|
|
|
|
Link #7
13-16 February, 2000
Chacao to Quellón, Island of Chiloé, CHILE (313 km)
Here's what Charles Darwin had to say about the island of Chiloé:
The land is hilly, but not mountainous, and is
every where covered by one great forest, excepting a few scattered green
patches which have been cleared round the thatched cottages... In winter
the climate is detestable, and in summer it is only a little better.
I should think there are few parts of the world, within the temperate
regions where so much rain falls. The winds are very boisterous, and
the sky almost always clouded: to have a week of fine weather is something
wonderful.
- Charles Darwin, Voyage of the Beagle,
1834
For us, the island and its weather was something wonderful. Paradoxically,
February is the island's wettest month (averages 11 inches of precipitation)
yet the four days we spent on Chiloé were warm and sunny. It appears
we used up our allotment of rainy days in the Lakes.
A half hour ferry from the mainland lands you on northeastern corner
of the island of Chiloé. A 2 km pedal from the dock brings you
to the small fishing village of Chacao. Like most Chilote towns, Chacao
sits right on the Pacific and extends itself along the shoreline rather
than into the densely forested hills at its back.
Map
Chilotes seem to be rather poor people, earning their bread by either
fishing the seas or tilling the land. Yet despite the apparent poverty,
the architecture of Chiloé, while not grand, offers far more to
look at than what's typically found in Chile. In particular, each town
has as it's focal point a prize church, every one done in the same symmetrical
style: a central tower topped with a cross, a pillared edifice creating
five arches of varying sizes, and a large porch running the length of
its front. There's over 150 such churches on the island.
In addition to the churches, Chilote towns are known for their tejuelas,
or wood shingle siding. Generally made of alerce (redwood) and rectangular
in shape, their trailing, visible edges are cut in a myriad of ways. Each
area of the island seems to have its own signature cut. Often the tejuelas
are painted bright gaudy colors, but every once in a while you can catch
a building done with natural varnish.
The town of Castro boasts one other architectural original: the palafito.
Built on wood pillars or stilts, palafitos are the traditional home of
the seafaring Chilote. Most have stairs which can be accessed from a moored
boat underneath the house.
While Darwin's weather forecast did not hold true for us, his description
of "hilly" land certainly did. Our longest pedal was only 75
km, but felt like 150 km back on the mainland. At one point, 10 km from
our final destination of Quellón, after cranking up the seventh
tier of an eight-tier hill, Nicole gasped, "I can't ride another
millimeter!" Yet, being the truly live-in-the-moment gal that she
is, a few minutes and two blocks of chocolate later, she climbed back
on the saddle and cranked the last bit with a big choco-stained grin on
her face.
On our first day we pedaled west 33 km from Chacao to Ancud, the former
provincial capitol of the island, recently displaced by Castro. Later,
we weren't surprised to learn there was a large rivalry between the two
towns.
Just as we were riding into Ancud, we met a trio of Ecuadorian cyclists
who are pedaling from southern Argentina to Alaska,
in nine months! That day, they had cranked almost the entire island -
their odometers read 173 km when we met them. So, for those of you who
think we're crazy... Very nice guys though - in fact if anyone on the
West Coast wouldn't mind putting them up for a night on their way up,
email us and we'll give you more info.
Before cycling off in opposite directions, they gave us some good info
on the roads to the south. We grimaced to hear they got drenched for six
days straight while riding the Carretera Austral (the next leg of our
trip).
In Ancud we stayed at a church and slept on the floor of a side room
for $4. We slept in late the next morning and rewarded ourselves with
a tasty breakfast of fried eggs and fresh bread. Thus energized, we climbed
the steep hill out of Ancud and rode the coaster all the way to the village
of Dalcáhue, 20 km north of Castro. Halfway, the highway changed
from smooth new asphalt to cracked old concrete. Perhaps "crevassed"
is a better term. It became a game to see how well you could navigate
the mosaic to avoid the widest chasms, and of course, stay out of the
way of passing cars. Needless to say, both our bikes received a thrashing
that day.
Out of Dalcáhue, we rode back to the route five and then down
to Castro. To escape the heat we spent the afternoon in Castro, checking
out the stores, and filling up at a couple restaurants. Shortly before
dusk, we mounted up and cycled a sublime hour along a gorgeous coastline
with distant views to snowcapped, alpine-glow-lit Alps.
With night coming on fast, we started looking for potential campsites.
None could be found - the entire highway in that section is lined with
barb-wire fences. We rolled up to one farm but found no one home. The
second farm we tried was that of the Saldivias.
Pitching in their field was no problem at all. In fact, we hadn't finished
staking the tent before Nestor, the son-in-law, and Estephan, the grandson,
came down and asked us in for dinner. At first, we weren't sure what they
were offering. Nestor spoke at a blistering pace. Though soon enough we
were seated at their table enjoying a delectable meal of lamb, potatoes,
onions, and carrots. Ahhh vegetables!!!
After telling our story, we asked about theirs. Beto, the patriarch of
the family, was born on the farm and has lived there all his life, as
did his father, and this father's father, and so on. While his plot of
land is no estancia - 20 to 40 chickens (depending on who you ask), some
sheep, one piglet, a dog, an apple orchard, and a few hay fields - Beto
seems to happily carry on his farming heritage. Ana, his wife, manages
the kitchen and appears to keep the place running with only a few words.
After dinner, we were invited to the kitchen, the largest room in the
house, the room with the large oven occupying center stage and offering
bench seating on three sides. When we entered, we were surprised by the
crowd already seated there. All the neighbors were there - about 15 men.
Every year during harvest, they gather at one man's house and work his
farm until the work is done. After the first man's wheat is harvested,
they move onto the next farm, and so on. A Midwestern USA barn-raising
of sorts, or on the island of Chiloé, a "minga."
The Minga
As luck have it, we happened to knock on the Saldivia's door on their
night. With already too many hands for the chores, they continued their
relentless hospitality and asked us only to watch. Watch we did.
All the men in the kitchen were patiently waiting for "LA MAQUINA."
It wasn't until it finally showed up at midnight that we fully understood
exactly what LA MAQUINA was... In the middle of my cup of chicha,
or sour fermented apple juice, there was a ruckus on the other side of
the kitchen wall that brought all the men to their feet. The sound was
that of a chugging motor. One of the neighbors was grinning ear to ear
driving a big red tractor, pulling behind it LA MAQUINA: a thresher (I
think) that separates the wheat from the chaff.
Beto had two hugh carts, overflowing with hay cut the day before. With
apparently no man in charge, no orders given, all the men set to work.
Some anchored LA MAQUINA to the ground, others tugged one of the hay carts
into position, others connected the 6 inch wide, 30 foot long belt from
the rear of the tractor to LA MAQUINA. Soon enough, but dozens of photos
later, the tractor started up and set the belt spinning.
Two men atop the hay cart pitched loose bales to two other men mounted
on the machine. Another two collected the chaff at the rear end, and one
more set 50 kilo sacks under the machine to catch the wheat. Still other
men looked on alongside Nicole and I, taking sips and passing along the
chicha jug. I continued snapping photos until the air got so thick
that the flash photography became impossible - the airborne flakes reflected
all the light and made every photo appear as if taken in a snowstorm.
A little before 2 am we called it quits. We retreated to our tent, luckily
pitched in the opposite pasture, and crashed.
The sun was well up and shining before we woke. As we re-packed our stuff,
Ana came down to make sure we slept well and that we were coming up to
the house for breakfast. In between eggs and coffee we learned they had
worked until 4 am and had bagged 33 sacks of wheat.
< Prev
Next >
|
|
