Easter Island - A Proper Account

Many apologies for the delay in writing this post. Rest easy, Martin. I have not been lost at sea or cursed by the Easter Island spirits. I have simply been very busy with resuming life in New Zealand.

Now back to November and my travels.

From the guidebook and a conversation with a previous visitor, I had a good idea of what I wanted to do on Rapa Nui (Easter Island). It’s not a large place and the points of interest at the Western end of the island are accessible to a hiker with long legs. Hanga Roa, where virtually the whole population lives, is on the West Coast. There are bicycles for hire if you want to see the sites on the further Eastern coast on the cheap, but I find a guided tour is a good way to get some history of a place. The plan was to energetically walk on Monday and Wednesday with a less strenuous tour in between.

I had arrived quite late at night, so I had to make my arrangements in the morning. The landlady at the residencial was one of those with whom conversation was difficult. I don’t think it was the novelty of a Polynesian who spoke Spanish, when I am used to Maori who speak NZ English. There were some people with whom communication was more difficult than others, and the senora was one of them. Nevertheless, once she understood what I intended, she phoned a tour company for me and passed the receiver across.

The lass at the other end of the line spoke good English. Yes, they had a tour, but not on Tuesdays. I would have to go on Wednesday. OK, I had been hiking most of my days in mainland Chile since the cruise and the distances are not great. I can manage consecutive days on my feet.

I sallied forth into tropical warmth. Bread and ham were supplied by the supermarket and a ludicrously cheap pawpaw by a little market across the road. With my daypack loaded, I set off for the island’s museum. My map was not very detailed, but there were signs along the way to keep me on course.

What I had overlooked was that most museums in Chile close on Mondays, and this one was no exception. Curses! But the museum is adjacent to one of the best sites on the island and, as an unexpected bonus, an information board described a trail system from the museum to Orongo village, with many points of interest along the way.

The statues are called moai. The platform on which they stand is called an ahu. The purpose of the moai was to represent the mana of an ancestor, so that they could continue to protect and influence the village. They were also a sign of wealth, because it took tremendous resources for a stone-age community to feed and reward the teams that made and transported the moai.

This ahu is just to the North of Hanga Roa, close by the museum.

The design of the moai changed little over the centuries. Only one very early example has been found with legs. All the others are the trunk-and-head form that has intrigued visitors ever since Roggeveen became the first European to find the island on Easter Day 1722.

The expressionless face (on the statue!) allows for any kind of fanciful interpretation. I appear to be anxious that the camera might bite me, but in fact it was concern to get the angle right so that the moai appears beside me and within the frame of the photo. Two previous attempts had failed.

The reddish stone shape balanced on the moai represents the pukao (topknot or hairpiece) of the ancestor. Elaborate, decorated hair-dos were known to be popular with the islanders in earlier times.

What I didn’t know before I came to Easter Island is that moai originally had eyes. They were made with white coral rock and obsidian to represent the pupils. Moai did not gaze out to sea, as many people think, but instead overlooked the village. With one exception, the ahu was sited so that the moai had their backs to the ocean.

This is the only example of a moai with restored eyes. I found the moai with eyes to be rather off-putting. Click on the picture to enlarge it and you'll see what I mean.

The child sitting on the sign has strayed onto the paved area in front of the ahu. This is forbidden because all the moai, ahu and contiguous paved areas are tapu (sacred).

This is the base of a boat house. I don’t mean that it was used to house a boat, but rather that it was a boat-shaped dwelling for the islanders.

It is very likely that when they first arrived, the Rapa Nui people used their upturned canoes for shelter. It seems that the design was adopted for permanent living quarters. The doorways were very small so that even chiefs had to get down on hands and knees and crawl.

Only the rich had stone foundations. Most of the populace planted their roof-bearing "ribs" in the ground to support the thatch.

This example was presumably a very special building because none of the others had a paved area around them.

Hanga Roa has two tiny harbours. Almost all the coat is jagged, volcanic rock to make navigation perilous. As with most Polynesian islands, fishing is an important source of food.

The highway of the sea is also important for the goodies not available locally. While I was there a cargo ship was moored off shore. You can just see it in the photograph. Although it was quite a small ship, it has to be unloaded onto barges while it rode at anchor, and the barges brought the freight into the wharf of the other harbour.

The information trail mostly followed the coast. At one point it descended the cliff into a very rocky cove with a cave. A large rock made a convenient bench to sit and eat my lunch while watching the waves foaming into the rock pools.

On the wall of the cave were pre-European paintings. I found them rather hard to decipher, but I’m pretty sure this represents a birdman. The head is at the top with the beak to the left.



The gardeners of Rapa Nui figured out that crops grew better inside these circular stone walls. Some of them are still in use.

This is one of several with detailed information boards in both Spanish and English. The food plants included taro and bananas.

An endemic tree, the toromiro, has become extinct in the wild. Luckily, scientific expeditions to the island had saved seeds and some healthy young examples were growing in one of the walled gardens. I was delighted to identify the toromiro as an almost identical plant to NZ’s kowhai.

From the gardens the trail turned inland and climbed through some woodland. Beyond the trees the path got steeper. Rapa Nui is the result of volcanic activity, with three main mountains.

This is the crater of Rano Kau in the southwest corner of the island. It is an almost perfect circle with a shallow lake that sprouts totora rushes; the same type as form the great reed beds of Lake Titicaca.

The birdman cult flourished after the island's civil wars. The causes are not known with certainty, but a growing population and scarcity of resources are the prime suspects. Religion get dragged into the conflict and the followers of the birdman overthrew the culture that built the moai.

