Chile: Week 2

La Serena

The next stop on our trip was La Serena, a smaller coastal resort town that is a popular tourist destination in the summer months (and the second-oldest city in Chile, after Santiago). The bus ride to La Serena along Route 5 (the asphalt artery that runs north-south through the country) was about six hours and was quite tolerable. Coaches in Chile are comfortable (with several seat upgrade options) and the bus companies are very timely and efficient. We arrived in the late afternoon, got lost walking from the bus depot, oriented ourselves using the sun, and eventually found our hostel (Hostal El Arbol), a converted home nestled in a small, quiet neighborhood.

After being shown around and dropping off our things in the room, we grabbed a couple chairs on the back patio and dove into the empanadas and wine we had hauled with us from Valparaiso. We ended up chatting for a while with a couple other travelers and they invited us to share in the (vegetarian!) pasta, veggies, and garlic bread they were cooking up for dinner. Becca and I walked over to the local Lider (Chilean Walmart) to buy some wine and dessert and as we were checking out, the cashier confiscated our plantains and tried to explain to us (in Spanish) that we couldn't buy them. (We later discovered that cashiers in grocery stores in Chile can't weigh produce like they can in the States, so you have to take your fruits and veggies to a separate person at a different counter before checking out.) We left dejected and plantain-less, but still had a nice evening of dinner and drinks with a few of the guys staying in the hostel.

The following morning we embarked on a full day tour of the Elqui Valley, an area known for its good weather, unique vegetation, wines, and pisco. Supposedly, the valley is also known to hippies and crystal worshipers as the most energetic place in the world (in the context of the Earth's magnetic core), but neither of us noticed anything different. Our tour guide for the day, Gerald, picked us up a bit after 8:00 and warned us that we had the bad luck of visiting the valley on one of the very few non-sunny days of the year. We started the tour with a lesson on papayas and a stop in the small town of Vicuña, known mainly as the birthplace of the famous Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral. Next was a history and geography lesson on the Puclaro Dam (on the Elqui River), which was constructed to improve irrigation to various parts of the valley. This part of Chile is in the middle of a very bad drought, so where there should have been a sizable lake, there was instead a barren, rocky landscape with some sparse greenery.

The first real treasure of the day was a tour and tasting at the first and only brewery in the valley (Guayacan). Chile is known more for crappy light lager (as noted a couple times in my week one post) than small-batch craft beers, but microbreweries like Guayacan are working to change that. Guayacan has less than ten employees and operates out of a few small buildings in the valley. In fact, they're so small that their master brewer Cristobal took us on a tour of the property and guided us through the tasting. The short version of the company's founding is that Cristobal was attending university to learn winemaking when he took a brewing class for fun. He loved it immediately and, upon graduation, joined up with two other classmates to start a new microbrewery.

Our tasting was done outside the brewery's main building in a small hut with the company of two large, friendly dogs that insisted on meeting and playing with all the new humans that had just showed up. The more outgoing of the two was a built-like-a-tank bull terrier that spent the entire time fetching (avocados) and eating (avocados). Cristobal took us through the tasting of his golden ale, pale ale, and stout as he talked about the brewery's history, their success and expansion plans, and beer making in general. It was a fascinating conversation and it was wonderful to hear about all the success they've already had. Chile's market for quality microbrews seems to be very much untapped at the moment (pun intended), so breweries like Guayacan will have a lot of room to grow. From an actual beer perspective, their (award-winning) stout was very good, but surprisingly I found myself drawn to the golden ale, which was drink-your-face-off delicious. It's a shame that their beers aren't offered outside of Chile (yet).


After the tasting, Cristobal took us on a tour of the entire property, starting with the existing facilities and talking about how the beer is made. They are very much a small-time operation, so tasks like bottling, labeling, and packaging are done mostly by hand. The demand for their beer is far outstripping supply, so the brewery has been constructing a new, more modern facility that will allow them to greatly increase their tasty, tasty output.


The entire Guayacan experience was really uplifting and very memorable. The beers themselves were excellent, but the real joy was getting a view into the workings of a small business that is doing very well for itself. Cristobal was gracious and down-to-earth and his passion for his work was infectious. And it goes without saying that two big, lovable dogs will always turn a good time into a great time.

