here it is, my travels in south america, centered in chile. see accompanying photos at flickr.com/photos/corriegrrl
No new adventures to record--just have a little request. If you work at The Internationally Famous Bookstore that is Cody's and you are reading this, TELL ME!!! You can post a comment or email me at corriegrrl@hotmail.com Actually I'm looking for Mr. Lubin, so if you are he, or you talk to him, would you mind asking him to contact me? Yr the best. And the postcard (which I wrote aeons ago) is in the mail...
I wrote this last night:
How is it that some of the greatest writers are also the biggest drinkers and that, though it has sadly killed many of them, not everyone can use substances to their creative advantage in this way? (Have you seen the set of shot glasses that pretentious people—such as I aspire to be—have: Drink with the Great Drinkers, with a face of an important literary figure/drunkard on each glass?) How is it that, though I could hardly cast myself with either the Great Writers or the Great Drinkers (really, you must think I’m an alcoholic, but I swear I don’t drink to emborracharme!), I can’t even bring myself to cobble together two coherent sentences for my blog when I’ve had a non-sober/non-restive patch?
OK, so maybe that last question is nonsensical or even unfair, but I am noticing how marked it is that during my rock and roll days in Chile (ok, that’s more like bad salsa dancing and clubbing nights), I am so far from eloquent. Of course this is probably just enigmatic for the various ways that I am undoubtedly hiding from myself, but being superficial as I can be, this is the area in which I notice it the most and aspire to improve my intellectual state.
Because the thing is that millions of things occur to me to write about, and I can only hope I can capture their essence well enough to convey even the slightest notion of them, and well, now I feel like that’s in my reach.
Like the past few weeks of classes at U Chile, I’ve spent my Tuesdays and Thursdays in a similar manner. As I don’t have class until 16:10 (that’s 4:10 to you North Americans) on those days, I’ve been going to the EAP Study Center at PUC (Pontificia Universidad Católica) Campus Oriente in Ñuñoa—either from El Centro, by micro, or my house, by Metro). In the morning, or early afternoon, I can use one of the free computers that happen to be working at the office, check my mail (send me some!! I keep forgetting to give folks the address, but hey, I’m here for another four months at the very least, and I need some lovin’ here), and take care of any bureaucratic business (trámites, as they say). But anyway, that’s just boring stuff. The nice thing about those days is that I have to either take a 30 minute walk to my campus in Macul or a 15 minute bike ride there.
I know you know I walk a lot, and I’m always telling you about the mundane but fascinating-to-me things I see on these passes through the city. But this is a kind of surreal walk, because I pass through a super-bourgie area with sweet houses and then Plaza Ñuñoa, with all the kids getting out of school (who are all so much hipper than I could ever be), and then toward a grittier area, which is Avenida Grecia and the Macul campus of U Chile.
But usually I’m in a bit of a rush to get there because I never leave enough time for these travels, and though I’m getting to know the route better, I still have my little panic moment at about 4:05, all worried about disrupting the class if I’m late.
But do you know how I know when I’ve suddenly arrived? I come across not one but four Shell gas stations in as many blocks.
Yeah, you know how it’s weird when there are three or four gas stations of different companies, all on the same corner? Well, maybe I’m sheltered, but I am always a bit surprised to pass these ones. Two are on the same intersection (one is right next to the McDonalds the Macul kids bombed—good for them! [just kidding, you know I don’t support terrorism in any form]—and was just recently reopened), and the other two are super close on Avenida Grecia. Grody.
I don’t know though—it’s such a weird street. It’s about a six lane road in some places, which of course justifies all the petrol stations, but the only reason I don’t feel like I’m going to die while crossing it or being in traffic on my bike is that there was some actual planning that went into it. I know this is boring, but you have to picture it to understand why the public transit here is so much superior to anything in the US. It maybe rivals New York, but I’ve never lived there. And there’s another clarification to that, too, which is that it’s locomoción colectiva, but the micros are all privately owned, and mostly by the Mafia. Bad ass. Not really.
