Veuillez Decrocher – Page 3 – Thoughts, impressions and tales of travel

March 25, 2010March 27, 2010

A little time out of Nunoa

2010-03-13

Tonight, we planned to be living it up in Barrio Brasil’s home of the traveler, la Casa Roja. First, we wanted a good breakfast and some supplies so we headed out for a second attempt at locating the local Lider.

The Lider chain is one of the big players in the supermercado business, along with Jumbo (who’s logo incorporates a Dumbo-like elephant), Unimarc and the smaller (and somehow grimier) Santa Isabel.

Lider has locations scattered throughout, regular sized stores are “Lider express” and giant behemoths that rival and surpass IKEA are “Hiper Lider”. They are big.

I always find it interesting that it’s in the cases where things are almost the same as at home, but not quite, that I feel the most perturbing sense of culture shock. I think it’s that the familiarity lulls you into an impression of the known and you let your guard down, then suddenly something surprises you, or just doesn’t jive. Add up enough of these little events, and my brain seems to react by assuming it’s in a dream state and feeling like I’m in some pseudo-reality, a little disconnected and giggly.

Obviously, the selection and branding are different. Would you like some GROSSOs (Chicle Globo) with that? How about some Lays french fries (stacked alongside the other chips but microwaveable), or some comfort for your butt?

It’s impossible to find milk—I mean fresh milk, not in a box made to last forever—but yogourt and cheese abound. It’s impossible to find coffee—I mean coffee grains, used by many to make coffee—but Nescafe and 50 brands of instant 100% arabica are available everywhere (even coffee shops are few and far between).

The hand baskets are like small luggage, with retractable handles and wheels. They’re really cool. The cash registers never have scales, so there’s a fruit&veggie guy somewhere who’ll bag and tag everything you want to buy in the section, even if it’s just one lemon, before you head to the cash. Same thing for the bakery section, though it’s another guy.

We headed back to HQ and packed up for our road trip trial run, and set out for the red house.

La Casa Roja, situated in the heart of Barrio Brasil at Brasil and Augustinas, is a hostel in a huge restored casona. I have no idea how many rooms it has, but there are many, and it has loads of common spaces: TV rooms, internet center with workstations, living rooms for lounging around, tables in inner yards, a back yard with a swimming pool… all in a beautiful setting, a slight creak and breeze following you everywhere you go, with wood and ornamentation everywhere and windows and patio doors open on the beautiful weather at every turn. I’d say we liked the place.

We rented a double room (with bathroom) for about USD35 a night: a steal for the quality of this place. The room was clean, private and comfortable, but much of the fun happens in the halls and yards.

One thing Santiago is lacking is swimming pools and, though most locals consider the summer pretty much over, on 25 to 30 degree sunny days we were itching for some splashing. So the first thing we did was to take a dip in the back yard pool.

Not an Olympic swimming pool, but a nicely designed on with a smaller Jacuzzi-type basin feeding into the deep end, with a bar providing service in the water on the other end. Ah, enjoyable.

We spoke to a few travelers, students globe-trotting before getting tied down to another semester or real life and the like, and avoided a few others (namely, a group that were obviously from the same spot in the world as ourselves—we didn’t come all this way for more of the same, it seems).

By the time we had supper, Saturday night was upon us and it was time to dive into the action. Inquiring with the staff about suitable venues for our escapades was a bit of a disappointment. Having particular tastes, our choices seemed rather limited as a few of the bars we were relying on had disappeared or sold out to the 80s trend.

We were told that Oxido, a place we had both mentally bookmarked prior to arrival, might be of interest, and so we were off… to the other side of el centro, into Bellavista.

Oxido is a small club, with a smokey pub type tables-and-chairs section in front and a showroom in back. The ambiance is a noisy relaxed that is quite enjoyable with a good Russian beer ($1000 pesos for a litre!) and tar stick. A great spot was available, slightly elevated in the corner of the room, but only because it was a table with no seating. L asked two guys whether we could take two of their chairs and they promptly invited her to “take a seat, no problem, yeah!” Sorry, just want the chairs and we got a comfortable spot from which to observe the fauna.

