Northern Patagonia

Chile and Argentina have long disputed their border in Patagonia. Through an original 1884 treaty followed by facilitated negotiations in 1902 and as recently as 1998, the border was established largely, but not entirely, to follow the Andean continental divide, giving Argentina control over the water that flows from the Andes eastward across the dry Patagonian steppe to the Atlantic Ocean, and Chile control of the water that flows west to the Pacific. That means the border is often at the top of a pass. 

Upon crossing the border, we immediately heard a dramatic change in the spoken language, both in vocabulary and pronunciation. Chilean Spanish was fast and not clearly enunciated, making it challenging for us to understand. Argentinian Spanish softens its consonants and has a musicality similar to French, so we’ve had to learn all over again to be able to identify the new sounds. In Chile, we had felt many similarities to the U.S. In Argentina, the similarities seem to be more with Europe. Guesthouse bathrooms have bidets. Restaurants open for dinner at 8:30 pm (late for us, dinner time for them) and there is an appreciation of fine food, especially Italian. Recent inflation in the Argentinian peso makes the delicious food wonderfully affordable for travelers, but unfortunately not for locals. 

After our first crossing into Argentina, we pedaled around Lake Nahuel Haupi, following what we called “the yellow brick road”. The road was lined with scotch broom bushes in full brilliant yellow bloom, and therefore it was always easy to spot our route from across a valley or lake.

Also in roadside bloom were sweetly fragrant lupines of all colors -- from white to blue to magenta. It was interesting and a bit nostalgic to see both of these flowering plants here, as they are very familiar to us from springtime in the Pacific Northwest.

The ride south to San Carlos de Bariloche was scenic and paved, but nerve-wracking due to a lot of fast-moving traffic on the 2-lane road with no shoulders. 

In the tiny town of Cholila we bought a couple of days’ worth of food and headed out on a dirt road into the Alerces National Park. The alerce is a sequoia-like tree that can live for millennia, but unfortunately we didn’t see any because they turned out to be in a location accessible only by boat.

We were surrounded instead by, and fell in love with, the beautiful forest of Coihue trees (southern beech). Coihue is one of several similar varieties of beech (including Lenga and Ñire, which we can’t seem to tell apart) that grow prolifically in a range of climates and elevations, so it has become our constant companion. It has cherry-like bark when it’s young, thick oak-like bark when mature, and small dark green leaves that grow on sturdy, sculptural branches. A spherical orange edible fungus called “pan de indio” often grows as a parasite on the tree, creating a large burl in the wood. 

Once again we crossed the Andes, this time from Argentina back to Chile, over a shockingly low, flat pass of less than 400 m elevation. We left behind the drier open range of Argentina’s Patagonia as we pedaled along the fast-flowing turquoise-colored Futaleufú River (the Fú), known as some of the best whitewater in the region, into the wetter, greener forests of Chilean Patagonia. Before the border crossing, we stopped and ate all the food that Chile won’t let us bring into the country. At the actual frontier (again midway between the two immigration offices), we were pleased when the road changed from Argentina’s rough, loose gravel to Chile’s smooth pavement. But the paved road proved nearly as challenging, since we were quickly reminded how unafraid Chile is of steep roads. We’ve coined the term “Chile hilly” to describe the short, but leg-busting, 13-16% grades that define our riding days.

We rode past fields that had long ago been cleared of trees for pastureland. Rather than using the wood for lumber, the whole felled trees had just been piled up, often to form fences. It’s clear that sheep and cattle — not timber — are the valuable resources here. 

Farther west, much of the small town of Villa Santa Lucía was crushed by a massive mudslide just over a year ago in 2017 when torrential rains caused a slope failure at the tongue of a glacier above the town. The devastation was incredible and the losses this tiny community suffered are hard to imagine. 21 people from the town's population of about 130 were killed. A memorial to those who died has been constructed in the midst of the rubble.

At the local market still in business there, we stocked up on empanadas, all the supplies we needed (and even things we didn't) for a town needing all the economic help it can get. In a somber mood, we then turned south onto Chile’s Carretera Austral.

Our introduction to the Carretera was easy sailing under blue skies, with pavement where we had expected dirt. Along the route, we arrived at the Pacific Ocean and rode along the Puyuhuapi fjord, camped in Queulat National Park and hiked to a hanging glacier, shared campsites and cake (“keke” here in Chile) with fellow cyclists, met up again with Jonas Diechmann (the crazy German cyclist who rode from Alaska to Ushuaia in 97 days), put up our tent in a small village baker’s backyard, and watched the Christmas decorations go up in the villages. 

We also visited a sheep ranch (Estancia Punta del Monte) on a high plateau to watch Andean condors wake up and take flight from their cliffside perches. It was a magical experience to see the huge birds launch effortlessly into the rising thermals, circle a few times without a wingbeat, then soar away over the valley in search of carrion. Note: The last picture of the ostrich-like birds are Greater Rheas (we think), a "near threatened" species in Northern Patagonia.