Lunch was at a restaurant that specializes in solar cooking, but since the weather wasn't cooperating, the cooking was done in the kitchen with natural gas. We had some copao juice with our meal and Becca and I realized we had tasted the same subtle, quasi-bland flavor back in Valparaiso; I had ordered the juice of the day at one of our brunches and neither of us could figure out what it was. Copao is a plant that is endemic to Chile and is found mostly in the Elqui Valley.

After lunch, we drove to a few more vistas with great views of the valley and then to a small town to stop for souvenirs and gifts. In lieu of souvenir shopping, Becca and I played on the children's playground in the main square and also played with some of the local stray dogs. One of them gave me a kiss as we were posing for the camera, but deserted Becca on the steps of the church when it was her turn for a photo. Ice cold!


We left the town en route to our final destination of the day: Fundo Los Nichos, the oldest pisco distillery in Chile (that is still operational). We were given a tour around the grounds and the usual fascinating history and chemistry lessons. The distillery still maintains a historic, authentic feel with its open-air buildings filled with old concrete, wood, and copper.


At the end of the tour, everyone had a chance to taste two of the distillery's four piscos: the 70-proof special pisco and the 80-proof reserve pisco. Neither Becca nor I had tasted straight pisco before and we were both very, very impressed; each pisco had pleasant fruity notes and not a lot of burn. Truth be told, it also helped that we were tasting one of the world's best piscos (according to tastings.com). We inquired about pricing and Gerald told us that the 70-proof special and 80-proof reserve bottles cost $6 and $10, respectively.

Let me say that again. $6 for a bottle of some of the world's best pisco. Is that Kenny Loggins I hear in the background?

After Becca and I silently exchanged Are you fucking kidding me? glances, we politely bought a bottle of the 80-proof reserve to take on the road with us. In retrospect, I wish I had bought a case and shipped it back to the States. With our gorgeously designed and packaged pisco in tow, Gerald drove us back to La Serena. We broke into the bottle a little bit before dinner, which was a peaceful meal of veggies and empanadas at an outdoor table at a downtown cafe.

The overcast and rainy weather had washed out our hopes of a northerly boat excursion to see penguins, so the next day we slept in and ambled over to a nearby organic and mostly vegetarian cafe (Ayawasi). Just as was promised in all the reviews we read, the place was charming, the owner was super friendly (and spoke English), and the food was ridiculously good. This place seriously rivaled any cafe or veggie restaurant in San Francisco, which is a damn good compliment. As we sat there with our coffee drinks and listened to the rain outside, we seriously considered spending the entire day reading our books by the fireplace. But as the rain began to let up, we decided to venture out and go for a walk on the beach.

We ended up walking all the way to Coquimbo, a neighboring city about the same size as La Serena. It was about a 9-mile walk, which occupied the rest of our afternoon as we leisurely made our way along the coast. There wasn't much to see besides a battleship on the horizon and the occasional stray dog that would accompany us for a bit. One dog in particular stayed with us for a good while, so he and I played fetch with whatever I could find. It brought back memories of playing with dogs at Fort Funston in San Francisco (with the same weather too).


We arrived in Coquimbo just as the sun was setting behind the Third Millennium Cross, which sits high atop one of the hills in the city. Can't be a legitimate Latin city unless you have a huge cross on top of a hill.


We wandered around Barrio Ingles for a bit until we settled on a small sandwich shop (La Marraqueta) to grab some dinner. We treated ourselves to some veggie and potato tortilla sandwiches, fruit juice, and beer, and also had some really nice conversation with the owners Ernesto and Lali. Ernesto spoke English, so we talked about traveling and Chile and photography; Ernesto is a photographer and some of his work was hanging in the restaurant. I showed them some of the photos from my Galapagos trip and before we left, Ernesto took a photo of the two of us for their Facebook page. Lali, bless her adorable heart, even wrote out the URL of their Facebook page with pen and paper and gave it to us before we left.

By this time it was dark out, so we hired a shared taxi back to La Serena and walked back over to Lider for our daily bottle of wine and second attempt at buying plantains. I also bought a box of dog biscuits so I could do my part in nourishing the country's canine population. After mastering the protocol of buying produce in a Chilean grocery store (great success!), we walked back to the hostel, only to discover that the neighborhood was experiencing a power outage. We spent the evening drinking wine and playing cards by candlelight and chatting with some of the gap-year kids who were cooking dinner. Once everyone else had turned in, we took our groceries to the kitchen and made ourselves some homemade plantain chips; thankfully the stove was natural gas and not electric.

