Hitchhiking from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires: The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

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Ushuaia in all its overcast glory

So, you’ve reached the end of the world! What next? How about a relaxed week visiting national parks, museums and penguin colonies?

But everything is absurdly expensive…

Well why not catch a cheap pre-booked flight up to Buenos Aires and enjoy Christmas in the sun?

BORING.

How about hitchhiking with a fully loaded touring bike over 3000km and risk spending Christmas drinking box wine alone in a barn?

We have a winner!

Months ago, long before the reality of the situation had set in, I decided upon hitchhiking my way north from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires. It would be fun, I thought. I’d meet some characters, see a whole other side of Argentina and save myself a lot of money in the process. I’d heard tales of other cyclists doing this so knew it was possible. All I needed was a bit of luck and plenty of patience.

However, as I sat in the snug confines of Refugio de los Mochileros in Ushuaia surrounded by cyclists preparing to fly home for Christmas my plan didn’t seem so alluring. Staring at the map the distance seemed greater than ever. What had my stupid past self got my present self into? As I wheeled my way to the entrance of Ushuaia, a mere 2 days after arriving, I can’t say I was brimming with wanderlust and enthusiasm. I just wanted to go home. Weighed down by the steel grey skies I stuck out my thumb and hoped for the best.

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Uyuni, Dreadwinds and an Unexpected Ride Through the Laguna Route

uyuni street

Uyuni itself is a combination of typical Bolivian antiplano town and tourist hive, depending on which streets you walk. We spent a few days relaxing and letting Philipp’s stomach and my chaffed behind recover from our travails through the salars.

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Salty Dogs: Cycling Through Bolivia’s Salars

 

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I added a little poem to all the inspirational waffle on the walls. I think the work of Eggman Jones holds up well against the neighbouring Emily Dickinson quote.

When I returned to the Casa de Ciclistas it had been invaded by French, Swiss and Belgians. All very nice people I’m sure, but the lingua franca was no longer English and I found myself drowning in a sea of French chatter. Even the one other English guy was fluent in French. It was time to leave.

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