Welcome!

If you are viewing this blog for the first time then go to the column over there on the right and at the bottom under "Archives" click on January 2006. That will get the January entries and you will find the first one at the bottom of the page - read from the first entry at the bottom of the page and work your way to the top. Then do the same thing for February by clicking on February 2006 over there at the bottom of the right hand column.

Or, you can get to the January entries here:

http://jackinchile.blogspot.com/2006_01_01_jackinchile_archive.html

And the February entries here:

http://jackinchile.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_jackinchile_archive.html

Chao!

Well, I guess that's about it. We'll be catching a bus to Santiago tomorrow morning and chatting with a friend of Paula's father (she's been a friend of the family for the past 60 years or so...) sometime tomorrow afternoon. Then to the airport for a late night flight to Miami (for a wedding of course) and then back to Seattle on Sunday. I can't see that there will be another blog entry in any of that... Certainly nothing like the beaches here, the travels around Chiloé or the asados of Temuco.


















Which reminds me, even though they might not read this English language blog - the hospitality of Paula's siblings Tite and Lola (and Lola's family) has made this trip a much more comfortable and "Chilean" adventure. We owe them a huge gracias!

This blog has been great fun and I hope all of you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Your comments here and at jackinchile@yahoo.com have really been appreciated. ¡Gracias y chao!

Poetry and Sun

I had the day to myself while Paula and Lola visited their mother and then made plans for a fiesta tonight in honor of my birthday tomorrow.

I headed to Valparaiso again today - this time my destination was the home of Pablo Neruda, the Nobel Prize winning poet from Chile who died in 1973 (his houses are kept as museums now). Pablo Neruda has three houses in Chile - the one in Valparaiso, one south of here on the coast at Isla Negra, and a third in Santiago. Six years ago when Paula and I were here we visited the Isla Negra house. It's a funky, quirky, odd little place right on the ocean. Inside it was like a ship with all sorts of nautical geegaws around and narrow passages between one room and another. A fun place and a very comfortable place to live I would imagine.

I arrived at the main plaza in Valparaiso (Plaza Sotomayor) around 10am and asked the guy and girl manning the little Tourist Information kiosk if they spoke English. The girl there said she spoke a little. I asked in English where I could catch a bus to see Pablo Neruda's house. She pointed north and said (mostly in English, but also partly in Spanish) to go three blocks to another plaza and then she said in Spanish to go derecho (straight ahead) one more block and catch the "O" bus. But when she said the part about the extra block straight ahead, she pointed to the left. And the guy in the booth helped with a translation right then and said in English, "to the right". Hmmm... Spanish "straight ahead", finger pointing to the left, English "to the right"... Rather than try to unravel all that, I headed to the plaza. I figured once I got there it would be only one block farther to the "O" bus in some yet to be determined direction.

It all worked out. The bus came from the far side of the plaza and when it got to the plaza it took a right hand turn (which was probably the left pointing part of her directions). I hopped on the "O" bus and it started to climb the hills of Valparaiso.

And climb.

And climb.

And climb.

Waaaayyyy up the hills. Constantly climbing and turning right and left on narrow streets. A beautiful 20 minute ride.

I managed to get off at the right spot and a block down a side street was the Neruda House. Like the one on Isla Negra, this one is small but fun to wander through. Everywhere were signs saying no cameras (a camera with a circle and line through it). So I left my camera in my daypack that had to be checked at the entrance. Turns out I was the only one that paid attention to the signs. Everyone else was shooting photos right and left! Oh well... Here's a photo of the outside of the house. It's built vertically - 4 floors and only really room for one room on each floor. Narrow staircases go from one floor almost vertically to the next. Again lots of nautical relics were scattered around the house and it certainly has Neruda's stamp on it.

For more information on Pablo Neruda, check out the Wikipedia.com article at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pablo_Neruda It includes tidbits of vital knowledge such as Pablo Neruda was cited in The Simpsons episode "Bart Sells His Soul". Lisa: Hmm. Pablo Neruda said, "Laughter is the language of the soul." Bart: I am familiar with the works of Pablo Neruda.

