Chiloe is a large island off the coast of Chile, where the water-laden westerlies from the Pacific make their first landfall. As a result it’s a very wet island, getting over 100 inches of rain a year on the western mountains, and most of the population sensibly lives in the drier east. Much of the west coast is a now a national park, with limited road access.
I discounted Ancud, the closest city to the mainland, which sounded uninteresting, and opted instead to stay in Castro, settled in 1567 but since battered by earthquakes, tsunamis, fires and privateers, despite Darwin’s 1834 description of the town as “a most forlorn and deserted place”. It does look rather better than that now, despite a 1960 earthquake that destroyed many of the island’s signature palafitos, houses built over the water on stilts.
I had been in two minds about whether to visit Chiloe at all, and put it right after the boat ride so I could delete it without much regret if the boat ran late. With the Evangelistas actually arriving early – at 1:30 am, although we didn’t have to disembark until after breakfast – I went ahead and took the 9:15 bus from Puerto Montt. Unfortunately, the bus performed like a local, stopping anywhere and everywhere and we didn’t arrive in Castro until after 1:00 pm.
The scenery, open, rolling countryside, with stands of trees, brightened by showers of golden broom and occasional flame red nostros, reminded me somewhat of England. I can’t say, however, that it looked either well populated or particularly prosperous. Castro appeared a little ramshackle, too, although hardly deserted.
I had thought to stay at the Palafito Hostel, which had a room, it was so far away from the center, on the other side of the estuary, that I would have had to take a taxi every time I wanted to go anywhere. Instead, I wound up at Don Miguel, where my friends had stayed a couple of years earlier but which I had been unable to contact. My room was fine, but the price of its good views was exposure to the afternoon sun, which turned it into a furnace.
The Swedish couple from the boat also stayed at Don Miguel, and my one full day in town we took a very local bus to a very local festival in Achao, on another, smaller island. The Fiera de Cordera, or Festival of Lamb turned to be all about eating. A series of permanent wooden structures were the basis for barbecues, with the cooking staggered so that there was always one place with meat ready. A stage to one side was used for the opening speeches, and singing and dancing. So nice to find a festival with singing and dancing that seemed to be by locals for locals.
Chiloe is known for its wooden churches, and the one in Achoa was particularly fine. Unfortunately, no photographs were allowed inside, where the woodwork was especially worth recording (I did buy a postcard). The ceiling was ribbed, and the ribs decorated with fretwork, along with rosettes supporting the chandeliers. We also took a look at some handicrafts but they in no way lived up to the interiors of the churches. I had been able to take photos in Castro’s less elaborate church, and noticed that in both places the Virgin Mary seemed more important than Jesus.
That evening I was walking the long way back to Don Miguel to check out the relics of the island’s railroad in the Plazuela El Tren, when I heard my name called. After looking around, I looked up, and found that the Australian couple from the Evangelista were also in town and staying in a waterfront hotel. We all got together for a farewell dinner that evening. I had decided two nights were enough and was leaving in the morning for Puerto Varas. The Australians were planning to check out Ancud on their way north, and the Swedes had rented bikes for a 40 km ride.
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