February Travels, Part I: Chilean Lakes District

First of all, I am alive. I’m safe and healthy and doing well. You can breathe now, family.

Now, about our travels! It’s a bit daunting to think about chronicling memories from the last two and a half weeks, but I’m going to do my best to share with you the ups and downs (mostly ups!) of our adventures in southern Chile. I know you’ve been waiting! I’ll organize this day-by-day so that you can read it easily in segments, and I’ll publish it in two parts (one for the Lakes District and one for Patagonia), though you may have to wait a week or so between posts because I’m taking off on another journey tomorrow (to La Serena, about seven hours north of Santiago). This first section should keep you occupied for awhile though! So, grab yourself a cup of tea and a little once and get ready for our journey!

*Side note: I would love to share pictures with you all right on this page but still can’t seem to get it to work. So, I’ll continue to use Picasa as a visual supplement to these posts (the link to this site can be found on the side of this blog page and also in a previous post). But unfortunately, my computer and camera memory card aren’t connecting correctly right now, so there will be a delay on these photos until I can figure that out. Be patient… I’ll work on it. Until then, I’ll try to paint some mental pictures for you!

February 2^nd (Travel Day)

Well, of course I saved my packing until the day of our trip. Since our bus was leaving Santiago at 8:45pm, I had all day to get things organized, which was helpful. I got to Skype with some wonderful people before heading out, and of course, I got to procrastinate on packing until about dinnertime.

I probably packed my backpack eight times. It always seemed like there was just too much in it, and I couldn’t figure out how this could be, as it didn’t seem like I was packing ANYTHING! I ended up reminding myself to “simplify, simplify, simplify” (as my mom likes to say). As far as clothing is concerned, I only packed one pair of jeans, my hiking pants, one pair of stretchy pants for sleeping and relaxing, some warm-weather running pants (which proved incredibly valuable in Torres del Paine), my jacket, two fleeces, one long-sleeve shirt, two hiking t-shirts, one regular t-shirt, and one shirt for pajamas. It sounds like a lot when I list it like that, but for over two weeks, that’s really not much clothes, especially when we’re talking about travels which span multiple climate zones. Caitlin called me in the middle of my packing struggles (I’m so terrible at it) and asked me what sorts of things she should bring. I rattled off a list of the contents of my backpack and told her, “Basically, we’re roughing it. I’m wearing the same thing a lot and I’m not bringing anything that can’t be hiked in, so I’ll never be cute.” This is the truth: I basically had two outfits that I alternated and every once in awhile, I got to put on something clean, which was special.

I stared at my running shoes for a long time, trying to will them into a small crevice in the bag. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t room for them and I had to leave them behind. As it turns out, I wished I had brought them. Running in different places is one of my favorite ways to explore… what was I thinking leaving them behind?! My logic was that we’d be getting exercise in other ways and if I could get away with just bringing my Keen sandals and a pair of flip-flops for hanging out in the hostels, that would be more space-efficient. I will formally endorse Keen here for all the world to see: these sandals carried me through one of the most intense national parks in the world (and everywhere else we went, too). In Torres, most people had hiking boots, but since I’d left my hiking boots in Oshkosh (they didn’t fit in the bag at the time either!), I was unwilling to buy another pair here and decided instead to just trek in my Keens—over rocks, through waterfalls, in mud, and everywhere else. My shoes never hurt me, and the only issue I had was, in particularly muddy parts, my feet got a little wet. In short, these are some tough, and comfortable(!), shoes. They’re worth their weight in gold, people.

Anyway, I finally got my things to fit in my bag and then decided I should hit up the grocery store for a few snacks before leaving. As luck would have it, I ran into Gladis at the store and she had a cartful of snacks for me too. How sweet! The best part is that she had peanut butter!!! I had mentioned how much I’d been missing it and how I hadn’t found it yet in Chile—and there it was in her hand! She was kind enough to buy me $15 worth of food for our trip—granola bars, juice, some crackers, the peanut butter, bananas, and some chocolate. I hadn’t expected that, so it was a pleasnt surprise. I managed to stuff the food in my bag, and then I was on my way! I gave everyone un besito (a little kiss) and threw my massive bag on my back. Excited, I headed for the Metro.

I met Liz, Caitlin, and Laura at the bus station. We were all so excited, standing in the busy station with our huge packs on (and bumping into plenty of passers-by). It took us awhile to figure out which bus was ours, simply because we’re not yet used to the way things work around here. We found it in time, though, and loaded into seats 5,6,7, and 8, where we stayed for the next 10 or so hours. I was excited—we were going somewhere new and I had heard that Pucón was a fun place to do lots of outdoor activities. I was also excited to get to know the other girls (which turned out to be one of the best parts of the trip, of course). And I was excited to carry my life on my back for a few weeks!

A brief interruption to talk about my travel companions, Liz, Laura, and Caitlin. First of all, they’re all beautiful, intelligent, strong young women, and traveling with them was wonderful.

Liz is a rather whimsical creature. She’s from Connecticut and is majoring in Literature at Boston College. During the summers, she works at an organic farm, and her life dream is to start a commune. It shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise that she’s a vegetarian. She loves Toni Morrison (a true English major) and has piercing blue eyes. She and I had some great conversations about life and justice and love, and she is generally a really optimistic person, which is great to be around. Also, she’s a go-getter. Her token phrase on the trip was “make moves,” as in “It’s time to make moves” or “Let’s make moves,” AKA let’s get off our butts/out of bed/away from the food and get things done!

