Coasting

The USAC trip to Valparaiso and Viña del Mar went off without a hitch.  Our intrepid program administrators Luis and Brenda bussed most of the Andres Bello gringos out to the coast two Fridays ago to experience the country's playground on the Pacific.  We took in a South American art museum, wandered aimlessly, absorbed the seaside lifestyle, and visited an inexplicable dollop of sand dunes north of the cities.

Palacio Vergara art museum, Viña del Mar.  Its original 

inhabitant was Blanca Veragara, the son of Viña del Mar's founder 

José Francisco Veragara.

Tomfoolery on the dunes.

Yours truly, in flight.

Several of us elected not to return with the group, and stayed in a hostel in Viña for the weekend.  Most of our time was spent lazing around the city or on the beach.  At night, we'd retire to the hostel for beers (the bottle store across the street magnanimously allowed us to haul our purchases in one of their crates) and singing on the roof.

Sunday morning came around and, by the time I'd woken, Guy, Murph, Jon and their Chilean friend Sebastian had already returned from an early-morning surfing trip.  Sebastian, normally among Chile's more tranquil citizens, is prone to fits of vigorous elation, and upon arriving at the shore became so exuberant that he couldn't resist throwing his Suzuki Samurai into gear and executing a quick donut in the street.  The Samurai, a tiny-but-tall Jeep-ish vehicle, couldn't bear the excitement and flopped down on its side, exhausted, on the asphalt.  Unharmed and not so easily defeated, the boys debarked, rolled the car back up on its tires, and commenced surfing.

Checked out of the hostel, most of the USACers took morning buses back to Santiago.  Ian and I checked our bags in at the station and stalked off on reluctant legs, exhausted from the night's festivities but determined not to waste a day.  We rode an ascensior, an ancient and calamitous elevator car which hauled us from the seaside up the hill to Valparaiso's naval museum.  The exhibits, while somewhat haphazardly arranged and smacking of jingoism, were thrillingly devoid of "no tocar" signs.  The artillery pieces, which swiveled in their mounts and had operable cranks and levers, were particularly diverting.

Call to arms outside our hostel.

Tour boats in the harbor at Valparaiso.

Valparaiso's inclined coast.

An order of fresh ceviche at a restaurant next door to a fish market (a safe bet, I thought) provided cheap and delicious sustenance, but not quite enough to fuel more sightseeing, so Ian and I called it a day and returned to the bustle of Santiago.

This past weekend was spent in Mendoza, Argentina, eating slow-cooked Argentine beef and riding quick-tempered Argentine horses in the Andean foothills.  Details to come.

Photos courtesy of Eric Goldschein and Shannon Seeley.