Travels with Zen-Aida » Accommodation

Iceland: Surprising Sauðárkrókur

zda — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 20:32:52 +0000

Pronounced Saudhárkrókur or Sauthárkrókur it literally means sheep-river-hook and refers to the place where the river Sauðá meets the ocean. The sand on the river banks is of the finest quality, super fine as any sand found in the Caribbean, only it demonstrates its volcanic heritage by being dark grey in color.

Nowadays Sauðárkrókur is a town of about 3000 inhabitants in the northwest of Iceland. It is a center for the shrimp fishing industry and for the district’s commerce and services. As one of the pictures attests, there is also at least one artist in town as seen on the wall painting of one of the shrimp processing factories, which could easily carry the subtitle “Hommage à René Magritte”. And a sculptor whose statue of the ever present Icelandic horse graces Main Street.

The town’s claim to celebrity fame: Marlene Dietrich slept here when she passed through Iceland on one of her “Entertaining the American Troops” missions during World War II – in a comfortable wooden house made originally in Norway in the early 1820s, taken apart, transported to Iceland and ultimately to Sauðárkrókur and built together again there. Since 1884 it has housed the Hotel Tindastóll and can thus pride itself with being the oldest hotel in all of Iceland. You, too, can sleep in the Marlene room, though the mattress (thankfully) is a new one by now.

France: Château de la Barre

zda — Sun, 30 May 2010 15:50:29 +0000

The Loire region of France is world famous for its castles. Château de la Barre has that something extra: from the minute you turn into the park and its curving road, past the gate-keeper’s lodge, past the sheep grazing under the centuries-old cedar of Lebanon, the imposing plane and walnut trees, and arriving at the white gravel courtyard of Château de la Barre with its warm-white sandstone architecture, you enter into a different time-space. The mere fact that this property has been owned by just one family since 1404 – that’s 606 years – makes a stay here more than special. But that is not the main reason: it is the warm welcome of Guy and Marnie, the owners Count and Countess de Vanssay, that really make you feel like you are old friends dropping in for rest and relaxation from reality.

Every one of the five bedrooms has its own style, from the truly grand Marin de Vanssay room in blues and golds, with its marble fireplace and baldachined double bed, to the cheerful Chambre Jaune, all are generous in space and feature hand-ironed monogrammed linen bedding, French antiques collected by various family members over the centuries and fresh flowers from the garden. The modern bathrooms all feature selected amenities and fluffy bathrobes. There are no television sets in the rooms (only downstairs in the Fireplace room), thus adding to the away from the world experience. Having stayed in several of the rooms, I cannot claim a favorite - every one has its charm!

Truly a place where one can enjoy the quiet of the countryside. Well, quiet is a relative word: birds singing and sheep bleating are sounds you will have to get used to here. And you’ll get to know the sounds Kakou the parrot makes when he wants attention...

Full English breakfasts are served in the morning room decorated in sunny yellows. Dinners can be a formal affair in the grand “Salle à Manger”, with its 18 ft. high ceilings, long table, Herend fine china and crystal, family silverware. Don’t be put off by the word formal: You will automatically want to sit up straighter in this gorgeous room but at the same time enjoy the delicious meal made with fresh regional ingredients. Guy de Vanssay prides himself in knowing all the wines and cheeses of the region and many beyond, so you are in for a treat.

Take your coffee and brandy either in the very cosy “Salon Rose”, with its comfortable leather sofas surrounded by family portraits or in the “Grand Salon”, with its made to measure set of furniture dating back to 1778 (it was a wedding gift for the Marquis and his bride at that time and has survived intact since then). It may sound like living in a museum, but believe me, it is very much a home, both to the guests, the hosts and the two dogs, Pumm and Diva. The patina of the centuries sits well in this place and even if a Persian rug may be a little worn or an ancient oak door squeaks, it is just that which makes it all the more lovable.

