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.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
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.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Gasco Drummer Guy is the bane of my existence
The traffic on the roads of the cerro I live in is quite different than what I am used to seeing back home. There are several categories that I think incorporate almost all of it. First, the collectivos. One of these black bullets races by about every 5 minutes during the day almost always at a dangerous speed. The road is only wide enough for one car, and there is one section with a series of hairpin turns, so a system must be devised to avoid crashes. Here is an example of how the system works. First step: Approach curve at breakneck speed. Second step: Don’t slow down. Third step: If it’s daytime, honk horn, if nighttime, flash brights. Fourth step: Don’t slow down. Fifth step: Pray to something of your choosing that you don’t hear a honk/light flash in return. Second, Gasco. Houses here don’t have central air or heating or access to hot water just by turning the tap. To get hot water for a shower you have to light a mini gas furnace. Every house operates under the same system, so it makes sense that there is a large demand for propane gas tanks (a little bit bigger than the ones used for grills). Following this logic, it also makes sense that there would be companies, one in particular for my cerro, willing to provide a service of removing used up tanks and supplying new ones. That’s where Gasco comes in. Throughout the entire day, Gasco has at least one truck driving around the cerro loaded in the back with a bunch of gas tanks (don’t want to think about safety). However, they need a way to announce their presence as the drive by, so that people can flag them down. That is where the second person’s job comes into play. He sits in the back of the truck with all the gas canisters drumming incessantly on them. Literally all day he rides around in the back drumming the same beat. Every. Single. Day. Curse you Gasco drumming guy. Third, micros. Micro 519 does a big loop on my cerro until about 11 at night. These lumbering elephants somehow climb the hills nonstop slowly but surely, forming a blockade that traps usually 3 or 4 collectivos in its wake. To help portray exactly how steep the road is, I will relate a story. Today I went for a run on the cerro. I was on my way back up, a little less than half a mile away from my house when I converged onto the micro route. All the way up to my house I did a Breaking Away reenactment with the micro. I ran alongside of it at first up a long uphill stretch, we reached the top and a little plateau and I faded a bit behind it, but still close enough that I had to convince myself the exhaust couldn’t be that harmful…We then came to the series of hairpin turns and I eased up along the drivers side. I could see the driver in the mirror looking back at me smiling. A little girl in the micro gave me a thumbs up. I churned next to him all through the steep part. The final stretch before my house is flat again, but luckily the micro driver had to stop to drop off a person so I was able to stay with it to the end. Fourth, animals with four legs be it dogs or horses. And I guess the occasional car, fifth.
3/10/08
Somehow the first phase of our classes are already finishing up, and I have my final Spanish class next week. Today was our final excursion (before I go South for two weeks to live in a Mapuche community). We went to Santiago and visited the cemetery and a torture facility during the Pinochet era turned peace park. Obviously, it was a pretty somber day. We returned back to Valpo and things were about as opposite as they could be. Friday was the start of a festival called Mil Tambores or Thousand Drums. We got back just in time to see the final parts of the parade. I guess the best way to describe it would be as a mini-Carnival (I have never been to Brazil to see Carnival…), although that doesn’t mean there weren’t many people involved. The main street that runs through Valpo was completely shut down and there were thousands of people walking around. Parades here are a bit different in that they are completely interactive. There are, of course, groups of dancers and performers very well choreographed, but then half of the parade is just people following the groups adding their own dances (usually not as good – I didn’t help the quality much, that’s for sure). It ended at a plaza where a spontaneous street party erupted. We hung around for a bit but had to return to our houses to drop off our stuff. I quickly put my stuff up, ate, and returned to the plaza to see what was happening. The formal party had broken up, but now the plaza was even more packed with a much more informal crowd. There were little circles of dancers crowded around random people with drums and tons of street performers. A couple people were twirling balls of fire at the end of chains, and one guy was breathing fire for about 15 minutes (it was actually really impressive). After staying at the plaza for a while, the police began chasing people off because there was another party associated with the festival on the other side of the city. Through a long course of events we finally ended up there and weren’t disappointed. It wasn’t very carnival-esque but it was a concert with an Andean group that rapped to folklorical music. Superbacán.
