Sunday, the 19th of January, Richard was enjoying his usual Skype call with Brother Bob, when Bob mentioned a travelogue about Chile's Lake District that had captured his attention. A certain town in the hills, founded by colonists from Italy. Hundreds of prosciutto hams hanging from a ceiling; long tables where Italian-speaking women rolled pasta strips, dotted them with filling and cut raviolis and tortelinis. Bob had not held on to the NAME of this special town, but Richard was able to find it on the internet: Capitan Pastene. We had to go! Over the next few days, R searched the net for maps, hotels, etc. We decided to go on Monday, the 27th. So on Saturday, the 25th, we hiked downtown to buy our bus tickets. From the Costanera we could see 77 sailboats milling around in the bay, awaiting the starting gun. This bi-annual Regatta is five days of races, with parties at the stopping points in between, south to the island of Chiloe. The fastest boat are the Soto 40s, with their 10-12 person crews and their carbon-fiber sails.
Beautiful landscape viewed from the car ... lots of golden straw ready for baling, huge John Deere and New Holland combines and balers working ... in some fields the grain stubble is disked ... trees embroider the drainages ... very pretty territory.
We drove west, but could look back to the east where the volcanoes rise. |
Made it to L'Emiliano Restaurant right around 3 pm. Genny, the owner, came out to greet us as we parked, and her son, Patricio, the manager, welcomed us in English and made us comfortable at a table on the outside porch. First the wine, with an antipasto tabla of prosciutto, copa, and local cheese. Then Torteloni stuffed w spinach & walnuts, in Alfredo sauce, and Gnocchi dressed with Pesto. (Go to L'Emiliano Restaurant for a great tour.) We finished with espresso and limoncello. In bliss.
The only info Richard had found about staying in Capitan Pastene was very expensive, so he'd booked us a room at a place in Los Angeles: El Rincon. As it turned out, this wonderful hostal is some 10 miles north of Los Angeles. We chose to take the scenic route up thru Angol and Coihue, and what with pot holes, traffic jams, and a lot of really slow logging trucks, it took us almost three hours to get there. Vale la pena, sin duda. Roland and Wendy welcomed us to their green oasis, where clusters of grapes hang from the pergola and burbling waters flow in hand-dug channels throughout the grounds. They've sailed all over the world in every kind of boat, and promised to connect us to a broker in the British Virgin islands. They'd never heard of Capitan Pastene, but we made them salivate with our stories. And after the quietest night's sleep since we left Bellingham, we decided it WOULD be smart to keep our reservation for a second night despite the long drive.
Don Primo's is famous for his prosciutto, which we found to be indeed delicious. His pasta was not as special as what we'd had the day before, however. Just not as tender as at L'Emiliana. (We went back to Patricio to buy a take-home for Wendy & Roland.)
At Don Primo's, however, I really liked the sign about a smile changing the world. And our waitress, Marivella, was generous with her own pretty smiles.
Once stuffed again, we strolled around town snapping pictures. There are large investments being made in new construction, improvements to the town plaza, widening of roads, refacing of sidewalks. One side of town has recently bulged with a new burb in that awful-looking form we are seeing in many places here: small identical boxes packed together on a flat spot.
Some still resist the trends. |
Before driving back to Ruta Cinco, thru forested hills and golden fields we learned that there are some normally-priced accommodations in this wonderful town. Mabel will let us know the dates for the next Prosciutto Festival, and we'll make our way here again to stay a few days.
Our last night at El Rincon was another pleasure. Wendy & Roland have invited us to consider taking over for them sometime while they take a couple weeks' vacation to include Capitan Pastene themselves.
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