Saturday, December 13, 2008
The New York Times features a travel column called “24 Hours in (insert name of major international city here),” which I always thought was a ridiculous idea. How, I wondered, could you even begin to get a flavor for a city in a mere 24 hour period? But we had only 24 hours to see Santiago de Chile, the country’s capital city, and I was going to put the New York Times’ theory to the test. As it turns out, they might be on to something.
We arrived late yesterday afternoon, soaring over the Andes Mountains, as dusty brown hills gave way to jagged, snow-capped peaks, even in the height of summer. Santiago sits cradled in a giant bowl, hugged snugly by the imposing Andes. After dropping our bags at our Providencia neighborhood digs, we made our way to dinner at Pizzeria Nostra, a 30-year tradition in Santiago. We munched on pizza that would make Napoli proud, accompanied by fresh frutilla, Chile’s answer to fresh strawberry juice. When I thanked the waiter, he demurred. “No, thank you,” providing what an affable, modest, and polite bunch the Chileans are. As we crawled through the nighttime streets, we noticed a group of giggling girls, dressed like little fairies, having just come from a school Christmas pageant, and women chatting on cell phones on park benches: this was obviously a safe city. We marveled at how light and orderly the traffic was, feeling more like Europe than Latin America.
In the morning we made our way towards Bellavista, Santiago’s bohemian enclave, where the buildings are slathered in colorful murals. As we crossed a street, three perky cheerleaders dashed out into traffic, quickly clapping their hands three times like cheerleaders do, and promptly began performing aerial tricks in the crosswalk. The idling drivers, waiting for the traffic light to change, craned their necks out of the car windows. Just before the light turned green, the cheerleaders dashed between cars collecting donations; it was the most jovial and inspired bit of entrepreneurship that I’d seen in a long time.
The fun continued at La Chascona, one of Pablo Neruda’s notoriously zany houses. Although I knew little of Chile’s most celebrated poet, I had read that his houses were a love song to kitsch, and I was eager to see what all the fuss was about. Perched on the hill above Bellavista, La Chascona, named for the famously unruly locks of his third wife, didn’t disappoint. Each of his three houses was built to reflect his fascination with ships, and each is filled with his staggering collections. He collected everything: bottles, colored glass, maritime objects, hand-shaped door knockers, dolls, salt and pepper shakers, Blue Willow china, paintings featuring watermelons. What he chose to collect didn’t have much rhyme or reason, and nothing was of particular value (he believed the best way to understand a place was to visit their flea markets). He simply collected what he liked, with little regard as to whether it made sense or “went together” from a design standpoint, and I found this to be completely admirable. Each room was a fascinating hodge podge of things that shouldn’t have worked together, but somehow did (my favorite part was the dining room table set with Blue Willow china and chunky waterglasses in primary colors). I can only guess it worked because it was a reflection of him and what he loved best, and it made me wonder what the world would look like if we simply decorated ourselves and our homes with the things we loved. Indeed, if our lives were guided by what felt right, and not what we thought we should do or be.
Feeling philosophical, we made our way further downtown towards Santiago’s most iconic sights. We stopped in at The Clinic, a small retail shop named for the satirical newspaper bearing the same name. My Lonely Planet states, “This is where you get your T-shirt with Pinochet’s mugshot!” Although it was tempting, we skipped over the T-shirts and headed to El Palacio de la Moneda, the site of the 1973 coup that heralded the beginning of Chile’s revolution. Mammoth Chilean flags flapped in the breeze in front of the refurbished palace, having been closed during the entire course of the dictatorship and reopened in 2000. The site of one of modern history’s bloodiest coups now plays host to sunny military men dressed in their Sunday best and a courtyard displaying modern art. It was hard to believe what had taken place there less than 40 years ago; clearly, Chile was ready to shake off its past and move on to better times.
We walked around the central area of town, a mix of classic architecture and skyscrapers, a reminder of Santiago’s place as a Latin American trading center. Passing by a large cathedral, scores of women sat outside reading tarot cards at rickety folding tables; I have always been fascinated with the mix of the occult and Catholicism that seems to play a role in Latin America spirituality. In need of a rejuvenation, we ducked into Bar Nacional, a bustling place sent from a bygone era. Waiters clad in black vests and bow ties dashed around the restaurant, while a man dressed as a soda jerk lorded over an old fashioned soda counter brimming with fresh fruit. Like a bartender, his sole responsibility at this establishment was to whip up cold, frothy jugos naturales, which are hands down one of the best parts of traveling in Latin America.
As we wandered the tidy streets, we stumbled upon a Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera exhibition below the Palacio de la Moneda, the former being my favorite artist. We were able to take in some of her greatest paintings for less than two dollars. And just when I had begun to think that Santiago was a mini European city, an obnoxiously loud (and bad) garage band began throbbing from a nearby stage, its sound promptly cutting out within 30 seconds, reminding me that we were in Latin America.
That evening we enjoyed a great meal at the quirky Ligurgia, whose walls were crammed with vintage paintings, posters, and memorabilia. A pitcher of borgona was produced, Chile’s answer to sangria, an infusion of wine and frutilla. Unlike Spain, we enjoyed a gigantic pitcher for less than $10.
This was my kind of city - even if I only had 24 hours to enjoy it.
