SEVEN DAYS ON THE ROAD

Every morning looking at the map it looked like a web of red threads all leading in different directions. I was going to Punta Arenas - yet there were so many ways to go. Which one to choose?

Empty highway no 40 in Zapala (province of Neuquen)

Empty highway no 22 to Zapala I never thought to take...

Was it at all my choice  I sometimes questioned, when several times after picking one particular line to travel, by nightfall I ended up on the road leading to a completely different horizon. Did it matter at all in the end?

Of course!

If not, I would never have met Nelly who held a small restaurant on the road to Zapala and took care of Saint Seferino´s sanctuary. She kindly offered me a place to stay for the night when all I asked was a space to camp.

Nelly and her niece Norma

 Neither would I have met truck driver Pedro´s wife Olga and their daughter Oriana in Junin de los Andes. I would never have known that Pedro never picked up hitchhikers because the last one had robbed his money and thus been even more surprised to his unconditional trust opening the doors to his home for me to be able to spend the night without worry.

Olga and Oriana

I would never have travelled the most amazing stretch of the road from Junin de los Andes to Bariloche through Villa Angostura:

 To see more images click on the LINK

So what if I had to stay in Bariloche and had, to my thought, bad luck not meeting my friends. The next day I hitched the longest ride of that journey - Juan Carlos from Osorno, Chile was traveling to Punta Arenas. What seemed to be one very long journey of 2000 kilometers, certainly this year´s road-record yet to beat, became a reason to get to know a friend. I camped in Fitz Roy by the truck - it was surprisingly warm 16 degrees (C), commonly yet unpleasantly windy, woke up at before dawn to pack and continue.

Juan Carlos dropped me off seven kilometers before Punta Arenas at the "carabineros" (Chilean military-police) station where asking for a camping place received a whole apartment with dinner, breakfast and story-sharing included. The carabineros said I was not the first traveller to stay over and were sincerely interested in the happy-end travelogues.

 Bariloche-Punta Arenas with just one ride 

Next day I arrived to Punta Arenas. It was May 15th, the seventh day since starting the trip from Chascomus, Argentina. The American continent was so to say "done" and in these three and a half years also quite well-travelled to be able to say good-bye to it.

I looked on the map and saw Antarctica. I had seen it before. But now it was close. The man to drive me to town had been to the South Pole. My secret wish to find a way to get there scared me, seemed totally impossible and crazy considering the season. That day I heard it once too many times to look away. But where to?

I touched the meeting point of  Atlantic and Pacific oceans in the Magellanic Strait and a door opened for me to stay in Punta Arenas. I entered.

Punta Arenas with the view to the Magellanic Strait