Last stop, Pucón

Pucón, the final destination on our tour of southern Chile (and a bit of Argentine Patagonia).  It's a popular vacation spot for Chileans, and why not?  With a beautiful lake, a snowcapped volcano on the horizon  -complete with a visible fumarole billowing from its cone - and surrounded by forest, rivers and hot springs, it's got a lot to offer.  Plus, it's only about eight hours from Santiago.

Rather than coming from our home in Santiago, however, we took the long way around, having come straight from San Martín de los Andes in Argentina. On the way we were afforded a view of yet another snowcapped mountain, not to be confused with the one pictured above.  In the foreground is a group of prehistoric-looking monkey puzzle trees, also known as the Araucaria, Chile's national tree.

It was another long ride, and a steady ascent up the Argentine side of the Cordillera de los Andes, until the border defined by the continental divide.  Then came the ear-popping descent on the other side, through a river valley bottoming out at the lake region of Pucón itself.

As had been the case with all of our previous stops throughout the south of Chile, we were in direct competition with every other vacationer making their way around the southern regions of the country.  In order to avoid getting stuck without a ride or a place to stay, we had settled into a successful routine of buying departing bus tickets from each town as soon as we arrived there, and making hotel reservations even further in advance.

Pucón's proximity to Santiago, though, and it being one of the last weekends of summer vacation for most schools and universities, foiled our ordinary system. Every hotel I tried to call was already booked more than a week in advance, so we had no choice but show up and try our luck.  Fortunately, though, we weren't put out for long.  A few blocks from the bus station was a new hostel, with roughed-in rooms still smelling of fresh-cut, unfinished lumber.  Having just opened for business, it was nowhere to be found on any list online or in print, and so walk-up clients like us were their only income.  Nonetheless, it was a full house during most of our stay.

Easily explained by views like this and the many adventure sports that come with them, we arrived in Pucón to discover that every ticket on every bus leaving town for the next week was already sold.  It looked like a nice place, but a week in town was more than we bargained for.  Again, however, we were in luck, as there was one exception: two first-class tickets on an overnight bus, in four days.  They weren't cheap, but they would put us back home right when we wanted to be there, and we'd have plush seats that folded down into beds, complete with pillows and blankets for the night's ride.  It was an offer we couldn't refuse.

With all the hard work out of the way, we could now set our minds at ease and get down to the real business of being here.  The first stop was the lake, and its black sand beaches, with the backdrop of wooded mountains, under a cloudless sky.  Ah, Chile!

We haven't been to any town in Chile that hasn't featured some playgrounds for kids, either.

The next day we woke up early to visit Huerquehue national park.  One of the first features we came upon was Tinquilco lake, a long slender body of water with a camping area and even a couple of rowboats.

El lago Tinquilco, y el volcán Villarica, from a privileged vantage.

A candid glimpse of a human animal, in its natural element.

On the third day we visited a resort called Peumayén, several kilometers away from Pucón.  It offers hot springs like these along a river, as well as a more developed bath house up the hill.

There was also a trampoline, and a friend.

With a rustic restaurant as well, it was a fine place to spend the day, have a soak, eat lunch, and otherwise enjoy some time outside in the mild southern Summer.

Picking blackberries while waiting for the bus back to town.

The last day we spent in Pucón.  The weather wasn't looking very good, but we couldn't resist the opportunity to take a boat tour on the lake.

Keeping warm, and out of the rain.

The weather sure changes fast around here.  Also featured in this photo is some of Pucón's more exclusive real estate.  Apparently there's a private golf course on the other side of the hill.

It was the end of the day, and the end of our trip.  Soon we'd get on the last of countless buses we'd taken throughout our extended trip around some of the most beautiful countryside I've seen.  Of the many towns we'd visited, Pucón was perhaps our favorite.  A great place to mark the end of a vacation I'll never forget.

