The metro is a prime location to discern the extent of the Chilean government's attempts to educate and better its citizenry. As opposed to the DC metro, which is equipped with one or two written advertisements by the Metro corporation (this being the extent of government involvement), the Santiago metro is almost exclusively dominated by ads put up by the government. Some read "Join the Chile without Corruption," reflecting a current state campaign. They generally showcase a group of individuals where one is breaking some sort of social rule: in a particular sign a middle aged man is snoozing away in a metro seat, his nearby seatmates, all elderly and therefore deserving of the seats, stare in disbelief. By social convention, as well as law, the man should have immediately given up his seat to the woman holding an infant standing next to him. Clearly, the word "corrupción" in Spanish also refers to moral decay.
The campaign invites Chileans to participate by sending their "best phrases to complete the dictionary of the corrupt." http://www.diccionariodelcorrupto.cl/ Here you can see the dictionary, and the signs put up by the campaign. The sign featuring the business meeting makes good use of the word I last wrote about: "pituto." It says: "The guy stirring his coffee got in by pituto." This is all sponsored by Chile Transparency, in conjunction with the Ministry of Education.
Another rather interesting government effort is the "Santiago in 100 words" essay competition. http://www.santiagoen100palabras.cl/ It asks Chileans to write a short story about anything, in under 100 words of course. Some of the winners and honorable mentions are posted up on advertising boards in the Metro stations and in the trains as well. I've been curious to note that the characteristic Latin American "magical realism" often shines through in these.
One ends up feeling that the government is really trying to interact with its people.
I'll translate a few.
"Things of Fortune: Plaza Brazil: We're going to go eat as "The Poor Chinese." On the table are fortune cookies. I open one and my fortune says: 'Help me! I'm trapped and enslaved in a fortune cookie factory!" by Carolina Valenzuela, 33 yrs old, La Florida [a region of Santiago.]
"Different Report: The detective detailed in good form the background of the case. The Forest Park criminal was identified with complete certainty. But in a surprising and inexplicable way, from within the text, the affected person erased the phrases that incriminated him, absorbed with indignation the ink from the pen, in continuation the pen, next the hand and then the entire detective." Patricio Zulueta, 64 yrs old, Santiago
And now for a little Chilean humour:
"Same: God made us in his image and likeness. It comforts me to know that he is just as ugly as me." Verónica Gutiérrez, 19 yrs old, Nuñoa
[In Chile people tease a lot, and it's not considered offensive to tease a good friend for "being ugly." There is, in fact, a song I was rather obliged to hear given that I was in the same car with the performers on my trip to the South. My mother and Tia Flor, between boughts of laughter, managed to sing: "Que mueran los feos, que se mueran los feos, que se mueran toditos, toditos. Yooooooooo no soy tan feo, pero como nadie me quiere, también me voy a morir." "Death to ugly people, death to ugly people, that all* should die, all*. IIIII'm not that ugly, but as nobody loves/likes me, I'm going to die too.
*diminuitive form.
It's indicative of the differences between the uses of English and Spanish that the song sounds hysterical and teasing in Spanish, and horribly offensive in English.
Another curiousity for another day: The subject of death is not avoided here. Perfectly healthy young people openly discuss their plans for death over lunch, while mantaining a cheerful mood.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Santiago Week Four - Murals and Ferias
This week I passed by one of Pablo Neruda's three houses; La Chascona, in the bohemian Bella Vista neighborhood. It's
two blocks from my spanish classes. The museum is closed
on Mondays, to my luck, but I'll return this week for a look
inside. I'm told he was a packrat with beautiful collections,
which doesn't surprise me at all, given his incredibly refreshing odes to ordinary objects. One of my favorite poems is Ode to An
Artichoke.
This photo is of the upper portion of the house; it must have some four floors. It's on one of
the very steep hills (cerros) that dot Santiago.
Non-wealthy Santiago is full of murals. This is Bella Vista, on the main street with all the pubs, which is thick with tourists during the day. I've seen less homeless people than I expected.
One of the tourist areas - little shops/posts with silver work, boots, copper trinkets, traditional indigenous knittings and weavings...
Few posts were open that Monday, and the beautiful murals
on the doors (?) were revealed.
Wednesdays I go to the Feria with my Aunt or her friend whom I get along wonderfully with.
How much do you think I can get with $13?
1 Kilo Tomatoes5 Peach yogurts (yum!)
2 Kilos "Banana" Peaches (I really like peaches, if it's not clear).
1 Kilo Grapes (they still have frost on them. right off the vine.)
1 Zucchini
1 rather large Avocado
2 chunks Carribean Pumpkin (the every-day savory pumpkin here.)
1 soap holder
1 large good quality but inconspicuous tote bag with a zipper and outer pocket (necessary for some parts of town).
