Camerón

We drove this winding gravel road till lunch time when we stopped in a pull out full of wind and abandoned tires to sup some hot ramen soup. 

It was almost two o’clock when we were welcomed to this village of a hundred people boasting a health clinic and a school and a campground with hot showers. 

It reminded me on a breezy sunny afternoon of some small Northern California coastal community wedged into a cleft in the coastal cliffs. 

We had already seen this German converted fire truck parked on the waterfront in Punta Arenas, though later when we drove out of Camerón they were gone probably to the national park (no dogs allowed!) at the very end of the road south of here. 

It was after two but the market which serves as the campground office was still closed. I read the instructions in English and Spanish and wrote down our license plate on a scrap of paper and bundled the required 26,000 pesos ($28) into the drop box for use when the office was closed. There was no mention anywhere of a no dog policy. 

It was a lovely spot. 

I wanted to take advantage of the glorious weather so I carried eight buckets of potable water from the faucet to fill our water tank while Layne vacuumed our home.

I emptied our porta potty and we exercised and took long hot showers. It was lovely and we were thinking we might stay an extra day. 

We walked the trails down to the river past the tent camping platforms and reveled in the warm sunshine.  

We were alone until  a woman in a pick up drove in. Is this your dog she asked as though it could be anybody else’s. Dogs aren’t allowed she said. Oh I said is there a reason. To protect the herds (ganado) she said. On the hills, she added as she saw me looking around in puzzlement. 

Okay I said, we’ll pack up but it’s a pity you don’t mention this policy anywhere. She pointed to the sign outside the shower “Pets May Not Enter.”  I’ve seen those signs in many campgrounds where pets aren’t allowed inside buildings. 

We were packed and ready to go in ten minutes feeling miffed but we had at least showered and taken advantage of the facilities and had even dumped our trash and we knew there were lots of wild camps up the road …The funny thing was we had been visited by this local dog wandering around our campsite. No dogs indeed.  

The manager back at the store was wildly angry and when we came in to get our money back she yelled at us and accused us of sneaking in and not paying. And when she found  our payment untouched in her lock box she got even more embarrassed and yelled louder that rules are rules. We never disagreed but said it would have been nice if they had mentioned this rule on the website or put a notice at the entrance among their other rules. She gave us our money still yelling as we refused to engage and stood silently under her abuse. She must  be a holy terror to work  for was all I could think. 

We stopped roadside to consult our map and she drove by inches away accelerating angrily and kicking up a dust cloud to let us know what she thought of us as if we didn’t already know. What a strange moment it was, leaving us puzzled more than angry. One got the feeling there were more pressing issues than us in her life and we were a place to vent. 

We drove the twenty miles back to the wild camp near the penguins and felt relieved that we will never have to see Camerón again. Pity those that live under that management style. As an overlander you aren’t always appreciated, you or your money but at least it’s easy to drive your home out of conflict zones. I love being a nomad. 

From iOverlander  our review.