SOUTH AMERICA
DRAFT
PROLOG
((((( WRITING THIS ARTICLE)))))) (Editor's note: Some of this article lost in downloading)
will promote the healing process. We were to fly to Santiago, Chile on 21/2/96 (tomorrow) to rendezvous with the bikes arrival by boat on the 24/2/96. The bike transport involved two voyages the first Melbourne to Los Angeles, overland to Miami (train) then the second Miami to Santiago (Actually Valparaiso is the major port, Santiago is 80 km inland) This second voyage was to begin on 24th January and take 30 days to reach destination. Around the 27th January I contacted the freight company and asked for confirmation that the bike had left Miami on schedule. The particular person I was dealing with at the freight company's office in Melbourne has certain problems. These include unreliability when responding to calls, failure to follow up his promises and, I eventually discovered, gross incompetence. Who was I to question the workings of the International Freight Gaol---? I accepted what I was told: such advice included assurances that everything was OK i.e. The bike had left Miami and was on schedule. Except they couldn't tell me the name of the ship. Excuses ranged from It's after 5.30 pm in Miami now so we can't ring and They just forget to put that information on the fax we got. Time was getting away so after 3 weeks of this equivocation (1 week before we fly to meet the bike!) I finally spit the dummy, told them what I thought of their service (Not reprintable here) and demanded that I be given the name of the ship by 10.00 am next day. By now I was suspicious that they had lost track of the cargo.
Next morning the begrudging confession at last emerged - the crated Swinehunt is still sitting on the dock in Miami! Four years of careful planning was about to fall apart. My mood quickly swung from disgruntled to vindictive. Dismissing the Turkey I was dealing with I was switched to the Managers office. Since then I have been promised that the bike will now arrive 7/3/96. Not surprisingly I was taking this with a pinch of salt. We may one day find a cure for Aids but incompetence seems incurable.
DIARIO SUDAMERICANO
18/2/96 - BUENOS AIRES
On South American soil at last! Not that I'm ready to give a considered overview of the situation yet. The effects of jet-lag and hangover from the Flight from Hell prevent negative assessment. Three hours Melbourne to Auckland on Air New Zealand, an hours wait in transit then eleven hours to Buenos Aires. There are, no doubt, worse flights. Twelve years ago I spent 20 hours Perth to London but the passage of time fades recollection. Is it possible for motorcyclists to comfortably tolerate the asphyxiating confinement of Cattle Classî 747 style? This seems unlikely given part of the attraction of mounting a motorbicycleta is to escape such misery.
This is a BIG city. Over 10 million punters need some room. The bus from the airport freewayed past low density light industrial scenery until, through the drivers windscreen a crop of tall buildings appeared. This, I initially thought to be the CBD but minutes later closer scrutiny revealed a forrest of high rise flats. These are very similar to the State Housing Commission blocks of Melbourne but larger and much closer together. This style of multi storey egg crates enjoyed a brief period of popularity with Melbourne Town Planners in the late 60s. Stories of fear and loathing in the communal foyers, furniture and occasionally tenants themselves(!) plummeting from top storey windows may have influenced the drift back to low rise locally. If similar such problems haven't the localities in Buenos Aires it hasn't prevented their continued construction. There are literally square miles of them, stretching to the horizon.
20/2/96 - BUENOS AIRES
Getting more of a grip though the jet-lag persists. Spending a whole night awake is a new experience - At least being sober the whole time is!. Perhaps this temperance was actually the problem? My body can only take so much change! We have seen a bit more of the city now. The better residential parts have a slight Parisian air about them. 3 to 5 stories with ironwork balconies; often crowded with pot plants. There would appear to have been a reasonable amount of thought and effort gone into town planning, more like an Australian City than the utter chaos of Singapore or Bangkok. Also less beggars in the streets than Bangkok or (I am told) cities of the USA where homelessness is now surprisingly common. The B.A. population looks very European not surprisingly because it is! The Spanish colonists and those immigrants following applied the same rules as in Tasmania i.e. If your indigenous you are dead - BANG! More of a surprise is the general lack of obesity, and also the beauty of the Argo women. The latter dress provocatively but not tackily, highlighting their deep tans, fine Romanesque curves and contrasting white dental work. Thus they exude a confident feminine sexuality that would be lost on the op-shop Fitzroy set. The climate is conducive to the low cut and high hem, being around 30 degrees with moderately high humidity and warm nights. Despite this there is not a mosquito, fly or cockroach to be found. Perhaps the air pollution from the omnipresent traffic is too lethal!
Yesterday my scepticism was defeated. Not totally mind you but rather on the topic of global networking it suffered a serious blow. Mary Ann put her communist wealth key-card in an ATM downtown, hit the 4 digit PIN and to my astonishment was greeted by the electronic financial warrior like an old friend. She chose to transact in English, withdrew $ARG 300 (= $US 300) and was given a statement showing the balance of her Melbourne savings account converted to local currency!
Some things however don't work, no matter it seems, how thoroughly you might plan them. It's best I get this off my chest and onto paper. Perhaps this ahere.
