As I could not go to Puerto Williams or Ushuaia, my third option was Puerto Natales where I would do the touristy thing and try to visit Torres Del Paine national park. I bought my bus ticket, which was cheaper than normal because everything had just closed for the season and headed out to Puerto Natales on Friday afternoon. It was an awesome bus ride, and I truly got to appreciate how remote and empty Patagonia is. More remote than Montana, even more so than much of Wyoming—it really felt like northern Alaska. I imagine the Brooks Range looks like Patagonia. On one of the highway distance signs, one town it was noted was like 2250 kilometers away. It was a 3 hour bus ride between Punta Arenas and Puerto Natales and we passed one town of MAYBE 100 people, and 2 or three villages with I’d say no more than 15 people each. This is the main highway between two of the biggest population centers of the region, and the road was largely empty. The empty space between is mostly private land. Every now and then we would pass an “Estancia” which is more or less a ranch. I guess the population density of this region is about .5 people/sq. km. The landscape as I said before is pretty much treeless. It looks a lot like southern Idaho—it’s flat and deserty but with large mountains in the distance. Upon arriving in Puerto Natales, I found a hostel for half the price of the one I had actually reserved. So I cancelled and stayed at this nice woman’s house. The atmosphere was great and I again met some pretty cool people. I really wanted to get up in the park and go hiking, but most things were closed and I was alone, so my only reasonable option was to take a tour. I did so, and I was a bit worried when a woman with a little kid got in the van—this was going to be a photo safari. However, it was not a bunch of old people going to snap pictures, the crowd was young and in the same situation I was. They wanted to do some hiking, but this time of year, it’s just hard to arrange. Again, I met some cool people including a South African banker, a German married to a Chilean, an English couple who has been traveling the world for over a year, and a group of 4 young Basques. I could not for the life of me figure out what language they were speaking—because I could recognize some of the words that sounded pretty Spanish, but I could in no way understand what they were saying. After some time, someone asked them and they said they were Basque. I didn’t know Basque was still spoken on a day to day basis among young people, but there was the proof. They said it’s their mother tongue and they think in Basque, not Spanish. I also ran into a French/Moroccan couple I met at the hostel back in Punta Arenas. They were super nice and were in Brest at the same time I was studying in Rennes. We exchanged e-mails, and since it’s such a small world, I ran into them at just about every next stop in my trip, including the airport.
Our first stop on the tour was the Milodon cave—which is just a cave, but also the ancient home of this weird bear like creature called a Milodon that existed during the last ice age. Looks like a bear with a camel head. Then we headed into the park. You know when you see a picture of Patagonia, and you see these rock spires and glaciers—well that is Torres del Paine. It’s where everyone goes, and where everyone backpacks, and they think they are badass because of it. I originally did not want to come here just because of its popularity—the same reason I don’t have a huge desire to go to Yosemite. But it was off season, so there was really no one in the park except us, and of course the scenery was spectacular. We saw glaciers and lakes and huge spiring peaks—it really is an amazing place. I can see why backpacking there would be really incredible, but in the high season it is crowded. In addition to the scenery, the animals were out and about. Much like the elk in Yellowstone, this park seems to be overrun with guanacos—which are in the dromedary family—so they are like a llama camel thing, but more the size of a deer or large antelope. Like the Yellowstone elk everyone was amazed at them as we entered the park, but then there were so many of them, that by the end I was sick of looking at the guanaco. We also saw this type of deer that apparently is extremely rare and only about 400 of them exist. They looked a little fatter and shorter than most North American deer. Hmmm, what else did we see? A fox that was disgustingly tame—it pretty much came up to us begging for food. And we also saw lots of eagles. So it was more or less a photo safari, but we did get to walk out to a viewpoint that was maybe a 30 minute walk. Oh and the wind—at one point the wind was so strong it nearly knocked me down. So, I would not have enjoyed backpacking in that. Wind I think is even worse than rain.
After we got back, and the next day, I had the chance to explore Puerto Natales. It is a quaint quaint town. I’d call it the Moab of Patagonia—pretty much the same vibe. In fact, I decided that I could live in Patagonia. As I am very attached to the Northwest US, there are few places that I think I really could enjoy living for a long time. Patagonia is one of them. It just felt so familiar. The atmosphere, the people, the weather all reminded me of the kind of place where I truly am happy. For instance, I felt not the least bit nervous walking around alone at night, whereas in Santiago or Melipilla that is something that is simply not done. It’s a rough and tumble kind of place where the dirty pickup truck is the standard vehicle. Ok, so Melpilla is great for a few months, but being in Patagonia kind of made me shudder when I thought of Melipilla. It is soo different. I loved the cold drizzly weather in Patagonia, but whenever it’s cloudy and cool in Melipilla, for some reason it’s kind of depressing.
