Argentina

Down and out

El Bolson is known for its craft market, which runs in the plaza Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. The atmosphere was a mix of hippie and college, with travelers and young people streaming in. We spent the week leading up to Christmas there and made a few friends before driving south.

Jagged teeth mountains

Divinity?

Just contemplating

 On a whim, and a recommendation from a guy we met at our campsite, we were headed towards a pace called Piedra Parada, some 300kms south of El Bolson. What we didn’t know about this drive was that it included 100km of washboard gravel road one way. And in our 10 meter, 7 ton van with American highway shocks, it was tortuous. It took us nearly 7 hours to arrive there, and we were surprised to find there was no town! Nothing around for 50 kms in any direction, and only a desolate campsite to keep you. Piedra Parada, as we learned, is a climbing haven for people around the world. 

Camping

A good boy

Someone actually stole this cats sister because she was so friendly

Alternative to the Grand Canyon

Chinchilla

Piedra Parada

There are 3 canyons of varying heights and lengths, perfect for climbing and hiking. We met a group of Brazilians from Rio who took Jabez and myself climbing on Christmas day, and we had them over for a barbeque in the evening (where we uncovered the existence of small, translucent scorpions) and so we concluded a warm, desert dry Christmas.

I almost stepped on this boy

After braving the road back, we decided not to head back North to El Bolson, but to continue on to Esquel, just 8`0 km west. We were there a few days, and even went to see a dance troupe dancing flamingo, belly dancing and Indian.

Leaving Piedra Parada

Derelict railroad crossing

I'm seeing a cat theme here

New Year’s Eve in Trevelin, 5 km from Esquel, was a strange affair. Inquiring from some local boys, I learned that Argentinians spend New Year at home, with their family, but as soon as 2 am rolls around, they party hard. We spent our countdown to January 1^st with an opera singer from Buenos Aires, Juan Pablo, who was living out of the back of his car. He regaled us with ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’ and Dad played the Gypsy Kings as loud as he could. Jabez and I met up with some friends from another bus and played foosball until 1 in the morning. They went to put their little brother to sleep and promised to be back in a half hour but I waited until 4.30 and they never showed up. 

We headed back to Chile, with the intention of Jabez and I splitting from the car and taking a trip solo through the island of Chiloe. 

Nothing but hay

One icy river

Welcome to Chile

Residents at our camp for the night

Our first glacier

Arriving in Chaiten, where we would catch the ferry, we packed our backpacks with sleeping bags, tent and in my case, camera, and set off the next morning at 8.

Some friendly locals we met

CHILOE

We arrived in Quellon, on the Southern end of Chiloe, lugging our backpacks with us, and got some kerosene for Jabez’s little camping stove. 

Then, with a bit of luck we hitched a ride with a guy driving North and made it to 20 kms from Castro, the capital of Chiloe. We camped the night there and debated on whether to head to the national park the next day. 

We decided to go into Castro and book into a cheap hostel and look at our options from there. We got into a cute little place with bunk beds and were glad to put our bags down.

Bold colors for a church

All wood

Instead of the national park, we opted to take the bus to the town of Dalcahue, known for its handicraft fair which was ongoing, luckily for us. We bought bread and cheese, as well as some ham and sat by the waterside to eat our lunch.

Hagglers

At this market it is prohibited to sell foreign things

The next day it dawned gray and rainy and we contrived to ditch the national park and head North, as we now had 4 days left in our trip, and I wanted to see the penguin rookery on the northwest coast. We caught a bus and sat eating our empanadas (doughy croissant shaped pastries filled with mince beef and hard boiled egg) as the rain steamed down the windows. We had the driver drop us off outside the town of Ancud, as Jabez had seen a wild campsite that tickled his fancy, out on the beach.

We struggled through the damp sand with our bags weighing heavily on our backs, searching for a spot out of the wind. The rain was coming down on and off, and I was in a foul temper. Cold, wet and tired, I had no patience and so Jabez and I had a huge fight on where was the best place to pitch the tent, which, of course, did not help the furthering of removing ourselves from the cold wind and rain. Finally we called it quits and pitched the tent on a bluff and hunkered down to wait out the weather. It rained and the wind blew all night and all the next day.

After the storm

Jabez hitchhiked the 5 km into town and bought some food for us to cook. I stayed in my sleeping bag like a little silk worm, refusing to come out into the cold and growing more and more bored after I finished the only book I had and it was still raining so no going outside. That evening we consumed instant mashed potatoes with a kind of canned tomato sauce, as well as tea with powdered milk. Gourmet living, don'tcha know?

We moved to a paid campsite in Ancud after those miserable days, and I had my sleeping bag and liner washed, and took all our laundry as well, yay!

