A City Of Lifts

Sunday 11 February

Having had an excellent night’s sleep – the beds were really comfy - we were all at breakfast soon after 07.00 – the enthusiasm of the start of a holiday for most, being enough to lure them from their beds. The two people who had joined us from Easter Island (we later found out they were Tracey and Dave, from Worthing in Sussex, and both were vegans) had decided to join us on this trip, but the three from San Pedro had declined as they had had a few early mornings in the desert – as we knew well - and wanted a bit of a lie in, before exploring Santiago.

We were supposed to go by metro to the bus station, but when we arrived at a few minutes after 08.00, we found the underground station did not open until 08.30, so we changed tactics and went to the nearby bus stop and waited and waited - all in vain – three of one route arrived, but sadly not going the way we wanted. Yesterday – Saturday – Santiago had implemented a new bus programme in the city, which meant that the city as a whole would be much better served by its buses – new schedules for each route had been set out – whereas before, anyone could set up a bus service on any route they wanted to, with the result that the popular routes were inundated with public transport, while other areas had no buses at all – now it was supposed to be evened out with the private operators being included in the discussions and plans. The city was expecting chaos tomorrow during the Monday morning rush hour. As the time crept closer to 08.30, Mike decided to walk to the next station along the line and catch the metro. We arrived at Pedro de Valadivia (he who founded Santiago), station, and almost immediately caught a train. It was very crowded, but the journey only lasted a few minutes to travel the twelve stations to the bus station, as the trains are super fast.

Once there, Mike bought tickets for us all to Valparaiso costing 5,100 Chilean pesos return (about 5 GBP) each for a journey of 1 ½ hours each way. Inside the bus station it was like an “orange” version of Victoria Bus Station in London – more than fifty orange coaches lined up at their stops, all traveling out of Santiago in the next hour. We found our bus quite easily – they were all clearly labeled with the destination and time of each departure, and the seventeen of us half filled the bus. The buses/coaches appeared quite new – although we found later that they were probably five or more years old – built in Spain - with seats which were wide and very comfortable, a loo and a drinking water supply. The driver and conductor’s compartment was completely closed in, at the front of the bus, and no one was allowed to enter while the bus was moving. It was only a few minutes before we were on our way, winding through the Casablanca Valley, where most of the white Chilean wine is grown, on a major Chilean highway. Vast plantations of vines, orchards of olives and fruit trees lined the road, with each estancia trying to outdo its neighbour with a larger, more ornate, ‘farmhouse’. Some looked like German castles with turrets and crenellations and intricate wood carving around the windows. We entered Valparaiso down one of the steep hillsides to the wide sweeping bay.

On reaching the river level and the main street – a dual carriageway with a wide central reservation - we saw hundreds of white gazebos ‘planted’, with not an inch to spare between each, for a couple of kilometres, all filled with Chilean ‘tut’, a version of our car boot sales. Apparently you can buy anything you want here in this market on a Sunday, and whole families were trying to persuade passers by to purchases their wares. There was a great atmosphere of everyone mixing together.

When we got off the coach, Mike told us he had a surprise for us that would cost about 100 pesos each (10p). We walked up a few streets behind the bus station, where there was a general air of decline - houses literally crumbling and buildings melting away with decay. Valparaiso is built on a series of hills reaching down to the bay, and is world famous for its old fashioned lifts (like the one that used to work near Hastings fish market). Mike’s surprise was to take us up to the top of the hills by one of these very old lifts. But – such a shame - it was closed, and an old man informed us that there was an electrical fault. He also assured us that all the other lifts in the city were working. Not to be deterred, we returned to the road outside the bus station and caught a local tram – brought over here from Spain, in the mid 1940’s, and still in use today – they were a bit battered and the upholstery left much to be desired, but they run round the city providing a convenient form of transport to get around the lower levels of the city. We traveled through the almost deserted streets of Valparaiso – everyone must have been at the market or still recovering from their Saturday night revels (they do keep late hours in these parts) – and got off at the next “hill”. We wandered down a street, where, looking up we could see houses painted in a vast array of colours – this tradition started when those employed on painting the boats in port, were allowed to keep any left over paint to use on their own homes, which resulted in many being in various shades of red or green (the colours of the Chilean flag), but today any colour could be used, so there were lilacs and purples, aquarmarines and deep navy, reds, yellows, oranges and pinks – almost every hue you could imagine. It made a colourful picture and added charm to this slightly desolate city. We discovered another lift, only to find the gate padlocked again – obviously not in operation today, but it had clearly been used recently as the rails were still silver and shiny. There was nothing else to do but to try to find a fleet of taxis to take us to the top of the hills.

