I am finally getting off my butt and saving my travel pics to the international network for your viewing pleasure: www.flickr.com [if you have problems with this link, your can search on my flickr name,'formerlyblonder'].
It's just a start. I also have a monthly limit on uploads, so will have to add more photos over time. There are 26 folders in all and I am not adding them in order; my photos from Chile/Argentina are coming 1st (by end April) as I know many of my friends haven't visited there before.
Enjoy!
H :)
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Post mortem
Ok. So I've been home for over three weeks. Definitely enough time to absorb, regroup, rethink. I am working on the photos via Flickr - I'll add a further post to let you know the link.
Despite leaving a lot out, as I re-read, I am surprising myself with the detail in my blog. There is so much more I could have written about, such as:
the controversy about the beaver-like creature welcoming visitors to Fray Jorge Parque Nacional;
the way Peruvians are treated in Chile;
street fashion in the cities I visited.
The pleasant and slim Brazilian girl sitting next to me from Santiago to Sydney meant that my return journey was better than it could have been, however my trip home was so horrendous time-wise (via Auckland & Sydney - nearly 31hrs in total) that I would definitely book the homeward leg of my journey on Business Class on future overseas trips. This view may be jaundiced by the fact I had three long-haul flights in 5.5 weeks... Whilst it may not have reduced the apparent elephantitis in my ankles [=kankles], it would have saved me some discomfort. Hindsight is a many splendoured thing.
Probably useless customs info: if you want to bring manjar, or dulce de leche, biscuits/chocolates home from South America, avoid those made in Argentina or Colombia - you will have them confiscated. Mine were Chilean, so I was fine.
[In case you don't recall, dulce de leche, is that condensed milk caramel I loved so much. Incidentally, I made three cans of my own dulce de leche days after landing back in Perth. It turned out fabulously and I highly recommend it.
>Luke - your estimate of 3hrs in simmering water was pretty spot-on.]
Now to finish with some travel lists.
Favourite place: Valparaiso, with Paris at a close second.
As happy as I was to get home, I loved my journey and really enjoyed writing about my (mis)adventures. Thank you again for reading, and to those of you who have commented. I will be blogging on in the future - please stay tuned!
Hannah :)
Despite leaving a lot out, as I re-read, I am surprising myself with the detail in my blog. There is so much more I could have written about, such as:
The pleasant and slim Brazilian girl sitting next to me from Santiago to Sydney meant that my return journey was better than it could have been, however my trip home was so horrendous time-wise (via Auckland & Sydney - nearly 31hrs in total) that I would definitely book the homeward leg of my journey on Business Class on future overseas trips. This view may be jaundiced by the fact I had three long-haul flights in 5.5 weeks... Whilst it may not have reduced the apparent elephantitis in my ankles [=kankles], it would have saved me some discomfort. Hindsight is a many splendoured thing.
Probably useless customs info: if you want to bring manjar, or dulce de leche, biscuits/chocolates home from South America, avoid those made in Argentina or Colombia - you will have them confiscated. Mine were Chilean, so I was fine.
[In case you don't recall, dulce de leche, is that condensed milk caramel I loved so much. Incidentally, I made three cans of my own dulce de leche days after landing back in Perth. It turned out fabulously and I highly recommend it.
>Luke - your estimate of 3hrs in simmering water was pretty spot-on.]
Now to finish with some travel lists.
List #1: My 8 best travel tips.
|
List #2: Tips I didn't use (or used and didn't really need) that still make good sense.
|
List #3: Not-so-great tips.
|
Favourite place: Valparaiso, with Paris at a close second.
As happy as I was to get home, I loved my journey and really enjoyed writing about my (mis)adventures. Thank you again for reading, and to those of you who have commented. I will be blogging on in the future - please stay tuned!
Hannah :)
Friday, March 7, 2008
Perthward bound
Day 35: Thursday, 6 March 2008. La Chascona. This was the house in which Pablo Neruda kept his mistress Matilde Urrutia for several years, until she became his wife. In fact, the house was named after her (La Chascona = 'crazy-haired woman') and numerous tributes to her abound, notably in the form of portraits [two by Diego Riviera, no less!] and poems [the Captain's Verses were Neruda's secret love poems to Matilde and these are inset into the study desk of the 1st section of the house].
Aurora and I booked for a 1:00pm viewing [you have to take the guided tour. It's available in either Spanish or English]. We leave Luke behind for this one: he has been twice before.
I have high hopes. La Chascona seems at once mysterious; this is a house of sections. The first thing I see are the ripe grapes dangling from the latticework as we head into the public part of the house that Matilde remained in after her husband's death. As for La Sebastiana, the bar and dining room are designed in a quirky yet functional way. The dining table is made of araucaria (the native pine, now protected) and the wine bottle stabbed into the recycled French ship's bar is actually a cigarette holder. What I am really impressed with, though, is the secret passageway behind the cupboard. I feel like I have stepped into a real adventure!
My wonderment is shortlived. The passageway leads to a storeroom with a winding staircase; up the staircase is an everyday dining room and study area splashed with pop art. The study leads into Matilde's bedroom, separated from the bathroom by only a beaded curtain. This reminds me of the bathroom by the bar in La Sebastiana, which was similarly (un)shielded and I wonder what issue Neruda had with private toilets.
Aurora asks plenty of questions, I scrawl frantically in my notebook, the Italian lady on our tour has a heavy duty camera around her neck. The guide thinks we are all travelling together, asks if we are journalists, we all laugh and say no. Aurora keeps asking questions, I continue to scrawl, the Italian lady takes surreptitious photos indoors [Strictly not permitted - I wish I was so game!].
[Much missing text here -> just need to finish the blog before I leave Chile or it will hang over my head.]
In the end, I am a little disappointed with the triviality of the tour, the fact that we aren't free to spend as long as we liked pondering the rooms and grounds, the shallowness of the . I realise that most people do not have their entire personal lives on display in their houses, however this house is a closed book to his life. Sure, there are medals, a few poems, eclectic collections of flea market bargains, pictures of his inspirations [Where are the books...?]. But there is nothing beyond surface insight into the man. I am still inclined to think of him as a brilliant egomaniac. Maybe this is shallow of me.
After La Chascona, there is a bit of running around to sort out Aurora's student visa, lunch at a great little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant [7,000 pesos each is pretty darn good!], more shopping in Providencia, then a short walk home. I mess up the entire kitchen while cooking dinner and we break a trend by actually starting to eat before 9:30pm.
Day 36: Friday, 7 March 2008. My last day in Chile! I am sad and ecstatic at once - sad to be leaving my friends who have been fabulous hosts but very excited about going home. I feel almost rested.
I start the day with a long walk. The limestone path down the centre of Pocuro is covered with tiny white beads. It reminds me of the sand balls created by hermit crabs on Cable Beach, their shape and the way they crush under foot.
We eat lunch at Casa da Veija, a traditional Chilean restaurant. We meet Aurora's mum (ex-CEO of a hospital in Mexico City) and her partner, Guillamo (he used to run an oil & gas company); they arrived last night. Both in their seventies, they are still super-active and look fantastic. I hope I look as good when I hit 70!
Comment from nowhere: they really love their sandwiches & hotdogs here. They even have a hotdog shop called 'Doggis'!
It is a blessing that the weather has cooled. It rained this morning, is thunderstorming right now - unheard of in March. I was wondering how I would fit everything into my suitcase; now it seems that I am able to wear my excess baggage in layers.
Time to run. Hope the thunderstorm passes before the flight is delayed.
To Luke & Aurora - you have been excellent hosts and I loved my time in Chile/Argentina.
To my friends and family in Perth - see you very soon.
To all - thanks for reading!
H :)
Aurora and I booked for a 1:00pm viewing [you have to take the guided tour. It's available in either Spanish or English]. We leave Luke behind for this one: he has been twice before.
I have high hopes. La Chascona seems at once mysterious; this is a house of sections. The first thing I see are the ripe grapes dangling from the latticework as we head into the public part of the house that Matilde remained in after her husband's death. As for La Sebastiana, the bar and dining room are designed in a quirky yet functional way. The dining table is made of araucaria (the native pine, now protected) and the wine bottle stabbed into the recycled French ship's bar is actually a cigarette holder. What I am really impressed with, though, is the secret passageway behind the cupboard. I feel like I have stepped into a real adventure!
My wonderment is shortlived. The passageway leads to a storeroom with a winding staircase; up the staircase is an everyday dining room and study area splashed with pop art. The study leads into Matilde's bedroom, separated from the bathroom by only a beaded curtain. This reminds me of the bathroom by the bar in La Sebastiana, which was similarly (un)shielded and I wonder what issue Neruda had with private toilets.
Aurora asks plenty of questions, I scrawl frantically in my notebook, the Italian lady on our tour has a heavy duty camera around her neck. The guide thinks we are all travelling together, asks if we are journalists, we all laugh and say no. Aurora keeps asking questions, I continue to scrawl, the Italian lady takes surreptitious photos indoors [Strictly not permitted - I wish I was so game!].
[Much missing text here -> just need to finish the blog before I leave Chile or it will hang over my head.]
In the end, I am a little disappointed with the triviality of the tour, the fact that we aren't free to spend as long as we liked pondering the rooms and grounds, the shallowness of the . I realise that most people do not have their entire personal lives on display in their houses, however this house is a closed book to his life. Sure, there are medals, a few poems, eclectic collections of flea market bargains, pictures of his inspirations [Where are the books...?]. But there is nothing beyond surface insight into the man. I am still inclined to think of him as a brilliant egomaniac. Maybe this is shallow of me.
After La Chascona, there is a bit of running around to sort out Aurora's student visa, lunch at a great little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant [7,000 pesos each is pretty darn good!], more shopping in Providencia, then a short walk home. I mess up the entire kitchen while cooking dinner and we break a trend by actually starting to eat before 9:30pm.
Day 36: Friday, 7 March 2008. My last day in Chile! I am sad and ecstatic at once - sad to be leaving my friends who have been fabulous hosts but very excited about going home. I feel almost rested.
I start the day with a long walk. The limestone path down the centre of Pocuro is covered with tiny white beads. It reminds me of the sand balls created by hermit crabs on Cable Beach, their shape and the way they crush under foot.
We eat lunch at Casa da Veija, a traditional Chilean restaurant. We meet Aurora's mum (ex-CEO of a hospital in Mexico City) and her partner, Guillamo (he used to run an oil & gas company); they arrived last night. Both in their seventies, they are still super-active and look fantastic. I hope I look as good when I hit 70!
Comment from nowhere: they really love their sandwiches & hotdogs here. They even have a hotdog shop called 'Doggis'!
It is a blessing that the weather has cooled. It rained this morning, is thunderstorming right now - unheard of in March. I was wondering how I would fit everything into my suitcase; now it seems that I am able to wear my excess baggage in layers.
Time to run. Hope the thunderstorm passes before the flight is delayed.
To Luke & Aurora - you have been excellent hosts and I loved my time in Chile/Argentina.
To my friends and family in Perth - see you very soon.
To all - thanks for reading!
H :)
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Food & Fashion in Santiago
Still trying on the present-tense style for brevity [believe it or not, you are getting the abridged version!]. Tell me if it's assaulting your eyes.
