Back home: So long and thanks for all the fish.

So we were present for a Roman Catholic Mass tonight, and it made me think of a story I’d like to share with everyone.

Picture, if you will, two young men standing outside the Cathedral of the Blessed Ascension in the Plaza de Armas, Santiago. Between them: a sail, a mast, and a boom, wrapper in mesh; 2 oars, a rudder, and a keel; and 4 inflatable pontoons wrapped in a single canvas package with mesh strap handles. With a moments sigh, they pick up their packages, each carrying a side of the canvas package in one hand, and in the other, one of the other two bundles, and walk through the aged wooden doors of the Cathedral. They walk across the nave and down the aisle with a sense of purpose; ignoring looks of confusion and curiosity from the passing congregation. Meeting a man dressed conservatively, but casually, with a large red Templar cross pinned to his woolen jumper they pause. Words are exchanged and the two men take a seat and patiently wait.

Soon after the man returns and asks them to follow him, and to bring their packages. Passing a red velvet barrier, they continue past the chancel, the sanctuary, and navigate their way through two more sets ornate, worn, wooden doors into a small transept at the back of the church.

Therein, they find the padre dressed in his white cloak. He stands before the two men with his hands clasped in front of him. He greets the two men:

Buenos Noches, como esta?

Bien, gracias padre.

Que puedo hacer por tu?

Padre… hemos conducido de Alaska a Suramericana. Y tenemos un barco que quisieremos donar a la ingelsia.

A moment of confusion ensues…

Un Parka? For el montanas frigo?

Uhhh… non padre… Un Barco.

… un Barco?

Si.

With his hands still clasped in from of him, the priest takes a moment and stares at the boat. One of the men continues:

Un donacion por la iglesia. Por un orfanato tal vez… tu sabes…por los ninos.

Si.

The priest continue to look at the boat contemplatively. A moment of acceptance comes over him, he turns to the men, places his hand on their foreheads, blesses them, and thanks the men for their donation. The men reply de nada. As they walk out they hear a quiet, but slightly confused voice …un barco?

The two men take their place among the congregation in a pew and sit quietly through the Mass and quietly walk out after the Sacrament is offered. The priest chose the parable of Jesus on the boat.

On the 28th of July, 93 days and 23,120 km after first setting off from Anchorage, Alaska, a very weary 98 Kia Sportage rolled into the leafy suburbs of Santiago de Chile. In the past three months, she had her engine rebuilt completely, timing belt changed twice, her mirror pulverised in Guatemala, a cracked pipe leaking steering fluid in Colombia, radiator redone, blown cooling hose and my, how the list goes on, but somehow, the damn car made it all the way down here. Oh yeah… and the blown tire.

We got pretty lucky in meeting one Senor Alexander Ruff, who helped us to sell Shakira to an acquaintance of his for a reasonable sum (and legally, what the hell!) and in the space of 24 hours, which is a feat anywhere but especially for 2 Australians selling a US car in Chile. Alexander, here’s to you *gulps wine*

Not much to say about Chile… lots of desert… it’s definitely the most organised and wealthy country in South America and, barring the cold, could easily be mistaken for Spain. We are sitting in our little apartment in Santiago (see picture below), trying to pack 18 bags’ worth or crap we’ve gathered into 4 bags allowed onto the plane.

We’ve been lazy with the posts lately. It’s because we are tired from driving 15,000 km across the Americas… you know…

-DVN

Huayna Picchu

We rolled into Nazca to see the mysterious lines. Archaeology’s best minds have concluded that these 500 km² lines were drawn by an insane culture 2000 years ago as a calendar. But in my limited experience, a calendar’s usefulness is directly tied to its being visible and since these are visible only from, like, space, I am skeptical. Whatever they are, it’s awesome to be here and from a shabby metal tower be able to pretend to be able to make out the outline of a lizard’s tail.

“Calendar” my spider balls… you’d have to be in a friggin’ airplane to see what month it is! Back to the drawing board, geniuses…

We took the bus to Cuzco from Nazca, leaving Shakira to lick her wounds in an old man’s back yard. The ride was a 15-hour exercise that would leave Guantanamo Bay prisoners cringing. Cuzco, though, is a really lovely city even if you are shattered. So we bounced around there for a day and then took the over-priced train to Machu Picchu. Train ride awesome, Machu very awesome indeed though filled with tourons (tourists+morons) on package holidays. Neglecting to have purchased return train tickets, we had to hike for a few hours along the railway track like peasants to get back to some sort of road and the shitkicking village of Santa Maria, where we got a well-deserved nights’ sleep. Crappy bus to Cuzco, a bit of running around and we had to say an emotional bye to our friend Ben who has been travelling with us for 3 weeks (2x the width of the US). Another amazing 15 hr bus experience back to Nazca made substantially more memorable by our drinking “The Demon of the Andes”, a brand of Pisco, directly out of the bottle. Drew and I (at very different ends of the drinking spectrum) concluded without hesitation that this alcohol was distilled directly from a combination of human misery and the tears of unborn children. Out of the bus and stumbled right back into Shakira this morning, who for the time being is humming along sexily.

Given our sort of crappy shape after the last few days, we made a light day of it and stopped in this here little town in Peru from where we plan to make a run for the Chilean border tomorrow - our last.

- DVN

“The Blue Anchovy” is not a boat. Well, it IS a boat, but it’s not on the water, it’s an old boat that’s been converted into a little restaurant on a beach in Cerro Azul, Peru where there seems to be very little else except for people with nothing but time on their hands.

