Trekking, Very South of the Border

For those of you that did not catch on, I had the opportunity to travel close to the bottom of the world to Torres Del Paine national park in Patagonia, which many Chileans told me is the most beautiful place on Earth. How was it, you may ask? It was cold, rainy, and snowy and the wind held steady around 70 kilometers per hour, even knocking a few hikers to the ground towards the end of the trip. However, it also became one of my favorite places. The power of the region demands your respect, and you overlook the misery of poor weather conditions to appreciate its untamed beauty. So, despite being soaked to the bone, mega-blisters on my heels and fearing taking flight in the tent at night, I want to go back, although admittedly I’d prefer during the summer.

The group set out to complete “The W”, whose route consists of almost 80 kilometers of trekking through rock fields, scrubland and woods, ascending steep mountainsides and rolling hills. In the end, however, snowfall and avalanches closed many campsites and paths at the top parts of the trail. As a result, I only completed about 44km (27 miles) in four days in the park. That just means I have to go back and do it again. Patagonia won’t win so easily.

Having never camped or trekked before, I had no idea what to expect on this trip. On that note, I don’t think anybody can be fully prepared for the trials at the bottom of the world unless they’d experienced it before. Our first day in the park proved this when the first segment of the hike, which was supposed to take three and a half hours, ended in five. I realized soon after that the estimated times on our maps were not for those who like to take their time and appreciate the scenery, but serious trekkers who put their heads down and move (or I’m just really slow and can’t do both). As a result, we only managed to make it to the first refugio on the way up towards Grey Glacier. After a long trip just to make it to the park, followed by the hike, I was ecstatic to go to bed right after dinner. While I fell asleep quickly, I did not stay that way for any extended period of time as the pounding rain and blustery wind attacked the tent, which, thankfully, kept us dry and warm enough.

In light of our slower than expected progress, we doubled our pace the following day to ensure we arrived at the next campsite before sunset. While I had enjoyed the previous day’s speed, the new one, combined with the previous day’s soreness and an overweight pack, took its toll on me pretty quickly. Major fatigue was met with a wall of wind as we rounded a mountain, and then the snow started. It was nicer than the rain for awhile, until I had trouble seeing the path in front of me and climbing over rocks became quite treacherous. 

Fortunately, the snow let up before lunch, and the remainder of the hike towards Campamento Italiano only consisted of light rain and minimal wind. However, the day had certainly taken its toll on me, testing my mental fortitude as much as physical abilities.

Our second night was inescapably damp and cold. Even my sleeping bag made for 15 degrees below 0 (Celsius) didn’t quite do the job. Everybody was slow to get up in the morning, making it impossible to have enough time to climb all the way to the top of Valle Francaise and back, and then make it to Refugio Cuernos before sunset. This, combined with general weariness, led me and two other people to take an easy day and hike ahead to the refugio, giving us plenty of time to relax and go at our own pace. Though foggy, the weather was relatively great (no wind or precipitation), and the paisaje, landscape, was breathtaking. I finally had the chance to look around and fully take in the purpose of being in Torres Del Paine. However, as we worked forward, a spitting rain turned into a fine mist, finally turning into continuous showers for the rest of the walk.

Wet and cold (essentially nonstop for 24 hours at this point) we gave into our desire for a warm meal that did not consist of oatmeal of five minute risotto, and the three of us dined on steak and rice as we watched the rain turn into a slushy, heavy snow (worse than the previous day), and wondered if the group we had left behind would make it.

One thing I noticed about the park is that weather patterns generally change within minutes, a blessing and a curse, depending if you are stuck in a torrential downpour or enjoying a gloriously sunbathed landscape. This specific day, however, defied this expectation, which I suppose also holds in typical Patagonia fashion. The snow got heavier as time passed, and dealing with another night of soaked, windy cold seemed inevitable. As more weary travelers sought refuge inside the warm, picturesque lodge, we noticed even more experienced trekkers were giving in and buying beds for the night. As much as I would like to pretend I could brave the weather and camp outside, I’ll admit that comfort held the trump card at this point, so four of us gave in and paid the exorbitant amount of money to stay inside, nabbing some of the last beds. Despite the price, it was definitely worth it.

