Chilean Vacation

Day One
Reading Water for Elephants. Finished with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Ate Chilean sea bass and crab cake soup for dinner after exploring downtown Santiago. Was not expecting crab cakes in soup form, but it was better than the sea bass drenched in herbed mayonnaise. Oh well, we were forewarned that the food was nothing to write home about. So tired. And my eyes are fuzzy and my face is flushed with exhaustion. We pretty much saw everything Jenny wanted to see in one day.

Part One of The Yellow Coat Series: wandering around Santiago

Day Two
Went to Viña del Mar and Valparaíso. Tried to follow Patrick Phelan’s recommendations, but it proved a bit difficult. Sweet Morgan from Boston who studies here and is staying in our hotel while her parents visit her told us to get out of the city because of the feriado, saying at least we could explore a new place. And since the beach town is a bit touristy anyway, most places were open.

Jenny grumbled a bit about taking the bus and said if we were taking public transportation she’d rather we go to the beach town than the working class seafarer’s community of Valparaíso. I’m glad we did both. Viña del Mar isn’t much but I got to shed my coat, sweater, and shoes to walk through the sand. Dipped my feet in the ocean. It was freezing. When I waded further my left pant leg got clobbered by a wave, coating my leg with sand and cold saltwater. A skinny dog followed us around. They’re more like rats than the pampered pets of Buenos Aires. Ate too-salty Mexican food and hopped on the train to Valpo. (The bus ride to Viña felt like New Mexico, but it was too smoggy to take pictures of the mountains from the bus window.) Valparaíso was gorgeous. We weren’t sure what to do, so we picked an acensor to Bellavista, home to one of Pablo Neruda’s houses and an open-air museum (read: murals.) Once there, a Colombian lady in green pants gave us her map and told us where to go. The views of the sea and tiny houses were fantastic. Jenny and Annemarie said it felt like La Boca; I thought it seemed like a more privileged Jamaica. We took photos of vistas and doorways. Annemarie took dozens of photos of me in my yellow coat (it was chillier up in Valparaíso than in Viña del Mar, but still much warmer than Santiago.) Valparaíso smelled like the mountains, but Viña del Mar smelled of salty ocean air. The Neruda house in Valparaíso was of course closed because of the holiday. Such a shame because the views looked like they’d be phenomenal. I found myself jealous of the little girl who lived across the street from Neruda’s La Sebastian. Once it was dark, we found nothing left to explore and headed back down, hopped a train back to Viña del Mar and took the bus back to Santiago. I was very impressed by our ability to navigate a different country so easily.

Day Three
I’m pretty sure any weight lost in the whole I-have-tonsillitis-and-can-barely-coax-melted-ice-cubes-down-my-throat phase was quickly regained in the search for the perfect Chilean sea bass. We found it at the Ritz-Carlton Santiago. We weren’t planning on eating at The Ritz, although it was supposed to be our night on the town. The concierge recommended a place that seemed a lot like an Argentine parilla , so we passed. We had selected a New Zealand-Chilean fusion restaurant from Frommer’s South America guide, but by the time our incompetent driver found the place, it was close. So we settled on nearby Ritz. Grilled sea bass with corn and zucchini salsa bathed in a curry sauce. Much better than Hotel Orly’s sea bass with mayonesa de hierbas. My total, including agua sin gas, corvina (Spanish for sea bass) and crème brulee came to $16,200 including tip. That’s somewhere between $30-40 USD.

Annemarie & Meg at the top of Cerro San Cristobal overlooking Santiago

Before that we took the fuculator from the zoo’s castle (yep that’s right; I felt like I was in Disneyland) to the top of Cerro San Cristobal to see the city and the statue of Mary the Immaculate. The view of Santiago is breathtaking, but tainted by urban smog trapped in a bowl of the mountains. The peaks are hazy. Only snow-capped heights are visible because they reach past the polluted air. It’s sad, really. There is a group of American tourists, kids and adults, speaking English loudly and butchering Spanish words. I ask a boy if he is with a study abroad program. He mumbles no, they are missionaries. I say something about it being an odd time for a school holiday. His answer suggests these dozen kids didn’t take one. He is painfully awkward and talks to his feet. It’s like he’s never spoken to a girl before. And I’m wearing a turtleneck. His dad takes over. Asks us if we are sure we are going to heaven. (After Annemarie and I both said we had done mission work in the past.) I bite my tongue to keep from making any predestination remarks. He hands us Spanish pamphlets on salvation. Asks us if we know John 3:16. We say yes, although Jenny doesn’t know it. (Annemarie and I recite it to her when the man leaves.) Another lady with their church smiles at us. She has braces like Parker Posey in Best in Show. At the base of the statue I bought some black and white postcards of old Chilean Indians and Jenny bought a Santa Rita charm for her grandmother of the same name. “¿Tienes abuela?” the salesman asks me. “Si, pero no es católica,” I tell him. I might as well have told the guy I worship pagan gods. I’m pretty sure I had multiple people praying for my soul that night.

