La Vera - Santiago

Today was one of those days where you start with chicken crap and end with engineering — living the dream, honestly.

After sorting the chooks and collecting their morning protein nuggets, I was fizzing to get back to the outdoor shower project. Me and Maree sat staring at our rough plan like two tradies who’d lost the instructions but were too proud to admit it. We tweaked a few ideas, biffed a few others, then cracked into it.

Maree took charge of the hose and bucket connection — classic “I’ve got this” energy — while I got busy figuring out a pulley system and the main shower block setup. At one point I wandered over to grab a tool and found Maree in a full WWE showdown with the silicone sealant. I swear she’d spread that stuff everywhere except the thing she meant to seal. Honestly, silicon should come with a warning label: “Will ruin at least one relationship.”

By lunch we had the whole rig in a “nearly there” state. Just needed the sealant to dry, which meant no official test run yet. But the curiosity was simmering.

The afternoon entertainment:

Horse and donkey wash day. The horse loved it, absolute diva behaviour. Head up, soaking it in like he expected someone to bring him a cocktail with a tiny umbrella.

The donkeys? Entirely different story. They acted like we were trying to baptise them against their will, stubborn, dramatic, legs stiff like planks. It was like washing two toddlers who’d both decided dirt was their personality now.

And after all that animal chaos, something in me snapped. I needed a wash too. That near - finished outdoor shower was calling my name. So I roped Maree in and we gave it a test go.

Here’s what we learned:

1. 100% a one-person shower. No question.

2. Nowhere dry to change unless you enjoy doing the cold-wind towel dance.

So tomorrow I’ll build an extension, a little screen, a tiny changing nook, something that gives the whole operation a smidge of dignity.

But for today? Not bad. Animals clean-ish. Shower almost operational. Maree still scraping silicone off her arms. And me? Feeling pretty chuffed to be building useful things in out of limited resorces and a bit of kiwi ingenuity.

Last day on the farm, and not gonna lie, this one hit a bit deeper than I expected.

Woke up knowing it was our final round of chores, final cuppa at the table, final “morning team” nods across the courtyard. Funny how quickly a place worms its way under your skin when the days are simple, the work is honest, and the people don’t bullshit you.

But first — the shower.

Couldn’t leave without making sure the thing was actually usable. Felt like my little legacy project. So I went scavenging and struck gold behind one of the sheds: a chunk of old fencing, a brush screen, and a pallet that had definitely lived several past lives. Perfect.

A few screws, a bit of wire, and some questionable engineering later, I’d whipped up a wee changing area off the shower block. Stood back, hands on hips, and thought, yeah nah, that actually looks pretty tidy. Functional, rustic, very “Kiwi makeshift chic.” I’ll take it.

With that done, it was time to pack up my medio possessions, funny how little you actually own when you spread it all out. Tomorrow after breakie, we roll on.

Tonight’s dinner was a proper send-off.

Papa fired up the outdoor oven and cranked out a tower of pizzas. He even made me my own gluten-free ones. Thee man is basically a culinary wizard with a medieval beard. I’ll admit something… When we first arrived, I wasn’t too sure about him. Bit intense, bit mysterious, all vibes but no translation.

Now he’s the one I’ll miss the most.

It was one of those dinners where no one really says “this is goodbye,” but you feel it anyway, in the laughs, the easy silence, the shared plates, the way everyone lingered a little longer around the fire.

Tomorrow we roll out.

But tonight? Just soaking in that last bit of warmth before the road calls again.

There were tears this morning, and not the quiet, graceful kind either. Proper puffy-eyed, leaking-from-all-angles tears. More than once.

I’m not good at goodbyes. Never have been. I feel people. I soak them up. I get attached. And leaving… well, it’s bloody hard on the head and heart.

We had big hugs all round, tight ones, the kind that say all the things words can’t. And there were tears from both sides, not just mine. When we finally walked down the driveway, my eyes were stinging and swollen. I muttered,

“Fuck, I wish I hated people.”

Maree just cracked up.

“No you don’t!”

And yeah, she’s right. I laughed too, even through the mess.

We flagged down a taxi easy enough, they’re not inclusive here; they just try to fill them up like a shared shuttle. We squeezed in beside a local woman who, by pure luck, was heading to the Melipilla bus depot as well. At the station, the driver even hopped out and helped us buy our bus tickets to Santiago. Legendary service.

