Abroad Thoughts from Home

Actually as I start this post, I'm still in an overpriced airport hotel at Ezeiza, BAs, waiting to be ferried off for my flight to London. It's called Posada de Aguilas (...of the Eagles...and they certainly are winging it with the price - although by European standards it's normal.) Made me think about all the things one doesn't appreciate in accommodation; air-con I didn't want or need but couldn't be controlled from the room - and that sense of being confined to your box. I couldn't wander to get my cuppa when I woke. No sockets except in the bathroom - good job I have a long charging lead for the pc. Despite having been in for breakfast and saying I no longer needed my wake up call for 9 - at 9.15 I've just had it anyway!

And breakfast - a pale skinned media-luna that Tesco value range would embrace as one of their own, and watered coffee. Actually, a lot of places in Chile didn't do real coffee but offered nescaff. On top of it all the juice was actually fresh but I managed to inhale it and went off on a coughing fit....however, I am a bit clogged up with pressure changes and all the full-cream and condensed milk Lesley and I have consumed. The latter is much liked here; Lesley and I fondly remember both our fathers on holiday jaunts, brewing up tea on camping stoves and adding condensed milk. Here in Argentina they boil it down to a gluey, fudge brown colour and call it Dulce de Leche; in Chile the name is Manjar - and that word can be applied to something totally delicious.

Part of the Plaza, La Serena

La Serena with street parking warden

Not many pix of me this hols...in this one I seem to be surrounded by halos!

 
Yesterday, I spent a few hours wandering La Serena in lovely sun (25 C?) but the locals were treating it as the end of summer and many were in jeans and fleeces - I felt a little unusual in my summer dress. I sat in their elegant Plaza overlooked by the Cathedral and listened to gentle, classical music being played over a tannoy as the sweepers-up and waterers busied themselves. It's quite salutory to see the people in the cities using water with such gay abandon having driven past, on the bus, sadly depleted reservoirs and experienced the total aridity of Miravalle and other parched areas in the Elqui valley. The climate up north is very dry - and drier as you meet the Atacama desert; next visit may include San Pedro de Atacama with its geysers. Anyway, I shall be glad to get back to a little more humidity (and to think I was complaining about rain earlier!)

My Sky flight to Santiago from La Serena

This one's for Lesley...it's an astronomical observatory from the air

Coming into Santiago

The flight down from La Serena by way of a connection at Santiago was absolutely great - flying down and then across the Andes. That bird's eye view isn't something you'll get from a bus - but both transports have their good and bad points. But if one has time, the bus is much more relaxing - and there's a lot less lugging your own stuff around miles of terminal. I  had to find my way from national to international flights at Santiago - luckily I had enough time.Yesterday's bad was arriving at Buenos Aires to humungous queues for the customs; you have to fill out a form stating the value of goods you are bringing into the country - like phones and computers. I think with their parlous financial situation they're trying to stop illegal imports/trade. It took about an hour to get through and in the end no-one even glanced at the form.

End of whinge....I'm now sitting by the pool in the sun (albeit with Heathrow like traffic passing by outside) and life always improves with light and warmth.

Musing on the differences between Argentina and Chile - I think you do get more of a sense of a place 'on the edge' in Argentina. We rode on buses past bonfires in the middle of a main street in BAs outside the hospital - a protest against non-payment of government workers. And whilst in the hostal in Mendoza we watched TV pix of riots in BAs - by people who'd been without power for nearly two months; the result of the super-high temperatures (in the 40s C) of January. It's the poor areas that have been forgotten. (I'm still reading about Pablo Neruda - and how his political sense of justice was sharpened by the way the nitrate workers of Chile were so badly treated; now, I see, they have tourist expeditions to the old mine-workings 'to discover our heritage'.)

Lesley also tells me that in BAs there is certainly  no sense of 'lost property'; it's unlikely I would have recovered my camera there....Also, you fend for yourself on the roads; there are pedestrian crossings but they seem to act as signage for all traffic to speed up and aim at you. In Vicuna, Chile it was almost fictional the way that drivers slowed, stopped and smiled-you across the road! Also in Chile, you get parking wardens - dedicated to one street - who are ready to issue you with a payment ticket - instead of a machine. It also means they are the eyes and ears of that street - the one near our hostal helpfully aided us with bags to and from the taxi!

