It really starts with the blog at the very bottom.
For the pictures to go along with the last two blogs below, here you go: http://picasaweb.google.com/ajwulf/SantiagoAndTheBlues#
Enjoy, and any feedback is welcome, like "way too long", "stick to running", or "are you just making all this up, and if you are, wouldn't you write about something cooler like racecar driving?"
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
La Serena and the Valle de Elquí
La Serena and the Valle de Elquí is a different story.
At this point we had been in and around Chillán for three almost four days, and I thought we were headed home. Then I kept hearing about visiting our fields to the north during conversations, only to finally learn that our next flight wasn’t back to Santiago, but to the northern coastal city La Serena. I kept silent and smiled to myself at the thought at yet more fieldtrips and new country towns. After having visited a few more fields in the morning, including one with more than 14 years of beautiful blueberry production, we raced to the Chillán airport, almost literally threw our bags on the plane, and skipped over the capital on our way north.
What a difference a few latitudes make!
When we finally got out to the fields in Valle de Elquí a few hours’ drive outside the fabled La Serena (after one of the best seafood/pisco dinners I’ve experienced), the difference was pronounced. The business of international fresh fruit is filling gaps. Before it was the 6-8 month gap people called “out of season”, which northern/southern hemisphere trade has served to diminish quite a bit. But what about those smaller gaps, when Mexico fruit’s winding down and Argentina/Chile’s just getting started? Are we supposed to put something else on our cereal? Well, probably. But fresh blueberry muffins in October are good, so what do we do? Enter La Serena and el Valle de Elquí. The northerly location and clear skies make this region a magnet for ambitious farmers looking to fly fruit around the world to fill those gaps when the price skyrockets. Nice in theory, but difficult in practice as we saw. Rocky soil and poor nutrition in some parts makes it more than a challenge to grow great fruit. Tons of blueberries were still on the vines waiting to be picked, rocks all over and weeds battling the plants for elbow room. Not fun to see, and we (read: others) considered the merits of trimming back, replacing some of the varieties and investing in future years.
Moving further up the valley, however, we come upon the Valle de Elquí (see picture above), world-renown for growing the grapes that create pisco, and finally pisco-sours. I’ve learned through experience that one pisco’s good for three nights, at least. We visited a ranch set on the side of one of one of those golden hills you see in the picture, with a particularly stubborn ranch manager determined to grow organically. I loved that perseverance, and exchanged a few organic tips of my own with him. He smiled and graciously nodded as to actually consider what this kid had to say about compost. Much more has to happen, such as balancing the pH of the soil, adding organic material and improving irrigation. I'm always impressed with the creative minds of farmers, especially organic ones. We ended the day in fine style, visiting a nearby hacienda/hotel right out of the old Mexican California mission days. Textured white-washed walls, tiled floors, a plaza with a fountain and old tennis courts spread along green grounds extending to an old mission-style church in the back. We enjoyed a pisco overlooking the vineyards while lunch was prepared, then spoke politics and sports as I like to think the old governors did, before racing out the door to catch a plane (as they most likely didn’t). A wonderful journey south and north, and I hope to visit again soon, but the city beckons yet again.
Chillán!
Driscoll’s corporate offices are located in very non-corporate Watsonville, CA for a reason. We’re a berry company. The Central Coast is where a small group of Watsonville farmers founded the Strawberry Institute in 1944 to grow better berries through undertaking the arduous task of research and development of better plant varieties. Now with Driscoll’s expansion to production locations worldwide, like Chile, we do that here, too. We grow berry plants, and our independent growers are the ones who take those plants and carefully grow what you and I enjoy everyday. To learn more about the Driscoll’s story (which I’m sure you’re all dying to do) head to: http://www.driscolls.com/about.php. Very good stuff. Anyhow, Driscoll’s is an ag company, so the big city Santiago office environment has been a change.
