Stage 10: Chile, 13th - 24th February 2004
13th February. Arica, Chile (just). 539 miles.
I was told yesterday that the road to Oruro was fully paved, contrary to what my map said, so I pumped up my tyre pressures and got away around eight. It turned out to be not quite true. There was a new road, and it was nearly finished apart from a few short stretches where they hadn't put the final surface down, and were working on it as I rode through. This didn't slow me down too much however. What did slow me down, a lot, were two diversions off the paved road that the woman in the travel agency come tourist information office had neglected to mention.
The first was about 10 miles long, and very muddy in places. At one point I was reduced to paddling along slowly in deep ruts left by heavy trucks, feet walking on the ridges to steady my progress. The second section started about two miles after the first, was shorter and not so muddy, but rocky with a few minor streams to just get my feet wet. What was really perplexing, and a little annoying, was that both times the diversion track ran pretty much parallel to the main road – perfectly surfaced and no work going on. So it all seemed a bit pointless and topsy turvy.
Shortly after the second section I came across a German biker going the other way, on an BMW GS1150 of course. He told me the road was paved the rest of the way, and was surprised to hear about what lay ahead for him, so he had clearly been misled as well.
I got to Oruro about one therefore completing a small(ish) circle in south west Bolivia, and though it goes against my instincts to stay in the same town twice, I did contemplate it. However with Carnival in full swing, and it being a big crowd draw here especially, hotel prices had shot up. The place I had stayed in before for 30 bolivanos was now 70,and another very drab place wanted 80. Okay these are only around ten dollars but crucially it would mean having to change more money and I hate the idea of paying over the odds like that.
It was 2 o'clock and I had two choices. I could head for Cochabamba, supposedly a nice place but 4 hours in the wring direction, or I could head towards the border where there might be a few places to stay the night, but very basic. Of course I chose the latter. Going back towards La Paz from Oruro I find that toll stations that had let me go free a few days before in the other direction, were now demanding payment. I couldn't work it out but had no choice except to pay up, and this ate into the reserves I had for another night in Bolivia. I pushed the bike toward 70 mph (which is pretty fast for me when fully loaded, and I wasn't sure of the effects on fuel consumption at altitude, and low grade fuel as well).
I reached Patacamaya, the last town of any size (though really just a strip along the main road) before the border, at 3.30pm. I filled up with petrol, consulted my map, and finally decided to try to get to Chile in one push. It was 180 kms to the border and another 200 to Arica. I knew it would mean some night driving, something that all the guides advise against, but decided it was worth it. It was the main border crossing between the two countries , I knew it was paved all the way and figured it would be a relatively easy ride, especially in Chile which is much more developed than Bolivia.
It took me two hours to get to the Bolivian border. Two hours of very good but lonely road through the Parque Nacional Sajama. It grew increasingly cold and very windy as I passed round the snow covered and cloud enshrouded peak of Mount Sajama. The Bolivian border at Tambo Quemado, in the shadow of the mountain, was deserted but for a few trucks that seemed to be going nowhere. Getting stamped out was a breeze (though it seemed like a gale was blowing), and the customs bloke, alone in a little prefabricated hut, the door to which kept blowing wildly in the wind, was very helpful. He even gave me an extra form for Chilean customs, just in case. I was done in about 20 minutes.
Chile and Bolivia are not the best of friends. It was Chile that cut off Bolivia from the ocean in the tripartite War of the Pacific, where Peru also lost significant tracts of land. This is reflected by the 15 kms or so that separates the two border posts, although only 7 kms of this is officially no mans land. Chile is a much more prosperous country than Bolivia, so if anything I was expecting entry to be even easier than my exit. What-a mistake-a to make-a. I arrived behind a coach load of people that I hadn't seen on the Bolivian side. They were being forced to unload their luggage to have it x-rayed, with lots of additional searching going on. My heart sank and I began to wish I'd left the crossing until the morning.
I got better treatment than the bus passengers. At first they wanted to inspect my luggage, but when I insisted I could not take it off the bike, and it would mean going out in the cold, they decided to believe me when I said I was carrying nothing illegal (there are big signs about foot and mouth disease and all fresh vegetables and dairy products are forbidden). Still it was the best part of an hour before I was free to go, and with Chile an hour ahead of Peru it was now approaching 8 pm with about 45 minutes before sunset. By now the wind had dropped but it was still very cold and overcast. The Chilean side is also national park for the first 40 km or so, but the road is much poorer on this side, with lots of potholes and small gaps in the tarmac, particularly on tight bend and steeper inclines.
