Monday, March 25, 2019

North Chile to Argentina

Here I am, sitting in front of a merrily flowing river, with freshly washed hair(courtesy of same river) and the last fingers of the sun are making their descent towards the horizon.  We are 10 minutes by car from the university town of Valdivia, the last large town we can reach by coastal road before it heads inland towards the lakes and Puerto Montt.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind. We parked the bus in the small town of Paine, south of Santiago, where we had friends and made our base there for a while. We went to clothes markets, food markets, tool markets, you name it. We hauled all the cushions, the two front seats and even the entire couch out to have it reupholstered, owing to the fact that it seemed that it was still clad the original material and, well, the car is from 2004. 
Vacuuming

Out with the old!

No drivers seat, what shall we do?

Really. We did heaps of laundry and attempted to wash the car down with varying degrees of success(there’s still a side of the car that we didn’t get to) and mostly just decompress from our month of nearly nonstop traveling. 
Santa Rita vineyard, 30 km from Paine


We even took a day trip out to the coastal city of Valparaiso, booking a small apartment near some cute funiculars which Valpo, as the locals call it, is well known for. It took us the better part of a morning, but after much huffing and puffing up and down(mostly up) streets we found the district of town which housed the most and best street art. Murals, graffiti, even a stick figure or two, coated the outside walls and doors of the area. Seeing as the only other experience I have is Barranco, I’m not a professor about street art, but the pieces we saw in Valpo were so much more diverse and fascinating. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the art in Barranco, but this stuff was so, so, enthralling. I found myself eagerly pushing on to the next street, and the next one, come on, there’s another one just around the corner!
From the Funicular

Please don't ask what this is. I don't know.



Seek until you find

The cat atop the cat food


The famous colored houses








I loved this door.



I'm an Angel


Right across the street









Old tram


We did learn that the area where we rented the little apartment was definitely not the most savory choice we could have made, but since our Airbnb was not interested in cooperating, we used Booking.com and, well, there were no reviews, so we didn’t know we were staying right next to the ghettos, in what is basically the most dangerous part of town. Good job us. Luckily we didn’t get mugged or followed or anything bad, but we did see the unfortunate circumstances that some people in life find themselves in when life doesn’t want to work out and all thats left is the bottom of a bottle.
Dark, yes, but the truth. 
Despite the questionable area where we stayed, and the fact that two random people on the street warned me about carrying my camera out and about, and one guy actually stopped Dad and told him it was super dangerous as we were returning to our apartment, we thoroughly enjoyed our excursion to Valpo.


After leaving the comfort of daily hot showers and a bed with enough room to turn around, we departed from our kind and tremendously helpful friends, Pepe and Loty, and headed South once more. Our first evening back in the car was spent exhaustedly eating and getting ready for bed. We’d driven to a small campsite, on a series of bumpier and bumpier roads, and eventually, gravel. The story lies in that we took an exit too early, drove 20 miles down back roads, me directing of course, and onto a gravel road I hoped would get us to where we wanted to go.(By the way, the map I was using on the phone was completely and utterly inaccurate, so I was winging it 98% of the time) I realized I may have made a terrible mistake when we crested a steep hill(still on the gravel road) and at the bottom, found ourselves face to face with a wooden bridge, very rickety looking, with a weight limit of 7 tons. Our car is 7 tons. And thats not counting all our gear, dishes and food, gasoline and propane, plus 300 liters of water. Oh God, I thought, we’re really screwed now. There’s nowhere to turn around, and we sure as hell can’t reverse back up this hill, not even if we had 4-Wheel Drive. So. What to do? We drove over it(me holding my breath) and since I’m writing this the bridge obviously didn’t break and all is well and fine. Apart from a run in with a disgustingly hairy tarantula that came crawling out of the forest as I was reading in the sunlight and a herd of wild horses passing us, our stay in the pine forest was quiet and uneventful.

Salto del Laja. Powerfully thundering waterfalls leading into a rushing river waiting to dash you to pieces should you slip and fall. The gorge carrying the water downstream was just as magnificent, the water calmer and blue green, the cliffs of the gorge itself rust red, and disappearing down into the water. There were no foreign tourists save ourselves, but quite a number of Chileans, all out to enjoy the freezing spray coming off the falls. It put me in mind of the photos I have seen of Iguazu Falls, but on a smaller scale. Glorious is the word that comes to mind when I envision it. I hoped we would spend the night so I could catch the stars above the falls, but we decided to push on farther.
Tree

Salto del Laja


After a much needed pitstop at a Copec gas station, complete with washing machine and hot showers; I stepped out into the hot wind, with all our clean laundry clenched in my hands, feeling as though I had just been power washed by a lava stream. I guess you could say their water pressure was good. 
From there we headed inland, into Mapuche territory. The Mapuche are the local indigenous tribe, and they have been here for a very long time. We’d been warned not to go off the highway due to the fact that the son of one of the chiefs in the area had been shot in the back and killed by the carabiniero, the local police, and the Mapuche were not happy. We were told that they might throw rocks at the car, and it was very dangerous and not to stop until we left that area. So what did we do? We left the highway and went inland, driving through rolling pastures and the first cows we’ve seen in Chile. A couple of nights on the coast and by riverbanks, with a quick pitstop in the surf town of Mehuin in time for a little festival/protest to stop a forestry company up the river from putting in a pipeline to pump their chemicals into the ocean. The party went on late into the evening but we were already fast asleep.




And now here we are back again on the banks of this beautiful river, where Dad spent the day casting in the attempt of catching trout or salmon.


