From the first day, Esther was his favourite - Esther 2:9 - 20 Jan 2003
Change of transport
Helen & Pat Have a Visitor
Now we are three
Wine therapy
Nightmare for Hippy - I'm cool
Volcanic Activities
Road to nowhere
Esther was due to arrive from England via Brazil and we had to get out to the airport to meet her. This was the beginning of a long section of public transport. Getting buses is all very well and extremely green (although trains and trams are better) but you do have to walk over to the bus station in the first place and find out when they go, where to get off and all that kind of stuff. Seemingly getting to the airport was a good way to break ourselves in. And a reasonable success it was, too. Only being dropped at International departures proved to be confusing. However, down one floor and we were ready to receive. During the inevitable delay, Hippy went off to find information on wine tours.
There were nice signs everywhere telling us that there was tourist information. But could I find it? -no. In the end I asked at flights information and they informed me that it was over there and gabbled something in Spanish that I could not follow. In the end the lovely lady asked a security guard to lead me. As I followed him, he led me the wrong way through the exit of departure and I was then milling with all the folk who have just come off the plane. The sweet guy waited patiently, as I asked all manner of questions at the tourist information desk and led me back through the exit ramp. Pat looked decidedly stunned as he saw me coming out, with a look of what the hell are you doing in there.
We glimpsed Esther, through the glass and waved like mad, there was no recognition
(It was impossible to distinguish them from all the other waving people - I wasn't being rude. I rather hoped they would be waving from the bridges above arrivals but this wasn't to be,) and she drifted in the direction of the exit for internal departures. I knew it was unlikely, but I was taking a belt and braces attitude to meeting her, and headed off to wait at internal departures exit. I assumed that now that Hippy was something of an aficionado of the airport, she knew something that I didn't. I had always understood that international arrivals had to go through customs and national did not and so there was a mutual exclusivity to their routings through the bowels of the airport. There seemed little point in arguing. Hippy likes to do her own thing.Within a few minutes Esther was led up by Pat, and it was great to suddenly have all the extended emails become a reality. There she stood in flesh and blood - a blast from home, where ever that is.
We had not planned to do anything majorly exciting for the next few days, and thought we would play it by ear, and see how tired Esther was after the long flight and a bit of jet lag.
Well, here I am in Chile, on my mission to report on the lives and times of the two happy travellers.
The first thing to say is that they are indeed here. For those of us who suspected that this whole website is a fabrication run from a villa in Surbiton - we were wrong! I must admit though, that I have yet to meet Bertha the Bike, due, I am told, to repairs being necessary. So I may not be able to disprove the theory that they are travelling the world by luxury private transport...
So what can I tell you so far? I have been asked (by Pat) to stress the difficulties of their chosen path in life, but I must admit to finding this difficult. For those of us used to rush-hours, deadlines and mortgage repayments, there is much to be envious of in the travellers' way of life. So far the stresses that I have seen are things like:
'What time shall we get up?'
'Is the sun over the yard-arm yet?'
'Which wine shall we buy for 90p for 2 litres, to drink sitting in a sunny courtyard in central Chile?'
'Which ridiculously cheap hotel shall we stay in today?'
'What interesting/beautiful scenery/objects/town shall we see/visit today?'
These all seem to me to be far removed from the stresses those of us leading lives in the rut in England get.
However, chores still need to be done and perhaps those of us used to throwing things in the washing machine and forgetting about them would struggle with the thought of scrubbing clothes at the sink, as Hippy does. Hot water and showers are not available every night, and standards of hygiene are, shall we say, different... There is an emphasis on the appropriate functioning of Pat's bowels which would be considered unseemly in some circles. Simple tasks such as posting a parcel can take all day; luckily, Hippy and Pat seem to be good at taking the slowness of time in Latin America in their stride. And then there is the constant movement - never more than a few nights in the same place must get wearing at times.
What I perhaps have noticed more than anything is the number of people doing similar trips. What seems odd, to say the least, to those of us leading 'normal' lives (if such things exist) in the UK seems positively normal out here, certainly compared to people I've met who are doing even madder things such as bicycling round the world.
Hippy and Pat seem to enjoy having an old friend to visit, though I have put up their daily budget considerably. Odd really - there I am exclaiming over the cheapness of a hotel (8 pounds a night!) and Hippy is going pale at the expense. Still, they seem to be managing to spend money and have gone to a lot of effort to arrange a good trip. They tell me they would love to see more people, so get yourselves on the email and start arranging.