San Martín de los Andes

Today's post, like our stop in San Martín of Argentina, is perhaps too short.  Our friends Clint and Pía live there with their son Ollie, just a few months younger than our Tamia.  It was great to see them, share some time together, and see their new setup in Argentine Patagonia:

The way there took us along a highway known as the carretera de los siete lagos.  We counted seven lakes, sure enough.  And lots of mountains.  What a great combo.  Well done, Patagonia.  Well done.

The last time they saw each other, neither could walk yet.  Now it's hard to get them to stop...

Morning at the beach, and the freedom of expression.

A candid shot of nuns sharing some yerba mate.  Click on the photo, zoom in, and look closely.  Nuns.  Drinking mate!  All the rumors about Argentines' love for mate were proven true in San Martín.  I've never seen so much mate consumption.  It's a way of life.  And one that I approve of.  Hopefully a trip to Buenos Aires will be in our future, for some further field research into the phenomenon.

Keeping it real.

Thanks for the good times, our dear friends.  This little story is a tribute to you.  Not shown in this short glimpse of life in San Martín are Argentine microbrews, late night cribbage, spontaneous burgers, and volcanic ash.  But all that and more transpired in the course of 48 hours, before we got back on a bus and said goodbye to them, and to Argentina.  Until next time!

Beautiful Bariloche

It was a long ride, but eventually, we arrived: Bariloche, in Argentine Patagonia.  Bariloche is the kind of town that really symbolizes an entire region, conjuring up many images of Patagonia upon simply hearing its name. It is a destination unto itself, a community many travelers are moved to visit almost as a place to check off a list of important stops on a grand South American tour.  When we began our trip, Bariloche wasn't on our own personal list of places to see, but once we decided to include Argentina in the loop, we couldn't resist putting it squarely on our path.

To get there, we crossed over the Cordillera de los Andes, the continental divide of South America, and the border between Chile and Argentina.  With it came too the protracted wait at checkpoints on either side of the border.

We also had the chance to see firsthand the otherworldly effects that the eruption of the volcano Puyehue has had on the surrounding landscape.   Ash has piled up relentlessly on the ground, in the branches of trees, and on the roofs of buildings, like grey snow that will never melt.

And after nearly a full day of being on a bus, we were there.  As the blue waters of Nahuel Huapi lake came into sight for the first time, I admit I was happy to be finishing with such a long ride.  The scenery had been incredible along the way, changing constantly as we went.  But once we were off the bus and making our way into town, it was liberating to have such a long trip behind us, no matter how picturesque it had been.  It wasn't long before we were looking over the lake from this vantage point, the apartment we rented for our stay.

After so many times calling ahead for our accommodations for the next destination, we decided to play it by ear in Bariloche, what with the dozens of places to stay that were to be found in every travel guide and website we looked at.  In the end, for the same price we'd pay at a hotel, we had our own place with a private kitchen and a view.  Not too shabby!

Once we were set up with a place, we headed out for the evening for some pizza, followed by some looking around.  After dark, the summer heat gave way to the cold mountain air.  We hadn't packed much in the way of warm clothes, but it turns out that Bariloche is something of a shopping capital of Patagonia.  The main emphasis was handcrafted chocolate, but there were plenty of clothing stores to be found as well.  After fortifying ourselves with a little of both, we were equipped for the night and the festivities that came with it.

By chance, we found ourselves in Bariloche for the weekend of Carnaval, the feast of Catholic binging prior to the pious period of Lent to be ushered in with the coming Ash Wednesday.  A tradition with a history nearly as long as Lent itself, nearly all countries with a Catholic tradition have their own version.  Ecuador certainly does, as I've experienced before.  I don't know how representative Bariloche is of Argentina as a whole, but the community here was doing its best to drum up *ahem* some Carnaval parading in the festive tradition I saw in Ambato.  While these kids were dressed a bit more warmly that what you might find in more tropical places like Ecuador, or Rio de Janeiro, they did a fine job ringing in the Lenten season.

Some more Argentine food, a bit more consumerism, and sadly, our time in Bariloche came to an end as quickly as it started.  Or not so sadly, really, as the road ahead led to old friends in another town in Argentine Patagonia.  One more stop on our tour of the Southern Cone!

