Santiago
La Capital
2 July, 2007
Or is it "El Capitol?" I'd like to think that I'm thinking in Spanish these past few days but in reality, much of the time I feel like I'm not thinking very well at all, regardless of the language.
So - first with the apologies... I'm sorry this has taken so long - why I haven't written anything or posted any pictures sooner. There are several reasons and excuses. Which sound the best? Which are the most believable? How can I convince people that I haven't been sitting around in a bar drinking pisco sours or searching out every different purveyor of "cafe con piernas" (espresso served by chicas in mini-skirts - I honestly haven't seen it or looked for it... yet). Do I or should I care what people think or believe I've been doing? I don't know, but I do think the truth is pretty boring - another reason I haven't written yet. But I know some people are waiting for some pictures at the very least.
Here are a few other excuses/reasons I took so long to put something up on the website:
#1) I'm trying to keep my brain in "Spanish mode" and I'm worried that spending an hour or two writing in English will interfere with the process of assimilating the language.
#2) I really have been pretty busy in a random sort of way. Each day has another "thing to do" (although only about one or two per day) that get me out of the hotel room and lead me to a slightly different place and that's a good thing. In many if not even most cases, the "things to do" are related to the impending arrival of my family and the slightly-after-that impending departure of all of us from Santiago. They are important things that take me forever to do because I'm in a new place where very few people speak English.
#3) I was pick-pocketed on the Metro on my second day here. Se me robaron!
Regarding #3, it is the truth, unfortunately, and honestly, I was totally blown away and humiliated at being such an idiot. The first two days after a red-eye flight can be dangerous. In Iceland six years ago I gave a cab driver a $50 tip not fully processing the conversion rate in my groggy mind. I wish the incident here in Santiago was so simple, with a mere $50 consequence and nothing else needing to be done about it. In reality I didn't loose much cash (less than $100 but more than $50) or critically important documentation. But they got two credit cards and bought several hundred dollars worth of gas before I could cancel the cards. Bummer.
I have all the tools here with me to avoid being pick-pocketed, both mental and physical, and I was day-dreaming and not even thinking about pick-pockets when I entered the crowded metro car with valuables distributed in far too many pockets to keep track of. I felt falsely confident that my wallet was safe in a zippered pants pocket - I didn't even notice anyone pressing on me or the old "make a distraction" ploy. Man those guys were good! I should know better. I had also just snapped a picture of the oncoming train (for the entertainment of you journal readers!) before I boarded the crowded car. Talk about a perfect way to signal "Soy tourista! Tengo dinero!" (just look at my nice camera!). I'll write more about this later.
So... That (the incident) really hasn't occupied that much of my time, although it really did shake me emotionally. I don't know why... OK I do sort of know why. I'm supposed to know how to avoid things like that (and I do). I started extrapolating this track-record in my mind (hmm, let's see, if I get robbed once every 2-3 days in Chile, it's going to be a long trip!). I am embarrassed and humiliated just talking about it, and I just can't seem to get over how easily I could have and should have avoided it. There are at least 4 or 5 "I should have's" that "I didn't" where any one single one of them would have foiled the theft. I'm the savvy world traveler, right? Well, the thieves obviously didn't know and didn't care. My credit cards are as good to them as anyone else's (perhaps better, as it took me next to forever to get through to the Banks to cancel the cards!).
Lynn convinced me that I really should make a police report, which I eventually did. This by itself is another interesting story that isn't finished yet, and may end up taking far too much time if I pursue it fully and properly. I'm proud to report that I met with a young cabinero who spoke no English, yet understood most of what I was trying to say (enough to write the report), although as is typical for me so far here in Chile, I understood far less of what he said than I hoped to be able to (in fact, virtually nothing). I'm fairly used to hearing Mexican Spanish, and the spoken language of Chile is a little different. More than one Chileno has told me that I speak "Castillan" very well, which is, I think, a backhanded complement that makes me feel very much the gringo.
