Farewell, Chile

Chileans often joke that you can get away with anything in their country if you just preface an action with the word "permiso." Now, the word is directly translated, quite uninterestingly, as "permission," but the results of saying it are no less than that of a magic spell. It´s true--you can get away with nearly everything with this all-purpose word. If at the dinner table you want the salt all the way across the table, you just say permiso, and reach across 4 people. If you are having a conversation that you feel like exiting, but cannot think of a suave way of leaving, forget the ol´ bathroom excuse. Just say "con permiso" and take off. In Chile, that is more than enough. You can plow through crowds of people flailing your elbows if you accompany the movement with that word. I would not be surprised to see a kid walk into a store, pick up a piece of candy, mumble permiso and leave without paying a peso. Somehow, i feel as though the child could get away with that.

As i prepare to leave this country that i´ve called home for the last 2 years, i am beginning to realize the silly little things that i will miss here--permiso, for one. Something about Chile has evoked a nostalgia in me that follows me wherever i go, at all times. A Chilean friend of mine who now lives in Pennsylvania told me that i am feeling already a nostalgia that i should rather confront while at home in the U.S. He´s probably right. Still, what is it about Chile that creates such a desire for reminiscence?

I am currently reading a true story written by Gabriel García Márquez called Clandestine in Chile. It is about a Chilean film-maker, Miguel Littín, who was exiled during the Pinochet dictatorship. In the book, he returns to Chile in disguise, after 12 years away, to shoot a documentary about the state of Chile in regards to human rights violations, etc. Within the first hour of his arrival in Chile, Littín nearly breaks the curfew instated by the government because he is so overcome with a feeling of nostalgia that he jumps out of his cab to simply walk the streets of Santiago.

Chile´s own novelist Isabel Allende wrote an entire book about her feelings of nostalgia towards the Chile of her childhood--My Invented Country. In the introduction to the book, she states clearly that it is an entire book born out of a reminiscing for Chile. What is it about Chile that evokes these feelings in people?

I have lived in four different countries in my short lifetime, all for varying periods of time--the United States, Ireland (study abroad), Bolivia (language school), and Chile. The U.S. is my home; i am from there. I love both Ireland and Bolivia, and did so while there fully consciously. Chile, on the other hand i have had a love-hate relationship with. Yet, somehow as i prepare to leave, it is Chile that has evoked in me the strongest reaction. I feel as though it became part of me without permission--"sin permiso." One moment i was just doing my work here, the next suddenly Chile was part of me and i it. How was it that Chile entered me so deeply?

And that is true. Chile is part of me, and will be forever. I have worked here, and my sweat and blood have fallen onto the Chilean earth. In turn, i have eaten the fruits of Chile´s dirt--chirimoya, neospora, and the largest carrots i´ve ever seen in my life. I have shared experiences that matured into memories with Chileans and Chile; i carry them along, and leave them behind.

My wish and my hope is that i have left as positive an impact on Chile as it has on me. Or at least that i have followed the "leave no trace" policy, and that Chile is no worse for my wear.

That is the most difficult part about leaving this country, knowing how it has marked me so deeply, and wondering if i have made even a fraction of that kind of impact on the people here, on Chile itself. Still, i think i´ve done fairly well for my time here. I have many moments of contentment when i think about all i have done. It´s been a crazy adventure.

But, the time has come. And though it´s hard, Chile, i take my leave. I bid you farewell, Chile, con permiso.