We (really L, because with the noise I could hardly understand a word) struck up a conversation with the neighboring table. Turns out Ramon, a sixty year old with a good vibe and lots to say, was out having a beer with his youngest son and waiting impatiently to get a look at the show that was setting up in the other section. In the meantime, we all chatted about the state and future of Chile and the western world—Ramon seemed to have a worldview very much like our own, which is probably related to how we ended up in the same place on this Saturday night and was an all around cool guy.

After a good talk, and a few liters of Russian ale, we decided we weren’t going to close the bar on this night: turns out, on the weekends at least, the bars in the area close at 5 AM. W00t!! That’s a last call I can live with, just early enough to avoid the sun on your way back!

So we took walked back down across the rio, caught our first cab in the city(fast, so cheap and safe because tracked by GPS… uhm, hm… anyway, was cool) and headed back to our room in the red house. As we entered, we were invited to join the ongoing party at the bar in the back yard. Wow, I want to work in a hostel. A liter of Heineken later we’d had enough—the ambiance was cheerful and the people cool, but we were looking forward to some alone time followed by sleep uninterrupted by noise or light seeping in through paper-thin curtains and holes in the seems of the house.

March 19, 2010

Being Touristy

2010-03-12

Today we decided to be honest-to-goodness tourists and visit Cerro San Cristobal. It is a small mountain which stands in the north-east corner of the city, just at the top barrio Bellavista (which gets is “beautiful view” name from the cerro’s capacity to deliver it).

We journeyd out of Nunoa earlyish, passing a few signs of the damage caused by the recent quakes, including a few encampments of displaced residents. People fearing for the safety of their residences, or those forced out of their homes and hosted by friends and relatives, have setup small communities of tents in backyards and parks in this residential neighbourhood.

Fuerza, Chile! Reconstruction efforts under way.

Getting off at my favorite subway station, Baquedano, we crossed the rio Mapocho into barrio Bellavista to make our way to the mountain. But what’s the first thing a good tourist should do? Inject some plata into the local economy, of course. So we stopped at a small market of handicraft shops, to checkout the wares.

The merchant all have their own little box, which can be locked down when closed and is a unique work of art in its own right. They are organized along decorated paths, which are as twisty as the roads of Santiago, and offer a mix of handicrafts, jewelery (in large parts ornamented with, or crafted out of, lapis lazuli, the beautiful azure stone which is a local specialty) , musical instruments and trinkets of all types. If you are into penguins, condors, or the giant heads of easter island, you are in for a treat. Some of it is nice and unique, some is mass produced handcraft and some is plastic crap. Almost all of it is very inexpensive.

With a short walk, we cut through the patios of Pio Nono and headed straight to the Cerro San Cristobal. A few shops adorn the base of the mountain, selling snacks or junk that says “I’m a tourist, take me for a ride”.

The real attraction here is the Funicular, a vehicle that’s pulled up the side of the mountain on tracks at a somewhat vertigionous 45 degree angle at about 100 meters per minute (for a total run of around 450 meters). There are two of these little boxes in operation simultaneously, in oposite directions, that cross paths half way up and leave every fifteen minutes. In each of the tilted vehicles, there are five platforms arranged in a stair-like fashion and each can carry about eight people comfortably, though the top and bottom platforms are obviously the most popular.

We rode up and disembarked at the first stop, a little passed the halfway mark: the Zoo! Yes, there’s a zoo in Santiago, and they built it on the flank of a mountain overlooking the city. That’s cool. It is quiet, up there, and it’s quite a panorama for the animals, be it permanent resident or paying customer.

The funicular stop, and zoo entrance, are at what is almost the highest point of the zoo, which is arranged as a series of terasses similar to the aboriginal plantations of old in the Andes. As you wind down the mountain, you can gawk at both local (like the rabbit-horse-pig thing who’s name I’ve forgotten and the Condor, the national bird) and imported (we loved the white tiger family, and there are polar bears when it isn’t too hot).

After a good time with all the animals, and an engrossing conversation with a parrot, we walked back to the base of San Cristobal to take the contraption back up, this time, all the way to the top.

If it weren’t for the smog, which sadly masks the Andes from the city, the view would be heartstopping. Still, it is a stricking panorama and worth the trip.

