Still Waiting: Magical El Cañi

The lasagne was just about to come out of the oven when there was a knock on the door. We were staying in a little two couple cabin at Hostal Emalafquen that the lovely landlady Valentina had pestered us into looking at when she'd sidled up to us at the bus station. After 2.5 months travelling it was inevitable that the functioning oven would be used. And as it turned out, we had a dinner guest that evening.

Drenched from head to toe, Sebastian stepped into our warm cabin and greeted us like an old friend. Since we'd gone our separate ways on that cold morning at the Laguna Torro camp site, he'd gone north via Chile, while we'd taken the Argentian route. He'd arrived in Pucon the day before us and on the following perfect morning had climbed Volcan Villarrica, peered into it's smokin' crater and bum slid all the way back down to the bottom. Of course he had photo's to show us too!

The weather forecast was still looking dismal, although there was hope in sight on Sunday, the last possible day we had before we needed to head back to Santiago.

Friday was miserable. When we ventured outside to look at the black volcanic beach of Lago Villarrica on the edge of town we were nearly blown away. Actually it was quite impressive! The black sand seemed really odd, like an inverse of reality, but stranger still was the group of teenage girls going swimming in the lake fully clothed in jeans.

Despite our pleading, the guides didn't agree that Saturday would be a suitable day to attempt Villarrica, so we took Sebastian's suggestion and went to El Cañi, a 400 hectare conservation park protecting an ancient araucaria forest.

As predicted, it was another overcast day and our rain jackets came out within five minutes of walking.

After an hour's slog up a muddy 4 wheel drive track we reached a lovely hiker's hut with a view to the surrounding volcanoes and solid patch of snow.

On the hillside above, we could see a patch of bizarre looking trees. While the rest of the vegetation and the same trees near them were green, this small stand was grey with mist swirling between them, almost like they were part of an enchanted forest.

Starting up the narrow snowy path past damp logs, weeping bamboo and bright spring blossoms it felt like this forest was indeed enchanted.

Our objective on this walk was to reach a lookout high up on one of the hills that would offer 360 degree views to the surrounding volcanoes. The mud map given to us at the reception also indicated that along the way there'd be two lakes, but they hadn't been mentioned in the guidebook. Isn't it funny how sometimes it's the places you least expect that are the most breathtaking?

 

A thin crust of ice had formed over Laguna Las Totoras and when snow had fallen the previous night it had dusted the surface of the lake in white. The ice had already cracked a little with long spidery lines etched in the snow.

The trees we'd seen from lower down stood around the laguna, still stiff and frosted over from the cold night.

Higher up there was even more snow, but the well marked trail was still obvious.

Laguna Negra, surrounded by snow and ice like the first, seemed more dark and brooding. Reflecting the dark clouds rolling in, the water looked almost black.

From here we were on our own trail finding wise. From the mud map, we guessed where the summit should lie and set off trying to discern a trail in the snow. Climbing the hillside, it quickly became apparent that we hadn't found it so we went straight up to the saddle.

There amongst a winter wonderland of iced over trees we found the path to the summit.

At the frozen top we got our panoramic view of frozen forests, cloudy volcanoes and the dark lakes we'd passed.

With a heightened awareness of the seismic potential all around us, we looked at each other with dread when we heard a rumble from somewhere in the distance. The dark clouds almost certainly meant the noise came from the sky rather than the earth, but even so we retreated back into the forest pretty quickly when we heard more rumbling.

We had decided to follow the trail along the ridge instead of the way we'd come up. Fifty or so metres on from where our footprints led down the hill, we heard a grunt. Stopping dead in our tracks near a rocky outcrop, the low growl came again from somewhere in the scrub nearby. There was no more sound except the pounding of our hearts, as we realised how foreign the forest was despite how used to it we'd become. We had no idea what had made that noise, but for fear of having strayed into a wild beasts territory we turned tail and ran back to the safety of our tracks, slipping and sliding down the hill to the lake.

The rumble we'd heard from the top, did prove to be bad weather, that dumped a bit of snow on us on the way down the mountain. When we told Valentina about it upon our return to Pucon, she shook her head sadly saying there shouldn't be any snow by this time of year. But at least the weather forecast wasn't all grim. That afternoon we got our equipment together in preparation for climbing Volcan Villarrica the next morning.

Waiting for the sun in Pucon

The road to Pucon is well worn with little backpacker footprints. I however, would recommend catching a bus. The view is much better.

Way back in Mendoza, over pitchers of wine at Mr Hugo's we'd starting hearing about Pucon and it's volcano – Volcan Villarrica. A little further in our travels, every casual conversation that started with 'So, where have you been and where are you going next?' would lead straight to gushing over Villarrica.

In fact by the time we arrived in Pucon we had recommendations for where to stay, who to hike with, how many days to allow for weather and what to wear.

So what's all the fuss about? Well Pucon is a tourist village located 12km or so from the base of an active volcano – Volcan Villarrica – whose smokin' top you can see right from town on a good day, like the one we arrived on. But more excitingly, on a fine day like the one we arrived on you can climb Volcan Villarrica, peer inside its smokin' crater before bum sliding all the way back down to the bottom. Need I say more?