I believe that the fruit first farmer atmosphere up in Watsonville has found its way down here. This was especially evident when the two GM’s, who built Driscoll’s of Chile (DOC) from nothing 14 years ago, told me on my very first day that they wanted me to see the fields next week. “It’s out in the fields where the business is, not here in Santiago.” I felt right at home. So without fail that next Monday my bags were packed again and I was on a flight with Sofia and Mauricio, as well as three great blueberry/food safety guys from Driscoll’s USA (DSA) headed south to Chillán. I had no idea that I was about to be initiated into the blueberry group.
Chillán is a cool southern town of about 170,000 located about 400km south of Santiago in the Bío Bío region, Ñuble province. The name Chillán is an indigenous word for “where the Sun is sitting”, founded in 1580. I’m pretty sure North America was still more like Native America at that time. In addition, Chile’s independence leader Bernardo O’Higgins who declared independence from Spain in 1817 was born in Chillán, so it’s an important town (Wikipedia is great). We would spend next to no time there. We started-out appropriately in Valle del Sol, where I quickly learned that every variety of blueberry is not created equal. For example Oneal likes the soil a bit more sandy, and the darker leafed Misty is much more robust, likes to be a bit closer together. The broad, round leaves of Toro is a easy giveaway, with all its canes shooting out from almost the same stalk below. As we went through the rows, we talked to the growers and ranch managers. We saw the pride they took in every row of fruit, tasted the bigger blues as they turned colorful and inviting. I learned so much just sidling-up to a conversation and eavesdropping. You never want to have too much fruit and not enough leaves. Oneal and Misty varieties are early seasonI knew that unlike straws or raz, blueberries are a deciduous plant, so the first couple of years of production will be low. With some blueberry varieties you want cool mornings and bright afternoons…which more coastal areas tend to bring. O’Neal, Misty, Brigitta, Duke, Toro, Elliot, Berkeleyamong about 130 other varieties of blues are out there who are either Northern Highbush, Southern Highbush, Half-high and Wild Lowbush.
You never thought you’d learn so much about blueberries.
After a very thoughtfull lunch of hamburgers (a little slice of home from our hospitable guests) and Crystal (the beer) near the ranch houses we piled in the minivan to drive off to another ranch. Driving down backcountry road after backcountry road, I saw so many more trees in the fields than what I was used to. Poplars swayed in the breezes in straight lines, cutting the wind for ranches below and creating a dramatic skyline with rolling hills in the background. Little houses spotted the fields, other more affluent haciendas set back quietly among the groves as we passed over bridges and through a maze of small villages and endless crops. I didn’t know which side of the window to look out, generally picking the side with the best view of the Andes or a lone snowcapped volcano looming large and faded in the distance.
We visited many other ranches in and around the area over the next two days…culminating with a tour of the cooler: Frigorífico San Nicolás. Cool process, literally, of how the smaller/poor colored blueberries are weeded-out as they go through the line, funneled into those wonderful plastic clamshells and boxed for cold storage. We had to wear white coats, gloves, masks and hair covers…reminiscent of visiting my brother at Genentech’s medicine production facilities. Hey, if we’re going to produce berries bursting with cancer preventing antioxidants, we have to be pretty clean about it. We may not be a bunch of scientists finding and producing the cure to cancer, but we’re sure trying to do our part the best way farmers can. And they’re much tastier than any pill, anyway. Good stuff.
I believe that the fruit first farmer atmosphere up in Watsonville has found its way down here. This was especially evident when the two GM’s, who built Driscoll’s of Chile (DOC) from nothing 14 years ago, told me on my very first day that they wanted me to see the fields next week. “It’s out in the fields where the business is, not here in Santiago.” I felt right at home. So without fail that next Monday my bags were packed again and I was on a flight with Sofia and Mauricio, as well as three great blueberry/food safety guys from Driscoll’s USA (DSA) headed south to Chillán. I had no idea that I was about to be initiated into the blueberry group.
