The
weather looks ok-ish this morning, fresh but not sunny. It should
hopefully be ok for horse-riding. Our appointment with the “Huemil
Palal” ranch at 10.30 is confirmed over breakfast. In fact, Pilar,
one of the two receptionists, comes to remind/plead us to be there
on time. It is a half hour drive from our hotel we reckon. It turns
out to be a bit longer, especially as the last bit is on ripio,
dirt/gravel, but we get there just on time.
The small ranch consists of a few buildings, a house, a few
outbuildings, and a small corral. Rodolfo (Rudolph Coombs), the
owner, whose family originally come from Essex, is a small man with
a twinkle in his eye and is eager to get going. In five minutes we
are suited and booted, very simply: dinky harmless-looking spurs for
me, nothing for Ness. Our rucksacks full of “useful stuff” are left
behind in the shed, and we only take the camera. Four others are
already riding their horse round in circles in the corral. Ness is
first to mount her horse, with greater ease and elegance than either
of us had expected. In fact she made it look easy. Now it’s my turn…
the horse starts looking bigger the closer I get to it. I manage to
mount my horse, Pinto (means “painted” as he is brown and white),
without too much trouble and then I’m taking him round for a single
round of the corral. So far, so good.
Rodolfo leads the way, his assistant Joel closes the ranks, and
we’re off on a slow walk along the path up the hill. Driving
controls are the usual left and right tugs on the reins, pull back
to stop and a combination of kicks, spurs, “click click” and “kiss
kiss” noises, and spontaneous movement on the horse’s part to go
forward. We get to know the others bit by bit as we go up. Three are
marine biologists, from various parts of the world (UK, Canada, Hong
Kong), who are taking a few days off after a successful conference
on endangered species, where they have managed to get fish
recognised as another species to protect. This is a big deal
apparently, and they are all pleased with the result. The fourth is
a girl from the UK who is travelling on her own through Chile and
Bolivia. We pass a few outlying farmsteads with barking dogs, but
they don’t unnerve the horses, and after about an hour we pass
through a gate on our right to climb the hill. Pinto seems to be a
slow-coach when he’s walking but a kick now and then spurs him on to
a short canter. The views across the valley are beautiful. Many
different shades of green can be seen on the slopes, and snow higher
up on the mountains, and long distant views towards the Andes
mountains. The few pictures taken will hopefully speak for
themselves. Higher up we enter a wooded area where Araucaria trees
grow. We stop for a mini-picnic near a small open space. There is
old snow on the ground. The horses are tethered to the bamboo that
grows everywhere. Rodolfo produces vino tinto, salami and crackers.
Pictures are taken of the trees and we start to feel our bums ache
from the ride.
The ride back down is a bit harder as you constantly have to lean
back and push off in the stirrups. Rodolfo several times emphasises
the need to keep a short rein on the horses; they know they are on
their way back to horse almuerzo (lunch) and, despite being
well-trained, could decide to make a run for it. It seems to take a
long time to get back to the road. Once we’re on the road I can feel
that Pinto would happily run if he weren’t held back. Fortunately
Joel comes to my aid after a while and takes him on tow. Ness is at
the front, led similarly by Rodolfo. My bum is now complaining and
I’m quite relieved when we are met by a car which Rodolfo has asked
to be sent up – he is aware of our tight schedule, even if we’re
not, and without the car we would not have made it back down in
time. The guy collecting us greets me with a polite “how is your
butt?” We collect our gear, pay for the ride, and we’re on our way
back to Pucón. We’re ok for time. At the hotel we have already been
turfed out. Well, our bags have been moved out of our room into
storage. Pucón has redeemed itself in my eyes. The horse-ride at
least gave us a flavour of a proper ride, even if it were only short
(for which my bum is grateful). Villarica is still sulking in the
clouds. Never mind, there is another good volcano, Osorno, at Puerto
Varas. We drive back to Temuco and get there in good time. We have
done 454km in “Speedy Basher”. Ness is suffering a bit from the
ride, knees and thighs, not bum. We’re both in good spirits. At the
airport we discover that the flight to Puerto Montt left at 16.55,
not 18.15 as indicated on our tickets. We should have checked, as we
had been reminded. Especially since this is the only flight in our
itinerary which was changed (from 16.55 to 18.15!) before our
departure. B*ll*cks!
The Lan Chile rep is very helpful though and we manage to get a
transfer to Puerto Varas. So we’re driving there after all! A few
days ago we had considered changing our travel plans to drive down
instead of flying – what’s 400km anyhow? We decided against it since
it would mean changing or cancelling too many things. Now we have a
private mini-bus and driver. We get some sandwiches in before
setting off. Hector is the driver. He doesn’t speak any English but
I’m happily chatting with him in pidgin-Spanish pretty soon. At the
petrol station I call Hertz to re-arrange the car pickup. A call
later, to Hector’s mobile, confirms they will drop the car at our
hotel tomorrow morning. Everything has worked out beautifully. It’s
a long, long drive to Puerto Varas, along the PanAm/Carretera
Austral. It rains for most of the way, getting worse as we get close
to Lago Llanquihue, but then lets up. Our hotel is easy to find,
close to the centre of Puerto Varas, right on the lake-shore. Hector
gets $20,000 as thanks for his efforts, probably a bit too much but
we feel sorry for him since he now has to drive all the way back to
Temuco, and it is already 10pm. The hotel is fine, if a little
characterless, but what it lacks in character it makes up for by way
of direct panoramic views of the huge lake, and a wonderful soft
bed. We have a drink in the bar – I finally try a vaina – and make
it into the restaurant before last orders. Ness spots “verduras” on
the menu. Being in the German-settled part of Chile it is no
surprise that pork chops and sauerkraut are on the menu (oddly, they
call it “choucroute” here though as one would in French) We nearly
nod off over our coffees and are glad to crash out in bed. A good
day!