It starts to get dark but as I continue to drop in altitude the worst of the weather is behind me. I have an option to stay in the small town of Putre but as the approach road is gravel I make a snap decision to keep pushing for Arica. Shortly after this I realise that my dipped headlight has burnt out somewhere along the line, so I am full beam all the way down which provokes blinding flashes from the increasing number of truck drivers I pass coming the other way.
The mountains continue for much longer than I expected, but it gets noticeably warmer and eventually the road gets straighter and much better quality. Even so it must be 10.30 Chilean time before I see the lights of Arica, Chile's most northerly city. It seems big and brash and the final approach is on a dual carriageway, and I immediately feel as if I have left the third world behind. Its around 11.30 when I get sorted for a hotel, more expensive than Bolivia but still less than $20. Its run by a French woman, and she switches between French and Spanish mid sentence, I think in an effort to aid my comprehension. Carnival is in full swing here too as I pass a parade whilst looking for this place, but I am far too tired to go out to see the spectacle and crash out instantly.
14 February. Arica
Waking up I realise that I would prefer to take advantage of my earlier than planned arrival in Chile by taking the day off. I am out and about fairly early, and it seems too early for most of the local shopkeepers, who begin to open for business around 10 am. The difference in standard of living between Bolivia and Chile seems less obvious this morning. The streets are dirtier than I would have expected and the shops more like those I had gotten used to in South America, small and crammed with all sorts of random stuff. But then I remind myself that this is a small outpost of civilisation by Chilean standards, but in Bolivia would be one of its major population centres. The people are also noticeably less Andean and more European in appearance. I find the language much more difficult to understand as well. Their Spanish is very rapid, spoken in clipped tones and sometimes seems like another language altogether. No doubt I will adjust in time.
I spend the day sorting out money, getting shorn for the hotter weather (see below) and buying my fourth pair of sunglasses. My Bolivian pair, which cost me all of 2 dollars, lasted 4 days before one of the arms broke off. Here's hoping my new ones, at 5 dollars, last a bit longer. In the afternoon I potter around the bike, cleaning and maintenance. I fit my spare headlamp bulb and notice that part of the plastic mudguard has broken in Bolivian vibrations, resulting in another lost screw, but its not as structural as the last one so no worries. Nevertheless I go around tightening things up.
Chileans it seems are much more like the Brazilians and Spanish in their habits. Suddenly at 9 pm the streets are filled with people and all the shops are open. I eat in a restaurant that is supposed to be good but is empty, I suspect because I am too early. The rest of the night, until now – about 11.30, I spend sitting at a table on a street corner with a beer and watching the people go by. Its a tough old life.
I can hear sounds of Carnival so follow the music and there is another parade in full swing. There are some extremely varied dance groups, from the young and flashily dressed to the old in more down to earth traditional clothes. There are brass bands and home made looking recorder type things. Off to one side is a circle of people with a group of dancers in costume forming an inner ring, and in the middles is a girl dancing. She pulls a bloke out of the crowd and dances wit him for a while. Then she spots me at the back – the only gringo, and I am pulled in. I can't find the rhythm though, which is very fast, and shuffle around ridiculously for a couple of minutes until interest moves on. I get to bed sometime after 1 am.
15 February. Iquique. 206 miles. Passed 17,000 trip miles.
Its been a bit of a stressful day. I woke up early and after breakfast began packing up to leave. The rubber seal on my left fork had lifted a little before and though I pushed it back into place yesterday, it was clear this morning that it is leaking a little oil. There is not much I can do in Arica though so I just keep an eye on it.
I set off and the scenery is fantastic – riding along desert mountains that are not exactly high but more like massive rocky dunes with green valleys below. At 60 miles of so there is a checkpoint where I get a quick search. Fruit and veg are not allowed to be taken south of Arica. As at the border before I fare better than the bus that pulls up behind me dislodging passengers for more x-raying of their luggage. The weather is warm but not exactly hot.
