San Martin to Santiago

We picked the bike up the next day all correct and ready to go. They had even washed it and blacked the tyres!! The cost was about the same as I would have paid in Oz so no complaints there, and I have another stamp in the book from another country to go with the one from Tehran.

Thursday night got interesting as a work colleague of Jorges was getting married at the weekend and we were invited to the bucks night dinner. Nothing out of control but a reasonable amount of vino was consumed and we didn’t get home until three in the morning!! Mind you we didn’t go out until ten thirty.

The last night in San Martin was another Asado at Jorge’s house. This time I insisted on paying for the meat as a thank you. All had a good time as you can see from the pictures.


Jorge´s son Julio


Jorge and Ingrid


Seasoning is important


A good evening

The next day I packed the Wombat and headed out of the town towards the mountains. The day started off very cloudy, but Jorge assured me that it would clear as I got higher. The climb on the Argentinean side is a steady on with gentle curves through a valley with the river flowing enough to allow rafting and other water sports in the summer, and a lot of evidence of skiing in the winter. The temperature starts to drop and as you reach the summit at around 2800m, any of the steeper climbs are noticed by the drop in power from the engine. Not that it affects it to any great degree, it just means that a drop in gear is required. As you pass the entry customs into Argentina (which you do not have to stop at) you come across the national park entrance for Acongagua, the highest peak in South America. This was the only place for a photo opportunity, and luckily the cloud had disappeared and the sun was out. Mind you I didn’t hang around too long as the temperature was low enough to make me wish I’d kept the fleece handy for underneath the jacket.








Acongagua the highest mountain in South America

Next stop was the customs post for Chile, where the exit from Argentina, and the entrance to Chile, are all in the one place. As probably the major border crossing it’s a bun fight with coaches galore, and a lot of cars. Coach drivers trying to get their passengers through as quickly as possible try to tell you which que you need to be in, not knowing what the customs officers have already told you, so in the end I lost it with one of them who kept telling me I was in the wrong que. I asked him if he was a customs officer and when he replied no, I told him to mind his own business and leave me alone! One hour later with the quarantine inspection done I was on my way again. The decent from the summit is a very different affair. A series of hairpin bends take you down very quickly and if I hadn’t stopped to take so many photos it could have been a very hairy ride on the bike.



Santiago is only another 160km after that and a nice easy run in on the motorway puts you in the middle of the city and my hotel.