Day 15-17: Castro to Puerto Varas

Fri 25 Nov – Sun 27 Nov

Despite Thursday’s eventful evening, we kept with our plans to head to Parque Nacional Chiloé on Friday.  With another traveler, Benoit, joining us from France, the three of us somehow missed our intended bus to the park and found ourselves killing some time in the quiet town of Chonchi. It only sprinkled rain that morning, and the few sunny breaks were enough to prompt a stop for ice cream before we poked around another wooden church and stopped by a local shoe maker to check out his shop.

A wooden church in Chonchi, Chiloe.

While waiting in Chonchi for the bus that would take us the rest of the way to the park, we met a friendly man in his 60s dressed in jeans, ball cap, and a black jacket with a “Honda Performance” logo subtly embroidered on the front- the classic North American car dealership wind breaker. We learned that he had spent 30 odd years living in Calgary, having left the island of Chiloe to see a French Canadian woman he had met. Alas, upon arrival in Canada, he never did end up seeing this woman or even making it to Quebec, but instead he fell in love with a woman in Calgary. He worked odd jobs in Calgary and ended up running a small home repair/renovations business for the balance of his career before returning to Chiloe for retirement, “It is where my roots are,” he said.

“I live out here now. My family is in Santiago, but it’s too big, there’s some crime there too. I live down this road, in Chiloe,” he went on, pointing vaguely in the direction we would be traveling.

On our return bus journey from the park, Ally spotted a giant Canadian flag hanging in the front window of a long home, surrounded by the thick forest of the area.

We enjoyed the first sunshine we had seen in days while walking various trails in Parque Nacionale Chiloe, weaving through thick forest and then heading to the crashing seaside sand dunes. It was beautiful fresh air and sunshine- where the strength of Chile’s southern sun managed to leave its mark on all three of our faces. Noted: the ozone here is in fact meagre and sunscreen is always must.

Benoit, our French hiking buddy scouting for frogs in the marshlands.

 

Looking out onto the Pacific from Parque Nacional Chiloé.

My rear end is healing reasonable well, with frequent coatings of iodine to mitigate any kind of infection. The bruising is colourful, but the pain is subsiding with each day.

Saturday we left the friendly island of Chiloé- certainly a worthwhile stop for a taste of a Chile as one might imagine it. We couldn’t help but ask for a photo with these two Chilean strapping men in the Castro bus terminal:

Ally and I are convinced their horses were around the corner, with coffee bags, pisco and dried meats strapped alongside in satchels. 

We are returning to Puerto Varas in hopes of catching some sunshine to see the volcano views that were buried under fog and when we last passed through.

 ***

Things were looking promising when we checked into our hostel in the city centre of Puerto Varas and this was the view from next to my bed:

The sun made a spectacular day-long appearance and we got "the" photos of Volcan Osorno and Lago Todos Los Santos:

Before...back on 20 November

After! Saturday 26 November

The view of Osorno from the shores of Lago Todos Los Santos, near Petrohué 

Cruising Lago Todos Los Santos, with Vocal Osorno beyond. This is Ben, who we met on the beach while doing handstands. Ben is an American working here in Puerto Varas on an entrepreneurial fellowship.

As per the above photo, we met Ben on the beach and got on quite well- he also speaks better spanish than Ally and I- helpful in negotiating both a boat ride around the lake, but also our ride back to town with an entertaining man by the name of Carlos.

Saturday evening Ben was kind enough to host Ally and I at his flat in town, which happens to be in a big red barn owned by Vicki- the town's renowned chocolatier from whom we'd purchased chocolate during our earlier visit. It is a small town. We had a tasty dinner of homemade pizzas, more delicious Chilean wine, and a fluffy volcano cake to top it all off.

The three of us were joined by a fellow hostel-goer and Ben then showed us to a great bar tucked away off a main street offering $2 local beers and $4 pisco sours...and we had many of both, soon finding ourselves dancing the night away and making great use of our spanish (which Ally and I been practicing on our many bus rides) with the exceptionally friendly locals. It was an entirely unexpected evening with new friends in a beautiful town- we had a fantastic time!!

