Ask yourself this one question, dear reader. Answer with your instinct--that gut feeling deep in your core that has been slowly buried beneath public education, media sources, and social cues.
How long do you really think you can continue to live your current lifestyle?
...Okay. Two questions.
If you know that you cannot continue to live this way forever, then isn't better to start making changes now? Today? This very moment?
...unless you really are just waiting to die. Not a very joyous life plan, if you ask me.
Don't be afraid. Just go for it. Feel a little. Love a lot. 'Be the change you want to see in the world.' And if you don't want to see any changes, then open your eyes and your heart. The time is now, and 'it is too late to be pessimistic.' We need a revolution. A global one and a personal one. It starts with you and it ends with you, but you are not alone.
Please.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Things I Miss: Update (Wednesday, April 20--Day 162)
1. American Football
3. Oversized Cotton Hoodies
4. Pool
5. Yellowstone
6. World news
7. Being able to walk down the street without feeling objectified.
8. Being able to walk down the street without dodging a sleeping dog, a pack of fighting dogs, or whatever excrement said dogs left behind.
9. Being able to walk down a street where other people are smiling for no reason at all.
10. Being able to run down the street without being constantly terrified that I'm going to get hit by a speeding vehicle that doesn't acknowledge a pedestrian's right to space.
*I took Peanut Butter off the list for now. Maybe the food is better in Chile or maybe I have made it through rehab. But either way, the craving is gone.
El Desierto (Monday, April 18--Day 160)
What do you think of when you hear the word desert? What image comes to your mind? What feelings does this spark? Dry. Expansive. Lifeless. Hot. Nothingness. Death. Ruthless. Loneliness. Foreign. Oil. War. Bland. Salt. Fear. I thought all of these things before I decided to make my way to the north of Chile. The Atacama Desert. The driest place in the entire world. Truth be told, I had never seen or experienced a desert before this place. And while I had my predispositions, I truly had no idea what to expect. Throughout the past month, some of my preconceptions about deserts were verified. But more often than not, they were often challenged. Ongoing wars between Peru, Bolivia, and Chile have been fought over this land of 'nothing.' Tensions are still high, but Chile refuses to share its prized possession. So 'prized,' in fact, that the government must incentivize people and businesses to settle in this forsaken place with tax cuts and duty free goods. But the money spent on incentives, on drug trafficking, and border control seems to be worth it. What appears a lifeless stretch of land is actually flowing with energy and activity. In monetary terms, coal mines, energy production, and oceanic trading represent the life of Northern Chile. But on a deeper, more powerful level, this place acts as nature's liaison to mankind. Geyser fields. Oases of citrus trees. Hidden underground springs. Roaming guanacos. Moving clouds. Mountains that shine every possible shade of orange and yellow. Pockets of life in a lifeless expanse. Vibrant colors upon a bland canvas. The desert is nothing, and yet the desert is everything.
It would be easy enough to conclude from these observations that the desert is a mere conglomeration of contradictions. Its qualities are inconsistent, and it is pointless to attempt to make sense of it all. But I'm not going to take that route. It's too easy and quite frankly it doesn't do the desert any justice. If I said the desert contradicts itself, I would be implying that I understood the desert enough to draw such a general conclusion. But I don't know enough about the desert to make such a poignant statement, and from what I do know I can say that the desert is neither manipulative nor evasive enough to produce contradictions. It has secrets, but these secrets are not hidden. They are present, just waiting for us to open our eyes and minds enough to take notice. If we are able to do that, I believe that the desert will appear less as a foreign, suspicious universe and more like a powerful, trusting muse.
Okay okay. I'll step down from this cloud for a second to let you know that I have not, by any means, reached that stage of my relationship with the desert. Gurus and spiritual leaders spend years and years in its presence attempting to reach such a state of peace and clairvoyance. I've only been here for a matter of weeks, and some of those days were spent in air-conditioned buses and lush river valleys (well...lush by desert standards). But even so, I did experience enough to realize a thing or two about this landscape, this world, and my place in both.
First, let's just get this out of the way. People--real people--LIVE in the desert. Building upon the knowledge of previous generations and combining that with modern technology, people have adopted a lifestyle that fits this place. They navigate the dry endless hills, forming subtle roads that can only be understood by those who have traveled them before. They form settlements--both temporary and permanent--in places where water can be captured from the sea's morning mist or gathered from deep underground wells. They adapt to the excessive heat and to the apparent lifelessness by creating public spaces that provide shade and by decorating buildings with color and designs. People LIVE here, and they're not alone. Plants and animals have managed to settle in this harsh environment. Animals scavenge to survive and plants dig their roots deep into the dry soil. Life prevails.
Life prevails, but only as much as nature allows. In the end, every person, plant, and animal is powerless against La Pachamama. Flexible and creative as we may be, if the desert wants us dead then so be it. One can use the desert to escape from the rest of the world, but one cannot escape from the powerful desert itself. There is no where to hide. So be humble. Be grateful. Be respectful. We are in its powerful, expansive hands.
Powerful and expansive as the desert may be, it is neither monotonous nor stagnant. Yes there are parts where the sand dunes stretch on for endless miles. But there are times when you can walk for three hours and see the landscape shift five or six different times. Sandy hills. Salty flats. Rocky slopes. Violent cliffs. Crumbling towers. Looming mountains. The surface varies in space. The details change over time. From year to year and from season to season, a shift in the wind or an unexpected rain can cause massive alterations. New valleys will form as newly fallen water rushes over the hard, impenetrably surface. Hills and rocks move as erosion occurs and the earth trembles. Even from hour to hour, the desert can change. As the sun and the moon make their way across the sky, shadows form and stretch--revealing new crevices, noting subtle details, and causing a range of colors to appear. It's magical how the world can shift before your very eyes--as if nature is revealing a hidden message that only you can understand, if of course you take the time to notice.
So pay attention. Look. Feel. Listen. The world is always speaking to you. Nature is always at your side. In the desert, there is a silence unlike anything I have experienced. Unlike the 'silence' of the forests--where animals talk, leaves rustle, and winds whip--this silence fills your every pore and begs you to find a noise to break the vacuum. So you listen hard and you listen deep, and through it all, you find yourself.