But the point is that on this particular freeway, the outside two lanes in each direction are for autos, and in between are one to two lanes of bus traffic in each direction. So what you get is these huge bus stops in the middle of the street, and it feels a little like you’re waiting for the train.
Sometimes after class, I go to the big evil supermarket on the same infamous intersection as all the Shells and get lost staring at the miles of mayonnaise-in-a-bag and other condiments similarly packaged. You know how people talk about living in so-called Communist Eastern Europe and Russia and then coming out of it and just being overjoyed at the marketplace democracy of hundreds of choices of the same product but with different labels? Well, I feel like I’ve been missing something living in the not-nearly-consumerist-enough US society, and getting to successfully neoliberalized Chile and having the freedom to choose from mountains of long-grain rice and spaghetti and Ají and MSG- and sugar-laced uber-processed foods. Needless to say, my eyes glaze over (“…lost in the supermarket…”), but it’s sometimes more relaxing than mulling over the impossible lecture I was meant to absorb.
Remember in Sentimental Education, when all the law students are just scribbling away during their classes (not to mix cultural references too much, but I just heard the voice of Agnes Gooch croaking, “I’m your sponge!” in Auntie Mame), and that is the elite education they are paying for? While U Chile is hardly elite, this scene from Flaubert strikes me as exceedingly familiar here.
One thing I love about the public transit here is that you never have a fixed itinerary for getting around: at Macul, for instance, you can catch one of dozens of buses that pass by because any number of them will pass near where you need to go. Some days the first bus that comes when I’m waiting after class will take me all the way home, which is cool if I want the scenic route, because it usually takes about an hour that way. Or I can usually catch one that goes a quarter or half of the way to my house, and from there I can take the Metro—that journey only takes about a half hour. Biking is much easier, though always more solitary, and though interesting, can’t really compare to the entertainment that is riding the micro.
But I was going to tell you about the cafés con piernas, because it’s this big Chilean cultural phenomenon (hey—don’t let anyone tell you there’s no national culture here, because this is hot and very original stuff). The best way to explain this thing is to walk you through a little visual exercise.
Picture yourself kind of hungry, walking down the street in Santiago in the afternoon or early evening. You pass this building that looks like a restaurant: there’s a big board outside the door advertising what would appear to be relatively tasty café food. It helps if you imagine you’re vegetarian, because such establishments seem a little yummier than your average Chilean restaurant with its hambergeusas, chorizos and lomos a lo pobre.
But then you wonder, huh, I wonder why the windows of this place are so dark I can’t see in. Or you might happen by an place with the door open but with a funny lay-out inside: a big bar instead of tables and chairs—but the bar is set up so that you can see the legs of the servers…which are startlingly scantily clad.
So either way, you think, huh, this is a strange place to get lunch. And that’s the disappointment of the day, because you are an anti-sexist and you are not charmed by the kitsch these places offer and you have to argue with your friends to find some other seedy place, so long as it does not attract its clientele on the basis of objectifying women in such a blatant way.
Humph.
But I guess coffee is somehow classier and less sleazy than a strip bar (which seem to be non-existent, though porn theaters there are a-plenty), so Chile has that up on the US. The worst part is that, since coffee here = Nescafe, cafés con piernas are about the only exception to that. I always preferred tea anyway.
I don’t think I mentioned I’m doing English conversation for this class this woman Jessica does out of her home once a week. Super interesting. So one more random fact for the day, before I put you to sleep with this shit. I found out why, though there’s amazing produce here, they hardly cook with vegetables. Jessica told me that many years ago, they had a lot of problems with dirty produce, so that the women of her grandmother’s and mother’s generations only learned to over-cook veggies, so that it was a boring trámite to consume them. And now that there’s no problem with them at all here, no one knows how to cook them well, so they stick to what they know: chicken, pork, and beef. The food revolution has yet to arrive here.
