Into the Wind and the Mountains

This morning started quietly as I packed my things outside the dormitory, trying not to wake anyone. After a quick breakfast and much-needed coffee, I loaded up the buggy and set off into the cool, crisp air. The rain and hail from the evening before had left the mountains feeling fresh and serene, setting the tone for what would be another unforgettable day.

The road out of Uspallata was a mix of climbs, descents, and finding ways to share the narrow stretches with trucks. I found my rhythm quickly, and as I descended into the valley, the views were nothing short of breathtaking. The mountains seemed alive in the morning light, and I stopped several times to take it all in (and snap some pictures, of course!).

Along the way, the kindness of strangers gave me more than just energy—it gave me heart. A car filled with five French visitors pulled over to cheer me on, their encouragement a beautiful reminder of how this journey connects me to people from all walks of life. Not long after, a truck driver I’d met on Ruta 7 stopped again—this time with a liter of milk and water for me. It’s these small but meaningful encounters that truly elevate my days.

As the day went on, I passed through Polvaredas around midday. A few people were waiting for the bus to Mendoza, and I took the chance to pause and chat with them. It felt good to connect and share stories, even briefly, before I continued onward.

Originally, I planned to stop at Puente de Vacas. When I arrived, I visited Daniel at the kiosk near the police station. I’d met him before, and after serving everyone else, he kindly suggested a better option—Hostel Mundo Perdido, 3 miles further uphill. A bed, shower, and roof? I couldn’t resist.

But those last 3 miles were a challenge. The headwind was relentless, howling in my ears as I struggled to push the buggy uphill. It was one of those moments where every step felt monumental, but I kept my head down and pushed on, one step at a time.

When I finally arrived, I was exhausted but grateful. As I unloaded the buggy inside, I realized my Argentinian flag was missing—the wind must have taken it. With the Chilean border so close, I guess it’s a fitting transition.

The Wi-Fi at the hostel is weak, so I’ll take it as a sign to rest. Tomorrow, I’ll head toward Las Cuevas. I plan to take it easy, but with this journey, nothing is ever set in stone.

For now, I’m soaking in the gratitude—for the mountains, the people I meet, and the privilege of taking this incredible path. Argentina, your beauty and generosity continue to amaze me.

Until tomorrow, Andrea