1/12/08
I can’t believe I am saying it, but the semester is wrapping up. In just nine short days I will be boarding a plane for Peru and my time here in Chile will be coming to a close. I don’t really know what to think now, the past three months of my life have been so completely different than anything else I had experienced previously. I remember arriving in Santiago at the airport and realizing for the first time that this was going to be different when the women directors came up and kissed me on the cheek to greet me. This simple cultural custom that I hadn’t experienced before in the U.S. was a sign of things to come. Now that I have been living here for over three months it is something I take for granted. I have truly enjoyed my time here for a variety of reasons.
First, the formal learning experience. I would like to say that my Spanish is infinitely better than when I arrived, and my English worse for it. Every conversation is a learning experience and a way to better my abilities. At times I have grown tired of not being able to express myself thoroughly, but I have to admit it is fun sometimes to test what I can do. This has really taught me the importance of communication and taught me to view the way that people communicate and interact with each other in a completely different light. This is one aspect I truly wish to continue with once I return, although I know it will take some effort on my part to maintain and practice my Spanish.
Next, adapting to a different way of life and different culture. At first I was afraid almost every step of the way trying not to stand out and trying so hard to mesh with this distinct culture. I realized somewhere along the process, that there is no way that was going to happen. I am a gringo, and although they call me Pepe there is nothing that will change that fact. It is certain that I have picked up a lot of the customs and don’t seem as much like an awkward outsider, but at the same time I have grown to live with constantly being different than everybody else in the room. I hope that it has given me perspective for when I return home and once again fit in with the status quo.
Finally, but not less importantly the forced independence. Sure, I had already gone to college and experienced living on my own for two years, but being forced to fend for myself in a different country in a different language has really taught me to rely myself more than I used to. For example the last little story I wrote in this blog. That would not have been possible at the beginning of this trip, not just because of the language barrier, but because I didn’t have the confidence in myself that I now have. This semester has been a great way to really push my limits and realize that I am capable of taking care of myself (kind of).
All in all it has been a crazy memorable experience that will stick with me for the rest of my life. At the moment I am completely torn. Half of me yearns to stay here and continue the fight – learning Spanish, adapting to the way of life, and exploring all this place has to offer. The other half, though, is tired. It has been months since I could rely on anything or anyone familiar. I know before I meet anyone or before I go to a new place that it is going to be done by “their” rules and not mine. I know that I will never have the upper hand in a situation here just because I am not a native Spanish speaker and it isn’t my home turf. Being a gringo comes with a lot of assumptions, some that allow me almost free reign here, while others are a constant burden that can’t be dismissed. People look at you differently when they learn you are from the United States of America, to them (for the most part) the streets are covered in gold and everything is easy. Nobody has to fight for a living, nothing can possibly go wrong, and you wield absolute power. I had never realized before the full scope of what it means to be a U.S. citizen, and although the generalizations they make aren’t necessarily true, just being from the U.S. does provide certain indisputable advantages. It is time, though, to return home. As much as I would like to stay I realize the necessity to see friends and family and almost a break from this constant test. I know now though that I will return, but that more than ever I want to leave what is comfortable. I look back now and think of all of the things I could have done better to take advantage of this experience and it just makes me want to do it that much more at some other point in my life.
To end this, I need to say thanks. I first need to start with thanking people that will never read this, my family here in Valparaíso. Throughout this entire time they have done nothing except offer me every possible accommodation and assistance. My mother here, Teresa, has been amazing. I don’t even know where to begin. She single-handedly has carried me through this process. She has been inviting to me from the start and I have felt comfortable discussing any topic with her (way too comfortable, maybe), but at the same time offering me full independence to figure things out for myself. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t had such a welcoming family, and honestly have not a single complaint. Just as importantly I have to thank all of you reading this and all the people from back home that have given me their support over the past three months. At times being in another hemisphere has been isolating, but being able to talk to everybody back home and abroad has really gotten me through it. I also owe all of you an apology in that I know I have been a flake a lot of the time. With so much happening over here and minimal internet access it has been hard for me to keep up with everybody, and I want everyone to know that I appreciate all of them for sticking around even though I wasn’t always the ideal receiver. Lastly, to another group of people that probably won’t ever read this, all my fellow students on the program. Inevitably groups will form – that is just human nature, especially when some of us are separated by an hour, but the relationships that we have formed and the strength that we have provided each other has been key to our success. We survived, we made it, and we even thrived here.
As I leave this crazy place, I wonder where the next few years will take me and can only hope for more adventures similar to this one. Thanks for reading and experiencing this adventure with me for the past several months. It has truly been my pleasure to share it with you.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Hodgepodge
22/11/08
A war is about to be waged on the port. I can feel the tension mounting everyday in the air. I often wake up and look out my window. The ocean and port are obscured by a thick layer of clouds that begin about 50 feet above the level of the plan. From my vantage point I can almost see over them to the horizon and mountains in the distance. The clouds form an oppressive cover over the entire city and push up against the tips of the cerros. As the sun gets higher in the sky the clouds begin to burn off and the vast Pacific comes into view. Around midmorning the temperature is still mildly cool, but the sun beats down with such unrelenting force that it feels like you are standing next to a large bonfire. However, and the attack that it unleashes is partially hidden by the cool ocean air. By the time the afternoon comes around the wind has begun its assault. It comes whipping up across the ocean and from above the cerros following the roads twisting and meandering the slopes picking up dust as it goes along. You can almost feel it pushing its way through the streets like a wave, forcing itself along with no thought to anything that which might lay in its path claiming many a hat and candy wrapper along the way. Amidst all this, a formidable enemy lays offshore waiting. Unseen from my window, but from other points across town its presence is easily seen in the distance. Just at the edge of the horizon, a massive wall of clouds rises out from the ocean thousands of feet in the air forming what appears to be a perfect edge that follows the rim of the horizon for all you can see cutting short the blue of the ocean. The steep edge continues for miles uninterrupted and unrelenting, but at the same time unable to progress inward to shore to envelope and wreak havoc on the city. It bides its time waiting for the day when it can move inward and sweep over the land leaving nothing in its wake. Until that time comes, though, I guess I can deal with the attack of the sun everyday and the mild temperatures.
Politics here in Chile are far from perfect (now that Obama is going to be president I don’t have to say the same for the U.S.). I would say the vast majority of policies are still heavily influenced or the same as the policies implemented by Pinochet during the dictatorship. The economy is still a neo-liberal system, meaning that it is super capitalist. Almost everything is privatized, and those that are from the government suffer. Two quick examples, education and healthcare. Both these aspects have a public system and private system, which sounds very similar to the way the U.S. works, except that the government puts the bare minimum into the public system. If you want to go to a university here you almost have to had gone to a private school. If you want to receive good health care you have to go to a private hospital or to a hospital located in a rich community. Following this train of thought, the government pays its workers almost nothing. In the clinic I go to for my project, the doctors are paid 900,000 pesos a month, which is equivalent to about $1,500-$1,800 or about $20,000 a year. However, that salary still would put you in the top income bracket in Chile, to give a concept of how poor the majority of the people in the country are – 90% of the population earns less than this amount. The bottom 10% of the population earns 150,000 pesos a month or a little less than $3,600 a year. The global economic crisis hasn’t been helping either, as inflation here is skyrocketing. It is also the time of the year in which the congress votes on the budget for the next year. All these factors combined leads to a strike. This past week, 7 days in all, 90% of the public work force was on strike. No schools open, no customs, no trash pickup, no government buildings/municipalities, only emergency services – no hospital care, and no public transport out of the country – to list a few. The country was effectively paralyzed, and also very smelly. Ships began to mount up in the port waiting to unload or receive shipments of products. Trash began to pile up at every single street corner bursting out of containers and spilling out into the road. Kids roamed the streets taking advantage of a week of vacation. People couldn’t receive any type of medical care except for emergency services. It was very impressive to see the mass organization that it took across all public sectors (excluding police who wouldn’t been fired if they had protested but were happy to walk amiably alongside the protesters in the marches). The congress is located here in Valparaíso so the city was inundated with tens of thousands of protestors walking through the streets chanting and waving flags. Finally both sides came to an agreement that didn’t quite reach what the workers had initially been demanding, but from the outside seems like at least a step in the right direction. However, given the politics that exist here in Chile, most likely they will have to fight again next November to receive a salary that increases with the rising cost of living in this world.
