From: Kirstie
and Stuart
Subject: Losing It |
|
Date:
30th November 1999
Place: Puerto Montt, Chile |
Hi there,
Hope this finds you all well, and starting to get into the Christmas
spirit. After all theres only 25 cycling days till Christmas!
From all the replies we´ve had to our e mails it sounds like
there's a lot going on at home. By contrast, life for us was
getting pretty dull. 80 kilometres a day, tent up, tent down,
day in day out. And we began to lose the will to cycle. We decided
we needed a holiday, so off we went to a small Chilean travel
agent in Temuco to fix ourselves up with a Christmas break to look
forward to. "We need a holiday from our holiday" we
explained over and over again, while the ever polite travel
agent struggled to make sense of our confusing logic. She didn´t
get it but nevertheless two hours later we emerged clutching
a handful of ferry tickets, and a reservation for a four star
hotel for Xmas. But it was still a distant dream, and the cycling
still felt a bit like a chore. And then...... we discovered
the Cake District.
Known to Chileans as the Lake
District....
expanses of still and silent water, encircled by snowcapped
volcanoes, gently erupting in the Spring sunshine. The hot sun
enticing us to dip our toes in the cool waters. Promenades of
pastry shops, windows full of Strudel, Kuchen, and Torta..beckoning
us inside. And inside we went. How could anyone worn out by
four weeks on a hot dusty saddle not be seduced by this?
It all began on Kirstie´s birthday morning, with a knock on
the door and breakfast in bed. Windows thrown wide open to reveal
Kirstie in all her glory to Volcan Villaricca...or was it the
other way round? A luxurious five star breakfast, followed by
a leisurely romantic picnic by the lake, and afternoon tea in
the exclusive but worryingly named Pucon Pastries. Things were
really looking up. And then, as we prepared for a birthday evening
out, Stuart crunched into the bedpost. "Ive broken my knee"
he screamed, writhing around on the floor. "Maybe I´ll
never be able to cycle again" ...he proferred half hopefully.
"You're not pulling that one...get up and I´ll buy you
dinner" said Kirstie as she reached into her bag to get
her wallet. She then joined Stuart writhing on the floor screaming,
"What the hell did you do with the wallet?" "I
left it balanced on the back of your bike outside the Oriente
Supermarket in Villaricca this morning" came the pained
reply.
We respectively stormed and hobbled along to introduce ourselves
to the local police with a pre-prepared statement to avoid any
communication difficulties. We presented ourselves and our written
statement to the desk clerk in intense silence, the silence
only broken when the officer in charge passed the statement
amongst his colleagues. Between guffaws we heard familiar snippets
being bandied about to much hilarity. "They want a full
search and report"..with a wink to his colleagues, the
clerk reached into his desk, ripped a slip of paper out of a
grubby old notepad, stamped and signed it, and assured us it
would carry much weight with our insurers. As we left bemused
and penniless we were almost run over by a 1979 green police
car, crawling out of the gate. "That´ll be the search team
going out now."
Our new financial
situation meant making some cutbacks. Dinner for two at a tasteful
lakeside restaurant became dinner for two at the lakeside. "I
know the perfect place..follow me " said Stuart, as he
limped past the main reception of the Hotel Del Lagos... carrying
camp stove, two red plastic bowls and an assortment of plastic
cutlery. Kirstie followed humming ´Happy Birthday to Me´, in
an attempt to keep her spirits up, cradling a stainless steel
camp pot, filled with raw spagetti, onion and cold water. The
concierge held open the door to allow the birthday parade to
pass, and wished us an enjoyable evening. Perched on a rock
overlooking Lake Villaricca, Kirstie cracked open her Birthday wine and chocolates,
coolly keeping the setting sun at bay with her new birthday
sunglasses. "This isn't so bad" she shouted above
the hiss of the campstove.
We were then joined for dinner by an unexpected guest, Alfonso.
Eight years old, dressed only in orange swimming trunks, attracted
only by the chocolates, he was quick to make himself at home
despite the discomfort of the rocky shore. "It's my birthday"
Kirstie explained as she offered Alfonso a chocolate. "Happy
Birthday" he enthused, shaking her hand and giving her
a kiss on the cheek. He then got up, placed his damp beach towel
under her buttocks to make her stay on the rock more comfortable
and proceeded to gently massage her shoulders. She offered him
another chocolate. The chocolates seemed to be disappearing
rather more quickly than they were being offered. As Alfonso
finally sat down, after refilling Kirstie's wine glass, Stuart
noticed a growing bulge in the little boy´s shorts. "What´s
that?" Stuart jibed, winking at him. Alfonso jumped up,
cheeks red with embarrassement, and out of his shorts tumbled
a colourful selection of individually wrapped chocolates. "Thought
so" said Stuart. "These are a present for you"
Alfonso said wisely as he stuffed the chocolates one at a time
into Kirstie´s breast pocket, taking rather longer than seemed
necessary. Having completed the breast massage, Alfonso spotted
the shiny new sunglasses. "Hey man" he said in an
American drawl as he tried them on for size. "Cool man...present
for me?" he asked. "You´ve just had your present"
said Stuart, snatching them back. Alfonso stamped his feet in
a prepubescent rage and thrust his hand back into the breast
pocket to reclaim his chocolates. He snatched back his towel
and turned to leave. And then, softening again, he turned back.
