CHILE 2014
It’s not chilly. It’s not chili. It’s CHILE !
CHILE – That narrow country that stretches along the west coast of South America from Peru to the southernmost tip of South America, Cape Horn. Squeezed between the Andes to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west, it offers a varied geography and climate. Volcanoes, glaciers, earthquakes, warm mineral springs and chilly ocean waters, Chile has it all.
In December, while working in Washington, DC, Colleen was offered a teacher trainer position in Santiago, Chile, the capital of the country. Airfare, lodging and lunch provided, an irresistible offer. She flew down on January 2nd to prepare for the class that began January 6th. I decided to take the opportunity to visit.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
January 16, my birthday! My 75th birthday! I arose at 3AM in order to catch the plane to Santiago. My plane left at 7AM but I had to drive to Tampa, find the parking garage, take the shuttle to the airport and be there by 5AM. Luckily, all went well.
The first leg of the journey was a three hour flight to Panama City, Panama. I tried, unsuccessfully as usual, to get some sleep. I never seem to be able to sleep on airplanes. Maybe I should take a pill. As we began our descent, the first thing I noticed were numerous large tankers sitting idly in the water. They seemed to be randomly spaced, not in any particular order, immobile, and a comfortable distance offshore, like ducks on a pond. They weren’t going anywhere but I couldn’t tell whether or not they were anchored. I wondered if they were awaiting entry into the canal but I wasn’t sure that it began there.
On my individual TV screen on the seat in front of me, a luxury I always enjoy, they began showing a video of the highlights of Panama, a beautiful, green country with lots of beaches. Made we want to stay a while. Of course, I guess they’re not going to show you the less savory side of the country. Out the window to my left, I could see the city. Tall buildings, probably thirty or forty stories high crowded the waterfront. I assumed that this was Panama City. But there was a strange look to the city. All the buildings looked alike, tall and straight up. There was no mass to the buildings, no wide bases that tapered as they grew upward. Each seemed the same size on the 30th floor as they did at the base. They reminded me of matchsticks standing on end. One push and the whole city might topple over like a row of dominoes. I wondered if there were a municipal code or a tax reason for this type of construction. Several countries, such as Vietnam, tax on the basis of front footage, resulting in tall narrow buildings. From the air, the city looked neither interesting nor inviting.
We landed with a bang. The plane slammed the tarmac and then began to fishtail. Everyone grabbed for something solid and the lady behind me began a chant of, “Oh. My God! Oh, my God!” until we began to slow down and move in a straight line. I made a quick change of planes two gates from where we had landed and, in the short time I had, bought a coke for $3.35 American. I asked for change in Panamanian currency to add to my collection, but she had none. The US dollar is official currency in Panama.
I boarded the plane for the six hour flight from Panama City to Santiago. Last row, on the aisle, next to the bathroom. Good for me! Had an individual TV screen with choice of movies, TV shows and games, but the sound didn’t work. Never mind, I had a book. As we lifted off, we passed over a huge new sub-division in the suburbs. All I could see were red roofs, but every house looked identical, a cookie cutter complex much like those we built for soldiers returning from WWII. Not somewhere I would want to live. There seemed to be a lot of construction in Panama, as if they were experiencing an economic boom.
The flight to Santiago was rough, turbulence most of the way, but the landing was nice. As an American, my first task in Chile was to buy a visa to enter the country. Only five countries have to buy visas to enter Chile: the US, Canada, Australia, Mexico and Albania. Albania??? I’m never sure why certain countries are required to buy visas. Because they can afford it? Some political reason? Or simply as retaliation for Chileans having to buy visas when visiting those five countries? But Albania??? Strange. I couldn’t come up with a single logical explanation. The cost of the visas ranged from US= $160 to Albania= $30. No surprise there.
I gave the lady my passport and $160 cash and she said, “Bisiting Chile?” I gave her a blank stare and she repeated herself. “Bisiting Chile?” Then I remembered that many Spanish speakers have trouble distinguishing between the B and V sounds. My students would often say, “He is bery nice.” or “I lived in a small billage.” When I realized the problem, I said “Ahhhh, Visiting Chile,” emphasizing the V sound. As she started counting the money, she mumbled something under her breath. Probably something like, “You stupid American, that’s what I said.” Interestingly, the money for the visa had to be American and it had to be unmarked. She returned two of the twenty dollar bills to me, one had a slight tear in the corner and the other had a small black mark from a magic marker. Luckily, I had other bills.
At the airport, I sought out transportation to Colleen’s apartment. Paid $13 dollars for a ride in a van with eight other people. We waited in the airport as the driver sought out passengers going to the same area in town. He wasn’t going to leave until he had a full load. It was 9:30 at night but the streets of the city were busy, lots of traffic and bicycle riders on the street. And the restaurants were packed. Dinner hour in Chile is between 9 and11 at night. Very Spanish. Got to Colleen’s apartment at 10:15. Had a snack, showered, and crashed.
There was a full moon over the Andes.
Friday, January 17, 2014
In the morning, Colleen showed me all the little eccentricities of the apartment, how to light the gas to get hot water, how to get the computer connected to the internet, how the locks worked, etc. She had a nice apartment: living room, kitchen, bedroom and bath. A nice workspace and art on the walls. She was on the fourth floor (no elevator, something a learned to regret on the days that I had walked for hours) and had a balcony overlooking houses in the neighborhood and a view of the distant Andes (interrupted by two 12 story apartment buildings).
We went into town (Colleen had to work). Her workday started at noon, though she usually went in a little earlier, and ended at 8:30PM. The subways are very nice, modern and clean. Lots of tile in the stations and no graffiti on the walls or on the trains. Each station has a security guard, armed and wearing a protective vest. Pickpocketing is probably the major problem. First, she showed me her school, nice but nothing extravagant. I left her there to wander the city. The downtown is fairly modern, no skyscrapers but clean 4 to 10 story buildings. Lots of trees along major streets and many parks. Though the land is generally flat, there are isolated, free-standing hills that rise up like islands in a flat ocean. One of these is right beside Colleen’s school. It’s called Santa Lucia and is where Santiago was founded in 1541 by the Spanish conquistador, Pedro de Valdivia.
I sat in an outdoor cafe, enjoying a cool breeze, and had a cup of coffee, then wandered through a big park until I came to the Mapocho River which runs through the city. The water was muddy brown and fast moving though there was not a lot of it. The water did not extend to the walls of the canal which had been built to contain it, but I could imagine the capacity of the canal would be under siege during the spring thaw of the snow in the Andes. Unfortunately, all sorts of debris and garbage lined the sides of the river, a real eyesore. I searched, to no avail, for the Central Market which highlights local crafts.
Went back to school to meet Colleen, who had a three hour break. We had lunch in a small cafe. We split a ham and cheese sandwich and a salad and we both had drinks. It was $3,700 (Chilean pesos). They use the dollar sign just as we do even though the currency is in pesos. It sometimes seems surprising to get a bill that large with a dollar sign in front of it. The ratio is 500 pesos to 1 American dollar, so the lunch was about 7 dollars. Beside each plate was a cloth bag tied with a small string attached to the bag. It was about the size of a cloth napkin tucked in a napkin holder. To get to your silverware, you untied the string to get inside the bag and voila, a knife, fork, spoon, and soup spoon. You had a soup spoon even though you hadn’t ordered soup. Seemed like a lot of trouble to go to. Didn’t see this anywhere else. Paper napkins were provided on the table.
