“What do you mean you have never seen a llama?” Asks veronica, scandalised. I find this astonishment unfair. I am used to my London acquaintances poking fun at me for never having seen a chicken or a pig (other than the corpses in the supermarket). Although I maintain that there is no particular reason why a confirmed urban troglodyte like myself should have necessarily come across a chicken or a pig living in Moscow, Paris or London, I can still accept that such sightings might conceivable. Other people in these cities have indeed probably seen such beasts. But really, is it fair to expect me to have seen a bloody llama? “ where would I have seen one? They don’t walk around London, you know” I protest to veronica. She is unconvinced. We are standing on top of the cerro san cristobal, in the shadow of a 14 metre high statue of the virgen de la immaculada concepcion. The walk up took a good while, had in known I would have taken another mode of transport, but it is too late now, and I am panting and pondering the number of blisters that must be surely appearing on my feet. The view is worth it though, from the top of the hill you can see all of Santiago, which stretches out in every direction as far as the eye can see. At the edge of the city, it is possible to make out the outlines of the andes through the smog cover. Over a well earned ice cream, veronica consults with her cousins, all 15 of them, and they apparently share her horror in my animal ignorance. We take the funicular down the mountain, my view of the panorama only slightly obstructed by the 3 year old I have been give to hold. And just my luck, what do we encounter at the bottom of the mountain? Three llamas posing for photographs with their owners, for a fee. All 15 cousins drag me over for a viewing, presenting me to their national beast.
Llamas smell.
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