1/19 Puerto Montt
After approximately 20 hours in transit, we flew into Santiago feeling travel dead, grungy and stupid. Considering that we had nine hours until our next flight, we decided to take the “blue bus” downtown to see the city. We did a small part of the walking tour, seeing many old buildings and the Chilean Presidential Palace.
The highlight of this experience was having a young Chilean woman come up to us as we were posing for photos by their White House. We started talking and found out that she had lived in Illinois for four years while attending the University. Before we knew it, she was giving up her valuable lunch hour to be our tour guide and walk with us through part of the city.
We flew into Puerto Montt that night, desperately in need of a bed.
1/20 Casa Ko (hiked 6 miles)
Never has a bed looked so sweet as the humble twins that Kim and I found in Puerto Montt. The simple bed and breakfast was neat and clean, and the home itself was very small and rustic. Our host, EIlliana, even cooked on an old wood stove. Nevertheless, she prepared enough food to feed a small army for our breakfast.
Soon we were standing in the aisles of a bus, packed into the 28 person maximum load bus with over 40 other people. The bus struggled up a narrow, winding road around the grey waters of enormous Lago Lianquihe. We piled off at KM marker 37 and walked three kilometers to Casa Ko wearing our fully loaded, extremely heavy backpacks. Almost immediately, I was assaulted by a horse fly the size of a large bumble bee. Thankfully, he was slow moving and stupid, so swatting him was easy. I smashed eight of these flying whales between the highway and Casa Ko, relishing each kill with unparalleled gusto.
We hiked up Vulcan Calbuco that afternoon following a crude dirt road that gained over 1500 feet in elevation in about three miles. We wandered through many pastures filled with fat Herefords. Across the valley stood the imposing peak of Vulcan Osorno, a perfect upside down cone coated with snow. In the distance, off to the east, stood a third volcano, Vulcan Putiagudo, smaller but with a more rugged, sharp spire at its apex. The hike was tough but the vistas more than made up for our efforts.
Dinner with Raphael and Pauline, the French owners of Casa Ko, was really fun. We spent more than two hours eating and visiting with our Chilean and Argentinean table partners. The shell fish was good, but the conversation was even better.
1/21 Casa Ko (hiked 6 miles, 12 total)
Our day consisted of a visit to Petrohue and Parque Nacional Vicente Perez Rozales. The setting was absolutely stunning. A huge glacial lake, Lagos Todos Santos, is surrounded by rugged mountains on all sides and is bordered by the enormous shadow of Vulcan Osorno to the west.
We immediately set out hiking up a large lava flow, which consisted of compacted ash and small rocks. It wasn’t really great fun, as your shoes sunk into the fine grained ash in places. It was very similar to struggling through Utah sand. We then opted for “plan b,” which was working our way towards the trail running near the shore of the lake. We weren’t on the trail more than a few minutes when we found the first of many mountain bikers wildly careening down the trail towards us, swearing at us in Spanish to get out of the way. It didn’t take long to realize that this wasn’t a good option, as we had bumbled into the middle of the Chilean Mountain Bike Championships, so we again selected another option, which was to go cross country towards the park headquarters located near the end of the lake. We walked with a young Chilean couple, visiting about the poor quality of Chilean education and the student strikes of the previous school year, our travel plans and the future of their nation.
We then hopped a bus to see the Saltos del Petrohue, a raging, violent, white water spectacle, where a good size river cascades through a narrow slot in the lava rock. It’s not Igauzu, but then again, it’s nothing that I would like to float down in my cheap plastic kayak, either.
The day ended with an all you can eat buffet / asado in Ensenada. I way over ate, insuring that I was getting full value for my $28 plate.
1/22 Cochomo Valley (hiked 7 miles, 19 total)
It was one of those memorable, great days in your life. And to be quite truthful, I was more than a little nervous about it coming together. However, thanks to Casa Ko’s Raphael and Pauline, it ended up much better than planned.
It all started with an hour and a half bus ride to Cochomo, where we missed our opportunity to catch the pickup to the trailhead due to our ignorance. Thankfully, a host of locals in the bus intervened on our behalf, and after a quick cell phone call to the driver of the pickup, we were loaded in the back of the truck and on our way to Heaven.
At first Heaven was muddy, rocky and slick. Then it got worse! The trail, surrounded by dense rainforest, never really dries out. It varies from a pasty, thick, black mud to a more soupy variety, which is covered with an oily sheen and seems to have suction properties beyond logic. The most imposing element of the Cochomo trail is the narrow, meandering trenches, sometimes 8-10 feet deep, that contain all of the mud. Sure, people have placed large rocks, logs, boards and other items to jump between, but invariably you end up in the mud.
We hiked up the valley for four long hours, mostly in a dark, ominous forest, before breaking out of the trees to see It. Heaven had a magnificent aquamarine colored river lined with bright orange rocks. In back of them, laid a wide swath of bleached out, white rock and then ultimately, a radiant, green glowing forest. Finally, in the distance, stood a huge granite dome towering thousands of feet straight up from the valley floor.
As we continued up the valley, we found large green meadows surrounded by vertical granite walls and domes on both sides. Even though I was dead tired, I instantly experienced an adrenaline surge of joy. It was like seeing the Grand Canyon or Oregon Coast for the first time.
The only thing that could help this feeling was beer, but first we had to ride the crude, one man cable car across the river. It took us awhile to figure it out, but the some help from some fellow Americans, we were soon relishing every sip of a fine Chilean lager.
And to solidify my belief that we were in Heaven, we were able to eat a delicious homemade pizza at the refugio that night. If that isn’t proof enough of its divine stature, I don’t know what tangible evidence a man could provide.
