The Futa

Our journey back into Chile was for one reason: Futaleufu.
We’d heard about this small mountain town whose gems include Rio Futaleufu and a national preserve. It was the water that called us though. The Futa, as it’s affectionately referred y river runners, has world renowned kayaking and rafting. Miles of it. And its rapids are beefy class IV, V and even a couple V+s. Game on.

We met an adventurous couple from New Mexico at our campsite that recommended Expediciones Chile, as they’d been rafting with them the past couple days and were really pleased. We found the outfitter in town and come to realize it’s owned and run by kayaker and US Olympian, Chris Spelius. He’d fallen in love with the Futa years ago and a lovely Chilean woman.

Their river guides were quite the the cast of characters (as they ALWAYS are) that included an Argentinian from Trevalin, a Coloradan, Irishmen and Englishmen. And conversation in English was a huge bonus. We didn’t want anything to get lost in translation when it came to discussing the most extreme river we were about to run. However, the season was really winding down and we needed to have more people. We’d stop by in the morning to check in and, if needed, they’d try to recruit people off the streets.

Given that most of the restaurants and hostels were already closed for the season, we weren’t getting our hope up. We’d been down that road before. We ate dinner at Mama’s Kitchen, the only restaurant still open in town, that was literally in Mama’s house.

The next morning, a few of the guides found us at our campsite to let us know we were on for the days run as three guys called at midnight and would be coming from Esquel. They won’t run with less than four, not including the guide. It was happening.

The Argentina Countryside God what a beautiful place. High from our Lake Epuyen swim, we continued southwest toward the Chilean border and through some of the most picturesque landscapes manicured equally by man and Mother Earth. Beautifully chaotic gardens sprawled out next to modest and aged wood homes. Cows, horses and sheep lazily speckled the rolling green pastures. No massive industrial processing going on, just a glimpse of a goucho on horseback with a few dogs. It all seemed so peaceful, yet productive.
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The Argentina Countryside
God what a beautiful place. High from our Lake Epuyen swim, we continued southwest toward the Chilean border and through some of the most picturesque landscapes manicured equally by man and Mother Earth. Beautifully chaotic gardens sprawled out next to modest and aged wood homes. Cows, horses and sheep lazily speckled the rolling green pastures. No massive industrial processing going on, just a glimpse of a goucho on horseback with a few dogs. It all seemed so peaceful, yet productive.

Renewing the Charge

Renewing the Charge
We arrived To Bariloche, Argentina and immediately jumped in another rental car, this time a 4x4 Toyota Hilux (a diesel Tacoma/Tundra like truck). The roads were lined with big trees and every corner we turned, there was another gorgeous alpine lake. 

Our first stop was to El Bolson, a small Argentinian town about 150 km outside of Bariloche. Set along one of the many rivers flowing through the region, we were in search of a campsite as close as possible to the sounds of water. When we pulled up to the visitor info kiosk, we had to turn off our headlights so not to blind the impromptu drum circle overflowing from the sidewalk into the street. We were in Hippieville, Argentina.

Having arrived after dark is problematic when you’re attempting to scout camping locations. We ended up settling with a site closer to town recommended in our Lonely Planet book. After a decent meal, epic ice cream and a less than peaceful night’s rest thanks to the incessant squawking of birds, we were ready to move on. 

We stopped at the local supermarket to pick up some picnic goods and were off again. Winding through the sharp peaks and seriously lush valleys of northern Patagonia, lined with stoic poplar trees just beginning their transition to fall, we began to feel it… We were recharging. 

We spontaneously took a right turn off the main road to follow the Lago Epuyen sign. A lake sounded like a great spot for a picnic and when it comes to rushing rivers and glassy lakes, Doug is a bit of a labrador. After 7km of right and lefts through the somewhat quiet and sparse town, we arrived. Indeed it was a perfect spot for a picnic.

Cheese, crackers, salami, chocolate, green olives and avocado. And bees. They loved Doug and his food. Or maybe his red flannel shirt. For whatever reason though, he couldn’t quite eat in peace. The charge was slightly draining for him. But the hilarity of Doug running all over the small beach and finally to hide in the car was kind of entertaining for me. Especially since I’m usually the one attacked by bugs.