Laura attends Loyola-Chicago and has lived in Chicago her whole life. She’s majoring in Spanish and is incredibly focused on improving her already-awesome Spanish-speaking abilities. She’s only 5’0’’ but has a big personality. She loves to dance, loves Chilean music, loves cities, and loves meeting new people. She’s also a hell of a hiker! Her little legs set the pace for the rest of us during our hikes in Torres del Paine, which was pretty impressive. Laura is a natural leader and, in our larger group, she often serves as the planner or the connection between multiple groups doing multiple things. She doesn’t take crap and she says what she means, but she’s incredibly caring and sincere as well.

Finally, Caitlin is also a BC student, though she’s from Pennsylvania. She’s studying International Affairs and has a particular interest in public health care. Caitlin is a thinker, always processing the world around her. She laughs a lot and seems to get along with everyone, and she’s one of the best listeners I’ve ever met. Clearly, she understands life as a journey and is seeking to soak up as much of it as she can in the process of becoming herself. She says really ridiculous things that no one says, like “here’s hoping” and “totes” as an abbreviation for “totally,” which continually cracked us up. She also regularly offers practical insights—she thinks this is a buzz-kill sort of personality trait, but it’s often helpful, especially when no one else has thought of a certain detail.

We made an interesting four-some, but I learned something from each of my wonderful travel companions and I feel much closer to them after our time together.

It was a long ride through the night and I didn’t get much sleep because it just wasn’t that comfortable. I sat next to Liz and we both faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes talking or reading but mostly just staring. Weird things kept happening to us. First, the gentleman I would call the “bus attendant” (like a flight attendant, I guess) was simply awkward. He covered us in blankets, which I didn’t understand as I am perfectly capable of covering myself in a blanket, and he put the pillows behind our heads for us. He reeked of Axe body spray and was constantly flittering about, looking impossibly busy.

The night passed uneventfully, and they showed “Hitch” with Will Smith—not a terrible movie, but this was a version dubbed in Spanish that we could hardly hear and they should have just skipped showing it altogether. This was followed by an extremely loud documentary about the five senses which woke me up in the middle of the night. Apparently these buses have an all-or-nothing audio system. Then, in the early morning hours, we got treated to some blaring “Circus” (by Britney Spears) and the guy came around again. This time, he reached right across us and opened the curtains and then actually started cleaning the windows. Again, I don’t know why these things are necessary. I basically just ate my crackers and peanut butter and read my book (I spent the trip working on Como Agua para Chocolate, in Spanish, which I’m still enjoying and need to finish). We were then fed some disgusting crackers and juice (OK, it was just acid) before we finally arrived at about 8am, later than I thought we would get to Pucón.

February 3^rd (Pucón)

No one was well-rested and it was rainy, so things weren’t looking too exciting at first, but, we decided to wander the streets for a bit in search of breakfast/a place to crash for a little while. We found a great little café and I had some delicious granola, fruit, bread and jam, and of course some tea. After chatting a bit about a game plan, we decided it would be a good idea to hit up the Tourism Center for some information. We did that and then realized we would need to reconstruct our original plan to stay in the neighboring town of Villarrica. We had thought it would be a cheaper, less touristy place to spend a few nights, but because no volcano tours leave from Villarrica and because it costs a few bucks to bus to and from Pucón every time we would need to do so, we decided to cancel our reservation in Villarrica and find a new hostel in Pucón—not a very easy task. We walked around and asked about vacancies at several hostels before finally finding an open room at a place called La Bicicleta.

Our hostel was cute, and we spent a lot of time talking to the lady in charge, who we fondly call Streudel because her name is too hard to pronounce. She’s from Germany and, like many people hanging out in Patagonia, is here for awhile without much of a plan. After a little conversation with her, it was time to eat again. We had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on our porch, and I finally realized where we were. The air was clear and the mountains surrounded us, appearing far closer than they actually were. The sky seemed huge. I couldn’t hear city noises. It hit me then that this was the beginning of our wonderful adventure and that we were going to see so many beautiful things. We were a bit groggy, but it was exhilarating.

Originally, because Pucón is the land of “extreme” adventures, I wanted to go canyoning. However, the other girls were concerned about doing both a canyoning excursion and climbing Volcán Villarrica, which we had committed to do the next day; so instead, we rented some bikes. I love biking, and it was a good way to explore town, but I do hope that I get to go canyoning at some point in my life—it looks totally awesome.

We biked down the main road until we found a gravel path Streudel had told us about. We turned and struggled down this terribly bumpy road for awhile. We crossed a shaky bridge (the sign literally said “Bridge in Bad Condition”—very comforting) over a river with some mild rapids, which provided a lovely view of the mountains in the distance and all of the GREEN all around us. So pretty! On the other side of the bridge, we discovered a Mapuche festival. We were so excited! The Mapuche people are native to Chile and have had quite a tumultuous history here, similar to the native populations in the United States. They are poorly represented in the Chilean government and usually don’t associate themselves with many things pertaining to the country in general, choosing instead to live in more isolated communities because of the way they’re treated by the State. For about 350 years, they held onto the Lakes region, defeating the Incas and the Spaniards, though they were gradually subdued by Chile and, instead, the German immigrants took over much of the area. Sadly, Mapuche culture is being lost, as is the case with Native Americans at home. They are known for their handiwork and some of their food, though, so we were thrilled to find ourselves at this particular party.

