A journey into Chile’s ancestral heartland, the perfect place to go a little slower, The Telegraph

“When a child is born, we bury the placenta under a tree and that helps to decide the child’s fate,” said Regina, as we sauntered around Feria Walüng, the Mapuche market and farm. “It also means we don’t cut down any trees.”

As autumn sunlight crept through spindly silver birches, the market’s makeshift food stalls and the sturdy rucas (traditional houses) nearby were speckled with white. Volcán Villarrica towered ominously overhead, chicks fluttered underfoot, and a nonchalant sow let out the odd grunt as a busy litter clambered over her head.

Although only eight miles from Pucón, a lakeside holiday haven for Santiago’s elite, it felt centuries away. I soon found myself huddled in Regina’s ruca for tea around the fire with several others (shoulder to shoulder without a second thought, like people did in 2019). The conversation delved deeper into Mapuche life – the need to overcome prejudice; why their culture is under threat; raising children; climate change – and I struggled to tear myself away.

This time of year marks the start of peak season in the Chilean Lake District, when the promise of summer’s longer days and clearer skies lure enough travellers to support a hefty chunk of the economy. This year, Chile’s international borders reopened on Nov 23, just in time to restore much-needed employment and income. The recent news that visitors from the UK are no longer required to quarantine on arrival or back home will no doubt help.

Often overlooked by tourists who dart between the more extreme climes of the Atacama and Torres del Paine, the Lake District is the perfect place for those willing to go a little slower. Distances are manageable on well-connected roads, making it easier to be independent and visit less touristed areas. It also offers a practical Covid-era option, too – the self-drive holiday.

Despite the beguiling landscape, my trip was dominated by my encounters with South America’s most influential indigenous group: the Mapuche. I’m not the only one to have my plans derailed by this ancient tribe. Thanks to the Mapuche’s egalitarian structure (the Inca’s hierarchy made it easier to seize control from the top) and fierce determination, the Conquistadors never conquered south of this region (La Araucanía).

Instead, they settled alongside the Mapuche, who today make up nine per cent of Chile’s population. Arriving in Castro – the blustery capital of Chiloé – I wondered whether I might have been better exploring the English Lake District instead. I was in good company. In 1832, Charles Darwin proclaimed, “I do not suppose any part of the world is so rainy as the Island of Chiloé… in winter the climate is detestable, and in summer it is only a little better.”

Unlike Darwin, I was lucky enough to retreat from the damp into Tierra Chiloé’s architecturally magnificent cocoon. A beautiful wooden hotel on stilts, creature comforts here include handwoven slippers and honey-infused pisco sours, plus floor-to-ceiling views of the wetlands and the bay. Chiloé’s Pacific coast offers several dramatic hikes, and the south is home to hundreds of outlying islands. I headed to Achao to find a Chiloé that time has forgotten.

First published in print December 2020. Read the full article here.