Santiago Chile
Our first day in Santiago is also my birthday. Emma arranges a room-service chocolate cake delivery with candles and participation of smiling hotel staff at 07h00. I try to be gracious in my sleeping shorts and grizzly slept-out appearance. Celebration breakfast and more chocolate cake
We do a hop-on hop-off bus tour of Santiago and find the Centro crowded, shabby and unattractive. We know little about the Chilean history and don't connect with the plugged in bus commentary Thousands of people bustling about their morning business, most looking down-market and ranging from Aztec-like Indian to Spanish-European. We don't see any of the smart-tie and-suit-brigade we noted at breakfast at the Grand Hyatt. Then the bus eventually hits the Sandton of Santiago Barrio El Golf and suddenly it is Dubai style sky-scrapers, exuberant architecture and suave yuppie financial service execs all over. Elegant restaurants and smart shopping.
We settle in a good-looking steak-house restaurant and immediately start eating too much. A big shared Caprese salad and then medium fillet for me and well-done prime-rib for Emma. Plenty of wine and smiling eager waiters plying us with everything they can muster. We come away from it meat-sated and heavily satisfied.
For my birthday treat Emma suggests a spa treatment back at the hotel. A bit cautious I opt for a pedicure and imagine that I will have some lovely Latin American spa-lady giving me a soothing foot massage and re-energising treatment. Instead I get a tough-looking woman who must be out of the Nazi gene-pool of people who escaped here after the war. Instead of young and alluring this post-middle age fighter with her clenched jaw and mean streak first with some reluctance kindly soaks my feet but then lies me down and with much more vigour starts a scary process of using sharp tools to push back cuticles and rasp away any roughness. I imagine lying there, eyes closed that she is using the chisels and tools used for stone-cutting and wood-carving. Instead of relaxing and dosing off I lie there squirming and wishing it was over.
She ends the experience and then thrusts an invoice into my hand listing the various services performed leaving room for a "tip". I ignore it with a scowled smile and leave.
We give up the idea of a dinner and settle for a delicious wild-mushroom soup and Sauvignon Blanc in the room. We watch the next instalment of the Madiba memorial and crash.
Adios Santiago.
Our first day in Santiago is also my birthday. Emma arranges a room-service chocolate cake delivery with candles and participation of smiling hotel staff at 07h00. I try to be gracious in my sleeping shorts and grizzly slept-out appearance. Celebration breakfast and more chocolate cake
We do a hop-on hop-off bus tour of Santiago and find the Centro crowded, shabby and unattractive. We know little about the Chilean history and don't connect with the plugged in bus commentary Thousands of people bustling about their morning business, most looking down-market and ranging from Aztec-like Indian to Spanish-European. We don't see any of the smart-tie and-suit-brigade we noted at breakfast at the Grand Hyatt. Then the bus eventually hits the Sandton of Santiago Barrio El Golf and suddenly it is Dubai style sky-scrapers, exuberant architecture and suave yuppie financial service execs all over. Elegant restaurants and smart shopping.
We settle in a good-looking steak-house restaurant and immediately start eating too much. A big shared Caprese salad and then medium fillet for me and well-done prime-rib for Emma. Plenty of wine and smiling eager waiters plying us with everything they can muster. We come away from it meat-sated and heavily satisfied.
For my birthday treat Emma suggests a spa treatment back at the hotel. A bit cautious I opt for a pedicure and imagine that I will have some lovely Latin American spa-lady giving me a soothing foot massage and re-energising treatment. Instead I get a tough-looking woman who must be out of the Nazi gene-pool of people who escaped here after the war. Instead of young and alluring this post-middle age fighter with her clenched jaw and mean streak first with some reluctance kindly soaks my feet but then lies me down and with much more vigour starts a scary process of using sharp tools to push back cuticles and rasp away any roughness. I imagine lying there, eyes closed that she is using the chisels and tools used for stone-cutting and wood-carving. Instead of relaxing and dosing off I lie there squirming and wishing it was over.
She ends the experience and then thrusts an invoice into my hand listing the various services performed leaving room for a "tip". I ignore it with a scowled smile and leave.
We give up the idea of a dinner and settle for a delicious wild-mushroom soup and Sauvignon Blanc in the room. We watch the next instalment of the Madiba memorial and crash.
Adios Santiago.
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