Oda a un Poeta Chileno

I thought I'd use this blog post to inflict some bad poetry on you that I wrote just for the occasion.  Then I thought better of it, and decided to share the work of a much better poet than I, whose house I visited today in Santiago:

Day-colored wine,
Night-colored wine,
Wine with purple feet
Or wine with topaz blood,
Wine,
Starry child of earth,
Wine, smooth
As a golden sword,
Soft
As lascivious velvet,
Wine, spiral-seashelled
And full of wonder,
Amorous,
Marine;
Never has one goblet contained you.
-- Ode to Wine - Pablo Neruda

Ah, I feel so cultured now.  I've read some of Neruda's work before -- I have his sonnets (at home) translated in English, with the Spanish original on the facing pages, and it is fascinating to read the two side by side.  I'm ever so slightly better at making sense of the English version, but, oh, the Spanish sounds divine even when I don't know the meaning of all the words.

I am in Santiago, if I haven't already told you -- oh, right, I think I already told you about my hostel misadventures upon arrival.  I spent yesterday taking care of some practical things:  first, I undertook a journey to the neighbourhood of Providencia for English language bookstores in search of a travel guide for Bolivia.  Simple enough task, but I was shocked at the price of books in Chile -- I'd expected English language might be a little bit more, but $30 for a used (well-used, at that) book?  Even the Spanish-language books were outrageously expensive; apparently there's a 19% tax on books here.

Second task was to mail some stuff home -- full travel journals, souvenirs, and the like -- in an effort to lighten my backpack and avoid any risk of losing or damaging them on the road.  The Correo Central (main post office) is a grand and elegant building, and I got a good look around while I waited in line for at least two hours.  Then spent about another half hour trying to negotiate the transaction; I swear all my Spanish (such as it is) flew right out of my head that afternoon, as I struggled with the simplest of points!  But it all got done in the end -- I think -- and with luck my packages are on their way back to Canada.

Third task was the most fun -- booking a flight and place to stay in Easter Island!!  Whoo-hoo!  Yep, I'm on my way, baby, and I fly off early Friday morning, returning next Tuesday (the 18th).  It isn't going to be cheap -- just the flight and a place to stay are costing me about $1,000 -- but it's cheaper than trying to do it later from home as a separate vacation, and hey, when am I ever going to happen to be in the neighbourhood with the time to go?  ("In the neighbourhood" being defined very loosely, as Easter Island -- Isla de Pascua -- is about 3,700 km away.  But the only point of land closer than Chile is Pitcairn Island to the west, at 1,900 km from Easter Island and a long, long way from anywhere else.)

The rest of the day was the usual stuff -- making dinner, washing clothes, hanging out in the sunshine in the big back patio of the hostel.  They even have a pool, which I haven't yet tried; days are pretty warm, but I'm not sure it's quite bathing suit weather.

Today I actually got to see something of the city other than the post office and a few bookstores.  My neigbhourhood of Barrio Brasil is walkable from downtown, and the metro is so efficient that it's ridiculously easy to get around to places further afield.  Transit isn't as cheap as Buenos Aires -- but at 3 times the price, it's still only about $1 a ride and covers the entire city.  And Santiago is very safe; there is almost nowhere that you shouldn't ramble around alone.  The biggest hazard you'll face is the smog (more on that later).

I discovered an antique funicular than runs up Cerro San Cristobal, the hill that towers over the centre of the city.  After a slow, rattling ride up, I wandered around in the sunshine for a while -- the top of the hill is devoted to parkland, a zoo, and an outdoor church with the largest statue of Mary that I've ever seen at (22 metres high).  In theory, there should be fantastic views of the city and the mountains encircling it, but the smog is painfully evident -- take a look at this to see just how thick the blanket of pollution is:

(Then I thought I`d spend the rest of the afternoon walking around breathing in that air?  What on earth was I thinking?)

I also went to visit Pablo Neruda`s house in the neighbourhood of Bellavista (hence the literary offering at the start of this post) -- his second home, built for the woman who eventually became his third wife.  At the time he built her the house, he was still married to the second wife, but that`s a minor point, isn`t it?  It`s a delightful spot, anyway; designed to evoke the look and feel of a ship, it would have, in its day, commanded majestic views of the Andes.  (Now, of course, the view is largely obscured by skyscrapers and smog.)  There are 3 bars on the property -- just to uphold the stereotype that writing and alcoholism go together -- and an eclectic display of his possessions.  Among them are the medals awarded to Neruda, most notably the Nobel prize for literature in 1971.