Then boom, just like that, back into the noise, heat, and chaos of city life. We navigated the metro, backpacks digging into shoulders, until we reached our hotel.

A hotel.

Flash!!

Tonight we’re sharing with Lynley, Maree’s mum, who was flying in late.

But first: lunch.

We took the metro to Bio Bio, an outer suburb with its own food markets, and demolished a massive plate loaded with meat, chips, and eggs. Pure comfort. We waddled back to the hotel, stopping for room snacks because that’s just good planning.

After a good rest, we headed back out at 10pm, yep, 10pm, for the mission to the airport. Metro to the end of the line, taxi from there, and then the classic airport waiting game:

“Which set of arrival doors will they come through? And when?”

Two hours later, Maree was wrapped around her mum in a proper warm embrace. Beautiful moment. And Lynley was on to it, she’d pre-booked a transfer from NZ, so we didn’t have to argue with taxi drivers at stupid o’clock.

Back at the hotel we chatted a bit, catching up, decompressing… and then finally looked at the time.

2am.

After that ridiculous late night yesterday, none of us were in a hurry this morning.

We drifted downstairs for the hotel brekkie, expecting the usual “toast, jam, and disappointment.” But nah it was a proper spread. Actual food. Hot stuff. Fruit even. It felt like luxury after months of the same recycled hostel staples.

We lingered there, the three of us, chatting and hovering like we owned the joint. The only plan today was simple: show Lynley some of the city markets and ease her into the Santiago chaos.

We headed for the metro, which by now we were navigating like semi-locals. We split ways. Maree and Lynley were off to the metro market, and I hopped out early to hunt down the bike shops. Every shop in this city seems to live on the same street, which honestly is brilliant for someone with my shopping attention span.

I’d made an executive decision:

My boney arse deserved padding.

The chamois situation had become urgent.

I assumed I’d spend an hour rummaging through racks of overpriced Lycra, but the first store had a bargain bin stacked with cycle shorts. Straight in. No mucking around. Shorts sorted.

Next mission: foam mat.

My inflatable one keeps developing micro-holes. Fix one, another appears like bloody whack-a-mole. I figured that on the final leg of this adventure, if it truly shits the bed, I’ll be crashing directly onto rock. Not ideal. So I wanted a cheap foam mat as backup.

Again — first store. Boom! Done.

The bike gods were smiling on me!

With my errands sorted, I took a slow wander through Plaza de Armas, playing tourist for a moment. The heat rising off the stone, buskers echoing through the square, couples posing in front of fountains , it all had that “big city doing its thing” vibe. I had loads of time before meeting Maree and Lynley at 1pm in the central market, so I just soaked it all in.

The central market is wall-to-wall seafood — piles of fish, shouting vendors, clattering plates, the whole sensory overload. As I was walking through looking for the girls, I got absolutely ambushed by a woman named Ang who worked one of the eateries. Huge personality. Full charisma. Zero chance of escape.

Ange pitched me the lunch deals, told me which fish would make me live forever, and basically hypnotised me on the spot. I promised I’d return with “Mumma,” and when I eventually found Maree and Lynley, I dragged them straight back like a loyal cult recruit.

Ang took over from there, threw menus at us, made recommendations, talked smack, then handed us each a free pisco sour like some seafood fairy godmother.

Lunch? Bloody good.

Once we’d eaten our weight in fishy delights and Ang had released me from her spell, we wandered back out, found the metro, and headed home.

By the time we got back to the hotel it was late afternoon, so the rest of the day was just lazy, laying out, chatting, chilling, letting the city buzz outside without feeling the need to chase it.

The what?

Yep. An actual alarm. After months of waking with the sun, roosters, dogs, or some random truck changing gears halfway up a hill… today we willingly set an alarm because, brace yourself, we were going to be tourists.

Proper tourists.

We were heading up into the Chilean Andes to see Lake Cajón del Maipo.

We packed ourselves into a van with a handful of other travellers and rumbled our way out of Santiago. It felt strangely wrong moving uphill without pedalling. My legs kept waiting for the burn that never came. Maree’s mum, Lynley, though, she was buzzing. Absolutely fizzing. Seeing her light up made the whole van ride feel a bit magic.