We spend $512 dollars that we don’t have on fixing Shakira in Ecuador. A pretty civilised border crossing led us from the jungles of Ecuador, in the space of about 10 km, to the moonlike desert landscape of Peru. On the upside, the road is AWESOME out here and we have managed to do over 1400 km in 3 days. Peruvians aren’t as friendly as Ecuadorians or Colombians but Peru, apart from the endless desert, is ok. We’re having tons of fun with our new friend Ben, so much so that I have been nursing several Ben-associated hangovers in the last few days.

Tomorrow we think we’ll be in Nazca (if the car doesn’t explode) and we are going to find a place to leave the car and take a bus to Machu Picchu for a couple of days before returning for the last stretch of road, probably ending in Santiago (though we’d like to try to get to Quellon, the official end of the Panamerican Highway, if we can).

That’s about it for now :-)

-DVN

So, the car had issues. Again.

We were plowing along making great time through Ecuador when the car started to feel a bit funny. Started lacking in pull and power. After about an hour of discussion, we decided it was due to the engine running cold (there’s no thermostat… long story), and at 3km above sea level.

Oh how wrong we were.

Turned a corner and up a hill annnddd… it died. Luckily the cops came by, and being Ecuadorean were all over that shit. Within a few seconds, there were cones and cops directing/stopping traffic to try run starting the car. No such luck. So, another tow truck and off to Riobamba, Ecuador to the mechanics, who, again being Ecuadorean, proceeded to take the engine apart… at 7pm. Possibly not a good idea, as will be explained later. With the aid of a small pressure gauge, it was shown that the engine no tienne compression. Again. Now, for our current readers, y’all know what this means. That’s right. Remachining the engine, and 6 days of downtime. At least.

Quick pow-wow in the bar, and we decided to cut our losses and ditch the car. And try and sell it to someone; legally or otherwise. The mechanic said we could sell a working version of our car for approximatly $USD8000. Keep in mind we paid just under $USD2000 for it. But we couldn’t convince him to buy it, as it’s a pain in the ass to make it ecuadorean. Turns out these ecuadoreans are sticklers for the law. But he knew someone who would buy it for parts, and we could talk to him tomorrow.

So back to the bar. At 3km up. Turns out a lack of oxygen effects ones ability to process alcohol. And to do physical tasks. Like… ya know… walking up stairs. Next morning, nursing a form of self induced altitude sickness, we headed top the mechanic to talk to the gentleman. He’ll be there at 3pm. So I (Drew) headed out to sort out shipping of boat/bus times/etc. I happened to walk next to the mechanic during these tasks, and saw them working ont he car. Walked in and asked ¿que paso?

The car was fixed.

Didn’t see that one coming. Notches on the timing belt had been torn off. Our diagnosis? Dodgy mexican mechanics. So now we’re back on the road after driving through arguably one of the top 10 worst roads on this trip. Down a mountain in heavy fog/coulds and rain. And potholes. Big ones.

Tomorrow the Border with Peru, on our way to Machu Pichu…

Very slow going in Colombia over pothole-peppered roads, much military anti-FARC presence, many corrupt cops and overnight stops at highway mini-towns populated by cheap prostitutes and drunk truck drivers. This afternoon over the border with Ecuador which so far is very pretty and friendly. Had our first interaction with police who did NOT want a bribe today since Mexico. Tomorrow en route to Quito to drop off our German friend (we’re keeping the American) and onwards towards Machu Picchu.

-DVN

We got off the Gypsy Moth after not showering for 5 days smelling of salt, (seasickness), and sweat. We wasted no time in attacking the port. The port was closed. We wasted no time in then checking out the city of Cartagena. We both thought that Cartagena was a very picturesque town, with a suprisingly bustling nightlife. And very nice (and expensive) outdoor restaurants. And fake Cartier watches. We were both tailored in the traditional sign of purity and innocence of Colombia, white. Still need white shoes.

Next day, we attacked the port. We had a tip-off from a large German ex-captain, Manfred, to contact Señor Eric Valencia (aka. The Most Interesting Man in the World). This was a truly epic and each step is outlined in the following blogpost.

We got the car serviced, supplied up, and beelined for Machu Pichu, with two itenerant hitchhikers in tow. With an average speed of 25mph we are now (behind schedule) in La Pintada. We´ve been looking to update the glossary with a few new words, and we have found them in Colombia:

• Miel industrial - Industrial Honey. Other uses: Power Steering Fluid, General Purpose Adhesive, Engine Degreaser, Anti-Diaretic, Anti-Diuretic, Emergency Fuel, and so on in this fashion.
• Excavation profonda - Profound Excavation. ie, the road is fucking broken.
• Obra en la via - Masterpiece on the road. ie, the road is fucking broken.

We’re back from the San Blas. We spent 5 days sailing around the Caribbean in a 50 foot sail boat, (The Gypsy Moth) stopping on islands for barbecues and to play with German Shepard’s toting coconuts instead of tennis balls for ‘fetch’. Just for future reference, when a German Shepard drops a coconut on your foot, it hurts. Now we’re sitting in the courtyard of the hostel with rain pouring in, waiting to head out for our (hopefully) final night in Cartagena

Cartagena was the shipping point to Iberian Spain for all the riches being sucked out of South America. As such, it was a target for pirate and ‘privateer’ attacks, with the most famous arguably being Sir Francis Drake when he sacked the city and attacked the port. Coincidentally this is what we are doing tomorrow. Attacking the port anyway. We have 3 levels to pass and two bosses to defeat to get the car out of it’s shipping container. I am positive we could see it in one of the many containers piled at the docks, if we knew where to look. Then it’s onwards and outwards on the home run stretch to Patagonia.

- DJS