Colleen took me to a wide pedestrian street, running several blocks and leading to the main, old square. Nice shops lined the street and street performers and kiosks were evenly distributed along the way. I noticed a number of shoe shine boys, well, men actually, actually old men who looks as if this had been their station and their station in life for many years. Luckily, they had a steady stream of customers. In the middle of each block, there was a passageway, lined with shops, leading into the building. That increased the number of shops serving the public. Sometimes, rather than having individual walk-in shops, there were covered passageways with merchants displaying their wares separated only by temporary barriers. It seemed that each passageway specialized in a particular item. I first noticed this when I walked through one and on one side, every little stand was selling luggage, while on the other side you had a wide selection of ladies lingerie. Next to the old square, we walked through one passageway that was “food row.” To our left were sit down restaurants, not for a quiet, business lunch, but for city workers who wanted to get in, eat and get out. To our right were stand up, fast food stands, serving mostly hot dogs. Customers had their dog, with a variety of condiments of their choice, ate it while leaning against the counter and then left. The area was hectic, crowded, and noisy. Lunch hour seems to be around 2PM.
The main square, Plaza de Armas, was being renovated and was hidden behind black, plywood barriers about 8 feet high preventing any views of the square. Rising above the barriers, I could see a bronze soldier sitting proudly on his horse, of which I could see only the head. Somewhat disappointing. Worse yet, because of the barriers I was unable to back up enough to get good pictures of the old buildings surrounding the square. I went into the Catedral Metropolitana only briefly, but with the intention of returning. We bought post cards from a couple of the street merchants displaying their collection of postcards on big, portable boards just outside the main post office. We went inside the post office to purchase stamps. We had to take a number and get in line to be served. This is standard in foreign countries. We looked at the number of people waiting and decided to come back another time. As we started to leave, a nice employee of the PO, noticing the postcards in our hands, asked, in English, if we needed stamps. She directed us to a small room where another lady sold us the stamps. Lucky us. The post office is a Neo-Classic building erected in 1882 on the former site of Pedro de Valdivia’s residence. I didn’t know it was Neo-Classic. The guide book told me so.
On the way back to the school, we stopped for a snack. We each had drinks and Colleen had a sandwich, quartered and nicely presented. $5,600 pesos ($11), more than the lunch. But, as Colleen pointed out, we were in the center of town, the chairs were leather, the table was faux marble and there was a lemon cut to look like a flower on the plate. What more could one ask?
I wandered some more in the center. Watched several tables of men playing rapid chess using clocks to time their moves. When a game ended, the vanquished got up and someone else took his place. I simply watched. They were too good for me.
Santiago is dry and dusty, which is not surprising considering that the average precipitation in January is zero… that’s nada… not a drop…. and that’s the average! The foothills of the Andes, which begin just on the edge of town, are brown with sparse vegetation, small trees and bushes, much like you see in the deserts of the American west. But not quite the moonscapes of northern Chile and Peru. However, there looks to be no vegetation on the higher mountains in the distance. Evidently, the weather in South America comes from the east. You have the rainforests in Brazil and Machu Picchu is densely wooded but evidently the clouds drop all their rain on the eastern slopes. West of the Andes is definitely lacking in vegetation.
The Andes extend some 4,300 miles from Venezuela to southern Chile and Argentina. The average height is 13,000 ft. and the highest peak is 22,841 ft. For reference, the highest peak in the Rockies is 14,440 ft. while the highest peak in the Appalachian chain is 6,684 ft. Denver is 5,280 ft. above sea level and Santiago is at 1706 ft. making the Andes seem even more imposing.
I walked until I was tired and then headed home. We had a quiet evening.
Saturday, January 18,2014
A leisurely start to the day. The Andes in the distance were barely visible in the haze, similar to the atmospheric perspective of Japanese prints. The high, snow-capped Andes were the third layer of mountains I could see from the balcony. The stairway in Colleen’s apartment descends in a triangular fashion, rather than the side by side, back and forth staircases you normally see. There may be some space lost but it adds architectural interest to the building and provides an open area in front of each apartment door. And there were no exterior walls around the staircase so there was a feeling of openness and freedom. An excellent design.
Saturday. No work. We decided to go to some museums. First was the Museum of Solidarity consisting of works donated by artists to show support for the government of Salvador Allende, who was President of Chile between 1970 and 1973. (Isabel Allende, the author, is his first cousin once removed. Her father and Salvador were first cousins). The works date from 1950 to 1980 and show the struggles of Latin America. The collection boasts of 1500 works including those of Joan Miro, Alexander Calder, Victor Vasarely and Frank Stella. And yes, they have one piece by each of these artists prominently displayed. The other artists were unknown to me and unimpressive. I have no idea where they had 1500 pieces, certainly not on display. The museum was rather small. One of the displays was a large gold colored bar suspended in air about six inches above the pedestal. Out of curiosity, I touched the bar to see how it was being held aloft. PLOP! It slammed down against the pedestal. I could tell that magnetic force was the key and I tried to get the bar back in its place. A security guard, a young man in jeans and a shirt, no uniform, came over and calmly aligned the bar correctly so that it was once again suspended in air. He did not seem upset and I assumed that this happened with regularity. I have no idea what the display was supposed to tell us about the struggles of Latin America. Another piece, taking up an entire, small room, was a continuously running color film showing an attractive woman swimming in the ocean. She would swim a few strokes, stop, look around, change directions, and swim a few strokes. Then she would stop, look around, change directions and swim a few strokes. I can’t remember if there was narrative but if there was, it was in Spanish and I didn’t understand. I assume that it was supposed to show the struggle of the people in deciding what course to follow. Since the museum was intended to support the government, I doubt that it was intended as a slam on the government’s inability to lead the people. At any rate, I got the message quickly and didn’t need to stand there and watch a film with no end. To me, the museum was somewhat of a disappointment. Luckily, it only cost two dollars.
We headed for the Park Quinta Normal, a large park that houses several museums. At major intersections there were street performers. The cars would stop at a traffic light, the performers would move out into the street in front of them, perform for about 30 seconds and then collect donations from the cars waiting for the light to change. One guy played a saxophone. A lively four man band played drums and percussion instruments and danced. My personal favorite was a young woman with a hula hoop. She walked out, placed the hula hoop on the street and one of her feet and kicked her leg up. The hula hoop rose to her waist and she was off, twisting and turning and moving the hoop up and down on her body. It seemed to be a part of her and responded to her every command. Quite a performance and she seemed to be having success collecting money.
I tried the street food, a pastry that was flaky on the outside but chewy within. The vendor tried to tell me how it was made but I couldn’t understand. It seemed to have cheese to give it that chewy consistency but maybe it was only the dough. He explained, by pointing as he spoke, that I could put mustard or ketchup or a spicy sauce on it. I understood the word “picante” and stayed away from the hot sauce, but tried both of the others. It was all very good. We walked down a street that specialized in auto parts, in the shops and on the sidewalk. A person on the street might only have five items displayed on a sheet on the sidewalk but he was as anxious to sell them as anyone in the shops. Seat belts, batteries, cables, mufflers, everything. I’m convinced that if you knew what you were doing and had the money, by the end of the street you could have bought everything you needed to build your own car. The key element would be which hood ornament you would want to display.
