Hullo from a ferry cruising slowly from the very south of Carretera Austral to Puerto Natales. 44 hours through fiords covered in snow, crazy shaped rocks, moss, shrubbery and low trees… And waterfalls… many many many many waterfalls… Carretera Austral ends or, more accurately, dies in Villa de O’Higgins and there is no road for hundreds of miles until the southern exit from the famous Torres del Peine. So to get to that southern end of Patagonia, you can drive through Argentina or you can take this ferry from a lil village just North of O’Higgins. The ferry runs (crawls, more accurately) once a week and only has 70 seats. Passengers are vacationing Chileans, Argentinians, and some foreign folk. Hank is on board too. Surrounded by trucks, big SUV’s, motorcycles and an oil drill. Three bad meals a day. But there is an espresso machine.

I have chatted with almost everyone onboard by now (we are on hour 21). My faves are a 79-yr old mom, her school-teacher daughter from Punta Arenas and a couple of elderly motorcycle-riding Americans who enjoy dirt roads.

Hank’s patched tire is still intact.

Lemme rewind to where I left off with the last dispatch: I was watching the evening fall on my little Unibomber lake happy that I was feeling better. The moon was full and bathing in the lake. The spires of Cerro Castillo were slowly disappearing in the dark.

At around 10, as the dark firmly claimed the territory, the lil Dennis the Mannace and his Mom came to the clearing by my cabin with a soccer ball. We kicked it around in the moonlight. We alternated conversations about Venezuelan economic situation and a farting frog. They left and I crashed, waking up 8 hours later with the biggest grin on my face: I was pain free!!!! What a feeling. Forget sex, drugs, booze: waking up pain free is the most high you can be!

I spent the day hiking Cerro Castillo:  a lot of glorious uphill with killer views of the valley, of the lakes and rivers below and of the gorgeous mountains across. I reached the top, turned the corner and pow, my view filled with the close-up of the spectacular Cerro Castillo spires, their glacier-covered sides with waterfalls rushing out of glaciers and into the most preciously-emerald lagoons, perfectly still until they turn into powerful rivers at the lowest edge… Sun shining bright, occasional puffy cloud. My mind is a clear blue sky helpless before the beauty around.

I finished the hike around 6 pm. (20km) Got into the car and decided to just go on to my next destination. Puerto Rio Tranquillo means quiet river harbor. Well, the harbor was on the lake, not the river: the 2nd biggest lake in Latin America. In Chile, it is called Lago Carrera after a revolutionary war general from 1840’s while in Argentina it kept its original name “Buenos Aires”. Lovely air. The lake is fed by immense rivers formed on the Andean tops by melting glaciers and snow. Lake rests then rushing out in multiple rivers. My favorite of which is the gorgeous Rio Baker which I will come back to later in this dispatch.

So Puerto Rio Tranquillo is not a river port. And it is not that tranquillo either. The tiny village of some 400 people is mega packed with tourists – all there to see marble caves in the lake and to get a glance of the glaciers in the Northern Ice Field. 9 pm on a summer Saturday is a wrong time to arrive in Puerto Rio Tranquillo looking for a place to stay. The beautiful sunny day was now a rainy evening. I went around the village asking about availability. People were mega helpful giving me hints where to look next. One couple even called a bunch of places to see if they can put me up for the night. As a thank-you, I promised them that I would join their tour around the marble caves…The couple did not find me a lodging so I went snooping about some more and found what seemed to be the last unoccupied place to stay in the village: on the border of the lake was a cabin that might have been really nice when built 20+ years ago. Now it was smelly, not much worked and bathroom was too clogged for showering the hike dirt off. So I just gobbled up some chow and passed out.

Early morning, drizzling rain persisted but the view of the giant lake with the snow-peaked Andes and some dazzlingly shaped rocky hills were inspiring. Across a lil canal from my smelly pad, guys are getting small boats ready for the day of tourist shufflings. – Hey, you have a full day tour around the lake, guys? – Yea, we got a full one right here. – Oh fuck you! – Hahaha sorry! Yes, go ask in the little houses on the other side.

