Desert Adventures and a Trek to Bolivia

This first part sort of repeats a bit from my last post, although I am more detailed here. Why did I do that? I don't know and I'm not editing it. Stick with it though, there's lots of new material!

Sunday morning arrived, time for my last jaunt through northern Chile, with a pitstop in Bolivia.

I thought it was genius of me to get a place ticket from Santiago to Calama, thereby avoiding a 23 hour bus ride. Really though, I had to take a micro to the bus station in Valpo, a bus from Valpo to Santiago, the subway from Las Rejas to Pajaritos to catch a shuttle to the airport, my flight to Calama, a taxi from the airport to the bus station and after a three hour wait, a bus to San Pedro de Atacama. Still, I left my house in Valpo just before noon and arrived in San Pedro at 10:30 that night, not too bad. However, I had set up a place to stay which, in typical Chilean fashion, fell through so I was left wandering around SP looking for a place to stay after traveling all day. I should note that I went out dancing Chilean cumbia the night before and got home veeeerrrrry late and on the way home, there was one of those fantastic downpours so my damp jacket and wet clothes in tow didn't make things easier. Anyway, I found a place to stay and put myself right to bed!


Lucky for me, the next day, June 29th, happened to be the festival of San Pedro and I happened to be in the town of San Pedro. I went to an outdoor mass in the central plaza, where there were people all dressed up, some in indigenous costumes, others as various animals and still others in their marching band best. Mass was followed by a parade down Caracoles, the main street. Two men dressed as chickens lassoed me and pulled me into the parade. I have no idea what this means and I didn't see anyone else get lassoed. Unfortunately, my camera had just decided to make its final exit from the world so I didn't get any photos from this exciting event. I spent the rest of the day wandering around the little town, checking out the many shops selling overpriced shit you can buy in every country in South America, shopping around the many storefronts offering tours to all the wonders of the desert. I signed up for the Geyers del Tatio tour the following morning, meaning I had to get up at 3:30 to be ready for pickup at 4am. Apparently the geysers are best appreciated as the sun rises, the reflection of light on steam and sediment creating an incredible array of colors. Well, let me tell you something about the desert. It's cold as hell at night and blazing hot during the day. So when I got up at 3:30, it was FREEZING!!!!! I am going to apologize in advance, because I am going to abuse the word “freezing” like nobody's business in this post. I should have kept a count of how many times I heard the word congelado during the week. Another thing, Chileans seem incredulous that we tourists are cold. They say “But you're from New York, it gets cold there.” Umm, yeah, but we have HEAT. I realize indoor heating is expensive but to not have it in cars? That is bullshit. Hence, the two hour bus ride without heat before the sun came up was uncomfortable to say the least. Oh yeah, and the road was RELENTLESSLY bumpy so even if you wanted to catch a little shut-eye, no luck.


Let me interrupt by saying that you must think my experiences in Chile have all been horrible, based on these blog entries. Not in the least, quite the contrary. It's just so much easier for me to write in a self-deprecating style and that just doesn't lend itself well to writing about some of the magic I've experienced. So instead I will poke fun at all my random, uncomfortable and, I like to think, totally hilarious adventures. Anyway...


OK, we got to the geysers and I have to say, I was underwhelmed. There was some steam rising out of the ground, whoop-de-doo. No gorgeous colors to speak of. What WAS impressive was watching the sun come up over the mountains. I don't know what it is about these landscapes that inspires such awe in us, maybe it's the feeling of our smallness in the face of such grandeur, maybe it's the revelation of the spectacular forces of nature that created such beauty. Whatever the reason, it was truly amazing. On the drive back, we stopped several times to get out and take pictures, or in my camera-less case, gawk at the scenery. A couple times I thought to myself there was no need to get out, I don't have a camera and I can see this very well from inside the bus. But then I'd get out and my sense of scale was completely altered. Still though, I don't need to stop and get out every time we see a damn llama, which is one of my main beefs with these organized tours. Another beef is stopping in these “quaint” villages to soak up some indigenous culture. We stopped at a little place that consisted of about 6 huts, all selling more overpriced crap. I could really skip this orchestrated, tourist marketing scheme, thanks anyway.


