This entry is long overdue (it actually happened the weekend after my “Remembering the World” post)…any complaints can be taken up with my literature professors at the university.

On a completely spur-of the moment idea, my friend Lilly (also from Middlebury) and I headed off to a whirlwind weekend tour of Chiloé, an island province about seven hours south of Valdivia. We spent one morning visiting penguins near the northern city of Ancud, where we also learned a bit about the famous Chilote mythology (ladies, beware of el Trauco, the sea god infamous for impregnating single women). We then headed south to Castro, the capital of the island, where we were inundated with wool products and saw the palafitos (stilted houses) that managed to survive the 1960 earthquake and following tidal wave. From there, we visited the little villages of Achao, Delcalhue, and spent the night in Chonchi, appreciating each of these towns’ traditional churches. These churches, built by Jesuit missionaries in the late 1700s and early 1800s are some of the world’s oldest surviving structures made entirely of wood. Several of the churches were recently named World Heritage Sites – something of great pride among the locals. The weekend was the prefect example of “playing it by ear” and taught Lilly and I several important lessons:

Things learned from a weekend in Chiloé:

Ask for directions sooner rather than later (in some cases, it’s even better to ask before you realize you have a question)

After missing or nearly missing an embarrassing number of buses for being too shy to ask where the bus stop is, or what times the buses run quickly reinforced this all-important lesson. Fortunately, buses in Chile run efficiently and frequently, meaning that our mistakes in this department were rarely catastrophic.

When reading a bus’s destination, it’s best to read the entire name, not just the first letter

Waking up early Saturday morning in the Castro, Lilly and I made our way through the rain to the bus terminal, hoping to catch the first bus to Achao, a small village on one of the islands in the Chilote archipelago. We checked our bags at the bus station and, as we were paying, I spotted a bus with the sign “A—-” pulling out of the station. “We can still make it!” I yell, and start tearing off after the bus. The driver sees my frantic arm-waving and pauses long enough for us to dive on. Pulling away from the station and heading out of town, Lilly and I slump into our seats, struggling to catch our breath. I’m just about to make some comment about what a close call we had when Lilly pauses.

“Where are we going, again?” she asks.

“Achao” I respond confidently.

“Are you sure this bus is going where we’re going?”

“Um….well, the first letter was the same.” At a critical look from Lilly, I add, “Maybe we should double-check?”

Lilly leans forward and asks the driver the destination.

“Ancud,” he responds.

Uh oh. Ancud was where we were yesterday…an hour and a half further north.

“What happened to the bus to Achao?” Lilly asks.

The driver points to the bus two cars in front of us pulling onto the highway, “There it goes!”

With faces burning and murmuring a number of expletives under our breaths, we ask the driver to let us off, and start sprinting back to the bus terminal. There is one more bus that leaves fifteen minutes after the first one, but the third bus doesn’t come for another hour. The one thing in Chile than runs better than on-time is the bus system, and if we don’t make it back in four minutes, we are out of luck. Three breathless blocks later, we are back at the terminal and, spot our bus. We triple-read the sign this time.

Never try to do anything in Chiloé (or Chile, for that matter) on a Sunday

Our last day in Chiloé, we had hoped to visit Isla Lemuy, another one of the smaller islands in the archipelago. Unfortunately, everything on a Sunday runs on a very-reduced schedule. We left our hostel in the small town of Chonchi, hoping to catch a bus to the ferry landing. Walking up toward the town center, we arrived just in time to watch the bus turning down another road and onto the highway (anyone detecting a theme here?). We decided that, instead of waiting, we would start walking toward the ferry and catch the next bus that passed.

We walked along the highway (really just a large road in this part of the island), chatting and, at the sound of an approaching vehicle, turning to make sure that it wasn’t our bus. Half and hour later, in the middle of a conversation, we didn’t hear the approaching vehicle. The sight of a huge, blue bus already past us and speeding away down the road caught our attention – ten seconds too late. Four kilometers later, we arrived at the ferry landing just in time to watch it pulling away from the dock. This really wasn’t our day.

What with the limited ferry schedule and our own bus-trip back to Valdivia waiting for us in Castro, there was nothing for it but to say goodbye to our Lemuy plans and to walk back to Chonchi. We were a bit bummed, but all-in-all it didn’t really matter. The rolling green hills that dipped down into the sea were gorgeous, and it was nice to just take our time and soak in the views.

Don’t over-think signs…many times it’s easier than you might think

The mistake that taught us this lesson is a bit too embarrassing to be retold. Let’s just say that we seriously considered going to a different restaurant to eat rather than suffer the embarrassment of entering after our misinterpretation.

Gotta love the lana!

Lana (wool) is one of the traditional products of the island, and every market we encountered was overflowing with every imaginable souvenir made from wool: sweaters, hats, gloves, scarves, socks, dresses, slippers, toys, and key chains…you name it, they probably had it. See my facebook album for a picture of Lilly and I modeling some of the local wear.

Talk with the locals

We met several incredible individuals in the course of the weekend, some of which included a very friendly taxi driver, our penguin-tour guide, the women who ran the first two hostels where we stayed, and an opinionated Canadian ex-pat who owned the third hostel (and who had not the slightest qualms about spouting his views of life, the universe, and everything for as long as his listener was still standing).

However, the most notable was the abuelita (little grandmother) we talked to at a local artisan fair in Ancud. We passed by her stall, where she was selling her wool products and somehow fell into conversation with her. What an amazing woman! She told us how she runs the stall with two other women, and how she loves her life – being able to earn a living by selling the things she makes. She wouldn’t want to live anywhere else or do anything differently. She was so happy that we were studying in Valdivia, and so thrilled that we had come to visit Chiloé that she gave us both keychains so that we would always remember our trip. The generosity and joy exuding from this woman was unbelievably touching.

Sometimes no plan is the best plan.

Lilly and I left for this weekend without a clue about where we were going to stay or what we were going to see. We drew up a plan on the bus ride down, and every plan that we made changed at least once, if not more. But it didn’t matter. We were there together, we were completely free, and the world (well, maybe just Chiloé) was our oyster.

For pictures from the trip, click here to see the album on facebook. Hope you are all doing well!

Map of my host country

Destination for our weekend get-away