Part 33 - Departure for Europe 28 May 2019

Europe Blog Part 1

The days leading to departure were filled with fun family events. It was a triple celebration. My parents, Don and Maureen, were turning 90 years old and had shared 65 years of marriage. My brother, Jack, had flown in from California for the week. Rob, the youngest sibling, and his daughter Iris had Jack and me over for a steak dinner on Thursday. The steaks were delicious and it was fun for us all to catch up. We would see my sister, Maureen at the big affair on Saturday. The next night Rose, Isabelle’s mother, had a farewell dinner for Isabelle and I at her house. Isabelle’s brothers and their wives joined us at Rose’s house. David and Lise, Charles and Fiona and of course Rose wished Isabelle and I Bon Voyage once again. We were going to Europe!

Mum at the Celebration Dinner

Dad and Isabelle at the Celebration Dinner

On Saturday the Porters and friends of Don And Maureen got together at the Culinary School restaurant at Algonquin College for the big celebration. The food was well prepared and the service was refined and discrete. Everyone had a great time and things continued back at Mum and Dad’s house not far away.

Gabi, Terry, Isabelle, Emma at the Celebration Dinner

The day before departure, Isabelle and I went downtown to cheer on our daughter, Gabi as she ran her first half-marathon. Isabelle, our oldest daughter Emma and I moved from point to point on the route to encourage Gabi and the other runners. We enjoyed being there for Gabi but also being part of the supportive atmosphere at a running event. Gabi finished the race within the time she had planned, full of a sense of accomplishment.

The next morning, Monday the 28^th of May 2019, Isabelle and I loaded the motorcycles and set off for Montreal. Isabelle’s good friend Deirdre came at 9 o’clock to say goodbye, exactly as she had done two years earlier before the South America trip. The weather was the same too, cold and rainy. Deirdre’s embrace warmed us for the road ahead.

The bikes were almost the same. I had made a few small modifications to them after the South American journey. The luggage system was similar but much lighter than the one we used in South America. The addition of new crash bar bags brought the weight of small, dense items forward and low. Isabelle’s bike enjoyed the added safety of forward pointing auxiliary LED lights. We still used hard paniers, despite the injuries they had caused in Ecuador and Argentina. We expected almost all the roads on our European itinerary to be paved and hoped for an injury free trip this time.  We valued the security gained by being able to lock them.

The top boxes were empty. We would use them to store our helmets when grocery shopping. I had also wired my top box with a new 12-volt circuit that would give us a waterproof charging station on-the-go. A single waterproof bag on the pillion seat completed a load that was 75 % lighter than the previous trip and, most importantly, one that disturbed the motorcycles’ designed centre of gravity far less. There were no spare tires this time. The bikes felt light and nimble without a hint of top-heaviness.

We encountered Alain and Francoise in the Air Canada Cargo parking lot. Isabelle had been following their travel blog. They were finished checking in their motorcycle and would be taking the same flight to Paris as us the next day. We also met a man who was shipping his moto to Europe but on a different flight. He had seen the presentation of our South American trip Isabelle and I had given at the moto-overlanders’ conference in Ontario the previous year. We would begin our European adventure by giving the same talk at the HUBB UK conference in Wales.

Just Before Weighing In at Air Canada Cargo

Checking in the motorcycles with Air Canada Cargo was easier than expected. I was told that only motorcycle related gear could be shipped attached to the motorcycles. It had been the same when we shipped the bikes from Buenos Aires to Miami. That first time we used the services of a local freight agent who specialized in motorcycle shipping. We bought cardboard boxes in Buenos Aires, sized to the maximum allowed for a checked bag. We placed our personal and camping gear in the two boxes and two large bags then checked them for free with Avianca, the Colombian airline that still allowed two free checked bags per person. We had a lot of stuff!

This time I shipped the bikes myself to save the $100US fee we paid the shipping agent for each one in Argentina. Things couldn’t have been simpler. I brought both bikes into the warehouse entrance and set about unloading things. I had strapped two huge cardboard boxes on the bikes and brought them all the way from Ottawa. I had test packed them at home and was prepared to pay $96CDN for each one as a checked bag on our flight. Air Canada did not allow free checked bags any more.

Isabelle and I packed all our personal belongings into two carry-on sized backbacks. At that point the warehouse worker asked me to push the bikes onto the scales. And that was that; everything that was still on the bikes stayed there and was shipped inside the paniers! We had carry-on bags and nothing to check.

