Quebrada de Humahuaca

I got picked up at 6:45am sharp this morning for a full-day excursion into the Quebrada de Humamuaca. This gorge runs for over a hundred kilometres, north of Salta, and I think it was declared some kind of international treasure of humanity or something. On the tour was me, a hilarious older couple from Buenos Aires, and our Salteño tour guide, Alberto, all in a 4x4 truck.

As we started to drive up into the gorge, Alberto bought a bag a coca leaves from a street vendor. Coca leaves - yup, the leaves from which cocaine happens to be produced and which also happens to be an important and traditional part of many South American cultures - are chewed to help reduce the effects of altitude sickness. You stuff a bunch in your mouth and put them in between your back teeth and the side of your mouth and just leave them there. But don't chew them - they're pretty bitter.

The Quebrada is a huge tourist attraction. But it's no Disney World - it's a tourist attraction because it's a frigging impressive natural wonder. And most of the tourists are Argentinians, so it doesn't really bother me at all.

As you get up into the gorge, tall desert mountains and arid-landscape rise up on either side of the road. There's the Cerro de Siete Colores, where minerals and some kind of geological phenomea came together to create huge washes of different colours in the rock. There's the Pukara de Tilcara, the remnants of a pre-Incan fortress on the top of a huge hill. And then there are the villages of Purmamarca and Humahuaca, where local craftspeople sell their textiles, pottery and other crafts in the town plazas. A band playing Andean folk music played while we ate lunch.

I learned a whole bunch, took some great pictures (the ones on this site, aren't mine, BTW, thanks once again to Google Image Search) , but now I'm tired. Tomorrow it's off at 7am once again for another excursion...

Culture shock in Salta

Shared the bottom floor of a double decker bus from Mendoza to Salta with a group of 6 backpackers I think were Dutch or maybe Swedish. The bus was full of backpackers- I met a couple of Irish girls and these two British guys on an around the world tour. Salta's a pretty popular destination for both domestic and international tourists, but since September's not really a popular time for Argentinians to travel, it's just us foreigners, on the busses, in the hostels, and on the tours.

We arrived in Salta about 1.5 hours late. Salta's way up north near the Bolivian border and both geographically and culturally, it seems a world away from Mendoza and Santiago ( and Buenos Aires too, I imagine). You can tell as soon as you get off the bus, simply by looking at the people's faces, that you're nearing Bolivia, it's a different ethnic makeup. And I feel taller than ever.

It's a smaller city, and it's a poorer city than those I've been to. So you have to adjust your instincts and intuition. When walking around a city you don't know, if you wander into a section that seems a little rundown, you know to be on your toes a little bit. But what if the whole city seems a little rundown, a little chaotic, becuase that's just the way it is? You can either be nervous the whole time, or readjust your instincts to fit the context.

I arrived in Salta this afternoon having barely slept on the bus overnight and having not eaten anything since the cup of tea and the cookie we got for breakfast on the bus. And I arrive at the residencial where I staying and it's not exactly the Sheraton, let's say. And then I wander around town trying to find something to eat at that weird time of the afternoon when it's too late for lunch and too early for supper. And the downtown's noisy and a little polluted. Overwhelming.

But I managed to set myself up with two tours into the amazing natural region that surounds Salta - one tomorrow to the Quebrada de Humahuaca to see crazy gorges and rock formations and Inca villages, and one Saturday to the Salina Grande, huge salt flats that are like a big white desert. And I realized from the amazingly hospitable reception of the little old lady and her middle-aged daughter that run the residencial where I'm staying - it's actually in their family home - that it's a bit rundown, but that's just the way they live. So I'll give it a try.

"Ya, po, huevon.."

I like being a linguist for more than it making a good topic of conversation at parties or knowing that my fellow linguists are some of the weirdest, nerdiest people in the whole world ( seriously- have you ever been to a linguist party?). It also means that I can be very easily entertained, almost anywhere, simply by sitting back and observing the way people talk. Because there's always something interesting going on.

