Among Chileans, a favorite topic to discuss about the United States is our obesity problem. More than a few times, I've found myself in a conversation about the number and size of gordos in the states (Chileans aren't a big fan of euphemisms). Chileans, it seems, have been watching a lot of Jerry Springer and The Biggest Loser. It's true, obesity is an epidemic in the U.S., however, when I'm told that I'm not the typical gringa because I'm not "large and love eating McDonalds," you know that there's some misrepresentation going on here.
Something that rarely comes up, however, is Chile's own growing problem with health and obesity.
I recently got into a debate with some gringo friends about our perception of how fit or fat people are in Chile. They contended, at first, that people are much thinner and healthier here in Santiago. I disagreed. On the whole, though I'd admit I see fewer extremely overweight or obese people than I would in many parts of the U.S., neither do I see many really healthy looking Chileans. And, I'd go as far to say that, depending on where you are in the city, as, just in the U.S., obesity is largely income-related, the number of the severely overweight in Chile rivals our own.
But, these were just my impressions. So, I decided to bring it up with an expert, a Chilean friend of mine who has a background in both nutrition and fitness. He confirmed my suspicions, and added that childhood obesity is especially grave (18% of school-age children are obese; in the U.S. that number is 16%). This explains the relative lack of awareness, even obliviousness of Chileans to the problem in their own country when discussing this issue. It's a new problem.
According to the National College of Nutritionists in Chile, it has come about partly as a result of socioeconomic changes, and the growing availability and consumption of packaged foods. I've seen this first hand at the grocery store. I was once behind a man in line whose items included: two 2-liter bottles of Coke, a large bag of Super Ochos (candy bars), a a triple package of Frac (oreo-like cookies), and two liter-bottles of drinkable yogurt. Not saying this would never happen in the states, and obviously it's not the norm by any means, but there is definitely an obsession with packaged food here, just as much as there is in the U.S., and with sugar in particular. I've mentioned it before, but Coke and other soft drinks are consumed by the gallon both in Chilean homes at the dinner table and out and street kiosks are ready and waiting on every corner to satisfy mid-afternoon sugar cravings. What's shocking is that sugar content is not listed on nutritional facts here. Perhaps sweets-loving Chileans would rather stay in the dark about how many grams of it they consume daily, but I think that their population's waistline, and the health of future generations will certainly suffer for it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Out of Hibernation to Share my Stories from the Land of Endless Summer
I'm going to start off 2011 and my homecoming to the blogosphere after a prolonged hiatus, with a post about my new favorite destination, Colombia. You might be thinking, "Colombia of kidnappings and the jungle, drugs and Johnny Depp movies," and that is exactly the response that my friend Marie and I got when we broke the news that we would be traveling there for a week for New Years. Not in so many words, but the tense silence or the gentle admonishments to "Be really careful," said it all.
Unfortunately for the drama factor of this blog but fortunately for my friend and I, these impressions, held by so many in the U.S., couldn't be farther from the Colombia I experienced. In fact, my advice to all: get over these conceptions, learn a bit of Spanish, and book one of the ridiculously cheap and easy flights to Cartagena (Spirit Airlines), NOW before it becomes the next Cancun.
The New York Times travel section, always ahead of the curve, has been pushing Cartagena as the gem that it is since 2008. Overlooking the Caribbean, it's a gorgeous colonial city, the most charming part of which is actually walled, lending to the feeling that you've stepped back in time. The salty, hair tousling breeze breathes freshness into the mazelike streets (don't even try following a map, it was 7 days before I finally got any bearings whatsoever), but I suggest you embrace the heat and humidity -- its all part of the sultry charm of Cartagena.
Arriving from Chile was just as much of a culture shock as coming from D.C. would have been. Everything about Colombia was different. The climate (jungle humid versus desert dry). The people (hello black people! I've missed you!). The music (salsa, champeta, vallenato. A never ending symphony of welcome alternatives to the reggaeton and electronic that's preferred in Chile). The spanish (chevere? nena? bacano? a whole new glossary of modismos to learn, but thankfully clear enunciation by which to learn them). The food (ripe, colorful, juicy watermelon, mango, papaya, guaranya (?) for sale on every corner; dense mouth-drying arepas; and fish (fried) and bananas (also fried), were the staples of our diet for the week. And the booze (wine, Chile's pride and joy, was seldom to be found on the Caribbean. it was all about beer, rum, and aguardiente (a pretty yucky licorice liquor that just happens to be the cheapest buzz-inducer available).
