Pichilemu is a creative surfing hotspot three hours south of Santiago. The growth phases of the unique wooden houses can be recognised by their annual rings. The wonderful Sirena Insolente Hostel is full of good people, every evening there is a campfire under a starry sky, and Christmas is written here without an h.
I’m writing against losing. Madrid grinned at me at first, but was convinced of Luke’s power as the evening progressed. It’s good as it is, but I also know that I’m losing a lot because of my high travelling speed. I whistle “City of New Orleans” as I leave. The hostel is still asleep.
I admire good travellers immensely. They can do exactly what I will never be able to do: they are there. Where they are. I’m always somewhere else. No matter where I am. When others are already planning families, I still ask myself where the condoms are.
That makes my life unique and often just damn lonely. But mostly wonderfully weird and always funny, at least for other travellers. At home, even old friends often ask “What do you mean by that?” when I make a statement that is crystal clear to them. Here, travellers often don’t understand either. But instead of asking for the meaning, they simply laugh at the joke behind the words.
The wind stays offline all three days, and none of the four adhesive tapes I’ve tested so far can seal the badly leaking seams of my drysuit. I have to buy a new wetsuit and increase my luggage to 42kg. Unfortunately, this is unavoidable, as the water here is already much colder than Cape Town at 12°C.
The car hire company refuses to give me a car for the big dream Carreteta Austral at the beginning of January because of the stolen driving licence. Without it, there’s no chance of glacier kiting in the fjord. Even the copy with the embassy stamp and the police report don’t help. Only a second driver would help, but everyone has different goals.
Very frustrated and very tired, another 1,000 kilometres on the way to Patagonia pass by the bus window for a whole day. A terrorised woman entertains the entire bus for hours with her mobile phone roar. The bus company spoils the expensive ticket for the night bus, refunds nothing and I have to pay twice…
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.