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.

Bariloche

The chonologically last instalment, Greetings from Uruguay, had me in Carmelo waiting for the Saturday evening ferry.

The bars were showing soccer. Uruguay was not involved in the rugby world cup, so why would their television devote time to it? I found an Internet cafe that was open and followed the score on the official web site. O woe for NZ.

So it was with shock and a heavy heart that I queued to board the Delta Cat II. This is a modern vessel, but not as rocket propelled as the Buquebus that I left Buenos Aires on. The sun was low, but still in the sky, so we had daylight for the start of the crossing.

The wharf is a few hundred metres up a tributary of the main river, so we started gliding down between tree-lined banks. There was actually nearly half an hour before sunset, motoring between low islands. Some had only grasses and rushes, others had trees. A vast improvement on the featureless water all the way to Colonia del Sacramento. There was enough light to see by for about another 30 minutes and then it got very dark.

There were very few navigation lights that I could see, but the skipper had radar, a chart plotter and plenty of experience so we didn´t hit anything and fetched up in Tigre on time.

This was the third time I had entered Argentina and the first time I had been asked to fill in a customs declaration. I confessed that I was carrying bee products (honey), but the customs officer shooed me through. He didn´t want his evening spoiled by people carrying illegal honey. The same honey had been in my pack on the previous two border crossings, but no-one asked about it.

An information desk in the port building directed me to a nearby B&B, but it was full. The port area had lights and grass and a McDonalds so it was perfectly safe to scout around, but the tourist information office was closed. That´s pretty reasonable for 9:30 on a Saturday night. I reasoned that the train station might have cheap hotels nearby or an information desk so I toddled over there. No hotels and no info desk, but I asked at a snack stall.

The lady on my side of the counter conferred with the serving lass and they agreed on a place but, they said, it was quite far and dangerous to walk. The lady came with me to the taxi stand to make sure the driver knew where to take me. Wasn´t that kind?

The streets didn´t look dangerous to me, but it was a drive of several minutes with many turns. Walking would have meant almost certainly losing the way. I was dropped at a large residencial but, alas, they had no rooms either. There were no rooms in anywhere in Tigre that night I was told. It was now after 10pm. Even if there was another train, it would deposit me in central BA after 11 o´clock. Not a welcome prospect.

The couple running the residencial did know of an expensive hotel in another suburb. What was the alternative - sleeping in the park? They generously telephoned and booked me in and then telephoned for a taxi. It was a long ride and the hotel was not easy to find. Journey´s end was getting on for 11pm.

Hotel del Casco is a boutique hotel and very expensive. However, it had a room free and I graciously accepted the neccesity of luxury. The ensuite bathroom had both a bath and a shower. There was a chocolate on the turned down sheet. I had a long shower and used lots of the shampoo and conditioner. The TV had at least 5 sports channels, but they were all in earnest after-match discussion mode, except one that was broadcasting baseball. I don´t know the game well enough to enjoy watching it, so I stretched out in my king-size bed and fell asleep.

Next morning I was either the first guest up, or the last. Anyway, I had the breakfast room to myself. I made the most of a first-class breakfast buffet and the best coffee I´ve had in South America. I selected some fruit for later consumption and souvenired the partly used soap and shampoo.

When I checked out it was the first time I had used my credit card for anything but a cash withdrawal since Lima in June. The scarcity of hotel beds in greater Buenos Aires was due to a convention of dermatologists, the clerk explained.

I don´t think many of its monied guests leave Hotel del Casco carrying a pack and walking to the train station. But the rest of the day was plain sailing. The train took me to Retiro station, which is next door to the long-distance bus terminal. I found a convenient overnight bus to Bariloche and bought a ticket. I watched the last 20 minutes of S. Africa vs Fiji in one of the cafeterias and had a satisfying lunch.

There was a moment of confusion when I tried to board the 14:00 hours bus, instead of the 14:05. Well, only the 14:05 was showing on the electronic departure board. But that was quickly resolved and we set off in a bus so modern the upholstery still had a whiff of that ´new vehicle´ smell.