I headed back to Punta Arenas for one day to conclude my trip. I walked to a viewpoint just above downtown and met two overly friendly Mormons. I knew they were there on their mission, I could spot them a mile away. I wished them well and headed to the airport. It was a great trip overall. If I had organized it better and earlier, I could have fit in a couple more solid days of doing stuff. This was a chill trip and when it comes down to it, I really only had two productive days the whole time. But it was worth it just being there and soaking up the culture at this far desolate corner of the world.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
My southward journey continued:
Since I pretty much live on a map, as my mom says, I am largely in a constant state of frustration. Wherever I go, I know that there is something else just a bit farther down the road. It is there on the map, and it bothers me to no end that I cannot go there. That’s why going to Barrow, AK was so fulfilling. I could not go any farther—it was the end of the continent. Needless to say, Punta Arenas was not sufficient, there were still two ‘cities’ even further south—Ushuaia, AR and Puerto Williams, CL. I heard Ushuaia was beautiful and worth the 10 hour bus ride just to say you’ve been there. Sadly, no buses return from Ushuaia on Sundays, making a Friday-Sunday trip impossible. I decided to check on flights to Puerto Williams. Not surprisingly, the return flight on Monday was full, which is what you get for ‘playing it by ear.’
Not knowing exactly what I was going to do for four days in Punta Arenas, I signed up for a tour that would depart from the hostel at 10am on Thursday. Why not? I had nothing else to do, and since it was a holiday, everything was closed. I was joined by two Hungarian sisters, one of whom was an astronomer. They were very interesting and fun to talk to. Then we picked up an older guy who hopped in the van and immediately said “Bonjour. Vous parlez le francais?” One of the Hungarian girls and I both said, “oui.” It was an odd moment, and Jean-Pierre from Toulouse didn’t seem to find it the least bit interesting or surprising that this American could speak fluent French, and that the Hungarian girl could certainly hold her own. Jean-Pierre’s Spanish and English were both fairly atrocious (yet he sure tried hard), so during the tour I often found myself translating to and from French, Spanish, and English. Anyway, the tour took us south out of Punta Arenas. Cruising down the road, we saw porpoises, flamingos, eagles, an eagle eating a rabbit, and numerous other birds. It really reminded me of Alaska or an Indian reservation—right as you leave town the landscape is empty and the people who do live out of town live in crumbling cabins with 14 rusted out trucks on the lawn. In addition it was chilly and right next to the water. It felt so much more familiar, than anything around Santiago or Melipilla. The weather was amazing and as we approached the end of the road, the view opened up and we gazed across the Strait of Magellan at the Cordillera Darwin—a gorgeous and impossibly remote range of white glacier capped mountains—one of them rising more than 2500 meters above sea level. We ended up 60 km south of Punta Arenas as far as the rough dirt road would take us. This was as far south on the American continent as one could go (in a car). The actual Cape Froward was a couple days hike south. So we snapped some pictures and then headed to Fuerte Bulnes. This was the first Spanish settlement in the area. The fort was reconstructed, since thatch and wood buildings last about 20 minutes in the climate of Patagonia. The Spanish did not last long at this rough spot and later relocated to Punta Arenas—which has an interesting history of being settled by Swiss, English, and Croatians—some of whom still retain strong ties to their homeland. The tour was a bit pricey but worth it. I had no other options of getting out of Punta Arenas anyway—so it was nice to see the landscape and go as far south on the mainland as I possibly could.
Later that evening I was hanging out at the hostel and joined a conversation between this Australian couple and the Hungarian girls. I really had no place in this conversation, but it was fascinating. The couple was understandably far more interested in the Hungarian girls’ stories of communism and their take on the war in the Balkans than my white American life. This couple was about the age of my parents, and (sorry mom) way way way cooler. They have pretty much been everywhere. They visited Boeing and stayed in the San Juans. Not to mention Europe, Asia and Africa. They have also driven the remote dirt highway to Inuvik, Northwest Territories on the Arctic Ocean—which they did with their children in an old VW bus. Talk about a family vacation. “It’s a great road, but no one ever takes it!” Their son is currently backpacking across China or something, and their 16 year old daughter is on a high school exchange program to Vladivostok. Of course, why not Vladivostok? The father was telling these stories in that over-excited passionate Australian way. Everything was funny, including the fact that upon reentering civilization after hiking for a week in Torres Del Paine national park, they found several text messages from their daughter along the lines of “Help dad.” “I have a BIG problem, call me NOW.” “Where are you guys?” “I need money to leave the country NOW.” It turns out Russia decided to change their visa policies, and their daughter had 2 days to leave the country and re enter. So apparently she went to Korea and has been hanging out there until the visa issue is resolved. Did I mention she is only 16? Possibly my favorite story of theirs was about the boa. They were trying to convince us that Australia is not really THAT full of poisonous things, and it’s just as normal as anywhere else.