Chillán is a cool southern town of about 170,000 located about 400km south of Santiago in the Bío Bío region, Ñuble province. The name Chillán is an indigenous word for “where the Sun is sitting”, founded in 1580. I’m pretty sure North America was still more like Native America at that time. In addition, Chile’s independence leader Bernardo O’Higgins who declared independence from Spain in 1817 was born in Chillán, so it’s an important town (Wikipedia is great). We would spend next to no time there. We started-out appropriately in Valle del Sol, where I quickly learned that every variety of blueberry is not created equal. For example Oneal likes the soil a bit more sandy, and the darker leafed Misty is much more robust, likes to be a bit closer together. The broad, round leaves of Toro is a easy giveaway, with all its canes shooting out from almost the same stalk below. As we went through the rows, we talked to the growers and ranch managers. We saw the pride they took in every row of fruit, tasted the bigger blues as they turned colorful and inviting. I learned so much just sidling-up to a conversation and eavesdropping. You never want to have too much fruit and not enough leaves. Oneal and Misty varieties are early seasonI knew that unlike straws or raz, blueberries are a deciduous plant, so the first couple of years of production will be low. With some blueberry varieties you want cool mornings and bright afternoons…which more coastal areas tend to bring. O’Neal, Misty, Brigitta, Duke, Toro, Elliot, Berkeleyamong about 130 other varieties of blues are out there who are either Northern Highbush, Southern Highbush, Half-high and Wild Lowbush.
You never thought you’d learn so much about blueberries.
After a very thoughtfull lunch of hamburgers (a little slice of home from our hospitable guests) and Crystal (the beer) near the ranch houses we piled in the minivan to drive off to another ranch. Driving down backcountry road after backcountry road, I saw so many more trees in the fields than what I was used to. Poplars swayed in the breezes in straight lines, cutting the wind for ranches below and creating a dramatic skyline with rolling hills in the background. Little houses spotted the fields, other more affluent haciendas set back quietly among the groves as we passed over bridges and through a maze of small villages and endless crops. I didn’t know which side of the window to look out, generally picking the side with the best view of the Andes or a lone snowcapped volcano looming large and faded in the distance.
We visited many other ranches in and around the area over the next two days…culminating with a tour of the cooler: Frigorífico San Nicolás. Cool process, literally, of how the smaller/poor colored blueberries are weeded-out as they go through the line, funneled into those wonderful plastic clamshells and boxed for cold storage. We had to wear white coats, gloves, masks and hair covers…reminiscent of visiting my brother at Genentech’s medicine production facilities. Hey, if we’re going to produce berries bursting with cancer preventing antioxidants, we have to be pretty clean about it. We may not be a bunch of scientists finding and producing the cure to cancer, but we’re sure trying to do our part the best way farmers can. And they’re much tastier than any pill, anyway. Good stuff.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Tour de Santiago
It's been about a week and a half since arrival, time to get to know the country. Before I left for Chile I talked to a majority of the senior staff and most of their recommendations centered around getting to know and understand the people, the business, the differences, the country. Sold. In fact right now I type from Chillan, about an hour flight south of Santiago visiting our growers with the general managers through some of the most beautiful terrain and maze of country backroads (a whole other blog).
Most of my time so far as expeced has been in the office, where the day starts of a snooze-hitting 9-9:30am, lunch at 2 and day's end (especially I've noticed at Driscoll's of Chile, DOC) at 8-9pm. The GM's and young, dedicated staff have welcomed me with open arms and a willingness to share, especially as the flood of fruit looms large in the coming months. Everyone knows what long and unpredictable days are coming (try and predict the weather), but the GM's Sofia and Mauricio keep laughing and smiling, so everyone follows. They built this business literally from the ground-up. In my first hours in the country Mauricio told me the same thing that Driscoll's CEO Miles told me before I left, which is I'd never know the business sitting behind a desk...the fields and the people behind the numbers are what's important. So here I am, and hopefully will be often.
