Chile

October 2019

Crossing Bolivia into Chile

After my problems in the salt flats, it was time to get on the road. My family was meeting me in Chile very soon and I need to make up some distance in their direction so I didn’t miss them. My mother would be arriving into Santiago from Australia and then my sister about a week later into Puerto Montt. I was excited about seeing them and sharing some of this journey with family again.

The problems of the salt flats had been all consuming. There wasn’t time to think beyond getting out. And once extricated from the salt, my mind was occupied only with cleaning the salt from my chassis, having a shower myself and rejoining with my friends to celebrate surviving our ordeal.

The issue was that the following morning when I set off early and alone towards the Chilean border, I had not taken any time to understand the path ahead of me. What I thought was going to be a highway cruise towards the relative civilisation of Chile turned out to be a long and risky day through very sparsely populated plains and mountains and an eventual descent down into the desert and eventually to the sea.

In my haste, where I had assumed paved roads, petrol stations, ATM’s and other amenities; I was only to find mile after mile of sandy unsealed trails, road construction and detours and townships spread hours apart from each other. What’s more, my assumptions about the day ahead left me complacent and without the basics (money, gas and food) – I’d walked away from an ATM the night before in frustration after trying all my cards and resolved to figure it out on the road (I’d give away the last of my US dollars to the rescue team in the salt flats). I’d also left with a half tank of gas wishfully thinking about the simplicity of Chilean service stations with their clean fuel, away from the hassles of the Bolivian uncertain on price and availability and with credit card facilities.

After a few hours driving and as it became clear I was heading further off the beaten trail, I had to stop and consider pulling the pin on the day’s drive, return to Uyuni and trying again the next day. Without money or gas, it was a risky proposition to push forward. My calculations determined that the only gas station on my route before the border was close enough that I could turn around and get back to Uyuni (just) if they refused to sell me gas (one of the joys of being Bolivia) and I determined I had enough money to just fill up my tank completely even at the worst tourist prices for gas. It was confidence enough to push on.

The gas station wasn’t much to look at when I found it but sure enough they had gas and were willing to sell it to me at a ‘sin factura’ price (half way between local and tourist price). So, filling up the tank and the addition of some octane booster, I set my course for the border and pushed on for many hours along sandy roads, often deviating around roadworks, trying to drive down a road in the midst of its construction and a couple times being told to get off it by road workers and take the sandy paths alongside. It was a harrowing drive but the car was behaving so on I pushed.

My first experiences in Chile were profoundly positive. The border was quick and easy, the border guard joked to me in English and gave me tips about where to sleep that night. The first city I came across - Calama, a town clearly benefiting from the vast mining activities of the region - was modern, had good quality gas and took credit cards. I found ATMs at banks who’s names I’d heard of before (Santander, HSBC - such comforting brands on the road). My spirits were high and I passed along well maintained highways at 110km/h, passing some of the largest mining operations in the world like Minera Escondida, through La Negra (a soot covered dystopian town in the desert servicing the nearby mines) and on towards Antofagasta. In all, the day would be 16 hours of driving crossing 850km, an international border and arriving on a Chilean beach with only enough time for a couple of quick celebratory beers, popping the roof top tent and calling it a night.

The Chilean side of the border. I realise looking back how nervous I was about the days driving to arrive here because there were absolutely no photos and I was obviously more focused on just getting the drive done

Beginning the descent out the high plains down to the desert across sand-swept highways. Amazing how nice it was to actually be on a road at this point

Stunning colours of the mountains

Taltal to La Serena

I’d been warned by many other overlanders that the salt of Uyuni is quite bad for the car. Obviously longer-term there’s an issue of rust but more immediately I’d been warned about the salt playing havoc with electronics and multiple reports of failed alternators. I’d heeded the warnings and bought a spare alternator. But it replayed over and over in my mind that people frequently experienced mechanical issues within the week of leaving the salt flats. After a couple days I felt like this time it wouldn’t be me. I was wrong.

The morning after my cross into Chile, the misfire demons returned. I’d learned from my Bolivian mechanic that my leads fit poorly onto the spark plugs and that simply pulling them off, cleaning the contacts and firmly pushing them back on again would keep me on the road. I would become very good at doing this on a shit show of a day driving almost 700km from Taltal to La Serena down the Chilean coast as I tried to close in on Santiago.

