Puerto Montt. Puerto Varas. Osorno. Parque Nacional Rosales. Lago Todos Los Santos. The Chilean Lakes District. The true gateway to Patagonia. For most backpackers and travelers, this is their first major exposure to adrenalyn pumping activities and the grand beauty of Patagonia. It´s a place to hike, to peak a volcano, to flyfish, to sea kayak. I think that if I visited this area in December, I would have spent my days trekking through mountainous forests and my nights camping under the cold starry sky. But these last few months have provided me with a wealth of experiences and with that a change in desires and priorities. As such, I experienced the Lakes District in a completely different way and I believe that an analysis of this distinction will shed a fair share of insight on my previous personal transition and my future traveling plans.
When I decided to start the traveling portion of my Chilean adventure, I noted that I would have to transition from campesina to tourist, from worker to traveler. But my time in the Lakes District has shown me that this mental shift is much easier said than done. Although I was now traveling, my priorities still revolved around el campo. Of course I was still mezmorized by the massive natural landscape: the huge Lago Llanquihue and the three overpowering distant volcanoes. And of course I still took the opportunity to hike through an aging rainforest to find a hidden waterfall. But it was el campo that moved my heart. It was el campo that caught my attention.
I began to notice the shift when I left Pucon. My eyes were drawn to endless vistas of green pastures dotted with grazing cows, to the continuous billboards and advertisements for fertilizers, seeds, and antibiotics, and to the overwhelming presense of milk companies and dairy factories. Rather than settle down in Puerto Varas, the typical backpackers center, I chose to stay outside of Puerto Octacy, a tiny farming village 50km north. There, I spent my days aimlessly wandering through the network of dirt roads and taking in the beautiful sights of the lonely farmhouse, the green fields, the freshly picked potatoes. I spent my morning and my nights lying outside, listening to the distant sounds of cowboys rounding up their cows, of campesinos chopping wood and building barns, and of farm animals talking amongst themselves. Everything I saw, I connected to el campo. The fresh local produce overflowing the town´s minimercados, the signs outside of the rural schools boasting of the fresh and healthy local food they feed their children, the signs leading into each driveway stating the name of el fundo and which giant coorporation sponsors their products, the out-of-place suburban-style neighborhood quickly built to cheaply house the influx of local migrant workers, the looming whitewashed factories bearing the names of Nestle and Colum, the billboards advertising the ¨saving-grace¨products of Bayer and Monsanto. Everything I thought, I connected to el campo. Small farms and local food mixed with huge industries and profitable exports. Fresh produce and government-issued milk. A country that values its farmers and its agricultural production but is still losing its population to the forces of urbanization and globalization.
As I walk these roads and meet these people, I´m overwhelmed to the point where my racing mind goes blank. But I continue on, not knowing what I´ll find next or what realization I´ll make. All I know is that for now I want nothing more than to spend each day aimlessly walking amongst the green pastures, under the blue sky, and within the world of el campo. This is the reality I want to explore. The reality of el campesino. Family. Beauty. Work ethic. Purity. Defense. Friendship. Neighbors. Networks. Business. Love. Pride.
At least that´s the current gameplan...until I change my mind again...
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