Day 31: Sunday, 2/03/2008. Museo de la Moda: dedicated to the history of costume. Aurora insists on working, so Luke and I head to the fashion museum at around 3pm, giving us just over an hour to view the exhibits. I expect the place to be teeming with people but it is very still.
The Museo de la Moda was established in 1999 by Jorge Yarur Bascunan, heir to a Chilean textiles empire. The museum itself is the old family home, designed under the influence of architect Frank Lloyd Wright [who, ironically, was a topic of dinner conversation the night before].
The museum makes a stunning entrance to operatic strains: the courtyard, shaded by Japanese maples, leads into the historical prelude to the collection, which includes a list of past tennis Grand Slam event winners [...?].
Bourgeousie French music as the light dims us into the past. First, a dressing room, wardrobe, satin-covered coathangers. The living room is a study of different textures and cultural styles, mixed wallpapers, garish gold accents on natural shades and fibres.
Between these rooms and the next display: Chinese lanterns. Two women's dresses from the 1800s appear in their own climate-controlled box at the entrance to two rooms of tennis apparel. Old outfits from tennis greats have been donated to the museum - I am particularly amazed at the crystal detail on the women's tennis dresses. Were they designed to dazzle their opponents? The list of tennis from the entrance makes a little sense now.
From room displays we are propelled into a Ford Thunderbird and scrolling images of Hollywood pin-ups past.
I am disappointed by the fact this seems to be an exploration of interior design and tennis rather than real fashion, then the world unfolds as we are flung into room after room of dresses and costumes and formal attire from the 1700s to 2003. I am amazed at the vast array of big-name designers and actors who have contributed items (eg. Gaultier, Chanel, Versace, Armani, Joan Collins), inspired by the longevity of the haute couture empires and of the fashion itself. It is interesting to see how techniques, textures, shapes and patterns have changed; more fascinating to discover how much has been recycled or remained the same.
They keep the house open late for us and other latecomers. The house itself is on display; the wall texture, colour and music evolves at similar intervals to its contents, but they are not in synergy. I love it. All of it. Luke comments that it would have been nice to see a contrasting representation from pop & punk culture and casual attire and I tend to agree, but I wonder where they would put it.
Favourite quotes from the front end of the museum:
The dress must not hang on the body... It must accompany its wearer and when a woman smiles the dress should smile with her. Madeleine Vionnet
Carelessness in dressing is moral suicide. Honore de Balzac
When in doubt, wear red. Bill Blass
Epic Automobilic Adventure #1: finding food. Our search for lunch [at 5:30pm! The guards let us stay at the museum well past closing time] takes us all over Providencia, to no avail. It's Sunday and nothing is open. We arrive home, despondent, at 6:30pm. Luke's banana smoothies tide us over.
Epic Automobilic Adventure #2: more attempts to find food. We leave the house at about 7:40pm, as restaurants in Santiago break after the lunch rush and reopen for dinner at 7:30pm. We enjoy an impromptu tour around Santiago [it's becoming a regular part of every drive] and arrive at the restaurant just after 9pm.
Dinner is fantastic. We eat at a Peruvian restaurant called El Aji Seco, which Aurora & Luke visited once before. It is in a part of town that Luke forbids me from entering by myself, "even during the day".
The interior is tacky and plastic, like a cheap Chinese restaurant that is overly lit. Soccer is playing on the TV, which is up too loud. The commentator screams at every near-goal. We move tables rather than ask for a change in volume; soon it seems that another gringo has satisfied our wish by asking for that very thing. Then the children at the next table start playing loudly, or maybe they were that loud before, masked by the fanatical commentator. It's a good sign that most of the other patrons are Peruvian.
I look to the menu. Nothing is remotely recognisable, the waiters do not speak English and there are no pictures to help. I am very grateful for my friends' recommendations, which are most delicious. We share two corn-based meals for entree; tamale (seasoned polenta bread with chicken and an olive baked in the middle) with a red onion and coriander salad, and choclos a la huancaina (ginormous corn kernels with a lightly-spiced yellow sauce made from mild orange chillis, corn and breadcrumbs). We order recoto, a super-hot chilli sauce, on the side. Even just dipping the tip of your fork into it before a mouthful gives the huancaina a real zing.
As we eat, Luke and Aurora explain to me the strong Chinese influence in modern Peruvian cooking and the wide variety of foods available to Peruvians because of the diversity of climates in the country.
We each have very different and equally tasty mains. Mine is aji de gallina, a shredded chicken dish, potato and olive dish with the huancaina sauce; Aurora orders another tamale after the success of the entree; Luke has the seco de vercun, beef with coriander and beans [seco de cordero is the same dish with lamb]. I can not believe the cost, at only 15,000 pesos ($US30) for three of us. Moi rico! I am inspired to buy a Peruvian cookbook when I get home and seek out the ingredients.
Epic Automobilic Adventure #3: the dvd-returning debacle. It takes a long time to get to Blockbuster to return The Chronicles of Riddick, which we had borrowed several days earlier, because of the one-way streets. Luke decides it is the perfect time to try a short-cut home. It turns out to be a long-cut.
Day 32: Monday, 3/03/2008. Today I seek great Chilean art in Bellavista. While I find some inspiration, the art is pretty much the same from gallery to gallery. What I like is either too expensive or sold already.
Day 33: Tuesday, 4/03/2008. I start the day with breakfast and a walk through Santiago, along Avendia Pocuro. This leads me to a strip of green and park alongside the intersecting main road known as Parque Tobalaba. I follow Parque Tobalaba to its end, at the famous building with hanging gardens that has won architectural accolades and receives many Japanese tourists; around the bend is Parque Bernardo Leighton, separated from Parque Tobalaba by a central drain. I follow this second park back to Av. Pocuro: the round trip takes me over two hours. I am energised.
My shopping expedition in Bellavista. A quick internet search tells me that the semi-precious lapis lazuli is found only in Chile and Afghanistan. I am keen to take some home and am amazed at the plethora of jewellery shops within a few blocks of each other.
Hannah's Chilean Travel Tip #1: Shop around before you buy. Bellavista is a great place to find side-by-side lapis lazuli jewellery shops, just be aware that many shops use the same artists/suppliers and costs can vary considerably between vendors. You may even want to hold off and look through the markets across from Cerro Santa Lucia before you make any decisions.
Hannah's Chilean Travel Tip #2: Parking in Santiago will cost you pesos. The cost is usually small change and varies from place to place. Be prepared to pay something and count yourself lucky if there is no one there to collect.
The latter part of the afternoon is spent fruit & veg shopping at La Vega.
Dinner at Pablo's. Pablo is one of Luke & Aurora's friends [He is about to start his Masters studies and works with aerial photography to identify changes in forestation over time. I thought Landgate friends may find this interesting]. Aurora, Luke and I have been invited to a small dinner party at his place to taste his magnificent huacaina sauce.
At first, it appears that there will be six of us. Then a seventh setting is placed at the table. Then a torrent of Spanish-speaking people suddenly appear in the living room. Then they are gone and there is food on the table at around 11pm. Apparently this is usual, late dinners and people wandering in and out between the next-door apartments.
I am getting used to late meals: breakfast is served at around 11am, lunch between 3 and 5pm, dinner no earlier than 9:30pm.
The aji de gallina and papas a la huacaina are delicious, even according to Aurora's student Meligros's standards [she is Peruvian; I hope I guessed the spelling of her name correctly!]. During mains, a number of people wander in to say hello, wander out again just as quickly. Once the main course is finished, a sort of musical chairs occurs; one guest disappears and another takes their place for dessert. The torrent of guests reappears from next door to drink and socialise [I am grateful that they speak English well and, once again, I am ashamed of my poor Spanish]. I animate when the subject turns to cork and wine at the end of the evening. It is nearly 2am when we leave.
Day 34: Wedneday, 5/03/2008. Sight-seeing and shopping downtown near Cerro Santa Lucia. Walking up Cerro Santa Lucia, a memorial and a tribute to Chilean defence, is a great way to start the afternoon. Beautiful old buildings, stone steps, a lookout across the city. An interesting find: a plaque from Charles Darwin, celebrating its fabulous view [there is also a garden dedicated to Darwin on the Cerro]. I love the library made of an old train carriage. It sits at the bottom of the hill.
Hannah's Chilean Travel Tip #3: When I mentioned toilets in my Argentinian tip #1, I should have also told you that baños cost 150 pesos per visit in most places throughout Chile. Be aware that paying pesos does not guarantee a cleaner experience.
The markets at Cerro Santa Lucia. Crossing the road to the markets is a much tougher feat than first reckoned. It involves walking down the street and around the corner to cross at a set of lights, then across at another set of lights, then back to the markets which were only just across the road from the entrance to the Cerro. The markets are basic but interesting and I manage to spend a couple of hours looking at the leatherwork, jewellery, lamps and copper creations.
Despite growing hunger, I drift off to sleep almost as soon as we arrive back at the apartment. My strange dream is disrupted when I am stirred for dinner. [It was a space battle over a broken freeway involving Smurfette with bunny feet and a smurf crew, a TRON/Automan hybrid (who starts out in his own spaceship, but later on he climbs into Smurfette's spaceship) and unidentified bad guys. This overseas journey is causing some sort of psychoanalytic regression, I am sure...]
We eat dinner cheaply at a traditional German Chilean restaurant that I couldn't read the name of. In spite of how it sounds, apparently it is traditional. Many Germans fled to Chile post WWII; this restaurant was est. in 1945. Pablo joins us for the meal [BTW, my sandwich de ave completo is 2,900 pesos and absolutely great!] and his friend Harvey spots us as he is passing by. I realise just how small Santiago is, which makes me think of the smallness of Perth, which makes me miss home. Two days to go!
Day 31: Sunday, 2/03/2008. Museo de la Moda: dedicated to the history of costume. Aurora insists on working, so Luke and I head to the fashion museum at around 3pm, giving us just over an hour to view the exhibits. I expect the place to be teeming with people but it is very still.
The Museo de la Moda was established in 1999 by Jorge Yarur Bascunan, heir to a Chilean textiles empire. The museum itself is the old family home, designed under the influence of architect Frank Lloyd Wright [who, ironically, was a topic of dinner conversation the night before].
The museum makes a stunning entrance to operatic strains: the courtyard, shaded by Japanese maples, leads into the historical prelude to the collection, which includes a list of past tennis Grand Slam event winners [...?].
Bourgeousie French music as the light dims us into the past. First, a dressing room, wardrobe, satin-covered coathangers. The living room is a study of different textures and cultural styles, mixed wallpapers, garish gold accents on natural shades and fibres.
Between these rooms and the next display: Chinese lanterns. Two women's dresses from the 1800s appear in their own climate-controlled box at the entrance to two rooms of tennis apparel. Old outfits from tennis greats have been donated to the museum - I am particularly amazed at the crystal detail on the women's tennis dresses. Were they designed to dazzle their opponents? The list of tennis from the entrance makes a little sense now.
From room displays we are propelled into a Ford Thunderbird and scrolling images of Hollywood pin-ups past.
I am disappointed by the fact this seems to be an exploration of interior design and tennis rather than real fashion, then the world unfolds as we are flung into room after room of dresses and costumes and formal attire from the 1700s to 2003. I am amazed at the vast array of big-name designers and actors who have contributed items (eg. Gaultier, Chanel, Versace, Armani, Joan Collins), inspired by the longevity of the haute couture empires and of the fashion itself. It is interesting to see how techniques, textures, shapes and patterns have changed; more fascinating to discover how much has been recycled or remained the same.
