Sun's hot, water's cold
Domingo 18 noviembre:
A moment: Perched on the back of the ferry watching the coihue forests on the steep glacial hill sides fall away al fondo. Kelsey and I are talking real about culture, and traveling, and what is important to us. The sun is keeping us warm on the windy deck and casting long shadows through the scraggly trees and sharing the sky graciously with the big, big clouds.
Today was a day of water, let me tell you. The slender, mountain lake of Pirihueico and the waterfalls along the Rio Fui–we were overwhelmed by the amount and ferocity of it. The lake was a deep dark blue and the river was that milky teal of clean, icy water. We saw two waterfalls along the Rio Fui, Salto Leona and Salto HuiloHuilo, but I was most mesmerized by the racing water before and after the falls: we lied like lizards on the rocks in the sun just watching the shapes of the river as the water moved through it. Best of all, though, the water is clean to drink so we whooped and hollered and filled up our bottles and stomachs until the ice-cream headaches were too much to bare. It was overwhelming in the best of ways. And yet, walking uphill from our spot above Salto Leona, we talked about perspective and how this massive, thumping river was just one in a land full of rivers and a world full of ocean. Kels is a big thinker and it is always good sharing thoughts with her.
Lunes 26 noviembre:
On Friday after class, a big group of us gringas took a series of buses eastward toward the mountains–to Pucon, Curarrehue, and finally to Puesco. Our last bus dropped us off next to the Rio Trancura and a narrow valley where we would spend Saturday and Sunday camping at a music festival called PuescoFest. We scored a grassy sleeping spot high up on the hill above the trees and festivities with views of rocky mountaintops on either side of us. The nights were cold and the hill was slanted but we had a sky full of stars and hot, sunny days to defrost by the river.
Sunday night came around and I didn’t want to go home, so I hitched a ride with a couple friends up to Lago Quilleihue (up in the cordillera near Argentina) and from there we hiked out to Laguna Escondida at the base of Volcán Lanín. The late afternoon sun was lighting up the forest of ANCIENT Araucaria and Roble trees on our walk in and we swam in the lake so cold my muscles started twitching. The sky was clear and the stars were shooting and we feasted on everyone's leftovers from the festival.
After breakfast on the lake the next morning and a quick dip to wake up, we hiked out with high hopes of drinking coffee in Curarrehue. Ben drove his motorbike back home but the three of us struggled to catch a ride down the mountain, and when we finally did hours later, we sat down for dinner in Curarrehue, instead. Livia, the cook, spoiled us girls with sopaipillas, salsa, and chicken, and over food we gained a local's perspective on PuescoFest––how it began as a local gathering to save the Rio Trancura from a debilitating hydroelectric dam five years ago, but has since morphed into a festival for outsiders and lacks the environmental justice values and local relevancy of its conception.
We took the long bus ride home with the sun on our faces and the windows wide open and I was ridiculously tired by the time I (literally) crawled into bed.
Viernes 30 noviembre:
Last night the crew went out for beers and I walked home past the lake in the windy dusk and spoke rapid tipsy Spanish with Silvia over the tastiest hot dog I’ve ever had.
Today I sat on a wall with three COOL amigas and we made plans to meet up back in the states—things are wrapping up here and I can feel that.
I have noticed how this home of mine has changed since September. The lake is losing water, the streets are full of more and more people (all who seem to be walking and talking faster too), the rains are brief and make good smells on the warm concrete, and the volcano's snow is shrinking every day. Today most of all though, I noticed the wind—the warm summer kind that, back home, makes white caps on Trinidad Bay and rustles the coastal grasses on Spanish Flat. Boy, it feels good.
Sábado 1 diciembre:
I woke up this morning with the sun feeling like supa hot fire on my face and my body still cold from a night of sleeping under the stars. My head was also thumping from the big asado (BBQ) last night at Bryce’s beautiful campo home. The sun is STRONG here but we all swam in the lake for hours and finished the day strong with homemade burritos (Cali style) and a view of the dusky purple mountains from Ezra’s cabaña on the hill.
I got home pretty late, but Bastian and I shared some tea at the kitchen table. I am really going to miss my little brother.
***I did not take notes on this when it happened, but just north of here, in Ercilla, a young, unarmed Mapuche man was murdered by state military police. This happened on November 14th and on the 19th we participated in a peaceful protest in Villarrica. This event was tragic and sick, but like the countless murders of black men by the police in the United States, it is almost routine in this area. I do not understand this and I know I cannot really feel what his community is forced to feel right now, but the looks of pain and determination on the faces of protestors here are familiar. Power and pain are universal I guess and the fight is so so far from over. rest in power, Camilo Catrillanca
A moment: Perched on the back of the ferry watching the coihue forests on the steep glacial hill sides fall away al fondo. Kelsey and I are talking real about culture, and traveling, and what is important to us. The sun is keeping us warm on the windy deck and casting long shadows through the scraggly trees and sharing the sky graciously with the big, big clouds.