The Dangerous Goods inspection was next. I had contracted with a company to send an inspector to meet us at Air Canada Cargo. His inspection was expensive ($280CDN each) but a requirement for any air shipment of a motor vehicle. The inspector provided me with two sets of papers. The second set was for the return shipping, whenever that would be. He showed me where to fill in the place and date on the completed forms. The Dangerous Goods inspection was followed by one from Security. The security agent had me push the bikes to another section of the warehouse close to a large x-ray machine. His inspection was courteous, lengthy and thorough. Nothing was left untouched. He had me identify unfamiliar items like brake pads and stove parts. I felt reassured about flight safety in general after witnessing his inspection. At the agent’s direction, I pushed the bikes to one last place, a locked room inside the secure zone to await loading onto skids by the handlers.

The airport hotel we stayed in provided a shuttle service to the terminal. We ran into Isabelle’s brother Charles at the Montreal airport. He had begun the slow process of retiring from his business of instructing corporate executive coaches. He was negotiating the terms of sale of his international coaching school but had been called suddenly to teach in England.  It was a fun chance encounter.

Bumping Into Charles at the Airport

The flight to Paris was uneventful. We landed in brilliant sunshine at 8:30 in the morning, Paris time. We took a taxi to Air Canada Cargo located on the far side of the airfield. There we met Alain and Francoise again. The four of us went through procedures together. The paperwork was easy and Customs offices for freight were in a neighboring building. Sorting out gear and repacking it on the bikes took the most time. We got away at 12:30 and rode a short distance to the Ace Hotel in Roissy, a suburb of Paris. Later, we walked into town to pass the afternoon and for dinner. Eight-thirty was as late as we could last before jet lag forced us to bed.

A Proud Air Freight Handler in Paris

Taking Possession of the Motos in Paris

The roads to Calais we chose avoided entering Paris because we didn’t have environmental stickers for the bikes. The route was slow and wound its’ way through tiny villages and through luxurious croplands. It was both charming and exciting and it was what we had come to Europe to see! We planned to take the ferry from Calais to Dover, slowly making our way to the conference in Wales.

The White Cliffs of Dover Seen from the Ferry

Why Paris? Why not simply fly into London? When I booked the flights in December, Brexit was a big unknown factor. Entering Gatwick Airport with two motor vehicles to temporarily import immediately after a “Hard Brexit” was something to be avoided, in my mind. I envisaged confused British Customs Agents in a Gatwick warehouse facing each other, palms upturned to the sky saying, “What do we do with these two people and their motorcycles? What are the rules now?” It seemed simplest to import the bikes to Europe in Paris, a commonplace event, and try a ground (actually water) entry into the UK. If we were turned back we would simply change our itinerary and start with mainland Europe. We would not be stuck in legal limbo in a warehouse at the airport in London. A few days before our flight, the UK was granted an extension until the 31^st of October to come up with a Brexit strategy. This development made my Paris plan unnecessary but six months had then passed since I bought the airline tickets.

Dover Campsite Overlooking the Channel

Village Church Near Dover

Two days later Isabelle and I enjoyed a sunny breakfast in a Dover campground. We had an uninterrupted view of the English Channel across a wide expanse of lawn. The green of the English countryside was as intense as I had remembered it to be, the smell of the earth too. Driving to the campground on the wrong side of the road had been challenging. Despite extensive mental preparation and visualization, a lifetime of habit was tough to get past. Traffic was thick and fast and British drivers were unforgiving toward any hesitation.

View from Dover Castle's Keep

Our jet lag was getting better and a new energy filled us. Dover Castle was a full day event. The site was extensive with many buildings and actors who animated various events that had occurred at the castle. The area had been used for thousands of years. There was a Roman built lighthouse from 41 A.D. beside a Catholic church that was built in the year 1000. King Henry II built a lavish keep in the medieval style with squared features instead of more easily defended rounded features. The design was intended to associate King Henry with powerful leaders of the past; its’ message was, “I like this style. I am so powerful that I don’t need modern castle designs. My enemies can’t even get close to me.”

Dover Castle Walls

A Knight Patiently Awaits King Henry II Outside Dover Castle. (He is recruiting for the first crusade.) 

