Originally published by huckberry.com, here.
The needle of our compass has been stuck, pointing due south for eight months. We’ll let it remain there until we see the road meet the sea, in Usuaya, Argentina — Tierra Del Fuego. We’ve traveled some 12,000 miles since leaving home, and while the road isn’t always smooth, we’ve learned that it always goes forward. South America is an enormous continent, and there is a tremendous amount of land between Ecuador, where we are now, and the southern tip, the end of the line.
After six months of driving our 1985 Westy through Central America, we’ve gotten a chance to work out the kinks of life-in-motion. Sometimes it’s far from the projected open roads and wanderlust lifestyle people imagine the vanlife to be, and still, we’ve fallen in love with it.
Despite the lack of running water, Internet, or clean clothes in our day-to-day, we’re hooked on being spur-of-the-moment decision makers. We choose which beach to park the van on, where to watch the sunset each night, and which mysterious dirt road to follow the next day. We are attached to the feeling of quite literally choosing our own path and solving the unique problems these bumpy roads often lead to.
Living and working out of the van has lived up to all the challenges anyone would expect from the road warrior lifestyle, but some of the hardest things we’ve encountered have nothing to do with our vehicle; simply being in a foreign country can be straining.
Travel, by nature, is challenging, yet we chose to invest ourselves in it because of what those challenges lead to. If we never allowed ourselves to feel uncomfortable we never would have left Montana, let alone the United States. If we had chosen to remain wrapped up in safety network of friends and family, we never would have experienced the sunrise over Lago Atitlan in Guatemala, seen the deep valleys of Colombia, or felt the warm salty water of Mexico’s Sea of Cortez.
It’s easy to dream about the future and all that lies ahead, especially while sitting here in a mechanic shop, waiting to get our engine repaired after three months of standstill. In fact, it’s the only thing that keeps me from focusing on how worried I am that things won't go well with the engine replacement, that I’ll be confronted with yet another roundabout Ecuadorian import tax form (in Spanish, of course), or that I’ll see another tow truck begrudgingly coming to our rescue. But this is all part of the experience; this is what makes it interesting; this is what makes it an adventure.
Patagonia is calling to us. We want to see for ourselves the Fitzroy Traverse; the sand dunes of Huacachina, Peru; the miles of empty salt flats in Bolivia; cosmopolitan Buenos Aires; the Strait of Magellan. There are so many places we dream of, it makes me dizzy. Ecuador is by no means where the van stops forever.
Soon we’ll be back on the open road, following that compass needle again — ready for the bumps, and not knowing where it takes us. That’s okay. That’s exactly what we’re here for.