Dan Grec
There’s no place a Jeep can’t go. Thrilling, yet scary, driving in Bolivia.
Words and photos by Dan Grec
There’s one problem when driving the entire Pan-American Highway from Alaska to Argentina – there’s simply no road from Central to South America. Between Panama and Colombia is about 100 km (62 mi) of dense jungle and swamp, called The Darien Gap.
A couple of well-equipped vehicles have technically driven it, and the Guinness World Records is correct in listing the Pan-Am as the longest drivable road on the planet. The first vehicle ever to do it – a Jeep – took more than 700 days. That's right; it took almost two years to drive 100 km (62 mi). That’s not something I'm interested in attempting.
The only feasible way to cross the Darien Gap with a vehicle is to transport it via a shipping container on an ocean-going vessel from the Port of Colón, Panama, to Cartagena, Colombia. This is followed by taking a commercial airline to pick it up at the Port of Cartagena. I’ve been planning the logistics of this hurdle for months. About a week before my departure, I met a couple who were also heading south and were two years into their overlanding trip around the world with their Land Rover. After some discussion, we decided to share a container to save costs.
Dan Grec
More waiting at the Port of Cólon, Panama, to ship my Jeep in a container to Colombia.
Port of Insanity: Cólin, Panama to Cartagena, Colombia
Following several days of chasing quotes and collecting a mountain of required paperwork, the big day finally arrived to ship our vehicles. The plan was to ‘stuff’ our vehicles into a container, which had us buzzing with excitement.
The first stop of the day was to go to our customs broker, Mario, to finalize last-minute paperwork and payment. In efforts to avoid exorbitant charges, we were advised to thoroughly clean our vehicles since even the smallest trace of dirt can cause the whole process to be delayed. Or worse, customs could charge astronomical fees for subsequent cleaning and fumigation.
Dan Grec
A thorough inspection at customs in Panama.
After the vehicles were pressure-washed until we could eat off the undercarriage, we returned to Mario's office and found that all the paperwork was in order. We then made our way to the frantic freeway and settled in for the 100 km (62 mi) journey across the country to the Port of Colón.
Due to its expanse, driving into the port felt like we were in a giant labyrinth. With tens of thousands of shipping containers stacked impossibly high, the maze made me feel like a mouse in a science experiment. I became disoriented as well as hopelessly lost as we made turn after turn, deeper into the port.
Once we found the Marfret office, we were given more paperwork. What purpose they served, I had no idea. We then went to the ‘free-zone’ within the vast customs compound where we submitted part of our large stack of paperwork and received the permits for our vehicles to legally exit the country.
Dan Grec
It was tight but my Jeep was secured in the shipping container.
An official then issued our security passes and explained in great detail where we must take the vehicles, which sounded easy enough. After some more driving in the maze of containers, we arrived at an extremely busy section of the port where locals were importing all sorts of vehicles into Panama.
I have never been to a major shipping port like this and was stunned at its size. Even though I was exhausted, I was in awe. We drove within 20 metres (65 ft) of the water, where cargo ships the size of small cities glided slowly and silently passed by. Directly overhead was a crane too big to be real as it whipped back and forth, slinging containers onto their huge piles.
After finally finding our designated container, my new-found friends pulled their Land Rover in first, which was followed by my Jeep. I parked directly behind the Land Rover and allowed just enough space on one side to squeeze out the driver's door. At this point, I was thinking this has been by far the most insane time of my life.
Dan Grec
Just another day on the road somewhere in Colombia.
With our vehicles all set to be shipped, we went to the airport for the easy one-hour flight to Cartagena. Fortunately, there were no delays clearing Immigration and Customs, and we then grabbed a taxi to a downtown hotel. It was just after 2 am when my head hit the pillow, falling fast asleep on my first night in South America.
The next morning, we went to the Port of Cartagena, and after a day’s worth of red tape, unexpected delays, and paying a variety of ‘unexpected fees,’ I bid farewell to my overlanding friends, and soon found myself driving on the streets of Cartagena, elated to be driving my Jeep in South America.
From the minute I drove into the heart of Cartagena, Colombia, I could feel that South America was noticeably different from Central America. Though it seemed impossible, the heat and humidity were stepped up yet another notch, the cities are much larger, and multi-lane roads lead to even more chaotic traffic. Without any digital navigation, getting lost became a regular occurrence and at times, it took me more than four hours just to leave one city.
Dan Grec
Being friendly with the Colombian military.
The North Coast of Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and ‘The Road of Death’
My experiences in Central America provided me with some preparation for what was to come during this part of my journey. To begin with, city driving in Cartagena and elsewhere in the country required its own set of skills, and traffic laws were pretty much non-existent.
Turn signals, stop signs, red lights and lane markings meant absolutely nothing to these drivers. But the driving rules were simple – the biggest vehicle had the right of way. Go when there is space and jam in when there isn’t – use the horn and hope for the best.
After a few hectic intersections where I caused mayhem, I got the hang of it and started flowing effortlessly with the traffic. Though my Jeep is not large, my steel bumpers afforded me a small degree of respect, and I could squeeze into tight spaces and hop the gutters when the duty called.
Dan Grec
Taking a break from the Jeep high above Quilotoa Lake, Ecuador.