After the food was consumed, it was time to do what all men who are part lab  do. It was time for a swim. In a Patagonian lake. And of course, it was a team adventure. Bathing suits on, we dove into (er, cautiously waded) the unimaginably fresh and cold lake. When you’re on the road, camping and eating crackers as a meal, lake dips count as bathing, right?  Either way we were feeling refreshed and recharged.

Plan B

As we shared before, “Quien se apura en la Patagonia pierde el tiempo.”
“Those who hurry in Patagonia lose time.” And we were losing time. 

Driving the R40 and Carretera Austral with now 9 days remaining before we had to fly to Peru, was out of reach. With more time, this post may have been called Ruta 40: Round 2. But it isn’t.

In all that disappointment sprang an unending list of opportunities. Patagonia has its way of chewing you up and spitting you out. The goal is to reflect, appreciate and with the right mindset (and a little luck) adapt. You might just wind up in a better spot. 

We traveled through that process and found ourselves on a flight to the epic Lakes District of Northern Patagonia. Things were looking up .

Ruta 40 Fail, Part 2 We hadn’t realized those well-marked detour signs weren’t only for Tres Lagos, but for R40 all together. Hmmm… no one mentioned the road itself was under construction. We started down the detour, a service road that paralleled the main road and passed CAT construction equipment and a massive gravel truck. We expected a gravel road, and had driven them throughout Torres del Paine as well as in and out of parts of El Calafate. Camino Ripiado means gravel road. Camino de la Tierra, dirt road… What we soon discovered is that we were on Camino de MUD.  The rains from the past two days had created a WWF certified mud pit for our two-wheel drive, manual transmission, EcoSport. Each assent up the side road’s hills had to be carefully scouted before our attempt. Keeping speed through the sludge was critical as getting stuck out here would be a severe setback. We slipped, slid, argued, feared, rejoiced, rinsed and repeated two, three, four, five… More than a dozen times. Adrenalin pumped through our tense bodies and stress levels were the highest they’ve ever been in a long, long time. And all this against a canvas of pure desolation. Bruce Chatwin wrote of the Patagonian desert, “There was no sound but the wind, whirring through thorns and whitsling through dead grass, and no other sign of life but a hawk, and a black beetle easing over the white stones.” He was lucky to have seen even that. The repetitive sea of nothing plays tricks with your mind and amplifies your doubt. We stopped when we miraculously saw a group of construction workers to ask how long the road was like this. One worker leaned into our car, cigarette in mouth, and spoke with maybe two or three teeth in place to “help” annunciate.  All I could understand was the entire road is gravel. And it gets better in 7 kilometers.  We’d traveled 25 kilometers in over an hour. Not exactly the time we expected to make, but if the road improved in 7 km, the we could make up the time later. We needed to travel 125 km to stop in the next town for the night. We had about 2 hours of daylight left. So long as the road improved, we could  make our first destination before complete darkness.  Our construction worker was right. Our detour plopped us onto a the main gravel R40 just a few minutes later. Phew. We were able to start running at about 45/50 kph. For about 10 minutes. There they were again. Detour signs. Had he mentioned the road improvement was temporary? Who knows. But we were tossed back to Economy after having snuck into First Class and having our taste of for a moment. Our hearts dropped as we felt our suspension again struggle through the mud. We scouted a large hill that, even when getting out of the car a climbing up bare footed, we couldn’t see if the road improved. We went for it, climbing muddy hills in the EcoSport is like rollerblading in mud.  Five more kilometers and that voice your mother always encouraged you to be aware couldn’t be ignored anymore. We were surrounded by the eeriest of nothingness. A place with an abundance of so little it spoke volumes.   Had we made a mistake? Should we turn back? At best we’d get back to the paved road by sundown.  Defeated and exhausted, we made the choice that a 180 degree turn was what we needed to do. Getting stuck in the middle of no where, jeopardizing our rental car’s suspension on the first day of a 10 day journey… it was too much.  In all we traveled 88km (42 km north and 42 km south) in three hours. And it was over. The bitter taste if defeat met my emotions head on when our tires touched asphalt. All I could do was cry. I imagine I’m not the only one.
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Ruta 40 Fail, Part 2
We hadn’t realized those well-marked detour signs weren’t only for Tres Lagos, but for R40 all together. Hmmm… no one mentioned the road itself was under construction. We started down the detour, a service road that paralleled the main road and passed CAT construction equipment and a massive gravel truck. We expected a gravel road, and had driven them throughout Torres del Paine as well as in and out of parts of El Calafate. Camino Ripiado means gravel road. Camino de la Tierra, dirt road… What we soon discovered is that we were on Camino de MUD. 

