Chilling on Chiloe

"You know it rains on Chiloe 8 out of 10 days," said Sebastian, glancing up from his Chile travel guide. Busily studying my own copy which had mentioned that very same fact, although slightly more subtly, I looked up and shrugged in response. The island of Chiloe with it's myths and seafood was most definitely on the itinerary, rain or not.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the morning we crossed the channel to the island. Either the weather had missed the memo or we'd struck lucky and arrived on one of the two sunny days. From the pedestrian deck of the car ferry we watched a seal with a fish in it's mouth swimming along, while four birds hovered above it, diving for the seal's catch each time it surfaced.

On the bus from Argentina into Chile we'd already noticed how the Andes and their rain shadow drastically affect the landscape. In this area at least, Chile was bright green and fertile and Chiloe with its emerald rolling countryside was no different. Certainly there was plenty of evidence that the 8 out of 10 day statistic was pretty accurate.

Ancud
But on that sunny and dare I say warm day, it seemed like a shame to stay in doors for the night so we found a camp site with million dollar views across the bay. No wait, I'll admit it. Accommodation on the island was really expensive so we camped. Then again, with that view camping seemed like the only worthwhile option.

In the afternoon we wandered back into Ancud to check out Fuerto San Antonio – the last Spanish outpost on Chilean soil during the wars of independence.

Then we wandered the streets looking at all the pretty colourful wooden houses and the harbour.

But we were perplexed why there were fire trucks constantly whizzing past with sirens on and a gaggle of children in the front of each one.

Finally we found where all the action was happening that day. In front of the wooden cathedral the square was packed with food, markets and a stage for a national fund raiser. Together with a bunch of motorbikes, the fire trucks were taking the kids for a ride to raise money for the national Teleton. It was here that we had our first opportunity to try the local speciality curanto. We asked about the contents of the massive steaming pot, but turned down the offering when a plastic mesh bag full of shellfish was pulled out. As a result that evening our dinner comprised of freshly baked bread, locally made cheese, two sweet slices and cherries washed down with Chilean wine while watching the sun set across the bay.

Castro

The following day we moved on to one of the other large towns on the island Castro. Again the weather was perfect for our afternoon exploration of the town's wooden buildings and colourful palafitos.

At the feria artesenal, the waterfront markets there were some beautiful knitted woollen dresses and jumpers that I was aching to buy. Afterwards we stopped off at the stunning timber cathedral.

Back at our hostel, the land lady was cooking up fresh pots of marmalade and the scent was wafting through the entire building. I think I dreamt about breakfast the whole night!

Dalcahue

The joke goes: What day is it after two days of rain? Monday. Perhaps it's just an Australian joke because on Monday morning after two days of sunshine we woke to...drizzle. Eight out of ten days remember. But that didn't stop our planned day trip to Dalcahue and the nearby Isla Quinchao.

Chiloe's big draw card are the World Heritage Listed wooden churches, some of which we'd already seen in the two bigger towns. But to get a better idea of island life, we wanted to visit some of the smaller villages.

The first was Dalcahue, which after a peek inside it's church and a wander through the empty streets we were ready to move on.

Across the bay on the car ferry and a short drive through rolling pasture land we were at Achao. Nestled in between the hills, the little fishing village looked beautifully dramatic.

The only activity in town was centred on the jetty. There boats would launch off into the mist and rain which at times obscured the little islands where they were headed. Other boats sat quietly on the long stretch of grey beach.

After a trip to the church and a wander down the beach there was little else to do but find a place for lunch.

We decided this was going to be our big opportunity to try curanto which hopefully wouldn't be served in a plastic mesh bag.

We first tried a local place that had reasonable patronage and a good looking specials menu, but they didn't do curanto. They recommended trying the place across the street, which was also suggested by the guidebook. Upstairs and overlooking the jetty, the restaurant with nice white table clothes was empty. Perhaps that had something to do with the prices which were 4 times that of the local place.

So we found another restaurant - El Penguino – which was bustling with cheerful locals. Curanto wasn't on their menu either and the amused waitress recommended we try another waterfront place. Similarly catering to the tourist market with it's white table clothes and high prices, that place also offered curanto served in silence. So we went back to El Penguino and ordered the other choice of the two daily options, without any clue of what said choice actually was. Well apart from the fact that it wouldn't be beef which was option A.

