Since Añihue Reserva wasn`t turning out to be the farm of my dreams I decided within the first week that I didn`t want to stay for the entire month I originally planned for. Getting out of Añihue however proved more difficult than expected. Because of it`s remote location it is only accesible by boat. On a nice day the boat ride can take anywhere from 40 minutes to 1 hour. When the weather is bad, the farms boat is unable to cross from Tonina to Añihue over the rough waters. This meant that I spent a week or so more than I wanted waiting on a sunny day in order for Felipe to come and retrieve me. Luckily the company at Añihue was welcoming. The two girls had a lot of energy and kept me entertained most days, the library was stocked with great books to read and research, and Gonzalo only spoke Spanish which forced all of us to speak Spanish and was great for increasing my language abilities. Our days were even less active in the rain and usually just meant caring for the animals in the morning and evenings. I spent time watching the gusts of wind distrub the surface of the bay like a giant invisable hand. The trees creaked and bent under the force of the howling wind and rain pelted endlessly atop the tin roof.
But eventually, a sunny day did come. We were beginning work on a shelter for the animal manure when we heard the boat coming in the distance. I gathered my things, said a hurried goodbye (Felipe doesn`t like to wait) and sat in awkward silence for the duration of the ride. I don`t think that Felipe is the type of person who likes to be challenged in what he`s doing and I guess that is exactly what I did. He dropped me off at the tiny beach and said our goodbye`s. When I thanked him he snorted out a little laugh. Maybe he thought I was some ungrateful American, but I was thanking him genuinely as the experience, though not what I expected, was still enjoyable. The Chileans have an expression, no me cae bien, which translates to: He didn`t fall well on me. And Felipe just didn`t. I thought he was a puny egotistical little man who needed someone to burst his bubble.
I walked back down the forrested path to Raul Marin. The last time I was in RM I didn`t see a single car. The roads aren`t so much roads as they are wide sandy paths and I had trouble believing cars would have an easy time passing them anyway. This is understandable considering the fact that the town itself had no use for cars at all until recently when the rustic Carretera Austral built an extension connecting it for the first time by land where it was previously only accesible by air or water. There are no busses running to Raul Marin and the only way out is to try to catch an expensive and infrequent ferry or hitchhike. The ferry wasn`t coming for another 4 or 5 days so I went `a dedo´ and was happy when the second car that stopped (also the second car I saw) happened to be headed to my destination La Junta, 75 km from Raul Marin. The pickup truck was packed with people and bags so I hopped in the short half bed of the truck on top of some suitcases and leaning against giant blue plastic drums. We headed down the dirt road and stopped before long at the side of a river where Andres, the driver, rearranged the people and bags to allow to a spot inside the truck. We crossed the river on a one-car ferry to the other side and continued on down the ripio (loose stone) road to La Junta. Andres dropped me off right in front of a bus that was headed in my direction and leaving in about 15 minutes. I couldn`t have had more perfect timing as transporation in this region is very hard to come by and I have heard tales of people getting stuck in towns for days waiting for the next bus.
Since I had a few weeks to spare after leaving Añihue early I decided that I would head South. It wasn`t originally in me plans for the trip but as I got closer I just couldn`t stop. Something kept pulling me further and further down into the depths of Patagonia. I hadn`t expected to want to keep going like that but the drive to see more barren wild landscapes and glaciers and snowy mountains and lakes just kept getting stronger and became this magnetic draw that I couldn`t ignore. From La Junta I planned to take a bus down to Coyhaique and splurge on a flight to Punta Arenas to go to the famous Torres del Paine National Park. But travel never works out exactly how you have it in mind and after arriving in Coyhaique I had a change of plans.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Reserva Añihue
Like much of the land in this region of Chilean Northern Patagonia, the 10,000 hectares that comprise Reserva Añihue, are owned by rich North Americans. Most of them claim that their primary goal is to protect the land from the lumber companies who have been ravaging it and driving out the native flora and fauna. But as North Americans there`s always a plan to make a profit and so Toninas, the first point of entry into Reserva Añihue, named after the doplhins that are seen almost daily in the bay, has been dedicated to tourism. They market it as `eco-tourism´ which I have come to believe is a contradiction of terms.
I spent my first night in a room at Toninas, the first and more accessible part of the reserve and the part where the tourists stay. The buildings are beautifully contructed with wood from the land (they claim to use only fallen wood in their constructions). There is electricity but it is all solar, and in a place where it rains 80% of the time needs to be used conservatively. I was shocked on my first night by the food I was served for dinner. Fresh lettuce from the garden, served with a side of canned corn, canned green beans, canned olives, and bottled ajì (a kind of hot sauce) made by Heinz or some company like it. I was told that the garden wasn`t producing much because of the rain and so they had to supplement it with canned goods. In the morning, it was homemade bread served with margarine that actually advertised the fact that it contained real milk, powdered instant Nescafe coffee (not unusual in these parts), powdered milk, dulce de leche (I love this stuff), and packaged marmelade. Waiting for my transfer to Añihue, the part of the reserve I would be staying at, I explored the area. I checked out the beautiful cabins that the tourists stay at, saw some dolphins playing in the bay, and I saw the gardens which mysteriously had lots of vegetables growing in them. Beets, carrots, lettuce, onions, cabbage, herbs, and many other things that were absent from our meal the previous night. Something didn`t add up.
