Chiloé: Summer Staycation Get-Away, Day 4

For our last day in Chiloé, Brie and I visited the island we could see from our cabañas: Quinchao. We took a car ferry across the short channel and then drove to the southernmost point of the island to see another UNESCO church, Iglesia de Quinchao.

These little kneeling chairs lined one of the walls.

The church underwent several restorations since its original construction in 1880. In 2006, its tower was meticulously reconstructed. This is the original.

Next stop: Achao, which was celebrating the Encuentro de las Islas del Archipielago, a festival featuring the folklore, handicrafts, dancing, and food from various islands in the archipelago. Unfortunately, rain fell in buckets during our short visit. I would have loved to hang out, watch the performances, mingle with the locals, eat some asado (grilled meat), and make some impulse purchases, but it was just too dang wet.

A little further north: Curaco de Vélez, where we found another small handicrafts market and food stall. We learned that chochoca is a potato pancake wrapped around a big wooden dowel and cooked rotisserie style over hot coals. Here I am cooking one!

The town is supposed to have a nice walk along the water, but it was low tide and kind of skuzzy, so we drove on to Dalcahue.

Jorge had recommended Cocinerías de Dalcahue for lunch. It turned out to be one of my favorite places in Chiloé. Housed in a huge warehouse-esque building on the water’s edge, it held eight kitchenettes offering up individual menus of authentic Chilote fare. Hungry guests packed in to sit at bars along the perimeter, crowded tables, and stove-side counters. Each section had room for about 30 patrons and featured a number and a woman’s name, suggesting she would be the one slaving over the stove. Brie and I ate lunch at Doña Carlita (No. 7). I had a nice merluza fish with potato salad. Here was my view, out one of the porthole-style windows.

I went to Doña Lula (No. 8) to get take-away seafood empanadas for dinner, and this guy made them while I waited. Lula must have been busy with something else.

Just outside the building, a wonderful jumble of handicraft booths awaited. A sign claimed that all goods sold there were locally made. Other markets were rumored to sell knock-offs made in China. Of course, I wanted everything: knitted sweaters, tapestries, rugs, wooden platters, baskets, knick-knacks.

However, I am in non-acquisition mode, in part because our apartment in Santiago is too small to accommodate one. more. thing. Seriously.

Back on the car ferry.

I almost didn’t write about this because it’s so embarrassing, but then I thought, “That never stopped you before.” So … when we got back to our cabañas, I ate my yummy empanadas, packed for our trip home the next day, and got ready for bed. It was pretty chilly but too late to text Jorge for a fire. Plus, who doesn’t know how to start a fire? Firewood was stacked just outside my cabin door, and Jorge had left some little pieces of cardboard from his quick and efficient fire-building visit last night. I stacked the wood in the stove, shoved the cardboard in there, and started striking matches. I am not lying, I think I threw about 35 lit matches onto that dang pile, all for nought. The cardboard flared up for awhile, but the firewood remained stubbornly fire retardant. I found a paper bag, so I twisted it, lit in on fire, and tried to pass the flame to one of the logs. No luck. I became obsessed. More matches. More bits of paper. More wood.

Somehow – unsuccessful in my fire frenzy – I slept. In the morning, I tried to fish out all the matchsticks, but I left the wood in the stove. In retrospect, I should have put some smaller kindling under the larger logs. Anyway, live and learn.

Our trip back to Santiago was uneventful (except for the parking lot arm that plopped down, almost hitting the hood of our rental car when Brie tried to park at the Chiloé airport). And just like that, our “summer vacation” is over. Teachers return to school tomorrow; students come on Monday.

#feelinggrateful

Chiloé: Summer Staycation Get-Away, Day 3

On this overcast morning, we set off on a journey mapped by Jorge and texted to Brie. After a long, slow stretch of road construction, Google Maps finally told us to turn right on to a narrow rugged country road.

Fearing our Google Maps voice was developing a spiteful attitude (see yesterday’s post), I asked, “What’s our final destination?”

Brie started to say, “I actually don’t know!” But before she could get all the words out, a sign loomed over an archway: Las Cascadas de Tocoihue.