The rains from the past two days had created a WWF certified mud pit for our two-wheel drive, manual transmission, EcoSport. Each assent up the side road’s hills had to be carefully scouted before our attempt. Keeping speed through the sludge was critical as getting stuck out here would be a severe setback. We slipped, slid, argued, feared, rejoiced, rinsed and repeated two, three, four, five… More than a dozen times. Adrenalin pumped through our tense bodies and stress levels were the highest they’ve ever been in a long, long time.

And all this against a canvas of pure desolation. Bruce Chatwin wrote of the Patagonian desert, “There was no sound but the wind, whirring through thorns and whitsling through dead grass, and no other sign of life but a hawk, and a black beetle easing over the white stones.” He was lucky to have seen even that. The repetitive sea of nothing plays tricks with your mind and amplifies your doubt.

We stopped when we miraculously saw a group of construction workers to ask how long the road was like this. One worker leaned into our car, cigarette in mouth, and spoke with maybe two or three teeth in place to “help” annunciate. 

All I could understand was the entire road is gravel. And it gets better in 7 kilometers. 

We’d traveled 25 kilometers in over an hour. Not exactly the time we expected to make, but if the road improved in 7 km, the we could make up the time later. We needed to travel 125 km to stop in the next town for the night. We had about 2 hours of daylight left. So long as the road improved, we could  make our first destination before complete darkness. 

Our construction worker was right. Our detour plopped us onto a the main gravel R40 just a few minutes later. Phew. We were able to start running at about 45/50 kph. For about 10 minutes. There they were again. Detour signs. Had he mentioned the road improvement was temporary? Who knows. But we were tossed back to Economy after having snuck into First Class and having our taste of for a moment.

Our hearts dropped as we felt our suspension again struggle through the mud. We scouted a large hill that, even when getting out of the car a climbing up bare footed, we couldn’t see if the road improved. We went for it, climbing muddy hills in the EcoSport is like rollerblading in mud. 

Five more kilometers and that voice your mother always encouraged you to be aware couldn’t be ignored anymore. We were surrounded by the eeriest of nothingness. A place with an abundance of so little it spoke volumes.  

Had we made a mistake? Should we turn back? At best we’d get back to the paved road by sundown. 

Defeated and exhausted, we made the choice that a 180 degree turn was what we needed to do. Getting stuck in the middle of no where, jeopardizing our rental car’s suspension on the first day of a 10 day journey… it was too much. 

In all we traveled 88km (42 km north and 42 km south) in three hours. And it was over. The bitter taste if defeat met my emotions head on when our tires touched asphalt. All I could do was cry. I imagine I’m not the only one.

Ruta 40 Fail, Part 1

We were high on excitement with El Chalten in the rearview and the anticipation of our adventure to come in over drive. The famed Ruta Cuarenta or Ruta 40 is like Argentina’s Route 66, except infinitely less forgiving. We’d travel the Ruta to the Los Antigous border crossing into Chile’s Chile Chico. We’d continue north up the Carretera Austral ending back in Argentina’s Bariloche. 

We had our route mapped out, fuel stops and daily kilometer goals too. We’d spoken with tour guides and bus companies that also traveled the Ruta. We read up on the limited travel forums for folks who’d traveled Ruta 40 in the past. We also watched the Aysen Conflict that had affected the Chilean region we were to travel for the past three plus weeks simmer(another reason we delayed our start). Road blocks were lifted and the region was being replenished with fuel and other resources. The stars were aligning and we felt prepared.

Well, neither of us should quit our day jobs to become astrologers. 

Our first sign of trouble came at our first fuel stop in Tres Lagos. We saw the large blue and white petrol sign and white painted monster tires that lined the road from R40 to the pumps. But alas, no fuel. No attendant even. Had they been closed for days or weeks? We took the well marked detour signs into the actual town of Tres Lagos which I’d venture to guess had no more than a hundred residents. We circled the five square blocks, weaving between each street in search of gas, or any sign if life at this point. Save for a few roaming mutts, the town was empty. Then, we spotted a few locals walking a baby stroller down the street and pulled up beside them to get any info on gas. Oh thank God, there is some fuel. Some guy sells it out if his back yard and it’s about 15 pesos per litre (3x market cost). Shit. That’s a lot of money.