The Via Bariloche cama service has restored the reputation of Argentinian buses. It was very comfortable. There was coffee and a sandwich for afternoon tea and a hot meal with wine for dinner. There was even champagne, but it was served so late I was too tired to want any.

We cruised smoothly over the province of Buenos Aires. I have come across so much flat land in South America. From the top deck of the bus I could see to the horizon in every direction and it was FLAT. There were fences and trees and cows and buildings all on flat, flat land. I even imagined I could see the curvature of the earth. This continued until the daylight failed 6 hours into the journey. As far as I could see it was still flat when I woke to visit the loo in the night.

In the morning we were gently but firmly awakened. And there were scrub-covered hills outside instead of grassy plains. Were we on a different planet? To our left, so I could not see it well, was a slow-moving river. Either that or an immensly long lake. Coffee and breakfast helped to get the brain working properly.

The timing of the wake-up call was just right. By the time breakfast had been served and the empty trays gathered in, there was just enough time to pack up and put my contact lenses in before we drew up in Bariloche bus terminal a quarter of an hour early.

San Carlos de Bariloche is soooo like Queenstown. All that´s missing is jet boating. It is on a lake with tree-clad mountains at the back, a large ski-field nearby and all facilities for tourists, including over-priced restaurants. Many Swiss have settled in the area and it has the additional attraction of chocolate-making. Many shops in the town sell nothing else. One of the more prominent chocolaterias is called Rapa Nui. Why is it named after Easter Island? A Spanish-speaking Austrian at the hostel went in and asked. "No reason."

I stayed at Hostel 1004. The unusual name has a very good reason. It is on the 10th and top floor of an apartment building near the lake in Bariloche. It is apartment 1004. Simple. The views over the lake from the common room are stupendous.

Having got my bearings I set out to enjoy the mountain scenery. A local bus took me along to withing easy walking distance of a national park. I followed a trail through the woods where the heard-but-unseen bird was abundant. Amongst a school party coming the other way I spotted a youth with iPod earphones in each ear. I fear the birdsong was wasted on him.

In the afternoon I took a boat ride on the lake to visit Isla Victoria. The significance of this island was lost on me because I could not understand more than 5% of the commentary. On the Altiplano I usually understood 50% or more of what the Spanish-speaking guides said. Anyway I had an hour to roam this island before we re-embarked and carried on to a special area that is a park in its own right within a national park.

The tree that makes this area so special is the arrayan.

It has lovely cinnamon coloured bark and there is one peninusla where it particularly flourishes. We were only allowed 45 minutes there, but that was ample to go round the walkway and take many photos of the beautiful trees.

That evening the hostel organised a "wine tasting". Everyone bought a bottle of wine, they were all carefully opened and set out on a big table, and then the music was turned up and it was party time! No-one made any tasting notes. I can´t explain why, but the ambience of Hostel 1004 generates a special atmosphere. Conversation flows particularly freely. It is one of the sleeping places I can most heartily recommend.

On Wednesday we all got up a bit late for some reason. Patrick, the Spanish-speaking Austrian, planned to trek around all of Bariloche´s chocolate shops. I opted for a more prosaic walk up Cerro Otto. The tramp was harder than I expected. The last kilometre was through and around patches of snow. This would not have been such an issue if I had remebered to change into my tramping boots, but I set off in sneakers. Silly Bill. However, the views were glorious.

Back in town I elected to cook myself a steak meal in the hostel´s excellent kitchen. The supermarket offered, amongst other labels, wines of the "Aberdeen Angus" brand. I am not making this up. There is a photo of the label in the camera. It was not a premium product, so I selected a bottle of the syrah for about $4. It wasn´t as good as the meat was, but it was better than some of the wines tasted the previous evening.

Today I have moved down the road to El Bolson. It´s a very laid back town and I like it. The craft market today has some interesting stuff, but there`s no room in my pack. However, it provided some interesting snacks for lunch and some very good locally brewed beer.