Only having arrived in Argentina a couple of days ago, the language is one of the few striking differences between Argentina and Chile I've been able to observe.

When I was in Chile, everyone was like, "Why are you coming here to learn Spanish? Why don't you go to Peru/Columbia/Ecuador? Chileans speak fast and with too much slang." And it's true, Chileans speak really fast, and with a ton of slang. And they don't enunciate very well. But, as I would tell everyone, it doesn't really bother me. I sort of like trying to strain my brain to understand and trying to learn the Chilean expression for things. It's a fun challenge for me. But yeah, it means that a lot of the time, I have no clue what people are talking about when they talk amongst each other.

But actually, since most of my Spanish speaking friends in Montreal are Chilean, and having spent so much time in Chile relative to other countries, is that some of the words I've learned for things are local only to Chile, and I don't even know. Until I use one of them with a non-Chilean and they either laugh at me or look at me dumbfounded. Sort of like what happens when I start speaking Quebecois French with a French person because it's what I'm most used to speaking and forget to "Internationalize". I still have so much to learn.

There are tons of words and expression Chileans use, but one phenomena that I find hilarious is the use of huevon. Now, the word seems to come from the word huevo, or egg, but don't ask me what the link is, because it's used generally by the population to mean asshole or jerk or schmuck, according to context. There's a Chilean movei that's in cinemas right now called El rey de los huevones - King of the huevones.

What's really funny, though, is that young men literally tack it on to the end of every sentence when speaking to each other. (As far as I can tell, they don't really use it when talking to women, and women don't use it amongst themselves.) In this context, it doesn't really have an insulting connotation. They even tack it onto the end of the very Chilean "Ya, po", which is an affirmative answer to someone's question, which then becomes "Ya, po, huevon...". And when a bunch of young, drunken Chilean men are sitting around at a barbeque, conversing rapidfire and barely enunciating anything, you get something that sounds to my ears like: "hfjghfjghfjgh, huevon, fhgjfhgjfhgfj, huevon. dfhgjdfhgdjfghjdhg, huevon. Etc." I find it quite entertaining.

Argentinians speak differently. Their Spanish has a different rhythm to it. They don't use the same slang, and they have a really distinctive accent that everyone in the rest of South America makes fun of. And they don't use tu when addressing someone in the second person singular, they use another pronoun, vos, which has it's own distinctive corresponding verbal conjugations, which I can understand, but I don't quite have the hang of yet.

On the 17 hour bus ride I'm taking tonight to Salta, I'll have lots of time to observe.

Mendoza, Argentina

Mendoza, Argentina, has traditionally had close ties with Chile, given it's geography-it's just a hop over the Andes, and way closer to Santiago than to Buenos Aires. But national alliances prevail, especially in times of dictatorship, and only in the last while have Mendoza and Santiago started to rebuild their close ties.

And, despite the fact that there's a humonguous mountain range in between Chile and Argentina, there sure is a lot of traffic going back and forth. And yesterday was no exception, as I got on board a bus for the 7 hour journey from Santiago to Mendoza.

Intercity buses in Chile and Argentina are like a million times better than what we're used to in Canada. First of all, it's cheap ( my 7 hour international journey cost abou $16). Second of all, you have your choice of class- you can take a normal bus (clasico), or coche-cama, where the seats are bigger, and recline right out into beds. And even on the clasico buses, there's usually food or drinks served.

My seatmate was a chatty one- Rafael from Rosario. He's studying to be a bartender and he invited me to stay at his house if I go there. I traded him one of the empanadas I brought for lunch for one of his chocolate milks.

The best part about the bus ride is that YOU'RE CROSSING THE ANDES. Like, driving right over them. So for the 2.5 hours it takes to get to the border, which is right at the top of a mountain, you go through the foothills, and then finally a road that winds through the snowy mountaintops. And then you cross the border and wind through some more snowy mountaintops until you get to the foothills on the other side and finally to Mendoza.