But Santiago is no doubt central in many ways. The capital, the DOC headquarters, my apartment, and my bike all make their home there, as well as more than a fair share of adventure. Sunday I broke away from the rapidfire Spanish grower accounting meetings to hop on my bike and take my own little tour of the city. No better way to get to no a city than to get a bit lost in it. Old world names such as Cristobal Colon (Columbus) and Americo Vespucio took me up into the mountains, where I quickly saw that the nice, shady park/avenue of Americo had turned into a windy downhill freeway! Yikes. I tucked-in, hugged the curves and after a thrilling mile or so took the first exit on the back side of the hill San Cristobal. Using the hill as reference, I made my way through barrio after barrio, drafting the occasional bike rider or bus exhaustpipe. I found my way to the entrance of the San Cristobal park where a bunch of bike riders and walkers were mingling. I took a sip of my water and started the climb.
It's inevitable that a Tour de France Pyrenees reference be made, even for a half hour hill. As I started finding my niche in the late Sunday morning hikers/bikers/cars, the nearby Andes with their scarcely snow-tipped peeked around the bends and riders challenged the hard-charging American newcomer. Reaching down, I tightened my pedal clips and found a second and third wind as the road wound around San Cristobal. The sun beamed down and it was a cheerful ride. Curving around the last stretch, two Chileans gave a last effort to pass, including one with a yellow jersey, but my random, unnecessary pride would hear nothing of it. I dug deep one last time and raced for the win at the top. Shaking hands with the other riders at the top, I looked around and saw not only a spectacular view of the city below, but also what looked like a sun-drenched French chalet full of colorful mountain bikers conversing over yogurt and mote tea. A pleasant surprise for a drenched and somewhat lost wannabe biker. I soaked it in.
I like my new town.
Most of my time so far as expeced has been in the office, where the day starts of a snooze-hitting 9-9:30am, lunch at 2 and day's end (especially I've noticed at Driscoll's of Chile, DOC) at 8-9pm. The GM's and young, dedicated staff have welcomed me with open arms and a willingness to share, especially as the flood of fruit looms large in the coming months. Everyone knows what long and unpredictable days are coming (try and predict the weather), but the GM's Sofia and Mauricio keep laughing and smiling, so everyone follows. They built this business literally from the ground-up. In my first hours in the country Mauricio told me the same thing that Driscoll's CEO Miles told me before I left, which is I'd never know the business sitting behind a desk...the fields and the people behind the numbers are what's important. So here I am, and hopefully will be often.
But Santiago is no doubt central in many ways. The capital, the DOC headquarters, my apartment, and my bike all make their home there, as well as more than a fair share of adventure. Sunday I broke away from the rapidfire Spanish grower accounting meetings to hop on my bike and take my own little tour of the city. No better way to get to no a city than to get a bit lost in it. Old world names such as Cristobal Colon (Columbus) and Americo Vespucio took me up into the mountains, where I quickly saw that the nice, shady park/avenue of Americo had turned into a windy downhill freeway! Yikes. I tucked-in, hugged the curves and after a thrilling mile or so took the first exit on the back side of the hill San Cristobal. Using the hill as reference, I made my way through barrio after barrio, drafting the occasional bike rider or bus exhaustpipe. I found my way to the entrance of the San Cristobal park where a bunch of bike riders and walkers were mingling. I took a sip of my water and started the climb.
It's inevitable that a Tour de France Pyrenees reference be made, even for a half hour hill. As I started finding my niche in the late Sunday morning hikers/bikers/cars, the nearby Andes with their scarcely snow-tipped peeked around the bends and riders challenged the hard-charging American newcomer. Reaching down, I tightened my pedal clips and found a second and third wind as the road wound around San Cristobal. The sun beamed down and it was a cheerful ride. Curving around the last stretch, two Chileans gave a last effort to pass, including one with a yellow jersey, but my random, unnecessary pride would hear nothing of it. I dug deep one last time and raced for the win at the top. Shaking hands with the other riders at the top, I looked around and saw not only a spectacular view of the city below, but also what looked like a sun-drenched French chalet full of colorful mountain bikers conversing over yogurt and mote tea. A pleasant surprise for a drenched and somewhat lost wannabe biker. I soaked it in.
I like my new town.
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