Be sure to let Guy regale you with stories of the family and the chateau. This is a history lesson you will not forget because you have lived in it! Marnie, the American-born Countess, can offer suggestions for lots of things to do and see in the Loire area – after all, this is the premiere French Château and Gardens, Wine and Cheese country. Or why not take one of the dogs for a wander in the park and forget about the world beyond its borders?

P. S.: The Times Online has rated Château de la Barre as among the best 100 hotels in Europe in its May 23, 2010 article.

Santiago: Palacio Cousiño – grand living for a grand family

Malaysia: Blue Mansion Hotel in Penang

zda — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 16:27:15 +0000

Stepping inside the cool front hall of the Cheong Fatt Tze Blue Mansion is like stepping into a bygone era. It is easy to imagine the soft padded footsteps of wives, concubines, children, relatives, servants, and hangers-on scurrying in long silk gowns through the high-ceilinged rooms, most likely whispering intrigues behind intricately carved ivory fans.

The sounds of modern Georgetown fade away behind the thick walls of this flamboyant 38-room mansion built by the leading entrepreneur of South East Asia in the late 19th century, Cheong Fatt Tze - nicknamed “the Rockefeller of the East” - for his favorite (seventh) wife. She bore him a son, whom he doted on and made universal heir, much to the chagrin of the other wives and children he had sired. One of the stipulations of his will was that this house would not be sold until the last son died. By the time he passed away, the vast inherited fortune had been squandered and this house had fallen into desperate disrepair. 37 families were actually squatting in the rooms, rent being collected by an aged daughter in law. When she passed away and the completely dilapadated mansion came upon the market in 1990, it was bought by Penang-born architect Laurence Loh, his wife Lin Lee Loh-Lim and a group of local conservationists with the purpose of restoring it using as much of the original fabric as possible. The Lohs, along with a team of artisan experts, dedicated the next years to painstaiking restoration, going to great lengths to retain the original integrity of the construction.

The Mansion had been built keeping strictly to traditional geomantic or Feng Shui rules. During the process of restoration, the house revealed its secrets, such as the back part of the house being raised by one stair in order to give the impression of being on a hill, several gold coins being buried in auspicious corners to attract wealth, and certainly using flowing water in ways that bring harmony to its inhabitants. The restoration efforts of the new owners were rewarded by receiving the UNESCO “Most Excellent Project” Award 2000 as well as many others. In 1992, the Mansion was used as a main setting for the movie “Indochine” with Catherine Deneuve. Currently it a most lovely hotel to stay in.

Interestingly, symmetry seems to be of equally strong importance for buildings built according to Feng Shui principles as it was to Antonio Palladio, the Italian master architect of the 17^th century. But that is just an aside...

If/when I return to Georgetown, I will certainly make sure to stay there again – not only was it a wonderful experience to spend the night with the overhead fan gently swaying the mosquito netting, but also in sipping a drink in the quiet of the central courtyard and being visited by the resident cat, who deigned to sprawl – most unladylike – next to me on the cool marble floor.

Bangkok to Penang: 24 hour International Express Train

zda — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 17:28:36 +0000

Nowadays, the internet is the source of instant information and this is especially true for travel news. I forget how I found www.seat61.com but in no time, I was intrigued by the very detailed account of how to get from Bangkok to Butterworth, which is the railway station to get to Georgetown on Penang Island in Malaysia. Mr. Mark Smith, a British career railywayman, has set up this site about trains worldwide in such an easily accessible manner, that I was instantly convinced. Why not, it is only 24 hours from point A to point B? And this is not any fancy Orient Express Nostalgic Luxury train. This is the real thing, second class and all.

