The Coup, the Thief, some Strife and the Music Lover

Getting into the cablecar, I wondered a little when I saw the door remained open and there was no handle. As the car neared the jumping off point, however, it closed automatically, though the hole in the floor stayed open allowing me to really see the tops of the trees as I soared over them. It's funny how cablecars, closer though they are to the ground, are more threatening than airplanes. I got off immediately the car stopped and walked around the very pretty park I found myself in. A huge public pool with hardly anyone using it shone in the hot sun and I regretted not having my trunks (the receptionist had mentioned there was such a pool).

Unfortunately this was the wrong stop. For safety purposes, passengers had to pause at this station before going on, so once I realised my mistake I got back into a car and headed higher. The view got better and better, but every time my car crossed a upholding pylon, there was a jaw jittering screech which kept me wary. My breath came easier when I skimmed the tops of trees; at least if all went wrong my body wouldn't be too mangled. This reprieve was short lived though, the valley opening wide and deep and promising a much more splatterful end. The kids screaming in the car going down woke me out of this mournful reverie and, suspecting every inch of the last few feet of cable, I made the top platform without any mishap.

A church lay at the top, presumably hoping to benefit from the near death experiences of vistors. Beside it was an empty amphitheatre with hymns blaring over the loudspeaker. To top this off, in every way, a huge statue of the Virgin Mary stood open-handed on the summit. Even more so than the cablecar, the view from this outcrop was breathtaking with the whole of Santiago lying beneath me. Vaguely visible, the Andes poked through the smog in the far distance. Then I looked up. nearly midday, the sun shone right behind the head of the statue creating a glorious halo. I'm sure this sight has been photographed a million times, but I took a few more pictures to add to its tally.

At Cerro Santa Lucio, I had noticed some locals buy a strange drink from a vendor, something with solids in the bottom of the glass that they ate with a spoon; Rico Mote con Huesillo. A number of stalls were selling this concoction here, so I took a go. Apparently it is iced, sweetened water with some peaches and wheat thrown in to give cause for using your spoon. It was a little too sweet for me, but I drank what I could.

Getting down the hill involved the funicular, or a series of inclined carriages on a track. It was a lot less challenging, and a lot less interesting, than the cablecar, but it did the job. I found myself around Constitution which was handy given that it was lunchtime.

After an average seafood salad, I set myself the task of finding the Museum of Pre-Colombian Art. Walking the full way rather than getting a train, I got a better appreciation of the layout of the city, falling into the streets I had walked the previous Sunday. It's kind of strange to see a huge, decorated Christmas tree standing among palm trees, but that's what you see in the main square. I passed by and on to where the map said the museum was, but walk up and down though I might, I just couldn't find it. I gave up and instead went in search of tobacco for an uncle of mine. This too I could not find, anything they sold being either cigarettes or cigars, but in wandering what did I find only the Museum of Pre-Colombian Art.

The temporary exhibition was on hats of the Aztecs, Olmecs, etc., and to be honest once you see one tassled, four-cornered hat you've seen them all. I must confess a certain bias here. I am no fan of the early South American civilisations. They had no golden ages as far as I am concerned, just strictly hierarchical societies based on death, war and sacrifice. The ideology of death the espoused was purely in the service of the ruling elite (kind of reminds you of a lot of civilisations today). I am not saying European or Asian civilisations were any different, but I just object to the romanticising that seems to go on. I remember at an exhibition in New York on the Aztecs, I read that not only would the poor not have any jewellry, if by some miracle they did, they couldn't wear it; they couldn't be seen to be anythig but poor. Then the poor were monogamous, the rich were polygamous. And then there were the blood sacrifices (boosting the importance of the priests), the battles and decapitations (one 'ball' game ended when one team had decapitated the other), and art was regulated by the rulers so that it conformed to the ideology of death. No wonder they turned to cocaine. Again I don't say any other civilisation is better, just don't ask me to celebrate this one.

