Cile e Rapa Nui

Finally the day of departure has come. I have to kill the afternoon because my flight to Madrid leaves in the evening. I'm seized by cosmic hunger and since it seems there's no food on Iberia (it's not a low-cost airline, but you pay for food and quite a lot too), I go get myself a mega slice of pizza at the self-service. Finally the takeoff. The plane is full of tourists in Bermuda shorts and flip-flops headed to Mexico and Brazilian beaches. But who made me do this, going somewhere cold? The meeting with Daniela, my travel companion, is in Madrid. It will only be a brief encounter, since there we'll board two different planes, leaving half an hour apart, headed to the final destination, as we weren't able to find 2 seats on the same aircraft.

Just enough time to take 4 steps and catch up, her flight, operated by Lan Chile, leaves perfectly on time at midnight, while mine with Iberia is already listed with a 2-hour delay on the board. At 2:30 in the morning (with a 2.5-hour delay) I finally board a horrible, ancient Airbus 340-300, with brownish poopy-colored seats, headphones that don't work, music channels that don't work, and a single small, invisible monitor showing "Mission Impossible III," which I have to give up on for obvious reasons. All I can do is try to sleep, when the old man next to me has the brilliant idea of falling into a dead sleep and starting to snore nonstop, going on for all 14 hours of the flight.

After more than 14 endless hours of flight, bad food, and now 50 hours awake, I land at dawn in nothing less than Santiago, capital of Chile. At the airport there's a coming and going of strapping skiers who come from our hemisphere to ski on the Andes even in our summer, but I don't even look at them, because I'm half dopey from sleep and the piercing cold. The temperature is 12 degrees. Daniela has already been here for over 2 hours and is waiting for me in the airport parking lot. After a quick breakfast of strawberry juice and cookies, we set off to discover Santiago. The city seems interesting. It's surrounded by the Andes which, with their snow-capped peaks reaching 5,000 meters, give Santiago a spectacular view. The city is modern and rich, not how I expected it.

It's a mixture of many different cities, there are corners that remind me of old Paris and London, a neighborhood full of big fashion brands just like Beverly Hills, other more Spanish-style neighborhoods, and still others more typical of South and Central America. Santiago is very busy and full of people. Daniela and I, instead of looking at the monuments, churches, and museums, lose ourselves in street markets. If you should ever happen to go there, watch where you walk in the pedestrian area, or you risk being run over by cars. The through-roads that cut across the pedestrian streets are not marked and have no traffic lights, they practically seem to be one and the same as the pedestrian area, there's no difference in the paving. Follow the Chileans and everything will be fine.

In the evening, after wandering around and visiting the racetrack, the fish market, the riverside, the pedestrian streets of the center, the financial district, the parks, the museums and churches, and what not, on the advice of a lady at the hotel, Daniela and I go to eat at "Las Vacas Gordas," which will become our favorite restaurant. They serve very tall and enormous grilled meat (minimum 500 grams), cooked in plain view on huge braziers, empanadas, papas in every sauce, skewers, camarones, and other succulent local specialties, surrounded by locals (since the place is tucked away on a side street far from the central area and out of reach for tourists). What a wonder of food, and the bill is only 11,000 $! By now used to the euro, it gives us a shock, but in reality after doing 4 calculations we discover that it's only 20 euros for 2! Not bad for a first day.

Today is dedicated to visiting Valparaiso, a city by the sea, the most important port in this very long country, and Viña del Mar, the Chilean Forte dei Marmi. Before reaching the sea, however, we make a stop in the wine-growing area, visiting a winery, learning the art of good wine and guzzling glasses of red and white on an empty stomach at 10 in the morning. Valparaiso is a very colorful little town, perched on the hills by the sea. It looks like a huge rainbow because of its tiny little boxes in various colors and its sheet-metal roofs, very similar to San Cristobal de Las Casas in Chiapas (though much, much less beautiful). The hills are so steep that to make getting around easier, there's an endless succession of funiculars and elevators that take people home from the seafront up to the hills.

