Vero's Adventures in Chile and Argentina

During this trip, I´ve often enjoyed one of my favorite vacation luxuries: having no idea what time or day it is. Saturday, March 11th is a day, however, that I will never forget. First of all, it´s my friend Brant´s birthday (happy belated birthday Brant.) And it was the first day of my much-anticipated riverrafting trip on the Futaleufu river of Patagonia. The Fu, as its called, is a big class five river and by all accounts from those who have gone on trips lead by Bio Bio Expeditions, class five fun as well. The riverrafting trip was the impetus for all of my travel in Chile, so needless to say I was excited about March 11th. And there´s no way I will forget the day now, given that on March 11th, the first night of my trip--and the only night we stayed in a hotel--the place burned to the ground.

But let me backtrack a bit before I get to the sordid smoky details. The Bio Bio group was scheduled to meet up for our first big dinner together at a nice restaurant in Puerto Varas, a picturesque little town set on a lake with snow-capped volcanos perched on the other side. There´s a strong German presence in the Chilean Lakes District that is impossible to miss between the gingerbread like architecture and the ubiquitous signs for "shops" (draft beer) and "kuchen" (cake) in restaurant windows.

I signed up for my riverrafting trip on my own but arrived to our first meal with one of my fellow travelers, Laura, who I met coincidentally the night before on the nearby island of Chiloe. I had just crawled into bed in the dormitorio room of my nice hostel when she returned from her day of travel and we discovered (in the dark) that we were not only both from Northern California but also on the same trip. So we arrived to the restaurant the next night, the last two to meet up with the group. My first impression of the group was shock that it was so big. Most Bio Bio groups are a maximum of 18 and we were 29, pretty much taking up the entire restaurant. My second impression was shock that everyone looked so nicely attired. I really hadn´t seen anything other than the standard hiking uniform since I began my travels--hiking pants that convert into shorts, smelly t-shirts and headlamps; not nice blouses and hair that clearly benefitted from a hairdryer, rather than wind. And my third impression was that the group seemed great--a wide range of ages, lots of couples, friends traveling together, a few other solos. Little did I realize how well I´d get to know everyone in the next 24 hours.

After our lovely meal, we all checked into the hotel. This was the first time BioBio has used this hotel--since we were such a large group they decided it might be fun to upgrade and booked the nicest hotel in the entire town. Hotels in Chile always offer a free welcome drink of pisco sour, so we all went to enjoy that and Kennedy, my wonderful twenty something veterinarian roommate from Alabama, and I stayed up late to chat and finish off the vino tinto left by the group. The next thing I remember is being woken from a sound sleep by banging on the door and Kennedy urgently telling me that we need to get out of our room (she had looked out the window and seen smoke. Unfortunately Chile doesn´t have american fire codes and even many of the nicest hotels have no smoke alarms.) I quickly threw on more clothes and grabbed my glasses. We hesitated for a second to debate whether we shuld try to bring more but decided it was time to bolt and just grabbed the little backpacks we had with our passports. I ran out without any shoes.

We made it down our one flight of stairs to find a village of pajama people. I especially remember one guy who wasn´t in our group who had run out with only boxers on. Kennedy and I were among the last to evacuate. But most of us thought that the situation would get under control. There was smoke pouring out of the building but no flames that we could see so we waited in hopes of getting back in at some point. But the smoke got worse and worse and soon we were seeing spiky flames as well. And suddenly I realized that I hadn´t seen Tom yet--our spry, solo 64 year old Vietnam veteran from Vallejo, California. It seemed a little disconcerting because even though we were a large group,I assumed he would be with at least someone from our group. I began to ask around but nobody recalled seeing him so I found Jorge (the riverrafting guide who was our leader for the first night and our soon to be much beloved, intrepid hero.) Jorge went into emergency mode and the next thing we both knew, Kennedy found us and said that he was hanging out of his fourth floor window. The whole situation seemed totally surreal, especially since the firemen´s ladder didn´t reach the fourth floor and it seemed like an eternity before they came up with a plan B. Eventually they rushed him out from the inside. The amazing thing is that Tom was fine and so calm in spite of it all. Chilean journalists were snapping pictures but after coughing a few times he was busy cracking jokes and assuring everyone that he was okay. Later we learned more details: like many Vietnam vets, his hearing isn´t great, he hadn´t heard the knocks on his door (unlike the rest of us, he had the room to himself) and only woke up when the smell of smoke interrupted his sleep. he saw so much smoke when he opened the door that he packed his bags in the dark, threw them out the window, and ran to the window to get some air and help. We joke now that he ended up better off than most of us--not only did he get all of his possessions, but they were dry.