So you see, Cochomo is like life. Muddy, dark and with long, deep ruts, but if you persist in your efforts, ultimately you find beer, beauty and pizza in the end.
1/23 Cochomo (6 miles, 25 total)
Contanza Figari and Benjamin Burchardt, a twenty something couple, came into our lives early in the morning. We were readying ourselves to go hiking when she came up to get water near our tent. We started talking and soon she invited us to trek La Paloma with them.
The hike was of the Jon Elliot / Kai Reed style - an endless vertical scramble up an impossibly steep slope. It had huge fallen trees, some the diameter of a Volkswagen, one area where you used a rope to get up and down, and a giant granite bowl where you had to carefully work your way up the steep pitch, dodging a cascading stream as you went.
The best element of this hike was our young Chilean friends. We chatted about everything from education to religion, which kept our minds off of our burning muscles and pounding hearts.
The vistas from the top included the rugged walls and small glaciers of the cirque we had reached. Turning your head 180 degrees, you looked out at the huge granite domes across the valley. It really was an unbelievable spectacle.
On the trip down, since we could breathe, we had a chance to admire the forest, which was a collection of massive deciduous and conifer towers mixed with small patches of dense bamboo. Near the end of the trek, we stopped to watch a group of rock climbers practicing on a granite wall with a nasty overhang.
After another pizza accompanied by a liter of beer, we sat around and chatted with Benjamin and Constanza until dark. It had been a perfect day.
1/24 Cochomo (7 miles, 32 total)
Kim and I slept in again, barely pulling ourselves out of our miniscule Black Diamond at 9:00 A.M. We then ambled over to the refugio, where the girls served delicious home made bread, which we smothered with dolce de leche and jam. Of course, we had to drink a minimum of three cups of coffee before we even contemplated starting the day.
We then set out on another ass-buster called Anfiteatro to a large alpine bowl surrounded by towering granite walls on three sides. The trail, really more of a faint path in some places, was almost exclusively in the woods and extremely steep. It was taxing, but unlike yesterday’s hike, there were a few flat places to catch your breath and get your pulse rate under control. I must also admit that the surface you walk on has an almost sponge like, tundra quality, making the steep downhill declines much more reasonable on your knees.
Kim and I took a couple of short diversions on our way back to camp to see two waterfalls. The first one, which was really more of a 150 yard long, out of control, 75 degree cascade, was really quite stunning. The refugio had even set up a small shelter where you could brew up a cup of tea and get out of the weather on a cold, rainy day.
We capped off the day by visiting Mike and Suzy from Durango, Colorado. He was kind enough to share an extra gas for our Pocket Rocket, insuring that we would have a hot cup of Starbucks in the morning.
Another young couple, Thomas and Martha, wandered into our camp as we were getting ready for bed. They told us about how they were biking Chile from north to south, and had only taken a few days off from their schedule to hike Cochomo. It really made me think about our newly acquired Bike Fridays.
1/25 Casa Ko (9 miles, 41 total)
“Today is your birthday! Happy birthday to you,” flowed into my mind, as I rolled my 57 year old body over in my sleeping bag in search of my wrist watch. We had to get moving, as we had the seven mile hike back to the road system ahead of us. The last bus was at 5:00 P.M., which had to be a motivator of sorts.
After eating another huge breakfast, we paid our bill of $126 for our meals and sincerely thanked the friendly, helpful staff at the refugio. We then fought our way across the river one last time via the hand tram to pack our bags.
Within minutes we were roaring down the trail at supersonic speed, worried about making our bus. Unfortunately, the high flying soon came to a crawl, as we found ourselves again navigating the endless muddy trenches, tree bridges and other obstacles that make this 12 KM trail so memorable. Never-the-less, Kim and I set a new world record, rolling out to the trailhead in 4:01, which lopped a full 20 minutes off our time coming into the valley.
We then sat on the side of the gravel main street in Cochomo village waiting for a bus, being dusted in intervals of every five minutes by passing traffic. Even the cowboys on horses seemed to send up a small plume, which inevitably settled over our sweat stained, mud covered bodies.
I’m sure that God realized that it was my birthday, as he sent an express bus roaring through the village a full 45 minutes before our regularly scheduled bus. I jumped up and waved my hands wildly, hoping against hope that we would be drinking beer and taking showers shortly. He screeched to a stop and we hopped in, asking if he was going to Ensenada. Our driver took the term “express bus” very seriously, putting the pedal to the metal and seemingly not looking for any new customers. He floored the small Japanese bus, screaming around the tight corners and over the top of steep, blind hills on the narrow gravel road. Kim and I sat in the back, holding on for dear life. It was like being in a hurricane on amphetamines. “I walked my ass off for this,” rolled through my mind. “I die in crappy little bus in Chile on my birthday.”
My shower at Casa Ko was one of the most pleasurable experiences I’ve enjoyed in the last year. I was that dirty. Never have I used a wash cloth so extensively.
1/26 Ancud (2 miles, 43 total)
It was a long, hard day to go a short distance, which is common for South America. First we had to get the bus into Puerto Varas, flounder around there for awhile, and then get another bus to Puerto Montt, where we would be dazed and confused by the process again. Ultimately, we would buy tickets on a luxury liner that would drive to the local ferry, where we would ride the waves to Chiloe Island. All in all, it took us seven hours to go less than 100 miles from Casa Ko to Ancud.
The big news of the day was dinner. We had cuaranto, which is a steamed bag of shellfish, pork, chicken, chorizo and vegetables. All of these ingredients are wrapped in a giant nalpa leaf and then buried in the ground with hot coals. Everything was tasty, but in all truth, I loved the salty seafood gravy and bowl of fresh salsa the most. I really got a lot to eat. After the backpack, I had felt starved and in need of an old fashioned “pig out.” The cuaranto filled the bill. Best meal of the trip.