They keep the house open late for us and other latecomers. The house itself is on display; the wall texture, colour and music evolves at similar intervals to its contents, but they are not in synergy. I love it. All of it. Luke comments that it would have been nice to see a contrasting representation from pop & punk culture and casual attire and I tend to agree, but I wonder where they would put it.
Favourite quotes from the front end of the museum:
Carelessness in dressing is moral suicide. Honore de Balzac
When in doubt, wear red. Bill Blass
| The story of my new coat. It's by Pitti Palacios, a Chilean designer [take a look at the website - my coat is last one on the right]. When I discovered she was from Valparaiso, I pinched myself for not finding her shop while I was there, not that there was any time to shop. My coat awaited my arrival in a display cabinet in the Museo gift shop. I asked for the price, determined it was really too much, and decided to leave it to fate [for those who have shopped with me before, that means leaving it on the rack, then trying it on if it is still there after looking at the gallery, just to prove it's a bad fit]. Unfortunately it was fabulous. Now I have a designer coat from Chile :) |
Epic Automobilic Adventure #1: finding food. Our search for lunch [at 5:30pm! The guards let us stay at the museum well past closing time] takes us all over Providencia, to no avail. It's Sunday and nothing is open. We arrive home, despondent, at 6:30pm. Luke's banana smoothies tide us over.
Epic Automobilic Adventure #2: more attempts to find food. We leave the house at about 7:40pm, as restaurants in Santiago break after the lunch rush and reopen for dinner at 7:30pm. We enjoy an impromptu tour around Santiago [it's becoming a regular part of every drive] and arrive at the restaurant just after 9pm.
Dinner is fantastic. We eat at a Peruvian restaurant called El Aji Seco, which Aurora & Luke visited once before. It is in a part of town that Luke forbids me from entering by myself, "even during the day".
The interior is tacky and plastic, like a cheap Chinese restaurant that is overly lit. Soccer is playing on the TV, which is up too loud. The commentator screams at every near-goal. We move tables rather than ask for a change in volume; soon it seems that another gringo has satisfied our wish by asking for that very thing. Then the children at the next table start playing loudly, or maybe they were that loud before, masked by the fanatical commentator. It's a good sign that most of the other patrons are Peruvian.
I look to the menu. Nothing is remotely recognisable, the waiters do not speak English and there are no pictures to help. I am very grateful for my friends' recommendations, which are most delicious. We share two corn-based meals for entree; tamale (seasoned polenta bread with chicken and an olive baked in the middle) with a red onion and coriander salad, and choclos a la huancaina (ginormous corn kernels with a lightly-spiced yellow sauce made from mild orange chillis, corn and breadcrumbs). We order recoto, a super-hot chilli sauce, on the side. Even just dipping the tip of your fork into it before a mouthful gives the huancaina a real zing.
As we eat, Luke and Aurora explain to me the strong Chinese influence in modern Peruvian cooking and the wide variety of foods available to Peruvians because of the diversity of climates in the country.
We each have very different and equally tasty mains. Mine is aji de gallina, a shredded chicken dish, potato and olive dish with the huancaina sauce; Aurora orders another tamale after the success of the entree; Luke has the seco de vercun, beef with coriander and beans [seco de cordero is the same dish with lamb]. I can not believe the cost, at only 15,000 pesos ($US30) for three of us. Moi rico! I am inspired to buy a Peruvian cookbook when I get home and seek out the ingredients.
Epic Automobilic Adventure #3: the dvd-returning debacle. It takes a long time to get to Blockbuster to return The Chronicles of Riddick, which we had borrowed several days earlier, because of the one-way streets. Luke decides it is the perfect time to try a short-cut home. It turns out to be a long-cut.
Day 32: Monday, 3/03/2008. Today I seek great Chilean art in Bellavista. While I find some inspiration, the art is pretty much the same from gallery to gallery. What I like is either too expensive or sold already.
| An interesting thing that Luke & Aurora told me about when I first got to Santiago but I forgot to mention. The police in Santiago drive around in vans that are fitted with crowd control devices. The locals have dubbed them with pet names that correspond to local animals, depending on the mechanism. For example, the van with the water cannon is known as guanako (named for the spitting action of the llama-like creature), and the tear-gas vehicle is zorrillo (or 'skunk', for obvious reasons...). Cool, eh? There are also street performers at almost every set of traffic lights in central Santiago. They appear in front of you when the lights are red - magicians, clowns, jugglers, acrobatic troupes. Once they have completed a few tricks, and most are impressive, they hold out their hands for pesos and move on to try their luck with the next layer of cars. |
Day 33: Tuesday, 4/03/2008. I start the day with breakfast and a walk through Santiago, along Avendia Pocuro. This leads me to a strip of green and park alongside the intersecting main road known as Parque Tobalaba. I follow Parque Tobalaba to its end, at the famous building with hanging gardens that has won architectural accolades and receives many Japanese tourists; around the bend is Parque Bernardo Leighton, separated from Parque Tobalaba by a central drain. I follow this second park back to Av. Pocuro: the round trip takes me over two hours. I am energised.
My shopping expedition in Bellavista. A quick internet search tells me that the semi-precious lapis lazuli is found only in Chile and Afghanistan. I am keen to take some home and am amazed at the plethora of jewellery shops within a few blocks of each other.
| Parking in Santiago. You will find that, in some streets where there is no official parking inspector, cheeky locals have decided to assume the duties. Even if you know they are not legitimate, they may reason that they are providing a community service by making sure you car does not get hit or scratched (thereby inferring that your car will get damaged if you refuse to pay). These rogue inspectors are not seen as a real nuisance. With parking spaces so tight in general, it is useful to have someone there to assist with parking. It's also good to know that there is someone keeping watch over your car while you are away. In several places, you can even get you car washed while you are away from your car, for a fee of course. Many shopping centres have carwashes fitted into their undercover carparks, which operate for a small fee. Now that would encourage me to keep my car clean! I think this idea should be introduced to Perth shopping centres. |
The latter part of the afternoon is spent fruit & veg shopping at La Vega.
Dinner at Pablo's. Pablo is one of Luke & Aurora's friends [He is about to start his Masters studies and works with aerial photography to identify changes in forestation over time. I thought Landgate friends may find this interesting]. Aurora, Luke and I have been invited to a small dinner party at his place to taste his magnificent huacaina sauce.
At first, it appears that there will be six of us. Then a seventh setting is placed at the table. Then a torrent of Spanish-speaking people suddenly appear in the living room. Then they are gone and there is food on the table at around 11pm. Apparently this is usual, late dinners and people wandering in and out between the next-door apartments.
I am getting used to late meals: breakfast is served at around 11am, lunch between 3 and 5pm, dinner no earlier than 9:30pm.
The aji de gallina and papas a la huacaina are delicious, even according to Aurora's student Meligros's standards [she is Peruvian; I hope I guessed the spelling of her name correctly!]. During mains, a number of people wander in to say hello, wander out again just as quickly. Once the main course is finished, a sort of musical chairs occurs; one guest disappears and another takes their place for dessert. The torrent of guests reappears from next door to drink and socialise [I am grateful that they speak English well and, once again, I am ashamed of my poor Spanish]. I animate when the subject turns to cork and wine at the end of the evening. It is nearly 2am when we leave.
Day 34: Wedneday, 5/03/2008. Sight-seeing and shopping downtown near Cerro Santa Lucia. Walking up Cerro Santa Lucia, a memorial and a tribute to Chilean defence, is a great way to start the afternoon. Beautiful old buildings, stone steps, a lookout across the city. An interesting find: a plaque from Charles Darwin, celebrating its fabulous view [there is also a garden dedicated to Darwin on the Cerro]. I love the library made of an old train carriage. It sits at the bottom of the hill.
The markets at Cerro Santa Lucia. Crossing the road to the markets is a much tougher feat than first reckoned. It involves walking down the street and around the corner to cross at a set of lights, then across at another set of lights, then back to the markets which were only just across the road from the entrance to the Cerro. The markets are basic but interesting and I manage to spend a couple of hours looking at the leatherwork, jewellery, lamps and copper creations.
Despite growing hunger, I drift off to sleep almost as soon as we arrive back at the apartment. My strange dream is disrupted when I am stirred for dinner. [It was a space battle over a broken freeway involving Smurfette with bunny feet and a smurf crew, a TRON/Automan hybrid (who starts out in his own spaceship, but later on he climbs into Smurfette's spaceship) and unidentified bad guys. This overseas journey is causing some sort of psychoanalytic regression, I am sure...]
We eat dinner cheaply at a traditional German Chilean restaurant that I couldn't read the name of. In spite of how it sounds, apparently it is traditional. Many Germans fled to Chile post WWII; this restaurant was est. in 1945. Pablo joins us for the meal [BTW, my sandwich de ave completo is 2,900 pesos and absolutely great!] and his friend Harvey spots us as he is passing by. I realise just how small Santiago is, which makes me think of the smallness of Perth, which makes me miss home. Two days to go!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Mendoza is fabulous for shopping
This is a catch up post, very close to my last one which you may not have read yet. I am trying on a more succinct and present style - please let me know if you like it. The post is not all about Mendoza; the bulk of it is.
Thank you to Katie B, Eloise, Pauline, Donald, Geoff & Sylvia, and my mum & dad for reading and for your comments.
Day 26: Tuesday, 26/02/2008. Day of recovery. Wake up late. Breakfast on mote, yoghurt & fruit. Doctor's appointment: antibiotics twice a day for a week.
Day 27: Wednesday, 27/02/2008. Mendoza Day 1. We wake up late, again [I realise later that this is a Luke trademark; Aurora does not seem surprised]. Run for a taxi, run for the bus, reach it with no minutes to spare. 8:40am departure.
The scenery changes as soon as the bus leaves Santiago. Shrubs on flats give way to hills that unfurl into mountains, just when you think there was nothing left to see. Colours merge into others by the minute, from green to grey to blue and red. The mountains are cold and irregular. Craggy old men.
Further on, the railway that paces our progress is reclaimed by the mountains. Fallen rocks, boulders, landslides obscure all or part of the line in places; in other parts, the rail hangs over weathered crevices like a suspension bridge. This rail used to travel over the Andes.
Countless switchbacks as we traverse over the mountains. More than the 27 I was prepared for. The path disappears in ribbons behind us.
Entering Argentina, I have a slight headache then realise why: we are at 3,500m. Still in the safe zone [I'm meant to avoid 3,658m+. How did doctors arrive at the figure?]. The fresh steak sandwich at the border is a godsend [great idea, Luke!]. We eat on the bus. So hungry. I can't stomach the 3-day old Turbus-provided cheese sandwich. Listeria City. No problems getting into Argentina. This does not bode well for the return journey.
Condors overhead as we continue. I manage a few pictures. None capture their size or magnificence. They are dwarfed by the mountains. Horses on the mountainside look like specks; I can only tell what they are when I zoom in on a photo. I am in awe of the natural skyscrapers around us.
