x lunes x

D L M M J V S Destino: Valdívia
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 12 13 14 Modo: Avión, ómnibus y Taxi
15
22
16
23
17
24
18
25
19
26
20
27
21
28
16 de diciembre
29 30 31 Distancia: 1,796 kilómetros
Punta Arenas a Valdívia, Chile

Multiple Ironman and Casio watch alarms sounded at 8:00, and I

! rose first, anticipating a hot shower. Surprisingly, our Swiss flat mates
had already risen and were sharing breakfast with Manuel’s parents in the
dining room just outside of our bedroom door. While I was glad to see
everyone up and enjoying their breakfast, a strange thought
occurred to me: Of all of the places that we had stayed, this
would be my first real exposure to international modeling.
All of the elements were there: the runway (a narrow corridor
from the bedroom through the dining room to the bathroom),
the paparazzi (every guest was toting at least one 35mm camera), the
outfits (I chose a smart 100% cotton white towel for my debut) and the
audience (a captive group of hungry and stylish Europeans).
I donned my Tevas and a white toalla, took a couple of
deep breaths, strolled out onto the cold Chilean catwalk
and was greeted by a chorus of chuckles and “Buenos dias.”
I waved and lowered my head anxious to get past the dining
onlookers and into the shower. I made my way down the
hallway and walked directly into the kitchen where Manuel’s wife was
handling pancake duty. Sensing that I was lost, she motioned toward a
small door adjacent to the kitchen which turned out to be the bathroom.
There would be no need for wake-up mocha javas this morning. I could
only assume that the subzero shower water was being pumped in directly
from the Strait of Magellan. Actually, I was a bit surprised
when water came out of the showerhead instead of
salt-encrusted icicles. Anyway, the hard spray
chilled me to the core, and I was in and out in two
minutes flat. The walk back to the bedroom was
slightly less amusing as my chascón had disappeared and most of the
other guests had returned to their individual rooms.
After our showers, we ate breakfast as planned at 9:00. The meal

90
 was wonderful: panqueques con dulce de leche,
jamón, queso, pan arabe, y jugo. (Just what a
couple of growing gringos needed before
braving the thirty-degree morning chill of
Punta Arenas.)

.
We walked down to the LanChile office
and made a tentative reservation for a flight
north to Valdívia on Tuesday. Better luck and
a lower fare greeted us at the LADECO office
down the street, where we booked seats on

\
the 12:50 flight out of Punta Arenas direct to
Puerto Montt for 37,000 Chilean. Next, we
went to the national phone company office
(Entel), so I could make a long overdue call to
my folks back in the States. Simultaneously,
Andy called his friend from the University of
South Carolina and our point man up in
Santiago, one John Hodges.
I was impressed by the quality of the Chilean long distance phone
service. I had read more than one article raving about the national
telecommunications infrastructure (100% digital); yet, this was my first
brush with a telefonica chilena. I made a call to my parents over 7,000
miles away and the satellite connection was crystal clear. Moreover, the
thirteen minute call only cost 4,000 Chilean pesos , which came out to a
little over US$1 a minute. It was good to catch up with my viejos, and
Andy got the green light from John for our weekend revelry in Santiago.
It was now time to start the second leg of our Patagonia odyssey. We
left the Entel office at 10:30 and had to book it back to Manuel’s home
in order to catch the downtown shuttle out to the airport at 11:00.
toalla: towel We paid 1,000 Chilean for the twenty-
chascón: bed head
panqueques: pancakes five kilometer trip north to the airport.
dulce de leche: delicious Upon arrival, we checked our bags for the
caramelized ice cream.
pan arabe: Arabian bread flight to Puerto Montt and cruised the
$37,100 Chilean: US$ 84
viejos: slang for parents. concourse kiosks for some local recuerdos.
Literally, one’s elders. Upstairs in the airport bar, we enjoyed an
recuerdos: souvenirs or
memories. The best airport ice-cold pint of Austral and some last minute
recuerdos are usually local people watching.
t-shirts, or remeras locales.

