Of Germanic settlements, free coffee, hikes, migraine, teaching Spanish
Day 71, Tue Nov 9 Castro/ Puerto Varas
Puerto Varas is a 4 hour bus ride from Castro. Sunny weather said goodbye as a fellow traveller and I boarded our bus. The island looked even more pretty in sunshine and sat glued to the scenery again. This time it was warm enough to head out of the bus onto the ferry during the crossing to the mainland.
Checked into a hostel run by a Frenchman in Puerto Varas. The hostel had a hippie vibe to it. The only thing I didn’t like about the hostel is that they let people smoke indoors at the dining table!
The town has a trail that takes you around to many old Germanic houses, where the initial German immigrants settled. The architecture is very German/ Swiss and the chocolate shops and the beers testify to the fact as well. The volcano Osorno presents a majestic sight over the Lake Llanquihue.
Being a lovely day, we walked around town a while. There is a huge garden at the top of the hill overlooking the lake and a couple of nice miradors. We disturbed a flock of school children making out and/or smoking cigarettes in the privacy offered by the wooded region.
Before dinner, the pub where we stopped to get a coffee for my poor cold self was full of foreigner. For some reason, the lady decided that my coffee was on the house. I shall put it down to my irresistible charm!
Dinner was sushi and a glass of heavenly red wine – something Carmeneres.
There were 4 Germans and an Israeli couple at the hostel and we all made plans to go on a 4 hour hike to the Parque Petrohue to observe the volano over the Lago Todo Los Santos.
Day 72, Wed Nov 10 Puerto Varas
The hostel was very cold in the morning and I rued the fact that I had woken up so early. The staff had forgotten to turn on the heater. Breakfast, and on the micro to Lago Todo Los Santos. The original group of 7 had split into a more manageable 3 and 4. For the first time in ages, I was with someone close to my age. Lamin is a German who lives in Switzerland and like I, was an engineer who ended up in a different profession. He dabbled in software before going into sales.
I fell asleep since it was cloudy and the views weren’t as impressive as the previous evening. I was woken up by sunlight as the day took on warmer tones!
The ride of 60 kms took 1.5 hours. The hike to the mirador was fairly easy. It was hot and I had to shorn my protective layers of coats as we bravely soldiered on in the heat. I had the foresigh to buy a 2 litre bottle of water and bring some food, but made huge inroads into both food and water and the sun beared on us without the benefit of any shade offered by trees. The volcanic sand probably also helped it be hotter than it might have been. The views the viewpoint was well worth it. However, I was starting to get burnt by the sun and we decided to climb down after spending about 30 – 45 minutes at the mirador.
Despite finishing up about 80% of the 2 lt bottle, I was staring to get dehydrated. An hour into the hike back, I could feel a migraine on its way, and I was drained. The last hour was walk, stop, look at the beautiful scenerey, then turn self into an automaton as I used muscle memory to keep walking when my body started shouting contrary instructions.
I split from my fellow travellers and decided to skip visiting the waterfalls as the headache manifested itself more clearly now. I was glad to get into the bus, but 2 minutes into the ride, realised my folly. A fellow country man, from Alaska, decided to make his affable presence felt; he didnt seem to realise that he is a bloody caricature of the “American abroad”. He must have thought himself the friendly American traveller as he bombarded a couple ( Russian guy with a Chilean girl) with questions, most of which I would ave deemed private and none of his business and all of them made me wish I had enough strength to lift his 250-odd lb frame out the moving bus. I am sure the objects of his Gestapo routine were fairly uncomfortable as well “How did you two meet?”, “Oh, what does your dad say about you dating a Russian guy?” “I think Russian girls are very pretty. Why arent you dating a Russian girl” “When you get married, will you live in Russia or Chile”. As one can tell, the questions are burnt into my head. I could almost bring myself to feel sympathy for his poor wife, if she had once opened her mouth to stop his misguided avuncular interest. He definitely will not be in my good book-
The migraine made the 2 hour journey back hell, as I writhed in my seat, struggling to get any kind of shut eye. The American, the crowd, the headache…. A journey that I would like to forget! It didn’t help that I felt like such a cad that I couldnt get up to offer my seat to a grey-haired lady, as she stood struggling with her bags. What had been a lovely day ended up as a ride from hell. Off to bed, but the much sought after oblivion was still hard to come by.
Day 73, Thu Nov 11 Puerto Varas
Decided to take a day off and rest the poor old body. Did my laundry, ate some pizza, wandered around a little. Sandra, who ran the laundromat, wanted me to write down her name in my mother tongue, Malayalam. Chileans are proving to be very friendly!
Had a nice dinner and talked to folks around the table. Also offered a Spanish lesson to a Eastern Europen from London. The Spanish – Colombian couple sitting across the table from us were amused at an Indian teaching Spanish to a Londoner. Luckily I didnt make any howlers in my lesson.
It was nice to practise my Span(gl)ish, as more people joined our conversation.
Tags: Travel
November 17th, 2010 at 17:50
Sushi in Chile. Fabulous! We had sushi in the Galapagos. Who wouldn’t?
November 17th, 2010 at 18:01
And speaking of Span(g)lish, some of the funniest conversations I ever had was with a German Swiss couple in Costa Rica. They didn’t speak any Spanish, a tiny bit of English, and a little of French. My husband, Stuart, did not speak any Spanish at the time. Mine is extremely limited. We ended up traveling with them for a couple of days. When necessary, I translated all the Spanish into English. Stuart would then use his broken French and Yiddish (which is primarily German) to pass on whatever it was I thought I had translated.