In its heyday, the city of Valparaiso was the pride of Chile. It was one of the richest ports along the Pacific Ocean, growing fat of the wealth of merchant ships sailing around Cape Horn. The natural amphitheater shape of the coast and deep water port made the city an ideal stop-over for southern whaling ships and Chilean exporters, and gave it an excellent defensive position against maurading pirates.
The steep hills of Valparaiso were decorated with mansions built on the fortunes gained from the goods of foreign vessels that anchored in its tranquil waters. But sadly, this golden age was not to last.
The beginning of the end came in 1906 when a powerful earthquake ripped through the city. The event was immortalized by Pablo Neruda in his poem Ode to Valparaiso:
"...the earthquake gripped you and you ran about dementedly, you broke your nails, everything shifted, the waters and the stones, the sidewalks, the sea, the night, you were asleep on the ground, jaded from your voyages, and the earth, raging, raised up its surf stormier than a south sea gale, the dust was blanketing your eyes, the flames were scorching your shoes, the sturdy homes of bankers were quivering like wounded whales, while higher up the homes of the poor were leaping into the void as if fledgling birds proving their wings, but crumpling down."
Nowadays Valparaiso is a study in contrasts. In fact, it is perhaps those contrasting elements that make it such an interesting, confusing and vibrant city. It is a gritty seaport but it is filled with artists. It is a huge shipping center but it has some of the highest unemployment in all of Chile. It is crumbling and covered in rust but it is still breathtakingly beautiful.
We arrived in "Valpo" by bus on a chilly, cloudy afternoon and immediately set out to find a place to stay. The city is arranged on a series of steep hills overlooking the ocean. This means that navigating the twisting streets with a 40 pound backpack is no easy task. Sidewalks widen and narrow and then suddenly end, forcing you to walk out into traffic. Roads meander left and right before dead-ending in a hundred foot cliff or else rise at a nearly vertical pitch with sharp switchbacks snaking their way up the houses above.
Fortunately the second hostel we stopped at,"La Bicyclette," is run by a bald, elfin Frenchman who we have dubbed "The Nicest Man in the World". (We've actually run into quite a few of those in our travels). He smiled and laughed the entire time we spoke to him. His eyes twinkled with joy as we told him we were going to stay for a few days. He practically skipped down the steep staircase to show us our apartment. That's right, apartment. No dorm rooms packed to the gills with bunkbeds and German backpackers, no cramped hostel rooms with one naked lightbulb swinging from the ceiling to give the roaches some light while they tap dance all over your belongings, this was a proper flat. It had a full kitchen, livingroom and private bathroom as well a wonderful view out onto a pretty little winding street. I could have stayed there for years.
We spent the next day exploring the town. Our flat was on a hill called "Conception" which is where the Unesco World Heritage part of Valparaiso begins. This section is right next to the port and is probably one of the only world heritage sites that contains multiple brothels (this is a working seaport, remember). It is also home to some of the most striking vistas overlooking the city. Even though most of the houses are old, crumbling and tinged with rust, each one is painted a different bright color. The town, with its steep hills and valleys, looks like a giant technicolor patchwork quilt fluttering in the breeze. I doubt if even Joseph and his so called "Amazing" dreamcoat could ever match the dazzling array of hues that dot every inch of this city. Almost every where you look could be a painting.
In the late 19th and early 20th century Portenos (as the city's inhabitants call themselves) constructed a series of elevators or ascensores to schlep you up and down the steep hills. Apparently we weren't the only who got a little tired of the constant ups and downs.
We rode one of these to the top of Artilleria hill to visit the naval museum and then took a gravity assisted walk back down into town. While walking through the gritty streets you are struck by a second unique facet of this city, while the whole place looks like a painting, almost every inch of it is actually covered in paintings. I have never seen so many murals in my entire life. On the exposed walls of buildings pictures run the gamut from abstract, to impressionist to vivid realism and back again. Some of the murals are political in nature, some purely asthetic and some are just there to make you laugh.
When we got back down to the flat area near the port we ran into some living works of art. Valparaiso is a huge shipping center so shipping containers are ubiquitous. Like all great artists, Portenos work with what they have, and what they have are a lot of containers. The day we arrived was the first day of a week-long shipping container street theater festival. All over the city the giant metal boxes had been converted into mobile stages. Artists, young and old could be found performing everything from Shakespeare to modern avant-garde performance pieces. We arrived in the central square to find to find 3 containers transformed into a giant human cuckoo clock. People on swings and ropes represented the weights and pendulums while another person turned giant wooden gears to spin the hands on the clock. We got there at precisely 4PM and the whole thing started going nuts. A band in the back ground was playing a kind of formless improvisational jam as singers repeated "tick tock" into microphones at various rhythms. People in burlap coats and tinfoil crowns slowly processed to the front of the clock and banged huge planks of wood against the ground while high above stage-hands swung open the doors of the containers. Attached to the doors were people waving their arms around shouting "Cuckoo" and "Son los quatro" (It is four o'clock). I'm not sure if it was art but it was damned interesting.
