Hey there! How are things in the northern hem? ‘Hem’ is part of my new travelling lingo. I like to annoy myself with it.
Last entry we were in the town of Osorno and had five days to get to Valdivia for our Christmas hostel booking. We made our way via a mix of motorway trekking and rolling gravel roads. Away from the more touristy areas the back roads of Chile are full of dozens of small-holdings and tiny farms and the pretty houses of the lakes give way to a collection of ramshackle DIY makeshifts that you could easily mistake for garden sheds. Bits of corrugated metal are bashed onto ill-fitting planks of wood and one would guess that the spirit-level had been banned some time ago. They did look very cosy, though, with the chimneys puffing out wood smoke and kitchen smells, especially when we couldn’t find anywhere to sleep. Argentina is so vast that we could easily skip onto someone’s land and they might not find us in two months of looking. In that part of Chile there was always a window and a beady-eye to thwart our trespassing ways.. Sleeping on the side of the road is a term often used figuratively but we’ve now done the literal night on the verge and had the complete experience of dodgy drivers reversing to check us out and yobbos shouting as they passed (okay, I probably would have). We haven’t done it since. Next day and an old lady, seemingly mad as a cartful of monkeys, appeared from the bushes as we walked and started babbling something about robbers and making the throat-slitting sign. Thanks, old lady! My nerves weren’t jangling for the rest of that day at all. I’m presuming she works for the tourist board…
But we made it to Valdivia. Beautiful Valdivia. It is known as ‘The pearl of the south’ and it really warrants the name. Bustling high streets, a lovely river and quayside with a noisy fish and veg market, complete with sea-lions basking in the sun awaiting the off-cuts…and lots of bars. Much of the city was destroyed in the early 1960s during the most powerful earthquake ever recorded at 9.5 richter so they had a good chance to do something good and they did. It was also scorching hot with bright blue skies all the time we were there which certainly helps. However, all was not perfect for Crimbo…
In Chile, as with many countries outside our own, Christmas Eve is a time for families, so when we went out looking for the buzz we found mostly deserted streets. Quite cool in a way, and the odd drunk wobbled a ‘feliz Navidad’ to us, but not what we’re used to in England. We did find one bar open at about 1:30am by which time I’d had the amount to drink it takes me to do a sudden disappearing act and Matt enough to wind up in a field with people he didn’t know on Christmas morning. Christmas Day and neither of us had had enough sleep so after our roast dinner and a few Christmas films Matt was through with it and I had crashed, although not entirely. Rumour has it that for about 5 minutes I sat bolt upright and was babbling in tongues like a madman. I think I was seized by the spirit of Christmas. Matt thought I was mentally ill.
The other thing was our hostel. It was a lovely place for a family or some box-tickers there to see the sights but if it was fun we were after we’d have been better booking a wound-cauterising class. We started to get funny looks because we’d slobbed in our beds all day; at breakfast we had to sit at a designated table and were asked to move rather curtly as though we were imbeciles (rather than just very hungover) even though we’d never been told; and the oven grills and trays were always taken from the oven and hidden in another room. Why? For the people who like to cook all their food at the bottom like a nutcase arse, hmmm!? An oven without trays is just a hot box you clean-freak wallys!! Grrr…
We scuttled down to the beach at Niebla for a few days and on the grey sands we finally saw the Pacific for the first time. We really had crossed the continent then which was pretty cool. But Valdivia is so nice we were certain we had to be there for New Year’s and we soon returned but to a hostel we’d heard good things about, ‘Aires Buenos’, a rather nicely transposed name from that of our starting point on the Atlantic. NYE was excellent and the atmosphere assisted by a terrific bunch from all over the world.. It was what hostelling is all about. I awoke like a tramp in a park on New Year’s Day about an hour’s walk from the hostel and the town which was pretty bizarre. I thought I’d been rolled or something but all money was intact. I guess I just can’t stop these wandering feet. I should clap them in irons before venturing out next time.
I’d have rather had raw eggs poked into my cheeks and been smacked around the face with slippers than leave but, weirdly, that was never offered as an option, so back to the hardship it was. And wasn’t it just. The first hill made me nauseous and that wonderful blue sky and sunshine became a wretched curse of pestilent sweat and bloody insects. We soon had to re-order our walking day to miss out the late afternoons as it was just too hot. The rains eventually came and after two weeks of glorious sunshine Chile let us in for every drop that had been saved up in a torrential 36 hours that was easily the worst since our big storm back in July. We got caught fairly roundly and ended up stranded in Conaripe to wait it out. Wet socks are crap. Been bloody hot ever since, though.
I wrote most of this a while ago and much has happened so I need to compress. I haven’t much time to tell you about a 25 mile wrong turn that took us back almost to Argentina, save that there was one; I haven’t even much time to tell you about the hippy gathering we subsequently found atop a nearby mountain, save that there was much hugging and kissing and singing and chanting around the cooking pot (veggie, of course). We didn’t stay too long as we hadn’t the time, there was none of the expected psy-trance, and a Leader dressed as a clown told us that alcohol was not permitted. What she didn’t know was that we had already shared a bottle with some folks right next to the ‘sacred fire’. Ha! In your face, hippy! We won!
We made our way up to Pucon, easily the most touristy place we have been to and a mecca for rich Chilenos and adventure travellers. A nearby volcano for climbing and the beach on the lake bring the summer punters in droves and the place is almost wholly hotels, hostels, restaurants and bars. The 2012 Chilean Iron Man competition was on and there were promo girls as far as the eye could see. We thought we’d enter to show of our new endurance skills. Matt placed 5th and I finished 8th which wasn’t bad.*
You get dazzled (and sloshed) in the touristy places but it’s out in the middle of nowhere and passing through little towns where the real deal is. People just minding their business and being bloody friendly. We’ve been invited into houses for beers and are offered a ride approximately every 5th car that passes. We needed some real wilderness so headed across a park where sits the big volcano Llaima, which last erupted in 2008. We’d met some Aussie chap, Shane, who has been hitch-hiking around the world for the best part of 37 years and had 1001 stories to keep us entertained as we set off over the volcano. And we needed them. The trail started brilliantly but the markers fell away and we were virtually rock-climbing to the summit before realising we must have made a mistake. We turned back, found the trail and soon entered one of the most stunning landscapes I’ve seen in my life. Paths cut their way through old molten rock which then gave way to an amazing sea of black, gravelly dunes. Low cloud had shielded us from the sun all day but it suddenly sunk like a bad sponge cake and we were buggered. Visibility was down to about 20 feet and it was all incredibly eerie. It felt like a totally alien world. We couldn’t see the next markers because of the fog so each time we had to fan out and shout out to the others when we’d found it. We were all alone. It was great! Eventually time caught us and we had to camp up there on the dunes at 5,000 feet in the chilly fog. Our universe was about 30 feet squared and it was cold and silent and weird and brilliant beyond words. Next morning all was clear so we made our way to the top, way above the clouds, where I sat on my own for half an hour and the tears flowed from the sheer beauty of the world I could see below me; our planet from above (almost). The silence and solitude were immense. I understood everything. Part of me will always be sitting on that volcano.
In Curacautin now and heading right back into the cordillera to walk up the rio Bio Bio in the wilderness. It’s a four day trek from Lonquimay to the next settlement so should be brill.
Thanks for reading. Sorry it’s a bit long. Hope you all had a lovely Christmas. Love you, byeeee!
Rob x x
*Lies – we just watched the Iron Men**
**Lies – we just watched the promo girls.
Matt & Rob's Big Trek 