There are certain places Volkswagen buses shouldn’t be.  Today we discovered two of them.  First, a little background on the day.  There are two official border crossings in Tierra del Fuego where cars and people can cross from Chile to Argentina and vice versa.  The primary, more heavily traveled crossing is on the north end of the island near a small town called San Sebastian.  This is the well-developed crossing where almost all the traffic driving north/south on Ruta 3, the main highway connecting the east coast of Argentina with Tierra del Fuego, crosses.  Even if you arrive in Tierra del Fuego on the ferry at Porvenir, most people continue driving east to cross the border into Argentina at San Sebastian.

The other border, “Paso Bella Vista” exists approximately 100 km further south of San Sebastian, on a network of dirt roads that culminate in a plunge through a river of varying depths.  The plunge occurs because although all the roads are built at the border, and there are customs buildings on both sides, Argentina hasn’t built a bridge to cross the river yet.  It actually makes sense that no bridge is yet built, as this crossing receives very little traffic.  Also, if you live and own a car in this part of Tierra del Fuego, chances are it’s a ranching vehicle with 4 x 4 traction.

Mango isn’t exactly a 4 x4 monster truck, but she’s gotten us through a lot of bad roads in the past.  For the most part, even the dirt roads in Argentina and Chile are considerably better than the really bad roads in countries like Bolivia or Peru.  We originally planned to be near this border when we visited Lago Blanco, and thought we’d give the crossing a try if conditions were favorable.  We brought along enough gas to make it north to the regular San Sebastian border crossing if necessary, but things were looking favorable on our day to cross so we went for it.

At Lago Blanco, we talked with a fisherman who drove across the border that morning with his 4 x 4 car, similar to a Subaru wagon.  He indicated that the river was only about 30 feet across, and as deep as his knees.  We knew there had been no rain the previous 4 days, so the river was probably not going to get any deeper.  We drove to the police outpost near the turnoff for the border, and the policeman indicated that we’d have no problem crossing.  15 km of dirt road later, we arrived at the Chilean border outpost.  The border officials stated that only 1 vehicle passed that day from the other direction.  They were bored, but also wanted to help us out, so they jumped in their Isuzu Trooper 4 x 4 and led us out to the river crossing a mile down the road.  There, they drove across the river to show us the best place to cross and also so we could see how far the river came up on their vehicle.  They then waited on the other side to bring us back for passport stamps if we successfully made it across.

We had a decision to make, I definitely didn’t want to damage Mango by getting her stuck in a river or shorting out her battery or electrics.  But at the same time, I didn’t want to drive half a day and a few hundred kilometers out of the way to get across the border.   The river indeed appeared about knee deep, seemed to have a bottom of relatively hard but smooth river rocks, was only about 30 feet across, and the border guys said they could give us a tow if we got stuck.  In the end, we made a calculated decision to cross the river.  I backed up, got a little momentum, threw Mango into second gear, and plowed across the river.  7 seconds of terror later, we had saved ourselves 200 kilometers of driving on bumpy dirt roads.  I had a smile as big as Tierra del Fuego.

The border guys drove us back across the river to get our passport stamps and turn in our vehicle registration paper.  One of the guys in the car kept practicing his English and stating that he was James Bond.  He wasn’t in uniform and I’m not sure if he was actually a border officer or just a friend that wanted to ride along for lack of nothing better to do.  We outprocessed Mango, drove back across the river in the customs vehicle, said goodbye to our helpful friends, and then repeated the paperwork process on the Argentina side with their customs officials.  When it came time to get Mango’s entry paper stamped, we had to wait about 10 minutes while the customs officer found his supervisor.  Apparently, as we discovered, there isn’t a lot going on at this border crossing.

With our successful river crossing out of the way, I felt like I could drive Mango to the moon.  We didn’t quite make it.  Darkness was setting in, so we decided to find a camping spot for the night.  About 10 km down the road, we noticed a side road that culminated a few hundred meters later, up a small hill in a peaceful grove of trees.  On the edge of the trees was a level parking spot and a small religious shrine.  It looked like the perfect place to spend the night. We drove a little ways down the road, but then stopped when we noticed an ominous mud puddle. We got out and walked around the mud puddle.  We also checked a little ways after to see if we could make it beyond the puddle. 

Ana stated that she thought we’d get stuck if we tried, but I thought it didn’t look much worse than anything Mango had previously driven through without difficulty.  We’d only been stuck in mud or sand 2 or 3 times on this trip, and those times we were able to free ourselves relatively quickly.   And besides, hadn’t Mango just driven through a river!  This car could do anything!  Against Ana’s better instincts, we jumped back in Mango, backed up a bit, got a little momentum, and off we went.   Less than 7 seconds later, we were stuck.  The mud was stickier than I thought, the hole deeper that I thought, and the corner killed all our momentum.  After trying in the darkness for a half hour to unstick Mango, we opted to sleep and address our problem in the morning.

The next day, I treated my wife to a cardiovascular 5 hour workout in the 42 degree rain.  The workout consisted of jacking Mango, digging out the tires, collecting rocks (Ana), packing them under the tires, and building a runway over the remaining mushy ground (Ana, aka “Mrs. Gulag”) to get Mango somewhere with better traction.  We used all three boards we carry on top of the car.  We even put the tire chains on we’d carried the last 40,000km.  Laying in bed at an awkward angle all night luckily helps you remember why you packed them in the first place.  I thought I tested the chains before we left on the trip, but after putting them on we noticed there was considerable slack.  Nothing a hack-saw and 45 minutes of sawing through chain links in the freezing rain and mud won’t fix!  The shortened chains were good as new, and by mid-afternoon we had de-stuck Mango in a final sputtering blaze of mud and glory.  Mango survived without any damage, and we were back on the road and headed to Rio Grande.

After another hour of dirt roads, we pulled onto the pavement that would take us the remaining 200 kilometers to Ushuaia.  No more dirt roads! (at least until we head back north).  In Rio Grande, we parked Mango downtown at the comfortable Hostal Argentino.  They have electricity, wi-fi, a kitchen, warm showers, and a comfortable common room.  We had everything we needed to cook some “delicious” spaghetti or other common road food.  Ana, however, announced that I needed to take her out for a steak dinner tonight.  This time, I listened.