What is real? Slavery (Thursday February 17th--Day 100)

What is real? Slavery. February 17^th-

I forgot that today was my birthday. All the days always mix together when traveling, and this is amplified by the fact that we spend every day working from dawn to dusk. It finally hit me when I was lying in bed that night, trying to fall asleep and clear my mind of the whirlwind of nonstop thoughts. It was at that moment that I realized that today, without knowing it, I had received a birthday present that will last me a lifetime. Another heavy reality check.

Irma, the owner of this farm, tells me time and time again that ´Nadie es un esclave aquì`(No one is a slave here). She says I can eat when I want and rest when I want. But the truth is, that any time I go to sit down from 7:30am to 9pm, there is something else to be done. Irma, who is 76 years old mind you, barely rests. Her daughter, who comes here every day with her two children, runs around all day only to return at night to tend to her own home. They are machines. Worn out, yet completely energized. As for me, a person who loves to work and has a pretty damn good work ethic, I am not about to be out-worked. So I, too, keep going nonstop. There are no free Sundays. There are no afternoon siestas. Those breaks are luxuries these campesinos cannot afford. After taking a week to adapt to this `schedule,` I gave it a lot of thought and did some subtle investigating, and I decided upon something. Actually, Irma, we are all salves here.

I´ll start with Kila Leufu and work my way out. Both Irma and Antonio (the two owners of the farm) grew up in el campo. Irma in a Mapuche village and Antonio in the fields. From a young age, they learned at the hands of their parents to work hard, to tend to the animals and to the land, and to refrain from asking questions. Kila Leufu began as a regular farm—animals, wheat, oatmeal, and two large gardens. They worked the land, raised their animals, lived off of their products, and sold the majority for ´profit.´ Eventually, their kids moved out and Chile became more like its US overseers (industrialized farming and consumer culture). It became nearly impossble for farmers to live a comfortable life, or even a semi-comfortable life for that matter. ´Luckilly,´ tourism—which was just beginning to gain speed in Pucon—provided a way for them to continue their beloved life as a campesino. Antonio built up their property over time and Irma took advantage of her cultural heritage. She marketed her culture, inviting tourists to her home to see the way a Mapuche woman dresses and to taste the food that a Mapuche woman prepares. Eventually, they opened up their home and began to charge people a small price to stay the night. Now, she and her husband work 14 hours a day, 7 days a week. To me, it seems like they are in over their head. But somehow they manage to feed all the animals, to milk all the cows, to collect all the eggs, to water the somewhat neglected garden, and to give their guests really impeccable service (it´s no Mountain Sky, though). They live comfortably in the most basic of ways. A tv with 3 channels. A cell phone for business purposes. Store bought cheese, sugar, and butter. But there´s no health insurance and she has a bad back and her husband has severe diabetes. They need to pay for medical bills (this isn´t Argentina after all) and they need to pay their taxes. Consequently, there´s no sign of them stopping any time soon. Slaves. Stuck. Rather than be free to work the land in order to provide food for their neighbors and for themselves, and rather than have the ability to practice their traditional customs as a daily routine rather than a marketed afternoon activity, they have to share their home with strangers, sell their heritage, and work themselves to death. All of this to live the life in el campo—so it is worth it.

But this is a special case, right? I mean, not all farmers have to resort to these means in order to survive, right? Well here is the image of a farmer who doesn´t have this option. In Chile, as well as in most countries around the world, farmers live in essential poverty (at least in UN terms…but that´s another story). They work all day every day. They have no luxuries, and barely the essentials. If something breaks, they don´t have the savings to get it fixed or buy another. They sell all they have to survive. They are at the whims of nature and of the international market. An uphill battle to say the least. If a farmer wants to live comfortably, they basically need another form of income. They can sell artisan goods and flowers, like Blanca Rosa in El Bolson. They can open up their farm for special events and educational field trips, like the family in San Juan. They can sell handpicked, highly desired rare gems, like a woman I met in Santiago who lives on a self sustainable farm in Australia and travels the world looking and selling jewels (I get the feeling that may be a special case). Or they worked the majority of their life as a white collar worker or doctor and can now afford to escape society and farm for themselves, like Margot in Mendoza. How is it that farmers—the people we rely on to survive—can barely survive solely on that job? Of course, there are a number of ways that we can answer this inquiry. Industrialized farming and the demand for cheep food (Americans alone used to spend 60% of their income on food. Now we only spend 10%. Other, more important, prioritees. $300 jeans and big TVs). International trading terms also play a huge role, as small farmers must now compete with factory farmed products. Culturally, at least in the States, there is definitely a tren of how we prioritize values. Look at the connection between the way we devalue teachers and the way we devalue farmers. Apparently,  investment bankers are handling much more precious cargo than our children and our food. And while we´re on the topic of the United States, let´s talk about our farmers, shall we? As if the typical concerns of weather and insects aren´t enough to keep a farmer on edge, how about the fact that they have no financial, medical, or social security. Land costs a fortune, and most have taken out multiple mortgages to afford their property and their equipment. Thanks to standardization and industry demands, they also have to pay for the latest and greatest equipment, seeds, and fertilizers or else they cannot sell their produce to distributers. Think about the people who have power over our farmers. Clearly there is a connection between the banks who give the loans, the large companies who sell farmers their equipment, and the lawmakers in Washington who make arbitrary strict regulations for the safety of the citizens. And while those three power hungry groups profit, what can a farmer do? They don´t have time to fight Congress or lobby for their rights. Hell, they don´t even have time to take off if they are sick or if a family member dies. What would they even do, if something were to happen? There is no free health insurance, remember? That´s for socialists and commies. They will either work that land until they die or they will be forced to sell their homes to some condo developer so they can afford to die in some hospice center. All this to live in the country—so it is worth it.