There wasn’t much to see as far as shopping goes, and we had just eaten lunch so we weren’t very hungry, but we sat at a table and enjoyed some mote con huesillo, that peach drink I’ve written about in the past. We watched a game called “chueca” (or something like that), which looked sort of like field hockey… except the “puck” was a heavy rock! We watched the young boys running around the field and listened to the traditional music playing for awhile and then decided we should probably get back on our bikes. Before returning them, we wanted to ride to the beach, so we decided to get a move on so we could check that out.

As it turns out, it wasn’t a comfortable sandy beach. Instead, there was hard, black gravel between our toes, so we just sat for awhile, admiring the sunset, and dunked our feet in the chilly water for awhile before leaving. We stopped at the grocery store, found a place to eat some dinner, and then came back to the hostel, ready to crash after having gotten very little sleep on the bus the previous night. We wanted to be well-rested because we had booked our volcano climb for early the next morning! We had no idea what we were in for, but all of the guide books suggested this particular excursion…

February 4^th (Pucón)

Volcano Day. We woke up at 5:30am, had toast and tea prepared lovingly by Streudel at the crack of dawn (we were beginning to grow tired of this typical hostel breakfast), and then set out for the tour agency to get equipped with our gear. We were a bit nervous that there wouldn’t be any volcano tours that morning because it was so cloudy—obviously, visibility is kind of a big deal when climbing a mountain—but when we arrived, we were told that it was still on. We met our guides, Miguel and J.R. (which is funny to say in Spanish because the letters “J” and “R” are pronounced differently, making his name “HO-tah AIR-ay” instead of “Jay Ar”). Then we tried on several pairs of boots before finding some that seemed to fit. In Chile, simple things are processes, and this boot-fitting is one such example—it took way longer than it should have. Eventually, we were given backpacks full of gear and we put on some ridiculously hideous ensembles before loading into the van for the ride to Volcán Villarrica. Our group consisted of our two guides, the three of us, and a couple—Lucy, from the UK, and Garreth, from Australia, both of whom were very nice. Garreth was particularly entertaining, though we all agreed that he also found himself entertaining. Nevertheless, they were good company.

I was in high spirits and, although I figured it would be an adventure, I was confident that the four of us were athletic enough to complete this endeavor successfully. As it turns out, the volcano climb is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done (right up there with the half-marathon as far as physical feats are concerned)! The first part of it is like walking in dirt straight up-hill. It was hard to get footing, and our legs weren’t quite ready to get moving yet. My calves were burning and I started to realize that this was going to be challenging. After some more hiking, mostly in gravel, on rocks, and through dirt, we stopped for an extended break. We were told that most groups take a ski lift to that point but we’d had to hike it because the ski lift wasn’t working that day (again, typically Chilean). This knowledge was not very uplifting. We were tired already! Miguel and J.R. had pushed us to keep going and we hadn’t stopped for longer than a minute or two in the first section, so we were ready to take a break and have a snack. It was chilly once we stopped hiking. There was a shelter, which the guides advised us to take advantage of, but before getting too comfortable, I wanted to snap some quick pictures of the view. I had strapped my camera on a belt loop of my pants for convenience, so I reached down to grab it… annnnnnnd it wasn’t there.

In short, I freaked out. I almost started crying. I would have rather lost ANYTHING else. This camera, and the memory card inside of it, are probably my most beloved possessions here in Chile, and now the camera was lost somewhere on a volcano. I frantically rifled through my bag and checked every pocket of every layer of clothing I was wearing, and it was nowhere. I tracked my steps for a little while before accepting that it had fallen off somewhere down the mountain—somewhere I couldn’t really just go looking for it. J.R. noticed I was upset about something, and I told him my camera had gone missing. He shouted to the next three groups coming up the mountain behind us, and we waited for each group to ascend with the camera, but over the course of the next half hour, no one surfaced with it. I didn’t know what to do, but I was NOT going to leave the mountain without it, even if it meant I would be taking a different route on the way down just so I could go the same way we had come up. I sat, lamenting, for another half hour or so because it seemed like J.R. and Miguel were somehow working on the situation and there was clearly nothing I could do. I was so angry with myself and my morale took a major dive.

Miguel told us it was time to grab our things and keep going. The cloud cover had broken a bit, and we had to take advantage of the opportunity to keep climbing while it was clear. I gathered my things, resigning to climb the rest of the way without thinking too much about the camera. Hopefully it would work out somehow. I’d figure that out later. My only option was to ask St. Anthony to intercede on my behalf and to keep hoping.

J.R. walked over to me as I was putting my helmet back on and gathering my things and told me that no one had found the camera on the way up. And, unbeknownst to me, he had spent the last 40 minutes or so climbing all the way down and back up himself, looking for it on his own. He said his excursion had been unsuccessful as well. I was shocked, first, that someone could climb that fast and, secondly, that someone I barely knew would be willing to do that for me, so although I was upset that the results of his search were negative, I thanked him profusely anyway. What more could I do?

