Driving the Length of Patagonia in a Yellow Tank

Two days after Christmas we picked up a campervan – the Yellow Vanmarine (aka “The Tank”) – to drive from one end of Patagonia to the other. In particular, we were looking forward to Chile’s most scenic highway, the “Carretera Austral” and Argentina’s famed “Ruta 40”. We drove from Punta Arenas, Chile, across to Argentina, north on Ruta 40, then crossed back to Chile to join the Carretera Austral. The finish line was Puerto Montt, Chile at the end of January.

We drove over 4,000 km, mostly on washboardy, pot-holed gravel roads. It was a long, eventful journey. This post will be different from our usual. Instead of describing all the places we visited, we’ll share a few anecdotes from along the way, interspersed with lots of photos.

Our Home on Wheels

Our home was the Yellow Vanmarine. We were optimistic it would be a lot of fun. It had a full-size sleeping area; a stove and kitchen equipment; a table and chairs; an awning for those sunny afternoons sitting with a glass of wine; and even a shower. Suffice to say, reality did not meet expectations. Our days of roughing it in a camper are probably behind us.

New Year’s Eve – Slogging Up a Mountainside

Hiking in Torres del Paine National Park is one of the big draws in Chilean Patagonia. By the time we figured out our dates for the park, all spots on its famous multi-day hikes on the “W” and “O” trails were sold out (thank goodness!). Instead we spent New Year’s Eve doing a full-day 20 km hike to the Mirador Las Torres. Starting off early there was a light drizzle but the forecast was for 18C and the day to get better. Which it did – for a few hours anyway. The trail was busy, with a mix of humanity from teens to those in their 70’s. The trail is steep but there was a sense of willpower and perseverance to conquer the trail.

With about 1 km to reach the Mirador things got very ugly, very fast. The winds picked up, a sense of urgency could be felt and everyone’s pace picked up. After clearing the treeline we had to clamour over boulders and loose shale. The hikers scurrying back down to shelter in the tree line offered the encouragement “almost there”. As marathon runners we know never to hang too much hope on those words.

As we climbed higher the terrain got steeper, the boulders bigger and temperatures fell to single digits. The wind was 55 km/h and the rain stung as it hit us with force. We pulled on our rain and cold weather gear to finish the hike.

The view which we worked so hard to see was covered in fog. After a few very fast photos we started down. It was that much harder seeing the look of exhaustion on those still climbing. Halfway down, the park wardens were closing the trails. It was an experience to see how fast weather can deteriorate, and scary to see so many unprepared hikers. A special honour goes to one climber who kept having to duct tape a shoe where the sole had fallen off. You never know what you’ll see out there.

Southern Patagonia and Torres del Paine National Park

Show Me the Money

Argentina is suffering an inflationary crisis. The government has imposed currency controls. For tourists, that equals headaches. There is a government imposed exchange rate, but there is also a so-called “blue rate”, about double the official rate.

We drove across from Chile on New Year’s Day, a Sunday, with zero Argentinian cash. We had US dollars and ATM cards. How hard could it be to get local money? Really hard as it turned out. The campsite only took cash. We naively went to the nearby banks to withdraw some dinero. That meant paying the official rate but we were desperate. It didn’t matter anyway. The ATMs were all out of money. Every bank, no cash.

Monday morning we again set off in search of cash. The ATMs now had cash, but the withdrawal limit was 15,000 pesos, about $100 CAD, for which they charged a $7 fee. Screw that. We’d heard that Western Union transferred money at the blue rate. George wired himself money on Western Union. The rate was great – double the government rate. Ha! Off we went to line up at the office before it opened. Turns out the Western Union office was no longer Western Union. The Post Office had taken over the franchise. We’d seen the block-long lines at the Post Office and wondered what the big deal was. Now we knew. Around noon the line-up disappeared, so George went in to pick-up his money. Too late. They had no cash left. 

Back to the rip-off ATMs. Again too late. The ATMs had also run out of cash. Fortunately Maria was able to exchange some USD at the blue rate so we could eat.

If you go:

• ATMs are unreliable and expensive, but sometimes the only option.
• Most currency exchanges take USD at the blue rate. It seems dodgy, but everyone does it. Even stores will exchange USD at near the blue rate. Ask around for a reliable cambio.
• Mastercard and Visa have made a deal with the government to use the blue rate (minus a generous cut for themselves) for foreign customers. Transactions on our M/C went through at the official rate, then a few days later M/C rebated about 44%.
• Western Union offers the best rate. You’ll have to wait in long line-ups, hoping that they have dinero. We never did find an outlet that actually had money.