1 small bag with lots of pockets, also good quality. Perfect because it can be worn across the body, with lots of space inside, but again, inconspicous. It acheives the balance of practical invisibility by being neither ugly nor expensive.
As you might imagine, it is terribly difficult for me to justify buying anything from the shopping malls in the wealthy districts here. All I can think is: Look at that price tag! I could find that for 1/4 the cost in a feria.
Needless to say, Chile is a fabulous place for fruit addicts. My skin hasn't turned orange from excess beta carotene yet, but I'm probably pushing it.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tener Pituto
This evening my aunt's friend, Sara, gets a call at about 11.00 pm. A colleague from the elementary school where she works has been hit by a metro bus (he's a cyclist), and he's in critical condition at the nearby hospital. A chain of calls comences to alert the other school colleagues of the news: Tio Jaime is in the hospital.
The message is disseminated, and another issue arises: the medics declined to inform the man's wife of his current condition. Such information is apparently at the doctor's discretion here. So Sara calls a Policeman friend, currently a bodyguard for a minister, to see if he has contacts that could obtain the information from the doctor. He calls back quickly: his contact has been told that it's too late to call - the information office closes at 20.00 hours.
This episode was revealing to me in several ways; it concisely reveals the interdependent nature of Chilean society, uses of time, and additionally the inefficient and nonsensical bureaucracy. For one, the fact that it was appropriate to call colleagues at such an hour to give news about someone in no way related. And everyone Sara called was awake to receive the call. Secondly, the use of the word Tio - uncle - to describe the relationship to the injured colleague. It denotes a familial closeness, immediately designating a relationship between the "niece/nephew" and "uncle."
Lastly, in order to get around the (to me nonsensical) difficulties with finding out the colleagues' medical state, Sara immediately called a friend with contacts in the hospital (or with political clout) to fish for the information. In this case the bureaucracy foils the efforts: the hospital cannot give updates on patients medical state past 20:00 hours. Had the contact she had sought been of a high enough level, this too would likely have been an insignificant obstacle. Sara explains that to get things done here one must have "pituto," that is, connections.
The message is disseminated, and another issue arises: the medics declined to inform the man's wife of his current condition. Such information is apparently at the doctor's discretion here. So Sara calls a Policeman friend, currently a bodyguard for a minister, to see if he has contacts that could obtain the information from the doctor. He calls back quickly: his contact has been told that it's too late to call - the information office closes at 20.00 hours.
This episode was revealing to me in several ways; it concisely reveals the interdependent nature of Chilean society, uses of time, and additionally the inefficient and nonsensical bureaucracy. For one, the fact that it was appropriate to call colleagues at such an hour to give news about someone in no way related. And everyone Sara called was awake to receive the call. Secondly, the use of the word Tio - uncle - to describe the relationship to the injured colleague. It denotes a familial closeness, immediately designating a relationship between the "niece/nephew" and "uncle."
Lastly, in order to get around the (to me nonsensical) difficulties with finding out the colleagues' medical state, Sara immediately called a friend with contacts in the hospital (or with political clout) to fish for the information. In this case the bureaucracy foils the efforts: the hospital cannot give updates on patients medical state past 20:00 hours. Had the contact she had sought been of a high enough level, this too would likely have been an insignificant obstacle. Sara explains that to get things done here one must have "pituto," that is, connections.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Random Tidbits
A couple of curious facts:
-Just as in the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy you should always know where your towel is, the same applies to toilet paper in Chile. The only restrooms with toilet paper are the ones you have to pay 30 cents to enter. There is none in my student house. Simply put, the presence of toilet paper where you would expect it to be most necessary is the exception, not the rule.
-All of the milk here is ultra pasteurized and sold in cartons. Think Parmalat.
-Few places have AC or central heating.
-In addition to fans that blow mist throughout the metro stations, there are at least two televisions quietly playing music videos for public enjoyment on every platform.
-You have to light the gas stoves and ovens with a match. I'm rather terrified of the oven and haven't attempted that yet. I'm pleased to say I have not burnt myself with the stovetop yet.
- It is perfectly legal to grow marijuana for personal consumption, but illegal to sell it. It grows like a weed (like everything else, really.) My friend tells me that she found her grandmother unknowingly watering a very happy marijuana plant in her garden once.
-In order to speak proper chilean, you must end every sentence with "po" and toss in a couple "weon"s.
-Just as in the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy you should always know where your towel is, the same applies to toilet paper in Chile. The only restrooms with toilet paper are the ones you have to pay 30 cents to enter. There is none in my student house. Simply put, the presence of toilet paper where you would expect it to be most necessary is the exception, not the rule.
