Barrio Lastarria

In my opinion, Lastarria is like a little piece of artisan chic amidst a heap of decaying heritage and impending North American influences; a place where history is not only protected but becomes versatile and inspiring in the face of modernity. If you haven't guessed already, Lastarria is my favourite area in Santiago. It has that artistic vibe you can't resist to fill your lungs with, yet just around the corner you find yourself surrounded by sex shops and cabarets. It is here that pretensions seem to disperse and creative freedom takes hold.

I'm specifically talking about Calle José Victorino Lastarria, located just behind the Centro Gabriela Mistral, a cultural centre that has recently opened after having previously been used as the government palace for Pinochet. It is rumoured he took over the dominantly ultra-modern, copper exemplar because it was constructed for Allende (in 275 days to be exact and originally to be used as a centre for the Third World Conference for Trade and Development). In 2006, it completely burnt down and Bachelet had it reconstructed to become the cultural centre it is now. The day, upon which we happened to visit Lastarria, we came across a group of French entertainers rehearsing for Teatro A Mil, a festival every January in Santiago. Three girls stood atop towering dresses made from red, pink, purple and blue fabrics. They looked like appropriately sized dolls for a giant and were rolled onto the street by people secretly hidden under their gowns as they sung out a French tune. Passengers in passing cars and buses just watched in astonishment, the traffic slowing down momentarily.

On the average day, you can find a very cute antiques and second hand books market at the end of Calle Jose Victorino Lastarria, where you can also find musicians showcasing their talents for some spare change or other merchants selling their artisan merchandise. On the corner of the first block stands a majestic 19th century mansion that has now been converted into a series of artisan clothing stores, one appearing in each of the old bedrooms that still retain their original wooden floor boards. A superb skylight covers the ceiling of the main entrance hall. On the same side of the street, the fire-red Iglesia de la Veracruz can be found in amongst a range of cafés, bars and posh restaurants. Cine Arte El Biógrafo can be found on the other side of the street among other cultural institutions.

I took my parents to the street corner café I had had my eye on for quite some time, where we meet with my recently engaged friends. We sat inside by the enormous side window that looked out onto a busy yet relaxed calle. We ordered delicious slices of cake and strong and bitter coffee - the real kind of coffee - and chatted our way into the evening.

Bellavista

Past the arts and crafts market and hidden within the dirty, cheap bars along Avenida Pio Nono, where the students of Santiago love to hang out, you can find Patio Bellavista, a courtyard filled with gourmet restaurants ranging in prices, interspaced between expensive but "one of a kind" clothes shops, art handicrafts, jewellery stores and more. And within the walls of this concentrated space, you can find the heart of the Bellavista bohemian culture, in other words good art, good culture and good cuisine.

It was here I took my parents to eat one fine sunny day. We relished the opportunity to sit outside without the pollution and hassle of passing cars, and enjoyed the menu del dia for a mere $11. With a Pisco Sour to start off, we enjoyed the succulent 3 courses as the sun sunk deep in our pores giving us that true "I'm on holidays" feeling.

A short walk through the streets lined with charismatic historic houses and green fresh trees, we reached Chile's very own poet Pablo Neruda's house, La Chascona. One of three of Nerudas's houses, La Chascona is famously designed to imitate a ship at sea, for although Neruda could neither swim nor sail, he was totally obsessed with everything nautical. His international contacts from being a diplomat enabled his soulful words to reach a universal scale and his friendship with all the best artists around the world helped to create the most mystic, catalyst of houses (Isla Negra being the most impressive), where he was able to open up his dreams of the sea; that is until his untimely death during the Pinochet era.

The house was left to his third wife, Matilde, after whom the house is named (because of her unruly hair). She turned all three houses into museums, not before the Pinochet regime burned all the books lining the walls of La Chascona's library though. Neruda was an outspoken Communist and unfortunately that didn't go down too well during the coup d'état.

