Once will not hurt, it does Charlotte is not going to tell you our Chiloesque episode (and for once, I'll be more talkative ...). As Technical Manager the camper, I was indeed very directly affected by our getaway on the island of Chiloe. Chiloé is quite well known for keeping with its insularity some cultural particularity. It is located in southern Chile. Also fairly well known, what the people strangely boast for its 300 days of rain per year. Incidentally enough known for its churches, with wooden roofs, classified by UNESCO.
After 10 days of glorious sunshine and a southern summer after we returned from Patagonia, so we arrived in Chiloé in a beautiful rain.
landscapes, fields, rain, villages, a sort of compendium of Britain, not very exotic for lovers of this beautiful region we are. Especially after taking the boat with a Ardéchois very happy to see a plaque Dromoise, we camp our first night in a small village of 300 inhabitants hosting that evening three French campers (including us). On our arrival we were still surprised to see parked at the entrance of the village said two motor homes and friendly French occupiers.
short a relative good scenery. The next direction the beautiful city of Castro, his church, its market Mapuche (Mainly Indian Patagonian we do not find that in Chile there are no more in Argentina), houses on stilts.
Then in the village of Dalcahue, we come face to face, or rather nasturtium nasturtium cons (only camping include forklift drivers) with our fellow Basque Francis and Armelle. Already folded in Brazil, Patagonia and Chiloe before, we had just lost our arrival on the island because of a missed appointment, by the way failed only because of me, those who have already had an appointment with me you will understand. We decide to go set up camp a few miles away in a small village near one of the many churches on the island. After a small
Ripio the track to reach the said village begins to resemble a kind of black alpine downhill track (no exaggeration) (although a little). At a speed of 2 mph, this bustling run goes quietly enough, when Charlotte has the wisdom to ask a simple question " uh it's going to go back ? . Effectively and clearly, we do not ever go back up by this track with our gear, except as stated by Francis once came down " unless they build another paved road at night .
Great stress relief after all relationships (stress at these latitudes is weaker), so the villagers who greeted us proudly confirms the existence of another path back to the damn rating ...
After a new and very nice evening with our friends, we wake up the next morning full of enthusiasm.
Upon investigation it was 
recover another track but, importantly, he had previously run a few hundred meters on the beach. I followed So Francis and his Mercedes. And there, overconfidence, drunk driving to see him so easily, I took no care to the crossing of a micro-river, and wham the stalemate. Not bogged down Sunday, not bogged down with a big L. After digging, free wheels, made of tree trunks (I exaggerate a little, they were only plates), we still can not free ourselves when insight Charlotte nails me on the spot " and what time is it high tide?? . A nice village reassures us, we still good 3 hours ...
The case committed even worse than the whole village came to our aid (5 persons) and that the prospects were limited. The concern was just beginning to win when we emerged from nowhere, a beautiful pristine white 4X4. Nothing we say a man came out with all the equipment (cable) and (running back) we went out in no time not that bad. Yes the 4x4 city are useful, yes they are powerful, yes I understand now what all those served 4X4 that I saw in Levallois
short ... I can not thank enough the white knight, who left as quickly as it has happened , who got us out of a bad password. Charlotte was just beginning to imagine ourselves in our business coming out of a camper flooded and settle here for some months.
After putting four hours to retrieve the damn track, we are committed to a strenuous climb full of bumps and stones, mounted so painful that where passed the Mercedes-powered, traction Citroën did not pass.
I'm leaving (a
ccompagné Francis thank you again) in search of a tractor, and assisted by one of those decidedly sympathetic villagers who are still laughing thinking about us! Brief
the farmer in question greets me with open arms, a powerful " pagar pagar " before his "hola " of welcome. As if I did not understand his son gave me proudly " money money, yes no problem I do not mind paying if I get out of this mess.
recover another track but, importantly, he had previously run a few hundred meters on the beach. I followed So Francis and his Mercedes. And there, overconfidence, drunk driving to see him so easily, I took no care to the crossing of a micro-river, and wham the stalemate. Not bogged down Sunday, not bogged down with a big L. After digging, free wheels, made of tree trunks (I exaggerate a little, they were only plates), we still can not free ourselves when insight Charlotte nails me on the spot " and what time is it high tide?? . A nice village reassures us, we still good 3 hours ... The case committed even worse than the whole village came to our aid (5 persons) and that the prospects were limited. The concern was just beginning to win when we emerged from nowhere, a beautiful pristine white 4X4. Nothing we say a man came out with all the equipment (cable) and (running back) we went out in no time not that bad. Yes the 4x4 city are useful, yes they are powerful, yes I understand now what all those served 4X4 that I saw in Levallois
short ... I can not thank enough the white knight, who left as quickly as it has happened , who got us out of a bad password. Charlotte was just beginning to imagine ourselves in our business coming out of a camper flooded and settle here for some months.
After putting four hours to retrieve the damn track, we are committed to a strenuous climb full of bumps and stones, mounted so painful that where passed the Mercedes-powered, traction Citroën did not pass.
I'm leaving (a
ccompagné Francis thank you again) in search of a tractor, and assisted by one of those decidedly sympathetic villagers who are still laughing thinking about us! Brief the farmer in question greets me with open arms, a powerful " pagar pagar " before his "hola " of welcome. As if I did not understand his son gave me proudly " money money, yes no problem I do not mind paying if I get out of this mess.
I do not think it would be easier (Charlotte imagined we're selling pancakes in this charming village but cursed), but the tractor pulled us away even faster than the white knight. We were very relieved and very excited to go. The insistence of some heavy the farmer to compensate a little more each particular ticket does not spoil my fun and above all our desire to return to the mainland. Far from the tides of Brittany, its churches, its beaches and villages to us ... Valparaiso.
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