To say that I was thrilled by these differences is an understatement. I'm absolutely in love with Cartagena (and Bogotá too for that matter) and could go on for pages about what I did there, but I'm going to try to condense it into a best-of list:
1. The nighttime energy of the city and the people: I had the good fortune to befriend some Colombians during my stay, and, if you ever go, I suggest you try to do the same, because wherever they are, they take the energy level up about 10 notches. But beware, if you party with Colombians you better have your dancing shoes on because once they start they refuse to sit down. By far the highlight of the trip was New Years Eve, which we spent in one of the main plazas of the city, where a live salsa band played all night. All the Colombians (and luckily, Marie and I too, since we had gotten the inside scoop before coming) were decked out in romantic all-white, and the sticky heat of the night, a two hundred year old church as a backdrop to our dance floor, and the fireworks at midnight, made for one of the most picturesque soirees I have ever attended. I started out the night not knowing a lick of salsa, but by 6 AM, I was one-two-threeing my way down the cobblestone streets to our hotel--my feet wouldn't thank me the next morning, but they had caught the dancing bug, and not even the sun coming up over the walled city meant it was time to quit.
2. The Caribbean speed setting. There's no better place for the overworked, stressed American (not that I'm putting myself in that category) to really rejuvenate and refresh. Because, really, you have no other choice than to slowwwww downnnnn. The climate itself demands it. Moving faster than an amble during the day will only necessitate a trip back to your hotel for a cool shower. As I said, it's futile to try and navigate yourself around the city--simply leave a few hours to wander, and eventually you'll arrive at your destination, whether that's a cafe (where you'll just have to sit back, relax and wait the fifteen minutes it takes to lovingly prepare your fresh squeezed juice or frothy latte) or a clothing store (where, it's about a fifty-fifty chance that you'll have to wait while the clerk runs around the corner to a friend's shop to get their shared credit card machine). If you're serious about wanting some R&R, Cartageneros are great role-models for this, and they are more than happy to instruct you in their tranquilo ways.
3. The "just enough" thrill factor of tourist activities that reminds you you're visiting an off-the-beaten-path destination. The tourism industry isn't yet fully developed in Cartagena, so there is a do-it-yourself element to vacationing there. And, since there isn't a hotel concierge or tour guide to hold your hand in everything, that means leave room for the unexpected--mishaps, encounters, problems, and payoffs.
Take, for example, our first day activity of heading to one of the Islas del Rosario, islands off the coast of Cartagena that have very nice beaches. You get there by boat, and, I suppose the ocean is an unpredictable thing and it could happen anywhere, but I felt like I was on the log flume at an amusement park. We were getting sprayed (no, soaked) from all sides, bumping up and down and jostling our bench mates; luckily, our tour operators must know just how long their guests can take the fun, because we pulled in to the island just as an inkling of nausea was setting in. We spent the afternoon on the beach but the highlight was a snorkling expedition, which, true to form, involved no waivers, no training apart from some surprisingly involved instructions on how to get your mask to stick to your face (?), and another whiplash inducing boat ride to the reef.
Things got even more adventurous when Marie and I took a trip to Santa Marta, a beach city four hours north of Cartagena, for a few days. We had heard amazing things about the remote beaches of Parque Tayrona, but were unsure of the best way to access them. Some people we had met had hiked to them--highly unrecommended due to the recent flooding in the area which made the path a mud pit, foul smelling and infested with biting bugs. No gracias. One friend had recommended entering the park by boat -- this is illegal since it gets you around paying the park entrance fee, but it only takes thirty minutes and deposits you right on the beach. But we had also heard horror stories about this boat ride -- "it was the scariest experience of my life..." "I seriously thought I was going to die...." "I was crying...." "We took the boat there but opted to walk back...that's how scary it was." Although I'm all for a little adventure, I wasn't trying to take my life in my hands for a little sun. Our hostel owner had what seemed like a good alternative: go to the beach that's on the other side of the park from where most people enter...it's accessible by public transportation and quite beautiful.
So to Playa Concha we went. We caught one of the ramshackle city buses and took it as far as it went. Unfortunately, the little plaza in the center of a neighboring town was not what I had imagined the "end of the line" to be. Where was the beach? we wondered. I asked the bus driver how to get to Playa Concha (as Patrick at the hostel had suggested I do) and he told me to "ask the fisherman." (Sidenote: This is another thing about Colombians, they pass you off to others a lot to answer your questions. "Ah, you're looking for the supermarket? I don't know but let's walk down the street and ask my brother the barber because he goes there a lot to buy...." "Hmmm Plaza San Pietro, Plaza San Pietro."...(knocking on a stopped cab's window) "Amigo, tell these girls where Plaza San Pietro is.") I approached the young men I believed to be the fishermen and the second that "playa" slipped from my lips we were bombarded with offers of transport....only thing is, the only vehicles I was seeing around were a broken down looking bus and....motobikes. Taxi? I asked. Bus? Where is the bus? Those were simply not options, my young "fisherman" friend assured me. There was too much mud for four wheeled vehicles to get up to the beach. He laid out my two options plain and clear: moto or walk. Poor Marie, in hindsight I realized all this interaction was going on in Spanish and the next thing she knew we were each perched atop a mini motorcycle, shooting up the mountain road, holding tight to a round Colombian man. What had I done?
