Saturday, Jul 10th: Last day in Chile

Getting a grip on Chilean grapes
Last day in Chile. We don't have our airplane until just before midnight, so all sightseeing needs to be crammed into the next 12 hours. We decide to go with the Concha y Toro vineyard tour, and  for book the  2:00PM tour in English. However, we underestimate the travelling time to the estate by subway, arrive late and in all our hurry even forget to use the 15% discount coupon, which I give to the delighted gay Polish couple behind us. We run to the restaurant cum gift shop, hoping 2PM really means 2:15 in Chilean, but no such luck, we'll have to do the 2:30 tour in Spanish. No problema, señor, that gives us the time to lower our heart beat and powder our noses in the nearest bathrooms. After a short introductory video we're off to the park surrounding the estate. A whole new world opens up, only 5 minutes by taxi from that concrete jungle at the end of subway line number 4. The heart of the park houses a summer residence reminiscent of a French castle's domain: fountains, a lake surrounded by Greek-inspired statues, European-looking trees, stylish French architecture. Breathtaking. Walking back to the estate, the tour guide points out the beginning of a field with rows and rows of planted, bare grapevines, as far as the eye can see. Concha y Toro own plenty of different fields around Chile, with reason: they're the biggest Chilean wine house by far.

And then the tour becomes really interesting: the tour guide mentions with pride Concha y Toro's investment in the Carménère grape, a variety I've never heard of. With origin in the Médoc region of Bordeaux, this grape was destroyed by a nasty case of Phylloxera plague in the late nineteenth century, until recently wine experts found out that Chilean wine growers  had inadvertently preserved it for the last 150 years! I had to get my lips on some Carménère, that's a fact.

Let's get the devil out of here!
But before we gain access to the restaurant the tour guide takes us down into the "Casillero del Diablo", the cellar underneath the estate. The story goes that the landlord, in an attempt to stop his bottles from growing legs, told the superstitious locals that the devil himself lived in these cellars. At once the thieving stopped.  In honour of this story, the landlord labelled one of his wines "Casillero Del Diablo". At this point in the tour we are all gathered in the cool cellar, completely surrounded by rows and rows of wine casks. Suddenly the light goes out, the cellar door closes and a demonic laughter makes its way to our ears. I imagine being stuck in here, with a lifetime's supply to the house's best wines: it's got zing, this fate. Then, annoyingly so, the light comes back on, the demonic voices stops and with it my resolution for a future as wino are bombed.

A cup that runneth over
A public bus brings us back from the estate to the town centre of Puente Alto, where a huge TV screen welcomes us. Surprise, surprise, the World Cup is once again the main attraction of the day, and it has managed to filled 3/4 of the town square with football fans. The second half of the little final is in full swing: Germany is playing Uruguay, the last South American contender. Germany wins the encounter deservedly with 3-2 and the town square clears within minutes. No fights, no drunks hassling anybody, just plain football fun. We dive in the subway, and make our way back to the city centre. The first part of the ride is overground, and we get to see snow-capped mountains all around us, the same ones as on the ride up. I'm finding this sight fantastic, riding a subway amongst snow-capped mountains, the locals don't even look out the window, they're used to these surroundings.

Hasta la vista? Erhm...nope
We plan to have a view over the city from the mirador. We make our way through the fancy neighborhood of Buena Vista up to the entrance of the cable car, but the daylight is fading; so we give up and have a cup of hot chocolate in one of the open malls, with French music in the background. It's week-end, so let's enjoy these last moments in Latin America, no?

God is not a DJ
Then it's off to the hotel again, to pick up our mill stones, erhm backpacks and head for the airport again. The subway ride is comfortable all the way to Pajaritos. On the airport transfer bus I strike up a conversation with an interesting man who tells me about his life as a movie make-up artist. An interesting story, until he asks me to embrace the Lord, like he has done many years ago. "You see, people are so sceptical about faith, because they cannot see it. In medieval times people didn't believe in viruses, and it wasn't until we got microscopes that people reluctantly accepted their existence. You see, God is everywhere, couldn't you accept that?" Me: "So, God is a virus?" That ends the conversation prematurely.

LAN-locked in Santiago airport
The LAN check in: 1 poor, stressed girl doing the check-in on her own, while 4 of her colleagues stand around a few desks away, doing generally nothing except for being ignorant about the long queue of frustrated passengers. People mumble, but nothing happens. Chickens! I may not have worked for the last month, but I sure remember what customer service is supposed to be like. There, enough rage has built up inside me to take friendly action. I step out of the queue and tell the check-in clerk that she should get the other clerks to assume their duties. At once the check-in with LAN Chile is rendered smooth. With our luggage on it's way to the belly of the plane, we burn some of our last pesos on candy and hang around the departure gate. It's 9:30 and the flight doesn't leave until 23:50. To kill time we have dinner in a TGIF-type of restaurant around the corner of our gate. I have a decent burger and a good beer.

When I pay, the waiter raises an eyebrow and tells me it is customary to leave 10% tip. Little does he know that I've recently tapped into a well of honesty. I serve it to him straight: "Listen, the burger was good, but the fries were so overcooked that they were about to turn into charcoal, and the service was good, but a snail could have served me faster. This is not your fault, you are working your burger restaurant buns off, but this place is severely understaffed and I cannot as an honest customer endorse, let alone financially promote this level of service". Badabing badaboom! I turn on my heels and leave the guy behind me, struck by lightning.
Right, it's almost 11PM and my eyelids are getting heavier all the time. As I'm trying to get comfortable in these plastic waiting lounge chairs, it happens: our flight is delayed until further notice. Noooooo. We've only got a 3-hours window in Auckland to make our connection to Vanuatu, so we can't afford to loose too much time. Everyone's panicking and people crowd the poor LAN Chile guy who made the announcement. I know that he's in no position to do anything for us at this time, so I leave him be. Within 15 minutes an official comes to chat with us. The plane will most probably be 3 hours delayed because of a technical defect that must be fixed before we can take off. If the fix takes longer, LAN Chile will put us up in a hotel for the night. I calmly explain that this makes it impossible for us to catch the connection to Vanuatu. We're slowly going nowhere at all.