I will be adding small comments to their text (I'm told the webmaster will even give me my own colour) and hope to add another commentary before I leave in early Feb. I thought fuchsia [webmaster]
I was impressed to see that she was raring to go the next morning and so we headed south to a small place called Curico. We were not wholly aware of what quality of transport provision there was in Chile. But it quickly became clear that, in order to get to the desired vineyards and to see the more out of the way places in the Lake District, we would need our own transport. Unfortunately Curico was a sweet little town but it did not have the sophistication of having a car hire place.
Despite the fact that we achieved very little in the way of tourist activity, our hotel had a vine shaded patio and as we drank wine we relaxed and caught up on gossip. At this point I thought I had made a very sensible decision to come to Chile; wine, sunshine and good friends - who needs more?
Having Esther here made us quickly realise that our version of what is normal is a little different now to your average British person. We had become so accustomed to things that we failed to even notice them anymore. But with a friend with us straight from the hustle and bustle of the UK it was all so much more obvious. Things like the siestas, the laid back nature of Latin American life, the small toddlers up till midnight, all seemed perfectly natural as was the poverty of some of the housing. It does explain why when we return to the UK, we found the rushing around all a bit much. Somehow alien and yet familiar at the same time. If it hadn't been for the opportunity to chill in a house in the middle of the Notts countryside I think we would have found our return far more of a culture shock.
Does this mean that our view of normally is so much changed that we never be able to settle back in the UK? Does it really matter if we don't? She's off on one again. It might matter to your friends - or there again...
On to Talca, which is supposedly the dullest town in Chile, but it did have vineyards nearby, and a car hire place. We booked into a rather nice hotel. To be honest the nicest since Western Europe, complete with cable TV, and a beautiful courtyard with fountains and the like. I ought to point out to readers that I have always been afflicted with the inability to spend money. (I think most of them know that, Dear.) So although logically my brain knew that it was a bargain at 8 quid a person a night with brekky, I could not prevent my irrational mind getting stressed by the amount of money we were spending. I started looking on the next few weeks as a bit of therapy for me, and hoped to encourage my irrational mind to accept that we have plenty of money in the bank to be able to afford a little luxury now and again. Not sure what my therapy is except perhaps slowing down a bit and helping Hippy to spend money.
The lovely man on the reception assisted us by helping us book a car for the next day. What he actually did was dial a number and then handed me the handset to blather on as best I could to the voice at the other end. Still, I managed to make my request clear and sorted out to pick up a car the following morning. That evening we ate at the fire station. Every bombaderos here has a rather nice restaurant attached to it, with flower arrangements and tablecloths and everything. We sat down to a wholesome feast and went back to relish in some nonsense American movie on the TV.
Pat picked up the car and we headed off to San Janvier. Into a little vineyard, where it seemed to be run by the Chilean equivalent of Sharon and Tracey, who did not want to be troubled by the inconvenience of dealing with potential customers as they gossiped. The wine was as bad as their attitude and we left a little disappointed.
A little village of Villa Alegre, is the kind of place that is oozing with tranquillity. Haciendas of adobe with people chilling and watching the world go by. It is the kind of place where every day feels like a Sunday, and you can imagine that people still talk about the last time people got angry sometime last century. We could live here - I'm sure that they need teachers.
I wonder about Hippy sometimes. Frequently in fact. How can one know by a fleeting visit to a town that they need teachers? Are there people who walk around with "Poorly educated in mathematics" signs around their necks or something. She explains in my ear that the presence of children suggests the requirement for teachers in the community. True for anywhere, then, except perhaps Bognor Regis. I digress.
It all seemed a little weird to travel by 4 wheeled transport for a change. The car leant the wrong way, and things. Somehow travelling in a car you are more divorced from nature, the smells the changes in wind and temperature. Inside the car I felt more like we were in a cubicle insulated from the outside world, and rather than experiencing it we saw it much as a person looking out of a window on the world.
Still a major shortage of vineyards selling their wares and so we took a quick blast down to the coast. Coincidentally we passed a promising looking bodega that suggested it would open its doors at 2 0' clock. Constitucion lived up to its reputation of a holiday sea side town. It had a plethora of fast food shops on a pleasant square. There was also a fairly large representation from the spare-me-some-change folk that accumulate around areas of the superfluously monied. We did not really give the town a fair go as we had got the wine tasting bug and felt the need to get back on the degustation route. We enjoyed a completo hotdog (not quite what I expected to find in Chile but there you are - sausage, mayonnaise and palta (mashed avocado) whilst looking at the Easter Island statue thoughtfully provided by the management. Delightful.
