Going The Distance

If you ever find yourselves in Ushuaia, may I recommend the Double Decker City Tour. Not least because the English translation is now written and read out by me! (We stayed with the couple who run it, and we offered to replace the version that they had as a thank you – Mike is the editor!)

I’m now on the plane back to civilisation and real life. A wave of sadness crashed over me as I took my seat on the plane, and I looked out over the beautiful bay of Ushuaia and cried and the thought of all this being over. Half tears of sadness – leaving the bike was much harder than Mike or I had anticipated, as I watched it pull away for the last time, again I shed a tear. Mike kissed the tank to wish it on its way, also for the fact that I’m cross with myself for wishing away the last month on the road, which now I long to do over (just as I knew I would). That said, they were tears of happiness too, at the thought of all the people that we have met along the way, all the places we have seen, all the things we have learnt. It’s been such an extraordinary trip for the fact that we are far from tourists, we never see the things that the travellers we meet talk about, but every single location we have passed through has been brought to life by the people we have met.

Mike and I spent our last night on the road, at the end of the world, arguing. And really pretty hard. I’d say that it was our biggest argument in months, in fact. After a day spent largely apart (he was working on the bike with Dean, I was translating the City Tour guide voiceover), we reunited for dinner, having bid the bike farewell, and the realisation of this trip being over having hit both of us in its own way.

I told Mike that though I had not put the results of the envelopes on facebook, I had emailed 3 of our friends to tell them what the envelopes contained. Mike was very angry about this. Why hadn’t we talked about it? He asked. The decision to share the contents of the envelope with anyone, he said, was one that we should have made together. I have never felt as strongly about what the envelope contains as he has, so it’s true, I should have consulted him. But I felt cross that he had had such a go at me. Inevitably, the argument spiralled and we found ourselves on a freezing cold, dark street outside a pub where we had planned to meet our friends to celebrate the last night on the road.

I’m guilty of silence in arguments. I don’t like to argue (a characteristic which is very unhealthy in relationships – arguments are vital, we’re told, for expressing and resolving differences of opinion) and so I tend to go very quiet. It’s horrible for Mike as he is almost totally unable to penetrate my cloud of stewing resentment. One of the other things we have learnt during this process is that while men experience a sudden burst of rage which passes, women’s neurological processes mean that they are unable to let an argument go so quickly and are left festering long after a fight is over.

Well, that was where I was. I felt so distant from Mike and like we had learnt nothing during these 8 months on the road. I felt like I was the one who relied on my friends (wanting so desperately to share the results with the loyal few who have followed us) and that he was able to be so much more distant, and calculating almost. I was, of course, wrong. We have learnt mountains about each other on this trip, and actually, arguments are almost the way that a couple learns. Mike really wanted to tell his friends to their faces. Which is a totally reasonable desire. He worries that people just aren’t going to be interested in what we have done once they know what that envelope contains – why not keep a bit of suspense for the return party? Fair enough.

The argument ultimately stemmed from our total exhaustion. Not just from the stress of the last week, but the stress of the last 8 months. And the pressure of what awaits us now. We live in a kind of shadow, under the terror of what now will become of everything that we have worked to create. Mike is much more practical about it than I am, but when I think about how little we have been able to capture of our own relationship dynamic (through lack of a third person to film us and our interactions as they happen), I get very stressed. I feel the pressure of all the people who have believed in us to make something of this trip. God, I hope we can…

At the beginning of the journey, Mike and I decided to test our relationship scientifically (as well as the inevitable test of 8 months on the road). We underwent three tests:
1. A brainscan at NYU to assess neurological activity in various parts of the brain. The basic idea is that 3 areas of the brain are responsible for “love”, and when I was shown pictures of Mike (and vice versa) that inspired activity in those centres, the scientists would analyse it to be able to tell us how we feel about each other.

2. A DNA test. The basic principle of this test is that pheromones play an important role in our choice of partner: we subconsciously try and choose a partner with an immune system as different as possible from our own, in order that our children might have the greatest resistance to disease.

