{"id":1295,"date":"2011-12-02T23:53:58","date_gmt":"2011-12-02T23:53:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/?p=1295"},"modified":"2014-05-28T04:44:58","modified_gmt":"2014-05-28T04:44:58","slug":"hitchhiking-and-hospitality-in-chiloe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/chile\/hitchhiking-and-hospitality-in-chiloe\/","title":{"rendered":"Chilean Southern Hospitality, Rain or Shine"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"map\">\n<h1 class=\"map\">&#8230;<a href=\"http:\/\/maps.google.cl\/maps\/ms?hl=en&amp;vpsrc=6&amp;ctz=180&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;msa=0&amp;msid=218151755033626230929.0004b24014acdf1e7e8fe&amp;t=p&amp;ll=-41.508577,-64.511719&amp;spn=19.722848,87.714844&amp;z=3&amp;source=embed\" target=\"_blank\">Travel stories from hitchhiking in Chile to Chiloe<\/a>&#8230;<\/h1>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"google-map\" src=\"http:\/\/maps.google.cl\/maps\/ms?hl=en&amp;vpsrc=6&amp;ctz=180&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;msa=0&amp;msid=218151755033626230929.0004b24014acdf1e7e8fe&amp;t=p&amp;ll=-41.508577,-64.511719&amp;spn=19.722848,87.714844&amp;z=3&amp;output=embed\" width=\"300\" height=\"150\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><span class=\"dropcap\">T<\/span>iny lapping waves of an incoming tide moved toward the house, as though some giant entity were swimming below the bay water\u2019s surface. Through the bright window panes of the pinewood house I could see the salt water circulating in the ebb and flow of the day. Down the bay line I could see Dalcahue, a small chilote town, and across the way the island of Quinchao. Geese waded passed from one side of my window view to the other, like in a silver screen. Clouds hung low, and on the ground the green wet and dripping, the yellow retaining its luster in what few rays of light broke through.<\/p>\n<p>It was the Isla Grande de Chiloe, Chile\u2019s second largest island after Pascua (of tall stone face sculpture fame) where I observed the goings-on from a toasty house. The computer sang Bach for us, and we were pleasantly satisfied, once more busy at Scrabble or busy at important discussions. I looked across the table at Sammy and said, \u201cyeah, \u2018toa\u2019 is a word, but I\u2019m not sure it works in English Scrabble.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The journey through the southlands of Chile began with the departure from the Cuartel, where I left Pame and Catalan with their lust. The protest, cheap beer, cheap living, and encounters with old friends faded into memory.<\/p>\n<p>Valparaiso also faded behind as the car I was in climbed out of the city. I was with a man I\u2019d asked at a gas station. He seemed reluctant at first. For that,rides from gas stations are interesting. You most likely get a ride with someone who would not otherwise stop for your thumb. Sometimes it\u2019s strange. The second ride of the day, also from a gas station, had studied at Yale. Rock-hard looks that the drivers give you as you approach their personal space\u2014which includes their car\u2014always soften back into humanity once you begin explaining yourself.<\/p>\n<p>I followed a road off the main highway so as not to have to circumnavigate the periphery roads of Santiago. I\u2019ll get to the big city when I get to the big city, I thought. The day unfolded slowly. A few rides through San Antonio, the country\u2019s busiest port, and onto the aptly-title Route 66. The Chilean Danny DeVito gave me a short ride to somewhere in the middle of nowhere.<\/p>\n<p>I waited for a number of hours, passing the time chucking pebbles at a road sign. A passenger bus was slowing down, but my thumb was not extended. It stopped in front of me. I crossed my fingers for a chance ride or even a bikini tour like at the end of Dumb and Dumber. Instead, they asked me for directions, and I had no idea. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>The bus trudged onward, the tires rubbing the pavement, invisible squeaks piercing the silence. A pick-up truck pulled over soon afterward.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere are you headed?\u201d asked Guillermo.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cUh,well, Talca, I suppose.\u201d Talca was the next big city south of Santiago. By heading San Antonio way, I was circumventing the capital city so as not to deal with the hassles of bustle.<\/p>\n<p>Guillermo chuckled, \u201cwell, you\u2019re in luck my friend, hop in!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Down the road I ate my first Chilean completo, which is a hot dog. But it\u2019s a complete hot dog, apparently. Tomatoes, avocado, onion, mayo, ketchup, mustard, etc. A coke washed it down. I thanked Guillermo.<\/p>\n<p>The road went straight for a long time. Of all songs to play, I heard Adele\u2019s Rolling in the Deep. My mind drifted back to Lima again. Eventually we came to the main highway, the Ruta 5. It is a small coincidence that the U.S. Interstate that forms part of the Panamerican Highway is Interstate 5, running from San Diego up through my college town of Eugene, all the way to Seattle and the Canadian border.<\/p>\n<p>Guillermo talked about his job. He worked for an engineer building pedestrian bridges over rivers in remote Mapuche neighborhoods. Mapuche, you ask? The Mapuche boast the reputation as the one indigenous group that the Inca could not subdue. The Spanish also had a difficult time, hence the military build-up that eventually made Chile into a military powerhouse.<\/p>\n<p>We cut south on the Ruta 5, through bright green vineyards, the plants distinctly tall and roof-like, unlike their American or French counterparts. We passed \u201cVina San Pedro\u201d and several other fields that Guillermo insisted yielded the best wine in the world.<\/p>\n<p>When we reached a small town called San Javier, Guillermo turned off the 5.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHere\u2019s where I get off. I\u2019m headed to see my sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThanks for the ride, and the meal,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOye, I\u2019m heading down toward Temuco tomorrow morning at 5am. I\u2019ll pick ya up if I see ya.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I smiled wide, \u201cGreat, I\u2019ll look for you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>With that he left, and I began a long walk down the 5. The sun told me it was around 3. The sun lingers in the sky for many hours, not falling below the horizon until 8 or 9. As I strolled in the heat, my mind wandered off. People prefer bad news to good. If I flick drivers off they\u2019ll probably stop for me.<\/p>\n<p>In San Javier I bought what has become my regular dollar meal in Chile; bread, tomato and pate\u2026 and banana for desert. Yum.<\/p>\n<p>Fast-forward many hours and I found myself walking down the route in the pitch black of night. It must have been around 10. I was somewhere near Chillan, a large town just south of the larger city of Talca. One trucker had given me his information and invited me to Talca when I would pass through on the return journey to Santiago. But for now I was just trying to find a Copec.<\/p>\n<p>Copec Gas Stations. Or Terpel, or Petrobras gas stations. These are essentially ridiculously expensive isolated service stations along the highway that offer showers, bathrooms and Wi-Fi in a fancy glass building.<\/p>\n<p>Walking, I eventually came upon a broken-down rig and tow-truck. The men told me the Copec was 10 kilometers down the road. It took me another hour of walking to decide that I didn\u2019t want to walk the entire distance, and instead pitched my tent in a field of high grass. I cannot deny that having the small laptop has changed my travel to a certain degree. I think these posts come out better, and I can continue working remotely for employers. However, as I let the sleep pull at my eyelids in the tent, I took the time to watch Batman Begins.<\/p>\n<p>The unmistakable light tapping of a morning drizzle woke me around 6. Damn, I thought, I\u2019ve missed Guillermo. Temuco was still several hours south. The sky was a gray overcast, and the mark of morning had still not convinced me I was awake.<\/p>\n<p>On the highway I walked for 5 minutes before a familiar pick-up truck pulled over. Guillermo was late, as he put it. I met his sweetheart and his sweetheart\u2019s kid. She offered me pan de Pascua, the traditional Chilean bread baked around the holiday season. Guillermo had told me he was also divorced. The more money per capita a country has, the more divorce there is, I decided.<\/p>\n<p>Several relatively quiet hours later I wished them well just north of Temuco. Guillermo drove off into the hills, off to construct a blue bridge.