The book follows Justin’s adventures as he spends six weeks hitch-hiking from Villa O’Higgins to Puerto Montt. Four years ago we spent 15 days driving the Carretera Austral. Although we covered 1500km between Quelat and Caleta Tortel, we missed out the 350km or so between Quelat and Puerto Montt. On the face of it, there’s no comparison between our journey and Justin’s, but as I accompanied Justin on his travels north, I found I was able to recognise most of the towns and many experiences from our time there. I also found myself pondering the differences in the way Justin tackled the Carretera Austral and the way we had.

Driving or hitch-hiking?

We did it on a package – all hotels booked in advance, activities pre-arranged (mostly), ferry tickets sorted etc. But, as people who design specialist holidays, we know only to well there are package holidays and there are package holidays. We booked with Pura Aventura who took care of all the logistics. But once we emerged from the small airport at Coyhaique it was us, our Mitsubishi pick-up, and the road stretching ahead to who knows what adventures. I know some might still view this as being pampered, but something occurred to me whilst reading the book. Hitch-hiking can bring a thrill of unpredictability (or result in hours of boredom waiting for a good Samaritan) and lead to encounters with interesting people. But once the hitch-hiker is safely ensconced in a vehicle, it’s the driver who’s actually experiencing what it is like to actually drive the Austral, and it is one hell of a ride.
The biggest drawback I could see to hitch-hiking was the limitations. Justin often found himself being told about ‘attractions’ that were a drive away. We had the freedom to go where we wanted, when we wanted. We were able to cover ground quickly (relatively speaking), meaning there was more leeway for ticking off the things we wanted to do/places we wanted to see.

Hiking en route

We also had sufficient time to notch up around ten different hikes – including the Bosque Encantado (Enchanted Forest) and the Ventisquero Colgante (Hanging Glacier) near Quelat; the Valle Lunar in Chile Chico; crossing the Calluqueo Glacier near Cochrane; walking in the mountains above Puerto Guadal; and trekking through guanaco-land in Patagonia National Park. On some routes we walked on our own, on others we walked with a guide. There’s no question Justin enjoyed more intense and rawer hiking experiences. Having a car though gave us freedom to get to some of the more remote trails where we rarely encountered any other hikers.

Places to rest weary heads

Justin camped or stayed in simple hotels, we stayed in lovely lodges – definitely the pampered travellers in this case. I enjoyed reading about his experiences, and of the camaraderie around campfires at the end of a tiring day. But, after a long day driving and exploring, I wouldn’t have swapped comfortable cabins on the shore of the Lago Gral Carerra, above the Baker River, and on the banks of the Quelat River for a tent and a chin-wag around a fire, or a basic room in a hostel. It was a posh way of experiencing the route for sure, but the lodges we stayed in enhanced the experienced for us. And we were still able to enjoy a chin-wag with interesting people over dinner in sociable dining rooms.

Meeting people

There’s simply no contest between the amount of people you encounter when travelling on foot compared to the number encountered when journeying by car. However, it’s impossible not to strike up conversations with others when travelling the Austral by whatever means – people like the student we met in Guadal who told us all about the controversial HidroAysén project; or trying to explain who Colin Farrell was to a quartet of bemused Argentinians in Tortel (the captain of our small motor launch was a dead ringer for the Irish actor); sharing cordero asado (roasted lamb) and debating Donald Trump in a guincho with a ranch owner and an English guide; simply chewing the fat whilst hiking & horse-riding with lodge owners in Quelat and Guadal; and hearing tales from some of Britain’s Paralympic team about their tents being flooded when the water in the river they were camping beside rose during the night. Interesting locations attract interesting people.

Gastronomy along the road

We loved the food we were presented with along the way – hearty, warming soups; chunky, tender steak on quinoa beds; pastel de choclo; salmon and mushy peas; palta reina; doorstop sandwiches; lomo a lo pobre; kidney and mash; sopaipillas; chorillana; valdiviano; chuchoca; crab claws; locos; barbecued sausages all had us signed up as fans of Chilean cuisine.
The best meals were in lodges, but we also enjoyed good, traditional fare in simple restaurants, and even a converted bus. Whereas The Dictator’s Highway brought what had been an incredible adventure back to life, the food referenced generally didn’t reflect the same richness of cuisine we had devoured with relish.

