When the semester first began, the entirety of Chile stopped momentarily to mourn the victims of the terremoto that shook in the nation in late February. Now, as the semester rolls to a close, the country is once again collectively pausing. This time, however, it is a much more joyous occasion: the World Cup. As Chile is in Group H, "La Roja" (as the squad is affectionately known in Chile) has only played two games and has won both.
Even more interesting than the 1-0 wins versus both Honduras and Switzerland is the raucous environment that consumes the center of the city on gameday. Hundreds congregate at La Moneda to watch the game on a big screen. Actually, watch is a bit of an understatement; in addition to watching, everyone screams, sings, jumps, etc. It almost constitutes a workout.
Moments after the final whistle blows, all begin marching towards Plaza Italia, or the center of the city. Not only do the hoards from La Moneda make their way to the square, but those from all corners of the expansive metropolis join them. Once in the plaza, it's a celebration that gradually devolves to mob violence and destruction; the damange to the city after the win against Switzerland was surprisingly widespread. What will happen if the revelers leave the game angry?
Although it often doesn't seem like it, life does go on away from the pitch. We study; we dance; we chatter; we laugh. We also have to begin the dreaded process of saying good-bye to the city, friends, and Chilean families we have come to know and love. Whether joking with the six other Tufts students at the official "despedida" last weekend or handing in a final paper in a class that has challenged and amused all semester, our time is here is all too quickly coming too a close. Last December, the semester students complained that it seemed as if their time in Chile had only just begun. Well, seven months later, I honestly feel the same.
6.6.10
Loving Our Messy and Dysfunctional World
“I tend to like messy dysfunctional countries where people are passionate about things.” - Anthony Bourdain
For the past several days, this phrase from an interview with this outspoken food critic has resonated in my mind. It isn’t particularly eloquent nor provocative; yet, I cannot forget the words as they speak to many of my more recent experiences in Santiago.
Generally speaking, Chile should not be considered a “messy” or “dysfunctional” country. As discussed in previous posts, it boasts a flourishing economy, reliable infrastructure, and many of the other hallmarks of a “developed” country. Yet, a surprisingly large proportion of the population does not have access to these institutions (Chile does, after all, boast on the largest gaps between the rich and the poor in the world as measured by the GINI index). The differences between the resources enjoyed by those living in generally wealthy neighborhoods and those relegated the poor communities on the fringe of the city continues to shock me whenever I venture to either my internship.
Despite my anger at the inequalities facing my students, I eagerly look forward to my treks to the school in La Granja each week and I love every moment that I spend there. The poverty, disparity, and challenges obviously enrage me, but students‘ energy and curiosity continues to inspire me. Whether working 60 hours a week at Lider (which is owned by Wal Mart by the way)or trying to raise a child at fifteen, the students somehow manage to confront these challenges without forgetting to laugh or losing their curiosity about the world around them.
To succeed, these students must employ the passion described by Bourdain in the aforementioned quote. Absolutely nothing will be given to them. Similarly, children from more privileged backgrounds earn their achievements, but don’t quite need the same spirit. It’s almost as if the wealthier students are running the 5k on the track; your muscles scream in pain and it takes effort, but it’s a controlled, planned trek. Those from more marginalized communities, on the other hand, are competing in the 5k cross country race. Rather than a smooth, predictable surface, each turn can bring another mountain, some unexpected roots, or a small river. Given the route, they need a certain passion and spirit not always found in other communities and, like Bourdain, this attracts me to communities that may not always be considered developed.
That being said, however desirable this spirit, it should not need to exist and the global community must begin to address the disparities between the wealthiest and poorest neighborhoods in Santiago and the world. Such passion can obviously grow without such deprivation.
*********************************************
When not teaching English, my days have overflowed with both the routine and some extraordinary opportunities. Classes consume most of my week, although I still find time to pretend I can salsa, meander through the city in my running shoes, devour too much white bread and palta at the nightly once, and laugh with friends. I cannot believe that I only have a few short weeks left with them (although it is not “if I return” it is “when I return“…just to clarify).
And interspersed amongst the habitual activities are the extraordinary ones (although I would argue that the daily routine may in many ways prove more memorable). A few weeks ago, I represented Fundación Paraguaya at a conference on multi-dimensional poverty held in Santiago. Several experts debated what it means to be poor (consensus…it isn’t just economic. duh), before assessing various means used measure it around the world that can be applied both objectively and across cultures. The speakers hailed from bodies as varied the United Nations, the Chilean government, and TUFTS UNIVERSITY. Well, Fletcher. But that’s part of Tufts…right?
I’ve also had the chance to escape the city and explore the Chilean countryside. A friend’s professor recently commented that all of Chile’s development is centered around it’s highways (which obviously run from the north to south given the country’s geography) and this is understandably true. Stepping away from the highways is like stepping back in time; the countryside is truly another world and unsurprisingly a much less developed one. On a recent Tufts trip to Coinco and Donihue, we explored much of this countryside and took part in traditional crafts such as chamanto weaving and the baking of pan amasado. While the artisan work proved interesting, the devastating wounds left on these communities from the terremoto remain some of my biggest memories. Walking around Santiago on a daily basis, it is easy to forget the disaster that rocked Chile only a few months ago. Yet, for many living in rural communities especially in the south, the devastation is a daily reality. Hundreds, if not thousands, are still without homes as the winter rains have begun to roll in (and those living in temporary houses have unfortunately discovered that temporary housing does not necessarily denote a roof that doesn’t leak or good construction).
The countryside isn’t devastated in its entirety however. I also spent a weekend in the Termas de Chillan, or an exclusive ski resort area nestled among some Andean volcanoes. We arrived a little to early to do any skiing, but did enjoy the exquisite views and the first snow fall of the season. Although it is cold in Santiago, it never snows so it was nice to enjoy some of the powdery white fluff that I avoided by spending the northern hemisphere’s winter in the steamy tropical heat of Paraguay.
