Fiestas patrias

I just wrote several pages of this damn blog, and when I went to fetch a website, the whole damn thing disappeared.  I am not going to piece it all back together but will give some photos of this major holiday that I'd heard about before I got here, a holiday which turned out to be a rather paltry, unenthusiastic affair that disappointed rather that elated.  I began at the local church for the Te Deum.

The priest droned on and on, reading a sermon after we had done some singing, me belting out in my faulty Spanish the words that I'd gotten for some flyer on the front pews.

People waited for the parade to begin, snd sadly, when it began, the music was off-key, the pace was dirge-like, and the singing was mute.

We walked to Media Luna where we heard there were rodeos, music, dancing and food.  We ate lunch, waited around and discovered the rodeo wasn't until tomorrow, the music didn't begin on time, and nobody was dancing,

I did capture these two children, dressed for the occasion, albeit not to happily, at least from the young man's perspective.  Gabriella took a collective back. And I walked, encountering the dozens of horses, prancing almost uncontrollably and being prodded continuously with sharp Spurs that seemed beyond cruel.

I am not even writing about our visit to the museum I. Santa Cruz, some abomination created by Carlos Cardoen, a man who is not permitted in the U.S. Because he was providing arms to Iraq.  The whole story is rather intriguing as portrayed here: http://www.sfgate.com/magazine/article/THE-CHILEAN-CONNECTION-Carlos-Cardoen-arms-2667085.php 

The museum is a contrivance of artifacts,all of which seem brand new, the whole thing a construct of science and history that suit Cardoen's narcissistic purposes.

This was a little patio outside a house I passed on the way back to Santa Cruz where we went to the hotel to book yet another wine tour - good God, there is little to do in this city - and decided to have a pisco sour at l e of the lovely patios in the back.

W

We had dinner at the Social Club, the same place we ate last night because it was one of maybe two restaurants opened.  This was proudly displayed at the table, and on that note, I'm over and out forthe night.  Buenos noche!

Terremoto and tsunami!

Yesterday we took a crowded bus to Santa Cruz, about three hours from Santiago, and I joked about not wanting to take the bus which was made in China.  The video had subtitles as shown below:

We arrive and,checked into our little B&B, Weekend and Wine (ha!).  Then, we went to find someplace for dinner and a pisco sour, but as we walked back, we noticed people pouring into the street, hands over their mouths, police congregating in the middle of the roads.  We watched as the telephone poles swayed, and we hustled back to the B&B where we learned on the news that there had been an 8.4 earthquake, and as we sat on our beds, listening to the television, we felt - or rather saw - our beds shimmy across the room, as the earthquake continued to manifest itself.  The news claimed that the coastal towns were being evacuated, and the news was sensationally wobbly as videos replayed the effects of the tremors insantiago and elsewhere.  The lovely women here brought us calming glasses of smooth caminere wine, and we slept soundly until 8:00, having no windows in our room... 

In the morning we learned that a tsunami had struck Coquimbo, the little port I had ridden the fat tired bike to a few days ago.  This was one of the images on the television, and I swear it is the same boat I had photographed when I had been there.  It all made me cry sad and very tentative.  Life is fragile indeed, but sometimes the only solution is to march on.  To the next vineyard.

We went on a tour of this vineyard that seems to have shaped the town and the region.

We took a little ride through the vineyards and learned about the conditions tart made the good wines, situated between the Andes and the other mountains.  We went through the facilities, took our own glass, and then had a little taste of our first wine.

We toured through the big vats of wine, learned about the complex process (don't ask), and then off to tasting...

These are the wines we tasted, and, frankly, I found them all rather astringent and not particularly tasty, but then' I am not a wine drinker.

As w left, I noticed this warning in case of earthquakes and thought it timely.

We returned to Santa Cruz and had a quick lunch before heading out to the next vineyard - Lapostolle in the Apalta region where five other vineyards are producing wines as well.  This particular vineyard is run by a French woman, and this location produces on 60,000 bottles a year, their main seller being a blend of carmenere, Cabernet and merlot.  We learned that wines can be labeled a particular kind of wine, ie., Cabernet, merlot, etc... As long as 85% of the blend is that wine, so many of our wines are really a blend of other wines.