Christ, it was already my third night in SP! I got back from the tour and busied myself preparing for my three-day excursion to Bolivia, filling every bottle I could find with water, changing pesos for bolivianos and so on. Once again, I put myself to bed early to be ready for our 8am departure.


I arrived at Colque tours office and boarded a bus with a bunch of other confused-looking people, this would set the tone for the entire trip. After an hour of driving, we reached the Bolivian border, where we were all herded off and into the customs office to pony up our money for Bolivian travel visas. Everyone else had to pay 2100 pesos, less than $4, but those of us lucky enough to have an American passport had to pay $130. I think this is ridiculous but people comforted me by telling me Bolivians have to pay the same when they go to the US. I am not appeased by this, I don't want them to pay either but nonetheless, that's the way it is. Actually, I slid in by paying the bargain price of $50 since I'd only be in the country 3 days. They didn't stamp my passport though, likely because this is somewhat illegal but we all know I'm no stickler for rules, especially if it saves me $85 dollars..


After the border shenanigans, we split up into smaller groups to fit into the jeeps we'd be traveling in for the next few days. My tour included two jeeps; in mine was me, obviopo, Laima from Holland and Nicolo from Italy. The other jeep had two girls from Manchester (Bex and Katy), Rafa from Spain and Moses from Brazil. We stopped at a hot springs and several lagunas the first day; Laguna Verde, Laguna Blanca and Laguna Colorada. I'm sorry I don't have my own photos to share with you but my travel buddies have promised to send some my way (the ones I have here are from Rafa) but you should really do a Google image search. Actually, it was pictures of Laguna Verde that convinced me too do the Bolivia trip.



Laguna Verde




Laguna Colorada


I should say a few words about Bolivia. If I thought the Chilean desert was cold, I was blown away by the Bolivian altiplano. The elevation is much higher so it's way colder. The country is also much poorer and less modern than Chile, plus we were in really remote areas, meaning that there was no electricity or running water at the places we were staying. Also I will now state my disclaimer that I am about to talk some major smack about Bolivia but that shouldn't taint any ideas you may have about the country because I was only there three days and barely saw anything. That said, Bolivia ain't my cup of tea. It probably would have been much less painful during the summer than the winter but I still only have so much tolerance for barren towns made of mud and peopled by women in skirts and bowler hats. I fear that I am about to sound very ignorant and small-minded but I'm just going to embrace it. If you've seen one woman in a bowler hat, you've seen 'em all. I do not want to pay anyone for a picture of me and a wrinkled lady in llama leggings and that goddamn bowler hat. Why do they all wear the same things? And how did this fashion trend spread all over Bolivia and Peru and who knows what other countries​? It SHO' ain't cute and more importantly, it doesn't seem all that warm either.



Case in point...


Anyway, we stopped at Laguna Colorada for lunch and also to spend the night. We were at an altitude of more than 4,000 meters, which is pretty damn high and super-cold. But we were all still in pretty good spirits and had a mediocre but filling lunch. Then we realized that there was not a whole lot to do here, we had only a few hours of daylight left and already it was unbelievably cold. Fortunately, there was one lookout, which I thought was very meanly named Aguas Calientes ( I mean, just don't mention hot water if there isn't any, okay?). We walked through the wide open altiplano, clutching each other and screaming to be heard, until we reached the lookout and saw a small exhibit about the laguna and why it changes colors, micro-organisms etc. With nothing left to do, we headed back to our room to layer up, push our beds together and wait for dinner.

I believe this is where it started too sink in for me that we would be sleeping in this godforsaken place. The bathroom, if I may call it that, had toilets that did not flush and no running water in the sinks. The smell, well, I don't need to tell you, but the bathrooms so far in Bolivia were impressive in their stench and squalor. Then it hit me, “Are you kidding me? Are we FUCKING CAMPING?” I could feel a hysterical note rising in my voice and this is where it is great that someone like Laima was along on the trip. She is one of those delightful people with twinkly eyes who immediately links her arm through yours and unabashedly asks to borrow your mascara and if you'd like to split a piece of chocolate. I love these kind of people, they're almost caricatures of real people and just crack me up to no end. So although I was tricked into a miserable camping trip in Bolivia, at least I was in good company.



