The long road to El Chalten

El Chalten is a small town that was born out of a border dispute between Argentina and Chile. It is barely 20 years old but has become the mecca for hiking enthusaists in South America. Although many of the hotels and shops are clearly geared towards English speaking people, the town is still tiny in comparison with other tourist destinations. You don´t feel you´re in Costa del Chav or among the sloanies and wannbes of Val d´Isere for that matter. The reason for this is that getting here is bloody difficult, especially if the car you are driving is not a 4WD pick-up truck but a Chevolret Corsa.

The route we took was the hard way. Esquel, Perito Moreno, and Caracoles - possibly the most remote town in the southern hemisphere.

Our nightmare of nightmares, the flat tyre, happened very early on. One wrong turning into the god-forsaken town of Facundo led us into a three hour-time warp. Had we stuck to the A-road, which is clearly marked on the map by the colour RED, this should have been a 20-minute by-pass on an asphalt surface. But no. We opted for the early right turn which turned out to be a 150km gravel track. You cannot go any higher than 3rd gear on this. Neither of us have ever seen a spare tyre let alone changed one. Since Graham was driving when when the front tyre burst, I felt I was in my full right to go spastic. However, I never lost my cool. Instead I just put the obvious question to the house, ¨What in the fuck do we do now." The sun was setting, the temperature was dropping rapidly.

Full marks to Graham, he managed to work out how the jack worked. It´s basically like an Ikea lever. You turn the screw and the jack expands. Before long, the Corsa was in orbit so I unscrewed the bolts. A wonderful team effort.

For the rest of the journey, I drove at approximately 1 mph in pure paranoia of another tyre bursting. We arrived in the town of Perito Moreno and checked into the first hotel that would have us. The next day, I used my fluent sign language to communiuate to the natives that i needed a new spare wheel. Graham meanwhile was doing his part by staying in the hotel restaurant and surfing youtube. I don´t know what i wouod have done without him. Luckily, the locals were very helpful and by lucnh we had a new wheel and were ready to push on.

A fantastic afternoon at the Cuevo de Manos (Cave of Hands) and although there was just one hotel populated by backpackers, spiders, and alcoholics, charging an eye-watering amount for what is essentially a night of sheer discomfort, we happily relented to fatigue over bravado. The two other options were to drive 300km of gravel in the dark to the next nearest town, or sleeping in the car.

Starting as early as we could, we continued our war of attrition with the gravel tracks, 600km to be exact, in 2nd and 3rd gear. 4th gear was a luxury reserved towards the end where the track smoothened and much of the road was a downhill toboggan in nuetral, propelled by nothing more than gravity and momentum.

This, the so-called loneliest road in Argentina, is changing before our very eyes. In a few years' time, it will be entirely paved with asphalt making it far more accessible and comfortable to the millions upon millions of mainland Chinese middle classes who will no doubt also want to experience the romance of following Che Guevara's motorcycle tracks, by their bus loads.