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Published: March 17th 2006
It wasn´t going to be a long trip- just a few days in the country, taking in the Chilean countryside, bathing in their ever popular natural thermal baths, and relaxing. It felt great to be at the wheel of our own vehicle, masters of our own destiny, not limited by bus routes and tour operators. We promised ourselves to avoid tourist traps and take the road less traveled.
We visited some waterfalls and breathed in the country air, so fresh and clean that even Lichen thrives in this corner of the earth. We were half a day into our adventure, when we decided it was time to head to the hotsprings. A highly recommended establishment was on our list, so we headed in that direction. Upon arrival, we were disappointed. The buildings looked like a poor attempt to create a "log cabin look", the owner wasn’t very friendly, and the grounds had been so commercialized that we felt like we were trapped in an 80s summer camp movie. The nature was supposedly there, but to see it, one must pay a hefty fee. We bought an ice cream sandwich, and split. This was not the sort of naturalistic experience that we
Don´t let looks deceive you...
Yes, the barn is old and primarily used to store hay, but the smaller shacks on the side are the bathrooms, which look pretty dim from the outside, but inside is all new, have full plumming -running water and flushing toilets- and brand new linoleum.had had in mind. (The ice cream however, was exceptional.)
There was this one place in the Lonely Planet Guide Book that had caught our eyes. There was a short snippet about the place, in fact it was sort of mentioned as an aside. We had heard nothing about the place at the visitor's center in town, which meant that this could be our own private paradise or a trip to the middle of nowhere looking for a needle in a haystack. The directions were vague as to how to get there, and we took several wrong turns, fortunately getting lost in this part of the country is far from torturous because of the beautiful vistas around every corner. After asking several locals for directions, we finally made it to a place called, ¨Recuerdo de Ancamil¨.
We turned into a short driveway and were welcomed by several curious country dogs and the presence of a farm house. In a short while, we were greeted by the lady of the house, a petite Mapuchi woman with a delicate yet slightly aged face, and wisps of white hairs hidden within her dark black, short mop. We asked about the hot springs and
Chef Griffin
Griff cooking oatmeal in our camping spot at Flor´s rancho. wondered if we could see them. She quickly obliged and lead us across a field littered with skittish sheep. The property was amazing, surrounded by deep green forests and filled with animals and a few farm houses, one of which is used as a cabana for visitors who are tent- shy. There is a steaming stream running along side the cliff, the offshoot of the mineral baths to which she was leading us. She took us literally into the cliffed walls that border her land on one side, opened a wooden door, and to our delight, revealed the bubbling waters that pooled below. Griff and I gave each other the approving ¨look¨, that we have become ever so good at reading from the other. There are looks that say, ¨No way are we hanging out here, much less sleeping in this filth hole,¨ which is when I politely say in Spanish to whomever is showing us around, ¨Thanks so much, we are going to talk about it, and perhaps we will see you in a bit.¨ And then there are looks that say, ¨Holy Cow, I cannot believe how cool this is, we HAVE to stay here, but let´s act
Camping Neighbors
The sheep slept right next to our tent at night, making funny digestions sounds, butting heads, and even attempting to chew our tent strings.(You can see out tent in the background.) cool about it until we know how much they want us to pay.¨ The look that we gave each other at the Grotto at Recuerdo de Ancamil, was one of the latter sort. We inquired calmly about camping, searching listlessly for other tents. She pointed to the field from which we had just walked across, ¨Here,¨she said, ¨you can put your tent anywhere that you see. There is a fire pit over there, and bathrooms over here…¨ When we asked where everyone else was, she said that people rarely come to stay, and visit the thermal pools. She doesn’t have a resort built alongside the tubs, and this is what people want when they come. (A resort certainly wasn't what we wanted. )She then took us to the other side of her ranch, past chicken coops filled to the brims with baby chicks, cows chewing their cud slowly, sheep eternally eating, and birds of all sorts swooping down and squawking. Leading us around a corner and into a heavily wooded area, she showed us the other thermal baths. They were each divided by little cabanas and obviously built up by someone with high hopes of tourists coming to pay a
The Grotto
