Imagine a city where rolling hills meet the glittering Pacific, where fishermen sell their wares from rusty boats docked on the wharf, a city where rows of houses of every color imaginable are crammed together so their sides are touching, where the Bohemian architecture marks a countercultural hotspot, all nearly destroyed by an earthquake in the early 1900s. Sound familiar?
No, not San Francisco. Turns out Chile has a gem of its own: Valparaiso.
Some Chileans will even call the comparisons with The City valid, recalling the sailors who dubbed it "Little San Francisco" during its golden age of shipping before the days of the Panama Canal. But there's a distinct Latin American twist to this coastal town, where aged mechanical elevators called ascensors take tourists up the hills for a nominal fee--not quite cable cars, but since when do SF residents put up signs in their windows protesting a hike in cable car fares?
In Valparaiso, the charm rests in the interchange between native culture and modernity, a microcosm of Chile's grappling with its repressive, authoriarian past and its recent capatilist reforms. Take the town jail, for example, which was converted into a public museum. We were the only ones perusing the dusty confines of the ex-carcel on that Sunday, and to say the experience was surreal would be an understatement. Stone busts of topless women, murals, grafitti, worn down soccer fields--all contributed to a truly haunting experiece, the ghosts of the former inmates ever so elusive as we peered into the cells and out into the courtyards.
Getting to the prison/musem from our hostel was an adventure in iteself. The city is arranged like a game of chutes and latters, with the ascensors, staircases, and even slides helping to navigate the hilly terrain. Several turns found us practically in residents' backyards, but such was an up-close, down-and-dirty view of Chile that we had not yet found in Santiago.
The hostel was also a rousing experience, which we shared with several of our Stanford counterparts, as well as a creepy dude from Connectucut and some more aloof Europeans. It was as magical as Valparaiso itself, every wall painted a different color, and the rooms are all situated around a central atrium, which we filled with songs and guitar playing deep into the night (thanks, Canadian dude whose name I cannot recall, for letting me borrow your axe). Of course, my broken finger is still paying the price for such musical indescrecioins, but it was well worth it. I found myself considering how amazing it would be to open up and operate a hostel in Chile, perhaps owning/managing a vineyard on the side? We'll see how journalism goes...
The other attraction of that weekend was Vina del Mar, a more touristy destination for the less-Bohemian inclined. It boasts cleaner streets, more polished architecture, and an actual beach. While it lacked the cultural vibrancy of Valpo, it was great to walk up and down the shore checking out the artisans' stalls, watching the Chilean kids fly their kites in the sea breeze, and just dig my toes into the sand. The ritzy hotel even had a casino on its main floor, but Zach and Patchez had already lost decent sums of money before I could place my bet, so I politely abstained. Finally, we were graced with one of the more magnificent sunsets I've seen, the vast expanse of the Pacific topped with cotton candy clouds.
Thanks to Zach for providing the photos, as my camera was down for that weekend. I got it back up and running, however, and once I get the pics online from Pucon, I will give this week's true update.
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