11
Feb 2013
POSTED BY Brad
POSTED IN

Blog, South America

DISCUSSION 24 Comments

A Couple of Rejects

It was a blustery day in 1997. Brad Pitt plodded through the mountains in tattered footwear, his worn out jacket proving no match for the icy wind sweeping down from the slopes of Aconcagua – South America’s highest peak. While the film he was making was called Seven Years in Tibet, he was actually in Argentina, just a few miles outside of the small town of Uspallata. In 1997, actors staged a conflict between peaceful Tibetans and fierce Chinese soldiers bent on taking their land. Little known to Brad Pitt at the time, a similar conflict would take place 15 years later, not far from where the icy Aconcagua winds chilled him to the bone, between peaceful Americans and fierce Chilean border agents bent on taking their food.

Three days before the conflict…

We leave Mendoza and hook West toward the Andes. Scenes of vineyards and cottonwood trees soon give way to low shrubs and dry arroyos. On both sides of the road the hills grow into craggy peaks. An old railroad bed parallels the road, as does the Rio Mendoza, a wide river carrying glacial runoff to the fertile wine region below.

On the roadside we spot a shrine amid a sea of trash. Legend has it that a woman traveling with her infant child died of thirst in the desert, but her child survived by suckling the milk from her dead mother’s breast. In remembrance of the story, travelers are given free rein to throw their plastic bottles on the roadside, where the occasional whipping wind scatters them into the countryside and the Rio Mendoza.

Nine miles later, we coast into the village of Uspallata in a valley surrounded by towering peaks. We find a place near a stream and set up our home. Straight in front of Nacho, high in the towering mountains, forever roams the collective memory of Brad Pitt in his tattered jacket.

Two days before the conflict…

We explore the town – little more than a highway with a few unpaved offshoots that lead to estancias and the surrounding canyons. To protect the village from the harsh winds that come down like frozen avalanches from the Andes, extensive groves of deciduous trees have been planted around the town. The trees make the place seem tranquilo.

References to Tibet are all over the place. The Tibet bar punctuates one corner, while Tibet tours and Tibet markets abound. To someone unaware of the town’s famous recent past, the references would be very confusing indeed.

We hike to the top of a low hill outside of town where we find another shrine, this one devoid of any plastic trash.

In the evening we make a lasagna from scratch in our Dutch oven, watch a local teen flyfishing in our stream, and then retire to bed.

The day before the conflict…

I am awoken in the morning by a gaucho leading a herd of horses across the stream right in front of our camp. Throughout the day, more horses cross the stream. I am again awoken in the night by yet more horses crossing the stream, en masse. I start to wonder what’s up with all of the horses crossing the stream.

The day of the conflict…

We wake up early, have coffee and pancakes, and then tear down camp. We head West and climb farther into the Andes. The terrain looks remarkably similar to the Himalayas. I guess that explains why they chose this place to film Brad Pitt pretending to be a Himalayan mountaineer.

We eventually arrive at Aconcagua and pull over. Our plan is to hike up to the base of the mountain, but one step out the door puts those plans on the backburner; the wind is howling and it’s absolutely freezing. Springtime in the shadow of a 22,841 foot peak isn’t as balmy as we’d thought it would be. A quick walk around a field, a few minutes looking at a natural bridge and we duck inside of a tienda for some hot chocolate while sitting around a wood stove.

Back on the road we approach the Chilean border. With any luck, by nightfall we’ll be wearing fancy turtlenecks and quaffing expensive wine in a seaside restaurant in Viña del Mar. The abandoned train tracks paralleling the road are enclosed in a manmade tunnel of plate steel to protect it from the deep winter snows. The plate steel is rusty, dilapidated and sagging, giving the tracks an unreal scariness. They’re like Marilyn Manson reincarnated as train tracks.

The road approaches an unbelievably steep and towering triumvirate of mountains, seemingly impassible, and I wonder how we’ll get over them. My question is answered when the road dives into a tunnel straight through the biggest mountain. We drive for a few miles in the subterranean tunnel, icicles hanging from the roof, and then we see a sign hanging from the tunnel wall: Bienvenidos a la Republica de Chile. We’ve crossed the Chilean border underground.

