As part of the program, meaning it was paid for, all 17 of us travelled south to Pucón, a tiny little tourist town situated between Lago Villarrica and Volcán Villarica. We spent three days there, the first of which was reserved for an organized “tur de la zona,” which included waterfalls, waterfalls, and waterfalls of the bluest water I’ve ever seen in my life:
The tour ended at a natural hot springs resort, where we were free to bathe in the glacier water of the river, or lounge in the hot springs. The river-bathing turned unexpectedly into a bizarre sort of baptism ritual. A few of the guys, doing what we’ve come to label a “mantivity*,” started building a dam with river rocks to create a small pool deep enough to sit in. People were quickly lining up to sit in our pool and dunk their heads in the bone-chillingly cold glacier water, at which point everyone else would clap and cheer:
It was weird.
The next two days, Saturday and Sunday, were left open for us to explore the region on our own. A group of us had signed up and paid 40,000 pesos (about 80 US dollars) to hike the volcano. We’re talking helmet-, ice axe-, goggle-, crampon-, matching jumsuit-wearing, glacier-climbing, lava-seeing, ice-in-the-beard fun here. But no, when we got to the base of the volcano our guides informed us that with rain in the forecast and the clouds as they were (awesome), it would be foolish to try the ascent.
It was nice of them, really. They could have taken us up for twenty minutes before telling us we had to turn back and, Oh sorry, once we’ve started the hike your money is non-refundable. They even left the decision up to us. If we had really wanted to try it, they would have taken us as far as they could. So we stood around and kicked at the rocks and took some pictures—
—and sighed and swore, then climbed back into the bus for a shaky, twisty ride back down into Pucón.
We filled the morning with canopy-ing, that is, zip-lining through the forest, and then went rafting in the afternoon (note: both “rafting” and “canopy” are untranslated in spanish. Vamos a hacer rafting = we are going rafting).
By the time we got into our wet suits and life-jackets for rafting, it was pouring. Our guide made several sexual comments while straddling his kayak and we were off into the rain and the river. These were class four rapids, and the people in our group that had rafting experience said it was some of the best they had done. The wind blew, the rain blinded, the guide shouted, people fell out, jumped out, were pushed out, pulled back in again. At least three instances of pirating occurred. When Theresa asked, jokingly, if we could go swimming, the guide said “Sure,” and sent us up onto some rocks where we could hop into the river and ride some mild rapids sans raft.
At one point we had to hike along the river while the rafts were sent over impossible rapids to meet us on the other side. Our guide brings us to the spot where we have to get back into the river: a thirty foot cliff with swirling water below. The great thing about the situation was the complete lack of option or deliberation. They brought us there and told us to jump. No easy way around. And so we didn’t think much more of it.
I stood on the edge of the cliff while Dave made helicopter noises behind me (at my request), then jumped. A funny things happens in this situation that I had never really experienced before: your brain says it’s safe and everything is okay, but as soon as you’ve got thirty feet of air below you, your body starts screaming Oh shit. Hitting the water was surprisingly unpleasant, and climbing back onto shore surprisingly hard. Seeing that it was hard, I lent a hand to the people behind me trying to climb out. While doing this, a bee stung me on the thumb. So much for karma.
At the end of the river, when we had changed out of our wetsuits and into dryer clothing, we were served Pisco sours and packed back into the van for the ride back to the cabins in Pucón, to begin a long and weird night that ended with five guys in a tepid hot-tub drinking Coke.
And then we left Pucón.
*Mantivity: those activities which men do/enjoy unreasonably, are unable to explain, and women find confusing (in the interest of avoiding any plagiarism, the word seems to have come from here). For instance: a few women come upon men standing in an icy river throwing large rocks. “What the hell?” the women might justifiably ask. “Building!” the men might respond. “What? Why?” The women may pry. To which the men might pause a moment and then respond, “Because…rocks!”
Selected other mantivities (that may or may not have been undertaken on this trip):
-Collecting firewood (understandable to the womankind until the men come back with what can only be called “trees,” with no reasonable plan of how to cut or burn them).
-Hitting one large tree with another smaller tree (attempted solution to above).
-Setting up tents (may also include: using duct tape; fighting with poles/sticks; excessive use of the phrase, “that’s what she said.”).
-Making things out of other things.
-Starting fires (may also include: wearing flannel.)
-Cooking meat on fires.
-Making fires unreasonably large (may also include: stomping out brush fires; running away).