The central event was an annual race to swim out to these islets and bring back a sooty tern’s egg. Competitors would make the outward journey in good time, sometimes searching days or weeks before they found a nest with an egg. They then had to climb down the sides of the islet, swim to the main island (reed floats were permitted) and climb up the cliffs to Orongo all without breaking the egg.

Orongo village was the centre of the birdman cult. There were houses with stone walls and turf roofs. They did not seem to be as narrow as the boat house on the earlier picture, but they were very low.

As you can see, they featured doorways so low the occupants had to wriggle in and out.



Hard by Orongo’s uncomfortable houses was the island’s largest collection of petroglyphs. The volcanic rock is not very hard, so many of the carvings are rather indistinct. Visitors are limited to five at a time on the ledge where the best collection can be viewed.

I think these are meant to represent birdmen.

I had now tramped from the museum, to the North of Hanga Roa, to Orongo on the southwest corner of the island, including a long climb to the rim of Rano Kau’s crater. Rapa Nui is not in the tropics, but the day has been one of brilliant sunshine and views of a deep blue Pacific Ocean stretching placidly to the horizon. The return was cooler as the sun was lower in the sky and it was all downhill or level. I was still glad for the last of my 2-bottle water supply.

I had seen moai; not photographs in a magazine but the real ones up close and personal, even though touching was not allowed. The cave paintings were a bonus. I don’t recall ever reading about those, and I had quite forgotten about the petroglyphs. I first read Thor Heyerdahl’s book, Aku Aku, about 40 years ago, so the dreams of visiting Easter Island had been waiting a long time for this. Sore feet were a tiny price to pay.

The soreness was nonetheless a nuisance. My tramping boots were old and had been resoled in Argentina. For some reason they did not fit quite as well after the repair. I had been on my feet a lot since the cruise through the fjords. And what do you get if you walk a long way in boots that don’t quite fit properly? Blisters :-( .

Back at the guest house I administered what first aid I could and considered my options. Not only were the boots raising blisters, but one of the new soles was coming adrift. It was time to retire the boots.

Living out of a backpack doesn’t allow for many choices of footwear. My only other shoes were sneakers, purchased for a very reasonable price in Puerto Iguazu a couple of months previously. Although they bore an Adidas logo, I fear they were inferior products passed off with an unsanctioned reputable brand name. Too bad. They would have to do.

On Tuesday morning I repeated my selection of lunch purchases and set off once again to the museum. It was well worth the time, with interesting exhibits and copious explanations in Spanish and English. Oral histories tell that the moai "walked" across the island from the quarry on Rano Raraku to their ahu. Some of the less magical theories of how they were transported were still pretty far fetched. My imagination failed at the seriously-proposed notion that the 60-tonnne statues were stood upright, had ropes tied around their heads and were rocked to and fro in such a way that they made forward progress. I think the wooden rollers idea is more practical.

I, and other visitors, had to race through the last part of the museum because it was closing for lunch.

I set off North along the cliff-top path, admiring the jagged coastline. No amount of scenery could take my mind off the soreness of my feet, though. Where the track crossed grassy areas it wasn’t so bad, but stepping on the irregular rock jabbed painfully through the feeble sole of my shoe.

Lunch was a relief, not only for the food and drink, but for the respite from putting weight on my unhealed feet. As I ate I watched three local youths. They had scrambled down the cliff to just above the waves and were fishing with a handline from the rocks. I didn’t see them catch anything.

My destinations were Ahu Tepeu and Ahu Akivi. Their locations seemed quite clear on the map. It felt strange that I couldn’t see Ahu Tepeu from my lunch spot, but the land was uneven and there were plenty of dips and gullies that could conceal a platform. I switched from the footpath to a rough road used by farm vehicles. The track turned inland at the place where the map indicated that it should. The ahu should be hereabouts, but there was no sign.

I followed the farm track another 200m and spied a rocky ‘something’ that didn’t look natural. There were no welcoming signs or obvious footpath, so I picked my way through tall grass and scrambled over the rubble where a wall had half collapsed. The ‘something’ was indeed man made, but it was just a neatly stacked pile of rocks. Most strange. But close by were shaped stones identifiable as the outline of a boat house, complete with holes for the roof supports. Once upon a time this had been a village.

If this were a village the ahu would be seawards, and in that direction was a rocky outcrop that now seemed more like a pile of rubble. And that was exactly what it turned out to be. Amongst the desecrated ruins of the ahu were broken moai, carved from distinctive, yellowish stone.

I spent some time exploring the site, taking care not to stray onto the tapu areas. The moai seemed to be virtually all head. If they had broken off at the neck, where were the trunks? At the rear of the ahu, the wall seemed to be relatively intact, but everything else was thrown down and broken up. A few fragments of red stone testified to former pukao.

It wasn’t Ahu Tepeu, but it was more exciting in a way to have "discovered" this old village.

My initial plan to go on to Ahu Akivi, the sole example of moai gazing across the village at the sea, and then follow the road or track clockwise (inland) back to Hanga Roa. Maybe over a soft, turf walkway my feet could have managed it, but they were hurting quite considerably by now. I chose the shorter option of a return along the cliff tops to Hanga Roa.

More first aid with the needle from my tiny sewing kit helped a little, and a delicious dinner of fresh fish raised my spirits enough to hobble back to the first ahu I had visited by the museum to try and catch the sunset with my camera.

Wednesday was my last day and it was travel by minibus, which was a boon to my tender feet. Another bonus was the best bilingual guide of my entire trip. I feel bad that I have forgotten her name.

