The fuzzy muffled beeping of the nokia’s alarm was getting louder and clearer as consciousness took hold. I felt like shit. It was 7:00 am. We’d finally finished packing and sorting at 5:30 am and had collapsed, still dressed onto the bed. We’d arranged with Steph to pick us up at 7:30 am which would hopefully get us to the airport by 8:00 am. Steph was yet again to save the day.
With the mandatory coffee downed and our goodbyes said to Zhool and Michelle, we lugged our heavy bags into the boot and gently wedged our helmets along side. The idea of resting my head back against the passenger seats head rest had to be resisted; I’d be asleep in seconds. Strange, The bikes had been crated and shipped. We’d packed up and said our goodbyes to great friends and now we were heading to the airport to jet off to South America, it still wasn’t sinking in! The last few manic weeks simply hadn’t given us time to sit and take in that our time in Africa was drawing to an end and that we’d be swapping continents.
The ‘News Café’s’ coffee was strong and brain function was slowly beginning to come back, it was time to say our last goodbye and Steph knew it. With hugs and thanks warmly given and gratefully received we made our way through the large sign which read ‘International Departure’ and headed for gate B6. The airport announcement system blared into life. “Will passengers Mr and Mrs Thomas please make their way to gate B6 as the flight is waiting and the gate will be shutting in the next two minutes”. Oh shit you’ve got to be kidding, we’d lost track of time and hadn’t heard any previous warnings. A fast walk became a faster jog. The announcement came again, only this time we had 1 minute and the planes doors were being closed. A jolt of adrenalin hit our systems. We were now running, clumsily bouncing our hand luggage off our lower bodies as we ran. The staff forced a smile as our tickets were checked and we made our way to the plane. That was close and not the smooth departure we’d planned..
With overhead compartments firmly closed and seat belts buckled up, the engines cleared their throats and began to roar. Forced back into our seat with the thunderous acceleration, large grins were planting themselves across our faces. In the air and bouncing around in the low level turbulence, Table Mountain in all its splendour made its appearance through one of the small oval windows. Wow! Realisation was hitting home, although neither of us were surprised that it was with more than a little sadness that we were leaving a continent that has left an indelible mark on us both. More importantly we were leaving friends who’d become an intimate part of our lives, helping and supporting us without hesitation. True friends I was once told are the relationships untouched and undiminished by time, picked up and to be continued exactly where they were left, secure and unmovable. We’ve made those kinds of friends and you know exactly who you are! See you soon.
With a few hours sleep snatched and with the help of Dan Brown and his Da Vinci Code, the flight literally ‘Flew by’. Our excitement was growing again, as the captain made his polite thank you’s to his passengers for flying with him and gave our estimated time of arrival in Buenos Aires. The stomach butterflies were busy. Touch down was met with a rapturous applause. “They’re glad to be home” Lisa said through her smile.
Our taxi was effortlessly weaving its way through the late afternoon traffic with inch perfect accuracy. The cool blasé attitude of our driver was familiar, we’d seen it the world over. The road belonged him; everyone else was just borrowing it. The hotel Liberty (Av. Corrientes 632 (esq Florida) BuenosAires, Tel/Fax (54-11) 4325-0261, e-mail: info@liberty-hotel.com.ar WEB: www.liberty-hotel.com.ar ) had been booked by the young girl we’d met at the Tourist info site at the airport. We were just too tired to shop around and at $45 (US) in the centre of the city it sounded fair, we’d find something cheaper in the next day or two.
The bags we’d heaved into room 123 hit the floor as heavily as we hit the bed. An hour later we were forcing ourselves awake, we had to eat, besides even as exhausted as we are we’d got to go and say hello to our new country. “Olá, Buenos Tardes…”. Buenos Aires couldn’t wait and so with our hour of wandering done we found a small local restaurant and soaked up as much of the local atmosphere as we could. We’ll explore some more tomorrow.

