Day 13 - Valdivia.

Up at 5am, having gone to bed only four hours prior to that. Vague recollections of a spirited, wine-fuelled conversation with Cristian about ‘blood diamonds’ - we both agreed that diamond engagement rings are unnecessary and wrong, though some people think that nothing says ‘I love you’ like supporting the civil war in Angola. If someone had that much money to spend on me, I’d rather they take care of my ‘wish list’ on Amazon or book me a flight to south-east Asia. We also discussed how Cristian’s not terribly popular with the majority of the mountain guides in Pucón because he’s a professional mountaineer himself and demands very high standards from people he chooses to work with. The way most Chilean businesses work is that people tend to get commission for everything, whereas Cristian’s rejected commission offers from large tour companies in favour of working with less well-established guides who do the job because they love the mountains rather than because they get paid to do it. Luckily, I don’t get hangovers – just nausea…

I leave a bag of my Peruvian gear with Cristian and do not understand how my rucksack can still be completely full and heavy after leaving behind a mosquito net, four guidebooks, sun cream and other assorted clutter.

By 9am, I’m in Valdivia, also knows as the ‘City of the Rivers’ because it strategically sits at the confluence of three rivers. I rather like Valdivia; it’s a vibrant university town, and this is the first time I’m here during term-time, whereas previously I’ve only been here during the summer holidays, when the place is pretty dead.

Since it’s off-season, I don’t bother booking accommodation; I just turn up a new hostel that I wanted to check out – Bosque Nativo – and am pleasantly surprised. After many years of staying in mediocre hostels, it’s great to find one that a) has lovely staff who go out of their way to be helpful and b) that actually donates its profits to a really good cause – in this case, the preservation of native Chilean forests. Plus, foreigners don’t have to pay tax, which means reduced room prices. The house itself is just lovely – it’s a restored wooden 1920s building – one of the few that survived the most devastating earthquake ever recorded, back in 1960.

My first stop is the Mercado Fluvial (the river market), right by the Valdivia river. I just love produce markets – the colours, the smells, the abundance of food – the Soviet kid in me rejoices! I particularly like markets where there are foodstuffs that I don’t recognise; I like trying new things. Here I know everything by now: the bundles of a rubbery-looking plant are cochayuyo (disgusting seaweed that you either love or hate. To me, it was reminiscent of the fried jellyfish I once ate in Thailand: unpleasantly crunchy and chewy at the same time); the dried red things on a string that look a bit like little hearts are piure (an iodine-rich sea creature that we don’t have a word for in English. Chileans claim that eating it is like eating Viagra – but then again, they say that about pretty much any sea creature); then we have piles of razor clams, and about a zillion different kinds of mussels.

This market has a lot of character: apart from watching the fishmongers expertly gut, scale and ply their wares on the side nearest to the river, you also get a free show a la 'Sea World', courtesy of the colony of sea lions who may have swum up the river by mistake but have now decided to settle here because they get fed. Every now and then, a fishmonger flings some scraps in the river and the grunting, thrashing sea lions fight it out with the seagulls, cormorants, pelicans and birds of prey. The cacophony is incredible.

Whenever you get a fish market in Chile, there are always cheapo fish/seafood eateries nearby – no frills, with chequered tablecloths and waitresses who are rushed off their feet because those places are really popular with locals. I indulge in a Chilean speciality – chupe de locos (abalone chowder) – though it’s a bit naughty of me, because not everyone fishing for abalone observes the restrictions placed on the endangered mollusc. Back home, it’s really expensive and really difficult to come by, so I savour the firm, rubbery texture while I can.

Spend several hours doing map work, wandering along the river in the rain, checking out places to stay, seeing if new eateries/bars have sprung up since last year. My favourite hostel (apart from the one I’m staying in) is a huge, rambling old wooden house with bright murals, rooms named after Latin American countries and an adorable sausage dog named after one of my favourite street foods: Choripan.

Siesta. Then catch the #20 bus out of town to the little village of Niebla by the coast, right at the mouth of the Valdivia River. There are three Spanish forts built in the mid-17th century to defend the estuary against British, French and Dutch privateers, now mostly consisting of ruined battlements and a few rusty cannons. I like forts and castles and I have a whole collection of photos of myself sitting on cannons around the world. I’m too late to catch a boat out to the fort across the estuary, but not too upset because I’ve already photographed myself on those particular cannons. The boat trip itself would’ve been enjoyable; you often see a flipper of a sea lion break the surface, or a flock of black-necked swans.

On the way back, I stop at the Kunstmann Brewery. I cackle to myself when I consider that visiting a ‘beer museum’ is a legitimate part of my job. Valdivia’s part of ‘German Chile’, strongly influenced by the influx of German settlers in the 19th century, and the city’s been shaped by the Anwandter and Kunstmann families in particular. I’m not a big beer drinker, but I’ve been won over by Kunstmann beer, particularly the Honey Ale, which doesn’t have a bitter aftertaste and goes down very smoothly. The Kunstmann slogan is 'Das Gute Bier' and I concur.

The ‘museum’ is really cheesy, with mannequins dressed in lederhosen sitting next to antique machinery, and glass cases displaying beer bottles through the ages. It does explain the beer-making process, though. The best thing about the place is dinner in a Bavarian-style beer hall (or at least what I imagine a Bavarian beer hall would look like, having never been in one): great big plates of meat with potatoes, apple sauce and copious amounts of sauerkraut. Afterwards I feel not unlike that one time in Brazil, when I was in a ‘by kilo restaurant’ with my friend Mike. You pay for the weight, and you can have a kilo of sushi, or pasta or steak, and Mike dared me to eat exactly a kilo. I managed it, but couldn’t move afterwards and had to be rolled out like a small barrel.

Back in Valdivia, I check out bus timetables and walk around some more, stopping by a few drinking holes to check out which ones are the most popular.

Tomorrow’s going to be quite intense: I’m heading further south, covering two towns along the way.