Pomaire

As previously mentioned in my post about food, we spent a delightful afternoon last weekend in an enchanting village called Pomaire. Located about an hour south-west of Santiago, we were dropped off by the bus on the side of the motorway (this is Chile after all) and walked the short distance along the one road in and out of the village.

According to my trusty copy of the Rough Guide to Chile, Pomaire (pronounced pom - aye - ray) was established in the 18th century by Spanish colonisers in an attempt to control the more nomadic indigenous population. It is famed for its pottery - the surrounding hills being packed with clay - and the main street is filled with workshops selling, in the main, cookware and piggy banks (chanchitas).

Pomaire necklace with new skirt

With my magpie's eye for anything colourful and pretty, I quickly spotted a tiny shop selling gorgeous ceramic jewellery. Of course, I felt compelled to take ownership of one of their wares, particularly one that would match my (ahem) impulse skirt purchase from earlier in the week. (Note to my UK readers familiar with my shopping habit - it has been so long since I've had the guts to even mooch around any shop other than a department store or American style mall, neither of which I can afford, these two little treats were long overdue. And beautiful).

We also discovered an amazing cactus shop, with hundreds, if not thousands of cacti spread out on tables in front of someone's house. Missing our prickly friends from back home, we bought one, which hopefully we will keep alive until it is time for us to leave.

The rest, you know; two enormous meals of humitas and cazuela followed by mote con huesillos which we had to force down on top of a full stomach before catching the very bumpy bus back to Santiago.

While Pomaire has built itself a reputation for crafts and homecooking (its main draw is the half-kilo empanada) it didn't feel overly commercialised, despite the best efforts of various restaurateurs jumping on any gringo-looking passer-by and trying to lure them in with promises of cueca and mama's best from the oven. Without wishing to sound pompous, the village had an air of authenticity and didn't feel like a theme park attraction with bus loads of tourists, as many places like this can. Not least because of the ever-present reminder that most of the workshops and restaurants were also people's homes where they try to scratch a living.