Buenos Aires is a bustling hive of activity. The Spanish flavour feels wonderfully familiar and yet it’s so clear that it is just a flavour and that this place clearly has an identity like no other. By 11:00am we’d joined the thousands of pedestrians in the streets. And were heading of to find the Kunel & Knagel shipping office at …….
The Casa Rosada ( ‘The Pink Building’) where Eva Peron had waived from the balcony was deserving of a few photos. It was still only now that things were beginning to sink in. ‘Bloody hell’ we’re in Argentina, if I’ve said this once out loud today I’ve said it a dozen times. Brilliant!
We’ve spent the afternoon back at the Liberty, dozing and resting, desperately trying to catch up on some sleep, the 5 hour time difference isn’t helping. Tonight we’ll head out find something to eat and just soak up the atmosphere of this proud city.

The last few days seem to have flown by but strangely it’s difficult to say exactly what we’ve done with them. Sunday was an easy day as we mingled amongst the hordes of tourists at the Plaza Dorrego in the San Telmo district, and out to the flea markets, where you can buy anything from rusty pocket watches to vintage dresses, delicate china to old coins. The square swam to vibrant Spanish tones of the tango and the young couple dancing ‘the dance of passion’ for coins provided the easiest of photo ops’.
Khuene & Nagel (their office are at Av. Corrientes 316, Entrepiso C1043AAQ, BuenosAires. Tel: (54-11) 5556-6200) had received us with a polite but efficient smile and confirmed our bikes would be in dock by Wednesday, with any luck we’ll have them by Monday. It’s going to be a long couple of days. In the mean time we have to try and sort out our GPS which at the moment isn’t talking to our computer. I know it’s a simple problem but right now I’m not seeing the ‘simple’ answer.
Buenos Aires is a crisscross of alley ways and avenues, each crammed packed with shops selling everything from computer gadgets to soft suede shoes. Food seems to be a major theme with every 5th shop a café. You can eat here for nothing. Last night we both ate steak, a side salad, two beers and coffee for 40 pesos (about £8) and pasta and coffee for two will set you back around £3. If wine is your thing then a decent bottle of cabernet sauvignon 2001 will set you back 5 pesos (£1, that’s got to make you smile)

At 120 Pesos a night, we’d worked out that the Hotel Liberty was dealing a harsh blow to our budget and so with a little shopping around last night we’ve found our new home. So, by 10:30 am we’d heaved our bags down to reception, checked out and moved one block down to the Hotel “O’ REI” (Find it at Lavalle 733, 1° Piso, Capital Federal, Tel: 4393-7186.) At 40 Pesos (£8) a night it’s a bargain, I mean c’mon, where in the centre of London could you stay for £8? The building has character. One look at the paint layered walls tells you this place has seen some action, Oh’ if walls could speak. It’s old but clean and will save us a fortune.
Internet access has been pretty easy to find and if you look hard enough, it’s even free! Yep, Free. If you’ve got a laptop with Wi-Fi (wireless access) you can drop into the ‘Galerias Pacifico’ a hue shopping mall in the centre of Buenos Aires and pick up an access voucher from the nice young ladies at the information desk. Punch in the code and get online. It’s easy and free. We just grinned for 5 minutes as we sent our e-mails and felt very ‘James Bond’. You can find the ‘Galerias Pacifico’ at the corner of Florida and Cordoba.