River




The days have flown by. Valdivia was a large college town, with some of the countries top universities, and synonymous with the birth of several well known rock bands.

Never a straight face

Inside the botanical gardens in Valdivia

I'll have a latte thanks


Chiles

Fish?

Waiting for scraps

My spot Jerry, MINE!


The road took us towards the renowned lakes district, winding through small towns and passing along the shores of Lago Ranco, the first one we have seen so far. On these selfsame shores sits the village of Puerto Futrono with a population of around 3000. Infinitesimal, yet lively. After parking the van by the water we took a walk to the boat ramp and watched the sun kiss the horizon, throwing violent shades of red and orange across the mirrored water. Two fisherman slowly rowed their way in after a day of working the lake. 


Just a quiet afternoon



The morning and our next day of travel dawned with palpable excitement shimmering all around us. As we wound along the 60km stretch of road, we eagerly pointed out the rising peaks of the Andes. We were so caught up in staring at the snowy summits that we nearly missed the sign for a waterfall. Luckily the driver was paying some attention and we pulled over. Gushing down from above, the Salto de Nilahue falls 40m in a torrent of glacial colored water.


Yes that's my swimsuit. I wanted to jump in.

 From above you see the canyon walls on all sides, preventing you from descending and finding out exactly how cold it really is. Continuing on after that majestic image we bypassed Osorno and found ourselves on the road to Argentina. Instead of pushing on through, we made a joint decision and went to locate some free natural hot springs we had heard of.

As soon as we reached the end of the side road to Termas de Puyehue, it was like we had entered a whole other world. The heat and clear blue skies that had been with us for a month and a half through the desert were gone, replaced by low hanging clouds, fresh cold scented air and rain. The trees and forest felt ancient and silent and the river rushed clear as glass below us. The hot springs were sadly little more than glorified puddles, lukewarm at best, but lent to the overall atmosphere of steam rising in the cool air.

We all wore wool socks to sleep and slept in our extra liners to ward off the frigidity of the evening with varying levels of success. The weather gave everything a sleepy feel, and we ended up staying inside all day and reading. The following day was grey as we bid Chile goodbye for our border crossing into Argentina.
The road passed beneath overhanging branches and multitudes of yellow flowers that we could not name. The Chilean border post officer was very impolite and since we were foreigners and we had a whole contract with the guy we bought the van from, and it became this whole complicated process where the official decided to hassle us, especially considering we did not speak Spanish, which he did also mention. I believe his exact words were “Why don’t you speak Spanish? This is a Spanish speaking country, you should speak Spanish.” 
I had something similar happen to me in France when I was there in 2017. A kid in school heard me speaking English and was so full of himself because I was not speaking French. It bothers me that some people expect that. It kind of brought Mom and Dad down, made them worried about coming back in, but we were happy once we were away from there.

Barren trees




That evening the decision was made not to go on to the Argentinian border post but to stay the night in no mans land, between two countries, high up in the mountains. The landscape of the surrounding area was surreal. On both sides of the road gray husks of majestic trees rose up, dominating the view and giving it an otherworldly feeling. The border post closed at 7pm so that evening we were all alone on a mountain, cold air and silence our only company. 

On to Argentina!
Spring time!

Lago Nahuel Huapi


Argentina, the land of silver. Our first encounters with this fascinating and mysterious land came in the small town of La Angostura, near Bariloche, renowned for its chocolate shops. As a side note, I had read in our guidebook that Bariloche was the chocolate capital of South America, and well, I’m a chocolate fiend if I do say so myself. La Angostura and Bariloche are situated on the same lake, Lago Nahuel Huapi, a crystal clear green mirror ringed by snowcapped mountains.

Both the towns were aimed at the tourist infrastructure, with shops selling dinky souvenirs and t-shirts everywhere. And yet we found the feeling more of the Argentine spirit of friendliness in Angostura. We breezed through Bariloche, only stopping to buy a tent before heading to the foot of a ski mountain just outside town. Since the beginning of December is the Christmas and summer holidays all rolled into one, the slopes were deserted and the massive parking lot, nearly two football fields in size, was empty apart from us. Dad and I took a ride up the gondola while Mom and Jabez hiked up the mountain. We gave them an hour head start and were only waiting 20 minutes when they arrived. Up, up the ski lift we went, right to the very top where the wind was icy cold, and there was still snow! The adults wisely took themselves to the bar/restaurant at the top and the children began their expedition to the snow surrounded by two other schools worth of children. The hill was gently curved and the boys(of course the boys) slid down on whatever they could find.
Up we go



Don't drink that



 I ventured higher and higher, past all the people, over the rocks and to the top of the ridge, passing tiny wildflowers stuck in crags, struggling to survive and even encountered fresh puma tracks in the snow. The view of the lakes was surreal, but the other side of that mountain was what really took my breath away. The stillness was impenetrable and the sharp peaks rose across the valley. The only sound was a far off river coursing away down the valley. I was elated and so joyful that I had the opportunity to see it, and though I was alone, I felt glad not to have shared it with anyone. It was my little slice of wilderness and I will keep that image in my heart for man and I will keep that image in my heart for many years.



2 comments:

  1. Wow Anneleize --- that is some really wonderful writing. Thanks so much for all the details and visuals. Your writing made me feel the beauty, cold, adventure and ups and downs of your experiences. I also loved your photography. Keep up the good work! I can see you're using the muscle of a fine vocabulary. Love to you and Family. Casey

    ReplyDelete

Driving North

Since bad weather and sickness made us miss Torres del Paine, this was the next best thing for me. The colony of Rock-hopper pen...