Chapter 1: Puerto Natales
A five hour bus ride took us from El Calafate to the Chilean border and onward to the port town of Puerto Natales. From the bus we watched the Patagonian steepe so similar in appearance to the high desert of Eastern Oregon but instead of pronghorn antelope and mule deer, guanaco, Patagonian camels that look like llamas, roam the plains. In the distance we glimpsed the Torres del Paine range with its jagged and startling peaks thrusting abruptly upwards from the grassy steepe.
 |
| One of many sculptures on the waterfront. |
As night fell we entered the sleepy town that was to become our base for the next weeks. At just over one hundred years old, Puerto Natales reminds me of many small towns weathered by wind and salt air. Small colorful buildings made of sheet metal, brick, and wood reside on a gentle hillside above the Patagonian fjords and its many majestic glacier covered mountains. The waterfront is a mixture of playgrounds, sculptures and small piers. Between these modern attractions for tourists and locals alike old fishing boats rot and rust abandoned on the shore near the graffiti covered walls of a nondescript concrete building. Murals of indigenous people in the mundane routines of daily life enliven the walls of many buildings in the small downtown. Artisans sell trinkets with symbology borrowed from the native people now eradicated by settlers in ways not dissimilar to the manifest destiny of the North American west.
 |
| Puerto Natales at sunset. |
We found our hostel, Casa Lili, tucked in a small entryway only a block from the waterfront. The building and room were pleasant, but crowded with too many beds and too few bathrooms. We slept well and spent our first day in Puerto Natales exploring and planning the next two weeks. We bought bus tickets, made tour reservations and paid for a kayaking adventure that would take us through Torres del Paine and Bernardo O'Higgins National Parks. That evening, tired and restless we found the tiny climbing gym of Puerto Natales. It consists of a plywood wall not more than 30 feet long and 10 feet high but for the first time in South America we put on our climbing shoes and climbed. It was exhilarating to engage my body beyond the monotony of hiking and trail running. We met several Chileans and talked of climbing, Chile, the USA and life. We were happy.
 |
| Puerto Natales at sunrise from the Navimag Ferry. |
Chapter 2: Punta Arenas
The next day we boarded a bus that took us three hours south to a city on the Straight of Magellan, Punta Arenas, which translates directly to Sandy Point. We arrived to rain, without a map nor a hostel. Compared to Puerto Natales, Punta Arenas was bustling with buildings that felt like skyscrapers even though most were no more than three stories tall. We wandered the city streets for over an hour in search of a place to cook and sleep. I was wet, tired and hungry when we found what became our home for the next two nights, a hostel name in English, A Backpacker's Paradise. The rooms were cramped and the night loud as foreigners from around the world played beer pong and partied but the accommodations were cheap and the kitchen was clean and well stocked.
 |
| Welcome to the Penguins National Monument |
The next morning we awoke before sunrise to catch a 6:30am bus that would take us to see something I had yearned for my entire life; penguins. The tour company took us by speed boat in the Straight of Magellan to a tiny speck of rock, soil, and grass named Isla Magdalena and the location of Monumento Natural Los Pingüinos (The Penguins Natural Monument). We disembarked and entered the home of approximately 60,000 breeding pairs of Magellanic penguins. We had arrived approximately six to eight weeks after chicks had hatched so over 150,000 penguins covered the tiny island. The chicks already nearing the size of their parents were losing their downy fluff and looked motley
compared to the sleek black and white bodies of their parents. The waddling, squawking, flapping, flippered congress of birds delighted us. On a 1.5 km trail circumnavigating the island we watch the small birds swim, walk, dig, fight, love, sing, sleep and live their simple and vibrant life. Parents nestled their nearly grown chicks in small burrows dug into hillsides that made up their nests. Penguins beat each other with their flippers and sharp black beaks to resolve disagreements. The birds oblivious to our presence walked across the trail blocking our path and stood within feet of us as I smiled and laughed in delight. The penguins were everything I had hoped for and more.
