After our first month of travelling in relative safety and normality in Australia and New Zealand we were both ready to venture into the unknown of South America. Our first destination is Santiago, Chile where our main focus was to first bring in the new year with a bang and then organize buying a car to be our home for the remainder of our travels.
Our point of arrival into this huge city was the Hostal Plaza de Armas. This hostal is a converted apartment that in its heyday I could only imagine this would’ve been the place to live in the city. The penthouse apartment has a balcony overlooking the picturesque plaza de armas. The first thing we noticed in the plaza were the numerous couples just going at it with reckless abandoned. We thought we landed on lover’s lane or something. Apparently we would learn that this would be a common theme in Santiago. Here’s an example: packed restaurant, tables on top of each other, food getting cold on the tables, guy and gal making out like it’s their final meal together before he ships out to a certain death at war only to come up for air long enough to take a few drags of their cigarettes before diving back in. Our first thought of Sanitago is, it’s clean but smokey, the people are lovely but horny and the most popular pet dogs, among the thousands of strays, are pugs and beagles. Maybe that is our money maker, introducing the puggle to Santiago.
Jetlag was a major nuisance throughout our first few days in Chile as we couldn’t sleep past 6 am and then crashed hard for an extended siesta around midday. We could easily see why siestas are such a part of the culture in Latin America as the heat makes you not want to go outside and just sleep in the shade. Speaking of which, the 10 day forecast just does not change here: 90 degrees and sunny, every day. Once we got over the jetlag, our first item on our “to do list” was to acquire a RUT Number. We knew this was the first thing we had to do to in order to buy a car since all the blogs and literature we read on the topic said so. The major problem with this is that we had no idea what a RUT Number was or how one goes about acquiring one. No problem, we’ll just ask the employees at our hostel, they should know. One after the other the response was similar: “Que?” Brilliant. Some more research had us seeking out the “Servicio de Impuestos Internos” (Chilean IRS). When we finally found the right office , third attempt, we were kindly informed by the information desk to go around the side of the building to the other entrance. We knew this only because he was and expert at charades as he spoke zero English. It is at this time that I would like to impress upon everyone reading this that without at least minimal conversational Spanish, there is no chance that you would be able get by in Santiago. Most of our conversations begin with “Hablas ingles?” and every time the response is simply “No”. I would take this opportunity to thank Senora Naughton for those three years of Spanish that somehow stuck with me and now allow me to at least formulate coherent sentences in order to get by here.
Back to the SII. So we entered the building and saw a big sign simply labeled “RUT”…we have arrived. After struggling to understand the new information desk woman, we did as we were told and grabbed a number as if we were waiting to order some smoked turkey at the deli counter and took a seat to await our turn. This place had all the makings of the DMV back home. Our number was 89, but when the sequence got up to 85, one of the guys behind one of the windows signaled us over. A nice old man, that could still spot two gringos in need of help through his bifocals. Apparently wanting to practice the few words he spoke in English, he took pity on us and helped us. Two minutes later, after simply informing him we wanted to buy a car and then handing over my passport, he handed me a piece of paper with my new RUT number – that was easy.
Gleaming a new found sense of confidence, the next day we thought we’d try our luck finding a suitable car. As we have yet to determine what our definition of suitable would be for this trip, this was more of a reconnaissance mission. We found a car lot that was only one subway transfer away and thought we’d start there. One thing I will say about Santiago is that the metro system is very clean and efficient. We’ve never waited more than a couple minutes for a train and although crowded, they seem safe and tidy. Now everything about Santiago has been pretty much the same as we’d expect just a little bit different. We arrived at Planet Car and walked onto a massive lot of used cars. Hundreds of cars of all makes and models. Now back home we’d expect a slick talking used car salesman to quickly become our best friend and put us in a car we don’t want. Here we wandered around for a good half hour before we had to track someone down to show us a car. The other thing was this was more of a public lot in which each car salesmen had about 10 cars on display that he personally owned. All this only came to light when we stumbled across the only English speaking guy in the lot who showed us around a bit. Anywho, I guess what we really came away with was we don’t know what we want. 4WDs aren’t cheap and cheap cars won’t get us very far. We thought, “we’ll figure this out after new years”.
