wrapped in shredded plastic bags. The piles of trash and lingering smell coming through my air vents made it hard to see Peru’s beauty. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of urgency to get out of Peru as quickly as possible.
Outside of Chiclayo, Peru I witnessed the aftermath of a collision between a scooter and a semi-truck. A group of men stood around the unmoving body in the road. There were no cops, no ambulance—an eerie silence suggested the accident just occurred. I didn’t stop to help. What could I have done? It was a harsh reminder of the risks that come with driving so many miles. I kept my mind focused on the road ahead.
The mindset of a traveler is one who tries to engage with a place and deepen their understanding of its people. A tourist, on the other hand, skims the surface, taking away only a superficial impression. I felt like a tourist.
Andrea, my partner for over a decade, was going to join me in Santiago, Chile. What had taken me three months to accomplish by land, Andrea would achieve in less than twelve hours by air. When we first started dating, we bought a used copy of Lonely Planet: Torres del Paine. Back then, it seemed like a pipe dream, but here we were, on the verge of doing it. Seeing her walk out of the Santiago Airport washed away months of solo travel loneliness. As soon as she was close enough, I wrapped my arms around her. It was nice to have someone to share this journey with.
We left the concrete and glass of Santiago and made our way across the valley of farms and vineyards. We spent one night in Osorno, Chile before crossing over the Andes Mountains towards San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina. The terrain shifted from lush and green, to dry and brown. A new addition on this side of the Andes were packs of guanacos. Closely related to the llama, these light brown and white wool covered camelids were everywhere. You must keep your eyes on them, they were easily spooked and would dart across road just as you passed by.
We continued south along Route 40, a patchwork of coarse gravel and sun bleached asphalt, through the most remote section of Argentina's Patagonia region. We drove directly into the wind for hours, and with no trees to block the gusts, it was just relentless. As night fell, we reached the cold desert town of Perito Moreno. We rented a small A-frame cabin just off the highway. The wind howled through the night, rattling the walls, but by morning, we had clear skies and warm sun.