Don´t think that you or I are any less enslaved. Your desk job, your corporate employment, your 401K, and our college education doesn´t make us any more free. Our slavery is hidden, and our price for freedom even greater. Let´s say you went to college, because that´s what you are supposed to do, and you took out a huge loan. Now you are in debt for the next 20 years. So rather than take two years off to travel the world and learn a thing or two (like you planned to do after high school, before the counselers convinced you it was smarter to go straight to college), you now have to find a job. The bank is already sending you reminder letters and you get mail every week from new credit card companies. What choice do you have? Or maybe you didn´t go to college or you escaped without debt because you have amazing parents or you were an athlete. You work because you need health benefits for you and your family. You work because you need to save for retirement in 60 zears. You work so you can continue to buy things so you can keep your perfect image and maintain a decent credit rating in the hopes that one day you can own a home. You work because you are a good American who from a young age was told it is immoral and lazy to slack off. So you grin and bear it. You pay your  taxes like a good citizen, and like a better citiyen you don´t ask questions (especially about where that tax money goes). To go on your own, to open your own business, to be an artist, to travel the world…these are high risks to take in a country without any social security, universal health coverage, or safety net. Slaves. We have to work and we have to consume. All of this so we can live the American Dream—so it´s worth it.

Here`s when the reality check hit me hard. Today, I told a stranger that I want to return to the United States to become a farmer. It felt so easy to say. I felt so free to admit this out loud. I was going to be a farmer. But then I spent the next three hours thinking about the logistics, and the situation grew dim and my heart began to sink. Where would I get the money for the land? How could I avoid debt? What would happen if a season went wrong or I got sick? How would I take care of my parents after they have sacrificed so much for me? How could I sell my food in a country where cheap prices are more important than good quality? How could I continue to live in a country who fails to value its farmers and protect its citizens? And if I chose to leave, where would I go? France? Cuba? How would I settle there? And if I change my mind in ten years, like we so often do, is there a way out or will my decision decide the future of me and my children forever? Will they be able to escape the life I chose for them? Will we even live long enough for any of this to develop? Will my decision to be a farmer have any impact on a world that already seems so far gone? And yet, all of this to be a slave in the country over a slave in the city--so it is worth it. 

Pucon: Una Refleciòn (Wednesday February 16th--Day 99)

Any guidebook will tell you that Pucon is Chile´s capital of extreme sports and outdoor adventure. The surrounding landscape lends itself perfectly to this lifestyle. A small town surrounded by a series of lakes for boating and swimming, a network of rivers for fly fishing and rafting, an endless amount of beautiful dense forest for camping and hiking, a valley of rolling hills for biking and horseback riding, a galore of treacherous cliffs for climbing, and a few active snowcapped volcanoes for mountaineering. Once extreme sports enthusiasts from Chile, Argentina, and countries around the world began to flock to Pucon, other activities began to flourish. Canopy tours, skydiving, parasailing. The usual. Now a hub for tourism, Pucon´s entire is basically based on this exchange. In February, the month when all white collar Chileans receive for vacation, the town is packed with people from Santiago. For the rest of the summer months—the end of December, January, March, and the beginning of April—it is filled with international backpackers heading to and from Patagonia. It´s an absolutely wonderful place to see. A must on anyone´s agenda. And as usual, I have somehow managed to have the absolute best living situation.

Here´s my story. I am living about 30km outside of Pucon on a rather large plot of family land. I avoid the rush of Pucon, I can still easily get to the town through public transportation, and I have a fantastic view of a live smoking volcano. The family has owned and worked this land for nearly half of a century. On this fully functional farm, there is a small organic garden with a the basics: tomatoes, carrots, five varieties of beans, potatoes, peas, mint, rosemary, potatoes, onions, basil, and a mountain of cilantro. There is also a series of barns and fenced in land where the family raises animals. There are cows for milking and for selling, chickens for meat and eggs, geese for selling and eating, sheep for shearing and grazing, pigs for selling and compost, and llamas for selling and shearing. When the work is done (which it never is), there is time to explore the three rivers (Kila Leufu means three rivers in Mapuche), multiple streams, dense forests, and endless fields. It´s paradise. Essentially.