We roamed some streets, full of old fashioned shops and department stores, mostly shut because it was Sunday. We were directed to a taxi rank, and commandeered five taxis to take us up the steep winding roads close to the top of the hill, to the house of Pablo Neruda, a Chilean Ambassador, who is now venerated nationally for his poetry. He supported very left-wing politics, even becoming a Communist later in his life, and was sent, between the 1930’s and 1960’s, to far flung outposts like Madrid, Egypt and India, Central American countries and the United States, but when the socialist Government in Chile lost power, he was recalled and sent into isolation - until the next election when the politics of the country changed again and he was employed again – this happened several times. He married three times, and in the 1950’s he built a house for his third wife, high up on one of the hills that looked out over the port and bay. Today it is a museum dedicated to his life. It was a very narrow building, built on five floors, with some of his furniture and many of the eclectic items he collected over the years displayed in odd shaped rooms and up the many flights of stairs – a wash hand basin, decorated with blue flowers that he brought in the UK and was never plumbed in, a stuffed fluffy penguin, mentioned in one of his poems, paintings, maps – a very interesting map of the world dated 1698 - and books – lots of detective novels that he liked to read. He was the only person allowed to serve drinks from his bar, which had a small toilet in the cupboard in the corner. His bathroom was tiled in peacock blue and grass green tiles to remind him of the sea and the land, although he didn’t like traveling across the oceans.

From here we took another bus further around the hills, and then walked along the streets, passing the multi-coloured vista of houses, and where we could look down over the city, spread around the hillsides in much the same way as La Paz, only more spread out. Our quest now was to find a local tavern for lunch – known as the “Brighton” – we can only pesume it was named by a British merchant in days gone by. It turned out to be an old mansion built into the hillside, that now offered accommodation as well as good seafood. We sat on the terrace overlooking the sea and the docks, and ate delicious dishes of Chilean sea bass (which was not really sea bass, but its real name that meant that no one would choose to eat it, so the fishermen changed it to Chilean sea bass, which was more popular) and seafood, drinking beer and wine. Valparaiso was once a very important port, when ships traveled round Cape Horn to journey between the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans. All of Chile’s exports going by sea used to go through this city which became home for well-to-do merchants and businessmen in the late 1800’s. But when, in 1914 the Panama Canal was opened the port declined rapidly, and is now used mainly by Chile’s large fishing industry, naval vessels and cruise ships on their way to or from Antarctica.

A short distance from the restaurant was another lift – hooray we had found one that was working. It held only seven people at a time, and as it descended very steeply to the financial district of the city, it cranked and creaked all the way – it didn’t appear very safe. We explored a bit more of the city, visiting the main square – surprise, surprise, no cathedral – with its huge monument dedicated to Arturo Prat – who had led the naval offensive against Peru and Bolivia, when Chile wanted gain the rights to the minerals in those countries and which resulted in Bolivia becoming land-locked. The Chilean navy at the time was heavily supported by British troops and ships, as the British had invested vast fortunes in Valparaiso, and did not want to lose this stronghold, on the Pacific coast. We took a bus from here back to the bus station, where, after only a short wait, we caught our bus back to Santiago. The “car boot sale” market was still in full swing as we drove through the streets. Mike had urged us to take warm clothes and wet weather gear with us as the climate could be very changeable on the coast, but the sun had shone almost all the time we were there, and it had been a delightful day.

Back at the hotel we just had time to write our three postcards to the grandchildren, and ready ourselves for dinner. We met the three people who had visited San Pedro – they had not stayed at the Explora but another hotel nearby – a couple who originated from Belfast (Harry and Mary – also known as Patricia), and their friend, a widow from Burgess Hill in Sussex (Irene) – all late 60’s + and retired. All the group went along to another restaurant recommended by Mike – this time a short taxi ride away (we are getting very good at using the local transport) called Como Aqua Para Chocolate, from a book and film of the same name. Colin ate baby rack of lamb chops, with vegetables including cobs of corn, while I chose grilled tuna with a creamed corn and cheese and potato accompaniment. We drank another bottle of excellent Chilean wine (the feeling here is that there is no such thing as a bad Chilean wine) – this time a Sauvignon Blanc – for Colin. Once back at the hotel it was time to pack our cases once more, for a flight tomorrow to Punta Arenas, far to the south of Patagonia. It would be another early morning alarm call, as we were leaving the hotel by 07.30 for our favourite airport - Santiago.