Then, suddenly, flat earth. An hour after that, vineyards that stretch for endless kilometres. It pains me that I can not try the wines. Mendoza is famous for its malbec. I see a chocolate factory and my heart feels light again. So shallow.
We arrive in Mendoza at around 3:30pm, to perfect weather. It is easy to see why Mendoza is known as the land of good sun and good wine.
The fun begins as we:
I am getting very good at on-the-spot currency conversions.
Dinner is @ 10:30pm, at an Italo-Argentinian restaurant that is not fabulous. They say they are known for their seafood; we end up with heavy pasta dishes and spend around 30 pesos each. I can not contemplate filling my ice-cream stomach as planned.
While shopping, my handbag breaks. The strap wants to try its luck in the world on its own. Luke looks looks at me like I have done this on purpose, concedes we will need to go shopping for a handbag tomorrow [I am sure it relieves Luke that Aurora is into ecology rather than shopping]. I spotted a fabulous-looking candidate that afternoon: Prune.
First impressions. Cosmopolitan, outdoors culture. Fabulous shops. Malls are similar to Perth, with more eclectic selections. Dirtier than Santiago but more endearing. Pathways are tiled rather than paved; they are uneven and miss chunks at inconvenient intervals. Watch your feet. Bins are on stilts to prevent access by rats and dogs. The place is buzzing, even at this hour. I feel safe and comfortable.
Day 28: Thursday, 28/02/2008. Mendoza Day 2. Breakfast is at El Mercado Central, where I learned to ask for a bag (balsa) and table (messa). We eat a very croissant-like media luna from Cafe del Marcado plus a baked empanada from the fishmonger (Pescaderia). It is a party-sized super-fresh pastie, with mince, onion, herbs and hard-boiled egg. Flaky pastry = delicious = high fat.
Empanadas are sold all over Mendoza. I determine to put aside any figure concerns for the sake of two important causes: comparative empanada de carne and media luna battles.
Empanada #2, also from El Mercado Central, comes from a place that sells pizzas and family-sized empanadas. This one encloses half an olive and tastes much richer. The pastry appeals less; it is not so flaky. I preferred #1.
We leave El Mercado Central and find the contemporary art museum closed :-( I am a little sad about this and realise there is only one thing for it: handbag shopping!
After reviewing a little traditional place that specialises in carpincho leather [the carpincho is an animal native to Argentina that looks kind of like a beaver, bred for leather and meat], we end up at Prune. I am in love with this shop. A Ferrari red handbag replaces my staid black one for 298 pesos ($US100). I am ecstatic.
Empanada #3 comes from Don Claudio. It is nice, not overly exciting, different pastry texture yet again. The addition of spring onion gives it a higher rating than #2. Needing something sweet to wash it down, and far from more media lunas, we head to Ferruccio Soppelsa. Argentinian icrecream. Mmm...
Hannah´s tip for Argentina #1: When you go to al baños (the toilets), check for toilet paper outside of the cubicles. Sometimes, you have to take it in with you.
Time to go. Flag down a taxi after wandering through half the city with no luck. Arrive at the bus terminal just in time to be exactly an hour late. We missed the bus. I am chief timekeeper, by virtue of my wristwatch, and I didn't realise we had changed timezones. I am gutted. We book another bus - the next one is at 11pm. Total cost of journey with double payment of one leg = $US60. Still a bargain.
Hannah´s tip for Argentina #2: Check the local time when you arrive.
Despondent, I seek solace in a media luna from the bus terminal bakery.
Hannah´s tip for Argentina #3: Hold off on the media lunas until you get into town. No matter how good they look in the terminal, they aren´t.
The upside to this twist of fate: we now have time to search for humming birds and leaf-cutting ants. Off to Parque San Martin. On the way around the lake: an instant coffee posing as a cappuccino, papas fritas and a man with purple hands. He is the artist attached to the purple (painted) man, who appears some minutes later.
We hear the humming birds before we see them. There are at least two varieties here. They move so quickly and, just as one comes close, another chases it away. I have never seen anything like it. I take many photos, not all of them containing obvious specimens. I will compile a "Where's Wally?" styled montage for the humming birds when I put my album together.
Across the road: leaf-cutting ants. They are incredible, lifting such huge weights with their tiny frames. Luke tries to goad them into cutting a giant leaf into fragments; some survey the engineering feat required while most walk around, over, underneath it. [Aurora tells me that, when you are in the bush, you can hear the clicking sound of the ants in a bush before you know they are there. Return the next day and you find it devoid of leaves.]
Next media luna adventure: Via Civit. A pastry filled with dulce de leche and I do not realise it is the size of a Hungry Jack´s Whopper until it's in front of me. Laughter as everyone around me knows I won't get through it. Absolutely delicious. I had to take half away with me after enjoying too much of the creamy sweetness [And I ate the rest after my big walk yesterday (29/02). It was fabulous!].
I am not a fan of McDonald's in general but I have to admire the fact that they really cater for local audiences. In Paris, there was the Royal Cheese; in Santiago, a chicken burger with avocado; in Mendoza, McD's sells empanadas with a creole chicken burger and red wine in a meal deal! The main restaurant advertisements feature a corkscrew and grapes.
Empanada #4 is at Estancia La Florencia, as a complimentary entree to dinner. It reminds me of empanada #1, without the egg or flaky pastry. For 31 pesos, my chivita cazadora (baby goat stew) [Aurora's recommendation; yes, Katie B, this is capretto] is tender and flavoursome. The service is excellent.
Hannah´s tip for Argentina #4: Unless you have a hankering for pancreas, don't order the mollejas ( pan dulce; aka "sweetbreads"). These are definitely not sweet bread.
Final scores for the baked empanada de carne battle:
Recommendation: #1, for its mild flavour and flaky pastry, although I still have a certain fondness for Huentelauquen's fried empanada con queso...
For the media lunas, there is no such debate. The ridiculously enormous glazed pastry injected with dulce de leche from Via Civit wins hands down. My hot tip: don't eat beforehand [Dulce de leche is the condensed-milk caramel known as alfajor in Chile. I have the recipe in my hot little hands!].
Then it is time to run for a taxi. Again. We arrive well within time this time.
Hannah´s tip for Argentina #5: Always have change (not too small!) on you to tip. For everything, from service, to food, to baggage-handling. Otherwise you get evils. This goes for Chile too.
There is a snorer across the aisle. He starts up almost as soon as we leave Mendoza. Hairy behemoth of a man, black as the dark outside, rasping my nerves with each laboured intake of air. I am not the only one shifting frustrated in my seat. It grows louder, gurgling like he is drinking the dregs of a thickshake through the imperfect seal of his nostrils. I am reading, not sleeping, but feeling suddenly affronted, indignant that these constant assaults would prevent me from sleeping if that was my desire.
The border. After 1.25hrs sitting on a stationary bus, I am grateful to be able to stand in immigration queues. I don't understand a word of what anyone is saying - they speak so fast and with an accent I don't recognise - but they decide to let me back into Chile. Then, just as we settle into the familiar crevices of our seats, a further delay: we have to disembark, along with our luggage, for a quarantine check. It is 3:30am Santiago time. I discover that the snorer has kind eyes, a genial face.
Nearly 3hrs later, we are on the road again. Why CATA decided that 4am is prime time for biscuits and coffee, I will never know.
It is 7am when we arrive in Santiago. My eyes are clagged shut from 2hrs of demi-sleep. I wait for the luggage in a daze with others in a similar state an jolt awake only when my bag is lifted from the rubble. My clamped-shut legs somehow make it to a taxi. Drag them up. We are moving. I am asked questions; who would do this to me? I am in no state to talk. I feel words come out of my mouth in bubbles. The air is palpable, I am breathing solids. Is this real? I want to cry.
We are home in 5 minutes flat. The taxi driver is a madman and for once I am glad of the fact. I thank him in bad Spanish and fall out of the taxi, into the apartment.
My thoughts are fixed on Aaron, shower, bed. In that order. And when I get all three, in that order, I want to cry for a different reason. Instead, I sleep.
Day 29: Friday, 29/02/2008. I awake after 12pm with a fat and sugar hangover from 2 days of empanadas and media lunas. I am numb with tired bones. My face is not my own. I slap it to revive my senses. I dress, emerge, am greeted by a bouncy face. Smile. That's better. I surprise myself by chatting.
Aurora is working at the university; Luke leaves to find us sustenance. He buys traditional Chilean fare from down the road, a place where he eats 2-3 times a week. The woman is excited to see him after 2 weeks of absence. Lunch is superb and, at 4,300 Ch pesos (less than $US10) for both meals, it is perfect.
I need exercise. Again I wander into the main shopping area of Providencia. This time I notice very different features. The roads here are also tile-paved. Why didn't I see this before? Men on bicycles with huge baskets for fruit & veg delivery threaten peatones (pedestrians) on walkways with erratic steering. I am the only white and only blonde today. The Chilean women are half my height.
I turn right down Av. Providencia, then right down the entrance to two underground malls: Galeria Poniente, to the right again, is dedicated to gaming and manga; Galeria Las Palmas is more of a traditional arcade. I re-emerge on the main road, searching, but for what?
Across the road, I find Edificio Dos. Double helix of miniature stores selling cheap clothes, accessories, trinkets in endless spirals. Smells alternate between too-sweet incense, little girls' play perfume, latrine. The predominant fashion is a cross between goth, skank and jilted prom queen. I am fascinated by the idea of book cafe in a clothes shop but I don't stop for it. This is not my sort of arcade, yet I can not tear myself away without inspecting all floors.
I head home, feeling that I have walked away with something big but I am unsure of exactly what.
Day 30: Saturday, 1/03/2008. I write my blog. This post. Maybe we will go to the markets, maybe not. Maybe to a museum, maybe not. I am ambivalent. I see a strong potential to do nothing today.
Aurora is onto me. She is concerned that I am not getting the whole Chilean experience, although it could just be that she wants us to water her plants (another experiment) in Chiloe :-p It's a 12-hour bus trip south. She tells me that these buses are built for comfort, with seats that fold out to full beds. I am almost convinced.
Aurora & Luke buy lunch as I write. They return with spinach & ricotta tortellini, empanadas, various eclairs, from a local shop that makes everything fresh each day. Over lunch, a heated discussion about how possible it would be for guerillas to survive on beetle larvae in the jungle. This certainly is an interesting place.
Thank you to Katie B, Eloise, Pauline, Donald, Geoff & Sylvia, and my mum & dad for reading and for your comments.
Day 26: Tuesday, 26/02/2008. Day of recovery. Wake up late. Breakfast on mote, yoghurt & fruit. Doctor's appointment: antibiotics twice a day for a week.
Day 27: Wednesday, 27/02/2008. Mendoza Day 1. We wake up late, again [I realise later that this is a Luke trademark; Aurora does not seem surprised]. Run for a taxi, run for the bus, reach it with no minutes to spare. 8:40am departure.
The scenery changes as soon as the bus leaves Santiago. Shrubs on flats give way to hills that unfurl into mountains, just when you think there was nothing left to see. Colours merge into others by the minute, from green to grey to blue and red. The mountains are cold and irregular. Craggy old men.
Further on, the railway that paces our progress is reclaimed by the mountains. Fallen rocks, boulders, landslides obscure all or part of the line in places; in other parts, the rail hangs over weathered crevices like a suspension bridge. This rail used to travel over the Andes.