Then he pulled out something black and put it in my hands. I must be the luckiest girl ever, and I must have really whined to St. Anthony, because there it was! My camera!!! I hugged J.R. for a LONG time and gave him kisses on the cheek and probably broke his lungs and his eardrums while I squeezed and squealed. Apparently, the camera had fallen off of my belt buckle a long time before, as J.R. reported he’d found it far below. I had no clue how that had happened because the Velcro is really quite strong, and I can’t fathom how it could have fallen off without my noticing—I was looking right at the ground for most of the way up! I couldn’t figure anything out, but I didn’t even care at that point because I was so overjoyed. My morale skyrocketed and I was ready, once again, to keep climbing. I put my camera in a pocket that it could definitely NOT escape and, all the way up, I kept checking—just to make sure. I am forever grateful to J.R. The man climbed that steep stretch in amazing time— just for me. I don’t know how I lose my stuff all the time (it’s extremely frustrating), but I swear to you that there are angels among us.

The climbing continued to challenge us, to say the least. I tried to look up every so often to enjoy the view as we continued to climb higher and higher, but I had to focus mostly on just walking. My boots began digging into my shins. Liz didn’t feel well. The wind picked up. And we still couldn’t see the top. We took a zig-zag path up the mountain, digging our ice picks and heels into the side of the slick snow. It seemed that we were climbing at a 45-degree angle, and I think some people got a bit freaked when we stopped to get a lecture about how to use our ice picks to save us from tumbling down the side of the volcano should we slip and fall. But we kept going and, because I can’t convey to you the difficulty of this feat, I’ll just cut to the chase: the view from the top was phenomenal.

We were lucky that the weather conditions had improved enough to allow us to summit during a brief window of clear skies. It was freezing at the top and we were all so tired. My legs did not want to take one more step—I had actually taken to pep-talking them for the last hour or so, promising them a 10-second break after each 30 steps! We crashed at the top, trying to stay warm while scarfing down some lunch and gearing up for the descent. We walked around just a little bit because, after all, this is an active volcano (it’s blown up 49 times!), and there is lava to see. Well actually, it just looked like big, hot rocks, and my lungs filled with sulfur and I felt like I was going to die. But anyway, we could see rivers and lakes and towns and forests, and all around us was snow and clouds (we were ABOVE them!), and it seemed like we were in a different world. Indescribably stunning… so I’ll stop trying to describe it.

I was scared about the descent, as I really don’t like climbing downhill (I don’t even like climbing down a bunk-bed ladder!), but this part was a blast. We spent most of it on our bums, sliding down these icy chute-type paths that have been carved out by the hundreds of bums before ours. It saved us time and energy because we just sat down and slid—like sledding but without a sled (and on a volcano instead of a small hill)! It was pretty surreal, sliding down the side of a mountain, and it was definitely the best part of the excursion. We slid about five different times, doing a little walking in between and at the end, and then we arrived at the bottom with no energy to spare, ready to crash and retire our legs forever.

We relaxed that afternoon with showers at the hostel, a two-hour, much deserved nap, and a wonderful, wonderful dinner at a vegetarian restaurant called ecolé. The three other girls are all vegetarians, which was an interesting experience for me. While I have no plans to become a “veg” myself, my eyes were opened to the many delicious vegetarian options. I tried so many new foods—things I should have tried long ago! (Mom, you’d be surprised that I like avocado and dried fruit and hummus and all sorts of other things these days!) I had an omelette, which was fantastic as I’d been craving eggs something fierce.

Later that night, we went back to the tourist agency for part two of the Volcano Day adventure—a trip to the Termas Los Pozones, where we soaked in several different natural hot springs pools! The setting was rustic and natural, and it rained a bit while we were in the pools, which was pretty fun. It felt really good on our tired bodies (like a hot tub after a long day), and it was also nice to talk to some of the other people there, particularly two from the UK and South Africa who told us about their travels thus far. We stayed there kind of late and were ready to leave at the pre-determined meeting time, but our guide was just swimming around in the pools, chatting up some of the ladies! We couldn’t believe that we had all of our things together and were ready on time and that he did not even appear to be thinking of leaving. Then again, we could believe it; this is sort of a theme here in Chile. So, I literally shouted to him to get out of the pool and take us home, which was effective. We crashed when we got home. It had been a long, crazy day, and I slept soundly and proudly after having climbed my first-ever volcano.

February 5^th (Pucón & Valdivia)

Our last morning in Pucón was very relaxing. We had to check out of La Bicicleta at 11:30am, which meant saying goodbye to our dear Streudel, who made us promise to drink some German beer for her in Valdivia. It’s wonderful meeting all of these different people, but it’s so hard to have them in your life for a brief period of time and then leave! None of us could understand how a person could work in such an environment, especially someone as sweet as Streudel (that’s not meant to be funny, really).

Anyway, we had breakfast and then headed out to take care of some business, making stops at the bank, Laundromat (just to dry all of our wet stuff from the night before), the grocery store (to buy some beer for our volcano guides), and the Internet café. It was pretty funny, actually, because we had nothing to do until our 3pm bus to Valdivia, so we just sat at this Internet café. We used the Internet and ordered a few cheap drinks but mostly we just spread our stuff out and ate our own food and read and chatted—for hours. No one really seemed to mind, though we thought it might be a bit tacky. Oops!

