Link #5
4-7 February, 2000
Pucón to Valdivia, CHILE (224 km)
The plan was a bright and early start out of Pucón. Reality was
the rain coerced us under a tarp until late afternoon when we finally
decided getting wet was part of the deal.
We got real wet. Twenty five kilometers later, we were soaked and chilled
and done for the day. Luckily the first place we came to in Villarica
offered covered parking for the bikes and hot showers for us.
Not sure if it was the chilly mist still sweeping through the Villarica
streets, or the dubiously soggy ham sandwich from the night before that
put us on the road north when we wanted to go west. Our first of probably
many wrong turns. As it turned out, it put an extra 90-100 km on our odometer.
Oh well... the road north to Freire was fast, smooth, and beautiful.
At Freire, we got back on the Panamericana south, and pedaled hard and
long till Loncoche. Nice roads allowed us to clock over 110km (70 mi)
that day. Had it not been for a lovely 4 km downhill at about km 97, we
definitely would have laid our heads a bit more to the north that night.
As it was, we rolled until the southern fringe of Loncoche and found a
hospitable looking roadside cafe where we gorged on a few sandwiches,
a behemoth plate of papas fritas, and prerequisite beers.
From the cafe table I spotted a couple cyclists slowly cranking north.
I pried myself from my cozy chair and waved them in. Marcio y Debora started
their pedal in Sao Paulo where they live & work. Five weeks into it,
they've cycled the southern coast of Brazil, the entire coast of Uruguay,
the northern Argentine coast, and the Argentine Lake District out of Bariloche.
A fine trip they said.
We chatted roadside for a while before deciding we all had pedaled enough
for a day and needed a place to crash. Scanning the horizon, we spotted
a farm across the highway. The four us and our nine wheels made one last
push up the long rocky entrance to the farm, or campo. Before we
could knock, we were greeted by the señora. She patiently listened
as I built my sentences in the air and responded with slow nods and the
occasional "Si." After enjoying my attempt, Marcio stepped
up to finish my roughed in structure.
"Can we pitch our tents in your field to pass the night?"
"I think so. My husband is out in the fields bringing in the animals.
He can tell you for sure."
Sure enough, after a few minutes the silhouette of a man appeared on
the hillcrest along with a small herd of animals. As he drew nearer, we
could make out a handsome man of about 55 years in a green cap, wool sweater,
and blue jeans. The animals turned out to be llamas and alpacas.
Before rustling them through the last gate, he stepped through and approached
us with his unshaven smile and curious eyes. Marcio repeated our request
and the campesino responded with a warm, drawn out "Si."
In the next few minutes, he lead and pointed us to a variety of spots
where we could set up. We chose one for its flatness and protection from
the wind. Later, we would wish we had added cow-patty free to our criteria.
Together, we set up camp and brought out the makings for a meal. Marcio
prepared his maté cup as I fired up the stove and brought some
water to a boil. And so it was there, in the llama pasture, that Nicole
and I enjoyed our first sips of yerba maté, the cross-cultural
drink of the rural folk in southern South America. An intriguing herb
tea served in a gourd shaped cup and sipped through a sieved metallic
straw. The complete apparatus somewhat resembles a medium sized bong (from
pictures I've seen of course). Each maté preparation yields only
a few sips. One's "turn" is over when you hear the sucking sound.
The preparer then adds more hot water and hands the cup to the next person.
It went round five or six times before we had our fill.
We woke in time to see the llamas and alpacas being sent out to pasture
- 9 am prompt. Low fog still enveloped the rolling hills and obscured
vision beyond 40 meters. Standing there, watching the animals and soaking
up the swirling mist, I once again caught myself seriously contemplating
a rural lifestyle.
On the way back to our campsite, the señora offered us a couple
loaves of bread baked that morning. To avoid appearing rude, we accepted
and promptly sprinted back to our tents to brew some coffee and get out
the butter and jam. We feasted. After that little bit of heaven, it took
us another two hours to pack things up and say our good-byes.
The Brazilians cranked north, we cranked south.
Seventy five kms later we arrived in Valdivia, Chile's "city of
rivers" on the Pacific coast. With no camping sites in sight, we
checked into El Hospedaje de Veronica. Within a few minutes, we once again
transformed our tidy room into a laundress's nightmare. Yet, once again,
our stuff was on its way to getting dry. We emerged from our hovel presentable
enough and explored the town.
Valdivia's fish market amazes the eye. It's fish prices are second to
none. A complete salmon or sierra (sawfish) dinner, rice and vegetables
included, can be had for less than $3. Fresh and tasty as it gets.
The next day we saw the countryside a different way - by boat. After
four days riding in a row, we decided to treat ourselves to a tourist's
cruise through the seven rivers that surround and intertwine the city
of Valdivia. A six hour diversion including a traditional Mapuche lunch
of curanto, a heaping plate of shellfish,
meat, and potatoes. Learning the gazillion words for shellfish: choritos,
cholgas, almejas, ostras, to name a few.
Patricio and Maria shared a table with us that day. On vacation from
Santiago, they are slowly making their way south as far as Chiloé.
Patricio is an elementary school teacher and Maria works as a clothes
designer. Despite being on vacation, they worked that day, answering my
questions and helping Nicole conjugate her verbs.
The rivers here flow wide with inlets, bays, and bayous stretching out
in all directions; all sculpted from hilly, densely treed terrain. Estancias
dot the hilltops & river banks and make a person wish for the placid
yet deliberate marine lifestyle. Bright green waters hold delectable meal
after delectable meal for the water foul, as well as the locals. Ducks,
geese, egrets, seagulls, and a species of beaver all share this aquatic
playground.
The first stop of the cruise was the Isla of Mancera with its Spanish
stronghold of yesteryear, the Fort of San Pedro de Alcántara. After
that, the boat motored into the Pacific to the sea village of Corral.
A mere town of less than 3,000 inhabitants, what it lacks in numbers makes
up for in activity and life. On just about every street corner, kuchen,
a tort that comes in a variety of flavors, can be had for a song. If it
didn't sound Spanish, it's because it's not. Kuchen is one of the many
vestiges from a wave of German emigrants during the second half of the
19th century.
While we enjoyed that day of rest in the sun, the next day we would mildly
regret not having spent it pedaling. For the rains came back with a vengeance...
< Prev
Next >
|