91
 The flight departed at
13:00, and we kicked it
old school back in aisle
sixteen looking down on
the beautiful peaks of the Patagonia that we had gotten to know so well
over the previous two weeks.
Ladeco flight #70 touched down at Puerto Montt’s Aeropuerto El Tepual
around 15:30 where the temperature was at least ten degrees warmer than
in Punta Arenas. According to our pocket guide,
the night train from Puerto Montt to Santiago in
the high season would be pulling out at 16:30,
so we really had to step on it.
We yanked our mochilas off of the baggage
cart and were the last two passengers allowed on
board the ETM airport shuttle to downtown Puerto Montt.
After forking over 650 pesos each to the driver, we walked to the back of
the crowded bus, stood at the rear next to the bathroom, and tried to
enjoy the ride into town. Our preoccupation with getting to the station on
time was compounded by the pungent Is there a later flight?
germicidal odor wafting from the baño.
Twenty minutes into the trip, we ran
into some heavy bumper-to-bumper
traffic caused by a major accident. A van
heading from downtown to the airport
with fifteen passengers on board had run
off of the road and ended up wedged Rough ride to the Airport
down the steep bank on the opposite side of the road. Paramedics were
already on the scene, and no one appeared to be seriously hurt.
We rolled our eyes when the ETM express lumbered into the Puerto
Montt bus terminal. The scene outside the window was a total zoo:
hundreds of passengers, street vendors, micro
drivers, hot dog vendors and dozens of shoe
shine boys. Fortunately, standing at the back of
the bus did have one previously unforeseen
advantage. Instead of waiting for the bus to
come to a complete stop, we pulled rank, bolted down the center aisle
and were the first two passengers out the front door. Much to the driver’s

92
displeasure, we snuck around to the back side of the bus, opened up the
luggage compartment and pulled our packs off: an unequivocal “Don’t”
on South America’s list of Traveling Do’s & Don’ts. We ran to the front
!
Do: Request a bus seat on the “pasillo”.
Don’t: Get stuck sitting near the “baño”.
Do: Watch as your bags are being put on the bus.
Don’t: Pull them out of the luggage hold by yourself.
Do: Arrive at the train station early..
Don’t: Get there four days early.

of the bus station, hailed a cab and jumped in going eastbound to the
train station at 16:15. We had fifteen minutes to spare. After a quick
spin through downtown, we reached the front entrance of the Estación
de Tren five minutes later, just in time for the 16:30 departure to
Santiago...which would be leaving exactly four days later on December 20th.
Once again, the on-the-road rumors and highway hearsay which we
were using as a not-too-inteligente supplement to our travel guides, had
landed us in the right place at the wrong time. Actually in this instance,
make that the wrong place at the wrong time. Not only would summer
train service not begin for four more days, the lady at the boletería told us
that trains didn’t even serve that station anymore. It was a mere ferrocarril
figurehead serving up train tickets without actual train service to an
unsuspecting public. Which raises the question: Why the hell did the
taxista race through town and drop us off at a deserted train station? You
would think that a local resident working in the bustling transportation
industry might be cognizant of the comings baño: bathroom
and goings of the various transportation pasillo: aisle, corridor
estación de tren: train station
vessels passing through his hometown. inteligente: smart. The opposite
Moreover, we should have been tipped off being estupido.
boletería: ticket window found in
by the three-wheeled rusting baggage carts bus terminals and airports. The
and lush vegetation growing out on the four mostrador is another useful
word when looking for a ticket
wooden train platforms. Still, the counter.
abandoned station was worth the price of ferrocarril: railroad.

93
 admission for a train fanatic like me. The lifeless interior seemed to
yearn for the noise and commotion that it once knew during the golden
age of train travel. A rusted diesel locomotive sat quietly on one of the
rail sidings in a sea of waist-high weeds. Vintage Coca-Cola signs cracked
and peeled in the stiff breeze coming off of Puerto Montt Bay. As our
chances of catching a northbound train were not likely to improve, we
resolved to search out an alternate mode of transit. On our way out, we
both noticed a beautiful thirty-foot mural painted above the station door

commemorating the anniversary of train service from Puerto Montt to

Santiago. The whimsical paintings depicted typical rail passengers in
various settings. Andy and I agreed that the oeuvre of one particularly
full-figured gal lounging naked in her compartment was certainly ample
incentive for anyone, including ourselves, to ride the Chilean rails.
It was a short walk to a downtown rental car office where a sweet
$ travel agent mistook us for wealthy globetrotters doing the Patagonia on
$500 a day. She smiled and told us that we could rent an
ultraminisubcompact for the low, low price of US$130 per day. Realizing
that, once again, the bus would be our cheapest option, we high-tailed it
back to the Estación de Omnibus.
This was, undoubtedly, the biggest desastre that we had experienced
to date on the road. A large, one-room terminal with over forty bus
company ticket windows. Neon lettering on each window advertised
service to nearby towns. As we didn’t
recognize the names of the cities listed
on the windows, Andy consulted the
travel guide, while I scoped out the
individual ticket counters.

