South America - March 8th - Puerto Varas

We woke up on the morning of the 8th and said goodbye to Santiago. Guessing by the airport security, the threat level in Chile is a negative color (yea, wrap your mind around that). No shoes coming off. No belts coming off. I’m pretty sure you could walk through security with a handgun in one hand and bullets in the other. The flight south to Puerto Varas took about two hours and we landed in one of the largest airports I’ve ever walked through. It had not one but TWO luggage conveyors. I know. I know. Ridiculous. So yea, the town we were in was pretty small. We left the airport and got on what is known as the Pan-American Highway. You can apparently get on the highway at the airport and drive all the way to Alaska. Sounds like a pretty fun trip to me. Who’s going to plan it? One thing we noticed and the tour guide mentioned is that everything looked to have been burned. Fields next to the side of the road were charred and barren. But no fire. The day before our arrival to the area rain had arrived and put out a fire that had apparently been burning for THREE (3!!!!!!) MONTHS.

Our hotel in Puerto Varas sat overlooking Lake Llanquehue (Yan Kee Way). Which provided a pretty spectacular view when we were waiting for our rooms to be ready (checking-in with 38 people can be quite the hassle). Luckily, the hotel provided us with pisco sours while we waited. Actually, I should say unluckily because those things are gross. Pisco sour is the “favorite” drink of Chileans. I use quotations marks because it seemed like all the Chilean’s we asked didn’t like them. I can see why. Pisco is a distilled drink that tastes like stall tequila. Pisco sour is pisco mixed with egg whites and lemon juice. It is bizarre and not good. Like a terrible margarita with a weird consistency.

We had enough time to put down our bags, change into our swim suits, and grab a quick lunch (jamon y queso….that’s ham and cheese and my fallback food option in all Spanish speaking countries…..of course) before we were off to rafting.

Forty-five minute bus trips aren’t that fun unless the time is spent driving around a huge lake surrounded by ridiculous mountains and green pastures (a weird and cool contrast). So we show up at the rafting center and almost immediately the girls started fawning over the rafting guides. I’m pretty sure that being a rafting guide is one of the easiest ways to pick up women. We had to take a short hike to where the rafts were put in. The ground wasn’t so much dirt, as it was volcanic dust (nutrient rich!). Luckily, the path ran next to a bee hive and the bees were happy to let everyone know they were there (100 yard journeys can’t be considered epic without injuries). We put the rafts into the bluest-green water these eyes have ever seen and were off. It was an awesome trip. While the rapids were only class-II-III, the scenery was amazing (and more than made up for the non-hair-raising experience). Having the trip being framed by a mountain range off one shoulder and a volcano off the other was incredible. We passed under a cable line and cart that was used to pass cows (one at a time) across the river. That part of being a gaucho doesn’t seem so fun.