La Gran Isla de Chiloé

Chiloé.  Like many places in Latin America, its name alone evokes a certain mystical impression.  The fact that it is routinely shrouded in mist and fog only helps maintain such a feeling once you're there. A large island in the north of Chilean Patagonia, it's far enough from the beaten path to have access only by sea-going ferry.  Ironically, the Pan-American Highway runs through it, and in fact ends at the southern point of the island.  But the "highway," as it also does in Panama, runs to the sea and then picks up again on the other side.  I'll take you on a virtual walk-through of the crossing.

First, a look at our trusty sea-going vessel.

These ferries are big enough to carry cars, trucks, buses, and anything else that rolls along a highway.  I had never been on a ferry as big as one of these, so for me it was every bit as interesting as anything else we saw in Chiloé.

In the US, I suppose we've gotten around to building bridges of various sizes across just about every body of water we might feel like driving across.  I remember driving in Maryland and noticing on the map a "Bridge-Tunnel" across the Chesapeake Bay and heading to Virginia Beach.  I couldn't imagine what a bridge-tunnel would look like, so I decided to drive down the Delmarva Peninsula with the sole intent of seeing it firsthand.  It cost $12 to use it, as it turned out, which was more than I expected, but I certainly wasn't going to head back the way I'd come.  But, I digress.

Boarding the ferry.  It was interesting to observe that it was operated by Cruz del Sur, the same company that operated the bus we were on.  Quite a lucrative business, I imagine, being the means of transport for anyone hoping to come to or go from an island with a population of 150,000.  The cars were clearly being packed in pretty snugly.  Considering the trip across the channel was a good twenty minutes each way, it pays to be efficient with space.  I was impressed too by how quickly the whole process moved along.

Once the ferry got moving, our bus opened its doors and virtually everyone got out.  Apparently, we weren't the only ones impressed by the experience.  A quick trip up a flight of stairs and it was possible to join the many other people enjoying our seafaring experience.  The channel is only about 3 kilometers wide, but still, we were in the waters of the South Pacific.

For many years, there has been talk of building a bridge across this channel, which would do away with the need for ferries like this one, and permanently connect the people of Chiloé (known as chilotes) with the mainland.  There are those in favor of such a project for the benefits it would bring to the island, and those who oppose it, citing a deterioration in the unique character that the island has developed after centuries of relative isolation.

Once across, we continued by land for a few more hours before reaching our destination of Castro, the capital of Chiloé.  It was said to be a sort of encapsulated experience of what the island's many towns had to offer in terms of culture, geography and architecture.  Along the way, we were afforded our first views of the island's landscape.  Much of what we had heard and imagined about the countryside here proved to be quite true.  Green hills, dirt roads, small towns and the constant reminder of the sea, either through its many estuaries or the regular rainfall blowing in from the Pacific.

When we got to Castro it was late afternoon.  Our bus left us at a terminal downtown, a good ten blocks from the hostel we'd found after hours of phone calls from Puerto Varas.  Not only was it the high season here in the South of Chile, but by pure luck we'd planned our trip to coincide with what are known as the fiestas costumbristas of Castro.  This is a party held annually to celebrate the local culture with lots of music, food, drink and handicrafts.  That meant we'd have the fortune to see it even though we hadn't planned on it, but it also meant that the town's limited lodging was filling up fast, and we were lucky to find a place to stay, even calling a couple of days in advance.  And not a bad place, either.

After meeting the owner of the hostel and getting set up in our room, we decided to make the most of the afternoon and see the town.  I was particularly interested in seeing (and saying) palafitos.  A nice word which describes these stilt houses jutting improbably out into waterways like the one you see here.  Obviously at the moment the level of the water was rather low, but judging from the height of the stilts, it sometimes gets quite a bit higher.  But thanks to the stilts, no wet floorboards.

From the front, these look like regular houses along a street like any other.  It's not until you manage to get around behind them that you see what makes them so special.  And considering what's behind them is usually water, it can be tricky to find a decent vantage point to see them.  Fortunately, there was a bridge over this particular river, affording us this postcard glimpse.

