My lovely parents and sister came to visit for a whirlwind trip through Chile, Bolivia, and Peru. I had hoped to revisit the Salares of Uyuni with them but unfortunately, there was no way to squeeze both Uyuni and Machu Picchu into our super packed two week trip. To make the most of it, we were flying straight from Santiago to La Paz— the loftiest big city in South America, and dare I say it, the world. According to the internet, flying into La Paz was one of the least advisable things you could do if you wanted to avoid altitude sickness. The thing is, I do remember feeling the effects of the altitude in San Pedro de Atacama and Uyuni, six years ago. I distinctly remember needing to use an outhouse that was a hefty two hundred meters away and I remember huffing and puffing throughout every one of those two hundred meters, and then needing to rest and catch my breath once I made it. But besides that, I don’t remember feeling sick or really very uncomfortable.

So when my mom came armed with two bottles of altitude sickness medicine, I thought that was all well and good, but I wanted to feel what altitude sickness was like. I remembered that huffy feeling from all those years ago, the shortness of breath, and I was curious, would it happen again with the pills? I might as well see what it was like without them. I wasn’t worried, I had gone through it once before after all. I completely ignored the fact that I had had several days to acclimatize to Uyuni. So my parents who were wise individuals did what the doctors recommended and popped their pills the day before flying to La Paz, whereas as me and Saskia, who also had the foolhardy curiosity to wonder what altitude sickness was like, did not take any pills. Pills be damned! We’d take them later. Besides, how bad could it be?

I can’t really say that I felt any effect immediately. When we landed I did not feel anything that was much different from the effect of dehydration that usually comes with plane flying. A little bit of pressure on the skull. Dryness of the throat and skin. Nothing too unusual. We got through customs without any incident, mom was able to pay for her visa without any hassle and everyone was courteous. We got a taxi to the airbnb. Everything was fine. I don’t remember feeling any different, I was too busy being in awe of the huge hill that was one neighborhood of La Paz. And the airbnb was on a street where a market sprawled on both sides of the road. It was incredibly lively and I couldn’t wait to explore. We ventured out a little ways and the street was lined with women sitting on the ground in a poof of colorful skirts and petticoats. They all had two long braids with tassels at the end, and wore hats that looks like miniature bowler hats. Baskets and fruits and vegetables and potatoes and chuno were arrayed before them. It was entrancing. We stopped at streetfood stand and bought fried empanadas that were amazing, so much tastier than the Chilean counterpart. We stopped at another streetfood stand and bought a ball of fried mashed potato that was stuffed with some meat. But the street was sloping slightly upwards and we were tired and went back to the apartment. A little bit later we went out again for more food, but this time, we did not get so far. Saskia was not feeling well and we had to go back where she lied on the bed. I was still feeling fine at this point. I did have a little headache, but nothing alarming. So I ventured out again with Dad and we walked quite far through the market and were rewarded with a marvelous view of a parade of people playing music and dressed in local extremely colorful costumes. Apparently, such parades are a regular occurrence in La Paz. I loved it. It was fun to watch even though a granny sitting behind poked me in the back with a broomstick handle because I was blocking her view. Oops.

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We had walked farther than I had before and the uphill section was hard. By the time we got back I was tired and started to feel very sick sick. I layed down but I did not feel better. It felt like an iron band was pressing on my skull, like a bad hangover, or like seasickness. I thought there was no way I could go to sleep. I thought if this really was going to go on for three days, there’s no way I could do anything at all. I felt so poorly that I threw up several times. And so finally, I desisted from the foolishness and took the altitude medicine. Though it did end up working, Saskia and I stayed were in bed out of commission for the rest of the day why my parents were prancing around like spry gazelles. So, I guess we got our wish, we knew what altitude sickness felt like. Was it a worthwhile experience? Eh. At least we knew that the pills worked. And at least I won’t feel the urge to test them again.

In the end, I need not have worried about missing out on experiencing the effects of high altitude. Even with the altitude medication, on Isla del Sol, an island in lake Titicaca which was covered with steep stairs, I had to take a break to catch my breath every few steps. My heart beat wildly and I gasped for air as though I had sprinted for the bus. And while we caught our breath on the stone stairs, little old ladies with colorful skirts, carrying bundles on their backs, passed right on by. I tried to stand up straight and not huff so loudly. At least all the pausing gave us the extra opportunity to enjoy the beautiful views.

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I left Patagonia on Saturday for Puerto Montt and a more familiar place. I was heading for Chiloe, the biggest island archipelago right opposite the Comau fjord where Huinay is. The fjord region and Chiloe have a lot of cultural ties such as food and legends, but I think it was pretty clear from the people at Huinay that Chilotes (people from Chiloe) are weird. But since I truly doubted that people from Huinay could be considered an authority on objectively deciding who is weird, I had to go see for myself. Chiloe definitely has a sense of apartness from the rest of Chile. It was in Chiloe where the last anti-secessionist strongholds were based, where Chilote mythology evolved, and where you can find the last examples of palafitos, the traditional fisherman’s dwelling that used to the norm in the fjord region. Chiloe is also home to unique wooden churches which have been collectively declared world heritage sites. After my nature filled program in Patagonia, I was really excited to get a more cultural feel for a unique place in Chile.

