Teargas before bedtime

"...So, you need to take a scarf for your nose and a lemon for your eyes"

"And tell me again, how do I know if I'm about to be teargassed?"

"Well, you'll see a big tank coming, and lots of people running the other way".

I am sitting in the upstairs room of a pub in Barrio Lastarrias, Santiago, picking up survival tips from my friend Liz, who is married to a Chilean guy and who has rather wonderfully invited us to stay with them and their crazy dog Mousetta. Santiago looks and feels like the last place on earth which is likely to be the scene of a riot, but the students are protesting again- the cheapest university entrance is twice as expensive as the minimum wage, and they want cheaper and better education. Sound familiar?

Staying with locals is a completely different experience to the guidebook route and we were totally and utterly spoit, with wine and cheese every night and beautiful food. We were also given an insight into the real Santiago, where people live and work, as well as all those secret little places that no one from the guidebooks ever finds out about. And steak. And wine. Did I mention the wine? My God, the wine. It practically comes out of the bathroom taps in this country. Many times I have wandered off in the supermarket and had to be fetched out of a dreamy reverie in the booze aisle.

In between slugs of wine we visited the house of Pablo Neruda, the Chilean Nobel prize winning poet (look him up). In between admiring his furniture and art (with me mentally cataloguing which pieces I would have stolen and put in my own house) we learnt about the Pinochet regime and the purges and disappearances of the intellectual class in the 70s and 80s. Recent South American history really is quite disturbing, especially when you think that it happened while you were in primary school. The national football stadium was used as a torture centre for twenty years under the regime, and is now the football stadium again. Chileans believe it is cursed and that is why national team keeps losing there.

Bit depressing, no? The next thing we did was a four hour walking tour led by a chain smoking maniac. Despite giving the impression of being an inveterate glue sniffer he gave a surprisingly lucid and thoughtful tour of the city, helpfully pointing out earthquake damage and points of historical interest, as well as the odd bit of social commentary or insider knowledge. For example, ever heard of cafe con piernas? It means 'coffee with legs'. I thought this meant take away coffee, but apparently it's more literal than that- it's the men-only stand up cofee bars all over town where businessmen go for a midmorning caffeine hit and 20 minutes of flirting. The waitresses wear tiny little tight skirts and high heels- hence the legs bit. In the olden days they used to pull down the shutters for 'happy minute' and strip on the tables although apparently this is now frowned upon. Sort of a cross between Starbucks and Spearmint Rhino. Naturally this offends my feminist principles, or would if I had any, but it makes a good story nevertheless. The tour thoughtfully included a break for sandwiches and a large glas of SauvignonBlanc so of course gets a very high rating here. No sign of the student rioters in town, which was a bit disappointing. Although we later realised we had no idea what to do with the lemons. Over a perfect afternoon of Chilean asado/South African braai- in short, the best woodsmoke barbecue in the world- we debated whether you suck on lemons for teargas or squeeze them in your eyes (yikes). We also discovered that the weird, throat burning and runny nose 'chemical spill' we had walked through on a street in Valparaiso had (probably) BEEN remnants of teargas! As you all know I am exceptionally brave, and had apparently been so without even realising it. Obviously this called for more wine.

So that's Santiago for me: rich, full-bodied, sophisticated, great with red meats and cheese, and with a slight indefinable aftertaste. Definitely worth a visit, people.


P.S We also went to a chavtastic tacky theme park called Fantasilandia and went on loads of roller coasters- but this was such a guilty pleasure that I am typing it very small...