There are different ways to travel, many have their own particular merits whether it be on a budget, mid-range, or luxury; although, five-star travel is often detached from the reality of life in any given destination. However, opting for the cheapest all the time can result in quality taking a hit, especially when it comes to food. And that’s what I felt happened in this case. It’s no fluke the best meal Justin had was when he forked out a little bit more money.

Two weeks of driving the Carretera Austral is never going to come close to matching the experience that someone who spent six weeks walking it would have packed away in their mochilla. But reading Justin’s adventures in The Dictator’s Highway made me realise that even though ours was a ‘packaged’ version, it still gave us a satisfyingly decent dollop of many of the sort of escapades he had shared in the book.

The facade of the Casino de Bomberos looks like the entrance to a fire station, because it is one. Shiny red fire trucks fill the station’s windows on one side whilst an arched walkway leads to an anonymous door. Only a poster on a distant wall of a cook carrying a tray of food gives any indication there might be a restaurant beyond, rather than a troop of burly firefighters huddled around a TV set.

It’s a picada – a hidden away restaurant renowned for serving good, cheap local food. Stepping inside we’re more surprised to find a restaurant than the lone waiter is to see a couple of gringos who’d wandered off grid. The waiter, dressed in black pants, white shirt and a dicky bow, juxtaposes with the windowless room whose décor is clapperboard and woodchip. It looks like a work’s canteen. Portions are big and good value. Kidneys and mash threaten to spill over a generous-sized plate whilst a steak is completely engulfed by fried onions, slabs of bacon and a fried egg. It’s unpretentious and satisfying fare at around 8000 Chilean pesos a dish (€10).

If the casino wasn’t full of townsfolk it might feel as though we were intruders, faux firefighters.

Dining there feels odd, but in a deliciously quirky way; it’s most definitely a restaurant for anyone who revels in off the wall travel experiences.

A factor often connected with satisfaction levels is picking up/dropping off rental cars. The experience, good or bad, doesn’t impact overall on how we view a destination, but it can leave a lasting impression.

Good advice in Milan
The staff at Avis strongly advised, in a friendly ‘this is really for your own good’ way that we take full insurance. When we initially waved the advice away, saying we were used to driving in countless countries they responded with a “this is Italy people drive really badly here, you’ll need it. Trust us.” So we did. Within two days there was a dent in the side of the car, damaged whilst it was minding its own business in a car park beside Lake Garda. Incidentally, the entrance to rental car drop off at Milan is confusing as hell. We managed to find it, just. But over a couple of visits we’ve seen plenty of cars reversing along a busy approach road after they’d overshot the entrance. I hope they’d taken the full insurance option.

Most practical, Munich
Locating a proper supermarket right beside the exit and car rental hall in Munich Airport is inspired planning. You’ve got to love the Germans for this sort of forward thinking. Being able to stock up on wine, water, and snacks at non-airport prices before we set off on a long road journey gets things off to a happy start, especially if arriving quite late… or even early evening. Arriving at 19.00, a drive from the airport to our hotel took a couple of hours, making us too late for the ridiculously early German dinner times, but the snacks we’d picked up at the airport meant there was no hungry gashing of teeth as a result.

No manual drives in Glasgow
Despite having booked a car with a gear stick, Sixt at Glasgow Airport not only informed us they didn’t have the model we’d booked but that nobody drove manual cars there any more. Nobody drives manual in Scotland? Utter bollocks. To be fair, they did offer us an upgrade to a snazzy BMW or a limousine-like pimp car (their words)… both automatic. As neither of us have driven automatics, we didn’t fancy attempting it for the first time in an oversized monster on narrow, winding Highland roads. The only other option was a downgrade (no refund for their error) which we took.

It’s Zadar, but where are we going?
Stepping from the plane to being handed the keys to our hire car at Zadar Airport happened so slickly quickly that we were actually cruising the streets of the Croatian city before we knew where we were heading for. Partially my fault. A distracting party weekend in Hay on Wye immediately before travel combined with a shocker of a night in an airport hotel at Liverpool had meant I hadn’t gotten around to printing off details of our accommodation and couldn’t access the info from my phone. The solution was a prompt introduction to Croatian cafe culture with a quick pause at a cafe with wifi and strong, cerebral cobweb-clearing coffee.