1/27 Ancud (2 miles, 45 total)
When will we ever learn? Stupidly, like we didn’t know any better, we signed up for a tour of the cultural hot spots of Chiloe Island.
The tour started with our guide, Carlos, colorfully exclaiming about he virtues of Chiloe in Spanish for a good 20 minutes. He then came up to us to provide the English version of his presentation, which was, “Chiloe means seagull.”
We spent the first half of the day driving through green, rolling hills covered with pastures filled with cows and sheep. Occasionally, we would breakout along the coast and look down on salmon farms, fishing boats and ferries. It really was a beautiful setting and it would have been fun to ride a bicycle on these quiet backcountry roads.
The principle selling point of Carlos’s tour was Chiloe’s ancient, wooden churches. In reality, they looked weathered and borderline decrepit on the outside. Sadly, they weren’t much better on the inside. They were simple, extremely rustic and spartan in furnishings, except for an occasional statue of Jesus, the virgin Mary or some of the local saints. Compared to lavish Cusco cathedral or the classic Catholic missions in Bolivia, these seemed worn out and in need of renovation.
The second part of the day was painful. Soon, we were visiting market after market, where locals sell three basic items: knitted hats and clothing, small wooden plaques with crude engravings of scenes relevant to Chile, and your basic made in China tourist trinkets. As the day wore on, our fifteen minute shopping sprees turned into 40 minute marathons. Kim and I, who had no interest in buying any of the items being marketed, impatiently waited for our fellow tourists to make it back to the van, kicking ourselves for going on the tour. We were both in a foul mood by the time we drove into Ancud.
Sleep and food are two of things we value most in life. Unfortunately, Su Casa, our simple Chilean bed and breakfast, was a disaster that night. The couple in the adjoining room seemed to be insomniacs and lovers of television. The husband cranked up their television around midnight, adjusting the volume somewhere around the level of jet airplane, and then channel surfed incessantly, looking for the perfect way to spend his night. We laid in bed, steaming about our situation, listening to obnoxious commercials shouted through the paper thin walls. Finally, a few minutes after midnight, I snapped. I stormed out of the room equipped with my Spanish dictionary, pointing out the translation of “loud” in Spanish to our host, Carmen, who had been relaxing at the end of a long day with a cigarette. I muttered something about “television,” motioned down the hallway, and then again pointed to the Spanish term meaning “thunderous.” After a few minutes of confusion, Carmen picked up my meaning and was immediately down the hallway, pounding on our neighbor’s door, telling him to shut off his damned television.
It had really been a miserable day. Chiloe Island was not our favorite place in Chile.
1/29 Villarrica (45 total)
It was another day of utter and complete Hell, as we sat in various buses for nearly 10 hours weaving our way north on Chile’s ultra-modern interstate highway system. We drove through lush farm lands and over a small coastal range into Valdivia. It was very green, with tree farms and glowing pasture land.
By the time we made it into Villarrica, both of us felt like Somali refugees. We had that grungy road feel, were homeless and absolutely starving. Thankfully, we scored a tiny cabin in the backyard of a local teacher and then wandered down the street to find a tolerable Italian restaurant. The long day ended in happiness.
1/29 Villarrica (4 miles, 49 total)
The weatherman got us again, more rain and wind, but for some odd reason we didn’t care. We slept in, enjoyed breakfast in our room using our Pocket Rocket to make Starbuck’s Instant Coffee, and then had a leisurely day of wandering around the village.
Villarrica is the lower class, poor man’s vacation cousin to the fancier, more expensive Pucon, which is twenty minutes up the road. It is located on the western edge of massive Lago Villarrica and you can see the Andes in the distance across the lake. The massive Vulcan Villarrica sits squarely in front of the village, perched like a Chilean Pompey. The setting of Villarrica is really quite stunning.
Its big claim to fame is it’s Mapuche influence. The one certified Mapuche we saw was dressed in traditional garb, blew a large horn and looked like a fierce warrior for around $.50. The center of main street has a traditional Mapuche grass hut and cultural village, surrounded by hundreds of cheap trinket shops that seem to do a brisk business.
Perhaps the most exciting part of the day was eating out of the supermarket deli, which is like eating at your average Albertson’s anywhere in the States. Kim and I were so jacked about denying the restaurant Gods, who normally extort enormous sums of money for mediocre food. So instead, we devoured chicken that tasted like cardboard and dried out pork chops that were an inch away from being jerky. Never-the-less, we were almost giddy about our big savings.
1/30 Parque Nacional Huerquehue (49 total)
I didn’t think it was possible, but God turned up the volume on the rain meter significantly. I mean, it poured hard all day long. It was like a hard, driving Oregon winter rain. It was depressing.
Thankfully, we moved to Refugio Tinquilco in Huerquehue (pronounced as “where KOA”), which was easily the nicest lodging of our trip. We even reserved the “honeymoon suite,” which wasn’t exactly lavish, but did have its own bathroom and actual windows that worked. So if you had to sit indoors listening to the rain pounding down on the roof, this was a great place to do it.
Unfortunately, the hardwood floors of the lodge were as slick as a Montana grease pig. As I got out of bed to visit the bathroom, I spontaneously found my feet where my head had been a moment earlier. “Bam,” I pounded into the floor, with the sound reverberating through out the building. The owner’s son, Jaime, stormed up the stairs to see if I had killed myself. I slowly collected myself, pulled myself upright and tested my bruised knee and ego. Everything moved and I meekly answered that I would probably live. Later that evening, thanks to a couple of fine Chilean beers, I was bounding about the refugio like a Spaniel puppy.