POSTSCRIPT
I'm now back at home, having been picked up from the airport by the lovely Tracey. I certainly have my desired humidity....it's raining.  At this moment I'm wishing that I could have ridden a Latin American bus across the sea as the flight home was probably the worst in a long while. It got off late; the problem being that the crew had been delayed getting in from the city as some protestors (this time about housing) had set fire to a pile of tyres in the middle of the freeway. Lucky I was staying near the airport. I learnt this from a  very plummy, older English woman in a wheelchair who was going off on one about it- and berating her husband as well. She was issuing orders to him to find out what was going on and he sat quietly with a benign look on his face. While she was referring to the bulk of  'us' as 'cattle-class' and irritatedly complaining that the names being called to the desk were 'half the plane getting upgraded' one of the Argentinian ground staff came and talked to her husband. He replied in fluent, laconic but English accented Spanish. As they left - she said to me 'If ever you're invited to join a  queue in Argentina - do it!' And as she was wheeled away, the husband confided to me 'Anna is English - and I'm from here...sometimes it can be a source of ......', 'some strain?' I added....'Yes!', he smiled.....

As for me, having made the effort to online book an aisle seat - when I got into the plane the seat numbers were reversed and I was trapped into a window seat with a perpetually crying baby 3 rows up....also felt a bit weird and shivery for the entire flight, so, grateful to be at home, I've now crawled into bed and am listening happily to Radio 4. Time to catch up on the news in the real world....maybe....
What I will try and do - having lugged too much baggage with me over the last month, is attempt to record exactly what I really need for my travels.........the next time.

It Takes Two to Tongoy

And this is the bus that did just that....On our last day together, Lesley and I woke to clear blue skies - and as we  know that hasn't always been the case - and  thought we'd spend it on a bit of beach. A young chap (a risk manager studying for a PhD) who we met in the Pisco Elqui hostal, suggested we try Tongoy. It's about 1 1/2 hours by bus south from La Serena, where we returned to Sandra's place from Vicuna. And it was just what we needed.

The bus took us down the Pan American highway along some dramatic coastline - but that doesn't always mean good resort beaches.  The sea can be mean and moody - full of tricky currents - and pretty cold. But Tongoy had the feel of a an English beach on steroids. We treated ourselves to sunbeds and shade - nearly didn't as this cost £10 for the whole day, and our frugality-meters have been running at high pitch. We did come to our senses however....The temperature was perfect - about 24C with a nice breeze - and we did venture in for a quick swim. Behind us in a lagoon, kids were kayaking and seabirds wheeled overhead.
When we got back to Serena yesterday, it was a Fiesta day and it had the feeling of the August bank Holiday - that last gasp before everyone is back to school and work. The small shops were shut - but the department stores were full of people buying school supplies and uniforms. So the Socos beach at Tongoy was probably not as crowded as it might have been.

Travelling Chile in February we've certainly been part of a crowd of Chilean holidaymakers - but it's also meant we've come across festivities, music and markets we wouldn't have any other time. As Lesley and I have often said on this trip, being super-English....'SUCH FUN!' Before I came out, an Italian chap who lives in England, said the Chileans  were a mix of the Italians and the English - and I can see what he means. Apart from the fact that the valedictory greeting is 'Ciao' there is a politeness and orderliness mixed with a warmth and desire to share their heart with you. I think Lesley and I have most enjoyed chatting with anyone (Hablo poco - pero entiendo mas...) and a large smile gets you a long way. I mean, where in the UK would you find the men who are doing the weighbridge check on your bus miming 'give me a call' - especially to the so-called invisible woman in her sixties....All 'such fun'!

And of course, the last day together had to include a seafood lunch, washed down with a delicious bottle of Reisling from Patagonia. We tried to identify what we were getting to eat - and the waiter helpfully brought us out the fresh shellfish - when I started to photograph the offerings he made sure they were properly styled on plates and also brought out one of the  largest 'ostiones' - scallops, simply for photographic purposes! We also had Machas a la Parmesana - a macha being a saltwater clam, native to Chile. They do seem to love cheese with their shellfish - but the Parmesana was more like a mozzarella than Parmesan. Anyway....so delicious that I failed to photograph it before we wolfed it down!

Osteones

 


 

We boarded our bus back to la Serena feeling like this had been the perfect ending. Good travelling companions are rare - and we've negotiated our way through a fair few decisions with little friction and a LOT of laughter.

