Excerpts from the travel journal I took to Chiloe Island, off the coast of Southern Chile.
I have decided to start my travel journal today because I am all alone and I have absolutely no plans whatsoever. This morning, I took a long time over breakfast and tidying up my casita. I find that when my space is neat I can put my finally thoughts in order and be peaceful. This is a must when one is traveling alone, I have found, because otherwise one’s thoughts are liable to take over with their own scattered agendas, and that is a very lonely feeling.
But now, I am sprawled out on the lawn of Fuerte San Antonio, thoroughly enjoying the breeze off the water and the shade, remembering how to write by hand. The land juts out here, and it seems like I am surrounded by the Pacific and opposite shorelines in the archipelago. The view is not expansive, but rather gives the sense of a space apart–made for observing, like the top of the monkey-bars in a crowded playground. And there are certainly many families running around.
It seems right to record the actions, thoughts and feelings of traveling as they happen. The part of me that misses home is happy to feel closer to the wonderful friend who gave me this journal. The part of me that is a little lost, traveling and living completely alone appreciates the order and sense of purpose that come with putting one’s thoughts down on paper. And the part of me that craves new adventures hopes that in processing what has happened already, I will become stronger, more relaxed, and reassured what I want to do going forward. So here we go.
Arriving: Monday, February 10th, 2014
After two days of uninterrupted travel, I have used almost every means of transportation possible–three planes, a subway, two buses, a cab, the most colorful ferry I have ever seen, and plenty of schlepping around on foot. Puerto Montt (my point of entry into the south) is beautiful in a stunning, stately sort of way. From the air, two huge snow-capped mountains tower over farmland stretching out in every direction like a crazy quilt of green and brown patches, with fences for seams, trees for French knots, and the tin roofs of barns and outbuildings glittering beads.
The bus drove right onto the ferry, which was painted bright yellow and red, as though filling in the other primary colors for the brilliant blue waves. If I didn’t know better, I would say that while the Atlantic reflects light, the Pacific radiates it, like fire or the sun, drawing its color up from the first blue which is hidden somewhere at the center of the earth. I stood gripping the railing for the entire hour, in the bracing wind, wishing I had cut my hair shorter, filled with the sort of defiant happiness that comes from drastic decisions. It was 10 pm when we arrived and still light out.
I understand, and completely accept, on an intellectual level, that nothing is as expected when traveling. Unfortunately, every feeling rebels against this notion sometimes, and the first night on Chiloe, I was downright terrified.
I hadn’t met my host yet. I was farther from home than I had ever been before. I was painfully aware of being completely alone, female in a country where this can be a liability, and in a town where I knew no one. I couldn’t figure out how to light the stove, and the shops were closed. Hungry and exhausted, I barricaded myself in the bedroom with my luggage, huddled under the blankets, and cried a little into the pillow. The walls of the house were thin, and I could hear drunken conversations wafting in off the street. Someone threw a rock, luckily missing the window. A few stray dogs must have gotten through the fence because they scratched at the foundation, whining and growling.
I was convinced that this was it. Wasn’t that too bad about Emma– she was too adventurous, we’ll miss her. She was pretty good at International Relations, until she got herself eaten by dogs on Chiloe. This was when I made the split-second decision to convert to Catholicism, and prayed for awhile, which was a novel experience. I have since decided to keep my options open as regards religion because I made it through the night.
Some Lovely People: February 11th and 12th, 2014
I felt astronomically better after meeting my host. She was incredibly kind, with a calm manner and an easy smile. She is a very busy woman, with three lively girls and a generous heart which keeps her surrounded by friends. She and her husband run three businesses–a tourism company, rental accommodations on their land, and a (very small) health supplements processing plant where they make products from Maqui berries, which only grow in northern Patagonia and apparently contain more antioxidants than any other fruit. Her husband is from upstate New York. He is the people-ist of people-persons I have ever met.
On Tuesday, I met Sandra’s youngest daughter, and she took me to Ancud’s central plaza for a platano ice cream and much careening about on a rented bicycle. Her parents were there too, of course. She is 6 1/2, the half being most important. Platano ice cream, by the way, is delicious, as is this girl. Very affectionate, with a big, open smile and a gift for getting people to laugh. I sensed that she is much beloved.
