Archive for November 10th, 2009

Ancud is, well, exactly what you might think a fishing village at the bottom of the world would be. It’s cold, and wet, and the people here work hard and live in wood-shingled small homes heated by wood stoves, almost without exception. The houses are painted bright colors and have heavy duty shutters and corrugated steel roofs (and sometimes siding). I’m holding out for the penguin colonies tomorrow, but my new residencia hostess Mirta thinks that there won’t be enough gringos to take the tour, in which case I think I’ll move on down Chiloe instead of touring the numerous churches found throughout the islands (a popular thing to do, I’m told).

Hospedaje Austral:

Lonely Planet, my only source of information about Ancud, told me that the Hospedaje Austral is “right next” to the bus station, and for that reason I decided to stay there. I asked the grumpy tourist information office worker about it, and she called them & arranged a pickup (a bus pickup, oddly) without telling me anything about the place. It turns out that this is one of those reasons a two-year-old guidebook can be a bit of a liability sometimes. They’ve built another bus terminal in Ancud, surrounded by thousands of beautiful, charming Hospedajes and hostels, and Hospedaje Austral is now across town, right next to the old bus station, now unused. And the lack of business is sadly really showing. The big “Viende” cartele out front is kind of a bad sign, too. Mirta, of course, is very nice, and the inside of the place is cute in a wood-paneling kind of way, but her husband seemed a bit mad at the bus company (cruz del sur) for building a new terminal across town. However, as they say, character personality goes a long way. And I worked very hard on my Spanish. For hours.

Wish me luck with the penguinos tomorrow. For some reason, I thought they were called tuxedos in Espanol. I said as much to the grumpy tourist information officer, and she looked at me like I called an emu a sport jacket.

Hasta.

Edit 111109: No penguinos. Mirta said that not enough gringitos showed up to form an expedition, so I toured a bunch of Chiloe and saw a whole lot of small, steel-clad fishing villages. It was wet, and cold, but the sun came out at the end of my day and I was a bit proud of the fact that I only saw one or two other blancos during my 9 hours of travel on the municipal buses. And nadie speaks ingles down here. Loco.

Also, more complaining: you know what beats a long cold night in an empty hospedaje? A short cold shower in an empty hospedaje. Blerg.