Santiago (Chile) to La Vera

Today I cuddled a baby alpaca. And honestly… sooooo soft. Like hugging a cloud with legs.

We’ve lined up another Workaway, ten days on a little lifestyle block in La Vera, about an hour out of Santiago, helping with animal care and odd jobs. Getting there, though, was an adventure in itself.

We managed to pack all our bike gear into dry bags and shopping bags, turns out we have way more bits and bobs when the bikes are stripped down.

First mission: find the tube station, then the right train to get us across town to the central bus depot. So far, so good.

Back above ground, we needed a bus to the bus station. Easy, right? Nope. The hardest bit was crossing the manic intersection without getting flattened. We figured out our bus number but apparently here you have to wave them down , something we discovered as the first one blasted past without a second glance.

When we finally made it on board, I wasn’t entirely sure where to get off. Pretty sure we nailed it though… except we didn’t realise the main depot was literally across the road. So off we tramped, four blocks with all our gear, before discovering we’d walked away from it.

At the station, I left Maree guarding the mountain of bags while I went hunting for our bus. Our new host had messaged some instructions, so I just showed them to the bus staff who herded us onto one. We hoped for the best. Thankfully, about an hour later, the bus assistant tapped me on the shoulder and said our stop was next. Phew!

We got dropped on the roadside and walked the last couple of kilometres, hunger gnawing. A quick roadside bite later, we carried on, hoping we were heading in the right direction.

But all was sweet. We arrived and were greeted warmly by Ange, her nine-year-old daughter Ruffy, two donkeys, a miniature horse with a serious attitude, an alpaca, and a whole herd of chickens. Also on the team, three other volunteers: Francise from France, and a couple, David and Paula, from Brazil.

We spent the afternoon settling in, meeting both the human and furry residents. Later, Ruffy led us to meet mama alpaca and her baby, a few months old now and ridiculously cuddly. Mama, less so.

As dusk fell, it was time to round up the animals for the night. Fairly straightforward, since they knew the routine better than we did. Dinner here is late, like 8pm, which is usually my bedtime, so I did my best not to nod off at the table. First impressions and all that.

First thing this morning, everyone gathered in the main house for breakfast. Around the table sat Portuguese, French, Spanish, and Kiwi, a proper fruit salad of languages all trying to make conversation. Somehow, we make it work, mostly through hand gestures and laughter.

After breakfast, it was business time...literally the animals’ business. Since they’d been shut up all night, the stalls were a full-blown poo party. I swear, we keep finding volunteer gigs where the first job of the day involves shovelling shit. Must be our specialty by now.

But before the grand clean-up, we give the two donkeys and the miniature horse a good brush down. They get pampered every morning, more than I can say for myself. Once they’re gleaming, we open the gates and let the donkeys, horse, and alpacas wander out into the orchard for their day out.

Then it’s shovel time. I didn’t know donkeys could produce that much overnight, but apparently they save it all up for one dramatic morning performance. Once the stalls are spotless, the compost gets carted off to the pile. And just when you think you’re done, it’s hole-digging time.

The fruit trees here need trenches dug around them to help retain water. There are loads of trees, so we just chip away at a few each day. By 12:30, the morning’s graft is done, and we’re free to relax.

The Brazilian couple, YouTubers, disappear to edit videos and write scripts. Maree flops somewhere shady, and I follow suit. No idea what the French guy gets up to, he keeps to himself in his own room.

Lunch (which is actually dinner here) rolls around about 2pm, and it’s always something delicious. There’s another older bloke living here, Nano, he bakes unreal bread. He’s also been making me gluten-free treats, which is bloody thoughtful. Today’s spread was bread, cheese, salad, pickles, simple but perfect.

After that, we rest again. My body’s loving the downtime, a proper chance to recharge after all those headwinds. The hardest part of the day? Waiting for dinner. It’s at 8pm, which for me as we know is my bedtime. But once we’re all gathered again around the table, the banter flows and I forget how tired I am.

Chicken patrol. That was my gig today. Puala from Brazil and I were on chook duty. After breakie we wandered into the chicken domain, where the girls were huddled at the roost door like commuters waiting for the bus. They get locked in each night, then released into their daytime run for a feed and drink before the big release at midday. Gives them time to pop out their protein nuggets.