We had lunch in a colorful corner cafe. I had a sandwich and Colleen had a salad. We shared. Mine was similar to a gyro but in a bun: thinly sliced meat, guacamole, and lots and lots of mayonnaise. We ordered a small fries but the quantity they brought filled a normal dinner plate. Way too much food for lunch and probably too much for any meal. The people next to us ordered a platter that was piled high with fries and meat and had four (count ’em, four) fried eggs lined up on top. There were four at that table and they all ate from that plate. I’m not sure they were able to finish it. We weren’t able to finish ours. They also had beer that came in bottles the size of large wine bottles. I’d never seen beer bottles that large.
We wandered through the Barrio Brazil (barrio means neighborhood). This is an area that has been taken over by artists. Sort of a starving artists area. Somewhat rundown, somewhat seedy, but lots of strange murals on the walls of buildings, most of them not very good. We stumbled on a street festival with music and crafts. We listened for about half an hour to a band of eight multi-talented musicians, each playing several instruments: violin, guitars, drums, pan flute, a ten string ukulele?, a horn that was held like a French horn but seemed to be made from a garden hose with a funnel at the end. They all sang and the music was very powerful, not just loud but powerful in that it affected you emotionally. The spectators knew the songs and sang along with them. A very good show. I could have listened much longer but we had places to go and things to see. I was grateful, however, for the opportunity to sit for a few minutes and rest.
We sauntered through the street market and finally came to the park. We went to the Museo Artequin, which houses copies (maybe only posters in frames) of famous works of art. The building itself is the major attraction. It is the Pabellon Paris and was built in Paris, France for the Exposition of 1889, the same exposition for which the Eiffel Tower was built. It is Art Nouveau, mostly steel and glass, celebrating the Industrial Revolution. After the exposition, the building was disassembled, transported to Santiago and reassembled. Seems like a lot of work but maybe cheaper than building from scratch. And what do you do with a building you have to tear down anyway? It reminded me of so many train stations in Europe, glass and steel everywhere.
The intent of the museum is to get children interested in art. There were lots of art supplies, lots of activities for children, and lots of children enjoying them. Children copying the paintings. Children drawing pictures of their own design and children just playing with crayons. Very nice. The walls were filled with reproductions from Masaccio to Kahlo. Colleen and I played “Name the Artist.” As much as I have studied art books and as many museums as I have visited, I should not have missed any, but I did. Some were obscure, some I had never heard of. But worse, I missed some I should have gotten. The Impressionists are easy, except for Pissarro and Sisley. They have similar styles and I can never tell them apart.
We walked through the park which was very crowded, very active. Kids were swimming in the pool and in the lake. People were riding bicycles. Families were having picnics. Near the entrance, there were many vendors offering their wares. One man had a llama, though I never figured out why he was there. He didn’t seem to be trying to get children to ride the llama or even have their pictures made with it. As we left in the late afternoon, young people were streaming in. Maybe there was some activity planned that I was not aware of. But, by that time my legs were gone and I was happy that there was a metro station nearby.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Sunday morning. Church bells rang out from several nearby locations. We were still tired from yesterday and planned a leisurely morning. Breakfast and a view of the snow-capped Andes in the distance. We decided to go to the Parque Metropolitano, a huge park in the center of town that features several mountains that rise up from the flat surroundings. The park extends for several kilometers and offers great views of the city and the Andes. There are two funiculars that climb different mountains and a gondola that can take you from one mountain top to another. There’s a swimming pool on top of one of the mountains and paths everywhere for pedestrians and bikers. It seemed like a good place to spend a quiet day.
At one of the subway stations heading into town, I watched two men refill an ATM machine. They caught my eye because they were in uniform, wore bullet proof vests, walked in unison, and had their hands on their pistols at all times. Not a comforting sight. Obviously they were carrying money and were trained in how to conduct and protect themselves, but their presence and demeanor made me nervous. As one man loaded the machine, the other stood with his back to the machine watching the crowd, hand on revolver. It was intimidating, as I’m sure it was meant to be. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to get too close.
As we got closer and closer to the park, the streets were more and more crowded with vendors offering their wares spread out on a sheet on the side walk. Sunglasses, hats, toys, etc. We both bought hats as we had gotten a bit sunburned the day before. Mine is a baseball type cap, red, white and blue, and says Chile across the front with the Chilean flag on the side. I love flags from different countries. Colleen’s is more attractive and fashionable. With my camera and my cap, I had the look of a typical American tourist.
We crossed a major street that had been closed to traffic. It was flooded with people riding their bikes, skateboarding, in-line skating and jogging. Evidently one street is closed each Sunday so the citizens can enjoy their exercise without fear of getting hit by a car. Policemen patrolled the intersections so pedestrians could cross. There were no cars to be seen in either direction so someone on a bike could get in a long, risk-free ride. Seems like an excellent idea.
Near the entrance to the funicular (we had no intention of climbing that hill), there were many vendors with kiosks. A little bit of everything. Some had beautiful ponchos made of oh so soft alpaca with beautiful designs. I considered buying one. But where would I wear it, and if I did, I would look like a dork. It was tempting. They were really, really nice and, I’m sure, very warm. Maybe next time. Got a picture of a man leading a llama around. Again, I’m not sure to what purpose. Never saw him charge anyone to take a picture or try to get a child to take a ride. But there must have been some profit motive involved.
The entrance to the funicular looks like a medieval stone castle complete with crenelated walls, round towers, and narrow slits for archers. The funicular was built in 1945 and extends upward at about a forty five degree angle. There is only one track and two cars, one going up and one coming down, simultaneously. In the middle, the track divides and the cars pass each other. Going up, the car stops in the middle to let people off to go to the National Zoo which is housed in the park. The car coming down just has to wait til the people going to the zoo are off and the up car is ready to continue. I’m not sure how it works but the cars cannot work independently. Maybe they are connected to a single cable. As we went up, about half the passengers got off at the zoo. Almost everyone with children exited. The zoo was very noisy with the sounds of monkeys and birds and whatever other animals that are very talkative. But, due to the heavy vegetation, we couldn’t see a single animal though they seemed to be very close.
At the top of the funicular, there were several souvenir shops offering the standard souvenirs, T-shirts, coffee cups, shot glasses, and gifts. Special to Chile were the assortment of ponchos made of alpaca with elaborate designs and jewelry made of lapis lazuli. Lapis is very big in Chile as garnets were in the Czech Republic. The area was crowded with tourists and locals enjoying the view on a beautiful, sunny day. Many people had ridden to the top on their bikes. Serious bikes, most had shock absorbers, something I hadn’t seen before. The riders wore bright colored, tight-fitting, biking outfits. I admired their tenacity and endurance to ride up that mountain.
We admired the view and took pictures of the city spread out below us and the Andes in the distance. We shared an empanada and a mote con huesillo. Empanadas are like a thick dough filled with something, folded over and sealed and then baked. The fillings can be anything of your choice; cheese, ham, spinach, chicken, mushrooms, beans or any combination thereof. When the dough is folded over, it is crimped in a number of different designs so that the locals know what is inside. One design would indicate ham and cheese while another would tell you that the empanada was filled with spinach. I had to be told. (The Neapolitan had a very fishy smell and I didn’t like it. Otherwise they are all good.)
