Below 15º North

By Roger J. Starkey

<warning, the following is far longer than a normal post>

Our first hotel room in Santiago wasn\\\’t vast, but it was large. It wasn\\\’t expensive, nor was it cheap. It wasn\\\’t filthy, just careworn. The room was a microcosm of Santiago.

It was a hope that we could improve upon our initial hotel room–and perhaps subconsciously Santiago–that led us to the Hotel Tokyo. Trying to arrange our new lives in the city had been more difficult and expensive than imagined. We needed a cleaner, cheaper home, one that could provide a little stress relief while we looked for a permanent place to live. The Hotel Tokyo gave us all of that, and tossed in a bit of lunacy for free.

The owner of the Barrio Bellavista establishment offered us a cleaner, larger, cheaper version of our existing hotel room and was kind enough to agree to store our excess luggage while we made a weekend jaunt to the coastal cities of Viña del Mar and Valparaiso. When we returned the following day to deposit our luggage, she greeted us warmly and asked if we needed a room. She had no idea who we were.

I was still struggling mightily with the Chilean version of Spanish, which I thought could have been why she didn\\\’t understand my explanation that we had made arrangements with her just the day before to store our luggage at the hotel. She boasted, in Spanish, that she spoke sterling English then had a go at speaking with me in halting English. The result was that we spoke a lot of words in a different language, but still had no actual communication. Thankfully the head housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs and, using the same words I used earlier, explained to the owner why we were standing in her foyer. Perhaps, I thought, it was my accent that was impeding understanding.

We were greeted upon our return from the coast with the same vacant look and multi-lingual, unsuccessful conversation. The housekeeper rescued us again.

In an out-of-character bestowal of service in Chile, the Hotel Tokyo offered free internet access. A lone computer, situated at the conflux of the guest dining room, the owner\\\’s dining room and the front desk was used by staff and visitors alike to cyber-connect with the outside world. The internet service was dial-up; I\\\’d have been strangely disappointed if it had been less archaic.

The computer became the hub of activity in the building. My girlfriend, Angie, and I–who were usually the only guests in the hotel–searched for jobs and housing while the owner, Monica, routinely watched over our shoulders, asked what we were doing and inquired, almost daily, for our names.

One day, Juan, who I recognized from the many pictures around the Hotel Tokyo commemorating Monica\\\’s time in Japan, joined the bustle of activity at the computer. Juan, who was very Japanese and surely was not actually named Juan, watched Angie and me work for a while. Apparently impressed with our ability to navigate the internet, or perhaps wowed by our typing abilities, he asked us to help him get news from Japan. Using a curious mix of Spanish and English, Juan told us that he had been in Chile for three weeks and was starving for news from home.

After several unsuccessful attempts to download Japanese fonts onto the modest computer, I found a Japanese website which played video and audio news clips. This, I explained to Juan, was the best we could do. He suddenly seemed under whelmed by my computer skills.

Juan repeated his request three times over the following week, each time retelling his plight and acting as if he was petitioning for help for the first time. Each time our conversation ended with me playing news clips for him. Each time he looked as if I had failed him.

Laundry service in Santiago is expensive, crazy expensive. Even in the few places where you are allowed to use the machines, the cost is incredibly disproportionate to the overall cost of living in the city. Angie and I found this out early and decided that much of our clothing would do just fine with a wash in the sink rather than in a machine.

We returned one afternoon to find that the sink-washed cloths we had hung to dry in our room were gone. I found Maria, the head housekeeper and conversation with Monica savior, just outside our door. She told me that she had hung our clothes out on her balcony to dry. She was on her way, just then, to retrieve a pair of my boxer shorts that had fallen over the edge. She said all of this in hushed tones because, she explained, she didn\\\’t want Monica to know what she was doing.

When Maria returned with my underwear, I asked if I could use the hotel iron and ironing board. In a conspiratorial whisper, she told me that it was best if she ironed what we needed; Monica might get upset if the iron was lent to a guest. Her feelings toward Monica seemed a mixture of fear, pity and disdain.

While Maria ironed our clothes, I went to the computer in hopes of distracting Monica. Unfortunately, my plan worked. I had only just sat at the computer, typed in my password and opened an email, when Monica appeared over my shoulder and began trying to read my email with me.

