Back to basics: The Chiloe Islands

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Day 172: Buses, Planes and Boats, and the final destination; well, who knows!?

"We've gone on holiday by mistake", Withnail, in 'Withnail and I'

So here I am, in a random town called Ancud on the Chiloe islands in the South of Chile. To be honest, I didn't actually mean to come here, but was heading a couple of hours further south. Unfortunately things got a bit delayed earlier in the day, and I didn't fancy arriving too late in Castro (my intended destination further south), since I didn't have a map or lodgings, so I got off the bus in Ancud (without accomodation or a map, but at least it was only eight o'clock).

The day had started quite well in Punta Arenas, with a hot shower and a hearty breakfast cooked by the hostel owner who was more than happy to make omlettes for all four of his guests, before I was picked up by the shuttlebus to take me to the airport. Since Chile is rather slender (poster maps of the country have similar dimensions to height charts), it takes rather a long time to get from one place to another, and there aren't too many circular routes; but rather than a thirty-six hour bus or three day boat journey, I decided to take a two hour flight north.

I got to the airport in plenty of time, but unfortunately it turned out that the departure time of my flight was actually more of an approximatation than corresponding to a timetable, so there was a fair bit of waiting around in the departure lounge/room before I finally boarded the plane. Unfortunately my seat was already occupied by a lady, despite my boarding card clearly indicating that it should have been mine and that she should be sitting four rows behind, she wanted to stay there and wasn't budging. Not really too bothered, I took the unoccupied seat next to her, where I sat for most of the journey defenceless against her ongoing friendly chatter about her Croatian boyfriend and the world economy. She spoke very fast, even by Chilean standards, and to be honest, I didn´t really follow much of what she was saying, but that didn´t seem to matter, and I just left her to natter on. Chilean spanish, again being unique, seems even more difficult to understand than the lingo in Argentina, spoken very fast, often slurred together, and with a whole lot of slang. Despite the late start, credit goes to Air Comet Chile, who managed to produce a plate of grilled vegetables and another one of fruit (which I had to wrestle from the woman next to me) in line with my veggie food request. That has to be the best plane food I've had since I arrived in South America!

I was grateful when we finally arrived in Puerto Montt, although with time pressing on, I was quite anxious that I should get a move on, not wanting to turn up somewhere random too long after dark (particularly without a map). After taking the bus from airport to bus station, I searched out a bus/ferry combination to the islands of Chiloe, and with not another gringo in sight, was soon on my way south to the islands. By this time, it was after five, and there weren't too many daylight hours left. The scenery changed somewhat after the ferry, with more rural houses and rather than an abundance of corner shops, there seemed to be more people selling crabs and fish out at the side of the road instead! In the end, I chickened out of turning up in Castro (the south of the island) late at night, and hopped off the bus in Ancud, a twenty minute bus journey from the ferry port instead. There followed a wander into town in search of accomodation. It being off season, there didn't seem to be too much open. Although there were signs up in windows and boards outside houses offering accomodation, the lights tended to be off and noone was home. Eventually I found Terramar, advertised as a hostel, but with a double room costing only slightly more than a dorm bed (and the same as I was paying for a bed in Punta Arenas), I opted to go solo and have a room to myself (complete with television and own bathroom), although from what I could fathom, there was only one other guest staying there, and he was a Chilean on business. I was ushered into the kitchen by the girl, who turned out not to work there, but was just helping out her brother, and didn't actually know how anything worked (sadly that included the heating by all accounts). Still, she was very friendly, and sat down to talk to me over a cup of tea. Luckily, I had some leftover pasta and stock in my rucksack, and so cooked a two ingredient pasta soup for tea (mmm!), before putting on many layers to curl up under a blanket and get a good nights sleep.


Day 173: Drizzle and damp in a quiet fishing town

"We'll cover ourselves in Deep Heat and get up against a radiator. Keep ourselves alive until twelve", Withnail (again!)