3. Psychology. We spent an entire day doing various tests with a Gottman-certified therapist (Gottman is world-reknowned for his work at analysing relationships, and with one particular test, being able to predict with 94% certainty the likelihood of a couple staying together)

We put the results of these three tests into an envelope to be opened at the end of our journey. If the results are positive, the plan was to renew our vows. If the results our negative, we are considering divorce…

And today’s the day.
_____________________________________

The Big Day dawns bright. We’re ready.

We have found a beautiful old boat, the Barracuda, with an English-speaking Ushuaian captain, Danilo, who is empowered to renew our vows if the envelopes come out with a positive answer. He will be the one to open the three envelopes and read the results.

A local TV station wants to video the entire event and interview us. So we had a presenter and cameraman organised too.
Mike had organised for a local divorce lawyer, Oscar Vidal, to be present at the opening, so that he could be ready to initiate divorce proceedings if the results came out positive.

We bought a ring. I bought a plastic top hat and $5 veil and some heart-shaped balloons in case things went our way.

I got increasingly nervous as the hour approached. I’ve been very blase’ about the envelope, blithely assuming that it would be positive – and if not, well, hell, it was ignorable, wasn’t it? Mike has been more concerned throughout. He often talked about the Pandora’s Box factor – if something bad came out, how would we be able to forget about it? That said, even he was less concerned as we got further south – saying that he was so sure, so totally positive, that we are a great couple, that it doesn’t matter.

We arrive at the boat on the bike. Suits on, everyone ready. And we get underway.

Capitan Danilo

We’re in the back room of the boat, its panoramic windows open out on the city of Ushuaia. The captain, in full regalia, readies himself. We start with an interview for the local TV crew – how are you feeling? are you nervous? – the usual made-for-tv stuff. Then we stand sombrely in front of the captain as he works his way through the three envelopes, with us reacting to each answer.

After much discussion, Mike and I have decided not to publish the results of the tests. We’d like to

be able to tell you in person at our return party on March 13th in London. For those of you who won’t be there, I promise I’ll put them up here on March 14th, complete with pictures of the event – and our brains!

I can tell you though that they were totally fascinating. Again, more details to follow.

The blog doesn’t end there, folks. To your disappointment – not to mention my own.

The next stage of the adventure: selling the bike. Easier written than done, it would appear. I won’t bore the tits off you, but basically, it’s against the law in Argentina to buy or sell second hand motorbikes. And since Mike’s name is all over the documents, and the Argentinian computer systems, it makes sense not to cut any corners.

Argentina has really loved the bike. We have attracted crowds in this country bigger than any other that we have been through (probably exactly because second hand bikes are illegal here and import taxes on new vehicles from the US are through the roof so there are no Urals and nothing like them in this country). So when we put a For Sign sale on the bike here in Ushuaia, we were inundated with blokes interested in buying it. Really serious about it, but without realistic solutions on how to get around the law (“you could drive it across the Chilean border then we could ship it back in a truck” that kind of thing). Very stressful.

One man, Luis (who has turned out to be a blessing from heaven, and with whom we are now kipping), came the closest to having an answer. Classic vehicle registrations, border crossings, other ideas. Costly, but just about viable. We need to get rid of the bike before we leave because it’s Mike’s name on the papers, but even this was not the ideal solution. Lots more driving, which is the one thing we’re keen to avoid. Much as I love the donkey, nothing would be more depressing than having to spend days doubling back.

Just as we were beginning to lose all hope, fate intervened.

12km away from downtown Ushuaia, further along the wooden and winding coastline is the Parque National. 12km further into the park, the Panamerican highway ends as Argentina’s National Route 3 comes to a close, and a well-photographed sign. We needed a photo opportunity.

As we headed into the park, we passed a laden cyclist. As I mentioned before, Ushuaia is the great bottleneck of all the long distance travellers, so we pulled up beside him and asked how his trip had been. Turns out that he’s just arrived and planned to cycle to Alaska.

Dean is his name. He’s spent the last 4 years cycling up Africa from South Africa, arriving in Lisbon a few months ago. From there, he got a flight to BA with his bike, spent a couple of months learning Spanish in Montevideo, Uruguay, then got on a bus with the bike down here to start the great ride up South America.