I was torn about leaving Pucón—it had been our first stop and we’d had a good time, so part of me wanted to stick around for another night and enjoy the scenery and extreme outdoor adventures; on the other hand, I was really excited to leave because the town is a bit too touristy. In the early 1900s, the town’s main industry was timber. But now it’s dependent almost entirely on tourism, and while the timber still makes for some scenic buildings (which house travel agencies), the place is infiltrated with tourists all summer, and I didn’t feel like we were getting too cultured there.

The bus ride to Valdivia was short and went smoothly. We had met up with some other girls from our program while we were in Pucón just to chat for a few minutes, and they had left the day before for Valdivia, so we called to see where they had stayed and then made a reservation at that hostel per their recommendation. It turned out to be a cute, colorful place a few blocks away from the downtown area. The owner wasn’t that friendly (despite the hostel’s hippie vibe, which might usually suggest that the decorator has a bit more charisma), and we had to share a room with a creepy guy from Italy (we fondly refer to him now as “the Italian”), but other than that, we were quite comfortable.

The best part was that we had kitchen access. So, we went to the grocery store and then made ourselves a yummy pasta and vegetable dinner which we enjoyed along with some DELICIOUS ice cream (it’s soooo good here—I just can’t explain it!) and some cheap wine, which is still fantastic because it’s Chilean. I don’t usually like cooking, but it was really nice to take our time, make something together, chat and laugh and enjoy our first home-cooked meal as a group. Also, it’s cheaper than eating out all the time! The fact that it was Vino Night (this is what we call the evenings that include wine) made it even better. We stayed in, relaxed, chatted with some guys from England who are traveling the world before going to college (nice life) and then took our time waking up the next day after a long night’s sleep. We were excited to see Valdivia in the daylight!

February 6^th (Valdivia & Ancud, Chiloé)

I loved Valdivia. Located about 520 miles south of Santiago in the heart of Chile’s Lakes District, it’s a town of about 130,000 people, located on the waterfront of a delta, with a very heavy German influence. My travel book said about Valdivia, “it is as though every building from every decade from every architectural style were thrown in a bag, shaken up, and randomly scattered about the city,” which seems to be the trend in Chile. There’s a mix of European influence, combined with some local flair, and then some ugly modern buildings to round out the unusually, and beautifully, eclectic streets. But Valdivia is tough. It has survived attacks, floods, fires, and the strongest earthquake ever recorded in 1960, and it’s still energetic. There’s also something about the fact that rivers wind through the town that makes the place seem all the more vivacious, and I loved the proximity to the water. In short, it’s charming, and it’s less touristy than Pucón.

We woke up later, had some breakfast, and decided to visit the famous Mercado Fluvial, a market where locals peddle their fresh fruits, vegetables, and—of course—fish. I always enjoy the energy at the authenticity at markets and I would happily visit a market everyday, but there’s something particularly special about the one in Valdivia: it’s also the favorite hang-out spot for the local sea lion population! These massive, slippery creatures haul themselves up onto a ledge behind the fish vendors and wait for scraps that the vendors toss over their shoulders while gutting their fresh catches each day. Meanwhile, sea birds circle overhead and rowers and boats pass by, making the place seem like it’s from a different era. It’s Seattle-esque and yet distinctly Chilean. We bought some delicious grapes and then headed across the street to mosey around afair for awhile.

After, we crossed over a bridge to a residential area called Isla Teja, where the University is located. It’s a lovely area, though we didn’t see too much of it. Our destination was the well-known contemporary art museum there. I thought some of the exhibits were neat, but other things were quite odd, as can be expected. There were some huge sea lions, made of something that seemed like paper maché, and we took pictures with them. (Note: they’re not made for sitting on. Laura learned this lesson at the sea lion’s expense.) The coolest part of the museum was the building in which it’s housed, a former brewery with stone walls and arches and airy rooms. Valdivia is home to the Kuntsmann Brewery, which apparently makes some delicious German beer. We didn’t keep our promise to Streudel and failed to visit the Brewery, mostly because none of us are huge beer fans. Next time, perhaps. Or maybe when I get to Milwaukee, I’ll have a beer for Streudel at the Miller Brewery. Ha!

We were hungry, but happy, after our sunny stroll around town, and we happened upon a little restaurant selling empanadas. Correction: the best empanadas. Mine had basil, cheese, and corn, and was absolutely phenomenal. Mom, can you please learn to make empanadas? This is something I’ll definitely miss when I return to the U.S! After lunch, we grabbed our bags from the hostel and headed to the bus terminal, not realizing that we were actually running kind of late. Once we realized that we were probably not going to make it on time, Liz and I started running. We must have been quite the sight, jogging down these calm streets with our huge backpacks—as if we didn’t already stick out! Luckily, “Chilean time” saved us: the bus was running late, so when we arrived (about five minutes after the time on the ticket), we actually had to wait for ten minutes! (Trupps, if you’re reading this, I feel that Trupp time and Chilean time are similar…)

Our ride was to Puerto Montt, a port town of about 155,000 residents that seems to be the hub of the Lakes region. There’s not so much to do in Puerto Montt, as it’s a busy, business-y sort of place, and the guide book advised us to spend time in Chiloé rather than in the “grimy environs” of Puerto Montt (we joked extensively about the author’s choice of words). We planned to explore a bit upon our return from the Island of Chiloé, which was our current destination. Our bus took us through Puerto Montt and then straight onto a ferry which crossed a canal over to Chiloé (right at sunset—quite lovely!). I was in a great mood; I’d thoroughly enjoyed Valdivia that afternoon, and I was so excited to see Chiloé, as I’d heard so much about it. I was thriving off of our constant movement. We were seeing so much beauty already, and our journey had hardly begun!

