Seeing the World

We successfully got to the hire car queue first, successfully added Chris to the insurance for free (my Avis Preferred Plus an apparent winner), signed an unintelligible Spanish language contract and drove off in a fairly impressive square shaped Peugeot thing with a boot that will reveal our luggage to South America over the next few days!

Chris took the wheel and we headed to Puerta Varas, a town with many Germanic features by Lake Lanquehue, overseen by the majesty of Mount Osorno.  The classic cone shaped snow capped mountain dominating the skies.

This is, it seems, Patagonia.  Steak country.  So we lunched on steak that was cooked on an impressively large grill behind the bar of a pleasant but empty lake side restaurant.  My chips went into an unseen oven.

I sat the pondering the beauty of the place.  Wondering if it had been inhabited by escaping Nazis.  Admiring the apparent prosperity of the town measured by active businesses and quality housing.

We went for a drive and discovered the polar opposite just a few miles away.  Shanty town of desperately poor quality unplanned buildings that must suffer in the cold of the winter. A reminder that while Chile looks and feels relatively successful in many places it has a way to go on providing opportunities for all to join in the party.

We drove on to our accommodation.  A one night stay in a lake view cabin.  The price was good.  The pictures looked nice.  The reality was far better.  As we drove up the pathway our host appeared and redirected our parked car to our cabana.  Without a word of English he showed us how to light the fire, use the telly and charged us £50 before leaving, once his credit card machine had charged up using his Samsung phone charger.

Chris took control of the fire situation and the cold accommodation gradually, very gradually, warmed up and my fleece was removed a couple of hours later.  As we sat down for the evening I realised just how good the location is.  Lake.  Volcano.  Balcony.  Chris trotted off to the balcony bedroom to step outside and practice his photography.

When he returned he suggested two weeks here in the summer would be quite special.  He’s not wrong, if you like peace, views and need a rest.

We went to bed early.  Chris took the master bedroom.  I occupied a single bed in the downstairs room.  The fire dwindled out around midnight and, despite the cold air we slept well.

Fire lighting morning style became a little more awkward.  It might be cold for our last  hours here!

Flight Eight: Heading to the Lake District

We cross the road from the Holiday Inn to the airport. The thicker air of the capital almost edible compared to the freshness and clarity of San Pedro de Atacama and Rapa Nui.

An almost familiar wander through Santiago Airport’s departure hall. I managed to leave my belt and boarding pass in the security tray, rescued by fellow passengers advising me in excited Spanish!

Into the VIP Pacific Club Lounge for breakfast. To discover it was heaving and we didn’t have two seats together. Doughnuts, coffee and some chocolate flavoured cereal went down well and Chris was eventually able to join me from his dark corner in a different room as another family headed for their flight.

With the lounge next to the gate we were able to join the boarding queue late. As we were flying to Puerto Montt it was a bit of a shock to see Punta Arenas as the destination at gate 28. Closer inspection of the monitor showed “via Puerto Montt” as a routing.

A first! We’re flying on a plane that drops people off before moving on to its final destination. It sounds like we’ll have to get off sharpish on landing. The excitement levels are close to getting on a Northern Rail train from Manchester to Leeds with a ticket to Stalybridge.

It seems that in the booking process I splashed out on exit row seats. The extra legroom, while nothing like yesterday’s business class extravaganza from Rapa Nui, is welcome after our last flight on the budget airline Sky involved rather cramped conditions.

The Chilean Lake District awaits. A series of hotels with no breakfast service. A plan to buy coco pops, milk and some cardboard dishes! We already have plastic spoons borrowed from an airport lounge.

The climate further south appears to be similar to a mild UK Lake District winter. The driving demands limited compared to previous motoring trips. Hotels slightly quirky. And scenery like Windermere except with volcanoes and bigger lakes.

This was probably the part of the trip that interested me most when I booked it. After Easter Island and the Atacama Desert I think it’s going to take third place in my affections. Perhaps our limited understanding of Spanish will need more use in the less touristy south …

Chris is successfully insured to drive by Avis.  No charge.  Take it away son!

Flight Seven: Farewell Rapa Nui Hello Holiday Inn

We checked out of our hotel paying in US dollars. Either that or a 19% tax to pay!

They were fussy over the quality of the bank notes I’d given them and in the end I provided them with the best thirteen $20 notes of the twenty I’d withdrawn in Boston a few weeks earlier, anticipating this bill.