View of Santiago from Cerro San Cristobal

At the highest point, there is some type of amphitheater which is used as a church. With a setting like that, I might be inspired too. Ok, no. But still, it is an impressive place with soft religious music and signs asking visitors to keep it down.

Overlooking the city is a large white statue of some lady. There were a number of people sitting silently around the base, facing the city and either being uplifted by divine power or just chilling, I couldn’t tell which.

There’s nothing to be worried about, though, as it appears the lady is coin-operated.

Under the statue is a type of sanctuary, where people burn candles and leave messages related to fallen loved ones. There are puddles and drips of wax covering everything, the scent of paraffin in the air, and it’s all rather sad.

We shook of the gloom and hopped on the funicular back down, glad to get back to the living. It was early evening on a Friday night in Bellavista. The sun was setting and the place was getting packed, revellers getting the party started.

It was enjoyable, but we were burned out and chose to get a little rest . The next day would be fun: a room was waiting for us in la casa roja, we’d be right in the middle of barrio Brasil just in time for Saturday night!

March 19, 2010March 19, 2010

A big day for Santiago

2010-03-11

I awoke earlier than I should to find that this was the day that presidential power would be changing hands in Chile. Presidente Bachelet, who seems loved by most everyone, refused public cries for another term (after, I think, two and I’m not sure whether there is a legal limit here for such things) to hand it over to some guy who’s name I always forget.

I do know that he’s some kind of bigshot, owner of LAN Chile (airline) and numerous TV stations which he apparently sold off in order to become president. I still don’t know if this was a requirement or just a way of showing there would be no conflict of interest… either way, and I know this is total prejudice because I’m completely unaware of the current political situation or its players, I think he looks too much like the Pope—and therefore, like the Emperor from Star Wars. Let’s say his presence doesn’t inspire me.

The ceremony was shown live on television, broadcast from La Moneda. La Moneda is where all the action is in this city, the capitol, and it happens to be right in the middle of the center. The idea that the president and all the ministers do their jobs so close to all those they are appointed to work for appeals to me greatly. I like to imagine that having the president and minister of the interior and everyone else taking the subway to La Moneda station, or at least getting to work by traversing all the downtown traffic, keeps them aware of who they are working for and why. That may be overly optimistic.

I decided to head down to see a bit of it for myself. As always, I hopped onto the subway to get downtown.

I think I’m in love with Santiago’s public transit system. I’ve yet to try the micros (buses), but they are absolutely everywhere and half the pictures I take of a street have a bus or two wooshing by. But the metro, ah the metro.

Awesome murals in Universidad de Chile station

Santiago’s Metrored system is awesome. It’s fast. It’s cheap (about 50 cents). It goes everywhere. I’ve been in and out more times than I can count and have yet to wait more than 2 minutes. One of my instant favorites: many stations have free wifi. No strings, free wifi connections… thank you, metrored!

The stations are spacious, all different, and often decorated with grandiose murals. They can get pretty warm, but not overwhelmingly (especially considering that every day is a full blast of sunshine, oscillating between 24 and 30 degrees Celcius) and are cooled by and ingeniously cheap system of fans and mist.

The only thing that has irked me, and this is minor and has become something of a little game, is the turnstiles at the entrance often use different systems for accepting tickets. Sometimes you insert them here, sometimes there… It’s become a competition of who figures out how to get through in the least amount of time.

When disembarking, the important thing is to keep an eye on the signs as there are a lot of “No Pasar” and three kinds of paths: those used to switch lines, those for changing directions on the same line and actual exits. The exit gates are cool little double doors, which need to be opened in sequence to unlock… we presume, as neither of us has dared trying to reach over and pull the outer door open without touching the inner, to see if it’s really locked.

Not knowning what to expect, I left my usual bag-o-gear behind and got off one station east of La Moneda, Universidad de Chile, to get a feel for the vibe by walking west on O’Higgins for a few blocks.

Out and about earlier than usual, it was still cool in the shade in what is the beginning of fall on this side of the equator but the sun was already doing its job and the contrast was enjoyable. I’d missed the actual red carpet ceremory and, though I didn’t know it at the time, the party had moved to the coast at Vina del Mar. Still, I found a stricking gathering circling La Moneda on all sides.

