“Gracias, Vamos. That’s all I’ve got. It’s a top gaff here,” shouts Liam Gallagher to just under 50,000 at Santiago’s Estadio Nacional. It’s about as far away from the rainy terraced houses of Burnage in Manchester as you could get. The stadium is surrounded by mountains. Chilean flags hang. It’s 31 degrees at 9pm, security guards pass small cups of water around to try cool the atmosphere. This is a different energy to gigs back home; it’s a passion similar to the devotion of the barras of local football teams Colo Colo and Universidad de Chile. “LO LO LO LOOO” they chant to the melody of (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?.They jump and shout; they know all the words to the songs of a band from the other side of the world. It’s a sight to behold. 

ÑUÑOA – Santiago, Chile. Tuesday 12pm. 

I’m shattered before I’ve even arrived. It takes three days to get there: Manchester to Barcelona, a night there; Barcelona to Miami, another night there after a missed connection and a delay; before finally arriving in Santiago at 10am. I’m held in customs. “Why are you here?” they ask. “To see Oasis.” The guard stamps my passport with a sigh and lets me through.

I meet my Uber driver on the second floor of the car park. It’s technically illegal but miles cheaper than a cab. £15 to the centre. I’m trying to sort my fiddly eSIM to speak to poet, artist and Oasis fan, Beatriz Leal, who I’m meeting near the stadium. 

It’s quiet today, a few vendors are setting up stalls. Later, there’ll be a light show but at 2pm, the barrio is in siesta with the unforgiving heat beating down on the concrete. 

“James, is that you?”, Beatriz says looking out the window at the sunburnt Mancunian on his phone. “You look tired, I’ll make you some food.” 

We’re sat at her kitchen table eating tuna steaks – a godsend after three days on the road. I want to know why so many people, especially here, are so obsessed with a band from Manchester. 

“I think Santiago and Manchester have a lot in common. The climate is similar in the winter. We have the same sense of feeling, fanatic groups of people. We love Oasis and The Smiths. There’s a discotheque in Santiago called Blondie that plays all that music. 

“We have a lot of admiration for British culture and a lot of similarities with the clothes and the styles. It’s a big influence on Chilean people. Walk in some places in Santiago and you’ll see the same haircut, the jackets. We recognise in Oasis working class representation. They’re from the border of society.”

We meet Humberto Cruz, a local who played for Chile in the 1962 and 1966 World Cups. Humberto tells me about Bobby Charlton and George Best when I mention Manchester. There’s a cultural capital with Manchester you don’t get with Reading or Gateshead. 

Thousands gather in the evening for the light show. Huge O-A-S-I-S letters fall from the sky, making up the logo above the stadium. Fans climb on shoulders and traffic cones to get a vantage point as I pick up bits of Spanish from nearby conversations. It’s a huge melting pot, not the pisscan stereotype some associate with Oasis fans. In fact, strict alcohol laws mean you can’t drink on the street or in the stadium. 

There’s an afters somewhere but I call it a night as I can barely open my eyes. My body clock is ruined after not sleeping for three days. Tomorrow will be a heavy one. 

Wednesday – the morning of the big day. I spend the morning strolling, before the heat gets too heavy going, through Plaza Italia and into the centre of Santiago to GAM, the Gabriela Mistral Cultural Centre, which is absolutely massive. 10 halls for performances, exhibition spaces, a library, and huge patios. 

There’s a digital college collection with UK musicians like Jarvis Cocker and David Bowie and others from South America like Gustavo Cerati and Charly García. I’m given a crash course in South American punk music by Peruvian journalist and Oasis fan, Zoila Antonia. “You need to listen to this band Los Tres, very famous in Chile,” she explains as we walk around the exhibition. 

Zoila will have seen Oasis five times on this tour in various cities. London, Manchester, Mexico City, Buenos Aires, and now here. She absolutely loves it. 

“I discovered them on YouTube. In the beginning I only liked Noel’s voice but then I saw Liam’s live presentation and felt shocked by his attitude. They arrived in my life in my teenage years and blew my mind. The attitude, the sound, the guitars. 

“I was at the concert in Buenos Aires last week and it was amazing. Wembley was wild but in Argentina it was another level. I’ve never seen it with another band. Many people travel from all over the world – Japan, Dominican Republic, United States, Mexico – just to see Oasis.”

I take an Uber through afternoon traffic to Ñuñoa to meet Beatriz and her friends again. It’s a great party. Tunes on a Bluetooth speaker, Chilean crisps, Fernet, cans – it might be the other side of the world but the solid ingredients for pres are the same anywhere with the right people. I maybe understand one word every four sentences but the sentiment is universal. 

Outside, swag sellers flog £10 t-shirts, posters that look like they’ve been made on an old version of Microsoft Publisher, and barbeques with varying quality of meat produce. There’s also a lot of security. I need my passport to get into the stadium as it’s linked to my ticket; they check it four times. 

We pass through multiple checkpoints then go along a small tunnel before we see the stage. I use one of the little Portaloos and then completely lose my friends. With no phone signal, I never see them again. It’s fine though because Richard Ashcroft is on in 10 minutes. It’s fantastic. He plays all Urban Hymns’ hits and some solo work before going off to rapturous applause. It’s a great start and the venue is already 80% full. “There’s three places in the world I love,” Richard says before going into Bitter Sweet Symphony, “Glasgow, Buenos Aires, and Santiago.” 

We’re into the main event before anyone has time to think. “OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ, WAY-SISS, WAY-SIS,” the standing section sing before the Gallagher brothers arrive on stage and go straight into Hello. It’s chaos. Everyone is jumping up and down. Liam’s voice is as good as ever; Noel, Bonehead, and the rest play the songs to perfection. The solos are being ripped every time. The place is bouncing. 

The setlist is so strong, they’re all fantastic songs; 23 on the list tonight, all received well. Acquiesce, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, Some Might Say, Bring It on Down, then Cigarettes & Alcohol. People are crying, shouting, kissing. It’s a totally joyous celebration; an overload of emotions with songs that mean different things to different people. The sun drops beneath an old floodlight overlooking the Andes mountains; everything about the night is just perfect. 

After running through Fade Away, Supersonic, and Roll With It, Noel dedicates Talk Tonight to the ladies before a belting rendition of Half The World Away. Everyone joins in even if they can’t speak any English. The brothers are their usual dry selves, Liam remarks “stop showing off that you can speak another language,” in an accent no one understands. It only adds to the spectacle. 

You could make a full setlist of the songs left out – Importance of Being Idle, Lyla, and Go Let It Out miss out but Little by Little, D’You Know What I Mean? and Stand By Me make it. Cast No Shadow is dedicated to Richard Ashcroft before that Slide Away riff, you know it, wyyyoh wyoh wyoh wyoh wyoh. Liam’s screams “WHAT FOR” before the end, a nod to early Oasis performances. 

Whatever, Live Forever, and Rock ‘N’ Roll Star close the set before the encore. It’s a total overdose of passion; you feel responsible as a punter to join in. 

Noel introduces the band before playing The Masterplan, then Don’t Look Back in Anger which the crowd sings for him. Hairs on the neck stuff. “Muchas gracias,” he repeats, clearly moved before playing Wonderwall and finishing with Champagne Supernova. Fireworks are set off above the stage to rapturous applause that seems to last forever. It will take days to actually take in. I’m stood in disbelief as the crowd disperses.

I walk past an Argentinian wearing a Manchester City shirt, completely bawling her eyes out. “Tu bien?” I ask in my broken Spanish. It’s the first time she’s seen Oasis – she, like me, can’t quite believe what she’s just seen.