A tale of two airports, Tenerife
Tenerife’s two airports are geographically quite close, but in other ways worlds apart. Tenerife North Airport made Airhop’s top ten best airports list. We wouldn’t argue with that. It’s one of the most relaxing airports we’ve travelled through, and picking up the hire car from CICAR mirrors the general laid back attitude. Newbie arrivals might get a shock encountering a four lane motorway immediately after arrival, but once free of La Laguna’s busy autopista, the drive along the north coast, with Mount Teide providing a stunner of a backdrop, gets the juices of anticipation flowing. Tenerife South is a decent airport, but exudes that homogeneous holiday resort airport vibe. My beef with it is that after a teasing arrival – Montaña Roja looking splendid on the coast – the drive south is through an unattractive landscape which has similarities to builder’s rubble; a poor first impression which isn’t helped by an overdose of naff billboards.

Worst car hire, Fuerteventura
Sticking with the Canary Islands, the most unpleasant car hire experience we’ve had anywhere was on Fuerteventura with Goldcar. It was our first visit to the island and it got off to such a bad start we were predisposed not to like the island after it. It was so bad Andy was moved to write a rant about the experience (I’m usually the ranter). Thankfully our experiences thereafter diluted the bad taste the Goldcar experience had left.

Longest wait, Marseille
Two things stick in my mind about arriving at Marseille Airport. It seemed to take an eternity before we were handed the car keys, the process seemed to take oh-so-much longer than anywhere else. Waiting in a greenhouse of a car rental office when it was 30C plus didn’t help. The other is the runway jutting out into the Etang de Berre lagoon – WOW. For all the fussiness, I like Marseille Airport.

You can’t be serious, Coyhaique
Chile’s Coyhaique Airport is a sweet and friendly big shed of an airport, and one I shall always have very fond memories of thanks to the kindness of the staff there. However, I did exclaim “you can’t be serious?” at one point when returning our Mitsubishi pick-up truck. Over nearly three weeks we’d driven hundreds, if not thousands, of kilometres on the (in)famous Carretera Austral without any mishap other than the car wearing a dusty overcoat. The girl responsible for checking the car was returned in a decent state had commented “it’s so dirty I can’t tell if there’s any damage.” To be fair, after my McEnroe outburst the girl laughed and ticked the ‘all okay’ box on her docs.

A stunner of a way to arrive, Lisbon
It can take a long time to get out of Lisbon Airport. But once free of its clutches, if heading south across the Tagus, the experience is unique. After a few minutes you escape the city to cross the Tagus on the Vasco da Gama Bridge, until recently the longest bridge in Europe at just over 17km in length (12km being over water). It is an architectural marvel. Our first experience crossing it included a dreamy sunset of endless pastel bands drifting across the sky, an army of fisherman wading in the mudflats on each side of the bridge, and a flamboyance of flamingos in the wetlands at its southern end.

Bizarre Basel
Although only 3.5km from the Swiss city it’s named after, Basel Airport is in France so is jointly operated by France and Switzerland. The same car hire companies have different branches located in separate areas. Which you use depends on whether you pick up your hire car in France or Switzerland. It isn’t an issue collecting the car, but returning it is a minefield. You can’t leave a French hire car at a Swiss drop off point. If you try, you’ll be directed to the ‘correct’ country even though it’s the same company. Although they share the one building (only a couple of hundred metres separates them as the crow flies), you can’t just drive across the airport from one to the other. Nope, you have to leave the airport, join the motorway and seek out the correct entrance to the other country’s part of the airport. I know this because we got it wrong on a Monday morning when the motorway was gridlocked and the time left for being able to check in was running out. We only managed to catch our flight because a member of Avis’s French staff took pity on us and allowed us to leave our Swiss hire car in a French parking bay.

The joy of travel.

“The owner of the Último Paraíso telephoned to remind you to be there no later than 8:30am tomorrow to meet up with Jimmy for the glacier trek,” says Marcel, the manager of the BordeBaker Lodge in the Aysén region of Chile where we’re staying. “I guess that means you’ll want breakfast early again?”

His eyes betray a quiet resignation at a second morning of dragging himself from his warm bed to make us breakfast at some ungodly hour. I would really like to be on the road by 7:30am but I already feel guilty at Marcel’s disrupted sleep pattern so we ask if he can do breakfast for 7:25am.