Our "hotel" on the first night, I'm depressed all over again just looking at that picture.


After dinner, we all brushed our teeth together, sharing water bottles to clean off, haha, God, isn't camping fun? Then we went to bed and they turned off the generator at 8:30 and I spent one of the worst nights of sleep I've ever had. Not only was it ungodly cold, but that altitude really does something to you. Actually, we made jokes about it over the next few days, blaming everything on the altitude, especially things that had no relation to altitude whatsoever. Yet, the altitude absolutely makes you feel tired and dizzy and slightly sick. After waking up for the 17th time, I blissfully saw the sun rising, which meant it was time to get up. I sat up and felt like I drank 2 bottles of whiskey and smoked 14 cartons of cigarettes the night before. And perhaps someone had also hit me over the head with said whiskey bottles. Of course, nothing of the sort happened but the altitude gave me a clanging headache and the dryness of the air sucked the moisture out of my skin and throat.


Day Two was pretty great, I think you haven't really lived until you've sped through the altiplano with a crazy Bolivian driver while blasting reggaeton. Marcos and Chino, our drivers, seemed to delight in racing each other and scaring us shitless by driving through rivers and riding alongside huge ridges at impossible angles. I loved seeing how the scenery changed. The day before, it had been huge mountains, composed of all shades of red, brown, terracotta, bronze. Which was stunning, of course, but then we cruised into different terrain, lower slopes, looking misty blue in the distance, with golden-green shrubbery creating a beautiful contrast. It looked like a cover of one of those paperbacks about the Wild West by Elmore Leonard or whatever his name is. I only know that from shelving his books those years of working at the library in high school. Again, we eased into yet another striking scene, with huge rock formations created by wind erosion. It looked like a set from Beetlegeuse or something totally otherworldly.



Desert racing...




Arbol de Piedra


We stopped for lunch in another incredibly depressing town called Villa Alota. There appeared to be no sign of life, it looked completely devoid of people and activity. After lunch, Chino told us that there was a problem with frozen water at the place we were supposed to stay at that night so we were going to go straight to Uyuni and sleep there. This sounded great to us because Uyuni meant civilization! Internet! Running water! Along the way, we stopped in another horrible town, although this one had a market that we wandered around in for a minute before we spotted a bathroom. Now, how it works in many places here is that you have to pay to use the bathroom, with a nice little sign indicating such. Well, there was no sign and no attendant and so I bravely went in first, holding my nose, clutching my toilet paper. Without getting too explicit, I was using the bathroom when this lady kicked in the door and demanded 1 boliviano. I could care less about the boliviano but umm, can you shut the door and I'll pay you on my way out? Nope, she stormed out and left the door wide open. I kinda felt like smacking the bowler hat right off her head. Enough of these little towns, please get me to Uyuni!!!!

So, this post is already way too long, I will get to Part Two of my Bolivian adventure soon, stay tuned!

The Jig is Up!

I really have little excuse for not communicating better with you all, my gentle readers. Oh sure, I've had a lot of guests this month but seriously, I don't have a job nor am I going to school and the fact that I am so behind in uploading my photos and generally documenting every move I make while on this journey, well, damn, it is just inexcusable! Or, que feo! I am a big fan of this phrase, which ostensibly means “how ugly” but is appropriate as well to mean “that is totally uncalled for” or “what bullshit.” Oops, I cursed, which leads me to the title of this blog post and also one of my numerous excuses for not being better at this update game. I think it has been hard for me to keep up the blog, send out emails that are suitable for all audiences, separate what I eat from what I do etc. So I am consolidating, it is just too much for me to try censoring myself, from here on out the emails will consist of a link to my latest blog entry. Hopefully, this will streamline things and I can avoid repeating myself or underreporting. Do forgive me though, I am politically incorrect, uncouth and I can exercise a real potty mouth from time to time. There, I said it, sorry Mamma!


