from 28.02.: San Fernando / Province of Buenos Aires

28.02.:

today I have 400 km ahead of me. This is the last (!) long stage. Then about 50 km to San Telmo, Buenos Aires and about 200 km from Colonial del Sacramento, Uruguay to Montevideo.

The RN 14 is almost mine.

After a short stop, the surprise comes.

At first, I think that a heavy motorcycle is in my blind spot and is about to overtake me, but then I realize that the noise comes from the Vespa.
It sounds like she's driving without a muffler. I don't have to stop and convince myself, I'm not interested in what and where - I can't change anything here on the highway anyway. So I keep driving. But I can't stand the deafening noise for long. Another 300 km with that? Besides, the fuel gauge is going crazy. Does it have anything to do with it? It can't, but doubts remains.

On the way there is a police check again. This time it's my turn, I think, but they let me pass with a friendly grin. The posts are interested in the bigger fish. Most trucks have to go to the shoulder.

Later there is a gas station. The Vespa receives undivided attention when I ask if there is a mechanic here. The three gas attendants are deep in conversation, but then they point to the other side of the highway. Luckily, changing lanes of the highway is solved with so-called rotornos.
There is a crossing to the other side, which in my case is just a few meters further.

Hm - mechanic? That looks more like a very small workshop or rather a ferreteria. Watching me suspiciously, the son comes out first, then calls his mother. I don't have to explain much, the Vespa expresses itself.

The mother says her other son is at school and hopes that the cup will pass both of them...

only now do I see that the workshop in Concordia may have meant well, but delivered rubbish. The gasket ring, which was a problem for all workshops, also kept the tschungs (guys) in Concordia busy. At some point, they decided that non-flammable fabric would also do the job. That worked on short trips, but it couldn't withstand continuous use of 100 km. This "seal" was pushed out of its original position and is now only loosely hanging on the pipe.

I still have the original gasket ring that the workshop couldn't install... it's no witchcraft.

I explain to the senora and her younger son what we need to do, and after a short delay, the son asks me to park the Vespa in the shade. He puts a large piece of cardboard on the ground and starts. He means well, but has no idea. Then his mother comes, who has a little more knowledge, lies down on the ground and starts screwing. They don't let me get involved. She works diligently and manages to give the Vespa the sound it had before.

The other son, who has just come from school - I suspect it's some kind of vocational school - watches, listens to the engine and shakes his head. He seems to understand something and disassembles the exhaust again. Following an inspiration, I search my backpack for a new gasket ring. I know I brought two new ones from Ritterhude. Was this already the second one that the tschungs in Concordia misinstalled? I search through my spare parts in my backpack and find it!!! In its original packaging, the shiny silver gasket ring looks at me. By now Eckhard - that's his name - has disassembled the exhaust again. I give him the ring so he can slide it onto the pipe. The problem in the past was always that the pipe with the gasket ring had to be inserted into another one. That wasn't possible because the ring was stuck. But the receiver pipe allows it to be widened. Eckhard was able to bend the metal tongues, which were cut at equal intervals, outwards and thus create the necessary space for insertion. The rest is quickly done. He's still not completely satisfied when the Vespa is running. But it must be the muffler itself. It has lasted 50,000 km now. It's expected that the decay process will slowly begin.

We spent one and a half hours. With the achievement of our common goal, we became friends, and the mistrust quickly disappeared.

Of course, there's still a photo. I tell Eckhard that he has a German name. His mother tells me that she knows a Mrs. Muller and a Mrs. Ziegler. I show the three of them my blog and tell the story of my interruption in Pto Maldonado.

a woman of action: lying under the Vespa and starting to screw!

There are still 300 km ahead of me. It's 2:30 p.m. My stomach rebels and wants food. No time, says the mind. We want to make it to Buenos Aires before the end of the day. It should work out that way...

However, the fuel gauge, which has normalized again, takes the decision away from my stomach and mind and wants to be brought back to its starting position.

Here at the gas station, there are sweet media lunas, and when I pay later, there are freshly baked empanadas. Coffee and cola to give me a boost, and off we go.

There are no more incidents.

I pass through swamp areas, and in the distance, the Paranà-Guazu Bridge rises over the land. It has a huge span, as it has to span not only the river, but also the generous swamp areas. In order to allow unobstructed shipping traffic to navigate the river, the part of the bridge that spans the middle of the river was designed as a suspension bridge. The roadway is very narrow and there is no shoulder, so a Wikipedia photo will have to do.

                                                                                                      (c) Wikipedia

Again and again, I see railway tracks along the way that give the impression that rail traffic has been suspended. Already on my way to the bridge, I can see from afar an railroad bridge approaching the Parana crossing and finally crossing the wide river in parallel with only a few meters distance. Grass is growing from the embankment.

A helmet camera would have been good now. The afternoon sun in the sparkling water, the monstrous structure with the suspension construction, and the aging railway bridge. By crossing the river, I now reach the province of Buenos Aires and leave Entre Rios behind.

