Santiago

November 5th-9th, 2015

When I first went to Costa Rica, I told my friend Jutta that I would come to see her at the end of the two months in Central America.  Once we researched ticket prices and flight times, we realized it was one hell of a lot further then we thought.  I put Chile on the shelf for a while, until I decided to extend my trip by another two months. Santiago ended up being my destination goal.

Finishing my 4 month gallivant by visiting friends in Santiago was perfect. After months of new people, new experiences, and new places, it was soothing to be around familiar faces.   I stayed with one of my best friends Jutta, her boyfriend Francisco, and their roommate Pablito.  We started off each day with a lovely breakfast of avocado, eggs, bread, and Spanglish.  Jutta and I stayed up talking until very late drinking beer (just like old times), reminiscing and talking about everything and nothing.

When I first arrived from San Pedro de Atacama, Jutta and Francisco were waiting at the airport (very late at night- thanks guys).  Even though poor Jutta had to wake up very early in the morning, we couldn't help but have a few beer and begin catching up.  Let me tell you- after staying in hostels for the last month and being having the 24 hour stomach flu in the high Bolivian desert, having my own bedroom and bathroom was a real treat. The next day while Jutta was at work, I totally basqued in my own bed, in my own bedroom, and loved it way too much.  

Fransico and Jutta lives in the Bellavista neighbourhood (close to Pablo Neruda's house), and I explored by foot while she was at work. That night, we went out in a bustling neighbourhood teeming with bars, and sidewalk patios, and we met one of our friends, Felipe. Francisco joined us later on his bike. We stayed up way too late (again), and enjoyed too much pizza, beer, and fun (obvs).  

The next day, poor Jutta had to go to work again (what a trooper), and after locking myself in the courtyard between the locked apartment door and the locked gate, my friend Felipe luckily was able to get me out. Felipe and I went to grab a hung-over breakfast, and he took me to the bus stop where I'd be off to Valparaiso. He was going down South, so we gave each other hugs goodbye and I made my way to one of my favourite cities ever.

When I got back, Jutta, Francisco, Pablito, and I went out to meet some of Jutta's friends from work, and explored more of the nightlife of Santiago. While being hung over for the 10th morning in a row, I woke up to a pretty strong earthquake.  Annoyed, I just grumbled to the earthquake that I had a headache and that it should be quiet. I'm pretty sure it didn't listen to me, but it stopped (thank goodness), and in celebration Jutta, Francisco and I went to explore the farmer's markets, where we got fresh-fruit smoothies, and ingredients for a late lunch that night. We also went to a famous Chilean place to get the drink called Teremoto, which means earthquake in Spanish.  It is a mixture of fermented white wine (pipeño) and pineapple ice cream. We had many conversations with the locals and headed home to BBQ and drink red wine.  That evening we went to visit our friend Aleli and her two adorable children for afternoon tea, which is a tradition in Chile.  And finally, I joined Fransico and Jutta on their night of tango which was superb.  

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Farmer's market late lunch with Chilean Wine

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Drinking terremotos after real terremoto that morning

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Jutta, Aleli and her two little ones, and I after evening tea

After a night of Argentinian tango and an early-ish night, Jutta and I spent the next day touring around Santiago.  We joined in on a walking tour, and they explained everything from the Pinochet Regime and coffee-with-legs.  That night we visited our friend in a condo building (which would be scary times in an earthquake). The wine was lovely and so was the company. 

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Jutta drinking coffee with the jacked up pony 

The morning I left was surreal, and bitter sweet.  I gave Jutta a big hug good bye, and was finally Canada bound. 

Valparaiso

November 4th-5th, 2015

Valaparaíso; what a dream.  It is no wonder Neruda lived there. Just being there for two days filled me with the urge to write.  

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Street art in Valparaiso

Valaparaíso is a city sprawling with murals and bohemian charm, secret ally ways that bring you to art splashed cafes, and slides and gondolas zipping you down from one elevation to the next.  For those with child-like, playful spirits, you will never want to leave.

I arrived with my second hangover in a row. I was set on partying my way through Chile. Out of the 9 days I had in Chile, I was hungover for 7 of them. I got to the hostel by cab and took a nap, and talked to my friend Brian about upcoming visits. I got up after a couple of hours and took the the streets in search of an early supper.  I walked for about an hour, exploring aimlessly, until I settled on a place because it felt right.  I got fish, salad, and of course another glass of delectable Chilean wine.  

As I was finishing my supper, three girls that I met in Sucre about two weeks before walked in.  It is crazy to keep meeting people over and over again as we travel at our different paces along the gringo trail.  Three law students from London, who are stylish without even trying, and so much fun.  One girl stayed (hi Sherin!) and we each had two desserts (because you only live once, and you need as much chocolate mousse as possible), and two glasses of wine.  The waitress judged us a little bit. 

We eventually found our way to where the other two girls were eating, and enjoyed two pisco sours and listened to jazz while looking over the city lights and talking about traveling love affairs.  The other two girls went home, but Sherin and I were swept up in the magic of the city (and in the magic of pisco sours) and took the slide down the street, where we saw a lot of people outside of a bar.  The waiter, with a face decorated in an awesome beard hair, ushered us in through the crowd outside.  We ordered a bottle of wine, and were all of the sudden part of an intimate audience of a Chilean Spanish improv show. 

In true Chilean form, the Spanish was dashed with slang and heavily accented, and we couldn't understand anything.  It was still thoroughly entertaining, as most of what is said is body language anyways.  As we finished our bottle of wine, avoiding eye contact with the actors so they wouldn't call upon us, the improv show ended and out of the night appeared a 12 part band playing Arabian Gypsy music that got everyone dancing between cigarette breaks and more wine.  

