Easter on the Chilean Coast

Day 12: Santiago Casa de Todos is a great hostel in Providencia. Woke up late, had an amazing breakfast, then sat on the patio in 60-70 degree weather. At noon, the English girls say we're going to hike Cerro San Cristobal. I walk about a half hour and notice the Bellavista neighborhood is quite charming. This is where things are happening. There are trees, street art, and open air cafes. I meet up with the girls at the bottom of the hill and we start up. More strenuous than expected in my Toms. We get to the top feeling like we've earned our lunch although I don't have much to say for the views. Santiago is pretty smoggy. We get caught up talking and end up going the complete wrong way down and have to go back up. Ellie works up a strong craving for 100 Montaditos so we go back to Terraza Bellavista and sit on the terrace and have a cocktail.

Im not all that enthused with Santiago and I need to get to Valparaiso so I head back to the hostel, grab my bags, and head to the bus station. The Pajaritos station is right off the subway, but I'm feeling super lazy given the ridiculously cheap uber system and my unexpected 6 mile day. The 90 minute bus to Valp is $7. Another steal. I take another uber from the bus station in Valp to Hostel Cerro Allegre. For $40 a night, it's the most beautiful place I've stayed. High ceilings, beautiful colorful artwork. I realize I caught a cold in Patagonia (read: damn those freezing nights) so I plan on a super low key weekend. Massage, reading on the beach, laundry, answering emails. I haven't been sick in years so I've forgotten how obnoxious it is. I walk up a few hills to this super romantic restaurant El Peral that the English girls recommended with a daily changing menu. The waiter tells me it's traditional to eat seafood on Easter weekend due to the religious holiday so I happily oblige and it's delicious. The best meal I had in Chile.

This is a good point to mention that I'm addicted to novelty. I refuse to go back to a restaurant I've already been to or travel to a place I've already seen. Life is too short and there is too much to see. This annoys a lot of the humans in my life. El Peral is so good that I break my own rule and make a reservation for the following night. I make it for 3 people and the waiter asks me twice if I'm sure. Yes, believe it or not, I occasionally have friends. Day 13: Valparaiso

Valparaiso is beautiful. A sleepy little seaside town with winding hills, colorful street art, and delicious seafood. I decide to try to walk to Pablo Neruda's house. Note: it is really far up in the hills. Let's call this my workout for the day. I don't pay to go inside because there's a queue and it's a beautiful day and I don't really care what's inside. I sit on the terrace and read Sweetbitter. Im becoming totally immersed in this book and the way it describes my favorite place in the world: NYC. In this moment, I realize I love traveling alone. Sure, there is anxiety when you have to depend on your own decision making. Is this street safe to walk down? How the hell do I buy a bus ticket? Can I really not trust anyone to watch my stuff while I run inside? But the beautiful part is the sense of accomplishment when you do something right and moreover the responsibility to no one else. A lot of travelers like to hit the major tourist spots and go to the museums. When I travel, I just like to wander the streets. Call me uncultured, but I learn more about a city by paying attention to how people interact, the feelings, the smells, the everyday life. The way a place makes you feel. Sitting on Pablo's terrace with the smell of the sea makes me understand why he wrote such beautiful love poems.

I come down from Pablo's house and hunt for a spa. At the third place I try, they invite me inside. Puerto Natura. I get the full package, bath with rose petals, massage, reflexology. Someone cure my ailments please. No massage chairs this time. I have to say the Latin massage was much more intimate than the American massages I'm accustomed to, but the lady didn't speak any English and I didn't have the proper Spanish language skills to be shy. The reflexology portion was just a glorified foot massage by a young girl that probably knew as much about massages as I do, but all the same it was relaxing. And cheap. I leave the spa and start walking home when I spot a macaroon parlor, Le Septieme. The English girls had warned me of this place. This feels like a necessary stop. Being in "vacation mode" is hard on a healthy diet, but oh so delicious. Later that night, I meet two brothers from my high school in South Carolina at El Peral. Small world. They're doing the same post-quitting galavanting that I am. We drink way too many local Altamira cervezas afterwards at Brecons trading travel stories and reminiscing about high school. A perfect Saturday night. Day 14: Easter

