Salmon and Volcanoes

The area around Puerto Montt and Chiloe Island is the center of the salmon farming industry in Chile. If you have ever purchased or eaten salmon from Chile it likely came from these parts. 

On exiting the ferry, I followed the coast via Calbuco to catch the ferry to Chiloe Island. Not the shortest or fastest route to Chiloe, but nicer than the motorway. So despite the rain I pressed on and by the time I arrived in Calbuco the steady rain had been replaced by showers of diminishing frequency. Calbuco is built around small scale commercial fishing and salmon farming in the numerous coves and backwaters in the area.

The town was bustling, a street market was in full swing in one of the main roads close to the front, parking was impossible. I headed around the peninsular towards the ferry, stopping first at a restaurant that served a 12-16oz slab of salmon, pan fried in butter at a price locals could afford, about $5. Delicious. Of course, the salmon was accompanied with the plate piled high with French fries.

Two companies operate ferries to Chiloe, on an alternating basis from different ramps located a kilometer apart. As you approach the embarking point a guy hops out and directs traffic to the next ferry. It isn't cheap, about double the price of the ferry to Tierra del Fuego for half the ride. Perhaps it reflects the salmon farming boost to the local economy, the ferry operators getting their slice of the pie. The channel between the mainland and Chiloe has a fascinating mix of rough water, eddies and millpond areas, often interspersed depending on the tides.

Pelicans seem to like the area, several flights passed the ferry. Perhaps they are drawn by the opportunity to steal salmon from a poorly protected farm.

Chiloe is known for the 16 wooden churches across the island. A program of restoration was started after they fell into disrepair and is ongoing. Local effort combined with central government funding will preserve them for future generations. A small but interesting museum is housed in one of the churches in Ancud. As I wandered through the museum sunlight came streaming through the stained-glass windows, high up in the church, casting myriad colors onto the exhibits of doors and windows that had been replaced during restoration.

I stayed the night in Ancud at the Hostal Mundo Nuevo, nice, private parking but pricy (a feature of accommodation in Chiloe it seems). The hostel recommended a local seafood place for dinner; my first experience of a fish called congrio - I thought it might be conger eel but the shape of the fillet didn't look eel like. Anyway, it tasted good (perhaps any fish pan fried in oodles of butter would?) and I would have it again.

Even without a recommendation I wouldn't have been tempted by a restaurant that offered a bizarre breadth of cuisine. A place that serves pizza and sushi surely cannot do either very well, can it? I will never know.

Ancud is a gritty town in need of some TLC, but it does have a nice seafront walk that passes the local fishing port.

Sunday I returned to Puerto Montt, on a bleak, rainy, ugly kind of day, in a rather bleak town that has not been improved by the recent protests. The sidewalks and plazas down by the shore where littered with broken glass, the spaces now boarded up, and walls liberally painted with slogans. Not photogenic.

Though on my way back into town I stopped between down pours and captured a few shots of the several ports that Puerto Montt boasts. One area in particular has several dockside businesses with large numbers of big white totes, generally protected by overhead nets from the gulls circling above. Obviously, the totes contain something edible the gulls enjoy. I surmise that it is processed protein harvested from the ocean intended for the salmon farms. Next time I buy Chilean salmon from Kroger or Publix I will be reminded of this area.

My two-wheel journey north began in earnest today, Monday. I had intended to use Santiago as my exit point but with the continuing unrest and silence from the shipping agents I am diverting over to Buenos Aires (and hope the Argentinian Presidential election held Sunday doesn't stimulate protests around the country). DakarMotos in BA responded immediately so planning for the return is now underway. In the meantime, I will make the most of the diversion and head to Mendoza, before cutting east late in the week to BA. To avoid backtracking on roads north from San Carlos de Bariloche I am using the frontier crossing at Pino Hachado, which places me in Argentina 20 miles north of Zapala. a town I passed through a month ago on my way south. Ruta 40 north takes me to Mendoza.

It was 200 wet and dreary miles north on Ruta 5, the Pan-American highway in Chile, a fast toll road. In view if the weather I ambled along at 50-60mph, stopping for fuel and rest breaks along the way. The last 100 miles was more interesting, cutting off east towards the frontier on Ruta181 takes you into volcano country. I finally saw a cone, though not the top which was shrouded in cloud.

Lonquimay, forty miles from the border, was my target destination and staging post for the crossing into Argentina. To get there requires transiting through the Las Raices Tunnel, Originally built for a railway it has since been converted to road use, one direction at a time, controlled by traffic lights. Just as well as the tunnel is about 3 miles long. It seemed to go on forever with the noise of the exhaust bouncing off the walls.

By the way Las Raices is no ordinary tunnel, it warps the space-time continuum. The road sign shortly after exiting the tunnel offered a bewildering choice, continue to Lonquimay 10 miles distant or make a left to Central Alaska. Huh?

Lonquimay is in a pretty valley, nestled in a mountain amphitheater. It is getting a makeover with a lot of small, new, properties being constructed. Perhaps they are holiday homes; it is within a days drive of Santiago.

The old and the new structures welcoming visitors to the town are strikingly different.

It is raining cats and dogs at the moment, the streets are like rivers. I arrived here in the dry; I hope to leave in the dry in the morning. We shall see.

All for now.

T2