In the beginning it was tolerable. A cylinder would misfire and I’d stop, clean the lead, pop it back on and get on my way. At first I would get 150km before the next recurrence. Then 100km. Then a few more times and it was every 50km. At one stage I had four cylinders misfire on a steep decent and I took it a step further and replaced all the spark plugs hoping for longer run. It wasn’t to be.

As I crept towards La Serena and abandoned hope of arriving in Santiago that day, I had to stop five times in the last 30km and arrived into town wounded and dejected. I would have to find another mechanic in town to solve yet another issue. But arriving Saturday night, Sunday would be a day off and I would spend it cleaning up the chaos of the salt flats, washing down my equipment and repacking the car.

Eventually I arrived in the dark to this beach in Taltal on the Chilean coast. With no one in sight and camping appearing to be legal, I parked and camped up for a short sleep before continuing on

Just south of Puerto Flamenco a couple hours into a full days drive, the warning lights were telling me I had misfires again

This was a low point. About two thirds of the way through the day after bopping one cylinder at a time with my little trick to clean and reattach the spark plug leads, at this location I had four cylinders (from different coils) playing up all at once. I replaced the four spark plugs on the side of the road, around a blind corner as huge tracks barrelled past but the fix didn’t hold as I’d hoped

Eventually I limped into the city of La Serena and found a motel. Being a Sunday, I couldn’t do much but pull out all my muddy gear and start to wash it down and re-pack

Limping into Santiago

La Serena wouldn’t be my friend in terms of mechanics. Despite being connected to the local Land Rover community here and finding a new friend in Gonzalo of Santiago to help, no one was in a hurry to help. The modern ways of Chile, like in the US and Australia, meant that there was an order for cars to be serviced - a bit different to the ad-hoc ways of the remainder of the continent where they just fixed whatever was in front of them and those with the most need. And with Mum landing from Australia the next day, I fell back on the safe (but expensive option); It would be time for another two truck – this time 500km all the way to Santiago. And with the relative expense of Chile, especially fuel prices, I’d have the privilege of paying US$800 for my ride into town.  

My tow truck driver Mario would prove to be a good companion and for the final leg to meet my family and I used our time in the cab together to acclimate to a new accent that I hadn’t heard before. It would take us eight hours or so together in his truck with mine on the back and I would be delivered directly to my closed mechanic coming up on midnight.

True to form, the Land Rover community of Santiago welcomed me with open arms. Despite my late and ungraceful arrival in the city, a couple of the mechanics and their friends were there to greet me and talk Land Rovers while waiting for the guy with the key. After he let us in and with the car inside, shop owner Cristian would be kind enough to offer me a lift to my hotel. I would spend a good amount of my time in Cristian’s shop over the subsequent week checking in and hanging out. And the community made sure I didn’t miss the weekly Land Rover meeting at the local ‘club house’ complete with Chilean parilla (BBQ).

With my Mum arriving the next day and not getting the assistance I was hoping for in La Serena, I bit the bullet and got a tow to Santiago. It was an expensive proposition but I knew a mechanic in Santiago and at least I could the car in the shop that night and make the airport to pick up my Mum the next morning

In the passenger seat of Mario’s tow truck. Eight hours down the Chilean coast together to Santiago

Cristian and his crew setting to work the next day

Santiago

And thus, with the car handed over to Cristian and his team, my journey would enter a new phase – a long anticipated family drive down to Ushuaia. It had been several years of lobbying the family that we should include Patagonia in our family holiday planning. Eventually with my adventure taking me that way, it didn’t take a whole lot of convincing to encourage my sister and Mum join.

After much time in jungle, driving through deserts, salt flats, mountainous passes, on the shores of turquoise lakes and down arid coastal highways, it was an incredible change of pace to be in a big modern city again and to relax in relative comfort with family. With my sister landing a week after my mother, Mum and I had the chance to get to know the museums, galleries and streetscapes of Santiago for a week together while we waited for my sister and the car to be fixed.

