Day 1: Bienvenidos a Portillo

Chile is a remarkably beautiful country. The flight coming in was painless ( I slept the whole way through...almost) and Santiago airport was a welcome destination to signal the begining of the trip. Coming from a warm climate to a rather cool one is a new experience for me but it was certainly pleasant. Of course Dad made what I expect to be 728 "It's chilly in Chile." comments.

Our driver, Christian, could not have been more accomodating. He exuded a particular Chilean charm that I have come to notice from the staff here at the hotel. So fond of his home country was he that he even treated us to a DVD about the history and culture of Chile. While it may have been about 20 minutes too long it was a nice glimpse into the happenings of this very narrow and skinny country. The drive itself was stunning. Passing mineral streams, little shantys and a few too many hairpin turns. Apparently the Chilean government is rather strict about allowing large trucks to use the Portillo Pass which was evident on our way up some of the switchbacks when no less than 25 trucks were parked on the side of the road just waiting for the OK to continue their respective journies.

The Hotel Portillo actually resembles a cruise ship that is about 1,000 miles off course. It is this enormous yellow slab parked in the middle of an Andean preserve and is rather funny looking at first glance. Walking into the hotel reminded me a lot of walking into the Allalin chalet in Zermatt. It exudes European charm and hospitality while staying true to its South American roots which is best displayed by the laissez faire attitude toward customer service. Dad, ever the keen eye in this department, made almost routine comments regarding the performance of the young fellow at the check-in desk.

Arriving at the hotel at 10 am and not being able to get into our room until 2 allowed us to take this whole rather unique experience in. Of course Dad made it a point to immediately get in touch with the woman who runs the place because of her status as a mutual friend and a Harvard Business School grad. While he seemed to think that we were 'in' I got the sense that we would not be seeing much of her probably because she was 0/8 in getting my name right (I believe we left it off that my name was 'Rich').

Watching England lose on penalties to Portugal was thoroughly depressing but watching the Brazil versus France game with roughly 200 native Brazillians was tremendous moment. Despite the loss, it was readilly apparent that their love of the Joga Bonito thoroughly surpasses any sport that Americans believe they are passionate about. Imagine Red Sox nation but with an actual nation behind it. By the end of the game, which Brazil lost 1-0, I witnesses a staggering number of children crying, and a few openly bawling, at the fact that their beloved team had not made it through to the next stage. The cheers for the substitutions, the cries for players to see the open men, it was no-holds barred support.

That about wraps up day one here in Portillo. Tomorrow Dad and I hit the slopes and while we could use a few more inches (ehem...centemeters) of the white stuff, I have no doubt that this will turn out to be a great trip.