Upon exiting the Balmaceda airport in Coihaique, Chile, on a flight from Santiago, I was confronted with a cold air that reminded me of my first days in the country’s capital back in July (Chile’s seasons are opposite those in the United States). By October, Santiago had warmed up significantly, and I needed nothing more than a polera (t-shirt). However, the south of Chile was freezing, and the drastic change in temperature was only foreshadowing of the drastic change in culture that I was going to experience during the CASA program’s trip to the Patagonia.

Fresh snow on the ground greeted us as we drove through the small town of Balmaceda to the even smaller town of Cerro Castillo. Our guide, Karen, who had lived eight years in the Patagonia, explained to us that it had recently snowed the night before our arrival, so we had gotten lucky to land when we did. The first thing I noticed was the cows and sheep that grazed in vast numbers across the large patches of greenery. In the background, I admired the mountain peaks with fresh snow and a seeingly endless landscape.

Climate change has seriously affected the Patagonia region, Karen told us. Winters with little precipitation and hot summers have resulted in droughts in the region. Furthermore, the erosion of the soil was severe, and an earlier attempt to plant pine trees to recover the soil had failed, so the government was in the process of removing the trees. As someone who studies the environment, I was thinking of how, as humans, we have destroyed certain landscapes, and in an attempt to recover them, sometimes we end up causing even more damage. As we continued our drive, we caught a glimpse of two South Andean deer, or huemuls as they are called in Spanish. Huemuls are only found in the southern regions of Chile and Argentina and are an endangered species. It felt like a welcoming sight from the Patagonia as we embarked on an adventure that would help us understand the relationship between Patagonia and the people who inhabit it.

Once in Cerro Castillo, we stayed in a cabin at the base of a mountain range, isolated from the noise and activity of the bustling city of Santiago we were all so used to. The group decided to go outside to watch the stars that dotted the entire sky like a paint-by-numbers activity. I had never seen the stars so clearly, so bright to the point I could see them twinkling. Karen had explained to us that the trip would be a great way to disconnect from social media and be present in our environment we were in.

The next morning in Cerro Castillo we were able to enjoy fresh local fruit, jams, and homemade sweet bread that Karen had brought for us. It was the first of many meals which were shared among the group as a social activity in which we fervently discussed our thoughts and hopes for our time in the Patagonia. Karen also shared maté with us—a drink largely consumed in the south of Chile and Argentina which plays a large part in Patagonian culture. Maté, the brewed leaves of yerba mate, has a specific prepping process in which the water must be warm, but not boiling, or the leaves will burn. Passing the gourd filled with maté, as Karen explained to us, is a welcoming gesture into someone’s home; it starts with the host, who is inviting people into their home, and moves around the circle as everyone takes a few sips through a metal straw. The taste was slightly bitter but reminded me of tea.

Karen mentioned to us that in Patagonia, the townspeople face daily problems with connectivity in Wi-fi and mobile service, in part because of the lack of nearby satellites and sometimes extreme weather. When the temperatures reach below freezing, water pipes freeze, leaving families without water for a couple of days. It is necessary to have a back-up source. Cerro Castillo, the smallest town among those we visited, experienced these problems often.

Energy and light will also be cut randomly at times—which many people solve by using wood-fired stoves and heating units. We had a wood-burning stove in our cabin that we had to keep going throughout the night to keep us warm.  

As we embarked for our next stop, a slightly larger town called Río Ibañez, I continued to note how vastly different life in Patagonia was from the city life in Santiago.  In Río Ibañez, we visited the home of a local townswoman known as Señora Tati. Señora Tati welcomed us into her home where she shared with us a homecooked coredero a la olla (slow cooked lamb), homemade ñoquis (gnocchis), and mayo casera (homestyle mayonnaise). She also let us know that most of the lunch ingredients came from the plants and animals on her land. Señora Tati’s house reminded me of my grandma’s house in El Salvador because it was full of pictures of her family on her wall. Her house was small, with various items from people who once lived there, such as her sons—now grown-up and living in Puerto Ibañez, a port city of the region.

 Señora Tati explained to us that she lived by herself, but she felt she had everything. The domestic animals, the plants that provided fruit and sustenance for her, felt like enough for her. Although she had a house in Puerto Ibañez, she rarely frequented it and would never stay overnight. She preferred her house in the countryside.

 Señora Tati said she was able to make extra income because of the tourism industry. She rented a cabin on her property and offered canoeing on the lake on her property. Señora Tati can live off her own land, I thought, something that felt distant to me because I had grown up in the bustling suburbs of Brentwood, New York. After some time with the sheep, we were on the road again to Puerto Ibañez.

Señora Tati had described Puerto Ibañez as a city, but it felt like a small rural town. It was almost empty. In Puerto Ibañez, once famously known for handicrafts, we visited Señora Marfa and Don Joel, her husband. Don Joel welcomed us into his home, telling us the story of how he had worked as an artisan alongside his wife for many years. He shared with us that he did not admit to being an artisan until very recently because for a long time, artisanry was considered a woman’s profession. Now, however, he was proud to say he was one of the last artisans left in Puerto Ibañez. Señora Marfa explained to us that artisanship was  slowly disappearing in the area. They lamented the loss of the art because of its great cultural significance for them. Señora Marfa and Don Joel are part of an older generation that continues to work with materials that come from the land while newer generations are leaving the profession and Puerto Ibañez behind to find opportunities in larger cities.  

 Our last stop in la Patagonia was Coyhaique, the capital of the region. Coyhaique was a much larger city surrounded by snow-filled mountain peaks. In Coyhaique we visited La Reserva Nacional Coyhaique (National Reserve Coyhaique) and hiked our way to get a better view of the city, which was bustling with cars and people while smoke escaped from the chimneys of various homes. We immersed ourselves into the environment, a vast green forest that is home to pumas and wild hogs. The air was fresher than the air in Santiago, given that Santiago is currently going through an air pollution crisis. To escape a few days from all the noise was relaxing and to meet so many people from various parts of la Patagonia was an enriching experience.

As we made our way to the airport, I was grateful to have the opportunity to slow down and take a break from the non-stop energy of the city. I was taking with me memories of Señora Tati, Señora Marfa and Don Joel, as well as Karen, back to Santiago. Their hospitality was among the warmest feelings I have felt while in Chile, and their openness about their lives with complete strangers was a significant gesture to me. I hope to continue telling everyone about my time in la Patagonia.