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The healthy option (single portion size)
Uruguay dishes up typical South America junk food, which is either heaven or hell, depending on your point of view. Street bites are the worst ‘yellow food’ imaginable ie chips, cheese, white bread. It’s fun for a while, but after three months my guts are waving the white flag and may commit harikari unless they see vegetables pronto. It doesn’t matter what you order – chivitos, completos, lomitos, or the ominously named finito (chicken and chips to you), it’s all high cholesterol fodder, and always, always comes with fried potato, fried meat, and cheese. Right, I’m off to track an apple, there must be one here somewhere..
By the way, a chivito like the one above doesn’t exist. It never ever has this much salad.
Beginning to lose count of the number of times we`ve pitched up in Santiago, but we`re here again to engage in some serious libation. The drill: dinner at 10pm, drinks from midnight. For the average Santiagoan, its not a night out unless it finishes at dawn (they`d never meet the early-to-bed Australians). Any day of the week bars are fit to burst at 4am with punters across generations. Heaven knows how any work happens, but they seem to have a lovely time.
Tonight is memorable as we went out on the town with a large group of locals to see how partying is done properly. Arrived at Ernesto`s flat to see a scantily clad woman having make-up applied by three frenzied make-up artists, accompanied by the click/whirr of a camera, and all watched by a nervous dressmaker and assorted `helpers`. Everyone is animated and in excellent spirits as we speak dreadful pidgin Spanish (us) and excellent English (them) to share jokes.
Several hours and beers later, we meet everyone at an underground club where our diva is performing. Predictably, it`s packed to the rafters. She goes on to perform a very competent set of 1920s-1940s cabaret classics of the `ahh, I know that one` ilk. Apparently here in Chile this is cutting edge stuff, and we certainly seem to be surrounded by the cool kids who are enraptured. Although we agree that the performance is good, to be honest, it`s no better than you`d find in any Brighton club, and certainly not new. Also, curiously, it lacks the self-aware humour of its western counterpart, and arguably of the music to which it pays homage. Strange given the temperament of our hosts. Still, you`ll be pleased to hear that us Brits did the nation proud, throwing shapes on the dancefloor and singing along (rarely with correct lyrics or tune).
In bed early by local standards at 5am, happy, but with the beginnings of sore throats (maybe we were shouting a little rather than singing..). We`ve got a bus to catch early tomorrow and know already that this is gonna hurt.
but sadly we have to leave.
Enormous mysterious moai; crazy birdmen; friendly locals (no driving licence for the hire car, no problem); gorgeous beaches (inc. equestrian interest); and year-round weather reliably sunny 25C ish (a good thing as we pitched the tent by the sea).
Wow, what a place.
Anakena Beach
Spent much of today working up a pinkish glow at Anakena beach. Arguably one of the most beautiful – and quietest – spots on the planet, where sunbathers are closely guarded by a row of stern moai.
A curious thing happened. Was sprawled on the sand listening to the waves when a group of 14 wild horses silently cantered onto the beach, stopping abruptly directly in front of me. Less than a meter from pointy hooves should have been frightening, but wasn´t. The gang stopped for maybe 2 minutes, several taking the opportuity to enjoy a roll in the hot sand. Then, with a flick of manes, they were off, leaving as quietly as they had arrived. This dream-like sequence (thank you, I was awake) was not noticed by the other six people on the beach who were all either at the water´s edge or gazing out to sea. The only evidence the horses were there, hoofprints in the sand…
I like it here, a lot.
- Birdman´s home
According to Rapanui oral traditions recorded by missionaries in the 1860s, paradise couldn´t and didn´t last on Easter Island. Overpopulation and diminishing resources created conflict between clans and war raged. As is is often the way in tough times, the wacky float to the surface like – well, you know – and a new system, the Cult of the Birdman was born.
In a nutshell, clan chiefs put forward their best sportsman for an annual Birdman Competition. The winner determined overall island king who would reign supreme from the isolation of an extinct volcano. Extra frisson was added by the fact that losing clan leaders could have their heads removed by the new king on a whim. The competition? To collect the first Sooty Tern egg of the year from Motu Nui islet, separated from Easter Island by tretcherous waters. Many competitors were drowned, eaten by sharks or killed falling from nest sites on cliffs. The winning competitor´s reward for this near-death experience? Several virgins who had spent their lives locked in a cave to keep them pale. Nice.