We were treated to plenty of historical background, and it was consistent with the museum's information, which added to its credibility. There were friendly people in the nearby seats, which makes a bus tour so much more enjoyable. Across from me sat a 30-something Dutch couple and behind them were Sharon and Jan from California, who were closer to my age.

Wednesday must have been the regular day for this tour, because there were plenty of minibuses clustering round the sites and the souvenir stalls were ready and waiting.

To whet the appetite we were started off with a couple of stops at restored ahu and a cave that had been used by the local people. The highlight for me, though, was touring Rano Raraku, the volcano in the southeast quarter of the island where most of the moai were carved.

Teams using stone tools would hack the basic shape out of the side of the mountain. I had previously pictured this as within the crater, but of course the moai nursery was on the outside of the volcano. A moai was carved on its back. It would be properly shaped until it was an almost complete figure attached by a keel along its backbone.

Taking the weight on wooden levers, it would be carefully separated from the bedrock. The rough-formed statue would be skidded down the slope (a tricky process as several cracked moai testify) and the remaining keel removed. Representations of fingers across the tummy and any tattoos would be added here. The last detail was always the eyes, and these were only done after transportation to the ahu. Then the eye sockets were shaped and the coral/obsidian eyes added.

Moai were raised by levering them up a little and wedging rocks underneath. Lever a little higher and cram more rocks in. Repeat many times until the moai rests on its base. Thor Heyerdahl proved this method worked during his expedition to the island. It took his team 9 days.

After a leisurely lunch we set off to the most impressive ahu on the island, Ahu Tongariki. This is on low lying ground near Rano Raraku that was hit by a tsunami late in the 20th century. The moai had, of course, already been toppled. The tidal wave turned the ahu to gravel and washed the moai up to 100m inland. For some reason a Japanese engineering company was so moved by this event that it decided to restore the ahu and all 15 moai that stand on it. Having seen the island’s port facilities, I am mightily impressed that they even managed to land the crane.

Jan standing in front of the ahu. Three moai have been left out of the frame.

Last stop was Anakena, where the island has its only beach. The original settlers landed here. From what I have seen of the coast this decision was a no-brainer. Someone thought that a few imported palm trees would make the island look more attractive, so a grove has been planted in the sand behind the beach.

The Anakena ahu, too, has been restored.

Some of the tourists had been invited in advance to bring their togs. Sharon, who used to swim competitively, was prepared. She had brought goggles as well as her swimsuit. The water, she reported, was not as cool as she had expected. By rolling up my trouser legs I managed a paddle. The water in the shallows was really warm, and there were small fish to admire darting around the rocks.

I suggested dinner together to cement the day’s new friendships. Only Sharon turned up. Still, it was nice to eat with good company. The restaurant produced another delicious fish dinner before I had to go to the airport.

And it's farewell to Easter Island.

More on Easter Island

I didn´t want to arrive on Easter Island at 9:30 in the evening with nowhere to stay so I telephoned from Vaparaiso. That is, I dialled the number published in Lonely Planet. I got a recorded message and the part I understood was that the number had been changed. At least I wasn´t charged for the call.

So I tried the next guest house in the book, and the next, but always got the same polite message. What to do?

I exited the telephone booth and checked the area code with the attendant. He confirmed that I was indeed using the right code for Isla de Pasqua. So I switched technology and tried the Internet. Yes, the Chilean telephone directory can be accessed on-line. It´s sorted by Region. they go from I in the North to XII in the South. Which region includes Easter Island. After a lot of trial and error I determined that it was Region V.

You only get 5 free lookups in the on-line directory. That´s fine. I shouldn´t need that many.

Except that the residenciales didn´t have listings under their trading names. Do nul results count towards my free lookups? That´s two down already. Try the yellow pages, Bill. But do these anonymous guest houses advertise in the yellow pages? My second attempt was to look for hostales and this returned one name. And it was listed in Lonely Planet. Hooray. And when I compared the new and old numbers I found that a 2 had been inserted as the first digit.

Traipse once again to the locutorio and try adding a 2 to the number I first wanted. A reply. Yes, it was Residencial El Tauke and yes, they had a room. What a relief. I will have somewhere to sleep. Apparently the senora could not hear me very well because telling her my name was a prolonged and frustrating discussion. I ended up spelling it out, "B por bueno, I por iglesia, ..."

So when I arrived at the baggage claim I could see a hopeful face floating over a piece of paper that said, "TAUKE - Spill". It was good enough.

I hope you weren´t expecting a description of the enigmatic moai or the alluring blue of the limitless Pacific Ocean. You were? OK. I´ll continue this post the first chance I get.

Don´t Stop Checking My Blog

In about two hours I will set off for Easter Island´s little airport. It´s not quite the end of the trip because I have about 30 hours in Tahiti between planes, but the end is definitely looming.

That doesn´t mean that I will stop posting travel stories on this blog. There are many places with the skimpiest of descriptions, or even none at all. And there are lots of adventures that have been written up but not yet been enhanced with photographs.

So keep checking the blog. Once I get back to my own computer in 48 hours or even less, I will not have to fight for the sole hostel computer or trudge down to the cyber cafe in the rain to get online. I will have plenty of opportunities to compile posts.

That´s not to say that I will be blogging 24/7. I already have work scheduled in Auckland before I drive to Nelson and start looking for a new home. In between the quite different adventures of earning a living you can be sure I will keep posting tidbits of travel fun.

And you can keep (or start) posting comments. :-)

I´m on EASTER ISLAND

I first read Thor Heyerdahl´s book, Aku Aku, at least 40 years ago. Easter Island fascinated me then and being here is no disappointment.

