Signing off for a bit

After much hemming and hawing about going into the ¨wild,¨I seem to always manage to find some internet connection. I am in Quellon right now waiting for our ferry to Puerto Raul Marin. It was supposed to leave at 10, but now will not leave until 1 AM. We had to buy tons of food here so the extra time is a bit helpful, but after the stores close it will just mean lots of waiting.

There is limited internet access in the hamlet of Raul Marin (i think its about 50 households large), and none on Thomas´ land (a fishing boat or hour´s canoe ride from the town), so, as warning to you ardent followers, I think I will be out of touch for several weeks.

JS

Travelogue: First WWOOF Experience

I met two other Americans who will be volunteering at the Dutchman's land here in Chile.  Max and Matthew are both 25, from Boston, and have already stayed at two other WWOOF farms during the past several weeks.  Their current location is conveniently located 45 minutes from Puerto Montt and I spent a night out there a few days ago to get out of the city.

The farm they are staying on grows all sorts of vegetables and has bees and goats as well.  The property has several homes--one for the owner, one for his parents, one for his sister, and one, the former main house, is dedicated to the volunteers.    The land is close to the sea and is best described as "cold jungle."  It is very wet and green with small family farms hidden amongst low rolling hills and babbling brooks.  Nearby is a pristing lake, and the views of surrounding mountains are epic.  Edible berries such as blackberries and murta grow wild and plentiful.

During Summer there may be more than ten volunteers, staying in the house and camping outside.  For the past couple weeks it has only been Max and Matthew.  The house includes three small bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, a small kitchen, and an amazing, spacious, add-on living room with a large skylight and a tree in the middle.  This last room is where we slept--on mattresses on the floor--and where the guys, understandably, spent most of their time.  It has electricity and running water, but only a few light bulbs work so candles are key.  A treasure trove of old junk, the house is filled with books, maps, guitars, clothes, old leather suitcases, and spiderwebs.

The guys had previously stayed at a farm with strict working schedules and family meals, but here they are largely left to themselves.  They are free to use vegetables and food from the land, but have to supply their own staples such as rice and flour, as well as gas for the camping stove in the house.  The work schedule is loose: Mattias, the owner, comes down to their house every few days and asks for help with various tasks such as picking vegetables, erecting or fixing mobile greenhouses, and working on the construction of a new beehouse.  

My brief stay at the farm was amazing, especially after too many days cooped up in the gray, dirty confines of the city.  We arrived at night and walked up the road to the farm in the dark, hopping over puddles and streams.  The smell of damp earth, wood fires, and cold clean air was refreshing.

That evening we ate some fresh vegetable soup by candlelight and listened to the soundtrack of From Dusk til Dawn, found amongst the rubble.  I caught a few hours asleep amidst the sounds of some animals in the walls and on the roof.

In the morning Matt convinced me to take a morning swim in the nearby lake.  That morning I saw clear blue sky and sun for the first time since arriving in the South, and it was an amazing sight.  The lake itself was fit for a dream the water was so glassy.  The water was utterly icy, but afterwards, standing alone in the morning sun in complete quiet, I had one of those "wow" moments for which I have been searching.  

We picked a shirtload of murta berries on the way home--the guys wanted to make jam for our trip.  Before leaving, I paid my dues by helping to erect a mobile greenhouse.  After four months without any sort of gainful employment, it felt great to get my hands (very) dirty and get something done.  The trip out to the farm was extremely rejuvenating after so many cities, and I think it is a good omen for the trip ahead.

Travelogue: Southern Chile

From Santiago I traveled by night bus to Puerto Varas (13 hours) and was greeted by gray skies and a steady drizzle.  Thankfully I had heeded the advice of my friends in Santiago--most were aghast that I was traveling South at the front end of a notoriously wet time of year-- and beefed up my gear to include waterproof coverings for my backpack and me.

This part of the world reminds me of Siberia.  Colorful wooden houses, weather that changes from gray to bright blue in an instant, and people whose existence in a relatively remote place has blessed them with the peculiar combination of warmth and gritty toughness.  Puerto Varas has beautiful views of lakes and towering snow-capped volcanos, none of which I really saw given the weather.  I did have a TV there and was amazed and happy to find the Final Four games being broadcast.  Puerto Montt, where I have spent the past several nights, is 20 minutes away and is a grittier, more industrial sea port.

I hoofed it down South from Santiago in order to meet up with Thomas, the Dutchman whose land I am going to live on for the next several weeks.  I then left more-charming Puerto Varas for Puerto Montt, also to meet Thomas, who again arrived a day after originally planned.  Puerto Montt is crummy enough that all guidebooks suggest skipping it entirely.  Nevertheless, our next bus departs from here and I had to meet Thomas.  It has not been all bad, though, as Puerto Montt is a bit cheaper than Puerto Varas.  Also, I have had a chance to slowly observe life in Southern Chile, prepare more thoroughly for my trip into the wild, and experience a new type of accomodation: hospedajes.

