Post by Bozur on Mar 2, 2005 18:41:42 GMT -5
Very superstitious
Vampire squirrels, giant serpents - the islanders living off Chile's mainland are an alarmist bunch, finds Tom Burgis. (Filed: 28/02/2005)
Chile basics
Chile's Straits of Chacao are haunted by El Caleuche, a phantasmal Dutch merchantman who looms periodically from the peasoupers, terrifying the fishermen. The straits may only take half an hour to cross, but, figuratively, are much wider. The islanders on the far shore, believers in witchcraft, consider themselves a race apart.
We had taken the night train south from Santiago to Temuco, and a coach through the Lake District to Puerto Montt. After a night in a secluded cliff-top farm, we took a bus to Pargua, where the straits ferry leaves for Chiloé, the largest island in the Chilean archipelago.
The Chonos, the island's first inhabitants, were driven to the south by the Mapuche before the Spanish conquest of 1567. By 1826, Chiloé was the Spanish crown's last outpost in South America. Chile had won its independence 16 years earlier but efforts to assimilate Chiloé into the republic were stymied by the pro-Madrid islanders. When the last Spanish governors fled, they tried to foist the far-flung island on Britain. The foreign secretary, George Canning, politely refused and by February 1826 Chiloé was in thrall to Santiago.
Chiloé, 100 miles long by 40 miles at its broadest, is one of several places here that looks like Wales. It is green, rolling and rugged. The rain in winter and autumn is as enchanting as it is incessant. The poet Pablo Neruda thought the islanders' accents had a diluvian inflection. They have certainly absorbed various vowels and clicks, making the island chatter one of the region's many idiosyncrasies.
The ferry docks at Chacao, from where buses continue to Ancud, the island's second town. Down the coast, dolphins frolic beneath the old Corona lighthouse; fishermen offer visits to the colony of penguins; and, farther out, the seas support one of the world's largest blue-whale nurseries, discovered in 2003.
As its tourist trade expands, Ancud has grown, but it retains the intimate air of a fishing village. Our hotel, the Hostería Ancud, was near the ruins of the San Antonio fortress and overlooked the bay. Nowhere in Chiloé is luxurious, but plenty of places are comfortable and welcoming. Another choice, the Galeón Azul, perched on the hill behind the harbour, looked a good but bizarre bet - it's a galleon painted electric blue.
After checking in we ate at Café Canela, a bohemian nook, and for less than £10 had an excellent seafood platter and a couple of potent caipirinhas. Food generally was a highlight of the trip, in particular curanto, Chiloé's traditional dish, which is made by putting shellfish and myriad cuts of meat onto heated racks in a hole in the ground. The whole affair is then submerged in stock and simmered for an age. The results can be spectacular, notably at El Tiburón in Ancud's central market, where the oysters were also superb.
Much of the island's non-gastronomic charm stems from its unique mythic culture, fashioned along a fault line between pagan and Christian worlds. I was informed by a wizened spiritualist that the island used to be part of the mainland until the apparition of a giant serpent, one Cai-Cai. The snake's clash with the protector, Ten-Ten, smashed the land and formed the archipelago. The island's thousand trinket and craft shops sell fabulous figures carved from alerce wood, a favourite being the chupacabra, a vampiric flying squirrel that preys on goats.
The Chilote, needless to say, are ardently superstitious. Proverbial wisdom ranges from the morbid - "When the crows land for the ninth time, someone in your house will die" - to the soberly pragmatic: "When a plant stings your foot, it's time to get new shoes".
Other ancient wisdoms involve a variety of cures, but care should be taken when sampling the infinite varieties of medically efficacious tea. Romaza is a powerful laxative; an oregano infusion will salve the curious condition of "coldnesses of the stomach"; and limpiaplata theoretically stems nose bleeds - though I was unable to fathom the logistics of its application.
Two hours by bus south of Ancud, on a fjord on the east coast, lies Castro, the island's capital and its largest town. The imposing purple and yellow cathedral in the Plaza de Armas was designed by the Italian architect Eduardo Provosoli, who tagged along with a mission of Bavarian Jesuits in 1906. It has somehow survived numerous earthquakes and fires and is now a World Heritage Site.
Castro's waterfront is lined with palafitos (wooden houses on stilts) and restaurants of varying quality. Better to stick to the places near the artisan market, where street musicians bash out Chilote jigs on panpipes and skin drums. The three-star Hotel Alerce Nativo here, cosily done out in native wood, was a winner.
Chiloé's two towns are fun - in summer tourists are liable to be swept up in bacchanalian street parties - but the island's treasure is its wild, western reaches, 25 miles from Castro. It takes two hours on the decent road to cross the island to Cucao, a tiny outpost at the lip of the island's Parque Nacional, a large expanse of eerie mists and evergreen forest, spilling down to the Pacific.