A highlight of our time in Santiago was certainly the high-end restaurant Borago. Ever since Colombia and a visit to Leo (world’s 49th best restaurant), I’d been enjoying looking ahead at the cities I would visit and if they had a world-class dining options and to make sure I made a reservation ahead of time. There’s something satisfying about one day staying in a tent in the desert, the next a $5.00/night hostel and then following it up with a 16-course meal with seven different wine pairings and champagne. Borago certainly did not disappoint – I believe it deserves it’s rank at the 26th best restaurant in the world and remains one of the my all time favourite meals.

Getting Mum a the airport

Museo de Bellas Artes

Mum and I at the Museo de Bella Artes

An early sitting for our meal at Borago. While we got there at 7pm, I’m sure we didn’t leave for a good three hours or so

I can’t even remember what the food was but I believe it was served out of a barnacle

One thing you realise traveling through Central and South America is how difficult it is to buy things. Those living in the US or Australia, for example, have it so easy when it comes to buying the things the need (and don’t need). Amazon, or even a Walmart and an Autozone, can be taken for granted quite easily. As examples, having spent half a day in Quito unsuccessfully looking for a particular cable and or stuck in rural Peru for three days without a car part I needed, I wasn’t taking anything for granted. I am now acutely aware at any moment of the next time someone is visiting me from an online-shopping-friendly country. And I’m liable to treat such people as my mailbox and courier to get me things I need (a warning to those joining me in the future).

My sister Kelly fell victim to this and became my ‘gear mule’ in this instance. A series of mechanical problems and many months on the road in general built up my need for many spare parts, accessories and minor improvements. The result was that her arrival in Santiago was akin to that of Santa Clause at Christmas. But I would challenge any child to be as excited about Christmas as I was for this particular delivery from Canada and my mum and sister would testify to this having seen the joy on my face as I open my disposable Christmas duffle bag of toys.   

Kelly was supposed to meet us further south but the car’s problems were more insidious than we’d hoped. She re-routed her flights from Puerto Montt to arrive in Santiago and together we all casually explored the city and ate and drank our way around town waiting for the car to be ready. There was no shortage of things to keep us busy and plenty to catch up on.

Santiago itself is a modern, clean and safe city with a European feel - elements that can make it feel quite dull relative to other adventurous destinations of the continent. The Pre-Colombian Museum was a highlight which tied together a lot of the history of the various cultures and ruins I’d witnessed first hand travelling south, including the Aztecs and Mayans of Mexico, the Inca of Peru, Tiwanaku of Bolivia, Mapuche of Chile & Argentina and many lesser known civilisations. Another highlight was the learning about the vicious debate between Chileans and Peruvians about who is responsible for the creation of Pisco and who’s is better and drinking them side by side (my palette isn’t sophisticated enough to have chosen a winner).

Christmas time! Kelly brought all manner of things. From spark plugs, diagnostic computer, thermostats, coolant hoses, heavy duty tape for fixing leaks, gaskets, a rooftop tent heater and so many many more little necessary and unnecessary things

Kelly and I comparing the Chilean and Peruvian Pisco

The Pre-Columbian Museum. It was very good actually, worth a visit to anyone who gets to Santiago

A minor miracle I was able to photograph these two without anyone else in frame

Church… I don’t know. Don’t pay attention when it comes to Churches anymore. Something to do with religion… there may have been an earthquake involved at some point

A tidy and well presented section of the city filled with museums, galleries and government buildings

Miraculously, while taking a work call outside a pub, I saw a familiar face walk by. Cyril and I had worked in the same building and been involved in a startup business together about nine years earlier. I had no idea where in the world he was but remarkable how quickly you can place a face on a busy street, even completely out of context

Concha y Toro Winery

While not the most imaginative choice of winery, we took a tour through Concha y Toro which many people would know from the Casillero del Diablo brand. Turns out it’s actually the largest wine producer in Latin America and processes grapes from all over the country’s many wine regions. A punishing exertion drinking wine as my sister’s first day out after flying all the way from Vancouver.

The drive to the winery takes you through one of Santiago’s rougher neighbourhoods. A memorable quote from our Spanish-speaking Uber driver as he explained the drug problems of the neighbourhood was that “es como crack” (it’s like crack). Trying to figure out what he was talking about, I later read that he was referring to cocaine base or pasta base - known also as ‘poor man’s cocaine’ - a chemical mixture of cocaine leaf extract, methanol and kerosene which was causing large social problems in the area.

