History

I rise around 8 again. And type up yesterday. I'm being so diligent.

Breakfast is the same as every day: croissant, sold cuts and scrambled egg. With ham. That’s important, the ham bit.

The orange juice is dead good. Very, er, orangey. Decent coffee, too. Which I need. Still feeling a bit knacked.

There’s a nice view of the houses opposite from our seats. Which are pretty fancy.

“Would you visit Iran, Dad?” Alexei asks randomly.

“No. For obvious reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Beer. Whisky. Gin. Cachaca. Getting thrown in jail for no fucking reason.”

“It’s just alcohol, really, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off.”

We chill for a while in our room. Before heading into town to look at another museum. The National History Museum. We take the same metro as yesterday, but change onto another line for one stop. Which turns out to probably entail more walking than not changing.

No rubber tyres on this one. Wider carriages and overhead electricity supply. So very different from the other line’s rolling stock. It also has glass walls and doors stopping you falling onto the track. (That was my train nerdy bit.)

The museum is in a grand old building on Plaza das Armas, the city’s central square. Which is also home to the imposing cathedral.

Inside, the story sort of starts where yesterday's ended. When the Spanish appear. The good news is: it’s free.. When the Spanish appear. The good news is: it’s free.

It's quite painting heavy. Though there is a really cool model of Santiago. Which makes you realise how large the city was in the 19th century. But the narrative stops rather abruptly with Pinochet's coup. Which I suppose is where lots of people’s narratives ended.

The kids look for a craft beer place close by. And settle on Espacio Cousiño. Which isn't too far away. I’m a lazy bastard. Quite happy to let the kids do the work. Isn’t that what modern technology is for? And the reason for having kids?

We walk along the main shopping drag. Which is bustling. And, with it’s fairly tall buildings, has a bit of a US feel.

“Look at that, Andrew – there’s a public toilet. You never see them in the UK now.”

The next-door pub to Espacio Cousiño has a pair of quite scantily-clad women standing outside. They’ll catch their death if they aren’t careful. It’s another chilly day.

“That looks like a hostess bar." I remark.

“Well, duh.” Andrew replies.

Cousiño is rather oddly laid out. All in tables of two. Not very handy for the three of us.

It takes a while to order drinks as none of the waitresses speak English. Eventually, we get beer for the kids, pisco sour for me.

All the waitresses are quite sexily dressed, with low-cut tops. And they regularly sit at customers' tables for a chat.

"I think this is a hostess bar, too."

“Really, Dad? You’ve only just noticed?” Andrew responds.

“You could have said something.”

I can be a bit slow sometimes.

All the other customers are middle-aged men. By themselves. I start to worry about the prices.

Considering we don’t speak Spanish and the waitresses no English, they’re still very friendly. Especially as we obviously aren’t going to push a handful of notes into their hands as we leave. As I see other customers do.

We don't stay long. Just the one drink and a sandwich each for me and Alexei. It’s not the best sandwich ever. I guess the cuisine isn’t the bar’s big selling point.

The prices turn out not to be crazy. I’m so relieved.

We return to our hotel. Where we chill for a while and try to work out where to eat tonight.

I fancy Peruvian. There seem to be loads of them about. Alexei doesn’t object. And, as Andrew doesn’t hardly eat, he doesn’t get a vote. Peruvian it is, then. At a place on Avenida Brasil that I remember walking past: Los hijos del Inca. The name swings it for me.

It's busier on Avenida Brasil this evening. Probably because it's a Friday. It’s especially lively on the square, Plaza Brasil. Where there’s a full-on market. And people picnicking on the grass. Despite it being 6º C. I wonder how busy it is in the summer?

There’s the familiar smell of weed. Young people having fun, eh?

Los hijos del Inca, in contrast, is pretty quiet. We’re the only customers. At least when we arrive.

The kids order themselves Cusqueña, a Peruvian beer. While I have a pisco sour. Which is rather good.

“Still no beer, Dad?” Andrew jibes.

“When do I get the chance to drink pisco sour? And I am . . “

“On holiday, I know.”

The food is excellent. Battered prawns and roast spud for me. With a bit of salad. Chicken and chips for Alexei. While Andrew eats a few gyozas.

After a quick visit to the supermarket, we return to our hotel. For some chilling with Youtube. We turn in a little before midnight.

With Havana Club helping me along.


Espacio Cousiño
P.º Matías Cousiño 166,
8320237 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.



Los Hijos del Inca
Av. Brasil 454,
8340371 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.