A desert is not nothing. It is everything. Be with the desert, and you too become the world.
It would be easy enough to conclude from these observations that the desert is a mere conglomeration of contradictions. Its qualities are inconsistent, and it is pointless to attempt to make sense of it all. But I'm not going to take that route. It's too easy and quite frankly it doesn't do the desert any justice. If I said the desert contradicts itself, I would be implying that I understood the desert enough to draw such a general conclusion. But I don't know enough about the desert to make such a poignant statement, and from what I do know I can say that the desert is neither manipulative nor evasive enough to produce contradictions. It has secrets, but these secrets are not hidden. They are present, just waiting for us to open our eyes and minds enough to take notice. If we are able to do that, I believe that the desert will appear less as a foreign, suspicious universe and more like a powerful, trusting muse.
Okay okay. I'll step down from this cloud for a second to let you know that I have not, by any means, reached that stage of my relationship with the desert. Gurus and spiritual leaders spend years and years in its presence attempting to reach such a state of peace and clairvoyance. I've only been here for a matter of weeks, and some of those days were spent in air-conditioned buses and lush river valleys (well...lush by desert standards). But even so, I did experience enough to realize a thing or two about this landscape, this world, and my place in both.
First, let's just get this out of the way. People--real people--LIVE in the desert. Building upon the knowledge of previous generations and combining that with modern technology, people have adopted a lifestyle that fits this place. They navigate the dry endless hills, forming subtle roads that can only be understood by those who have traveled them before. They form settlements--both temporary and permanent--in places where water can be captured from the sea's morning mist or gathered from deep underground wells. They adapt to the excessive heat and to the apparent lifelessness by creating public spaces that provide shade and by decorating buildings with color and designs. People LIVE here, and they're not alone. Plants and animals have managed to settle in this harsh environment. Animals scavenge to survive and plants dig their roots deep into the dry soil. Life prevails.
Life prevails, but only as much as nature allows. In the end, every person, plant, and animal is powerless against La Pachamama. Flexible and creative as we may be, if the desert wants us dead then so be it. One can use the desert to escape from the rest of the world, but one cannot escape from the powerful desert itself. There is no where to hide. So be humble. Be grateful. Be respectful. We are in its powerful, expansive hands.
Powerful and expansive as the desert may be, it is neither monotonous nor stagnant. Yes there are parts where the sand dunes stretch on for endless miles. But there are times when you can walk for three hours and see the landscape shift five or six different times. Sandy hills. Salty flats. Rocky slopes. Violent cliffs. Crumbling towers. Looming mountains. The surface varies in space. The details change over time. From year to year and from season to season, a shift in the wind or an unexpected rain can cause massive alterations. New valleys will form as newly fallen water rushes over the hard, impenetrably surface. Hills and rocks move as erosion occurs and the earth trembles. Even from hour to hour, the desert can change. As the sun and the moon make their way across the sky, shadows form and stretch--revealing new crevices, noting subtle details, and causing a range of colors to appear. It's magical how the world can shift before your very eyes--as if nature is revealing a hidden message that only you can understand, if of course you take the time to notice.
So pay attention. Look. Feel. Listen. The world is always speaking to you. Nature is always at your side. In the desert, there is a silence unlike anything I have experienced. Unlike the 'silence' of the forests--where animals talk, leaves rustle, and winds whip--this silence fills your every pore and begs you to find a noise to break the vacuum. So you listen hard and you listen deep, and through it all, you find yourself.
A desert is not nothing. It is everything. Be with the desert, and you too become the world.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Pisagua, Chile: Past, Present, and Future (Tuesday April 12—Day 154)
Here in the present, we look to the past in the attempt to control, manipulate, and predict the future. Whether you view history as an infinite line or as a cyclical series, whether you live here and now or you live for the future, this relationship of past, present, and future is valid, applicable, and powerful. So where are we now and where are we going? To answer that, we must go to Pisagua, Chile.
Pisagua, Chile--a small coastal town roughly 300 kilometers south of the Peruvian border--has played an active role in nearly all of the major periods of Chilean history. In fact, I would even argue that this small South American seaside town can actually represent the historical progression of many people, communities, and cultures around the world.
Pisagua has had it all. Native tribes formed villiages here, taking advantage of the calm shores, protected banks, and prime fishing. Ancient remains and geogliffs can still be seen in Pisagua Viejo, a valley of ruins and rocks roughly 7km north of the town. During the time of the Spanish conquest, some of the earliest naval battles were fought on the beaches and cliffs of Pisagua. A military graveyard and well-maintained monuments peppering the northern banks of Pisagua pay homage to this proud historical moment. Once Chile secured control of this area, Pisagua became a prosperous port. One can still see the remains of the old train station that brought nitrate from Bolivia and of the old mansions and theater halls that housed and entertained the rich business owners of the day. When the world no longer needed Nitrate, Pisagua--like many Chilean towns involved in this international trade network--fell victim to the economic crash. Buildings fell into ruins and fires demolished this once bustling town, and Pisaguans began to gather and sell fish, algea, and bird droppings--jobs that are still done today amongst modern Pisaguans. Then, just as hope was spreading throughout Chile--just as progressive socialists and reformists in Northern cities began to gain power and propose positive changes--the tide turned for the worst and Pisagua, once again, found itself at the center of a new era. Pinochet and his supporters ruled for nearly 25 years. They ruled by force--capturing, torturing, killing, or exiling anyone whose beliefs countered theirs; and they ruled entirely--adapting the ¨earn money now, ask questions later¨ economic policy of the Chicago Boys. Pisagua, unfortunately, was more involved in the former. Rather than re-open its ports to respond to the international deman for Chile´s new copper mines, Pisagua expanded its prison and opened a concentration camp where thousands of men and women would spend their final years. In 1990, a mass-grave was found 5km North of town, but many bodies still go unaccounted for. A memorial and haunting graveyard no stand in this place, in the hopes that ¨nunca màs¨ will such atrocities occur. Now, Pisagua is a small town of less than 350 people, most of whom have recently moved here to live a tranquil life as a fisherman (in fact, only 6 people were born and raised in this town). Three years ago, the goverment began a public works program to improve the 40kms of road between Pisagua and the main highway and to provide a public transportation route that runs three times per week between Iquique and Pisagua. I think this was a way to placate complaining citizens who were asking to re-open Pisagua´s port, but that is just a guess. All and all, Pisagua is still a small, off-the-map-town that has very little access to the rest of Chile and very little access to the rest of the world (save for the algea and fish that they sell to a middle-man in Iquique who then turns around and sells it to a distributer in Japan).
