Puerto Varas - 'City of Roses'

Puerto Varas - a place billed in the brochures as a top tourist destination in Chile and a "city of roses". Roses - I love them and that was one reason for breaking our journey in this town. Many cities bill themselves as a "city of roses" - some have every right to that accolade and some do not. We would see!

Cabanas de Lagos, our hotel in Puerto Varas, seemed to climb its way up the hill from the waterfront. Our room had an excellent view across Lake Llanquihue to the snow-capped volcano Calbuco, which rose majestically in the distance, its peak lightly touched by a white cloud. Out in the bay, a Chinese-looking restaurant boat swung lazily at its moorings. It was the only boat in the bay. To the right, the small town spread out around a wide bay with rolling hills and farmlands beyond. To the left, the waterfront road came to an abrupt end just beyond the hotel. Because of that, all was blissfully quiet - not a car in sight. Everything augured well for a pleasant evening, a good meal and peaceful sleep after a very long day of travelling.

Someone had once had a vision to add the beauty of roses, flowers and trees to this town,

But, as they say, all the best-laid plans … and our first plan to have dinner, down in the restaurant where we had earlier spied a grand piano. Yes, I thought! A pleasant view as night fell across the lake; relaxing piano music while having dinner - now that should sooth away the tiredness of the day. We ordered a meal, 'pot luck' from a waiter who spoke no English at all, and sat back to await the entrance of the pianist. But no! The waiter opened the lid of the piano and pressed a button. It was an auto piano - it 'played' from a pre-recorded tape. The sound that came out of it was certainly not conducive to the relaxed and enjoyable evening we had envisaged. No. The sound was tinny and loud and was worse - much worse - than a hundred happy party-going teenagers in Bariloche. Worse still, some of my favourite piano pieces were being cruelly murdered. A third grade piano student should have, could have, and undoubtedly would have, played much better. The waiter must have thought that I had come from some strange country with very strange table manners since I spent most of the evening with my fingers pressed tightly into my ears. They were released from duty only very occasionally to do that other duty of moving food from plate to mouth. Perhaps that hint was far too subtle for the waiter. David sent a clearer message that it would be more pleasant for everyone if the volume was lower but his charade was simply ignored!!! At the end of the meal, my head throbbing, I said, half in jest to David that he should write on the account - "Shoot the pianist!" Not even half in jest - David wrote exactly that!

Back in our room, far from that dreadful noise, we enjoyed a quiet night and really good, deep sleep. No alarm clock to wake us; no early morning start to anywhere at all! We woke late, refreshed and ready to explore Puerto Varas. But, when I pulled the curtains back, it was as if we had been transported overnight to a different town. Gone was the bright blue sky. Gone, too, were the magical mountains and volcanoes. In their place, lowering clouds. It was grey, dank and dismal.

After breakfast, things looked brighter so we set off to walk down the hill and along the waterfront to the town. Many of the timber homes were very Germanic in style, for the influence of the early German settlers is everywhere, including European style gardening. Some of the smaller homes, tucked between the larger ones, had timber shingle walls and tin roofs - a very common and quite attractive method of construction used throughout the town.

But one very prominent building did not fit the mould. It was the oddest building in town. We had noticed it from the window whilst having breakfast. Well, in reality you couldn't help but notice it - it was so large and so out of place, so incongruous in this town of old-world Germanic architecture. A very modern, glass and mustard yellow creation, it juts out into the lake on stilts with its walls reaching up to a roof line that slopes at a very acute angle on and on out into the skyline. It tries very hard to look important. The sign said "'Yacht Club", but, as a yacht club, it had no 'visible means of support' - not a marina or a boat in sight except for the Chinese Restaurant swinging at its moorings. This lake is too dangerous for yachting we'd been told - the weather too fluky and the waters given to being whipped into hysteria by wild winds that can, at times, lash this wide valley. On closer inspection we discovered that this 'yacht club' is really just a rather up-market restaurant parading as a yachting club, memorabilia in glass cabinets and all!

