Tierra del Fuego - the Final Chapter

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When the Portugese explorer Fernando de Magallanes and his crew cut across the end of the American mainland after 14 months on the high seas in October 1520, they had already suffered from low morale, mutiny, murder, intense cold, and wild storms. Although Colombus had already discovered that the American continents were not the Spice Islands (or the "Indies") of the Asian kingdoms, there was stiff competition in Europe to chart a trade route westwards to the Indies. The Panama Canal was non-existent, and the Strait of Magellan - as it is now known - that cut through the Southern tip of South America, was the most accessible.

The Strait separates South America from Tierra del Fuego (literally, "Land of Fire"), the island-archipelago that forms the bottom tip of South America. When Magallanes arrived, he saw dozens of bonfires burning along the coast of the island. These fires were lit by the Yaghan and Ona tribes who lived on the islands to ward off the intense cold of the region since they wore little to no clothing. He feared that they were trying to lure him into the forests to ambush his armada, so deftly avoided contact and was largely uninterested in these groups.

As I arrived with my bicycle in Punta Arenas, Chile, the southernmost city on the American mainland, Tierra del Fuego loomed in the distance. Far from seeing any bonfires, it was a freezing -3 degrees Celcius. Instead of crossing the Straits on an ancient wooden-hulled ship, I was granted access on super-modern cargo liner that made the crossing daily for passengers, vehicles, and cargo.

"These Southern waters are some of the harshest conditions in the world," explained the eccentrically moustached captain. "See those things sticking out of the water?" he asked, pointing to what seemed like an abandoned dock with roughly strewn planks of wood. "Thats what happens to unlucky ships."

I lucked out on the Straits, and made the crossing in a rare day of light winds. While negotiating the two and a half hour passage on the ship, I wandered around the deck and made friends with the crew, and a strange conglomeration of tourists, sheepherders, and fishermen. As I protectively peeked below deck to make sure my bicycle hadn't been tossed out into the sea, the captain chuckled, "but don't worry - we're not quite as primitive as Magallanes today. This ship is almost indestructible."

I touched ground on Tierra del Fuego around mid-day, and the wind now howled in its full fury. Even standing up proved to be difficult. However, the Patagonian wind in Tierra del Fuego was finally in my favor, and I was excited to ride at warp-speeds towards the culmination of a long journey. Needless to say, although I harbored hopes of conversing with native Fuegians, the only people I encountered were descendants and immigrants of European ancestry.

During the time of Magallanes, it is estimated that the Yaghan numbered at around 3,000 individuals. Since he had little interest in them, they were largely ignored for three hundred years until Robert FitzRoy sailed to Tierra del Fuego on the maiden voyage of the HMS Beagle in 1830. He captured four native Fuegians and decided to "civilize" the "savages," teaching them "English... the plainer truths of Christianity... and the use of common tools" and intended to return them as missionaries. They were presented to the King and Queen in London and became instant celebrities.

A year later, the HMS Beagle returned on its famous second journey to Tierra del Fuego with Charles Darwin. One of the Fuegians had died in the interim, and the remaining three were brought back to their native land, fluent in English and "civilized." Darwin was fascinated with them, especially one Jemmy Button (his native name was "Orindellico"), and remarked that the Fuegians were "without exception the most curious and interesting spectacle I ever beheld. I could not have believed how wide was the difference between savage and civilised man: it is greater than between a wild and domesticated animal, in as much as in man there is a greater power of improvement."

Darwin's curiosity and remarks, which would now be considered largely racist and Euro-centric, engendered the view that after these people came to learn about the European lifestyle, they would naturally progress to more "civilized" forms. After setting up a mission for the returning Fuegians, the HMS Beagle returned a year later and was surprised to find that Jemmy Betton had returned to his tribal ways, left the mission, and commented in clear English that he "had not the least wish to return to England," and was "happy and contented" to live in what they thought a shockingly primitive manner with his wife.

Unfortunately, since the HMS Beagle's voyages, the indigenous groups of Tierra del Fuego have dwindled to near-extinction. The second-to-last full-blooded Yaghan, Emelinda Acuna died in 2005, and the language and traditions of the Yaghan are kept alive today only by Cristina Calderon, an elderly lady who lives across the Beagle Channel in Isla Navarino, and makes a living charging foreigners, government officials, and anthropologists who stop by for a visit.

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Much of the the Northern half of Tierra del Fuego is Patagonian steppe; in common language, windswept, shrublands where a rough dirt road cut across into the horizon. The winds fully in my favor blasted me across Tierra del Fuego all the way to the Atlantic Coast. The last time I gazed on Atlantic waters were up in Colombia, by the caribbean fortress of Cartegena de Indias, nearly a year ago.

The road turned due South, and the wind then bothered me immensely from the side. As the short austral day came to a close prematurely, I set about searching for an estancia, or sheep farm.

"He who rushes in Patagonia, loses time," Don Jose casually replied after he heard the rapid-fire, well-honed plea for a space to camp from an overly excited cyclist.