“That’s it!” she said. “The waterfall.”

We pulled in, parked, and paid a small fee. The waterfall is located on private property, and the owners have the developed a nice park with a path down to the water and a viewing platform up the hill. They also have a camping area, cabin, and restaurant. Brie and I traipsed around a bit, imagining how fun it would be to play in the water in warmer weather.

Leaving the park, Evil Google Maps Voice told us to take a sharp left, which was different than the way we had come in. At first, we were relieved, thinking this could only be better. Wrong. Here’s the map.

The blue line is the “highway.” The dotted line shows the path we took to get to the waterfall. It’s obviously so small, it doesn’t even register as a proper road. The dirt road looks so much better maintained, right? We turned on to that road and immediately realized it was full of potholes and worse. At times, one whole side was washed out, creating a sort of cliff. I drove quite a way, dipping and scraping the undercarriage, until finally we reached a point that looked unpassable. At that moment, another car approached from the other direction.

There was no way to turn around, so we decided to back down the hill and take the other route. I struggled to keep the car on level ground and ultimately backed it right into a ditch. I tried driving forward, but the wheels spun in the wet sand. I tried driving backward, but it seemed to entrench the car even more. My clutch leg shook uncontrollably as panic set in.

A man and woman got out of the other car and walked over to check on us. Speaking no Spanish, I sat in the driver’s seat and let Brie relay our dilemma. Then she got out, and the three of them tried to push the car while I gunned the engine. No luck. Eventually, I got out, too, and the man took over, alternating between shoving rocks and sticks under the wheels and climbing over the passenger seat to the driver’s side, which was smashed up against thick thorny branches. The woman also jumped in to help, scrambling through the prickly bushes to find bigger sticks. While Brie and I stood on the sidelines, the two of them cooperated, got dirty and certainly scratched to bits, and finally maneuvered the car out of the ditch. The man even backed it the rest of the way down the hill for us and then looked over the car to make sure it was fit to drive.

Tongue-tied, I felt so frustrated that I couldn’t express my appreciation in my usual effusive way. I simply said, “Muchas, muchas gracias!” with hugs and handshakes and hoped they understood how grateful we were.

The rest of the day, one or the other of us would suddenly remark, “We are so lucky they came along!” or “What would we have done?” I regretted that we didn’t get our rescuers names or email addresses. We didn’t even think to snap a photo.

We drove into the town of Quemchi, but didn’t stop to see anything, and then doubled back to Aucar, where a 500-meter wooden bridge leads to the tiny island of Isla Aucaur. A wooden arch at the entrance to the island says, “Isla de la Almas Navegantes” or “Isle of Sailors’ Souls,” a title bestowed on the island by Chilean writer Francisco Coloane. Some say Coloane thought the island looked ready to set sail at high tide; others say he was referring to the sailors buried there.

A path circles the island with signs identifying the trees and flowers. The small chapel and cemetery date to 1761. I saw some older photos of the chapel online and was surprised to see it had fallen into serious disrepair. During our visit, a carpenter was planing new pillars in the chapel, and his tools and piles of wood shavings suggested restoration work continues.

All of the churches we visited had cemeteries like this.

Leaving the church, we spotted a group of elderly tourists practically climbing a tree and pulling down tiny purple berries, called maqui. One of the men tore off a small branch and handed it to Brie. Soon her violet smile matched those of the berry pickers.

We later found out that maqui berries are one of the new hot “superfoods.” The Medicine Hunter website says this:

The Mapuche native people have been eating maqui berries and drinking their juice for centuries. And other non-native people in Chile have done the same for a very long time as well. Even in an environment in which the market is literally flooded with so-called super fruits, maqui stands head and shoulders above most of them in terms of benefits.

