Charging South into the Glorious Green

Pretty close to paradise.

Definitely paradise.

"Tengo la cara agria, por eso tal vez dicen que soy un dictador."

- Augusto Pinochet

The following post will contain excessive use of the words “beautiful” “stunning” and “incredible view”. Apologies for the shortage of adjectives, try turning it into a game of Buzzword Bingo. The quote above has no particular relevance to Chile’s beautiful South.

I am sitting once again in Sao Paulo’s hideous Guarulhos International Airport. An airport so truly hideous that it goes beyond mere ugliness to become genuinely impressive in its own right as a monument to bad taste and blind architecture. From the outside it looks like the kind of place where my jeans were probably made by small children for a few cents a day. I could literally dedicate this entire post to describing it in all of its foul glory, but that would get tiring. I have five hours to kill here and Brazil is a beautiful country which deserves a better first impression.

Arranging a trip to the South of Chile apparently takes a fair bit of admin, as does moving out and moving in, and working through it all. The last few weeks in Santiago were thus filled with distracted goodbyes as everyone just had so much to do around the farewells. It was all absolutely worth it however, with a trip to Valdiva, Puerto Varas, the charming island of Chiloe, and of course the 8^th natural wonder Torres Del Paine making for an unforgettable end to the year.

Rushing to collect my Chilean ID document necessary for re-entering the country on the day of departure, we (meaning me, my flatmate and fellow Escudo enthusiast Jordan, and ever loyal travelling companion Shane) made for a fairly stressed departing trio as we made our way to Puerto Montt in the evening. Chasing the sunset all the way, we arrived just too late for an airport shuttle to our hostal for the evening, opting instead for a taxi driven by a man with a limp as pronounced as his moustache. We later wondered if the limp was from an accident he got into on the same day as his driving style was best described as “death wishful”.

Starting early the next day, we headed North through rolling green hills (with trees!) to the old German town of Valdivia (also with actual trees). Imported en masse in the 1800s, the German settlers were encouraged to come to Chile to help secure land claims over an ungovernable South as well as introduce a good work ethic as they tamed the land. Of course, they set to work in brewing fantastic beers immediately. The architecture of the region is also very Germanic and thus very beautiful too, so these small towns had a very Alpine feel about them. Eager to take in some older history though, we took a boat to visit some Spanish forts at the river-mouth and were treated to a dramatic re-enactment of a famous battle in which Chilean nationalists seized control of the fort from the Spanish in 1820 as Chile consolidated its independence. 

The Spanish didn't do too well in this one by the looks of things.

The day ended at the famous Kuntsmann Brewery, where we were treated to beer tastings, delicious dead-pig-centred cuisine, and festive amounts of the fine brews made there and sold throughout the country. By the end we were so full our bus creaked to a halt when it attempted to climb a hill and broke down completely. As they say, moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips.

Jordan and our friend Hans Kuntsmann.

Pushing South again, we made for a national park which lay beyond the pristine lakeside hamlet of Puerto Varas. There we camped out on the side of a wooded lake called “Todos Los Santos” in the shadow of three huge volcanoes. Incredible views even if the whole place was bug infested. The lake was gorgeous, clear blue, and surprisingly warm considering snow could be seen in the mountains above it. We could have spent a lifetime in and around that lake, were it not for the continuous onslaught of biting insects the size of bumblebees. A fantastic kayaking trip was cut short after we decided to “relax” on a lakeside beach on the edge of the forest. The bug assault was relentless so we had to move on eventually.  

Such a beautiful lake, time for a bug-assaulted swim.

It was decided that Christmas would be spent on the mysterious, picturesque, and distinctly bohemian island of Chiloé. Known for its mist, fairies, trolls, huge quantities of seafood, and hospitality, the island came to hold a special place in our hearts due to just how ancient and filled with character every part of the island felt. “Ancient”, in particular, was one of the first words to come to mind in that landscape.

I was astounded at how many allowances are made for nature in Chiloé. Many whole ploughed fields will have an old tree, or several, rising out of the middle, as the Chilote farms seemed to defer as always to nature. The remoter parts of the island are thoroughly untamed and feel as though they never have been. Taking day trips around the island by bus or hired car, we ended up enjoying a drizzly Christmas day in the only place we could find open on another small island. Being the only place open on Christmas day (even our hostel closed, leaving us with the keys), this boathouse bar/restaurant boasted a cast of characters who clearly had nowhere else to be on Christmas. An old man who angrily challenged me at the door to make sure that there were no women with me “¡Solo hombres!”, the rosy-cheeked town drunk who was very adept at making a trumpet impersonation with his lips, a few other people playing a loud game of dominoes, the moustached owner of the establishment himself (Francisco), and then three gringos in Santa hats.