Refugio Tinquilco had your the typical South American dinner time, eating at 9:30 P.M. Since Kim and I are usually thinking about bed at that time, you can only imagine the rebellion going on in our malnourished, screaming with hunger pangs, digestive system. However, the wait was worth it. Patricio, the lodge owner, prepared an absolutely delicious soup, which was an old Bolivian recipe that included lamb, turkey, beef and a plethora of other ingredients. I was absolutely ecstatic when he came around with the pot, refilling my empty bowl a second time. For the first time since we had left the States, I was able to eat until full. Patricio had instantly become my favorite Chilean.
Kim and I really enjoyed sitting around the table after dinner, visiting with Patricio, his two sons, Jaime and Camillo, and another couple from California. It was a very pleasant setting where you felt at home.
1/31 Parque Nacional Huerquehue (5 miles, 54 total)
We finally got the backpacks on again, after four long days of rain and travel. The day wasn’t wonderful, actually a little cold and cloudy, but we were absolutely ecstatic to be out on the trail again.
The park is nice, with its numerous lakes and waterfalls. However, in my mind, the star attraction is its mammoth araucaria trees (monkey puzzle tree), of which some have a radius of of 20 feet across and rise straight up into the sky like an over grown palm. A few of the big ones were easily 100 feet high. Oddly, you would find a few trees that were shaped like your perfect Christmas pine, while others had no branches until you reached the upper 5% of the tree. I loved their spindly, warped looking branches, which were covered with 2-3” high rows of green, cone like growth. I’ve never seen anything like them before.
Although we weren’t exactly hustling up the trail, it was steep, wet and slick in places, I was shocked to find that it took us over five hours to go five miles. We were very pleased when we finally pulled into the campground and off loaded our heavy packs.
We spent the night comparing notes with with a nice couple from the Czech Republic. They gave us numerous options for backpacking on our way north, specifically pointing out some nice locations near Talca.
2/1 Parque Nacional Huerquehue (8 miles, 62 total)
It was a long, hard day of a missed turn, a heavy pack and backpacker’s depression. It all started with me walking by a sign as obvious as the Las Vegas Strip because I was too preoccupied with talking with a young Chilean couple using my five words of Spanish. As we continued down the trail I knew that something wasn’t right. “I don’t remember this,” and “Boy, this sure looks different,” were mentioned over and over. I finally stated that I thought we had missed the turn and screwed up, but did we turn around? No! That would have been too sensible. We continued on for a full hour before we came to a sign advertising the turn to Laguna Pehuen, at which point I came to terms with the fact that I may be the world’s stupidest human being.
At first we both laughed at our foolishness and quickly scampered up the trail to make up for lost time. However, as the day wore on, our pack’s weights grew exponentially and the grade of the hills became endless and impossibly steep. Never mind that it was beautiful day of about 70 degrees without a cloud in the sky. Forget that we were walking through unbelievable araucaria forests, by pristine mountain lakes and at one point, peering out at the snow covered expanse of Vulcan Lanin in the distance.
By late afternoon over legs felt like bags of cement. Every step was torture. Our moods darkened and conversation became strained. Finally, after 6 1/2 hours on the trail, we pulled into the yard of Refugio Tinquilco praying for a room and a meal. Patricio not only accommodated us on both counts, but exceeded our expectations with a wonderful baked salmon, broasted potatoes and beets. We ended a long day dead tired, but happy to be in Chile.
2/2 Parque Nacional Huerquehue (62 total)
Kim and I thoroughly enjoyed a lay around day at the refugio. It isn’t often that I opt for a day of nothing, but it seemed exactly what my frail, trail worn body needed. I have no idea of where the morning was spent, other than doing a little laundry and drinking numerous cups of coffee.
We ultimately found the strength to wander down the trail to the refugio’s beach, where we spent the entire afternoon charring our beluga white bodies to a rooster red. Mathias, a 14 year old boy from Santiago, drafted me to be his new beach buddy. We played catch, swatted around a tennis ball and swam the day away.
Night time brought huge crowds to the refugio. They must have had at least 20 people and were turning folks away at the end of the night. Patricio and sons again prepared another divine meal, Oriental theme this time, and then played a short concert for us as we finished our last few bites. It really was a nice little show and all three were excellent musicians.
2/3 Parque Nacional Huerquehue (12 miles, 74 total)
Twelve extremely steep miles and over 4500 feet in elevation gain made Sendero San Sebastian a very challenging hike. However, it was worth every step.
Once we broke out of the gloom of the dense araucaria forest onto a grassy plateau, an amazing vista of volcanoes Villarrica and Lanin appeared. Soon the track followed a narrow ridge line up a ridiculously steep slope. At times, we had to pull our bodies up the trail by grabbing branches or small trees. We powered our way past a virtual explosion of vibrant orange and yellow wildflowers. Ultimately, the ridge line narrowed and Kim and I had to scramble up and around granite boulders and outcroppings. As we fought our way higher, the grandeur of the vista included more and more alpine lakes, volcanoes and distant mountain ranges.
Finally, after three hard hours, we found ourselves standing on the top of the mountain. In turning our bodies a full 360 degrees, we counted nine volcanoes and eight lakes. It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve been on Earth. If only this one moment would have been our trip to Chile, I would have said that the trip was a success. It was a powerful moment in my life.
2/4 Villarrica (74 total)
We left our home of five days at Refugio Tinquilco for another long day on the road. Our first stop was the ultra tourist town of Pucon, a lakeside vacation mecca where you can do everything from climb a volcano to whitewater rafting. We hoped to visit the CONAF office to plan another four day backpack, but it was locked up tight and we would have had to wait two days for it to open on Monday.