The next morning we head down to the lodge at 7:20am in the hopes that Marcel is running, if not early, at least on time. He isn’t. We sit patiently at the picture window watching the day form over the teal waters of the Baker River that flows directly alongside, and at the snow covered mountains of Northern Patagonia beckoning beyond. It’s a mesmerizing landscape and I feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, spinning deeper and deeper into the void of its vastness and its indescribably beauty.

Little by little, the components of our breakfast begin to appear: fresh, tropical fruit cut into bite-sized chunks and served in an elegant glass; melon juice, strawberry yoghurt, home-made jam, ham and cheese, fragrant coffee and warm toast but we have no time to savour Marcel’s carefully prepared and presented culinary delights and, after eating the minimum possible so as not to insult, we ruefully make our apologies and leave.

It’s 7:50am before we’re on the road and now the pressure’s on. It’s only 40km from the BordeBaker Lodge to the Último Paraíso in Cochrane, a journey that should take no more than 40 minutes but it’s along one of the most breathtaking, and in parts tricky, sections of the Carretera Austral, Chile’s main highway.

By now, I’m no stranger to the wiles of this extraordinary road, if indeed you can call it a road, having clocked up something in the region of 1000km on it since landing at Balmaceda airport and collecting our Mitsubishi pick-up truck just over a week ago. Since leaving the distant memory of tarmac in Coyhaique’s main street, the Carretera Austral, or Ruta 7 as it’s known, has consisted solely of random potholes held together by dust, jagged stones and grit. In parts, deep ruts run along the surface, pitted by holes of varying depth and diameter. Those are the worst parts as they intermittently pin and then repel the tyres, sending the rear end of the vehicle spinning out of control.

Surfacing the Carretera Austral is an ongoing work of Biblical proportions. Anyone contracted to work on the project clearly has a job for life. At any one time, at least one large section of the highway is ‘under construction’ which, for the motorist, means long hours of road closure followed by a nerve-jangling crawl over the sort of surface you’d normally expect to see in a quarry, except that this one is frequently alongside steep drops on one or both sides. Unless you’re happy to sit in your vehicle for five hours waiting for the road to re-open, you have to plan journeys to get through these sections either before or after their published closure times.

We encountered one such section in between Coyhaique and Quelat. Having stopped to hike into the Bosque Encantado, we time our arrival at the road works perfectly. Unfortunately, three articulated lorries have also timed their arrival well and are directly ahead of us. As the barriers are raised, we set off in convoy, each lorry creating a dirty, billowing fog of dust on the bone dry surface so that, in seconds, my field of vision is reduced to zero. Intermittently, the dust beside us clears enough for us to see abyssal drops directly alongside us, tightening my grip on the wheel and sending shock waves to my brain. I keep close to the dim tail lights of the truck ahead of me, hardly daring to take my eyes off them for more than a second. That 5km stretch of road ranks right up there in the short list of two nightmare drives of my life.

Early on in our trip I had received some invaluable tips from our guide in Coyhaique. “Try to use your gears only to slow down,” he had emphasised. “Never touch the brakes or the clutch on corners, avoid the potholes, and stay out of the deeper gravel that lies at the edges of the highway.” Sometimes I misjudged a corner and instinctively applied the brakes. On those occasions, the back wheels would start to lock and I learned to quickly ease off the pedal and steer into the skid, even if that meant sliding across the width of the road. The only reason we hadn’t collided with another vehicle was because there were so few of them. So far, we’d avoided any kind of major incident and still had all our tyres intact but it made progress a slow business.

Today I can’t afford to be overly cautious. I accelerate away from Puerto Bertrand and race down the dusty, rocky highway alongside the Baker River, the rear end of the car swinging gaily like a balloon in a breeze. The scenery blurs as I speed past the Confluencia where the Baker and Neff rivers meet. Then the more tricky bends begin as we climb high above the Chacabuco Valley before descending towards Cochrane. I try to keep the speed around 60kph, braking hard just ahead of corners and then throwing the Mitsubishi around them sending thick clouds of dust to obscure the panorama in the rear view mirror, like an over zealous bridal train in a stiff breeze.