Crossing the border is a huge hassle, though. If you're on a bus ( and there were about 10 other buses while we were there) you have to wait on the bus at the top for about 30 minutes, then everyone has to get off, line up to officially exit Chile with the Chilean border guards, then line up again to enter Argentina with the Argentinian border guards. Then they search the bus, inside and out, the motor, undeneath and everything, then they search all the checked luggage. The only person on our bus who they really searched was this little old Granny who seemed to have like, all the equipment for a full kitchen and presents for her 85 grandchildren in her suitcase.

All this procedure at the border is interspersed with much waiting around. The cool part is that you're surrounded by snowy mountains. As I waited I talked to this guy who was seriously the biggest hipster I've seen since outside Montreal. He had a shaved head and weird glasses and tight little jeans and a sweatshirt and jean jacket and sneakers. He was listening to music on these huge earphones, and was reading something intellectual. He was going to Buenos Aires to buy comics for his brother's comics store. I was like, "Haven't I run into you at Casa before?"

The most exciting part of the bus ride (besides the Lindsay Lohan movie) was when on the highway between the border and Mendoza, this car in the on-coming lane, for whatever reason, pulled a 180, screeching out into our lane. The bus driver McGyver-ed onto the shoulder, swearing like a sailor, and then pulled us back out onto the road. I don't even think he took his foot off the gas.

And so here I am in Argentina. This will be the last time I mention it, I promise, but it's SO CHEAP. I'm staying in this really nice hostel, right near the centre, with a shared kitchen and living room, with my own bedroom with a private bathroom. It's $11 a night! And that includes breakfast. AND my room has a bidet! ( Now I just have to, like, Google search to figure out how to use it...). We could go into the international politics of why Argentina's so cheap, and whether or not that's good in the long run for the country. But, for now, I'll just keep using my bidet and leaving big tips in the restaurants.

Since I've only been here a matter of hours, the most prominent observation I've made on Argentina after an afternoon of people watching is that the mullet is alive and well. Only amongst young men, though. And it's not really the full-out, super-cropped on the top and long and flowing down the back. It's like the Latin-Americanized mini-mullet, let's call it a mulletto. It's like a normal haircut, but at the back, it's just a little longer, just long enough to touch the collar, and maybe a little puffier too.

I'm here for a couple more days before heading north to Salta. But, in the words of Queen, I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike! So I think tomorrow I'll rent a bike and ride around the park!

Mercado Central

So, well, we were SUPPOSED to get up early and take the bus to Valparaiso, spend a day on the coast, walking around the beach, eating seafood, and walking up and down the hills that make up Valparaiso's centre. But, it jus didn't happen. We got to the bus station at 4pm, and decided it was a bit late for the 2.5 hour ride to the coast. We decided instead for a seafod feast at the Mercado Central, the place in Santiago to buy seafood, fruit and vegetables fresh from the different regions of Chile. Take a look at the map of Chile - don't forget how many thousands of kilometres of coastline there are in this country. And the variety and quality of the fish and seafood available reflects the geography.

The stalls in the centre of the market are ringed by a whole bunch of restaurants specializing in seafood, ranging from greasy snack-bar type places to swanky, high-quality etablishments.

As soon as you step into the vicinity of the market, you are accosted by representatives of the different restaurants, trying to persuade you that their restaurant is the best, and offering you free drinks and other discounts if you go to their restaurant. It doesn't stop when you get inside the market either. It's a place that attracts its fair share of tourists, too, so even once you've been seated at the restaurant of your choice, there are people circulating around offering to take your picture, musicians wandering around, people with puppets trying to make your kids laugh - all for tips, of course.

We stuffed our faces on clams, salmon, shellfish, and a refreshing white wine. And the pebre was fantastic! Pebre is this salsa-type spread that accompanies the bread at most Chilean meals, whether it be at home or in a restaurants. It's a mix of chopped up onions, tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, and sometimes with spicy additions like peppers and olives. Mmmm!

But it was my last pebre for a while. Tomorrow morning at 10am I take the 7-hour bus ride to Mendoza, Argentina. Hasta luego, Chile!