Dean Fiore, new owner of the Ural, hands over the side panel to the old owners.

He pulled up beside the sign as we were recording our final piece to camera with the bike (much “I can’t believe we’ve made it and we’re still married” etc). We explained that we were done with our journey and looking to sell the bike. And he said, with a certainty which surprised even him, that he wanted to buy it. He was fed up of two wheels and pedal power and had been asking himself how he was going to motivate himself to do it all over again.

So that’s what we’re up to now. Transferring ownership of the bike over to him, sorting it with Ural HQ (who own the bike) and Alaska (who own Mike’s ass).

Boring but true.
That said, Ushuaia is an awesome place to be stuck for a bit (unlike Bolivia…) It’s a big enough city, perched on the bay at the base of mountains (after the flat nothingness of North Eastern Patagonia, nothing could be more welcome than topography). It all feels very Scandinavian, and I love a bit of Scandy. It’s the main set off point for Antartic boat trips, so there are lots of tourists, all with a whiff of adventure about them. The town (sorry, “city” – it needs that status as it proudly states that it’s the southernmost city in the world) absorbs the tourists well, and maintains its own outdoorsy character without drowning in its many tourist tat shops. I like it a lot.

We have found a sea captain who is prepared to read out the results of the tests, and renew our vows if they come out affirmative. I have spent the afternoon buying “Te Quiero” balloons and the like. Mike has found a divorce lawyer who is on hand for if the results are negative (Mike has been disturbingly excited about this). THAT will be tomorrow’s little update. With any luck, the write up will be a little spicier than this prolonged bike yawn.

We made it.

The Clears and the Russian pulled in to the southernmost city in the Americas at 7.35pm on Friday, February 5th after 31,591km, 15 countries and 207 days. Not to mention 116 couples interviewed and over 400 hours of footage…

I can’t really believe that we’re here. All those dark days of wishing that I could be back in a world with a roof and routine are suddenly distant memories as I contemplate life without the bike and feel not only real sadness about it, but almost panic.

Mike confessed to camera that it feels like the bike is the third (and most reliable) member of our marriage. It’s been the three of us the whole way down (bar a couple of weeks in Bolivia which was not the bike’s fault but our own). The bike has made this trip – it’s started conversations, broken down barriers, got us interviews – got us noticed! The thought of all that being taken away is currently so hard to consider that it feels like a weight on our chests, and the planned elation at making it to the end is considerably more muted than we could ever have expected.

Surprise surprise, a big day of driving. This time, 2 borders to cross. Chile owns the Magellan Straits, so we have to cross into Chile, catch a small ferry to Tierra del Fuego, drive for a bit then cross back into Argentina. We’re told that the borders aren’t a big deal (but they are – because coachloads of people are travelling this route so the queues are horrendous).

We don’t set off early enough to make it back into Argentina. We bump into a Quebequois motorbiker whose bike has totally died here in Rio Gallegos. He’s stranded. Fixing the bike costs more than its worth so he’s deciding what to do. We sympathise, and pray that our little Russian friend will make it the rest of the way.

The novelty of bikers in this part of the world is low. Admittedly, our 3 wheeled friend is still the centre of much attention, but we really are aware that we are reaching the great biker bottleneck of Ushuaia: petrol station windows are covered in stickers proclaiming, in myriad languages, lengthy 2 wheel adventures; the road is peppered with bikers coming towards us – returning from touching the end of the world back to the real world. As always, the biker code is strong: lights flash, hands wave – acknowledgement of shared realized dreams.

It’s proper cold now. Really really freezing. We’re wearing everything we’ve got. No rain, just cold wind. We make it to the ferry for around 6.30pm, dangerously low on fuel. The ride is short, cold, blustery but beautiful. Spectacular to watch the end of the American landmass slowly disappearing. Two bikers from Utah are kind enough to give us their spare fuel, which gets us to San Sebastian. It’s late but it’s light when we arrive at the border, we’re freezing, the Chilean roads aren’t paved. We decide to camp in the one hotel just before the border in a remote cluster of buildings. It’s warm and wonderful and very very welcome at the end of yet another long and cold day’s driving.