The little place that we'd spotted on the way down to the coast proved to be fascinating. Gillmore is the name of the wine, Tabontinaja the vineyard. We were met by a charming girl who insisted on taking us around the vineyard rather than just tasting their products. By now, Hips and I have seen our fair share of stainless steel fermentation vats and French and American oak barrels and so we were not too keen. We followed on and were delighted when the production facility bit was over in a jiffy and we were led off on a short trip around the vines and other bits. They keep a huge collection of stocks of vines even though they only produce from about 4 varietals. They reason that keeping breeding stock up their sleeve will stand them in good stead for the future.
Their other hugely far sighted policy is diversification from wine production. Everywhere we have been, we have seen more and more land being turned over to vines. Before now I have worried that there must come a point when the world wine lakes will break their banks and the whole market sink into oblivion. This is the first vineyard we've come across that seems to share this opinion. Their answer is vinotherapy. Sounds good, eh? Not as good as you may think. This is a new form of skin therapy that involves washing in wine and use of other wine based preparations. Keeps one looking young, don't you know. In my youth we used to call it pickling. They have built a rather nice set of apartments to house therapees which for the moment are used for the entertainment of wine writers and buyers. I hope their venture takes off. It's a reasonably novel, if to my mind wasteful, use of wine.
Oh, their wine is well worth the effort of finding by the way. Particularly their award winning Cabernet Franc. In my role as moneyed visitor rather than impoverished traveller, I bought a couple of bottles (for the princely sum of 6 quid each), so I hope that they felt the time they'd given us had been worth it.
Nightmare for Hippy - I'm cool
Hips was keen to find out exactly when we needed to be in Puerto Montt to catch the ferry down to Puerto Natales. I am always grumpy at such moments saying "We know what day it is and we know that its some time during the day and so lets just get there the night before and check it out" This is to avoid the effort of taking things out of the rucksack to get the tickets out. Pathetic isn't it. This time, Hips unilaterally got the tickets out and discovered that our tickets were in fact for 4 days later than we thought and heading in the opposite direction to that required. Bugger. I was sure that we could sort it out in the morning, had a large slug of wine and slept like a log. Hippy wasn't, didn't and didn't.
The start to my day was a rushed breakfast, followed by a series of phone calls. There is a certain pride in being relied upon as communicator, but as I am not that confident at the Spanish thing, I also get very stressed by being pushed into this position. We are grateful to Pat as he manages to appear very cool about all this and has pretty good Spanish despite what he may say. Thankfully, the girl at the ferry office was very understanding and helpful about the problem and soon sorted it out. The next call was to book a car down at our next port of call so we could hoon out of town in quick time to see the sights. This turned out to be easy too as the chap at the other end of the phone knew all the appropriate phrases and responses required for car hire in English. There was one shaky moment, though, when I asked for a car and he said they had none. Fortunately rather than putting the phone down and giving up, I waited a moment and he said that they did have a 4x4, though. Perfect. Job done.
The girls were frightfully thankful for my efforts to the point that I thought that they had planned to barrage me with thanks. I was a bit embarrassed by it all, but we all love a bit of flattery, don't we? I left to take the car back before returning to the hotel for a rush to the bus station to head down to Tumuco. The rush did not relent at the bus station. We had two minutes to buy tickets and board. Still, the tickets were discounted. This day was turning out to be just perfect. No glitches at all.
From the bus window, as we hooned south, we began to see the classic views of snow capped, perfectly conical volcanoes for which this part of Chile is noted. I couldn't wait to pick up the car and get in a good viewing position just to sit and take it all in. The car was only a little delayed. It gave Hippy the chance to nip off to the airline offices to confirm our flights north at the end of Esther's time out here. We'd decided to spend longer in the south and so needed to change our flight tickets from a full price one-way to a cheaper (of course) return flight. This was all accomplished without too much angst and we were chuffed to be heading out of Tumuco in the direction of the Lake District.
We had assumed that the name of the area referred simply to the number of lakes and not to the striking similarity to the Lake District that we all know and love. The similarity was only really clear once the clouds had descended and covered the snow capped volcanoes. Also the hedges, cows, sheep and general green everywhere did make you wonder just what the point of flying all this way had been - a trip to Grasmere next summer would have been a lot cheaper!
