Chile trip report March 2007

The Chile that I met this last March seemed like the soft crumbling edge of a homemade cookie —light, deliciously sugary, but fragile and likely to dissolve if pressed too hard. We landed on March 6 after an overnight flight through Dallas, claimed our luggage, and were met by a car sent by the Hotel Orly. We stayed at this hotel in the Providencia district because of the raves on internet travel pages, and it was a good choice. The hotel is actually a 19th century French-inspired mansion, complete with mansard roof. We were on the third floor, under that roof. The small courtyard on the ground floor was glassed in as a lovely breakfast room. The front of the hotel housed a simple but popular café. We were in the middle of a bustling restaurant and banking district, although many of the streets were tree-lined and the ubiquitous Chilean dogs were sprawled on every corner. We grew to love the dogs, who were uniformly medium in size and healthy, so were perhaps claimed by the workers in the buildings.

On that first day we walked to the tourism office, found an ATM, bought bottled water, and went to dinner at a restaurant recommended by Joe’s Argentinean colleague, “De Cangrejo a Conejo” at Av Italia 805. At 8 pm we were the first diners, and I enjoyed my first pastel de crab---delicious!

On Day 2 we returned to the airport to pick up a rental car and attempted to drive to the canyon del Maipo. Driving in Santiago was confusing, as not all exits from the freeway are marked, and one competes for the road with horses and carts, bicycles, and erratic drivers. At one point we were driving on dirt roads through open markets teeming with people, the Andes just over there, but we were unable to strike a passage through. So by the time we were on the correct road we were road-weary and the striking vistas failed to impress. In looking back at the photos, we were in spectacular country, and we did get about forty miles into the foothills. This is a sanctuary for the residents of Santiago in the summer, a cool escape from the smog of the valley. On this early autumn day the road was nearly deserted. We stopped for lunch at fancifully crafted restaurant, part alpine chalet, part Big Sur lodge. And then we turned around.

On the way back to the city, I was intent on not getting lost again. I noticed that we would pass by the historic Cousino Macul winery, built by a prominent Chilean family in 1856. Past a round-about, behind a large and growing shopping center, we found the walled enclosure of a large estate, and behind a guardhouse we found fields of grapes and a venerable compound. We joined the end of a tour, in time to see their small museum, and to taste several of their wines. We liked Gris, a wine neither red nor white. The vault where they stored the oak barrels was huge and old and has withstood several earthquakes, although the guide said that barrels broke and the cellar was feet deep in wine. It reminded me of some of the Santa Clara Valley wineries that are now surrounded by housing.

Our return to the city was as eventful as our departure had been. We were driving along the river when 5 o’clock arrived and the traffic reversed, with all lanes going out of the city….We were stuck with our left turn signal frantically clicking, trying to turn across three lanes of oncoming traffic, with cars coming at us in our lane. It must happen very day, however, as we remained an island with cars breaking around us, until the lights changed and we could make a dash across the intersection ahead of traffic crossing the river. Dinner that night was at Isla Negra, a stylish seafood restaurant a short cab ride from our hotel.

On Wednesday we made the long drive north on the fabled Pan American Highway to La Serena. In most places it was four lanes, uncrowded, up steep inclines of the Andean foothills, on the edges of the high desert. Towns were few and not close to the road, so we saw very few people. Rest stops were modern and attractive. One of them had a sign that said “Banos” and sure enough I could hear a truck driver singing in the shower! Horses and goats grazed by the side of the road, with not a fence between us. Occasionally we passed a colorful fruit stand. Often we were in sight of the ocean, spectacular vistas drawing the eye for miles up the coast. I truly felt that we were on the edge of the continent. We stopped for lunch at the half way mark, at a truck stop/restaurant in Los Vilos that was obviously a local favorite. We were waited on by an elderly gentleman who recommended los locos, the local abalone. I thought I was in for a treat. This turned out to be the only meal I disliked in Chile. I was served four golf ball sized tough and rubbery and ultimately tasteless shellfish. I choked down what I could, so as not to disappoint our host. I could not help comparing this meal with the octopus salads I loved in Greece. A little olive oil, some herbs, and tomatoes would have helped immensely.