Therefore, plan “B.” We walked the streets of Pucon looking for a place to stay, but everything was booked, so we hopped on the bus to Villarrica. We envisioned ourselves returning to our little cabin by the brook at the Professor’s Casa and then moving north like a flock of Canadian Geese in the morning.
2/5 Andenrose Hostel (2 miles, 76 total)
“You can’t go back,” is a very wise truism that Kim and I neglected to follow, which led to a very terrible night’s lodging at the Professor’s Casa in Villarrica. First of all, we couldn’t get our $45 cabin by the brook, which magically drowned out all of the city noise.
Instead, Guido presented us with the three bed, fifty year old room attached to their home. The room was conveniently located next to the 12’ high metal gate, which seemed to be opened and slammed shut every 15 minutes until midnight. As if that wasn’t enough, the home’s paper thin walls allowed us to listen to the television in Guido’s family room. Obviously, his daughter was big on watching a Latin version of MTV, as I could hear every lyric of the catchy tunes.
Around midnight the gate was locked and the teenager went to bed, but then the dog next door came to life. Apparently he held the 1-3:00 A.M. shift. He would wait until you were just dropping off into slumber land and then open up, full force and with all of the enthusiasm of a raging lion. His barking literally reverberated off the walls inside our room. It really wasn’t needed, but Saturday night, party town Villarrica insured insomnia with the faint noise of the hard driving, pulsing beat of the hot Latin band located in a downtown bar. Around 3:00 A.M., I was really questioning our decision to travel. Why? Why wasn’t I in bed in my humble, little, quiet Ivins home? Why?
Life did go on, even though we were walking zombies from lack of sleep. Again, it took all day to travel a very short distance. The most interesting bus ride was between Temuco and Curacautin, where we were packed in the back of the bus with at least 20 people standing in the aisles. To add to the flavor of the experience, it was at least 90 degrees inside our small, Japanese tin can, and we were blessed with a crying four year old boy inches away from our seats. Again, I really had to wonder, “Why do we travel?”
Language is always an issue when you’re in a foreign country. In this case, it was with our German host, Hans, at Hostel Andenrose. He enthusiastically announced that dinner was being served at 8:15 P.M. Being a man of continual idioms and excited about the prospects of eating his much acclaimed food, I replied, “I can’t wait.” He came to the conclusion that I was rude, and that I wanted dinner served at an earlier time. Of course, this wasn’t even close to the message that I was trying to express. Initially, I think that he thought that I was just another rude American asshole, but I worked hard to correct his perspective during the rest of our stay at Andenrose. I think he liked me at the end of our stay.
Our streak of marginal luck ended that night with dinner. Hans, who is an extremely boisterous Bavarian, prepared a true three course gourmet delight. Every bite, from the strawberry-lettuce based salad to an unbelievable piece of of white fish on rice, smothered with a rich, dark, mystery sauce, was so divergent in flavor. The taste buds in my mouth were doing continual backflips. Even dessert, my least favorite part of eating, was extraordinary. I went to bed that night an extremely tired, but very happy traveler. Again, I knew why we traveled.
2/6 Andenrose (12 miles, 88 total)
We had no idea that it was to be one of the great hikes of our lives. Lonely Planet gave it high marks, but no one else was at Reserva Nacional Malalcahuello-Nalcas. Where were the backpacking hoards of kids we had met on the previous trails? How about the Chilean tourists?
The hike, like all volcano walks, started with a steep uphill struggle through an amazing forest. We started with monstrous Oregon Pines and then walked by larger trees as we moved up the mountain side under a darkened canopy of dense vegetation. Some of these deciduous giants had trunks that were California Redwood in size. You couldn’t even begin to see their tops.
After about two hours we broke out of the forest to see Vulcan Lonquimay perched in front of us. The colors, a mixture of rich blacks, browns and reds of the cone, contrasted vibrantly with the neon green vegetation and deep blue sky. Across the valley, we stared at the projecting peaks of the Andes and Vulcan Llaima, a perfectly shaped volcano.
Like other days of hiking in Chile, we came home absolutely dead tired and in need of a long, hot shower to wash away the ever pervasive trail dust. Typically, we were also starving from our paltry lunch of Cliff Bars and nuts, but unfortunately, had to wait an additional four to five hours for our South American dinner hour. Thankfully, the wait was well worth it at the Andenrose, as Hans prepared another gourmet delight.
2/7 El Rincon (3 miles, 91 total)
We didn’t really hit the road with a vengeance, Hans gave us a ride into the bus station at 11:00 A.M., but we did move on to our next adventure.
The bus ride from the foothills of the mountains was magnificent. We rolled through hilly terrain covered with golden wheat fields rimmed by dense, green forests. It reminded me of Eastern Washington’s Palouse.
After another long day of switching buses three times, we ended up a few miles north of Los Angeles, a large trade center for the farming community of the region. Our home was at El Rincon, a sleepy, rural bed and breakfast owned by an older, somewhat stern German frauline, Erica. It is located out in the flat, semi-arid Central Valley and doesn’t seem to be a real destination for tourism. We took an hour long walk down a hot, dusty road from the B&B and both quickly came to the realization that boredom would kill us if we opted to stay more than a day.
Dinner was great, a pork chop in a gravy with noodles, and we enjoyed Stephan’s company (a German volunteer worker at the hostel) during the evening. He told us that he had given up his job as an economist in Germany to travel for a year and was working at El Rincon for board and food.
2/8 Parque Nacional Laguna del Laja (8 miles, 99 total)
Initially, Lonely Planet’s description of the eight kilometer hike from the highway into Parque Nacional Laguna del Laja scared us. However, we bucked up our courage and took a chance. It was a gamble well rewarded.
