Catemu, Chile, mile 172
Greetings from the little town of Catemu, about 30 miles west of Los Andes, en route to Viña del Mar. Today's ride was...interesting, and frankly a little frustrating.
The phone company workers were long gone when I poked my head out the door at 7am, so that put paid to my hopes to get back to Paso de los Libertadores. So, I went for Plan B, which was to start heading for Viña del Mar and points south. Per my map, Ruta 60 went all the way to the town of La Calera, about 40 miles west. I thought that there, or the town of Llay-Llay, 9 miles before would be a nice short ride, so I set out.
I rode back through the city of Los Andes, past my hotel of two nights ago, stopped at a Shell station for a Coke and a couple bottles of water (You have to be careful buying water because the sparkling and gas-free kinds come in nearly identical bottles.) and headed west. It was a straight shot, both per my physical map and the Google Maps app, 25 miles into Llay-Llay. On the way, I passed many vineyards. Chile is known for its wine, and this is wine country. Shortly after I passed the exquisitely named town of Putaendo, an ambulance and several Carabinero vans screamed past me. Half a mile up the road, I found out why. A motorcyclist had been rather gruesomely wiped out and they were scraping him off of the pavement. Of great interest to me, two of the firemen were black, meaning they HAD to be Haitian immigrants. That impressed me; the Haitians haven't been here more than four or five years, and if they already getting so integrated into society that they are joining the fire department, well good for them.
Shortly after the accident scene, Ruta 60 turned into a superhighway. That wasn't on my map. At this point I was 5 miles from Llay-Llay, there was NO alternate route, so I put my bicycle helmet back on, crossed my fingers and violated Chilean law by riding on the shoulder of an Interstate. The ambulance carrying whatever was left of the biker shortly roared past me, but luckily the Carabineros did not. Three miles after entering the "autopista ", as superhighways are called in Spanish, I took the exit for Llay-Llay, a good sized town of at least 10,000 and discovered two things:
1.) In the entire town there was no hotel.
2.) There was NO way out that didn't involve getting back on the autopista.
I figured I'd break the law again and ride the shoulder to La Calera, but there was a toll-both, with Carabineros, on the on-ramp. La Calera was 11 miles away at this point, but my only option on the bicycle seemed to be to retrace my steps two exits backwards, and then head north and west. Instead of 11 miles, it would be 28. I rode back, and exited two miles south of a very little town called Catemu. Riding into town thirsty I stopped at another gas station and bought a bottle of lemonade. Oh boy, was I glad I did. It was good, and I think I will try to drink it instead of Gatorade whenever possible.
To my absolute shock, a mile after the lemonade, I rode past a youth hostel. And, even better, there was a laundromat next to it; I carry six days worth of clothes on these trips and have been in Chile for five days now. I knocked on the door and was offered a private room for $15,000 Pesos. I accepted immediately. Those who have read these reports before know that I do everything in my power to avoid youth hostels; if I wanted to sleep in a dormitory with a bunch of unwashed strangers and share a bath down the hall, I'd go back in the army and live in the barracks. But if they offer a private room with bath, and are the only option for 20 miles, I make an exception.
I took my absolutely filthy (To say that I sweat to excess on these trips would be an understatement) dirty clothes to the laundromat where they were weighed, and based on the weight I was charged 4,700 Pesos; clothes will be ready first thing tomorrow morning. From there I walked about town scouting out likely places for dinner tonight, and then returned to my room where shortly I will spend some quality time with my tablet and various online maps hoping I can get a better (truer) idea of how to move about the country avoiding autopista.
The Chilean currency is the Peso. The Dollar is currently worth about 675 Pesos. Chilean money comes in coins of 10, 50, 100 and 500 Pesos and banknotes of 1,000, 2,000, 5,000, 10,000 and 20,000 Pesos. The smallest coin (10 Pesos) is worth about a Penny and a half or 30 Mexican Centavos and the largest bill (20,000 Pesos) is worth a fraction less than $30, or about 600 Mexican Pesos. Getting money from ATMs is almost extortionate. Chilean ATMs have maximum withdrawal limits of 200,000 Pesos ie, $300, and can charge fees of up to 6,500 Pesos to make a withdrawal. When I was biking around Santiago on Sunday, I made a point of checking every ATM I passed, and eventually found one that "only" charged 2,500 Pesos. I then withdrew 200,000 Pesos twice, for a total of 400,000, about $600, and have been living off that and using my credit card to pay for things like hotel stays. I have a bunch of hundred Dollar bills stashed in my money belt, but have yet to find an exchange house. Unlike, say, Uruguay or Paraguay, foreign currencies are not generally accepted here, so at some point I am going to have to either exchange some of my Dollars or make more ATM withdrawals.
Chile is not cheap. A can of Coke in a gas station will run a Dollar or a little less. Bottled water is actually a little more expensive, for whatever reason. A good dinner will run about $20. Washing 5 pounds of clothes just set me back about $7. Trump is calling on the Federal Reserve to lower interest rates; I hope it doesn't, because that would cause the Peso to appreciate and everything would get more expensive for me.
I made my first bike trip in South America in 2004, in Uruguay and Rio Grande do Sul. In those halcyon days, smartphones had not been invented, service was insanely expensive and many homes did not have landlines. This created a burgeoning market for cyber-cafes, which was great for me; I could go into one, pay 50 Cents, and bang these reports out in no time at all. No more. The cyber-cafes are all gone, killed off by the smart phone and wireless modems. Having noticed this trend my last trip in 2014, I brought my tablet with me and am now pecking away at the onscreen keyboard.