I put Lesley on the bus to Santiago at La Serena bus station at 11.15 last night; it was heaving with people clambering on to night buses - young and old, neat and tattooed, uniformed and guitar-toting - every type was on the move. So, I now have a few hours to spend in the city before I fly to Buenos Aires via Santiago...
Back to the land of Tango temporarily....it seems fitting that it's Tongoy to Tango - but I have to credit Lesley with the title of this post!

Pisco, Pisces and Some that Got Away

I'm writing this in the garden of our hostel in Vicuna, Northern Chile. Outside a Bolivian street band and troupe of dancers are oom-pah-pahing their way through their one song and somewhere further away in the plaza, a deeply romantic male voice is crooning.

We may have hit Vicuna on possibly the busiest weekend of the holidays - they're celebrating their 178th birthday and the town has been taken over by entertainment, stalls, music and a multitude of people from all over the area. It was pretty miraculous that we arrived by bus with no booking and found ourselves in Hostel Aldea - replete with hot tub, sauna and pool; might have been something to do with the owner being from Buenos Aires and taking a shine to Lesley...in fact he's chatting her up as I type...And now he's giving her a foot massage!!

Having planned on my birthday, the 20th, to take a trip to see Humboldt penguins from a boat trip to Islas Damas, we, once more, had to be flexible as they cancelled it due to rough seas. Instead we took a bus direct from La Serena to Pisco Elqui up in the cordilleras - having read that it was an enchanting area - I think Lesley, with her hippy past, was attracted to the tales of the special energy of the place.When we arrived (again - no booking) we got off the bus at the square which was picture-perfect and the setting for a beautiful church. Sadly, although I can see the best pictures on my camera chip, for some reason they're not transferring to my computer - I may have fiddled with something on the camera and am trusting my friend Mick might help me sort this out when I get home. But though they are presently fugitive...as you read on, you'll realise I'm lucky to have them at all.

Pisco Elqui Church

My room was that one at the top!

To cut a long story short, Lesley's knee was giving her grief and stairs were not an option - so she ended up in a dorm the local hostel (full of 'joven') On my birthday night  I refused to share a slightly-grubby-around-the edges bedroom and instead found an eyrie in the 'Herman Munster house' - actually a very comfortable bed - although the odd vampire might have felt comfortable in the bathroom.....
Billetted, we went out for a late lunch and with a  Pisco sour to celebrate (the Elqui valley is the home of the distilleries of this powerful grape brandy that needs a good dose of lemon and sugar to help it slip down)  we chomped our way through tender steak and salad.

Getting a feel for Pisco Flqui we had to decide how long we'd stay - and the feeling was - not long. Like many of these 'mystical places' PE has now been inundated by the spiritual seekers and the place is taking full advantage by hiking prices and selling the whole paraphernalia of mysticism. As Lesely puts it; 'hippy Disneyland'.  As beautiful as it was - it wasn't for us....so, back on the bus and down the valley to Vicuna. This has to be one of the most memorable bus journeys ever - glorious views of the vine strewn valleys set below the powerful, rocky mountainsides.

Vicuna has been our place of rest for three lovely nights. The climate is wonderful - crystal clear blue skies, chilly mountain air morning and night, with brilliant sunshine in the day - and not a mosquito in sight. In fact this little city has the feeling of a fictional community - like Lake Wobegon - where people are kind to each other and , unlike so many cities in SA, there is little litter - or dog mess.  As mentioned - we arrived in the midst of civic celebrations - and have watched parades of people proud to be part of the place - and thoroughly enjoying themselves. The Mayor gave a lovely speech about the values of kindness and the word 'heart' popped up a lot. There was a thanksgiving service in the cathedral and a load of floats in the streets on the Sunday.

It's interesting how soon one gets to feel known in a place like this. Lesley having the language is of course key. We have chatted to the cycle hire people (we did attempt a cycle ride on the Saturday - but didn't get hugely far as we mistimed it and the daytime heat was too fierce) and now know one taxi driver rather well. We'd been up to have lunch at Villa Seca - where the food is cooked entirely by sun-power in low-tech solar cookers - and maybe it was because  I was rather relaxed after a fine plate of baby goat and a glass or two of Falernia Sauvignon Blanc from the valley, I must have left my camera in the taxi. We took another taxi later, back to the restaurant.....who had ordered the original cab for us; they knew the driver and had his cell phone no. Our new driver phoned him, we liaised in the centre of town - and hey presto, one camera restored!  How good is that? I then took the taxi  further up the hillside on the road to Mamalluca observatory to get some photos of the cactus and the grapes while the light was at its most beautiful. Needless to say, he got a great tip - and we now wave merrily at each other when we see him around town.

