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Volcan Villarrica climb

We’ve covered a lot of ground since our last blog and are now in Valparaiso, on the Pacific coast 120kms west of Santiago. It is only ten days until we leave South America for New Zealand.

Valparaiso is like nowhere else we have been. We have a great view from our window of the hills and port for which the city is famous. Tiny little houses of all colours cling to 42 hills and are just visible poking out from the fog shrouding the city.

At the lovely lakeside resort of Pucon we did what thousands have done before us; we climbed the active Villarrica volcano that looms over the area. For reasons unknown to us, we were made to wear an all-in-one romper suit that Tinky Winky would have been proud of (minus the handbag) and, slightly more reasonably given the snow coverage, crampons, an ice axe and a helmet. The volcano was smoking when we arrived at the summit and the wind was blowing in an unfortunate direction; the sulphur smell may never leave our nostrils. It was a long hard slog to the top, but a mere five minute bum-slide through the snow (complete with adult nappy designed solely for this purpose) back to the ‘bottom’.

We spent the rest of our time in Pucon relaxing in the hot springs and hiking through some gorgeous scenery of lakes and forests.

From Pucon it was another eventful bus journey to Talca. The bus driver was kind enough to play a range of films to help pass the nine hour journey. Unfortunately for us the films were dubbed and sub-titled in Spanish (surely one or the other would be enough), but we were grateful for the sub-titles when he turned the sound off completely and played the radio instead. One of the cinematic highlights was a film starring Richard Gere and a Japanese husky. We spent a lot of energy interpreting the Spanish sub-titles and made a big emotional investment in following the evolving and complex relationship between man and dog. Just as the film was about to reach a climax, it inexplicably stopped. If anyone has a copy, we will be asking to borrow it when we return to the UK so please don’t give away the ending….

We spent four nights at Casa Chueca (a place familiar to some of our readers), a great guesthouse in the countryside just outside Talca. It was good to have company again, and J was particularly happy in finding a German to drink beer with. Company also helped on the wine tour we took, as our colleagues seemed as au fait with the finer details of winemaking as we were and distracted the experts from our inane comments. Most of the stuff made here goes to China, but we managed to divert a few bottles into our rucksacks for later consumption.

While in Talca, we also took an amazing hike to a set of huge and virtually unknown waterfalls, completely unspoilt by tourism (as yet). The only other people we encountered were some proper cowboys (not those found wanting by Anne Robinson on Watchdog, but real ones, with horses and big hats, bringing their cattle down from the mountains).

Talca is the southern centre of Chile’s wine industry, but unfortunately was near the epicentre of the 2010 earthquake. The town sustained a lot of damage, and there is a rush to rebuild it, but walking through the town centre it is very sad to see the holes and piles of rubble where buildings once stood, including some beautiful old colonial buildings.

The only other thing of note in Talca is their culinary speciality, the ‘completo’, a truly bland yet slightly nauseating hotdog concoction drowned in avocado, mustard and ketchup. A short lie down is J’s recommendation after consuming one, but the locals swear by them. And what do you expect for £1?

In other news, the Spanish is coming along leaps and bounds. There was a moment when C got confused and upon arriving at Casa Chueca managed to welcome the owner to his own home. The only other distinguishing gringo feature we have is, according to the owner of our current hostel, our extraordinary height and red hair, which makes us stand out in a crowd. You might assume at this point a linguistic mix-up, but the owner is Australian and we seem to be speaking roughly the same language. 

Highlight: J finally getting a haircut. The sweaty, bouffant, helmet hair he was sporting was threatening to undermine the suave Bond-like seasoned traveller look that he is trying to nurture (think hand-stitched Italian loafers and a panama hat, then you will be about as far from the truth as it is possible to get).

Lowlight: J's humiliating descent down the volcano in a nappy. It was made to look easy by the guides, but he truly fluffed his lines on this occasion, with a 100 metre medley of forward rolls, arse-slides and chest surfing, finally arriving at the awaiting crowd at the bottom with sunglasses askew, snow in every crevice and his ice axe, and dignity, left half way up the mountain. 

Pisco sour count: 18. A poor effort compared to the Caipirinha count in Brazil. In our defence, we have been very distracted by the other alcoholic delights on offer in Chile.