 |
| Penguins for as far as the eye can see! |
 |
| Two hatchlings coming out of their burrow. |
We left our penguin island as more tour boats arrived grateful of our time with only a small group of others on the islands' rocky shore. On our way back to the mainland our captain took near the shore of Isla Marta, a haven for cormorants and South American sea lions. The thick necked male sea lions splashed and lunged with open jaws fighting over females, space, or pride while others slept and slithered across the rocky shore. The islands' rocky haystack was blanketed with the slender long necked bodies of cormorants whose nests sat safely above the strong currents. We left the island in choppy seas and returned to shore as rain again fell from the sky. Our afternoon was spent wandering the busy city streets of Punta Arenas. We wandered up a hill to a mirador providing views of the city, the Straight of Magellan and the green hills of Tierra del Fuego beyond. So quickly we grew tired of the city known as the launching point of Antarctic cruises so after our second morning in town we boarded a bus back to Puerto Natales.
 |
| Mirador over Punta Arenas |
Chapter 3: Puerto Natales part 2
Our next few days were spent shuffling hostels, doing laundry and relaxing. We arrived in Puerto Natales and found a private room with a queen sized bed in a hostel next to the bus station called El Mirador. It was a gentle reprieve from the many shared dorm rooms and their bunk beds and for the first time in days I slept soundly. The next day we moved to another hostel called Zaltaxar. It was run by two gregarious and congenial men in their fifties, Gonzalo and Francisco. They had opened the hostel 22 days previous and took pride in their new operation. Our time at Zaltaxar was relaxing and homey.
Chapter 4: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine
 |
| ¡Bienvenidos al Parque Nacional Torres del Paine! |
Puerto Natales is the launching point for trekkers embarking on the world famous trails of Torres del Paine National Park, the "W" for most and the "O" for the more ambitious. Increased regulations implemented in the previous six months were designed to reduce the environmental impact from the many trekkers entering the park. Part of the new regulations involved a mandatory reservation system for the many refugios and campgrounds along the trails. Cody and I had been unaware of these changes until it was too late and the campground were fully booked making overnight trekking impossible. As we were required to buy park entry passes for our kayaking trip we chose to spend a day hiking and trail running a portion of the "W" to the Mirador de los Torres.
 |
| Waiting to enter Parque Nacional Torres del Paines |
After our time in El Chaltén exploring the Parque Nacional de los Glaciares with its easy access and lack of entrance, camping and permit fees the differences between it and Parque Nacional Torres de Paine were startling. To access the Torres one either rents a car or takes a 1.5 hour bus ride to the park entrance. Numerous buses take hikers and site-seers to the park and all leave Puerto Natales at the same time. As such you arrive at the park entrance with hundreds of others all of whom must pay the entrance fee. Our bus was the last of the fleet to arrive so we joined the long line and waited patiently with people from around the world. We waited in line for over and hour to pay 21000 Chilean pesos (approximately $31 on our day of entry) per person to enter the park. From the line we gazed at the ominous Paine towers, granite spires looming majestically on the eastern edge of the mountain range. An additional 3000 Chilean peso per person shuttle bus took us from the park entrance 7 km to the trail head.
 |
| Lenga forests at their finest |
 |
| Are we feeling the burn yet? |
The park and its famous trails consist of land owned and managed by three entities, the public national park system and two private organizations. The trailhead was located on private property developed with campgrounds, tiendas, a stable and sprawling hotel and spa. In many ways the infrastructure was reminiscent of portions of Yellowstone and Yosemite National Parks, commercialized and busy with all the luxuries of the modern world. The bus dropped us off at a futuristic welcome center filled with a cafe and Patagonia merchandise. From there we walked a mile along a gravel road past the campgrounds, stables, hotel and tiendas to reach the trailhead following a train of backpackers keen on starting their own adventures with their heavy packs on their shoulders.