La Serena and its neighboring port Coquimbo are a regional destination for Chileans. The city was founded on a promontory near the mouth of the Elqui River in the 1540’s by a subordinate of patriot Pedro de Valdivia. We stopped in the town square at the tourist agency, which gave us the names of two beach hotels. The beach is a mile or so across the fields, and oh what a beach! There are actually twelve of them stretching for miles, a histortic lighthouse on the Elqui River end, and the port on the other. We chose the hotel that was oceanfront, and obtained a corner room on the second floor with views of the fields behind us, a spacious balcony, and a corner window that framed the vista down the long curving beaches. For $64 a night. We stayed for three nights, each with a glorious sunset on a deserted beach followed by a simple dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. During the first day we explored the town, buying goat cheese and sausage and a small cooler and of course some Chilean wine.



We signed up for two guided tours that we could not have accomplished on our own. The first was that night, a trip up the Elqui Valley to the Malmucca Observatory on a very dark night round and round up a one lane road in the foothills outside of Vicuna. Our young guide had worked in tourism until recently, when he took a better-paying job in one of the world’s largest copper mines. He spent ten days at the mine, living in a bunk house, followed by four days at home, and during that offtime led tours such as ours. The tour was conducted in English and Spanish, and this was the only time that week that we heard other Americans—we can’t say that we saw them, as it was pitch dark on the hilltop. The astronomers allowed each of us to look at specific stars through the 12 inch telescope inside the dome. I saw Saturn, its rings, and a moon, the nebulus in Orion’s sword, and the Southern Cross. Afterwards we had about an hour to look at the stars outside. We brought Joe’s homemade telescope all the way from California for this opportunity. I could remember the sky being almost this bright as a child, from my own front yard in Texas. Arriving home from our star trek at 1 am, we were up again at 7 for my chosen tour—a boat trip to see the Humboldt penguins. Little did I know that my chosen trip was by far the more adventuresome.

Again on this trip we had a bilingual guide, a man who lived in Canada for thirteen years and was partially retired. We drove for an hour and a half north, first on the Pan American Highway, reduced to two lanes as soon as we left La Serena. Then we turned west on a gravel road that he assured us had been much improved. We saw the tailings of a huge abandoned copper mine, and the river it had ruined. We also saw a coastal llama, a young one in search of his herd. We passed through an olive growing village that dated from the 1500’s, alas no olives today. Then we arrived at the fishing village Punta de Choros and the jumping off point for the National Preserve of the Humboldt Penguins. We had envisioned going out in fishing boats that looked like the tugboat size shrimpers of the Texas Gulf Coast. Wrong. We went out in battered red, green, and yellow rowboats that had been belatedly fitted with outboards. Twelve of us in a boat supposedly intended to hold seven. Joe was muttering about lack of freeboard. I think he meant that we were low in the water. The wind had come up and so had the swells. I was frightened because I knew how dangerous this was. We motored for half an hour until we reached the cluster of small islands. The first one resembled volcanic tubes, with basalt caves and upthrusts clinging precariously to the edge of the continent. In the lee of the island the wind and the waves diminished, thankfully, and we were able to enjoy photographing the thousands of sea birds and seals and sea lions. We also saw a sea otter. The penguins danced for joy when they saw us.

After marveling at pelicans, several colonies of penguins, and a sea lion that performed tricks for us, we motored to a second island where we were allowed to land on a beautiful sandy crescent to explore the coves and hills. No more than fifty people are allowed on this island—Las Damas—at a time, so we felt very fortunate to be there in the off season. Our guide told us that during the summer maybe 500 people take this trip to see the penguins. Until the last several years, the gravel road took five hours to traverse, so this area is relatively undeveloped. Joe saw a penguin swimming by our boat, just a foot away, so he predicts that development will come to this beautiful remote area, driven by people who want to swim with them.

Thoughts of driving further into the foothills and the Elqui Valley were abandoned in favor of spending some time in La Serena. We explored the market, which had a number of alpaca and llama handicrafts, reflecting our closeness to the Bolivian and Peruvian borders. We were the only visitors at the archaeological museum, which contained one of the giant statues from Easter Island, six hours away by air and yet a part of this edge of the world that is Chile. The museum also contained artifacts and mummies from indigenous people of the area.