Pictures, have of course, been posted on Picasa…po.
And a quick note regarding my lack of posts: I’m simply too busy and given the rapid decay of my English skills lately, it isn’t quite as easy for me to write in English anymore. Some things, such as terremotos and palta, that never really affected my life in the USofA have forever been converted into Spanish concepts for me!
For the past several days, this phrase from an interview with this outspoken food critic has resonated in my mind. It isn’t particularly eloquent nor provocative; yet, I cannot forget the words as they speak to many of my more recent experiences in Santiago.
Generally speaking, Chile should not be considered a “messy” or “dysfunctional” country. As discussed in previous posts, it boasts a flourishing economy, reliable infrastructure, and many of the other hallmarks of a “developed” country. Yet, a surprisingly large proportion of the population does not have access to these institutions (Chile does, after all, boast on the largest gaps between the rich and the poor in the world as measured by the GINI index). The differences between the resources enjoyed by those living in generally wealthy neighborhoods and those relegated the poor communities on the fringe of the city continues to shock me whenever I venture to either my internship.
Despite my anger at the inequalities facing my students, I eagerly look forward to my treks to the school in La Granja each week and I love every moment that I spend there. The poverty, disparity, and challenges obviously enrage me, but students‘ energy and curiosity continues to inspire me. Whether working 60 hours a week at Lider (which is owned by Wal Mart by the way)or trying to raise a child at fifteen, the students somehow manage to confront these challenges without forgetting to laugh or losing their curiosity about the world around them.
To succeed, these students must employ the passion described by Bourdain in the aforementioned quote. Absolutely nothing will be given to them. Similarly, children from more privileged backgrounds earn their achievements, but don’t quite need the same spirit. It’s almost as if the wealthier students are running the 5k on the track; your muscles scream in pain and it takes effort, but it’s a controlled, planned trek. Those from more marginalized communities, on the other hand, are competing in the 5k cross country race. Rather than a smooth, predictable surface, each turn can bring another mountain, some unexpected roots, or a small river. Given the route, they need a certain passion and spirit not always found in other communities and, like Bourdain, this attracts me to communities that may not always be considered developed.
That being said, however desirable this spirit, it should not need to exist and the global community must begin to address the disparities between the wealthiest and poorest neighborhoods in Santiago and the world. Such passion can obviously grow without such deprivation.
*********************************************
When not teaching English, my days have overflowed with both the routine and some extraordinary opportunities. Classes consume most of my week, although I still find time to pretend I can salsa, meander through the city in my running shoes, devour too much white bread and palta at the nightly once, and laugh with friends. I cannot believe that I only have a few short weeks left with them (although it is not “if I return” it is “when I return“…just to clarify).
And interspersed amongst the habitual activities are the extraordinary ones (although I would argue that the daily routine may in many ways prove more memorable). A few weeks ago, I represented Fundación Paraguaya at a conference on multi-dimensional poverty held in Santiago. Several experts debated what it means to be poor (consensus…it isn’t just economic. duh), before assessing various means used measure it around the world that can be applied both objectively and across cultures. The speakers hailed from bodies as varied the United Nations, the Chilean government, and TUFTS UNIVERSITY. Well, Fletcher. But that’s part of Tufts…right?
I’ve also had the chance to escape the city and explore the Chilean countryside. A friend’s professor recently commented that all of Chile’s development is centered around it’s highways (which obviously run from the north to south given the country’s geography) and this is understandably true. Stepping away from the highways is like stepping back in time; the countryside is truly another world and unsurprisingly a much less developed one. On a recent Tufts trip to Coinco and Donihue, we explored much of this countryside and took part in traditional crafts such as chamanto weaving and the baking of pan amasado. While the artisan work proved interesting, the devastating wounds left on these communities from the terremoto remain some of my biggest memories. Walking around Santiago on a daily basis, it is easy to forget the disaster that rocked Chile only a few months ago. Yet, for many living in rural communities especially in the south, the devastation is a daily reality. Hundreds, if not thousands, are still without homes as the winter rains have begun to roll in (and those living in temporary houses have unfortunately discovered that temporary housing does not necessarily denote a roof that doesn’t leak or good construction).
The countryside isn’t devastated in its entirety however. I also spent a weekend in the Termas de Chillan, or an exclusive ski resort area nestled among some Andean volcanoes. We arrived a little to early to do any skiing, but did enjoy the exquisite views and the first snow fall of the season. Although it is cold in Santiago, it never snows so it was nice to enjoy some of the powdery white fluff that I avoided by spending the northern hemisphere’s winter in the steamy tropical heat of Paraguay.
Pictures, have of course, been posted on Picasa…po.
And a quick note regarding my lack of posts: I’m simply too busy and given the rapid decay of my English skills lately, it isn’t quite as easy for me to write in English anymore. Some things, such as terremotos and palta, that never really affected my life in the USofA have forever been converted into Spanish concepts for me!
4.5.10
La Llegada del Otoño
Although the temperature has soared recently, fall has certainly arrived in Santiago. Golden leaves sparkle in the sunlight and their fallen counterparts make a delightful crunch as I jog through the city. Outside Santiago's confines, the plump fruits and vegetables wait to be plucked off the vine.
A few weeks ago, Tufts-in-Chile students had the opportunity to help with the harvest at Vina Casas del Bosque located in the beautiful Casablanca Valley. Although we did each fill a few baskets, I think we may have done a slightly better job sampling both merlot and sauvignon blanc grapes than actually filling our crates. And we didn't stop gourging ourselves when we left the fields as the Tufts program treated us to an oversized lunch and far too many glasses of wine after the tour.