Our point of arrival into this huge city was the Hostal Plaza de Armas. This hostal is a converted apartment that in its heyday I could only imagine this would’ve been the place to live in the city. The penthouse apartment has a balcony overlooking the picturesque plaza de armas. The first thing we noticed in the plaza were the numerous couples just going at it with reckless abandoned. We thought we landed on lover’s lane or something. Apparently we would learn that this would be a common theme in Santiago. Here’s an example: packed restaurant, tables on top of each other, food getting cold on the tables, guy and gal making out like it’s their final meal together before he ships out to a certain death at war only to come up for air long enough to take a few drags of their cigarettes before diving back in. Our first thought of Sanitago is, it’s clean but smokey, the people are lovely but horny and the most popular pet dogs, among the thousands of strays, are pugs and beagles. Maybe that is our money maker, introducing the puggle to Santiago.
Jetlag was a major nuisance throughout our first few days in Chile as we couldn’t sleep past 6 am and then crashed hard for an extended siesta around midday. We could easily see why siestas are such a part of the culture in Latin America as the heat makes you not want to go outside and just sleep in the shade. Speaking of which, the 10 day forecast just does not change here: 90 degrees and sunny, every day. Once we got over the jetlag, our first item on our “to do list” was to acquire a RUT Number. We knew this was the first thing we had to do to in order to buy a car since all the blogs and literature we read on the topic said so. The major problem with this is that we had no idea what a RUT Number was or how one goes about acquiring one. No problem, we’ll just ask the employees at our hostel, they should know. One after the other the response was similar: “Que?” Brilliant. Some more research had us seeking out the “Servicio de Impuestos Internos” (Chilean IRS). When we finally found the right office , third attempt, we were kindly informed by the information desk to go around the side of the building to the other entrance. We knew this only because he was and expert at charades as he spoke zero English. It is at this time that I would like to impress upon everyone reading this that without at least minimal conversational Spanish, there is no chance that you would be able get by in Santiago. Most of our conversations begin with “Hablas ingles?” and every time the response is simply “No”. I would take this opportunity to thank Senora Naughton for those three years of Spanish that somehow stuck with me and now allow me to at least formulate coherent sentences in order to get by here.
Back to the SII. So we entered the building and saw a big sign simply labeled “RUT”…we have arrived. After struggling to understand the new information desk woman, we did as we were told and grabbed a number as if we were waiting to order some smoked turkey at the deli counter and took a seat to await our turn. This place had all the makings of the DMV back home. Our number was 89, but when the sequence got up to 85, one of the guys behind one of the windows signaled us over. A nice old man, that could still spot two gringos in need of help through his bifocals. Apparently wanting to practice the few words he spoke in English, he took pity on us and helped us. Two minutes later, after simply informing him we wanted to buy a car and then handing over my passport, he handed me a piece of paper with my new RUT number – that was easy.
Gleaming a new found sense of confidence, the next day we thought we’d try our luck finding a suitable car. As we have yet to determine what our definition of suitable would be for this trip, this was more of a reconnaissance mission. We found a car lot that was only one subway transfer away and thought we’d start there. One thing I will say about Santiago is that the metro system is very clean and efficient. We’ve never waited more than a couple minutes for a train and although crowded, they seem safe and tidy. Now everything about Santiago has been pretty much the same as we’d expect just a little bit different. We arrived at Planet Car and walked onto a massive lot of used cars. Hundreds of cars of all makes and models. Now back home we’d expect a slick talking used car salesman to quickly become our best friend and put us in a car we don’t want. Here we wandered around for a good half hour before we had to track someone down to show us a car. The other thing was this was more of a public lot in which each car salesmen had about 10 cars on display that he personally owned. All this only came to light when we stumbled across the only English speaking guy in the lot who showed us around a bit. Anywho, I guess what we really came away with was we don’t know what we want. 4WDs aren’t cheap and cheap cars won’t get us very far. We thought, “we’ll figure this out after new years”.
