Welcome to Cagalandia
Holy shit this place, Cagalandia it is called by the patron: Thomas Matthew Verster (TMV), is fucking intense. It is so named to mean Fuck-Up Land but the Spanish is can be indistinguishably translated as Shitland. It is a beautiful slice of backcountry temperate rainforest accessible only from a narrow, rocky beach a few kilometers up the estuary from Raul Marin B, usually by two-hour paddle in a weak-floored fiberglass canoe.
And by intense, I do mean intensely parenthetical, as TMV is an extraordinarily parenthetical man, in thought and deed. There is so much to do and yet it is entirely unclear what we are doing: Cagalandia is not a farm, we´ve netted one salad worth of greens and a few kilos of potatoes; there are three goats but they don´t do anything but eat piss and make shit for the dead gardens; we have occasional electricity from a waterfall-powered car alternator (gasoline here is precious as uranium); I´ve yet to see a rat yet we´ve been instructed that killing them is the priority, and indeed their presence is everywhere apparent.
The best verb for what we are doing is camping: We have successfully harvested many kilos of muscles (shelled and smoked), twenty-five crabs in one trap in one day (about one kilo each), and some shitty cabiertas (wild nuts) which taste alright roasted. Our alimentation is supplied generously by TMV, who won´t ever let us forget it. Our patron is the source of all intensity here, and most of everything else. We carried 750 kilos of gear and food out here two weeks ago (by motorboat) and only now have we chanced to return to RMB (by canoe) to ferry TMV on the first leg of a ten-day banking trip to Puerto Montt. (Incidentally every parcel of gear and food was labled TMV RMB.)
When Max and I return to Cagalandia it will just be us and Pascal a French-Canuck, and Jon, another USer. We´ve looked forward to this day like Christmas as a break from the intense teacheriness and social ineptitude of TMV, a Dutch-American ex-pat. We´ve decided that he is or has become a moderate sociopath; when he was young, he couldn´t get a job in the West but made money teaching English and selling things on the street in Japan; in good owning-class fashion, he obsessively saved this money and was able to buy Cagalandia fifteen years ago at a small fraction of it´s current value; his life since has consisted of making some headway on his projects here, and then going off traveling for months at a time and coming back to find his shit totally fucked up by robbers or incompetent employees or rats, and having to start many things over again. We returned with him from his most recent three-month trip to Japan and witnessed the full intensity of this crazy lifestyle as he passively shat on his friend Megumi, who had kept away robbers for three months, for letting rats eat so many tools. She took off the next day, despite his protests, ferried to RMB by sailboat (a Hobicat). After much friction and frank discussion, TMV, Max, Jon, and I have come to some understanding with eachother, enough that he trusts Cagalanida to us for the next ten days, or perhaps he will encounter delays...
And by intense, I do mean intensely parenthetical, as TMV is an extraordinarily parenthetical man, in thought and deed. There is so much to do and yet it is entirely unclear what we are doing: Cagalandia is not a farm, we´ve netted one salad worth of greens and a few kilos of potatoes; there are three goats but they don´t do anything but eat piss and make shit for the dead gardens; we have occasional electricity from a waterfall-powered car alternator (gasoline here is precious as uranium); I´ve yet to see a rat yet we´ve been instructed that killing them is the priority, and indeed their presence is everywhere apparent.
The best verb for what we are doing is camping: We have successfully harvested many kilos of muscles (shelled and smoked), twenty-five crabs in one trap in one day (about one kilo each), and some shitty cabiertas (wild nuts) which taste alright roasted. Our alimentation is supplied generously by TMV, who won´t ever let us forget it. Our patron is the source of all intensity here, and most of everything else. We carried 750 kilos of gear and food out here two weeks ago (by motorboat) and only now have we chanced to return to RMB (by canoe) to ferry TMV on the first leg of a ten-day banking trip to Puerto Montt. (Incidentally every parcel of gear and food was labled TMV RMB.)
When Max and I return to Cagalandia it will just be us and Pascal a French-Canuck, and Jon, another USer. We´ve looked forward to this day like Christmas as a break from the intense teacheriness and social ineptitude of TMV, a Dutch-American ex-pat. We´ve decided that he is or has become a moderate sociopath; when he was young, he couldn´t get a job in the West but made money teaching English and selling things on the street in Japan; in good owning-class fashion, he obsessively saved this money and was able to buy Cagalandia fifteen years ago at a small fraction of it´s current value; his life since has consisted of making some headway on his projects here, and then going off traveling for months at a time and coming back to find his shit totally fucked up by robbers or incompetent employees or rats, and having to start many things over again. We returned with him from his most recent three-month trip to Japan and witnessed the full intensity of this crazy lifestyle as he passively shat on his friend Megumi, who had kept away robbers for three months, for letting rats eat so many tools. She took off the next day, despite his protests, ferried to RMB by sailboat (a Hobicat). After much friction and frank discussion, TMV, Max, Jon, and I have come to some understanding with eachother, enough that he trusts Cagalanida to us for the next ten days, or perhaps he will encounter delays...