"Happy Birthday Lady" he whispered softly in Kirstie´s
ear as he put back a single chocolate with a final satisfying
grope. "I´ve really enjoyed my birthday" said Kirstie
as Stuart helped himself to an after dinner chocolate with rather
more experienced hands.
The next day the reality of our new situation hit us. We had
become addicted to the five star lifestyle but only had two
star funds to sustain it. So we relocated to a 4 star hotel,
5 km out of town, offering a special two star off season rate
which allowed us to continue to frequent our five star hotel
in town... but only during Happy Hours, on the 2 for 1 night
in the cinema, and in the Casino where we were determined to
win our way back into credit. "Let´s sort this mess out"
said Kirstie as she thrust her one dollar stake into the Sega
virtual reality horse racing machine on a 114-1 two horse combination
bet. In the grandstand twelve punters hunched over the miniature
racecourse, cheering on six small plastic horses as the computer
wheeled them around the track on their tiny wheels with all
the tension of the Grand National. As the horses crossed the
finish line, the fire alarm went off and it started raining
coins, our faces suddenly illuminated by red flashing lights.
We were saved. We counted our winnings over and over again until
Happy Hour... and then celebrated with 2 for 1 cocktails.
Convinced we´d turned the corner and our luck had changed, we
launched ourselves back on the bikes to explore the furthermost
reaches of the Cake District. Midweek we discovered we had lost
one of Kirstie´s sandals, last seen outside a supermarket in
Entre Lagos (What is it about us and supermarkets?) And this
on the day we were directed by a lonesome cowboy to "the
perfect camp" on a deserted island beyond a fast flowing
river. "It´s only knee deep" he said. Stuart waded
in up to his waist with Kirstie on one sandal, doing a laudable
impression of a flamingo. The cowboy looked on and laughed as
he filled out a nomination for Kirstie for the local wet t-shirt
competition. As Stuart made the eighth trip, bicycle over his
shoulder, the cowboy applauded, "Now can you take my horse
across?"
Our next camp was at a remote lakeside fishing spot.
As we tucked into our tin of cold salmon, small groups of fishermen
barbequed their freshly caught fish over open fires, downing
beers and sharing fishermen's fantasies. And as we tried to
sleep, someone fired up a car generator, connected up a speaker
system and began public service transmissions of a Spanish imitation
of Derek and Clive. Soon the small groups were joined together
in a public laugh in. Unable to understand a word, we were surrounded
by deep, intermittent chuckling emerging from every tent in
every corner of the field. Then, as each of the four 45 minute
tapes ended and the next was prepared, they filled the silences
with an impromptu inter-tent farting competition. Stuart unzipped
his sleeping bag and let one rip, relieved that at last there
was something he could join in with. The personality transformation
was at last complete. And another nights sleep was lost.
We seemed to be losing everything. The only thing we were gaining
was weight. The longer we stayed in the Cake District, the more
difficult it became to cycle. Every morning at eleven we would
take Chilean Onces, a tradition introduced to Chile by German colonists in the last century. We suspect they hoped in the
long term to kill off the indigineous population by encouraging
obesity. Onces... meaning elevenses... lots of fresh coffee,
cake, ham, cheese and rolls. And then one tranquil Sunday morning
we stumbled across the full horror of an Onces Onslaught. We
cycled up to an unassuming Aleman Teashop, and innocently left
our bicycles perched by the railings to venture inside. "Simple
Onces" the waitress established and then marched off into
the kitchen to assemble her troops. Ten minutes later and we
were surrounded. Ten shiny metal pots, all fully loaded... clotted
cream, double cream, cherry jam, jelly jam, cottage cheese,
cream cheese, minced turkey, haddock pate, egg mayonnaise, ham
and gherkin. This front line assault was supported by a battallion
of twenty soft morning rolls... backed up with intimidating
120mm portions of cheese and 50mm slices of salami. Then bringing
up the rear, the heavy artillery... two torpedo sized slabs
of Kuchen and two rounds of fruit Torta of nuclear proportions.
One hour later we surrendered and admitted that the Cake District
had finally defeated us... which was probably in the interests
of our own health.
Powered and slightly sickened by this experience, we were spurred
back onto the bikes and have steamed on into Puerto Montt, gateway
to the wilderness of the Deep South. No more Lakes. No more Cakes. We breathed a sigh of relief to have escaped
having lost almost everything except our sense of humour. And
we now head off into the unknown. Firstly to the mysterious
Island of Chiloe, where it is said if a woman is made pregnant it is the fault of a goblin,
and we don´t mean Alfonso. And then onto the Carreterra Austral,
Pinochets´ dream road to nowhere... and then a Christmas holiday!
If you fancy joining us for a Xmas break, we´ll be in the Hotel
Coihaique, Magallanes 131, Coihaique, from 24-26 December. It´s
a four star... but at four star prices. Or give us a call there
Tel Coihaique 231137 Fax 233274. If we don´t speak before we
hope you all have a Happy Christmas and a Millenium to remember.
Lots of love
Kirstie and Stuart
A
Camping wild on the lake shores