Oh dear. This reads like I´m becoming an alcoholic. I promise it´s not true, dear readers.

Please leave comments or send emails. It´s good to get feedback.

Hello from Uruguay

I admit that part of the reason for coming to Uruguay was to get another country´s stamp in my passport. I can add a new name to the list of countries visited. It´s quite a small country squished in between Argentina and Brazil on South America´s Atlantic coast. The population, I´ve been told, is 3 million and it doesn´t have any must-see attractions like Machu Picchu or Iguacu.

I did toy with the idea of visiting the capital, Montevideo, where the Graf Spee took refuge after the battle of the River Plate in WW2, but Buenos Aires was quite enough big city for a while so I settled for sightseeing in Colonia del Sacramento and a boat trip through the delta back to Argentina.

Getting to Colonia is easy. Buquebus runs several fast ferries daily from BA across the river direct to Colonia. It´s a popular destination for Porteños (citizens of Buenos Aires) particularly in the summer. The journey is only one hour each way so it can be a day trip. I chose the 2pm sailing, which doesn´t take cars and is therefore probably less prone to complications.

The journey itself was rather dull. The River Plate is prone to fogs, and a light mist restricted visibility. There are no decks for the passengers to take the air. All I could see thrugh the window was the water rushing past at 30 knots. Accoding to Buquebus literature the vessel´s top speed is 50 knots. I get excited if my little yacht goes over 6 knots.

The hostel I had selected from the guide book had plenty of room. In fact I had a dormitory to myself.

There was enough daylight left for a wander. Down by the river a group of schoolchildren were flying kites. The lack of wind made this much more difficult, but it didn´t appear to dampen their enthusiasm. I hope they had insect repellent with them, because some biting things found me. Luckily their range did not extend to the town.

After the noise and bustle of BA, Colonia is delightfully peaceful. Most of the streets are lined by trees and the old streets are "cobbled", although the paving is so irregular that they are a danger to anything less than a Land Rover.

There are many restaurants in the old town, but they are distinctly upmarket. Only a couple of them advertised specials. The one I chose was having a particularly slow evening. I was the only customer. The waitress assured me that they had the opposite problem in the summer season.

In the morning I followed the guide book description of the old, colonial period town. This included the local museums. Each is quite small, but one inexpensive ticket admits you to all of them. And it was a good day to be indoors. Dark, thick clouds hung threateningly overhead and the heavy showers started as I made my way to the bus terminal.

My destination was Carmelo, the departure point for the slower ferries that take the scenic route through the delta to Tigre in Argentina. The bus took me through undulating green fields with cows or soggy crops. It could have been almost anywhere in Northern Europe or NZ´s North Is.

I managed to get off at the right place and find the cheaper hotel listed in Lonely Planet. It had put its prices up, but cunningly not so much that it was worth looking elsewhere. In truth it was a bit of a dump, but the manager was cheerful and very helpful with directions. It was clean, had a private bathroom and it was only for one night.

Or was it? My first excursion was to the ferry company´s office. Alas for my dreams of a picturesque cruise through the islands of the delta. The Saturday sailings were before dawn, which was fully booked anyway, or after sunset. I could wait until Sunday when the sailing was just after midday, but that would arrive in Tigre too late to catch the Sunday bus to Bariloche. If I caught the Monday bus I would not arrive in Bariloche until Tuesday. Carmelo has no particular attractions to enhance an 18 hour delay.

After tossing all the options around I settled for the Saturday evening sailing and hope that the light will linger.

Dinner was grilled meat and salad with a half-litre jug of house wine. Most satisfying. And only two thirds the price of the tourist restaurant in Colonia. The TV news was full of the rain and its effects. It seems that this area got off lightly.

And now it is Saturday. The sun is shining, a little wanly to be sure, but there are shadows. Carmelo has just about shut down. This Internet cafe will close at 12:30 and reopen at 4:00. I did some shopping this morning so I have bread and cheese and fruit in my pack. But surely the cafes will be open at lunchtime?