A row of wooden kiosks all with signs about Marble Cave tours. You have full-tour? No! You? Yes but full. Can you slot me in? Just one person. OK let us try. Come back in 15. OK.

Back to the smelly cabin for coffee. Wash everything up, pack, load up Hank. Back to the kiosks. The 2 guys I chatted about slotting me in are now gone and the lady there says no we are full. But now there is a new person in another kiosk who says yes, we’ll take you and here is your chaleco. Oh Chile!

All chaleco-clad, myself and a bunch of Chilean tourists excited to be on the tour are standing around chatting about random villages in Chile, areas of Santiago, and gas prices. I recognize a person or two from the Cerro Castillo hike y’day.

We get herded to a new place to stand: the loading dock. So now we wait here. And we wait. And wait some more… A boat with another group is loading. – Hey, is there a gringa traveling alone? – Yes that would be me. – Come with us on the full tour. – OK! How come? Oh never mind. Let’s go.

They let me sit up front. We cross the gorgeous big lake to a small 6 house village. One of the houses is the hotel where silver-miners used to live. The mine is not exactly closed but there is some kinda lawsuit, a dispute about which foreign company gets to operate it. I really wish Chile had its own mining operations and did not depend on endless parade of foreign mining companies who compete on who’s gonna bribe gov officials more.

“All these islands and, this abandoned boat now belong to a woman who inherited it.” Wow!

The islands are marble. Millennia of wind, rain, and mineral erosions make them look like incredible figurative and abstract sculptures… Deep caverns with intricate ceiling decorations, corinthian columns and Cordoba-style mosque arches all with carefully inlaid marble of different shades and colors. All nature’s work… Insane.

Whether you want to see cathedrals, chapels, hindu or Buddhist shrines – they are all in there…

Wind is blowing harder and harder. Rain, snow… But the caves are so pretty that no-one gives a shit. 8 happy grins against a lake storm…

Back in the village, I went straight back to the place where the lovely couple tried to find me accommodation. Today they have a room for me: brand new, all wood, central heating with 2 overburdened ripe sour cherry trees!!!! And a ladder!!!! I will leave you guessing what color my hands, face and clothing was after the first hour in my new place…

Satiated with cherries, I took Hanky on a little drive to another little lake up another crazy river and some wild scenary… We would stop to photograph flowers, stare at bees and condors.

Dinner was a lamb shank that tasted more like a corpse of a ram that died of very old age. I skipped desert to bushwack through the shrubbery by the lake in order to get a really good pano shot of the mountains on the other side of the lake… Then I recanted on the desert and ate even more cherries…

The next day, I got up early to go hike the glacier… Strong wind, torrential rain mixed with hail followed the van I was in with another couple and a guide (you can’t go tromping the glacier without a guide). The road to the entrance into the San Rafael Lagoon National Park is about 50km from Puerto Rio Tranquillo. At the kilometer 31, the road becomes a lake with sunken trees (it had become that just 4 months ago). So you get out of the van, get into a little wooden boat, motor through the trees for 350 meters, get out, walk over a rushing stream, walk another 200 m, get into another van and continue driving. Our Chilean Rasta guide/driver had dreads down to his knees and his righteous but kind attitude was soothing if a tad boring.

We cleared things with CONAF (employees of the corporation that manages national parks) and off we went, crampons and shoe/pant covers in our backpacks. Rain and snow intensified but we were undeterred in our march over large boulders, through scree, through lagoon mud, more large rock hopping… And finally ice. At first the ice was gray. Deep sheets of gray ice mixed with gravel, a proof of the glacier pushing into the mountain. After a while, we got on the ice and put our crampons on. Wow did I love cramponing. I am a spiderman! Woman… Oooh I can walk vertically up and down, no problem. I never again not want to use crampons to hike. (I have not since but I will make a point of procuring a pair and off I go down the French trail in Berkeley Hills, watch me…)

After a short distance, the couple wanted to go back. Of course, I was having a ball so the guide unloaded me on another guide and a Chilean family he was taking on the ice hike. These guys were joy incarnate: the guide was super funny and animated (nothing like the demure rasta) and the family must have had some pisco beforehand as they were all wild: 3 adult children all super strong, dad a former Chilean Olympic athlete and mama who might have been the weakest link but she was spunky as hell… Her family was pulling her up and pushing her across ice chunks with zest and utmost care. A few hours of going through ice tunnels, climbing up and down the glacier, we were drenched from the rain but ecstatically happy. All of us. We were singing. The Chileans were teaching me slang… It was awesome.

