Vagabond, James Vagabond

It´s been a few weeks since I last blogged, and though I´m tempted to only write about the most recent events, the past few weeks have been interesting enough that I feel it pertinent to give a quick rundown of happenings.

Helen, an Englishwoman, doctorate of Psychology who we met in Santiago, came to join up with us in Puerto Montt so that we could travel together to Chiloe, an island off the coast of Chile. When she arrived, we took a bus to the coast, caught a ferry to the island, and hitched from the coast of the island to the most remote area we could make it to in a day. We walked a lot, hitched a lot, and eventually were dropped off at the crossroads of two dirt roads in the middle of cow fields. Another half kilometer, and we were on the beach of a place called Mar Brava, where we set up camp, collected as much firewood as we could, and discovered that dried kelp on a fire is hours of entertainment.

After our beautiful night of camping, the three of us decided to make our way to the capitol of the island, Castro. We were caught in a rainstorm while hitching, and met 4 other hitchers from Santiago as we all huddled under a bus stop for cover. Soon enough a cargo truck came along and picked all seven of us up (not to mention the two that were already in the back). As we talked to our newly found friends, the told us we should join them for a cultural festival happening in a town called Anchau on a nearby island. And so we were off.
The four we met were Tano (The Juggler), Javier, Cristofer, and Coca (Teaching Helen to make paper flowers). We spent two nights in Anchau, and all was well until Cory´s backpack was stolen with all of his clothes. I also had my jacket and wallet stolen, but that those pale in comparison with Cory´s loss.













Once we left the cultural festival, we headed back to Puerto Montt to buy Cory a new everything and then continued on our adventure to parque nacional Alerce Andino, where we discovered that if we wanted to camp we´d have to do so at a paid spot, and spend our night without a fire. Lame. Needless to say, our determination to play with fire was greater than our desire to stay put, and so without too much trouble we found a nearby farm, where we could do both. Hector, our host, spent quite a bit of time with us, telling us about the area and giving us a tour of some of the highlights of his 80 hectacre slice of heaven. After two days, we began our rather unique journey back to Puerto Montt. While waiting for the only bus back to town, Cory and I struck up some games with the local boys. Three of them + three juggling balls = chaos. In the dirt streets in the middle of town, Cory and I continually threw the balls as high as we could while the three of them scrambled to catch them. Meanwhile, Helen sat on the bus stop bench painting the nails of one of the local girls. The people of the town were friendly, and seemed endeared to us for relieving them of the responsibility of three hyperactive youths.

We said a sad goodbye to Helen, and Cory and I began our journey to Bariloche. Unfortunately, the highway we were taking is in the middle of the national parks and there is literally nothing from Entre Lagos to the border of Argentina. No worries, we thought, we´re experienced travelers, and no matter what comes our way, we can cross those bridges when we get to them. Well, to make a long story short, we made it within 25 kms of the border, got stuck in a rainstorm, couldn´t get a ride, and turned to our only option - sleeping under a bridge, in a tent, ¨down by the River.¨ Well, I guess that´s all water under the bridge.


"Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed."

-Emily Dickinson