 |
The sign said no more than
two at a time and they meant it. |
 |
| The trail ahead |
With only day packs Cody and I moved light and fast, passing the trains of trekkers slowly lumbering up the v-shaped valley towards the Torres viewpoint. At times we ran but mostly we hiked fast as the trail was steep and narrow and filled with people from all walks of life. The day was cloudy but warm in the valley bottom and the trail steep and loose with few switchbacks. As we climbed out of the lenga forests a strong wind whipped down-valley and the air grew cooler. The trail passed quickly and we reached the mirador after only a few hours. The Torres were striking, rising up above a white-capped azure lake like teeth threatening to tear you apart. The wind was bitter and cold but we huddled behind a rock and enjoyed the iconic view for an hour before retreating down trail to the shelter of the trees.
 |
| Cody and I and the Torres del Paines |
 |
There are never too many walls of granite and
turquoise lakes. |
 |
| Speechless. |
Unlike the trails in El Chaltén, the trail to the Mirador de los Torres contained no grand vistas. It held its own charm climbing from the grassy steepe to broad talused slopes to dense forests of lenga and ñirre trees and eventually a steep slope of glacier strewn boulders to the blue cirque lake below towers of granite. We were fortunate to enjoy this fragment of the iconic "W" but afterwards we both agreed the solitude we found on trails departing from El Chaltén better suited our souls and neither of us regret not hiking the entire "W". A bus returned our dusty and tired bodies to Puerto Natales and while satisfied with our day we were wrought with the anticipation of tomorrow as we were to start our kayaking adventure.
 |
| Gazing out at the Patagonian steepe as we neared the trails end |
Knowing we would be unable to hike the "W" or the "O", on the recommendation of a friend we chose to see the park in a different way, by kayak. Cody and I had both tasted sea kayaking in the Puget Sound of Washington but neither of us would claim to be more than moderately competent on the water. The western portion of the "W" and "O" hugs Glaciar Grey, a glacier fed by the Southern Patagonian Ice Field that spills into Lago Grey and feeds the Río Grey with its milky sediment-laden glacial meltwater. The Río Grey flows southward until it joins the Río Serrano which then continues its southerly flows into the fjord named La Última Esperanza, the last hope. A sailor in the age of the conquistadors had named it such on his search for the Straight of Magellan. Even today with GPS and nautical maps the name brings about the feelings of uncertainty faced by those early adventurers.
 |
| Driving towards Lago Grey and the Torres del Paines Range |
Over three days we were to kayak from Lago Grey down the rivers Grey and Serrano into that fjord. To ensure our safety and treat ourselves to luxury we typically do not enjoy Cody and I chose a Puerto Natales based guide company called Kayak en Patagonia. Our guide, a jovial and kind Frenchman name Jeremy, n
ot only provided the expertise we lacked but the company provided camping equipment, expedition sea kayaks, drysuits, and neoprene caps, booties, and mittens that fit over our paddles. The also more food and wine than any man or woman could consume in three days, although we tried. We were joined by another American, Jack, from San Francisco who shared a tandem kayak with Jeremy while Cody and I enjoyed one of our own.
 |
| The icebergs of Lago Gray |
On our first day we arrived at Lago Grey to 80 km per hour winds blowing spray from the whitecaps in the river. The conditions made it dangerous to paddle around the icebergs hugging Lago Grey's southern shore. None the less we paddled across the white capped river to a sandbar to photograph and gasp at the incredible towers of ice calved off Glaciar Grey and blown across the lakes broad body. From the sandbar we started our journey down Río Grey. Our day was spent staring in awe at the wonderful rock formations of the park. The black tipped Los Cuernos (the horns) told a geologic story of intrusion and uplift while the large glacier of Torre Grande hung menacingly taunting mountaineers who had only reached its summit a handful of times, in 1957, 2000, 2011 and 2016. We meandered through a canyon of folded and overturned anticlines and synclines and felt our first rapids and eddy currents. Our first day on the river was incredible.