Chiloé consists of several islands, but we just visited the main one, which is the country’s second-largest island. The island is pretty cut off from the outside world, which makes it a very interesting place to visit—there are foods, customs, beliefs, and architectural styles that are uniquely Chilote—but it also means the place is a bit poorer, and we certainly noticed this. Most families here seem to rely on pastoral work, and it felt like we had gone back in time as soon as we arrived in Chiloé’s northern-most city of Ancud (home to about 27,000 people). We found ourselves a hostel here, run by the cutest old man I’ve ever seen (besides my own grandfather), and had a late dinner at a strange little restaurant (our waiter hovered, which annoyed me, but he was adorable). We had some wine and took it easy, mostly because that’s all there is to do post-9pm in Chiloé. It was quiet and quaint and we were the only people sleeping in the old man’s house that night.

February 7^th (Ancud & Castro, Chiloé)

We woke up and had breakfast—you guessed it: it was bread and jam and tea again. I am definitely missing breakfast from home. It’s my favorite meal normally, but here it’s just terribly undervalued! I need to find some pancakes and eggs and French Toast pronto.

After breakfast, we departed in search of some penguins. We had heard of a penguin colony off the coast of Ancud but hadn’t booked a reservation yet. It wasn’t too difficult to do so, and we ended up leaving around noon for our tour with six or eight other people in a van. Our driver, Manuel, played us some traditional Chilote music on the way to the beach, and I sat shotgun and asked him questions about Chiloé. He loves life on the island and claimed Ancud is way better than Castro (the capital). We also met a really sweet (and gorgeous!) young woman from Canada who was visiting her family in Chiloé. Her children, a brilliant 4-year-old girl named Teah and an adorable bundle of blue cuteness, provided some entertainment in the van as well. We enjoyed talking to them about life in Chile, Canada, and the United States, though it gets old having to say, again and again, that we’re studying for a semester in Santiago and we have a month of vacation so we’re traveling and blah blah blah. So it goes.

The penguin tour consisted of this drive to the beach, a little boat ride to the colonies, a lunch break, and then the return trip. The colony is supposedly the only place in the world where these two types of penguins—Magallenic and Humboldt—cohabitate. They were cute, though we only got to see them from that boat. I know that on Isla Magdalena in the south, there are hundreds more penguins and you can actually get out and walk amongst them. We didn’t end up doing that trip during our time in Punta Arenas because we’d already seen penguins in Chiloé, but I probably would have loved it. They’re so cute! They didn’t do any tricks for us (no real belly-slides, Katharine!), but it was just neat to see them in their natural environment (without the Penguin House smell, Molls!). We also got to see other seabirds and enjoy the beautiful scenery, so all in all it was a lovely tour. Our lunch break included empanadas (sub-par) and a walk on the beach. We again had to remind our guide to take us home. What’s the deal with these people?!

When we returned to town, we walked around a bit because I wanted to look at some of the wooden churches for which Chiloé is famous. They’re all modeled after a Bavarian, neoclassic style and share certain properties—they’re made of wood (and no nails) and have similar front arches and steeples, which function as beacons for sailors in the nearby bays. Some are incredibly small and simple, though others are brighter and bigger. All are fairly humble and the sheer quantity of them is pretty impressive. Back in the day, the Jesuits traveled around the archipelago preaching their brand of religion and establishing churches, but the cool thing is that the Jesuits were incredibly respectful of Chilote culture. They tried to learn the language and understand local customs and, because of this respect, the churches were built largely in the Chilote style. We only looked at a few, but the history of these humble and striking churches makes for an interesting exploration (or, you can just read my Frommer’s guide book, which I’m borderline plagiarizing here).

Afterwards, we got some much-awaited ice cream. I could write a whole paragraph about how delicious it was, but I’ll spare you. We then went to the grocery store before stumbling upon an arts and crafts fair where I made a few purchases and admired all of the knit goods. I wanted to buy everything, but I restrained myself. I should mention, though, that since Valdivia, we’d all been donning some pretty rockin’ knit headbands (mine’s fuschia-ish and I wear it like a ninja). They’re popular here, which is great because we LOVE them. Also, as backpackers, we were allowed to look a bit silly.

We were sad to leave our cute little man and scenic Ancud, but it was time to get on the bus (again) and head a bit south to the third-oldest city in Chile and the capital of Chiloé: Castro, population 29,000. I can’t say much about Castro because we didn’t actually stay in the city. For this particular adventure, we had made different accommodations.

On our bus to Puerto Montt, we had met some wonderfully sweet ladies, Carmen and Monica, who were on their way to a relative’s home in Castro. Carmen is from Chile originally but currently lives in Canada, so she spoke to us in a mix of Spanish and English. After some conversation on the bus, she invited us to stay at the home of her relative, where she was headed, if it worked out for us. We decided to make this a priority as staying with a family sounded refreshing and seemed like a great way to get to know a bit more about life and culture on the island. So, when we got into Castro, we immediately got into a cab and got dropped off just outside the city at a little green house owned by, as it turns out, a woman named Ite (EE-tay). We were greeted by the three ladies as well as many other family members and were shown to our comfortable rooms before being invited to share in some bread and tea at the dinner table. We stayed there, chatting about all sorts of things, for about three hours!