<\/p>\n<p>A smiling pair of women picked me up from the onramp. Adele was playing on the radio. They drove me to the Temuco entrance 20 minutes south. In Chile, the main highway is much like an interstate. There are pluses and minuses to this. In other countries, the road went right through the center of town. For hitchhiking, it meant more walking, but it forced you to know a place. Sometimes it\u2019s a place that you might decide was worth the bad luck to be dropped off in the center. In Chile, the hitching is facilitated by a system of circumvention, but a part of me regrets having the choice to not enter a city. Talca, Chillan, Temuco\u2026 I know nothing but the highway entrances. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>Where am I? Look at the map. Temuco. The big cities from Santiago are as such: Santiago-Rancagua-Talca-Linares-Chillan-Los Angeles-Temuco-Valdivia-Osorno-Puerto Montt-Isla de Chiloe. What was the plan? As ever, there was very little plan. When Sammy had left El Cuartel in Valdivia, we said we\u2019d meet up again in Chiloe, where his family friends had offered him a house to crash in, somewhere. On my part, ever since I entered Chile I\u2019ve heard enough talk of Valdivia. Valdiva. It\u2019s synonymous with artisanal beer. Alas, is that a plan?<\/p>\n<p>Soon a man in a Scion picked me up from the road. It was early morning, and the sky was still gray. He was Jose, and heading to Puerto Montt. The road was that smooth highway, freshly built almost freshly mixed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s asphalt,\u201d he said. \u201cMore flexible than concrete.\u201d He looked at me for a moment and then turned his gaze back to the road. \u201cYou heard about the earthquake?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, I was in Mexico.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt his close to Conception. Whole Metropolitana felt it. Bunch of buildings fell down. Whole fishing villages vanished. The roads were all shook to shit. At least, the concrete roads. These are new.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The 2010 earthquake killed over 700 people. It was one of the largest earthquakes to date. The most interesting analysis was with the Haiti earthquake of the same year, of lesser magnitude, but which claimed over 250,000 lives. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere are you headed?\u201d he asked me with a sideways glance.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cValdivia.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA beautiful place, Valdivia. Great forts.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cForts?\u201d my ear perked at the word. I loved old battlements.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, in Niebla and around. Most defended port in the country, and in much of South America I think,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n<p>Later, we stopped at a lone building along the highway. Stretching out beside it was a covered area with behemoth spherical clay ovens. A man was digging plump disks of something out of the ash and tossing them into a basket.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou hungry?\u201d Jose asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCould eat.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome on.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Inside a team of family members worked in the kitchen. We strode over and Jose ordered tortillas. I watched a man passing a mass of dough over and over again through a roller. The scent of the place was of bread and coffee, and the powdery air made the whole scene somehow more authentic.<\/p>\n<p>At a table covered in plastic to protect the already damaged table cloth I sat with Jose. The coffee fixings and sugar were placed before us. I kept stealing glances at a poster of a \u201cmapuche\u201d woman in \u201ctraditional clothing\u201d, or so it said. I thought it was just a hot girl in lingerie.<\/p>\n<p>The meal was the southern Chile version of whatever the word \u201ctortilla\u201d represents. The lumps of cinder I\u2019d seen the man pulling out of the oven were actually pieces of bread. They knead the dough, form the bread cakes, and bury them in the ash of the oven, building a fire above them. When they\u2019re ready, the cakes are removed from the oven, and the ash scraped off with a wire brush. They\u2019re served fresh with meat, cheese, or any of a number of ingredients. They\u2019re delectable, and probably travel extremely well, the warm soft insides protected from staleness by a hard toasted shell.<\/p>\n<p>Jose dropped me off at the crossroads that would lead 50 kilometers away from Ruta 5 to the city of Valdivia. I wished him well and thanked him, and he left. He\u2019d left me with a bag of extra cheese tortillas.<\/p>\n<p>A man soon pulled over once I\u2019d finished a covert squat and had returned to the road. He had a sunken eye, puss forming at the crevices. I thought how unfortunate that you don\u2019t see more people like him. He dropped me off down the road and another man quickly picked me up. This southern hospitality thing is no joke, I thought. We didn\u2019t talk, but he offered me a cheese tortilla. He didn\u2019t quite understand my polite refusal, and I was forced to down the offering, grateful nonetheless.<\/p>\n<p>Since Temuco the landscape had changed. It was no longer hot, but warm. The sky remained overcast, but the fields shifted drastically from bush and boney trees to lush green and towering pines. Rolling velvety fields of light green wheat looking like a fairytale, thick bushy oases of trees plopped here and there. Then eucalyptus. Despite my incorrect use of the word, I want to write that they came in droves.<\/p>\n<p>I finally made it to Valdivia, and said goodbye to my ride. I walked across the city. Buildings were all constructed of wood panels. They were painted many different colors. This part of chile is famous for its German influences, and when I went to the San Sebastian University to use the Wi-Fi, a few of the old German houses that had survived earthquakes and weather lined the avenue. Besides the architecture, German influence was obvious. \u201cHotel Gerlach,\u201d \u201cKunstmann,\u201d etc. After some students obliged me by revealing the university\u2019s password, and after checking the internet (which we all know what that entails), I headed to the fish market.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1300\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-fish-market.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1300 size-full\" title=\"Valdivia Fish Market\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-fish-market.jpg\" alt=\"Valdivia Fish Market\" width=\"500\" height=\"281\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-fish-market.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-fish-market-300x168.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Valdivia fish market with sea lions.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Valdivia is a small city that sits on a wide river. The access to the sea explains the giant sea lions which sit just behind the market, awaiting the scraps. The market was filled with all sorts of fish, mussels, clams, fruits, etc. There was also a submarine, on the fins of which lazed more sea lions. I enjoyed the town, the wood, the lack of concrete.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_315\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-chile-patagonia\/attachment\/valdivia-submarine\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-315 size-full\" title=\"Drawing of a submarine in Valdivia, Chile.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-submarine.jpg\" alt=\"Drawing of a submarine in Valdivia, Chile.\" width=\"500\" height=\"375\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-submarine.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/valdivia-submarine-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sea lions on the tail fins of a submarine in Valdivia, Chile.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Across the bridge I walked, eager to find Niebla, a coastal town where forts were purported to be. The other side of the river was clearly the \u201cnice\u201d part of town. So it goes. Anyway, the neat lawns and straight sidewalks reminded me of home.<\/p>\n<p>I bought more bread, pate and tomatoes, filled my water at the tap and asked a man for Niebla. I walked that way.<\/p>\n<p>A construction contractor picked me up from the road once I\u2019d figured out which way to go. When the clouds persist, it\u2019s a wonderful thing to meet nice people. He spoke of his work, and I spoke of how I wanted to work in construction one day, that in fact I already have, more or less. He took me to his most recent project, a restaurant that he\u2019d constructed on the river that takes the shape of a boat. From stern to bow, keel to bridge, the thing is a legitimate boat. Inside I found tiled floors, trimmed walls and railed stairways to the top. From the outdoor area I admired the view over the water. It minded me of the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, green plots of land surrounded by water, and gentle and drastic hills alike diversifying the shore.