Countless switchbacks as we traverse over the mountains. More than the 27 I was prepared for. The path disappears in ribbons behind us.
Entering Argentina, I have a slight headache then realise why: we are at 3,500m. Still in the safe zone [I'm meant to avoid 3,658m+. How did doctors arrive at the figure?]. The fresh steak sandwich at the border is a godsend [great idea, Luke!]. We eat on the bus. So hungry. I can't stomach the 3-day old Turbus-provided cheese sandwich. Listeria City. No problems getting into Argentina. This does not bode well for the return journey.
Condors overhead as we continue. I manage a few pictures. None capture their size or magnificence. They are dwarfed by the mountains. Horses on the mountainside look like specks; I can only tell what they are when I zoom in on a photo. I am in awe of the natural skyscrapers around us.
Then, suddenly, flat earth. An hour after that, vineyards that stretch for endless kilometres. It pains me that I can not try the wines. Mendoza is famous for its malbec. I see a chocolate factory and my heart feels light again. So shallow.
We arrive in Mendoza at around 3:30pm, to perfect weather. It is easy to see why Mendoza is known as the land of good sun and good wine.
The fun begins as we:
- Check in - at $US40 per night the Hostel Alamo is simple, central and ideal;
- Seek food. Almost everything is shut at this time of day. It reopens for dinner at around 7pm. Eventually, we settle on steak sandwiches at El Faro and pay 27 Argentinian pesos (about $US9) for each of our meals. My hot chocolate was average, but the sandwich hit the spot. They love their meat in Mendoza;
- Shop. It seems that everyone is embarazada in Mendoza. There are four maternity shops in the city (compared to one in Santiago). We stumble across all four within a one-block radius. I buy three tops from Maa Maternity for 184 pesos ($US60);
- Visit some of the plazas. Green parks are all around the city. Locals and tourists gather together, children play, lovers eat each others faces;
- Look at the art. Museo de Arte Moderno is underneath the Plaza Indepencia. I am impressed with Andres Casciani's Daliesque style; Victor Gallardo's sometime manga-like creations on A4 pages intertwine humanity with animals, with technology; I am less understanding of the tiles by various artists. I find child-like images unsettling when they are drawn by adults.
I am getting very good at on-the-spot currency conversions.
Dinner is @ 10:30pm, at an Italo-Argentinian restaurant that is not fabulous. They say they are known for their seafood; we end up with heavy pasta dishes and spend around 30 pesos each. I can not contemplate filling my ice-cream stomach as planned.
While shopping, my handbag breaks. The strap wants to try its luck in the world on its own. Luke looks looks at me like I have done this on purpose, concedes we will need to go shopping for a handbag tomorrow [I am sure it relieves Luke that Aurora is into ecology rather than shopping]. I spotted a fabulous-looking candidate that afternoon: Prune.
First impressions. Cosmopolitan, outdoors culture. Fabulous shops. Malls are similar to Perth, with more eclectic selections. Dirtier than Santiago but more endearing. Pathways are tiled rather than paved; they are uneven and miss chunks at inconvenient intervals. Watch your feet. Bins are on stilts to prevent access by rats and dogs. The place is buzzing, even at this hour. I feel safe and comfortable.
Day 28: Thursday, 28/02/2008. Mendoza Day 2. Breakfast is at El Mercado Central, where I learned to ask for a bag (balsa) and table (messa). We eat a very croissant-like media luna from Cafe del Marcado plus a baked empanada from the fishmonger (Pescaderia). It is a party-sized super-fresh pastie, with mince, onion, herbs and hard-boiled egg. Flaky pastry = delicious = high fat.
Empanadas are sold all over Mendoza. I determine to put aside any figure concerns for the sake of two important causes: comparative empanada de carne and media luna battles.
Empanada #2, also from El Mercado Central, comes from a place that sells pizzas and family-sized empanadas. This one encloses half an olive and tastes much richer. The pastry appeals less; it is not so flaky. I preferred #1.
We leave El Mercado Central and find the contemporary art museum closed :-( I am a little sad about this and realise there is only one thing for it: handbag shopping!
After reviewing a little traditional place that specialises in carpincho leather [the carpincho is an animal native to Argentina that looks kind of like a beaver, bred for leather and meat], we end up at Prune. I am in love with this shop. A Ferrari red handbag replaces my staid black one for 298 pesos ($US100). I am ecstatic.
Empanada #3 comes from Don Claudio. It is nice, not overly exciting, different pastry texture yet again. The addition of spring onion gives it a higher rating than #2. Needing something sweet to wash it down, and far from more media lunas, we head to Ferruccio Soppelsa. Argentinian icrecream. Mmm...
Time to go. Flag down a taxi after wandering through half the city with no luck. Arrive at the bus terminal just in time to be exactly an hour late. We missed the bus. I am chief timekeeper, by virtue of my wristwatch, and I didn't realise we had changed timezones. I am gutted. We book another bus - the next one is at 11pm. Total cost of journey with double payment of one leg = $US60. Still a bargain.
Despondent, I seek solace in a media luna from the bus terminal bakery.
The upside to this twist of fate: we now have time to search for humming birds and leaf-cutting ants. Off to Parque San Martin. On the way around the lake: an instant coffee posing as a cappuccino, papas fritas and a man with purple hands. He is the artist attached to the purple (painted) man, who appears some minutes later.
We hear the humming birds before we see them. There are at least two varieties here. They move so quickly and, just as one comes close, another chases it away. I have never seen anything like it. I take many photos, not all of them containing obvious specimens. I will compile a "Where's Wally?" styled montage for the humming birds when I put my album together.
Across the road: leaf-cutting ants. They are incredible, lifting such huge weights with their tiny frames. Luke tries to goad them into cutting a giant leaf into fragments; some survey the engineering feat required while most walk around, over, underneath it. [Aurora tells me that, when you are in the bush, you can hear the clicking sound of the ants in a bush before you know they are there. Return the next day and you find it devoid of leaves.]
Next media luna adventure: Via Civit. A pastry filled with dulce de leche and I do not realise it is the size of a Hungry Jack´s Whopper until it's in front of me. Laughter as everyone around me knows I won't get through it. Absolutely delicious. I had to take half away with me after enjoying too much of the creamy sweetness [And I ate the rest after my big walk yesterday (29/02). It was fabulous!].
I am not a fan of McDonald's in general but I have to admire the fact that they really cater for local audiences. In Paris, there was the Royal Cheese; in Santiago, a chicken burger with avocado; in Mendoza, McD's sells empanadas with a creole chicken burger and red wine in a meal deal! The main restaurant advertisements feature a corkscrew and grapes.
Empanada #4 is at Estancia La Florencia, as a complimentary entree to dinner. It reminds me of empanada #1, without the egg or flaky pastry. For 31 pesos, my chivita cazadora (baby goat stew) [Aurora's recommendation; yes, Katie B, this is capretto] is tender and flavoursome. The service is excellent.
Final scores for the baked empanada de carne battle:
| # | From | $ArP | Rating/5 |
| 1. | Pescaderia, Mercado Central | 1.5 | 4.5 |
| 2. | Pizza place, Mercado Central | 2 | 3 |
| 3. | Don Claudio | 1.5 | 3.5 |
| 4. | Estancia La Florencia | - | 4 |
Recommendation: #1, for its mild flavour and flaky pastry, although I still have a certain fondness for Huentelauquen's fried empanada con queso...
For the media lunas, there is no such debate. The ridiculously enormous glazed pastry injected with dulce de leche from Via Civit wins hands down. My hot tip: don't eat beforehand [Dulce de leche is the condensed-milk caramel known as alfajor in Chile. I have the recipe in my hot little hands!].
Then it is time to run for a taxi. Again. We arrive well within time this time.
There is a snorer across the aisle. He starts up almost as soon as we leave Mendoza. Hairy behemoth of a man, black as the dark outside, rasping my nerves with each laboured intake of air. I am not the only one shifting frustrated in my seat. It grows louder, gurgling like he is drinking the dregs of a thickshake through the imperfect seal of his nostrils. I am reading, not sleeping, but feeling suddenly affronted, indignant that these constant assaults would prevent me from sleeping if that was my desire.
The border. After 1.25hrs sitting on a stationary bus, I am grateful to be able to stand in immigration queues. I don't understand a word of what anyone is saying - they speak so fast and with an accent I don't recognise - but they decide to let me back into Chile. Then, just as we settle into the familiar crevices of our seats, a further delay: we have to disembark, along with our luggage, for a quarantine check. It is 3:30am Santiago time. I discover that the snorer has kind eyes, a genial face.
Nearly 3hrs later, we are on the road again. Why CATA decided that 4am is prime time for biscuits and coffee, I will never know.
It is 7am when we arrive in Santiago. My eyes are clagged shut from 2hrs of demi-sleep. I wait for the luggage in a daze with others in a similar state an jolt awake only when my bag is lifted from the rubble. My clamped-shut legs somehow make it to a taxi. Drag them up. We are moving. I am asked questions; who would do this to me? I am in no state to talk. I feel words come out of my mouth in bubbles. The air is palpable, I am breathing solids. Is this real? I want to cry.
We are home in 5 minutes flat. The taxi driver is a madman and for once I am glad of the fact. I thank him in bad Spanish and fall out of the taxi, into the apartment.
My thoughts are fixed on Aaron, shower, bed. In that order. And when I get all three, in that order, I want to cry for a different reason. Instead, I sleep.
Day 29: Friday, 29/02/2008. I awake after 12pm with a fat and sugar hangover from 2 days of empanadas and media lunas. I am numb with tired bones. My face is not my own. I slap it to revive my senses. I dress, emerge, am greeted by a bouncy face. Smile. That's better. I surprise myself by chatting.
Aurora is working at the university; Luke leaves to find us sustenance. He buys traditional Chilean fare from down the road, a place where he eats 2-3 times a week. The woman is excited to see him after 2 weeks of absence. Lunch is superb and, at 4,300 Ch pesos (less than $US10) for both meals, it is perfect.
I need exercise. Again I wander into the main shopping area of Providencia. This time I notice very different features. The roads here are also tile-paved. Why didn't I see this before? Men on bicycles with huge baskets for fruit & veg delivery threaten peatones (pedestrians) on walkways with erratic steering. I am the only white and only blonde today. The Chilean women are half my height.
I turn right down Av. Providencia, then right down the entrance to two underground malls: Galeria Poniente, to the right again, is dedicated to gaming and manga; Galeria Las Palmas is more of a traditional arcade. I re-emerge on the main road, searching, but for what?
Across the road, I find Edificio Dos. Double helix of miniature stores selling cheap clothes, accessories, trinkets in endless spirals. Smells alternate between too-sweet incense, little girls' play perfume, latrine. The predominant fashion is a cross between goth, skank and jilted prom queen. I am fascinated by the idea of book cafe in a clothes shop but I don't stop for it. This is not my sort of arcade, yet I can not tear myself away without inspecting all floors.
I head home, feeling that I have walked away with something big but I am unsure of exactly what.
Day 30: Saturday, 1/03/2008. I write my blog. This post. Maybe we will go to the markets, maybe not. Maybe to a museum, maybe not. I am ambivalent. I see a strong potential to do nothing today.
