Saturday, Feb. 25
We left Chalten at 08:50 and 91 km later we were on Ruta 40 north which to my surprise turned out to be a gravel road with much construction and "desvio" or detours. At 12:25 we arrived at a lonely gasoline station and the bus filled up for the long haul. The driver informed us the next stop would be 6 hours later.
I see no tow truck at the gas station and there are no kilometre markers or call boxes along the way. There is a feeling that if you have a breakdown you are on your own. It is a cruel place: a middle aged cyclist begged the driver to take him and his bicycle for the ride north but he had no luck.
Like the Alaska and Dawson Highways, the road is unpaved, with little traffic. Unlike the east coast of Patagonia along Ruta 3 which is totally barren and flat, the western part has some vegetation and rolling hills with mountains off on the western horizon.
I happen to have the second row of seats on the right side to myself and the view of the road through the front of the bus is great. The main entertainment is the two drivers who split the driving. While one drives the other fidgets just waiting to get back in the drivers seat. They are constantly talking and do much laughing and really seem to enjoy what they do. There is no concept of uniform and casual dress includes a Chevrolet Racing Team shirt for one of the drivers. Despite that, they drive very carefully, aware of every bump in the uneven road.
I realize that Ruta 40 is their home. One day they drive the 12 hours north and the next day they drive the return trip. They know this road better than anyone else and it is indeed a road that needs to be known for the sake of safety since in many places it is tenuous and down to one lane.
We pass Lago Cardiel and there are four more hours till the next stop. We have passed many signs saying "Guardaganado" meaning cattle crossing. However, there are almost no cattle and the only animals was a herd of guanaco (I hope to see llama and vicuña further north). In addition, there was the occasional rabbit, even a dead one in the middle of the road. Considering there is a car about every 10 minutes, that's what you call bad timing.
The drivers again are the main story here. They are "cool" as they share the same bottle of water and munch on biscuits listening to loud melancholy songs which go perfectly with this isolated landscape.
Mercifully there is no TV so we are not treated as so often happens to an Eddy Murphy movie with English dialogue and Spanish subtitles. The appearance of clouds of dust on the horizon announces the coming of the next vehicle. I get my camera ready in case it is something interesting. Occasionally there is a sign "Turismo Rural-Estancia"-so people do live here.
It is 16:00 and we arrive at Rio Chico. How appropriate as the driver stops the bus and announces "Chicos" in the bushes to the left, "chicas" in the bushes to the right. There is a great rush down the embankments into the bushes for relief.
Lots of time for studying Spanish or Castellano as they call it here.
It is 19:00 and there is evidence of a small settlement. We have reached Bajo Coracoles and I take the opportunity for another "jamon y queso" sandwich and I even drink a Coke which is something I never do, but what the heck, I am in the middle of nowhere maybe it is comforting to have a Coke.
After the stop the drivers have filled their thermos bottles full of hot water and they are ready for the "mate" ritual which one sees continually here in Argentina. It is the national drink. A gourd the size of an orange, often a beautiful work of art, is filled full of "yerba mate" (a type of tea) and then hot water. It is then drunk through a metal straw like device called a "bombilla". The mate is then passed around for group consumption. As I say it is an absolute common place ritual seen everywhere. It is said to be bitter and I have not yet tried it. As the bus continues on its route, the mate is passed back and forth till the thermos bottle is empty, all done to good conversation and merriment.
At 20:00 the sun is low on the horizon and the driver pulls down the sun screen which reveals a sign saying "no sacarse los zapatos". How was I to know I was not supposed to take off my shoes!
To me the story of Ruta 40 was the true camaraderie displayed by the drivers who truly are part of this legendary route. Tomorrow morning they will do it all over again back to El Chalten, that town full of great memories but endless dust.
At 22:00 we finally arrived at Perito Mereno where I had reserved a room at the Hotel Americano. It was a nice clean room with a TV (no, there were no Eddy Murphy movies). The room with supper and a beer were 50 pesos.
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