I promised myself to visit some friends around. "Around" means in Argentina as well something like a trip distance of 3000km. So I started in Viedma, the well known Ruta 3 to San Antonio. Again I didn't go along the Coast on the old Ruta 1. I started late the day and I wasn't feeling like. The problem with those days, you start delayed is that you wouldn't get as far as you imagined. Forced by my sleepy eyes and the upcoming rainstorm, I just made it to Las Grutas, next to San Antonio.

Las Grutas is the holyday-paradise of argentinian families in the south of the country. Almost the most southern point where an argentinian would still dare to touch the water. Like that the town looks like. It is overcrowded by hotels and hostels of all kind and quality. The three star Hotels in argentina are already the top end, the prices as well. An ordinary room would be around 220 pesos. You could dump the price to around 100 pesos in a "Residencial". Not too luxurious but a bed and a bathroom, usually a small breakfast included.

The next day I started with rain and hoped to get out of the clouds soon. So I hit the road down south. A little frozen I arrived to Sierra Grande. A small town on the ruta 3, which has nothing to do with "grande", they mean only the Sierra around. In about 800km distance to the Andes you may talk about grande. Basically it's only a change in the shape on the horizon. The good thing about Sierra Grande is the price of the fuel. Here's the first gas station with subsidized patagonian fuel. After two coffees and a chat with some argentinian bikers I went on.

To enjoy some fun riding I used the same road, I went two years earlier. About 50km south of Sierra Grande a gravel track to "Puerto Lobos" heads east to the ocean. In Puerto Lobos one would see a burned down hotel and another two buildings, forsaken, ages ago. But the road is nice! It will bring you down to ruta 2, which is the road to Península Valdéz. Apart from some sand, the gravel is quite easy to go. Straight all the way and in good condition. Not in the mood of going again on the Península I headed straight to Puerto Madryn. Another holiday target for locals and foreigners. Next to the touristic part this city has it's own life as well. Industry and port attracted many people and the former village grew up to a big city in the bay of Peninsula Valdéz.

As it wasn't my first time in the city it was easy to find my destination. I was here to visit Miguel. A really nice guy, and motorbiker who knows how to use his bike... travelling! Miguel has always a helping hand for biker and traveller. So I met him once again and we had nice chats about bikes, people on them and the gear they're used to carry around. It needed only a small comment to convince him to cook his famous "Pollo al disco". A Chicken dish with Veggies and rice. Traditionally made in the metal-disc you would find on this plough-thing on farms... even in german I'm in trouble to explain what I mean. In short. Once again he made me a really nice dinner!

To get going on my trip I tried to get out earlier. I almost made it early but preparations for the rain and the shopping still delayed me. The idea was to cross the country to Bariloche. Using the Ruta 4, straight West from Puerto Madryn. I got prepared to have another funny day on gravel in patagonia. On the crossroad on Ruta 3, I was a little in doubt about my idea. The rain in the last days made it looking more than funny. To say, "it was a little muddy", would be slightly understated. I took it anyway, hoping to add this nice and metal-protecting mud-cover on the bike. Other people spend money for mud-spray out of the can... here it's for free on the ground, so what!?

My worries were gone soon, after two kilometers the mud was gone and the road turned easy. Going with about 120km/h was releasing some adrenaline and made me feeling (still) alive. Here and then thinking of the "still alive" I payed a little more attention to behave. About early afternoon I left the clouds behind and arrived to the first village. It had the Tolkien-like name of "Gan Gan". People where nice and curious about the bike. Not curious enough to interrupt their just started siesta though.

As I told myself lots of times, I wanted to refuel as early as possible. In spite of my huge tank, it's a thing you would do, to avoid the embarassing situation of asking for help with such a tank, running out of fuel. The one and only gas station I found was looking like after an air-raid. I stopped anyway and looked around, hoping to see this old kind of guy you would expect coming out of the nothing, who is able to put the old pumps into action... a piece of tumbleweed blew over the road...

Two older women came down the road. They informed me that this is the actual gas station of the village. It will open again after siesta! That would have been about four hours later. I love my gas tank! So I left this sleepy collection of houses. A little while later I stopped for a lunch and coffee break. I extended it for a second coffee, which I poured over the inside of my jacket. Bearing my clumsiness I went on with a wet inner-jacket... which is supposed to keep me warm. Still hunted by clouds I reached luckily the warmer part of the day short after that.