As we pull up outside the Último Paraíso, I have to prise my white knuckles off the steering wheel. Despite my best Jeremy Clarkson efforts, we’re five minutes late but in the long run, it’s infuriatingly academic as, due to a mix-up in communications, our guide Jimmy doesn’t show up for another hour.

The following afternoon, after an amazing day of Guanacos, mosquitoes, Magellanic woodpeckers and wading across icy waters in the Parque Patagonia, we decide to have a beer in the bar of the Parque Patagonia Lodge. Time slips by in the silky swallowing of a craft ale and I suddenly realise it’s getting precariously close to dinner time at BordeBaker. Having already asked Marcel to go above and beyond in our breakfast times, it seems nothing less than surly to arrive late for dinner. Reluctantly, we drag ourselves away from the conviviality of the bar and hit the road. 35 minutes later we’re back at our lodge and I’ve added another tip to my list of advice for driving the Carretera Austral – relax before getting behind the wheel, small beer optional.

By the time we take the Mitsubishi back to Balmaceda airport, we’ve clocked up 1700km and everything we brought with us has acquired a uniform dull beige hue. Never have I been more sorry to hand back a set of keys than I am that day. It’s been an incredible trip and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Even the flamingos we see in a lake border on the ordinary in this extraordinary wilderness, and upland geese are far too common to warrant more than one quick photograph. A punkish Magellanic woodpecker, however, is striking enough to draw us into a clothes-tugging spiky thicket in order to try to capture a decent shot of his flaming head.

With beauty comes the beast, in this case a swarm of beasts. As we cross a wide plain of coarse grasslands we’re assaulted by the most vicious mosquitoes I’ve ever had the displeasure of being bitten by. They are able to seek out the smallest patch of exposed skin. Even though we wrap our faces almost as thoroughly as Egyptian mummies in dated horror movies, we find each of us has picked up a few angry welts by the time we reach the sanctuary of a small bridge which landmarks the end of the battlefield.

A melting glacier has left a river crossing our path gushing enthusiastically with water which is bone-chilling blue in colour. There is no bridge, if there ever were stepping stones they’re now submerged. Our philosophy-studying guide finds a spot which is not so much shallow as less deep than other parts. We take off shoes and socks and roll up trouser legs as far as we can before gingerly stepping into the liquid ice. The river bed is rocky and the water pushes forcefully like a bully trying to knock us over. As for the temperature… it’s so cold it numbs legs instantly, making the crossing more bearable than if it were just cold.

Once safely on the other bank we warm our feet on a friendly sandbank before making our way to a small grassy valley. Beside a narrow but deep ravine, our guide sets up a blackened, oft used kettle on a small camping gas cannister and we lounge on the grass, chatting easily about all sorts over a lunch of simple things – dried fruit, nuts, an apple. We are flying high courtesy of this wild, wondrous world inside Parque Patagonia in Chile. But as we yabber, eyes occasionally flick towards the scar of the ravine and a narrow, flimsy looking bridge made of wooden slats which is our only way to proceed.

There are still a few chapters left in this particular Patagonian adventure.

We visited Chile last year and felt like old school adventurers exploring a wilderness still to be discovered by the masses. With LP pushing it as a cool dude destination there’s a danger those endless empty roads and vast valleys will become full of right-on travellers clutching Lonely Planet bibles. I’m a hypocrite I know. We visited Chile and wrote about it and Andy’s putting together Chilean hotel reviews for a UK broadsheet as I write.

The truth is I did want to write about Chile, but I didn’t really want to share it.

It’s a conundrum I’m experiencing about the place we are now, Setúbal. There’s not a lot been written about it online yet, so it’s still off the radar. But already we can see below the handful of attractive qualities briefly been mentioned in articles lies a deep vein of rich material ready to be mined.

Chile reminded me of heroin; not that I’ve actually ever done a “Rent Boy” Renton. In my previous incarnation I was involved with implementing projects in the north west of England which were designed to support the more disadvantaged in society. In a drug rehabilitation centre I listened transfixed as a former user described the unbelievable ecstasy of the first heroin hit and how subsequent hits could never match its intensity. Our first long haul trip was the travel equivalent of heroin.

In 1990 we honeymooned in Sri Lanka just as an Indian peacekeeping force had pulled out and fighting flared between the Tamil Tigers and government forces. It was breathtakingly beautiful, exciting with a hint of danger, and nothing was remotely familiar (except for the occasional Coca-Cola sign). We fell head over heels with Sri Lanka and its people. No subsequent trip has equalled that first hit.