Here's where it gets, if you're actually here, a bit complicated
Shipping, literally boxes but also ourselves, down to Raul Marin (south of Chaiten, Chile) tomorrow. This dude Thomas has some land, and also some big ideas, down there. But there'll be no stores or computers (unless we sail two hours into town and pay a premium) to speak of, or through as the case may be. So goes, or here goes, the story...
92-hour Bread Catalogue
Got some whole wheat flour last week and had a bread festival here at Casa Amarilla. No oven was available.
| Day @ Hour | %WW | Type | Size | Leaven | Method | Good | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| W, 4.4 @ 10 | 100% | zucchini bread pancake | 5-7cm dmtr | baking powder | oil pan/stove | very | w/egg, delicate |
| W, 4.4 @ 21 | 80% | pita | 10-12 cm dmtr | b.p. & yeast s. | dry pan/fire | only ok | no gas for stove, ate in morning |
| R, 5.4 @ 20 | 80% | pita | 12-15cm dmtr | b.p. & yeast s. | dry pan/stove | better | sort of split |
| F. 6.4 @ 7 | 50% | banana-zuccini-murta pancake | 4-9cm dmtr | baking powder | oil pan/stove | pretty | no egg, gummy |
| F, 6.4 @ 15 | 50% | sopapilla | 5x8-12cm | yeast starter | deep fry/stove | perfect | Chilean junk food |
| F, 6.4 @ 21 | 50% | squash pita | 10x15cm | yeast starter | dry pan/stove | very | same dough as sopapilla |
| S, 7.4 @ 17 | 60% | sourdough potato pita | 15cm dmtr | dough from R | dry pan/stove | great | split well, pleasant tang |
| N, 8.4 @ 6 | 50% | fermented-berry pancake | 6-8cm dmtr | baking powder | oil pan/stove | no | no egg, very purple |
Mountaintop Shit Flip
Did you know that on top of Volcan Antuco there are hot steam vents? We didn't know, or care, when we made a reckless plan to sleep up there. Fortuitously, Antuco provided us sustenance as it has taken from so many. We slept warm, wet, and cozy, just don't tell the parents or they might flip--we did.
Unstimulation
Since I can't calculate,
unlike every other morning,
I guess instead I'll write
something short and boring:
I couldn't make a fire,
but the burning pyre
of Nature's heavenly fire
has burst higher than
the hill and through the
window to my eyes,
and to the possible ire
of my sleeping friend:
more in the head,
less in the thighs.
unlike every other morning,
I guess instead I'll write
something short and boring:
I couldn't make a fire,
but the burning pyre
of Nature's heavenly fire
has burst higher than
the hill and through the
window to my eyes,
and to the possible ire
of my sleeping friend:
more in the head,
less in the thighs.
Some thoughts on Warmth
There's nothing like being toasty-cozy warm. But I have some habits -being relatively skinny, using a down sleeping bag that's missing at least half its feathers, swimming in cold water to the point of inducing mild hypothermia, that tend to inhibit this sensation. After swimming in the Pacific, I'll do anything, including donning full, non-breathable raingear and lying in the sun, to be warm.
Some thoughts on Soil
Max and I have been here at Casa Amarilla for two weeks now. The soil here is thick, rich, wet, and soft -very different from the soil at Puquelehue, which is dry, sometimes sandy, and other times hard as sedimentary rock. I'm wondering whether the attitude of farmers is strongly influenced by the attitude of their soil, because the people here are much more easy-going, and they come from a place of abundance rather than scarcity in their dealings with the volunteers. From my sample size of two, I see a strong correlation; but without more data points, it is surely statitstically insignificant.
Some thoughts on Yellowjackets
I hate yellowjackets so much now that they seem to have developed a taste for me. I don't know if I've started smelling like a flower or what, But one bit me on the lip three weeks ago, after refusing to stop hovering around my face for at least five minutes while I attempted to eat and converse with purpose. I killed another with my journal while camped behind Antuco but then for a day or two every twinge I felt in my feet seemed to me to be a yellowjacket caught in my open shoes and about to sting my toes, even though it wasn´t either of those.
An Encouraging Series of Experiences
In the week between Puquelehue and Casa Amarilla (where we are now), we met some of the nicest people. First we went to Parque Laguna de Laja, where we were the only ones at the campground and the manager Lily was so pleased to show us around and get to know us. When we got out of the mountains five days later, she offered us food and showers and use of the washing machine all for free. And she kept saying, in Spanish of course, "Oh no, thank YOU for sharing lunch with ME."
Then we stayed at a cheap hotel in Los Angeles de Chile, and the proprietress seemed initially suspicious of me, but I think she was just puzzeled by my terrible Spanish. By the next moring she was telling me that she has a tall, blonde daughter who studies English and wants to marry a white man. She asked why we were not staying another night and I had to convince her that it was only because we were going straight on to Puerto Montt, and not that we were in any way unhappy with her hotel.