Rapa Nui international airport is like no other. You put your own suitcase in the scanner and when you drop it off a man wheels it away. As there don’t appear to be any other flights today I’m hoping the risk of bag loss is minimal.

With no available business class lounge we spent a small fortune on mind blowing local beer which, despite the modest quantities consumed, left me feeling newt like. For some a pre-flight tradition. For me a rather uncomfortable feeling of wooziness!

It took us six hours to get here. The stewardess proudly announced less than four hours to get home. I’m guessing a strong westerly breeze will be following our flight into Santiago.

As we sit on the runway the stewardess delivers a Pisco sour. My wooziness will be enhanced. The visit to the little boys room I’d paid pre-boarding won’t last the flight. But there’s no driving tonight so why the hell not? Not as good as street Pisco sour though.

Despite enjoying business class luxury the seat doesn’t provide me the comfort I want. Plugging in headphones is devilishly hard work as I don’t have sight of the socket in the centre console. Five minutes later I’m sorted and the crew have removed the plastic wrapping I’d peeled away from the ear warming sound providers.  Chris presses a leg support button on my controls and my comfort levels improve.

I’m thinking one movie this time. Chris has recommended the strange Martian infection thing he watched on the way here. I’ll probably roll with it after a hopefully early lunch. Maybe tea as the drink of choice for the rest of the flight.

A female pilot makes an announcement. I give Chris a knowing look, full of blatantly sexist humour, without saying a word. A mock look of fear in return.  The film “Life” starts on my IFE even though the plane is showing little effort to leave Rapa Nui, La Isla de Pascuna or Easter Island as I’ve always known it.

The cabin crew spray an allegedly non-hazardous insecticide down the aisles. I instant start coughing. The plane shudders into motion just as I get a rare wifi signal from the terminal. We’re on our own now!

Angelina’s Bell’s Palsy

Angelina Jolie recently revealed she’d suffered from Bell’s palsy following her split from young Brad. Stress = Bell’s palsy?

Unlike me she was quickly aware of her condition, prescribed steroids and had acupuncture to fix herself. If this hits you, same day visit to GP is essential!  If you notice somebody’s face has slipped, use the words “your face has slipped, go to your doctor today” rather than feint polite about their appearance.

The success of acupuncture seems to be linked directly to early use of steroids. No steroids means no success for acupuncture. Acupuncture months after diagnosis seems to simply not work. While I don’t blame her for giving it a go, I’d suggest her face would have fixed itself quickly regardless.  Some people get lucky.  I didn’t.

I got my steroids a good month after my symptoms were first spotted. Nine months on my facial deformity continues. 90%+ are fixed by now.  Not me.  If anything my speech is more slurred and my eye more consistently sore.

I think it’s a little bit of a shame Ms Jolie didn’t issue photographs of her condition. But maybe that would just open her up to some of the cruel ridicule social media offers the average celebrity. It might have been a boost to anybody else with this crappy condition though.

The Island I Now Know as Rapa Nui

Rapa Nui, or Easter Island, is a rock in the ocean six hours flying time west of Santiago. It’s effectively the place on earth where people live that is furthest away from where other people live. I’m about as far away from the NHS as I can get. At least the Aussies have a reciprocal health arrangement.

It’s where those funny rock men live. A bucket list destination and one that I’m glad I’ve hit.

The stone men are quite special. Some of them have fallen over. Others stand alone. Another sees fifteen line up in front of the sea like a Pacific Island rugby union team about to perform a tribal dance to intimidate the opposition.

The island itself is a bit like any rocky coastline. Craggy, inspiring and in this case met by the biggest crashing waves I’ve ever seen. Ignoring the high waves it’s actually quite British in geological feel. The airport runway crosses almost the whole width of the island. The capital is a small village with very little going on. And pretty much the only village. A single petrol station. And a handful of roads with the stone dudes appearing here there and everywhere.

Yes, I’ve seen the pictures before getting here. But nothing beats the real thing. Seeing them evokes real thoughts of who they were, what they represented, why they were chosen to stand through the centuries.

Perhaps a chief and his minions. Maybe a religious leader? Or gods protecting the populous from the sea?

Regardless. I’ve spent a small fortune getting us here. Food retails at Icelandic prices and the car hire system has no insurance. Writing off the 4×4 Suzuki jeep type thing we’re hurling around in means paying for a new one!

