Chile Day 15 - Smell of Neoprene

Today was the sort of day I have been wanting since I arrived two weeks ago. I woke to sunshine, survived a harrowing ride to the put-in point, and rafted some pleasant class III+ whitewater. It's not the best section of the Fu, but it's the part they're running. I'll take it.

With the exception of the other two guys from the states, most of the folks on the trip were more river guides from Canada down here to establish a bi-seasonal working schedule. The river itself was not all that special - we spent hours floating along near-flat water and performing difficult portages around two deadly rapids before we hit the Wild Mile. It's a very, very fast stretch of water which was swollen far beyond its usual limits. The rapids were more rolling than punishing and we finished the actual Mile in 9 minutes flat. Not the best rafting trip ever, but the scenery was astounding. Snow-capped mountains on all sides, steep cleaved valleys, imposing trees, and lazily drifting condors filled the entire day. The river itself is so violently aerated that the still sections after the rapids looked carbonated, like pouring the world's biggest glass of Sprite. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring my camera.

There is a river cool hierarchy which is built mostly on the amount of insulation you wear. Rafting clients (pond-scum on the totem pole) wear full wetsuits and booties. Raft guides are much cooler and usually go with a spray top, baggy bathing-suit bottoms, and tevas. My guide proved himself to be the toughest of them all with just a flannel shirt. Outdoorsy types like to say that "cotton kills", so dressing like a lumberjack shows that you are invincible. Or really stupid. Or both.

Chris the owner met us at the take-out and walked us up to his private mountain camp for a look-around. It's placed midway up a valley with views of three glaciated peaks, a sun bowl to the west, distant waterfalls, and a variety of wildflowers. He rigged it with clever hot water, solar panels, organic gardens, fruit trees, and even a shower in a hollowed-out tree trunk for the ultimate in off-grid living. It may be the closest thing I have ever seen to Paradise. (Still needs a good internet connection. And easy access to sushi.) Again, no camera.

I've always wondered what the career path for an olympian looks like after the gold have been won and the TV cameras leave in search of coke-sniffing supermodels. Chris (a medalist in whitewater kayaking) has carved out an awfully nice life for himself down here. He was the first to kayak the Fu and (i think) the first to set up a rafting company. He made this town what it is, and as far as I am concerned he deserves any shangri-la he can build here.

My stupid cultural misunderstanding of the day:

Canadian Expat River Guide (CERG): The raft got stuck aröund the eddy and we had to rappel down to get it öut. We totally got the shaft.
Chilean Local River Guide (CLRG): Ha ha. Shaft.
Karl: Watch your mouth!
---
CLRG (proper response): But I'm talkin' about shaft!
Karl (proper response): Well you can dig it.
---
CLRG (actual response): What? Are you talking to me or her?
Karl (actual) : I'm talkin' about shaft
CLRG: Que?
[the conversation stumbles on uncomfortably from here, as karl reflects on the fact that just because you know English doesn't mean you know blaxploitation heroes.]

There is a store in town called a "ferreteria". I imagine that it's like a cafeteria, but with live ferrets. I didn't investigate, lest I have a perfectly attractive notion exploded.

My hotel has furnished me with an NFL-themed comforter. (And I thought that football meant something else down here.) I don't know much about the makeup of the league, but it did list lots of teams I don't hear about anymore. Can anyone carbon-date my blanket based on the presence of the Falcons, Cardinals, Bengals, and Browns?