After touring the poet's house I caught a bus from downtown Valparaiso north through Viña del Mar, past Reñaca, and to the small beach town of Con Cón. It has a very nice beach with big waves today and I relaxed in the shade of a beach umbrella at a small cafe on the walkway overlooking the beach with a completo (a hot dog with the works for those of you that haven't been paying attention) and a coke. As you can see from this photo of the view from my shady beach perch, it's going to be hard to return to cold rainy Seattle in a couple days...

Odds and Ends

With the trip coming to an end in a couple days, it's probably time to put down a few of the things I've seen here and haven't described or that I wanted to mention in further detail...

One of the first things that's different about Chile is that everyone is kissing everyone else. Well, almost everyone. When being introduced to someone new, when meeting a family member, a friend or a relative at a home or on the street, when in almost any situation that in the United States you might shake hands or smile and say, "how are you?" - here you kiss each other one time on the right cheek. Men kiss women. Women kiss girls. Men kiss girls. Men kiss young boys. Women kiss young boys. Young boys kiss girls. But - men and older boys shake hands with other men and older boys. Both when arriving and when leaving. It can make for some interesting times like at some of the asados when a family of 5 arrives and they work their way around to everyone (all 20 other people) and kiss. Same thing when they leave. When sitting on a park bench in Concepción I saw three policemen meet a policewoman and they all kissed... Once I got used to it, I got used to it.

The second thing that's different about Chile (and this is common just about everywhere in the non-USA world) is the number of smokers. The smoke is something I've found harder to get used to...

Coming from Seattle, the home of Starbucks, I was immediately surprised by the coffee situation here. Order a coffee (cafe) at a restaurant and you get a pot of hot water and a jar of Nescafe and a spoon. Order coffee with milk (cafe con leche) and you get a pot of hot water, a pot of hot milk, and a jar of Nescafe and a spoon. Always Nescafe. Occasionally there will be espresso machines in restaurants, but to get something from them you need to order specifically - saying, "cafe latte" will probably work but saying, "cafe con leche" definitely doesn't. I saw one sign for "drip coffee" in a restaurant window in Puerto Montt - but that was the only evidence of what we would call "just plain coffee" in the United States. What's Nescafe taste like? I'd say the best description is probably, "just plain coffee".

Along with coffee, I should mention bread. There are many, many bakeries here. Small bakeries appear in many blocks and almost all neighborhoods. Most of the grocery stores also have their own bakery. The bread comes in a variety of styles - almost all of them around the size of a hamburger bun. The most common is called hallulla (pronounced "I you ya") and is small, round and relatively flat. Here's a photo. Every bakery is pretty similar. The warm bread is dumped into big wooden bins about three feet wide and three feet deep. Different breads in different bins and a price is written above the bin. Tongs are attached to each bin and customers put their bread into plastic bags. These bags are then taken to an employee with a scale who weighs them and marks them with a price (usually computer generated). Then another employee runs the cash register and takes the money. The bread is delicious!

Television Sports - ESPN, Fox Sports, and a couple other sports-only channels all show soccer almost all of the time. I've never cruised through the channels without seeing a soccer game or soccer highlight show. Mostly they show European league games - England, Italy, Spain. Also some games from Argentina. They also have a lot of rugby and field hockey. Even polo! A real change from American TV...

For Nancy, Ward's wife, here is a picture of the only Araucaria "forest" that I've seen. It's actually just 4 of the Araucaria trees growing in a plaza in Valparaiso. There have been many of these trees in people's yards (usually small ones since they are slow growing). I haven't seen the famous forests full of the trees. The tree also has a nickname "Monkey Puzzle Tree" because some of them are so covered with spine-like bark and branches that an early observer noted even a monkey would be puzzled about how to climb them... Check out this page http://www.victorialodging.com/monkey_puzzle_tree.htm for additional information.

