After 12 great days on a floating comfort bubble—the Celebrity Infinity cruise ship—we were back in the grimy, horn-honking, too-many-people, colorful, messy world of Latin America.
We'd left the ship two days early.
Nothing against the cruise— it was fantastic— but the four of us, Chris Korbulic and Chelsea Behymer, PK and me, had planned a road trip into southern Patagonia. Another two days of northerly travel at sea would have meant hundreds of miles backtracking to our road-trip starting point, Puerto Montt, Chile.
(If you don't know much about Chris and/or Chelsea, check out the links above. Not ordinary people at all.)
How did we end up on a cruise with our son and his girlfriend? Did they hate us for horning in on them? Did our being with them for a month evoke pity from their peers and strangers?
We don't think so. We all had too much fun. An account of the magic leading to us joining them is included in the first post of this series:
Who will feed us in the manner to which we've become accustomed?
We adapted by feeding ourselves, and let it be known that heaping chopped green salads seasoned with slivers of prosciutto and shaved Italian cheeses were our staple.
But oh, it was great being unscheduled and open to whatever came next.
Freestyle traveling anyone?
Chris and Chelsea have a greater comfort level with the freestyle approach than PK and I do, but we're game for most anything they can throw at us, which, it turned out, was quite a lot.
Chelsea and I watched over the luggage at the terminal dock while father and son fetched a rental van we'd reserved. Instead, they roared back in a shiny black 4WD pick-up with a roomy backseat. Vrooom!
The van, it appears, had problems, and the rental outfit switched in the pick-up for no extra charge. It turned out to be perfect. Even though the truck lacked a canopy, we were able to purchase a commodious blue plastic tarp, and all our stuff fit under it.
Chris had been in Chile "working" for a month at his demanding job as a professional kayaker traveling the world before we met up with him in Buenos Aires. After a few days walking around the city, the three of us joined Chelsea-the-rockstar-naturalist aboard the ship.
Chris carried with him his camping and kayaking gear in a bag the size of one of those tiny European cars. Small for car. Big for luggage.
The first order of business was to drive about 12 miles from Puerto Montt to Puerto Varas, a charming city with a flair for German architecture, where Chris had reserved rooms in a hostel.
Bunk room for them, private room for us.
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| Puerto Varas is a beautiful little city in the Los Lagos region of Chile. |
Confession. PK and I had never stayed in a hostel.
Hostels are associated with youth. We are not youth. We are late sixties, early seventies. But hey. We had put our itinerary into our son's hands, he who has explored Chile extensively
over the past 12 years.
We had to go with his flow. Didn't we?
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Chelsea and Chris figuring out how to enter the hostel, and about
to open the door on some "issues." |
The vintage hostel had a couple problems. First it smelled like a a gas spill. And that private room Chris had rented for us?
It did not exist. Apparently.
PK and I were shown a bunkroom with steep ladders, each of us
imagining negotiating such in the middle of the night with full
bladders.
Ladders + bladders = trouble.
What about the choking gas fumes?
We learned from an indifferent check-in guy that the gas stench was wafting up from the ancient wooden plank floors, which had been
treated earlier in the day with kerosene. Or so he said.
treated earlier in the day with kerosene. Or so he said.
This took awhile to sink in.
Someone is treating wooden floors in a wooden house, at least 100 years old, with a petro-
leum product?
I folded my arms in a resolute stance.
Ok. Nobody light a match. Don’t even crack a joke as igniting mirth could blow the place to
smithereens.
Someone is treating wooden floors in a wooden house, at least 100 years old, with a petro-
leum product?
I folded my arms in a resolute stance.
Ok. Nobody light a match. Don’t even crack a joke as igniting mirth could blow the place to
smithereens.
I channeled my sister, who would never put up with toxic fumes. Well first, she wouldn't
agree to sleep in a bunkroom with strangers. I tried my best to be her.
agree to sleep in a bunkroom with strangers. I tried my best to be her.
“I’m not staying here,” I announced, which isn't like me as I am generally way too nice.
A bit of a flurry ensued. The affable hostel owner showed up, and somehow we soon had a
private room, with a shared bath, of course.
Chris and Chelsea slept in a bunkroom, and with their young bladders, not to mention their young legs, had no problem.
On a positive note, the four of us had to ourselves a second-floor common area with a big
coffee table upon which we devoured the heaping dinner salad we'd prepared in the hostel's well-equipped kitchen.
The windows were opened wide, of course, and the problematic
fumes dissipated into the night. Then we fired up our computers and spent hours trying to
plan our itinerary, and confirm our accommodation for the next next night.
After that.....who knows?
That's about right for road trips. Sketch out the route and fill in the blanks as you go. That's how PK and I plan road trips, anyway.
But PK and I realized that much of the advance planning was on our behalf. The need to
know where one will lie one's head at night is, on this trip at least, a boomer thing.
A bit of a flurry ensued. The affable hostel owner showed up, and somehow we soon had a
private room, with a shared bath, of course.
Chris and Chelsea slept in a bunkroom, and with their young bladders, not to mention their young legs, had no problem.
On a positive note, the four of us had to ourselves a second-floor common area with a big
coffee table upon which we devoured the heaping dinner salad we'd prepared in the hostel's well-equipped kitchen.
The windows were opened wide, of course, and the problematic
fumes dissipated into the night. Then we fired up our computers and spent hours trying to
plan our itinerary, and confirm our accommodation for the next next night.
After that.....who knows?
That's about right for road trips. Sketch out the route and fill in the blanks as you go. That's how PK and I plan road trips, anyway.
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The Petrohue River, not far from where we left the cruise, is a beautiful monster, and the first river we saw in Chile as independent road trippers.
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know where one will lie one's head at night is, on this trip at least, a boomer thing.
Except for van breakdowns and other extenuating circumstances, they are the ultimate boondockers - people who prefer free camping in the hinterlands apart from others.
Next up: We leave Puerto Varas on a chilly wet morning and end up that night in one of the most magical places on earth: the Cochamo' Valley in Patagonia.
Earlier posts about our South American travels
- Around Cape Horn - Happy 2018!
- Ushuaia, Patagonian peat moss, and a polar plunge
- Patagonian Paradox - the more you see, the more you want
- Penguin drama - #1 attraction near Punta Arenas, Chile
- Magellan was a mean SOB