While the most enjoyable part of the day was definately the harvest experience, it was vaguely uncomfortable as actual laborers toiled only a few rows away. I have no reason to believe that they are mistreated or underpayed, but I highly doubt their job is desirable. After all, they most likely work long hours in the sun while bent over. Thus, it seems a little odd that a groups of relatively affluent tourists flock to the vineyard to mimic (dare I say mock?) their experiences. Not sure why, but the entire tour seemed to belong on the website entitled "The Stuff White People Do."
When not frolicking in the countryside, I spend most of my time absorbed in schoolwork and internships, much as I would if I were at Tufts during the fall semester. This semester, rather than focusing on environmental justice, my internship involves education in Chile. I'm working with Sumate, a group dedicated to providing children from marginalized backgrounds with an education capable of allowing them to leave poverty.
Once a week, I meet with a few students in the "Becas Ed. Tec. Superior" program and provide English tutoring. This initiative provides youth from impoverished families with the tools needed to attend technical colleges and learn skills that will lead to well-paying jobs. Not only does the program give them financial assistence, but it also includes mandatory workshops and tutoring services. This, I believe, proves key in ensuring that most of the recipients graduate from their respective schools. Many of the students come from families without the cultural capital to navigate the system; with the help of Sumate, they will be given some of the resources children from more priviledged backgrounds often take for granted.
In addition to tutoring these students, I also teach English workshops at Escuela Hogar de Cristo as part of the "Reinsercion Educativa" program. This school accepts students who are, for whatever reason, no longer involved in the mainstream system. For instance, many of the girls have children and other students previously dropped out of school. Even after only a few visits to the school, it has become clear that these workshops will be both the amongst the most challenging and enjoyable projects I have undertaken while in Chile.
Although I may occasionally be a workaholic, I still do find time to relax. I've even taken up a new sport: soccer. Well, not quite new, but I haven't played in years. And I am, of course, still rocking out at salsa lessons, spending time with friends, and enjoying fall in Santiago!
A few weeks ago, Tufts-in-Chile students had the opportunity to help with the harvest at Vina Casas del Bosque located in the beautiful Casablanca Valley. Although we did each fill a few baskets, I think we may have done a slightly better job sampling both merlot and sauvignon blanc grapes than actually filling our crates. And we didn't stop gourging ourselves when we left the fields as the Tufts program treated us to an oversized lunch and far too many glasses of wine after the tour.
While the most enjoyable part of the day was definately the harvest experience, it was vaguely uncomfortable as actual laborers toiled only a few rows away. I have no reason to believe that they are mistreated or underpayed, but I highly doubt their job is desirable. After all, they most likely work long hours in the sun while bent over. Thus, it seems a little odd that a groups of relatively affluent tourists flock to the vineyard to mimic (dare I say mock?) their experiences. Not sure why, but the entire tour seemed to belong on the website entitled "The Stuff White People Do."
When not frolicking in the countryside, I spend most of my time absorbed in schoolwork and internships, much as I would if I were at Tufts during the fall semester. This semester, rather than focusing on environmental justice, my internship involves education in Chile. I'm working with Sumate, a group dedicated to providing children from marginalized backgrounds with an education capable of allowing them to leave poverty.
Once a week, I meet with a few students in the "Becas Ed. Tec. Superior" program and provide English tutoring. This initiative provides youth from impoverished families with the tools needed to attend technical colleges and learn skills that will lead to well-paying jobs. Not only does the program give them financial assistence, but it also includes mandatory workshops and tutoring services. This, I believe, proves key in ensuring that most of the recipients graduate from their respective schools. Many of the students come from families without the cultural capital to navigate the system; with the help of Sumate, they will be given some of the resources children from more priviledged backgrounds often take for granted.
In addition to tutoring these students, I also teach English workshops at Escuela Hogar de Cristo as part of the "Reinsercion Educativa" program. This school accepts students who are, for whatever reason, no longer involved in the mainstream system. For instance, many of the girls have children and other students previously dropped out of school. Even after only a few visits to the school, it has become clear that these workshops will be both the amongst the most challenging and enjoyable projects I have undertaken while in Chile.
Although I may occasionally be a workaholic, I still do find time to relax. I've even taken up a new sport: soccer. Well, not quite new, but I haven't played in years. And I am, of course, still rocking out at salsa lessons, spending time with friends, and enjoying fall in Santiago!
14.4.10
La Búsqueda de un Campeón
Sports are often touted as a tool to unite warring factions within a society. While there are countless examples both affirming and refuting this conclusion, many arguments ignore a fundamental problem. Many sports transcend cultures. However, countless others do not. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to unite two cultures on the field if one side finds the sport absolutely incomprehensible.
Prior to this weekend, I would have argued that few sports could overtly offend. Yet, after attending the Chilean National Rodeo this weekend, I can see how some pracices could prove utterly incomprehensible to foreigners. The goal of the sport seems to be to steer a cow into the wall and urge your horse to kick it until it falls to the ground. When it rises and runs, the horses and riders repeat the process. It seems barbaric, at least to my sensibilities as a resident of suburban Massachusetts.
In all fairness, I understand why many of the Chilean fans enjoyed the sport. Living and working on farms, cow herding is a way of surviving. Animal cruelty is, after all, a concept that only certain demographics can actually adhere to without greatly disrupting their lives. The rise of the sport and its continued support are certainly reasonable in this context.
But, I'll be honest, I won't be attending anymore rodeos either. I can understand the sport, but I will never enjoy it.
Some sports, however, seem to have more international appeal. Prior to the rodeo, I attended the Santiago Marathon. Although I do often see other runners on my daily jaunts through the city, runners are not nearly as common in Santiago as in the United States. People find it surprising that I run 10 kilometers a day (mas or menos); and it's even more unbelievable that I enjoy it. Yet, the sport is becoming increasingly widespread, as evidenced by the fact that the marathon sold out, albeit only a couple days before the starting gun went off.