In other posts, I have added a few words and several pictures to the Uyuni-Tupiza story and redated it 1 October. The Salar de Uyuni Part 2 is now complete with lots of photos.

Keep the comments and emails coming.

In and Out of Concepcion -now with pictures

Well, I´ve used a fair few travel companies on this adventure so I suppose it had to come eventually. I´ve travelled with NASA. True. The full name of the company was NASA {something} S.A. A Paraguayan subsidiary, no doubt. And I do have photos to prove it. Other pictures will be added to this post shortly.

It was one of the earlier shuttles. Indeed it still showed evidence of 19th century design features. At least the seats were, very slightly, padded. And it got all the way to Concepcion without a puncture. That was probably because it never even approached take-off speed.

The bus terminal was well staked out by waiting carreterias; that´s horse-drawn taxi carts. A youthful driver offered his services at a reasonable price and I right-hoed. I quickly came to doubt my decision. The poor horse was a bony grey and the school-age driver was far too ready to use his whip on the unfortunate beast.

My chosen hotel turned out to be full, but the proprietor directed me to another hotel. "Two blocks and turn right." What I didn´t establish at the outset was that there were another three long blocks after the turn and I foolishly carried my pack suitcase style in the heat. So, all hot and bothered, I applied to the Hotel Imperial. No rooms there either, but I was passed on yet again. A tall young man led me along the street, thankfully only half a block, to a residencial that I would otherwise have overlooked. Yes, they had a room. It was expensive at 50,000 Gs per night but I took it rather than trudge round the town´s dusty streets any more.

It was a good choice. The tariff included a nice breakfast and I was made extremely welcome by Senora Esperanza, who actually spoke a few words of English and German for when my Spanish failed. And the nearby Hotel Imperial provided good, cheap evening meals.

I had gone to Concepcion deliberately to be able to travel by boat on the Rio Paraguay. The ideal would be to go North for a day, where it is wilder and the birdlife more abundant, and then head South to the capital, Asuncion.

So, in the morning I trekked to the port. No ticket office. No posters of schedules. The old man sitting in the shade just inside the port gates was confident, though. The Cacique would leave for Asuncion tomorrow (Sunday) morning at 6:00. At least that tallied with the guide book.

My one source of recent information about Paraguay, Jenny recently retired from the Peace Corps, was adamant. "Whatever time they say, get to the dockside two hours earlier." Oh noooo.
A placid moth hanging out on a Concepcion pavement.

Next call was an optician. One of the arms of my spectacles had come adrift. It´s a common problem and easy to fix if you have the tools, but I couldn´t get the shop to accept any money for the service.

The kindnesses continued. Esperanza had explained that there was a big feria, which normally means holiday but in this case appeared to be something between a fun fair and the Mystery Creek Field Days. Would I like to go? Of course I would. Her friend has a motor bike.

The friend, Abel, was a young man with a ready smile. I bravely smiled back and determined that I would not let on that I am not a happy passenger on a motor bike. Helmets are a big city thing. Concepcion has many bikes and scooters but I never saw a helmet.

In fairness, Abel drove very well and always cornered at low speed so we never leaned over very far. And the road was paved all the way to the showgrounds, which meant we had a smooth ride.

Tractors and 4x4 utes look much the same the world over. There was some moto-cross, if that is the correct name for motor bikes racing round a dirt track with lots of lumps so that they can make their bikes jump.

There is an airborne bike there if you look carefully.

In another arena Abel promised lasso work was going on, but when we got there it was all rather vague. I saw two throws miss and one that landed neatly over the target´s head. But the horseman then simply rode alongside his captive to the exit. No taught ropes and bucking steers here.

Cattle were being shown. The bovines were mostly relaxing in the shade, but I got a few photos, including this brahma bull with several rosettes.

There was indeed a fun fair, but that only got going at night.

