Crossing the Andes

“I've got a headache,” Jeff declared.

We were at the border between Argentina and Chile in a pass at over two thousand meters, the height at which altitude sickness symptoms can appear. The blustery wind blowing straight off the Andes, was a shock after the warm coast. Five minutes outside was all we'd been given and in the cold it had been enough. But the immigration process took another 2 hours and the headache didn't go away.

After filing singly through passport control, our luggage was scanned, before our hand luggage searched. The woman next to us pulled out a laptop and immediately produced the receipts. Five minutes earlier, I'd read in the guidebook that it's a good idea to carry purchase receipts for all electronics.

I looked at Jeff concerned. Our turn was next and we opened our camera bag brimming with gadgets, the laptop proudly sitting on top. The customs official picked it right up and started inspecting the stickers on the bottom. I wondered how we were going to explain that the computer was bought in the US, but not by us and that we'd taken it out of Australia.

He asked to see our passports, which he flicked through slowly studying the stamps on every page. My head was pounding. Reaching the end, he took another look at the stickers and handed both back to us, nodded and moved to the next person.

Ten minutes later after we'd boarded the bus, the woman with the laptop climbed on board relieved.

On the Chilean side of the Andes the barren earth was grey with occasional patches of snow that had grown more frequent the higher we'd climbed. It was a harsh place with jagged peaks all around their outlines contrasting sharply with the dull sky.

The Argentinian side was completely different. After two hours in the customs shed, we emerged to find the clouds had dissipated and the sun was warming the mountains. Here the earth was equally barren but was painted with a colourful palette of pastel shades.

We descended through a valley with the coloured peaks towering on either side of us. Being amongst them, we could feel the presence of the mountains unlike that I have ever felt before. And somewhere out there was Aconcagua, the western hemisphere's highest peak.

Around each bend the view seemed to get even better with a new backdrop of forms or colours and it was probably fortunate that we weren't driving as we would have still been there on the side of the road taking pictures as the sun set.

We had a long way to descend and the landscape went on and on as we wound downwards next to the river. Our headaches hadn't gone away and I suddenly realised that I was craving coffee. It dawned on me that we had a boring old caffeine headache not the symptoms of altitude sickness.

Our first mission in Mendoza was therefore to seek out a coffee, which the book promised would be an improvement on the stuff served in Chile. I'm sorry LAN but powdered coffee creamer is not milk.

Probably because of the good coffee, the people of Mendoza seemed cheerful and we quickly felt comfortable wandering the bustling streets that seemed a lot more European than what we'd seen in Chile. In the pedestrian mall, cafes were spread across the footpath under the canopy of the dense trees that also lined the main streets. We sat down to an 'early' dinner which was served after 9pm and spent the rest of the evening watching people go by.

Oh and the coffee was the best we'd tasted since Brisbane.

Next stop: Cycling wineries

Valparaiso

It's hard to imagine that a town just over 100km from Santiago could be so different. But Valparaiso might as well be in a different country.

We arrived on Sunday afternoon while the street markets were still in full swing. Compared to European Santiago, the only thing we could see that had anything in common with that part of the world was the thick jackets worn by the people on the street. The streets were dirty and full of rubbish, stray dogs slept on every corner and the inhabitants seemed less happy than those of the capital.

Valparaiso is said to be a unique city in Chile and it isn't because the waters of the Pacific Ocean lap onto it's shore. The waterfront is a working port full of container ships that's separated by multiple fences and a train line. What's unique is the brightly painted buildings clinging to the steep hills behind the flat central business district.

These are reached by a series of 15 ascensores (escalators) and multiple sets of stairs.

The first staircase we came to we climbed, a stray dog huffing and puffing alongside our every step. Midway up, Jeff compared the climb to the stair case going up the Eiffel tower with it's 678 steps. By the top, it didn't feel that much different and the view was equally good, expect maybe not as pretty. The bright blue cranes of the port dominated the horizon and the buildings of the city seemed to crumble before our very eyes.

 

Down on the ground there was rubbish and dog poo everywhere and it quickly became abundantly clear that this was quite a different neighbourhood. Artistic graffiti covered the walls and everyone who we passed starred at us. We followed the main street as I was unwilling to turn down the side alleys, but we soon turned back as it seemed like we were getting nowhere.

Next we chanced upon the Ascensor Concepcion which happens to be the oldest in the city. Catching it up, we found ourselves in a totally different neighbourhood. Here the footpaths had been swept, there was no graffiti in sight and all the people who looked at us, were also tourists. In fact, there were hardly any locals in the area apart from those cleaning the streets. This was the side that the city obviously wanted visitors to see.

The brightly painted buildings were well maintained and had pretty details. From the neat terraces we could see the rolling hillsides covered in bright houses. Down below in one of the squares a stage was being set up and after wandering around the hills we arrived just in time for the sound check. The free concert was starting later that evening.

When we returned the square, it was packed with people and the first musician was already playing. He was a guitarist and vocalist signing pop sounding songs all in Spanish that consistently sounded full of angst and passion.

In the next group a woman with a lovely voice sang along to guitars, violins, the double bass and African drums. One song in particular sounded very good and I was surprised that I almost seemed to know what was coming next. Then I realised it was an English song translated.

