Valparaiso and Santiago

A funicular descends to Valparaiso's lower city. Each ride costs 50 cents. There are about 6 of these famous elevators scattered about the Southern end of the city and were built about 100 years ago.

Stretching stiff legs and breathing life into our lethargic minds, we climbed off the 24 hour long bus to Santiago, pleased to have covered 1/3 of Chile's length in such a short time. We met up with Jonathan Franklin and his beautiful family. Jonathan is a cousin of Will's, and they ushered us into their gorgeously renovated house just outside the city center. Jonathan is an international journalist who recently wrote the premier documentary, 33 Men, concerning the Chilean mining disaster. Paulina, Zoey (daughter), Jonathan, Will, and I spent an afternoon at the Sheraton pool, basking in the glory of the warming summer sunshine and the coolness of Kuntsmann beers (one of the better German style Chilean lagers).



Graffiti lining the streets... There seems to be some sort of stand off between these two.

Later we enjoyed a fabulous platter of Mexican style tacos with fresh shrimp, beef, and chicken in the hip bohemian district. Paulina designs the most incredible jewelry, primarily using mysterious and unnamed igneous rocks she collects herself from the mountains, as well as Lapis Lazuli, Chile's national stone. She has a small storefront, but sells the majority of her organically inspired designs internationally. While Santiago did not prove to be our favorite city, the Franklin family offered great hospitality and great conversation. We look forward to seeing them again when we pass through Santiago to return North.




If Portland, Maine had a flair for funky sidewalks and more city sanctioned graffiti, it could easily become the Valparaiso of Maine. Valpo is one of the most artsy cities I have ever seen--it helps that Pablo Neruda lived there, and that most blank walls are seen as an invitation for posting fascinating graffiti and funky murals, transforming the concrete and corrugated aluminum siding into the people's outdoor museum. Wandering the crooked cobbled sidewalks, between houses perched precariously on the cliff edges, and up twisting decrepit staircases all day long for two days peaked my curiosity. The city sprawls across a dozen hills and we were stopped once by a man that pointed to the direction on the top of the hill where we were heading, shook his head, looked at my camera and said "la mafia vive arriba" (the mafia lives up there). We took his advice.