Today was a day of water, let me tell you. The slender, mountain lake of Pirihueico and the waterfalls along the Rio Fui–we were overwhelmed by the amount and ferocity of it. The lake was a deep dark blue and the river was that milky teal of clean, icy water. We saw two waterfalls along the Rio Fui, Salto Leona and Salto HuiloHuilo, but I was most mesmerized by the racing water before and after the falls: we lied like lizards on the rocks in the sun just watching the shapes of the river as the water moved through it. Best of all, though, the water is clean to drink so we whooped and hollered and filled up our bottles and stomachs until the ice-cream headaches were too much to bare. It was overwhelming in the best of ways. And yet, walking uphill from our spot above Salto Leona, we talked about perspective and how this massive, thumping river was just one in a land full of rivers and a world full of ocean. Kels is a big thinker and it is always good sharing thoughts with her.
Lunes 26 noviembre:
On Friday after class, a big group of us gringas took a series of buses eastward toward the mountains–to Pucon, Curarrehue, and finally to Puesco. Our last bus dropped us off next to the Rio Trancura and a narrow valley where we would spend Saturday and Sunday camping at a music festival called PuescoFest. We scored a grassy sleeping spot high up on the hill above the trees and festivities with views of rocky mountaintops on either side of us. The nights were cold and the hill was slanted but we had a sky full of stars and hot, sunny days to defrost by the river.
Sunday night came around and I didn’t want to go home, so I hitched a ride with a couple friends up to Lago Quilleihue (up in the cordillera near Argentina) and from there we hiked out to Laguna Escondida at the base of Volcán Lanín. The late afternoon sun was lighting up the forest of ANCIENT Araucaria and Roble trees on our walk in and we swam in the lake so cold my muscles started twitching. The sky was clear and the stars were shooting and we feasted on everyone's leftovers from the festival.
After breakfast on the lake the next morning and a quick dip to wake up, we hiked out with high hopes of drinking coffee in Curarrehue. Ben drove his motorbike back home but the three of us struggled to catch a ride down the mountain, and when we finally did hours later, we sat down for dinner in Curarrehue, instead. Livia, the cook, spoiled us girls with sopaipillas, salsa, and chicken, and over food we gained a local's perspective on PuescoFest––how it began as a local gathering to save the Rio Trancura from a debilitating hydroelectric dam five years ago, but has since morphed into a festival for outsiders and lacks the environmental justice values and local relevancy of its conception.
We took the long bus ride home with the sun on our faces and the windows wide open and I was ridiculously tired by the time I (literally) crawled into bed.
Viernes 30 noviembre:
Last night the crew went out for beers and I walked home past the lake in the windy dusk and spoke rapid tipsy Spanish with Silvia over the tastiest hot dog I’ve ever had.
Today I sat on a wall with three COOL amigas and we made plans to meet up back in the states—things are wrapping up here and I can feel that.
I have noticed how this home of mine has changed since September. The lake is losing water, the streets are full of more and more people (all who seem to be walking and talking faster too), the rains are brief and make good smells on the warm concrete, and the volcano's snow is shrinking every day. Today most of all though, I noticed the wind—the warm summer kind that, back home, makes white caps on Trinidad Bay and rustles the coastal grasses on Spanish Flat. Boy, it feels good.
Sábado 1 diciembre:
I woke up this morning with the sun feeling like supa hot fire on my face and my body still cold from a night of sleeping under the stars. My head was also thumping from the big asado (BBQ) last night at Bryce’s beautiful campo home. The sun is STRONG here but we all swam in the lake for hours and finished the day strong with homemade burritos (Cali style) and a view of the dusky purple mountains from Ezra’s cabaña on the hill.
I got home pretty late, but Bastian and I shared some tea at the kitchen table. I am really going to miss my little brother.
***I did not take notes on this when it happened, but just north of here, in Ercilla, a young, unarmed Mapuche man was murdered by state military police. This happened on November 14th and on the 19th we participated in a peaceful protest in Villarrica. This event was tragic and sick, but like the countless murders of black men by the police in the United States, it is almost routine in this area. I do not understand this and I know I cannot really feel what his community is forced to feel right now, but the looks of pain and determination on the faces of protestors here are familiar. Power and pain are universal I guess and the fight is so so far from over. rest in power, Camilo Catrillanca
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| Sunbathing on the chilly ferry. |
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| Hills above Lago Pirihueico. |
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| Lago Pirihueico, Puerto Fuy. You can use this lake to cross over into Argentina if you don't have class the next day. |
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| Salto Huilo Huilo. |
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| A lizard basking in a sweater just above Saltos Leona. |
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| Citrus and Volcán Mocho-Choshuenco, which looks like a sombrero from the east and a witch's cap from the west. |
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| Popular spot for fishing and bridge jumping (no, thank you) just north of town. |
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| Dora the explorer with her latest catch, Bryce's dogs are only MOSTLY domesticated. |
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| Our not-too-shabby sleeping spot at PuescoFest had a not-too-shabby view. |
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| My folk here are the best thing since sliced bread. |
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| Good morning suramerica. |
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| Hola Lanín, otra vez, sino con SOL y compañeros. |
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| Some old ass Araucaria trees. I didn't get a picture of Laguna Escondida, but I swear I found it. |
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| Hiking out, feeling blessed but hypo-caffeinated. |
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| Heading home, looking upriver toward Puesco. |
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| From the bridge above where the lake empties, a good spot to swim against some current, though it freezes your face and stings the eyes. |
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