I spoke with Felipe, the man who managed the entire reserve. He was from Santiago and has a background in tourism. I was trying to understand what the goal of the land and the volunteer project was and to understand why we were eating so many processed, packaged goods when there was perfectly good produce in the gardens. He didn`t provide any answers to my satisfaction, but rather explained why they chose to use solar electricity to power the 3 computers in his house and how sometimes certain things need to be sacrificed in the interest of comfort. He assured me that things were `very different´ over at Añihue and that a more rustic, wholesome life was led, with composting toilets, etc. He maintained that Añihue was the type of place that `really changes people´ and `people go into Añihue and come out completely transformed´. He was painting a pretty nice picture and I had some high hopes. I was looking to be `changed´.
That afternoon we took his boat across the ocean on a ride that took about 50 minutes over some choppy sea. Along the way we picked up Juliette, a French volunteer who was on her way back to Añihue for her second month there. If she was returning again I thought, it must be a pretty good experience. I focused on the horizon willing myself not to get sick while chatting with Juliette on the way there. When we arrived we were met by Gonzalo, who has been living and working at Añihue for the past two years, and Sarah an American volunteer who also decided to stay longer than the one month she originally planned for.
I quickly learned that life at Añihue wasn`t all that much different or more wholesome or more organic or more rustic than life in Tonina. Yes, they had a composting toilet, but it was located outside and away from the house. There was a perfectly functioning water toilet inside and no one was stressing the benefits of using the dry toilet over the conventional one and so, why would they? Besides, from what I could tell, the byproducts of the dry toilet were not being composted effectively and so rather than harnessing the power of human shit, they were letting it go to waste. Might as well just flush it down if you`re just going to waste it anyway. There was less electricity available to us at Añihue then they had at Tonina. We had fewer solar panels and so most of the energy we had stored, when we had bright enough days to store some, was used toward to internet, watching DVDs on the computer, and charging our iPods. Candles and headlamps were used at night. But again, what really got me was the food, nothing bus cans and packages.
Maybe if I hadn`t had such a phenomenal experience at Sacred Sueños then I Wouldnpt have been so let down and disillusioned by my experience at Añihue. In a lot of ways life at Sacred Sueños was more easily carried out in an environmentally conscious way than at Añihue. The relative proximity of Sacred Sueños to Vilcabamba, a town with regular tourism and a resident hippie population at the bottom of the mountain made access to certain things such as homemade bread (we didn`t have an oven there), real butter, milk for cheese making, and awesome granola more accessible. Though SS wasn`t producing enough vegetables to be self-sustainable at that time they were working toward it, and in the meantime were only a short trip (relatively speaking) down the mountain where they could find shops teeming with fresh fruits and vegetables.
Añihue is in a lot of ways more remote than Sacred Sueños. The nearest town is Raul Marin Balmaceda which has only about 400-500 residents and few resources. There are a few small markets, a medical center, a school, but not much else. The roads through town are not much more than sandy paths. Only recently was the Carretera Austral extended to connect them by road to other towns nearby (the nearest 75km away). Access to fresh produce is limited and most of the goods need to be brought in from far away by ferry. So, once a month they bring in a handful of fresh veggies (4 carrots, 4 onions, 2 cucumbers, 2 heads of garlic, a chunk of squash, a couple bananas and apples) and a bunch of non-perishable goods. But all these canned and packaged goods lead to empty cans and plastic packages, which is waste that eventually gets buried in a hole somewhere on the property (some of it gets taken back to Santiago to get recycled, so they say).
As I spent more time at Añihue I realized that the main problem with the land was not its location or even the climate, it was the vision (and the soil). I couldn`t figure out why we were there. It didn`t seem like we, as volunteers, were working enough for someone to support us. I was able to gather that they were primarily there as an act of conservation, and secondarily there as a tourist destination. No one could provide me with a third reason for our presence. I didn`t get it. The food we ate was packaged or canned, the cups we drank from were `Designed for Starbucks, Made In China´, the blankets we slept under were made in Indonesia or some other far off land. Purchasing these goods, rather than the quality products available locally (thus cutting down on carbon emmissions from transportation and in turn supporting the local economy) didn`t make any sense to me. Instead of buying real butter that comes in minimal packaging we`re buying this crap that comes in a big plastic tubs. If for some reason it is necessary to exist on packaged or processed foods, they could at least make smart choices about which products they purchase.
Our daily activities went like this:
- Wake up between 8 and 10, have breakfast (oatmeal, instant coffee, bread) and then go to the animals. Free the sheep and chickens, collect the eggs, sweep out the sheep and pig pens, feed the pigs, and check on the tomatoes growing in the greenhouse.
- Go back to the house and drink some tea or coffee. Eat more bread.
- If weather permits (10 or so out of the 15 days I was there it rained stormy horrible cold windy rain) we might do some small tasks like cut firewood, build a house to put our boots and shoes in, clean a beach (this meant moving trash out of the sight of the tourists, rather than removing trash for the good of the environment), clearing trails, or making a spot have a campfire.
- Make lunch, usually some sort of soup or pasta with fresh veggies while they lasted, canned once they were gone, and maybe some beans, and bread. These meals were actually pretty decent, based on what we had to work with. The afternoons were mostly free. I usually spent them baking bread, reading, or spinning wool by hand and the girls usually went out in the rain and tried to catch some fish.
- Around 6 or so, we went back out to the animals.
- We usually spent our late evenings checking our email and/or watching a DVD.