For the few minutes during our ride that I began to doubt whether we were actually going to this supposed paradise Playa Concha my thoughts shot to Patrick, our supposed source of reliable information. Wasn't he supposed to know these things?! We were his clients, his guests, he had a responsibility to get us safely to where we needed to go. But, then I realized that no, this was my trip, and I was doing just what I should be while traveling--figuring it out for myself, making my way and getting where I want to go, and enjoying the ride as much as the destination. And I can safely say I did just that in this Playa Concha expedition. Not only was the jaunt on the mototaxi something fun and different, but my moto driver turned out to be the veritable lord of the beach -- he got us everything we needed, chairs, a tent, a delicious lunch of fried fish, beers, and the all important ride back at the end of the day. So, we ended up with the five star treatment -- albeit Colombia style -- it just involved a little DIY to get there, making it all the more worth it.
So that's it. Those are my top three (with about twenty side perks rolled in) of Colombia. I can't recommend Cartagena more, and Bogotá was beautiful and lots of fun as well. It's a beautiful country, with lovely people and an energy that I have never felt anywhere else.
Unfortunately for the drama factor of this blog but fortunately for my friend and I, these impressions, held by so many in the U.S., couldn't be farther from the Colombia I experienced. In fact, my advice to all: get over these conceptions, learn a bit of Spanish, and book one of the ridiculously cheap and easy flights to Cartagena (Spirit Airlines), NOW before it becomes the next Cancun.
The New York Times travel section, always ahead of the curve, has been pushing Cartagena as the gem that it is since 2008. Overlooking the Caribbean, it's a gorgeous colonial city, the most charming part of which is actually walled, lending to the feeling that you've stepped back in time. The salty, hair tousling breeze breathes freshness into the mazelike streets (don't even try following a map, it was 7 days before I finally got any bearings whatsoever), but I suggest you embrace the heat and humidity -- its all part of the sultry charm of Cartagena.
Arriving from Chile was just as much of a culture shock as coming from D.C. would have been. Everything about Colombia was different. The climate (jungle humid versus desert dry). The people (hello black people! I've missed you!). The music (salsa, champeta, vallenato. A never ending symphony of welcome alternatives to the reggaeton and electronic that's preferred in Chile). The spanish (chevere? nena? bacano? a whole new glossary of modismos to learn, but thankfully clear enunciation by which to learn them). The food (ripe, colorful, juicy watermelon, mango, papaya, guaranya (?) for sale on every corner; dense mouth-drying arepas; and fish (fried) and bananas (also fried), were the staples of our diet for the week. And the booze (wine, Chile's pride and joy, was seldom to be found on the Caribbean. it was all about beer, rum, and aguardiente (a pretty yucky licorice liquor that just happens to be the cheapest buzz-inducer available).
To say that I was thrilled by these differences is an understatement. I'm absolutely in love with Cartagena (and Bogotá too for that matter) and could go on for pages about what I did there, but I'm going to try to condense it into a best-of list:
1. The nighttime energy of the city and the people: I had the good fortune to befriend some Colombians during my stay, and, if you ever go, I suggest you try to do the same, because wherever they are, they take the energy level up about 10 notches. But beware, if you party with Colombians you better have your dancing shoes on because once they start they refuse to sit down. By far the highlight of the trip was New Years Eve, which we spent in one of the main plazas of the city, where a live salsa band played all night. All the Colombians (and luckily, Marie and I too, since we had gotten the inside scoop before coming) were decked out in romantic all-white, and the sticky heat of the night, a two hundred year old church as a backdrop to our dance floor, and the fireworks at midnight, made for one of the most picturesque soirees I have ever attended. I started out the night not knowing a lick of salsa, but by 6 AM, I was one-two-threeing my way down the cobblestone streets to our hotel--my feet wouldn't thank me the next morning, but they had caught the dancing bug, and not even the sun coming up over the walled city meant it was time to quit.
2. The Caribbean speed setting. There's no better place for the overworked, stressed American (not that I'm putting myself in that category) to really rejuvenate and refresh. Because, really, you have no other choice than to slowwwww downnnnn. The climate itself demands it. Moving faster than an amble during the day will only necessitate a trip back to your hotel for a cool shower. As I said, it's futile to try and navigate yourself around the city--simply leave a few hours to wander, and eventually you'll arrive at your destination, whether that's a cafe (where you'll just have to sit back, relax and wait the fifteen minutes it takes to lovingly prepare your fresh squeezed juice or frothy latte) or a clothing store (where, it's about a fifty-fifty chance that you'll have to wait while the clerk runs around the corner to a friend's shop to get their shared credit card machine). If you're serious about wanting some R&R, Cartageneros are great role-models for this, and they are more than happy to instruct you in their tranquilo ways.
3. The "just enough" thrill factor of tourist activities that reminds you you're visiting an off-the-beaten-path destination. The tourism industry isn't yet fully developed in Cartagena, so there is a do-it-yourself element to vacationing there. And, since there isn't a hotel concierge or tour guide to hold your hand in everything, that means leave room for the unexpected--mishaps, encounters, problems, and payoffs.