Solar cookers at Villa Seca

Cactus on the way to Mamalluca

Moscatel grapes

We also shopped at the special Carnaval Market - and met up again with people Lesley had met on the bus - getting a free massage into the bargain. They were selling 'interesting' unctions  - like serum made from cobras; the phrase 'snake oil' did cross my mind...but they were a really delightful couple full of goodwill (he'd given up his bus seat for over an hour to Lesley.)

I'd wanted to go back towards Mamalluca after we'd driven there on an observatory tour the night before. It's a public, astronomical observatory only  - but this part of Chile is dotted with the real thing. There are several - each one succeeding the last in size. There's one under construction now with a 40 metre mirror . Amusingly, they're given  acronyms which turn out to be  very prosaic names ELT = Extremely Large Telescope - and  one planned for the future will be called OWL - Overwhelmingly Large Telescope! Being in a select group of 4 with an English speaking guide, we did get to look through (a somewhat more modest) telescope which actually locked on to various stars via a GPS system (!) We were under one of those domes with a slit in it that moved around to find the right portion of sky. We looked at charts with all the constellations named from mythology - like Virgo and Sagittarius - but actually no Pisces. The But the best part for Lesley and I was standing outside, high up on the hill, under the ink black sky looking at the vast pattern arcing over our heads. Of course, the southern sky is 'upside down' to us - and they have different names; Orion's Belt has three stars which they dub the Tres Marias - and the Pleiades was called the Potatoes by the indigenous people. From here you can't see Andromeda - but you can see much closer galaxies with the naked eye; the Magellanic clouds. And of course the Milky Way (Camino de Leche - road of milk) is beautifully clear.

Later today we move on again...now retracing our steps to la Serena, back to Sandra's place, from whence I will be taking a flight to Buenos Aires and then London. It's all going to be over too soon.....

Animal, Vegetable and Mineral

Just a few reflections on the trip so far, before I get to ‘What Two Did Next’.

Animal; Travelling in Argentina and Chile I really haven’t felt so out of place – there are redheads around! Perhaps from the influx of Celtic type immigrants. It seemed quite  reasonable, in a big, cosmopolitan city like Buenos Aires, to come across every ethnic type going, but we freckled ones have popped up on our route across Argentina and were certainly in Valparaiso; a little less so in this part of Chile – which is now the Norte Chico. I suppose the Scots and the Irish got everywhere – indeed there is this icon whose bust appears in many a square and in front of Government buildings – called Bernardo O’Higgins; he liberated Chile from the Spanish (his father was Spanish/Irish) The name survives…it’s quite interesting that you can book your coach ticket from O’Higgins Travel…

There are dogs everywhere; wandering the streets and beaches. Actually rather less threatening than I thought they’d be. They get on with their life and you get on with yours – they don’t seem to go in for that sniffing about that even the nicest English, domestic pet is prone to indulge in. On the beach at Coquimbo, I couldn’t get a small puppy to detach from my presence but he was very polite – all he really wanted was my shade, not to get up close and personal.

Vegetable

There are so many of them, grown in such abundance across Mendoza, Argentina and now in the fertile valleys of Chile – and the vegetable markets are magnets for us. We’ve bought things to cook up in our hostel kitchens and I’ve been very happy snapping the tableaux of shapes and colours. 

Mineral

The parts we’ve traversed are/or have been rich in them. We watched a nodding-donkey extracting oil from under the fields near the Mendoza wineries. In Chile, nitrates were the great source of revenue until synthesising was discovered. Crystals are ‘big’. In Miravalle Lesley and I looked forward with anticipation to being shown ‘the crystal beds’ – imagining this seam of shining white quartz. What we saw were literally two wooden beds in a hut, with a layer of quartz chippings for a mattress; you could get a massage on top of them for their ‘energy’. Ooh….

And yesterday here in Vicuna I saw Lapis Lazuli – its dense blue was prized as an expensive pigment by Renaissance painters. The major mineral of this Chilean trip has been carbon – as manifested in the breathtaking night stars….but more of that anon.

