Crossing the Andes

When we went west from Bariloche into Chile we did cross the Andes, but it was more snaking through valleys, really.

After working our way north to Santiago, Chile, the plan was to head east over the mountains to Mendoza, Argentina. One iPhone map app says there is no direct route and you have to go all the way south again before you can cross. That worried me when I was trying to plan originally, back in the UK. A bit more surfing revealed a regular direct coach service between the two cities, which was a relief.

The road climbs and climbs, and ends up at a series of twenty-something hairpin bends. You can see the route on Google maps. I pulled over a couple of times to take photos, with Clare urging me not to go too close to the edge or to take so long that one of the lorries labouring painfully up the mountain could pass us.

All the time I was looking out for the Chilean border controls, particularly because I didn't want any problems with the mass of paperwork covering the export/import of the hire car.

We found the last possible place, with a "Goodbye from Chile" banner just past it. We got out with our papers but some guy standing by one of the few other cars on the gravel area said this place was only for coaches and lorries, and we should go straight on. We did, but soon after, Clare asked why I'd believed him. I suppose it was a lack of signage.

We went on upward and finally into a long tunnel. Half-way through I spotted small Chilean and then Argentine plaques sticking out of the wall and I guessed that was the border.

Soon after the end of the tunnel, we stopped at a sentry post where a guy said "Welcome to Argentina" (in Spanish), gave us a stamped slip of paper with the registration of the car and number of passengers, then told us the Customs were 15 kilometers on.

By now I was sure we'd missed the Chilean controls and I would have to brazen things out.

Eventually we reached a sign pointing off the road to "Integrated Control" and this led into a hangar where car lanes passed a number of kiosks. In each, a Chilean and an Argentinian sat side by side, Immigration in the first kiosk and Customs in the second. How very sensible, if a little concerning beforehand if you're not expecting it.

During this process we acquired more stamps on the slip and finally got told we could leave the hangar.

A couple of kilometers further on, an armed soldier was stopping all vehicles. I guessed correctly that he was checking and collecting slips, to catch anyone who had driven straight past the hangar.

He asked where we were from and then proceeded to ask me about the Malvinas (Falklands) and who should own them - all in Spanish! I was slightly concerned, what with him being an armed soldier and my Spanish being skeletal - a very limited collection of gender-ignorant nouns and badly-conjugated verbs, loosely held together by luck.

Anyway, I made the "national self-determination" point as gently as possible (similarly, all in Spanish), was vague about other rights and wrongs, then suggested it was mainly about the new oil finds. We agreed that there should be a diplomatic solution rather than a new conflict. He suggested 50:50 sharing of profits from mineral resources and I didn't quibble. We parted amicably with a handshake, but they were some of the longest minutes of my life. I don't think I'll swap my computing job for one in diplomacy.

Having cleared what will be our last "officialdom" hurdle of Leg 1, we happily went on into Argentina and lunched at a near-deserted, near-desert ski resort.

We drove on through yet more spectacular huge valleys framed by mountains, and Clare nearly boiled me alive by hanging out of the window taking photographs in high-thirties temperatures. Worth it, though!