I loved staying at Ite’s house because I fell asleep to the sound of giggling and muffled conversation and a news program on the TV, which was playing in another room. It felt like home and it turned out to be perfect for us, as we’d been slacking on the Spanish-speaking (with each other) and were also interested in having some conversations about Chilote life, which is distinct from life on the mainland. In particular, Chilote religion and folklore is a fascinating topic.

Historically, Chilotes believed in all sorts of folkloric monsters and witches and spirits. Now, many people combine some of these ancient legends with their Christian faith, which results in an interesting mix of creeds. Since the next day was Sunday, I asked about going to Mass. I had figured this would be pretty easy on an island with so many churches, but in a room of about 8 people I was the only person interested in going to Church. Since we weren’t in the city and getting myself to Mass the next morning could have been somewhat inconvenient for everyone else, I assured them all that it was OK if I missed a week of Mass. In truth, it was super-weird! I haven’t missed Mass on Sunday in recent memory, but I suppose God knows all about my situation. He revealed Himself in many other ways, of course, especially in the generosity of our new friends, who immediately felt like they were our own sweet aunts.

February 8^th (Castro, Chiloé and Puerto Montt)

We woke up and headed into town quickly to make sure our bus tickets were all set for that evening. Since we were flying out of Puerto Montt the next day, it was important to get ourselves back there without any glitches. Unfortuantely, that would prove much easier than simply getting from downtown Castro back to Ite’s house. We had taken a colectivo in to town—it’s like a little bus that you can just get on and off of. It’s stuffed with people and it was hot and smelly, but they’re cheaper than cabs. We wanted to return the same way, but we managed to get on the wrong colectivo, which resulted in a tour about the town and, eventually, we ended up back where we started and had to pay for a cab anyway to avoid getting ourselves in another stupid situation.

When we returned, we all loaded into vehicles to head to a traditional fair. When I say “we all,” I am referring to the four of us, Monica, Carmen, Ite, and about eight other people spread out in three vehicles. We rode in the back of a truck in a sort of trailer-with-walls contraption, so it was bumpy and windy but provided some great views. We were blessed with the company of a strange man named Leo who didn’t shut up for more than two minutes about how hungry he was, so we were thrilled to arrive at our destination (where Leo would get fed).

The place was a bust as far as food options were concerned, and the group quickly decided to get back in the vehicles and go to a different town for a different fair. First, though, we got to see the making of a traditional Chilote dish called curanto. Similar to a New England clambake, this dish is usually prepared in a hole/ditch in the ground, which is first filled with hot rocks and then loaded up with mussels, clams, beef, pork, chicken, sausage, and potatoes. I didn’t try curanto because of my disdain for seafood, and when I told my host family about this decision (upon my return to Santiago), they were appalled. I suppose I’ll have to try this next time I come across it, and I realize that food is a big part of experiencing culture, but I really just do not like seafood. Anyway, it was cool to see the preparation of this traditional dish, but that’s about all there was to do at this fair. It was a good idea to leave, but we were a little nervous about timing, as the ride to this fair had taken longer than expected and missing our bus that evening was not an option. Carmen assured us that everything would be fine, so we piled into the trailer again with the still starving, still ranting Leo… and off we went!

A chilly 45-minute ride later, we found ourselves in the little town of Chonchi, about 20 miles south of Castro. This fair was a lot better. In fact, it rocked. We saw people performing Chile’s national dance, the cueca, which is a fun and flirtatious little dance in which the men wave white hankerchiefs all over the place. There were tons of vendors, selling beautiful knit goodies and homemade jams and pastries and everything wonderful. And, there was food! The vegetarians were less than pleased with their options, but I ate, ate, ate! I first had a mote con huesillo. Then, I tried an anticucho, a kabob with steak, onion, sausage, and pepper, hot off the grill. It was PHENOMENAL, as you can imagine. After that, I tried a candy apple for the first time (I know, sort of sad), which was yummy. Liz and I shared some cake, then, simply because it was too delicious-looking to pass up. And, right before we got back in the crazy trailer to return to Castro, Liz, Caitlin, and I discovered some cheap liquor samples and decided to taste-test two different kinds, the most delicious being something called Licór de Oro. (This made for a rather giggly ride home.) We left the fair just in time to drive to the house and wait outside for the bus to pick us up!

I’ll always remember our stay in Castro. We were so lucky to have met these sweet people, and the refreshing home-stay was exactly what we were looking for at the time. God provides! Saying goodbye was difficult, though Carmen did give us her contact information and offered up her home in Vancouver for future visits.

We made it to Puerto Montt in good time, checked into our hostel (which was almost like a hotel—private bathroom and all!), and then went searching for food. The only place open was a place downtown called Sherlock. It was a bit pricey, but we decided to splurge on some salads (we were all craving vegetables), wine (delicious as usual), and dessert (I shared a traditional German pastry known as kuchen with Caitlin). We closed down the restaurant and returned to our hostel to get some sleep. We would need it, as the next day would prove surprisingly challenging.

