Advertisement
Published: April 25th 2010
Looking at my plate, I knew that this was the beginning of the end for Chile. The outline of each piece of half moon-shaped pasta was rendered a distorted lumpy mound below a cloak of rapidly-congealing cream sauce, a few withered green pieces of oregano draped the side of the plate, and a stack of plain toast rested unappetizingly on an oily paper napkin just beyond the mountain of so-called pasta. And just when I thought we had reached the rock-bottom of food presentation, the waitress dropped off a sloppy shot of espresso--which splashed dark dots on to the white table cloth. Glancing up from our meal, I made eye contact with Pierce and he said, “It’s going to be a long two months in Chile.” Well put, I thought. I choked down the espresso shot before taking on the mound of pasta--but I knew this was Chile’s last chance. Escape was imminent.
We had planned to cap off our travels with a big adventure to the Patagonia region of southern Chile and southern Argentina, so on December 29th we arrived in to Santiago. Immediately, we were disenchanted with Santiago. We failed to see her charm. Compared to the chaotically
beautiful streets of Hanoi or the colorful kitchens of Thailand or the painfully perfect Japanese, Santiago seemed like a wasteland of colorless characters and bland eateries.
If Santiago had a symbol it would certainly be something called a “completo” (which really seems like a Spanglish word to me, but I am told is real Spanish). A completo is a hot dog dressed in mayo, mustard, ketchup, mashed avocado, and onions. When I say “hot dog” I mean low-grade, generic, off-colored, not-entirely-sure-if-this-is-really-meat sausage that people usually only attempt to eat after a several watery beers at a baseball game have impaired their better judgment. But in Santiago the completo is a way of life. The streets of Santiago are lined with completo venders. Restaurant signs proudly display pictures of the completo. Business men, toddlers, and teenagers alike tote the completo around town.
After a few days in Santiago, one attempt at stomaching a completo, and a frustrating search for the seemingly-elusive Chilean charm, we moved to a near-by port city called Valpariso. Che had written poetically about “Valpo” (as the locals call it), describing it’s terraced artsy buildings clinging to the hillside and gentling cascading into the sea. As
it turns out, Valpo is pretty little city, but there isn’t really much to do there. The principle activity appears to be dining out--which seems ironic in a country with awful food. Fancy seafood and copious amounts of wine are not on our can-do list while traveling. We simply don’t have the money to sustain that sort of traveling lifestyle…and we wouldn’t want to. Valpo again offers some dining challenges, but we discover a pleasant ice cream shop one afternoon.
The peace of the ice cream shop is disturbed when a very boisterous, slightly stout, graying American man and two very tan Chilean girls join us. He tells us that he is a professional soccer coach and that he is visiting the two Chilean girls for the week. While the entire dynamic strikes me as a bit strange, they seem harmless enough. Before we can pay for our ice cream, the American guy offers to “treat” us, the Chilean girls, and another party of 5 people who have arrived.
“He always does this,“ one of the Chilean girls remarks to me while we are standing outside of the ice cream shop together. She and her sister are rail
thin and I am told they are local models and “television personalities.” Before my thoughts linger for too long on how a person can possibly maintain a healthy weight in Chile, she interrupts with the question, “Have you been to the beach yet?“ I tell her no. “We are going now. Come with us. I insist,“ she says as she links arms with the American guy.
Moments later, we are riding in the car with the two Chilean girls and the American guy. As we get into the car--our bellies full of ice cream--one of the Chilean girls thrusts a bag of chips towards to the back seat and offers us some. The American guy jokes “They are Americans--they don’t eat like Chileans” and gently takes the bag of chips back. The Chilean girl seems confused by this comment, but she shrugs, drops a few chips into her mouth, crunches loudly, and we speed off to the chilly Chilean beach.
Wrapped in our jackets on the chilly beach, wind blown, and deeply uncomfortable--I wonder if we will be able to hack it in Chile. Is this the best Chile has to offer? As if hearing my thoughts, the American guy says, “What’s so special about this beach?” and then, as an after thought, he jokes, “Why would you bring us to a beach where we can’t even wear swimming suits? What kind of beaches do you have here? It’s fucking freezing!” It’s an apt observation, I think.
Our entire beach outing leaves me suspicious of Chile. Is this as good as it gets? Chilly beaches and bland food? After a few more weeks in Chile we know our limits. We can handle the cold beaches. We can handle the long bus rides. We can handle the pricey hotels. But we just can’t handle the bad food. We travel listlessly, vacantly around Chile. We are empty without our precious food adventures to sustain us. Finally, we give in. We accept that we travel for food and we book a ticket out of there.
On our final night in Chile, we stumble upon a Ruby Tuesdays restaurant. We spend $30 on the sampler platter (mozzarella sticks, chicken wings, and veggies) and two sodas. While the food is awful--partially frozen, lacking in flavor, and over priced--the thought of leaving Chile is invigorating and we finish our meal without huge complaint. The next morning, we board the plane for our flight home. We relish the airplane food--sampling the packaged salad, preservative-packed bread roll, and creepy chicken in sauce--and finally sleep soundly--knowing that the land of completos is behind us.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.185s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 11; qc: 57; dbt: 0.0533s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Mom and Dad
non-member comment
a non-food adventure....
After all that wonderful food you had earlier in your travels, no wonder you were so disappointed! Hot dogs were never one of your favorites so I can imagine how hard it was for you to even try one of those!