Beyond the walls

Needless to say, Valparaiso was more than just a collection of decorated walls, and it would be a disservice to the city not to provide a bit more info on my time there.

Saturday: I arrive at the hostel completely exhausted from three straight late nights in Santiago, and though it is four in the afternoon I crawl into bed with the intention of staying there until the next morning. My nap is derailed, however, by the arrival/return of two Brits who were traveling separately and had never met but are from the same small town, and one of whose brothers was good friends with the sister of the other. The coincidences are compounded by the arrival of three more English folks, whose last night in England had been spent at the first kid's local in London. Amazing! Such a small world leads inevitably to instant bonding, and much animated conversation, and after the talk of who knows whom and who supports what side run dry the conversation expands to include me and a very nice Australian couple. We all have dinner in the hostel, a tasty ceviche and pisco sour deal that our amazingly enthusiastic host prepares for us himself, and despite my intention to call it a night after dinner I find myself a few minutes later at a table in a lively bar with live music in the back, with orders put in for terremotos all around, except just a beer for me please on account of I don't see the need to go down that road again after La Piojera in Santiago. This place, it turns out, serves terremotos in jug form, a la sangria, and so rather than manageable glasses the table is soon crowded with too many heavy glass jugs of the stuff. Eventually of course, the jugs are drained, and as the rest of the crowd is  headed for the clubs, I call it a night and make it to bed at last, at a respectable 2am.

Sunday: The Aussies and one British couple leave us. I spend the morning wandering on my own, marveling at the profusion of murals. I'm nervous at first on account of the stories of danger I've heard but the neighbourhoods I venture into are actually quite safe and soon I'm much more confident about taking my camera out. In the afternoon those of us who are left head to the beach at Vina del Mar. More or less your typical resort, with a beach and highrise hotels, but the water is too cold for anyone except ecstatic kids, a few reluctant parents, and small knots of invincible teenagers trying to impress each other. For dinner we go to this tiny hole in the wall way down an alley, that specializes in chorillana, a kind of Chilean poutine equivalent: a mountain of fries, plus hard-boiled egg, sauteed onions and meat. The only question you get when you sit down is how big a plate you wanted; we take two two-person plates for the four of us and are very satisfied by the end. If they added gravy the thing might well take the crown of greatest fries concoction in the world, but while it was delicious it lacked a little lubrication. Thereafter we buy a couple of bottles of cheap wine and repair to the hostel for a quiet and mercifully early nightcap.

Monday: My plan to visit Neruda's house at San Sebastiana hits a fatal snag when I'm reminded that it's closed on account of it's Monday. I spend the morning wandering again through marginally less safe-feeling hoods without incident, plus I find an excellent streets-are-for-people-type intervention at the main square. After a yummy seafood lunch, a funicular ride to a lookout, and then a brief, moderately interesting boat tour, I bus it back to Santiago to prepare for the final leg of my journey: Easter Island.

Typical scene, from atop one hill, across a canyon
to the next.

This may, perhaps, be the reason some people
describe the city as filthy.

Typical street. Steeper than it looks.

One of countless stairway/alleys.
This looks about as steep as it is, i.e. very.

The Pasaje (Galvez) where my hostel was.
Hostal Casa Valparaiso, btw, highly recommended.
Muy buena onda, plus twin-sized mattresses on the bunks!

Colourful + dilapidated = super-typical scene.

The Chorillana restaurant, J. Cruz.

There were a few brushfires just over the ridge while we were
there. Relatively normal occurrence in summer, we heard.

See? It's a big place! View from the lookout at the top of one of the
few operational funiculars, no doubt open because it's a popular one
with tourists.

One of the (non-operational) funiculars.