The Andes Mountains is a mountainous spine that dramatically dissects South America from north to south, crossing seven countries.

Down the southern and northern tips of the continent, the Andes literally tumbles into the sea, creating a myriad of islands.

The Caribbean hubs of Aruba, Curacao and Bonaire are actually peaks of an extensive submerged continuation of the Andes in the north.

In the southern end, in Patagonia (where we hope to go), there are numerous islands that belong to the same mountain chain.

Everything about South America is directly related to its 9,000 km existence: not only the diverse landscapes but also the indigenous cultures, varied cuisines, and an immensely diverse wilderness teeming with wildlife.

The great majority of the Andean mountain chain is volcanic.

The highest active volcano in the world is located in a remote area along the Chilean–Argentine border.

Potatoes and tomatoes, two of the most widespread crops on our planet, originated from the Andes.

Over 3,800 different types of potatoes are grown alone. Coca leaves also famously originate from the western slopes of the Andean mountains.

Although its derivative, cocaine, has brought about many problems in countries like Peru, the ancient Incas used to cultivate coca before the Spaniards arrived. Coca tea is served everywhere in the Andes, effectively relieving altitude sickness.

The Andes are the highest mountain range outside of the Himalayas.  The terrain that surrounds them is at high altitude too, with settlements at altitudes of over 5,000 m

Over the years, people from the Andes have evolved and adapted to this high altitude, where there is less oxygen in the air. They have larger alveoli in their lungs and a higher count of red blood cells. This is to extract as much of the limited oxygen as possible.

Linda and I have not.

There is no quick and easy way to envisage the Andes. The enormous complexity of this tangle of ranges and plateaux makes a bird’s-eye view impossible.

Here are a few pictures of our crossing from Argentina to Chile.

It does not even scratch the surface!

On the Argentine side, it starts with a great tar road leading to the Andes

 

Near the Andes foothills on the Argentinian side, we glamp in this Cabana for the night

It is a tiny town. A travelling salesman in his F100 pickup selling all types of essentials

There is no piped water. Rainwater is stored in tanks on the roof. But there is electricity, no mean feat out here.

These are our neighbors.

Linda, short pants and all, gets to offer the shy one a chocolate. In her defence though, our clothes were soaked from riding in the rain.

Tomorrow we get to cross that!

Its moods change constantly.

Red at night shepherd’s delight?

The next morning, the gods smile down on us.

Entering the Andes

The colours and topography change constantly.

We follow this river.

And along the way, its banks rise. This picture cannot capture the scale. The bank on the left is over 50 m high!

Along the way, we find abandoned settlements.

One of 2 signs of life.

And the other.

It’s almost as if each peak and valley has its own microclimate.

We carry our own fuel to make it through, in those brown Desert Fox fuel cells. For those who know me, how’s that for a shameless self-punt…

At one of the summits, we are surprised by the Border crossing. This is the Chilean border control. A grand building given its surroundings.

As we are approaching from the Argentine side, we have to first check out of Argentina, both for ourselves and our bikes.  However, there is no sign of the Argentine customs.

The Chilean customs tell us this is not a problem. All we have to do is fill out their forms ( in good old carbon paper), and we can be on our way.

We know this will be a problem when we need to re-enter Argentina later in our trip.

In the interim, we and the bikes are thoroughly sniffed by Narcotics dogs.

Linda surrenders her apple as a result.

While this whole process unfolds, a friendly Chilean Narco official points downwards into the earth.

We suspect he felt guilty for confiscating Linda’s apple.

It turns out there are Argentinian customs, buried two stories into the mountain, under the building you see above.

Why defies logic.

Luckily, we are signed out of Argentina and into Chile, our carbon copy in hand, as proof. The carbon, however, is old, making it barely legible.

Beyond that customs seizure warehouse (which must be full of undescribables) is  Valparaiso, our next stop.  We are certain Linda’s apple will not find its way to this warehouse.