The Wreckage of El Desdemona

It seemed to have been weeks since we had actually said we’d do it, but we finally put Ushuaia in our rear-view mirror. After far longer than we had expected spent in the area enjoying the hikes, it was time to begin heading north again. We didn’t want to overstay our welcome in the south and end up stuck in the snow further north as the season slipped away from us. So we headed out towards Tolhuin, spending the night hiding from the wind in the forest on the shores of Lago Fagnano.

The following morning, in the village, we treated ourselves to some fancy-looking cheese and salami to take with us, as well as a stop at the local bakery. I’m not sure why it has specifically become a local attraction. Perhaps because it was a small town and a very big bakery, but many people stopped off here on the way through. Their counter was impressive. We ordered some empanadas and coffees to eat at the table. Really we should have gone for the mate, but we didn’t find the free mate machine until afterwards. We bought some Fernet-flavoured alfajores and a lemon pie to take with us too, trying to restrain ourselves in front of the huge selection of chocolates, pastries and cakes on offer.

Our next stop was already a diversion from the northern route. We headed for the coast and the shipwreck of the Desdémona. A bit of a detour, yes, but there was camping with wind protection beside an abandoned hotel and then, on the other side, the beach and the shipwreck itself.

We spent longer here than we had planned — what a surprise. It was nice to hide out of the wind and the weekend was quiet too. We were joined for a few nights by locals camping in a tent next to us, but they didn’t really bother us with their noise. Despite the fact they didn’t keep me awake, they still remain firmly implanted in my brain for reasons I shall explain in moment. On the second day, we decided to take a small hike up to the leaning lighthouse on the cliffs above.

The footpath was around the back of the headland and so we clambered up the small bank beside where we were parked, entering the abandoned hotel to pick up the road behind it. I have no idea why it was abandoned. Every glass pane was broken, the floors were full of rubble and the doors long gone. The only things that really remained in the way of fixtures were the bathtubs. We crunched through the broken glass, passing a room that shouldn’t have been called a bathroom for some time. Nevertheless, as we inevitably saw through the doorway while passing, there was the mother of the family camped next to us, taking a great big dump in the bathtub. Her face fixed into a little round “o” of horror as she scrabbled for her trousers around her ankles. For a second we stood still frozen in horror. Then we fled outside, through the broken windows on the other side. I’m not sure if she was just desperate or had not prepared properly for the weekend camping trip. Either way, she wasn’t the first person to do it, that’s for sure, and we made a point to never enter the abandoned hotel again.

Back out into the much-needed fresh air, we walked up the access road. Around the back of the headland we turned off onto a small grassy track that headed up to the lighthouse. At the top we were rewarded with views of the wonky lighthouse and the bay stretching out behind it. On the shoreline below was the Desdémona, perched on her rocky tomb. An information board told us that this ship had pulled in here during a storm on the way to Ushuaia and, suffering engine troubles, had remained. At some point it had caught fire too and an insurance scam was suspected. Now she had been here for nearly forty years and was a local tourist attraction in her own right.

Despite the fact that we had spent several nights camping there, we had yet to actually visit the boat. You had to wait for low tide to get out there and so, while we had many photos from a distance, we headed over to get some at the ship itself. We were not alone. A handful of other people were also there visiting. At low tide it’s easy enough to walk all the way around the ship. At the back you can get inside through a blown-out section of the hull. I suppose if you were more adventurous you could climb up the rusty ladders inside and explore the decks too. We settled for hopping across the remaining puddles of seawater, using the twisted skeleton as a bridge. From the inside it made for a pretty cool photo. I hung around hoping the couple outside would move out of the way, giving me the perfect picture. But no — like so many people, they were there for over ten minutes posing and taking photos. I gave up and took my picture, muttering about photoshopping them out later. As we walked back around past the anchor they were in the middle of the classic “I’m pulling the boat” photoshoot involving the anchor.

After a peaceful few days here on the coast, it was time to head off and tackle the border crossing back into Chile. Once we had emerged onto the main road, we were soon in Río Grande. Here we stocked up as much as possible. The imminent crossing prevented us from buying much in the way of fresh groceries, but we did have some as, even though it’s not allowed, once on the other side there were no shops at all. The main thing we stocked up on was fuel. Our next drive would take us across into the Chilean section of Tierra del Fuego and down to the southernmost point there. The bay promised a colony of king penguins and the chance too of seeing beavers. While they are considered a pest here and culled as they are not endemic, I have never seen one and so I was looking forward to the possibility.

It would be around 600km until we had access to a fuel station again and so we filled absolutely everything, as well as some extra water containers to extend our range. Regardless of the lengthy drive, it makes sense to stock up in Argentina as the price of fuel is less than half that in Chile. In Argentina too, the government subsidises the price of fuel in the south, making it significantly cheaper than in the north. In Chile they do not and so, as you would expect, the fuel is even more expensive than the rest of the country given that it is in the most remote and distant place. With everything ready to go, we stayed on the small wasteland behind the petrol station. Thankfully, it was a quiet wind-free night unlike when we had passed through a couple of months ago.

In the morning, we headed out on the small dirt road that leads towards the border. We had two options: retrace our steps down the main road to the main border crossing we had used to enter, or cross further south at the tiny border of Bella Vista. As we were heading south on the other side, it made more sense to do this and so we left the tarmac behind and headed out into the nothingness of the pampa. We drove until just before the border where we pulled over to spend the night. We always prefer to tackle borders a bit earlier in the day. As we had already driven several hours, we started refilling our tank from the water containers so that we could dispose of them at the border, no doubt the last place with rubbish bins.

The next day, we pulled up at the border. Another car ahead of us had what looked like half the van spread out on the floor. “Uh-oh,” I thought. We breezed through immigration for both us and the car. Then it was time to deal with SENASA. Firstly, she went through the pet documents. These were thoroughly checked — unusual — and she spent a long time making sure she had seen the original copy as well as the photocopies. Eventually, these were declared acceptable and we moved on to the vehicle search.

Most government officials open the door, take one look at the mess, accept my sacrificial potato and leave us alone. This was not the case. We unloaded everything from the floor space. My sacrificial carrot proved little distraction. She went straight for the fridge where she found half a dead cabbage. I had moved a few things around in preparation for this. Then she went through the “larder” cupboard. This had never happened before. Everything came out. She took away our lentils, beans and popcorn. As I handed her a new container, I surreptitiously shoved some wayward sunflower seeds back into the cupboard from where they now threatened to fall into view. Those weren’t allowed either but we managed to keep them out of sight. Then she wanted to get into the back. We told her of course she could, but we’d have to take all the bikes down to open the rear door. I invited her to crawl over the rear boxes if she wished.

She fixed me with a stern look.

“Is there any more food back there?” she asked.

“No… no… just clothes!” I lifted the corner of a box to reveal some pants.

She held my gaze for a moment, then clapped her hands and made to stand up before realising that you can’t really do that inside Ruby.

“OK then. We’re done.”

While I like to think I kept my poker face, internally I relaxed. The vegetables under the towels in the back would live to become tonight’s supper. It was the most severe search we had ever had and, ironically, it was at the most isolated border. I don’t enjoy flouting the law — in fact it makes me pretty stressed — but here there is absolutely no opportunity to restock on the other side and, as we planned to spend about a week down in the south, we needed to have some food on us.

With immigration finally complete, we drove on and once again left any trace of civilisation behind us as we turned off the main road and headed south once again.