Santiago, Chile

Santiago, Chile

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

2010: Something to celebrate

When I came to Chile three years ago I had the distinct impression that Chileans were not like their proud neighbors to the east, Argentina and Brazil. With no World Cup trophies, no post-card quality women or beaches, and no traditions of tango, Chileans seemed to view themselves as the nerdy cousins of these South American giants. Admittedly, I had to agree. If you look at a map of South America, Chile is like the crust on the bread that is the rest of the continent. It clings on to a rocky shore, a narrow strip about to crumble into the ocean. The most common question I was asked wasn't the usual "Do you have a boyfriend?" that I heard in other parts of Latin America, but rather "Why did you come to Chile?". I was never able to formulate an adequate response.

After doing some research I learned that it wasn't just coincidence that everyone I met wondered why foreigners came to Chile. I read about the country's national identity crisis; possibly due to its history of violent conquest and dictatorship, its geographic isolation, or its cultural austerity, Chileans have gained a reputation (which they seem to have internalized whether it's true or not) of being small, quiet, hard-working, and very humble.

On my second journey here, I feel I have discovered an answer to the question that seemed to plague so many Chileans. This country is magnificent- blessed with mountains, beaches, glaciers, deserts, salt flats, rivers, volcanoes, and lakes. It's safe, modern, and easy to live in. The economy is good, which is really the main reason why I came. And although it isn't exactly Sweden, its social programs put it ahead of the US in caring for its citizens. And now I can add to the list the amazing people I have met here.

The best thing of all, though, is that it seems like Chileans themselves are starting to realize how great their country is. After a natural disaster, the culture of a country can change dramatically, people get swept up in a wave of patriotism (think post 9/11). After the earthquake in February that killed over 500 people and displaced millions, Chileans worked together to rebuild destroyed homes and feed their compatriots. Although I wasn't in the country to witness this, I have been here to witness its aftermath.

Since the nationalistic cultural shift, several other events have given Chileans the opportunity to wave their flag with pride: the historic World Cup victory over Honduras and the national team's advancement to the second round, the tragedy (and the glory) of the accident that trapped 33 miners in Copiapo, and soon dieciocho (September 18), the day Chile will celebrate its bicentennial.

In the three years since I'd been away, Chile changed a lot. Although I still get asked why I came here, the question no longer implies that Chile isn't worth visiting. Chileans are more open to me, and I am more open to them (after all, 3 years have changed me, too). This year seems to be a turning point for Chile; a new president, a natural disaster, a record-breaking sports victory, a national drama, and a 200th birthday. Like the world-class wine its sun-soaked valleys produce, Chile just gets better with age. Feliz cumpleaƱos!

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Transantiago vignette

When I first arrived in Chile in 2007, they had just initiated a new transit system in Santiago, the Transantiago bus/metro system. To me, it was efficient and logical, but to the Santiaguinos who were used to frequent, empty, cheap buses (which contributed to the terrible smog) it was an infuriating change. My first trip to Chile was marked by regular protests and strikes of the bus system. Things have calmed down in the past three years, however, and now most people, though still dissatisfied with Transantiago, have come to accept it as part of life in the city.

I am a privileged gringa because I get to spend an average of three hours a day on the metros and micros of Transantiago. Although I teach English for a living, I consider myself more of an anthropologist by vocation, and I can assure you there are few situations better suited for anthropological study than public transportation. I can classify almost any Santiaguino into one of two categories: metro riders and micro riders. Metro riders value efficiency and speed and they prefer not to talk to strangers. When you ride the metro, no one looks at each other, everyone stares at the ground in front of them in silence. You can be packed in at rush hour, your body pressed up against five other people, and yet you still have to find a way not to make eye contact with anyone. Metro riders wear black.

Micro riders, on the other hand, would rather have a nice view and save a few cents than get to their destination quickly; they are generally friendlier and will always give up their seats for an old lady or pregnant woman. Someone is always striking up a conversation with me, teenage boys sit in the back of the bus and play reggaeton on their cell phones, and the drivers usually say hello to the passengers as they board. There's always a vendor or musician who hops on board to peddle chocolate, flashlights, pens, books, or play some Chilean folk music. Certainly it's more fascinating than the metro.

Generally speaking, I consider myself a micro person because I save money on the transfer, I enjoy the view, and I like the entertainment. But yesterday I had the worst public transportation experience of my life, and it made me realize why so many people are still so bitter about Transantiago.

I was leaving work in the south of the city and the bus was running 15 minutes late. There was a line of people at the stop waiting with me, and when the bus finally came it was already packed, forcing us to cram in as close as possible. When I made it past the turnstile I noticed a rank smell and realized someone had vomited on the floor. There was a big spot covered in ripped up newspaper that had already been trodden on, over which no one wanted to stand (naturally), so the already crowded bus had even less room. So we're standing here, running late, packed in, trying not to step in vomit but not being able to avoid the smell, which just makes you want to throw up yourself.

Bad enough, no? Well I finally found a spot where I could hold on to a pole and not have to step in the mess on my way out the door, when this homeless man boards the bus from the back without paying. The guy looks like he was just discharged from the hospital; his arm is in a cast, his face is bruised and bleeding, he's got blood on his shirt and hands, and he smells like he hasn't showered since the era of Pinochet. He's about two feet taller than me, and he's got his natty hair wrapped up in one of those Palestinian bandanas, and he's wearing combat boots. He was a pretty intimidating figure, and naturally, he comes to stand right next to me. The old lady standing nearby holds her nose and scoots to a different corner of the bus to avoid smelling him. So there I am, trapped between the homeless man who looks like he just got into a brawl and the puddle of vomit covered in shoddy newspaper, running late for my next class all because the micro ride was free. I think after all, I might become a metro person.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Who needs measuring spoons?

Somehow, before today I had not managed to solidify my reputation as a great chef. The most labor-intensive foods my roommates witnessed me making were tuna sandwiches and scrambled eggs. But today was cold and rainy, and I had no plans, so I decided to go on another culinary adventure. I'd been craving hummus, and the day called for squash soup, so I decided to try to make both.

Cooking in a foreign country is complicated. The metric system messes up all your measurements; the ingredients are hard to find (if you can figure out how to say them in the local language) and expensive; and in my case, the gas oven has no temperature setting, so you have to eyeball the size of the flame ("yea, that looks about 450 degrees"). Thanks to Jumbo (Chilean Wal-Mart), I found tahini, garbanzos, nutmeg, ginger, and squash and was able to make some tasty hummus and a big pot of soup. The squash was super hard to cut, and that process alone took about an hour. But once I had it boiling with carrot, onion, apple, garlic, and spices, it was snap to blend it up and enjoy.

I was so inspired by the success of my soup that I decided to try roasting the seeds, and since I had a ton of leftover squash I made pumpkin bread. I added Old Bay to the seeds since everyone has loved it (we add to potato chips religiously). I think I should start an Old Bay importing business to cater to the heavy demand I am creating down here.

Today I spent four and a half hours in the kitchen cooking and cleaning, but it was worth every minute to eat some delicious food and share a piece of culture with my roommates. After hours of cooking, the kitchen was the only warm place in the apartment, so my roommates and I huddled together sampling all the delicious food I'd made. It was an important bonding moment for me. Although they've lived with gringas for years, they had never eaten anything I made today. I don't even mind that I bought all the ingredients and spent my whole day working, because to me that's the best part of being in another country: when you share a part of your culture with someone, and they dig it.

Pumpkin seeds and soup







Hummus





Pumpkin bread from scratch






Bonding with a roommate, Rodrigo ("abuelo")