That was it for the first part of my journey. I’ll add another post about the next few days soon.
Not knowing exactly what I was going to do for four days in Punta Arenas, I signed up for a tour that would depart from the hostel at 10am on Thursday. Why not? I had nothing else to do, and since it was a holiday, everything was closed. I was joined by two Hungarian sisters, one of whom was an astronomer. They were very interesting and fun to talk to. Then we picked up an older guy who hopped in the van and immediately said “Bonjour. Vous parlez le francais?” One of the Hungarian girls and I both said, “oui.” It was an odd moment, and Jean-Pierre from Toulouse didn’t seem to find it the least bit interesting or surprising that this American could speak fluent French, and that the Hungarian girl could certainly hold her own. Jean-Pierre’s Spanish and English were both fairly atrocious (yet he sure tried hard), so during the tour I often found myself translating to and from French, Spanish, and English. Anyway, the tour took us south out of Punta Arenas. Cruising down the road, we saw porpoises, flamingos, eagles, an eagle eating a rabbit, and numerous other birds. It really reminded me of Alaska or an Indian reservation—right as you leave town the landscape is empty and the people who do live out of town live in crumbling cabins with 14 rusted out trucks on the lawn. In addition it was chilly and right next to the water. It felt so much more familiar, than anything around Santiago or Melipilla. The weather was amazing and as we approached the end of the road, the view opened up and we gazed across the Strait of Magellan at the Cordillera Darwin—a gorgeous and impossibly remote range of white glacier capped mountains—one of them rising more than 2500 meters above sea level. We ended up 60 km south of Punta Arenas as far as the rough dirt road would take us. This was as far south on the American continent as one could go (in a car). The actual Cape Froward was a couple days hike south. So we snapped some pictures and then headed to Fuerte Bulnes. This was the first Spanish settlement in the area. The fort was reconstructed, since thatch and wood buildings last about 20 minutes in the climate of Patagonia. The Spanish did not last long at this rough spot and later relocated to Punta Arenas—which has an interesting history of being settled by Swiss, English, and Croatians—some of whom still retain strong ties to their homeland. The tour was a bit pricey but worth it. I had no other options of getting out of Punta Arenas anyway—so it was nice to see the landscape and go as far south on the mainland as I possibly could.
Later that evening I was hanging out at the hostel and joined a conversation between this Australian couple and the Hungarian girls. I really had no place in this conversation, but it was fascinating. The couple was understandably far more interested in the Hungarian girls’ stories of communism and their take on the war in the Balkans than my white American life. This couple was about the age of my parents, and (sorry mom) way way way cooler. They have pretty much been everywhere. They visited Boeing and stayed in the San Juans. Not to mention Europe, Asia and Africa. They have also driven the remote dirt highway to Inuvik, Northwest Territories on the Arctic Ocean—which they did with their children in an old VW bus. Talk about a family vacation. “It’s a great road, but no one ever takes it!” Their son is currently backpacking across China or something, and their 16 year old daughter is on a high school exchange program to Vladivostok. Of course, why not Vladivostok? The father was telling these stories in that over-excited passionate Australian way. Everything was funny, including the fact that upon reentering civilization after hiking for a week in Torres Del Paine national park, they found several text messages from their daughter along the lines of “Help dad.” “I have a BIG problem, call me NOW.” “Where are you guys?” “I need money to leave the country NOW.” It turns out Russia decided to change their visa policies, and their daughter had 2 days to leave the country and re enter. So apparently she went to Korea and has been hanging out there until the visa issue is resolved. Did I mention she is only 16? Possibly my favorite story of theirs was about the boa. They were trying to convince us that Australia is not really THAT full of poisonous things, and it’s just as normal as anywhere else.
“Except for this one time…I came home late and was opening the garage door. Suddenly this huge thing fell from the roof and landed on my head. I let out quite a scream, and then realized it was a boa. The thing was like 4 feet long! Living in our garage, imagine that!”