Complices

I knew I wouldn't be able to escape Chile without taking on at least a couple of vices. I have a newfound love for manjar, the dulce de leche-like caramel that's in, like, every pastry and dessert here and can be bought by the litre in the supermarket. But more surprising is my love for the Chilean soap opera Complices.

The basis of the story is that this American guy named Harvey who has a ton of money came to Chile and for some reason that I don't quite grasp, had to recruit a whole bunch of Chileans to pretend to be his family, and has to pretend to have this big company, in order to keep his money. Coronation Street this is not. So all these people are pretending to be his extended family, and they can't let anyone know they're not. Add to that all the usual soap opera fare - affairs, drugs, crazy people, etc. - and you've got a hilarious, yet addictive show. And it's on at prime time!

The show's frigging hilarious. You thought bad acting, low production values and implausible plot twists were unique to American soap operas? No way - it turns out some things are universal. The best part is that Harvey, who has this horrible gringo accent and bad grammar, is played not by an American, but by this Chilean actor imitating the way an American would speak Spanish.

But it's somehow addicting, too. And since I've been laying low for the last couple of days with (another) cold, I've gotten to watch it a bunch of times. Though the plot sounds complicated, it's well put together in that you can just sit down and get into it knowing the minimum of the background. And I can actually understand most of the dialogue, for some reason. I find it harder to follow the dialogue on other TV shows and movies.

Tomorrow I'll get to find out what happens to Soledad, who's Harvey's sister ( but not really, they're faking it, remember?), who declared her love for Harvey today, and he loves her to, but is tormented because he doesn't want to show it because it will ruin the ruse. Oh my god!

Rio Clarillo

Monday the 18th we decided to take in some nature, and Claudia's boyfriend Sebastian recommended the Reserva Nacional Rio Clarillo. It just outside of Santiago, and the best thing is that we could get there by city bus. Unlike car-dependant North America, in Chile there are little mini-buses called micros everywhere, not just in the cities but in small town and connecting rural villages to each other as well as to the bigger centres. So we took the bus to the end of the line and there we were at the entrance to the nature reserve, which is situated in a valley in the pre-cordillera of the Andes.

Only thing was was that it was was sort of cold and foggy and even drizzly at times. So we bundled up and packed a lunch and got to the park and wandered in and around and then climbed to the top of this mountain to see.... well, fog! We were actually in a low-lying cloud.

I enjoyed the trip, though. The terrain, the landscape, the plants and the animals are so different from what I'm used to in Montreal and Nova Scotia.

And though it sucked to get back to the house chilled to the bone, the fact that it inspired Claudia to make a steaming pot of cazuela, this Chilean stew made with chicken, potatoes, squash and corn, was okay with me.

Asado

So Saturday night we decided to have a barbeque, a.k.a an asado, here. I was pretty sure we were going to give 'er, Chilean style, when we sent Claudia's roomate to pick up the supplies for the party and he came back rolling a shopping cart piled high with charcoal, meat and beer down the street.

Even though it was by no means a balmy summer evening, we spent the whole evening and into the wee hours in the yard out back, eating huge chunks of meat off the grill, drinking Chilean beer and red wine. Someone pointed the stereo speakers out into the yard and put in a mix tape of cuecas, so of course at one point the party erupted into drunken cueca dancing.

And the next morning we emerged out of our sleepy red wine haze just in time to go over to Claudia's parents' place for another huge meal and some running around with her niece and nephew.

How to celebrate the 18th!

One of the reasons I chose to visit Chile in September is that I wanted to be here for the Fiestas Patrias. Not only is it a time when everyone tries their hardest to express their Chilenidad, but it's a celebration of Springtime as well. So I knew that as a visitor to the country it would be an experience unique to this country.

Here's how to celebrate the 18th, through the eyes of a gringa. Though there are many variations on how to do the 18th, depending on your age, interests, and in what region of the country you live, there are a few things that are necessary.

