Steph and I decided to go to Reserva Nacional los Cipruses (a small park in Cajón del Maipo) as one of her last excursions in Chile. We started the day with a phone call - her to me - because I had gone dancing the night before and overslept my alarm. She apparently had waited over an hour, allowing ample time for Chilean-time adjustments to our pre-arranged meeting time, and then gone home and called me. I arrived spouting apologies and offers of cookies to make my way back into her good graces, but none were necessary, as she wasn't in fact angry.
At about 10 am, we therefore made our way to the bus station to catch a bus to Santiago. Upon arriving in Santiago, we took the metro to a station that my guidebook indicated. The book said to leave the metro station and catch a micro (minibus) at Paradero 15 (bus stop 15). We assumed that it would be a regular street-side bus stop, and even ventured a guess that it would be between paraderos 14 and 16. Silly gringas... after wandering around the station for a while (and successfully ignoring the tempting-looking fudge stand all three times we backtracked past it), we asked for directions from a man directing taxis. He waved us in the direction of the nearby, large building full of stores and said to go downstairs.
So, after passing the fudge stand once more and going down the stairs inside the building, we found ourselves back at the metro station. We wandered to a parking garage and asked a lady selling costumes there where we could find Paradero 15. "¿Adónde van?", she asked us. When we told her our intended destination (Cajón del Maipo), she told us where to go and warned that we would get wet in the rain. Well, that "rain" was little more then a light drizzle and we did have raincoats and rainpants. As for the elusive Paradero 15 - that was the entire building.
After finding the correct micro on the second try (having been once again led astray by our guidebook), we were on our way to the reserve. Truth be told, we were just ready to guess at the correct stop (surely a national reserve has at least a small sign?) but as the micro got further from Santiago, we saw no indications of the reserve. We did, however, pass a large and touristy vineyard, at which point the chofer, who up to this point had not been announcing stops, yells out, "La viña! We're passing the viña! Anyone who wants to visit the viña should get off!" Neither Steph nor I made any move to get off the bus, so a female passenger tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we were looking for the vineyard. How successfully we two white women have blended into the fabric of Chilean society in comfortable anonymity.
As the drizzle turned to a light rain and back again and all the other passengers gradually left the bus, we still saw no sign of our reserve. We therefore made our way to the front of the now-empty bus to check with the driver.
I spoke up, "excuse me, we're looking for-"
"I announced it," he interrupted, "I called out many times when we passed the-"
"We don't want to go to the vineyard," I interjected. We told him that we were, in fact, heading for the national reserve.
"Oh, we're almost there right now," he replied. Then, looking us over, "you're going to get wet."
When we arrived at the reserve, we went into the hut at the entrance to purchase our entrance tickets. The ranger on duty reluctantly got up from where he was resting on the sofa to come talk to us. Rather, to come stare at us, as he seemed not at all inclined to begin any conversation. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Steph and I informed the ranger that we wanted to visit the reserve.
"Because of the weather conditions," he responded after a pause, "we don't recommend entering the reserve."
Another awkward pause, and then Steph replied, "Um... could we go anyway?"
Two blinks. "We really don't recommend entering the reserve."
"Yes, but can we go anyway?"
Yet another pause, then the ranger walked over to the desk and pulled out a map of the reserve, "The trails are not safe to walk on, you will have to stay on the main road only." We agreed and paid the entrance fee, and he gave us our tickets. Just before we left, he told us, "Go out the door, turn left, and stay on the road. Don't leave the main road." We nodded, relieved to not have to resort to a pitiful "can we go anyway?" for a third time. "You're going to get wet," he added as we walked out the door.
Upon exiting the hut, we saw two roads leading into the reserve: one that went straight, and one that went to the right. We contemplated how much of the little faith the ranger had in us would be lost if we returned and asked if by "left" he meant right or straight. We didn't have to ask, as he noticed our hesitation when he came to close the door. Exasperated, he repeated slowly, pointing to the path straight ahead, "Go Left And Don't Leave The Main Road". Then he closed the door to return to the sofa, so we missed the muttered "stupid gringas," if he bothered to say it aloud at all.
We walked in the reserve for a few hours, straying only once from the main road (for the specific purpose of taking a picture of Stephanie on the "dangerous" trail - a slightly damp grassy dirt path about 4 feet wide - indeed she was almost washed away by the torrents of... drizzle. The plants were lovely, but not the views were not spectacular, as we couldn't safely leave the main road, and after a few hours we turned back around to return to Santiago for sushi. Before being allowed into any restaurant, however, we had to dry off - we were indeed soaked.
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