Day starts with an email – we’re front page of El Patagonico!

When we crossed the border into Argentina, we discussed the type of couples we wanted to talk to in this country. And from the beginning, we knew that we wanted to investigate the other side of the Falklands story.

The Falklands War started on Friday, 2 April 1982 with the Argentine invasion and occupation of the Falkland Islands and South Georgia, and ended with the Argentine surrender on 14 June 1982. The war lasted 74 days, and resulted in the deaths of 255 British and 649 Argentine soldiers, sailors, and airmen, and three civilian Falklanders. It is the most recent conflict to be fought by the UK without any allied states and the only Argentine war since the 1880s.

The Argentine soldiers were largely young conscripts from across the country. Fearing a long siege, the Argentine army restricted food supplies to its soldiers and there are many stories of huge cruelty within the Argentinian army. Many of the young men were sent to fight against the British trained forces with only 2 hours of training on how to work their guns. Mike recalls, in his military training at school, the leader of the training talking about the horror of having mortally bayonetted an Argentine soldier in a Falklands trench during combat.

The memory of the war is very alive in Patagonia. In fact, it’s very alive in the whole of Argentina, but throughout Patagonia, there are monuments, flags and signs proclaiming “Las Malvinas son Argentinas”. Talk to anyone and they have an opinion about it. People talk about the war and its memory as an open wound.

We phoned the biggest veterans’ association in the state of Santa Cruz, based in Rio Gallegos, the Asociacion Centro de Veteranos de Guerra de Malvinas “Soldado Jose H. Ortega” (named after the first soldier from the Santa Cruz province to fall) and they invited us to their headquarters for 1.30pm today.

We arrive at the small building, expecting to meet with a secretary, explain what we are doing, him suggest a couple, then we arrange a meeting. Not at all. We enter the small room to find it full to bursting with men sitting around a table, perhaps 20 of them. The walls of the room are covered with black and white photos, posters, photos of faces, the paraphernalia of war, flags. I find it very emotional, to be honest. The idea of war is so horrific, and these men are all still relatively young (in their late 40s, early 50s) even nearly 30 years after the war. Something about the fact that they are there, laughing and chatting, unified by the horrors of an experience which changed every one of them 28 years ago, and they have welcomed us - from the nation which they fought against - into their sanctuary, makes my eyes well up. I find it very emotional, and I choke as I talk. Later they explain that the war was politically motivated, it’s not individuals they have a problem with.

It’s not immediately clear what is going on. It turns out that it’s a press conference, eventually. A local man is going to run a marathon on the Falklands islands for the veterans, and they’ve called a press conference. So we’re part of the press for a bit. It’s a bit confusing.

Finally, the crowd clears and we ask about couples. There are two couples in the room, and both agree to be interviewed. One married after the war, the other before.

Rosy and Fernando met 3 years after the war. Fernando was 19 during the war, and was a professional soldier rather than a conscript. They met at a dance, she liked the cut of his jib. They started going out and married after 3 years, they have 5 children.

Fernando says that the hideousness of war has made him appreciate every minute that he has. He says that post-Malvinas war, many couples divorced. He said that men were so affected by the war that they simply couldn’t care about their wives. He says “I’m lucky that she understands me. The pain that we have stays with us. The wound that we have does not bleed, but it’s deep within us. And as time goes by, with her and with my kids and my grandchildren of the future, our life becomes increasingly positive”.

She says that as a couple, they are three: him, her and the Malvinas. The war is something which is always with them, and she has become very active in the association too. They continue the fight to return the Malvinas to the Argentina.

Teresa and Nicolas have been married 30 years. They were married before the war, and Teresa had a 2 year old son and a 3 month old baby when war broke out and Nicolas had to leave to fight. He, like Fernando was a professional soldier. He’s older than Fernando and was a higher rank. (One of the things that the association says is that here in Santa Cruz, they are all friends, rank doesn’t matter – whereas in other provinces, ranks of veterans often only associate with other vets of the same rank).

