Carpenters in South America

Last week was a special one: Mom and Dad flew all the way down to Chile, just to see me! It was strange seeing them in such a different setting; I had never really imagined meeting them at an airport in South America and showing them around what has become a new home so far away. Also, after three months isolated from direct interaction with everything I had known (except English), it was a crazy feeling to have part of it down here with me. Now I wonder what it’ll feel like to go home and drop myself back into that world that I left so far away. Needless to say, I was very excited to see my parents. 

They had a stupendous ten hour red-eye flight crammed into airplane seats that we’ve all grown to love for their unmatched comfort. They were therefore entirely ready for a full day of activity and exploration, but I figured it was best to take it easy for the first day. Finding them in the arrivals section being harassed by a “pirate” cab driver and an airport employee attempting to shoo him away, we were off to a smooth start. After fifteen minutes of searching for their reserved driver, and the cabbie trailing us like an annoying version of the Chilean quiltros (stray, but cute, dogs) we finally found the proper travel desk and convinced the pirate that he best look for some other confused gringos. Our driver eventually showed up and we hit the road for Valparaiso.

Mom and Dad, as many would imagine, have a very different travel style than I do, so rather than a hostel, they booked a hotel, where you don’t share rooms with other travelers. What a concept… We checked in to Hotel Gervasoni, a cool boutique hotel with a great view over the port and bay, around noon, and took advantage of the free welcome pisco sours, and then ordered lunches that ended up being far larger than any of us expected. Another advantage of traveling Lynne and Richard style: food quality is significantly better than $1,000 peso empanadas. This time I actually got to taste the glories of Chile’s seafood.

After lunch, we decided to walk around some of the city. To give an idea for the challenge that walking here implies: the city is divided by its hills, rather than by neighborhoods, and anywhere you go requires the use o f stairs or an ascensor (gondola). Jet lag tends to make this difficult, so after an hour we returned to the hotel to let the parents rest.

At least the stairs are painted well

That's looking very up

Funicular

Following naptime, we found a restaurant at the bottom of our cerro (hill) where I could introduce Mom and Dad to a Chilean favorite: bife a lo pobre (poor man’s beef), which is steak on a mound of French fries, covered in fried onions and fried eggs. A dietician’s dream. While the food was mediocre, the atmosphere made up for it with the comical bands that belted out Spanish classics. The singing was generally terrible, but in such a way that it made the restaurant fun and picturesque. It was a shame we finished up just as the restaurant began to fill and the party really got started (Chileans begin to eat dinner around 9pm, and we got there at 7:30).

An early bedtime and relaxed wakeup later, we enjoyed the hotel’s breakfast and then set out for the day. Walking again, I took my parents through the picturesque parts of the city where they could see the city’s extensive artistic abilities painted all over almost any available wall. We wandered to the port and then took an ascensor to the top of one of the cerros, for tourism’s sake. After a few hours’ wandering, a delicious lunch and some sunset watching, we discovered a restaurant near the hotel that would prove to be the best meal I’ve had in Chile, and probably will ever have. Sitting on a terrace overlooking the port, we enjoyed a warm pumpkin soup (remember, it’s autumn here) and then Mom and I each had a plate of spinach ravioli stuffed with crab and almonds. The word exquisite was invented for this meal.

The next morning was an earlier one, getting up at 6:30 (I’m more used to getting home at that time). We watched the sun rise over the bay and then climbed into our van en route to Santa Cruz in the Colchagua Valley, which many refer to as Chile’s best red wine region. After checking into our new hotel, we went to the valley’s artisan museum which covers the country’s artistic evolution through its indigenous groups. The walkthrough took no more than half an hour and we quickly made our way to the highlight of the day: the Santa Cruz vineyard where I had my first-ever wine tour. I quickly became an expert in all things wine (despite the sarcasm, it was very helpful in teaching me how to taste). That night, Dad and I went to the local casino for another first for me, and after temporarily frustrating the pit bosses with my lack of blackjack knowledge, I managed to break even, which I definitely consider a successful night.

Sunrise over the bay

Santa Cruz Vineyard from above

Day four: Monday. Foregoing an entire three days of wine tours (excellent idea), Mom scheduled a horseback ride through the valley and a vineyard. It was a three hours very well-spent, with Mom riding Tormento(Storm), myself on Caramelo (Caramel) and Dad on the wildest of them all: Princesa (Princess).

Our ride went very pleasantly, with Dad and Princesa leading the pack from behind, and we returned to the hotel for a relaxed afternoon in the Santa Cruz museum (the largest private museum in Chile) that has one of the most random collections I’ve ever seen, from fossils to horse-drawn carriages to artifacts from the Copiapo mine rescue from 2010. This guy’s collection might even beat out Pablo Neruda’s in both categories of vastness and randomness.

