The first mistake of my pilgrimage in Chile
It was just midnight on a Friday night. I knew it was midnight because I’d been eyeing the clock at reception waiting for my late night hostel shift to end. Exhausted from the 7 hours of work I put in earlier that day at the art studio around the corner, I convinced myself to stay home and rest.
That is, until I bumped into my Chilean friend on the stairs outside of the hostel. He told me about a famous pilgrimage that happens every year in Casablanca, Chile. Thousands of people traverse across the country to wind up at Lo Vásquez Church to pay respects to a famous shrine.
Convinced there would be little walking, mostly transport by bus, and a fabulously rewarding market at the end of it all, I agreed to go. (I’m am a sucker for a good market.)
For thirty minutes we drove into the dark night. Watching the light pollution fade as we slowly moved further and further away from civilization. There wasn’t a single other pair of headlights in sight. We were vastly alone. Just the two of us and our colectivo (Chilean for “taxi”) driver. Traversing the empty space of what’s usually a heavily trafficked stretch of highway. Kilometers had passed behind us and I could feel the excitement approaching. That is, until we hit the road blocker in a small town called Placilla. It was put in place to shut down the highways for those braving the pilgrimage in Chile that weekend.
Stepping outside of the colectivo, our itchy feet hit the ground. There was no longer even a hint of transportation available to return back to Valpo. Passing by at that exact moment was an older gentleman, super motivated in his walk. I asked him his ETA to the church.
“Una hora y media,” he respond as he sped on by, maintaining pace.
“Eso no es nada. Vamos,” said my friend.
Only one hour? That’s not so bad, I thought. I’ve got this, easy. “Ya po, vamo!”
The Realization
An hour and a half passed.
The excitement slowly started to wear off, as the cold began to really sink it. For the first time since we set foot on the pavement, we checked the GPS.
4.5 hours. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS. That’s what Google Maps was telling us remained.
“Are you sure you want to go?” my friend asked with concerned eyes as he eyed my light zip up sweatshirt. It was all I had with me, protecting me from the 12 degree Celsius temperatures.
My hands were starting to pain from all the cold. Goosebumps were now an extra layer of protection. Since there were no cars around, no roads nearby to jump off to, no buses that would come save us or to call when we needed and no battery to use even if we did, we really had two options: continue on or turn back.
To return to Valpo, it was highly unlikely we would find a ride. We had taken the last colectivo of the night, so to return home meant that we would have to backtrack the 120 minutes we just trekked plus the unknown distance we had traveled by car before.
To keep pushing forward meant that we knew for certain our journey would come to an end after 4 and a half hours.
Both options guaranteed long stretches of flat paved roads, crisp cold night air, tired, paining feet and hunger. The second, however, warranted rewards with the promise of nourishment and transport upon arrival.
We chose the latter. And it was at this point where our journey, our pilgrimage to Lo Vásquez, truly began.
The second mistake of my pilgrimage in Chile
Shortly after we decided to press on, my body started trembling from the lack of layers I so unpreparedly left with. I tried to keep myself moving to generate more heat, but that’s when the itching started. From my ankle to my thighs, my legs demanded to be scratch. The feeling so overwhelmingly powerful, I was lucky to have my legs covered by a thin layer of jeans, or I could’ve easily clawed through layers and layers of skin. Thankfully the bitter cold also punished my hands every time they escaped from the inside of my jacket pockets.
More time had passed, but it was hard to tell how far we had truly walked. Still no cars passed. The road, poorly lit by only a few scare lamp posts. The night seemed never-ending.
The Godsend
The only entertainment we had was each other and the 50-100 others we passed along the way. All trenching along the same path. Hours and hours behind them. We saw athletes on bicycle speeding past us. Riders galloping along on their horses. Power walkers, praying walkers, slow walkers, walkers with dogs, and walkers with strollers. All walks of life participated in this pilgrimage.
Thankfully, at some point along the way, there were many locals set up in pop up tents alongside the edge of the highway selling coffee and tea, cookies and sandwiches for all those participating in the pilgrimage in Chile. We probably stopped 2-3 times for a hot drink and a snack before finally feeling too full to eat anymore.
At one point we even had to stop alongside the highway for a quick break. The both of us, sitting with only our bums on the highway, with our feet hanging in the grass, my friend sat behind me for warmth and support. There the two of us fell asleep for what seemed like an hour. We were both without battery at this point, so who knows how long we actually slept.
As the sun started creeping up beyond the horizon, more and more people were on the highways. Hundreds hundreds. I could no longer keep count. By this time, my friend could no longer walk properly. His VANS hadn’t agreed with his long journey and now he was limping. Fortunately, there off in the distance, we could finally make out the church.
That was all the motivation we needed to pep up our step a little bit.
The Arrival to Lo Vásquez
At 8am, we arrived. Arm in arm. My friend’s weight on my shoulders as I helped carry him to the feria.
Pushing our way passed the crowd, we hardly even stopped to check out anything. Our interest in the feria died about 5 hours into our journey. When the itching and pain took hold. And in all honesty, the feria was the same feria everywhere else in Chile, just larger in size.
At the end of the feria were all the mircos. Loading bicycles on top of their buses and waiting for their seats to fill as the pilgrims gathered themselves from their strenuous journey.
Disappointed by the material reward of our pilgrimage sacrifice, I don’t believe I ever slept harder in my life.
To plan your own adventure in Chile read:
Your Guide To The 7 Best Atacaman Adventures
San Pedro de Atacama: What You Need to Know
How to Get to the Atacama Desert On a Budget (from Valparaíso)