To escape the humidity, I decided to bee-line it to the stunning Northern Coast of Colombia, before skirting the border of Venezuela and driving high into the Andes. I soon found myself in my Jeep climbing up to more than 4,000 m (about 13,000 ft) in elevation. While the lack of humidity was extremely refreshing, I developed an enormous headache from the lack of oxygen.
After a year on the road solo, I was slowly getting exhausted and started to wonder why I set out on this enormous journey. The scale of South America was so overwhelming and I realized I needed a break from the road. Through a stroke of luck, I landed a manager’s job at a local hostel in the stunning mountains of Ecuador, just below the enormous Cotopaxi, South America’s most famous volcano, which never failed to make my jaw drop. The extremely peaceful surroundings provided exactly the rest I desperately needed. Five months rolled by in the blink of an eye, and I felt rested and ready to continue south to the end of the continent.
While I was in Ecuador, I did some minor work on my Jeep, including changing the oil in both diffs and the transfer case. I also replaced the battery. Additionally, working at the hostel greatly improved my Spanish and I could finally carry on coherent conversations, making trips to the local markets and meeting the locals all that more delightful.
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Dan Grec
Wild camping in Peru.
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Dan Grec
Wild camping in Peru.
Of all the countries in Latin America, Peruvian drivers were the worst – almost suicidal. Time and time again, I rounded blind hairpin corners to find an overloaded bus or truck bearing down in my lane. I developed a habit of survival by burying the horn while approaching every blind corner. Though it did little to help, I always managed to scramble out of the way, being thankful for my light, nimble Jeep. While stunning, the mountain back roads in Peru were littered with potholes and corrugations, and I often spent entire days in second gear, slowing down to the pace of local life and to manage the rugged conditions.
But I couldn’t resist driving the “Road of Death” in Bolivia. Clinging to the side of a mountain deep in the jungle was spectacular, although it was more than a little nerve-racking. A sign at the mountain top (in Spanish) explained that it was safer to drive on the left so the two drivers are on the outside of the road, enabling both to see how close they are to the unguarded edge – not to mention the 500 m (1,640 ft) drop. Passing oncoming traffic was sketchy, and I certainly wasn’t bored.
One of the highlights of my entire Pan-American journey was crossing The Uyuni Salt Flats in Bolivia – the largest salt flats in the world – before continuing through the Atacama Desert into Chile. I teamed up with a British couple in a 4runner and Rob, a crazy American on a Harley. Together, we drove for seven days and nights through the most remote and extreme terrain. The salt flats themselves are beautiful, but with the barren expanse of nothingness and no landmarks, roads, or rules, it was easy to get disoriented and lose all sense of direction.
Dan Grec
The Uyuni Salt Flats of Bolivia, which are the largest in the world.
When I walked just 100 m (about 320 ft) from the Jeep I felt extremely isolated, there wasn’t any type of scale, and it was impossible to judge just how far I’ve walked. We all had a great time driving like maniacs and of course, it was no problem to drive at high speeds in any direction – after all, there are endless kilometres of perfectly flat, white salt. We were all sunburnt during the scorching days and our nerves were constantly tested at night by the relentless and freezing wind that whipped our tents. A testament to the cold nights was when I did my routine morning walk around my Jeep and found the washer fluid always frozen solid.
Chile… and Finally Argentina
We crossed into Chile at an extremely remote border crossing, and a few hours later we were shocked as we drove onto paved roads and into a small town. After about five minutes, we saw more development than anywhere in the preceding month and spent more on a pizza and beer for dinner than we did in two weeks in Bolivia.
After months of planning, I met my family in Buenos Aires for Christmas, and I couldn’t stop smiling from ear to ear. Everyone flew in so we could be together during the holidays for the first time in seven years, which boosted my spirits. I had a riot shuttling family members around in my little Jeep, as by now I was completely at ease with the traffic as my family held on for their lives.
Dan Grec
A thrilling view in Torres Del Paine, Chile.
A month later I arrived at the end of the earth in Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina, and was bittersweet. On one hand, I was elated to have reached my goal, but on the other hand I had no idea at the time what to do with my life next. So, I resisted giving up the adventure for a while and made my way north, zig-zagging through Patagonia, and crossing back and forth from Argentina to Chile repeatedly over four months. I hiked and wild camped in the stunning mountains every day, going well over three months without sleeping in a bed. I was also draining my bank account, which was a sure sign that the adventure had run its course.
One obstacle during this time that I wasn’t expecting was the long and strict process of selling my Jeep. Stringent import rules and high taxes meant selling it to a local would be almost impossible. But after months of searching for a buyer, I finally found another foreigner who could legally take ownership.
Dan Grec
Taking the ‘scenic route’ on Route 40 in Argentina.
As I drove the final kilometres of my trip to the airport in Buenos Aires, I cherished my last moments with my beloved Jeep. I drove it 64,517 km (40,069 mi) over 22 months on horrendous roads through 16 countries without a single breakdown or mechanical issue. It was the perfect vehicle for the trip. To add icing on the cake, I sold it for the same amount I paid for it in Calgary two years earlier.
Flying back to Canada was a 29-hour affair with multiple layovers, and I was elated to see my brother meeting me at the airport. After this journey and over the course next few months at home, I was left with one strong feeling from my two years on the road – I am now hopelessly addicted to overlanding on a global scale, and I know I must start socking away money again for my next major expedition.
Be sure to follow Dan’s ongoing global adventures on Instagram and YouTube @TheRoadChoseMe