Sounds like a lovely and relaxing way to spend a few weeks, right? It definitely was, but I wasn`t just looking for some remote holiday. I wanted to learn and I wanted to get my hands dirty. We did a few small jobs here and there but most of it seemed like busy work and all for the benefit of the tourists when they make the day trip from Tonina to Añihue to see the volunteer program. The eggs from the chickens that we spent time caring for were handed over to Felipe so that they can be cooked for the tourists. I overheard Felipe tell the tourists that the volunteers are living all organically and about how we`re using the dry toilet...all a bunch of BS. We were expected to put on a little routine for their benefit and show them all the wholesome activities we`ve been up to. I didn`t want any part of this so I his upstairs and read a book. I felt like the whole place was just a big farce. It felt the way I felt the first time I put on my new North Face 30 SPF quick dry, zip-off pants made by small hands in Bangladesh.
They were doing some good things at Añihue and it was nice to see that it is possible to retain some ¨comforts¨ of technology in a more conscious way, that woodstove heating systems can efficiently cook your food, heat your water and heat your home. It was just the lack of gardening and the fake image of the place that really put me off. If they could just identify their goals, such as making their garden more productive and therefore reducing the dependence on non-perishable goods, then they could take prioritize steps to composting more effectively (both the animal and human shit) and eventually transform the sandy soil into usable soil so that the next time they get a sunny spell they don`t loose all the crops because the water runs straight out of the soil and the roots burn. I talked to Felipe about they way they were currently composting (all fresh vegetable matter is fed to the pigs, rather than composting, and the pig shit is then cleaned every day and added to a big pile that gets rained on, does not have any other material added to it, and evenutally ends up looking like a big shit lake) and he told me that he believes that with that system, if left long enough, it would just somehow magically turn into wonderful usable compost. I discussed with him what little I knew about composting but with arrogance like his it didn`t make much of a difference.
By the end of my stay, there were talks of doing the animal compost differently. Maybe after our conversation Felipe actually read a book and realized that a lake of shit won`t turn into compost overnight. Hopefully they follow through with it and start to identify goals, clarify a vision for the place and prioritize self-sustainability. In the end, it could be a wonderful place.
I spent my first night in a room at Toninas, the first and more accessible part of the reserve and the part where the tourists stay. The buildings are beautifully contructed with wood from the land (they claim to use only fallen wood in their constructions). There is electricity but it is all solar, and in a place where it rains 80% of the time needs to be used conservatively. I was shocked on my first night by the food I was served for dinner. Fresh lettuce from the garden, served with a side of canned corn, canned green beans, canned olives, and bottled ajì (a kind of hot sauce) made by Heinz or some company like it. I was told that the garden wasn`t producing much because of the rain and so they had to supplement it with canned goods. In the morning, it was homemade bread served with margarine that actually advertised the fact that it contained real milk, powdered instant Nescafe coffee (not unusual in these parts), powdered milk, dulce de leche (I love this stuff), and packaged marmelade. Waiting for my transfer to Añihue, the part of the reserve I would be staying at, I explored the area. I checked out the beautiful cabins that the tourists stay at, saw some dolphins playing in the bay, and I saw the gardens which mysteriously had lots of vegetables growing in them. Beets, carrots, lettuce, onions, cabbage, herbs, and many other things that were absent from our meal the previous night. Something didn`t add up.
I spoke with Felipe, the man who managed the entire reserve. He was from Santiago and has a background in tourism. I was trying to understand what the goal of the land and the volunteer project was and to understand why we were eating so many processed, packaged goods when there was perfectly good produce in the gardens. He didn`t provide any answers to my satisfaction, but rather explained why they chose to use solar electricity to power the 3 computers in his house and how sometimes certain things need to be sacrificed in the interest of comfort. He assured me that things were `very different´ over at Añihue and that a more rustic, wholesome life was led, with composting toilets, etc. He maintained that Añihue was the type of place that `really changes people´ and `people go into Añihue and come out completely transformed´. He was painting a pretty nice picture and I had some high hopes. I was looking to be `changed´.
That afternoon we took his boat across the ocean on a ride that took about 50 minutes over some choppy sea. Along the way we picked up Juliette, a French volunteer who was on her way back to Añihue for her second month there. If she was returning again I thought, it must be a pretty good experience. I focused on the horizon willing myself not to get sick while chatting with Juliette on the way there. When we arrived we were met by Gonzalo, who has been living and working at Añihue for the past two years, and Sarah an American volunteer who also decided to stay longer than the one month she originally planned for.
I quickly learned that life at Añihue wasn`t all that much different or more wholesome or more organic or more rustic than life in Tonina. Yes, they had a composting toilet, but it was located outside and away from the house. There was a perfectly functioning water toilet inside and no one was stressing the benefits of using the dry toilet over the conventional one and so, why would they? Besides, from what I could tell, the byproducts of the dry toilet were not being composted effectively and so rather than harnessing the power of human shit, they were letting it go to waste. Might as well just flush it down if you`re just going to waste it anyway. There was less electricity available to us at Añihue then they had at Tonina. We had fewer solar panels and so most of the energy we had stored, when we had bright enough days to store some, was used toward to internet, watching DVDs on the computer, and charging our iPods. Candles and headlamps were used at night. But again, what really got me was the food, nothing bus cans and packages.
