The Motorcycle Diaries: German Roots

Argentina is a country of immigrants largely of Spanish and Italian decent. However, German immigrants have certainly left their footprints on the Latin American continent including Argentina. Throughout the entire trip I had heard stories about some German settlements in the Cordoba area and when I realized that these towns were just a few hours outside of the city of Cordoba, I had to go and see for myself how my German ancestors live.

There are two towns in particular that are considered very German in Argentina: Villa General Belgrano and La Cumbrecita. My first stop was in Villa General Belgrano and driving town the curvy road southward from Cordoba along rolling hill and forests, it is hard to deny the similarity to German landscapes and I could see how my compatriots would feel at home here. Entering the town, I have to confess it looked more or less like any other Argentinean town but once I approached the center the German influence and architecture became very prevalent. I decided to stop by the tourist information office to inquire about the town’s German roots and heritage. Surprisingly, I was told that most of the German heritage has faded over the generations as the Germans have mixed with other nations´ immigrants and that everybody today spoke Spanish. After insisting I was finally given an address of a restaurant of a German family how supposedly still speaks German. I was lucky; I entered just at the right time finding the owner and his family finishing lunch consisting of Schnitzel and potatoes. Indeed they did speak German and after their initial German suspiciousness had worn off, they invited me to sit down and happily told me about the town: its history, evolution and present condition. It turns out that German is still being taught at the local school today as a 2nd language and many German traditions have remained alive. Since tourism today constitutes the majority of the town’s economy some of the German traditions have turned into a bit of a show to attract tourists (e.g. the annual Oktoberfest). Nevertheless, it was very interesting to hear the perspectives of German immigrants two or three generations later, listen to their stories and hear how little by little they are starting to feel more like Argentineans than Germans.

My experience in La Cumbrecita was a completely different one. To get there I had to make it along a 40km gravel road in more or less awful condition pushing Morena to the limit. But the journey was worth it: nested into the side of forest I found the tiny town of La Cumbrecita (population 600). The most interesting aspect of the town is that it does not allow cars the enter and all tourists are asked to park their vehicle in a parking lot outside of town and make their way over a wooden bridge by foot. The architecture looked similar to mountain village in the Alps and can only be described a charming and cute. Amplified by the cloudy sky and the fog falling over the town at dusk I almost felt like I had entered one of the Grimm brothers´ fairy tales and was about to run to Snow White and the seven dwarfs.

The Motorcycle Diaries: Cordoba, Argentina

After a week in tranquil Mendoza, Cordoba definitely feels more like a city (bigger, louder and more activity). Fortunately, once again things worked out great and I was led to a fun and friendly hostel and met great people making the stay in Cordoba enjoyable and memorable.

Cordoba is a young and lively city featuring one of the biggest universities and student populations in the country. Not only is the city filled with student cafes, restaurants and book shops but a wide variety of student activities ranging from political discussions, foreign movie nights or playing chess in the park. After only a few days I had met many people and started to feel very comfortable (if not at home): the language faculty was hosting a German movie night which helped me to meet some fellow Germans as well as German students, the chess in the park (although losing most games) introduced me to several other very interesting characters and reminded me how much I enjoy the game, and through the diverse political activities I became friends with a local literature professor.

Cordoba is a city filled with history (as Argentina’s 3rd oldest city) from old colonial buildings, quaint squares and historical statues and offers as a reminder that despite of all the harm and destruction brought to the American continent, the Spanish did know how to build beautiful cities: big parks offering a refuge to busy city life, markets, plazas and lively pedestrian areas. If I had the chance to go to university again, Cordoba would definitely come into close consideration.