25/11/08
It seems that this blog is somewhat sputtering and breaking down at the end, but I guess that I could only put the blame on myself for that one. I have approximately two weeks left in the semester and things are pretty hectic. I’m shooting for about one more blog entry next week, a kind of farewell to Chile, and then one after my trip to Peru. On the 9th I fly out to Lima, stay in Peru until the 14th, then am back in Chile until the 17th at which point I return back to the U.S. I am beginning the end stages of my project and now have the mountainous task ahead of writing up and putting everything together for next week, and all in Spanish. This will by far be the longest paper I have written in my entire life (I’m a science major) on top of that it won’t be in English. Needless to say it is going to be some work, but I’m 17 pages in so far and things aren’t too bad. This last month hasn’t really been blog-worthy in terms of excitability for other people, but at least for me it has been very fun albeit stressful. I’ve really had to develop new skills to deal with the task of conducting a study in a foreign country in a language that isn’t my own. For example, this morning I went to a new clinic in a new community and spoke with the head doctor for an hour. After I finished talking with him I literally went patient to patient in the waiting room (wouldn’t be possible in the U.S.) and interviewed them about the health system. I know that isn’t as exciting as traveling around and enjoying weird cultural eccentricities, but now that I think about it, it is pretty cool to see the point at which I have gotten to. I couldn’t imagine doing anything remotely like that if you had asked me three months ago. To wrap up this post, a quick anecdote from yesterday.
I have a contact in a community with one of the community leaders and she had told me I could go there to interview residents about the health system. She informed me there would be a workshop on Monday night at aisdifaidsfa Avenida Rodelillo (that being what I heard on the phone and too proud to tell her I didn’t understand – so that being what I knew). I got my things together that night, asked my mom here if she knew where I could pick up a colectivo and headed off. She directed me to one block away from a plaza close to where I live. I got there, flagged down a colectivo, and explained to the man all that I knew. He told me not to worry and off we went. Up and up and up and up. Finally, he stops the car, gets out and asks the colectivo driver in the car behind. Gets back in, tells me he knows where I need to go and we continue up a little bit more. We “arrive” and he directs me to a building across from where a woman is standing in the street. I thank him and continue to the next part of my journey. I go over to the building but it is a church, not what I need. Instead, I ask the woman if she knows about a workshop happening or anything about a woman named Rosalba (the community leader). She says she knows where I need to go and has to go by there anyway, so we begin to walk. After about 15 minutes we arrive at a rundown building and go in. There are only two guys about my age in there, and no Rosalba. After they are informed about why I am there, one of them tells me he knows where she lives and that he can take me to her house. So we begin to walk again and after about 15 more minutes we arrive at an old house and he begins to yell at her name. She answers the door and we go in.
A war is about to be waged on the port. I can feel the tension mounting everyday in the air. I often wake up and look out my window. The ocean and port are obscured by a thick layer of clouds that begin about 50 feet above the level of the plan. From my vantage point I can almost see over them to the horizon and mountains in the distance. The clouds form an oppressive cover over the entire city and push up against the tips of the cerros. As the sun gets higher in the sky the clouds begin to burn off and the vast Pacific comes into view. Around midmorning the temperature is still mildly cool, but the sun beats down with such unrelenting force that it feels like you are standing next to a large bonfire. However, and the attack that it unleashes is partially hidden by the cool ocean air. By the time the afternoon comes around the wind has begun its assault. It comes whipping up across the ocean and from above the cerros following the roads twisting and meandering the slopes picking up dust as it goes along. You can almost feel it pushing its way through the streets like a wave, forcing itself along with no thought to anything that which might lay in its path claiming many a hat and candy wrapper along the way. Amidst all this, a formidable enemy lays offshore waiting. Unseen from my window, but from other points across town its presence is easily seen in the distance. Just at the edge of the horizon, a massive wall of clouds rises out from the ocean thousands of feet in the air forming what appears to be a perfect edge that follows the rim of the horizon for all you can see cutting short the blue of the ocean. The steep edge continues for miles uninterrupted and unrelenting, but at the same time unable to progress inward to shore to envelope and wreak havoc on the city. It bides its time waiting for the day when it can move inward and sweep over the land leaving nothing in its wake. Until that time comes, though, I guess I can deal with the attack of the sun everyday and the mild temperatures.
Politics here in Chile are far from perfect (now that Obama is going to be president I don’t have to say the same for the U.S.). I would say the vast majority of policies are still heavily influenced or the same as the policies implemented by Pinochet during the dictatorship. The economy is still a neo-liberal system, meaning that it is super capitalist. Almost everything is privatized, and those that are from the government suffer. Two quick examples, education and healthcare. Both these aspects have a public system and private system, which sounds very similar to the way the U.S. works, except that the government puts the bare minimum into the public system. If you want to go to a university here you almost have to had gone to a private school. If you want to receive good health care you have to go to a private hospital or to a hospital located in a rich community. Following this train of thought, the government pays its workers almost nothing. In the clinic I go to for my project, the doctors are paid 900,000 pesos a month, which is equivalent to about $1,500-$1,800 or about $20,000 a year. However, that salary still would put you in the top income bracket in Chile, to give a concept of how poor the majority of the people in the country are – 90% of the population earns less than this amount. The bottom 10% of the population earns 150,000 pesos a month or a little less than $3,600 a year. The global economic crisis hasn’t been helping either, as inflation here is skyrocketing. It is also the time of the year in which the congress votes on the budget for the next year. All these factors combined leads to a strike. This past week, 7 days in all, 90% of the public work force was on strike. No schools open, no customs, no trash pickup, no government buildings/municipalities, only emergency services – no hospital care, and no public transport out of the country – to list a few. The country was effectively paralyzed, and also very smelly. Ships began to mount up in the port waiting to unload or receive shipments of products. Trash began to pile up at every single street corner bursting out of containers and spilling out into the road. Kids roamed the streets taking advantage of a week of vacation. People couldn’t receive any type of medical care except for emergency services. It was very impressive to see the mass organization that it took across all public sectors (excluding police who wouldn’t been fired if they had protested but were happy to walk amiably alongside the protesters in the marches). The congress is located here in Valparaíso so the city was inundated with tens of thousands of protestors walking through the streets chanting and waving flags. Finally both sides came to an agreement that didn’t quite reach what the workers had initially been demanding, but from the outside seems like at least a step in the right direction. However, given the politics that exist here in Chile, most likely they will have to fight again next November to receive a salary that increases with the rising cost of living in this world.
25/11/08
It seems that this blog is somewhat sputtering and breaking down at the end, but I guess that I could only put the blame on myself for that one. I have approximately two weeks left in the semester and things are pretty hectic. I’m shooting for about one more blog entry next week, a kind of farewell to Chile, and then one after my trip to Peru. On the 9th I fly out to Lima, stay in Peru until the 14th, then am back in Chile until the 17th at which point I return back to the U.S. I am beginning the end stages of my project and now have the mountainous task ahead of writing up and putting everything together for next week, and all in Spanish. This will by far be the longest paper I have written in my entire life (I’m a science major) on top of that it won’t be in English. Needless to say it is going to be some work, but I’m 17 pages in so far and things aren’t too bad. This last month hasn’t really been blog-worthy in terms of excitability for other people, but at least for me it has been very fun albeit stressful. I’ve really had to develop new skills to deal with the task of conducting a study in a foreign country in a language that isn’t my own. For example, this morning I went to a new clinic in a new community and spoke with the head doctor for an hour. After I finished talking with him I literally went patient to patient in the waiting room (wouldn’t be possible in the U.S.) and interviewed them about the health system. I know that isn’t as exciting as traveling around and enjoying weird cultural eccentricities, but now that I think about it, it is pretty cool to see the point at which I have gotten to. I couldn’t imagine doing anything remotely like that if you had asked me three months ago. To wrap up this post, a quick anecdote from yesterday.
I have a contact in a community with one of the community leaders and she had told me I could go there to interview residents about the health system. She informed me there would be a workshop on Monday night at aisdifaidsfa Avenida Rodelillo (that being what I heard on the phone and too proud to tell her I didn’t understand – so that being what I knew). I got my things together that night, asked my mom here if she knew where I could pick up a colectivo and headed off. She directed me to one block away from a plaza close to where I live. I got there, flagged down a colectivo, and explained to the man all that I knew. He told me not to worry and off we went. Up and up and up and up. Finally, he stops the car, gets out and asks the colectivo driver in the car behind. Gets back in, tells me he knows where I need to go and we continue up a little bit more. We “arrive” and he directs me to a building across from where a woman is standing in the street. I thank him and continue to the next part of my journey. I go over to the building but it is a church, not what I need. Instead, I ask the woman if she knows about a workshop happening or anything about a woman named Rosalba (the community leader). She says she knows where I need to go and has to go by there anyway, so we begin to walk. After about 15 minutes we arrive at a rundown building and go in. There are only two guys about my age in there, and no Rosalba. After they are informed about why I am there, one of them tells me he knows where she lives and that he can take me to her house. So we begin to walk again and after about 15 more minutes we arrive at an old house and he begins to yell at her name. She answers the door and we go in.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
20 Minutes to Congress
18/11/08
This past week has been hectic in a very different sort of way and I haven’t had much time to write down my thoughts. I only have about two weeks left to finish up my project and things seem to somewhat be moving forward. Last week I began to talk to some people that live in communities around Valparaíso. It has been a learning process for me to actually see more the reality of poverty. The following is a rather brief description of one of the encounters I had. I say brief because I leave out many details of what they said to me, I just can’t bring myself to write it all out in English because I already wrote almost 5 pages on it in Spanish. This one will stay with me for a long time to come. Apologize in advance for the entry, but there isn´t a happy part.
