11 Puerto Montt and Chiloe Island - fishing villages and music

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

Percussion at Feria at Puñihuil, Chiloe

Puñihuil 

 With the tide coming in, not the best place for a breakdown . . .

On to Castro, next day: a small town with colourful houses, some of them on stilts.

Castro

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!

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.

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.

Achao

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.

Moonrise at Sunset: Achao

10 Back Into Argentina: Futuleufu, Los Alerces National Park, El Bolsen and Bariloche

My passport is filling up fast with stamps from Chile and Argentina, since you get a stamp from the country you are being checked out of, and then another for the one you are checked into - and in Patagonia, you are constantly crossing between the two.

Passport control near Futuleufu - note woodburning stove!

The border 10 km east of Futuleufu was relatively relaxed, with quite a pleasant atmosphere in the 'out of Chile' office, where there was a nice woodburning stove, and where the official taking my passport from me said in English "Nice to meet you!". (As if taking my passport from me and handing it back was actually meeting me . . ) It seemed a bit over the top to say to him "Encantanda te conosce" (or something like that), so I just said "Y usted". (The correct response, I believe, should have been something sounding ike 'Igual'.)

More roadworks!

Unlike most other crossings, the whole procedure, including checking back into Argentina, taking everything off the local Chilean bus and loading it onto the Argentinian one, took no more than 40 minutes. Though heading for Esquel, I got off a few miles away at Trevelin, since it seemed only courteous to do so,  my home is being in Wales: Trevelin is supposedly a Welsh village, complete with a dragon flag on the tourist office roof, and a couple of tea shops - with nobody in them, but with a nice smell of fresh bread, and a few cakes. The woman in there told me that she didn't speak Welsh, but her grandfather had been a Welshman called Underwood. (Hey, Tom - did you have a great grandfather or great uncle who emigrated to Patagonia?)

The bakery items I was unable to indulge in, because the cash machine had run out of cash. After an hour of queuing to change some Chilean money into Argentinian inside the bank, I was told I was in the wrong queue, and would have to start again for the service. By that time I couldn´t be bothered, and decided to head straight for Esquel, since I at least had the bus fare in Argentinian money. (And yes, there were buses running in Argentina, despite the fact that a lot of Chileans were crossing the border, purely in order to buy fuel, thereby creating a shortage there too.)

Esquel was convenient for an overnight stop, since it is on the edge of Los Alerces National Park, which has some lovely lakes, and some trails, most of which go through old forests, with occasional miradors over the lakes. (One bus a day, leaving at 8am.)

If you want to see the oldest tree (reputably 2000 years old), you have to catch a boat before walking to it: but at a cost of something over 40GBP, decided to give this one a miss. (Promotional material showed photos of the base of a tree too tall to photograph, with tape around it, and about 25 people taking photographs.) Apparently, there is a very beautiful trail with views of this lake, but at the time it was closed, due to the danger of a puma who had cubs there.

Tent with a view: official but free campsite

I duly caught the bus, parked my tent by a lake in one of several free campsites, and spent a lovely sunny day on a forest trail, and looking at some more old handprints (see Villa Cerro Castell post). Glad I made the best of the day, because the next day was decidely grey, and at times soggy. Camped at another free campsite at the end of the National Park, then caught the bus to El Bolsen on Saturday.

El Bolsen

Wandered into town to look at the craft and food stalls, once I´d got my tent up in a pleasant, spacious campsite: so well organised that it had a ´quiet´zone, a 'bit more noise allowed´ zone, and ´let´s have a party´ zone -  all of which were just academic this weekend, since it was the town´s feria (´party´) weekend, meaning that sleep was not likely to be possible, anywhere.

Shortly afterwards, it began to rain, and now it had set in for the next couple of days, making the prospect of trekking uninviting. There was therefore nothing else for it: time to eat everything in sight, and put back some of the weight I´d lost! Suddenly felt the need for sugar, and headed for a sumptous cake shop. Ordered a coffee and a portion of a gateau that resembled the German black forest cherry cake, and was surprised to be served with the most enormous slice I have ever seen, together with a small glass of ice cream and a piece of chocolate: estimated calorie count of about 3 million!

Other than food, there was a waiters´ race (a first for me!), rides for children on some tiny ponies, with the kids dressed up in gaucho hats, some Peruvian pipers, a didgery-doo or two, and various other acts. Added to which, the town appeared to be full of old bangers: I wasn't sure whether there were just a lot of clapped out cars in this village (nowhere else have I seen cars driving around without even a bonnet: what happens when it rains?), or whether it was all part of the act. (Note later: it appears to be the norm, in many Argentinian towns.)
  

I helped push this one!

Gone for bread, leaving the engine running . . .

Bariloche: Chocolate City

With the weather forecast still dodgey for the following days, I gave up on the idea of trekking from El Bolsen - a pity, since there were supposedly some very scenic day hikes from there, as well as multi-day treks. 

Bariloche being a town, I headed for a hostel, from where I reserved a bicycle for the following day, with a view to riding the Chico Circuit - around the lake. However, when I arrived at the hire place it was raining again, and the owners advised me to leave it to another day, since I wouldn't get any views. "Any other suggestions for today?" I asked them.  They shrugged. "Go shopping, eat chocolate?" Tempting, but having taken half-an-hour on the bus to get there, took up their other suggestion, and walked to 'Colonia Suisse': a rather disappointingly touristy village of Swiss-style houses, with a number of chocolate and other shops: the highlight, as far as I was concerned, being a small exhibition of photographs taken of Volcan Puyehue erupting, in June 2011.


"Our landscape has changed for ever, and therefore our lives too," was the comment (roughly translated).


http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2011/jun/05/chile-volcano-eruption-in-pictures#/?picture=375383037&index=14

http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2011/06/chiles-puyehue-volcano-erupts/100081/     (for more photos of Puyehue erupting)


The following day turned out fine, and the mountains called: took a bus to the ski area known as 'Cathedral', and walked to the Frey refugio. Lovely to be in the mountains again, with some good clear views, after so many wet or grey days.

Lakeside views from the Frey trail

Small shelter on the way up to the Frey refugio

 

View from the Frey refugio

Fresh snow in the next valley: seen from a rock above the Frey refugio

With the weather forecast poor for the next few days again,  decided to head west to Puerto Montt. Although a damp day may be the best one to choose for a longish bus journey, the downside was that I didn't get the promised views over the Andes, and even the lakes were rather misty. The volcanic ash from Puyehue was very much in evidence, but to my surprise, didn't look as bad as I had expected: more like slightly greyish sand. The forestry was apparently badly burnt, but again, in the mist, it could not be seen.

The border crossing was fairly painless. All baggage had to be unloaded from the bus, then re-loaded, once the border guards had done their work, but the sniffer dogs picking out just one suitcase, belonging to a Swiss girl standing next to me.  She was called over to open it up, but was allowed to close it again almost immediately. "What was it?" I asked her, expecting her to say that she'd forgotten about some cheese or something. "I don't know: I suspect some of my washing might have been a bit ripe!" she answered.

As we approached Osorno, the mountains were left behind, and the green agricultural landscape slightly reminiscent of the UK. Arriving in Puerto Montt, I looked forward to a few days of small fishing villages.