Where, O' Where is My Taco Bell?! Valparaíso

Massive fail. We've searched the city high and low to no avail. I've come to believe our drunken Google search back in Santiago may have slightly betrayed us. We had had quite the anti-climax of a night...after all, hadn't we?? And I do have a tendency of resolute confusion. There is definitely one in Indiana, now that's for sure. Yet, what was that bullshit our temperamental taxi driver was obviously on about?? Where the fuck is this dambed Taco Bell?! I can't take it no more!! Only two days ago, I lost my blessed burrito virginity. Since then I can't get the godly stain out of my brain. We walked, talked, trained & stalked all our way from the aesthetically pleasing pastures of Valparaiso, to the ghastly mediocre sky rise resort town of Viña del Mar, solely to bathe our taste buds with this more than worthy appetiser. Now I find myself distraught. I'm so terribly confused. MaccyD's, Kentukey, BK & Subber's...they're all here. What is wrong with this country!! A double dose of Dirtyol'Doggi's might just have to do for now. Huh?? No salsa de fuego?? En serio?? WTF?!?

Looking out over Valparaiso

Life for me as a general rule, hasn't always been so desperate. Back home I would never even consider the wrath of franchised fast-food chains, even if I was stumbling on down to Red Chapel Ave after another heavy dose of Friday-Night-Fever. Yet, it seems the weeks of gnawing through stale tuna sandwiches have taken their toll. Leaving Cafayate was a disaster. After successfully hitching from Cachi earlier, I thought I'd have little trouble picking up a ride from a much more populated town. The plan was to make for Tafi del Valle, another small village where I could possibly camp to stretch the funds & continue 'the great detox.' As it turned out, it simply wasn't meant to be. I waited on the side of that highway for a good three hours. I even resorted to making up a cardboard sign, with the hope it may entice some spontaneous car-pooling, from people off holidaying in that certain direction. I received many waves from locals in pick-ups signalling "I'm only heading down the road a little..." - yet still more commonly, mostly only flags from grumpy old, disdain faced codgers which fashioned in my mind as "I payed for this car. I payed for this petrol. Get a job you dirty twat!" At least they pretended to want to pick me up. No actually in hindsight, giving me the finger would have been preferable.

My first ever Taco Bell!!

So for now, I was stuck in Cafayate. Should I try again tomorrow?? No way - bugger that. I had to get out of here, pronto. As I've found out the hard way, Argentinian transport is expensive!! But if I wanted out today, realistically I had no other choice. I reluctantly handed over the cash for Tafi, and in due time, bailed. The craic of that trip was a young breast-feeding mother sitting in the seat next to me, who kept on wanting to chat. In limited Español I spluttered out my best, but soon it just got awkward, and I'm pretty sure she had it in her head after a while that I was dubiously trying to sneak a peek at her tits. Over the course of the next few days, I made a quick succession of bus journeys that led me from Cafayate to Tafi, then onwards to Tucuman; before finally biting the bullet and taking the long haul south all the way to Mendoza. Individually they were all fine enough places, but none of them truly stands out above anywhere else I've already been. In Tafi it was raining for the most part, and the only real memory I have is standing under a wobbly gazebo, as I munched through a bunch of steaming hot empanadas. Tucuman had a bit of life about it; but there was little in little time to actually do. I got drunk & terribly stoned with a mob of binging Argentinians, who were celebrating the upcoming marriage of one of their entourage. I myself received a drunken invite during all the developing ruckus - yet as the groom made promptly clear; I'd be in no way not required to go out and find some slightly more respectable, freshly pressed attire. Agreed??...well, of course. He told me he'd be back the following evening for more diabolicals. I didn't intend to stick around. After some afternoon ping-pong, I had already wandered off & cleared out.

By the time the sun had poked its brow back over the plains, I had already made it to Mendoza. I welcomed in the new day with a crummy breakfast consisting of strawberry yogurt, bread & apricots. By this point I already felt I had seen the city. With a flat spread, low buildings & wide streets, Mendoza is nice - but that is about it. There was many an urban park, and dozens of local wines; neither which I could fully appreciate with such a limited attention span & minimal comprehension. I checked into a hostel, and fell asleep. When I woke, Goldilocks had himself perched at a dining room table, punching away at his laptop. About time. I was sick of the lonely road. We'd always planned to meet back up at some stage to venture south into Patagonia; and as it was, that time had finally come. I hadn't seen him since La Paz, so we spent a good part of the night catching up on all kinds of shenanigans. He had some pretty rad stories to tell, I must say. The mother of them all was an account of his final showdown in Buenos Aires; where all in one great drunken mess, he managed to get held up at knife point...as he punched flat one of his assailants...all before hitching a ride on (before leaping off) the back of a garbage truck...and in doing so, ended up scraping a large chunk of flesh from his elbow...then it seemed he decided to jump a fence or two to find his way home??...only then at least until he was nearly arrested by a cop (for god only knows what)...and decided it was a better option to do the dash & piss bolt. I loved it. He'd more than earned all this attention he was now  receiving as a result of that gouged arm.

