Un Gran Terremoto!

After a few days of kicking back and partying Chilean-style with a group from Santiago, we prepared to leave Viña del Mar/Valparaiso on Friday, February 26. Unfortunately, all tickets to the north were completely booked up until the next day at 2:30 pm. Until this point, we had been able to pretty much get tickets same day, but this time, we were stuck.

Sebastian made a quick phone call and arranged a place to stay for us in Viña del Mar with his friend Ricardo, who we had met a couple of nights before that. We were thankful to not have to pay another night in a hostel, as things in Chile have been seeming increasingly expensive to our modest budget. We took our things up to the apartment (on the 17th floor), and then went out to explore the town of Valparaiso a bit more, finding some good music, a tasty pisco sour, and returning to the place around 2:30.

We were alone, as Ricardo was working the night shift, and sleeping lightly, to await his knock on the door when he was to arrive home. Instead of a knock, we were woken with the shaking of the tiny twin bed we were sharing. It was so intense that we were afraid we were going to fall off. Out of a dream world, it took a few moments to realize why the bed was shaking (terremoto), and then remember that we were on the 17th floor of a building whose infrastracture I didn´t know whether I could trust or not. It seemed to go on forever and I just wanted the swaying and shaking to stop. We began to hear crashing and shattering of who knows what, both inside the apartment and elsewhere.

When it finally ceased, car alarms, emergency vehicle alarms, and ruidos of all sorts began. I've never heard as many sirens at one time as I did in the succeeding hours of the early morning. In the dark of the night (it was about 3:30) the haunting glimmers of flashlights and the red lights of police and fire tricks flitted through the windows, and we confirmed the power was out. What to do? There we were, stranded, alone, in the apartment, not knowing if it would be better to stay or to go. Jameson assessed the damage with a headlamp: the computer desk had fallen over, toppling over the computer and everything associated with it, a few empty bottles had fallen in the kitchen, but other than that, everything seemed intact.

Then the aftershocks began. This is the third large earthquake I have experienced in my life (also San Francisco 1989 and Seattle 2001), but I have never been so close to the epicenter, nor have I known so many replicas (aftershocks). They shook right up all twenty-something stories of that building and right through my bones. At some points they were almost constant tremors, low and rumbling, and occassionally, sharp and threatening to turn into a large quake again.

About an hour later, the phone began to ring. It was loud and jarring. Ricardo still was not home. At first we ignored it, but then we thought it might be him and answered it. A series of close friends and family members were calling to see if he was okay. In Spanish, we explained that he was not home and we were amigos de un amigo sleeping at his house for a night. Makes for a great story, on both our parts. Unfortunately I could not give them any good news about his safety, only that the building was intact and that a few things had fallen.

We tried again to get some rest, through the replicas, the alarms, the eerie flashlights, and knotted feelings in our stomachs. I was most worried that a strong aftershock might damage the already potentially compromised building, and it was hard to sleep. Ricardo came home; he had to climb 17 flights of stairs in the dark, as the emergency lights in the stairwell had expired, and of course the elevators didn't work. He gave us his account of working in his restaurant, with broken plates and glasses and beer bottles, and chaos in the streets. After sharing stories for a while, we slept a few hours.

Upon arising the next morning, we didn't even know if our bus would go out. The power was still out, and now the water, too. We still heard the sounds of sirens in the background. Anyways, we packed up our bags and walked downtown, seeing the evidence of destruction along the ways. In the stairwell, tiles and small pieces of wall littered the floor. There were cracks in some of the walls. We were glad to leave. In other buildings, windows were blown out, pieces of wall were collapsed, roofs and ceilings had fallen in.

Good news: our bus would still leave today. It would likely have been a different story heading south, but since we were heading away from the destruction, we were in luck. We had no food for our 20 hour bus journey. Upon searching for some, we found that all supermarkets and almost all other little markets were closed. The only things that were open were a couple of fruit and vegetable markets, carnicerias (meat vendors), and a pet food store (strange - there was even a line out of this). There were long lines everywhere. Unfortunately meat would do us no good so we filled up on fruit and veggies. There was only one place we found where we could buy water for the trip. Some of the small market stores had their doors open but with a cardboard sign saying Cerrado (closed), and you could see the entire place littered with the contents which once adorned the shelves.

