Veuillez Decrocher – Page 2 – Thoughts, impressions and tales of travel

March 15, 2011March 21, 2011

Day 2: RUTs, routes and roots

Woke up a little too early, A had a second interview for a prospective job and had needed clothing from the room I was crashing in. Was ok, though, at least I’d be able to get some things done before everything was closed. The mission today: connectivity and perhaps an apartment.

A lookup of the, less expensive, HomeChile agency’s address showed it to be lost far on the outer eastern edge of the city. I’d need to take a cab and can’t say I’m all that comfortable with taxis in the middle of nowhere around here. My suspicions confirmed by Zule—”yes, the taxi will know you’re a foreigner and fuck you up, be careful”—I decided I’d be better off starting at the ContactChile agency, in Providencia.

But first, I needed to complete the RUT thing, in order to open a bank account, in order to avoid getting taken by the rental agency. So I went back to Irarrazaval, took a bus east and found my way to the SII offices.

In order to get service there, I needed a number for the line—the guy at the front desk indicated that I should get it from a security guard posted next to a big ticket-dispensing machine. When I got to the guard, I asked for a number. He asked me for my RUT. “But I’m here to get a RUT, I don’t have one”. “But you need a RUT to get a number, what is your RUT?”… and so on about five times. Finally, he asked a clerk who indicated a magical RUT to feed to the machine (1-9, fyi, which is funny because in spanish it sounds a lot like saying un nuevo… a new one!) in order to print out a ticket.

Gubment service points, always so unique...

The rest of the experience was a lot easier. The clerk I got was helpful and curious as to where I was from, why I came, etc. We had a little chat, he scolded me a little for my terrible handwriting (it’s the computer age—I can hardly hold a pen, I said), and finally gave me a temporary RUT that lasts up to three months. They’ll be sending the real one to Nunoa, in 1.5 – 3 months, but I won’t be around and am unsure of how safe that’ll be… don’t really want to owe backtaxes in Chile. Guess we’ll see.

Hit the road and got off in Providencia, at Los Leones metro station. The ContactChile offices were a bit hard to get into to—there are plenty of indications that you’re at the right place, just nothing to tell you what number to ring at the big gate (2, fyi)—but are very nice and have a friendly multilingual staff. I was initially spoken to in French, which was a surprise.

The short version is that, whether because it’s the end of the season and they are a bit disorganized, or because a look like I have the cash (really?), the list of available lodgings was a lot different than what was shown on the website. And happened to be kinda expensive. When you add it all up, I was being asked to plop down upwards of $1400 for a (less than) a month’s rent—a chunk of which counts as a deposit, which is to be returned to me at the end.

Since “the end” is normally when you are leaving, and since multiple people had warned me to negotiate the deposit down because they would find a reason to keep it either way, and since I hate negotiating, I pocketed the business card and left. So things wouldn’t be so easy apartment-wise, but my real focus today was connectivity.

Went to the Paris—the chain where I’d originally purchased the mobile internet device—to see if they could revive mine, or sell me a new sim card (un chip). Wrong Paris, had to backtrack down Ahumeda and find the “techno Paris” I’d passed on the way. This was one of those underground deals, with only an entrance, a greeting-security-guard-guy, and an escalator to the depths. There the uninterested Entel girl told me they didn’t sell chips, and I should go to “Machivelli”… hum, that didn’t sound right but after three repeats she was getting tired.

After a bit of searching in the generally correct direction, I finally stumbled upon it and laughed: Mac Iver. The MacGuyver song popped into my head, at least now I was certain they could fix anything.

The Entel guy in the actual Entel store had more of a clue, but told me that the device had simply been terminated after 3 months of inactivity, and there was no way for him to reactivate it or sell a stand-alone chip. The data SIM cards come with the USB modems, and that’s it. Ugh, that device had cost about $100 bucks last time.

He was really helpful though, and directed me to another Entel store, further along Mac Iver (440, fyi), where people pay bills and get stuff done, so they might be able to revive it. I needed a phone, too—people really give you a look when you say you don’t have one, in these parts, even knowing you’re a foreigner and I needed to be able to apt hunt easily—so I enquired with my Entel pal.