So, what exactly have I been doing? Does anyone want to know more details? What can I say I've learned and observed about Santiago? I will try to answer these questions, briefly. If you want to skip the dialogue, there are pictures at the end... I have to admit, I've been trudging around Santiago NOT hitting the cultural highlights save one aborted attempt at a museum. The ensuing monologue is more of a bulleted list of what I've done (which is pretty boring stuff) than an insightful travelogue. I'll try to do better when the family is with me and we're having fun adventures. Les promito.
Day One, Tuesday 6/26/07: I arrived in Santiago at 7:30 AM after two uneventful flights. I paid the $100 "reciprocity fee" and then a uniformed agent stapled a tourist card inside my passport so I could go through immigration. I will need this receipt to leave the country as well (Chile started doing this to US citizens as a bit of "tit for tat" after the US started charging Chileans to enter our country after 9/11/2001). The agent scrutinized my $100 bill (US) like a jeweler looking at a diamond, and after a few seconds she spotted a tiny (about an 1/8th of an inch) tear along one of the sides of the otherwise perfectly crisp bill. . She handed it back to me impudently, pointing at the tiny blemish, as if I had tried to get away with something heinous. Good thing I had other cash. Mental note #1: Tell Lynn to bring perfect money to pay the entry fee.
I cleared Immigration and Customs without incident, then took a shared min-bus ride into the city from the airport. A Chilean lawyer and his wife, returning from a holiday in New York rode with me. The guy gave me his business card "in case I needed legal help in Chile." I think he wasn't offended when I told him as politely as I could something like "I try to avoid lawyers, at least in a professional capacity, at all cost (or more accurately, like the plague!)" He laughed and agreed that it was a good philosophy. After arriving at my hotel, I walked around the neighborhood in the afternoon and then ate dinner at a nearby restaurant, recommended by the hotel. I forgot to take my list of Chilean food words. Even though this was/is a pretty good restaurant, as proven by subsequent meals I've eaten there, this night I ended up with a very fatty, salty, hunk of ham-ish pork that I ate with surprising relish since I was starving.
Day Two, Wednesday: After riding out a relatively long earthquake (I think more than 20 seconds for sure), I decided it was time to get out of the old-looking building that holds my hotel. Feeling slightly more awake and a lot bolder than yesterday, I descended the steps to the Metro and walked around trying to figure out how to buy tickets and use them. This exercise didn't take long, especially since in the end I opted for the simple "one-trip one-ticket pay-cash" option.
I followed embarked on a "metro and walking" route recommended by a guide book only to arrive at a museum that had closed about 15 minutes before I got there. Then I rode the metro up to the Mercado Central, walked across the river, and took the funicular up Cerro San Cristobal to take pictures of the mountains and the smog. It was a beautiful day, especially above the smog on top of the hill. I met a pilot for American Airlines at the top of the hill and he showed me a nice path to use to walk down the hill, so we walked down together and chatted. After walking down the hill, it was back to the metro again for a ride back to the hotel (why didn't I walk, it wasn't far!). I noticed my "lighter feeling" pants leg walking back to the hotel after leaving the metro, and can't honestly say exactly when the theft occurred since I hadn't used my wallet all day (why the heck did I even bring it!). I was quite sure it was on the last ride since the strangeness of a lighter leg was such an obvious and abrupt sensation.
Back at the hotel, I asked where was the best place to buy a calling card for international phone calls, went and got one, and then commenced waiting on hold for ungodly periods of time trying to report the stolen credit cards. During these long periods of waiting on hold the thieves had a field day using the cards at various gas stations. BofA even disconnected my call trying to transfer me to the fraud department after I had waited on hold for almost 50 minutes. So I went out onto the street and bought another calling card, came back to the hotel, called again, and waited, and waited, and waited. When I finally did get through (I barked at them "I'm calling from a foreign country using a calling card! This call has a limited amount of time and I will get disconnected if you make me wait forever! The card needs to be deactivated right away!"), they asked questions like "when did they get stolen exactly" (I'm not sure...). Why haven't you reported it stolen sooner? (because you put me on hold forever and cut me off! Duh! Maybe you could save some money if you took less than two hours to respond to a call about a stolen card!).