Sunday was a lazy morning with headaches keeping us bed ridden til mid day. I was due for my second rabies injection today, so headed to the town's main clinic, which happens to be private. I checked in at Urgencia (the emergency room) but was then told to head to another clinic at the edge of town. Ally and I trekked across town and eventually found the spot- a long squat building looking like an un-used elementary school. The doors stood half open, with rubbish and old wood and cardboard laying about in the entry vestibule. Up until this point, the word "Urgencia" on the faded front sign was the only indication that this was some sort of medical facility.

Ally and I stepped into a very dimly lit open waiting area with a half a dozen people sitting quietly on the few rows of chairs in the middle. To the right were two empty counters with chairs on the opposite side, devoid of any sign of use or purpose. Lining the back wall was a row of doors with big numbers- 14 and 16- and all sorts of papers and posters hung about. The centre columns were draped with tinsel and Christmas ornaments, with posters and pictures of children's cartoon characters here and there.

We stood in the centre of the entrance, taking in the room with a sure look of confusion. An older woman sitting to the left in the shadows said something and gestured toward door #14. I tried to interpret the endless signage but was overwhelmed and entirely confused. I still wasn't sure this was even the right place.

I knocked on door #14 and heard a man reply in spanish- I looked to the woman sitting in the shadow, seeking confirmation of an invitation to "come in,"... I didn't want to find myself walking into the middle of some sort of examination.

"Necesito una vacuna anti-rabica," I said, handing him my slips of papers from the hospital in Castro. He scanned the paper and turned to his computer, expressionless.

I stood next to his desk and noticed that behind him was an aging examination table buried under folders and loose papers. Phew, this was a medical facility.

He tapped away while I continued to stand. He invited me to sit down. He began chatting away to me in Spanish. I understood most of it, but was struggling to differentiate if anything he was saying was crucial medical information or just friendly small talk;

"Where are you from?"

"Canada."

"Where in Canada?"

"Toronto." 

"Is that the capital?" he asks. This is when I knew he was making small talk. Phew.

"No, Ottawa."

"Ottawa?"

"Yes, Ottawa."

"Ahh OTTawa."

"Yes."

There were bits and pieces that followed- I'm pretty sure he was asking if we have stray dogs in Canada etc etc... I like to think I navigated the conversation quite well. But I still wasn't sure what would happen next. He had printed something off, and that's when he handed me my papers, said something, and then pointed out the door to the waiting area.

I stared dumbly at him, the expression that says, "no comprende," as words seemed to have failed me at that moment.

He repeated himself, and I got the gist of it- wait out there and my name would be called.

I sat down next to Ally in the chairs and seconds later door #16 opened and a man in his early thirties dressed in blue scrubs stepped out and called my name.

This time I was sure to declare my incompetence in Spanish at the forefront, 'Hablo solo un poco espanol."

This guy was great- he spoke in Spanish, but nice and slowly and made sure I understood everything; reviewing the vaccine schedule with me (which actually spans over 28 days, not 18 as I originally thought), and confirming where I would be when I would next need the vaccine. He asked about the wound itself, and explained that they would alternate arms each time I got an injection.

He prepped the shot, injected, and handed me a new paper of similar form as my first one- a brief medical report. He smiled and nodded as I stood up to go, "Ciao," he said.

I shuffled out the door slowly, waiting for the instructions about where and how to pay. I heard not a word and sauntered to Ally in disbelief,

"I don't think I have to pay!" I whispered.

"Maybe you paid for all of them the first time?" she suggested.

Who knows... whatever the case, I was pleasantly surprised with the ease and efficiency of the whole process, and that it appeared I didn't have to pay. This was great news since a conversation with my travel insurance provider revealed that these subsequent injections are not covered as "they can be administered in my home country." Damn fine print.