Chile: The geographic stripper pole of South America

Once again I have let the time slip by without updating my blog, and I plan to apologize to all of my readers. Sorry Mom, grandma, and Viviana. Now then. It didnt take us long after arriving in Chile to realize that we were going to have to search for new ways to save money in order to keep to our budget. The ideas we came up with were: couchsurfing, camping, hitchhiking, and leeching off of my parents during their visit.

We jumped right in with couchsurfing (see www.couchsurfing.org if you are unfamiliar) our first two nights in Santiago. Our host Felipe lived in a nice neighborhood right downtown and opened up his home, heart, and refrigerator to us as soon as we arrived. The second night he held a birthday party at his house and we passed the evening putting back beers and talking about Chilean culture and South Park. The next day I battled through my hangover to greet my folks, who I hadnt seen since March. After a short nap we quickly began the second installment of the new money saving scheme, leeching off the ´rents. They put us up in nice hostal in a historic home downtown and we soon found ourselves eating seafood, proscioutto, and other long forgotten delicacies on the rooftop terrace. The second night was new years eve so around 10PM we headed down to Calle la Moneda to join the celebration. There were thousands of people all giddy to share their drinks, confetti, and few words of english with the visiting gringo family. The night culminated with a massive fireworks display and live music, all right in front of the building where Salvador Allende spent his last living hours decades before. Around 2AM we wobbled back to the hotel, munching on churros and street pizza, ready to get some sleep for our first visit to the coast.

One of the overarching themes of my parents visit was a series of relaxation filled evenings in beautiful places. In Valparaiso this took place in the form of grilled chicken and wine on the balcony of a hostel with an outstanding view of the bay. During the day we walked the colorful graffiti filled streets and rode the funiculars to Pablo Nerudas house. After two days we reminded ourselves that the true grandeur of the anorexic country lay further down, and we began the trip south.

Using Puerto Montt as a base we rented a car and did our own unique tour of the island of Chiloé and the lakes district. Chiloé is a paradoxical land where brand new cars drive by ox carts, bright green parrots fly over penguin colonies, and when the Johnsons visit, manufactured instant pasta boils on wood burning stoves. The first day we bought some artesenal cheese and hopped on a small launch to go see the local penguin colonies. We watch the tuxedo-clad waterfowl hop along the rocks and also spotted some sea otters and red-footed cormorants along the way. That night we rented a rather homey little cabaña and took our tranquil evenings to the next level with barbecued steak and pisco sours. The second day on the island we cruised down the coast to the Parque Nacional Chiloé, where we hiked through the unique Tepual forest before retiring to camp out on a nearby farm. Here we had the first clash of traveling styles as we attempted to cook dinner for the four of us on my homemade camping stove, before realizing we lacked plates, silverware, and bowls. As I cursed at my malfunctioning bum stove the woman who owned the farm came out repeating ´no tiene futuro´ (this has no future) before forcing us to move inside and prepare the meal on her wood burning stove like civilized beings. The following morning we loaded up and drove back to the ferry, bidding farewell to the culturally curious little island in the pacific.

As we drove out to the lake district we passed by a beach absolutely packed with people to the point where barely a grain of sand shone through the mass of flesh, umbrellas and beer coolers. Shaking our heads we sped on past until we found our own little spot 10 feet from a virtually abandoned beach. That first evening we swam in Lake Llanique and visited a nearby thundering waterfall, as well as a massive ash flow that trailed down from a volcanic peak into the pristine waters of Lake Todos los Santos. That night we perfected the barbecue. The thick steaks were grilled to perfection, there were hot peppers stuffed with local cheese, lots of Royal Guard beer, and in this part of the world the sun lights the sky until 10:30PM, finally parting the way for an overwhelming blanket of stars. The next day we awoke refreshed and decided to drive south a bit in search of some remote natural hot springs on the bank of Rio Cochamó. Swatting the occasional pesky horse fly along the way, we paid a local to take us down the stunningly graceful river to a little rocky outcrop, from where it was only a short walk to the springs. By the time we arrived we already knew we were done for. The one or two horseflies had turned into a hideous swirling cloud, and the more we tried to battle them off the more came in to attack. Already in our swimsuits we scalded our skin trying to leap into the boiling hot springs, and were forced to evade the insects by laying down in the shallows of the frigid and fast flowing river instead. After 10 minutes of this we were more than ready to leave. On our way back to the cabin we saw the true magnitude of the problem. Every construction worker, schoolgirl, and gas station attendant was swatting and squirming trying to the protect themselves, with one exception; everyone on the overly crowded beach we had turned down was taking their sun in peace at the one area that was routinely dusted with insecticide.