Take, for example, our first day activity of heading to one of the Islas del Rosario, islands off the coast of Cartagena that have very nice beaches. You get there by boat, and, I suppose the ocean is an unpredictable thing and it could happen anywhere, but I felt like I was on the log flume at an amusement park. We were getting sprayed (no, soaked) from all sides, bumping up and down and jostling our bench mates; luckily, our tour operators must know just how long their guests can take the fun, because we pulled in to the island just as an inkling of nausea was setting in. We spent the afternoon on the beach but the highlight was a snorkling expedition, which, true to form, involved no waivers, no training apart from some surprisingly involved instructions on how to get your mask to stick to your face (?), and another whiplash inducing boat ride to the reef.
Things got even more adventurous when Marie and I took a trip to Santa Marta, a beach city four hours north of Cartagena, for a few days. We had heard amazing things about the remote beaches of Parque Tayrona, but were unsure of the best way to access them. Some people we had met had hiked to them--highly unrecommended due to the recent flooding in the area which made the path a mud pit, foul smelling and infested with biting bugs. No gracias. One friend had recommended entering the park by boat -- this is illegal since it gets you around paying the park entrance fee, but it only takes thirty minutes and deposits you right on the beach. But we had also heard horror stories about this boat ride -- "it was the scariest experience of my life..." "I seriously thought I was going to die...." "I was crying...." "We took the boat there but opted to walk back...that's how scary it was." Although I'm all for a little adventure, I wasn't trying to take my life in my hands for a little sun. Our hostel owner had what seemed like a good alternative: go to the beach that's on the other side of the park from where most people enter...it's accessible by public transportation and quite beautiful.
So to Playa Concha we went. We caught one of the ramshackle city buses and took it as far as it went. Unfortunately, the little plaza in the center of a neighboring town was not what I had imagined the "end of the line" to be. Where was the beach? we wondered. I asked the bus driver how to get to Playa Concha (as Patrick at the hostel had suggested I do) and he told me to "ask the fisherman." (Sidenote: This is another thing about Colombians, they pass you off to others a lot to answer your questions. "Ah, you're looking for the supermarket? I don't know but let's walk down the street and ask my brother the barber because he goes there a lot to buy...." "Hmmm Plaza San Pietro, Plaza San Pietro."...(knocking on a stopped cab's window) "Amigo, tell these girls where Plaza San Pietro is.") I approached the young men I believed to be the fishermen and the second that "playa" slipped from my lips we were bombarded with offers of transport....only thing is, the only vehicles I was seeing around were a broken down looking bus and....motobikes. Taxi? I asked. Bus? Where is the bus? Those were simply not options, my young "fisherman" friend assured me. There was too much mud for four wheeled vehicles to get up to the beach. He laid out my two options plain and clear: moto or walk. Poor Marie, in hindsight I realized all this interaction was going on in Spanish and the next thing she knew we were each perched atop a mini motorcycle, shooting up the mountain road, holding tight to a round Colombian man. What had I done?
For the few minutes during our ride that I began to doubt whether we were actually going to this supposed paradise Playa Concha my thoughts shot to Patrick, our supposed source of reliable information. Wasn't he supposed to know these things?! We were his clients, his guests, he had a responsibility to get us safely to where we needed to go. But, then I realized that no, this was my trip, and I was doing just what I should be while traveling--figuring it out for myself, making my way and getting where I want to go, and enjoying the ride as much as the destination. And I can safely say I did just that in this Playa Concha expedition. Not only was the jaunt on the mototaxi something fun and different, but my moto driver turned out to be the veritable lord of the beach -- he got us everything we needed, chairs, a tent, a delicious lunch of fried fish, beers, and the all important ride back at the end of the day. So, we ended up with the five star treatment -- albeit Colombia style -- it just involved a little DIY to get there, making it all the more worth it.
So that's it. Those are my top three (with about twenty side perks rolled in) of Colombia. I can't recommend Cartagena more, and Bogotá was beautiful and lots of fun as well. It's a beautiful country, with lovely people and an energy that I have never felt anywhere else.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
A Hodgepodge Update
I've been a little MIA the past few weeks. Really no excuse for that, but here are a few things I've been up to...
- Trying to keep myself straight about what month/season we are in. The changeable Santiago weather doesn't help, though it seems like summer has officially arrived here, with sunny days (is the sun actually brighter here, or is it just me?) and temps in the mid to high 80s (that means mid to high 90s in the metro, yuck). Despite the weather, knowing that it is November has me all screwed up. Everything I read from the U.S. (read: friend's facebook pictures, cooking blogs, Washington Post's Going Out Guide) screams of fall. And as it's my favorite season, I feel like I'm experiencing some sort of strange "phantom limb" syndrome about it. With Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas season looming I feel it's just going to get worse.