I walk up the earthen steps chiseled into the slope watching carefully so as not to step in poop or on the animals that left it. Weeds threaten me on either side and electricity lines drape precariously alongside my face. The house was blue at some point but now almost all of the paint has chipped or faded away. Three mangy dogs guard the door lazily amongst the piles of scraps. A cat with a bloody gash across the top of its head turns and runs away. She leads me up a rickety wooden staircase and opens the door of the house. In the first room is a white plastic table set that would be found in the backyard of a middleclass home in America. A couple food remains are strewn around on the small counter space, but we continue on and pass into the second and only other room in the house. A television blares Japanese cartoons most likely dubbed in English then redubbed again in Spanish. A small dresser is pressed up against the wall with a few articles of clothing hanging out. The air is thick with the smell of cigarettes and a slight haze meanders about the room. One full size bed is the only other article of furniture that could fit in the room and in it propped up so he can watch the television rests a man underneath the blue and white flower patterned covers. We say our introductions and I explain why I am here in their bedroom and the questions that I will be asking them. Both of them agree and seem ready to begin. I first ask boring demographic information; what age are you, how much education have you received, do you have electricity? We get past the formalities and begin to talk about their lives. There are no lights in the neighborhood. There are no paved streets. Prostitution is rampant and the kids from the neighborhood up the way are a constant sort of problems. I begin to feel worse, but we haven’t even started talking about their battles. He got hurt on the job almost 20 years ago and to this day can barely walk because of his enduring back problems. Stemming from this he has frequent episodes of periods in which he goes into trances, recognizes nobody, begins to wander, wakes up with a splitting pain in his head, and remembers nothing of the incident. They both suffer from sever depression. She suffers as well from back problems as well as other general pains in her body including one of her arms. Then the laundry list of getting fucked over by the Chilean healthcare system begins. Ambulances refuse to come pick them up when they call. The occasions that an ambulance does arrive, such as once when he was in a trance and fell down a ravine, the paramedics tell him that it is something he can deal with by himself. In the occasions in which the ambulance must take him to the hospital, they make him walk to the ambulance instead of using a stretcher even though every step causes him immense pain. They are forced to walk for an hour and a half to go receive services at the clinic because they can’t afford to pay for the bus only to have the nurses turn them away. When I ask her why she doesn’t try to receive help, her answer is, “I’m depressed.” The people in the community are forced to share his pain medications for his back because nobody can afford to buy their own, including her, even though it gives her chronic pain in her abdomen. The only reason they even have these medications, which aren’t very effective, is through workers compensation. They begin to relate a story of a homeless woman who would sometimes sleep on their floor. She was an alcoholic who tried multiple times to go to the hospital to receive some kind of help. Each time she went they told her there were no beds for her. The last time she was turned away she committed suicide that night. The conversation begins to wrap up after about two hours. He tells me that he is going to die in this pain. I leave the smoky room and stumble out of the front room past the mangy animals. She walks me down the earthy steps chiseled into slope this time not watching where I step. I reach the gate and we part. The entire time I had been holding it in. I double over and almost throw up into the bushes, but I can’t, there is no relief. I flag the micro down and we travel down the hillside and I stare out the window looking at the houses scattered onto the slopes thinking about how many other she and he’s there are. After 20 minutes we arrive at Congress and I get off. 20 minutes from that house to the Congress of Chile.
This past week has been hectic in a very different sort of way and I haven’t had much time to write down my thoughts. I only have about two weeks left to finish up my project and things seem to somewhat be moving forward. Last week I began to talk to some people that live in communities around Valparaíso. It has been a learning process for me to actually see more the reality of poverty. The following is a rather brief description of one of the encounters I had. I say brief because I leave out many details of what they said to me, I just can’t bring myself to write it all out in English because I already wrote almost 5 pages on it in Spanish. This one will stay with me for a long time to come. Apologize in advance for the entry, but there isn´t a happy part.
I walk up the earthen steps chiseled into the slope watching carefully so as not to step in poop or on the animals that left it. Weeds threaten me on either side and electricity lines drape precariously alongside my face. The house was blue at some point but now almost all of the paint has chipped or faded away. Three mangy dogs guard the door lazily amongst the piles of scraps. A cat with a bloody gash across the top of its head turns and runs away. She leads me up a rickety wooden staircase and opens the door of the house. In the first room is a white plastic table set that would be found in the backyard of a middleclass home in America. A couple food remains are strewn around on the small counter space, but we continue on and pass into the second and only other room in the house. A television blares Japanese cartoons most likely dubbed in English then redubbed again in Spanish. A small dresser is pressed up against the wall with a few articles of clothing hanging out. The air is thick with the smell of cigarettes and a slight haze meanders about the room. One full size bed is the only other article of furniture that could fit in the room and in it propped up so he can watch the television rests a man underneath the blue and white flower patterned covers. We say our introductions and I explain why I am here in their bedroom and the questions that I will be asking them. Both of them agree and seem ready to begin. I first ask boring demographic information; what age are you, how much education have you received, do you have electricity? We get past the formalities and begin to talk about their lives. There are no lights in the neighborhood. There are no paved streets. Prostitution is rampant and the kids from the neighborhood up the way are a constant sort of problems. I begin to feel worse, but we haven’t even started talking about their battles. He got hurt on the job almost 20 years ago and to this day can barely walk because of his enduring back problems. Stemming from this he has frequent episodes of periods in which he goes into trances, recognizes nobody, begins to wander, wakes up with a splitting pain in his head, and remembers nothing of the incident. They both suffer from sever depression. She suffers as well from back problems as well as other general pains in her body including one of her arms. Then the laundry list of getting fucked over by the Chilean healthcare system begins. Ambulances refuse to come pick them up when they call. The occasions that an ambulance does arrive, such as once when he was in a trance and fell down a ravine, the paramedics tell him that it is something he can deal with by himself. In the occasions in which the ambulance must take him to the hospital, they make him walk to the ambulance instead of using a stretcher even though every step causes him immense pain. They are forced to walk for an hour and a half to go receive services at the clinic because they can’t afford to pay for the bus only to have the nurses turn them away. When I ask her why she doesn’t try to receive help, her answer is, “I’m depressed.” The people in the community are forced to share his pain medications for his back because nobody can afford to buy their own, including her, even though it gives her chronic pain in her abdomen. The only reason they even have these medications, which aren’t very effective, is through workers compensation. They begin to relate a story of a homeless woman who would sometimes sleep on their floor. She was an alcoholic who tried multiple times to go to the hospital to receive some kind of help. Each time she went they told her there were no beds for her. The last time she was turned away she committed suicide that night. The conversation begins to wrap up after about two hours. He tells me that he is going to die in this pain. I leave the smoky room and stumble out of the front room past the mangy animals. She walks me down the earthy steps chiseled into slope this time not watching where I step. I reach the gate and we part. The entire time I had been holding it in. I double over and almost throw up into the bushes, but I can’t, there is no relief. I flag the micro down and we travel down the hillside and I stare out the window looking at the houses scattered onto the slopes thinking about how many other she and he’s there are. After 20 minutes we arrive at Congress and I get off. 20 minutes from that house to the Congress of Chile.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
No to Parties in the Back
9/11/08
The youth movement here is centered around punk, apathy, and mullets. If popular culture were the only way to distinguish what time period I was living in right now, I would definitely choose the 80s. Many clubs play 80’s music, which is fun and kind of goofy to go to, but definitely like traveling back in a time machine. The music also, as I believe I have mentioned before, has a monopoly on the micro system. Love ballads set to keyboard music and synthesized is still rampant here. Many shirts profess their love for the 80’s and claim that they will never die. At the same time, this part of culture is mixing, albeit horribly, with new punk culture. All black all the time. Tight pants on both guys and girls. Towards the fringes of society, collars start to appear amongst other bizarre accessories. There is one gang of punks who live rather close to my house dressed in torn fishnets and army jackets. They sleep on benches and oftentimes I see them drinking beer at 9 in the morning. Today I walked by, like usual they were asking for money, and one carried a sign explaining why: “We are lazy.” This isn’t even to mention the hair. The mullet to actual hair cut ratio here is off the charts, and that data doesn’t even include the ever popular rat tail (not sure how that fits in), or, as I shudder while I type it, the lesser known, more absurd looking, side rat tail. I know that I am finally becoming assimilated to Chile when the other day I caught myself thinking, “You know, mullets aren’t that bad.” At once I grabbed the nearest persons hand and slapped myself across the face. There are some things that I can do to learn and experience Chilean culture, but there is a distinct line that I can never allow myself to cross. Never can there be business in the front, party in the back, as much as this country is trying to persuade me otherwise…
I deliberated a while as to whether or not I should post this or not. I don’t want to give the wrong impression to people back home as to the character of the area of Valparaíso I live in here. Security has never been an issue for me. I walk around the city at all hours of the night. Many times I walk from my house down to the plan even though I live in a neighborhood that would never be described as being safe. I have always taken for granted my being a guy, not looking like a gringo, and being able to run. Two nights ago I was walking with Catherine back to her apartment. It was late, and not many people were out on the streets. She lives in an area much more touristy and wealthy and generally much safer than I do (it is about a 20 minute walk down from where I live and a 15 minute walk up from the “plan”). We approached a plaza that is in front of her house and there was a man, alone, leaning up against a light pole. As we walked by him he began to follow along next to us about 15 feet away. We walked through the plaza and began to leave it up a residential street. Neither of us were speaking so that he wouldn’t know that we weren’t Chilean. My arm was around her and I pulled her in closer to me. All the while he kept shooting me glances over at us and staring me in the eye. I slowed the pace and he slowed as well still mimicking our every move. About 50 feet up the road or so is the turn off for her apartment down a small road that leads to her complex and one other. I didn’t want to turn down that dark road with the man following us so we stopped at the corner. He stopped at the corner. I pushed my other hand into my pocked ready to act if it became necessary. I took a deep breath to calm myself and prepared for the worst to happen. We stood there for a bit, him continuing to stare at us. Luckily, another man happened to be walking on the street and we took the opportunity and darted off down her street and went into her apartment building. I stayed there for a while waiting because I had to leave going the same way we had come in, except by myself. He never tried to actually do anything, and didn’t do anything more than follow us and stare at me, but I am sure of his motives. I’m glad that nothing more came of the situation, but it was definitely a reality check as to the dangers of being out late at night walking around in whatever city in the world. It is easy to become complacent once you get accustomed to a place, so hopefully this will serve as a reminder to me that just because I am comfortable with the city, that doesn’t mean that all dangers have disappeared.
