March 1st - 8th: a week of fishing villages
Puerto Montt is a fairly large town: not as pretty as its smaller neighbour Puerto Varas, but nevertheless, it does have some attractions of its own, as well as being a central hub from where you can get buses to just about anywhere in the country.
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| This bizarre shop was run by a saxophonist, who told me he spent all day playing. "If you want to buy some ear rings or anything, just tell me," he said, before going back to his saxophone. |
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| Typical mugs for drinking 'mate' |
Highlights for me were Tengo island (just 5 minutes by boat), the fish market, where apparently sealions hang around at high tide (needless to say, I was there at low tide!), seeing small Chilean dolphins from the bus window, while riding along the coast towards Los Arenas, a walk along the beach, from where I was
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| Fish market, Puerto Montt |
offered (and accepted) a ride in a boat to a small rock, where
lobos (sea lions) sometimes hang out (but not that day), and some excellent musicians busking in the street, on a wet afternoon.
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| Hitch hiking with a difference! |
The coastal road was a bit hairy, and I was full of admiration for the skill of the bus drivers. At first, I´d hoped that they weren´t relying on the rosaries hanging off the windscreen washer, or the pictures of Jesus often to be seen by the driving mirror. After a while, I came to recognise that these items were more to protect them against other less careful drivers, landslides, or other 'Acts of God´ - as far as the drivers themselves were concerned, I never felt any lack of confidence.
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| Carretera Austral near Puerto Montt |
This was the day that I first met a rather wild-looking North Chilean cyclist, on an old and very unusual bicycle: he had bought it cheaply somewhere on his travels, I learned later, having given his own away to some very poor people who had very little means of transport.
Next day, I ran into him again, this time outside the tourist office in
Puerto Montt, in the rain. I noticed that he had a small stringed
musical instrument on his back - one that he had bought in another part
of South America - and he got it out of its case to show me.
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| Handlebars made out of animal horns - and a hooter, and a percussion instrument |
Since I could not understand everything he was telling me, I asked him if he would come into the tourist office with me, so that the girls in there could help translate. The office was quiet, and the girls only too ready to oblige, as fascinated by his bicycle as I was. He was 36, and had been travelling around South America on it for 10 years. His intention was to continue until he was 40, and then go back home and build a house. By 'profession', he was a magician, he said, as well as a musician. He obliged by playing the stringed instrument and pan pipes for us: it's probably not many people who can play two instruments at once. Nevertheless, it seemed to me he could still do with a bit of practice!
I had the feeling that he wasn't used to this much attention, but he seemed to be enjoying it, and continued chatting to the girls for some time.
A few minutes after leaving the Tourist Office, I passed a group of musicians busking in the street. They were excellent, alternating between singing and playing the guitar and panpipes. Three of them were from Puerto Montt, they told me, and the fourth from Northern Chile. They got together just once a year.
Leaving some of my gear at the Casa Perla hostel in Puerto Montt, I took a bus to Chiloe Island for a few days, in the hope of seeing some wildlife from the ferry to Ancud. But after starting out on a promising morning, the rain soon started again - I would have to wait until the trip back to see one small pod of small dolphins, and some
lobos (seals or sealions).
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| Puñihuil |
The town of Ancud itself was disappointing, and everything seemed to
be closed, including both tourist offices. However, a minibus was
heading for
Puñihuil, home of the Magellan and Humboldt penguins. Today was the village's annual
feria.
There was too much wind for the boats to run, but the sun had come out,
the rocky coastline was beautiful, and the music provided for the
village dancing was live: with (for me) the novelty of a horse skull,
complete with teeth, being used for percussion.
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| Percussion at Feria at Puñihuil, Chiloe |
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| Puñihuil |
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| With the tide coming in, not the best place for a breakdown . . . |
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On to Castro, next day: a small town with colourful houses, some of them on stilts.
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| Castro |
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| What exactly is this shop selling?! |
Enquired about bike hire, but the season was over. Instead, took a short bus ride to Cacao, with its lakes and National Park, on the Pacific side of the island. The Pacific waves crashing onto the distant shore were quite impressive, with the Tsunami exit signs a bit sobering. An emergency instructions leaflet suggested that in the event of a Tsunami, you should 'walk away' immediately. "Run like hell!" would have seemed to me to be a more appropriate instruction!
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| Er - isn´t there something strange about this sign? |
Again the weather turned a bit damp later that evening, but nevertheless, I took a walk to a nearby laguna, from where I got a lift back to the campsite from the National Park staff, in my favourite transport: the back of a pick-up truck.
Next day, the National Park trail through some trees was very short. The intention had been to head for the coast path, but getting to it involved quite a bit of road - this was on the ´Sendero de Chile' route, but not in the National Park itself. One of the National Park staff passed me and stopped to give me a lift. However, as we reached the beach, his intention appeared to be to drive into the waves. Not for me, I decided, and made a hasty exit.
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| Local buses not always up to the high standards elsewhere |
With the path not clear and the weather damp again, I suddenly lost interest, and headed back, to take the afternoon bus back to Castro, and out to Achao: a small coastal town, on the island of
Quinchao, just off the Eastern coast of Chiloe, not far from Dalcahue. recommended by a Chilean couple I had met at the campsite. Reversing the bus onto the little ferry that was to take us there, was quite an operation.
Achao was beautiful, as was the evening, with lots of fishing boats: so much so, that I decided to stay an extra day, with a relaxing afternoon at the far end of the island, at Chequian, a small community where only seven families lived. Its beautiful beach was deserted, apart from a number of birds, one ferry heading for the mainland, and an occasional motor boat, dodging between the smaller islands just off the coast.
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| Achao |
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| Chequian |
Next day, time to head back for Puerto Montt and Puerto Varas: time was running out, and having enjoyed the few days of colourful boats and fishing villages, I wanted to see the Chilean Lake District: with the improved weather, the volcanoes should hopefully now be visible, even though views could be hazy on days when the wind direction was such that the ash from the still slowly erupting Volcan Puyuhue was blowing the wrong way. On a fine day, I was in luck at last. As we neared Puerto Montt, we saw a small group of small dolphins bobbing in and out of the water, as well as the long-awaited
lobos.
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| Moonrise at Sunset: Achao |
offered (and accepted) a ride in a boat to a small rock, where lobos (sea lions) sometimes hang out (but not that day), and some excellent musicians busking in the street, on a wet afternoon.