Feliz Navidad!

During our meal we had the pleasure of an impromptu trumpet performance from the town Boracho, with free spittle, a traditional and stirring song of the island, and of course a bottle of champagne on the house from our incredibly generous and quite over-served host as well. Our host also served us Chica (another fermented grape beverage made at home) poured into a cow’s horn on our way out the door which was of course accepted politely (declined refills). More or less a normal Christmas. Boarding the bus out of this peculiar town later in the day, we were pleased to see trumpet man careering around on his bicycle next to the bus to give it a proper send-off. Moving to the other side of the island to its main town, Ancud, provided us with even better scenery as well as the most famous dish of the island: Curanto.

Curanto is simply ridiculous. Huge amounts of mussels, fish, potatoes (some semi-raw), clams, pork, chicken, and just about anything are barbequed underground for some hours before being removed from the hot rocks at just the right time for consumption. While we were waiting for ours in a restaurant famous for it the owner himself sat down at our table and detailed us the entire illustrious history of this distinctly Chilote dish. Pride. I didn’t fancy my chances at finishing the meal too highly, but we all pulled through and crawled into hammocks after for recovery. 

Curanto. Not easy. 

Walking down the desolate beach of Cucao.

Sad to leave Chiloé but excited to find out just how long the days can get if you go further South, we hopped on the next flight all the way down to Punta Arenas in the independently minded Región de Magallanes y de la Antártica Chilena for the final leg of our journey, a five day hike in the wondrous Torres del Paine National Park. I am not entirely sure how the whole “8^th world wonder” thing works. Last I heard there were seven, then people tried to make me like Facebook pages with ads on them to make Table Mountain an 8^th natural wonder last year. Apparently the concerted effort was successful but it still looks like a table. What is a “wonder” anyway? In any case, many people have assured me that Torres Del Paine is now one, and this is a cause for excitement. Whatever status it holds, Torres Del Paine National Park is without a doubt the most extraordinary place I have ever visited in my life.

Though the weather seemed foul the week got off to a fantastic start when a sharing Chilean family offered to host our entire party in their home for the night. Armed with full stomachs, maps, and plenty of advice we entered the park the next morning quite ready to see what all the fuss was about, provided the clouds lifted. Unfortunately, in Patagonia a weather forecast is about as useful as your average parliament so we just had to hope it didn’t get too awful. The clouds lifted, see below:

The hike followed the well-known “W” trail. Taking in three major valleys which cut into the glorious mountains of Torres del Paine as well as some trails which follow the lake. The first day we saw the massive Glacier Grey which lies at the end of hundreds of miles of the Hielo Sur icefield which separates Patagonia from the rest of Chile. The second day was New Year’s Eve, which had to be observed in some way. Huddled in our tent by the lake, we enjoyed whiskey out of hip flasks and stared at the stars. The clouds had kindly decided to leave altogether that night allowing the beautiful Southern night sky that I know and love to shine through perfectly. The next day found us hiking up yet another step and drizzly valley. In Valle Frances we had the privilege of seeing ancient green woods around us, granite massifs towering above us, a steeply crumbling glacier across the valley, and a turquoise lake below. In this setting, I felt a primal urge to run down the valley as fast as possible. Jumping from one wet rock without really being sure where I’d land on the next with the panorama surrounding me was easily the best running experience I can remember. So many superlatives! Torres del Paine is grand. Like Middle Earth.

The weather cleared up fully after that, as we pushed all the way to the closest campsite to the towers themselves; meaning we only had to get up at 340am to do the hour hike up to catch the sunrise. This being our final day in the park made for a very painful hike but it was completely worthwhile. The sun only shined for the first twenty minutes of that day, and we were incredibly lucky to see it.

The last leg of our journey was to return to Punta Arenas and visit its tremendous monuments to the dead. With a diverse and rich history of colonists from many parts of the world (the native inhabitants of the area were of course massacred as quickly as possible), taking a walk through the mausoleums and tombs of Punta Arena’s cemetery was a wonderful lesson in history (and in my opinion, vanity – the cost of some of those monuments must have been extraordinary). This was only a day-long visit, so the rest of the journey is just a tiresome story of flights, busses, taxis, and travel sweat with home on the horizon. Although I flew business class from Santiago to Sao Paulo. How’s that.


It has been a truly wonderful year.  

A battle man lost with nature in Chiloe.

A wildfire in every language. Just to make things clear.