11/11/08
For this past week I have been having a different set of new experiences than before in my travels here. The ISP (Independent Study Project) period has begun. We have one month to complete a research project over a topic of our choosing. I am looking at the health care system in the surrounding areas of Valparaíso. The city itself is divided into the plan, the flat part next to the ocean, and the cerros, the hills that surround the plan inland from the ocean. As a general rule of thumb, the population that lives farther up on the hills farther from the city live in more and more poverty. I am investigating their access to health care and the inequality they experience just for living on top of the hills. I have spent the past week jetting around the city talking to contacts of contacts trying to establish myself in certain sectors. For instance, yesterday I found myself in the center of dispatch of emergency services, today I went to a consultorio (sort of like a clinic) in a very poor area of the city. Even after just a week of the process, I feel like I have learned a lot about how to approach random people in high places and obtain information and more contacts. It also doesn’t hurt that I am a gringo. There are many things I am doing right now that would not be possible if it weren’t for that fact. For instance, with no background check at all, nothing confirming my story, I now have access to this consultorio for 3 hours a day to question patients about their views of the health care system. I was able to set this up purely through the call from a doctor that I happen to know (spent half a day with) to the nurse that works the evening shift. As much as being a gringo here is frustrating, always being different, singled out, its accent has its advantages. I haven’t been experiencing much of the city lately because I have been pretty busy, but I plan on getting some good ocean/beach time soon as it is starting to get to be summer down here.
The youth movement here is centered around punk, apathy, and mullets. If popular culture were the only way to distinguish what time period I was living in right now, I would definitely choose the 80s. Many clubs play 80’s music, which is fun and kind of goofy to go to, but definitely like traveling back in a time machine. The music also, as I believe I have mentioned before, has a monopoly on the micro system. Love ballads set to keyboard music and synthesized is still rampant here. Many shirts profess their love for the 80’s and claim that they will never die. At the same time, this part of culture is mixing, albeit horribly, with new punk culture. All black all the time. Tight pants on both guys and girls. Towards the fringes of society, collars start to appear amongst other bizarre accessories. There is one gang of punks who live rather close to my house dressed in torn fishnets and army jackets. They sleep on benches and oftentimes I see them drinking beer at 9 in the morning. Today I walked by, like usual they were asking for money, and one carried a sign explaining why: “We are lazy.” This isn’t even to mention the hair. The mullet to actual hair cut ratio here is off the charts, and that data doesn’t even include the ever popular rat tail (not sure how that fits in), or, as I shudder while I type it, the lesser known, more absurd looking, side rat tail. I know that I am finally becoming assimilated to Chile when the other day I caught myself thinking, “You know, mullets aren’t that bad.” At once I grabbed the nearest persons hand and slapped myself across the face. There are some things that I can do to learn and experience Chilean culture, but there is a distinct line that I can never allow myself to cross. Never can there be business in the front, party in the back, as much as this country is trying to persuade me otherwise…
I deliberated a while as to whether or not I should post this or not. I don’t want to give the wrong impression to people back home as to the character of the area of Valparaíso I live in here. Security has never been an issue for me. I walk around the city at all hours of the night. Many times I walk from my house down to the plan even though I live in a neighborhood that would never be described as being safe. I have always taken for granted my being a guy, not looking like a gringo, and being able to run. Two nights ago I was walking with Catherine back to her apartment. It was late, and not many people were out on the streets. She lives in an area much more touristy and wealthy and generally much safer than I do (it is about a 20 minute walk down from where I live and a 15 minute walk up from the “plan”). We approached a plaza that is in front of her house and there was a man, alone, leaning up against a light pole. As we walked by him he began to follow along next to us about 15 feet away. We walked through the plaza and began to leave it up a residential street. Neither of us were speaking so that he wouldn’t know that we weren’t Chilean. My arm was around her and I pulled her in closer to me. All the while he kept shooting me glances over at us and staring me in the eye. I slowed the pace and he slowed as well still mimicking our every move. About 50 feet up the road or so is the turn off for her apartment down a small road that leads to her complex and one other. I didn’t want to turn down that dark road with the man following us so we stopped at the corner. He stopped at the corner. I pushed my other hand into my pocked ready to act if it became necessary. I took a deep breath to calm myself and prepared for the worst to happen. We stood there for a bit, him continuing to stare at us. Luckily, another man happened to be walking on the street and we took the opportunity and darted off down her street and went into her apartment building. I stayed there for a while waiting because I had to leave going the same way we had come in, except by myself. He never tried to actually do anything, and didn’t do anything more than follow us and stare at me, but I am sure of his motives. I’m glad that nothing more came of the situation, but it was definitely a reality check as to the dangers of being out late at night walking around in whatever city in the world. It is easy to become complacent once you get accustomed to a place, so hopefully this will serve as a reminder to me that just because I am comfortable with the city, that doesn’t mean that all dangers have disappeared.
11/11/08
For this past week I have been having a different set of new experiences than before in my travels here. The ISP (Independent Study Project) period has begun. We have one month to complete a research project over a topic of our choosing. I am looking at the health care system in the surrounding areas of Valparaíso. The city itself is divided into the plan, the flat part next to the ocean, and the cerros, the hills that surround the plan inland from the ocean. As a general rule of thumb, the population that lives farther up on the hills farther from the city live in more and more poverty. I am investigating their access to health care and the inequality they experience just for living on top of the hills. I have spent the past week jetting around the city talking to contacts of contacts trying to establish myself in certain sectors. For instance, yesterday I found myself in the center of dispatch of emergency services, today I went to a consultorio (sort of like a clinic) in a very poor area of the city. Even after just a week of the process, I feel like I have learned a lot about how to approach random people in high places and obtain information and more contacts. It also doesn’t hurt that I am a gringo. There are many things I am doing right now that would not be possible if it weren’t for that fact. For instance, with no background check at all, nothing confirming my story, I now have access to this consultorio for 3 hours a day to question patients about their views of the health care system. I was able to set this up purely through the call from a doctor that I happen to know (spent half a day with) to the nurse that works the evening shift. As much as being a gringo here is frustrating, always being different, singled out, its accent has its advantages. I haven’t been experiencing much of the city lately because I have been pretty busy, but I plan on getting some good ocean/beach time soon as it is starting to get to be summer down here.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
¡I'm Back!
19/10/08 - 4/11/08
Hola! I’m back (home?) in Valparaíso from my excursion to the South. There is a lot to write about, and since I wasn’t traveling with my laptop, I haven’t kept a faithful account of the events of the past two weeks. I have managed to write some stuff down on paper, so I will do my best to give a summary of what I have been up to recently. To make up for that, I will include some very pretty pictures of the country that I will hopefully upload within the next few days. Not possible right now cause I need to sort through them and get better internet access.