I think maybe because I was leaving the region of Patagonia, and most of the people that I had met had been traveling exclusively in Patagonia, I didn’t meet any travelers who had been to Chiloe yet. Up until now I had been picking which hostels to go to based on my research (especially through hostelworld) and other travellers’ recommendations. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any recommendation for Chiloe, and the hostel pickings online looked slim. So I headed to Castro, the capital of Chiloe, without any concrete plans; just a few (pricey) hostel backup options if I didn’t find anything. I was a little anxious because of my lack of preparation as I got off the bus in Castro at noon. I started leafing through my guidebook for a map of Castro when an older woman came up to me and asked, “Hospedaje?” I was a little startled because that’s the first time that happened, but I figured, the price was the cheapest I could expect to find and it would save me the trouble of actually looking so why not? She led me a couple of blocks away from the bus station (Castro is really small) to a hill overlooking the ocean and we stopped in from of the most adorable pink shingled house I’ve ever seen. Mirte and Hardi are an older couple whose 4 children are grown and out of the house, and they like to let the extra rooms to travelers, but don’t want just anyone staying so Mirte goes to the bus station to pick who she wants to offer a room to. So here I was in Castro staying at a beautiful home with a room to myself for the same price as a bunk bed in a cheap dorm at a hostel. Yay for being a solo female traveler and looking harmless!

Mirte gave me some advice on what I should go see and I headed out to explore Castro. It’s quite a small city, I think by any other standards I would consider it to be a large town, but it’s the biggest one on Chiloe. Castro’s iglesia stands out in easter egg colors of yellow and purple. Another characteristic of traditional Chilote architecture is that the houses are covered in wooden shingles and brightly painted. The whole effect is awesome. I spent a lot of time that first day walking around town admiring the pretty houses and different shingle shapes. I went to different view points to look at the palafitos, the old houses held up precariously by stilts on the water’s edge. Castro is one of the only towns in Chiloe where there still are palafitos, unfortunately because of earthquakes many of these structures do not exist anymore. And certainly a lot of them looked very rickety to me, like they stubbornly withstood the wrath of the elements and only needed one last breath of wind to collapse. Yet despite this rugged look many of them were brightly painted and I saw people on porches and faces in windows. It made me happy to know that people were still living in them.

I also ambled down to the dock and saw a lot of people wandering around eating something from plastic containers. I followed them and saw a stand by the small fishmarket where a couple of people were idling standing up and eating. I ventured over and saw that it was ceviche. Yes, I would definitely try some! I picked out the container of salmon that I wanted and a lady added cilantro, cebolla (onion) , and aji verde (green pepper) and I was free to season it with spices. After adding a healthy pile of merken, this crushed smoked chili that I’ve grown to love, I took my ceviche and went to sit by the water. It was delicious, and I went back several times over the following days.

Over the next three days I visited different towns using the micro-bus system. This system was very easy to use, and Castro being the hub of the island, almost all the buses went through its municipal bus station. I liked the casualness of the mini buses, the driver would have a cardboard sign on the window of where the bus is going, and you payed the driver when you get off the bus. The buses have a fixed route, and though I spotted a few bus shelters along the way the common mode of operation was to flag down the bus by the side of the road (I did this twice and felt very savvy) and then whenever you want to get off just tell the driver when you see your corner coming up and he’ll stop the bus. As I didn’t really know where I was going most of the time, I’d just ask the driver to drop me off at the church which was usually located nearest the tourist information booth anyways. The bus rides were a great way to see the islands, a good opportunity to people watch, and one of my favorite parts of visiting Chiloe.

I saw four out of the thirteen world heritage site churches of Chiloe in Castro, Dalcahue, Achao, and Chonchi. Like so many of the wooden structures around the outsides were brightly painted and/or covered in shingles. The interiors were also unique, and as someone who has seen a lot of spectacular stonework in European churches, I appreciated seeing the different style and the more homey effect it gave. My favorite one was the church in Achao, the oldest one in Chiloe. It was built in the early 1700s by Jesuits. It had recently been restored but the restorers had tried to stay as true to the original as possible. Though the floors were new the beamed had been hacked using the cruder tools that were historically used to preserve the chipped and pitted texture of the ancient floors.

I learned about Chilote culture by touring but also from my Chilote hosts. I enjoyed spending time in the evening with Mirte and Hardi and learning about their life on the island as well as meeting their family. I helped Hardi make apple jam from locally grown apples and Mirte showed me the ponchos and baby clothes she and her daughters had knit. We sat around in the evening drinking mate and Chilean wine with Erica and Ingris, a mother and daughter who had come from Vina del Mar to vacation, and Mirte told Ingris and I about Chilote myths. An example is el trauco, a small deformed man who who young girls should be wary of when wandering alone in the woods. If he meets one he becomes irresistible to her and she’ll wind up pregnant. Eek! Another is a female witch who can turn into a bird by vomiting her own entrails. The Chilotes also have a ghost ship and water spirit, la pincoya. These characters show a veriety in mythology that is not found on mainland Chile.

Chiloe is a very memorable location and is very different from Southern Patagonia. I will revise Huinay’s characterization of Chilotes as weird and would call them unique instead. Chiloe is an island and has its own sense of independence from the mainland and has it’s own rhythm and way of life. The Chilotes are aware of their differences and embrace them, but more than that, they are open to sharing these differences with others because they are proud of them. Like the run-down palafitos resisting the pull of the elements, Chilotes may seem to be clinging onto cultural truths from the past. Indeed, a lot of the palafitos I saw were broken and derilict, but a lot of them also were surrounded in building materials and looked like works in progress. I think that Chiloe is the same way, changing and evolving, but built on solid foundations. Everywhere I looked, whether it was to the renovated churches or the eclectic artisinal markets, I saw old traditions but they were presented with such self assurance that they didn’t feel clung to. Like the palafitos, the Chilotes aren’t trying to preserve their culture, but they are consciously living it. And that to me makes all the difference.