But, like the rest of Pucon, they too gain their primary income from tourism. The house functions as a hostel, and can accept up to 20 guests at a time. There is also a ruka in the backyard, which is a wooden hut where Mapuche ancesters lived and cooked (Irma is Mapuche, which is the native population here in Southern Chile and Argentina). So apart from the usual hotel guests, we also accept tours and private groups who want to see and experience true Mapuche culture. We talk about the culture, show them the fully functional farm, and feed them incredible Mapuche food that has taken hours and hours to prepare. We get a range of people, and have to be prepared for anything (for example Yuri, the internationally known Mexican singer, came for Lunch the other day). So in order to do my job the best possible way, I have to learn to cook all of the Mapuche meals (delicious) and get to know Pucon (naturally). So I have been sent to Currarehue, the last remaining Mapuche strong hold in Chile, to visit the museum and to eat delicious food. I have been given a free private mountaineering trip to climb Volcano Villarica (one of the world´s most active); so while guided groups of 15 to 20 scaled the mountain, my guide and I (fully equppied with ice picks, mountaineering boots, helmets, and crampons) raced up the mountain and slid down on plastic sleds. I have been given the morning to go talk to artisans in Villarica about their products. And I was given a day off from work to spend nine hours hiking through the backcountry of Parque Huerquehue, a beautiful gem of a national park filled with dense damp forests and beautiful lakes. I still have horseback riding, thermal baths, and a few more mountains to go before I can say with confidence that I know Pucon. But there is time, and I am off to a really great start for week one. It is not all fun and games. We work seven days a week, fourteen hours a day, without any break. But just think, I would have been perfectly content just to work in a warm house with a loving family and a ton of tomatoes to trellis. What a great bonus.

So go to Pucon. Live it up. Don´t be too threatened by the heeps of tourists in the center. Find yourself a place outside of town and learn to love this place.

Time and Speed: Tiempo, hora, y ritmo (Monday, February 14--Day 92)

In all of my anthropology classes, we always studied the way that different cultures conceptualize time. Time is a social construction, and if you can understand how a people view and value time, then you can better understand the society they live in. It´s rather easy to generalize the concept of time in South American countries. Linquistically, the word tiempo means both time and weather. From that perspective, one can assume that the daily, monthly, and yearly schedules correspond with climate and weather. As a farmer, your life revolves not around what the calendar and clock say, but around what your fields and animals need. Your pace of life is different from the clock-centered societies built up around factories and office work. So while outsiders view people in the South as slow and lacluster, they are actually moving in tune with nature. In order to live effectively, they conserve energy when possible, work every possible daylight hour, and basically learn to continue to maintain a constant level of energy. Think of this as the difference between a marathon runner and a short distance sprinter. So all of those stereotypes--you know, the ones that refer to Mexicans as lazy and joke about the way people put things off until mañana--are grounded in some concept of reality. However, it is just important to know why that reality looks so different from yours. That being said, it is still impossible to say that all South American countries function with this generalized concept of time. Each country in South America is distinct, and their different histories and current international roles impact the way their citizens function, especially in terms of time. 

In Argentia, my world moved in slow motion. Tranquilo and mañana became commonplace terms. I learned to love this pace because it gave me the opportunity to slow down and appreciate things I may not have noticed otherwise. But it was not easy to adapt to at first. I remember when I first arrived to the farm in San Juan, I worked constantly. I woke up early to run, I always cut my siesta hours short, and I would work right up to the time that dinner was ready. I wasn`t used to sitting still, so I never did. But the work was demanding and the desert weather was brutal. It didn`t take long for me to become worn out. I got sick and my body told me that I had to slow down. So I addapted. I learned that the people in Argentina manage to work effectively and efficiently by slowing down their working pace and savoring their precious breaks. That`s how they were able to maintain energy from morning to VERY late at night. In fact, Argentina is so hot and so sunny that most people actually function more during the night. These are not morning people, unless by morning you mean 3am. That also took some getting used to, and I will admit that the 76 year old lady inside me never quite adapted to that schedule. But people in Argentina learn to listen to their needs and their concerns, and they adapt their schedule to their desires. They`ll arrive late not because they are rude, but because they are used to working with a schedule that conveniences only themselves. It`s rather self-centered, but I don`t think the slowspeed lifestyle would work any other way. 

In many regards, Chile is completely different. If Argentina is an 80 year old man running a marathon in six hours, Chile is a thirteen year old at his first track meet running sprints in front of a group of girls he thinks are cute. People in Chile will move slowly for hours, so slowly that they may do nothing at all. But then, all of a sudden, without any warning at all, they will burst into life and start working at an almost chaotic speed. And if you cannot see that change coming, then you are left completely in the dust. For me, this has been even harder to adjust to than the lifestyle in Argentina. Generally speaking, I move pretty slowly and I hate to be rushed. Even in the States, I will wake up hours earlier so that I can work at my own pace without feeling stressed to get something done. But here, I find myself unable to make that speedy transition. I cannot quite read the social cues to predict when the change will come, so I am constantly left catching up and very often trying to understand demands being shouted at a speed I cannot comprehend. It is tough. If I were an outside observer, I think I would find it interesting. But because I am right in the middle, I struggle to find secure footing. But, just like I adapted to Argentina, I will adapt to Chile. It will take a little more than a week, but I`ll get there. The key is that I have to drop my own agenda, be flexible and open, and realize that I cannot expect to work on a fixed schedule. There is no schedule. There is only tiempo.

