The Road

After a cushty, but far too easy week in Bs. As. we got a bus to Canuelas, the nearest town we could see to the south outside the city.

Canuelas was a dusty, quiet town and we tried walking south straight out of town to hit the main road - which turned out A Bad Plan.

We walked for three hours with our heavy bags in the baking sun along dirt tracks with no shade to finally meet the main road.

Our first hitch-hiking spot wasn't a great one - traffic on the main road was going fast and there wasn't much joining at our junction, but after only 8 minutes (we had to time it due to a number of conflicting 5-peso-bet's placed on it) a little black Renault Clio came screeching to a halt just past us.

It felt great. There is disbelief, excitement, and intrepidation all in a mixed up instant, contrasted against the entire boredom of watching meaningless, boring traffic without respite or hope.

This is a feeling unique to hitch-hiking - with the simple gesture of an upturned thumb a complete stranger decided to give up a little of their time and petrol for nothing in return except a small amount of companionship.

It helps renew your faith in humanity, promotes cultural exchange and also IT'S FREE!

It turned out though once we were in the car that neither me or Kevin speak Spanish. In the twenty minute journey we did manage to figure out the guys name was Jerve and he worked on a tractor in Canuelas but lived in San Miguel del Monte, where he was taking us.

We walked to the far end of town to the last service station and treated ourselves to an alfajore (a chocolate coated triple-layered treat of soft biscuit and caramel) and scoped out a nice camp spot in a sparse wood behind the services.

I had what has become my usual travel-setup of a (waterproof) bivy bag and small tarp, while kevin had his (not waterproof) sleeping bag and open-top silk hammock.

Usefully in Bs. As. Kevin had cursed our journey by scoffing at the entire concept of rain, even going to the lengths of placing a 5-peso-bet that we wouldn't see rain before we reached Chile, sealing our fate.

Once we'd road-tested the alcohol stove I built from two beer cans in Faylin's house we spent the rest of the evening dissuading wild dogs from eating all of our belongings.

Fate had decided for Kev to lose his bet in formidable style and the mother of all storms descended on us.

It did mean I could stop clapping, growling, lunging, barking and throwing stones at the dogs, but Kevin was getting very wet.

I gave him my tarp - he could keep the worst off himself and semi cover his bags, while I zipped over my face in the bivy and tried to limit ingress through the zip.

It was pretty miserable, and we didn't get a lot of sleep but it was nothing a hot coffee and an alfajore or two in the morning couldn't fix.