February 9^th (Puerto Montt and Puerto Natales)

We rushed around town the next day, buying necessary things like groceries, rain gear, and so on. We took a cab to the airport at about 1:45, just in time to check in, go through security (which took about five minutes), and find our gate (there are only three, though you don’t know which one you’re supposed to be at until about ten minutes before your flight). We made ourselves some sandwiches with cheese and tomato and had lunch before boarding, not realizing that Sky Airlines feeds its customers, even on short flights! We got a sandwich, tea, juice/soda, cake, and fruit cocktail. Pretty impressive. Upon arrival in Punta Arenas just a few hours later, we immediately got a cab to the bus terminal so that we could get ourselves to Puerto Natales, three hours north, which would be our jumping-off point for the Torres del Paine national park. We were excited in the cab and definitely humored our poor driver who had to listen to me reading horoscopes in Spanish from the newspaper, followed by a less-than-harmonious group accompaniment to “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” which was on the radio for reasons I can’t even fathom.

We only had to wait a half hour for the next bus to Natales, and the ride passed pretty quickly. We arrived around 9pm and, starving, we went straight to a restaurant we’d read about in the guidebook. The place is called El Living, and it’s a chill vegetarian restaurant with a fire, couches, magazines, a used book exchange, and—bottom line—delicious food. We had a fabulous meal (the first of several at this particular establishment), but the service was terribly slow and we didn’t leave until 11:15pm. We had booked a hostel, but they had expected us a bit earlier. So….

We showed up and our rooms had been given away. Then all hell broke loose. First of all, the place was really crappy, as it was the overflow building for the hostel we wanted to stay at, called Erratic Rock. Ten or twelve people were shoved in a room here at “the annex”, and there was only one bathroom for everyone to use, which seemed to be occupied the whole time we were there. I slept on a mattress on the floor, and we all suffered through a symphony of snoring, thanks to our roommates. But, before we could resign ourselves to that restful night’s sleep, we had to get our things organized for the next day, as we had hoped to wake up super-early, get groceries for our trip to Torres, and catch the first bus to the park at 7:30am. Our hopes were dashed when the lady in charge of this hostel sat us down in the kitchen and, condescendingly and without hope, explained to us that nothing in our plan would work out.

No grocery stores were open at that hour and none would be open so early in the morning either. Having no groceries meant that we’d have to buy all our food in the park, which would be outrageously expensive. Sticking around until stores opened meant that we’d have to wait until the afternoon bus to the park. This meant that there was no way we’d get our planned amount of hiking in while still arriving at our first night’s reservation at Refugio Cuernos. If we got behind, we’d be behind for the whole trip, which simply could not happen because the refugios had been reserved and paid for ahead of time, as is necessary during this crazy tourist season. Because information about the park is shockingly inaccessible until you arrive at the park’s entrance, we had configured our route to the best of our ability but it was, unbeknownst to us until that moment, done less than ideally. In short, we were screwed, and this lady had no problem telling us so.

We were all tired after our day of traveling and we were quite put-off about the woman’s totally hopeless attitude. We had to make the best of the situation, so we decided to wake up incredibly early and start calling the refugios to see if we could either change our first night’s reservation so as to have less hiking to do (allowing us to take the afternoon bus and buy groceries in town before leaving). If that failed, our plan was to just get on the bus and go to the park—we had no choice. We went to bed, discouraged and exhausted and nervous, planning to wake up at 5am. The alarm malfunctioned and I woke up to Laura whispering, “Amanda, wake up. It’s 6:45. My alarm didn’t work.” This meant we were out of time to make calls. Liz sprinted to an ATM while the rest of us scarfed down a very inadequate breakfast and freaked out. We planned to gather our stuff and get on the bus, but my gut was telling me that it was a really bad idea to head into something so intense when we were so incredibly unprepared and frazzled. I didn’t know exactly how we’d remedy our situation, but I didn’t think that a frenzied entrance into the wilderness was a good start. I voiced this and was met with overwhelming agreement.

So, we listened to our instincts and wandered over to Erratic Rock in hopes of getting some actual guidance. The place is known for its guidance to hikers and we were able to look at a map and just stop, sit, and think. We realized that if we just moved the hike we were going to do that day to the end of the trip (which could be done by tacking on one more night and half-day in the park), we could keep all of our reservations. This was a light. We had time to buy groceries and snacks for the trail, rent a mess-kit and camping stove, things we didn’t even know we’d need, as we had imagined being able to use the kitchens at the refugios (false). Plus, we went back to El Living for a delicious and hearty meal, much better than the meal we were almost sent off with that morning. Things were looking up.

The bus came at 2:30, and we got on it, feeling far better about our situation than we had in the morning. I’m so happy we listened to our gut feelings and took the time to straighten things out because, as it turns out, Torres del Paine is no place for lack of preparedness.

That night was spent at Refugio Cuernos, but I’m going to leave that, as well as a description of our first hike (about four hours), until the next post. Our first week in the Chilean Lakes District provided lots of conversation, beautiful views, and a wonderful introduction to the Chilean south. I loved it, and it was a great warm-up to the heart of our trip, our hiking excursion in Torres del Paine. Yet, there’s no way to prepare for the rugged beauty of Patagonia and Mother Nature’s unpredictable mood swings. You already know the end: we survived and it was great. So, hang in there and, when I return from La Serena, I’ll tell you all about it.

Until soon!

Amanda