First of all, a dump truck driver took pity on us as we were hiking up the hot, gravel road into the park. He stopped and told us to hop in, saving us the bulk of the misery. Considering that our packs were heavy and the road was rather steep, we couldn’t have been more appreciative.
The park itself is gorgeous. Huge, jagged peaks protrude straight into the sky with a large glacier laying under them, leaking a torrent of highly silted water into the valley. Off to the northwest sits another of Chile’s perfectly shaped, cone volcanoes, Antuco, at around 9000 feet. The valley below is filled with scrub brush, Coigue trees and the raging white water of the Rio Laja. For the first time in our trip, we really noticed that we had moved into a different climate zone, with much smaller and sparse vegetation. We had finally said goodbye to the monster trees and rain forest of the South.
Kim and I took a nice 3 1/2 hour walk to see the park’s main attractions, two spectacular water falls. The first one was a Thunder River situation, where the river simply exploded from the ground. Apparently, an eruption by Vulcan Antuco had dammed up the river about five miles upstream, making a 40 KM long reservoir. Amazingly, the river had found a subterranean channel under hundreds of feet of lava until exploding to the surface at Saltos de Las Chilcas. The second waterfall, Salto del Torbellino, was simply a frothing, violent cascade off the mountain side that sent much needed spray onto our overheated bodies.
2/9 Parque Nacional Laguna del Laja (8 miles, 107 total)
It was a very difficult night in the campground, as our neighbors got really drunk and seemed to turn their music up louder and yell more as the night wore on. We were awakened about 3:00 A.M. by a group of motorcycles who decided to camp 10 yards from our tent. Unfortunately, their arrival seemed to stoke our booze crazed crew a few campsites down from us to new heights of stupidity and vulgarity.
We set out on another classic hike, the Sendero Sierra Velluda, at 10:30 A.M. It was already hot and we would again suffer as the hours were clicked off. The trek was up a steep mountain side, on a trail consisting of fine volcanic ash and lava rock. At times the footing seemed sketchy as we carefully crossed an enormous lava field, but it was the heat that killed us more than anything else. The end point of the hike was a close up view of the rugged mountain and its quickly eroding glacier. A huge condor soared above us as we laid resting on some rocks, obviously considering us for a meal. When I hopped up to take his photo, he flew off in disappointment.
Again, the vistas on our trek were incredible. I had my trusty Canon out of its case, shooting photo after photo of the colorful wild flowers and jagged mountain peaks. Then, like losing your best friend to cancer, the Canon refused to open its lens cover to take one last photo. I spoke to it, calmly imploring it to live. I stroked its belly and massaged its battery. Nothing! I was so, so sad. A great day had ended badly.
2/10 El Rincon (2 miles, 109 total)
We closed out the previous evening sitting at our picnic table drinking wine and visiting with our new Chilean friends, Rodrigo and Monseratt. It was really an interesting evening, as they told us about their lives, their families and the politics of Chile. The people of Chile are amazing. They seem so friendly and open to strangers. Rodrigo simply walked over into our camp and instigated our interaction because he wanted to get to know us. I hope to take his example and become more friendly and generous upon my return to the States.
The travel Gods smiled on us today, as we were able to hitch hike and catch all of our buses without much wait or difficulty. Now if he would just turn down the heat a few notches, life would be perfect. It had to be way north of 90 degrees in Los Angeles and at El Rincon, and with no air conditioning in sight, I was miserable.
2/11 Talca (107 total)
It was the night of the big heat, attack of the mosquitos and two small, but alarming earthquakes. Needless to say, neither Kim or I had a stellar night’s slumber. Since it was a balmy 95 degrees inside our room, we had to leave our window wide open, which was like inviting every mosquito in the Southern Hemisphere to terrorize us all night long. Due to this fact, we were both wide awake when the house began to shudder and shake like Elvis’ hips. Since we were already too miserable to really care, we simply laid there waiting for the roof to cave in on top of us.
Our day was a flurry of shopping and travel. Sadly, I had to replace my beloved Canon with a new Sony, which was on sale for 30% off at Lider, Chile’s version of Walmart. The four hours on the bus went by like four hours on a bus - painfully boring. Upon pulling into Talca, a more upscale little city built by big wine money, we immediately hit the high end super market to resupply ourselves for our next venture into the mountains. We were both hungry, so the cart was filled with many delicious things that we would have to carry in our packs. Kim was to worry about the weight of our delicous goodies until we made it to our camp site.
We checked into Casa Chueca, a more expensive, rural resort complex set on beautiful grounds. Sadly, they served the most disgusting vegetarian meal I have ever paid good money for in my life. Still, I was so starved, I asked for seconds. It says a lot about my character, doesn’t it?
2/12 Parque Nacional Altos de Lircay (7 miles, 114 total)
After enduring a beautiful, but extremely bumpy two hour bus ride through Chile’s “bread basket” of rolling farm land, we powered up a steep grade into the mountains to find Parque Nacional Altos de Lircay.
At first, the trail was really a road into the park’s car camp site, but soon we were walking up a steady uphill grade through a Coigue forest. Again, the trees were absolute monsters in places. The trail itself was absolutely miserable. The fine, volcanic loam was at least 2-3 inches deep in places and every step you took made a small, toxic cloud of dust that coated your entire body deep brown. Add to that situation, the day was hot and muggy, and our packs were extra heavy due to our reliance on eating real food for the next two days. Wisely, Kim and I took regular breaks to inhale water and eat salty snacks. When we would break out of the woods, the intense South American sun pounded down on our skin and sweat poured from our pores like a water faucet. We knew we were no longer in the Alaska like Southern Chile. It was like we were walking on a hot summer day in the mountains of Arizona or Utah.