<\/p>\n<p>The contractor drove me to Niebla, past the fort, and dropped me off at a beach access. It began to drizzle. They had told me it was wet down here. I knew it was wet in the south. They said it rained 10 months out of the year. I could swear I was back in Oregon.<\/p>\n<p>The dark-sand beach seemed cold. Tiny waves crashed, but the muted roar of the water through rocks betrayed the true danger of the undertow. Mist clouded the horizon, which would be blue if not for the gray. To the south, across the river mouth, was the town and old fort of Corral, to the north was a high cliff and slippery rocks. Once I\u2019d climbed the cliff, chucked stones into the surf and done some business hidden in the bush, I mounted a staircase. I pitched my tent overlooking the Pacific Ocean, smack dab in the middle of a residential neighborhood. The houses looked hippy, and the hippy I asked seemed kind.<\/p>\n<p>The next morning I paid a 500 peso entrance fee to see the fort (1 dollar). I was the first one there, and immediately upon mounting the rock outcropping into which the fort itself had been carved, I found the way I might\u2019ve snuck in. Oh well.<\/p>\n<p>The clouds had not disappeared. They seemed to dangle in the air, dark and light in places just like Oregon\u2019s sky, the same kind of sky that you do not know why, but gives you a feeling of apprehension, but the kind of sky that makes you happy the rain is slight.<\/p>\n<p>The fort was built on the point. On the other side of the water I could see the Corral fort. The lighthouse seemed to glow from some unplaced light source, and formed a marked contrast against the age of the stone or the vibrancy of the grass. On a lower level, rusted canons sat facing outward between restored sandstone parapets. One can see the magazine storage house was carved directly into the cliff, a space between wall and rock protecting against wintertime humidity.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1301\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/fortress-of-niebla.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1301 size-full\" title=\"The fortress of Niebla, one of the most important military installations in the 19th century Chile.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/fortress-of-niebla.jpg\" alt=\"The fortress of Niebla, one of the most important military installations in the 19th century Chile.\" width=\"500\" height=\"375\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/fortress-of-niebla.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/fortress-of-niebla-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The fortress of Niebla, one of the most important military installations in the 19th century Chile. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.flickr.com\/photos\/26788525@N04\/favorites\/page8\/?view=md\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The on-site museum explained that the Bay of Corral and Valdivia were defended by a system of 15 forts and lesser batteries, all of which exist to this day. During the war of independence, the forts were captured by land, not by sea, and the commander, Lord Cochrane, rightly chose not to destroy them. In the museum, a lady approached me and told me her son was a traveler. She gave me her number and told me if ever I was in Rancagua, she would gladly offer me a bed and shower. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>From behind the museum, I stood staring out into the bay, imagining an armadas\u2019 creaking wood and portholes fiery from blasted cannonballs that would soar overhead, perhaps cooked red-hot and meant as incendiaries. The sky was dark despite the time of day. I heard barking.<\/p>\n<p>I moved forward and climbed onto the fence, peering down the cliff. 100 feet below I saw two dogs. They were barking and encircling a sea lion cub, or a seal I couldn\u2019t tell. The barks were angry, and the cub had its head outstretched vertically into the air. One of the dogs would snap at the cub, and the cub at it. I watched with a subdued sense of horror sinking into my chest, as the dogs overcame the cub\u2019s attempts to defend. The dogs lurched forward and clamped the cub in their powerful jaws, trying to rip the neck apart. As one dog thrashed violently at the neck, the other would take up a fin or flipper or belly. They tore and thrashed until they slipped or until the cub wiggled enough to free itself. Despite the obvious thickness of the marine mammal\u2019s skin, I could make out the unmistakable dark red of blood.<\/p>\n<p>The cub would back up toward the water, and the dogs would clamp it again, and drag it unmercifully back to up to land. The whole scene was a display of natural violence that humans are very much a part of, but that they are very much disconnected from. My insides turned in angst. The sight didn\u2019t create in me a desire to be a vegetarian so much as a desire to eat canine. It also brought the pressure of time to the fore. So many things had to happen in a precise order, a precise timing, so that the cub would be attacked by the dogs. How much choice does anything have, after all? Living seems to convince me more and more that fate is. I watched as the cub met its fate. But if time is always continuing, then we\u2019re constantly living our fate. And it doesn\u2019t matter that we think we can change it, because it\u2019s only going to happen in one way. Free will? Insomuch as you are free to think your decisions are changing the future, you have free will. Even your life-changing moments\u2026 how can anyone say that they\u2019re<br \/>\nbeyond fate? How appropriate that I find relevance in the book I\u2019m currently reading:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>&#8220;When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight oclock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather&#8217;s and when Father gave it to me he said I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it&#8217;s rather excruciating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father&#8217;s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>\u2013<strong>William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>I walked out of Niebla and waited at the ferry terminal for one of the cars unloading from Corral to pick me up. Heavy smokers left me off in front of an establishment I\u2019d passed on the way to Niebla; the Kunstmann cerveceria. The brewery was a big building modeled after a German country home, with big varnished wood pillars and that iconic method of timber-framing. Walking inside was somewhat like walking into tourism, if that makes sense. I didn\u2019t mind. I wanted beer.<\/p>\n<p>I ordered the sampler for 2,400 pesos and sat to a table. The waitress came up in her dirndl dress and presented me my shots of beer: lager, torobayo, bock, miel, and others. The honey beer was esquisite. <a title=\"Kunstmann brewery, Chile\" href=\"http:\/\/www.lacerveceria.cl\/sitio\/\" target=\"_blank\">Kunstmann<\/a>. The Bock had a wood taste that reminded me of my favorite beer, <a title=\"Black Butte Porter beer\" href=\"http:\/\/www.deschutesbrewery.com\/brew\/black-butte-porter\" target=\"_blank\">Black Butte Porter<\/a>, from Deschutes Brewery in Bend, Oregon. Oregon was my so-called formative period when it comes to beer. That, and my time in Belgium. Miss Golden Draak.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_303\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-chile-patagonia\/attachment\/kunstmann\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-303 size-full\" title=\"Kunstmann beer in southern Chile sketching\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/kunstmann.jpg\" alt=\"Kunstmann beer in southern Chile sketching\" width=\"500\" height=\"375\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/kunstmann.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/kunstmann-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">I drew this at the Kunstmann brewery in the south of Chile. Good beer sampler.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>After using the men\u2019s room (although the rather feminine symbol on the door did not convince me), I hit the road. Walked. Hitching beside a gated community sucks. Eventually I got a ride back to Valdivia. That night I stealth camped in a park, walking passed a \u201cCamping Prohibited\u201d sign, and despite a guard\u2019s flashlight strafing several times over my tent, I was not caught. In the morning I noticed the trees were tall. The forest was beautiful.<\/p>\n<p>I walked to the McDonald\u2019s to do a bit of work and to play around online. I found Sammy was online as well.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYo dude,\u201d I wrote.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey, I\u2019m in Valdivia,\u201d he wrote back.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo shit, I\u2019m at the McDonald\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlright. Be right over.