We had the combination of enough US dollars and pesos to fill our tank with some form of gas - we’re not sure. Our new savior filled five 5 liter jugs from his petrol drum in his back yard and, with a hose and plastic stick, sucked the end of the hose and stuffed the tube down the throat of our EcoSport. We repeated this five times. One round of the iPhone calculator translation/exchange services later (he apologized profusely for his math) and we were heading back to R40. 

A Hard Place to Leave: El Chaltén

North of El Calafate and on the other end of the Los Glaciers National Park (the Perito Moreno Glacier is to the south) is the small village of El Chaltén. Our guidebook boasted it was a hiker and climber’s wonderland with its various trails, peaks and views. We decided to postpone our start on Routa 40 and the Carterra Austral by a day and a half to visit El Chaltén as it was somewhat on our way.

We visited the ranger station to pick up trail maps, check the weather and plan our trek. Based on our timeframe, the ranger suggested a  relatively easy route that would put us in a campsite with pristine views of the FitzRoy range and its crowned jewel, Cerro FitzRoy  (3441 m). Not to mention the site was on a lake with potable water. 

There’d been a light rain all day from the same system we left in Torres del Paine the day before. With our gear in tow, we welcomed the misty two hour hike to Lago Capri. We were oddly passed by a local and an alpaca carrying supplies up to what we later learned was for a fancy, private camp. No thanks. 

When we reached camp, we went into autopilot campsite search mode. We split like programed drones to cover as much ground as quickly as possible so that we could compare notes on where the best site was before any others could claim it. We ended our loop on a cleared, flat ledge that was either part of the trail or a campsite. In the distance we could see only the base of the FitzRoy range due to cloud cover, but with the lake below and the range ahead, this could be the perfect spot. But why had none of the others chosen this prime real estate? What were we missing? Others were set up under trees and off the lake’s edge for cover from rain and wind. Remembering that rain was forecasted to end and only low winds expected, we decided to take the risk of setting up in an exposed area.

We cooked up a nice meal of spaghetti and tomato sauce (that was in great need of salt, spices, anything) and enjoyed a little bit of wine. A couple traveling through South America from New Zealand joined us for part of our meal to enjoy the view with their macaroni and cheese. That sounded good. 

We secured our tent with extra large rocks in addition to our steaks just in case the wind decided to pick up. As we crawled into our tent for the night,the rain started to fall again. It was the perfect soundtrack to the book we’re reading, In Patagonia.

The alarm went off at 7am and Doug unzipped the tent to reveal how our gamble would pay off. And then I hear, ”Wow.” I unzipped my side of the tent and boom. Front row seats for a sunrise we’ll always remember.

Mirador de Las Torres Three hours of driving between Puerto Natales and the northern entrance to Torres del Paine and thankfully we had a beautiful view of the Andes and contrasting desert the entire way.  Many visitors to Torres de Paine choose to experience the park via the “W” hike, which typically takes four to five days. With limited time, we chose to hit the eastern-most part of the W and trek the Mirador de Las Torres trail which is 9km (5.58 miles) each way and climbs over 2,500 feet in elevation. It’s about 8 hours round trip, unless you take a lot of photos.  It was a long haul and those who were on a horseback excursion to the half way point added insult to our toils. Nothing like steaming piles of manure in your trail as you sweat and climb, and hope you aren’t one of those early heart attack victims. Man was it a trek. But we got the last laugh. We arrived to the top of our hike,  Mirrador de Las Torres, at about 2:30pm. Exhausted and hungry, we wanted to rest our legs and eat our packed lunch. We cooled off quickly as our sweat soaked hair and shirts met the crisp mountain air and whipping wind. Layering up felt so awkward considering we had been overheating moments earlier.  We joined perhaps 70 or so others scattered along the rocks trying to envision the massive peaks behind an unfortunate curtain of grey clouds. We settled in, Doug set up his tripod and we began to refuel. Lunch consisted of cheese, salami and crackers for Doug and a Nutella sandwich, fresh avocado and cheese for me. It was as if we stole our nephew Kyle’s lunch box. But it was so good.  Thirty minutes passed and then another thirty. The clouds were merciless to the dozens of hikers who’d climbed to this point to see one of nature’s most magnificent collections of peaks obscured. Without a bus to catch our only obligation was to ensure we had enough sunlight to return, and so we patiently waited as others piled in and out. Hints of blue began to appear through the fog at about 3:40. We were nearly ready to pack up ourselves, but if there was going to be a clearing, we weren’t go ing to miss out. Within minutes, the fog sluggishly moved from its post and we finally got what we came for… all three peaks of Las Torres against a perfect blue sky. It really was quite a show. And as quickly as the show started, it was over. The next wave of clouds returned and we were left with the memory (and a ton of photos). We descended the trail with renewed energy and in a slight race against the sun. 
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Mirador de Las Torres

