Seasons on the Move

Santiago to Puerto Varas – April 28

We grabbed a flight in the early morning south along the coast to Puerto Varas, the Chilean entry point for the region´s Lake District. Upon exiting the airport, there was a mix-up with the tour guide. I say mix-up, but what I really mean is that the tour guide was a total liar who was trying to scam Fab´s parents and give them less than what they had paid for. We were supposed to cross Lago Todos Los Santos from Petrohué to the Argentinian border. The border had been closed for weeks, something that the tour company had neglected to tell Alicia and Luis when they had booked the tour. Instead, the guide informed us that we were going to take a bus around the lake to the border. The problem was that Fab´s parents had paid considerable money to take the ferry to Argentina. Now all they were going to get was a bus ride.  

After checking into our log cabin of a hotel, eating venison in a dining room overlooking Lago Llanquihue and some serious negotiation, the guide had agreed to arrange a boat trip out on the lake and a partial refund. An hour later, our food digested, we were standing in Petrohué on the west end of the Lago Todos Los Santos on a black sand beach, in the shadow of Volcán Osorno – snow capped and rimmed with clouds - waiting to board a green and orange wooden boat.

We strapped on some life jackets and then sped off into Lago Todo Los Santos. We spent a bone chilling hour out on the water exploring the lake´s inlets and islands. We putted in and out of different harbours on the beautiful, calm water. As we made our way back to Petrohué, we watched the sun set behind Volcán Osorno, turning the flat top of the volcano golden yellow, a large egg yoke perched on top of a bed of snow.

On the way back to Puerto Varas, with sun quickly dimming, we stopped off at a lookout point over Rio Petrohué. The icy green river water ran down from the lakes over top of jagged mafic rock creating cascading rapids. Down below, we could see salmon spawning. In the background, the sun disappeared for good behind the Andes. The Mexicans I was with shivered and ran to the car. I wanted to stay for a while to breathe in the crisp air. There´s something about the autumn air, faintly smelling of burnt twigs, that reminds me of growing up in Saskatchewan. Maybe it´s the cold that always seemed to make it´s way into the province by Halloween. The crips air also brought to mind “Vagabond Song” by Bliss Carmen, a poem that I feel nails down a certain piece of what it means to me to be Canadian:

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

Valparaiso and Viña del Mar – April 27

Up and at it early. Fab´s parents had booked a week long package tour that had us at a sprinter´s pace right off the starting blocks. We took a bus west though the Chilean countryside to Valparaiso in the morning, stopping along the way to sample wine and take pictures of the vineyards. In typical tour fashion, the entire group was forced off the bus to take in a souvenir stall. Fab and I stayed on the bus. Alicia took the bait and bought a couple of bookmarks.

By the time we got to Valparaiso, Fab and I were sick of the tour guide. Although my limited Spanish meant that I couldn´t understand everything he was saying, it was all for the better. Through Fab´s translation, I found out that he was talking about class issues in Chile and not painting a very favorable picture of the lower class. He went so far as to point out lower class houses in Valpariaso and said, “if they look like that from the outside, one can only imagine what they would look like on the inside.” Why was he doing this on a bus tour? Neither of us knew.

The sleepy, salty city of Valparaiso sits on a steep hill that tumbles down to the Pacific ocean. Broken cobble stone and run down cars lined streets running to the water. The city is made up of multi-colored houses with corrugated metal siding and clapboard windows. Valparaiso is also the bohemian heart of Chile and filled with cafes and artisan craft shops. It reminded of the Pacific northwest. Maybe the ocean has something to do with it.

Upon arriving in the city, Fab and I ditched the tour group and decided to walk on our own. The guide didn´t like this idea and sniffed at us, “Don´t blame me if you get lost.” If there´s one thing that guides hate is when people don´t do as their told. Fab gave him lip right back and told him, “Don´t worry, we´re not five years old.”

Viña del Mar on the other hand, was a glitzy, in your face, ocean side resort where,  as our guide was nice enough to point, “the rich people in Chile come to visit.” Then he proceeded to tell us the nightly rates for the sea side hotels. We were allowed a little free time, so Fab and I, along with her parents, strolled along the boulevard and ate ice cream. I took pictures of run down phone booths, something that caused Luis to mock me for the rest of the day. Everything he saw something mundane, he pointed to it and asked if I wanted to take a picture of it.

Santiago – April 26

We met Fab`s parents, Luis and Alicia, in lobby of the hotel just past eight in the morning. They had taken an overnight flight from Mexico City and were dead tired. We had a quick breakfast and chatted briefly before they retired to their room for a nap.

We got picked up in the afternoon by a tour guide who took us around the city and showed us the sights. Santiago is a smog infested and somewhat non-descript city that is backed by brown Andean mountains with snow capped peaks. Of course, the haze above the city keeps the mountains obscured most of the time. During our tour, we visited the Presidential Palace where on September 11, 1973 General Augusto Pinochet came to power through a coup d`etat backed by Henry Kissinger and the CIA. On the losing end of this coup was Salvador Allende, the democratically elected and self proclaimed Socialist. Pinochet proceeded to dissolve congress and make himself a life time senator. In 1980, he rewrote the constitution. During his reign (1973-1989) Pinochet and his “Carnival of Death” beat, tortured and executed thousands of citizens who dared to oppose his neo-capitalist policies. Thousands more were “disappeared”. Today, a statue of Salvador Allende stands outside the palace, while vendors sell t-shirts with Pinochet`s mug shot on them.

At night, we went to a Polynesian dinner cabaret. I guess Chile is somewhat affilliated with Polynesia through their ties to Easter Island. Nonetheless, I got a real kick out of the whole spectacle. At one point, the MC for the night was calling out countries. When Mexico came up, our table cheered. When another table of Mexicans cheered and said they were from Mexico City, Fab`s dad booed. I just laughed and finised off my Mai Tai and plate of ceviche.  

Santiago – April 25

We slept in late and then transferred to another hotel where Fab´s parents were due to arrive the next day. We gorged ourselves on the first rate restaurant food, almost choked when we saw the bill, took in the sauna and pool and then set out to discover the town. After a couple hours of walking around, we picked up a couple of bottles of Chilean red wine, went back to the hotel and soaked up the relative opulence of our room.

Santiago – April 24

We arrived in Santiago, our eyes bloodshot and aching from lack of sleep, and were immediately skinned of $150 in “reciprocity” fees by Chilean customs. In the past month, Fab and I had paid a combined $700 in visa fees, all of which considerably set us back. Fortunately for us, the cavalry was coming to bail us out in two days. We were due to spend the next week  traveling with Fabiola´s parents.

The hotel picked us up at the airport, all thanks to Fab’s dad, and took us into downtown Santiago. We go stuck in the morning rush hour for an hour and a half and arrived at the hotel grouchy and irritable. The decor of the hotel didn’t help our moods. The walls of the lobby were lemon yellow, the couches lime green, the tiles checkered pink and white. The hallways of the upper floors were even worse, splattered black paint, done in some naive tribute to Jackson Pollock. They were so bad that we felt compelled to take pictures of them.

After napping in the afternoon, we walked around in the evening along a wide pedestrian boulevard looking for food, found a movie theatre instead and took in David Cronenberg’s latest “Eastern Promises”.