The crowd awaits a glimpse of the president

People were lined along the streets, flags and signs in hand, chanting slogans and smiling. Confetti spilled out of the windows of adjacent buildings, and drifted onto the streets. I was surprised that even on this day, at a time when her mandate was officially over, people were yelling “Bachelet, Bachelet, Presidente una autra vece” (Bachelet, President another time) in unison.

All types of authority were out patrolling the streets, police, military, some I didn’t recognize. But even with such a large politically charged crowd, the situation was calm and the mood cheerful.

I headed back to Nunoa, to eat and ensure L was up to see this beautiful day. She was just getting up when I arrived, and we headed out to a nearby market to get a taste of fresh fruit. For some reason, a large chunk of the neighbourhood on the way was in garage sale mode. Not much of interest for us, but seeing the merchandise on display gives you a glimpse into the lives of the sellers. It doesn’t look all that easy, but most seem to have a friendly demeanor and pleasant outlook.

People and confetti for the new president

It’s very family/community oriented around here, and from what I gather a lot of folks spend almost all their time within a few blocks of home. One thing that makes that easy is that you need only take twenty steps in any direction to stumble upon a home that makes something or provides some kind of service.

Within five hundred meters, there are at least eight miniature corner store type businesses, five homes offering empanadas, humidas or some type of prepared foods, a fruit market, four houses devoted to entertainement (arcade machines, a trampoline, slot machines), and more.

We came back from the market with at least three pounds of strawberries and a large watermelon, for close to nothing. Even though we did our best to wash our berries with store bought water, con gas, things didn’t work out so well on that front.

I think I mentioned this but bottled water here is, for the most part, mineral water. I’m sweating salts out of every pore by now. You have a choice of aqua con gas (bubbly, or “with gas”) or sin gas, without. Anyhow, even after doing our best with the berries, we both ended up “con gas” ourselves. Ah well, the water’s impossible to avoid completely and I think we’d been building up some immunity gradually so it wasn’t so bad.

After doing a bit of dining and family socializing, we decided to head back out in search of reliable and comfortable internet access and a touch of action.

As we were getting ready, we had our first taste of tremblor! Chileans know their quakes, so I’ll trust them in that this was a “tremblor” (aftershock) rather than a full blown “terremoto” (earthquake), but at 7.2 it was something to be felt.

Lasting 15 or 20 seconds, the sizable waves had a period of close to a second and it felt like being on a boat. A huge, country-sized boat on a sea of molten rock. The weirdest part was the slight dizziness I felt. It was like there was a super low frequency sound, too low to hear but enough to seriously mess with you inner ear. After that, smaller aftershocks were felt throughout the day, sometimes so small that I’d only notice it because of the slightest hint of nausea it would enduce. An odd feeling.

Though L’s family had a strong reaction to the tremor, we agreed it must be due to the trauma of the recent large quakes and decided to go on with our day as planned. No, waves in the Earth’s crust won’t stop this train! Heh.

Back to our now familiar haunt of barrio Brasil, we mistakenly headed south into a beautiful area filled with private professional schools and universities of all sorts. This is where I finally caught onto the fact that, even when the sun is almost directly above, you can tell which direction you’re going because shadows always point south.

Heading back up passed O’Higgins and into the Brasil area, we tried our luck at the Blondie snack bar (zona wi-fi!) but no go as it was closed. We were directed back up towards Plaza Brasil, for a promising cafe: Universitas ciber-cafe.

It was our first taste of real coffee in a long time, and quite a relief. Chileans have a strange relationship with coffee, prefering instant preperations of Nescafe to anything else it seems. Not sure whether its a question of price or taste, the fact is that it’s bland, watered down and totally lacking oompf. Anyhow, Universitas had an espresso machine and I promptly ordered a double. It was a real treat.

Getting internets was another affair. I’m still surprised at how little wifi is available. The are signs everywhere with the promise of ‘net access, but the vast majority of these relate to renting time on a wired system. Setting up an access point is dirt cheap, compared to setting up and maintaining a work station, but it seems that wlan-enabled devices are still out of range for most here so it isn’t worth it yet.