In Bangkok, I had therefore purposely taken a hotel in Chinatown, nearby the Hualamphong Station. Basic and clean is the simplest description I will use for the “Hotel Chinatown”, but then, it was also only 30 Euro/night. And it had air-conditioning, essential in 34 Celsius humid heat. Walking to the station in the morning to get my ticket, I passed through the recycled car parts district – if ever you wonder where the nuts, bolts and other small scrap metal ends up, well, here it is, neatly piled up in umpteen corners of little shops – and was soon standing in the large domed hall of the main train station. The benign portrait of the King of Thailand gazed upon the leisurely activity of travellers getting their provisions in the twenty or so little shops. This must be one of the few train stations where there are real orchid plants adding a touch of class to the otherwise very functional architecture of such places.

After getting the information from the internet confirmed by a pretty Thai employee speaking quite good English and told to get my ticket at the foreigner’s booth nr. 1, I happily paid 1210 Baht (about 25 Euro) for a lower berth, second class (the only direct wagons) on the International Express Train Nr. 35, leaving at 14:45 on track 5.

Punctually, the 10 wagons slowly made their way through the suburbs of Bangkok for a good hour. New, glittering skyscrapers could be seen in the distance, but we pass vast expanses of semi-industrial, half-finished constructions.

My wagon was very clean but seemed easily 30 years old. Every two seats facing each other converted into two berths – upper and lower – with space for luggage in a metal contraption on the aisle. Let us just say that the name of the designer of this layout will be lost to us in history and we will not miss him, alas.

A train steward came around, checked the ticket and proceeded to refund 20 Baht to each passenger in this wagon: We had no air-conditioning, only old-fashioned but efficient fans. In good Chinese train tradition, vendors came along selling drinks and various kinds of prepared foods. Slowly, conversations started up between the travellers – a group of three English young women finding much to share, coming from northern Thailand and going to Kuala Lumpur, a Spanish couple on their way to Borneo, a Chinese man talking endlessly on his cell phone, quiet Thais – and we all settled down.

Eventually, the train gathered speed and we start to travel through open but fairly populated countryside. Not much is cultivated yet, just tropical greenery accented by various types of palm and banana trees and, unfortunately, small waterways largely full of refuse. About two hours out of Bangkok the rice fields start and will be dominating the scenery, along with banana and palm tree plantations throughout the journey. Often I also see wild bougainvillea, frangipani and hibiscus. The houses – many huts – reflect a very modest lifestyle, poor even in parts, shanty town structures that often occur close to rail tracks everywhere in the world.

Darkness comes soon and with it, delivered to my seat, a dinner which I had ordered from the steward earlier: Chicken curry on rice, a vegetable dish and miso soup, a slice of fresh pineapple for dessert, all for 170 Baht (3.50 Euro). Freshly prepared and quite tasty. After dinner, the steward makes the berths with sheets, a pillow and a coverlet – all fresh. Blue curtains are hooked in and give a high degree of privacy and definitely a “Some like it hot” feeling. I expect Marilyn Monroe as Sugar and Tony Curtis to pop out of a top berth any minute...

By 9 p.m., the wagon is absolutely still. I am comfortably ensconced in my berth and can give myself over to the swaying clickety-clack, clackety-click as the train speeds over the surely still British-built tracks. Every now and again I peek out into the darkness and see astonishingly many lights of small villages and towns. As this train is an International Express, it has limited stops and speeds through most empty stations. The moon shows the silhouettes of palm trees and the dim lights from the train throw a ghostly shadow on the tropical countryside.

It is barely dawn at 6 a.m.. when the steward comes around with the one-choice breakfast (also ordered the evening before and delivered to the berth): two eggs sunnyside up, a small sausage, one each tomato and pineapple slice, two pieces of toast, butter and pineapple jam, a non-descript yellow juice and tea or coffee (120 Baht, approx. 2.50 Euro). It is time for a cat’s wash-up, meaning a quick moist wipe will have to do the trick this morning. By the way, the toilet facilities are well, yes, clean-ish, and there are two sinks with running water for the entire wagon.

The time between 7:30 and 9 a.m. is spent at the Hat Yia Junction station with Thailand-Malaysian border formalities, meaning that everyone has to debark with all their belongings and exit Thailand and enter Malaysia. Don’t complain, just do it.

