On the road again, heading South

Time to re-start the ol' blog, what with the "teaching" part taking a break. It's only fair as the "trotting" took a back-seat for a couple years so I could get a grip on the teaching.

Here I am in Santiago de Chile, at quarter to 1 in the morning, unable to sleep because I'm still on Lima time, which is 2 hours behind. We (Ursula, my trusty travelling companion and I) still haven’t quite figured out why Chile is so far ahead as the sun sets at 9:30pm! It reminds me of English summers. It IS Summer in Chile, so perhaps it makes sense and Lima is comparatively drearier, weather-wise. We are staying in an excellently placed hostel on the Plaza de Armas, the main square ubiquitous in every South American city and town. It is unimaginatively, although quite usefully, named Hostel Plaza de Armas and 6 floors up on the building which occupies one side of the Plaza, giving us an excellent view and perfect positioning. I did breathe a sigh of relief when I saw the elevator after walking around with my ridiculously (but necessarily so) large rucksack for a few minutes having lost the address. Oops...

Before I start on my adventures in Santiago, let me go back to our first day in Chile, the destination being the coastal town of Viña del Mar. We took a bus from the Santiago airport to the Pajaritos stop and a connecting bus to the small seaside town. My airport encounter with the Chilenos was an intriguing one. My strange, almost-South American-but-not-quite-features always attract curiosity from the locals and a taxi driver started up a conversation and I took the opportunity to get more information about getting in to town and to Viña del Mar while Ursula tried to call her cousin. When Ursula walked past me not having heard my call, he asked me if my friend was deaf! Strange introduction to the people. Then, getting on to the bus, the young conductor was extremely friendly and helpful with getting my afore-mentioned mammoth of a bag on to the crowded bus. Ursula commented on it and suggested a possible keener interest on his behalf. I shrugged this off as I am not used to unwanted attentions (or wanted ones, for that matter!), especially not in the company of my more gorgeous friends. However, when we got on the bus he stroked my arm! I must add, not in a lecherous manner, but almost as if to see if my skin was painted or really that colour! It takes all types...

Adventures in Viña del Mar do pale in comparison, but nevertheless we arrived there in time to see the late sunset after having a saunter down the seafront. The beach was nothing to write home about, but the waves were huge and the large rock just in front of the beach created the most beautifully impressive crashing spray. My attempts to create an ‘Aphrodite emerging from the sea spray’ with Ursula didn’t quite work out due to her inability to take direction well. It’s a good thing she didn’t go in to modelling, or perhaps she just needs a few goes on “Peru’s next top model”. Back to Viña del Mar: the beach front buildings are a strange sort of mish-mash of architectural styles. Somewhat like escapees from various countries in Europe landed on the shores and built their abodes in homage to their homeland; Swiss chalets, German castles, traditional Spanish, Parisian bridges and even a more modern submarine-style apartment building. The latter was vaguely reminiscent of something from my childhood, but I can’t put my finger on quite what. However, the guesthouse we stayed in, La Casona de Chorillos, was the perfect mix of quaint and comfortable to make us feel quite at home. Littered, artistically, with antiques and random reminders of the past, we spent our first night in Chile sharing our rooms with some golden oldies, me with Marilyn Monroe and Ursula with James Dean! The owners were lovely too, even driving us to the neighbouring town of Valparaiso the next day.

Now, Valparaiso is a town with character and its own signature claim to fame. Filled with brightly coloured houses (apparently 47 different hues) built clustered on hills (cerros) and a multitude of small cable cars (ascensores) taking you up the hills to pretty neighbourhoods of colourful graffiti (the good arty ones, not just jumbo-lettered nonsense), small shops selling pretty artisan jewellery and enchanting little squares come upon by turning sharp corners. The square on Cerro Alegre (using ascensor Concepcion) could be something straight out of a movie, with birds chirping in the trees that provide shade to the centre of the square, under one of which a man is strumming on his guitar. An old man has set up a stall of useful souvenirs craftily combining signature images of Valparaiso with bright colours and another lady has a table of brightly coloured jewellery. The 2-storey houses surrounding the square are small and pretty: bright doors, cheerful windows, flowery vines spreading across the eaves and draping down columns in front. If you take the stairs to the side of the square leading down the hill, you will encounter the most colourful representations of the town in graffiti form and a quirky little restaurant with a joker’s head in brass watching over you.

Before I get caught up in the “pretty little things”, I shall tell you about the old sailor we met. Hector now works as a security guard in one of the taller buildings in Valparaiso where we were invited by the owner of our Viña del Mar B&B to see the view of the town. I can’t claim to understand most of what he said, but he loves his politics and I gather he is very much against the right, as apparently are quite a few people in Viña del Mar: one old gent giving Ursula directions and saying, “I don’t even want to say the word, but turn right.” Hector told us that our duty as teachers was to teach the children how to think for themselves. Wise words indeed, despite almost burning to crisps in the hot sun to hear them. He also pointed us in the direction of Pablo Neruda’s “house”. We didn’t have enough time, nor did we want to spend the money to go in, but it was my first idea that Neruda had anything to do with Chile, when in fact it turns out he was Chilean! I remember first being introduced to him when I was 14 in my English Literature class. I liked that poem and I remember wanting to read more. Whether I ever did, I don’t know and I can’t quite remember what the original poem was or the theme. My memory is a strange and obstinate thing, perhaps some of my Lit. classmates might remember... Nevertheless, a poet who wrote in Spanish was, to my 14 year-old mind, from Spain, so I never considered his actual nationality and this was an enlightening surprise.

Well, that was the coast and now, the capital.