Santiago: Una Refleciòn (Tuesday February 8--Day 91)

I do not know Santiago, Chile. I spend two and a half days here, and spent most of my time hanging out in parks, walking the streets of the center, and going to museums. I did not stay here long enough to adopt any local routine, to explore places outside the center, or to unveil the intricacies that really make Santiago tick. I could have allocated more time and energy here, but that is not why I am here in South America and quite frankly I am starting to realize that I just don`t like cities very much. But, after these two and a half days I do have some opinions on the center of Santiago. And while they aren`t deeply rooted in days of observations, hours of experiences, or a variety of places, the count for something. First impressions are valid, as is my all-too-critical-eye. So here it goes.
Santiago is a city of history. It was founded in 1541 by Valdivia when he placed the Spanish flag on top of a hill, now Cerro Santa Lucia. You can still visit the hill, which is right in the middle of this booming city. It is now a public park and a great place to view the physical and spacial changes that have occurred over time. Forts, churches, government building, indian monument. The park has it all. And from the top of the hill, you can look out on an international city scattered with a mixture of neoclassic architecture and huge skyscrapers. If you want to understand Santiago from a historical perspective, all you need to do is walk the city parks and plazas, all of which are lined with murals and sculptures of important people through Chile´s history. Or just go to one of the many museums like El Museo de La Historia de Santiago or El Museo de La Historia de Chile (which oddly enough does not include anything on Pinochet or the military dictatorship...how`s that forre-writing history?). And if history doesn`t strike your interest, don`t worry because...
Santiago is a city of culture. Art museums--many of which are free on Sunday--range from precolombian art (meaning pillaged artifacts) to modern art. There is also a range of new cultural spaces, the most intriguing of which was recently constructed below the front yard of the presidential palace. Plays, theater, music. Public parks, concert halls, universities. All I know are the museums and galleries located in central Santiago and surrounding neighborhoods like Bellas Artes. And although public transportation is expensive, these resources are still relatively accesable for the majority of people in Santiago. From my experience with cities, a city that has a variety of artistic offerings downtown  usually has a strong city government, a wealthy working class, and a large youth population. Which brings me to my next point...
Santiago is a city of students. There are so many universities here (although it is no Boston). University of Chile. University of Santiago. Catholic University. And a number of smaller institutions offering degrees in medicine, law, nursing, and fashion. And where there are students, there are cafes, nightlife, cultural events, music, demonstrations, and political activity. But not everyone can afford to attend university. Like the United States, and unlike Chile´s eastern neighbor, universities here are very expensive. And I wouldn`t be surprised if the majority of students chose to study something like finance and investment banking in the hopes that they can strike it rich and pay off loans. They wouldn`t have to go far becase...
Santiago is a city of commerce. At the highest level, there are banks. And their presense is overwhelming. Banks and ATMs on every corner. Offices and HQs tower over the other buildings and occupy any panoramic view. How much power do these international banks have? Well let`s just say that the government palace and government square are surrounded on all sides by financial institutions. Corprotocracy strikes again. At the lowest level, there are the street vendors and kiosk owners. They buy their products--ranging from candies to yogurts, from fruits to nuts, from toys to socks--at Mercado Vega, a gigantic market space taking up blocks of city space on the other side of the river. In the morning it is filled with restaurant owners and street vendors buying up their daily goods. In the afternoon and evening, it is filled with families picking up weekly provisions and homeless people hoping for scraps. And in the middle of these two extremes, there are the artesans and shop owners. With the second largest gini coefficient in South America, Chile`s middle class is not exactly prominent. But it is present and supposedly growing. I have the feeling, mostly because of the governmental department called ´Economy and Tourism`,  that this growth is due largely in part to Chile`s booming tourist industry. But there are definitely other factors, too. But for now, the middle class remains scarce and what remains is the fact that...
Santiago is a city of division. The class difference is amplified by the fact that Santiago is a city of neighborhoods. This is always true for all cities. In fact, I would argue that a city needs to be divided into neighborhoods; people need small communities in order to be happy and really in order to survive. Without small neighborhoods, people get lost. But the thing with Santiago is that there seems to be very little movement between these neighborhoods. They are divided by rivers and large abandoned buildings. You are either on the good side--where police roam the streets to keep you safe, where trash is collected in bins, where buildings are beautifully cared for--or you are very clearly on the bad side--where sidewalks are in disaray, where walls are falling apart, and where people carry themselves differently. It`s these neighborhoods where teen pregnancy is high, where drug lords rule the streets with pitbulls and gangs, and where anyone foreign sticks out like a sorely unwanted thumb. But maybe these social and economic gaps won`t be that way forever. After all...
Santiago is a city of urban development. As always, thanks to IHP, I tend to view cities from an urban development perspective. With Santiago, this tendence is greated because my Urban Development professor at BU worked in Santiago and spoke of it constantly. Regardless, the city clearly places development high on its list of prioritees. In the past 10 years, they have revamped the transportation system. And while it has gotten negative reviews and essentially cost the last president her reelection, TranSantiago has its positives. It is quick: trains come frequently and buses travel on their own lanes. It is integrated: people can change between buses and trains with only one swipe of the BIP card. And it is damn pretty: the stations are beautifully decorated to match the appropriate location, they serve as underground malls with a variety of stores, businesses, and restaurants, and they attend to the comfort of the riders with soothing music, TV sets, and misting fans. Apart from the public transportation, the city is peppered with public spaces. Public parks line the river front and open squares are scattered throughout the city center. And these spaces are well maintained and well used by a range of people--BMX riders, homeless, exercisers, runners, picnicing families, businessmen on lunchbreaks, informal meetings, canoodling couples. Every space is different but they all have their purposes and their draw. Essentially, you can ride the public transportation or walk the streets between public spaces and spend your day in Santiago for nearly no money at all. Which is what I did.
And for that, I really did like Santiago.

