We finished our last post in Argentina. By a little stream of water that had been explained to us as a huge river by a worried farmer in a pickup a couple of kilometers before the border. When we arrived it turned out to be nothing more then a small stretch of 15 cm deep water. Nothing remarkable.
One quickly learns to always take everything people say with a grain of salt. When you turn up with a bike and huge amounts of luggage and are aiming to do the same things the locals do in their 4×4 pickups you can expect to get some raised eyebrows or shaking heads. But there is one thing that you actually can be 100% sure about no matter how sceptical the locals look at you. You will always get more help than you ask for.
Our first week in Chile was filled by as much wind and misfortune as our days in Argentina but all of this was weighed up by the constant, daily and unexpected encounters with people. Our first meeting contained a couple of funny border policemen who after a quick bureaucratic process took the chance to try our bikes. After having exchanged a couple of confused sentences in Spanish we were offered to sleep in a barack that seemed to double purpose as a party cabin and kitchen for the border police judging by the fast cleanup they made of beer cans and dirty dished before we could move in our stuff.
We were bone tired when we crawled into our sleeping bags but already then we had a feeling our days in Chile would be nice.