There is a second checkpoint at Huara, a few miles west of Iquique, but here the police just want to see my license. Inspecting the forks again there appears to be quite a lot of oil that has dropped down onto my front brake and also blown onto my left boot. This morning I had checked the yellow pages and noted the address of the only bike shop in Iquique. I had planned to drive on through but decided to stop here and see if I could get this sorted. As it is Sunday I know I will have to wait til tomorrow, which would potentially mean 2 nights or more here. Iquique is a big place and I have no map to guide me so I ride around fairly randomly until I find a suitable hotel. It is quite a dramatic town really, a beach dominated city squeezed between the mountains and sea, but I am not in any mood to appreciate it.
It turns out that this bike shop, probably actually a Honda dealership is in a large duty free zone which is the city's other main attraction. The whole zone is closed until tomorrow but this information does not fill me with any confidence. It seems likely that it will be a parts shop more than anything else, with no mechanics on hand to offer advice or solutions. So I turn to the web and consult Horizons Unlimited as well as a US site dedicated to my bike f650.com. It seems that this problem is more common, and perhaps less serious, than I had thought. Still I post a question up on the horizons bulletin board to see what advice I can get. In the absence of any further information I decide that my best bet is to keep going towards Santiago where there is a BMW dealer. As its all paved and straight I shouldn't put too much stress on the bike by doing this. I guess its just another sign that I am riding the bike hard and its covered enough miles for such niggles to kick in. In fact reading other people's experiences I have been pretty luck so far. Touch wood.
So I relax a bit and wander down to the beach where I have an early meal. The waitress tells me that there are only imported (expensive) beers available, but I am convinced she is pulling a fast one as I see other people with local beers. It gets me irritated again but there is not much I can do. I decide I need a quiet night.
16 February. Antofogasta. 273 miles. Went through the Tropic of Capricorn today.
I ended up watching 'Ali' on telly last night so didn't really get to sleep early. It seemed that my dinner did not agree with me and a made a slow start. Add to that the fact that my bike was blocked in by cars I didn't get out of the hotel until after 9. So I went looking for this bike shop in the duty free zone just in case, but when I finally located the right address – it wasn't there. Instead it had been replaced by some sort of clothes shop. Nothing else to do but hit the road south.
I'm following the coast with more desert mountains on my left and the ocean on my right. Its very rocky here but the Chileans it seems can really stretch the definition of a beach and there are plenty of tents pitched in some uncomfortable looking locations. Some giving the appearance that they are there for the summer. I was stopped for an inspection by the police 3 times, and once for a customs check. The latter involved two people about 50 yards apart looking briefly at exactly the same document – the one I had got at the border – before waving me on. Chilean bureaucracy is definitely reminiscent of the Central American states rather than the generally more relaxed attitudes I had found in Peru and Bolivia (where the police only really exist in towns).
For a short stretch approaching Antofogasta I head inland where the wind drops and it gets noticeably warmer. The road crosses over some train tracks several times and at each crossing there is a stop sign. Despite the fact that here the mountains have dropped back from the road and you can see for miles in any direction, the cars do slow down to at least a crawl, if not sometimes a total stop at the crossings. Chileans the definitely the most well behaved drivers I have encountered in a long time.
Antofogasta is a major port city, but very isolated in the middle of the Atacama desert, one of the driest places on earth. Though again it is not as hot as I had anticipated. In the mid-afternoon to evening it is a very pleasant low 20s. The hotel I am staying in is a bit overpriced but at $25 I don't really care that much. The city is basically modern and I end up eating in t German themed restaurant, good lager on tap - “Schop” which is more coomon here than anywhere else so far, and a great fat steak. I don't finish eating until after 10 and am determined to get a good nights sleep and a quick start in the morning so I can really close the gap between here and Santiago. There I expect a few days delay as the bike will need another service, not least to prepare for the rigours of Patagonia.
17 February. La Serena. 582 miles (phew). 18,000 trip miles.
I managed to get moving early today. It was desert riding all the way – great scenery at first but a bit dull after a few hours. Very straight roads meant good speeds though I had to keep moving to make those miles, barely stopping except for fuel (me and the bike) all day. My main excitement came from trying to match miles to minutes on the bikes digital read outs, and my greatest moment came at 4.44 pm when for a few seconds, my distance for the day was 444.4 miles.
As the afternoon wore on the barren desert gave way to an increasing amount of vegetation and I knew I was heading back to the coast when I saw clouds hugging the mountains to the west and the temperature dropped, although again it had never gotten as high as I had expected, perhaps because of the wind.