We toured the floor that had the oak barrels, went to w lower level where they aged for a year,

And finally ended up where we had a tasting and where the real wines were stored, some for years, todetermine how well they could hold up.

This is the view from the top of the vineyard's processing facility, and it was magnificent.

The ride back to the town was uneventful but for these clouds which made me drag out my iPad yet again.  I've become a regular screen aficionado, pulling out the iPad and shoving in front of my face for a photograph whenever I am moved by something in my vision.  

We ate dinner at something called th Social Club where we were almost the only people, most people having dinner at or after 8:00, but it was 6:00, and we were hungry after a day of serious touring.  The town seems to have settled into pre- fiesta mode, as tomorrow is the MAJOR festival of their Independence Day.  Bleachers were being rigged, stores were shutting down, and preparations were being made for the day of all days when everybody will be partying, dancing, drinking, marching, singing and playing music - at least when they aren't consuming vast quantities of sausage and pig by products, grilled meats, etc.

We are staying inside the town to witness the festivities and I will report first hand because I just know how riveting it must seem to you, especially those of you who are readying for the Pope!!!

Santiago. Again.

After a 7 hour bus trip, I finally got to Santiago and took the metro to Bella's Artes but had to stuff myself and mi mochilla into one of the packed metros as it was rush hour. Nobody looked at me with great fondness as I threw myself into the car, squeezing people into the tiniest recesses in order to get my backpack inside so the train would go.  BUT, Gabriella met me with Chilean champagne, and we drank out of tumblers

To celebrate the end of her overseeing students on an academic stay in Santiago and surrounding areas.  This morning I arose early to walk the city, but it stays dark until after 8:00, so I walked around in the dark for a good while, and after breakfast in the basement of our lovely hostel Andes (eggs!!), I walked up Santa Lucia and took photos of the city from up there.

I haven't got my Lonely Planet with me so I cannot give all the history, but there is a castle, a fort and loads of glorious gardens at every turn, plus some pretty hairy steps up and down.

 At1:00 we take off again on the bus for Santa Cruz in the south where we will tour some of the wine country on which I plan to become an expert by the time I return.  Plus, I will include the history, at least the background of Santa Lucia.  Promise.

Coquimbo on fat tires

Last night was a bust; we drove all the way up to the mountain sheer Mamalluca sits, and the cloud cover was so heavy that we all voted to return, making three hours in a van seem like nothing more than a waste of time...  We had a hard time scoring a refund from our tour guide who spoke absolutely no English,but I think all of us managed it.  Today I rented a bicycle from the hostel, but when I saw it I balked; now I know to ask before k pay my money.  The bike had fat tires, no gears and pedal brakes. The lock was insubstantial, but when the woman at the desk told me to be extra careful because last week on of their guests had a bike stolen, I did suggest that they really needed to provide more adequate locks.

I rode along the beach for about 8 kilometers to the scruffy little port called Coquimbo where the colorful houses are built into the hillside, and the oaths up to the houses are brutal.  I watched one woman with a baby carriage try to negotiate the paths, and I could almost have called for child abuse because of what she had to do with that carriage in order to get up the hills.  Let me show you:

You can actually see her trying to move that sucker up those s curves...I was met by this conglomeration of Pelicans all hunkered down on top of some ship, waiting for the fish bits to be thrown out by the fisherman, I assume, but maybe eh were there just to say hello.

I pushed that damn bike up the hills to take this photo of the painting of one of the other accesses to the houses on the hillside.  Then, I bought some nuts and raisins and sat in this little park to watch the comings and goings and to look at the houses stacked seemingly one on top of the other on the hillside.

As I retreated back down towards the water, this was one of the vistas up towards the houses, and then there was the harbor... Boats like I had never seen before slouched around the inner harbor, gigantic gulls and enormous Pelicans dive bombing the water and each other...

Here is my favorite fellow' perched atop  the bow of a ship, just sitting there as noble as he can be.

This is a look back up at the jumble of houses, taken as I rode off into the dismal mist of mid-day on my fat tire, wide seat bicycle, looking more like the wicked witchof the west without a basket than much else..

And I rode on back to La Serena, which isn't much more serene, but the high rise apartment buildings along the sea make it look for dignified - at least more confined.