Charles II had Thomas Beckett murdered inside Canterbury Cathedral. This caused Charles to lose face with Catholics and led to the beginning of pilgrimages to the place of Beckett’s death. Charles, wishing to reverse his position, built Dover Castle to greet visiting foreigners in a grand style. The castle’s strategic location caused it to be used throughout history as a defense point and not a showcase for visitors. In WW2, British Naval Command bunkered in the castle’s extensive tunnel network, inside which the retreat from Dunkirk was orchestrated.

Roman Lighthouse Beside Thousand Year Old Church

Naval Command OPS Room in the Bunkers at Dover Castle

We decided to stay in Dover for one more day. We hoped that more physical activity would help to get rid of lingering jet lag. A cliff hike that overlooked the Channel seemed just right. We had English fish and chips for lunch in a pub on the beach at St. Margaret’s at Cliff. The sun continued to shine and we enjoyed panoramic views all along the way.

St. Margaret's at Cliff

First day in England

The next morning we rode into the city of Canturbury. Stories of rampant motorcycle thefts inside Britain caused us to think twice about parking loaded motos inside the city so we checked into a campground outside the city. After setting up the tent we went on a shopping trip. We bought a thick, heavy chain and adopted the British method of chaining the bikes to an embedded hard point in the pavement. Some grocery shopping and lunch in a nice pub finished off the afternoon.

Our friend George from Ecuador wrote and proposed a ride together for the coming weekend. He lived in London but we planned to be touring Devon and Cornwall on the weekend he proposed. We would be long gone from the London area by then. We agreed to get together on our return to the UK in a few months’ time.

Altar Below the Second Transept, Canterbury Cathedral

The morning walking tour of Canterbury was informative. We spent the afternoon visiting the Cathedral where we learned more about Thomas Beckett and saw the spot where four of King Henry’s Knights had murdered him. Beckett (The Archbishop of Canterbury) and the king were in a dispute over the roles of church and state. No one is sure if Henry ordered the killing or if the Knights had simply been overzealous in their desire to pleas the king. We saw the tomb of the “Black Prince” (1376) above the second transept. The church has two transepts and is built in a mixture of styles using Romanesque outer walls with Gothic inner arches. Uniformity of the exterior was maintained during various repairs or replacements of the two front towers. This work was always done in the Romanesque style. The central bell tower containing, “Bell Harry” (1583) is Gothic; its’ base opening inward below to a fan vaulted space above the first transept. The height and grace of that space command the observer’s eye to look up toward heaven.

Fan Vaulting Below Bell Harry Tower

Did Disney animators get inspiration from Canterbury Cathedral? Look at the features of the upturned faces.

Tomb of the Black Prince

The Corona Chapel at the far end of the Cathedral was built to display the top dome (the corona) of Beckett’s skull. The corona has much religious symbolism (halo, brain, tonsure) and was thought to contain the centre of intellect and wisdom. Beckett’s shrine and all his relics are thought to have been burned by King Henry VIII. Henry felt that icons, effigies and relics were merely superstitions and should be disposed of. Beckett’s popularity was also tough competition for a monarch. Today, the shrine is represented by a single candle kept burning on a bare paving stone at the top of the cathedral.

The Single Candle that Represents Thomas Beckett

Tea Time for a Happy Boy

A full day of riding brought us to Stonehenge Camping and Glamping Pods where we pitched out tent for the night. Internet research that night showed us how to visit the archeological site for free and without trespassing. The following day we hiked 11 kilometers along National Trust walking paths and across fields filled with cattle and sheep. Gates had signs that read, “Livestock inside. Please close the gate behind you.” There were numerous information plaques along the way with drawings, photos and explanations of things Druid. 

Woodhenge, near Stonehenge

The hike toward Stonehenge

Vines Around a Tree in a Tree Circle, "The Avenue"

The trail began at the parking lot for Woodhenge and mostly followed the ancient “Avenue” that led to Stonehenge. We passed burial mounds and tree circles. It was a pleasant, easy walk through the English countryside to the site of the enigmatic stone piles. We had the same views of the attraction as those who paid $40 each to visit the site.

Stonehenge

It rained all the next day for the ride to Penzance. The wind was fierce at the coast and reminded us (only a little) of the wind in Patagonia. We later learned that it had been a significant storm through which we had ridden. We arrived at our planned campground but it was completely in the open, deserted and desolate in the storm. I could barely see the other side of the field through the rain and the gloom. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to put up the tent so we checked into a backpackers’ hostel in the town of Penzance. It was warm, dry and reasonably priced. We stayed two days.

