IN THE LAND ON THE MAPUCHE INDIANS

Chiloé, Island of memory

Calm fjords, shingles churches and homes, turbulent waters of the ocean’s coast: Chiloé Island, to the North of Chilean Patagonia, reminds one of Scandinavian landscapes. But the solid Andean traditions make it a very unique place. A thirty-minute cruise are needed to cross the Chacao channel, separating Pargua, on the Chilean continent, to Chacao, on the Island of Chiloé. Here the air is saline, lifted by a warm and light wind, surprising on the stormy water. We follow the flight of seabirds and the sudden appearance of seals. This so particular atmosphere is part of the charm of this magical island, the un-palpable aura transforming the place makes it unique. It is a place full of memories, de legends, à possessing a very strong identity.

Maybe this charm comes from the constant elements of its nature, its frequent and capricious rain, its gust of wind, its isolation or from its legends transmitted by the Mapuches Huilliches [si to the side] and by the ancient Chonos [named after the archipelago to the South of Chiloé], Austral sea nomads [like the Alacalufs, surviving, further to the South].

One and only paved road crosses the island; traveling through bucolic hilly landscapes, with its pretty small farms surrounded by fields and colorful gardens. Enjoying the sweet weather of the warm season, roses and hydrangeas bloom with exceptional force. This idyllic scenery contrast strongly with the, bitter and desolate one, offered by the West coast, on the Pacific Ocean. There, the tumultuous waters surround inaccessible islets inhabited by penguins and sea lions. To the East, from the Gulf of Ancud to the Gulf of Corcovado, we skirt an interior see spotted with small and large islands. Here, the tides constantly modify the scenery, with its deep bays, its channels and its fjords.

This chaotic geography lasts until we reach the extremity of American continent, in a string of archipelagos. According to the legend, told by an elderly fisherman, it was created by the fight between Coicoi-vilu – the sea snake and God of the oceans - against Tenten-vilu – the land snake protector of humanity. The floods, earthquakes, and not storms did not resolve until Coicoi-vilu, vanquished, disappeared in the abysses. The survivals of this fierce combat are the dislocated land and the islands thrown every which way in the Ocean.

"Isla Grande" being the largest one of the archipelago, is also the largest island in Chile. This land of poverty and ancient immigration has seen little changes over the centuries, despite new installations provided to the salmon farms that have revolutionized its economy. Deeply rooted in its traditions, it is awakening slowly. Each year the Encuentro Musicos y Cantores Chilotes bring together all the Islanders for a festival of the people with their traditional music, their songs and dances, their typical plates and local handicraft. In the same fashion as ancient rituals, the festival open with a procession accompanied with archaic chants and their unusual charms. The people, usually very reserved and kind, let their joy explode, in front of the food and sweet stands. Fires for kebabs or to cook the chochoca are lit – a potato cake chilote fashion -, the lambs are carved and the hole lit with burning hot stones for the curanto prepared - seafood, meat, fish, vegetables stewed under a giant nalca leaf -, and on potatoes are pressed into rudimentary presses to extract their fermented juice, the chiccha. In Chile, there are no festival without a rodeo: the huasos, the Chilean cowboys, lords of the prairies, horses and bulls breakers, demonstrate there their dexterity in front of an exalted public.

The traditional wooded churches, covered with corrugated steel – there are at least one hundred and fifty of these wooden works of art on the archipelago – testify of the two-century of Jesuits influence. The city of Castro is proud with its church, which is registered, along with thirteen others, on the list of world humanity heritage. All in rose and purple, like a marzipan cake, it sits in the center of an animated town, which traditional houses, also made out of wood and corrugate steel, are all painted in bright colors. Third town of Chile by its by its age, it is also the biggest town of Chiloé. It’s neighborhoods of wooded houses on stilts [palofitos] over the mouth of río Gamboa and the fjord are spectacular: true little hamlets in a wonderful place smelling the ocean. At high tide, the scenery changes: the abandoned boats, swing near the stilts houses reflecting in the water.

By following the road to the North, an intense light makes the colors of the fishing boat and the stilts houses vibrate. At the end of a fjord, the village of Dalcahue basks in a silence that only sea birds and the ferry to the Island of Quinchao, in the interior sea, come break. On Sundays, market day, Dalcahue wakes up with a frenzy that contrast strongly with the daily routine of the other days: the inhabitants of the surrounding islands come sell their produces and the fabrics their have woven with their finest wool.

As we leave the coast, following a dirt track, the scenery becomes wilder. It is easy to get lost on the forest trails where bamboo trees mix with the giant leaves of the nalcas. The road leading from Castro to Cucao, On the West coast, via Chonchi, skirts lakes Huilinco and Cucao, and leads to the national park of Chiloé, one of the most interesting sites of the island. The lakes cut Chiloé in half like water blades making a way for themselves through the thick forest. One is dark like cobalt, the other clear like a crystal. Once in the park, we cross the forest where fauna and flora are still intact. If it wasn’t for the insects buzzing and the smell of the vegetation, one could think it was a movie set. The maze of trails lead to a grass covered dune turning its back on the coast. Late on, we arrive at the salted lake of Cucao, open to the ocean. The boundary between reality and imagination is palpable in this strange natural setting. The Pacific coast is battered by the fury of the ocean. At each furious explosion, the ocean and the sky mingle. The violent wind sweeps the sandy expense covered with white shells. In the distance, horses mounted by Mapuches Indians progress slowly and eventually disappear in the infinite horizon...

Giorgio Ricatto La Stampa.