I'd needed a full day to rest and feed up before I could start processing the world around me, without being overwhelmed by all the people, cars and buildings.
But when I could it was lovely. Puerto Varas is at one end of the beautiful and tranquil Lago Llanquihue, while at the other end is the ominous Volcan Osorno. The town was German settled and has a very Bavarian feel to the architecture, food and, of course, beer.
We'd been feverishly finding information on all the national parks and trails nearby - it was all stunning here and we wanted to carry on our nature high, the plan being to tramp around for a week or two using the local buses between treks on the volcanoes, lakes and mountains.
The next day the rain set in. According to the weather it would last for two weeks. Chile is a long country, and we surmised that it had to be warmer further north. Santiago, the capital, was the goal and 1,000 kilometres away. I was to buy a motorcycle, and start a new phase of my journey.
Nearly three months earlier we'd managed to spend two weeks travveling 2,200 kilometres by hitch-hiking - and once again we were in no hurry, so guessed a week on the road would do it.
We hitched out of town in two minutes flat, and marvelled at our luck. We noticed a family hitching further up the road, and thought it must be commonplace here, which could be a blessing or a curse.
In barely ten more minutes we'd got a lift to the main road - Ruta 5, a.k.a. the Pan-American Highway. We couldn't let ourselves think it would all be this easy... After half an hour waiting at a bus stop avoiding drizzling rain we were in a road workers' truck, flying north.
Raul and Leo were funny from the start, and though we couldn't understand absolutely everything they said, we could get most of it and they really did want to chat. They were real jokers and couldn't stop cracking jokes about us and themselves. This was great for our Spanish, as we'd been only talking to each other for so long.
Afetr a while we asked where they were taking us, just out of interest. Osorno was the reply, which is a town about 80 kilometres north of Puerto Varas. They asked where we were heading to, and when we replied Santiago they said they were going there too...
It turned out they had some more work to do, but once finished were driving the whole way there today. They said if we wanted to wait they'd happily pick us up again and get us to Santiago. Looking out of the window the weather was still grey and cold. 1,000 kilometres had to help.
As they let us out at a service station came the confusing bit - Leo said to wait an hour, maybe and hour and a half, and that if we weren't there they would know we'd hitched on. Then at the last second Raul said quickly something about two or three hours. Or it could have been something about two or three a.m.
He'd said it quickly and as we were getting out. I thought he was correcting Leo's hour and a half, but neither of us were sure.
We got a celebratory beer, read newspapers and wandered around to stretch our legs in anticipation of a long ride. After an hour I took my bag to where they'd dropped us off, and the waiting began.
After another hour we started trying to analyse what they'd said exactly. It was obviously pointless, and we couldn't make any more sense of it than at the time. We agreed it was a great opportunity and we should give them the full three hours.
Then I started trying to imagine why two road workers would travel 1,000 kilometres at the end of their shift. Surely each region have their own teams and equipment anyway? I'm sure Chile don't send trucks the 4,000 kilometre length of their country every time they need to fill in a pothole.
I was remembering their cheeky grins, tasteless jokes and sarcastic comments which I'd loved at the time, but now I was imagining that it was all another joke, and they were just seeing how long they could make two gringos sit outside for.
Kevin had faith though, while I was losing it more and more by the minute. It was still a great opportunity so I still agreed it was worth waiting as long as we could anyway. After three hours we started taking turns scouting the area for camping spots. It was all terrible, and we had no ideas for a nice place to sleep.
After four hours we picked up our bags, feeling more than a bit silly and doffed our metaphorical hats to the cheekiest road workers on Ruta 5.
But before you could say "Hoodwinking Bastards", even as we stood up, the camioneta screeched to a halt next to us with a grinning pair of Chilenos now in their tracksuits and a dangerous looking load of light arrays, barriers and cones on the back, held in with an array of threadbare ratchet straps at all angles.
In my mind they'd waited out of sight, watching to see when we'd give up before swooping in to save the day, just to give a real cresendo to our emotional rollercoaster. In real life though, what had just happened was our first experience of "Chilean Time".
It was a fun evening and Leo actually wouldn't stop talking. By two a.m. it was a bit tiresome, but the right-angled seats weren't conducive to sleep and Leo showed no sign of tiredness.
We did eventually get some sleep. Only to be awoken sharply by the dual tone blare of the air horn of a truck. As my eyes opened Leo was reaching avross to jerk the steering wheel right, to put us back into the right-hand lane as a huge truck still sounding it's horn dopplered past us with a blinding flash of light.
The next time I woke up everyone was asleep, but we were pulled in on the hard shoulder. Not the safest move, but probably better than carrying on. In the morning we stopped at a greasy spoon, and experieced our first churrascos in Chile. It was greasy, cheesy, and good. We cruised into town and were dropped at a metro station before 11 a.m.
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