The restaurant, in a old crumbly building with an unmentionable toilet, was decorated in a style that in an Australian cafe would be achingly trendy. It was obviously vintage, but probably not by choice although this just added to it's charm. We'd managed to nab a window seat and enjoyed looking at the rainy bay while waiting for our mysterious meal.

When our meal arrived it was abundantly clear we'd chosen the fish option which for an area renowned for it's seafood was perfect. And I'm pleased to say it was delicious, although I'm still not sure what the purple creatures were. We liked it so much we asked the waitress to write down the name of the meal which she happily did while accepting our compliments.

Finally the last town on the itinerary was Curaco de Velez which promised an open-air restaurant serving oysters. But in true island style, everything in town including the church was shut.

Ruta 40 and a Travel Plan Fail

El Chalten has one ATM and it's usually empty. We knew this so we'd stocked up on Argentine pesos. Admittedly we chose a conservative sum, knowing that our days in Argentina were drawing to a close.

What we hadn't factored in, is that we would need to pay for the bus fare from El Chalten all the way up to Bariloche – a little over 1300km – in cash. For two tickets we needed over 900 pesos or over $300. Now forget over the phone credit card payments or asking the guy in the both next door to process the transaction then pay him back, cash was it and without it we weren't leaving El Chalten. What's more, buses from town only headed north every few days and we were running out of time.

After desperately trying the cash machine three days in a row, the ticket seller offered to hold our seats until the morning of the scheduled departure. The same day we would be returning from the Laguna Torro walk.

So we returned to town after racing back from our camp, with soaked boots and still wearing our beanies from when it had been snowing on the mountain. Actually, I think our gear scared a large guided group of day walkers we passed who probably wondered what they had gotten themselves into. Incidentally some were already complaining about how difficult the walk was. Pussies!

Our last hope was that the ATM had been refilled in our absence especially since the ticket seller had 'a feeling' it would be. Clearly his intuition was off.

We jumped on a bus that left at 12pm which we could pay for by credit card, but that only travelled half the way we needed to go. 

Glaciar Viedma: I'll be back!

 Ruta 40 is supposed to be the wild road trip to do in Argentina. Chile has an equivalent in the Carretera Austral and we'd spent a fair bit of time debating if we should hire a car to do the road trip thing. Unfortunately returning the car in a different location would have cost us two legs and an arm each so we settled on the bus thing.

Thank goodness. If you've ever driven anywhere outside of the coastal route in Australia you've probably seen about as much as Ruta 40 has to offer. Nothing. In fact, if you've ever driven somewhere that was so boring you wanted to remove your own eyeballs with your camping spoon just for something to do, that would be the equivalent.

After a night in Perito Moreno we arrived in Esquel the following afternoon with the brilliant plan of jumping across the border into Chile, catching a bus to the Chaiten and then a ferry to Isla Grande de Chiloe. Geographically this made a lot more sense than travelling north to Puerto Montt and then south to the island. 

We were obviously getting a little complacent with the photography side of things. This was taken in Esquel at least!

Great idea, but once we spent some time glued to the computer while sitting at a picnic bench next to our tent – with snow capped mountain views I might add, ie internet addict/outdoor enthusiast heaven – we realised there was only one ferry a week. Although the bakery in Esquel - Panificadora Esquel - sold amazing cakes and it was fun doing nothing we didn't have too much time to waste. 

And Esquel also had some very artistic graffitti.

 We'd decided before we left that our “Chile and Easter Island” Lonely Planet guidebook published in May 2003 wouldn't be that outdated as to be useless. Sure accommodation and restaurants might have changed and prices gone up, but the towns and natural places would still be there right?

Correct, unless your town happens to be near a volcano. See the reason there were so few ferries between Chaiten and Chiloe is because in 2008 Chaiten had been evacuated and subsequently partially destroyed by Volcan Chaiten which erupted for the first time in hundreds if not thousands of years. Given that it's still a bit unstable, lingering in the area is not highly recommended.

Needless to say, we chose to go the circuitous route to Chiloe via Bariloche and Puerto Montt. And you know what? As we passed back through El Bolson, even it seemed quite pretty this time round!

Or just outside of El Bolson, by the time we got the camera out.