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Published: July 20th 2006
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"This is not Pucon," Flaco said, looking up from his beer in an empty bar on a rainy night in a vacant town.
Flaco is a Chilean who has made his home in the world--living here and then there and now in Pucon. He owns an outdoors clothing shop and guides tourists up the Volcon Villarica when the weather is better. He earned his nickname with his height.
The bar was tended by a visiting owner at the Hostel Ecole. We were the only three people drinking just then--maybe in the whole town.
Even through a thick curtain of gray rain, I could see that Pucon is electric. The town pulsed with more energy even in the deadest of its dormant season than any other place I've been. I had three nights in Pucon, and thought I might try to hold out an extra three for the thin promise of good weather. I wanted to climb the famed Volcon Villarica--a snow-capped live monster that gobbles up tourists and spits them out again with heroing tales and parent-melting photos of bubbling red lava.
Unfortunately--or as it turned out, fortunately--Santiago was calling me and I could not stay in
Pucon, though it wasn't easy to leave. Really.
I expected I could pass a week in Pucon's rain. I'd spent more than a month in the rain already. I was getting used to it--feeling almost like I belonged in the Pacific northwest when I return home. (Not really. Lluvia drives me mad). I had plans to take Spanish classes and visit a Mapuche village. Those were reasonable enough ideas for rainy days, though the guide books utterly ignore the possibility that their readers might be looking for alternatives in a town where it rains more than 200 days a year.
I went trekking with skis and skins to a hut Andres, Flaco and Claudio are building in the woods. The rain turned to snow at higher altitudes. It was a nice trip and we drank wine with red bull while we dried our things by the fire. I went to the natural volcanic hot springs, which smell much nicer than the ones at home.
I took a Spanish class one day. And it just isn't the same when you're not making a long-term commitment, I think. I didn't like it and it was really expensive. On my
final day in town, I planned a bus trip out to Currahuahua, a Mapuche village 30 minutes outside of town. I tromped through flooded streets in a downpour, only to be turned around again. The street was flooded and the busses were not going to Currahuahua.
I spent the rest of the day trying to explore the deserted town. But I kept returning to the hostal to ring out my jeans and socks. Eventually I passed the evening hours until my 9 p.m. bus ride in the pub with Sven from England and a pitcher of cerveza. Then I found out my 9 p.m. bus couldn't make it to Pucon because the roads were flooded. So I passed a little more time with Sven and another pitcher.
I caught an 8 a.m. bus to Santiago the next morning and suffered the punishment for my return to the watering hole the night before. It was a long, long trip involving a broken down bus and countless detours around flooded roads and demolished bridges.
The next morning, I read in the newspaper that the areas I drove through were declared disaster areas and President Bachalett was visiting the victims
of the flood-ravaged south of Chile.
Anyway... I'm here now and have been for almost a week. My cousin Jeff´s wife is from Chile and she has put me in touch with her sister, Sol, and her father, Memo. Sol has a hostal in the most historic part of Santiago. And her husband owns a restaurant just up the road.
The hostal is beautiful, Hostal Santiago, 10 private rooms with bathrooms. And the restaurant has to be one of the coolest places I've ever visited. It's the Boulevard Lavoud in a historical barber shop and the apartment that was above it. The seats inside are couches, cushy chairs and padded barber shop chairs with old fashioned hairdryers hovering over guests´ heads like halos. Nothing is thrown together. The place is filled with antiques and unique nick knacks from times passed. But every bit of it has been arranged with aesthetics in mind. The food is also incredible--French. I'm not sure I've ever seen rabbit on a menu before, at least not in any place where I could afford to eat.
Okay.. I suppose I should stop writing an ad for the restaurant. But I've come to care
Santiago
This churts comes out of nowhere as you walk through the park near Hostal Santiago. It's clearly as old as the rest of this historic part of Santiago.----- a lot about these places and believe they are really special.
Sol and her husband, Christian, are very involved in restoring the historical buildings of old Santiago--Barrio Brazil. Every day, Zarita, the woman who lives and works in the hostal with her husband Edwin and their two daughters, goes outside to paint over the grafiti. The buildings in this area started going up in the mid-1800s. The architecture here is different. I could be in London when I walk through these streets, except that the people here seem to have a reverse appreciation for things old. There's layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of mostly meaningless grafiti on only the oldest and most interesting-looking buildings. In the newer part of the city, people respect the buildings.
Sol lives close to the mountains. Her house is old and also beautiful. But it's one of just a tiny few old houses in a mess of towering new apartment buildings.
I've taken up a few projects here in Santiago. I'm working on a little freelance article about Chile's push to become a bilingual country and it's recent interest in importing native-English-speaking teachers. I don't know where it will go
or if it will go anywhere. But it gives me something to do. The idea was born when I volunteered to answer e-mails or complete some other mundane tasks for the man who owns Teaching Chile, a teacher recruitment program.
I've also helped Sol with a few little things here and there, but mostly she's let me tag along when she does business concerning the restaurant and hostal. Her father, Memo, was a world class swimmer. He would have gone to the Olympics in 1956 if Chile hadn't decided to give swimming a miss that year. He still, at 76 and after a quadruple bi-pass, swims every day. He said he feels like something's missing if he doesn't.
I went skiing at Valle Nevado last Friday. It was perfect because the snow was fresh and the sun was strong. I went with Simon, an Australian guy who is here to teach English. He taught skiing at Tahoe and has a Chilean friend he met there. We were hooked up with great ski rentals (I had the same stuff I use at home), affordable transportation and a cheap lunch. It was still a little pricey, but defenitely worth it.
Santiago
Simon, Edwin, Zarita and Christina have dinner and wine at the hostal. Simon has quite an interesting story and we've been exploring the city together. It's nice to have a buddy here. Two women arrived today from England, also to teach English. So things are spicing up a bit, I think.
I met Luz, a friend of my Aunt Sheila, today. We are going to get together Saturday. I'll find out what I'm in for later. I'm not short on things to do here. The longer I stay, the busier my days get.
I plan to stay here until the end of July and then head up to San Pedro de Atacoma. I'm extending this vieje a bit. I won't be heading home until early- or mid-October
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Kelly
Kelly Minks
Photos
Hey I've been living in Santiago for the past month and I'm having the worst time being able to upload photos onto my computer. Would you mind if I borrowed a few of your shots of the city?