Chiloe, Chile.

Chiloe is a small island in southern patagonia, considered the beginning of the end of the world, a rugged island filled with a hard and certain people who have lived there lives surrounded by seafood and its trade.

I´m flying blind -- without a guidebook, which other experienced travellers find absolutely insane -- because I came here after seeing one sentence on a map. So the power of words have coerced me here, and I´m glad they did.

Chiloe and Chile have a certain ruggedness, a coldness and beauty that is both enigmatic and wonderfully omnipresent. It´s a place where no one extends a hand unasked or even says hello, but if you ask for a good supermarket to buy wine, you´ll prompt an intense back and forth on the merits of the town´s two respective supermarkets.

At the same time, there is warmth in unexpected places. The waitress called me and a fellow traveler "sons" after a short meal of huge lump king crab and scallops.

"I don´t have children," she says, smilingly broadly as she clears plates. She invited us to take a picture with her tomorrow, where she says she´ll put us next to the other Americans -- her other children.

The king crab and scallops, covered with parmesan cheese and butter sauce, were unbelievably fresh and huge servings greeted us for the equivalent of about 15 dollars each. I digress to food because fish and food are the lifeblood of these small towns I´m travelling, and the day centers around fish. The fish trade also reflects the general feeling from the people -- tough and efficient, unflailingly competent but content with hard work and the results they bear.