THE WEERMACHT HAS LANDED

I camped at the Horizons Unlimited Spring meet at Ripley, Derbyshire.
Or had the Weermacht landed? A meadow of gleaming BMWs!!!
Grant and Susan Johnson founded Horizons Unlimited on the Web as a biker community for travelers. The Spring meet ran for four days with a dozen or more bikers giving talks on their travels. The fun is in meeting people in the flesh whom you have communicated with over the years. I heard from bikers recently in Tierra del Fuego that the sainted Graciela (she who rescued me after my accident) has opened a Bar and reopened the Hotel Argentino. Travelers passing thru Rio Grande please stop by with messages from me of adoration. Graciela will show you my wheelchair...

LETTER OF LOVE

DUCHESS VIEW FARM: APRIL 8
There is a difference between a love letter and a letter of love. A love letter is written to a lover. This diary is a letter of love - and of gratitude to those who made my journey possible, those who picked me up and nursed and mended me when I was broken, sent me on my way with courage restored. It is dedicated firstly to Graciela Abat Agostinelli - and to her ex-future novio, to Pepe Gonzalez the one legged orthopedic surgeon, to all the residents at the Hotel Argentino, the oil workers of Rio Grande, my cousins in Buenos Aires - yes, the people of Argentina, a people who proudly portray themselves as tough and macho yet are such softies. They are immensely kind, immensely generous and immensely thoughtful. Oh that they were subject to less vile politicians.
My treasured friends, I have waited to write to you until the journey was done. It is your journey. Had I failed, I would have betrayed you.

WOW!

RIO GRANDE: TUESDAY, AUGUST 28
My appologies to my readers: I am slightly inebriated. Pepe came by. He made me walk on the bad ankle, stand one footed on it, declared the break mended. He will change the cast, have new xrays, enforce high intensity rehab and have me out of here on 8th September.
How do I feel?
Immensely grateful.
Immensely relieved.
I have been scared of coming out of this as an invalid and a drag on my beloved wife.
Right, that's enough truth.
Anyone for tango?

EX-FUTURE NOVIO

RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 9
Graciela’s ex-future novio, Fernando, has been out to the frontier in his 4X4 pickup to collect the bike – the road was ice free. The back end of the bike is a mess. Xavier advises trucking the bike to the Honda Agency in Buenos Aires. The future is taking shape. I can take the bus to Puerto Natales in Chile and the ferry north to Rio Montt and bus north to Santiago. From Santiago I get the bus across northern Argentine, visit Paraguay, then bus south to collect the bike in BA and continue up through Uruguay into Brazil. Meanwhile Pepe has brought crutches. I am not good on crutches. My balance is uncertain. Maybe the painkillers are to blame. Hopefully I will improve.

JAMES ROBERTSON-JUSTICE

RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 9
Graciela has many friends. She has summoned an orthopaedic surgeon friend to offer a second opinion on the ankle. In his early sixties, Pepe is a one-legged mini version of James Robertson-Justice. He divides his life between a medical practice in Buenos Aires and a 17000 hectare estancia in Tierra del Fuego. In Buenos Aires he rides a 1970s Triumph 750. The leg was victim of a bike crash.
Pepe examines the x-rays. He is against pinning. The operation will delay recovery. Four weeks in plaster with no weight on the foot, a further month taking things carefully…

NIGHTYMARES AND FEMALE LOGIC

RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 9
I was smashed awake three times in the night as the bike slid from under me and my shoulder hit the ice. To get to the bathroom, I use a chair as a walker. Graciela points out that I am in her room so that she can help me to the bathroom. I hate waking her. She says my pushing a chair across the floor is a more stressful awakening than being asked quietly for help. Many thousand years of human history have witnessed men resisting such female logic. Graciela says I snore.

WHITE SANDS - ARENA BLANCA

RIO GRANDE: MONDAY, AUGUST 7
Argentine TV is lamentable. People read. A steady stream of customers enters the book shop up the street from the Hotel Argentino. In England, few bookstores outside major cities would equal the choice in books. I order a Spanish translation of White Sands published in Buenos Aires. The book is a farewell gift to Graciela. The owners of the store ask me to sign one of the central pillars. Any visiting author would be flattered with the same courtesy. Later I meet with the lawyer. We talk of the judical system. He says, Integrity and independence of the judicial system are the foundations of society. Here there is neither.

TOO FEW WOMEN IN RIO GRANDE

RIO GRANDE: SATURDAY, AUGUST 4
Few people in the US have roots or local loyalties. People emmigrate from East to West and back in search of promotion. Make more money, and they move house from a $100,000 salary neghbourhood to a $150,000 neighbourhood, from $150,000 to $200,000. Move, move, move...A society of gypsies.
Tierra del Fuego is somewhat similar. The island is populated by incomers. Most are men. Women take their pick. Three sit at the bar. One believes herself too tall. She watches another young woman. This second woman is dressed in some sort of fashion work suit in pale beige. She plays the coquette, displaying her shape, pursing her lips for a kiss from a tall, handsome novio. Yet there is a hollow core to her confidence. She wields her beauty, yet knows that she is not beautiful, merely moderately pleasing - condemned outside Tierra del Fuego to play a different roll. Perhaps a wallflower...
The tall young woman is envious, yet sees the hollowness.

