Carpenters in South America

Last week was a special one: Mom and Dad flew all the way down to Chile, just to see me! It was strange seeing them in such a different setting; I had never really imagined meeting them at an airport in South America and showing them around what has become a new home so far away. Also, after three months isolated from direct interaction with everything I had known (except English), it was a crazy feeling to have part of it down here with me. Now I wonder what it’ll feel like to go home and drop myself back into that world that I left so far away. Needless to say, I was very excited to see my parents. 

They had a stupendous ten hour red-eye flight crammed into airplane seats that we’ve all grown to love for their unmatched comfort. They were therefore entirely ready for a full day of activity and exploration, but I figured it was best to take it easy for the first day. Finding them in the arrivals section being harassed by a “pirate” cab driver and an airport employee attempting to shoo him away, we were off to a smooth start. After fifteen minutes of searching for their reserved driver, and the cabbie trailing us like an annoying version of the Chilean quiltros (stray, but cute, dogs) we finally found the proper travel desk and convinced the pirate that he best look for some other confused gringos. Our driver eventually showed up and we hit the road for Valparaiso.

Mom and Dad, as many would imagine, have a very different travel style than I do, so rather than a hostel, they booked a hotel, where you don’t share rooms with other travelers. What a concept… We checked in to Hotel Gervasoni, a cool boutique hotel with a great view over the port and bay, around noon, and took advantage of the free welcome pisco sours, and then ordered lunches that ended up being far larger than any of us expected. Another advantage of traveling Lynne and Richard style: food quality is significantly better than $1,000 peso empanadas. This time I actually got to taste the glories of Chile’s seafood.

After lunch, we decided to walk around some of the city. To give an idea for the challenge that walking here implies: the city is divided by its hills, rather than by neighborhoods, and anywhere you go requires the use o f stairs or an ascensor (gondola). Jet lag tends to make this difficult, so after an hour we returned to the hotel to let the parents rest.

At least the stairs are painted well

That's looking very up

Funicular

Following naptime, we found a restaurant at the bottom of our cerro (hill) where I could introduce Mom and Dad to a Chilean favorite: bife a lo pobre (poor man’s beef), which is steak on a mound of French fries, covered in fried onions and fried eggs. A dietician’s dream. While the food was mediocre, the atmosphere made up for it with the comical bands that belted out Spanish classics. The singing was generally terrible, but in such a way that it made the restaurant fun and picturesque. It was a shame we finished up just as the restaurant began to fill and the party really got started (Chileans begin to eat dinner around 9pm, and we got there at 7:30).

An early bedtime and relaxed wakeup later, we enjoyed the hotel’s breakfast and then set out for the day. Walking again, I took my parents through the picturesque parts of the city where they could see the city’s extensive artistic abilities painted all over almost any available wall. We wandered to the port and then took an ascensor to the top of one of the cerros, for tourism’s sake. After a few hours’ wandering, a delicious lunch and some sunset watching, we discovered a restaurant near the hotel that would prove to be the best meal I’ve had in Chile, and probably will ever have. Sitting on a terrace overlooking the port, we enjoyed a warm pumpkin soup (remember, it’s autumn here) and then Mom and I each had a plate of spinach ravioli stuffed with crab and almonds. The word exquisite was invented for this meal.

The next morning was an earlier one, getting up at 6:30 (I’m more used to getting home at that time). We watched the sun rise over the bay and then climbed into our van en route to Santa Cruz in the Colchagua Valley, which many refer to as Chile’s best red wine region. After checking into our new hotel, we went to the valley’s artisan museum which covers the country’s artistic evolution through its indigenous groups. The walkthrough took no more than half an hour and we quickly made our way to the highlight of the day: the Santa Cruz vineyard where I had my first-ever wine tour. I quickly became an expert in all things wine (despite the sarcasm, it was very helpful in teaching me how to taste). That night, Dad and I went to the local casino for another first for me, and after temporarily frustrating the pit bosses with my lack of blackjack knowledge, I managed to break even, which I definitely consider a successful night.

Sunrise over the bay

Santa Cruz Vineyard from above

Day four: Monday. Foregoing an entire three days of wine tours (excellent idea), Mom scheduled a horseback ride through the valley and a vineyard. It was a three hours very well-spent, with Mom riding Tormento(Storm), myself on Caramelo (Caramel) and Dad on the wildest of them all: Princesa (Princess).

Our ride went very pleasantly, with Dad and Princesa leading the pack from behind, and we returned to the hotel for a relaxed afternoon in the Santa Cruz museum (the largest private museum in Chile) that has one of the most random collections I’ve ever seen, from fossils to horse-drawn carriages to artifacts from the Copiapo mine rescue from 2010. This guy’s collection might even beat out Pablo Neruda’s in both categories of vastness and randomness.