And that´s Pisagua--a small town with a tremendous history--some of it proud and some of it dark. But here´s the thing with Pisagua: it´s history is our history. It´s history is everyone´s history. With the global communication system and the essentially borderless trading network, the world is becoming seamless and flattened (not to be confused with transparent and equal). For us in the States, this history touches us personally, considering our economic and political practices directly influenced what occured in Pisagua over the past 200 years and considering that we have countless small towns and one motor city that have declined like Pisagua because of outsourcing and shifting economics.
So if their history is our history and our presents are intertwined, then what does that say about our future? That, you need to know, is up to you.We are not all going to agree on what is best for our future; we may not even agree on what was good from our past. But the most important thing for then, now, and later is that we think about it. We live in a world where ideas can be shared at anytime and with anyone. Groups, movements, and networks form at every moment and with people from every corner of the world. We can get our hands on practically any piece of information at any time of the day. So...do it then. Learn what people are saying and doing. Talk with those who share your beliefs and talk with those who think differently. Learn what is happening around the world and learn about the events that led to our current state. And think. Don´t let the lessons of the past go unlearned. Don´t let the exemplars of history go unrewarded. Don´t let thsoe who have fought and died for their passions lose their lives in vain. It is our right and our privilege as human beings to think. But we are losing our desire and our ability to do so. We are losing it to an institutionalized and safe education system, to overstimulating and desensitizing entertainment sources, and to an individualized and egocentric life track. You think about paying your taxes in a few weeks and about how you have to run an extra 15 minutes because you ate that cupcake last night, but you don´t think about how your actions impact the world and how your past has brought you here. Every day you spend as a passive passender on this planet you directly contribute to the invalidation of our past, the destruction of our present, and the instability of our future. Think about Pisagua as an image of your past and use it as a guide to think ourselves a better future.
Then, once you are done thinking...do something about it.
Pisagua, Chile--a small coastal town roughly 300 kilometers south of the Peruvian border--has played an active role in nearly all of the major periods of Chilean history. In fact, I would even argue that this small South American seaside town can actually represent the historical progression of many people, communities, and cultures around the world.
Pisagua has had it all. Native tribes formed villiages here, taking advantage of the calm shores, protected banks, and prime fishing. Ancient remains and geogliffs can still be seen in Pisagua Viejo, a valley of ruins and rocks roughly 7km north of the town. During the time of the Spanish conquest, some of the earliest naval battles were fought on the beaches and cliffs of Pisagua. A military graveyard and well-maintained monuments peppering the northern banks of Pisagua pay homage to this proud historical moment. Once Chile secured control of this area, Pisagua became a prosperous port. One can still see the remains of the old train station that brought nitrate from Bolivia and of the old mansions and theater halls that housed and entertained the rich business owners of the day. When the world no longer needed Nitrate, Pisagua--like many Chilean towns involved in this international trade network--fell victim to the economic crash. Buildings fell into ruins and fires demolished this once bustling town, and Pisaguans began to gather and sell fish, algea, and bird droppings--jobs that are still done today amongst modern Pisaguans. Then, just as hope was spreading throughout Chile--just as progressive socialists and reformists in Northern cities began to gain power and propose positive changes--the tide turned for the worst and Pisagua, once again, found itself at the center of a new era. Pinochet and his supporters ruled for nearly 25 years. They ruled by force--capturing, torturing, killing, or exiling anyone whose beliefs countered theirs; and they ruled entirely--adapting the ¨earn money now, ask questions later¨ economic policy of the Chicago Boys. Pisagua, unfortunately, was more involved in the former. Rather than re-open its ports to respond to the international deman for Chile´s new copper mines, Pisagua expanded its prison and opened a concentration camp where thousands of men and women would spend their final years. In 1990, a mass-grave was found 5km North of town, but many bodies still go unaccounted for. A memorial and haunting graveyard no stand in this place, in the hopes that ¨nunca màs¨ will such atrocities occur. Now, Pisagua is a small town of less than 350 people, most of whom have recently moved here to live a tranquil life as a fisherman (in fact, only 6 people were born and raised in this town). Three years ago, the goverment began a public works program to improve the 40kms of road between Pisagua and the main highway and to provide a public transportation route that runs three times per week between Iquique and Pisagua. I think this was a way to placate complaining citizens who were asking to re-open Pisagua´s port, but that is just a guess. All and all, Pisagua is still a small, off-the-map-town that has very little access to the rest of Chile and very little access to the rest of the world (save for the algea and fish that they sell to a middle-man in Iquique who then turns around and sells it to a distributer in Japan).
And that´s Pisagua--a small town with a tremendous history--some of it proud and some of it dark. But here´s the thing with Pisagua: it´s history is our history. It´s history is everyone´s history. With the global communication system and the essentially borderless trading network, the world is becoming seamless and flattened (not to be confused with transparent and equal). For us in the States, this history touches us personally, considering our economic and political practices directly influenced what occured in Pisagua over the past 200 years and considering that we have countless small towns and one motor city that have declined like Pisagua because of outsourcing and shifting economics.