It was a refreshing change to just gather up our kit and just dump it on the back seat, instead of spending an hour bungeying everything onto the bike.
Villarica was a bit like Banff of some Alpine village (or is that Andean). Lots of wooden houses, touristy shops and people selling outdoor gear. We checked into a simple guest house, where the reception doubled as the living room, dining area and playroom for the family, complete with a stuffed teletubby on the sofa. Stepping over the toys scattered on the floor we carried our stuff upstairs.
The family of the house had 2 rather inquisitive little girls. One of whom had the appearance of a dark haired Shirley Temple, who introduced herself by wandering through our open door with a pair on wooden sun flowers that were as tall as she was. Despite her lack of communication with some English speakers she was not short in coming forward. We would be quietly reading and a little cheeky face would appear round a crack in the door. I could not decide whether she was merely curious about these strange foreigners or she was generally this precocious.
We awoke to English Lake District weather of drizzle. We were all for chilling for the day and visiting the museum. But Esther so recently from England of course saw nothing adverse about the weather, and rightly persuaded us to make the best of the day ahead.
The snow capped peaks were obscured from view by the mist and rain making the scenery so like the UK version it was uncanny. Being a bit of a miserable day it made sense to head for a cave. This is a bit of an unusual cave being one of only two visitable lava tube caves in the world. Not really a cave in its true sense. These lava tubes are formed by a flow of pyroclastic lava which forms a crust. The contents of the flow then finish being refilled and empty out at the bottom of the hill. Depending on how fast the lava was cooled at the surface and the type of material in that flow at that time, a diverse set of candle-wax type formations result. Some are like an inside out chocolate bar but not half so tasty. Our lovely guide, Tito filled us in all manner of Vulcan related matters in the most delightful sing-song English. Rather a charming little visit and an excellent way to avoid the worst of the weather. Good choice, girls.
Onwards and downwards, we found ourselves floundering in the hot springs that are omnipresent in this hugely volcanic area. It was the maddest sensation to sit in one of the chain of seven pools of varying temperature with the rain beating down on the top of your napper. Pleasingly, the majority of the occupants were locals and the few overseas tourists managed not to break the tranquillity of this wonderful spot in a verdant gorge. Probably we were as noisy as anyone. After drying off in the excellent cabins that are provided (one surmises that wet weather here is not so rare) our skins were left feeling beautifully smooth and our bodies filled with a lovely warm glow.
Off again and a visit to some rather nice water falls - the Ojos de something. We couldn't quite work out where the "eyes" part of the title came out, but it was a fascinating and enchanting spot, nonetheless. Formed when the valley bottom was filled with a lava flow, a lake developed and the overflow is split into two parts by the plug. One can stand on the plug with the waterfalls to either side meeting in the most limpid blue pool before flowing off into the distance disappearing into a misty valley beyond. By ëeck, it were that nice I could almost have shed a tear. Instead, the rain drops rolled down my cheeks.
The cold had re-entered our marrow and so we were pleased to find a restaurant serving hearty bean soup on the way home. Must be the best soup and most welcome since eastern Europe.
And so to home and bed.
The weather improved overnight and it seemed that we were in for some lovely views on our Lake District wanderings. We headed off into the country. Esther and Hippy were directing and I was mostly gazing at the road ahead. It made a nice change to be driving a 4x4 instead of Bertha for two reasons: firstly, everything seemed a lot more stable with four bits of rubber on the ground, the other important point is that as it's "just a hire car" you don't have to worry too much about taking care of it to the same degree. That is, it just needs to get back to the owner in a half convincing condition rather than keep going for the next n thousand miles. I didn't really race around as, hopefully, the girls will testify, but it did mean that we could cover a bit more distance in a day than usual and still stop here and there and take in the sights.
There is also the feel-good factor of being able to pick up the local carless and taking them to wherever they want. I wasn't sure if I was happy when we collected this beast and it was a pick up, but now it seemed the nicest thing to have as we had loads of passengers throughout the day. I was astonished when we caught up with vehicles which had clearly passed the people that we picked up. Miserable sods. Also when we weren't giving lifts to all and sundry I was able to sit in the back and enjoy the sunshine (yes, sunshine!) and all the smells that you miss in the car - some might suggest that I was also missing some smells that you get in the car but I won't go into that! It gave me some idea of the differences between motorbike and cars that Hippy was mentioning earlier.