When the Travel Gods Changed Their Minds.
Day 44 – Penguins, Protests, and Perfect Views.
Some days, it feels like the Travel Gods are playing a cosmic prank just to see how flexible your plans really are. Today was one of those days.
We left Puerto Varas bright and early because, as they say, “the early bird catches the ferry.”
The skies were grey, the wind wild, but the road to Pargua was all ours. Finding the ferry terminal was easy, just follow the trail of buses and trucks.
Signs said no need to book ahead, and indeed, we rolled right onto the boat without waiting.
So far, so good.
It was too cold and windy to stay on deck, we hid inside and searched the waves for sea lions and seals. None showed up, apparently, even though they have better sense than to go out on a freezing morning. The crossing was meant to take an hour, but in twenty minutes we were already on Chiloé Island. Smooth sailing, right?
Enter: the plot twist.
We drove toward Ancud to visit the Puñihuil Penguin Colony… until, about 4 km out, the road suddenly turned into a parking lot. We assumed it was roadwork.
After half an hour, cars from the opposite direction started moving, so we waited our turn… and waited… and waited.
Fifty minutes later, I got out to investigate and learned the truth: a protest in Ancud. One of our guides in Santiago had warned us that at any given moment in Chile,
there are at least five protests happening. Apparently, today we’d stumbled upon one. Democracy in action!
After 90 minutes of standstill, we finally rolled into town. For a protest that blocked traffic for over an hour, you’d expect thousands of people… nope.
Maybe twenty. If there were more, I’ll eat my nonexistent hat.
By now, the skies were dark and our moods darker. We eventually reached Puñihuil, where “guides” competed for our business by offering free parking, as if the enormous beach was running out of space.
Finally, the Travel Gods relented. Before we could say “Jack Nicholson,” we were on a small boat heading toward the Magellanic and Humboldt penguins.
We were only three passengers, Yoni, me, and another guy, plus six officials making sure we didn’t harass the penguins. Our guide, however, was a
walking encyclopedia of bird facts, and for 45 chilly, windy minutes, we were in penguin heaven.
By 3:30, I was dreaming of lunch. But when we realised we still had a long drive ahead, we opted for a car picnic instead. Turns out, Chiloé is much bigger than Tenerife,
and our trusty Google Maps decided to take a nap just when we needed it most. We never did find those waterfalls, and poor Yoni could barely keep his eyes open.
Time to call it a day.
And what a reward awaited us: our lodge overlooked the entire Dalcahue Bay, the most breathtaking view we’ve had yet. Our host greeted us with a huge map and passionate suggestions on what to see and where to eat. His enthusiasm was contagious, so we scrapped our plans and decided to follow his lead.
Tomorrow: Chiloé National Park. Stay tuned…hopefully, the Travel Gods are in a better mood.
Day 45 – Bewitched in Chiloé: Green Dunes and Divine Lunches.
There’s nothing quite like waking up in a place that feels like home, except maybe waking up in one that comes with a view so beautiful it should be paying rent. Our little cabin in Chiloé had that kind of magic. We meant to leave early, but the place had clearly cast a spell on us.
Between the cosy breakfast and lazy map-checking, “early” turned into “whenever.”
Our plan was to spend the day in Chiloé National Park, in the Cucao sector. The night before, our host enthusiastically suggested we drive even farther south to Parque Tantauco, only to realise it was a three-hour drive each way. Six hours in the car just to get to a hike?
Gracias, but no gracias.
Still, Cucao wasn’t exactly “around the corner, it took about an hour and a half to get there. But as usual, the early(ish) birds that we are managed to beat the crowds.
At the park entrance, a cheerful ranger greeted us with the kind of detail usually reserved for PhD dissertations. Most trails were closed for maintenance before the summer season, but we didn’t mind. The open ones were lovely: boardwalks through lush Valdivian rainforest, where everything felt ancient, alive, and slightly enchanted.
Now, if you don’t know what a Valdivian rainforest is, don’t worry. The park will tell you in delightful, child-level Spanish… with drawings!
To summarise: it’s the only temperate rainforest in South America, full of ancient Alerce trees, monkey puzzles, and more biodiversity than a yoga retreat in Bali.
The last stretch of our trail led us to “the dunes,” which turned out to be… not dunes.
Chile, it seems, didn’t get the memo that dunes are supposed to be made of sand. These were green, forested, and delightfully confusing.
And when we followed the sign “To the Beach,” I imagined dipping my toes in the Pacific.
Nope. “Beach,” in this case, meant several kilometres of bushes, lagoons, and mosquito diplomacy. I took one look and thought: the Pacific can wait.
By the time we got back to the car, it was well past noon, and we decided to call it a “short” day.
We drove to Chonchi, home to one of Chiloé’s famous wooden UNESCO churches. To our surprise, the town was buzzing with a local celebration, pilgrims arriving from all over, welcomed by dancing teenagers and joyful music. Whoever said religion was dying clearly hasn’t been to Chonchi on a Saturday.
For lunch, we followed our host’s advice and headed to a tiny restaurant on stilts over the water in Castro (the city, not the dictator). It turned out to be
the best meal of the entire trip. Fresh seafood, ridiculous views of colourful boats, and the kind of satisfaction that makes you forget you ever climbed “green dunes.”
The rest of the day? Siesta, obviously. We returned to our magical home, watched the bay shimmer, and silently thanked the travel gods for giving us a perfect day
on this curious, beautiful island.
Tomorrow, we return to the mainland, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll finally find those elusive waterfalls everyone keeps talking about. Stay tuned.