After a late start and with coffee downed we made our now, familiar way back to Avenue Corrientes and headed down to Khuene & Nagel’s office, hoping to kick start the paperwork that would eventually lead to being handed the release papers for the bikes. Marcello greeted us in his usual laid back way. “Youu must gow now to the coostoms, por que…because Ariel will’a meets youuu they’rrr.” Marcello pronounced very earnestly. OK Dokey we thought, that’s nice? Who the hell is Ariel? Is he the guy that will do our washing? Ariel it turned out was one of K & N’s paperwork fixer’s (magicians). 5 minutes later and back outside, the cold air of Buenos Aires was blowing away the last remaining morning cobwebs. Marcello had scribble down the address for the customs building, where Ariel was expecting us. Our taxi driver looked concerned; he didn’t know the address he explained. “I will take you there anyway…don’t worry”. “Umm right? Good”, we replied a little hesitantly. Lisa and I were exchanging bemused glances at one another. Should be interesting we thought? The address for the customs building is Estacion Maritime, Buenos Aires, Terminal 3, off Avenue T. A. Edison. We peered nervously from the back seat as our driver skimmed past vehicles in his way. 10 minutes later and with a look of triumph, he mustered his best English…”we are here, thank you”. “Muchas gracias”. At 4 pesos (£0.90) we weren’t going to argue but we felt pretty sure this wasn’t where we were meant to be. The large sign which read ‘Ciudad Omnibus’ and the hundreds of people hoping on and off the dozen or so coaches gave it away. We felt confident that the customs building wasn’t going to look like the city bus stop. We hailed another cab and 5 minutes later and 4 blocks down arrived at the customs building. For anyone thinking of shipping over in the winter months, take note, if it wasn’t for a helpful guard and a determined taxi driver, we wouldn’t have found it. Let me rephrase; we wouldn’t have gone in. In the winter months the whole place looks completely deserted. They literally clear it. No lights, desk, power, computer, staff…nada, zilch. Half way down the wall inside the ‘hanger’ of a hall, which by the way is unmarked, is a little white door. Yep, you guessed this was the customs office. The small non-descript sign on the floor told us so. Problem is that when you look through from the outside, peering into the blackness through the large glass doors…you see nothing. Ariel was inside waiting for us. What a star. He spoke no English, which was fine, our Spanish needed the practise. With our paperwork sorted into bundles, Ariel checked over our Carnet’s and our newly completed and corrected ‘Bill’s of Lading’, which were now in separate names, one set for me and the 1100GS and another for Lisa and the 650GS. With the occasional nods of approval from Ariel he soon completed all the necessary extra’s and then disappeared inside the white door and…’did his thing’. To be honest we don’t know what he did but we left with lots of official looking photo copies and Ariel assured us that everything was now in order and tomorrow we’ll get the bikes. All in all we only waited two hours in ‘the hanger’, we’d bargained for a lot longer. We’ve arranged to meet Ariel tomorrow at K & N’s office at 1:15 pm as the bikes are being held at a depot somewhere else in the city.

For the last 4-5 days we’ve been trying to find a hotel with its own secure parking, and not succeeding. We needed the bikes close so we could repack the bikes, check them over and know they were really safe. The ones we had found were all 5-star and waaaay, out of our budget. We’d found ‘Hotel Grand King’ but been told they had nothing available. We had to pass the ‘Grand King’ on our way back to the ‘O’ Rie, we might as well pop in; they might have had a cancellation? 10 minutes later and we’d confirmed our room and booked our parking. Sorted.

Ahhh, we’ve just rounded off the day in style. We’re cuddled up in bed (it’s bloody freezing, the wind howling through the gaps in the window and the rooms not heated) and have just had pasta delivered by a local restaurant (for 23 pesos - £4-20 we had two large pasta’s a two litre bottle of coke and breadsticks) and stuffed our fill whilst watching ‘Spider-Man’ in Spanish. Night, night.

