Art

I rise at eight. And have a quick shower. The kids arrive at my room around 9.

It's the same deal as always for breakfast. Croissant, cold cuts, scrambled egg. Andrew is as hungry as ever. That is: not at all.

“Dad, have you ever tortured a cat?” Alexei asks, rather worryingly.

“What sort of fucking question is that? Of course I haven’t’”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a psychopath.”

“I thought you hated cats.”

“I don’t particularly like them. Mostly because they’re trying to kill me. That doesn’t mean I want to torture them.”

What's the plan for today? The Fine Art Museum. Which means taking the no. 1 metro a little further into town.

We would go and look at the fort that's on the way from the metro stop. But there's no way I'd get up that hill. The kids go and look at the fancy fountain just a little way up it. While I sit on a bench and browse the Guardian website. Why the hell is there nothing about the cricket?

There's a little impromptu market outside the museum. Which is the case in many spots in the city. Such as Plaza Brasil. An enterprising bunch, these Chileans.

They're renovating the museum and most of it isn't open. It is free, though. And a lovely building.

It has a series of temporary exhibitions which are quite interesting. Other than the one of lurid portraits with animal heads. Which is really, really shit. The paintings make me want to vomit. Literally.

We already have our refuelling station sorted out: Red Pub. A massive English-themed place not far away.

We take seats on the first floor. The kids order an unfiltered Lager. While I get a Havana Club.

"What mixer do you want?"

"Nothing."

They bring me a can of coke, anyway. Full-strength coke.

After a couple of rounds, we order some food. Burgers for the kids, a crispy sea bass sandwich for me. It's incredible seeing Andrew eat a full meal. My sandwich is pretty good.

They keep bringing me cans of coke with every Havana Club. I keep passing them on to the kids.

There's NASCAR racing on the TV, rather than the usual football. It's dead boring. Cars going around in circles, quite often at low speed behind a safety car. The occasional crash is about the only entertainment. Every time that happens, it’s repeated endlessly from every angle.

“Oh, that’s Indianapolis Speedway. I’ve been there. Or at least outside it. It’s massive.”

“What were you doing there?” Alexei asks.

“Drinking beer at a brewery next to it.”

“Not like here, then?” Andrew remarks.

“What do you mean?”

“You were drinking beer.”

“Very funny.”

We take a different metro back, the 5. Because the stop is closer and it goes to the supermarket. 

On the way we pass a blue-painted hotel. Which looks rather crummy. I’ve seen a few similar places. It displays a price for four hours.

“That’s not a very long sleep.”

“I don’t think it’s meant for sleeping, Dad.” Andrew replies.

“Then four hours seems rather long.”

“Please don’t explain any further, Dad.”

We load up with beer, rum, sandwiches and crisps in the supermarket. And a couple of bananas. Have to have a few vitamins every day.

It's already after 7 PM. We won't be going out again. Especially as it's getting pretty chilly.

On the walk back, a small pack of dogs runs past, and almost into, us.

"Your mum would have loved that." Dolores isn't keen on dogs at the best of times. Let alone feral ones.

Havana Club walks hand in hand with me to slumbertown.



Red Pub
Merced 395, Merced 398,
8320115 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
https://redpub.cl