Chile, 13 de mayo, 2013

This is the last post from Chile, reflection on two months, learning, living, observing. With no need for a number system, family ranks first, followed by school and the rest. As previously noted, the family was bumped hard by the sudden death of the father, an enjoyable character, opinionated, but loved to hear the other view as well, as point of departure for hardy discussion. My position changed accordingly, becoming more than just a foreign student guest. Marcela, the mother, is one of those Spanish maternal jewels I have come to expect here in S.America. She manages three jobs, mothers students, as well as her own daughter, and other in-and-out family members. She is always enjoyable, helpful, supportive. She truly represents the best of mothers. It is my hope that we shall remain friends.

Language here has been a challenge. The school provided me with four excellent teachers, finally climbed one fence of grammatical understanding, though there are several others beyond. If, if, I can only continue to study before all is filtered out by English interference. Chileno is not easy to understand. Final s and sometimes entire ending syllables are dropped. Tonal quality disappears at the most inopportune times. There is the abnormal number of unique national vocabulary words found no other place. Chilenos, many, maybe most, fully admit to their dialect being the worst of all latin speaking countries. I find myself outside controlled situations and pull back in fear, only to constantly find myself in discussions, where the best I can do is look intensely at the speaker, and politely nod frequently. Yet, the speakers seem to think I am understanding it all.

As for the rest, Chile is different and the same, but it shall have its own unique chapter to my experiences. Modern, stable, economic progress, yet still dealing with the past, significant issues that all latin countries share, such as income disparity and unequal education, and that conflict between national pride, but lack of national identity. It is easily a loveable place, a people that will easily include you. As I write in a café, with my bear and papas fritas, surrounded by portraits of Hemingway and reproductions of Diego Rivera, a gentleman initiates a conversation, then invites me to share a table with him and his friend. In times past I would have been suspicious, doubtful, and politely declined. But, I seldom if ever, reject offerings now. Our banter begins with the gentleman wondering about my sitting solo in a Santiago bar, how that could possibly be. I try to explain the lack of options makes it mandatory. His friend takes up my defense. As it turns out, the friend is Poli Delano, an important literary figure in Chile, given the name Poli by no other than the most famous of Chilean greats, Pablo Neruda himself. Once we get over the topic of being solo, we move to topics such as lack of Chilean identity, the derivation of Chifa for Chinese food, department living versus home ownership. I even learn a new word, huevon, a term used interchangeably between a term of endearment or a personal insult, depending on the intonation and expression. With me I am assured it is the first. I become more comfortable as our group talks for two hours.

And so it has been. I am left with the memories of:

Tall modern glass buildings, high rise apartments, colorful shacks on hillsides or resting on seaside. Four-mile high mountains, enormous clean lakes, snow capped volcanoes. Beautiful children with their round faces and full brown eyes bring joy to the parents, beautiful Spanish ladies with their long-hair, tight slacks, and stylish boots, plastic surgery. Efficient and clean metros, often packed, driving respect for lanes and pedestrians, dodging bicycles on sidewalks, and skaters rumbing from behind, and stepping over leashed dogs. And, street dogs. A most impressive orchestrated changing of the guard at the presidential Casa de Moneda, accompanied by street dogs, in front of the edifice that was bombed by Chilean armies, the coup of Pinochet, the suicide of Allende, the disappearance of 10 thousand, departure of intelligent minds, possible poisoning of Pablo Neruda, the intellectual recovery. The houses of Pablo, his collections, the view of the coast, the black rocks, the blue-green waves. Street dogs, pampered by strangers with food and pet clothes. Packed night clubs of younthful energy, smokers, too many, late hours. Pisco sour, red wine, and Kuntzman beer. And, street dogs. Patient teachers, Spanish lessons, subjunctive tense, Chileno for taco, huevon, pasto, 30 minute walk to school. Children and families of burns, somehow giving a smile and a laugh, supportive professionals, attachment, hurt and joy, a surprise gift, a tearful departure. A family that became my own, a connection, helping, being present, a place found.