 |
| Every moment was breath taking |
 |
| A beautiful spot for a picnic lunch. |
As we neared its end Jeremy asked Cody and I if we would like to capsize to experience a wet exit and reentry to our kayak. I was hesitant at first but a reminder of the hot shower in our upcoming campground convinced me so after handing Jeremy our phones and sunglasses we both leaned hard to our rights and in we went. The cold river water was not unpleasant and with laughter we kicked and crawled back into our kayak and were soon at our days end, the junction of the Río Grey and Río Serrano. Unlike the Grey, the Serrano was comprised of crystal clear water that due to density differentials mixed slowly with the water of the milky Grey creating a beautiful confluence of clear blue and milky gray ribbons that stretched hundreds of meters downstream. We camped that night upstream of this confluence on the shore Río Serrano watching rounded cobbles glitter through its clear blue waters.
 |
| Paine Grande (left) and Los Cuernos (right) |
The next morning we loaded our kayaks, puzzle piecing the food, cookware, tents, sleeping bags, and personal items into their narrow shells and set forth down the Río Serrano. After its confluence with the Río Grey the translucent water grew cloudy and the river faster and wider. Low clouds hung in the sky as we moved seamlessly from Parque Nacional Torres del Paine into Parque Nacional Bernardo O'Higgins. We spent our day paddling by lush forests and undercut stream banks. Cascades fell from above fed by snowfield and glaciers. After several hours we portaged our kayaks around the waterfall, Saltó Serrano. We stopped for lunch overlooking the Glaciar Tyndall and far-off Southern Patagonia Ice Field. After lunch a southerly headwind challenged our tired bodies as we navigated the fast flowing channels for slower and shallower shortcuts. As we entered the Última Esperanza fjord white caps, rain and the gentle swell of the sea greeted us, plunging and lifting the nose of our kayak as we paddled forward. Our day ended at a lagoon below the Glaciar Serrano one of several glaciers flowing off Balmaceda, a mountain visible from Puerto Natales. Small icebergs floated in the cold blue water and we made our camp amongst trees by a day use area and ranger station. We slept soundly lulled to sleep by the far off clanging of the dock used by tourist boats knocking against its pilings.
 |
| Icebergs in Laguna Serrano. |
 |
| Cody and I paddle amongst icebergs in Laguna Serrano |
 |
| Laguna Serrano and the Serrano Glacier. |
 |
| Left to right: Jack, Jeremy, Cody and Myself |
On our third day we awoke to
sunshine and still air and portaged our kayaks a short ways to the Laguna Serrano. We paddled through and around the small floating chunks of ice in awe of their magical shapes and colors. As we approached the glaciers' terminus we slowed and stopped, gazing at the wall of ice presented before us. We spent over two hours floating less than 50 meters from the steep ice wall, watching small avalanches of ice fall from high above and hearing the explosive sounds of ice breaking and cracking, the sound both utterly terrifying and emboldening. As a sharp crack echoed throughout the small u-shaped valley a block of ice the size of a semi-truck sprung up from beneath the glacier rising over 15 ft in the air before slamming down on the glassy lake surface. The power of nature and its changes are undeniable. Less than 20 years ago the Serrano Glacier nearly filled the lagoon and now it creeps upward, to eventually become only a shadow of its former glory high above the lagoon clinging to the steep cliff side.
 |
| I wish my words could adequatly describe my feelings at this moment. |
 |
| And at this one. |
 |
| And this one. |
 |
| Extraordinary. |
At 11 am the tourist boats arrived. They were our transportation back to Puerto Natales so we returned to camp, packed our equipment and boarded the catamaran "21 de Mayo III", named for the day of a Chilean naval victory. The large catamaran moved us quickly through the still water of the fjord by waterfalls and and steep cliff faces of folded sedimentary rocks. We sat in the top deck cabin near the captains seat sipping Grant's scotch whisky served over glacial ice. We stopped halfway back to Puerto Natales at an estancia (sheep farm) owned by the family who runs the boat tour for a lunch of barbecued lamb, boiled potatoes and wine. Everything was wonderful. The remaining journey down the fjord was relaxing and marvelous as we took in all that we had experienced over the previous three days. It is impossible to describe how lucky and fortunate we are.