First of all we go to see "la Sebastiana," one of the houses where the poet Pablo Neruda lived, a very funny little multi-level building, full of curious rooms, resembling a sailing ship and as wild as the "Vittoriale," then Daniela and I decide to take the funicular that goes up into the city for a test ride. The funicular called Conception is claustrophobic, like a one-square-meter studio apartment, all made of very old wood and equipped with a mini bench (I have no idea why, since the ride lasts barely a minute). As soon as it starts we get a bit scared because the mechanisms creak and the funicular wobbles; in short, the vehicle has been the same since 1880. Once we reach the port area, we stop in the enormous Plaza Sotomayor, all tiled in the Chilean style.

Having not yet learned the art of street architecture, I walk along unaware, not knowing that the square isn't pedestrian as it seems, but cars drive and park there without any rules. For lunch we go to Viña del Mar, where it seems all Chileans spend their summer vacations. Too bad that the beautiful beaches and the cliffs plunging over the angry Pacific Ocean have been ruined by this flow of concrete and skyscrapers. Daniela and I devour with great appetite the local typical dishes: machas alla parmesana, that is, pinkish seafood halfway between oysters and mussels, gratinated in the oven with parmesan and white wine, and chupe de mariscos, a phenomenal and nutritious fish soup served in hot, typical little black cast-iron bowls.

To digest, we take a walk on the beach, stop at a place all made of glass, shaped like a wave, by the sea, and sip the famous cafè cortado accompanied by water and chocolates. Then we decide to browse the stalls and buy some puff-pastry sweets from an elderly local sailor, without understanding what we're buying, because the sailor speaks in thick Chilean slang and has no teeth, so it's really hard to follow him in conversation. On the highway back to Santiago I see the most beautiful, fire-red sunset of my life. In the evening Dani and I go to dinner at "Ana Maria," an exclusive and very elegant restaurant near the Racetrack, where to get in you have to ring the bell, like at a private club. At dinner I eat congrio, a local fish that resembles cod, and crema de choclo, and I realize that if we keep eating this well, I'll come back with at least 5 extra kilos.

The alarm is set for dawn. Today we have to catch a plane to go to the Andes, specifically to San Pedro de Atacama, on the border with Bolivia, at an altitude of 2,550 meters above sea level. We actually land in Calama, in the Andes, where young Rodrigo, our local guide, is waiting for us. The temperature is spectacular and in 1 hour of breathtaking landscapes, rocks, minerals and dunes we arrive in San Pedro de Atacama. This little town is amazing and worth the trip. It's a place forgotten by the world, with clay houses, surrounded by dust, no asphalt, stray dogs, "rastas" and freak people. It feels like walking through scenes from an old western, or being in the pueblos of New Mexico, it feels like living in a new age community. The atmosphere is unique and there are even stalls full of junk.

I've found paradise! In the early afternoon we go to visit the nearby Valley of the Moon, a crack in the rocks similar to Petra in Jordan, which you reach by walking among the dunes. The dunes are so tall you can even surf on them. The landscape is very beautiful. Back in San Pedro, dusty and dehydrated, Dan and I go to dinner at "Adobe," the trendiest restaurant in the little town, where we eat outdoors (despite the nighttime temperature plummeting), in front of a bonfire under the stars, with Andean musicians playing funny instruments in the background. What a dream! We go to sleep at "Kimal," a hotel resembling a pueblo, whose rooms are little houses with vegetation incorporated into them.

The roof of the little house is made of glass, I pull the curtain that covers the ceiling and sleep under the countless and very bright stars of the southern hemisphere, the Milky Way and the full moon. What more could you ask for from life?

Today, after a brief crossing into nearby Bolivia, we stop in a lost pueblo called Toconao Radio. To end the day, as in the most romantic of vacations, we go to the Salar de Atacama, to Laguna Chaxa to see the sunset and the flamingo reserve. This very rich day seems to never end and still wants to reserve a magnificent breathtaking spectacle for us. It's winter and the Salt Flats aren't completely white as I expected (the salt hasn't fully formed) and as I had seen in photos, but the spectacle is equally worth it. Imagine an enormous expanse of salt, pink flamingos in contrast, absolute silence, the mountains and the sunset coloring the whole landscape around in various shades of pink and purple. No one dares to speak, rapt as we are by the beauty and magic of the place. Not even after the sun has set behind the Andes do we dare to get up and break the spell. I'm speechless.