OK, I promise I'll stop quoting Withnail and I, but the lines just keep popping into my head! This really must be like being a foreigner visiting a rural village in the Midlands (with similar accental variation). When I woke up this morning, it wasn't just cold, but was also very grey and raining. After half an hour, I managed to find the girl who didn't work in the hostel, who after several attempts, managed to get the hot water going, albeit not for very long! Breakfast wasn't included in the deal and so I was soon braving the elements in search of a cafe to get some food. I came across a nice looking place, that served coffee, and sandwiches. Attempts to blend in didn't go so well when I ordered myself a large cappuccino (and sandwiches). Rather than the discreet cup of frothy coffee that everyone else seemed to be drinking, mine came out in a giant tall glass, dripping with whipped cream and chocolate on top. I don't think I'd have attracted less attention if they stuck a couple of sparklers in the top and started singing ´Feliz Cumpleaños´. Anyway, it was very nice. It's been a while since I've had chocolate and cream for breakfast.

Visiting rural backwaters, especially ´off season´, is an interesting experience. Being the only Gringo around, you invariably attract more than a few inquisitive looks, and you do start wondering how you are going to fill your day. On the bright side, I've yet to find anyone here who speaks English, although my ability to understand the lingo here is proving very limited. I went to the museum this afternoon, and managed to follow most of the displays in Spanish. There was also an interesting video about Dutch and Spanish landings on the island, but when it came for Chiloeans to speak on the film, they had to include spanish subtitles to translate what they were saying from Chiloen Spanish into Chilean (making me think that I probably don't stand a chance of following conversations here, unless people make a real effort)! Alongside exhibits relating the history of the islands (which naturally included the usual European invasions), there was quite a bit on landscape, the 1960's earthquake, traditional handicrafts, and a fair few religious artefacts, deposited on the islands post-colonisation. Outdoor exhilbits included a full blue whale skeleton and some interesting statues of creatures from Chiloean folklore. Despite colonisation, the people here maintained many of their traditional beliefs, setting them apart from folk on the mainland. With farming and agriculture the two main (only?) industries here, it doesn't seem to be a very rich place, but has plenty of interesting sights, including people pushing around wheelbarrows of seaweed and crabs, men fixing boats on the beach, and the man that just walked past carrying a whole dead pig over his shoulders!

It managed to rain pretty much all day long, not the torrential tropical rain of Buenos Aires, but the annoying kind of drizzle we usually get in summer in England. Being rather cold as well, I didn't spend too long outdoors, but did walk up to the old fort a little way up the coast from where I was staying, complete with many cannons, it was the last Spanish stronghold after Chilean independence in the nineteenth century. It was a pleasant walk, but I didn't feel much like following the coastal path very far, and was soon back at the hostel, supping coffee, cooking dinner, and then watching the Arsenal versus Liverpool game on my very own television, keeping warm under several blankets, and occasionally flicking over to the BBC World News channel, and then turning back when the familiar beeps before the headlines made me feel a bit homesick (it does happen very occasionally)!


Day 174: Bright houses on dull days

So, here I am in Castro (which had been my intended destination two days ago), and it's still tipping down with rain. Having had another cold night, and seeing the rain outside this morning, I wasn't in a hurry to leave Ancud, but sat around with the girl who didn't work there, attempting to discuss life and travel over coffee. I told her I was coming to Castro today and was promply informed that it was much, much bigger than Ancud ('There are traffic lights there'). She insisted on walking me down to the bus station and seeing my bus off, which was really nice of her, and I was soon travelling down to the south of the island, following the main highway across farmland, arriving in Castro, the town of the traffic lights, two hours later.

I soon found a hostel (completely empty apart from yours truly), where in the absence of dorms, I took a single room (again with television, although this one didn't have great reception and certainly didn't have BBC World). I ditched my things in my room and went to find somewhere to have brunch, before going for a general wander through town, past the old pale lemon-painted church in the town square, and down to the harbour. By this time, and despite Gortex, I was soaked through, but was determined to see some of the traditional houses on stilts (Palafitos) along the waterside, I kept walking for a little while. I soon found the Palafitos along the coastline, all painted very brightly, bringing a bit of colour to what was proving to be an otherwise very grey day. Having seen a load of them from the front across the harbour, I took a walk around the coast and around the back of the houses, through suburbia, being greeted by the stares of many a home-owner as I walked past. On the way back to the hostel, I also passed the port, and beyond this, a small park exhibiting a couple of retired rusting steam and traction engines, and a very quiet market, where stall owners selling baskets and woolens were having a very quiet day. Eventually, fed up with feeling soggy, I returned to the hostel, stopping off to buy some bread and cheese to eat for dinner (second only to pasta and tomatoes as a reliable staple), whilst learning a bit of spanish.

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