Aurora is onto me. She is concerned that I am not getting the whole Chilean experience, although it could just be that she wants us to water her plants (another experiment) in Chiloe :-p It's a 12-hour bus trip south. She tells me that these buses are built for comfort, with seats that fold out to full beds. I am almost convinced.
Aurora & Luke buy lunch as I write. They return with spinach & ricotta tortellini, empanadas, various eclairs, from a local shop that makes everything fresh each day. Over lunch, a heated discussion about how possible it would be for guerillas to survive on beetle larvae in the jungle. This certainly is an interesting place.
The road that goes forever
[Title courtesy of Luke, who drove to Tongoy]
Day 22: Friday, 22 February 2008. I stayed in bed until almost 12pm, under instructions from Aurora & Luke. I was so sick. When I finally rose, we ate a breakfast of mote and two fruits I had not heard of before - pepino, related to tomatoes, eggplant & potatoes, and tuna (said 'toona'; it´s cactus fruit). They were so refreshing!
During a trip to the shops, I played an unexpected game of charades while attempting to describe cough lozenges to a Spanish-speaking pharmacist...
Aurora cooked a traditional Mexican chicken & rice meal for lunch. Fabulous food. We all overate. Luke says Aurora's home cooking was the first thing to get him hooked :-)
Staying with Luke & Aurora is a guilty pleasure for me. They are both super-smart PhDs (physics & ecology) who constantly posit new global theories, and they have friends who are equally intelligent in different areas. I am learning to ask questions again, which is exciting, and at the same time I feel very small.
The night ended with a DVD at Juan's house so that we could also visit the cat who thinks he's a dog, and we had much icecream and chocolate. The rest of the night was spent discussing word origins/relationships, with Luke and Aurora googling and me consulting Bill Bryson's Mother Tongue.
Day 23: Saturday, 23 February 2008. Feeling worse :-(
We were packed and sitting on our hands at home but, as soon as Aurora got the call, we leapt to our feet for the drive north to check on Aurora's latest experiment (in the Parque Nacional Fray Jorge). 'The call' related to accommodation availability. Apparently the rangers don't like you sleeping in the park.
We stopped off at Parque Arauco (that I called Ripley before on the way so I could buy the pair of hiking pants that I couldn't find days before. Here I learned how to buy clothes in Spanish and I purchased a pair of 3/4 pants.
[BTW, I described Ripley as a department store chain in a previous post. It is and it isn't. My basic observation is that the department stores here can also be their own shopping centres, like smaller versions of Centro or Westfield in Perth. For example, I walked into a Paris shopping centre in Providencia today (29/02). Very confusing. The big Chilean department stores, such as Paris and Falabella, have strengthened in the face of takeover efforts and market pressures - even expanding into the finance sector. Intriguingly, there is a Banco Ripley, Banco Falabella and Banco Paris, all linked directly to the top three dept store chains. Well, it was interesting news to me...]
In Paris, I learned that the big stores import Argentinian girls for promotional work because they are considered to be prettier than Chilean girls. True story. I noticed that the ads in shopping centres use predominantly women, and white women at that, because they are considered to be more beautiful.
I discovered another love: media lunas, which we bought to eat on the way. They were so delicious, esp. the creme de pastal. My hosts told me that these were nothing compared to the ones in Argentina...
The journey. I learned so much. Like the fact that cacti grow predominantly on north-facing slopes. And avocadoes are known as "black gold" in Chile, and grow in huge mountain-side plantations that catch run-off. And cacti are used as living fences. And the billboards heading north are focused on products rather than scantily-clad white women.
I felt like an excited kid as we drove through tunnels cut into the hillsides.
The tolls on the Pan Americana are regular and expensive. After the 4th tollgate, we came across firefighters with donation buckets. Even though it is considered prestigious work, the firefighters in Chile are voluntary. We donated some pesos.
1.5-2hrs out of Santiago, we came across women violently flailing sticks with white tassels: they were selling traditional sweets. Luke said they were not fabulous but they were an experience. I said I would pass.
Just past them, we had our first glimpse of water and the air smelled of the sea. Carrion circled overhead.
We stopped at Huentalauquen for a local specialty. No, not guinea pig (and that's more of a Peruvian thing) - empanadas fritas. I had two of these 600 Ch peso lumps of queso folded into pastry; they were like deep-fried cheese sandwiches. The cascading cheese was pale, almost white, and had a cheddar texture with a slightly sour taste. I enjoyed every fatty bite. We washed down the fat with fresh papaya juice. These papayas are special: they must be cooked before being consumed, else the juice breaks down the skin in and around your mouth. Friendly fruit.
We drove further north to the strains of traditional Cuban music.
At nightfall, and very near to our destination, we noticed women waving whole butterflied goat carcasses on stakes at passing motorists. I wondered how long the meat had been exposed to sun and flies during this hot day. I had been warned about the potential for this macabre sight which is more common after dry summers, when it is harder to maintain goat flocks.
We arrived in Tongoy just after 9pm (over 5hrs of driving), checked into Villa Patricia where we were greeted like old friends [Aurora spends 3-5 days there each month and knows the owners well] and set off to Cafe Bahia for dinner by the beach. We all ordered seafood main courses, as Tongoy is renowned for its seafood.
My seafood selection in broth arrived, I tasted it, I couldn't stomach it. The strong fishy smell hit the back of my throat and I almost gagged on impact. I passed my bowl around the table for second and third opinions. Luke thought it was dodgy, and it was enough to turn him off his meal; Aurora saw nothing wrong with it.
Aurora ate her meal, fished out the good stuff from mine, and made an attempt to eat Luke's seafood pancake. I ate bread, butter and chilli. With the empanadas still weighing on my stomach, I was satisfied with this simple meal.
Day 24: Sunday, 24 February 2008. Still sick. I couldn't believe it. Each night I went to sleep thinking that I would be all better the next day.
Our day started with a visit from the landlord. He warned us not to eat the seafood as it was making many visitors sick with a gastro-like bug. He handed us some herbs for a curative tea. Aurora wasn't really fazed by the news; I was glad that I had baulked at my last meal.
Walking around town, I was reminded of those lonely desert towns you find in American movies, with lots of red dust and secrets. There were small markets and shops dotted all over. To get good produce, we had to visit just about every place but we soon gathered up an excellent selection, including local olive oil. As well as the predictable bread, butter, cheese, tomato and avocado, we ate humitas - seasonal corn cakes that are seasoned and cooked in the corn husks. I wasn't overly impressed with them on their own, but they made an excellent spread.
The Parque Nacional Fray Jorge was about an hour out of Tongoy, and half of that was on bumpy limestone tracks. At first glance, it was dry, with cacti and scrub at the bottom of massive hills. Yet streaks of healthy forest lined the hills [there is debate as to whether this is tiger formation or fluid dynamics] and there was a temperate forest fragment at one of the peaks. This is where we were headed, to check on one of Aurora's colleague's experiments.
I became a trainee ecologist for the day, spotting a wild fox and a colourful nameless bird, and I heard a woodpecker. The trek to the forest wasn't too taxing, but it involved walking through dry and thorny scrub that cut across the narrow and sometimes steep path [as Luke said often in reference to the previous occupants of the forest, "Imagine having to eke out a living in this!"]. About an hour into the walk and very scratched bottoms of legs, Luke handed me his spare jumpers. I have some very amusing photos of me wearing a borrowed hat and jumpers tied to my legs.
Stepping into the forest fragment was like finding buried treasure; it was amazing. There was a canopy of trees and vines above us, wizened trees and fallen logs covered in moss, soft groundcover. Like the streaks of forest leading up the hill, this fragment received its moisture entirely from fog. The chamber had its own climate. We donned warmer clothes (well, except for Luke) and enjoyed the scenery for a few minutes before heading back.
I noticed the lack of insects around us and Luke & Aurora assured me that there were no snakes or spiders. I walked through several spiderwebs in the forest; I was then told there were no poisonous spiders in the park. We almost ran over a small and presumably poisonous snake on the road back to Tongoy; they had no response to that.
Day 25: Monday, 25 February 2008. After breakfast [and, yes, I was still feeling like death], we visited the beach down the road from Villa Patricia. The area was littered with what looked like huge chunks of obsidian or volcanic glass, only there was no volcano to explain it. It turns out that a copper smelt used to operate on the coast and we were surrounded by melted sand. The only clue to this was the slight green tinge to some of the black glass boulders.
Before anything else, we needed fresh provisions and it was my task to forage. Being a small town, the shopkeepers were not English-speakers, and I appreciated the importance of that little word tiene ("do you have..."). The bread and water posed no problem; I had a fun time trying to describe salt. Finally, I realised the problem was in my pronunciation ('sult' worked for me) and we were off.
We headed back to Fray Jorge, this time to check on Aurora's experiment which was in marked plots at the foot of the hill we explored yesterday. I wore jeans, so there was no need for a repeat performance from my makeshift gators.
Even though we were in the scrub, there was still so much to observe. There were animal prints all over the ground we walked on. I noticed one of the really nasty bushes branched its spikes out in star patterns, like a crown-of-thorns starfish. I was surprised to see lichen growing on trees in such a dry place. If you stood really quietly, you could hear birds twitter, small animals heave, the crackle of dry twigs. This inhospitable place was truly alive.
The places I visited were closed off to everyday visitors to the park. I felt privileged to be taken into realms ordinarily reserved for researchers and the occasional guanako (something like a llama).
We ate dinner near Pichidangui and, when we reached Santiago, it was nearly midnight. I was so glad to see my bed.
Day 22: Friday, 22 February 2008. I stayed in bed until almost 12pm, under instructions from Aurora & Luke. I was so sick. When I finally rose, we ate a breakfast of mote and two fruits I had not heard of before - pepino, related to tomatoes, eggplant & potatoes, and tuna (said 'toona'; it´s cactus fruit). They were so refreshing!
During a trip to the shops, I played an unexpected game of charades while attempting to describe cough lozenges to a Spanish-speaking pharmacist...
Aurora cooked a traditional Mexican chicken & rice meal for lunch. Fabulous food. We all overate. Luke says Aurora's home cooking was the first thing to get him hooked :-)
Staying with Luke & Aurora is a guilty pleasure for me. They are both super-smart PhDs (physics & ecology) who constantly posit new global theories, and they have friends who are equally intelligent in different areas. I am learning to ask questions again, which is exciting, and at the same time I feel very small.
The night ended with a DVD at Juan's house so that we could also visit the cat who thinks he's a dog, and we had much icecream and chocolate. The rest of the night was spent discussing word origins/relationships, with Luke and Aurora googling and me consulting Bill Bryson's Mother Tongue.
Day 23: Saturday, 23 February 2008. Feeling worse :-(
We were packed and sitting on our hands at home but, as soon as Aurora got the call, we leapt to our feet for the drive north to check on Aurora's latest experiment (in the Parque Nacional Fray Jorge). 'The call' related to accommodation availability. Apparently the rangers don't like you sleeping in the park.
We stopped off at Parque Arauco (that I called Ripley before on the way so I could buy the pair of hiking pants that I couldn't find days before. Here I learned how to buy clothes in Spanish and I purchased a pair of 3/4 pants.
