Baptism of Gravel

Día 2: Running out of food, gravel to take your face off, and a late afternoon gnocchi horror (65km)

Chapter 1 Baptism of Gravel (2/6)

Komoot GPX Chile, Fachinal to Puerto Guadal (65km)

There was cereza - Patagonian jam - and tostadas for breakfast but other than that, no more food. It was an inopportune moment to remember a (quite literally) gutting fact: we hadn’t had a proper meal since hotel breakfast in São Paulo - three days, and two countries ago. We’d been travel snacking ever since. If Day 1 was anything to go by, it’d be a while before we could remedy that.

36km to the next town on extremely slippery gravel. A bit like cycling on a cobbled street, if the cobbles were free to jump around, and if the street had the same mobility as an octopus tentacle, and if the cars pinged stones and dust at you as they overtook. Meanwhile, the wind fancied itself in a game of chicken against a combined 13 odd foot of pannier-clad British cyclist.

Thankfully, despite the struggle, the views were mesmeric. They did everything to sustain our vigor and we even managed to locate a farmhouse with fresh water, the lack of which had been arguably a more pressing concern than the absence of food.

It would have been absurdly ironic to run out of water as we edged round Chile’s largest lake at 1,850 sq kilometers. Lago General Carrera (as the Chileans call it) lay below a pass that was hewn into near vertical, aggressively harsh rock face.

The Argentines, as it lies within their borders too, have a different name for the azure expanse: Lago Buenos Aires.

A third, or arguably first, name, Chelenko, was devised by the Tehuelche peoples native to the area. Chelenko translates as ‘stormy waters’. It turns out that nationalists have nothing on indigenous naming skills.

It was an eye popping blue, like mermaid festival make up, or a melted vat of blue raspberry pencil sweets. Depending on how hungry you are.

We were very, very hungry.

At last we skidded into Los Tres Hermanos. A flashing sign declared ‘Abierto’. But the door was shut and the lights were dark. A hopeful buzz and we said our prayers. After a few moments, in which our stomach battery levels dropped a further 6%, the heavenly sound of stairs creaking heralded the arrival of our vendor saviour.

We bought 10 items each and sat down to replenish ourselves. Jake’s optimism/hunger-based hysteria saw him purchase some raw gnocchi to which he added cold water and injected a packet of tomato sauce.

It’ll be several weeks before he can bear the sight of gnocchi again.

The final part of the day is light-hearted and celebratory. The harsh climate abandoned for lush green farmland and burnt orange trees lead us to a much improved psychological state.

And then, the clincher, when 4 restaurants in Puerto Guadal were closed, we made one final bid for a cafe on the square. Two huge slices of piping hot quiche and a vat of herbal tea, ably supported by the decadence of a lemon meringue pie to follow.

Genuinely up there with my favorite meals of all time.

We camp on the beach, in full darkness, in Chilean Patagonia. Tummies full, cosy in sleeping bags and thermal liners.

Previous post: Día 1 Spitting off the Edge of the World

Next post: Día 3 Into the Wild