Badlanders MCC Website

 

I’m pleased to say that I have settled back into the saddle, with full load, comfortably ( well maybe not quite) but more comfortable than having to share a dorm with a Belgian serial farter!  Last night I was running to the loo every five minutes, not because of over consumption of alcohol, but to throw up!!!

 

Before I go any further, I must mention the Brisson Cycle Shop in San Juan where I had to go to replace the light I had stolen before it had even seen the light of day, or should that be the dark of night! An absolute sweetheart of a girl who spoke brilliant English, and had a dream to visit Scotland, gave me the shops very own cycling top, which I duly wore the next day as I headed off through the desert, north of  San Juan city.

 

I’ve also got to say that San Juan is easily one of the cleanest and most culturally vibrant places I’ve visited. It is also a cyclist’s paradise with many shops selling the latest models, not to mention a vast array of accessories. When you see the number of cyclists out on the road, its no surprise. This place dexerves the title “ the capital of cycling in Argentina” A cyclists paradise!

 

It was also a day of genuine goodwill on my behalf. I found a wallet in the cafe I was in, and back in the hostel lying on the couch was this spanking new Iphone. The Iphone was screaming, “I’m your replacement phone, I’m your replacement phone”. Naturally, I handed both in, though to the cafe and hostel, not the police, believing the former to be the most trustworthy. Though at another time and place, I might have been tempted to “get my own back” for the thief’s who stole my bag and valuables, glad to say my morals haven’t been affected by my misfortune.

 

If you exclude the Belgian farter and the guy from Barcelona who thought it was acceptable to watch porn on the Hostels only common PC, visible to all who used the dining area, the San Juan hostel was very pleasant, with nice staff. Though it only gets the briefest of mentions in the travel guides, it has a better range of shops and restaurants than Mendoza. It also feels safer and friendlier, with police everywhere, but always talking to people in a friendly manner. It was a real pleasure to visit and I found a nice little French education and cultural centre, which had a great little cafe; Pipi Cucu ( could it be anything else), where I was able to kill time as I waited on my pin numbers.......yes; they still haven’t arrived!

 

Now you’ll know if you’ve followed the map on the “links and DONATION page” (hahaha follow the map on the links and DONATION page........as if!......everybody’s favourite page; I know!), I should have been cycling on the Ruta 40 up to La Rioja. However the guys from the San Juan hostel, said that I’d be a fool to miss out on the nacional Parque Ishigualasto ( valle de la luna). Ishigualasto translated from Mapuche to English means “lifeless land”. It has the most unique rock structures comprising the complete sequence of sediments from the Mesozoic Era (Triassic period), and having seen many of the pictures, it looked amazing and too good to miss. It was declared a mankind national heritage site by UNESCO in 2000. In addition, I was told that the Caucette route would be mouthwatering by virtue of the wineries that you can smell on route.  Though the down side, they said, is that much of the route is desert and hilly, but so too is the Ruta 40.

 

Anyway, though I still didn’t have my PIN numbers, I knew I needed to make some headway. I stocked up on food and with 280 pesos (£46) left, decided that I would make it to san Augustin, Valle de Fertil where there was a bank.  I set off on Ruta 20 as soon as I had a decent breakfast and within no time was enjoying the breeze from a steady 14 mph, with a good hard shoulder to cycle on almost the whole way into Caucette.

 

The guys were right about the smells from the wineries, but I’m pleased to say that the welcoming smell didn’t distract me. I knew I had to make up the miles if I was to reach La Rioja in four days. There was one moment when I passed the police control point outside San Juan, cycling passed the police who were standing around, when one of the police officers shouted at me to slow down. I thought, not again  He came over and shook my hand, probably a bit taken aback by my hesitancy and somewhat lukewarm reception. He started speaking rather quickly in Spanish. I explained that my Spanish wasn’t that good and he slowed down. He had a very pleasant manner about him and asked me all about Scotland, finishing by advising me of some sights along the way. I thanked him, shook his hand and cycled on. Now there’s a saying out here, which is that it’s the 99% of coppers that give the other 1% a bad name. I was delighted to meet one of the 1% on this occasion.

 

There is no doubt that the robbery has made me a little more cautious about wild camping on my own. I’d taken the decision that I’d try to camp at bona fide camp sites from now on, if that was possible. If not, I would hope to find a residencia or hostel. There will of course be times when I have no choice but to camp at the side of the road, but I’ll try and keep that to a minimum now. Sounds a bit soft, I know, but I was probably being bit foolhardy, if not gung ho believing that I had nothing to worry about and that I’d find the good in everybody. Clearly, you can face a problem anywhere in the world when travelling, and South America is no exception, but the speed and precision with which I was robbed, made me realise that you cannot be complacent or drop your guard at anytime. That makes for a more stressful journey, but better to be safe than sorry. However, without access to cash, the tent was looking like my only option for the next few days! Oh the other reason for staying in a hostel.........snakes, tarantulas and the biggest red ants you have ever seen!

 

On route to Ishigualasto there is a sanctuary dedicated to a woman who died of hunger thirst and exhaustion whilst trailing her conscript husband on foot through the desert in the 1840s (so legend has it). However passing muleteers found her infant son alive at her breast. The shrine called Difunta Correa is an impressive array of licence plates, models with infants suckling it mothers breast,  plaques, small model houses and crosses. It is said to be a popular spot for truck drivers , who come in their thousands. Now, I found this a little hard to believe, but I took some time to have a maté and sat watching the many visitors. In the space of about 30 minutes no less than 40 huge articulated lorries drew up at the side of the sanctuary on their pilgrimage, looking for luck. They went up with their offering, some with flowers, some with food, but all with something in their hand. I felt that a bit of luck was something I could do with. So I went back up with a banana! Well; its an offering!!!!! It was clear from the 100’s of dogs around the shrine that the food wasn’t going to lie around for long, so good to see that she was still sustaining life, even if it is a dog’s life!

 

As I returned from the shrine a few coaches drew into the lorry park, and embarking from the coaches were a group of noisy, mostly drunk, youngsters. They unfurled a huge flag which about thirty started to wave around. I couldn’t read what the flag was saying, but there were also some people waving smaller flags. I decided to take a closer look and was somewhat taken aback, to see one with an impolite finger in the form of an Argentinian flag interjecting a British flag in the form of a Falkland Island’s shape ( or the Malvinas, to give it the Argentinian name). A group of youths from Mendoza were proudly displaying the flag whilst singing. I stood  for a while, then thought it was probably the wrong place to be standing around as a Gringo, with close on 80 Argentinian youths in a somewhat jingoistic mood! I made an exit and watched as they all made their way to the tourist bars, shops and cafes along the strip leading to the shrine. So the Falklands issue is clearly alive and well. In fact, they were so noisy and jubilant, I would have been forgiven for thinking that Argentina had once again declared war on Britain, and had re-entered the Falklands.

 

Another spectacle, or at least it was for me, was this guy who cut across the road about 100 metres in front of me on one of those self operated “wheelbarrows” on a railway track. It reminded me of the scene from “Oh Brother where art thou” where the old guy when answering questions from Clooney predicts the future for the three escapees! It proceeded across the main road, and behind a set of bushes and mountains. Bizarre!