4/10/08
I organized a much bigger trip to the sand dunes so that we could go back and go sand boarding again. It’s kind of hard to get a bunch of people together because we all live in different parts of the city, but about 10 people or so showed up and we had a ton of fun. I ended up sandboarding for a long time, and hurt a lot after it. My final run of the day was down a super steep part of the slope, and the problem with sandboarding, is there is no easy way to stop. Usually what happens is you either just fall off to the side, make it down the hill to where it is flat, or hit a rivet in the sand and go flying. The latter is what happened to me the last time, and I took quite a good spill. Totally worth it though. I didn’t bring my camera this time, but a lot of people did so hopefully I can get a hold of some pictures of us sandboarding to post. That night I went to Catherine’s apartment for her sister’s birthday party. It was fun but pseudo-awkward at the same time because her family is convinced that either we are an item. The party went fine until the end when I had to leave. I already have enough trouble at functions like this leaving, cause it isn’t possible to do it easily or quietly. You have to first announce it to everybody, then walk around the room kissing all the women on the cheek and shaking every man’s hand. It was at this point that Catherine’s mom told her she better walk me down out of the apartment so that I wouldn’t get lost. They live 2 stories up…and it is not a big apartment. People in Chile don’t have the same American concept about relationships…or subtlety. I also needed my jacket, so they directed me to Catherine’s room. Well, neither of us were thinking that much about it, and she followed me in and we began talking about something for a couple minutes, and then realized how we weren’t really helping the situation any. Definitely a mistake. Her mother was more emphatic than ever at that point to have Catherine go with me outside, and we had no other choice but to oblige. Woops. After leaving Catherine’s place, I met up with a bunch of other students and we made our way up to the toma I work at for a party they were having. The party was not what a bunch of the other students were expecting. It was a bunch of people from the toma in a clearing with a huge bonfire in the center. They were selling beer, wine, and sopaipillas that were incredibly delicious. People from the toma took turns reading poems, making speeches, playing guitar and singing, and near the end two neighborhood kids freestyle rapped for a while and were amazing.
3/10/08
Somehow the first phase of our classes are already finishing up, and I have my final Spanish class next week. Today was our final excursion (before I go South for two weeks to live in a Mapuche community). We went to Santiago and visited the cemetery and a torture facility during the Pinochet era turned peace park. Obviously, it was a pretty somber day. We returned back to Valpo and things were about as opposite as they could be. Friday was the start of a festival called Mil Tambores or Thousand Drums. We got back just in time to see the final parts of the parade. I guess the best way to describe it would be as a mini-Carnival (I have never been to Brazil to see Carnival…), although that doesn’t mean there weren’t many people involved. The main street that runs through Valpo was completely shut down and there were thousands of people walking around. Parades here are a bit different in that they are completely interactive. There are, of course, groups of dancers and performers very well choreographed, but then half of the parade is just people following the groups adding their own dances (usually not as good – I didn’t help the quality much, that’s for sure). It ended at a plaza where a spontaneous street party erupted. We hung around for a bit but had to return to our houses to drop off our stuff. I quickly put my stuff up, ate, and returned to the plaza to see what was happening. The formal party had broken up, but now the plaza was even more packed with a much more informal crowd. There were little circles of dancers crowded around random people with drums and tons of street performers. A couple people were twirling balls of fire at the end of chains, and one guy was breathing fire for about 15 minutes (it was actually really impressive). After staying at the plaza for a while, the police began chasing people off because there was another party associated with the festival on the other side of the city. Through a long course of events we finally ended up there and weren’t disappointed. It wasn’t very carnival-esque but it was a concert with an Andean group that rapped to folklorical music. Superbacán.