- Halloween in Chile. Chileans are caught in a sort of limbo over Halloween. I couldn't get a straight answer from the Chileans I talked to about whether it's even celebrated. Some would say "Oh yes! Se celebra harto!* Everyone dresses up!" Others would tell me it's just for kids. How long it's been celebrated also seemed to be in dispute. Twenty somethings and sixty somethings alike claimed that the beginnings of Halloween's popularity in Chile lay during their colegio* days. There were certainly a number of costume parties advertised, and I saw a bunch of little kids running around in their costumes in the park near my house, but on the whole, the enthusiasm for Halloween is underwhelming. Besides that, as it's in its nascent stage as a holiday here, Chileans are stuck in that concept of Halloween as "scary." Every costume I saw was a dead something or a zombie something or an ax-murderer something.
Needless to say, they didn't quite get my costume: a Chilean nana.* A piece of background: in Chile, everyone has a nana, regardless of social status, and everyone makes their nanas wear uniforms. So, when the nana is out, doing what the nanas do here, which is everything (taking the kids to the park, getting groceries, walking the dog, cleaning the windows, mowing the lawn (no, Santiaguinos don't really have lawns, but it was a funny mental image)), the uniform marks the nana for all the world as a domestic servant. They actually have entire stores devoted to nana uniforms. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, one of these stores, where I wanted to buy my costume, was closed on the Saturday before Halloween. Luckily though, for the bargain price of 6 mil pesos ($12) you can buy your nana a spankin' new uniform at your neighborhood....grocery strore! Just one aisle over from the yogurts and the unrefrigerated boxed milk!
My friend took some pictures, and I will be sure to post one once she gets them up, but basically I wore a baby pink checkered smock-like dress, tucked a rag and some clothes pins in my pocket, and carried a plastic grocery bag as my purse. Of course, in true gringo-Halloween fashion, which "sexy-fies" even the most unlikely suspects, I wore heels and cinched my smock with a skinny belt.
- Celebrated my first out-of-town birthday with lunch at one of my favorite restaurants in Santiago. Below is a picture of only round one of my desserts that day :)
- Studying for the GRE. For anyone who, like me, hasn't taken a math class since high school (Mathematics in Society Freshman year just doesn't count), trust me, it's a painful, painful experience trying to relearn the FOIL method, or how to find the volume of a cylinder, or what the sides are on a 45-45-90 triangle. I don't recommend it.
-Starting to make plans for post-December 10, my last day of classes at Duoc. A beach vacation to Brazil or Colombia might be in the cards before heading back stateside. Click away on those links anyone who might be able to get away to the southern hemisphere between Christmas and New Years. You have the will of steel if they don't convince you.
Besos!
*It's celebrated a ton/so much!
* grade/high school
*housekeeper
- Trying to keep myself straight about what month/season we are in. The changeable Santiago weather doesn't help, though it seems like summer has officially arrived here, with sunny days (is the sun actually brighter here, or is it just me?) and temps in the mid to high 80s (that means mid to high 90s in the metro, yuck). Despite the weather, knowing that it is November has me all screwed up. Everything I read from the U.S. (read: friend's facebook pictures, cooking blogs, Washington Post's Going Out Guide) screams of fall. And as it's my favorite season, I feel like I'm experiencing some sort of strange "phantom limb" syndrome about it. With Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas season looming I feel it's just going to get worse.
- Halloween in Chile. Chileans are caught in a sort of limbo over Halloween. I couldn't get a straight answer from the Chileans I talked to about whether it's even celebrated. Some would say "Oh yes! Se celebra harto!* Everyone dresses up!" Others would tell me it's just for kids. How long it's been celebrated also seemed to be in dispute. Twenty somethings and sixty somethings alike claimed that the beginnings of Halloween's popularity in Chile lay during their colegio* days. There were certainly a number of costume parties advertised, and I saw a bunch of little kids running around in their costumes in the park near my house, but on the whole, the enthusiasm for Halloween is underwhelming. Besides that, as it's in its nascent stage as a holiday here, Chileans are stuck in that concept of Halloween as "scary." Every costume I saw was a dead something or a zombie something or an ax-murderer something.
Needless to say, they didn't quite get my costume: a Chilean nana.* A piece of background: in Chile, everyone has a nana, regardless of social status, and everyone makes their nanas wear uniforms. So, when the nana is out, doing what the nanas do here, which is everything (taking the kids to the park, getting groceries, walking the dog, cleaning the windows, mowing the lawn (no, Santiaguinos don't really have lawns, but it was a funny mental image)), the uniform marks the nana for all the world as a domestic servant. They actually have entire stores devoted to nana uniforms. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, one of these stores, where I wanted to buy my costume, was closed on the Saturday before Halloween. Luckily though, for the bargain price of 6 mil pesos ($12) you can buy your nana a spankin' new uniform at your neighborhood....grocery strore! Just one aisle over from the yogurts and the unrefrigerated boxed milk!
