Buenos Aires to Villa Gessell and Miramar

Leaving BA was something I had been looking forward to and with a strong running bike, tank with new gas, aired up tires I was ready to roll. Although I had to make a final pass on the Aveneda 9 de Julio so I could document what its like to drive on an 8 lane street through one of the worlds most densely populated cities. This little project probably cost me about an hour by the time I navigated the one-way streets, traffic lights and traffic jams back to the main drag out of the City. I got lost along the way and spent about 15 minutes driving through the ghetto and various freeway overpasses until I was able to get going in what I thought was the right direction.  At a stop near the on ramp I asked a driver with his window down if the Highway went to “La Plata” and he said no. Sh*t I said to myself. The light turned green and I was forced ahead by the honking traffic behind me and guess what. The onramp had a big sign that said “La Plata”. Bingo.

 I drove through more ghettos before the horizon started to change from city high-rises to the open green expanse of pampas grass and single story buildings lining the roadsides. Then it hit me. The smell of Latin America. Smoke billowed onto the road from nearby burn piles, a mixture of plant material and trash. After being in Buenos Aires for 3 weeks I had forgotten the familiar odor of the country side; a smell that I’ve developed a familiarity with since my trip to Central America 8 years ago. This small association brought me back into the world of adventure and dreams.

I spent the next few hours passing flat, hill less, bump less, dirt pile less, flat as a lake grasslands. 

Closer to the coast a strange site appeared, the ground was no longer flat. Instead sand dunes appeared along with forests of costal pines. I follow the deep green trees and rolling dunes South without a clear view of the Atlantic until reaching the beach town of Teresita.

 I pulled off the inland highway and drove about 2 miles through town to get a look at the sea. The main street was lined with tourist type shops for clothing, bikes, motorcycles, beach and fishing gear, and fast food type establishments, the majority of the businesses being closed due to the off season. At the end of the road was the Sea. A flat sandy beach with brown water 100 yards out due to the fact the Rio de la Plata flows nearby, bringing all of Buenos Aires pollution with it, not to mention pollution from a Uraguayan paper mill that has become such a point of protest in Argentina that they’ve permanently boycotted an adjacent boarder crossing into closure. 

I pulled out my guidebook to read up on the area and it stated that the water was unsuitable for bathing and that the resort type towns for the next 20 Km were run down and not really worth visiting. In agreement I headed further South to a less toxic environment. Pulled into the town of Villa Gessell noted to be more relaxed and less expensive than the neighboring fancy resort town of Pinamar.

In Villa Gessell I planned to wake up before the dawn so that I could go for a swim while the sun rose over the beach, an incredibly romantic way to start the day. When I opened my eyes the sun was already up and my room was freezing. I put on my puffy jacket, canceled my date with the ocean, and set out for coffee.

The town of Villa Gessell is a tourist Mecca during the summer and a ghost town the rest of the year. The high-rise condos, ice cream stores, beachside bars, and restaurants said to swarm like anthills during January and February looked plague stricken. Empty, boarded up, sad, and lonely. In the absence of people is seemed absurd to build up a dense infrastructure that is only useful for human entertainment 2 months out of the year.

            Needless to say I never found my coffee. Instead I walked along the beach picking up shells from the hard packed sand. Hunger called me back to the city center after and hour of exploration and I followed the trail of senior citizens holding grocery bags to the supermarket where I bought supplies for breakfast and lunch. I headed back to the hostel where I enjoyed peach marmalade on baguette to the sound of chirping birdies in the sunlit garden.

The towns have a strange similarity to South Lake Tahoe in that many of the houses are designed to handle a snow load. An interesting design element considering it doesn’t snow at this beach.  

            I loaded the bike and hit the road. Noteworthy sights included a sleeping burrowing owl that wasn’t very happy about my arrival, cities with sand roads instead of asphalt, which creates the never-ending job of a water truck driver spraying down the roads so they’re useable. Remember the last time you tried to drive your car or bike onto the beach? And lots of flat grass fields, again, the ideal natural habitat for???? You guessed it, little green parrots. Tons of them.

            I am staying in a hostel in the town city of Miramar, nicknamed the city of bicycles. It won its nickname because bicycle was the preferred method of travel before everyone in the Western World fell in love with McDonalds. There are still a ton of bikes in town and the hostel has a pack of mountain bikes for guests use. I am the only guest staying here. The owner of the hostel is a young Argentine currently working in Miami. His brother’s girlfriend checked me into my room and then served me matte and introduced me to her Mom, Aunt, and cousin who peppered me with questions for an hour.  They think I’m crazy for traveling alone.