Oh, but speaking of revolutions, I finally saw Machuca last night! Super good, and you have to see it when it comes to the states. It’s about the life of kids (about 10 years old, but of economic exremes) at this English school with a leftist priest in Santiago in 1973 and what happens to them when the coup goes down on Chile’s September 11 that year. I could geek out about it, but I’ll wait until you see it and we can talk about it. But all you really need to know is that this film is a Big Deal for the culture of this country (it’s up there with those cafés, I tell ya), since they have only recently had the resources for a film industry here. So this was a long time in the making, and it soaked up about all the cultural funds this place has to offer. Lots of jobs created: the kids had a lot of them, and they were phenomenal. And the most important thing is that it creates new space for dialogue about the dictatorship, which many people have been very callado about, due to denial or horror.
Trying to make this an earlyish night, so sweet dreams to you.
So it's been awhile since I was together enough to write to you. But this is going to be a sober week, I promise, so I can think a little better and may even have some semi-intelligent things to say. There were three days this week when I did not sleep at home--but that meant super-hot-knock-you-down-with-water-pressure showers at Katie's three days in a row.
I saw the sunrise over Santiago twice this week, too. The first time, on Thursday morning, I was taking an impromptu salsa lesson from Samantha (La Reina de la Salsa in Sacramento) on the 13th floor of an apartment building in El Centro (Katie and Lelia's place), with beautiful views. Then Sunday morning at 7, I rode my bike across town with my housemate Marcelo after a party in this abandoned house in Las Condes. Beautiful morning.
But of course it was a very special party Saturday night because Chile, if you did not know, won its first gold medal in the Olympics in the history of this country (there's interesting history to that, too--I'll tell you later)! So that day, they won in doubles tennis, and the streets were crazy enough to wake me up from my nap and get my ass out to party. Hence, the mini-Critical Mass with four other kids as we toured the city on bike. First we went to an art exhibit for a friend who was graduating from art school, which was super cool, and then to various people's houses, and we ended up in Las Condes, to the only cool building in that damn comuna.
And then, crazy enough, Chile went on to win the gold medal in singles tennis the next day. If I hand't been so exhausted, I would have gone out to the party in the streets at Plaza Italia, where todo el mundo is after a successful sporting event.
Yeah, so instead of sleep all day yesterday, I went out while the game was going on, to do my favorite activity in this city, which is walking and getting lost. At the party the night before, my new friend Katerina told me to check out the Plaza de Armas on a Sunday, because it's more like Lima than Santiago. Buena onda there, as it turns out. All the Peruvians in Santiago (of which there are about 50,000)--OK, I exaggerate a little--go to mass at the Plaza on Sundays, and it turns out that there are hardly any Chileans there. So there were all these market stalls with traditional Peruvian crafts, and Peruvian musicians performing, and even a couple of llamas thrown in for kicks.
Remind me to tell you about the cafès con piernas next time. I have a mountain of work ahead of me for today, and my Chilean history/culture class starts tonight. Wish me luck with sobriety!
So I don't have much time to write, nor much of interest to share (partied too much this week, found out exactly how challenging my classes are going to be--very--and am realizing how fast my time here is going to fly). Going to a play tonight at Matucana 100, which is this huge cultural center around the corner from my house (I LOVE my neighborhood!)--of course dinner at my house again, too! But I did want to post something interesting, because I have really been enjoying the polemics about the 2004 US elections, especially the stuff from Peter Camejo and other brilliant Nader defenders. So here ya go for now, until I get my act together for my own intellectual endeavors:
July 29, 2004
Money vs. People: THE MYSTERY OF THE 2004 ELECTIONS
By Peter Miguel Camejo
There is a mystery to the 2004 presidential election; a silence has fallen on America regarding aglaring contradiction. As we enter the second half of 2004, there is massive popular opposition tothe war in Iraq and to the USA PATRIOT Act -- possibly a majority of Americans.
Yet these samepeople are about to vote in overwhelming numbers for John Kerry for President. But John Kerry and his running mate, John Edwards, gave President Bush 18 standing ovations inJanuary, voted for the war, say the war was right, insist on continuing the occupation of Iraqagainst it peoples desires, want to increase the number of troops and Nations occupying Iraq,voted for "unconditional support to Bush" for his conduct of the war, and backed Bush by votingagainst the US Constitution for the US Patriot Act.