Maybe if I hadn`t had such a phenomenal experience at Sacred Sueños then I Wouldnpt have been so let down and disillusioned by my experience at Añihue. In a lot of ways life at Sacred Sueños was more easily carried out in an environmentally conscious way than at Añihue. The relative proximity of Sacred Sueños to Vilcabamba, a town with regular tourism and a resident hippie population at the bottom of the mountain made access to certain things such as homemade bread (we didn`t have an oven there), real butter, milk for cheese making, and awesome granola more accessible. Though SS wasn`t producing enough vegetables to be self-sustainable at that time they were working toward it, and in the meantime were only a short trip (relatively speaking) down the mountain where they could find shops teeming with fresh fruits and vegetables.
Añihue is in a lot of ways more remote than Sacred Sueños. The nearest town is Raul Marin Balmaceda which has only about 400-500 residents and few resources. There are a few small markets, a medical center, a school, but not much else. The roads through town are not much more than sandy paths. Only recently was the Carretera Austral extended to connect them by road to other towns nearby (the nearest 75km away). Access to fresh produce is limited and most of the goods need to be brought in from far away by ferry. So, once a month they bring in a handful of fresh veggies (4 carrots, 4 onions, 2 cucumbers, 2 heads of garlic, a chunk of squash, a couple bananas and apples) and a bunch of non-perishable goods. But all these canned and packaged goods lead to empty cans and plastic packages, which is waste that eventually gets buried in a hole somewhere on the property (some of it gets taken back to Santiago to get recycled, so they say).
As I spent more time at Añihue I realized that the main problem with the land was not its location or even the climate, it was the vision (and the soil). I couldn`t figure out why we were there. It didn`t seem like we, as volunteers, were working enough for someone to support us. I was able to gather that they were primarily there as an act of conservation, and secondarily there as a tourist destination. No one could provide me with a third reason for our presence. I didn`t get it. The food we ate was packaged or canned, the cups we drank from were `Designed for Starbucks, Made In China´, the blankets we slept under were made in Indonesia or some other far off land. Purchasing these goods, rather than the quality products available locally (thus cutting down on carbon emmissions from transportation and in turn supporting the local economy) didn`t make any sense to me. Instead of buying real butter that comes in minimal packaging we`re buying this crap that comes in a big plastic tubs. If for some reason it is necessary to exist on packaged or processed foods, they could at least make smart choices about which products they purchase.
Our daily activities went like this:
- Wake up between 8 and 10, have breakfast (oatmeal, instant coffee, bread) and then go to the animals. Free the sheep and chickens, collect the eggs, sweep out the sheep and pig pens, feed the pigs, and check on the tomatoes growing in the greenhouse.
- Go back to the house and drink some tea or coffee. Eat more bread.
- If weather permits (10 or so out of the 15 days I was there it rained stormy horrible cold windy rain) we might do some small tasks like cut firewood, build a house to put our boots and shoes in, clean a beach (this meant moving trash out of the sight of the tourists, rather than removing trash for the good of the environment), clearing trails, or making a spot have a campfire.
- Make lunch, usually some sort of soup or pasta with fresh veggies while they lasted, canned once they were gone, and maybe some beans, and bread. These meals were actually pretty decent, based on what we had to work with. The afternoons were mostly free. I usually spent them baking bread, reading, or spinning wool by hand and the girls usually went out in the rain and tried to catch some fish.
- Around 6 or so, we went back out to the animals.
- We usually spent our late evenings checking our email and/or watching a DVD.
Sounds like a lovely and relaxing way to spend a few weeks, right? It definitely was, but I wasn`t just looking for some remote holiday. I wanted to learn and I wanted to get my hands dirty. We did a few small jobs here and there but most of it seemed like busy work and all for the benefit of the tourists when they make the day trip from Tonina to Añihue to see the volunteer program. The eggs from the chickens that we spent time caring for were handed over to Felipe so that they can be cooked for the tourists. I overheard Felipe tell the tourists that the volunteers are living all organically and about how we`re using the dry toilet...all a bunch of BS. We were expected to put on a little routine for their benefit and show them all the wholesome activities we`ve been up to. I didn`t want any part of this so I his upstairs and read a book. I felt like the whole place was just a big farce. It felt the way I felt the first time I put on my new North Face 30 SPF quick dry, zip-off pants made by small hands in Bangladesh.
They were doing some good things at Añihue and it was nice to see that it is possible to retain some ¨comforts¨ of technology in a more conscious way, that woodstove heating systems can efficiently cook your food, heat your water and heat your home. It was just the lack of gardening and the fake image of the place that really put me off. If they could just identify their goals, such as making their garden more productive and therefore reducing the dependence on non-perishable goods, then they could take prioritize steps to composting more effectively (both the animal and human shit) and eventually transform the sandy soil into usable soil so that the next time they get a sunny spell they don`t loose all the crops because the water runs straight out of the soil and the roots burn. I talked to Felipe about they way they were currently composting (all fresh vegetable matter is fed to the pigs, rather than composting, and the pig shit is then cleaned every day and added to a big pile that gets rained on, does not have any other material added to it, and evenutally ends up looking like a big shit lake) and he told me that he believes that with that system, if left long enough, it would just somehow magically turn into wonderful usable compost. I discussed with him what little I knew about composting but with arrogance like his it didn`t make much of a difference.