The next day we were leaving for Caldera (another port city on Route 5), but had some time before our bus left, so we visited the nearby Japanese tea garden. After two dreary, overcast days, the weather was finally sunny, so we spent some quiet time in the garden to enjoy the scenery and read before going to our favorite local vegetarian spot for another meal. After lunch, we hopped on a coach for another six-hour ride.

Caldera

We arrived at the Caldera bus depot in the evening and grabbed a cab to our lodge (Ckamur Boutique Lodge), which we had booked that morning at a coffee shop in La Serena. After the cab left, we noticed that the lodge was in a somewhat isolated, very quiet part of town. In fact, the lodge itself was very quiet. Too quiet. Only the outside lights were on and it didn't seem like anyone was around. We looked for a doorbell or speaker by the front door but couldn't find either. We walked around the property looking for another way in, but the only other door was closed and locked and even more desolate-looking than the front door.

Let's recap. We're in the isolated, unlit middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town, the taxi has left, the lodge is closed, neither of us have phone service, and obviously there's no WiFi on the deserted street that we now find ourselves on. We're hungry and tired after being on a bus all day. At this point, neither of us are talking, but both our internal monologues are sounding something like this.

After we think things over a bit, we realized that, if nothing else, we can always get drunk by the side of the road on the Elqui Valley pisco we have with us, which didn't seem too terrible of an idea at the time. A better idea popped into my head though. We had passed a few hotels on the drive over, so I suggested that we walk back towards them and ask someone to call our lodge and figure out what's going on. In the worst case, we can get a room at the hotel, since they're surely not fully booked mid-week during the off-season.

Becca agreed and we set off down the dark, shoulder-less road, heading back towards town. After a couple minutes, we heard a car approaching us from behind, but instead of hearing the usual whoosh of a car going by, we heard the sound of a car slowing down and pulling over. As we watched, a green SUV stopped next to us and the passenger-side window slowly rolled down.

No Kenny Loggins this time. What's the music you play when you shit your pants?

The man in the driver's seat spoke English and asked us if we were traveling and if we were staying at the lodge up the street. Initially we thought he was another stranded guest, but after a little bit of back and forth, we realized he ran the lodge. Because we had booked with so little notice and didn't have WiFi or phone service all day, he had no way to contact us about what time we were arriving. There were no other guests staying at the lodge at the time (again, it being mid-week and off-season), so the place was going to stay closed until we arrived.

After breathing a collective sigh of relief, we introduced ourselves and the man introduced himself as Rodrigo. He was very friendly and extremely apologetic about the whole situation and offered to drive us back to the lodge (even though we hadn't made it very far down the road). We threw our bags in and Becca had to actually climb into one of the two car seats in the back seat because there wasn't enough room for everyone and all the stuff Rodrigo normally kept in his SUV. Luckily it was only a 30-second ride back to the lodge. Thinking back on the whole situation now, I'm not sure how Rodrigo knew to drive by the lodge at the exact moment we were locked outside. It's like he just knew. Classic Rodrigo.

After getting the keys and a tour of the place, we asked Rodrigo if any restaurants were still open. We had also noticed a few barbecues on the patio, so we also asked about buying groceries. Rodrigo, the consummate gentleman, offered to drive us into town so we could go grocery shopping. We picked up some charcoal, fruits and veggies for grilling, bread and eggs for breakfast, instant mashed potatoes, and, of course, a bottle of wine.

Once we got back, Becca and I settled into our respective gender roles: she prepared food in the kitchen while I made fire outside. As a vegetarian, being the grillmaster is not something I do often (or ever), so this was a new experience for me. We didn't have enough kindling to get the fire started, so I wandered around the property in the dark with my keychain flashlight looking for anything that would burn, managing to find some old newspaper. That wasn't quite enough, so we resorted to burning some of the Spanish learning printouts Becca had brought with her. Sure, I'll trade conversational ability for a hot meal! Game on.

After the coals were hot, we spent the next hour and a half grilling up onions, asparagus, red bell peppers, pineapple, and corn on the cob and eating all of it right off the grill (no silverware necessary or desired). The corn on the cob was a real treat, but I have to give it to Becca, the hot pineapple was eye-opening. We finished the wine (Bicicleta, my favorite word in Spanish) and started going to town on the pisco. In the span of about an hour, we had gone from homeless in the dark to grilling food on a patio by the water, so we felt like some celebratory refreshments were in order. We drank pisco neat, told stories, listened to music, and watched the water until about 3:30, when my phone (and therefore the music) died. It was probably a good thing that happened; otherwise, we would have stayed up until sunrise killing that bottle, as opposed to taking down only 90% of it. That night in Caldera was absolutely unplanned and, in some ways, was the most fun night of the trip.