An extreme contrast to that building is the little wagon market by the waterfront. These colourful old gypsy wagons are, or at least have been in the past, used as market stalls. Just one wagon was open for business - only two others had any signs of recent use. Maybe they are used more on the weekends or on special market days. Or maybe, because it rains up to 240 days a year, the undercover market just up the street is a much more attractive proposition to stall holders and customers alike. There were certainly plenty of stalls there when we visited later.

In the town's tiny park, we were intrigued to see a couple of dozen small Christmas trees dotted around the lawn, each one sponsored by some community group or business. The decorations were, by and large, handmade - red and silver bows, cut out boots, plastic coated cardboard flowers and bits of tinsel. Their simplicity reminded me of my childhood when our Christmas tree was just a branch cut from a gum tree, stuck in a bucket and lovingly decorated with paper chains and cut-out shapes that we all helped to make and colour in with treasured coloured pencils.

Yes, these simple trees reminded us both of Christmas days long gone. Having only shared the last three Christmases together, we each had very different thoughts and memories to share, as we all do when it comes to Christmas. Each one of us, I'm sure, could fill a book with memories of Christmas past. December 25^th has always been such a defining date in the calendar of most of our lives. But this was 2005 and we were far from home, about to celebrate Christmas in a very different culture. What traditions did the people of this town in Chile bring to the celebration of Christmas? What would we add to our 'memory folders', the ones in our brains labled 'Christmas'? I like the idea of 'memory folders'. I remember once listening to a memory expert explain that analogy and I liked it - it's an easy analogy to go along with. I heard him on the radio when I was going from somewhere to somewhere else - I can't remember where, but I do remember the analogy! I liked his idea of taking the folders out, dusting them off, doing a little rearranging of the contents, reviewing what's there in the light of more recent experiences, newer concepts and ideas and then adding new experiences to the old. I'm just glad our brains can compute all of that rearranging without a lot of effort from us - and we don't have to re-type the lot!

Here, the abundance of Chile's native fuschia, reminded me of the ones my Grandma had in her garden when we visited her at Christmas time. I loved her flowers and I loved these, their tiny pink and purple 'bells' gleaming with droplets of misty rain. They seem to have a daintiness that is lost somewhat in the more blousy renditions of the modern fuschias.

Anyway, we were ready to absorb whatever new Christmas experiences came our way in Chile. And, we would surely enjoy sharing those memories together and with others in the years to come. So far, the small trees in the park were virtually the only sign of our western style of celebrating Christmas. There was no sign of commercialisation, no stores were decorated, no Christmas carols blared out into the streets and there did not seem to be any attempt to decorate houses, much less light them up with coloured lights. The market here sold crafts but none were special decorations like those sold in our stores and certainly nothing like the big markets and shops of Europe and America, shops dedicated solely to Christmas decorations. Such places would truly amaze the people of this small town. Here, Christmas is an event centred upon the church, so we set out to visit the church that stood on a hill overlooking the town. We were in Chile so, undoubtedly, that church would be of the Catholic persuasion.

But first, we had to navigate our way through the two or three streets that form the shopping centre of the town. Our first impressions were of a town that has seen better days - a bit down at heel. Yes, rose bushes did line many of the sidewalks but they, too, looked past their best. They had not been deadheaded and dead blooms are not a pretty sight. We were also fascinated by the vast numbers of thick, black, electric cables that festooned every pole like a bouquet of curled ribbons on a gift. Extra strands just hung in various lengths, waving in the breeze, waiting to be needed - or maybe they were past their 'use by' date. Some hung down to the footpath. Others were tied off to the pedestrian crossing barriers. Together, fading rose blooms and these black cable bouquets provided the only decoration in the town. They did not make a very pretty sight.

High above the town, visible from every quarter, stands the Sacred Heart of Jesus Christ Church, built to mimic the Marienkircke in the Black Forest in Germany. A sign claims that its style is ¨Neo- Romanesque - Monumental Baroque¨ but to me it looked like a church straight out of a storybook - 'Hansel and Gretel' perhaps. It could have been made of gingerbread with its tall clock steeple, its creamy icing coloured walls with a good touch of cochineal added to the icing on the roof and liquorice used to outline the curves of the windows! Actually, the basic construction of the church is of native timbers, Alder and Oak, which have been covered by an outer cladding of finely rippled corrugated iron. Built between 1915 and 1918, it was declared a National Monument of Chile in 1992. Since then the interior has been restored but the outside and the garden both need some 'tender loving care'.