So if their history is our history and our presents are intertwined, then what does that say about our future? That, you need to know, is up to you.We are not all going to agree on what is best for our future; we may not even agree on what was good from our past. But the most important thing for then, now, and later is that we think about it. We live in a world where ideas can be shared at anytime and with anyone. Groups, movements, and networks form at every moment and with people from every corner of the world. We can get our hands on practically any piece of information at any time of the day. So...do it then. Learn what people are saying and doing. Talk with those who share your beliefs and talk with those who think differently. Learn what is happening around the world and learn about the events that led to our current state. And think. Don´t let the lessons of the past go unlearned. Don´t let the exemplars of history go unrewarded. Don´t let thsoe who have fought and died for their passions lose their lives in vain. It is our right and our privilege as human beings to think. But we are losing our desire and our ability to do so. We are losing it to an institutionalized and safe education system, to overstimulating and desensitizing entertainment sources, and to an individualized and egocentric life track. You think about paying your taxes in a few weeks and about how you have to run an extra 15 minutes because you ate that cupcake last night, but you don´t think about how your actions impact the world and how your past has brought you here. Every day you spend as a passive passender on this planet you directly contribute to the invalidation of our past, the destruction of our present, and the instability of our future. Think about Pisagua as an image of your past and use it as a guide to think ourselves a better future.
Then, once you are done thinking...do something about it.
Basta, Chile! Habla! (Friday April 8—Day 150)
Part 1: Written on a Friday night, around 9pm...
It is so remarkably easy to visit Chile without ever having to be in Chile. You can get away without speaking Spanish, and if you visit all the pretty places then you can get by without knowing the culture or the history. Yeah, the Chileans may call you a ¨rich gringo¨ behind your back if you can only say ¨Hola¨ and ¨¿Cuàntos cuesta?¨, but as long as you eat whatever food they give you and buy the occasional trinket then they´ll love you. Don´t worry if you don´t know about the US´s role in Allende´s death, the atrocities of the recent dictatorship, or the current state of corruption and exploitation. Because these subjects won`t come up. Do you know why? Because it is so remarkably easy to live in Chile without ever having to be in Chile.
This is a country with a history of debt and economic crises, yet people live off of credit cards and spent their paychecks on shoes and cell phones. This is a country with a history of corruption and power struggles, but news programs and TV shows are filled with updates on car crashes and tasteless music videos. This is a country with a very recent, very dark history of military dictatorship and mass killings, yet the majority of historical sources (museums and texts) as well as informal political discussions seems to skim over this twenty-five year period.And for me, it is this last scenario that bothers me the most.
As an anthropology major with a history teacher as a best friend, I believe that in order to understand a people, a culture, or a society you have to understand their history. Before coming to Chile, I did my homework. Books, wikipedia, you name it. I had a general understanding of Chile`s history before coming here and I was eager to take advantage of my travels to gain first hand access and personal responses of Chile`s past, present, and future. So imagine my surprise when the National Historical Museums in Santiago stopped their cronological displays in the early 70s with the death of Allende. Imagine my dissapointment when the only book I could find in the university bookstores that vaguely refered to the dictatorship was an anthology on the ¨Izquierda y Derecha en Chile.¨ And now imagine my extreme dismay to find out I have traveled all the way to Iquique--a city greatly impacted by the regime and located a mere 3 hours from the site of one of the biggest mass gravesites and concentration camps in Chile--only to find out I cannot find a single travel agency or public transportation to bring me there.
I am neither dumb nor insensitive. I know that this is a heavy subject that touches the hearts and souls of many people. The dictatorship ended a mere twenty years ago, and nearly everyone knows someone who was killed and tortured or who performed the killings and the torturing. It is not a happy topic and it is not something I can openly ask any stranger. But the fact that no one wants to talk about this seems far more disturbing than if everyone were spilling out each awful detail. They cannot erase their past, even if they refuse to acknowledge it. They cannot forgive and forget--as South Africa´s Truth and Reconciliation Committee has claimed to achieve in a process that influenced Chile´s post-dictatorship government--without having the important dialogues. They cannot avoid the powerful, albeit subtle, distrust that constantly glosses every interaction, without getting over the fear of offending a stranger or losing a friend through these necesary conversations.
Look, I know we do the same thing in the United States. I know that there are some people who would rather read Danielle Steel novels than a social commentary, who would rather blindly consume than think about the impact of their purchase, who would rather believe what CNN and FOXNEWS tell them than really investigate our country´s current economic state or international policies. But that´s not everyone. You know why I love my country? Because for every five people sitting back and losing themselves in the system, there is one person asking questions, talking about the tough subjects, proposing changes, and making a difference. Don´t forget where we come from. We are a country of revolutionaries. Don´t forget how we´ve grown. We were a country of rebels and fighters. Know your history, and don´t let that spirit die. I´ve seen what is happening to a country that doesn`t ask questions or have dialogues. Keep our history of rebellion alive and maintain that culture of passion and critique, or we will fall victim to the same disease that is killing (or maybe already has killed) Chile.
Part 2: Written on a Saturday morning, around 1am...
Get a few zesty, free-thinking Chileans drunk, and the conversations come out. Why don´t people talk about what happened in the past? Why do people waste their money on clothes and cell phones? Because the past doesn`t matter and the future may never come. Because in Chile (and in all of South America, really), here is the reality: the past is too ugly to talk about and the world is so unpredictable (natural disasters and military coups) that they may all die tomorrow. For Chileans (and for most people in South America), what matters is here and now.
This is what I was told tonight. Plain, simple, and spelled out. Buddha would be proud. Maybe. The more I thought about this explanation, the more my experience over the past few months started to make sense. That`s why there is such an emphasis on friends and family. That is why every goodbye comes with such a dramatic display of tears and kisses. That is why the food is so rich and delicious and heavy. That is why the desire to work hard in a career seems to be lacking. That is why there appears to be so little citizen participation. That is why they desire so much government support for food and health. That is why people of all ages appear inactive. That is why they party all night and sleep all morning. That is why they treat every stranger like they are best friends. That is why they don`t talk about the past, and that is why they don`t plan for the future. Here and now.
Okay. Fine. Understood.
But correct me if I`m wrong....but can`t you still have those important conversations right here and right now? Can`t you live in the present, but still consider the past and think about the future? Can't we find some middle way between the here-and-now-Chileans and the plan-for-later-Americans?
