It's the culture, stupid

There we sat, exhausted and hungry after a long day's hike in Olmue. We had just spent several hours on the trails of La Campana, having chosen the most difficult for our day's effort. The views at the top were spectacular, and we had incredible luck as the clouds came in only after we had begun our descent. But now we were tired, seeking showers, and ready to head home to Santiago.



But there was a problem. The bus company, who had assured us that busses running from Olmue to Santiago would come by every half hour or so. Apparently, in Chilean, every half hour or so actually means every hour and a half. So we had to wait, and Ulmue was out of bottled water (except, of course, "gasificada"--or carbonated--which some may find refreshing but I find lacking after a dehydrating hike).

This led me to once again question the inefficency and ineffectiveness that seems to plague Latin American business sometimes. Chile may be developing and considers itself European, but travelers still have to "go with the flow" as the customer isn't always right. This put me in a foul mood.

But, as we wandered the streets of Olmue, we encountered a competition of the "cueca," the Chilean national dance. There was a stadium packed with fans from every region of Chile, cheering on the pairs of dancers that represented them on stage. While not as unruly as the soccer fans, they were every bit as passionate, sounding noisemakers and throwing confetti to further their cause. The cueca reminded me of some traditional Mexican dances, as the outfits and music (Spanish guitars, accordians, bass, piano and drums all in the mix) were very smilar. It was free, and a delight to watch. It served as an important lesson why traveling to Latin America can be so great. You don't go there because everything works efficiently as possible. You go there because it has a character that you don't often find in the good ol' cold capitalistic US of A.



But it was nice to get a hot shower back in the city.

The South Chile Diet (Do not try at home)

"Sin Mayonesa."

They didn’t tell me this at the orientation events, but these have been the two most important words in the Spanish language during my trip so far. If you forget, eater beware, as more often than not you’ll get a whole lot more than you’ve bargained for, and on dishes you wouldn’t imagine.

Take the Chilean salad, which already leaves a little to be desired as it usually consists of a pile of lettuce and a stack of tomatoes, set next to each other. But when you add the mayo—and my host mother took a Jackson Pollack approach to one last week—it gets, well, even more interesting. The ultimate irony came yesterday when I was served an artichoke, a vegetable I actually enjoy dipping in mayonnaise, without mayo but with lemon juice. Go figure?



The typical Chilean diet would make an American nutritionist squirm: tons of white bread, fatty meat, salt, sugar and, of course, mayonnaise. While nutritionists in the states are pushing for multiple, smaller meals throughout the day, Chile has embraced the two huge meal-a-day philosophy with gusto. And when breakfast sometimes comes with a slice of coffee cake, and dinner is merely cake or white bread with tea or coffee, sweetness seems to reign supreme.

And sometimes that isn’t enough. When we were served a tamale-like dish (corn wrapped it its own husk and cooked, but without meat) after dinner the other day, I assumed it was merely another course. But after my host mom dumped a mountain of sugar on top (no joke, you could no longer see the corn) I realized dessert had been served.



To be fair, most of the food isn’t all that bad. To their credit, Chileans eat a lot of fruit and vegetables, and put avocado (palta) on everything as well, which is definitely a plus. The completo, a hot dog with avocado and tomatoes as garnish is the perfect late night snack—sin mayonesa, of course.

It begs the question: how is the entire nation not massively overweight like the U.S.? Everyone seems to be in decent enough health, and obese individuals are few and far between. Still, considering the diet, it’s hard to imagine how the country isn’t a walking triple bypass.

But that’s the kicker: walking. As in, everyone walks everywhere. Sure, the Metro and busses are necessary to go long distances, and cabs and personal cars clog the streets during rush hour, but there’s a good amount of pedestrian traffic that U.S. cities, at least residential areas, sorely lack. Even at 11:00 on a Friday night I see elderly couples on walks around the neighborhood.

Hopefully the U.S. will take notice and start building its communities around mass transit and pedestrian traffic avenues. Unfortunately, in its zeal for modernization, Chile’s press has been hyping the idea of cars for all families by 2018. If that happens, the personal freedoms Chileans gain by driving may come back to haunt them, both in smoggy skies and expanding waistlines.

Are you ready for some futbol?

Last night I finally attended my first Chilean football game, and it was quite the experience. The home team, Colo-Colo (think the NY Yankees of Chile) won 2-1, but lost its matchup as it had fallen in the previous game 3-0 (the aggregate score matters in football tournaments). Thus, the opposing team, America (which hails from Mexico) played very defensively, keepin six or seven players back to guard the goal throughout. Nonetheless, Colo Colo kept up its attack, and despite some frustrating occurances, the quality of play was much better than the other Chilean games I'd seen on TV.

The Chilean fans were just as rowdy as I had hoped: loud, proud, and yes, sketchy. We were confronted countless times between the metro stop and the stadium entance by teens in slighly grungy Colo Colo jerseys asking for money--some claiming only to need a few more pesos to pay for a ticket, others a little more upfront). But apparently our group had it easy, as they tried to reach into my friend Eddie's pockets to get his iPod (which doesn't make sense as the's the biggest guy in our Stanford cohort here) and the girls were asked to perform a number of explicit sex acts which I will not elaborate on here.