He hooked me up with the cheapest, smallest, device available—a tiny prepago (prepay) Samsung—that came with 10 lucas worth of time, and so was basically free but every call comes out at about 20 cents a minute.

The Entel shop I’d been sent to couldn’t help me either, saying that there was no way to reactivate the USB device. It’s hard to tell how true that might be, because employees here often seem to know little and care less. They’ll sometimes just invent something either to make a sale or just so you’ll go away. Bought another device, newer and at about half the cost of the first time.

I dropped by our favourite hostel in town, La Casa Roja, to see if they had or could point me to good sources of, temporary furnished apartments. No luck there, but it was nice that even after hosting a year’s worth of travellers, the staff actually recognized me. After a little chat, I stopped by Chucrute, on the corner of Agustina and Brasil, for a classic liter of Escudo.

The weather was so-so, and the bar empty. Talked a bit with the only-semi-interested barmaid, who basically indicated I should walk around BellaVista and ask in apartment buildings. The new internet conn initialized fine, using the hackintosh, and I was glad to have a RUT this time to enable it. But my getting-long-in-the-tooth version of Ubuntu only recognized it as a storage device and I couldn’t get connectivity under Linux. Bummer.

The beer impacted me a little more than it should, again, and I subwayed to Baquedano to check out the scene and any buildings I might encounter. Was getting late, so I ended up at Bar La Nona for another litre, this time inside as it was getting cold.

I saw my first rays of sunshine since my arrival, through the window in the smokey bar. Started up a conversation with a couple seated at the next table, again to ask about apartment hunting. They were both very nice, offering to ask around their places and message me should anything come up. We talked a bit more, turns out they were from Punta Arena (I think… somewhere way down south) and were accustomed to lots of snow. On the subject of interesting bars to visit, the definite response was someplace near Los Heroes and they offered to take me out on Friday night.

I finished up my beer and caught a bit of the remaining sunshine, heading back to homebase tired and unsure how things were going to turn out.

March 14, 2011March 21, 2011

Day 1 of Chilean adventure #2

The flight was uneventful and, though I did miss the pleasure of seeing the Andes below, my aisle seat was a lifesaver—my back will surely thank me for the multiple stretching sessions I indulged in every few hours.

I was a bit nervous when I disembarked—I never like going through customs and I was carrying a huge bag of goodies selected by someone else. Chile is very proud and protective of its pest-free environment, so the department of agriculture’s checkpoint is even more severe that the police/security check.

The bad news was that the, very kind, gentleman at the gate noticed that my arrival the preceding year coincided with the quake: a period during which they were waiving the reciprocity fee. So this time, I had to pony up USD132 to get in, ouch. Well, at least it’s good for a while, so I guess I just have to come back now 😉

The good news is that, though I checked the “yes, I think I’m carrying weird shit” box on the declaration form, after a few quick questions and zero inspection, I was officially In Chile.

A’s warm greeting was much appreciated. I had the honour of being the first of our northerly bunch to actually meet his girlfriend, and she’s very nice: she spent half the time trying to set me up with someone she knew to get a rebate on a phone, a simcard, pretty much everything I’d be looking for.

We took a regular city bus to the centre, which dropped us of at the Pajaritos (the birds) metro station on the western tip of the system. The ride was a bit of a pain with all the luggage, and the walk from Nuble to our destination seemed a lot longer than usual, but soon we were greeted by a friendly family, at L and A’s grandmother’s.

After chatting, lunching and showering, I found I still had energy to get some stuff done so I enquired on the best way to get to the corner of Irarrazaval and Pedro de Valdivia. My goal: the offices of the Servicio d’Impuestos Internos (SII). I don’t know if it’s a residue from the Pinochet days, but the bureaucracy in Chile is at times rather heavy. The RUT, Chile’s version of a social security number, is used for tax purposes… and a whole lot more. You use your RUT when setting up a phone, when registering to get newspaper deliveries and generally for lots of things that seem a little creepy to me.