The Motorcycle Diaries: Mendoza, Argentina

Mendoza, what a pleasant city! Located on the edge of the over-towering Andes, Mendoza is the biggest city in western Argentina and the gateway to Chile (only 2 hours away from Santiago). Given its size (about 1 million people) Mendoza has succeeded in maintaining a very comfortable atmosphere, which is quite unusual for a Latin American city of its size. Typically a big city in Latin America is synonymous with noisy busy streets, lots of traffic and dirty & dusty air. Mendoza shows none of these signs and almost gives the visitor the tranquility of visiting a small town but at the same time offers all the culture and activities of a big city. I felt so comfortable here that I kept extending my stay and would up staying a good week (rather than the few days I had anticipated). Its many parks and plazas are always filled with people (Argentineans seem to have vast amounts of free time) talking, resting or sharing Mate (the ubiquitous national drink). Cafes, shops and restaurants fill the streets next to extraordinary colonial buildings and the pleasant climate and friendly people made me feel at home. If one actually were to get tired for spending time in the city, there are breathtaking mountains just hours away which offer all outdoor activities imaginable. Not to forget, as an added benefit, Mendoza is the wine capital of Argentina (producing over 80% of the country’s wine). Visiting the local wine information office I am told that the region of Mendoza is home to over 2000 vineyards (of all sizes from tiny family business to global wine exporters). And although I did my best to sample a bottle from every Bodega, I did not even come close but leave the city with some very tasty memories.

The Motorcycle Diaries: Highway 40 (Part II)

Reflecting back onto the past months spent in the mountains (and the past two weeks in the Lake District in particular), they were filled with breathtaking, raw, untouched nature and spent in tranquility and mostly alone. I do not recall another time during this trip where I spent this much time by myself. There is something about spending time in nature (especially alone) that makes you reconnect with yourself, draws you inside and teaches you about simplicity and beauty in its infinite forms. But after one month of solitude, hiking, camping and reflecting I was ready to rejoin urban life and continue my journey north towards Argentina’s wine capital, Mendoza.

The trip north from the Lake District to Mendoza reconnected with the infamous Highway 40 (see my entry from the southern stretch of highway 40 from the 28th of February). However, this stretch of highway 40 was distinctly different from my first encounter. To start, the majority of the route was paved making traveling relaxing and easily accessible. There were more towns along the way and more tourism compared to the south where there was literally nothing for hundreds of kilometers. The scenery was also different: the south stretch of Highway 40 was desolate, dry, windy and flat (the mountainous and green scenery of the Lake District offered a pleasant change) while the stretch between Zapala and Mendoza, also being dry, was filled with rolling hills, mountains, the over-towering Andes visible to the west, canyons and colorful rocks and warmer temperatures without the stormy winds. In other words, this part of the trip was less adventurous and more pleasant and beautiful than Highway 40 Part I. But that is not to say there was not some adventure involved. In fact traveling with Morena (my motorcycle) you are guaranteed an “adventurous” incidence on a daily basis. This trip was no different featuring three experiences which could have blown up the bike’s engine (luckily none of them did), but the story is worth telling nonetheless.

Calmly riding during the afternoon hours I noticed the engine’s temperature rising higher than normal. After some prolonged persistence I began to worry and pulled over to see some green fluid bubble out of a tube towards the rear of the bike. “This cannot be good,” I thought to myself and decided I better head to the nearest mechanic. The mechanic (immediately making time to help me to put me back on the road as soon as possible) suspected a problem with the radiator and started to inspect it. Surely, he found two small rocks that had gotten stuck in the radiator ventilator prohibiting the ventilator from spinning and cooking the engine. The rocks were quickly removed and I breathed a big sigh of relieve and continued my trip.

The same time the following day, I shockingly made the same observation (high engine temperature). I pulled over and listened and clearly heard the radiator ventilator spinning. Having no mechanic in reach, I had to inspect the bike by myself. Not knowing much about Morena’s anatomy, the only thing I could think of was the lack of cooling water. And in fact the tank was empty. I had checked the tank the prior day at the mechanic and it had been half full. Strangely Morena had developed a sudden thirst for water and after consuming half of the tank’s water in the tank during one month of traveling, she finished the second half in one single day. The tank was quickly refilled and I breathed another sigh of relieve.

