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Abstract

ng the long trip back down south.As we hung around near the bus station, we spotted a truck that had stopped nearby. It was parked on the road heading to Argentina.We sidled up to the driver and asked for its destination. He and his friend were only too happy to offer us a ride, and we were only too happy to accept.<h2 id="ff86">Strength in numbers, we thought. We’re tough gals.</h2>The first problem started when the truck began its long climb up the road towards the Argentine border. We were crawling along, and the size of the truck and its heavy load probably meant we were at top speed already.We didn’t really think this through, we realised.Before long came the flirtatious comments that we’d have been naive not to expect.It got close to nightfall and we were approaching the border, going so slowly, so when the border police, the Argentine ‘Gendarmería’, asked us if we felt safe and offered a place to stay for the night, we took them up on the offer.<h2 id="e9e1">Out of the frying pan and into the fire</h2>All of this happened over 20 years ago, and my memory is a little hazy, but I cannot imagine border police offering this service on a regular basis. Why we didn’t think this strange, I really don’t know. We were just grateful.I had to ask my old friend, who now works for an NGO in Amsterdam, and she recalls it the same as I do<h2 id="abae">Hi Julie! Gosh, yes! We were totally mad!</h2>We decided to trust the Gendarmería as they were government officials. We were quite wet behind the ears!I am sure they meant us no harm but we both liked to party back in the day, so when they decided to organise a kind of party with

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music and wine out of cartons, we thought that sounded good. Bear in mind, these guys were working out of a border post somewhere in the middle of the desert.They probably didn’t get a lot of girls coming through.At some point during the evening, dancing with a border officer, I glanced over and noticed my friend sharing a kiss with one of the police. Oh goodness, I thought. Now comes trouble. She looked to them like she was having a fun time, but I knew she’d now gone too far.I rescued my friend from her embrace, feeling it was the safest thing to do. We bid our goodbyes and headed off to the little room they had given us for the night.And waited.Sure enough, once all lights were out and the noise had died down, we heard the door squeaking open and my friend felt hands reaching up her legs in the dark. She screamed and jumped into bed with me, and we shouted loudly for the mystery man to go away.Luckily for us, our protests were effective and he sidled off back to his quarters.Early in the morning, with very little ado, we made our way outside, thanking the officers for their kind help, and hitched another, thankfully eventless, truck ride. Pretty soon we were in Salta, where we spent a day relaxing and taking stock of our luck, before taking a bus back to Buenos Aires and home.Thanks for reading.If you’d like to read some of my other stories, plus thousands of others on Medium, why not subscribe? Part of your subscription will help writers on Medium.Just hit the link: <a href="https://juliegilders.medium.com/membership">https://juliegilders.medium.com/membership</a>Gracias!</article></body>

An Epic Hitchhike With Paraguayan Truck Drivers

Followed by a drunken party with the border police

Back when I lived in South America in my 30s, I did some crazy things.

Now, as a mother in her early 50s, I can only feel gratitude my own mother never knew the extent of the risks I took when travelling on the road. She herself was quite a traveller in her time, so it’s entirely possible she too would have some hairy stories to tell me if she were still alive.

My Mum would have advised me against hitching with truck drivers

I was living in Buenos Aires and working as an English teacher. Keen to explore the continent in my holidays, I made a travel plan with a fellow female adventure seeker, an NGO worker and writer from Dublin.

We were to road trip across Argentina to the border to Chile, then travel up through Chile, across the Atacama desert, back into Northern Argentina and back down to Buenos Aires.

We had a wonderful time trekking and cycling and visiting little towns that were worlds away from the metropolis where we lived.

The story really begins when we set off home.

We hadn’t planned our trip back very well and were surprised to discover that the next bus across the Chilean-Argentine border was not till the next day. We had planned to arrive in Salta, Argentina that evening before making the long trip back down south.

As we hung around near the bus station, we spotted a truck that had stopped nearby. It was parked on the road heading to Argentina.

We sidled up to the driver and asked for its destination. He and his friend were only too happy to offer us a ride, and we were only too happy to accept.

Strength in numbers, we thought. We’re tough gals.

The first problem started when the truck began its long climb up the road towards the Argentine border. We were crawling along, and the size of the truck and its heavy load probably meant we were at top speed already.

We didn’t really think this through, we realised.

Before long came the flirtatious comments that we’d have been naive not to expect.

It got close to nightfall and we were approaching the border, going so slowly, so when the border police, the Argentine ‘Gendarmería’, asked us if we felt safe and offered a place to stay for the night, we took them up on the offer.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire

All of this happened over 20 years ago, and my memory is a little hazy, but I cannot imagine border police offering this service on a regular basis. Why we didn’t think this strange, I really don’t know. We were just grateful.

I had to ask my old friend, who now works for an NGO in Amsterdam, and she recalls it the same as I do

Hi Julie! Gosh, yes! We were totally mad!

We decided to trust the Gendarmería as they were government officials. We were quite wet behind the ears!

I am sure they meant us no harm but we both liked to party back in the day, so when they decided to organise a kind of party with music and wine out of cartons, we thought that sounded good. Bear in mind, these guys were working out of a border post somewhere in the middle of the desert.

They probably didn’t get a lot of girls coming through.

At some point during the evening, dancing with a border officer, I glanced over and noticed my friend sharing a kiss with one of the police. Oh goodness, I thought. Now comes trouble. She looked to them like she was having a fun time, but I knew she’d now gone too far.

I rescued my friend from her embrace, feeling it was the safest thing to do. We bid our goodbyes and headed off to the little room they had given us for the night.

And waited.

Sure enough, once all lights were out and the noise had died down, we heard the door squeaking open and my friend felt hands reaching up her legs in the dark. She screamed and jumped into bed with me, and we shouted loudly for the mystery man to go away.

Luckily for us, our protests were effective and he sidled off back to his quarters.

Early in the morning, with very little ado, we made our way outside, thanking the officers for their kind help, and hitched another, thankfully eventless, truck ride. Pretty soon we were in Salta, where we spent a day relaxing and taking stock of our luck, before taking a bus back to Buenos Aires and home.

Thanks for reading.

If you’d like to read some of my other stories, plus thousands of others on Medium, why not subscribe? Part of your subscription will help writers on Medium.

Just hit the link: https://juliegilders.medium.com/membership

Gracias!