From there we made our way down to harbor, where we saw fishing boats, military boats, commercial shipping vessels, and even a cruise ship carrying lots of English-speaking retirees, who were walking around the neighborhood snapping pictures along with us.  As we continued our sightseeing, a gentle rain began to fall.  As the afternoon wore on into evening, this rain picked up until it became a steady downpour which continued in varying degrees of intensity for the rest of our time in Castro.  We were told it rained a lot here, and once again, the rumors turned out to be true!

This didn't stop us from having fun that afternoon, as the rain was still, at this point, a light sprinkle.  We were thoroughly enjoying the coast, the unique houses, and the town of Castro itself.  Everything about it was pretty much just what a tourist would hope to come so far to see.  Hence our surprise to see the hulking building looming atop the hillside, at such stark contrast with its surroundings.  Still under construction, it conjured up comparisons of Death Star-like proportions.

Situated only a few blocks from the town square and Castro's iconic wooden church, we ventured to guess it was a shopping center, and once back in Santiago weeks later, we learned we were right.  Photos much like the one we took here appeared all over the newspapers, with headlines and articles exploring the controversy.  For tourists, and for those locals who count on tourism for their livelihoods, it was a bane on their impression of Castro's quaint small-town atmosphere.  For many others in Castro, who currently travel three hours and across the ferry to Puerto Montt for anything from a movie theater to a fully equipped hospital, the mall would bring a welcome dose of modernity.  Probably no modern medical clinic, but a movie theater?  Maybe.

The project was under scrutiny not only for its inconsistency with the rest of the town's architecture, but also because it had allegedly been built with a few more floors than what was originally authorized.  The project's financier and designers, for their part, claimed that the municipality was changing its tune halfway through the process now that it was provoking such a high-profile reaction around the country.  Leaving the project, for now, in limbo.  Whether or not this and the bridge across Chiloé's northern channel get built anytime soon, though, it's clear that the pressure to bring the community here into fuller integration with the rest of Chile is strong.

Much of our time, due to inclement weather, was spent indoors at our hostel.  With a large group of guests and a nice communal area including a fully functional kitchen, it was easy to pass the time like this.  And as usual, Tamia found a friend her size.

We also spent time playing cards, drinking wine and researching the next legs of our trip, working out how many days we'd spend in each place and how to plan our bus trips and accommodations accordingly.  As I've said in past postings, this was the high season, and it was essential to look a few days ahead in order to not get stuck in an unfamiliar place with nowhere to stay.  In Castro especially, we saw many backpackers going door to door in the rain, looking for somewhere to sleep for the night.  That's bad enough when you're in your twenties and on your own, but traveling with a small child makes that an especially unconscionable idea.  But thanks to Skype and wifi service at even the most rustic hostels, it was easy to stay a step ahead.

Doing my best to make the most of our time, I donned a rain jacket and tried to take advantage of some of the less rainy moments.  During such times I explored some of the more rural areas surrounding the town of Castro itself.  Maybe because it was cool, green and wet here, and maybe because of the humbler way of life, it reminded me a lot of being in the Sierra of Ecuador.

At one point I also got on a fogged up, run down city bus and went for many kilometers along a slick road out of town and to the famed fiestas costumbristas.  One of the soggiest events I've been to in a long time, it was a bit short on attendees that day thanks to all the rain.  As you can see from the photo, many of them appeared to be on their way out as I was heading in.  Undeterred, I vowed to stay under the cover of the many wooden stands while sampling as much food and warm beverage as I could during the next couple of hours.  My favorite was the chochoca, a thick sheet of savory potato dough roasted over a grill and then served with fried pork folded into it.  This I washed down with a nice, warm glass of wine heated with orange slices.  Tasty!

