Introduction to Santiago Chile

Journey uneventful, but even the half-empty plane and two seats to myself didn't enable me to sleep so by the time I got to bed at 11.30 pm on Thursday I had spent nearly 40 hours with only maybe 30-40 minutes sleep. I hate long flights - left home on Wednesday 10:15, arrived Santiago at 08:50 on Thursday (12:50 time in UK). The views of the mountains on approaching to land were amazing.

'

DOGS
It's very noticeable. There are dogs everywhere, all very laid-back, peaceful, and healthy and well-fed, but clearly owner-less. They lie around in the streets and traffic goes round them, they come and lie on your feet and want stroking if you sit down, they may accompany you if you are strolling, they even take buses - hop-on, hop-off?
Chris and I took a 3 hour walking tour and learnt how this came about.
Immigrants from rural parts of Ecuador and Peru arrived with their families and their dogs, treating them as they had always done in the countryside, letting them run wild. Eventually the government decided that all these feral dogs had become a problem and organised a public kennel and dog-catching scheme. Dogs were taken off the streets and, if unclaimed, were killed. Inevitably some were killed which did have owners and the public became so angry that they mobilised to render the scheme ineffective by taking the dogs into their homes when the wardens were coming. The scheme was dropped and people continued to care for the street dogs and now you can see everywhere on the pavements bowls of food and water, cushions or cardboard for beds and people even make coats for them.

A poor street dog

VALPARAISO
We came over here by bus 1.5 hours, £7 return and it's great. We've been warned about some dodgy parts but it's mostly safe and very friendly but above all colourful. There's a flat strip along the edge of the sea then the town very quickly rises up steeply above with hundreds of steps and lots of funiculars and there are murals and graffiti everywhere and I love it.
We went on a walking tour the first day the best part of which was a mad bus ride up the hilly streets. We learned how the murals came about. Ships coming into the port would leave behind corrugated iron sheets which the locals used to surround and protect their houses. The ships often spent time repainting and left paint behind too which got used to adorn the corrugated sheets. This spread to decorating walls and steps and now it's awash with colour. And I can't show you.  Damn.
I've spent lots of time wandering round with my mouth open and camera ready. The port is very much a big commercial one, none of that pretty marina stuff but Chris and I walked along to where the sea lions hang out on a concrete platform just off the beach. Tomorrow we're going to take the bus a short way along the coast to Vina del Mar.

Give way to the right

We finally solved the mystery of the strange driver behaviour in our village. This came up at our aperos evening.  
The main D road goes right through the village but we have observed that many drivers on it give way to the Trebes road which joins it. We have taken the precaution of doing the same but not knowing why we do so here and not in other similar situations elsewhere. This is the answer

This sign at the entrance to the village means that you have just lost your automatic right to priority and must give way to the right. 


This is the sign when you're leaving the village and back to having priority.

In practice in Villaier, people mostly only observe it in relation to the (fairly main) Trebes road but I have been given way to when coming out of a very minor side street.
It wouldn't be too bad if the application of the rule were consistent but you definitely can't rely on it! 
I wonder who spread the rumour that the French had abandoned "priorité à droite"

Apéros

Last week we invited some friends for apéros. These were the hairdresser and her husband, Marie-Anik and Alain, and our new neighbour Laurence, who was kind enough to come and introduce herself when she saw our car parked outside. My hairdresser has always been very patient with my attempts at conversation and last year had us round for apéros with our Canadian visitors.
On that occasion I looked up the rules and found that one should not take wine, as it infers that your host hasn't any - or at least not good taste in wines ! - and should leave by 8.30 at the latest so your hosts can get their evening meal. So we took some chocolates but so enjoyed the company that it was about 9.30 before we left.  I wrote a thank-you email afterwards apologising for outstaying our welcome which was very graciously replied to - words to the effect that on an occasion such as that one doesn't watch the time.  So far so good.