Then, also in Los Angeles, I had an extensive, poorly-prepared post office project to pursue and the lady at the counter was so patient and accomodating. At first she painstakingly double-checked each charachter of each address with me on account of my terrible handwriting, but eventully she passed the keyboard over the counter and let me type in the addresses. I thanked her profusely and promised to tell my friends and family about her.
Of course, I didn't have to cohabitate with any of these women, but it was still an encouraging series of experiences considering my record up to and including, and hopefully concluding with Puquelehue.
Then we stayed at a cheap hotel in Los Angeles de Chile, and the proprietress seemed initially suspicious of me, but I think she was just puzzeled by my terrible Spanish. By the next moring she was telling me that she has a tall, blonde daughter who studies English and wants to marry a white man. She asked why we were not staying another night and I had to convince her that it was only because we were going straight on to Puerto Montt, and not that we were in any way unhappy with her hotel.
Then, also in Los Angeles, I had an extensive, poorly-prepared post office project to pursue and the lady at the counter was so patient and accomodating. At first she painstakingly double-checked each charachter of each address with me on account of my terrible handwriting, but eventully she passed the keyboard over the counter and let me type in the addresses. I thanked her profusely and promised to tell my friends and family about her.
Of course, I didn't have to cohabitate with any of these women, but it was still an encouraging series of experiences considering my record up to and including, and hopefully concluding with Puquelehue.
How to eat a kilo of rice in four easy meals
1. Cook half in seawater and eat half of that hot -a simple yet vaguely gourmet meal.
2. In the morning, eat the cold cooked rice with hot sauce -vaguely reminicent of sushi.
3. That evening cook the remaining rice and mix half with hot sauce and honey for a vaguely bbq dish.
4. Overcook the rest and stir in manjar to make a rice pudding; cool overnight and add dark chocolate chunks for a vaguely naughty yet fundamentally perfect breakfast.
2. In the morning, eat the cold cooked rice with hot sauce -vaguely reminicent of sushi.
3. That evening cook the remaining rice and mix half with hot sauce and honey for a vaguely bbq dish.
4. Overcook the rest and stir in manjar to make a rice pudding; cool overnight and add dark chocolate chunks for a vaguely naughty yet fundamentally perfect breakfast.
Some Thoughts on Bananas
I'm really going to miss bananas when they're all wiped out by plagues, a few of which are already destroying legions of cloned banana trees. Someone will breed a plague-resistant variety, the banana-two, but it won't be quite the same, and we'll say to our grandkids, "You just don't know what a real banana tastes like." An old lady will die, and in her freezer her grandson will find an actual, frozen banana-one, and sell it at auction for $10 million.
Some Thoughts on Cows
Cows are fucking assholes. On the face of it, they're nice animals that give us milk and beef. If you look a little closer, you may see the almost human tragedy of weening, denying mother and child mutual access for the sake of dairy production. But if you look a little closer after that, if you actually work with cows, you realize they're stupid, insolent zombie assholes with no redeeming personality; and after all you done for them, like cutting grass and mending fences and shoveling shit, they probably deserve to die.
Some Thoughts on Fruit Trees
I like fruit trees, who doesn't? But they're so much less demanding than crops. Water them once a week, prune them when they're not fruiting, prop up their weak little limbs when they are, and harvest pure evolutionary deliciousness. Just as domestic dogs and cats have been selected for maximum adorability, fruits have, for a much longer time, adapted for maximum deliciousness and beauty. Maybe someday I´ll have an orchard and a dog and everything will be peachy.
Some thoughts on Salad
There's nothing like picking a salad five minutes before you eat it. A salad can have just one element like chard or tomatoes, or you can mix in onions or summer squash or anything really, the only rule is that it be cut-up. I picked a tomato in the huerta, cut it in half and said to Max, "Would you like a salad?"
In the Mental Mud of Newton
My body is crud,
many parts of it are broken.
I go for weeks
without seeing my feet;
I lie in bed for days
with a swollen soreness
in my knee.
I just watch TV,
and when I need to pee
I grab a bottle.
Don't look at me
or I´ll throttle you;
just leave me be
without my body.
many parts of it are broken.
I go for weeks
without seeing my feet;
I lie in bed for days
with a swollen soreness
in my knee.
I just watch TV,
and when I need to pee
I grab a bottle.
Don't look at me
or I´ll throttle you;
just leave me be
without my body.
Puquelehue Part 0 (a pat descriptive by our happy hero)
Three meals a day: / feed the ducks and the chickens / and give the cows hay. / Get up at seven / to water the crops; / to bed at eleven / after tea and more crops: / tomatoes, potatoes, / onions, and beans, / garlic and broccoli, / brussels and greens. / In every direction / there's fruit to be eaten: / rasberries, blackberries, / apples, plums, peaches. / Andy and Carmen / couldn't be nicer, / making yogurt and bread / and sharing their lives here. / This is a paradise / that's virtually veritible; / but make sure to look twice, / it's impossibly perishable.
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