He told this story with the accent and all the excitement of the crocodile hunter RIP. But other than that, Australia is perfectly safe…
That was it for the first part of my journey. I’ll add another post about the next few days soon.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
where am I now?
Quite a bit has happened in the past couple weeks since my last post. I am not going to tell everything about it, but in short, I went to a bbq or two where I ate enormous slabs of meat, drank wine with old Chilean men, and had an adventure with some teaching friends in the Cajon de Maipo on an unsuccessful attempt at hiking to a glacier. Bottom line: public transportation to outdoor activities is extremely limited in Chile in the off season.
Anyway, a couple days ago I decided to purchase a ticket, kind of on a whim to Punta Arenas. It was well under the normal price, and I said why not. So here I am, by myself at the end of the world. I arrived at the airport this afternoon as the sun was setting over the windswept plains. It reminded me of Barrow when I got out. Fairly barren, less tress than I expected. And no airport transfer or taxis to greet me. In fact, there was a for sale sign in the transfer van window. I guess the driver just gave up. There was pretty much no one at the airport either, so asking someone was out of the question. After a long confused wait, a taxi finally showed up to drop someone off, and I quickly snagged it, leaving other confused passengers in the dust. Punta Arenas reminds me of the US--kind of like Alaska, or maybe Aberdeen, WA. Very weathered, and very American looking. Feels kind of like home--ish. My hostel is nice and centrally located. I think I am going on a tour to some town tomorrow and will see the strait of Magellan and things like that. I have to figure out the rest of my time here--considering going to Ushuaia, but the bus times are tricky. Hopefully I cna figure this out tomorrow. I am playing it by ear!
Anyway, a couple days ago I decided to purchase a ticket, kind of on a whim to Punta Arenas. It was well under the normal price, and I said why not. So here I am, by myself at the end of the world. I arrived at the airport this afternoon as the sun was setting over the windswept plains. It reminded me of Barrow when I got out. Fairly barren, less tress than I expected. And no airport transfer or taxis to greet me. In fact, there was a for sale sign in the transfer van window. I guess the driver just gave up. There was pretty much no one at the airport either, so asking someone was out of the question. After a long confused wait, a taxi finally showed up to drop someone off, and I quickly snagged it, leaving other confused passengers in the dust. Punta Arenas reminds me of the US--kind of like Alaska, or maybe Aberdeen, WA. Very weathered, and very American looking. Feels kind of like home--ish. My hostel is nice and centrally located. I think I am going on a tour to some town tomorrow and will see the strait of Magellan and things like that. I have to figure out the rest of my time here--considering going to Ushuaia, but the bus times are tricky. Hopefully I cna figure this out tomorrow. I am playing it by ear!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Lokas
My Spanish is noticeably improving. Angie and I went to see a Chilean comedy the other night called ‘Lokas’ and I was able to understand the majority of what was said. This was very comforting, because I think even after a month in France, I had more trouble understanding French films. The movie was a comedy about a homophobic man who goes to see his father for the first time in 30 years. And guess what, his father is gay! As you can imagine hilarity ensues. This film must be revolutionary for Chile. According to Lonely Planet Chile has only in the past couple years even been able to talk about gay people. So needless to say, I was surprised to see this ‘Chuck and Larry’ like comedy be out in theatres. They even showed guys kissing and at one point the audience could hear sounds of sexual intercourse. In Catholic Chile. But go see this movie; its gay jokes are cliché by US standards, but what a site it is in Chile.
Oh and one last random observation. All of the advertisements and commercials in Chile as well as all the people and situations in this film were white. White = prestigious and pretty. Most people in commercials are not even light skinned mestizo. And I don’t think there are any Indians or other dark-skinned actors. Everyone is white, even blond or red-haired. Many of them could be actors in a German commercial. In the movie, you could never guess it took place in Chile. You might think Miami or L.A—actually everything in the movie was whiter and generally nicer than much of the US. The cars, the clubs, the houses, the people were all so very posh. So, for people who see this movie, the situations and people represent the rich few. Chile has one of the very highest income disparities in the world. It is a wealthy nation, not really third world--but there is a whole lot of wealth that doesn't make it to the actual peopl who need it.