One is the consumption of empanadas - for lack of a better description, savoury pastries filled with stuff. For the 18th it's got to be the traditional pino filling, that is, ground beef with onions, a slice of hard-boiled egg and one olive.

The second is the cueca! The name of both the dance and the music it's danced to, it's everywhere for the week leading up to the 18th. Blasting in restaurants, in the street, house parties, and in dance clubs the DJ will always slip a couple in every once in a while. Though traditionally it's this old-fashioned dance for a couple in costume where they sort of seduce each other by waving handkerchiefs around, everyone either had to learn it in school, or dance it with their grandma, or what have you. So when one comes on in a club or with friends, everyone drunkenly starts doing their best imitation. Sort of a similar effect to if you put some bagpipe music at a party in Nova Scotia and everyone starts doing their bastardized version of a highland fling.

Then there's the fonda. Sort of a like a big country fair, though they're held everywhere, from small towns to downtown Sanitago. There's traditional food and drink, competitions in different events like rodeo, music, and often games and activities for kids, including full-out fairs at some of the bigger ones. Come nighttime, there can be music, and lots to drink. There are different incarnations of the fonda, including ones that if they were to happen on any other day of the year would simply be called concerts. There have been posters all over town since I arrived. The one hat makes me laugh every time is called the Yein Fonda. (Yein is pronounced "Jane" in Spanish.)

Barbeques, called asados, are de rigueur for the 18th, as is the consumption of much wine, chicha ( this semi-fermented wine that's sort of like juice, but with a kick). There are red, white and blue banners, and Chilean flags and ribbons and the like everywhere. And in some stores the employees are even forced to wear the traditional black wide-brimmed fedora-type hat with a red, white and blue ribbon on it. ¡Viva Chile!

Fiestas Patrias

The Chileans have got it right when it comes to celebrating September 18th, their national holiday. One day of partying? No. Try five, which includes four statuatory holidays of which one is, quite importantly, the day AFTER the 18th for maximum recuperation before returning to work. So if I haven't posted to this blog for a couple days it has been because I've been in Rome doing as the Romans do, and celebrating Chile's independance. The next couple of entries will therefore be in reverse chronologial order.

Sindicato Sonoro

Even though we're now into the long weekend that culminates in traditional celebrations for Chile's independance day, last night we went to take in a little Colombian traditional music. Claudia's boyfriend Sebastian's group Sindicato Sonoro played at a Salsateca/Cuban restaurant, La Habana Vieja. Their set-up is a bunch of different percussion instruments, two long flutes called gaitas, and two singers. Last night they also performed with a dance troupe called Cumbiamé who do the traditional dances that accompany the music, in full costume.

The concert was great, everyone was into it, and even the random people that just happened to be be eating in the bar were up dancing. I learned how to dance the cumbia, too! In between sets there was a DJ that played salsa and merengue, and then a random Venezuelan guy got up to wish a Happy Birthday to his brother and played the cuatro, a Venezuelan instrument. All this at a Colombian music concert in a Cuban salsateca. It was like all of Latin America rolled into one.

Where I´ve been staying

Here's a picture of the main living room at Claudia's lovely old house in Santiago.
I usually sleep on the couch on the little loft at the top!

Bellas Artes and Plaza Ñuñoa

After laying low for a couple days with a cold (like everyone else in the household) yesterday I ventured back downtown again. I'm on an art kick lately, so I decided to check out the Museo de Artes Visuales for some contemporary Chilean art. There were a couple of exhibitions on, one of which was geared towards kids in that it was really interactive and you got to play with things and turn switches on and move things around. (I think I liked that one the best.) The museum is in a little section of town called Barrio Bellas Artes, because it also is home to Santiago's Fine Arts museum, the Museo de Bellas Artes. The barrio is cute and quaint, with quiet cobblestoned streets, lots of nice restaurants with patios out on the sidewalk, a repertory cinema. The museum is at the back of a little plaza tucked in the upper corner of the barrio.

