Volcanoes & Fish Stew - Chile 4x4 - 25 Jan 2003
Beauty
Next trip for the Toyota
Puerto Montt
While Pat was sensibly concentrating on driving on the dirt roads, Esther and I were enjoying the views. The verdant banks of foliage were enriched by the wild fuchsias, which were the height of small trees. Their small flowers hung like red fairy lanterns on the roadside. The meadows of cattle were knee high in wild flowers of yellow and white. The small hamlets through which we passed had flourishing roses and boundaries of hydrangeas, the blooms of which were big enough to make suitable accessories for cheer leaders. These hydrangeas were stunning, ranging in colour, from pink to dark purple, from pale to royal blue, interspersed by bushes showering with brilliant white blooms. All this with a backdrop of snow capped volcanoes. A true feast of beauty.
Our route for the day was not the most efficient. I had looked at the map and planned to take an approximate route south using a mixture of roads. The road went over towards the border with Argentina, then headed South on a river valley, and out to another set of falls, called Huilo Huilo. The water was being forced at speed through a narrow ginnal in volcanic rock. As the roughness of the rock pushed the water into turbulence, the crevasse was filled with an apparent bionic Jacuzzi of aquamarine water. It was mesmerising watching the water swirl and bubble as it forced its way through. The falls themselves did not disappoint, the water flew over in a burst of hydraulic energy, foaming over the edge and plunging so hard into the pool below that the water beneath was forced back up towards the top of the falls. As the water fell the whiteness of the spray was highlighted with a pale turquoise. The waters mixing below in the pool went through the full spectrum of aquamarine, dark turquoise into midnight blue. The colours were outstanding. With a view of the falls for our lunch spot, enjoying pastrami and avocado sarnies, we were aware that life doesnít get much better than this.
The road I had planned to take south from here was, we found, out of action - a bridge or two out. No worries, we could go round the South end of a lake and still be going in the right direction. No such luck, as the road became soft dirt and the road side shrubs brushed the sides of the truck Pat decided sensibly that we should turn back, or should I say reverse, since there was no space to turn back.
Pat was remarkably patient about this ñ reversing on a dirt road with a precipice as an edge is not my idea of ideal driving conditions. Our only option was to go North side. When we saw a sign telling us we were only 30km from where we had started the days journeying we realised that this was going to be a day of not getting very far. We headed for the coast in the end and Valdivia.The final stretch of road gave me a choice of dirt or tar. I opted for plan A as I was determined to let the 4x4 pay for itself. So far, all of the roads that weíd been on only needed 2 wheel drive and good ground clearance. Iím pretty sure that with good driving, this is pretty much the case on all ìroadsî of the world as Mike and Patsy had shown in Malawi. The road proved to be another well made stretch that the average Reliant Robin could have coped with. Now, thereís a thought ñ around the world in a Reliant Robin.
We were all a bit tired when we poled up at Valdivia and the promise of nice hostels evaporated; either full or being renovated. In the end we found a third string offering that had friendly folk owning it. The promised excellent food on board a moored boat in the river disappointed a little. Some time Iím going to be disappointed enough to correct the Lonely Planet, but I guess one bad meal does not merit a rant. Any way it wasnít bad but just failed to reach the over inflated promised standard. Just along from the restaurant was the fish market which had its own little crowd of hugely bloated seals resting on the top of concrete pillars. By the look of them they were fed by the fish stall owners with all the left overs and never moved from the spot for the least exercise. A more depressing collection you will never see with horrible scabby fur and dejected expressions.
We took the easy option and used a little tar for a change and hooned to Puyehue Park, on the way picking up a little lunch and a huge punnet of fresh raspberries from a farm stall. On a bend in the road I managed to land on them, ooops! We enjoyed raspberry puree for lunch. We went for a nice stroll up a hill for some views over a lake and up to some volcanoes. The stroll took us through lovely forest. As the sun shone through the huge ferns making them translucent and the trees glistened with the shafts of light, I knew that whatever else happened today would be a good day. It was only hindered by some rather ugly looking horse flies with bulging orange eyes that plagued the sunny spots on the trails and preyed on unsuspecting tourists. On our return to the car I realised that the semi-squashed raspberries had been sat in the sun on the back seat, and had began to slowing stew in the heat. Looks like alcoholic fruit then. Shame.
There was the option of taking the pickup up to the top of the volcano. So we could not resist. As we rose and rose the vegetation became more and more stunted until eventually it was reduced to low scrub and then alpine flowers. The top of the volcano emerged as a killer whale emerges from the water with its white patches made of snow, against a background of volcanic ash. On the way, we were keeping our karma intact by picking up a chap training to be a tourist guide on his day off. The walk in the crater, was punctuated by a stroll on a patch of snow. Clearly Hippy is a little more blasÈ than I am about walking in a volcanic crater, with lumps of lava everywhere and smooth ashy sides. Extraordinarily, for it was a bleak place, small plants including daisies were colonising the crater and it was quite colourful in places.