Hospedajes are local homes converted, partially, into guesthouses.  The family lives in the house and rents out rooms, going about daily life as usual.  There is usually a "senora" or "duena de casa" that acts as manager, receptionist, cook, and all-around house mother--I have only been in a few, but have yet to see one run by a man.   To my delight I have found that common practice is to charge per person, regardless of the number of occupants.  Consequently, as a single traveler, I can get my own room with two beds and only pay for one bed--generally between $7-$10 per night around here.  Some have TVs, almost all offer shared bathrooms.  If you want a hot shower, you have to turn on the water heater or ask to have it turned on.  The guests are a diverse bunch--some are travelers like me, some are Chileans passing through, and some are students or workers living for extended periods of time.  The extended stayers are on the basis of "pension," meaning they pay per month for lodging and meals.  I use the kitchens and there have been able to chat and interact with the family.  At my current lodging, in Puerto Montt, I have been fortunate enough to share some wonderful meals with Dona Leticia and her daughter Karina.  I have cooked a few things to share with them in return, and today had a wood chopping lesson with the great-uncle of the family so that I could contribute to the wood pile for the stove.

In other big news, I finally met the Dutchman, Thomas.  Long hair and long beard, he looks like Rob Zombie, but not nearly as menacing.  He is incredibly interesting and I have only begun to scratch the surface in terms of getting to know him.  He bought land in Patagonia 15 years ago and has been spending several months per year here ever since.  He and I have been spending the past couple days provisioning for the trip, as his place is far removed from any developed town.  We have to stock up on food, tools, and various odds and ends.  For example, he walked into a hardware store and ordered 36 square meters of plastic for a greenhouse and hundreds of feet of nylon cord.  In another, liters of caustic acid for making soap from fat, hooks for fishing, and replacement cleats for his catamaran.  Foodstuffs include kilos of flour, oats, rice, beans, sugar, and butter--a complete list would  be exhausting, but we are bringing a lot.  Fish, mussels, and crabs are plentiful at Thomas' land, and he has a greenhouse with some vegetables, but it sounds like at this point a large amount of his food is provisioned ahead of time.  

Our journey on Saturday will begin with a six hour bus to the town of Quellon, on the Southern tip of the island of Chiloe.  From there we will board an overnight ferry to tiny Puerto Raul Marin, and from there we will hop on with a local fisherman to Thomas' estuary.  My plans for the next several months will depend very much on the nature of this upcoming challenge.  As such, I am thrilled that I will soon get to see this place for myself.

 

Dilemmas: Canine family planning

Spending time abroad you become acutely aware of cultural differences between your home country and the ones you visit. Language, money, food, social customs, clothing, cars--the substantial and trivial alike begin to stand out. Of late, I have found myself hyper-aware of a phenomenon that is strikingly foreign: Dogs with balls.

Testicles, that is. The fact that they are swinging around everywhere, for all to see, is shocking to a guy who grew up in Bob Barker's world and never really thought to ask why his dog had one part but not the other(s). I know little to nothing about canine anatomy, but field research has taught me that the dog's testicles tend to be disproportionately large and prominently featured. Call me weird, but, for someone with nothing to do but explore and observe, its hard to miss a dachsund with avocados dangling between his hind legs.

Generally cause for a gasp and a juvenile snicker, there is a sad side to the free-ball regime. "Raining cats and dogs" is not an idiomatic expression in Central and South America. Many balls means many dogs that belong to nobody and everybody. Plentiful as Hollywood zombies, they scatter fleas, disease, and garbage about the streets. Also detrimental to public health is the noise pollution generated by frequent pack fights and chases.

I have never seen so many dogs sleeping--all day and all over. They lie down in sun and in shade. On streets, in gutters, inside stores and out, they conserve what is sure to be precious little energy by lying for hours at a time. Some are lucky enough to find "mattresses" of cardboard to keep off cold, wet cement. In this mode, they do not get up for anybody or anything. The females seem most exhausted, having been suckled ragged by litter after litter of pups.

When they are awake, they are incredibly attentive, frisking any passersby for possible nourishment. They are generally too tired to be mean, but I have been growled at by tiny lap dogs and attribute their misguided anger to hunger. In Puerto Varas, in Southern Chile, a too-thin Husky followed me around for 30 minutes one morning while I checked out hostels. He trotted patiently at my side, occasionally sniffing and hoping that I might have a morsel tucked away somewhere in my bags. Later that day I found two dogs knocking over a trash can and searching it voraciously. The larger of the two ultimately found a promising bag in the mess and carried it away in his teeth.

Obviously these countries--I have noticed said phenomenon in parts of Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Argentina, Ecuador, and Chile, as well as in Asia and some European cities--are taking public policy one step at a time and may have larger issues to address. Nevertheless, balls, when it comes to urban-canine best practices, seem to be a bad thing. While it might be tempting to romanticize the notion of letting an animal stay "whole," the observed negative consequences of letting nature take its course in this case far outweigh any potential gains.

Photos: A selection of the past two months

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