The highlight of the day was taking the walk to a viewpoint overlooking the rugged peaks of the Rio Claro Valley. We could see all of the way into Argentina. It was really a magnificent view. It had made the pain of the heavy backpack, dusty trail and extreme heat worthwhile.
2/13 Parque Nacional Altos de Lircay (9 miles, 123 total)
Wow! What a great way to end our Chile trip! We hiked one of the most spectacular trails on the planet.
After quite a few dismal nights of slumber, due to heat and bugs, Kim and I both slept like rocks in the cold alpine air. We were up at first light and after a leisurely breakfast of granola and flatbread smothered under dolce de leche, we rocketed up the steep trail to the Enladrillado, making the two hour hike in half the prescribed time. The views were simply remarkable. Two massive volcanoes, Descabezado and Cerro Azul, towered over the rugged black and white peaks of the Cordon el Pelao. Turning your head 180 degrees, you could see the jutting peaks of the Andes Range as it spread both north and south. We hung out at the top of this totally flat mesa for an hour, taking photo after photo of the area. You literally felt like you were on top of the world.
Amazingly, the day got even better as we walked toward Laguna del Alto. The trail slowly picked up elevation as we wound our way to the top of a ridge line, where we ogled the pale green alpine plateau, peaks of the Andes Range in the distance, and colorful wildflowers bunched among isolated pods of lichen. Occasionally groups of large white clouds floated past us, enveloping us in a light mist.
When we finally reached the view point overlooking the lake, we were to witness another of God’s greatest masterpieces on Earth. It was a perfect cirque, with steep, rugged walls surrounding a dark green colored lake. The tundra around the water varied from lime green to an orangish brown. Miniscule purple flowers, which grew on the white lichen covering the black lava rock, completed the picture.
2/14 Talca (6 miles, 129 total)
I had no idea of how much I would miss the ever pervasive dust and noise of camp site six until we had packed up and left it.
Kim and I bolted out of the large communal camp site, which held at least 15 tents and 30 people, at 9:30 A.M. We rolled down the trail like we could already taste the juicy steak and cold beer of our dreams. Even though a large red headed woodpecker was working on a tree right off the trail, we barely stopped to to watch him. Earlier in the trip, it would have been a major event, with much time and energy spent taking photos.
The mostly downhill course roared by in what seemed like minutes, but was in actuality an easy 2:30. Soon, we were standing outside the ranger station chatting with our favorite CONAF ranger about our stay in Chile. She took many minutes off to give us ideas for our remaining days in her country. Finally, after talking about nearly everything under the sun, we asked when the next bus was arriving to take us to Talca. When she exclaimed, “It’s at 11:50, which is about 15 minutes from now,” I knew we were screwed. Regardless, we almost ran the remaining two kilometers to find that it had just left.
Next came the story of Patricio and Manuel, two civil engineering students from Northern Chile. I thought that they were waiting for the bus like us, as they stood around conversing with us in broken English for the next two hours. However, when the bus finally did arrive, they politely excused themselves to go hike in the park. I am continually amazed by the people of Chile. I mean, how many 20 year old American college students would stand around in the hot sun and dust to speak with some foreigners? People are incredibly nice here. They seem to have invented the word, “hospitality.”
When our bus finally arrived in Talca two hours later, we quickly realized about a twenty degree increase in the heat and misery index. Why, oh why did we leave the mountains? It must have been close to 100 degrees. Not even beer could alleviate my misery.
2/15 Valparaiso (129 total)
Our trekking trip was finally over. We packed up our things and headed to the bus terminal for our trip to the city. I was sad to be leaving the beauty and friendly spirit of rural Chile, but my body was yearning for a break from the steep uphill grinds.
The bus ride into Santiago was gorgeous, with lush fields of grapes, corn and fruit trees lining the interstate highway. The sharp peaks of the Andes stood in the distance. The ride from Santiago to Valparaiso was less impressive, as the climate zone had become more arid, with a Mediterranean look of vineyards and olive plantations backed by rocky, grey colored hills.
We checked into the Yellow House early in the evening. The bed and breakfast, owned by an Aussie and his Chilean wife, was probably one of our most enjoyable hotels of the trip. The building itself was quite old, but colorfully renovated, and the owners had put a lot of attention into detail to make their guests’ stay enjoyable. Martin couldn’t have been more accommodating or helpful in designing our stay in his city.
2/16 Valparaiso (5 miles, 134 total)
“I’m hot, my dogs are tired and I’m thirsty enough to drain a keg,” were the thoughts going through my mind as I finished our all day walking tour of Valparaiso. The German Pirate, Michael, zig zagged us up and down the colorful streets of the city for nearly eight hours. We visited decrepit old houses of 19th century bankers and businessmen, rode the ancient “ascensiors” up and down the steep hills, and wandered among the crypts in the Catholic and Protestant grave yards. At times, we looked down on colorful container vans and large ships in the bay, while at others we pondered life in the crude, weather beaten shelters that housed the city’s overwhelmingly poor population.
The major theme of Michael's presentation was that Valparaiso was once a wealthy city filled with English, German and American entrepreneurs. Then, the Panama Canal was built, which destroyed the city’s economy. Valparaiso had been the first stop for ships sailing around Cape Horn and merchants grew rich as the city served as a refueling and resupplying station. When the canal was built, ships no longer took the longer, more dangerous route around the Cape, making Valparaiso inconsequential.
