Building Character

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 which is a small water closet wallpapered with pin-up-girls, intended only for the use of his male (heterosexual) guests. Not sure what to think of that, but it seems kind of charming (now, if a famous poet were to do that today, it would be a different story).

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!