Pedro and Maria Motorcycle South America!: Gaiman to Rada Tilly, 265 miles

Our welsh B&B served a mean breakfast, one of the best we’ve had. Tea and crumpts, plus ham, cheese, cereal, etc. A good start to the long day ahead. We’ve been warned about the wind in southern Patagonia and hopefully today we got through the worst of it. We spent hours leaning the bike at nearly a 30 degree angle into the westerly winds. It was very uncomfortable and sometimes scary. When a truck would pass or the road was uneven the wind would actually push the front tire perpendicular to our direction of travel. Very scary indeed.

We ended up making it to our target destination, Comodoro Rivadavia. I like to call it Riva Diva. The first hotel was full of drunks and midgets shooting the breeze. I was intrigued, but Amie would never go for it. The next one was $50. The next was $60, and the guy had the nerve to tell me I wouldn’t find anything for less than $30 unless I was in Buenos Aires. Why was this town so darn expensive? These hotels were nothing special and we were in the middle of BFE.

We decided we’d go a few more miles down the road to Rada Tilly. I like to call it Rada Tada Tui. We were shocked to find abandoned high rise hotels and deserted streets. It was like a ghost town beach resort. Both of us started to wonder what happened here. Was there something devastating that happened here that killed tourism? The beach was very nice, albeit windy, and the town was nestled in a cove with picturesque cliffs on either side. “What happened here?” we wondered to eachother. We needed answers. But first we needed a place to stay. We went back to Riva Diva but had no luck. There was a hotel in between Rada Tui and Riva Diva but that turned out to be $70!!! Back to Rada Tui we went.

We stopped at the only hotel in town that was open and it fit the scenario we were brewing up in our minds. It used to be nice you can tell, but its now very run down and shabby. From the outside we doubted it was even still in operation, but some folks we found on the street assured us it was. The sign was dilapidated and missing letters. The “Campground” next door was nothing more than a half acre of dirt completely overgrown with weeds and shrubs. I went into the lobby and it looked like a room in the house of the texas chain saw massacre. Don’t let Amie see this I thought or we’ll have to keep riding for sure. A bitter old woman eventually turned up and gave us quite a scowl. For $30 we could have a room. Without many other options, we decided to take it.

The room itself was actually pretty clean. I’m sure it was swingin digs back in the 70s when it was built. The blinds were bright orange, there was wood paneling on all the walls, and the tile and toilets in the bathroom where bright primary colors. It seems like the further south we go, the more eccentric the people and the places become. I guess you have to be a bit crazy to live this far south, and out in the middle of nowhere no less.

Wake up lazy bones!