The mote con huesillo evidently is a very popular summer time drink, intended to cool you off on a hot day. It is a very sweet drink, much like sweet tea and I questioned whether or not it would actually quench your thirst. First, they fill the cup about one-half full with a grain that looks like long rice, only fatter. We asked several people what it was but no one was able to give us an English name for it. Maybe a grain specific to the area. On top of the grain, they put a whole peeled peach and then add the liquid. Don’t know what the liquid was, either. When in Rome …. With your drink, you get a straw and a spoon. It was good but not great and almost everyone had one. Maybe they were also supposed to give you energy.
From there, we climbed several flights of stairs to a small church dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Several flights further up and on the summit of the mountain is a forty feet high, snow white statue of the Virgin. The statue was donated by the French and erected in 1905. There were wide steps, like an amphitheater, leading up to the feet of the statue and people were sitting and resting and enjoying the scenery. Some closest to the Virgin were facing her, looking up and evidently offering her their prayers. The statue, on the highest point in Santiago, can be see from many parts of the city center.
Opting not to walk the three kilometers of up and down pathway to the swimming pool, or ride the gondola to the Japanese Garden on a nearby mountain, and in order to get out of the hot sun, we headed back to the funicular. On the ride down, I pondered what I should do if by chance the cable broke and the car began a downhill slide at a 45 degree angle. I thought about jumping out and looked for places to land. There were none. The land on each side of the car was rugged and rocky. A leap from the car would result in very serious injury if not death. I decided the best option was to bend over and kiss my ass goodbye. I hoped that someone on the car had asked the Virgin for a safe ride down the mountain.
At the bottom, we found an upscale tourist area replete with shops and restaurants. Colleen found a lapis ring she wanted at a reasonable price. We had sandwiches and a couple of beers in a nice outdoor restaurant. Overpriced but good. We were happy to call it a day.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Colleen went back to work, I was on my own. She wouldn’t get home until about 9PM so I had the whole day to myself. I went downtown to wander. I stopped in McDonald’s just to check the prices. A Big Mac with fries was $3000 pesos (about $6.00). Triple burger with cheese 1100 pesos (about $2.00, their equivalent of the dollar menu). Prices were about normal. Santiago is the capital city of Chile and generally prices are only slightly less than you would expect in a lesser European capital. No real bargains here.
History Lesson !!! Santiago is a city of 6 million people and is named after the apostle James (Santiago means Saint James in Spanish). In 1494 Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas, which divided the world in two for future exploration. Spain got the western portion and Portugal the east. (The line was drawn so that the eastern portion of Brazil was claimed by Portugal resulting in Brazil being the only country in South America where Portuguese is spoken). In the 1530’s, the Spaniard, Francisco Pizarro, conquered the Incas and in 1541, Pedro de Valdivia founded Santiago. As a result of the Spanish occupation, about 90% of the indigenous population died of smallpox and other diseases formerly unknown to them. The same result occurred when Columbus visited America. Thus, Spain ruled Chile until 1817 when the fight for independence succeeded in ending Spanish domination. The leaders of the fight were Jose de San Martin and Bernardo O’Higgins. O’Higgins??? Would love to know the story of his ancestry. Hell, would love to know mine. Maybe we’re related.
I wandered along the downtown pedestrian zone. A trio of young musicians (two violins and a cello or viola) were performing snippets of well-known, easily recognizable classical melodies. They were doing quite well as passers-by dropped coins in the open violin case. I only wished they were playing longer versions of each. I recognized almost all of the melodies but realized that I could not have named any or said which opera or ballet they were from, with the exception of the Toreador Song from Carmen. I need to work on that. Chileans seem quite generous with street performers, but remember, a 100 peso coin (slightly bigger than a quarter) is worth only twenty cents.
There were a lot of shoe shine boys spread throughout the pedestrian zone. I shouldn’t say “boys” as all of them appeared to be at least 50 years old. They were evenly spaced and seemed to have a territory which was theirs and probably had been for years. I felt certain they were the same men in the same location that I had seen earlier. They were doing a thriving business as Santiago is very dry and dusty in January and everyone’s shoes needed a shine.
January 20th is St. Sebastian’s Day I discovered. I went into a church, as I always do, and there was one alcove that was better lit than all the others and very crowded. This alcove was dedicated to St. Sebastian, he of the many arrows, and there he was, pinioned to a stake and bleeding from his many wounds. I only knew who he was from the many paintings and statues I had seen of him in churches around the world. Worshipers had brought flowers to lay at his feet and many knelt to pray. Extra lighting had been put up to fully illuminate his figure. Evidently he is more likely to answer your prayers on “his” special day than on any other day. I don’t know if St. Sebastian is the patron saint of something and I don’t know the details of his martyrdom, other than the fact that he was tied to a stake and shot many times with arrows. I only know that he has been a popular subject of art through the ages. Paintings and statues abound. Outside the church, vendors were selling flowers with small pictures of the saint to be placed at his feet. (After the fact research: According to Wikipedia, my quick source of information, he survived the arrows, was healed by Irene of Rome and was later stoned to death. He is the Patron Saint of Sports.)
I wandered through the old market that reminded me of the souks in Egypt or Morocco, crowded, narrow, and not well lit with low hanging ceilings. The passageways are close and confining, like walking in a cave. You constantly bump into someone or someone bumps into you. I couldn’t imagine spending an entire day behind the counter in one of the little shops, much less a lifetime. The vendor had only about three feet by four feet to move around in but all the merchandise is within arm’s reach. And the shops are packed with merchandise. By comparison, Walmart’s shelves look bare. Most of the merchants were looking at their phones or making the craft they intended to sell. Thankfully, they didn’t yell at you or try to get you to buy something. You could look at leisure. I was looking for some sort of souvenir to take back, something small, a trinket. Nothing jumped out at me but I got some ideas.
It’s difficult to buy souvenirs for others. I never know what people want. What I like and think is nice, they may not.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Started the day at the Artesenal Market, one metro stop away from the apartment, in an area far from the town center. It’s like an art colony where the best artisans (supposedly) have gathered to produce, perfect, and sell their crafts. The shops are laid out with no discernible plan. You can easily get lost and disoriented as you wander the narrow pathways that meander between the shops. No orderly grid here. I kept going by the same shops and I’m sure I saw all of the shops at least twice. Maybe that was their plan. The shops seemed to have many of the same things as the other market, maybe a little better quality and certainly priced as such, somewhat higher than the same item in another market. Colleen’s students had told her not to buy things there so I only went to look. They offered fewer of the touristy items and more of the high-end items. Lots of jewelry; lapis, silver and copper. Lots of quality clothing; scarves, woven handbags, tablecloths, etc. But they also had birds for sale, something I detest. I hate to see birds locked in cages. They should be free. I wandered around for a couple of hours just looking and pricing. The market is in a fairly secluded area and quiet. Next to a Dominican Church, it feels isolated from the surrounding city. The buildings are old, crude and made of wood. The pathways are packed dirt. It didn’t seem to be crowded as I walked around but the two small outdoor cafes were packed. In one area, a man was playing the harp and selling his CD’s. I was disappointed when he stopped playing a tune I particularly liked in order to sell a CD to a paying customer. Ah, Capitalism. I would have preferred to hear him continue to play. I didn’t buy anything.