(Chile's answer to Jim's Steakout, don't hate me that I find it hilarious that there is a sandwich called Ass Italiano)


Besides my disclaimer, life is love-love-lovely here! Kim came for a visit, we went to Mendoza and I can't for the life of me figure out why the town has such a thriving tourist industry. We also had a grand old time in Valpo, visiting wineries in Casablanca, dancing the night away, getting tested for swine flu at the border...
we also had a stellar despedida for my best friend here, Maija, who sadly went back to Finland on Monday. Then my friend Giulia came to Valparaiso before saying adios to Chile. It was great to see her again and swap stories of our adventures since we departed in Puerto Montt two months ago. I saw her off to the bus stop, wrapped myself tightly in my lana-chal and walked straight into the fading, golden, change of season light reflecting off my hill.

Mysterious Afflication Wrap-Up/Update

Sitting here in my lovely backyard, enjoying what is surely one of the last fine days of the season, I am finally hunkering down to update you. When I last left you, I had just arrived at my new home in Valparaiso. Within a few hours, I was invited downstairs to join an asado, Chilean-style BBQ, with my new family. Afterwards, I went to the beach with three of my new “brothers.” Things were starting out just swimmingly. EXCEPT, for this weird affliction that engulfed my body in about 2.5 seconds.

The week before, I noticed some bites on my arms but I didn't really pay much attention to them as I was sleeping in hostel beds, scaling mountains and so on. That meant two things; first that I didn't really have time to be preoccupied, even if I wanted to and second, bites didn't seem to be out of the ordinary. Until my entire back erupted. Then my arms and fingers. One of my new housemates nodded knowingly and said “Ah sí, pulgas.” If you don't know what that means, God bless you. It means fleas. Chile seems to have quite the flea problem but my roomie assured me they usually die down in the winter. Great, because winter was still a good two months away. I was none too thrilled about this but I thanked my stars that the fleas at least left my face alone. Then my cheek started itching. And my face erupted. Now, for those of you who know me well, you may have picked up on the fact that I can be slightly hyperbolic but I promise you that it is no exaggeration to say that I was acutely afflicted, a veritable monster. Seriously, I scared small children on the subway. It looked like someone attacked my face with a meat tenderizer.

The next morning, I headed straight to the pharmacy, held up my arms and lifted my protective curtain of hair in front of the poor woman working the counter. She winced and called for backup. The man who had the misfortune of being head pharmacist in charge shoved some Allegra and calming spray at me and fled.

In the meantime, I had to catch a bus to Santiago to meet my beloved sister at the airport. She was to arrive the following morning and I was spending the night at my friend Monika's so I could get up and early and fetch Nika. The woman who sat down next to me on the bus took a closer look and promptly got up and moved. Awesome. I was kinda worried that Monika would not be very thrilled to see a cube steak ringing her door bell instead of me but she handled the situation the tact and grace by telling me that she had a friend with leprosy. Or something that made her a total freak, just like me. We had a grand old time eating dinner and looking up bed bugs, fleas and other things on the internet.

In the morning, I hopped a bus to the airport and drank a crappy cappuccino while waiting for Nika to arrive. We shared a huge hug and she appraised my face and said “it's not that bad.” Then I lifted my hair, which I had cunningly styled to hide the 50-plus bites on my right side and she said “oh.”


We got the rental car with no hassle, except that it was a piece of junk. No matter, we blazed onward to Valparaiso with my valiant sister at the wheel. I'm not quite sure how she managed that after 20+ hours on a plane but I suspect she has super powers. Once we got home and Nika further inspected, we decided it was time to go to a hospital, the situation was getting dire. Fortunately, my landlord Rocio was able to join us and we went all over the place, looking for a doctor to see me. Welcome to Chile, Nika! I'm sure that wasn't on her list of things to do in Chile but...desperate times! The homeopathic doctor who finally saw me said I was having an acute allergic reaction to a few bites and wrote me a script. As of that evening, my affliction started to fade, I don't know if it was psychosomatic, the homeopathic remedies or the Allegra or a combination. However, it still looked pretty bad until about a week later, when I was finally able to pull my hair up into a ponytail and show my face. (Three weeks later, the marks are still there but I am sure they will fade someday. In the meantime, it just looks like a mild case of total body, adult acne.)