The house isn`t quite as he left it, as it was raided and trashed by Pinochet`s troops after the 1973 coup; Neruda was a dangerous left-wing sympathizer and too high profile -- he had been politically active since his 20`s and served as ambassador in the Far east at the tender age of 24 -- so to protect the state Pinochet`s men burned his classic works of literature and flooded his home.  (Uh-uh, totally logical.  Military dictatorships are so wise.)  Neruda`s widow -- the mistress-turned-third-wife Mathilde -- returned to live there after his death (he died two weeks after the coup) and restored the house as part of his legacy.  The books, however, could not be saved.

My final stop before meandering home was the Museo de Arte Precolombino, just off the central square of Plaza de Armas, to check out their fascinating collection of artefacts from 4,500 years of civilization in Latin America, including mummies that pre-date Egypt`s by centuries.  Now I`m back at the hostel, procrastinating about making dinner -- I`m just not in the mood for rice and beans and vegetables (which is what I have).  I could go for a thick, juicy, bacon cheeseburger right now.  With a glass of malbec to wash it down ... mmmmmm.

Tomorrow I`m off to Valparaiso, I think -- it`s a couple of hours north of Santiago by bus, and has a reputation as the bohemian capital of Chile.  Neruda had another home here -- his first one, I think -- so I might go check that out too.  Had thought about going to one of the nearby wineries, but since I`ve just come from wine country I think I`d like to do something different. 

Then I`m off to Easter Island!  Not only do I get to go somewhere I have long wanted to see, but it`s going to be a very welcome break ... I`m getting a little travel-lagged and it`ll be nice to chill out on a tropical island for a little while.

P.S.  How much better still does that poem sound in Spanish ...

Vino color de día,
vino color de noche,
vino con pies de púrpura
o sangre de topacio,
vino,
estrellado hijo
de la tierra,
vino, liso
como una espada de oro,
suave
como un desordenado terciopelo,
vino encaracolado
y suspendido,
amoroso,
marino,
nunca has cabido en una copa

There was this thing called an earthquake in Santiago ...

I'd almost forgotten about it, actually (apparently I have a short memory for these things) ... but was forcibly reminded when I showed up in Santiago, Chile today.  I'd made a hostel reservation online, as I've been doing all along, and blithely made my way from the bus station by metro to the address in my Lonely Planet.

There, I found a dark, derelict building with a chain and padlock on the door and boards on the windows.  I double-checked the address -- yup, Catedral 2207, this was the place.  I looked up at the wall of the building and could faintly discern lighter patches, spelling out "H-O-S-T-E-L" against the grime, and a lighter oval patch above; clearly there had been a sign for the hostel which had fallen off or been taken off.

By this time, it was getting dark, as my bus to Santiago had been very delayed at the border in a long, long line-up which didn't move for at least an hour.  (The American guy I was chatting to speculated that they were all taking a lunch break;  sure enough, on the dot at the top of the next hour, the entire crew came back to work and the line finally started to move.)  It was twilight, and the neighbourhood of my erstwhile hostel was becoming quite deserted, and I didn't really fancy wandering the darkening streets of a strange big city looking for a place to lay my head.

So I headed back in the direction of the metro as I considered my options; a few doors down I saw a very welcome sign for the "Chile Inn Hostel" and rang the bell.  Two very nice older women ushered me in and were happy to provide me with a bed for the night for 7,000 Chilean pesos (about $14).  I realized after they showed me to my dorm room that, not only was I the only one in the dorm, but I was the only person staying in the entire hostel! 

It's nice -- quite a bit more stylish than the usual hostel accommodation, for about the same price -- but it's rather spooky being the only one.  I'm just hoping that at least one of the two ladies at the front desk stays here at night; if I'm completely alone in a big old creaky building all night, I just might develop a fear of the dark.  And I don't think they provide breakfast in the morning, which is a South American hostel perk I've grown quite accustomed too -- even if "breakfast" is always too-sweet pastries with dulce de leche syrup to pour on top, and Nescafe instead of real coffee.

But at least it's somewhere to stay for tonight.  Tomorrow I'll figure out a better option -- a few more people around to talk to would be nice.  I enjoy solitude, but less so when it is thrust upon me unwillingly ... and hostels are more entertaining with a few loco Australianos around.