The route of the islands
The faint outline of the snow capped Andes offers a faint background to the quaint, traditional harbour of Achao, which if pronounced properly twice in a row sounds like a heavy sneeze without the ooooo at the end.
It's nearly 2pm and the fish and shellfish market has just finished and all that is left is some smoked fish that resembles the Craster kipper from Northumberland and large fleshy pink cuts of fresh salmon spread across the white tiles that form the tables. I tentatively ask if I can take a photo of a cylindrical grey green object and am offered some cheese "¿queso, joven?" The smiling lady tells me, waving a thick slab of homemade cheese at me. A worker with an orange overall points towards the sea and tells me that the cyndrical object is composed of a mass of edible seaweed.
I ask where I can eat and am directed to a restaurant next to the market, decorated with ornate cotton tablecloths depicting flowers with sweeping, panoramic views of the mountains, harbour and fish market. Fishermen wearing big blue and yellow wellies trundle down the pier to some fishing boats docked at the pier. A heavy laden little grey van parks up to drop off supplies; they are being taken to another island. Dried seaweed spreads across the grey beach in dried mats.
The people here are really friendly, well fed and smile a lot. They also are curious about visitors; I'm told very few Brits come here so my visit is unusual. I was told Chiloé was off grid and it certainly is that. I enter markets and people look at me. I look different here - and that is actually really nice. And I'm not on the main island, I am island hopping like the locals. The mini bus I hopped on arrived on a ferry.
And now I recall yesterday, I passed some grafitti in Castro, the heart of this island, and snapped a photo of it: a people who are proud of their cultural heritage are invincible. And I couldn't agree with it more. We must never forget nor be ashamed of our cultural background for it is is our legacy in this ever globalised world. To understand our place we must understand and appreciate that our upbringing shapes who we are. That is our strength.
And now, back to here, I am on an island on another island and every island gets quieter and quieter until you reach the end of the hospitable world, the Andes backdrop are a permanent, stark reminder of the extremes of nature in this area.
I order a typical fish and shellfish soup; Paila Marina. This is before. And this is after. And now I think, I need a siesta.
It's nearly 2pm and the fish and shellfish market has just finished and all that is left is some smoked fish that resembles the Craster kipper from Northumberland and large fleshy pink cuts of fresh salmon spread across the white tiles that form the tables. I tentatively ask if I can take a photo of a cylindrical grey green object and am offered some cheese "¿queso, joven?" The smiling lady tells me, waving a thick slab of homemade cheese at me. A worker with an orange overall points towards the sea and tells me that the cyndrical object is composed of a mass of edible seaweed.
I ask where I can eat and am directed to a restaurant next to the market, decorated with ornate cotton tablecloths depicting flowers with sweeping, panoramic views of the mountains, harbour and fish market. Fishermen wearing big blue and yellow wellies trundle down the pier to some fishing boats docked at the pier. A heavy laden little grey van parks up to drop off supplies; they are being taken to another island. Dried seaweed spreads across the grey beach in dried mats.
The people here are really friendly, well fed and smile a lot. They also are curious about visitors; I'm told very few Brits come here so my visit is unusual. I was told Chiloé was off grid and it certainly is that. I enter markets and people look at me. I look different here - and that is actually really nice. And I'm not on the main island, I am island hopping like the locals. The mini bus I hopped on arrived on a ferry.
And now I recall yesterday, I passed some grafitti in Castro, the heart of this island, and snapped a photo of it: a people who are proud of their cultural heritage are invincible. And I couldn't agree with it more. We must never forget nor be ashamed of our cultural background for it is is our legacy in this ever globalised world. To understand our place we must understand and appreciate that our upbringing shapes who we are. That is our strength.
And now, back to here, I am on an island on another island and every island gets quieter and quieter until you reach the end of the hospitable world, the Andes backdrop are a permanent, stark reminder of the extremes of nature in this area.
I order a typical fish and shellfish soup; Paila Marina. This is before. And this is after. And now I think, I need a siesta.
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