RALPH GREEN
SOUTH AMERICA
Start of Page Two
At Santiago airport after clearing customs I am wandering around, changing some money ($1 US = 40,000 Chilean Pesos!) and trying to make a call to a residencial to book some accommodation before we get on the bus to go to the City centre. The tourists info booth is manned by a helpful young chap conversant in English and Spanish. I force him to listen to my butchering his native tongue to get some more practice in. I can't make a call though because I only have Chilean notes and the phones take coins. The machine is totally unmoved by insertion of an Argentinan phone card.
This small dilemma is solved when a strolling airport official intervenes, indicates that I come with him and use his nearby phone. I call the first One Star Hotel selected in the guide book but the place is full. Next he springs into action making calls for me until accommodation is secured, gives me a map with the location marked and which bus stop to get off at. This sort of service is totally unexpected - no hint of same in the guide books!
Santiago is much more to our liking. Little things make a difference. The humidity is much lower than stifling Buenos Aires. We are not more than 200 metres down the road on our first stroll after checking in at our residencial when one of the locals on a middleweight UJM styled a little like a V-Max appears. As he gets it upright on the exit a screen of redline revs is sharply truncated by dumping the clutch and carrying the front wheel for 30 m up the street. I feel more at home already!
The city is modern due to several factors - it has been wiped out several times by earthquakes and in the earlier Spanish colonial period the same result was achieved by several indigenous Indian uprisings! If only we could get them into motorcycle politics!
There is also much more evidence of mixed racial characteristics, people come in a range of tints, sizes and shapes and are less interested in high fashion and extravagant grooming than B.A. The food is better as well. It's easier to escape the dreaded ham and cheese sanger (Though not for breakfast which is included at the residencial for $20 US a night/double) and all restaurants have a mean chilli sauce/paste called Aji (pronounced ìah-heeî) on the table which the locals are keen on spooning over the top of their plates of food.
Just as we were subconsciously beginning to assume that everything will work, the next morning brings us back to reality. It takes 3 hours of walking around on a Saturday to find a laundromat then we take the Metro (Subway train system) across the far side of town to book train tickets to Southern Chile only to find that the booking office has been permanently closed and we must go to a station at the other end of the grid for ticketing. Finally having achieved the booking we retime to the nearest pub/restaurant and after being served warm malta (Dark Beer) with ice cubes on the side which are suspect to digest, we order two sChoppî - Tap Lager. The waiter asks if we want media or grande size. I order the latter and he returns with two one litre glass steins! We fight these down and stagger home for siesta.
26/2/96 - PENCO, CHILE
Yesterday we decided to attempt to explore Southern Chile, as we had planned prior to getting the bad news from the freight company that the purple swine hunt would be 3 weeks late. The modes of transport available were considered before train travel selected. Any train is more comfortable than a bus (but usually slower getting there) and you don't exactly get a good view or feel for the country travelling by plane.
We set off comfortable and cool in air conditioned seating approximating business class aeronautical but with more leg room. Waitress service of snacks, drinks and meals is provided to your seats all for the pricey sum of $21 AUS (food and drinks being extra) for the 500 km journey south through the central valley of Chile. From the first few kms through the Slurbs of Santiago two things became obvious; the first being that Chlians don't enjoy the same level of affluence as Argentinans - at least not comparatively for the two capital cities. Houses are extremely small i.e. Not much bigger than caravan size with perhaps 2 or 3 rooms/internal divisions. Construction materials vary but wood, tin and brickwork are freely mixed together with canvas or plastic pinned down with moss or bricks proofing leaky roofes.
The second striking feature is the dryness of the country which may not be typical since a Chilean newspaper I purchased featured a front page article about how the drought was severely effecting agricultural production.
Beyond the city limits a fertile plain between the snow tipped Andes to the east and a smaller irregular coastal range is irrigated producing a vast acreage of grade vines and fruit trees. It was necessary to order a bottle of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc to satisfy a strong thirst that co-incidentally dame upon both of us on sighting the vineyards. On the train went, hour after hour. Speeds varied to suit the condition of the track which at its worst induced a tankslappingî roll right to left or a stranger bouncing sensation.
