The Great Start Homewards
We made it as far as Santiago, which isn`t a bad start, as thats 2500+ clicks northwards of Punta Arenas. This is certainly reflected in the temperature, currently a bask-worthy 38C (upper 90s F) but thankfully not humid and so quite enjoyable even in the middle of the leafy green city. However, with that kind of temp, Emma and I took an overnight detour once we reached Santiago to head to the beach. Particularly, in a desperate bid to add culture to our trip, to Isla Negra, which has one (supposedly the most beautiful) of Pablo Neruda`s homes, also named Isla Negra. In fact, the house was named that before the town. Marketing, its all about marketing. But I have been a fan of Neruda since my Argentine friend gave me a book of his poems in both English and Spanish years ago in my first bid to "learn the language of Cervantes" as the inscription in the book read, and converted Emma some years back as well.

The house (greatly expanded by Neruda over 40 odd years) and its contents, reflecting interests and collections of the poet (and diplomat. I never knew.) is an interesting experience as it actually gives some kind of insight into the personality of the man behind the works, unlike pilgrimages to homes of other writers, like say, Shakespeare. (Anne Hathaway`s cottage in Stratford. Nice glimpse of what life was like in that era, but as to evoking any insight into the personality of Shakey, well, I think not. Hey, nonny nonny. I have this awful feeling I just crushed the spirit of my mother who on her trip to England was quite taken with the old Hathaway place, and brought home all kinds of tea towels and the like with the house emblazoned on it, which I found odd as apart from one college course she took while I was in school I don`t think I`ve ever seen her read, watch or discuss Shakespeare. But she _loved_ the Hathaway cottage.) Its quite obvious from Neruda`s poetry (I have not yet read "The Heights of Macchu Pichu", which I consider to be a profound moral failing of mine while being on this trip, but I intend to rectify it quick smart. The Captain`s Verses is where I started, and where I always seem to return.) that there are high elements against violence, although highly political and advocating struggle where necessary, and of course all over the place, love, love, love. And not in the romantic hearts and flowers and little peeping birdies sense, but in an obvious, passionate, whoa nelly, easy tiger fashion. The house brings this well into focus. If he hadn`t been a poet, he would have been the town eccentric. In fact, even as a poet he may still have been the town eccentric. A man in love with the sea, so much so that there is a ship motif to the entire house, but who couldn`t sail and never did. Called himself the "Captain of Dry Land". It goes so far as to have a small dory used as an outdoor bar, up on an outcropping maybe 20m above the sea, never put in the water by Neruda. A beautiful, gorgeous house, great architecture, and a study complete with view that were I to own such a thing, I too would be a Nobel laureat poet. Inspiring doesn`t begin to describe it. Crammed full of color, figures from the bows of ships, insects and butterflies on pins, and seashells, with teeney doors and curved low ceilings to recreate that "look we`re on a ship" feel. Lines from his poems are carved all over the place, and interestingly for objects in the yard where other museums would have a sign saying "this anchor was made in blah, and was used for blah, and blah blah blah" they instead have copies of poems Neruda wrote about things, as there is an entire volume of his autobiography (dictated from his bed at Isla Negra while dying of prostate cancer) about the place. Unique.

Having sufficiently educated ourselves for a day, with pieces of intellecutual fat to chew on, Emma and I descended to the beach and watched the tide come in, always a wonderful way to pass the time. The Pacific water is still quite cool, what with the Humbolt current and all that. There is a colony of penguins just up the coast about 5 kilometers. They are not warm water birds. Emma stuck her toe in the Pacific, but not much more of herself. Emma, it turns out, is a warm water bird. Sunbathe, yes, waterbathe, no.

The return to Santiago was a sad one, as it was now time to throw Emma on a plane back to London to return to the natural grind that is a Cambs scientific institute in February. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr. I`m relieved to note, with my impending flying again in a couple of weeks, that security on these flights is still tight. After chucking Emma off to the perils of the British winter, I got a good night`s sleep in my room (after weeks of rooming in hostels with lord knows how many other people or at the very least sharing with Emma, I have a room all to myself. Its clean and charming, but can best be described as "cozy". It in in fact under the stairs, but not quite as Harry Potterish as it sounds, as they are small stairs to an attic or something, the door is to the front of the stairs, not closing me in at the side of them, and there is a nice big window in the room so it feels quite airy and cool even in the heat. The bed fits between the stairs and the window and there is just enough room on the floor for my backpack.) and am now exploring Santiago.