On the third day, how else would it be, the temperature rose again, yet the ventilator was working and yes there was still cooling water and I was in the middle of the desert. At first I reduced my speed to alleviate some stress on the engine, without success, then I tried to take frequent breaks to allow the engine to cool but it reheated within minutes of driving. I finally discovered the culprit (by lucky “coincidence”), the front wheel fender, which had been stitched together by the mechanic in Esquel, had broken further and the wind pressure was pushing it upwards toward the handle bar blocking the air entrance to the radiator (logical: without air flowing to cool the engine the temperature had to rise). I pulled out my duck tape, the only tool I carry and taped the plastic back in its place and the problem was fixed.

Although each of the three problems had a simple and quick solution, they were all very dangerous in nature and if untreated would have broken the engine shortly after. The moral of the experience is that the engine temperature gage is the important indicator on the dash board. In addition to occasional rocks getting stuck in the radiator, I should mention how hard the gravel roads are on the equipment (and driver). The constant vibration has the consequence of loosening all screws and if not fastened regularly things will start falling off your bike along with the things they were holding in place(I speak from experience).

The absolute scenic highlight of the trip was the Cañon del Atuel (in between El Nihuil and San Rafael), which is a 45km descend along small windy roads down the canyon following a river and enjoying amazing rock formations on both sides. I was happy the road only allowed me to only travel at crawling speed because the surroundings were so beautiful (the 45km took me 3 hours). The final highlight of the path was a spectacular viewpoint overlooking the entire valley and its lake.

I finally arrived in Mendoza, bringing to completion the northward re-ascend through Argentina (form here I will travel east back to Buenos Aires). But more than simply a change in cardinal direction I also feel that the nature of the trip will change: the remainder of the voyage on motorcycle will be filled with cities and people, a sharp contrast from the mountains and isolation. My welcome to Mendoza was sweet, I found a great hostel and immediately took a hot shower (I do not even recall the last time I had taken a shower – not counting baths in the mountain lakes) and slept in a real bed (the last bed I had slept in was in Ushuaia about a month ago.

What an adventure and amazing experience it has been traveling along the spine of the Andes Mountains. Above all I have learned that literally everything is possible and that the solution to any problem will always emerge when one is required.

The Motorcycle Diaries: The Lake District (Bariloche & Vicinity)

The scenery between Esquel, past Bariloche all the way to Zapala has been the most picturesque of the whole trip: windy roads through the Andes Mountains, passing lakes, waterfalls and forests (a nature lover’s dream).

From Esquel I traveled north toward Bariloche. For the first time this trip I found myself wanting to travel slower because the scenery was so beautiful. I frequently found myself letting my hand off the throttle or pulling over for a while at one of the many scenic viewpoints.

The morning before reaching Bariloche I awoke after an especially chilly night, opened my eyes, touched the walls of my tent and noticed that they were frozen. Peeking my head outside the tent, my eyes meet the first rays of sun and meadows around me covered by frozen dew. The elevation had not changed from Esquel (about 600m) but there is something about the Bariloche climate that makes night frosts a daily occurrence even during summer. (Thanks be to Rafael who had brought me an excellent sleeping bag allowing me to sleep tightly and warmly in my tent despite the frosty temperatures).

Unfortunately, Morenita has a harder time getting over the cold (maybe she was upset I did not share my tent with her) and refused to start. It took a good hour of work and the help of a friendly truck driver pushing her up a hill and back down before the engine started to roar (try pushing a 250kg motorcycle alone uphill a gravel road – good luck). After a good morning workout and another display of amazing Latin friendliness, I was on the road again, to Bariloche.