Reinvigorated by my warm meal, I headed back out into the rain and over to the main stage, where a cumbia band was performing.  Their enthusiasm was matched by the sheer amount of rain falling from the sky.  At this particular moment it happened to be coming down harder than ever, as you can see in the photo.  Not many people were sticking around to see the performance.  For my part, I had found a place to stand under the wooden soundboard booth, also built on stilts.  It turns out that a building on legs is as good underneath as it is inside.  There, untouched by all the precipitation, I was able to enjoy the music as much as the musicians were enjoying playing it, they too being unperturbed by the low turnout.  Far from it, they played with all the bravado of any cumbia act I've ever seen.

The next day it was time to leave, and it kept on raining.  It rained as we left Castro, it rained as we crossed the channel, and it was still raining when we got to Puerto Montt, where we would be spending the night before getting on an early morning bus to make our way to Argentina.  We spent a lot of time on buses during our trip, but this felt like a particularly long ride, delayed by construction and other traffic jams.  Nonetheless, all of us passengers managed to stay in good spirits.

And Tamia, as she usually does, made a friend.  This girl was a few years older than Tamia, was concerned about our daughter's relative lack of eyebrows, and as we neared Puerto Montt, broke into a hearty round of "estamos llegando, ¡chuguay, chuguay!"  If you don't speak Spanish, a quick Google translation will satisfy your curiosity, all the way up to the two word refrain, which was a mystery to us.  And that, my friends, is where I leave you, until the next fun-filled installment.

Stopping off in Puerto Varas

Picturesque Puerto Varas.  A sort of quintessential town in the south of Chile, it embodies much of what people expect when they think of this part of the country.  A small community with wooden houses, lots of trees, a frigid but beautiful alpine lake, and of course, a majestic, snow-capped volcano looming on the not-so-distant horizon.  There are many towns like Puerto Varas in southern Chile, but few manage to lure as many tourists.  Perhaps because this one has reached a critical mass of tourism, which brings in enough consistent revenue to pay for more infrastructure for tourists, who come in greater numbers and bring more money.  So it has gone over the years, leading Puerto Varas to become something like a Vail, Colorado of South America.

While many people come to ski in the winter, just as many make their way here in the summer for hiking and other outdoor activities.  But many families, like us, come simply to enjoy the town itself.  With a wave of German immigration in the 1800's, the town has been left with a decidedly Teutonic cultural stamp, most visibly in the form of its many historic buildings.

Incidentally, the thousands of German settlers in the area have had an important effect on Chilean culture up and down the length of the country.  From the ubiquitous schop (draft beer) to be found in any given bar in any town or city in Chile, through the tasty chucrut (sauerkraut) they put on their hot dogs, all the way to the kuchen (cakes) served for dessert, one of the best ways to experience German influence here is with your belly.  Another significant result of all of this is the Chilean ability to actually spell my last name right.

Even as the German settlers and their descendants have intermarried and assimilated into the general Chilean culture, the architecture in this part of the country is still influenced by the old German style.  In Puerto Varas and many other towns in the area you can find many more recent houses like our hostel, pictured here.  With wooden shingles lining the exterior walls and old-fashioned wood stoves to stay warm in the winter, these communities emanate a homey, residential atmosphere that made me think of what life must have been like in the US a few generations ago.

That's not to say that the town doesn't have plenty of modern influences.  With the amount of tourism flooding in during two distinct times of year, in the town's small center you can find international brands and modern, hulking shopping centers interspersed with the older and more modest storefronts.  And like any tourist town, there's plenty of shops selling clothes, souvenirs and local products, like delicious cheese. With much of the cheese we buy in Santiago being produced in this region, we went out of our way to buy a few samples while we were there.

Since we didn't have a car, we decided we'd rent a bike.  And since there were three of us, we decided to rent a bike made for three.  Pedal powered and with two steering wheels (although only one of them was actually connected to the wheels), we thought we'd found a nice form of local transportation.  But once we got a kilometer or so away from the center of town, we heard a loud pop and our ride started getting a lot rougher.  As it turned out, we'd blown a tire.

After some consideration, we came to the conclusion that one of us ought to walk back to the rental shop while the other stayed with our daughter and the bike.  Soon, a replacement bike was procured, and the girl from the rental shop was stuck pedaling the broken down vehicle back limpingly to its origin.

