PATAGONIA 27 - NO QUICK FIX

Inside Passage, Chile: The northern reach of Chile’s archipelago has a lot of open water, even another stretch of exposure to the sea. But we had come north a long way and the weather was turning fair. The last full day was a holiday of sorts in Chile, a special day to recognize and appreciate mariners. I don’t know how they celebrate in Santiago or Concepcion but sea port cities have festivals and decorate their harbors, not unlike Cajun shrimper’s on the Gulf Coast, Blessing The Fleet on the first day of shrimp season. On board our boat, the Captain would come down from his lair, (none of us had seen him at all.) and eat in the dining room with the crew and passengers. I was more impressed with the boatmen of Puerto Edén than our ghost captain but with the trip winding down, anybody who might be even semi-important was worth watching. I was looking for some gold braid and esprit de corps. The cooks went the extra mile with both cake and ice cream. 

On the leeward side of the big island, Chiloe, where I had spent two days in May, calm water and moon lit sky signaled the onset of closure for this boat ride. It was like the day before school lets out; too late to start anything but too soon to relax. I bid Chris farewell earlier in the day, packed and repacked my belongings, walked all the decks and walkways I was allowed and then spent more time topside on the observation deck. You could see lights on shore in the distance and airplanes; stars don’t blink after all. The cows were quiet; if only they knew.

 
Murray was headed back to the Philippines, his agent had signed him on with a crew while we were on Navimag. I was the last to turn in, fully dressed, everything stowed; just my windup, travel alarm ticking in my pocket. I felt a little bump, then another. We were getting turned around, backing into our slot with the help of a harbor tug. I went out to the landing above the cargo deck. Puerto Montt was lit up but likewise, still asleep. It was 4:00 a.m. Murray came up, he felt the bump as well. We wished the other well in a genuine sort of way. Chances of ever meeting again were minuscule but for a couple of days we drank coffee and swapped stories. Cold breakfast was served early; fruit, cereal, bread, cheese and jam. Then the Purser collected keys, thanked us for traveling with Navimag, led us back down the way we had come aboard. 

Jeff and Jeff led the way, long strides, not looking back. It was daylight but no traffic, doors still locked up and down the street. After gliding in under clear skies it was clouded over again and showers were the rule. I found a modest hotel, got a room and stowed my bags. With just my back pack I set out to see Puerto Montt. I saw Susan twice through the morning, doing the same kind of meandering as me. There was a market place along the waterfront with small shops and vendadores, selling trinkets off of plastic tablecloths, spread out on the concrete. In a leather shop I found salmon leather. They carefully skin the fish, remove the scales and process the skin into leather. Fish skin it seems is no different than mammal skins; you can make wallets and hand bags with the natural scale pattern, even the lateral line. I bought several dark brown pieces. 

My water proof jacket served me well in Puerto Montt. Showers came and went but when it rained it came down in torrents. I found the bus terminal, bought my ticket. I was to the point I didn’t think much about how much things cost, only whether I had enough cash to get home. I would be headed back across the divide to Argentina with some business to finish in Bariloche, I needed a fresh supply of chocolate. Several days of sleeping in the same bed had let me forget the necessity of constant self monitoring. It goes with the vagabond life style. Onboard the bus with plenty of time to spare, I took a nap, surprised how easy it was to slip away. 

We got into the mountains quickly. Granted, winter was upon us but the snow depth still surprised me. Traffic was stopped at one point where a semi had jackknifed. They left the trailer where it broke down. Traffic was alternating one way at a time, squeezing through but it confirmed for me; down south there are no quick fixes, you simply work around the obstacle. 

In Bariloche, when I checked into Tango Inn they welcomed me like old friends do. I told them about the chocolate melting in Ushuaia, that I ate it all and needed more. They got a good laugh out of that but agreed, you gotta do what you gotta do. The dogs were still sleeping in the vestibule and I felt a weird sense of belonging. I heard a shout out from the back room, would there be omelettes in the morning? I told Herman I didn’t have any groceries and was quickly advised, “The groceries will be there when you wake up.”