“How are you doing, Monica?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” Monica asked.
“I\\\’m just reading my email.”
“Can you help me set-up email for the hotel? I want people to be able to make reservations through email.”

That, I told her, was a lovely idea. I didn\\\’t mention that she should have thought of it many years ago, at the same time she should have been replacing the archaic bed linens.

I created an email address for the Hotel Tokyo using a free service. Monica was very pleased. I told her that it really wasn\\\’t enough to just have the email address, she needed to contact guide books and tourist information offices to let them know of her new contact information. She was thoroughly unimpressed.

I tried to explain to Monica the benefits of letting potential customers in other countries know of her email address. She listened quietly until I mentioned to her that many people who don\\\’t speak Spanish could correspond with her in English through email. She could use her English skills to garner new business. I was sure that pandering to her pride in her English speaking ability would sway her.

“I won\\\’t respond in English,” she said.
“But if they don\\\’t speak Spanish, they may want to use English, that\\\’s the language people typically use to communicate if they don\\\’t speak each other\\\’s language,” I tried to reason with her.
“The whole world speaks Spanish,” she said.
“Right, but if the person sends you an email in English, maybe you\\\’d want to respond in English.”
“The whole world speaks Spanish,” she said.
“Hmm,” I said, and went back to the room.

Monica asked me at least once a day over the next four days how to access her email. Each time I would take her to the website, tell her what her username was and explain, again, that it differed from her password. Finally, on the fourth day, she went into the kitchen to grab a pen and a scrap piece of cardboard. She scribbled detailed instructions for how to access her email onto the cardboard and disappeared back into the kitchen. I assume she\\\’s lost the cardboard by now.

After nine days of residence at the Hotel Tokyo, Angie and I were ready to move into our very own unfurnished apartment. Monica assumed a benevolent air as she announced the bestowal of a five-percent discount upon us. She thanked me for all of my help, wanting desperately to call me by name, but just couldn\\\’t remember it. She asked me to please come back to visit her, to stop in for tea when I was in the neighborhood. “I certainly will,” I lied.

The taxi arrived and Angie and I loaded our lives into its trunk. Maria, Monica and Juan assembled on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Tokyo to see us off. As the taxi departed, they waved and waved until we were out of sight. Angie and I waved back, happy to be free of the freak show.

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By Roger J. Starkey

One might think that seafood in super-thin Chile, with a coastline of nearly 4,000 miles, would be plentiful and splendid.  One would be wrong if they harbored such thoughts.  Although the Lakes District and Patagonia boast wonderful and abundant seafood options, the menus in the nation’s capital are heavy on meat and light on ocean fare.

The well stocked stalls and simple restaurants of the Mercado Central (Metro Puente Cal y Canto) are a seafood oasis in a city of meat.  It’s a behemoth task to avoid the incessant pestering of the Donde Augusto workers who will follow you all around the market trying to annoy you into eating at their restaurant, but your effort will be well rewarded if you make your way to one of the more basic eateries on the outskirts of the market.  The small restaurants offer big options for reasonable prices.  Don’t miss the seafood empanadas.

The Mercado Central closes at 4pm Monday through Thursday and at 8pm Fridays, earlier than most of the locals even think about where to eat dinner.  Cap Ducal (Suecia 281, Providencia) and Ocean’s Pacific (Ricardo Cumming 221, Barrio Brasil) are wonderful places to have an evening Pisco Sour and delicious seafood.

By Roger J. Starkey

A couple of recent news stories that I found interesting:

Brazil- A new tribe of indigenous people has recently surfaced in the Brazilian Amazon.  Two members of the previously unknown tribe suddenly appeared recently on the reservation of a neighboring tribe.  Even more surprising to me was that the Indian Bureau of the Brazilian government has learned of the presence of other not yet contacted tribes in the Amazon.  Rather than trying to make contact, the government simply demarcates their land and waits for the tribe to make contact.

Chile - A few things that I, as an American, found interesting about Chile’s most recent State of the Union address.

The address was given by President Michelle Bachelet, a woman.  Let’s hope a suitable candidate presents herself soon in the USA.

Madam President devoted a large portion of her speech to the public transportation situation in Santiago.  You’d think she’d be worried about larger issues, such as the lack of heating oil for the country.

