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D L M M J V S Destino: Pucón
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21 17 de diciembre Modo: Omnibus y Rafting
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29 30 31 Distancia: 155 kilómetros
Valdívia a Pucón,Chile

Yet another 6:00 wake-up call. I was in desperate need of a shower,

but the wall-mounted bathroom water heater presented a real obstacle.
The pilot light instructions were about as detailed as those on an airsick
bag. But instead of two images clearly depicting: 1) Open Bag, 2) Gag,
the heater’s instructions were much harder to pin down. The first image
was that of a match being lit and a knob being turned. The second image
showed a stick figure working up a mean lather and enjoying his hot
shower. Unfortunately, neither of us could emulate the stick figure’s
dexterity and shower savvy, so bathing would have to wait until Pucón.
On the plus side, we were able to score a handful of shampoo packets
that María provided in each guest bathroom. The Head & Shoulders
miniatures were much appreciated as bar soap had been our sole means
of scalp scrubbing and trail exfoliation for the past two weeks. Perhaps
María would consider adding this subtle amenity to her already impressive
full-color portfolio.
At 6:30, we bolted down the spiral staircase out back and straight
into María’s white Hyundai minivan which was idling in the driveway.
With coffee mug in hand, María came out of the house, climbed in,
threw it in reverse and launched into a dizzying sequence of stops and
starts. We were not exactly sure what she was trying to avoid hitting, but
our best guess was driveway air pockets. On the ride to the bus station,
we were joined by a young Chilean couple who had also spent the night
at María’s. We sat facing them in the back benches of the minivan, but
none of us were in the mood for idle chitchat this early in the mañana.
Five minutes later, we arrived at the Terminal de Omnibus trying to
say a quick “good-bye” to María. Unfortunately, we were slow on the
draw giving her plenty of time to come around to the sliding door and
shove a fat wad of business cards in our hands, presumably for all of our
friends that would soon be visiting Valdívia. Inside, we purchased two
tickets to Pucón via Villarica on the 7:00 JAC express for 1,600 pesos

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 each. I grabbed a café con leche and a candy
bar from the terminal café vendor for 300
pesos and we were off.
The trip started like most of our bus
journeys with only a handful of passengers,
so Andy and I each staked out two seats and
spread out in the back. This extra room would soon disappear however,
as the 7:00 Valdívia to Pucón bus transports more than just tourists. The
7:00 express is also the morning school bus for young Chileans that live
east of Valdívia and west of Villarica where the local grade school is located.
Between 8:30 and 9:00 the bus made several stops, and we picked up
over twenty-five polite, uniformed Chilean Catholic school children who
either took seats among us or stood in the aisles. A few of the kids curled
up and slept while the majority either talked among themselves or with
the gear-laden tourists seated next to them. One
very alert six year-old must have really overdone
his morning Cocoa Puffs as he sang to himself
for the entire thirty-minute ride to school. The
kids got off at their school in Villarica and the
bus emptied out; however, the drill would be
repeated on the stretch from Villarica to Pucón,
the site of another grade school.
We arrived in Pucón (pop. 8,023) on a beautiful, sunny Tuesday
morning. We were both psyched to see that the town had a bustling
downtown full of hostels and outdoor adventure stores. Tourism had
blossomed in Pucón ever since the federal government had completed
the coastal highway from Villarica in 1940. Once places like the Hotel
Antumalal (1945) began opening their doors, artists, intellectuals, and
fisherman all began to flock to the secluded town. It was like a small-
scale Telluride where everyone was really into sports and taking full
advantage of the beautiful surroundings.
At the bus station, we were unexpectedly
greeted by a friendly, young Londoner
named Paddy who gave us some good
information about the various hostels and
outdoor outfits in town. Andy and I just
assumed that Paddy was a longtime

