Thursday 26th January 2017
Having arrived late the previous night in Santiago, but eventually getting a decent sleep and settled in, Sara rented a small car to take us and Clemente out of the heat of the city, up into the fresher air in the mountains. Eddy had to work until the weekend, but at least he enjoys his work.
The drive up was relatively uneventful, though it was very noticeable how hazy everything was due to the scary number of forest fires all over the country. In several places we could see whole hillsides in flames, and the odd helicopter trying to douse them.
Chile's fire service, being only manned by volunteers, is totally overwhelmed by the number and size of the fires, many of which appear to be maliciously started. Very sad, especially as several firefighters and others have already died trying to combat the flames.
After a while, we would have stopped at an Empanada place Sara knew, but it was closed, so the next one further up the road was our only choice.
It looked good with wood fired ovens so the empanadas we expected would be home made and good.
Although Barbara's standard empanada was good, Sara and my shrimp and cheese empanadas were rather disappointing.
After a bit more driving, and nice riverside stop for a picnic lunch,
we left the main road and descended a steep and dusty track to a basic looking bridge over a raging brown muddy torrent. Here's the bridge & river as we retraced our route:
The other side of the bridge was similarly steep but uphill. A small shanty town, Baños Morales, was our destination, where parking was very informal.
Leaving the car, we descended a narrow track on foot until we found an amazing view of the mountains across a valley, and in the foreground, three bright orange pools with several disembodied heads in.
In due course,some all of the heads turned out to have bodies, but they certainly weren't visible in the pools.
Clemente was the first to change and he leapt into the strange coloured liquid. I was more cautious and carefully felt my way down what I presumed to be steps. Reaching the gravelly bottom, I discovered that I could stand with my head out of the orange mud so invited Barbara in - she doesn't like being out of her depth.
The baths were a sort of mix between a mud bath and a mineral spring. Bubbles were constantly rising to the surface in many places, but it wasn't smelly. The consistency of the liquid was runny enough to be able to swim in, while so thick that any part of the body more than a centimetre or two below the surface, was totally obscured.
Most people seemed content to just sit around the edges of the pools, staying out of the fierce sunshine. I tried swimming, but my beard seemed to fill with solids, as though it was straining all the mud from the pool.
After a good soak, we found a nice shady table and had another picnic.
It was a very surreal and relaxing experience though. Sitting around in a bright orange pool at 1,850 metres (over 6,000 feet) height, with the most amazing views of mountains and even glaciers not too far away.
Having arrived late the previous night in Santiago, but eventually getting a decent sleep and settled in, Sara rented a small car to take us and Clemente out of the heat of the city, up into the fresher air in the mountains. Eddy had to work until the weekend, but at least he enjoys his work.
The drive up was relatively uneventful, though it was very noticeable how hazy everything was due to the scary number of forest fires all over the country. In several places we could see whole hillsides in flames, and the odd helicopter trying to douse them.
Chile's fire service, being only manned by volunteers, is totally overwhelmed by the number and size of the fires, many of which appear to be maliciously started. Very sad, especially as several firefighters and others have already died trying to combat the flames.
After a while, we would have stopped at an Empanada place Sara knew, but it was closed, so the next one further up the road was our only choice.
It looked good with wood fired ovens so the empanadas we expected would be home made and good.
After a bit more driving, and nice riverside stop for a picnic lunch,
we left the main road and descended a steep and dusty track to a basic looking bridge over a raging brown muddy torrent. Here's the bridge & river as we retraced our route:
The other side of the bridge was similarly steep but uphill. A small shanty town, Baños Morales, was our destination, where parking was very informal.
Leaving the car, we descended a narrow track on foot until we found an amazing view of the mountains across a valley, and in the foreground, three bright orange pools with several disembodied heads in.
In due course,
Clemente was the first to change and he leapt into the strange coloured liquid. I was more cautious and carefully felt my way down what I presumed to be steps. Reaching the gravelly bottom, I discovered that I could stand with my head out of the orange mud so invited Barbara in - she doesn't like being out of her depth.
The baths were a sort of mix between a mud bath and a mineral spring. Bubbles were constantly rising to the surface in many places, but it wasn't smelly. The consistency of the liquid was runny enough to be able to swim in, while so thick that any part of the body more than a centimetre or two below the surface, was totally obscured.
Most people seemed content to just sit around the edges of the pools, staying out of the fierce sunshine. I tried swimming, but my beard seemed to fill with solids, as though it was straining all the mud from the pool.
After a good soak, we found a nice shady table and had another picnic.
It was a very surreal and relaxing experience though. Sitting around in a bright orange pool at 1,850 metres (over 6,000 feet) height, with the most amazing views of mountains and even glaciers not too far away.
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