The bread and butter (FINAL ENTRY!)

24 August 2012

In trying to find an appropriate way to close out this blog, I selected a topic pleasing to me, to readers, and to the internet in general - food! (with pictures)

What exactly I am closing with is the bread basket of Chile. Literally, the basket of breadstuffs that comes out at some point at a meal - typicaly after the food has been ordered - accompanied by at least one sauce and sometimes butter, sometimes oil.

Rewinding a second, bread is something very dear to my heart. If it is not making up the bookends of my daily sandwich, I'll still usually find a way to include it in my consumption that day. I make my own bread in a breadmaker. Bread was arguably what I missed most living in Thailand, and what I cherished most living in Paris. Who knew that this June I was coming to the country that consumed more bread per capita than almost anywhere else in the world?

Now there is plenty of lousy bread here, don't get me wrong. In fact, I would venture to say the majority is bland white bread with little nutritional benefit or taste. Only upscale supermarkets stock a selection of whole grain options, and even bakeries disappoint. But fortunately, this isn't the bread I'm talking about.

Instead, this blog is devoted to the bread served in restaurants. Traveling to different parts of the country and eating out for dinner, I've experienced plenty of meals out. What impresses me is the quality, freshness, and diversity of the breads proffered (as well as the sauces). Typically I prefer to wait to crack into a basket of bread until I've started my meal - as they do in France - but when that Chilean bread comes out crispy and warm it is mighty hard - and I dare say foolish - to resist.

I will now take you on a tour of some of the fine breadstuffs I have encountered while in Chile.

Buen provecho!

So here's the basic. Cute, tasty rolls warm to the touch with a soft interior but crunch exterior, making for a perfect landing spot for the salsa the restaurant provided. Here butter was provided as well.

At this Valparaiso restaurant famous for its "chorrillana", bread takes a backseat (as you can see). In a rare instance, bread is sliced - I think large rolls were used - and a spicy paste was provided. Both were no-no's in my book, but the steaming pile of french fries, eggs, onions, and beef was more than enough.

Class at this upscale eatery. Only one (or maybe I ate a second) small roll was provided, but they were delicious, covered in butter, then served alongside a creamy sauce with a nice little kick to it.

Eating again in Valparaiso, here I zoomed in so you could look closely. No special sauce - but both butter and oil is provided. The key is that these little guys are not really bread, but something between crackers and rolls, with herbs baked into them. Amazing on their own, enhanced by butter, and heaven when dipped in some olive oil.

Ah yes, perhaps my favorite - and one of the only restaurants I have eaten at multiple times (Del Beto). So you have butter and the oil/vinegar mix, as well as an excellent homemade salsa that - following Chileans' palate - has negligible spiciness to it, though clearly you could open the jalapeno if you wanted some. But I love the bread basket, because it includes not only tender, warm dinner rolls, but the classic squash-flour fried patties of Chile - "sopapillas"

My last meal in Pucon stood out not for the bread, but for its accompaniments. Excellent butter, olive oil, and seasoned eggplants swimming in olive oil that was sort of like a paste. But then on the right side there was a tri-color medley: herbs of provence-esque mix, sea salt, and merken, the famous spice of the indigenous southern Chileans.

Points given here for creativity and variety. At the vegetarian Quinoa restaurant, they created a homemade spread that was a bit like hummus, then instead of a bread basket a little hemp pouch that was a grab bag of wholesome goodness, like wafers, bread sticks, and multigrain rolls.

I hope this entry, and the blog in general, was as gratifying and satiating to read as it was to write. Again, this will be my last post for this blog, but if time and workload permits, I intend to continue blogging when back in the States. If you'd like to keep following along with my writing, let me know and I'll share!

Argentina: in pictures!

21 August 2012

Words first, then the photos.

Before I even set foot in Argentina, I had great expectations for the place. This stemmed mainly from personal accounts by people I knew and trused who had spent time in the country - especially Buenos Aires. But it went beyond that. Argentina, like Brazil, attracts a great deal of attention in the western hemisphere, and causes one to free associate upon the four syllables - soccer, beef, tango, wine, nightlife, Patagonia, Che, etc. After spending nearly three months on the OTHER side of the Andes, I began to detect that Chile lived somewhat in the shadow of its better-known neighbor. The fact that Chile has Argentine BBQ restaurants and is obsessed with defeating Argentina's soccer team only adds to the sense that there may be an imbalance in the relationship (there were very few references to Chile in Argentina).