Griff checks out the natural hot springs in the cave. The hot tub is large enough for five people to sit comfortably. Flor´s great uncle discovered this over 200 years ago! There is nothing else like it advertised here, yet it is one of the coolest experiences that we have had here in Chile! few pesos for a soak in the mineral rich waters. Seeing this made us a little sad. Where was everyone? This had not in any way been an ¨If you build it, they will come¨ situation. Had this been someone´s dream of saving the farm? We brushed our worries aside, paid the woman some money, and donned our suits for a dip in the grotto´s waters. While we sat in the cave, we talked about what it must have been like to grow up in a place like this. Playing in the hot springs, milking the cows, climbing the fruit trees with neighbor children. Visions of happiness filled out minds and we began to long for a life this simple. Once we were beyond the point of our blood boiling and skin pruning, we pulled ourselves out of the water and walked across the field to our camp site, where shortly thereafter, our lady guide came to meet us. She was pushing a wheelbarrow overflowing with firewood to drop off at our fire pit. The cart and its load looked heavy, but this little woman pushed it as if it were an everyday chore that she thought nothing of. I
The ¨Campground¨
Flor´s land is barriered off on one side by a cliff. Below the rock wall of the cliff, to the right, is where the grotto is. scolded her for not letting us help her, but she just smiled and unloaded the logs. She carried something else in her wheelbarrow as well, a plastic bag, from which she pulled her handywork- woolen hats, socks, even a pullover sweater vest. We could tell that she was testing the waters with us. Had she gone too far by bringing out her wears? Would these tourists think that she was taking advantage of their friendliness? No. Griff and I ooed and awed over her items, and our hearts went out to this slight woman who by this simple action, told us so much about her situation. She was broke. By her words and the way she guarded them, she did not want our pity, but a few of our pesos wouldn´t hurt and only if we liked her work. There would be no awkward pressure to buy or pay more. I stood there as my heart melted, and I could feel that the same was happeing to Griff. I began to make small talk with the woman and asked her her name. "Flor," she said, "Flor del Campo," and then giggled a little bit as if this is what she
Milking
Flor milks this cow every evening, as she has done with many cows since she was a child. She sometimes makes cheese from the milk her farm cows produce. had been called by someone whom she'd loved very much, and it still tickled her a little to hear herself say it. We introduced ourselves and the small talk began. We fell in love with Flor as she smiled her shy smile and hauled her heavy wood, and stood there in the middle of her field talking to some goofy tourists. After she left, Griff and I discussed how much we had fallen for Flor's humble spirit and sparkling eyes. Yet, in those eyes there was some sort of hidden desperation. Flor's spirit was much, much deeper than the tranquil pools hidden within the forests of her property.
We watched the sun begin to fall, and the volcano smoking in the distance. I took a stroll out to the gravel road that passed between Flor's property, to take a photo of the scenery. As I raised my camera, the lady herself came out of her farmhouse with a big bucket in one hand and rope in the other. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I am going to milk the cow." Flor replied. "Seriously? Can I watch?" She gave me a strange look that asked why in the world
The Work Truck
We had rented this little Fiat to drive through the counrtyside, and ended up using it as our work truck' it was that or hitch a ride in the back of someone else´s truck. would I want to do that, and said, "Sure, c'mon." Griff joined us as we squeezed through the spaces in the barbed wire fence to the cow pasture. Flor spoke in gentle tones to an unwilling cow, and began to milk her. We chatted as she milked the cow, and discussed what her daily routine was like. She was amazing, this woman. Her physical size contradicted the amount of work that she did in a day. The work was tough, but life on the campo was all that Flor had ever known. It was tranquil here on her family's farm, she said. She told us about how her people, the Mapuchi, do not know modern life the way that other Chileans do. "This is where I was born, and this is where I will die." Flor said with a sideways smile. "Do you
ever go to the city?" I asked, trying to imagine a life without telephone lines, or computer access, or paved streets. "Sometimes, but only when I go to the doctor, and when I do go, I leave on the earliest bus and come back right after I am done there." I think that it was at that
Our Evening View
You can see the smoke from the volcano if you look closely. This is the evening view from Recuerda de Ancamil. point that I knew I should go no further with my questions. I did not want to know that answer to the natural progression of the upcoming question. But I did ask, and as the words came out of my mouth, my heart sank, knowing her response before she even replied. " Do you go to the doctor's often?" She looked at me with scared, sad eyes and said, "I have cancer, breast cancer. I have been going to appointments for this."