Three hours of driving between Puerto Natales and the northern entrance to Torres del Paine and thankfully we had a beautiful view of the Andes and contrasting desert the entire way.  Many visitors to Torres de Paine choose to experience the park via the “W” hike, which typically takes four to five days. With limited time, we chose to hit the eastern-most part of the W and trek the Mirador de Las Torres trail which is 9km (5.58 miles) each way and climbs over 2,500 feet in elevation. It’s about 8 hours round trip, unless you take a lot of photos. 

It was a long haul and those who were on a horseback excursion to the half way point added insult to our toils. Nothing like steaming piles of manure in your trail as you sweat and climb, and hope you aren’t one of those early heart attack victims. Man was it a trek. But we got the last laugh.

We arrived to the top of our hike,  Mirrador de Las Torres, at about 2:30pm. Exhausted and hungry, we wanted to rest our legs and eat our packed lunch. We cooled off quickly as our sweat soaked hair and shirts met the crisp mountain air and whipping wind. Layering up felt so awkward considering we had been overheating moments earlier. 

We joined perhaps 70 or so others scattered along the rocks trying to envision the massive peaks behind an unfortunate curtain of grey clouds. We settled in, Doug set up his tripod and we began to refuel. Lunch consisted of cheese, salami and crackers for Doug and a Nutella sandwich, fresh avocado and cheese for me. It was as if we stole our nephew Kyle’s lunch box. But it was so good. 

Thirty minutes passed and then another thirty. The clouds were merciless to the dozens of hikers who’d climbed to this point to see one of nature’s most magnificent collections of peaks obscured. Without a bus to catch our only obligation was to ensure we had enough sunlight to return, and so we patiently waited as others piled in and out.

Hints of blue began to appear through the fog at about 3:40. We were nearly ready to pack up ourselves, but if there was going to be a clearing, we weren’t go ing to miss out. Within minutes, the fog sluggishly moved from its post and we finally got what we came for… all three peaks of Las Torres against a perfect blue sky. It really was quite a show.

And as quickly as the show started, it was over. The next wave of clouds returned and we were left with the memory (and a ton of photos). We descended the trail with renewed energy and in a slight race against the sun. 

Puerto Natales Puerto Natales is a small fishing village/port town that takes full advantage of its proximity to Torres del Paine National Park. We arrived to the small town after crossing over the boarder into Chile and in search of lodging, food and info on Torres del Paine trekking. We ate at an inventive vegetarian restaurant that afforded me a full and satisfied belly, which rarely happens when traveling. Other than that, Puerto Natales for us was pretty much a stopover that afforded us a great meal, fuel and a comfortable night’s sleep. We hit the road at 6:45am the next morning to enter Torres del Paine. As a side note, you can get everything you need in the park, with the exception of fuel, for a much higher price. It’s good to stock up on supplies before entering, including food, water and gear. Park rangers at the entrance have lots of information on weather, treks and we found them more helpful than some of the trekking experts in Puerto Natales. If you are coming from the north, like El Calafate or El Chalten you can also cross into Chile at Cerro Castillo (Paso Rio Don Guillermo) which is much closer to the park.
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Puerto Natales

Puerto Natales is a small fishing village/port town that takes full advantage of its proximity to Torres del Paine National Park. We arrived to the small town after crossing over the boarder into Chile and in search of lodging, food and info on Torres del Paine trekking.

We ate at an inventive vegetarian restaurant that afforded me a full and satisfied belly, which rarely happens when traveling. Other than that, Puerto Natales for us was pretty much a stopover that afforded us a great meal, fuel and a comfortable night’s sleep. We hit the road at 6:45am the next morning to enter Torres del Paine. As a side note, you can get everything you need in the park, with the exception of fuel, for a much higher price. It’s good to stock up on supplies before entering, including food, water and gear. Park rangers at the entrance have lots of information on weather, treks and we found them more helpful than some of the trekking experts in Puerto Natales. If you are coming from the north, like El Calafate or El Chalten you can also cross into Chile at Cerro Castillo (Paso Rio Don Guillermo) which is much closer to the park.