I stopped at a cafe down in the metro for an empanada, a pino empanada. Not knowing what was in it, I chose it for the design. Turns out a pino empanada contains beans. It was very good and very filling. Empanadas can be fried or baked. I think most that I have seen have been fried. They are heavy and filling.
Moved on downtown to the Fine Arts Museum. The entry fee was 600 pesos ($1.25). I gave the lady a 1000 peso note and then noticed that the price for seniors was only 300 pesos. I quickly said, “senor”, to let her know that I was of a certain age and hoping she would understand my meaning. She smiled pleasantly and gave me knowing nod, silently letting me know that she had already taken my age into consideration and had charged me only the senior price. I said, “Awww” and made a face that indicated that I was surprised and disappointed that she thought I was a senior. She cocked her head to one side, placed her hands in the prayer position in front of her, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled sweetly as if to say,” I’m sorry, Sweetie, but it is what is is.” We both laughed as I took my ticket and entered.
The museum is under renovation and only a small portion is open to the public. There were no “old masters” on display or even any paintings from the permanent collection. There were two exhibits by modern artists. One, by Tito Calderon, was very interesting, pen and ink drawings on white canvas. Large drawings with lots of detail. He showed his artistic talent. The other exhibit was a polar landscape with dogs. Everything was white, even the dogs, which were life-size. It was a fairly large room and there were probably twenty dogs. Half were digging in the “snow”. Half were pooping in the “snow”. White poop from a white dog on white snow. The artist showed his ability to talk some museum heads into displaying his lack of talent. What was his message? I have no idea. Is this considered art? Not in my book. But of course, we all know Jackson Pollock, who dribbled paint on canvas and convinced Peggy Guggenheim that this was art. I feel certain that if you painted an 8 foot by 8 foot canvas solid black and named it “The Miasma of Defunct Psychoses” or something equally meaningless and incomprehensible you could get some museum to hang it. Maybe first you would have to get some art critic to proclaim, “Outstanding! It speaks to the soul of the new century!” And then the lemmings would fall in line.
The portion of the museum that is open is a large two story room with smaller rooms off to the side where the exhibits are displayed. The main room is ringed with sculptures, many replicas of famous classical works. The circular balcony overlooking the open space also has sculptures. At one end of the room, teenagers were seated on the floor, drawing each other. They had been supplied with everything they needed; paper, colored pencils, chalk and crayons. I walked around and looked at as much of their work as I could without being intrusive. Obviously, it was an art class as they were all very good. A man, maybe a docent from the museum, walked among them making suggestions. Later, I saw the group on the front steps sketching the statue at the entrance.
At the other end of the room there was display of solid black, shiny, plastic, life-sized dogs shaped like Dalmatians (but black). There were many of them attached to several metal wires extending across the room from one balcony to the other on the second floor. The wires were at different angles so it seemed that the dogs were following four or five different paths. Some were headed in each direction and some were facing each other, nose to nose on the same wire as though trapped in a traffic jam. More interesting than white dogs pooping but still, is this art? Or is this something they call art because the museum can afford to display it. True art has become too expensive for most museums. They have to show something, something different, something they can afford to display. I would rather see the sketches of the young students. Outside the museum, the same dogs are running from the ground floor to the second as though this were their method of entry and egress.
Went back to the downtown market and browsed. I’m somehow strangely fascinated by places that offer a multitude of small items, in this case tourist souvenirs. I often browse at Staples or Office Depot and look at pencils and notebooks and erasers, etc. Weird.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Colleen had a block of free time in the afternoon so I went to the school to meet her. As I went through the metro station I noticed that you can get your phone recharged (add time to your phone). In Chile and in Europe, unlike in the United States, you only pay for the time you use. You’re not forced into an annual contract. You buy the phone of your choice and then pay to have time added to the phone. If you didn’t use your phone, the time remained on your phone. And it was relatively cheap. We used text messages a lot rather than a phone call as it was much cheaper. If I remember correctly, a text message was 2 cents per message and a call was somewhat more. In Prague I could go for 6 or 8 weeks on $15 because I mostly used only text messages. I tried the same system when I came back to the US and was quite angry to discover that the cost of a call was 25 cents per minute even when someone called me. Now I’m paying $50 per month whether I use the phone or not. I still get upset thinking about it.
Anyway, in the metro station, you can add time to your phone. There are people standing around with a four foot pole strapped to their back that held up a stiff flag overhead advertising the phone company they represented. The flags are brightly colored and easy to spot. Just find the one you need, give them some money (credit cards accepted), and they will add time to your phone. A system I like much better than the one I am currently using.
Colleen and I went shopping for a type of pants she wanted that are very popular in Chile, long and flowing and suitable for work. I was still looking for souvenirs. We went to the old market. She found her pants and I narrowed my choices.
We then went to the Mercado Central (Central Market) which is several steps up in quality from the market I frequented. We walked in and were greeted with the smell of fish, the strong smell of fish. The perimeter of the large building is lined with shop after shop offering fresh fish of all sizes and varieties displayed in the open on a bed of ice. The interior is primarily seafood restaurants and upscale shops. At one time, this was probably the main place to get fish, meat and produce in the downtown area, but it has evolved into a more touristy destination with very nice seafood restaurants. Only the fish survived. The restaurants were side by side and crowded. The food looked good and musicians strolled around playing and hoping to get tips. The shops featured the usual souvenirs at higher prices and jewelry, especially lapis which was everywhere. I bought a lapis pendant that I liked.
We went across the street to the old train station, which is now the Mopoch Cultural Center. Colleen has always been fascinated by old train stations and has often said that she should have taken pictures during her travels to include in a coffee table book. The tracks are now gone, replaced by a smooth marble floor, Small, quiet, and sparsely populated cafes line the sides of the huge, empty interior. Not sure where the Cultural Center is. There must be additional rooms off to the side. Built in 1913, the roof is arching glass and steel. The architect was influenced by the Beaux Art Movement and Gustav Eiffel. Picture the typical train station in Europe. Those you see in the old war movies are still in use.
After leaving the Cultural Center, we had a hot dog in a fast food place. The bun was stale, the meat was not the best quality and it was drowned in guacamole and mayonnaise, but it is a very popular lunchtime fare, maybe because it costs about half what the other meals cost. The basic hot dog is called a Completo, but you can get a variety depending on what condiments you want. One must try the local cuisine. Once was enough for me. I’ll stick to the empanadas.
Walking back, we found yarn street, a street with five or six shops in a row that sold exclusively yarn for knitting. This situation was also typical in Hanoi, a specialized street. In Hanoi, the streets might even be named for the principal product. I don’t know if this was dictated by the government to increase competition to keep prices down, or if the shop owners felt it was just more convenient (which doesn’t seem like a logical explanation). Anyway, as we walked, I noticed bookstore street, lighting fixtures street, eye glasses street, etc.
We stopped for a muffin and I had trouble understanding how to pay for it. The young lady was very nice and by pointing and speaking a few English words helped me to understand. I told her what kind of muffin we wanted. She rang it up on what I assumed was the cash register and then she handed me the piece of paper. I waited for my muffin though I had not yet paid. She smiled, said something and pointed to a man behind a small counter. I went over to him and gave him the ticket and some money. He rang up another ticket and gave it to me with my change. I took this ticket back to the young lady and she took the ticket and handed me my muffins, chocolate muffins. I don’t know if this is an extra system of checks and balances or what, but it seemed to be a lot of extra work. The longer I was in Chile the more I realized that this was standard procedure. The system seemed even more complicated in some restaurants. Maybe it was a system that was initiated long ago and has just been continued through the years. The person taking the money was always a distance away from where you placed your order. He was usually in a corner and sometimes in a cage.
