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While most tourists to the southern Chilean Lake District stay in the small, picturesque towns of Puerto Varas and Fruttiar, I lingered in the large capital of the Lakes District, Puerto Montt, and had a most excellent time. While there, I easily visited the nearby tourist towns, followed autumn-leaved trails on a lush island, walked the bay-side promenade, spoke on environmental and indigenous rights at a rally, was ushered to the belfry of a hidden chapel to ring the huge bronze bells, and in a touch of luxury, had an apartment just for my friends and me. The city had its charms if one took the time to discover them.
Puerto Montt is the northern terminus of the Navimag Ferry that carries passengers, cargo and cows through the tortured, roadless fiords of Chilean Patagonia. We on the last ferry of the season, in late April, had had a rather harrowing journey trying to cross a stretch of open ocean, and thus arrived late and tired after days of seasickness and a riotous, last night's party Navimag Ferry--Misadventures in the Chilean Fiords. A Place of Our Own
My German roommates from the ferry, Sabine and Tobias, and I decided to stay together. It was late evening when we poured off the ferry and trooped to the bus terminal. Chileans headed up to Santiago, while the thirty foreigners boarded vans to compete for rooms and hostel beds in nearby, expensive Puerto Varas. When a couple of middle-aged women offered us an apartment in their garden for my favorite $10, we went for it. I generally take anything offered in my price range, and so far, I've not regretted it.
While the apartment was nearby as the crow flies, it was straight up a steep hill from the harbor. Fortunately, Tobias pulled my suitcase--I couldn't have done it alone. We were soon having tea and snacks in our little nest. My friends stayed a couple of fine days; when they left, I was given a tiny apartment of my own--a luxury I've rarely had even at home. Puerto Angelmo and a Forested Island
The next day, we explored the charming, touristy Angelmo port area which sits along a sheltered channel across from a forested island. The port had ancient, wooden, fishing boats, seafood restaurants on stilts where we had a fine lunch and fish markets selling nasty-looking creatures. A row of wooden buildings in bright colors sold fine wool and wooden crafts, some local, others probably from China.
One day after Sabine and Tobias had gone, I returned to Angelmo and hired a little boat across to Isla Tenglo. There, I spent a perfect day walking the little trails that laced the island. The southern beech trees were bright in autumn colors, and I discovered little coves, homesteads and fishing boats fringing the shores. Our part of town, Miraflores, around the port and the bus station, was a steep hill covered with funky, faded, but still colorful, wooden buildings. This is probably what the city looked like before disaster struck. Puerto Montt Treats
In 1960, Puerto Montt was leveled by an earthquake that destroyed most of the coastal towns in southern Chile. While the working-class city was rebuilt in a modern style which isn't so touristic, it had many amenities for its residents. The grassy, bay-front promenade was full of public sculptures, exercise equipment, playgrounds, and that favorite of Chilean parks--old locomotives and machinery. There were also treats for a long-time traveler, unavailable my previous year in South America, especially in the small towns in which I tend to stay. A mall cinema showed films other than the usual violent or animated ones, the library offered free wifi and a supermarket had imported western foods that I paired with fine Chilean produce and wine--I was in hog heaven! Power to the People
One night, walking along the waterfront, I heard Las Americas, a beloved song by the mid-20c Chilean folksinger, Violeta Parra. Walking in the direction of the music, I passed riot-geared police and a military tank kitted out with a water cannon to disperse protesters, all of which I'd become unpleasantly familiar with in my following year in Chile.
That night, on a stage in the main plaza, a band played for a rally of about a hundred people protesting the damming of pristine Patagonia rivers to provide electricity for the country's capital, Santiago, far to the north. I'd read of these dams which would destroy wildlife and indigenous villages and hunting grounds. Chile has a pretty horrendous record of exploiting/destroying its rich natural resources, and now, three years later in 2014, some of these dams have been built. Ironically, because of global warming, there isn't the flow of water to provide the hoped-for electricity. Destruction for nothing.
I chatted with some young indigenous Tehuelche, and they insisted I go up on the stage and speak. I stretched the truth a bit and, in my bad Spanish, told them that people all over the world were aware of their struggle and were in support of them. As I'd shouted on marches in my hometown Santa Barbara, "El pueblo unido, nunca sera vencido" (the people, united, will never be defeated) and thrillingly, the crowd joined me. Afterwards, I was interviewed by a British reporter from a fishing magazine. International anglers pay loads to fly to Patagonia, stay and fish at upscale, "rustic" lodges, such as Chacabuco I'd seen from the Navimag ferry. The Chilean government was probably more concerned about these rich foreigners than their own indigenous people, though in the end, it listened to no one but those in the capital.
Pockets of Beauty
For the wanderer who took the time, Puerto Montt had old architectural gems that had escaped the 1960 earthquake's destruction. On the plaza, was the original, 1856 cathedral of gorgeous, local alerce wood, from thousand year old trees, much like our sequoias.
Further from the center and built by the original German colonialists, was a gorgeous, wooden church like those I'd soon be seeing on the islands of Chiloe. A priest, Father Eduardo Ponce, saw me admiring and photographing his church and took me up a forested hill to a little hidden chapel, and then up its steep, winding stairs to the belfry with views all over town. I even got to ring the huge, bronze bells, something I'd always wanted to do. It was a perfect ending to my stay in Puerto Montt. The next day, after a week of waiting, the sun finally came out, and I returned to Puerto Varas to see the volcanoes that had been hidden on earlier visits. The day following, I boarded a bus and ferry to the isolated islands of Chiloe and more wooden churches.
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RENanDREW
Ren & Andrew
'the people, united, will never be defeated'...
Tara I was chuckling when I read that you addressed that rally! How fantastic!