The easiest thing to do when you are bordering depression is to take a bus. Where I am are no such services. To find comfort I first need to cross the country’s full width.
The discomfort of cycling in wintry Patagonia where cold, clouds and wetness leave little space for enjoyment. It might peek through now and then, yet the mirror placed in front of me is displeasing clear: from effects of being alone too long to battling snow..
Beauty still grabs me, colder temperatures wraps around my body, enjoyment controls the ride, and all of this I keep as my guiding line to continue further south on Ruta 40.
Meeting with a Parisian gaucho is being confirmed about connection with the necessity to roam vast lands of Earth.
After the solitude of the Atacama desert, a new portion arrives: at ease with the solitude found in the vastness of the pampa.
I really don’t know what to do: route 40 with the highest pass in Argentina? Or route 51 which runs parallel but is lower, asphalted and has traffic. I don’t […]
‘I will take all the high passes there are’ But that was what I’ve said back home in The Netherlands. Now I am on Ruta 40 and the prospect of […]
It must be because he had recognized me as a shepherd. A shepherd of piglet. He, an attractive Argentinean man a copy of an artistic talib, his beard more than […]