Day Three, Thursday: I met with a women who works for a company of relocation specialists in Santiago. Jasna is helping me buy a car, and her company "ContactChile" is performing a few other logistic services for us as well. Jasna took me to a Government office to get a RUT# (Chilean social security number) which is required to get the car. I think I could have probably negotiated this government office without her help, but the service came with the "help you buy a car" package. The RUT# was procured in about half an hour, and then we went to an Entel PCS office to try and figure out what cellular service to buy.
Here I was glad to have Jasna along and absolutely certain I needed her help as a translator and negotiator. Even Jasna was confused by the doublespeak of the cellular salesperson (most likely a world-wide phenomenon). We almost bought the wrong thing several times, always just barely avoiding the pitfall with some last minute question that pointed out the flaw in what they were trying to sell me. She decided that more research and the help of other people in her office was needed and we arranged to meet again on Friday. It would be simple enough if I just wanted a cell phone, but I was hoping to get wireless internet access as well.
Day Four, Friday: I reunited with Jasna at the Entel PCS office and we got it done (and I refuse to write "got 'er done!" although I guess I just did). I think I went window shopping for most of the afternoon but I forget. I do remember that I had a much better dinner at Liguria (the restaurant from day 1). Pollo al pil-pil is excellent.
Day Five Saturday: I answered and wrote emails in the morning, then went to the police station at about 11am to try and file a report. It took about 3 hours, equally divided between waiting for my number to be called and actually sitting and talking with an officer. I hate to succumb and admit to "shadenfruede" (not sure if that's how to spell it or not), but seeing a dozen or so other people at the police station, all Chilenos, all there to file some sort of report, and all wearing similar expressions, (perhaps best described as a sheepishly defensive look that masks a confused mixture of sadness, embarrassment, and boredom), this made me feel a little less like the idiot gringo than I had been feeling before I went. Touristas aren't the only victims of crime.
Even after three hours spent at the police station, I didn't leave with a physical police report. The Banks who had issued my credit cards require something like that if I expect them to not hold me responsible to pay for the gas that was bought with the stolen cards.. (I hope they can read Chilean). All the cabinero gave me was some sort of receipt. I had just watched him take a multi-sheet sheet stack of paper, obviously my full report, down the hallway (why can't he just pop it into a copy machine and give me a copy?). I asked as politely as I could in Spanish if I could have a copy "now, please." He pointed at a number on my receipt and and address. I had no idea where it was. Oh great. I'm afraid to ask just what this means but I think I can guess even if I can't understand what he's saying.
After visiting the Cabineros, I took a long walk to Barrio Bellavista, ate a late lunch/early dinner at a well-know (but not fancy by any means) restaurant called "Golinda." After gorging myself on a slab of meet and a giant salad, I shopped in some trendy, artsy, courtyard-off-the-street kind of place and bought presents for my family. Spending money was a bit of an emotional lift (sort of proof that I was still OK and can do what I want!). The saleslady suffered my polite requests for her to repeat everything she said several times. I asked her to do it, first very slowly, then a little faster, then at full speed so I could try and get a handle on the final result. She didn't have other customers and seemed very amused at my attempts to dissect the Chilean accent. Now if I could get that kind of understanding and support from everyone here in Santiago, I'd be in great shape within a couple of weeks! (but it probably won't happen, and I'm going to leave soon anyway...).
After shopping I rode the metro back to the hotel. Yes, I faced the shame and paranoia of my prior experience and went back down those steps... The "don't # with me" look on my face was not an act and I was almost hoping that someone would touch my pants pocket so I could play vigilante and pull their arm out of their socket... at least in my imagination. It's scary to have angry thoughts like that. As Lynn told me... "Just don't do anything stupid."
Day Six Sunday:
I went back on Sunday morning when the police station was open but almost completely empty (no line at 8:30am Sunday morning!). I pointed at the address on my receipt, which I had since determined to be located far across town in some unknown neighborhood (where I would probably get robbed again walking on the street - but no, I wouldn't be walking down the street in the first place since it is nowhere near a metro station and I'd have to take a taxi).