More amazing was that the president actually admitted that mistakes were made in implementing the new public transportation system.  Try getting an American politician–from any political party–to admit a mistake without a grand jury indictment.

Finally, the most surprising piece was Ms. Bachelet’s plan to redirect half of the government budget surplus to better school funding.  In the US, where school funding is an accurate term for the rich and an oxymoron for the poor, this news was nearly as startling as the idea that a government can actually operate at a surplus.

How important is soccer in Latin America part 1-  FIFA, the international governing body for soccer, recently ruled that no international matches can take place at more than 8,200 feet above sea level.  The ruling is intended to ensure no unfair advantage for countries with players more accustomed to the thin air and comes after a recent match at over 13,000 feet in Bolivia in which several opposing team members required medical attention.

The proclamation was met with regional outrage.  High altitude matches are apparently so important to freedom starved Bolivia, that President Morales rallied a lobby group and shipped them off to Switzerland to protest the ban and beg for reconsideration.

The matter was deemed important enough that the Organization of American States (OAS) issued a statement strongly suggesting FIFA review its policy.  The OAS typically deals with issues such as poverty, renewable energy and, in theory, waning democracy in Latin America (although it hasn’t called for any of the region’s soon-to-be dictators to stop quashing dissension and freedom of speech in their respective countries)

How important is soccer in Latin America part 2-  Mauricio Macri, president of Boca Juniors, Argentina’s most popular soccer team, garnered the largest percentage of votes in the first round of the Buenos Aires mayoral race.  Needing greater than 50% to win the election outright, Macri garned only 46% and will now face a run-off with Daniel Filmus, who is backed by Argentinian President Kirchner and secured a relatively meager 24% of the initial vote.

Americans elect actors and Argentinians elect soccer magnates; lovely.

By Roger J. Starkey

Towering over Santiago, Chile is Cerro San Cristobal (St. Christopher Hill), which is, naturally, topped by an enormous statue of…you guessed it, the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception (did you think they’d top an important tourist attraction with a huge statue to the patron saint of truck drivers?).  Cerro San Cristobal is the most prominent feature of the spacious and pleasant Parque Metropolitano.  In a city not necessarily teeming with tourist attractions, the Parque Metropolitano is easily one of the highlights.

The most accessible entrance to the park is at the north end of Pio Nono street, which lies just outside the Baquendano Metro station.  On the walk from the Metro station to the park, you can duck into the artesian mall just north of Bellavista street for all your touristy trinket needs, or to get a darn good meal at one of the many restaurants in the open air setting.

The best way to reach the summit of San Cristobal is via the funicular, which makes an intermediate stop at the zoo.  If you’re ‘lucky,’ your ride to the top will be in the same car used by Pope John Paul II on his way to give mass at the Santuario Inmaculada Concepcion in 1984.  The placard on our car told us that we were, indeed, part of the privileged lot.

The views over the city and out to the Andes Mountains from atop San Cristobal are simply spectacular.  After paying our respects to the immaculately conceived virgin, we continued around the hill to the teleferico station.  Before boarding the pint-sized death traps disguised as transportation, we grabbed a beer and a table at the restaurant just outside the station for one last tranquil view over the city.  The beer also helped to steel my nerves for the upcoming ride.

Despite the cold sweats and persistent anticipation of imminent death brought on by my fear of heights, I still marveled at the views from the teleferico.  We could have disembarked at the half-way point of the ride for a dip in one of the two spectacular public swimming pools at the park, but we hadn’t brought our swim wear.

Because we chose the one-way funicular/teleferico option, we were deposited near avenue Pedro de Valdivia in the lovely Providencia neighborhood.  After a pleasant stroll through the residential neighborhood which borders the park, we had soon crossed the Rio Mapocho and were back on the bustling Providencia Avenue near the Metro.  From here, the entire city is easily accessible.

Our trip to the Parque Metropolitano was certainly a truncated one.  A full weekend could be filled by visiting the parks other attractions, including the swimming pools, zoo, botanic garden, japanese garden, restaurants, bike paths and numerous picnic areas.