I should have learnt my lesson by now but apparently not. At one petrol station, having just filled up my tanks and the spare can I am carrying, I saw a much better petrol can for sale, branded by the petrol company. The one I've got leaks a bit when full and doesn't fit the bike very well. This other one would have been much better. I only didn't buy it because I assumed, more fool me, that I would find the same thing at other branches, when mine was empty and I could just throw it away. Wrong. I haven't seen it since despite checking out two more major stations. The moral of the story children is this: if you see something that you know you will need in the future, buy it immediately because you may not get another chance.
La Serena is another summer seaside town (though all towns and cities of any significance are on the coast in this country). I'm sure I'm not doing it any justice but its only merit as far as I am concerned is that it puts me within spitting distance (if you are exceptionally good at spitting) of Santiago. Which itself I only really want to visit because of the attention needed on the bike.
18th February. Santiago. 330 miles.
The road today was motorway driving all the way, and tolls as well – about 5 or 6 dollars in total. For a lot of the morning and early afternoon it was very windy, especially along the coastal sections, but as I got closer to the capital it died down and the temperature really picked up. I got to the outskirts of the city around 4pm and decided to find the BMW dealer first. I got some general directions and followed signs to the right neighbourhood but really got lucky when I asked a motorcycle courier. He had passed me beeping and waving a minute or so before, then pulled over – though to use his walkie talkie not for me. I took advantage and pulled alongside, pretty much in the middle of the road, for directions. Much better then that he took me there. Not quite all the way but to the right road which I would have struggled to find otherwise. Gotta love those couriers.
Though mainly a car dealer BMW can do me a service. I will drop the bike off tomorrow morning and it will be ready by Friday afternoon. Inshallah. Getting into the centre for a hotel from there is relatively easy though according to the guidebook I have little choice when it comes to finding parking. The hotel I choose is very cheap by Chilean standards, more expensive compared to Bolivian prices. You just adjust with each new country. So it seems like a better deal than it probably is.
There seem to be loads of Chinese restaurants nearby so having eaten mostly native so far I decide its time for a change. I feel full after just the soup but push on and finish a very large beef mushroom and spring onion dish. Its not exactly Pangs but its pretty good.
19th February. Santiago.
I'm supposed to be at the dealership by 8am sharp (this was much emphasised yesterday), but the car park doesn't open til half seven and then I get lost in the city. With these one way streets and some major roadworks shutting down several through routes it was impossible to retrace my path of yesterday. Still after stopping for directions about 4 times (each time a little bit closer), I make it just before 9. I repeat my instructions of yesterday as to what work I want done, which is written down this time, and then leave them to it.
The dealership is way out to the east of the city in a posh neighbourhood and I decide to walk back into the centre. With a stop at a tyre shop and another at a bookshop looking for maps, it takes me the best part of 4 hours, by which time it is baking hot. I'm hungry and stop at a place called Gatsby which has an all you can eat buffet. I have pork, beef chicken and fish with various potato and salad dishes, followed by 3 puddings. Feeling very fat I wander down to the tourist office where I am directed to a place selling good maps, and I pick up a couple for southern Chile and Patagonia, where I feel just the guidebook really will be insufficient.
After that it is a quick ride back on the tube to my hostel. In the afternoon I call the dealership to get a cost for the work and authorise them to go ahead. Then I get my laundry done and not needing to eat again – though I do manage a tub of blackberries from a supermarket, I spend the evening preparing an update to the website, which has fallen behind. One slight problem I encounter is that my universal adaptor is not the right size for Chilean sockets. I have another one that does fit, which came with the DVD drive, but it won't connect directly with the laptop plug. So I pull apart one of the universal adaptors and jury rig a connection with lots of insulation tape holding it together. It does the trick even if it does look a bit dodgy.
20th February. Santiago.
Much lazier start today, and I actually have time for breakfast. I walk into the city centre where I have to get some more cash (Chile is so expensive) and also buy some Argentinian pesos as I will be entering in a remote area where banks may be scarce. I potter around and have a very nice beef stew for lunch in the central square then head back to pick up the bike.
They have done the important stuff but couldn't replace the bolts I had picked up along the way with BMW stock ones, and they didn't have a new fuel filter but mine should be okay for a while longer. They have also given it a very thorough clean. So thorough in fact that there was water in the electrics and one of the indicators is not working until they sort it out. Coming back I also managed to pick up that proper fuel can, so now I can throw the crappy old one away. Again I feel no need to eat in the evening so I'm doing the web site.