By the end of my stay, there were talks of doing the animal compost differently. Maybe after our conversation Felipe actually read a book and realized that a lake of shit won`t turn into compost overnight. Hopefully they follow through with it and start to identify goals, clarify a vision for the place and prioritize self-sustainability. In the end, it could be a wonderful place.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Arrival at Reserva Añihue
The ferry was fairly empty and I was able to fall into a half-sleep, stretched across the seats, ever mindful of the whereabouts of my messenger which contained all my most precious belongings. Around 3:30am I was awoken from a sleep that was much deeper than I realized by men walking the aisles announcing my destination. I shook off my sleep while climbing a ladder-like stairway down into the belly of the ferry where I waited with about 6 other passengers. We were all handed lifejackets while handles were slowly turned and twisted to open a large heavy door, revealing the Pacific Ocean on the other side. Moments later a small boat came bobbing up to the door and we carefully loaded ourselves and our belongings aboard. We traveled a short distance to the shore lit by an enormous spotlight.
After climbing a slippery ladder up to the dock the small boat pulled away into the night. And there we were, in absolute darkness. This is about the moment when I realized that I had no idea where I was going. There was supposed to be someone to meet me at the dock, but by this point it was 4am and the chances of a pick-up were looking slim. I looked around and I saw only darkness around me. There were no street lights, no lights shining out of the windows of houses, and it was safe to assume no street signs. I quickly began asking the few passengers who arrived with me about the location of the hospedaje I was supposed to stay the night. Luckily, the first person I asked guided me by flashlight to the doorstep of the hospedaje where at little old woman welcomed me into her home by candlelight.
In the morning I walked downstairs and sat at a table just outside the kitchen where I was served my breakfast. As I ate alone, children came lumbering out of their bedrooms one by one, bedheaded and sleepy eyed. Soon the house was filled with chattering voices, clattering pots and pans, and a flurry of activity in the kitchen surrounding the woodburning stove upon which water was being heated and lunch preparations were already starting to simmer. Though the language was not my own, the sights and sounds drifting out of the kitchen were distinct and evoked memories of my childhood. Throughout the morning and into the afternoon people came and went, sending a comforting soundwave to my ears interrupted only by the low hum of a chainsaw in the distance. No one left for school, no one left for work, everyone stayed in the house together. But I was not a part of their laughter. I sat alone in the next room experiencing from a distance this familar family scene. I was a foreigner who unlike them was warmed not by the heat of the woodstove, but by the memories that drifted happily back to my mind.
I spent most of the afternoon reading, though I did take a short walk around the town, which didn´t consist of much. Just a few houses here and there along a sandy path with a dense forest on one side. There is a population of about 500 here but it felt like much less. At around 4pm I was picked up at the hospedaje and driven to the other side of the town to the start of a trailhead which we walked down for about 20 minutes. The trail opened up onto a small beach and within a few minutes a boat picked me up. About 10 minutes later we had crossed a small river and were climbing off the boat at Toninas, the first point of entry into Reserva Añihue.
After climbing a slippery ladder up to the dock the small boat pulled away into the night. And there we were, in absolute darkness. This is about the moment when I realized that I had no idea where I was going. There was supposed to be someone to meet me at the dock, but by this point it was 4am and the chances of a pick-up were looking slim. I looked around and I saw only darkness around me. There were no street lights, no lights shining out of the windows of houses, and it was safe to assume no street signs. I quickly began asking the few passengers who arrived with me about the location of the hospedaje I was supposed to stay the night. Luckily, the first person I asked guided me by flashlight to the doorstep of the hospedaje where at little old woman welcomed me into her home by candlelight.
In the morning I walked downstairs and sat at a table just outside the kitchen where I was served my breakfast. As I ate alone, children came lumbering out of their bedrooms one by one, bedheaded and sleepy eyed. Soon the house was filled with chattering voices, clattering pots and pans, and a flurry of activity in the kitchen surrounding the woodburning stove upon which water was being heated and lunch preparations were already starting to simmer. Though the language was not my own, the sights and sounds drifting out of the kitchen were distinct and evoked memories of my childhood. Throughout the morning and into the afternoon people came and went, sending a comforting soundwave to my ears interrupted only by the low hum of a chainsaw in the distance. No one left for school, no one left for work, everyone stayed in the house together. But I was not a part of their laughter. I sat alone in the next room experiencing from a distance this familar family scene. I was a foreigner who unlike them was warmed not by the heat of the woodstove, but by the memories that drifted happily back to my mind.
I spent most of the afternoon reading, though I did take a short walk around the town, which didn´t consist of much. Just a few houses here and there along a sandy path with a dense forest on one side. There is a population of about 500 here but it felt like much less. At around 4pm I was picked up at the hospedaje and driven to the other side of the town to the start of a trailhead which we walked down for about 20 minutes. The trail opened up onto a small beach and within a few minutes a boat picked me up. About 10 minutes later we had crossed a small river and were climbing off the boat at Toninas, the first point of entry into Reserva Añihue.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Boots and beach front property.
I spent the night in Puerto Varas doing something much more American than I probably ever would, had I been at home. That`s right, I watched the Super Bowl. I`m not a football fan in the least but ended up watching more of this game then any other Super Bowl I can remember. The hostel had a disproportionate amount of American`s in it and they were having the ultimate American experience. They had chips and salsa. They had wives who brought them beer while they sat fixated on the game. Even though I thought that last nights game was hands down the most exciting football game I have ever seen (that`s really not saying much) I still found it hard to stay focused on the plays. Even worse, the highly anticipated Super Bowl commercials do not transmit to South America.
I had breakfast before I left the hostel this morning and began talking to a couple from Iowa. We got on the subject of farming and they were trying to explain to me that there is no alternative to an argibusiness system that supports mono-culture over-fertilized and over-pesticized crops. Though I disagreed, I felt it was unwise to take up this discussion with someone who had 45 years experience working the fields of Iowa. I left Puerto Varas by collectivo (mini-van bus) back to Puerto Montt, a town that I discovered through conversations at the hostel the previous night, puts everyone in a foul mood. It`s the stares mostly. They transcend the usual `stranger in a foreign land´ stare to something much more menacing.