I´ve seen moai, the enigmatic statues, on their ahu (platforms) and I´ve visited Orongo, where the aspiring birdmen set out to gather the first egg of a sooty tern from a nearby islet. I´ve seen cave paintings and petroglyphs.

The weather is hot, but not too hot, sunny and just plain perfect. And I´ve got two more days to explore the rest of the island.

If this Internet cafe wasn´t about to close I could go on and on and on. This truly is a dream come true.

Hiking Around Puerto Varas

Imagine Rotorua. The town is on a lovely lake. Would you call Rotorua a port? I wouldn´t, but in Chile it seems that any settlement by the water can be called Puerto something.

I did walk along the lakefront, but I mainly stayed in Puerto Varas and explored from there.

On Thursday I took a guided trip to Parque Nacional Alerces Andino. The organisation of the tour was a farce of non-communication and mismatched expectations. I was under the clear impression that I was to be picked up from the hostel at 9:00am and returned at 5:00pm. The minibus actually showed up at 9:30. Not because it had been going round hotels and hostels collecting other tourists, though. I was the only one. That explained the steep price tag at 40,000 pesos (US$80).

A rather fat woman collected the cash from me and the van set off with the driver, the lady with the cash and me. The route to the park went through Puerto Montt (a proper port on the sea), where we paused for diesel. 15,000 of the pesos went into the fuel tank and some more into a cubby hole in the dash board. There was then a protracted argument between Senora Fatty and the driver, Enrique, until the lady was delivered to her premises in Pto Montt.

Next, Enrique insisted that the tourists had to pay for the guide´s lunch. It wasn´t expensive, he bought rolls, ham and a bottle of mineral water at a small store, but it was quite unexpected. And when we got to the park I had to pay admission charges for both of us. It was only $2 per person, and admissions are customarily "not included", but previously the guide has been admitted free (or paid out of the trip price). These little extras were beginning to mount up.

Then, on our return, Enrique drove to Pto Montt and refused to go further without an extra 10,000 pesos. This was absurd, since the fare on the local buses is only 700 pesos. He explained that he had only been paid 30,000 pesos (half of which went on fuel), which was his normal fee for starting and finishing in Pto Montt. He was already out of pocket on the morning pickup and refused to do another round trip to Pto Varas gratis. I could see his point of view and, equally, Enrique could understand that I had been promised more than he was prepared to provide.

Eventually he dropped me at the Pto Montt bus terminal and I got one of the micros that leave every 5 minutes for Pto Varas for 700 pesos. At this stage I suspected that Senora Fatty had promised more than was reasonable to secure the booking and her massive 25% commission.

Back at the hostel I related as much of this as my Spanish would allow. Oh yes, was the reply. You paid the Pto Montt fare. From Pto Varas it is 50,000 pesos. And yes, he knew the pickup was at 9:30, not 9:00. Aaargh. If only someone had used some wits, I could have cought a micro to Pto Montt in the morning for 700 pesos and no-one would be feeling aggrieved.

However, Enrique was pushing the boundaries on the lunch. Tourists sometimes chip in for the guide´s lunch, but it is not obligatory.

Aside from all this drama, the visit to the park was delightful. Enrique knew the park well. Whilst the trails were easy to follow, they were ofetn steep and frequently treacherous. Much of the way we were walking on planks or half logs covered in moss or decayed leaves, making them very slippery. I skidded a few times, including one keystone cops routine when both feet slipped, I thrashed wildly and miraculously finished up still on my feet beside the track. Even the guide stumbled and once ended up hugging a tree to stay upright. Enrique related that many gringos get lost on the park when they go tramping by themselves. I´m not averse to a solo hike on easy trails, but on these paths that´s just stupidity.

For a nature guide, Enrique was unreliable about birds. When I asked him which bird we could hear singing he replied that it was a swallow (unlikely) or a thrush (definitely not). And he pointed to a group of birds flying across our field of view as woodpeckers. If those weren´t pigeons I´m a Dutchman. He retrieved some prestige when he motioned me to be quiet and a chucao was ahead of us on the trail. This is a small brown bird with a red chest, not entirely unlike a european robin. It regarded us with a bright eye and hopped down the path to get a better look before disappearing into the undergrowth. He also told me that there were hummingbirds in the forest, which I later confirmed through my binoculars.

But we had really come to see trees and here Enrique seemed to know his stuff. The park is named for Chile´s tallest tree, the alerce. Like NZ´s kauri, it provides wonderful timber. There are houses with alerce shingles over 100 years old and still in excellent condition. Again like the kauri, it was logged aggressively until finally receiving state protection. Unlike the kauri it grows extremely slowly and is not regenerating well.

Fitzroya cupressoides is a relative of the giant sequoia, with similar soft bark and distinctly reddish timber. It grows very straight and rather skinny. Enrique led the way to a very nice stand of these trees and I took lots of photos from various angles.

My guide seemd to know most of the other trees almost as well. He had a great enthusiasm for taking my picture when we reached points of interest. It´s a shame it wasn´t matched by skill in composing a photo. Never mind, when I get back to NZ I can crop them to just the important bits.

On the return journey he demonstrated the edibility of a plant something like a hairy rhubarb. Peeling away the outer layer reveals a stem less crunchy and more refreshing than celery. I´m sure we shouldn´t have eaten one growing in a national park, but it is a herb that grows abundantly in the region.

I was also surprised that the park ranger had a cat, a young and lively animal that smooched readily when stroked. I´m sure thay are forbidden from NZ´s protected areas.