All this is to say that it should come as no surprise that actual Argentina, as I experienced it this last week, was something of a let down. This was not all the country's fault. After cooperating with my travel plans and remaining mostly non-existent during my time in Chile, the South American winter reared its head and spat out some lousy weather. Heavy snows just days before my departure closed the mountain pass from Santiago to Mendoza, meaning the scenic bus ride over the Andes (considered one of the best reasons to go to Mendoza from Chile) was cancelled and I had to scramble to find an expensive flight that same day. Mendoza's weather was nice, but when I got to Buenos Aires, it poured rain for a full day, an apparent rarity for the city even at this time of year.

But enough griping. The weather cleared up, and I was able to do and see much of what I set out to. Allow me to recount the trip now in photo caption format...

A large boulevard in Mendoza, with an old aqueduct running underneath, which solves the question of how this desert city can support such a vibrant wine industry. My pleasant hostel was on this street.

The literal center of the city, which followed a very rigid and somewhat boring urban plan - but it was a plan nonetheless - contained a large square which was great for people watching. Apparently to avoid future destruction from earthquakes, city planners made sure to restrict building heights, create broad streets, and include plenty of trees and open spaces.

Another plaza, this one the famous Plaza Espana, with tile work from Spain that everyone raves about . As much as I did not want to be impressed, I must admit the tiles and layout of the park were quite lovely.

And now we're in Buenos Aires, at Puerto Madero. This has been an adaptive reuse episode long in the making, as old warehouses along this shipping canal were converted into expensive and touristy restaurants. (I promise I won't only write about urban planning)

Don't ask me about the ship behind me. I am standing on the bridge in the previous photo, a Calatrava spectacle which apparently is supposed to evoke Tango dancers. No, I did not tango in Argentina.

The main square of Bs As (as they abreviate Buenos Aires), with one of the oldest buildings still standing on the left in one of the oldest squares. Behind me is the pink presidential palace, and looking straight ahead down a major boulevard is the congress building.

Yep, Argentina still seems to be quite enarmored with Evita (at least, I think this is Evita). There were more posters and art with her around the city - and a surprising lack of Che imagery.

One of several fine Art Nouveau buildings in Buenos Aires. Of course, it was no accident I came across this, as I devoted much of Saturday to tracking down all the major AN structures in the city. They probably make up about half my photographs, but I won't bore you with them here.

Here we are at the other end of Avenida de Mayo, where the Congress sits on one side of the plaza. The planners of Argentina were apparently enamored with Paris and sought to mimic it with grand boulevards and plazas and classic buildings. They pulled it off, but if you haven't noticed, I found this grandeur a little boring.

Last day, and finally some nice weather. A very different part of Buenos Aires, the old working class port area called "La Boca," starting at this ancient transporter bridge that no longer functions but sits as a protected historic monument. I sat staring at it for about ten minutes and still can't determine how exactly it's supposed to work.

What La Boca is famous for - colorfully painted houses made of scrap wood and metal. I was completely unprepared for the absolute onslaught of tourism in the center of this historically poor neighborhood, and the contrived tango dancers, lackluster street art, and overpriced restaurants sucked a lot of the charm out of it for me.

I wandered further afield in La Boca, trying to uncover what my Mom would call "a real working place" (as opposed to a locale contrived for tourism), and encountered buildings that had the faded, less vibrant paint and more basic features that were supposed to be more characteristic of the area.

A neat public works project to provide street art along an alley, with the Boca Juniors soccer stadium in the background. This stadium (nicknamed the chocolate box for its shape) hosts one of South America's most popular soccer teams, and apparently their games against their arch rival are more intense than Yankees-Red Sox.

Requisite shot. Of course, I had Argentine beef and wine while there. I had to pace myself to avoid eating it every meal. Review: Malbec wine was better than I expected (I may even like it more than Chile's signature Carmenere), but the steak, although good, was not heavenly enough to change travel plans for.

I ended the day in the San Telmo barrio, famous for its Sunday street fair in its historic plaza. I don't know why I listen to guide books' advice about great shopping or fun markets - it usually just results in me feeling extremely out of place in high traffic tourist corridors where I'm trying to snap photos while everyone else wants to buy souvenirs. Humbug.

Wish fulfillment

14 August 2012

This will be a brief entry, as I practically have one foot out the door. The intention is to relay where I just came from, and where I am going.

