Wednesday 9 March 2011

... as the VIP guest of the best football team in Chile

It´s hard to imagine giving the general manager of a Premier League club a quick call to say you´re in town and then getting invited round for a brew and a chat.
But that´s exactly what happened when I called Juan Pablo Salgado at Everton de Viña del Mar, the namesake of my team at home.
Despite months of fretting, I´d been unable to find out the fixtures before arriving in Chile so it was by luck rather than judgement that it turned out Everton were playing at home just in time for us to rock into town.
And having been put in touch with Juan Pablo by the Ruleteros Society - a bunch of Everton nuts whose mission is to strengthen links between the clubs - I was delighted by his invitation.
We walked into his office to find resting on his desk the pennant given to the Chilean club before the teams met for a friendly at Goodison Park last year.
And we were soon chatting about the delights and frustrations of our respective teams, while first-team players drifed in and out of the office.
I think The One With The Common Sense found the experience a little surreal (although she later confessed the young midfielder who wandered in was "quite fit").
And she remarked how it had been just like listening to me when Juan Pablo said he didn´t much care how the Chilean national team fared, so long as Everton won.
It was so nice that he gave up a couple of hours of his time on the eve of his team´s first home game of the season but Juan Pablo topped that by presenting me with a book marking his club´s centenary along with two tickets to the following night´s game.

As if that wasn´t privilege enough, we then sat through Everton thumping the opposition (Antofagusta) 4-0 - sadly not something the fans back home have been accustomed to lately.
There were only 6,000 or so in El Sausalito - a bowl-shaped stadium set amid picturesque surrounds of a lake and park - but they would put any Premier League fans to shame with their noise.
They didn´t stop singing throughout, occasionally unfurling giant banners dedicated to their team.
The performance helped their mood. It was driven by a baldy central midfielder known as "El Loco",  who scored a rocket of a free-kick, and brought Thomas Gravesen to mind with his nutty antics.
Even The One With The Common Sense was joining in the chanting but things got even better at half-time.
Having spotted my royal blue shirt, a couple who´d made the trip to Liverpool for the friendly match came over to us.
They´d had such a great time on Merseyside, they wanted to show us a good time in Chile. Not only did they drive us back to our hostel, they invited us to a barbecue at their place the next day.
It was great to get a taste of Chileno family life with Rafael and Caroline - not to mention the succulent steak, delicious pork chops and spicy chorizo.
They also took us to a beautiful lake near their house, the fascinating ex-home of poet Pablo Neruda, high above Valparaiso, and even through the "Commanche Zone" - the homes of hardcore fans of hated rivals Santiago Wanderers - to see not only a fantastic view but some of the poverty that exists in Chile.
While it feels like a prosperous country - prices here are equivalent to home - Rafael was keen for us to realise that many struggle in a place where there is next to no welfare system.

This friendliness has been typical of the welcome we´ve received in Chile - a country oft-neglected by travellers.
On arriving in Valparaiso, a guy spotted us looking at our map and took time out to walk us to our hostel.
The town proved to be one of the best places we´ve visited so far.
Like a Sheffield-on-Sea, its steep hills climb out from the bustling port, while residents use ageing "ascensors" to preserve their legs.
And while it´s as rough and ready as any seaport, with more than its share of neérdowells, there can be few places on earth with as much character.
A favourite haunt of artists, its streets are lined with murals - be they witty or political, most are pretty good - while in the central square hip-hop artists vie for attention with breakdancers, skaters and jugglers.
Add to that the fact ancient trolleybuses still rattle through the streets and its enough to keep any public transport saddo happy.
We also stayed in a cracking hostel, which served a free breakfast of eggs, fresh bread, jam, tea and fruit juice - although I did get bitten about 30 times by fleas picked up from the owner´s cat.

Jet-lag meant we didn´t really do Santiago justice.
However we did manage to do something we never did in London by watching the changing of the guard.
The pomp begins when the band march to the square in front of La Moneda, scene of the coup which saw Augusto Pinochet - one of Maggie´s old dictatorial chums - seize power from the Marxist government in 1973.
Once there, the soldiers perform a lot of standing very still in silence while their colleagues in the brass band do their stuff.
This is a much jauntier affair than the Trooping the Colour, mind. Instead of slow marching tunes, they bashed out a series of numbers that wouldn´t have seemed out of place on the soundtrack of a Carry On film.
At one point, they even broke into a splendid rendition of Everton´s 1985 FA Cup Final song "Here We Go". (Yes, I´m sure that´s not what the original was called)
I was tempted to sing along but feared arrest. The conductor would acknowledge the ripple of polite applause that followed each piece with a proud salute to the crowd - brilliant.
To finish, the guards march behind the building, across a huge main road - where drivers no doubt sit cursing - and face the other side of La Moneda, where they salute probably the world´s biggest flag. (It´s quite mesmerising watching it billow in the wind)
My favourite bit, however, was the very end when these immaculate guardsman (and women) break ranks to stroll over to a clapped out old bus to take them back to barracks, or wherever.
Some of the officers even stopped to pose for photos with kids and crazy old women.
Aside from catching up on sleep, our three days in the capital also allowed the One With The Common Sense to catch up with a university friend.
We went for an excellent seafood platter at a local restaurant, while I chatted to her Chileno boyfriend about football, beer and general nonsense.
I was later accused of indulging in something of a bromance. But it wasn´t like that, it´s just that Pancho spoke the same language as me. (Well, after a few drinks he could understand my Spanish, at least).

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