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)

Santiago, Marzo 20, 2013

Santiago, Marzo 20, 2013

I now have settled in, connected with the school, have attended my first class. And, I have moved in with my family, Marcela and Walter, little by little find the same song, learning the melody of new friends, earning my way as a son, friend, hermano.  And bonus bucks of another couple from California, both retired as I, with somewhat similar teaching and state government backgrounds, but much more traveled and bilingual than I, good for my transition.

Early impression of Santiago is very positive. It is by far the cleanest city I have visited in S. America, possibly the partial result of economic success, and more progressive attitude. There certainly is the presence of national pride as everywhere else in S.A., but not to the exclusion of adopting foreign influence or idea. Downside is the high cost. It is expensive here, relative to my previous travels, and prices for many things parallel those in the states. It looks like the expense will change some of my grander plans. But, I think I will still find ways to visit many places.

In fact, my first Saturday, I did trek into the mountains nearby, perhaps a 30-50 mile distance away. We left the city in two minibuses, 20 pasenjeros total, to view volcano and glacier. About a ten-mile round trip into a glacial setting, but not quite sure how much the ascent was. I do know that several of the youth slowly dropped back, stringing like ants behind. Despite my grandfatherly status in the group of kids, I outmatched most, and equaled all, but that was unimportant. The joy was the ability to climb, to view the beautiful valley between the multiple colors in the mineral laden walls of the mountains surrounding us. Little vegetation on those lateral slopes, but reflections and display of dripping stains from iron, magnesium, copper, gypsum and other deposits. So, there were reds, yellows, greens and blues to attract the many mining activities found in Chile. Though I did not knowingly see any, Chile is one of only two countries that have deposits of lapis (Afghanistan is the second).

A few of us tried to get close to the peak of Mt. Morado, but had not sufficient time to succeed. We did get to the saddle ridge where the glacier begins. Rewarded with an excellent view of the valley below toward Bano, the small hamlet where the trail began. Jackie, our guide, called us down, to return to our buses and Santiago.

Thus, in my first full weekend I have experienced both city and country setting, a great beginning. I am not sure what I will encounter this first full week that comes, but it appears there are numerous opportunities. And so the potential influence and impact of other cultures, people, and landscape surrounds me, impossible to predict. I welcome that.

New strangers on other paths await

New places that have never seen you
Every time you leave home
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.

When you travel, you find yourself

Alone in a different way
More attractive now
To the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad; and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home.

A journey can become a sacred thing

Make sure before you go to note the time
To bless your going forth
So that the compass of your soul
Might direct you toward
The territories of spirit
Where you will discover
More of your hidden life. (J. O´Donahue)
  

Santiago, Marzo 17, 2013

I am trying to ´mood´ myself into excitement and eagerness towrd this next journey.  Not truthfully expendit great energy to do so. Other things have temporarily delayed the nearness. I had a hurried visitation tour of many friends and family prior to my Texas departure. I am blessed to have friends and family who put up with my opinions and silliness. But they do. They even feed, house and guide me. I appreciate it and love each and everyone. I miss them often. But, the calendar rules, the days tick off before flight schedules.

So, Texas is left behind, Colorado rises up literally, as I go home, be it a physical, emotional or spiritual place. Some know it deeply within, embrace it, hold tightly, others not so consciously, only feeling tension and anxiety when removed, misplac ed like a wild animal, caught and caged, never understanding the circumstances. But, they know it is not right. They do not know their place, but I do know mine. It is a deep tap root that holds me in place. On my way home I passed a small country church with the billboard message, Peace is not the absence of diversity, but the presence of (ones´s higher power). The presence is everywhere and for me is less cloudy in these mountains.

So here is my place of peace. I visit other friends here, again housed and fed and cared for. Like baptism I am watered (with snowfall), blessed and prepared for journey, for experience, for much that will be unveiled shortly. Now I wait for the last leg to Santiago, the unknown calls, and I go toward the siren.

As I row, row, row

Going so slow, slow, slow
Just down below me
Is the old sea, is the old sea

Nobody knows, knows, knows

So many things, things, so
So out of range
Sometimes so strange
Sometimes so sweet
Sometimes so lonely.

