Chile Gives Me Faith in Humanity

I’ve walked most the day.  The shelter that rescued me last night is over a marathon behind me.  It’s been a damp, humid marathon, always plowing into a stiff, stubborn wind.  Dense, sensual clouds have blocked the mountains from view, but I know they’re nearby.  I can feel them in the wind that never stops; and I can see them in the rivers that thrash with silty grey water from the glaciers above. 

Sometimes the road went through hills that were high and solid, almost mountains in their own right.  Other times it’s curved through wet, swampy valleys, flat but exposed to the wind.  I’ve found berries in explosive density, and I’ve feasted like a bear now that I know they’re okay to eat.  Otherwise I’ll only had a lunch of wraps and cheese and a swig of olive oil.  For dinner, I’ll cook some cous-cous and spice it with oregano and cumin.

I’ve been having a surprisingly distant relationship with food.  When I planned this trip, I’d worried about maintaining weight.  I’ve always eaten a lot, and I’ve always stayed lean.  I was afraid my body would melt away from doing 50 kilometers days, eating less than I would in the city.  But it hasn’t happened yet.  So far, I’m thin but strong.  I’ll think of food occasionally, and then the thought will fade as I walk on.  I hope my resilience lasts, because there’s nowhere to buy calories for 150 kilometers.  I’ll have to live on berries, and whatever’s in my pack.

I check my iPad for the time; and I chuckle at the absurdity of an iPad in Patagonia.  Apple never imagined it would be jammed in a pack with greasy, sandy camping gear.  They never designed it to be waterproofed with only a plastic bag, in a region famous for shitty weather.  They certainly didn’t want it dropped onto rocks from cold, clumsy hands.  But so far it’s held up well.  It’s been a faithful camera and watch and diary for blog entries, and the screen is amazingly intact.  6:15pm, it says. 

Hmm.  It’s four kilometers to the ferry that leaves at 7:00.  If I make it, I can cross the ten-kilometer arm of ocean tonight.  Otherwise, I’ll have to wait until 9:30 next morning.  I don’t want to spend the hours of daylight and energy lounging around, right after I’ve rested from sleep.  They’ll be time enough to rest later, when I’m properly spent.  I pick up the pace a little, taking advantage of a flat stretch in the road.

It’s around 7:00 when I reach the dock.  There’s a dozen cars waiting.  The ferry is a little dark dot, far off on the water.  Maybe I missed it.  I watch for awhile and…it’s gotten bigger!  It’s coming toward me!!  I didn’t miss it!  I sit on my pack with a clear, simple smile.  I’m finding my emotions are less exuberant on the road, but more powerful.  There’s a profound peace in just reaching a goal for the day, knowing I’m done and I’ve earned my rest.

Cars board the ferry one by one and then I walk onto the deck.  It’s started to drizzle, and it’s been fifteen minutes since I’ve been moving and making body heat.  A crew member smiles, and lets me inside the cabin.  I sit on a couch, out of the wet wind, feeling a calm, mellow happiness.  A middle-aged man approaches with an open smile, and asks me to come.  I follow him—to a dining room.  Not a cafeteria: this ferry doesn’t serve food to passengers, not normally.  I’m in the crews’ personal dining room.  The man opens a fridge and hands me a giant platter of bread with a tub of salty Chilean butter.

I thank him in awe.  My smile glows clear and strong as I can ever remember.  I discipline myself to eat slowly.  I don’t want to inhale the food in an instant, or he’ll think he hasn’t fed me enough.  When I’m partway through the bread, the man brings a giant bowl of soup.  Hot, dense, salty, brothy soup, when I’ve been walking all day in windy drizzle, eating wraps and cheese and berries and olive oil.  I didn’t think I could smile harder, but somehow I do.  I dig into the soup and we talk awhile about my journey, where I’m from and why I’m walking the Carretera Austral.  The man says that lots of people bike this road, but I’m the first one he’s seen walking it.  Maybe that’s why he’s fed my so well.  As I form the thought, he stands up and goes to the fridge.  A second later, he gives me a huge plate of pasta with a rich gravy sauce…and a steak on top. 

No words.  

I’m in back-packer heaven.  I’d planned to walk 240 kilometers in five days, with no opportunity to buy food along the way, and now…The man laughs at the intensity of my joy. We talk a bit longer as I finish the food, and then I notice that the ferry is approaching the other shore.  The man tells me that travelers can sleep in the shelter near the docks, that that’s what it’s there for.  Great.  I won’t have to put up my bivy sack tonight and take it down in the morning.

The shelter is a bare building with a concrete floor and a few wooden benches.  There’s a couple of thin blankets, folded and resting on a bench.  On one wall, a door leads to a small room with a computer.  I’m blown away at Chilean generosity.  That door has a lock, but still… they’ve built a free shelter for travelers, in the same building as the office where the captain does work.  It’s so…human, to let people sleep in a space they’re not using.  And its so unlike Canada or the US, where there’d be signs threatening prosecution for anyone touching the building.

The captain works in the office while I set up my stuff.  Eventually he bids me goodnight and leaves, with a warning not to close the door to the outside.  I lay for awhile and then forget his advice.  I remember his words as the door shuts, but it’s too late.  I can’t re-open it.  I apologize profusely when the captain returns, but he’s not angry.  He thinks a moment and then goes to his car and returns with a chef’s knife.  He passes it through the window and tells me to try opening the door. 

I tweak the knife into the door-jam apprehensively.  The captain encourages me to try harder.  I shrug and put my shoulders into it, like a warrior trying to stab through someone’s armor.  To my shock, it opens the door.  I apologize again and he just smiles and goes to work in his office.  Wow.  This guy fed me, and let me sleep in his shelter, and he wasn’t even mad when I was a clueless tourist and locked him out.  I smile as I settle into my sleeping bag, soaking in the last of the twilight as it seeps through the window.  Chile gives me faith in humanity.