We continued our fancy-free tour around town, enjoying our liberating form of transportation, until we got back downtown, when some piece in the drive train happened to snap off.  The steering wheel was locked in place, and the front wheels were stuck turned a few degrees to the left.  Fortunately, we were less than a block from the rental shop, and we were able to muscle our vehicle back to where it came from without drawing too much attention to ourselves.  We weren't sure how the girl would feel about us breaking two of her bikes, but she seemed to feel like it was her fault and looked embarrassed.  She even offered to let us use a third bike if we were interested, but we decided not to push our luck any further.

Instead, we opted to spend the afternoon on the beach.  The lake upon which Puerto Varas was built is icy cold, even in the summer.  Some people still braved its waters, and even more went out onto canoes and paddleboats.  Before our mechanical difficulties with the bike, we thought we might do the same, but considering our luck, it seemed like not such a good idea to head out onto the water in another rented vehicle.  So instead we spread out a towel and enjoyed a snack while taking in the beautiful view.  And Tamia made a friend about her size.

With the many national parks in the area, and with mountainous forests all around us, the lure of getting out of town and exploring was a strong one.  With our decision, however, to make a tour of as many destinations as possible during our trip, came certain consequences.  We were traveling at a time when lodging and buses were booked many days in advance, requiring us to anticipate how many days we'd spend in each place before we got there.  More than once, we left a place without having explored it as much as we might have wanted to.  That's how it usually is when you visit a nice place, I suppose, and with luck this initial, exploratory tour of the south of Chile will not be our last.  In the meantime, we couldn't feel too much disappointed, what with the many stops still ahead.

First stop in the South of Chile

We recently took a trip that included several towns in the South of Chile, doing our best to see as much as we could in the amount of time we had for traveling.  It was something of an exploratory trip, as we had never been to any of these places before.  Chile is a uniquely shaped country, and its extended length means that thorough travel throughout its many regions requires a lot of time, and some careful planning.  Adding to the challenge is that Chile, like many of the countries in this part of the continent, isn't cheap, especially in the high Summer season of December through February.

Especially in the South, the high season lends itself to tourism because you've got the least chance of getting rained on.  The names of Chile's southern regions, such as Los Ríos and Los Lagos, highlight the abundance of water and its defining presence in the area.  Our first stop was Valdivia, the capital of the region of Los Ríos.  It has an extensive history of various waves of European colonization and indigenous resistance, but the biggest earthquake in the recorded history of the world, at a magnitude of 9.5, was responsible for the destruction of most of its historic buildings and economy.  That means that today Valdivia itself isn't much to look at compared to many of the other cities in the area.  But it's blessed with some gorgeous geography: three beautiful rivers, like the one you see above, as well as a varied coastline made up of multiple islands, and plenty to do.

We arrived in Valdivia at night, having taken the train from Santiago as far south as it goes and then busing it the rest of the way from Chillán.  Despite making a reservation at a hotel and confirming it the night before, the receptionist told us they had no rooms for us.  Some mild indignation, reenacted on your left, landed us in a private cabin at a discount for our first night until they made room for us in the hotel.

The masses of travelers that flood into Chile's southern destinations demand plenty of forward thinking, like the booking of hotels and buses several days in advance.  And even then, you should be prepared to behave assertively when necessary.  You're in direct competition for space, and even the national parks and monuments have no qualms about visibly raising the prices this time of year. 

One of our cost control methods was, whenever possible, to stay at accommodations with kitchen access, either in a modest apartment or carefully negotiated private cabin, or in a hostel where the kitchen is shared with the other guests.  That said, we still made a point to sample some of the signature dishes in the South, where dark beer and buttery potatoes are served as accompaniments to seafood and lamb that crumbles and melts upon contact with your watering mouth.

Like at the Kunstmann brewery, the home to Chile's famed German-style microbrew.  As I've written before, Chile is in the midst of a craft beer revolution, putting Kunstmann on the map today in the eyes of enthusiasts.  Their restaurant is something of a mix between Cracker Barrel and brewery, walls lined with memorabilia painting a clear picture of the historical German influence on the region.  The theme is rounded out by the impeccable stainless steel fermenters on display behind glass, and the countless T-shirts, commemorative steins and gift boxes of beer for sale.  Skipping the gift shop, we contented ourselves with a few pictures, a huge meal, and a pitcher of unfiltered lager.