4/10/08
I organized a much bigger trip to the sand dunes so that we could go back and go sand boarding again. It’s kind of hard to get a bunch of people together because we all live in different parts of the city, but about 10 people or so showed up and we had a ton of fun. I ended up sandboarding for a long time, and hurt a lot after it. My final run of the day was down a super steep part of the slope, and the problem with sandboarding, is there is no easy way to stop. Usually what happens is you either just fall off to the side, make it down the hill to where it is flat, or hit a rivet in the sand and go flying. The latter is what happened to me the last time, and I took quite a good spill. Totally worth it though. I didn’t bring my camera this time, but a lot of people did so hopefully I can get a hold of some pictures of us sandboarding to post. That night I went to Catherine’s apartment for her sister’s birthday party. It was fun but pseudo-awkward at the same time because her family is convinced that either we are an item. The party went fine until the end when I had to leave. I already have enough trouble at functions like this leaving, cause it isn’t possible to do it easily or quietly. You have to first announce it to everybody, then walk around the room kissing all the women on the cheek and shaking every man’s hand. It was at this point that Catherine’s mom told her she better walk me down out of the apartment so that I wouldn’t get lost. They live 2 stories up…and it is not a big apartment. People in Chile don’t have the same American concept about relationships…or subtlety. I also needed my jacket, so they directed me to Catherine’s room. Well, neither of us were thinking that much about it, and she followed me in and we began talking about something for a couple minutes, and then realized how we weren’t really helping the situation any. Definitely a mistake. Her mother was more emphatic than ever at that point to have Catherine go with me outside, and we had no other choice but to oblige. Woops. After leaving Catherine’s place, I met up with a bunch of other students and we made our way up to the toma I work at for a party they were having. The party was not what a bunch of the other students were expecting. It was a bunch of people from the toma in a clearing with a huge bonfire in the center. They were selling beer, wine, and sopaipillas that were incredibly delicious. People from the toma took turns reading poems, making speeches, playing guitar and singing, and near the end two neighborhood kids freestyle rapped for a while and were amazing.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Butchers like Muzac
This entry is the opposite of the last one...much longer and no pictures.
29/9/08
Happy New Year! Several other Jewish students on the program and I celebrated the new year by going to the synagogue in Valpo. I donned the nicest clothes I brought (slacks, button down shirt, tie, and bright yellow tennis shoes), picked up a bottle of $4 wine at liquor store, and walked over to the synagogue (conveniently located about a 10 minute walk from my bus stop). I met the other gringos a bit before and we easily found the synagogue located on a very dark, somewhat sketchy street. It wasn’t too hard to spot, the rabbi, as I learned later, was standing outside. He was exactly what you would expect a rabbi to look like in Chile – like every other rabbi there is in the world, somewhat older, short stature, big bushy beard, wearing glasses, and just a bit overweight. We did the mandatory greetings of “Hola” and “L’shana tovah” and everybody was happy. The one downside to the evening, was that they told us to go inside cause it wasn’t safe to have a large crowd of people standing outside the synagogue. There is, sadly, a larger neo-Nazi presence in Chile than in many other countries, and although to my knowledge there haven’t been any kind of attacks, apparently it is best not to broadcast the location of the synagogue for everybody to see. Side note: to attend the services we had to give them our passport numbers to prove our identities in advance. Not knowing what to expect at first, we walked up a narrow set of stairs that opened up into a circular room with about 6 doors leading off of it. We schmoozed a bit, and found the one other gringo at the synagogue who has been there a few other times (he’s been in Valpo for almost a year now) and he told us a bit about what to expect. Soon, however, we found ourselves ushered into a room that sat about 30 people. We took our seats awkwardly in the front (everybody else had already taken the seats in the back), and the service began. It was an entertaining mix of Spanish and Hebrew. The synagogue didn’t have any prayer books for Rosh Hashanah, so we used a Kabalat Shabbat service prayer book. The service was fairly short, but hit all the same major points of any service back home. Another aspect that was the same as services back at home, is that the rabbi took advantage of having everybody’s attention and going over announcements. When he got to the announcements for the following week’s Yom Kippur services a debate broke out amongst the congregation and the rabbi as to when it would start. Some argued for 8:30, but ultimately the rabbi won with 7:30 evoking actual Jewish law. The service ended, we said Kidush, and then proceeded to eat what can only be described as “once.” I think I have mentioned it before in a previous entry, but once is the light dinner that they eat here, which consists of mainly bread and sweets. There was plenty of wine and for some reason champagne popping and hallah that tasted slightly like the real deal. The convincing evidence for me, however, that this was indeed a true synagogue, was the presence of hummus and cream cheese! We all ate, sang songs, and eventually one of the members of the congregation set up a laptop and started blasting klezmer music…We said our goodbyes and called it a night. They seemed happy to have us there, and the service being in Spanish and Hebrew was really cool, so I plan on coming back for Yom Kippur services.
