Tired from the previous day’s exertions, we slept in and lingered over a leisurely breakfast before catching an Uber to the city center to explore Santiago’s historic plazas and landmarks.

As we stepped out of the car into the Plaza de Armas, it became immediately clear that Day One had faked us out. The glorious sunshine and unseasonably warm weather apparently was unseasonable. Expecting another warm day, we’d foolishly left our coats at the hotel. Big mistake. It was freezing.

Still, despite the cold, the plaza buzzed with life. It was vibrant, chaotic, and slightly nerve-wracking. Several of the ever-attentive hotel staff had warned us to be cautious of pickpockets, so we stayed alert as we wandered through the crowds. The square was alive with circus performers, singers, and dancers in traditional costume—colorful, loud, and full of energy.

In need of our usual mid-morning espresso fix, we found a pavement café on the edge of the square and settled in to watch the festivities, doing our best to stay warm.

Our server, speaking in broken English, insisted—almost demanded—that we try a traditional Chilean cake with our coffee. Honestly, she looked borderline offended when we hesitated. So, of course, we didn’t decline.

The cake was absolutely delicious. It reminded me of a French mille-feuille, but with slightly less flaky pastry and packed with thick cream and a caramel-like filling called manjar. The portion was enormous, and the dessert so rich that I could only manage a bite or two before surrendering. I sat back, defeated, and pushed the plate away.

Almost instantly, a homeless man appeared beside our table and gestured toward the cake. I nodded, and without hesitation, he picked it up with his hand and strolled off down the street, munching happily as he went. I smiled—perhaps it was the most nourishment he’d get that day. Or perhaps he was a seasoned pro, dining well on the benevolence of tourists in the square.

We did make a positive step in the right direction to eating chilli in Chile when it is chilly. It was certainly cold enough, and on the café table was a bottle of aji-crème; chilli sauce. Perhaps all is not lost in our quest!

It was too cold to linger long at the café, so we set off on a lap of the square, admiring the Spanish colonial architecture—most impressively, the Metropolitan Cathedral. We took a closer look at the Chilean dancers in traditional dress and the circus performers, who had now gathered under the central bandstand and were putting on a lively show for the growing crowd.

Hoping the walk would warm us up, we soon moved on, wandering down the narrow side streets of Santiago. Before long, we arrived at the Plaza de la Constitución, home to the seat of Chile’s government.

Security around the plaza was tight, likely due to the upcoming Independence Day celebrations on September 12th. The country remains politically divided, even 50 years after the coup that overthrew socialist (or some would say communist) President Salvador Allende, and brought General Pinochet to power.

We were warned to avoid the city center on the 12th, as things can get rowdy—a reminder that history here still runs deep and close to the surface.

By now, it was getting really cold, and we were seriously regretting our decision not to dress more warmly. We agreed to duck into the first café or bar we came across—anything to get out of the chill.

The place we found was called Binomios. In hindsight, something about the name probably should have raised a flag (I later asked Google Translate what it meant, but it couldn’t offer a definition). No matter—we were just glad to be inside and warming up.

We had barely been seated a few minutes when I looked around and realized this probably wasn’t quite our kind of place. The servers had unnaturally narrow waists, skirts that were far too short, and proportions—both front and back—that defied anatomy. One glance at the all-male clientele confirmed my growing suspicion: this bar wasn’t just a bar.

But by then, our beers had already arrived. And to be fair, despite the questionable setting, everyone was very pleasant—especially to Andrew. I think they realized my mistake.

Through Google Translate, we struck up a bit of conversation with our server, Albany. She (?) was from Venezuela and had been living in Chile for six years. She told us that life here was far better than what she had left behind. It seems that everywhere has its immigration challenges these days. In Chile, it’s the influx of Venezuelans and Colombians, who—according to some locals—have brought with them rising crime, violence, and corruption. Still, I can only speak from personal experience, and despite the unexpected setting, our interaction with Albany was entirely positive.

After finishing our beers—accompanied by surprisingly delicious empanadas and quesadillas—we made a tactful but speedy exit and caught an Uber across the city to our next destination: an Independence Day festival in Parque Bicentenario.

The conversation in the back seat went something like this:

Me: Yes, that lady definitely had a VERY large bottom.
Andrew: No one should have a bum like that!
Andrew (after a pause): Well, maybe Gloria from Madagascar.
Me: Gloria? What kind of creature is she again?
Andrew: A hippopotamus.

I should probably have chastised him for being unkind, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

The Uber took us across the city, past neighborhoods and communities that, I imagined, reflected the everyday lives of ordinary Santiaguinos and Santiaguinas. It dropped us near Bicentennial Park, close to the Municipalidad de Vitacura—a striking government building with sharp geometric lines that made it look almost artificial in appearance.

As we’d been told, a major cultural festival was in full swing. However, it was ticketed entry only, and since it was getting later in the afternoon—and more importantly, still quite cold despite the sun’s persistent efforts to break through the clouds—we decided not to go in. Instead, we followed the perimeter of the fairgrounds, occasionally glancing through the railings at the colorful and lively festivities beyond.

The path meandered through the park, past an annoyingly large image of ‘Arry Kane promoting Skechers—somewhat out of place in this setting. On one side was the fair; on the other, the intriguing Río Mapocho. I wasn’t sure at first whether it was a natural river or a man-made drainage culvert. As it turns out, it’s a bit of both.

The Mapocho is one of many rivers that drain the Andes into the Pacific, but its course has been shaped and channeled by the city’s planners to control its flow. Reservoirs high in the mountains capture the snowmelt—the main source of Santiago’s drinking water, irrigation, and even hydroelectric power—and release it as needed downstream. Since it was still spring, the reservoirs weren’t yet full, and so the Mapocho was modest in size. Judging by the height of the channel walls, however, it must rage at times.

I was also fascinated by the design of the man-made riverbed: thousands of uneven rocks embedded in the floor create constant turbulence, aerating the water to prevent stagnation. Simple, but effective!

So much packed into just two short days in Santiago. I’m surprised we still had the energy—but not wanting to miss a moment of this incredible adventure, we returned once more to the rooftop bar. Tonight, though, with cloud and mist blanketing the sky, there wasn’t really a sunset to see. We huddled beneath a heater, sipping cocktails for a short while before venturing out again, this time to find an Irish bar.

Apparently lacking full commitment to our Chilean cultural immersion, we had Geo Bar, an Irish pub, on the radar as the most likely spot to catch some World Cup Qualifying football over the weekend. And it delivered—sort of. Frustratingly, the only game they didn’t show highlights for was Denmark vs. Scotland, likely because it ended in a 0–0 draw and, well, had no highlights.

I did, however, catch Nigeria beat Rwanda 1–0—which was nice.