April 17, 2011
A drink to Rudolf.
I have a useful booklet listing hostels in Chile and there is a hostel listed for the town of Chillan which was the town I planned on reaching Saturday evening. But on checking the address during an afternoon rest, I find that it isn't actually in town itself, but 20km before town. So Is glad I'd checked. The address listed, or rather the description of "how to find us" given was, "take the road from Bulnes to the village of Tres esquinas. We are at kilometer #7."
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Not hard to find as there was a sign directing the way in Bulne for ""Vina Chillan" which is the name of the place. A little over a half hour later I was crunching over the gravel of the drive to a big colonial era farmhouse painted pink and with vineyards all around.
I enter the door and a young woman in a waitress uniform greets me. I said I want to stay the night and she said she'd go and find the owner. She was gone for quite a time while I waited outside the door. After what seemed like 10min sitting by a table on the patio where there were vine trees trained on frames, out comes the owner, a stocky man in work clothes about forty with a red face and a mop of yellow hair.
"Sprechen sie Deutsch oder Englisch", were his opening words. "English" I confirm and go on to say my business. "Margarita" he called out to the woman I'd first seen on arriving. "Margarita has key and will show you to room." The room was in a separate house five minutes walk away along a path with vines on either side heavy with black grapes.
The room was comfortable and good value at 10 thousand (£12.50). But dinner was not. To eat I returned to the main house at 8pm and enter the big dinning room where the family were already sat down to eat talking a mixture of German and Spanish while they past around bowls which contained dinner each spooning out what was desired. Rudolf, the owner, the man with the red face and yellow mop of hair showed me to a table reserved for guests and Margarita gave me a menu and asked me would I like an aperitif. I chose a sweet white wine and browse down the list of what is on offer. I finally opt for a pasta dish with cheese sauce.
Dinner came. It was a small dish, 15cm diameter by three deep which had 2cm of liquid cheese in it containing the pasta. Perhaps fine for somebody that's concerned about gaining weight but not for someone that has been cycling all day. Looking over to the other table, they had piled up plates, why couldn't I have the same? At lease the wine was good; pressed from grapes grown on the farm.
The family chatted and chuckled loudly at the other table. They were an ethnic mix. Rudolf later told me that his sister and family were here on holiday from Switzerland. She was very similar in appearance to him and the children had very light blond hair while his Chilean wife was short and dark haired, as were their children. When Rudolf spoke Spanish it was slow and slightly laboured, but on explaining to his sister it was rapid guttural Swiss German.
Disappointed with dinner, I return along the path through the vines to my room and lay down on the bed to read.
It was the first night in a few without the din of the nearby road to keep me awake Nevertheless during the night Is kept awake anyway by the constant need of the toilet. I felt bad, like when you're sick and you vomit, it feels okay for a short while; then, the terrible nausea returns and you must vomit again. That was me, only it was the other end, and I'd dash out of bed each time frighten I wouldn't make it to the toilet on time. I also had the anxious feeling, I'm going to feel awful tomorrow, as it was now after 3am and still I hadn't slept. But slept I did. The first Is aware of on awakening was another urgent urge, and so, I dashed to the toilet.
Looking at my watch I saw that it had gone 07.05. I had asked to have breakfast at 7.30, so I needed to pack the bags ready to clip on the bike. Finished, I open the door to the outside but return in to put on more clothes as it was a sharp frosty morning. Eventually, with two fleeces, raincoat, warm gloves and woolly-hat, I set out for the main house at quarter to eight. As I walked over crisp frosted ground between the rows of vines it was still dark but for the orange glow of the coming day over the dark outline of the mountains in the East.
The dining-room was quiet this morning and breakfast was laid out ready on a round-table in a bay by a window. It certainly made up for last-night's small dinner. There were lots of good homemade bread, butter, ham, cheese and jam, muesli, fruit and yogurt, as well as the usual beverages, tea and coffee. The radio was on low and I heard Argentine rock, then eight o'clock stroke and there was a religious message, something about Easter.
Rudolf appeared from somewhere. We had not talked last night, so the conversation was a bit awkward to begin with. But the usual questions about my cycle-tour led to others and soon the ice was broken. "Do other cyclists stay here?" I ask. "No not any. Two Swiss only." he replies. At first, I was confused whether to speak English or Spanish but he insisted on speaking the former which he spoke broken with the occasional Spanish word.
"My friend is he dream to live in Chile. Now I living his dream", he chuckled when he told me about a friend that accompanied him on his first visit to Chile in the 1990s. "Syrah, Merlot, Chardonnay....." he went on to list the grapes that he grows; and that this past week has been a bit cold for plucking the grapes. The farm also grows, he told me with enthusiasm, Wheat, Maize, Rice and legumes as well as pasture with beef cattle. He pulled his peeked cap firmly on his head at this moment and said he'd to go to move the cows and would be back in 15 minutes.
I heard the vehicle drive away outside; and then, I desperately needed the toilet again. The vehicle returned as Is feeling better having another coffee.
He came-in and said how cold it was out saying "Not normal cold this early. Bad for grapes." He then insisted on giving me a tour of the wine operation. He led the way through a slide door into a big apex industrial building attached to the house and began by showing me yesterday's grape harvest. He uncovered a tank of grapes that had been pressed and were like raisins floating on top of a purple juice. He pointed out big silver cylindrical containers saying they are the vats for fermentation. And walking through into a small dark building where there were rows of Oak barrels for maturing, he pointed to a thermometer and then to a wood-stove and told me the temperature in here has to be kept at 22 degrees C which isn't easy during the Winter months. Coming back out into the light of the bigger building to stacks of white cardboard cartons with the name "Vina Chillan", and a big plastic tub of new wine bottles, I ask "are any of the bottles re-cycled?" "No. People in this country! Throw away when drunk" he replied gruffly. There was the swish of a slide door opening to the rear and the noise of a tractor echoed in through the building. "My brother" he said pointing to a man that was his double and had come in to collect something. "He get ready for the grapes today." he continued as the door slid close again and the tractor noise was shut out. Returning towards the kitchen, he remarked on the cracked and broken concrete at the base of a support pillar. "Terremoto" (Earthquake), he explained, getting on the ground to show the way he clung to it for dear life as it rocked violently for two minutes the year before.
And so the tour was over and I paid the bill which was under 20 thousand (£25). Not too bad for bed & Breakfast and a snack yesterday evening and of coarse the insightful tour of the wine operation. Yes, Rudolf wasn't just all business, but showed great enthusiasm in his guests (well me anyway). Best of all I escaped the cold. The tent was still packed wet from the night before as in such a season it becomes soaked with condensation and the only way to dry it is to hang it out in the afternoon when it briefly gets warm enough to dry it quickly.
As per usual the last few days it took a while to warm up this morning. The worse is the fingers become numb and I'm glad I haven't had to repair a puncher in the morning lately as it would be very unpleasant indeed. The tyres are doing okay insomuch as they are worn and will be replaced in Santiago.
The day continued mush like the others on the Pan Am which is nice to ride on albeit a bit monotonous at times. I'm now bowling along in as big a gear as I can manage hoping to cover as mush distance as possible today. With the clear weather there's a great vista to the East of snow capped Andean peaks across yellow crops of Maize and various other crops. The next big town is Talca which I won't be reaching tonight.
Today's ride: 238 km (148 miles)
Total: 13,085 km (8,126 miles)
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