Cue Hangover Day Number Three.

While dealing with a pretty rough start, Becca and I once again assumed our gender roles: she chopped up the rest of the bananas, kiwis, oranges, and pineapple and made a fruit salad, while I shaved. As she got ready, I made some scrambled eggs and toast and afterwards we had a nice, quiet breakfast on the patio, also partaking in the papaya nectar we had bought in Coquimbo a couple days before. It was one of those "breakfast and battleships" kind of mornings, you know? No, literally, a few battleships had shown up outside the lodge in the middle of the night.


After our late breakfast, we walked to nearby Bahía Inglesa, a beachy tourist destination a little more than three miles away. Though both towns are coastal and picturesque, the land in between is oddly alien: flat, barren, and occasionally rocky. We even passed a space-themed restaurant/club, which makes sense given that the surroundings are reminiscent of the moon.

Once we reached Bahía Inglesa, we spent an hour or two walking around, handing out treats to stray dogs, and quietly sitting on the rocks by the ocean. One particular dog, a white boxer with a docked tail and heterochromia, took a real liking to us, mainly because I gave him the shitty cheese sandwich we had gotten on the bus ride the day before.


We grabbed lunch at a "Thai" restaurant on the water (El Plateao) and while neither of us ordered traditional Thai dishes, the food was some of the best we had on the trip. I was quite happy with my heaping mounds of veggies and couscous and Becca's creamy, cheesy scallops dish was phenomenal (I made sure to sop up some of the sauce with the ample amount of fresh bread we had). The meal was made even more entertaining by the presence of Jose (referred to as "Jose Loco" by us), the town's resident crazy person. He'd hang out in front of the restaurant, sometimes yelling, sometimes preaching, sometimes just talking, but you were never sure who he was talking to, even when he was looking right at you.


After our meal, we took a cab back to the lodge, packed our things, and Becca took a power nap while I finished off the rest of the pisco. Rodrigo swung by to give us a ride down to the bus station, but there was some issue with the online payment I had made the day before, so he drove us to his house so we could use his laptop (since the lodge didn't have an Internet connection). As we settled the bill, Becca and I were charmed to meet his wife Andrea, one of his sons, and all three of his dogs. As a token of appreciation for staying in their lodge, they gave us a copy of a book they had published together (Casitas De Fe). When someone dies in a traffic accident on a road in Chile, family and friends will sometimes build miniature houses or churches (casitas de fe, or "houses of faith") and place them at the site of the accident, along with crosses and other decorations. Rodrigo and Andrea took photos of many of these memorials and compiled them into a book that is now sitting on my coffee table.

With our bill settled, Rodrigo drove us down to the bus station. We said our goodbyes, grabbed some fajitas and wine from a local cafe, watched a couple stray dogs wrestle for about ten minutes in the parking lot, and then boarded a coach for an 11-hour overnight drive north to the Atacama Desert. We weren't crazy about spending half a day on a bus, but we upgraded to the first-class seats so that we'd be able to sleep most of the time. Next stop: San Pedro de Atacama!

Or so we thought.

Stay tuned for next week's exciting conclusion!

Full photo album: Chile

Chile: Week 1

Santiago

The first twenty-four hours of the trip were about the same as any trip: lots of time spent miserably sitting uncomfortably or waiting in line. We connected through LAX and Panama City and then landed in Santiago on a cool Tuesday evening. After hitting up the currency exchange and securing our baller status with hundreds of thousands of colorful pesos (which I affectionately refered to as "Monopoly money"), we hopped in a cab for downtown. Becca was able to chat up the driver a bit with her Spanish, though we realized later that that poor driver now mistakenly thinks San Francisco has eight million people because (at the time) we weren't able to say "eight hundred thousand" in Spanish. Oops.

A short while later, we arrived at our hostel (H Rado Hostel) in Barrio Bellavista, a neighborhood reminiscent of the Mission in San Francisco with its nice restaurants, dive bars, and youngsters. The hostel was certainly on the swankier side with its large wall murals of American icons, a large, sunny common area on the top floor, and a huge roof deck. I'd say it very much epitomizes the idea of a "boutique hostel" and our stay there was very pleasant, especially considering we had a private room with a private bathroom.