Enough excuses, Chile. Talk already.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Putre: Una reflecion El campo y las montañas (Wednesday April 6..Day 148)
A series of seemingly meaningless events came together in order to bring me to this place. I chose to stay in Arica for a few more days rather than share a rental car with three other people in order to take a three day trip accross the National Park. I met a man in the plaza in Arica who tried to sell me an expensive tour, but instead told me about a man in Putre named Oriol who is the most talked about guide in the area. I made a reservation in Hostel Cali in Putre but when I arrived I received a cold, harsh reception and chose to look elsewhere. I asked a man on the street, and he told me that he has a hostel and tour company and that I should come see if I like the rooms—his name was Oriol! The hostel was filled with three other people, a young french couple and an older Chilean, who all wanted to visit the park together. It started out perfectly, and it got better and better.
For one, the hostel itself was perfect. I haven`t written too many entries on my experiences in hostels because I have been moving so much and sleeping in so many different places that it seems silly to comment on them all. But this place was different. It wasn`t that it was particularly clean or sparkly; there was no free breakfast and the showers weren`t always warm. But the buena onda (good vibes) of this place were so special and so unique, and I doubt I will be able to top it. It felt like home. I could come and go as I please. I had full access to the kitchen and we would spend our meals and free time around the dining room table, talking about current events and sharing opinions. The nights were spent playing dominoes around the fire, and laughing over silly things and lucky plays. And Oriol, the distinguished guide, gave me endless suggestions and contacts on where to go and who to see throughout the rest of my time here in Chile. Simple. And wonderful.
And then there is Alberto, a Chilean in his late forties. After years of working and even more years of dreaming, he finally was able to take his ideal vacation to Putre. I am so lucky to have had the opportunity to see this place through his excited, open eyes. His enthusiasm was contageous, and it allowed me to truly appreciate the unique beauty of Putre and Lauca National Park. Without him there, I may have been too numb and overwhelmed to really notice. Even more than his reaction to this beautiful place, his overall attitude truly impacted me in a positive way. He lives in Santiago and works in an office job; but he has avoided being wrapped up in the fast pace, individualized, passive-thinking, consumer culture. He believes we are all the same, and doesn`t prejudge people before meeting them. He greats everyone with a smile, whether he knows them or not, because he believes a smile is contageous and that your simple gesture can change someone`s life. He talks about difficult subjects like the dictatorship, the current Chilean government, and our environmental state and he shares his valid, deep opinions in the hopes that people will become uncomfortable and informed enough to develop their own opinions. He believes he can choose his attitude, and is grateful for those moments when he is bothered or annoyed (like when people talk loudly on cell phones on the bus) because it gives him the chance to overcome his negative state and find his calm center. He reads people and he empathizes with them. He rediscovers his city by wandering the streets, finding new places, and paying attention to tiny details like smells and textures. He can spend the whole day sitting on a park bench and watching people. He learns to listen to himself, and to what he wants to do. He has spark. He smiles. He has just the energy I need in order to truly enjoy the next month of my travel.
And then there are the mountains. Oh my...the mountains here. Putre, a small town at 3500 meters (a little less than 11,000 feet ), is a three hour drive from sea-level Arica along a windy mountain road. We climbed and climbed and climed along this engineering masterpiece that, in reality, is built along a route that has transported people for centuries and centuries, evidence of the giant geogliffs lining the cliffs, the crumbling walls spotting the valleys, and the old churches at each village. Once we broke through the coud line, we entered a completely new world—fields and fields of dry mountain tops reflecting every shade of brown, orange, and yellow; deep gorges where streams trickle through occasional green vegitation; hillsides of small wildflowers, cacti, and guanacoes; large snowcapped volcano tops in the distance; and believe it or not farmlands of corn and alfalfa crops. This is where the mountains meet el campo. Using the same methods, and at times the same infrastructire, as indigenous groups centuries ago, the people hadterraced the mountain side making the cliffs and hills stable and well irrigated places to grow corn and alfalfa. Just like the rice farmers in Sapa, Vietnam who had terraces the green hillsides, these places were I walk and hike were places where these people work and live. What a sight and what an experience. I had the freedom to walk through fields along mountain sides and to peak mountaintops following sheep herding trails. I could take in the scenery with every available sense—the smell of the flowers, the sight of the mountain fields, the sound of trickling streams, the touch of the prickly cactus and the soft sand, the tast of the fresh crisp air. Everything was so fresh and so crisp. Between the high altitude and the overpowering sense of the grandness of nature—I felt high, I felt free, I felt humbled, I felt happy.
I don`t know what this means for the rest of my travels. Maybe it reaffirms my desire to spend my time in el campo. Maybe this is a way for me to transition back into my desire to hike forests and peak mountains. Maybe this is a reminder of how spending my days in small towns and in nature makes me much happier than walking through city streets. But I am here now, and all I know is this place is magical and I am the luckiest person in the world.
¨Asì es la vida...lo que busca, encuentra.¨
¨This is the life, here. What you look for, you find.¨
-Goat Herder I met while hiking
The reality learned on each farm (Thursday March 31—Day 142)
I just spent 33 hours on a bus from Santiago to Arica. I have learned to really appreciate these long trips (although this one may have been a little too lng for comfort), because they force me to slow down and reflect upon what I have been seeing and experiencing. This busride marks a major transition for me. Like I said before, I turned down the opportunity to work on another farm because I wanted to see the North of Chile. So here I am. On a bus going North. I`ll start in Arica, which i son the border of Chile and Peru, and work my way down to Santiago where I will fly home on May 2nd. But before I commit myself entirely to the reality of the Northern desert, I want to reflect upon the realities I have been blessed to experience on farms over the past five months. Clearly, there is far too much to say in words or put in writing, and obviously I will be continuing to decompress this experience for years to come. So consider this a brainstorming session, rather than a final thesis.
