II. Santiago and the Rapa Nui Express

Santiago, let’s face it, can’t claim the delights of Buenos Aires, Rio or Bahia. Still, what it lacks in charm it makes up for safety and ease of navigation: of all Latin American metropolis, it’s for me one of the places where I’m the least likely to be robbed at gunpoint.




In those days of late winter, Santiago felt like it’d done before: peaceful, content and quietly prosperous. Sure, every available surface had been tagged by enterprising graffiti makers and, yes, it felt as if those selling steel anti-theft bars were doing a roaring trade but, overall, we couldn’t help but feel like this was a 1990s version of Milan. We basked in the blissful ignorance of the occasional visitor, unaware of the simmering tensions that needed only a spark to explode, Vesuvius-style. It wouldn’t be until months later that Santiago would erupt in riots over cost of living and economic disparities, revolts of such intensity that even my Yvelines relatives were astonished (the 78, if you don’t know, is where Mathieu Kassovitz’ La Haine was filmed).



All that was in the future and so we spent a day checking out quipus at the local Pre-Columbian museum, buying felt hats and eating in the Belles Artes district, until it was time to leave for Rapa Nui.



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LA841
SCL-IPC
CC-BGF – Boeing 787-9
09:30 – 12:55
Seat 43J – Y

LA841. God knows how long I’ve waited to be boarding this flight. We were on the very last seats of the plane, veritable antipodes of how we’ve gotten into the country in the first place, but I didn’t give a toss. Again, I’ll be unpopular for saying it but, at the end of the day, a plane is a mean to an end. And my end, our end, was to get to Rapa Nui. To fulfil that dream harboured since I was six: and if the last seat on the plane is the only way to do it, then so be it. I’d even sail there if needed.


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Santiago’s airport is in the midst of some serious redevelopment and there’s no doubt: the new terminal will a pretty one, with more than a nod and a wink to Barajas’ T4. But in the meantime the domestic hall has, shall we say, a distinct 1990s/early Noughties vibe. Maybe it’s the décor, maybe is the music – yes, there’s music on the tannoys and it’s stuff like Semisonic, Deftones, Nickelback – but we feel 20 years younger. There’s even a Fiat Uno on the tarmac. I might’ve shed a tear. My first accident was on an Uno.

Now, I’ve always had an innate sympathy for LAN Chile. Don’t ask me why, I’ve flown on them only once. Maybe it was the sight of LAN’s 767s in Madrid when I used to fly there weekly; maybe it’s the livery. Yes, I always loved the livery.



Sadly, however, that’s gone, or going, too. Killed off by another rebranding, packaged neatly by some soulless branding agency and endorsed by a bean counter ready to pocket the savings deriving from not having to paint another layer over the white. So out is the star, welcome even more white and a logo that could sit on anything. A bank. A papaya producer. A soft drink.



No time to be negative, though. The boarding is starting and, judging by the looks, it’s a full flight. Rapa Nui and tourists alike line up religiously, gate agents enforcing zonal boarding with the zeal of Red Guards.

Remember our last-in-the-plane seats? Next door the lavs, any further and you’ll be hugging the APU and yadda yadda yadda? Well, it turns out that they are actually the crew rest seats, unused on a short-ish 4-hour hop. Two seats in lieu of three and lots, I mean lots of legroom. We fist-bump like millennials and get ready to take off.



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We point seawards, overfly Viña del Mar and then there’s nothing. Just the Pacific.


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A small but perfectly acceptable breakfast is offered by a great crew. Don’t know about you but I really like the idea of having fruit – grapes! – as a dessert. I’ve lived most of my younger years in a semi-rural location where fruit were everything we had if we wanted sweets (a Kinder Surprise appeared once in a blue moon) and I still can’t fathom the amount of industrial grovel eaten by the British. A tray like this one on BA would inevitably feature a tub of Lily O’Briens.


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Anyway, the mood onboard is joyous; even the pilots, when it comes to making the usual “hey, we’re almost there” announcement, don’t bother turning off the music they’re playing over in the cockpit.
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We’re almost there.
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Then, suddenly, there she is. It’s cliché, I know, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling a bit of a jolt. Rapa Nui!
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In a second we were on land, amidst enthusiastic clapping “Para el piloto” and much happiness throughout.

Outside, it’s a warm day: clouds float by, the sun shines benevolently and the colours are as saturated as they are on a Microsoft screensaver.
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To be continued!