El dialogo es real (Monday February 7--Day 90)

Are chance happenings just mere coincidence? Does everything happen for a reason? Are we fated to be in certain places at certain times? I have no idea. We could debate this for years. People do and have. What I do know, though, is that although you cannot always control what happens in life, you can control the way you respond and the way you view that occurrence. That`s freedom and that`s power.
I was strolling through the streets of Santiago today and I ran into someone I met at a bar during Super Bowl the night before. Now Santiago is no Sao Paulo, but it is a damn big city. And we found each other on the completely other side of town. Coincidence? Fate? Whatever.
At first I thought that this was a way to show me that cities, although large and impersonal, can actually be rather intimate communities once you start developing a network of people. That`s how I felt about Boston. But I realize now that this meeting--chance or not--was meant to teach me a much more important lesson, one that can help reveal another layer to the mystery of reality. What is real? Dialogue is real.
So I After running into him for the second time, I accepted the invitation to join him and his friends for a drink outside. I mean, why not?  We had a fascinating conversation the night before about traveling and personal goals (and football of course), and I had no schedule to which I had to conform. This whole situation was almost surreal, in the same way that dining with people from around the world in the small town of Albardon, Argentina was surreal. Except this felt so spontaneous and so natural, as if everyone in an international city was having a similar experience at that very moment. We were five.
A young german woman living the dream--a talented architect who has worked in Dubai and Abu Dhabi. She is directly benefiting from the neoliberal, international oil ¨trade¨ that has been destroying our world and stealing nation´s sovereigny for decades.
A young French student who has just begun his six month stay in Santiago. He will be studying forestry and agriculture in the local university, and came into the group in the attempt to solicite housing from the local Chileans. He prefers not to talk politics because he says there are no answers, yet he still speaks his mind with confidence and conviction about international events and the current French situation.
A Chilean in his mid thirties who is feeling hopeless and frustrated. For the past fifteen years, he has worked on social programs in the city`s poor neighborhoods and has been discussing how to save his city from the impacts of social stratification. He has seen the creation of a middle class, but still believes that most Chileans lack the hope, the drive, and the idea that they can change their socioeconomic situation. He is a victim of corporate control--exhausted from the fight and ready to sit back, have fun, and consume.
A young Chilean in his early thirties who moved from the South years ago with the dreams of attending university and becoming an architect. His dreams are still big, and he hopes to one day move to Europe permanently to work in his field. In all likelihood, he will succeed. He has already spent an extensive amount of time abroad. He has taught himself three languages. He surrounds himself with foreigners and knows how to create an international network. And he has a firery passion that will get him places. He too has spent the last fifteen years working on social programs in the inner cities, but his desire to live amongst the international elite is bound to take him from these current projects.
And a young American who is traveling in Argentina and Chile while working on organic farms. She is searching for something real to add to her life, and currently finds herself providing the all-too-realistic-semi-apocolyptic-gloom-and-doom card in the conversation. You know...America has destroyed the world and if we all don`t change now everything will collapse. Wompwompwomp. Welcome to my head.
We were five. So different. Each with his own role to play in the system. And we talked for hours. Sometimes the discussion was heated, other times the mood was more inquisitive. The topics ranged as we fluidly moved from one item to the next, navigating the language barriers and speaking a mix of German, French, Spanish, and English. Media censorship by corporate sponsors. South American farmers´ unwillingness to produce organically. Exportation of farm goods. France´s president. America´s dream of social mobility. Dogs in Chile. Gangs in inner cities. The creativity of green architecture. The importance of lending a hand. Immigration. At the end of the conversation, we did not come to any solutions. We did not solve world peace or eliminate world hunger. But we shared ideas. We learned to listen to the opinions of others and we learned to express our own thoughts. One conversation may no uncover answers. But many conversations over time can and will. That is real.
So I ask you, then, are you having these conversations? How do you feel about the fact that ¨uneducated¨ people in the favelas of Brazil, in the slums of South Africa, on the streets of Santiago know more about international news and American events than you do? Do you spend your lunch breaks reading celebrity gossip, or do you search out various news sites piecing together events? Are you too ¨PC¨ to bring up religion and politics with friends and strangers in the fear of offening someone? What do you know about South American history, the role America has played in international politics, or the current state of the world? Do you care? You should. So read books. Find news sites. Think critically. Have these conversations with friends and families. Shut off the TV (football season is over). Buy a newspaper or two to go with your morning coffee. Learn what other people think, and don`t limit yourself to talking with people who are just like you. Stop being outsmarted by the rest of the world, and step it up. You`ll hear things you don`t want to hear and it won`t be easy. But dialogue will make you feel connected to the world, connected to others, and connected to yourself--and there is nothing more real than that.

La Transiciòn (Saturday February 5--Day 88)

Well my three months in Agentina have flown by...sort of. But it kind of felt like I have been here for years. So maybe time passed at just the right speed. It´ll probably take a lifetime to process it all. I saw so much. I met so many people. And I made some epic realizations. It has really begun to click that we--you, me, our country, our world--are in a dire situation. I don´t know how to respond to the situation, or what I can do to better our situation. But I have realized that the answers to our collective problems lie in our willingness to scale back our lifestyles, to give up some of our seemingly god-given personal independence, and to live in community with others. On a more personal note, I´ve learned that I am happiest when I am part of a community, when I am participating in a sustainable and deeply personal relationship with the world, and when I am living a lifestyle that brings peace, comfort, and tranquility to my mind and my body.
So now what? I still have three months left, and there is much more to learn and much more to see. I am not done with my journey. But the person who begins her journey in Chile today is not the same person who began her journey in Argentina three months ago. The big goals are still the same: work with my hands, practice my spanish, and strengthen my character and worldview. But these general goals have now been refined.