I stopped at the grocery on the way home to get some beer. Colleen told me that the people who bag the groceries are not paid a salary but live off tips. That seems strange and would be a precarious job. They are usually young people and probably not supporting a family. We always gave them 100 pesos (20 cents). They didn’t seemed surprised and always took the money so it must have been the custom. Since I only bought beer, I told him I didn’t need a bag. The grocery is much like Publix. They bag everything and you end up with a lot of bags. We have a plastic bag full of plastic bags.
Walking home, the handle on the cardboard container broke and I had to carry the 10 pack of beer in my arms in front of me. When I got to the apartment, the security guard saw that I had my backpack and the beer and would have trouble getting to my keys. He casually punched the button that pops the front gate open. I moved through the gate and said, “Want a beer?” taking a can from the container and extending it toward him. His eyes lit up. “O-Kay! Thanks very much,” he said in perfect English taking the beer from me. I think I now had the keys to the kingdom.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The main event for today was to go to the Pre-Colombian Museum. I got off the metro at a different stop than usual and when I reached street level, I was briefly disoriented. But, due to my incredible sense of direction and a couple of very tall structures pictured on my tourist map, I was able to find my way. The first landmark was a huge, make that enormous, Chilean flag waving slowly in the wind from atop a flagpole that must have extended 100 yards in the air. That led me to the Palacio de la Moneda, the headquarters of the Chilean President. It’s a beautiful Spanish style building, built between 1784 and 1799, which houses the government offices. There are large plazas front and back suitable for the changing of the guard and other ceremonial activities. The area is resplendent with flags and statues of important people and security guards. Ceremonial guards in white uniforms stood close to the entry of the building. It was here that Salvador Allende appointed Augusto Pinochet as Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces and where he committed suicide three weeks later when Pinochet led Air Force planes strafed the palace. Pinochet led a coup and then a dictatorial, repressive government. The palace seemed uninviting and intimidating because of all the security, but somewhere in there is the Cultural Center which houses many exhibits. Normally, I would keep going until someone stopped me but this time, because I saw almost no one within the fence surrounding the building, I hesitated to enter. I passed one guard, however, who was casually reading and sending messages on his telephone. Maybe I could have slipped past him.
I passed by two more huge government buildings but they were being renovated and the scaffolding and barriers prevented pictures or even views of the buildings.
The Pre-Colombian Museum (and yes, I looked it up. They spell Columbus with an “o” instead of a “u”, as in the country, Colombia) is housed in what was built in 1805 as the Royal Customs House. It is now surrounded by shops and stores so the grandeur of the edifice is lost. Within, it feels massive and the ground floor has a large open courtyard. The exhibits are in rooms encircling the courtyard. The exhibits are divided by cultures, Caribbean, Amazonian, Mesoamerican, Central Andes and Southern Andes. Each has it’s specialty. Ceramics from Ecuador, metal masks from the Moche people in Peru, fabrics from the Andes. I, of course, was most interested in the ceramics which were used by all the cultures. One of the most interesting items were the Incan Quipus. Maybe three feet wide, They look like a clothes line with strings of various colors hanging down. Each string has twists and knots that conveyed special meanings. Their purpose is disputed, perhaps a knotted counting instrument, perhaps a form of writing and documentation, perhaps a form of code which only the creator of the Quipu could read. Unfortunately, the Catholic church considered them works of the devil and had them destroyed, leaving very few behind. (Another contribution to the world’s culture by the church).
Interestingly, those items that were from Chile were housed below street level, down three flights of stairs. Evidently, they felt that if the museum were destroyed, at least the artifacts of Chilean culture might be preserved.
Had lunch in a passageway next to the Plaza de Armas in the old center of town. I ate in a restaurant rather than one of the stand up hot dog stands that specialize in completos. My legs were shot. I ordered a vegetarian palta reina. (the picture on the menu looked good). The waiter took my order and gave one copy to the cashier and one to the kitchen, a system the reason for which I never found out. He returned with a huge plate (too much food) piled high with lettuce, tomato, onions, corn, pasta, potatoes, eggs, and in the middle, two halves of an avocado filled with shredded tuna. At first, I thought it was strange to have meat on a vegetarian plate. Then I remembered that fish is not a meat. That’s why Catholics eat fish on Friday.
Went to the cathedral next to the Plaza. The cathedral was built in 1775, the fifth structure at that location due to earthquakes through the years. The central nave is 90 meters long. The walls, pillars, and ceiling are richly decorated, as is to be expected to show the grandeur and power of the church. The central alter was built in Munich in 1912 and shipped here. There had to be a reason that these important structures were built elsewhere and then transported across the Pacific and around Cape Horn to Chile. It had to be expensive. Either Chile didn’t have the manufacturing facilities for such projects or lacked the raw materials locally.
“The right nave holds an urn that guards the hearts of war heroes who fought the Conception battle during the War of the Pacific (1879-83).” I wonder what the heroes would have though of that. And why would the church want to keep their hearts? It wasn’t the Middle Ages. There shouldn’t have been some mystic superstition. Maybe it was in hopes that the heroes would become saints one day and provide a reason for pilgrimages to the church.
Outside the cathedral, there was a puppet show that was highly entertaining and drew a big crowd. In the front of the crowd were the children who interacted with the puppets. I didn’t understand a word but everyone laughed a lot.
I wandered around and noted the specialties of each street. I found mobile phone street and shoe street and prostitute street. (At least, one block of a major street featured about 6 to8 prostitutes offering their services). I don’t know how the law reads about prostitution in Chile, but the ladies were obvious and no one seemed to take particular notice of them. Perhaps it’s legal, perhaps it’s simply ignored by the authorities.
Friday, January 24, 2014
I met Colleen at her break and we explored Cerro (hill) Santa Lucia, which is right beside her school. It’s the hill on which the city was founded in 1541 by Pedro de Valdivia. At the time, it was a barren rock, but is now a park covered in greenery and dotted with buildings of various architectural forms to make it an interesting place for citizens to find respite from the busy city. Originally used for defense of the city, it was turned into a park in 1871 by Mayor Benjamin Vicuna. Vicuna is buried in a tiny chapel on the hill.
We began our exploration at the Plaza Neptune, which is dominated by a large fountain featuring the god of the sea. From there, broad stairways ascended on either side encircling the fountain and rising to the next level. There you find a domed, Moorish looking structure overlooking the fountain. From there we climbed crudely carved stone steps to the top. All along the way are statues and fountains and terraces offering different views of the city. There are two small forts complete with crenelated walls and towers on opposite sides of the hill built for defensive purposes. Obviously, Valdivia chose this hill as it offers a panoramic view in all directions. No one, certainly no army, could approach without being detected long before they arrived. Among the sites of interest on the way up are a six foot high stone carved with a passage taken from a letter sent to Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, from Pedro do Valdivia and a statue representing the Dissidents’ Cemetery, a final resting place for anyone who was not Catholic or had committed suicide.
