Chiloe, land of beautiful Frenchmen and a surly Swiss!

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Let me start by thanking everyone that was kind enough to remember my birthday. It was an unforgettable event in an incredible locale. I woke up at 5 AM, which is 4 AM by my body clock, on Thursday, April 10th (Happy Birthday, Diane!) to get to the bus station in time for my 6:30 departure. Despite the early arrival of my cab, there were a few moments of tension trying to figure out how to unlock the front door from the inside. In the dark. Without waking up my housemate and la tia, both sleeping in their bedrooms a few feet away. After digging out my house key and discovering the flashlight feature on my cell phone, I made it, and the most difficult part of my adventure was past.

The bus to Puerto Montt was perfect for sleeping, though I did lamentably lose my week-old crochet hook to the Land of Renegade Objects That Disappear Without Reason or Notice. It fell to the clean, dry floor, which was devoid of unidentifiable scum, and was neither seen nor heard from again. I don't think that FARC has operatives this far south, but I know they are quite interested in their crochet hooks. Alas, I can only hope that mine has gone on to a better home. Chances are, I'll splurge and spend the ~$1.75 USD for a new one.

Not that any of this is something you actually want and/or need to hear about CHILOE, pretty much the best darndest island I've ever visited! Katie, my travel-companion, and I bought tickets from Puerto Montt to Ancud. (The stray dogs in Puerto Montt are neither loved nor well fed. Quite depressing.) Our bus arrived, and off we went to the island of Chiloe, more specifically, to Ancud, probably the second-largest city of the island. Along for the ride was the first beautiful Frenchman to make our acquaintance, and anonymous young traveler spending a few months going hither and non across the Americas. He was beautiful blonde and hazel-eyed, a Parisian who spoke, get this: French. (No way! Never would have guessed it, right?) He totally floored us by putting on, of all things, a baseball cap, which apparently didn't fit his rugged Columbia/North Face traveler image. Beautiful specimen, though. I certainly didn't mind. (If I have to suffer the negative effects of machismo occasionally, I'm gonna objectify right back!)

When we got to the beach, our bus drove straight onto a ferry. Katie and I got up and wandered out to take pictures and look around. Beautiful day, despite the forecast for rain: sunny, a little chilly on the water. As amazing as everything else was, the highlight of the crossing was by far the seals that came out to play and eat the fish that are agitated by the ferry. At first Katie and I had no idea what we were seeing, but eventually we figured out that yes, those shiny brown things were probably mammals, and that they were far too small to be lobos marinos (sea lions).

ANCUD

When we landed in Ancud, the two of us found a cheap hospedaje with warm water near the bus station and set off to find some grub. We stopped in at Chilote Menos, which turned out to have the best hambuerguesa simple this side of heaven, and super-strong, super-overpriced drinks. If you happen to stroll across Ancud by chance and have the sudden urge to have a cheap, hearty meal sans seafood, your best bet would be Chilote Menos. Remember to add the honey-mustard sitting at your table to the burger; it's the deal-breaker.

That afternoon we explored the local museum, which had some horror-provoking images of the aftermath of the earthquake that ripped the region to pieces a few decades past. (The same as the 1960 that hit Valdivia? Probably. It was a 9.8 or something on the Richter scale.) In the eventide, Sonya joined us and we went out for wine and hot chocolate at el Retro Pub. Nice atmosphere, way overpriced for food. (Meaning $10 USD. I've become rather stingy.) The company was its selling point.

The next morning, we woke up to my birthday. Despite my cold, I was ready to go. Anything and everything, I wanted to do it! You only turn twenty-one once, and though it's a nondescript birthday by most standards, in the States this is THE birthday. I wanted to make it memorable. We started off by taking a walk to the old fort in Ancud. En route, we accumulated six dogs, a veritable pack, and had an early-morning doggone birthday party! They followed us until we got onto enemy territory, and which point we lost all but our most stout-of-heart troops. For their bravery, we gave them our hearts and awarded them the names Chaco (-Chaco Chip!) and Hank. They assisted us in our admiration of the old fort and picture-taking, as well as in our climb down the hill to the beach just below. (Steep hills are strategic defensive advantages, you know.) At the beach, we discovered that Chaco was, in fact, female, when she was accosted THRICE by a horrible short-haired stray. Just because she was hanging out with the girls from the States didn't mean that she was a stereotypical northern floozy! (Nor were/are we, for that matter.) Poor girl came with us and Hank, a gentleman at his best, while we collected huge chunks of sea glass and shells, the best souvenirs nature has to offer. We discovered a cave that's only accessible at low tide, which it was, and got our feet wet in some Pacific Ocean in our walk back along the rocks to where we'd originally picked up our quadrupedal companions. At that point, we had to unfortunately part ways, as we three wandered into the artisinal market. Sonya picked up a book on Chiloean mythology, which is unique to the island. Katie looked at hats and I wanted everything in general, but we decided to move on to lunch at El Cangrejo, where each of us ordered dubious-looking shellfish in various forms. (I got the paila/paina marina, which was easier to down after I bludgeoned all the meat into unidentifiable smithereens. The broth was amazing.) Then we got our bags from the hospedaje, made our way to the bus station, and bought tickets to go south, bypassing Castro for its smaller neighbor, Chonchi.

