June 18, 2012. During the month I spent in Santiago, I met a flautist street musician, and we started spending time together. For the last week or so of my time in the city, I stayed with Claudio and his mom and sister in a suburban neighborhood far outside the city. During my short stay, their beloved cat was catnapped by some random car. The neighbor told us as much. I was heartbroken, as she was a lovely, delicate Bombay black.

Claudio wanted to join me on my exploration of Chile, as he’d never had the chance to see much of the country. I concurred, and together we boarded the bus to Pucón, where we ended up spending a week. The town is beautiful, and surrounded by the quiet grandeur of southern Chilean nature. Claudio was kind-hearted and eager, but still tethered to home—he talked to his mother daily and had never traveled before.

We climbed Volcán Villarrica, the snow-capped volcano that towers near Pucón. To get there, we hitchhiked to the base of the ski lift and then hiked for about an hour and a half. Clouds drifted fast over the slope, and we turned back in time to catch a ride down with one of the lift workers.

Winter had already settled in. The weather was punishing—howling winds, biting rain nearly every day. The one exception was the day of our hike.

I loved the countryside around the lake. Small homes line the road, their yards dotted with signs offering honey and artisanal cheese. There’s a stillness to it that feels like a different world entirely.

Language continued to be a battle. My Spanish remained clumsy, the verb tenses especially stubborn. Still, I managed.

On my own, I explored Lago Caburgua and Parque Huerquehue—a lush national park filled with towering trees and cascading waterfalls. The silence there was healing.

I wrote this blog entry using a painfully slow computer, waiting longer than feels reasonable for each letter to appear. Even so, it felt good to pause and reflect.

We stayed in a humble hospedaje run by a kind couple who own several small houses in Pucón. They sold firewood and plastic flowers for special occasions like Father’s Day. At 12,000 pesos a night—about $24—it was the most affordable place we could find.

Meals were simple and warming. I made thick soups with vegetables, chicken or fish. Mornings began with mint tea, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. Pucón might be deep in off-season, but it hadn’t shed its tourist prices. Even now, it was expensive.

One evening, we met a couple from Santiago here on their honeymoon—young, bright-eyed, and full of excitement for the south. It was nice to meet Chileans on the road.