CHILOÉ
There’s only 2 km separating the island of Chiloé from Chile, but that small distance has been enough to make the islands pretty different to the mainland. What first intrigued me about Chiloé was the magical characters for which it has become somewhat known for — warlocks and temptresses, messengers that throw up their intestines to be light enough to fly, gnomes and tales of gruesome torture and mysterious deaths. There was even a witch trial here in 1880. The archipelago of islands were formed by a great battle between two snakes — one earth one water — and the result was the multiple islands with their narrow waterways, steep cliffs and tides that rise and fall 20m.
Our first stop on the island was Ancud which is famed as the last Spaniard foothold, almost ten years after the Chileans had reclaimed the mainland through the War of Independence. Today, tired and dirty fishermen trudge up and down the steep streets and flocks seagulls squark as they hover low over the fishy smelling warehouses. Perhaps I was a little too inspired by the tales of witches and temptresses but the women there were a lot more colour than on the mainland — some looked straight out of the pages of an 80s edition of Vogue with baby blue eyeshadow and bright pink lips. All the houses were wooden and in the German style we saw in Puerto Varas but this felt like the real deal. Despite most properties having someone weeding, washing, painting, sawing, hammering or fixing, everything seemed to be in major disrepair. Like I-can’t-believe-it’s-still-standing disrepair.
Chiloé was the first time I didn’t feel entirely safe in Chile — creepy men spoke to me in darkened streets and I often practiced my travel insurance claim as I found myself alone on a deserted street with one other. There was always an alarm going off somewhere — not knowing the sound language here — none the wiser if it was a tsunami, a fire or a car alarm. Toto, we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
One of the initiation rituals to become a Brujo (the male witches) was to wash yourself in the icy ocean for 15 days straight to wash off the effects of their Christian baptism. At first this sounded excessive but after my three days on the islands I can see why. Faith is a heavy counterbalance to the darkness of Chiloé. Jesuit missionaries first came to the islands in the 18th century and went about converting the native locals and Spaniard colonisers in a big way. They built endless wooden churches across the islands, 16 of which are now UNESCO World Heritage listed. We spent our first full day going ‘church hunting’, trying to find as many churches we could find in far reaching ports and isolated farms. The wooden floorboards creaked loudly underfoot of each church. The design of both the interior, exterior, windows and towers are pretty consistent — wooden, bell tower, pylons and arched roof — but each one has something that makes it a little unique. “This one is the biggest” said James or “this one is the oldest”, “this one incorporates local mythology” and “this one is the baby one”.
There are countless idols of Mother Mary in full regalia, Jesus dying and other saints who met their bloody demise. One was of Saint Sebastian, showered with arrows. I later learned that he survived the attack in the 3rd century AD but was then beheaded and dumped in sewer. There was Saint Pedro, the missionary who was murdered in the Philippines for baptising an angry local’s child against his will. Saint Antonia, who was brutally stoned to death after fending off a rapist and Saint Miguel Arcangel stands proudly on the back of a squirming figure of a green devil. There were little notes shoved under the different saints written in Spanish. There were lots of notes under Saint Expedito, who is the saint of rapid legal battles and sailors, which perhaps makes sense for Chiloé.
Being agnostic and raised in an Anglican School, I found the models dripping with blood, wrenching in pain and general veneration of violence different. The locals take the statues very seriously though. There were photographs of the locals carrying them around town in a parade like celebration. I stopped at a small roadside church with some these models (very common roadside feature in Chile) including mother Mary stretching her hands out and Jesus suffering his slow and painful death. When I turned around I saw a man cross himself as he drove past.
Chiloé is also famed for its palafitos, which are small narrow houses that jut out over the water 10 metres and are often painted a rainbow of colours. When our AirBnb host showed us around the palafito were staying in she enthusiastically pointed at the two single beds, despite James and I saying we were together in our communication and there being a double bed next door.
In one of further outposts we stopped to have lunch in a small restaurant where there was a new type of folk music playing that we hadn’t heard before, with guitars and squeeze boxes. There were no printed menus only verbal so I just ordered the “soup”. What arrived was a bowl of nondescript seafood that looked like something out of Alien the movie. Easily my least favourite meal of the trip but #noregrets.
Chiloé seems to be the destination de jour for locals, particularly young Chileans. So far our trip had been dominated by young families but Chiloé was the first time that young people had a major presence. Streets crawled with pairs or trios of backpackers with dreadlocks and sections of their hair shaved off, Harem pants and tie died tops. James being much more altruistic than me pained when we drove past hitch hikers who were begging for a lift, but I personally didn’t as much. Houses had tents pitched in their backyard and it seemed to be a primary accommodation option for many. There is still a more salubrious side to Chiloé though: designer hotels are hidden inside the colourful palafitos and I enjoyed delicious coffee and cake that came with a big price tag.
I can see why Chiloé is so popular, it has something special and authentic about it that’s difficult to place your finger on. Streets are covered with street art in Castro — some magical, some angry — but always earthy. There was great food and plenty of shops and it has a nice balance of sleepy ports, lush green landscapes with a few novelties thrown in. The nooks and crannies are what I imagine other Latin American countries to look like — unlike mainland Chile. The landscape itself interested me less as it resembled where I grew up in Tasmania, so while James went and did a bush walk, I decided to get to know the city more. I visited the Museo de Arte Moderno which was a small collection of wooden sheds perched at the top of hill overlooking Castro. The quality was great and quite dark, some common themes were human rights, anatomy and mental health.