I bought a ticket right away to Chonchi on the island of Chiloé where I would spend the night. The bus crossed the island by a short ferry and I was grateful that it did not make me sick. Perhaps I won`t be vomiting into the Pacific after all. Chonchi is a charming place. It doesn`t cater to tourists in the way that most other places in Chile seem to. It still seems to retain it`s sense of self and a unique identity in a country that has seemed consistently bland. Perhaps their distance from the mainland leaves them untouched by the development and progress of the rest of the country. It`s a sleepy fishing village that reminds me of small towns in Maine. The people even look a little like Mainers, leathery skin that has seen its share of wind and rain. Walking around the town I breathed in the most comforting smell of wood burning and saw smoke curling out of tin chimeny`s. The air smelled fresh and wet almost like before it snows.
I came across a ferreteria, which unlike its name implies, sells hardware goods not ferrets. I needed to get a new pair of rubber boots for the farm. Buying the boots at the ferreteria was a more more tranquilo experience than buying them from the Mamacita at the market in Ecuador. I only needed to try on 3 pairs before finding my size. If I had known how much a pair of boots would cost in Chile, I might have thought twice about donating my last pair to Sacred Sueños. But for $9,500 pesos (15USD) I am once again the proud owner of rubber boots.
I`m spending the night in a rustic/run down hostel. It feels like a summer home at the start of the season and everything just needs to be aired out and spruced up a bit. I like it though. I have a private room facing the ocean for the rock bottom price of $7,000 pesos ($11). It`s the best deal I have found in a while. The owner explained that my room is called Penguina because often in the mornings you can see penguins frolicking in the water outside the window, but for some reason they penguins never came this year.
Tomorrow I head to Quellon at the southern tip of Chiloè to board my ferry. I have no idea how long I will be on the ferry. According to the company who sold me the ticket, only 6-8 hours. According to the materials sent to me from the farm the ferry is 12 hours in good weather, but they advise bringing food because you could spend `more than a day´ on the boat in bad weather. I am more inclined to believe the farm than the ferry company and will stock up on supplies in Quellon tomorrow.
Whenever I happen to arrive, there will be a reservation for me by the farm at a hospedaje for one night and then I will meet someone, though I am not entirely certain how, who will transport me to the farm. Wish me luck and wish luck to my Dad who is having knee surgery tomorrow!
I had breakfast before I left the hostel this morning and began talking to a couple from Iowa. We got on the subject of farming and they were trying to explain to me that there is no alternative to an argibusiness system that supports mono-culture over-fertilized and over-pesticized crops. Though I disagreed, I felt it was unwise to take up this discussion with someone who had 45 years experience working the fields of Iowa. I left Puerto Varas by collectivo (mini-van bus) back to Puerto Montt, a town that I discovered through conversations at the hostel the previous night, puts everyone in a foul mood. It`s the stares mostly. They transcend the usual `stranger in a foreign land´ stare to something much more menacing.
I bought a ticket right away to Chonchi on the island of Chiloé where I would spend the night. The bus crossed the island by a short ferry and I was grateful that it did not make me sick. Perhaps I won`t be vomiting into the Pacific after all. Chonchi is a charming place. It doesn`t cater to tourists in the way that most other places in Chile seem to. It still seems to retain it`s sense of self and a unique identity in a country that has seemed consistently bland. Perhaps their distance from the mainland leaves them untouched by the development and progress of the rest of the country. It`s a sleepy fishing village that reminds me of small towns in Maine. The people even look a little like Mainers, leathery skin that has seen its share of wind and rain. Walking around the town I breathed in the most comforting smell of wood burning and saw smoke curling out of tin chimeny`s. The air smelled fresh and wet almost like before it snows.
I came across a ferreteria, which unlike its name implies, sells hardware goods not ferrets. I needed to get a new pair of rubber boots for the farm. Buying the boots at the ferreteria was a more more tranquilo experience than buying them from the Mamacita at the market in Ecuador. I only needed to try on 3 pairs before finding my size. If I had known how much a pair of boots would cost in Chile, I might have thought twice about donating my last pair to Sacred Sueños. But for $9,500 pesos (15USD) I am once again the proud owner of rubber boots.
I`m spending the night in a rustic/run down hostel. It feels like a summer home at the start of the season and everything just needs to be aired out and spruced up a bit. I like it though. I have a private room facing the ocean for the rock bottom price of $7,000 pesos ($11). It`s the best deal I have found in a while. The owner explained that my room is called Penguina because often in the mornings you can see penguins frolicking in the water outside the window, but for some reason they penguins never came this year.
Tomorrow I head to Quellon at the southern tip of Chiloè to board my ferry. I have no idea how long I will be on the ferry. According to the company who sold me the ticket, only 6-8 hours. According to the materials sent to me from the farm the ferry is 12 hours in good weather, but they advise bringing food because you could spend `more than a day´ on the boat in bad weather. I am more inclined to believe the farm than the ferry company and will stock up on supplies in Quellon tomorrow.
Whenever I happen to arrive, there will be a reservation for me by the farm at a hospedaje for one night and then I will meet someone, though I am not entirely certain how, who will transport me to the farm. Wish me luck and wish luck to my Dad who is having knee surgery tomorrow!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Change of scenery does a body good...