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resident from the way that he spoke so knowledgeably about the town.
We were surprised to learn that this was only his ninth day in Pucón.
He and a friend from London were on holiday and had decided to spend
the entire summer in Pucón before going back to the U.K. Anxious to

pucón = whitewater
get in on the outdoor action, Andy and I checked out a whitewater outfit
called Trancura and booked ourselves on the 14:30 trip down the Tacamuna
Alto river, a challenging two-hour trip with Class IV and V rapids for
3,500 pesos each.
Our next assignment was to seek and secure lodging which we
managed to do quite easily. After a not-so-informative inquiry at the
Tourist Information Office, we backtracked to town. We decided to
check out a place on the main drag, Avenida O’Higgins, that caught our
attention: The Hostería Salzburg. The
sign out front promised reasonable
rates and an “ambiente europeo.”
Inside, we were welcomed by Maria
Scharler Zehentmeyer, a sweet, gray-
haired Austrian who was neatly-
dressed in a flowery red-and-white
outfit with shoes and stockings
reminiscent of the garb of her
mother country. When she told
Ambiente Europeo... us that a double would only cost
7,000 pesos (US$15), we didn’t
even bother haggling.
The place was postcard
perfect: a two-story wooden
Hostería Salzburg gingerbread house situated on
the corner with a nice yard and well-manicured
grounds. The interior was spotless with a large dining room
downstairs and five guest rooms upstairs. Maria gave us room number

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five, definitely the pick of the litter. The small room had two twin beds,
two nightstands, two lamps, two water glasses and one spectacular view
of the Volcán Villarica, an active six-thousand foot volcano that looms
over the horizon. We immediately opened the double windows, and the
crisp mountain air flowed right in.
After a quick wardrobe change to T-shirts and hiking shorts (it was
now 70° outside and rising), we set off in search of food. We looked at
the menus of three different pizza joints but settled on a
cornerside restaurant at the corner of Brasil and Ansorena.
This place served the biggest hamburguesa that I had ever
seen in South America for only 2,000 pesos. It was topped
with lettuce, tomato and fala and served with papas fritas which was
almost too much food. Still, we polished off our Chilean Extra Value
Meals and went back to the Salzburg at 13:30 to start getting ready.
At 14:45, a loaded minivan with three guides and eleven other paying
passengers picked us up downtown for the trip upstream. We were packed
in the vehicle like sardinas chilenas, but it made for good conversation.
alto: tall, upper portion We were introduced to a German guy named
hostería: hostel Verner and a fine, blonde Australian girl
fecha: date
detalle: description named Michael. The two of them had been
boleta: ticket, receipt persuaded to go on the trip by our mutual
ambiente europeo: a
European atmosphere. friend Paddy who had come along for the
volcán: volcano ride as well. It was good that we established
hamburguesa: hamburger
fala: avocado a rapport with those three, because they were
papas fritas: french fries soon to be our fellow raft mates.
The van came to a halt in the middle of a grassy field next to the river
where the other sardines and I climbed out. The three instructors seemed
to have a good system going as they unleashed the four rafts, unpacked
the gear and passed out the wetsuits in a matter of minutes. We were
then briefed on the whitewater mission before us. One of the instructors,
Javiér, gave good instructions in both English and Spanish since most of
our crew members didn’t speak much of the latter. Javiér came across as

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being very intense. He barked commands at us during
our onshore practice session, but it was only to get
us ready for the raging rapids ahead. The
five of us sat onshore and moved
madly around inside the rubber raft while Javiér
shouted things like “High Side Right!”, “Backpaddle!”, and
“Full Forward!” After twenty minutes of dress rehearsal, our guide
decided that we were ready for the big dance downstream.
The trip would give us the opportunity to tangle with six challenging
sets of Class IV and V rapids. Our teamwork was nothing short of
atrocious through the first set of whitewater. Javiér’s commands were
loud and intelligible; however, executing
those commands was a real task for our
multinational crew. The problem
being that the “Right Side” and
“Left Side” commands imply
forward paddling on one side and
simultaneous back-paddling by
the crew members on the opposite
side of the raft. As a result, we went
through the first set of rapids
practically sideways with everyone
paddling in the same direction. The
combination of a Chilean rafting guide shouting Spanglish to a Brit, a
German, an Aussie and a couple of gringos was borderline hysterical.
Our teamwork finally started to gel during the third set of rapids
which were much dicier than the previous two. Of the four teams in our
rafting party, we were the only group that made it through cleanly. This
was a real bonus considering that the size of the river rocks was increasing
along with the speed of the chilly current.
At the halfway point of the journey, we steered the raft over to the
bank in order to avoid the unrunable Class VI segment of the river
appropriately named, “Hell.” We walked single-file over
the rocks in our wetsuits, life preservers, windbreakers and
boots for ten minutes until we reached a jagged thirty-foot
cliff at the base of Hell. One by one, we all made the plunge
off of the cliff. The racing current below carried us swiftly