Anyway, that's the status on my little problem and considering the myriad other things that could have happened to me, this is relatively innocuous, if not a bit inconvenient and totally embarassing. Forgive me for a picture-free post, fear not,
I have plenty but I think we can all agree that this is one entry that really does not beg for visual illustration.

What I'm Eating

As you know, I haven't been too impressed with the food here in Chile. However, now I am home in my own place and can cook so it's not as much of an issue. Although I am limited by inability to find certain items (breadcrumbs, seriously?) and a meagerly furnished kitchen, I still manage to crank out some good eats.

The market here is great and cheap. For example, today I bought a kilo of oranges, celery, half kilo of carrots, two zucchini, two things of swiss chard, a head of cabbage, about a bushel of basil and a stack of hot peppers for about 3 dollars. Not too shabby. Anyway, I've been on a real beet, carrot and squash kick here, often slicing them all up, dousing with olive oil and sprinkling with merquen, a Chilean spice that is kinda smoky and hot. I toss the roasted vegetables with some brown rice to make a warm rice salad, squeeze on some fresh lemon juice, top with toasted walnuts, golden raisins and some cilantro and I am good to go. Simple pleasures.



ats

Ain't No valley Low Enough

I really love the outdoors and seeing beautiful scenery but I'm not an adventurerer per se. Nevertheless, I always seem to forget this and agree to go on multi-day camping trips and several hours long kayak trips, only to conclude at the end that I really hate that shit. I'd rather appreciate it from a calm boat ride or a lift. Camping eludes me; I hate sleeping in tents, it smells, it's stuffy, I really don't get the appeal. I hate being dirty, I like to hike though, and by that I mean take a walk on flat ground for an hour or so. Mind you, I'm in good shape, I work out several times a week and I am fair game for exploring a new city by foot. But climbing a volcano at a 60 degree angle for four hours just really isn't my cup of tea. Let me take you on my journey....

I paid 80 USD, which is a bit steep (haha) but oh, it would be so worth it, right? The fee included a guide and all my gear; backpack, gloves, gaiter, windbreaker, snow pants, some butt protector thing (more on that later), metal clamps, boots and an ice pick. Yeah, it's when I saw the ice pick strapped to my pack that I thought this might not be a great idea.

Anyway, my dumbass is still all excited, Giulia is nervous and I'm telling her she'll do great. Which of course she did. I on the other hand, climbed for about 15 mintes, my lungs raging and my heart ready to explode, I had to stop. I was so mentally unprepared for this expedition that not only did my body need a minute to adjust but now I was scared. I did a little crying because we all know I do that so well and then I told myself to man up and keep rolling. I hate looking weak in front of people. I can' tell you how terrifying it is to be 3,000 meters up a mountain, and digging your feet, which now weight about 15 pounds each thanks to the boots, into volcanic ash, and sliding back with each step. Because of the crumbly nature of the sand and ash, taking one step forward often resulted in two steps back. Finally, I think after an hour or so, although I had no sense of time during the trek, we came upon snow. “This will be better,” I thought. “I'm from Buffalo, I can DO snow and ice.” I thought if I planted my feet firmly in the snow, I'd do a lot less sliding backwards. Which was mostly true for about ten minutes until we hit real ice and then it was a slip and slide free-for-all. In addition, we were now engulfed in a full-on gale, threatening our balance and making a fall off the side seem very plausible. At this point, I was feeling the Tourette's coming out in me, I let the f-bomb slide out a few times, muttering and cursing to myself as I inched facefirst in the ice up this goddamn mountain. I thought I'd really much rather let someone waterboard me for free, keep my 80 bucks and spend it on a nice bottle of Veuve and some oysters. This climbing shit was for the birds.

What could I possibly think about to distract myself from this hell? My mother told me about a writing practice she had done the week before in which you answered three questions. What surprised you today? Inspired you? Motivated you? I get the subtle difference between motivate and inspire but it didn't really seem all that different to me on last Thursday or Friday or any other day I had it in my head. But ohhhhh, I saw the difference on that hellish Sunday morning. What surprised me was how f-ing hard it was it climb this goddamn mountain. The tour companies, likely eager to sell, don't forewarn you about much, don't ask if you have asthma, a heart condition, nothing. I'm pretty active and I'm fairly young so I did NOT think that I would be having such a hard time. What inspired me? Giulia's 22-year, Swiss self scurrying up the mountain like a damn billy goat. Not for nothing, but that girl smokes like a chimney. Damn! What motivated me? Honestly? Fear, pride and chocolate. I was terrified of falling off that mountain and being left alone so I stuck with the group. My pride would not let me quit in front of others and the promise of an enormous chocolate gelato after the climb really paved the way.

