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On the Move
The owner of the campsite where my girlfriend and I were staying in Ancud had told us about the annual event of moving house using up to twenty friends and family. Apparently every year locals join forces and help a villager move their house from where it is sinking in the sand on the beach to a new location. They quite literally raise the house up from its foundations onto 30ft long tree trunks then link up twenty huge bulls that pull the building along the streets to its new location. This I had to see – the penguins and sea lions would have to wait!
We drove with some friends for a few hours to the small town of Tenaun. It is situated at the feet of some hills on the east side of Chiloe facing the channel running between the island and the mainland of Chile. The house moving was due to take place on Saturday so we were lucky to be arriving a day early. None of our travel books had any information on Tenaun so finding a place to camp or stay was top priority. You descend a steep hill into the village leveling out into a leafy square with two roads exiting, one to the right and one to the left; both running along the coast. Driving around the square we passed an old church painted blue and white with a vast red corrugated iron roof, which was way out of proportion to the size of the village. We opted for the left turning, as the right seemed to head out to nowhere. We passed a shop and a few houses along with two coaches left rusting and decaying in someone’s yard. For a brief moment I wondered if the passengers or tourists the coach had brought to the town had stayed with the same fatal results. After a few hundred yards and a couple of gentle bends in the road the scene changed. Small but well kept houses with long front gardens ran along the left hand side of the road and the stony and sandy beach ran along the right offering great views out to sea. Directly in front of us was the house they were going to move. Set on the left hand side, it was a single story structure some forty feet long and twenty feet wide. There were five guys working to drive these 30ft long logs under the foundations so that they could raise it up and drag it down the street. Then there were the bulls. Four of them at that time tied in two pairs with a brace strapped between their horns about 3 feet apart. They were enormous and looking incredibly powerful and within that power majestically beautiful. They stood staring at us with their big brown eyes as we approached and shifting nervously on their great legs. I suppose being strapped together like that limited their movement making them a little nervous but not as nervous as us.
We watched for a while as the men continued to clear a path under the foundations to make way for the logs. When they stopped we asked one of them if there was anywhere we could camp or stay in the village. To our surprise he offered us his front garden, which happened to be next door to the house they were moving. Fantastic location with front row seats for the following days spectacle. After pitching our tent we set about building a fire on the beach to roast the chicken we had on our home made spit. The owner of the house where we camped went off with his son in his boat for about half an hour then returned with a bucket full of fresh mussels he had just harvested. These he gave to us free. Cooking them in red wine, garlic and a few herbs they turned out to be the best mussels I had ever eaten. As the girls didn’t like them Daniel and I were able to gorge ourselves on them, which was fortunate as the chicken took another three hours to cook properly. However, it was very succulent and sweet so well worth the wait.
By the next morning the house was ready to move and the bulls had begun to arrive for the job in hand. Four, six, ten, fifteen, eighteen and finally twenty gigantic and enormously powerful looking bulls gathered on the small dusty road and on the beach. It was an impressive sight. By then the local Chiloeans from the village and all over the island had begun to arrive by car cart and coach. The beach had filled up with local school children and the TV, radio and media press hustled and bustled for the best spot. Then the bulls started roaring. I have never heard a bull calling like this and I had not anticipated this part of the adventure, but I will never forget the noise. The best way to describe it is like the T-Rex in Jurassic park when it finds the kids in the car. When you have ten of these bulls all clamoring at the same time the noise is quite deafening. The excitement in the air was palpable, the bulls restless, the spectators excited and the bull owners and workers anxious. The bulls, all strapped in pairs with a wooden brace, were maneuvered into position. This was achieved by their owners whacking them with long sticks and the occasional kick in the snout when the bulls lowered their heads. Perhaps cruel in our ‘western’ eyes but effective. With all the bulls attached in two columns of ten and the final adjustments and checks being made the owners and workers swigged home-made cider, which burnt my throat when I tried it, in ritualistic fashion.
I am not sure who gave the order but the noise level suddenly increased with all the spectators and owners yelling and cheering and with one huge surge the bulls heaved the house forward on its rollers and they dragged it twenty or thirty yards along the road. Pause! As the house was being pulled along the road the trunks now supporting it rolled over smaller ones put in its path, a little like the Egyptians moving Pyramid stones. These had to be fetched from the back and replaced between the bulls legs and in front of the house again. It was a stop start affair, huge surges of energy and then a rest for two or three minutes, then another surge and so on. Every time the bull train got underway the crowd roared and sang, the owners ran between the bulls (one slip and they would be crushed) whacking them with their sticks and pulling on their horns to control the direction. After about an hour and a half the house reached the town square, just under half a kilometer from the start; this was going to be a long day! Lunchtime had arrived. The bulls were led away to be tied to the trees in the square and everyone else headed off for lunch. We had beer and empanadas and walked around the bulls. I even managed to reach out and stroke one, which was a little scary despite the fact that they were tied up not only to a tree but also together. The easy part was over, the next stage was to heave the house up the hill along a winding road and finally to its new foundations. Altogether about 2.5 kilometers away. The church in the town held a choral session with some school children as part of the occasion.
After lunch much the same process followed with stop, start, heave, yelling, singing and cheering. I never tired of watching these magnificent beasts surging forward and dragging this house along the street and up the hill. Their muscles bulging and tensing, steam rising from their flanks and their T-Rex roar at every break. However, half way up the hill it became evident that twenty bulls were not enough as gravity played its part in increasing the weight of the house during the steep ascent. More bulls arrived and after a long hard afternoon the task was complete. The bulls had done their job and were ready to rest and the people had sore throats and were ready to party the night away in celebration.
I had witnessed an exhilarating sight of man and beast working together, the ingenuity of man and the incredible power of these magnificent beasts. A sight I shall never forget and emotional equal to my first sighting of Machu Picchu. If you get a chance and are heading to Chile check with the tourist office in Ancud when the local are next moving house. It is an unmatched spectacle.
Oh yes, Chiloe is a very beautiful Island and generally very tranquil. Worth a visit.
Alastair Choat
The Guru Team |
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