The plan was simple for New Years: start with a few cocktails and a bbq at our hostel, head down towards the Entel Tower to watch the fireworks spectacular, party like rockstars back at our hostel. Everything started out swell: pisco sours poured all around, Chilean wine a plenty, and even a taste of a Terremoto (concoction comprising wine, pisco, pineapple ice cream and a hint of grenadine) along with some nice ceviche and assorted appetizers. When the time drew near a group of about 10 of us grabbed our bottles of bubbly and headed down to enjoy the fireworks. Now this was quite the scene. I believe the population of Santiago is approximately 6 million and to me it seemed like at least half of them were in attendance in the now pedestrianized streets. Tinsel wigs were common, faux snow in a can being sprayed everywhere was even more common. This was our first interaction to the Chilean people and we were very pleasantly surprised. Chileans are salt of the earth people that are proud of their culture and want to share it with outsiders. All the locals around us included us in all their chanting and sing-a-longs and when the clock struck midnight and all the corks flew into the air, there was no place else that we would’ve rather been.
The fireworks then began to light the night sky as the Chilean songs echoed through the streets. About a half hours works of brilliant fireworks with men, women and young children looking on in awe would be the final highlight of our evening. When the crowds began to disperse, we began the short walk back to our hostel. Something caught our eye down a side alley, As we got closer we heard something rustling behind us. We turned around quickly only to find ourselves in a stare down with what I believe was Chile’s fiercest bull. What was a bull doing loose on the street in Santiago?! Not knowing which was to turn, Jo quickly tore a red table cloth off a nearby café table and dared the bull to charge. It threw her up into the air and… OK, Now that would’ve made for a great story… unfortunately ,it’s all bullshit. Truth is that Jo slipped on a bit of litter that covered the ground, left over from all the celebrations, as she ran away from a crazy British girl trying to spray champagne on her and fell. Point being, Jo was now in a lot of pain and there is no way to get her to the hospital as the entire city is in party mode with no vehicles to be found. Jo popped a Percocet as we rode out the night in our not so quiet hostel room. Loooooong night.
The fireworks then began to light the night sky as the Chilean songs echoed through the streets. About a half hours works of brilliant fireworks with men, women and young children looking on in awe would be the final highlight of our evening. When the crowds began to disperse, we began the short walk back to our hostel. Something caught our eye down a side alley, As we got closer we heard something rustling behind us. We turned around quickly only to find ourselves in a stare down with what I believe was Chile’s fiercest bull. What was a bull doing loose on the street in Santiago?! Not knowing which was to turn, Jo quickly tore a red table cloth off a nearby café table and dared the bull to charge. It threw her up into the air and… OK, Now that would’ve made for a great story… unfortunately ,it’s all bullshit. Truth is that Jo slipped on a bit of litter that covered the ground, left over from all the celebrations, as she ran away from a crazy British girl trying to spray champagne on her and fell. Point being, Jo was now in a lot of pain and there is no way to get her to the hospital as the entire city is in party mode with no vehicles to be found. Jo popped a Percocet as we rode out the night in our not so quiet hostel room. Loooooong night.