Pictures from San Cristobal and the teleferico can be found at http://www.rogerjstarkey.com/fotos/Chile_Santiago.htm

By Roger J. Starkey

The Santiago market area known as Persa Bío Bío is part flea market, part antique outlet, part outdoor mall and a full reminder of how recently Chile has emerged from developing nation status.

The sprawling complex of dusty open-air warehouses known as Persa Bío Bío lies just north of the Franklin Metro stop on the yellow line.  Futons, televisions, furniture and tennis shoes can be found in this intriguing alternative to the cities more sanitized (and pricey) modern malls.  If the item can’t be found in a mall, there’s a good chance it is sitting in a stall here.

When you go to Persa Bío Bío, be sure to bring your haggling boots.  Prices aren’t listed, they are instead given upon request and are highly negotiable.  We bought a futon for US$40 less than the originally quoted price when I at first mentioned that we had seen a similar futon at a mall for less than the vendor’s price, then by saying I wasn’t interested at the newly ‘negotiated’ price.  Anyone with any haggling abilities, of which I have none, could have wrangled a much larger discount from the eager salesman.

Tips for the Traveler (Shopper)

Be sure to have access to cash- The Persa Bío Bío environment can be a bit unsavory, so one should be careful about carrying large amounts of cash that isn’t well protected.  However, the market vendors only accept cash.  There are a couple of ATM’s, but they may not work with your bank from home.  My advice is to carry only the cash you think you will need and to ensure it is well protected from any potential pick-pockets.

We had no cash and our ATM cards didn’t work with the machines in the area, so we actually paid when the futon was delivered.  I don’t think that was a preferred option for the vendor, but you have more leeway with larger purchases.

Ensure delivery (flete) is included- The quoted price for all large items includes delivery.  The vendor is responsible for paying one of the many flete drivers assembled along the streets, don’t let them charge extra for the service.

As a bonus, do as we did, hitch a ride home with the delivery driver.  They’ll be happy to accomodate you and it’ll save you an unnecessary Metro trip.

Go before 2:00 PM on Sundays - The market closes on Sundays at 2:00 PM.  The closer to closing time you make your purchase, the more difficult it will be for the vendor to arrange delivery.

By Roger J. Starkey

Santiago doesn’t boast the bounty of bicycles that ply Amsterdam’s streets, but in Chile’s capital, bikes are more than just a mode of transportation.  From portable vending machines to produce and pizza delivery to poor man’s motorcycles, Santiagueñons should never be accused of underutilizing the bicycle.

Archaic looking bikes with large metal baskets loaded to the brim with anything from vegetables to discarded cardboard boxes often nip at pedestrians heels as they walk the sidewalks.  Stepping off the footpath to avoid the modern day oxen cart could, however, be fatal as a bicycle equipped with a gas tank and small engine might run you over.  As if that isn’t dangerous enough, getting back onto the sidewalk may get you thwacked by a pizza delivery bicycle speeding towards a residence.  If all of this seems too much, sidle up alongside a parked bicycle, disguised as a vendor cart, at any corner of Santiago and get yourself a refreshing soft-drink to calm the nerves.

Photographs of these utilitarian machines can be found at www.rogerjstarkey.com or by following this link.

By Roger J. Starkey

Anyone who has traveled in Chile or Peru knows what is a pisco sour (if you have been in either country and have never heard of pisco sour, please turn in your passport, you are unfit for travel).  The traveler has most likely fallen in love with the unique drink, which isn’t widely available outside of these two countries, but struggled to describe it to friends and family back home.  I hope the following provides assistance to my fellow pisco sour lovers.

The national drink of both Chile and Peru, pisco sour is a frothy, sweet, potent aperitif that in taste and consistency is a cousin to the margarita.  It is made from pisco, which is a type of brandy.  Heavenly is the most appropriate adjective to describe its taste.

The grapes for pisco are grown only in southern Peru and northern Chile.  The countries having different categories and standards of production for pisco, as well as their own versions of pisco sour.  Each country also fiercely and bitterly claims to be the originator of the pisco sour.  The debate is so fierce that the Wikipedia folks can’t stop ‘interested’ parties from vandalizing their pisco sour entry to remove one country or the other as the potential point of origen.  Read the discussion tab under the entry for a sad, but often comical, view of the state of affairs.