When it's about to get dark we go to a shelter at the entrance of the Salar, where, to beautifully conclude the extraordinary day, the park rangers and Rodrigo have set up a pantagruelian banquet in happy hour style and, while we sip Chilean wines, pisco sour and eat dried fruit, cheese and cookies, we keep looking at the Andes. We return in the evening to San Pedro, where Daniela and I continue buying jewelry, paintings, "Andean junk," ending up eating at "Estanca," a very cute place with a fireplace and an enormous dragon set into the wall. We fall asleep as always under the stars and an enormous full moon.

The alarm, to my great joy, is at 4 in the morning. We're given a snack bag for when it's time for breakfast. Two hours of heavily unpaved road await us, all uphill, to reach the Geysers of El Tatio, at 4,321 meters above sea level. The reason for the early wake-up, distance aside, is that you can only witness the eruption of the geysers at dawn. As soon as we arrive, Rodrigo points out that it's -12 degrees outside. Panic takes hold of me, both because I'm fasting (apparently you can't eat because of the sulfur gases), and because I'm tired, and because I don't think I'm equipped for such biting cold right after waking up. Minus twelve you usually get in the mountains in winter.... As soon as I get off the bus I'm stabbed by the cold and I feel sick.

I wander around the geysers like a robot, unable to appreciate their beauty, the boiling sulfur vapors and the colored jets, barely perceiving the colors of the dawn emerging behind the 6,000-meter peaks. El Tatio is divided into three well-separated zones. Once we reach the third, when the sun, a bit higher, starts to warm the air a little, a spread is prepared for us to refresh ourselves and give us energy. Once the hard work is done, whoever wants can relax by bathing in the hot spring. I don't plunge in, though. We spend the afternoon relaxing, resting a little and browsing shops, falling dead asleep as soon as we touch the mattress. Dinner at Los Vascos based on giant empanadas.

Last day in the unforgettable Andes, so different from and far more beautiful than the Peruvian ones, no desire at all to leave. I'd plant roots in a place as beautiful as San Pedro! The day is dedicated to visiting some old Atacameno settlements, such as Picara del Quitor and the fortress of Aldea de Tulor. The view is beautiful, but after seeing Laguna Verde and Laguna Chaxa nothing can compare, so the day passes quickly. It's time to board the plane that will take us back to civilization. The impact with Santiago's traffic is a real blow to the heart after several days surrounded by silence and the beauties of nature.

As with any respectable vacation, the alarm is at 5. We have to board a flight direct to Puerto Montt, a place in the South of the country, in the middle of Chilean Patagonia, a place in the lake district where it rains 360 days a year, but which is said to be absolutely divine in the only 5 sunny days. The real luck is being there on exactly those days, but, since it's not summer, I start off already disconsolate. The flight is smooth and we land in Puerto Montt under an unbelievable downpour. The landscape is very green, to me a mix of New Zealand, Canada, Ireland and Maine. We're demoralized by the rain, but happy because we'll soon have to board a ferry that will take us to the island of Chiloè, declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its 150 wooden churches and the very colorful stilt houses that characterize the island.

We're unaware that the Chilotes are protesting against the government to prevent the island from being connected to the mainland by a bridge. The upshot is, sailing is forbidden and we're stranded. We go to stay in Puerto Varas. Daniela and I manage to find a silver lining even in Puerto Varas. First of all, this little town on Lake Llanquihue is a little gem. It reminds me a lot of New Zealand. Secondly, the shopping is amazing. Our favorite store is called "Vicky Johnson." In the evening we're informed that the island is blocked until Sunday. No hope of visiting Chiloè. Basically we've ended up in the middle of nowhere, in the cold and freezing for nothing. At least I can say I've seen Patagonia and, beautiful as it is, I'm now certain that there are similar places that are better and much closer (or farther, depending on your point of view).

Of course it doesn't stop raining, it's humid and cold, so in the evening we stay to eat in the hotel restaurant in front of the fireplace.

Just to do something, we go to Fruttillar, the place where strawberries come from and where there's an old German colony; too bad it's not strawberry season and it's raining buckets. We drive all around Lake Llanquihue, which seems to never end. We end up in Puerto Octay, where there's absolutely nothing, and decide to return to base. We go back to Puerto Montt to visit the San Angelmo fish market. It's very cute, but it's raining. The dried seaweed and dried seafood hanging like little necklaces, although extraordinary and characteristic, don't seem to interest us much. We have dinner at the hotel (no way I'm going out, I don't have a single dry outfit anymore).

