Isla de Chiloé

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I never heard of Isla de Chiloé, did you?No you didn't, stop lying to me.

I just happened to cross the border from Argentina to Chile and looked at the map to discover an island. Islands are always good. A local told me the ferry trip would cost about 15,000 pesos ($22)… which is expensive for my travel style. I’m glad I went anyway, as it was in fact only 600 pesos to cross ($0,90) which I didn’t even pay as I was getting a ride from my Couchsurf-host from Osorno… and… it… was… sensational. Like the best that could ever happen to you in Chile. Sliding over the water, seeing the spectacular landscapes approaching, I immediately knew I was going to overstay the time I had in mind.

When you think of an island, you probably have some bounty commercials popping up in your head: White little havens with waving palmtrees, surrounded by crystal clear blue water. Well, except of the water you have to adjust your thoughts a bit: This very developed peninsula is enriched with endless fertile landscapes in the brightest green your eyes can process, sharp humid winds waking up your senses. Also, it’s massive. I know I’m Dutch, so a football field is already big to me, but Isla de Chiloé is 9181 square kilometers, which is not your standard Caribbean atoll. So my initial idea to walk from Ancud to Castro because it looks so close on the map didn’t seem ideal as we’re talking about 82,5km. So what do you do then?

Hitch-hike in a firetruck, like a boss.

Alternative:

Castro & Muelle de las Almas

Once arrived in Castro I immediately exploited every wave of free Wi-Fi I could lay my digital hands on (like a cheap-ass backpacker should) to contact my new friend I didn’t meet yet: Couchsurfer Gino. The gentleman that ran, no frolicked, to me like some untenable whirlwind of energy and almost lifted me off the ground in his ecstatic hug. A happy boy in a man’s body… like two lunatics finally finding each other, great vibes. Together we spent so much time on finding something vegan in this meat ‘n milkparadise that I basically had to cram my lunch in my face in a mere three minutes in order to not miss the Muelle de las Almas family-outing.

As it was Saturday, Chileans profit from their stunning surroundings by immersing in nature while enjoying a boiling hot cup of mate… and honestly, there’s no better place than here. Endless hills along the coast in the deepest shades of green compete about which one has the best sights of all.

While Gino’s friends and family were eating, smoking and eating & smoking a bit more we kept on climbing, hopping from hill to hill, exhilarated with the views getting more beautiful from every angle.

Satisfied and not the least tired I joined the group walking back, holding the hand of little Santiago, a 5-year-old-boy joining the trip. In a high Spanish voice he uttered:

- “Estephy, why you speak a little bit funny?”
- “It’s an accent, mi amor, I am not from Chile.”
- “WHY NOT?? It’s such a delight living in Chile!!!”

What can I say, the boy is right.

On day #2 I decided to do my traditional museum round, with the side-note that all museums were closed that day. So instead I bought everything I couldn’t afford in Argentina (yes, in the meantime Chile is about 300% cheaper, even though that’s a mathematically impossible percentage) and walked past the colorful stilt houses…

… and the yellow church that’s apparently part of UNESCO heritage. I wondered why, as I found basically everything beautiful in Chiloé, except of that pathetic construction erected out of corrugated iron (but hey, at least no abundant wealth displayed under the flag of religion, that’s a relief).

Dalcahue

I suddenly noticed my hands had some thumbs, so I put them up to see if I could reach Dalcahue with those. The first car promptly stopped, almost causing a disastrous pile-up accident. The chauffeur, a chatty man called Carlos, was like a driving tourist information point providing me with 1kg maps and endless advices. First of all, the highlight of Dalcahue is apparently the Sunday Artesania Market.

In theory that’s cool, but in reality it’s one big leather and wool celebration… cows and sheep never did me any wrong, so I won’t go after their dead skin and fur either. So I walked to the harbor instead. It looked like I just walked into an antique toyshop portrayed in a Disney Christmas-picture. Colorful boats with cute little chimneys rocked peacefully on the waves. People greeted each other, including me, like they hadn’t seen each other for a lifetime (which in my case is true). Man, even the seagulls seemed to smile! The whole scene was almost tooth-breaking sweet, but just like eating a whole box of chocolates during an acute munchies-attack wandering around this scene triggers a staggering satisfaction. From here I could have taken a ferry to another island, Achao, but I recently ordered a glass of wine and felt fine just where I was (later on I learned I missed out big time, but hey, that’s life).