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sammy showed up tall and wrapped I his two shoulder bags as usual. He always had on a gray hood sweatshirt, and I always asked how he could handle that in hotter weather. He smiled and sat down without a word.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey, man, lucky. How is it that we\u2019ve managed to go online at the right moment now twice,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah. I\u2019m meeting a couchsurfer. What are you doin?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI was gonna hang out for a bit more and then head south tomorrow. Camped in a park last night, pretty tranquil. And chance I could\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, come on I have to meet her soon.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Down the Germanesque streets we walked and sat in front of a strange-looking God House. Loreto showed up and smiled at Sammy. She didn\u2019t think he could be the one because he\u2019d written her that he was coming alone. When she learned about me she decided it was alright for me to stay at her place as well.<\/p>\n<p>She lived in a small apartment with two rooms. Sammy would crash on the bed and I on the floor. At a bar downtown we drank a myriad of artisanal beers, then the popular Escudo beer, which means \u201cshield\u201d, back at her place. I retired early and fell onto my mattress.<\/p>\n<p>In the morning it all felt so ephemeral, and indeed it was. Sammy and I agreed we\u2019d meet\u2014that is, both be in Castro\u2014in something like four days. Sammy and I shared a passion for history, and so the forts in the Bay of Corral were just right for him.<\/p>\n<p>It took several hours to walk to the far edge of Valdivia to where I assumed the countryside began, the urban clinging to the southbound road like elastic molasses. The sky remained somewhat overcast despite the previous days\u2019 short-lived sunshine. I stuck out my thumb.<\/p>\n<p>A car with a family pulled over, and the driver got out. He was white, skinny and blue-eyed. I through my pack into the trunk, and his wife got out of the front seat to sit in the back with their daughter.<\/p>\n<p>The man stopped and said something. When he opened the passenger door he suddenly let out a terrifying yell, \u201cEL PISCO ES KAPUT!\u201d And so it was that when he\u2019d pulled over, a bottle of pisco they had bought broke against the underbelly mechanics of the driver\u2019s seat.<\/p>\n<p>It\u2019d been a while since I\u2019d seen an angry German, but that language seems to exaggerate the anger. I reluctantly climbed into the front seat. He was fuming, and no one said a word. Then his wife said something to me, and I didn\u2019t understand. The German husband snapped at her in, in German. After 10 minutes I said in English, \u201cAt least it was a good pisco; that much I can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It was 50\/50 whether they\u2019d take it negatively or positively. Lucky me. We talked about the financial crisis in Europe, the Eurozone dissolving, etc etc.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe people, they don\u2019t understand. The debt. We need debt to survive, that\u2019s how the system works.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd debt doesn\u2019t reflect transnational organizations\u2019 profits stream into countries,\u201d I offered.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. But most importantly, this is big, and I just want people to understand it. I\u2019m a professor at the University Austral. It\u2019s very frustrating\u2026\u201d he paused. \u201cThat smell is going to stay in here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They let me off near \u201cCecinas Czischke,\u201d in case you were still wondering how strong the German influence here is. In fact, during WWII, this entire area was blacklisted by the allies and trading embargoes were enforced.<\/p>\n<p>Another short ride brought me toward Ruta 5. I walked for the final 2 kilometers. Yellow flower fields and red blooming trees complimented the walk. On the highway a hydro-engineer picked me up. When he let me off in Osorno, after stopping briefly at a police station, he said, \u201coh I forgot to ask your name. But, never mind, it\u2019s better that way!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Puerto Octay looked like a neat place on my map. I wouldn\u2019t meet Sammy in Castro (which is on the island of Chiloe) for 4 days, so I decided to explore a bit more. From Osorno I walked away from Ruta 5, trying to get a ride from cars waiting to pass road construction. After asking 30 cars I decided my chances were better to head to Frutillar, another town on the map and that a few truckers had suggested to me.<\/p>\n<p>A salmon farmer picked me up and told me he was headed to Castro. I opted for Frutillar still, and he was gracious enough to take me all the long way from the highway down to the \u201cinteresting part\u201d of Frutillar. I hopped out and he sped back to Ruta 5.<\/p>\n<p>I must have been mistaken. Frutillar, despite its prime location on the Lago de Llanquihue, was not for me. It was a rich man\u2019s weekend getaway. The shoreline was built up as a pristine walkway, and perfect camping spots on the soft grass were labeled uncampable. The houses were richly ornamented and clean, each built of varnished wood and glass. I bought some bread, surprised that the inflated price wasn\u2019t so much higher than elsewhere.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1302\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/frutillar-teatro-del-lago.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1302 size-full\" title=\"One of the nicest theatres in Chile, in Frutillar. The Teatro del Lago.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/frutillar-teatro-del-lago.jpg\" alt=\"One of the nicest theatres in Chile, in Frutillar. The Teatro del Lago.\" width=\"500\" height=\"268\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/frutillar-teatro-del-lago.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/frutillar-teatro-del-lago-300x160.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">One of the nicest theatres in Chile, in Frutillar. The Teatro del Lago. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.skyscrapercity.com\/showthread.php?t=1049799&amp;page=7&amp;langid=5\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The sky looked thunderous, but it never rumbled. A view of the water was all there was to be had. Only the Teatro del Lago was interesting. A large wooden theatre built of many planks from different species, the Teatro del Lago was constructed over the water. At night it stood out brilliantly.<\/p>\n<p>I strode around the walkway, admiring the architecture. Back on shore I contemplated a small islet that looked campable, if only I could swim out to it. I decided to first check elsewhere.<\/p>\n<p>It was a good decision as I soon came to a large unoccupied lot, toward the back of which a small hill hosted an enclave of enormous trees. I pitched my tent on the dry ground beneath one of those trees. It had begun to rain elsewhere, and my umbrella had kept me dry up until then. I opened my computer in the tent and wrote a few articles on Paris, considering my Valdivian beer paid for. I fell asleep with music in my ears.<\/p>\n<p>Allow a bit of fast-forwarding. In the morning a long walk and a few rides brought me around a large peninsula that jutted into the lake. The sky dark. The rain light. We passed the salmon industry town of Llanquihue, and took some back roads to Puerto Varas. There, I ate bread and tomatoes, topping it off with a package of cheap cookies. Normally there\u2019s some kind of spectacular view of the Osorno Volcano towering over Llanquihue Lake from here. Alas.<\/p>\n<p>No more step-by-step, I\u2019m boring myself. Let\u2019s just say that it was raining hard, and I\u2019m very glad I had rain pants, a rain jacket and my umbrella. I knew there was a reason I hauled all that crap around. A whole bunch of rides saving me from the rain, little adventures here and there, and I\u2019m south of Puerto Montt, the last big city before the famous\u2014or infamous\u2014Carretera Austral to the east (dirt road, south, etc.). But I went south from there, intent on arriving to the Isla Grande de Chiloe.<\/p>\n<p>Stuck. Stuck at some crossroads with very little space for anyone to pull over, and of what space there is, it is mud. Water poured from the clouds, with devious intentions of dampening clothes or dampening spirits. The umbrella, rain pants, rain jacket, and backpack rain cover did their best. The boots worked too.<\/p>\n<p>Suddenly there pulled over a car. I did not expect the woman. Her eyes glistened, skin pinching at the corners. She looked to be in her fifties. She was small, and she showed a quality in her eyes that I\u2019ve seen enough times to know the goodness of it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHola que haces aqui en la lluvia?