Claudia joined me, and after some tea and cake in a cafe blasting The Best of Cat Stevens, we decided to go for a drink at Plaza Ñuñoa. Santiago is divided up into several different sectors, and Ñuñoa, the sector where I'm staying, is a large middle class neighbourhood north of downtown. Plaza Ñuñoa is a big square in front of the Ñuñoa town hall, and all around the park in the middle are restaurants, bar and clubs, with everything from chic arty art gallery type places, rock clubs, cafes and downhome diner-y places that serve typical Chilean food and atmosphere.

We decided on the latter, a place called Las Lanzas. (Here's a picure!). Inside it had the feel of a greasy spoon, except that instead of diner fare, they served more typical Chilean stuff. the lights are bright, it's full of smoke, and the waitresses are wearing these ugly blue pinafore things. The walls are covered with random photos and newspaper articles. The food and drinks are good and cheap, and the service is fast. The Plaza is close to a university, so there's mix of clientele, from students, to old men, to families. Of course, since this is Chile, we ordered a whole bottle of wine and a couple of of Chicken and avocado sandwiches (avocado is everywhere here!). A couple hours later we made our way back home and had some more wine with Claudia's roomate before retiring for the night.

Before the twin towers

September 11th is a notorious date for Chileans, but it has nothing to to with New York. September 11th, 1973 is the date of the coup d'état that plunged Chile into nearly two decades of a military dictatorship.

Salvador Allende was the democractically elected president at the time. And he was Socialist. There were some people, including the US government, who didn't like socialism and the changes it brought about to the structure of the state and the economy. Various forces, including millions of US dollars and the presence of the CIA, came together, the democratically elected government was destabilized, and Augusto Pinchet led the junta that overthrew the government on Sept. 11 ,1973. Though given the chance to pre-emptively flee the country, Allende stayed on, and so Sept. 11, 1973 is also the date of his death by self-inflicted gunshot.

The 17 years of dictatorship that followed the coup d'etat were bloody by any account, with many human rights violations, limits on expression and thousands of people that mysteriously "disappeared". Thousands of Chileans fled the country, many to Sweden and Canada, two countries that were the first to welcome Chilean refugees.

Eventually reports of human rights abuse began to attract international attention, and pressure was put on Pinochet to hold a national referendum on whether the dictatorship was to continue, or whether the country would return to democratic rule. With many international observors present, the "No" side won the referendum and the country returned to democractic rule in 1990.

But the dae continues to be one that evokes a lot of emotion amongst Chileans. Every September 11th there is a march to commemorate Allende's death that winds through the city, and ends up in the Cementario General at his grave. The march is not exactly looked upon favourably by the police and the government, and so there are often confrontations between the protestors and the police. And this year was no exception.

Claudia always attends the march, held this year on Sunday the 10th, and I was going to join her. But before we could even leave the house there were reports of violence on the TV, so we decided to stay home, as I didn't fancy finding myself in a Chilean jail. Violent protests in a few neighbourhoods of greater Santiago continued into yesterday.

Photos from Friday's Party!

Thanks to Luichito for the photos!


Sindicato Sonoro!



Amigos! (That's Claudia, my oh-so-gracious host, in the red.)

This one's for the boys in Abercrombie

SLAYER played a concert in Santiago Friday night and I missed it! Damn!

I was talking to a guy that went to the show, or rather went and stood outside the fence, because, as he put it, with a band like Slayer (or rather, Eslayer) it sounds pretty much the same wherever you're watching them from. He said it was crazy - there was this big group of teenage Chilean metalheads all standing outside the fence, all into it, but then it started to get crazy and the cops came and started beating people up.

I was trying to think of how to ask "Where did they park all the four-wheelers?" and " Was everyone huffing glue?" in Spanish, but I couldn't find it in the dictionary.

Cumpleaños feliz!