Hot water is another difference here. In Seattle I turn on the tap with "H" on it. In Chile to get hot water a calafon needs to be lit with a match (here's a picture of what the calafon looks like) - every house that we've been in has a calafon. When a hot water tap is turned on, water then goes through pipes in the calafon and is directly heated by a gas flame on it's way to the tap. After only one mistake you get used to checking if the calafon is lit before jumping into the shower...

Kitchens are almost always small and efficient. Tabletops work as multiple types of workspace and creativity is vital to a successful outcome. Here's a photo of Paula and Lola putting together dinner in the kitchen here. Some great meals have come out of very small spaces on this trip...

I'm sure there are things I've missed. Chile is a great country to visit since it's not that much different from home. The people are generally friendly when approached and the food is recognizable. But at the same time, to make things a bit challenging, everyone speaks Spanish and very few people can carry on conversations in English. If you're looking for an adventure without too much hardship - Chile would be a great destination.

Hamburguesa a la Danny

Today we were treated to lunch by Daniel, aka Danny, who created his specialty - Hamburguesa a la Danny. I can reveal the secret recipe... hamburger, a little flour, onions, and an egg. Mix it all together and fry up in a fry pan. Then melt some of the Chilean gouda cheese (it's about the only kind available in the grocery stores here) on top.

A fresh bun from the bakery around the corner is sliced in half and generously spread with mashed avocados. A couple slices of tomato and presto! It's Hamburguesa a la Danny!

Here's a picture of the chef with his masterpiece...

Valparaiso

Yesterday Paula, Lola, Daniel (Lola's son), and I took a trip south to the neighboring city of Valporaiso. Viña del Mar and Valparaiso share the coastline here and going from one to the other is a quick (and adrenaline filled) ride on one of the local buses. Valparaiso is the "Everett/Tacoma" to Viña del Mar's "Miami Beach" - it's the home of the Chilean Navy and also Chile's major port for shipping. Historically, Valparaiso was a required stop for ships going around the bottom of South America - if heading east it was a last chance to prepare for the brutal passage around Tierra del Fuego and if heading west it was a first chance to repair the damage from the passage. It's a very old city with a lot of history.

We arrived safely after the harrowing ride on the city bus that wove through traffic screeching to stops to pick up passengers, honking at any perceived delay by other drivers, and careening through tiny breaks in the traffic to get an advantage on other buses. After a short walk we reached the Artillery Elevator - a cable car that goes up one of the hills (there are several hills and several different elevators) in Valparaiso. The picture above was taken from the box-like car (see the other picture with the orange car) and shows the tracks up the hill. There were maybe 25 people waiting when the car arrived (one goes up while, at the other end of the cable, one comes down). I was surprised when only about 10 of us got on and the elevator employee told the other people that they would be taking the next car. There was easily room for at least 25 people in each car, so we all had plenty of room and a private window to look out. I then noticed that we could also look down, because between the floorboards half inch spaces had developed. Actually, as I looked around it appeared that the car had had some much better days and wasn't maybe in tip top condition...

At about that same time a child on the car shouted, "Se va a desarmar!" Everyone laughed loudly (except me) and I asked Paula what he had said. She translated, "It's going to fall apart!" Now I understood the laughter. But in the end, gracias a Dios, we made it to the top.

The views were fantastic over the city and harbor. The various hillsides were covered with bright reds, blues, and yellows. Housing here uses very distinctive colors. The harbor was filled with naval ships and container ships were taking on their cargo for trips around the world.

We strolled along the ramparts for a while looking at stands selling souveniors and handicrafts and then found some stairs for a walk down to the city. The narrow twisting sidewalk and stairs took us through an old neighborhood with bright scenic cafes, beautiful houses, and right next door houses that barely stood up on their own. A real mix.