The old ‘I’m trapped in the pot’ gag. My mum is cute

Concha y Toro vineyard

Torontel is not a variety that gets much airtime in Australia or other places I’ve been but somewhat common in both Chile and Argentina

Headed down into the cellars

The cellars were reasonably impressive, presumably dating back to the late 1800’s like the business itself

Admittedly it got a little gimmicky down there with all the devil stuff, sound effects and the explanation about the meaning of the name (which I’ve now forgotten because we were laughing too much at how ridiculous the explanatory movie was)

Valparaíso

We also managed a small side trip to Valparaiso. The small, coastal, seaport town of Valparaiso is a charming place of historical significance. It is also the home of the Chilean National Congress and is a politically active city. Shortly after our departure, it would host some of Chile’s worst demonstrations as the country endured the chaos of ongoing political marches and civil unrest.

Our guide in Valparaiso reminded us how volatile the political history of Chile had been and that as recently as 1990 Augusto Pinochet had been in power. Witnessing first-hand how developed Chile’s economy is relative to the rest of Latin America, it would be easy to assume that it was built on a much more stable history than the other countries in the region. But Chile’s prosperity came at a cost and they are still living with the hangover from the Pinochet dictatorship to this day. Modern day Chile’s art and culture was shaped by, and to a degree is still recovering from, the cultural blackout created during Pinochet’s rule and suppression of the arts. It’s in modern-day politics continues to suffer under the restrictive constitution he put in place during his tenure.  

The highlight of Valparaiso were the lazy evenings spent in the old town near Casa Cerveceria Brew Pub, sitting on the crowded streets alongside the younger generation who would drink beers, gather and play music until the police invariably would show up and disperse the crowds.

We are not hippies. We are happies

According to our guide, some influencer made this door ‘Insta-famous’, but it has no significance, just a colourful door

Looking out onto the Port of Valparaiso. It used to be an important port before the Panama Canal was built. Prior to the canal, ships would pass around the south end of the continent through the Straights of Magellan

There are many ‘ascensores’ (elevators) around the city to allow its inhabitants to scale the steep hills. They are actually funiculars (cable cars) but local tradition has them called otherwise

A local dish: Lomo a la pobre which consists of meat, chips and an egg on top

Mum making friends down at the cerveceria

Driving south from Santiago

Eventually with the car ready, we prepared to hit the road. A little more difficult in terms of packing given I was now transporting not just three people but also our collective luggage and a giant haul of purchases freshly imported from Canada. Delayed and feeling the time pressure we started off south.

It was certainly a rocky start. Within hours of our first drive together and heading through  a toll point, we had a curious puncture by a metal spike that appeared a little too purposefully designed to damage a tire. It didn’t put us back more than thirty minutes with changing the tire on the side of the road and then having it repaired while eating our lunch but it did seem to be an ominous sign for things to come.

Add to this, while Cristian had fixed issues I’d developed in the salt flats, it appeared that he had introduced a new one in that my front oxygen sensors weren’t registering a signal with the ECU. Within hours on the road, I had already noticed a degradation in fuel economy that would follow us around the whole of Chile and into Argentina - an almost crippling problem in the sparsity of Patagonia.   

Packing up at the hotel prior to departure south towards Patagonia

One of many punctures of the past year or so and won’t be the last

Still slower than I’d like to be on a tire change but it’s within 30 minutes

The perpetrating spike went straight through the tire. But a clean puncture and easy to patch up

Tire on, airing up, ready to go

These guys patched the tire while we ate lunch. They were quicker than the time it took to serve the food

Inspecting the spike, it appears as through someone fashioned it from a piece of metal into something designed to puncture a tire

Setting out on the road with a new bit of kit Kelly had delivered me - my Ultra Gauge. Now one of my favourite bits of kit. It was telling me from the outset of our departure from Santiago that I had no signal to my front two air sensors

Villarrica

Issues aside, we managed to successful first day driving together and I couldn’t have been more pleased to be travelling with my Mum and sister. We passed through Rancagua and Los Angeles south of Santiago, cities where my sister had lived on exchange almost 20 years earlier, and arrived in the picturesque town of Villarica.