When it's your birthday, you can wait around for your friends to throw you a party, or you can simply throw one for yourself. Claudia's in the business of producing things - concerts, publicity campaigns, tours - and so when she wants to put on a party, it's all thought out. DJ duties split between her friend Luís (DJ Gros!: He comes with his own soundsystem) and her boyfriend Sebastian. A short set by Sindicato Sonoro, Sebastian's group that specializes in Colombian folk music. Ample space for dancing, lounging, drinking, smoking, both inside and out on the patio. The cost of snacks and hors d'oeuvres split between everyone. Rum, pisco and Chilean red wine flowing like, well, wine.

Parties work on a different time frame here than they do in Montreal. The very earliest guests arrive around 11pm, with a fashionably late entrance being around 1:30am or 2. We didn't get to bed until 6am - the sun was just starting to come up.

I just worked the room - as the only extranjera in a room full of Chilenos I had tons of obvious fodder for conversation. I talked to a ton of people. It's really interesting to see everyone's different take on your foreign-ness and where they want to take the discussion of it. As a North American, some people let their contempt for all things USA ( a.k.a Gringolandia) out on you. Some people try very diplomatically to show that they know there's a difference between Canada and the US. And some don't care about where you're from; they're more interested in your impressions and experiences in their country.

But like any good party, it wasn't all talk. Sindicato Sonoro , though missing a few of their musicians, were great. Tons of percussion, and a singer. They're doing a show this Thursday with the full band and complete with dancers. I can't wait.

There were several people at the party that I had met the last time I was here, including Mario, the guy that looks like Rick Mercer, and this guy Felipe, that apologized profusely for being so wasted when I'd met him in '05, and assured me that the only reason he declared his love for me and told me he wanted to accompany me on the plane back to Canada was because he was so drunk. ¡Que son frescos los chilenos!

I also got to put what I learned in the salsa and merengue classes I took this winter to work. Not quite the same experience as dancing in class, when you take into account that your partner's probably drunk, self-taught, and that the DJ may throw a cumbia or a cueca into the mix. And then there was this weird guy that kept asking me to dance. Picture Adam Sandler's Boy Scout character all grown up and wearing a poncho. Let's just say that my glass had to be refilled or I suddenly had to go to the bathroom halfway through the songs that he wanted to dance to.

We finished the cleanup a few hours ago, interspersing bouts of picking up cigarette butts from underneath the orange tree in the garden and mopping the floor with hearty helpings of Chinese food.

¡Feliz Cumpleaños!

Being touristy

Claudia had to work today, so I thought I´d venture downtown on the metro and do a bit of the tourist circuit.

I wandered around a bit on Alhumada and Huérfanos, two pedestrian streets that are sort of like a chaotic open air shopping mall. Buskers and street performers abound; there was a elevator-music version of Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall blasting from loud speakers all the way down the street as well.


I eventually got to the Plaza de Armas, a wide-open square flanked by various historical buildings and a huge church. In the square itself are more buskers, people selling arts and crafts, people hanging out, benches, trees, statues, and bums and dogs. Amongst the usual offerings of handicrafts and jewellery in the craft stands were several booths selling somekind of cream derived from snails that was supposed to cure skin problems: psoriasis, acne, infections, etc. I'm not quite sure what part of the snail is used in the making of this cream - I didn't get close enough to ask.

It was sort of cloudy and ovecast so I went to the Pre-Colombian Art Museum (tres cool) and ate lunch on a terrasse on Huérfanos before going for a walk on the Cerro Santa Lucia. It's this little oasis of gardens, paths and green space right smack dab in the middle of downtown.

It's interesting wandering around the streets here this time of year. As opposed to my summertime visit in 2004, right now everyone, including me, is semi-bundled up in long pants, sweaters and jackets. I feel like it hides my gringo-ness a bit more and I thus blend in and can walk around town without drawing the kind of negative "I'm foreign, rob me!" attention I'm usually nervous of attracting. So as comfortable as I was last time wandering around this city, I'm even more so this time around.

