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Published: November 2nd 2011
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The unrepentant city of Valparaiso, in its full torn regalia, chewed up and spat us out in two days.
This is Pablo Neruda's "crazy" city: ODA A VALPARAÍSO VALPARAÍSO,
qué disparate
eres,
qué loco,
puerto loco,
qué cabeza
con cerros,
desgreñada,
no acabas
de peinarte,
Arrived 2 pm at the main bus terminal on Pedro Montt after a pleasant two-hour ride from Santiago. The cacophony of the traffic, thousands of vendors selling mounds of strawberries, BBQ meat on sticks, Emanadas, newspapers and magazines, dazed travellers, and even a line of unemployed men around the building shocked us out of the pleasant daydreams of the bus ride.
The taxi stand in front of the terminal was empty. We saw several taxies go by on the other side of the street and decided to walk away from this crazy terminal.
Most cabs got hailed and taken by the more nimble locals who darted in and out of the buses and cars. We saw a rare cab idling a block away, walked over and showed our destination written on a piece of paper: "Valparaiso Vinyard Inn & Robinson Crusoe Hotel," Hector Calvo 380. The driver shook his head as if
he couldn't fathom what or where this might be.
I sat the small backpack (my only luggage) next to my right foot and lowered myself to better understand the driver. I felt a tug at the bag turned my head just in time to see a blur of image: a young man taking off with my bag. I bolted forward and grabbed it back, and while we were in a desperate tug of war, all I could say was, "No, no, no" in complete surprise, fear, and disbelief. The man released the bag and took off.
Somebody called a police officer. Not a welcome presence now that all was well (and didn't want a police interview as I had forgotten to bring my passport or any other ID). Oh, the anticipated hassle. All he did, though, was to take us to another cab driver, all the while holding a walkie-talkie to report the details of the aborted theft incident to the headquarters.
The taxi driver chosen by the officer seemed sufficiently chastened by the overheard incident report and made sure we saw the meter as he started it. After about 1.5 miles of driving and dropping us
Valparaiso Art Scenes
"Graffiti is not a crime." Pablo Neruda off at the hotel up the hill, he again showed us the taxi meter. We ended up paying 6,000 pesos (about $12 US) while thinking it was quite epensive even by the Chilean standards. Later, the hotel manager said it shouldn't have cost more than about 3,000-3,500. We are still mystified as to how the driver manipulated the meter so smoothly.
The Valparaiso Vinyard Inn & Robinson Crusoe Hotel. The hotel reception is filled with overstuffed and impractical chairs and sofas. Dark. A display of about a dozen stacked up wine barrels and hundreds of wine bottles. The manager insisted on the 100% prepayment for the three nights' stay. We asked for a bottle of wine and a beer to be brought to the room.
No elevators. Just narrow, dark, and rickety metal staircases. We had reserved a suite. We were taken to a corner room that's not quite square with a bed, two dressers and barely enough room to walk around. The manager pointed to another metal staircase and said the bathroom was upstairs. Without showing how this could work, or asking whether this strange configuration met our expectation of a "suite," he took off.
Windy,
windy, windy. When the balcony door was opened, the entire strength of the valley winds rushed into the room. A picture frame that was hung loosely on the wall knocked off the TV and the bottle of wine, which splashed the content onto the bed spread as it shattered on the tile floor. No damage to the TV but the bed spread would need to be cleaned.
While the maids were cleaning up the mess, we were told to stay out on someone else's balony. We waited over two hours. The manager came up to say that the owner wanted us to pay for the damage to the bed spread.
We asked him to tell the owner that we are not paying for any damage but in fact wish to be moved to another room. The manager came back to say that we do not need to pay for the damage but that the hotel was full and we can't be moved.
(Earlier that day, the manager had said the hotel business was just now picking up, and that it was nearly full, not booked up.)
(He had also said that the workers were laying the TV cable next door and would be finished in a couple of hours. The workers were in fact constructing a new balcony and worked the first two days we were there.)
Looking for something to eat, we went down to the hustle and bustle of the "Bellavista" zone, apparently a major commercial area with street vendors and fast food restaurants. We took a long and steep set of steps, trying to dodge the fresh and dried dog poops and shards of broken beer bottles, while gawking at the old brick structures more or less balanced on steep hillsides.
The only place open for lunch at 4 pm was a small bar serving a few types of sandwiches. After eating a ham sandwich (white bread, mayo, ham slices), we bought a bag of fresh strawberries from a street vendor. Paid for 1/2 kilo and got about a dozen strawberries (probably about 1/8 kilo), most of which had to be thrown away as they were old and mushy. I had seen the vendor reach in low as he was selecting the strawberries -- must have been his special reserve.
We left a day earlier, knowing that we would not get any refund for the third day.
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Don Graf
non-member comment
Captured perfectly
You captured the initial feelings perfectly!