So after our little stay at the not-so Happy Hostel we thought we´d take a three hour bus ride to a place called Talca south of Santiago. By the way I haven´t really talked about Santiago mainly because it´s one of the most unremarkable places I´ve been. Don´t get me wrong, it´s not offensive. There is a nice castle on a hill, it has an efficient metro and it´s not dirty or anything but there´s just not much to tell you so I won´t. So for those of you that were tuning in order to know all the specifics on Santiago because you were about to book your plane tickets, I apologise.
Now then, Talca is in the heart of the Chilean winelands so no further explanation needed as to why that´s a good idea. The bus from Santiago dumps us in the middle of nowhere. The hotel we´re staying in has some rather strange instructions like ´When you get to the bus station, call us then take another bus to the depot (takes 15 minutes) and we´ll be there to pick you up. Sound like a pain in the arse? Well it was. Of course the local bus never came. We tried calling the hotel from the payphone. Number didn´t work. Tried calling from my mobile, nothing. Alison´s mobile didn´t even get signal in Chile so that´s out. Well this is just great, now what? It´s blazing hot outside, our bags are really heavy and the bus station in Talca wouldn´t look out of place in Bangkok. No one speaks English or they do a good job of hiding it. I sigh quietly, I do love these moments. ´´Right, we´re taking a cab.´´ I announce. Alison looks unsure but sod it. So we find a cabby and he agrees to take us there, for suitable compensation I might add.
The place is way outside town, down a dusty road. We arrive and unload our bags, stroke the dog and pay the cab driver. It´s quite beautiful. Lavender dances outside our room in the breeze. Outside there´s a pool that looks like the dogs have been playing in it too much. The view is great. Apart from the dog the place appears to be empty. Including reception. An eighteen year old girl races passed us. ´´Oh excuse me, could you...?´´ I start to say but she´s gone. I can hear crickets from somewhere and is that...tumbleweed over there...
Eventually the girl comes back. She´s German but speaks good English, hurrah. She shows us our room. Nice. We say we want to visit vineyards. She tells us prices and how we get there. Turns out it costs a small fortune to get out of this place and will involve taking a bus, then a taxi, then another bus before meeting up with the van that will convey us to the tour...´´Uhh, what?´´ I say. The German girl smiles sweetly. ´´But the vineyards are closed at the weekend.´´ She adds this minor detail just for good measure. Well this is excellent. We´re here for two nights, it´s already late Saturday afternoon and we leave on Monday morning. I look up to the sky and shake my head. So you know what we do. Nothing. We stay at this German encampment in the middle of vineyards and see...absolutely no wineries. Nice going Dan.
Just to rub salt in the wounds, turns out they don´t sell any food and if we want anything to eat we´ll have to walk for forty minutes to the supermarket to get it. Oh, and we can´t use the kitchen either. They do do dinner though. Silly price but I´m hungry. ´´It´s vegetarian.´´ The girl mutters sweetly. I´m breathing deeply now. Things are spiralling and I´m going down with them. So what we do is sit in the sun, read and have dinner. They do sell wine (again for suitable compensation) so we get ratted. I read an entire James Patterson book in a day. Don´t think I´ve ever done that before. Go me, I can read!
So after the weekend trip to the vineyards in which we saw none, we hop back on the bus back to Santiago and then jump on another bus to a place over the border in Argentina called Mendoza. Now this is the heart of the Argentinean winelands. Surely we should be able to salvage our wine tasting experience. Of course Argentina comes through in fine style. After a lovely ride through the Andes we arrive at our hostel where we are greeted by this cross-eyed geek who´s singularly one of the most stupid people I´ve ever met. I thought he was being obtuse but Alison assured me it´s just lack of grey matter. I was trying to do some laundry. We hadn´t done any for a couple of weeks and I thought it was probably about time. Could I get through to Einstein? Nope. He didn´t have some piece of paper we had to fill out. When will you have the piece of paper? Don´t know. Where is the main square? Down there (points at a wall) and so on.
We booked ourselves on a wine tour for the next day. And did we sample the delights of Argentinean wine? Answer - yes! And what a glorious thing it was. For 20 pesos each (about 3 pounds) we had 6, yes that´s six glasses of wine to sample. Brilliant. We had so much fun that we decided to do it all again the next day. This time we hired bikes and made up our own tour. We had lunch at one of the places that had been recommended to us by the bike hiring company. Bet they got a commission or something. It was a fancy place behind an electric gate. We cycled in and were asked to remain in the car park until we could be met by the chef. Ten minutes later he came out and explained the prices (which were ridiculous by the way). I really wasn´t sure but Alison said we were here now so may as well.
