cerros de vida

Valparaíso has been home now for more than two weeks. This is a beautiful small city, with palm trees and seagulls and incredible night views of the city's hills containing thousands of small lights.

I have stepped foot in all of Pablo Neruda's houses open to the public. Qué rico! Who else would think to collect ship figureheads that lean toward views of the sea, or stone murals, or nautical instruments? He never ceases to amaze. I've been to Santiago twice, and while impressed by the garden-covered hills and weirdly clean and artful metro system (which made me nostalgic for New York, even for the hot hot hot elevator ride up at the 181st station on the 1), don't think I'd like to spend too much more time in the sprawling Westernized capital. I've also walked the streets of Valpo, learning empanada places and markets and how to cook fresh fish and collectivo systems and wine stores. Me encanta.

Today, I climbed a mountain. !! Meg and I didn't think we could do it, but after four hours (half an hour less than the suggested time), we reached the cumbre (summit) of La Campana. I can't even begin to describe the view: imagine sunsoaked rocks glittering with coloful graffitti of climbers past and present, with the Andes lined pristinely behind and beautiful farmland beneath. Fed by an incredible sense of accomplishment, especially given the fact that I haven't exercised since my leisurely mountain bike ride to las ruinas near San Pedro.

I've thought a lot about languages while here, and how it's so odd that a specific set of sounds that we produce with our mouths somehow become imbued with meaning, to the point that communication in our native tongue is instant recognition of these sounds. Learning Spanish, I feel like I have to hold the entire word in my mouth and feel every letter, and then, in true Chilean form, let some letters sink into my tongue before speaking. Also, I take verb conjugation for granted much too often. The rhythms of this language are beautiful but also tiring for me to try to imitate, and I'm realizing that when I lapse into English with Britain and Meg I take comfort not only in the ease of communication but also in the tones and lilt of our conversation, ingrained in my vocal cords from birth.

I'm also thinking about history (of course), and how Salvador Allende, first freely electd socialist president of the world, was born in this city. I've been fortunate enough to be able to pass as an instructor at Britain and Meg's workplace and so have been taking advantage of their library, and am now reading Missing by Thomas Hauser, which is obviously biased but has a lot of succinct information about the fucked up way that the U.S. government was involved in the Chilean economy and politics--in the name of preserving the free world--in the ´70s. I know it would take a lifetime and more to parse together how these policies play out today, but I want to dig deeper here, even though I'm almost positive that whatever searching I do will not result in any pride in the country of my birth. The copper mines and towns that I saw near San Pedro are taking on a different color in my memory, knowing about the nationalization of copper mines and the profound changes wrought both by Allende and the U.S.

I am still in furious search of a WWOOF farm, and might have to put my fledgling Spanish to use soon. Wish me luck.