I was tempted to call the guard to suggest he add a few more clicks of rebound damping!
By nightfall (9.00 pm) 350 km south of Santiago the cropping had given way to grazing of cattle and dairy cows. Eventually we reached Conception. The name of the town of our destination that is, not something accomplished on the reclined carriage seats! By then the train was 2 hrs late so it was after 1.30 in the morning. Our attempts to get some shut-eye for the last few hours had been thwarted by obnoxious screaming children running up and down the aisle. The joys of public transport - this bloody freight company has a lot to answer for.
Next morning we're off to Penco on the local bus about 12 km north of the largish town of Conception (fortunately it was the wrong time of the month).
Penco is the first of a number of small fishing villages on the coast north of Conception. The pace here is very slow. There are residencials to stay at, according to our guide books, but none have any signs. It takes 45 mins of walking around asking the locals questions before we locate one. Residencial Miramar is run by a young couple who are extremely friendly. The chap used to work in the Petroleum industry based in Punta Arenas in Tierra del Fuego until a back injury 3 years ago brought about his retirement. This hasn't prevented him from converting a small box on the corner of a busy road facing the beach into a two storey boarding house of even smaller boxes - watch your head on the ceiling height! Every step brings creaks and groans from the walls and floor, none of the doors close squarely etc but it is clean and cheerful. Perhaps too cheerful.
The problem is being drawn into long periods of conversation with the proprietors. These range in topic from politics to wine and food, to pets, to holidays, to jobs to tourism, to ad infinitum. This we both find incredibly taxing on our approx 500 word Spanish vocabulary. The result is utter mental exhaustion. We retreat to the pub across the road to escape.
This friendliness (of varying degrees) seems to be a feature of Chileans; always with a willing smile and sense of humour.
28/2/96 - Temuco, Chile
We've got it. Not the bike rather, the shits! Whether it was the fish at the restaurant the other night at Penco or the depressing incompetence of the freight company I can't say for sure. Hopefully tís not the latter because that possible cause doesn't seem likely to dissipate in a hurry. Yesterday they admitted that the boat which was meant to sail with crated Swinehunt aboard on the 21st has not as yet done so! F*** ME! F*** them a million times harder with a burred countershaft sprocket! I am now promised (HA!) that cargo and ship will sail this weekend (2 and 3 March) with an expected E.T.A. 17 days later, docking delays at other ports along the way excepted. This writes off March. The way things are going first of April seems ironically appropriate.
Temuco is a rural centre of 225,000 population but not of any particular significance. I did however notice a recent model XR Honda with full Ballards modifications and gear ride past. The only obvious Aussie influence so far unless you count the eucalypt forests.
Sent certificado at Temuco 29/2 (No photos)
1/3/96 - Pucon, Chile
Toilet humour time- WARNING all children, parish priests and wowsers are to be put to bed before reading this.
I know you must all be wondering what the bogs are like in South America. Must be telepathic I guess. Safe to say that now that my Australian Skeptics membership has lapsed while away on holiday.
Anyhow, toilets here so far have varied a bit in quality, aroma and facilities. We haven't been required to squat over a hole in the ground Asian style but outside Buenos Aires you can't flush paper because the pipes will become blocked. A receptacle is therefore provided for you to place USED toilet tissue (Take you own tissue as this is very seldom supplied). So far, so what you might well ask? Well the surprising aspect is that this bin/receptacle is invariably located to the left rear of the pan. Since the vast majority of us are right handed a delicate manoeuvre of up over across and down the other side is required, clasping what you don't really want to hold but very conscious that dropping same mid flight would be a messy disaster!
End toilet humour time - Let Grandma out of the cupboard now.
Squeezed between the vast Lake Villarica and the Andean Cordillera is the small touristy town of Pucon. The volcanic rock has been eroded by the lakes waters to form a ringing black sand beach whose coarseness (1-3 mm rocks) is slightly sharp to walk on bare footed. The tourist dollar has brought with it sufficient investment to erect 5-10 storey hotels/holiday flats. In a few places but so far this is insufficient to spoil the natural splendour.