St. Michael's Mount (Note causeway access at low tide only)

Lavender at Low Tide

Penzance Harbour

St. Michael’s Mount was at the entrance to Penzance Harbour. We had lunch in Marazian, local steak pie. It looked like a larger version of an Argentinian empanada. Its’ filling and spices were of course completely different. Isa took a photo of it and sent it to our friend Pedro, a young lawyer in Gobernador Gregores, in Argentine Patagonia. He loved empanadas and had introduced Isabelle to them. The restaurant at the hotel where Isabelle spent her recovery from her second broken ankle had kept them on hand especially for Pedro even though they were not on the menu. Our hiking total for the day was 17 kilometers. Conditions had been cloudy and cool. We enjoyed several good chats back at the hostel with British travellers.

Courtship Display and Playing Coy

Two days of riding in the rain brought us to a campground near Swindon. The managers, Neil and Jane, invited into the warm office for tea that night and the next morning. They shared their kitchen with us and gave us breakfast. They were so kind. They gave us recommendations for campgrounds throughout the UK. Neil and Jane’s warmth and kindness served to eliminate any negative feelings we had experienced regarding the indifference we had felt from many British people thus far. We were also out of the densely populated south where one feels constantly in someone else’s way.

Neil and Jane

My bike wouldn’t start in the next morning’s constant rain. It just went, “Tick.” I connected my jumper battery. The starter just went, “Tick.” I disconnected the bike’s battery to eliminate it as a cause. Using just the 12 volt jumper battery I tried the starter and was rewarded this time with an immediate, “Badum!” sound followed by normal idling. I reconnected everything normally and tried the starter. “Badum!” made my heart jump again. I reinstalled the battery and we rode off thinking, “Maybe it had just been a computer glitch.”

It rained all the next day as we searched for The Mill House where I had lived for two years as a boy. I mixed up town names and tried to summon faint geographic memories. We did find and visit White Horse Hill. A nice lunch at the Prince of Wales pub in Shrivenham warmed us up before we abandoned the search for the Mill House and set off in the rain for Wales. I vowed to get in touch with my mother for more details. We plan to pass through the area again on our way back to France.

Plaque at Top of White Horse Hill

(Dad attended classes at Shrivenham College.)

We checked into Baskerville Hall in Wales, the inspiration for Arthur Conan Doyle’s, The Hound of the Baskervilles. The HUBB UK moto-overlanders’ conference was being held there and we were scheduled to speak about our South American trip. We had signed up for camping but Susan Johnson, one of the organizers, offered me a good rate on a room out of the rain for five nights. I jumped at the chance.

Conference at Baskerville Hall

Sculpture on the Lawns at Baskerville Hall

A Classic Overlanding Motorcycle at the Conference

Part 32 Closure, Apr, May 18

Part 32 Closure

Our day at Iguazu Falls had been a treat. The display of raw power and the sheer number of falls, 229 is incredible. It was good to see the care that had been taken to keep the daily thousands of visitors’ feet from destroying the ecosystem. We had walked over 10 Km on the raised trails that day without disturbing a blade of grass. The next morning, we packed things up and I backed the bikes down the path and out the skinny gate to the street. It was warm as we began riding south, down highway 12.

Three days of riding and free camping brought us to the Uruguayan border. The last night in Argentina was spent in a large private campground on a huge lake near Bela Union. We paid about $8. The attendant at the on-site store/fast food joint asked if we wanted something when we registered. She wanted to close things up. It was low season. It felt a little unusual being the only guests in the huge park.

We took a morning walk through the park before riding 150 Km to the border with Uruguay. The crossing was easy and took about 20 minutes. Once more there was no line up and we had to see only one person to do all our business. Central American border crossings had taken three and sometimes four hours. Border crossing horror stories we had heard included tales of days long waits, fines and vehicle seizures when things weren’t in order.

The culture of the car has not taken over rural Uruguay

Highway 26 took us across the country near its top. The road began well then deteriorated; soon we found ourselves dodging car-sized potholes. It felt like Honduras again as we avoided sharp edged moto eaters. Eventually, continuous sections of good gravel became more and more common. I detected Isa’s nervousness through the intercom but she didn’t complain once during the 100 km of rough stuff.