All that walking and visual art appreciation works up an appetite, which brings me to the most satisfying kind of art, the kind you can eat. We gorged ourselves in Valparaiso. The food here is as varied as the people so I will just give you a few of the highlights. On the first day we stopped at no nonsense seafood place near the port called "Los Portenos". This place does it right. They literally shove fistfuls fresh shellfish on to your plate until it is overflowing.
It was here that we were introduced to what would become a staple of our diet over the next few days, Camarones al Pil Pil. It is basically a ceramic bowl heated on a gas stove until it is scalding hot then filled with shrimp, butter, garlic, a little white wine and some pepper. It arrives at your table bubbling like a witches brew of un-kosher delight.
That night we dined at our first fine dining establishment. It was called "Color Sabor". We started out with ceviche served with a shot of "Leche de Tigre" (basically the juices used to marinate the ceviche) and a grilled octopus. Molly had salmon and polenta that was divine while I had rock fish wrapped in chard with barley rissotto. Hear me now and believe me later all of you food lovers. MAKE YOUR RISOTTO WITH BARLEY. It was amazing. It had the smooth creamy consitency of arborio rice but the barley has a slightly firmer build to it. It bursts almost like caviar when you chew it.
Valpo is known throughout Chile for one dish in particular; Chorillana. It is essentially a huge plate of french fries covered with scrambled eggs, onions and chunks of stewed beef. Sound gross? Well, it wasn't. Along with Scott Majeska, (the third member of our new band "The New Rudas") we polished off about five pounds of the stuff.
As we are wont to do, we headed down to the central market to get the food of the people. After fighting our way through a cloud of tear gas that was left over from an earlier demonstration (they still haven't settled the education debate), we made it to the market. Dozens of eateries pack the second floor of the market. They all get their food from the fruit, vegetable and fish stands right downstairs so it is all extremely fresh and cheap. Molly got Machas al Parmasean which are basically clams baked with garlic, spices and cheese. I decided to dine on Caldillo de Congrio, conger eel stew. Like Camarones al Pil Pil, this stew comes out bubbling in a heated cereamic bowl, the broth is light and delicately spiced with a hint of hot peppers just to make it interesting. Large chunks of still-on-the-bone-eel are added so you have to be a little careful when you eat it, but the flavor is just wonderful. I had it four more times before we left Chile.
Caldillo de Congrio was, incidentally the favorite dish of Valparaiso's most famous resident, Pablo Neruda. On one of our last days in the city we made a pilgrimage up to his house in the hills. Dubbed "La Sebastiana" by the poet, it occupies a commanding position over the town and the port. Of all the magnificent homes I have ever been in, this is the one in which I could most see myself living. It is not large, but every inch is meticulously decorated with tiny treasures that Pablo collected from all over the world. The main living room is filled with windows and gives a 220 degree view over all of its surroundings.
Neruda would spend his time seated in his leather recliner which he called "The Cloud" and watch the city while saluting the distant ships as they sailed out to sea. He used to tell his guests of a certain house on the neighboring hill where each day a woman would appear and sunbath naked on the roof. Although his friends would spend hours scaning the houses, searching for this damsel, she never appeared, save for the poet himself.
Sadly "La Sebastiana" would be the scene for the final, dark, chapter in Neruda's life. Having been a political activist and champion of the poor all his life, it was inevitable that Neruda, a well-known communinst, would eventually run afoul of the often conservative govenment of his country. It was here in Valparaiso that the poet, already dying of cancer, was continually harassed by the military. Like thousands of other victims of these barbaric regimes, Neruda suffered under the hardships of conservative facist governments. After his death, despite a decree by Chilean dictator Pinochet banning a public funeral, thousands filled the streets to show their support for the poet. His house in Valparaiso was ransacked and left deserted. After the downfall of Pinochet, the new government declared the house a national monument and had it restored. It now stands proudly, high above the port of Valparaiso, watching the ships sail out to sea. It is a constant reminder of the courage and conviction it takes to speak the truth despite the consequences. It is also a monument to the fact that while an artist may be imprisoned, exiled or outlawed, his art and what it says can never be silenced.
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