Puerto Montt is the terminal for the ferry, a rather large port town that was absolutely crucified in the Lonely Planet (the LP). It wasn´t that bad, as I was able to score a cool leather sombrero, guiltily laugh at Clint Eastwood´s racial slurs in Gran Torino, and wander around the abundant department stores. Chile is the land of free trade, and though it is difficult to find anything that is actually made in the country, I was happy to find cameras were a reasonable price. I replaced Braun with a nifty Canon handheld for only 89,000 pesos. What a deal.
The city was abuzz with activity on boarding day as trucks filed into the port to be loaded on the boat. A cruise ship was in town, and crowds of aged travellers combed the kitshy shops for leather and llama goods while police patrolled the entire area. Under light rain, 25 strangers climbed the narrow metal stair to the passenger decks of Evangelistas and began the long trip south. It wasn´t long at all before I was making allusions to Titanic and warning about icebergs.
The boat had a really authentic feel to it, a cross between a well known hostel and an industrial plant. The bowels of the ship, loaded with cargo, were specifically off limits, but the three upper levels had enough exterior walkways, games, booze, and couches to be comfortable. In high season the boat holds a hundred or so passengers, and I imagine my experience might have been quite a bit different if the 16-bed dorm had been full. As it was I had two lockers to myself and plenty of space, and the living areas were very clean.
Meals and sights were announced over the loudspeaker by our Argentine guide Marie-Ines. How I´ll miss her adorable Spanish accent "Your attenshion pleeze" waking me up for breakfast or some reknowned channel crossing every morning. She also donned us throughout the trip, showing all the cliche movies (Motorcycle Diaries, Inconvenient Truth) and of course running bingo on the last night. She explained on the second day that the afternoon crossing of the Golfo de Penas would be rough since the boat would be leaving the safety of the sea channels and entering into the torment of the Pacific Ocean. "The boat will move". Feeling like a bit of a tough guy I opted out of the seasickness pill.
We didn´t actually make it to the crossing, the captain turned the ship around due to 8 m swells and 60 knot winds and we spent the night anchored in a channel to wait out a storm. The next day, now 24 hours behind schedule, the rocking began. It´s difficult to describe the sensation of a rocking boat to mere land dwellers. It´s gut-wrenching, for sure, but not just in a roller coaster sort of way. The boat lurches on every axis, and it´s the combination of side to side with forward and back that keeps your stomach guessing all day. At first I went to the front of the boat, watching the bow break over waves, the cool air and strong wind clearing any nausea. But the novelty of the whole thing wears off very quickly, and eventually you just have to lie down. I felt like a stack of bricks as I slept in a couch for most of the day in the pub, along with basically the rest of the group. It wasn´t until lunch, when the whole uneasiness was exacerbated by some really gross corn pie, that it became clear how low morale really was on the boat. I definitely wasn´t suffering compared to a good half of the boat, though I think only one girl actually puked. It was all sort of funny too, since anyone walking looking like they were drunk and it was impossible to follow a straight path. In the morning, I only heard the crash as tables, food, and passengers went flying after a particularly big wave. After that they tied up the tables. The rocking finally stopped that night (I maintain it was just as I was getting used to it), and all told the gauge on the bridge indicated a max angle of 25 degrees to one side and 15 to the other.
This ride was one of the most memorable parts of my trip so far, and the one day of rough water completes the experience. We saw vivid sunsets, fierce winds, placid water and always towering mountains on either side of the boat. The boat stopping at Puerto Eden, a remote fishing village that we toured around like good little tourists for an hour, taking photo after photo of picturesque dilapidated boats. We stopped next to a glaciar one afternoon, gathering on the deck at the immense field of ice came into view. The first night I stood on the top deck, listening to the soft beeps from the RADAR tower and surrounded by stillness and darkness without the sensation of any movement. Some channels we passed through were less than 80m wide and could only be navigated in daylight. The skies changed from sunny to stormy in minutes, dictating when you´d go for a walk around the exterior decks. And of course we played giant chess on the outside deck.
And the group of strangers began to gell over bottles of wine and full plates of food. It was quite a mix, some young, some old, some grumpy, some strange. We were united under a common love of the journey and tales from the places we´d been. Being in Puerto Natales, after disembarking one day later than expected, was like your frist day back at school after a summer break. We crossed paths with all the familiar faces, stopping in the street to chat as if we were long time friends who hadn´t seen each other in ages. You can love and hate travel, which brought us together for a short time to share laughs, and just a easily broke us up to go our separate ways. But I also emerged with a good group ready to stick together and tackle the great outdoors for a while longer, and hopefully when we eventually part ways it will be with an intention to see each other again some time soon.
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