Fun bridge to ride

Our first night in Uruguay was spent at a municipal campground in the town of Tacuarembo. It was free but you had to register. The park was gorgeous and boasted clean washrooms with showers, an Olympic sized swimming pool and a variety of sports courts. There was a sign in the washroom informing users that the water is good for drinking. The sign finished with the declaration, “Uruguay, un pais con agua potable”. We chatted jovially with the man in the administration office. He too told us about the potable water saying in Spanish, “We are poor but we are modern”. The Sunday crowd pulled out after dark and we had a peaceful night.

The municipal campground in Melo wasn’t nice so we carried on to a town called, Treinta y Tres. We rolled over a carpet of pastoral landscapes all day. Uruguay is peaceful. Argentinians describe its people as, “tranquilo”. The park administrator had described his compatriots as, “poor but modern”. Gasoline is about $3 per liter; Supermarket and durable goods prices are the same as in Canada. Imported manufactured goods were incredibly expensive.

A majority of Uruguayans have not adopted the culture of the car. Architecture and municipal design and structures do not accommodate automobiles. Main streets have store fronts by the curb and a density of services that favours the pedestrian. There is not a parking lot in sight. Houses are not accompanied by a garage or even a driveway. Most farms are conspicuous to our eyes by the absence of a pickup truck or a car of any kind.

Parking where there is not infrastructure for automobiles

How do people with modest incomes live with such high prices? The answer is simple, they buy local products. They shop on market days and don’t patronize the few supermarkets that exist. They build their own houses. Squatters avoid paying for land and have rights that make them difficult to evict. Tiny motorcycles are common. Gasoline is imported and so are cars. Most relevant to us, Uruguayans that do drive do it sensibly and they often follow the rules. This is a first for us in Latin America.

The treehouse at Buena Onda

We rode to Punta Del Este on the advice of local people. We wanted a beach town to kick back in for a while and the road to this one was said to be the best. It was low season. Most things were closed. We got “third time lucky”, arriving at our third-choice campground, Buena Onda.

Breakfast in the tree-house kitchen

We surprised the owner, Laura by our arrival. She hadn’t seen a guest in a few weeks. The dogs barked and growled noisily. Did they resent the idea of having to share Laura and their home with strangers again or were they just being good guard dogs? Laura welcomed us immediately to her little place. Third choice turned out to be a good choice. Tranquil, except for the overprotective dogs, Buena Onda allowed us to rest after two weeks of nearly constant travel. We really enjoyed our three days there. Fate would later cause us to return to Buena Onda, as a refuge of safety and security.

Resting and reading were punctuated by catch up tasks like laundry, bike maintenance, gear repair and working on the blog. A noisy and drenching electrical storm hit on the second night and our tent leaked. It’s a good tent but it’s not MEC (Mountain Equipment Coop) quality. We miss our MEC tent. We loved the relaxed and eco-friendly atmosphere of Laura’s place, dry composting toilets and all.

Punta Del Diablo lies up the Atlantic coast a couple of hundred kilometers from Punta Del Este. We had booked seven nights in a small cottage that was built on stilts above a sand dune. It was a modern place with all the gadgets, even air conditioning. It was a good price because of the time of year. There was not a gate, not even a fence nor were there bars on the windows. A stroll through town on the first day confirmed that none of its residences had those security features. This relaxed approach to domestic security is rare in Latin America and it made us put our guard down a little. Uruguay is one of only a few category one countries on our itinerary; that is to say, the Canadian Travel Advisory website instructs travelers only to, “exercise normal security precautions” while visiting it. Uruguay earns the same security rating as Canada.

Punta Del Diablo

At 4 o’clock on the morning of our second night in Punta Del Diablo the devil had his way and we were visited by two thieves. The neighbor across the street saw them. He shouted, scaring them off. Isabelle looked through a window and saw one thief running far up the road, away from the house.

One burglar had climbed up to the second floor of the house. He had opened and leaned through the kitchen window. Silently, he had removed and dropped the kettle and some dishes onto the sand, one floor below. Once he had removed the obstacles and eliminated the danger of sending something clanging to the floor he had turned his attention to grabbing valuable looking things and dropping them silently onto the sand below.  His partner played the role of look-out. The two of them scattered when the neighbor began to shout.