By the end of the night we were talking to locals, temporarily adopting the world's sweetest street dogs, and wandering through the hills watching late night street artists and trying not to get lost. We eventually made it home by 3 am, and of course, the next day, I woke up with my 3rd god damn hangover. 

The next day I woke up slowly and had breakfast.  I hate talking in the morning, which is difficult when sitting at a big communal hostel table.  After being a grumpy cat, I got dressed, promised the hostel owner I'd be back to have a drink with him, and went out to find Pablo Neruda's home in the hills.  I picked up an empanada on the way, stopped at a cafe for a hit of caffeine to fight off my new hangover, and walked the winding streets to Neruda's breezy home shooting too many photos of street art. 

Pablo Neruda's home in Valparaiso 

Pablo Neruda's house was eclectic and wondrous  and elicited a craving to write. It was full of whimsical and alluring collections with a definite nautical feel. It cheered on my notion of owning an apartment full of art and artefacts from my travels, and of course art from my family and friends. Neruda was a nobel-prize winning poet, diplomat, napper, collector, and apparently the most splendid of hosts. He believed that eating alone was like eating in a tomb, and ate every meal with friends.

From Chilean friends, and from traveling around Chile, I've learned a lot about the Pinochet dictatorship which lasted 17 years (1973-1990).  It was released in the news a couple of days ago that the Chilean Government admits that Pinhochet may have been behind Neruda's death in 1973.  Neruda was good friends with the socialist leader of the government that Pinochet overthrew.  The pain that Chile went through during the Pinochet government is astronomical. Being at Neruda's house, and traveling through Chile, meeting beautiful people and drinking beautiful wine, had inspired me to learn more about the not-often talked about sad story of the Pinochet dictatorship. 

After Neruda's house, I got a little lost but nevertheless successfully ended up at a walking tour, which was lead by a charming Chilean-American boy. The city has such cool roots, as well as trunk and leaves for that matter.  The old port city and its sprawling colonial architecture is built in the resemblance of ships to fit the hills.  The facades are all protected and original, and the street art will blow your mind.  I met two friends on the tour, and we went out for supper that night for delicious beer and jazz music. The next morning I woke up without a hangover. Thank goodness. 

San Pedro- My first glimpse of Chile

November 1st- November 2nd, 2015

San Pedro, my first Chilean city, was a desert dream. Coming out of a three day desert tour, exhausted from a night of food sickness and a nit-picky border crossing, I made it to a cafe and arranged a ride with my hostel to come get me. Within ten minutes, the building started shaking.  It stopped within seconds, but apparently it was around a 6.6.

The hostel owner came to get me a couple moments later, and told me to change my ticket so I could stay for longer, saying "it's not my fault you changed your reservation". He took me to exchange money, get money etc. and then we drove to the hostel, situated on the outskirts of town with vivid desert views of volcanos that erupted the day before and sandy planes.

A couple hours later, after discovering Chilean electrical outlets don't work with my phone (or computer), I went swimming with a whole bunch of guys from the hostel where we played like fifteen year old boys. When we got back, I wrote a lot, and after dinner and plenty of wine, my new friend Franco and I ran as fast as we could into the desert so we could watch the famous sunset, with some more wine. Our conversation was a lovely concoction of English and Spanish, and we told each other about the various skies we've seen. The desert skies are like the skies in Saskatchewan- living.

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Once the sun set, it was bloody cold, so we walked back accompanied by a dog that found us in the desert. At the hostel I found three Australian boys who were going out for drinks, and they asked me to come along. We went to an amazing bar with live Chilean music, aka the most bad ass flute playing I've ever seen. After pisco sours, beer, wine,and  crazy amounts of Chilean-poutine, we made our way back to the hostel and sat around a fire with some others and talked until 2 in the morning. Since I got up at 4 am, I had to go to bed relatively early. I wanted to stay up forever. 

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And I'm happy I didn't stay up forever, because the next day was unbelievable.  After a three day tour, I was toured out, and I wanted to do a solo mountain bike trip in the desert. I woke up early, caught a ride into town, rented a bike and got a hand drawn map to Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon). It was an easy ride there, and I had that same 'oh my god I miss my bike' feeling that I had when I did Death Road.  I think a more accurate name for the park would be Valle de Marte, or Valley of Mars.  It is red sand, white salt and blue sky.  I basically felt like a human ROVER cycling my way through the desert when my the roads would allow, and dragging my bike through sand dunes to get good views.  I explored for 4.5 hours, and tried to go caving but I was embarrassingly too scared to do it by myself without a bright light. Regrets!  

I made my way back to the bike shop, and since no one was there I grabbed a beer and wrote some more at a rock bar. I think I fit in because I had a bandana on?  Since I forgot my phone, I couldn't call the hostel for a ride, and the bike shop owner who said he'd call for me wasn't there. After about an hour they came to get me, and while I waited I talked to the other guy working at the shop, about cigarettes and Southern Chile. I only had two hours left, so I quickly ate supper, and gave all the guys hugs goodbye when the shuttle came to gather me for the airport. This was my favourite hostel I stayed in during my four month trip- the staff is the loveliest of the lovely. 

Over my desert tour through Bolivia and San Pedro were amongst the most exotic landscapes I've seen in my life. San Pedro is at the top of my list to go back to, because of the amazing little town and the insane landscapes.  It was a geological wonderland.  And considering I was only there for 35 hours, the amount of time it lazily occupies my memories makes it seem like I was there for a lot longer.