"Do I have to go there?" (I asked, pointing at the address)
"No, if you come back at 8am Tuesday you can get a copy here, but you have to be early!" (perhaps so I can intervene before the report gets hand-delivered by armed and armored convoy from this office to the other one across town).
I hope it will happen like that, but I'm skeptical...
This has been and interesting, entertaining, and educational experience for all the wrong reasons.
After returning to the hotel for a shower (yes, I visited the police in a smelly state), I walked a very long way to a mall (about 3.5 miles) out in the Vitacura neighborhood. The metro doesn't go there, and honestly, what else am I going to do on a Sunday afternoon? Vitacura is a primarily residential neighborhood with a suburban feel, and walking through it was, if nothing else, a nice change on the eyes from the hectic streets of Providencia where my hotel is. After the long walk to get to this mall, I spent a good long couple of hours wandering through it looking for things that we'll need for our travels but that I didn't want to actually buy yet because I was on-foot (I'll buy them later when I have the car I'm gonna buy which is really not a car but a small truck). This was the scouting expedition before the actual hunt. Why do I call it a crazy mall? For starters, it took me forever to get oriented and figure out what was there. In fact, I never felt completely sure of where I was inside the mall, although I eventually recognized the fact that I had already walked down some hall or into some particular store more than once when it happened which was many times.
The first thing I found that might help me negotiate the twisted, multi-level super-mall was a blurry, unreadable map of the second floor, located on the side of a coke machine on the first floor. I went up to the second floor and looked for another coke machine, hoping to find a map of the first floor, but the cokes machines on the second floor had maps of the second floor as well (all pretty blurry and questionably useful). There were no maps of any floor on the third floor. Eventually I gave up and just tried to walk everywhere. The "start at one end and methodically cover everything" approach just wasn't working very well for me because the mall corridors bent every which way, with different arms and legs and extensions and escalators and entrances to the same major department stores all showing up in the strangest places. After one wrong turn I was in the entrance hall of a hospital. Really. Perhaps you can shop at Mall Parque Arauco in the morning, and have surgery in the afternoon without changing your parking spot (or maybe even the other way around if the surgeons are good).
I think I finally figured out some sort of way to label or categorize the place. This mall is just an oversized, suburban version of the crazy little shopping plazas that veer off the street or chop across street corners all over Providencia. Never can I find a map or store guide, yet everyone else seems to know exactly where everything is and where they are going. There are only about 500 such small shopping plazas within a 15 minute walk of my hotel, which means there are at least several thousand video game and cell phone accessory stores (and I doubt that this is an exaggeration).
Eventually I did locate most of what I want to eventually buy (and will do so at a later date). I was happy that I could converse (ask for stuff) in Spanish with multiple store clerks. Although I could only understand a mere fraction of the words they spoke back to me, I could follow them down an isle, or look where they pointed a finger no problem. I walked back to my hotel (the full 3+ miles) because I didn't really have anything better to do and it felt good to be tired with exercise. One wimpy little pisco sour before the start of my dinner sent my head spinning.
Day Seven Monday 7/2/07 (Today). It was a holiday, the "Day of San Pedro and San Pablo," which Santiago celebrates with the enthusiasm of a few million people glad to have another day off work. The Catholic church gets a lot of negative publicity, but think about the advantages of living in a Latin American country with Catholic traditions. All those saints translate to a lot of days off. Even with all those saints to choose from, I think Chilenos find a even more reasons to create various minor holidays and work 4 days a week or less, especially in the summer. So I didn't and couldn't really do any "business." Some people told me a should have gone skiing and perhaps I should have. I wasn't enthusiastic about skiing by myself, and I still have plenty of annoying little details to attend to. Among them, I hadn't written anything or put any pictures on the website yet (until now). Although now that I'm working on it, I wouldn't call this an "annoying detail." I also don't want to tempt fate anymore while in Santiago and break my arm or something.
