Lakes District (first leg)

The Lakes District by Cameron –
The brief two hour flight south from Santiago from Puerto Montt nearly moved me to tears. I had build up this trip in my mind for so long, that when we ascended above the Andes for the first time I just knew every expectation would be met. To the east toward the Chile-Argentina border a chain of mountains the size of Mt. Rainier dominated the horizon, and far below the expansive valleys that produce some of the finest food and wine in the world. Continuing south the spine of the Andes takes a significant dip, replaced by stand-alone conical volcanoes (including the famous and always active Volcan Villarica) surrounded by thick temperate rainforest and massive lakes.

Puerto Montt is located at the southern end of the Lakes District, only a few km north of the Northern Patagonia region. With three days to explore the land before our ship sailed from Puerto Montt we detoured northeast to Puerto Varas, a small lakeside town that serves as the gateway to Parque Nacional Vincente Perez Rosales. We spent a pleasant night at a hostel where I managed to get piss drunk with a Spaniard of questionable character, but fortunately Debbie was there to reel me back in before things got out of hand. We also met a really nice middle aged couple from the Bay area named Rachel and Dave, the alternative fuel engineers who we would cross paths with many times for the next couple weeks. The following day we pushed further east on a local transit bus to the base of Volcan Osorno on Lago Llanquihue. Ensenada is hardly a town rather a string of campgrounds and cabañas off a dirt road that follows the lakes southern shore. Following a recommendation from the hostel in Puerto Varas we landed at Tierra Sur, a beautiful family run campground with incredible views of Osorno. We rented bikes and a tent from a happy Chileno called Freddy, pitched the tent on the beach and set out on a 20km mile ride through the National Park. Freddy drew a map showing an unmarked overland route that would allow us to make a loop through the park, connecting the two park roads in the north and south. The first leg lead to the beautiful “Saldas” or waterfalls of Rio Petrohue, framed perfectly of course by the looming Osorno in the back ground. This was my first realization, however, that it would be difficult to disassociate ourselves from the train of high season tourists we would encounter throughout the trip. We paid $2 each to watch the falls before heading for the cross trail that proved every bit as inconspicuous as it looked on Freddy’s map. The trail was single track, climbing through the dense forest, then across a huge slab of volcanic rock at the base of the Volcano with open views for miles, then descending through more forest to the north road. The north road was a very steep drop back to Ensenada down the base of the Volcano. I can’t imagine a better way to experience the park than by Mt. Bike. Thank you Freddy for the great recommendation!
In the evening we had a modest feast and built a small fire. It was right about the time Debbie started to vent about her broken Spanish and inability to practice when a goofy young Chileno called Christopher invited himself to our fire accompanied his quiet girlfriend, Romina. He shared some kind of sweet tasting booze and warm Coco cola with us, and proceeded to make conversation (mostly jokes). He spoke just enough English and we spoke just enough Spanish to create cheap laughs for a couple hours.
In the half light of morning I awoke to an urgent internal alarm. I hadn’t taken two steps outside the tent before I shit my pants. If you haven’t shit your pants since you were a small child, then let me tell you it is a traumatic experience. I can’t even remember shitting my pants as a child and people who know me well know I don’t like shits and farts. Fortunately, the beach was empty and I was only 100m from the shore. Making soup the whole way, I made a dead sprint for water, wondering if Carl Lewis or Edwin Moses had ever realized the extra burst one gets while shitting their pants at a dead sprint. After a thorough rinse in the lago and a couple hours of shame, I came clean to Debbie about the incident. After a few laughs I was able to put the incident behind me, but regular bowel movements would have to wait until we boarded the Navimag (thank you Dave and Rachel for the Diarra). They say a frog’s ass is water tight, and I spent the next couple days wishing mine could be. My good friend Stephanie (“Stiffy”) York recently told me that people in the Peace Corp. say you can “never trust a fart.” Well, I don’t anymore.
After another morning swim, this time for fun with Chistopher and Romina, we bused up to the community of Petrohue on Lago Todos Los Santos, common water crossing en route to the Argentina border once traveled by Che Guevara (Motorcycle Diaries). We were there twenty minutes on a black sand beach in 75 degree heat before applying sunscreen. Two hours later we returned to camp more burnt than we would realize until morning. We treated ourselves to a pricy but worthwhile salmon dinner at a nearby restaurant (Debbie accidentally ordered a bottle of wine instead of a glass because she didn’t know how to say “glass” in Spanish), then turned in early so we could catch the early a.m. bus to Puerto Montt and meet up with the Navimag Ferry



