Stairs

I awaken, the peace shattered as the dogs commence battle over the day's first scraps. The sun fossilising the town in its amber hue. A floating city looms on the horizon threatening to spew forth a multitude of sins and a bucket load of cash. My legs are aching, the rigours of a day climbing Valparaiso have taken their toll. Coffee, cigarettes and stairs....

The stairs start out from the bottom and the top, winding as they climb. They taper off like strands of hair, give you a slight respite, and then go straight up. They become dizzy. Plunge down. Drag out. Turn back. They never end.

How many stairs? How many steps to the stairs? How many feet on the steps? How many centuries of footsteps, of going down and back up with a book, tomatoes, fish, bottles, bread? How many thousands of hours have worn away the steps, ,asking them into little drains where the rain runs down, playing and crying?

Stairways?

No other city has spilled them, shed them like petals into its history, down its own face, fanned them into the air and put them together again, as Valparaiso has. No city has had on its face these furrows where lives come and go, as if they were always going up to heaven or down into the earth.

Stairs that have given birth, in the middle of their climb, to a thistle with purple flowers! Stairs the sailor, back from Asia, went up only to find a new smile or a terrifying absence in his house! Stairs down which a staggering drunk dived like a black meteor! Stairs the sun climbs to go make love to the hills!

If we walk up and down all of Valparaiso's stairs, we will have made a trip around the world.

My legs ache.

The afternoon spent on the terrace as far from the Queen Mary's inhabitants as possible. Pablo Neruda's memoirs are a delight. I hope you enjoyed his piece on stairs! Mind you reading it whilst overlooking the bay, quaffing a beer, may add something. Today is one of those days - i love this place.