Wednesday was, most importantly, the day that I met my upstairs neighbors, who are so friendly and agreeable that I feel we are good friends already. They work in the Maqui processing plant together during the day, and they live in a small apartment over the office with their adorable two-year-old daughter. She loves Yoga, and he loves making homemade beer in his kitchen. They invited me to lunch, and I tried some– it was very smooth and light, quite tasty. I think they were surprised to find I was just as interested in them as they were in me.
Kayaking: Thursday, February 13th, 2014
I had been at work only an hour or so when I got an invitation from my host to join her daughters and a family friend on a kayak trip, and of course I jumped at the opportunity. This was my introduction to my host’s farm and her older daughters, 12-year-old twins.
The land is picturesque–rolling and soft, it belongs in a sepia-toned photograph. The house is surrounded by long, wavy, dirty-blonde grass. Four dogs laze around the front yard, watchful but well-behaved. Through the grass past an ancient tree there is a path to the beach which is sandy, warm and inviting as all good beaches should be.
The twins are gems. Easily the most talkative people I have ever met, they seem to speak in fast-forward, catching thoughts just quickly enough to put them to words before they whiz past. So there is art and athleticism to their conversations that is fascinating to watch. They were eager to discuss all things American, from books, movies and music to my town, favorite foods and family. They are quite skilled kayakers, and chatted casually about paddling close enough to dolphins to touch them. I am most envious of their childhood here.
Kayaking was ridiculously fun, albeit a little sun-burnt and blistery. We paddled past cormorants and even saw a penguin swimming! We visited the ruins of a Spanish fort, wolfed down chicken avocado sandwiches and jumped in the ocean.
I decided to walk home from my host’s farm, and took close to three hours doing it. Scratched by nettles and barbed wire, chased by dogs, and almost run over by a horse, I was a wreck by the time I made it back to town. Luckily, I met a lovely woman around my mother’s age who walked back to the Costanera with me. I think this demographic of Chileans and their directions are singlehandedly responsible for me still being here. There is a definitive, stately competence in most of the women I have met here so far that is the most reassuring presence I have ever encountered.
Valentine’s Day: Friday, February 14th, 2014
I must admit to weakness, starting this day with a gloominess that is most self-centered and unbecoming. But I was greatly heartened by a lovely Valentine, sent over the computer from a dear friend from Monhegan Island, which prompted me to get over myself and send Valentine messages to friends, lifting my spirits considerably.
I was invited to to dinner at my host’s farm for El Día de Amantes y Amigos. When it is about all kinds of love, Valentine’s Day is a lot less intimidating, warmer and more welcoming. The interior of my host’s home is amazing–I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much unpainted wood inside a house before. There is a huge spiral staircase climbing though the middle of the living room, and a generous dining room heated by the sun during the day through floor-to-ceiling windows, and lit with at least thirty candles at night. Her kitchen is filled to bursting with fruits and vegetables, and the shelves are lined with jars filled with every spice imaginable. I was completely struck dumb until she gave me some chores to help with.
The company was cheery and warm, a collection of good friends and a gaggle of their children. Dinner was fresh cheese and crackers, the best guacamole I have ever tasted, fish caught that day which practically fell off the bone it was so buttery, salad and potatoes of all colors from dark purple to golden. And of course ample Chilean wine, which is so smooth and refreshing it’s hard to believe that it’s aged at all.
I found myself following adult conversation for the first time. I was proud to eavesdrop when no one was slowing down their speech for my benefit.
After dinner, I played some Irish gigs, reels and ballads on my violin. It was immensely gratifying to play for such an easily enchanted audience. In a magical place, lit with high spirits and candles in every corner, most of my job was done for me, and it was easy to play simple music beautifully when the compliments ran thickly. To be awash in all this gratitude was incredibly heart-warming and also a little overwhelming.
When I had finished playing, one of the guests pointed out “…and here we are, at the end of the world.” This phrase struck a chord and I don’t think I will ever forget it. I want to bring music to the very end of the world, and find friendship waiting there.
MADE 530 