Sheena ducks into the back of the van to do our routine of hiding all of the food before getting to the border guard shack. She’s getting pretty good at it by now; she tucks our meat, fruits and vegetables into every nook and cranny, while leaving a few straggling pieces of wilted vegetables in our fruit bowl as decoys for Customs to find and confiscate.

We emerge from the tunnel into an unreal scene of snow-covered mountains sweeping down to the valley where the road and the abandoned train tracks are. A few kilometers more and we arrive at the Chilean border control building. It’s a busy day, so we sit in line for close to an hour before it’s our turn to enter the enormous A-frame drive-through building.

The conflict

We’re waved into vehicle control and find a place to park. We enter the building to get our passports stamped, our importation paperwork taken care of, and we sign an affidavit stating that, under penalty of a $1,000 fine, we aren’t transporting any food. It’s time for our Customs inspection.

Outside in the freezing air I scour the parking area for an inspector. I’m looking for the most relaxed and unintimidating one, so that if things start going wrong, they might be more easily distracted by shiny objects or random questions. I start going for the young girl whose inspector jacket is slightly too big, but she dodges me at the last minute, leaving me staring at a strict, intimidating-looking man in his thirties. Bollocks! Looks like he works out too.

“Ready for your inspection?” he asks. I take a deep breath and invite him over to Nacho, handing him my signed affidavit. After a cursory walk around the exterior, he asks Sheena to open the sliding door. He steps in and gets to work.

“Do you have any food in here?”

“Food? No sir, we don’t have any food in here,” I respond. I’m trying to look a little surprised by his question, as though the thought of having food inside of a car is completely stupid. My acting does nothing to convince him, so he starts opening things.

Drawer one: no food. Drawer two: no food. Drawer three: no food. Cabinet: completely stuffed with dry food. He slowly turns his head at me and shoots me a disbelieving look. The proverbial Nazi soldier has just found the proverbial stash of hidden Jews under the floorboards.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any food.” This must be very rewarding for him, watching liars like me squirm.

“Oh, right, sure that’s food. But I thought you were talking about things like fruits and vegetables. Is it illegal to cross the border with oatmeal and stuff?”

He slowly turns back and starts emptying the cabinet until every last crumb is out on the counter, and then he goes through it piece by piece.

“You signed the affidavit, right? Did you even read it?” he asks in a slightly insulting tone.

Not knowing how to break it to him that nobody ever reads anything that they sign at a border, I try to be vague. “Not very well, no.”

He begins throwing our food in a pile on the floor. Once he’s created a nice mound he moves on to Sheena’s clothing storage area under the couch. He withdraws her clothing piece by piece until, halfway through, he pulls out a bag of apples. He holds it up, turns to look at me, shakes his head, and throws the apples in the pile. A few shirts later he removes our cucumbers, cilantro, tomatoes, and bell peppers.

The inspector leans back and stretches his shoulders, and then turns his head to look at me. He’s done messing around.

“I will give you one more chance. Just tell me where all of your food is.”

I confidently explain to him that he’s found everything – that we keep all of our food up here in the front area. He definitely doesn’t believe me, and positions himself on the couch, ready to tear our whole world apart. He reaches his arm into Sheena’s sleeping bag and slowly withdraws a huge head of cabbage, and then gives me the stink eye.

“Do you always keep your cabbage in your sleeping bag?” he hisses. He lets out a disappointing sigh and starts getting rough. He claws at our belongings and throws them at me, and tells me he will remove everything from the van.

Within a few minutes, most of our belongings are on the ground in the parking lot and the pile of food on the floor has grown to include all of our meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, dried fruit, backpacking food, honey, and anything not in its original packaging. There’s over $200 worth of food on the ground, and he’s spilling it everywhere. Finally he looks behind a curtain and finds the carton of eggs.

“Are these eggs hard boiled or raw?” he asks.

“Raw,” Sheena says. We’re done lying; we’ve lost the battle.

