South America

Coming up to my Tierra del Fuego finish line I was quite happy to do so. Though I realise now that relieved, is probably a word  closer to the truth. I was tired. And tired of being tired. This leg had been amazing on so many levels – but by this point I’d definitely had enough of it. More than enough, actually. Unfortunately Tierra del Fuego itself didn’t fully agree with that last part.

The icy snowflakes coming at me like swarms of miniature target seeking rocket launchers made the small mountain pass to Porvenir and the ferry to the mainland seem like a challenge of biblical proportions, rather than the smooth few-hundred-meter bump in the road that it actually was. Just minutes earlier the storm had arrived from absolutely nowhere, and was quickly making more than sure that no one out and about that day would be able to deny it’s presence.

Anyone who’s been stuck in a ski lift on a windy day knows the comfort level of those fierce natural needles piercing into any piece of skin you’ve failed to cover up. And how they have the potential to drain the life out of anyone in the wrong mindset before Ms. Rowling’s dementors have even had time to choose their victim.

In short – this day sucked.

Let’s fast forward a bunch of hours.

I could see land now. Mainland. My eyes were physically too tired to watch it come closer, but this particular evening was simply too pretty to miss out on. The air on deck was still, and drowsy same-day memories of cold toes and swear words drowning in roaring winds seemed to have been taking place in a different life. The few hour long ferry I was on had carried me lightyears, and I smiled to myself as I – if only symbolically – unzipped those few top centimeters of my down jacket.

‘You’ve done well, girl. ‘

The moment I got off the ferry real life came back a little bit. I had made it to Punta Arenas and mainland Chile, but this was about as far as my plan had stretched. The sun had already set, I had no clue where I was going. And quite quickly I realised that I’d probably do best in keeping that jacket zipped all the way up after all.

So. I (obviously) did the one reasonable thing here – and decided to care about all that later, and instead go on to snap a few cheesy moonlight photos of Mr. Bike. After all he is a born model that boy. Posing his racks off, regardless of how many people are watching. Haha.

Mr. Bike feeling all pretty.

And just as a few of you might already be guessing, this was it. That (…almost) never failing moment when life decides to fold out better than anything imagination could ever come close to.

Because as if from nowhere Oscar was suddenly standing behind me. The local cycle loving Punta Arenas chico who apparently’d been on that same ferry with me. Who saw zero point in me heading into town in search for a hostel and whose sweet sweet mother was at home, already waiting with dinner on the table. And one quick phone call later she was apparently doing so with an extra plate next to her.

Long story short: I was in for a treat. Four days of treats actually. Four days which left my body well rested for the first time since arriving in Patagonia, and my head absolutely spinning from trying to keep up with the more or less gringo-adapted Chilean lingo thrown around in the Seguel household that week.

I don’t think I need to tell you how much I loved every little piece of it. But yeah – I did.

Mil gracias Oscar, and thank you life.

I owe you both.

Until next time,

Fredrika

‘Now, my girl. I must apologise. I have seven needles in my lower back, and am in quite some pain. I should probably lay down for a bit. I am sorry.

Please don’t worry though. Melaina is here. She has a heart of gold and she will take care of you. I know so, because she has been taking care of me for the last 15 years. Good night, my girl. I will see you one more time in the morning. Maybe. I do hope I will.’

I was speechless.

Looking down into the shiny eyes of the featherlight, wrinkly old lady standing in front of me, wrapped up in the maroon bathrobe that by the looks of it had been sown a few decades earlier, to someone two or three times her size.

The wooden floor was creaking though none of us where moving. The maid held her by the shoulders, keeping her steady. Before slowly being led though the long hall towards her bedroom, she reached out a skinny arm to touch my forehead, smiling vaguely while mumbling something about angels.

I watched her go. Speechless.

Less than an hour earlier I had been out on the road, hopelessly battling the winds whipping me back and fourth like an autumn leaf without a tree. Peddling, but getting nowhere. Watching the sun working it’s way towards the horizon, wondering where in the world I would be able to lay my head without having my tent ripped to shreds the very moment I pitched it.

