Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

-Day 30-

We made a final descent on a Valparaiso ‘ascensor’ and got on our very last bus journey through South America, sob sob! A couple of hours later we were in Santiago. The first thing that struck us was how modern, new and shiny the city was in comparison to the other South American cities we’d been through. Encompassed on all sides by towering mountains, every surface looked considered, polished & manicured, although we were later told there are older parts of the city which don’t have quite the same allure. The natural bowl shaped landscape means the city acts as an inescapable trough for stagnant pollution; apparently the general rule of thumb is the more money you have, the higher up you live because the air is much cleaner at higher altitudes.

We checked into our hostel in a trendy part of town known for its’ nightlife, BellaVista. Passing boutiques, burger bars and fresh fruit juice vendors, we were surprised at the number of city workers rushing around in the blistering heat wearing suits. Moving to Australia, this is something we would need to acclimatise to! Craving some greens (and a beer) we grabbed an artichoke and prosciutto salad nearby.

We were unfazed to stumble across a plethora of artisanal market stalls next door, but thought we’d continue the eternal search for the perfect pair of earrings (by the way, these earrings are purely an image in my head, they probably don’t even exist, and if they do we’d be unlikely to find them for a fiver in a market.) But we went in anyway. I do think we’ve encountered more artisanal markets than dodgy toilets in the last month, and that’s saying something. But this market actually had a really lovely selection of jewellery, and although they were made with cheap materials, I was pretty chuffed with the two jangly pairs of earrings I got for £2. They were not ‘the ones’, but they could keep my lobes pretty till pigs fly.

We’d planned to meet up with Sophie and Kieran that evening, friends of my old friend Aurelie back in London. They too had taken the plunge and moved to the other side of the world. They had just arrived in Santiago a couple of weeks prior, but had already landed themselves jobs and were in the midst of flat hunting. Santiago may not be Sydney, but it made me realise we weren’t the only people doing something so nutty, and gave me hope for the future! They were taking us for a surprise… we slid into an elevator, then into a second, as our ears popped and we rose to the W hotel rooftop bar on the 27th floor. The doors opened and we fell out into tanned fashionistas poolside soaking up the last few rays of the day. I scolded myself for my creased backpacking wardrobe, at this present moment it didn’t feel like we were ‘flash-packing” as we’d joked earlier. We settled into a white leather lounger and our waitress brought over some Pisco sour cocktails. We caught up and exchanged stories of our travels, as the Pisco went straight to our heads! We admired the astounding views over the city, and it felt as if we were parallel with the mountain tops as the city’s lights began to flicker awake beneath us.

Wobbling back to the elevator, Sophie and Kieran took us out for the best pizza we’d had in South America. Ok, the pizza we’d had in Montevideo was good, but it was on doughy focaccia - this was thin, wood fired crispy, and all topping. Inside were vibrant turquoise and red walls, and we sat in a breezy canopied garden out front. The entertainment was an unexpected “bonus”, as a woman accompanied by a portable karaoke box and children jingled around the perimeter. We felt obliged to give her money, if only to encourage her to move on to the some other unsuspecting diners.

Fuelled up with pizza and beer we returned to the W for a few more cocktails, this time lounging on a big white bed, and scolding myself for not having brought something warmer to wear. As the DJ cranked up the pop music and an influx of high heels arrived to eye up the well heeled, we made our exit. Kieran was keen for a night out on the town, and we were keen to see BellaVista in action, so we grabbed a cab to a different world. The three of us resisted Keiran’s begging pleas to go into a caged karaoke club. We all saw it doubled as a male strip club and heard the girl’s shrieks from within, but he’d thought it would be fun. We did not concur, and after a thorough exploration of the area, settled for a curb side table to have a beer and watch the (drunken) world go by. We continued onto another bar afterward, and things get a bit hazy from there… but I do remember two things. One, I smoked a lot of cigarettes for the first time in a month. Bad. Two, I remember seeing a guy enter the bar with an enormous model of a boat with sails and everything. Somehow, he sold it to people at the table beside us. It could have easily been to us because anything seemed like a good idea by that point. Luckily Keiran hadn’t seized the moment to suggest we return to the karaoke strip joint, or this blog entry would not end here.