The exact ingredients for a pisco sour is also often a point of contention, even within the warring countries.  Even which type of pisco to use can’t be agreed.  A list of ingredients, with notations for variations, is:

• Pisco (Chilean or Peruvian, you decide.)
• Juice from A) lemons or B) limes.  If you you’d like to stray from tradition to make the drink even better, substitute mango juice for lemon or lime.
• Sugar or syrup - If sugar, know-it-alls claim that either powdered or liquid is best…I suspect liquid sugar is really the syrup needed.
• Egg whites, or not.  Most claim that the frothy loveliness is dependent upon the egg whites, while others say you actually just put it around the edge of the glass.  I’d bank on adding it in with the ingredients for froth.
• Angostura bitters, or not.  Some say it evens out the taste, others say it’s optional.
• Cinnamon (just a dash on top when you’re done)
• Ice

Mix all of the ingredients above, except the cinnamon, in a blender until the mixture has attained a state of froth.  NEVER mix the ingredients and pour over ice, that is wrong, just wrong.  Finally, pour the mixture into a glass, add a dash of cinnamon and drink some heaven.

Chile and Peru seem to fight over everything from water to Pacific Ocean fishing rights to business practices.  Of all their petty scuffles, the fight over who can claim pisco sour as their own seems to me the most worthy.

By Roger J. Starkey

My girlfriend, Angie, and I returned to Chile today.  When we found that we would not be able to see a Chiari specialist until 25 June, we hurriedly booked a round-trip flight to Santiago so that we could finalize our hurriedly dropped Chilean life.

The six weeks prior to our return would have sparked a nocturnal emission in the dream life of a true pragmatist.  Babysitting, doctor visits, birthday parties and dinners, catching up with family and friends, researching Chiari, scouring the Internet for a trustworthy neurosurgeon, doing laundry and, finally, arranging an appointment with a Chiari specialist kept us busy, and me uninspired.

As I raised the window cover of the airplane this morning, I was still in the pragmatic frame of mind, thinking about everything we had to accomplish in the one week we allowed ourselves in our soon-to-be former home.  The view that greeted me, that of the sun rising over the snow-capped Andes, however, brought me out of the utilitarian and into the contemplative mindset.  It occurred to me that it may be many years before I again have the opportunity to see this magnificent mountain range; the same range that I had seen daily for nearly five months.  I decided that when we landed in Santiago, I was going to look at the city as I did the first time I saw it, try to see all the nuances of Chile’s capital city that I may have forgotten as I became more familiar with my adopted, temporary home.

The smell of raw sewage that dogged us from the airport all the way into the city center was new, but a tad unpleasant.  Otherwise, Santiago, six weeks later and on the verge of winter, was mostly the same.  The vegetation was brown, except in spots where mountain waters had been harnessed to provide life to the more important plant life.  Rubbish strewn rivers that wrapped around the shanty towns that ring Santiago–and stand in stark contrast to the wealthier neighborhoods and general economic health of the country–still lead the way into the city.  The city center remained heavily tattooed with fading graffiti and the dusty sidewalks continued to be heavily dotted with bits of trash.  Buskars–none of whom looked like they had bathed in the previous six weeks–still juggled before parked cars at major intersections, hoping for a few coins before their audience sped off.

The well maintained parks and streets of the Providencia neighborhood, where we live, made me feel better about Santiago, just as it had the first time I saw it.  As the taxi shuttle approached our apartment, I thought, now with a more familiar feeling, that Las Condes and all its wealth lay just to the east.

By the time I had greeted the doorman to the apartment building–a friendly guy whom Angie and affectionately call ‘Butcher Smock,’ because of the Chilean servants uniform he insists on wearing–walked around in our apartment and opened the office curtain to a lovely view of the Andes, I felt the warmth of familiarity (even if the freezing cold apartment only has one vent for heat, and it’s tucked away in the bedroom).

Santiago didn’t leave me with a great first impression, either time, but it does feel a bit like a home, another home that I’ll look back on with a nostalgic smile long after we’re gone.

