Going to the end of the world with my dad

I don't remember whose idea it was originally. It was probably my dad who, when talking about the legendary route 40 in Argentina, said something like: "I really want to do that on motorcycles,' to which I most likely replied: "Well then, why don't we?". The idea remained a joke for a couple years. Then I finally asked my dad if he really wanted to do it because if so, we could. We just had to start planning. That's how I ended up postponing my Master's degree (though let's be honest, I probably would have done that anyway) to be able to go to the end of the world with my dad.

Crossing the Andes northeast of Santiago (Chilean side)

Our trip started out as what seemed like an endless series of unfortunate events. Like rocks rather than pearls on a very itchy string. First, our flight out of Copenhagen was late resulting in a 24 delay of the entire trip. Then my backpack containing my motorcycle helmet and gloves didn't make it to Santiago with us. This resulted in me frantically buying a couple of T-shirts and renting a helmet last minute because we didn't want to miss any more days on the motorcycles.

Crossing the Andes northeast of Santiago (Chilean side)

When we finally hit the road, it was bliss. For an hour or two. Then we reached the turnoff for the road going over the mountain pass separating Chile and Argentina right next to Aconcagua, the highest point in South America. We had been told the road was very rideable, even paved though we hadn't dared to really believe that and our scepticism was justified. The road turned out to be a never-ending stream of the most unforgiving switchbacks made up of huge loose rocks. Our bikes took a fall or two trying and failing at maintaining balance through some of the more menacing turns but somehow we made it up the mountain side without serious injury.

The death road crossing the mountain pass between Chile and Argentina

On the border between Chile and Argentina at Cristo Redentor de los Andes

After our descend down the Argentinian side we made it back to paved road but our troubles were still just getting started. When we tried to get the motorcycles through customs, we were denied. It turned out our rental partner had forgotten to sign the permits allowing us to take the bikes out of Chile. After several hours of waiting and expensive phone calls, we finally received new signed permits via email allowing my dad to get his bike through. But not mine. Another mistake had been made. This time, a wrong date had been put into some computer system saying I was suposed to take the bike back into Chile that day rather than out. Fixing this mistake required a visit to a notary which wouldn't be open until the morning. Luckily the boss at the chilean border control, with whom I was now on a first name basis, allowed me to take the bike 10 km into Argentina to spend the night at some proper accommodation as long as I promised to come back the next morning when the notary's office opened. 

Crossing the Andes northeast of Santiago (Argentinian side)

Crossing the Andes northeast of Santiago (Argentinian side)

Leaving the border at around 22:30, we thought our luck was as bad as it could get. Turns out life can be even more sadistic. Riding down to our hostel, my phone fell out of its holder on the handlebar. We managed to find it after about 20 minutes of riding up and down the pitch black mountain road but not before several trucks had run over it demolishing it to a bar of crushed glass that fell apart in your hand. But we saved the simcard and "luckily", my dad had brought an extra phone so I wasn't completely destitute. Still, we couldn't help but laugh as we ate our midnight dinner at the hostel. A little bad luck is annoying but that much of it is just kinda funny.

At the Chilean customs' office

Heading down the Andes in Argentina

The following morning, we got my bike through customs after only a couple of hours at the border and our road finally seemed to be rock-free, filling up with pearls instead. Zigzagging out of the mountains, we reached the vineyards that cover the Mendoza province. Here, we made a right onto the historic route 40 heading south. This route covers more than 5000 km starting in the north of Argentina close to the Bolivian border and then it goes all the way down deep into Patagonia though we were only going to cover a part of it. Starting out as regular highway in populous Mendoza, settlements and towns thinned out and multiple lanes turned to one. Snaking next to the Andes, route 40 goes through a whole lotta nothing. A landscape only covered with dry bushes and a sparse population of cows. Interupting riverbeds and snowcapped volcanos create a feeling of depth on an otherwise 2D-esque horizon.