At first light we made a move – quite literally as this was the day we were moving hostels as our current one was all booked up, perfect timing. I packed all the bags as Jo tried to keep her mind off the violent pains in her arm. Getting dresses, typically a 5 minute task turned into about a half hour operation, especially as Jo kept fainting, from the pain, or the Percocet, or both. Awake at 6, we were finally heading to the hospital at 9. Now since it was now new years day, the only hospital open was the Posta Central, which we would quickly learn was Spanish for “old crappy emergency hospital with no English speaking employees or modern equipment”. Now we’re doing this trip to experience new things and learn about other cultures but this isn’t exactly what we had in mind. It took a good 15 minutes of the usual half assed Spanish on our part and the ridiculously fast speaking Spanish on the other end of the conversation to figure out that everything must be paid in full before any medical attention is given to the patient. The good news is that in Chile, medical attention is very affordable. $30 got us as far as a consultation with one of the two doctors that was working this fine morning. We were escorted to the consultation “box” and seemingly given preferential attention over others who were waiting longer…stupid gringos. There were also 4 security guards standing at our door, not sure what the purpose of them was as a woman (a fellow patient) wandered right in to us, mumbled something in Spanish (presumably because we went ahead of her because we were considered a “grave” case), and shuffled off again. The doctor glanced at Jo’s arm and nodded to the nurse in concurrence of her suggestion that X-rays were in order. Jo was shown to a bed and I was handed an invoice and pointed back in the direction of the reception desk. X-rays would cost another $45, the only problem was that this was a cash only hospital and the only cash I had was about $10. She took my money, stamped the invoice and back I went.
This is when the fun began. While Jo was lying in her room trying to have a conversation with the woman next to her who had a similar new years eve story except it was her ankle, I was waiting just outside the room in the hallway (I wasn’t allowed in the room with her for some reason I wish I could tell you about). Now the hallway in an emergency room on new years day is quite the scene. One woman there has the distinguished roll of mopping up all the blood from this particular hallway. Just as she finished her rounds, a woman was wheeled past in a wheelchair with her leg wrapped in a towel. This towel must’ve had quite the leak because it seemed there was a faucet underneath with blood spilling out of it. One nice long trail of blood about 100 meters down the freshly cleaned hallway. I was also strategically positioned across from the unisex bathroom from which at this time a woman exited seemingly after trying to freshen up from what looked like a beating she took from her pimp. She exited just in time for another youth to run in her place just as the vomit was projecting from his mouth…lovely. As the mopping lady started again on the bloody mile, the most disconcerting scene yet was unfolding. A male in his early 20s strolled down this same corridor. From the front it appeared an animal rights protester had taken aim at him and poured a bucket of blood on him from head to toe. He was just casually strolling down the hallway, shirt off, now red boxers exposed as his now red jeans are pulled down quite low, it wasn’t until he passed by me that I realized what he was there for. He had a few nice fresh stab wounds in his back – good friends he has, I thought. At this point the gentlemen seated next to me simply said “streetfighter”. He went on to tell me that he was one of many steetfighters that are frequent visitors to this hospital. I instinctively looked around to see if Ryu, Ken, the guy with orange hair or any of the other streetfighter members were around as well. The Screaming and moaning from all the private rooms was like something out of a torture horror movie.
By this time Jo had learned that the woman lying next to her 1. Couldn’t speak English, 2. Sprained her toe in a tragic drunken ping pong table incident and 3. Was nice enough to do her best to translate for Jo to the doctors. The doc came and kindly, with zero bedside manner, twisted and bent Jo’s arm in every direction to just make sure it was actually broken, and if it wasn’t, to make sure it now was. No painkillers were given during this torture process. The fellow patient in Jo’s room was finally released with just a wrapped ankle, Jo prayed she would be that lucky. The girl and her husband said goodbye to us like we were lifelong friends, hugs and kisses all round, like I said the Chilean people are so warm and friendly (minus the doctors at this hospital). Anyway when the medic finally realized that I had paid for the x-rays, he wheeled Jo off to the radiology ward to take a better look at her wrist/elbow. 15 minutes hadn’t passed when she was back in the same room and an actual doctor came to see us shortly after. Now, again, my Spanish is good enough to order cocktails and dinner and check into a hotel, it is not good enough to converse with doctors about orthopedics. This is the extent of what we came away with: Jo had sustained 2 fractures, one to her radial neck (dunno where the other one was), he was for some reason worried about the bone at the base of her thumb, she would require a cast for two weeks and then exercises for one additional week before heading to a different hospital for more x-rays. His congratulations to me for understanding came in the form of another invoice.