My friend took some pictures, and I will be sure to post one once she gets them up, but basically I wore a baby pink checkered smock-like dress, tucked a rag and some clothes pins in my pocket, and carried a plastic grocery bag as my purse. Of course, in true gringo-Halloween fashion, which "sexy-fies" even the most unlikely suspects, I wore heels and cinched my smock with a skinny belt.
- Celebrated my first out-of-town birthday with lunch at one of my favorite restaurants in Santiago. Below is a picture of only round one of my desserts that day :)
-Starting to make plans for post-December 10, my last day of classes at Duoc. A beach vacation to Brazil or Colombia might be in the cards before heading back stateside. Click away on those links anyone who might be able to get away to the southern hemisphere between Christmas and New Years. You have the will of steel if they don't convince you.
Besos!
*It's celebrated a ton/so much!
* grade/high school
*housekeeper
Monday, October 18, 2010
Overexposure?
Though we still have thirty degree termperature swings from day to night, the weather is getting gorgeous here in Santiago. The past two weekends have been absolutely spectacular, and, after a long, grey winter (well, actually, two winters in a row, with a brief Santiago fall), my sun-starved friends and I were anxious to soak up some rays. There's a huge park pretty close to where I live and four of us donned our bathing suits and planted ourselves on the grass for a few hours. We received a couple strange looks from passing joggers, but nothing out of the ordinary for Chile. As I'm sure I've noted before, Chileans will stare unabashedly at anything that is even the slightest bit out of the ordinary. Four girls in bikinis in a park fell into this category. Or so we thought.
Like good addicts, we got a taste and wanted more. We returned Sunday for a few more hours worth of Vitamin B. Unfortunately, we were not so lucky round two and were approached almost immediately by some jotes (Spanish for vultures, but used for creepy, pestering men). We tried our best to ignore them, pretending to not speak Spanish, and trying to continue our conversations. When that failed we told them curtly to leave us alone, but it became clear that we would have no choice but to leave. Luckily as we were leaving a friend who has a rooftop pool called, we told her about our predicament, she laughed and said to come right over. We spent the rest of a beautiful afternoon with a much better view.
It wasn't until this weekend at a friend of a friend's birthday lunch in the country that I realized just how out of the ordinary our tomando el sol en bikini en el parque* really was. Chelsey and I recounted our story, which proved to be a real crowd-pleaser. The Chileans we were with just couldn't believe that we were using a park as our personal sun deck. They asked if police had approached us (they hadn't), and laughingly accused us of trying to cause a desorden público.* They were full of suggestions: go to the public pool on San Cristobal (it doesn't open until mid November), come to my apartment building any time you want, try Parque O'Higgins (this last suggestion reflecting Chileans' ingrained classism--apparently, our behavior was more suited to the lower class recreational area downtown than to chi-chi Las Condes).
Wait a minute. Help a gringa get this straight. You go to a pool or the beach in Chile, or any other Latin American country, and the bathing suit cut of choice is a thong, and no one looks twice. Women are laying around with their entire booties exposed and no one bats an eye. But.....we sit outside--in a large, sunny, open area, where men are playing soccer shirtless, people are lounging reading in shorts and tanktops, young couples are making out in the grass (this is a park in Chile, after all)--and we decide to wear our extremely-modest-by-Chilean-standards bathing suits, and it causes a public disturbance? As they say here in Chile, INJUSTICIA!!!
*Sunbathing in bikinis in the park
* public disturbance
Like good addicts, we got a taste and wanted more. We returned Sunday for a few more hours worth of Vitamin B. Unfortunately, we were not so lucky round two and were approached almost immediately by some jotes (Spanish for vultures, but used for creepy, pestering men). We tried our best to ignore them, pretending to not speak Spanish, and trying to continue our conversations. When that failed we told them curtly to leave us alone, but it became clear that we would have no choice but to leave. Luckily as we were leaving a friend who has a rooftop pool called, we told her about our predicament, she laughed and said to come right over. We spent the rest of a beautiful afternoon with a much better view.
It wasn't until this weekend at a friend of a friend's birthday lunch in the country that I realized just how out of the ordinary our tomando el sol en bikini en el parque* really was. Chelsey and I recounted our story, which proved to be a real crowd-pleaser. The Chileans we were with just couldn't believe that we were using a park as our personal sun deck. They asked if police had approached us (they hadn't), and laughingly accused us of trying to cause a desorden público.* They were full of suggestions: go to the public pool on San Cristobal (it doesn't open until mid November), come to my apartment building any time you want, try Parque O'Higgins (this last suggestion reflecting Chileans' ingrained classism--apparently, our behavior was more suited to the lower class recreational area downtown than to chi-chi Las Condes).
Wait a minute. Help a gringa get this straight. You go to a pool or the beach in Chile, or any other Latin American country, and the bathing suit cut of choice is a thong, and no one looks twice. Women are laying around with their entire booties exposed and no one bats an eye. But.....we sit outside--in a large, sunny, open area, where men are playing soccer shirtless, people are lounging reading in shorts and tanktops, young couples are making out in the grass (this is a park in Chile, after all)--and we decide to wear our extremely-modest-by-Chilean-standards bathing suits, and it causes a public disturbance? As they say here in Chile, INJUSTICIA!!!