Our Disposable World

In Chile you don´t have to throw out your soda pop bottles. Now, i am from Michigan where we recycle every pop can because of a 10 cent deposit. But, environmentally speaking, Chile is beating us. The pop bottles are re-used here. So, each time you want to buy a 2 liter, you must take one of the re-usable bottles to the store and turn it in. That bottle will in turn be washed and refilled with soda. Thus, upon buying some soda, you walk away from the store with a different bottle, which in time will be given back to the store when you want to buy more pop. This habit is, however, stopping due to the convenience of buying disposable pop containers. People prefer to buy and dispose of, rather than storing the reusable containers in the house somewhere. Something entirely different: About a five minute walk from where i live in Peñalolén you find a grouping of houses famous in Chile. The homes were constructed by the government in a housing project for the poor, and were gifted to those living in temporary housing earlier this year. They are by U.S. standards tiny, and somewhat funny looking as they are painted every color known to mankind. You look out on the neighborhood, and it reminds you of having a handful of Skittles in your hand. Thus, Chileans in their never-ending cleverness for naming places, have dubbed the houses: Las casas chubi. The Chubi Houses, "Chubi" being an M&M-type candy here. The other thing that always marks my thoughts as i pass that neighborhood is the poor construction of the houses. It´s great that Chile makes such a huge effort to house the homeless, but the construction is of quite low quality. Where did these people, these families, live before their candy houses were built? Where will they live in a few short years when their poorly made houses fall apart? Now, this world to me was sharply contrasted in a recent trip that i took to Northern Chile. While Santiago is the capital of Chile, the financial capital may as well be the North. Chile´s government receives huge sums of money from the copper mines in the country´s desert region. The formerly privatized mines were seized by President Allende decades ago in his movement towards socialism, and since the mines have been an enormous source of income for Chile. The most important mine in Chile is named Chuquicamata, and affectionately shortened to Chuqui (say: CHOO-kee) by Chileans in the know. The mine lies near the city of Calama, which lies about 23 hours to the north of Santiago in bus. It yields huge amounts of copper each day through strip mining. To give an idea of the sheer enormity of this mine, it should be noted that it recently became the second man-made structure visible from space, together with the Great Wall of China--Chuqui and the Great Wall. There are giant hills, or possibly even small mountains, on every side of the mine which are composed purely of the dirt leftover from the stripping of the earth after the copper is removed from what is dug out of the earth. Chuqui essentially looks like a gigantic crater surrounded by fake hills. Near the mine Chuquicamata is the city which shares the same name. It is a city founded by the mine´s bosses, and completely populated by people who work in the mine and their families. It has a mall, a school, parks, etc. It used to have a hospital. All of this was built from scratch on a hill with the sole purpose of providing housing for said workers. The houses there are beautiful, large, suburban-looking...and about to be demolished. The city of Chuquicamata is about to be buried under the excess dirt that is mined, but does not provide money as copper does--the waste products of the mine. And this is not an accident, but rather a well-executed plan. You see, the mine is running out of places to put the dirt taken out of the ground with the copper. And somehow, through strange and twisted logic, it was realized that it would be cheaper in the long run to begin dumping that dirt in the city, all the while building new houses, parks, hospitals, etc. in a place about 30 minutes away. It is cheaper to literally dump dirt on top of a house demolishing it, and simply build a new house for its inhabitants, rather than truck the dirt somewhere a bit farther away. Financially speaking, it makes complete sense, i suppose. The hospital is already gone. It served its purpose and was disposed of under tons of earth. There is a beautiful new one built 30 minutes down the hill to replace that other perfectly good--but now underground--hospital. What does this mean for our world? Have we gotten to the point of not only throwing out pop cans and diapers, but entire cities? There seems to be a disconnect somewhere. How do we live in a world where there are so many people desperately in need of adequate housing, while beautiful houses not too far to the north are being buried? We live in a disposable world. It is more convenient here in Chile to buy the disposable pop bottles, and throw them away without giving them another thought. It is more convenient to throw away a pop bottle and to bury a city. But, where does the disposal of what-have-you end?

I don´t mean to be flippant, but my mind keeps returning to an image of a child who is craving chocolate. The child goes and buys some candy, a package of Chubi perhaps. His craving satisfied, he is left with the flimsy wrapper, which he and throws away as indifferently as we do a hospital.

September 11th, 33 Years After

Today, September 11th 2006, i am overcome with nostalgia. I think about my homeland, and about this country that i have learned to call home, both linked together by that terrible date.

A little Chilean history: September 11th, 1973 the democratically elected President of Chile was violently overthrown in a military coup led by General Augusto Pinochet. Pinochet then governed Chile for 16 years, time marked by economic growth (as his supporters are quick to point out), but more notably repression, torture, and killing. Today´s date is a date which Chileans are still trying to grasp for meaning and come to terms with. Now, 33 years later, it is remains a day which brings about much pain and much reminiscence. Today, for years now really, Santiago has been marked by "protests" on Sep. 11. The city´s youth take to the streets in yet another manifestation of this day´s sadness. Here´s what it´s like in Peñalolén where i live on Sep 11:

I passed the day quietly in the city center, then i took the bus to my neighborhood. The parish where i work was to have a Mass in remembrance of those who died this day, and in the following years under the military dictator. Mass began at 7pm, and as evening began we in the church could hear the sounds of protests beginning not too far away. During the priest´s homily, the electricity in the entire neighborhood was cut. We continued on in candle light.

As we walked home, the neighborhood seemed very eerie. I could see tires being burned in the street not too far from where we were, and no one seemed to be out walking. All who were walking about had a very hurried, paranoid pace, myself included.

