It all started the day I ended a long relationship. I climbed out of the van we'd built together, and onto the Buquebus1The boat that links Buenos Aires (Argentina) to Uruguay, going to Colonia de Sacramento or Montevideo. back to Montevideo, where a friend was waiting for me. Though you could also say it started a few months earlier — the day I met that same friend in Chile, when I was traveling by van with my ex. Because it was there, in the middle of nowhere, that I saw for the first time the motorcycle that was going to change everything. A Colombian-plated KTM 390, loaded to the brim and covered in stickers, whose owner would go on to cause me a fair amount of trouble — but not without first introducing me to the love of my life. No, not him. Motorcycles.
Before anything else, I think it's important to say that leaving my partner of many years was the hardest decision I've ever made. I won't go into the reasons here. I'll just say that I tried everything, and ended up so exhausted and sad that I didn't recognize myself anymore. It was still awful.
In the days following my breakup, three things happened. One: I went to stay at the motoposada2Motoposadas are basically places that welcome mototravellers, usually for little or no money. where my friend Jonathan was based — the headquarters of a Uruguayan moto club that also hosted moto-travelers. An incredible place: full of motorcycles, stories, and good people. Two: to cheer me up, he suggested a ride east on his bike. I said yes, obviously. And three — most importantly — I met Felix at the motoposada. Another moto-traveler, someone I'd briefly crossed paths with in Ushuaia a few months before, who was traveling with Jo at the time. A traveler, an adventurer, with exactly the right amount of madness.
Without realizing it, all the ingredients were already in place for what would eventually put me on a motorcycle, alone, rolling through South America.
Because in the motoposada, I discovered the world of motorcycling, and instantly wanted to be part of it. On the back of my friend’s bike, I fell in love with the feeling of the wind on my face. And through knowing Felix, I found not only a great friend, but also my future bike. The XT660R he’d ridden across the Americas, from north to south.
A month later, the XT was mine, and I was heading into the unknown astride her, loaded with all my things and my optimism.
I don't think it's possible to travel and come back unchanged. But this trip… completely transformed me. And one of the first things I had to let go of was the illusion that I had any control over anything whatsoever.
Maybe this will sound weird. In theory, it’s easy. You choose your means of transport, your destination, you leave, and you arrive… But the reality, for me, was that as soon as I left Montevideo, everything got out of hands. And I quickly realized that clinging on wasn't going to help me.
I look back on these first few days with so much fondness. I was extremely determined, but even if I refused to admit it (not even to myself), I was also terrified to start alone. So when Jonathan offered to meet up in Ciudad del Este to go to the coast of Brazil together - he had gotten back on the road a few days before, I said yes.
To be honest, I hadn’t understood his attitude ever since I told him I would keep travelling on a motorbike. In short, he was… preoccupied. But not in a constructive manner. So maybe, I thought, meeting up with him wasn’t a very good idea. However, I decided to be optimistic. We'd traveled together before and it had been great. I couldn't see why this time would be any different. It turned out to be a mistake… A very expensive one ! But, that's a story for another time.
First came the first day of the rest of my life. On the 1fst of July 2025, I bid a very emotional farewell to my friend Felix and set off on the road. A loaded moment that marked the end of his years-long journey across the Americas, and the start of my own adventure.
Luckily, despite ignoring my gut, I wasn't completely stubborn, and I trusted Felix's judgment when he told me not to take the fastest route, but the one where I'd have the most support. He explained something that would prove incredibly useful in the months ahead: the more friends you have, the easier it is to travel. His advice: pass through Melo, in northern Uruguay, and meet Seu Coraza. Because, he explained, Seu Coraza is a great guy — he knows everyone in Brazil, and he'll want to help you. I'm very happy to report that Felix was absolutely right.
That first day, I covered 400km. Which was completely insane given how little experience I had. But since I didn’t know that, I did it anyway. I arrived at night, exhausted, stressed out and convinced I had a problem with the tank cap (SPOILER: it was just upside down). I was so tired and frozen solid on my bike that I stayed paralyzed in front of Seu Coraza’s house, incapable of deciding whether I should get off the bike to push it onto the property or if I should try and move it from the saddle. I eventually solved this and had dinner with him and his family before collapsing on a comfy improvised bed next to the wood stove, with the company of an equally sleepy cat on my feet.
The next day, after chatting with my host, I got back on the road toward Brazil. Luckily, when I reached the Uruguayan border, I thought to check the bike. I'd been hearing a weird annoying noise, and despite knowing absolutely nothing about mechanics, I figured out that my first test had arrived. The exhaust rivets had come loose, and the whole thing was rattling around. There was no ignoring it: this had to be fixed. A small detail that completely derailed my plans and forced me to improvise. I had no choice but to turn back in search of a friendly mechanic in the nearest town.
By the time I'd sorted that out and made it through the Brazilian border crossing (an eternity), what was supposed to be a long but manageable day had turned into my second problem. I was going to arrive at my destination in the dark, a big no-no in South America. When I realized this, I got in touch with my host — a contact of Seu Coraza's — and that's when the show started. Out of nowhere, three different strangers started messaging me in broken Spanish and Portuñol, all with one very clear message: under no circumstances should I attempt the ride to Santa Maria that day. Dangerous… bad road… should stay in Bagé.