Did I mention that it is high summer right now in Chile? That means the sun is hot as hell but you're on a mountain with snow and wind and you've got to stay covered up to avoid sunburn and illness. So we're all sweating like animals and I would venture to say the gear they gave us wasn't washed after each use, rendering a distinct and altogether unpleasant aroma. Also, you have to put on sunblock every 12 seconds or so or else the sun will scald several layers of your skin off. Try slapping some SPF 70 on a sweaty face with pebbles stuck under your nails and volcanic ash coating your hands and I dare you not to get any in your eyes, producing an unbearable stinging, profuse eye-watering and clutching of face for at least ten minutes. When it subsides, repeat immediately.

After what seemed like hours, we finally reached the top, well, almost. Our guide told us that the volcano was spewing too much gas, which is toxic, so we'd just wait 15 minutes or so. Great, because I was not really convinced that the toxicity levels would have plummeted in a scant 15 minutes. But make it to the top we did, where I most certainly ingested my lifetime recommended intake of sulfuric gases. Anyway, we started to make our descent, where things got a lot more interesting. We strapped on those butt protector things, really high-tech diaper-like contraptions slathered with duct-tape, and made our way down the mountain on our butts. There were all these paths carved out by millions of other peoples' weary butts and I begrudgingly admit I had a ball cruising down the mountain in this fashion. They told us to keep our legs out but all that surface area would slow you down so of course, I pulled my legs in and went for the fast ride. One woman in our group didn't understand the mechanics of physics very well so she kept getting stuck and then we would have a sort of snowy-mountaintop bumper car thing going on that was also quite funny. We now were shrouded in clouds and there were times where you'd be hurtling forward with no one around you and the snow and clouds eating up every sound, the ash creating an eerie, grey veil on top of the snow, it was really quite incredible.

We finally made it down the mountain,looking bedraggled and exhausted, except for Giulia of course, who looked all smiley and accomplished. It's amazing how quickly you forget the pain because an hour later I was showered and enjoying an ice cream cone in the sun and feeling quite pleased with myself. Yes, I know that it is good to challenge yourself mentally and physically and in retrospect, I suppose I was glad that I did it. The day was really a lesson in patience and humility and while I don't regret it, I think I've had my fill of conquering the great outdoors for now.

First Installment from Chile!!!!

Hola, long time, yes, I know. On my trip, I will be blogging and sending out mass emails, if there is some overlap, please forgive. I hope to focus more on food here and of course, be a little more colorful than I would be in mass emails. That may change though. Stay posted.

So, let's start with the food! So far, so mediocre. But improving. The first day I got into Santiago, I went down the street and ordered pastel de choclo, a Chilean dish. If I were from Chile, this would be comfort food. It's a big mush of sweet corn topping with eggs, beef, chicken and olives. It was pretty good actually, although when it's 90 degrees out, it's not exactly what I had in mind. I'm a big fan of hard-boiled eggs in all dishes (on greens with some bacon, in braciole and red sauce) so I enjoyed that but something just wasn't right about that "beef."
Also at this point, I had no clue about prices in Chile so I'm thinking $4,800 (divide by 600 or so) made for a pretty cheap meal. Today I wouldn't pay more than $2,500 for lunch since, as we know, I'm damn near a local now. Really though, I have a much better grasp of the relational economics at play now than I did upon arrival.

For dinner, I went down the street and paid an exorbitant amount for a salad and some really dry bread with chorizo. As an aside, I can overlook the dry bread because I love that the menu described the bread as being "crowned" in chorizo. Lot so menus have things "bathed" in chocolate or caramel and even if it's just ok, I love the way it's worded. The next couple of nights, we cooked at Monika's apartment, which was both affordable, delicious and had the extra bonus of close proximity to a rooftop pool!