What is real in San Jan: I learned that it is never too late to change your life. After spending years in an office working as investment bankers, Pedro and his wife moved to a plot of ragged land and started to create a beautiful educational farm. They were brave and they chose a path different from the rest of their family, and they are happy. But in order to succeed, they needed help. They do use some books and online resources (although I think they should take advantage of other people`s published knowledge and read more), but the majority of the help they receive is international. WWOOFing has given them the chance to use the skills and knowledge of people from around the world. With our help, and with their ideas and their guidance, we have been able to transform this desolate piece of land into a farm. But we have to think long term: even after three years of intense hard work, the farm isn`t perfect. So you must take one day at a time—you must enjoy the food you eat and talk about how it was made, you must go to town each day to buy what you need and talk with your neighbors, you must give your body its daily siesta so it can continue to function for you, you must slow down and love what is around you, and you must work hard with those around you. And that´s the only way anything great—allbeit difficult—can be accomplished.
What is real in El Bolson: These are some of the happiest people I have ever met in my entire life. Here, at the heart of their reality is their community. As Blanca Rosa said, everyone here more or less shares the same vision—respect for life, awe of nature, love of each other. There is a feeilng of warmth and generosity in the air, and it is because everyone appreciates and utilizes the skills and offerings of their neighbors. In the market, every niche is filled. Crasfts. Seeds. Music. Entertainment. Home products. Food. Whatever you are good at, you embrace and you share. That is community. You do favors for each other. You have conversations about important issues. You support other people`s projects. You live comfortably, and you take only what you need. You live with nature, and you live with each other. In this reality, everyone has a sparkle in their eye.
What is real in Tunuyan: The best things in life are worth fighting for. Here, nothing comes easily. These women gave up their comfortable lives in the United States to begin their own farm in a small conservative town in Argentina. For them, there is no other way to live. At the end of the day, reality is food. Reality is producing what you need to surive. Reality is living in relation with nature. Reality is learning to listen to yourself and to love yourself. But while you can make your own decisions and create your own life, you are still part of a greater global reality—one that you cannot control, but you can respond to. In this current global reality, we are all heading for a very big collapse. Those who live at the highest levels will have the furthest to fall, and those who live at the lowest levels may not survive. This global reality, unfortunately, is largely the result of selfish actions taken by leaders in the United States (leaders of the past and of the present). This reality broke my heart, and made me bitter. But I cannot control this reality, I can only respond. And I must respond, because the more you learn, the more responsability you have. But pessimism and isolation will not work for me, although they appear to work for those on the farm. For me, the only reality I want to live is one of inspiration through optimism and of happiness through laughter, gardening, music, dance, and nature.
What is real in Pucon: The reality of a farmer is one of hard work. It is all-encompassing. Farming is a business—and you must always be aware of your financial situation—but it is also a way of life—and you must live a simple life in union with nature. These farmers have no time to advocate for themselves against the governments and big-businesses that are taking advantage of them. But they choose this life because it is beautiful, pure, and wonderful. The unhappiness and tension that resides on thsi farm, however, comes from three factors: the constant desire to buy more land, the self-imposed obligations to their family, their unwillingness to really participate in the larger community. I believe that farming could be the happiest lifestyle, however only if you are a farmer who can share with his community, who can make his own life choices without feeling indebted to family, and who works to live comfortably rather than to keep accumulating more and more. Only then will their reality be filled with that spark and optimism the life of a farmer deserves.
...at least that`s what seems real for now.
Living life on the line: earthquakes in Chile (Monday March 28—Day 139)
Chileans are obsessed with all things earthquakes: tsunamis, trembles, volcano eruptions. The smallest activity at all makes national headlines and the biggest cotastrophes becomes conversation topics for years to come. And it makes sense, I suppose. Volcanic activty really is part of daily life here. You either live under the shadows of a somewhat dormant snow capped volcano, you sleep through weekly tremors and mini-earthshakes, or you live in a town that still has very obvious earthquake or tsunami damage. I would consider earthquakes to be one of the most fascinating parts of Chilean culture, and one of the only elements that unites this large, diverse country. But unlike other cultural elements, this one can kill. And it does.
Chile has a long history of destructive earthquakes and volcano eruptions. I won`t give you the rundown; if you`re interested, google it. The one that everyone talks about, even more than the volcanic eruption in Chalten, happened last February. An 8.9 quake near Concepcion that caused massive infrastructure damage accross the southern half of the country as well as hundreds of deaths along the coastline due to tsunamis. It has been really interesting to live in this reality of earthquakes over the past two months. Everyone has an opinion about it: the government didn`t do enough to warn its people about the tsunami even though they knew it was coming; the government has(n´t) dont anything to help these families get back on their feet; mother nature is too strong for us to predict so we ought to accept our inevitable doom and live respectfully of her. The range.
But more than mere conversation topics, the reality of earthquakes has been something very tangible: something I could see, touch, and feel. Since I have arrived in Chile, I have probably experienced seven or eight earthshakes—some larger than others. I am not scared, even though I know it doesn`t take much before a tiny shake becomes a major quake. But earth`s plates have been moving for millions of years, and they will continue to do so. What we have experienced is normal, and the best thing to do is remain calm and float through it. Currently I am in Talca—a city three hours south of Santiago and two hours of North of Conception. Not only is it in the heart of Chile`s agricultural center, it is also at the heart of Chile`s volcanic activity. Walking through some of the streets is like walking through a war zone. Crumbling buildings. Shattered sidewalks. Piles of rubble. It is a challenge to live here, but people get by. They have done a good job recovering from the past earthquake: the transportation infrastructure is back and running and the majority of displaced people appear to have homes again. Of course, the tourist industry has been slow to gain speed. Four of the five hotels I called to make a reservation are no longer active because of the earthquake, and two of the major (and only) sites (the wine museum and the train station) that I wanted to see are in reparation. But no complaints here. It is better that the people and the government put their monetary and physical effort into helping the real people to recover, rather than pampering its incoming foreigners. Besides, it has been really great way to see how a town (and a country) can live under the threat of earthquakes and with the very real need to respond.
