For the second time after the Machu Picchu Inca Jungle Trail, I leave almost all my luggage behind. Five kilograms instead of 40 feels like a lot more than minus 35. I’ve dragged a good 25kg of kite material behind me for just 12 days on the water over more than 12,000 kilometres. Clearly too much. The journey may end without kiting in front of calving glaciers. But not with just 12 days on the water!

In the very south of Chiloé lies the small town of Quellon. From here, a ferry runs to several harbours on remote islands and the mainland in southern Patagonia. The Naviera Austral was only opened to tourists last year and, at €30 for 24 hours, is the only cheap ferry in the region. The large tourist ferries easily cost three times as much. (more…)

Puerto Montt is the last major town on the next 1,000 kilometres into the wild south of Patagonia. The wind turns to the unusual direction of north, and thus fully offshore to Tierra del Fuego. Kiting is out of the question at ten degrees in constant rain. I enjoy the last sparks of civilisation with Star Wars in Spanish at the cinema. The Chileans are irritated by my hearty laughter to Yoda’s “Los libros, ¿leido has?”.

My big dream of travelling 2,600 km down the Carretera Austral gravel road to the end of the world in Villa Ol’Higgins is shattered. Neither the kind Chileans in a large Facebook backpacker group nor the posting of requests in numerous hostels and tourist information centres is any good. I can’t find a second driver and have to cancel the hire car because my driving licence has been stolen. (more…)

Puerto Varas on Lake Llanquihue, five hours south of Pucon, is one of the last big towns before the endless expanses of southern Patagonia. I spend a few days over New Year’s Eve in the Margouya Patagonia Hostel, a manor house that is a good hundred years old. The French owners have transformed the property into a true backpacker’s heaven: Open fires, free-standing bathtubs and a hard drive hanging on the TV with loads of good films are a welcome change from fast-paced travelling.

Unfortunately, Puerto Montt makes the same mistake as Pucon: it spoils its charm, characterised by old wooden houses, with concrete bunkers that are out of scale. The largest of these stand directly upwind of the only kiteable beach in the neighbourhood. The hills slow down the typical cold southerly wind from the Patagonian fjords. The bunkers kill it for good. No chance of kiting here. (more…)

The almost 1,000 kilometre journey from Pichilemu back via Santiago and down to Pucon on the Patagonian border comes to a bit of a standstill. Turbus misses the online ticket I bought the day before. Two hours of walking and complaining to the ticket centre don’t help. I have to buy a new ticket and take the last night bus after nine hours. At least a friend from Pichilemu has enough time to bring my forgotten neoboats to Santiago. Thank you!

The night eats up the kilometres. In the morning, I wake up in a different world. Everything is green, every tree in the cloud forest is at least 100 years old and the sheep look as fat as if they’re going to burst any second because of the lush grass. (more…)

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. (more…)

The theft happened in the perfect place. The German Embassy in Santiago de Chile is just over two hours away by bus. She agrees to stamp my driving licence copy. After Christmas. The police give me three entertaining Spanish lessons, then I have my ten lines of theft report.

1. The B’n’B style Landay Hostel is in a central and quiet location in the stately home of the old Chilean poetess Iris. Super friendly staff and lots of good wine round off every evening in these venerable walls. Highly recommended! (more…)

The brilliant World Kite And Windsurfing Guide, which is now also available online, proclaims the cosy little Los Vilos to be the windiest Pacific kitesurfing spot in Chile. In front of the long, flat sandy beach, two metre waves break beautifully and at good intervals in powerful barrels.

Only the wind is missing. But that’s not important. Still flattened by the Embalse Puclaro, I spend two days lying down at my dear couchsurfing host and dentist Cristian’s place. Los Vilos was hit hard by a fish kill caused by mines in the nearby mountains. Many inhabitants are fighting for survival in gambling casinos – or stand in front of them smoking and begging. The rest simply drink themselves to death lying quietly in the park. (more…)

The bus races down a whole two kilometres of altitude from the high mountains of the Andes. On the 40-kilometre descent over the gentle flanks of the Licancabur volcano, I drop my trousers and wiggle bare-bottomed in the face of altitude sickness. Everything changes! The Chileans are so fed up with the high mountains that they have moved the border control 40 kilometres behind them, right at the entrance to San Pedro de Atacama.

Thick air is great! Dogs that don’t look – or act – like Resident Evil! Sun, heat and no rain – we haven’t had that for weeks! Chairs worthy of the name. Toilets with loo paper! On castors! Cutlery made of stainless steel instead of punched metal, and porcelain instead of plastic. Spices! Good wine! Even the dirt is cleaner in Chile. Goodbye misery! Culture olé! (more…)