The police arrived quickly and the neighbor returned several things he had found on the sand below the kitchen window. Either the robbers had doubted the value of the objects and chose to leave them or they fled in a panic, unable to pick them up. Ultimately, we lost nothing. Our “stuff” has little street value, a conscious decision during trip planning, but has much value to us. We use everything all the time and numerous items have multiple uses.

We drank tea and tried to settle down, eventually returning to bed. Sleep came to neither of us as every click or rustle of the wind set off alarms in our minds. Thoughts of violent home invasion struck us and we realized we had been lucky. Things could have been much worse. We knew we couldn’t stay another night.

In the morning, our host agreed to refund us for the remaining five nights. She looked extremely embarrassed that such a thing had happened in her town and on her property. She understood our need to move on. Internet searching had turned up several possible destinations for us. We set off toward Montevideo.

On the road, we came to agreement about our destination. We would return to a place we knew to be safe, Camping Buena Onda. The dogs barked and growled at first but this changed to wags and licks as they remembered our scent. No one, friend or foe, enters that fenced yard without a loud and mildly threatening challenge. We now understand the home security role of the dog in Latin America.  If we ever felt it, we are no longer annoyed at night-time outbursts from the dogs.

The rest of the month was spent enjoying the pastoral tranquility of Uruguay. We rented a house on a hobby farm just outside Montevideo. It afforded a delightful change of pace. Horses, pheasants, peacocks and chickens paraded past the windows. Only the largest of the three dogs tried to enter the house. His name was Caramelo and he has a strong personality to match his impressive physique. The owners, Martha and Alfredo, had him tied up outside their home, next door to the house we occupied. The proprietors’ philosophy of giving all the animals freedom on the farm had one exception when the guest house was rented. Caramelo’s enthusiasm was reported to include jumping up on people. Isabelle and I made friends with Carmelo and at our request he regained his freedom.

The farmhouse

We filled the weeks easily with tasks and recreation. Several days were spent developing our presentation for the travelers’ meeting in May. The riding jackets and pants got washed. It took three days to properly clean the motos with the intent of minimizing the bacteria, mud, plant and insect material that we might carelessly bring back to North America. The accumulated grime from twelve months of riding and dropping the bikes in every condition imaginable was not easy to remove. Some chain maintenance and a change of rear brake pads finished off the list of jobs. The machines were spotless.

A thorough washing

Daily walks to shop in the village resulted in the “Canadienses” being recognized and greeted. The vendors selling nuts and local cheese at the market knew what we wanted and how much without us having to ask. Small towns are the same everywhere, it seems. News gets around quickly and everyone knows everyone else’s business. Things had been similar during the four weeks of Isabelle’s recovery in the small town of Gobernador Gregores. That Patagonian town was literally in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from the next nearest bank or gas station. We discovered through conversations in town that news of Isabelle’s injury, indeed details of our whole travel story had soon become well known to local residents.

Through the kitchen window

"This is My place"

At the farm, feeding and riding the horses was especially pleasurable. Access to the alfalfa pile and to hand fed carrots from the market created jealousies and some back biting in the well ordered little herd of eight. “Vainilla” (pronounced Vaeneedja in an Uruguayan accent) was the boss. Martha had warned us to not get in her way if she became forceful. She pushed past us at the gate more than once to get to the alfalfa pile. In contrast, she was well behaved when I rode her; perfectly trained, she responded without flaw to this inexperienced rider.

Saddling Up

Toto gets a pat

Well Mannered Vainilla

Alfredo had protested in the 1970’s, during the dictatorship. He was thrown in jail but fled Uruguay with Martha when he was released. They lived in France for 38 years before returning to their homeland and buying the farm. We spoke French with them.

Home Cooking on the Farm

The animals, even the birds, began to trust us. The three dogs had been loud and threatening at first. They gave greetings complete with “full-body” wags to us when we rode in on the motos, toward the end of our stay.

Monument to Uruguay's Independence Revolution

We spent a few days in the beach town of Colonia, Uruguay before catching the ferry back to Buenos Aires. It felt great to be back in the vibrancy of that European feeling big city. We were there to do the business of shipping the bikes to Miami but that didn’t stop us from taking several long walks in the familiar place. The energy of the city contrasted sharply with the serenity inside the lodging Isabelle had booked, a Buddhist meditation centre and school.

