Got something to eat, got my hair cut, wandered down to see Palacio de Moneda but didn't go in, it was far from clear if you could and the sheer number of guards put me off. (I did ask one and he told me to ask round at the other side, if I understood correctly.)
I tried mote con huesillos having seen it described in my guide book. It's some about half a cup of grain (barley I think) topped up with a thick and somewhat sickly peach juice. Mine also had peach halves in, I suspect that's usually the case but I don't know. It wasn't unpleasant but I think I must disagree with the guide's statement that it is "one of the most refreshing drinks known to humankind."
4:15pm. Back at the flat, now cleaner free. At last!
8:45pm. Only left the flat about 20 minutes ago, had a bath and put some photos onto a pen drive so I can go get them burned to DVD. I didn't try tonight, I think it's a bit late and I should get in done tomorrow. I can then free up two 2GB cards.
Was a bit slack, didn't book a hotel for the night in Santiago post-Easter Island. The damn hotel in Easter Island hasn't replied to my correction about the reservation dates yet. Spent most of the time watching Rex the Runt episodes on youtube...
Figured there were two main options tonight, to take a look at Pio Nono on a weeknight and to go over to that bar in Providencia I came to my first night here which I though was a nice place to drink in the street (and which is next to Liguria if you want to make a night of it). Pio Nono is closer so I've come over here to start with, at Kiko Schop with a litre plastic flimsy glass, I think this is where I was on Saturday night.
It's not as lively in the street as on Saturday but definitely not dead either.
To be honest I think I am getting on my own nerves. I am feeling guilty about not doing more stuff while I'm here in Santiago, and perhaps in part as a result I almost didn't want to come out tonight. I'm sure it will be cool and sod it, I've seen plenty and it's not as if you're supposed to just tick off all the boxes in the damn guide book.
"Take on me" playing from inside (I am at a table in the street), reminds me of the Literal Video version.
It really isn't cold out but I think I am somehow settling into an "it's a bit nippy" mindset. I almost didn't want to come out because I thought it would be cold, FFS. (IIRC from weather forecast, it's about 20-25C during the day and gets down to 14Cish at night, with only a light breeze. Perfect for me really. Maybe I'm coming down with something or feeling a bit run down.) It is perfectly pleasant with my fleece on notwithstanding these attitude issues, I guess it's just not as warm as when I was here in late January/early February.
I need to perk up a bit somehow.
On the positive side, I have been wearing my old glasses most of the time here and as is my perhaps custom, I keep them in one of my shoes next to the bed overnight so as to be handy, one arm tucked inside, the remainder resting on top. In my haste to dress at the cleaner's summons (pointless as that turned out to be) this morning I shoved my foot in without removing the glasses first. Rather than breaking them, it appears to have put exactly the right subtle bend in the arm to relieve them of the annoying looseness they've had for months.
9:05pm. Every time I pick up this glass I create a massive 'fold' in the plastic. A few seconds after I put it back down it snaps back into place and splashes beer out. All they need is a spillage collection mechanism in the tables and they could lower their price by 25%...
9:20pm. While I'm rambling, when I got back into the flat earlier someone rang the doorbell. Perhaps unfairly, I was feeling a bit harried by unwanted attention at the flat and I was caught in the bog. Turned out it was some woman who wanted to check the cleaning was OK. All very helpful, and I guess they assumed I'd be out during the day, but at the time it wasn't that welcome. I told her it was fine, I suspect she wanted to inspect personally if I hadn't been there. No big deal but at the time it was a bugger.
The original "Comfortably Numb" playing from inside the bar now, which is nice. I need to relax. It's stupid to be spoiling my time here with this continual nagging sense of guilt. All the same, I vaguely imagine this will be a quiet night.
Slightly tempted to go over to Bar Liguria, but I sort of have that earmarked for tomorrow now and it's 10-20 minutes walk over there and I'm not in the mood for that. (Pio Nono is very close to the flat, really, but there are so many roads to cross near Baquedano metro it feels a lot further than it is, in terms of time, and I'd have to navigate back through all that before the 10-20 minute walk over to Bar Liguria could start.) It will probably be quite cool to loiter around the bars here with no 'pressure' to have a late night if I can just stop sodding worrying.
Although my glass is now only a third full the post-drink splash continues to function. FFS.
9:50pm. Well this is all a bit joyless. Wandered down Pio Nono to somewhere else. Three people asked me for money, including one car windscreen washer. For fuck's sake mate, don't try to ride two horses. Down at some bar (Romano?), after sitting here a few minutes a waiter came over. A beer. Can I eat? Yes. He comes back with a beer. No menu. "Do you have hamburgers?" No, just that, pointing at the beer. SOME GUY JUST GOT SERVED WITH A HAMBURGER AND YOU HAVE A MENU IN THE WINDOW (which admittedly does not say hamburger on it). Not that I desperately want a hamburger but I figured play it easy if you won't give me a menu. I am not actually hungry but earlier on I sort of fancied something and I figured it might lift my mood. What the hell.
As I'm not really hungry I don't want to go on a quest for a passable place to eat but man, this bites (no pun intended). Nearly everyone is sitting outside but I am just that tiny bit cold which doesn't help in my current mood. Oh well. Fuck them all. I shall drink my second litre and either get properly surly or have my mood lifted. You never know with alcohol.