The guidebook I relied on for this trip had a definite love-it-or-hate-it attitude about the South of Chile, placing each destination squarely in either the can't-miss or not-on-your-life category.  It sang the praises of Kunstmann beer, for example, while condemning the food as so German that only the nostalgic Hansel or Helmut among you would find it appealing.  I thought it was pretty damned tasty, though, and a few friends who have also been there have echoed my impression as well.  Can't please everyone, I guess.

The coastal areas of southern Chile, during much of the colonial age, lay at the edge of Spanish territory and the settlements consisted mostly of heavy fortifications which have weathered the centuries and earthquakes better than the buildings in the city of Valdivia.  Except for the cold and fog, some of these forts reminded me of the ones we saw in Cartagena de Indias.

This one was in a place called Niebla, aptly named for the prevailing weather conditions.  While the visibility was low and confounded our attempts at taking pictures, it was fascinating for us to be at the other extreme of Spanish influence in South America.  From the Caribbean forts in Colombia to these in South Pacific, one was struck as much by the similar architecture as by sheer distance between them.

The three forts we visited formed a triangle of defense with each point located on a different island or peninsula, separated by the estuary of the Valdivia River.  When you look at the system of forts on a map after seeing them for yourself from the water below, it becomes clear how formidable the fortifications would have been for pirates or other attackers.

Today, however, they stand as little more than a crumbling relic of the past, punctuating a profoundly beautiful landscape where the continent meets the sea.  This fort is located on the Isla Mancera, a picturesque island with a walking trail along its perimeter, ostensibly open to the real estate market as evidenced by the collection of rustic houses to be found on the path, but fortunately lacking any large scale development so far.  When you find yourself at the right vantage point here and look out over the sea, you can't help but hope that places like this will somehow manage to avoid the greedy eyes of developers forever.

The last, and the largest, of the forts we visited was in the small town of Corral, with a population larger and more concentrated than the haphazardly scattered homes on Isla Mancera.  Hopping from one destination to the next on a small ferryboat as we did that day, you begin to get the feeling that you could keep at it endlessly, exploring one town after another in infinite procession.

That's why I sometimes prefer to look at a map after the fact, or perhaps never, so as not to put limits and borders on that feeling of unlimited expanse.  But even then, when your eyes are filled with wooded hills and blue water as far as you can see, that's about as close to the infinite as you can hope to fathom.  Especially when you're on the first leg of a trip full of places you've never been.

Back in Valdivia, we walked the costanera, a boardwalk at the edge of town that comes to a point at the confluence of the two rivers that defined the historic borders of the city.  There, a colony of stocky sea lions have made themselves at home, a few of them seen basking on a raft, in front of the tour boat in the river.

These boats will provide you with an all day river cruise, stopping off at the same forts we visited.  We opted to make the same trip on our own terms, taking a city bus to Niebla and then hiring our own ferry from one stop to the next, but for those who prefer the convenience and comfort of a packaged trip, there are kiosks of tour agencies on the boardwalk ready to make you a deal.

And, while I mentioned before that Valdivia didn't have much historic architecture left after the 1960 earthquake, that's not to say it doesn't boast a few remnants of its former glory.  What has remained has been polished up and painted, rendering certain corners a miniature Valparaíso of sorts.

It was in one of these buildings where we had our second taste of southern cuisine on our way out of town.  With our backpacks piled up in the corner, we hunkered down to a full-on seafood feast of fried fish and a hearty stew loaded with all kinds of shellfish I don't know the name for in English or in Spanish.  Accompanied, of course, with deliciously buttered potatoes.  And washed down, naturally, with a nice, dark beer.  It was going to be another long bus ride, and we'd need our spirits high.


A fitting end to our first stop.  Stay tuned for another fun-filled installment.