The Pleasantness Of Plan B

There I was, back in chilly Oruro, getting ready for what I thought would be a harrowing few days of fly-by-night travel down the western coast of Chile. I had one crack at it, as far as I could tell, and was geared up to make it happen however I needed to. A stressful situation on the face of it, but I've actually grown to enjoy theses moments of tension at being unsure as to how exactly I'm about to get on with things. Shakes things up a bit. So, when the day came to catch my train, I made for the station first thing in the morning, to beat what I expected would be huge lineups of folks looking for a way out of town.

What I found were a few dawdlers milling around the grond gates, and before I even came within earshot, I could tell by their very posture that the trains were out too. I had asked around in the markets about train service in prior days, and had heard nothing unsettling. I had even seen a couple trains slowly poking around the outskirts of town, so it had not occurred to me that the angry folks in Potosi would have blockaded the tracks as well - but of course, they had. A small whiteboard sat out front of the main doors of the station indicating that train service was suspended until further notice, and appologizing for any inconvenience. Shit. There goes Plan A - foiled on step one. My head began swimming with ways around this circumstance...

If I waited until that evening and took one of the pricey detour buses down to Uyuni, I'd never make my 3:30 AM bus into Calama, Chile. I was going to have to try another tack. Could I maybe hitchhike (or as they sometimes call it down here, hacer el dedo - do the finger)? There would probably not be a whole lot of traffic in this already desolate place, let alone given the recent conflict in Potosi. It was not exactly the best time to thumb it in such a rush. I decided to head back to the bus station and see what I could make happen, stopping at my hostel along the way to gether my things - I would be leaving today, one way or another.

In the station, I was told that if I wanted to make it down south in a hurry, I ought to avoid travelling through Bolivia at all. Better to cut west into Chile immediately, where bus service was far more reliable, if a touch more expensive. My blood still hot, I bought a ticket for the next bus west, to Iquique, on the coast of Chile. That left me about an hour to spare, so I sat in the street outside the station and munched on delicious deep fried dough slathered with a sweet molasses sauce, and nursed a hot fruit drink - kind of like a steaming raspberry smoothy - called api, and watched the morning people wander about.

It occurred to me as I sat there, that if this bus of mine was really as fast as it claimed to be, I'd be on the coast of Chile by the end of the day, and could then be in Santiago within a day or so. I'd even have a couple of nights to relax there and enjoy the city before one final overnighter into Puerto Montt to catch my boat on the 20th - what kind of harowing journey was that? And so my great last-minute dash was over before it had even begun - replaced with a more-or-less comfortable, well-spaced ride down the coast. I suppose I should have been pleased, but was actually kind of disappointed. Having geared myself up for a big struggle, all I had to do now was relax, enjoy my doughnuts, and make chit-chat with pleasant travelling people until my bus arrived. Ho hum.

From then on, it was actually quite a pleaure all the way down. From Oruro we passed through all kinds of deserted landscapes, and the border crossing into Chile - at some lonely outpost out in the middle of nowhere - came and went without issue. We were in Iquique that evening, as promised, a touch late, perhaps, but with plenty of time to find a place to stay and a bite to eat. The only problem - apart from the shockingly higher prices; Bolivia had been a real treat - was that I had forgotten to change money at the border, and so had only a few Bolivianos, and a pocket full of American dollars. And here we were around 8PM on a Sunday night - nowhere to change money. My little hotel had agreed to let me stay on the promise that I would change my money and pay in the morning, but I had a feeling arranging such a service-before-payment deal might be a little trickier when it came to my supper.

Eventually, after much wandering, I took the advice of a local fellow and made my way through the somewhat greasy evening streets of Iquique in search of a particular Chinese food restaurant where they apparently changed dollars. I found the giant golden sign, as per my instructions, and sure enough, they changed my dollars, and I dined on Chinese that evening, to celebrate.

Despite the pleasant sea-side feel of the place, I decided the following morning, that I'd rather burn my two extra days in Santiago, and so hopped on the next bus out of town - it would be no less than 24 hours. Ian and I had taken a daylong bus or two back in Peru, so I was preparing myself for the worst that morning, but again I was to be disappointed. This turned out to be one of the most pleasant bus rides of my life - of any length.

The gorgeous double-decker bus was outfitted with comfortable reclining seats, leg-rests, silken curtains, and pleasant stewards doling out all the pillows and blanklets you could squeeze into your crannies. We were also treated to movies played at appropriate times (and, I remarked, at appropriate volume!), ample snacks and the cleanest of on-board toilets. Roads were well-paved and smooth making for a virtually bump-free ride. There was one aptly-timed dinner stop, at a beautiful bus-stop/mall waiting area. I felt like I was in another world.

