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Published: January 29th 2006
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The thin strip of south american land that faces the thundering Pacific ocean is Chile. That's where I am. What's it best known for? Stealing part of Bolivia's border and its access to the sea, Augusto Pinochet and his deadly rein of power, Salvador Allende and his sad demise, the atacama desert of the north, the once world-renowned seaport of Valparaiso and the stunning landscapes of the south...
From Mendoza, I arrived in the Capital
Santiago after a few uncomfortable hours on another bus. I say without shame that long-distance buses are now starting to really get up my nose, really piss me off, drag me down, raise my blood pressure and hurt my neck. Apart from that everything's hunky dory or
todo bien as the latins would say. I think it might be time to hop on a plane and find somewhere to relax... But don't worry it certainly won't be back to the UK just yet. Maybe Uruguay again?
I arrived in Santiago on what was a historic night for the country: they elected their first-ever female president, Michelle Bachelet after a strong socialist and centre-left campaign. The city went wild, car horns blaring, smiling
The Retro bar, Ancùd, Chiloè
From Left: Marc (France) Me (Wales, in case you didn't know), Jessica (Chile) and Dominique (France).
A multi-cultural piss-up! Excuse my language... faces, sloganeering and flag-wearing and waving. Hopefully good times are ahead for the workers. Santiago was OK, just another big mess of concrete, noise and confusion; nothing to catch the eye. Upon my entry, the taxi-driver ripped me off for $20 and I didn't even notice until I was sitting down eating a burger two hours later. So who's the real idiot? I stayed at a the ''HI hostel Santiago'' in the centre, and to any backpackers reading this: Don't go there, you couldn't wish to find a more unfriendly, unhelpful miserable gaggle of bas***'ds working at a hostel. They should be working in a British restaurant, not in south america. I wish them a slow and painful death when the time is right... OK, that's a bit strong, I was only joking. And from here I headed somewhere lively & lovely...
Valparaiso is less than two hours from the capital and certainly worth the short journey. It truly is a great little town with immense character, colour, history and charm. And nicer hostel owners! I couldn't get over how much it reminded me of San Francisco in the U.S. The steep streets and hills, the colourful odd-looking houses,
street musicians, beggars, the boats at the docks, the souvenier stalls and simply the life of the place. Nearby is another famous resort called Viña Del Mar, I went for a few hours but didn't like the look of the glowing green water crashing in. And from here I travelled further south...
Villarrica is a cosy little town near the famous volcano of Pucon. I stayed briefly in a hostel called Torresuiza where again I was thoroughly dissapointed with the attitude of the owners, who happened to be Swiss. Overpriced, smelly messy dorm rooms and cold industrial attitudes. I then found a local family-run hospedaje which was the total opposite. Here in Villarrica, I initially planned on climbing the volcano but got the flu and stayed in bed mostly with cold remedies which made me sleep many hours, but they worked. And from here it was onto...
Chiloè, a fabled, mystical island that floats misteriously off from the mainland. I stayed here for a week at a place called Hospedaje Austral in the small town of Ancud. It´s run by three generations of the same family, the grandmother (Mércedes), the mother (Mirta) and the daughter (Francis)... And it´s
a madhouse. It´s one of the most bonkers houses I have ever stayed in, a hive of activity and random conversation all being conducted by Mirta; with Mércedes chipping in with random backchat, various nationalities around the dinner table but easily one of the most warm and friendly hospedajes I have stayed in aswell. They are crackers, especially Mirta and Mércedes.
Now, the overwhelming majority of Latin Americans have never heard of Wales and when I say it´s in Great Britain they assume that I am from London! But, usually, they know of Prince Charles of Wales (in spanish: Príncipe de Gales) and the deceased Princess Diana. And I am so happy to tell them all that those particular persons are English and certainly not Welsh. So sometimes I say for a joke that I am the Prince of Wales, travelling undercover. But here, although it was a joke, they kept it up for a week, bowing every time I entered the room, applauding me sometimes, introducing me to all new arrivals as the Prince of Wales... And do you know? I don´t think they even knew my real name after a week there! But it was hilarious,
or rather they were hilarious. I had a great time here and miss the place already.
And now soon back to Argentina, a famous gringo-filled town called Bariloche, and back to industrial and clichéd ´´oh come on let´s party because we are mad and young´´ hostels.
Oh the cynicism. But forgive me, I am approaching 28.
Peace and love to you all,
Jamie,
Puerto Montt,
Chile.
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TJ
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Miserable Git...
Jamie, when the next hostel pisses you off or the next 21 year old in trousers with zips all over them says 'let's paty man' try to think of Swansea and remember that it could be worse, you could be back home!