April 23rd to 27th 2015
It all starts when we head out from El Refugio Hostel just after midnight to try to take in the famous Lyrid meteor shower in it’s peak hours. I figure with a day of cloudless skies and a bubbling volcano in the background we have the perfect place. But then we get to the lake at the edge of town and look up. There’s not a star in sight… shooting or otherwise. I’m baffled. Even the volcano is somewhat obscured though a few photos do come out.
Myself, Cecilia from Argentina, as well as Anders and Thea from Denmark, and a small platoon of friendly street dogs we picked up on the way to the lake are all very confused, trying to work out why nothing can be seen in the dark sky. Then we notice the flecks of white in the spiralling glow of a distant street light. Then we looked down at our clothes. Either we all had some serious dandruff issues, or ash was falling from the sky like snow.
As we try to decide whether it’s somehow from the Villarrica volcano beside us, now entirely obscured by the ash, or from the Calbuco volcano some 7 hours south near Puerto Montt which we know erupted earlier in the day. Giving life to these incredible pictures sadly not taken by my. (I’ve been narrowly avoiding incredible to see disasters my whole time in Chile.)
As we ponder where the ash is coming from , a strangely confident cat joins us, peering at me from the bushes and allowing me to pick her up despite the dogs all around us. We spend about fifteen minutes marvelling at the soft ginger feline purring in my arms unconcerned by the falling ash. Eventually I have to cover my camera, which ended up sustaining some minor falling ash damage, so I put my new friend down and she disappears into the incredible blackness of night.
I’m woken in my tent outside by Anders and Thea who tell me the whole town’s been blanketed. Bleary eyed and exhausted I stumble outside, coughing almost instantly as I take my first breaths of the ash filled air. The sky is dark, the sun invisible to us, light barely filtering through, and everything around us is covered in a thick layer of brown-grey ash. We can’t stay outside long and we hurry into the hostel only to be told we’re seeing the end of it. In fact by the time I grab my camera, sunlight has even begun filtering through colouring the 10 am dawn a dark brown.
The next two days are spent confined inside save for rare journeys to the grocery store and restaurants. The well oiled capitalistic machine is still functioning well though as men and women sell masks and I’m suddenly brought back to Kathmandu and my first days in Asia.
(On that note what has happened there is truly awful. The Nepalese people are some of the most amazing I have ever met and it brings tears to my eyes to think of the devastation I know now exists there, as infrastructure is nearly non existent and will be shattered by these extra burdens. People with nothing gave me everything while I was there, from smiles, to food, to help, to hard fought conversations so if you can do something for them (donating money, spreading awareness, anything else) I’d encourage you to do it. The Nepalese people deserve the best, and while they won’t get that, we can still certainly help them out as best we can. Here’s a few links of established charities working there now, but there’s many other options. Please, Do what you can. Oxfam, Unicef, Red Cross)
I buy one mask but the ash on the eyes quickly becomes too much too take, so in a rather inspired fashion move, I craft my own defence. Drawing on influences from ancient eastern traditions, and modern middle eastern fashion, I develop an excellent garment to keep me safe in the ash. The fabric is a piece dear to my heart, gifted to me in Varanasi India by a lovely Spanish brother and Sister. It’s been used as a sheet, a scarf, a towel, a sleeping bag, a dress, and now an ash mask in the past year and a bit. I know you’re all dying for the fashion profile, so here it is, The LRG Fall V.A.D. line (Volcano Ash Diversion).
My days inside are spent blogging, working on a summary to sell my 5th novel, and, the second day, writing an entire rap album in 24 hours which I somehow accomplished and am quite proud of. Now I just have to find a space to record it. It might be hard to beat the isolated cabin looking out at turquoise seas in Koh Chang Thailand where I last recorded abroad.
After a few days the winds cleared some of the ash from Pucon, (It’s amazing to think that most of the ash went west to Argentina, because we certainly got plenty, I can’t imagine what they dealt with in Bariloche.) I finally managed to get outside, fighting off the mind paralyzing effects of the internet by heading down to the lake in town for a swim. I’m told at the hostel I’m crazy and that it’s way too cold, but I need my head cleared so I persist.
The beach is pretty in its own way, even if the black gravel isn’t quite an equal to sand. A few people are sitting around enjoying the ash free day but certainly none are swimming and I get a few stares as I run into the water to get through the cold. It is chilly but as my body adjusts I cant make myself leave, spending 45 minutes swimming out into the sunset, floating and doing my own personal meditations on how best to sell Disappearing Eyes.
Eventually I climb out and snap some photos on my fellow beach dwellers before heading to the other side of Pucon’s Resort Filled Peninsula to watch the sunset.
On the way I meet some more friendly street dogs, a prevalent feature of Pucon and snap some photos before making it to a viewpoint of the volcano.
It’s amazing, through the hazy air you can see the peak clearly, but the snow that so accented it’s beauty is now all but invisible, not melted away, but coated in a thick layer of volcanic ash from another volcano. I can’t help but hope this might enrage Villarrica, at least enough for a minor eruption that won’t damage the town too much. But alas, my understanding of Volcano Psychology is admittedly limited.
The sunset it ultimately disappointing but I snap a few photos before heading back to the hostel for one of several wonderful communal meals over the past few days. (I made pancakes one morning and bought marshmallows to roast for the cold nights [by non Canadian standards])
The hostel has really become home, and I’m sad when I book my bus ticket to Santiago for the next evening, but it’s time to close the curtains on my two weeks in Pucon. The weather was rarely perfect, and I didn’t get to see an eruption, but I did meet a collection of amazing people, visited several incredible waterfalls, went swimming in so many freezing rivers and lakes, and ate great food. I loved Pucon, especially outside of the tourist season, and I’ll say this, if you go to Pucon, stay at El Refugio, you won’t regret it.
