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?

Mr. Neruda's Valparaiso

I started to walk to the University of Santiago metro stop at about 7:45, and really it was still fairly dark, but I could tell the promise of sun was in the air. Today is the anniversary of e death of Allende and three are police all over the place because last year there was a bomb in the metro.  But I was taking a bus and walking to the metro stop where the busses go, so I felt just fine.  It was morning, my best time of day, and I had eaten my yogurt with peanuts and raisins and had two cups of instant coffee.  I was raring to go to Valparaiso, the port where Pablo Neruda had a house up in the hills, overlooking the sparking but often misty waters of the Pacific Ocean.  I didn't realize that once the Panama Canal was built, Valparaiso's significance as an international port was diminished substantially, but then, I didn't know lots and lots of things.  Ask anybody.

To prepare for the BIG national holiday on September 18 (really it will go for several days), everyone is loading up on meat, and the ads on the television monitors at the bus station attested to that fact.

I thought I would take a tour with Tours4tips, but when I got to Valparaiso, I was met by a charming English speaking young woman who quickly talked me into taking their tour for three hours - special deal for 12,000 pesos instead of 20,000 - and the entire bus was filled with Brazilian couples.  An adventure indeed.  We stopped first at the port where we watched these sea lions loll around on a former jetty where fishermen used to fish, and then we headed off to squares I couldn't really identify.  We all dutifully photographed everything, especially the fellow with one of those selfie sticks who kept inserting himself and his gf into every single shot...

I can tell you that this interesting building with the big cut out in the center where you can see he blue sky is the building where all the senators and politicians come to govern.  Who knew?  Apparently they all have expensive drivers who take them the two hours to Valparaiso from Santiago.  Bizarre.

This is our guide, and after enough of squares and churches that I couldn't quite situate in my book, we began to climb into the densely housed hills where every house has a little vista of the water.  We went to Cerro Allegre where I understood that the owners of the corrugated houses painted them brilliant colors, hence the term "happy avenue,"

My favorite photo is really a close up of this green house where a gray cat was nestled on the front stoop.

Graffiti is everywhere and is considered an art form, as it rightly should be, she said, trying toruffle feathers of the tidy and the pristine.

But this was one of the most spectacular, a full mural, painting along a long building by this group of indigenous people whose name I cannot really pronounce.  In this little coffee shop there hing a sign that made my day.

If you ask for coffee, it costs 1,500 pesos, but if you say,"good day" before you ask, the price is lowere; finally, if you say "good day" AND please, the coffee price goes down to 900 pesos.  Good, eh?

Views of the water were everywhere, and the houses were cheek by jowl, so close that when someone was hanging out laundry, you might be able to see more than was appropriate...

Finally, we got up to Neruda's house where he spent not so much time, maybe three times a year for Christmas and two other holidays like September 18, Independence Day, when fireworks were on display down on the water - fabulous array, I gather.  Here was his terrace, and below is looking back up at the modern house.

Andthe property went down into a little shaded garden area below.

We ate lunch overlooking the sea, and four young Brazilians let me join them at their table. Don't ask me why this is now blue...

The tour went on to Vina del Mar, but my bus was leaving at 4:16, and they dropped me off at 3:30, so I had more time to hang out in a busstation.  I walked around and found a market where I bought halfkilo of apples before the long slog back to the city.  I did get to siton the top level in the very front seat, which was by my standards,high riding until we arrived in Santiago and got stuck behind lines and lines of busses at a dead standstill.  A nice Slovakian coupleinsisted after about 45 minutes that they be allowed to get offthe bus,something I wanted to do but had no clue where we were,so I followed them off the bus, and we wound our way aroundtothe metro station where, despite the dire warnings of my friend about the bomb, we took the bloody metro back to our respective stops. 

One last exciting picture from the bus ride back to town is below. Because the sun was out I could get a sense of the magnificence orthe snow capped Andes looming in the background of the city.

Pretty incredible to see them, not realizing they were mountains instead of clouds...

Tomorrow off to La Serena for three days, but this trip is 6-7 hours on the bus.  I bought big bags of peanuts for the journey and hope to have a little Hostal el Punto awaiting my arrival; maybe it will even have wifi.  Life is good.

Santiago in sneakers...

Yesterday was a panoramic day of trekking from one end of the red subway line almost to the other.  I got down to the University of Chile metro stop where I believe the ticket office was for my bus tickets to Valparaiso today and La Serena tomorrow, but I was mistaken; those tickets are sold at the University of Santiago stop, so I had to buy the plastic metro card, but I didn't understand - what with my flawless Spanish - that I then had to actually put money on the card in order to use it for rides.  Dope that I am, the kind woman took me aside because the line had become increasingly long and was becoming agitated.  We settled it all, and off I went to buy the tickets with just as much linguistic nuances as the purchase of the metro card had been.  I believe I will be going this morning to Valparaiso and tomorrow to La Serena.  I have yet to see...

