In one swift motion, I dropped off the bag inside the bin and jumped back onto the sidewalk.
I can’t claim I’ve been everywhere but I think we visited all the main attractions and walked in every barrio. Hell, I can even find my way without a map.
Plaza de Mayo is not your usual boring plaza featuring a statue of a dude on a horse: it is a hub of political life.
We are standing at the entrance of the famous Cementerio de la Recoleta, a picturesque yet slightly creepy landmark that is famous for containing the graves of, among other notable people, Eva Perón and presidents of Argentina.
Traveling is like stumbling on a new movie set every few days, except that you weren’t given the script and you aren’t sure what part you’re playing.
The Plaza is packed, as usual. Kids bath in the fountain (no Mark, you can’t, sorry), run around, climb on the Statue of Pedro de Valdivia. Adult play chess or listen to the very loud preachers.
Here are my random thoughts on Santiago. No, I didn’t write them on the walls.
Chile’s fast food choice is the perrito caliente with a mound of different condiments.
The tiger yawned and turned his head before going back to sleep, dreaming of the great comida por kilo buffet he could have if only the kids weren’t outside the cage.
We dropped off a giant bag of dirty laundry at the lavandería and headed to the Santiago Metropolitan Park to climb the cerro San Cristóbal, the second highest hill in the city.
How do you know you are on a Chilean beach? It’s easy: most people keep their clothes on.
Valparaíso has a split personality, it’s a place of contrasts. The gritty puerto versus the artsy hills.
After five days in Santiago, it was time to take a break and see the Pacific Ocean again. Like many Chileans, we escaped to Valparaíso, a two-hour bus ride from the capital.
We step inside La Merced. It’s dark inside and there are people praying, or at least that’s what I assume they are doing with their heads bowed. Maybe they are eating a hot dog after all, who knows?