In the end, noone was hurt (thank goodness) and we moved to another hotel up the hill, where we could see the flames continue to consume our hotel throughout the night. It felt like we were witnessig a live version of Turner´s painting of the Houses of Parliaments ablaze. Needless to say, it was very hard to sleep in the two hours we had left of the morning--the fire was still raging.

The next morning, our sleep-deproved group split into half; those of us who had lost belongings stayed behind to make a trip to the mall a town away to buy new clothes. Some of us were shoeless, a few were blind, and everyone was tired. Before hitting the mall, we made a little detour to the hotel to see if anything was recovered. It seemed futile to hope that anything could have been salvaged since what was left of the hotel looked like it was going to collapse at any minute. Miraculously though, many of us on the 2nd floor (including yours truly) recovered a few things--cameras were ruined, stuff was missing, and clothes were sopping wet and smelly but I was thrilled at the prospect of not having to buy clothes for my remaining 4 weeks of travel in one hour at a Chilean mall.

The trip to the mall was, in hindsight, somewhat hilarious. We had three hours to replace our earthly possessions. It felt a little like we were reality show contestants for a reality that none of us had signed up for. Not to mention how silly we all looked roaming the mall in pajamas, borrowed clothing, and unbrushed hair and teeth. Kennedy and I headed first for the bra shop and thoroughly amused the two women working there when we asked to wear our purchases out the store. Ditto for the shoe place since I had no shoes. Adding to the hindsight humor was our poor Spanish. Aside from a small handful of people, my Spanish was among the best in our particular group. That tells you how dire things were. At one point Kennedy and I went to buy dramamine for Susan and Sarah since they get seasick and we had a catamaran ride the next day since we had missed our planes. All I could muster to the pharmacist was ¨necessito¨(I need) and ¨barca¨(boat). Amazingly enough, our choppy, desperate Spanish haikus seemed to work pretty effectively.

But it was easier for us to find humor in the afternoon since we hadn´t lost as much stuff as some people. The wonderful, but initally totally shellshocked 19-year-old Sarah from Minnesota had lost everything and as the youngest person on the trip, and a particularly fashion savvy college student, I am not sure how enjoyable it was to have to buy whatever she could find vaguely near her size, and cheap. I think she was more horrified by the baggy red sweatpants she had to wear all week than she was about the fire itself. The fact that she and her mom had matching clothes clearly didn't help. And then there was Don from DC who owns a fashion boutique and managed to lose 8 thousand dollars worth of clothes. I have no idea how anyone who is just going on a rafting trip and sleeping in tents could have 8 thousand dollars worth of clothes, but the one shirt left on his back was one of the nicest shirts I have ever seen on a man, so I guess it is possible.

But once we actually arrived in the town of Chaiten and were on our way to base camp, we were all starting to come out of shock. It wasn´t long before we were all calling our fire survivor ¨Toasty Tom¨ and cracking jokes about not having to worry abut the 35 pound luggage weight limit for the little plane we were supposed to have taken to Chaiten. And we couldn´t resist referring to ourselves the way the local newspaper had: ¨Touristas sin Ropa" (Tourists without clothes.) That got a lot of mileage and laughs.

There were many good things that came out of our crazy ordeal. After spending 24 sleepless hours together and surviving a fire, we were an incredibly tight group at a point in the trip where we should have still been learning each other´s names. And generosity came out in full force. The entire trip consisted of so much clothing and money lending that it was hard to remember what was who´s by the end of the trip, especially since half the lent items were unfamiliar purchases. (I particularly enjoyed seeing all the guys on our trip use the heart-shaped carabiners I couldn´t resist at the mall.) And we savored our trip, the river, and each other´s company to the fullest. Being grateful to be alive led to some VERY serious partying. And Jorge, the wonderful Costa Rican white water champion who was our fearless leader during the fire, found himself one much appreciated and beloved river guide. At least five times a day we would spontaneously erupt into song: ¨Jorge Jorge Jorge Jorge! That dude is hot, hot, hot. (2 second pause) That dude is hot, hot, hot." God bless Peter (aka Knappy) from Philadelphia for the anthem, and for keeping us all laughing all week.

As the week progressed, I felt like I was on the adventure trip of a lifetime, enjoying one of the most beautiful rivers in one of the most beautiful places...and sharing the experience with Jon Stewart (aka Knappy), many amazing new friends, a male Chilean Alice Waters as our chef (we love you Christian), and with some of the sweetest and hottest riverguides you can image at the helm. (Dad, if you are reading this aloud to grandma now, you can say ´most handsome.´)

Salud!