The only explanation for tens of millions voting against their heart felt opinions is the lack offree elections in America. There are no runoff elections. Without runoffs people are trapped.They fear expressing their true opinions. If they vote for what they are for they are told theywill only elect Bush. They must learn to vote against themselves, to accept the con game of atwo-party system. People are taught not to vote FOR what they believe but AGAINST an individual.An unpopular policy once identified with an individual can be continued by replacing theindividual, keeping the policy with modifications.
In replacing Bush, Kerry pledges to moreeffectively forward the same policy of imperial domination.If run off elections existed tens of millions would vote against both Bush and Kerry and forpeace. Once the myth of invulnerability of the two-party system is broken the dam againstdemocracy and free elections will break.
Already 25% of Americans are no longer registered Democratic or Republican, they seek alternatives.The Democrats' fear of Ralph Nader is rooted in the programmatic conflict between their Party'sstance and their supporters. This is the real story of the 2004 elections.This mystery is never written about in the media - - it is America's dark secret.The 2000 presidential election was stolen when some 60,000 people, primarily African Americans,had their right to vote illegally revoked in Florida. The film, Fahrenheit 911, opens showing oneAfrican American Congressperson after another asking for an investigation. But their cry forjustice was squashed because not one Senator, not one Democrat, not Paul Wellstone, Barbara Boxer,Ted Kennedy, John Kerry, or John Edwards would defend democracy, stand up for free elections.
Three and a half years later the Democratic Party has not lifted a finger to establish freeelections in America. Not in a single State have they called for runoffs so Florida could neverhappen again. They could not make it clearer, the Democratic Party prefers that Republicans winelections, even without majority support, rather than allow free elections where a third party oran independent candidate could attract tens of millions from their base.
Their answer is simple:Ralph Nader must not run, must not be an alternative.If free elections were held with a runoff system like in most civilized nations, if proportionalrepresentation existed where if a point of view receives 20% of the vote its supporters wouldreceive 20% representation, then every vote would count, and the Democratic Party as we know ittoday would no longer exist. The one hundred million people who never vote would have a reason to vote. New parties would appear and a representative democracy would begin to blossom in America.Ralph Nader has created a small hole in the dam. The danger is real. The Democrats are on an allout effort to attack the Nader/Camejo campaign because if voters begin to vote for what they wantthe entire electoral system would begin to unravel. If twenty million citizens voted for Nader itwould be the beginning of the end of the two-party system. The Democrats would enter into acrisis, the ability of money to control people would begin to crack and the possibility of ademocracy where citizens could vote for what they believe would be born.
The Democrats are determined, not to beat Bush but to stop Nader, to protect the two party pro-corporate rule thatAmerica lives under.That is what is behind all the talk of the miniscule funding by Republican citizens ofNader/Camejo. It is part of a relentless attack against free elections and the first amendment ofthe bill of rights. This is why the Democrats have organized a nation wide "hate Nader" campaign. They seek toobfuscate the issues. They seek to prevent the right of citizens to vote for Nader by preventingNader even his right to be on the ballot.
State by state thousands of citizens sign petitions toplace Nader on the ballot; state by state the Democrats harass, seek technicalities to challengethe signatures, and try to prevent allowing the people a choice that is pro-peace.The attack on Nader by the San Francisco Chronicle with a banner front page article claimingRepublicans are funding Nader is just one part of an on-going campaign. In spite of the relentless attacks against Nader the polls continue to show ten million people behind Nader/Camejo. Wealthy Democrats and Republicans both cross finance their campaigns. It is standard practice forcorporations to donate to both. Republicans donate millions to the Democrats. The verycorporations that Democrats supposedly oppose, Enron, Halliburton, and Exxon, for example, allgive funds to Kerry/Edwards. Kerry/Edwards have no plans to return a penny of their Republican orcorporate backing. These corporate/ lobbyist funds are not really contributions. They are investments or bribes withan expected return of access and policy, precisely like the Kerry/Edwards call for lower taxes oncorporations.