NIGHTLIFE IN RIO GRANDE

RIO GRANDE: SATURDAY, AUGUST 4
We are four in the pub on Saturday night, three men and Graciela of the Hotel Argentino. Pub? So the sign says. The oblong space is in a new building. Rental as a hardware store or shoe shop would seem more likely. Pub it is.
We sit at a corner table beneath a photograph of Rio Grande in the thirties. For Rio Grande, Thirties is antique - as it would be for much of the US. Other similarities come to mind. Political Parties represent loyalties rather than philosophy. Xavier, a driller for nearly thirty years, sites control as the only political aim. The leader of his union has exercised control for twenty years. He owns a yacht, various houses and property.
Two nondescript young men sit at the bar. They attempt jokes with the waitress and are ignored. How many times will they visit the pub? Will they eventually recognise that they will never belong, never be insiders.
Graciela, Xavier and Pedro are insiders.
The pub owner kisses and chats.
Other arrivals pay respects.
Pedro takes the car and fetches some king of cable for the music system.
Yes, we definitely belong.
The tab of under US$20 covers a bottle of wine, beers, tea for Graciela and coffee.

DEFEAT

RIO GRANDE, SATURDAY, AUGUST 4
I have been defeated here in Rio Grande. Puchero was the victor. Puchero is a stew. It is served in two deep bowls. One bowl contains the meat: half a chicken less the limbs, a huge chunk of beef, a large section of oxtail, chorizo. The meat swims in a broth and is surrounded by three types of dried beans, small, medium and butter. The other bowl contains the vegetables, also in a broth: more beans, cabbage, onion, pumpkin, carrot, potato. This is a single serving. Immagine these two huge bowls of food set before you. Even the fiercest appetite quakes.
Let me recomend a small cafe in Rio Grande frequented by oil workers on their week off: San Martin 86. The owner is Chilean. His Puchero, though grotesque in quantity, is delicious. Add two beers and the bill came to US$7.

UNLOADING

RIO GRANDE: FRIDAY, AUGUST 3
The truck from Ushuaia arrives at midday with my bike. The driver and I unload while Graciela takes photographs. Imagine manhandling a Harley Davidson. We’d need a crane.

HOTEL ARGENTINO

RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 3
Graciela, owner of the Hotel Argentino, underwent surgery three weeks ago at the Italian hospital in Buenos Aires. She is a small, dark, vivacious woman, eternally optimistic (think Ibiza in the 60s). She greets me with voluble affection. We sit in the kitchen, drink coffee and exchange views.
Views in Argentina don’t vary much: Politicians are a bunch of thieving liars.
Her hotel is a popular base with workers from the oil fields who work two weeks on and one week off. Late evening and there is a crowd in the kitchen. They all have tales. An electrician relates having to pay half his earnings back to the contractor. Wine circulates, bread, mozzarella. Her operation has put Graciela on a strict diet. I eat alone at the corner restaurant, a vast steak, salad and beer for £4. Idiot, I leave my jacket on the back of the chair. I return for it later. The lights are off. A bunch of kids are drinking beer and already midway drunk.
English? To whom to the Malvinas belong? Argentina, right?
I answer, To those who live there.
No, no. The Malvinas are Argentine.I say, Argentina has something more valuable than the islands. You have the best footballers in the World.
Confrontation evaporates.

CONVENIENT FOR TRAVELLERS

USHUAIA: THURSDAY, AUGUST 2
This is a special for travellers leaving Ushuaia. Transportes Montiel run minibusses to Rio Grande. The bus picks passengers up at their hotel and delivers them to where they wish to go in Rio Grande or vicar versa. Busses run every two hours through the day. The fare is 40 pesos (£8) – 10 pesos more than the standard bus and far more convenient.
Address in Ushuaia: Deloqui 110. Telephone: (02901) 421366.
Address in Rio Grande: 25 de Mayo 712. Telephone: (02964) 420997.
Yesterday I bought a waterproof thermal work-suit at a store for non-tourists: £12. My bags are already full so I wear the suit on the bus – also my boots. I sit up front beside the driver. The distance to Rio Grande is 200 kilometres. We hit packed snow and patches of ice for some ten kilometres as we cross the mountains behind Ushuaia. Perhaps another twenty kilometres has clear strips between strips of snow. The remainder is clear. The driver is sure I can ride safely from Rio Grande to the frontier.

TEENAGER COMMUNICATION

USHUAIA: WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1
I call a friend in Rio Grande, Graciela, owner of the Hotel Argentino. Graciela has been in Buenos Aires. I left my number at the Gran Hotel Espana with the kid she had left in charge at Rio Grande. Graciela didn’t call. I learn now that she had flown to BA for emergency surgery. Dumb kid should have told me! Kids don’t tell. A message left at my home is as likely to get through as a message in a bottle dropped in the Sargasso sea.
I have a bus ticket to Rio Grande tomorrow.
A truck will be dropping the bike at the Hotel Argentino in early evening. Total cost: 140 pesos or £22.

SOUND ADVICE

USHUAIA: TUESDAY: JULY 31
Two young women and a young man staff a shop specialising in up-market ski clothes. One of the women is from Bogota, Colombia. She is in Ushuaia with her novio. They are working their way round the world. The rate of pay here and the falling Argentine peso suggest that they will be in their mid-fifties before they get home. I tell the Colombian that Popayan is probably my favourite city in Hispanic America. Her novio comes from Popayan. We have established a link
The other two sales staff are from the north of Argentina. Most workers in Ushuaia come from the north. The Argentine woman offers me maté. Argentines drink maté instead of tea. What is it? An infusion of green sludge sipped through a tin straw from a tin cup. Sipping maté without grimacing is an art.
We discuss rates of pay and unemployment up north and the general corruption. The man says that most native Ushuaians have jobs in local Government. The owner of the store works in Government.
I tell the trio of Pablo’s 2000 pesos. The young man advises me to put the bike on a truck to Rio Grande. People in Rio Grande are different to Ushuaians. They aren’t so greedy.