Santiago

The thief stole from the shadows of the Mercado Central, grasped Florence’s gold necklace with both hands, pulled firmly with practiced efficiency and disappeared into the throng. A bad start to our first day in South America.

After an 11-hour intercontinental flight, the morning had been leisurely. We wandered jet-lagged and giddy through Santiago’s hectic streets. At the central market, distracted by the raucous clamour of fishmongers and the lively solicitations of fruit merchants, we were unprepared for a brazen daylight mugging. Afterward Florence with her usual joie de vivre offered a resigned, “Oh well, hopefully his family will eat well for a few days. Now let’s go have that Pisco Sour.”

Pisco is Chile’s best-loved cocktail, a concoction of distilled grapes, fresh lemon juice and egg white — a great way to shrug off a sour start in Chile’s capital. We hopped onto the Hop-on Hop-off bus, landed at a streetside restaurante in the upscale Las Condes district, ordered the tangy brew and tucked into our first South American lunch with longtime travel companions, Joe and Carla from Saskatoon. A Canadian ex-pat at an adjoining table overheard us talking about our planned daytrip to Valparaiso on the coast. “Be careful tomorrow,” she warned. “I don’t want to alarm you but a friend of mine was robbed there last year. A fight over his knapsack. There was a struggle. He died.” Apparently there’s crime in Chile. After the morning’s incident the four of us made a Patagonian pact to look after one another. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Santiago lies 100 km inland from the Pacific. Valparaiso is a port city, hugging the ocean. One would expect Santiago, snuggled against the Andes, to be cool and hilly, Valparaiso hot and flat. The opposite is true. Santiago sits spread out in a warm flat valley. Valparaiso is foggy, cool and ridiculously hilly. ‘Vaipos’ don’t just rely on buses for the daily commute. Many jump on a funicular for the vertical ride home. High above the port, neighbourhoods are stacked precariously one on top of the other. And the entire city is a work of fanciful graffiti. Buildings are adorned with fantastic, colourful facades. While spray painting a house would be considered vandalism where we hang our hats, Vaipo owners obligingly welcome — even commission — these exterior makeovers. All this and world-class cuisine explains why Valparaiso is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Jorge, our guide, toured us up and down the town’s steep stairways and through a zigzag of narrow multicoloured streets. As we strolled randomly and poked into the odd curio shop, he offered a brief introduction to Chilean culture and its people. Jorge appeared European but ensured us that all Chileans consider themselves Mestizo, mixed blood; a good recipe for national unity.

When we crossed into the seedy port area for a boat-tour of the harbour, the usual hawkers and questionable characters were milling about. Still wary from the Santiago outing, we instinctively huddled in close. No need, Jorge had our backs. The boat ride was short, cool and charming. When we re-docked our stomachs told us lunch was nigh. We stopped in a quiet back-alley bodega. Jorge disappeared into the kitchen to chat with the owner while we ordered up cervezas. Moments later a huge plate of chorrillana arrived. Jorge served the massive concoction of fries, sauteed onions and hunks of beef from an overflowing tureen while telling us about the Humboldt Current. “Cold nutrient-rich water flows up from Antarctica to our coast. This is why Chile is blessed with an abundance of seafood. Then the fog drifts inland from the coast.” This liquid manna nourishes the vineyards of the Casablanca, Maipo and Colchagua valleys which produce some of the world’s great wines. And the lush grass makes the cattle grow fat and tasty.

That afternoon, back in Santiago, we again took to the streets, but more vigilantly and less conspicuously — no dangling jewelry or cameras. The City parks were full of young couples nestled in the spring grass, enjoying the warm November sun, oblivious to everything but their partner’s eyes and lips. Santiago is a big place. 18 million personas call this metropolis home. Urban congestion inevitably leads to homelessness. Santiago’s downtown boulevards and canals are lined with cardboard lean-tos and outstretched hands.

We were quartered in Cumbres Lastarria, a boutique hotel in the Lastarria district, where a laid-back Bohemian vibe dominates. With a multitude of restaurants just steps from the lobby we didn’t have to venture far. To work up an appetite, we strolled over to lovely Santa Lucia Hill, an extinct volcano now adorned with foliage, fountains and ornate facades. A maze of staircases leads to the fortress-like summit and a sweeping view of the Santiago skyline. Chileans dine late. The doors of Papachecos were just opening and the place vacant when we sat down at 8pm. Two hours later as we finished a final Pisco Sour and asked for ‘la cuenta’, the place was bustling.

Jorge picked us up the next morning for a road trip to Casas del Bosques winery in the Casablanca Valley. In addition to the fine wines we sampled that day, we received a vintage education; how the local terroir flavours all varietals grown in a region, how grape skins can determine a wine’s colour and the difference between an organic and a vegan wine. Did you know egg-white is typically used to remove sediment? Or that carmenere has a hint of burning tire? (That last bit is mine. I’m not a big fan of carmenere.) The Casa del Bosques restaurant was fantastic. We sat back chewed and sipped while the sommelier paired each plate with an appropriate vintage. I cannot praise Chilean salmon too highly. Or the empanadas, or the lamb, or…

Travelling post-pandemic felt a bit like re-learning a lost language. The nuances of travel, the waiting, the let-downs and fear of the unknown can seem overwhelming, but with a little patience and an open mind, these small disappointments are always outweighed by new experiences, exhilarating vistas, serendipitous discoveries — and the plain pleasure of just being on the road.

Our luggage landed in the lobby early the next morning. We were headed to the bus station for an 8am departure. It was going to be a long day, up and over the Andes Mountains, to another new adventure in another new place: Mendoza, Argentina.

Gerry