Dos Fronteras There are several border crossings along the Argentina/Chile border and we were attempting our first at Paso Laurita-Casas Viejas which is in the Argentinian town of Villa Dorotea. With all our vehicle’s paperwork in one hand and our passports in the other we entered a small room with four windows. Two for Immigration entrance/exit and the other two each for Customs entrance/exit. Were we exiting Argentina and entering Chile? Are we supposed to check out before we check in? Or does the check in assume check out?It was like a choose your own adventure book and our confusion was hard to not wear on our sleeves. We were surrounded by natives clutching papers and keeping loved ones within eyesight, truckers with well organized binders of paperwork and a few tourists of course. Then that familiar feeling you get when traveling foreign lands, the fish out of water feeling, set in. Could we possibly be the only two dumbos that have no idea what’s going on? There are two paths one can take here. One is to be that stereotypical loud, question-asker that disrupts the lines of people patiently waiting in a frenzy to selfishly find the right answer. This person, I imagine, has a panicked look on their face, is sporting a fanny pack for sure and may even be flashing their American passport and money around like a rap video star (they also have zinc oxide on their nose, even though we are in doors). The other path is to go with the flow, stand in the line you think is right and observe. Remain cool, calm and don’t fear the fact you may be looked at like a goon if you are in fact in the wrong place.  We arrive to the front of the line and declare, “Vamos a Chile.” The immigration officer glances up from his computer with this look that could have been the first step toward our “locked up abroad” storyline (we did have an open pack of almonds in our car after all), but instead it was more of a “good for you, fill this out and move on” look.   We process our paperwork and get out exit stamps in our passports. We’re out of Argentina… But not in Chile. Where was the Chilean immigration window? Were we entering no man’s land?  We come to learn that less than 5 kilometers up the road is our second stop. Chilean immigration. We go through the same process of multiple windows but this time with little more experience. Lesson: keep cool and know there are TWO border crossings. We also learned that you are not permitted to take photos inside the border crossing. Guess you can’t play it cool all the time.
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Dos Fronteras
There are several border crossings along the Argentina/Chile border and we were attempting our first at Paso Laurita-Casas Viejas which is in the Argentinian town of Villa Dorotea. With all our vehicle’s paperwork in one hand and our passports in the other we entered a small room with four windows. Two for Immigration entrance/exit and the other two each for Customs entrance/exit. Were we exiting Argentina and entering Chile? Are we supposed to check out before we check in? Or does the check in assume check out?It was like a choose your own adventure book and our confusion was hard to not wear on our sleeves.

We were surrounded by natives clutching papers and keeping loved ones within eyesight, truckers with well organized binders of paperwork and a few tourists of course. Then that familiar feeling you get when traveling foreign lands, the fish out of water feeling, set in. Could we possibly be the only two dumbos that have no idea what’s going on? There are two paths one can take here. One is to be that stereotypical loud, question-asker that disrupts the lines of people patiently waiting in a frenzy to selfishly find the right answer. This person, I imagine, has a panicked look on their face, is sporting a fanny pack for sure and may even be flashing their American passport and money around like a rap video star (they also have zinc oxide on their nose, even though we are in doors). The other path is to go with the flow, stand in the line you think is right and observe. Remain cool, calm and don’t fear the fact you may be looked at like a goon if you are in fact in the wrong place. 

We arrive to the front of the line and declare, “Vamos a Chile.” The immigration officer glances up from his computer with this look that could have been the first step toward our “locked up abroad” storyline (we did have an open pack of almonds in our car after all), but instead it was more of a “good for you, fill this out and move on” look.  

We process our paperwork and get out exit stamps in our passports. We’re out of Argentina… But not in Chile. Where was the Chilean immigration window? Were we entering no man’s land? 

We come to learn that less than 5 kilometers up the road is our second stop. Chilean immigration. We go through the same process of multiple windows but this time with little more experience. Lesson: keep cool and know there are TWO border crossings. We also learned that you are not permitted to take photos inside the border crossing. Guess you can’t play it cool all the time.