1/10/09
I’ve been living with my family here for almost a month now, and things seem to have really worked out. My Chilean mother (hope that term doesn’t offend you, mommy) is very nice and very concerned with me eating. I have to time my trips downstairs to coincide to when I want a meal. If I wake up and go downstairs, it’s breakfast time. If I go to get a drink of water around noon or 1, it’s lunch time, etc. This is only really a hassle when I have to use the bathroom and am not very hungry, that is when some choices have to be made. My brother here is kind of a goof and likes to crack jokes, which I don’t always understand (humor in another language is probably the hardest thing to get). A lot of days I only see him for an hour, though, cause we both have work/class then he gets home and immediately goes to the gym. He is borderline fanatic about it and is currently reading Arnold’s book Pumping Iron. My host [father] drives a collectivo at weird hours, and then when he is at home likes to fall asleep at any time any place, and I always know when he is asleep cause he snores and you can hear it throughout the entire house. I’m getting to the point where I need to decide where to live for the last month, and it is becoming more likely that I will be staying in the Valpo area. Now I just have to ask my family here to let me live with them for another month…
The plaza at the bottom of my cerro is a busy place. The local buses that go up the hills start from there. The collectivos have a pit row where they queue up and ‘collectivo pimps’ try to convince you that you really want to take the 38 up to Lo Venegas right now. There are at least 5 bakeries, 5 fruit/vegetable shops, 3 liquor stores, 2 butchers, countless bars, and 1 arcade filled with about 20 pinball machines. Add in roaming street dogs, vendors selling raw fish, and other street food such as ‘completos’ (giant hot dogs with massive amounts of mayo, tomatoes, and guacamole dumped on top), and things get to be pretty hectic. The fruit and vegetable shop owners like to yell out to the people walking by that they, not the store next door, due in fact have the lowest price for bananas, at which point the owner of the store next door yells back. The fish stand vendors try to convince you to buy dead fish that have been sitting outside for a dubious amount of time. The butcher has far too many pig heads on display in the window, and also likes to blast muzac that you can hear down the block.
Today, through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up having to go to a meeting focusing on sustainable building projects (more to follow). The only other person I knew there was “El Bru ja” the director of our community service project. Sidenote: as a term of endearment here, people are referred to as El/La _____(insert name here). Just by looking at him you can tell he is a man who works with his hands. He always wears work boots and his pants and shirt are always a slight tinge of brown because of a fine covering layer of dust. He has long, tangled hair and pulls back half of it into a pony tail leaving the other half to sprout off the side of his head. He gave a speech at the beginning talking about his work and how its goal isn’t to just give the people who live in the toma houses, rather, he wants to give them a neighborhood and a life. His project incorporates first building the actual houses then continuing on and building a library, a soccer field, etc. Then, much to my dismay, the academics took over. Three hours later, we finished the meeting. A lot of things here in Chile work differently than in the United States. I now can tell you though that academics are still the same. They are still the only ones that can push hot air around a room for three hours, never accomplishing anything, and never even having a goal in the first place. They each took turns droning on and on professing ideas that wouldn’t actually lead to any results. In fact, after about 2 hours Bru ja said just that to them (although slightly more subtley). At the end he taught me a Chilean phrase for what we had just witnessed equivalent to “blowing hot air” but much more lewd so I won’t describe it here.
29/9/08
Happy New Year! Several other Jewish students on the program and I celebrated the new year by going to the synagogue in Valpo. I donned the nicest clothes I brought (slacks, button down shirt, tie, and bright yellow tennis shoes), picked up a bottle of $4 wine at liquor store, and walked over to the synagogue (conveniently located about a 10 minute walk from my bus stop). I met the other gringos a bit before and we easily found the synagogue located on a very dark, somewhat sketchy street. It wasn’t too hard to spot, the rabbi, as I learned later, was standing outside. He was exactly what you would expect a rabbi to look like in Chile – like every other rabbi there is in the world, somewhat older, short stature, big bushy beard, wearing glasses, and just a bit overweight. We did the mandatory greetings of “Hola” and “L’shana tovah” and everybody was happy. The one downside to the evening, was that they told us to go inside cause it wasn’t safe to have a large crowd of people standing outside the synagogue. There is, sadly, a larger neo-Nazi presence in Chile than in many other countries, and although to my knowledge there haven’t been any kind of attacks, apparently it is best not to broadcast the location of the synagogue for everybody to see. Side note: to attend the services we had to give them our passport numbers to prove our identities in advance. Not knowing what to expect at first, we walked up a narrow set of stairs that opened up into a circular room with about 6 doors leading off of it. We schmoozed a bit, and found the one other gringo at the synagogue who has been there a few other times (he’s been in Valpo for almost a year now) and he told us a bit about what to expect. Soon, however, we found ourselves ushered into a room that sat about 30 people. We took our seats awkwardly in the front (everybody else had already taken the seats in the back), and the service began. It was an entertaining mix of Spanish and Hebrew. The synagogue didn’t have any prayer books for Rosh Hashanah, so we used a Kabalat Shabbat service prayer book. The service was fairly short, but hit all the same major points of any service back home. Another aspect that was the same as services back at home, is that the rabbi took advantage of having everybody’s attention and going over announcements. When he got to the announcements for the following week’s Yom Kippur services a debate broke out amongst the congregation and the rabbi as to when it would start. Some argued for 8:30, but ultimately the rabbi won with 7:30 evoking actual Jewish law. The service ended, we said Kidush, and then proceeded to eat what can only be described as “once.” I think I have mentioned it before in a previous entry, but once is the light dinner that they eat here, which consists of mainly bread and sweets. There was plenty of wine and for some reason champagne popping and hallah that tasted slightly like the real deal. The convincing evidence for me, however, that this was indeed a true synagogue, was the presence of hummus and cream cheese! We all ate, sang songs, and eventually one of the members of the congregation set up a laptop and started blasting klezmer music…We said our goodbyes and called it a night. They seemed happy to have us there, and the service being in Spanish and Hebrew was really cool, so I plan on coming back for Yom Kippur services.