On day five, it was finally time to return to Santiago and show them the town where a third of Chile lives. But not before some wine tasting! The first winery provided a glass of wine as we entered at 10:30 in the morning, followed by two more to taste. We tasted three more at the next vineyard and then had more with lunch. Seven cups of wine will catch up to you. The main excitement of the day, however, was upon our return to Santiago, Mom and Dad got to meet my host family for dinner at the apartment. It was great seeing everybody get to know each other, and Mom and Maggie getting along so well despite the language barrier.

We treated the host family to dinner on my parents’ final night, and I realized how lucky I am with my families, both real and Chilean. I couldn’t be happier with either one, and now that they’ve bridged the gap, it’s even easier to consider both as one family. My parents made me miss the rest of my family from home, but also renewed my appreciation to be able to find the same type of support, care and fun somewhere else in the world.

Non-Carpenters from left: Maggie, Jose Miguel, Cote

Gone Volcaneering

The title of the post is misleading, because I didn’t actually manage to do so, but that was the purpose of my latest adventure to Pucon over last weekend.

Pucon, about 800km south of Santiago in the Lakes Region is an outdoor activity paradise, where you have the options of doing just about anything you can think of. Its biggest attraction, however, is the 2800m Volcan Villarrica, an active volcano that, weather permitting, you can summit and peer into its crater to see the lava inside. Unfortunately, the weather did not permit, and I had to make do with the myriad other activities at hand.

Because of international workers’ day, we didn’t have classes April 30^th or May 1^st, so I took the opportunity to skip my Friday class and spend five days in town, arriving Thursday morning and leaving Monday night, taking the ten hour overnight bus each way.

I arrived in Pucon at 9:30 in the morning with a wave of other students studying in Santiago and Valparaiso who were also taking advantage of the extra long weekend. Checking into my hostel, I met a few of these students and Negra, the hostel’s beloved former street dog. After stretching out by the fire with Negra and the other hostels guests, some newcomers and I decided to go zip lining later in the afternoon. I flew through the treetops and over a deep blue river, an thrilling view and feeling when there is only a steel cable out there with you, and nothing else. When you get over the original fear of dangling above an abyss, and remember the cable is designed to hold you up, you can really take in the rush of an almost birdlike experience. It’s as close to flying as I’ve been… for now (I'm looking into skydiving and paragliding too).  

La Negrita

The River I ziplined over (although not from the canopy)

Pucon's black sand beach at sunset

On my second day, and second adventure, I went “hydrospeeding”, which I don’t think exists in the US. It is similar to white water rafting, but instead of descending rapids in a boat, you do so in the water with a body board. Needless to say, it’s significantly more exciting than rafting. One problem, however, was that both the river and the air were extremely cold, making my fingers so numb that I couldn’t even put on my belt afterwards. That was only a minor issue, however, in the grand scheme of hydrospeed’s awesomeness. Most of the hour in the water passed in calm parts of the river, but hitting the rapids was a huge thrill. The water rushes and then dips down right before a wave, and you speed to the top of this wall and launch off the top just to find yourself following another one, picking up speed and catching more air with each one. Each set of rapids got stronger, with the last one at the meeting of two rivers. These waves grew high enough to hang in the air for at least two seconds at a time and lasted for a solid five minutes. I had never done anything quite as exhilarating.

The only picture of me that came out

Photos taken by the pucontours guides

Next, I went horseback riding with other travelers in the hostel. We rode them halfway up a mountain that gave a gorgeous lookout over the town, and then descended again to a delicious homemade Mapuche (southern Chile indigenous group) lunch. Two of our horses had very strong personalities, only walking or running when they felt like it. I generally repeated “vamos!” about five times a minute to try to get Regalon to move forward. He just wanted to eat the whole way up and down. He and another horse were especially apprehensive about climbing steep hills, staring up from the bottom and letting out long sighs before scrambling to the top. Thankfully he was so used to the tour that I didn’t need to steer or control him in any way, because I’m pretty sure he would have come to resent me pretty quickly otherwise.

My most physically rewarding adventure was on my fourth day, where I rented a bike and rode 24 kilometers uphill to a manmade lake on top of a mountain. As you’d imagine, the ascent was pretty taxing, especially on a dirt road, but it was entirely worth it. With nobody else around, you can really lose yourself in your thoughts and soak in your surroundings. After half an hour of enjoying my solitude, I began my decent back into town, downhill. Taking advantage of the steep decline, I leaned as far forward on the handlebars as possible to get the bike moving as quickly as possible, which ended up being pretty fast. While my ascent took about two and a half hours, accounting for a stop at the Ojos de Caburgua waterfalls, returning to Pucon only took one hour. At the steepest parts of the mountain, I got up to fifty kilometers an hour, which is a huge rush on two wheels in the open air.