After dropping off our stuff and cleaning up a bit, we wandered the neighborhood in search of noms. Much like San Francisco neighborhoods, downtown Santiago neighborhoods are very walkable and you get a great feel of the city and the people simply by walking around. We stumbled upon Patio Bellavista, which Lonely Planet describes as "upmarket eateries and posh souvenir shops ranged around a huge courtyard". That's a pretty accurate description and the area does feel a bit different than the rest of Bellavista, but we still found it to be a pleasant part of the neighborhood. If nothing else, it's a nice respite from the hordes of college students drinking shitty beer and eating hot dogs.

After taking a lap to survey all the options, we settled on a jack-of-all-cuisines restaurant (MosaiCafé) that had some balcony seating with a nice view of Cerro San Cristóbal. Luckily our waiter spoke English and was able to make some suggestions for food, as I was having some trouble finding a good veggie dish (a not uncommon problem in South America). My first meal in Chile was a hot stone bowl filled with veggies and molten cheese, which is as delicious as it sounds. As would become our custom over the course of the trip, Becca and I split a bottle of Chilean red wine at dinner. We thought it apropos to treat ourselves to a very nice Carménère, a grape that was originally French, then thought to have gone extinct, then rediscovered in Chile, and is now decidedly Chilean.

Once we finished dinner, we wandered the neighborhood for a bit, noticing the popularity of the small tables on the sidewalks in front of the bars. Even with the relatively cool weather, most people opted to sit outside (which we noticed in almost all the cities we visited). The bar scene in Bellavista mostly entails sitting at an outside table with a small group of friends and conversing over drinks. And by "drinks", I mean "cheap beer". The rule of thumb for drinking in Bellavista is to order cheap beer by the liter, be it Escudo or Cristal (yes, spelled exactly like the expensive champagne). For the sake of doing as the Romans do, we stopped into one of the bars and split a bottle of Cristal ourselves. Our entertainment for the evening was the video jukebox in the bar, which was monopolized by a couple locals who evidently love 80s metal music videos. After getting our fill of Chilean light lager and Guns N' Roses, we turned in for the evening.

The next morning, we grabbed breakfast at the hostel and then went for a stroll to get a feel for some of the surrounding neighborhoods. We walked through several of the parks next to the Mapocho River, worked our way south through Barrio Providencia, then walked west and ended up in the downtown shopping district around lunchtime. Clearly Chileans enjoy shoe shopping, because I've never seen so many shoe stores in one place before (even Becca thought the same). We stopped at a hole-in-the-wall Peruvian place for lunch, which delighted us with bread and (really good!) sauces, a heaping mound of veggie noodles, raspberry juice, and a TV that played only Spanish-language club bangers.

After lunch, we walked to the Plaza de Armas (the main square of any respectable Latin American city) to partake in one of Santiago's free walking tours, which are offered every day of the week (multiple times a day). They are completely free (other than your tip for the tour guide), are in English, last anywhere from three to four hours, and offer some thorough historical and cultural insights into the more popular parts of the city. Our tour guide was Filipe, who became an inside joke for the rest of the trip because of his unusual, yet delightful personality. He maintained a constantly serious countenance, yet was very pleasant; he was animated and almost theatrical, but in a very controlled and subtle way. (We found out later from his walking tour colleagues in Valparaiso that Filipe is an actor, which explained everything.) The tour was very entertaining and informative and really helped us familiarize ourselves with some of the neighborhoods and some local places we should visit. Filipe insisted on a brief stop in Barrio Lastarria, where we had enough time to sit outside and enjoy some pisco sours.


That night, we went to a more traditional Chilean restaurant in Bellavista (Galindo) that Filipe had recommended on the tour. The food was certainly good (I had the porotos granados, which is a bean and pumpkin stew), but the critically important discovery at this meal was drink-related. As we were ordering, our waitress brought us a separate wine menu and tried to offer an explanation in Spanish (and her limited English), but the language barrier was a bit too high for us to fully understand her. We picked a bottle (Chilean red, of course) and had a quiet, enjoyable meal. As we were settling the bill, she came back to the table with another bottle of wine in a plastic bag. As I looked confusingly over the bill and tried to explain to her that we didn't order another bottle, she was able to cobble together enough English to explain:

"Two bottles. One for the restaurant, one for the home."

