The diary he kept during his gap-year adventures has now been given the Major Motion Picture treatment — in a film produced by Robert Redford and shot on location right across the continent. Last Wednesday, The Motorcycle Diaries had its premiere on the opening night of the Edinburgh Film Festival, and it’s coming to a cinema near you from Friday.

In this exclusive extract from El Che’s own diaries, we join the two travellers at what can only be described as a low point. How, after all, is it possible to enrage an entire village at a dance, come a cropper in a bovine near-miss and destroy a precious crop of sun-dried peaches — in the space of just three days?

CHILEAN hospitality, as I never tire of saying, is one reason travelling in our neighbouring country is so enjoyable. And we made the most of it. I woke up gradually beneath the sheets, considering the value of a good bed and calculating the calorie content of the previous night’s meal. I reviewed recent events in my mind: the treacherous puncture of La Poderosa’s tyre, which left us stranded in the rain and in the middle of nowhere; the generous help of Raul, owner of the bed in which we were now sleeping; and the interview we gave to the paper El Austral in Temuco. Raul was a veterinary student, not particularly studious it seemed, who had hoisted our poor old bike onto the truck he owned, bringing us to this quiet town in the middle of Chile.

To be honest, there was probably a moment or two when our friend wished he’d never met us, since we caused him an uncomfortable night’s sleep, but he only had himself to blame, bragging about the money he spent on women and inviting us for a night out at a “cabaret”, which would be at his expense, of course. His invitation was the reason we prolonged our stay in the land of Pablo Neruda, and we became involved in a lively bragging session lasting for some time. In the end, of course, he came clean on that inevitable problem (a lack of funds), meaning we had to postpone our visit to that very interesting place of entertainment, though in compensation he gave us bed and board. So at one in the morning there we were, feeling very self- satisfied and devouring everything on the table, quite a lot really, plus some more that arrived later. Then we appropriated our host’s bed since because his father was being transferred to Santiago there was not much furniture left in the house.

Alberto, unmovable, was resisting the morning sun’s attempt to disturb his sleep, while I dressed slowly, a task we didn’t find particularly difficult because the difference between our night wear and day wear was made up, generally, of shoes. The newspaper flaunted a generous number of pages, very much in contrast to our poor and stunted dailies, but I wasn’t interested in anything besides one piece of local news I found in large type in section two: “TWO ARGENTINE LEPROSY EXPERTS TOUR LATIN AMERICA BY MOTORCYCLE”.

And then in smaller type: “They are in Temuco and want to visit Rapa-Nui”.

This was the epitome of our audacity. Us, experts, key figures in the field of leprology in the Americas, with vast experience, having treated 3,000 patients, familiar with the most important leprosy centres of the continent and researchers into the sanitary conditions of those same centres, had consented to visit this picturesque, melancholy little town. We supposed they would fully appreciate our respect for the town, but we didn ’t really know. Soon the whole family was gathered around the article and all other items in the paper became objects of Olympian contempt. And so, like this, basking in their admiration, we said goodbye to those people we remember nothing about, not even their names.

We had asked permission to leave the bike in the garage of a man who lived on the outskirts of town and we made our way there, no longer a pair of more or less likeable vagrants with a bike in tow; no, we were now “The Experts”, and we were treated accordingly. We spent the whole day fixing and conditioning the bike while every now and then a dark-skinned maid would arrive with little snacks. At five o’clock, after a delicious afternoon tea prepared by our host, we said goodbye to Temuco and headed north.

OUR DEPARTURE from Temuco went as normal until, on the road out of town, we noticed the back tyre was punctured and we had to stop and fix it. We worked energetically, but no sooner had we put the spare on, we saw it was losing air; it too was punctured. It seemed we would have to spend the night out in the open as there was no question of repairing it at that time of night. But we weren’t just anybody now, we were The Experts; and we soon found a railroad worker who took us to his house where we were treated like kings.

Early next morning we took the inner tubes and tyre to the garage to remove some bits of metal that had become embedded, and to patch the tyre again. It was close to nightfall when we left, but not before accepting an invitation to a typical Chilean meal: tripe and another similar dish, all very spicy, washed down with a delicious rough wine. As usual, Chilean hospitality wiped us out.

Page 2: The diary continues
Page 3: David Wickers' guide to following Che
Page 4: Travel tips continued

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