I’d been thinking of opening a bank account and getting a phone, and maybe more involved things in the future, and a RUT would be most useful. So, I got a lift in a comuno—a cross between a taxi and a bus, basically a taxi with a fixed route—to someplace near my destination. I was hoping to get there before 4pm, since government offices have a tendency to close up shop nice and early, and was shaving it a bit close.

I made it to the SII in time… but I think I’d just picked that deadline straight out of the post-flight haze enveloping my head. Office hours: 09h00 to 14h00. I was two hours late, hum.

I knew the Irarrazaval metro station was somewhere west, so I decided to take my first independent ride on un micro (the bus, but the intra-city type). For something that’s supposed to be micro, these things are huge jointed beasts with four (or more?) sets of doors.

It wasn’t too obvious which bus I should be taking. They all have little signs detailing their route but since the street and the subway station have the same name, it wasn’t all that clear.

I asked a girl who basically said, “yeah, it’s one of the buses at least, not sure which… check the signs”. Ok. Took my chances on the fourth bus to show up—the 403 I believe—and asked the driver. Yep, stops at both Irarrazaval and Santa Lucia. The bus was spacious and seemed to have more standing room than seats. A street vendor embarked and offered a platter of dulces and chocolate bars around, then decided to hover around me for some reason.

Santa Lucia would be closer to downtown, but I was eager to get back to the familiar so when I saw a bunch of people getting off, I headed to the front of the bus. Seeing me, the driver remember my question and asked “el metro?” . Yeah, was the right place.

The original plan was to stop of at Chucrut—a small bar in barrio Brasil that we were fond of last time around—and have a cerveza on the terasse. But the grey weather and the advancing day was telling me barrio Brasil wouldn’t be all that fun today. So I randomly hoped off at Universidad de Chile, hoping to take in a little crowd action by walking the pedestrian streets towards Plaza de Armas.

As I walked down the street, I felt that something was wrong. Less population because it was a grey Monday made sense, but this was almost empty and seemed more downtrodden than I remembered.

Finally, it dawned on my that I was heading the wrong way—south—which explained everything.

A quick stop at the St*rbucks, near La Moneda, to get some connectivity and caffeine and I headed out to the pedestrian Ahumada… that was much better—lots of people (relatively) bad weather notwithstanding. Wandered up to Plaza de Armas, where a street comedian was performing bits about Adam&Eve for a large crowd… Not my style, and I was having trouble catching onto the subtleties, so I decided to go eastward and check out the patios on Pio Nono.

So then Adam sayz, he sayz to her, he sayz...

Got my first litre of Escudo at Bar La Nona. They also have wifi, which I can’t seem to get enough of, though it took me four attempts to get the key right: jorge! A dancing drummer stopped by and spun around wildly as he played his funky beat, coming within a foot of smashing a few people with his basedrum.

I don’t know if it was fatigue, but that litre hit me pretty hard and I ambled back down to baquedano station and went to the temporary HQ in Nunoa.

The evening is always a bit of a party in these parts, and a bunch of family were around chatting and having la onces (the elevens, a late night snack). Ariel, a cousin (or is it nephew?) that we’d met and had fun with last time around, came by and got to practice his English with me a bit. He insisted I walk down the street to meet his brother, Jorge (a name I now know how to spell, heh), which was fine by me but it turns out he was in the neighbourhood attending a wake.

We walked a few streets and came upon a group of around 60 people, standing outside talking, who had come for the wake of a well-loved local granddad. I met Jorge, as well as a few friends. A nice bunch but I was glad to have been introduced as a family friend, as the youths had a certain air of… let’s say danger. They all expressed surprise that L would “let me” make this trip alone, an attitude far removed from my own but I caught on to why their pololas might not be so open to the idea… it took all of two minutes for a few of them to offer to hook me up with some nice local chicas!

After a while, Jorge and Peter offered to take me out on the town Wednesday evening. I was unsure but accepted the offer, hoping I’d get to see some sides of Santiago normally unavailable. On the way back, Ariel made sure that I was actually interested, and not simply pressured into it, and reassured me that they were both straight up guys. Well, his brother anyway… should be interesting.