About the end of the day I arrived in Gastre. After a typical delay while refueling and restocking my food and water, followed by endless chats with nice and curious locals, I left the town and started searching a nice spot for the night. One would think, it's Patagonia, it's this endless land, with no people in there. Easy to find a camping spot! Would be easy if you like to camp just next to the road. If you want to be unseen or you just want to find a nice spot for camping you're in trouble. The area around looks absolutely empty... just the fences left and right to the road are disturbing a little.

So I kept searching, finding a gap in the fence or just some possibillity to escape the road. First try was a dividing fence between two pieces of land. Following the dirt-track I encountered a well with a windmill. Suspecting visitors at night and being picky, I decided to go on searching. Bad idea!

A couple of kilometers further I followed a track to an Estancia. Hoping to find a good spot at the hill, close by the track. "A hill" is already that much of a change in Patagonia, that it comes close to paradise. At least you're not in the open field. Just three kilometers on the track and I bumped into a muddy hole of about 30 meters. "Wouldn't be much of a problem", so I hit it... and it striked back! Even Michelin Deserts, worn down are just worn down tires!! A lesson one shouldn't forget after the rear-tire overtook you on the left and you find yourself in the mud, half under the bike and the ripped off pannier next to you.

I wasn't too annoyed of my mistake, in fact my mood was perfect after I figured that tonights bottle of wine was untroubled by my foolishness. I guess there wasn't any biker, whistling that happily while reshaping and refitting his pannier. As a rescue of my honour I have to make a remark on the consistence of the half dried mud... S O A P !

Reconsidering my feeling about that track, I turned back to the road and went on. The quest for a campsite took me again longer than I wanted. Riding at night wasn't the issue, though it ain't nice. My biggest trouble was the sunset and the fact that I'm only in this kind of situation if I'm travelling west! Blinded by the light, I put all my hope in the next hills... over there at the horizon. Finally, just in the last light of the day I found my spot. A little off the road and covered by the hills I was betting on. It was another night you'd spend just looking at the sky. There wasn't any light around and I spend my time thinking of the stars, cooking, eating and drinking.

The next days start was typically slow and lazy. It must have been the third coffe when I finally got burned by the sun. The days ride was fun again. I was still in the middle of nowhere and chose always the smaller possibillity. Like that I ended up opening and closing the gates on the road. If they're not locked, people don't mean to keep somebody out, the intention is just to keep the cattle inside. At some point I was wondering if I will reach any place this night and started searching for water. As usual I had bad luck with the estancias. Nobody showed up, clapping and shouting useless. A little while later I got my water. A couple, living in a more than basic stone house, helped me out. They were too astonished to ask me any questions, so it was a short visit. As if the track wanted to give me a nice good-bye I bumped into the last kilometers... on sand. Not too difficult and still nice riding I made my way to Gualjaina. Aother small village with another closed gas station. This time, the guy in the Kiosko next to it told me, it is out of business... I love my gas tank!

Finally I reached the other side of the country on the same day. Esquel, south of El Bolson. Camping in Esquel and the stay in a Hostel in Bolson wasn't too amazing. So I skip this part. I was too lazy to do anything worth it to be mentioned here.

Once arrived to Bariloche I contacted Miguel (anther one) and Alex. A really nice couple and friends of the family back in Viedma. Both olympic athlets in canoeing, now living together in Bariloche. I had two really nice days with them, was invited to stay at their place. In fact, they're housekeeping and live in a really nice spot with lake view at Lago Mitre. On top of that Miguel is the chef in a hotel-restaurant and I got invited to a really nice hungarian goulash. Alex's mothers recipe. In my time in Bariloche it was, when my search for my newest mascot finished with success. My Guanako, I christend "Schluckauf" (german for hiccup).

From Bariloche I made my way further north. One possibillity is the road to Villa La Angostura and from there the "Ruta de 7 Lagos" to San Martin. This one did already twice, so I decided to try another way. First fllowing the Ruta 40. Paved but really nice and windy road along the river. Amazingly nice area. After a while, at Confluencia, I took the road 63 into the National Park Nahuel Huapi. Absolute fun riding on ripio again. The surroundings with forests, lakes and rivers are just amazing. Every couple of kilometers another opportunity to stop and stay for the night or just to have a swim.

San Martin de los Andes, where I ended up that day, is a nice looking village. It's quite touristic and seems a little artificial. But a good spot to stop and a nice place to stay. Here as well, you'll find places in every price-range. For me the lower end was just good enough. So I had a night there and headed north the next day.