Friday was organised quite differently. I took a local bus to Petrohue. It dropped me at Los Saltos de Petrohue, i.e. the local waterfalls. They were very watchable waterfalls, with the river splitting into many channels that funneled back into two main falls, with many chutes in the arrangement, lots of white water and plenty of noise. Bridges and fenced paths allow good views of most of the turbulent water and encourage the visitor to take large numbers of photographs. I really wanted to get a picture of the whole network, but that would require a helicopter. There isn´t even a postcard.

There are some other tracks through very picturesque bush. They are safe and easy to follow, so I wandered happily for a couple of hours. Since I was in roughly the same latitude as NZ´s South Island and there is plenty of rain from the prevailing westerlies, the Chilean temperate rainforest is very similar to ours. The Chileans don´t have tree ferns, though. I described them to Enrique on the Thursday and he had never come across a fern with a trunk.

After the waterfalls I had a 6 km hike to downtown Petrohue, which comprises a hotel, a general store, a souvenir stall and a dock where fleets of boats take tourists out on the lake. It is part of a very scenic route into Argentina. You are eventually delivered into Bariloche, where I was about a month ago.

The lake shore here is black sand, no doubt due to the past activity of Osorno Volcano, which dominates one part of the skyline. The morning ten tenths cloud had departed by the time I got to the lake so I was treated to the rare and beautiful sight of the whole of Osorno. It is a perfect volcanic cone, like Mt Fuji or Mt Ngaruhoe, two thirds clothed in dazzlingly white snow. Gorgeous.

There were campsites and plenty of paths through the bush where I ambled, binoculars at the ready. No new species, but I had excellent sightings of several birds, including the tufted tit-tyrant. Truly, I did not make that name up. It is very common, but it is small and active and I generally found it hard to get in focus. When you do see it clearly it has two thin, forward-curling crests.

The bush thins very quickly as you climb up from the lake. Whether this is due to sudden exposure to colder temperatures, fiercer winds or some property of the volcano I cannot guess.

And so back to Pto Varas to download my camera´s memory card for security purposes. I like to have a spare in case of some disaster with the camera. There was just enough time to check email and have a meal before shouldering my big pack and boarding the overnight bus for Valparaiso.

Which is where I am now. I fly to Easter Island tomorrow. Maybe I will have a chance to post from there, maybe not. Keep checking for new posts and keep leaving comments! :-)

Chiloe Island

In my rush to get the last post finished I omitted to state explicitly that the fjords are very beautiful and taking the cruise was a first class decision. It would have been better if the weather was nicer but you just have to take your chances.

The double T at the end of Puerto Montt is not a typo. The town is named after Manuel Montt, who was president at the time the town was founded. Apparently he could spell his name correctly. There are several Montts sprinkled about Chile´s history, including Manuel´s son, Pedro, who also bacame president and Admiral Jorge, who was more distantly related but nevertheless copped the presidency for a few years between Manuel and Pedro.

Just as I emerged on Monday morning from the Puerto Montt port, a local micro came by with a destination sign that said "Terminal", so I didn´t have to walk to the bus station. Nor did I have to wait long for a bus to Castro. The one I chose turned out to be a long distance bus, probably from Santiago, stopping in Pto Montt on its way to Castro. My posi wasn´t noticeably warm from its previous occupant, but his/her rubbish was still in the seat pocket in front of me.

The journey started slowly, due to the overloaded streets of the rapidly growing port city. Once we were on the open road we passed through pleasant agricultural land on gentle hills. I was particularly struck by what I at first took to be gorse. Now I have examined it closely I see that it has regularly spaced spines, but the new growth is gentle to the touch. However, it grows in the same bushy way to about the same height and celebrates the Chilean spring with a riot of intensely yellow flowers. It also grows as abundantly as gorse does in NZ if it isn´t kept in check. In the part of Chile´s Lakes Region that I have seen to date it lines the roads and sprouts in any fields where it isn´t ruthlessly kept down. In places there are literally acres of hillside covered in its brilliant yellow blossoms.

Chiloe is reached by ferry. There are two companies providing services, one of which was Cruz del Sur, the company whose bus I was riding in. I think the bus drivers take the first vessel regardless of its owner because, although we were ferried by Cruz del Sur, there was another Cruz del Sur bus on the rival´s boat.

The strait is quite wide. The crossing takes half an hour. Passengers were allowed to get off the bus, patronise the tiny cafe and admire the sea. There were lots of birds but I had left my binoculars on the bus hadn´t I. When a seal popped its head up and two penguins flippered by I went back for the bins. This, of course, was the signal for the avian activity to wind down to two very common kelp gulls.

There was one more stop, in Ancud, before we charged on to Castro. The town is famous for houses built on poles over the water called palafitos. This is allegedly so that boats can be tidily moored underneath but I did not see any examples of this. It also has a notable church, Iglesia de San Francisco. It was modelled on a famous church in Europe (I forget which one) but built of timber.

As a pack-toting foreigner I was correctly identified off the bus as a man looking for lodgings. I politely accepted the card but made my way to Hostal Central because Lonely Planet promised me that it would be the most economical deal in town. Lonely Planet was wrong! Instead of US$7 (about 3,500 pesos) the tariff there was 8,000. So I dug out the card and decided to accept the bus depot man´s 6,000 deal. Only there was no answer when I rang the bell. Castro is a very popular summer holiday destination so there was no chance of being stranded, but this was rather frustrating.

A visit to the municipal tourist office secured the most unhelpful map I have ever seen. As I was pondering what to do next a woman asked me if I needed lodging and produced yet another card. She quoted 6,000 including breakfast and a deal was struck with Hostal Don Miguel, where I got a small single room, which was nicer than the expected dormitory.