Looking up from my street side cafe table past the slightly dusty concreted inner streets a green tree covered hill rises. Almost at the top a small Mediterranean style church and cemetery over look the town. Above white Cumuli-Nimbus if I crane my neck a little higher - there! Jutting high into the rarefied atmosphere the enormous smoking snow capped cone of the active Volcan Villarica, dominating the surrounding landscape from all and any aspect. Even after nightfall one cannot escape it's presence, the flow from the crater giving a subtle reminder of its potential potence.
2/3/96 - Pucon, Chile
Today I achieved, what given our circumstances thought impossible. I got me knee down! This town being rather tourist orientated has various things for hire. For example if you wish to climb to the crater of Volcan Villarica you can hire clamp-ons, ice axe, etc plus a guide for you assault to the top. It is recommended you also take a handkerchief soaked in lemon juice to screen sulphur from the air you breathe. This seemed a tad adventurous so after looking long and hard at the scooter hire we opted for the mountain bikes instead. $US 10 each/day for reasonably hi-tech stuff 21 speeds cow horn bars etc. The idea was to ride 24 km to Lake Carburgua stopping at a waterfall en route. While doing the pre hire inspection - checking all gears would select properly, steering head bearings, chain etc - I noticed that the brakes were wired up in reverse! That's right - the right hand lever operated the rear centre pull brake and the left operated the front. On inquiry to the hirer I was informed that every bike he had ever seen/owned/hired has the levers like this! I made a mental note to try and remember this warned Mary Ann and we set off.
Due to the vagaries of Andean geography the 24 kms from Lake Villarica to Lake Carburgua are all up hill! The last 3 km steeply so. We were buggered, but back to getting my knee down.....
At a scheduled stop to replenish fluids from our 2 litre water container I spotted a shady spot just off the bitumen on the right shoulder verge, charged toward it aiming to broadside to a stop in a spray of gravel with the rear wheel locked. OK, I can't help it you know: there is a show off under the surface in all of us and I haven't had a bike to ride for 3 months!
As I was about to slam on the brake a jolt from my memory said right hand lever but this was an insufficient opponent for 25 years of reflex training, I squeezed the left lever locked the front wheel and went down in a heap in the gravel.
4/3/96 - Huilo Huilo, Chile
Ahhhh! The joys of the country. To be able to scrub your clothes clean by hand in a copper basin in the fresh mountain air. The dirt between your toes, using water drawn from an adjacent mountain stream as it thunders past toward Lake Panguipulli, strolling to the make shift clothes line constructed from lengths of fence wire past chickens and pigs, careful not to stand on any of the litter of 5, two month old brown pups. Just like a Ducati Owners Club Meeting I guess, except the company is better mannered and conversation more intelligent.
The illusion, though momentary, is to think you have arrived at the gArden of Eden. Somewhere the pace of life is slow, daily bread emerges hot and aromatic from the Wood fired kitchen oven, nothing is processed, packaged or preserved. Senses captivated by the magnificent Andean Lake district scenery. Full board and lodging at the Alojamiento Huilo Huilo is $5,000 Chilean Pasos a day - about $16 Australian!
Paradise shouldn't be this cheap. (Tell that to the punters who sell up and move their mortgages to the Gold Coast!!) One can even get to the fantasy stage of thinking you could do it - I'll start writing my memoirs, make enough money to pay the paltry board and still have enough for the odd Pisco Sour or glass of Chicha Wine!! Reality eventually comes flooding back, the gates opened by cynicism. This is all bullshit. The sort of rubbish that the new age/organic food/mid life crises crowd are sucked in by. As different as this ëalternative lifestyles appeal my be, such is the nature of the beast that before long you would be pining for expresso coffee, 3RRR sounds and motorcycle GP telecasts,
7/3/96 - Castro, Chiloe Island, Chile
This is as far south as we go, about level with Southern Tasmania. The weather is familiar - schizophrenic like Melbourne - but cooler for this time of year. Chiloe is a little reminiscent of Phillip Island although it is much larger and hillier. There is a bleak windswept fragility about the low stunted trees and bushes of both islands. Castro, the major town, lies halfway down the eastern coast. Although described in glowing terms as quaint and cultural by local and expatriate Chileans alike, I find the place dirty and broken down. This is a little unfortunate since on many persons and publications recommendations we have booked in for 5 days! The town is however different in a number of ways. This stems from its isolation from mainland colonisation and also to an extent from being a stronghold against forces of change -firstly for Jesuit Religious loonies and later as the last area to fall to independence as the Spanish were overthrown.