At home, my housemates and i prepared a dinner, and ate quietly. At 9pm, the news came on. We watched as it showed a street corner about 4 blocks from our house filled with burning tires in the street, and masked people in what seemed like a war against the police. I can´t express how strange it is to see such a familiar place on the news, but have that place not be safe enough to go visit in that moment.

The night progressed. I could hear explosions in the distance, and firecrackers very near the house. Everyone was on edge. Finally, at about midnight i went to bed. As i was laying there, i heard an explosion nearby, and then the electricity went out. So, i laid there in the dark. The smell of burning tires in the air, and if i breathed really deeply the distinct feel of tear gas in my throat. I could hear helicopters overhead and yells in the street. But, all was dark, and very cold.

There in my sleeping bag in the dark, that nostalgia returned. I wonder what Chile was like before Sep 11, 1973, and i recall the US five years ago. What will the US be like on this date in 28 years? Will we still be still be coming to terms with what occurred, and in what manner? I miss those countries of the past; I am nostalgic for an innocence wasted.

Miracle Diet

Well, this entry may be a long time coming considering the events described happened the day i arrived back in Chile (2 or 3 weeks ago), but whatev....

When i arrived back in Chile from my 2 week stint in the States, it was re-confirmed to me the Chilean need to comment on a person´s physical appearance. I have no idea where or why there is this need, but it generally sneaks into the beginning of nearly every conversation, especially when i haven´t seen a person for a while. Now, two weeks out of the country officially constitutes "a while," so nearly everyone i saw was telling me how i looked different. Generally, to people i looked more tan. Which makes sense, spending 2 weeks in the Michigan sun will do that. Especially because in the Chilean winter i walk around so bundled that my skin had not seen the light of day in months. So, the consensus: I am more tan.

But, things get trickier. Some people completely overlooked my toasted skin, and jumped straight into the subject of my waistline. Now, this is a topic that is next to never breached in the USA, and is something that i have had to get used to here. People comment on other´s weight all the time--not a behind-the-back thing--to their faces. For instance, when i go shopping at the farmer´s market near our house the fruit vendors have a rather interesting way of getting my attention. They generally scream at me: "Oiga, flaco, compre sus limónes acá." Or: "Hey, skinny guy, buy your lemons from me." I´ve learned to not take offense to such things....and to buy my lemons from old ladies who don´t scream at me.

Things got interesting in terms of my weight when i arrived from my stay in the States, however. It seemed that there were a couple of people that didn´t know if i had gained or lost weight. But, pushed by their impulse to make a comment on how i looked, they seemed to flip a mental coin: heads/skinny, tails/fat.

My first day back in Chile, i ran into a lady i know fairly well. We hugged each other, and then she stepped back and looked at me carefully, and said: "hmmm....Looks like you got fatter in the States." I just laughed. Then, not more than 3 hours later, i ran into someone else i know fairly well. We were talking and catching up for a little while when he commented on how i looked thinner than when i left. This i found hilarious. I had everyone confused, and people were just flipping their mental coin and telling me how i looked. That is unless i actually DID get fatter in the U.S., and then manage to lose all that weight plus a little more in the mere 3 hours between when i saw my 2 friends.

My Most Dangerous Job

I have been working as a secretary this year for the Congregation of Holy Cross´s foster care system. Generally, this consists of me answering phones, making the occasional photocopy, drinking coffee, and writing personal emails. Occasionally, my "bosses" will send me to the bank to cash checks, or to run some other errand. Not rocket science, generally. In fact, i can´t even say that it´s rock science (no offense to all you blog-reading-geologists out there). It´s certainly not my most exciting job here, but my co-workers are really funny, and i get a lot of free clothes that are donated but much too big for the little kids.

But, yesterday, i finished my day working as a secretary covered in filth from head to toe, soaking wet, and bleeding. I arrived that day after one of the biggest rains that i have experienced in Chile. Walking into the building, i realized that something was wrong--puddles everywhere, and my boss standing in the middle of them looking bewildered. "Te pido un favor? Can i ask a favor of you?"...I´ve gotten used to hearing that from her, and it is usually followed by a trip to the bank in which i cash a check. But, today, she was more concerned with the roof. She asked me to follow her outside.

Outside it became evident immediately that the gutters were completely clogged with leaves and mud, and water was spilling out over the top. We were on the case. First, we dragged a chair outside, but i couldn´t reach the gutters. Then, we dragged a table outside. Stacking the chair on top of the table to make a taller (albeit much more shaky) structure. There standing on top of the chair on top of the table on muddy grass, i scooped blob upon blob of muddy leaves. But there were more...

