May 1, 2011
Time to leave the mist of the Pacific behind: yes if only I could find the way.
In the hostel in Valparaiso, someone had just put the TV on as Is around the corner peeling potatoes by the kitchen sink. There seemed to be a movie on and my attention was drawn by a man speaking with great passion and a hint of tears in his voice. But wait a moment, I glance around the corner in order to see the screen and see the TV isn't on. A girl that had checked in in the afternoon is sitting on the sofa laptop on lap speaking on Skype. The man speaking was not a young man so I took him to most likely be her father. He spoke a slow Hispanic dialect so unlike the rapid jumble of Chile or Italianated idiom of Argentina. I heard in his voice how much he missed his daughter. And then the mother opened "hja mia....are you eating alright?"
Later at the table, the girl called Maria asked me where Is from and when I told her Northern Ireland she told me she'd been to Donegal. She told me she's from Mexico which explained the accent I heard on Skype. She and her husband live in London and are on a year long sabbatical. He a keen climber was in Santiago this weekend scaling a mountain on the outskirts. We got into an interesting conversation about cycle-commuting in London as she said how much she hated The Tube (subway) and so preferred cycling to work. I having lived and cycled in the city for many years could understand her apprehension in London traffic.
Apart from Maria, staying also there was Dave from England, taking a break from cycling from Ushuaia to Alaska; and a Japanese man that neither spoke English nor Spanish, nor did anybody attempt to speak his language so communication was limited to hand-signals and smiles. And the young French couple I caught on photo walking down the hill.
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It was a foggy Sunday morning as I set-off cycling again leaving the joy of meeting and socializing with others behind, returning to the solitary existence of a lone cycle-tourer. Cycling on the dual-carriageway which follows the coast North of Valparaiso to Vina del Mar, whereupon on a quieter street I pass well groomed horses drawing white and maroon carriages with polished lamps looking somewhat like part of a scene from a filming of a Dickens classic in London fog.
North of "Vina" as locals shorten it to, it is a quiet seafront road with a promenade on the shore side and expensive high-rise apartment blocks and palm-trees on the land-side the tops of which disappear in the fog.
Father up the coast and another city, Con Con, the promenade continues with strollers and joggers and many cyclists pass me but it isn't long until they come back on the opposite side. The reason became apparent when I turn a blind bend and find the road ahead closed with high hording like what surrounds construction sites with no way round. I cycled back and after a little confusion find the detour which of coarse leaving the coast went up a steep hill made worse when a cement lorry tipped a trail of now set lumpy concrete up the steepest part of the slope on the inside where I'm meant to cycle to avoid the crazy metro bus-drivers. Just as I move out grinding hard in a granny gear to get around the worst of the grey lumps which would've otherwise ground me to a halt, such a crazy bus-driver sped past with only inches to spare.
Up on the hills which line the Pacific coast, above the nice apartments on the seafront in the urban sprawl which is the rest of Con Con, I soon lose my way as there were many turnings and only signs for local places; nothing I could find on my map in anycase. And while I paused not knowing the way, it felt cold as the fog wasn't showing any sign of thinning.
The police come along with flashing lights on top of their car, leading an equestrian procession of men in the saddle wearing traditional costumes and head scarfs. When they'd past, I cycled along a pretty wide street thinking it would lead to somewhere but it led to a narrow street between rows of melancholy tenement blocks, so I returned to where I was just as the police escorted men on horseback were passing for a second time.
It's difficult finding someone whom to ask that will give you reliable directions. A cyclist passes on the opposite side, he waved and I waved back but also, though belated I tried to draw his attention: after all if anybody knows the way a cyclist should, but Is a fraction of a second too late and he cycles on. Then a man of great bulk that intuition somehow told me knew the way: truth being up until now the only people walking were teenagers and juveniles which aren't people to ask directions of. The big man directed me towards a turn-off which wasn't obvious as it was a narrow residential street but eventually dipped down to a big round-about which would've been easily reached by following the coast if only the usual way hadn't been closed.
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Today's ride: 101 km (63 miles)
Total: 13,616 km (8,456 miles)
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