Argentinian Patagonia

That Sinking Feeling

It is probably a rite of passage to get stuck while driving the Carretera Austral. A lot of the roads are narrow with loose gravel, no guard rails and lots of potholes to avoid. We only had one incident. We arrived in the village of Tortel late in the evening. To our surprise, the town had no campsites. The only option was to find a quiet parking place. We saw a promising piece of gravel off the road. We found out fast that it was new, unsettled gravel. The Yellow Tank immediately sank in up to the axles.

In most places at 9:00 pm on a wet Saturday night in a town with no tow truck, this would be a major issue. Not so in Patagonia. Everyone goes out of their way to help strangers. Within minutes a lady from a nearby house was on her phone summoning help. We were soon surrounded by local men, children and dogs, all offering advice and assistance.

Lots of digging, pushing and pulling ensued. The first two trucks that tried pulling us out gave up after almost getting stuck themselves. Not to be deterred, our new friends flagged down a bigger truck and soon we were free. By this time the whole town knew about the two gringos stuck in the sand. We drove back into town and parked beside a gas station. Even the local police shook their heads and had a laugh at our expense.

Southern Carretera Austral – Tortel to Villa Cerro Castillo

Blowing the Doors Off

The Yellow Tank did not respond well to the washboard ruts, potholes, dust and constant shaking from Patagonia’s gravel roads. The first issue was the driver’s door. As George opened the door, a powerful gust of wind yanked the door from his hand and snapped it forward. We were able to close it, but then couldn’t open it. We had to limp along for a few days both using the passenger door. At the border the Customs Agent laughed and directed us to a friendly mechanic. We found Luis and he had the door fixed within an hour for $25 (cash of course).

A few days later one of the sliding doors kept getting stuck until finally it would not open at all. We spent two days getting everything in and out the passenger side. Not a big problem except in the middle of the night when George needed to climb out to pee! At the next big town we spent a day waiting for a mechanic to fabricate new parts since the proper parts would take a few days to come from Santiago. His handiwork did not last long. The door began sticking within a day. Less than a week later, after a particularly rough gravel road, the door completely fell off its rollers as we tried to push it open.

The rental company couldn’t find anyone to help until the next day. We had a chilly, drafty night with the door propped on a bench and some stones to kind of keep it in place. We duct-taped a towel over the gap to keep some mosquitos out. The next morning we strapped the door on with a tow rope and gingerly drove six km down the highway to the nearest garage. By the time we returned the van five days later two other doors were having issues. We were happy to wave good-bye to Yellow Vanmarine!

Northern Carretera Austral – Villa Cerro Castillo to Puerto Montt

Bistros are Different in Patagonia

We took a detour to the quiet fishing village of Puerto Cisnes. It was a short visit. It’s a small town with little to see or do, but we were hungry. We spotted a quaint old house with a sign outside advertising it as a Bistro. We tried the garden gate but it seemed locked. A woman who turned out to be the owner/chef ran out to yank the gate open for us. She ushered us into the bistro.

The bistro turned out to be a single table for two in her living room. Her husband was at their dining room table eating his own lunch and watching tv. There was no menu. Our host recited what was available. We surmised that the menu was whatever she happened to have in her fridge. We ordered a lamb sandwich and salmon.

The lamb, probably leftover roast from their previous night’s dinner, was juicy, tender and delicious. The salmon was a massive, moist, perfectly-cooked fillet. Madam Chef explained that her husband had caught it earlier that morning. That bistro lunch was the best meal we had in Patagonia.

Chileans and Argentinians Like Their Barbecue

Everywhere we went, we saw Chileans and Argentinians grilling gargantuan hunks of meat over roaring wood fires. Our last campsite had barbecues so we bought a bag of charcoal briquettes and steaks. George had a hellish time lighting the charcoal. It would not catch. He spent about an hour fanning the coals to get some heat (all along rebuffing Maria’s offers to help).

The campsite owner must have been watching in frustration from his house. He finally couldn’t help himself. Out of the house he came. He foraged in the woods for a few minutes to gather some bits of dry wood, then came over to take control. He just shook his head at the briquettes. Apparently no self-respecting Chilean uses briquettes. The pieces of wood went into the grill. In less than two minutes he had the coals scorching hot.

A sample of the rocky roads of Patagonia (4 minutes of hell on wheels)