The next stop was Caviahue, near the Copahue volcano. Another friend of a friend was waiting for my visit, the last one before my return to the big city. The landscape around the Andes is so drastic that by going just 10 miles east, you’ll go from rainforest to steppes. This was direction in which I was driving. Miles and miles of flat land, cut with stratified hills and deep canyons. Over the horizon, to my left, the Lanin volcano, with its 12,300 feet, stood tall and alone, its peak poking at the blue sky. The schedule for the next two days was to have a look at the natural hot springs, photograph the Salto del Agrio and scout for locations for a potential winter photoshoot, when everything would be covered in snow except for the Monkey Puzzle trees.
The area has been visited by the natives as a therapeutic destination for centuries. The name Copahue means sulfur in Mapuche. In 1865, an argentinean doctor reached an agreement with the local chief and started bringing his patients. He brought international recognition to the springs and himself after curing a patient with tuberculosis. 
According to local information, the springs are one of just three hydrothermal centers in the world.
The Agrio river finds its origin in the volcano and flows across the Province of Neuquen before it merges into the Rio Negro. With its milky water, due to high concentration of sulfuric acid, the river cuts through a steamy snowy plateau before cascading down through a series of seven falls (Cascada del Rio Agrio) and into the lake. From there, it journeys down onto an intense red bedrock and between the prehistoric Araucarias–living fossil trees with scale-like leaves. Falling 200 feet down at the Salto del Agrio, the river continues
to flow in an impressive valley 1,000 feet wide and at a least 3,000 feet high. But after a mud bath in the wild, and an algae wrap at the village, it was time to hit the road once again.
With not much time left, I decided to drive straight to Buenos Aires. In all honesty, there were two things I wanted to avoid; driving through the Pampa during the day, and arriving in the city during traffic hours (the place is mad!). Driving non-stop would take me to B.A. around 4 a.m. The perfect time! The only problem was that I was empty on gas and learned that there were no gas stations in the village. The closest one was Loncopue, 40 miles away. I barely had enough. Thank God the road was going down all the way! Arriving at Loncopue, I pulled in the station, relieved. A young man standing by the pump started to wave his finger in the air as if to insinuate that I had no right to be there. Beside another man who was standing next to him and a school bus in the other lane, I didn’t know what he meant. I pulled my window down and asked him what the problem was. “No gas,” he answered!!
WHAT??? How could this be? I mean, this was a fairly big village, with a modern gas station, how could there be no gas? The main tank was empty and the next re-fueling truck would not show up before Tuesday! Great! And apparently this happens every single week! I started to explain my situation but nothing I would do would change this seemingly unrealistic fact. After explaining over and over again that I needed to find gas (modern world dependency!), the gentlemen who was standing by, and who happened to be the village school bus driver, offered to sell me 10 liters, which he told me would be enough to get Las Lajas, where gas would be available. I followed him to his house. There, he opened his parked car trunk and pulled out a long hose. With one end in the car tank, he drained two big jars, which he poured back in my car. After thanking and paying him, I drove away hoping that the next village would finally have gas. Another 40 miles later, I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I stepped out of the car, took the pump handle and filled the tank with super!
Related Posts
No related posts were found, but here is a random post you might find interesting: Ketchup on the Presqu’isle.
