21.06 - Day 2 - Santiago, CHL

Santiago

Monday 21sy June 2010

Jetlag still having its way with a 5am wake up. The light is certainly not to blame thanks to the fetching purple eye mask courtesy of LAN Airlines (though their other gift of ear plugs may have to come into play if Krish continues with his snoring that was on show last night) nor also is natural light to blame – with the looming mountain range in the East it takes that little longer for the sun to rise which means that when we hit the streets at 8am amongst business folk purposefully striding to work it is an eerie dawn light that is only just starting to emerge. The jokes (or were they taunts?) of “enjoy your last warm shower” come flooding back as the shower jets out icy cold water. Fortunately that’s only because I’m the first one up so hot water is soon pouring through the waterfall shower head. All good. For now.

Our early search for a coffee gives us a choice of Café Ceribe or Café Haiti, both mentioned in our guidebooks. Whilst my book simply states that they both offer good coffee for the discerning businessman, Krish’s book informs the reader of its coffee-with-legs status. Brass fittings and chrome colours suggest Paris to me whilst the micro-skirted waitresses I know to you suggests seedy red lights. This set up seems to be a hangover from the sexist 70’s and 80’s. And indeed it may be that the same waitresses started work then. But the way everyone goes about buying, drinking or collecting espressos could be any coffee shop in the world.

Outside, the sight of riot police patrolling the streets at 9am on a Monday morning seems a trifle unnecessary. The suited workforce appear an unlikely crowd to be breaking the peace any time soon. Of course. This is the World Cup and this is South America.

At 10am we watch the first half of Chile vs Switzerland at the hostel lured in by the free empanadas (one of the South American tasty treats of choice: small pastries stuffed with mince/cheese/ham combinations thereof). At half time we wander back over to the riot police who are in a street surrounding a giant public screen. They looked comical earlier in their green turtle shell padding – though a few kicks from those shin pads might make you quickly think otherwise.

Seemingly no one went to work this morning and a festival atmosphere presides over the city. Luckily Chile win the match (Group Stage, 1-0) much to the delight of the chanting crowd. #Chi Chi Chi, Le le le, Viva Chi-Le# the most popular one and indeed the only one Krish and I could pick up. 

Some opportunistic scally tries to wrench my camera out of my hand as I go to take a photo – luckily the pulsating surging crowd movements meant I already had a strong grip  on his target and we promptly hot foot it away.

All the jumping and cheering creates a hunger (as if an excuse is needed for us two) so lunch is at another city institution Café Nacional. Osso Bucco in a gelatinous gravy with rice fills a hole. 

From there we attempt to reach the bottom of the funicular which leads up Cerro San Cristóbal to views over the city. Post-football crowds are still abundant, all cars filled with people leaning out waving Chilean flags and tooting their horns. No map is an oversight on our part and the combination of the non tourist district we find ourselves in and a crowd which now has an edgier undertone means we come back over the river where suddenly more riot police equipped with shields and batons, horses too, are surrounding a square we find ourselves in. Despite the English hooligan reputation, objects being tossed by the crowd is not what we have signed up for so we take refuge in an ice cream parlour (conveniently…). 

From the comfort of our table and behind my raspberry yoghurt ice-cream and mango sorbet we watch events unfold outside: Riot police charge into a park. Youths charge out the other end. Riot police on motorbikes and tank like bus trundle past. Kid runs out and throws a rock at the bus. Bike riot police race back and catch kid. They handcuff him to the bike and frog march him away – he has to run to keep up with the bike pulling him. Sounds exciting and I don’t think this happens every day – even the staff were intrigued and had their noses pressed up against the windows.

We finish up and head back to the hostel, passing round a group of lurking lads. As we walk down the street we spy the handcuffed youth still attached to the bike, as they wait for a van to collect him. At this point the group of kids just passed gather up courage and jog down the street putting Krish and I between themselves and the police. Thrown stones start crashing down. We opt to stand still rather than run; I’d rather see the projectiles coming and chance my arm at dodging them. More police quickly appear on the scene and the kids melt away.

For Spain vs Honduras (Group Stage, 2-0) we content ourselves with the more sedate setting of the hostel.

Post match we set out for another local’s watering hole Panjero; the only place to serve Tarramotta – a mixed pint of cider, beer and spirit with an over sized dollop of pineapple ice-cream floating on the top. The ice-cream takes the edge off the toxic combination but one is enough for us. Though seemingly not for most of the other punters who we guess have been there since the first match finished five hours previous. Barrels for tables, straw on the floor to soak up spillages (or blood?), guitars, accordions and even a selection of glass bottles for music to supply the music. Perhaps not somewhere you’d take your parents.

From this base level things head upmarket with a couple of empanadas for dinner followed by coffee and chocolates at Café Opera – one of the smartest establishments in Santiago. Several marathon pool games later (the table is uneven ok?) in the hostel and Day Two draws to a close.