Warm days and Chile Nights

The joy of Not Booking meant that Lesley and I were able to escape from the storms and chill of Mendoza and head across the Andes on a 7 ½ hour bus trip. We left our rather basic hostel (redeeming feature - it was opposite the central food market…yum) on Valentine’s day and picked up the morning bus to Valparaiso, Chile, armed with picnic of goat’s cheese, fruit – including dried figs - jambon crudo and smoked trout and carefully leaving behind the champagne we’d bought in the hostal fridge. I’m just hoping that some romantic couple had a good time on us. Anyway, we replaced it at the bus station – adding a rather nice bottle of Malbec too. (Financial note; ‘Champagne’ approx £2.50/ Malbec £1.25)

 We didn’t quite get the front seats on this bus – but it wasn’t a problem as all views from all upstairs seats were stunning – the photos don’t do the journey justice. One of the best bits was watching the cloud cover evaporate as we climbed and headed towards Chile through the Los Libertadores pass (just the day before I’d been walking in streaming rain along Avenida Los Libertadores in Mendoza). Of course we were the only honest idiots who declared our picnic at the Chilean border – and had our fruit, including figs, confiscated before we could lunch upon it. Chile is rightfully protective of its agriculture – but the luscious Argentinian peaches could have been processing through our stomachs before we stepped meaningfully on to their soil…..We did manage to wreak a bit of havoc on the top deck by allowing our thermos of hot water to leak and run the entire length of upstairs and also possibly annoying the four elderly ladies in the front seats with our enthusiastic chatter.

As we climbed back on the bus after passport control, to negotiate the switchback road that takes you into Chile, we decided to endorse the moment, the sunshine and our high spirits – with the champagne. Off came the twisted wire top; Lesley handed it to me to hold whilst she found a cloth to remove the cork – BUT…we hadn’t reckoned on the pressure of altitude – and the cork went flying of its own volition. I was bathed in alcohol and as we giggled like schoolgirls the ladies muttered about las Inglesas. We made it up to our immediate neighbours by sharing it out – and very good it was too.

The errant champagne...

...confined to polystyrene...

As we entered the fertile lower valleys of Chile, planted with avocados and fruit trees and terraced with vines we had a little nap. Imagine our dismay, when waking about an hour from Valparaiso, we encountered dense cloud cover and watched the people outside the air conditioned bus wandering around in their fleeces… Suffice it to say, having been enticed by the prospect of sun at last and then being disappointed, we got off in ‘Valpo’ feeling a bit low – without any Chilean currency and having forgotten to write down the address of the next hostel (which we had actually booked.) But…everything is possible with a bank card and an ipad. The currency was sorted,(we’ve now adjusted to handling 20,000 CH peso notes = approx £22) the internet found - to establish address - and we were soon in a taxi winging up to Las Mariposas. The guides tell you to be on your guard against mugging in Valpo and that there’s probably no such thing as an honest taxi driver; ours certainly charged a fruity fare – but he was there and the backpacks were heavy….

In front of Las Mariposas with Tracey's backpack well filled....

We found our way up one of the winding alleyways to the right numbered door – and rang the bell….No answer. Not for the first time on this trip, I was very grateful for Lesley’s command of Spanish as she rustled up a neighbour who in turn phoned the owner. In a few minutes we watched Kent loping down the steep steps towards us - like a cross between the Sundance Kid and an elderly Child of Flower Power. Tall and rangey, with longish, sandy hair and seen it all eyes - probably in his 60s - he turned out to be from Alaska originally. Now he seemed to run lots of properties in Valpo for exchange students, travellers and the occasional pair of odd old ladies like us. As he finally admitted us to his quirky house, cobbled together with great love (he turned out to be a frustrated architect) we waited for the story of overbooking to unfold…..

I think, because we took it in good part and laughed at his jokes, he was very kind to us and in effect gave us an entire – unique – apartment to ourselves for half the price we expected to pay. He did give us the choice of that or sharing the  house – we’d originally thought we were booking - further up the hill, and crammed with young people; as we walked in there we were greeted by a shirtless, German boy called Jonas and a variety of fresh and happy looking teens. We decided on our own apartment!

