Wrapped in fog and lush vegetation, Chiloé Island is a brooding place of mystery and mythical creatures. Two characters in my novel-in-progress come from there — the long-suffering girlfriend and mother of the son of tour operator Pete Snyder, a man with commitment issues; and the handsome, enigmatic part-time handyman of Clara Valle’s family friend, Dr. Vicente Leandro.
In the real world, Chiloé’s true magic is found in the islanders’ woodworking skills.
An Overview
Chiloé lies 200 miles south of Valdivia, a six-hour bus ride that includes taking a ferry across the Chacao Strait: add another hour and a half to reach the largest city, Castro. One hundred eighteen miles long and 40 miles wide, it’s roughly the same size as the island of Puerto Rico, but, with 42,000 residents, has less than 2% of Puerto Rico’s population! Blustery weather and dense temperate rain forests predominate to the west, and an archipelago of small islands to the east. Both weather and water are calmer on the side facing mainland Chile, and for thousands of years Amerindians lived there, developing impressive skills as fishermen and boat builders. With the arrival of Spaniards in the mid-1500s, Chiloé became an important strategic post at the southern end of the Spanish Empire, but the distinct culture and traditions carved out of the island’s isolation endured.
The Palafitos
Before the devastating 1960 earthquake, palafitos — homes raised on wooden pilings along the coastal tidewaters — were common in eastern Chiloé. Today, most of the few surviving palafitos are found in Castro. A number of them have been converted into inns and hostels. Unable to resist, I stayed in the Gamboa District at the Palafito Waiwen Hostel a comfortably rustic structure of natural wood (and home to the best hotel breakfast I’ve had in many a year).
When I arrived, the tide was out. The district had a forlorn appearance — several boats lay beached on the black sand, and the stilt houses looked decrepit. When the tide came in, however, water lapped at the pilings, the colorful homes seemed to shine, and the boats bobbed merrily.
The stilt houses originated in the 1700s. Built from the island’s abundant supply of wood, they were sturdily constructed to meet the fishermen’s needs. Ladders descended to boats, tied to the pilings. The homes tended to be two stories, with living quarters on the first floor and bedrooms on the second. In the chilly winter months, family life revolved around a wood-fueled stove, usually placed in the center of the home.
I saw one of those stoves, still common throughout Chile. Made of cast iron, they’re massive and squat and must weigh a ton. The firewood goes into a small furnace on one side and soon heats up the oven on the other side and the ‘burners,’ tiny holes on the smooth surface on top. The iron gets very hot. Not just an appliance to cook food, the stove also provides the sole source of heat for many small homes, and, by stringing up rope overhead, acts as a very effective clothes dryer. Metal stacks extend from the roofs, their smoke permeating the air, causing no small amount of pollution in winter months.
Interesting as the palafitos are, the best of the woodworking magic is yet to come. Stay tuned for my next blog!
Tide’s out.