The weekend prior, I fulfilled a lifelong dream and saw penguins in the wild. (No joke, in a Spanish-English exchange early this year, a Chilean asked me my favorite animal and I honestly replied "penguin." So clearly being this far south in the globe meant I could not leave before visiting them in their natural habitat.) Fortunately for me, the Humboldt penguins - a threatened species - live further north where the Humboldt current (go figure) hits the Pacific coast of South America. If you are hoping for a series of photos capturing these funny birds hopping around or diving, you will be sorely disappointed. The penguins, on an island reserve, could only be observed from a boat, and I did not bring my camera out into the turbulent, wet conditions. They were not so easy to spot amidst the rocks, but when I saw them waddling about I was as happy as a dog finding leftovers.

I must cut this entry short because I have to finish packing for a 5-day journey to Argentina, starting tomorrow with a bus ride over the Andes. I can't wait, as visiting this country - especially the capital, Buenos Aires - has always been high on my bucket list. Thus two straight weekends of wish fulfillment. This time I am bringing my camera, so I hope to return with a boatload of photos.

Architecture in Santiago

13 August 2012

As the son of an architect currently studying in a school of architecture and planning, it is practically impossible for me to spend time in a city and ignore the design and arrangement of buildings.

My first impression of Santiago's buildings, as I communicated to a friend in an initial email, was something like this: the buildings are fairly blocky and dull, typically gray, and even if there is color it is obscured behind a grime of soot and pollution, not to mention the lack of sunlight penetrating the smog. I had flashes of Eastern Europe, from my semester spent abroad in Prague. In general, buildings near the center of the city tended to be extremely dull concrete apartment towers, slightly less dull modern glass skyscrapers, and considerably less dull structures from about a century ago attempting to mimic the styles of classical Europe.

I was fairly unimpressed, until a unique feature caught my eye: plants on the sides of buildings.

I am a huge fan of this "vertical landscaping" or whatever you want to call it. Any time I saw it in the U.S. I would become giddy. Here in Santiago, it seems to be a trend in design like bay windows or clinker bricks sprinkled throughout the city (well, mostly in moneyed areas).

I first noticed the feature when walking down the main boulevard, and I encountered a university building that had clearly been designed with a trellis for plant life on the exterior (I can only imagine how much more robust it would be after winter ended).

Then upon discovering a bus route that went directly to my home (as opposed to the subway), I began to see more of the city's buildings. And more buildings with plant life deliberately arrayed on the walls. Like restaurants and boutique shops.

The pinnacle of this design, oddly, was an Intercontinental Hotel in the center of the city. It featured plant life crawling up all 20+ stories of the facade on two sides.

I hope the benefits of greenery on exterior walls is self-evident. Besides being quite lovely aesthetically, vegetation can provide insulation for the building (keeping it warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer), act as a sort of air pollution scrubber while adding oxygen into the atmosphere, and can attract beneficial insects, birds, etc. Plus, you can even grow herbs and other useful plants if you want!

 

A critical survey of Santiago's architecture, this is not. I imagine you can find that elsewhere. But I liked the hidden music reference embedded in the title. Plus, what if integrating plants into building design truly is the next defining trend in architecture (check out all the green roofs in Chicago). Then this may be quite prescient!

Villarica: in pictures! [part II]

7 August 2012

So the second part of my weekend adventure began once I left the town of Villarica and circled the lake to the town of Pucon. This was basically base camp for the region, where tourists stayed to be in the shadow of the volcano and alongside the lake, with plenty of excursions just a short trip away. The core of my weekend was to be an all-day ascent of Villarica Volcano on Sunday, for which I would be waking up quite early, so I figured I should take it easy the day before and get a good night's sleep. What follows is a chronological photo capture of my Saturday.

Pucon. Here is the city hall and fire department, with the volcano looming in the distance. On the city hall is a signal that changes color depending on the activity of the volcano.

This is a band made up of police officers playing various musical numbers (I have a video of them doing a rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, if you're interested) for what I have to guess was recruitment purposes?

Saturday afternoon I joined a bunch of Chileans on a five-hour tour of the region, stopping at various scenic points like this river heading down to Villarica Lake.

I was excited by the prospects of this educational nature preserve, but we had no special guide and all the signage was in Spanish, so I didn't learn as much as I hoped.

The bigger draw in the private reserve was a path along the river...

...where we all had our pictures taken...

... in front of loud rapids. (from living in both countries, I've realized a strange connection between Chileans and Thais in their complete fascination with rapids and small waterfalls - and the opportunity to photograph them)

Next stop was Lake Caburgua, which afforded views of a half dozen different volcanoes in the distance.