We even had a small picnic on ice in the pouring rain and the insane wind.

Going back was the same: van, boat, van. The stream we had crossed has now become a waterfall but we pushed through. You can’t get more wet when you are already soaking wet!

Finally back in the village, I changed into some dry clothes inside my car and decided to go to my next destination. I was not sure where that was but I knew I wanted to drive with the heat on, my clothes and my hiking boots drying on the back seat…The rain gradually subsided while I kept driving along the Carrera lake. Now another lake. Now a rushing waterfall, high mountain, another lake.  Occasionally I would see signs for accommodations… Here? No, I don’t think this is it. Here? No. Go on…

Finally I got to a tiny lil village Puerto Bertrand, on the lake Bertrand which connects to 2 other lakes and Carrera and serves as the beginning point of the Rio Baker (aforementioned) – the most voluminous  Chilean river: 900 cubic meters per second!!!!!! Also, a stunningly gorgeous one with the most wild green emerald blue turquoise color. I can’t describe the color – it is a hue that perhaps a mantis shrimp could describe well.

I like it here. But perhaps I can find a place to stay outside of the village. Let’s see what we got here. There are signs for a campsite and some cabañas further down on the Carretera. Worth checking!

Now I am driving just above the river with a forest layer separating us – I am in love with it. It is probably what “Blue Danube” was like when Strauss wrote about it?

I pass one set of cabanas and then at the next couple, I stop. This is it. This is what I want. Empty, clean, a couple of large cabañas spaced out right on the river in the forest… I drive in and I find a pretty middle-aged lady named Louisa. She is the owner and the only employee. She appears to be really sweet. She can’t believe she got a guest. We agree on the price and I move into a beautiful house with a balcony overlooking the river, the obligatory wood stove, lots of fire wood, gas range, oven, fridge, hot water, nice clean bathroom, many towels. Jack pot!!!!!! Louisa, can I stay 2 nights? Why yes, Dani! That would be great! Thank you! Oh, Louisa, do you have any coffee? I ran out. Sure, let’s go to the [otherwise empty and not much used] restaurant and I’ll get you some. I love you, Louisa!

I still have rice, curry, 2 avocados and a tomato… I am making me me a feast! I watch “NO” again (a Chilean movie I downloaded days ago while I still had internet), and I listen closely to the language. My fire took a minute to get going and some futzing was required but now it’s raging. Rain starting. River rushing. Night falling. Dani happy!

The next morning, I let myself sleep in till 8!!!! I open one eye, pull a curtain and stare at the rushing Rio Bertrand… I make Louisa’s coffee in my French press. Oatmeal with the last of the bananas and an apricot that Louisa brought me (is she for real???)

At 10, I finally find determination to carpe the diem. The river seems to be lower than it usually is – you can kinda walk on the rocks along the river. I watch birds, take pictures. Sunny day. Mountains are emerging from the morning fog… I walk and walk. 4 km. I’m in Puerto Bertrand. The village consists of some 10 houses tops. Signs for rafting and river cruises. I walk on. Hmmm this sign says private property… eh, not my first time walking through a private property. Let’s jump over this fence. Tralala! You can’t be here. “Oh no, my bad,” I say in English, “sorry I’m a clueless Gringa. Bye!”

OK, let’s see about this rafting.

Trip leaving shortly? Swell! Let’s go!