(By the way, I didn't take these pictures. They're randomly taken of the web - God bless Google Image Search. Mad props to the original photographers, whoever you are. )

Frenching old men

I keep almost kissing old men. And women and children, for that matter. Here, when you greet someone, you do the kiss on the cheek thing, but as opposed to the kiss on either cheek the Quebecois do, here they just do one cheek. But going in for the second bec is a hard habit to break. Several times I've almost smashed my face into the person I'm greeting. I'll have to work on that one.

Another Chilean custom I'd forgotten about is their eating schedule. Breakfast is pretty normal, but then they eat their main meal of the day at lunchtime, which happens anytime between 2pm and 5pm. Supper ranges from non-existent to a light snack late in the evening. Throw an evening get-together with a couple of friends and a bottle of wine into that mix, though and you end up with a drunk and hungry Norteamericana whose stomach in wondering why it's midnight and she hasn't had supper.

And it's cold here! Well, it's not actually cold by Canadian standards; it's springtime, so evenings and mornings can go down to maybe 7 or 10C and then when the sun comes out it'll go up to maybe 20C. But the thing is, houses here aren't insulated, there's no heating, and the windows don't close tight. So inside is more or less the same temperature as outside. So everyone's walking around in wool sweaters and fleece and shoes or slippers. And half the time when visitors come over they keep their jackets on (their winter parkas!). The good thing is is that the beds are piled high with huge feather duvets and blankets. I guess the only way to warm up is to have another glass of wine...

Safe and sound!

So I'm here! My flight got in right on time this morning. I think this must have been the smoothest plane trip I've ever taken: no flight delays, no lost baggage; they didn't swab my baggage for explosives; and the flight from Miami to Santiago was EMPTY, so everyone could spread out and lay down over several seats.

And by some sort of great coincidence, on the flight from Montreal to Miami I was sitting with a woman and her father, both from Buenos Aires. They had been vacationing in Montreal. She gave me some tips on Argentina and also her business card - she has a business where she rents rooms out to foreigners and travellers. So the options are piling up on where to stay in Buenos Aires.

I knew I had arrived in Chile not just from the breathtaking landing over the Andean Cordillera, but from the behaviour of the immigration agent. He must have been about 19 years old, and, bien fresco, as they'd say in Spanish: this little Don Juan who was just oh so happy to have to stamp the passport of a young gringa tourist. He's like "How long are you staying in Chile?" and I was like, "One month," and he's like "Why such a short visit? Stay for longer!" And it went from there...

Claudia and her cousin Susi picked me up at the airport and we made our way through Santiago's morning rush hour toward Claudia's place. She lives at this amazing house with seriously 15 foot ceilings, an awesome little garden/interior patio, a wood stove and swinging western doors! The ceilings are so high that all the bedrooms and the living room have like a little loft built in. I get to sleep on a fold out couch in Claudia's humumgous bedroom (except for when her boyfriend's over... then I get to sleep on the loft in the living room!! :)

After sleeping all day, we started celebrations for Claudia's birthday, which is today. First her boyfriend cooked us this kick-ass lasagna, then her family came over. I had met most of them the last time I was here. I was out in the garden playing soccer with her nephew Sebastian when everyone starts to freak out because they'd just discovered someone had broken one of the windows on her cousin Carola's truck and stolen a backpack and a jacket. So all the men immediately jumped into the truck and sped off, yelling, in an effort to try to find the thief and do, well, I'm not so sure what: Chastize him? I just went back to playing soccer.

Then a couple of Claudia's close friends came over and we busted into the wine. I should have some pictures soon. The REAL birthday bash is happening this Friday.

Time for bed - it's been a long day.

(For anyone reading this, dont forget you can leave comments! Tell me how you're doing....!!)

Leaving...

So, job's done. I've crammed the contents of my life into a backpack. I've crammed the contents of my two-bedroom apartment into a 6 by 9 foot storage locker. I've replaced the vital contents of my lost wallet (btw, if anyone runs into any identity thieves pretending to be me, uh, make a citizen's arrest or someting). I've had farewell brunches and bottles of wine.

Now I've just got to make it through security and get on that plane. They're forecasting thunderstorms in Miami tonight....