Apon arriving in Antofagasta, we tried as quickly as possible to find a ticket out of here. The first place we checked had not availability until tomorrow, and the second, with a good price, didn't accept credit cards. Here we found out that the Bank of Chile, based in Santiago, was down, and all ATMs no funciona. With sad faces and bad Spanish begging, we convinced the ticket vendor to accept American dollars (we tried Argentine pesos, too, but he wasn't into that) for one of our tickets. And then we sat in the bus terminal for 4 hours, without even enough cash to go to the bathroom, until we convinced a Chilean/Australian couple sitting next to us to change 10 bucks for some Chilean pesos, to get us through the day.

Probably the strangest thing of all is being right in the center of chaos but not really knowing anything about what was happening. It is not until we reached Antofagasta that we were able to see a TV and internet, and learn about where the quake was centered, and that it was of such a strong magnitude. We didn´t see the damage and destruction except for the blown up windows and falling facades in Viña del Mar. It was evident that this was a huge event, but in the center of it we were surrounded with such immediate chaos and curiosity and uncertainty, and with communications cut off there was no way to find out what was really going on. Upon watching a TV in the bus station here, my heart really goes out to the families who are in some of the other coastal towns that are truly devastated. While we are thankful to make it out of here, and thankful for our health and safety, many of these places are going to require months and years to heal the wounds that were inflicted over the past couple of days. Currently in Concepcion and other towns there is looting caused by hunger and lack of access to water and electricity. Just like with Haiti and in New Orleans, the true devastation and lasting impacts are not necessarily what happen in the moment of the catastrophe, but what happens in the days and months ahead, while people work to solve their lasting problems and rebuild their cities and their lives.

Terremotos and Completos

The last few weeks have made us a bit road weary, every night or two we've been in different places, every day experiencing new things. While the excitement has been fairly unsurpassed, we've become a bit tired. We headed to Santiago, to meet up with Sebastian, who we met along with his friends in the backwoods near Segundo Corral when we were drenched and crossing the border from Argentina.



It was a welcome relief to be picked up from the bus station after a cramped 10 hour ride. We got a last minute discount when we purchased the tickets but forgot to ask if they were cama, and our legs were hurting a great deal from the lack of movement. At his home they welcomed us with breakfast, and just a couple hours later, a huge and delicious Sunday lunch. We talked for a while with his parents (most youth live with their padres until they are either married or finished with college), and got an interesting insight into Chilean culture and their views on the change in the country under various administrations. There seems to be quite the controversy in views on the Pinochet administration: evidently he advanced the country to be the first which is pretty much considered 'First World' in Latin America, in many ways by mimicking the United States, but this came at the expense of the disappearances of approximately 20,000 people. It is interesting because many people don't seem to talk about things as openly or overtly, whereas in Argentina everyone had a strong opinion about their tumultous history. It seems as though people want to forget about the disappearances in order to maintain their path towards abundance, but there are still the families of those that disappeared, maintaining reminders of how the Pinochet administration achieved its goals. People from the administration are still under trial for their actions during that time. Indeed, in Santiago, it feels quite a bit like being in the US as far as the luxuries that are abundantly available and flaunted. Whereas I felt like we could begin to grasp the complexities of the influences of Argentina's recent history, Chile's still seems masked and difficult to understand.



Santiago is not the huge crazy conglomeration of busyness and thrill that Buenos Aires presents; instead, it is clean and relatively mellow, considering its 5 million inhabitants. Here, you are not constantly bumping up against someone else, and fighting for space on the sidewalk, and can breathe the air with a bit more ease (though the water is terrible after leaving the glacial melt of patagonia that we have been spoiled with for the past two months).



Its been so nice to just relax and be shown around, and take care of homework (like getting our Bolivian visas, which we accomplished today). We drank terremotos (a drink consisting of cheap white wine, ice cream, and a splash of Fernet, translating to earthquakes, because 'it makes you feel like the ground is shaking when you get finished'), ate sushi, and ate Italiano completos (a hot dog smothered with tomatoes, avocado, and mayo). We visited the General Cemetery, remniscent of Recoleta in Buenos Aires with its mansionesque mausoleums, though this included contrasting apartment-style high rises of slots containing people and families and histories of Santiago.

Adventura Araucaria

La adventura in Chile continues...