On day five, it was finally time to return to Santiago and show them the town where a third of Chile lives. But not before some wine tasting! The first winery provided a glass of wine as we entered at 10:30 in the morning, followed by two more to taste. We tasted three more at the next vineyard and then had more with lunch. Seven cups of wine will catch up to you. The main excitement of the day, however, was upon our return to Santiago, Mom and Dad got to meet my host family for dinner at the apartment. It was great seeing everybody get to know each other, and Mom and Maggie getting along so well despite the language barrier.

We treated the host family to dinner on my parents’ final night, and I realized how lucky I am with my families, both real and Chilean. I couldn’t be happier with either one, and now that they’ve bridged the gap, it’s even easier to consider both as one family. My parents made me miss the rest of my family from home, but also renewed my appreciation to be able to find the same type of support, care and fun somewhere else in the world.

Non-Carpenters from left: Maggie, Jose Miguel, Cote

Gone Volcaneering

The title of the post is misleading, because I didn’t actually manage to do so, but that was the purpose of my latest adventure to Pucon over last weekend.

Pucon, about 800km south of Santiago in the Lakes Region is an outdoor activity paradise, where you have the options of doing just about anything you can think of. Its biggest attraction, however, is the 2800m Volcan Villarrica, an active volcano that, weather permitting, you can summit and peer into its crater to see the lava inside. Unfortunately, the weather did not permit, and I had to make do with the myriad other activities at hand.

Because of international workers’ day, we didn’t have classes April 30^th or May 1^st, so I took the opportunity to skip my Friday class and spend five days in town, arriving Thursday morning and leaving Monday night, taking the ten hour overnight bus each way.

I arrived in Pucon at 9:30 in the morning with a wave of other students studying in Santiago and Valparaiso who were also taking advantage of the extra long weekend. Checking into my hostel, I met a few of these students and Negra, the hostel’s beloved former street dog. After stretching out by the fire with Negra and the other hostels guests, some newcomers and I decided to go zip lining later in the afternoon. I flew through the treetops and over a deep blue river, an thrilling view and feeling when there is only a steel cable out there with you, and nothing else. When you get over the original fear of dangling above an abyss, and remember the cable is designed to hold you up, you can really take in the rush of an almost birdlike experience. It’s as close to flying as I’ve been… for now (I'm looking into skydiving and paragliding too).  

La Negrita

The River I ziplined over (although not from the canopy)

Pucon's black sand beach at sunset

On my second day, and second adventure, I went “hydrospeeding”, which I don’t think exists in the US. It is similar to white water rafting, but instead of descending rapids in a boat, you do so in the water with a body board. Needless to say, it’s significantly more exciting than rafting. One problem, however, was that both the river and the air were extremely cold, making my fingers so numb that I couldn’t even put on my belt afterwards. That was only a minor issue, however, in the grand scheme of hydrospeed’s awesomeness. Most of the hour in the water passed in calm parts of the river, but hitting the rapids was a huge thrill. The water rushes and then dips down right before a wave, and you speed to the top of this wall and launch off the top just to find yourself following another one, picking up speed and catching more air with each one. Each set of rapids got stronger, with the last one at the meeting of two rivers. These waves grew high enough to hang in the air for at least two seconds at a time and lasted for a solid five minutes. I had never done anything quite as exhilarating.

The only picture of me that came out

Photos taken by the pucontours guides

Next, I went horseback riding with other travelers in the hostel. We rode them halfway up a mountain that gave a gorgeous lookout over the town, and then descended again to a delicious homemade Mapuche (southern Chile indigenous group) lunch. Two of our horses had very strong personalities, only walking or running when they felt like it. I generally repeated “vamos!” about five times a minute to try to get Regalon to move forward. He just wanted to eat the whole way up and down. He and another horse were especially apprehensive about climbing steep hills, staring up from the bottom and letting out long sighs before scrambling to the top. Thankfully he was so used to the tour that I didn’t need to steer or control him in any way, because I’m pretty sure he would have come to resent me pretty quickly otherwise.

My most physically rewarding adventure was on my fourth day, where I rented a bike and rode 24 kilometers uphill to a manmade lake on top of a mountain. As you’d imagine, the ascent was pretty taxing, especially on a dirt road, but it was entirely worth it. With nobody else around, you can really lose yourself in your thoughts and soak in your surroundings. After half an hour of enjoying my solitude, I began my decent back into town, downhill. Taking advantage of the steep decline, I leaned as far forward on the handlebars as possible to get the bike moving as quickly as possible, which ended up being pretty fast. While my ascent took about two and a half hours, accounting for a stop at the Ojos de Caburgua waterfalls, returning to Pucon only took one hour. At the steepest parts of the mountain, I got up to fifty kilometers an hour, which is a huge rush on two wheels in the open air.