Nicolas and Teresa both thought that he was leaving for a training exercise. It was only when he had gone, and she was taking the two baby boys back up to be with her family that she saw the demonstrations of support for the soldiers and the Malvinas cause. She couldn’t believe it, she felt vulnerable and alone. She starts to cry at the memory and Nicolas puts his arm around her and holds her head close to him.

He was able to send her postcards every two weeks. There was one point when she had no news of him and again, she sobs at the memory and said that she thought he was dead.

When he got back, he didn’t want to talk about what he had gone through. Still, to this day, when his children ask him about the war, he tells them to go and talk to Fernando and other friends from the veterans association.

They say that the biggest thing that they have is their children. Like Fernando, Nicolas agrees that after what he has been through, he realises what is important in his life. His children – 6 of them – are his whole world.

We’re just burning up the miles now. I take my place in the sidecar, wrapped up like an onion – in the absence of correct cold weather clothing, Mike and I have opted for layers. So I shoehorn myself into the sidecar like a puffed up Michelin Man, do up the sidecar cover and settle in for the long haul. Mike puts on his cheapy Costan Rican wellies, all the jumpers we have, the waterproof trousers (every little helps) and off we set for 8 hours driving. iPhone is fully loaded with all our favourite podcasts and off we set into the windy Patagonian wilderness.

Thankfully no rain. We’re just in “get this done” mode, not really thinking about what awaits us at the end of the journey, just head down, drive on…

Rio Gallegos is a reasonably sized city. We plan to spend two days here because we want to find Argentinian veterans of the Falklands war.

As we drive into town, looking for a place to stay, Mike swerves suddenly to the side of the road. “Oh my God! I have to get a photo, that’s hilarious!”

Tit Icecream. Oh how we laughed. (NB The Jacksons staring at us in the window. They’re everywhere)

Claudio, the journalist, organises a local interview for us. He’s the first journalist in the whole time that we have been on the road (there have been around 15) who has helped us to find an interview in any way, let alone organise one for us.

Petrol’s the story in Comodoro, so petrol’s the couple in Comodoro. He worked for YPF, the now-private petroleum company based in Comodoro and seen all over Argentina, she looked after the kids. They have been married for 49 years, but both seem surprisingly young. They laugh, lots and lots. It’s brilliant. Mike is twitchy because we have a really long way to drive to get to San Julian today, so we keep it quick. They met at a dance, she liked the look of him from the get go. My favourite thing about them is when I ask about what their arguments are like. She says that they shout at each other, and go into different rooms to blow off steam. I ask how long they don’t speak for, she says “oh, not long” and he says “a couple of years…”

Got to get on with the driving. It’s starting to get cold now, but the little trio (Clears and Russian) pushes on.

Long long driving day. We’re just trying to cover ground now, and are traversing the barren Patagonian wilderness fast. Mike is going great guns, driving hard even though our topspeed is seriously lowered by the headwind and we are buffeted constantly by those winds.

Not actually our guy (Mike defended his hit and run saying that it was better not to know)

There’s nothing for miles and miles and miles. Except, I’m sorry to report, one armadillo harmlessly crossing the road. Mike, blinded by a visor scratched by months on the road, fails to see him and mows him down. I mourn silently in the sidecar for an hour.

We’ve taken the east coast of Patagonia to get to Ushuaia. It’s the most direct but by far the most boring of the options on the table. The west, the famous route 40 (reputedly one of the world’s most beautiful drives), snakes along the lower part of the Andes taking in Swiss-loveliness in Barriloche, glaciers in El Calafate, dramatic beauty all the way down. The east, less so. It’s coastal and flat. Winds whip across the vast plains and pummel us unremittingly.

We eventually make it to Comodoro Rivadavia, Argentina’s petrol capital. It provides a third of the country’s petrol (Argentina is entirely self sufficient for petrol), driven north to BA to be refined.

As we drive into town, we are pounced on by two locals (“Oh no, Jacksons…” we thought) It turned out that they were a journo and a photographer from the local paper. They were looking for a small story to fill a whole on a slow day, but when Carlos heard our story, he said that it was much bigger than he thought. So we did a full interview and appeared on the front page of El Patagonico the next day.