Valparaiso, How Absurd You Are...

After a little headache was brought on by one too many happy hour Pisco Sours, Amaretto Sours and Mojitos at our brand new local favourite haunt, Cafe Utopia in Bellas Artes, we decided to take a little trip to the seaside to brighten our spirits and also to make the most of our last few days in Chile. After a simple enough transfer from the efficient Metro to the bus station at Universidad de Santiago, we sat on the comfortable back seats of the TURBUS for a swift hour and a half route to the seaport of Valparaiso. We passed a fairly uninspiring window view, passing smooth hills and some soil rich farmland on a rather dull day. We could have been driving through any countryside outside an urban complex.

This was to change though once we parked at our destination, clouds gathered ominously and the soft scatter of rain began to descend. Although without the aid of a spray of natural light, the city exuded an impression of containing much character by the way the box houses tilted on the hill overlooking the harbour. I couldn't quite make out the colour of the paint work and this added to the sensation of holding a photograph negative close to the eyes.

The UEA 7 a side FA Cup winners reunite for another scalp. Yes, my jeans are far too big, they were the only ones I could find in the market in Santiago.

We were recommended a little restaurant off a sinister side alley, one that I would not have felt safe walking down at all any time after sunset, called Casino J Cruz Social

http://www.capitalcultural.cl/p4_cc/site/artic/20040513/pags/20040513154823.html

which ranks amongst the most memorable dining experiences to date. The decoration was a debris of cheap collectibles from the world over within glass cabinets scrawled and signed on the panes with tip-ex by past customers. The dated floral table cloths were also blitzed with biro ink, messages from all the guests who'd eaten under the same roof in the past forty years. It was hard not to feel nostalgic about the place, and even more so when the elderly and eccentric waiter arrived and delivered us the only dish that was available by the chef, the highly regarded Chorrillana - heaps of hand cut chips (like the ones Dolly makes for me when I'm well behaved), scrambled eggs with onions and garlic and finally a liberal sprinkling of chopped pepper steak (which Matty devoured without delay).

Street art in Valparaiso

We trawled the streets for shelter, and were reduced to mild irritation on being ignored by one B&B and our other top pick being shut down for the month for renovations. This led us to a promisingly signposted hostel Pata Pata halfway up the rainbow coloured steps of Templeman. We were alarmed to find that the door was opened by a sweet smiling two year old Chilean boy who promptly ran away back into his cot. The manager greeted us seconds later and with his small lopsided beard, round trustworthy face and generous overspilling stomach, depicted the archetypal Latin man of leisure. The hostel was 'homely' in a way that felt like arriving unannouned at a friend's relatives house and asking to stay the night by mark of association. The baby boy, who loved to try and play the didgeridoo to entertain us, provided company in the television room as we attempted to avoid his angular toys scattered on the floor. He didn't appear to attach any desire to sit still and listen to my reading of the Spanish version of 'Three Little Pigs' (Los Tres Cerditos) though, which was his loss, the ungrateful swine.

In the morning, after having our prayers answered from a higher being for the wish of a clear day after the uncomfortable artillery of an overnight storm, we approached the city with a dose of positivity and anticipation in equal parts. Valparaiso is known as the 'Cultural Capital of Chile', a newly appointed UNESCO World Heritage Site and was home to the notorious Chilean poet (and considered to be one of the most influential poets of the 20th Century), Pablo Neruda. Although in the past 'Valpo' was known more for its swarm of drunken sailors, doe-eyed and ugly mouthed prostitutes and blue collar sleaze, it is now considered a jewel of the nation and commonly referred to as 'Little San Francisco'.

Chile has impressed with its reputation for a solid economy of a steady export trade (mainly copper, accounting for a third of the world's total, and wine) which is reflected by the high value, in South American terms, of its currency as well as the impressive infrastructure and general lack of visible poverty that I had assumed.

It was easy to see why this place has such luminary plaudits. The rich bohemian vibrancy is apparent from every cafe, restaurant and window sill within the Old Quarter. Houses are painted striking shades of the palette, often to compliment the pigment of the neighbouring buildings so that the streets reach a technicolour synchronicity as if a consequence of the collective brushwork sneeze of the Impressionists. Artwork of the spray canned variety is also thrashed adoringly on walls, abodes and on the ground, as wild canines stroll easily by and ignore the public clamour within the docks.

World Cup fever reaches the walls of the Allegretto Pizzerteria in Valparaiso

After Valapraiso and one final day in Santiago to sample some more ham and cheese empanadas, we set off for Peru to prepare for the Inca Trek in the coming few days. Our connection flight from Lima to Cusco was delayed, leaving us stranded in the Peruvian capital for one night before we were allowed on the next domestic flight. This, we thought, was going to be an issue as after what felt like months queuing at the LAN desk for news of a refund and overnight stay at nearby accommodation we were handed a voucher written elegantly by Maria the LAN air stewardess for the Hotel Rwanda. Thankfully we mis-read the coupon and were not actually treated to a night of genocide and Don Cheadle. Instead, the majestic Hotel Ramada, with its Spa, massage tables, delicious three course meal and spacious twin room was in order - and all free of charge.

Backpacking has never felt so relaxing and has created, I fear, a false impression for Matty. One that I'm not willing to correct just yet.

Flying past the Andes and beyond Chile

Lima Song of the Day: The Beatles - And Your Bird Can Sing
A classic from Revolver. The fab three's (Ringo doesn't count) sunny chorus managed to scale the heights of my in flight playlist (along with Avril Lavigne and Bob Dylan) to ensure that we touched down in Peru with swaying arms and tuneless humming that even the blood red stamps of immigration couldn't tarnish.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApI7YXQTVZQ

i-Pod Song of the Day: Bruce Springsteen - I'm On Fire
The Boss is at his best on this moody yet moving two minute lilt from his huge 'Born in the USA'
album. The structure of the melody urges you to follow the tracks that the freight train running through his head have passed.

http://www.brucespringsteen.net/songs/ImOnFire.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzQvGz6_fvA