Logbooks are informal dispatches from us when we are actively traveling. Quick, unpolished, and immediate for a sense of what is around us.
Before we leave Malalchuello, Chile, in the morning, I make coffee, and we watch from our couch as the Volcán Lonquemay splits the flow of morning fog. The stratovolcano sat dormant since 1990. Quiet. Imposing. Foreboding. I try focus on its beauty, but can only see its dangers - an eruption launching pyroclastic flows towards our cabin. Obliterating our plans. I shake my head - maybe bad dreams last night that I already forgot.
.We drive. On the map, the road makes a long loop east and south, then west again to drop us back into the Central Valley some kilometers away. The road is twisty on the map, except for the straight two-kilometer section of an old one-way tunnel through the cordillera. The brush Argentinean border and a long mountain lake before traveling back inside Chile. Looks good. Why not?
The tunnel is narrow. We have to wait for the traffic from the other side to exit the opening in the mountain. Two local Chilean wildlife firefighters are passing a bucket for donations along the lines of cars. They are in full firefighting kit. Another local woman is selling bags of nuts and snacks.
The light turns green, and we enter the narrow arch. The road inside is a single, paved lane. A row of lights is at the top of the arch and is only bright enough to eliminate the curved roof of the ceiling and the wet spot where the water seeps through the concrete. The car lights illuminate the roads
.
I want to think about who built the tunnel, but instead, I think about Chilean earthquakes. I try to think of construction methods, but earthquakes refuse to leave my mind. This country moves. Plates grind along its spine. They raise the Andes and crush what sits above them. The 1960 Valdivia Earthquake was the strongest ever recorded on Earth at 9.5 magnitude. 2010 Maule at 8.8 magnitude, 2014 Iquique earthquake at 8.4. These earthquakes fell buildings and crushed tunnels like this. Caved the roofs onto cars.
I am looking over traffic for the end of this tube, but it goes on for another five minutes.
The pavement ends. The paved spur of R-181 splits East into Argentina. Our Spur, R-81, turns south to follow the valley, then climbs the high slopes. The surface is gravel and was graded this season at least once, but the loathsome washboard bumps are back on the climbs and sharp turns. We stop and wonder if we should continue. Our vehicle is a small SUV built for the city. It can handle this road, just not if it gets any worse
“The dust trails are from other cars. Yes?” I point Alex to the thin clouds rising from the slopes. The trails are across the valley, kilometers ahead. “Moving fast, so the road should be fine. Right?” I say. Alex shrugs. Then we watch a tiny white Suzuki emerge from the nearest cloud and pass us going the other way. Four people are crammed in the car. We drive on.
This valley is away from the easy reach of tourists. It is open, with a savannah feel of open ranges, clumps of trees, creeks, and shallow brown hills. There are homes throughout, but kilometers apart. The homes are simple ranches, with a pickup truck parked by most and barbed wire fences extending away from each home to mark the expansive boundaries of the ranches. Some are empty - only brown hills and clumps of trees. On others are cows and sheep.
The road stops climbing and hugs the long lake. The lake is from a postcard. Only a family or two are swimming and kayaking every few hundred meters. Calm water, sun, gentle breeze. No concession stands, no cabins. Steep mountains are on each side. One mountain has a trail that climbs to the top and crosses into Argentina. We stop to look at it, but the slope is too steep. A Chilean flag is atop the hill. I suppose an Argentinian is next to it on the other side of the slope.
It would be awesome to touch the border in the wilderness, but we do not have time to climb. We still have a long drive to the breweries of Valdivia.
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Oh My, you kids are having a trip of a lifetime and we enjoy reading about your adventures. Keep them coming but above all be safe. Love you Lynn and Paul