Once I had accomplished such a gigantic mission, I decided to take the metro all the way to the other nod of the line to Los Dominicos where there was meant to be a mall of sorts, not that I anticipated wandering around a mall but because I thought I could then walk back into the city center despite all the people saying to me that it was "Lejos" to try to dissuade me from the walk.  Nonetheless, I got the, and sure enough there was an artisan village where I wandered around in the gray misery of another overcast day.  These two peacocks shook their tail feathers at me with such insistence that I began to feel truly desirable, and for a woman my age to feel such yearning from another species is peculiar at best.

I began the walk down Av. Apoquindo, which seems to house many older people, but it was pleasant with little shops and many people sauntering along the sidewalks.  I turned at Av Alonso de Cordova to head up to the Museo de la Moda but either passed it or never noticed it (the more probable), and instead turned from Americo Vespucio Norte left onto C. Goyenechia where I literally stumbled on the most incredible Museo Ralli, a privately funded museum that was free and chocked full of Salvador Dali, Miro, Magritte and Chagall paintings along with walls and walls of Latin American works.  The collection was exuberant and unbound with an entire room full of Magritte lithographs and another whole roof Chagalls.  Harry Recanati, a Greek banker who must have been Jewish because he create two of these museums in Israel, was the collector and created the foundation that established five museums in Uruguay, Spain, Chile, and ss I mentioned, two in Israel.  The museum is spacious and well lit, the works grouped by artist or by visual comparability, making for a breathless viewer's delight.

Here is an Argentinian piece, and on another wall this Bolivian group of people, one making a face at us...

This is a Peruvian artist who had two of these catchy, twisty paintings, and there was a Miro Sculpture that I found compelling.  I've gotten them reversed, but I think you can tell your Miro from your Peruvian...

After the talking to Christian at the museum, who wanted to encourage more people to come to the museum, I took Av Alonso de Cordova up to Av. Bicentenario, a beautiful path along a park that stretched for miles with bike paths, jungle gyms and all sorts of diversions including a sculpture of men on bicycles with spyglass, (on my phone and not my iPad...) as I began to get into the part of the city with the tall building that all the tour guides kept telling me not to miss.

Here are the tall buildings of which the Santiagans are so proud.

As I got closer to the center of the city, I had to capture this graffiti along the side of the rushing water, and then the photo of the spring feel of s park, loaded with lovers sprawled on the grass and on each other.  I remembered that many of the young people live with their families, so springtime and parks invite open air PDAs.

 After a quick shower, I walked over to Andes Hostal where my friend was staying with her Drexel students.  We left them to their own dinner plans and wandered over to Lastarria where we drank a pisco sour - with the whipped egg whites, to die for - and ate delicious fish dinner at at funky restaurant full of wine bottles, old wooden tables and old waiters. It was the perfect end to a heavy walking day, but I have no mor time to chatter and must get to my bus!

One last phone of my friend, Gabriella and her pisco sour at she sipped delicately during her meal.  I knocked mine back way too fast and had numb lips for the duration of the meal but made it home safe and sound.  More tomorrow.

Santiago - Up and Running

The first woman I met at the airport as traveling with this little pink unicorn stick horse, and you know most people would just titter, whisper and walk away.  I had to ask, and I'm awfully glad I did because unicorn stick horse is a prop used by a world famous horse photographer who flies to photograph special horses (she had just finished taking pictures of the one who wond the last races, triple crown perhaps?).  She has done this for such a long time that she now requires her customers fly her first class, and she carries on board this little stick horse.  She was low key but full of energy and stories.

After my flight on United was cancelled because of weather in Chicago, I was put on Delta, which is my new favorite airline; they are accommodating, funny and efficient.  I urge you to fly with them and see for yourselves.  We arrived on the Delta flight even before I would have landed on United, and we left early and less of a connection in Atlanta, bringing me to Santiago at 8:20 this morning.  I took the Transvio mini van into the city for $11.00 and was in the lobby, waiting for my Air BnB connection by 9:00.  He didn't come, but his mother did, and she spoke no English and had forgotten her glasses, so we laughed at our feeble efforts to figure out our cell phones, shared photos of our grandchildren and bode our time until the daughter arrived and took me through the drill.  The apartment is teeny but neat, on the fourth floor of an apartment building on Amunatequi, a little loud, but with the heater on, it is cozy as the dark settles over the city.

I took off in my sandals and socks and incredibly light but snugly parka Lisa gave me, and I walked to the Plaza de Armas where I went to the Museo Historical Nacional where every school age child seemed to be in tow with some bedraggled teacher who herded them along as best she could, as they used their cell phones to photograph those peculiar looking early inventions - the cameras!  This is a painting of Bernardo O'Hjggins, a name j thought was rather funny for a Chilean heavyweight.

And there was a little diorama of a famous ruler's dog, which j thought was worthy of inclusion.

From this historical survey, all of which was free except for the small expense for the headset in English which ran out of battery power midway through the tour, I moseyed over to the Bella's Artes barrio where I ate lunch at the Cafe des Artes, at least that is what I think it was called, and then nipped into the museum which was chockablock full of old and new, all vying for space often on the same walls.  Two of my favorites were these:

A woman related to Ponce de Leon, and this man who seems to be floating out of billowing black clouds, and I just wonder what the significance could be.  His expression is worth noting, for what purpose, I cannot yet say.

