el paraíso chileno.

Now, glancing back to the coasts of Chiloé from the ferry, I finally understand what Chileans mean when they refer to the island as a the Chilean paradise.

It is a mysterious island, not even having a bridge connecting it to the continent, almost always covered by clouds and inhabited by so far the friendliest people I've met in Chile, and Trauco, a mythological old and ugly man who lives in the woods of Chiloé and seduces women. At least, that's what the women said when the men returned from fishing or work trips and found a couple of lovely brown-eyed children playing in the backyard.

Chiloé is a place of wonders. It is fully different to anything I've seen before. Its capital Castro fully fits to this scene of green hills, ships in bays, the famous palofitos and fishermen walking down the streets.

Until recently Chiloé and Castro was an isolated and poor island with its capital, whose poorest inhabitants built houses on the shore, as they couldn't afford the land, but "the sea belonged to no one". Now the island is as prosperous as its green fields due to the second largest salmon industry in the world after Norway, a tourist must-see destination and a hide-away for those who don't want to hear anything about the noise, stress and air pollution of Santiago.

Seafood really is the thing, judging from the international scandal with Norway a couple of years ago, when a salmon company bought a plant on the island and deliberately introduced a fish flu impossible to get rid of, just to eliminate Chilean competition. Seafood is what still keeps the island going and is actually cheaper than any other type of meat, resulting in me having charged my salmon and seafood reserves for the upcoming year or two.

Paila marina, soup made of seafood, really is made of seafood. Something I'd pay at least EUR 15 in Latvia cost merely 3 over here. And it's a lot of seafood I'm talking about.

It is, however, equalled out by their coffee culture, or, better put, the lack of it. I'm slowly considering switching to tea permanently, just to avoid the disappointment every time I see something like that.

And it was a restaurant where the waiter ensured that the glass of Coke was always full.

I had the luck to visit Miguel, a boy who is about to get to know the country few know about. "Latvia", after all, still is either a type of weed or a city in Russia for those who've heard of it. I used the opportunity to visit his school,  Instituto del Mar Capitan Williams, which is one of the two schools like that in Chile which, apart from teaching Math, History and all the other traditional subjects, actually prepares its students for the life in sea starting from fishing, diving and sailor knots to marital electricity, navigation (including practice lessons on stormy days, "because yo' ain't gonna tell th'  seah to listen to ya' fella") and emergency evacuation sessions from containers burning in open fire.

The presentations about Latvia and speaking of it in general have certainly shaped my perception of home. Encountering the social contrasts makes me realize that Latvia is poor relatively to European standards, and for once Latvia is the positive example of how to deal with political corruption, public education or historical heritage. It was interesting for me to realize that, from the Latin American perspective, we are the natural inhabitants of the land, the aborigines, who now have their own country with their own language, something lost long ago in this continent.

The most impressive moment of the presentation in Instituto del Mar came with two classes of Fishing, about 80 boys, when I, in exchange for the anthem of Latvia, asked them to sing me the Chilean one. The force with which the future sailors sang the song really gave me goose bumps, and made me feel as in those movies when the hair is literally blown backwards.

I'm slowly getting used to being special just by being from Latvia and by being that "tall, blond and blue-eyed" foreigner. I guess it only depends on the point of reference, and I see theirs in the photos.

I was lucky to visit the school on its Día del Alumno, or the Day of Scholars.

Of course, everybody noticed that one poor girl in pink pants and curly hair, even the teachers, who invited me to dance in the centre of the school gym, and surprised me by asking to address the 1000 students on this special day. It was only later when I understood that back at home I'd probably be just like the rest of the girls, shying away from the teachers with afro wigs, asking them to dance in their show.

I keep surprising myself by eating strange things (seafood, remember?), like these erizos, who were killed and prepared in my presence by two veteran fishermen and would've tasted much better if not for having seen them move 5 seconds before.

After I plucked my courage, ate this tiny crab, still alive in my mouth, and spit its crunchy shell, I was declared chilote oficial, for the majority of local women and men would shiver just like I did when thinking of repeating. 

To me, Chiloé is that one spot  still left on this planet that hasn't sold itself to tourism. A car in the opposite direction is a rare sight, countless cabañas (or those tiny summer houses you always see in movies) are like little pearls of white in the interminable green, blue and beautiful.

Another thing that makes Chiloé special is its wooden architecture, something you probably haven't seen before.

Its wooden churches are on the UNESCO World Heritage list, just saying.

I had waited for that moment far too long, and finally seeing my Pacific after more than a year again reminded me of that one colour and scent essential to only Pacific, and awakened that one vibe I thought I had already lost. Chiloé is slightly a NZ déjà vu experience, mainly due to the feeling only an island can have, its green mountains inhabited by sheep and the wind with ocean in it. They even have something similar to Paua shells over here!

Apart from the main island, Chiloé has 45 smaller islands by its shore, 15 of them uninhabited. Even though a bridge is definitely a must-have in this bubbling paradise, using a ferry every time you want to cross the shore is certainly a magic feeling. It is so remote that once, when an emergency ambulance plane wanted to land on the main island during night, the local radio asked for volunteers to illuminate the runway with their car lights, since it doesn't have permanent lighting. I was told this by Margot, Miguel's mum who participated in this and, along with the rest of the 100 drivers, signalled and applauded loudly when the injured guy was brought safely to hospital.

Margot and her family were nice, friendly and awesome enough to show the dearest of their island. Dear American, who I met in Torres del Paine, if you happen to be reading this, you were just so wrong when claiming that it's enough with 4 days for this beauty! I, leaving it behind me, feel that I lack a lot, and a lot has to be discovered.

"You know you'll always have home in Chiloé, and I promise I'll get you a 5l champagne bottle, when you return for your honey moon!" Thanks, Margot! I'm taking this into account. Thanks to all your family for sharing Chiloé with me!

Chiloé is beautiful. It is surprising, breathtaking and tremendously astonishing. I will return, promise!