I’m in a raft with 4 young ladies from Santiago. Students of engineering at the Catholic University. They call themselves “Perras Locas”. They prefer “Crazy Dogs” to “Crazy Bitches” which the name actually translates to. The guide gives us obligatory safety instructions and we are off. I’m all serious as now I’m an experienced rafter (I have done it no less than twice before, come on!) LOL

The guide tells us that we need to practice balance. I am thinking to myself: hmmm no-one ever did that in the previous rafting trips. Perhaps this is something new?

OK ladies, step on the edge of the raft! Hold hands. Now everyone, step to the right? Another step… We are miraculously keeping the balance… He gets fed up with our impressive sense of balance and just pushes me into the water… I am astonished. Hey why? Also, cold AF!

I climb back up and then las Perras start just pushing each other in… Oh wait, this is THAT type of rafting trip!? After a pitiful lil rapid that the guide claims is class 3 (more like class half), he suggests we flip the raft. So we all stand on one side, the raft starts turning, we all jump and now we are all swimming towards the fast-moving overturned raft… We climb on top. OK, let’s turn it again. So we do. One more baby rapid which we decide to peddle backwards. Now we are somehow all in the water again and we are just floating downstream. Now we are all back in and the new exercise is: Surf the raft. 2 girls squat up front and jump up and down hard while the others peddle hard. All upstream. And of course water goes in and the peddles no longer reach the water. The raft is almost vertical… The girls up front are submergeed. OK, next 2 girls to the front!

Getting the raft out of the water, we all finally realized that we are freakin’ freezing. They shuttle us back to the place where our dry clothes are awaiting. And that’s that.

I use the rest of the day for a scenic drive. A stop by the lake and start walking down the sand path by the lake. A huge gaggle of ducks and 5-6 swans are swimming nearby against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains and a setting sun. A viscacha crosses my path… I have arrived!

I sit on the beach watching the animals, pulling an array of prickly weeds out of my socks and pants. And I zen out…

Earlier in the day, I found that the local almacen (convenience store) had good potatoes, apricots, carrots and a nice cheese. On the way back to my heavenly pad, I visit the friendly almacen, I load up and yay I have another feast. Yummm!

I watch Rio Baker as it keeps pushing on. I know it so well now: I slept next to it, I hiked along it, I rafted on it, I swam in it. It’s my friend. And it’s gorgeous and we seem to get along nicely. Heck, it’s my boyfriend. 🙂

The next day, I felt sad to say bye to Louisa. She was all alone in her place. She’s never been anywhere. She likes hearing my stories of travels. I hug her with the most sincerity ever and start driving… 14 km later, Rio Baker shows off in a spectacular waterfall and proceeds to cheat on me with Rio Nef. Nef is a dirty girl. She is carrying all kinds of volcanic ash the volcanoes upstream. And as they unite, she makes him look much less green/emerald/turquoise. Serves him right! (insert Miss Piggy noise here)

The hike to the confluence is lovely and jumping boulder to boulder around it is a pure zen delight. I tromp about looking for good angles to film the falls and the confluence. I can’t say I am happy with any. This scenery you just have to remember.

Another 30 km later, entrance to the Park Patagonia. Another Doug Tompkins purchase and subsequent gift to the Chilean people. The largest of all the 6-7 parks he cobbled together by purchasing land from farmers. The drive to the visitors office is a beautiful steppe, rocky, dry-ish, along the canyons that the river Chacabuco bravely cuts through… Wow, so many guanacos!!!! Yay! I love guanacos. I had only seen them up North once, it was right outside Punta de Chorros. They are so beautiful: like a cute small camel with big black flirty eyes and long eyelashes. Also, really goofy the way they walk and sit and scratch their backs bending their back-leg knees backwards.

I’m staying feet away from the place where Doug T. was buried. Thanks for the gloriously beautiful parks, Doug!

All the trails in the park are long. I go straight to a 16 km one. A lagoon, a steppe, a river, another river, a canyon, steep uphill, a small waterfall, views of spikey Andes… the works… A lagoon full of flamingoes. I have not seen flamingoes since Atacama. I guess this is a desert too and the lakes have salt content and the pink shrimp that they like to munch on.