My brain got blurry and stopped translating her words. The anticipated lump rose into the center of my throat. Get ahold of yourself, Mandy, and LISTEN to her for heaven's sake! I tuned back in as she explained how she was now at a deciding point- chemotherapy or a mastectomy. I couldn't help it...the tears spilled over from their holding tank in my throat. I would like to blame my useless "Lo siento's" on my lack of Spanish vocabulary, but I think that I would have been just as lost in my native language. I mumbled something about not loosing hope, and that many people conquer this disease. I'm sure that it comforted her as much as
Flor del Campo
Flor took us step by step through the process of making something as simple as a cap. She sheers the sheep, washes the wool, dries the wool, picks out any dirt left in the wool, and then spins it by hand into yarn. Finally, she knits her goods-as seen here in her wheelbarrow. it would have had I been speaking with someone in English- very little. It was getting dark, and there was nothing more that I dared ask. Flor headed toward her farmhouse, and I turned her around to hembrace her. "Flor, oh Flor," I thought, "If I were a song writer, I would write songs about you- you don't even know the power you have over others. That sweet, sweet spirit and tough skin...you are a muse as undiscovered as those waters of yours." I momentarily gained my senses and let her go home, turning towards my own tent. Griff put his arm around me, unknowing as to exactly why I was crying, but able to pick up on some words of the overheard conversation-"cancer" is the same in both languages.
I couldn't stop crying as we boiled the water for our pasta dinner. It wasn't that I doubted Flor'r resiliance to the disease, it was just my total lack of understandng as to how this could happen to someone who had lived Flor's life. She lives from the earth. No fast food, no car fumes, no hormones in her food. The only things she buys from the grocery store
Remember Ancamil
How can we forget? is products like flour and grain to bake bread with. This had been her family's way of life for hundreds of years. The Mapuchi Tribe had resisted with much success, the Spanish invasion, and how could a person with the blood of such fierce warriors running through her veins, still be so susseptable to this disease? I imagined how terrified she must feel in that big white hospital with all those fancy words being tossed around. Had she ever had to deal with insurance or any sort of legal paperwork before? Did she go to her apointments alone? Probably. She must feel lonely on that bus ride from the hospital...what goes through her head on that bumpy bus and on the walk from the bus stop to her home? Was Flor really as broke as we had thought? Had her family's last hope of an outside income been the thermal pools that were advertised nowhere in town, nor visited by the once hoped for foreigners? Was there anything that we could do? Griff and I discussed the possabilities and decided that if there was some way we could help our dear Flor, we would. I would feel out the situation the next morning.
The sun rose early, waking us from our beds of earth and nylon, and we made coffee. I watched for Flor out of the corner of my eye for hours. She most certainly was awake before we were and had been hard at work for a while. Where was she? Finally, I casually walked over to her yard area, and caught her coming out of the doorway with a smile on her face. We tossed each other a cheerful "Buenos dias!" and again, the small talk began. She took me around to the chicken coop and gifted me two warm eggs, demanding that I go right back and eat them. I asked about the wool hanging in the yard, she then took me through the steps of making yarn. Every word she said made me believe in her more, made me want to love her more. I complimented her on her ranch and the house wherein she lived. She looked at it flatly and said that it was her family's home that they had built a while back, but that it still needed a lot, and began listing off its imperfections. She pointed out a boarded up area where a door was supposed to be. There were cracks and spiderwebs between the decaying boards. "We need a door, but they are very expensive."she said. "I have no money now. I have a son trying to finish college...and my treatment is very expensive..." She then explained to me how she had signed a loan of some sort for a lot of money. She had not understood what she was signing when she did it, but the deed was done, and it had put her family and their farm in a very unsettling position. She was embarrassed, and I pried no further knowing that finances are a private matter, all I knew was that come hell or high water, Flor was going to get a door for her house.