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEstoy viajando a dedo\/I\u2019m hitchhiking!\u201d I cried happily.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGet in get in, I\u2019m only going down the road, but maybe you\u2019re hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I climbed in the car, \u201cthanks a lot! It\u2019s not really a great place to stand, is it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>She laughed a laugh that might be described as hearty. \u201cI saw you there and just had to get you out of the cold. Why don\u2019t you come by the house for almuerzo?\u201d Despite my immediate conviction that she was a good person, her rapidity in inviting me to her home surprised me, but I accepted.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy son travels actually. He was in San Pedro and met some Swiss girls. They all came to the house\u2014oh, it was lovely! One of the girls went home, but the other girl is coming back for Christmas after staying in Punta Arenas in the far south.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I told her I was always glad to meet folks who know travelers. Not long down the highway she pulled off down a dirt road. There were a number of houses here, but they were country houses far from any town.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat house is mine. That house over there is my sister\u2019s, and the houses over there belong to my brothers. Another brother is building a house further back.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The entire family had bought the plots of land here, and each member of the family had begun to build. There were gardens, forest and several barking dogs who greeted us as we pulled into Gloria\u2019s place. That was her name, and it fit her perfectly, Gloria. Glory. Glorious.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOnly my sister and I live here year-round; everyone else comes on weekends and holidays. Come, come inside, make yourself at home.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Inside her house the walls were wood planks. In the kitchen several odors floated around and caught my attention. I tried to distinguish them; laurel, burning wood and garlic I think. Gloria occupied herself with the estufa le\u00f1a, the wood-burning furnace that doubled as a stove. Her daughter must be around 30 years old, Carolina. I kissed her cheek hello, as is customary, and shook her young son Benjamin\u2019s hand, who must be around 3 or 4.<\/p>\n<p>I took off some damp clothing and hung it by the stove as Carolina suggested. She was very kind, and surprisingly interested in my travels. I ate lentils, bread, salad and coke with them. Gloria\u2019s other son Alejandro showed up then, and was equally friendly and interested in my story. Then I met Gloria\u2019s sister Teresa, and by now I was no longer surprised at the hospitality each one of them showed me. In this sense of hospitality, I\u2019m referring not only to accommodation but to agreeable interaction with everyone present.<\/p>\n<p>Later I helped Gloria bring in her supplies from the car. She bakes sweets in her quite legitimate industrial kitchen, which is attached to the side of the house, and sells them in Puerto Montt on market days. The two dogs were large and interested, jumping on me whenever I seemed to allow it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou should speak English with Carolina and Alejandro,\u201d Gloria told me back in the kitchen with everyone.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah, Chael, I studied some English a bit,\u201d said Alejandro.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you?\u201d I asked Carolina in English. She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head yes. Everyone laughed.<\/p>\n<p>Gloria disappeared for a time and I sat chatting with Alejandro and Carolina. Carolina told me she works as a waitress in an upscale Puerto Montt restaurant, where many foreigners dine. I wrote a few useful phrases down. Alejandro was very interested in the \u201cwhy\u201d English structures are the way they are. I would tell him why, and then tell him to forget the why, that it doesn\u2019t matter for his purposes.<\/p>\n<p>Alejandro was kind. He took me into his room to play a bit of Bach on his piano, since I\u2019d told them I\u2019d been listening to a lot of Bach. Somehow, and probably because of his overt generosity, I was not surprised to learn that he was a member of not a death metal band, but a \u201cviolent thrash metal\u201d band.<\/p>\n<p>I ate tortillas with the two siblings when the clock struck 10 and Gloria came in.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cChael, it looks like you might have to wait until tomorrow to continue,\u201d she said jokingly, aware of the obviousness of the situation. \u201cCome, we\u2019ll put you up in my sister\u2019s home.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I went with Gloria and Teresa across the lawn, the dogs running wet circles around us. The rain had finally let up. Inside her house there was another wood-burning stove and an electric heater. A young kid was watching T.V., one of Teresa\u2019s pupils. Teresa was a school teacher and offered to host the young guy, since his family lives in a remote rural area from where it would be otherwise impossible to commute. I took a burning hot shower and passed out in a tall fluffy bed.<\/p>\n<p>The next morning I helped Gloria a bit in her bakery, and then ate breakfast of local honey, bread and \u201cmurta\u201d marmalade from that area. Coffee too.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMore coffee?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh no I\u2019m fine, thank you. Actually I never usually drink coffee. I never wanted to get the addiction, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She just laughed and tossed half a walnut into her mouth, munching away as she observed me.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re going to come back?\u201d she asked. Alejandro and Carolina came into the kitchen, overhearing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey yea, Chael you have to come back. We can go hiking up to a great lake I know. Hey I can drop you off at the beginning of the Carretera Austral too!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI suppose I could, it wouldn\u2019t be until later in December though,\u201d I replied. Everyone hesitated. \u201cOh heck, sure I\u2019ll come back. I mean, I\u2019m coming back this way anyway, why wouldn\u2019t I come back.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They smiled. \u201cGreat, you can speak English the whole week with my kids!\u201d said Gloria. \u201cYou can help me in the garden and the kitchen, and eat good, family food.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>After jotting down Alejandro\u2019s e-mail, I shouldered my pack and headed out the door and down the highway, a farewell to the family. The dogs decided to follow me.<\/p>\n<p>There was construction happening on the road, meaning that very little space was available for me to walk. The dogs were almost killed more than a few times, and the honking drivers yelled hate in my direction. 2 kilometers down the road the dogs persisted, clearly trying to protect me. So, I walked all the way back to the house.<\/p>\n<p>Gloria was surprised to see me again, but when I explained about the dogs she just laughed. \u201cOk we\u2019ll watch them, go on ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The dogs followed me again, and this time, when I returned to the house Gloria put them in a shed. \u201cThanks Gloria, thanks for everything.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Back on the road, it was a red car that stopped before me. A semi screamed by, the noise deafening as the trucker pulled his horn in protest at a near-hit against the back of the sedan. A few more rides down the road, one a repeat of the day before, and I was at a ferry terminal.<\/p>\n<p>The sky was gray and drizzling, small drops making me blink. Beyond the body of water I saw the shore of Chiloe. I boarded freely and sat down on my pack. Once the ferry had pushed off I took the opportunity to find a ride. A trucker agreed to take me near to Castro, some 75 kilometers south from the Ancud ferry landing.<\/p>\n<p>Like in many moments of solitude on a rare voyage, I began thinking as I stared into the wake. The wake. They\u2019re marks; marks left behind but never really gone. Those waves are bits of energy that oceanographers and physicists say will circumnavigate the entire world unless disrupted. They say that every sound does likewise; that a drop of water, or the sound of a car crash or the rhythmic slap of skin on a passionate night, will exist as sound waves around the globe, no matter how imperceptible they are, but they are.<\/p>\n<p>Chiloe is purported to be a beautiful and serene place. Unfortunately the overcast did not convince me of this. We drove south. The countryside was pleasant, and everywhere there was that invasive yellow bush called Scotch Broom. It is one more thing in common with Oregon. It\u2019s an awfully pretty invasive species.