Over a bottle of wine, we talked to some other hikers moving in the opposite direction of us, and learned that sunrise at the Torres (one of the greatest aspects of the park)was probably going to be impossible to see due to the terrible weather conditions. As a result, the same group that had stayed inside decided it would be better to just catch the bus back to Puerto Natales the next day instead of spend an extra night in the park, most likely not see anything, and risk missing the only bus out of the park because of the hike down the mountains.

After yet another night listening to gale-force winds (but this time comfortably inside) we left the refugio to a sunny, almost cloudless (though still windy) morning. We had five hours to trek 11 kilometers to the minibus, estimated at four and a half hours on the map. Well rested, and determined to make it to the bus, we set out at the fastest pace of the trip. Including breaks and a point where the wind literally knocked people to the ground, we made it to our goal in just over four hours, and I finally had the chance to get some nice pictures of the torres (towers) that had been so elusive on previous days because of the weather.

Looking back on my descriptions, it seems like the whole excursion was a general horror story, but it was, in fact, one of the most personally rewarding trips I’ve taken. On one level, there’s the infinite natural beauty. “Wow” is sometimes all there is to say. It’s not just the scenery either. There’s an untamable energy that I’ve never seen before. Nature demands your respect, and you’d be entirely willing to give it. Man is subject to the earth here, and I don’t know if Patagonia can ever be fully conquered, as much as humans will try. Traveling through Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales (the base town for Torres Del Paine trekkers), I felt like humans were merely guests that the bottom of the world has elected not to eject yet. People who live there love it for this power, and become part of it rather than attempt to dominate it. They never will. Visiting Patagonia shows you that ultimately you will have to submit to the awesome power of nature, and that may not necessarily be a bad thing.

Making Torres Del Paine my first trekking and camping experience helped and hurt my enjoyment of the activities. I had no idea what to expect, which quickly took a physical toll on me, preventing me from really enjoying the hikes in our effort to move at a proper pace. All I was able to do was put my head down and walk as quickly as possible to make sure I got to the next campsite on time. However, that just gives me more motivation to go back and do it in a manner that allows me to take my time. Another major issue that played a part in this was only having five days to spend in the park, which did not allow for any down time that would have been essential to seeing everything and taking everything in.

Despite this negatives, I am 100% glad I went. Despite the weather and lack of time, I am hooked on trekking and camping. These are a great way to see the world, both for its physical beauty, and for meeting other people along the way. Talking to other trekkers in the campsites and refugios was almost as rewarding as the scenery itself (but that’ll be hard to beat). Every segment of the park has something different to offer, from scrubland to rock fields, woodlands to glaciers and steep mountainsides to rolling hills. On the right side of a path you would see brown grassy patches and short bushes while on the left was a verdant tree line.

Trekking in such isolation from “civilization”, with such abundant, real beauty was as much a mental challenge as a physical one by making me actively fend of temptations to quit and run inside. Just as importantly, it also gives you abundant time to think about just about whatever you want. It helps you find yourself, or at least begin to do so.

While I was far from completing the W, I got a lot out of what I managed to hike. With a newfound respect for nature and its capabilities, I can, and must, go back to complete what I started.

While many pictures did not come out, due to fog, here's a taste of Patagonia:

Road between Punta Arenas and Puerto Natales. Lots of nothingness

Patagonia is so windy, trees grow like this

Foggy Torres

Why I'm Here

This video expresses part of the reasons I chose Chile, and why I keep talking about trying to see everything everywhere in this world. The epic music makes it that much more exciting, but the video shows how the world is too beautiful and diverse not to explore it. All of those images, from summer to winter in five weeks, come from one country. If all of that fits into a super-thin, long area, you can see how there’s so much more in the remaining millions of square miles of earth.

Jose Miguel, my host brother, found this video at a perfect time, as I’m preparing my backpack for a five day hiking/camping trip through Torres del Paine, which many say is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Google images searches certainly support these claims, but I’ll let you know when I see it for myself. I’ve never gone camping before, and also haven’t done serious hiking, so having my first experiences in both fields start here seems like a great introduction.