This kind of contribution dominates the financing of Bush and Kerry as well as most major party candidates for Congress and Senate.Corporations once paid 33% of the taxes received by the federal government. Now they pay under 8%,yet Kerry/Edwards are promising to lower their taxes further in spite of the half trillion federaldeficit per year and the increasingly regressive taxes on working people.
Against this domination of money over people stand Ralph Nader and the Nader/Camejo campaign.The Nader/Camejo campaign is seeking votes from all citizens, Democrats, Independents,Republicans, Greens and Libertarians.Just as we seek their votes we ask all of them to help fund our campaign that opposes the war inIraq, the US Patriot Act, and defends the health and well being of our working people.We especially ask for donations for the right to be on the ballot and for free elections in theUnited States, elections that respect the will of the voters, that favor runoffs (instant run offvoting) and proportional representation.
Most working people never give funds to any candidate. Those who do occasionally give to acandidate have no anticipation of personal financial gain. It is that kind of donor thatrepresents the overwhelming majority of contributions to Nader/Camejo. The bulk of ourcontributions are in amounts below 100 dollars per person.The Nader/Camejo campaign does not accept funds from Exxon, Enron or Halliburton as Kerry/Edwardsdo. We do not accept funding from corporations!We ask that Kerry/Edwards stop their hypocritical campaign about the miniscule funding we havereceived from citizens registered Republican. We ask they stop their campaign against the Americanvoters seeking to deny them a choice at the ballot box by allowing ballot access and anopportunity for voters who support Nader/Camejo to vote for them.We, like all other candidates, do not, can not and will not give donors lie detectors to ascertaintheir objectives in funding our campaign. We have proposed a simple solution to the funding issue. Establish public funding of all campaignsto create fairness and end corruption. Kerry/Edwards and Bush/Cheney oppose public funding.
The choice is clear. Continue a corrupt electoral system that closes choices, forces citizens tovote against their conscious and allows money to control people -- or open up the electoralsystem, defend civil liberties and establish free elections.
What can I say---the dinner party was a fabulous success. Here is what you missed, food-wise, that I prepared:
-Lemon teriyaki salmon
-Curried albacore
-Curried rice
-Tangy miso greens
-Mountain of salad
-Lemony winter stew I invented
My guests (of which there were about 25) also brought:
-Pisco
-Veggie torte
-Home-made empanadas (I guess you could compare them to calzones, but they’re deep-fried and more flavorful)
-Pisco
-Home-made Alfajores (South American cookies)
-Potato-garlic pizza
-Pisco
-Not enough wine
Yes, it was a feast producing multiple foodgasms.
After that, anything else after that, whether food or social, doesn’t really compare, so the rest of the weekend was a bit of a letdown. More parties, more food (good, but not as good…although I will say that I had some falafel and baba ganoush (sp?) ivaled that of Pita Inn), and not enough sleep.
I am getting used to my new home, especially the quiet. I’m noticing that I am far less jumpy than on Orange Street/the freeway on-ramp in front of my house). Just a lot of bells for the elementary schools in the neighborhood, and the occasional Codigas truck going by (sometimes it sounds more like Critical Mass than anything else), and, as I mentioned before, the sad cats.
I can only say that my day has been surreal. My housemate Marcelo is letting me use his spare bike, so I got to ride today for the first time in a month and a half. Can you understand how good that made me feel? I’m a free woman on two wheels in this city! And it’s a crazy enough city on two legs, or on the four wheels of a micro. But there I was, following Marcelo as he showed me the way to the campus Macul of U Chile, way the hell across town, huffing and puffing to keep up with him (I’m not that slow—he just has long legs, I swear), riding like conservative safety-geek me never rides. Yup, I did sidewalks and wrong-way-down-a-one-way-street-type riding. Pure anarchy, and I have to say that, like many things I do in this life down here, it’s been good for me to break out of my usual ways. So I have the biggest smile you can imagine just from being able to get around like this. I’ll have to get my own vehicle soon, but in the mean time I’ll be jumping curbs with confidence on this slightly-too-big Trek mountain biking machine.