-All of the milk here is ultra pasteurized and sold in cartons. Think Parmalat.
-Few places have AC or central heating.
-In addition to fans that blow mist throughout the metro stations, there are at least two televisions quietly playing music videos for public enjoyment on every platform.
-You have to light the gas stoves and ovens with a match. I'm rather terrified of the oven and haven't attempted that yet. I'm pleased to say I have not burnt myself with the stovetop yet.
- It is perfectly legal to grow marijuana for personal consumption, but illegal to sell it. It grows like a weed (like everything else, really.) My friend tells me that she found her grandmother unknowingly watering a very happy marijuana plant in her garden once.
-In order to speak proper chilean, you must end every sentence with "po" and toss in a couple "weon"s.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Spanish Lessons and Learning the City
My room is small, but comfortable, and the location of the student
house is great. I've met a couple of people so far, but since classes only
start in March, the house is mostly empty.
The view out of my window - I get lots of light! And unsurprisingly,
I'm considering putting some plants on the window ledge.
The streets of the neighborhood - you can see the German influence in this particular house.
I'm talking individual Spanish lessons in the bohemian neighborhood of Bella Vista, at a school founded by a German man 20 years ago. The school features an event almost every day: field trips, hikes, salsa lessons, a very reasonably priced lunch at an area restaurant, evening get-togethers. I've met a bubbly 25 yr old Brazilian girl who lives just a metro stop away from me (about a 20 min walk, at most), and we went out for a walk and a drink last night with her host sister.
house is great. I've met a couple of people so far, but since classes only
start in March, the house is mostly empty.
The view out of my window - I get lots of light! And unsurprisingly,
I'm considering putting some plants on the window ledge.
The streets of the neighborhood - you can see the German influence in this particular house.
I'm talking individual Spanish lessons in the bohemian neighborhood of Bella Vista, at a school founded by a German man 20 years ago. The school features an event almost every day: field trips, hikes, salsa lessons, a very reasonably priced lunch at an area restaurant, evening get-togethers. I've met a bubbly 25 yr old Brazilian girl who lives just a metro stop away from me (about a 20 min walk, at most), and we went out for a walk and a drink last night with her host sister.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Trip South
The week of January 26th my mother rented a car and we traveled south.
On the way to my mother's childhood Methodist summer camp, where my aunt would stay for a week on a pastoral retreat, we passed rivers and waterfalls that run through the very fertile but dry land.
(This is what the streets in the smaller towns look like.)
The summer camp was founded by the Methodist missionaries that arrived in Chile from the US. In its heyday, when my mother attended as a child, the camp spread for miles to the foothills of the coastal range. There were fields of chard and corn as far as you could see. An apple and peach orchard nestled between the old cedar forest bordering the river and the crop plantations. There were horses in the stable and hundreds of milking cows. The paths were lined with fragrant eucalyptus trees with huge trunks (it took two people to hug one.) Quite profitable, I'm told.
The church has since been turned into national hands; the missionaries all returned. The Chilean management has not been so enterprising. My mother and I walked through the shell of what the camp had once been. The outlying areas were sold off, the stable cool and quiet, empty but for piles of straw. The orchards all cut down. It was beautiful, in a sad sort of way.
The cabin she remembers staying in as a child was abandoned.
We stayed in another cabin, and braved the cold water showers.
-------------------------
Tuesday the effort of many telephone calls by my aunt came to fruition. I was put into contact with, through familial and friendly ties, to two highly respected individuals of indigenous descendance, (but also thoroughly integrated Chileans), who agreed to meet with me to discuss the current issues for Chile's largest indigenous group, the Mapuches.
Wednesday morning we drove the two hours to Temuco, the largest city in the tenth region of Chile, where the Mapuche population is concentrated. After a tour of the city's crowded indoor artisan market, showcasing traditional indigenous wool garments, wooden bowls, stone mortars, horn trumpets, and delicate silversmithing, we headed to the less populated, calmer side-city of Nueva Imperial, where we would meet on of the contacts.
Walking throught the neighborhood on the outskirts of the city seeking the right house, I for the first time encountered the discrimination against Mapuches. Unsure we were on the right avenue, we asked a man who seemed to be cleaning the street if he knew where the family lived. As soon as we had pronounced the family name, the man's eye's narrowed a little and he pointed to a derelict house down the street. "See where that wooden saw horse is? I think a Mapuchito lives there." It was by far the poorest house (read: shack) on the street, clearly under some delayed construction by the looks of the saw horse guarding the entrance. It wasn't the house we were looking for.
In Chile, beyond appearance, last names are the give-away for indigenous people. Things are changing here, and discrimination is no longer the bold-faced affair it was twenty years ago. It's simply gone underground. But with the public sense that such discrimination is wrong, and therefore should be hidden, (it's illegal too now), there's some hope that it will die off.