Even better, and reflecting the diversity in the video, the day after returning from Patagonia, the program is taking us out to Easter Island for four days. We will transition from trekking close to the bottom of the earth to the world’s most remote inhabited island.

And yet I’m still only just scratching the surface of one corner of the world.

Injustice

As many of you know, I tend to be very pensive. There’s a lot to think about in the world, and so many ways to think about it. What takes up the majority of my thinking time is the disgusting abundance of injustice in the world, which are both current problems and also past ones that societies do not properly address. One of the most important aspects of this, and what weighs mostly on my mind, regards atrocities that have happened and continue to affect society down the line, even though the “main event”, as it were, is technically over. How can a group, a country, or a people properly address the terrible things that happens to them, or that they do to achieve justice, make sure it does not happen again, but also move on and avoid living in the past?

Saturday brought up these questions, and plenty more, with a visit to Villa Grimaldi. Refer to these links for background information on Pinochet, how he came to power, and Villa Grimaldi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augusto_pinochet

http://www.derechoschile.com/english/5.htm.

One aspect that disturbed me the most during this visit was how accustomed I am to hearing about the most unimaginable things that humans have done, and continue to do, to each other. Why have we allowed so many stories of this nature to accumulate in our collective history? How can these acts happen in the name of peace and stability? The frequency and volume of crimes against humanity in this world is unfathomable, and the world has done little to stop their continuation. Is it apathy or fear, or are we looking in the wrong places for a way to fix this? Most importantly, what makes people commit such heinous acts, especially when many of them are “normal”, “average” people?

I read about human rights issues all the time, but have also physically visited three sites of massive and unforgivable suffering and death. Thinking about it, that is three too many, not because people should forget about it and move on, but the world needs to learn from mistakes like these instead of create even more situations in which these projects become so necessary. How many depressing, disturbing and controversial projects will it take?

These questions began to arise when I visited Nagasaki, Japan in 2008 with People to People. We went to the atomic bomb peace park and museum, seeing the chilling effects of what amounted to a strategic decision for the US military. One can debate ad nauseam if it saved lives, need to happen, what have you, but there is no doubt that the use of this weapon (a second time) caused suffering that even first-hand accounts cannot properly communicate.

Artistic depiction in the Peace Park

One bomb, 143,124 deaths

Next in this list is Guatemala. The entire country in general has a painful history to share that most people, Guatemalans included, ignore and overlook. After a CIA sponsored coup in 1954, the country plunged into ultra-repressive military dictatorships and, starting in 1960, an internal armed conflict (note: not civil war) that lasted until 1996, killing 200,000 people, displacing 1 million, and “disappearing” thousands more through acts of genocide towards the indigenous Mayan population, such as the 626 registered massacres committed throughout the conflict. Each time I visited the country with Alternative Breaks, we dedicated a significant amount of time to visiting one of the villages that suffered two tremendous massacres, the second of which consisted of tying up the women and children (the men had already been executed a month before), force marching them 3km to the top of a mountain, then raping the women and killing all but a few, who were enslaved in the officers’ homes. The total killed on that day was 107 children and 70 women.

Mass Grave in Rio Negro

Finally, my visit to Villa Grimaldi, which was the most extensive site used for torture and disappearences during the dictatorship.  Throughout all of these physical encounters, I have also read extensively about similar, or worse, acts committed during the 20^th and 21^st centuries. Needless to say, the natural reflex to cry, gag, or otherwise physically react to sickening details has since been suppressed. That in itself should be worrisome, and not in that I subject myself to this kind of emotional stress, but that so few people are aware of what happens and has happened in the world, that to this day innocent people die cruel and unusual deaths, or suffer for years in squalid and dangerous conditions, either directly or indirectly caused by their government.

After the initial anger and frustration settle upon reading or hearing about any such situation, I try to think about how to fix it all. Eventually I realize how fruitless that is, but these questions continue to arise that are worth asking, and hopefully you take these away with you as well. These will give you a new way of thinking about what many people consider to be so black and white.