What I did find interesting was a legend one group had regarding their principal god, who they identified with the sun. Apparently every night this god would descend into the underworld to battle the forces of darkness before rising again to give light to the world. This strikes me as very similar to the Eqyptian myth of Osiris. Given the pyramids, the obsession with death, and the linking of the rulers with gods (not to mention the part-animal, part-human imagery), it seems remarkable if there is no link between South America and Egypt. I don't generally have much time for Graham Hancock (I think that's his name) and all his ancient, unified civilisation stuff, but there are so many similarities that it does give one pause for reflection.

That night I prepared my parcels and took it easy. When I checked out next morning, I left my luggage with the reception. I asked about a shuttle and was offered a taxi, and without thinking I let them arrange things. This was a mistake. When I got back that evening, my 'taxi' was awaiting me. The driver was a guy I had seen around the hotel. His cab was an ordinary car with no meter. Having got me into the front seat he asked for 15000 pesos up front. I was flabbergasted. Even the taxis at the airport had offered 10000 to 13000, while a shuttle would have been 4900 (a bus would have been 1400). I should have kicked up or refused to go, but again my lack of the language put me at a disadvantage. I knew I was being taken for a ride, but at least it got me to the airport.

Getting food in the airport was another swizz, but I'll ease up on the moaning. Suffice to say the hotel spoiled their perfect record somewhat with the taximan and I didn't leave as happy as I'd have liked.

My destination was Fiji, but to get there I had to fly to Auckland, New Zealand, and wait for ten hours before flying on. The whole trip would take the best part of 24 hours.

Auckland Airport was very pleasant, and arriving at 4.15 in the morning, I was just in time to have the shops open in duty free. The only real place to eat was a Burger King, so I got something and sat down in front of a tv. BBC World News was on. I nearly choked on my hash browns as the headline story recounted the threat of a coup in Fiji. Despite last minute negotiations, martial law would be imposed from midday that day. I was heading into civil war! Well, a nasty political situation, at any rate. I am adventurous as the next world traveller, but without a good reason, flying into military strife just struck me as foolhardy. It struck the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs the same way. Their website advised travellers to stay away. I tried to ring their embassy, the nearest being in Canberra, but Australia was two hours behind and no one was answering. In the end I asked to change my flight. The Air New Zealand staff were wonderful and with little trouble and with a flight almost at the same time as my Fiji one, they got me a ticket for Sydney. I would be reaching Australia a week earlier than planned.

Sydney Airport has an accommodation desk. Unfortunately Elton John was playing this weekend, and there was a music festival in the Botanic Garden, and...well, the upshot was there was one room available unless I paid $200 or more. I took it.

Seeing the advantage of a shuttle, I booked myself in on one. While I waited a pretty, young blonde sat down beside me, also waiting for the shuttle. She seemed to have a broad Australian accent, which was funny because it transpired she was actually Brazilian. She had just spent 7 months in Melbourne perfecting her English. Once I knew, I could detect the slight latin endings she rolled on her words. Still it was funny to hear her. Unfortunately she was just finishing high school, so chatting only went so far.

Another person in the shuttle was a guy from Cork. He insisted on telling the driver how he can't take the heat ('28's enough for me!') and how Dublin's too much for him. We really are everywhere.

I was the last to get to my hotel. My room had all the charm of a prison cell. Semi-dried soup blotches stained the desk. There were no towels, no soap. The floor being a smoking floor, the smell of nicotine was everywhere. All in all the only reason anyone would stay there was if they were desperate, and I was. I was also exhausted, and I went to bed by 9.00, after trying to do some laundry (there was no powder). It was just as well I went so early, because at 6.00 the next morning, next door turned on the music and began karaoke. The walls, did I mention they were just wallpaper? At one point a vocal girl stuck her head into the corridor and shouted at them to 'Shut the f**k up!' They didn't. I was not sorry to leave.

Besides no hotels, there didn't seem to be any hostels. After a few attempts I managed to get a single room in a hostel, that was a good deal more inviting, and a lot less quiet than the so-called hotel. I spent two nights there and now, the weekend over, I got a last minute deal with a city centre hotel. Besides a air-conditioning factory outside my window, and electric shocks from the elevator (I won't be using it again, fourth floor or no fourth floor), it is a very nice room. I have just seen a very impressive adaptation of Philip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly" (far more successful animation from Linklater than his last effort, "Waking Life"), and am now heading back to bed.