Sunday: I flew from Santiago to Temuco today. We arrived in the city and drove out to the country. Everything here is green, almost like someone painted the countryside but could only use different shades of green. Went to a “ruka” first, which is a large wood hut that serves as the traditional Mapuche meeting place for the community. Mapuche culture dictates that everybody sit in a circle around a fire and introduce themselves counter-clockwise. Our host parents had come to the ruka to meet us, and even though we hadn’t been told who we would be living with, I knew almost immediately cause on woman kept looking at me (easy to single me out here as the only guy in our group of 13). We then had a small meal in the ruka with foods I had never had before but were delicious, then all split our separate ways. We grabbed our bags, then my dad pointed us to our transportation. Some families took horse-drawn wagons, my family had brought its large truck it uses to take cattle to the market. Riding across the countryside watching the rolling fields of green go by, the Andes just visible on the horizon and the crisp spring air mixing with the smell of cow droppings, I stood in the back of the truck with several other students and my host mom here wondering when the next time in my life after this trip would I find myself in this situation.
The Countryside
Now jumping to a week later…
Currently I am sitting in the central plaza of Nueva Imperial, a small city about a half hour outside of Temuco. Before I get to the now, I am going to start with a summary of the past week. Up until Monday, I had been living with a Mapuche family out in the countryside. I stayed there with two other girls in the program. Our family was composed of the mom, Maria, who is incredibly sweet and also very easy going. The dad, Emisterio, who was not the most talkative person, but had a dry sense of humor that when we were able to actually catch it, was quite amusing. They have a daughter, Mariela, who is currently studying commercial engineering at the university in Temuco and, lastly, they have a younger son, Ricardo, who is seven years old and attends the bilingual (Spanish/Mapudungun) local school. We spent most of our free time at the house running around outdoors herding cattle, playing Frisbee, or just hanging out. Because I haven’t had a chance to write much, I am going to give a list of a few of the activities we did over the past week.
Other members of the family.
The first day in the region as part of SIT we went to Lago Budi, a lake that was pinched off from the ocean by an earthquake. Our mom sent us with an empty 2 liter bottle to fill with water and sand to be used at a later time as a remedy. Back at the house, we had several meals that were interrupted because the cows had wandered into the front yard and needed to be chased off. Most meals, however, consisted only of bread with different spreads. This wasn’t much of a problem though because all bread was made by the mom from grains grown at the house. Occasionally we would have eggs, which were delicious, for breakfast from their own chickens (I counted at least 20 running around the yard). Meat was only served twice at the house, and each time it tasted like walking by a cow and taking a bite of its shoulder. Sometimes Ricardo would capture a baby chick from its mother (lots of clucking involved) and bring it to the dinner table to share with us.
Meals in Chile are always one of the more challenging aspects of the day because the correct manners are still hard to discern. For example, I’ve finally gotten used to having the mom serve everybody and have everybody start eating while she is still preparing more food. Also, knowing when it is okay to get up is also always dicey, which usually leads to just waiting for the family to get up from the table. Lastly, I never want to offend anyone here, so I always eat everything put before me, which has led my mom in Valparaiso to serve me mountains of food for every meal. If she weren’t so incredibly nice, I would think she is trying to kill me through pure volume of food.
We left the family with many fond memories, and also a permanent mark, because they were putting in a cement walkway and we got to write stuff in the wet cement. Even after just a week it was hard to leave because we all already felt incredibly close and had formed relationships with each member of the family.
Yesterday they assigned us each a partner, a city, and a theme and told us to go do a ministudy. After finding the bus terminal in Temuco, my partner and I hopped on a bus and rode it out to our pueblo, Nueva Imperial. Knowing absolutely nothing, we asked to be let off in the center of the city, found our way to the police station, and then asked for a hostel recommendation. Instead of a recommendation, we piled into a big police van with 3 other officers and they droves us over to a hostel and negotiated with the owner to get us a room for the night. After getting situated we wandered over to the hospital and asked around for someone to help us out with our study. One doctor obliged and told us to come back the next morning. We returned to the hospital and found a different person waiting for us. He ended up taking us on a 3 hour tour of the hospital. The hospital itself is very interesting because part is western medicine and part is Mapuche. The western part looks exactly like any hospital in the states and is very modern, which was surprising give then size of the town and lack of development, but the Mapuche side was way cool. The waiting room was filled with Mapuches, large murals and wooden sculptures decorated the walls, and people were drinking mate, a tea native to the region. The pharmacy was dispensing remedies, large 2 liter soda bottles filled with different colored liquids, and given by workers wearing white lab coats with a Mapuche pattern in dark blue printed on the collars. The hospital has 3 Machis that work at the same time, and these women dress in Mapuche clothes and make herbal remedies/creams.
After the mini project we were on the move for the next 4 or 5 days or so, hopping from one hotel to the other getting a feel for more of the region. We got a free day in Pucon, a very touristy resort town that looks exactly like Colorado if Colorado operated in Spanish, which involved spending 3 hours in natural hot springs, and another day on an all day nature hike. Other than that, I’m sad to say that I don’t have many more details about the end part of the trip as of now, but I do have a bunch of pictures to put up of all the stuff we saw. I start my independent project now here in Valparaíso and will be working on it for the rest of the semester. It is exciting and scary at the same time to think that I will only be in Chile for a little over a month – I don’t know exactly how to feel about it right now, whether a month is a long time or no time at all. From here on out, though, updates should be regular – depending, of course, on whether I am doing anything interesting or not.
Hiking around Pucon.
Pigs.
Hola! I’m back (home?) in Valparaíso from my excursion to the South. There is a lot to write about, and since I wasn’t traveling with my laptop, I haven’t kept a faithful account of the events of the past two weeks. I have managed to write some stuff down on paper, so I will do my best to give a summary of what I have been up to recently. To make up for that, I will include some very pretty pictures of the country that I will hopefully upload within the next few days. Not possible right now cause I need to sort through them and get better internet access.
Sunday: I flew from Santiago to Temuco today. We arrived in the city and drove out to the country. Everything here is green, almost like someone painted the countryside but could only use different shades of green. Went to a “ruka” first, which is a large wood hut that serves as the traditional Mapuche meeting place for the community. Mapuche culture dictates that everybody sit in a circle around a fire and introduce themselves counter-clockwise. Our host parents had come to the ruka to meet us, and even though we hadn’t been told who we would be living with, I knew almost immediately cause on woman kept looking at me (easy to single me out here as the only guy in our group of 13). We then had a small meal in the ruka with foods I had never had before but were delicious, then all split our separate ways. We grabbed our bags, then my dad pointed us to our transportation. Some families took horse-drawn wagons, my family had brought its large truck it uses to take cattle to the market. Riding across the countryside watching the rolling fields of green go by, the Andes just visible on the horizon and the crisp spring air mixing with the smell of cow droppings, I stood in the back of the truck with several other students and my host mom here wondering when the next time in my life after this trip would I find myself in this situation.
The Countryside
Now jumping to a week later…
Currently I am sitting in the central plaza of Nueva Imperial, a small city about a half hour outside of Temuco. Before I get to the now, I am going to start with a summary of the past week. Up until Monday, I had been living with a Mapuche family out in the countryside. I stayed there with two other girls in the program. Our family was composed of the mom, Maria, who is incredibly sweet and also very easy going. The dad, Emisterio, who was not the most talkative person, but had a dry sense of humor that when we were able to actually catch it, was quite amusing. They have a daughter, Mariela, who is currently studying commercial engineering at the university in Temuco and, lastly, they have a younger son, Ricardo, who is seven years old and attends the bilingual (Spanish/Mapudungun) local school. We spent most of our free time at the house running around outdoors herding cattle, playing Frisbee, or just hanging out. Because I haven’t had a chance to write much, I am going to give a list of a few of the activities we did over the past week.
Other members of the family.
The first day in the region as part of SIT we went to Lago Budi, a lake that was pinched off from the ocean by an earthquake. Our mom sent us with an empty 2 liter bottle to fill with water and sand to be used at a later time as a remedy. Back at the house, we had several meals that were interrupted because the cows had wandered into the front yard and needed to be chased off. Most meals, however, consisted only of bread with different spreads. This wasn’t much of a problem though because all bread was made by the mom from grains grown at the house. Occasionally we would have eggs, which were delicious, for breakfast from their own chickens (I counted at least 20 running around the yard). Meat was only served twice at the house, and each time it tasted like walking by a cow and taking a bite of its shoulder. Sometimes Ricardo would capture a baby chick from its mother (lots of clucking involved) and bring it to the dinner table to share with us.
