As our taxi wound its way down the wide avenues of Santiago, our driver, despite his rudimentary English, regaled us with his vacation stories. “Viña Del Mar! Very good! Nice beach! Nice food! I go on weekend,” he announced excitedly, as he fumbled in his pockets while stopped at a red light.
As part of my fortnightly travel column “South of the Equator,” I write about relishing in the serenity of Viña Del Mar.
Travelling through South America during the World Cup, I succumb to football fever and find myself trying to explain to locals Bangladesh’s blind obsession with Brazilian and Argentinian football.
As the setting sun cast an orange glow over the hilltops, the multi-coloured houses lit up, as if by technicolour magic. 19th century funiculars, still in operation, rattled up and down the hills, ferrying passengers up ridiculously steep terrain. Below, the plains stretched out to the harbour, the shimmering water dotted with an array of ocean going vessels, all painted ginger by the setting sun. An Instagrammer’s dream, the scene made me itch to paint, but alas I had none.
As part of my fortnightly travel column “South of the Equator,” I write about falling in love with the dog-poop infested city of Valparaíso.
I pen this while seated under the shadow of a deserted lighthouse in a quaint Uruguayan coastal town, a meaty chivito clutched in one hand, its juices dripping down my arm. You would’ve approved. As I ruminate on your teachings I promise myself, and you this: I will continue to savour my meals, in whatever circumstances and locations they may be in, and write about them, with no reservations.
In the first installment for my fortnightly travel column for The Daily Star,”South of the Equator,” I come to grips with the reality of backpacking with a toddler. Jetlagged, we discover the nocturnal side of Santiago.