Headin’ south to Valdivia

Wednesday, September 13-Thursday, September 14

After my singular class of the week, and a bit of difficulty hoisting my stuffed pack onto my back, I met up with Graciela and Alex at the Viña bus terminal for our 13 hour jaunt to southern Valdivia where we would meet up with Amanda. My sketchily-abbreviated copy of Mario Vargas Llosa’s La ciudad y los perros and my snacks kept me occupied for all of hours one and two, but from there I hit a bit of a wall as I tried uncomfortably to sleep as every single passenger on the sold-out bus made their way to the sole—and cada vez más—smelly bathroom, conveniently located behind my seat.

Early the next morning, we rolled into sleepy, foggy, chilly Valdivia, a smallish university town on the coast of Chile’s ninth region. From inside our cozy bus, we watched heavy-eyed as the trees seemed to appear out of nowhere, in slow-motion, through the gauzy whiteness. Guide book-quality humble shacks dotted the paisaje, their chimneys beginning to signal the start of a new day. Climbing out of the bus, and then making our way to the nearest hostel, I became increasingly happy with my decision to have brought along my long underwear.

A little while later, we found ourselves with a few extra layers of clothing sitting down to a breakfast of eggs and completos—the first of many Chilean-style, everything goes hot dogs of the trip. After breakfast, we strolled through the outdoor seafood market and some surrounding parks as we headed out to Niebla, a small town with the ruins of 17^th-century Spanish settlements. We happened to stumble upon the annual fiestas patrias parade as we walked into town, so we mingled with the clusters of Niebla-folk as they cheered on the rows of carabineros, school children, volunteer bomberos (fire-fighters), members of the local workers’ union, traditionally-clad dancers and singers, gun-toting regiments in silly hats, and gun-toting regiments in silly hats riding horses. There were small Chilean children dressed in impossibly adorable outfits hopping around with their kerchiefs to la cueca, and a tent-sheltered cluster of important people being presented with a mysterious jug filled with mysterious liquid—we later learned it was filled with traditional Chilean chicha, a type of wine.

As the parade petered out, we made our way to the remains of the Spanish fort, which sits atop a lovely outcropping of cliff overlooking a winding lake that separates Niebla from the cliffy outcroppings across the way. In addition to the sweet canons we spent time gazing at, we picked our way through the prickly, yellow-flowered thickets and underbrush, climbing around the ruins, taking pictures of the lighthouse, and reuniting with the various gun-toting regiments in silly hats (though without horses) who had apparently decided to re-take the fort just as we were intent on exploring it. They marched through the fort in neat little rows and then lined up in more neat little rows to have their pictures taken. Then they decided to take pictures of Amanda and Graciela, which we all found a bit strange, so we went away and left them to their neat little rows.

From Niebla, we stopped at the Cervecería Kuntsman on the road back to Valdivia to sample Chile’s very own beer. The guide book-promised tours were apparently a lie, but after lingering around for awhile and ordering a requisite one beer and completo piled high with palta, one of the bartenders took us on an improvised tour of the barley-smelling rooms behind the restaurant where they distill and filter and do all the wonderful things that they do to bring you their lovely Kuntsman beer. Alex was particularly excited by the fact that he was skipping a day of class in order to go to a beer factory.

No one had really slept on the bus ride the night before and, despite a stop for coffee before leaving Niebla, palta-flavored rejuvenation, and sun-soaked resting among Spanish fortifications, we decided it was time for a nap and some even more necessary showering. I’ve never really been able to sleep on demand, though, so I made myself satisfied with a sporadically hot shower and clean socks. Then we headed for food and soon found ourselves practically drowning in seafood deliciousness and bread. I love how varying degrees of chewiness can keep my mouth entertained for many dinners on end. My seafood stew was overflowing with squishy tentacles and lots of curly arm-looking things that were all quite tasty and intriguing. But the chewy squishiness eventually se acabo’d, and we changed locations to Bunkers, a bar Minna had told me about that was just across the river. We happily passed the rest of the night away sampling our first vainas, another Chilean aperitif that’s kind of like the eggnog version of pisco sours, as well as some exceptional daiquiris. There was even a mid-evening chocolate run involved before we finally gave in to the call of our frigid—though decidedly more comfortable than bus seats—hostel beds.