 |
| Enjoying a well deserved scotch after 3 days of kayaking |
 |
A truck painted with the Magellanes (Chilean Patagonian
region) flag at the estancia. It shows the southern cross in
the night sky over jagged mountains. |
Chapter 5: Laguna Sofia
We had been told by our guide that the following day was to be one of the best of the summer and he was right. We awoke in Puerto Natales to still air and sunshine. We had heard of a sport climbing crag nearby and were anxious to explore it. We knew roughly where it was located on a cliff band above Laguna Sofia approximately 30 km north of town. Without a car we had few options for transportation and decided to try our luck hitchhiking. After watching cars and trucks pass by for 30 minutes we were prepared to give up. We had started late that morning and Laguna Sofia was not on the way to anywhere. We thought only someone going to the lake to hike, camp, or climb would pick us up. We had started to walk back to town when a man stopped for us in his pickup truck. He was a Chilean from Santiago, working in Patagonia for several months building a cellphone tower near Torres del Paine National Park. The man drove us down dusty gravel roads while Cody chatted with him about life and family discovering they shared a birthday.
 |
| Hitchhiking to Laguna Sofia |
As we approached the lake Cody and I eventually realized we had directed him down the wrong road and were now miles from our intended cliff band. Feeling defeated and with the sinking realization we either had a long, arduous hike across the desert or a dusty hitchhike back to town we told our driver of our mistake. Without hesitation he insisted he drive us to our final destination. We reminded him of his work and he scoffed with a smile telling us he was the boss and could do what he wanted. The kind gentleman took us at least 50 km out of his way but by early afternoon we arrive at Laguna Sofia only a short hike from the cliff. The rock was strange and unlike anything we had climbed before. A moderately well cemented cobble conglomerate creating odd bulges and overhangs on a vertical face. We climbed in the sunshine watching the large wingspan of the Andean condors soar overhead and the still, clean, blue water of Laguna Sofia reflect the surrounding hillsides. We returned to town in the back of a pickup truck watching the the sun drop low in the sky and treated ourselves to a dinner of pizza and beer. Life was good.
 |
| Our final dinner in Puerto Natales. ¡Fue sabroso! |
 |
Chilean hot chocolate: A
chocolate bar melted in hot
milk, with pisco (an alcohol),
dulce (carmel sauce), and a
pinch of merquen (dried
chilis). Fue rico. |
 |
Calafate sour: Pisco
(an alcohol), calafate
puree, and lime. Fue delicioso. |
Chapter 6: Puerto Natales part 3
 |
| The Navimag feery, Evangelista |
The days before we boarded our ferry north were relaxing and uneventful. We bought a few postcards, souvenirs, and snacks for the boat. Cody had a toothache that had been lingering for several days but we thought nothing of it. Hours before boarding the ferry we visited the waterfront of Puerto Natales for a final time and treated ourselves to an extravagant meal. I enjoyed a flute if Calafate sour (a drink made of Calafate juice, lime, and pisco) and El Jardín Del Mar, the garden of the sea, a platter of king crab, octopus, muscles, oysters, scallops, squid, and shrimp flavored only with olive oil and garlic and served with a purée of garlic, onions, lemon, and wine. It was delightful. Cody's dish was equally delicious, consisting of stewed guanaco so tender it nearly melted in you mouth with a side of buttery mashed potatoes seasoned with merquen and a local Natales beer. We left dinner fully satiated and excited to board our ship north, the Navimag ferry, Evangelista.
