Which is how we found ourselves on a clear, cold, spring day looking out onto fresh snow-capped mountains on the windy road up to the border. Uncharacteristically, it had rained in Santiago the previous night and we worried that the border would be closed. In typical Latino style, information on both the Chilean and Argentine border websites was not forthcoming, so after a fruitless hour of searching, we just said what the hell and went.
It took three hours to reach the border, climbing higher and higher and passing very few other vehicles along the way. Well, it was a Sunday morning; everyone must have been in bed or at church. The roads were clear as a bell, if anything the rain had left everything clean and crisp.
Finally, we arrived at the Argentine border — a giant hangar with a few laneways and lots of relaxed-looking officials, bundled up in coats. It was pretty quiet with only a couple of other cars and a tourist bus. I hopped out to stretch my legs and immediately... (Read More)
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