We decided to give it one more day in Mendoza before heading back across the Chilean border. We'd be catching the bus that night, saving us time and all that all too precious cash. After an immense & wholesome breakfast, we were chanced into an unlikely acquaintance with a jabbering Canadian biker. He'd rode down from somewhere (Lima I think??), and he too was on his way south over the next couple of days. The only hold up was his mate, who had accidentally left Chile previously without an exit stamp, and was in the process of sussing out a way to sneak back across the border as if he'd never even left. Actually, these guys were full of tall tales. The kind of hilarious banter that makes these arduous adventures worthwhile. I'm pretty sure their paper work is dodgy business; so running into police checks can turn into a bit of a slog. Over time they'd come up with ways to bypass the bullshit. "Just act as dumb & clueless as you can possibly seem, without coming across as vile or disrespectful...that is the key to a successful riding experience." They couldn't be serious surely?? He kept reeling off story after story. We were in stitches. "One time Russ was being sussed out by an officer, so he walked into a nearby McDonald's & brought himself a soft-serve ice cream cone. He just stood there without expression licking that ice cream. After a while the copper just grunted with exhaustion, and simply let him go. 'Shit, just let 'em off. This idiot's gonna die soon anyway'..."

That night The Old Smuggler sure went down a treat. I was well buzzed by the time we got to the bus station. I wouldn't shut up for the life of me, and gladly continued to stir up a couple of Chilean girls sitting across from us until I ate through my packet of Doritos & passed out. I've never slept so sound on a bus before. If only we hadn't the need for passport control. That only got me a bit irritated and ever so twitchy. All this late night crap took forever!! I couldn't understand why. We stood in cues for hours, as more than enough additional viable workers stood around doing sweet fuck all. It was impossible to nod-off again once back on the bus. I lay uncomfortably sideways in my chair, staring out at the silhouettes of bulky snow-capped mountains, illuminated softly by the early morning moon light. Aconcagua was there somewhere, hidden behind a myriad of other minor fortifying peaks. The beauty of the natural world however soon disappeared, giving way to towering structures of man & metal. The lights of Santiago stretched as far as the eye could imagine. I was both excited & slightly daunted. This was the biggest city I'd been in for quite some time. I wasn't too sure what it held in store for us.

My doubts were soon put to rest on a quick first inspection of the basic get-up of the city as a whole. The streets were generally clean, the subway super efficient, and the local people remarkably hospitable. What were all those pessimistic Argentinians on about?? After my first morning stint at Dirtyol'Doggi's, we caught the Metro to our hostel in Bella Vista. Somehow, I'd managed to conjure up a pre-arranged yet entirely coincidental rendezvous with a friend from back home; my first in nine months since saying farewell to BigDawg all that time ago in Mexico. All of a sudden I was transported back to the happenings & repetitiveness of my so beloved Hobart Town. It was a utterly strange & mind-munting experience. On one hand it was excellent & relieving to have someone to converse with on all the familiarities of home; yet on the other, I couldn't think of what to say myself - and all at once it vastly hit how much I've changed in this short space of time. How could I go back to that life?? I'm not so sure I'm meant to. I put all this philosophising nonsense aside for the while, and enjoyed my days in Santiago with Goldilocks, BlackTom, & the rest of our newly acquired crew.

MJ is ALIVE & walking the streets of Santiago

That night was a bit of a bit of a rager. The weekend had yet again arrived, or so it seemed. The end of the working week. Time to flog off a bag full of empanadas from a sweet ol' lady & let the hair down at a Chilean screamo metal gig?? Goldilocks woke me up with his rampaging afternoon wave of buzzed up destruction, and it didn't take me long to catch up. We sussed out a few of the bars down the street, but nothing seemed to be really happening. It was back to the hostel for a little more spice. This dank & ditsy sprouter, who was working behind reception, told us about some gig she was keen to check out not too far from here. It seemed all right to us. I hadn't been to a live show for a long time. All gassed up, we hit the road & made for happy days. The place was decked out like the Brisbane Hotel. In the state I was you could have told me I was. The locals were super friendly, and did their best to impress us with some pretty nasty English. I kept asking them to swap back over to Spanish; I was understanding that better!! One guy just would leave us & the two chicks with us alone for a moment to breathe. "Tu chook his dick??" He was asking one of the girls while pointing towards me. "Yo guys ar da shittt!!" I had no idea at this point what he was trying to get at...I could only think up the Canadian BikerBoy's most idiotic acquired response - "No fumar Español!!" 

After a bit of a mosh, and a tad of face-rape on behalf of SweetSeventeen, we made for food and bed. My diet at this point was becoming atrocious; and there is only worse to come. We stopped into the empanada house, which is open all night, and ordered each our own batch of goodies. Someone screwed up somewhere, cause Goldilocks ended up with nada. I quickly mauled my way through three of the things, and we were all about to leave, when there was some confusion behind the counter. There was either another NicholAss hiding somewhere, or he'd forgot to come back for his late night tucker. Either way, I'm not sure; but this proved a vital opportunity to score more much needed nutrients. "Si. I'm NicholAss...gracias." - I grabbed the bag & walked out. Once round the first corner I ran. Woohoooo!!! We'd scored a jackpot!! And what was better - I hadn't got caught...or so I thought.

