Yesterday I bid goodbye to the best hotel room in the world, including the goofy waiter who confessed on the first night that he was falling in love with someone and later asked me to make him a list of my favorite films because he wants to be a filmmaker. He had never heard of ex-pat Chilean Patricio Guzman, director of Battle for Chile about Allende and Pinochet, and of my beloved Nostalgia for the Light about research astronomers and mothers of the disappeared who meet in the Atacama desert.
It seemed like every family was out at the lake tonight.
The valley is full of volcanoes, some active quite recently. There are scary warning signs everywhere, though not as scary as the tsunami signs.
And here's the view from my room: a perfect snow-capped Osorno volcano. Eat your heart out, Fuji-yama.
I was sad to leave behind new friends from Poland and Argentine and Australia and Los Angeles (Chile), drinking Carmeniere and eating tender marinated pulpo (sorry, Susan). But they promised me that drinking a Calafate sour means I'll be back.