Bellavista also houses Cerro San Cristobal, the tallest hill of about 300m in the middle of Santiago city. The original funicular lines are still used to take tourists up the hill, where they can overlook a panorama of the entire urban jungle, unless it's a smoggy day of course, which is pretty much most of the time. (For the best views, it is best to head there just after it has rained). Atop Cerro San Cristobal sits a church and 22m statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. And for those of you who are interested, there is also a zoo half way up the hill, which also backs onto La Chascona. Apparently the zoo was there first and that's why the land was so cheap for Neruda to buy, and once he did, all the artists wanted to live there too. Now, like I said, Bellavista is renowned for its bohemian culture. Funny that.

Mis Padres Visitan

My stomach squirmed with butterflies as my lovely Chilean and I waited at the arrival gate for my parents to walk through, not because I was nervous but because I was so overwhelmed with excitement. A piece of home was coming to me after months of the unfamiliar. There is nothing like a mother fighting back happy tears or a father's warm embrace after an absence of this unconditional love. Even more exciting was the prospect of my folks meeting not only my lovely Chilean for the first time but the in-laws too. Their flight was delayed of course.

There are two exits at the arrival gate and so there is a secret spy camera that monitors each one, which meant we were able to wrap our arms around mis padres before they even knew where they were. We crammed into a taxi and headed to their B&B. (Note: for future travellers to Santiago, if there are 3-4 of you, taking a taxi is much cheaper than a transfer. Negotiate the price before you get in and the taxi driver is still making a far better profit than a normal, inner city fare). Providencia Bed & Breakfast resides in a quiet, little street just off the car clogged Avenida Manual Montt. It is the upstairs section of a heritage-listed garden suburb townhouse that is split into two-level dwellings and has a very cute light well in the middle. Each townhouse is painted with the same deep crimson and cream and as you walk down the street, it is like you are stepping back in history, except for the modern day cars parked inch by inch along the curb.

Inside and up the stairs that appear as soon as you open the front door, a hall of dark, wooden floor boards opens onto a romantic living room and on the far wall, a traditionally framed window opens out onto the tree-lined calle below. The owner, Ignacio greeted us with his overly friendly gestures and creepy jokes, and showed my parents to their room - not the one I had booked for them but luckily equally as nice, with the bed laying adjacent to the large window overlooking the light well so that my parents slept under the starry sky that night.

The next day they ate fresh bread rolls, cheese, ham, jam and yoghurt for breakfast. First stop of the lazy, morning start was Palacio Cousiño: built between 1870 and 1878 for the very wealthy family owners of a coal mine, silver mine, and vineyard. In 1940, the palace was bought by the municipality and was used to house many famous guests, including a long list of international presidents. After a fire in 1968, the Mayor of Santiago re-opened the palace as a museum. Unfortunately, the day we arrived for our visit, the palace was still under restoration from severe earthquake damage but we were still able to take a free guided tour of the exterior and the gardens.

We then hit Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, a replicate of the Petit Palais in Paris. The palace is now a museum for fine arts, the oldest in South America in fact. The exhibition rooms flaunted paintings, images and films, a lot of which dealt with the Pinochet regime and the poverty-stricken areas of Santiago. From there, it is only a 15 minute walk to La Vega fruit and vegetable market, where we ventured to next. We waded through the bright, Picasso-like colours to the dirty, cheap merchandise cluttered streets and onto El Mercado Central. This market was originally the central market in town but has since been converted mostly into seafood restaurants and the atmospheric location is a big seller for the tourists looking to chime in on historic Santiago culture. We ate Chupe de Jaiba (crab) and tried some nice Chilean Sauvignon Blanc.

After a siesta in the tarde, we walked down Avenida Providencia and found a new boutique cafe, Kalafate, where we tried local Santiago brewed beer made by a friend of the proprietor, who also told us that he had lived in New Zealand not long back. He took the chance to practise his English and offered us a delicious gourmet pizza on the house. It was so good that we ordered another one. We talked under the lazy afternoon sun until it was time to head back through those tree-lined streets back to the B&B.