 |
| A beautiful sunset before we set sail through the Patagonian fjords |
Chapter 7: The Patagonian Fjords
We enjoyed a beautiful sunset overlooking Puerto Natales after settling into our private cabin with its starboard side window, four bunks and private bath. The luxury of privacy is something I no longer take for granted. I could not wait to enjoy the upcoming three days of peaceful solitude. That night as I slept Cody's toothache became a stabbing pain in his jaw. He woke me in the middle of the night frantically looking for the small stash of Vicodin I keep in the first aid kit for emergencies. Delirious and thinking Cody exaggerated his discomfort I was unhelpful and callous. He eventually found the drugs and managed to sleep a few restless hours that night.
 |
| Our cozy accomodations. |
As I awoke the next morning we were at sea, weaving our way through the fjords of Patagonia. Cody's condition had deteriorated and he was writhing in pain. We spent the morning in search of the ship medic who had been called away on an emergency with crewman. Cody tried to sleep but could not. He whimpered and cursed. He cursed the boat, he cursed his tooth, he cursed the pain, and cursed that we were 3 days from port without communication or a dentist. We felt helpless. After lunch he found the medic and was given painkillers we did not recognize to help with the discomfort and lidocaine which provided the only relief. By dinner the lower right half of Cody's face had started to swell. That night as we watched a documentary on Shackleton and the Endeavor the medic found us and told Cody to come by his cabin before bed for a shot. Cody received two shots of penicillin and was given more painkillers to help him sleep.
 |
| Passing through an 80 m wide gap amongst the rocky islands. |
While Cody had spent our first day at sea in agony I spent it relaxing in awe and wonder. The Patagonian fjords are a land of sleeping giants, frozen in time as they rest their rocky heads above the green, blue, gray, and black waters. The glaciers of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field flaunted their blue and white ice along the mountain tops and fed the innumerable cascades whose waters poured into the vast and deep fjords spindling down rocky moss and tree covered slopes. The sun's spotlight grew, faded and changed while shadows shaped the landscape cast through clouds both low and high. As we skirted by small islands to the soothing sound of the Evangelista's low hum. Albatross swept their wide wings inches above the water surface as they kept pace with the ship. We watched a pair Andean condors fly only meters above us so close we could see the males red crest and gnarled face.
 |
| It is difficult to match the solitude and tranquility of the fjords. |
Cody's sleep improved on our third night aboard the Evangelista. He awoke to improved spirits and a reduction of the inflammation in his jaw as the antibiotics worked their magic. He told me how only days before he had thought of extracting the tooth himself with my Leatherman Tool or jumping overboard into the frigid seawater as means to end his suffering. Pain drives the mind to unthinkable places and only was he more grateful than I that his condition was improving. As Cody rested I took in the green slopes on the far off island of Chiloe and watched black and white dolphins leap in tandem behind the ship. We left the rolling Pacific and entered the glassy waters of the Gulfo de Amcud. By nightfall Cody was well enough to join me for a few hands of cards and a glorious sunset and moonrise on the top deck of the ship. For the first time in days, he laughed. Our journey with Navimag was different than we had hoped for, but it is impossible to say that it was not memorable.
 |
| Enjoying our final evening on the top deck. |
 |
| Sunset and Chiloe. |
Chapter 8: Puerto Montt part 1
The ship docked in Puerto Montt at 3 am. To our pleasure Navimag did not make us disembark until after a stained breakfast of bread, ham, cheese, and yogurt, around 8am. After finding ourselves a cozy hospedaje (inn) we were off on our mission for the day, to find a dentist in Puerto Montt, Chile.
At first we tried to use the internet; looking for reviews, websites, or even the most basic information you would expect to find about any dentist in the states. Cody called number after number with little success. Many phone numbers were disconnected or most commonly he would call someone and they would tell him to call someone else. The people of Chile speak very quickly and at times do not enunciate their vowels and consonantes. Cody and I are guilty of the same in English but when you are looking for a dentist to potentially perform invasive actions on your swollen and infected mouth, you want a person you understand and feel is legitimate. And when you cannot understand the receptionist it is easy to become filled with trepidation. More than once Cody got off the phone and we realized we recorded only 7 or 8 of the 9 numerals needed make up Chilean phone numbers simply because we misheard what was said on the phone. Eventually, we spoke with a woman who told us to come in immediately. Their office was not far from our hospedaje and feeling uncertain we went to explore Chilean dentistry.
