Pétur?

Pétur didn´t arrive to El Bolsón until the next night.

He, like us, had no luck in Tecka, only he got tired of waiting and left the town on foot. By the time Haukur and I passed him he had already walked several kilometers.

Eight hours of walking and still nothing. Frustrated and exausted, he saw some Ostrich-like birds in the distance and gave up trying to get a ride to chase them down for a shot.

Night came. He had a tent, food, and a camp stove. Haukur had the pot. For Pétur this was only a minor problem. He found a rusty tin can on the side of the road and cooked his dinner in it. A hearty hobo meal and a day in the sun had left him wiped out. He slept like a baby amongst the desert brush.

It was another five hours of walking the next day. Finally, a Chilean traveling from Punta Arenas to Santiago stopped. There was already two hitchhikers, also from Chile, in the cab who played bongos and made bracelts for Pétur as they made their way down the road. They were obviously heading for El Bolsón as well.

Haukur and I, while Pétur was stuck in the desert, were laying in the grass in El Bolsón eating waffles, drinking artesenal beer, and talking to beautiful hippie girls. We had to arrainged to meet in the plaza and when the sun started to go down we began to worry. We were heading back to camp when a band preforming on the street caught our eye. We stopped to listen when, walking in front of the band, Pétur appeared. High-fives, stories, and bed. We did it.