After a beautiful drive I arrived in the tourist Mecca of the Argentinean Mountains, Bariloche. It is big city, crowded traffic crawls though the streets, a busy center full with shops catering to nature and mountain tourism and poor run-down outskirts (as customary in Latin American cities). The architecture is kept pleasantly nice (helped by construction regulation imposed by the National Park Nahuel Huapi. Much more beautiful, however, was the 60km scenic drive along Lake Huapi. The first stretch leads along mansions of rich Argentineans and upscale hotels but the ladder part is more secluded and offers beautiful vies of the lake and its surroundings.

Camping by the side of the road once again, this night I chose my location better (close to a downhill stretch in the road) knowing that most likely Morenita would not get used to the freezing temperatures. And she did not but rolling her downhill did the trick and I was on the road to Angostura and National Park Arrayanes. What is noteworthy about this small park are its trees (species: Arrayanes) for two reasons: 1) geographical: for some reason this tree is only found here. It has been unable to spread to other regions but has been able to survive against other tree species here; 2) biological: the way the tree replicates is by branches bending down and touching the soil. Gradually these branches start forming roots and the branch separates from the mother tree giving live to a new tree.

From Angostura I continued north passing a 50km stretch of terrible dirt roads (often having to slow down to 10-20 km/h). But the trip was worth while leading to Lake Falkner where I found a beautiful campground on the shore of the lake. I spent a couple of days there enjoying the serenity and beauty of nature. Other human being I saw few however my campsite was routinely crossed by random herds of cows and sheep roaming the vicinity for pastures.

From there my trip continued north passing the two charming yet touristy mountain towns San Martin de los Andes and Junín de los Andes. The atmosphere in both places is very relaxed and peaceful and makes for a pleasant stop over. I continue to be surprised how recent the history of this part of the country is. Both towns were founded little over 100 years ago, before which the region was barely inhabited. From Junín de los Andes I visited National Park Lanín, the third of the three national parks of the Argentinean Lake District. The most notable feature of National Park Lanín is Volcán Lanín (3800 elevation). It is roughly twice as tall as all surrounding mountains and its glacier covered white peak is an amazing sight. Once again good fortune led me to a beautiful campground on the shores of Lake Huechulafquen (try saying that quickly 10 times without swallowing your tongue). Once again I had the entire campground to myself, except for the local indigenous old man who stopped by on a daily basis on his walks through nature with his tow dogs.

The most notable activity during my 4 days here (besides the many beautiful moments such as bathing in the ice cold lake, warming my face next to a crackling camp fire or admiring the moon and stars of the southern skies) was my ascend to Cerro Chivo (2070m elevation). The steep 3 hour climb was well worth it and offered spectacular 360 degree views of the entire region (from Chile to Las Pampas and of course Volcán Lanín).

After almost 2 weeks in the Lake District the time had come to continue the journey northwards toward Mendoza, capital of Argentinean wines.

The Motorcycle Diaries: The Crash

It was during the late afternoon hours of a beautiful day in Los Alceres National Park (close to Esquel). I had finished a 6 hour breathtaking hike departing from a deep blue mountain lake, through dense forests, crossing the tree line until the mountain peak offering panoramic views of the entire region and its lakes, forests and mountains. After returning to my tent I decided to take a short motorcycle drive (about 5km) to visit two waterfalls close by. The first one was spectacular displaying thundering masses of water crashing 30 meters deep onto rocks. Unfortunately, the second waterfall I would never see!

Driving along the curvy gravel road I suddenly turned around a corner and saw a narrow bridge (one lane only) and the road in front of the bridge narrowing decidedly. On the other side of the bridge approached a pick-up truck. I quickly realized that the two of us were not going to fit side by side on the narrow road and decided to break. Maybe I pulled the breaks too hard (which is easy to do on slippery gravel) or my wheels where not straight when I applied the breaks, but before I knew it the motorcycle had slipped away from under me and I was on the ground. Just instances later I recall how the truck (although trying the stop) hit the motorcycle (poor Morena!). Not to diffuse the tension of the story, but no one was hurt in the incidence. Luckily we both had been driving very slowly. The only material damage suffered (besides the shock of all participants) was by Morenita, which was no match against the truck 10 times her weight. The truck barely had a scratch (the blinker had broken) but the poor motorcycle looked severely banged up (looking awkwardly bent out of shape and pieces of plastic all over the place).

