A Bavarian Christmas in Chile with a foreigner.

Exhausted, utterly satisfied, and a bit reluctant to see it all come to an end, I was less than 24 hours away from boarding my flight home and leaving my adventure behind.  My trip was an experiment that I had created in which I was both the lab rat and the researcher, flawed as that method may be.  

I always believed in my ability to land almost anywhere in the world and get around and more importantly enjoy it, but it is one thing to be confident in yourself and quite another to put it to the test.  The likelihood of my success was founded on two premises: 1) that I possessed the problem solving skills to make things work, and 2) people are generally good and helpful in a time of need.  Fortunately for me, each of these ideas proved to be true, more so #2 than #1.  Sure the location I chose was tame, relatively speaking, but it fit my criteria.  I wanted to go far away to a foreign speaking country of which I was barely (if at all) conversant, somewhere a bit on the wild side, and I wanted to arrive without a single contact or reservation to rely on, just a backpack and a general idea of where I was going and what I would do.

My chosen destination was Patagonia, the southern region of Chile and Argentina.  As a rock climber I had read a number of stories and seen enough remarkable images to inspire the level of wanderlust needed to attempt this experiment.  From Salt Lake City I boarded one flight after another, through L.A. then Lima and Santiago and Puerto Montt and finally Punta Arenas where I finished about 24 hours later.  Immediately I realized that my fish-out-of-water tale was about to begin.  Lima and Santiago are big international airports and politely offer English translations to all their announcements.  That was not the case anymore in Punta Arenas.  Now it was time to start problem solving in order to find a bed to sleep for the night.

Puerto Natales

One of the least clever ideas I devised to help when communication was difficult included taking a pen and a memo pad to simply write down what I meant to say.  Once I figured out where a hostel was, I would pass this paper and address to a cab driver and presto.  Ha!  As it turned out most of the cab services at the airport had some kind of affiliation with various hostels.  Sure the driver knew the address that I presented to him but it wasn't until 15 minutes into the commute that I realized, based on a crude city map in my Lonely Planet guide, that we weren't going where I wanted.  We had a conversation, half in English and half in Spanish and none of it well understood by either party, before he turned the van around and drove another 20 minutes out of his way.  The funny thing was that he dropped me off about three blocks away from my destination, intentionally I'm sure.  

So my resourcefulness was only marginally effective and not entirely foolproof.  I hoped that I wouldn't test those limits any further.  

At the hostel, which was a quaint little home, I introduced myself to Sebastian, the owner who was a young German man motivated by a sense of adventure and entrepreneurial instincts.  Following a trip of his own to South America he married a Chilean girl and took up residence in Punta Arenas, using his house as a hostel while he started up a tourism/guide service.  He was very courteous.  Too courteous in fact as he informed me that his place was completely booked but he would gladly accommodate me in his kids room.  He pushed the baby crib into his own bedroom and rolled out a sleeping bag on the floor next to it for the older child.  I now had a place to rest my head for my first night in Chile but the kids mobile hanging from the ceiling didn't calm my nerves enough for a good night sleep.  I tossed and turned wondering if I really knew what the hell I was doing.

Downtown Punta Arenas

The next day went pretty much the same.   I didn't have much planned beyond orienting myself to where I was.  Punta Arenas is a beautiful city with over 100,000 people.  It sits on the shores of the Straits of Magellen with enormous boats coming and going, often in route to Antarctica since it is the last major seaport leaving the continent.  The downtown is full of large stone buildings and churches ornately decorated in a very European style.  I learned all of this as I launched multiple reconnaissance missions about town, each time venturing further and further from the hostel.  