Until Chile.

From the moment we picked up our Mitsubishi truck at an airport which was more of a big hangar, it was one intoxicating adventure. Just us, our luggage, and an unfamiliar but reassuringly chunky car on an often unmade road which dissected the country for 1240 kilometres.

There were times when we felt as though we were the only people on the planet. It was exhilarating and unnerving. If a tyre popped in a particularly remote spot we’d been advised it could be hours before anybody passed. It was a thought which never strayed far from our thoughts, especially in the long stretches where sharp stones snapped relentlessly at the wheels.

Plains weren’t just expansive, they stretched forever and some of the wildlife looked positively prehistoric. The adrenalin rush at being exposed to a big country with immense scenery was akin to being engulfed by wave after wave of warming Pacific rollers. The hits just kept on coming. Unlike heroin, their intensity never abating:-
A trek through a lush forest, with appropriate jungly bird calls, to a luminescent glacial lake; crossing rickety wooden bridges over various abysses; wading barefoot across a rocky river where the rushing water numbed flesh the second it touched; being attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes so viscous we had to cover every inch of flesh and still they were able to bite through clothing; watching a condor take to the skies shortly after dawn.

We drank whisky chilled by ice from the ice field we were sailing through; ate steaming hot kidneys and mash in a fire station; sipped sweet water in a wine glass filled directly from a waterfall; struggled with our luggage for over a kilometre along the wooden walkways which passed for streets in strange little Tortel; wrapped mouths around beefy sandwiches in a converted bus in a town whose only attraction was it had a cafe which was a converted bus; and crunched our way across a glacier wearing crampons.

Every day threw up more than one memorable experience. Some were travel standouts, others were everyday occurrences to the people who lived there but uniquely wonderful to us. Most of the time we were on our own, but every so often our paths crossed with a couple of fellow adventurers, or we walked with lodge owners.

We drove a meandering route from Quelat to Tortel, hardly an inch of it where we didn’t gawp at scenery which continually chopped and changed in a bid to try to outdo that which had wowed us around the previous corner.

We felt humbled and in awe of the land; a microscopic fragment of nature’s jigsaw in a vast landscape.

Chile is big and beautiful. I grudgingly have to concede those annoyingly chirpy Lonely Planet folk have picked a stormer of a country as their number one recommendation this year.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Birdsong in the morning makes the world feel like a better place. Chirping, cooing, and perky whistling is guaranteed to put a smile on my face. Exotic, unfamiliar calls are a bonus. As I write this on a sun-dappled Portuguese terrace, there’s one hypnotic long, low whistle (almost human-like) which intrigues most. I’ve yet to identify the source. I’m no twitcher, but noticing different birds has become as much a part of exploring any new rural destination as trying local foods.

Our current top trip for seeing flamboyant feathered friends involved driving (aka bumping across potholes) along Chile’s Carretera Austral; an exotic thrill as far as bird-spotting was concerned. We expected the highlight of the journey to be watching condors rise on early morning air currents. However, we hadn’t really thought about the colourful cast of supporting characters we’d encounter along the way.

My bird identification skills are ropey, so if I’ve got any of the following wrong I’d appreciate being put right.

Flight of the Condor

A stunner of a photograph showed a monster of a condor rising above a cliff, the shape of its plane-sized, outstretched wings matched by a man standing level with the bird on the clifftop. It was a photo which made us book our trip to Chile. Unexpectedly, both photographer and human model were our guides on an early morning safari in Coyhaique to watch the condors wake up. Although we saw only one, it was enough to send a shiver down the spine. We didn’t get as close again, but thereafter condors were common companions on our trip south.

Darwin’s rhea

Almost as much of a ‘wow’ were the flightless big birds which roamed the tundra en route to seeing the condors. Although clumsy looking, the birds can reach speeds of around 35mph. They’re named after Charles Darwin who, it’s claimed, found out about the existence of one species after it was dished up to him for dinner.

The perky tapaculo

The tapaculo is a small bird with a big voice which sounds impressively exotic when walking through dense rainforest. Quite a tame little bird, we got close to tapaculos a couple of times. With a striking scarlet breast it stands out amidst the emerald foliage. This one was seen on a route to a waterfall near idyllic Quelat. Incidentally, the name refers to its perky tail which covers its bottom.