"Thanks for the advice," I spelled these words in a much calmer manner, and he invited me in. We settled into a conversation over warm brews of mate. Inside, it was a humble home with a wood-fed stove and that distinct scent of smoke. Outside, the wind whipped the plains to a fury and my host had just returned from the afternoon hours corralling his animals into the farm. Don Jose was a short and stocky man. The lines on his face were largely invisible, but the few times he smiled or settled into a deeply thoughtful visage, they told spoke lucidly. He wasn't one to speak much and when he did, it was short, aphorisms, like "don't listen to the wind, listen to the sheep," or "walk slowly."

Men like Don Jose are gauchos - the "cowboys" of Patagonia who are the descendants of the European settlers since the nineteenth century. Their hospitality is limitless; living in such seclusion and extremes, they know the value of trust and favors. That evening, along with a few other ranch hands, we swapped tall tales and dined on freshly stewed lamb. It was surreal to think that a traveler arriving in these lands just two centuries ago instead would be chatting with native Fuegians next to their monster bonfires by the coast.

I settled into my space in the garage, where I was to spend the night. The final 200 kilometers of the journey brought me to the southern portion of Tierra del Fuego, where the humid subpolar climate formed gloomy forests, silent lakes, and the snowy reaches of glacially carved mountains. The temperatures hovered around freezing, and even though it had been a week since the last heavy snow-fall, the roads were constantly glazed with a thin layer of black-ice.

Even though I slipped and fell a million times on my bicycle, crashing hard and sufficiently bruising my knees, elbows, and arse, I was fortunate to ride windless days and the cold wasn't as extreme as I had imagined, nor as fierce as it was back along the Ruta 40. I crested a final icy pass, descended down a beautiful valley, and across the crest of small hill, glimpsed my first view of the Beagle Channel and the bustling town of Ushuaia along the harbor.

This was it. Sold to tourists as "the end of the world," Ushuaia - meaning "bay (waia)" in the "upper back (ushsha)," in the Yamana language, is set in a spectacular bay, with snowcapped peaks all around. I rested in town that evening and the next day before tackling the final 26 kms to the *real* end of the road, along a dirt path into the nearby Tierra del Fuego National Park.

After more than 22,236 kms of cycling over 548 days, I had arrived in Bahia Lapataia, where the road abruptly came to an end. I was now at the southernmost point accessible by road in the world.

I arrived alone, in tears, and after spending a few moments in silent contemplation over the Antarctic waters... turned my bicycle around and slowly continued.

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Since embarking on this voyage in November of 2007, those of you who have joined me along for this ride have journeyed with me through the United States, Baja California, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina together.

We learned Spanish together and became experts at fixing flat tires. We have crossed featureless deserts and lush tropical forests together. We learned to salsa together and danced around countless bonfires together. We were robbed by knife wielding thieves. We survived Peruvian pub brawls and escaped Colombian guerrillas together. We climbed some of the highest mountains in the Andes together, and battled with thirst in the Atacama desert. We snorkeled warm Caribbean coral waters and kayaked down freezing Andean rivers together. We were adopted by indigenous families and millionaires alike, and know very well the heartbreaking sentiment that is departure. Together, we have hugged and shared intimate spaces with people we would otherwise never have come to know. We nursed countless stomach parasites together, coughed up numerous colds, and strange tonsil infections together. We smiled widely on the pages of national newspapers and magazines, and volunteered talks at schools. We explored ancient ruins, wandered along Inca trails, and camped atop Aztec ruins together.

We also learned that it is not a person's material wealth or social status that amounts to a rich and fulfilling life, but that our only true universal sources of wealth are intangible, like friendships, love, family, and time - and how we choose to spend this time. We learned that if one is following her or his dream, there is nothing wrong in making mistakes and getting lost every so often. Through this journey, we learned that there is something noble in sleeping in ditches, camping in the wilderness, and having only one change of clothes. After all, when stripped of all our material possessions, we learned that the world is filled with rewarding and enriching experiences.

We learned that cycling half-way across the world is not about "proving" oneself or a show of machismo, but about learning to be self-sufficient. To live and care for our planet in a sustainable way. To take a risk, push a little, follow our dreams, and make ourselves available for this beautiful world and its amazing habitants to surprise us and fill us with an insatiable sense of curiosity. To face the world head-on, and encounter it the way it is, not the way we imagine it.... and to be transformed.

You laughed with me. You cried with me. You encouraged and supported me when I needed it the most. Above all, you believed in me. You improvised with me, and helped me get through the toughest moments on the trip. I am endlessly grateful to each one of you who shared these experiences with me.

The people and places I have encountered along this journey have forever transformed my perspectives of this world. By choosing to embark on this journey, most of all, I am grateful of having had the opportunity to explore the invisible paths into that trackless wilderness that is our selves, and to learn a little more about how I fit into this infinitely beautiful world of ours.

Thanks for joining me!

Japhy Dhungana
Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.

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"The world is as it is...
and this is where we start."

- Saul Alinsky

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* The full photo gallery from this stage can be found here.
* Route maps of the journey can be found here.