While we were enjoying a cold drink I noticed that vision in my right eye was blurred. I´d rubbed it so I presumed my contact lens had gone off centre. This is something that happens with contact lenses. I decided that since it wasn´t uncomfortable I would leave it until we got back to sort out. Only Abel had to be seeing perfectly on the motor bike. There is, of course, a tiny possibility that the lens had come right out. As a sop to good practice I scanned the ground with the good eye. And there was a lens-sized circle on the concrete. It cost 500 Gs for admission to the toilet so that I could wash it.

Returning to the town Abel asked if I had seen the cathedral. I confessed I hadn´t, so he made a detour. A very bland building. Think of a cathedral made of Duplo bricks. Next he showed me a plaza I had overlooked and we stopped to have a look at the museum. It´s not worth a long detour, but at least the town remembers some of its sons who served their country, mainly in the Chaco War. The supervising senora was properly thrilled to get a NZ signature in the visitor´s book.

Abel refused all my efforts to contribute to the petrol.

Concepcion on Saturday night was humming. Groups of young people clutching cans of beer clustered round cars with unpleasantly loud sound systems. What a pity. Comcepcion seemed such a nice place.

I determined to be at the port by 5 o´clock. One hour early was all I could face. Esperanza insisted that a 4:30 breakfast was perfectly all right. She would phone for a taxi in the morning. A taxi was a good idea because there would be a lot of drunks around the port. I declined Abel´s offer of a motorbike ride in the pre-dawn.

And at 4:30 the water was boiling for coffee and nice bread rolls were laid out. Abel was up anyway and tried to convince me that the bike would carry both of us and my pack. I declined to try it. I don´t think the pack placed in front of Abel permitted any steering. So he graciously went instead to locate a taxi, since Esperanza´s phone declined to work.

Esperanza photographed before 5am.

The taxi driver was a non-smiler, and drove very slowly. Maybe he was worried about running into drunks. And there were many of last night´s party-goers still up and about. They seemed merry rather than potential assailants, but I´m not sorry I chose the cab. The bar just outside the port gates was still well patronised, and the party animals spread themselves generously across the street. Grumpy tried to extort 30,000 Gs, but Esperanza had warned me that the correct fare was 20,000. Anyway, a young couple were hiring the taxi before I´d even got out. He settled for 20,000.

I lugged my gear into the port, where there seemed to be a lot of slow-motion activity. A helpful bystander pointed out the Cacique; a boat-shaped collection of law wattage lights in the centre of the river heading downstream towards Asuncion. Oh no. After all my dedicated getting up early I´d missed it!

Another boat, the Aquidabán (pictured), was moored tidily. This one, my informat told me, was going North. Ah ha. Maybe I can get the ideal trip including some of the wilder stretches upriver. After a deal of frustrating non-communication I finally determined that this vessel would not be getting back to Asuncion for a week, and I couldn´t afford that much time. "You get the Cacique. It leaves at 7 o´clock." And finally my early morning brain registered that the Cacique was arriving from the North. It had simply been dropping downstream to turn and moor against the current. If I´d listened to the explanation properly I would have known. I understand llengando (arriving) perfectly well.

The Aquidabán had secured the berth at the lump of concrete that passes for a wharf in Concepcion. But the Cacique was prepared. She nosed into the shallows and extended planks across the water into the mud. Passengers and freight wibble-wobbled their way across with care and no accidents.

Walking the Cacique II´s plank.

The passenger cabin was plentifully provided with wooden seats, that I noted were not bolted to the deck. In fact, it was desirable to drag them around so that hammocks could be slung between the seats.

Cacique II, showing some of the hammocks.

As predicted, the Cacique II shipped planks and truly set off downstream at 7:00. The Rio Paraguay is very wide. Even when there are multiple channels it is hundreds of metres from bank to bank. We tended to follow the outside of bends, presumably to extract maximum assistance from the current, so I could usuallu get a decent view of one shore. I was surprised at the lack of birdlife. Where the water was shallow enough for water plants I had expected herons and the odd duck but the only bird I identified was a new species of vulture. I did better than that from the NASA shuttle (2 species of stork, a heron and a roseate spoonbill).