94
 We had decided to spend a few days up north in the hip little town
of Pucón, but direct bus service from Puerto Montt to Pucón was not an
option. We had to decide between one of two possible overnight
destinations: Valdívia or Temuco. As a bus to Valdívia was leaving in five
minutes on the Estrella del Sur line, we opted for that ride at a reasonable
2,400 pesos.
We tossed the mochilas under the bus, and I stood at the bottom of the
steps, while Andy ran back inside the terminal for some bottled water. Two
minutes later, the driver started backing up and I pleaded, “Por favor, espere un
minuto!” At first, he pretended not to notice the noisy gringo standing at the
foot of the stairs and attempted to shut the door. Relenting, he shifted into
neutral and waited for Andy who climbed aboard seconds later.
There were only five other people on the bus for the first leg up to
the town of Osorno. The most exciting part of the ride
for me personally was sitting in the bathroom stall
with the tiny sliding glass window open as we drove
through downtown Osorno. The fact that I am so
easily entertained now is a sure sign that we have been
out in the wilderness for too long. Oh well, Santiago
and a healthy dose of urban nightlife await this weekend.
At the Osorno bus station, I jumped off and grabbed a Quattro and
a couple of packs of crackers for the final leg north to Valdívia. Given
more time, we would have certainly ventured into downtown Osorno
which is home to some fine German
restaurants and brewpubs.
At approximately 20:30, the near-
empty Estrella del Sur bus turned off
of Avenida Picarte and into the crowded
Valdívia bus station. Valdívia (pop.
112,000) is a relatively large town that
lies at the confluence of four main
rivers: the Valdívia, Andy looks out as
the Cau Cau, the
Calle Calle and the
Cruces, thus earning
the liquid moniker,
City of the Rivers.
we reach Valdívia

95
 Upon arrival, we entered the main terminal to see if we could possibly
catch a night bus to Pucón, but the last one had left an hour earlier.
Acknowledging that more off-trail downtime was inevitable, we began
looking for a place to stay. I leafed through our Chile travel guide, while
Andy hit the bathroom for which he was promptly
accosted upon leaving. Apparently he had forgotten
to pay seventy centavos for the right to use the public
toilet. “Capitalism at its best,” he quipped after
coughing up exact change to the gatekeeper o’ the
baño.
We rolled outside hoping to quietly go about finding a place to stay
when…BAM!...we got the full-frontal hospitality assault from a half-
dozen peso-hungry housewives.
After two weeks of travel, we were very familiar with this obligatory
lodging presentation from the local citizenry hoping to kindly share a
room in their home in exchange for a few pesos. However, in Valdívia,
this process is elevated to another level: frenetic. The offers are aggressive
and borderline confrontational as women were stepping in front of one
another to get our attention All the while, they were reeling off the
amenities of their digs: “DESAYUNO!... HABITACION
PRIVADA!…BAÑO PRIVADO! …CABLE!” Some of the señoras even
went as far as to verbally trash the accommodations of their neighbors
and competitors. “No, no, no, la suya es muy lejos, la suya es súcia!”
One woman, María, was extremely persistent following us around
both inside and outside the bus terminal, as we tried to
find some lodgings in peace. We even considered
walking back into the bathroom to get out of her
gringoscope, but neither one of us had seventy cents
for safe bathroom passage. So she approached us, she gave
us a flyer, she gave us her business card and, finally, she pulled out the
pièce de résistance: a full-color photo album with 4” by 6”
glossies of, what else, her home. It did indeed look
very nice. Evidently, the importance of having a
strong portfolio isn’t just limited to models and
architects here in Valdívia. Still, María wanted 4,000
pesos and we, trying to save our collective jack for Pucón, were looking
to spend about half of that amount.

96
 Suddenly, a different woman, Pilar, and her daughter cornered us at
the entrance of the bus station and asked us to come stay at their home
for 2,000 pesos each. So, against our better judgement, with cash flow
being our sole criterion, we piled into the back seat of their black Ford
Falcon that was idling in the adjacent parking lot. Behind the wheel was
a much older gentleman, presumably the father/husband of our
impromptu Valdivian greeting party. Pilar sat up front with her husband
while her daughter, chain-smoking Lucky Strikes and gazing out the
window, sat in the back with us.
Detecting that we were not one-hundred percent sold on their pad,
Pilar proceeded to tell us more than we ever wanted to know about her
home. And much to my surprise, the daughter even threw it into high-
!
habitación privada: private room. Traveling gear sales mode at odd
solo, you’ll want a habitación sencilla. When
sharing a room, ask for a doble. If you don’t intervals. I glanced over at
like sharing a toilet seat and shower, you her and noticed that she
might request a baño privado.
baño privado: private bathroom would be very quiet waiting
la suya es muy lejos: hers is very far away. for a lodging amenity or a
la suya es muy súcia: hers is very dirty.
supermercado: supermarket nearby landmark to pop
centro: downtown, very centrally located into her head. Once that
synapse had fired, she would shout the amenity and/or landmark out
loud three times. “Supermercado!, Supermercado!, Supermercado!…Centro!,
Centro!, Centro!...Cable! Cable! Cable!” Apparently three was the optimal
number for making a convincing sales pitch in Valdívia.
Mercifully, after a ten minute drive, we pulled into
what we assumed was the family’s driveway. As
our three tour directors suddenly turned silent,
Andy and I shared some nervous laughter. We were
both thinking: “O.K...This is it…This is where the Valdívia
street gang pops us…We’re goin’ down.” Sure enough, there were
three sketchy-lookin’ dudes hanging around the back of the house where
our intended room was located. Actually, our “room” was the family
garage converted into a bizarre Escherian labyrinth of wood paneling and
twin beds. The dark garage had all the
aura of a gutted work-in-progress on This
Old House. Unfortunately, Bob Villa
and the Chilean PBS camera crews were
nowhere in sight.