It turns out that every year for the last twelve years, Chile has organized a rather large-scale promotion whereby participating restaurants and bars (in certain parts of the country) offer a two-for-one deal on reserve bottles of Chilean wine. The first bottle you have with your meal and the second bottle is to be taken home (and cannot be opened in the restaurant). All told, you get two bottles of delicious Chilean wine at a restaurant for about $20.

Game. Changer.

Cue the Kenny Loggins, because we're heading into the fucking danger zone.


It was around this point (my memory is fuzzy from consuming massive amounts of wine) that Becca and I made a pact to have at least one bottle of wine (between the two of us) every day for the entire trip. Special consideration was given to any restaurant that proudly displayed the reserve wine menu in their window. Sometimes we'd have the second bottle that same night, sometimes we'd take it on the road with us, and sometimes we'd donate it to a particularly nice employee at the hostel we were staying at. In any case, I feel pretty confident that we thoroughly tasted every red wine on that menu.

After dinner, we dropped the wine off at the hostel and went to a small bar (Cuatro & Diez) a couple blocks away. Semi-swanky, candlelit, with live music, it was a great spot to enjoy some cocktails. I tried a Piscola (pisco and cola), a somewhat common local drink, though I wasn't a huge fan (pisco sours are much better). After a couple drinks, we went back to the hostel and took the aforementioned second bottle of wine up to the massive roof patio (did I mention this was a boutique hostel?) to enjoy the skyline and the sounds of the city.


Fast forward six hours to a healthy hangover at 8:00 in the morning. We grabbed breakfast and then hiked up Cerro San Cristóbal, which was a really nice way to work off the lingering effects of the previous evening. From the top of the hill, you get a breath-taking view of... well, mostly smog. I'm told that after a rainfall, the smog is gone temporarily and the view is spectacular. Nevertheless, we still appreciated the beauty of the view of a sprawling city with the Andes in the background. We enjoyed some quiet meditation time before descending back to Bellavista.


For lunch, we went to the fish market so that Becca could try some seafood soup (another Filipe recommendation). After fighting our way through the gauntlet of outgoing (read: annoying) restaurant hosts, we settled on a small, unassuming spot that was mostly filled with locals eating lunch by themselves. After explaining to our waitress that I was vegetarian, she responded simply with "Ensalada." and reached for my menu. I resigned myself to eating bread, sauce, and rabbit food (Becca's term for my salad that looked like a plate of condiments) while Becca enjoyed her cauldron of seafood.


After fighting through the restaurant gauntlet on the way out, we walked over to Cerro Santa Lucía, a small hill in the middle of the city with facades, stairways, patios, fountains, and really great views. We walked around the grounds for a while, snapping photos and enjoying the weather, until it was nap o'clock. With lack of sleep, a food coma, and sunny weather all conspiring against us, we laid down on the grass (amongst the usual collection of Chilean teenage couples) and checked out for a while.


That evening, we hit up a nice Italian spot in Lastarria for dinner, then wandered around Bellavista for a bit before settling on a karaoke bar. Surprisingly, a good amount of the music was English-language and a few of the singers really killed it.

The next morning, we checked out and took the Metro (Santiago's light rail) to the bus depot. Another commuter (who spoke English) offered his help when he saw a couple gringos unfamiliar with how the Metro system worked. (It was one of many acts of kindness we encountered during our trip.) Once at the bus depot, we hopped on a coach to Valparaiso, a nearby coastal city that we had heard a lot about while in Santiago. This was probably the first point at which our itinerary diverged from our pre-trip plans and, unbeknownst to us at the time, would eventually lead to a completely different trip than we had initially imagined.

Valparaiso

We arrived in Valparaiso in the early afternoon and took a shuttle to our hostel (Hostal-Cafe Nomades), located on Cerro Alegre, one of the forty-two hills in the city. The term "hostel" is a bit misleading here, as this place felt a lot more like a B&B. Like the city itself, the entire hostel was colorful, cultural, and artistic; the walls were covered with murals and paintings done by the property owner, who is also a local artist. Our private space on the top floor had two rooms, two beds, a private bathroom, and a private balcony.

