More than a thousand kilometers from Santiago and Rio Bueno, where my father was born. Preferred path made a circuitous route, full of wonderful nooks and alternative roads, junctions where at times we played to choose to continue right or left.
Twenty days of enjoyment, leisure and enjoyment. The permanent company of large and small, the right music, and much, much blocking on the left arm. Conversational evenings, afternoons at the beach, pisco sour accompanied by the moon, birthday celebrated and something good loving companionship.
Twenty days of enjoyment, leisure and enjoyment. The permanent company of large and small, the right music, and much, much blocking on the left arm. Conversational evenings, afternoons at the beach, pisco sour accompanied by the moon, birthday celebrated and something good loving companionship.
Several routes can be drawn to talk about these days, several ways to reflect twenty days of illusions ...
I've always liked cemeteries, perhaps it is because I imagine that speak for its inhabitants.
Laura visited my grandmother in the cemetery of Chillán. What a great conversation I had with the girls about that woman! I speak of his strength, his claws, cigarettes Hilton red, the hand-embroidered doilies and pot that she made that, without doubt, the best in the world.
A bouquet of wildflowers for my tata Andrew in the cemetery of the Lakes, there right in front of Los Morros venue for swimming in the San Pedro River, as a child. How can we forget those evenings every summer of my childhood. !
Then the cemetery of St. Paul, a review more formal, more distant, the father of my father, whom he never knew. However, I was there collecting part of my history.
Lonquimay Way ...
Curacautín De Las Termas de Manzanar, definitely deserved bourgeois taste that I would again. Malalcahuello library, librarian, reading girls in that place ... no words can describe this image. Then the breaks and the Indian Princess, the Tunnel The Roots and the very people Lonquimay, lost in the mountains beyond.
Lakes Route ...
Panguipulli (Land of Lions) full of roses waiting for us and posters showing their claim to be the provincial capital, as before. His dozens of hills, I came not uphill. And the lake, which seemed to speak of the history of place, logging back in the sixties.
Pullinque, artificial lake surrounded by spectacular scenery. From the viewpoint of Cahuincul hill we could see the wonder of Calafquen and the islands they left me as a pledge of a star. Coñaripe is a beautiful place that I want to return.
Pellaifa, hidden lake, rocky shores and lush vegetation. Contemplating the beach was a rite Pellaifa see the hundreds of sunken trees after the earthquake of 1960 I go back to the memory of many stories as a child. And nearby the delight of the baths that bear the same name
Riñihue, spectacular river mouth of San Pedro and Riñipamu raspberry tart.
peoples ...
Los Lagos, Rio Bueno, both my parents' hometowns. On the streets I walked, retracing paths as picking someone breadcrumbs to take leave and return signals, and I love to retrace the paths and walk picking up little stories.
Upon my return and unexpected, all up, trailer included, coastal route from Ilocos, and Vichuquen Duao through, reaching Pichilemu, he would not go there, did not remember what it meant to me there until I got there. It was beautiful to realize that new meaning was simple, requiring only a smile.
Anyway, at home for several days, smiling, preparing the bags for a new and promising journey.