Mad Magallenic woodpecker

After seeing a photo taken by another couple we met who were also driving the Carretera Austral, the crazy looking Magallenic woodpecker with its fiery crest rocketed to the top of my wish list of things to photograph. For days it teased me, staying just out of range in forested areas in various locations. Finally, in Patagonia National Park I employed ninja tracking techniques to get close enough for a decent shot.

Loica or pecho colorado

Another quite tame small bird with a bright red breast, we spotted the loica in a valley on the way to the Valle Lunar near Chile Chico. Also a good place for seeing condors rising from the depths of other-world ravines.

Face to face with the caracara

This is where I’m on dodgy raptor identification ground. The caracara was definitely pointed out to us on more than one occasion, but I wouldn’t swear blind this is definitely it. It is a big bird of prey common to the area we were travelling through. Apparently it doesn’t swoop down on prey, but gets close to them on the ground and then runs after them. It also has a cry a bit like a dog’s bark.

Cormorant

I was actually trying to take a shot of a particularly twitchy ringed kingfisher on the Cisnes River, Quelat. But none were sharp enough so here’s a cormorant in flight instead. Whether it’s the billion dollar version, known as such because exportation of its guano (excrement) once propped up the Peruvian economy, I’m not sure.

Buff-necked ibis

Just about every time we parked up, especially near farmed lands, we’d hear the excited gossiping of buff-necked ibis. If we saw a farmer ploughing a field we knew there would be scores of these elegantly beautiful birds foraging in the tractor’s wake. In the morning when we opened our curtains to look over gloriously untamed scenery, there’d often be ibis prodding the ground with their long, curved beaks.

Whereas the mighty condor was the bird which indirectly drew us to Chile, the buff-necked ibis is the bird which I now connect most with our Carretera Austral road trip.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

We expected rough ‘n’ ready accommodation along the main ‘highway’ through Chile. What we found was something quite different.

Nomades Boutique Hotel, Coyhaique

Nomades set the scene for accommodation in Chile. It’s a pleasing blend of traditional, modern and yet also rustic – exactly our kind of mix. The exterior is individualistic and contemporary but step inside and the feel is cosy lodge, all chunky wooden furniture and coarse rugs. Street-side is on the outskirts of a big Chilean town (big is relative). However, the view from the room’s picture window was of virgin countryside. A table (chunky obviously) by the window was the perfect spot to sit sipping a couple of Austral craft beers, hypnotised by the scenery.
Closest food: There are plenty of restaurants in the town, some within falling distance, others like the quirky Casino de Bomberos (set in a fire station) are a bit of a trek away.
Comfort level: Marshmallow beds with an ethnic blanket to compliment a fluffy duvet meant deliciously uninterrupted sleep.
Best for: Getting up at dawn to go Condor spotting, which is why the above is particularly important.
Minus points: Breakfast was disappointing, not helped by a quartet of German visitors who didn’t help break any stereotype moulds. They arrogantly ‘nicked’ cups and cutlery from other tables, leaving them short of essentials (the waitress wasn’t sharp enough to replace things quickly) and emptied the meagre supply of coffee before it was ready… having refills before other guests had their first. We had to physically block the coffee machine in order to put an end to their selfishness. It wouldn’t have been an issue if the waitress had been more efficient.

Posada Quelat, Quelat

One word is all that’s needed to describe Posada Quelat, paradise. Wooden cabins in a lush tropical setting beside a lake with owners who are simply delightful. Staying there was more like staying with friends than in rural accommodation. Although being located only a couple of hundred yards from the Carretera Austral it felt like we were in a remote Garden of Eden miles from any civilisation which, despite the proximity of the road, I guess it is.
Closest food: Communal meals are taken in the main lodge; breakfasts consisting of freshly made scrambled eggs, home-made jams and bread whilst dinners involved local dishes and lashings of Chilean wine.
Comfort level: Cabins are cosy, beds are big and comfy and the sounds of the forest serenaded us to sleep.
Best for: Walking to glaciers. Both the Bosque Encantado and Ventisquero Colgante (hanging glacier) are quite nearby.
Minus points: At some point you have to leave.

