Day 18 - Castro.

Finish with Ancud. The Irish guy and the American guy have warned me over homemade bread and kiwi jam at breakfast that it’s getting bloody cold in Punta Arenas down south and that it’s been snowing in Torres del Paine National Park. That last bit’s not terribly surprising: when Nikolai and I camped out there in December 2008, it snowed then, in the summer! I shan’t be camping this time.

Catch a bus to Castro, the island’s capital. Even bus rides can be used productively: I use the hour to mark on the things I need to check out onto my map of Castro.

Have finally figured out how I might be able to have my cake and eat it: since flying from Punta Arenas to Coyhhaique is out of the question (too expensive) and I do need to cover the northern bit of the Carretera Austral, when I’m in Patagonia, if I can get from Puerto Natales to Calafate, Argentina, and if I can then go from Calafate to El Chaltén and back again in two days AND catch an overnight bus to Comodoro Rivadavia in time for the Coyhaique connection, then yes, I can visit Zoe AND cover all the bits I have to do. If not, then I just have to get to Coyhaique on time.

In Castro, I abandon the bulk of my luggage at the luggage room (luggage storage for 24 hours: CH$1000; not having to carry 20kg of weight up and down the world’s biggest hill on the way to and from my guesthouse: priceless). Palafito Hostel, where I’m staying, is a bit out of the centre and I debate whether or not I should warn out readers about the hill walk; after, all this really is the nicest budget place to stay. It’s a converted palafito – a traditional wooden fishermen’s dwelling on stilts. There are very few of them left, mostly in Castro, due to the 1960 earthquake/tsunami combo. The idea is that you can moor your boat out back and walk out into the street through the front door. The ones at the north end of town – which get photographed a lot – are pretty grotty; there’s trash floating in the water and I’m not convinced that the sewage system is 100% effective, but they are picturesque in a dilapidated kind of way.

I’ll say this now: I’m not too keen on Castro. I respect that it’s the third oldest city in Chile and that it’s survived being sacked by pirates, numerous fires and the world’s biggest earthquake, but I don’t like its business, its rundown houses and its unfriendly dogs. I think that Ancud is much nicer, and I’m glad that I’m only here for a day and a half. Just for the record, I should probably tell you that I can only do this because I know Castro very well, this being my third time here in as many years. I know exactly what I’m looking for and can do my rounds with military efficiency. If I were new to a place, or didn’t know it too well, I’d stay for as long as necessary.

Lunch at Brújula del Cuerpo – a diner that serves burger-and-chip combos to people who manage to get fed up with all the fresh fish and seafood. My friend Dawn would love it.

Do map work for most of the afternoon. Discover that one of my favourite places – indeed, one of the few places with real character and a bar made out a fishing boat, Años Luz – has been demolished to make way for yet another pharmacy. The museum is closed, and so is the tourist office. I try to find a place to call an American friend of mine only to find that there’s a proliferation of internet cafes/ call centres, but most of them don’t let you call abroad. How absurd.

Get a pretty good workout, walking up and down the steep streets. Check out the knitted woollen goodies in the waterside market (Chiloé makes excellent knitwear) and though I’m tempted to buy stuff, I really have no space in my luggage at all. It’s funny how Castro is the capital, but how it also feels very provincial: there are women walking around wearing traditional woollen cloaks, some eateries serve a humble fishermen’s dish made with cochayuyo (grim seaweed), and there are signs everywhere, offering firewood for sale.

Linger in the plaza and check out the wooden church again. It’s not the prettiest of Chiloé churches, but I’m still impressed by the architecture; when I was covering Chile last year, I ended up visiting about a dozen of these UNESCO heritage sites because I was covering Chiloé in detail, and they all have roofs which are made the same way they build their traditional wooden boats – only put upside down.

Check bus timetables at the Rural Bus Terminal and the Cruz del Sur one; Chiloé really well-connected when it comes to long distance destinations, but it can be a real bugger trying to get out to some of the tinier villages. I’d love to hire a car and take my time, explore the island properly, maybe find the warlocks’ cave next time, or spot the Caleuche, the warlocks’ ship, sailing out of the mist.

Dinner invokes a sense of déjà vu. I’m at Octavio, an old, established place on the waterfront, consisting of a large hall, decorated with random bits of artwork, old clocks, knick-knacks. I get placed in front of the wood-burning stove. I recognise the middle-aged waiter from two years ago. The waiter recognises me too, and says so. He ends up being an excellent source of information. No, there have been no tourists – Chilean or otherwise – since the earthquake. Yes, they’re building a passenger port nearby. The museum is closed because it’s being perpetually renovated; it’s a ‘summer museum’. No, there are no amazing drinking holes around; the locals tend to entertain at home, while the places catering to foreigners go in and out of business.

When I get curanto (for quality control) again, he explains the difference between the dark potato dumpling (milcao) and the light one (chapalele) and confirms that the ‘liquid Viagra’ is for drinking, and not for pouring over the dish, as someone erroneously told me.

I tell him about my work and when I leave, Vicente gives me his number and email address and tells me to get in touch if I need any more info. A good person to know.

Everything seems closed when I walk back, and this is a Saturday night! Tomorrow I’ll check out accommodation and then I’m out of here. My Chilean parents are waiting for me in the Chepu valley.





.