La vida en la universidad (Friday March 25—Day 136)
During my time at Boston University, or even years befote, I had always heard that college was a full-on, life changing experience...that it was more than classes and grades, but it was about community and being part of something, about growing up and learning about yourself, about making friends and developing relationships. What I learned in college, I will never forget; those lessons will stay with me for the rest of my life, and they will continue to shape who I become. My years at BU taught me how to think critically, how to manage my time, how to be a leader, when to be a follower, how to be creative, how to ask questions, how to set goals, how to be spontaneous, how to be a dedicated member of a group, how to be a global citizen, and how to be a friend. There have been times throughout this trip when I have really missed being at BU. I am not one of those people who will live the rest of their lives reliving the ´glory days´ of college; but I am someone who will continue to appreciate all that I learned and experienced during those four years both inside and most importantly outside the classroom.
When the bus drove through Valdivia, Chile a week and a half ago on my way from Pucon to Chiloe, I happened to be in one of those college-reminissing-moods. I had read that Valdivia was a very active college town, and I had met a lot of energetic foreign exchange students who were taking classes at the Austral University in Valdivia. So when I passed through, everything began to remind me of Boston. The old buildings. The young people walking on the streets. The groups of students sitting together on benches and under trees. The museums and cultural attractions. I decided then and there that after Chiloe, I would come back to Valdivia and really see what it was like. So what was it like? Well it is no Boston.
Yes, the city is full of young people—but they are mostly high school students hanging out on street corners and in malls because they have nothing better to do with their time. And yes it has cultural offerings, but mostly these are museums and boat tours aimed at tourists. And yes there are restaurants, bars, and cafes, but these fill up only at nighttime and are not utilized for intense debates or midday study sessions. The university´s presense didn`t trickle down into the foundation of the city, which I think is a shame that this population of free-thinking, enthusiastic, driven students isn´t utilized. Unless of course these students aren`t free-thinking, enthusiastic, or driven. That might be too much to assume. But let`s take a look at the university, then.
I walked through the university on a somewhat rainy afternoon, and was impressed by the layout. Green spaces. Sports courts. Gardens of trees and flowers. Covered walkways between buildings (this is one of the rainiest places in Chile). It is one of the only campuses in Chile that follows that Oxford-American campus model. But the walkways and streets were mostly dead, and I assumed most people were inside classrooms or cafeterias. I headed right for the student center, expecting to walk in to a hall of noise and activity—clubs announcing upcoming events, plays, dances, and discussions, groups handing out flyers or selling baked goods, people speaking passionately for one cause or another. But there was nothing. There were a few students spotting the tables to the right and one lonely bulletin board lining the wall on the left. The board had two pieces of paper—one of which was old. Outside near the busstop there was one group selling tickets to a music festival (just what we need. More regeatone) and one flyer advertising the student communist club (of course they would be the ones to organize). The only class building that appeared to have any life at all was the school of architecture. The dorm buildings and cafeteria—of which there are minimal because most people live and eat off campus with family or friends—were basically empty. One of the few universities in Chile with open space and meeting places, the Austral University had all the potential to be a lively, bustling, motivating place where young people get together and learn how to be members of a community and citizens of the world. If this isn`t happening here...is it happening in other universities in Chile?
Alright, before I get too critical, I`ll get off my high horse for a second. Maybe the ´university as a full-on life experience´ isn´t part of the culture here. Maybe the youth learn leadership in other places, at home or at work. Maybe they are so warm and personal that they don`t need a college to provide them the opporunity to make life-long friends; maybe they do that on their own. And maybe their emphasis on family meals and latenight bar meetings has taught them how to ask questions, listen to opinions, and think critically. Okay. Maybe. But I am not going to bet on it. In the United States, the university is an institutionalized way to transform our youth into adults. It isn`t perfect. I can attest to that. While I learned to think critically and question my surroundings, others learned how to do keg stands and cross the street while talking on their iphone. Regardless, that is life. You get out of it what you want. At least for us, the opportunity to grow and change and learn is available, emphasized, and treasured. By not having this structure built into their social system, Chile may be missing out on a priceless opportunity to make active citizens of its passive youth. But in order for this theory to be worth anything at all, it means that our youth—yes, you guys at home in the States—better step up to the plate. Prove me right and start being active citizens or else all we have is a globalized population of lazy consumers who just spent $200,000 for a piece of paper and liver cancer. Perfect.
Isla Mechuque: Extreme community (Wednesday March 23—Day 134)
The last 48 hours were filled with so many “well that just happened” moments and “Holy cow, my life is fantastic” realizations that I can barely wrap my head around it all. When I first planned to come to Chiloe, there was one place I really wanted to go: Isla Mechuque. Guidebooks describe it as a “flashback experience” and numerous people have told me that it is a place I would go and stay forever. Sold. (Un)fortunately, it is a little off the beaten path, and I could tell immediately that getting there would be a bit of a challenge. There was one tour group in town that occasionally offers trips, but I was not about to go searching through the city of Castro during the low season of tourism to find 10 eager foreigners who want to pay 20,000 pesos to spend a few hours on a remote island, eating curantro, huddling together in the rain, and listening to some obnoxious guide talk through a microphone. No. Not my style. But where there is a will, there is a way…and trust me...there was a pretty strong will.
Let me just fill you in on the basic premise of this place. I may not be able to get you on the same page, but maybe I can get you reading the same book. Isla Mechuque is one of four small islands located 45 km off the Eastern coast of the island Chiloe, the large Chilean Island off the Patagonian coast. Of these four tiny islands, Mechuque is the largest and most populated with 128 families. Añihue, the next largest, has 78 families. There is no regularly scheduled public transportation to and from this island. Instead, there is a network of privately owned lanchas that make the trip 2, 3, maybe 4 times a week. No one on the main island really knows the schedule of the lanchas. It would appear that only Mechuquens and their food suppliers are aware of the exact intricacies of the lanchas. Apart from the occasional trip to see family on the mainland or the rare need to buy something particular (like a stove, for example), the people on Mechuque don´t really interact much with the mainland. The majority of the families are self-sufficient, producing what they need on their own family plot to survive. We are not talking about farmers who raise crops to sell to their neighbors or to some distant community. On Mechuque, life is survival. Pure and simple. Emphasis on simple. They only have electricity from 7pm to midnight, and there are maybe half a dozen cars on the island. They have a hospital with one nurse, a weekly dentist, and a monthly doctor and they have a school with about 20 students. They live with what they need; no more, no less.