Chonchi

So the idea was to get up really early the next day in order to visit the Chiloe National Park for an early refreshing hike. However, as the night preceded this idea transformed into ‘drinking 3 bottles of Chilean wine with 2 people, followed up with some rounds of Pisco Sour at 5AM’. All in the name of a ‘cultural exchange’, of course. Sometimes it’s risky to meet a like-minded person. However, when I woke up at 12:30PM and watched the rain slamming against the window, I learned that life agreed with me. As I feel I can´t be traveling and waste a day with doing nothing, I headed to a place called Chonchi. Hung-over to the bone and in the pouring rain. My behavior isn’t always a logical result of reason. Chonchi is a really pretty corner of the island, but I guess with this depressing weather I didn’t get the full experience. However, I did get to taste splendid coffee (just 7 cups) and… *TARATATAAAA* the Accordion Museum. A museum full of, you guessed it, accordions. Well, if that’s not a reason to visit Chonchi, I don’t know what is.

Huillinco, Chiloé National Park & Chanquin

New day, new chances: the weather cleared up and so did my hangover. So up went the thumbs. The first ride was with a roaring pick-up truck full of short-tempered landworkers with hands full of scars, one of them once running out of the vehicle to kick another car after a traffic disagreement. From the crossing where they dropped me off I walked 4 kilometers along the Ruta 5 highway to find the exit to Huillinco, a place yesterday’s coffee lady recommended me. A happy chubby fries-fryer gave me a lift, even though he didn’t need to be there himself (I hear an imaginary voice saying “That only happens to women”, which might be true).

To sum it up: Huillinco has a lake and that lake is beautiful…. but you don’t need more than 5 minutes to come to that conclusion.

So I continued my tour to Chiloe National Park, this time for real. At the entrance I saw an arrow saying “buy tickets here”, so I ninja’d the other way, creeping under the window like some oversized insect. If anyone wonders how you can continuously travel for two years, that’s how [later on I found out you can also sneak in for free via the campsite entrance, *wink wink*]. It’s a good thing I went, this place is absolutely breath-taking.

The short enjoyable walks guide you past the best that nature has in store for us. From pure bush-bush experiences on mushy ground with lianas slamming you in the face to clean wooden boardwalks leading you in and over the greenery like little stairways to heaven. Keep in mind that sea climate hits hard in Chiloe, intense bursts of rain turning every terrain into an extensive mud-minefield. As my worn-out 15-year old sneakers weren’t exactly water-proofed, I tightened some plastic bags around my socks which made me look like a walking Unimarc-commercial. Yeah… I got myself some Gore-Tex after I saw the photos.

Subsequently I marched to Cucao, which was supposedly just a few kilometers away. Really long kilometers, I thought after 1,5 hours… when I realized I was in fact walking to Chanquin.

I love getting lost, you end up in places that surpass your wildest imagination.

I met 1 person along the way, who asked me where the hell I thought I was going as there was nothing there. I answered that’s exactly where I was looking for: endless landscapes of nothing, nothing at all, ahhhh amazing!

Where I ended up must be what the end of the world looks like.Uninterrupted sceneries full of better sights than any civilization could produce. An infinite deserted beach, untouched countryside and so much, so much nothing.

Who wants to come and live here with me?

Isla Lemuy

As the day gave me a bit more time I decided to go to Isla Lemuy, an island reached with a ferry 10km from Chonchi (close to Queilén, Vilupulli and Quiao… yeah, I want to have a word with the guy who made up all those place names here). I hitch-hiked back in a loading ramp of a pick-up truck from an indigenous family bringing a few buckets of flowers to the cemetery. Subsequently a German household picked me up and from the point where they left me a local speeddevil took over and let me out at the ferry, which is actually free for pedestrians.

It was already getting a bit dark, so I just had the opportunity to quickly visit Puqueldon and from there walk back down the hills admiring the lovely sunset turning the island into a natural fairytale. True, it’s not really different from the rest of Isla de Chiloé, but I can’t see why that’s a bad thing. However, if you check Google Images and immediately decide to settle down here forever and ever, can you do me just one favor? Start a bicycle rental. For god’s sake, the place is asking for it: first-class scenery and sublime asphalt roads, mmmmm-m!