I want to maintain that level of happiness I felt at Huerta de Vida where I was in love with the land and grateful for what it gave us, where I was in love with my body and grateful for its ability to work so hard, where I was in love with those around me and grateful for their willingness and desire to accept me for who I am. If I can learn to carry this degree of confidence and peacefulness with me, my life will be more complete than I could ever imagine.
I want to keep seeing and experiencing the world´s beautiful places without becoming numb to my surroundings. Even though such a continuous stream of unspeakable beauty can often blend together, I know and appreciate that each and every thing is uniquely beautiful.
I want to keep learning and understanding other realities. I have come to discover some very convincing versions of reality, so convincing that they could cause me to discredit any one else´s view. But just as science cannot explain everything, one version of reality should not discredit the validity of other worldviews and priorities.
I want to keep searching for community. The more I experience different forms and degrees of community here, the better I will understand what I am hoping to find and build in my own life.
I want to continue to seriously consider my future in the United States, but I don´t want this concern to overpower my current experiences. Everything will come together. But I am here now, and here and now is the only place and time that will uncover what makes me spark. Then when I return to the States, that spark can spread.
I want to continue to be spontaneous. When I have dropped my personal agenda and opened my eyes and my heart to new people and new experiences, powerful things have happened. Now is the time to walk through doors whenever they open.
I want to find a running, stretching, and strengthening routine that does not drain me of physical or mental energy but rather provides me with the endurance and peacefulness I need to be effective and sustainable.
I want to view Chile as its own entity, rather than constantly compare it to Argentina. Yet, I want to reflect on the differences and similarities between the two in order to develop theories as to why these countries are the way that they are.
I want to maintain a high energy level throughout the next three months. I must take advantage of my time here. Traveling is not a waste of time, and I must continue to see and learn all that I possibly can.
I want to regain that sense of hope that I once had. Right now, I feel as though there is no resolution to our current world situation. This gloom and doom mentality is slowly sucking the light out of me, and I need to stop this before it is too late. I want to rediscover that spark, that sense of hope, that contagious optimism. Without it, I am nothing and I can do nothing.

So it is going to be a busy few months. Stay with me.

Margot: Madre, Revolucionaria, Maestra (Tuesday February 1==Day 84)

You don`t have to know someone for a long period of time in order for them to impact your life. Radiance and intensity outshine the social constructs of time. A single interaction can leave a mark on you for hours. You can fall in love within days. And sometimes a person can spark you in such a powerful way to impact you for the rest of your life. So meet Margot, the woman I have been honored to live with and learn from over the past two and a half weeks.

Margot is from the United States. I do not know her entire history, and I will not share all of the details that I do know. Margot, a woman in her fifties, has lived a long life filled with adventure and heartbreak, ecstacy and sorrow, enlightenment and confusion. From Mexican decent, she grew up in New Mexico with a family which, for numerous reasons, she has divorced herself from. She hitchiked accross the United States multiple times. She researched the impacts of breast feeding in Nicaragua. She went to graduate school in Stanford as a single mom. She worked in health clinics in New Mexico and Boston. She has lived in cooperative communities in Boston and California, and has traveled around the world. She has two daughters, but lost her oldest in a tragic car accident about ten years ago. She is brilliant and passionate, and will work your ass into the ground. She has made countless difficult decisions throughout her life, the toughest being her most recent move to Argentina, and does not pity those who feel obligated to maintain their current unhappy, unsustainable lifestyles. She has never stopped learning or growing, and will continue to do so even though she will stay on her farm in Argentina for the rest of her life.

Which brings us to today. Margot now lives in Tunuyan, Argentina. Even she claims this is a strange place for her to end up. She began Huerta de Vida three years ago with her daughter Vida who created this project as a place where people can come, realize that nature loves them, realize that they should love nature, and realize that it is possible to love themselves. The timing of the project coincided perfectly with Margot`s desire to leave the United States, a country she has come to despise for its foreign policy, its consumerism, its denial over its future collapse, and its population of sheeplike followerers. Her life here has not been easy. The winters are long and lonely, and every personal high and low is experienced in front of groups of strangers who have come to the garden to volunteer and learn. It is a life without electricity, running water, or heat. She works to grow her own food, and she shits in a bucket outside. And as she will tell anyone (although it is obvious already)...she has never been happier.

This superwoman never loses that spark in her eye. She lives with a fiery passion. A passion for laughter, as seen in the wrinkles next to her eyes and as heard in the booming sound of her constant laughs. A passion to teach, evident by her claim that the entrance fee of the WWOOF organization is yet another bureaucratic wall between people and their desire and need to learn to farm. A passion for love, expressed strongly through the way she looks at her daughter whom she describes as the most brilliant, intelligent, wise, hardworking young woman that has taught her so much about life. A passion for intelligence and wisdom, which means that she will be merciful, compassionate, and caring to anyone willing to live at peace with the universe. A passion for faith, which you can hear in the way she speaks of her relationship with the Divine, of her experience with angels, and of her distaste for the way any organized church claims to own God. A passion for connection, because she believes that the whole world is connected through webs of energy and we are therefor never alone. A passion for integrity, and she wishes more people would actually do what they say and say what they do. A passion to learn, which is obvious by the amount of wellused books she has in her small home in the middle of Argentina. A passion for life and for death, so rather than fear death she finds it a fascinating and beautiful continuation of life. And a passion for community, because we all have the responsability to live as citizens to each other and to bring out the best in those we meet.

