Final 2 days in Chile: Saturday and Sunday
Currently writing this from the Santiago airport. I made it, guys! As Madeon would say "I WILL COME HOMEEEEE!" I made it to the airport 4 freaking hours early. My shuttle was supposed to pick me up at 12:30 am...instead it comes at 11 pm and I frantically get ready and say my goodbyes. Maybe this is a good thing - having to say bye to Cristel probably would've made me cry. She's about to embark on an epic adventure through Paris and then the Camino, the 500 mile walk through France and ending in Spain. Instead of wishing her well and fumbling through some nice words, I just hugged everyone, gave them postcard letters I wrote to each one, and moseyed into the car.
I'm getting ahead of myself. By two whole days! Let me start from the beginning.
Saturday morning was a lazy one. You could just tell the group was losing steam. Not in a bad way, I just mean the motivation for doing things was running thin. Two weeks of constant action, constant people interaction and constant terrible Chilean food is a lot. Sometimes you just need a moment to sleep in and pretend you're asleep for a little longer than you actually are. Don't lie, you've all done it.
I got up so late I actually missed the crappy breakfast. Blessing in disguise, I'd reckon. Good riddance, Bellavista Hostel!! I didn't want your toast and butter anyway! I can't even remember if I ate anything after breakfast time though. I'm racking my brain. Did we eat anything that morning? How come I can't remember?!? Ay dios mio.
Okay wait I remember now: we devised a plan. We'd head to the famed Santiago fish market, eat lunch, and then head to the Arts Market at the end of their subway Red Line.
I'll get more into the fish market later (we took another free tour the next day) but basically it's full of fresh, giant fish. It smells just lovely, as you can imagine, and is super local. I don't think the workers there have ever heard English before.
There are a few giant half indoor/half outdoor markets (fish, meat, produce, and one that I'll just label miscellaneous) and after the fish one, we headed to Market Miscellaneous for food. It was here that we got sucked into a half Peruvian half Chilean restaurant. The menus were all water stained, but were the first authentically Chilean meals we'd encountered, so why not give it a go?
I got Paila Marina, aka a big old bowl full of water and mussels. There were two still in the shell, for decoration, but beyond that, it was just a bowl full of mussels. I love mussels, don't get me wrong, but not even the world's top mussel lover could've downed this whole bowl. It was sorta gross, I mean I was eating hundreds of little squishy, salty blubs. Sorry Chile, but add something to it, anything!
After choking down a few more bites, and watching Ron eat his entire plate of noodles as fast as he could (an awe-inspiring performance, Ron, great job stuffing all those noodles in your face), and witnessing Dane have a pigeon plop down on his foot (he first thought it was me trying to play some sort of foot game with him...come on now, doing that sort of thing sounds like my nightmare!), we frolicked to the metro. I actually got this Arts Market recommendation from a German fellow that we kept running into everywhere. Literally everywhere: we first met him at Glacier Grey in TDP, aka day one of our hike. Then we saw him at almost every campsite. Then we saw him in the Punta Arenas airport. Then at the Santiago airport. Then we saw him while we were having lunch in Patio Bellavista in Santiago on our first day there. So so weird. He was kinda cute though, and really nice, so no complaints here. I started chatting with him and asked what he'd recommend we do, since he stayed in Santiago for a conference for a week before he hiked TDP. He mentioned this Art Market.
I found it sorta weird that no one else mentioned it. I feel like I asked everyone in Santiago for advice: hostel workers, tour guides, homeless peeps. Only this German guy said anything about it. I'm glad he did, too, because it was a pretty wonderful way to spend a lazy afternoon. It was less like a craft fair market, which is what I'd imagined, and more like a small hatched roof village full of streams, beautiful flowers and trees, and even peacocks roaming about. And the stuff to buy was legit, nothing too tacky or touristy. I got myself some postcards, the ones I bought for the Patagoon Squad as send off gifts, and also a set of very nice Torres Del Paine photography prints. It was in the photography shop that I had my first solo, semi-complex conversation with someone totally in Spanish. At least I thought it was pretty complex. I asked the lady if the photos were hers, she said yes, and that she's been taking photos for years. I asked what sort of camera she had, she said Nikon D80. I exclaimed that I had the same, but 10 more, as I have the Nikon D90. She laughed at my incredible joke, which was really just my way of covering up the fact that I froze on the word 90.