Staying in Pareditas on route 40

On route 40

Gas stations are the most vibrant and lively establishments on this desolate route though not as frequent as one could hope. We almost learned this the hard way heading into the province of Neuquen when we skipped filling our tanks in the final Mendozan town 60-something km from the provincial border due to the long line of waiting cars. Our map promised us a gas station in the middle of nowhere just beyond the border but when we got there, the place was empty. Shop boarded up and covered with various graffiti. We spent a solid 10 minutes panicking discussing whether we should go back adding more than 120 km to our day or hope our tanks had enough to make it 150 km to the next gas station. Luckily, we didn't have to make that decision because just as we turned our engines back on, a guy emerged from the worndown building and helped us fill up our tanks.

At a gas station in the middle of nowhere on route 40

That seemed like a pretty good sign our luck was finally turning around. Not to say we didn't still encounter challenges. The rest of the day took us through almost 100 km worth of loose gravel roads in the scorching afternoon sun heading into Patagonia followed by the heaviest side wind I've ever experinced almost blowing us off the road. That lasted for more than an hour as we were coming up a mountain pass in the setting sun. Coming down on the other side, we finally reached our base for the night right next to the halfway point of the entire route 40. But all of that is part of the deal with motorcycle touring, why we do it. Being exposed to the elements and tackling whatever road or horizon you find around the next corner is part of the adventure and the fun.

Gravel roads on route 40

Halfway point on route 40

Our final stretch on route 40 took us through the Lake District. The distance we were able to cover in a day became marginally shorter here as tourists and heavy traffic dominate the area but for good reason. The Road of the Seven Lakes from San Martín de los Andes to Villa La Angostura was paradisiacal and seeing the city of Bariloche across the gigantic ocean-like Nahuel Huapi Lake was positively breathtaking. In Bariloche, I met up with some friends of mine from Denmark (though one of them is originally from Buenos Aires) who happened to be vacationing there at the same time. The world is big, wide, and beautiful and also wonderfully small sometimes.

On the Road of the Seven Lakes

On the Road of the Seven Lakes

In front of Nahuel Huapi Lake, Bariloche 

From Bariloche, we had to head west to go back into Chile. This time, crossing the border only required the normal amount of Southamerican bureaucracy and took us through a pretty gorgeous alpine mountain pass before descending into a sea of corn fields and green hills. The physical shape of Chile makes any traveling along its vertical axis pretty homogeneous. The Pan-American Highway is the fastest and almost only way to travel north/south in the country unless you want to doodle your way up along logging roads with the ocasional coastal stretch. We ended up doing a little bit of both spending most of our remaining days on the highway to make it back to Santiago in time while making a left every evening to spend our nights next to the Pacific Ocean.

Cardenal Antonio Samoré Pass on the border between Chile and Argentina

 

By the Pafific Ocean near Valdivia, Chile

From our hotel next to the Pacific Ocean near Concepción, Chile

Sunset by the Pacific, Chile 

Heading out in the morning

In Santiago, we returned the bikes having to pay only a couple hundred dollars for the damages caused by the death road on our first day. In the meantime, my backpack had showed up at the motorcycle shop. Though I wasn't able to use the helmet I'd brought all the way from Europe, I was reunited with my camping gear which we would be needing the next few days. We caught a flight to Punta Arenas, a fishing town in the deep south of Chile with an unexpected amount of strip clubs and an expected amount of torrential wind. This did prove partially fatal to my tent and seemingly fatal to me and my dad on a hiking trip in Torres Del Paine National Park, the jewel of Patagonia which is only a few hours' drive from Punta Arenas. We pitched up my tent just outside the park and spent a couple of days exploring the jagged mountain massif.

Returning the motorcycles in Santiago, Chile

At our campsite by Torres del Paine, Chile

Leaning against the wind in Torres del Paine

Fixing up our tent and using our truck as protection against the Patagonian winds

Torres del Paine National Park, Chile

While my meetup with friends in Bariloche was preplanned, I ended up literally stumbling upon another friend of mine on the hiking trail heading to the Mirador Torres Del Paine. I met this Aussie gal back in 2018 in Krakow, Poland while on an interrail trip. After visiting her in Australia in late 2019, I hadn't seen her in four years until she walked passed me on the trail, doing one of the bigger treks with her boyfriend. What a wonderfully small world. That was definitely the highlight of the day despite fierce competition from the view at the top and completing such a strenuous hike with my dad.