The further I go, no letters from home never arrive

And I´m alone all of the way
All of the way alone and alive
Just have to go, go, go
Where I don´t know, know, know
This is the thing, somebody said
Somebody told me a long time ago. (P. Griffin)

Hogar de Mallorca, May 10, 2012

This will be the last posting from Bolivia as I am slightly less than two weeks away from departure home. I look forward to that. I am ready for home and the pleasure of being back in Colorado, to enjoy summer and other pursuits.

But the last three weeks have been educational and to a degree evolutionary. During this time I have presented myself at a home for street boys, removed from abusive, addictive or negligent families. In some cases they return home for weekends or other occasions, but otherwise Mallorca is their home. I started here with preconceptions which nearly ruined it all. Because those perceptions were not initially met, I was bored and disappointed and considered quitting. But, I have “wizened” a bit with experience and demanded of myself to finish the initial week. Things changed when I let go of the preconceptions and accepted what came.

As a result, I have stayed, grown, changed a bit and discovered a few things on the other side, some golden, some not. The boys are better off than might be initially thought. They are well fed, clothed better than many, attend school, receive medical care and are not left alone. They do work for spending money and to support the home. The older ones work mornings in a panaderia (bakery), while others sell bread on the sidewalk in front of the house, or wash windshields in the streets, and also prepare food to sell from the kitchen. All rotate and share responsibilities in the house for a variety of duties related to cooking and cleaning.

Me, I sometimes just sit. But, mostly I tutor, help with homework, get to work in the kitchen (where I have impressed with my chopping skills), assist with art projects, and now conduct English classes for some in the afternoon. When I do these things I am happy.

Very shortly I have gained confidence, friendship and comfort with most. Sometimes it has been like the first sighting of a white man by the indigenous people. I have not traded beads, but I have attracted attention more from my electronic Spanish to English dictionary, or my eyeglasses, or the hair on my arms. Particularly the younger ones ask to borrow the first two, and stroke the latter. These more than anything have been my points of access into their world.

There certainly is a difference here with the boys, independent of the causes that place them here. Each has a degree of defense against the external world that has dealt them a bad hand. Pugilistic arts are frequently exhibited, usually in jest, but sometimes escalating. But, this is not unique to them, as anytime after school hours this demonstration can be seen on the sidewalks. As a disciplinarian it has been hard to do nothing more than stare. Outside of that though, most have, and likely all would in time, opened that hard wall a little. Many now seek attention, enjoy a hug, a bit of playful combat, and other physical and conversational contact, which I gladly provide. This also makes me happy.

Unfortunately verbal communication has been difficult. Most interplay Quechua with Spanish (if spoken at all), speak faster than I can understand, speak low and with incomplete sentences. So, that has made it hard. However, generally it seems to be working. I have even played football (soccer) a few times, which requires little verbal skill. I am not sure they understand how impressed they should be with my talent and level of intensity, despite the age. I am impressed.

There are always favorites. Yet, it is not just for those favorites, but for all that I wonder. What happens after age 18 when they must leave? This country offers so little, there is so little reward for character and hard effort. The country is corrupt. This week alone there have been four strikes, by transportation, by medical doctors and staff, by universities, by government workers. The president, who has no college education, recently stated how glad he was to not attend a university and its irrelevance. This is the mentality that holds power. Of the boys I have enjoyed to any degree to know and understand, not a single one in my opinion lacks possibility, if the country offered any.

So, as I finish my last days, I am thankful from where I came, where I return. But, even there in the states, things are wrong. My experience here will stay with me for some time and will not fade away. It will not allow peace without some effort for change, something beyond a vote and a buying decision. What will it be?

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we’ve been told and some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong wait and see.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered,
And wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought a lot, and someone believed it,
And look what it’s done so far.
What’s so amazing that keeps us star gazing,
And what do we think we might see,
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

All of us under it’s spell,
We know that it’s probably magic,
Have you ever been half asleep,
And have you heard voices?
Yes, I’ve heard them calling my name.
Is it the sweet voice that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it,
It’s something that I’m supposed to be.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
(Kermit the Frog)