The painted lady may not have gotten completely dressed, but her hair has been pulled into a tangle behind her ears. The streets of the Cerro Alegre the hill where we reside, down to the Plaza Sotomayor are alive with art and colorful people. I took my camera and Tom followed with his stick.
Many photos later and one periferico, like a goldola on tracks, we reached the square. We walked to a smaller, quieter square and sat next to an old man reading his newspaper. Of course, he was a Chilean who’d worked in the States for 30 years, 17 in Alaska, but he couldn’t afford to retire on his pension. So he’s back here living with family.
He warned us about ladrones (thieves) but we managed to avoid them and walk to a different periferico, ride up, then make our way back to the B&B, stopping at a corner convenience store for an avocado, a juice and a yogurt, much cheaper than the cafes here. We sat on the curb across from the drunk feeding the pigeons and ate our picnic.