At the summit is the Castillo Hidalgo, built in 1814 by the Royalists during the Chilean War for Independence (led, of course, by my man, Bernardo O’Higgins). Also at the top, you can climb narrow stairs to a vantage point offering a 360 degree view of the city, the flat terrain surrounding and the Andes in the distance. It’s a rugged hill with lots of rock outcroppings. I’m sure it was difficult to get vegetation to grow there. We came down the hill on the opposite side, resting in some of the many spots provided for the weary traveler.
Went to the market one last time to complete my souvenir shopping. Had my eye on some small vases that had hand painted designs on them. I had priced them in one spot in the market for $4,500 pesos ($9), but later, another shop told me $2200 pesos ($4.40). So I went to the latter shop and asked, “How much?” “3,000.” Obviously prices weren’t stable. That pissed me off so I left. Found another shop in the market that said “$3000”, but something, something, something “$2,000”. After some difficulty in communication, I finally understood that one was $3,000, but if I bought more than one, they were $2,000 each. They were souvenirs. They were cheap. And they were small. I bought ten. He was happy. I was happy.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Saturday! Road trip! We wanted to get out of the city so we headed for Valparaiso and Vina del Mar, two towns joined like sisters right on the sea. A quiet, quaint cafe in a small fishing village on the edge of the sea, drinking a glass of wine and watching the sun go down. I couldn’t wait.
We took the metro almost to the end of the line to catch a bus to Vina del Mar where we had a reservation. The bus station was a zoo. Several bus lines served Valparaiso (Valpo) and Vina del Mar (Vina) and a bus left about every five minutes. You had to make sure you got on the right bus as you had reserved seats. It had to be the correct bus line and the correct time of departure. The buses wait for no man. It was bedlam. We bought round trip tickets but had to wait an hour for our bus. The earlier ones were already full. Everyone one was heading for the coast. The ride to the sea was two and a half hours and downhill. First, it was flat leaving Valpo and then we dropped down into wine country, wide valleys with huge vineyards, each with a hacienda where you could sample the wine and make purchases. And then, suddenly, you could see the sea far below. We were close to the sea but on the crest of a hill. We began our descent down a long,winding road into Vina del Mar, passing houses on the hillside that were little more than shacks. As we got to flat land we were caught in traffic and inched our way to the bus station. The city was very busy, very active, not quite the peaceful, seaside village I was hoping to find. Both cities are squeezed between the mountains and the Pacific.
At the station, a very nice tourist lady gave us a map and told us where to find our hotel, Hotel Espana, nothing fancy but more than adequate. It was close to the bus station and the metro station. We got into our room and then decided to spend the afternoon in Valparaiso, surprisingly only four metro stops away. The two cities are wrapped around a large bay. You can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
We got off the metro at Plaza Sotomayor, Valparaiso’s main square. ( Locals pronounce it Balparaiso). In the center of the square is the “Monument to the Heroes of Iquique”, in memory of the crew of the Esmeralda who were killed in the 1879 battle of Iquique in which the Esmeralda fought the Peruvian vessel, Huascar. The captain of the Esmeralda is buried beneath the monument. People crowded around the monument and many climbed the steps to have their picture made. It seemed to be a very important site and reminded me of the reverence paid to The Unknown Soldier, but we know who is buried in Valparaiso.
Facing the square is the Commandancia Jefe de la Armada, built in 1910 and inspired by the Hotel de Ville in Paris. It once was the president’s summer home, but now is Naval Headquarters.
Valparaiso was founded in 1543 and became the most important port in the South Pacific in the 1800’s. As such, it attracted many European immigrants, which accounts for the great variety of architectural styles and names (Remember Bernardo O’Higgins?) A narrow strip of flat land adjoins the sea and then the city rises up the steep hills. Valpo was and is an important port. Thus, much of the coastline which would normally be devoted to luxury high rises and sandy beaches is instead given over to shipping, dry docks, and maritime activities. On the metro ride, which is mostly above ground and very near the water, the sea is only briefly visible. Large cargo ships and stacks of shipping containers block the view. Long walls separate the city from the dry dock area, and gigantic cruise ships tower over the harbor.
Because of the steep hills surrounding the city, Valparaiso has 15 funiculars which take you up to the hillside neighborhoods, the major attractions in the city. We took the Ascensor Conception, the closest one, for about 60 cents each. At the top, there was a paved pathway winding its way along the sea side of the hill offering good views of the bay, all marred, of course, by the enormous oil and container ships. Artists and craftsmen lined the walkway offering everything from jewelry to art. We took pictures and strolled the neighborhood, marveling at the wide variety of architectural styles reflecting the many European nationalities that had inhabited the city. Usually the houses in a neighborhood were homogenous, but sometimes a single house jumped out at you announcing that the occupant had come from a different culture.
We found a nice restaurant with a terrace overlooking the bay. The meal was very nice but I think a portion of the price was for the view, the ambiance and the presentation of the food. Each entree came from the kitchen under a silver and gold domed cover. The waiters coordinated their efforts so that all the covers were lifted simultaneously, revealing everyone’s meal at the same time. Many people then took pictures of the dish or of the waiters raising the cover. Showmanship! It comes at a price.
We continued strolling through the neighborhood before winding our way down the hill. At the bottom, we found the offices of El Mercurio de Valparaiso, a newspaper which is said to be the “oldest newspaper in continuous circulation in the entire Spanish-speaking world.” Quite a claim. This was difficult to accept until I remembered that the Spanish Civil War had caused the disruption and closing of many newspapers in Spain. But, of course, almost every country has had their problems through the centuries, including Chile. Wonder how El Mercurio was able to escape unscathed? According to the guidebook, the paper’s founding idea was that it be “adequate enough to moderate the extreme passions that divide men.” A noble idea that I wish could be applied universally. It’s the extremes of all sides that refuse any middle ground and cause most of the problems. There is a massive statue of Mercury atop the ornately decorated building.
We had coffee in the Plaza Anibal Pinto just in front of the Libreria Ivens, one of the oldest bookstores in town, founded in 1896. The picture in the guide book shows a brightly colored yellow and green building. The reality is that the building looks rundown, is darkened with dust and pollution, and is generally unkempt. That is my general impression of the cities I visited in Chile. They feel old and tired and unable to take care of themselves. They are crowded and active but seem to be intent on survival rather than experiencing and exhibiting the joie de vivre you feel in seaside cities in Europe. In Valpo and Vina, I was hoping to find quaint, quiet, colorful seaside villages with outdoor restaurants lining the ocean’s edge. Not so. The population of Valpo is 253,000 and Vina is 289,000. So, over half a million people pressed against the sea, not a seaside village. And a great part of the shoreline is occupied by industry. Access to the sea and to the beaches is limited and somewhat removed from the center of the city.
We walked through town headed to a spot where we could see sea lions. A piece of what used to be a pier stands isolated about 50 yards offshore, littered with sea lions sunning, barking, and arguing. They reminded me of small children who have squabbles and get loud but you know that no one is actually going to get hurt. The combatants raise their chins, bark into the air and push against each other with their chests while being totally ignored by the others. Some disputes got to the point that the vanquished was pushed off the pier into the sea, only to climb back onto the pier and find another vacant space. There seemed to be only one point of entry to the pier, an inclined ramp that started about four or five feet above the level of the water. All the other walls were vertical and about ten feet high. I waited some time to try to get a picture of a sea lion actually climbing onto the pier. They positioned themselves below the ramp with only their head showing and then suddenly catapulted those huge bodies out of the water onto the ramp. They had to get high enough on the ramp so that they could grip the concrete with their flippers and not have too much of their weight still hanging over the side. Amazing that they could get that high out of the water and they didn’t always make it.