Not satisfied with our too-little-too-late honesty, the inspector removes two eggs from the carton, holds them over Sheena’s pillow, and smashes them against each other. The eggs explode all over her pillow and the inspector’s hands. He wipes his hands on her pillow and hands it to me. Classy.

Sheena shoots me a furious glance; by now we’re all feeling a bit pissed off. Just like every traveler we’ve met, we always have food in our car. This is our home, after all. And just like every traveler, we always deny having food for the purpose of crossing borders. It’s a formality that no border agent has ever really cared about. This guy, however, deeply cares.

“Wait, stop. Just stop touching our stuff. We don’t want to go to Chile any more. We’re going back to Argentina.”

The inspector looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, just get out of our car.”

He jumps out of the van and asks me to follow him. I follow him to his group of inspector friends, where he informs them that we will be going back to Argentina. One of the women looks surprised and asks why we’re going back.

“We’re going back because you’re stealing all of our food,” I say. I’m still pissed about the eggs, and I’m not doing much to mask my anger. At this, our inspector’s eyes nearly pop out of his head and he charges at me, stopping an inch from my face.

“Did you say STEALING!? You signed the affidavit, right!?”

At this, I realize that in fact he’s right, and that we’re really the bad guys. In our minds we think he’s a jerk because he’s the first border Customs agent we’ve ever met who actually cares about people smuggling food over international lines. We later find out that Chile in general is very serious about crossing borders with food because of their lack of invasive insect species, and their desire to keep it that way.

Still fuming, I tell the agent that my Spanish vocabulary is lacking, and that “stealing” is the only word I know to describe the act of taking away someone else’s property. The agent scribbles “VOID” across my completed importation paperwork, and shoves it in my hand. We retrace our steps through all of the border control processes and get stamped out of Chile.

Once we arrive back at the Argentine side, we have to explain why we’re back so soon from Chile, and why we don’t have properly discharged Chilean import paperwork. When asked whether we’re carrying any food, we look a little surprised and say no. We’re casually waved through, back into good old Argentina.

When evening rolls around, we camp in the same place by the river outside of Uspallata. I drift off to sleep thinking about Tibet and Brad Pitt. It’s almost as if today never happened. A horse crosses the stream outside of our window, and I fall asleep wondering, what’s up with all of these horses?


24 Comments

  1. Joy Sullivan

    Brad and Sheena,

    Found your blog a couple days ago. I’m hooked. I am fascinated by your draw to this adventure and will keep posted.

    Joy

    Comment by Joy Sullivan on February 11, 2013 at 6:54 am

  2. I recongnize myself so much in your story, it’s like looking in a mirror…
    I especially like the “no food back in Argentina” part :-) Guts…or foolishness :-)
    The inspector really got overboard with the eggs on the pillow. Must have been hard to stay cool.
    Guess you never had to pay the fine after all…
    I’m sure you had better luck at the next boder crossing into Chile. Or maybe was it at the same crossing, only at a different time of day?
    Guts… or foolishness :-D

    Comment by Marc on February 11, 2013 at 7:31 am

  3. Arnaldo

    I feel for you guys. Are you going to try to reenter into Chile (foodless) in another post? Few years ago I flew to Santiago from NY. When we landed I saw the flight attendand spreading a “pefume” across the cabin. It was not a perfume. It was a chemical to kill possible germs we might be carrying from USA! I was enraged to be waken up with that poison in my lungs. I sworned that it will be my last time to visit Chile. Thi year I might cross the border in my jeep from Venezuela. Without food of course.

    Comment by Arnaldo on February 11, 2013 at 8:20 am

  4. Karen

    I’ve spent the past few days reading your blog, and loving every minute of it. I appreciate you taking us along on your journey. I do have to say that I am disappointed by this post. I don’t think you have a right to be upset by the way the border officer treated you. You outright lied, You signed your name to a document-does that not mean something to you? You are on an amazing journey. A journey that promises something new and different about every region you visit. These differences need to be respected. Admittedly, the egg smashing was extreme, but if you had been honest from the beginning, it wouldn’t have happened.