Once we dropped off our things, we walked back down the hill to the main square, where we intended to take the free walking tour put on by the same company that coordinates the walking tour we took in Santiago. We stopped at a restaurant on the plaza to sit outside underneath the bright yellow umbrellas and have an afternoon cappuccino. What started as a simple coffee break turned into a full-blown meal once we saw the pizzas on the menu and realized how famished we were. Just as in Santiago, the walking tours are offered multiple times a day, so we decided to pass for the time being. Slowly but surely, we were acclimating to the Chilean lifestyle: having very leisurely meals and blocking off multiple hours in the late afternoon to just relax.

After lunch, we started our own walking tour, wandering through various parts of the city that we knew weren't going to be covered by the "official" walking tour. We walked through a few plazas and shopping districts until we found ourselves by a church at the base of one of the city's hills. So we started walking up. And up. And up. And up. Every time we thought we were getting close to the peak, we would round a corner and see that there was still more to go. There weren't many people out and about since the hills are mostly residential, but we did run into a few friendly locals. Taxis whizzed by us constantly, mostly to bring people home from work. There's no way buses could navigate those hills safely, so unless you want to spend an hour or so walking up a steep hill to get home, you're going to take a taxi. We saw scores of colorful and uniquely designed houses, rundown cars, stray dogs, beautiful views of the city below, and even a halfway-decent soccer pitch, though it was made entirely of dirt.


As the sun set and the fog rolled in and the temperature dropped, we started to make our way down the hill back towards town. The roads on Valparaiso's hills are a bit disorganized and confusing, so we had to follow the taxi routes to figure out how to navigate ourselves back down to sea level. We even picked up a four-legged buddy on our way, the first of many furry companions to join us on our travels. He looked quite dashing in his scarf as he guided us down the hill and through part of the town below.


We relaxed at the hostel for a bit before cleaning ourselves up and going out to dinner at a fantastic tapas place just up the road from us. As we sat on the couch by the fireplace, surrounded by paintings and art, we felt as if we were dining in someone's home. The restaurant looked like a converted house and the atmosphere was warm and cozy, like we were over at a friend's place for dinner. Once again, we indulged in the two-for-one reserve bottle deal and took the second bottle immediately back to our private balcony. Donning the matching wool hats we had purchased from a street vendor only a few hours prior, we tested the self-timer function on Becca's new camera with a faux-honeymoon photo shoot. Given the increasing level of intoxication, it took a few iterations of fumbling with camera settings and comically-blurred photos before we shot some winners.


With a couple bottles of wine in us and midnight approaching, we decided it was time to head out for a taste of the Valparaiso nightlife (it being Friday night). Lonely Planet directed us to a neighborhood club called Mascara, which was conveniently located at the bottom of the hill from our hostel. Half of the club's space was a bar where, not surprisingly, couples and small groups of friends sat at small tables sharing liters of cheap beer. However, the other half (where we spent the entire night) was a dancefloor with a large video screen and another small bar. The DJ played mostly English-language 80s songs, a few recent American pop songs, and then lots of 80s B-sides by the end of our time there. Every song was accompanied by the music video being played on the screen, even for the more obscure 80s tracks that we had never heard before. Even when the DJ played three Devo songs in a row, the videos were up on the screen, and somehow most of the locals seemed to know all the lyrics. Clearly Chile loves the 80s.

A few cultural observations are in order here. For starters, we noticed a few pockets of gay couples and groups of gay friends. Coming from San Francisco, this wasn't a big deal to us, but it was interesting to note which places were more accepting than others in a more conservative country. Also, at about 2:30, the video screen retracted into the ceiling so a drag queen could perform a one-song lip-synching show. While writing this blog entry, I glanced at the Wikivoyage article for Valparaiso, which mentions that Mascara "caters to an artsy and gay/lesbian crowd". Now I know why our tour guide (the next day) chuckled when we told him we had gone to Mascara the night before.

The other really fascinating observation was the difference in the partying culture. The bar by the dancefloor was so dead and unused that when we went to get drinks, we found the bartender reading a book by herself. Compare this to American partying culture, where you need to fight through a crowd and then wait at the bar for a while to get drinks. Once again, we observed Chileans having fun and socializing with their friends without needing alcohol. Not surprisingly, the party-goers we saw didn't get tired nearly as early; by the time we left the club around 4:00, it was still crowded and more people were still arriving. In fact, as we were leaving, we saw a few guys in their 50s roll up to the dancefloor with beers in hand.

Cue Hangover Day Number Two.