Riders on horses gallop down the roads cowboy style in the face of oncoming traffic. Livestock, usually cows, wander aimlessly across roads regardless of cars. And the wind is constant. Sun changes to rain in an instant.

As well as the stone men, my highlight has been the volcanic crater at the south of the island. Blown away by an eruption centuries (millennia?) ago to enable flora to grow and small pools to form in a location reminiscent of the lair of a James Bond villain.

Chris has loved driving me around. Or rather he’s loved driving. I’m the side show! It’s a place like no other I’ve seen. In some ways it could be a Scottish Island. But in other ways its remoteness makes it unique, extraordinary and maybe a little fun.

It’s a privilege to be here. Even if the wifi is rubbish! It doesn’t feel like Chile. It feels like nowhere on earth!

Flight Six: Dreamliner Santiago to Easter Island

The LATAM 787-9 aircraft turned out to be bigger than the Rapa Nui (Easter Island) airport terminal.

The day started badly with oversleeping. A lack of priority queuing at bag drop irritated me as a business class passenger. We skipped the lounge option and headed straight to the plane.

Comfortable long haul business class seats that I just couldn’t get comfortable in for the duration of the six hour flight. Every angle offered up by the controls felt wrong on my bones. Chris was far happier.

We’ve now travelled business class on American, BA, Iberia and LATAM. The latter was fine, but sockets for charging and access to in flight entertainment felt awkward. I’d put it fourth out of four. Although breakfast was excellent as were proper cups of tea! Another vanity pack received!

Chris sat to my left as usual. My deaf Bell’s palsy right ear just can’t hear him when there’s any background noise. He enjoyed the Pacific Ocean views and a movie while I took in Skyfall and The Last Crusade. I’ve struggled to enjoy Daniel Craig’s Bond, but this time I got the actor and the character – perhaps this uninterrupted viewing made him better.

Eventually land appeared below us. The plane passing the north end of the island allowing us great views of the old crater, the tiny town and a ship out to sea. No sign of strange rock men from this height though. A few minutes passed and the plane turned back to make an easy landing. Taxiing back along the runway to drop us outside the smallest ever airport terminal.

Bags seemingly took an age to appear but our hotel had sent somebody to collect us and as soon as we exited the tiny terminal my name sign was spotted held out aloft and our lift to hotel sorted. The nice chap even put a flower necklace around each of our necks! I avoided an Aloha.

The car park, little bigger than a doctor’s surgery, gave way to road and our driver offered us a brief tour of the capital. A burger joint. Two dancing clubs (not that sort). An ATM. A LATAM travel shop. Hideously expensive supermarket (no fresh meat, except sausages), a fruit and veg shop and … that’s about it! Oh, free wifi in the park!

We hired a 4×4 car from our small hotel. I set to work washing clothing for re-use – one way of keeping my suitcase weight down. Hopefully it will dry within three days! An initial drive around the small once volcanic rock we’d arrived on and a few purchases for Chris to knock together some food for an evening meal in later.

Life is good. Another new time zone. What time do I have to take my cancer drug now? The hotel man says wifi should come to life in a few hours. Oh!

Flight Five: Calama to Santiago

After the lounge receptionist failed to find UK, Great Britain, England or similar on her computer we had entered the VIP Pacific Club lounge at Calama’s tiny airport as Afghans. First nationality on the drop down list!

We found our seats and an ever willing Chris returned with several small bottles of 7 Up, some of which were secreted into bags for the flight. Stale cheese sandwiches greeted “VIP” lounge guests so lunch consisted of a banana and a can of Heineken, the only free alcohol available.

Flight 131 back to Santiago did what most planes do. Loaded up the passengers efficiently and then arsed about taxiing alongside the runway of an empty airport for thirty minutes before taking off.

It was a juddery take off to say the least. As we left the ground everything stuttered and I feared a crash landing in the desert beyond the runway. Fortunately we soon found altitude and the juddering faded away. Stunning desert landscape one side. Stunning snow covered Andes on the other.

It’s a shame to leave the Atacama. It’s undoubtedly been the reason for visiting Chile from the perspective of Chris and I’ve found it not just different but inspiring. San Pedro is a huge road trip from Santiago and is a different world. One we’re sad to leave. As we entered the airport ahead of a ninety minute flight we saw a coach commencing a sixteen hour journey to the capital. I’d been tempted a few months ago. I was relieved I hadn’t succumbed now reality of flight or road trip set in.