On Friday, Giulia and I got on the bus to Vina to relax and escape the Santiago sun. You'd think on the coast, we'd find some good seafood but it was all overpriced tourist crap and fast food. We finally found a place and I had a very nice grilled fish and papas salteados, nothing remarkable but pleasant. I also had my first pisco sour, or should I say I ordered one, took one sip and then promptly spilled the entire thing all over myself so that I smelled like a brewery.

Incidentally, things here are really sweet. I ordered a fruit juice at the market in Santiago and the man asked me if I wanted it very sweet. I said not really and he proceeded to dump a LOT of sugar in. Then, while walking around Vina, we kept being seduced by the smells coming from innumerable bakeries. Finally we could take it no more and gave in. I got lemon pie with the most voluminous meringue I've ever seen. Except it wasn't good, no discernible lemon taste, just straight sugar.

When I got to Valparaiso on Monday, I went straight to a little restaurant near the Central Market called Donde Carlito's, known for it's seafood. I got the Paila Marina, which is another Chilean dish that I apparently can't stand. Their cuisine doesn't seem to have much flavor. This dish was essentially a fish stew, with a cloudy, grey, obscenely hot broth and a ton of different seafood. The soup was so hot, I had to wait about 20 minutes before I took a bit, and let me tell you, it was not worth the wait. The broth reminded me of dirty bath water and the seafood was boiling away in it for what seemed like forever. We all know I HATE overcooked seafood. At this point, I was getting kinda pissed and fearful that I would spend the rest of the five months eating the bread, which is the only thing I like so far. To the market I went, bought some tomatoes and avocado and happily dined on that for a couple days.

On Thursday, I went to the Hare Krishna place and for about $2, I got a huge, wonderful bowl of white beans and pumpkin with a great salad that was topped with shredded beets, as well as some apple-tamarind juice that was delicious. Things were looking up! For dinner, I went to a panaderia and bought a spinach pie with egg in it that of course I loved. And it cost 500 pesos, which isn't even a dollar.


Thursday, I had lunch with two friends from the hostel. We did the daily menu thing, which means you get an appetizer, entree and dessert or coffee for a set price, usually much cheaper than anything on the regular menu. Salad here generally means iceberg but the fried fish entree was fresh and well-cooked. The coffee was pretty wack but decent for Chile, where Nescafe seems to be the norm. I'm really missing coffee. However, this place also does the the fresh juice thing, I got watermelon-aloe and it was slammin'.

Finally, I had to go and get the bus to Pucon. It started not so great. I was sitting on the second floor of the bus in the last row and I knew whoever I got to next to would be a real jerk because who else waits that long to get their bus ticket? Me and this a**hole, apparently. Not only was he sitting in the window seat, he didn't even look up when I sat down. I mean, first of all, he knew that wasn't his seat and second, if we are going to spend the next 12 hours together, most of it in the supine position, could I get a nod or something? The bus was stifling, it smelled like bad breath and my kind neighbor had his big elbows and knees all in my space. But somehow I fell asleep and when I did, the jerk was gone and I got to watch the sun come up over the mountains and the glistening Lake Villarica. A good ending after all.
Quickly hiked to my hostel, took a much-deserved shower and went out exploring. I love Pucon, it makes me want to sing “The hills are alive...” Really, it looks like Austria here, all dewy pines, and soaring, snow-capped mountains. And a volcano! Which I might climb tomorrow! Anyway, I digress. I did two things today that I've been meaning to do; eat machas and mote con huesillos. Machas are like clams but they area specific variety native to Chile and they are often served baked ala parmigiana. It was kinda pricey but I figured I deserved it after spending the night with Mr. Elbows and Knees. Mote con huesillos is a drink or a snack, depends on how you look at it. I saw it all over Santiago and had no idea what it was. Well, it is fantastic, corn kernels and preserved peaches in their juice. I know I'm not explaining that well but there is no other way. It's like three things at once; the chewy corn (not like our corn, by the way), the sweet and lightly spiced juice spooned over it, and the sweet peaches.
OK, sorry for the abrupt ending but the hammock out by the pool is begging for a nap.