On the flat ground near sealevel we started walking towards the Plaza Sotomayor - the main plaza in town. But on the way we came across a hotel/bar named Lousiana. Here's a picture of Lola with the hotel sign (Lola's actual name is Luisiana, she's named after the state that Jazz Capital New Orleans resides in - remember that Paula and Lola's father was a bit of a jazz nut...).

Plaza Sotomayor was the home to the Naval Office and other stately old buildings. Paula noted that around town the naval buildings all looked very well taken care of - clean, painted, and repaired where necessary. Other buildings were in various states of disrepair or grime from the city. One building on the Plaza was in the middle of a restoration and this photo shows the new color the building is taking on.

A stroll around town, a stop for coffee (aka Nescafe) and sodas at a sidewalk cafe, and a discovery (at 6:15pm) in the guidebook that Pablo Neruda's (the famous Chilean poet) home here closes at 6pm pretty much filled up the afternoon (we had gotten started at the crack of 3:30pm, so we'll have to view the poet's house some other day). The cafe that we had stopped in was named Cafe del Poetas - Cafe of the Poets - and with the check they gave each of us a piece of paper with a short poem. A nice touch.

We also stopped at Plaza Victoria where the ground tiles have amazing optical illusion qualities. Even in this picture I think you can get the feeling for ground with ocean swells. It looks like it rolls up and down across the plaza - but actually is totally flat.

It was also here that Paula experienced a huge earthquake when she was young - while watching a movie in a theater on the Plaza the roof suddenly started to fall and everyone dived under their seats. Coming out of the theater the city was in shambles.

A Dog Named Lucky

You might remember that I mentioned, when we rescued the two kittens at lunch a couple weeks ago, how Paula is the Mother Teresa for lost animals. Here's more to that story...

Three years ago Paula came to Chile on her own while I took care of our cats. During that visit Paula found a one year old female dog wandering the streets in sad shape. Obviously homeless, pregnant, and with the first stages of distemper - the dog wasn't doing very well at all.

When it came time for Paula to return to Seattle she gave the dog to Karina (a woman that was helping to care for Paula's mother at the time). Karina gave the pooch the name Lucky and has cared for her ever since. Paula and Karina correspond about Lucky regularly and one of our "must stops" on this trip was a visit to Concepción to visit a dog named Lucky.

I can report that Lucky is in fantastic shape now and is the ruler of the home shared by Karina, her mother, and her son. As you can see from the photos Lucky is like a new dog (that photo is Paula, Lucky, and Karina). Wearing a powder blue Minnie Mouse tee shirt and with brushed hair and manicured nails, she's the model of a healthy and loved dog. It was a very nice visit.

Return to Viña del Mar

After two long days on the road, yesterday we returned to the beautiful beach town where our trip began - Viña del Mar. We arrived on the overnight bus from Concepción at around 7am, found a hotel downtown, took a well earned siesta (the salon cama seats are definitely more comfortable than the clasico seats for overnight trips...) and then went around town seeing how much Viña has changed since Paula left here in 1972.

The ocean surf was pounding in on the rocks that guard the coastline and at one point a HUGE wave came pouring up the beach to the dismay of many sun bathers. The new waterline was about 30 feet further up the beach than it had been and many people took a surprise swim.

Last night we picked up Lola and her sons Francisco and Daniel at their home and went out for a traditional Chilean dinner. After strolling around their neighborhood for a while we decided on a restaurant that seemed to offer the sort of selection we were looking for and stopped in. The dinner was great fun as we caught up on what had happened here in Viña and they heard about our trip south. Francisco took this picture of us. The table includes seafood (Paula's fish and Lola's mussels) and Francisco and my pork chops (I tried a Bolivian beer that gets high marks due to being brewed at such a high altitude - or at least that's what Francisco tells me... It was very good) along with Daniel's melanessa - what we call chicken fried steak.

One highpoint was when I had Paula ask Lola, Daniel, and Francisco if they thought she had an accent (after 30 years in the states hearing mostly Mexican or Central American Spanish it wouldn't have surprised me if she no longer sounded like a native Chilean) and immediately, almost in unison, both Francisco and Daniel said, "Gringo!" That sure answered that question...

