Egg Bandit Extraordinaire

The next morning, I woke at 6am with a growling stomach. Miraculously, I had slept off all of the food. I went down to the hotel lobby to find the “breakfast spread” that I had been promised upon arrival. False advertising (Strike 2!). The “spread” consisted of a tray of bread, some jam, a pitcher of Pepto-Bismal-colored yogurt, and a cereal bowl-sized portion of scrambled eggs with a giant serving spoon in it. I’ve heard that Latinos aren’t big on breakfast but COME ON!! I surveyed the scene and looked at the deserted dining room (Chileans aren’t morning people). I made a decision that I’m not proud of but I’m not sorry. I removed the serving spoon from the bowl of eggs, placed it gently on the table, grabbed a fork and high-tailed it up to my room. I ate the stolen eggs in the dark as my roommate slept. I read for two more hours until people started to head down to breakfast. I casually joined the masses and pretended to be appalled at the miniscule portion of eggs that was being rationed out (the cereal bowl had been refilled with fresh eggs). I took a modest (second) helping of eggs, had some toast, and the strongest coffee of my life. I had outsmarted them all!

I pulled the same egg stunt the next morning. It was just too easy not to…besides who am I to deny my stomach its basic needs? Success again. On the third morning I went down feeling smug and looking forward to my bowl of eggs. I turned the corner and there was an alert, little Chilean woman sitting in a folding chair by the breakfast spread. She scowled at me when I walked in. I turned on my heel and high-tailed it up to my room. It seems they have employed an egg security guard. Forced to find an alternate source of sustenance, I set out to buy some fruit from the local stand. Two for three ain’t half bad. Can’t fool a Chilean three times, ay?

The next few days were jam-packed. After my protein-packed egg breakfast the second day, I also went for a lovely run. Mornings in Santiago are glorious. We had lessons at the CIEE office every day until lunch. We had lunch at the same place (multiple courses, naturally). Bolded description follows.

Café Lastarria

Appetizer (Entrada)- gazpacho and some greens

 Entrée (Plato del fondo)- gravina (with a mushroom cream sauce) with brown rice

 Dessert (Postre)- dulce de leche gelato sprinkled with cocoa powder

From lunch, a tour guide named Sergio showed us the ins and outs of Santiago. Hands down the worst tour guide that I have ever had. He only stopped to talk three times but each one of his info sessions lasted 45 minutes or longer. He spoke in Spanish which was only a problem because he also talked to us as if we were deaf and moronic yet became absurdly agitated if we answered one of his questions incorrectly. He’s probably disgusted that our only constructive contributions all day were about the city’s impressive population of stray dogs and the Chileans’ complete disregard for censoring their intimate affections in public. Anyhow, it was nice to get around the city and see the sites- namely Plaza de Armas, Palacio La Moneda, and the outdoor market. The market (el mercado) was “across the river,” which as I have come to understand it, is the dodgy side of town.

Before arriving in Chile, I read that this country is the least “Latin” of the South American countries and cat-calling and female objectification is minimal. I’m writing to the authors of the Lonely Planet Travel Guide to inform them that they are sorely mistaken. If you’re ever feeling unattractive and are in need of an ego boost, ladies…jet on down to Cheeelay! When we walked down the street, people came out of stores and stopped traffic mid-intersection to say things like “HI BEAUTIFUL WOMEN! Be my PRINCESSA! My REINA! I dream of you!” As if we weren’t a spectacle already. To make matters worse, the town drunkard (one of many, I’m sure) threw himself to the ground in front of me and tried to kiss my feet. I gave the phrase Speedy Gonzalez a new meaning and proved that sandals can double as track shoes. After I had put some distance between my feet and the Rum Tum’s lips, I went to a fruit stand to try my luck (a second time) with Chilean bargaining. 

I bought some delicious white-peachy-nectarine-esque fruits for a fair price and as I was walking away, the vendor chased me down with two apples, “regalitos para mi amorita.” I wonder how many times a day he uses that line! I smiled and gave him a little arm squeeze…two apples is enough to win my heart over any day (boys back home, are you taking notes?). That earned him some whooping calls from his buddies. The lovely courtship came to a halt when a very angry Sergio popped up and scolded me for straying from the group. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, Sergio.