By 12:30 we’d packed up, moved a block down Lavalle Street (pronounced Laavach, we’re told) and were the new occupiers of room 607 at ‘The Grand King’, (sounds really posh doesn’t it?) By 1pm we were excitedly making our way down to K & N’s office to meet Ariel. Today’s the day we thought…the idea of getting our bikes back was fantastic. We were trying not to get too excited. After reading countless horror stories of other travellers shipping vehicles in South America we knew there was plenty of scope for ‘crap goblin’ to raise his ugly head and turn our day to er…ummm…crap.
Right on cue Ariel pitched up. “Buenos Dias…we gooo!”, he exclaimed. You’ve never seen two people fly into a taxi faster, we were desperate to see the ‘kids’. This was the day we’d been waiting for since the 8th June. With brief instructions given to our driver by Ariel, we headed off and to my surprise in the opposite direction to the ports and customs. Some 15 minutes later and we’d entered a large industrial zone and familiar orange, stacked containers came into view. We followed Ariel into a huge yard, through a labyrinth of crates and into makeshift offices. The dozen or so nods of acknowledgment we’d already received, told us that Ariel was no stranger here, this was reassuring. We handed Ariel all our paperwork, in fact if it was paper and carried any kind of official stamp Ariel got it, whether he needed it or not. 15 minutes later and having visited two separate windows Ariel confirmed that our documents had the right stamps and we were to follow him to find the bikes. Back through the maze of crates, boxes and containers we were soon back outside and being led to one of the storage halls. Before long and to our huge relief we spied two large familiar looking wooden crates. With the help of a fork lift and an accommodating driver our crates were manoeuvred allowing us to start the un-packing process. As we began to de-crate, Ariel disappeared, explaining that there was still much to do and that they now need a customs inspection, which would allow the carnet’s to be stamped. (Note to other travellers: South America inc Argentina don’t officially require Carnet’s, but as we found out having them makes life a lot simpler…and yes they do ask for them!)

It took us about 3 hours to break the crates, unload the contents, check over the bikes and load them ready for our short trip back to our hotel. We’re guessing that it would have taken us 2 hours normally, except for the little fact the almost every worker in the yard at some time found a reason to come into our storage hall and strike up a conversation. This was feeling familiar and yep, it was great. To be here with the bikes again meant that for Lisa and I, we had now officially arrived in Argentina. For us we’d arrived today and not the 8th. It struck us both hard, how odd it had been not to have had the bikes and how ‘complete’ we both now felt to have them with us again. Yeah, yeah, soppy we know!
Note: We were genuinely surprised as to how relatively painless the whole shipping procedure had been. As we de-crated, we half expected to be stopped any minute by some worker who identified a problem we’d over-looked and who would then demand a payment or another 5 hours of paperwork to be completed, but nope, nothing. The Buenos Aires handling fee’s had been steep (well I think so anyway) but we’d been assured by K & N in Cape Town that we’d have no nasty surprises in BA, sure enough we had none. Ariel dealt with the carnets, taxes, Lading documents the lot. Importantly we’d have had a mission just trying to find the various offices and warehouse without his help. Not just because of the language barrier but because half the time not even the taxi drivers knew the area! If you’re shipping a vehicle in and need a little help, we’re guessing you can hire Ariel privately, here’s his mobile/Cell Tel No: 15 5301 7414.

With our appreciation given to Ariel and the other port staff that had helped, we climbed aboard the bikes, hit the starter buttons, exchanged wonderfully smug glances between ourselves and headed off into Buenos Aries rush hour. The feeling of exhilaration was tangible. Lisa was in her element as she dodged between the busy traffic, her exhaust barking aggressively as she blipped the throttle…why? Because she could ?

By 6:30pm and with a few detours taken, thanks largely to BA’s one-way and pedestrian systems we were back at the Grand King. “Hello, you made it then”? The couple standing by our bikes and asking the question looked familiar. “We met you at the Water-front in Cape Town and bought one of your calendars”, they continued. This was bizarre, great but bizarre; I mean c’mon what are the chances? Here we are in a different continent and just as we pitch up at a hotel in Buenos Aires, two friends from Cape Town are walking past at exactly the same time. It really is a small word. We ended up spending 10 minutes talking, said our farewells and rode down the steep slope into the hotels underground parking. Dirty, hot, tired and very, very, very happy.

Packed, sorted, packed, sorted and oh yeah…packed and sorted.