By the time we left northern Chile it was Saturday, and we needed to find a hotel close to the airport, as we needed to pick up a minivan on Sunday morning and drive to Valparaiso to connect with the Cranes and Guthiers. My Moon guide which had proved so detailed and helpful (trust me, where we went is not in Frommers) did not help. We decided to drive through another wine region, this one north of Santiago, in hopes of finding a quaint B&B. So we took a little detour along Route 60 to San Felipe. We saw grapes but the couple of wineries that we saw were not open. San Felipe was a bustling colonial town in the foothills with a fairly large military presence. Since Route 60 is one of the major portals to Argentina, such a defensive footprint made sense. But it was not romantic or charming and we didn’t see any hotels. Joe was almost ready to sprint back to Santiago and the lovely Hotel Orly, but I resisted a return to Santiago traffic. The only hotel mentioned in my guide was at some hot springs, the Termes de Colina, so we sped down the highway in their direction. Again we exited on to a gravel road that wound its way up the Andean foothills to the dead end of a canyon---and the resort. The springs fed a large public swimming pool, and there was a 20 room hotel and dining room, with the baths in a separate building behind the hotel. We checked in and congratulated ourselves on finding an interesting space with the potential for dark skies. We spent half an hour in our own white tiled bathing room, complete with a spigot directly connected to the hot spring. It felt very European, like Baden Baden in the 1930s, in this very European of South American countries. Joe swam in the pool, which was a bit too cool for me. All around us multigenerational families were packing up to return to Santiago after a day at the spa. We ate dinner in an almost deserted dining room overlooking the pool and down the canyon, Joe eating steak, and I indulging in reinata, a Chilean swordfish.

On Sunday morning we awoke very early but found that we could not check out until staff arrived to unlock the front doors. On our way to the freeway we saw a wild burro in the middle of the road and a truck totall full of fresh carrots. At the airport we picked up our red Chevy AstroVan, affectionately known as Le Bus, and sped on our way to Vina del Mar and our hotel, the Cap Ducal.

We chose this particular hotel because it is shaped like a ship grounded on the beach. All of the rooms have spectacular views out to sea—ours in particular was in the front part of the “ship” and had a balcony and 180 degree views of the ocean. This was easily the most spectacular hotel I have stayed in, ever. Our friends Dan and Patt were having coffee in the restaurant just off the lobby and spotted us as soon as we came in the door. The had been on a cruise with our other Rice/Navy friends, Steve and Candy. The cruise began in Buenos Aires and took them around Cape Horn to Valparaiso. They were staying in the Sheraton a hundred yards down the beach from us, so we quickly rendezvoused and set off back to Valparaiso for some sightseeing.

Valparaiso is a city that time forgot. Its boom time was during the California Gold Rush of the 1850’s, when ships rounded Cape Horn en route to the gold fields, and stopped in Valparaiso to reprovision. Once the Panama Canal opened, a short cut between the Atlantic and Pacific, almost all traffic around the Cape took that route. So the city remains in large part unchanged, its architecture mostly European, its neighborhoods around the ports still full of bars and rooming houses. We were fascinated by the pastels of the buildings, and by the funiculars that take one up and down Valparaiso’s hills. Here too the dogs are everywhere, curious and friendly and confident in their approaches to strangers. One of them followed me on to the funicular as I chatted sweet nothings to it, and then stuck his nose in my face. I took his picture, and would have taken him too. I have to hope that these dogs have somewhere to hang their heads at night.

Our destination at the top of the hill was the Chilean Navy Museum, formerly the home of their greatest war hero, Lord Cochran. Lord Cochran was an English naval officer known for his daring and wild exploits, who fled Europe over some of these same exploits, landing in Chile. He was a hero in Chile’s war against Peru, going up against formidable iron clad steamers. The museum is rich in Chile’s history—it was like visiting Mount Vernon—and we could have spent all day in it. Of course the men were all former naval officers, so they pored over the models and the actual torpedoes scattered over the grounds.

Our second stop was at Isla Negra, the seaside home of the Nobel Laureate poet and politician Pablo Neruda. The house is a fanciful tribute to his many interests and collections, including a number of ships figureheads. I tried to read my friends from Neruda’s works while we sipped pisco sours in the café, but they said they would have preferred to hear his own voice in his own Spanish. Oh well. All in good fun.

That evening we had the first of three wonderful meals at the Cap Ducal. And lots of good wine.