So I walked back over to Mercado Central via Parque Forestal and Plaza de Armas. Of course everything of cultural note and interest was closed. Eventually I ate lunch in the crowded, aromatic, interior plaza of seafood restaurants in Mercado Central, serenaded by the clatter of a several hundred nearby diners. I sat next to and chatted with a family of three from Houston Texas (although I wouldn't have pegged them as Texans - all three are of Pakistani decent, and although clearly very American, I just couldn't picture them in Cowboy boots or any Western wear, for that matter). From the looks of the crowded tables around us, we might have been the only two groups of estadounidenses in the whole place, but of course, we somehow found each other.
OK, that's it. Pretty mundane stuff and not terribly exotic other than getting robbed. Is it technically a "robbery" if I didn't even know it was happening? Burglary is a theft of property when you aren't around to witness it. Robbery is when you are directly accosted by a the thief who then steals your stuff while you are unfortunately aware of what's happening. So what is having your pocket picked? Burglobbery? (whatever one might call it, it still sucks).
Here's the good stuff. Pictures!
My hotel in Santiago (Basic, plain, & cheap, with nice proprietors & staff - I wouldn't hesitate to stay here again.)
Funicular up to the top of Cerro San Cristobal.
Views from the top of the hill (no wonder the truck exhaust and cigarette smoke doesn't bother me here in Santiago - the smog is worse!).
Rio Mapocho (it would be prettier without the garbage)
Parque Forestal
Basilica del Santisimo Sacramento - a beautiful old church, especially from a distance. From up close it looks like it is gradually crumbling and that renovations and a structural upgrade of some sort are both long overdue. It's a beautiful building and I hope it can survive the ravages of time for another century or more.
Assorted statues and fountains in Parque Forestal. It's hard to get a picture of something nice (statue, mountains, park...) in Santiago without something else that's kind of ugly in the same picture. It's a busy, crowded city. Many monuments and statues are marred by graffiti, and most of the elegant old buildings have locked iron gates in front of the doors and they look, for the most part, un-used and under-maintained.
The scene of the crime heading into the station. My two earlier metro rides were on un-crowded trains. The platform was almost empty. Then the train showed up, surprisingly jammed full of people. I stuffed my camera into my jacket pocket and hurriedly pushed into a car along with two or three others, camera in one jacket pocket, passport in one zippered pants pocket on the thigh (hint: leave it in the hotel if you're not going to use a CC and don't need ID!), wallet in the other thigh pocket, small change cash in one normal pants pocket, more cash (bigger bills) in a jacket breast pocket. Arrrgh! - too many pockets to protect, too few hands! I still wasn't too worried but I should have been. I didn't notice anyone pushing me or anyone else so I just didn't think about it - Arrrgh!
Here's a simple summary of how I felt after getting ripped off on the metro (well, one of the emotions that competed for time in my head and body with several others).
Scenes from the Plaza de Armas (taken on the Holiday Monday) - this is where you go to protest or demonstrate or start a mini-riot when a former fascist dictator dies (or stage a counter protest if you're a fascist lover and/or feeling really feisty!). It really was a lovely day. The plaza is a good place to be on a pleasant, balmy holiday in winter. This Pedro Valdivia guy was pretty important and I'll be learning more about him soon (truthfully, I've already read a "guide-book history lesson's" worth), along with some info about other famous Chilenos such as O'Higgens, Naruda, and Gabriella Mistral (Gabby's on the 5000 peso note, which is slangily referred to as a "Gabriella."
Mercado Central. Of course the meat market around the corner has all sorts of animal parts on display that we are protected and prohibited from observing in the USA. Yes Virginia, meat really does come from dead animals, the meat is red because of the blood of the animals, and someone kills them on purpose just so we can eat it.
Pictorial essay: "The dogs of Santiago (following)." There are scores (hundreds? thousands?) of street dogs in Santiago. A chilena once said to me - "In Santiago you don't get a dog, a dog gets you..."
Each of these photos is of a different dog. I took them all in the span of about 30 minutes.
-Rolf