As it's an active volcano, climbing is only permitted as part of a guided group, so that very afternoon we set off to find ourselves a guide and a group. Pucon is fundamentally a tourist town, so every second shop on it's main street advertises guides for climbing, rafting, horse riding and everything in between. So finding a guide proved to be the easy bit, the weather on the other hand was intending to be less cooperative.

We'd been forewarned to allow enough time to wait out the weather. In fact some people had hung out at their hostel for 5 days straight waiting for the sun to come out. So we studied the weather forecast on 'mountain weather' with batted breathed and scuttled over to the guide's office each time it looked like the sun might possibly, maybe show itself. In other words we were down there daily.

So with the following day out for climbing we needed a plan B. It's a good thing then, that volcanic regions have something other than active volcanoes: thermal springs which happen to be one of my favourite things.

We'd often been disappointed with thermal springs that were either ugly or overcrowded or both. But Termas Los Pozones, despite being one of the most popular in the area was perfect. Set right next to an icy river, we could hear the rushing water from all of the 9 rock pools.

Between them, the neat gardens were bursting with colour and the scent of roses was in the air.

The mountains surrounding the valley were delicately enveloped by mist on what had turned out to be a rainy day.

While contemplating the fact that life wasn't so bad even though we weren't able to climb Villaricca that day, we were surprised by a chirpy 'hello' and looking up to see two familiar faces. The two German girls had drank pisco sours with us in Puerto Natales before setting off on the 'W' the day we had left for El Calafate. We figured we'd probably never see them again and yet here they were more than 2000km north of we're we'd last seen them.

Yes, the road to Pucon is well worn.

Twenty four hours in Valdivia

You know a town has a bit of a tourist retention problem when upon checking into an overpriced hostel you're offered a hefty tome outlining all the 'exciting' things to do around town. Valdivia was exactly such a place.

Punta Arenas had had it's enthusiastic tour guide who rattled off museum after museum to a newly arrived backpacker who had made the mistake of asking what there was to do around town. Granted it was me who thought it was a mistake as I tried to keep my opinions to myself and focus on putting my thoughts down in digital format.

What most of the towns of Argentina and Chile had shown us was that no matter how glowingly the guidebook describes a town, chances are we'd be disappointed. You see a 'European' feel just isn't the same as a real European town.

And yet here we were strolling around Valdivia which allegedly “just may be Chile's most attractive and enjoyable city.”

Set one at the confluence of three rivers and surrounded by wetlands the city is actually very pretty. On top of the river cruise there's forts at strategic points towards the ocean which together are the largest Spanish fortification in South America. So in our 24 hour stay we probably didn't give the town enough of a chance. But then again, that's not why we came.

Every day the city is host to the Feria Fluvial, the fish, meat and produce markets set on the bank of the river. And each day fat sea lions come out of the river and grunt begging for food. Competing with them are a stack of birds who try to grab any of the scraps the vendors throw towards them.

Arriving in the afternoon, we thought we'd have to wait until the following morning to catch the action. But as we wandered along the bank of the river we found a group of sea lions resting in the sun, probably after a long day of 'fishing'. 

Is that not the cutest face you've seen in a while?

 Of course, this is what 'fishing' looks like!

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.

Los Glaciares: Laguna Torro...rained out

After so many days of sunshine the Patagonian weather gods were clearly bored. And our luck ran out.

With the sky in an obviously cantankerous mood, we walked away from El Chalten – in a different direction – for our last overnight hike with Sebastian and Hannes.

Maybe it was because we would soon be heading in different directions after two weeks of travelling together, or I was still tired from the last four days or maybe it was just the steep hill we were hiking up, but the one thing I was sure of was that I didn't want to be there.

We'd been warned that the track was boggy in places which wasn't great news for my boots that were losing their sole. Yes, that on top of worn inner padding. But in the end, it didn't really matter. We had a few good moments of bright sunshine and happiness, until we hit the boggy section and it started to rain. Hoping that things would improve we were carefully picking our way through the mud to avoid wet boots.

Then, for the first time in our hiking history, it started really bucketing down. No we're not sheltered, just really lucky. Oops, I don't think I should have written that.

Add to that gusts of wind which were almost knocking us off our feet, along with driving rain so hard it felt like needles on my cheeks, so I didn't even want to look up from under my hood. Effectively there could have been pink elephants flying through the air and we wouldn't have seen them.

By the time we reached camp after walking for 4.5 hours, our pants were soaking wet as were our boots, because at some point it had seemed useless or even impossible to avoid the bog. The camp site was empty and it was still pouring, but luckily there was a tiny shelter about 3m by 2m where we could hang up our clothes and wait out the afternoon. We crowded in and pooled all our sweets, eating them all for lack of anything better to do. With the way things had turned out, we knew that Jeff and I had missed out on seeing Laguna Torro and the last glacier.

The next morning, the rain had turned to light snow and the ground was still frosty from the cold night. As we left camp at 7am to get back to El Chalten before noon, the sun was just coming up over the mountains. With the clear skies we got to see what we'd missed the previous day.

Well except pink elephants of course.

So while the weather gods smiled once more for us, the ATM ones did not. But that's a story for another day.