March 13, 2011March 21, 2011

Sudden Departure

By nine pm, sitting in the YUL terminal, I wasn’t feeling so hot. I’d been pretty sure I’d have a mix of excitement and remorse at this point, but right that minute tenia miedo more than anything else.

Since I basically fell in love with Santiago last year, I’ve been eager to return. A week before, after letting the idea germinate for months, I simply went online, bought a ticket and that was it: I’d be in Santiago for a whole month.

Not exactly an impulse buy, but damn close for an adventure of this scope. I found myself sitting alone in the terminal, having said my goodbyes to pretty much everyone I know—including my sweet partner in crime, L, who introduced me to Chile—and wondering if it was such a good idea after all…

By 1am it was done… had connected in TO and was back in the air: we left Toronto behind and the flying cruise ship was on its way to Santiago. After my bout with anxiety I returned to a more rational disposition: my spanish (if not my Chilean) was at a functional (if not pretty) level and one month isn’t that long, after all. It’s going to be be a crash course in a few subjects, mostly real life Chileno-speak and a test of my uprooting capacity.

The next day, L’s brother—who’s recently relocated to Chile—was to meet my at the airport and I’d complete my role of mule for L’s family by delivering a load of goodies (mainly chocolate, much appreciated nutella and clothing) and was hoping to find some connectivity and a place to freshen up at her aunt/grandmother’s place. It was reassuring to know I had a backup.

March 31, 2010March 31, 2010

Serenity in La Serena

We’d stayed in Valparaiso long enough to see the city shed itself of those clouds from the first day, and departed early on the 18^th to catch the northbound bus. I left with a lingering feeling that I hadn’t truly experienced the Valpo magic that had incited so many of those we’d met to make the city their home, at least for a little while.

Apparently, the night life is intense in these parts and, from the borderline anarchy we encountered below and around the cerros, I can believe it. But I needed to get some work done, and we had a mission up north, so we departed while I resolved to give the place another try next time around.

The bus, this time, was a double-decker behemoth and we got seats with a good view of the landscape on the second floor, which was slowly transforming into desert.

Our next stop was La Serena, about 500 clicks north of Santiago. This county is thin (a max of about 180km wide) but there’s still plenty of room, as it stretches over 4000km from the most arid desert in the world at the top, through Mediterranean landcapes to the land of icebergs and penguins at the bottom, with the Andes acting as a backdrop the whole way.

Strange new trees replace the palms, here.

I managed to catch a few eyefuls on the road, as I worked while the bus bounced and beeped up the coast. After about 5 hours we arrived a Coquimbo, another port city with that same port city feel. La Serena was just a jump away, and we disembarked to the smell of ocean and the cool breeze of evening in these parts.

The closest thing to the terminal is a big Mall. We stopped to refuel and get our bearings, having a completo and another look in our trusty guide book. I’d read about a hostel, near the bus terminal, and had stumbled upon a pamphlet for the same place at la Casa Roja: Casa Maria. It seemed promising, but we hadn’t actually made any reservations.

This is when we finally figured out how cell phones work in Chile. Basically, they all share a distinct area code and dialing convention, and are treated as (semi) long distance calls. The conversation L was having with Casa Maria was cut off twice before we realized we needed to keep pumping coins into the public phone.

Payphones, and llamadas centers everywhere

There was room at Casa Maria and they were ready to come and get us at the Mall. Instead, we found our way (one block west, two blocks north) and entered what looked like someones living room. Andres, the person L had spoken with, greeted us like old friends and presented his companions, which included his mother (for whom the Casa Maria is named).

He brought us through the living room and kitchen, to an inner courtyard in the back which gave on an alley of what looked like miniature houses and a magnificent garden. Our room, on the eastern corner, was small but cosey, and had two windows looking into the courtyard, one straight into the garden. This would be very comfortable, and was really inexpensive to boot!

Understandably, most places require a bit of passport checking/paperwork and payment on arrival, but Andres was uber cool: “no, no, unpack, relax, you can pay when you leave”. It was a relief, such a chilled attitude after the intensity of the previous days.

