I’m not sure where we first read about it as it doesn’t seem to be in either of our guidebooks, but there is crooked bridge kind of thing called Muelle de Las Almas that we want to try and see today. As we understand the story, the original inhabitants of the islands, the Mapuches, believed that when they died, their souls travelled to the Punta Pirulil where a ferryman would transport them to their eternal resting place. However, souls that could not pay the toll were left to wander the shores of Punta Pirulil, where you can hear their some say you can hear their anguished cries in the sound of the crashing waves ocean waves. Some years ago, an artist built the Muella de Las Almas (the Dock of Souls) to pay homage to this legend, with the bridge marking the journey of souls from this world to the next.

From Castro, we head about 45 minutes to the western shore, and then south down a goat path that no self-respecting goat would use. We hear a lot of awful sounds coming from beneath our feet as our tiny rental car bottoms out repeatedly, but checking the rear view mirror, no pieces are falling off and we press on. When we can finally go no further, we lock the doors and head off on foot, for what ends up being a 2.5km hike through some spectacular scenery…

past some of the local residents…

and finally to this…

Of course, I need to climb the hill off to the right (after all, it has a trail on it), but find no other takers in my group. If you look very closely in this picture, you can see my fellow traveler sprawled out beneath the bridge soaking in the energy of the place.

After a bit of zen time, we head back to the car and start off towards Castro. Not far down the trail, we pick up out first two hitchhikers ever – a German and a Hungarian, both in their 20s who are at least an hour’s walk from any sort of bus service. This good karma comes in handy, as no more than a half mile further down the road, the tiny wheels of our car sink deep into the loose sand and we come to a stop. Fortunately, with a little digging, the pushing power of our extra passengers, and a hand from a few more trekkers walking by, we get back on our way.

Tonight we’re staying back in Puerto Montt, to be close to the airport for our flight in the morning. It’s a shame to be leaving Chiloé so soon as we really did love it here. Still plenty to see, but so far the highlight of our trip.

Not so long ago, as we travelled the world, I consistently had a good two hour block in the morning to catch up things (like this journal) while the other half of Team Roberts peacefully studied the insides of her eyelids. I can’t explain it, but over the past few trips, that time has almost vanished. I don’t think I’m getting up any later, which can only mean one thing. Amazing, but true.

On the positive side, that means on days like today we are out the door and beginning our long drive to Chiloé by 8:00am. But on the negative side, this story gets written in fits and starts, sometimes relying on my aging memory to fill in the gaps. A fair trade off I suppose, as the extra time allows us to cram more things into each day, meaning even if I start forgetting some, no one will be able to tell.

Chiloé is a large island a few miles off the coast that we finally reach by ferry, four hours or so after leaving Valdivia. According to our guide books, being disconnected from the mainland has allowed a distinct culture to develop here, and we definitely can sense a change of atmosphere as we pull into Ancud, one of the larger towns at the northern tip. Perhaps it is because the sun is shining once again, but things just feel lighter and a little less urgent.

One of the main reasons travelers come to the island is the network of churches constructed here by the Jesuits starting in the 1700s. As shipbuilding skills were plentiful at the time (and presumably masonry less so), they were built entirely out of wood. Our first stop in Ancud is one that has been restored and converted into a museum. There aren’t a whole lot of displays written in English, but with all of the exposed beams, we get a sense for how these impressive buildings were put together. They are on the list of World Heritage Sites, and if you’re interested, there is plenty written about them on the Internet at sites like this one.

While in Ancud, finding a place that serves Curanto is also a must. This is a traditional dish of seafood (mostly shellfish) and potatoes cooked by placing the food and hot stones in a pit, then covering the whole thing with wet leaves, grass and dirt. The finished product is piled high and served up with a bowl of soup for dipping. If I don’t weigh 500 pounds when I get off the plane in Seattle it will be miracle.

From Ancud, we head 20 minutes or so further west to a pinguineria. It’s clearly still low season here, as we are able to secure ourselves 2 seats on an otherwise empty boat to the islands where they nest. The wind is blowing and the water is pretty rough, but seeing penguins is on my trusty traveling companion’s bucket list, so a few waves aren’t going to stop her.

There are both Humboldt and Magellanic penguins here, waddling down the hills from their nests to fish, and then back up again with food for their young. Once the nesting season is over, they leave these islands and won’t set foot on dry ground again until they return the following year. We have a LOT of penguin pictures, so if you are looking for any particular pose, I probably have it.