After sleeping in past the morning walking tour, we sauntered over to El Desayunador, a restaurant just up the street from our hostel that specializes in "permanent breakfast", which is exactly what we needed when we resurfaced at 1:00 in the afternoon. After a much-needed leisurely brunch of eggs, fruit, coffee, and breads, we barely made the start of the 3:00 walking tour. We met our tour guide Israel, he laughed at our Mascara outing, we all talked lovingly about Filipe, and then it was time to wander the streets of Valparaiso for a few hours.

Just like the Santiago walking tour, the Valparaiso walking tour was English-language, free (except for tipping the guide), and very interesting and informative. Israel was no Filipe, but he held his own quite well. We walked along the hills, side streets, and staircases of Valpo (as it's known to locals), taking note of the unique architecture, wall art, and graffiti everywhere. Santiago may be the capital of Chile, but Valpo is arguably the cultural capital. It was also peculiar to see vegan-related graffiti in quite a few places (literally the word "VEGAN" spray painted on walls); Israel told us that veganism and vegetarianism are popular among the city's many university students. The tour also took us on a couple of the city's funiculars, which transport people up and down the very steep portions of some of the hills.


After the tour, Becca and I walked back to The Brighton (a hotel and cafe) for some early evening coffee and dessert and a spectacular view from the hotel's patio. It was a very pleasant and peaceful way to relax before kicking off Saturday night activities. As we were sitting and chatting and taking photos, one of the hotel cats magically appeared and jumped into Becca's lap, kneading her for a bit before settling in for a nap. Peaceful times all around.


We went back to the hostel for some more downtime before getting ready to hit the town. Our evening downtime periods were a nice way to relax in between daytime and nighttime activities. Becca would often research hostels or restaurants on her iPad while I would touch up photos on my phone and post them to Facebook (mainly to let family and friends know that we were still alive). Occasionally a power nap would be called for as well.

After hitting up an Italian spot on our street (and more two-for-one wine), we made our way to the club district of Valpo, which has nightlife venues for pretty much every taste. A lot of the popular spots were swarming and overflowing with university students, so we walked right past those two blocks of shitshowery. After taking a lap around the neighborhood, we settled on El Huevo, a five-story behemoth that is more reminiscent of a military complex than a nightclub. Each floor has a different physical layout and different entertainment; on our way to the rooftop, we saw/heard a rock show, reggaeton, and pop/dance. We spent a while on the roof with our half-liters of Cristal enjoying the view and the people-watching. On our way back down, we stumbled upon a live show by Yoan Amor & Team Impacto, a Latin pop singer (who is possibly part of a larger boy band). It was the usual screaming girl audience you'd expect and Yoan basically made out with one of the girls in the front row during the show. I'm happy to write that off as a pretty standard PDA for Chile, even it involves a pop star.


We left El Huevo and walked around some more, fully expecting to turn it in for the evening, when I heard house music and saw flashing lights coming from a third-story window in an otherwise nondescript, government-looking building. From the street, it almost seemed like a house party, but was a bit too organized and professional, so we guessed it was a club of some kind. We circled the block and found an entrance on the other side of the building with a staircase leading up to who-knows-what, so we decided to check it out. As we reached the top, we realized we had found the club (Bar Tertulia). After paying the cover, we walked into a space that didn't natively feel like a bar or club, but nevertheless had been turned into one. Just as the outside of the building felt anomalous, the inside felt like an old government building or mansion, but outfitted with lights, a bar, a DJ setup, and a dancefloor.

Once again, I was struck by the cultural differences between Chile and America with respect to drinking and partying. The bar was empty, barely anyone was drinking, yet the dancefloor was crowded with lots of people having a legitimately good (and seemingly sober) time. (During all of our nightlife outings in Valpo, we saw only one person who was visibly intoxicated.) And I really couldn't blame them as this was some of the best house music I've ever heard in a live set. XV (the DJs playing that night) were having a lot of fun themselves and carrying on a bit as they played, which led to a great atmosphere all around.

Around 4:30 or so we decided that heading back was the responsible course of action, especially considering we had a very early bus to catch. After about three hours of sleep, it was time to get our stuff together and make our way to the bus depot for a six-hour ride to La Serena. We left Valparaiso very tired, but very happy and legitimately surprised at how much we fell in love with the city in only 48 hours. Lots of people have asked me what my favorite part of the trip was, which is an impossible question to answer, so I often say that the most unexpected and surprising time was our weekend in Valparaiso.

Stay tuned for our adventures from week two in Chile!

Full photo album: Chile