Caras Conocidas

My time in Punta Arenas was mostly spent catching up with friends, either at their homes or in town. One of the highlights would have to be returning to my favourite chocolate café to meet these friends. Walking inside La Chocolatta was like passing through the threshold of my memory. Everything was exactly the same as when I left, the only thing that had changed were the mugs in which contain the most sumptuous and creamy chocolate caliente, topped with thick, white, whipped cream. The café is also the only place I have found to sell fudge in all of Chile. I don't know if it's because of the cold weather but the handmade chocolate or chocolate-related foods/drinks are definitely competition to the world-renowned kings of chocolate in Switzerland.

Speaking of the unchanged, the town centre of Punta Arenas itself had not altered one bit. The same little stalls spotted the town square, selling touristy items to the many passengers that hit the shore off the gigantic cruise ships that plague the port all year round. Foreigners still approach the native Selk'nam male sitting at the base of the statue of Spanish explorer Ferdinand Magellan (of whom the Magallanes is named after) to kiss his foot. It is rumoured that if a traveller kisses this now shiny brass foot, s/he will return to Patagonia again.

Outside the town centre, however, there are noticeable changes, such as the towering, out-of-place casino which overlooks the water, or the freshly opened mall that has become the meeting point for all the young teenagers desperately trying to find their identity. One really nice new attraction is the walkway along the harbour (or beach as locals call it but it is far too cold to ever go swimming there), which happened to open while I was there. Modern, concrete seats are scattered along the walkway so that people can sit and look out into the endless sea before them or perhaps just turn to their side and play chess upon one of the fixed tables amongst the surprisingly comfortable seats. There are also playgrounds for children and basketball courts adjacent to the water, although I am not quite sure how they are going to stop the balls from being thrown into the depths of the ocean - maybe they will put up a fence with time. All the attractions give locals more incentive to be outside because although the weather isn't always nice, the views are always pleasing to the eye.

In town for a couple of days en route to Torres del Paine were a few fellow Australians who I joined for lunch one day. We ate the menu of the day and they tried Vaina, a popular cocktail in the Magallanes region made from aguardeinte, cacao, egg yolk and cinnamon. The restaurant characteristically had bottles of various different alcohols lining the walls and the ceiling was a jigsaw puzzle of alcohol cartons, presumably from the bottles. Following lunch, me being the most local of the group, I took my fellow Australians for a guided tour around town, stopping at the famous cemetery with it's millionaire tombs and lofty hedges, as well as another of my favourite cafes, El Immigrante, for coffees with cream and mouth-watering homemade cake. As the sky darkened, we bought cheap wine in the local corner shop, which we drank at their hostel until it was late enough for us to head to a salsa bar in town.

On another evening I met my friend's four-month daughter for the first time. Her big, brown eyes rolled back in her chubby face as she blissfully enjoyed drinking the milk from her bottle. It was as if she was a crack addict having just injected herself after a long period of craving. We all giggled at her all-so innocent behaviour. When her Dominican Republican papa returned home from work, her mama and I headed to a new bar (well, new to me at least) where we relished happy hour and then headed to a (again new to me) discoteca. Four years back, there had only been 4 places to go out but oh, how the times had changed! Being the small town that it is, I ran into many familiar faces and spoke with some people I hadn't spoken to since the last day of school.

Back at my Chilean family's home, they made sure to cook me all my favourite foods, including Chupe de Centolla: a stew-like soup that can be found in all of Chile but the added king crap ingredient is a speciality of the coastal region. My Chilean younger brother, who is studying to be a chef, also cooked me Pastel de Choclo: a corn pie complete with chicken, mince meat, one egg, one olive and covered with corn, which is then sprinkled with sugar. I guess you could almost call it the Chilean version of Shepherd’s Pie.

And then after one week, I was back in Santiago. It was so nice to see all those smiling, familiar faces after such a long time but I was definitely glad to be out of the wind!

