Aah, Arica! Chile’s northernmost town. It smells of fish and is covered in a delicious layer of sand. A visit to Arica will leave you with a most delightful aroma of canned sardines in your hair. And sand in all your bits.

What rocks about Arica? The weather is great. All year round. Actually, loads of the houses don’t have roofs, because it never rains. That’s why they call it the city of eternal spring. There are also some rather nice beaches (relatively speaking. Beaches in Chile kind of suck).

Yum

What rocks most about Arica is the fruit and veg. Whatever your destination when leaving Arica, you are sure to arrive laden down with mangoes, passionfruit and, best of all, olives.

These are not just any olives. They are Azapa olives. Almost every olive in Chile pretends to be an Azapa olive, but the real ones come from Arica. The typical black olive of Azapa is almost purple in colour, and tastes really bitter. Most Ariqueños will sneer if you offer them any other olive.

What else rocks about Arica? It is only 11 miles from Peru, which, for skanky bastards like me, means you can go and buy fake Lacoste at the market in Tacna. Even better, go and try the mango con leche. It rocks.

What also rocks is that Arica used to be part of Peru, until Chile stole it. Ha ha. During my last trip to Arica, I met an old-timer who asked me if I had been to see the Morro, Arica’s most distinctive landmark. I said that I had, and he laughed and asked if I’d seen the Peruvians there. “No hay peruano que venga a Arica que no vaya a ver el Morro,” he explained. “Van al Morro y lloran, y rabian, y se llevan pedacitos de tierra.”

Silly Peruvians.

Arica is rather prone to earthquakes. But don’t let that stop you from visiting. You are much more likely to be walloped by a sea lion than killed by an earthquake in Arica. (OK, so it happened in Valdivia. So what. These Chilean regions are all the same.)

Arf!

If you have been to Santiago, you will have seen them. Pokemones like to hang out around metro stations, combing their hair flat out in front of their eyes, and making out with each other.  They wear black, dye their hair, and wear a lot of red makeup.  Kind of like emos only… cuter. And somehow smaller, although I expect that just comes from being Chilean.

The upper classes despise them, and the pelolais fear them. National newspapers try to decide what to do with them, bemoan the terrible degeneration of today’s society, and finally conclude that it is probably just a phase.

Why do they rock? The Pokemones, for all their stupid clothes and pretentious hairstyles (seriously, lamp-post related injuries must have gone way up with the birth of the Pokemon hairstyle) are a welcome change in conservative, mainstream Chile. These kids are alternative, and they like to flaunt it. Five years ago, you would not have seen two girls making out in the Parque Forestal, and definitely not two boys. Now, the Pokemones are at it every weekend, holding hands and generally canoodling for all to see. It’s cute, and you can’t help noticing. Are they gay? Maybe not. But if the kids are doing it, then maybe this country will catch on that it’s not all that bad.

Just don’t accuse the Pokemones of giving each other blow jobs in public. This unfortunate article by Ashley Steinberg, who probably should have known better, led to a minor national outcry. That’s the other thing about Pokemones – they’re fiercely loyal. And good for them.

Delicious, delicious choripanes.

Choripanes, logically, are served first at a barbecue because they are the first thing to get cooked. This does not mean that a choripan constitues fast food. A choripan can be a long time in the making, especially when it takes several hours light your barbecue because the Chilean macho men avoid any kind of lighter fluid and insist on creating fire by rubbing sticks together.

That said, the wait makes the choripan all the more delicious.  The secret, I believe, is in the unique combination of pork, fat and spices in the chorizo. One of the key ingredients is merken, a kind of smoked chili. Gives your choripan a bit of a zing, without making it too hot (spicy food is a no-no in Chile. Duh). The best part is the fat. Ideally, a delicious stream of oil should shoot out of a choripan when you squeeze it, moistening the bread and making it slightly sticky, thus preventing the sausage from tumbling off and falling victim to one of Santiago’s ten billion stray dogs.  Unfortunately, it is one of the rules of Chilean barbecue etiquette that a choripan cannot be eaten on a plate. Put your choripan on a plate and you will be greeted with hoots of  “Look at the gringo eating a choripan on a plate! LOL!”

If you are very posh, you may cut your sausage in half before making it into a choripan. Also, pebre or guacamole can be added. This guy shows you how. But you probably shouldn’t pay him any attention. He’s in Argentina.

This may seem like a bad thing. However, I am a lazy and unproductive person, so revel in the idea of a whole month of doing nothing.  Except making and probably abandoning another pointless Chile blog. Win for me.