Still in the rain, we go to Vicente Perez Rosales National Park to see the famous Petrohué waterfalls and the Osorno Volcano. The waterfalls are immense and turquoise. What a shame that by now water is the only constant of this part of the trip. I can't take it anymore, having damp clothes, I can't take it anymore, being surrounded by water in every shape and form; all that's missing is snow... and indeed, here I am, satisfied, because at the top of the Osorno Volcano we find ourselves throwing snowballs, immersed in snow up to our necks.

Finally we're about to leave the rain and Patagonia to return to Santiago, where we have a connection to Rapa Nui, Easter Island. I'm excited because deep down Rapa Nui is Polynesia, because it's a mystical place, it's 18,000 km from Europe, the farthest point east. I had never gone that far, not in that direction at least, since I've gone well beyond. I can say that by now I've circumnavigated the globe and I'm proud of it. We arrive in Hanga Roa, the capital, in the evening. As I descend the little stairs of the plane I'm enveloped in a warm breeze and I feel like I'm being reborn. As if that weren't enough, we're all welcomed at the airport with beautiful garlands of purple orchids. Alohaaaaaaaaaaa... welcome to Polynesia!!! Our little hotel is very spartan, and it's right next to the airport runway.

Here we are on Easter Island, better known as Rapa Nui, or as the endpoint of the Matrix, the navel of the world, Te Pito o Te Henua. The island is 12x25 km, very beautiful, very barren because it was deforested by the ancient kings for the construction of the famous Moai, the big stones that everyone knows. Geographically it's part of Polynesia (politically of Chile), but due to earthquakes and plate movement, it's shifting more and more south and toward Patagonia (poor things). Anyway its fate is even sadder because it seems that one day a tsunami will submerge it entirely. The indigenous population is 111 inhabitants, the others are mixed Polynesians, or Chileans. The landscape is remarkable, a bit Scottish, there are wild horses grazing everywhere. The sea is crystal clear, the beaches white-pink and the terrain volcanic.

The climate is tropical, very changeable and every now and then a very light and imperceptible drizzle falls for no more than 1 minute. On the first day we immediately take in the 5 Ahus of Vaihu, Akahanga Tongariki, Te Pito, Te Kura, Nau Nau, that is, more than 500 Moai in a single day. Too much even for me, by the end I've had them coming out of my eyes. We visit the Ranu Raraku volcano, the Moai factory, on top of which there's a breathtaking little lake, one side of which plunges over the ocean. In the evening we go to Anakena beach, where there are other Moai. The sea is splendid, not even freezing, and we take a swim. For dinner we go to "Pecheur," the most famous restaurant on the island. We eat very good fish with bizarre Polynesian names; too bad the service is terrible and the bill is steep.

Today all that's left is to look at what remains of archaeological interest on the tiny island, such as the Museum, a few petroglyphs, the only Moai that don't face the land but the sea, and the second volcano, the one of Rano Kao, which is even more beautiful than the first. The day passes quickly.

Today we were really bored, we didn't know how to pass the evening. We wandered around the same stalls with junk for tourists at least a hundred times. For dinner we booked at "Orongo" on the advice of Dina, a woman from Reggio Calabria who has lived in Hanga Roa for 18 years due to a mystical crisis. Of course the bill is sky-high, like everything on this island, and the bastard charges us for 2 tuna second helpings as two full menus at full price. Crazy, yes, but with a great head for business apparently.....

It's time to leave this island lost in the middle of nowhere, under a heavy tropical downpour. We land in a very sunny and very hot Santiago. The city seems transformed, I didn't remember it being this beautiful. We wander around enjoying the city and go back to "Las Vacas Gordas". Between empanadas, soups, skewers, mega prawns, wine and mint drain-cleaner, we feel fulfilled.

It's time to leave and. I'm leaving alone because Dani is staying one more day. I wish I could have just spent more time in the Andes..... The flight is on time, it leaves at noon. Iberia, after 6 flights with Lan Chile, is even uglier than I remembered. The worst flight of my life. In 14 hours only a sandwich and a glass of water and don't you dare ask for more.....And then, like on the way there, lights and audio out of order. Maddening.