By this time, it was 4:30, and Ron's shuttle was coming to get him at 6:15, so we hurried off to make sure he could get back at a comfortable time. Back at the hostel, while waiting, I made this beautiful piece of artwork that I will forever cherish. (Dane caught me looking at it this morning at breakfast...I tried to cover it up with a pretty lame excuse, but he knew the truth)
Suddenly, too soon, Ron left us. His departure made me pretty sad: it meant my departure was rapidly approaching AND there was no one left that I could make poop jokes with. I might be 25 years old but somehow they're still funny to me. Maybe we all got too close on this trip; the poop jokes never stopped. Our WhatsApp conversation is full of the poop emoji. Whatever.
After drying our tears, we had some downtime, so I took advantage and took a solo walk around the neighborhood. I walked down Pio Nono and felt creepy eyes watching me. I walked behind slow AF Chileans trying to get up San Cristobal hill to the zoo. I listened to a certain song about 6 times, imagining in my mind the music video we created.
I got back after about 45 minutes, and then the 4 of us decided to grab food down the street, at an authentic Chilean restaurant. It was time to give their cuisine another shot. Ladies and gentlemen, I can admit now that I was wrong. Chilean food is much more than hot dogs and bowls full of mussels. They also love corn pies, juicy pieces of short rib, and beans. Kidney beans. I got a soup-type dish comprised of beans and a big ol hunk of prime rib right in the middle. Delish. I take back everything I said about their food. Except for the hot dogs. Give me Italian sausage in a bun or give me nothing at all!
After dinner, the rest of the group ran off to grab some alcohol to bring back to the hostel, while I went back without them to freshen up. But, I'm a dingus, and got to the hostel only to realize Dane had the key to our room, so I just laid on the couch and texted my parents about retrieving my car from the airport as I waited. Oops. Should've assisted my buddies. That reminds me, I need to venmo some of them. I owe Dane about 6,000 pesos. And Cristel also 6,000 pesos. Don't let me forget, whoever is reading this. Thanks! You're the best!
I think our plan was to drink the wine and pisco they got and go out, but instead we ended up drinking it all and talking in the game room. I can't decide on a favorite moment of this whole trip, but this was a pretty special one. The conversation got pretty deep and it was just nice to have one night of chat with just the buddies. The other two went to sleep after a few hours, and Dane and I wandered outside and talked with a bunch of rando people who kept popping in and out of the rooftop patio. One guy in particular stuck out to me, simply because his conversation with this guy from Boston went as follows (verbatim):
"Hey where you from? Boston? That's cool. How long have you been in Santiago for? How many Chilean girls have you banged? I was in Argentina for 5 days and banged a different Argentinian girl EVERY NIGHT!!! Can't wait to do the same in Chile!"
Thankfully this scoundrel was British. Had he been American, I would've held my head in shame. I can't lay claim to this bozo. I wish him well on his journey.
Anyway, there was only so much of this I could listen to. I retired to my dormitory, and slipped into sweet sweet sleep. I'd like to take this moment to let you all in on a little fun fact: I was on a top bunk in every single hostel. Go me!
Sunday
I need to be careful when writing about this day. I fell in love, guys. Fell so hard. I'm getting butterflies just thinking about it! Ahhhhh!!!
We decided to do the second free walking tour that the Waldo's offered: the 10 am one (the other was the 3pm walk) had different things to see and learn about so we decided it was worth a shot.
And was it ever. Not only was the tour a lot more interactive and fun than the other one (which is saying a lot, because I really enjoyed Bernadita's tour with us) but our tour guide is probably the love of my life. His name is Franco and he's half Chilean half Brazilian. He went to New Zealand for a few years directly after finishing school and that's where he learned his English. He also has the best bohemian style, awesome pants, amazing stubble, and an accent that just made me melt. I could listen to him tell me about Chile and Santiago all day.