<\/p>\n<p>Soon I wished the trucker well, and ran for cover from the torrent of rain that had suddenly decided to fall. I was 10 kilometers from Castro, and the rain would soak me with or without the gear. I hopped a bus into town.<\/p>\n<p>Everything was wood, and it was all wet. The parts of the city near the water were built on stilts. The wooden houses were all different colors. Castro was pretty, but I wasn\u2019t sure to what extent it merited the adulation it received. In any case, I would compare it with northwestern fishing towns in the U.S.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1303\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/castro-chiloe.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1303 size-full\" title=\"Homes on stilts in Castro, Chile.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/castro-chiloe.jpg\" alt=\"Homes on stilts in Castro, Chile.\" width=\"500\" height=\"281\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/castro-chiloe.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/castro-chiloe-300x168.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Homes on stilts in Castro, Chile. <a href=\"http:\/\/blog.travelpod.com\/travel-blog-entries\/welshhobo\/1\/1288115642\/tpod.html\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>More bread and tomato. A brief visit to the public library to steal internet. A walk south out of town. A long and rainy walk. A woman suggesting I sleep in a bus stop when I inquired. Me not wanting to. More walking. Until I\u2019m out of Castro completely and into another district. There a church steeple. Me walking down the small road toward it. \u201cNercon,\u201d the sign read. That\u2019s a funny name for a town, I thought.<\/p>\n<p>The old wooden church was built in the late 19th century. It looked weird. Then I remembered that Chiloe is famous for its distinct architectural style when it comes to the churches. I wonder how they decided on this design; essentially a longhouse with a multi-tiered steeple at the front. The Nercon church had a beautiful fa\u00e7ade of arcades topped by a triple set of octagonal bell houses. The wood was worn old by constant rain. This church would surely squeak. The cemetery was ancient as well.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1304\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nercon-church.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1304 size-full\" title=\"Chiloe is known for its peculiar churches. Here is the one at Nercon.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nercon-church.jpg\" alt=\"Chiloe is known for its peculiar churches. Here is the one at Nercon.\" width=\"500\" height=\"359\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nercon-church.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nercon-church-300x215.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chiloe is known for its peculiar churches. Here is the one at Nercon. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.panoramio.com\/photo\/5920935\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Alongside the God House a dirt track led down into a forested unknown. Of course, I followed this path. I had stocked up on bread and tomatoes, cookies and water. I just wanted to pitch the tent somewhere, but with the rain I was unsure. I might camp under the church\u2019s awning if the rain doesn\u2019t let up.<\/p>\n<p>I followed the track, briefly examining several camping possibilities which caught my eye, but which I ultimately reneged. And then, as I was following the track up a long hill and feeling my pack seemingly grow heavier, there came a lull in the rain, and the sun. Its rays found promise through the clouds and burst open onto the land. I stopped and admired it, for it had been several days since I felt it on my face. The green plant life around me dripped, as though it resembled the thawing of winter at rise of spring.<\/p>\n<p>I climbed to the very end of the track, and turned around to behold a magnificent sight. The brilliant yellow Scotch Broom aided to strike awe into my heart, and the pristine cow pastures rolling down to the bay as well. The sky was a patchwork of dark and light. At the bottom of the sloping hills the bay\u2019s water sparkled blue. A few fishing trolleys idled in the tide. I knew by my map that I was looking at Chiloe\u2019s own berth, it being a collusion of landmasses that might otherwise deceive.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_300\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 364px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-chile-patagonia\/attachment\/chiloe-church\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-300 size-full\" title=\"Chiloe Church drawing in Chile\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chiloe-church.jpg\" alt=\"Chiloe Church drawing in Chile\" width=\"354\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chiloe-church.jpg 354w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chiloe-church-236x300.jpg 236w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 354px) 100vw, 354px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The island of Chiloe, in the south of Chile, is known for its unique wooden churches. I drew this one.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I was at the top of a hill, and I felt quite paternal toward my country side view. Finding a break in the fence, I climbed out onto a field, found a spot and pitched my tent, careful to keep the view for the comfortable evening. The scene revitalized me, and so when the rains returned in the night, I could care less.<\/p>\n<p>The next day I returned to draw the church. There, I met two European bicyclists who talked to me about how expensive Chile is. The Europeans have that conversation more than anyone else.<\/p>\n<p>I would pass them several times throughout the day. I made my way to Chonchi, where they passed me an hour later. Then I walked for a few hours around the town until I was picked up by a man who, upon getting into his car, greeted me with an outstretched hand and a rumbling voice, \u201cPerez Fernandez.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCale. You know, you would make a great orator in ancient Rome.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He laughed, or purred, I couldn\u2019t tell. He told me he\u2019d be a rich man anywhere else, but that being a doctor in Chiloe was more rewarding.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI only started studying medicine when I was 34,\u201d he informed me. It made me happy. Despite my want to rid myself of the cares of time, I\u2019m always thinking about it. Perez\u2019 late studying invigorates me because it suggests that I still have time\u2026<\/p>\n<p>2 hours later he dropped me off in the center of the most southerly city on Chiloe, Quellon.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat you\u2019re looking for is across the bay. Just follow this road around and you\u2019ll get there,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>He drove off and I bought some fixings to appease my stomach. Then I began the walk. What was I doing here at the very southern tip of Chiloe? I still had another couple days before I had to meet Sammy somewhere in Castro. I would\u2019ve stayed in that city if not for someone having told me that Quellon was the end of the Panamerican highway. I had been confused about that, because there are highways that head all the way to the Tierra del Fuego in the uber-south of Argentina. Well, those highways are also the \u201cpanamerican.\u201d I learned that the Panamerican highway is not one long entity, but its various branches count as well. Technically, for example, the Panamerican highway never touches the west coast of the U.S. Instead, it passes from Calgary into Montana or from the Great Lakes into Minnesota. In the end it\u2019s all a bunch of bullshit, but I thought it\u2019d be worth-while to see what kind of attraction the \u201cend of the panamerican\u201d has in store.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1305\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/hitchhiking-to-the-end-of-panamerican.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1305 size-full\" title=\"Here we are, having hitchhiked to the end of the official Panamerican highway.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/hitchhiking-to-the-end-of-panamerican.jpg\" alt=\"Here we are, having hitchhiked to the end of the official Panamerican highway.\" width=\"500\" height=\"306\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/hitchhiking-to-the-end-of-panamerican.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/hitchhiking-to-the-end-of-panamerican-300x183.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Here we are, having hitchhiked to the end of the official Panamerican highway.