Ok so we've now baled out of the Andies 'cause it was howling a gale and we had had enough. So out to the coast we head. Once there it was a good decision, and found a great camp to hang for the night. Penguins were cruising just off the shore and giving us free entertainment in our free and quiet campsite. Light an over due fire just to complete the night....
Then we got to see our first sign of one of the reasons I considered this journey... to see the most Southern City in the world... and to fit in as much as possible in between ..."it's different from behind"
Comodoro Rivadavai sounds very Meditterranean,and thats where the connection ends. We arrive in the township on a Sunday afternoon, after travelling through flat land blighted by machines extracting oil, relentlessly nodding on the landscape.
The search for decent accommodation at a reasonable price was exhausted yet again, and the guide books comments of homely rooms and lovely corridors translated into pre-historic,Alfred Hitchcock style rooms with overtones of seedy desperateness....except that the proprietors didnt see it that way, along with Lonely Planet 2008, and wanted to charge us our only remaining arms and legs.
Seriously depleted of options, we headed back onto the open road heading South, only to find, just over the brow of the hill and outside of the City, a small, upmarket suburb which sported a municipal campsite!
What a jewel of a find.
The campsite was just one block from the Atlantic Ocean and after after an Argentinian Style Pizza, made by an Italian Chef, who should have known better, we retired to the restfull sounds of the sea(the boy racers, no,seriously, had gone to bed).
The luxury of a walk along the ocean front was not wasted on me, and i left Mark to pack up the bike while i sucked in the salty breeze. The sea is my leveller, and by the time i was picked up, i felt re-juvenated and ready for the next adventure...
Puerto San Julian was one of those places that surprises. Mark was ready for a hotel, and me, well, being next to the ocean and who usually loathes campsites, wanted just that.
We decided to take the scenic 8km trip round the coast ,(my desire to find penghuinos)before heading to a hostel. But instead, we found an idyllic spot, sheltered, on a tidal inlet that turned out to be a brilliant camp.
Loaded up with a couple of beers and a tuna pasta one pot meal we made camp.
Twilight came upon us and hey, look, over there, isnt that penguins?
The penguins came onto the rocks ,dived into the ocean, swam with the incoming tide to fish, hauled their portly bodies back onto land and repeated the exercise.....we were mesmerised. Tuna meal in hand(priorities), i squelched through the mud flats to get a better look and was thoroughly entertained. I love penguins.
The night just kept getting better, and after the pingus we lit a fire, watched some nocturnal animals scavenge the rocks after the weekend tourists and went to bed with the tent rustling in the ocean breeze, magic.
"Ok so now it's getting real and in a way it become harder due to knowing it was just down the road, but first an unexpected ferry ride
and dam it was cold.....
Once again it's words from.... "it's different from Behind".....The morning air was filled with squabbling birds, im loving it. Before tea was even poured i was up to enjoy the dawn chorus
and what a racket. Getting up at the crack of daylight brings such rewards and the long eared hares,so sensitive to every rustle but not accustomed to aliens so early in the morning gave us the pleasure of their company.
It was with reluctance, and after a walk along the beach, stalking the hawks between the hunt,that i got onto the back of the bike and headed to Tierra Del Fuego.
The journey seemed endless, flatlands, winds and uninspiring visuals. Limas and ostriches were the only form of wildlife, bar the odd silver -fox and so it was doubly depressing when the sign for Tierra del Fuego that we passed over 50kms back was the turn off that we should have taken.
The dulcet tones of Nora Jones, to soothe the atmosphere, couldnt mask the fact that we had little fuel and too many ks to cover it.
Some divine intervention, or as luck would have it, i had enough chilean pesos in coins in my pocket to get 4 litres of fuel from a petrol station, that quite honestly, shouldnt have been there! If it wasnt for the substance of the fuel, it could have been quite unreal. We had enough fuel to get us to the unexpected ferry trip, and by the sniff of the proverbial oily rag, into Sombrero.
This 'small city'(described as such by a truck driver with pretty good English) sported one hotel, you can guess the rates, and one petrol station. By this time, choices were short on the ground, it was, u guessed it,cold and late and we accepted the double room with private facilities, for the same price as the twin room shared with the builders, after an exchange of facial expressions.
The restaurant provided no menu, but promptly put down a set meal of soup, beef and mashed spud, and a sweet mousssey style dessert....just pay the man.
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