And truly, I was - Santiago only confirmed this realization. When I stepped off the bus that first morning, and sat for a coffee in the bus station - I could have been back in Vancouver. Crowds of well-dressed busy-looking people bustling about, newspapers in hand, on their way to some obviously important daily dealings. I grabbed the busy morning metro into the heart of town, and a few stops later, rose back up to the surface, and made my way along the cool, grafitti-lined streets, staring too long, I'm sure, at all the hip-looking young people with their chunky haircuts ad thick-rimmed glasses.

This was a South America I had not yet seen, and over the course of the next few days, I drank it in, making a point of relaxing in the various funky cafes around town and doing my touristic duty of snapping far too many photos of the more impressive buildings in and around the busy downtown core. Parks and public gardens were easy to find, and I made the rounds of those as well, pausing here and there to devour another short story and/or hotdog piled high with fine savory closeslaw, diced tomatoes, avocado and mayonaise - completos they call them.

My overnight bus into Puerto Montt on the 19th went as well as those kinds of things can go, and I arrived early on the day of my boat's departure with just enough time to sit for a pleasant breakfast nearby and take a breather before boarding. Not originally designed as ferries, the ships run by Navimag have been making this three-day cargo run down to Puerto Natales for years. Ocasionally, adventurous travellers would have a word with the crew, and manage to weasel their way on board, for the three-day trip down the coast of Chilean Patagonia.

Eventually, as news began to spread that this kind of thing was being permitted, and tourists began to show up in greater and greater numbers, the clever seamen decided to start charging them hundreds of dollars, and soon enough the ships were equipped with some modest comforts, including cozy bunkbeds, lock-and-key washrooms complete with hot showers, and a kitchen and dining area more than able to accomodate and feed a boat-load of hungry tourists.

It being wintertime at present, the boat wasn't as full as it is in the tourist-heavy summer, and so the few of us onboard were shifted to nicer rooms if there was space. So rather than sleeping in a 16-bed dorm hall, I shared a 4-bed room. My three French roommates were pleasant enough chaps, and not at all difficult to get on with. Again, I'd more or less been expecting the worst from this trip as well, so this couple hundred-dollar upgrade was a nice way to start the trip.

My other concern had been food - eating on a boat, in my experience can sometimes be a bit of a drag - but sure enough, the crack crew served us up three squares, promptly and with a smile from dock to dock, and although it wasn't gourmet, it was far more agreeable (and varied) than the fare Ian and I had had to deal with on our river-boat journery back in Peru. It seemed I couldn't have a tough time of it even if I wanted to. Plan B was bound and determined to please.

The real treat of this trip however, was the scenery. Our route wound through all manner of canals and passes that cannot be reached by land, and so we had a chance to observe many mountains and rocky outcrops that can't be seen in any other way. The weather wasn't always ideal - there were a few instances of sharp sleety wind - but when it cleared up, it was mre than worth it to brave the cold and spend some time up on deck to snap a few photos. As far as waves go, there was one night where I was up to bed pretty swiftly after supper, but nothing in comparison to what I'd been through on my way down to Ecuador with Captain Tom. Overall, a delightful journey, and I arrived in Puerto Natales on the morning of August the 23rd in good shape.

I took a room in a pleasant little hostel run by a little dumpling of a lady called Teresa who has greeted me with freshly baked bread each morning for the past few days. Admittedly, there is not much to do here in the city of Puerto Natales itself, but not too far outside rests one of Chile's most prized national parks - the famed Torres Del Paine. Being that I am now quite close to the end of my journey, the pursestrings are pretty tight these days, but I thought I may as well take advantage of the wintertime prices and have a quick look around anyway.

As I mentioned above, weather this time of year is kind of crummy, but you've got the bonus of being able to view the place in relative privacy - when I ventured out by van the day before yesterday, it was just myself and a young Chilean couple with child. We drove around from 9AM to 6PM and made a number of stops throughout the sizable park, a few choice photos of which I offer here. (Unfortunately, the torres themselves - the impressive granite towers after which the park is named were not visible this day. The beautifully jagged mountains you see below are known as los cuernos - the horns - another main feature of the park.)

So, I'm off to Punta Arenas this fine snowy day, from whence I hope to catch my final ferry down through a variety of other Patagonian channels (including the famed Beagle Channel through which one Charles Darwin fatefully sailed all those years ago) to Puerto Williams on the little blob of land just south of Tierra Del Fuego known as Isla Navarino. This, many say, is the most southerly settlement (i.e. a place where folks actually live) on the continent - although who really deserves this infamous title is admittedly a hotly contested issue. At any rate, this could well be the final destination of this trip before I turn on my heel and begin the return journey.

We'll have to see what I can see when I get down there I suppose...

Ok, off to catch my bus! Talk to you soon!