Chile is that long, stubborn ribbon of land that clings to the western edge of South America like it’s about to fall into the Pacific Ocean. From north to south, it’s a geography of extremes, with deserts that haven’t seen rain in centuries, glaciers that groan under the weight of time and cities that hum with quiet defiance.
I stand on top of Cerro Alegre in Valparaiso, overlooking the old harbor while ominous condors are circling above my head. Valparaiso used to be one of the most important port cities in South America, but after the Panama canal was finished in 1914 the city became less significant.
The colorful hills of Valparaiso.
Compared to stern Santiago, Valparaiso looks like a drunken cousin who spent a year in art school and now lives in a maze of color-splashed alleys and rusted funiculars. Graffiti lines every alley and the electrical wiring looks like something done by a spider on crack. Doors creak with stories and dogs run the place. Don’t question anything or you will break the magic.
On top of Cerro Alegre.
I give a few coins to a small boy playing guitar, and head down the hill. Ducking into a place which serves Chorrillana en Lomo Liso, a very large plate of mystery meat. It’s normally meant to share, but I had a similar plate some days ago in Santiago, so I know my lack of digestive limits. The waiter approves and gives me a large but frightened smile as if I were some foreign Godzilla, entering his establishment with an empty stomach and an even emptier wallet.
Blending in with all the color as usual.
After having been chewing for what seemed like eternity, I leave the joint looking like Mr Creosote. I make my way to Bar La Playa in the port area, an old-school sailor bar made infamous by the Anthony Bourdain visit in 2009. I even recognized one of the bartenders from that particular episode of No Reservations.
Having a Pisco Sourat at Bar La Playa.
Enough talk, time for a Pisco Sour.
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