When I was little, I used to eat cheese sticks between meals. Actually, I'm pretty sure the phrase "cheese stick," like "cat roller" (adhesive lint remover), was part of the specialized lexicon of my family. I think normal people call it "string cheese." Tomatoes and tomahtoes aside, the great thing about cheese sticks was that they were frequently enough to tide me over until the closest meal.
Like this post. I'm working on stuff for this blog, I swear. I also promise I'll publish it soon. Until then, I'm posting a photo to tide you over. You know, like a cheese stick.
I took this photo a few months ago in Pudahuel, a district on the far western edge of Santiago. It does not have the most savory of reputations. I think the last thing I saw about Pudahuel on TV was a COPS-style manhunt that resulted in a pair of stolen tennis shoes being returned to their rightful owner. Nevertheless, most foreign tourists who have visited Santiago have been to Pudahuel.
It's where the airport is.
When my friend Leo and I spent a few hours hanging out in the much-maligned Pudahuel, we discovered it was home to busy street markets and to the most delicious fresh fruit juice we'd tasted in Santiago. We also learned that the cliché about Santiago being a place where tradition and modernity meet definitely has something to it:
The woman who saved my artichoke
4 weeks ago