Based on what now appears to be bad advice, we arrived to the stadium more than two hours early, and thus stuck out like a sore thumb. Although we weren't with the rowdies in the cheap seats (center of the field tends to be a little pricer; we paid rougly $15 each) we still got plenty of looks. The nearby fans nearly gave the girls a standing ovation of hoots and hollers when they came down the steps (blondes are in high demand here, it seems). A group of kids (I'd guess between eight to ten years old) decided to befriend us, posing for pictures and sweet talking the girls. Only when their dads, who had been sitting a few rows back watching with subtle amusement, decided enough was enough did the kids return to their seats. Of course, the chosen method of shutting their kids up was giving them each a cigarette.

Once the game started, the fans' attention shifted to the field of play. The game itself was a blast, I didn't catch on to all the cheers (most featured some sort of insult at the opposition's mothers) it was still great to be part of the crowd. One of the Spanish teachers, who is only in her late twenties, I'd guess, came with us and tought us a few of the chants. There was a fight in the stands on the other side of the field, and while the tides of onlookers rushed to catch a glimpse of the fray, they immediately reversed and fled the other direction as a cadre of menacing-looking policemen clad in full-out riot gear charged into the fracas. A few fireworks were set off from the crowd, and the police had to chase down an unauthorized sandwich vendor, but it didn't look like anyone was stabbed, so I'd say the game was a victory for all.

Friday Flashback

Yesterday was a day of sequels: a return to the doctor, sushi, Spider Man 3, and the ugly American rears its oh-so-ugly-head once more.

First, to the doctor, where I was to have a specialist examine my month-broken left ring finger that is still abnormally swollen. The doctor was a veritable Chilean Santa Claus, complete with white beard, jolly demeanor, rosy cheeks and a red shirt to boot. After hearing my labor to describe my symptoms in Spanish, he smiled, explained how he had just returned from a trip to the U.S., and began his diagnosis in near-perfect English.

Great.

As it turns out, the type of fracture I have (infinitesimally small) take a long time to heal, and there’s not a whole lot I can do. Except physical therapy.

Why not?

The physical therapist was nice enough, although I was a little weirded out by the routine, which included dipping my hand in paraffin, ultrasound (I felt like an expecting mother) and concluding with minor electric shocks. Of course, halfway through the session she politely asked if she could practice her English. Of course, I don’t mind, I responded.

After a routine trip to the gym (where there was a TV news crew filming god knows what) I returned home for a quick, light dinner, then jammed into the Metro at rush hour to meet the crew for sushi and Spider Man downtown. While the sushi joint (which offers half price discounts after 8, since most Chileans eat large lunches and small dinners) had been all but abandoned the Tuesday night we had been there a few weeks past, they had no room for our 10-person party this Thursday. But they did offer take out.

What did we do? Simply eat our 100-odd-piece sushi dinner family style, sitting on the floor in the lobby outside the restaurant. Other than a minor incident involving soy sauce, a spilled beer, and countless awkward looks from Chileans, all went well. Once you come to terms with being the annoying gringo and embrace it, things get much easier.

This came in handy when we next went to McDonalds and I dropped my cone (still holding out on eating actual McDonalds food) while, being the philanthropist that I am, attempting to donate my 30 Chilean pesos in change, I dropped my cone. But due to my acute Spidey senses, I caught it with my (recently rehabilitated left hand). The server gladly offered to replace it, being that I would have to now lick the ice cram off my hand (I wasn’t that graceful in my rescue). Initially, imbued with false American pride, I politely refused, but then noticing the looks my friends were giving me, and the imploring face of the McDonalds employee, I sheepishly accepted.

Of Spider Man, there’s not much to say, except that it was terrible. There was even one scene where he blatantly poses while soaring across an American flag. To remedy our image abroad, we elected to boo the screen. Not sure if it worked.

A Hard Day's Off

If there's one things Chileans take seriously, it's soccer. Judged by the riots that broke out this weekend after "the greatest match in chilean football" ended in a tie, I learned one should stay off the metro on Sunday evenings. But if there's another thing Chilenan's take seriously, it's days off.

Thus I found an abandoned city on my walk to school this morning (more on the walk another day). I made it to the center faster than ever with traffic all but absent, and have spent the day getting my photos online (you'll notice the new shots with my entry on La Serena: "All Right Now"). I'll probably get somerthing up about this weekend's trip to Pucon later this evening, unless I choose to follow the Chilean example and just stay in my room and watch TV all day. We had classes off today, which is infuriating only because we DID have classes yesterday, which killed any chances of the dream 5-day travel weekend. Of course, several of my Stanford counterparts said "to hell with this" and went to Buenos Aires the whole time anyway. Probably a good call. But apparently the Chileans didn't even have class yesterday. What gives?!

To be fair, it is International Workers Day, which apparently is "international" everywhere except the good old US of A. As such, nearly every store, restaurant, and cafe is closed down. I'm going to search long and hard for a gringo sports bar to catch tonight's Warriors/Mavs game. Of course, I'll be pulling for the NorCal upset over Texas. Go Golden State!

With everything closed, we had to hunt to find food for lunch, eventually just going to get sandwiches from the nearby supermarket. McDonald's was open, but I'm trying to resist giving in to McD's for as long as possible (the rest of the crew already folded and got McFlurries, but I held strong).

As we were heading downstairs from the Stanford center, an odd smell was wafting up the staircase. At first somone said it was incsense, but it got stronger as we approached the lobby. There, as we left the staircase and passed the open door to the parking lot, sat the parking lot attendant, cheerfully smoking a joint right in the open--odd considering Chile's usual conservative sensibilities. While I thought my first encounter with drugs in South America would be with a Columbian cocaine warlord, this was more entertaining, as the attendant smiled and gave us a bigger-than-normal "buenas tardes" and wave of the hand.

Happy worker's day to you, too, sir.