This is when the fun began. While Jo was lying in her room trying to have a conversation with the woman next to her who had a similar new years eve story except it was her ankle, I was waiting just outside the room in the hallway (I wasn’t allowed in the room with her for some reason I wish I could tell you about). Now the hallway in an emergency room on new years day is quite the scene. One woman there has the distinguished roll of mopping up all the blood from this particular hallway. Just as she finished her rounds, a woman was wheeled past in a wheelchair with her leg wrapped in a towel. This towel must’ve had quite the leak because it seemed there was a faucet underneath with blood spilling out of it. One nice long trail of blood about 100 meters down the freshly cleaned hallway. I was also strategically positioned across from the unisex bathroom from which at this time a woman exited seemingly after trying to freshen up from what looked like a beating she took from her pimp. She exited just in time for another youth to run in her place just as the vomit was projecting from his mouth…lovely. As the mopping lady started again on the bloody mile, the most disconcerting scene yet was unfolding. A male in his early 20s strolled down this same corridor. From the front it appeared an animal rights protester had taken aim at him and poured a bucket of blood on him from head to toe. He was just casually strolling down the hallway, shirt off, now red boxers exposed as his now red jeans are pulled down quite low, it wasn’t until he passed by me that I realized what he was there for. He had a few nice fresh stab wounds in his back – good friends he has, I thought. At this point the gentlemen seated next to me simply said “streetfighter”. He went on to tell me that he was one of many steetfighters that are frequent visitors to this hospital. I instinctively looked around to see if Ryu, Ken, the guy with orange hair or any of the other streetfighter members were around as well. The Screaming and moaning from all the private rooms was like something out of a torture horror movie.
By this time Jo had learned that the woman lying next to her 1. Couldn’t speak English, 2. Sprained her toe in a tragic drunken ping pong table incident and 3. Was nice enough to do her best to translate for Jo to the doctors. The doc came and kindly, with zero bedside manner, twisted and bent Jo’s arm in every direction to just make sure it was actually broken, and if it wasn’t, to make sure it now was. No painkillers were given during this torture process. The fellow patient in Jo’s room was finally released with just a wrapped ankle, Jo prayed she would be that lucky. The girl and her husband said goodbye to us like we were lifelong friends, hugs and kisses all round, like I said the Chilean people are so warm and friendly (minus the doctors at this hospital). Anyway when the medic finally realized that I had paid for the x-rays, he wheeled Jo off to the radiology ward to take a better look at her wrist/elbow. 15 minutes hadn’t passed when she was back in the same room and an actual doctor came to see us shortly after. Now, again, my Spanish is good enough to order cocktails and dinner and check into a hotel, it is not good enough to converse with doctors about orthopedics. This is the extent of what we came away with: Jo had sustained 2 fractures, one to her radial neck (dunno where the other one was), he was for some reason worried about the bone at the base of her thumb, she would require a cast for two weeks and then exercises for one additional week before heading to a different hospital for more x-rays. His congratulations to me for understanding came in the form of another invoice.
Same old story with the receptionist lady, she said the cast would cost another $70, I reminded her that I had no money, so she stamped me paid and told me to come back and pay when I had the money…..really? By the time I returned with the “paid” invoice, Jo was lying flat on her back with her arm in a primevil torture rack in a room that had it’s door marked with “Yeso”. I would later google yeso translation and have it return as the literal translation for “drywall”. With her arm suspended by her middle finger in a chinese finger trap, the medic fit her with a sleeve, wrapped her arm in foam padding, and started to spackle the drywall onto her. Squeezing her arm in just the right broken spots. 20 minutes later, Jo had a plaster cast from her bicep to her thumb weighing in at what seemed like about 15 lbs. This being held up by a piece of 1” wide cheesecloth “sling”. This would be fun. Let me remind you, this is Day 3 of being in Chile!