Lakes District by Debbie –
It took a few hours after saying goodbye to my parents in Santiago for me to really get excited about our departure for Southern Chile. It was great to hang out, explore, and suffer through broken Spanish and language barriers with them. I felt they understood what Cam and I were up against when they left as well as got a good sense for this city we’ll be living in. How special to get to share that experience with them. There are certain places in Santiago I won’t be able to walk past without thinking about our Amazing Race-esque Adventure!
We left Santiago and hopped a plane to Puerto Montt. I thought I’d take a powernap to help alleviate my jetlag hangover, but couldn’t unglue my eyes from the plane window. We flew over all these perfect lagos and volcanoes and were able to pinpoint them on the map. It was a perfect aerial view of the landscape we’d been reading and researching for the last six months. It finally felt real, we were really doing it!!
Arriving at the Puerto Montt bus station after our flight was a bit overwhelming. It was a massive hub of people soliciting our business for tours, hostels, food, just about anything. We finally saw a minibus with our destination of Puerto Varas on it, the bus looked a little sketchy and I wasn’t positive it would make it out of the station, but we decided to approach. As Cam attempted to ask some important questions in broken Spanish such as how much does it cost and when are you leaving, the driver started to back out while the two young boys started yelling and motioning us to get on. Why not? We weren’t sure we were headed to the right place, but we’d figure it out eventually, we hopped on and squealed out of the bus station. Now our gringo selves assumed we’d go straight to our destination, oh no, the bus was only half full. The driver proceeded to stop by every group of people gathered on the side of the street while the two boys tired to convince them to get on board, no matter what their destination, come to figure out later this was the public bus system, no scheduled stops or departures, people just catch buses when they happen by and get on and off as it suits them. Some people would get on and ride two blocks, others got on with sacks full of groceries or other day to day items. My favorite was the man who got on with a welded coffee table frame. Just when I thought there wasn’t anymore room with all the seats full with people sitting and the aisles with people standing, the driver couldn’t possibly expect more people to fit, sure enough he would pull over for more passengers and somehow they always managed to squeeze in, it was amazing! The next objective after filling the bus over maximum capacity was to get to Puerto Varas as fast as he could so he could drop us off and do another run; this meant passing all other vehicles on the road, cars, buses, tractors, etc., on the left or right, whatever it took at mach speeds. This was truly the ride of my life, although by the third or fourth trip it became more routine as I became acclimated!
Our destination, Puerto Varas, was a cool town on Lago Llanquihue, much more laid back than what we had experienced in Santiago but quite touristy. I got the sense there were some cool local scenes and recreational opportunities off the tourist trail, but we decided only to stay for one night after overpriced food and drinks in light of spending time in a quieter beach town about an hour away.
After another bus ride (this one slightly less exciting after the shock value had worn off) we arrived on a strip of highway sparsely covered with hostels, roadside restaurants, Tenador Libres (all you can eat buffets), and mini mercados, Ensenada, our destination. We’d been told about a campground that was laid back and rented equipment at the end of the strip. When we walked into the office and after much broken Spanish, English, and some sign language, our buddy Freddy hooked us up with a rented “carpa” (tent), two bikes with helmets and water bottles, and a sweet camping site on the beach with Volcan Osorno looming over us at the edge of the lake. Freddy’s English was about as good as our Spanish, so of course the exchange took twice as long, with some minor miscommunications, but we all had some laughs and smiles (some things are universal and don’t need translation, thank goodness). After setting up our tent and high-fiving on our sweet beach location with a killer view, we set out on our bikes.
Freddy showed us a route on a map that would take us to the waterfalls inside Parque Nacional Vincente Perez Rosales. After the falls he showed us a “road” that was “possible” to take our bikes on in order to make a loop trail. Sweet, thanks Freddy! Oh wait, did you notice your “road” is a narrow dirt trail with steep hills and that we’re not extreme mountain bikers? We should have clued in with the first steep, sandy hill, but we were at the beginning of our trip and felt adventurous (hello, we were mountain biking in South America!), so of course we went for it. We ended up walking our bikes up most of the rocky hills, but the down hills were pretty adrenaline rushing with my life flashing before my eyes every time I braked on a dirt turn. (Does my travel insurance cover injuries on Freddy’s extreme mountain biking trail? I’ll have to look into that if I make it back with all limbs intact!) The one payoff was the valley of volcanic ash directly between Volcan Osorno and Volcan Calbuco that was completely secluded, I guess not many people take Freddy’s trail. Those who know my klutzy tendencies will be happy to know that I only really wrecked twice and made it out with scars on my right shin and elbow. To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed to come away with only two scars from the whole experience. I must be turning over a new leaf, well, talk to me in seven months to see if that hold true. When we arrived back at camp we had to decline the bikes for a second day as neither of us were in bike riding shape and had soar bike riding areas. A second day seemed torture; we’d take our chances with the crazy bus system.
That night we caught a decent sunset on the beach, and after eating jamon, queso, and palta (ham, cheese, and avocado) sandwiches we were ready to call it a night until a young Chilean guy named Christopher and his girlfriend Romina made themselves at home at our fire after we lent a bottle opener for their bottle of sweet Chilean lacquer. What we meant as a nice gesture turned into an evening of Spanish lessons while Christopher and Cam took turns telling jokes in Spanish. For those of you who have heard it, Cam can now translate the “Supplies” joke in Spanish, complete with gestures and animation. Christopher thought the joke was so hilarious he literally fell over laughing! We also had some of our cultural questions answered, such as the deal behind “completes” (fully loaded hotdogs), and our first tasted of the Chilean male jefe. We finally made it to bed at 2 am with promises to go swimming in the morning.
True to his word, Christopher was outside our tent at 9 am (almost immediately after Cam’s “incident” see his blog) with offers of coffee and a morning swim (a second for Cam). Later he extended invitations to his home this winter when he’s on holiday, I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.
That afternoon we took the bus to Petrohue to see black sand beaches. We were pretty excited at the beautiful water and warm sand, enough to lie out for about 20 minutes and sufficiently burn ourselves to a crisp. I couldn’t move my arms all night and have since peeled off a complete layer of skin (not just sections). It was a typical gringo mistake, too excited at the prospect of sun and a tan after a Seattle winter; we neglected to put on sunscreen despite warnings of the strong UV rays and weak ozone. We definitely paid for it the next two weeks; in fact I’m still peeling in places. However, despite the dead layer of skin, I let the Lakes District with a glow for the people, scenery, and bueno onda (good vibes).