hats

can say a lot. The 60-something taxi driver who drove me the 5km from Ancud to Fundo Lechagua, where I now am, was wearing a hat that said "STONED to the BONE," which I thought was hilarious but which he, I'm sure, didn't understand at all. It probably can from one of the many secondhand shops that sell American and European clothes, which seem to be either rejects from familiar stores or used clothing sent overseas.

The man who lives here and takes care of the pigs, chickens, and ducks (there are pigs, chickens, and ducks!! I'm still trying to convince the owner of the farm to have an asado with some peking ducks) always wears an orange hard hat. As far as I can tell from my three days here, there is no real danger of falling hard objects in any part of this fundo, since there are no coconut trees or construction equipment and all the birds seem to be very adept at flying. But, cada loco tiene su tema, as they say here in Chile, and as I probably spelled atrociously.

And Juan Ignacio, the owner here at Fundo Lechagua, always wears an old leather cowboy hat, which occasionally falls off into piles of compost while he's driving the tiller-turned-tower and looks like Indiana Jones may have once claimed it. (Though the hat is not as cool as his shoes, which are big fluffy dogs maybe the size of my head, that he wears around the house.)

I'm still looking for the perfect hat for myself. So far I haven't really needed one, but it does actually seem to be colder here, 1300 km south of Valpo, and if I really am going to head farther south I'm going to need some real gear.

In any case, it is beautiful here on Chiloé (yes, I made it!). The bus took a very efficient ferry from the mainland to Chiloé as apparently there are no bridges (as the padre here says, otherwise it wouldn't really be an island, cierto?), and deposited me here. From the hill where the grapevines are, I can see the ocean, and Ancud, not as picturesque but still spread across hills and looking a little bit like my childhood idea of an island pueblo.

Weirdly, I've started feeling nostalgic for things like driving through Germantown during winter break in the cold, seeing bare trees in Maryland, and coming home to my dorm room in 616 in the evenings. ALSO OH MY GOD I ALMOST FORGOT

The NY State Supreme Court has rejected Columbia's attempt to use eminent domain against businesses still operating in its projected expansion area in West Harlem. Oh shitt!! Four years of my life, hundreds of hours and thoughts and pains and frustration, vindicated. Look at that. I know the fight still continues, but finally someone has publicly and officially recognized the blatant hypocrisies and inconsistencies of Columbia's expansion rhetoric and actions. I was shouting with joy when I read the article, but unfortunately could not share my elation with anyone except our three dogs, who did not seem to understand what the fuss was about. This is one moment where I regretted being in the middle of rural Chile instead of New York.

Ahh... the power of the people won't stop!

movimiento

Back in Chile. It is actually comforting to hear Chilean Spanish again, after straining my ears for two days trying to understand the Argentinians who ran the hostel I stayed at in San Martín de Los Andes--the "ll" that becomes a "je" or "che" sound distracted me so much that I found myself only hearing this strange new tone and failing to actually understand what was being said. Also, in my head, I kept hearing Larry's impression of Argentinians, which made me want to laugh, but usually at completely inappropriate times.

In any case, Argentina was pretty similar to Chile, except the food was oh so much better. I met a tall German named Thomas and a crazy Spaniard named Carlos, and last night we shared (a lot of) red wine and Argentinian beef which we cooked over a fire in our hostel. Que bakan! ...which actually means something different in Argentina; in Chile, "bakan" is like the slang word "cool," whereas apparently in Argentina, it means someone who always wins or gets the girl or comes out on top. Also, instead of saying "una luka" for 1mil pesos, they say "un mango," like the fruit. This I like.

Before going to Argentina, I managed to miss an alarm and had to hitchhike to a national park near Pucon since I missed the bus... but which turned out to be maybe the best thing that could have happened, since I was picked up by a school group from Temuco and got to ride up with them all the way to the base of Volcan Villarrica. They called me their "amiga magnifica de los Estados Unidos." Then I spent the afternoon hiking with a guide in the park, walking through paths where lava had run and beneath waterfalls in the misty climate of the volcano. We could see the clouds lifting briefly above the lake from where we were...

The guide also took me to the Ojos of Caburgua, which are incredibly powerful falls, cascading into bluuue water, where we saw some crazy Canadians and United Statesians kayaking over the falls. Caburgua Lake, where the Ojos originate from, is the definition of a lake. I don't think I could dream a more perfect lake. Apparently the Chilean president Bachallet and presidencial candidate Piñera have houses on the lake as well. I would die happy there, I think.

