Travel Story: Those Waiting Days | Puyuhuapi | Chile
Wo-lo-lo mad lads and ladies! How are you? Coming up with another Patagonian story!
The wind is howling outside while I'm sitting here, preparing yet another story from the Patagonian adventure. No joke! There's a tropical tornado roaming the south coast of Brazil, with expected 70 knots wind gusts. Gawd save this writer! Sigh.
Gales like this recollect those days in Patagonia, when the stories here presented were lived. Out in the open, the sheer force of nature challenged the teeny tent to stay in place. We survived, so here's another partial chapter.
On this post we’ll go back to Puyuhuapi, a humble village located on the margins of the Puyuhuapi Bay in Chile. The story contains the life of a hitchhiker and a newly discovered passion. Enjoy!
And before anything else, thank you, all the supporters, who keep me motivated to work on the stories. You rock!
If you want to appreciate what happened before this episode, check out the following post.
February 9th, 2017. I wrote on the diary:
We arrived yesterday in Puyuhuapi and settled the tents on the grass near the water. Plenty of green, mountains. The sound of nature is broken by the sound of progress. On one side the birds sing and the rain falls. On the other, sound of heavy machinery cutting the valley to build a new road. It’s raining now, write again later.
Magical to explore such a humble village lost in a verdant fjord. Puyuhuapi exhaled simplicity, despite the constructions whose purpose aimed for progress. How much of that constitutes a clever idea? Not sure. And it’s unfair to judge, once I don’t live there year-long to experience the struggles. Yet, deep inside, I wished some places would remain less touched.
The climate was awful, with a persistent light drizzle and a monotonous overcast sky. It’s said to be worse during the winter. Can you imagine?
From the few traditional wooden houses, a thin smoke emerged from the chimneys, conveying a sense of coziness. On the outside, the smell of freshly baked bread softened the group’s heart when we passed in front of a door. Hay pan! ― was written on a sign. Those magnificent homemade round loaves.
The lifestyle was minimalistic, as their sustenance came primarily from handicrafts and fishing. But everything functioned as a synchronized voluntary exchange between parts. No corporations, nor massive supermarkets.
Some degraded houses resembled the villages in medieval fantasies, with moss that grew on the roofs. One of them was our referente to recognize the way to our mysterious campsite ― take a right on the yellow cottage. The tejuela walls on the three-story cottage had some planks missing and the overgrown mown suggested a state of abandonment. Needless to say, a quick trespassing to discover if the place was habitable crossed our minds. But we didn’t dare to risk.
Those days in Puyuhuapi represented freedom at its deepest foundation. Nothing was forbidding us to live, nothing but common sense to not damage the land. Our tents faced the Puyuhuapi fjord, from where the valley covered with pine trees funneled into the horizon. Then we organized a round stone bonfire in anticipation of our fishing afternoon. The fishing equipment was a mere line, a hook, and a small stone as weight. Enough to catch some fish, alright? And I swear, the fish were biting… but it’s always the equipment’s fault! No fish for dinner...
I woke up one morning to stretch. It must’ve been early, for if the wind was not blowing as expected from later hours. On that exceptional moment the water was dead quiet, mirroring the valley and the low-lying clouds in perfect symmetry. As I hurled flat stones bouncing into the horizon, a sailboat prepared to leave the bay, creating smooth little waves that rolled all the way to the shore. Seeing the white boat disappear made me think of that particular lifestyle. What a tremendous freedom to move your entire house around the world.
The books of Amyr Klink and Shackleton had already served as inspiration for my adventure. And now, that boat inspired a whole new level of imagination. Imagine anchoring in a bay like this! ― I thought. It’s well enough that, if people are living aboard, it must be viable!
Therefore, it's a matter of focusing and finding the right people as guidance to accomplish the goal. That’s the secret for any great achievement ― not accepting "you can’t do it" as a primary answer. Listening to divergent opinions is important, but learning how to filter is what leads to progress.
This life philosophy is particular true, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting on that bay. Right? It happened! Something that once seemed impossible... materialized. Not without resistance from family members... but it happened. I was alive!
Everything is possible!
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~Love ya all
Disclaimer: *The author of this post is a convict broke backpacker, who has travelled more than 10.000 km hitchhiking and more than 5.000 km cycling. Following him may cause severe problems of wanderlust and inquietud. You've been warned.****