- By Cass

- Day 29 -

After a quick change over from our twin single room to a more comfortable ensuite double in the Casa Kultour, we headed down the hill via our Southwalk made ascensor and caught a local bus for a day-trip to Valparaiso’s prettier seaside sister, Vina del Mar; the garden city. Although we’d caught a glimpse of the Pacific at the port yesterday, I was keen to complete our coast to coast voyage with a swim in the ocean, although I can’t claim I completed any strokes.

Our genial host at the Casa Kultour had told us there was a great exhibition on Easter island in Vina, and as the mysterious Chilean island is surprisingly still some six hours by flight away, we thought this might be the closest we ever come. Housed in an old colonial building, the natural history museum sports a 10 ft Moai statue, one of only two not on Easter island; the other as with many “recovered” antiquities is in the British Musuem and is even larger. Standing guard outside, it’s wide forehead and nose shade its uncarved eyes, which solemnly survey the small block of surrounding gardens. Though the museum is well designed to investigate, we were incredibly grateful to Diego, a young English speaking student who worked there and offered up a free tour of the Easter island section that was only in Spanish. He brought the exhibition to life, explaining the meaning of the carvings and how incredible it was that the largest Moai, weighing many tonnes, were constructed of two types of volcanic rock, carved and then hauled into place to protect the island from evil. It was from within though that the islanders’ civilisation was toppled. The increasing decadence of the ruling kings led to their undoing, with many Maoi statues overturned or destroyed by a people fearing starvation on the inhospitable island.

Museums always build up a hunger in me and so we were also glad of a recommendation for empanadas, conveniently located on our stroll to the beach. These were much more like Cornish pasties than others in South America, and although the spiced chicken with chilli (confusingly called aiji in Chile) was delicious, I nearly cauterised my tongue and singed my flipflopped feet on the piping hot sauce. Striding down the promenade and dodging the crashing swell against the protective boulders, we reached Vina’s attractive main beach, completely occupied with families on the sand. Large signs strangely indicated no swimming and then we realised why - the swell further up had not dissipated and enormous waves lept up 12ft close to shore, dumping on the sand with a tremendous crash, annihilating anything in their path. A few kids towards the decaying pier braved it, playing dare on how deeply they would go, but soon enough jet skiing life guards deeper out shouted them back on megaphones before zipping off with a pack of dogs pursuing, parallel on the beach.

Sporting a topped up tan and ignoring the less flattering reviews on TripAdvisor, we hit Allegretto, a snug little pizzeria a lazy stroll from the hostel. Served up on a wooden platter and washed down with a full bodied Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon, the delicious thin crust pizza with ample toppings of salami, garlic, olives and fresh avocado proved a simple but tasty treat for our penultimate South American cena.

- By Ian -

-Day 28-

Bleary eyed we awoke to a dark early morning in Valparaiso and caught a taxi up the hills of the town to our B&B. The taxi driver assured us that we were in the right place, although nothing about the steep blocked off alleyway looked very right at all. We paid our fare and tentatively toed our way through the dark down the stairs to find Casa Kultour.

We were met by locked gates and dark windows, but after ringing the bell a few times to no avail I was still relatively unconcerned, the seagulls were squawking and soon it would be light and they’d let us in. We huddled on the front step and tried to keep warm until someone in the B&B awoke or arrived, and within half an hour someone turned up the street. The closer he got, the clearer it became that this dude was not the hotelier, he was about 17. The grubby flip flopped feet should have given it away, and then he stopped in front of us and spoke Spanish. Ian being more trusting than I leant forward to try and correspond with him, but soon enough it became clear he was not after a conversation, but rather something out of our pockets. At this point I cursed having given up smoking as one, or twenty may have appeased him, but we had neither these, nor small change, but did have EVERYTHING we owned in the bags at our feet… and then it dawned on us that we were about to get mugged. As he became more persistent, edging closer and eyeing up our bags, Ian stalled him and I went mental ringing the doorbell and trying to wake up the street. Making enough of a racket eventually scared him off, and a hostel nearby was kind enough to let us kip in their communal room until it got light.

Once Casa Kultour opened it more than redeemed our unfortunate start to the day. With a quaint cottagey feel it was decorated in bright crocheted flowers hand made by the house keeper, and vintage chocolate and milk Nestlé posters adorning the walls. We set out immediately to enjoy the sunshine and meandered around the famous ‘cerros’ hills. Every winding turn revealed a colourful street, scattered with graffiti, boutiques and bistros. And yes, more artisanal shops, where we both picked out some handmade copper jewelry. Busking musicians created the perfect soundtrack to frame the steep but stunning views to the ocean below.