I think we're going out being tourists today in the neighboring city of Valparaiso (the shipping center and main port for Chile). I also have a couple things to write about and hope to get to them sometime this evening. We're again staying at Lola's apartment, so I should have computer access while everyone else is chatting.

Internet Cafe - Concepción

You might have heard me mention "internet cafes" in other posts or have heard the term around somewhere. Currently Paula and I are sitting in the Cyber Club in Concepción (here's a picture of Paula pounding the keyboard) after arriving here at 6am this morning on the overnight bus from Puerto Montt. Concepción is a little more than halfway back to Viña del Mar from Puerto Montt - Chile is a very looooooonnnnngggg country and traveling from the south to the north takes a lot of time.

The Cyber Club has about 20 computers with very fast connections separated into small cubicles that they rent for about 75 cents per hour. I'm not sure about the "cafe" part of the deal because there's nothing that looks like food or drink available...

The bus trip was relatively comfortable. We paid extra for a Salon Cama bus - kind of a sleeper coach with just 24 seats instead of the usual 46 and they recline back 65 degrees (clicking on "cama" on this page http://www.turbus.com/html/servicios.html will give you an idea of the seats). But we're still a bit groggy this morning. Tonight we're taking the regular overnight bus back to Viña del Mar so we'll have something to compare the cama (which translates to "bed" in English) seats with. It might be a very long night tonight as the bus doesn't leave until 11:50 pm and gets to Viña around 8am tomorrow morning...

Goodbye Quellón

Tomorrow morning we leave Quellón and Chiloé and head back north. We'll be going to Puerto Montt on the 10am bus (a 6 hour trip) and then catching an overnight bus (a 10 hour trip) tomorrow night (Saturday) to Concepción.

It'll be a very sad time when we leave Quellón. Tite has been a wonderful host, he and Paula have spent hours and hours chatting, and we've grown happy with the quiet lifestyle. The two kittens have been constant fun and the two dogs are amazing in their dedication to Tite. The dogs (and the mother cat) were all taken in off the street by Tite and have found a comfortable home here with him. They are very lucky compared to many of the animals we see everyday wandering the streets.

While life here isn't easy by American standards (the house is small, the money scarce, and the water heater needs to be lit with a match whenever you want agua caliente), Tite has done everything possible to make us comfortable and opened his life to us. It has truly been a fantastic experience that we'll never forget.

Gracias Tite!

Curanto!

When doing some research for this trip (and don't let me give you the impression that I did that much...) I re-watched the Michael Palin video from his trip around the Pacific Ocean. I remembered that he stopped at Chile and Chiloé on that trip and I wanted to check his impressions. He talked about the witchcraft here in Chiloé and also attended an authentic curanto - a feast where everything is baked underground.

That looked like fun.

Tite told us that an authentic Chiloé curanto is held every day during the summer at a resort called Millaguen over near the end of the Panamerican Highway. So around noon today we packed up and headed over there. (Since Tite's two dogs go everywhere that he goes, they accompanied us up to the bus stop on the main street here in Quellón. We got on the bus and they watched us leave - then they made their way home on their own.)

The curanto was great!

Here's a blow by blow account...

When we got there a fire of wood on top of rocks was roaring away in the curanto house. Baskets full of clams and mussels were sitting in the sun awaiting their fate. The fire isn't for cooking - it's only function is to heat the stones to a baking temperature. Once the stones are determined to be hot enough the coals from the wood fire are carefully taken away and the hot stones are left as clean as possible. This is so that the mariscos aren't burned and are kept clean.

Then the excitement begins as branches of a special fragrant shrubbery called arrayan are placed around the edge of the fire covering the hot stones, a covered pan full of chicken and pork is placed on the hot stones, and beside it the clams are spread out in an even layer. Steam billows and hisses as water hits the stones. All of this is overseen by the head chef/hostess Eugenia (seen here in the light blue blouse and dark blue apron).