For accommodation, we’ve arranged for a cabin near the water in the town of Castro. It takes a bit of extra effort for Google Maps to get us there, but once we arrive it is extremely peaceful. At least until the Chilean soccer team starts playing. the neighbors are fans, and while we’re thrilled they are excited to see their team win a big game, we still manage to move a few doors further down. With a few logs in the wood stove, we’re good for the night.

I don’t have a good picture of the outside of this place, but there is something similar across the bay. If we had a little more time, I definitely could see myself just relaxing here with a few books, watching the time come in and out. Should you ever find yourself in Chiloé, I can highly recommend it.

It’s another wet, gray day outside and there is some temptation (a lot really) to stay inside and catch up on so many things that we have fallen behind on. We’ve been gone a week now and are running perilously low on clean clothes, so at a minimum that needs to get taken care of. And since we’ll be out of the room anyway, may as well make a day of it and catch some sights.

After dropping off a few bags of manky laundry at the front desk, we head off to the riverfront, where the tour boats depart for a ride to the Spanish forts some 5km away. These people are nowhere near as dumb as we are however, and with the weather as bad as it is, everything is cancelled until tomorrow. That sounds like a challenge, and after asking around, we learn that it is possible to drive about 20km out of town and then catch a local ferry to see the forts.

It’s a slow drive on a narrow road, more often than not stuck behind a heavily loaded truck of one kind or another, but we manage to find the port and are first in line. Just one problem. There are two forts nearby, and we’ve been told the best one is on a small island in the middle of the river. Unfortunately, the water is so rough by this point that the ferry can’t dock there. That means option one is off the table. Option two is across the river and that ferry is apparently still going, but after waiting in line for half an hour and seeing no movement (and visibility so poor we probably couldn’t see the fort if we were standing right next to), it’s time to concede defeat and head back to town.

We make it back in time for a late lunch back at the market and quick trip to the grocery store to stock up for our drive tomorrow. Angela is so excited to come across this little treasure and can’t wait to tell Sam that it is safe to travel to Chile because they have Heinz ketchup.

According to the forecast, the weather starts to clear up tomorrow, so we’re planning on moving south to Chiloé for our last few days in this part of the country.

The hours of driving each day has started to take its toll, and while there are some places further north we talked about going to early on, we’re going to head for the coast instead and see if we can find some sights closer together. Not far away (relatively speaking) is the town of Valdivia and, according to our books, there are some old Spanish forts, river tours, and a vibrant fish market to see. The list seems long enough to keep us entertained for a couple of days, so off we go.

By the time we arrive three hours later, the rain is just rolling in to meet us. A few small museums provides a bit of a respite while we wait to see if the worst will pass, but things only gets worse. With the wind, water is coming in sideways and regular people seem to have all hunkered down indoors. That’s just not how I roll though, so out come the waterproof, windproof jackets we brought for our time in Patagonia, and we head down to the fish market.

It’s pretty small compared to other places we have been, but still fun to look at everything there is for sale and to watch the sea lions fight over the scraps.

We finish the day at a craft market overlooking the river where restaurants full of locals line the top floor. There are a few new things on the menu to try, but as we watch the food go by, it’s obvious that the fish and chips are the specialty (across the street from the stands selling fresh fish – go figure). Mental note for tomorrow.

After yesterday’s whirlwind tour, we are starting to realize just how much driving may be involved in getting to all the spots we want to see. I don’t want to spend all day behind the wheel, so despite going outside my travel coordinator’s comfort zone, we’re going freestyle from here, booking one night at a time as we work our way around the area.

Today’s destination is Puyehue, another national park a few hours north famous for its hot springs. After the long drive and a short hike, a good soak is pretty relaxing, and we let the afternoon slowly drift away until we are pretty close to cooked.

Ou accommodation for this evening is an eco-resort on a lake. The “eco” part I think just refers to the fact they don’t use any kind of machinery to maintain the rutted gravel road to the property, and “resort” seems to be some sort of local word for basic two-story house with a bedroom for rent. Walking down the narrow hallway to our room at the end of the hall, it feels like I’m visiting relatives somewhere.

The nearest town is about 5 miles away, so we figure we can run our little rental car through the pothole gauntlet a couple more times in search of dinner. We find a few food stalls and make short work of some papas rellenas, empanadas, and salchipapas, but the Holy Trinity of starch leaves my better half in need of some meat. We remember seeing a little old man waving a sign for his restaurant back on the main road and figure we can probably stop in and split an order of chicken.

It’s clearly low season here as we are barely out of the car before someone rushes out to greet us and walk us all the way from the parking lot to a nice table in front of the fireplace. There is no menu, but we gather the specialty of the house is wild boar, served up with potatoes. They are clearly very proud of their food and we’re up for giving it a try, so “two plates, please”.