And, now I leave, once again trying to sense the impact, how I have been changed, or will. Should I slow down, or continue, look back or focus forward. It is all much more than a travel adventure. A life event, another mark on the soul, a justification for hope, for challenge, for effort, for contribution, for impact, to make a difference, at least to try. At least to try.

I’m just wondering, how we know where we belong

In a song that’s left behind

In a dream I couldn’t wake from

Could I have felt the brush of a soul that’s passing on

Somewhere in between here and gone.

Up above me, wayward angels, a blur of wings and grace

One for courage, one for safety, one for just in case

I thought a light went out, but now the candle shines

I thought my tears wouldn’t stop and I dried my eyes

And after all of this, the truth that holds me here

Is that this emptiness is something not to fear.

And, I’ll keep wondering how we know where we belong

After all the journeys made, and the journeys yet to come

And I feel like giving up instead of going on

Somewhere in between here and gone.

(MC Carpenter)

Chile 06 de Mayo 2013

The last two weeks have brought pleasures, but, with some exception, not quite as profound as others. For one, I went with my mother, her sister and brother-in-law and their granddaughter Flo (Florencia) to whom I gained a close attachment and affection, to the country home and farm of Hugo, the brother-in-law. Two hours south of Santiago, it was a tranquil and welcome escape to orchards, forests, vineyards and farm animals. The striking interruption in pease was the killing of a neighbor´s horse, which was apparently butchered for meat. I never did quite understand the whole story, but perhaps some ritual was also involved.

Back in Santiago I experienced my first earthquake, loosely so. Everybody else I had contact with discussed the tremor, and only I apparently “missed” the sensation. Only at breakfast did my mother tell me of the event. Certainly los Chilenos have a very sensitive feel for such due to their recent history of events.

I also revisited Valpairiso, noted in earlier blog memory. It was a surprisingly beautiful and warm day for this time of year. By myself, I utilized my flexibility to visit some of the galleries in the historic district. Located on the hillside, overlooking the ocean port, the cobbled streets, curving against the terrain, housing cafes, galleries, and hostels. It has attracted a bohemian type presence, altogether making for an enjoyable day. They also have an impressive art museum, a collection of European art by one of the successful citizens in years past.

This past week brought a change in my volunteer efforts. I switched to a place known as Coaniquem. This is a center for child burn victims, all services provided freely. First, it provides medical care for the young burn victims, which my extend over several years. In addition to medical care, of equal import is the psychological care given to both victim and family members. Since some of the children come from areas outside of Santiago, and since some of their care extends over several days, they must stay in residence. Coaniquem provides housing and accommodation for the child and one family member during the necessary time. Patients from other Latin countries are also received, and in total more patients are served here than at the Shriners in EEUU. It has been a wonderful experience, and my interaction has brought friendly smile, inclusion and interest for the stranger from outside.

The upcoming week is my last full one. I will try to make one final entry in summation prior to my return. It will certainly be positive after reflection. But, I am anxious to return and get into other things that I have put aside for the last months.

 

 

Puerto Montt, Chiloe, Osorno, 22 de avril, 2013

 I am back from a three day visit to the Lake District of Chile, a two-hour flight south from Santiago. This is not the best time of the year to travel south. This area has 220 wet days annually. It did rain, but not enough to interrupt the visitation, it only diminished the quality of light exposure to photos. The area is heavily influenced by German presence as they began to arrive in the late 1800's. There is also sight of even earlier Jesuit presence. Unlike most Latin churches, which are usually extravegant in decoration, the Jesuit churches are more stoic. Equally well crafted, they are only more simply adorned, particularly inside. The area is also attractive to fish lovers. Chile is the world´s second leading exporter of salmon and I dined on it two of my three days. Loved it.

