A day-and-a-half and 342 pesos later, and we encounter our last Argentinian-Chilean border crossing.
And, it also happens to be the prettiest.
And, the coolest.
A poney-tailed and tennis-shoe clad gendarme checks our bus for contraband, and out we pile, gear in tow, ready to stamp out, stamp in, and submit to the x-ray machine for the umpteenth time and for an quicker-than-ever-hour of bureaucracy.
Busload asleep since butt-crack-of-early departure time of 6 AM, we emerge from the depths of chilly slumber to find ourselves in the shadows of Volcan Lanin, a rainy, monkey tree studded fog shrouding us and our passage into another country in mystic, our bus driver the happiest man on the planet, toothy grin and holas all-around, chipper like none other despite the time of day and task at hand.
Bienvenidos a Chile, amigos.