There is another peaje. In Peru, I was allowed to pass through on a specially designated motorcycle lane for free, Brazil wanted a minimal amount, and the operators in Argentina didn't discuss it. So far, I was allowed to bypass the toll booth on makeshift paths or even pass the toll booth and the closed barrier. Although it should not be opened for non-payers, as otherwise the statistics would be incorrect, there is enough space for me to pass with my two side cases.

Even now, I assume that I don't have to pay anything. There are no signs anywhere with the motorcycle symbol and the price. I know the impatience of the drivers and the employees and take a look in the booth. The man is busy and meets my gaze but does not answer my question. Can I snake my way through the barrier or not? The motorcyclist behind me knows better. He is being served and pays. But I'm already at the barrier and now realize that it is not possible to pass by. It's just too tight. I get off the bike. The man at the cash register doesn't say a word. He takes money and gives back change. That's all he can do. I want to pay him too. No reaction. The motorcyclist then signals me as the barrier opens. The car drivers are already honking nervously and I make sure to get away.

The traffic is increasing, sometimes there are even 5-lane roads. I leave Cabana behind. According to the navigation, it's only 50 km. Soon I pass San Isidore and know that my exit will come soon.

I'm glad when I'm out of the traffic bustle and can soon turn onto a small, tree-lined side street. You have reached your destination. I feel like I'm in an English suburb. Wrought-iron gates and bay windows on the facades of the houses.
When a gentleman opens the door - very suspiciously because he doesn't know me and doesn't rent any rooms either - I realize that I have been led to the wrong house number. The gentleman furrows his high forehead when I tell him the name of my hotel.

I expect anything and the first impression is looking up to the first floor. Behind the barred hotel window, I see a South American face. The head takes up the entire window.
it could also be a prison... but the reception is nice, the Vespa is safely parked in the hotel parking lot, and my room is very spacious. The bathroom doesn't have a shower cabin. It's too small for that. I have experienced before that after taking a shower, all other utensils are no longer usable.

San Fernando is a beautiful and lively neighborhood and is directly on the S-Bahn, which continues to Tigres. It's only two stops. It's only 20 km to the Teutons.

I choose a sushi restaurant - not far from here. My stomach grumbles and is then pushed to the limit when I realize that the restaurant no longer exists.
Otherwise, I only see - for the first time in months - a Burger King and McDonald's. There are oversized touchpads there, on which you can customize your meal and pay with your credit card. I'm too inattentive and end up ordering "face to face" in the end. There's salad with chicken and a water.

You shouldn't eat too much in the evening...

On my way back, I discover a delicatessen shop for meat and cheese products! Natural yogurt! and cream in large yogurt cups!

I take the natural yogurt with me and ask for a plastic spoon. I sit on a step in front of my hotel and enjoy it. and tomorrow - for the müsli - I will get some cream and enrich it with it.

01.03.:

I have received a message from Vicky, my supervisor for the crossing to Hamburg. The departure date is delayed by about one day. It is now scheduled to depart on 30.03... The ship is fixed. A RoRo freighter by the name of Grande San Paolo - under the Italian flag.

Today I take it easy. There are no further activities planned. The outdoor temperatures allow me to recharge my energy with a clear conscience, read and write.

The cream this morning turned out to be liquid cream. Diluted with water, that's also fine. Maybe I can return the second one?

02.03.:

Today is supposed to be the day for the Teutons. But thanks to Karin's call to the ADAC, the priorities have completely shifted.

It turns out that I only took out my travel health insurance for 45 days. This can happen if you don't read the terms and conditions. Although my contract suggested that I would have to renew after one year if I don't cancel in time, who would have guessed that the 45-day deadline is in the fine print?

From Nora's stay in South America, I know that normally these insurances cannot be extended retrospectively. In the worst case, the Vespa would have had to travel to Hamburg on its own, as airlines do not require policies.

Thanks to Google, however, I quickly find another insurance. It would have surprised me if another insurance company hadn't filled the gap in the market. It would have been a real problem if I had been without insurance coverage for more than three months retrospectively. But since I wasn't, I can hold my new insurance policy in my hands after some back and forth, and I can send it to Vicky, my supervisor for the crossing, right away. Now I hope that she will give me the green light on Monday and that she will be satisfied.

who embarks on a journey - or knows someone who does.

03.03.:

Today I finally fulfill my plan and visit the rowing club with German roots.

At around half past ten, I stop at the gatekeeper's booth (!) and am asked about my request.
I explain who I am and get the impression that I am already expected.

A little later, I am in the secretary's office (!). I don't have to explain much here either. I learn that the boats have been on the water since half past eight and are expected to return around 1 p.m. But the secretary gets the captain on the phone, who - I suspect - is also on the water. He speaks German almost fluently and promises to organize everything further for me.

Everything goes smoothly. We walk across the spacious club grounds to the boathouse, where a scull with a coxswain's seat is already waiting.

In addition to the club and Argentine flags, the German flag is also hoisted.

good and plentiful boat inventory

Ariel is still working on it

Ariel Suarez, who participated in the 2012 Olympics in London in the double sculls and brought Argentina to fourth place, is my coxswain.