Eight wagons go off in other directions and we continue with two wagons and a different, smoke belching locomotive. The stewards have taken the berths away and cleaned up of sorts and left. There is a new Malaysian crew and no service. Even the water supply of the wash basins is gone. There are more stops, locals disembark, others get on.

The countryside seems more cultivated: Papaya plantations and tree forestations alternate with the rice paddies. Even the palm trees are mostly in orderly rows. The green seems even more intense – we are, after all, in the wet tropics.

And then, suddenly, the end of the journey approaches: We arrive in Butterworth only 30 minutes later than scheduled. This train station is totally charmless and functional. The best thing that can be said about it is that is connected by covered track to the ferry terminal to cross over to Georgetown.

Would I have given up this journey for the comfort and speed of a flight? Never! After all the way is as much the mean as the end....

Australia: Far North Queensland

zda — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 01:49:40 +0000

As my blessed mother would say “it happens in the best of homes” when something went wrong. She certainly did not have a complete computer crash – and an external hard drive back-up! - in mind, but that is what I had to contend with, at the end of my trip to Australia. I won’t bore you with details, just keep your fingers crossed that my trusted IT man in Germany will be able to recover the data (most importantly, about 5000 photos of these last four months of my trip) from the hard drive. The upshot of the story is that the few photographs I still had in my camera after the crash will have to make do to show you the wonders of FNQ – Far North Queensland – as the locals call it.

All the promotional photos that you have seen umpteen times on flyers and advertisements are true. The Queensland beaches are really spectacular. Fine sand, palm trees, mostly empty of any crowds, clear waters – but watch out from November to May (in other words, their Summer months) for the Stingers. Every beach I’ve been to has large signs warning of these jellyfish, which, even though beautiful to look at (if you see them, they are mostly transparent), have long floaters that inflict searing pain if they touch human skin. Pain and irritation that may make it necessary to be hospitalized. That is why every beach has at least one bottle of vinegar for victims to douse the affected area with, as a first aid measure. I remember these beasties in a much milder form from my childhood on the beaches of Argentina and the memories of that pain is still with me. But enough of that and back to Queensland.

The photos are of Mission Beach, south of Cairns. But they can just as well be of any of the lovely beaches north of Cairns, known as the Northern Beaches and fast becoming a favorite vacation place for Australians or have a second home in. The most mundane of these is Port Douglas, could be also called the Marbella of Queensland, with its swanky boutiqes, elegant restaurants and vibrant nightlife (this is sounding like a promotional brochure!), but all with the Australian laissez-faire attitude. Very sympatico!

My base of operations was one of the Northern Beaches – Trinity Beach. Based purely on internet research, I found the Roydon Apartments, separated by the beach by a one-lane road. A large and airy apartment with a gorgeous view and all the amenities I could want, I was a happy puppy for the week I spent there, being able to pop into the sea at will and do a walk along the fairly narrow but soft sanded beach every morning and/or evening.

My most memorable trip was up to “the Daintree” and Cape Tribulation: I rented a car for the day and drove up the coast on the Captain Cook Highway, past innumerable small golden sand beaches that all looked ever so inviting. I did stop over briefly in one such beach, actually in the lodge next to it, because it looked extra-special: Thala Beach Lodge is a bit of heaven set in a heavily wooded (and thus shaded) area; it prides itself in being a true eco-tourism venture. I would love to stay there the next time!

Then the highway bends inland and on through sugar cane fields as far as the eye could reach. And then the road stops abruptly. The Daintree river creates a natural barrier and there is no bridge. Instead, a simple large raft, a cable ferry, shunts about 10 cars at a time to and fro. As I mentioned, there was not much traffic, only a couple of other cars and I waited for the ferry to cross the 400 meters or so. Parrots were jabbering away in the tree-tops. Otherwise, silence. While waiting, I went over to a large billboard, severely warning of crocodiles on river banks.