*Sunbathing in bikinis in the park
* public disturbance
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
September 18th: Feliz 200th Cumpleaños Chile!
My students gave me fair warning. I should have known from their reaction--outrage tinged with despair--the first time I wrote on the board "Quiz Units 1 & 2- Wednesday, September 22." "Miss," they told me candidly, "this will not be good. We will be con caña* and we will not be able to study." Gringa that I am, I just didn't get it. Yes, I knew that we had two and a half days off, plus the weekend in between, for Chile's bicentennial independence day celebration, and yes, I had heard all about the parties, dancing and drinking. But, in my denial, I thought, they can't possibly party the entire five days. Word to the wise: don't underestimate Chileans' stamina when it comes to celebrating dieciocho.
It really all started a couple of weeks ago with the flags. Chileans put the U.S. to shame when it comes to putting their national pride on display. My guesstimate: 95% of houses, apartment buildings, and offices flew a flag, three in every five cabbies sported the blue, red, and white, whether in mini flags or streamers, and countless vendors sold flags of all sizes to passersby.
On Thursday the 16th everything closed half day, and many Santiaguinos packed the freeways and headed out of the city. I stuck around for the light show at la Moneda, the presidential palace downtown. Packed onto the lawn in front of the building we waited...true to form, the show started (almost a full hour) behind schedule. It was spectacular (though, shorty that I am I think I saw much more of the back of people's heads than the show) and an energetic kick-off to the bicentennial. However, it was, without a doubt, the most poorly planned public event I have ever attended. My mild claustrophobia (and anxiety thinking about a mass exit of 60,000 people ) kicked in and Stoddie and I made our way to the fringe of the crowd about fifteen minutes before the show ended. Even so, it was tough going. Roads were blocked for no apparent reason, creating even more congestion in the ones that were open. And the kicker: those 60,000 people I mentioned, the only option for them to get home were the buses. The metro operates only until 11. You'd think that the city, after luring that many people to one spot with an awesome light show, would make an exception and keep it running. By the grace of god, Stoddie and I caught a taxi. My other friends were not as lucky and had to push and shove their way onto packed buses, and that's after waiting almost an hour for one to stop.
Friday we headed to Valparaiso with the intention of checking out the scene on the coast and catching the city's talked about fireworks that night. My friend Chelsey had heard about a fonda in the neighboring city, Viña del Mar, so we caught a taxi over there to check it out.
In the weeks leading up to the fiestas patrias various Chileans had tried to explain to me exactly what a fonda is. Unfortunately, none of them had the English word that sums it up perfectly: county fair. Each city puts on at least one of these mini county fairs. Fondas are, depending on your perspective, either retro or ghetto versions of county fairs in the U.S. I prefer to view them as retro; a throwback to how they might have been fifty years ago. At the fondas you'll find all the typical fair games, but with a homemade spin; nothing is commercial or mass manufactured. For example, the classic game of throwing a ball to knock down a pyramid--at the fondas that pyramid is made of cans with the labels peeled off. And forget stuffed animals or water guns as prizes. In keeping with the overriding theme of dieciocho, most of the prizes are alcohol. First prize gets a fifth of Flor de Caña (Chilean equivalent of Captain Morgan's) second prize a flask of pisco, and third a six pack of Cristal (think Natural Light). But what about the kiddies?? We asked our Chilean friend and it seems young Chilenos are more generous than their North American counterparts: in the miraculous case (all the games are rigged) they win one such coveted prize, mommy or daddy gets some previa* material.
Family fun was happening all over the place at the fonda. Not sure if it was clean, as there was also lots of alcohol consumption happening all over the place, but kids and parents were definitely enjoying themselves, playing games, eating empanadas, buying knockoff Oakleys and beaded jewelry, and parading around in the traditional cueca* outfits.
The star attraction of the fondas would have to be the food and drink. A Chilean friend of mine told me about a month ago, when trying to explain what exactly goes down for dieciocho, that you can gain 4 kilos over the five day holiday. "No you must mean 4 pounds," I replied. She assured me--4 kilos. Now, I am a believer. The fonda is filled with little makeshift restaurants where the prominent menu item is carne. Whether skewered or slapped between a bun, meat, and the aroma of it charring, overpower the fonda. And to wash all that meat down obvio you need a nice, cold beverage (though, to be honest, it will probably be closer to room temp. No ice around here). To choose from you have Cristal by the litro, or chicha, a sweet young wine, by the jug, or terremotos, which I'd call the Chilean version of a Long Island Iced Tea. And if you opt for terremotos, you better stick to by the cup, preferably size small. They aren't called "earthquakes" for nothing.