Our highlight was Lisa breaking off the ‘front tooth’ crown we’d had put on in Cape Town. We guess that she’s been grinding her teeth at night and eventually the crown gave up the fight when faced with Lisa’s afternoon empanada. Lisa knew the crunchy feeling in her mouth wasn’t a good thing.

By late afternoon we’d grabbed a taxi and were heading across 9 de Julio (massive road that runs through the centre of BA) and heading down Libertad looking for number 1154. 45 minutes later and Lisa felt happy to expose her smile again. María had re-cemented and repaired the crown so well you could see no sign of the repair itself. Based on good advice we’ve also ordered a mouth guard for Lisa to help stop the grinding. I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of Lisa doing her ‘Muhammad Ali’ impression at bed time, Ohh yeah’ this has got some mileage ?

Note for Travellers: If you’re in Buenos Aires and you need a Dentist here’s the Details:
María Cristina Fernandez
Libertad 1154
2° Piso (2nd Floor)
(1012) Capital Federal
Tel: 4813 1684
GPS: S 34°.35.617 W58°.23.078

Since we started planning our South American leg a few names keeping popping up on the radar. With noticeable frequency we keep coming across ‘Dakar Motors’ in Buenos Aires and more frequently regular post on Horizonsunlimted.com and travellers posting notes of thanks to Javier and Sandra who run Dakar Motors. Lisa had already posted a message to say Hi and that we were in BA, a post had come back up an hour later from Javier saying hi, when were coming round. Today seemed like a good day to make new friends. Javier stood at the door of the shop as we parked up in front “have come from” he asked with a wry grin. He was no stranger to large over-laden bikes. Conversation started pretty easily and by mid-day we’d accepted an offer to join him and Sandra for lunch.

To Javier, Sandra, family, hairball and…the lamp, thanks for the warm welcome. See you when we get back.
Find Dakar Motors at GPS: 34°. 31.950 W58°. 30.670

Lisa’s hoarse coughing fit was making it hard for her to catch her breath and she’d sneezing and coughing since about 5:00am. There was no way she was going to make it on her bike in to BA to the dentist this afternoon under her own steam as we’d planned. By 3:00pm we were in the traffic and riding in back to Maria to get her new crown checked up and pick up Lisa’s guard. We thought it was a pretty good idea to pay the bill:-)

The total bill for Lisa’s first assessment, crown repair, impression mould (for the mouth guard) second assessment and the mouth guard itself was £60. OK, £60 is a lot of money, but in the UK you can’t get a dentist to even open your mouth let alone do any work for £60.

I spent the day washing the salt of both bikes I’d been surprised how much salt had been built up from the shipping. With the bikes clean I ended up applying the ‘race face’ (thick plastic coating) to the leading edges of the machines in the hope to offer the ‘kids’ a little more protection form stones and track debris.

I’m worried about Lisa, she getting worse not better. After her bought of Pneumonia a few years ago, the last thing we want is for this to affect her chest. She’s started herself on a course of strong antibiotics from our medical kit.

With our bags packed and the bikes loaded up, the large metal gate of the hotels secure parking area slid back silently, exposing the madness of Buenos Aires traffic only a few metres beyond. We weren’t going far! And so 100 metres and across the road we pulled up into the petrel station and grabbed a cup of morning juice (thick black strong coffee). We had some time to kill. It was 11:45 and we’d agreed to meet Ricardo from BMW at 1:00pm and follow him back to his apartment a short 20 block ride away. By 1:10pm we’d followed Ricardo into the underground parking and were exchanging hand shakes and smiles. We were still reeling from the sheer generosity of the offer we were about to take up. We’d only met Ricardo a few days ago at Sergio Trepat BMW. We’d gone in for a quick hello and to try and sort the O2 setting of my bike, and left with a friend who was insisting we leave the hotel and stay at his apartment. Our plan was to make a move anyway, as you know hotels have a tendency of raping budgets.