By the time the cable ferry came and we crossed the Daintree, it felt like crossing the mythical river Styx, into another world, maybe not the mythological underworld of Hades, but close to it. In this case, the other side was the Daintree tropical rainforest, the diametrical opposite of the desert-like center of Australia. Tall trees tangle to form a dense green canopy. In 1988 its ca. 1200 sq. km were added to the World Heritage List in recognition of the enormous diversity of the Rainforest’s flora and fauna. To quote some numbers: The Rainforest contains 30% of Australia’s frog, marsupial and reptile species, 65% of its bat and butterfly species as well as 20% of the country’s bird species. There are also over 12,000 species of bugs. And we haven’t event started on the flora yet! And all this on just 0.2% of the landmass of Australia!

The people who live in the Daintree also seem very special: Ecologically oriented, some of an antroposophical bent (like the delicious ice cream maker, with over 26 flavors to chose from), all with a love, no passion, for keeping the Daintree in as natural a state as possible.

I reached my destination by early afternoon. Cape Tribulation – so named by the explorer James Cook in 1770 when his ship ran aground on a reef and “here began all our Troubles”. The beach itself cannot be described except with superlatives. The sand is soooo soft and sooo white, I am sure it glows in the moonlight. No doubt because a major component is white coral. Mind you, the sleepy town (a couple of backpaker accommodations, two supermarkets, five restaurants and a couple of understated and expensive resorts) is not high fashion, but it would be lovely to spend a week here and visit the Great Barrier Reef from here and “let it all hang out”, 70s style.

The paved road ends shortly north of Cape Trib. Since the terms of my car rental contract stated I was to stay on paved roads, it meant that this was the return point for me. The road (unpaved) continues for another 800 km or so up to Cape York, the northern most tip of Australia. But that adventure will have to wait until another trip...

Australia: Daylesford and Hepburn Springs

zda — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:25:26 +0000

No, I didn’t find any alluvial gold in Daylesford, an easy two-hour drive north-west of Melbourne. Unfortunately, the days of panning the river bed for gold are over. But back in the 1850s, it was gold that made this small city rich, along with a host of others along the so-called Goldfields Touring Route (Ballarat, Clunes, Castlemaine, etc.). In its prime, Daylesford had about 40,000 inhabitants, compared to approx. 3,500 nowadays. But this is not to say that the area is depressed. On the contrary, because of its vicinity to Melbourne, it has become a welcome weekend destination, when the population easily swells to 7000 visitors, sometimes up to 25,000 (for example for the very popular gay and lesbian festival in March). Maybe also because at 700 meters over the sea, it is cooler at night than Melbourne in the summer. Last year, however, it did not look good for this area, as the fires drew alarmingly close. A local resident told me “the dead saved the living” meaning that the fire stopped at the treeless cemetery and thus saved the town. Nature’s power of recovery never ceases to amaze, as the photo of the darkened trunks show, showing a veil of new grass growth.

My main reason for wanting to visit the region was – you guessed it – the mineral water springs in Daylesford and Hepburn Springs. Many of the over 100 different cold water mineral springs were discovered as a result of mining activities; they are now fitted with a manual hand-pump and can be accessed by the general public free of charge. You can even bring your containers and take as much water as you want. As the most helpful and friendly lady at the visitor’s center told me, everyone has a favorite spring as every spring has a different taste. The newly renovated Hepburn Bath House was a disappointment, though: for all the multi-million dollars that were invested in a facelift for this historic institution founded in 1895, it is too small and too expensive for the very limited offerings ($70 – approx. €35 - for 2 hours at the weekend for just four different small pools and one steam sauna).

From about the 1970s, the area became an alternative lifestyle center, and now is a veritable hot spot for everything to do with the wellness craze: day spa treatments galore, all sorts of massage treatments, with a plethora of restaurants and clairvoyant/tarot card reading establishments thrown in for good measure. I stayed at the very English (but run by a charming French lady and her Australian husband) Mount Stuart House and felt like a veritable princess sleeping on the highest mattress ever.