Of course, always looming in the distance wherever I journeyed on Saturday was Villarica, a sort of Mt. Doom foreshadowing the tribulation I would be experiencing the next day.

The aptly named Blue Lagoon which fed into Lake Caburgua, a beautiful azure blue that changed color according to the rainfall.

The Ojos de Calburgua - don't ask me why the name, but the twin falls were pretty.

The tour ended to everyone's delight, except mine, with a two-hour bath - I mean relaxing soak - in thermal pools. The setting was pleasant alongside a rushing river, and theoretically the water was coming from naturally heated springs up the hillside, but after about fifteen minutes I was ready to go. Humbug.

Sunday. Judgment day. For realz.

The ascent up Villarica Volcano, a living breathing sulfur-spewing active volcano that had a major eruption in recent history, has somehow worked itself into the lexicon of extreme adventure experiences that Pucon offers. Truly, for the adrenaline enthusiast one could overdose in this region on kayaking, sky diving, skiing, rock climbing, canyoning, bungee jumping and a host of other extreme activities, some of which I had never even heard of before (riding on rapids on a boogie board? flipping on zip-lines in forest canopies?) But all these have to bow before the massive metaphor of the Villarica Volcano, a 9000+ foot mountain who dares any visitor to the area to attempt to summit the glacier-covered slopes before they fancy another of the more pedestrian activities like para-sailing or mountain-biking.

Of course I had to try it. Maybe it was because my guide book wouldn't shut up about Pucon, maybe it was because it was a different region of Chile in general for me to experience (Lakes District), maybe it was because my friends had just done it the weekend previous, but it seemed like going to Pucon/Villarica and ascending the Volcano was simply a necessary part of my Chile experience.

The experience began actually before Sunday, when I called ahead to inquire about going up the volcano. A reputable tour agency said it was possible, but that I would need to check back in closer to the day I wanted to climb because of the weather. It turns out I could not confirm my trip until the night before, as they wanted the most up to date weather forecasts as possible (storms, clouds, and even strong winds can delay or cancel an ascent). Saturday night I went to the tour agency and they said the weather looked acceptable for a Sunday climb, and they outfitted me for the journey. I was given:

- sturdy snow pants
- a tough but not too heavy jacket
- special hiking boots that were more like snowboard boots
- stirrup-like attachments that went over the boots to protect the area where the pants met the boots
- cramp-ons: hard-core spikes that get affixed to the boots for traction on the ice
- an ice axe
- a helmet
- thick gloves
- an orange saucer to ride down the mountain upon (called "glaciating" - for many the best part of all) when you reached the top
- a diaper to wear over your butt so you didn't get too wet when glaciating
- a big backpack to carry all this in
- plus this list of things you were in charge of providing for yourself:

Sunday morning my group checked back in to the office a little before 7am for another weather update. It was windy but clear, so the trip was a tentative go. Everything was still dark at this point, and I woke up feeling the wear and tear of an overnight bus ride, a lingering cold, and the general chill of winter in the mountains. I had eaten a modest breakfast and packed a bunch of healthy, energy-boosting snacks to feast on along the way, plus two liters of water. But I was still having trouble keeping my eyes open on the hour-long drive to the volcano's base.

Following protocol, once we arrived at the parking area, the tour guides again checked in on the weather forecast. It was fairly windy, which we couldn't feel much at the base, but which the fumes from the open volcano drifting horizontally indicated was fairly strong higher up. The forecast indicated that the winds should die down as the morning went on, meaning we were allowed to proceed, though there would be the possibility the trek would be suspended or canceled halfway up if the conditions did not improve (and we would get no money back at this point). Did we care to proceed? Two Germans bailed out, but the rest of us strapped on our gear and headed for the mountain.

Because of the winds, the ski lifts which normally operate in the winter were closed that day. This important detail is a major variable, as it allows some trekkers to bypass a major chunk of the climb (maybe 1000 meters), especially nice in the winter when the ground is covered in snow or ice. We were not so lucky, and so had to start from the base on foot. The guides gave very little instruction, saying only that the goal was to get us moving to warm us up and that we would stop after a short while to regroup and really begin the true ascent, when they would train us in all our gear.