Hangovers suck. Especially when you wake up on a couch when you had paid for a bed. To top it off, we'd missed breakfast. Shit!! Now what?? There was only one thing to do; Taco Bell!! With a more than hefty posse, we left the hostel that afternoon - demolished some beautiful burritos, payed a visit to a famous beverage bar, and searched the entire town for a titty cafe. For some reason it seemed more appealing being served cappuccino's by topless waitresses than it did if she was dishing out tequila sunrises. Innocence. Sadly, we never found any of these notorious hideaways; however during our search we did stumble upon a few dodgy establishments. We had some beers in a biker bar which was busy blasting Slayer & Iron Maiden clips, before being ushered into a seedy joint known as 'The Tap Room.' There was some weird shit going on down there. We left when some guy told us to "get out...this is dangerous place for you." I took his word for it. Mum wouldn't be too happy if I got stabbed in some midday strip joint.

The crew sipping hangover 'Earthquakes'

We were out again later on that night. It wasn't as good as previous, but it had to be done all the same. This would be it for a good while, and I wouldn't be hanging out with BlackTom again any time soon. As seems to be the way (like at the 'Bakehouse' back home), a night out on the town tends to culminate with a hearty pastry-rich feast. We were back at the empanada shop. Aloft with drunken confidence & a misconcepted ideology, I approached the counter like nothing had ever happened the previous evening. "Buenas noches, NicholAss!!" Woahhh...she knew my fucking name!! This wasn't good. I retreated. Actually, I ran out of the shop & back into the street. There would be no snack for me.

Now where Santiago was a bit of drunken fun in an otherwise unflattering city; Valparaiso, two hours away towards the Pacific ocean, is bursting at it's seams with colour, youthfulness, & artistic flair. I hadn't heard so much about the place in all honesty; it was more a fact of somewhere to head for something to do. I'd now say you have to go to Valparaiso. It could be one of the coolest cities in all of Latin America. The only downside...there is no Taco Bell. Goldilocks, SwissTom & I left on the bus the day after my empanada misunderstanding. Unfortunately, we were also pursued by SweetSeventeen in all her teen-minded glory. Now to be fair, up till this point I hadn't actually minded the girl. She was nice enough & seemed easy going. By the time we finally got rid of her I was ready to explode. We spent the better part of two days wandering the labyrinth of streets & alley ways. It was magical. Pastel colours exploded off the walls, while bizarre and whacky graffiti concoctions danced across these templates with vibrant character. We got lost on purpose. It was the best way to see it all. Up & down, around & round. Sometimes a path would come to an abrupt & sudden end - while some other trails weaved & winded in such a way it seemed they had no end. Exhausted from all the walking, our final stop was out front of an old palace which afforded panoramic views of the entire bay. There you could watch the military war ships coming into port, and also see container ships being loaded up with metal crates before their onward journeys. We even saw the hottest woman in the world, hand in hand with the most unlikely of (lucky) suitors. He must have been loaded. That was the ONLY explanation. I nearly blew my load when she got back into the car, was driving off & gave Goldilocks & I the most 'I know I'm fucking sexy, I know you were both checking me out, and you know that I know I'm only banging this dude cause he's got bucket loads of money' kind of a smile I've ever seen. Holy shit, I love this city.

Street art in Valparaiso

We finally got rid of the sprouter, mere seconds before I punched her in the face. I forgot how young, young people can act. I'd been nice to her to the best of my abilities (I let her come with us, let her stay with us, & even lean't her my fucking camera so she could take photos). Then what did the muthafocker go and do?!! Snatches up my cap & runs on out the door. Down the street. Round the corner. She was gone. Bitch!!! What a little thief!! I'd been ignoring her bragging claims at stealing a bunch of shit over her minute uninspiring life earlier on, and now she'd got one over me & ran off with one of the only remains of my Cusco clothing closet. All I could do was scream on out to hear as she wobbled off down the street, "You fucking bitch!! The worst review you can imagine is coming your way on hostel world!!" I forgot to realise I don't actually have an account. If I can make one, it's gonna happen. That little sucker will get hers. For now, I've gotta buy another fucking hat!! More meaningless money, miraculously disappearing on down the drain. Yay...

Dancers in the Plaza

So I guess that kind of concludes this itsy segment of mine; I hadn't actually realised how much business had gone down in the past week or more. It sure is hard work out here, that is for sure. Oh boy, oh boy - now what?? SOUTH-bound. That's the only way to go. Patagonia is all that's on the current radar. So maybe now this 'detox' can finally begin?? Though if I get hungry out there, I really do hope there is a tasty tasting Taco Bell. Please.

Another graffed up street

Seeya'll again soon at the end(ish) of the world!!

Yet again, it has been a please-ure...
Much snozzin' 
The empanada haggler
NicholAss.

...and just you remember now: Pug = Seal.