Carretera Austral - March 15, 2023
Yesterday, Tuesday, was a very long day. We arrived in Coyaique, a very pleasant and interesting town of about 20,000 inhabitants on Monday afternoon and spent the night at a B&B in the centre of town. The B&B’s restaurant was good and the staff were charming but their Pisco Sour was not one of the better versions that we have come across. Pisco Sours have become our litmus test of a restaurant/bar. For those who don’t know Pisco, it’s a colourless or yellowish-to-amber coloured spirit produced in winemaking regions of Peru and Chile. Made by distilling fermented grape juice into a high-proof spirit, it was developed by 16th-century Spanish settlers as an alternative to a pomace brandy that was being imported from Spain. The Pisco Sour is a simple drink to make consisting of lime juice, Pisco and simple syrup and ice as well as a splash of Angostura bitters. Because it is so simple no two versions taste the same and, as we have discovered, can lead to a never-ending search for the perfect version. It has become our pre-dinner drink of choice.
We left Coyaique at 9 on Tuesday morning and headed for Puerto Bertrand a town on the Baker River several hours drive south. As I may have mentioned in an earlier post, we are now and have been for some time, driving on unpaved roads. The early part of Tuesday’s drive took place under lowering skies and rain, and the roads were punishing.
We recently came to understand that during the week prior to our arrival the whole region from the top of the Carretera at Puerto Montt to the bottom of the continent had been hit with severe winds, up to a 100Km/h and torrential rains. Hence the overflowing rivers everywhere and more importantly for us, the precarious nature of the roads. Unpaved gravel roads are not an issue for either of us but when you understand that there is only one north-south road, that it is unpaved, that it is used by every vehicle that needs to move north-south including 16 wheel rigs with 40 tons of cargo, logging trucks and every single car, bus and truck it should come as no surprise that the roads are continually being beaten into oblivion. When you then add torrential rains and the ever-present, road-hugging mountains and cliffs whose falling rocks and slides loosened by the rain are a continuous menace you can begin to understand the condition of the road, the washboarding nature of the track and the enormity of the potholes. It often seems as if the road is an endless series if potholes, spread haphazardly and continually across the road and connected by a few small patches of smooth surface. They sound of banging and clanging from the car’s suspension is continuous as is the continuous jarring and lurching of the car and passengers as the vehicle bounces and crashes into the eternity of potholes large and small.
I mentioned in my last post that neither R nor I partook in the massage programs available at Puyuhuapi Lodge, coals to Newcastle as our drives produce more deep massage and muscle pounding than any trained, sadistic masseuse ever could.
By about 2pm after 5 hours of punishing driving and having crossed a couple of eastward passes in the mountain ranges, we came into a very different weather system as we are now about 80Km east of the ocean with 3 mountain ranges between us and the sea. The sun broke through and the sky was a bright azure but with a brisk chill wind blowing. We stopped for a bio break and a snack at a service station in the town of Puerto Rio Tranquilo during which I discovered another interesting Chilean cultural food quirk. In the little food service counter in the gas station I noticed that they sold hot dogs and, I will shamefully admit, I’d go anywhere for a good hot dog. Having ordered one I looked around for mustard only to discover that the condiments available as standard practice in Chile are ketchup, mayonnaise and surprisingly, avocado paste. The avocado, the consistency of guacamole but much less flavourful, was no substitute for mustard which was nowhere to be seen. Having tried it I can safely say, not a patch on mustard and the green paste decorating the hot dog is is oddly troubling!
Hans, our driver/guide had arranged a boat ride for us to see something of the second largest lake in South America next to which the town of Puerto Tranquilo was located. The wind was by now quite strong and was creating significant swells on the lake and decorating their tops with white caps. The private boat that we used was equipped with about a dozen seats but there were only Hans, R and myself as well as a guide and driver on board. Our passage was was a marine analog of our road journey, the swells throwing the boat from side to side, lifting us over the swells and crashing us down on the next wave. Shortly after we departed we were told that the marine authorities in the region had called all boats back into ports and were not allowing any boats on the water until further notice. We managed to round a headland into slightly calmer conditions and chugged our way to a landing where we were met and driven back to our vehicle. The boat ride was great fun and the views from the water were fabulous but we faced another 90 minutes of driving over the road to perdition before, beaten and weary, we arrived at our present location, Borde Baker Lodge.
The lodge is a lonley outpot along the Baker River and consists of a series of little wooden houses connected by wooden walkway to the central lodge. Each little house contains two rooms, bedroom and bathroom and the bedroom contains a wood stove and a gas heater. There is a very pleasant veranda attached to each little house with a door off the bedroom and the view down to the river below and to the snow capped mountains is grand.I had the wood stove lit when I went for dinner but neglected to get instructions for lighting the gas heater.
By the time that I had returned from dinner the wood stove was roaring and the cabin was uninhabitable. I built a wall of pillows and anything else I could find to put on the bed between me on the outer edge of the bed and as far away as I could get from the stove, opened up the door to the veranda and went to bed. I awoke at about 2am to find the wood stove fire dead, my verandah door wide to the winds and my breath a cloud in the moonlight. Didn’t want to take a chance with a gas stove about which I knew nothing, but huddled in the blankets and oddly enough I fell back asleep. Lots to be said for Pisco Sours.
At 7:30am I awoke to frost inside and outside my cabin and no way to get it warm again. However a hot shower warmed me enough to dress and to race for the lodge for breakfast. Suffice it to say that I now know how to turn on the gas heater!
More to come!