The garden, mainly of rose bushes with added yellow hypericum and bronze gold gazanias, is well laid out and could look very attractive except for the weeds and, again, dead blooms. It needs what we would call 'a good working bee'! Perhaps they were about to commence that for, out in the garden, a couple of men were busy 'blow-torching' the large statue of Christ in readiness for a repaint. Maybe when He's gleaming white again, maybe then they'll attack the garden beds. I hope so, for we found this church to be a definite highlight of our visit to Puerto Varas.

As we walked into the church, we were surprised and delighted. No candles are permitted, so the air was fresh and the whole ambience was one of welcome. The light coming through the plain glass windows gave an added sheen to the golden colours of the native timbers, Laurel and Manio, which have been used for the pews and columns. These timbers also enhance the vivid royal blue of the unusual curved ceiling that arches across the whole church. Its simple elegance is stunning especially where it comes to a climax in a dome adorned with timber arched beams. The lectern and other furnishings are all hand-carved in the same golden timbers. The walls, in a paler shade of blue, have delicate fretwork cornices. Set against three-dimensional trompe l'oeil style paintings in which more blues predominate, the statues around the church are elegant, beautifully carved and hand painted.

As this was Christmas, there was of course a nativity scene, this one skilfully crafted from painted crumpled paper and cardboard - simple but effective. Painted wooden statues representing the Christmas story were set into the scene but as yet there was no representation of the baby Jesus whose likeness would be added at the Christmas service. I would have been interesting to attend that service in this church but, by then, we would be much further down the coast of Chile. There are times when it is good to travel without plans, without bookings, without any hindrance to staying awhile when the mood takes. This time, though, that was not to be. Instead, we sat quietly listening to music that played softly in the background - carols we did not know, sung in Spanish, a language we did not know; but enjoyable none-the-less. This was a Christmas memory worth putting away.

Back out on the road, we were joined by one of the towns many sociable but unattached dogs. This large golden haired mutt took it upon himself to become our guide - a social task he undoubtedly takes on every day. We had met such dogs in Santiago and knew that they held their own special place in the life of the town - totally harmless, quite healthy considering, and just in search of a bit of company.

Our 'guide' wandered ahead of us into the place that he obviously calls home, a park cut into the hill below the church. He sat comfortably in his 'nest' under some thick shrubs and waited. He was obviously used to his 'guests' wandering further into the park so he took a rest until we came back out again. It may have been where he found shelter, but, for us, this park was a most depressing place. What had once been a well-designed rose garden with an open lawned and treed area, and an altar for out-door worship, it was over-grown and in total disrepair. Behind the altar and carved into the hill was a small grotto to the Virgin Mary. There were memorial plaques to the dead and a place to light candles and meditate in prayer for loved ones. Once, it may have been a pleasant place to rest, pray and quietly reflect. Now, an overflowing rubbish bin adorned the grotto entrance; used wax lay in great grey mounds beneath the candle holders; the few seats where mourners could rest awhile were broken and worn; weeds were everywhere; the lights that once lined the walk were askew and the path and steps were chipped and broken. A few brave rose bushes lifted their pink blooms above the weeds. It was a very, very sad sight - but, to our amazement, it was still in use. I stood quietly behind three people who were lost in their personal grief. My heart cried for them. I could not imagine any uplift for a saddened soul in this forgotten and forlorn place.

I couldn't stay any longer. I had to leave. I had to seek out something of beauty - a rose perhaps. A beautiful rose will cheer me up any time, anywhere, any day! Thankfully, we did find some that were still in their full glory - glistening with drops of rain that mirrored their bright colours.