How far does the blame go? Intellectual authors of atrocities are fairly obvious to blame (maybe), but the material authors (those who actually carry out the violations, such as massacres) may or may not be to blame. For example, five former Guatemalan soldiers have each been sentenced to 6,060 years in prison for what is known as the Dos Erres massacre that killed 201 villagers in 1982. The soldiers committed the act of raping, beating, executing and disposing of the bodies, but did they have a choice? The Guatemalan government pursued a scorched earth campaign, to rid the country of guerrillas, but really committing acts of genocide against the indigenous population, as previously mentioned. As a result, top officials such as Efrain Rios Montt, played an active role in ensuring this policy was carried out by forcing civilians into “voluntary” patrol units. If a man did not join when recruited, his family was usually tortured and killed. So, when you are a soldier that has to choose between committing an act of genocide against your neighbors, or having your family suffer that same fate, what do you do? Either choice results in determining the fate for a group of people that have no power to decide their fate for themselves. Do you prosecute the soldiers anyway, considering their actions? Or do you find a different method of justice to account for the impossibilities they faced themselves?

To stretch it even further, is the blame culture that accompanies prosecution even the correct way to approach such complex issues?  In theory, if you prosecute every person involved in systemic atrocities (forget about regular crimes), such a significant portion of your population will be incarcerated that the country couldn’t function properly, and bringing up new human rights issues both related to that and the prison system in general. It never ends. But maybe pursuing legal justice is too myopic and doesn’t truly address the issue at hand. While it feels great to see somebody “face justice”, does it solve the underlying problem? Does it prevent these acts from occurring again? In my opinion, probably not. So where do we direct our very limited resources? Punishment or prevention? Two birds, one stone.

Is it our place to even try to help? Most, if not all, attempts by well-meaning, better-off and western do-gooders have failed pretty miserably. Is it overzealousness combined with simple misunderstanding, or are outsiders just not meant to help? This is also different from support, mind you, but it seems that someone from a foreign mindset spearheading an effort is destined to fail. Coming from a different culture makes it impossible to understand the inner workings of another society, and that is pretty essential for success. Where is the line between pushing ourselves on those we want to help, and realistically providing the proper support that is necessary for other populations to help themselves?

Many might –actually, they do - ask why they should think through questions like these when they are powerless to change anything. You’re just depressing yourself for nothing, and so on. In reality, it is the fact that people don’t know about and/or ignore the endemic injustices in the world. The more people look at what goes wrong in the world, and think about it, the more power there is to change it. So instead of closing this window and wishing I just wrote about cool things happening in Chile, think through the questions and all of the different parts that play into them (and the examples I gave are far from full explanations and interpretations). Only when people are aware of the injustices that the world suffers can any change happen. But it has to start with a few people spreading these ideas farther and farther. Get started. 

The Study Part

After mapping out my semester, the sad, but obvious, reality hit that I will not be able to do everything and see all of the places that I planned on doing. Far from surprising, but it hurt nonetheless to confirm it. The problem: classes. I am, in reality, here on a “study” abroad program, so I’m technically supposed to study. Well, go to school at least. However, this is far from ideal for my grand aspirations of really getting to know all of South America, or all of Chile at the very least. Last weekend represented the preliminary shock to this sad state by leaving me with only three days to explore Vina del Mar and Valparaiso, two cities with such rich histories and characters that I needed much more time. This frustration grew as I mapped out my other planned trips, where I will not have the time to explore on my own pace in the effort to see as much as possible. I sure have a rough life, don’t I?

As I mentioned earlier, classes have finally started, three months after I ended last semester (I almost forgot what academics and responsibilities were like). As a result, the time has come for routines and homework. Without realizing at the time, last Monday was my last first day of classes, at least for a long time. Crazy. Despite sounding incredibly jaded, I think I've burned myself out of the academic setting anyway, and it is a good thing that I will get to explore life in a different way by the end of July. (Hint: it's not going to be in an office or a text book). However, for now, I am still a student, but we all know about the inescapable senioritis. It's real. Study abroad? Maybe.

The exciting parts of the past week fell, as expected, on the weekend, which was my first in Santiago since I arrived in Chile. After three weeks of buildup, I finally experienced the infamous Chilean carrete. Directly translated, carrete means party, but the English word lacks the proper connotation to communicate its meaning. It is so much more. One good description that I heard is that carretes are more joyous gatherings, while partying in the US is more to forget the week. That sheds some light on the word, but really you’ll just have to experience it for yourself to understand. This was also one of my first opportunities to meet people from outside the AU program, with revelers hailing from South Africa, England France and, of course, Chile itself. Also, because I am an AU student, conversations inevitably managed to meander in the political direction, further fueling my previously mentioned fascination with different nationalities’ perspectives on all kinds of philosophies, this time with a few drinks to really encourage honest opinions.