We are on the water for about an hour and a half. The Rio Lujan is part of the rowing area and is well-supplied with motorboats on this Sunday. Like us, most motorboat drivers are either well-trained or simply considerate. They drive past the rowers with full force, causing them to struggle with strong waves. But shortly afterwards, we turn into a side arm.
Since I have been on tour with the Vespa, I haven't sat in a boat anymore, but just like swimming or biking, you don't forget it that quickly. Ariel takes photos and video clips, which he will send me later, today he trains the adults, and from the perspective of his photos, I can tell what he is focusing on.

finally taking off without waves

When we come back, someone is already ready to take the boat. I'm prepared to clean the boat and store the oars, but I am treated as a guest.

I am welcomed by a clubhouse planned by architectural master hands, whose foundation was laid on May 20, 1989. The reason for the move was the contamination of the waters of Tigre and the increasing presence of motorboats.
I learn all this over a spontaneous lunch with the vice captain. He is sitting with his daughter, son-in-law, and grandson when I crash into the family idyll.

sophisticated and cultivated atmosphere

We are on the upper floor of the clubhouse. Everything appears very generous, the roof structure of the room is exposed, the walls are covered with red bricks, the gastronomy is entrusted to a tenant who is known for his pasta and ravioli. Everything seems very cultured. White tablecloths and fabric napkins!

since 1890 and still a strong connection to the home country. The future chairman would also take German courses in order to be able to incorporate at least a few words.

the club's activities were only briefly interrupted when Argentina allied itself with the Allies.

So the then board of directors made the wise decision - as he tells me - to sell the property owned by the club - a good sale! - in order to settle down at the current location. there was nothing here except marshland, a canal was built, which makes it very easy to dock and provides quick access to our rowing area, he explains to me. space was made for motorboats, whose owners must also be members of the club and pay mooring fees. 40% of the club's income comes from providing moorings, he justifies the good decision.

Although Buenos Aires is just a stone's throw away and one would assume that the professionals do not leave and that students can stay here, the development of membership is just as difficult as in all other clubs.

When I asked if there were any subsidies for the club - for example, for youth work - he vigorously shakes his head.
On the contrary, he grins mischievously and tells me about two incidents that are rather embarrassing for those involved:

There is a good contact with the German embassy. Although it is made more difficult by the ambassador, who changes every two years, it is at least good enough that a request was addressed to the club whether a German minister - today our Federal Minister of Justice and Consumer Protection - could go on an outing on the Tigre delta. Thanks to a good connection to the water police, the security measures were quickly organized, and even helicopters were allowed to be dispensed with.

The day came when a procession of black limousines with a German flag rolled onto the club grounds. Only 5 delegation members were allowed on the motorboat, and even the prohibition to wear high-heeled shoes was graciously tolerated by the minister.

I've had the question on the tip of my tongue for the whole time whether there was a significant donation for youth work...
it was said in conclusion by one of her companions that the minister wanted to show her appreciation and had a whopping 50 euros given.

The Austrian ambassador also decided to go on the water with his family. However, life jackets were mandatory, and when the ambassador's wife didn't know where to buy them for her two kids, Teutonia offered to get the vests for her.

When saying goodbye, the club captain wanted to get the remaining children's vests to give them to the family. No, that's not necessary, - they don't need them anymore. No thanks and no reimbursement of expenses.

We agree that the higher one climbs the career ladder, the less grounded one becomes.

We spoke German the whole time. His daughter speaks German to her about 7-year-old son - he answers in Spanish. A difficult situation for the father.

So for me, it was a sporty morning, which also gave me many insights into club life.
The fact that several attempts were needed to make contact was only because the secretary was back today.
She already knew what was in her inbox when I spoke to the gatekeeper and was able to set everything else in motion.

The vice captain visits Germany once a year. Maybe he will manage to visit our club.

the crazy German who rode his Vespa over the Andes and crossed South America. loco aleman...

04. to 05.03.

No major activities..

I just returned from my suburban restaurant. They still make the empanadas themselves there. I complimented them and from the suspicious faces of previous visits, a nice smile emerged. Where do I live? Across the street? Si.

After traveling, I feel like a soaked sponge that is overflowing with experiences and impressions and can no longer absorb anything. I sit there at a small table, my liter of beer and two delicious and fresh empanadas in front of me, and dive into Isabel's world - and feel comfortable in it. Football is playing discreetly on a small TV, but today hardly anyone is here. In the morning, two old men take care of the service, and in the evening, the son, who continues to run the store after his job. Outside, the suburban train spits out passengers at five-minute intervals, who have just finished a strenuous workday and race home at full speed.

During the day, I sleep, read, do my duties, have my second breakfast there in the morning, and have beer and empanada in the evening. That's enough impressions.

in front of the counter, one of the old men who provides the service. A charming restaurant where you feel comfortable

Today, my hostel lady asked me what I was doing. Paseando? Going for a walk? The question is justified. She probably has her own thoughts...

To linger.

Tomorrow, I will go to Buenos Aires. Maybe the curiosity will return there?