So, water is everywhere, either the sea or lakes. And, there are volcanoes, 2,000 of them up and down the cordillera. I am not sure how that number is derived, as we viewed one crater that was not much bigger than a sink hole. But, others are easily identifiable and deserving of inclusion.

My first day left me just enough time to get to Puerto Vara, a 20 minuted bus ride north of my stay in Puerto Montt (puerto = port). I had a weather opening that allowed me to take a few photos of Volcan Osorno, with Lago Llanqhuihue below. The volcano is known for its almost perfect cone shape.

The first full day was with a tour that took us to the island of Chiloe .A ferry ride took us from the mainland. We stopped at several villages, almost all on the edge of the sea. In Castro, the capital, was our longest stay to walk about and look. The most interesting to me was one of the Jesuit churches, most impressive due to the impact of the brilliant colors. This one and many others are often covered with sheet metal, I assume as a protective layer against the constant rain on the island. But, it takes a close inspection to distinguish the metal from other material. Another photo point was the palolitos, colorful homes built on stilts to rise above the ocean tides.  Both church and homes are UNESCO sites.

The Sunday after I accompanied a smaller group northward. The weather was less cooperative this day. And the vistas seen were expansive, so between the two obstacles it was difficult to get a true representative photo. Still, the area was beautiful. Continuous green, pastures (the milk industry here is strong) and lakes always nearby. We stopped by one waterfall where water was made turquoise by the minerals present. Next, was to Volcan Osorno, whose summit was hidden by cloud cover. But, the refugio near the top wa open to serve lunch, where I enjoyed by last opportunity to dine on salmon. Rico. We ate, drank Pisco Sour and Chilean wine and talked. Two of the group were Brasileanas, always fun to be around in my experiences. Little by little I understand more of the portuguesa and my fears have weakened to the point I may try that next, but not quite yet. Discussions of food, politics, taxes and cost of living occur in all languages and cultures.

The trip confirmed the travel book commentary on the diversity and beauty of Chile. I still have three weeks here, but even if nothing more occurs, it has been a true delight.

Sails are just like wings

And the wind can make them sing

Songs of life, songs of hope,

Songs to keep your dreams afloat.

Now shores, distant shores

There’s where I’m heading for

Got the stars t guide my way

And sail into the light of day.

I’m gonna build me a boat, with these two hands

It will be a fair curve from a noble plan

Let the chips fall where they will

‘Cause I’ve got boats to build.

(G. Clark)

Santiago, Lucia y Plaza de Armas, 15 avril

Santiago, 15 avril, 2013

This week marks the halfway point of my journey and I remained in Santiago focused on filling holes in my collection of photos and memories.  The first steps were to Cerra Santa Lucia (cerra=hill). This is a central site where Pedro de Valdivia, the father of Chile, planted the beginning of Spanish presence. He and a handful of others, plus his lover, Inez, left Peru for the purpose of spreading spanish influence and perhaps finding gold as well. However, the Mapuche indigenous population, made for a difficult conquest, fiercely challenging the spanish for 300 years. Despite eventual success, it was a cruel endeavor. Pedro himself, after gaining appointment as gobernador, received an ugly end as retribution for the cruel methods used to dominate the Mapuche. He was captured in a final battle, the only survivor, and over a three-day period his skin was ´´removed´´, cooked and eaten before him. When it was obvious he would not last much longer, he was forced to swallow molten gold, a fitting symbolic reward for the spanish lust for gold. The site in Santiago rises fairly high above the central section of the city. From the tower top of a castle constructed in the 1800´s you get great vistas of the city around.