The final big news of late comes from wandering around Santiago this afternoon: I found a leather-bound anthology of all of Pablo Neruda’s works at a street book fair. Now I can continue feeding my fascination with him, and my newfound interest in poetry in general.

 While my long distance adventures around the continent may be curtailed by having to pass my last semester, there is still a lot a will discover here in Santiago. And while I mock the official academic setting forcing “study” on my adventure abroad, I will in fact study a lot. There are so many cultural, historic, natural and social (and so on) aspects to explore here. If I want to get the most out of adventure abroad (my real title for the semester) then I do actually have to study. Just not in the traditional form that’s expected of me.

Palabras Poeticas

I’ve recently discovered how much I enjoy writing, and how important it is in life. And I’m talking about the real kind, not the “academic” thing I’ve been doing for the past three years. Real writing inspires, excites and stimulates. Blogging and journaling have helped me realize the beauties and thrills of life by sharing my experiences and reflecting on what makes everything so exciting. While my writing is far from world-changing, I realize the power that words possess. This thought had been in the back of my mind for awhile, but this past week drove the point home. When you think about it, it’s the careful selection of words that creates fear, loathing and sadness, or inspiration, compassion and joy. Properly applied, words (sung, spoken, or written) are the force that lead to action.

This revelation is a result of visiting Pablo Neruda’s three houses last week. Four decades after his death, he remains a prominent figure in Chilean culture due to his literary works and the activism he used with it. I still know very little about him, but after touring his homes, I’ve wanted to learn more, and will eventually get to a bookstore to buy some of his works.

 Neruda was a fascinating person. Even outside of his work as a poet, he accumulated eccentric collections to the point of hoarding, filling three houses with seemingly random, but beautiful items, from pipes to seashells (including a narwhal tooth), butterflies to ships’ bow figureheads (if there’s a word for this, please let me know). My favorite collection, however, consisted of sets of photographs all over the walls of Neruda with figures such as Federico Garcia Lorca, Diego Rivera and even President Salvador Allende. Regardless of your political beliefs, having the president of your country hang out at your house to talk about politics is pretty impressive. It also drives home the point of the influence writing can have in the direction of a society, because, while I certainly don’t know for sure, I feel that Allende and Neruda would not have met had the poet not been so prolific.

Words are ultimately what have brought to this point in life. Books, songs, websites and conversations have stirred something within me and keep pushing me to do something more. Hopefully I can use this same force to challenge people as I have been, and to motivate them to the same level that I feel. I may be far from a Neruda, Marquez or any of the million other novelists and poets out there, but hopefully I can impact a small population in much the same way these big names have impacted me and so many other people.

Since I couldn’t take pictures inside the museums, here are their photo galleries:

http://www.fundacionneruda.org/es/isla-negra/imagenes.html - Pictures of Isla Negra

http://www.fundacionneruda.org/es/la-chascona/imagenes.html - Pictures of La Chascona

http://www.fundacionneruda.org/es/la-sebastiana/imagenes.html - Pictures of La Sebastiana

While I’m talking about Neruda, an excerpt from a poem of his to tie everything together, from part one of Memorial de Isla Negra: La Poesia:

Y yo, mínimo ser,

ebrio del gran vacío

constelado,

a semejanza, a imagen

del misterio,

me sentí parte pura

del abismo,

rodé con las estrellas,

mi corazón se desató en el viento.

