23/03/21

After avocado breakfast with the Omars, we take the metro to the center; once again as an involuntary listener to one of the numerous metro solo artists who showcase their singing skills in the hope of receiving a approving or sympathetic peso. I meet up with Porter (former volunteer from the Tagua Tagua Park, Texan) at Mr.Fish for Reineta and Ceviche. We are the only customers on the spacious terrace. Porter smokes his poorly rolled cigarettes á la you-can't-order-me-cowboy directly under the 'No Smoking' sign.

After the meal, we take a detour to the bus station. While we are sitting on the metro, there is a small earthquake, as Omar Junior writes to me. However, I do not notice anything.

After a two-hour drive, we arrive in the infamous Valparaiso. Pati from the Tagua Tagua Park had already warned me about the dirty and criminal Valpo, and Omar Senior and his wife had chimed in with the same warning.

Valparaiso itself is a beautiful city. Right on the Pacific, hilly, full of old buildings and overflowing with murals and graffiti.

When I take photos of the congress building, Jorge, a demonstrator with a large flag in his hand, approaches me and says that all politicians in Chile are corrupt. Specifically, it is about the pension fund, many people want to have it paid out instead of carrying out opaque investments in the capital market (if I understood correctly). He also warns me about thieves. I put the camera away. Sonia, a brave demonstrator with a walker, recommends a bakery to us, where I devour greasy American pizza and Berliner filled with Manjar. In the TV news, they report that today the funeral of a powerful drug lord is taking place in the city and therefore 12 schools will remain closed for security reasons. There must be something to the warnings.

Finding the hostel in the maze of narrow streets that cover the hill proves to be a challenging task. Google Maps fails. Eventually, we finally find the Hostel La Casa Azul, which is painted bright blue to make it easier to find. The dorm rooms have a balcony overlooking the Pacific.

In the evening, Porter takes me to the Hotzenplotz, a bar/restaurant in German style. That means, many meat-heavy dishes and beer on the menu. The unfiltered light beer tastes so-so, it lacks carbonation, Porter's bratwurst was clearly deep-fried. Philistines. The place itself, however, is lovingly decorated with many illustrations from the children's book Räuber Hotzenplotz.

We make another stop at the Botelleria for more beer.

In the hostel, there is more beer and we drink with the owner Christian (actually a chemistry teacher and craft beer connoisseur), his friend who earns good money in the copper mine, as well as numerous volunteers who are responsible for the operation of the hostel (and who are drinking).