L rented some time on one of their boxes and, with a little difficulty, I managed to get a cat-5 I could hook into. I have a touch of paranoia when it comes to protecting my passwords and keyloggers are just to easy to install… In any case, no funcciona. And my spanish is still a little too rough (a little! Yeah, right) to explain that my DHCP discovery packets are being ignored. Seems I should’ve tested my wired connection with this little netbook, as I’ve come to the preliminary conclusion that my troubles are originating in my ethernet card, driver module or the Ubuntu network manager.

The quest for usable wifi continued as we took in the sights and headed downtown. Back around La Moneda, we decided on a Starbucks. I usually avoid the chain (not in particular, really, but because I avoid most) but this was actually a welcome change. Perhaps I was feeling a bit homesick, but the coffee, the brownie, the decor… even the “normal” bathrooms, with soap and toilet paper and everything, were a welcome relief.

March 17, 2010March 31, 2010

Day 2: fish and other kinds of fish

Perro, perro, perro… L had told me, and it didn’t take long to notice for myself, there are dogs running around everywhere in Santiago. It isn’t only in the residential neighbourhoods either: downtown, on the top of Cerro San Cristobal, seriously everywhere. A dog was even spotted in the Presedential transfer of power ceremony, taking a whiff of Presidente Bachelet.

For the most part, they’re neither friendly nor hostile. They just do their thing amidst the people, traffic and cats, creating a community that is indirectly dependent on the human population but mostly just sharing the space. L says there are as many dogs as pigeons in this city and that they are just another type of people, and I’ve come to agree on both counts. The inhabitants for their part are just as indifferent, stepping over snoozing dogs left and right. The only place I haven’t seen a dog yet is within the metro system.

Another thing we’re finding an abundance of is Chilean flags. There are flags everywhere, as well as messages of support for Chile both on large commercial banners and scribbled on the rear windows of cars and micros (buses).

This, I’ve learned, is a new phenomenon and is related to the recent series of earthquakes: a demonstration of solidarity. That’s why such a large swath of the pictures I’ve been taking that include buildings have banderas and tags related to strength and solidarity.

Today we headed back to Plaza des Armas and walked a few blocks north in search of the mercado central. It’s a large indoor market, where the delicate scent of 10 tons of raw fish greets you as soon as you enter the large sombre metallic structure. This is the first place I’ve seen where stray cats outnumber dogs.

The mercado centrale is a place where you keep one hand on your wallet at all times, and the restaurants are staffed with more scouts in search of patrons than waiters. Though there are all kinds of people in Santiago, and I blend in rather well with Chileans of german descent, my status as a foreigner was painfully obvious in this place even keeping my mouth shut.

After going through what L termed “the perfume aisle” twice, looking for a tempting place to try some pescado frito (fried fish) while doing our best to circumvent the ceaseless offers of great food and low low prices, we finally settled on Donde Augusto.

The view on the second floor mezzanine was great, the rest was not. A grumpy waiter handed us a menu with a hint of cat urine within, the grilled fish was undercooked and jiggly, the fried fish was good but had more “seasoning” than a salt mine and at the end our friendly waiter, who’d ignored us the entire meal, kindly pointed out that he expected a 10% tip. A luxury reserved for the gringos. Delightful. In short, Donde Augusto: not recommended.

Oddly abundante antenna salesmen, near mercado centrale.

It was there, however, that I tasted my first pisco sour—a mix of pisco (an alcoholic beverage, and an acclaimed local creation) and… uhm… sour. Tasted like strong lemonade, hit us both like a brick wall to the point that I wondered if it contained GHB, but was a nice buzz to head back out on.

We headed back to the plaza and spent a while basking in the sun and the screeching of a lady preaching about the end of days. Though most people are more relaxed on that front, religion is still a big thing in these parts. While some of L’s cousins are born-again types, you get a funny vibe from them as there’s a good mix of business with all the devotion. Around our temporary HQ in Nunoa, you can occasionnally hear christian music blasted in the street, and the aggresive (or is it tormented?) roar of self-appointed preachers on improvised P.A. Systems that sounds more like a call to revolution, alternating with cries for help, than a sermon. But from what I do understand it’s a lot more about the stick (diablos, infiernos and tiempo finales) than carrots. The response when refusing a pamphlet is a disapproving or disappointed look and a muttered “Jebus save them”.

