December 12, 2024

On the morning of 12/12, after spending the night in Villa O’Higgins, the plan was to set off as soon as the rain stopped for yet another adventure that had been the subject of much discussion within the group.

During the two previous days in Villa O’Higgins, we debated whether to undertake the more adventurous experience of crossing the border from Chile to Argentina through completely uninhabited territory, with no roads or marked trails across fields and forests, or to head further south by ferry, crossing various lakes, including the Lago del Desierto, with undoubtedly stunning landscapes but following routes more commonly traveled by regular tourists.

Initially, the group was fairly evenly divided, but over time, as opinions shifted, we all ultimately decided to share this more unpredictable experience together. There was great enthusiasm for the unity of purpose we found—nothing could stop us now!

At 10:45, with the rain finally stopped, we were all ready on our bicycles, fully loaded like true randonneurs with three bags each. These were packed with tents, sleeping bags, food supplies, toothbrushes and toothpaste, water, and other individual necessities. Everyone had their own ideas of what might come in handy—some brought a knife (“just in case”), others carried an entire roll of toilet paper (“just in case”), and so on, with perfectly valid but somewhat Boy Scout-esque reasoning rather than that of experienced trekkers.

We cycled approximately 52 km on often terrible ripio, climbing 930 meters in elevation to reach Paso Mayer and the Chilean border. Here, we checked with the customs office whether we could leave our documents in advance to cross into Argentina the following morning. Once confirmed that everything was in order, we agreed to return at 8:00 a.m. the next day and rode back about two kilometers to the destination for our overnight stay: the “house” under renovation belonging to Señora Nora. She had kindly offered it to us the previous day (to six total strangers) as a place to sleep on her rural property.

The house consisted of two empty rooms with nothing to lay our sleeping bags on and a separate room with a table and a wood stove. Everything else—and I mean everything—was outdoors in the fields.

We prepared dinner using würstel heated with water from the stream, brought to temperature on the wood fire. After setting up for the night, we passed some time playing cards, which, despite the weight of all the essentials we were carrying, we had somehow managed to bring along.

In today’s account, I won’t focus on the landscapes and nature—always spectacular but now a standard backdrop—but on what we experienced when we arrived at this enchanted shack in the middle of the fields and nowhere. From the frugal dinner, where we rationed food and water for six friends (had we let ourselves go, we would have eaten everything, including the next day’s rations, in five minutes), to the night spent on the ground in sleeping bags, shifting from one room to another depending on real or imagined snoring, and waking up to barely-above-freezing temperatures to “have breakfast” and get the bikes ready to leave.

It felt like being the same kids, about 45 years ago, on vacation.

There’s a distinct flavor left behind for the one recounting this day—a sense of camaraderie, simplicity, and shared experience. Without a doubt, it was an unforgettable day.