So naturally, as I believe the best way to know a city, besides walking in it, is to get lost, I proceeded to discover new sectors of Santiago after Marcelo left me to my own devices (“Just stay on Santa Isabel, and you’ll get right there…” Not so easy). Though it’s obviously not a small city, I’m starting to get the sense of how all the parts come together. For me, it’s getting to the point where I feel like I can walk to certain areas, and from those, I can go to other comunas, etc. So Barrio Brasil->Estación Central->Santiago El Centro->Ñuñoa->Macul. Of course I still only know maybe 40% of the city, but hey, now I can go anywhere!
I don’t know if I mentioned this, but I have a psycholinguistics class that meets Tuesday/Thursday, and the professor said on the first day that there often wouldn’t be classes on Thursdays, because there tend to be lots of demonstrations that fall on that day of the week. I just thought that was kind of neat and chalked it up to the prof’s solidarity with the students’ political activities. Class was cancelled today for other reasons, and I just had to go to campus to make photocopies of the readings (they aren’t into buying books here—they just make a lot of copies). So I got to campus and took care of my business and sat down on the patio of the café at my facultad (the building where the Philosophy and Humanities classes are) to do my reading in the glorious sun that decided to pop out for the day.
Just as I was over-heating from the effects of said sun and decided to pack it up to go home for lunch, however, I heard some noises that sounded remarkably like little bombs. Like little bunny-rabbits coming out of their holes, these Black Bloc kids appeared, all decked out in the requisite face-covering bandanas. Hmmmm. Before I could even get up to check it out, these two students came up to me and warned me that I should relocate, to avoid tear gas. The bandanas those kids had were not just for fashion, as I have become accustomed to in the US—they were carefully chosen to protect themselves from the tear-gas bombs they themselves were throwing! So I thanked these kind young women for looking out for me and asked what was going on. “Nadie sabe.” Apparently, this is the type of “manifestación” that happens once a week, shutting down part of the campus. They told me it would be about an hour before the gas cleared, so I had to leave my bike locked up and take lunch on campus.
Yeah, I don’t really get it. In this case, the “demonstration” had to do with the release of political prisoners (I think I mentioned this before—they’re left over from the Pinochet days, and were the subject of a hunger strike that was going on when I got here), but as far as I could tell, it only consisted of throwing Molotov cocktails into the road (where I had to ride my bike!) and parking lot of the facultad (where workers were attending to their business). Gee, they really got their message across and showed their solidarity with the workers, I tell ya.
But it was so strange, because they did their little rebellion, and the caribineros (cops) showed up to “clear the air” by spraying their water-hoses in the affected areas. I was concerned it would be uglier than that, with arrests and struggle and everything, but it turned out to be worse than that: when the caribineros arrived, the students in the facultad applauded and cheered for them! So I’m not really sure what to think of that. Maybe I’m missing something, but I’m not so sure about this “radical” campus I’m at. Maybe there’s a reason no one takes it seriously when stuff goes down at Macul. The only clue to the political message of these kids was the tiny little papers they littered the ground with after they stalked off (yeah, they just eventually walked back onto campus, like it was no big deal—who are these guys? [Yes, they were all dudes]). Not the most coherent communication of what they were about.
I guess there’s not much more to my day than that, but I did find out that one of my best friends on the program is going back to California, instead of finishing the term here, so I’m pretty bummed out about that. On the other hand, this past week, I discovered the Asian district in Santiago and finally got to buy real tofu and shoyu and miso and wasabi (which I’m really needing, since I’m all congested again) and curry.
Which leads me to the most important point: I’m making dinner for everyone (I think I like cooking for the multitudes—I think there will be close to thirty people) at my new house tomorrow night (probably today, by the time you get this—Friday), and you’re invited.
A small point of concern, though: I am running out of recipes! I didn’t bring any cookbooks with me (which I pretty much only use to get ideas, anyway), and I’ve already made my top ten meals (various curries, chili, soba, spaghetti, etc.). Any suggestions? Send me your recipes (veggie or fish only), because there will be many more months of this. And no, I’m not really learning Chilean cuisine, as it is unfortunately incredibly fome (boring) and meat-and-potatoes-like.