Upon recommendations from some Chilenos we met camping, and my utmost desire to see a forest of wild Araucaria trees (monkey puzzle), we ventured to the Parque Nacional Conguillio, east of the city of Temuco. Pulling into Temuco, we were not greeted with the sweet hospedaje ladies who populated the smaller bus terminals of the Lakes District, and in this larger city, were somewhat unsure of what to do-where to go-etc. We ended up getting ripped off by a cabbie (spending the equivalent of almost $14 on what should have been a $4 trip) to be dropped off in front of the address listed in our guidebook where there should have been a nice little hostel, which didn't exist. Tired, we checked into a dumpy place across the street.

The next morning we took a bus to Curcautín, where the guidebook said there would be a shuttle to the park. It didn't exist. Not this year. At la officina tourisma, she informed us that tourism was low and that they were not running the shuttle this year. How do we get to the park, 42 km south of the city? ¨Taxi, or al dedo.¨ Al dedo, literally, 'the finger', means to hitchhike. The lady at the tourism office, straight faced, was telling us we'd have to hitchhike to our destination.

We walked out of town... getting discouraged after 45 minutes of waiting. Finally, a man in a truck picked us up, and then proceeded to pick up a half dozen other hitchhikers in the back. He pointed to a hillside and said, 'This is my work, silvicultura (forestry)'. I told him we were students in botany and ecology, and he began to tell us of different medicinal plants, and about the recent eruption by Volcan Llaima (the centerpiece of the park), and how it had affected the plant communities around. Evidently an eruption in January 2008 had caused the river to jump course, and had laid black fields of sediment clearing entire swaths of landscapes. He showed us how you can differentiate between the different eruptions in the types of rock, and about how the different heats and cooling times, as well as the chemical composition of the lava, affected the outomes of the resulting rock formations.

Us with Madre Araucaria, reputedly 1800 years old.

As we approached the parque, we began to see the Araucaria-Nothofagus forests. Though we got another ride all the way in, we still arrived much later than anticipated, and at first had difficulty finding a campsite. We wandered around Laguna Captren, taking in the sights, and the sounds of a half dozen species of ducks. Later in the evening, the clouds cleared, and for the first time we got a glimpse of the impressive and looming, very active, volcano, at which we were camped at the base of.

Old growth monkey puzzle trees rising above the coigue.

In the cool of the next morning, we packed up and wandered through the old growth. The trees here are so huge and majestic. To see the Araucarias in their natural habitat was stunning and so rewarding and hard to describe. They are the most important species to the Mapuche Indians of this area, particularly for their pine nuts, and I think are regarded with as much care and sacredness as the Western Red Cedar of the Pacific Northwest to the native tribes of that area. I'd like to put some into the forest garden I worked on at Evergreen, as I saw a bunch of sweet little cute ones growing in full shade cover.

To leave the park ended up being a bit more of a challenge than arriving. We watched car after car pass us by, and we were concerned about catching the bus back to Temuco so we could catch a night bus to Santiago, as we had planned. Such a long and desolate 42 km, in the midst of open sky and lava fields... it took us three rides to go that short distance, the last in a small car already full with three kids, their parents, and a dog. As soon as we pulled up to the bus station we saw an express bus back to Temuco, which paused for us, and we relaxed, amazed at what the last 36 hours had brought.

Al dedo, with Volcon Llaima in the background.

Chiloe

Chiloe is an island, and because of that, is has preserved culture and tradition unlike in other places in Chile. The natives kept out colonialism fairly effectively and continued to live fairly traditionally, and even after the permanent arrival of Europeans, have retained a unique traditionalism that includes wooden churches (some with corrugated tin roofs, collectively a UNESCO world heritage site) and other strange devices used to squeeze water from potatoes to make glutenly delicious milcau, and apple cider.

We arrived in Ancud, and were a bit put off by the over the top tourism. It was so thick that I couldn't see this unique culture I'd been reading about between the lines. Also, Jameson and I were plagued with illness, presumably, from consuming raw seafood in Puerto Montt. Won't do that again - still experiencing stomach cramps a week later. We tried to go see the Humboldt penguinos, which are one of the main attractions, but the boat rides were sold out and we didn't have a reservation. It was an exploitation of nature, anyways, we told ourselves, as we saw hordes of rental cars drive right up the road we'd walked on for an hour after a long, bumpy bus ride... ahh, the reflections of being a poor traveler. 

Castro had a bit of a more down to earth feel. Both towns were saturated with the most beautiful woolen goods in every form and fashion. Never more did I wish I could carry more with me (though after learning what it is to carry in our walk from Argentina, I knew I didn't want more) or that I had a greater capability to send things back home. The sweaters and ponchos were in gorgeous colors with unique and creative patterns, the women were busily knitting as we strolled through market after market. I could not help myself and bought several small bundles of yarn, many dyed with natural materials. I would return to Chiloe just for the wool.