If you asked me how I felt after my first few hours on the island, I would have told you I stumbled upon Paradise. I very well could have. Maybe it was the journey—a long three hour boat ride navigating through a network of small green islands. Maybe it was the weather—I saw sunshine for the first time in nearly a week. Maybe it was the people—I got to the island without any idea of where I would sleep that night and the first woman I met off the boat said “Well, Child, you can sleep in my house, of course!”. Maybe it was the run—the feeling of freedom and accomplishment after running from one side of the island to the other over a large hill on Mechuque´s only dirt road. Or maybe it was the view—from the top of Mechuque´s hill I could clearly see the chain of four islands, scattered with small family farmhouses and working fields, surrounded by clear blue wáter, and dominated by the ever-present Andes mountain range in the distance. Surely it was a combination of all of these elements, topped with the shocking realization that I was about to experience a way of life I have never before imagined.
Two days later, I got on the morning lancha to make my way back to the mainland. By now, my opinions had changed a little. I still felt that this was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen in my entire life. However, I could say with certainty that I had no desire to stay there forever. It is kind of ironic, I think. After weeks and weeks of raving about the need for community—how community will solve all our problems and bring us pure happiness—I lived the reality of a very small commuity. And all I can is that it is EXHAUSTING. Everyone knows absolutely everything about everyone. There are no secrets. There is no where to hide. I am not exagerating. Let´s take your medical history, for example. I spent a day helping out the island´s only nurse: a 20 year old girl who is in charge of every family on each of the four islands. She spent the day prescribing people aspirin, giving them their government-issued-nutrient-filled-milk-powder, and talking to them about their neighbors´mental and physical problems. I spent the night trying to justify why I choose to travel alone, to take my afternoon walks alone, to run alone, to eat alone. I read on a sign in the doctor`s office that their advice for having mental health is to take time for yourself, to learn to live for your own happiness; yet there is no privacy and there is no way to advócate for yourself. If you leave, you are a traitor. If you try to live independently, you are a crazy recluse. If you stay, you are hooked for life.
This is not a bad way of life, by any means. Everyone is incredibly friendly, whether by choice or peer pressure. After all, if you aren´t friendly everyone will know and everyone will complain. And if and when these global problems hit and we are all left without food or oil, the island of Mechuque will survive. But still, something was lacking. Like the farm in Tunuyan, their life was based on simplicity and survival. The empty feeling I got from both places was the same: life has to be about more than just survival. It was as if they were too self-sufficient. The community was so disconnected from the rest of the world, or even from the rest of Chile, that no one felt the need to learn about other cultures or other ideas. On paper, it was a community; but in practice, it was a series of self-sufficient people who did not really need each other. So I am updating my idea of community. A community—the ideal community that will save us—has to be a network of interconnected and interdependent people. They have to share with each other and to learn from each other. They have to share with outside communities (national and international) and to learn from outside communities. Because if we all resort to this other extreme, I think we`ll go crazy.
¨Las personas son como pajaros estas dias. Pero yo…no…yo soy una piedra. Estoy aquì y siempre voy a estoy aquì¨
¨People are like birds these days. But me, no, I am a rock. I am here and I will always be here¨
-Woman on the boat ride over to Isla Mechuque
Chiloe: Agua, agua, por todos lados (Tuesday, March 22-day 133)
Curiosity brought me to Chiloe. I hadn´t intended to visit, but the more I heard about its unique culture and its particular way of life, the more my interest grew. I had painted an image in my mind before I arrived on the island. Seafood, old churches, and rain. My expectations were far-surpassed, to say the least, and the image I painted fell far short of the vibrant reality that I experienced. And yet, I can easily sum up my reaction with one simple word: water.
Water is everywhere on Chiloe. It has impacted the history of this mystical place and it infultrates every possible element of present life. Water is omnipresent, and you cannot escape its influence. Chiloe, a large network of islands off the southern coast of Chile, is only accesable by ferry. There is no bridge leading to and from the mainland, and there are no roads connecting the main island with its smaller surrounding plots of land. The large majority of its 150,000 inhabitants live on the large island, which is scattered with large villages that are connected by an impressive network of roads. Public transporation can get you everywhere you need to go, and the bus system is well integrated with the ferry system that transports people, goods, and vehicles between the other islands. The houses are built on stilts to withstand the rain, the flooding, and the tides. Their diet depends on the fish of the ocean and the potatoes of the ground. Both, of course, dependent on water. The men work on the docks or on the boats; the women work in the fields or harvesting clams. The economy, the livelihood, the mentality, everything. Water.
Never before have I experienced this kind of lifestyle. It`s all-encompassing and it is fascinating. All I can say...good thing I like seafood and don`t mind the rain.
Water is everywhere on Chiloe. It has impacted the history of this mystical place and it infultrates every possible element of present life. Water is omnipresent, and you cannot escape its influence. Chiloe, a large network of islands off the southern coast of Chile, is only accesable by ferry. There is no bridge leading to and from the mainland, and there are no roads connecting the main island with its smaller surrounding plots of land. The large majority of its 150,000 inhabitants live on the large island, which is scattered with large villages that are connected by an impressive network of roads. Public transporation can get you everywhere you need to go, and the bus system is well integrated with the ferry system that transports people, goods, and vehicles between the other islands. The houses are built on stilts to withstand the rain, the flooding, and the tides. Their diet depends on the fish of the ocean and the potatoes of the ground. Both, of course, dependent on water. The men work on the docks or on the boats; the women work in the fields or harvesting clams. The economy, the livelihood, the mentality, everything. Water.
Never before have I experienced this kind of lifestyle. It`s all-encompassing and it is fascinating. All I can say...good thing I like seafood and don`t mind the rain.
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