Bella Vista

My office is on Avenida Los Conquistadores. For a reason I can’t quite grasp, streets in Santiago change names every so often. So this Avenida Los Conquistadores becomes BellaVista as it approaches Plaza Italia, the most important spot in Santiago.

Sure, because Plaza Italia is to Santiago’s people what the Plaza de Cibeles or the Puerta del Sol is to Madrid’s. When there’s a sports victory or a political event to celebrate, the crowds gather at Plaza Italia.

It’s actually Plaza Baquedano; Plaza Italia is smaller and sits a few meters further on, but that no longer matters. It’s called Plaza Baquedano because there is a monument to General Baquedano, who was commander in chief during the War of the Pacific.

Last Sunday the Little Giant, the huge street-theater marionette that toured Santiago, rode a scooter to that spot and then took her nap there. By then she had already caught the famous metal rhinoceros. Efficient, the little one: on Friday she promised the president she would catch the rhinoceros by Sunday, and she delivered. An excellent lesson the little one left us. I hope we don’t have to call her in if Transantiago fails.

From Plaza Baquedano you walk north and come to the Pío Nono bridge, the Universidad de Chile law school, and of course the famous Barrio Bellavista, the bohemian quarter par excellence, with good restaurants, and nightclubs that fill up with brawls at night.

Lately I’ve only gone to that neighborhood for the odd lunch with friends, and because of those fears that come over you as you get old, I don’t risk going to Barrio Bellavista at night. The rumors that it’s a dangerous neighborhood may be true, I can’t vouch for it, but I do remember that the last time I went to a club around there, some 10 years ago (how time flies), we had to make a run for it because, in the purest style of an Old West saloon, a couple of thugs smashed some bottles and started a fight. The bad part is that someone suddenly pulled out a gun. I don’t know what happened next; we fled as fast as we could and the night out ended abruptly (or did it? I don’t remember; my wife is going to have a lot of questions for me because of this post).

There’s one of Neruda’s houses in Bellavista, and there are very beautiful parts; at certain hours you can stroll around the area without a care. Under the dictatorship the neighborhood was the refuge of artists, wool-poncho folk singers, and pre- and post-punk rockers. I remember going several times in my student days to the Café del Cerro and watching those artists who managed to say nothing while giving the impression that they were actually protesting against the regime. Good thing Los Prisioneros and other bands showed up later and brought us some rock.

I remember that a few years ago I shared a toast with Gato Alquinta, who was proudly watching his sons perform with their own band. It was the last time I saw Gato. I didn’t know him personally, but he was sitting at the table next to mine. I went over, told him how much I admired his music and Los Jaivas, and we toasted the new kids with a beer. Who could have imagined that night that just a few years later that neighborhood would give him the flower sellers’ traditional farewell, the one reserved for our country’s greats on the way to their final resting place?….

To go to Bellavista, you have to be ready for an atmosphere that can be pleasant at certain hours, picturesquely bohemian at others, and dangerous at others. But for a forty-something who went to college in the late eighties it can also be a nostalgic neighborhood.

That’s what BellaVista makes me reflect on, a neighborhood that is part of our ugly Santiago, without which this city would lose its personality.

Oh, I almost forgot: yesterday Windows Vista was officially launched, which has nothing to do with this BellaVista….

(this post includes no links to anything mentioned; that is left to your discretion)