Santiago is a wonderful city. Beautiful, clean, well organized, efficient, highly cultured. And the Santiagans (Santiagoians? The people who live here.) are a beautiful, clean, well organized, efficient and highly cultured people. Its a fabulous place to be, but the whole thing is so desperately, desperately civilized that exploring it makes me want to rebel and be profoundly wicked. It evokes in me a similar feeling always brought on by a friend of mine. This friend is English, parTICularly English in his behaviour and as if that weren`t civilized enough, (I do know lots of English people, of varying degrees of civility) he`s also a highly responsible, no doubt heading for partnership City tax lawyer, the epitome of intelligence, atheleticism, wit, charm, handsomness, kindness, organization, ettiquette and civility. He`s a wonderful, dear friend, and a wonderful, dear person for whom I would hurl myself in front of a train for should the need ever arise (this thought makes me smile as it highlights how different our personalities are. I am all in your face passion on the sleeve, hurl myself in front of the train if necessary; he is the one who would find the way for it not to be necessary to hurl oneself under the train), but I can only have dinner with him every so often and in the company of others as to be in his presence for more than a couple of hours produces within my soul an extrordinarily deep and profound urge to reach across the dinner table, grab him by the impeccably knotted tie and corrupt him six ways from Sunday just to see what is lurking underneath the outside layers. One of these days I will no doubt succumb, but the thought of losing the friendship (since he would be so shocked he`d never speak to me again) halts me in my tracks. Santiago does the same thing. I think I am a good and certainly a responsible person, and am thoroughly enjoying my time here, heading off tomorrow to one of Neruda`s other houses, enjoying the museums and the changing of the guard (again tomorrow. I went today, but it is only every other day. How terribly organized, but those guards must get jolly tired.), but watching everyone be so neat and orderly all the time makes me have to supress the urge to spraypaint graffiti across the Palacio de Moneda that says "Pinochet`s a dink" or do something equally upsetting to the populace at large. Thankfully, the desperately civilizing presence of a lot of carabineros keeps me on the straight and narrow. The "deterrance" theory, I believe criminologists call it. This neat, orderly society is to my mind the reason why Chile has produced so many artists and writers of note. I mean, they have two Nobel laureates for literature in Neruda and Mistral, and I have actually read both of them, which is pretty amazing in and of itself. I am not sure I can even name two other Nobel laureates for literature, whatever country they come from. Its the civilized way to rebel, and such arts are encouraged in high society, and without question cherished in Chilean society. Culture produces the arts in its refinement as its form of wantonness. This is also my theory, even though I have never been to Switzerland, why the country so famed for safe banking and precise timekeeping is also famous for decadent chocolate, even though no cocoa beans are grown within 4000 miles of Switzerland, and of course a proliferation of cuckoo clocks. Precise timekeeping, but take a gander at the housing. Maybe this is even why I write so much, its my own form of rebellion. I have received a lot of praise for it, even just for writing letters and emails, and these accounts of my trip, although I can`t quite understand why as at its core its just "I went here, I saw that, these Brasilian people gave me a big shiny silver medal for having fun and then some very nice porters carried me down a hillside in Peru when I got the snuffles." There have been quite a few emails sent to me stating I should write a book. That`s the plan, folks, that`s the plan. The two unfinished novels shelved away in order to go get yet another law degree, since a girl can never have too many law degrees, will someday be finished, but first this travelogue gets written up and if I still like it I`ll even try to have it published. Besides, with all those law degrees, it did occur to me that writing a book about the thing and trying to get it published makes the whole venture a tax deductible business expense.

I will no doubt write more about the joys of Santiago, and will try to remain civilized which will no doubt get easier the further removed I am from the physical challenges of Patagonia and the fleshpots of the Falkland Islands, but the other big challenge at the moment is to keep heading north, and a bit east to get back to Rio and fly home to challenge my bank manager and the Child Support Agency. This seems like it should be easy but there is the growing physical obstacle of Argentina. The situation continues to worsen (I picked up a copy of last week`s Newsweek today which had the Argy crisis as its cover story. Even they called it a disaster and its so outdated that they have Saa just being inaugurated. Things have gotten far worse since then. Its currently three presidents later.), and the more Argentines I talk to (I keep running into them in places, and I`m asking as many questions as my limited spanish will allow.) the worse it seems. I was really looking forward to being in Buenos Aires, etc, but no way do I want to do that at this time. Despite all the people in Brasil asking me if I was Argentinian, people in Chile know better and frequently greet me in English, what little of it they know in the corner shops and things, so its patently obvious to me that I am easily recognized as a foreigner. Foreigners down here mean someone who had enough money to get here in the first place, so the presumption is that you`ve got enough money to be worth robbing. Not what I came on holiday for, although my ever faithful secretary did send me off with the second guide to Worst Case Scenarios, which does cover what to do during civil unrest, although the first bit of advice is to stay out of trouble spots. But what is between Santiago and Rio? The bulk of Argentina. I actually had my first full "I want to come home now" homesickness attack while trying to figure out what comes next, and the thought of just jetting out of Santiago seemed peachy, but a bit of planning now has me staying here for a few days and then catching one of two weekly buses to Ascension, Paraguay. Granted this will take me across a large part of Argy, but I plan to just not get off the bus for 30 hours. A brief bit of exploring as i make my way across Paraguay (which is apparently, I have gathered, a real hotspot for Hamas, so the Israelis don`t go there in the way Americans don`t go to Columbia. But its quite safe for Americans, and almost anyone else. Who knew? Ok, the Israelis, but not me.), cross over into Brasil at Foz de Iguacu, and make my way up the coast, flying out of either Sao Paulo or Rio (I will arrange a ticket once I hit Brasil. It seems to be next to impossible to get a ticket out of a country if you aren`t in it at the time, and Orbitz won`t let me price tickets not originating in the USA.) in amazingly just a couple of weeks time - the end of January or the wee beginning of Feb.

There has been a request that I take a webcam to my visit with my bank manager when I get back to Boston. I will see what I can do.

Much love to you all,

Anne