I called Griff over to take a look at the boarded up area, and he asked a bunch of questions- one of which was, "What tools do you have?" Flor answered, " A hammer, a saw, measuring tape, and a square." Griff requested to see the tools, both of us certain that there must be a tool box hidden in the shed somewhere. Nope. Flor was right, on this big needy farm, there were exactly four tools, and the saw was rusty and useless. Griff threw me another "look"- this one said, "What in the world have you gotten me into- this is an impossible task!" but he hid his concern well. the more we asked questions, the more Flor began to realize the huge effort this could be. The door frame was an unusual shape, making a cut in the wall could interfere with a support beam, the wood "Oh don't worry about it- another year maybe....when you come back another time, in a few years, you can look at it them." This was her attempt to dismiss us from our commitment.
We had our rental Fiat for one more day. Instead of heading to the National Park, as planned, we drove an hour in the opposite direction, to a Home Depot look-alike. It was here that we had another one of our, "we sure are lucky to live in the USA" moments. Doors were sold as just that- doors. There were no packages declaring how easy they were to install, no "Do It Yourself" kits competing for your money. Doors, trim, handles, hinges are all sold seperately here. We drove from store to store trying to figure out the most economical and easiest method to complete the project. Griff finally came to the conclusion that he would have to do everything the old fashioned way. He would use a hand saw to cut the door down to the right size, he would use a chisle to carve out the holes for the door knob, he would use choise language whenever he hit a rough spot. I cheered Griff on in the aisles of the warehouse and had more confidence in him than he had in himself (ignorance equals bliss, or at least belief). We paid for the door with gifted money that a couple we know,had given to us before leaving. They were so trusting that their money would be used in an act of compassion, and I wished that they could meet Flor for themselves. I wished that they could have hard boiled the eggs that came from her chickens, and eaten the fresh bread that she had baked for our car trip as we leaft her home. But, they could not, and with thier gift, we reap the benefits of knowing and loving Flor. I said a quick thank you to God for freinds such as these, as we pulled away from the Home Improvement Store, with a door strapped to the top of our Fiat and the salespeople smirking at our ridiculousness.
For now, this is where the story ends. We drove back to Flor's but she was not home. We stowed the supplies in her shed, and left a note on her new uninstalled door that read in Spanish, "We will return.". And we will. Today we take the next bus out of here, and Griff will begin the task of keeping the weather out of Flor's home. I will beg her to put me to work, and hope that somewhere in the process Flor's heart will feel a little lighter, and true to her name, will spring forth with a bud of hope. It has been cold here, and has poured profusely for a couple of days now. This is the tail-end of summer here. This winter will be warmer for Flor and her aging family. Her new door serves as a barrier to the outside elements, and an opening to an unforgetable friendship.
Daily bread, give us daily bread. Bless our bodies, keep our children fed. Fill our cups, then fill them up again tonight.
Wrap us up and warm us through, tucked away beneath our sturdy roofs. Let us slumber safe from danger's view this time. Or maybe not, not today. Maybe You'll provide in other ways, and if that's the case ...
We'll give thanks to You with gratitude-a lesson learned to hunger after You. That a starry sky offers a better view,if no roof is overhead,and if we never taste that bread.
Oh, the differences that often are between everything we want and what we really need.
So grant us peace, Jesus, grant us peace. Move our hearts to hear a single beat between alibis and enemies tonight.
Or maybe not, not today. Peace might be another world away,and if that's the case ...
We'll give thanks to You with gratitude, for lessons learned in how to trust in You. That we are blessd beyond what we could ever dream- in abundance or in need
"Gratitude"- NicoleNordman¨
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Lisa
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Chile
Wow...people shouldn't cry when they are reading a travel blog. I hope Flor is doing well. I look forward to reading about her improved home. We miss you here but I'm glad you're out there to offer support to people like Flor. I'm sure she appreciates your company. Good luck.