21st February. Temuco. 437 miles.
Had some breakfast and got on the road fairly quickly Getting out of Santiago was easy and it was autopista all the way. Lots of toll stops and loads of overland bikers going the other way but that was about it. It was overcast in the morning and quite chilly (har har) but cleared and got very hot in the afternoon.
Temuco is a quiet (very quiet) town in the lake district. Given that this is a prime holiday location and this is summer still I had expected crowds, but walking round the streets, even the Plaza das Armas, are virtually deserted until I get into the shopping zone, but even then not busy for a Saturday night. Fast food seems to be the thing in this country, and that's what I'm getting tonight. Almost any place that looks like a proper restaurant is always deserted. At least they serve beer in these places.
Chile is definitely the most developed, expensive and largely uninteresting country I have encountered since the US. You will notice the lack of pictures in these entries, there is little of interest to photograph. I'm hoping that this will change the further south I go, heading into the more remote regions of the country.
Despite the heat today I notice as it gets dark, around 9 pm, that the temperature is dropping much quicker than further back north. And here I am walking about with no jacket on this evening. I rode through the wine growing regions today and am definitely in a more temperate zone. I saw snow on one distant mountain, and road signs warning of ice and snow, though presumably only in the winter.
I will say one this for Chile, draft beer, or Schop, is much more common than elsewhere, and though lagery it makes a change from all the bottled stuff, and a bit more variety. Though it seems to come unbranded so you never quite know what you are going to get. This one tonight is darker than most and the flavour verges on a bitter, albeit a gassy, cold one. Good though.
22nd February. Puerto Montt. 226 miles. Passed 19,000 trip miles.
I was never going to go very far today so had a nice easy start. It was cold and cloudy this morning, a very autumnal feeling. The trees are still green but I can't work out if they are deciduous or not, so this may mean little. Even as the sky cleared up, while I was moving it remained comfortably cool. I had expected to find a bike shop here where I could get new tyres tomorrow morning, but there was only a tyre dealership which looked like it only stocked for cars.
Puerto Montt is the end of the autopista and ruta 5, which I have been following almost uninterrupted since Arica. It is also pretty much the end of fully paved roads of any sort, and for here on south it gets more interesting, riding the gravel surfaces they call 'ripio' here. South of here Chile is dominated by fjords and islands, so Puerto Montt is also a major port for people and cargo. I could choose an easy an expensive 4 day cruise to take me most of the way to Tierra del Fuego, but it seems like cheating so I am sticking to the road route. I will however be forced to take a couple of short ferries, and I spend a bit of time gathering information on timetables, though it turns out my guidebook is pretty accurate.
As the afternoon wears on it does get very warm, and a small beach across the bay from the town is packed out. The last time I got my feet wet in the ocean was back in Iquique and that felt pretty damn cold to me, so I'm not tempted here.
Puerto Montt bay at sunset.
Instead I opt for a late lunch as my main meal of the day. An expensive but delicious grilled salmon and king crab combination in some kind of creamy sauce with rice. I've had too much beef recently, something which I expect to get in spades in Argentina, so its good to get back to seafood.
Its now half past ten and I'm watching an American sports channel showing live coverage of Ireland whipping Wales in the six nations, with Spanish commentary. The problem with a TV in my room is that I have difficulty turning it off. Last night I was awake until 3 am watching crappy movies. I have to get up early tomorrow so can't repeat that tonight.
23rd February. Caleta Gozalo. 63 miles
I got up at 6 am and skipped the free breakfast to be on the road by seven. The pavement lasted just over 10 miles then I had 20 more of reasonable ripio to La Arena. Here I had to catch a small ferry, and the reason for getting up so early was to get on the first one of the day at 8. I made it with less than 5 minutes to spare. It had been foggy first thing, with some light rain, and it stayed very overcast and misty for most of the morning and early afternoon. The ferry crossing was only 30 minutes across a channel to Puelche then back to the ripio., the road rising and falling in and out of the mist. It was slow at times, the gravel a bit loose, but posed no problems. It was another 40 miles before I hit the next ferry port at Hornopiren, around 10.30. There is only one ferry a day from here, leaving at 4 pm and lasting about 5 hours. However the reason for catching the first ferry at La Arena, and therefore getting here this early, was that the guidebook had said it could get very busy with vehicles sometimes having to wait a couple of days to cross. I didn't really think the bike would fit into that category, but wasn't taking any chances. As luck would have it I arrived just before the ticket office opened so was immediately sorted.