But now I am in Valdivia, where Kuntsman is brewed, and where three rivers come together to form what used to be the southernmost border of the Spanish empire. There is water everywhere, especially since it is also raining and misting at the same time. I guess I should get used to this, seeing how I'll be living on an island for then ext month... though there's something soothing and perhaps even more gorgeous about stormy days over water. One day I'll get these film pictures online! For now you will have to imagine.

on the edge

...of this thin country, of a lake, of the election...

Ahora estoy en Pucón, a little touristy lakeside town on the shores of clean clean Lake Villarrica and in the shadow of Volcán Villarrica, one of the most active volcanoes in the Americans and a really magnificent earthern mass (still covered in white white snow!) to behold from a hostel window.

I've already left Concepción (where the omnipresent Bernardo O'Higgins announced independence from the Spanish crown) and Temuco (where Pablo Neruda grew up, among green hills and beside a growing railroad).

I'm almost sad that I'm leaving Pucón on Sunday, since I saw a lifesize cardboard cutout of Sebastian Piñera on (what other but) Calle O'Higgins today, announcing his arrival on Sunday at noon to Pucón. I would love to stay here for that, with the same curiosity I would have had for a McCain rally, but my visa renewal calls, and I have to head across the border to avoid fees I can't afford.

Oh, Piñera. Even his slogans piss me off. Let's compare:

Piñera: Así queremos Chile --> This is how we want Chile.
This wouldn't bother me as much if it didn't follow sayings like "Narcos, tienen días contados," or, "Drug traffickers, you have numbered days." Let's attack the problem at the shallowest end, and present an uncompromising idea of how the national culture should look and be.

Marcos Ominami:Sigue el cambio --> Follow the change.
All right, a little repetitive, a little unoriginal, a little too Obamaesque for me, but at least he's not imposing anything on me.

Frei: Vamos a vivir mejor --> We are going to live better.
Or Vota con el corazón --> Vote with the heart.
We are going to live better! So much hope! So little constriction! Vote with your heart! Ok, that's a little too Disney, but it's so much more convincing that he cares about the voter.

Not to say that Frei would be the best choice. His track record seems spotty, especially given that he was president before and wasn't super popular. But he does want a new constitution (the constitution hasn't changed since Pinochet), and to recognize the Mapuches, and to expand health care and education in ways that seem doable.

We'll see what happens. I haven't seen any big signs for Arrate, the Communist candidate, but he'll certainly get at least a percentage of the votes. ...That's my very sparse political commentary for the week. I'll return to beautiful sights in my next post, especially after visiting the Huerquehue National Park, I promise.

desde la quinta hasta la octavo

Me fui!

I have left the fifth region and found myself in the eighth (I think, or ninth..) in Concepción--which Chileans, in good Chilean style, have shortened to Conce in familiar speech.

It's funny that in these last few weeks before the election, Valpo, a city known for its left leaning and brilliant graffitti, has become cluttered with these neatly constructed campaign signs (most commonly a white plastic background to pictures of smiling, well-dressed candidates on a wooden frame), while Concepción, whose gigantic supermarkets have been the most striking feature so far (there's even one called "BIGGER", I kid you not), is full of bold, colorful graffitti featuring names of candidates.

I'll be in Chiloé (the largest island in Chile) for the election. Piñera, the neighborly conservative candidate, apparently owns half of the island. It will be interesting.

Today I went to a battleship! From 1879! Mira:



I think it would not have been as cool if it were not as old. The Monitor Huascar was in the last war with Peru, the War of the Pacific, and was actually a Peruvian ship, captured by the Chileans and now on display as a show of brotherhood (not sure where the logic is in that). I had a nice conversation with a naval person, who seemed confused why I would travel alone, and was called "tía" by a little girl who wanted me to show her around. I tried to imagine myself as captain of this ship, which held up to 180 people. I couldn't.

Anyways, tomorrow, I leave again, this time for Temuco, and maybe Pucon. Wooo..!

why valpo is a kickass city

Yes, I am in Valparaíso again (on a Chilean keyboard, so I can type accents, whee!). Yes, I am supposed to go south, to Chiloé island. No, I don't know when I am going, because I have to wait for a package that should have been here last week. Entonces, the fate (...date) of my next travel rests with coordination between the US and Chilean postal systems. Vamos a ver que pasara.

BUT. At least I can spend more time with people here, and at least this city is brimming with continuous festivals and ridiculous events, now that it is spring. After a beautiful day with Gisselle, Meg, and Britain eating glorious seafood empanadas and sunning on the beach in Concon, I went to Plaza Sotomayor which has been partly transformed into "Villa Container" for the Festival Teatro Container, an urban artistic intervention. There are now a collection of shipping containers stacked in the plaza, and tonight there were four women who swung and twirled and danced and flipped to the rhythm of expertly mixed electronic music, connected by bungee cord to the top of the containers. Why is it that New York City sponsors expensive and somewhat wasteful waterfalls, and from the Chilean government we get endless festivals like this one and the one I ran into two weeks ago, Festival Tsonami, which featured groups of people producing electronic music in various plazas...? Public art (that brings people in, employs artists, and interacts with the city) is so important!