Picturesque bike ride

Los Ojos de Caburgua

Also, came across a black sheep

Made it. 24km each way

Monday was my last chance to climb Volcan Villarrica, but unfortunately ended up having the worst weather of the entire week. While I had lucked out with beautiful, albeit chilly, weather the entire week, my final day in Pucon was grey and rainy. Despite being upset that I couldn’t climb the volcano, I had managed to complete a number of adventures (not that rain would have stopped them), so I was content to relax in the hostel, laying out by the fire with the dog and enjoying the company of the other travelers.

This was my first time traveling solo, and it has become my favorite way to explore a new place. It turned out to be an exciting way to meet new people from all around the world, and the flexibility it offers to find smaller things that larger groups prevent is the style that I’ve been looking for in my years of traveling. After having seen so many great places, I realize that I’ve still missed out because of schedules and the generally cumbersome nature of big groups, but now I know how I want to see the rest of the world.

One phrase that writing this blog has brought up in my mind is “viajar por viajar” (travel for travel’s sake). It made me realize how enamored I’ve become with impromptu voyages, not particularly knowing what I would do beforehand. I love the stimulation that comes from arriving in a completely new place, working out my plans as I go and meeting people in the same fashion, with the same mindset. Making an impromptu trip for its own sake, getting to know the world from this approach, injects a new sense of life into you with every new destination. Maybe it’s the beauty of Pucon, or the people I met, but this trip has solidified my wanderlust, and my desire to see the entire world, figuring it out as I go.

So while I didn’t accomplish my main goal of climbing the volcano (this time), I managed to take the kind of trip that I had never done before. It’s thrilling and invigorating, and viajar por viajar has taken on a new significance in my life. After this semester ends, I will be doing so as much as possible, for as long as possible while I have nothing to hold me back (except for money). 

The Bellybutton of the World

Though the time between posts would suggest otherwise, I followed my trip to Patagonia immediately with another to the absolute middle of the Pacific Ocean, on the world’s most isolated inhabited island. Roughly 20 hours after my flight home from Punta Arenas landed in Santiago, I hopped on another one, 4 hours out towards a speck on the map that Chileans nickname the bellybutton of the world (and I’m still not sure why).

The change of scenery could not have been more drastic. On morning I was in the wild, wind-whipped southern part of the continent, and the next afternoon on a serene, lazy, subtropical island. However, while the island epitomizes “getting away from it all” with only 5000 residents and waves lapping at its powdery beaches, what makes this destination unique are the ubiquitous and legendary moai positioned throughout the island, as well as the story behind these mysterious figures.

Legends abound about Rapa Nui history, with many outsiders believing in extraterrestrial activity and other supernatural forces. Our tour guide was of Rapa Nui descent, and assured us that all past goings-on were, in fact, natural, albeit mind-bogglingly impressive. From the island’s discovery, with seven explorers happening upon it after nine days in canoe, to the mass production and erection of almost 900 moai statues over a few hundred years.

Each day we toured a different part of the island, learning about the rise, fall, near total destruction, and recent reconstruction of Rapa Nui culture over the past millennium. Our first tour brought us to two ahus, platforms on which moai stood (all were toppled during civil wars in the late 1800s; all those standing now were restored by archaeologists).

This first day taught us the importance of the moai. Rather than depict deities, the monoliths represent clan chiefs, who are buried underneath their respective statue. The moai face inland, protecting their clans with spiritual power. Regardless of your belief in supernatural energy, you feel a certain power from such grand creations when you are so close to them. Be it their stoic presence, mysterious faces or sheer grandeur, standing face to face with the moai creates a palpable, mysterious atmosphere that you can feel in your nerves.

Our tour also took us to the Rano Raraku volcano, where the Rapa Nui carved the moai, and to an ahu guarding a beach cove that, were it not a popular gringo stop, would have been paradise, with sand like flour, swaying palm trees and a brilliantly blue ocean. The following days, while touring more ahus, we learned about the settling of the island, how the population swelled to 20,000 and crashed to under 200 after the golden age as a result of deforestation, overpopulation, civil war, the European slave trade and disease. Most incredibly is how the Rapa Nui have managed to rebuild themselves into a solid, growing population from a hopeless point. I feel like all of that would be an anthropologist’s perfect case study.

Life on Isla de Pascua has since turned into a picturesque existence. I asked Cristian, the tour guide, what islanders do living so far from everything. He simply answered that residents just live day to day, with no stress and no worries. The Chilean phrase “poco a poco” epitomized. Sure enough, after a few days in the heavy air and calm breeze, strolling through the only town, it’s difficult to worry about much of anything. Much like you can lose yourself in studying Rapa Nui history, you can just simply lose yourself by taking in the island atmosphere, far away from the “real world”.

While not a destination I will likely visit again, Rapa Nui has proven to be one of the more fascinating historical stories that I have come across while in Chile. Maybe because it is so unique, or because it could serve as an important lesson to the wider world in many aspects (conserving resources especially comes to mind), there is just so much to take in. You could easily learn about Rapa Nui history from the internet, but it is hard to appreciate the magnitude of it until you stand face to face with the moai.