The city slowly but surely deteriorated and areas which had once been the grounds of huge manors, now became filled in with shanty towns of impoverished slums. It was in a state of steady free fall until it was proclaimed an UNESCO World Heritage site in recent times. At that point, the wealthy Chileans from Santiago and rich Europeans returned to renovate whole sections of the city, and it became an acclaimed tourist destination with its colorful buildings and funky, San Francisco like atmosphere. Today, it has small pockets of affluence, where over sized BMWs and Mercedes try to navigate its impossibly steep, winding, cobble-stoned streets. Conversely, a few blocks away, densely populated neighborhoods of poor Chileans live in utter poverty in rusted out, corrugated iron walled shacks.
Valparaiso is a photographer's delight, with its vibrant color schemes and interesting architecture. At the same time, it’s one of the grimmest, most run down, frightening cities I’ve experienced in my travels.
2/17 Valparaiso (2 miles, 136 total)
Kim and I decided we needed to get out of the city. The depressing heat and humidity, congestion, noise and frequent warnings of muggers and pickpockets had pretty much destroyed our fascination with Valparaiso.
We took the 19th century ascensior down the hill from the Yellow House and then the 1950’s vintage electric trolley to the bus station, where we caught a “collectivo” (shared taxi) to Quintay.
Martin had told us to go to Playa Chica and not knowing any better, we took his instruction to heart. Unfortunately, his definition of what Play Chica was and what the locals called Play Chica were significantly different. We walked down a dusty path to find about 50 people collected in or around a small, sandy tidal pool, where the ocean’s water was trapped at low tide. Apparently, they all splashed around in the warm, shallow waters of the tidal pool, because the other option, swimming in the 50 degree water of the Humbolt Current, was too damned cold. I couldn’t quite push myself to climb into the tiny, shallow pool with masses, so we hung out in the shade of the rocks reading away the afternoon.
We finally grew bored with that late in the afternoon and walked into Quintay to find Martin’s Playa Chica, a nice sandy beach that afforded real swimming opportunities and would have been a much more enjoyable place to hang out. Kim and I were both hungry, so we opted for eating over swimming in the frigid water, where many of the people were wearing dry suits. It really wasn’t that hard of a decision.
Sadly, Martin’s suggestion of a restaurant was another disaster. My fried fish had all of the flavor of eating greasy cardboard, and from the first bite, I could hear my stomach talking to me, “Look at all the grease, David. It’ll punish you badly. Don’t eat it, David!” I should have listened, but instead ingested nearly every bite of the $46.00 mountain of fried, flavorless lard. As I sit here writing my journal, a full five hours after the act, my stomach is still protesting my continued stupidity. Will I ever learn?
2/18 Valparaiso (4 miles, 140 total)
Thankfully, our last full day in Chile was a great one. We opted for a horse back ride among the sand dunes north of Vina del Mar.
Our guide, a twenty something female from New Zealand, led us up and down giant sand dunes, across a small river and along the shore of the Pacific Ocean. Alana gave us riding tips and then encouraged us to gallop our steeds several times. Initially, I held on for dear life, but by the end of the day I was totally relaxed as Dina and I flew along the beach. On one isolated section stood a solitary, lost penguin, who was absolutely shocked when our trail dog hit him at 20 mph. The other trail guide, a Chilean cowboy, had to intercede to save the penguin’s life.
After we finished with our 3 1/2 hour ride, Kim and I opted for a walk on the beach for an hour, which felt great on my creaky knees. It was beautiful and peaceful, as only a handful of humans were strung out along its length.
Stupidly, we made the mistake of stopping to check out Vina del Mar on our way home. We had thought that were were going to eat there and continue with our beach walking experience. I have never experienced humans so densely packed into such a small space. There couldn’t have been six inches between the thousands of umbrellas lining the beach and people were lined up eight deep to stand in the frigid water up to their knees. Even walking the sidewalk made me claustrophobic.
Our last meal in Valparaiso was a good one, as Kim had a crab casserole and I had lomo de pobre, which is french fries covered by a thin cut of steak with an egg on top. The exuberant cook came out of the kitchen to make sure that we were enjoying his efforts.
2/19 In transit (2 miles, 142 total)
After the two hour bus ride into Santiago, Kim and I again jumped the “blue bus” downtown to buy some art. Unfortunately, our favorite artist was missing, so it turned out to be a wasted afternoon of lunch, walking around the downtown district in 90 degree heat and killing time at the airport. With our flight at 10:00 P.M., it really turned out to be a long, boring day of nothing.
The only nice thing about the day was seeing the outline of Anconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas, in the distance. One could see that on a nice day, after a rain to wash away Santiago’s ever pervasive smog, it would be a stunningly beautiful city in its physical location. However, like all cities on all continents, I was not a fan.
Our trip had been one of our best ever. We had visited many magnificent places and been able to see a huge swath of Chile south of Santiago. It truly is an alluring nation with a wide variety of topography and climate zones. Like the United States, Chile values public lands. It is a country full of national parks and reserves, all of which we found to be very special places. It is not simply Torres del Paine or Patagonia, but has a plethora of postcard beautiful landscapes and attractions through out the nation. I think it is one of the most visually stunning countries in the world.
Kim and I thoroughly enjoyed the people, finding them to be some of the nicest folks we’ve met in our days of wandering this planet. If we were lost and needed help finding out where we needed to be, people eagerly took the time and effort to help us. Even though we could have had a sign hanging around our necks, “I’m really stupid and I don’t speak Spanish. Help me,” they were patient, kind and considerate in offering advice or taking us by the hand. Even though it is an amazingly beautiful country, I believe its greatest resource is its people.
Perhaps we liked the trip so much because we were doing what we love the most: we were outside and hiking in the mountains. I don’t know when it will happen, but I hope to be back in Chile one day, only this time with my bike to go along with my trail runners. I can’t wait until my return.
