Tuesday 14th October – Santiago
Okay, so the more astute amongst you may be wondering why I´ve got yet another entry on my blog entitled “Tuesday 14th October”. Before I got my flight, and was checking my ticket, I was most confused that it showed me arriving in Santiago before I left Auckland. I have since asked people onboard my flight, and my parents, who confirmed that this is actually correct due to time differences. With my amazingly non-scientific brain I then started thinking that I could just fly around the World forever and never age or die and, I don´t know, eat a lot of rubbish food and watch a lot of very dull films whilst getting pounded in the back by the annoying passengers behind me and developing D.V.T. Apparently, as I have once again been reliably informed, this would not work. Well other than the crap food, films, pummelling and D.V.T. bits of course.
Anyway, so it´s around three in the afternoon or something, on Tuesday 14th October (again, and I´m not any younger unfortunately) and I´ve got through customs at Santiago airport. When I got out of the airport I was quickly approached by a very helpful man who said that he could give me a lift anywhere free of charge prior to sending me on a wild goose chase to an internet terminal that didn´t exist. Luckily I had borrowed the Australian couple´s ´Lonely Planet´ on the plane and scribbled a few “Residenciales” (or to people like me B and B, guesthouse type places) down in my pad. Another helpful man approached me and called one of the numbers on my list up so that I could reserve a room. I informed him that I wanted to get a minibus, thinking that I would be sharing it with other people and thus splitting the cost. He got the first bit but seemed to not get (or not want to get) the second bit. So, I´m sat in a minibus, by myself, well actually with the driver, waiting for a couple of his mates who were apparently blagging lifts into the centre at my expense. By this point I couldn´t really be bothered to argue or try to renegotiate, and besides, they let me smoke in the van! So, we set off, me and three Chilean dudes who start to chat to me while their mate does his best impression of the worst kind of driving I experienced in Asia but with the added problems of the rest of the drivers seemingly wanting to obey road signs and the like and also him having a few road rage type incidents out of the window. One of the driver´s friends asked me if I spoke Spanish and when I replied that I didn´t he said, “Ah, impossible in Chile with no Spanish!”, which was, erm, reassuring. The whole way to the centre the guys were repeating, “Paris Londres”, which was on the bit of paper I had shown them. I wouldn´t have minded but it was almost like they were trying to convince themselves they knew where it was. All the while I could hear their mutterings I was trying to figure out which side of the road you were actually -meant- to drive on in Chile as the driver was certainly not making it clear. As I realised it was the right I scolded myself for landing in a country with absolutely no basic knowledge of it or its language.
When we got to the centre it transpired that the repetition of, “Paris Londres”, the whole way to town hadn´t worked, or it had, but that´s not where my guesthouse was. After traipsing round several hotels with me in tow, one of the guys was finally told that he was in the wrong area of town. By this point the minibus had gone, presumably to tell more English people that they wouldn´t cope, so another taxi was called. At this point I started to feel slightly better at having accepted a slightly over-inflated price for my ride into town.
I eventually got to my guesthouse, and, despite having spoken to someone on the phone who spoke in fluent English, the female proprieter spoke none. So I stand in reception for a while answering, “one”, to her question of, “Nombre?”, as I think that she´s asking me how many nights I want to stay, before realising that she´s actually asking what my name is. I manage to make out that there´s a free breakfast at some point, I´m guessing in the morning, and that checkout is at 11AM. Admittedly I managed to figure out the latter by looking at a sign on the wall which read, “checkout time 11AM”, rather than by using my instantly acquired Spanish skills! I´m eventually shown to my room which has dated decor but is simple, quaint and I like it. The property was like a large house with rooms around a central courtyard area and, if you can cope with the lack of English, I would recommend it: Santiago Centro, Paris Londres (although don´t pay too much attention to that bit – the importnat bit is next) Residencia Tabita, ph 671-5700, Principale de Gales 81.
After checking in I found out, with comedy actions, that there was a launderette and internet cafe just down the road so went and put my clothes in, checked emails and then wandered into the centre. My guesthouse was about a five to ten minute walk from the main shopping area which was great. Both the distance and the shopping area itself actually. I looked around at a few camera places which all appeared to have similar models to my, broken, camera but slightly worse and older. I went into one large department type store where I had a silly conversation with some staff who spoke no English. The only things which made sense to me were that firstly they had my camera and that secondly the guy who kept touching his nose was doing a cross-cultural sign which I later discovered was a, “you may really want to blow your nose” gesture!
I decided to ponder the camera decision and, eventually, via the palace and half of the city, found a restaurant on the way back to my guesthouse. I got completely confused by the menu and was despairing slightly as I was now very tired. Helpfully, or not, the waiter beckoned a guy over from the corner who translated the menu into a kind of English, German mix. Unfortunately my German is only slightly better than my non-existent Spanish. After a while I managed to convince them that I didn´t want half a dead cow on my plate and ended up with a rather nice potato and tomato salad with a cold Coke. Having filled my belly I headed back to my guesthouse where I slept horrendously soundly.