"¿Andas sola?"

So this weekend I probably took the weirdest vacation ever. I made plans to go to Puerto Octay. I called two hostels that were both full, but the third said that they had room for me. I was concerned it would fill up because of the popularity of the other two places, but the man on the phone assured me it was not a problem. I looked up travel guides, and tourist reviews of Puerto Octay and it seemed to be the place to be. A small town on a lake with beaches and naturaleza. Thats all I needed, right? So I thought I would be arriving at a Lake George type of place, but classier: full of people and activities. It turns out where I landed was more like a Chestertown. This obviously has its benefits and downsides.

I slept on the short busride over, and woke up in the lamest town plaza I had ever set eyes on. This couldn´t but Puerto Octay, could it? The bus terminal was equally as unimpressive with no tourist information, and no other buses. Two taxi drivers stood lazily outside the station (later, I would realize there´s really no reason to take a taxi at all) and I asked one of them to take me to my hostel. He seemed to like me and immidiately identified me as a jew, but I´m pretty sure he overcharged me terribly. Hosteleria La Baja was an equally unimpressive place. There was an old woman with a ¨"la Baja" apron who seemed surprised to see me, and reluctant to let me walk in to town. The only other guest was a lifesize cut out of a Cristal (a chilean beer) girl girl that greeted me at the door. I had a beautiful room with two beds to myself.

I returned to town to make sure I hadn´t missed anything. I stopped at the tourist info shack by the plaza, and confirmed my suspicious: Puerto Octay was dead. I walked around in cirlces for an hour looking at the "attractions" of the town which consisted of a bunch of old houses that looked decrepit and empty. I found a restaurant that boasted IN ENGLISH (something rarely seen in these parts) of chilean seafood. I entered to find that the only services they offered were empanadas de orno (cooked in the oven), beer, and a bunch of pinball games. I ate instead at the only restaurant that had people in it called La Naranja (the orange). The man who served on me was very nice, but flabergasted as to what a New Yorker was doing in his restaurant. The man at the table next to me was confused but enchanted, and gave me a chocolate bar for no apparent reason.

Now because it was clouded over, everything looked a little miserable. In the morning after a good night´s sleep (there was no reason to stay up late) everything looked a lot brighter. My hostel was on Peninsula Centinela, a 3.5 km walk from the town. From accross the lake, the town looked quaint. The lake was quiet and beautiful. I spent the morning following the shoreline. I discovered a few campsites (this is where all the toursits were!) and a big beautiful fancy hotel, called Hotel Centinela. Here, there were beautiful views of Volcano Osorno, a short trail to walk in the woods, and free internet. After spending the morning exploring the beaches of Puerto Octay, I decided I had conquered that place. I got some information from a variety of sources and decided on a new destination for the afternoon: Las Cascadas (the waterfalls).

On my second bus, I met a couple from New York, and also a bunch of Osorno college students heading the same direction as me. They were friendly and I apprecited their compny en route. We said our goodbyes when we made it to the town where they were camping, and I headed down the path to the waterfall. I walked like 4km down a gravel path, and then 2km or so down a path that followed a stream to the mouth of a HUGE waterfall. It was really beautiful.

All and all it was a great weekend, and I apprecited the time by myself (something that is otherwise rare). I made it back in time to go to the Osorno folk music festival, only to get kidnapped by my family to the in-laws house. I onced again underestmated Chilean´s ability to have a good time. I thought that we would stop by for tea, and then go home. I saw cooking going on in the kitchen, and prayed that she was cooking for the next day. Absolutely false. But instead we all ate a grand meal (where I had to fight virorously not to gorge myself) at 12:30 and stayed up till 3am drinking and talking. This family REALLY loves to eat. They are all comfortably plump, and the father even more so. He was complaining at dinner that he barely eats, but continues to gain weight! He described his diet of bread and meat for every meal as he drank several rum-and-cokes, and to me it seemed clear where the problem was. Of course, we spent the night and I´m still here. I told the mother-in-law that I´d prefer to shower when I got back to my house, and she warned me that that wouldn`t happen for a long time. Sigh. Who knew I was such a homebody?