We knew this meant that our car search would be put on hold for a bit. Wandering around used car lots in 90 degree heat does not quite agree with a heavy, painful plaster cast. We took this “opportunity” to slow down and see what Santiago had to offer. The first thing we did was upgrade to an apartment with air conditioning to get Jo somewhat comfortable. The second thing was to upgrade her sling to a slight less crappy one, but one that was built for an extra large man (all they had left).The third thing was to upgrade our pain medication stash. I learned the word for painkiller and headed to the nearest farmacia. The nice woman quickly sorted me out, gave me a slip and told me to go pay at the cashier. Now remember when I said that things were pretty much the same but just a little bit different? Well the cashier was a shared cashier between the pharmacy and the adjacent sex shop. So here I am paying for my pain killers while surrounded by….i’ll leave that part to your imagination.
We knew this meant that our car search would be put on hold for a bit. Wandering around used car lots in 90 degree heat does not quite agree with a heavy, painful plaster cast. We took this “opportunity” to slow down and see what Santiago had to offer. The first thing we did was upgrade to an apartment with air conditioning to get Jo somewhat comfortable. The second thing was to upgrade her sling to a slight less crappy one, but one that was built for an extra large man (all they had left).The third thing was to upgrade our pain medication stash. I learned the word for painkiller and headed to the nearest farmacia. The nice woman quickly sorted me out, gave me a slip and told me to go pay at the cashier. Now remember when I said that things were pretty much the same but just a little bit different? Well the cashier was a shared cashier between the pharmacy and the adjacent sex shop. So here I am paying for my pain killers while surrounded by….i’ll leave that part to your imagination.
It took a couple of days of catching up on sleep and Jo’s pain to die down. We first explored the neighborhood of Bellavista. This neighborhood is pretty much split exactly in half with the west side being grungy with most all the shops and restaurants displaying street art on their facades and the east side a bit more upscale with some of the best restaurants and jazz clubs that Santiago has to offer. We spent an afternoon just wandering around with our resident photographer snapping away and the amazing street artwork, one handed no less. Evenings were spent trying to decide between the dozens of restaurants and listening to the numerous wandering musicians. Whether you’re in a high end restaurant and slumming with a liter of Escudo beer at a sidewalk table, the one thing you’ll always find in common is that smoking is permitted everywhere and everyone in Santiago takes advantage of it. Places are a cloud of smoke 24/7, maybe if half the city stopped smoking , we would be able to get a view of the amazing Andes surrounding the city!
Our next area of exploration would be Bellas Artes (translated as “fine arts”). It truly lived up to its name as it provided for a very European ambiance. With numerous street cafes, wine bars and upscale shops, we decided that if were ever to move to Santiago that this would be where we would make our home. One while out for a quiet drink and a cheap meal seated outdoors at a café, masked men and women dressed in traditional garb danced passed handing out flyers for a local festival. Of course we would have to see what this was all about. Not 15 minutes later we found ourselves at the start of a night parade where they just took over the usually busy streets and marched and danced through the neighborhood. Good times.
We really like Santiago and if we spoke Spanish fluently I’d imagine we’d like it even more. Tomorrow is the day of reckoning as we stumbled on a very modern looking hospital in Bellavista and our plan is to wander is and see what it would take to get an appointment with an English speaking doctor, preferably one with and orthopedic specialty.edit.
Our next area of exploration would be Bellas Artes (translated as “fine arts”). It truly lived up to its name as it provided for a very European ambiance. With numerous street cafes, wine bars and upscale shops, we decided that if were ever to move to Santiago that this would be where we would make our home. One while out for a quiet drink and a cheap meal seated outdoors at a café, masked men and women dressed in traditional garb danced passed handing out flyers for a local festival. Of course we would have to see what this was all about. Not 15 minutes later we found ourselves at the start of a night parade where they just took over the usually busy streets and marched and danced through the neighborhood. Good times.
We really like Santiago and if we spoke Spanish fluently I’d imagine we’d like it even more. Tomorrow is the day of reckoning as we stumbled on a very modern looking hospital in Bellavista and our plan is to wander is and see what it would take to get an appointment with an English speaking doctor, preferably one with and orthopedic specialty.edit.
click on the photo below to see gallery
click below to see the video
Apologies for the malfunctions in the video, the netbook can't handle the editing.
