Thursday, November 18, 2010

Neuquén... and the search for the perfect motorcycle

After days of postponing our trip due to wind, rain, hangovers, and a dead motorcycle battery… Matias and I finally set off for Neuquén. But separately. One on motorcycle; one hitchhiking. Who would arrive first? On your mark; get set; GO!

I gave my compost one last loving stir, shouldered my trusty yellow backpack and set my sights northward. I took the #20 to the very end of the line and then walked two kilometers to the speedbumps passed the Aspro, the last gas station in Bariloche, my preferred hitchhiking point for all destinations east, north and west.

Yellow skirt flapped in the wind. Bags at my feet. Thumb outstretched. Smile. Mountains, lake, blue sky… all waiting in eager patience. A car pulls over.

Three vacationing portenios make room for me and my bag in their Piedra del Aguila- bound car. And we’re off.

I cast a farewell glance over my shoulder as my beloved snow-capped Andes grower smaller and smaller behind us. We pass Villa Llanquin. Valle Encantado. Confluencia. Mate circulates counterclockwise around the car. Music blasting. The road twists and turns as it follows the winding river away from the mountains and into the arid pampas. I pulled out my crochet hook and rainbow yarn as conversation passed around and through me. The fernet was uncapped and before I knew it we were pulling into Piedra del Aguila.

The kind of small dusty town where everyone knows everyone and, if they don‘t know you, they‘ll greet you anyway. The sun pelted pedestrians with powerful rays and I declined the invitation to head down to the lake. I still had a journey ahead of me. I was only half way to Neuquen.

And so was Matias. It just so happened that we arrived to PdA at roughly the same time. Tie. We met in the park, picnicked, and played on the swings made of recycled metal scraps. When it was time, we said goodbye and each one headed back on the open road.


Not many cars pass through Piedra del Aguila (which translates to ‘Eagle Stone’). I took the opportunity to check out the low cement houses, kids playing soccer, and the awesome looking rock formations surrounding the town. The sun was fierce.

After a local police officer kindly offered hitchhiking advice, I got a comfortable ride with a very business business man. I opened the car door to a button-down-shirt wearing, blackberry-with-earpiece toting, espresso-in-mini-Styrofoam-cup drinking important person. I felt like the 200km ride to Neuquén was taken straight out of a Hollywood feature film. Big important business man meets adventure travel permaculture girl. And they travel in a confined space for two hours. Lights. Camera. Action.

We zipped past apple orchards; heavy metal plants supplying the nation’s nuclear research; small towns by the names of Picun Leufu, Chocon, Arroyito, Senillosa, and Plottier; lots of flat desert; Matias and his motorcycle; and a variety of conversation topics.

Arriving in a new city is always disorienting at first. Especially when your only reference is the tongue-twisting street name: Olascoaga! Nonetheless, after minimal eyes-pealed inspection of all street signs, I plopped my bag on the sidewalk and waited. Juanjo and his RED truck showed up and whisked me away.

I feel that Juanjo needs a introduction. But how can I possibly do him justice in a paragraph??


Imagine, if you will, a six-foot-something, long-haired, walking contradiction. On the surface he seems flakey, flighty, irresponsible, chauvinistic, and completely out of control. But after you stop rolling your eyes at him and his chaotic incomprehensible lifestyle, you’ll perhaps see the other side. The business-savvy, liberated, confident, jack-of-ALL-trades, sweet-talking side. Just because he is almost 40 and doesn’t have a permanent job or permanent house (I don’t believe the word ‘permanent’ even exists in his dictionary), doesn’t mean that he isn’t providing himself with a rich and incredibly interesting life. His stability is in instability. He goes about everything with every ounce of his energy and passion. He has had every conceivable kind of job. And can chamuyar his way out of any situation. He can basically get anything he wants. In other words… a character.

As we sat down to tea, a text message from Matias informed us of a motorcycle malfunction. Red truck to the rescue! We find Matias stranded on the side of the road past the airport and rig up some makeshift towing contraption out of bent wire. Everything in Argentina can be fixed with wire and ‘la gotita’ superglue. True statement.

After briefly story swapping, Juanjo announces the plans for the night: a friend is performing at a bar in Villa Regina. Matias, Juanjo, musician friend, and I cram into the front cabin of the red truck. With the music equipment in the back we bounce one, two, three, four, five towns over. The show is awesome and filled my head with get-rich-quick schemes. We were in bed by 7am.

Needlesstosay, we were out of commission on Saturday morning. Which meant that, because stores are closed on Saturday afternoon and all-day Sunday, motorcycle shopping would have to wait until Monday morning.

How we ended up spending two weeks in Neuquen is beyond my explanation. Juanjo generously allowed us to take over his apartment for 5 days. We cooked, slack lined, looked at bikes, ate ahumados and dulce de leche, and baked in the Neuquenian sun.





When we felt like we were pushing the limit on overstaying our welcome, we turned to couch surfing.

I hadn’t couch surfed since my Ushuaia-trip, but after I browsed some profiles and sent out a few couch surf request messages, my phone started ringing. Daniel called first.

Daniel, Lucia, their children: Pedro (7) and Catalina (4), and their dog: Zeta welcomed us into their home. We stayed for 5 nights, playing pirates searching for lost treasure, watching Iron Man 2, staying up until 3am chatting over wine and Cordobes accents, and keeping the kids up past their bedtimes. We were too busy having fun to actually take the motorcycle-search seriously.

Next, we stayed with Chana (and Jack the dog). Que personaje! What I love about this girl is her energy, her passion, her strength,, her honesty, her no-nonsense attitude, her drive to learnlearnlearn and (perhaps more than everything else) her uncontrollably contagious laugh. She hand-makes carpets, paints, dances, crochets. She’s teaching herself Italian, Turkish and Arabic. And she gave us her room for 3 days.

During those three days I decided what motorcycle I wanted to buy, we cut off Matias’s dreadlocks, we slack lined, I accompanied Matias to the public hospital (another blogpost will have to be dedicated to my opinion the public health system), I learned to navigate Neuquén’s public transportation system, we talked, we sang, we laughed, and we ate.



On the last day, we shuttled our stuff back to Juanjo’s centrally located apartment. Went to the movie theater. Said goodbye to new CS friends. And prepared for our departure.

The return trip to Bariloche was executed in 5 cars. Walked a few kilometers under the hot Neuquén sun with my heavy backpacks, small talking with a random guy-on-bike. Car to Plottier. Car to cruce in the middle of nowhere. Car to Chocón. Car to Piedra del Aguila. Small truck to Bariloche’s bus station. City bus home. HOME!

There’s nothing like being home after a journey.

And although I’m frustrated that I didn’t accomplish my original goal of buying and learning to ride a motorcycle, I had a great time. I learned a lot about different types and brands of motorcycles. I met some awesome new people and got to hang out with old friends. I got to explore a new city. And, honestly, what frustrated me more than the Neuquen trip was yet to come in Bariloche when I dived headfirst into the bureaucracy of what it means to own a motorcycle as a non-official-resident.

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