Come on feel the noise.

When you're living in a metropolitan area, noise is inevitable. There are all sorts of violations on your auditory system here in Santiago; Traffic, construction work, Super-Ocho sellers and New Yorkers to name but a few.
However, these are constants. You soon tune them out and carry on with your afternoon nap. It's the amount of superfluous noise I'm talking about. And Chileans love to make an unnecessary racket.

I'm also not talking about the one-beer-queers that burst into Feliz Cumpleaños every 10 minutes while your trying to watch a game in what is a designated Gringo bar anyway. That's quite annoying , especially when I throw them one of my well rehearsed dirty looks which doesn't pay off. Hey, they're in a bar having a drink. Who am I to wreck the buena onda?

No. I'm talking about the noise pollution in this city that the Chileans use as 'look at us, we're making some noise'.

Take the kids for example. If they aren't dry humping one another on park benches or metro platforms, they're playing music through their phones. Some of the more worldly-wise flick through the reggaeton classics with such abandon that no sooner are you ready for the second chorus, having mastered it first time round, then the next masterpiece is thrust upon us.
I can't blame the kids really, but a responsible adult should take hold of the situation and put a halt to this anti-social behaviour (as well as the dry humping).

Walking by a butcher's yesterday at a little after 9.00am (yes, I thought it a little strange for a Chilean enterprise to be open at such a convenient hour), I was subjected to a 4 foot high speaker in their doorway blaring out some sort of heartfelt ballad with the volume turned up to 11. To be fair, the volume was probably warranted. The song was at that crescendo part where you imagine the balladeer (or group of) grabbing an imaginary object with his outstretched hand, stabbing himself in the bosom and closing his eyes so tight that his cheeks meet his forehead. Think Backstreet Boys.
Well one thing's for sure. It certainly didn't make me want to go in there and ask for a kilo of chicken feet.

Then there's Dr. Simi (slogan: the same only cheaper). These guys sell generic versions of the more expensive, patented brands of drugs and medicines. There's a branch of theirs on Vicuña Mackenna near Baquedano which employs a similar marketing technique of the aforementioned butcher's, only this music tends to be a little funkier, but not necessarily better.

So, you've been working all day in your uncle's meat shop. You've gutted more than your fair share of poultry. The stench of rotting entrails and constant wailing of some lovelorn troubadour has taken it's toll and if Marco Antonio Solis has another verse left in him that vein in your temple is going to explode and make this place look like....ehm, a butcher's! So, you take a break to pop across to good ol' Dr Simi for a gross of Tapsin (or the same, only cheaper). Well, it's a frying pan into fire scenario, isn't it? Pop! Splat! Scream!

Going on strike here is no tip-toe through the tulips either. There are drums, whistles, kazoos, military style marching songs and loudspeakers. Those dour looking bank clerks you've had the misfortune to encounter while cashing your pay cheque are suddenly full of la joie de vivre and smiling, singing, shouting. Had they put as much effort into their customer relations (how hard is it to give a Buen Día a Cómo está? a Que tenga buen día ?) as they do to their banners, perhaps the bank wouldn't be making any redundancies.

The biggest violation of my right to a peaceful environment are the Transantiago buskers. Buses here get quite full but these guys manage to find enough elbow room to rape your ears with a couple of Andean tunes banged out on a guitar held together by scotch tape. Then they ask for money. Supposedly a bribe not to play an encore. I'm all for street performers but that's where they should stay, on the street. That way, I have the choice whether I want to listen or not. The bus company did try to ban these guys a few years back but they went on strike!!! The buskers that is! Their version of striking is a quite different from the common or garden variety I mentioned previously. Apparently they started attacking buses and drivers until eventually, as is the Chilean way, they gave in.

Fire engines and ambulances whizz along empty roads with their sirens blaring, football fans celebrate victories with car horns through the night, religious nuts carry paper mache Virgin Marys shoulder high accompanied by a brass and rhythm section who sound like they've exchanged instruments for the day.

Unnecessary, I say. Let's have some piece and quiet, I say. Easier said than done, I suppose.

Even as I write this, there are three Chileans having a 'conversation'. A conversation in this country is all parties talking at once while the competition to be heard slowly encourages the volume to increase. I can't complain, though. It is drowning out that god-awful Starbucks music.