Picturesque bike ride

Los Ojos de Caburgua

Also, came across a black sheep

Made it. 24km each way

Monday was my last chance to climb Volcan Villarrica, but unfortunately ended up having the worst weather of the entire week. While I had lucked out with beautiful, albeit chilly, weather the entire week, my final day in Pucon was grey and rainy. Despite being upset that I couldn’t climb the volcano, I had managed to complete a number of adventures (not that rain would have stopped them), so I was content to relax in the hostel, laying out by the fire with the dog and enjoying the company of the other travelers.

This was my first time traveling solo, and it has become my favorite way to explore a new place. It turned out to be an exciting way to meet new people from all around the world, and the flexibility it offers to find smaller things that larger groups prevent is the style that I’ve been looking for in my years of traveling. After having seen so many great places, I realize that I’ve still missed out because of schedules and the generally cumbersome nature of big groups, but now I know how I want to see the rest of the world.

One phrase that writing this blog has brought up in my mind is “viajar por viajar” (travel for travel’s sake). It made me realize how enamored I’ve become with impromptu voyages, not particularly knowing what I would do beforehand. I love the stimulation that comes from arriving in a completely new place, working out my plans as I go and meeting people in the same fashion, with the same mindset. Making an impromptu trip for its own sake, getting to know the world from this approach, injects a new sense of life into you with every new destination. Maybe it’s the beauty of Pucon, or the people I met, but this trip has solidified my wanderlust, and my desire to see the entire world, figuring it out as I go.

So while I didn’t accomplish my main goal of climbing the volcano (this time), I managed to take the kind of trip that I had never done before. It’s thrilling and invigorating, and viajar por viajar has taken on a new significance in my life. After this semester ends, I will be doing so as much as possible, for as long as possible while I have nothing to hold me back (except for money). 

The Bellybutton of the World

Though the time between posts would suggest otherwise, I followed my trip to Patagonia immediately with another to the absolute middle of the Pacific Ocean, on the world’s most isolated inhabited island. Roughly 20 hours after my flight home from Punta Arenas landed in Santiago, I hopped on another one, 4 hours out towards a speck on the map that Chileans nickname the bellybutton of the world (and I’m still not sure why).

The change of scenery could not have been more drastic. On morning I was in the wild, wind-whipped southern part of the continent, and the next afternoon on a serene, lazy, subtropical island. However, while the island epitomizes “getting away from it all” with only 5000 residents and waves lapping at its powdery beaches, what makes this destination unique are the ubiquitous and legendary moai positioned throughout the island, as well as the story behind these mysterious figures.

Legends abound about Rapa Nui history, with many outsiders believing in extraterrestrial activity and other supernatural forces. Our tour guide was of Rapa Nui descent, and assured us that all past goings-on were, in fact, natural, albeit mind-bogglingly impressive. From the island’s discovery, with seven explorers happening upon it after nine days in canoe, to the mass production and erection of almost 900 moai statues over a few hundred years.

Each day we toured a different part of the island, learning about the rise, fall, near total destruction, and recent reconstruction of Rapa Nui culture over the past millennium. Our first tour brought us to two ahus, platforms on which moai stood (all were toppled during civil wars in the late 1800s; all those standing now were restored by archaeologists).

This first day taught us the importance of the moai. Rather than depict deities, the monoliths represent clan chiefs, who are buried underneath their respective statue. The moai face inland, protecting their clans with spiritual power. Regardless of your belief in supernatural energy, you feel a certain power from such grand creations when you are so close to them. Be it their stoic presence, mysterious faces or sheer grandeur, standing face to face with the moai creates a palpable, mysterious atmosphere that you can feel in your nerves.

Our tour also took us to the Rano Raraku volcano, where the Rapa Nui carved the moai, and to an ahu guarding a beach cove that, were it not a popular gringo stop, would have been paradise, with sand like flour, swaying palm trees and a brilliantly blue ocean. The following days, while touring more ahus, we learned about the settling of the island, how the population swelled to 20,000 and crashed to under 200 after the golden age as a result of deforestation, overpopulation, civil war, the European slave trade and disease. Most incredibly is how the Rapa Nui have managed to rebuild themselves into a solid, growing population from a hopeless point. I feel like all of that would be an anthropologist’s perfect case study.

Life on Isla de Pascua has since turned into a picturesque existence. I asked Cristian, the tour guide, what islanders do living so far from everything. He simply answered that residents just live day to day, with no stress and no worries. The Chilean phrase “poco a poco” epitomized. Sure enough, after a few days in the heavy air and calm breeze, strolling through the only town, it’s difficult to worry about much of anything. Much like you can lose yourself in studying Rapa Nui history, you can just simply lose yourself by taking in the island atmosphere, far away from the “real world”.

While not a destination I will likely visit again, Rapa Nui has proven to be one of the more fascinating historical stories that I have come across while in Chile. Maybe because it is so unique, or because it could serve as an important lesson to the wider world in many aspects (conserving resources especially comes to mind), there is just so much to take in. You could easily learn about Rapa Nui history from the internet, but it is hard to appreciate the magnitude of it until you stand face to face with the moai.

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.