Leaving Santiago – Act II

Act II

This picks up the story later that day. We had driven through the ‘smokey mountains’ south of Santiago. Not a clever name, the wild bush fires we had seen on the previous night’s news were in the next valley creating a dense blue pall obscuring the spectacular Andean peaks to the west.

We cut off Ruta 5, heading for wine country. High spirits, glad to finally be moving and underway. But night was coming in fast so we decided to sniff out a place to park-up over night. Obviously, chances are higher off the main routes so we roll through a small village, past the small square, the community building and out the other side. Spying a dirt track with an old building behind trees we bank it for later, U-turn and park up back by the square. Like some kind of organised bus tour, we happened to arrive minutes before the annual ‘village procession of the waring grapes’. Four floats, two red, two white, obviously, drove down the main street followed by kids with balloons, cars honking horns and various dignitaries. Stopping only to wave at old mamas, for a photo in front of the community building and when Rafael the float driver stopped to get another beer from his friends, the parade passed through the village and, as far as can tell may still be going.

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Leaving Santiago – Act I

The following story takes place over the course of 48hrs in Santiago and the Central Valley, Chile.

Main characters are:

  • Tall english man,
  • Mediterranean woman who everyone assumes will be fluent in Spanish,
  • a short dark haired junkie called Sebastian aka ‘Perro Danger’ or ‘The Guard Dog’,
  • two police officers
  • a short stubby tobacco farmer
  • San Francisco’s class of 2017

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Andy says: On leaving London

One last trip through London town on a cold November evening. The condensation of the bus windows gives dazzling bokeh to the bright lights of this global capital. Slowly we shunt through the traffic, watching the panic buying trinket seekers, satisfying Christmas consumer demands. Crowds of people eager not to miss out.

Now, now we’re off. And I’m mid way through rare beef fillet and a  good way down a fine chateauneuf du pape, mid Atlantic on the BA2239 to Peru.

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