As I studied their perfect forms, I wondered about the public gardens - and the roses - of this town. Someone had once had a vision to add the beauty of roses, flowers and trees to this town, a vision that had been carried out and for which the town had once, quite obviously, been justly famous. Wide streets were lined with strips of lawn, roses and small trees. The view down these streets ended with that long vista across the lake to the snow-capped volcanos beyond. Why had that vision of beauty been lost? Why were the gardens and the roses in such a sorry state? I had no answers. Perhaps such local community issues symbolise the global issue of the way that we, collectively, are allowing our home, our Earth, to fall into such disrepair. It was, and is, food for thought!

Back down in the town, we checked out some craft shops displaying good quality silver jewellery and ornaments, but we resisted the temptation. The undercover market had come alive and was worth a more extended exploration. Several stalls were selling freshly made, home baked cakes and raspberry pies - the fresh raspberries in Chile were the sweetest, most delicious, that I had ever tasted. Those pies looked really, really good. If only… if only I could try such sugary delights without being concerned about the consequences! If only… but perhaps it's just as well! Moving right along, it was fascinating to watch craftsmen, using very primitive tools, whittling away at small pieces of wood to fashion equally primitive ornaments such as boats and ducks. Its rather odd, but Chileans seem to have a fascination with wooden ducks - mostly very depressed ducks that are carved to sit on a mantelpiece or table edge with their heads hanging down! The market was full of them. All very interesting but, after taking another tempting look at those pies, we realised that it was indeed time for some food; lunch time, but not pie time.

Leaving our faithful 'guide dog' to play with some children, we took a table in a small café. There we indulged in a local delicacy of crab casserole - very, very good. By the time we'd finished, it was raining, so we joined several locals on the long walk 'home', along the waterfront, up the hill, through the rain, peeking into several private gardens along the way. It was very noticeable that the plants that were thriving and blooming the best were not roses but hydrangeas - especially one variety that was new to us. It had deep bronze/purple leaves and lighter purple flower heads. Lovely!  Back at the hotel, we retired just as the locals would also do, for that thoroughly civilized Chilean custom - siesta.

When we woke, the sun was shining and the town had taken on a whole new persona. What a difference sunshine makes to the way we view a place! It enticed us outside to go wandering once more by the lake that now sparkled blue in the sunshine, just ruffled by a zephyr of a breeze. It was all really very pleasant. Once again we did not walk alone; a small dog had quickly joined us for our afternoon stroll. Where she emerged from I don't know but she was obviously just waiting for a wandering tourist or two. But not all the dogs we saw that afternoon were homeless vagrants - we saw a few taking their owners out for a walk on a lead!

There was plenty to enjoy as we strolled along: the sight of volcano Osorno and its surrounding scenery mirrored in the glass walls of that 'yacht club'; a man trying his luck at fishing from some rocks whilst his friend read a book; children playing on the beach; couples in close contact, presumably discussing the weather; groups of young people chatting as they dangled legs from the beach wall; and even a few brightly coloured kayaks lolling on the beach. This was the longest day of the year and everyone seemed to have plenty of time to enjoy the ambience of sun on water.

Dinner is eaten very late in Chile, but we were ready to eat much earlier. We chose the Mediterraneo Restaurante and it was a good choice. Not only did it have a good view over the lake and excellent food - it had no noisy piano music, in fact, no music at all. We didn't need any. We learned more Spanish words from our fun loving waiter and thoroughly enjoyed the evening with warm-hearted 'strangers'. As we have found so often in our travels around the world, there can be a warmth of friendship between individuals even though we come from different cultures; even though we may express our thoughts and religions and customs in different ways; and even though we may not speak each other’s language - although it always helps to be able to play charades… and try to speak a little 'chickadito'!

While David went to get his camera to record the setting of the sun, I wandered slowly back along the waterfront. I was mesmerized by the amazing beauty of the volcanoes, especially Calbuco, rising into a clear sky, its snow-laden peak softened to a rich golden-pink by the last rays of the sun. That special moment of 'kussnacht', the kiss of night, has always given me a great sense of peace. Many years ago, when I lived in Switzerland by the lake of Zug, I would watch in awe as the last rays of sunshine kissed my own special mountain, Rigi, just before darkness fell. Now, here, at the other end of the world, in Chile, by another lake, in very different circumstances, I felt that same sense of calm, of peace, of joy - and it was good.