The architecture in Chiloe is of wood and corrugated sheet metal, and the wooden shingles are of every pattern imaginable. They don't seem to believe in fresh coats of paint, for the most part, and the fading colors reveal past incarnations of the houses. The insides of the homes and businesses, though, appear kept up quite well. There is a wood stove inside each kitchen, complete with oven and water tank, warming the belly as well as the body. Castro boasted numerous palofitos, which are old wooden houses on stilts.

We attended a Festival Acosumbrado in Chonchi, and got to see these crazy wooden contraptions actually put to work: the pressing of potatoes, making of apple cider, shearing of sheep, preparation of grain, all with these machines attached to a belt and motor. It was insightful, as I'd read so much about the innovativeness of the native people of Chiloe but it was difficult to see how this was evident otherwise. 

Yesterday, we made the long journey to Valdivia, en route to eventually reach Santiago, deepening our ties with true 'civilization' after so long in such rural and traditional areas. Ciao, por ahora.

A brief note on the climate

I am quite sure all of you believe that we are basking in the sun of the southern temperate summer.

That is what we escaped the PNW winter for, no? Well, unfortunately, El Niño has not only brought devastating storms to the northern hemisphere winter, (and too much rain for the Olympic games in Vancouver?) but has dramatically affected el verano here in Argentina and Chile, tambien. It has rained much, and there really hasn't been much of a true summer, particularly in terms of heat. 

Devastating for us, tourists, Norte Americanos? A bit of a bother, yes, but we can deal with some cold nights camping and cloudy, moody days as we view new places. Of course, we wish it was like the summer last year, hot, dry...

The problem is what it is doing to the country people, and also, the price of food. At the farm where we worked, typically they have a dozen types of fruits to harvest in the summer. This year, it was only the raspberries. When we were out in Segundo Corral, passing the rainy day, we heard the same, only in voices expressing more concern: this year, there are very few apples, no cherries, no quince, peach, apricot, plums. There was a late freeze after an early spring, which included extreme winds, which eliminated the majority of pollinated flowers. Fruit trees which bore heavily last year are extremely sparse right now. In a place populated solely by people living off the land, there is great worry for the long term.

As a consequence, the city people have commented that fruit is very expensive this year. 

Along with the devastating floods in Cuzco, floods in the Mendoza region, and droughts plaguing other regions, the compounded affect of changes in climate globally is something that we will be continually encountering with greater frequency, and greater urgency. I'm not sure that I have a conclusive point or thesis right now, just that as you experience your winter climate extremes right now, be aware that the rest of the world is being equally affected.

The days at the farm ended appropriately. I think I could have stayed there for much longer, but within the scope of our travels I was feeling ready to move on. We had spent many days and nights there, and exploring the wonderful area around Las Golondrinas and El Bolson.


A night photo from Lago Natacion, where we camped out one night.

Until this point, much of our plans have been pre-determined, but we did not have any idea of what would be next... una adventura! To further the feeling of putting ourselves into the unknown, we decided to complete a several-day hike across the Argentine border into Chile. The hike follows the north side of Lago Puelo, and then Lago Inferior.

Us with Claudio and Rosalind, of Chacra Temaukel.

We said our good-byes to Claudio and Rosalind, and took a taxi to La Paserela of Rio Azul. Normalmente, one would ford the river closer to the Lago, but there has been much rain this summer and the river is too high. This added about 6-8 km to our journey, through farmland and a trail that came and went like the wind. The night before had been incredibly windy, and the weather untamed, and as we walked we were not sure if we would encounter any sudden downpours. Our bags were incredibly heavy, since we have everything for our entire 8 month journey, making ascending and descending much more difficult than even with just a backpacking pack (which would carry only camping gear).

This first day we got only minimally wet, and set up camp near the lake. The next morning, we got our passports stamped out by the Argentinos, and walked the last 4 km to el limite con Chile. The forest is beautiful, wet, green, remniscent of the PNW but different. The rain was drizzly but incessent. For these first couple of hours we were in good spirits despite the cold and damp.


Jameson sitting by our first night camp.



Made it to Chile. It says Argentina on the other side.