He took us first to the markets that we went to the day before, but this time filled us in a lot more. We saw king crabs, eel, and other assorted giant fish. Then we went to the meat market, where I examined pig heads and chicken feet. Then it was off to the produce market, where Franco bought us all cherries, strawberries and blueberries, and I bought a purple corn fruit drink. Franco saw I bought it and was amazed that a gringa like me would want to try it. Oh Franco you have no idea!
He filled us in that these markets are the fifth biggest in the world, according to National Geographic. They're a huge symbol of Chile and Santiago: everyone comes there, and whatever class you are simply melts away when you step inside. He proclaimed a lot poetic things about it all.
From there we went to the Cemeteries. Multiple. Basically, there's a giant city of cemeteries in the northern part of the city. One is for Catholics, one is for Protestants, and one is for the secular population. I said city because they truly are city-like. So big that there's airport-like electronic boards all over it showing what funerals are happening at any given time; there were about 8 the hour we were there.
These are public cemeteries, so you and your family is in charge of EVERYTHING about your grave. Some are so polished and "animated" as Franco called it. Chileans will come to the grave of their friends and drink beer and hang out as if their alive. Other graves are decrepit and falling apart. BUT, when you get a plot here, you have two options: either you buy a plot for life or you buy a temporary plot. If you go temporary, you'll have it for something like 100 years, then they'll take your remains out, dump them in the common cemetery grounds, and make room for someone new. Also, families can be buried in the same mausoleum hole. Basically, the newest person in the grave is a body, and the rest of the people are cremated and shoved in the back. We saw some tombs that had 12 people in them. Pretty wild.
Sorry if this is morbid, but it was about half the tour. Rich families built giant above ground tombs in whatever style their heart desires: one was fashioned after the Taj Mahal, one after Notre Dame, and one that Franco said was dubbed the Apple Store because it was essentially a glass box with white marble.
We spent a while at the tomb of a 15 year old boy who got stabbed in 1915. This boy, Recomulodito, was a beloved member of the community who gave candy to everyone. His death was a shock and outrage: he was so young and innocent! He became some sort of symbol for the Santiagoans, and people write him messages and ask for his blessing, stuffing notes in his tomb and putting up plaques all around it, thanking him for his help with this that and the other. This happened 100 years ago and people are still spastically asking him for help.
Maybe this is because a few years after he died, the Santiago government was getting a little pissy that people were essentially worshipping this little boy. This is a Catholic country after all, no worshipping false idols! Franco told us that police on horseback came to his tomb to take him and out and move him somewhere private, to hopefully get people to stop focusing on him so much. Well, one of the horses slipped on some wax that had dripped from a candle next to his grave. The horse tumbled over, crushing the policeman. Recomulodito must've said "uh uh, you ain't movin my body!" And since then, no one has tried to be so foolish.
The tour ended in the cemetery, at the tomb of Salvador Arrende, actually. Similar to the 3pm tour, we all congregated at a bar nearby and had free Terremotos, and got more Chilean food.
I didn't mention that during this entire tour, I was chatting up every single person I possibly could. I met two ladies from LA who did TDP and Ususiah too, which is the southernmost city in the world. They saw penguins! I met an Armenian girl who is traveling S America solo, I met two girls from New York who had a terrible time at their NYE Airbnb in Valparaiso. I chatted for a long time with two friendly girls from São Paulo and reminisced about all the great food I ate there. Maybe there were others, I forget. Just wanted to jot down that I did interact with people other than my Patagoon Squad! I did it!!
Most importantly, I met Franco. Although, he didn't seem like he felt the same levels of love and devotion about me that I felt towards him, because he scurried out of the tour pretty dang quick. Not before I asked him what I should do on my last night in Santiago, though. He gushed to me about the Pablo Neruda house, which is super close to our hostel.
Well, if Franco says to go, I'll go. I'll follow him anywhere! I quickly got over Franco, forgot about him (I've given up the dream) and turned my attention to this house of Pablo's.
Surely you know he is a famous poet. I gotta say, I had no idea he was Chilean. I also knew nothing about him. Now I know quite a bit: he was obsessed with the ocean and built his three houses to resemble ships on the inside. The house we visited is the one he built as a safe haven for his mistress turned wife, Matilde. The whole thing is so detailed and expertly crafted: there's a secret passage off of the dining room. He made a logo of a P and an M, their initials, and fashioned all the house's white window panes out of it. The whole thing is kind of on three different levels that you access by going outside and going up bridges and cute little staircases.
