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So when Marcelo asks what I’d like to do
after yet another soggy hike, I don’t really
have an answer other than ‘sit by a fire’,
which is of course unacceptable. I should be
fatalistic about this, or at least logical — the
water in all these lakes needs to come from
somewhere after all — but I instead find myself
being petulant, fed up. Marcelo reasons that
perhaps I should go rafting. “I mean, man,
how much wetter can you get?” Without a
counterargument to hand, I follow him out
the door.
Half an hour later, I’m standing by the
Petrohué River, staring at the water as raindrops
perforate its surface. Don’t tell anyone, but for
a few minutes I wonder if I’m past it — 39, tired,
unable to find a helmet that fits.
I start to think about the choices that brought
me to this very place, in a deluge, afraid of
what’s to come, surrounded by strangers.
“OK, my team!” My rafting guide, Álvaro,
isn’t going to let me mope. “Are you ready? I
love my job! You’ll love my job too, my team!”
Wild-eyed, long-haired, apparently free
from anxiety, the 29-year-old from Puerto
Montt has a sort of enthusiasm that is, if not
infectious, then at least impossible to ignore.
I help the six-person team lift the raft to the
rocky shore, then listen to Álvaro’s detailed
instructions and head out onto the river.
It takes all of five minutes to have my entire
mood turned upside down, the world shifting
from glum to gleeful. I’m in the front row of
the kayak, meaning each time we approach
a rapid, I’m the one who’s first smashed in
the face by hundreds of gallons of water. As
we continue down the river, the rapids grow
mountainous, and from my vantage point
I see the river dropping away, then more
water crashing over the bow, but some heady
combination of adrenaline and dopamine
means none of it matters.
“Yes, my team!” shouts Álvaro, and I shout
too, a formless, electrified noise, roaring over
the rushing river.
Fresh tracks
If you travel a lot, perhaps you’ll know
something of the excitement of the rental
car lottery. Companies offer themselves a lot
of wiggle room by attaching the words ‘or
similar’ next to each vehicle they list. In my
case, the 4x4 I thought I’d need for unsealed
roads (of which there are actually very few in
the Lake District) has been interpreted as a
hulking, white pick-up truck. A Chinese brand
called Great Wall, which Autocar describes as
‘slow-witted’ and ‘nowhere near as competent
or sophisticated as its rivals’, it’s not at all
similar to what I’d imagined.
I’m worried that my luggage will get soaked
in the exposed back of the track, but the deities
that inhabit the Andes, whoever they are,
have taken pity on me, replacing the torrential
rains of yesterday with brilliant sunshine. And
it’s such a spectacular journey, with volcanic
peaks emerging and disappearing through
clouds and trees, sometimes behind other
mountains, sometimes through mists.
Rural driving in Chile is mostly a polite
affair — certainly compared to the more chaotic
manoeuvring around Santiago — meaning I can
Clockwise from top left: With its own
permaculture garden, &Beyond Vira
Vira hotel in Pucón offers farm-to-
table meals; a painted tree iguana
glinting in the afternoon sun; the pier
at Llanquihue Lake at sunrise; kayaking
tours on the Petrohué River offer
thrilling rapids and volcano views
JUL/AUG 2022 107
CHILE