As you can see from the photos, you would hardly think that this is the Australian bush, so lush the green fields, with their picturesque cattle, horses (lots of studs along the way) and sheep, dotted here and there with gigantic eucalyptus gum trees and, right now, iridescent yellow mimosa trees. Traffic was very light, allowing me to stop freely along the way for photos. Every now and again a clutch of home-made post boxes signalled human habitation somewhere down the adjacent dirt road. This is also wine country, with lots of “free degustation” signs dotting the roads. So far, though, I still haven’t seen a live kangaroo in the wild, let alone a koala, just the signs for them…

Rotorua: learn to love that smell of sulphur!

zda — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 12:45:49 +0000

Did you know New Zealand has more than 100 natural hot springs? I didn’t. So I was thrilled to find out that most of them are located in the North Island especially in the area around Lake Rotorua, an easy under-three-hour drive from Auckland. If you arrive in the evening, as I did, you know you have reached the city more by your nose than anything else – an aroma of sulphur pervades the air. Depending on the weather, this aroma can be perceived as slight during clear weather or stench of rotten eggs when it rains. Knowing that it is not harmful and that the air quality is very good in the area adds to its therapeutic value and made me want to breathe in gulps, well, at least not turn away in disgust.

Suffice it to say that I absolutely indulged myself in four pools and three massages within as many days. And each one was different and had its distinctive qualities, so I would be hard put to say which one was the best.

My search was helped by a website http://www.nzhotpools.co.nz set up by Sheldon Nesdale, who grew up in the Rotorua area.

The reason for this conglomeration of hot springs is the fact that Rotorua sits on a region of high geothermal activity. In essence, the earth’s crust is very thin here, and the waters and gases erupt everywhere. It was only in 1886, when Mount Tarawera, the local volcano, erupted and buried at least one complete village and changed the landscape in a major way.

Much of the regular heating and hot water is supplied by geothermal heat. Both hotels I stayed at, the venerable and historic Princes Gate Hotel and a charming B & B Tresco, for example, are on geothermal. They also have their own little geothermal pools and often the water is so hot, that it needs to be cooled down before it can be used. Fascinating!

I’ll be describing the various hot springs and massages more in detail separately.

Where did the day go?

zda — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 13:06:36 +0000

Crossing the date-line doesn't hurt, in fact, you don't feel it at all. It's all just on paper and in your head: taking off from Santiago de Chile at 22:50 on Monday and arriving in Auckland, New Zealand at 4 in the morning on Wednesday. Actual flying time: 13.5 hours, roughly the same as Frankfurt - San Francisco. But it feels different, like I should be getting a gift certificate to cash in for the lost day. I suppose I will get it back in increments, as I continue flying west ....

Excellent flight on LAN, by the way. I am not a jaded business-class traveller who takes these things for granted, so, boy, did I love those fold-down-to absolute-flat seats, the pilllows and duvets cased in ironed percale cotton covers and the sheer space available. I could easily have slept those 13.5 hours, except that I felt so happy, safe and comfortable lying, extended in full comfort and enjoying the smooth flight, that I barely slept a wink.

Airstream Retro Coffee open at 4 a.m.

Arriving in Auckland at that pre-dawn time, I was surprised to find many services functioning already (but then again, it is in their interest to do so, since there are several overseas flights arriving): the duty free store, at least one bank, newspaper stand and a coffee shop - located in a converted "Airstream" aluminium caravan from the 50s, on the sidewalk, where everybody waits for bus/taxi/pickup, smart business idea.

I had informed myself online, but not made any hotel reservation yet. I decided to give the Aspen House a try because of their good rating on Lonely Planet and the fact that I knew they had space as well as being smack in the center of the city. Also, they had a two nights-for-one-deal going. Arriving at Emily Place via the shuttle-bus service at about 5:30 a.m., I am greeted by the single, loud and melodious song of an invisible bird hidden in what I later see is a charming city park, with four gingko trees, several rubber and palm trees, all easily over 100 years old. Aspen House is divided into a hostel and a hotel wing.