Regardless, the event was certainly nothing like the marathon in Boston (which is a significantly smaller city); I stood only a few hundred yards from the starting line, but was entirely alone. Almost no other fans ventured out of their beds to cheer. Moreover, some of the athletes seemed to have had a hard time waking up as well, countless arrived only seconds before the start and some did not make it downtown until quite a bit later (it was timed by a chip, so I guess it doesn't matter).
Regardless of the contrast, the marathon made me miss racing. In a future blog, look for an update on the contrast between road races in the USA and Chile...from a competitor's perspective.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
Prior to this weekend, I would have argued that few sports could overtly offend. Yet, after attending the Chilean National Rodeo this weekend, I can see how some pracices could prove utterly incomprehensible to foreigners. The goal of the sport seems to be to steer a cow into the wall and urge your horse to kick it until it falls to the ground. When it rises and runs, the horses and riders repeat the process. It seems barbaric, at least to my sensibilities as a resident of suburban Massachusetts.
In all fairness, I understand why many of the Chilean fans enjoyed the sport. Living and working on farms, cow herding is a way of surviving. Animal cruelty is, after all, a concept that only certain demographics can actually adhere to without greatly disrupting their lives. The rise of the sport and its continued support are certainly reasonable in this context.
But, I'll be honest, I won't be attending anymore rodeos either. I can understand the sport, but I will never enjoy it.
Some sports, however, seem to have more international appeal. Prior to the rodeo, I attended the Santiago Marathon. Although I do often see other runners on my daily jaunts through the city, runners are not nearly as common in Santiago as in the United States. People find it surprising that I run 10 kilometers a day (mas or menos); and it's even more unbelievable that I enjoy it. Yet, the sport is becoming increasingly widespread, as evidenced by the fact that the marathon sold out, albeit only a couple days before the starting gun went off.
Regardless, the event was certainly nothing like the marathon in Boston (which is a significantly smaller city); I stood only a few hundred yards from the starting line, but was entirely alone. Almost no other fans ventured out of their beds to cheer. Moreover, some of the athletes seemed to have had a hard time waking up as well, countless arrived only seconds before the start and some did not make it downtown until quite a bit later (it was timed by a chip, so I guess it doesn't matter).
Regardless of the contrast, the marathon made me miss racing. In a future blog, look for an update on the contrast between road races in the USA and Chile...from a competitor's perspective.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
31.3.10
Por Lo Menos No Estoy Cubierta en Pintura
Something's afoot in Santiago. Swarms of individuals covered in paint have taken over the streets asking for money. Yet, they are not ordinary beggars; they laugh constantly and almost all seem to be between 18 and 20 years old. Who are they?
They are the mechoneos--or first year students--at most universities throughout Santiago. While in the United States any activities that remotely resemble hazing are strictly forbidden, Chile freshman receive a very public welcome.Upperclassmen shred their clothes and cover them in paint, tuna, pig guts, confetti, etc. Then, they are sent into the streets to beg for coins. It sounds awful, maybe even traumatizing.
On the contrary, most Chilean upperclassmen remember the experience fondly. There is, apparently, no better way to unite a group of new students and create enduring friendships.
And so, amid paint-splattered and foul-smelling freshman, my next semester in Chile has begun. Like last semester, I'm taking four classes along with a graded internship. Unfortunately, they happen to be located in five different spots throughout the sprawling city, which means that I either need to buy new "walking shoes" or prepare to spend hours languishing on public transportation. Pucha.
Admittedly, I knowingly ignored location when choosing my classes. I could spend all of my time on one campus, but then I wouldn't be nearly as excited about my classes this semester which include "La Ciudad y el Futbol," "Enfrentando la Pobreza," "La Politica de los EEUU hacia America Latina 1865-1990" y "Discursos Artisticos y Formas Politicos en America Latina." I have yet to choose an internship, although I have decided I would like to work with an organization tackling poverty using a multi-dimensional approach.
In addition to the subject matter, my assortment of classes proves interesting due to their varied locales on various campuses throughout the city. This semester, Tufts students have the opportunity to take classes at La Universidad de Chile and La Universidad Catolica. Although considered to be similarly competitive, the two institutions could not be more different.
As noted last semester, La Universidad de Chile has a distinctly leftist vibe at all its campuses. The most extreme, Macul, could even be considered somewhat anarchist. Political grafitti splatters the campus and (violent) protests and clashes with the police are not uncommon.
On the other hand, la Catolica reminds me of Tufts in that almost all purport to have strong political views, but very few actually act on them. Even the main campus resembles Tufts; dozens of buidings are nestled amid grassy lawns on whichs students study or recline in the sun.
Why study at two universities? Why endure long bus rides in order to traverse between classes? Although I often complain about the trips, the chance to experience Chile from two different perspectives is definately "vale la pena." At La Chile, I have to step outside my comfort zone and study in a still slightly unfamiliar environment, At La Catolica, on the other hand, the classes tend to be more challenging (in my admittedly limited experience) but the environment is eerily reminiscent of home.
Tufts and La Catolica are not, however, the same institution nor are they in the same hemisphere. After a few more weeks of classes and a few more hours spent on campus, I'm sure the differences will be more clear. At the moment, they do seem alike, but that's not necessarily a bad thing either.
They are the mechoneos--or first year students--at most universities throughout Santiago. While in the United States any activities that remotely resemble hazing are strictly forbidden, Chile freshman receive a very public welcome.Upperclassmen shred their clothes and cover them in paint, tuna, pig guts, confetti, etc. Then, they are sent into the streets to beg for coins. It sounds awful, maybe even traumatizing.
On the contrary, most Chilean upperclassmen remember the experience fondly. There is, apparently, no better way to unite a group of new students and create enduring friendships.
And so, amid paint-splattered and foul-smelling freshman, my next semester in Chile has begun. Like last semester, I'm taking four classes along with a graded internship. Unfortunately, they happen to be located in five different spots throughout the sprawling city, which means that I either need to buy new "walking shoes" or prepare to spend hours languishing on public transportation. Pucha.