We returned to barrio Brasil to spend some time with a few liters of Escudo (“shield”, whether against the sun or something else, I dunno), which is the beer of choice for most places with a patio. The brand is plastered everywhere there are bars, on the signs, the chairs and the waiters.

With a definite bounce in our step, we headed back south to Alameda (the common name for liberador O’Higgins boulevard) and did some chilling in the park which bisects the street. I’m still amazed at the amount of public space dedicated to relaxing amidst the greenery.

Everywhere you go, in el centro, tourist traps, poor residential neighbourhoods, housing subway entrances… you’ll find parks of all sizes with the occasional statue, work of art or playground but mainly dedicated to relaxing or getting from one place to another in agreable surroundings.

In contrast with the park spaces, which are beautiful, found everywhere, and in my opinion reflect a real respect of the human needs for beauty and respite, something you need to account and plan for is restrooms. They are rare, since most shops and restaurants you cross in the street are nothing more than a counter with a cash register, and unhappy places when you do find them.

Maybe it’s just that I’m a spoiled North American, and it’s true that we only spend a small percentage of our days in a bathroom, but the repetitive struggle that is dealing with cramped, malodorous spaces gets pretty tiring.

Ironically, the common name for toilet paper here is Confort (meaning comfort but a brandname so ubiquitous that it became a synonym for all such products, regardless of actual origin, like Kleenex and Velcro) and most bathrooms are definitly without comfort, in both senses of the word. It’s a good idea to bring your own. Same goes for hand soap or sanitizer.

In popular areas, and certain shopping malls, there are paying restrooms. They are relatively cheap (150-300 pesos, or less that 60 cents) and clean. Use them when you find them.

After relaxing in the park, basking in the dusk and the muted sound of continous traffic, we headed back to HQ from Republica station and got some much needed rest.

March 15, 2010

First day in the city

2010-03-09

Front yard in Nunoa, with view on the Andes through the smog

This was a day of firsts for me in Santiago. We took the Metrored from Nuble to Baquedano, which is a big station in el Centro (downtown) and the connection between the important green and red lines.

Feeling proud outside of Nuble metro, in Nunoa

We made our way to O’Higgins, which includes one of the nicer parks I’ve seen in the city so far right between the two directions of the boulevard. Once again, I was impressed by the sheer amount of life going on… maybe it’s just that I’ve been trapped by winter for too long, but this city seems to pulse with activity everywhere you look. Bustling business men, gaggles of penguins (as they call college students in uniform) and couples strewn throughout, being romantic like there’s no tomorrow.

At 30 degrees Celcius, I spent most of the day hydrating with my new favorite: aqua con gas—bubbly water. I did indulge in a little cafeine, though, in the form of a Coke Light. Seems that here, “diet” just wouldn’t fly and I must say it is less embarrassing to order a Light with your papas fritas (fries), than a diet.

Park on O'Higgins, near Baquedano station.

Without a single cloud in the sky, the sun was a force to be reckoned with. I’m definitely not complaining, but my melanin-poor skin was feeling the power. We stopped in una pharmacia, for some protection, and two things popped out.

The first was that all the sunscreen available was SPF 50 and up. A definite hint that I should’ve creamed up before heading out. The other was the fact that every single article was behind the counter. You pretty much have to know what your looking for as there isn’t much browsing to be done in most stores around here.

It seems Chileans have a reputation as thieves. I don’t know how warranted that is, but store owners seem to take it seriously because almost every store we visited thereafter was the same.

Now that's a metro station entrance. Salvador station, one east of Baquedano.

We then crossed the rio Mapocho, at this time of year a shriveled version of itself with turbulent brown waters rushing westward (I think), and headed to barrio Bellavista. This felt a lot like old Montreal, with handicrafts for sale behind expensive windows. The restaurants were inviting but the entire area felt like something of a tourist trap, so we skipped over most of it and head back to the center.

After a long journey through a busy but rather standard downtown area, we hit Plaza de Armas. It is a large plaza, with street performers and a fountain enjoyed by many as a source of quick cooling action. L and I partook in the joy of getting soaked, then headed down a pedestrian street packed with vendors, tourists and locals.