What hits the table looks like something out of the Flintstones. The two gargantuan slabs of meat alone are more than I could ever hope to eat (even if I hadn’t starched up beforehand) and unfortunately for her, those are matched by what has to be at least a half dozen potatoes, sliced up, fried and piled into a small mountain on Angela’s plate. I think if she eats it all she must get an Old 96er t-shirt.

The food is delicious, but despite giving it the old college try we both come up short.

Despite a raging case of meat sweats, looking down, our plates aren’t much different than when they came out of the kitchen. Our server, who is almost certainly the chef’s wife, seems a touch insulted by this and refuses to acknowledge us for the rest of the evening. It takes some effort, but We finally manage to get our bill and commence our sheepishly head back to the car. Time to call it a night before we do any further damage to Canadian-Chilean relations.

We’re hitting the road today, and after a bit of debate, decide to head north towards the mountains. We have one more night booked here in Puerto Montt, so don’t want to get too far away a leave ourselves with a long drive back, and fortunately, there is a good spot about an hour away. The road to Parque Nacional Vicente Pérez Rosales takes us along the shore of Lake Llanquihue, and before long, we see Volcán Osorno off in the distance. In the winter this is a local ski resort, and while we’re a bit too late in the season for that, the smooth, snow capped peak calls out for some fresh tracks.

Our first stop is Saltos de Petrohué, which is just a short hike off the main road. The views are spectacular and the crystal clear water the most amazing shade of green.

A bit further along the road (pretty much the end of it really) is lies the tiny town of Petrohué. It’s not much more than a hotel and a beach with boats offering tours of Lago Todos Los Santos. Given how many are lined up waiting for passengers, summer must get pretty busy here, but at this time of year, a couple of pasty Canadians look pretty darn good.

Along the shore there are a lot of summer cottages accessible only by boat, and picking up every third word our captain tells us, I gather most of them are owned by people from Santiago, who use them for only a couple of months a year. This one looked particularly appealing to me given it’s awesome views and complete lack of neighbors 🙂

Heading back towards Puerto Montt, I have the burning need to drive up the volcano as far as the road will let us. Close to the top, we find the ski lift still running, taking tourists on a 15 minute ride part way up the mountain.

From there, a few trails head off through the fine sand to different viewpoints. At times it is like walking on a deserted beach, only 8,000 feet up from the nearest body of water.

Our final stop is the town of Puerto Varas, the main town for tourists on the lake and, according to our guidebook, a wonderful parilla, where we can put a local steak to the test against those just across the border in Bariloche. It’s a tasty challenge and almost too close call, but I have to give this one to Argentina, if only because here a one pound rib-eye clocks in at an eye-popping $12 (a whole $2 more).

Bonus points for the most delicious churros ever though. Joey, this one’s for you buddy 🙂

We’re a little tired by the time we finally check into the hotel (although one of us has managed to sneak in a few naps along the way).

Puerto Montt isn’t as much of a destination as it is central to other areas to visit, so we’ve booked two nights here to get our bearings before moving further afield. The great news is that I still have some status at the Holiday Inn Express (from years ago when I racked up stays there to score free nights at the Intercontinental in Istanbul), so we’re pleased to find that we can choose from a free bottle of water, or a package of two, yes two, cookies. Membership does have its privileges.

After settling in, we wander around town a bit in search of dinner. Apparently they roll the streets up pretty early here and the few places that are still open are packed full of people watching the Chile v. Columbia soccer match. Fortunately, we do stumble across a french fry stand and suddenly, all seems right with the world.

Overall, a pretty unexciting day, but after a good night’s sleep in a real bed, we’ll be hitting the road in search of adventure.

It seems like a pretty good day to leave the country given the election and all, so for the next few weeks, while many of you are busy clicking through the Canadian Immigration website, my trusty sidekick and I will be stomping around Patagonia, checking out giant stone heads, and speaking really bad Spanish.

Having done a lot trips like this, you’d think we’d have the process mastered, but for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, we seem less prepared than ever. Nevertheless, the flight is leaving with or without us, so whatever we’ve forgotten (and there is definitely going to be something), we’ll have to deal with it from afar.

The next 24 hours or so are going to be spent in the air, with our final stop in Puerto Montt, which is part of the Lake District in central Chile. Angela has taken the lead on setting the itinerary, so while I know we have about a week planned in the area, I’m not really sure doing what. A little adventure is good for the soul though I suppose.