In Cucao (literally "huge seagull") we met Miguel Angel. While he saddled our horses he told us how he had abandoned life as a war correspondent and itinerant hack for the peace of Chiloé. His restaurant, cabañas and stables are known as El Fogón (The Tinderbox) and constitute most of Cucao.
Angel is now a caballero. He does trips through the park and into the Andes, from where the mountain folk descend to peddle their wares. As we trotted along the forest tracks and wove through the ravines, Angel regaled us with tales of his year he spent travelling the length of the Americas. "But this is where I'll stay. There's nowhere like here," he says.
He is right. Perhaps it's the effect of the strange light of the far south on the tousled aquamarine of the landscape. Perhaps it's the sense, as the horses wind through the dunes to the thunderous Pacific, that this is the end of the world. Maybe it's the sound, as we break into a gallop along the shore, of my companion yelling at her free-spirited stead (an eccentric grey called Picasso), "Just stop, you wretch!" Whatever it may be, this place is unlike anywhere else in Latin America. And, on reflection, absolutely unlike Wales.
Chile basics
Getting there
Journey Latin America (020 8747 8315; offers tailor-made packages to Chiloé, which can be added to longer Chilean itineraries, notably the nearby Lake District region or Patagonia and the Atacama desert. A three-night package costs from £393 per person, including full board, transfers and guided excursions. Activities such as riding, kayaking, rafting, mountain biking or volcano climbing can be arranged. The company's 14-night escorted "Rockhopper" Chile tour, which features many of the country's highlights, also includes three days on Chiloé; from £2,109 per person, including flights, accommodation, transport, excursions and tour leader. Journey Latin America also offers three-, four- or six-night cruises that take in the best of the Chiloé archipelago and the surrounding fjords of the Pumalin national park. Three-night cruises cost from £438 per person, including full board and guided excursions.
Independent travel
Iberia (0845 850 9000; flies from Heathrow to Santiago from £652 return; train from Santiago to Puerto Montt costs £10; and there are frequent buses from Temuco to Puerto Montt. Lan Chile (0800 917 0572; flies from Santiago to Puerto Montt from £55. The Hostería Ancud (0056 65 622340; has doubles from £35; Galeón Azul (622567 ); doubles from £45; and Hotel Alerce Nativo (632267); doubles £45. For further visitor information visit www.sernatur.cl or www.chipsites.cl.
Vampire squirrels, giant serpents - the islanders living off Chile's mainland are an alarmist bunch, finds Tom Burgis. (Filed: 28/02/2005)
Chile basics
Chile's Straits of Chacao are haunted by El Caleuche, a phantasmal Dutch merchantman who looms periodically from the peasoupers, terrifying the fishermen. The straits may only take half an hour to cross, but, figuratively, are much wider. The islanders on the far shore, believers in witchcraft, consider themselves a race apart.
We had taken the night train south from Santiago to Temuco, and a coach through the Lake District to Puerto Montt. After a night in a secluded cliff-top farm, we took a bus to Pargua, where the straits ferry leaves for Chiloé, the largest island in the Chilean archipelago.
The Chonos, the island's first inhabitants, were driven to the south by the Mapuche before the Spanish conquest of 1567. By 1826, Chiloé was the Spanish crown's last outpost in South America. Chile had won its independence 16 years earlier but efforts to assimilate Chiloé into the republic were stymied by the pro-Madrid islanders. When the last Spanish governors fled, they tried to foist the far-flung island on Britain. The foreign secretary, George Canning, politely refused and by February 1826 Chiloé was in thrall to Santiago.
Chiloé, 100 miles long by 40 miles at its broadest, is one of several places here that looks like Wales. It is green, rolling and rugged. The rain in winter and autumn is as enchanting as it is incessant. The poet Pablo Neruda thought the islanders' accents had a diluvian inflection. They have certainly absorbed various vowels and clicks, making the island chatter one of the region's many idiosyncrasies.
The ferry docks at Chacao, from where buses continue to Ancud, the island's second town. Down the coast, dolphins frolic beneath the old Corona lighthouse; fishermen offer visits to the colony of penguins; and, farther out, the seas support one of the world's largest blue-whale nurseries, discovered in 2003.
As its tourist trade expands, Ancud has grown, but it retains the intimate air of a fishing village. Our hotel, the Hostería Ancud, was near the ruins of the San Antonio fortress and overlooked the bay. Nowhere in Chiloé is luxurious, but plenty of places are comfortable and welcoming. Another choice, the Galeón Azul, perched on the hill behind the harbour, looked a good but bizarre bet - it's a galleon painted electric blue.