21/2/96 - BUENOS AIRES
Today we got out amongst the punters from the suburbs by taking a train from the central Retro station to Tigre at the mouth of the Rio Uruguay. The trip takes 50 minutes. Just a few moments after the carriage lurched forward a gentleman with a large sports bag who had been lurking near the doorway took up position, centre aisle. Withdrawing a book from the bag with a flourish he launched, in full voice, into a lengthy sermon on its valuable features (A guide to B.A.). He spoke at a rate that allowed us to only comprehend half his words but such was his theatricality, gesticulation, body language and delivery that we were transfixed. After a few minutes, his climax reached, we were in finality offered this prise possession for the meagre sum of US $5. Several sales were then concluded before he packed up and moved onto the next carriage.
No sooner had he disappeared out the door when another sports bag salesman entered and took up position. This time it was pencil and crayon sets (Almost bought one for the Desmoto Editor). Following him chocolate bars, a miracle cleaning paste - complete with Graphic demonstration involving sauce, ink and his own shirt sleeve. By now the novelty was wearing off and my concentration began to lapse, though momentarily retrieved by the miniature sewing machine that converted to egg beater! I was half expecting the next attraction to be Long Black Rubbery and Vibrating.
It seems Buenos Aires must tolerate these salesmen constantly but do so in apparent good humour if somewhat disinterestedly.
Lunch at the Tigre Delta took an unexpected turn when Mary Ann ordered something unfamiliar on the menu and was unguarded with a blood sausage. Being a country girl she had no problem putting it away. This sort of occurrence is likely to be repeated many times in the next 5 months because many terms used in menus are not in the Spanish Dictionary, neither are they common with those featured at Spanish Restaurants. Not a Paella to be found anyway.
On return to Retro Station I whipped out the camera to capture some of the Architecture and atmosphere. An enormous triangulated metal 180 degree arch vaults dozens of platforms below and there is also some interesting stonework. Shafts of shimmering light thrust down illuminating pools of scuttling commuters. Things that eccentric, crusty, old railway buffs would understand I'm sure - aging does strange things to the brain.
Raising the camera to my eye brought shouts and hand movements from ticket officials at nearby booths. They seemed to be pointing toward the far corner of the building. They must be indicating the spot from which to capture the best angle, I thought, How helpful. Withdrawing to the far corner, I squinted through the viewfinder again, to be greeted by further, more urgent waving and pointing. Perhaps this isn't allowed I reconsidered, so approached a nearby strolling Policeman. Posing the obvious question brought the grunted reply that he wasn't bothered if I took a photograph. Eventually to heed the railway personal he gestured toward an official looking doorway immediately behind our backs. I was ushered through to an office where I questioned a youngish woman behind a counter about photography. She took on a worried frown, asked me to wait, then briefly entered another office. Moments later she returned and still looking concerned, ushered me out of the office to observe what I wanted to photograph. Finally she nervously gave the go ahead and I took my photo. When developed it was so under-exposed that little was recognisable through the blackness!
This shows that the communists don't have a mortgage on security paranoia. Fragile Pseudo - Democracies propped up by military fascists can be just as bad!
23/2/96 - Transit Buenos Aires Santiago, Chile
The two hour flight is an opportune time to reflect on impressions of Buenos Aires. Ultimately I'm not that impressed but this is a little unfair for several reasons Viz - We were only there a few days and going from one large City (Melbourne) to another huge one (B.A.) both of which are Western/European influenced doesn't give that Getting away from it all/cultural change that excites travellers of the non-Club Med variety. B.A. is like Melbourne in that it is not immediately physically beautiful in the way that, for example, Sydney and it's Harbour is on first sight. It may also be that like Melbourne, the rewards come from scratching below the surface to get a feel for the endemic cultural feel and attitude. This takes time of course - something that was limited for us.
The Argentine capital seems to be a Italian motorcycle wasteland. I spotted a sum total of zero. There is a lack of anything large capacity. The fastest noted was a ZZR600 but most cycles in the CBD area are smallish commuters. These range from Jawa 350 two stroke twins down to small bore singles of unfamiliar origin. By the way the millions of cabs drive around swerving across lanes, not indicating and outbluffing each other at the many small uncontrolled intersections, motorcyclists could be an endangered species. Simply being a pedestrian is nerve wrecking enough.
The Taxistasî drive diesel Peugeot 504ís and Renault Virages with a smattering of what looks like an XP Falcon (badges say same) with late model Cortina square grill and lights - BIZARRE!
Look at that! Out the window of the Arolineas 727 the Andes appear. Thrusting through above the cloud covering the pampas. In an astonishing demonstration of the brutal geological force that brought them to life. It is high summer at a similar latitude to Sydney but such is the height and altitude that the peaks are snow covered and the higher valleys filled by glaciers. It takes several minutes at 500 km/h to cross their width. The regions not covered by snow appear barren and devoid of vegetation. Occasionally deep in a valley a winding dusty road can be seen - causing a flush of excitement. Soon it will be us riding on such roads looking up at the planes above.