This is the view back towards Coquimbo for the lighthouse at La Serena which I learned one cannot climb up into, just as the Japanese gardens were not opened on a Monday, the Stars did not shine on a Sunday, etc....I did, however, photograph the gardens through a hole in both the fencing AND the fabric allowing in no visual intruders, and they looked mighty fine.

I forgot that I went to the church and the history museum, neither particularly fascinating, but I can give you a taste.

And then there was walking around the town which I have done my sir share of this trip, but here are some snippets.  I head back to Santiago tomorrow morning.

Serene in La Serena

From the bus window...

It was crisp and promising as I walked to the bus terminal, my pack on my back, ready to catch the bus at 9:31 to La Serena, but I knew I'd have to circle in and out of the terminal because I was, as always, early.  On about my fourth lap around and through the terminal, looking at all the big, puffy bread sandwiches of hams and cheeses, I was wrenched from my meatless reverie by a hug from Gabriella who was taking her students to Valparaiso for the day on a 9:30 bus.  I waited and waited for mine, which was half an hour late, but I got talking to a couple heading the 20 some hours all the way to San Pedro de Atacama in the desert at the top of the country.  I didn't envy their journey, but k did envy that they we're able to go see that part of this sliver of a country that stretches only about 180 miles across its widest point.

The countryside was rolling hills and scrubby pines and funky shaped cactus like trees, none of which you can early see in this photo out the bus window, but I was on the top deck of the bus, the sunshine bathing me in its lovely light the whole journey while I read and ate peanuts and some teeny Fiji apples I had bought on the street the day before.

This was the first glimpse of the sea, and then the delightfully dancing wind power machines caught my eye along one off the hillsides:

I found the Hostal El Punte a short distance from the bus terminal on which I am now an expert, having spent so many hours in them during this trip.  The Hostal had my reservation, showed me to a room WITH a bathroom (I have paid my dues by sharing enough bathrooms along the road), and I took off to walk through the town.  This is the courtyard view from my window.

I trudged up and down the roads, finding little of interest or much beauty, but then stumbled on the museum which, like most I'd encountered in Santiago, was free.  Inside was historical remnants, pottery, etc.. Of the Maori people, including one of the statues from Easter Island, as close as I will get to that far off little place mid-way between chile and New Zealand.  

I kept walking in the hopes that I'd stumble on some place to eat some supper because nuts and bolts on the bus didn't really suffice for my main meal, and I was ready for a beer.  I found these funny New Zealanders at a restaurant and joined them for beer and dinner, mine an excellent fish with an avocado salad.  We had to laugh when Noel's fish arrived.  It was called labas or lapas, and we couldn't figure out what it was until the server showed us photos of an abalone kind of creature on her cell phone.  Unfortunately, on his plate, the small, hair ovoid rubbery things looked more vagina like than anything else, and we made ourselves perfectly

wretched with laughter over his meal of labia....

This morning dawned, gray and misty, and I had slept until 8:00 - unusual for this early riser, so I threw on some clothes to get to breakfast which I discovered was platters filled with slices of cheeses and pin, compressed meats and big, heavy rolls.  The coffee was some pulverized brown mixture that dissolved in the hot water to make my cup of coffee.  There were two overly sweet jams, presumably homemade, and I scarfed down one whole roll, lathered with both jams, and drank two cups of that powdery coffee concoction that zipped me up nicely before I went out for a long run.  When I got the 3 Kilometers down to the beach, I noticed loads of people with blue t shirts and numbers on them' and I realized that I was dead center in the pack of people preparing for a race.  I ran through them, following along the beach road where cones marked the race track.  Just as I got back to the park that led up to my hostel, the runners began swarming at me full bore.  I skirted the main route and got home in time for a drizzly shower (water is at a real premium here where it never rains) befor the New Zealanders came to fetch me for "breakfast," my lunch.  We found a little cafe and had soft fried eggs on big fluffy buns and coffee with foamy milk, called something beginning with a "c" that I cannot rmember.  On the way back, we stopped at the biggest super market I have ever seen and stocked up with yogurts, nuts, apples and raisins for me and they got a chicken and some pisco.  Just goes to show...  Then, we went to the beach for a picnic.  Tonight we are going to the observatory Mamalluca to see the stars.  Tomorrow, who knows?