Yeah, I’m really glad I can ride a bike, because though my friends are all doing capoeira and Thai boxing and salsa lessons, I haven’t gotten around to that yet, and I’m feeling gross. Especially now that I have a kitchen and can cook to my heart’s content, and I think I’ve been eating too much (I can’t say that before that miracle I was eating anything tasty enough to make me OD). Do you know what it is? I’m obviously trying to make up for something in my life that’s missing, and I’m pretty sure it’s CHOCOLATE. But no matter how much yummy stuff I make and consume, it’s still not going to fulfill that craving for scrumptious dark bittersweet chocolate, which I do not believe exists in this country (someone please call Nestlé and tell them to start manufacturing it). So there it stands. Maybe some good aerobic exercise will put a stop to that. I can only hope.
But really, my life here has been different in every possible way from that in California. From living with Tom to staying with Tía Sonia for a month, to relocating with three Chilean guys. From relative isolation to always being around my full-of-social-energy girlfriends. From constant political activity to doing almost nothing but talking a lot. From riding my bike at least 50 miles a week to only walking 5-10 city blocks a day. From working to earn money to…not having any. From having places I like to hang out to not knowing the city and knowing I never will. From only knowing parts of the US to the chance to know much of South America.
As I’m going to bed for the night/early morning, a chorus of sad cats whines outside my window. A thousand Jupiters, only desperate and lonely, in spite of the company of others of their own kind. I can understand why there are crazy cat ladies; I feel so compelled to bring in one of those miserable creatures, even though they must all be infected with all manner of infections and diseases. How did I become a cat-lover? The thousands of stray dogs never seem so gloomy--only pathetic.
I guess you could say I’m a little melancholy, in spite of occasional wonderfulness. I think I’m both crazy and lucky as hell to be here, but I understand why Janessa’s going home.
So Thursday I finally moved into this dreamy apartment in Barrio Brasil. Hardwood floors, high ceilings, super-spacious, colorful (if not chipped) walls, ancient appliances and plumbing, a bit breezy, and oozing that lived-in look. Feels very Berkeley to me: my housemates (three guys: all artists, musicians, actors, etc.) are all into shopping locally (very easy to do, when there’s an amazing open-air market every day in different parts of the neighborhood), are very bicycle-friendly, and super-chill. The Museo de Solidaridad Salvador Allende is right around the corner, as is the Metro, which makes it much easier to get around than the micros, but I get to see less of the city that way.
This is definitely roughing it, and I can’t help but think it’s good for me to go out of my comfort zone by taking this new home. Katie and Lelia say it’s a good match for me, since I’m a bit of a mountain woman. But I’m wondering if I’m going to become a very crusty hippie over the next six months, which actually isn’t completely out of the question, unless I can cart one of those little portable gas heaters into the bathroom with me while I bathe. Showering has ceased to be the activity it once was--for getting warm and waking up (and getting clean, too, I guess). Luckily, winter doesn’t last that much longer...
I’ve only stayed here two nights so far, though, and I’m not dying of pneumonia. I chalk that up to my mountain of warm blankets and the fact that this is a mostly cigarette-smoke-free house. I can breathe.
Thursday night Janessa dragged me out to this mixer for the La Católica students at this club in Bellavista (Neruda’s old stomping grounds, remember?), where I got to dance with adorable kids, though not a few of them were on the sleazy side (hmmm, makes you wonder about Catholicism! Just kidding). We made some friends (a super-cute brother and sister posse) who promised they would call the next day, but alas, they were only heartbreakers (being drunk didn’t help them too much).
Friday, about half of the kids on the program, plus assorted Chilean friends, headed off to Isla Negra, where Vivi (the monitor from La Chile) had invited us to hang out in her family’s summer home (la-ti-da) for the weekend. I’ll spare you the details on that one (not too hard to guess the gist, I’m sure), but I’ll say that one of the highlights was my superior cooking performance. While I couldn’t convince the carnivores to do without one night of consumption of flesh, I did succeed in preparing a beautiful salad and a big pot of scrumptious winter vegetables, which everyone enjoyed. And so begins my life of cooking for the multitudes, as I also made two yummy breakfasts to shake off everyone’s hangovers. Somehow, I find it easier to play Martha Stewart, commanding my cooking assistants about the kitchen, than some of the more social aspects of hanging out.
