A WEEK IN LLANQUIHUE

Kauffmann Mercedes-Benz has dealerships and workshops throughout Chile. We dropped Bruce off for our 8:30am appointment, and the mechanics got to work straight away. By 9am, they’d confirmed the front mounts weren’t damaged—but the supporting crossmember bracket had failed, likely due to a bolt that had loosened over time.

It was an urgent repair, meaning Bruce would need to stay in the garage for a week while the bracket was fixed. So we took the opportunity to have a few other jobs done—things Tim can’t do himself—like the main seals, oil, and transmission service.

A HOME AWAY FROM HOME… AWAY FROM HOME

Which meant we suddenly needed somewhere to live.

Scrolling through Airbnb with limited options—nice enough, suitable, and available—and really only found one place. But booking it turned into a saga. The system required a phone number for confirmation, but wouldn’t accept our internet number. PayPal didn’t work either as that also had similar security measures. By now it was 5:30pm, and Mercedes closed at 6.

In the end, I messaged my bestie Lisa and asked if she could book it through her account. She did—sending all the details, address, and entry code at 6:03pm.

By now it was raining, standing outside the dealership with bags of food, clothes, and everything we’d need for the week, trying to order an Uber before the wifi was also cut was stressful. This time of year it also gets dark by 7pm. Honestly, we must have been quite the sight.

Then our mechanic, Leo, pulled up and offered us a ride to the house. Relief, but we weren’t indoors yet.

As always, everything looked better in the photos. The house was about a 20-minute walk out of town, down a quiet country lane—which we didn’t mind. Quiet is good.

We arrived and waited outside for the cleaners to come, make the beds, and let us in. It was still raining. Even though we’d booked last minute, the listing had shown “available immediately.” But inside told a different story, the cleaner spent 20 mins throwing sheets on the beds, gathered left over food and was gone. It needed another go around.

Still, it was fine. Nice enough. And only for a week. So we made it work.

For the next six days, the kids hit the schoolbooks while I caught up on blog posts. Each day, Tim walked to and from Mercedes—partly to check on progress, partly just to get out—always stopping at the store on the way back for whatever we needed.

It rained most of the week, and the temperatures dropped, so we had all the heaters on. In a way, the timing was perfect. We’d read that heavy snow had already hit southern Patagonia, so it felt like we’d made it out just in time, before winter set in.

A BREAK IN THE WEATHER

On Wednesday, the rain finally eased, so we took a trip to Puerto Varas—walking into town and catching the local train just 10 minutes south.

It felt like a different world. Puerto Varas is polished and prosperous, with waterfront hotels, outdoor gear shops, and boutique stores with eye-watering price tags. A strong German influence runs through the town—orderly, tidy, and distinctly European in feel.

We wandered through the streets before heading along the lakefront to a small, slightly eccentric art museum.

CASA PABLO – MUSEO

The Museo Pablo Fierro is less a museum and more a wonderfully chaotic work of art. It felt less like visiting a museum and more like stepping inside someone’s imagination.

From the outside, it looks like, and likely was, something pieced together over decades—wooden shingles, leaning balconies, mismatched windows, old signs, and layers of colour all stacked on top of each other.

Inside, it’s a maze.

Every wall, ceiling, and corner is covered—old photographs, newspaper clippings, tools, musical instruments, license plates, toys, and relics of southern Chile’s past. There’s no real order to it, no neat timeline or carefully curated displays. Instead, it’s a deeply personal collection—part history, part nostalgia, part artistic expression.

There’s something to notice everywhere you look. A story tucked into every corner. It’s cluttered, dusty, a little chaotic, and somehow interesting. The kids loved exploring, stepping through wardrobes and on to balconies. Passing through the ship and into the old school bus. Discovering the classroom and school books. Some call it junk others call it art.

For lunch, we grabbed the last table at a waterfront restaurant, which was perfect timing as ten minutes later, a heavy rain squall swept through, drenching the town and filling the restaurant. A delicious pizza, salad, and a time to relax before heading back to the train, up the hill and home again.

It felt good to get out.

Living in a house again—with proper mirrors—I finally saw myself clearly. In the camper, one small mirror on the bathroom cabinet and terrible lighting had been hiding the truth. But now there was no avoiding it. The lines on my face a little more defined, grey strands pushing through in defiant streaks between uneven bands of colour from rushed, half-blind dye jobs. It was long, below my shoulders and shapeless.

Thirty minutes later, six inches were gone.

Not an easy thing to do on my own—but already so much better. Tim trimmed the pieces I couldn’t reach, evening it out.

BACK ON THE ROAD

By Thursday afternoon the mechanics were done and Tim drove Bruce back. We cleaned, reorganised, and repacked, spent one last night in the house, and were out the door by 9am.

It felt good to take a break from the confines of the truck, we all appreciate a little more personal space, but happy to be moving again.

First heading out to catch up with Sara and Huw, who were camped at the mechanics yard, about 20km away after having Gwenda the Defender towed to a Land Rover garage needing repairs.

TOWARDS ARGENTINA

Wanting to pick up Ruta 40, we took the southern road through Puerto Varas, looping around the opposite side of  Lago Llanquihue and heading out along the volcano route to the border.

This is a part of Chile we could easily live in. So beautiful with rolling green hills, farmland, neat towns, and a strong Swiss, German, and Austrian influence—everything feels orderly, well-kept, and quietly industrious.

The road hugs the lake, flanked by two iconic volcanoes—Osorno Volcano and Calbuco Volcano—making for a genuinely beautiful drive. We camped just short of the border, finding a quiet spot beside a river at the end of a dirt road. Jaxon spent a while casting but not catching while I made dinner, pasta and salad—simple and easy. Tim relaxing in his chair, Charley with headphones on enjoying her music and doing a little writing.

Tomorrow will be an early start as we cross the border and make our way south on Ruta 40.