Traveling down to the sea level part of the town involves either going down hundreds of steep stairs, or boarding an ‘ascensor’. In most places, this would be a lift/elevator, but this was a fusion of a streetcar trolley with the aforementioned, and had me scared sh*tless! Two wooden boxes traveling in opposite directions on pulleys on metal rails, these things are manually operated and practically hand pulled. Funnily enough the ascensor parts were made in Southwark, London - perhaps I should have felt in safer hands, and maybe I did until I saw they were made in 1887…

The lower town of Valparaiso was a different experience altogether, and perhaps the reason behind some of the more unsavory reviews we’d read. We went hunting for the old fish market, but the only fishy thing we found was a derelict building and homeless drunks sprawled out amongst rubbish on street corners. Feeling a little vulnerable and very touristy all of a sudden, we quickly turned on our heel and returned to the main square overlooking the port, flanked in pretty buildings and statues. We watched giant pelican diving to catch fish amongst the tug and tourist boats, dwarfed by the giant naval vessels which tourists are banned from photographing for security reasons.

Up the ascensor (scary as it was, there was NO way I was climbing those stairs instead) we retreated to the cosy colourful streets of our cerros for a drink and a relaxing game of cards at The Brighton hotel as the sun set.

Supper became quite an unexpected event, and a pleasant one at that! Many of the restaurants that were highly rated on Tripadvisor were closed that evening, and as we walked around to choose somewhere to eat we were lassoed by Claudio and ushered into restaurant Paparazzo. With a name like that, it’s somewhere we’d normally not consider, but Claudio was quick to convince and we were given a fantastic seat by the window. Over an ice cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc we salivated over the menu and devoured a sea bass cevice amuse bouche, then settled on sea bream with gnocchi and fresh octopus for main course. We tipsily headed back to our hotel, key in hand, we weren’t sleeping rough tonight!

- By Cass

- Day 27 -

Although tipsily galloping along the beach in Uruguay had been incredible fun, boy did we suffer the next day from sore thighs. Getting back in the saddle and recreating our first Valentine’s day on horseback, two years previous, in London’s Richmond park, may therefore not have been the best idea. The spectacular views Uspallata offered though, paid off, but we felt sorry for the horses heaving our gourmand lumps in the heat.

Wisely choosing the half day ride to save our rumps, Damian, the young gaucho arrived early and we quickly inhaled our dulche de leche breakfast before being led to our steeds. Being proportional to our height, rather than our skill, I was somewhat perturbed mounting a huge stallion which towered over Cass’ pony sized mare. Diego assured us they were well seasoned though and would happily carry us on the trek to the Copper mines. What we hadn’t appreciated was how steep the assent was going to be. Climbing quickly but steadily up the ochre coloured earth out of the lush farm plain, we negotiated standing armies of giant cacti that added to the wild west feel of riding in the dry heat. The horses coped amazingly, with the deep sheep skin saddle absorbing the bumpy terrain. At several points though with the slope near vertical, Cass’ horse resisted and had to be coaxed up with Diego’s clicks, while my own took a breather and I rubbed his sweating muscular neck.

At the summit of the hilly outcrop though we were afforded a panoramic view of the Uspallata plain stretching out to the foot of the Andes. Too cool to harvest grapes for winemaking as in Mendoza, though rarely seeing snow, the farmers specialise in more hardy produce. Filling the land with emerald green in contrast to the harsh copper stained soil, all life is supported by the continuous glacial water flowing down from Aconcagua that we’d seen the previous day. Pausing to explore an abandoned copper mine tunnel, on our emergence in to the unrelenting sun, we bumped into some Argentine girls who we had met over dinner at the hostel and who worked for Green Peace. They had walked the route and looked pretty shattered so we were glad to once again mount up for the descent. Thankfully the return road was a much gentler, though less scenic. I felt sorry for the horses though, who must realise this path is available rather than the other steep climb and curse lazy tourists such as us under their whinnies. Circling round the back of the hostel via a bubbling stream, they lapped up a well earned drink before we jumped down, feeling a little roasted and ready for lunch.

Soaking up the hostel’s isolated charms by sharing a hammock in the garden and reading, we were pestered by the coy playfulness of the youngest labrador, who would implore us to play fetch with a rock. However, it didn’t seem he was too familiar with the rules as although he jabbed us with the rock in his jaws, he only reluctantly let it go and was easily fooled by my dummy empty throws.