The bikes look comfortable parked up in the corner of the large garage, unfortunately Lisa didn’t. I could see she was battling, her colour looking pale and the effort of moving the bike around was draining her. Ricardo effortlessly made us feel at home and we’d determined we weren’t going to clutter his home with our bags and so we’d brought up a minimum.

With Lisa resting I suited up. I had my fair share of jobs still do get done. I’d been working for several days on designing an ID card and an insurance card that we could get printed and laminated. The idea being that we can provide police check points the information they need as easily as possible. Many people including ourselves find it amazing that the UK does not have any other from of ID system than passports. To be honest the idea of handing over my passport to an officer is not one we’re comfortable with.

If the cards were to look genuine then I’d need to get them printed at photographic quality and this was already proving to be more difficult than I’d imagined. I’d been looking for a photo processing shop that could print from digital, with no luck and so a trip into the Buenos Aires down town was my last option. It was now 6:30 pm and I’d edged, squeezed and manoeuvred my way through the crazy traffic and had parked up in one of the side streets. I’d visited two big camera shops and mustered my best Spanish. Both had told me that I was out of luck. This wasn’t fun. It was now pitch black and I’d left Ricardo’s apartment with my dark visor. The fine mist rain wasn’t helping visibility and the high humidity meant I was felling over-heated and clammy. The road was slick with water and grease. By 7:00pm I’d abandoned the bike behind the ‘Galleria Pacifico’ shopping centre, locked it up and nervously walked away hoping it would be there when I returned. On foot my quest for a digital shop became a little easier and before long I’d handed over my disc and been told to come back in an hour.

Well, that was an entertaining ride back from town. Triumphantly stowing my newly printed ID and insurance cards I rode back into the moving metal madness. I tried desperately for ½ hour to try and get back onto Av. Liberator, the same road I’d come into Buenos Aires on and had failed miserably. The wind and rain were stinging my eyes and the Gore-Tex of my rally suit felt like it had the breathable qualities of an Asthmatic with Pneumonia. Somehow I’d managed to get onto highway 9; well it was going in the right direction anyway. It was wall to wall traffic. Driving here is a little different to anywhere we’d ridden, maybe with the exception of Naples a couple of years ago. Sure, there are white painted lines on the freeway but…, nobody really uses them. If you’ve seen the film ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ (with Johnny Depp) you understand what I mean when I say “…the white lines,…they’re not really rules, but more like guidelines…open to interpretation”. I needed eyes in the back of my head. The three painted lanes were carrying 7 lanes of tooting, shouting, revving traffic. My side mirrors were only showing me the glaring lights of cars squeezing in from all sides. 20 minutes into this arcade game ride I watched my mirror, as the lights from the car cutting in behind disappeared from my view! “…Oh shit! You’ve got to be kidding”! "**SMACK**!… the jolt pushed me forward and spat the back end of the bike out and to the right, the slippery road exaggerating the slide. I’d managed to get on the gas and catch the slide and avoided being thrown from the GS. The clatter of head light glass on tarmac and a resounding thump behind me confirmed that the idiot in the cage had not come off unscathed. I thought about stopping for Ohh,.......about a millisecond and then thought Naaaaah! What was I going to do? Shout, waive my arms and protest this persons stupidity. I had better things to do and I was pretty sure I’d come off with little or no damage. I felt sure he/she’d hit my panniers. Serves them right. I know that sounds very unsympathetic but that’s because I am! If you’re dumb enough to ride into the back of 400kg’s of large red, loud motorbike well, you get the idea!

Back at the apartment Matu’s cooking smelt wonderfully inviting, even Lisa was looking a little better and was deep in conversation with Matu. A sideways glance in the mirror in the elevator on the way up had confirmed I was in need of a wash and tidy up.

We spent the evening chatting like old friends. Ricardo bringing out photos of the various trips around Argentina he’s been on over the last twenty years. We can’t wait to go out and get our own. You know when you’ve had a great evening…you look at your watch expecting it to say 12:15pm, ish and instead it says 2:00am. Night, night.

To find out more about recardo 'click here'