We had mote con huesillos, an odd mix of boiled peaches and oats served cold, that was tasty, refreshing and provided some much needed energy. We turned off, back towards el centro, in search of barrio Brasil which rumour indicated was a bit more bohemian and real.

After stopping off at one of the many internet shops, to buy a little time and let everyone know we’d actually made it down here, we proceeded haphazerdly towards Brasil.

After about 30 minutes of walking, we were melting in the afternoon sun, from which our only protection was a layer of smog that masked the Andes most of the day. Breaking down, we stopped to have a look at the Lonely Planet book for directions. The maps within, though helpful, aren’t all that detailed but, as we sat there scratching our heads, a man passing by groked our predicament and indicated that we were actually only a few streets away from our goal.

Chucrut, a sweet little pation on Brasil Ave.

On Brasil, we found what we were looking for: palm trees and patios. We took our first real break off the street, in a german-themed bar with tables on the sidewalk, Chucrut. With a litre of Escudo in hand, we absorbed the buena onda (good wave/vibe) of this popular little place and the area.

We’d read about the casa roja (red house), which is backpacker central and a combination hostel and restaurant. It looks like a cool place, and we’re considering staying there a few nights but instead headed to Las Vachas Gordas. It’s unclear whether the name, “The Fat Cows”, refers to the source of carne or the clientele, consider the insane size of the portions of protein.

Smoking in a packed restaurant: barbaric and so much fun, muahaha!

Though rather fancy, we walked in dressed as pattiperros (backpackers/hoboes) yet were treated as kings. I’m glad I ordered the ensalada with, what I thought was, a steak because the little roast that arrived in my plate was enough for four. Linda had hers “al pobre”, i.e. With fries… and two eggs dumped on top. One meal and you have enough protein for three days. Cooked to perfection, an impressive feat considering the thickness. Highly recommended, if your in barrio Brasil.

After that, we wandered back towards the metro slightly intoxicated and after another little tour of Santa Lucia, headed to our temporary home base in Nunoa.

As I type this in the front yard, behind the fence everyone has around there house, L and her cousin are having a convesation. I get a good portion of the spanish, but far from all of it. Since I wasn’t paying attention, I was startled when L, her cousin and her cousin’s son, jumped up and headed towards the house while L stood guard in front of me. “What’s going on?” “The police… they shoot people here, they do whatever they want.”. Hmm, ok. Maybe I’ll keep my nighttime wandering out of the ghetto for now.

March 13, 2010March 13, 2010

Arrival in Santiago

2010-03-08

Our arrival in Santiago was a hectic mix of joy and more lineups. The ministry of agriculture here seems obsessed with controlling the arrival of vegetal and animal products. The hour wait to proceed through customs was basically a search for undeclared food. There was a bit of head scratching concerning my maple syrup, but otherwise things went smoothly if slowly.

We finally got our freedom around 7pm and were lucky to have L’s cousin waiting for us at the gate. He gave us a mini tour of Santiago as we drove towards Nunoa.

Aaah, lineups. This time, the ministry of agriculture gave us the pleasure.

Santiago is a beautiful, living city. Everywhere you look, there are gree spaces with actual people in them, reading, smooching, walking their dogs… there is movement everywhere. The traffic is heavy and borderline crazy, but drivers seem curteous enough, even if they all drive as if they were late for an appointment. This is no place to jaywalk—two minutes on foot were enough to convince me to respect the signaling in this city.

Nunoa is a lot more, let’s say, ghetto. Graffiti and garbage litter the sidewalks and it has an air of rundown, but not abandon. We went to the corner store to get some cervecas around midnight. There were clumps of people absolutely everywhere. Hanging out by the stores, sitting in their gated yards, walking apparently aimlessly.

Nunoa, less rich but friendly neighbourhood

I’m told that most of the people in the area are all descendents of descendents (etc.) of those who built the original homes. Everyone pretty much knows everyone els/e. That might explain the ambiance, which is lively and a bit intense, with music and fires going everywhere, but still friendly.

We talked (well, L did most of the talking, whereas I’ve been spending my time in smile-and-nod mode) into the late hours with L’s cousin and I spent my first night south of the equator in the tiny back room of a little house in the middle of old-school Santiago.