The ferry office was open today and I got my ticket! Maybe all I needed was some good luck, a change of scenery, and a little self-reflection. I took the bus just 20km from where I was in Puerto Montt to Puerto Varas and what a world of difference it made. This town has a much smaller, slower, quieter feel to it. It definitely reminds me of Cape Cod in Autumn with quaint wooden houses that wear a coat of bright paint to appear a little less battered. It gave me just the familiarity I needed and I had a slight spring in my step again as I walked around the town, just peacefully wandering.
Kasey, thank you for your kind words, they keep me afloat. And Michael, it`s all your fault, and though it sucks sometimes I am really glad for what it`s teaching me. In the end I really should just stop bitching. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to take this time for myself to explore new places and learn new things. But sometimes it just gets lonely.
I`ve been entertaining the idea of going to Torres de Paine, or the End of the Earth as it is often called. This would require taking a 4 day ferry or flying. Once there I would take a 4-10 day trek through ice fields, fjords, and battle winds that are frequently blowing at over 100mph. I would need to rent gear as I am grossly unprepared (tent, a real sleeping bag, camping stove, etc), not to mention probably needing to buy some essentials like socks, gloves, a fleece and other warm weather things. Everything about this endeavor would put me way way way over budget. It would be a great feat for sure, especially if I completed it solo. I might never be this close to the end of the earth again. But even though I would be proud beyond words after completing this type of journey, I think I would enjoy it much more if I had someone with me to share the amazing views, keep my sleeping bag warm at night, and to pick me up when the wind sends me toppling. Deep down I know I probably won`t take this trip alone, and I kind of hate that about myself. Maybe I will get another chance to do it someday.
Kasey, thank you for your kind words, they keep me afloat. And Michael, it`s all your fault, and though it sucks sometimes I am really glad for what it`s teaching me. In the end I really should just stop bitching. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to take this time for myself to explore new places and learn new things. But sometimes it just gets lonely.
I`ve been entertaining the idea of going to Torres de Paine, or the End of the Earth as it is often called. This would require taking a 4 day ferry or flying. Once there I would take a 4-10 day trek through ice fields, fjords, and battle winds that are frequently blowing at over 100mph. I would need to rent gear as I am grossly unprepared (tent, a real sleeping bag, camping stove, etc), not to mention probably needing to buy some essentials like socks, gloves, a fleece and other warm weather things. Everything about this endeavor would put me way way way over budget. It would be a great feat for sure, especially if I completed it solo. I might never be this close to the end of the earth again. But even though I would be proud beyond words after completing this type of journey, I think I would enjoy it much more if I had someone with me to share the amazing views, keep my sleeping bag warm at night, and to pick me up when the wind sends me toppling. Deep down I know I probably won`t take this trip alone, and I kind of hate that about myself. Maybe I will get another chance to do it someday.
The Traveling Spirit
I know I am supposed to be off on this great adventure and that I am supposed to be having fun but it hasn`t felt like that so much lately. I feel like the traveling spirit has left my bones, at least for now. I keep finding myself in a new place with absolutely no inclination to explore it. Just struggling to arrive at my hostel is all I can muster. Once there, I just want to sit, and do nothing. I don`t want to see the sights, I don`t want to explore the market, I don`t want to walk through shady parks. I just want to sit in the hostel, surrounded by people who speak at least some level of the same language I do.
Sometimes, having every day be unexpectedly different than the next is just tiring instead of exhilerating. Almost every day I pack up my things and then wrestle through a web of confusing transportation systems with no regularity between them. Then I lug my things through some unknown place and get stared at where ever I go. I`m sick of using guide books that provide mis-information or don`t give the information I need. I`m frustrated with my ability or inability to speak the language. I`m oscillating between wanting to learn Spanish and wanting to give up completely and just speak English and pretend I know nothing. But greatest of all I am disenchanted by not being able to express myself and being continuously misunderstood. It is endlessly frustrating and has stifled my desire to go on many occasions. Discovering the web of obscure buses to take to reach some pristine natural park or town at times just seems like too much work.
Yesterday I arrived in Puerto Montt. I needed to come to this port town in order to buy my ticket for the ferry to the farm. Afterwards I planned to go to a more pleasant town with hiking opportunities located nearby called Puerto Varas. I asked for directions to the ferry from the bus terminal (because my guidebook didn`t provide this information) and luckily it was a straight shot down the road along the water. When I got there, the office was closed. This really pissed me off. I`ve spent so many of the last few days with this damn ferry ticket consuming my mind and I just wanted it taken care of. Tomorrow is Sunday and though the security guard maintained that they will be open, the chances of it being true are slim to none.
But just in case the security guard was right I figured I better stay in Puerto Montt for the night so I could get up in the morning and hopefully get this ticket business settled once and for all. The listings for hostels or hospedajes (usually local people who rent out space in their houses for a low cost) in my price range was limited to only two. Both is the same price bracket I chose the one that was closer to the ferry terminal. Too bad it was located out of the range of the map provided to me in the guide book. After asking about 7 different people for directions to Calle Pudeto I finally arrived. The `recommended, renovated` hospedaje was a strange place that didn`t look like much. The woman answered the door and provided me with a set of house slippers. I asked the price and she told me $12,000 pesos. That`s like $19USD! For a dorm room with a total of 4 beds in it!
