Haha. This is the one photo I have from the 2 day trip that was my journey from one end of the world to another. New Zealand to Argentina. A journey of thousands and thousands of kilometers across the biggest ocean on Earth – and this is it. One grainy half ass out-a-window snap from a shaky phone. Far from pretty, though one that to me serves as the ultimate symbol of the insanity that travelling by these flying exhaust pipes is.
Without even mentioning the fact that this is the ultimate disservice one can do to the planet, this still has got to be one of the most unnatural and absurd activity a person can engage in? Admittedly I’m damaged by a year and a half of travelling with an average speed of 15 km/h, but that doesn’t change much. However comfortable, efficient and whatever else it is – we’re obviously not supposed to move like this.
Crossing the date line and touching ground in Buenos Aires hours before taking off from New Zealand definitely added to the feeling of completely loosing touch with time and space. But hey. I guess time travelling was simply next in line of the never ending ‘firsts’ I keep ticking off throughout this whole thing.
A 12 hour layover and a quick 3 000 km (I mean..?) domestic flight later I found myself on solid ground in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. The only reasonable starting point of the second half of this adventure. The one from which I am – and I can’t believe that I’m actually writing this – going home.
It’s a long way there. But oh yes – it’s actually happening.
The few days I spent in town was like one big deep breath. While dealing with jet lag and simultaneously trying to find my balance in my latino home to be for the upcoming year, my mind was once again getting ready to take on another brand new chapter. This time a massive one.
A couple of days wandering around town and winding down in the nearby national park of Tierra del Fuego was just what I needed. Getting familiar (and falling in love) with everything from dulce de leche to empanadas, and rapidly trying to dust off my old school Spanish by grabbing a hold of anyone patient enough to listen to yet another gringa’s not all that successful attempts of making herself understood.
All while doing my best to ignore the loud threats of those infamous Patagonian winds, sending chills down my spine way before I’d ever even hit the road.
New snow had fallen on the mountain tops when I opened my eyes that morning. I was excited. Loaded my bike. Snapped the mandatory photos with that cheesy, but still oh so enchanting ‘fin del mundo’ sign.
And then I took off.
¡Vamos!
Fredrika