At first we walked right by the doorway of the multistory building that housed the dental office because three people with clipboards were standing out front trying to yell over one another. After rechecking the address we realized those three people were from three different dental offices located in the same building. Like the sign flippers for tax companies in the states, the job of these people was to bring in business by any means possible, except unlike the sign flippers we were fairly certain the clipboard holders were only paid on commission. That was our first warning sign. As we step towards the building all three women approached us trying to get us to sign with them. We could not understand them and simply said we needed a dentist and one of them tried to show us up the stairs. It turned out her dentist was different than the one we had spoken with on the phone so she left in a huff when we entered a different office.
The receptionist was pleasant as we tried to describe the problem as best we could in Spanish and asked if either dentist spoke English. They did not. We were directed to the waiting room, a room not so different than many others we had sat in in South America. It was dirty and disorderly. A thin coat of paint covered the scuffed and dented walls and drab carpet lay under broken plastic chairs. Dirty tea cups sat stacked on a table while a daytime talk show played on a television with the topic of the hour "Sexualidad: Que es el mejor lugar por sexo?", Sexuality: Where is the best place for sex? That was our second warning sign.
Shortly thereafter, the dentist called us back into the exam room. He was a young man, younger than Cody, in a zip-up hoody and surgical mask. The exam room appear to have been stolen from the 1980's USA. Plastic did not cover the dated equipment and the tools sat in metal tray looking dusty and unsterilized. That was the third warning. The dentist was courteous, greeted us and shook our hands. With obvious anxiety Cody sat in the dentist chair. The young dentist by that point had removed his mask and with the dirty looking tools and bare unwashed fingers began to explore Cody's poor enflamed mouth. The exam was quick and his diagnosis confirmed what we had previously known. Cody had an abscess under an old crown. The best option was to pull the tooth but he would not do it until the swelling was decreased. He wrote Cody a prescription for painkillers and amoxicillin and told us to return in a few days. We went back to the receptionist to pay for the visit and were told we owed nothing. They handed us a quote for the extraction, 34,000 Chilean pesos (about $50). We left the building and Cody looked at me seriously and said, "Would you let that guy rip a tooth out of your mouth? I am not comfortable with this."
I felt uncertain. I had no idea if what we had just experienced was typical Chilean dentistry or subpar. There were other patients in the office who seemed happy to be there. But it was Cody who was loosing a tooth for the first time in his adult life and I wanted him to feel as comfortable with the experience as possible. After filling his prescriptions we stood aimlessly on a Puerto Montt street corner aggressively discussing our next step. I felt like Cody could not be pleased with any dentist in Chile and he thought I didn't give a damn about his dental wellbeing. Cody claims I said I didn't want to spend all day looking for a dentist. I don't remember it that way but maybe it's true. Aggravated with each other I noticed a sign that read "Dentista" above a nondescript building. With anxiety and nothing to lose we walked up four flights of stairs to another dentists' office.
Unlike the first office, we were greeted by the smell of antiseptic. The entryway and reception area contained new laminate flooring, clean white walls and frosted glass doors to the exam rooms. The receptionist greeted us with a smile and immediately showed concern for Cody swollen face. Following the usual greetings and pleasantries Cody looked at the small woman and with conviction said, "Mira, soy de los Estados Unidos y necesito una dentista. Pero! Tengo miedo y necesito una dentista muy buena, muy limpia, y muy profesional." (Look, am and from the United States and I need a dentist. But! I am scared and need a dentist who is very good, very clean, and very professional.) The receptionist smiled again and almost laughed at Cody's insistent request affirming they were all of those things. She showed us clean exam rooms with plastic covered and modern equipment. Cody while still discontent decided the facilities were adequate so we sat and waited for our second dentist of the day.
