There is one question that causes use great concern: "Is breakfast included?". It could be expanded to further ask "...and is it any good?". Free stuff is what backpacking is all about. Currently I am trailing about a shopping bag containing 2kgs of spaghetti, a near empty jar of marmalade, a near empty bottle of chimichurri sauce, a small bottle of chimichurri seasoning, a packet of ketchup, a little olive oil, bolognese sauce, biscuits, Coke, and possibly half an empanada. I need to check that.
Anyway, you accumulate stuff as you travel. You also lose stuff. I've about half my clothes left, most of which have fallen apart or been ruined by bleach, though some have simply vanished (including two socks, which may or may not have been eaten by a washing machine somewhere).
Downstairs, yes, we do have breakfast included, please get your girlfriend out of bed and get her down here as we stop serving in twenty minutes, thats not a problem, up and down, oh there's Ricky Martin on the tv, some sort of festival, read a newspaper (not entirely literally), eat baps with butter and jam, maybe cheese and ham, cup or tea, done, shower, out the door.
By now we have accepted the necessity of a fifteen minute walk back to the big bus station to collect tickets to Santiago De Chile tomorrow. On the way we pass the tourist attraction of Escuela Mexicana, a school donated to the town after it was destroyed by an earthquake 75 years ago. Famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda persuaded a couple of famous painters to do some murals there to signify the connection between Mexico and Chile (and their respective indigenous peoples), and they survive to this day. It is a working school, though the kids are all on holiday right now.
This is not part of the main mural, of which you aren't allowed to take photos, but it gives an idea. In the big room you are dwarfed by the paintings, not to mention a clever concave roof which makes it look like a cross / sword is pointing at you everywhere you go. Glad we stopped in and signed the guestbook, even though it was a bit of a sauna in there.
Saw this, thought of Lovejoy. Figured he could do a decent job of this.
Tickets purchased, off to Santiago on the 10.30am bus. Now to walk 3km to Chillán Viejo, the old town, where we hope to find the house El Libertador was born in.
What's this? Faustino? Surely not!
Avenida O'Higgins runs right down into Chillán Viejo, and the old town commences here at this blue wall. The main road gets some nice trees down the sides, but I'm not sure how fancy an area it is (although there were a hell of a lot of people selling 'the best watermelons in Chile')
We have visited a lot of churches on this trip because they are free to go in and have a look, and sometimes they are pretty and sometimes they are filled to the gills with gruesome imagery which freaks Sarah out a bit. This one wasn't too bad, the Virgin looked quiet cheerful actually.
It was quite sparsely decorated, a nice change.
Across from the plaza is a long tribute to something, not sure what. Sarah reckons the stone was flint. It looked good anyway. You could walk up to the top of it and there was nothing there. Another of those curious things.
These are the remains of Bernardo's mother and sister, returned from Peru.
That's the stone box they're in.
That's the wee man himself.
It seems I had misread the Lonely Planet. You can't visit Bernardo's house, but you can certainly visit a plaque dedicated to the site where the house used to be. Lovely.
Enough culture. Let's go have lunch at the mercado central. The Lonely Planet guide says its a lovely spot to enjoy a sandwich beside the butchers. Sounded a lot more romantic on paper to be honest. Its more like someone had dropped all the fresh produce in the world on a city, and someone had a team trying to organise it.
That's all coriander!
We stopped off at one of the little cafes, a 'charming' spot, basically a hole in the wall, where Sarah revived her blood sugar level with rice and pasta (the look the waitress gave here because she didn't want meat was priceless, a sort of 'whats the point?'). I wanted the beef. The beef ran out whilst I was waiting for the waitress, I watched her scrub it off the menu. I wanted pollo asado, off the grill. Instead I got boiled chicken and rice. Don't think it entirely agreed with me. Nor the disagreeable smell from the fish stall three doors up. We were amused during lunch by a dog that looked like the weird offspring of a rottweiler and a sausage dog. Very strange shape!
Sometimes work is just too damn tough.
Those are only onions.
That's enough fresh fruit and vegetables. Let's go and see if I can buy a camera. No? Too many bloody options again? At least I have a good idea of prices now. Just got to pick one. To hell with it. Lets go to a church, a cathedral if there is one.
Fortunately Chillán does have a cathedral, a fancy modernist one with arches and a big cross outside (and a tv / radio / mobile phone mast just behind it)
Oh look, it actually is pretty good inside! I wasn't that surprised, modernist cathedrals are always interesting.
We chilled out in the park for a while and nearly had a little sleep, but watching a dog chase pigeons was just too distracting. Plus there were kids everywhere having fun. Who can sleep when that's your environment?
So back to the hotel we go, checking out some pruck stalls on the way, and enjoying an ice cream. We barely make the room before Sarah's fatigue kicks in and she passes out for two hours. I get some reading done, and when she awakens we both rub our tummies, ready for dinner. Luckily we have a well-reviewed restaurant round the corner from our hotel. Better go there then!
Ficus was the restaurant, just someone's house converted into an eatery. Great idea, great service, great prices. Pity that they used a kilo of cheese on my pizza. For those who haven't seen these on Bakebook, here they are for your edification. From delighted to disgusted, it took about half an hour.
You don't understand if you've never had a pizza on this continent before. I'm not getting into an argument about it, they're just different beasts altogether.
The one upside was enjoying a nice Chilean reserva that tasted of Christmas pudding. Delightful! I should have stuck with the bife de chorizo like Sarah did... I did get to take the other half home with me though. That ought to get us through the bus journey tomorrow.