By Roger J. Starkey

If anyone has noticed–and based on the utter and complete lack of emails in my inbox, I’m guessing few have–Below 15º North has been on a wee hiatus. The unexpected vacation began about a month ago when my girlfriend, Angie, and I hastily arranged a trip to the US to see a doctor about her persistent headaches. After a canceled flight, a ten-hour layover in Buenas Aires, a two-hour delayed flight, a trip to a doctor’s office and a stop-over in the emergency room, Angie and I were quarantined in our own suite at St. Joseph’s hospital in St. Charles, Missouri. All of this took a mere thirty eight hours.

The emergency room visit and the quarantined hospital suite may seem a bit dramatic, but try telling a Midwestern US doctor that you’ve been sick for weeks and that the illness started while you were in South America, and see where it lands you. Most of the doctors and nurses appeared downright giddy with anticipation that they were taking part in the discovery of the next Bird Flu. I’m sure there was a collective Missouri medical community moan when the battery of tests performed revealed that Angie did not have a communicable disease, but instead had begun experiencing symptoms related to Chiari Malformation Type I, a condition she’s had since birth.

Since the Chiari diagnosis, life in the States has been a bit hectic and maintaining an ill-read blogsite hasn’t been a priority for me. Never-the-less, I will find time to post an occasional story over the coming weeks as we sort through our dual Chilean/US life and prepare for the next steps in Angie’s treatment.

By Roger J. Starkey

Torres del Paine has been called the most beautiful national park in South America and one of the most beautiful in the world.  Beauty of this magnitude and abundance should be relished over days, not sped through by car in a race against the setting sun.  However, sometimes circumstances dictate the latter to be the best option (as it was for me on my trip to the park).  If this is the case for you, the following is a suggested itinerary.

Assuming a 10:00 AM departure from Puerto Natales, you can anticipate arriving in the park at about 12:00 Noon.  As you approach the park entrance, the towering peaks of Almirante Nieto and Torres del Paine (from where the park gets its name) will come into view.  If the ever-present cloud cover has afforded a clear view of the Torres, stop often to take photos, you may not get many more un-obscured shots.

Follow the road signs towards administration (not towards Laguna Azul).  Shortly after passing Laguna Amarga, there will be a road going to the right, to Las Cascadas.  Follow the road a short way to the waterfalls, but don’t plan to drive too fast, the horrible road allows a top speed of about 20 KMH.

After allowing sufficient time to admire the waterfalls, track back and continue on the road towards administration until you reach the administration building, where you’ll pay the entrance fee.  If you’re not Chilean, bring loads of cash, as the entrance fee is US$30 per person (a scant US$8 per person for Chileans) and credit cards aren’t accepted.

Immediately after leaving the administration building, turn right towards Hostería Las Torres.  Follow the road over some scary bridges until it ends, at the Hostería.  This should be your lunch stop.  If you’ve arrived before lunch, go for a short hike near the hosteria to build up your appetite, you’ll need it.  Enjoy lunch in the impossibly scenic dining room with its all glass walls opening up to the Torres towering above you as you eat some of the best lamb you’ll ever taste.

Once back at the administration building, turn right towards Lago Nordenskjold, stopping often to photograph the abundant Guanaco roaming the roadsides, until you reach the Mirador Nordenskjold.  If the wind doesn’t take your breath away here, the sight of the mountains bearing down on the sky blue lake might.

Continue on the road for another ten kilometers until you reach the turn-off for the catamarán.  Follow the road until it ends, park the car and take a short hike out to Mirador Cuernos for a view of the amazing ‘horns.’

Back on the main road, continue west around the wind blown and gorgeous Lake Pehoe and down along the Rio Paine until you have reached the bridge.  At this point, assuming that you’ve stopped numerous times to truly appreciate what you will now agree is one of the most beautiful places on earth, you should be ready to turn around make towards the exit to ensure you arrive back in Puerto Natales by dinner time.  If you aren’t in a hurry, though, continue until the road ends at Lago Grey so you can say that you have seen everything the park has to offer, if only by car.

On your way back to Puerto Natales, stop into the store at the junction with the road to Calafate, Argentina, to pick up a few of the delicious Austral beers to enjoy in the hotel as you reminisce about your wonderful day.  The store is, oddly, the only place I found in the area that carries all varieties of the lovely Punta Arenas brewed beer.

Photographs from the above itinerary can be found at http://www.rogerjstarkey.com/fotos/Chile_Torres%20del%20Paine.htm.