And my own mediocre translation:

And I, a mere mortal,

impassioned by the vast, starry

emptiness,

in the image and likeness

of the mystery,

I felt purely part

of the abyss,

surrounded by the stars,

my heart let loose with the wind

Terremotos

Terremotos, or earthquakes, were somewhat of a motif for my first real weekend in Chile. February 27^th represented the second anniversary of the 8.8 quake that rocked the country and killed over 500 people and caused billions of dollars in damages. Many buildings are still under repair. There have been specials on the news (the TV is always on and showing the news) about the earthquake all week, even through today (Wednesday). My first direct experience with earthquakes in Chile (my only prior one being the DC tremor) happened on Thursday when a group went to a bar known as La Piojera for terremotos, an infamous drink that consists of wine, rum and a scoop or two of pineapple ice cream. And there is certainly a reason they are called earthquakes.

The next day (Friday) all thirteen AU students hopped on a bus to Tongoy, about 500km northwest of Santiago for a weekend at the beach. While my first week was far from stressful, I always look forward to spending time near the ocean. Listening to the waves and the sea breeze, smelling the salt in the air and feeling sand underneath me is irresistible. I can never quite get enough of it. As much as I love the energetic nature of a city, especially in Santiago, I feel at peace near the sea. If I settle into one spot in the future, it will have to be in a beach town. Possibly Tongoy itself.

As opposed to taking every opportunity to wander around Santiago, we spent Friday night and Saturday relaxing by the pool and on the beach. Saturday represented the next earthquake experience with a small tremor. In reality, it was nothing noteworthy, but it rattled my bed, and the cabana, enough to startle me awake, which is pretty exciting for an east coaster.

Surprisingly, and thankfully, I managed to avoid any sunburn, a major feat for a gringo under the strong Chilean sun. On Sunday, with the others who were fortunate enough to avoid the agony, I explored the port, with brightly colored fishing boats stretching into the foggy ocean, and then climbed the local cerro to see the town from above. Chile’s landscape continues to fascinate me, with the Andes providing mystifying scenery everywhere you go, and almost every town or city having a beautiful lookout point above them.

Despite the beautiful vista, the calming breeze and the rolling waves, the highlight of the trip laid in a deep fryer. Apart from the automatic “delicious” rating that fried dough warrants, the empanadas made in a shack in the middle of town, El Lenguado, had a touch of heaven in them. I thought of this empanada shack much like Mac N’ Manco’s pizza in OCNJ, where the perfect combination of beach, salt air and well made food creates something worth a long trip for just that. Our love for the empanadas probably boosted El Lenguado’s sales well above what they expected, with the 13 gringos consuming a total of 61 empanadas over two days. They were that good.

Our cabanas

Delicious

Today also represented an exciting day when our orientation class visited one of Pablo Neruda’s three houses: La Chascona. While I have read very little of his work, and don’t know much about him, our tour today whetted my appetite to discover more about Neruda, who was a pretty fascinating character. Also, for a very quick overview, Neruda is a very famous Chilean poet who won the Nobel Prize at the age of 19 for his work. I guess I’ve fallen a little behind in my life achievements then…

As I continue this post I continue to mention one thing that tops the other. The beach, the cerro, the empanadas. But what has really gotten to me in the past week has been conversing with Chileans. In theory, one should avoid bringing up politics with Chileans, as the subject can be incredibly divisive. However, when I have to answer that I study human rights, the conversation is almost inevitable. Despite the potential tension that could arise, I have had incredibly fulfilling, and fascinating, conversations with various Chileans that have left me chewing on new thoughts for hours, or even days. At the same time, they’ve helped alleviate the cynicism that had been mounting in the back of my mind with every semester in DC. My optimism has returned.

(I originally meant to use earthquakes as a metaphor to bridge to the next part, but I’ve since realized that would be disgustingly cheesy, so I’ll refrain, but just note that this was going to be the culminating aspect of the terremoto theme regarding something along the lines of shifting perspective.)

The first major figure around this idea is Maggie, my host mom. She immediately took me in as a son (and counting all exchange students + real children, she has about 10) and I could not have been made more welcome from a complete stranger. Over dinner, we discuss everything from family to travel, but have also strayed to the more controversial topic of the Pinochet era. While I always knew it, this conversation reminded me how incredibly important perspective is in understanding a situation. This was my introduction to having strongly held beliefs slightly undermined by an opposing and well-articulated idea. A friend from GW introduced me to a concept from the book Siddhartha that came to light with these conversations: for every truth, the opposite is equally true. Try resolving that.