On one mission I passed by a sporting goods store and decided this would be a prime opportunity to find fuel for my camping stove.  It was essential that I purchase some.  In just a couple of days I would not only be in a foreign country, but I would be in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country. . .alone.  I was happy to find what I needed inside and pointed to the canisters behind the counter for the clerk to see.  She handed me one and then spit out a long string of words that left me glassy eyed.  I was positive she was telling me the price and I had studied my numbers in Spanish for this eventuality, but because 1 US dollar equalled approximately 630 Chilean pesos, we were talking about very large numbers that I didn't know well.  Chileans speak very fast too and their words tend to trail off unfinished sometimes.  I held out a handful of paper money and she took what she wanted and I my fuel and we parted company

A few minutes later I found myself sitting in a fugue on the beaches of the Straits of Magellen, worried.  Very worried.  I couldn't go through the next month just holding out handfuls of cash.  My belief in premise #1, the ability to problem solve, was dwindling fast.  I poked at jellyfish and collected shells from crabs and other strange aquatic creatures until I crossed paths with another English speaking gentleman.  This kid was in his early 20's, from London, and fresh out of drug rehab.  As a part of his treatment program he was headed to Antarctica to ski.  He nervously revealed that he had never skied before.  I suddenly felt much better.  As he wandered off I reached into my pocket and counted how much money I had and did the math.  By my estimation the clerk took an appropriate amount which confirmed premise #2, people are generally good and helpful.  I still needed another canister of fuel in order to complete my first backpacking trip so I returned to the same sporting goods store and pointed and grunted "otro" as she smiled knowingly and gave me what I needed.

Magellanic Penguin

From this point on I began to relax into a routine.  Occasionally there were little hiccups in my plan, as was to be expected, but nothing reared its ugly head higher than the incident with the cab driver or the attempt to purchase fuel.    The hiccups were remarkably small too in comparison to what I set out to experience.  I saw things that I would only see by traveling very far away like penguins, guanacos and rheas.  The mountains I backpacked through were undoubtedly some of the most spectacular in the world and due to good fortune, the infamous Patagonian weather cooperated, only blowing me off of a bridge on one occasion.  

But really it was the cultural exchange that I valued most, the opportunity to see how people in other places live.  In so many ways it appears different on the surface but they are just like you and I, struggling to put food on the table or roof over their heads and to simply be happy.  Some of the language barriers became a source of great amusement as I lumbered through phrases and words.  I learned quickly that Germans know 3 or 4 languages and were helpful translators in a pinch.  With a gentleman from France and one from Australia, I shared one too many whiskeys on the rocks using ice chopped from a freshly calved glacier that was plucked from the water as we floated by in our boat.  Bife de chorizo is delicious.  The Argentines know how to cook a cow.  They also know how to party at 8 in the morning during the Copa Sudamericana.  And then there was one particular Israeli guy who hated every waterfall we hiked passed and needed to express his contempt.

All in all the trip couldn't have been more successful.  Back in Punta Arenas with less than day to go I figured I would book a room at Sebastian's place again, hopefully not displacing his children a second time.  It seems that Sebastian ran a pretty successful business.  All of his rooms were full again but much like before he had a solution.  The couple staying in the guest room were from Germany and Austria and they shared a cultural connection to Sebastian.  He insisted on asking them if I could take the extra bed in the room they had reserved.  After a month of cavorting about South America I felt pretty confident I could find a place to stay that night and didn't want to cause any trouble but he quickly had his renter, Tobias, on the phone, asking for his approval.  It seemed like it was ok.

Moreno Glacier

I sat in the office making chit chat with Sebastian for a few minutes, basically gloating about the month I spent in Patagonia when he commented that Tobias was on his way over from the hostel and pointed.  I turned and looked out the picture window only to witness this monstrosity of man crossing the street.  Surely he was 8 feet tall.  The quintessential mesomorph with a clean shaven head and a super orbital ridge to rival any Cro-Magnon man.  I tried to introduce myself when he arrived with an outstretched hand, but Tobias just reached down and effortlessly shouldered the over sized pack that I had wrestled with for the past month.  I wasn't entirely sure why he was carrying it.  At a brisk pace we marched across the street and I thanked him profusely for letting me share the room.  In broken English he indicated that it was fine and he had just been discharged from the Austrian Special Forces.  This was his first night in town and he merely wanted to be with his fiance who he hadn't seen in 6 months.  Yup, and I was about to take the spare bed in their private room that night.