Lighthouse in Colonia

Atop the Lighthouse

In the Old Town

Old Town Colonia

Colonia, Uruguay

Old Car in New Town

Boat dock under a factory

We finally met Javiar and his wife Sandra at the cargo area of the Aeropuerto Internacional. They are well known in the international motorcycling community and their reputation is solid. They gave up operating a BMW motorcycle dealership in Buenos Aires, preferring to specialize in motorcycle shipping. They were our shipping agents and they made a complicated process seem easy. A full day was occupied by the shipping procedures.

Satisfied that the motos were well looked after we turned our attention to packing. We bought a large cardboard box. It was the maximum size allowed by the airline and it would count as our fourth checked bag. Avianca still allowed two checked bags per traveler.  All our camping and personal gear fit into the box and three large dry bags. The motos could only contain a minimum of gasoline and moto related items like riding gear, tools and spare parts. The idea is to keep the weight of the shipment to a minimum.

Evita Peron

Juan Domingo Peron

Too soon it was our last day in South America. A long walk through the city centre brought us to the area with all the money changers. Money business done, we picked one of the fabulous restaurants in the area for a final feast of Argentinian beef, steak to be precise. We were not disappointed and the long walk back to the Buddhist school helped our digestion.

Weighing the moto

It was with mixed feelings that we packed and prepared for a quick 4:30 am getaway to the airport. The business of the past few days had occupied us and kept us from thinking too much about leaving. After little sleep the 4 o’clock alarm roused us. Thus, began our 25-hour journey to Miami, to another world.

Preparing for Shipping

To the X-Ray Machine

Shipping the bikes and ourselves to Miami then riding north was cheaper compared with landing in Montreal. This route had the added benefit of giving us time to readjust. Culture shock was inevitable. Vastly foreign places and people had become normalized within us. Twelve months of highs, lows and continuous adventure were about to come to a crashing halt. On the bright side, we looked forward with anxious excitement to being reunited with our children and families. We even missed the dog!

View from the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina

What have we learned? We have seen and experienced countless new ecosystems. There was a beauty in each one. Harsh and extreme conditions were often met with human adaptability. We saw flood and animal-proof houses built on stilts in the coastal jungles of Ecuador. We hiked past grass roofed, rubble walled houses in Peru. They were among the hand-worked terraced slopes above 4500 meters elevation. Generations of Quechuan families grew “papas hielado”, or frozen potatoes on the frigid slopes. Too high for horses or llamas, alpacas are the only livestock raised for protein. We saw the terribly poor “sand people” of the cool, rainless coastal desert along the Pacific coast. They sheltered from the biting, humid wind behind the woven reed walls of their houses.

Music is inescapably present. Humans need it; it takes many forms. Instruments in Central and South America are made from all manner of local materials, including turtle shell guitars. Music reflects and even helps to shape local culture. Whether it is to the simple xylophone melodies of Guatemala or to the complex rhythms of tango in steamy Buenos Aires, people dance. They dance at weddings and at celebrations for the dead. They dance for fun and to tell stories. They dance in the streets.

Our motorcycles forced us to participate in, rather than to simply observe, the ecosystems and cultures we encountered. They broke the ice and led to conversations wherever we went. The motos make us vulnerable and visible, easy to approach. Curious people felt comfortable enough to come up and ask questions, interested in our story. One person often led to more, sometimes food or mate appeared and we all shared. We met many people and came to know a few. We made friends.

We heard indigenous languages in remote places. We learned to understand dialects and accents within the Spanish language that sounded equally foreign to us. We’re especially glad we put effort into learning Spanish. Cultural connection is important to us and would not have been possible without language skills.

We learned that adversity can lead to kindness and friendship. Adversity also taught us to persevere. Faced with no option Isabelle rode 100 Km to the nearest town and hospital with a broken ankle. A shattered collarbone simply had to be put up with during six days of clinic hopping and airline travel before being seen by a surgeon. If the wind blows you into the ditch you pick up the bike and try again.

Reaffirmed is our belief that people are fundamentally good. Neighboring cultures often fear each other but travelers can see through to the truth. People really are similar wherever one may go. They love their families and they love food. They walk their kids to school. They proudly watch them play and perform. They honour and remember their dead, they search for meaning. They try to make a living and to find some joy. They laugh and cry and they love football. It’s been a great trip, we will never be the same.