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>It took 3 hours to walk from Quellon, around the bay, into the municipal park and onward to the end of the highway. Once there, I met one man, and he had a camera, so he snapped a photo of me. The end of the Panamerican Highway is a giant anchor. The road simply ends, with big words written in white that read, \u201cfin.\u201d There\u2019s also an altar, a crucifix, and what would be good views of mountains on a clear day.<\/p>\n<p>I walked down an unnecessary \u201cpoets\u2019 walkway\u201d, then jumped down onto the beach. The end of the highway is called \u201cPunta de Lapa\u201d, or \u201cHito Cero.\u201d It\u2019s windy. On the beach purple shells litter the sand. There was no one.<\/p>\n<p>I followed a dirt road up a forested hill toward a mansion, passing \u201cPrivate Property\u201d and \u201cNo Trespassing\u201d signs. More security for me, I figure. On a 50 foot cliff, I found a relatively sheltered area to pitch tent. The view over the southern waters was great. There was very little life out on those scattered islands, and only the sounds of wind and motoring trawlers caught my ear.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1306\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/panamerican-highway-end.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1306 size-full\" title=\"The strange monument to mark the end of Chile's purported Panamerican highway.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/panamerican-highway-end.jpg\" alt=\"The strange monument to mark the end of Chile's purported Panamerican highway.\" width=\"500\" height=\"375\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/panamerican-highway-end.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/panamerican-highway-end-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The strange monument to mark the end of Chile&#8217;s purported Panamerican highway.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The following day I returned to Castro. The skies were still covered in grayness. I walked around to see a bit more of town, but it had taken me much of the day to arrive. Near the library I found yet another great perch with a lookout over the quintessential bay of Castro and its houses on stilts. I knew the man I\u2019d asked if it was alright to jump the high fence and camp on the grass on the other side was a Colombian when he\u2019d responded, \u201cWhy here parce, the beach is way more chimba, huevon!\u201d I jumped the fence and camped.<\/p>\n<p>Back at the library in the morning, I opened my computer and found a message from Sammy the previous day: made it to Castro, will check e-mail tomorrow before 11am. I wrote back to meet at the library at 12.<\/p>\n<p>Sure enough, just a few hours later, in walked the man, his red and blue bags in tow, strapped around his shoulders. We shared our more recent adventures and then got down to business.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re in luck. I got a message from my family friends. I wrote down the directions. We have an empty house to ourselves,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRight on man, I was just going to head north if it was a no-go,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n<p>We walked out of the library and I stopped in my tracks. The sun was out and the sky was blue like in my dreams. All these days in rain, and then Sammy shows up without any raingear at all, and bam, the sun comes out. I pestered him about it. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>We bought some bread and hiked out of Castro toward the north. Eventually we got a ride a few kilometers down the road to the crossroads of Llau Llau. We were in search of a crossroads called San Jose. The walk was made hot by the powerful southern sun. We walked for a long time, eventually coming to a store where he bought Fanta and I bought chocolate.<\/p>\n<p>Fast-forward a few hours and we\u2019re on a dirt road after a crossroads called San Jose, looking for \u201cthe first white house on your left.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI think it was back there, man,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, because that house wasn\u2019t white\u2026 it was corrugated metal.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDamnit corrugated metal. She said first house on the right? First white house? Is that house there white, or is it half white and half brick?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We were quite confused, and lost. Several questionably white houses looked either empty or too locked up. We were trying to find the grounds keeper of Sammy\u2019s family friends\u2019 home, but we couldn\u2019t figure it out.<\/p>\n<p>After taking a piss, I said, \u201cAlright, we gotta ask someone. What\u2019s the keeper\u2019s name again?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRita.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We walked up to a random house after unlatching the front gate. A woman came to the door.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cExcuse us, do you know a Rita?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRita?\u201d she said, an older woman coming up beside her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRita is a grounds keep of the house we\u2019re trying to find,\u201d I told them.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t think so\u2026 no, there\u2019s no Rita here,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOk, well thanks anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you boys hungry? You want to have a cafecito?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sammy and I looked at each other, and shook our heads. The women came out of the house and led us to the house next door. Inside was a wood-burning oven, family pictures tacked on the wall, and a long table. They served us bread, real honey and coffee. We chatted about our traveling, and they talked about their family. This is the famous chilote hospitality that everyone had been talking about.<\/p>\n<p>After about 20 minutes we thanked our benefactors, wished them well, and headed back onto the road with a bit of information. We had to continue down the road until the first crossroads, and then walk down the fork to the end. Something about a green fence, a shipbuilder and Dalcahue.<\/p>\n<p>Now that we had an idea of where we were going, we noticed our beautiful surroundings. We were in the bright green country of Chiloe. Fences marked large plots of land, each with a house claiming sovereignty. The houses were either small humble homes like the one we\u2019d just come from, or large intricate homes built as outsiders\u2019 getaways. The sun was out, we were rejuvenated.<\/p>\n<p>Not long after, we found the crossroads, and quickly procured a ride in the back of a pick-up truck down the dusty way (it was the only bit of traffic we\u2019d seen in an hour). When the road ended back at the highway, we realized that there had been two crossroads called San Jose. And there on the corner sat \u201cthe first white house on the right.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We knocked on the door and met Rita\u2019s son, a young kid who played around for a while as we sat on our packs and waited for Rita to get back from shopping. When she did, we greeted, and Sammy spoke with her briefly about their mutual friends and owners of the house we\u2019d be staying at. Rita grabbed the keys and we walked back up the dirt road.<\/p>\n<p>Eventually we came to a green gate, beyond with was a gentle field of high grass sloping downward. We could see another bay in front of us. Dalcahue was the nearest town and it looked white in the clear day. Opposite the house was the island of Quinchao.<\/p>\n<p>We passed a clean and well-constructed green house and continued down the path to yet another house, this one larger. Inside we found a wood-burning stove, a fully-stocked kitchen, plenty of comfortable furnishings and 6 or so beds organized in the back area. We thanked Rita and she handed Sammy the keys. She closed the door behind her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSammy, this is awesome. Look at this view!\u201d From the couch the window looked out over the bay, the island opposite, Dalcahue over there. The house was built on stilts, and a wooden balcony wrapped around the whole thing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, this is sweet. Chael, look what I found,\u201d Sammy said.<\/p>\n<p>I turned around and there in his hand was Scrabble. All the memories of our time in Cusco suddenly came back; the constant Scrabble in the Pariwana bar, or at a caf\u00e9 or in the courtyard, the free internet, our winning the bottle of rum, sneaking into Machu Picchu, drinking in Juliaca.