I scored another two rides back with some friendly farmers of whom I didn’t understand one single word they were saying (just say “si siiiii” with changing intervals) and with a sweet man called Giancarlo who was obsessed with… potatoes. Fair enough. Enough hitch-hiking for the day.

Ancud

It was time to leave Castro and the lovely Gino living in it, but I wasn’t done with the island yet. I had some penguin-business to attend. So I moved north to Ancud, obviously, hitch-hiking… this time with trucker Samuel talking faster than I could wink. As I was too lazy to log into Couchsurfing this time I rang about 20 bells of different hospedajes until someone opened a door for me. I negotiated down the price to 6000 peso’s (like $9) for a private room and went out to explore the majesty of Ancud. Well, no reason to do that: it’s the lamest city from Chiloé so far. But that doesn’t matter, that wasn’t the reason I was there: a day later I woke up to lovely weather which was perfect for the penguin-tour I had in mind. Well, you know me, I would never waste money on a tour forcing me into an embarrassing tourist bus with those typical holidaymakers I’m probably annoyed with… I fetched three immediate hitch-hikes bringing me straight to the penguin beach, Bahia Puñihuil.

There a little boat-safari was just about to start… so I walked to the men in the office, put on the strongest Dutch-Spanish accent I could produce (not sure why, but in Latin America they find it cute) and said I had only 5000 to spend, instead of the 7000 it officially costs. They laughed and handed me a life-jacket, preparing me for an absolutely amazing experience.

I once saw one penguin in Melbourne (Australia) ‘in the wild’ (I boycott zoos), but here whole families hopped from rock to rock. While they shuffled around a bit and just minded their own business this crazy human in the boat (me) made like a million photos, most of them shit.

I had the time of my life, I was literally slamming the sides of the boat with my hands out of pure excitement. As a bonus we got treated on some sea lions and gigantic pelicans too, as Mother Earth was in a generous mood. Upon my return an actual tourbus was waiting for me, as the guys who gave me the discount also arranged a free island tour and ride back to Ancud for me. Ok, I’ll make an exception this time.

I quickly hurried back to grab my backpack and rushed to the intersection leading to the harbor. A truck picked me up and for the first time ever I felt slightly uncomfortable, as this man couldn’t stop talking about my eyes and even almost drove off the bridge in an attempt to look at them. So even though it was raining I put on my sunglasses and said he could drop me off right at the harbor. I continued with a trucker who was honestly very likable, but also eager to inform me about all the ins and outs of his prostitution-hobby (all fine with me, just pay for it instead of laying your hands on unwilling girls). We arrived at Osorno at 5PM and as apparently the border closed at 6PM I could never make it back to Argentina that day. Well, shit. Or not: It’s not a real punishment to stay one more day in Chile.

I was about to walk to the center to get some cash-out to pay for a hotelroom when an idea randomly popped up in my head: “Maybe I could spend the night in jail”.

Sure, I could pay for accommodation, but wouldn’t this make a way better story? I couldn’t get rid of the thought, I wanted to know what would happen, so before I knew it I was already standing at the comisaria talking to the cops.

- “So I didn’t commit any crime (yet), but can I just sleep here tonight?”
- “Ehhhh…………. well, ehh…….. let’s see, I think…. maybe…… yes, porque no.”

So I dropped down my hefty backpack, joined my new police-friends for chats and gossip and shared food. Warm, cosy and safe I fell asleep in the sheriff’s office.

Around midnight the police officers woke me up, they made some calls and they had something more comfy for me. In a police car they gave me a ride to an Albergue Transitorio, a free hostel…. well, a homeless shelter really. But am I not homeless, in theory? I had a BLAST. These people have such more interesting stories to tell than the average shallow party backpacker. They lived life. Here I had my own bed, a shower and even coffee in the morning. I treated some people I met here on breakfast and thanked no one in particular for having this experience.

I spend the night with people most people hate (the police) or look down on (homeless) and it was wonderful. Because in the end we’re all just people, no matter how we speak, what we believe or what clothes we wear. Embrace.

* If you feel this is a lovely story and all, but aren't too eager to repeat it: Here's a Booking.com discount link, and an Air Bnb one. You're welcome.

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