Her ideas, her emotions, her zest doesn`t translate well into words. So you`re probably not as impacted as I. You would have to meet her. To see her deep eyes. To hear her true laughter. And to allow her to love you for you. Then it would click. Then you would feel blessed. And then you, too, would believe that everything happens for a reason. That I am here now for a reason. And that you are there now for a reason. And that if we have integrity and passion and love and humility and strength and courage, we will be at peace.

Buen Provecho: Part 4 (Monday, January 31--Day 83)

Alright, Argentina. You´ve got one thing right: meat. Beautiful, thick cuts from grassfed ranging cattle that need only a touch of salt and a quick searing to be perfect. Bravo. But as for the rest of your diet...major upset. I would have taken Brazilian rice and beans every meal over this. Instant coffee, crusty white bread, and dulce de leche (a caramel sauce) does not constitute a fulfilling breakfast. Empanadas (meat filled pierogies) and milinesa (thin breaded meat in a sandwich with tons of mayo and an occasional thin slice of tomato) can only enterntain me for so long. And unless dinner is an asado (a BBQ of meats galore) then I am not buying it. What you need is a cullinary makeover, and Huerta de Vida can guide your way.

Here`s what we have to work with:

Endless amounts of vegetables. Wild greens from the garden (many have an asian flair to them). Fresh tomatoes. Bell peppers. A mountain of squash (it`s squash season. If you leave your windows down in a parking lot, someone will drop a bag of squash on your front seat just to get rid of them. We have a lot.) Potatoes. Carrots. Eggplant. All fresh. All local. Mostly ours.

Herbs and spices that would make your head spin (and that will pump up your immunity now in the summer so you can make it through the long winter). A variety of fresh basil. Oregano. Arugula. Curry. Cayan. Cumin. Lemon balm. Sage. Rosemary. Tyme. Mustard seeds in vinigar. Quinoa leaves (the seeds arençt ready yet). Garlic. Anything and everything flavorful.

Homemade browns. Sprouted grains. Soaking beans.

Add some creativity and a love of food and you have an endless amount of possibilities. Here`s the haunting food that this magic creates:

Homemade bruschetta on toasted homemade wheat bread. Sometimes we make the salsa with tomatoes, basil, onions, and olive oil or sometimes we`ll make it with tomatoes, sage, lemon, onions, and balsamic. It depends which herb we have more of. But the sage is absolutely fantastic.

Fried plantains. Heat up the oil with a little bit of garlic and chili pepper. Then cut up your plantain on diagonals and fry them on each side. Take them out, add more garlic and pepper, and squish the juice out. Quickly fry them one more time, and have them as a starchy side to any meal.

Enchaladas in mole sauce. Make a mole sauce of tomato paste, water, unsweetened chocolate, and chipotle. Dip tortillas in the mole and stack them in threes on a pan to put in the oven. In between each tortilla, put whatever your heart desires. Blackbeans and cheese. Onions and cheese. Tomatoes and cheese. Meet and cheese. All of the above. Be creative. Once they have baked to a point that will stimulate your senses (you should see them, smell them, and hear them sizzle), remove them, place a fried egg on top, and top it off with more mole sauce.

Melon wine. Cut a hole out of a fresh honeydew melon (smell the stem side to see if it is sweet and ready). Empty out the insides with a spoon. Pour in some white wine. Enjoy. If you`re feeling extra saucy, take a piece of dried cane, clean out the insides with a thin piece of metal, and use that as a straw.

Apple jam with rosemary and garlic.

Peach jam with ginger, nutmeg, cinimin, and clove.

Ground nut stew with potatoes, tomatoes, onions, garlic, cumin, curry, and peanuts.

Vietnamese dish with rice noodles over fresh greens and topped with a mixture of hot pepper and olive oil.

Stugged squash with spicy rice and tomatoes and topped with a sweetened tomato sauce. The spicy/sweet combo really confuses your mouth. In a good way.

Fresh humus.

Black beans and rice (nicknamed Mores and Christians)

Peach cobler with a granola crust on top

Homemade yoghurt and homemade granola. Super easy. All you have to do is warm up your milk, add a bit of yoghurt with live cultures, and leave it out for the night. The next day, you have more yoghurt. It is like the miracle of fish and bread...except better because you can top it with fresh homemade granola.

Polenta encrusted eggplant.

Homemade potato dumplings topped with olive oil, oregano, and fresh tomatoes.

 Homemade pizza with white alfredo sauce.

Fresh homemade bread made with leftover rice and oatmeal.

And so much more. I cannot even give recipes for most of these things because there are no recipes. You have to trust your instincts, rely on your senses, and have other people taste test for you. It is incredible what you can come up with, and I am continuously impressed. I am learning each and every day about which foods taste better with certain spices, and I am gaining more and more confidence in the kitchen. Cooking is no longer a time consuming chore, but a fun activity that I look forward to each and every day. I hope that it can be for everyone else, too.

Una día en la vida: A Day in the Life (Saturday January 29--Day 81)

There´s no good way to describe this place. It is so much more tan the work we do and the food we help to grow. It is so much more than the people who are here and the stories and the personalities we bring. It is so much more than the conversations we have and the passions we share. This place is nothing short of an experience…an experience I was meant to have and an experience that has impacted my life deeply. So rather than attempt to explain what is inherently  inexplicable, I will instead describe to you a typical day. Feel free to extrapolate from there.