After checking in we ate at Café Canela, a bohemian nook, and for less than £10 had an excellent seafood platter and a couple of potent caipirinhas. Food generally was a highlight of the trip, in particular curanto, Chiloé's traditional dish, which is made by putting shellfish and myriad cuts of meat onto heated racks in a hole in the ground. The whole affair is then submerged in stock and simmered for an age. The results can be spectacular, notably at El Tiburón in Ancud's central market, where the oysters were also superb.
Much of the island's non-gastronomic charm stems from its unique mythic culture, fashioned along a fault line between pagan and Christian worlds. I was informed by a wizened spiritualist that the island used to be part of the mainland until the apparition of a giant serpent, one Cai-Cai. The snake's clash with the protector, Ten-Ten, smashed the land and formed the archipelago. The island's thousand trinket and craft shops sell fabulous figures carved from alerce wood, a favourite being the chupacabra, a vampiric flying squirrel that preys on goats.
The Chilote, needless to say, are ardently superstitious. Proverbial wisdom ranges from the morbid - "When the crows land for the ninth time, someone in your house will die" - to the soberly pragmatic: "When a plant stings your foot, it's time to get new shoes".
Other ancient wisdoms involve a variety of cures, but care should be taken when sampling the infinite varieties of medically efficacious tea. Romaza is a powerful laxative; an oregano infusion will salve the curious condition of "coldnesses of the stomach"; and limpiaplata theoretically stems nose bleeds - though I was unable to fathom the logistics of its application.
Two hours by bus south of Ancud, on a fjord on the east coast, lies Castro, the island's capital and its largest town. The imposing purple and yellow cathedral in the Plaza de Armas was designed by the Italian architect Eduardo Provosoli, who tagged along with a mission of Bavarian Jesuits in 1906. It has somehow survived numerous earthquakes and fires and is now a World Heritage Site.
Castro's waterfront is lined with palafitos (wooden houses on stilts) and restaurants of varying quality. Better to stick to the places near the artisan market, where street musicians bash out Chilote jigs on panpipes and skin drums. The three-star Hotel Alerce Nativo here, cosily done out in native wood, was a winner.
Chiloé's two towns are fun - in summer tourists are liable to be swept up in bacchanalian street parties - but the island's treasure is its wild, western reaches, 25 miles from Castro. It takes two hours on the decent road to cross the island to Cucao, a tiny outpost at the lip of the island's Parque Nacional, a large expanse of eerie mists and evergreen forest, spilling down to the Pacific.
In Cucao (literally "huge seagull") we met Miguel Angel. While he saddled our horses he told us how he had abandoned life as a war correspondent and itinerant hack for the peace of Chiloé. His restaurant, cabañas and stables are known as El Fogón (The Tinderbox) and constitute most of Cucao.
Angel is now a caballero. He does trips through the park and into the Andes, from where the mountain folk descend to peddle their wares. As we trotted along the forest tracks and wove through the ravines, Angel regaled us with tales of his year he spent travelling the length of the Americas. "But this is where I'll stay. There's nowhere like here," he says.
He is right. Perhaps it's the effect of the strange light of the far south on the tousled aquamarine of the landscape. Perhaps it's the sense, as the horses wind through the dunes to the thunderous Pacific, that this is the end of the world. Maybe it's the sound, as we break into a gallop along the shore, of my companion yelling at her free-spirited stead (an eccentric grey called Picasso), "Just stop, you wretch!" Whatever it may be, this place is unlike anywhere else in Latin America. And, on reflection, absolutely unlike Wales.
Chile basics
Getting there
Journey Latin America (020 8747 8315; offers tailor-made packages to Chiloé, which can be added to longer Chilean itineraries, notably the nearby Lake District region or Patagonia and the Atacama desert. A three-night package costs from £393 per person, including full board, transfers and guided excursions. Activities such as riding, kayaking, rafting, mountain biking or volcano climbing can be arranged. The company's 14-night escorted "Rockhopper" Chile tour, which features many of the country's highlights, also includes three days on Chiloé; from £2,109 per person, including flights, accommodation, transport, excursions and tour leader. Journey Latin America also offers three-, four- or six-night cruises that take in the best of the Chiloé archipelago and the surrounding fjords of the Pumalin national park. Three-night cruises cost from £438 per person, including full board and guided excursions.
Independent travel
Iberia (0845 850 9000; flies from Heathrow to Santiago from £652 return; train from Santiago to Puerto Montt costs £10; and there are frequent buses from Temuco to Puerto Montt. Lan Chile (0800 917 0572; flies from Santiago to Puerto Montt from £55. The Hostería Ancud (0056 65 622340; has doubles from £35; Galeón Azul (622567 ); doubles from £45; and Hotel Alerce Nativo (632267); doubles £45. For further visitor information visit www.sernatur.cl or www.chipsites.cl.