So the chef shows us the menu all the while saying how great the restaurant is. ´´Look, we even won this award.´´ I look at the dodgy mock glass idol. It had some crappy engraving. I look around the restaurant. Not another soul. I´m starting to wonder if we have, in fact, entered the Self Deluding Restaurant. ´´It´s excellent food.´´ The chef said again. Really, excellent food you say? You, the chef thinks it's excellent food, well stop talking about it and bring some out my good man. We stayed and ate his "excellent" food which was wholly unremarkable. I thought he would have had a great career in Santiago.
We catch a bus to San Rafael it should take a couple of hours but a flat tyre means it takes most of the day. We arrive at our hotel. You know what it´s called ´´The Red Wine Club.´´ How cool is that? And was it nice? Ohhh yes. And was it the cheapest hotel we´ve stayed in the entire trip. Oh YES! And was it like a five star boutique, OHH YESS! Get this, we´d already booked to stay there two nights a few weeks ago for about 20 dollars a night! That´s 10 pounds! Then, they email me and say they are doing a promotion. Would we like to stay an extra night for free, receive a complimentary bottle of wine, go on a free vineyard tour and get a free massage? Does the Pope shit in the woods? Is a bear catholic?
So we go on our FREE wine tour which is all very interesting and one of the vineyards there is selling a 1985 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for, wait for it....ten pesos (one pound fifty!) Got to be a catch right? Must be corked or something? Well turns out some of the batch was corked and the vineyard couldn´t guarantee the quality so were just selling them off. You might open a bottle that smells like pig vomit or you might get lucky. We opened it and it was the strangest tasting wine but somehow very nice. It wasn´t corked but was unlike anything I´ve tasted. You get the idea.
So then it´s time for the FREE massage. ´I hope she knows what she´s doing.´ Alison mutters. The last masseuse felt like she had just read a book and then simply declared herself one. The time came, the doorbell rang. The receptionist found us and said ´´The masseuse is here.´´ We walked in from the garden to be greeted by...a bloke. My mind went crazy. A man. But....(I heard in my head ´´Would you like a free massage?´´ echoing over and over) how could this be? I´ve had men do massages before but the theme running through most of them is they hurt, quite a lot. I swallowed. He set his table up in our hotel room. Alison went first. He asked if she minded him being in the room while she got undressed. She said no. I said yes and he left the room. I sat there watching the TV, occasionally glancing over. She seemed okay...hmm. He finished. My turn.
´´How was it?´´ I asked. ´´I´m not saying anything. You go.´´ Uh oh. He started. Oil first, I could hear it squelching in his fingers. All fine. Then he goes for my shoulders. It was okay. All fine yes...OW! I don't know what he was doing but it bloody hurt. And he kept on and on doing it. Then the other shoulder. Wholly crap! More pain. I made a mental note to look up ´´Massage´´ in the dictionary and see if it said anything about them being pleasurable. JEEZ! He hit another spot. I nearly blurted out ´´ALRIGHT I´LL TELL YOU WHERE THE DEATH STAR PLANS ARE, JUST STOP!´´ But I refrained. On and on it went. Time seemed to slow. I was breathing the pain in deeply. But it still....OUCH!!! Damnit man, didn´t you go to massage school?! Just as I think it´s over he grabs my head with both hands and yanks it. This is it. Bye Ma! The man is trying to twist my neck off my shoulders. Tears are streaming down my face as something cracks. Finally he stopped. I sat up. Alison was smiling at me. ´´It´s okay?´´ He asks. I give him an unsure smile and nod. In my typical English way I say ´´Oh yes, very good, thank you so much.´´ He left. Alison looked at me. ´´Well?´´´She asked. ´´I thought he was going to kill me.´´ I said and rushed over quickly to hug her.
We wander back from a very mediocre meal that evening and settle in for a movie on the TV. Only problem is the the movie is Titanic. Ah well. What the hell. But, get this, when the commercials come on you know what company is sponsoring it? Guess? No? Royal Caribbean Cruises! Say what? Obviously someone in the marketing department was having a bad day or didn´t attend the relevant meeting to update his bosses on his plans for sponsorship that week. I suspect he´s working at Pizza Hut now.
Anyway the time has come, once more, to depart. Come on, it won´t be long before I return. Let´s not have any tears. Can we be brave? Good. By the way I don´t have the Death Star Plans so don´t email.
Chao
Dan
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