After taking the fuculator back down the hill we walk to Pablo Neruda’s house in Santiago: La Chascona. We show our American student IDs and get a discounted tour in Spanish. They offer it in English as well, but even Annemarie says “Why not Spanish?” so we do it in Spanish. We sip café con leche in the café before our guide comes to get us. The coffee here is not nearly as good as in Buenos Aires, which is probably why there is a Starbuck’s at every corner (however, I think I might prefer the lattes at Dunkin Donuts.) La Chascona was Neruda’s house he shared with his lover Matilda Urrutia, supposedly the one he loved the most.

Pablo Neruda's house in Santiago

The house’s symbol is a sun with a face, but because Chascona means “despainado” or “bad hair day” it represents Matilda’s unruly red hair. The other symbol is the sun and the mountains blending into the sea: represented with a P for Pablo as the sun (perhaps the moon?) and an M for Matilda as the mountains surrounded by ocean waves. Neruda had a fascination and fear of the ocean, so he modeled his houses after boats. The guide spoke slowly to us, and the older couple from Santiago would help explain details (“He is famous for wearing that poncho,” she told me in English.) I think people are flattered that we have made the effort to learn their language and show interest in their culture, a national icon. Neruda’s home houses original artwork by Picasso, Siqueiros, and Rivera. I forgot he was part of the Generation 27. Of course I enjoyed seeing his manuscripts and Nobel Peace Prize. I didn’t realize his impact on politics. His house features serving pieces and sculptures picked up during his travels; it should be featured in design magazines. (You can’t take pictures inside.) Even Jenny and Annemarie enjoyed it, and they aren’t even familiar with his works. (My favorite poem of his is Poema XV, “Me gustas cuando callas.”) A woman’s eyes hang from ceilings and low tree branches. I ask our tour guide if they are supposed to be Matilda’s eyes. He says no, they are for our guests who are taller. Oh.

Ojos and a mural by one of Neruda's artist friends

We eat Easter Island Mahi-Mahi at a Chilean-French Bistro called La Boheme. Annemarie and I have our first (and only) glass of Chilean wine with our lunch. Divine. I think Jenny is somewhat nonplussed with the trip (her idea) because all she has eaten are cheese sandwiches and pizza, and Santiago lacks the heavy Italian influence that Buenos Aires so strongly reflects. (The waiter last night thought her cheese sandwich – no lettuce, no tomato – was for the darling toddler girl at the table next to us.) We go back up Cerro San Cristobal via ascensor and take a different apparatus, this one more ski lift like in appearance, down toward Valvidia. I don’t like heights but I am a good sport. Once we are safely on land, we walk back toward our hotel to drop off our coats. It’s much warmer now. We pass a church that is the oldest building in Chile. (Turns out La Casa Colorada is the oldest example of Colonial architecture.) We end up on a quest for Starbuck’s and upon searching for the fabled Paris-London barrio, we stumble upon La Casa de las Monedas, the Chilean equivalent of the White House. The guards are changing and I’m dying for a tourist picture of them and our Starbuck’s cups. (My Starbuck’s tastes off, but maybe I have become accustomed to stronger Argentine coffee. Or maybe it’s the leche de soya.) The guards oblige and then take us on a private tour of the courtyard, as the rest of the house is closed for the evening. Our impromptu tour guide shows us a fountain modeled after the Trevino in Italy, and we make wishes on pesos and American dimes before tossing them in the water.

Enjoying Starbuck's coffee with the Chilean military

Day Four
Went to the market yesterday: bought a $5000 peso mirror and a $2 dollar scarf. Most everything else in the market reminded me of Mexico aside from the Easter Island heads, which I can’t seem to justify buying since I didn’t go to Easter Island. Seriously debated buying the kitschy wool llamas, but they are the definition of “dust catchers” and would be impossible to clean. Hiked up (okay fine took the stairs, but I wasn’t raised in the altitude like these New Mexico girls) Cerro Santa Lucia. Found the National Library and an exhibit on Gabriela Mistral. Wandered around the cobblestone streets of Paris-London Town and ended up eating lunch at Pizza Hut for Jenny’s sake. She had been whining about it, and it was worth it just to see the “vegetarian” order a medium double pepperoni pizza. She’s got nothing on me. She’s only been one for two years and recently admitted to eating pork tamales every Christmas. Uh, try five years sweetie. I no longer claim vegetarianism, but I do prefer to eat vegetarian when I can. After a nap we eat dinner at El Shopping Parque Arauco, a piece of The United States transplanted in South America. We’d pretty much done everything there was to do in Santiago (and surrounding areas) so it was nice to have a bit of an American day.

A Chilean PSA that says, "If we are nice and tolerant, our Metro ride will be more pleasant."

Chileans are big on safety. And being nice. And cleanliness. They even have a street zamboni!
Dinner at Parque Arauco with live music and US chain restaurants. Anyone else heard of Pitas, Crepes & Waffles?

Day Five
Checked out of our hotel, took a cab to the airport and enjoyed a last bit of Dunkin Donuts coffee and doughnuts with a handful of remaining Chilean coins. Finished Water for Elephants on the plane. Overrated, if you ask me. Leaving Santiago has me itching to travel more while I'm here. Looking into Machu Picchu and Iguazu Falls. Don't think I can justify Brazil...