6:15am: I wake up to the sound of the birds. The air is crisp and the rising sun begins to peak above the distant willow trees and shine its rays through the screen door of my tent. I make my way out of my sleeping bag, step out of my tent, and breath in the new day.

6:15am-7:15am: This is a chance for some free time in the morning. Some people choose to keep sleeping, savoring every moment of the rest. Others, like Ali, a young woman from Buffalo New York, use this time for morning meditation. Others, like Margot and Paul, jump into the day with coffee, conversation, and dishes. Some days I go for a walk through the surrounding fields where I can watch the sun rise, the morning mist dissipate, and the trees wave in the breeze.  Other days I spend some time stretching under the willow trees. Other days Vida and I will go for a morning jog through the network of dirt roads surrounding the garden.

7:15am-7:45am: With tea or French-pressed coffee in hand, we all do our morning chores. Everyone is assigned to a task, so that everything gets done but no one has to work too hard too early in the morning. Take out the compost and add more saw dust. Check the saw dust and toilet paper in the baño seco (dry bathroom). Give the bunnies food and water. Sweep out the cabin. Give the chickens food and water. I´m on water duty. So every morning I check the tanks of drinking water to make sure we have enough to make it through the next few days (when we run low, we have a neighbor fill them for us in town). I also fill up three large pots from a large white tank near the house. This is ditch water and can be used for washing dishes and washing veggies that will be cooked. We have to keep an eye on the water level of this tank, too. When this runs low, we are in trouble. So we have to fill it manually, with buckets, every few days.

7:45am-8:30am: Now we enjoy breakfast, cooked and provided by Margot. Oatmeal. Homemade toast with eggs scrambled with garden greens. Homemade sweetbread or scones. Leftover pizza or rice. The conversation varies. Jokes. Dreams. Politics. American imperialism. Sex. It´s an open table. But one thing is a staple…the daily farmers talk. What are we going to do today? Who is going to do what? Do we need to run the water? How are the crops doing? Which beds need more attention than others? Is it time to harvest yet? How is the weeding doing? Who is making lunch? The important topics.

8:30am-1:00pm: It´s time to work. The chores vary every day. Usually we spend the morning in the garden, before the sun gets too high and strong. We´ll weed beds, hand water plants, or work with the irrigation system. It´s a great time for personal meditation, but it is also a wonderful time to break out into song. We are always singing. Usually around 11, we´ll start to move to another task in a more shaded area. But before that, we take a melon and meditation break. We cut open a fresh melon and Ali or Vida will lead a short meditation to synchronize our minds and rejuvenate our energy. Then for the second half of the morning, we spend out time working on the eco-construction project, baking bread or preserving food (making jams or drying fruit), washing dishes, or preparing lunch.

1:00pm-2:30pm: Lunch time. Yes. An hour and a half at the table, together, for lunch. Eating is a process. We taste the food, talk about how much we love it, and learn about how it was made. Then comes the conversation. The future of the world. What books we are reading now. Ghosts. America. Taxes. Physics. God. Angels. Drugs. Jokes (Dad, you would have been a hit at this farm!). Life in community. Aliens. Or we just sit back and listen to one of Margot´s amazing stories about her time working in a clinic in New Mexico, her funny experiences with owning animals, her weird relationships with her neighbors, her love of Cuba, her experience with death, or her time spent here. And of course, our favorite topic of conversation, what we´ll eat for dinner.

2:30pm-4:30pm: Siesta time. This is such an important part of the day. Not only does it allow your body to properly digest your food and absorb the nutrients most effectively, but it gives you a chance to rest and revive yourself before the next few hours of work. On a farm, this time is crucial, especially during the summer when these few hours are unbearable. But if you have a regular, indoor job, this time is perfect for catching up with family and relaxing with friends. It is not a time to work or shop or run errands because everything is closed. You have to rest. I choose to spend my siestas reading from the large collection of books we have here. The subjects run the gamut. Seed catalogs and tips for your garden. Novels in Spanish and English. History books on Latin America and United States foreign policy. And books on food. Since I have been here, I have read Full Moon Harvest, The Motorcycle Diaries, Confessions of an Economic Hitman, Slow Down Diet, and Deep Economy. It´s been busy.

4:30pm-4:45pm: Regroup and plan out the afternoon.

4:45pm-8:00pm: Work some more. More mud work in the natural construction building. More weeding. Planting beds with winter crops. Spraying plants that need a little extra help with natural, herbal concoctions that we make from our own garden. Wash dishes. Odd jobs. Make dinner.

8:00pm-10pm: Dinner and conversation. Sometimes if we are tired this is cut short. But it usually ends between 9:30pm and 10pm. Once the sun goes down, it is hard to keep talking without feeling sleepy. Living a life without electricity means that your schedule is syncronized to the natural swing of things. It´s refreshing. And it means a full nine hours of sleep, usually.But there are those nights when we´ll stay up together, dancing underneath the stars or watching a thunderstorm roll in.

10pm: Bedtime. I curl up in my tent, read a little with my headlamp, and pass out with a content feeling of gratefulness for today and an active feeling of excitement for tomorrow.

So that´s my day. Beautiful. Simple, perhaps. But so deep and fulfilling in so many ways.