A perplexing characteristic of all Chilean towns we have visited so far is the complete failure to make a feature of the various, lakes, seas or rivers they are located on. All this beautiful scenery is ignored - not one bar, cafe or restaurant located with even a view of these features. Like to sit at an outdoor cafe sipping local plonk overlooking the sea/river/lake or with a view of the ever present Andes? Forget it - its like these features or the town or both are there by complete accident. Not that I am suggesting that the foreshore should become a concrete high rise nightmare like Surfers Paradise, but this lack of acknowledgment is curious.
10/3/96 Castro, Chiloe Island, Chile
Getting a feel for the Island now after 5 days. Because we are not enamoured with the major town - Castro - where our residential base is, we have been making excursions each day. The first of these was to the Chile National Park which occupies a good part of the centre and Western Coast of the Island. On the way we spent an hour or so between buses at the tiny fishing village of Chonchi - What a gem. This is where we should have stayed. Positioned on a lengthy inlet on the east coast the village crowds around a small bay, with a wharf and at low tides a pebbly brown sand beach. We arrived about mid morning or a little later. The last of the towns fisherman were completing their daily working duties. Elderly men with a stiff familiarity in their movements as they sorted, tossed and bagged the mornings catch, surrounded by the pungent cocktail of hauls past. Caps pulled down low over eyes enclosed by deep hard lines, chins bristling, with a day or soís whitening stubble. Other locals arriving also in rowboatís, dragging them a few metres up the sand before trudging slowly but, one felt, triumphantly up the steep streets home with the days lunch hanging by the gills in their thick short fingers. The scene seemed timeless and ongoing, from the beginning until the end of time. Sadly the bus arrived announcing our departure for the National Park.
Yesterday we ventured to quell on the islands most southerly tip and a departure point for ships to Tierra del Fuego - Still thousands of km further south - This is a long continent. We arrived early afternoon and although basked in bright sunshine a cutting southerly pierced our clothing inducing a briskness to our stride along the esplanade to the Romeo Alfa Cafe for lunch. Being an owner of both 2 and 4 wheeled Italian Machinery this was too much to pass up. An eccentric building it was too - something like Alfa ergonomics! Part petrol station on the foreshore, part Cafeteria built out on stilts over the water. A common construction method in Chiloe and referred to as pAlafitoî construction. Shame the tidal waves associated with a major earthquake every decade or so wipes them out!
Rocked by the unavailability of the vegetable omelette on the menu (out of eggs) we had to fall back on the plentiful local seafood. Lobsters and prawns are not common it seems anywhere, but the always local salmon, merriza and congrio, along with just about every type of bi-valve (not 8-valve) shellfish you can imagine. Even some you can't - eg cUrantoî a clam which grows as big as a cattledog, make this and in fact all Chile, a seafood eaters paradise. Especially when for $AUS 5.00 you can by a fillet big enough to cover your lap or enough mussels/scallops/oysters to catch mercury poisoning in one hit.
A five kilometre walk after lunch aided digestion before catching the 7.15 bus back to Castro, a trip of less than 100 km but due to the steep winding route along and over the rolling terrain skirting around brilliant blue lakes, contrasting ready inlets punctuated occasionally by the gridwork of oyster farms in the shallows, it takes over an hour and a half with all the stops for the locals to get on and off. This is a brilliant motorcycling road - series of up and down hill curves of various radii and that spectacular scenery including occasional glimpses of the white tipped Andes on the mainland. On the bus, motorcycle denied, I should have become frustrated and melancholy but surprisingly this was not my mood.
This spectacle in the gradually fading light was too absorbing, changing colours blending from one to another in the sunset, smoke drifting from the narrow pipe chimneys of the quaint wood shingle houses as stoves struggled against poor insulation to maintain heat in this cold Southern Island.