Tomorrow sees the fourth part of this adventure. Milan, Santiago and San Pedro ticked off and Easter Island, courtesy of flight six, awaits. Biggest plane I’ve ever been on.

Tonight, the Holiday Inn at Santiago Airport awaits. 20,000 IHG points paying for a ridiculously over priced hotel room. I’d normally expect 0.4p a point in value. This place gets me 0.9p. Shame those points are about to run out after this trip!

My Observation of Chile’s Stray Dog Problem

Santiago introduced us to the Chilean stray dog. They are numerous in the parks and streets of the capital and San Pedro is no different. My assumption is that every town and city in this country has a dog problem.

But it doesn’t seem to be much of a problem. The paragraph I’ve written above may give you images of starving dogs in packs scavenging the bins. But it seems to be anything but.

While some dogs wander round in groups of three or four many are solo. Moreover, these dogs are well fed. Both here in the desert and back in Santiago it appears that the people feed the dogs. They might not take them in, but they do apply a duty of care to these animals.

Santiago dogs often wear coats. They tend not to hassle people beyond an initial look and respond well if a passer by strokes them, even if there’s no food involved.

My favourite scene was seeing a dog at a road crossing and a car stopping to let him cross.  The dog knew exactly when to move.

These animals are town and city dwellers with almost human instincts. They’re friendly, apparently happy and live in a place where they’re not just tolerated but almost wanted. Almost.

I find it a bizarre paradox that a population that has presumably discarded these dogs can also look after them so well.

It was cold.  Very cold.  8,000 feet above sea level in mid-Winter means bone numbingly cold.  We wait for our tour bus.  Hot flask in bag.  Four layers on.  Pyjamas (British Airways first class freebie) under trousers.  My Boundary Park football socks on.  It’s going to get colder than watching Oldham Athletic in January.

We board the bus and the guide immediately hands us a blanket each.  From memory we reached our last high in Yellowstone last year, nudging over 10,000 feet as we drove the Beartooth Pass out of Wyoming into Montana.  This time we will hit over 14,000 feet.  To see the El Tatio geysers.

The two hour drive allows us to see the stars from the darkness of the narrow highway.  A challenging road we decided not to risk the Peugeot 301 gearbox on.  Justified as our bus struggled along.  I nodded into and out of sleep.  Eventually our two hour journey ended and, after payment of our entrance fee – a six thousand peso discount for Chris having a geological student ID – and a welcome cup of coca-tea – it’s hot, I don’t care if it’s not proper tea – we entered the geyser area.

Cold isn’t the word.  A light wind bites hard.  My aching bones suffer as the chilling atmosphere cuts through my clothes.  I’m glad I didn’t go for jeans and a tee shirt this time!

Our guide calls out excitedly as the dawn sun appears from behind a lurking Ande.  A wave of welcome warmth hits the earth and suddenly it happens.  The whole site, some two miles long, spurts into action.  The nearest geyser had been bubbling gently.  Impressive to these two lovers of the geo-thermal.  As the sun began to melt the surface ice it almost instantly erupted with a forty foot cloud of steam and water spurt.  While the water was no Old Faithful, that’s the big so and so in Yellowstone, it was possibly more spectacular, with the backdrop of cliffs and new found sun adding to the experience.  Chris captured the image above.

Activity in the surrounding geyser field was equally impressive as the sunlight reached slowly across it.  There’s something that makes this crack of dawn experience better than what I’d seen in Iceland and the USA in recent months.  Granted, both the alternatives fire their steam and hot water higher into the air.  Yellowstone has the extraordinary and exquisite Grand Prismatic Spring.  But somehow this location with over eighty steam vents felt better than those.  Maybe that’s me living in the moment rather than making a logic assessment.

As we hit the last viewing area we were offered the chance to peel off our clothes and bathe in a small pool steaming away in the far corner of the park.  The lack of heated changing facilities, and the fifteen minute time limit and “don’t get your hair wet” instruction meant we declined.  Many others didn’t.

The journey back down the mountain, this time in bright daylight with unbroken blue skies, involved sites of a herd of picuna, a llama kebab and intermittent sleep.

The challenging start time and extreme cold took a bit out of us.  But it was well worth it.

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