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSam, this is gonna be sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>And so it was. We spent four nights at the house. The first day we\u2019d decided to walk into Dalcahue. We stocked up on potatoes, bread and beer. We hitched back and lit a fire in the stove. We spent our time with Scrabble and Rummy, walked around, I drew a bit. After the days of camping, a comfortable place like this felt surreal. We crossed the free ferry one day to Quinchao, and hitched all the way to Achao. The island was pretty, and the islets out to see were many.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1307\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/dalcahue-chile.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1307 size-full\" title=\"Beautiful scenes in Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/dalcahue-chile.jpg\" alt=\"Beautiful scenes in Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile.\" width=\"500\" height=\"333\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/dalcahue-chile.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/dalcahue-chile-300x199.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Beautiful scenes in Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Escudo and Scrabble, Scrabble and Escudo. Walking to Dalcahue, hitching back and vice versa. One day we decided on a meal of the famous Chilote dish called curanto at Dalcahue\u2019s \u201cLa Cocineria\u201d seafood market. Curanto is a soup packed with such delights as mussels, corn bread, smoked ham and chorizo. Being the cheap bastards that we are, we split the 5 dollar meal.<\/p>\n<p>On another evening we walked out onto the sea floor once the tide had receded. Eventually we came to an enticing sight; the entire floor was covered in mussels clinging to rocks and each other.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSammy, are you thinking the same thing I am?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. I\u2019ll go get a bag.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We collected dozens of mussels. The house looked beautiful in the light. Clouds were glowing yellow and the blue of sky shown through like splotches of heaven, all while the sunset drew in the air and released it in a remarkable show of natural prism bending colors. We stopped to watch the day fade into dusk.<\/p>\n<p>Back in the house we scrubbed the mussels clean. We threw them all into a big pot of water and red wine, tomatoes, onion and garlic. We let them boil for\u2026 too long. Alas, the mussels opened, and the whole thing looked marvelous until the water turned brown and sampling the mussels left us with cringing faces. We discarded the mussels that didn\u2019t open, Sammy informing me that that means that they\u2019re already dead.<\/p>\n<p>Later we would learn that we had to put a tiny bit of water in the pot, and cook them only until they opened. We couldn\u2019t let the death of so many little creatures go to waste, so we ate them regardless. The experience defines the limits of edible.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_297\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 312px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-chile-patagonia\/attachment\/chile-chiloe-sketch\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-297 size-full\" title=\"Travel drawing o Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chile-chiloe-sketch.jpg\" alt=\"Travel drawing o Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile\" width=\"302\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chile-chiloe-sketch.jpg 302w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/chile-chiloe-sketch-201x300.jpg 201w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 302px) 100vw, 302px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Drawing the bay in Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>On the fourth morning we left the house in order, had a short cafecito with Rita, and were off. The end of November was close, and our plan was to arrive in Santiago on the 30th to see our friends that we\u2019d met in France 4 years before. Alas, it was an unwilling goodbye to the house, as we could have easily lost time staying there longer.<\/p>\n<p>The day was clear and bright, a perfect one for hitching out. A delivery van to Dalcuhue, walking out, a ride in a fast pick-up to Ruta 5, a ride with a trucker to Ancud, a ride with a man to close to the ferry, a walk to the ferry, and a very wet crossing brought us back to the mainland.<\/p>\n<p>A ride with a trucker to a crossroads south of Puerto Montt, a ride with a guy who offers us some weed to Puerto Montt, a ride with a trucker to a Terpel gas station, and a ride with another trucker to Copec highway center brought us to Temuco. The day had been so clear, that all the white peaked volcanoes were visible from the highway, including one spewing a huge ash cloud into the sky. We had some leftover bread, which we decorated with Copec\u2019s free ketchup and mayo. That night I camped on the grass beside the building, and Sammy buried his head in his arms in the TV room. The service centers are warm, they have Wi-Fi, and they offer a perfect place to ask for rides.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1308\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 510px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/puerto-varas-chile.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1308 size-full\" title=\"Puerto Varas Chile\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/puerto-varas-chile.jpg\" alt=\"Puerto Varas Chile\" width=\"500\" height=\"332\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/puerto-varas-chile.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/puerto-varas-chile-300x199.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Puerto Varas Chile. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.ofertaturisticas.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/12\/puerto_varas.jpg\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The next day it was a ride with two folks in a sedan listening to Adele again (Lima), a ride to Collipulli, eating with a view of the train bridge, a ride with equestrians to Los Angeles, and a ride to Chillan with a German-Chilean that brought us our next adventure. We got a ride with a frantic man in a delivery truck by suggesting that we could help out. We drove with him into Chillan, where for a while we unloaded everything from the back of his truck and rolled it into a store.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1309\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 533px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/copec-gas-stations.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1295]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1309 size-full\" title=\"Hitchhiker's friend in Chile: The Copec gas station.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/copec-gas-stations.jpg\" alt=\"Hitchhiker's friend in Chile: The Copec gas station.\" width=\"523\" height=\"176\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/copec-gas-stations.jpg 523w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/copec-gas-stations-300x100.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 523px) 100vw, 523px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hitchhiker&#8217;s friend in Chile: The Copec gas station. <a href=\"http:\/\/turnosdetrabajo.com\/clientes.php\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Later on, a great long ride with trucker Carlos brought us to the San Fernando Copec. I pitched my tent, but was suddenly woken by the sprinkler system turning on and pelting my shelter with streams of water. The next dry I dried it out in the sun, and then Sammy and I got a quick ride with a couple heading into Santiago (after turning down a few that were going closer by). It was December 1st, just in time.<\/p>\n<p>Santiago had some things in store for me. I needed to deal with the embassy, I needed to deal with a new umbrella (yes, my Honduran umbrella has finally completely come apart), I was going to get to see old friends, and a few surprising connections would be made with travel buddies. Santiago\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&#8230;Travel stories from hitchhiking in Chile to Chiloe&#8230; &nbsp; Tiny lapping waves of an incoming tide moved toward the house, as though some giant entity were swimming below the bay water\u2019s surface. Through the bright window panes of the pinewood house I could see the salt water circulating in the &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/chile\/hitchhiking-and-hospitality-in-chiloe\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading <span class=\"screen-reader-text\">Chilean Southern Hospitality, Rain or Shine<\/span> <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1308,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[18],"tags":[125,113,123,124,48,2,4],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.10 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Hospitality | Travel Stories from Hitchhiking to Chiloe, Chile<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"These 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