Admittedly, I knowingly ignored location when choosing my classes. I could spend all of my time on one campus, but then I wouldn't be nearly as excited about my classes this semester which include "La Ciudad y el Futbol," "Enfrentando la Pobreza," "La Politica de los EEUU hacia America Latina 1865-1990" y "Discursos Artisticos y Formas Politicos en America Latina." I have yet to choose an internship, although I have decided I would like to work with an organization tackling poverty using a multi-dimensional approach.
In addition to the subject matter, my assortment of classes proves interesting due to their varied locales on various campuses throughout the city. This semester, Tufts students have the opportunity to take classes at La Universidad de Chile and La Universidad Catolica. Although considered to be similarly competitive, the two institutions could not be more different.
As noted last semester, La Universidad de Chile has a distinctly leftist vibe at all its campuses. The most extreme, Macul, could even be considered somewhat anarchist. Political grafitti splatters the campus and (violent) protests and clashes with the police are not uncommon.
On the other hand, la Catolica reminds me of Tufts in that almost all purport to have strong political views, but very few actually act on them. Even the main campus resembles Tufts; dozens of buidings are nestled amid grassy lawns on whichs students study or recline in the sun.
Why study at two universities? Why endure long bus rides in order to traverse between classes? Although I often complain about the trips, the chance to experience Chile from two different perspectives is definately "vale la pena." At La Chile, I have to step outside my comfort zone and study in a still slightly unfamiliar environment, At La Catolica, on the other hand, the classes tend to be more challenging (in my admittedly limited experience) but the environment is eerily reminiscent of home.
Tufts and La Catolica are not, however, the same institution nor are they in the same hemisphere. After a few more weeks of classes and a few more hours spent on campus, I'm sure the differences will be more clear. At the moment, they do seem alike, but that's not necessarily a bad thing either.
21.3.10
El Año del Verano Interminable: Perfecto
Growing up, summer vacation generally lasted for about two and a half months. College generally allows for longer breaks, but we're still back in the classroom a mere 3 and a half months after finishing our last finals. Luckily, summer in Chile has proven even longer. Although the circumstances around this prolonged break are certainly not ideal (La Universidad de Chile sustained some pretty significant damage during the quake), it has given us ample to time to reacquaint ourselves with Santiago and explore previously undiscovered corners of the city. Whether hunting for Chilean attire in the blur of colors that is Patronato, devouring exotic flavors of ice cream at Emporio de la Rosa (Chocolate Pepperocino or Miel del Ulma anyone?), jogging along El Rio Mapocho, or making homemade french fries, the added weeks without much work are certainly appreciated.
While I love the city, I've also enjoyed the chance to escape the endless cement grid on occassion. A couple weeks ago, most of the remaining Tufts-in-Chile crew reunited and hopped on a bus to Algorobo and spent a day on the beach. Unfortunately, the cloudy weather wasn't ideal for sunbathing and sloshing in the waves, but it did allow us to spread across the nearly vacant beach to toss a frisbee around (or, more accurately, try to throw it) and listen to Kamillah and Katrina strum on the guitar.
Even activities considered more "American" can prove to be interesting cultural experiences as well. In an effort to stimulate the economy after the earthquakes, most cinemas are offering significantly cheaper tickets. Obviously, we couldn't resist the opportunity to see "Valentine's Day" or "El Dia de los Enamorados." Although a relatively predictable romantic-comedy, it was definately an enjoyable film if only because of the vast quantities of Tufts merchandise in Jessica Biel's office (she's attended Tufts for a year before dropping out to pursue a film career) and some sizzling social commentary (let's be honest, we go to Tufts. Of course, we love that stuff).
It was also an incredibly interesting look into Chilean culture. Although most movies and television programs in this country have been imported from the United States, it was soon clear that some of the jokes just don't translate. Frequently, my "gringo" friends and I would be consumed with laughter only to realize that we were the only people chortling in the relatively crowded theater. And I promise the jokes were actually funny in an American cultural context. Some subjects, especially homosexuality, are still somewhat taboo in Chile and the related storyline just didn't seem to amuse most of the audience. Interestingly, many criticize the American media for exporting its values (I wouldn't call them American values) around the world, yet it seems as if many of these ideas remain foreign in Chile and most likely in other places across the globe.
Anyways, summer looks like its about to draw to a close. Classes in the majority of faculties at La Chile begin tomorrow and, combined with my two classes at La Catolica, I'll finally have a full schedule. But, I'm not too worried, we're in Chile. I'm sure we'll find more time to go to the beach.
While I love the city, I've also enjoyed the chance to escape the endless cement grid on occassion. A couple weeks ago, most of the remaining Tufts-in-Chile crew reunited and hopped on a bus to Algorobo and spent a day on the beach. Unfortunately, the cloudy weather wasn't ideal for sunbathing and sloshing in the waves, but it did allow us to spread across the nearly vacant beach to toss a frisbee around (or, more accurately, try to throw it) and listen to Kamillah and Katrina strum on the guitar.
Even activities considered more "American" can prove to be interesting cultural experiences as well. In an effort to stimulate the economy after the earthquakes, most cinemas are offering significantly cheaper tickets. Obviously, we couldn't resist the opportunity to see "Valentine's Day" or "El Dia de los Enamorados." Although a relatively predictable romantic-comedy, it was definately an enjoyable film if only because of the vast quantities of Tufts merchandise in Jessica Biel's office (she's attended Tufts for a year before dropping out to pursue a film career) and some sizzling social commentary (let's be honest, we go to Tufts. Of course, we love that stuff).