Anyways, I will pass some sunny windy days here, I think, with my newly purchased, 6mil pesos (approximately 12US$) non digital camara which may or may not work and lacks even a zoom. Ojala I will find my way south soon. My plan is to head to Chillán but quien sabe, we shall see what the next weeks hold.

partidos

WWOOFer one and three (in relation to when I arrived, me being two) have departed. Now that my Olmue world has shifted, I feel less grounded, less tied to this place and time. For a while it felt like nothing was moving--I wouldn't call the feeling stagnancy, but something more like continuity. Which I suppose is still motion, but you know what I mean. Now, I feel anxious to go forward, south, elsewhere. And I still find it pretty amazing that as long as you put yourself on a moving vehicle, you can continue to do simple things like sit, read, eat, and sleep, and within a few hours you can put your feet down in a different city.

Departure is a strange thing. I've lived together with these two WWOOFers for the past five or six weeks. Besides the short trip they took last weekend, we have been almost constantly together: eating, working, driving, short trips to other cities. Now that they are gone, I am not sure where and how to place myself. Ademas, this weekend I have to say goodbye to everyone I've met in Valparaiso, since I am departing Region V next week. I'm trying to wrap my head around this idea of never seeing people again. I have thoughts of constantly returning to Chile, of spending boatloads to be in Valpo for New Year's, and I think part of me is afraid of being part of something that doesn't promise perpetuity. It's tiring, and difficult, and somewhat painful to constantly adjust my patterns of being, but I suppose it's also wonderful that people can make connections that continue to affect them in such a short time.

Maybe that's part of why I was a history major: this small fear that things, places, people, importances will be forgotten. Pablo Neruda says forgetting is so long, I hope he's right.

In any case. The other day, while shoveling dirt in heat so strong it was almost visible, I watched sweat from my face pooling in my sunglasses and thought about China Men, by Maxine Hong Kingston (which I inexplicably found in the library of the Institute where Britain and Meg work), and about the men who cleared Hawaii for sugar cane fields and the men who blasted through the Rockies to lay railroad track. To give so much for the stuff of dreams. They knew our country with their bodies, their aches and their fortitude. And now I am learning a small, tiny, tiny part of Chile with my shovel. Until next week, and then perhaps I will learn the Pacific...!

hace dos meses...!

Feliiiiz!

Yo he pasado dos meses en Sur America. Dos meses! Mucho tiempo! Y habria mas!

So many things have happened. Last week, we sweated under some hot hot sun and irrigated a field where we will plant somewhere near thirty thousand horn fruit plants. I can now dig trenches, lay pipe, and connect drip lines. Things you will never learn in Morningside Heights.

This weekend was full of unexpected goodness. I witnessed my first futbol game in Chile: Universidad de Catolica vs. Universidad de Chile. It wasn't even really a contest--Universidad de Catolica had some pretty sweet footwork and coordination which even my untrained eyes could appreciate.

After the game, Jeremy and I managed to put together last minute costumes that turned out quite well--he as a maid with a kickass rainbow duster and me as Dionysusa (how would you feminize that?) with a sarang-turned-toga and a homemade wreath (supplemented by flowers from nearby parks). At the Halloween party of some fellow WWOOFers who had stayed at our farm earlier, I had some profound conversations with Jesus from the future and two of his disciples (Judas and Peter), plus a French diablo with a trash bag cape. Maybe one of the highlights of the night was when Osama Bin Laden gave us a ride home.

And then today, on the Dia de los Muertos, while the committed Chileans paid their respects in cemeteries, us gringos (plus one Chileno) made our own pilgrimage to Oktoberfest and tried some excellent local beer and sausage.

:)

I'm beginning to love the way that speaking Spanish draws breath from different spaces in my throat. There is such emphasis on vowels, to the point where I feel like consonants just signify different ways to launch into a prolonged vowel sound: que riiiiiico or even simple question words, like cual, which feels like a love affair between u and a, held together in the space between the curve of your tongue and the roof of your mouth by a precariously placed l. In English, I feel like vowels are so often buried in the firmness and definitive sounds of consonants: you don't even hear the vowels in that word.

In any case, Meg has arrived! And I have found a possible next farm, on Chiloe island, with vineyards and animals and seafood. I think I will slowly make my way down there next, and soon. Olmue gives life but it will continue without me.