Torres del Paine, Chile

Stumbling upon an old friend on the trail

By Mirador Torres del Paine, Chile

By Mirador Torres del Paine, Chile

In front of Grey Glaciar, Torres del Paine, Chile

Torres del Paine, Chile

We returned our rented pickup truck in Punta Arenas and caught a bus crossing into Argentina for the second time. Now, we went to the very end of Patagonia to Ushuaia, the southernmost town in the world and the final stop before Antarctica. Here, we spent one day hiking around Tierra Del Fuego National Park and another sailing along the Beagle Channel to Martillo Island, home to a penguin colony. Ushuaia was a busier place than we expected. Enormous cruise ships turn parts of it into complete chaos certain times a day but you can still feel the isolation, mystique, and wonder of the place among the sunhats and numbered name tags.

Tierra del Fuego National Park, Argentina

 

Tierra del Fuego National Park, Argentina

Martillo Island, Beagle Channel, Argentina

 

Martillo Island, Beagle Channel, Argentina

Our final stop was not the end of the world however but rather, we caught a final flight to the northeastern corner of Argentina to the province of Misiones where I lived as an exchange student almost ten years ago. My real dad met my host dad and the rest of my host family of course. A big asado (Argentinian barbecue), sailing on the Paraná River that divides Argentina and Paraguay, and a visit to Iguazú Falls were the order of the weekend before my dad had to head back to Europe. I, on the other hand, stayed back for a couple more months of exploring both familiar and new parts of South America.

Reunited with my host family in Puerto Rico, Misiones in the northeastern corner of Argentina 

Argentinian asado

Sailing on the Paraná River, Misiones, Argentina

 

Iguazú Falls, Misiones, Argentina

 

Iguazú Falls, Misiones, Argentina

The Transylvanian Alps on film (Summer 2023 2/2)

I was browsing through Google Maps last spring looking at different mountain ranges when I spotted the irrisistable Făgăraş mountain ridge going straight east to west in Transylvania, Romania. I thought: "You gotta be able to walk that," and after a little reseach I learned that a lot of people have indeed done just that.

Ascending the Făgăraş mountain ridge

When I asked my brother, JC, if he wanted to join me, I honestly didn't think he would say yes. Not because I didn't want him to come but because I didn't think he'd be interested in carrying a load of 15+ kg up thousands of meters worth of elevation in an area known for scarce water sources and ammenities, hot temperatures, and the largest population of wild bears in Europe. But he was game.

Making friends on the ridge

We flew into Sibiu at the end of August and caught a train to the southwestern edge of the Făgăraş mountains, also known as the Transylvanian Alps. We started our trek from the small village of Turnu Roşu. Day 1 made us do 1661 meters of elevation in 17 km. At one point, JC stopped with his T-shirt soaking wet and said: "This is like an extreme sport."

Dinner at Cabana Suru

Our first night in the mountains was luxurious, descending a few hundred meters from the ridge to camp out next to a hut that served hot food and cold beer. We were joined by a group of local men who had brought their own homemade liquor to accompany the beer. We caught a beautiful sunset and a few stars before heading to bed.

Back on the ridge having a water break and appearantly a cigarette break as well

Day 2 was easier on us only doing 7.8 km but we still had 911 meters of elevation, at least a third of which came from having to climb back up on the ridge. Back up there, we chatted with a fellow hiker. She provided us with plenty of snacks, probably because she, as a mother, thought we looked alot like we needed it.

Golden hour at Avrig Lake

After the second day, we set up camp at the paradise that is Avrig Lake. We got there just as the golden hour painted the mountain sides bright green casting their reflection on the water. We enjoyed a quick swim and a few hours of relaxation and reading before night came.

Breakfast at Avrig Lake

The following morning, countless flies joined us for breakfast in the day's first rays of sunshine. We had to get an early start because day 3 was gonna be the hardest one of them all. Only 8.5 km, it entailed summiting 3 peaks, including the second highest peak in Romania (Negoiu at 2535 m) and crossing a jagged mountain ridge which would involve a lot of scrambling and some basic climbing.