97
 Not feeling all too comfortable with the lodgings and our distance
from the bus station, we stood firm and asked, as agreed, to be taken
back to the hostel of María. In a last ditch bashing of her bed and breakfast
foe, Pilar cautioned that María’s place was “muy caro,” but I countered
that location, not price, was our primary concern. Even though this was
not entirely true, we really did not want to offend these folks who had
driven across town and brought two total strangers to their
humble home. Out of courtesy, we paid
them 500 pesos for a ride back to town
during which the once-garrulous
backseat daughter sat in complete
silence. Perhaps feeling betrayed by
the two fickle gringo boys sitting to her left,
she gazed at the Lucky Strike burning in her right
hand and said nothing.
Instead of going directly to María’s, we went to another hostel across
the street from María’s, because Pilar was dead set against losing us to her
fiercest B&B rival, who had trash-talked her casa at the bus station. Andy
walked into the tiny red-and-white Hospedaje La Casa de Amor and came
out either unconvinced or just plain unsettled by the idea of the two of
us staying at a place called the House of Love.
Running out of prime lodging options, we grabbed our bags out of
the car and turned in the general direction of María’s house. As we began
to walk, we could hear additional footsteps on both sides of us.
Inexplicably, Pilar and the female owner of the House of Love were walking
along with us. I thanked the ladies and explained that there was no need

for them to accompany us, but Pilar replied, “No, está bien…Esta es la
casa de amigas…María es mi prima.” Go figure.
Once inside, we were taken through the shaded backyard and up a
spiral staircase at the back of the house. This was the poshest place that
we had seen on this trip. Ten dollars bought us one queen size bed, two
bunk beds, a thirteen-inch color TV, an private shower and brand new
carpeting. The atmosphere was equally pleasant as we could hear Chilean
folk music drifting from a neighbor’s yard where a local group was

98
 practicing outdoors. Unlike the aspiring
muy caro: very expensive
No, está bien: No, it’s alright. grunge garage trio back in El Calafate,
Bien can also mean good or very. these musicians sounded like they could
casa de amigas: a house of friends
María es mi prima: María is my aunt. actually charge admission to one of their
An uncle is a primo. outdoor gigs.
churrasco y huevo: sausage and egg.
chopp: mug, A popular beverage At 21:00, we went to town for
container for a chilly cold one. some late vittles. The 2,800 peso
chau: casual way to say good-bye, or
see ya. Much more informal than churrasco y huevo club sandwich was very
saying Hasta Luego (Until Later) or good at a joint called Dino’s (of
Adios (Farewell).
maldición: curse, profanity Flintstones fame) Downtown. Andy
te quiero: I want you. made short work ofThe Barney steak
sandwich, and we each polished off a chopp of icy Cerveza Fred.
At 22:00, we wandered back home to Casa María and fell asleep
watching some bizarre Sharon Stone sexy-suspense-thriller. The low budget
flick was made worse by the horrible job of Spanish language dubbing.
The only words that seemed properly translated were Maldición and Te
quiero. Andy and I agreed that the local Chilean network should have
saved the money on dubbing and chosen to broadcast one of her finer
films like Basic Instinct or Sliver. As far as we could remember, neither of
those movies had any dialogue. Complex female characters like Catherine
Tramell and Carly Norris were far too sophisticated to communicate
using mere words. Body language- mostly naked- was their key to survival.
As bad as the Stone piece was (no pun intended), it was still a bit
more entertaining than the Keanu Reeves flick airing on the other movie
channel. Did Bill &Ted really merit a sequel? With no remote control
for the idiot box in sight, my only option was to fall asleep listening to
the all-night B-movie marathon. I looked down from my bunk at Andy
who was already passed out cold. I felt like we had been in Valdívia for
a month. In fact, after only three hours, we were both anxious to say
“chau” to the “City of Four Rivers and One-Hundred Haggling

...the City of Four Rivers and One-

Hundred Haggling Housewives
Housewives.” We were both ready to dive into the outdoor sporting
mecca that is Pucón. Tomorrow would mark day fifteen of Patrick &
Andy’s Excellent Adventure. Now there’s an original screenplay.

99