Sort of wanted to go to the bog in the last place but it was the sort of toilet you use only in extremis. No lock on the door (the key killer, I feel), dirty as hell and no seat, though the latter is somewhat common over here (including, which did fuck me off, in the PAY TOILETS at bus stations in Bolivia and Peru) and in itself has ceased to bother me.
Probably no toilet paper either, but that's par for the course, I always carry a roll in my pocket nowadays anyway.
Oh yeah, I'm getting a proper arse on. The guy gave me two plastic (small) glasses with the beer. In my current frame of mind I am thinking the surly unhelpful fuck is taking the piss BECAUSE I'M CLEARLY HERE ON MY OWN. Maybe one is in case a beggar comes round, I don't know. I shouldn't let this bug me, I know he probably means nothing by it, but a certain wankiness about everything is getting to me.
Having told three people no to money requests, I feel a bit restricted in my ability to circulate up and down the street to find somewhere else after this. What the hell, maybe I'll feel differently after this litre.
10:20pm. I just came inside, I've had it with this nagging sensation of being cold. I don't normally feel it like that, must be a combination of my mood and some minor ill health (hopefully mostly the former). As I say, it really isn't bad at all but feeling like this I can't be arsed. It's slightly more atmospheric inside, there is some generic sort of rock music playing and that may help.
OK, I am feeling a bit better. Nonetheless, my fancy keeps flicking back to a KFC next to the flat I noticed earlier while waiting for the cleaner to finish. I eschewed temptation at the time, having dined a couple of hours earlier off a frankly tough steak and pretty decent french fries, but right now it sounds good. I am not that hungry really though and I will pursue my plans to stay out for a few beers. It may be open later (I pass it on the way home) and if not, at least I may have an appetite tomorrow morning which I faintly hope will assist in getting out of bed.
11:05pm. Just ordered another litre down here at Romano's or whatever it's called. It's not fantastic but it's OK and for a semi-quiet night it beats wandering off elsewhere which is probably no different. I have my doubts about my ability to obtain KFC later, but no big deal, my curiosity is of course purely scientific, having sampled their fine products in the UK and Spain I am merely curious to see how they adapt to the local culture. And as with other tourist sights, if time doesn't permit, I must bow the knee before that which overcomes us all in due course. Besides, that pizza place may be open and it's a probably acceptably short distance to retrace my steps. :-) If all else fails I have half a big bar of chocolate in reserve in my luggage, the last remnant of two bars I bought down in Puerto Williams in anticipation (incorrect, as it turned out) of totally unpalatable food on the ferry.
Not having a fantastic night but it's OK. I did not expect to meet anyone or party and frankly even now am in no mood to seek out such things tonight. In the unlikely event anyone strikes up a conversation I will of course be receptive, but it ain't happening (it's quiet enough there is no one sat within 3m of me) and to be frank that's cool right now.
At this point I will write what I have observed before, that the plastic caps on the (glass!) litre bottles have that little 'security seal' kind of bit below the cap and it never comes off cleanly. Makes it a bit tricky to re-screw the cap on afterwards in a futile effort to protect against spillage should the bottle be knocked over. (Futile as being glass I'm sure it's more likely to shatter than not anyway.)
A totally random observation at this point, with no point, except that I am reading Wodehouse on my phone and a certain 'commenting on America' (of course one of his main audiences) reminded me of it. When I turned up for the flight over the Nazca lines and was put on that plane with the American (Texan, if memory serves) family, the husband introduced himself and his family to me in such a 'hail fellow well met' way it was genuinely pleasant, if a touch disconcerting for someone as reticent as myself. For all we might mock Americans, and I must admit I do it myself in a generic way, though nearly every individual American I've met has been a decent chap, there was something fine (for want of a better word) about that friendliness.
11:45pm. All sereno. Not feeling on top of the world but the sweet brown liquor and the fact that I'm not freezing my arse off have worked their magic. Am sufficiently drunk (though not that much, I have no major fear of being accosted on the street on the way home) to be astounded I am here. At the risk, and yet it's vaguely cool, of harping back to my pre-Rio thoughts in Sao Paulo, I can't believe I am here in Santiago and, basically, doing OK. If you'd told the 14 year old me, or for that matter the 19 year old me, I'd be here and basically coping and more or less having a pretty good time, I think they'd be shocked. Mind you, they'd probably have been slightly shocked at the idea I was having a vaguely successful career in London too, but let's not spoil a romantic image for a tiny bit of poetic licence.
12:10am. KFC shut but doubled back the short distance to Telepizza. We Flinthams are old campaigners, deny us our fried chicken and we can make do with pizza. Vaguely chuffed I can handle ordering a custom pizza (there seem to be no standard options here) after nearly 3 litres of beer. (I didn't quite finish the last, I saw no point.) Accosted (that's too harsh a word) by some guys outside asking for a light, I obliged saying "money no, a light of course" and they laughed.
Shame about the chicken but what the hell. Pizza will be cool. I think I ordered with meat (probably beef), pepperoni, ham, beef (almost certainly, 'lomo' vs 'carne', so I have both, whatever the former may be) and mushrooms. If only deep pan was an option here, I have eaten (is that a word? In my current state it seems archaic) a lot of pizzas on the continent and all were thin. Oh well, the UK has to have some minor things to recomend it as somewhere to live. :-)
I spot in my memos I crossed the border Tacna-Arica in 'AJ-2908 dark red Chevrolet'. I record that now irrelevant trivia, though at the time I was glad to note it, before deleting the memo.
1am. Well, just scarfed down a whole medium pizza and I feel sick. At least it's not beer-related... To bed...
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