The next day I made my plan, deciding to skip the penguins, and instead go visit a lighthouse on the point, 30 km away. Jabez opted to take our heavy rucksacks and catch the bus to Chacao, in the opposite direction from where I was heading. Meanwhile, I slung my camera over my shoulder and caught a colectivo to the main bus terminal and only there realized my bus was leaving in 10 minutes and I had no food or water for a trip that I had no idea how long it was. I quickly purchased a bottle of water and an apple empanada, which looking back, was not close to enough sustenance, and then it was away we go. Jabez and I planned to rendezvous in Chacao in the afternoon, after I caught the half hour bus from Ancud, and was excited about my solo excursion. Unfortunately I didn’t have a handbag or day pack with me so I had my camera slung lengthwise over my shoulders, my Polaroid stuck in the pocket of my rain jacket, my phone in there too, and now, somehow my bottle of water and empanada.

 I only learned that the bus did not in fact go all the way to the light house when they dropped me at the crossroads, pointing out that it was only 5km more down the gravel road, before speeding off and leaving me in the middle of nowhere with no clue as to how I would be returning to Ancud. So I did what any rational person would do: I sat down and ate my apple empanada. Then I started walking down the gravel road, hoping for some luck. And lo, here came a car and upon sticking out my thumb they picked me up. They were not going to the lighthouse, but they lived within 2 km of it. I said that was OK and inside I was just rejoicing that I didn’t have to walk that hot dusty road for 10km, now I was down to 7, and maybe I could get a ride back with other tourists at the lighthouse. The people did me a further kindness and just drove me up to it. I thanked them profusely and got out. I started towards a big field next to the lighthouse but suddenly started to feel a tightness in my head, a burning heat that I had last felt 4 years ago. It was a headache, a bad one. I tried lying down on the grass, drinking the rest of my water, anything I could think of. I remembered that my headaches had been classified as migraines, and nobody really knows what causes them. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, I staggered up to the nearest house below the lighthouse and knocked on the door. As the lady opened the door, I burst into tears, trying to ask if she had any headache tablets because my head hurt, all in Spanish. She ushered me in immediately, a concerned look on her face. She made me sit on the couch and got some tablets and a glass of ice water. Her 9 year old daughter brought me paper to blow my nose and the kind woman told me to lie down on the couch for a minute. I fell asleep while chanting in my head, ‘Slowly but surely she drifted off’. Anyone who has ever had a migraine may understand what I mean in terms of pain. When I came back to consciousness, I kept my eyes closed because I could hear the family eating at the table next to me, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Yep, that’s me, such an introvert that I don’t want to interrupt so I fake unconsciousness. 

When I finally opened my eyes, I spoke to the dad who was very kind, asking if I was OK, if this had happened before, etc. The mom insisted very forcibly that I eat the massive plate of spaghetti that she put in front of me, and my admittedly weak refusal was not very convincing. While I was eating, the girl whose name was Zaira excitedly asked me all the questions she knew in English, which consisted of “What is your name?” and “Where are you from?” and very proudly informed me by holding up 9 fingers what age she was. The dad told me that he is the first lieutenant in the Chilean navy, and they have been living at the lighthouse for 3 years and that next year, he will be reassigned somewhere else for another 4 years, and they’ll  move.

Zaira

Osorno Volcano

The lighthouse, as I soon found out, is an awesome place for a kid to grow up. The older girl was terribly shy and 14, the age where you kind of want to meet new people, but you’re too cool for that. Hey, I was 14 once too. Not that shy though. They offered to take me with them into town at 5 and drop me off, and in the meantime Zaira took me around proudly announcing to the tourists that her friend was from ‘Estados Unidos’. She took me up the spiral staircase to the top of the lighthouse, introduced me to all the dogs, insisted on pushing me on the tire swing, (very forcible, like her mom) and showed me all her friends : the snails. We played Uno with her best friend who lives next door and also unicorns. Then it was time to go, the girls got their bags for jiujitsu in Ancud and we loaded into the car, 4 kids in the backseat and the adults up front. The radio was playing Creedence Clearwater Revival songs and we were all singing along in the back, and all I could think was how lucky I was to have knocked on their door. Zaira shouted ‘Ciao Analisa’ from the sidewalk as her dad drove me to the bus station. He also told me that he makes his living by singing. They were such an unusual Chilean family, and so warm that they will always be my favorite memory of Chile.

I caught the bus to Chacao and met Jabez on the road. We camped in someone's backyard with other backpackers, and got up early to catch a free ferry the 5km across the channel to where Mom and Dad were waiting. Our solo trip was over, but the next part of our journey was just beginning.