The idiosyncratic front door of our apartment

Stove lit and hunkered down

By this time – we were feeling very cold; temperature in Valpo, cloudy and windy, was by then probably in mid-teens (how do I do it?) and we wanted to eat and get over our travel. Kent was great – lighting a little wood stove and introducing us to the ladies in the mini-mart who sold us sweet corn, potatoes, butter – all the ingredients for a soul-sustaining supper. I’d developed a fiery sore throat  - but somehow the Malbec, food and then some of Lesley’s ‘condy-coffee’ (we travel with a thermos of hot water, instant coffee and condensed milk whenever possible) made things a lot better – plus of course the Beechams powders I always have in my survival kit! I’m writing this on another bus – and I occasionally have a tickly-coughing fit; this germ may be the revenge of one of the old ladies from the Andes bus who coughed most of the way….However, when you’re on an adventure, bugs don’t seem to loom large…

The view from Las Mariposas hostel

Wall art in Valparaiso

The following day in Valpo we decided to do some of the sights – going to look at the port (warned off one area as too dangerous) and trying out a new bit of transport; Lesley rarely allows me to opt for taxis. This was a 100 year old trollebus – tram with overhead cables - the driver seems to paddle it along with huge accelerator and brake…his left foot resting comfortably on a bespoke piece of wood. We failed to use one of Valpo’s ascenscors…..but there was, magically, a redundant one right next to our apartment to admire. The tram and then a bus took us up to the house of Pablo Neruda – famous Chilean poet, whose 20 Love Songs and One of Despair, I remember moping over as a teenager. I’m reading about him on a borrowed Kindle (enjoying it thanks, Nicola) and he describes the Chilean ‘weakness for poetry’ being perhaps due to the isolation of the country, which is both ‘volcanic and maritime’. Large queues at his house sent us in search of lunch first – and Lesley’s unerring gastronomic nose found us great humidas – savoury mashed and seasoned sweetcorn steamed in the leaves – and chicken stew.

Pablo Neruda's house

Humitas

Our apartment - windows bottom left - and ascensor

Queues still long and full of Americans at Pablo’s gaff…we decided to return later as we realised we were within walking distance of the apartment. So we set off….Unfortunately, we got a little disoriented and had to retrace steps; to cut a long story short, we ended up walking downhill past the student house and heard Kent’s voice hailing us from the roof terrace…’Get up here girls, there’s a party!’  We did try to scuttle off for a cup of tea and to do our washing -  but there was no escape. And very glad we were to have joined in. A band of young Chileans were playing some great Blues  - much of it from our era. They really enjoyed our enthusiasm and took a real shine to us; at one point we were sitting up on the roof terrace with these delightful young men drawing up their chairs and playing specifically for us….Lesley and I did look at each other and say ‘We’re on a roof in Valaparaiso, looking out over the bay with the sun shining, being serenaded!’ It was all rather lovely – especially as there were many beautiful young girls wafting about and the lads were very kind to us. Suffice it to say….never saw inside Neruda’s place; it was shut by the time the party stopped – he had a nice garden though….

Leon and Kent

On a Valparaiso roof...

The Band in full flow

Serenaded

We planned to move on the next day to take a bus up the Chilean coast towards La Serena…not knowing where. We were almost tempted to stay awhile in Valpo at Kent’s place but we’d booked a bus. In the night Lesley got a reply to an email she’d sent to a place in a valley behind Los Vilos; Miravalle Rifugio. Apparently an oasis of calm with vegetarian food and a swimming pool. We didn’t know exactly what they’d charge but they were offering a 5 night package for US$290 – so we had a stab at costing a night from that.  3 1/2 hours later, the bus stopped on the side of a motorway where we got off with vague directions and picked up a taxi to Miravalle. The valley we drove along was hot and dry, lined with flowering cactus. Quite a contrast to all the rain and lushness we’d seen, this place had experienced drought for the last 7 years and, we soon realised, was struggling to survive.

We finally found the refuge behind an unmarked gate and were ushered down to our little wooden cabana past hanging chimes and bhudda statues by a bearded young man with an air of earnest worthiness…It was the first place where we’d actually had to share a room - and we were exhorted to take off our shoes in our ‘sacred space’. Just in time for lunch, we joined a group of people who chatted amongst themselves and Lesley and I silently gauged the set-up. People arrived from meditation and we dined on thin vegetable soup and protein-less fare. It was all very lovely in that magazine-styled way – but it was just a bit too prissy and pseudo-spiritual for us. Plus we’d become used to the hostel life with kitchen and laundry facilities; making a cuppa at 3 in the morning or rinsing your knickers whenever you wanted to….Having to turn up to meals at appointed times with everyone didn’t make for relaxation. And, with the parlous drought situation, the guilt hung heavy in the air when a tap was turned on…. (However, we did feel sorry that their valley was suffering so much.)