The way north you could choose the Ruta 40. Legendary but paved. I don't know about that piece of "The 40". I took again a detour along the Rio Aluminé in its valley just next to the road. Along the River you can find a couple of nice spots to have a break or to go fishing. Camping is complicated because it is again quite close to the road. That wasn't my intention anyway. The destination for that day was a nice place just south of Lago Aluminé. I found it the last time I was here, together with Ali and Carola from germany. It is a small island in the river. To reach it you need to cross a part of the river, which is at that side of the island more a creek than a river.

The last time it was really nice. Even with camp-neighbours we felt remote and lonely. This time, I thought I would be alone. But after two minutes I notices a family on the other side of some bushes. Ok, not too bad. But once I figured that there was a house build on the Island I decided to move on. On the east end of Lago Aluminé, on the junction with the road heading east, I stopped for water. The guy in the tourist information was hard to convince that I'll stay somewhere camping. Whatever you tell people here, they'd still send you to an official campsite or a hotel. They wouldn't believe that one could really want to stay alone, just somewhere.

From that junction I took the road east to Zapala. After a couple of kilometers I turned north on ruta 23, which follows the border to Chile and ends up at the next border crossing, about 60 km north. Between that... nothing, perfect! In the same trouble as usual, I tried to find an unseen spot for bike and tent. After some more or less adventurous attempts I found a nice place. But I found also well used fire-places and lots of rubbish. Some of the rubbish were cheap wine-boxes and ammunition. I decided that cheap alcohol and .22 caliber bullets are a rather unhealthy mix. I went on searching. Ended up, again behind some hill, next to a remote weather-station. Not expecting them to come checking it just that very night, I pitched up the tent.

After a camping dinner level 2 and another lazy morning I jumped on the bike again. Not too far on the road and I finally made an extended photo-break. I was quite lazy and still didn't stop on all oportunities. At last I felt like playing around with the camera, good enough. On this gravel road I ended up, close to the next border-crossing to chile, north of Lago Aluminé. The decision to avoid pavement a little longer wasn't too hard. Though I missed again a part of Ruta 40 which I still didn't know but it was too tempting and, at least the first half of the alternative route, I didn't know either. After about 50 km on paved road, and just 10 km before hitting ruta 40 I turned onto the gravel again.

The Cordillera around north Patagonia is or was (geologically talking) just recently volcanic active. In ths part of Neuquen you actually notice it. Volcanos you pass by, old lava fields along the road or even the old road under the lava field and the new track would go around it. People told me there'd even be geysers and hot water holes around. Them I missed, they are mainly in the north-western part of Neuquen, there you go nowhere, dead end. I decided to keep going. Once I turned north, the road was typically patagonian again. Funny shapes in the landscape, amazing colors around and those small places you'd encounter... Loncopué, some small town... El Huecú, a even smaller town.... El Cholar... a crossroad with houses.

It was at El Cholar when I hit again the old road I did two years ago with Ali and Carola. Here I turned east, to Chos Malal. The road winds along the river, which lies far down in it's canyon. The road would go along every small peak of the mountain site. To the right the hillside up, on the left... far far down. To make things funny, the wind started blowing. At some peak I stopped to let the truck pass which pulled up in front of me. Good decision, the guy was busy enough to keep his truck on the road, he hadn't got any time to pay attention to me. To see where he was almost blown over was a good thing, but it was difficult anyway. The wind didn't stop that day, but once out of the canyon area it got easier to ride.

Just before arriving to Chos Malal on the Ruta 40 I wondered that I wasn't controlled by any police on this trip. The Caminera-post (street police) on the entrance of the city broke my record. An important looking guy stopped me with an impressive and commanding gesture. With every meter I came closer he was looking more ridiculous. Once I stopped he even saluted to me, it took all my strengh not to take the piss out of him! We went through the common procedure with driving license and bike papers. He disappeared into his hut. After an eternity he came out again with his book. He made it already to write down my name... the rest of the columns were still empty. I smiled and knew, this will take some more self control. Though he didn't figure where my bike papers would tell him my number plate, he was still smart enough to read it on the bike. The frame number he never wrote down. When he came to the point of the document number, he managed to ask me if this would be my DNI (argentinian register- or passport-number), pointing on my german driving-license. Just about to break down, I replied. "Si.. mpfpff". Luckily he gave me time to put away the documents, before he saluted again... so I took off. Luckily I kept on the helmet the whole time.