This short warm-up jaunt felt like it could have been a legit morning hike on its own. I was both a bit peeved because I had yet pulled my snow pants over my pajamas yet - as they instructed me not to - and more winded that I realized I should have been. Our regroup spot was a shed by the chairlifts. I was already feeling low on energy and began devouring my food supply while everyone else was gearing up. Then the guides gave an abrupt and fairly useless demonstration on how to hold the ice axe and use it when you toppled down the mountain at a 45 degree angle. It was at this point that I put on my snow pants, and the guides strapped all of our cramp-ons on.

The ascent continued, and this was much different. We were exposed on the north face of the mountain, heading directly up but having to zig-zag back and forth because the slope had become more steep. The cramp-ons helped gain traction, but walking on this ice with these heavy packs was slow going. The steps were small, the pace was slow and steady. And still I struggled to keep up.

I don't know how far into the trek it was or how much time had transpired, but I was suddenly faced with the stark reality: I might not make it. This creeping doubt only grew with every step up this mammoth mountain. I was impressed and distressed that no one else in the group seemed to be having much trouble or needing tiny breaks like I did. I began to lag behind. I looked up, and saw just how much of the volcano remained. I looked up, and saw that it was only going to get steeper - and then much steeper. The wind, which was not negligible but could certainly have been stronger, was blowing me off-balance. My backpack felt needlessly heavy. I wondered why I seemed to have no energy - was I that sick? Did I not get enough sleep the night before plus the busride before that? Did I not eat enough of a breakfast? (probably all true). I also had no illusions about how out of shape I had become, and how walking a dog for two-hours a day in a city is not the same as walking two hours up a steep incline.



Eventually I fell behind enough that one of the guides took notice. This was a curse and a blessing, as I finally had to vocally express and come to terms with my shame: "I don't know if I can make it," I replied to his query. He said the right things, encouraging me and promising to stick with me, but making it clear that he would not force me up the mountain if it wasn't going to be feasible. We started again at a slower pace, and he gave me some advice on how to tackle the mountain. This was, after all, my first time climbing a volcano, covered in ice/snow/glacier, wearing spikes on my boots and using an ice axe. We made it a bit farther, and by this time the rest of the group had made it to a rest point further ahead. Another guide came galloping down the mountain like a billy goat (jerk!) and inquired about our situation. It turned out that two others were considering turning back, but that the rest of the group would forge ahead as the weather seemed to be improving. What did I want to do?

I said I would hike ahead to where the two others were resting, and once at this windbreak my fate became clear. I could press on a bit more, realistically, but there was no way I could keep pace with the main group and there was very little chance I could make it all the way to the top. Even if I did and somehow did not injure myself, the time it would take would jeopardize the safety for coming back down. So I accepted my fate and admitted that I could not go on and would turn back with the two others. After catching my breath, gulping down water and snacks, and snapping a few photos from this (incredibly picturesque) vantage point, we headed back down.

There's no other way of saying this: I was feeling pretty dejected. I knew quite rationally that I had made the safe and wise decision, especially considering my physical condition. But this could not completely shut up the chorus of "never back down," "dig deep and find that hidden energy," "go the extra mile", "climb that mountain" and all the other endless cliches we are brainwashed with as Americans. I had chosen to follow prudent Alfred, knowing my limits, but like every kid I wanted to follow Bruce Wayne and forge heroically ahead. 

Adding insult to injury, the surface of the mountain was still too icy this early in the morning for the guide to allow us safely to ride down on our discs, so we had to tediously march down step-by-step. I was bummed, though part of me felt like the joy of zipping down the side of a volcano should only be felt by those who had conquered the volcano. This was an honor I had not yet earned.

Volcano 1, Keith 0 - in 2012.

Villarica: in pictures! [part I]

6 August 2012

My journey south this past weekend felt like a number of trips rolled into one, and so I'll be recounting it that way (also because it would be too long if I didn't break it up).

I traveled to the tourist hot spot known in most guide books and travel agencies as Pucon - up there with Patagonia and Valparaiso as must-visit corners of Chile - but I really feel like calling it a trip to Villarica. Villarica is the name of the town where I first arrived, the name of the lake around which all activity takes place, and the name of the enormous volcano which makes the area so remarkable in the first place.

So the adventure began late Friday night when I nearly missed my bus leaving from Santiago, running back and forth between bus stations trying to locate the bus (which was running late in fact). I made it, and crawled into the belly of this two-decker bus, where I had reserved a pricey premium seat for my 9-hour overnight bus ride, which would drop me off in Villarica early Saturday morning. It would have been a bit awkward to photograph what was essentially the giant bedroom of 10 passengers, so I unfortunately do not have any pictures of this. Basically, these seats recline fully horizontal, with a support that flips up under the legs, creating slender, curved beds for individuals. There are small separators between each seat, so that it is like a little sleeping cubicle. These sleeper buses are quite common in Chile, since the country is a narrow but extremely long place linked by one major north-south highway that runs much of the country's 3000 mile length, and this is a cheaper way to travel than flying. Some buses run from morning to night to morning again.