It was also an incredibly interesting look into Chilean culture. Although most movies and television programs in this country have been imported from the United States, it was soon clear that some of the jokes just don't translate. Frequently, my "gringo" friends and I would be consumed with laughter only to realize that we were the only people chortling in the relatively crowded theater. And I promise the jokes were actually funny in an American cultural context. Some subjects, especially homosexuality, are still somewhat taboo in Chile and the related storyline just didn't seem to amuse most of the audience. Interestingly, many criticize the American media for exporting its values (I wouldn't call them American values) around the world, yet it seems as if many of these ideas remain foreign in Chile and most likely in other places across the globe.
Anyways, summer looks like its about to draw to a close. Classes in the majority of faculties at La Chile begin tomorrow and, combined with my two classes at La Catolica, I'll finally have a full schedule. But, I'm not too worried, we're in Chile. I'm sure we'll find more time to go to the beach.
10.3.10
The Stove Exploded, the Guide Vanished, and It Rained in San Pedro....FML
As we traveled through Peru and northern Chile, everything went wrong. Stoves exploded, tour guides abandoned us, and rain fell in San Pedro. Yet, we still had an incredible time exploring Arequipa, Cuzco, Arica, San Pedro, and even Calama (an unforeseen final stop on our marathon trek).
Arequipa
After spending a rough night being attacked by swarms of flies in the airport in Arica, we finally set off for Arequipa early on Friday morning. The trip itself, although long, was relatively uneventful. We crossed the Peruvian border, met a Peruvian history professor who recounted old Incan myths to us for the majority of our journey, and watched countless bad (and badly dubbed) movies as our bus traversed the Peruvian desert.
Upon arriving, we meandered through the historic city. The center consists almost entirely of old buildings constructed from white rock from the surrounding volcanoes. It seemed as if each narrow block featured its own elaborate cathedral and convent. For dinner, we tried a unique Peruvian delicacy: cuy or guinea pig. Slightly rico, but I’m not sure I’ll be eating it again anytime soon. After all, his head was still attached.
Athough still overtired from the overnight flight the night before, we climbed out of bed at 2:30 AM to board a bus to Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. Throughout the day, we saw Andean condors, enjoyed stunning views of the canyons, saw some old ruins, and otherwise enjoyed the trip through the lush valley. It was an incredibly calm day.
The night, however, was anything but serene. Shortly after returning to Arequipa, we began cooking dinner in our hostel. As the pasta boiled and the homemade sauce simmered, we relaxed nearby. Suddenly, a sharp bang jolted us from our seats. The glass part of the stove had somehow exploded from the heat and shards of glass covered the floor. Luckily, no one was hurt although the food wasn’t quite edible given the likelihood that some glass had found its way inside the pots.
The night improved drastically only a few hours later. As we sat chatting at a roof top bar, some random fireworks danced across the sky somewhere else in the city. Stunning.
The next day, we spent more time exploring the city. Whether visiting more religious sites, artisan fairs, or markets, everything was stunning. The one blemish on the day was the police officer brutally kicking a drunkard on a street corner. While I don’t necessarily condone the victim’s behavior, it was a painful reminder that two different worlds exist within Peru’s borders (and in many other, if not all, countries in this world): the tourist and the reality for thousands if not millions of impoverished individuals.
This message was further cemented that evening as we bussed to Cuzco. A fatal accident delayed our vehicle for nearly four hours. Due to ice, perilous mountain roads, and lack of local emergency services, it took several hours for help to arrive. Could lives have been saved if firefighters or EMTs were more readily available? I can’t accurately answer that question, but combined with my experiences while locked in the bathroom in Paraguay, I am increasingly glad that the United States boasts efficient emergency services (at least where I live). I haven’t, fortunately, ever needed to call 911 though, so I’m relying on the five minute response time promised by firefighters who lectured in our elementary schools.
Cuzco
Whenever tourists discuss traveling to Cuzco, it’s generally considered a given that they journey further into the sacred valley to visit Machu Picchu as well. Unfortunately, the archaeological site has been closed since mid-January due to heavy rains that destroyed most roads in the area. Although we grumbled about missing a location often described as stunning and incredible, the situation is far worse for the majority of Peruvians living in the surrounding villages. Without the constant flow of tourists they have no jobs and cannot provide for themselves and their families, as demonstrated by the protest we witnessed our final day in the city.
Even without Machu Picchu, we were never bored while in Cuzco. We spent countless hours meandering through the narrow streets scaling the mountainsides, perusing through shops boasting Incan artwork and crafts, and dancing la salsa. The first night, we stumbled upon some salsa lessons and a discoteca where we would spend far too many hours during the next few nights with some newfound Peruvian friends.
This schedule proved exhausting; we still stumbled out of bed early in the morning in order to explore the city. One morning, we enlisted a local guide to take us to the various Incan ruins that dot the Andes mountains on horseback. After spending roughly on horseback, we finally reached Pukara and Tambochay. Our guide promised to stay with the horses while we wandered through the ruins. Unfortunately, it began raining and he vanished (unbeknownst to us at the time, the tour was temporarily suspended due to the inclement weather. Lost deep in the Andes Mountains, freezing cold, and soaked, we eventually located a minibus and retreated to Cuzco in order to dry off and find some coffee to chase away the chill.
The next few days included treks up to Cristo Blanco to see the city, an improved Incan dance performance on a mountain top, perusing dozens of artisan shops, lounging around in the plaza and watching a demonstration, dinner with Gaby (whose currently studying in Cuzco), stalking Amilcar, and finally joining him for coffee and a long chat on the American influence in the city. And lots and lots of salsa. Although we spent more time in Cuzco than any other city on our trip, I can say with certainty that we were definitely not ready to leave.
Arica
When initially planning our journey, we expected a marathon bus trip from Cuzco to San Pedro de Atacama lasting about 27 hours. Fortunately, our plans changed slightly and we broke up the trek into two more manageable segments lasting 17 and 10 hours respectively and spent a day relaxing in Arica, Chile. Or, more specifically, lounging around on the beach in this city on the shore before embarking on the next leg of our trip.