Quicavi was our next stop. Fodor’s Travel calls Quicavi “the center of all that is magical and mystical about Chiloé.” An evil clan protected by horrendous deformed monsters was rumored to operate out of a cave here, and the region is steeped in superstitions. I just finished a novel that takes place in Chiloé, Luke Coles and the Flower of Chiloé. It included many fantastical creatures and stories, which I thought must have been inventions of the author, Josh Walker. In fact, they are an integral part of Chilote culture. Fodor’s again:

Superstitious locals strongly advise against going anywhere near the coast to the south of town, where miles of caves extend to the village of Tenaún. They believe that witches, and evil ones at that, inhabit them. On the beaches, local lore says, are mermaids that lure fishermen to their deaths. (These are not the beautiful and benevolent Pincoya, also a legendary kelp-covered mermaid. A glimpse of her is thought to portend good fishing for the day.) Many Quicaví denizens claim to have glimpsed Chiloé’s notorious ghost ship, the Caleuche, roaming the waters on foggy nights, searching for its doomed passengers. Of course, a brief glimpse of the ship is all anyone dares admit, as legend holds that a longer gaze could spell death.

The Quicavi church was closed, and we couldn’t find any mystical caves, so we headed home. On a whim, we turned off the road to check out the Iglesia San Antonio de Colo, another church on the UNESCO World Heritage List.

There, eating lunch at a restaurant terrace overlooking the church, was our roadside assistance team! I was so happy to get their names and contact information and to thank them again for their extraordinary kindness. Brie told me Marcela asked, “What you have done if we hadn’t arrived? Just cried and prayed?” Well, yeah.

Thank you, thank you, thank you Marcela and Mauricio! (And thank you to their friend, Maria Paz, who took the picture.)

It was starting to rain as we left the church. We had eaten a big lunch of grilled fish and decided to pick up something small for dinner rather than dine at another restaurant. I did a very Chilean thing: I pulled over to the side of the road, turned on the hazards, and waited while Brie ran in to this little shop to buy empanadas. They were perfect!

Back at the cabañas, we ate our dinner, and then Jorge built fires in each of our wood-burning stoves. We were toasty and cozy until we took off for the next day’s adventure.

Chiloé: Summer Staycation Get-Away, Day 2

This is embarrassing. I never knew until this week that penguins lived anywhere other than Antarctica and zoos. Guess what? They live here in Chiloé, too! Of course we had to go see them.

With our destination pinned in her phone, Brie and I set off for the penguin colonies of Monumento Natural Islotes de Puñihuil. The protected natural monument comprises three rocky islets just off the coast of Puñihuil in the Pacific Ocean and hosts breeding grounds for the Magellanic and Humboldt penguins. Apparently, this is the only place in the world where the two penguin species nest together.

According to the website PenguinWorld, the two birds differ physically in that the Magellanic penguin has an additional black breast band and less exposed facial skin than the Humboldt penguin. Their breeding ranges just barely overlap. The Magellanic penguin “breeds around the southern tip of South America from 40°S in Argentina to 37°S in Chile, as well as on the Falkland Islands. The largest colonies are found on the Atlantic side of South America.” The Humboldt penguin is “endemic to the Humboldt Current, breeding range extending from 5° S in Peru to 37°S in Chile, with isolated colonies existing as far as 42°S near Puerto Montt.”

Here are photos taken from PenguinWorld for comparison:
Magellanic penguin

Humboldt penguin

The Humboldt penguin is considered a “vulnerable species,” so it’s no surprise that we didn’t see any on our visit. However, we saw lots of Magellanic penguins, mostly just hanging out at the shoreline. Some frolicked in the water; others waddled up or down the rocky hills. They were brilliantly camouflaged, and our boat kept a respectful distance from their nesting sites, so it was hard to get a clear shot of the birds. Still, it was one of those special encounters with nature that inspires renewed wonder and curiosity about the world (hence my fall down the rabbit hole of penguin websites just now).

Heading down to the water from the parking area.

The little islands were not far offshore.

The tour operators rolled us out to the boat on this platform so we wouldn’t get wet. I don’t know why it cracked me up so much.

The light-colored penguins are juveniles.

As I mentioned, Brie had this destination pinned in her phone. As a lifelong world traveler, I can hardly remember navigating unfamiliar cities or locating obscure attractions in the days before smartphones and Google Maps. Many times, I bowed down to the Google gods in profound relief and appreciation. This was not one of those times.

