Valparaiso

Valparaiso is a one-hour getaway from Santiago, where it may be hard to find a place to stay last minute, but at least it's entertaining. My mom came down to visit for a few weeks and this was the first city I wanted to introduce her to outside of Santiago. We wandered around for an hour before the sun went down and still couldn't find a room for the night. I asked a street artist if he knew of a place and it must have been meant to be because that's when the adventure began. He told us to ask the the guy at the kiosk around the corner who referred us to the little old lady down the block who took us to her daughter's hostel back up the block who finally offered us a cozy room the size of a closet with a single bed that sunk to the floor like a hammock. The $10 also included a 13-year-old's diary lock for the door that had a busted window that someone skinny enough could crawl through. The daughter, her dad, and the friendly lady renting the room next door were all hearty folks, so my mom and I laughed it off and agreed to take it. Our stuff stayed behind and we headed out to a lovely dinner.

The next day we climbed up and down the city's hills, winding through steep streets decorated with colorful houses that cling to the mountainsides. We came across La Sebastiana, home of Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, who was said to observe the city like an admiral from his 360 degree view. We dissected parts of Valpo ourselves walking around photographing houses, people, and the stray dogs living on the streets. There were people who stared at us with our cameras, others who posed, and many who approached us to talk, like the police officer who warned us to be careful with our equipment, but then admitted he wanted to practice his English. He had a test the next day in his class. "I am married," he said, and pulled off his glove to show us his ring. We met a few people from the US, mostly younger graduates who were teaching English to University or Chilean Naval Academy students and it was interesting to share our observations from an American perspective about what it's like living in Chile. When we went back to the room to pick up our stuff, the lady next door saw us off. Not before informing us on how to make a mean pisco sour. We ran into the mother and daughter down the street who wished us well and invited us come back the next time we needed a place to stay. We backtracked to the bus station, saying goodbye to the kiosk guy and the artisan, and drove through the night up to La Serena for a few days.