Happier Times

It’s amazing how quickly things can change. Yesterday things were not going so well. Magali called me and the connection was so incredibly horrible I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. I went out to find a phone card, tried to call from the guesthouse, but the old lady here is so old I don’t think she understood the concept of a phone card. She kept saying you could only make local calls. Well that may be, but a phone card is different, and she wouldn’t pay for anything either. Anyway I ended up calling Magali from a pay phone, which cost far too much money. In addition, I still had no place to live, and our checks did not arrive on time.

Today, on the other hand, was much brighter. Angie and I went to see Gino, a real estate man who was going to show me another apartment. The one he showed me the other day was dingy and largely unfurnished (like there was no stove where there obviously used to be one), but still kind of funky and in a decent quiet location. Today we went to the supermarket and Gino talked to his buddy who works at the meat department. He had a room that he would consider renting out to me. So Gino drove us to his buddy’s house, which apparently has no address, so it was difficult to find. How a house can be sans address I do not know. Anyway, it was awesome! A very nice place with a couch, kitchen and the works, even a garden. The location is excellent and it’s on a quiet street. The old guy lives in a house in the countryside and only comes to the place in town every so often. It would cost me $95,000 a month (that’s pesos), not including utilities I believe. The catch is that the owner of the house does not want the man renting the room out. So if I ever come across her, I just have to say I am an invitado and that I’m not really living there. Sounds good to me! After viewing what will likely be my home for the next four months, Gino took us on a little adventure.

Gino Arab grew up in Melipilla. We tried to guess his age at 38, and he said “yeah somewhere around there.” He’s Chilean (a white Chilean), but has a very diverse background; Italian grandmother and Palestinian and Jewish parents (yeah!). His family is all in Melipilla, some of whom we met at the furniture store, including an old man (uncle, father, friend…not sure) who told us when he was young he used to speak English, French and Arabic, until he moved to Chile and forgot it all. He spent 60 days on a boat to get here. Gino seems to come from a strong Melipilla family. He knows about 80% of the people we pass on the street and he offered to take us anywhere and help us with anything we needed. When Angie asked if he knew a place where we could taste wine, without hesitation he whipped out his phone, made a call, and in no time we were cruising down dirt roads in his little Fiat, on the way to a spontaneous wine tasting. We pulled up to a small country house with some patio tables and chairs set out. Gino went around back and hollered. A little old lady who Gino calls Nona came out and we were proudly introduced as Gino’s amigos norteamericanos. Gino has known Nona since he was a child, as has apparently every other person in Melipilla. In fact, no one even really knows her actual name. They all just call her Nona. We drank chicha which if I understand correctly is something in between wine and grape juice—something like grape cider. There is a dulce version and a fuerte. We had the fuerte which was pretty good. It’s different. It’s not wine, but it’s definitely not juice either, and it has the pale pink color of grapefruit juice. After one pitcher, she brought out another, and then another…you get the picture. I certainly hadn’t planned on getting drunk at 1:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday, but this was what was happening and in Chile you just have to go with the flow. During this time a kid stopped by on his bike to buy cigarettes from Nona. Another old woman came by whom Gino oddly did not know, but then after a quick chat he realized he spent much of his childhood playing at her house. I love small towns. Later on, two old men came by who were delighted to meet Angie and I. We all engaged in alcohol induced, language-barrier stricken conversations about God and the goodness of people. They invited us to a barbecue whenever. We can’t do it this Saturday because we are supposedly going to eat lunch at Gino’s English friend’s house. He really wants us to meet him so we can speak English together.

After today, I see Melipilla in a much different light—the way I was hoping it would turn out. It is a quaint friendly city—the kind of place where you say hi to people on the street even if you don’t know them. The old men wear the large-brimmed Chilean hats, and I even saw a traditional Chilean dance in the plaza de armas yesterday. If I get to move in to this house, I just might not want to leave.