Monday was our day to tour the Casablanca Wineries. Some of them were closed, so we realized we needed to check before we went. With the help of the lovely desk clerk we made reservations for a tour of the Casas del Bosque winery, a family owned and run boutique winery. It is on the west side of the Valley, and we were fortunate to have an excellent tour from a knowledgeable young woman. We were at the very beginning of the harvest, and she encouraged us to taste the grapes on the vine. The grapes were tiny but concentrated. Like the essence of grape. We tasted several of their premium wines. Their Pinot Noir has been ranked “best of” Chile with 87 points, and in 2004 their Sauvignon Blanc was ranked best in Chile.

In the village near the winery, Santa Maria, I think, we trooped into a super Mercado to buy goat cheese, sausage and a flat bread similar to ciabatta. Oh yes, and lots of wine. Just before getting back on the highway we stopped at a fruit stand where Dan and Steve negotiated for blueberries. We drove to the east end of the valley, to Verramonte Winery, stopping en route at a picnic area where we drank lovely wine and devoured the food.

Verramonte was obviously a corporate product. The young lady who poured our tasting was from the US, taking a sabbatical before law school. She knew little about the wine. We found a bin of Simi (California) wine and inquired about it. Verramonte had been a joint venture with some US winemakers. It was founded in 1990 and the vineyard is the largest contiguous planting in Chile. But the founder pioneered the Casablanca wine region and the Valley has greatly benefited from the industry.

Again, a lovely dinner overlooking the ocean with strains of Frank Sinatra in the background. The Chilean reinata is my very favorite fish. It compares, supposedly, to a pippin, which is another fish I have not heard of. We quickly learned that fish have different names, or the same named fish has a different character, in Chile.

I must mention our fascination with lapis lazuli, the blue stone found only in Chile and China. I bought a lapis penguin from a street vendor in Valparaiso on Sunday for $20. On Tuesday we went to the Central Mercado to look for lapis jewelry. Joe bought a replacement for his wedding ring, which was worn out. We all bought souvenirs. The lapis story will continue.

We were proceeding toward our lunch destination, a town up the coast, when a car cut directly in front of El Bus. Joe was driving El Bus, as he was the insured renter at that point. I think the driver thought we were turning right, when in fact we were staying in that lane. Or he passed us and cut back in too close. In any event, he ripped the front bumper off, smashed the left headlight, and ended up with only a dented door himself. But it was off to Alamo to report the incident. They sent us to the police to report the accident. El Bus could be driven and the police gave us a form in case we were stopped en route to Santiago. Lunch was long delayed, and the jokes about Joe’s possible incarceration were many.

After our police encounter we dropped the Guthiers off in Vina, as they had to depart for the airport in just a couple of hours. We suspected they were spooked by the possibilities of further delays, causing them to miss their flight home. We then drove north about forty-five minutes to Horcon, a combination fishing village and artist’s colony for a delightful lunch. The streets were narrow and cobbled, and the artists had gone elsewhere for the winter, but the scenery was spectacular.

On Wednesday we said goodbye to the Cap Ducal and Vina del Mar and returned El Bus, a sadly damaged El Bus, to the Santiago Airport. Patt identified a sporty semisuv with leather seats that we gracefully accepted in exchange, and Dan became the driver of record. This time we sped south on the Pan American, again the center or lifeline of the country. We saw one whole village whose vendors of brooms were lined up beside the road. In another village stalls held wooden furniture. The Andes marched south right along beside us, on our left. Occasionally we saw a fruit stand and meant to stop. Finally we exited at Rancagua, in search of lunch. We didn’t find a restaurant partly because traffic was difficult. We did see several wagons being pulled by horses, still used in this center for agricultural distribution. Our conclusion was that indeed most commerce is alongside the PanAmerican, and sure enough, when we returned to the highway we spotted a café that promised lunch for $2500 pesos, or about $5. As soon as we saw steak on the menu, we tossed the idea of the cheap lunch. For about $7 we each had more steak than we could eat.

We turned off the main highway at San Fernando and drove west along the Ruta del Vino de Colchagua to the small town of Santa Cruz. Along the way we stopped at a fruit stand and bought some undernourished red grapes, presumably from the vines just over the fence. Those grapes were the sweetest most grapey grapes we ever had. For whatever reason they escaped the wine vat.