We unpacked and headed out to get a preview of our new home. It was getting late, and the city was quiet, but we managed to find a place that would serve up a warm meal. Milan pub, an odd mix of restaurant at the front and pub at the back, complete with wall-sized music videos and clapping patrons, prepared a few Chilean classics for us. Soup with lotsa meat, followed by rice with lotsa meat, all of it best eaten with a salsa-like concoction of tomatoes and spicy spices that I love but never managed to get the name of. It was just what we needed before getting a bit of rest.

Mornings are cloudy and cool in La Serena, but the sun quickly dissipates the gloom and the weather is perfect: hot in the sun, cool in the shade, and a constant sea breeze makes the air feel clean and rejuvenating.

Though I had to work, I got to do it from a wi-fi equipped garden paradise and it was a pleasure. I’d discovered I had unfortunately left some clothes, including a prized shirt, in Valparaiso—sad but it gave me an excuse to take some time off for a little shopping. It may not show, but I’m picky about what I wear and the local stores were a bit too colourful for my tastes. I finally settled on a few band t-shirts that would do nicely in a pinch.

By then it was Friday night, and el centro was alive with the sounds of spanish crooners and the boisterous young lingerers. Sporting my new Napalm Death T, we walked the center to relax and take in the nightlife and stumbled upon Duna. Officially a “classic rock bar”, I was glad to be wearing my new t-shirt as it was a perfect fit with the crowd and music.

The patio, another instance of an inner yard which are so prevalent here, was packed but the atmosphere was easy going. As we scanned for a place to sit, L asked if we could join a table on the corner and struck up a conversation with the girls seated there. I had some trouble following the chat in the noise, but they were both very nice.

It was easy-going in La Serena. I mainly alternated between work and tours of the center, with it’s shops, half-pedestrian streets (because the sidewalks and streets are at the same level, and only distinguished by odd little bumps, I had a tendency to wander into the car lane), churches of all types and open air markets.

We played in this city’s version of Plaza des Armas, a park lined with replicas of classical statues, a few times and on Sunday, though our trusty hostel guides highly recommended the “4 corners” beach only a quick bus ride away, we chose to explore on foot, crossed the full length of the Plaza/park and headed west towards the sea.

Along the way, we stopped at Casa&Idea where L found a very nice—and in my opinion slightly large, for the pattiperros lifestyle we had—pillow for her little swaddler. That happy milk-carton shaped cushion would become a regular companion from this point on, and be infused with mom-love like the little Valparaiso cat, before its eventual delivery.

We walked, further than expected, towards the coast in the afternoon sun and the breeze was just enough to keep the temperature bearable. Hoping to quickly see some beach, we searched for collectivos, but the few we saw were headed back into town.

We barely saw anyone at all, as we marched down the palm tree-lined, sandy path and this beautiful residential area seemed deserted. El Faro, the lighthouse namesake of this particular beach, could be seen in the distance at the end of the path. We were finally going to get some Pacific action!

The beach, like the streets leading up to it, was almost deserted. A few artisans selling wares, a young boy offering horse rides, two people reading, a family in the distance. We walked a good distance from the lighthouse, to be completely alone. The sea was ours.

Closest I'd gotten to the Pacific, so far

Because this little field trip was improvised, and though we’d carried our swimsuits for hundreds of kilometers, neither of us was equipped for swimming. Fuck it, people were swimming before the invention of bathing suits, after all. Heh.

L, who’s underwear was just a tad too revealing, stopped at a little market and purchased a beautiful silky scarf and tied it around her waist. Perfect. I was wearing my brand new, La Serena-purchased, replacement boxers and they were adorned with go-fast stripes… almost perfect. We stripped and I ran into the cold waters. L took her sweet time getting in, which is something I find much more difficult than a single slap of cold. To each his own… once we were both in, it was a blast!

I don’t know how long we played, at times fighting the waves and at others doing my best to bodysurf. It was fantastic, I love the sea, it’s beauty and power. And L is always at her most beautiful when happy, and I could tell she was happy amongst the waves. So was I and, though I’d omitted to use an appropriate layer of sunscreen, I couldn’t resist the water and the sun, and ended turning a nice shade of red.

Ouch, now that's a tan! To the right, Andres our awesome host.