I then walked over to Bellavista to Pio Nono Street which is where the night life seems to occur - WAY past my bedtime, but I thought it was interesting on this grumbly rainy, cold day, the joint is all set up for partying, making it look desolate but hopeful...

Finally, without offending anyone, I include two photos of the graffiti that met me at the beginning of my day and hit me at the end of the day.  These are symbols of that universal word that seems to be a stand in for any old thing that strikes its user's fancy.  Take a look.

This is my welcome to the city of Santiago, and below is my reminder that my adventure is still in its unfolding.

On those two visual notes I shall bid you goodnight with hopes of sunshine and lollipops in he morning.

My kinda guy...

This morning I began a volunteer job with the blind who come to a ceramics class, and this was the piece I first saw.  Then, I met Ron who sculpted this, a large, lanky African American with a beard.  He wore a New York Yankees cap on backwards, and when he began to work, he jiggled his leg with energy and drive.  He wasn't telling anyone what he was working on...  I learned later that he lives in a house with no running water or heat and talks about moving somewhere in New Jersey.  He says he can still get a bus and a train and some other thing to get to the class each week, but my friend expressed her dismay at such a long, long ride.  His response?  Nah, that just makes it more of an adventure!!  

Some of the other members of the class are deliciously memorable, but I will only say that Mike is the party man; this week, along with assorted beverages, he brought "pudding shots."  When I asked him what they were - each packed individually in little plastic containers, chocolate and vanilla, with sealed lids - he asked me if I had children.  Yes, I responded, and he said that I just needed to ask them.  They would tell me...

Children?

The universe is working...

 AndToday I walked on the beach in the morning, and when I got over there, I noticed something out of the ordinary - a group of large, loud African Americans were milling around one of the big pieces of driftwood.  As soon as I set foot on the beach and smiled, one woman rushed over to ask me if I would take their photograph, shoving her oversized cell phone into my hands.  I suggested they group themselves with the sun to my back, and I took about five photos, then moving on down the beach for my walk.  They told me they were from Miami, and they seemed delighted to be here.

As I walked along, I thought a great deal about my neighbor, Jim, who has bone cancer.  Earlier this morning I went over to sit with him on his porch while we both drank coffee and chatted, mostly he doing the chatting.  He has seemed depressed, and who wouldn't be when you have been given a diagnosis of "terminal cancer" until we realize that each one of us has been given the diagnosis at the very least of "terminal" by definition of our mortality?  He told me he was taking Wellbutrin but thought it wasn't working anymore.  We talked about other things as well, watching the hummingbirds dive bombing one another and listening to the birds chirping in the day.  

Thinking about Jim as I walked along the beach made me want to bring him something to  show him that he was still on my mind.  I found a sand dollar, and because we had been talking about the economy and the lack of growth in Costa Rica, I thought I would bring him one.  It was an older one with holes that leaked sand as I carried it; I looked for a fresher one and found it washing it off and putting the other one down in its stead.  I strode on, passing my favorite landmarks, The Pelicano Hotel where we had eaten last night, the Alma with its pastel colored rooms along the beach, and the rivulet that rushes in and out with the tides.

When I turned around to walk back, I noticed two of the members of the group I had photographed.  We smiled at each other, said hello, and the woman asked me if I knew where to find those "silver dollars."  I knew what she was talking about and held mine in my hand.  I told her they were all over the place and then gave her the one I carried.  She was so grateful that she called over the other girl, insisting that she thank me for giving her a sand dollar.  I was happy to have given them both such pleasure and walked on.

I thought about what else I could find for Jim, but as I was churning over some ideas in my head, I stumbled upon the very same sand dollar that I had initially picked up.  I took possession of it once again, washing off the sand in the waves, and tucked it gently into my palm.  I felt that the universe had just made things right until I saw another sand dollar in the sand, and another.  It was as though I were being given an enormous reminder about the gift of giving, and I was the one who was benefiting!  Such bounty, such grace!

I waked back and put two sand dollars on the coasters on Jim's porch table, one for him and one for his wife.  I was struck by the extraordinarily easy reminder I was given, and I felt richer for having had the encounters of the morning, all showing me what it means to live and to love.

This afternoon I thought I would pull out my poster paints - all I could find last time I was down here - and I tried to paint a little flower arrange,net I'd made.  Beneath is the dreadful evidence that proves materials matter, and I would probably be wiser to stick to other creative endeavors... Like collecting sand dollars.

The actual arrangement outside on my porch

The evidence that my time would be better spent

The tree is gone; I am bereft.

My huge shade tree had to be taken out of my front years because the roots were growing into the concrete near my house; however, when they took the tree out, I ask them to plant another to replace it so that the yard didn't look quite so barren.  This is the puny palm that they planted, but today I am having a large palm with the red trunk put in its place.

Meanwhile, the Eco coche keeps on running despite its diesel leak and rust.  Carlos keeps it clean as a whistle, and I am so happy to drive it even though it lacks all the modern conveniences - maybe that is exactly the reason I love it.