Halftime Score: Me, One. Dirtbag Thieves, Zero.

We dragged ourselves and our bags inside and up the stairs. The place was spotless, it was filled with flowers, and smelled like Chardonnay. There was smooth jazz playing softly. A cavernous room had its walls covered with hundreds of old books. Huge windows looked out across…Valparaiso’s gigantic port complex, with a half-dozen modern Chilean Navy warships, a handful of big container ships, countless fishing boats of every size, and the Pacific Ocean beyond. A smiling young woman asked if I was (my name). My wife answered YES!!! The receptionist handed us each a glass of wine, told us about the vineyard outside the city, and said she hoped we would like it. We got checked in, went through the usual formalities, learned about the basement sauna, spa and pool, we discussed restaurant options, etc, got settled in our room. After getting freshened up a bit, we went out and walked up the steep street a couple blocks, stopping to take pictures every few feet, and went to dinner (which was wonderful). When we came home, the streets were dark and empty. I was a little concerned after all the warnings, but it wasn’t far and since we had been traveling for about 36 hours, we were looking forward to hitting the sack.

We had no trouble.

The next day we walked all over parts of Valparaiso. We wandered for hours through the hilly neighborhoods filled with dazzlingly colorful murals, brightly colored homes, shops, restaurants, bars, ice cream parlors, art galleries, and B&Bs. “Art” of some sort, was literally everywhere, on every surface. Some of it was good, some was political, some was crude, some was ugly tags, it was a riot of color, irreverent, whimsical, occasionally obscene, and mostly cheerful. We rode 19th century funiculars up and down the steep hills, wandered down to and through the scruffy and admittedly less charming port district. The city once had 24 funiculars – 24!!! Only a handful are still working, but those are being cherished and maintained. There is a LOT of vertical real estate in these hilly neighborhoods, countless stairs and “passageways” of all sorts. At the top of one funicular, we saw the first evidence of a unique form of public transportation: slides. Yes, like in a school playground. We later saw these scattered through the hilltop neighborhoods - with both kids and adults giddily screaming as they slid down them. There is a LOT of joy and love of life to be seen there.

But…yes, there is crime, too. As we were laughing at a class of school kids - and their teachers - who were hooting and screaming going down a slide, we met another American couple. The woman told me she had been robbed about an hour before. She was standing on a sidewalk in the lower town (where we had just been) when suddenly a man dressed in black ran up to her, grabbed the gold chain necklace she was wearing, yanked it off her, and then disappeared into a market crowd. “It all happened so quickly, we were shocked.” I sympathized, but also thought to myself (perhaps a bit smugly), “Lady, don’t go out wearing gold jewelry here!” Figuring I would never make such a rookie mistake. Well, I don’t own any gold jewelry (but both my wife and I do have expensive toys…).

We had no trouble at all in Valparaiso, except that we didn’t want to leave. We will be back on a future trip to Chile. We had to get to Santiago, for our flight to Easter Island. Our trip back to Santiago (Uber, bus, Uber) was uneventful.

(Continued…)

We checked into our hotel in Santiago (an older, classic place, in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood of leafy big trees and shade). After a long day, we headed out for dinner. We were a couple blocks from our hotel, navigating on foot to the restaurant via Google maps. I had my wife’s phone in my right hand (the only one of our three devices that had cellular connectivity), a guidebook in my left hand, a jacket draped over my left arm.

Suddenly there was, well, I perceived an explosion of noise and chaos on my left side. My wife grabbed my left arm tightly and yelled “what the f…” Then I felt a hard CRACK on the screen of her phone, which was face-up in my right hand. A motorcycle sped by and shoved us both to the outside edge of the sidewalk. At some point in there, there was an arm and a black gloved hand grabbing my dear wife’s iPhone, which was in my right hand. It all happened in a split-second. The motorcycle roared past us, the rider gunned the engine, and he sped away, down the sidewalk. He was dressed in black from head to toe, had a black helmet on, a dark visor. He was riding a motorcycle with a large box on the back for a delivery service.

My wife’s phone was still in my right hand, gripped tightly.

The motorcycle had disappeared. We were both in shock, but I quickly screamed “Hey, pendejo, come back and try that again, you piece of sh…” I held the phone over my head and waved it around like a trophy. “Hah, hah, Nyah Nyah, come back, mother…!!!” My wife smacked me. And shouted “Shut up!!!” Three older ladies who had been standing nearby saw the whole thing and were quietly laughing at me, smiling and nodding. I noticed they had all locked arms. We dusted ourselves off, tried to calm down, and continued walking towards our restaurant. Our meal was not great. We were still in shock. We walked home, me with my head on a swivel, constantly looking back over my shoulder. I still had the phone in my hand.

In this city, a motorcycle goes by at high speed all the time - like, constantly. Most of them are delivery services. I’ve suddenly become very aware of them. Today, more than once, I saw one coming up behind me out of the corner of my eye. I was throwing elbows, wheeling around, probably bothering innocent gig workers. It’s gonna take me a little while to unclench my fist. The worst are the electric bikes - nearly silent.

But we lost nothing in that encounter, other than perhaps my innocence/overconfidence/hubris. The score stands at Dirtbags, zero. Me, one. And I’m ready to play again. Bring it, mofo.

Our trip is halfway over. Tomorrow we get up early, head to the airport, and fly off to Rapa Nui (Easter Island) where I think crime is essentially nonexistent. But I’ll still be holding onto phones with a death grip.

The bad guys took a run at me, and I won. To hell with them. I’m going to hang out with the big heads, and if anybody wants to mess with me, they better watch out, because I am SO ready. Hold on tight to that phone, boys and girls. And don’t be afraid to throw an elbow if you think it might be needed.

I’ll post some photos and a trip report less focused on fending off rolling thieves, some time after we get home (most likely December).

Iorana!!!

Remind us what Easter Island is called by people who live on Easter Island?

On a recent RS radio show episode there was a guest who spent years there and he seemed ambivalent about the influx of Chilean mainlanders taking up residence in the town.

It’s called Rapa Nui.

“ Iorana “ is the word for both “hello” and “goodbye” (similar to “Aloha”) in the Rapa Nui language.