In the shadows….
Finishing our drinks, we were about to move off when Eug was tapped on his shoulder by one of the three guys sat drinking behind us. Are you English he asked, with a barely perceptible accent belying the fact that he wasnŽt. Thus the next few hours of our South American adventure began, and an intriguing part of it it turned out to be……..
(All names have been changed to protect identities…….).
Our new-found friends had been drinking for a while before we’d even sat down, and were more than welcoming in inviting us to talk with them as they ordered yet more concoctions of whiskey mixed with drambuie with a single clove looking for all the world like a dead fly floating in the bottom of their tumblers. The guy who’d asked if we were English was the only one who could speak any amount of English (we’ll call him John), while his well-heeled amigo (we’ll call him Roger) was part Italian, part Chilean and knew just a few English words. He was a quiet, contemplative man, clearly used to the finer points (and luxuries) in life, and we learned of his business in exporting fish products around the world from ‘John’, who acted as an excellent interpreter for all of us.
Our final new-found amigo was a very old man (weŽll call him Pavorotti), who told everyone he was 84 although ‘John’ said he was more like 90. At each frequent arrival of yet another whiskey/drambuie round of drinks, ‘John’ and ‘Roger’ would halve their portion into a glass and give it to ‘Pavorotti’, who had, from the moment we’d joined this happy trio, taken an immediate shine to Emma (Thompson, as Em is now known!). Every so often he’d burst into song (well, not quite, since the drink was having an effect by now and he was limited to only three English words, “I love you!”), directed at Em in a serenading sort of way.
Our American friend whom we’d met on the peninsula (‘Joe’) suddenly reappeared and we invited him to join us. Some of the conversation up until now had revolved around the frequent cruise ships that visit Arica and the differences in approaches of various nationalities when it comes to respecting local customs and acting in a generally polite manner. Enough said on this subject, other than to observe that degrees of rudeness are milked for all they’re worth by the likes of ‘John’, and we couldn’t blame him one bit! With ‘Joe’s’ arrival on the scene we thought our developing conversations might be inhibited a little, but he turned out to also be embarrassed by the actions of some of his fellow countrymen and soon began to get involved in what we were talking about.
And my, did we talk. ‘John’ told us more of us background, his politics and his abilities to kill people in 37 different ways with some of the simplest techniques around. ‘Roger’ began to question different views on the world, and on money, and on women, including some of those who’d broken his heart, including the ballerina once based in London. And all the while ‘Pavorotti’ was becoming more and more inebriated!
Every so often an acquaintence of ‘John’s’ would come across to our table, sit down, get a drink and chat, while others passed in the street and were called over or introduced themselves, including one guy who both Em and ‘Joe’ thought was a real copper until I pointed out that his shoes were falling to bits. He was only dressed up as one, which was surreal in itself.
‘John’s’ lady had joined us for a while, and when ‘Joe’ suddenly realised he was in danger of missing his overnight bus to Antofagasta, she offered to take him to the bus station. That was the last we saw of ‘Joe’, and would love to know whether he made it there safely or not, since the whole set-up was becoming stranger by the minute and thoughts of agents working behind the scenes had already gained more and more credence……
And then, with a final serenading of Em by ‘Pavorotti’, “I love you…..(under the Cuban sky”) (final part said in Spanish), the old man tried to get up. He managed it, but as he held onto a parasol stand to gain his balance he leant too much on it and it began to fall over. Simultaneously he let go and fell straight over in the opposite direction, like a domino crashing down, right into the middle of the boulevard!!! We felt sure he’d at least broken his arm, the way he hit the ground, but he was okay and proceeded under the direction of ‘John’ and ‘Roger’ to sit back down and have another drink.
But ‘Pavorotti’ was restless by now, and he made another (unaided) attempt to get up which only resulted in him mimicking the steps an Olympic hammer thrower takes before letting go of the hammer. Only he didn’t have a hammer nor the vision to complete this move. Crash on the floor again, and this time he stayed down for a while until we helped him back up.
‘John’ sorted a cab for ‘Pavorotti’ to get home in, and that was the last we saw of him, hoping his head (and many other parts of his body) didn’t hurt too much the following morning. The bar staff had begun to get a little impatient with ‘John’ and ‘Roger’, but it was clear that there was some strong influences at work here for they continued to serve them despite the owner’s better judgment. Feeling it was time for us to slip away, we asked for the bill only for ‘Roger’ to insist he pay it for us, which was very generous of him and much appreciated. He invited us back to his house, which we were sure would have been an eye-opening experience, but we were tired and politely refused his kind gesture.
All in all a very illuminating and surprise encounter, many of the details of which have not been, nor will be published on the web. But it makes you wonder whether a version of James Bond does exist in South America…….
Tags: Chilean moments
mihai