Google Maps got us most of the way to Puñihuil with no problem. Then, just as we realized we were about to reach the coast and a sign saying “pinguinera” pointed straight ahead, that smug voice told us to turn left. Brie took a chance and drove straight anyway, but she came to the sandy beach with a rivulet of water running down from the hills into the ocean. We both figured we weren’t supposed to drive across the beach, so Brie backtracked to the left-hand turn, and off we went on a narrow, gravelly, twisty-turny little road that ultimately took us over and around the hills … to the other side of that little beach!

Check it out:

We had lunch at one of the Puñihuil restaurants, overlooking the water, and then we took off for Ancud, 25 kilometers northeast. There, we walked along the waterfront and poked around a crafts market, where I bought a chunky knitted poncho. Thinking about our impending chilly winter and lack of central heat, I wanted to buy all the gorgeous wool sweaters, socks, hats, and blankets. But I restrained myself.

Back at Rucalaf for dinner, I had the grilled octopus. But the real culinary surprise of the day was the murta berry. In English, it is known as Chilean guava or strawberry myrtle. I enjoyed the berry in a cocktail and a fabulous dessert.

Even the wine bottles have funky hats in Chiloé!

Chiloé: Summer Staycation Get-Away, Day 1

With just two weeks left in our “summer” vacation, I took off with my friend Brie for cooler temperatures, fresh air, and adventure in a different part of the country. We flew to Chiloé, an archipelago off the southern coast of Chile about 765 miles south of Santiago, and stayed in cabins on the largest island, Isla Grande de Chiloé.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time life was this peaceful. Hanging out at my cabin at Cabañas Origen Chiloé, I looked out at the Gulf of Corcovado and another island in the Chiloe archipelago (Quinchao), and I heard only the sounds of birds and cows, tree branches brushing against the roof, and the gentle hum of the kitchenette fridge.

Brie and I took this selfie on my cabin’s back porch.

Each evening, the property owner, Jorge, brought us a breadbox full of breakfast for the next morning. He said everything, including the butter and cheese, was made from scratch by his wife. There was always a delicious dish to be warmed up in the microwave: an empanada (pastry stuffed with savory filling), chochoca (potato flatbread wrapped around pork chitlings), or milcao (a stuffed potato pancake). The breakfast box also included a couple types of bread, butter and jam or cheese, and something sweet, like an apple tart, a buttery coffee cake, or an alfajor (a sweet cookie sandwich filled with manjar, carmelized milk similar to dulce de leche). The only disappointment was the lack of good coffee. Instant would have to do.

Jorge also welcomed us to eat the apples off the trees.

After checking in and getting settled in our cabañas, Brie and I drove the short distance to Rucalaf for lunch. The restaurant had a sweet little playground in the front, but any kid who dared to tackle that steep wooden slide surely hit the ground with a bootie full of splinters!

I ordered chochoca rellena, which was described in the menu as “a traditional dish of potato dough stuffed with the daily seafood catch and a sauce of white wine, butter, Chilote garlic, and smoked mussels.” What a special treat!

Brie got the pulmay de la Casa, a form of curanto cooked in a pot. Curanto is probably Chiloé’s most famous traditional dish: A hole is dug in the ground and lined with hot stones. Seafood, meat, potatoes, vegetables, and just about any other edible item can be tossed in. The whole mixture is covered with rhubarb leaves held down by chunks of earth, and left to steam.

Obviously, there would be no need for dinner.

Our first destination in our Chiloé exploration was the city of Castro. According to Rough Guides,

“Castro has had its fair share of difficulties through the centuries. It was sacked by the Dutch both in 1600 and then in 1643, destroyed by earthquake in 1646, by fire in 1729, by earthquake again in 1739, by fire again in 1890, by fire once more in 1936, and most recently by earthquake and tidal wave in 1960. Anyone else would have given up and moved long ago, but the Chilotes keep hanging on.”

In Castro, we visited Iglesia de San Francisco, one of 16 Catholic churches in Chiloé listed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. When Jesuits landed here in 1608, they used local carpenters and ship builders to construct churches entirely out of wood. Of the more than 150 wooden churches that once dotted the archipelago, only about 60 remain. UNESCO says the churches “are outstanding examples of the successful fusion of European and indigenous cultural traditions.”