The bad news is that, like many things in Chile (or elsewhere in the world for that matter), the reclined seat was just not quite big enough for my 6'3" frame. If I wanted to fully stretch out my body from head to toe, like my Chilean slumbering neighbor, my toes would bump against the barrier in front of me and my head would crunch into the barrier behind me. So I had to curl slightly, or angle my body in strange ways. The good news was that in spite of this and the novelty of the whole experience, I think I actually got some zzz's.

I awoke (sort of) around 6am as my bus turned off the Transamerica highway and headed eastward to the mountains. The sun slowly began to diffuse the dark blue sky, and there was a painted-picture beauty to the landscape as tall, leafless winter trees in mist-covered fields were silhouetted against a sky that faded from indigo to pale yellow at the horizon. Then, after a small clump of trees obscured my view, the bus crested a hill and suddenly the vista that my guide book wouldn't shut up about finally unfurled. I had no camera on me to share a photo, but take my word that the serene blue lake, reflecting a snow-peaked volcano and rolling wooded hills around it, was stunning.

So what did I take photos of? I realize this is a lot of writing and no pictures for a "photo" entry. Part One may be a bit of a disappointment, sorry.

But when I was dropped off in the town of Villarica - still asleep, except for those watching the Olympics on the bus station TV - I had one of my most bizarre experiences in Chile, chronicled in photos here.

"Welcome to our simple town of Villarica. Here you have a modest, but not unattractive street corner, where your adventure begins."

"Hi there. I'll be your guide. I realize you didn't beckon me over or invite me along, but I will be accompanying you."

"You may not know this now, but we'll be walking around a while together, so I'm gonna need to stretch."

"Come along, this way."

"I can wait."

"On your right you see a structure exemplifying our town. Wood stylings, but large, modern, and slightly gaudy to attract the tourists our town depends upon. Look closely and you can see one of the annoying screeching native birds perched on the roof that drive all us locals nuts."

"Turn left and follow me now down this residential street."

"I thought you might enjoy this. Yes, we have our own Barry White here in Chile."

"Nice house, eh? Wouldn't look out of place in Berkeley. But just wait till you see what's behind it."

"That's right, the lovely Lake Villarica. You mean you haven't experienced our promenade?"

"Follow me down along the waterfront, it is quite pleasant this early in the morning before the joggers are out."

"You'll also see something many others don't - our town's respectable display of street art."

"Go ahead, enjoy the view, I'll just be here soaking up some rays. You're safe."

"Now isn't that lovely?"

"Oh, you like our aquatic bird life?"

"Allow me to stir them up for you, make them better subjects for your photograph."

"Don't forget to snap a shot of our namesake, the Villarica Volcano."

"Good, ready to stroll along the promenade a bit more?"

"Oh yes, more birds. Here is our 'estuary,' where the town runoff flows into the lake."

"The birds just love it, those sickos."

"Yep, we've got horses here too. What? No, doesn't excite mean in the slightest."

"In fact, I'll just watch over you from right here while you take another dozen pictures of birds."

"Yawn."

"Alright, I just couldn't help it. There were just so many lazing around here, it was too tempting."

"Oh did you notice this graffiti? Some of my favorite in all of Chile."

"But come, I really must show you our parkway as well. Lined with some gorgeous trees that make great bathroom breaks, I must say."

And so went my encounter (in my head) with this random local stray that approached me almost immediately. I was initially afraid he wanted to grab some food from me, he came up to me so boldly, but then from the moment he obediently sat down and looked sentiently into my eyes, I knew I had a new friend. It was remarkable how he followed me around all morning (or sometimes I followed him, as you can see from the photos). His looks were so intelligent, if you were on drugs you would swear he was some sort of dog possessed by a human soul.

Thus, it broke my heart more than a little when he suddenly decided not to turn the corner with me and left me to tour the rest of the town on my own. I staggered and bumbled past some more buildings, but the experience just wasn't the same. I decided to regroup, and head to a cafe that I knew would be open. It was on the main street, so I returned to the center of town...

 And who was there to hurry across the street to greet me?

"Hi there."