I had a long conversation with Maricel. I think I´ve spelled that correctly. He and his motor bike were going to Puerto Rosario. He was 61, had 4 children (not a lot) and lived in Concepcion. He generously shared his tereré with me. This is almost universally drunk in Paraguay but, so far as I know, in no other country. It is a herbal tea (mate) made from yerba with added spices. It is made with icy cold water and is very refreshing. In Argentina, I´m told, the population is equally devoted to the same herb in hot water. Anyway, I credit the tereré with not needing to drink so much water that day.

Maricel advised renting my hammock early. I wasn´t tired, but I hopped in to try it, of course. And woke up an hour later. Gosh, hammocks are comfortable. This beat buses hands down.

Not all the passengers were such good company. One old chap sat by himself. Every so often he would remove his dentures and flob all over the cabin floor. He only had to stand up and spit out of the window, for goodness´ sake.

We could, of course, wander round the boat, and my head still has several lumps to attest to the lack of headroom.

There were several stops en route. I´m blessed if I can tell how the captain could identify just which bit of mud was the disembarkation point. A young mother asked me to ferry her bag of possessions shore. She was carrying her baby, so how could chivalrous Bill refuse? But a crew member took the child and stepped ashore with the confidence of one who knows the wobble rythyms of the plank. So the mother walked across with only a handbag and Bill bounced along afterwards with the heavy sugar sack.

At one spot it was evidently too shallow to reach the bank. What I thought was a lifeboat was revealed as a lighter instead. The two passengers who needed to leave were rowed ashore while we chugged gently to maintain position against the current.

Night gently fell. From my first day in Paraguay I had seen evidence of many actual or recent fires. In cultivated areas they consume the tinder dry grass, and the trees generally seem to survive with a little scorching. After dark the number and extent of the fires became much more apparent. One was a true forest fire, with trees blazing fiercely. I saw no monsoon buckets or even whack-a-bunny fire beaters. I read subsequently in the newspaper that Paraguay has a major problem with forest fires at the moment. And there are some valiant fire-fighters; I just never saw them.

It´s because of the smoke and the dust that the sun seems so red every morning and evening. And the rainy season is still some weeks away.

Puerto Rosario came and Maricel departed with his motor bike. I settled into my hammock and slept. I woke a couple of times. I actually put my jacket on. It was cool and a breeze played happily through the windows.

The guide book told me to expect a 30 hour journey, but it´s quicker downstream. We docked in Asuncion after 21 hours at 4am. What a wretched time to arrive. There was no rush to disembark, but one guy set off with his sugar sacks on a barrow, so I followed him. There were a couple of men lounging in the port and one fell in beside us. He asked if I wanted a taxi, which indeed I did want. I thought it was odd that there were none waiting. In Concepcion the horse carts were out in force to greet the boat´s arrival.

He led the way down a street past the customs building. Always the taxis were further on. The blocks by the river are described as the place in Asuncion you shouldn´t go late at night. If you think I was uncomfortable about this you are right on the button. I was carrying both my packs and couldn´t run.

Then I recognised the street where my destination hotel was located. "I´ll walk to the hotel. It´s only two blocks." And I thanked my mysterious guide and set off with a purposeful step. Mind you, walking the dockland streets of an unknown city in the wee hours is not a pastime I recommend with or without a strange companion. It was more like 5 blocks in fact, but Hotel Embajador was there. It looked grotty but it´s in Lonely Planet so it must be OK. The entrance was a seedy flight of stairs with a locked gate half way up. "Hola." A voice answered cautiously. I enquired about a room. "No," replied the voice. Maybe they really didn´t have a room free. Maybe it´s just policy not to admit strangers at 4:45am.

I had passed a 3-star hotel on the way. This was no time to worry about cost. It was open and they did have a room. I was safely in Asuncion.

In the morning I hailed a taxi and transferred to LP´s #1 recommendation, Pension da Silva.

In the daylight I followed the route of a recommended walking tour. At one point it overlooked the river. Cacique II had not moved. If I had only asked, I´m sure I could have stayed safe and comfortable in my hammock until morning. Oh well.