The Hunt for Solvente Industrial

Since leaving Buenos Aires, we've been trying to camp roughly five nights to every two spent indoors. As a result, we've been leaning on our camping stove pretty hard. An MSR Whisperlite, it's a pretty common device that runs on white gas. And although the fuel is no sweat to procure in the good 'ol U.S.A., here in Argentina it's become among the best (worst?) of our standing jokes.

We first realized we had a problem on our hands during our final few days in Buenos Aires, when no one in the city had a clue what we were talking about. We checked camping stores, hardware stores, and gas stations in four different neighborhoods to no avail. Even a trip to an establishment named Todo Gas proved a bust. Finally, Google led us to a solution--stop asking for stove fuel, white gas, or anything of that sort. Our particular "open sesame" was "industrial solvent"--solvente industrial.

We headed to a gas store (yes, a gas store) in Belgrano and asked for a bottle of the stuff. The little old man behind the counter was immediately suspicious. "Why do you want it?" he demanded. We explained about our stove. "Yes, but it is very flammable. If you drop your cigarette in it, it will go boom." Not seeing how flammability and stove fuel were mutually exclusive, we begged him for it anyway. "It's too dangerous" he insisted, and immediately began pulling plastic Coke jugs full of kerosene, butane, and other equally dangerous fuels out of obscure corners of his dimly lit store. We held firm and he finally agreed to sell us a tiny bottle. He warned us eight more times not to smoke over the open container, and once not to hit our heads on the way out.

Because we quickly ran out of the first batch, we went looking for more solvente industrial in Trelew. The guy at the service station said to check the hardware store, and the guy at the hardware store said to check a place called Casa Lloyd. With zero confidence, we trudged over. "Buen dia, tiene solvente industrial?" I asked the elderly woman behind the counter. "Do you speak English? For the love of God, if you speak English, speak English," she said. She was apparently of Welsh extraction.

She asked what we needed, and I explained about the white gas. She immediately pulled down a bottle of alcohol. We could tell that it wasn't it, but also that she really wanted it to be. "I'm sure that isn't it," I told her. "I know it's called solvente industrial." Finally, after much protest, she agreed to pull down another bottle. It said solvente industrial across the front. "This is it!" I said excitedly. She showed me the name and advised me to write it down. "That way you can just ask for it directly and save yourself a whole world of trouble." Yes, something like that. -NSH