The ride over the Andes was highly recommended as a sight to
see. The Andes are quite an impressive mountain range but because this region
is so arid, there’s no growth on them. They are literally just giant rocks
covered in sand and dirt. No trees, shrubs, rivers or snow (it was summer…). Having
seen the lush Andes region of Peru, I was a little bit disappointed.
Then came the border crossing. After a 45 minute wait for a
couple of stamps, a half hour wait for a bag scan, we were finally able to get
back on the bus. As we all started filtering back on, someone started calling a
name out. I was sitting on the top deck at the very back, and the man had a
very thick Spanish accent. I couldn’t really make it out. A few more minutes
passed and a loud bang startled me. On the ground outside my window, the bus driver
was pointing at me and signaling for me to come out. They then asked for my
passport. Not knowing what was going on, I was getting really nervous. Here I
was at the top of the Andes, miles from anything, thinking, “Am I going to be
let into the country?” They took me back to the counter and showed the border
guard my stamp, said something in Spanish and motioned for me to get back on
the bus. I have no idea what happened, but there were about 5 minutes I thought
for sure I wasn’t getting in. It’s not a pleasant feeling.
After that whole fiasco, the ride became much more
enjoyable. The Chilean side was far more interesting. Just as the bus leaves
the border patrol, it begins its descent. The road had thirty-six turns in
total, all numbered, all visible from your window. The bus just kept going back
and forth down this mountain. It’s kind of scary in the summer…I can’t imagine
how terrifying it would be in winter. As we continued our descent, the mountain
peaks mere feet from the bus would occasionally open up and a snow-capped
mountain would appear off in the distance. Then the road followed a river much
of the rest of the way down and vegetation began to appear along the base of
the mountains.
Looking back, it makes perfect sense. Most of the rain comes
off the Pacific and drops onto Chile, but stops once it hits the Andes, leaving
Mendoza nice and dry.
We hit another snag as we were pulling into the terminal. We
sat for two hours on the road, trapped amongst a sea of buses trying to get to
the station. My planned six-hour bus ride had turned into ten. By the time I
got to my hostel, it was already midnight.
The next day, my last one in South America, was spent on a
walking tour. It was simply a way to pass the time. But, I was pleasantly
surprised by what the city had to offer. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more
interesting that I’d heard and had come to expect. My flight wasn’t until
1130pm, so when the tour was done, I grabbed a couple of beers with some of the
other people on the tour. After a few hours of chatting with them, I said my
goodbyes, popped my headphones in and walked back to the hostel as the sun
dipped below the buildings. Just before the end of the day I was in the air and
on my way to a new continent.
I was really excited to be moving on. While two months isn’t
nearly enough time to see everything, and there’s plenty more I would like to
see, I’d seen and done a lot and was ready for a different culture.
Actually I was just really glad to be going to a country
where they spoke English.
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