Then, i had the idea to climb up on the roof. Now, there was a little building right beside the main building with the clogged gutters. My idea, was to climb up on the little building, and from there climb up on the main building´s roof. So, i executed the first part of the plan. My plan, however proved to be not well thought out, as the overhang from the main building extended over the building i was attempting to scale. Still, i pulled myself up, only to realize that all i could do was wiggle around on my stomach. Keep in mind still, that this is a day after tons of rain had fallen. So, there is was wiggling around on top of a mini-building and under the overhand of another, in puddles and mud. I realized quickly that that had been a bad idea, and went to jump gracelessly to the ground, where i landed and rolled to break my fall, thus becoming well acquainted with yet more mud.

Still, the gutters needed cleaning. So, i got a ladder. Climbing up to the gutters proved much easier this way, and i could clean them much easier. But, there sharp edges on the gutter, and i cut my hands several times. ouch.

The final stage of the gutter cleaning came with me taking a hose, and jamming it down the little hole where the water is supposed to pass. Now, standing directly under that hose, i yelled for my boss to turn on the water. It seems logical now, but in the moment i was clueless...What happened is that the downward passage was clogged with leaves (obvious, right?). So, when the water was turned on, it had nowhere to go but up, and over the top of the gutter and fall directly downward....right on top of me. I was standing on the ladder, being drenched from above, as well as having mud and leaves fall on top of me. TURN OFF THE WATER!!!

With a little revision, the hose proved to help a lot, and now, the leaking has stopped inside. So, mission accomplished. That day ends with me bloody, muddy, and wet--battle wounds for the volunteer secretary.

Funraising

Hello all,

I write today not to comment on life here in Chile, but to ask for help. Me and my fellow Holy Cross Associates here in Chile are planning a trip to Lima, Peru to visit the Congregation there. But, the thing is that it is an expensive trip--even though we are planning to go on bus (50+ hours!) and stay there in simple lodgings. We are estimating the trip to cost about $2000 total (this includes travel and lodging for 7 people.). Now, between personal donations, throwing in some of our house budgets, and doing some more fundraising here (translating documents for a local professor) we hope to reach our goal.

Here´s how you can help:

Visit the webpage of my fellow Holy Cross Associate Ryan. There he has set up a way for people to donate in small incriments ($5-20) online. It is secure for your credit cards. So, here´s the link, and thank you in advance:

http://www.ryangreenberg.com/blog/

(Look up near the top under the title The Road to Peru)

A Cat Named Tomás

Every Tuesday of this year, i spend much of my day at the Formation House in Santiago. In that house is where the seminarians for the Congregation of Holy Cross as well as a number of priests live, and a cat up until recently.

Now, the cat that lived there at the House was a rather unwelcome guest. There was a former seminarian that found it in the street, and took it home with him. That seminarian has since left the Congregation, but the cat has remained to be tended to by a group of people that feel quite indifferent towards it. The cat´s name also happens to be Tomás, after Aquinas or the cartoon character of Tom and Jerry (there are 2 versions as to how it was named.). Little did they know when they named the cat a good 5 years ago the confusion it would cause me, as i go by the name Tomás in Chile.

At the beginning of this year, i would sit at lunch with all the people that live at the House. The people that make up that house are constantly joking and saying things with more than one meaning. So, at lunch without fail, someone would mention "gosh, it looks like Tomás is getting a lot fatter." All eyes on me, i would throw out a confused look. Then, the comment was always followed by "no, not you--the cat!" Ensued by much laughter. The comments ranged from Tomás being lazy to hairy to hungry.

Tomás the cat also had a habit of going inside the kitchen much to the dismay of the House cook. I was entering the kitchen at one point a couple of months ago, and i as soon as i got inside i heard her yelling: "out! Get out Tomás!" Not asking questions, i just turned around and left. Only realizing a matter of moments later that she was yelling at the cat that had snuck its way inside.

In March, Tomás the Cat was put under the control of Father Pedro, one of wackiest of the priests here, and a huge lover of making the Tomás-Tomás jokes. He would mention often that Tomás was the only seminarian he was in charge of. Then, after about a month of being under Pedro´s not-so-tender loving care, Tomás got sick. He was rushed to the animal emergency where he promptly died. sniff sniff. Needless to say that Father Pedro is getting lots of flack for this--the only "seminarian" he was in charge of dies, or, the poor cat had been living peacefully for years, and then under his care for a month and it dies, etc., etc.

Some of you may be wondering if the Tomás-Tomás jokes that plagued me died with the cat. Sadly, no. Just today after a week´s absence from the House, it was mentioned that they see the "other Tomás" more than me. Oh well...