Fact of the Day: The first-recorded European contact with the island was on April 5 (Easter Sunday) in 1722, when Dutchman Jacobn Roggeveen visited for a week.
Waiting at the quarry forever
One day with a guide, now I´m a moai expert (aherm.)
All moai were born in a central quarry between 1100 and 1680AD. Today at extint volcano Rano Raraku you can still view them in various stages of carving. It´s extraordinary.
Only 1 in 4 of the 887 statues were installed on their ahus (stone platforms), the rest remain forever at Rano Raraku or lie in state en route to sites, never having made it (perhaps due to damage in transportation).
The largest moai ever raised on a platform weights an impressive 82 tons and is 10m tall. Naturally there is considerable speculation as to how it was moved, and some comedy experimental archeology has been performed to discover how the statues reached their sites. Unbelievably, in 1986 archeologist Pavel Pavel was even given permission to move a real moai(!) Suggested transport methods include using tree sleds, wooden rollers, and (the in vogue explantion today) by rocking and pivoting on their bases to ´walk´ the statues. This third idea is supported by Rapanui stories which describe moai walking from the quarry using the spiritual power mana, but which was probably a team of 20 men sweating profusely.
In the 1980s one Moai even went by boat to Japan for a spot of fundraising…
Today the Japanese content themselves with this beauty: http://www.japangadgetshop.com/products/Big-Moai-Tissue-Dispenser.html
Ahu Tongariki
Easter Island, Rapa Nui, Isla de Pascua, whatever you call it, is one of the most isolated spots on the planet. Yes we´re here, over 3500km from the nearest serious landmass, Chile, who incidentally annexed it in 1888. So we´re still in Chile then..
UNESCO love it, and judging by these guys above, what´s not to like? Besides, this is the first time we´ve arrived anywhere and beauties wearing slips of nothing and toting garlands of flowers have welcomed us (seriously). Neil was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
Fact of the Day: Easter Island is famous for its 887 extant monumental statues, called moai, created by the early Rapanui people. Moai are representations of ancestors who watched over clan villages. I know you knew that.
Altitude: 4,321m
Gyser field 7am
4am start in -10 C to reach the highest gyser field in the world. El Tatio gysers are quite something, shooting boiling water (85C at this elevation) up to 10m into the sky. Very careful steps are taken as we walk through the bubbling field on a thin slippery icy crust. Tourists have died falling through here.
Bubble puddle
Our guide produces a wonderful novelty-value breakfast which includes eggs and milk boiled in the gysers. Super, until we realise that not only sulphur but arsenic is dissolved in the water..
On the way back, the hills are alive with cool camelids – wild slim and elegant guanaco and viara and their chunkier, fluffier domesticated cousins llama and alpaca.
Afternoon. Took a tour out of town to see the appropriately named Valle de la Luna. Here the desert is squashed between two mountain ranges, the pressure of which produce these otherworldly shapes.
Valle de la Luna
Evening. The Atacama desert is prime star-gazing territory: no light pollution and near-perfect climactic conditions. To make the most of it, we’ve just spent several enjoyable hours with French astronomer Alain Maury – his enthusiasm is so infectious that he’s stoked my Patrick Moore obsession (yes, I know) and I’ve promised myself an astronomy course on my return to the UK. Along with explaining the sky ABC, Alain let us look into his nine huge telescopes. Highlight? A clear view of Saturn and it’s rings.
As I said, out of this world.
Stupid Tourist of the Day: Met a guy today who did the same bungee jump as Neil back in South Africa. Except he did it with the rental car keys in his pocket. Yup, they’re still at the bottom of that enormous gorge. He lost four days waiting for the rental company to send out a new car and 600 dollars for that little mistake. Doh.
We’ve arrived in the very north of Chile. San Pedro is an oasis in the Atacama desert, surrounded by gysers, sand dunes, salt flats and tiny Andean villages. Sounds good non?
Fact of the Day: the Atacama desert is famed as the dryest place on the planet. In some places rainfall has never been recorded. Crumbs.
We gotta get out of this place... 