Aspen House Hotel on Emily Place

As a lady-in-her-prime, I choose a hotel room with private bath at $NZ65 a night. The high-ceiling room is adequate and clean, painted pale gray with one rust-red wall and a small window giving onto a blind inner courtyard. There is a slight resemblance to a prison cell, but maybe this is just the newest look in post-moderne-retro décor. At any rate, the double bed is incredibly welcoming, as I sink into it for a few hours of catch-up sleep.

Waldorf Stadium Apartments on Beach Rd.

A couple of days later, I move to the Waldorf Stadium Apartments, a building just opened in January 2009 with excellently appointed serviced apartments. I chose a studio of about 40 sq. meters, with a little kitchenette fully equipped including a cute dishwasher-in-a-rollout-drawer, my own washer and dryer, high speed internet and a city view. In addition, city buses stop right outside the door and Auckland's largest 24/7 supermarket is right around the corner. The weather is rather inclement, to but it elegantly... I think I will hibernate here for a few days.

Hot springs, Chilean style

zda — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 04:30:55 +0000

My friends know that I am a hot springs addict, so it is normal for me to drive almost 200 km in order to visit the best of the region. And this, I was told, is Huife, close to the Villarica lake and volcano. So off I set with my swimsuit, flip flops and towels in my pack, in my little white rental car, Chilean pop music accompanying me all the way on the radio.(more...)

The roads in Chile really are very good, even though the toll is not cheap - for these approx. 400 km round trip, I paid a total of 7 Euros.

Upon getting to the Villarica lake there was no sign of a snow-topped volcano. The clouds were hanging so low, I barely made out that there was a lake! But driving from the town of Villarica to the town of Pucón (pop. approx. 20.000) along the lake, I could make out that it must be a beautiful area in the Spring and Summer - beaches on one side, hiking up the hills on the other. Lots summer cabins for rent and many hotels. One of the most famous, the Hotel Antumalal, directly on the lake shore, was even visited by Queen Elizabeth II in the sixties. The town of Pucón has an alpine look to it. Lots of rustic-style wooden buildings along the main thoroughfare, with summer tourism and outdoor activities being main sources of income: River rafting, fishing, horse-riding, hiking up the Villarica volcano, into the hills and in the national parks of Villarica and Huerquehue, abseiling - and dipping into the many hot springs of the area. It is actually possible to ski or snowboard the volcano during the day and enjoy a a relaxing hot spring in the evening.

From Pucón it is "only" another 35 km to Huife, on ever smaller serpentine roads. The valley kept getting narrower and I started hearing a mountain river. Then I saw the sign "Hotel and Termas Huife". It was about 2 p.m. and I was the first visitor on this wintry weekday. At 12.000 pesos (about 16 Euro), I found the entrance fee expensive for the use of four pools. Especially, as I later found out, that practically everything else is charged extra. A 60-minute massage cost 22.000 (approx. 30 Euro), which was reasonable, but the quality, in all honesty, was very mediocre. The open-air pools themselves were warm and inviting, considering the 4 degree temperature of the air. There is only one sauna in the spa center (extra charge). The thermal water, rich in sodium, bicarbonates and potasium, comes out at 64 degrees Celsius and is cooled down to between 37 and 40 degrees Celsius for the pools.

It is the location, however, that makes Huife special: at the end of a valley, in the middle of a natural forest, it offers comfortable (and heated!) accommodations, the pools, spa facilities, two restaurants and, in the warmer months, horse-back riding, hiking, etc.

Was I happy to have gone? Yes, it was fine, but I would only come back if I stayed in Pucón for a vacation. The 2.5 hour drive back to Temuco in the middle of a rainy evening was a drag, Chilean pop-music non-withstanding.