When Monday arrived, we’d stayed in comfortable La Serena longer than expected, had only a week left until our return and had still not made contact with L’s father. We had to choose whether we were going to risk another 19 hours of travel up the coast, to what we found was going to be a very small town on the edge of nothing, for a slim chance that he’d actually still be there. It was a decision I couldn’t make, and I did my best to show that I’d be equally willing to go either farther north or back down south: up would be a new adventure, down would be guaranteed fun.

Despite having carried a backpack, boots, photos and herself this far to see her father, L finally decided it would be wiser to abandon the quest this time, and instead return in the near future along with her daughter, who was getting old enough for the trip.

We spent a bit of the afternoon doing some gift shopping for friends and family, at the artisan’s market near the center, got some work done and prepared for the bus ride back to Santiago.

March 28, 2010March 29, 2010

Off to Valpo

2010-03-15 – 2010-03-17

Sunday was the last official day of my time off, for the next two weeks I’d be working from Chile. We planned to wind our way north in our quest for L’s father, a rolling stone with no fixed address about whom we only had vague indications of Iquique and Taltal as last known locations and a cell number that had yet to pick up.

Since Internet access was presenting such an issue, with ‘net cafes everywhere but hardly any wi-fi to be found, and because I’d be spending time on intercity buses, I needed a suitable means of communication.

One thing that’s immensely popular around here, even if relatively expensive, is the cell phone. I’d learned the day before, in Providencia, that a few companies would sell you a PCS connector (basically a cell phone and a modem combined into a USB key) “sin plan” (without a contract) for about 40 lucas (40,000 pesos, about 80 bucks) for which you can purchase blocks of access time.

Instead of going back to squaresville, I went to one of the many “Paris” locations in el centro. Paris is a chain of mega stores that look like Eaton’s exploded into 20 smaller stores, all themed alike. In most cases, each department is in its own independent little shop, scattered throughout over a block or two or in one of the semi-open air shopping malls.

Turns out, these little devices are popular. I scoured the downtown area, hitting all the Paris locations within walking distance, looking for this little machine to no avail. I finally had to take the subway back to Los Leones and the Paris in Providencia to get satisfaction.

The device was immediately recognized under Linux, and I had no problem connecting to the network. I had a working connection and a cell number that could be used for SMS messaging. However, the blasted contraption would just let me annonymously cruise the ‘nets… no, I had to activate it, namely by entering my name, contact info, RUT and color of my underwear.

The real problem was the RUT, basically the Chilean version of a social security number. I, obviously, didn’t have one and the system wasn’t designed for anything but local clients. I fought for a while with the system, actually hacking the javascript checks to get by that first step, but no go: the final confirmation step failed when posting the data to the server.

I finally went back to the Entel salesgirl, explaining my issue as best I could. Whether she gave me her own, or provided some valid default, I ended up with a usable RUT and hence a usable device. Success! But at the cost of a days work.

The connection worked, but was far from being a shining example of the new wireless world and felt a lot like being stuck on dial-up, but in a universe that expected broadband connections. Hitting servers in North America was sometimes downright painful. Since L needed to do a little prepatory shopping, and I could get some work done using the wi-fi at the Star*ucks, we headed to a nice mall at Mirador metro station, in the east end.

The next day, we were off. We went to Estacion Centrale, the airy and grandiose train and bus terminal. The bus terminal is a confusing place. Unlike Montreal, there isn’t a single operator offering services. Like almost everything here, capitalism can be seen in action with innumerable companies offering different destinations, schedules and levels of comfort so there are fifty different little counters selling tickets. It’s like a mall, one company is devoted to constructing the building and renting out spaces to vendors and the system kinda works but it’s bewildering. It’s also why even the restrooms require payment: it’s just another service to provide, rent the space and let someone else take care of it… very laissez-faire.

Anyhow, it turns out it was the wrong place. We needed another terminal, with Pullman and Tur-bus (two of the better companies) selling tickets for the northern passage. A few block away, we found what we needed.