Next, I learned just how extensive Chilean cariño is. On the bus ride towards Tongoy, I sat next to a professor from Universidad Católica, one of the more prominent schools in Chile. Even as a complete stranger, Victoria was incredibly eager to share stories about family, life, and the politics that my major has made omnipresent in my life. She showed off her sons, one of which lives in Germany, and I showed off Cole, Tate and Avery (nephews and niece). However, what struck me most, and I’m not even sure this is Chilean but it made a good impression, was that Victoria decided to give me the empanada and soda she had just purchased for the 6 hour ride, and later bought a dulce for me from a vendor. Cariño to the extreme.

Finally, my host cousin moved into the apartment for the school year, and since then I have had very provoking conversations over onces that still leave me thinking. What struck me the most is something that I have noticed in most Chileans: national pride. Obviously I’ve seen plenty of it in the States, but there’s something different about it here, although I can’t quite figure out what. When Cote (coh-tay, my host cousin) talked about how proud he is to be Chilean, I could feel the pride oozing from his words and from himself. Something about this struck a chord with me. Maybe it’s because I had always been surrounded by United States pride and the different environment made it noticeable, maybe it’s the ebbing cynicism, but something about it fascinates me, and I hope to figure out what it is.

Based on the first week and a half, Chile has turned out to be a fascinating country on so many levels. Naturally and politically, there is so much to explore, and Santiago alone has countless adventures to offer. Socially, however, it offers the most adventure. Chileans have a different mentality than Americans, as one would expect, and learning about this aspect of life is fast becoming the most rewarding part of travel for me.

Jesus Rides the Metro

From the very start, traveling to Chile has been quite an adventure. For months, possibly even a year or two, I had build up an image in my mind of an epic arrival to Chile based on the movie The Motorcycle Diaries with its inspiring opening and even more energizing opening theme. However, this vision was quickly undermined with my flights into the country between a stuffy nose and unnecessarily nerve-wracking first leg between home and New York City. First, I’ve decided that propeller planes are not my thing, and the only time I will enjoy riding in one is in the event of sky diving, when you can jump out anyway. The first part of my trek was a flight from Philly International to LaGuardia, which was one of the more terrifying fifty minutes of my life. Normally I am a very calm flier, but we flew through “some really insane winds”, to quote the pilot. Basically, from my perspective, this was like a palm tree in a hurricane, but with a much longer fall. A few weeks prior, I had poked some fun at my cousin Taylor for her anxiety on a turbulent ride, but now I just empathize with her. Somehow, the guy in the seat next to me managed to stay asleep for the entire ride, but just to add to my white-knuckle nerves, he jolted (twitch would be a severe understatement) with every dip, rise and bump we experienced throughout the flight, augmenting my anxiety to an even more unreasonable level.

My flight from NYC to Santiago (Chile) proved to be much smoother, regarding turbulence. However, an eleven hour ride with blocked sinuses and changing air pressure makes for a miserable experience. As a result, I arrived in Chile not blasting my epic Motorcycle Diaries theme, but struggling to breathe and really just wanting to sleep forever. Not quite the entrance I had dreamed of, but it would do, considering the rest of my week here has been nothing short of extraordinary. From the very start, Chilean cariño is nothing that I have experienced before. Everybody here is welcoming and involved in the well-being of the gringos that come to live with them. Side note: gringo is not a derogatory term here, unlike other Latin American countries, but simply indicates an American or European foreigner. My host mother and all of her friends that I have met have been incredibly welcoming and eager to meet me from the day of my arrival. Apparently even my host mom’s colleagues tried persuading her to bring me in to her work so they could all meet me and hang out with me the day I arrived. Thankfully, I was allowed to rest instead.

Maggie, my host mom, is uncannily similar to my Mom-Mom (grandmother, for the few of you not familiar with the term), which made assimilating an incredibly easy feat. As a result, everything is spotless and organized, even though the family just moved into this apartment about three days before I showed up. I keep my door to my room closed, just to save Maggie the stress of dealing with my lack of tidiness (although I do make my bed now). I have two host brothers, who as of yet I have not met for more than the half hour ride from the airport to the apartment (I immediately fell asleep and they left for the weekend, and then some; as of Wednesday, they haven’t come back).

