CHILE, Santiago down to Puerto Montt, Monday 24th September

Jumping off cliffs or climbing active smoking volcanoes and sticking your head into them... I do wonder at the lemming-type impulses that overcome us sometimes. Coughing from the sulphur gasses, legs burning from over-exertion, an ice-pick in hand, I pondered this as I watched spurts of molten hot magma and hoped that whoever was responsible for monitoring the activity of Volcano Vallaricca was doing their job. More adventures in South America...

I returned to Santiago just under a week ago, via a stunning drive through the Andes, zebra-striped with melting snow and found myself in a ghost town. Ah yes, the National Holiday. There go my plans for changing travellers cheques, doing laundry and generally sorting myself before I head south. Plenty of backpackers where at a loose end so I made lots of new friends, drank lots of beer and played lots of card games.

On Thursday 20th I was scooped up by our guide Nico and swept off, along with Jen, Eric and Paul on our trip down South.
Out of Santiago and through field after field of blossoming fruit trees, stopping for a quick empanada lunch at Pomarie before arriving at Pichilemu on the coast. Jen and I went riding on the beach while the boys sipped beer. It was a beautiful afternoon but our enjoyment of the ride was hampered slightly by the oddness of our escort, a strange young boy who ogled shamelessly, muttered to himself and mooed provocatively at cows, hmmmm. We watched the sunset on the headland and had a good BBQ dinner at our nice, if cold, hostel.
Up early the following morning for cold showers (something I can´t get used to) and a long day on the bus. We stopped briefly at Santa Cruz to visit a museum displaying a collection of things from rocks, to cars and some indigenous artefacts thrown in for good measure. The museum is owned by an arms dealer who ticked off the FBI by dealing Iraq and is consequently not allowed to leave Chile. Still, he seems to have a keen appreciation for his native country and its heritage...
That night we arrived in Pucon, a small, touristy town set beside Lake Villaricca and under the disconcerting shadow of the afore mentioned volcano, named the same. Our plan was to climb the volcano the following morning so we got kitted out by bossy Frenchmen, ate dinner and went to bed early in anticipation of our 6.30am start.
Rain, however, put a dampener on that idea so we had a lie in and then visited Huerquehe National Park. Gorgeous lakes surrounded by snow capped mountains, icy waterfalls to hunt for... Just the job for a girl who loves to go hiking inappropriately attired. Trainers + snow = soggy feet but I discovered that the slipping can be controlled into a sort of skiing motion if armed with a couple of sticks. Needless to say, the cause of much amusement for the rest of the group.
On our return Nico was waiting for us with the news that the weather for tomorrow was forecasted to be beautiful and would we like to forgo the drive around the lakes for one more shot at the volcano? Well, lakes we have seen, active volcanoes we have not so the decision was not a hard one. That evening Nico took us to some hot springs where we spent a blissful couple of hours floating about in steaming hot water under the stars, sipping beer. Wonderful.
At 6.30 yesterday morning then, we were up, kitted out with waterproofs, wind-breakers, climbing boots, helmets and ice-picks and we set off on, I think, the hardest physical endeavour I have ever attempted. The sky was blue and cloudless and the volcano we´d seen glowing the night before was white with snow and smoking gently. We laboured uphill, one heavy step after another, through the deep snow, hypnotised by the boots of the person in front and the steady crunch of our ice-picks as we dug them into the mountain for support and balance, climbing gradually higher and higher until the snow became peppered with ash and the sulphur made our throats sting. It took us 6 long, tough hours. I´m not usually one to moan but I confess I began to whimper. Jen, Paul and Eric pressed cheerily onwards seeming hardly to be braking a sweat. Just as I was about to collapse in a heap and beg for mercy, we arrived at the crater, a huge gaping hole breathing smoke and belching sprays of lava. Incredible. That, and the breathtaking view, made all the pain worthwile. Delerious with happiness, and exhaustion, we posed for photos (although I was lothe to turn my back on a very obviously active volcano, meaning that I look a little nervous in most of the shots) and made our merry way back down the mountain mostly by way of sliding on our arses. Much more fun.
I don´t think a beer (drank on a chair lift) has ever tasted so good, nor a burger, neither do I think I have slept as deeply as I did last night.

This afternoon I sadly parted company with the others and am in Puerto Monnt for the night before I can catch a flight down to Patigonia. I am armed with all kinds of clothing fashioned from lama wool and so I hope I am prepared for the cold...