We took the metro back to the hotel before heading out to dinner. I wasn’t sure where to find the center of town so we headed back toward the bus station. We saw several mini-marts and butcher shops but no restaurants. We came to a carnival complete with thrill rides, even a small roller coaster. The carnival was set up in what was indicated on the map in blue as an estuary, but what appeared to be a dry river bed about two hundred feet wide. Maybe there is water during the Spring thaw but it looked as if this area had been dry for quite some time. We were on a bridge overlooking the rides and lights.
We tried several streets and several detours looking for a place to eat making a large circle before coming to what was the shopping center of town (about two blocks from our hotel). Had we turned left after leaving the hotel, we could have been there in five minutes instead of fifty. But we did get to see the Bernardo O’Higgins Hotel, an old and elegant remembrance of better times. We had pizza and beer for supper.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
We had breakfast in the hotel. Typical fare for most of the inexpensive hotels I’ve stayed in outside the USA. Powdered Nescafe coffee, fake orange juice, thinly sliced luncheon meat and cheese, bread, yogurt, and some sort of chocolate flavored cereal. Serve yourself! I usually load up on the bread. Somehow chocolate cereal and luncheon meats don’t seem to be that appetizing in the morning. It’s very strange that almost everyplace we went in Chile you could only get instant coffee and almost always Nescafe. Colombia is not that far away and Juan Valdez grows great coffee beans. Once when we got the real stuff, Colleen, a coffee connoisseur, reacted as if she had received a small electrical shock and said, “Wow, real coffee. I can feel the difference immediately.” Coffee is her drug of choice. Diet coke is mine.
Our original plan had been to spend the day at the beach. I had even brought my bathing suit. That was before we realized how cold it was on the coast. I started the day wearing a long sleeved T-shirt, a sweat shirt and a jacket. Temperature in the 50’s at night and low 70’s for a high. I prefer 70 as a low. It’s full summer in Chile but I suspect that the Pacific keeps the coastline cool year round.
We went first to the Fonck Museum, the architectural museum in Vina, specifically to see a moai. A moai is one of the large stone heads associated with Easter Island. Luckily, the moai (I don’t know how to pronounce it) is outside the entrance to the museum and didn’t cost us anything to see it. Evidently, moais come in many sizes and this is one of the smaller ones, about six feet tall. It’s impressive to think that these stone faces were built with primitive techniques and for an unknown purpose and that the natural resources of the island were sacrificed for their construction. Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and the maoi, mysteries that may never be solved. Easter Island belongs to Chile or is a part of Chile but is a 6 hour flight away, much like Hawaii and the mainland. Anyway, we figured that if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, thus saving us a trip to Easter island.
Next to the museum is the Palacio Carrasco, built in 1912. It was a private home but now serves as a cultural center. In 1906, there was an earthquake in Valpo which devastated many homes. Many families then decided to rebuild in Vina del Mar though why they selected a spot so close and still on the fault line, I have no idea. Certainly not to escape earthquakes. The Andes are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire which stretches along the entire west coast of North and South America. The Andes are full of volcanoes, many, but probably not all, extinct.
We walked to the Pacific and stopped in a restaurant for coffee. The restaurant was crowded so we sat at a table occupied by two women, sisters. In most of the world, when it is crowded, if there is an empty seat, you take it, even if someone else is already at the table. It’s expected. We thanked them for letting us join them and when they realized we were Americans, a conversation ensued. One of the ladies spoke English well and was eager to practice. Her son is working in California and she was happy to tell us about him. They were very helpful in making sure that we got a menu, placed our order and got our check in a timely manner. One lady even left the table and sought out a waitress to speed our service. They were very nice.
We walked along a paved path, next to a wall, next to the boulders next to the sea. Food stands and gift stands and street performers lined the walkway. We walked for several blocks away from the center of town before we came to a real, sandy beach. And amazingly, the beach was crowded with sunbathers and even some who actually went into the water, obviously members of the Polar Bear Club or escapees from a mental institution. I was still wearing my sweatshirt and jacket. There was no way I would have gone into that water. The Pacific is cold (I think that’s a perpetual state) and there was a breeze. I couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like, going into the cold water and then coming out into the wind. And I didn’t want to think about it.
We turned back toward the center of town and came to a spot where the “estuary” empties into the sea. The map shows that the estuary extends inland past our hotel and the spot where the carnival had been in full swing. The map also indicates that the entrance to the sea is blocked, thus forming the estuary. When we got to that point, we discovered that a large sand dike, a portion of which had been washed away allowing any water behind the dike to escape to the sea. There was water in the estuary at this point which flowed into the sea and then was met by waves pushing in from the Pacific. The opposing forces ate away at the sand levee. The closest bridge was only a block away but the young and restless opted to wade the current which was only about knee deep. They took off their shoes, rolled up their pants and ran through about ten feet of knee deep water. This worked fine for most but those who mistimed their efforts were caught in the incoming waves and got pretty wet, some even knocked off their feet. Their efforts provided entertainment for us for several minutes. Colleen asked if I would carry her across the channel as one gallant soul had done. I convinced her that the bridge was just a few steps away.
Next we came to Castillo Wulff, built in 1905, right on the edge of the sea. It resembles a Medieval castle with ramparts, crenelated walls, a round tower, and a central courtyard. Stairs in the courtyard led to the top of a massive rock where you can get great views of coastline. Atop a hill on the inland side of the highway is another medieval castle but it is not mentioned in the guidebook.
A little further on we found the “flower clock”, an actual working clock with large, wooden hands, on the side of a hill in a park. Clumps of brightly colored flowers represent the numbers. It was 2:36PM.
On the way back to the hotel, we stopped for a late lunch, a completo and fries. Aaah, completo. A bad hotdog on a stale bun covered with enough guacamole to satisfy a Mexican restaurant’s needs for one night and half a jar of mayonaise. The result was something only slightly smaller than the barrel of a baseball bat. Our biggest problem was how to eat it. You can’t approach it head on. You have to start at one corner and work your way in. The completo seems to be the national fast food of Chile. We have the Big Mac. They have the completo. I prefer the Bid Mac.
We checked out of our hotel and headed for the bus station. The bus station was packed with people trying to get back to Santiago. Buses left every five minutes, 90% headed to the capital. You had to watch a departure screen to see which gate your bus was leaving from. Our ride back was uneventful but we saw three wrecks on the busy highway, one a six car pile up.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Headed back to Florida today. It was going to be a long day and the first roadblock was at the metro station. My metro ticket wouldn’t work though I tried it several times. The security guard explained what was wrong, but in Spanish. I did understand the word, “orange” and he pointed toward the ticket counter. It seems that during rush hour, you need an orange ticket which costs more than the blue one I had.
Had to change planes in Panama and this time walked through the terminal, which is new and very modern and very up-to-date. All the right shops, all the big names, impressive.
Got home about 2AM.
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