I will be somewhere further west of here when I write again tomorrow...
The phone company workers were long gone when I poked my head out the door at 7am, so that put paid to my hopes to get back to Paso de los Libertadores. So, I went for Plan B, which was to start heading for Viña del Mar and points south. Per my map, Ruta 60 went all the way to the town of La Calera, about 40 miles west. I thought that there, or the town of Llay-Llay, 9 miles before would be a nice short ride, so I set out.
I rode back through the city of Los Andes, past my hotel of two nights ago, stopped at a Shell station for a Coke and a couple bottles of water (You have to be careful buying water because the sparkling and gas-free kinds come in nearly identical bottles.) and headed west. It was a straight shot, both per my physical map and the Google Maps app, 25 miles into Llay-Llay. On the way, I passed many vineyards. Chile is known for its wine, and this is wine country. Shortly after I passed the exquisitely named town of Putaendo, an ambulance and several Carabinero vans screamed past me. Half a mile up the road, I found out why. A motorcyclist had been rather gruesomely wiped out and they were scraping him off of the pavement. Of great interest to me, two of the firemen were black, meaning they HAD to be Haitian immigrants. That impressed me; the Haitians haven't been here more than four or five years, and if they already getting so integrated into society that they are joining the fire department, well good for them.
Shortly after the accident scene, Ruta 60 turned into a superhighway. That wasn't on my map. At this point I was 5 miles from Llay-Llay, there was NO alternate route, so I put my bicycle helmet back on, crossed my fingers and violated Chilean law by riding on the shoulder of an Interstate. The ambulance carrying whatever was left of the biker shortly roared past me, but luckily the Carabineros did not. Three miles after entering the "autopista ", as superhighways are called in Spanish, I took the exit for Llay-Llay, a good sized town of at least 10,000 and discovered two things:
1.) In the entire town there was no hotel.
2.) There was NO way out that didn't involve getting back on the autopista.
I figured I'd break the law again and ride the shoulder to La Calera, but there was a toll-both, with Carabineros, on the on-ramp. La Calera was 11 miles away at this point, but my only option on the bicycle seemed to be to retrace my steps two exits backwards, and then head north and west. Instead of 11 miles, it would be 28. I rode back, and exited two miles south of a very little town called Catemu. Riding into town thirsty I stopped at another gas station and bought a bottle of lemonade. Oh boy, was I glad I did. It was good, and I think I will try to drink it instead of Gatorade whenever possible.
To my absolute shock, a mile after the lemonade, I rode past a youth hostel. And, even better, there was a laundromat next to it; I carry six days worth of clothes on these trips and have been in Chile for five days now. I knocked on the door and was offered a private room for $15,000 Pesos. I accepted immediately. Those who have read these reports before know that I do everything in my power to avoid youth hostels; if I wanted to sleep in a dormitory with a bunch of unwashed strangers and share a bath down the hall, I'd go back in the army and live in the barracks. But if they offer a private room with bath, and are the only option for 20 miles, I make an exception.
I took my absolutely filthy (To say that I sweat to excess on these trips would be an understatement) dirty clothes to the laundromat where they were weighed, and based on the weight I was charged 4,700 Pesos; clothes will be ready first thing tomorrow morning. From there I walked about town scouting out likely places for dinner tonight, and then returned to my room where shortly I will spend some quality time with my tablet and various online maps hoping I can get a better (truer) idea of how to move about the country avoiding autopista.
The Chilean currency is the Peso. The Dollar is currently worth about 675 Pesos. Chilean money comes in coins of 10, 50, 100 and 500 Pesos and banknotes of 1,000, 2,000, 5,000, 10,000 and 20,000 Pesos. The smallest coin (10 Pesos) is worth about a Penny and a half or 30 Mexican Centavos and the largest bill (20,000 Pesos) is worth a fraction less than $30, or about 600 Mexican Pesos. Getting money from ATMs is almost extortionate. Chilean ATMs have maximum withdrawal limits of 200,000 Pesos ie, $300, and can charge fees of up to 6,500 Pesos to make a withdrawal. When I was biking around Santiago on Sunday, I made a point of checking every ATM I passed, and eventually found one that "only" charged 2,500 Pesos. I then withdrew 200,000 Pesos twice, for a total of 400,000, about $600, and have been living off that and using my credit card to pay for things like hotel stays. I have a bunch of hundred Dollar bills stashed in my money belt, but have yet to find an exchange house. Unlike, say, Uruguay or Paraguay, foreign currencies are not generally accepted here, so at some point I am going to have to either exchange some of my Dollars or make more ATM withdrawals.
Chile is not cheap. A can of Coke in a gas station will run a Dollar or a little less. Bottled water is actually a little more expensive, for whatever reason. A good dinner will run about $20. Washing 5 pounds of clothes just set me back about $7. Trump is calling on the Federal Reserve to lower interest rates; I hope it doesn't, because that would cause the Peso to appreciate and everything would get more expensive for me.
I made my first bike trip in South America in 2004, in Uruguay and Rio Grande do Sul. In those halcyon days, smartphones had not been invented, service was insanely expensive and many homes did not have landlines. This created a burgeoning market for cyber-cafes, which was great for me; I could go into one, pay 50 Cents, and bang these reports out in no time at all. No more. The cyber-cafes are all gone, killed off by the smart phone and wireless modems. Having noticed this trend my last trip in 2014, I brought my tablet with me and am now pecking away at the onscreen keyboard.
I will be somewhere further west of here when I write again tomorrow...
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