Our cabana

Very Homes and Gardens

The sadly parched valley

I’m afraid we just had to escape and nipped down the dusty road to the one and only café for a beer (alcohol not allowed in Miravalle) where we met young Carlos, a budding composer of classical opera who filled us in on the politics behind the drought. Further up the valley a very wealthy family were taking water to grow cranberry crops – and later we heard how avocado farms in the valley also used up the resource. Nevertheless, we enjoyed a good giggle with Carlos and he even produced a roll-up for Lesley. We sneaked back into the refuge… the institutional atmosphere brought out the worst in us and we were helpless with laughter whilst plotting escape to hostel-land.

There was veggie dinner – happily a bit less starchy in atmosphere than lunch probably because it was enlivened by an earthquake; Lesley missed it altogether, I heard the momentary rattle of china and we were told it was one by our fellow diners (who took it for granted). One chap said he ‘felt it in his butt’.  Having had the ultimate tourist experience, we retired to delightful beds and slept under duvets and blankets; the nights are indeed chilly in Chile. One night was enough however, and despite some haggling, ‘earnest young man’ extracted US$200 from us; it didn’t seem to tally with the so-called spiritual ethos, somehow - and compared to the US$30 a night for the entire apartment in Valparaiso, and Kent’s generous spirit, this felt a little steep. It just goes to show that paying more doesn’t necessarily mean enjoying it more.

So….on we went; this time, totally into the unknown, as we had neither booked bus nor place to stay – despite February being the all-time popular month for Chileans to take their hols.  One of the guests found this ‘inspiring’ that we simply allowed plans to unfold….we, however, weren’t quite so sure as we were dumped by the motorway to flag down a passing bus. Other Chileans at the stop coached us on waving technique but quite a few buses sailed by – probably full. We also watched one of the many stray dogs that you see everywhere in Argentina and Chile, playing chicken with the traffic.  Eventually we got a local bus going to Los Vilos where we imagined a lunch in a nice little place before getting a bus onwards to La Serena, our next intended stop. Ha ha….Los Vilos was a dump, absolutely seething with vacationing Chileans, and the bus system was arcane and scattered over different offices in different locations. A lovely taxi driver took pity on us and ferried us to a point where we could pick up a bus – and Lesley pleaded for the last 2 seats on one.

Thus, it was on the way to La Serena, I began to write this. Arriving there about 4 p.m. we had no idea of where to go but questioned a couple of young girls who were just leaving the bus station, and found a street full of hostels. We’re now in El Jardin…a nice little place run by Sandra, once more availing ourselves of the kitchen…First move was a strong cup of tea followed by mashed avocado on bread as a restorative (2kg of Hass avos for £1.20 ) Later, we sallied out to check out the seafront (and a possible move to a nice little beachfront hostel) and somehow found ourselves on a bus going miles.  We weren’t exactly thrilled by what we found – a rather urban beach backed by high-rise apartments and dotted with funfairs. We bravely looked at some hideous cabanas but, luckily they weren’t for rent…

But, it’s always the same when you pitch up somewhere new…it takes time to let the charms of the place sink in. Lesley hated Valpo when we first arrived, I was more neutral – but it grew on us and we were sad to leave. So it may be with La Serena. We certainly felt better after a very lovely meal on the seafront. Lesley’s gastronomic nose came up with the goods again. She chose a restaurant where we were the only clients at the start of the evening…by the end, the place was stuffed with Chileans whilst all the adjoining restaurants remained empty. We sat watching the sun go down on the west facing coast and the English translation of the menu cheered us up tremendously; obviously put together with verve it was filled with such gems as

Suck Camaron

Prepared in base of bread, tuco householder, cream, grated cheese and

 a touch of soy bean. Cooked directly in the hinge of clay and served with that

 so Gouda bankrupt the surface.

Glass of wine offered for best guess as to what this actually is…...

We had the freshest ceviche and a delightful casserole of shrimp, pink clams, scallops, white fish and something undiscernible but fishy, all in a parmesan sauce – one of the best things I’ve eaten in a long while. The fish was so fresh and local. Probably our most expensive meal to date at about £25 for us both (!!!) it was washed down with a bottle of fine Chilean Sauvignon Blanc from the Elqui valley – which is next on the must-visit list…..