serenity now

Downtown La Serena was a madhouse of holiday shoppers.

Entrepreneurs set up giftwrapping stations to earn a little holiday cash.

My grandmother was an expert at giftwrapping. She worked at A&S one holiday season when she was in college.

I didn't get that gene.


I loved this mall, the Caracol (snail).

The staircase is one continuous winding ramp.

The stores were an odd mix of grow shops (pot seems to be semi-legal here), busy hair and nail salons, and a cafe that might have been a gentleman's club.

Afterward I walked half an hour down to the pristine beach. The faro (lighthouse) is La Serena's most famous landmark. Not sure why it's Moorish. There's a Lebanese restaurant across the street though. Maybe they'll be open tomorrow on Christmas day.

I had lunch at a surf shack called Poisson. View of the waves. Bob Marley playing. German tourists in Santa hats and reindeer antlers taking selfies.

Serena, indeed.

Amor y paz to all.

via de escape

A long travel day. 

I bid goodbye to Patricio after we shared caracoles (marinated snails) and Carmeniere and took two flights north to the beach town of La Serena.

My guesthouse is a haven with interconnected courtyards, flowers, brightly colored chairs.

Tomorrow we're having a barbecue for Christmas Eve.

Escape hatch? Come with me.

bridge to nowhere

Rather than fight holiday drivers in town, I drove across the island of Chiloé to the national park to see the famous El Muelle de las Almas: the pier or dock of the souls.

The scenery reminded me of the Drake's Estero part of Point Reyes. Or perhaps of Golden Bay, New Zealand.

Pretty churches. Random swans.

I also did exactly what my grandmother always warned me not to do: I picked up a couple of hitchhikers on the gravel road inside the park.

Angel and Valentina were visiting from Temuco and camping. They were great company for what turned out to be a longer trek than expected.

Just when we thought we'd climbed the last hill, there would be another. It was unexpectedly steep in places but serene and unspoiled.

 Lambs clung to the steep hillsides.

 And then finally, it came into sight.

Marcelo Orellana is a scultptor from Santiago. Patricio, my host in Chiloé even has one of his pieces in the gorgeous room where I'm staying.

 His work reminds me of Andy Goldsworthy. I love his Cathedral Spire in the Presidio at home. 

We took the requisite selfies. The little boys in the family hiking ahead of us ran down to the gate and nearly fell into the ocean. Their parents were remarkably tranquilo. On the way back, I persuaded the youngest, crying, to dame los cinco. (Give me five.)

At Cape Reinga on the northern tip of New Zealand, the Maori believe the souls of the departed fly north, past the lighthouse, back to the Polynesian home of their ancestors. Chiloé's myths from the native Mapuche people involve whales disguised as women but are similar.

 Getting ready to fly away…

Chiloé is a unique part of the country. I hope they never build that bridge to connect it to mainland Chile.

I wish I could tell you why there's a chartreuse dome in the middle of the park, with horses nearby. But that would take all the mystery away.

Where do our souls go when we die? I hope it is somewhere like Chile.

stiltsville

Today I left the Lake District and its volcanoes behind and took the car ferry to the island of Chiloé. There's some noise about building a bridge to replace the half hour journey, but so far, no traction.

Chiloé is a UNESCO world heritage site famous for its churches and its palafitos. Also its potatoes.

These are palafitos: traditional houses on stilts. I'm actually staying in a gorgeous casita in the development in the upper left of this picture.

Castro reminds me a little of the houseboats in Sausalito. The rolling hills and bays are similar.

 Except there are penguins and flamenco (flamingos!) here.

Kind of laid back and charming.

This is where I had lunch. Everywhere you go in Chile there's salmon ahumado (smoked salmon). Apparently Chile consulted with the Norwegians on salmon farming and now they are starting to rival Norway.

Here's one of those historic churches, in the town square in Castro. I love the yellow with purple.

Pretty from any angle.

We ended the night with Pisco sours and a few stories translated from Spanish to English to German and back. All in all, a great way to kick off the second summer of 2016,

fruitier

Frutillar (or more specifically Baja Frutillar) looks like a transplanted Bavarian town. In the same way that Mae Hong Son in Thailand is known as little Switzerland or Aspen has chalets. Except Frutillar was settled by German immigrants in the 19th century.

Its name means Strawberry in Chilean Spanish ("fresa" means strawberry in Mexican Spanish).

Frutillar is a well-heeled tourist town. Its famous landmark is the Muelle Fruitillar, a wooden pier that juts out into Lago Llanquihue (Yankee Lake! I belong.), Chile's largest.

 It was a rainy day, but people were out playing beach volleyball and traipsing through town in search of artisanal chocolate.

From the pier, you get a first glimpse of the Teatro del Lago, a new musical performance space.

It wasn't open but I went over to admire the woodwork.

The town draws a cultured crowd, like a Chilean Ashland or Chautauqua.

Lots of elves too, for Christmas.

Doesn't it make you miss the alps?

For good measure, Frutillar has currant bushes too. And delicious kuchen. But as far as I could tell, no strawberries.