Hungry? I Know A Little Place At The End Of The World

My trip to the end of the world was a long one and boy was I starving.

The day began in Chile, in a tiny remote town called Porvenir on Tierra del Fuego island, just south of the very tip of South America. The day would end in Argentina.

A couple who owned a hostel all the way up in Valparaiso raved about their friend’s place that had opened up in Porvenir, and it stuck with me. So, after months of criss-crossing my way thousands of miles back and forth over the Andes making my way down through Patagonian Argentina and Chile, I hopped a ferry across the Strait of Magellan and booked two nights at Hostel Yendegaia in a very off-the-beaten path approach to get to Ushuaia, unofficially the world’s southernmost city.

The accommodation was perfect. Outside, Porvenir felt barren, entirely undiscovered by outside tourism — save for the elite birdwatchers. Inside, however, there were warm, home-cooked meals, coffee and tea all day, soft fluffy towels and large, comfortable bedrooms for guests. Taken out of its context, this bed and breakfast could have been anywhere in the world.

The two nights I stayed here were oddly satisfying, although there was really nothing to do but read, relax and explore this little town near the end of the world. At dinner my last night, I casually brought up the next day’s trip to Ushuaia, on the Argentinian side of Tierra del Fuego. Could I hop a bus from here?, I asked.

I had been nomadic for over two years at that point, and was pretty confident that there was always a bus to catch.

“Oh, there’s no bus from here. You’ll have to get up early and get back on the ferry, back to Punta Arenas on the mainland and then get the bus up and over into Argentina and down to Ushuaia from there.” The owner’s voice was gentle, but I could tell there was more to the story.

“But I’m on Tierra del Fuego, Ushuaia is on Tierra del Fuego, why not just shoot across from here?” I asked, feigning my innocence. Part of me was hoping he’d say he knew someone who could get me there, no problem.

No such luck.

“Well, you can do what the locals do. Hacer dedo.”

I was unfamiliar with the expression itself, but dedo means thumb, and I knew immediately he meant I could hitchhike. I could stand on the side of the road, get into a stranger’s car, cross a border, and hope to make it that way instead.

Obviously, I decided that is exactly what I would do.

That next morning, I packed up and stood on the main road a few minutes’ walk from Hostel Yendegaia. A woman with two sons inside her truck and two dogs in the back threw me and my luggage into the backseat, stopped off at her family farm, and eventually dropped me on the side of the road 20km later.

Only 418 km to go, then.

I stood under low, looming clouds on the side of the lone gravel road, the only sign of human existance. Would I win in a fight against a llama? Do emus live here? Would someone attack me? Or rob me at least? With no decent store in town open that morning, all I had was a bag full of carrots, walnuts and one hard-boiled egg. What if I had to sleep right here and no one passed by for days.

I would die here.

About eight minutes and four versions of envisioning my own death later, a small truck with a very cracked windshield stopped. A man dutifully got out, silently tied my backpack to the back of his truck, put me in the cab and hit the gas. I would make it another 100km with him, until he turned left at a crossroad and I was to continue on right and through the border over to Argentina. I stood in a tiny hut at the intersection of four gravel roads stretching in each cardinal direction. The expression ‘as far as the eye could see’ was never more clear. The wind whipped my hair so intensely it hurt every time it hit my face.

Four carrots later, a semi-truck without a trailer pulled up. The driver said nothing, as though he didn’t see me. He got out, walked behind the hut, and I heard his urine hitting the corrugated tin siding. I awkwardly walked out and waited for him to come around. He had a gold earring. He smoked. His hair had gel in it. He was from a city, I could tell, and was either picking up or dropping off a delivery down here.

“Are you going to Ushuaia?”

“Yes,” he said, as though surprised I would talk to him. What city rats we can be, even when it feels like we are the only two people in the world.

“Well, almost to Ushuaia, I am going just over the border. Do you need a ride?”

“Yes,” I said, and wanted to add that I wasn’t exactly waiting for my Uber. But I kept that one to myself.

He chain-smoked in the cab with the window cracked for two hours, telling me story after story of his Cuban girlfriend and his ex-wife who gets on his nerves, but who he’ll always love.

At the border, we went through customs together (which actually should have raised eyebrows by border patrol, now that I think about it) and then I hitched a ride with a younger kid for an hour trip to San Sebastian. I fascinated him with stories of my travels until he dropped me at the bus station, where I hopped a decent bus the rest of the way to Ushuaia.

Where to eat at the end of the world

540 kilometers and ten hours later, I went straight to Ramos Generales, the cutest little spot in Ushuaia if you ask me. This eclectic history museum / restaurant / bar / cafe serves a little bit of magic along with its tasty menu, and I scarfed down anything without carrots on the menu — empanadas, pasta, pastries and coffee. I wouldn’t travel to the end of the world just for Ramos Generales, but if you happen to already be there, stop in and refuel. Make sure to make a trip to the bathroom — you won’t regret it. You’ll just have to trust me on that one till you get there.

Journey to the end of the world

Hostel Yendegaia
Croacia # 702, Porvenir, Chile

Ramos Generales
Maipú 749 . Ushuaia . Tierra del Fuego . Argentina.
+ 54 2901 424317

Photo Credits: Marcos Torrico Fotografía, found on Almacén Ramos Generales Ushuaia Facebook

Jess Ainlay has also written about the best coffee shop in Cambodia and devouring tacos el vapor in Mexico.