Punta Arenas

There is nothing more spectacular than flying over the Andes, the southern Andes in particular. Interspersed amongst the snow capped mountain peaks run the numerous glaciers that look from above as if they were water slides at a children's aquatic theme park. Their colour of icy pearl white is so clearly defined amongst the blues and greys of the neighbouring mountains and lakes that you might mistake the scene for a fictional painting.

On 22nd December I flew south along the mystic cordillera and into the setting sun above the town of Punta Arenas; a place renowned for its location at the end of the world and also for its intensely fierce winds. As the plane prepared to land, I watched from the window as the lights of habitation glistened amidst the barren darkness of the Patagonian wastelands. By the time I searched my friend’s house it was midnight.

Punta Arenas holds a special place in my heart because four distant years ago I partook in an exchange in this lonesome town. I went to school everyday, and in the afternoons and weekends I enjoyed enlarging my belly with rich, hearty foods that kept me warm in the constantly cold weather. I also had the opportunity of meeting many wonderful people, some of whom are the friends I had now journeyed to visit.

My Chilean family welcomed me with open arms at the airport - my Chilean father whispering into my ear, "welcome back hija" as we embraced in a warm saludo. During the car ride to their apartment they demanded to know everything. They praised me for my natural glow; an obvious result, they said, from the fact that I was in love and who better to be in love with, then a Chilean.

When we arrived, my Chilean younger brother was there to greet me. I had first met him when he was merely 16 and lanky and with bracers but now he was muscularly shaped and had facial hair. Such a strange phenomenon!

In the peak of summer, it was less than 10 degrees Celsius outside my window as I fell asleep in that same familiar bed, in that same familiar room.

El Año Nuevo

Just as you have a selection of favours to choose from at the heladería so does there exist a selection of ingenious that now call Chile home. In the 15^th century the mighty Incas conquered the northern part of Chile and their influences infiltrated the existing traditions of the Atacaminans and the Diaguitas to name a few. In the south the savage Mapuche ruled and the Selk’nam roamed Patagonia. In 1540 the explosive gun power of Pedro de Valdivia marked the entrance of Spanish governance.

Along Catholicism the Spanish also introduced paganistic superstitions to Chile, which especially become apart during the festive season. The oncoming weeks before New Year's Eve one can find a strange array of yellow underwear on sale in the street instead of the usual fake handbags and sugarcoated peanuts. Why all this yellow a perplexed foreigner might ask? The answer is easy: if you are wearing golden yellow underwear as the clock strikes midnight on the 31^st you will be endowed with great financial fortune this new year.

If that doesn’t work the trick, perhaps try dropping your gold jewellery into your celebratory glass of champagne. And if you want to ensure your good fortune will last the entire year, with each chime of midnight eat 12 grapes (ideally 6 green and 6 red), one for each month and make sure to shallow the seed.

There is a superstition for all of us: for all those singletons bursting for a proposal of marriage this coming year, simply sit down and stand up 12 times in accordance to each chime of the clock. Or if you want more clothes, on New Year’s Eve wear your underwear inside out. Or perhaps you’re worried you won’t be happy. Not to worry, at midnight go out into the street and try to make the first person you see be young – the younger the person, the greater your happiness will be.

And put your packed bags at the front door to ensure you take lots of trips. Better yet, go around the block with your suitcases. And burn a doll to get rid of all the bad energy from last year but be careful; it is necessary that the doll is wearing old clothes. If you want, put a list of all the bad things from last year that you want removed in the doll's pocket and set it all alight at midnight.

The superstitions don't stop there. The question is though do you really believe in it all? Maybe it’s all just a placebo, who knows.

Un Pueblo Turistico

Don't get me wrong, there is plenty to do in San Pedro de Atacama but not everything is as economical as the tours we were able to find for our first three days there. As a couple instead of a quartet, we were forced to participate in one of the more expensive tours (the price depending on the distance travelled from town it seemed).

On this particular day we ventured to Las Lagunas Altiplánicas, first stop Laguna Chaxa. As we drove into the national park it seemed as if we had entered a parallel universe. The entire area was covered with crystallised salt rocks and salt encrusted streams of water interspersing between. It really did look like the ancient bottom of the sea, only with flamingos grazing on the strange bacteria one can find in the water.

