Chilean Oktoberfest

There have been various moments that have caused my friends and I to say, "Only in Chile." This place is just that unique, eccentric, and fantastic that it requires such a thought. Last Thursday, we had another incident that really could only have happened the way it did in Chile.

A heat wave has meandered into Santiago in the past week or so, and what better way to fight the heat than with a frosty, delicious beverage. That beverage, of course, would be beer. Cerveza, if you will (or even better, "schop" as they say in Chile). Well, it just so happened that for the past 2 weeks a festival has been going on celebrating beer a few kilometers outside of Santiago. My friend Nate and I decided we better investigate. We had missed out on the actual Oktoberfest by choosing to study in South America, so this would have to be our substitute.

A quick history lesson: in the late 1800s, southern Chile was unpopulated for the most part and, in fact, ruled by the native people. It's cold and rainy, but it has pretty fertile farmland. The Chilean government at the time wanted to start to take advantage of the land in the south. They thought, who would want to live there with the rain and nastiness? The answer: Germans. Obviously, right? The Chilean government initiated a relationship with the German government and began to attract Germans with the promise of land and citizenship. And the Germans came, bringing with them their own culture and recipes. See where this is going?

Back to the present: southern Chile is home to some of the best breweries in South America. I've only sampled a few kinds, and this little excursion offered a great opportunity to sample some more. So off we went. Nate, his friend Kyla, and I met in a Metro station and headed to the central bus station to catch a rural bus. We didn't really know how far out the festival was located, but we had pretty reliable directions. The very friendly bus driver told us not to worry, he'd tell us when to get off. And off we went.

We arrived at the festival around 10:30 at night, after a 45 minute bus ride. There weren't a lot of cars, but we heard German music and saw lots of lights. We walked in and followed signs to the ticket booth. We somehow ended up right in front of the gates of the main entrance where a man was taking tickets. What followed was one of the oddest exchanges I've had in Chile (it was all in Spanish, but I'll write it in English):

Me: Hi, we're looking for the ticket booth.
Ticket Man: Oh, the ticket booth is closed.
Me: Oh no, so we can't buy tickets?
Ticket Man: No, you can. At the ticket booth, but it's closed.
Me: Right, is there any way we can get in though?
Ticket Man: Yeah, but you need an invitation.
Nate: The website says we can just buy tickets and get in. There wasn't anything about an invitation.
Ticket Man: You can buy tickets. At the ticket booth. But it's--
Me: We understand. It's closed. But is there anyway we can get in now?
Ticket Man: Yeah, of course. You just need one of these. (He pulls out a wad of folded pieces of paper from his pocket.)
Me: Ok, are those the invitations?
Ticket Man: No, these are the tickets.
Kyla: Ok. . .so we can get those from you?
Ticket Man: Yeah. Keep this end with you in case someone asks to see your ticket. (He hands us all a ticket, rips off a stub, and looks at us. Kyla just walks in. I pull out my wallet to put it away.)
Ticket Man: Oh, that's $2.
Me: . . .ok. (Nate and I both confusedly hand him the money.)
Ticket Man: Have fun!

It may not sound that weird, but add a foreign language and a lot of awkward pauses and you'll get the idea. In any case, we got in and went straight for the nearest booth, bought a half liter each, and began to wander. There were the standard tents, decorated with ribbon and filled with long tables, as well as a stage and about 30 booths representing different Chilean breweries. (Sorry, no camera for this adventure.) We found out that they would stop selling beer at 11pm, so we agreed to spread out and return with different beers to last us the night. We met inside a tent and began to enjoy. Honestly, it was some of the best beer I've ever had. There was only one other table occupied in the tent, so we began to play some innocent drinking games quietly.

By 12:30, the other table had left and we were alone inside of Chilean Oktoberfest. Soon enough, a security guard came up and told us it was time to leave. We packed up, although Nate and Kyla still had a cup each, and followed him out. On our way out, he turned around and asked us if we had a car to get home. I answered, no, but we'll be fine taking the bus. Our bus driver had told us that the buses run through the night. The guard looked at me confused and said, there aren't any more buses. They don't run here past 11. I told him once again that our bus driver told us there would be a bus. He looked concerned and very clearly said there are no more buses. I live here. I know.

Nate, Kyla, and I looked at each other. He said, ok, hang on. I'll go talk to the owner and see if he'll give you a ride in his truck. He came back a few minutes later and asked us to follow him. We went inside and met the owner who asked us where we were going. We named off all of the neighborhoods we knew of where we could catch a public bus to our houses. He thought for a minute and said no, I don't really want to drive that far. (In his defense, it really was a long way.) We went back outside and did a money check--we only had about $20 between the 3 of us. We found out in the next few minutes that a taxi could cost between $30 and $60, the buses begin running at 5am, and there's a town nearby that might have some way to get us back.

All of the people there were incredibly nice. They didn't care that we were stupid and unprepared and foreign. One man even offered to drive us as far as the next town, where we might have better luck. We crammed into his 5 seat car (3 of us plus 4 more from his family) and off we went. As we turned out of the parking lot, we all saw a lone taxi waiting at the entrance. He rolled up to it and talked with the driver. It would be $30 to take us into the city. We offered our $20, hoping the taxi driver would be as nice as the others.

And he was. We got out of the car, thanked the man profusely, and got in the taxi. 45 minutes later, we were back in Santiago. Like I said, only in Chile--the events, the incredibly kind people, the beer--you just can't find some things anywhere else.

Chao.