I inquired about what was included with the outrageous price and was told that an `American´ breakfast, a towel, hot showers, use of the kitchen, and internet was provided. I wanted to know what this American breakfast was exactly. She laughed at me and asked where I was from. When I answered, `Estados Unidos´ she scoffed, `and you don`t know American breakfast?´ I wanted to tell her that an American breakfast is a granola bar eaten as you run out the door and that was hardly worth $20/night, but of course, I was limited by my language once again. I tried to talk her down about the price, explaining that I am a poor volunteer and tried in the worst Spanish imaginable to tell her my sob story about arriving only to buy my ferry ticket and then finding the office closed. She didn`t budge and laughed when I told her what the Security Guard told opening on Sunday. Usually, on principle, I would turn around an leave and not even dream of paying $19 for a dorm room, but I already felt like I was having a foul day and didn`t have anymore fight in me...so I shelled out my precious pesos and then went to the room. My book didn`t mention that for $19 the hospedaje come equipped with two little poodles wearing adorable homemade dresses that made them look like housewives from the 50`s. Nor did it mention that these dogs yapped at the slightest sound.
I gathered the energy to walk along the waterfront for a while and noticed mountains topped with snow on the other side. I couldn`t figure out why in such a lovely setting, I was still in a foul mood. Maybe it was the headache that chased me for 5 days. Maybe I am just worn out. I located a small vegetable market and picked up some things for dinner. I am still amazed at how expensive Chile is. Argentina doesn`t promise to be much less expensive either and most of the farms I have contacted there are expecting $10/day during my stay, which will be difficult to afford. I may freeze at the farm I am going to next. The highs are around 68 and the lows are around 40. My sleeping bag is only good until about 55 degrees. Hopefully there will be an extra blanket or three. But I won`t know unless I try to get that ferry ticket, which I am about to do right now.
Sometimes, having every day be unexpectedly different than the next is just tiring instead of exhilerating. Almost every day I pack up my things and then wrestle through a web of confusing transportation systems with no regularity between them. Then I lug my things through some unknown place and get stared at where ever I go. I`m sick of using guide books that provide mis-information or don`t give the information I need. I`m frustrated with my ability or inability to speak the language. I`m oscillating between wanting to learn Spanish and wanting to give up completely and just speak English and pretend I know nothing. But greatest of all I am disenchanted by not being able to express myself and being continuously misunderstood. It is endlessly frustrating and has stifled my desire to go on many occasions. Discovering the web of obscure buses to take to reach some pristine natural park or town at times just seems like too much work.
Yesterday I arrived in Puerto Montt. I needed to come to this port town in order to buy my ticket for the ferry to the farm. Afterwards I planned to go to a more pleasant town with hiking opportunities located nearby called Puerto Varas. I asked for directions to the ferry from the bus terminal (because my guidebook didn`t provide this information) and luckily it was a straight shot down the road along the water. When I got there, the office was closed. This really pissed me off. I`ve spent so many of the last few days with this damn ferry ticket consuming my mind and I just wanted it taken care of. Tomorrow is Sunday and though the security guard maintained that they will be open, the chances of it being true are slim to none.
But just in case the security guard was right I figured I better stay in Puerto Montt for the night so I could get up in the morning and hopefully get this ticket business settled once and for all. The listings for hostels or hospedajes (usually local people who rent out space in their houses for a low cost) in my price range was limited to only two. Both is the same price bracket I chose the one that was closer to the ferry terminal. Too bad it was located out of the range of the map provided to me in the guide book. After asking about 7 different people for directions to Calle Pudeto I finally arrived. The `recommended, renovated` hospedaje was a strange place that didn`t look like much. The woman answered the door and provided me with a set of house slippers. I asked the price and she told me $12,000 pesos. That`s like $19USD! For a dorm room with a total of 4 beds in it!
I inquired about what was included with the outrageous price and was told that an `American´ breakfast, a towel, hot showers, use of the kitchen, and internet was provided. I wanted to know what this American breakfast was exactly. She laughed at me and asked where I was from. When I answered, `Estados Unidos´ she scoffed, `and you don`t know American breakfast?´ I wanted to tell her that an American breakfast is a granola bar eaten as you run out the door and that was hardly worth $20/night, but of course, I was limited by my language once again. I tried to talk her down about the price, explaining that I am a poor volunteer and tried in the worst Spanish imaginable to tell her my sob story about arriving only to buy my ferry ticket and then finding the office closed. She didn`t budge and laughed when I told her what the Security Guard told opening on Sunday. Usually, on principle, I would turn around an leave and not even dream of paying $19 for a dorm room, but I already felt like I was having a foul day and didn`t have anymore fight in me...so I shelled out my precious pesos and then went to the room. My book didn`t mention that for $19 the hospedaje come equipped with two little poodles wearing adorable homemade dresses that made them look like housewives from the 50`s. Nor did it mention that these dogs yapped at the slightest sound.
I gathered the energy to walk along the waterfront for a while and noticed mountains topped with snow on the other side. I couldn`t figure out why in such a lovely setting, I was still in a foul mood. Maybe it was the headache that chased me for 5 days. Maybe I am just worn out. I located a small vegetable market and picked up some things for dinner. I am still amazed at how expensive Chile is. Argentina doesn`t promise to be much less expensive either and most of the farms I have contacted there are expecting $10/day during my stay, which will be difficult to afford. I may freeze at the farm I am going to next. The highs are around 68 and the lows are around 40. My sleeping bag is only good until about 55 degrees. Hopefully there will be an extra blanket or three. But I won`t know unless I try to get that ferry ticket, which I am about to do right now.
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