Argentina Time

After arriving at Mercedes, Uruguay, in October 2023, we spent the full month of November in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Look up “Buenos Aires Jacaranda” to see how spring should be colored. A close embrace tango was committed, Rambo was safely tucked away in his familiar hangar, and in December we retreated to Colombia. By April 2024, we returned to Montevideo to press on west and south. No agenda, no reservations, just big gas tanks.

April in the southern hemisphere is equivalent to October in the U.S.—middle of autumn with winter not yet seen, just expected. Our EFB held numerous possible routes, some headed extremely south and others north. We agreed we’d let the weather and political forecasts be our guides.

With no better reason than “Why not?,” we cleared outbound customs at Carmel, Uruguay, and made a beeline for Mendoza, Argentina, legally an international airport of entry. We immediately crossed the Rio de la Plata into Argentinian airspace. 

About five hours later, we knew we were getting close when an unbroken wall of 15,000-feet-plus Andean peaks rose on the horizon. While the air traffic controllers spoke good English, the flight-planning officer on the ground did not. My wife, Maria, translated his furrowed brow to mean disapproval that we had not contacted Baires approach immediately upon entering the country.

“Oh, but we did! They replied that we should stand by. So we did.” For five-plus hours.

Planning officer: “You also transitioned the controlled airspace of two airports without contacting them!”

“Oh, but we did. We made numerous radio calls to their towers and approach frequencies but got no replies.” 

Planning officer: “Today is a holiday, so they were not working.” This was not a question.

Me: Sardonic grin. 

Planning officer: “Oh, right.” I passed the test, earned an A for effort. Smiles all around, a few chuckles, welcome to Mendoza!

Latino cities come in many flavors. Mendoza is at the upper end of affluence, not much different than found in Californian and French wine districts. We booked the hotel after landing, took a cab, checked in, swallowed a handful of antihistamines to fight rapid-onset head colds, and went to bed. 

Later, stoned on Benadryl, I went downstairs to meet the concierge and asked if he could recommend someone with the time and energy to go shopping for some special wines. We needed to retranquilize and sleep off the virus. Our new friend had exactly the right expert, and we eventually got a couple of recovery days as someone with a better palate than ours did the shopping. 

Having owned a Michelin-starred restaurant, our helper was well known and welcomed into the back halls and tasting rooms of the finest local vintners. Mendoza has many world-class winemakers, and a specialist’s help could be the difference between good and great.

You think: “A couple of rich American snobs with concierge royalty gushing supplication while they drop a fortune on rare wines” Nope. None of that, except for genuinely fine hospitality and a sincere joy in helping us enjoy their famous region. 

Small-plane touring in foreign countries takes you to unexpected places and tosses curveballs, but if you are always reaching out to the locals, your travels will succeed. And you will be blessed with new friends. 

This continues to be our modus operandi. Pick a direction, go there, land, improvise.

After the Benadryl buzz wore off, we filed VFR from Mendoza to Bariloche, the main city in the Patagonia region—3.5 hours along the eastern face of the southern Andes. 

I wasn’t expecting much en route, as there are few settlements in this dry and rocky area. Fortunately, we were wrong. This is still an active tectonic intersection, with lava and mudflows shaping the terrain, smoking volcanoes dotting our course and violent upthrusts providing punctuation. About an hour along our route, Mendoza rang up and said, “We do not have any English-speaking controllers along your route. What are your intentions?”

“Thank you, but we do not require any assistance. Have a nice day.” Aah, blessed silence.

We have found that weather and NOTAM reports in South America range from excellent to none. If a route is well traveled, it’s likely to have good info. However, the most common routes will zigzag from one navaid or intersection to another. Departure direct to destination is not normally allowed. We may have been the only GA flight along this route in several years, so not many rules.

Bariloche, our destination, is another international airport, but not a large one. The area’s primary economic activities are skiing, fishing, hunting, hiking, and relaxed touristing. There are seven mountainous lakes in the Tahoe style, with a distinct German Alps feel. The area once hosted several doctors and human-relations experts after World War II, but they were eventually repatriated. The remains of a nuclear research center can still be seen.

I recommend you use the principle Bariloche airport only if you plan to continue to Chile, which we did. The systems and services are heavily weighted toward airlines and corporate turbines. With patience and persistence, you can fill in all the boxes and continue your trip, but it is more bureaucratic than the population density warrants. 

While in the pattern, I suggest you notify the tower that you do not require help parking or transferring to the terminal. The controllers may insist, but you can point to this later when the bill is presented. It might be worth a try to have a native Spanish-speaking pilot call ahead and ask what the fees for parking and ground service will be. Get a name. 

When we went to make our departure to Chile, a young man demanded $100 for his help. I was occupied with the preflight and told him to go away. He continued to insist, so I asked if there would be a receipt? He replied that we could get that when we returned. So, I handed him a 5-inch-thick roll of Argentine pesos, and when he accepted it, I pulled out my phone and got a couple of good shots with him holding a roll that would choke a goat. He freaked and demanded I take the money back. We later met with the chief of police at the airport and were assured that the DA was intending to press charges.

A small private aero club airport is nearby, giving good access to the area, but you’ll want to call ahead about fuel. When it’s time to move on, you can just fly over to the main airport to gas up. 

Bariloche is the main city on the south shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi, with Villa La Angostura on the north. Both are worth a visit, but if time is short, or even if it’s not, take a bus to Villa La Angostura. Fine restaurants and hotels are biased toward adults, and fewer children. You can rent a car for roaming in several directions. Hiking is brilliant, with trails, forests, lakes, and rivers in every direction.

This stop was an inflection point for decision making. North, west, east, or south?

We chose west to Chile, but that is the subject of an upcoming Plane & Pilot story. We strongly considered continuing south to Ushuaia, the southernmost port on the continent. But the forecasts were whispering rapid and wintry changes. Down that way is where Sir Ernest Shackleton got frozen in and spent a couple of years eating penguins and sleeping on their poop.

The hardest part of our Argentinian experience was getting out of the Bariloche airport and into the air. In addition to the extortionist, the very pleasant flight-planning clerk forgot to send a query to Chile seeking permission for us to enter the country’s airspace. 

This led to a “return-to-base” order from the tower after we were 10 miles along the route. That triggered another overnight stay, an additional $100 customs fee, three hours sitting on our bums to be recleared into Argentina, and a high-level security meeting trying to fix the blame for a couple of foreigners free roaming the airport when we should have been restricted to a small spot on a  very hard bench.

Even so, we made many new friends, some embarrassed, others amused. Maria’s Spanish was our secret weapon. 

At some point you’ll either make your peace with the chaos of Latin American bureaucracies or find a high bridge for your final dive. Swimming in new cultures will eventually make you a wiser and more tolerant person. If you’re prone to high blood pressure, take an extra dose.

Once we completed our visit to Chile, we returned to Bariloche, repeated various tangos with officials, most of whom were at least somewhat chastened by our earlier visit. The company in charge of fees presented a bill of $475 for parking and shuttle to and from the terminal. I told the company that I charged $450 per hour for my consulting work, and as its extortionist ramp rat had consumed a full day of my time in meetings with the police, it could deduct the fees when I was paid for my time. No more has been heard.

Moral of the story: Be the pilot in command.