Heading High into the Andes
After getting ourselves back on track in San Juan that day, we decided to head for a nice river spot to tick off the one remaining thing we wanted to do: have a shower. There was a lovely location just north of town, and we’d easily get there with a few hours of daylight to spare. As we left the main road to turn off towards the river, we noticed how waterlogged the verges were. While we’d avoided the rain the previous day, it seemed it had hit hard here.
We approached the track to the river. The car in front of us took the same left turning, drove about 50 metres, and promptly got stuck in the mud. We decided to try the alternative spot instead. This second route looked better, but as soon as our wheels hit the track, it became clear it wasn’t. The surface had looked solid, but our tyres immediately turned up deep, muddy ruts. An amused local watched the proceedings.
We stopped before committing to the downhill slope to check the track further ahead. I got out and almost fell flat on my face immediately. Walking another 20 metres down, things only got worse—I could barely stand. I skated around on top of a sticky clay mud that clung to my boots, making it nearly impossible to walk back up the hill. Eventually clomping my way back to Ruby with feet twice the size, I told Lee it was a complete no-go.
We needed to turn around, as we didn’t think we’d be able to reverse back out. The second we tried, though, we got stuck. I took off my shoes and jumped into the driver's seat as the lighter person — my enormous, mud-clad walking boots were no good for balancing a clutch pedal anyway. Lee got the recovery boards down. After a good half an hour of trying to execute a three-point turn in about six inches of mud, we finally emerged, slithering out the last few metres sideways. The amused local was still watching, though he did kindly let Lee wash his filthy hands. We tied our caked boards to the back of the van and set off for another spot.
We ended up at a paid campsite on the Agua Negra river. We negotiated a fairly good price and were assured there were hot showers. Being close to the river was also useful, as we needed to wash off our recovery boards—quite a lengthy job when they're caked in glue-like mud. The campsite reminded me of Mexico: concrete tables were interspersed among palm trees with a bare earth floor surrounding us. Everything was falling down slightly and desperately in need of maintenance, but the setting was beautiful.
We spent a quiet night there as the only guests on site. In the morning, after wandering around and asking a few people, we managed to get someone to unlock a room for us to use the showers. The water wasn’t exactly piping hot, but it was good enough.
Feeling we’d got our money’s worth, we continued onwards. Having moved on every single day, we decided we needed a proper break. Knocking a few more hours off the drive north, we headed for a reservoir near the small village of Villa Unión. Lee needed to edit videos, I needed to write blog posts, and an enormous pile of laundry was spilling out from under the bench seat. A few days by a water source was just what we needed.
In the end, we stayed for three nights.
By the time we were ready to leave, we had got on top of our admin jobs and tackled the washing. It was just as well we’d rested, because once again, we had a long drive to the next spot. luckily, it was a scenic one.
We headed for Fiambalá, located in the middle of nowhere and edging ever closer to the Chilean border. Our spot for the night would be inside Cañón del Indio, a short distance outside town. We took a small dirt road down into the canyon, with several pull-offs available along the way.
The following morning, we decided to hike down the canyon. It’s not a particularly long walk to reach the narrowest and most interesting section. Since we hadn’t driven all the way to the end of the road, we walked the remaining distance before entering the canyon and hiking along it for a kilometre or so.
The narrowest part is only a short section, but it’s impressive: walls rise up to 20 metres above you, while at certain points you can nearly touch both sides with outstretched arms.
Once we climbed up and out into the dry riverbed, we kept going. We hoped for a viewpoint, but the river wound endlessly onwards. Around every bend, we thought we might see something, but after around four kilometres, we realised it was just going to continue in the same pattern.
As it turned out, the best view was actually when we turned back around. Snow-capped mountains dominated the backdrop—a stark contrast between the aquamarine sky and the vermilion red of the surrounding rocks. The sheer scale of it all made us feel tiny.
After plodding back to the van (we were still not used to the altitude at all), we debated what to do that evening. We had wanted to visit the hot springs, but Aimee had vanished somewhere. After doing a little reading while we waited, we realised there was another snag: there’s a checkpoint around 2.5km before the thermal pools where pets are strictly prohibited. Furthermore, you must pre-buy your tickets in town. There were three time slots available and we fancied the night session—sitting in hot pools while stargazing is always a great experience. What we didn’t fancy was spending £25 on tickets only to arrive and be told we’d have to walk there and back in the dark because of the cats. In the end, Aimee decided for us by returning rather late. There would be plenty of other hot springs, we reasoned.
After spending one more night in the silence of the canyon, we left the following morning, stocking up at the last big supermarket for a while on our way out. From here, another long drive brought us to Belén, the last place to buy reasonably priced fuel. We arrived after several hours and pulled over onto the garage forecourt to execute our fuel manoeuvre.
The previous day, we’d bought 20 litres of water in three large bottles. We emptied these into our main water tank and then refilled the plastic bottles with petrol directly from our van's tank. Coupled with the jerry cans on the roof, we would leave Belén with 95 litres of fuel. It wasn’t enough to get us all the way to San Antonio de los Cobres – the next proper station – but it would cut down on the amount of expensive fuel we'd need to buy out in the remote villages where it cost around double the price.
As we headed out of town, it didn’t take us long to realise we’d made a mistake: Belén was also the last place we would be able to withdraw cash, and with the upcoming rural fuel stations accepting cash only, we couldn’t head into the mountains with the tiny amount we had left. Changing our plans last-minute, we headed to a campground nearby. It would only be a 15-minute drive back into town in the morning to get cash.
The campground turned out to be a pleasant surprise. It was supposed to be 5,000 pesos a night (£2.50), but as the girl at the gate told me, if no one comes around to charge you, it’s free! We enjoyed another nice hot shower and a quiet night.
In the morning, no one was around, so we set off back to Belén after a free stay. We withdrew cash easily enough and managed to find some cat food before setting off again.
We planned to stop at Termas de Villa Vil that night to make up for the missed opportunity in Fiambalá. This site was pet-friendly and allowed camping on-site. We arrived with plenty of time to enjoy the pools. Funnily enough, the Argentinians we’d met at the petrol station the previous day were already in the water. They invited us to join them under their umbrella, and we spent a pleasant afternoon and evening chatting and enjoying the warm water.
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