According to the audio I was listening to, Pablo was kinda full of himself. "I have never lost a friend," he said "because everyone loves me so much." Okay Pablo. Settle down. There was a really cute picture of him and Pablo Picasso hugging super chum-like, so maybe he really was the best at making friends and keeping them, idk. In my expert knowledge of life, I don't think that someone could possibly be the best poet in the world AND the best friend in the whole friend. It just cannot be!
I liked the house and likes the proximity of it to the hostel even more. After the tour, I ran home to shower and get ready for dinner while the rest of the crew booked a winery tour for tomorrow :(. FOMO for real.
However, I really couldn't have asked for a better night. Emily got us a res at a Gucci wine bar called Bocanariz (mouth nose?) where we each got the tasting menu. $42 each, but it was my last night, so I had to ball out.
Basically, we had 3 glasses of wine, each accompanying delicious food. We had three apps: ceviche (paired with a white), bruschetta (red) and a parmesean ball + piece of jàmon (in the running for my favorite Spanish word. Also, pluma) (paired with a red).
The main course was a huge slab of short rib laying delicately atop a bed of sweet potato mash. Nomz. There was too much! I'm about to get the meat sweats on the plane!
Dessert was a brownie cup that oozed hot fudge, along with vanilla ice cream and a crunchy thing. Truly sensations for all the senses. We had some great conversations and I felt a sense of closure to the trip. It was time to go home.
And now here we are. Or, okay, no, here I am. I'm alone. Dane and Emily are heading back tomorrow night, and Cristel is heading to Paris the following day.
So how do I feel about this trip? Pretty freaking wonderful. It was so joyous, so full of laughs and smiles. And even more importantly, I was with the best group I could've asked for.
I didn't really know what to expect going into it all. Five people is a big group. Would we all get along? Would we butt heads? Would there be one person we all just hated?! Would that person be me????
Also, I wondered if I would wish I was traveling alone. My solo trip to Brazil was so awesome and fun and so empowering to be alone and in control, would I miss that? I determined there are so many pros and cons to both situations. I'll definitely travel alone again, but this trip ended up being really great for a group. I can't have imagined doing Torres Del Paine without a buddy, or 4 buddies in this case. Christmas night was so tough and miserable that if it hadnt been for them, I wouldn't have made it. Truly. No exaggeration.
Also, maybe 5 is a good number (assuming everyone is rather chill and go with the flow), because it was so easy to cycle in and out of talking to someone new. Three people is too small: I can imagine various ways that number could be annoying. Two would be the most annoying of all though, unless the other person is a significant other or family member. Maybe it's just me but I can get sick of people super fast.
Cons to the group dynamic? Maybe I wasn't as social with outsiders as I could've been. We discussed this at dinner. It wasn't that we weren't chatty with others, it's just that it was so much easier not to be. We had each other. Sometimes I'm just too tired to exert any social effort with newbies. Had I been alone, though, I would've been the most social butterfly there ever was.
On the other hand, I feel as though I got super close with 4 people who I didn't really know too well before (except for Dane of course, but even with him, I think I know him and like him as a human bean a million times more than I did before). We formed some strong bonds! I guess this happens when you all almost die together.
It just ended up being more wonderful than I could've imagined. I saw a part of the world I never thought I'd see, and I didn't just see it: I freaking lived it. I walked for 5 days with everyone I need to survive on my back. I pitched my own tent. I sometimes helped cook food. I spent Christmas backpacking through a Chilean natural wonder and almost dying of hypothermia. I spent NYE in a Chilean beach town watching a bay full of fireworks. I ate a super nasty Chilean dish that is basically just an Oscar Meyer wiener slathered in guac. I spent 2 whole weeks laughing and learning about a culture I'd never thought much about before.
In conclusion: if someone casually mentions that you should accompany them on a trip to Patagonia, you should take it very seriously and go with them.
What's next? Who knows. 2016 is just getting started.
What a wonderful experience, adventure. I loved reading about all of it.
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