We purchase tickets to Valparaiso and started our journey. All the buses we took were decently comfortable, provided “entertainment” (if you can call a Steven Segal movie entertainment, that is… oh, the cheese!), and had speedometers, annoyingly flashing and beeping whenever the driver passed the 100 kph limit.

I setup my ghetto road warrior mobile workstation and got crackin’. Not easy, with beeps and Steven’s “I don’t wanna kill ya” and two bit comebacks, but workable.

As we neared Valpo, I got my first view of cloud cover since our arrival. Can’t say I’d missed it. We crossed through rickety shacks built on the hills bordering the highway for a while and entered Valparaiso proper. It looked grey, worn down, dirty. Maybe it was just the cloudy day…

Nope. Bus terminals are often in the crappy part of town, but this was special. We seemed to have been teleported to the land of pet food and dead fish fragrance. For the first time, the number of cats rivaled the dog count, and L purchased some cat food as offering to the feline gods of this city.

As we walked through the cool streets with our Santiago summer-wear and backpacks, uncertain of our heading and with no actual plan in place for accommodations, we were greeted with stares that were almost openly hostile. Broken down, smelly, aggressive. L’s first purchase in the town was a nice set of brass knuckles… tells you something about how we were feeling. For a while, we wondered if we’d made a mistake in choosing to stop in Valparaiso…

One of the things the city is best know for is it’s Cerros. I figured the happy people probably lived atop the hills of this port city, removed from the noise of trams and scent of fish and a decent view of the sea. With selected a hostel semi-randomly from the Lonely planet, and set out for Cerro Alegre.

No one knew where it was. Everyone we asked pointed us in a different direction. Somehow, we got the notion that if we took a certain micro (common name for inner city buses) on Av. Errazuriz we’d get closer, so we hopped on. The driver launched the vehicle at maniacal speeds as we got on and L was still asking if it was the right bus and where we should get off. I was still standing in the stairs, my hair flying in the wind as we swerved down the road. It was only when, after about a minute, the driver finally stopped the turbulent air by closing the door that I realized that I’d been a foot away from a close encounter with pavement the whole time.

I took the brusque nod in the rearview mirror from the tattooed escaped convict that was our driver to mean it was time to get off. We were unsure of where we’d landed, but the imperative was clear. Go up.

Stairs and cats. More stairs, more cats. And graffiti. Loads of it, noisy, beautiful, aggressive, colorful. It is everywhere there are stairs, which is… everywhere. We climbed to an observatory of what turned out to be cerro Concepcion and found a sweet little coffee shop called Cafe de Iris. They had jugos naturales, espresso and wi-fi: everything we needed to settle down and choose a place to try for accommodations in the area.

We visited a few hostels on Templeman from the book, uphill, uphill some more. They were occupied or crappy and expensive little boxes. L stopped randomly at one, Pata Pata and it was an inspired move. Though all they had were dorm rooms, housing eight, one of those was unoccupied and could be ours and was very affordable.

Not only was the hostel nice, the staff were awesome. Alejandro, the burly owner, was extremely inviting and his staff, Serge and John—two travellers, one an Austrian and the other a Brit, who’d both only stopped to rent a room and ended up staying—were cool and a wealth of information and tales.

We volunteered, along with a nice couple from England, to head back down into the trenches in a quest for chorizos and palta for the 10 guests present. The walk down was an aggreable conversation, though we stuck out like sore thumbs even more with our new friends. The walk up, loaded with provisions, was a bit harder. It’s obvious why there are less smokers here than in Santiago!

We had a good meal with our fellow shoppers and a gaggle of germans who’d been touring South America and another who was setting up to move to valparaiso for studies and retired to our king sized room, exhausted.

I spent most of the following day working from the hostel, while L visited nearby Vina del Mar, playground of Santiago. Vina is the polished and artificial resort beach to Valpo’s commercial port and borderline anarchy. Between the two, Valparaiso is my choice hands down and I was satisfied with L’s photos and sample of beach sand.

One of a zillion examples of Valpo graff

A typical Valparaiso house... well, neither typical nor rare 😉

We closed the night off the mountain at Pimenton, where Serge also worked as a cook and John like to have a drink. It’s the kind of place that incites you to get really wasted having an esoteric conversation or planning a revolution and was loads of fun.

