Dec 13 DAY 25 QUELLON
My destination for that evening was Quellon to catch a boat for Raul Marin Balmaceda at 2am. I said good-bye to Bettina and Matthias and wished them well. I still had time to enjoy some time in Cucao and headed to the Parque Nacional Chiloé for an easy stroll along a path naming the impossibly diverse flora. En route, I met a couple, he from Chile, she from Lithuania who when they met did not have a common language and communicated by drawing pictures. Ten years later they were chatting freely in Spanish and celebrating her birthday that day. Their love for each other was palpable. We continued together to an Artesanal hut where handmade baskets and wooden spoons were made and sold by a ninety-seven year old man and his daughter of an uncertain age.
Leaving the park I caught a bus to Chonchi for a transfer point to Quellon. A few kilometers before Chonchi I passed what looked like a rodeo. My curiosity was piqued. I made some inquiries in town, secured a seat on the 9:10pm to Quellon, dropped off my bags at the bus station and took a taxi back to the event I had seen. It was 6pm. The participants outnumbered the spectators by roughly five to one. Not having had lunch I headed to a huge, nearly empty canteen where a few locals were drinking beer while musicians and crew prepared for that evening’s fiesta. Sitting, enjoying my meal, men would walk by wearing riding attire of knee high boots, wide rimmed hats, black pants and ponchos; their large circular spurs upon contact with the wooden floor would sing. I walked a short distance to the arena and passed the participants practicing fancy side steps, tight turns, short stops, and quick starts with their gorgeous, gleaming mounts.
There was a short introductory ceremony. The riders, all men, were paired and often wearing the same patterned poncho. A cow, poked to be properly agitated, was prodded into the ring. The event required the two riders to guide the cow around the outskirts of the enclosed area, make it turn, stop, then continue to the point where the task began. It wasn’t particularly brutal, but I’m not sure it was entirely humane. To stop the cow a horse was driven hard into its body sometimes having one or both drop to their knees. Some riders made it look remarkably easy; some kept a calm composure, others shouted and until others failed I hadn’t fully appreciated the coordinated efforts necessary to accomplish the task well.
The event had about twenty different teams, of which I saw about fifteen, and by 8:30, I thought it best to leave.

There was no public transportation in sight but I saw a man standing by the side of the road. Someone he knew stopped and soon I was getting a ride to the bus station with time to spare.