From there I casually returned to the Plaza de Armas, where I was easily entertained for the remainder of the afternoon. Several times I headed for the metro, only to discover another interest which caught my attention and my time. I have included the Plaza in previous blog discussion, so I hope not to repeat myself. Extending out from the plaza itself are pedestrian only malls occupied with various eating spots and small shops. The sunny Saturday collected large numbers to enjoy the day. I easily encountered a dozen street performers, each trying to attract a few monedas for their performance. Musicians included an opera singer, a 3-piece guitar group playing BB King, a horn ensemble, many different drum groups beat their rhythms, including more than one that tied their drums to their backs and beat with long flexible sticks while they danced and spun around. Impressive. One singer was selling her CDs after each song, and people danced salsa when she did sing. Jugglers, clowns, gymnists and colorful mimes centered among the interested viewers.

My favorite was a puppet show that enchanted the children standing in front. Screams of surprise, scare and joy responded to each appearance of the puppets. Alas, there was no Kermit or Miss Piggy. But, there is nothing comparable to the fixation of wonder or laugh on a child’s face. Absolutamente nada.

From there you cold wander and listen to the sidewalk preachers or watch the artists painting portraits, or the vendors selling candy and ice cream, balloons and toys.  Or, you could wait your turn to play chess at one of the 20 or so tables set-up under the gazeba. But, whether by custom or rule, no women. And, as noted, all the malls were set with tables where you could people watch while you enjoyed a glass of wine, a beer or a coffee. It was indeed a good day to walk in the campo.

There is nothing as dark as night

But nothing so strong as light

And here is the choice

Let it burn out or bright

In a world where the fear and force

Have buried the silent source

Can you deny the need for a light like yours

No fast pace, no jaded attitude

Can erase all of the good you do.

If someone has left his wrath

On everything in his path

Taking the wealth and leaving his trash behind

Will you be peace or can you at last decide there is noone to fight

We are the same inside, so go on and get some rest

There’s many more miles and tests

All about love

What if it comes to be all that we have left

No dark place, no debt, and no abuse

Can erase all of the good you do. (C. Kane)

Santiago and Valparaiso, 8 avril, 2013

Santiago and Valparaiso, 8 Avril , 2013

Two stories to tell. The first describes a short tour with other students to Valparaiso, the second largest port in Chile. To describe it is to combine similarities with the hillside overlook of San Francisco, with a bit of the colorful architecture of New Orleans. The direction of the streets seems to fit the contours of the hills, adding to the appearance of houses and shops leaning over to inspect and evaluate your worth. Perhaps the homes do lean a bit due to the severity of prior earthquakes. But, repair was rapid and I saw little evidence. Colorful murals on the walls are found frequently as one takes a turn around the corner, to view some interpretive display. As noted, the harbor attracts tankers from all over the world, several were lined up waiting for their turn to load or unload.  The water appears clean due to the intensity of blue and green reflected toward the hillside overlooks. Here and there are massive sea lions mounted on various structures in the bay. Funiculars, like ski trams, are in several locations for those wishing to avoid climbing the streets. Numerous green parks and statues of heroic figures are found at lower elevations. To my delight and dismay many shops of artisans attract my attention, but we have no time for me to inspect adequately. But less than two hours away, I hope to get in another visit before departing from Chile.
Second part concerns my family. I have attended birthdays, a wedding, anniversaries, social events, Easter mass during my visits. I have not experienced a birth. But, this weekend the ultimate occurred, with the sudden death of my Chilean father. I have several skills and abilities, but confidence with what to do in these situations is lacking. But, I guess my placement was somewhat fortuitous. Walter is from Holland originally and had family in Europe and US, but they speak no Spanish. My family speaks little English, so I became the interpreter and bearer of the sad news to his family of origin. The service was as quick as the death. He passed on Saturday, service was on Sunday, and cremation occurs Monday. The process interested me as after the service his body was lowered into the ground, though not covered, to rest overnight. Then the day of cremation he will be raised and cremated. The idea of returning to the earth, even if only symbolically, appeals to me as part of the completion of our cycle, regardless of belief.