We were booked into a modern hotel on the town square, the Hotel Santa Cruz. This seems to be the place that everyone stays in, especially groups touring this very popular wine region. It is a rambling colonial style umber building with tile roofs, balconies, a huge dining room to accommodate groups, and a courtyard of outbuildings. Two doors down on the square is a municipal building that dates from the 1700’s, so something equally historic must have been demolished or incorporated into the hotel. Arms merchant Carlos Cardoen built the adjacent Museo de Colchagua to house his collections of pre-Columbian artifacts, arts, and historical materials. We could have spent the entire day in the museum, and in fact the Cranes returned for a two hour audio tour.

The town of Santa Cruz, centered around the square, caters to tourists but also seems to be a regional center for shopping. We enjoyed visiting a shop where they were making leather goods and cowboy hats for working folk. Silver jewelry and lapis were popular, as well as copper. We met tourists from Japan, there to taste the wine. Busloads pulled up and disgorged English tourists.

We decided to tour one of the vineyards and we sent by the hotel to Montes,in the Apalta valley. The wine has a seraphim on its label, and the original sculpture graces an ultra modern lobby. The winery is newly build to the specifications of feng shui. Grapes are taken to the roof so that gravity propels them into the crusher. The barrels are stored in a shadowy vault and Gregorian chants are played through speakers, softly, to make for tranquil wine. Spooky. After the tour, which was given by a German woman doing an internship through a wine importer, we asked if we could picnic on their back terrace overlooking the vines. After some hesitation at this very American request, she hunted up four glasses, we purchased our bottle, and hauled in our cheese and fruit. We could see up and down the valley, grapes almost at their peak, some of the finest plantings in the world, and not a soul in sight. That was a privileged meal. As we departed I almost wanted to tiptoe through the deserted winery, out to our lonely vehicle in an empty parking lot.

We thought it easy to take a small detour in returning to Santa Cruz, but found that Chile’s dirt roads and changing maps are deceptive. We were sort of lost for about two hours, but discovered brand new wineries in adjacent valleys, and plantings that could only be a couple of years old. The railroad has been in these valleys for generations, and the old stations built of adobe are as yet in their original state. I am sure that a return to this area in a few years will reveal gentrification and economic progress. I am glad we came when we did.

Dinner that night on the other side of the square at the classic Santa Cruz Social Club was on a terrace, under vines with grapes cascading through the pergola. We may have been the only diners, as the touristas were all at the hotel.

Friday we drove to Santiago, checking in to the massive Sheraton as planned. The Sheraton is set on a campus of greenery by the river, with a dining pavilion by the pool and dozens of lounge chairs in the shade. From this point on we did not drive. We took a car to the local Epson office to thank Dan’s associate for her help in booking the Vina, Santa Cruz and Sheraton hotels. Our taxi then dropped us at the Lastarria area, downtown, where we found a charming sidewalk pizzeria. Around the corner we discovered Cerro Santa Lucia, an historic hill with a fort and a small handicrafts market. From there we taxied to the Avenida Bellavista to look at lapis. Here we found our greatest bargains, and the best quality.

Saturday was our last day. My goal was to go to the Central Fish Market and look for the Patagonian toothfish. The building itself is worth a visit, as it is a century old and has been a market for all that time. High lofty ceilings with a dim latticework of windows and columns give the brightly illuminated stalls the appearance of movie sets. Colorful sellers bark their specials, while housewives jostle to purchase their best fish. Dozens of fish mongers have stalls and hundreds of Santiagans shop for the freshest of fish. Most of the fish are unknown in this country. Sea urchins, really ugly sea urchins, are a delicacy. King crab is sold whole. Conger fish, with its eel like tail, is a local specialty. Fish restaurants are tucked in corners of the building. We chose to eat upstairs in airconditioned comfort. Dan ate the sea urchin, which he has previously eaten as sushi in Japan. In this case he had many times the amount served as sashimi. Gross to me.

On leaving the market I was busy photographing the central train station next door, designed by the Eifel of the Eifel Tower, when I tripped over a paving stone and went down very solidly over the curb and into the street. A painful cab ride later, I was in bed with ice packs and four ibuprofen.

For the rest of that day and the next I enjoyed the comforts of the Sheraton. A farewell toast to the sunset over the Andes from their club level restaurant. Four movies in the room. A lazy Sunday in the shade around their pool. My leg was not broken, I could walk on it in pain, but the swelling was alarming and I was grateful to make it through the long flights home with no complications. Six weeks later there is still some swelling a bit of pain when I press the flesh.

Still, it was a wonderful trip to an enchanting, fragile landscape.