Jose and Christina (the passengers of the truck) got out and helped me put Morena back on her feet. We then exchanged stories and the necessary formalities (names, contact information, insurance etc). About 30 minutes after having been notified the police showed up; fortunately with a truck large enough to transport Morena back to the station.

Although this story had a scary start, it winds up having a happy ending. Jose and Christina turn out to be two charming individuals and we got along very well. Jose offered to advice me on the motorcycle while Christina fed me cookies. The two invited me to ride along with them to the police station and on the road we exchanged travel stories. They were as relieved as I was that nobody was hurt in the incidence.

At the police station the officers were very helpful, unloading the motorcycle, getting me to a telephone so I could call Sergio to ask him for advice and offering us Mate (Argentina’s national drink). I am not sure if this was the first police report the officer had filed but the paperwork took at least 3 hours (although we only filled out one form each). But the delay was OK because I was in good company. Moreover, it was an interesting cultural experience to get to know the workings of a Latin American police department (without being held captive or accused of a crime).

After the bureaucracy was finally finished it was already night time and we were free to go. I am not sure if it was because of their helpful personalities or because they felt guilty, but Jose and Christina refused to let me return to my tent alone in the dark. They drove me back to my campsite, helped me pack up my things and gave me a lift to nearby Esquel where they helped me find another campsite. They then proceeded to invite me to dinner and we were starting to get along better and better. The next morning, as promised, they returned and together we drove all over town trying to find a mechanic that was able and had time to fix Morena on short notice, locate a transport service that was able to ship her from the national park 50 km away to the mechanic as well as make phone calls to the clueless insurance company reporting the accident and soliciting their help (which proved to be a waste of time). Several hours later, the tasks completed we said good-bye.

I then boarded Juan-Carlos´ truck, who was a restaurant / bar owner and had agreed to ship Morena back to town for a reasonable price. The trip with him was similarly entertaining. He was very interested in my motorcycle trip while I asked him questions about life in Esquel. By the time we returned, we had gotten to be friends and he invited me for a glass of wine. One glass turned into two, then three and finally I decided to stay for lunch. By the time I left the bar I had met all the local and heard many of their stories about life and work in a small Argentinean mountain town. It was the kind of bar where no tourist would typically set foot into and the same locals shared their daily beers. What a unique experience to share drinks with a “real” Argentinean gaucho.

After a good serving of food and wine, the next stop was the mechanic who made my mood even better. He told me that Morena had not suffered nay serious damage, only bent metal, cut wires and broken plastic all of which could be fixed quickly and cheaply. (Most importantly no spare parts were needed, which are next to impossible to buy in small towns and ordering and sending them from Buenos Aires would have taken forever). The mechanic was a motorcyclist himself and was very excited about the type of trip I was taking. He promised to go to work on the bike right away and finish as soon as possible.

I had barely made it back to the campground when Jose and Christina stopped by again asking how everything was going and if they cold help further. It seemed I was in good hands.

After an (involuntary) delay of two days I was back on the road again and Morena was running as smoothly as ever (although the outside was looking increasingly bruised: one side scarred by fie, the other held together with duck tape).

But more importantly this experience taught me that every misfortune brings with it an opportunity (to learn, to meet people, to receive a new perspective). Despite unfortunate circumstances I felt that all of Esquel had conspired to put me and Morenita back on the road as fast as possible. Continuing my trip and departing the gates of Esquel I had the distinct feeling of leaving behind new friends who had come out of nowhere to help a stranded traveler back on his feet with no selfish motive, out of genuine human friendliness. Those experiences are precisely the ones that make me love traveling and whose memory I will cherish forever.