Escaping washing dishes and making beds to pay for the hostel when we realised they didn’t accept MasterCard, the friendly assistant dropped us in town instead to use the ATM and pay. This gave us time to enjoy a final Argentine steak and glass of malbec at the El Rancho where we’d visited two days before. Although not the most salubrious of restaurants, with a vicious fly catcher buzzing like an electric chair overhead, the steak was consistently good and drew admiration from the table of sunburnt mountaineers who were just about to settle in to their well earned dinner.

Grabbing a final beer in the Tibet bar to sedate us for the overnight bus to Chile, we then almost missed it! Incredibly we were rescued by an unknown women who appeared in the parking area and ushered us to the front of the station as the bus would do a pit stop for us on the main road. We had thought as in the border crossing from Brazil to Uruguay the passing into Chile would be a formality. We were wrong. The abrupt wake up at 2am, out of my cosseted sleep induced by a full belly of steak, sedated with beer and wine and secured with ear plugs and eye mask, felt particularly unpleasant. Through groggy consciousness, we plodded to the dual passport stamp lines - Argentina Out, Chile In - inexplicably taking far too long at this wretched hour before we had our bags sniffed for fruit and could be on our way. We really hoped Valparaiso in Chile looked better in the morning as our Valentines day cheer had faded in the cold Andean night.

- By Ian

-Day 26-

It wasn’t the greatest idea to read a book about a woman who’d traveled to Tibet and suffered altitude sickness just days before today’s outing. We were about to ascend 4200 meters above sea level to the site of Cristo Redentor, where Argentine and Chilean soil meet.

We took a private bus so we could see several sites in a day, and it paid off. Over four hours we watched the mountains grow from already impressive to astronomically astounding, changing colour from rust to charcoal and everything in-between. We took the smooth concrete road beneath our bottoms for granted, until we took a turn onto the bumpy old route 7. Once upon a time, not even long ago, it had been the only passage from Argentina to Chile through the Andes mountains. It ran alongside the now also defunct Transandine railway, both tracks dwarfed by their surroundings and prone to landslides, flooding, and avalanches in winter. After a repeated battering, eventually both became casualties of the elements, and a more modern road was built alongside, but teetering on cliff sides the narrow passes, bridges and tunnels are still visible today.

We stopped at an old bridge & battle site called Puente Colonial de Picheuta which is miraculously still standing, and continued our ascent to Christo Redentor- our second Christ the Redeemer ‘viewing’ in South America. We were blessed with crystal clear blue skies and were lucky to see the snow capped peak of Aconagua, the highest peak in the western hemisphere! It is 7000 meters above sea level, and takes two weeks and £5000 to climb it (including all your food, a bargain we were informed!)

The climb up to Cristo was not one for the faint hearted. I’m not sure anybody was at all reassured that Christ was looking down on us (he was actually checking out the awesome views over Chile instead). Our ears popped during the rapid ascent, our tyres rolling just centimetres from the edge of the track which gave way to a sheer drop & a red dusty death.

All was forgotten however when we peaked the mountain at Cristo’s feet. The initial shock of the cold temperature and high speed winds wore off as we soaked in the view. It was almost impossible to comprehend the scale of our surroundings. Aconcagua and it’s glaciers loomed above us glistening in the sunshine, and mountains stretched into the horizon on all sides. Jaws dropped, skin numb and ear drums assaulted by howling winds, we bundled back into the minibus thirty minutes later and descended the mountain. Surprisingly the incline on the descent was a lot more stomach churning than the climb had been!

Soon we arrived at Punta del Inca. Deceptively named, this is not a bridge built by the Incas, but was first used by them. It is thought to have naturally formed in layers during the ice age, the natural hot spring beneath it forming a passage underneath turning it into a bridge. On arrival we meandered through market stalls, vendors selling their wares and usual trinkets. We were however mystified by an array of trainers and bottles that looked like they’d been involved in a chicken escalope recipe. Several strides closer, and we saw the whole area looked like it had been dipped in glue and then coated with sand. Every surface was coated in these rust coloured deposits, which we learned actually form naturally from sulphides, calcium and other minerals in the hot spring water. So rich are they, that once upon a time a hotel and spa was built here for its’ guests to take advantage of. Sadly, as with numerous destinations in this area, these were flattened by an avalanche, though miraculously the small church sitting adjacent to the hotel remained untouched. Cristo must have been looking in this direction on that day.

-By Cass