And for the more intellectually interesting part of the weekend (this is for you, Mom and Fred): we went to the house of Pablo Neruda yesterday afternoon (after hours and hours of cleaning up Vivi’s poor house). Neruda was completely enamoured of the ocean, but being afraid of it, he built his house to simulate a boat, overlooking the water, to give the feel of being afloat.
I can’t remember if I wrote about this after visiting La Chascona, but the deal with Neruda’s houses is that he wanted them to all be turned into museums for the public after he died. That is, he entrusted them to a foundation that is committed to preserving his extensive collections and libraries, for the common good, rather than for rich people to enjoy. Though he obviously earned lots of money from his poetry and diplomatic careers, he never had much while growing up and was hardly a greedy person. His collections were in no small way a gift to himself for his deprived childhood, but they represent worldwide beauty that was not only for him to enjoy.
So I could tell you all about his collections, which are deservedly famous---here, they are have an ocean/navigation theme (and all about pointing to Neruda as the captain of his ship). But I have to say that what most impressed me was the warmth and romance of it all, which was captured by the many references to his love for Matilde, and the sensuous smell of the house. I couldn’t say if the scent is left over from his days there, but I imagine, as it is a mix of the wood and ocean, it may not be so far off. It reminded me of Christmas at my mother’s house (of which I had many reminders this weekend, as folks were making a glug-like Latin American wine drink the night before).
Oh, I also have to mention the
But this is the house that meant the most to Neruda---they say that this house is the reason he won the Nobel Prize, because it inspired the Captain’s Verses. After he died in September of 1973 (very shortly after the military coup), they did a despedido to him at Rapa Nui (Easter Island), and later he was buried at Isla Negra. When Matilde died 12 years after him, her body joined his there, and they overlook the ocean together in peace...
Ah, to one day be as romantic and eloquent as the Poet.
Alas, I have to get going to furnish my currently Shaker-styled room and slog through a very difficult book in Spanish. I think later this week we’re going to see Machuca, a new Chilean film, and I’m going to start going to Capoira classes with the ladies (and our dancing fool friend José) on Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday. Can I tell you how much I love only having class Tuesday through Thursday?
¡Besitos!
Woo-hoo! This morning I woke up nice and early to go check out an apartment (into which I am moving on Thursday!), and all kinds of creepy-crawlies were hanging out in the kitchen. Mostly cockroackes. I ate my breakfast in the bedroom; thankfully the new place is clean, beautiful, and quiet.
I don't think I've explained where I'm living. The best way to describe it is an international refugee camp. Besides my friend Katie (USA), Ana (España), and Fabricio (Chile), who actually live there, you might find, on any given dy, at this small three-bedroom apartment on the 13th floor (bad luck? great view) in El Centro de Santiago: Ana's sister (Chile), sick and dying Polish (I think) dude and his sick and dying Brasilian girlfriend, me, and assorted friends who stop by for yummy food and TV-watching (on the fabulous two chanels that come in, one of which is always on).
Yeah, it's time to move on.
Classes start for me today, which I am excited about, but also a bit freaked out. That's, of course the real reason I'm here, and I know that once that gets in motion (why haven't they figured out how to slow down time yet?), the next five months are going to move very fast...It'll be interesting, though. I still have so much more to see in Santigo and beyond.
Oh, I went to that punk-rock flea market again on Sunday and found out that they have a punk-rock circus across the street at the same time every week. So for all your entertainment needs...I got to see some juggling, crazy tree-with-huge-ribbon acrobtics, and Capoira, which rocked my world. And by the way, I'm learning salsa and merengue and hopefully cumbia, too (though the three dances have been known to get kind of jumbled between my left and right feet upon occsion).