We topped up their water, scattered food, collected eggs, and of course had a yarn with them, because, it’d be rude not to.

Once the chooks were sorted and the rest of the mob, donkeys, alpacas, and that miniature horse with the attitude of a rugby prop, were out roaming free, it was back to hole-digging duty. I was politely told to maybe slow down a bit, which I took as “stop going at it like a bull at a gate.” Fair call.

After a few trenches and a smoko, we wrapped early so we could tackle the chook house clean later. Maree and I wandered a few k’s to a wee shop for snack supplies — priorities.

Lunch was meant to be later today because Ruffy was going to give us a violin recital. But tragedy struck before the first note. The horse, bless his clumsy hooves, stood on a chicken’s head. Squished it!! Brutal way to go. Poor Ruffy was heartbroken, so we left Ange to comfort her while we quietly got on with our work.

We finished up the chook house clean, not much else we could do on the tragedy front. Then, come evening, the vibe shifted. Ange’s brother, who also lives here, treated us to a medieval performance with his hand-built replica instruments. He played haunting old tunes that sounded straight out of a castle courtyard. Bloody incredible craftsmanship.

Dinner didn’t roll around till 9:30pm which my body still hasn’t quite made peace with. I reckon tomorrow I might skip the night feed and listen to my body instead. Early to bed, that’s my kind of jam.

Saturday, which apparently means no hole digging. My kind of day. We still had our usual animal duties in the morning, but once everyone was fed, brushed, and de-pooed, the shovels stayed put.

After chores, Paula, Francis and I wandered down to the local Saturday market. I’ve gotta say, it didn’t quite stack up to the wild chaos and colour of the markets back in Ecuador or Peru. More of a quiet country vibe, a few nick-nack stalls, some fruit and veg, and that was about it. Still, it was good to stretch the legs and take in a bit of local life.

By the time we got back, I was feeling pretty run-down , a bit off my game, so I parked myself outside and let the sun do its thing. Sometimes that’s the best medicine, aye?

After lunch it was rinse and repeat, a lazy afternoon, zero guilt. And true to my word, I skipped the night feed and hit the sack early. My body’s been begging for rest, and tonight I finally listened.

Sundays here roll much like Saturdays — animal duties in the morning, then it’s all about chill mode. Feed the crew, brush the donkeys, scoop the poop, release the chooks, and that’s the day’s hard graft done.

Once the morning chaos settles, the whole place just sort of exhales. The animals flop into the shade, the humans drift toward hammocks, and the day stretches out slow and lazy.

So, when in Rome… I followed suit. Grabbed a coffee, found a sunny spot, and let the world spin without me for a bit. Sometimes doing absolutely nothing feels bloody perfect.

This morning rolled out like clockwork, the usual round of feeding, brushing, and mucking out before we got stuck into weeding the back garden. That’s the hangout zone for mama and baby alpaca, so we had some quality company while we worked.

At one point, baby alpaca decided Maree was the one, full cuddle mode, head buried in her chest, absolute love story unfolding right there in the dirt. Too bloody cute.

Life here is mellow, the slowest pace we’ve had in ages. My body’s soaking it up like a sponge. Recharge mode: activated.

Oh, and we’ve got a new recruit, from Scotland. That’s today’s headline.

Today I was in my happy place, the kitchen. I told Ange I’d take charge of lunch, and of course, roped Maree into making her famous self-saucing chocolate pudding.

I whipped up a potato-layered lasagna, using spuds instead of pasta, and made my own tomato-veg sauce from scratch. Threw in some arepas too, because no one’s going hungry on my watch.

We decided to cook everything in the outdoor fire oven. First time for us, but hey, what could possibly go wrong? Not much… other than Maree, my little pyromaniac, building a fire hot enough to melt the hinges off hell’s gates. Lunch ended up fashionably late, but worth every minute.

It was a proper feast,beers cracked, plates full, and that buzz you get when everyone’s happy and fed. Food really is my love language.

By late arvo, everyone drifted off into their own food comas, sprawled out in the shade.

Then came the next mission: the solar shower. In its current state, it was, well… crap. One of those hang-a-bag-and-hope-for-the-best jobs. They’d just bought a little USB pump but weren’t sure how to rig it up. So, I threw on my creative Kiwi hat, brainstormed a few ideas with Maree, and came up with a plan.

Tomorrow, we build.