This morning as I walked to school, the weekend event was on my mind. My mother, despite my plea, got up to prepare me breakfast. She was on my mind as I walked to school. Sidewalks are full of people walking or biking to their destinations on weekday mornings. The day, climatically was hinting at a bright, cheerful, sunny day. However, as almost always, the people hurry toward work or school, expressionless. An ambulance rushes by as I wonder what occupies their minds, while life itself might go as quickly by. Then, coincidentally, perhaps, a young man comes in my direction, also with some indication of preoccupation, and as he closes in he crosses himself, as if in church. For me or himself?

Be kind to my memory when you do remember me
Let the thought rest easy on the pillow of the past
Don´t recall the tears and heartaches
Let the years erase the mistakes
Grab a hold of something good and try to make it last
Hang my picture in your mind, dust it off from time to time
When the light is right and I won´t fade away
I´ll be smiling from the wall
When your feet step down the hall
Watching as you go about your day

Then speak my name occasionally to a stranger that you meet
Tell them about a man you knew who wasn´t all that bad
And do a little favor for me
Recollect a funny story
Something that will make you smile whenever you feel sad.
Hang my picture in your mind, dust it off from time to time
When the light is right and I won´t fade away
I´ll be smiling from the wall
When your feet step down the hall
Watching as you go about your day

Hold on to my ´´used to be´´

When a dream is all that´s left of me
Don´t leave me in the dark
Keep a candle burning
In the corner of your heart
Be kind to my memory when you do remember me
Let the thought rest easy on the pillow of the past
Don´t recall the tears and heartaches
Let the years erase the mistakes
Grab a hold of something good and try to make it last

Please say you will remember me

And, be kind to my memory. (M. Folson)

Santiago, 1 avril, 2013

This week was not much for serious exploration. It provided a three day weekend, but I delayed in travel plans and thus stranded myself. However, I did take time to further to further identify parts of Santiago. So now is a good time to document my impression of the city to date.

Santiago is perhaps the cleanest city I have yet seen in all of S.A. Litter cans are visible, kept empty, and are actually used by the citizens. That alone distinguishes it. But, like all others is too has the primary plaza, Plaza de Armas, with National Cathedra on one side, government buildings on other. There are the benches full of people, the fountain, the children and attentive parents and the heroic statues. Of course there are the dogs, reported by one source as one for every five Chilenos. They bother no one.

The city has a mix of both the colonial and modern. Chile has one of the world´s strongest economies, an unemployment rate below five percent. The tallest building in S.A. is Consteneda Central, under construction, but partially occupied during construction. Of interest is the preservation of one of the cracks from the strongest earthquake ever recorded. A drill has penetrated deep into the earth´s crust, and with a special scope, allows the viewer to actually view the glowing molten activity lying miles beneath your feet.

Somewhere around six million live in the city itself. Departamentos are everywhere, several on each block, both owned and rented, most rising 15-25 stories tall. Most residential areas are tree lined with gardened entries. My street is quite pretty, as the sycamores are dropping their leaves as we go further into the fall.

On my more distant journeys from home, I take the metro. It is modern, clean, and rapid. The nearest stop is not too close, but the walk to and from is enjoyable. Today, as I write, is Easter Sunday, and I took the metro to the Cementario General. This had to be the largest cemetery I have ever seen, immense. Different parts are reserved for different faiths and different income layers. Today, whether due to Easter I can only assume, but almost all graves, tombs, have been decorated by fresh or false flowers, family photos, balloons, pinwheels, cartoon stickers, plastic toys, stuffed animals, Christmas decorations, even CDs. What thoughts and memories motivate the selection is speculative. Nonetheless the place was crowded as family members carefully pruned, cleaned and arranged the setting of their lost loves. There is nothing similar to my observation of the latin commitment to family.

Parks are everywhere and range in size and function. One of the largest, Cerro San Cristobal, overlooks the city, with large statue of Virgen de Guadalupe, her outstretched arms visible all over. It is a good climb to the top, unless you cheat and take the funicular (I did not cheat). There is also a good size zoo, a swimming pool and other vistas. Other parks are less endowed, but never too far away. I have yet to find my sanctuary. The central plaza is too busy and too distant. It may be that my house, an apartment with a tiny garden, will be the place.

