Due to the complicated nature of coordinating a bus to get across the border of Argentina and into the town of Bariloche from Ancud, I came to the conclusion that it would be best to extend my stay in Ancud by a night, allowing myself a bit of time to secure the necessary arrangements for bus tickets and lodging. Having made these arrangements, I had from 11am to make one final exploratory adventure on the island of Chiloe, and again I consullted Mirta for her advice on how to spend the day. My initial thoughs had been to venture down to the city of Castro, by all means the capital city of Isla Chiloe. My plans quickly changed when Mirta deplored the city of Castro, even going so far as to say "Castro -- es mierda!" Instead I was jumping on a bus bound for Castro, but with instructions to get off at a junction in the road called Mocopulli, and to hop from there onto a bus headed for the fishing town of Dalcahue.
Once in Dalcahue after a total of about an hour and a half on incredibly overcrowded local buses, I was determined to search for the next item on Mirta's itinerary, a restaurant identified only by a single sign reading "Cocinera." Just walking around the city was an adventure, and the air of the city along the eastern coast of Chiloe was filled with the odors of a true seafaring place - oysters and sea breezes and paint from fisherman painting their boats along the shore of the inlet. My search for the Cocinera ended in vain, so I settled on a panaderia instead, stocking up on empenadas and doritos and then heading for the ferry. When I got to the ferry dock, I waited for a couple cycles of ferries to cycle through in order to get a lay of the land and make sure I was not about to maroon myself on an island and suffer the fate of Ben Gunn. Two ferries made a continual loop from the shores of Chiloe acorss to the ferry dock on the island of Quinchao. Pedestrian passangers such as myself didn't need to worry about paying for the ferry service, as their primary purpose was to transport trucks and cars, as well as the one local bus that made it to each ferry crossing. I walked onto the ferry and we set off for what could't have been more than a 7 minute ride across, and when we were almost ashore I boarded the local bus, which was by this time probably 10 people past its liberal estimates for passenger capacity. Up to this point the journey had been quite a hassle, especially given the number of people on the bus and the fact that the back of my neck was inches from the ceiling of the short and overcrowded bus.
Finally I reched the final destination that Mirta had given me: the viewpoint known as Mirador Le Palome, a few kilometers before the city of Achao. Despite all the buses and uncomfortable situation along the way, the view itself from this mirador was enough to justify both the ida and the vuelta. From the lookout I could see across a number of small islands scattered around the bay, and in the distance the Andes and the Hornopiren National Park. Off to the right was the city of Achao, set back a bit from the coastline with a beautiful beach and a lot of naval activity as fishermen were constantly coming and going. I hung out at the mirador for a good 45 minutes, and a number of people came and went, including a couple that had been sitting next to me the day before on the Penguin excursion. Once I had taken enough pictures of the view and I had gotten my fill of blackberries growing all around, I walked down into the town of Achao and found another place to grab some more empanadas. Achao was a very busy place, and there were a ton of seafood processing plants all along the coastline of the city. If I had been born as a seafood lover, it would have been a match made in heaven, but even so I was glad to walk around in a place so far off the tourist circuit that I was sure I wouldn't speak a word of english all day.
After setting off from Achao and embarking on a handful of buses, which were by now even more crowded as it was the first day of school for all the children of Chile, who had just finished the last of the summer breaks and filled the buses beyond capacity. The day had surely been an adventure, and it was a great sendoff from Chiloe. The next day I would board a bus and cross the border into Argentina, bound for the lakes and mountains of the swiss town San Carlos de Bariloche.
The awkward photos of me were all taken in moments of boredom as I waited for one of the 7 buses I rode during this crazy day!
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