Meals in Chile are always one of the more challenging aspects of the day because the correct manners are still hard to discern. For example, I’ve finally gotten used to having the mom serve everybody and have everybody start eating while she is still preparing more food. Also, knowing when it is okay to get up is also always dicey, which usually leads to just waiting for the family to get up from the table. Lastly, I never want to offend anyone here, so I always eat everything put before me, which has led my mom in Valparaiso to serve me mountains of food for every meal. If she weren’t so incredibly nice, I would think she is trying to kill me through pure volume of food.
We left the family with many fond memories, and also a permanent mark, because they were putting in a cement walkway and we got to write stuff in the wet cement. Even after just a week it was hard to leave because we all already felt incredibly close and had formed relationships with each member of the family.
Yesterday they assigned us each a partner, a city, and a theme and told us to go do a ministudy. After finding the bus terminal in Temuco, my partner and I hopped on a bus and rode it out to our pueblo, Nueva Imperial. Knowing absolutely nothing, we asked to be let off in the center of the city, found our way to the police station, and then asked for a hostel recommendation. Instead of a recommendation, we piled into a big police van with 3 other officers and they droves us over to a hostel and negotiated with the owner to get us a room for the night. After getting situated we wandered over to the hospital and asked around for someone to help us out with our study. One doctor obliged and told us to come back the next morning. We returned to the hospital and found a different person waiting for us. He ended up taking us on a 3 hour tour of the hospital. The hospital itself is very interesting because part is western medicine and part is Mapuche. The western part looks exactly like any hospital in the states and is very modern, which was surprising give then size of the town and lack of development, but the Mapuche side was way cool. The waiting room was filled with Mapuches, large murals and wooden sculptures decorated the walls, and people were drinking mate, a tea native to the region. The pharmacy was dispensing remedies, large 2 liter soda bottles filled with different colored liquids, and given by workers wearing white lab coats with a Mapuche pattern in dark blue printed on the collars. The hospital has 3 Machis that work at the same time, and these women dress in Mapuche clothes and make herbal remedies/creams.
After the mini project we were on the move for the next 4 or 5 days or so, hopping from one hotel to the other getting a feel for more of the region. We got a free day in Pucon, a very touristy resort town that looks exactly like Colorado if Colorado operated in Spanish, which involved spending 3 hours in natural hot springs, and another day on an all day nature hike. Other than that, I’m sad to say that I don’t have many more details about the end part of the trip as of now, but I do have a bunch of pictures to put up of all the stuff we saw. I start my independent project now here in Valparaíso and will be working on it for the rest of the semester. It is exciting and scary at the same time to think that I will only be in Chile for a little over a month – I don’t know exactly how to feel about it right now, whether a month is a long time or no time at all. From here on out, though, updates should be regular – depending, of course, on whether I am doing anything interesting or not.
Hiking around Pucon.
Pigs.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Patron Saint is a Serial Killer
15/10/08
Right now we are in the midst of the 2010 World Cup Qualifying games. Even though most people in the United States are unaware, it’s gigantic here. Chile is definitely not the most athletic country. In the last Olympics, for example, Chile brought home one gold medal. Out of all the soccer games I’ve watched here, they have only one once and that also is the only game in which they have scored a goal. On Wednesday, Chile had a qualifying game against Argentina, a team that Chile hadn’t beaten in thirty five years, and, I think, in the history of any World Cup game. Of course, this is the game we chose to go to. We took a bus into Santiago and parked about a 20 minute walk from the grounds of the stadium. The streets were mobbed with people walking from all directions converging on the stadium. Every person wears red to the stadium, so it almost gave the appearance of a tide of blood sweeping through the streets. Vendors were lined up everywhere selling Chilean flags, bootleg jerseys, and various versions of meat on bread. To actually get into the stadium we had to cross through about 5 different gates, although we only had our tickets checked each time, never any security like in American stadiums. By the time we actually got in, about an hour before the game started, our section, the gallery, was completely packed. Somehow we managed to grab four seats about 10 rows up in-between the goal and the corner. That’s when we started to yell. I learned that in a soccer game here, there is no down-time for the fans, we don’t get subs, we don’t get half-time or even a chance to warm up. You arrive, draped in a Chilean flag, and immediately begin screaming at the top of your lungs various chants (most of them extremely lewd and directed at the opposing team). People are throwing around dolls clothed in Argentinean jerseys, and little pieces of paper and confetti that were being sold in the street have already dusted the stadium like snow. At last the game starts, and then the real fun begins. For the first half, we are sitting behind the Argentinean goal, watching the Chilean offense at work. The entire crowd cheers as one red, twisting and bobbing body. Every time that Chile brings the ball up within 40 meters of the Argentinean goal, everybody gets to their feet and somehow begin to yell even louder. Chile is completely controlling the game, and has already had many near goals in the first half. Finally, after what seems like ages, the perfect cross comes in, and the ball is placed neatly in the corner of the net, a waist-high bullet, just out of reach of the Argentinean goalie. The stadium erupts. We hug strangers. Jump. Scream. People around us begin to pull out smuggled fireworks and set them off in the stands. The air becomes thick with smoke, confetti, and beer. The celebration lasts for ages, and everybody misses the next few minutes of play. The rest of the game passes the same, and I begin to lose my voice. With 10 minutes left, and Chile still up 1-0, people begin get nervous. I’m sitting next to my cousin, who is listening to the game broadcast on the radio because there is no announcer or scoreboard, and every 30 seconds someone around us asks him how much time remains in the game. Chile manages to hold on to the end, and once again, the stadium begins to shake. Simultaneously, hundreds of people light newspapers on fire and carry them around as torches. We stay there and continue to sing for another 15 minutes at least, and then begin the long trip back to Valparaíso.
We get back and haven’t eaten anything since lunch and it is now 1am. There is a place by my house that we have nicknamed Diagon Alley. On an unremarkable street, lined with the usual internet stores and pharmacies (which is where all atm’s are located), a narrow corridor branches off heading towards the cerros. Its walls are a faded yellow, although most of the paint has now chipped off or been covered by graffiti. Many banners hang from the walls, most of them little Chilean flags strung up. At the end of the corridor there is a restaurant that specializes in selling chorrillana (French fries covered in onions and shredded beef served with hot sauce and bread). This particular restaurant won the chorrillana competition this past year. It is an old establishment with many cool pictures on the wall and relics of the city, but the best part about it, are the tables and walls. Everybody that comes to the restaurant writes on either the tables or walls, so while you eat you can read the table and little blurbs of what people in the past have written. I write, “Pepe was here.”
16/10/08
In the early afternoon, we met up with our really cool Spanish teacher. He had agreed to take us and show us some cool places in Valpo, and his chosen destination: a cemetery. We took a micro out to an older, poorer section of the city and got off at the cemetery. I feel like this cemetery best portrays the characteristics of Valpo. First, it is divided quite obviously by social class. The rich in front with large house-like structures surrounding their tombs, the middle class next, coffins placed in a mausoleum style, and, finally, the lower class, scattered across a field marked by crosses and colorful displays of flowers and flags of soccer teams. The first tomb he took us to was of an Italian immigrant who had arrived in Chile in the 20th century extremely poor and immediately started earning lots and lots of money. However, he only accomplished this through making a pact with the devil. The pact being that he would be extremely successful during his life, but that once his corpse was in the ground, his soul would belong to the devil for eternity. However, being a clever man, his tomb rests a full foot above the ground, propped up by four large stone lion’s feet. Next, we walked by the large private buildings housing members of different churches, naval groups, retirement groups, and, of course, fans of local soccer teams. Eventually we came to the grave of Emile Dubois, the patron saint of Valpo. Emile Dubois was a Frenchman who lived in Valpo at the beginning of the 20th century (I think). He was also a convicted serial killer in Valpo. There are two legends as to how he came about being a saint. Throughout his entire life he denied having killed anyone, so the first legend states that upon being executed at the age of 25ish, he became a saint for having been killed unjustly. The other camp insists, however, that he did indeed kill all those people during his life and that he was made a saint and told to watch over the city in his afterlife to atone for all the wrongs he had committed. His tomb lies underground in the corner of the cemetery next to a wall that the locals keep knocking down so that they can cut through the cemetery without having to walk around. A palm tree grows next to his grave, and people come to drop off slips of paper with wishes on it so that Emile will answer them. If he does, then ritual has it that you repay him by having a small marble table engraved for him thanking him. Also, according to our teacher, there is a small stash of money hidden somewhere in the area, and that if you are ever in need of money you withdraw what you need, and whenever you can afford it, you pay it back. Finally, although we couldn’t find it, we looked for the grave of a suspected vampire. Apparently one person buried in the cemetery is a vampire that comes out at night and kills local townspeople, and because of this, his tomb is padlocked and has a chain around it.