I am beginning to miss my exercise regime, my paints, my guitar, but I am a long time away from reunion. Every week is a new one. No real complaints to date. My family is again enjoyable, somewhat different in their history than others. As I understand it, they left Venezuela as Chavez grew in strength and stupidity. It appears they left behind a sufficient lifestyle, and now are working hard at recovering some of that slip. I wish and hope for that to happen. They treat me well.

 

La playa

La Playa, Marzo 25, 2013

The first full week has now passed, including the first week of classes. My intital day begain inauspiciously when my teacher was an hour late, being caught in a taco. Say what, is this like the Tomato that Ate Chicago? No, taco is the latin term for traffic jam. So, Monday had a bit of an edge to it. However, by Friday those chips and splinters were well sanded smooth and I enjoyed the week in class. My teacher was forcefully supportive insisting consistently that my lack of perfection was not indicative of failure to progress. Muchas Gracias.

There are other sights and experiences to note for the week, but the most enjoyable was a Saturday excursion to the playa, beach. Chile, as its widest is only 186 miles, so travel to the nearest beach is never long, and therefore in two hours we were there. Our primary destination was to Isla Negra, Black Island, not an island at all, but the color is appropriate due to the black rocks standing in the waves, chests out, bracing for the smash and splash of the giant waves, throwing themselves full force against. Both the thunderous sound and the fireworks-like explosion were amazing.

Our real objective was the visit to one of the houses of Pablo Neruda, a national hero, poet, writer, social activist, first S.A. winner (I think) of the Nobel Prize for Literature. He likely was poisoned by the Pinochet regime shortly after that coup. Only recently did one of the family servants feel safe to report his witness of strange medical treatment by regime doctors during illness of Pablo. The body is being exhumed for investigation. As for the house itself, it overlooks the described beach, a view from almost every room in the house. Pablo traveled the world in various roles, and collected all sorts of objects, bottles, shells, butterflies, masks, ships in bottles, objects from ships, and my favorites, the figureheads that looked out over the sea from the bow tips of old masted ships. Extensive and amazing collections. The house was a bit strange architecturally, as it was extended little by little over the years of habitation. But, the views of the beach below, the ocean beyond, from almost every room, certainly provided a source of energy and inspiration for many of his literary works. I have read some, and though challenging readings,they  provide an insightful view of love and life.

From there we traveled a bit further to a slightly less crowded beach, again occupied by the rocks. The rocks presented some entertaing challenges to climb to get higher perspective over the watery blasts that were happening below. I have always considered myself a mountain lover, not of sea. But, this location forced at least a partial piece of the memory chip that stores accounts, details and summaries, of those special places I have personally visited. The contrast of the calm appearance of the distant horizon, slowly shoving the sheets of surface until they wrinkled and folded higher and higher, until they cracked and tore and vessels of lifesource underneath burst and bled on the rocks, spread out and then strangely rapidly retreated and disappeared without trace. Incredible sight.

So, now I am back at school, starting a new week. Second weeks at school historically have been disquieting as I realize the limited level of ability. But, I will not quit.

So, now I am back at school, starting a new week. Second weeks at school historically have been disquieting as I realize the limited level of ability. But, I will not quit.

In the wave-strike over unquiet stones
the brightness bursts and bears the rose
and the ring of water contracts to a cluster
to one drop of azure brine that falls.
O magnolia radiance breaking in spume,
magnetic voyager whose death flowers
and returns, eternal, to being and nothingness:
shattered brine, dazzling leap of the ocean.
Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms,
collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness,
because in the weft of those unseen garments
of headlong water, and perpetual sand,
we bear the sole, relentless tenderness. (P. Neruda)