After the lakes district Viviana and I caught another 22 hours bus further south, meeting up with my flown-in folks in Coyhaique. From there we rented a 4x4 truck and set off on a journey along the Carretera Austral, a gravel road nestled in the bottom of a lush evergreen valley overflowing with ferocious waterfalls, looming glaciers, and precipitous cliffs. We spent the first night dreaming deeply in a beautiful cabaña made from hand carved cedar logs and powered by a small scale hydroelectric generator. Awoken by the sound of a small gnome-like Chilean woman warming up the woodburning stove, we packed up and set off to see the Ventisquero Colgante (Hanging Glacier). A 6km hike took us close enough to watch large chunks of ice fall from the face of the glacier and tumble down a powerful waterful pouring from a crack in the ice. On the way out of the park we threw a couple hitchhikers in the truck and ambled up to the small hamlet of Puyuhuapi, situated on an idylic fjord. From there we sank still deeper into our relaxed state with the help of a couple of thermal baths. The first was only accessible from the water, so Viviana and I rented some kayaks and made the 1 1/2 hours paddle out to the clandestine springs, given away only by the steam rising from the side of the fjord. While we played in the warm water we watched a group of dolphins swim by not more than 25ft away. These springs were amazing, but the water still wasn´t quite hot enough for us, so later that evening the four of us went over to some more developed springs on the opposite bank of the fjord where we sipped beers and alternated between the three stone pools until we nearly passed out from the heat.

Thermal baths have a reputation for cleansing the body, and apparently our brains had been washed pretty thoroughly. After consulting the map we decided to go to the famous Perito Moreno glacier in Argentina. It was only a few hours drive away, so we caught the bus down to catch a ferry that would bring us the rest of the distance. When we arrived we found that the ferry was completely full, and no amount of haggling or bribing would get us on. Enraged we returned to a coffee shop to search for an alternate route. That´s when we realized that our goal, the town of Perito Moreno, is actually no where near the Perito Moreno glacier. Nor is the national park of Perito Moreno. No, obviously the Perito Moreno glacier is in Los Glaciares National Park, several days further south. It turns out that Chileans and Argentineans have a little bit of a grudge against eachother, and have no interest in helping tourists find anything that is not in their own country. Feeling thoroughly defeated we searched for a hostal in the barren windswept town of Puerto Ibanez. Viviana and I split up for the search while my parents cracked open some bottles of wine and arranged a ride back up north with the owner of the cafe. When we reconvened Viviana said she had found a reasonably priced hostal, but that the owner was a little off. This turned out to be the understatement of the year. We arrived at the hostal and an old woman slowly hobbled over to help us. We asked if we could see the room and she said no, because she didnt have her slippers on. She was gracious enough to allow us to see the room, as long as we committed to staying in it first... So we played the game and she put on her little granny clogs and inched up the stairs. When we arrived at the room she informed us that we were only allowed to use one of the beds in the room, even though there were two of us staying in each room. After trying to make sense of the situation over a few beers and taking in one of the most spectacular and surreal sunsets we had ever seen, we finally laid our heads down to rest. The next morning we packed up our stuff and started down the stairs. Our ride had told us he wouldnt wait, and we didnt want to stay in the town one minute longer than we had to waiting for a bus. Anyone who knows my parents would probably describe them as very laid back people, rarely losing their cool. When they got to the door that morning and found that the old woman had locked us in, that calm demeanor quickly transformed into a wild fury. After fiddling with the lock and emitting a few choice expletives, my mom began banging on the door that led to the interior of the house and screaming out English words that surely had the family and the old woman thinking the house was on fire. Meanwhile my dad was prying at a window, seeing if he could jimmy it open and toss the bags out (perhaps he was also convinced there was a fire). The kicker came when the old woman slowly shuffled across the room braving the hailstorm of Spanish and English words berating her to open the damn door, all while wearing a painfully content and unchanging smirk on her face as she crossed. When she reached the door she gave the knob a slight turn, showing us all that it clearly had never been locked in the first place, and bid us farewell. We left in an odd sort of hysterical laughter and caught our ride back to town.

The last few days we spent relaxing along the carretera, until finally it was time to say our farewells. All in all we had a great time, and Viviana and I really appreciated a break from our dirty dog traveling style with some good food and comfortable beds. Since then, however, we have abandoned all creature comforts as we explore more of southern Patagonia. With the initial success of the money saving plan we have begun implementing the last two elements, hitchhiking and camping. Yet as you already know, this blog has gotten way too long, so I will save the last couple weeks, which I have named ´The Grunge Trail´ for the next post. Although internet is scarce and pricey around here, I promise to do my best to get this one up sooner.

On a side note, these computers wont read my DVD with my photos on it, so unfortunately I havent been able to add any photos to the post. If it works later I will add some, so maybe check back to this post when I post the next one.