The lake shore at Villarrica

Mum, Kelly and Jolene

Proud to be chauffeuring my mum around South America

Puerto Varas

The landscape changed and grew colder the further south we went. As we drove, we plotted and planned around the ferries that would take us to Chaiten and beyond. There’s no single or logical highway that takes one south through Patagonian Chile. It’s simple enough if you cross over to the plains of Argentina on the other side of the Andes where the Ruta 40 will sure enough take you south. But the Chilean side has many bodies of water to navigate so some planning around the car ferry timetables becomes essential, especially as they are highly seasonal and much less frequent in the winter months, if they are running at all.    

As we meandered towards the ferry in Puerto Montt, the town of Puerto Varas proved to be a lovely stopover. A town with significant German influence and sitting on the shores of Lago Llanquihue, it appeared to be a favourite little country getaway for those looking to escape the big city of Santiago.

On the lake shore

Plaza de Armas

Our new favourite beer - Kuntsmann. An example of the German influence in the region, Kuntsmann is brewed in nearby Valdivia

A local market served and some lovely weather aided in killing some time while waiting for our evening ferry

The Osorno Volcano is visible from most of Puerto Varas

Puerto Montt

As we arrived in Puerto Montt and waited for our ferry, we sat in a bar and watched on the news as the first of the big protests in Chile broke out in Santiago. Only days earlier, we had been in the same train stations and plazas and had even seen the protests foreshadowed on our walking tour of the city – the presidential palace had been cordoned off as the government anticipated blowback from its plan to hike metro fares. A state of emergency was declared less than 48 hours after we left the city as train stations burned and protestors clashed with riot police in the city centre. Our luck was with us to have just cleared the city in time.

Our first ferry would sail us through the night to Chaiten where we would resume our drive south, officially in Patagonia from that point onwards.  

Catching a glimpse of our car ferry arriving several hours before boarding

A quiet pub that reminded my of the little dive bars back in Wisconsin. We watched on TV as the protests kicked off and Santiago’s streets began to fill with fires and violence

Chaiten

As the overnight ferry dropped us in Chaiten and we headed south for Puyuhuapi, we enjoyed one of our favourite driving days as we watched the first appearance of snow covered mountains and passed lakes, rivers and waterfalls. As we stopped momentarily to watch a fly fisherman in one of the many lakes, we had a chance encounter with a Quebec-registered Jeep and its Canadian owner who pulled over to say ‘hello’, recognising my British Colombia plates. She’d been on the road for two years to make it this far south. It’s always nice to be reminded that we’re not alone and that there are many overlanders out there on similar crazy adventures.

Chaiten

Puyuhuapi

Puyuhuapi was a charming stop along the drive – a tiny town on the edge of an inlet. In the shoulder season in which we were travelling, it wasn’t easy to find an open restaurant for lunch so we killed time taking photos of the many boats decaying down on the waters edge and made friends with local dogs.

With family in tow, the daily budget was a little higher than my usual and we found some brilliant accommodation as we made our way through southern Chile. The Eco Cabañas Wanderlust stuck out as a favourite in this stretch. But the method for booking never changed from my normal – simply pull out your phone, search in an app, make a selection, show up. In now over a year of overlanding and frequently opting for a hostel, hotel or lodge over the tent, I can still only recall one time where last minute accommodation wasn’t available which was Mazatlan (Mexico) for New Years’s Eve – now a distant memory. Technology has made things almost too easy for the traveller in this day and age.

Eco Cabañas Wanderlust

Ventisquero Colgante Glacier

Puyuhapi’s key attraction is the Ventisquero Colgante glacier in Queulat National Park. While there had been many glaciers at various times through my travels, this was the first time seeing a waterfall cascading off of a glacier. Across a footbridge over a brilliantly colour river, the approximately three-hour hike took us up to the mirador for a view of the glacier. The ‘medium’ rated trail proved to be slightly out of reach for Mum – I guess walking around the golf course a couple times a week was not adequate preparation for this one. Kelly and I raced ahead for a quick view of the waterfall and it was time to be back home, out of the rain and back to the lodge to crack a bottle of Carmenere (a wine varietal specific to Chile).  