And then the mountains opened up around us.

Massive rocky faces, sharp ridges, those looming scree slopes that look like they would move if you so much as breathed on them. And sitting right in the middle of it all, the lake. Calm. Cold. Unbothered. A turquoise splash tucked into a bowl of giants.

We wandered around like every other tourist, snapping photos, pausing to simply look, letting the scale of it punch a bit of quiet into us. Even after everything we’ve seen on this journey, big mountains still have a way of shutting you up in all the right ways.

On the way back we pulled in for a picnic, part of the tour. Tables laid out with salami, cheese, cherries, chips, chocolate and wine. Classic tourist spread. Classic us for eating half of it before remembering we probably should hold back and let others eat too!!

Back at the hotel by early afternoon, full from the food and slightly fuzzy from the wine, all three of us crashed. The kind of nap where you swear you only shut your eyes for five minutes, but somehow an hour disappears.

Later, we drifted out for a coffee stroll, stretch the legs, shake off the sleep, grab snacks for tomorrow. Because apparently… we’re doing the tourist thing again.

Who even are we?

A cruisy morning for the three of us, well, as cruisy as it can be when you’ve still gotta be out the door and wedged into a tour van by 7.40am.

Today we were off to the Maipo Valley for a day of wine touring. So naturally, by 10.30am, the three of us were parked at a table with a wee plate of cheese and crackers, facing down three very generous tasting pours. The Chileans don’t muck around with their wine servings — respect.

But rewind a bit, because this first vineyard was a small family-run place… with animals. And honestly, one of the things I love most in life is watching other people light up. Lynley had never been up close with Alpacas before, so seeing her face as she fed and patted them — pure gold.

We rolled out of that vineyard a little giddy and were whisked off to number two, a much larger, flash operation. Massive grounds, vines for days. Another round of wine, two reds and a white, poured like they were trying to keep us quiet. Our group was eighteen people: absolutely eclectic.

Stop three was a restaurant-slash-vineyard, but no tasting this time, just food. The tour didn’t include lunch, so we’d come prepared with a picnic. While everyone else sat politely at their tables making small talk, we sprawled on beanbags under fruit trees, grazing, chatting, dozing. No regrets.

The final stop: the oldest vineyard in the valley. They walked us through the distillery and cellars before handing over tastings — two reds, one white, one sparkling. By this point we were experienced professionals, not!! Im not spitting out the good stuff!!

The drive back to Santiago? Couldn’t tell you. The whole van was snoring within ten minutes.

Too wiped to head out, we showered and hit the hotel restaurant. I’d been carrying a loaf of gluten-free bread, and managed to sweet-talk the chef into making me a burger using my slices instead of their buns. The man delivered.

We hit our pillows slightly woozy, bellies warm, hearts full. A bloody great day.

Lynley got the best tour of Santiago today, not the postcard kind. The real one. The admin-day chaos one.

Me and Maree had two missions:

1. Source bike boxes and get them to the bus company

2. Trek across the city to pick up the tent, which had been getting a new zip sewn in.

This “tour” involved multiple metro transfers, hauling huge bike boxes down busy streets, weaving through crowds, and guessing which exit actually leads to daylight. Chaos… but the fun kind.

Lynley loved it. She had no idea where she was or where we were going, but she was buzzing at seeing how we actually operate on these behind-the-scenes days. Metro-hopping like locals, back alleys, big roads, random detours, the full experience.

Maree then had to walk 30 minutes to the sewing place, so Lynley and I parked up at an outdoor mall. People-watching, chatting, sun on our faces.

When Maree finally came back:

“Where’s the tent, babe?”

“They said it’ll be ready at 6pm. They had to send it away.”

So we could:

A) Wait two hours

or

B) Come back in the morning

Easy choice. Morning it is , though cutting it fine.

Speaking of cutting it fine… we still didn’t have our bikes.

We were told they’d be delivered tonight to the hotel. So I waited.

Sent a few WhatsApp messages.

Waited more.

Went past my bedtime.

Still waited.

At 11pm — finally — they arrived.

And holy shit they look slick. Worth every cent and every grey hair.

Now all we need is the tent. Our bus is at 8.30pm tomorrow. Fingers crossed.