After reaching the border, the last 7 km to the Chilean Carabineros seemed to last forever. The rain continued. We got wetter with each step, the brush encroaching on our legs and sides, the wind blowing big drops off the leaves of the trees to wet our packs and shoulders. No longer did we care about the scenery. Our feet were wet all the way through, and each step upward became more painful the further we went due to the weight of our loads. When we finally arrived, we were rewarded with a passport stamp that says something like ¨Reten de Paso El Bolson¨, and were given vague directions in choppy Chilean to the boat to Segundo Corral and to a campsite. The campsite was crappy, and we walked in a thousand wrong directions before finding the boat to cross the river, when we did it was too late to cross.


Instead, we encountered 7 Chilean kids from Santiago rogue camping, upon seeing our damp and disheveled selves they offered us tea or mate. We gladly accepted, and the evening ensued with a most lovely cultural exchange. We talked late into the night, drying off by a smoky fire of damp wood, playing a guitar and melodica (a plastic piano-type instrument which you blow into to make noise) and singing a mix of American and Chilean music. They knew a bit of English (one of them was really good) which facilitated communication, particularly as our Spanish diminished as the hours moved to the wee of the morning. Though we had been miserable during the last part of the hike, it was vale la pena to experience this sort of cultural encounter.


The next morning, sufficiently rested, we walked the 3 km to Segundo Corral. This began by calling across the Rio Puelo, for the boatwoman to take us over the river. Then we walked through unmarked gates through farmland and forest. The goal for today was just to rest after such a rough day beforehand, and this we did. We were pretty much out of food and followed a sign ¨Hospedaje¨ to find three men shoeing a horse, who showed us to the door where we asked for dinner, and received some bread for the meantime.


Segundo Corral is a small village of about 50 people. They do have a post office, and a supermarket, and there are about 6 houses in a line, the rest of the homes are on surrounding farms set back in the woods. No roads that can carry vehicles exist in this town. The sole means of transportation is by horseback or foot. Sheep, cows, and chickens roam free. There is a hydroelectric project in the works to bring electricity, and I saw one solar panel (although it seems they may have had electricity at some other point... not sure). Being there was like taking several steps back in time.


We had an opportunity to truly experience Segundo Corral the following day, as we woke up at around 5 am, with rain encroaching through our tarp and beginning to seep into our hammocks. It was terrible. We packed up, and eventually headed back to the hospedaje, where we had arranged for breakfast. The day was passed there, and the night. We huddled around the fire for warmth and to dry off, and observed the very traditional ways of life that we were submersed in.

... the woman of the house told me of a handful of Patagonian trees for making dyes
... the son told us of and showed us pictures of the wild boar hunts that he has participated in

... the key ring was made of a chicken foot
... a sheep carcass hung in the kitchen, insides cleaned out (I think our first nights dinner consisted of sheep intestines)
... the men wore woolen ponchos and classic hats when they went out into the rain
... the main form of communication was by some sort of CB radio, which everyone in the town had
... we listened to them play Chilean folk songs and sang them American songs in return
... the whole family came and went, old papa with a grey beard and smiling glints in his eyes
... cooking takes up the entire day, making bread and biscuits and sopapillas (fry bread), and hand made potato chips

Wild boar skulls displayed in the dining room.

It is a really difficult experience to put into words, but will live on in my memory forever.

The next day, we walked to where we would eventually catch the bus. We left an hour late and missed it, necessitating that we camp one more night. Following the instructions of the Alegrias (the family who ran the hospedaje), we called out at the the only house we saw about 20 minutes after we passed the bridge. Three kids came out: two boys, one with a bb gun, and a little girl with disheveled hair. They invited us in, and let us camp near the catarata (waterfall) on their land. They sold us some homemade bread, eggs, and from their garden, chard, carrots, and green beans.

Yesterday morning we walked from the catarata, to the first road. It is a road in the process of being extended, and is the ugliest thing I´ve seen in a while... a tear through the landscape. We continued up it until it seemed fit for a vehicle to manage. The family radioed to the driver that two people would be waiting, and so it extended its route and picked us up. And then... through more and more ´civilized´ type places... to Puerto Montt.

Puerto Montt is built of bending wood and sheet metal, with peeling paint of a thousand colors (if you count the hues infused with rust, grime, and sunbleaching), with lonely dogs sleeping in the streets and street vendors selling every sort of thing. It is a city growing rapidly due to the salmon industry, which has exploded with salmon farming off the coast. We will only be here for a couple of short days as we prepare to go to the island of Chiloe.