[BTW, I described Ripley as a department store chain in a previous post. It is and it isn't. My basic observation is that the department stores here can also be their own shopping centres, like smaller versions of Centro or Westfield in Perth. For example, I walked into a Paris shopping centre in Providencia today (29/02). Very confusing. The big Chilean department stores, such as Paris and Falabella, have strengthened in the face of takeover efforts and market pressures - even expanding into the finance sector. Intriguingly, there is a Banco Ripley, Banco Falabella and Banco Paris, all linked directly to the top three dept store chains. Well, it was interesting news to me...]
In Paris, I learned that the big stores import Argentinian girls for promotional work because they are considered to be prettier than Chilean girls. True story. I noticed that the ads in shopping centres use predominantly women, and white women at that, because they are considered to be more beautiful.
I discovered another love: media lunas, which we bought to eat on the way. They were so delicious, esp. the creme de pastal. My hosts told me that these were nothing compared to the ones in Argentina...
The journey. I learned so much. Like the fact that cacti grow predominantly on north-facing slopes. And avocadoes are known as "black gold" in Chile, and grow in huge mountain-side plantations that catch run-off. And cacti are used as living fences. And the billboards heading north are focused on products rather than scantily-clad white women.
I felt like an excited kid as we drove through tunnels cut into the hillsides.
The tolls on the Pan Americana are regular and expensive. After the 4th tollgate, we came across firefighters with donation buckets. Even though it is considered prestigious work, the firefighters in Chile are voluntary. We donated some pesos.
1.5-2hrs out of Santiago, we came across women violently flailing sticks with white tassels: they were selling traditional sweets. Luke said they were not fabulous but they were an experience. I said I would pass.
Just past them, we had our first glimpse of water and the air smelled of the sea. Carrion circled overhead.
We stopped at Huentalauquen for a local specialty. No, not guinea pig (and that's more of a Peruvian thing) - empanadas fritas. I had two of these 600 Ch peso lumps of queso folded into pastry; they were like deep-fried cheese sandwiches. The cascading cheese was pale, almost white, and had a cheddar texture with a slightly sour taste. I enjoyed every fatty bite. We washed down the fat with fresh papaya juice. These papayas are special: they must be cooked before being consumed, else the juice breaks down the skin in and around your mouth. Friendly fruit.
We drove further north to the strains of traditional Cuban music.
At nightfall, and very near to our destination, we noticed women waving whole butterflied goat carcasses on stakes at passing motorists. I wondered how long the meat had been exposed to sun and flies during this hot day. I had been warned about the potential for this macabre sight which is more common after dry summers, when it is harder to maintain goat flocks.
We arrived in Tongoy just after 9pm (over 5hrs of driving), checked into Villa Patricia where we were greeted like old friends [Aurora spends 3-5 days there each month and knows the owners well] and set off to Cafe Bahia for dinner by the beach. We all ordered seafood main courses, as Tongoy is renowned for its seafood.
My seafood selection in broth arrived, I tasted it, I couldn't stomach it. The strong fishy smell hit the back of my throat and I almost gagged on impact. I passed my bowl around the table for second and third opinions. Luke thought it was dodgy, and it was enough to turn him off his meal; Aurora saw nothing wrong with it.
Aurora ate her meal, fished out the good stuff from mine, and made an attempt to eat Luke's seafood pancake. I ate bread, butter and chilli. With the empanadas still weighing on my stomach, I was satisfied with this simple meal.
Day 24: Sunday, 24 February 2008. Still sick. I couldn't believe it. Each night I went to sleep thinking that I would be all better the next day.
Our day started with a visit from the landlord. He warned us not to eat the seafood as it was making many visitors sick with a gastro-like bug. He handed us some herbs for a curative tea. Aurora wasn't really fazed by the news; I was glad that I had baulked at my last meal.
Walking around town, I was reminded of those lonely desert towns you find in American movies, with lots of red dust and secrets. There were small markets and shops dotted all over. To get good produce, we had to visit just about every place but we soon gathered up an excellent selection, including local olive oil. As well as the predictable bread, butter, cheese, tomato and avocado, we ate humitas - seasonal corn cakes that are seasoned and cooked in the corn husks. I wasn't overly impressed with them on their own, but they made an excellent spread.
The Parque Nacional Fray Jorge was about an hour out of Tongoy, and half of that was on bumpy limestone tracks. At first glance, it was dry, with cacti and scrub at the bottom of massive hills. Yet streaks of healthy forest lined the hills [there is debate as to whether this is tiger formation or fluid dynamics] and there was a temperate forest fragment at one of the peaks. This is where we were headed, to check on one of Aurora's colleague's experiments.
I became a trainee ecologist for the day, spotting a wild fox and a colourful nameless bird, and I heard a woodpecker. The trek to the forest wasn't too taxing, but it involved walking through dry and thorny scrub that cut across the narrow and sometimes steep path [as Luke said often in reference to the previous occupants of the forest, "Imagine having to eke out a living in this!"]. About an hour into the walk and very scratched bottoms of legs, Luke handed me his spare jumpers. I have some very amusing photos of me wearing a borrowed hat and jumpers tied to my legs.
Stepping into the forest fragment was like finding buried treasure; it was amazing. There was a canopy of trees and vines above us, wizened trees and fallen logs covered in moss, soft groundcover. Like the streaks of forest leading up the hill, this fragment received its moisture entirely from fog. The chamber had its own climate. We donned warmer clothes (well, except for Luke) and enjoyed the scenery for a few minutes before heading back.
I noticed the lack of insects around us and Luke & Aurora assured me that there were no snakes or spiders. I walked through several spiderwebs in the forest; I was then told there were no poisonous spiders in the park. We almost ran over a small and presumably poisonous snake on the road back to Tongoy; they had no response to that.
Day 25: Monday, 25 February 2008. After breakfast [and, yes, I was still feeling like death], we visited the beach down the road from Villa Patricia. The area was littered with what looked like huge chunks of obsidian or volcanic glass, only there was no volcano to explain it. It turns out that a copper smelt used to operate on the coast and we were surrounded by melted sand. The only clue to this was the slight green tinge to some of the black glass boulders.
Before anything else, we needed fresh provisions and it was my task to forage. Being a small town, the shopkeepers were not English-speakers, and I appreciated the importance of that little word tiene ("do you have..."). The bread and water posed no problem; I had a fun time trying to describe salt. Finally, I realised the problem was in my pronunciation ('sult' worked for me) and we were off.
We headed back to Fray Jorge, this time to check on Aurora's experiment which was in marked plots at the foot of the hill we explored yesterday. I wore jeans, so there was no need for a repeat performance from my makeshift gators.
Even though we were in the scrub, there was still so much to observe. There were animal prints all over the ground we walked on. I noticed one of the really nasty bushes branched its spikes out in star patterns, like a crown-of-thorns starfish. I was surprised to see lichen growing on trees in such a dry place. If you stood really quietly, you could hear birds twitter, small animals heave, the crackle of dry twigs. This inhospitable place was truly alive.
The places I visited were closed off to everyday visitors to the park. I felt privileged to be taken into realms ordinarily reserved for researchers and the occasional guanako (something like a llama).
We ate dinner near Pichidangui and, when we reached Santiago, it was nearly midnight. I was so glad to see my bed.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Valparaiso: a trip to the sea
First, an apology. I am doing so much that I am falling way behind in my posts. I will eventually catch up...hopefully before I get back to Perth! A big thank you to all of you who are reading and commenting. Please don't forget to tell me what you want to see.
Day 20: Wednesday 20 February 2008. I woke up feeling dreadful. My head was killing me and I was supertired after coughing and sneezing all night. Still, I looked forward to my next adventure in the port city of Valparaiso.
First, we had to wait for Marcia, Aurora's friend, to finish her meetings in Santiago as we were staying in Marcia's family unit in Valparaiso. Marcia is the grand-daughter of former Chilean leader Salvador Allende. Aurora and Marcia have been friends for many years and met in Mexico [I believe this was while Allende's family were in exile after his death - Aurora will correct me on this, I am sure].
When we arrived at Marcia's house to pick her up, Aurora gave me a brief tour of the bottom floor that was both a shrine and a museum. I was humbled. I did not expect a visit to a friend to be a voyage through modern history.
On the drive to Valparaiso, it seemed that Chilean drivers could be as crazy as Parisians! Drivers are meant to overtake on the left and move to the right to let people through.
Something else I found interesting about the roads was the tolls, which you have to pay one every newish road in Chile. All infrastructure, including roads, has been privately-built & owned from Pinochet's time in power. In fact, thanks to his water-tight constitutional changes, the Chilean Government can not invest in its own infrastructure. To encourage foreign investment, Pinochet also implemented lax tax laws, which now renders the Government unable to collect tax from multinationals that have set up major Chilean projects and employ cheap local labour (BHP Billiton is a case in point here). It sounds awfully like Western exploitation to me - except that it's not limited to the West. Even China have started to get in on the action. [Luke tells me that Chinese language schools are growing in popularity in South America, particularly throughout Brazil.]
The journey through the hills was beautiful and very different. Suggestive billboards greeted us on both sides [this carried through to the port city itself. There were also no men in the billboard ads!], and native palm trees sprouted awkwardly between shrubs and araucaria (pine-tree relatives, also native). The sky clouded over as we headed into Valparaiso, heralding the cooler weather by the sea, but they soon cleared into a wonderful day.
Marcia's unit was modest and fashionably decorated. The interior was very Mexican and Aurora noted that most items had been brought across from Mexico. A photograph of friends and political allies Neruda and Allende took pride of place in the entry way. We brought two boxes of Marcia's books from Santiago for display at the unit: these were mostly gifts to the Allendes, many of them from presidents and other dignitaries.
Valparaiso is not a clean city. Aside from watching out for cracks in the pavement, we were constantly on the lookout for animal waste. Stray dogs and cats roam the streets and shops, surprisingly passing each other without incident. [For me, that disproved the age-old belief that cats and dogs are natural enemies.]
As we wandered the streets in search of lunch, we passed a number of impressive murals and creative graffiti and I realised that we had stumbled onto the Museo a Cielo Abierto which spans most of the city. Adding to the flamboyance was the fact that most of the houses were block-coloured brightly in rainbow shades and everything in between. I was excited to find a number of pink houses. [Apparently the Chilean Government subsidises house paint purchases and actively encourages the bright colours!]
Aurora and Marcia came out with some Chilean metaphors and similes that I found amusing. For example, if you are attracted to someone, then they "smell as good as fresh bread" and if you "look as fresh as lettuce", then you have woken up looking pretty darned good.
Our 4pm lunch at the Gato Tuerto ("the one-eyed cat") was reasonably priced and the service was great. Despite the kitsch decor (plastic placemats) and small servings, it was well worth the visit for the 270-degree view.
We continued our route through the open-air gallery, where we:
Valparaiso is pure magic at night. The lights flicker like candles at a large-scale shrine to the sea.
It was after 11pm when we arrived at the pizza place - after 1am by the time we arrived back at the unit. Here I tasted palmitos for the first time and ate pizza sprinkled liberally with smoked chilli powder. I was sated.
The highlight of the night was the lunar eclipse that started with Marcia's tour. By the time our pizzas arrived, the moon was fully covered by the earth´s shadow. I can't remember ever having seen a full lunar eclipse before then.
