Our Andes Mar bus pulls into the Bahía Blanca bus terminal at 12:07 AM, two minutes late. We stumble into the darkness, grab our bags and find Uber. It takes through the dark and quiet streets to the Hotel Victoria. This turns out to be a less than perfect choice. The street is dark, the entrance tiny and tired. The moment we walk in I have the uneasy feeling that we had arrived at the Argentine version of the Bates Motel in Psycho. Dilapidated cushions on the couches are mashed and worn across two couches and a decrepit chair; the red paint makes the lobby dark and cheerless above the wooden floors which are worn as the oriental throw rugs that lay upon them. I whisper to Cyn, “What have I gotten you into?“ Because it was me who booked this hotel when in Mi Refugio. We walk to the big, mahogany reservations desk to arrange for our room.

Now on our way from Comodoro Rivadavia to Puerto Madryn. The forced March continues. Sometimes with this journey you're simply covering miles. If we stopped at every location and explored all that it had to offer, we'd never make it around the planet. The bus rolls on.

We awaken in Mi Refugio to bright sunlight and light winds on day 533 of our trek. We brew some coffee and began to work on the final days of our bus Odyssey. Our first bus ride gobbled up 300 miles of our journey but we have 1700 more to go.

After arriving in Ushuaia, we spent a full day researching, plotting and organizing our way to Rio Gallegos, Comodoro Rivadivia and Puerto Madryn. But now there is Bahia Blanca, Buenos Aires and Montevideo before we board our transatlantic ship to Lisbon.

Our bus swings into Rio Gallegos on the wide but utterly empty four-way highway and then we arrive at the bus station. Hector walks right up to me, his great mane of dark, long hair waving in the wind. He’s promised to take us back to our digs for the night. It was the only accommodations we could find in all the town. Hector owns the house where we will be staying. He calls it “Mi Refugio”-My Hideaway. He hand built the house and designed it with a gaucho touch. tiny house is warm and cozy as we listen to the wind whistle and the dogs howl and finally slip into a deep asleep.

We arrive back in Ushuaia, a place we once considered so far south, now over 500 miles north of where we had been.

It’s not easy to part ways with all our new friends: Elizabeth from Virginia, Kent from Florida, Jing from Tokyo, Elena from Milan, Rick from Ohio, Bridie and Ben from Ireland. We agree to stay in touch. Hugs all around.

There is a debate about which South American city is the world’s southernmost. For years Ushuaia has been the undisputed champion because it is home to 70,000 souls, a true city. But Chile and Argentina are competitive nations and have been for 150 years. So recently Chile officially designated Port Williams as a city just south of Ushuaia and just across Argentina's border in an attempt to unseat Ushuaia. Problem is it’s not much more than a naval outpost on the skirt of the Beagle Channel; a mere 2000 people walk its few streets. Nevertheless, Chileans, wherever possible, let you know that change is afoot.

After finding Butch we settled down to a great dinner at the Hosteria La Pilarica in Cholila and spent some time with Vive and Bill, the delightful owners. Bill’s grandfather ran one of the finest mule teams in Argentina where he regularly drove tons of wool to market in Port Madyn. 144 mules in the train. The next day we drove north along the Corderillo and grabbed a bite in Bariloche before catching our bus at the crammed Bariloche bus station to make our way back to Puerto Montt. Long day but the views … wow. The lake in Bariloche is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. At the border the dogs flagged us for drugs. False alarm but the police had our interest for awhile!! We finally arrived at 11 pm.