While we did not actually feel it, an earthquake measuring 8.8 on the Richter Scale rattled Chile while we dozed on the bus. We learned of it upon our arrival in San Pedro, but did not understand the magnitude of what had occurred until much later than evening (which explains why we failed to contact anyone in the US for several hours). Luckily, all of our host families and friends survived the disaster unharmed. My family’s washing machine even managed to fix itself as it shook on the balcony.
San Pedro de Atacama
Our final planned destination on the trip was a well-known tourist mecca deep in the Atacama desert. Unlike previous stops, we could not explore this city and the surrounding area on our own. Due to the immense, uninhabited expanses separating the city from various attractions, we had to enlist guides. We were not thrilled to lose some of our freedom, but it actually proved an excellent experience as we met interesting characters from across the globe.
The first night, we journeyed to Valle de la Luna. Unfortunately, as we wandered through the stunning rock and salt formations, it began to rain. Or maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate…as this is truly a remarkable occurrence in the Atacama Desert. It is, after all, the driest desert in the world and it only rained once in 2009 and never even rained in 2008.
After the brief shower, we continued meandering through the rocks, sampling the ample quantities of salt, and enjoying the views of the distant volcanoes. Eventually, the sun began to set and we perched on a rock ledge to watch the sun fall beneath the horizon and the sky and rocks turn a dazzling array of colors.
The next morning, we embarked on a trip to the Salar de Atacama and Lagunas Antiplanicas. The Salar de Atacama is an endless expanse of salt broken up by some small rivers and highways teeming with wild llamas and flamingos. After exploring a small portion of the salar (it is the third largest in the world), so hoped back into the vans and began a rapid ascent. Within two hours, we were thousands of meters above sea level and enjoyed a stunning walk along the shores two shimmering lakes. Nearby, volcanoes scrapped the sky while vicunas (llama-esque creatures frolicked in the field). Too soon, we began our descent and stopped in two tiny villages (Socaire and Tocanao) before returning to San Pedro.
Although tired from our trip, we again crawled out of bed at an ungodly hour to visit the Tatio Geysers Monday morning. As the boiling streams of water are most active between 6:00-8:00 AM, we arrived at the site early enough to view sunrise through the mist. Although we admittedly grumbled a bit about leaving at 3:30AM, it was definitely worth the early trek, if only to hear our Bolivian guide tell Ayamaran legends throughout the trip.
Calama
We initially planned to return to Santiago on Monday; however, due to the earthquake, cancelled flights, and an endless stream of worried emails from Tufts and our parents in the United States, we decided to stay in the desert for a few extra nights. Although we enjoyed our time in San Pedro, we moved to they nearby town of Calama due to communication difficulties when we were in the tourist mecca.
After waiting in several interminable lines that spilled into the street at the airline’s office, we finally rescheduled our flight for Thursday evening. In the meantime, we relaxed in the plazas, wandered through the down town area, and enjoyed far too much standard Chilean fare. We were all eager to return home and see our families, but the downtown was an excellent opportunity to unwind and catch up on all the sleep lost while sitting on overnight buses, salsa-ing until dawn, and arising before dawn for various tours.
We finally returned to Santiago Thursday evening. Luckily, we left Calama about 20 minutes before this city was rattled by another earthquake measuring 7.2 on the Richter Scale. A few hours later, after passing through an airport consisting of tents, we had finally arrived in Santiago and were soon shaking ourselves as the still-frequent aftershocks continued to unnerve the city.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
Arequipa
After spending a rough night being attacked by swarms of flies in the airport in Arica, we finally set off for Arequipa early on Friday morning. The trip itself, although long, was relatively uneventful. We crossed the Peruvian border, met a Peruvian history professor who recounted old Incan myths to us for the majority of our journey, and watched countless bad (and badly dubbed) movies as our bus traversed the Peruvian desert.
Upon arriving, we meandered through the historic city. The center consists almost entirely of old buildings constructed from white rock from the surrounding volcanoes. It seemed as if each narrow block featured its own elaborate cathedral and convent. For dinner, we tried a unique Peruvian delicacy: cuy or guinea pig. Slightly rico, but I’m not sure I’ll be eating it again anytime soon. After all, his head was still attached.
Athough still overtired from the overnight flight the night before, we climbed out of bed at 2:30 AM to board a bus to Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. Throughout the day, we saw Andean condors, enjoyed stunning views of the canyons, saw some old ruins, and otherwise enjoyed the trip through the lush valley. It was an incredibly calm day.
The night, however, was anything but serene. Shortly after returning to Arequipa, we began cooking dinner in our hostel. As the pasta boiled and the homemade sauce simmered, we relaxed nearby. Suddenly, a sharp bang jolted us from our seats. The glass part of the stove had somehow exploded from the heat and shards of glass covered the floor. Luckily, no one was hurt although the food wasn’t quite edible given the likelihood that some glass had found its way inside the pots.
The night improved drastically only a few hours later. As we sat chatting at a roof top bar, some random fireworks danced across the sky somewhere else in the city. Stunning.
The next day, we spent more time exploring the city. Whether visiting more religious sites, artisan fairs, or markets, everything was stunning. The one blemish on the day was the police officer brutally kicking a drunkard on a street corner. While I don’t necessarily condone the victim’s behavior, it was a painful reminder that two different worlds exist within Peru’s borders (and in many other, if not all, countries in this world): the tourist and the reality for thousands if not millions of impoverished individuals.
This message was further cemented that evening as we bussed to Cuzco. A fatal accident delayed our vehicle for nearly four hours. Due to ice, perilous mountain roads, and lack of local emergency services, it took several hours for help to arrive. Could lives have been saved if firefighters or EMTs were more readily available? I can’t accurately answer that question, but combined with my experiences while locked in the bathroom in Paraguay, I am increasingly glad that the United States boasts efficient emergency services (at least where I live). I haven’t, fortunately, ever needed to call 911 though, so I’m relying on the five minute response time promised by firefighters who lectured in our elementary schools.