Day 21: Thursday 21 February 2008. Still feeling like death warmed up, Luke and I set off to forage for breakfast provisions. The strays from the day before now travelled together in car-chasing packs. It was funny to watch, not so funny for the drivers with their snapped-at wheels. Here, the dogs have real character; they wait for the people to start moving before they cross a road, sleep in the middle of a footpath, wander in and out of shops.
Breakfast was simple: bananas, avocado, tomato, cheese, fresh bread. The fresh fruit and vegetables in Chile have so much flavour.
While Marcia waited for friends of her mother's to arrive, Aurora, Luke and I headed to Pablo Neruda's house, La Sebastiana. As we walked, we continued to find more murals, graffiti, colours. The cloudy day made the colours more vivid. I was so excited to be able to see this city evolve in different lights and times of day.
A joint Neruda-Picasso exhibition, hosted between the house and cafe, marked the time that the two men had spent together creatively. I started to realise the connections between places in my journey thus far.
Entry to the house itself was 2,500 Chilean pesos. The house was only part-owned by Neruda, who was able to convince some of his friends to buy into the dwelling. There are mozaics inside and out of the house, on walls and floors; in polygons of tile, stone, mirror. Wood features. Contrasting textures, patterns. Stained glass windows. This is a house of many colours.
Aurora pointed out that the high emotion of Neruda's love poems were based more on control ('you are changed because I love you') than acceptance ('I love you because of who you are'). He seemed suddenly egocentric to me, the way he embraced the lustful blindness of love, his ability to transform others. He was also incredibly eccentric.
Only Neruda was ever allowed behind his bar. Adorning the house are gifts, pieces purchased at auction, rescued and restored items. There is a convex mirror in the bathroom by the bar. In the living room, Neruda placed a portrait of a young man wearing a ruff opposite a portrait of the Queen of Spain, also in a ruff, "so the Queen would not be lonely." Neruda's love of the sea is apparent in the numerous porthole windows, the study that sounded like a storm at sea on windy nights.
I didn't realise just how deeply-rooted Neruda's involvement in politics stemmed before seeing this house; he saw politics and poetry as being inextricably intertwined. I wondered also if he was a religious person [and I haven't yet looked into this]; he placed contrasting religious symbols side by side.
In case you couldn't tell, I really liked La Sebastiana.
Marcia, her mother's three friends (political journalists) and their driver ended up at La Sebastiana at the same time as us. I discovered the true true collectivist nature of Latin Americans as we all set off to find a restaurant together. Eventually, we happened upon a seafood place that really loved its oil. I could barely touch a thing but the view over the port was amazing. I thought it was very sweet of the journalists to buy us lunch; we undertook to pay for dessert. [I then found out that it is customary for the oldest member of the group to pay for meals, after some cursory banter.]
Another funicular ride later, and we were off to find a suitable cafe.
Again, Cafe Turri had a fabulous view but was otherwise nothing to write home about [and, yet, here I am doing exactly that!]. We met Marcia's mum, the Socialist Deputy, who greeted us very graciously and joined our party for tea.
I saw a couple of firsts at Cafe Turri: my first Chilean flies (you just don't see insects!], and my first bumblebees! I could not believe the size of these bees.
'The kids' picked up the 28,000 Ch peso tab, which I think was altogether too much for too-small desserts (my celestial pancakes would not have satisfied a grasshopper) and average service. It was on its way to 8pm by the time we left the cafe.
More quirks of Valaparaiso:
Day 20: Wednesday 20 February 2008. I woke up feeling dreadful. My head was killing me and I was supertired after coughing and sneezing all night. Still, I looked forward to my next adventure in the port city of Valparaiso.
First, we had to wait for Marcia, Aurora's friend, to finish her meetings in Santiago as we were staying in Marcia's family unit in Valparaiso. Marcia is the grand-daughter of former Chilean leader Salvador Allende. Aurora and Marcia have been friends for many years and met in Mexico [I believe this was while Allende's family were in exile after his death - Aurora will correct me on this, I am sure].
When we arrived at Marcia's house to pick her up, Aurora gave me a brief tour of the bottom floor that was both a shrine and a museum. I was humbled. I did not expect a visit to a friend to be a voyage through modern history.
On the drive to Valparaiso, it seemed that Chilean drivers could be as crazy as Parisians! Drivers are meant to overtake on the left and move to the right to let people through.
Something else I found interesting about the roads was the tolls, which you have to pay one every newish road in Chile. All infrastructure, including roads, has been privately-built & owned from Pinochet's time in power. In fact, thanks to his water-tight constitutional changes, the Chilean Government can not invest in its own infrastructure. To encourage foreign investment, Pinochet also implemented lax tax laws, which now renders the Government unable to collect tax from multinationals that have set up major Chilean projects and employ cheap local labour (BHP Billiton is a case in point here). It sounds awfully like Western exploitation to me - except that it's not limited to the West. Even China have started to get in on the action. [Luke tells me that Chinese language schools are growing in popularity in South America, particularly throughout Brazil.]
The journey through the hills was beautiful and very different. Suggestive billboards greeted us on both sides [this carried through to the port city itself. There were also no men in the billboard ads!], and native palm trees sprouted awkwardly between shrubs and araucaria (pine-tree relatives, also native). The sky clouded over as we headed into Valparaiso, heralding the cooler weather by the sea, but they soon cleared into a wonderful day.
Marcia's unit was modest and fashionably decorated. The interior was very Mexican and Aurora noted that most items had been brought across from Mexico. A photograph of friends and political allies Neruda and Allende took pride of place in the entry way. We brought two boxes of Marcia's books from Santiago for display at the unit: these were mostly gifts to the Allendes, many of them from presidents and other dignitaries.
Valparaiso is not a clean city. Aside from watching out for cracks in the pavement, we were constantly on the lookout for animal waste. Stray dogs and cats roam the streets and shops, surprisingly passing each other without incident. [For me, that disproved the age-old belief that cats and dogs are natural enemies.]
As we wandered the streets in search of lunch, we passed a number of impressive murals and creative graffiti and I realised that we had stumbled onto the Museo a Cielo Abierto which spans most of the city. Adding to the flamboyance was the fact that most of the houses were block-coloured brightly in rainbow shades and everything in between. I was excited to find a number of pink houses. [Apparently the Chilean Government subsidises house paint purchases and actively encourages the bright colours!]
Aurora and Marcia came out with some Chilean metaphors and similes that I found amusing. For example, if you are attracted to someone, then they "smell as good as fresh bread" and if you "look as fresh as lettuce", then you have woken up looking pretty darned good.
Our 4pm lunch at the Gato Tuerto ("the one-eyed cat") was reasonably priced and the service was great. Despite the kitsch decor (plastic placemats) and small servings, it was well worth the visit for the 270-degree view.
We continued our route through the open-air gallery, where we:
- Took a funicular (on an angle of 48-degrees!) down one of the hills. That was fun - many of these near-vertical trains are 100+ years old;
- Walked past the Casa Mirador de Lukas, a memorial to Renzo Pecchenino ("Lukas"), the Chilean cartoonist and satirist.
Valparaiso is pure magic at night. The lights flicker like candles at a large-scale shrine to the sea.
It was after 11pm when we arrived at the pizza place - after 1am by the time we arrived back at the unit. Here I tasted palmitos for the first time and ate pizza sprinkled liberally with smoked chilli powder. I was sated.
The highlight of the night was the lunar eclipse that started with Marcia's tour. By the time our pizzas arrived, the moon was fully covered by the earth´s shadow. I can't remember ever having seen a full lunar eclipse before then.
Day 21: Thursday 21 February 2008. Still feeling like death warmed up, Luke and I set off to forage for breakfast provisions. The strays from the day before now travelled together in car-chasing packs. It was funny to watch, not so funny for the drivers with their snapped-at wheels. Here, the dogs have real character; they wait for the people to start moving before they cross a road, sleep in the middle of a footpath, wander in and out of shops.
Breakfast was simple: bananas, avocado, tomato, cheese, fresh bread. The fresh fruit and vegetables in Chile have so much flavour.
While Marcia waited for friends of her mother's to arrive, Aurora, Luke and I headed to Pablo Neruda's house, La Sebastiana. As we walked, we continued to find more murals, graffiti, colours. The cloudy day made the colours more vivid. I was so excited to be able to see this city evolve in different lights and times of day.
A joint Neruda-Picasso exhibition, hosted between the house and cafe, marked the time that the two men had spent together creatively. I started to realise the connections between places in my journey thus far.
Entry to the house itself was 2,500 Chilean pesos. The house was only part-owned by Neruda, who was able to convince some of his friends to buy into the dwelling. There are mozaics inside and out of the house, on walls and floors; in polygons of tile, stone, mirror. Wood features. Contrasting textures, patterns. Stained glass windows. This is a house of many colours.
Aurora pointed out that the high emotion of Neruda's love poems were based more on control ('you are changed because I love you') than acceptance ('I love you because of who you are'). He seemed suddenly egocentric to me, the way he embraced the lustful blindness of love, his ability to transform others. He was also incredibly eccentric.
Only Neruda was ever allowed behind his bar. Adorning the house are gifts, pieces purchased at auction, rescued and restored items. There is a convex mirror in the bathroom by the bar. In the living room, Neruda placed a portrait of a young man wearing a ruff opposite a portrait of the Queen of Spain, also in a ruff, "so the Queen would not be lonely." Neruda's love of the sea is apparent in the numerous porthole windows, the study that sounded like a storm at sea on windy nights.
I didn't realise just how deeply-rooted Neruda's involvement in politics stemmed before seeing this house; he saw politics and poetry as being inextricably intertwined. I wondered also if he was a religious person [and I haven't yet looked into this]; he placed contrasting religious symbols side by side.
In case you couldn't tell, I really liked La Sebastiana.
Marcia, her mother's three friends (political journalists) and their driver ended up at La Sebastiana at the same time as us. I discovered the true true collectivist nature of Latin Americans as we all set off to find a restaurant together. Eventually, we happened upon a seafood place that really loved its oil. I could barely touch a thing but the view over the port was amazing. I thought it was very sweet of the journalists to buy us lunch; we undertook to pay for dessert. [I then found out that it is customary for the oldest member of the group to pay for meals, after some cursory banter.]
Another funicular ride later, and we were off to find a suitable cafe.
Again, Cafe Turri had a fabulous view but was otherwise nothing to write home about [and, yet, here I am doing exactly that!]. We met Marcia's mum, the Socialist Deputy, who greeted us very graciously and joined our party for tea.
I saw a couple of firsts at Cafe Turri: my first Chilean flies (you just don't see insects!], and my first bumblebees! I could not believe the size of these bees.
'The kids' picked up the 28,000 Ch peso tab, which I think was altogether too much for too-small desserts (my celestial pancakes would not have satisfied a grasshopper) and average service. It was on its way to 8pm by the time we left the cafe.
More quirks of Valaparaiso:
- criss-crossed power lines. It's worse than Paris;
- the coloured houses built precariously into and over the hills, on less-than-vertical stilts;
- the cobbled streets. They are everywhere;
- the winding roads with super-tight corners;
- the decimal point instead of a comma and comma instead of a decimal point (eg. 1,000.00 is written 1.000,00). I was weirded out by this; and
- The strange yet oddly interesting busker who walks a collection of wire-based animals around a ring of spectators.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
