CHAPTER 31
With the I-pod blaring through the speakers Dave and I joined the band Bishop Allen in singing their song “Like Castanets”- a catchy tune about the must see sights of Santiago, and what became our theme song for the week- as we drove down the wide familiar avenues and navigated our way through the traffic. After having lived in Santiago for a year following college I was excited to be back and was especially looking forward to sharing my favorite parts of the city with Dave and his mom Kathy.
We began the week with a “day in the life of Kacey”. We made the memorable hour and half commute from the center out to the southern end of the city to the University of Duoc, where I taught English classes. Because the students were all on summer vacation the building felt empty when we arrived in comparison to how I remembered it: brimming with students who were hanging out in between classes either playing “taca-taca” (what we call foosball), grabbing a bite to eat from the tiny snack shack, cramming for an exam, or, as their profesora, I’d like to think studying and practicing their English for my class. However, we were lucky enough to find some of my old co-workers hard at work even though it was their summer break. For me it was wonderful to see these faces that I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again, and to introduce them to Dave. Conveniently we finished the tour right at lunch time so we had the joy of eating lunch with Valentina, a good friend who still works at Duoc. We headed over to the Mall for sandwiches and completos– Chile’s version of a hot dog, usually smothered in mayonnaise, guacamole, and diced tomatoes. After finishing up lunch, Valentina had to go back to work so Dave and I continued our tour- next stop: my old home-stay. It almost felt as if I had never left and brought back a strong nostalgia for the life I lived in Chile two years earlier. We didn’t have to knock to let them know we had arrived- Luthie, my host-mom, was sitting in the front shop when we walked up. It was a joyful reunion, and she quickly invited us inside and called to her three grandchildren who she now does daycare for. “Look who’s here!” The kids came running and embraced both Dave and I in many little hugs. We sat and told everyone all about our trip as the afternoon quickly slipped by. Before we knew it once (pronounced oh-n-say), a light meal that is usually served around our dinner time and in the house I lived in almost always consisted of a modest spread of mini baguettes, a flavorless white cheese, and guacamole, served with juice and/or tea. In some cases once replaces dinner, and other times it is simply a precursor to a heavier meal that would be eaten around 10pm. The tradition of once started when the businessmen would all leave work and sneak off to a nearby bar to sip on a strong liquor called aguardiente before returning home to their families for dinner. Since the liquor of choice, aguardiente, has 11 letters they began covertly referring to this time as once, eleven in Spanish. By the end of the evening we had gotten to visit with almost everyone in the family and had made plans to partake in an asado, a Chilean BBQ, at Luthie’s son’s new house with his wife and daughter later that week. We said our good-byes and made the long journey back to the center.
It was an early morning as we drove to the airport in the dark to pick up Kathy, who was flying in from Peru for her third and final visit with us before she was due back in the states. Because of Kathy’s late-night departure and early morning arrival we all rested up at the hotel before venturing out to see the city. We began with the Cerro Bellavista where we took the teleferico– a vertical cable car up the hillside only to witness what could have been an amazing bird’s eye view of Santiago, had it not been for the blanket of smog that was looming over the entire city. The sprawling metropolis sits in a bowl at the foot of jagged snow-capped peaks on all sides, and because of this unique location the smog settles over the city making the mountains around it virtually invisible most days of the year. This day was no different than the rest and we were only slightly able to see the out-line of the mountains. Kathy treated us to a typical Chilean summer drink called mote con huesillos. It is an extremely sugary juice, almost like syrup, with a dehydrated peach, huesillo, and fresh cooked husked wheat, mote, that both settle to the bottom of the thick drink. To say the least, it was sweet.
With so much left to see in the city we didn’t linger too long at the top of the lookout. We took the metro to the next spot mentioned in Bishop Allen’s song: Santa Lucia. We hiked up hundreds of stairs to the battlements at the top of the fortress-turned-city park, where we squinted through the smog to make out the buildings below.
With just a final brief stop to check out the clean architecture of the government palace, La Moneda, we were all eager to get back to the hotel and get ready for Kathy’s “welcome to Chile dinner party”. We took her to one of my favorite Italian-Chilean restaurants, Liguria. It was crowded as usual so we sat in the bar and sipped drinks while we waited for our table outside, where we eventually all devoured large flavorful authentic dishes.
Taking a break from the city life we set out for a day in the country. We visited and toured the third largest vineyard in the world, Concha y Toro. Then we spent the afternoon strolling the streets of the small town of Pomaire. This artisan village is famous for its pottery and the main street is lined with stores filled with pig shaped pots, piggy banks, vases, and bowls- really anything you can think of that would be made out of clay. We were bewildered by the emphasis on pig shaped pottery at first, but it turned that the locals consider pigs to be lucky, so they creatively incorporate it into most of their earthenware. We made our purchases, yes, wondering how we were ever going to get such large and fragile souvenirs home, before settling into a late Chilean lunch.
There was no better way to end our time in Santiago other than with good friends- it was the big night of the asado at Miguel and Marcela’s new house. Miguel offered to pick us up at a meeting spot in the city that we had agreed upon in advance. Arriving a bit early, we stopped into the adjacent grocery store and bought a cake for the evening as a gift of our gratitude- my favorite treat from my time in Santiago was a dessert called torta de mil hojas, cake of a thousand layers, due to the dozens of thin sheets of phyllo dough stacked upon one another, held together with generous amounts of caramel. With the cake in my lap tempting our self control, we sat and waited. Miguel walked up smiling and we could tell that he was as excited as we were to share our final meal with him and his family in their new home. We pulled into a brand new development at the foot of the Andes Mountains, and were welcomed in as if we were special guests. For me it was so good to see Marcela and felt as if I was catching up with an old girlfriend whom I had been friends with forever. I was excited to introduce her to Dave as my fiancé, and to Kathy as my future mother-in-law. We got the full house tour given by their young daughter, Javiera, who was proud to show us her new room. No time was wasted, as wine and beer were quickly served when we returned back to the kitchen. Marcela worked on the various dips and salads inside, as Miguel tended to the charcoal grill outside. Kathy, Dave and I separately drifted from the kitchen to the back offering help. With such gracious hosts our offer to help was usually declined and instead turned into a chance for them to refill our half empty glass.
The Chilean asado puts the American idea of BBQ to shame. Instead of serving simple hot-dogs and hamburgers with potato chips, in Chile an assortment of meats and cuts, varying from chorizo sausage links to steaks to chicken are all spread onto the grill. The grill is first rubbed down by a half of an onion- to give the meats a hint of flavor- and then while cooking, the meats are seasoned only with large crystals of salt. The person tending to the grill always eats a fare portion while cooking- to make sure it is coming along- and is happy to share a bite with whoever is near-by. Chorizo takes the least time on the grill, and is served to standing guests as choripan, the sausage in a baguette style sandwich, while the rest of the meal is finishing the long cooking process. Once the remaining meat is cooked to a savory perfection, it is placed in a big clay pot- usually one from Pomaire- that sits on top of a matching clay dish filled with hot coals from the grill, and functions to keep the meat warm while it is waiting to be eaten.
We sat down to a table so full of food we wondered how in the world it would ever all get eaten. We did our best and delighted in all of the different flavors, while sharing in good conversation. By the time the night had come to an end no one could eat another bite and Miguel kindly offered to give us a ride back across town to our hotel. It was the perfect ending to a perfect stay in Santiago.
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