---------------------------------
Thursday I committed my first action chain mistake. An action chain is a series of actions that must be performed in a certain order for the entire performance to be understood correctly.
Having arrived late after a maddening search for my second contact's office (note: you have to look really hard for occasionally non-existant street signs here,) I sat down after presenting my name and offering thanks for the meeting. I got right down to business: I explained what my interests in the intercultural field were, and where I thought those interests might apply in terms of the Mapuche indians in Chile. My contact stared at me blankly and shifted rather uncomfortably. There was an awkward pause as he got up, poured himself some water, and expressed that I needed to restart correctly. "So where are you from? Are you studying in Chile?"
Once I got that right things flowed smoothly. We discovered that our families had been childhood friends and he opened up a lot. A half hour meeting turned into an hour and a half, he skipping part of his lunch hour to speak with us.
It was a good lesson: In Chile, (and likely most countries on earth,) you have to establish who you are, what you're doing here, what family you're from, before you can get to the point. Without doing so, you're likely to be either misunderstood or to receive poor service.
On the way to my mother's childhood Methodist summer camp, where my aunt would stay for a week on a pastoral retreat, we passed rivers and waterfalls that run through the very fertile but dry land.
(This is what the streets in the smaller towns look like.)The summer camp was founded by the Methodist missionaries that arrived in Chile from the US. In its heyday, when my mother attended as a child, the camp spread for miles to the foothills of the coastal range. There were fields of chard and corn as far as you could see. An apple and peach orchard nestled between the old cedar forest bordering the river and the crop plantations. There were horses in the stable and hundreds of milking cows. The paths were lined with fragrant eucalyptus trees with huge trunks (it took two people to hug one.) Quite profitable, I'm told.
The church has since been turned into national hands; the missionaries all returned. The Chilean management has not been so enterprising. My mother and I walked through the shell of what the camp had once been. The outlying areas were sold off, the stable cool and quiet, empty but for piles of straw. The orchards all cut down. It was beautiful, in a sad sort of way.
The cabin she remembers staying in as a child was abandoned.
We stayed in another cabin, and braved the cold water showers.
-------------------------
Tuesday the effort of many telephone calls by my aunt came to fruition. I was put into contact with, through familial and friendly ties, to two highly respected individuals of indigenous descendance, (but also thoroughly integrated Chileans), who agreed to meet with me to discuss the current issues for Chile's largest indigenous group, the Mapuches.
Wednesday morning we drove the two hours to Temuco, the largest city in the tenth region of Chile, where the Mapuche population is concentrated. After a tour of the city's crowded indoor artisan market, showcasing traditional indigenous wool garments, wooden bowls, stone mortars, horn trumpets, and delicate silversmithing, we headed to the less populated, calmer side-city of Nueva Imperial, where we would meet on of the contacts.
Walking throught the neighborhood on the outskirts of the city seeking the right house, I for the first time encountered the discrimination against Mapuches. Unsure we were on the right avenue, we asked a man who seemed to be cleaning the street if he knew where the family lived. As soon as we had pronounced the family name, the man's eye's narrowed a little and he pointed to a derelict house down the street. "See where that wooden saw horse is? I think a Mapuchito lives there." It was by far the poorest house (read: shack) on the street, clearly under some delayed construction by the looks of the saw horse guarding the entrance. It wasn't the house we were looking for.
In Chile, beyond appearance, last names are the give-away for indigenous people. Things are changing here, and discrimination is no longer the bold-faced affair it was twenty years ago. It's simply gone underground. But with the public sense that such discrimination is wrong, and therefore should be hidden, (it's illegal too now), there's some hope that it will die off.
---------------------------------
Thursday I committed my first action chain mistake. An action chain is a series of actions that must be performed in a certain order for the entire performance to be understood correctly.
Having arrived late after a maddening search for my second contact's office (note: you have to look really hard for occasionally non-existant street signs here,) I sat down after presenting my name and offering thanks for the meeting. I got right down to business: I explained what my interests in the intercultural field were, and where I thought those interests might apply in terms of the Mapuche indians in Chile. My contact stared at me blankly and shifted rather uncomfortably. There was an awkward pause as he got up, poured himself some water, and expressed that I needed to restart correctly. "So where are you from? Are you studying in Chile?"
Once I got that right things flowed smoothly. We discovered that our families had been childhood friends and he opened up a lot. A half hour meeting turned into an hour and a half, he skipping part of his lunch hour to speak with us.
It was a good lesson: In Chile, (and likely most countries on earth,) you have to establish who you are, what you're doing here, what family you're from, before you can get to the point. Without doing so, you're likely to be either misunderstood or to receive poor service.
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