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…..