I tried twice to admire the church, but an unscheduled service was in progress so I chose to be content with peeking through the windows at the back.

Chiloe is famous for curanto, a dish with seafood, meat, potatoes and other goodies served only in huge portions. Traditionally this was cooked in an earth oven, hangi style. Lonely Planet recommeded a particular restaurant. It was wrong again! Curanto was not on the menu. But my consolation fish dish was pretty darn good so I´m not too cross.

Tuesday was set down for a trip to Chiloe´s National Park, on the ocean side of the island. Local micros do the journey a few times every day. The 9:00 am bus from Castro was popular with the tourists, including two very tall and lovely girls who spoke Dutch to each other at the back of the bus.

It took an hour and a half to trundle to the park entrance, where we were relieved of 1,000 pesos each and given an informative leaflet with a map.

The Tepual informative trail was my first destination. It is only about 700 metres long, but I took dozens of photos so it took quite a long time to complete. Tepual forest is very like NZ bush. The tepu itself is not unlike manuka, although its scientific name shows that it is from a different plant family. And there is a nothofagus sp. tree that is a twin to totara.

There weren´t many birds in the bush, but around the park HQ were slender-billed parakeets (TICK) flying fast and noisily in the typical parakeet manner. A small brown bird with a lovely song was finally identified as an elaenia. I hope I have spelled that correctly. I don´t have the field guide with me. There were also sierra finches and siskins. Happy bird watching.

A longer trail led to sand dunes and the beach. In amongst the dunes there were cinnamon-coloured arrayan trees growing, the ones they make such a fuss about near Bariloche in Argentina. I shouldn´t be sarcastic. They are particularly lovely trees and worth making a fuss about.

I squelched across the marshy bits and stood on the beach. A strong wind from the North blew along a firm, sandy beach that could have been Northland´s West coast. Northland is generally warmer, though. I used my binoculars but I couldn´t see Chile´s West-side neighbour, New Zealand.

The end of the trail was a gravel road through farmland. I followed it for a while, looking for the trail to Rio Cole Cole. It was rather soft, deep gravel and hard to walk on. There were no signs, so I turned back to park HQ for directions. Alas, the road was the trail. It would be no fun trudging along that for an hour or so, so I returned to the interpretive trail for another immersion in the mossy, wild bush.

There still weren´t many birds, but one unseen denizen had a song that reminded me strongly of a grey warbler. And this time I saw a woodpecker (TICK).

It had been cloudy with a few light showers, but now the showers became heavier and longer and finally settled into persistent, cold rain. Back at park HQ the Dutch girls were also taking shelter from the elements. Close up, they were both very beautiful but, alas, much too young for me. (Mike Theilmann take note!) They spoke excellent English, of course. My guess that they were internationally famous supermodels was wide of the mark. They were veterinary students getting practical experience overseas. Their particular project was to gather and analyse information in the Osorno area on a virus-borne disease that occurs in Chilean cattle. Most of their class mates had chosen to travel to NZ for this part of their training.

They had heard that the best curanto was found in a village about an hour´s bus ride from Castro. It was tempting to follow them to this delicacy, but I had promised myself that I would write up my blog, so in Castro I bid them farewell.

I hope you have appreciated my discipline in providing that post. Afterwards I scoured the streets of Castro for a restaurant that served curanto and I found one. I can report that the plate was overflowing with 18 mussels, 6 other bivalve shellfish, pork, chicken, a sausage and vegetables. And it was accompanied by a seafood soup. And I ate the lot! Yum!

Now I am back on the mainland in Puerto Varas. I remembered to have my binoculars with me when I ambled round the ferry, so I could at least identify the penguin and the terns this time.

Tomorrow I have booked a tour to see Chile´s biggest trees. I shall be interested to see how they measure up to kauri. Chile´s tourist literature maintains that the alerce is the biggest conifer in the southern hemisphere. So it must be impressive.

Cruising the Chilean Fjords

This will have to be a rushed post. It´s already late and I haven´t had dinner yet. And this is the stickiest keyboard I´ve had to use all trip so there will be more typos than usual.

Watching the Evangelista dock in Puerto Natales was better than many a cabaret act. I don´t know if the first approach was meant to be a dummy run, but the captain turned round and came back for a second go. This one was successful. Unfortunately I don´t have a diagram to explain how he used a whopping great mooring buoy in the middle of the channel to stop the stern thumping the jetty. Although the wind had dropped, as predicted, at 7pm it was still a fresh breeze and the wharf was a lee shore.

The passengers were boarded at 11pm, only 2 hours later than scheduled. We found our berths and were then invited to the dining room for a safety briefing, followed by a film. I was going to ignore the film but it was Motorcycle Diaries, the story of Che Guevara´s youthful travels. Cousin Mike Theilmann had mentioned these in a comment long ago so I felt I had to watch it. It was a good film, too. Most entertaining. So I got to bed at about 2pm to find that some peasant had taken my specially requested lower berth despite my pyjamas lying on the pillow. Since the top bunk was easy to get into I chose not to wake him up and have our shouts wake the whole ship so I turned in.

The PA system let us know when we were approaching the narrowest point of the journey - at six o´clock the next morning. The captain had left a lee shore in a strong wind, one of the most difficult tasks of seamanship, and I wasn´t there to watch how he did it. It would have been in the dark anyway.

The narrows were the channel between some islands. At 80 metres it wasn´t exactly breathe-in-and-hold-your-breath to take the vessel through, but we could see the rocks quite clearly through the drizzle so I took pictures to try and demonstrate how close we were. Not very. Much more importantly, I saw my first two families of steamer ducks. BIG TICK. These are ducks that, when alarmed, run across the water using their wings like paddles for extra speed. The ship alarmed them so I witnessed this distinctive behaviour.