Tomorrow I leave for the South for two weeks. I will be living with a Mapuche family. The Mapuche are one of the groups indigenous to Chile. Not exactly sure how updates will be working, but I will do what I can, but it could be a while before anything gets posted. It’s bizarre to think that I am already leaving for the excursion, and that when I come back I will begin work on my independent study project. I’ll miss the little things about Valpo over the next two weeks, like how on my way back I saw a kid playing soccer against a dog in the street with an empty coke can. At the same time, however, I am very excited to study the Mapuche and learn about their completely different and unique culture. For now, with little certainty, so long, and hope everybody reading this is doing well.
Right now we are in the midst of the 2010 World Cup Qualifying games. Even though most people in the United States are unaware, it’s gigantic here. Chile is definitely not the most athletic country. In the last Olympics, for example, Chile brought home one gold medal. Out of all the soccer games I’ve watched here, they have only one once and that also is the only game in which they have scored a goal. On Wednesday, Chile had a qualifying game against Argentina, a team that Chile hadn’t beaten in thirty five years, and, I think, in the history of any World Cup game. Of course, this is the game we chose to go to. We took a bus into Santiago and parked about a 20 minute walk from the grounds of the stadium. The streets were mobbed with people walking from all directions converging on the stadium. Every person wears red to the stadium, so it almost gave the appearance of a tide of blood sweeping through the streets. Vendors were lined up everywhere selling Chilean flags, bootleg jerseys, and various versions of meat on bread. To actually get into the stadium we had to cross through about 5 different gates, although we only had our tickets checked each time, never any security like in American stadiums. By the time we actually got in, about an hour before the game started, our section, the gallery, was completely packed. Somehow we managed to grab four seats about 10 rows up in-between the goal and the corner. That’s when we started to yell. I learned that in a soccer game here, there is no down-time for the fans, we don’t get subs, we don’t get half-time or even a chance to warm up. You arrive, draped in a Chilean flag, and immediately begin screaming at the top of your lungs various chants (most of them extremely lewd and directed at the opposing team). People are throwing around dolls clothed in Argentinean jerseys, and little pieces of paper and confetti that were being sold in the street have already dusted the stadium like snow. At last the game starts, and then the real fun begins. For the first half, we are sitting behind the Argentinean goal, watching the Chilean offense at work. The entire crowd cheers as one red, twisting and bobbing body. Every time that Chile brings the ball up within 40 meters of the Argentinean goal, everybody gets to their feet and somehow begin to yell even louder. Chile is completely controlling the game, and has already had many near goals in the first half. Finally, after what seems like ages, the perfect cross comes in, and the ball is placed neatly in the corner of the net, a waist-high bullet, just out of reach of the Argentinean goalie. The stadium erupts. We hug strangers. Jump. Scream. People around us begin to pull out smuggled fireworks and set them off in the stands. The air becomes thick with smoke, confetti, and beer. The celebration lasts for ages, and everybody misses the next few minutes of play. The rest of the game passes the same, and I begin to lose my voice. With 10 minutes left, and Chile still up 1-0, people begin get nervous. I’m sitting next to my cousin, who is listening to the game broadcast on the radio because there is no announcer or scoreboard, and every 30 seconds someone around us asks him how much time remains in the game. Chile manages to hold on to the end, and once again, the stadium begins to shake. Simultaneously, hundreds of people light newspapers on fire and carry them around as torches. We stay there and continue to sing for another 15 minutes at least, and then begin the long trip back to Valparaíso.
We get back and haven’t eaten anything since lunch and it is now 1am. There is a place by my house that we have nicknamed Diagon Alley. On an unremarkable street, lined with the usual internet stores and pharmacies (which is where all atm’s are located), a narrow corridor branches off heading towards the cerros. Its walls are a faded yellow, although most of the paint has now chipped off or been covered by graffiti. Many banners hang from the walls, most of them little Chilean flags strung up. At the end of the corridor there is a restaurant that specializes in selling chorrillana (French fries covered in onions and shredded beef served with hot sauce and bread). This particular restaurant won the chorrillana competition this past year. It is an old establishment with many cool pictures on the wall and relics of the city, but the best part about it, are the tables and walls. Everybody that comes to the restaurant writes on either the tables or walls, so while you eat you can read the table and little blurbs of what people in the past have written. I write, “Pepe was here.”
16/10/08
In the early afternoon, we met up with our really cool Spanish teacher. He had agreed to take us and show us some cool places in Valpo, and his chosen destination: a cemetery. We took a micro out to an older, poorer section of the city and got off at the cemetery. I feel like this cemetery best portrays the characteristics of Valpo. First, it is divided quite obviously by social class. The rich in front with large house-like structures surrounding their tombs, the middle class next, coffins placed in a mausoleum style, and, finally, the lower class, scattered across a field marked by crosses and colorful displays of flowers and flags of soccer teams. The first tomb he took us to was of an Italian immigrant who had arrived in Chile in the 20th century extremely poor and immediately started earning lots and lots of money. However, he only accomplished this through making a pact with the devil. The pact being that he would be extremely successful during his life, but that once his corpse was in the ground, his soul would belong to the devil for eternity. However, being a clever man, his tomb rests a full foot above the ground, propped up by four large stone lion’s feet. Next, we walked by the large private buildings housing members of different churches, naval groups, retirement groups, and, of course, fans of local soccer teams. Eventually we came to the grave of Emile Dubois, the patron saint of Valpo. Emile Dubois was a Frenchman who lived in Valpo at the beginning of the 20th century (I think). He was also a convicted serial killer in Valpo. There are two legends as to how he came about being a saint. Throughout his entire life he denied having killed anyone, so the first legend states that upon being executed at the age of 25ish, he became a saint for having been killed unjustly. The other camp insists, however, that he did indeed kill all those people during his life and that he was made a saint and told to watch over the city in his afterlife to atone for all the wrongs he had committed. His tomb lies underground in the corner of the cemetery next to a wall that the locals keep knocking down so that they can cut through the cemetery without having to walk around. A palm tree grows next to his grave, and people come to drop off slips of paper with wishes on it so that Emile will answer them. If he does, then ritual has it that you repay him by having a small marble table engraved for him thanking him. Also, according to our teacher, there is a small stash of money hidden somewhere in the area, and that if you are ever in need of money you withdraw what you need, and whenever you can afford it, you pay it back. Finally, although we couldn’t find it, we looked for the grave of a suspected vampire. Apparently one person buried in the cemetery is a vampire that comes out at night and kills local townspeople, and because of this, his tomb is padlocked and has a chain around it.
Tomorrow I leave for the South for two weeks. I will be living with a Mapuche family. The Mapuche are one of the groups indigenous to Chile. Not exactly sure how updates will be working, but I will do what I can, but it could be a while before anything gets posted. It’s bizarre to think that I am already leaving for the excursion, and that when I come back I will begin work on my independent study project. I’ll miss the little things about Valpo over the next two weeks, like how on my way back I saw a kid playing soccer against a dog in the street with an empty coke can. At the same time, however, I am very excited to study the Mapuche and learn about their completely different and unique culture. For now, with little certainty, so long, and hope everybody reading this is doing well.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Ah-Dua-Nuh
6/10/08
I had no classes scheduled this afternoon so I went with another student interested in medicine and shadowed a doctor. The doctor we went with works in a local clinic for a cerro way far outside of the city. We spent the afternoon with her making house calls to patients that couldn’t physically make it into the clinic. More than half the time was spent just walking to their houses to make the visits. The first patient we saw was an elderly man who had been hospitalized previously for about a month and a half (not sure for what cause if I have trouble with Spanish than I definitely have trouble understanding medical terms in Spanish) and had developed bed sores. He lived in a house about the size of a shed. The walls were made of wood and scrap metal and the ceiling was comprised of sheets of semi-translucent plastic. There was a closet sized kitchen attached that had one piece of fruit lying on the floor and one onion chopped up on the counter. Other than that and two burned wooden cutting boards there wasn’t much else. We showed up and he was lying in bed watching Japanese cartoons on tv. I hadn’t learned the word for bed sores in Spanish, so when we first got there I only knew that he had a problem with one of his legs. When the doctor removed the covers he was lying under and undressed the wound I was not prepared for what was coming. I won’t go into detail much here, but it is safe to say that it was not very pleasant to look at, but definitely the worst smell I have ever encountered. We stayed there for a bit, and the doctor did things that once again I won’t go into detail about. Needless to say not many people in the room were having a good time. After that lovely experience, we walked for a while longer to the next house. On the way we had to stop for the doctor to chase several snakes through a field. The first could fit in your hand, the second couldn’t fit in a poster tube. The second case was way worse than the first cause it was a kid born with cerebral palsy. After another cheery experience, we hiked the long way back to the clinic and the doctor showed us around a bit.