    Comment by Karen on February 11, 2013 at 10:55 am

  5. Agreed Karen, we admit to being in the wrong. Many of our posts involve rule bending, and we get away with it. In this case we didn’t, and I tried to be honest about how we ended up on the losing end. I also admitted to being the bad guy and having lied. I was trying to convey the fact that it was unexpected, but that we realized we were wrong. After having learned the reason for the strict rules after the fact, we totally understand their strictness. The way I acted after realizing that I was wrong was more out of frustration at the whole situation. I don’t want to try to pretend that we’re super awesome all the time – it would be disingenuous. This blog was meant to show that – that sometimes we play the ugly American too.

    Comment by Brad on February 11, 2013 at 11:08 am

  6. Karen

    Thank-you for your very genuine reply! Strange as it sounds, I feel like I have gotten to know you and Sheena. Up til now I never got that ‘ugly American’ vibe, so I was surprised. I have actually enjoyed many of your stories about getting out of sticky situations…Anyway, I do think you guys are super-awesome, moreso now that you showed respect for a comment that may have come across as bitchy. If you ever pass through Toronto, I have a spare room and you are both welcome, Nacho as well. Happy border crossings and travels!

    Comment by Karen on February 11, 2013 at 11:24 am

  7. Thanks, Karen! We do our best to represent our country respectfully, but everyone slips up sometimes :) We’ll look you up when we (eventually) get to Toronto!

    Comment by Brad on February 11, 2013 at 11:30 am

  8. Ian

    Hi Brad, love your posts, I’ve been reading since you started out. I’ve been working on convincing my wife that we need to sell everthing, buy a small camper, and experience the world. Keep on doing what you do. You are my proof that life does not have to be a never-ending cycle of going into debt to buy stuff then work your butt off to pay it off, just to repeat the cycle. As long as there are people like you and Sheena out there, there is hope for the rest of us!

    Comment by Ian on February 11, 2013 at 11:32 am

  9. Very kind of you, Ian! Tell your wife to give Sheena a call sometime. Sheena found it comforting to talk to people on the road before we left to make her realize she wasn’t crazy. If it helps, you may be able to convince your wife to put everything into storage instead of selling it. We still have a few things in my grandfather’s barn waiting for us. Thanks for reading!

    Comment by Brad on February 11, 2013 at 12:02 pm

  10. Mike

    Well, a lesson was learnt, did they give you your food back and what about the $1,000 fine?
    Great blog
    Mike

    Comment by Mike on February 11, 2013 at 1:12 pm

  11. Brad. Don’t feel bad about it, a little cheating is all part of the game. It’s always been. We all do it at some point, to some extend. No-one has always been driving the speed limit 100% of the time. I suppose some of us are like kids, testing their parents patience to see what they can get away with, until we reach our own speed limit and then back off the throttle a bit. I got smacked with a $5000 (yes, five grands) fine coming back into Canada not even a year ago so I know what I’m talking about. Ask me if I take border crossings a little more seriously now…:-|

    Keep on trucking!

    Comment by Marc on February 11, 2013 at 1:25 pm

  12. Holy crap, Marc! And no, Mike, we didn’t get a fine. We loaded our food back up and drove away.

    On a trip like this it’s almost impossible to follow all the rules. Especially when it comes to traffic rules – don’t get me started! :)

    Comment by Brad on February 11, 2013 at 1:42 pm

  13. oh oh! And so, are you going to empty out the fridge and go back? You have to see Patagonia, having gone this far!
    So hey, when are you going to post your recipe for your dutch oven lasagna cuz it looks amazing:0

    Comment by Rhonda on February 11, 2013 at 2:20 pm

  14. Brad.

    What do you mean “on a trip like this”? Hey! It’s almost impossible to follow all the rules right here at home!

    Speaking of following the rules, I have just 2 words for you:
    Desert Clowns…

    PS: Yes, 5 K hurts…

    Cheers!

    Comment by Marc on February 11, 2013 at 3:10 pm

  15. Japo

    To get to the other side.