The Iglesia de San Francisco burnt down and was rebuilt several times before this version, which was completed in 1912.

Brie and I walked down the steep hill to the harbor to check out the famous palafitos, buildings on stilts along the water’s edge. We were ushered aboard a small boat full of tourists in lifejackets for a short cruise along Castro’s coast. A tour guide shouted anecdotes to the group, but the wind swallowed his words, and Brie struggled to hear him well enough to translate.

Waving to people in the palafito restaurants.

Colorful palafitos.

After a stroll through Castro’s main plaza – which was lively with buskers, food vendors, backpackers selling jewelry, stage performers, picnicking families, and even a police officer demonstrating his dog’s tricks – we took off to check out the Iglesia de Santa María in the small town of Rilán.

Records of a church on this site date back to 1760, but the existing building was constructed in 1920. We had to pay a small entrance fee, which was supposed to help defray the ongoing costs of restoration. The caretaker let me climb the stairs to the balcony. Seeing the ceiling up close, I felt the influence of the archipelago’s shipbuilders on the construction of these churches. It felt like an upside-down ship hull.

Parading through the churches and snapping photos, it was easy to forget the real purpose of these historic structures. Most continue to offer mass every week and otherwise meet the spiritual and pastoral needs of the community. This group of mismatched chairs circling a music stand helped me visualize a choir filling the sanctuary with music as worshippers crowded on to the hard wooden pews.

Driving back to our cabins, I couldn’t get over the gorgeous landscape. Every rollercoaster drop and hairpin turn of the road revealed another postcard-perfect view. Afternoon sun bathed the hillsides in glorious hues of gold and green with ubiquitous glimpses of the coastline and the denim-colored sea. I wanted to shout out the window to the fluffy sheep and fat grazing cows, “Do you know how lucky you are to live here?”

Here’s where we were!

Santiago Summer Staycation – Week 5 – Parents Visit!

After United Airlines fixed their computer system and delivered my parents to Chile a day late (Jan. 24), we hit the ground running!

Or not … The first order of business for my mother after an international flight is always a foot massage. Reduces ankle swelling, she says. So I led them on a quick tour of our school – The International School Nido de Aguilas – before heading down the hill to Sala Ananta, a lovely Thai spa.

School is pretty different with no students around!

On the way back to our apartment, we stopped at the neighborhood supermarket, where my mom went bananas over this giant corn. Husked, it didn’t look very appealing. Not sure how the locals eat this, but I doubt they gnaw on the humongous cob.

The next day, Wednesday, we drove about an hour to Casablanca Valley to visit the Emiliana organic winery for a tour and tasting. I had been there in late August (see that post here), when the weather was cold and dreary and the vines were naked. On this visit, the sun shone brightly, and rows of lush leafy grapevines displayed plump bunches of grapes. We had the same friendly and informative tour guide as last time – Ramon.

At the tasting, we were served two whites (2016 Adobe Reserva Sauvignon Blanc and 2016 Novas Gran Reserva Chardonnay) and two reds (2014 Novas Gran Reserva Carmenere-Cabernet Sauvignon and 2013 COYAM). Tony, not much of a wine connoisseur, said, “Watch me mix all mine together and make a rosé!”

Afterwards, we drove next door to the Tiraziš winery for lunch at House-Casa del Vino. Remembering the lip-smacking pink ravioli I enjoyed on my first visit, I ordered it again and was not disappointed.

On Thursday, we all boarded city bus 517 to check out La Vega Central produce market. As predicted, my mom went bonkers over the giant corn and bought another ear (with healthier looking kernels than last time). We stocked up on peaches, strawberries, mangoes, apricots, avocados, tomatoes, lettuce and carrots. Like me, my mother gets giddy over fruit or vegetables she’s never seen. So we bought a pepino dulce and some physalis.