That left me with a long wait in a town that was barely bigger than its central square. I pottered around the bike for a bit making some minor adjustments but this didn't take long and I mostly just sat around the square with my guidebook and some provisions from the local supermarket. There was a bakery at the back and as I walked in they had just finished a fresh batch of rolls. They were piping hot and I couldn't resist.
The sun gradually broke through and by 1.30 or so I was baking under clear blue skies. As I make my way to the dock it becomes obvious I had no need for concern about space. There are quite a few foot passengers, but 10 cars and me only left the boat two thirds full. As we set off the wind picked up and within the first hour the blanket of cloud was back, temperature dropping, especially on the upper observation deck, which is really the only place to hang out other than the car deck, though they don't seem to mind that. There is an inside, but it looks distinctly like its just for the crew.
Leaving Hornopiren
Some time later I discover there is an inside area for passengers so I while away a couple of hours in there reading. In the early evening the sun comes out again briefly and it is amazing how much of a difference it makes to the temperature, on one side of the boat anyway. As we approach land once more the cloud comes back, this time as fog. I chat for a while with an English woman and her Argentinian husband. They live in Argentina and are here for a holiday. We all comment on how expensive Chile is, I have burnt through loads of cash, and they assure me Argentina will be a welcome change.
We dock at Caleta Gonzalo after dark. The only accommodation options are some expensive looking cabins, which turn out to be full anyway, and a camp site. I have to leave the bike in a car park area on the road, follow a dark path and cross a mock rope bridge (steel underneath the wooden slats) over a river to the camp site. I amaze myself by pitching my tent by torch light in pretty quick time. It is not cold but, with the fog, very wet. I munch through the remains of a packet of biscuits then sleep.
24th February. Coyhaique. 319 miles.
It is cold this morning and still very wet. I pack up and get on the road. For the first hour and a half I am on a private reserve. Its officially a temperate rain forest area, and the road is crowded by heavy vegetation. It is a bit rough in places but considering how wet the weather is the going is pretty good.
At Chaiten I top up the petrol tank with expensive fuel and buy some expensive rations. I get 10 miles or so of unexpected tarmac then its back to the ripio. It begins to dry up and the sky clears. The quality of the road is very good and I begin to seriously contemplate reaching Coyhaique, which I had previously ruled out. The I hit a long slow patch climbing a mountain, with lots of hairpin bends that are very rutted and at times difficult to navigate.
The water in this river is a bright green for some reason. I stopped here for a picnic lunch.
Coming back down again I have a minor spill in loose gravel, followed by a horrible moment when the engine won't start and the oil light flashes. My wheels are stuck either side of a mountain of stones that comes right up to the bottom of the engine. I dig a path out, allow the computer to reset itself, then power out with no difficulties. Still it is a reminder that I had got a little overconfident during the day. Nevertheless as the afternoon wears on and the road improves again, I'm opening up the throttle to 40, sometimes 50 , miles an hour over the gravel.
Shortly before 6 my reserve fuel light comes on, roughly when I had expected it to, and as soon as I can I pull over empty my spare can into the tank. It has suddenly got quite windy, perhaps a fore taste of what I can expect in Patagonia. About 500 yards later something unexpected happens – I hit tarmac. A long way earlier than the map showed, but after 240 miles of rough track, very welcome. Still it takes me longer than expected to reach Coyhaique, not least because I get stuck in a queue of traffic behind a wide load carrying some sort of boat that blocks the road to such an extent that even I cannot get past.
In the ultimate irony perhaps when I actually get to the point when my map says the road is paved, I hit some road works that take me off the tarmac again and onto a temporary surface, but not for long.
Coyhaique is the biggest town in these parts but not particularly large. For dinner I go out to what is supposed to be the best seafood place they have, and end up with fish 'n' chips (okay plus a salad). Its fried congria, and I can't be sure but think its conger eel, a national specialty. James I can assure you it tastes nothing like jellied eels and is absolutely delicious, if you ever come to Chile don't be put off by that memory.