Silence like this is fragile. Already, my footsteps sound too heavy, too intrusive, too threatening to the stillness of the place. I stop, wanting to truly experience this solitude, this unbroken, unshared quiet. And in that moment, the world seems to come to life.
The wind stirs, buzzing with the vibrations of bees' wings. Dragonflies flicker in lightning blue flashes, hovering into focus just long enough to lose sight of them again. Lizards scurry across the dirt path, a dark dragonfly blue until a ray of sunshine catches them and they transform into a shimmering sea green. I look out over the unbroken surface of the lake, watching as the crystal catches the reflection of an insect, the ripple of the wind. The world is brought to life in an orchestra of tiny, innumerable players, and I am only one more among the chaos.
Puón is a natural oasis carved out by lakes and rivers, and governed by an active, indomitable volcano. Here is a haven for kayakers, rock climbers, trekkers, and travelers who don't mind breaking a sweat for a good view. Like most adventure-driven towns, Pucón thrives on tourism, and every block is full of hostels and expedition offices vying for the tourists' attention. I can't blame them. Right outside of the hustle of the town's center is a natural wonderland.
Valdivia
"The rivers make the city look like Venice," they said.
"The architecture and aura of the city will make you feel like you're in Germany," they said.
"The beer is the best you'll find in this hemisphere," they said.
Unlike the winding river network of Venice, Valdivia's wide rivers split the city into distinct, large islands. Lie #1.
Unlike the dark panels, Grimm-spired architecture of Germany, Valdivia gave off a riverside-suburb vibe. Lie #2.
But much to my pleasure, the beer--oh, the beer--tasted like the flavors of Belgium and Germany poured into the purest of Patagonian waters. The Golden Truth.
After months of vineyard tours and tastings, it was refreshing to trade in my cabernet sauvignon for a stout. The beer (or at least the ones I ordered) were dark in color and flavor, and its flavors were bitter, toasted, and unafraid to linger long after the first sip.
I wish I could say more about the city, but it's highlights were spent in the wooden restaurant of the Kuntsmann brewery or the dimly lit haze of a bar. Strangely, after two days of bar peanuts and cheap beer, there are few to no regrets.
Puerto Varas
I'm hungry, and the world begins to take on the form of food. An hour ago, the volcano gave off an ominous, imposing vibe. Looking at all of the ash and oxidized red rock, it was impossible to not think of Mordor. And the fact that only last year, the neighboring volcano erupted only reinforces the mental image of hellfire, brimstone, and an all-seeing eye.
But I'm hungry, and the growl in my stomach calls to me much more than the grating of any tectonic plates. Suddenly, the intermingling of rock face and snow aren't so reminiscent of Frodo's climactic struggle but more like the gentle swirl of chocolate and vanilla soft serve ice cream. The lake that had been so majestic spanning the horizon now has a tinge of blue that looks artificial enough to be a 7-11 slushy. God, I love traveling and adventure and the like. But right now, I'd trade it all in for a Snickers.
The tour guide stops us at the top of the trail and says that we can't go further without ice picks and spikes in our shoes. My stomach rumbles again, maybe too loudly, and I realize that stopping is totally fine with me. I take a picture, smile for the camera, and start making my way down the volcano, past the lake, and back to town, where a warm dinner is waiting for me.
For being so close to the much larger and largely unremarkable city of Puerto Montt, Puerto Varas is charming. Neighbors lean in each other's doorways and stand on lawns, laughing and touching hands and arms in a friendly sense of familiarity. The man working at the microbrewery smiles with those drop-dead dimples. The owner of a sushi stand gives us some free rolls as a welcoming gift, and the woman working at the convenience store apologizes with a small blush and her hand to her cheek when she doesn't have any empanadas. Street dogs have nothing better to do than follow you for hours, and a gentle rain casts a little rainbow over the idyllic town.
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