Then the mussels are spread over the clams.















And sausages and fava beans and potatoes are spread on top of the mussels.















A fine piece of wet cloth is spread over everything and moist dough called chapalele (made from cooked potatoes and flour) is placed on the cloth. Another wet cloth is spread over the dough.















Everything is covered in huge leaves called pangue.















Then chunks of sod are brought to cover it all and seal it relatively tightly (except for a few spots where steam sneaks out like hotspots in Yellowstone Park).















The curanto is left to cook like this for 30 minutes.















This gave us a chance to wander around the resort and take in the views, the flowers and the green parrots flying around in flocks...















After the 30 minutes have passed the entire process is reversed - the sod is taken off and piled up, steam billows up in clouds, the leaves are removed and the food is taken out.















Everyone (about 25 of us today) gets a huge plate of food with pebre (Chilean salsa) and a glass of Chilean wine.















Post curanto entertainment is the music of Chiloé played on a guitar and drum. Total cost is about $8 per person. A unique and fun dining experience...

Chaiguao

Remember that roadtrip to Chaiguao that got diverted to Auchac a couple days ago because of the lack of transportation to Chaiguao? Well, today I got up early and got to the bus station at 8am to catch the morning bus to Chaiguao (there are buses at 8am, 1:30pm, and 6pm). The bus was pretty full (about 20 people in the little bus) and we bounced along a dusty gravel road right from the outskirts of Quellón. The ride is only 12 kilometers (about 7 miles maybe) and took about 35 minutes. Slow going.

After dropping off and picking up people along the way we were down to just 4 or 5 of us on the bus when it crossed a long bridge and stopped. The driver turned to me and said, "Chaiguao". Funny how these drivers always remember where the gringo is going...

I hopped off the bus in hopes of finding a cafe or tienda or something to get some water (the bottle I bought at the station was down to just 2 inches of water after drinking most of it on the trip) and maybe something to eat. The first impression wasn't promising as you can see from the photo... No town. No village. No cafe. No tienda. As they say in Spanish, no hay nada. There's nothing. Just a Y in the road at the end of a bridge and a couple deserted schoolhouses.

A sign at the Y said the beach was to the right (200 meters) and some village named Chilcola was on the left hand road - 3 kilometers away. So I took the road to the right toward the beach.

Things didn't get better. A cafe materialized, but it looked like it hadn't had a paying guest during my lifetime. There were also some rundown cabins for rent with no evidence of recent habitation. I followed the narrow one lane dusty road and eventually hit the beach.

Well, "beach" might give you the impression that I mean something like those pictures of the beach at Viña del Mar from the early days of this trip. This was definitely not a beach like that. The tide was out and the beach was covered with rotting seaweed and other odiferous items of both known and unknown origin. There were no chicas in bikinis. Out in the bay were massive salmon rearing pens (farmed salmon is a HUGE business here in Chile). Along the shore were houses that people who tend the salmon farms live in.

No, "houses" is the wrong word. Hovels might be closer. Or rundown shacks. The word " house" gives you the wrong impression. No electricity. No water. No plumbing. No hay nada. As I walked along the road that paralleled the beach I got the impression that I had wandered onto the wrong side of town.

Just after taking the lefthand turn to follow the beach road I saw a bus bouncing down the road towards me (and heading back home to Quellón). I flagged it down and asked if he was going to Quellón - he said he was. For an instant I considered bagging the whole idea and heading back to the comforts of home. But then I thought things might get better, that this is a different bus from the one I took here so maybe there were more options to leave than the 1:30pm bus, and that I had a responsibility to my blog readers to get the story - whatever it is...

So I waved to the driver and said, "no thanks". He closed the door and rumbled off probably wondering what that was all about.

That was a mistake on my part...