All of this put me in a foul mood. Staying in Bagé meant I’d have only covered 120km. It was only my second day on the road, and things had already completely gone to shit. Nothing like Jo, I thought - it looked like everything went so smoothly for him. Every day, he leaves with a destination, always gets there, covering loads of ground. Was it me? Was it because I had no idea what I was doing? And should I listen to everyone, or just ignore them and push on? The truth was I wanted to get to Santa Maria. The man waiting to help me there seemed really cool, and I was in a hurry to cover more distance.
But… Of course I decided to listen to all these people who were worried about me. I swallowed my pride and decided to avoid taking what everyone called a "stupid risk." I stayed in Bagé, in a hotel that cost almost nothing and spent my first night alone in a long time. It was bliss. And on top of that, I met a lovely family who invited me to theirs for homemade pizza.
Lesson of the day: when something goes sideways and there's nothing you can do about it, accept it — and find a way to make a good memory out of it.
The next morning I woke up exhausted… but with every intention of making up for lost time. I was now in touch with the 4 or 5 brazilian motorcyclists who'd reached out to me. My guardian angels in leather jackets. They were passing my contact around to make sure I had support wherever I went, all saying the same thing: “share your itinerary with us, we'll make sure you have help with whatever you need.” So share my itinerary I did. And this, dear reader, is how I also lost control of day three.
I told one of them I'd be passing through his city — Santiago — explaining that I wouldn't be stopping to sleep there, because I was going to push on to the Argentine border. But two hours after our conversation, when I stopped to fill up and got signal back, I found a message from him. He'd gathered several moto groups, he said. Everything was organized for a big dinner at his place.
I won't lie — I was getting tired of how hard it was to make progress, and it took me a few minutes to give in and see how hilarious the situation was. Once again, I embraced it. After all, it's not every day someone throws you a dinner with multiple moto groups in Brazil.
A traffic jam caused by an accident cost me half an hour of delay, which was enough to worry my new friends. Or at least that's what I thought when two leather-jacketed riders suddenly appeared, one of them overtook me, and both signaled me to pull over. In a movie, I'd have thought I was about to get robbed. But as soon as I saw them in my mirrors, I knew they were friends who'd come looking for me because of the time.
The three of us pulled over and greeted each other on the roadside. Communication was an interesting challenge — they didn't speak Spanish, I didn't speak Portuguese. And yet I went on to have a great evening. I was exhausted — after a long day on the road, all I wanted was to sleep — but I tried to stay present and enjoy every moment with these wonderful people. Because I was very aware I was living something exceptional. These were my first days as a moto-traveler in South America. And looking from the outside in, I was off to an absolutely incredible start.
The next day, I had to put my foot down when my new friends organized not one but two escorts to help me cross into Argentina. They'd contacted someone on each side of the border — completely unnecessary. I'd already crossed about fifteen of them in the first leg of my trip. I decided to quietly slip through without telling anyone. It was the only way to reach my goal for the day: Encarnación, Paraguay.
And finally, something went according to plan. I crossed not one but two borders. I said nothing until I'd made it, then thanked my angels for their help, and let them know everything had gone smoothly.
I arrived in EncarnaciĂłn almost without a hitch. Except for the humbling moment where I couldn't get the bike started on a hill, blocked traffic about twenty meters from the hostel, and had to be rescued by a stranger while a full chorus of honking played in the background. Beautiful.
Lying on the bed of the terrible hostel I'd landed in, I thought about how completely my life had turned around since my break up. A little over a month later, I was traveling alone on a huge motorcycle and had crossed 3 countries in 3 days. Everything — absolutely everything in my life — was a carnival.
My decision to walk away from a seven-year relationship and climb down from the van we'd built together… was insane enough on its own. Yet somehow, in the blink of an eye, I was the owner of a 200-kilo motorcycle that looked like a packhorse when fully loaded and had just crossed 3 borders. After years of complete loneliness in my previous life, I suddenly had friends everywhere. Strangers in leather vests who didn't even speak my language were coordinating to help me, give me advice, invite me into their homes, even throw parties just to meet me.
Saying I felt grateful doesn't come close - I was bursting with it. This whirlwind of hospitality left me in complete awe — and also exhausted, desperate for some space to process everything that was happening to me. Navigating this trip was nothing like anything I'd experienced before as a backpacker or travelling in the van.
What I loved most about all of it was how much it forced me to let go. Being chronically anxious and with a trigger-happy insomnia — uncertainty and I don't exactly get along. Which is fairly hilarious for someone whose greatest passion in life is throwing herself into situations that will thoroughly test her.
From the moment the idea to continue my journey on a motorcycle hit me, I knew it was the right call. I knew it was going to challenge me in every way imaginable. But it was exactly what I needed. And for some reason, I had never wanted anything more in my life.
Strangely, having no control over anything was a relief. As uncomfortable as it was, I needed this. To learn to dance with uncertainty. To flow, to let go, to adapt — and to do so not while gritting my teeth and suffering, but by finding the beauty in all of it. And that night, looking around me, I stopped to take in the absolute madness that my life had become since I'd surrendered to the chaos — and embraced the art of side questing.
EXAMPLE - hehehhe