1/10/09
I’ve been living with my family here for almost a month now, and things seem to have really worked out. My Chilean mother (hope that term doesn’t offend you, mommy) is very nice and very concerned with me eating. I have to time my trips downstairs to coincide to when I want a meal. If I wake up and go downstairs, it’s breakfast time. If I go to get a drink of water around noon or 1, it’s lunch time, etc. This is only really a hassle when I have to use the bathroom and am not very hungry, that is when some choices have to be made. My brother here is kind of a goof and likes to crack jokes, which I don’t always understand (humor in another language is probably the hardest thing to get). A lot of days I only see him for an hour, though, cause we both have work/class then he gets home and immediately goes to the gym. He is borderline fanatic about it and is currently reading Arnold’s book Pumping Iron. My host [father] drives a collectivo at weird hours, and then when he is at home likes to fall asleep at any time any place, and I always know when he is asleep cause he snores and you can hear it throughout the entire house. I’m getting to the point where I need to decide where to live for the last month, and it is becoming more likely that I will be staying in the Valpo area. Now I just have to ask my family here to let me live with them for another month…
The plaza at the bottom of my cerro is a busy place. The local buses that go up the hills start from there. The collectivos have a pit row where they queue up and ‘collectivo pimps’ try to convince you that you really want to take the 38 up to Lo Venegas right now. There are at least 5 bakeries, 5 fruit/vegetable shops, 3 liquor stores, 2 butchers, countless bars, and 1 arcade filled with about 20 pinball machines. Add in roaming street dogs, vendors selling raw fish, and other street food such as ‘completos’ (giant hot dogs with massive amounts of mayo, tomatoes, and guacamole dumped on top), and things get to be pretty hectic. The fruit and vegetable shop owners like to yell out to the people walking by that they, not the store next door, due in fact have the lowest price for bananas, at which point the owner of the store next door yells back. The fish stand vendors try to convince you to buy dead fish that have been sitting outside for a dubious amount of time. The butcher has far too many pig heads on display in the window, and also likes to blast muzac that you can hear down the block.
Today, through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up having to go to a meeting focusing on sustainable building projects (more to follow). The only other person I knew there was “El Bru ja” the director of our community service project. Sidenote: as a term of endearment here, people are referred to as El/La _____(insert name here). Just by looking at him you can tell he is a man who works with his hands. He always wears work boots and his pants and shirt are always a slight tinge of brown because of a fine covering layer of dust. He has long, tangled hair and pulls back half of it into a pony tail leaving the other half to sprout off the side of his head. He gave a speech at the beginning talking about his work and how its goal isn’t to just give the people who live in the toma houses, rather, he wants to give them a neighborhood and a life. His project incorporates first building the actual houses then continuing on and building a library, a soccer field, etc. Then, much to my dismay, the academics took over. Three hours later, we finished the meeting. A lot of things here in Chile work differently than in the United States. I now can tell you though that academics are still the same. They are still the only ones that can push hot air around a room for three hours, never accomplishing anything, and never even having a goal in the first place. They each took turns droning on and on professing ideas that wouldn’t actually lead to any results. In fact, after about 2 hours Bru ja said just that to them (although slightly more subtley). At the end he taught me a Chilean phrase for what we had just witnessed equivalent to “blowing hot air” but much more lewd so I won’t describe it here.
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