I returned to my bunk but 10 minutes later we were informed of another narrowest point. Actully I think this was the real one, but since I didn´t see steamer ducks here I forgive the first rousing me out of bed. I did take more photos.

The rest of Day One was spent chugging through placid waters between beautiful mounds of rock. Some were topped with snow; most had trees at the lower levels and low-growing vegetation higher up. Bare rock was common, as were waterfalls. Although these were glaciated valleys, none had the sheer sides of Milford Sound. I never saw a hillside with a mat of vegetation supporting itself the way NZ plant life has colonised the steepest cliffs in our Fiordland. There was a lot of cloud that obscured some mountain tops and periodically threw a shower in our direction. The strength of the wind varied with the peaks, valleys and side channels but it was always there are always cold.

Wildlife was scarce at first but eventually some interesting seabirds turned up. They were black-browed albatross. Tick. Consulting the field guide and making sure of the particular species passed a pleasant half-hour and was warmer than standing on deck and watching their near effortless mastery of the air in the distance. From time to time a chocolate-coloured giant petrel wheeled around or crossed our wake.

Late in the day the captain ducked the ship down a side channel, round a few corners and lo! there was Glaciar El Brujo (The Wizard Glacier). I didn´t like to say the Upsala Glacier on Lago Argentina was more impressive. And the Wizard only calved off little pieces. There were no icebergs. But I took photos anyway.

Life on board mostly revolved around meal times. The food itelf was nourishing and adequately substantial without being exciting. All meals were queued for, clutching a blue tray. Since the ship was nowher near full the queues were always short. There was no choice, but I had been asked when I checked in if I was a vegetarian so presumably that would have been catered for. In between times there were easy chair and games tables in the bar where chess, playing cards and a very few books were available.

In the mornings there were information talks in both Spanish and English. In the afternoons there were films, usually in Spanish with English subtitles and usually not to my taste.

Day Two also started at silly o´clock. The ferry had anchored in the bay of the only settlement in the fjords, Puerto Eden. This fishing hamlet has a population of 180, of whom 9 are Kaweshka, the people who virtually lived in their canoes on these waterways before Europeans arrived. There are no roads.

Although the voyage literature advertised a short time ashore in Pto Eden this was not offered. Maybe the captain was trying to make up lost time. But I saw more steamer ducks. :-)

Features of this day were the Angostura Inglesa (English Narrows) and the statue of the Stella Maris Virgen, who is credited with protecting sailors and was acknowledged with four long blasts on the ship´s hooter. And all this in sunshine. No heat. I wouldn´t want to give the impression that this was in any way tropical. When the weather report was read out in the morning we were basking in only 7 degrees Celcius.

The Golfo de Peña, where we would leave the shelter of the fjords, was given a big build up. "We will start our crossing between 1 and 2 pm. We will announce when it is time to take seasick pills." The announcement was duly made. Those who did not have their own medication could purchase relief at the bar. I was watching this performance with a Welshman, Owen, who is a fellow boatie. We relied on our long experience of heaving waters. In the event the Gulf was sunny and calm with just enough swell to know you were at sea.

In the open there were far fewer albatrosses, but the giant petrels started to follow the ship. I saw 5 in the air behind us at one stage. And my devotion to scanning the air was well rewarded that afternoon with two wandering albatross. TICK. I was in the bar when the whale was spotted, but the tannoy burst into life with the news and most of the passengers rushed on deck. It was much smaller than the right whales in Argentina, with a small dorsal fin located well back.

Day Three. The weather closed right in. There was a head wind of 30 knots and cloud to zero feet. It had thawed to 10 degrees. Although the wind abated and the cloud lifted a little there was virtually nothing to see outside so I played a lot of patience and did sudoku puzzles.

After dinner we had a change in the entertainment formula. A member of the crew played an electric organ - or possibly it played itself, it was so fancy - and sang really rather nicely. Then we had bingo. Only one game. It was very well done, with erronous calls of "Bingo" and other interruptions being penalised by the offender having to dance for us. There were prizes for the first to complete three lines and the first to complete their card. And the winners had to dance or sing before they could receive the prize. Totally zilly.

Then a CD of music to dance to was heaved into the stereo and it was party time.

The ship docked in Puerto Montt during the night, but we were given an early breakfast before being disembarked to continue our travels.

In my case that is Chiloe Island, where it is now going on starvation o´clock.

Puerto Natales

After my complaint that Punta Arenas doesn´t do Mondays, my body decided to pretty near cancel Tuesday. I woke with a slight headache but walked that off going to the Silesian Museum. There was a lot of information there about the pre-European inhabitants of the far South and of the Silesian missionaries that came and infested the Magellan Strait area.

However, in amongst contributing to the demise of these cultures, some of the missionaries collected a lot of information about the geology, natural history and weather of the region. One of them, sorry, I´ve forgotten his name, seemed to spend more time mountaineering than evangelising.

In amongst the stuffed birds, old photographs and the reconstruction of a cave with prehistoric paintings ther was mush of interest but I found myself yawning and looking for somewhere to sit down.

My energy was briefly renewed by lunch. I tried a lomito, which turned out to be a steakburger, but of very superior quality, and shop fanta. Shop, schop or chopp is draught beer and Fanta is a well-known brand of orange-flavoured tooth-destroyer. Mix them together and you get the Punta Arenas speciality, shop fanta. In other words it is orangeade shandy. I had ordered it purely in a spirit of trying the local cuisine, no matter how awful it might be. In fact it wasn´t too bad. I wouldn´t cross the Pacific especially for another glass, but it was far from poisonous.