Ventisquero Colgante glacier in Queulat National Park

Coyhaique

As we pushed on, we researched and booked our next ferry, one that would take us from Puerto Ingeniero Ibanez to Chile Chico and the border with Argentina. The next phase would take us into the desolate expanses and dry plains of the Argentina’s Patagonia region. Unfortunately, by this point the car was not behaving. Without functioning oxygen sensors, the fuel economy was steadily dropping from 500km a tank towards 250km and I would be inundated daily with various fault codes stemming from the failed sensors.

On the drive to the ferry, we stopped for lunch and my mind raced as I mulled over the car situation in my head. To this point I hadn’t wanted to burden the others with the mechanical issues the car was facing, although I think my sister had a good inclination it wasn’t solid - frequently noticing the engine warning lights popping up before I could. But given the next phase of the journey meant we would been forging a path through extremely unpopulated expanses of Patagonian desert, the right thing to do was to let them know of the risks as I understood them and come to a collective decision of what we wanted to do with all the cards on the table.

We’d already burned a good amount of time in Santiago with the last round of repairs and were a good week behind schedule. Quite a bit considering my sister’s short three-week vacation and only a month total for Mum. The town we were in, Coyhaique, was the last chance for a decent mechanic for several solid days driving to El Calafate - almost 1,000km away. What’s more, with half the usual fuel economy, we could only drive a maximum of 250km between gas stations, slightly more if we used the gas in the jerry cans on the roof, which would be a test given the lack of infrastructure in the areas we were headed.

While there was enough traffic on the Ruta 40, we guessed, to not make for a life threatening situation, breaking down would likely mean that some or all of us would have to hitchhike to the next town for help and I’d have to summon the help of the Land Rover community once more on my Garmin to find someone who could work on the car.

With all the cards on the table, the collective decision was to push on for the time being. Even though we’d be getting further from a known mechanic, we’d chance it and there still existed a couple more opportunities to turn back if things got worse.

I messaged my Cristian in Santiago and asked him to order some more oxygen sensors and have them couriered to one of our (hopefully) upcoming destinations of El Calafate. We would persevere.  

The drive from Coyhaique to Puerto Ibañez

Puerto Ibañez

A nervous drive takes us further away from the relative security of Coyhaique and onwards to the ferry from Puerto Ibañez, across Lago Gral Carrera and to the border town of Chile Chico. When the car isn’t in good shape, it’s a mentally tough thing to drive away from a place you know you could sort an issue and push into the unknown. But I was intent to preserve the trip we’d planned as best I could so I bit my tongue, fired up the car, turned on some music and quietly hoped that it would carry us the distance.  

Waiting for the ferry to Chile Chico

Chile Chico

The town of Chile Chico was miniscule. It had a ferry landing, a gas station, a handful of houses, our hotel and one road - take it west would head you away from everything towards the Pacific and Parque Nacional Laguna San Rafael, east into the empty nothing Argentina desert.

Disembarking the ferry, our accommodation was literally adjacent to dock. It was a lovely little hotel with an Italian restaurant and a view looking out over the lake and nothing more. Over dinner and wine, again we revisited the plan to push on. The car’s issues seemed to have stabilised – that is to say horrible but stable fuel economy and a constant but stable series of the same engine warnings which I would just reset each time.

Over dinner, Kelly and I got a message from one of the Patagonia fishing charter companies that we’d been contacting in the past few days. Due to our flexible and unknown schedule, our outreach to the fishing companies was last minute and the initial response seemed to be that nothing could be done at such short notice. But when a representative from Jurassic Lake Lodge reached out and shared pictures of the fish they’d been catching that week and told us that they could accommodate us the next day, any doubt about continuing was out the window. Car problems be damned, there were huge trout waiting for us in a remote lake only a day’s drive away.

The morning we cross into Argentina, staring out the hotel window at the ferry that brought us here the day before

The next day as the sun rose, we had our coffees, packed the car and - ignoring a new and more severe engine warning as the car warmed up - we headed for our first of many Argentina-Chile border crossings. By the end of the day, we’d either be broken down by the roadside or in a beautiful fishing lodge getting ready for one of the most exciting fishing adventures of our lives.  

To be continued…