While we waited for the third band to come on we could hear a drum beat coming from around the corner. Everyone craned their neck to see and Jeff joked that they were trying to compete with the concert. Then they walked on stage, a group of women dressed in indigenous skirts and Peruvian scarves over their shoulders. They were signing along with the drum beat. A moment later they started playing pan flutes and dancing. Compared to the pop music the sound was so unique I grabbed the camera and started recording, thinking “I've got to blog this!”

At the end of their song, another band joined them on stage and the packed crowd jumped to their feet and started dancing along to the new sound of the indigenous and pop music blend. The lead singer quite obviously an entertainer got the crowd cheering and clapping to their next songs as other instruments like sitars and indigenous horn.

At the end of the set the rapt audience was genuinely cheering and shouting for more.

But the main purpose of the concert that evening turned out the be the screening of “Temporary Valparaiso” which we guessed was a short film entry. Between songs from a local artists they showed vintage film of the city, parts of which we could recognise. But we didn't stay for the whole video, instead opting to wander home and experience the real Valparaiso.

Next Stop: The Andes

Santiago from the Hills

When in Santiago, it's hard to forget that it's a city set at the base of the Andes. Just when you do, you look down the street between European style buildings and there on the horizon are snow capped mountains.

Santiago lacked the colour we had expected until we reached an area on the other side of the river. During the evening the brightly painted buildings are the backdrop for a thriving cafe and pub scene, but when we walked through around lunch time it was quiet.

For a better look of the city and to escape the traffic and pollution we'd decided to wander up through the Parque Metropolitano to the Virgin Mary statue at the top of the nearby Cerro San Cristobal. The dirt track that led up there seemed a little abandoned, but was lined with pretty spring flowers that covered the steep hillside.

We climbed quickly, getting a good view over Santiago, but of course it was the mountains that drew our attention. Despite the pollution it was clear enough to see the chain around the city that stretches north to Bolivia and south to the Atlantic.

From the top of the hill looking into the distance we were convinced that the some of what we thought was mountains must surely be clouds because they seemed too high compared to the others. Then slowly we spotted the snow on the tops and the jagged line of the peaks.

Down the bottom in the colourful Bario Bellavista, the late afternoon had already brought crowds to the pubs. The footpath was packed with artisans selling jewellery displayed on blankets on the ground and pedestrians wandering along the sunny street as they probably did most Saturday afternoons.

Next Stop: A unique Chilean town

Santiago de Chile

Our blind went up just in time to see the two defining geographic features of Chile, it's coastline and the Andes. On the narrow part of land in between lay the sprawl of Santiago and as we turned towards the airport it seemed like the plane had to climb a little higher to miss the peaks of the mountains directly below.

The first view of Chile

Safely on the ground, the slow process of familiarising ourselves with a new country began. Our sleep deprived brains fumbled trying to work out where on earth we were. Just outside customs we were hassled which seemed just like in Morocco but at least here, no thank you means no thank you. On the bus Jeff's Spanish was put to the test as we were short-changed by 1000 or so pesos, just like in Romania.

It's always a shock to see an area where the ground is covered in rubbish and the houses are falling apart. From the bus window we observed the street life what we hopped was the dirty and dilapidated part of Santiago while wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. And of course we knew we would stand out.

If the people of Santiago noticed us lugging our packs down their street they certainly didn't show it, which was a big relief.

The Casa Roja hostel, located in a 19th century mansion that we had found online turned out to be everything that had been promised. Elegant and classy even our room decked out in antique furniture had a beautifully crafted 4m ceiling. Opening the shuttered doors onto the Juliet balcony we watched the traffic careen along the street below.

I wouldn't describe Santiago as a beautiful town, with it's new buildings of a bland design and it's old ones were crumbling. The shop fronts seemed stuck in the 80's with dirty signs and yellow lighting. But the people seemed cheerful and friendly.

In the main square, groups of tarot card readers where revealing fortunes, while local artists sold their paintings near by. A comedian had gathered a huge group of mostly men all around him and on the other side a group of teenagers were dancing for another crowd. Just like in eastern Europe, elderly men were playing chess in the rotunda.

Down the street the shops were full of people. Oddly enough, the most popular ones were the cake decorating shops where a long queue of people waited to pick up orders. There were at least half a dozen of these lined up in a row.

Next to them, knitting wool in all colours of the rainbow lined the shelves top to bottom of the next six or so shops. These were full of mostly women, some just buying others in groups taking a class. In another area I found crafter's paradise with an arcade exclusively devoted to crafting. These were also packed with people.

We'd planned to go to bed early, but between free! WiFi! and a bottle of Chilean wine, we were already on South American time.

Next Stop: Santiago from the hills

From "Records of a Travel-Worn Satchel"

By Basho (17th Century)

"In this mortal frame of mine which is made of a thousand bones and nine orifices there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit for lack of a better name, for it is much like a thin drapery that is torn and swept away at the slightest stir of the wind. This something in me took to writing poetry years ago, merely to amuse itself at first, but finally making it its lifelong occupation. It must be admitted, however, that there were times when it sank into such dejection that it was almost ready to drop its pursuit or again times when it was so puffed up with pride that it exulted in vain victories over the others. Indeed, ever since it began to write poetry, it has never found peace with itself, always wavering between doubts of one kind and another. At one time it wanted to gain security by entering the service of a court, and at another it wished to measure the depths of its ignorance by trying to be a scholar, but it was prevented from either because of its unquenchable love of poetry. The fact is, it knows no other art than the art of writing poetry, and, therefore, it hangs on to it more or less blindly."