After spending Friday sleeping on the beautiful terraza (patio/porch/balcony; below), we left Saturday morning to introduce me to the TransSantiago metro system, so I could get to school the following Monday without a guide. It is just as simple to use as the DC metro, but significantly cleaner and actually runs on time. We found my school, Universidad Diego Portales, and then climbed the Cerro Santa Lucia, which is a colonial-era castle about 70m above the rest of the city (pictures will come at another time; it was too smoggy at the time to get good shots). The rest of the day was, yet again, rest and relaxation on the terraza, which quickly became my favorite spot.

La Terraza

On Sunday Maggie and I went to the Vega Central; a giant farmer’s market with fruits and vegetables everywhere. While the Chilean palette is generally pretty bland and unexciting, the country’s produce is infinitely better than at home (largely because a significant amount of our fruit actually comes from here). We got a backpack full of fruit, the most exciting of which is a new (for me) fruit, called tuna, which has nothing to do with tuna fish. Instead, it’s a cactus fruit (no spikes), about the size of a baseball with large seeds, but has the taste and texture of a kiwi. It’s delicious after you figure out how to deal with the abundance of un-chewable seeds that come with it. Also, avocado (palta) is everywhere here, and is fantastically cheap, unlike at home. This was the first point at which I broke out my awesome camera to take pictures of the fruit, much to Maggie’s dismay, as it would attract even more attention to my already noticeable self. However, instead of being robbed, everybody at the Vega wanted me to take their picture. Not sure why, but it seems that Chileans are significantly more outgoing than Americans based on this.

Lots of fruit and veggies at the Vega

The green fruit is the Tuna

All weekend I felt like I ate and slept. The Chilean eating schedule consists of:

·         Breakfast (morning): tea, bread, avocado

·         Lunch (early afternoon): this is the big meal of the day, so it can be anything

·         Onces (late afternoon): literally translated is “elevenses” but means a small snack between lunch and dinner

·         Dinner (9-10pm): usually bread and tea, with avocado or some other fruit

Almost every meal involves bread in some way. Turns out, Chile is the world’s second-largest consumer of bread after Germany. Also, it is the world’s top consumer of mayonnaise, an ingredient very popular on the infamous and delicious completo:

Palta, Mayo and Tomato on a Hot Dog

Finally, starting Monday, I’ve had to get up at 7:00 in the morning for my “intensive” Spanish class that lasts from 10:00-1:30 (or 13:30, since we operate in 24 hour time here). My group of AU students has proven to be a great mix of characters, and we have all explored Santiago together after class for the past three days. I have to say, there is so much to this city that it will take well over five months for me to really see what it is all about.

So far, our most interesting excursion has been the hike to the top of the Cerro San Cristobal, which is 826m above sea level, and one hell of a trek. Before even entering the trail we had already walked a healthy three or four miles around the city, but when we finally made it to the Virgin Mary, so high above the rest of Santiago, the view alone was worth it and the triumph over the climb made it even sweeter. Summer is a beautiful time in Chile, as you can see in the pictures, and seeing it from above is quite the reward.

La Virgen, greeting us at the top

Santiago sprawls this far in every direction; it's big

The most interesting observation so far, though, has been Chileans’ fascination with the obnoxiously large group of gringos and, specifically, me. Maggie told me on Monday that I look like Jesus, who is a pretty big deal down here, and that it has attracted a lot of attention from just about everybody that sees me. She told me that even guys stare at me, which is quite the feat. Since then, I’ve paid attention to the attention that I get, and have realized that people do, in fact, think I look like Jesus. The metro has been the most interesting place for observing this, as I’ve heard everything from “he looks so familiar…” to “mira, Jesús está en el metro”  (“look, Jesus is riding the metro”). So, it looks like for the next semester Jesus is riding the Santiago metro, and I will have to get used to a cultural aspect that I could never have expected. While my entrance to Chile lacked the grandeur that I had envisioned, the thrill of discovery and exploration (and yes, some of the ego boost accompanying the rock star status) will more than make up for it, providing a level of excitement and enthusiasm that I have not felt for a long time. This week has represented the beginning of a long-awaited adventure that will continue far beyond the end of my AU program here.