El Engano, Chile Chico

The oddest of the bunch in many ways, El Engano in Chile Chico is made up of a few block villas on the banks of the General Carrera Lake. There’s almost something army camp about the layout. Inside the design is ultra contemporary with all mod-coms. Interiors are attractive and functional, but the whole set up is a tad soulless.
Closest food: There are a few restaurants in the centre of Chile Chico, a 20 min walk away along a coastal dirt track.
Comfort level: No complaints about comfort levels, although nothing stands out as being memorable.
Best for: Exploring the surreal countryside around the Valle Lunar.
Minus points: Lacking in character.

Bordebaker Lodge, Puerto Bertrand

A mix up with overbooking meant we ended up at the Bordebaker Lodge and not Cochrane, which would have been more convenient but nowhere near as spectacular. The design of Bordebaker Lodge is based on the town of Tortel, wooden walkways lead from the main lodge to cabins perched above the iridescent blue waters of the Baker River. The main lodge is rustic served with style and includes a sunken firepit, mezzanine lounge and a dining room overlooking the lake. Basically, we lucked in big time.
Closest food: Guests are gastro-hostages at Bordebaker Lodge. However, the food, traditional dishes created with flair, is excellent. It was some of the best we had in Chile. And service from manager Max was absolutely impeccable and over and above the call of duty, getting up early to prepare breakfast outside of breakfast hours.
Comfort level: Another marshmallow bed in a compact cabin with floor to ceiling windows allowing views of the forest canopy. Serious Zzzz ingredients.
Best for: Good position for exploring Parque Patagonia as well as the magical Baker river.
Minus points: Treats itself a bit like a show home. There was an ‘attempted’ ridiculous no drinks in the cabin rule. Max was excellent, but the owners need to take a chill pill.

Entre Hielos, Tortel

Having to walk a kilometre or so along a wooden walkway to reach Entre Hielos added to its alluring oddness. Tortel, teetering above the water at the mouth of the Baker River, is one of the strangest places we’ve ever stayed. There are no roads, only wooden walkways with Tsunami warning signs at regular points. It’s a place for adventurers. Entre Hielos is another cosy wooden lodge affair, smaller than other places we stayed, with a communal lounge and dining room where everyone eats around a large table.
Closest food: There are a couple of restaurants in the town but we ate at the lodge as the food was so good. It was also interesting/informative to share table space with guests from Argentina and Morocco. The food was a modern take on traditional recipes, including a local speciality, locos (a type of abalone).
Comfort level: Although attractively decked out, rooms were quite boxy – more a base than somewhere you’d spend a lot of time.
Best for: One of the highlights of our Chile trip was Tortel itself. Add to that a boat trip through an ice field to a glacier and you’ve got something quite exceptional.
Minus points: Walls are paper thin, you can hear everything that goes on in the rooms on either side, including our neighbours making love.

El Mirador de Guadal, Puerto Guadal

What’s that old saying? Save the best for last. Whilst it’s unfair to pit places in wildly contrasting locations and with very different personalities against each other, there’s no denying we were cock a hoop about ending our Carretera Austral road trip at El Mirador de Guadal. Many of the ingredients were the same as other lodges, e.g. individual wooden cabins on the edge of a body of water, but the cabins were bigger, there was more space between each, and the views from their wide porches of snowy mountains beyond General Carrera Lake were of the variety that superglues you to your rattan chair. The main lodge building, where pisco sour aperitifs, breakfast, dinner, post-walk drinkies and any sort of socialising took place, was a most amenable space for spending time. Stefan and Carolina were the most excellent hosts and, like Posada Quelat, there was a big family and friends vibe to the place.
Closest food: There are a couple of restaurants in nearby Puerto Guadal but the chef at El Mirador is one of the creative varieties and Stefan lets him experiment… within reason. The food has traditional roots but comes with a few surprises which made dinners interesting and a treat for foodies.
Comfort level: I could have lived in that cabin.
Best for: Relaxing at the end of a trip which involved tackling the challenges of Chile’s Carretera Austral. The walking is good, the horse riding fun, and the views are exceptional.
Minus points: The same as Posada Quelat, at some point you have to check out.

The Carretara Austral itself might have involved a drive on the wild side but the accommodation was a sophisticated and relaxing antidote to adventure-filled days.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+