CHONCHI

Our decision to hit up this po-dunk little nowhere was based on a few sentences' worth of information in my Lonely Planet travel guide. Word was out that a quaint hospedaje there was worth the effort, owned by a Canadian expat. I was doubtful, but convinced enough to go. So we wouldn't be able to find a night club in which to dance away my birthday. We could still find a bottle of wine somewhere, right? And how! We got to Chonchi, lugged our bags into the municipal building, and rather surprised the tourism-coordinator by asking tourist information. He was friendly, gave us the directions, and off we went. We found the hospedaje in question, which was situated ON THE WATER. Not just with a view, but a VIEW. Just past the white picket fence was beach, and at high tide sometimes the water would come right up to the pickets. We went in, asked a few questions, and decided to bunker down for the night. First stop: the bakery right next to the grocery store, where we purchased delicious manjar birthday cookies. Second stop: grocery store, for dinner, breakfast, and booze. All were available at a more than reasonable price. (We also wandered out onto the dock where the large fishing boats come in, had some locals giving us the eye, which is to be expected when you wander around with two tall blonds.) Amidst one vibrant, tangerine sunset and an awesome group of teenager break-dancers showing off their stuff, we wandered back to the hospedaje and got to work celebrating with spaghetti, empanadas, red wine and pisco, and the requisite nutbowl. This all took place in the common kitchen, where we met the other travelers du jour: a Canadian, a Brit, and two more beautiful Frenchmen. They were very kind to put up with us, especially as Sonya and I started dancing around the kitchen, singing along to Moulin Rouge and Disney. That night we wiggled into a double bed together, because sans heating it was COLD, and stayed up giggling as we listened to the Frenchman one thin wall away talking. Though we didn't speak French, they knew English, and Sonya's claim that "I want to tell them that they are pretty" sent all five of us into hysterics for quite some time.

NOTE: If you read this blog and decide to run across Hospedaje Esmeralda, be warned that if the crazy old lady down the beach is still living there and not yet in a psych ward, her dogs ARE aggressive. Rocks are not cruel violence, they are necessary protection against the veritable horde of canines. At Katie's count, she has THIRTEEN. Self-preservation is recommended.

The next day, our last full day in Chile, we decided to take the free ferry over to the neighboring island of Lumay. The Canadian owner kindly drew us a map, which we followed doubtfully but faithfully across 4 kilometers (2.4 miles) of steeply rolling hills. (Add whine-ully, on my part.) We stopped in at a cafe for liquids (coffee, soda, juice) and took the ferry. Lumay, it turns out, is gorgeous, but the sites that our host recommended to us were literally miles away. ("Two to three hour loop" my big white fanny.) Finally we called it quits and went back to the restaurant at the beach to wait for the ferry. We ordered Curancho -think a Hawaiian pig barbeque bit with shellfish instead- and promptly ate it all. The place didn't have a name, could very well have been the only restaurant on the island, but they had the best tomato spread EVER. When the ferry arrived, we got on, along with one car, and sat down on the metal floor for the ride back across. Very intelligently getting transportation back to Chonchi, we didn't have to suffer the 2.4 mile trek again, and got back in time to relax, go to dinner, and attend the impromptu party that night.

The Canadian traveler had left, but in his stead we were graced by the presence of an American volunteer taking some time off to travel a bit, and two Swiss, one of Spanish descent but born and raised in the neutral state, the other a full-bred Swiss...I think. It's ironic, to say the least, that I was told just the day before by the hospedaje's owner that he likes to ask his guests where they come from so that he knows how he can speak with them and that he mentioned particularly that one must be careful with a Swiss in the room. Apparently, for all their chocolate and neutrality, they aren't a very easy-going people. Too serious. I heard this and brushed it aside as unfair bias, sure that it was a difference in perspective or close-mindedness on his part. Then, despite all my intentions to remain impartial and never judge a people by one representative, I found myself in a situation in which I had to believe what he had said, at least in regard to this one man. Sitting at the table, sharing stories and listening to others (when the four men didn't inevitably switch into French) I got called to task by one of the Swiss men for liking Avril Lavigne. (Yes, I do, in fact, appreciate some of her music. It's fun.) At first I argued my point right back, and then tried to brush it off as a difference of opinion, but after ten minuted of vehement raking Avril through the coal because her father is rich so she has nothing to complain about, I was just about done. Sonya tried to help extricate me from the mess by being the neutral party (Haha, Switzerland) and Flo, the Frenchmen who had been in the conversation before this mess, smiled and played with the music on his laptop. I don't remember how the situation finally ended -maybe he got up to get a smoke?- but I laughed to myself to think that every word I'd so scornfully dismissed had just been proven true for the Swiss in question. NOTE: I do not think all Swiss are unfunny, unhappy people based on this one occasion. I am sure they are wonderful. Sweet. Neutral. This particular, singular, ONE Swissman was not.

Sonya slept in our second room that night, but Katie and I still snuggled for warmth. The next morning we left a note under the Frenchmen's door, telling them that they were in fact beautiful. (Really, they were.) Then we mysteriously disappeared into the late morning on a bus marked "Valdivia" and never saw them again. Instead, we went to the bus station, went home, and in my case, celebrated my birthday one more time with birthday cake and some gift slippers. (Very thoughtful since I'd fallen down the stairs in my socks a few days prior.) And so, a weekend in Chiloe.

***I apologize for any typos. I'm not going to bother checking this. It's a looooong post, as I'm sure you noticed.***

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