Out of the Desert into the anthill

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Leaving San Pedro is like walking past Zaytoon Kebab shop at 3Am on Camden Street Dublin, something I really didn't want to do. Unfortunately changing our previously arranged bus tickets in exchange for another afternoon of sand boarding was a small fortune and in fairness if a family cat was coughing up as much hairballs as I was hocking up swallowed sand you'd have to put it down.

We had two buses to catch, one from San Pedro to Caldera and a HI tech Boula bus from there to Santiago. Caldera being a hub for mining operations in the north of Chile and a stone throw from the famous Chilean mine rescue that happened late last year. The second bus, while we occupied seats that comfortably reclined that were thankfully not located inches from the toilet were still not boula bus material, Chile's buses simply are not to the same standard as their Argentinean neighbours, there was no bingo or showing of the hangover in English. We did however watch inception dubbed in Spanish and that was some serious bout of mind fornication.

Caldera however had its moment, Niamh decided to go walk about to find some essential supplies for the trip, essentials being anything brightly coloured ,displayed in a plastic bag with teddy bears on the front containing copious amounts of e numbers contained therein. While this was taking place, a Chilean man in very high spirits sat down beside me.

Clutching a six pack of Escudo larger under each arm I must admit he was a welcome acquaintance, despite the fact that we knew precious little of the others language. After a bit of back and forth with sign language I established he was a miner on his 5 day furlough to Santiago. This he communicated to me in an interesting fashion, he holds up five fingers three times in a row while making a show of wiping his perspiration with his other hand while doing so, he puts his hands together so that they make the shape and accompanying motions of a bird flying free, then he starts kissing his bus ticket over and over. I have to say, being a huge sap that I am; it would break your heart.

He then explained through Honours level charades that due to the Chilean mines heat and general tough working conditions that beer was on tap for all workers throughout the duration. I asked him about what was good about working in the mines and did the universal Jay Z “I got lots of Cheddar" gesture (i.e. the dough is good). He then insisted I share a beer with him and enjoy one of his cigarettes, the former request being refused due to pisco induced painful black hole being evident in the side of my head and my ongoing promise with Bilo that he be entitled to kick me in the private parts whenever I indulge in pilfered cigarette when under the influence. In relation to the later, I momentarily considered taking him up on his offer, bilo would have to come down here to administer the required kick but I could in turn steal his passport and he’d have to be stuck here for a while. He could bring Dara and Huey in his hand luggage and Marc in his suitcase, Fruits and Kev would obviously have to be shipped.

We were told Santiago was smog filled metropolis and not a patch on the other big cities in South America. From what you hear from many people, Buenos Aires would be like the hot Portuguese housekeeper Colin Firth lusts after in Love Actually and Santiago would be her big moustached ogre like sister you see in the last act of the film.

We were pleasantly surprised. The streets are clean, the parks are landscaped to perfection and there plenty of lovely big squares dotted about to explore lined with Chilean flags as big as houses.

We are staying in the Eco Hostel for the next couple of days and hence its name you’re no sooner in the door when you see Greenpeace banners and Free Tibet written on every available surface, the DVD collection of pretty much every film Michael Moore has directed is complemented nicely by the book exchange with plenty red tinted literature which would have recently elected Richard Boyd Barrett breaking wind with excitement.


The Eco Hostel is one of the nicest hostels we've stayed in so far, the room is massive, the staff friendly, the rates excellent by Chilean standards, theres seven different types of waste bin and there’s a lovely patio complete with hammocks. We originally planned to change hostel half way through our week but decided the place was so perfect we would simply stay put for the entire week, Bellavista, a nightlife district is only up the road and central Santiago is a 5 minute walk away,

Being an Eco Hostel, it attracts a certain breed of people and you get a lot of new agey sorts who have been travelling for years, most of them are lovely and have great stories to tell but there is one small sect that are a blight on this otherwise tranquil hostel....Militant Vegetarians.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against vegetarians, while I don’t see the dietary choice as natural a lot of their food is quite delicious should you give it a go and all the vegetarians I know at home are lovely people. Its Militant vegetarians I have a problem with. They go around the hostel in there silly headbands with perpetual scowls on their face at the other guests, they stare at the piece of chorizo im cutting as if it had been cut from the flanks of a small baby.

Apparently they are hitting Argentina next and I would pay considerable money to see the expressions of abject horror on their faces when they see the carnivorous delights that are sold in Argentinean restaurants....their going to be like pack of nurses who wandered into a Mexican donkey show.

Speaking of meat, we signed up for the Hostels in house BBQ the first night, being far too tired to cook. The deal is 8 quid for feed washed down by beer and wine, the vegetarian Taliban generally hide upstairs whenever the BBQ is on so this is an added bonus. The Hostel also plays host to a tour group who begin their South American trip in Santiago, they get briefed on their destinations before attending the BBQ which is conveniently scheduled to begin following their pep talk. Both myself and Niamh sat down for dinner, Niamh beside an American and two New Zealanders who were lovely, two of which were vegetarians but thankfully not the militant type.

I sat down beside another American fella in his early twenties and breaking the ice asked was it BBQ time or meeting time( Myself and Niamh gate crashed the meeting earlier thinking it was the BBQ) He simply said, "Excuse me im talking to this person here" motioning to someone across the table and promptly turned his back to me, this was going to be long BBQ.

Food began to be ladled out, beer poured and wine uncorked, my new found BBQ buddy requested the passing of items from our side of the table by extending his hand and grunting the name of the item required be it "Fork" "Napkin" or "TOM-ATOES" while doing his best to keep his back to a 45 degree angles to the rest of the table.

I had long since confined my interactions with Niamhs end of the table in response to this, the Kiwi's and the other American being lovely to talk to until BBQ buddy came out with a clanger. Apparently he had judged the English girl across the table as being worthy to talk to and a conversation involving British actors had arisen.

Speaking in fluent ignorance with an American dialect he announced " Britain produces some of the best actors like "COLON Farrell" "Liam Neeson" and "Daniel Day Lewis". At this I had to turn and correct him and advise that those actors are actually Irish, although Liam Neeson being from the north could be claimed as English on a technicality.

But they’re pretty much British, he grunts, then turns his back as far to me as it would go, seriously it must have been hard to sit at such an angle and then adds "Christian Bale" to the list of English actors.

"Christian Bale is Welch"

"Wales is in England"

At this point the English girl attempting to change the subject asked me how long I had been away and the subject of round the world tickets came up. My geographically challenged neighbour asked me how much my South American- Asia ticket cost and once I told him the figure he triumphantly told me I was ripped off and his was much much cheaper, for 1000 dollars less he could travel from the US, to Santiago, stop over in New Zealand, hope into Bangkok and then fly back home across the pacific ocean to the good ole US of A.

I told them that the reason I lived in Ireland, or Britain as he called it, I had to fly over a rather insignificant body of water known as the Atlantic Ocean and that the air fuel consumed in such an endeavour most likely lead to me paying a heftier price then himself, who had only the Pacific ocean to traverse. The Atlantic Ocean, despite what that TV advert from Guinness a few years ago suggested, cannot be swam by jumping off the cliffs of Mohar and taking a short swim to New York.

"No that’s not incorrect, Pacific is really big and the Atlantic is smaller you guys got ripped off"

I gave up at this point.

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Photos

Hammocks!
ANDREW PUSH ME!

Chorizo Pizza
Not made from infants