In general, from central Chile the plan is to head down to Punta Arenas, at the southern tip of the country, then to Easter Island, and finally, a few days in Santiago. It’s a lot of flying, and there are still a few spots we just aren’t going to make it to, but for what looks like such a small country on the map, places are really, really far apart.

Even more stressful has been the near absence of beloved Sheraton and Hyatt hotels. My travel companion does enjoy her perks of status, and it remains to be seen how her system will react to no name accommodation found on TripAdvisor. Please pray for her.

Today is our last day on the islands and by popular demand we’ve decided to do a whole lot of nothing. The morning is spent relaxing in the hammocks, enjoying a cool breeze with a glass of Yogi and a Kindle.

We do manage to pull ourselves away for lunch at Lo & Lo’s, where the purportedly serve the best ceviche on the island. The food is as advertised, all chased down with a pitcher of frozen lemonade (which, as opposed to the apple soda, contains actual fruit).

Eating burns a lot of energy, so to be safe, we return immediately to our hammocks. There the afternoon slowly passes us by, until finally it is time to pack up 🙁

For our farewell dinner, we end up at a spot near the dive shop that has been busy pretty much every time we’ve walked by. Travelin’ Gran signs up for the “Eat your Weight in Fajitas” challenge, but sadly comes up just a little short and doesn’t get the t-shirt. Magnificent effort though.

Since we’ll be leaving for the airport pretty early in the morning, that’s pretty much a wrap. It has been an incredible 8 days and we have more than our fair share of memories to last a lifetime. The boys have a ton of things to tell their friends about (well, at least to the extent teenage boys share anything), and we’ve shown Travelin’ Gran that if she can get through one of our vacations, going anywhere else should be a piece of cake.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, here’s one that sums up the Galapagos nicely.

As I’ve mentioned, one of my best memories from my first visit here twenty years ago is swimming with sea lions. That was during a dive excursion to an island 60 miles or so south called Floreana, so today we load up the full horde (except Travelin’ Gran who is not super excited about a boat trip that long) and head out. It is a much smaller boat than Nick and I were on yesterday, so not particularly comfortable, and the crossing is open water, putting a premium on the motion sickness patches. On the upside, it has two big engines, allowing us to make the trip in about ninety minutes.

Sam is joining Nick and I under the water today, and while he is a bit nervous early on, soon he is vintage Sam, being crazy and having fun.

Much like yesterday, what is on display is a mix of rays, turtles, eels and fish. One sea lion comes by to check us out, but after a few seconds heads off in search of something more entertaining. Meanwhile, up on the surface, Joey and Mom are over a shallow part of the reef, seeing a lot of the same as snorkelers. It is a good refresher for those of us that haven’t been in the water for a while and provides plenty to talk about over some snacks.

The real fun begins when we get back in the water and swim close to shore. The sea lions up on the rocks see playmates and pile in to join us, making for some wonderful, close up encounters. My wildlife-loving travel partner (I guess I need to narrow that down, so here I mean Angela) looks like Bugsy from the movie Bedtime Stories as she watches them swim all around her. She’s no stranger to amazing things, but of all those, she ranks this number one.

For our second dive we stick to a fairly shallow wall. The water is noticeably clearer here, and we get some good shots of numbers white-tip sharks resting in the various nooks and crannies.

And as a final highlight, we spend the last few minutes with more sea lions, which dart in and out of the air bubbles we make. One particularly curious fellow takes a fancy to my GoPro and makes a few valiant attempts to pry it out of my hands. Remember, this isn’t SeaWorld, these are wild animals in their natural environment. It’s awesome.

Back in the boat, the ride home goes a lot smoother, largely because we are exhausted and able to fall asleep on whatever flat surfaces we can find. Our trip includes lunch back in town, and as we sit down for a bite, none other than Travelin’ Gran strolls by. She’s part local by this point and has been out on her own shopping up a storm.

Most days, this would be the end of the story, but we still have one more thing to do. After days of ceviche and chicken with french fries, we decide to branch out and try some chinese food. The boys kick things off with a 3 liter bottle of cold, apple-flavored soda. Over the next 40 minutes, they pack their bodies with roughly 90 grams of sugar each. That’s the equivalent of 30 sugar cubes for anyone doing the math. By the time they are done, Sam and Joey are talking so fast I can hardly make out what they are saying.

And the award for Parents of the Year goes to…

The food itself is memorable only for how awful it is, ranking deep down with Captain Kidd’s, the granddaddy of barftastic meals that the boys still talk about six years later.

There’s a palpable sense that our time here is coming to an end. Just a few more days and we’ll be starting the long journey back to Redmond. Que triste.