By early afternoon everyone had congregated at the house and the mood was much more convivial.  It was the eve of Christmas eve and the Austrian and Germans were reminiscing about their favorite holiday traditions.  Sebastian commented on how he brought his incense burners and carousels from home but had never set them up.  Then the topic of beef stew came up.  Apparently this was a very big deal.  It was hard enough for me to follow the Spanish parts of the conversation but now it was in German and a plan was being hatched and abruptly finalized.  They were going to show the American how Germans celebrate Christmas. . .in Chile.

Everyone quickly cut loose on a task like a football team breaking huddle.  Sebastian dug out old dusty decorations and the newly reunited couple gathered ingredients and chopped vegetables.  I desperately attempted to offer my services but I was sternly rebuked.  Somehow I was the guest of honor and for what?  Crashing their reunion?  Needless to say I had to offer up something, I mean, this monster of a man carried my bags across the street.  The least I could do was buy him a drink.  And that was it.  

While they busied themselves getting the celebration ready, I wandered down to the supermarket.  I had spent most of my time in Patagonia in small towns shopping in tiny markets which offered only the basics.  Punta Arenas was a full scale city with all the ambitions of growing bigger and this was a very modern grocery store.  Anyone who has shopped for wine in the States knows that Chile and Argentina are huge wine producing countries and this store reflected just how big.  The wine to bread isle ratio was skewed at about 3:1.  It became very clear what I would contribute to the party.  

Parque Nacional Torres Del Paine

I knew virtually nothing about wine though.  There was red wine and there was white wine and I get more amorous when I drink wine than I do beer.  That was the extent of my knowledge.  Just then I overheard someone speaking with too many vowels that were all run together and in a stroke of genius I thought to myself, ask the Frenchman.  Sure I was stereotyping but nevertheless I approached the stranger for advice on choosing a wine.  His eyes lit up.  He told me to stay put and he would be right back.  In under a minute he returned with his arms full of at least ten bottles and he proceeded to tutor me on the subtle hints and best pairings of each one.  This guy was amazing.  It turns out he was visiting Chile on a wine tasting extravaganza.  I listened carefully and thanked him for his help as I chose two bottles and a baguette and hurried back.

By the time I returned to the hostel, it was aglow with Christmas lights and the air was rich with the scent of incense and a hearty stew.  It didn't take long to pop open a bottle of malbec and pour everyone a glass with a toast.  As we drank and waited for the stew to finish, I learned that this hulking man who terrified me at first was actually one of the nicest people alive.  He left his military service to pursue his dreams to become a photographer.  As we drank his English either improved or my listening skills did.  His fiance, Sarah, was living in Buenos Aires while finishing her PhD.  She swore like a sailor and cracked me up.  

The beef stew was spectacular.  It had a spicy mustard base and full of carrots and potatoes and peas.  Following dinner Sebastian and his wife put their kids to bed and returned with more bottles of wine.  In the center of their house was a miniature atrium that could accommodate the entire group with standing room only but fresh air aplenty.  That far south in the Southern Hemisphere the sun sets very late during the end of December.  That coupled with great company and the flowing wine made it almost impossible to tell time.  I think I reluctantly turned in around 3 or 4 am.  

And that was how Bavarians celebrate Christmas in Chile with a foreigner.  That also further supported my notion that people are generally good and helpful, premise #2.  

8 am came way too fast the next day.  I called for a cab and with a mighty hangover embarked on 28 hours of airplanes, airports and delays which made me question premise #1 again, my problem solving skills.  I guess I eventually made it home so the experiment was mostly a success.

Cerro Torre