Chos Malal isn't too much of a city but there's everything you'd need. So I stopped at the camping municipal and had the shower I needed. Sitting down to read and drink wine later at night, I was interrupted by a local guy, asking me about my bike. We had a chat and he invited me quite excited to a local wine, they produce here in town. I was impressed, he didn't look like a guy who would drink nice stuff. He vanished into the dark to his bike, a 200cc "chopera". When he came back, I wanted to vanish! He had this bottle of crappy wine, I was avoiding since I knew it. "El Toro viejo" (The old bull)... it tastes just like sweat of an old bull. French would call it chateau d'headache! I had no doubt that this wine would really be produced here, it just fits. To make it short... I survived. He and a friend of him even invited me to have an asado the next day... as well reagional with "chivito", I'd be here I told them. Knowing it would be just be a lazy day to take care of bike and myself, I stayed there... and had a lonely day, afternoon, evening and night.

Heading out of Chos Malal I was in doubt, either to go on The ruta 40, a long way around the provincial park of volcano Tromen, or just straight through it. Straight through it would mean gravel, I was convinced. Even though I was here before it was still nice to see the area again. The volcano and it's lava fields, the black road, mountains and lagoons. At some point I almost got lost. When I had to cross a small creek I was in doubt... it wasn't here the last time, the road turns the wrong way. The creek itself wasn't the problem but it was going steep down and steep up again. I figured I would hit the ground with the bashplate at any point and my worn down rear tire would leave me alone as soon I would try to dig the bike out of the mud. Luckily I payed attention to my bad feelings, figured it was the wrong way anyway, turned around and found the right way. The other creeks and rivers I had to cross where less of a problem.

It was just after this area around the volcano when I arrived to Barrancas. A small village at the Rio Colorado. The limit to the province of Mendoza and, in fact, the edge of Patagonia. I stopped just in front of the bridge, smoked a cigarette and looked back. There was this huge wall of the mountain I just surrounded. It looked like the barrier, you'd need to break through to reach this other country. It seemed closed. At this point I left Patagonia.

The rest of the day I spent on the Ruta 40 on the way to Malargüe. Here the 40 becomes funny again. the old pavement is broken all over and it becomes a fun ride. In Malargüe I pitched up my tent on the camping municipal. Once I settled down, my neighbour figured that I'm german. So was he. A german backpacker and quite desperate as it seemed. He started talking about computer, software encryption, conspiracy theories and economy... it was fun, for five minutes! He was as annoying that I went to bed quite early. I got up really early, had time for some coffees in peace and left before he woke up, ignoring the money he owed me.

Well, that was the trip basically. I arrived to San Rafael and had a really nice week, enjoying work and hospitality on the Finca of John and Anette. I could have stayed longer, but my mood wasn't too good. Te decision to leave after one week was more about the risk of annoying somebody than anything else. The last night showed me that I was a welcome friend, another time I promised to come back! Those who where here in argentina or just have a look on the maps, may figure that the trip between San Rafael and Buenos Aires ain't too funny, nor interesting. It's just too long for a (relaxed) riding day and too boring to do in more than two days. It did it in two days.

Coming closer to Buenos Aires was quite shocking. I still was in the mood of the patagonian roads. Overtaking somebody doesn't mean that you'd look into your mirror. It's about impossible that there are three vehicels at once... On Ruta 7, close to Buenos Aires it was different. I had to get used to traffic again. Every kilometer closer to the big, mad city was reminding me of germany again. I appreciated again the german training in close traffic combat. Surviving on a motor-bike on german "Autobahn" is about the same like Buenos Aires. People would kill you, just to arrive home, two minutes earlier!

Without being killed and killing others I arrived to Dakar Motos. I was welcomed as a friend, the former janitor and one of the elder guests.

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Now I need to write the harder part of this long story. When I crossed the Rio Colorado at Barrancas, I left patagonia for now the last time! I'll be back some day for sure but for now that was it. I dropped my pants quite a lot on this blog and wrote about everything and anything. This post now I'd like to keep plain. I'm here in Buenos Aires to ship my bike to germany and to follow later. My time in Argentina is over for now, Germany drags me home. It was hard, it is hard and it wouldn't become any better. I had to promise lots of people to come back one day. And this I do here again!

I may add the one or another entry on this blog, but too much it woudn't be. Reason for this blog was the story about a german surviving in Argentina. Well, he survived. But the mix of the homeland and this new home broke something in this german.