    Comment by Japo on February 11, 2013 at 9:46 pm

  16. Rey

    Brad, although stealing might at first sound a bit extreme, it was the correct word. The customs form you signed was in effect a contract between the State and you. When you signed the contract declaring that you had no food on board (as a condition of entering the country) you accepted to pay a $1000 fine if you broke the agreement. When the officer began behaving as a bully, and most bullies are attracted to law enforcement so the behavior, although unacceptable, was to be expected, he was also violating the contract. At no point did you agree to have your property damaged or destroyed if you violated the contract. Yes, I know that $1000 dollars would have exceeded the value of the damage done yet, his behavior was intentional aggression against you and Sheena not what you had agreed on. So don’t apologize too much.

    Comment by Rey on February 12, 2013 at 9:18 am

  17. Interesting point of view, Rey.

    Comment by Marc on February 12, 2013 at 10:53 am

  18. Hey, BTW, Tibet is currently closed to overland travel from Kathmandu based on the current whims of the Chinese, but I’ve prepared the entire Kathmandu livery community, as well as the national media for your arrival.
    Things may change after you arrive (one or two years from now?) but I am working the problem as we speak.

    If you’re planning a route that involves Nagqu or Golmud you will be smacked around at the least, imprisoned at the worst as you would be driving through areas of serious political posturing. This ain’t south America.

    Nacho isn’t a vehicle in this part of the world, he’s a symbol so we’ve got to tread carefully. Some dis-assembly may be required but this is still up in the air. My feeling is that we put Nacho in the back of a big Tata heavy freight truck and head to Kashgar…just a thought.

    Anyway, I’m happy that you’ve made such good progress and hope you will pay your overdue propane bill of $32,318 before you are killed by indigenous whomevers.

    We DO need to have an adult conversation about Asia, however, so email me.

    landlord.

    Comment by jimdai on February 16, 2013 at 10:07 pm

  19. Bell

    Love living your adventures through your posts. Wish I had your spunk and courage. Keep laughing and driving!

    Comment by Bell on February 19, 2013 at 2:36 pm

  20. John Wojo

    Brad and Karen
    Your blog is outstanding ,as a weary traveler and having crossed the borders between Chile and Argentina I found this last missive extraordinarily entertaining not to mention masterfully written.
    I have broadcast your site to many fellow travelers. I hope that they too will be motivated to go for it.
    You two are inspiring and I wish you well .

    I will keep an eye out for Nacho on the road.

    Be Well

    Comment by John Wojo on February 21, 2013 at 6:38 pm

  21. Richard Gay

    A moment ago I stood at the big 3′ x 5′ map of the world in our game room, looking at South America. I was wishing I could spend some time there, gazing at starts where there are no city lights to interrupt my vision. I’ve really enjoyed the record of your travels, and am getting impatient for your next entry. The comment above about getting of the apparently endless cycle of buying and debt and working spoke to me. Maybe someday I can find a way out of it that doesn’t involve a headstone. Be well, make friends, and keep us advised of your progress.

    Comment by Richard Gay on February 24, 2013 at 9:05 am

  22. Richard, I wish you the best of luck in getting out of the debt cycle without aid of a headstone ;) We have a couple of blogs in the pipeline, so you’ll see them starting today or tomorrow.

    Take care!

    Comment by Brad on February 27, 2013 at 9:29 am

  23. […] of Argentina we passed through a place called Uspallata, and thereafter began our ill-fated international food smuggling debacle, which saw us retreating to Uspallata. Uspallata, as it turned out, was the home base for the […]

    Pingback by Drive Nacho Drive » Langtang Phooey on March 16, 2014 at 12:11 am

  24. Since you linked to this post and I just read it, I figured I’d comment:

    We crossed into Chile via the exact same pass a few weeks ago. We put all our food in the cooler (even things that didn’t need cooling), and when the inspector asked if we had any, we said “yes–here”. He took a look and waved us on, all our food intact, cold cuts, potatoes and all.

    “A little cheating”, as one of the commenters above wrote, doesn’t always have to be part of the game :)

    Comment by Juan Buhler on March 16, 2014 at 2:22 am

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