March 27, 2010

Concrete and darkness

2010-03-14

After an awesome breakfast served up by our friends at la Casa Roja (include real, yes real, coffee!), it was time to hit the road. We decided to do a little exploring in the eastern part of the city, the Las Condes and Providencia barrios.

Both of these neighborhoods are a little more on the upscale side of what we’d seen so far. Las Condes is the economic powerhouse of the city, home to banks, insurance companies and a familiar place to anyone comfortable in a suit and tie.

Coming out of the Escuela Militar metro station, we quickly noticed that this was a bubble of corporate America. Familiar fast food chains greeted us as soon as we walked out and the metro itself was tied into a posh mini mall, including an MTV store and a high tech, polished, banos (still a paying bathroom, though). They take their Sundays seriously here, and pretty much everything was closed.

We walked west on Avenida Apoquindo, which morphs into Providencia Ave further towards the city. The sun was shining, as always, the air was still and the streets deserted. Monstrous sidewalks on either side, anticipating the rush of polished shoes and firm handshakes, were empty and silent.

It was something of an alien landscape, like walking through an archaeological dig for some civilization of giants who had banked themselves to death, everything shiny and big and lifeless. Most of the buildings seemed to be trying to impress, if not crush, their neighbors with their magnificence and the elegance of the tasteful art. One, an insurance company I believe, even had a mote. It was all very dry.

Providencia looked more human and habitable, but only barely. Mainly consisting of malls and residential buildings, it was also rather devoid of life due to the fact that most stores were closed. We headed north, across the rio which winds through the city, to the Parque de las Esculturas.

Crash landing in Parque de las Esculturas

Appropriately, this is a large park which is home to big, shiny objects. It’s actually a very nice place, and it felt good to lie in the grass after all that time on cement. Though I played a bit in the sculptures, we were out of gas from our previous evening and long walk, so we headed back down into Providencia in search of calories.

We found them at Bravissimo, a restaurant chain with all the style of a Chucky Cheese but some good meals, ice cream and coffee at lowlow prices. It’s aggressively colourful and “family oriented” so don’t expect a candlelight dinner there to be much of a success, but it was tasty, satisfying and actually had some vegetables with the meat. If you’re in a mall, you’ll probably find one and it’s better than having Shopdog/Doggys/whateverDog hotdogs all the time.

We returned to Nunoa to get ready for our road trip, for real this time as the plan was to climb the country almost to its northern tip in search of L’s farther. We had a cell number and last known location (a small town called Taltal) to go on, but not much else. No answer on the cell as of yet, but we would keep trying as we moved up the coast.

That night, shortly after emptying our luggage, the power went out. Nunoa was completely dark. Cells were down for a bit but landlines were still operational, and calls were coming in from all parts of the city. “Do you have lights?” It turns out, about 90% of the country was without power.

People were anxious, was this another earthquake, a consequence of the last ones or yet another problem the country would have to face? Dogs were barking and howling, the only source of light being the occasional passing car.

We decided a stroll in the darkness would be appropriate. Nunoa is filled with back alleys and miniature pedestrian walkways between the tightly packed rows of houses. We stayed on familiar routes, as it would be too easy to get thoroughly confused in the darkness, and head towards the subway.

The stars! Stars everywhere, on a moonless night, we could see the milky way clearly. It was an awesome sight, a foretaste of what we hoped to see in our travels out of Santiago.

Those stars disappeared as we approached the subway entrance, since it was running on emergency generators and powering the street lights 400 meters out. Oddly reassuring, we loitered around the entrance for a bit, watching streams of people exiting the tunnel. They’d been rescued by the fire department, and had to walk the tracks to the exit.

We returned to the pitch black streets of Nunoa and found some candles to finish off the night. By the next morning, power had been restored. Apparently, an important transformer had blown and the system, possibly fragile because of the quakes, had dominoed into oblivion. We got some rest, we needed to prepare for our trip and my vacation was officially over: from here on out, I’d be working remotely on my trusty netbook, and needed to find a way to keep my lifeline to the internet open, which was turning out to be a lot more challenging than expected.