I have breakfast in my hostel and decide to try to make it to Viña Del Mar. Its a beach town just 15 minutes away. I don't really know how to get there, but I'm starting to get overly confident with my surroundings. I keep seeing these hop on, hop off local buses and I figure I can give it a try. I see an orange one pass and hail it like I'm calling a cab. I have no idea what it costs so I just hold out a 500 pesos coin (less than $1) and the driver takes it. I feel so proud. I did it. And I don't even know what I did. I hope this is going to the right place. We wind down the coast and I recognize Wulff Castle from pictures so I decide this is as good of a time as any to get out so I unceremoniously stand up and the bus pulls over. This is so easy.

Instead of walking to the castle where the tourists are, I find a path down to the beach and take a seat on the rocks to read with a view. The smell of the salt, the waves splashing frighteningly close to the rocks I'm sitting on, the beautiful imagery of the words in my book. This is contentment. The stress of life in NYC feels so far away. I don't have a worry in the world.

Eventually I get a bit peckish and wander around for something cheerful and cheeky (Read: I'm British now). I immediatlely make best friends with the server at Divino Pecado over stories of his days serving in Chelsea, NY. He brings me ceviche and a complimentary aperitif. We take a selfie and he sends it to the chefs at his favorite restaurant in Viña Del Mar called Donde Willy and his favorite restaurant in New York called Buenos Aires. He assures me I'll be well taken care of when I go.

We part ways and I wander around the Casino de Viña Del Mar only to confirm that I, in fact, still do not like casinos since the one I went to in Biloxi, Mississippi (don't ask). I confidently board the bus back to Valp and let my mind wander. This proved to be a grave mistake. The bus is not making automatic stops and we pass Valparaiso. I realize I'm in an area that doesn't look familiar nor friendly and I immediately get out. I check my map and Im two miles too far. I'm in the part of town where I look obviously out of place, the area the tourists don't visit. I high tail it as quickly as my little feet will take me all the way back to town. I revert back to my New York ways and pretend I'm deaf and blind to anyone who tries to get my attention. I make it back sweaty and laughing at how far my overconfidence got me. Lesson learned. I made reservations at a fancy restaurant with a view called Restaurant La Concepción. I arrive and they don't have my reservation even though I watched the girl write it down yesterday. My Spanglish must have sucked. All dressed up with nowhere to go. By dressed up, I mean I'm wearing the one dress I've packed and I've bothered to put on makeup for Easter. I linger perhaps too long and they regretfully seat me anyways despite the fact the place is mostly empty. The views on the terrace are incredible. The city lights in the hills remind me of Sausalito or San Francisco. Following this theme, that would make smoggy, mountainous Santiago LA... I hate to add to the ongoing war since the 1880s of the Argentinians vs. Chileans, but these countries are much less similar than I first assumed. The food in Argentina is 10x better. Chilean food isn't bad, I just haven't been impressed. They drown their food in spices, butter, and sauces. Ceviche is meant to highlight the flavor of the raw fish - it's a dish built on simplicity. Come on guys. On the side of the Chileans, their people speak more slowly and make it much easier to understand without all that Vosotros nonsense. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited to get back to Argentina tomorrow. Mendoza, here I come.

PS I'm still a bit angry at Chile for stealing the coast line from Bolivia. Imagine the economic prosperity if they weren't one of only two land-locked countries on this continent. Maybe I'll start an uprising when I go to La Paz. (Just kidding, please don't pull my visa)

Practical notes: The buses in South America don't have heat. The ATMs have about a $130-150 limit. In the big cities, you can use your cards everywhere. Cash is king in Patagonia. 10% tipping is standard at restaurants.