Following the tracks of freedom

"South America? Isn’t that dangerous?” We often hear this question when we talk about our plans to spend a year exploring South America in our camper. Yet, every encounter we’ve had along the way confirms we made the right decision and stirs our curiosity for the unknown.

How did we end up here, in our little camper on the other side of the world? We share a passion for exploring remote places beyond the beaten path. We’re from Germany and Sweden, and when we met, Mats dreamed of Mongolia while Kyrgyzstan was on my mind. Our friends would often shake their heads at our travel plans, but we knew: it just felt right.

Our first trip together was to Kyrgyzstan. On a small, isolated mountain road, we spotted a red off-road vehicle with German plates – and in that moment, a shared dream was born. “We want to do that too!” Two years later, we held the papers for our future camper: a 1996 Puch 230GE army off-road vehicle from Switzerland with only 35,000 kilometers on the clock – the perfect companion for endless adventures together.

The next two years were spent converting it. Many evenings, weekends, and vacations saw our small city apartment turned into a woodworking shop. Benches, drawers, a tiny kitchen – our living room often looked more like a workshop than a cozy retreat.

We dreamed of setting off one day and reaching Mongolia. But then came February 2022, when Putin invaded Ukraine, and soon after, the situation in Iran also deteriorated. Suddenly, doubts and safety concerns arose. Was going east still the right path? Should we travel through Africa instead? How much would shipping to South America cost? Or maybe we should stay in Europe? After all, there’s beauty right on our doorstep.

A year later, we left our jobs. When asked where we were headed, we still didn’t have a clear answer: maybe east, maybe across the Atlantic. In August, we impulsively booked a container to Uruguay, and in October, we watched our camper, Trude, being placed inside it in Hamburg.

We quickly moved on from Uruguay. The endless pampas, with flat fields and straight roads, no mountains or hills, initially overwhelmed us. The vastness was impressive on the first day, exhausting by the second. We drove hundreds of kilometers, and the landscape stayed the same. In temperatures over 30°C, the sun blazed down, and without air conditioning, driving became a challenge. Then, at last, the majestic peaks of the Andes appeared, the sight we’d eagerly anticipated since Hamburg. In three days, we crossed the continent from east to west, and a smile spread across our faces.

However, the kilometers of fences we found in Argentina and Chile dampened our spirits somewhat. We thought of the boundless plains of Kyrgyzstan, which we had hoped to find here as well. Instead, the trails were lined with fences. Deserts and mountains fenced off, rivers crossed by barriers. Often, we didn’t know if we were locked in or out.

In Patagonia National Park, for the first time, we felt the freedom we’d longed for since the journey began. The endless fences that had followed us since Uruguay were gone. Guanacos, which often hung lifeless from fences along the Ruta 40, now roamed freely beside us. It’s hard to describe how oppressive endless fences can feel and how liberating it is to finally have an unobstructed view of nature. Alone in Patagonia National Park, 590 kilometers of fences were removed when the land was transformed from one of Patagonia’s largest estancias (ranches) into a national park. Just imagine how many kilometers of fences would stand in Patagonia!

In February, we reached the southernmost point of our journey, Tierra del Fuego. It felt surreal and incredible to stand here with our own vehicle. From here, it’s northward until we eventually reach Colombia.

Our journey isn’t just about discovering new places; it’s about forming friendships, learning patience in challenging situations, and picking up new skills along the way.

Traveling with an old vehicle means we constantly have to face new challenges. Some problems we can fix ourselves, while others are beyond our abilities. Finding competent help isn’t always easy, but somehow, we manage each time.

We’ve learned a new language and how to communicate with people even when we only share a few common words. We’re turning a bit into car mechanics. Every new issue with the camper is an opportunity to learn something new. By now, we know: there’s a solution to every challenge.

For example, Jaime, who helped us with our squeaky transfer case. After staying a week in his workshop, he refused any payment. We still keep in touch and exchange photos regularly. Or a whole village that invited us to their festival, where we danced together into the night to the sounds of drums, trumpets, and trombones. Or an elderly man in Chiloé, who invited us to stay in his guesthouse by a cozy fire on a rainy night, so we wouldn’t have to sleep in the car. We met five women in a small Bolivian village, that is rarely visited by tourists, who proudly showed us around and shared their history with us. Javier, who provided us a safe place to park our camper in Lima and eagerly explained his own board game. Or Curtis, who welcomed us into his garden for two weeks, helped with our camper repairs, and even offered us his guesthouse in the woods for a few days. These are just some of the wonderful people we met, along with many other travelers we shared stories, hikes, meals, or a beer with, as well as the countless locals who waved at us with smiles as we passed by.

So, is South America dangerous? Certainly, there are places where it’s better not to park a camper, but these exist everywhere. The real danger is often the chaotic traffic. But one thing we can say for sure: South America is full of friendly faces, warm welcomes, and endless generosity. We carry all these wonderful memories home with us. We’re more open-minded and believe more than ever that, at heart, the majority of humanity is good. These experiences will stay with us and enrich us forever.