The original plan for the day was to spend the afternoon tramping in a forest park, but when I got back to the hostal for my boots I went to sleep. No power nap, either. I was out cold for over an hour and the headache had returned. So I spent the rest of the afternoon sipping hot water or weak tea. That and conversation with other hostellers finally pulled me round, to the extent that I declined the offer of a sandwich and went out for a solid dinner - conger eel. It was good, too.

Now thoroughly awake, I sat up chatting with Dan from California until about 1am.

By exercising superhuman discipline I answered the call of the alarm and got up in time to enjoy another of Eduardo´s breakfasts and still be in plenty of the time for the bus to Puerto Natales. The journey was pleasant. Patagonian steppe gave way to gently sloping woodland. The bus passed many birds, particularly rheas, upland geese, black-faced ibis and ducks. It arrived in good time. Buses in Bolivia are far more exciting.

It had been apparent from the bus that there was wind, but that´s normal for Patagonia. It wasn´t until I descended in Puerto Natales that I appreciated the force of the blast. In well regulated weather systems storms involve black clouds, lightening and drenching rain. In PN I experienced warm sunshine, welcome after the chill in Punta Arenas, in conjunction with gale force winds. This feels WRONG.

A saunter along the sea front risked being blown all the way to the Argentine border so I retreated to the local museum. This added to my knowledge of the original inhabitants of Patagonia and allowed me to inspect some small samples of the 13,000 year-old remains of a milodon, or giant sloth, discovered near here.

Then I gave up on sightseeing and spent the rest of the afternoon in the hostal. Luckily the room rate included Internet access and the machine could read my latest photo CD so I uploaded lots of pictures to my blog.

This morning the wind had not abated. The locals tell me this is quite normal for the time of year. I estimate that the wind is 50 knots, gusting to 70 knots. That´s a lot of wind. So I uploaded more pictures.

The ferry cum cruise ship is running late. It came into the sound this afternoon and turned around again because it was too windy to dock. I´m not surprised. I wouldn´t sail in this wind. The company blamed the Chilean navy, which controls the port, but if the captain thinks he can dock in winds like that he is either an awesomly good sailor or a reckless idiot. Anyway, the company is confident the wind will drop in the evening and has issued me with a boarding pass. We shall see.

If I do go aboard, it will very likely be several days before I get on-line again. Do not assume that silence means the vessel has foundered with all hands. I have plenty of space on my memory card and a good supply of batteries. With a modicum of luck I will have cause to take many photographs.

Punta Tombo Pictures

These are the illustrations for a post on 16 October. If you want to refresh your memory search for "Tombo".

The dolphin spotting boats were quite different from the vessels that take tourists to see the whales.




I was warned that dolpins would be difficult to photograph. This was quite right, but I did get this snap of a commerson´s dolphin.




And this one of another dolphin by the bow of the boat.




Another view of Patragonia. There is lots of Patagonian steppe like this. It extends all the way to Tierra del Fuego.


My only photograph of a guanaco. My apologies for the poor quality. It only stood still and in range long enough to be photgraphed because it was having a scratch. I can report that a guanaco´s hind leg is not a very precise instrument for attacking an itch.


Magellanic penguin (Spheniscus magellanicus).






This couple has found a desirable residence beneath a thorn bush. (The second penguin is in the bottom right of the picture.)


There´s no shade in the poorer neighbourhoods.




Both parents care for the eggs and, later, the chicks. Although two eggs are laid it is rare for both chicks to fledge.

While one bird minds the kids the other is at sea fishing.


"It looks cold."

"Nah. It´ll be all right once you´re in."

"You first, then."

"No, you."

"I´m gonna be sick ..."


The only monkey puzzle tree I´ve seen so far. It was in Gaiman.






The sign at the first Welsh tea shop in Gaiman.


And the sign hung out by the other first tea shop. They are just around the corner from each other.

Maybe they should settle the question once and for all with stale scones at ten paces ;-)


I patronised another of the numerous tea houses. This rather gloomy picture is tea for one. Note the size of the teapot! I did not require a large dinner that night.

Peninsula Valdez Photos

The trip to Peninusla Valdez was written up on 14 October when the pictures were still in the camera. Last time I edited pics into an already-written post it took an age, so I´m giving you these snaps separately. You can either go to the original post by date or by searching on "Valdez".

Due to the state of the tide, the tourists were loaded while the boat was still on the trailer. Then we were tractored into the surf. This is another boatload following my group.

A Southern Right Whale imitating a rock. They are very good at this.



This was an attempt to capture a whale "jumping". By the time you spot the whale in action and have to wait for the digital cameras delay the spray is all that is left. I dont think right whales are agile enough to get very high. I estimate that about a quarter of the whale´s body left the water.

Another typical pose

When the krill seek refuge in deeper water the whales dive down after them. An essential part of this manoevre is a tail wave before disappearing towards the sea floor.

There were some left. I´m off after them

The boat didnt get too close. The whale surfaced right by the launch.

I promise you this is a whale and not a rock.


The path down to the elephant seal beach at the eastern end of the peninsula. Humans are not allowed on the gravel. The irregularities on the beach down by the waves are elephant seals.



A closer view.

Another family group having an athletic game of beach slumber.

This seal at least had the energy for a swim.

A male showing the scars of battle.

A view of the coastline North of the elephant seals.

Most of the peninsula is flat and covered in scrub.

A yellowfinch beside its nest burrow.

The megellanic penguins were nesting there, too.

This is to prove that I didn´t buy the last photo. I really was there. :-)