All pampa. In every direction, and far as the eye could see.

And now I was here. Inside. In the old residence mansion at a mutton station in Tierra del Fuego, Argentina. One of the very few still operating, despite the overwhelming issues with packs of wild dogs sweeping the lands, killing off sheep like there was no tomorrow.

Too many times to count, I’ve had the exact thought loop though my mind without being able to answer it. This time though, it wasn’t based on myself. This time that very same thought was about Stefanie. The 80-something-year-old lady from Munich, Germany. With her impeccable British English, massive bathrobe and 7 needles in her back. And since a few minutes, also an unknown Swedish girl standing in her hallway.

Stefanie. How in the world did you end up here..?

Another unexpected home away from home

This was my second day on the road in Argentina. And just for the heck of it, let’s quickly rewind to the very first one.

On the 7th of November I left Ushuaia, taking my first actual pedal strokes on the 4th – and 2nd to last – continent this journey will take me to. I probably don’t need to tell you that I was excited. But I was. I was pumped out of my mind.

On the pretty ride just outside of town I found company in the form of two random Ushuaia chicos out and about of their bikes. Together we let the tailwinds push us up the hills while jokingly ‘discussing’ (it’ll be a while before my Spanish actaully allows me to do that) our nations’ superheroes Messi and Ibrahimovic.

Great fun, obviously. But rather than devoting my full attention to everything they where actaully saying, I tried to do everything in my power to fully enjoy those tailwinds. Knowing that they would be my last for quite a while.

From word of mouth (and blogs), I think very few bike tourers pass this region without hearing about that magical haven in the Tolhuin township some 100 km from Ushuaia. The bakery that not only makes the best empanadas in the region, but that also opens their backdoor to host any and every cyclist travelling through town.

As the evening, and my hunger, rolled in – so did I.

Simple, and simply amazing.

Shower and a roof. A bit of company. And perhaps a power outlet. This is my usual definition of ‘everything one could wish for’. At Panadería La Union however, they have walls. Legendary walls. Walls that kept me entertained for hours on end, and walls within which I later fell asleep – for the first time in a while, truly feeling like a part of something.

Inspiration if I’ve ever seen it… :)

Morning arrived and I couldn’t wait. From Tolhiun I was about to hit the wall of wind I knew was coming, but I couldn’t have cared less. There was only one thing in the world I wanted to do that morning. To ride my bike.

I did ride my bike that day. Through the winds, for eight hours. Geographically those hours didn’t take me very far. But on every other level, I found myself in a whole new world because of them.

I watched Stefanie as the slowly moved further and further away through the hallway. Her hunched back made her look even shorter than she already was. Everything about her physical being seemed fragile. Still she radiated that endless resilience that you only ever see in women who’ve lived long lives. Women with stories to tell.

We never did meet in the morning. Watching her take those last steps into her room was the last thing I ever saw of Stefanie. And I never got to hear a single one of her stories.

I did however, get to hear a few others. In the morning Stefanie’s husband showed up, taking up exactly where his wife had left off. Showing me everything I never would’ve known to ask about what life is like, running a farm at the end of the world.

Seems like the winds get to everyone

I caught myself with only half listening to how he explained how to properly cross-breed sheep for the best combined quality of meet and wool. Once again my mind was wandering, and the butterflies in my tummy could almost have lifted me from the ground.

I was back. Truly, truly back. To every little piece of as to why I’m out here to begin with.

We got back to the house, and to no one’s surprise Melania had cooked up another absolute storm. Stuffing me with omelettes and freshly baked tortillas straight from the oven top, before insisting on helping me pack my bike. Refusing to take no for an answer as she crammed fruit and lunch sandwiches into my panniers. I finally gave up and just smiled. Stefanie had known what she was talking about.

One kiss on the cheek, at that was it. Next moment I was back on the road. With winds if possible being even stronger than the day before. But also – if possible – with my joy for cycling towering anything that could ever, ever come in my way.

Until next time,

Fredrika