Dylan's here in Santiago, accompanying me on my last week here and learning his way around the city. We're staying with my cousin Mimi at her house in the suburban hills to accommodate Dylan's running needs, which puts us about an hour outside of the city.
Monday evening we had dinner in town with a few friends, staying out until the comparatively early hour of 11pm. The metro had closed by that hour, (still silly, given that night activities in Chile don't begin till several hours after), and we made it to the terminal station by bus. There we waited nearly an hour for the micro (bus) that would take us to Mimi's, Dylan shivering in the only jacket he'd brought. The streets were quiet, or as quiet as a main city artery can be, and a few unsavory characters or wild-haired homeless people slowly passed. Two others accompanied us with greater patience than I had, asserting that the bus would come. It did, after one of the women had been waiting an hour twenty minutes, only for the driver to remove the route sign, and jump out to stretch his legs. The bus was out of service, he alerted us; the route was closed for the night. The two women expressed a glimmer of frustration, and then took it in stride. The younger one, hearing that I had been studying at the Catholic University, proceeded to write her number and email on a random slip of paper. "I study tourism," she told me, "if you need any help, let me know."
I had been getting increasingly nervous for the past half hour; Mimi's house was really far away and there was only one bus route that passed by. The collectivo service had already stopped for the night, a taxi would cost near $30. The kind advise of the two Santiaguinos got us on another bus that would supposedly drop us off closer to Mimi's. The bus driver asserted that we were going in the right direction, and acquiesqued to alert us when to get off. A very small man of an uncertain age (perhaps 30?), very poorly dressed baggy pants and a sweater, holding a home-made drum (made of a coffee can?), overheard the exchange and earnestly offered his knowledgeable two centes: We could catch another bus that would take us right near Mimi's at the point the driver had indicated.
A few minutes into the bus ride the man settled himself in the center of the bus, tapped a tune on the improv drum, and began to sing a mournful song. It was already past midnight, and an odd collection of punks, lower class workers, middle class workers, and upper class kids watched on. After the expected speech of introduction, the small man asked for donations, reaching out a worn bag. "May God bless you," he thanked.
And then, to my surprise, he sat down across the aisle and pulled a newspaper out of his bag, which he proceeded to read.
It is a reflection of the mandatory education system, I supposed, that the near-beggar could read the moderately complicated text.
He got off the bus soon after, with a nod to the driver, and to us he reiterated his advise: the C20 or C22 buses would get us where we needed to go.
We were the last to hop off the bus. The driver kept his word and let us know when, dropping us off on a dark corner. It was 12:30 am. A call to the reliable "radio" taxi service, and $5 later, Dylan and I were finally home after a rather curious and instructive two hour ordeal.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
taste of chilean internet slang:
wenaa perrooo jajaja komo tamoo???
oiee ke ondaaa te gusto mi minaa???
jajajajaj envidiameee.... ta terriblee de riicaa y la tengoo lokaa!!
ajajajajaja
ya perro se me cuidaaaa salu2!!
------------------------------------------------jajajaja!! si po si yo las hago toas..
------------------------------------------------k xuxa w tu wn con tus cosas de artefactos y mierdas raras wn.. me teni ma metio de k se trata la wea.. onda suena como revelacion de pistas de un asesino en serie wn una wea asi.. xD
------------------------------------------------
another possible youthful phrase:
"Este weon weon weon!"
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