Oh and one last random observation. All of the advertisements and commercials in Chile as well as all the people and situations in this film were white. White = prestigious and pretty. Most people in commercials are not even light skinned mestizo. And I don’t think there are any Indians or other dark-skinned actors. Everyone is white, even blond or red-haired. Many of them could be actors in a German commercial. In the movie, you could never guess it took place in Chile. You might think Miami or L.A—actually everything in the movie was whiter and generally nicer than much of the US. The cars, the clubs, the houses, the people were all so very posh. So, for people who see this movie, the situations and people represent the rich few. Chile has one of the very highest income disparities in the world. It is a wealthy nation, not really third world--but there is a whole lot of wealth that doesn't make it to the actual peopl who need it.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Settling in
I moved out of that guesthouse a couple weeks ago into this great new house. Gino (the real estate man who I wrote about a couple weeks ago) found it for me. This old man named Carlos is renting me a room, but he is only there Saturday night and he occasionally stops by to fix something or say hello. Everything is working out well and the house even came with a bike, so I am biking to work! The house is right on the edge of town, so I have the countryside one block away. Riding my bike around there is pleasant and quite a change from town. Huasos, the Chilean cowboy, can be seen riding their horses around just a couple minutes from my urban home. So all in all things are going fine, I like my house and I like Melipilla.
The past couple weekends Angie and I have been doing stuff with Gino. He has taken us to three barbecues, two of which were at his English friend Frank’s house. Frank is great and so are all of his friends (who are mostly Chilean). He is 64 and has been living in Chile for the better part of 40 years most recently as a real estate agent in Santiago. He was interestingly enough rather pro-Pinochet, while his Chilean friends and family were quite liberal. So as you can imagine, the discussions were lively. These barbecues have been oddly international in flavor. So far we have met a Mexican, two English people, another American, two or three Chileans who are half German and have lived in the US, and finally a German who is married to an Ecuadorian. Everyone has been really nice and they have all welcomed us to their homes any time we wish. Despite all the nice people we’ve met, I still haven’t met any people who are likely to become great friends simply due to the fact that everyone I have met is 20-40 years older than I am. But I'll see how this goes. at least I am getting some Spanish practice.
The past couple weekends Angie and I have been doing stuff with Gino. He has taken us to three barbecues, two of which were at his English friend Frank’s house. Frank is great and so are all of his friends (who are mostly Chilean). He is 64 and has been living in Chile for the better part of 40 years most recently as a real estate agent in Santiago. He was interestingly enough rather pro-Pinochet, while his Chilean friends and family were quite liberal. So as you can imagine, the discussions were lively. These barbecues have been oddly international in flavor. So far we have met a Mexican, two English people, another American, two or three Chileans who are half German and have lived in the US, and finally a German who is married to an Ecuadorian. Everyone has been really nice and they have all welcomed us to their homes any time we wish. Despite all the nice people we’ve met, I still haven’t met any people who are likely to become great friends simply due to the fact that everyone I have met is 20-40 years older than I am. But I'll see how this goes. at least I am getting some Spanish practice.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Hike in the Andes
A trip to South America would not be complete without a little hiking in the Andes. Last weekend I went to Santiago and joined up with my English friends Laura and Sally. We booked an expensive guided hike to the summit of Mt. Pintor, at 4200 mts—that’s about 13,800 ft. I noticed the altitude in the car on the way up, as I got a little headache. The hike started at a ski resort above Santiago at 3500 meters, but we quickly ascended into the wilderness. It was absolutely disgusting to see the smog filled valley below. The city was not even really visible—just a brown cloud. So it was nice to get some normal fresh air. Plus the weather was excellent—sunny blue skies, but chilly. I could feel the altitude right away, and climbing the very steep slope required what felt like 10 times the effort it would have at sea level. Luckily I was ok and didn’t get sick—neither did Laura or Sally. The views were awesome as we climbed up into a Mars-like terrain where nothing grew and nothing lived. A glacier covered peak well over 5000 meters was staring us right in the face for most of the hike. After about 2.5 hours we reached the summit! It was tiring, but we were all ok, and it felt great to be above the smog and on top of an Andean peak. The wind was tame, which was nice since the temperature was barely above freezing I would guess. The view must be similar to the view on top of Mt. Rainier, since we were almost as high and the city below is only at about 1000 ft. We hiked back exhausted, but feeling good. The car ride back down to very low elevation was ok. I was worried my head would implode, but it didn’t and I suffered a small headache—which is pretty good considering we went from nearly 14000 feet to 1000 in just a few hours. So all in all it was worth it—expensive but worth it.
This is from near the beginning 
We climbed the less glaciated one. That's Laura and our guide Juan ahead of me
Us at the top!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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.
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.
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