I decide to have dinner in the park’s restaurant. It’s Wednesday: all you can eat bbq buffet. More importantly: all kinds of organic veggies from the park’s organic garden!!!!!! Needless to say, my 2 plates resemble giant mountains. I had not had beans, fresh beets, rutabaga, sprouts, radishes, kale… in MONTHS!!!!! There are guanaco all around the restaurant windows looking at me as I devour 2,979,587,367 calories.

I am so full I can’t sleep. So I read Eddy Izzard’s memoirs… I like reading biographies but I hate the part when they talk about childhoods. That part is always unproportionally long and far too sentimental… But it’s Eddy so I endure…

The next day, I hike a 23 km loop in the pouring rain and wind. The hike goes uphill gradually through wide switchbacks and through denser and denser prickly forest (prickly trees is all that can survive in this nutty cold climate). Then on the top (where the wind moves me any which way it wants), I climb over the rocks and follow the meandering trail through 10 lagoons, one after another, each new one more beautiful than the last. I just wish the rain was not incessantly pouring…

Ducks, cormorants, hawks, condors, all present and dealing with the rain and wind in their own ways (which is to say: barely noticing)… About that time, the beans start remembering their purpose in life. I fart this high pitch toot and a bird answers in almost an identical call. Who cares that it’s raining. I just made a bird call with my butt!!!!!

As the trail winds into a canyon, the rain is stopping, I’m shielded from the wind and the views are vast and stunning. As I descend, more and more guanaco line up the trail munching or staring pensively into the view.

The trail hugs the mountain around to offer you more sick views of the plains covered in guanaco with occasional fox or viscacha crossing…

It’s a good day!

The following day, I leave the park and do my last long day of Carretera Austral. The road is now totally awful but the scenery is stunning. I mean wow!

It takes me 5.5 hours to cover what should be a 3 hour drive because I keep stopping.

My last stop on the Carretera is a hanging village in a snug fjord. Caleta Tortel has no roads. Only wooden passageways. A few kilometers of them connecting houses on stilts, high and low. The restaurants in Tortel are small family kitchens with 2-3 tables; mom is cooking and the daughter is serving. Places to stay are people’s homes. Breakfast is home-made bread.

Everyone boats around. There are boats in all stages of disrepair and color combinations.

My landlord is a hippie Jehovah’s Witness. My fellow passengers at his home are young Chileans and a couple from Austria. Super fun conversations around the requisite wood furnace. Everyone’s getting hammered on cheap wine and the convo gets more and more colorful with every sip.

In the morning, I take a speed boat to the southern ice field and the huge glacier Jorge Montt. The final leg of the trip, the boat maneuvers through icebergs 3 times its size… The glacier is imposing, thunderous and blue. It sits on the beach then climbs up the mountain, then disappears in the fog. We get back on the boat and the captain pulls a couple of chunks of glacier ice, pours Ballentine’s whiskey into them and everyone drinks. And gets totally sloshed. On the way home, people are nodding off, mouths open, drool dripping…. Fun!

I get back to Hank and we cover our final 46 km of the Carretera to Puerto Yungay and we line up for the ferry. Before I even get in line, I am already chatting with my future fellow passengers… No-one sure of the logistics but everyone excited to get on the cheap cruiser.

And that brings us to the present moment.

22 hours into the trip, the cabin smells like 2-day old socks. Everyone is far less excited about being on a cheap cruiser. Kids are getting bored and cranky. Dunkirk (of all the movies) is on the video screens. I am contemplating maybe sleeping on the back seat of the car instead of my seat. Def more comfy but may be too cold.

Views outside are breathtaking. So I spend most of my time on the top deck, dressed in 14 layers of clothing…

Earlier today (hour 18 or so) we stopped at a little village on a little island. No roads, only a ferry every once in a while. And people live here. And the hanging boardwalks (akin to those in Caleta Tortel) are all lined with sweet raspberries. I spent the 20 minute ferry stop picking ripe raspberries and talking to a lady who sells begs of peanuts in the “port”. I can’t help but wonder where and how she procured the peanuts in this most literal middle of nowhere…