Cuzco
Whenever tourists discuss traveling to Cuzco, it’s generally considered a given that they journey further into the sacred valley to visit Machu Picchu as well. Unfortunately, the archaeological site has been closed since mid-January due to heavy rains that destroyed most roads in the area. Although we grumbled about missing a location often described as stunning and incredible, the situation is far worse for the majority of Peruvians living in the surrounding villages. Without the constant flow of tourists they have no jobs and cannot provide for themselves and their families, as demonstrated by the protest we witnessed our final day in the city.
Even without Machu Picchu, we were never bored while in Cuzco. We spent countless hours meandering through the narrow streets scaling the mountainsides, perusing through shops boasting Incan artwork and crafts, and dancing la salsa. The first night, we stumbled upon some salsa lessons and a discoteca where we would spend far too many hours during the next few nights with some newfound Peruvian friends.
This schedule proved exhausting; we still stumbled out of bed early in the morning in order to explore the city. One morning, we enlisted a local guide to take us to the various Incan ruins that dot the Andes mountains on horseback. After spending roughly on horseback, we finally reached Pukara and Tambochay. Our guide promised to stay with the horses while we wandered through the ruins. Unfortunately, it began raining and he vanished (unbeknownst to us at the time, the tour was temporarily suspended due to the inclement weather. Lost deep in the Andes Mountains, freezing cold, and soaked, we eventually located a minibus and retreated to Cuzco in order to dry off and find some coffee to chase away the chill.
The next few days included treks up to Cristo Blanco to see the city, an improved Incan dance performance on a mountain top, perusing dozens of artisan shops, lounging around in the plaza and watching a demonstration, dinner with Gaby (whose currently studying in Cuzco), stalking Amilcar, and finally joining him for coffee and a long chat on the American influence in the city. And lots and lots of salsa. Although we spent more time in Cuzco than any other city on our trip, I can say with certainty that we were definitely not ready to leave.
Arica
When initially planning our journey, we expected a marathon bus trip from Cuzco to San Pedro de Atacama lasting about 27 hours. Fortunately, our plans changed slightly and we broke up the trek into two more manageable segments lasting 17 and 10 hours respectively and spent a day relaxing in Arica, Chile. Or, more specifically, lounging around on the beach in this city on the shore before embarking on the next leg of our trip.
While we did not actually feel it, an earthquake measuring 8.8 on the Richter Scale rattled Chile while we dozed on the bus. We learned of it upon our arrival in San Pedro, but did not understand the magnitude of what had occurred until much later than evening (which explains why we failed to contact anyone in the US for several hours). Luckily, all of our host families and friends survived the disaster unharmed. My family’s washing machine even managed to fix itself as it shook on the balcony.
San Pedro de Atacama
Our final planned destination on the trip was a well-known tourist mecca deep in the Atacama desert. Unlike previous stops, we could not explore this city and the surrounding area on our own. Due to the immense, uninhabited expanses separating the city from various attractions, we had to enlist guides. We were not thrilled to lose some of our freedom, but it actually proved an excellent experience as we met interesting characters from across the globe.
The first night, we journeyed to Valle de la Luna. Unfortunately, as we wandered through the stunning rock and salt formations, it began to rain. Or maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate…as this is truly a remarkable occurrence in the Atacama Desert. It is, after all, the driest desert in the world and it only rained once in 2009 and never even rained in 2008.
After the brief shower, we continued meandering through the rocks, sampling the ample quantities of salt, and enjoying the views of the distant volcanoes. Eventually, the sun began to set and we perched on a rock ledge to watch the sun fall beneath the horizon and the sky and rocks turn a dazzling array of colors.
The next morning, we embarked on a trip to the Salar de Atacama and Lagunas Antiplanicas. The Salar de Atacama is an endless expanse of salt broken up by some small rivers and highways teeming with wild llamas and flamingos. After exploring a small portion of the salar (it is the third largest in the world), so hoped back into the vans and began a rapid ascent. Within two hours, we were thousands of meters above sea level and enjoyed a stunning walk along the shores two shimmering lakes. Nearby, volcanoes scrapped the sky while vicunas (llama-esque creatures frolicked in the field). Too soon, we began our descent and stopped in two tiny villages (Socaire and Tocanao) before returning to San Pedro.
Although tired from our trip, we again crawled out of bed at an ungodly hour to visit the Tatio Geysers Monday morning. As the boiling streams of water are most active between 6:00-8:00 AM, we arrived at the site early enough to view sunrise through the mist. Although we admittedly grumbled a bit about leaving at 3:30AM, it was definitely worth the early trek, if only to hear our Bolivian guide tell Ayamaran legends throughout the trip.
Calama
We initially planned to return to Santiago on Monday; however, due to the earthquake, cancelled flights, and an endless stream of worried emails from Tufts and our parents in the United States, we decided to stay in the desert for a few extra nights. Although we enjoyed our time in San Pedro, we moved to they nearby town of Calama due to communication difficulties when we were in the tourist mecca.
After waiting in several interminable lines that spilled into the street at the airline’s office, we finally rescheduled our flight for Thursday evening. In the meantime, we relaxed in the plazas, wandered through the down town area, and enjoyed far too much standard Chilean fare. We were all eager to return home and see our families, but the downtown was an excellent opportunity to unwind and catch up on all the sleep lost while sitting on overnight buses, salsa-ing until dawn, and arising before dawn for various tours.
We finally returned to Santiago Thursday evening. Luckily, we left Calama about 20 minutes before this city was rattled by another earthquake measuring 7.2 on the Richter Scale. A few hours later, after passing through an airport consisting of tents, we had finally arrived in Santiago and were soon shaking ourselves as the still-frequent aftershocks continued to unnerve the city.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
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