On the Făgăraş mountain ridge

The day started out lovely doing a little bit of fun ridge scrambling and summiting the gorgeous yet not too challenging Scara peak. We had this part of the mountains almost completely to ourselves, only encountering two other people on the trail. We ended up chatting and walking with one of them for a little while. He was a Romanian military dude with I don't know how many kilos of food in his backpack. Still despite his impressive gear, he was in it for the scenic route stopping often to take photos and go exploring so my brother and I ended up outpacing him.

Descending a ridge closer to Lake Avrig (not the death ridge)

The sunny sky turned to clouds as we reached the second summit of the day, Şerbota peak. Now, this is the part of the story where I don't come off too well. Being in charge of the route, I took us down the wrong path ending up on what we had named the "death ridge" and which we wanted to avoid by taking a longer yet less exposed trail down the valley. A few hundred meters down the ridge, we discovered a homemade path connecting the ridge to the valley trail. I asked my brother if he wanted to use this opportunity to escape my mistake but he turned me down. Those first hundred meters had given him a little taste for it. Still, we were managing our anxiety on the ridge for 3 hours (though the map said the traverse should only take an hour) until we reached Negoiu.

On Scara Peak

Hearing thunder in the distance, our stay on Negoiu was short. We still had some ground to cover and few hours of daylight left to do it. With aching feet and a final gummybear break, we reached the campsite at Călțun Lake just as the final sunlight reflected off the water. Our military friend from earlier came in the dark a few hours later so we were quite satisfied with our pace. Still, we were close to ruined so day 4 turned into a rest day. I needed to mend the tent bag anyway as it had gotten ripped on the ridge the day before and it was pretty glorious spending the day reading and resting in those surroundings.

Sunrise at campsite by Călțun Lake

On day 5 walking an easy distance of 4.5 km, we made it back to civilisation in the form of Bâlea Lake that lies just before the north entrance of the tunnel at the famous Transfăgărăşan mountain pass. We enjoyed the best showers of our lives and I scrambled for food at the turist stalls lining the road up to the tunnel getting ready for the final stretch of the ridge. On the morning of day 6, I said goodbye to JC who had to catch a plane home and who with no little amount of relief could tell me that he was really happy to have done this trip and that he never wanted to do anything like it again. Still, he told me a few months later that him and a friend of his have been talking about doing another backpacking trip in the mountains together. You quickly get addicted to type 2 fun.

The Făgăraş mountain ridge

After a long yet beautiful day 6 walking 9.3 km, I made it to the scenic Podragu Lake. Day 7 ended up looking very different from the others as the otherwise lonely trail became flooded with people. I guess I should have expected that as this day, a Saturday nonetheless, involved summiting Moldoveanu (2544 meters), the highest mountain in Romania. The summit was so crowded, there was a line to it. Still, I could not not go there so I quickly asked a kind stranger to take my photo with my disposable camera and left after a few minutes.

Making friends near Podragu Lake

 

On the eastern side of the peak, I made camp on an exposed yet beautiful saddle where I made a friend. We talked about life and how exhausted we were (because of hiking, not life) over shared beer and various sweet and salty snacks. Living in Sibiu, he offered me a place to crash when I got down from the mountains before catching my flight back to Denmark.

Camp at Podragu Lake 

On day 8, the rocky terrain turned to grassy hills. Very managable trail and still, I was just not in the mood for walking. Not sure why. I guess that's part of doing a longer trail. Some days you just don't wanna walk anymore but you still have to unless you want to run out of food in the middle of nowhere.

On Moldoveanu peak, 2544 meters

I finally made it to the end of the trail on day 9. I did so in the company of a German friend I had met at the previous night's campsite. More experinced and in better shape than I was, we made it far past the finish line at the forrest lodge Cantonul Rudărița doing 31 km until we reached a little village at the edge of Piatra Craiului National Park. We finished our trip the perfect way, sipping homemade fruit spirits with some local camp leaders in the crisp evening air. One of the camp leaders with skin wrinkled like an old orange peel from spending too many seasons of life under the fierce mountain sun played his guitar and sang traditional mountain songs. Pretty magical.

Sunset on saddle next to Moldoveanu peak

Day 10 was simply walking out. I started walking along the narrow road leading out of the national park and ended up catching a ride. This kind man took me and another hiker to Bran where I got to see Dracula's castle before catching a bus to Brasov and finally, after a couple day's rest, a train back to Sibiu.