After 30 minutes the dentist arrived. Like the previous dentist he was young. But unlike the other dentist, he wore scrubs, washed his hands, wore a face mask and gloves, used obviously sterile equipment, and spoke better English than we speak Spanish. He told us he learned his English from video games and movies but rarely got to practice. He was friendly, with good bedside manners and after a short exam sent Cody for an x-ray to confirm the problem tooth. While Cody was out of the room I told him how we had planned to travel to Cochamó Valley the following day but were now in limbo. Cody returned and the dentist looked at the x-ray. Like the first dentist, he told Cody the easiest way to fix his dental problem was to pull the tooth, unless he wanted to move to Puerto Montt for a month or two for a root canal and crown. Cody asked if he had a comfortable couch and the dentist laughed. The dentist explained that while it would be most comfortable to wait a few more days for the swelling to reduce he could pull the tooth today. Cody pondered his options, horrified of the thought of moderately effective anesthetic in his sore and swollen mouth while the dentist teased, "Bwok bwok bwakak, gallina" (chicken). I thought it was funny, while Cody, usually so keen to tease, was less amused.
In the end, Cody chose to wait a few more days so that the anesthetic would work better for his Chilean tooth extraction. The dentist lanced the abscess and removed much of the pus that had tormented Cody's face. With another prescription for painkillers in hand and the extraction scheduled three days out we left the office to explore the city and prepare for our month in Cochamó.
A few reflections on dentists and pharmacies in Puerto Montt, Chile. There are many dentists in the city. Most have faded and fraying signs and people with clipboards trying to herd you inside. You do not pay for dentistry in advance or for the dentist to write a prescription and treatment is cheap compared to the USA. Cody's x-ray cost less than $5 and lancing and cleaning his abscess cost about $30 dollars and the extraction will cost about $50. Pharmacies fill you prescriptions immediately, you walk to the counter, hand them your script and they hand you a box of whatever was requested by your doctor. The pharmacist then returns the script without any markings or indication that it had been filled. So if we had wanted, we could have refilled it repeatedly. It cost less than $10 to get a course of amoxicillin and painkillers, without insurance. I always find it interesting how thing work outside the USA.
Chapter 9: Puerto Montt part 2
 |
| Fish on display at the market |
We spent our idle days waiting, buying the equipment and food needed for our upcoming month in Cochamó Valley. Like the other South American cities we have been to, it seems you must visit a dozen stores to check six items off your list. It also turns out a 5 gallon bucket with a lid while so mundane in the USA are unheard in Puerto Montt.
On our first night we treated ourselves to the bottle of Pisco Sour we had bought for the ferry and never drank. A little buzzed, we found a hole in the wall restaurant and ordered cazuela, a hearty stew of rice, roast beef, corn, and potatoes. The traditional Chilean dish was more than we had hoped, for filling our bellies and lifting our spirits after 3 rough days on the ferry.
 |
Smoked kelp, oysters, and muscles are sold throughout the
streets of Puerto Montt. |
 |
| Heaven for my taste buds. |
After another day of errands we spent our afternoon wandering the traditional tourist market looking at woolen and wooden goods, trying local cheese and chocolate and smiling in the sunshine. The market ended at the water, with stalls bursting with fresh produce, fish, oysters, muscles, scallops, crabs, octopus and more; similar to Pike's Place Market in Seattle. We tried ceviche made with muscles, peppers and onions and a deep fried empanada filled with cheese and octopus. I was in gasto heaven. We watched sea lions fight over fish heads and wooden fishing boats rest their hulls on the sandy shell covered beach as the tide quickly receded. Tomorrow, Cody will have his tooth pulled and I will finish shopping for the month worth of food two pack horses will carry 12 km up a foot path to Cochamó Valley. Life, with all of its ups and downs, struggles and triumphs, luck and misfortunes, is still life and it is marvelous.
 |
| Seals fight over scraps in the water while wooden fishing boats float in the distance. |