So we invited them this time, along with Laurence who has bought the house at the end of our street. They came at 7 and brought a bottle of rosé and one of champagne. We had lots of nibbles and sat out in the courtyard. As time went on, we replenished the nibbles, and then the wine and eventually, about 11.30, made coffee.  They all insisted on clearing and washing up - Jon fell backwards climbing the stairs from the garden, which was a dramatic finish, but pretty well unhurt, though he broke a branch off the hibiscus.  So we finished up after midnight, full of olives, biscuits, nuts, bruchettas, fruit etc and wondering who wrote the rule book.

In the mountains

Two weeks ago we spent a wonderful few days up in the Pyrenees near Font Romeu.  I went walking there two years ago with French friends (some of you may remember pictures of the needle through my big toe on that occasion). At that time we noticed a hotel situated high up but on a plateau with flat walking around, and therefore suitable for Jon.  So we finally got round to booking in there for a couple of nights and it was gorgeous. It's at over 2000m so the air was crisp but the sun hot. Just lovely. We took a picnic and walked slowly to a nearby lake.

That's the hotel, Les Bones Hores, in the background

While Jon rested after our picnic I wandered off and saw 3 different species of gentians.

Lake Pradelle

Jon so loved it that he walked further than either of us thought he was able to these days.





The next day we walked about the same distance but along the road this time as the surface of the tracks is quite uneven.  Another picnic, this time in a meadow bright with Euphorbias.

I was there too

Cowboys and guinea pigs

We still do not have broadband set up and I have written quite a long piece on my PC without thinking that I have no way of sending it as yet so meanwhile here is just a little amusing incident from Saturday.

We were having coffee in the square on market day. It's so nice sitting watching all the activity and gathering our strength for the long walk back to the car with our load of fruit and vegetables.  As we got up to go a lady at the next table pointed out that Jon's hat was on the ground and not to forget it. She called it a "coo buy" hat.  Unfortunately I have been watching a French TV programme called "On n'est pas que des cobayes" (we are not only guinea pigs). It's a popular science programme where they investigate listeners' questions and invent experiments to test them out, ie they act as guinea pigs.
But cobaye didn't sound quite like what she was saying. I had her repeat it about 3 times before I realised she was calling it a cowboy hat. Then I told her I thought she had called it a guinea pig hat which she found quite amusing.
I think the new name might stick !  It goes quite well with his stalking wick.  So all a mad dog or Englishman needs when going out in the midday sun is his guinea pig hat and stalking wick.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Electrics, gas and credit cards

Well, we've kind of settled down to thinking the electricity will stay on but one of the consequences of the power cuts was an alarming explosion.  We were cooking together on the gas hob the next day when there was an almighty explosion and a smell of singed hair!  When we gathered ourselves together, checked that neither of us was injured apart from Jon losing the hair on the back of his hand, we found the reason. In the power cuts we'd had to use a cigarette lighter to light the gas hob and it had been left close to the hob. The heat from the hob made it explode but fortunately it didn't hit either of us. Quite a fright though.

As to the credit card, a rather tame ending to the story.  We got fed up of waiting for it to arrive at our neighbours' and asked at the bank.  It had mysteriously arrived that day (!), addressed to us in England and sent to our local branch (which we'd suggested but were told it was impossible).  The young lady who has been very helpful all along was clearly delighted, and so were we.

How bizarre

Ambika's first day with us.  It's 5pm and she's dying on her feet having left home about 4 am, so I drag her out on a bike ride. The weather was glorious and we are pedalling along when we hear a man's voice singing a repeated phrase from over in the vineyards to our right. It's lovely and peaceful and then we hear a brass instrument on the left. We're getting nearer and nearer, and when we're very close to the music we see a track leading into the woods. Naturally, we head for the sound, pushing our bikes and wondering what we will find. 
Well, we found Michel playing his horn, with his white gloves on (naturally).

He didn't seem to mind us listening so I opened the conversation with (in my best French) "I suppose you are banned from practising in the house?" - my little joke! Very seriously he answered that he was allowed but that it was so much pleasanter out in the woods. We were loving the whole bizarre situation when he offered to play for us and suggested I video him.  So I did.