We were told that there were three types of flamingos that inhabited the area: the Chilean, the Andean and the James Flamingo (the smallest of the three). You can tell them apart from their colour in particular as some have more pink feathers than others. They all looked beautifully silhouetted against the water's surface and each and every tourist couldn't help but click away.

Next we travelled a long way to Lagunas Socaire, Miscanti and Meñique, which were quite high in altitude (approximately 4000 metres above sea level) and the little van struggled to make it up. We did eventually arrive and the huge lake set in a small valley below the mountains was rather breathtaking. Vicuñas lazily walked along the yellowing grass; their camel-like features looking striking against the blue backdrop of the lake.

On the way back to town we passed the ancient and original Inca trail, which begins in Ecuador and ends in middle Chile. It was basically a trade root that the Inca people developed, very much the South America version of the Silk Road. Traditionally the travellers crossing the driest desert in the world would pile stones on top of each other to indicate the correct direction and myth states that if a traveller does this then he is protected on his journey. So of course at the exact point where a cross stands indicating the Tropic of Capricorn one can find a growth of these piled stones from the many modern tourists who now pass by. We also stopped for lunch at a typical ugly mining village and visited the other church in the area with a cactus roof, in Toconao.

With no plans for the following day, we took the opportunity to sleep in and after a lazy breakfast we went walking the 3km to Quitor Pukará – ancient ruins from the original indigenous inhabitants of the Atacama Desert (supposedly after the Tiahuanaco and before the Inca, which were then conquered by the Spanish). Upon the hill descends the ruins of houses, which once stood surrounded by a strong fort wall, all made from volcanic rock. On the adjacent hill we climbed high up to the mirador and took in the scenery. We climbed further up to the large religious cross where we also came upon a group of Germans who were climbing up from the other side. We asked where they had come from and they reassured us that there was a path. And so we continued on, sometimes sliding on our bottoms down the steep rocks, sometimes looking endlessly for the merciless path until we came into a valley of rocks as the Germans said we would find.

Once the ground became flat, we enjoyed climbing in and out through the valley of rocks, which towered above us. Although, it wasn't long before we feared that we had gone the wrong direction and we were in fact lost in the desert. Our only reassurance that we were going the right way was either rubbish left behind by some slack people or the still-fresh footprints of the Germans. We made it out eventually and found ourselves in the Valle de la Muerte where we had been sandboarding a few days ago. The worst part was then having to walk along the highway back to town, racing off the road as big cargo trucks came past and flicked stones at us from under their wheels.

We cooked our lunch and then went off to check out the museum in the central plaza, which is also an Institute for Archaeological Investigations and was founded by the priest R.P Gustavo Le Paige, one of the forefathers of Archaeology in Chile. It was he who had grained the permission to conserve the artefacts found in the area, including ancient bodies of the Indigenous people, which have since been taken off display out of respect. It was a laugh to see just how many of the artefacts were in fact old tools for cocaine consumption, either used to get closer to the Gods or for the altitude. The translation into English for many items was "Snuff Tablet".

Afterwards we walked 3km in the stinking heat to the local municipal swimming pool, which just so happened to be closed that day for cleaning. We sat in the shade for a little bit before we dared the sunrays again. Most disappointing!

The following morning we spent buying souvenirs and Christmas presents, something actually very hard to do because most of the objects were straight from Peru where you can get them for half the price. At least the sellers were honest in telling us the original of the item when we asked. Then we took the bus to Calama where we had planned to wonder around for a bit but when we got there (this time during the day) we found it to be the most boring and frightening town we had been to in Chile. I say this because it is strictly a mining town without much cultural influence (so it seems, although I hear the central plaza is nice. We couldn't find it), and I felt the eyes of the many men upon my oh-so white skin. It was as if they had never seen a white person before. In fact we both felt so uncomfortable we took a taxi to the airport and waited for our plane there.

Who knew the desert could be such an adventure!