I continued up the narrow dusty road with the beach on my right. A few interesting birds caught my attention. One a big hawklike bird. Others were sea birds with long narrow beaks that wandered along the tide eating this and that. When they flew their cries sounded like some sort of European techno music. Cattle watched me from the fields to my left. Dogs and people watched me from their homes to my right. A tiny memorial with a cross...

The morning light off the mountains and volcanos to the east was about as poor as possible for photography. A haze covered everything and made photos into ghostly images of shadowy mountains behind the rundown beachfront. After walking a mile or so and getting to the main channel (and a cluster of the homes with an increasing number of curious and noisy dogs - some of them pretty big...) I decided that I had seen the best of the scenery and should turn back.

I turned back.

The trek back along the beachside road was quiet except for one house with three very large dogs. Their barking brought out the senora of the casa and we exchanged good mornings. A couple other people were walking along the road and were friendly. So apparently the neighborhood wasn't as bad as the appearance would suggest.

When I reached the bridge where the bus had dropped me off it was 10am. I looked around and found the baños -restrooms - (of a sort) and a big outdoor fogón (a barbecue house for asadas) beside the river. The fogón was more rustic than the one at Consuelo's mother's apartment - but looked like it could host some authentic cowboy asadas. Tite later told me that soccer fans have asados here after games.

The "river" that the bridge crossed turned out to be an estuary of the ocean. It had seemed odd to me that the water apparently was flowing away from the ocean when I arrived (but this is south of the equator and maybe rivers do things like that...), but all was now explained by the rising tide. As the tide came in it filled the lowland north of the bridge and instead of a river it now looked more like a lake. When the tide flowed out, it would empty this lake and it would again look like a river. Depending on the tides the water could be flowing either way under the bridge at a particular time.

I still didn't have a refill on my water and the morning sun was starting to heat up. I also noticed that I had left my hat back at Tite's house (it sits here on the shelf above me as I write...). There was no one around the bridge other than me.

So I waited for either a bus or something that I could hitch a lift.

I waited some more.

A couple cars passed filled with families heading for the beach. It must be their first time out this way... One car heading toward Quellón stopped when he saw my outstretched thumb, but he was only going a short distance to pick up someone. I decided my shady spot at the bridge was probably better than the unknown up the road.

I waited some more.

I took a hike up the other part of the Y in the road to a church on the hill. I took a picture and returned to the Y.

I waited some more.

A truck passed, but didn't give me a lift.

I waited some more.

Some cows came by.

I waited some more.

At one point (in just 5 minutes or so) 5 separate bicycles came up from the beach and three went across the bridge and two went up the other road. That was a time of excitement and curiosity for me. But then it passed.

I waited some more.

A huge green bus full of people hanging out of the windows (and a destination of viaje especial - "special trip") came across the bridge. Huge. Like a cross country bus. A Greyhound Bus in the United States. It took the turn to the beach where I had walked and my curiosity turned to amazement. Where could it possibly be going down that direction? That narrow one lane gravel road? Could it ever return? It stopped a short ways away (before getting on the road of destiny) and a few people got out to peer into the windows of the dusty cafe. Then they wandered around and spoke to people in some of the houses around the bridge. Eventually they took over the fogón, hauled boxes and bags out of the bus, and had their own asado.

I waited some more.

The people from the huge green bus wandered around looking at the church, taking pictures (not of the gringo to my knowledge) and looking at the water. They didn't invite the gringo for asado.

I waited some more.

Eventually, around 1:00 some backpacking teenagers came up from the beach to wait for a bus. So I had company. The two buses came by on their way out from Quellón - one took the left hand route at the Y and the other took the right.

We waited some more.

Finally, around 2:30 (after more than 4 hours waiting at the bridge) the bus on the right hand route (with the driver that I had talked to this morning) came back on his way to Quellón and the backpackers and I piled on. The driver remembered me from this morning (he always remember the odd gringo that stops the bus just to tell him that he doesn't want a ride...).

We bounced along the gravel road back to Quellón...