Santiago Day 2

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On my second day in Santiago, I woke up early and decided to go walking around the city again. I headed in the direction of a massive mountain, with a big white statue at the peak overlooking the city. I practically retraced my steps of the previous day, but walking down a parallel street to get a different perspective of the city center. This seemed somewhat futile, the city center is pretty much a homogenous monoculture of bland shopping centres. I crossed over a main road, and the scene changed. The shops became much more downmarket, selling cheap lingerie, sneakers, and T-shirts. I needed to buy bottled water, so I headed in the direction of a massive, bustling street market. I suppose the closest local analogue to this place would be the Sydney fruit markets where wholesalers sell to retailers every morning. This place sold all kinds of odd things, however, olives in massive drums, strange looking cuts of meat, and vegetables which were prized for their volume rather than their presentation. Amazingly, I couldn´t find bottled water here, but I did get some photos and some nail clippers. I got a litre and a half of water in a shop nearby and kept on my way.

My target destination, the top of the mountain, was visible all this time, and I left the crowds behind and walked up a steep quiet street to the base. It was sweltering, and there were few trees to provide relief from the hot sun. There were no people around, which I thought was a little strange, but I could see the top of the mountain. So I started walking. Or more accurately, climbing. The trail started out as loose dried mud and clumps of yellow grass, on an angle just steep enough that I needed to concentrate on balance to prevent toppling over backwards from my heavy backpack. I struggled up the hill in the heat, and wondered if I had enough water. Ten minutes in, I was not even a quarter of the way up, and had drunk more than a quarter of my water. I figured it was better to press on. There were occasional roads, but they looked like they traversed around the mountain, either way, they weren't steep enough to get me to my target on time, so I continued on my own improvised trail. The next section was a bit steeper, I had to hold on to the tufts of grass, and test the soil before stepping up to test if it would hold my weight. This was damn hard work, particularly in the heat. I had to stop a couple of times to rest in the occasional patches of shade provided by the trees that were clinging to the steep slope. From here, it just got worse, and I thought of turning back. The next bit was a scrabble up rocks that had been put in place to prevent erosion. This was probably pretty dangerous, but I'm much more stubborn than risk averse. I thought I was going to get caught in a rockslide a couple of times, but the minor avalanches of rocks caused by my misplaced footsteps didn't gain enough momentum to cause any damage. I finally made it to the top of this section, the end of which was marked by another road that seemed to go nowhere. I looked up at the last section, and felt a bit apprehensive. It was mildly steeper, at over forty-five degrees to the vertical, and the rocks were covered in wire netting, and stretched up over a hundred metres. By now, I was starting to think that I had made a mistake, that anywhere which takes this much effort to reach must be some kind of military base. I mentally rehearsed my pleas of innocence to my Chilean captors, that I was "el turist australiano", and "no habla espanol". But I continued anyway, grabbing the wire with my hands and crawling up the steep slope. This was quicker, but more uncomfortable than expected. I was greeted at the top by a cliff, I stood there stunned for a second. There was a sign, "No Pasar", and also said something which looked like it was about falling rocks. I figured that this probably meant no passing downwards, and since I had already gone over the possible falling rocks, the danger was behind me. I walked left around the cliff face, and over and up. There looked to be a few pipes and a bit of graffiti over to the right, so I went that way. At least I knew people had been here before me. It's lucky the pipes were here, because there would have been no other way to climb up the steep, wet, muddy slope. I got to the base, and looked around. I almost walked over a steep drop of 30 vertical metres, sprayed with cheap concrete to prevent erosion. In front of me, there was a wall of maybe five metres, comprised of granite chunks stuck into concrete. With climbing shoes and gear, this was probably doable, but I figured that this was an option of last resort, and looked around again. There was a strange empty looking pond, and some more pipes leading up to the top, where, lo and behold, there was a couple standing. They looked at this strange Australian below them supporting his weight with the pipes as he scrambled up the muddy slope and over the nicely build wooded fence at the top.

They asked me something in spanish, but they looked like gringo tourists, so I replied with my standard "No habla espanol, habla ingles?". Of course, they were americans, and they had got the rail elevator up to the top. "There's a rail elevator? Damnit!". I was tired, sore, hot and thirsty, so I made my way over to the drinks stand to get some cold bottled water and somewhere to sit down.

The lonely planet guidehad spoken of a uniquely Chilean phenomenon, tea houses with bikini clad waitresses. I passed one on my walk back from the mountain. The impression I had gleaned from it´s pages was that this was a non-seedy cultural experience, perhaps the South American equivalent of Hooters. I walked in, and it was like stepping into another world. Ive never been to a strip club, and after going to this tea house, I don´t think I ever will. There was no female patrons of this coffee shop, the clientele were exclusively single men. And they were clearly paying for the waitresses to flirt with them, rather than just paying for coffee. And these girls were working hard for their tips, letting guys with forty years of seniority touch arms, backs and waists for the sake of a few pesos. I wanted out. I didn´t want to be part of this, to be one of these guys. Then my waitress came over. Ill admit she was cute, with great olive skin, curves in all the right places, and a baby face with a button nose that suited her perfectly, like a glazed cherry on a cupcake. Her name was Maria. I figured I can get a juice (advertised on the board outside), drink it quickly, give 100% tip and get out of here. Perhaps it was my pronunciation of a word starting with a "J", or perhaps they didn´t have any, but either way she brought over some hot tea with lemon in it. She didn´t speak a word of English. Actually, that´s not true. She knew two words that she would chant over and over again, "Fuck Me, Fuck Me, Fuck Me". Maybe this job was a step up for her. I practiced my spanish on her a little, got the bill and gave her a tip of $2.50. It was way too much. She acted like I had just handed her the keys to a Ferrari. I kissed the air next to her cheek, and got the hell out of there.

I went to a great sushi place for dinner. It was exactly what I had been looking for on day one in Santiago. Proper tempura prawns, with the rice flour batter voluminous and crunchy, fresh mixed sashimi, and delicious rolls. It was $40, with a ten percent tip included. Seeing earlier how some people earn their tips, I felt like this service charge was a rip off. After all, it doesn´t cost more to serve expensive food than cheap tea.

After chilling in the pool back at the hostel, I got an email from Nikki. She was planning to be in Santiago, and then Valparaiso. I was heading to Valparaiso next, so I accepted her offer to meet up sometime in the next week or so. Next stop, Valparaiso!

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