I didn’t get a picture of the pepino dulce, which translates to “sweet cucumber” but lacks the crisp crunch of the more common veggie by that name. The outside, greenish-yellow with purple stripes, looked more like a small eggplant, and the inside was soft and pale yellow. Mom and I agreed the flavor was icky. Thumbs down.

The physalis looks like a tiny tomato in a dry husk and tastes like a cross between a tomato and a kiwi. Thumbs up. Here’s a photo of one I encountered earlier this year as a garnish on my ice cream.

We spotted this guy selling produce outside the market. Mom tried to explain that we lived in Michigan, but I don’t think he realized the word on his shirt was a place.

Mom was pretty confident that we could eat the dried peaches the same way we would eat a dried apricot, but I knew they were meant to be reconstituted in a traditional drink (see mote con huesillos, below). I think I won that argument.

A few market shots taken by my dad …

After a big salad for lunch at home, we ventured forth again. Time to tackle the hill! We took the gondola up Cerro San Cristobal, and although I have done this countless times, I always underestimate how many steps lead from the gondola station to the very top. But we did it!

Most of the way up, we paused at the church.

People leave fascinating prayer offerings at the small chapel.

Smoky haze from forest fires limited the view of Santiago.

The Virgin Mary statue is the cake topper.

The reward was another “first” for all of us: a traditional Chilean summertime drink called mote con huesillo. Mote is cooked husked wheat, and huesillos are dried peaches. Those ingredients are added to a sweet sugary liquid. After our sweaty little hike, the drink was refreshing and surprisingly yummy. The wheat adds a strange chewy experience to what otherwise tastes like syrupy fruit juice.

We took the old funicular back down the hill to Barrio Bellavista and caught a taxi home. Dinner was at one of our favorite restaurants, Tiramisu. Mom and Dad enjoyed their first pisco sours, Chile’s delicious signature cocktail.

I really wanted to take my parents to the coast, but they didn’t want to bother with staying overnight. I also wanted my artsy mom to see the murals of Valparaiso, but it’s a hilly city best seen on foot and she has a wonky hip that precludes taking long precarious walks. Friends had warned me that traffic was out of control at the shore, where holiday-goers from Chile and Argentina flocked to frolic in the surf. I spent quite a lot of time thinking about how to make this day special without overdoing it, and I think it worked out!

On Friday, we drove just under two hours to Valparaiso and parked at the Ibis Hotel, which also houses the metro station. We left the car and rode the metro a short distance to Viña del Mar, a resort town on the Pacific coast.

The walk was longer than intended, but we ultimately arrived at Tierra de Fuego, a beachside restaurant. (Every mistake is a learning opportunity, right? For future reference, get off at the Miramar stop, which is closer to the beach.) After lunch, we hopped across fiery sand to stick our toes in the icy water. Glorious!

Mom insisted on picking up a piece of driftwood as a souvenir, but then she left it at our apartment when she returned to the States, much to the chagrin of Tony.

We returned to Valparaiso by metro and walked a short distance to the El Peral funicular, which took us up 52 meters to Plaza Yugoslavia on the hill called Cerro Allegre. I didn’t want to make my mom walk too much, but she was lured by the art on the walls and the artsy products in the shops. We strolled a bit and then rode the funicular back down and drove back to Santiago.

On Saturday, we spent the whole day at Los Dominicos, an artisans market spotlighting arts and handicrafts from all regions of Chile. Mom was in Heaven. Tony bailed after about 30 minutes. Dad and I had fun … for the first few hours. Finally, just as Dad and I were about to sneak away, my mom experienced the ultimate shopping buzz-kill: She ran out of cash, and the vendor wouldn’t take a credit card. But do you think that stopped her? Heck, no! My dad and I walked out of the market, across the plaza in sweltering heat, and down the metro stairs so I could withdraw money from my peso account. We’re such enablers.

For their last day in Santiago, we took a quick driving tour through some historic parts of town, including Plaza de Armas, and then stopped for lunch in Barrio Italia at a quaint restaurant called Le Jardinera.

And, just like that, they were gone. My dad always says, “Fish and houseguests start to stink after a week.” So I guess it’s just as well they didn’t extend their stay. Still, I miss them already and hope they come back soon!