How to buy a motorcycle in Argentina if you’re not Argentine...

My advice… Don’t. Consider the option of going home to your country of origin, buying the motorcycle there, getting all the paper work sorted out, and shipping the bike down here. But if you’re stubborn like I am, here’s a run down of the logistical maneuvering that I performed in my epic motorcycle search.

Choosing the Bike:

You may know a little about motorcycles. You may already know how to ride. You may know a touch about motorcycle mechanics. You may even know which bike you want to buy. If you do, you’re leagues ahead of me.

What I learned is that when choosing the bike, the criteria is completely dependent on YOU and your needs. No one can really tell you what motorcycle you should buy… Different styles, brands, models, accessories exist because people will want to use their motorcycle for different purposes. If planning to use the motorcycle within a city, perhaps a scooter or a 125cc is sufficient. If planning a long distance trip, you’ll need a comfortable, sturdy bike with a relatively powerful engine. If planning on jumping over dirt paths and performing tricks, a lightweight easily maneuverable bike is your choice. Price will depend on engine size and brand. Japanese brands will cost more than Chinese brands, but will be better quality and much easier to find spare parts. En fin, there are many things to consider…

Wandering through the motorcycle shops in Neuquen, I was confronted with an overwhelming number motorcycle options and opinions. Everyone had something contradictory to say. None of their opinions was wrong, but that’s just the thing, they were opinions. And especially here in Argentina, everyone has an opinion.

It took a while, but I finally decided on a motorcycle. A chopper (comfortable for a long trip, low riding for stability, and definitely badass looking), 250cc (a big enough motor to defend itself on long open roads, but small and manageable enough for a beginner motoquera), Mondial (not a pricey high-end Japanese bike, but a decent brand. Mixed reviews tho, of which I’m super weary. Hard to find spare parts, especially up north. But if I arm myself with a little motorcycle maintenance knowledge… I can perhaps prevent all but the most unpredictable problems.) So, after weeks maybe months of searching, I had found it: my motorcycle. The Mondial HD 254.

The Logistics:

My first mistake was to go about everything as legally as possible… And expect it to be easy.

When you buy the motorcycle you have to go through the process of patentamiento. Which I’m not sure I totally understand. But once you pay your money for the bike, it’s not technically yours… Yet. You have to take the 01 form along with the receipt of the motorcycle, the certificado de fabricacion o importacion, and the verificacion policial to a non-descript building on Ruiz Moreno Street.

There, you will take a number and, once you are attended to, they will tell you that you need a CDI, a CUIL for foreigners. Basically like a social security number. Ok. They tell you go to ANSES on J. O'Connor, half a block from the Hospital. You wait in line. There, you are told to go to AFIP, at V.O’Connor (not to be confused with the first O'Connor) and Onelli, because at ANSES they only deal with CUIL and CUIT. Ok. Down to AFIP. You need a photocopy of your passport and to fill out a F. 663 form.

If you chat it up with the guy at the desk and wow him with your travel stories, you can get it extradited. Your CDI will be ready in a day and a half. Free of charge.

Great. You go back to the non-descript building on Ruiz Moreno. I still have no idea what this office is. But I think it’s the place to change a vehicle title among other things. Oh no. They tell you this time, that even if the vehicle is in your name, you can’t take it across the border. You can only use it within Argentina. But… go talk to the Aduana, above AFIP on O’Connor, and see what they say.

Back to AFIP. Third floor to the Aduana. There, a hard-faced woman who listens to your questions will shove a bunch of “no’s” down your ear until you almost break down in tears. Then, she’ll soften up a bit and pull some strings to help you out. Her advice: get your DNI.

Next stop, the Oficina de Migraciones. The super unfriendly guy gives you two options for acquiring your DNI: get someone to hire you (he didn’t have an answer when I told him that most businesses will ask for you to have a DNI in order to offer you work) or marry an Argentine.

Chan. At this point, you go back home depressed, seriously consider getting married for the residency papers, and eat half a dozen empanadas.

I digress into the actual process of BUYING the motorcycle. After searching the internet, phoning numerous places, and walking around town… My motorcycle would cost me AR$13.000 in Bariloche. The same bike would cost AR$10.000 in Buenos Aires. Three thousand pesos is quite a difference. So I could buy the bike in Buenos Aires and ship it out to Bariloche. After calling a few places, the best deal was AR$500 for transporting the bike.

So, it was settled, I’d buy the bike from an agency in Buenos Aires and then ship it here to be patentado. If I put it on my credit card, I’d be charged various fees and I would surely max out my credit limit. So, I’d have to deposit the monetary quantity into their account. That would mean that I’d probably have to open up my own bank account in Bariloche, which now having my CDI, I could do. But talking to some ex-pat friends, the fees and complications in the Argentine banking system is something I don’t really want to touch with a 2-meter-compost-stirring stick. And then I’d have to figure out how much my bank in the States would charge to transfer money. If I went through all that quilombo, then I’d have to be sure that the motorcycle agency in Buenos Aires is reliable… because, well, if I transfer all that money… I’d have to be sure that they’d send me the motorcycle. Sigh.

Let’s now move on to the DRIVERS LICENSE! For this, you have to go to another practically un-marked building, this one is past the train tracks, but before the bus terminal, down a gravel road. No line this time! Friendly guy at the desk explains that to get the registro de conducir you need: 1. Libre de deuda of your vehicle and of yourself (which you get on the first floor of the bus terminal and is valid for 5 days), 2. Your DNI (oh crap, not this again… but it’s ok, says the guy, all you need is a passport and a certificado de domicilio, which you get at the comisaria at Km 5), 3. Two photos (done!), 4. Three medical exams (medico clinico, medico oftamologico, and medico otorrinolaringologo… good luck pronouncing that one!), 5. Pass a written test, 6. Pass the driving test, 7. Pay AR$45.

Oh, but wait. Because you are in Argentina on a tourist visa, the drivers license is only valid for the period of three months. Every three months you have to renew it. He looks at you and asks: Why don’t you just get your DNI and residency…?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

All of this is best summed up by Randy: “the Argentine government will leave you alone for the most part… unless you want something from it.”

So after this excruciatingly frustrating ordeal, I have a few options.

1. Buy the motorcycle in Argentina anyway. I’ve gotten this far. The only problem would be that I wouldn’t be able to leave the country. And for those who have had to do the 3-month boarder run ritual, part of the purpose of buying a motorcycle would make that chore a little easier, cheaper, and more fun. I would also not be able to cross over to Chile, Brazil, Paraguay, or Uruguay. Un bajon.

2. I could go to Chile and buy the motorcycle there. The motorcycle itself will be cheaper. But I’m unfamiliar with the Chilean ways. I’m guessing they will have their own bureaucracy, although perhaps not as chaotic. They might treat me differently because of my psudo-Argentine accent.

Also, another thing to consider is that with a Chilean motorcycle I might have a hard time finding spare parts in Argentina (as was the case with some Austrailian friends whose car is still in Comodoro Rivadavia after almost a year waiting for a spare part).

Also, I think the Chilean government obliges me to return the motorcycle to Chile every three months, which is okay because I need to renew my visa anyway, but what happens when I head towards Brazil or Uruguay?

3. Go back to the States. The motorcycle might be cheaper there. I could get the drivers license taken care of without too much hassle. I wouldn’t get the “you’re not from here” stares and comments, which are starting to wear me down.

But then I’d have to figure out how to get it back down here without paying absurd import taxes… Or perhaps pick another country, in which case I’d have to say goodbye to Argentina. And I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet.

Sigh.

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.