9/10/08
Learning Spanish for me here has been a bizarre experience. When I first stepped off the plane, my Spanish speaking skills were almost nonexistent. I hadn’t taken a Spanish class since 2007, and even that was only a semester – the last class before that was in high school. I was armed with only a rudimentary understanding of grammar rules and a spotty vocabulary. I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting to happen when I came here, but it definitely wasn’t what I have experienced so far. Learning a second language is tough, each conversation that I start can quite possibly end with me not having the capacity to express a certain concept. Learning a second language is frustrating, what you can (or can’t) say in Spanish defines you as a person, even if that isn’t necessarily who you are. I feel and I hope, though, that my Spanish has improved drastically. The other thing I can attest to, is there is no Harry Potter scene. Explanation. In the book, Harry can speak to snakes in their language and oftentimes “accidentally” talks to them without realizing that he is indeed speaking in snake language and not English. Sadly, this does not happen in real life. Sure, my English is completely breaking down and the little Spanish I know is eating up the pieces, but there is no magic moment (at least for me) in which I catch myself speaking in Spanish without trying to or realizing it. There is still a split between the two languages that will never go away. The only thing I have experienced that come close to this moment happened last night at Yom Kippur services. I went once again to the synagogue and was speaking with one of the members right before the services started. One of the Rabbi’s was singing a song in Hebrew in the background, but I wasn’t listening. The song ended and he began to explain the purpose behind the prayer Kol Nidre. Without giving any thought, I half listened while still maintaining the conversation. After the conversation, I started thinking about the meaning of Kol Nidre and it hit me. I had taken in the meaning of what the Rabbi had said completely without thinking twice about it. I had to go over in my mind multiple times asking myself if he had really been speaking in Spanish because I was thoroughly convinced it had to have been in English. Sure I can understand when people speaking Spanish, but this was different. This was a seamless flow of words that entered without having to be delayed in the “Oh no, I-hope-I-understand-this-Spanish Center in my brain.” Although the meaning might be lost in this entry, it was definitely a great feeling. Not to give the wrong impression, but my Spanish isn’t awful. I feel pretty good about it right now (it’s day-to-day), and so far I would have to say that I am pleased with the progress I have made. There is a long way to go, though, before I get to that Harry Potter point. Even though it may have just been a trick in my mind that happened due to the switch from a language I didn’t know at all (Hebrew) to one that I did (Spanish), I’ll take the victory. Give me a break, they are few and far between.
11/10/08
After staying out late the night before, we decided to keep it low key tonight. I went to Viña to work on a project, and when I got back, met up with Catherine and we walked around the Plan (flat part of Valpo). We eventually meander our way up to my house so I could drop off my stuff. Since we had already made the trip all the way up, I take her over to a cool look out that has an absolutely phenomenal view. Thing is, though, that it is right in front of someone’s house (property isn’t clear because it is on a toma). We are standing there for about a minute when a dog in the house starts barking and the owner lets him outside. We turn to leave when he comes out, but he stops us and starts up a conversation. He is incredibly friendly, and it isn’t long until several other members of the family are outside smoking cigarettes and joining in on the conversation. A minute later his wife brings out a mug of rum and coca-cola for us, and Catherine and I can’t refuse so it gets passed around while we talk. Our new friend then begins to explain how his brother works at customs and that the rum we are drinking is from Cuba and is illegal. Whenever he says aduana (customs), he also adds a dramatic grabbing movement to signify that they like to take stuff while at work. After repeating the motion several times throughout the conversation, he then adds a pretty realistic cat hissing noise to it. We have to go meet people, but before we say our goodbyes, he gives us an illegal, of course, cigar to take with us as a gift. Even though neither of us is a smoker, we took it down to the port and sat there smoking it looking out at the ocean watching the boats rock up and down in the water.
I had no classes scheduled this afternoon so I went with another student interested in medicine and shadowed a doctor. The doctor we went with works in a local clinic for a cerro way far outside of the city. We spent the afternoon with her making house calls to patients that couldn’t physically make it into the clinic. More than half the time was spent just walking to their houses to make the visits. The first patient we saw was an elderly man who had been hospitalized previously for about a month and a half (not sure for what cause if I have trouble with Spanish than I definitely have trouble understanding medical terms in Spanish) and had developed bed sores. He lived in a house about the size of a shed. The walls were made of wood and scrap metal and the ceiling was comprised of sheets of semi-translucent plastic. There was a closet sized kitchen attached that had one piece of fruit lying on the floor and one onion chopped up on the counter. Other than that and two burned wooden cutting boards there wasn’t much else. We showed up and he was lying in bed watching Japanese cartoons on tv. I hadn’t learned the word for bed sores in Spanish, so when we first got there I only knew that he had a problem with one of his legs. When the doctor removed the covers he was lying under and undressed the wound I was not prepared for what was coming. I won’t go into detail much here, but it is safe to say that it was not very pleasant to look at, but definitely the worst smell I have ever encountered. We stayed there for a bit, and the doctor did things that once again I won’t go into detail about. Needless to say not many people in the room were having a good time. After that lovely experience, we walked for a while longer to the next house. On the way we had to stop for the doctor to chase several snakes through a field. The first could fit in your hand, the second couldn’t fit in a poster tube. The second case was way worse than the first cause it was a kid born with cerebral palsy. After another cheery experience, we hiked the long way back to the clinic and the doctor showed us around a bit.
9/10/08
Learning Spanish for me here has been a bizarre experience. When I first stepped off the plane, my Spanish speaking skills were almost nonexistent. I hadn’t taken a Spanish class since 2007, and even that was only a semester – the last class before that was in high school. I was armed with only a rudimentary understanding of grammar rules and a spotty vocabulary. I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting to happen when I came here, but it definitely wasn’t what I have experienced so far. Learning a second language is tough, each conversation that I start can quite possibly end with me not having the capacity to express a certain concept. Learning a second language is frustrating, what you can (or can’t) say in Spanish defines you as a person, even if that isn’t necessarily who you are. I feel and I hope, though, that my Spanish has improved drastically. The other thing I can attest to, is there is no Harry Potter scene. Explanation. In the book, Harry can speak to snakes in their language and oftentimes “accidentally” talks to them without realizing that he is indeed speaking in snake language and not English. Sadly, this does not happen in real life. Sure, my English is completely breaking down and the little Spanish I know is eating up the pieces, but there is no magic moment (at least for me) in which I catch myself speaking in Spanish without trying to or realizing it. There is still a split between the two languages that will never go away. The only thing I have experienced that come close to this moment happened last night at Yom Kippur services. I went once again to the synagogue and was speaking with one of the members right before the services started. One of the Rabbi’s was singing a song in Hebrew in the background, but I wasn’t listening. The song ended and he began to explain the purpose behind the prayer Kol Nidre. Without giving any thought, I half listened while still maintaining the conversation. After the conversation, I started thinking about the meaning of Kol Nidre and it hit me. I had taken in the meaning of what the Rabbi had said completely without thinking twice about it. I had to go over in my mind multiple times asking myself if he had really been speaking in Spanish because I was thoroughly convinced it had to have been in English. Sure I can understand when people speaking Spanish, but this was different. This was a seamless flow of words that entered without having to be delayed in the “Oh no, I-hope-I-understand-this-Spanish Center in my brain.” Although the meaning might be lost in this entry, it was definitely a great feeling. Not to give the wrong impression, but my Spanish isn’t awful. I feel pretty good about it right now (it’s day-to-day), and so far I would have to say that I am pleased with the progress I have made. There is a long way to go, though, before I get to that Harry Potter point. Even though it may have just been a trick in my mind that happened due to the switch from a language I didn’t know at all (Hebrew) to one that I did (Spanish), I’ll take the victory. Give me a break, they are few and far between.
11/10/08
After staying out late the night before, we decided to keep it low key tonight. I went to Viña to work on a project, and when I got back, met up with Catherine and we walked around the Plan (flat part of Valpo). We eventually meander our way up to my house so I could drop off my stuff. Since we had already made the trip all the way up, I take her over to a cool look out that has an absolutely phenomenal view. Thing is, though, that it is right in front of someone’s house (property isn’t clear because it is on a toma). We are standing there for about a minute when a dog in the house starts barking and the owner lets him outside. We turn to leave when he comes out, but he stops us and starts up a conversation. He is incredibly friendly, and it isn’t long until several other members of the family are outside smoking cigarettes and joining in on the conversation. A minute later his wife brings out a mug of rum and coca-cola for us, and Catherine and I can’t refuse so it gets passed around while we talk. Our new friend then begins to explain how his brother works at customs and that the rum we are drinking is from Cuba and is illegal. Whenever he says aduana (customs), he also adds a dramatic grabbing movement to signify that they like to take stuff while at work. After repeating the motion several times throughout the conversation, he then adds a pretty realistic cat hissing noise to it. We have to go meet people, but before we say our goodbyes, he gives us an illegal, of course, cigar to take with us as a gift. Even though neither of us is a smoker, we took it down to the port and sat there smoking it looking out at the ocean watching the boats rock up and down in the water.
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