As we descended the promised rain began and Pat was beginning to show the strains of keeping the car on an even keel in the dirt (how dare she suggest that I was not in perfect control) and so we decided at Puertto Octay to call it a day. We found the beginning of this drive stressful as we had a petrol gauge showing empty and the first promised petrol station didnít materialise. There was the feeling, though, that people would have stopped and helped ñ luckily we made it to the first station without mishap. Esther is clearly unaware of the efforts I was going to to get us home without embarrassment. At each stop I had got the manual out for the car and did a few calculations based on the size of the petrol tank to make sure that I looked after my passengers. Close call, though, especially as one of the petrol stations shown on the map did not exist.
Our luck was in, as we piled our belongings into a huge cabana with six beds a lounge and dining area the size of Crossing Cottage (for those readers who have not shared the joys of a night in this railway property in Sneinton, this is a house with a 10 m by 5m footprint) and a fully equipped kitchen, not to mention the raging wood stove radiating heat. It was a refreshing change to be able to spread out. That evening we ate a simple meal and later Esther and Pat attempted to train me in 3 handed bridge. I have only played bridge about twice before and on both occasions found it frustrating that when people bid they talk in code, a code that all the players know. So I still do not understand the point of the code, and why people do not tell people in simple terms what they have. Obviously that whole idea of bridge is a little beyond me. I was relieved that this odd bidding ritual seemed to be less codified in the 3 handed version.
Now it was Estherís turn to be frustrated by my lack of competition. At some point in my youth, maybe when my inability to spend money was programmed, all competitive instincts were erased. I am the kind of person who tells fellow players in monopoly that they can pay me later to prevent them going under. classic ëfear of failureí [webpsychobabbler] Hardly the kind of person you want as a partner in a bridge game! Worse still when playing poker ñ tight as a gnats chuff and no sense of competition ñ is she bluffing or just trying to do our heads in? I have to admit that I found all this quite mystifying. What is the point of playing a game like bridge if youíre not trying to win? Clearly this is another aspect of life on which Hippy and I will agree to differ... For those who care, Pat won and Hippy came a happy last!
The next day was the last leg of the journey to Puerto Montt. We had hoped to catch views of Volcano Osorno on the way but the rain persisted and instead we contented ourselves with a little Kuchen in a Bavarian village of Frutilla on the shores of a lake. This town was so Germanic that all the street names were German and it was complete with Hotel Salzburg and Munich.
Esther had read of a natural arboretum run by the University, that in the summer had guided tours given by informed volunteer students. Despite the continuing drizzle we had a charming tour by a lovely young lady, who explained the symbiotic relationship of some trees, the pretty flowering climber that made cascades of small red flowers up the trunks of trees. Esther was gaining confidence in her Spanish by utilizing her classical education in Greek and Latin, and conversing in as many scientific words as she could muster, with only slight adaptation of pronunciation and the addition of an ëoí on the end of everything. Making words like ëbotanicoí paleantologicoí etc. It was perfectly effective. It is unfortunate that one cannot take this approach to an everyday conversation, most of which lack the scientific basis to permit it. It was quite alarming to find that my scientific Spanish is better than my conversational ñ I even managed to discuss my friend Martha who has looked at the genetic similarities between European and Chilean plants. Scary when I can barely order beer normally!
We had been recommended a little hostel by a friend, we met in Mendoza, so we poled up to the door. The hostelier presented Esther and I with a pair of slippers each to encourage us to leave our grubby shoes at the door. Mine were huge, and Estherís were too small. (Small point but maybe they should have swapped?) As I shuffled through the hall and up the open spiral staircase in my flippers, each step was not only a conjuring trick to try and flip the slipper back onto my foot as a raised each foot but it was also positively dangerous. I am sure this is the stuff that Rowan Atkinson could make a half hour programme of. The accommodation offering was cramped and expensive, so we went to try one of the other million and one guest houses in the town.
Another recommended by the books appeared to be shut and as we tried to get in an enterprising bloke called us over and for his trouble was rewarded with our custom, using a spare room in his motherís house. His mother seemed not to mind which was a blessing.
The place to eat is the fish market at the end of the dock. The smell of fish pervaded the air and although the stalls were clear, the discarded scraps from the day littered to ground between the stalls. There were all manner of tiny caffs squeezed into the market area, all bidding for custom. It is one of those situations that it is impossible to know which the best to go for is, and in the end we took the apparently safe option of choosing a stall that was recommended. No. 93 Charming name, we thought.
Unfortunately the recommendation was unsupported by their food. Their fish stew, complete with chicken and sausage was large but also the mussels were accompanied with a large helping of sand. (and the most disconcerting black hairy bits ñ possibly this is supposed to be there but I felt the need to pull them off all the ones I ate) All washed down some just drinkable medium house white wine. A bit of a disappointment all in all. I felt somewhat guilty here as I had suggested coming and allowed us to be guided by the Lonely Planet. Erroneous Planet (nice one Esther, a change from our description of Lying Planet) might be more appropriate! We are considering writing a book of errata though there may be some copyright issues...