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to the rafts and our three guides waiting on shore.
The second half of the trip presented the river’s greatest challenge: a
Class IV/V segment where we had to head full speed to the left of a
boulder, shoot through the whitewater, then “Full Forward” between
several large rocks and, finally, “Highside Forward” to brace ourselves for
the final breathtaking plunge. It was awesome; we executed perfectly

and emerged without a scratch. The high fives were flying all around as
well as rounds of “gracias” to our outstanding guides. From there, it was
back to the shore where we peeled the wetsuits, threw the rafts on top of
the van and drove back to town.
After only eight hours, we were beginning to feel right at home in
this outdoor sporting paradise. It was no wonder that Paddy looked like
a local after only a week’s stay. Had we not already made contact with
John, our weekend social director up in Santiago, we could have easily
spent three or four more days in Pucón.
Back at the Trancura office, we milled about, talked to the staff about
other trips and found out where to grab a cheap cerveza. The grueling
whitewater had left us parched, and an ice-cold barley pop was the only
logical remedy. Two of our raft compañeros, Verner and Michael, decided
to join us for a cold Royal Guard on the deck of the Estrella Café located
next to our hostel, the Salzburg.

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 While on the patio of the Estrella, we struck up a conversation with
another guy from London named Tim. A professional photographer,
Tim was exploring the Chilean
countryside with his fiancée. We
exchanged stories from the road telling
Tim about the great trekking down south
in Torres del Paine, and he filled us in on
the nightlife that we could look forward
to up in Santiago. Fearing that we may
not find his favorite hotspots, Tim jotted
down a rough street map on the back of
his bar tab. He recommended hostels,
bookstores and a nightclub called Oz where, rumor has it, the techno
flows mightily.
After a beer or two, our whitewater team all struck out in different
directions: Verner on the night bus to Santiago, Michael with her girlfriends
back home to Antofagasta, and Andy and I back to Trancura to sign up
for the highly-touted Volcán Villarica trek the next morning.
Once there, we put our names down for the first group trek at 7:00.
Evidently, Pucón was brimming with early-risers that week as nineteen
other people had already signed up for the same trip. Understandably,
we were not overly psyched to see that fourteen of the nineteen were
Israeli soldiers and their girlfriends. Couples and newlyweds are not the
ideal team members and trail companions if making good time is high
on your priority list. Still, as evident by the ages listed, they were all
pretty young. In short, the chance of us getting up and back in time for
the bus to Temuco and the night train to Santiago was pretty good. We
each paid the young cashier, Patricia, 16,000 pesos and got fitted for
some serious climbing boots with three-inch spikes. Andy finished first
and waited for me outside while I continued talking with Patricia and
making last-minute adjustments on my equipment.
Once that business was taken care of, we crossed the street to the
supermercado to buy pavo, queso, lomo, pan chocolate and bananas for the
early morning trek. We also picked up four more black cans of Royal
Guard to chill us out during showertime at the Salzburg. Before going
out for drinks down the street, we packed our bags, fixed our sandwiches
and made sure that we would be ready to go first thing in the morning.

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 At 23:30, we met at the very popular Bar 77 down the street from
the Salzburg on O’Higgins. There we split a large pizza napolitana and a
liter of Becker bier. At midnight, Paddy and his friend Nic, a former
London stockbroker turned full-time adventurer, showed up for a pint
themselves. Nic had moved to Colorado one year ago where he lived
and worked as a ski instructor before moving to the Southern Cone last
month. We shared a few rounds with our new amigos británicos before
deciding to head back to the Salzburg.
Walking back to the hostel, we noticed that
the sky was starting to cloud up. This did not
bode well for our chances of climbing Volcán
Villarica. We would have to worry about the weather
in the morning, because it was already 1:30
and time for lights out.

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