After the fonda and the fireworks in Valpo (which were some of the best I've ever seen, by the way) we headed back to Santiago Saturday afternoon for Stoddie's last night in Chile. Going for a late afternoon walk, it was eery in the city--literally everything was closed. In Chile, as opposed to in the States, a holiday really is a holiday. With nowhere to go but Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, and gas station mini-marts there would be no boosting of the economy done by Chileans on these days off. My mind jumped to my empty pantry and refrigerator...I'd have to survive on the supply of Luna Bars Stoddie had brought me until Tuesday.
*hungover
*pregame
* national dance of Chile
It really all started a couple of weeks ago with the flags. Chileans put the U.S. to shame when it comes to putting their national pride on display. My guesstimate: 95% of houses, apartment buildings, and offices flew a flag, three in every five cabbies sported the blue, red, and white, whether in mini flags or streamers, and countless vendors sold flags of all sizes to passersby.
On Thursday the 16th everything closed half day, and many Santiaguinos packed the freeways and headed out of the city. I stuck around for the light show at la Moneda, the presidential palace downtown. Packed onto the lawn in front of the building we waited...true to form, the show started (almost a full hour) behind schedule. It was spectacular (though, shorty that I am I think I saw much more of the back of people's heads than the show) and an energetic kick-off to the bicentennial. However, it was, without a doubt, the most poorly planned public event I have ever attended. My mild claustrophobia (and anxiety thinking about a mass exit of 60,000 people ) kicked in and Stoddie and I made our way to the fringe of the crowd about fifteen minutes before the show ended. Even so, it was tough going. Roads were blocked for no apparent reason, creating even more congestion in the ones that were open. And the kicker: those 60,000 people I mentioned, the only option for them to get home were the buses. The metro operates only until 11. You'd think that the city, after luring that many people to one spot with an awesome light show, would make an exception and keep it running. By the grace of god, Stoddie and I caught a taxi. My other friends were not as lucky and had to push and shove their way onto packed buses, and that's after waiting almost an hour for one to stop.
Friday we headed to Valparaiso with the intention of checking out the scene on the coast and catching the city's talked about fireworks that night. My friend Chelsey had heard about a fonda in the neighboring city, Viña del Mar, so we caught a taxi over there to check it out.
In the weeks leading up to the fiestas patrias various Chileans had tried to explain to me exactly what a fonda is. Unfortunately, none of them had the English word that sums it up perfectly: county fair. Each city puts on at least one of these mini county fairs. Fondas are, depending on your perspective, either retro or ghetto versions of county fairs in the U.S. I prefer to view them as retro; a throwback to how they might have been fifty years ago. At the fondas you'll find all the typical fair games, but with a homemade spin; nothing is commercial or mass manufactured. For example, the classic game of throwing a ball to knock down a pyramid--at the fondas that pyramid is made of cans with the labels peeled off. And forget stuffed animals or water guns as prizes. In keeping with the overriding theme of dieciocho, most of the prizes are alcohol. First prize gets a fifth of Flor de Caña (Chilean equivalent of Captain Morgan's) second prize a flask of pisco, and third a six pack of Cristal (think Natural Light). But what about the kiddies?? We asked our Chilean friend and it seems young Chilenos are more generous than their North American counterparts: in the miraculous case (all the games are rigged) they win one such coveted prize, mommy or daddy gets some previa* material.
Family fun was happening all over the place at the fonda. Not sure if it was clean, as there was also lots of alcohol consumption happening all over the place, but kids and parents were definitely enjoying themselves, playing games, eating empanadas, buying knockoff Oakleys and beaded jewelry, and parading around in the traditional cueca* outfits.
The star attraction of the fondas would have to be the food and drink. A Chilean friend of mine told me about a month ago, when trying to explain what exactly goes down for dieciocho, that you can gain 4 kilos over the five day holiday. "No you must mean 4 pounds," I replied. She assured me--4 kilos. Now, I am a believer. The fonda is filled with little makeshift restaurants where the prominent menu item is carne. Whether skewered or slapped between a bun, meat, and the aroma of it charring, overpower the fonda. And to wash all that meat down obvio you need a nice, cold beverage (though, to be honest, it will probably be closer to room temp. No ice around here). To choose from you have Cristal by the litro, or chicha, a sweet young wine, by the jug, or terremotos, which I'd call the Chilean version of a Long Island Iced Tea. And if you opt for terremotos, you better stick to by the cup, preferably size small. They aren't called "earthquakes" for nothing.
After the fonda and the fireworks in Valpo (which were some of the best I've ever seen, by the way) we headed back to Santiago Saturday afternoon for Stoddie's last night in Chile. Going for a late afternoon walk, it was eery in the city--literally everything was closed. In Chile, as opposed to in the States, a holiday really is a holiday. With nowhere to go but Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, and gas station mini-marts there would be no boosting of the economy done by Chileans on these days off. My mind jumped to my empty pantry and refrigerator...I'd have to survive on the supply of Luna Bars Stoddie had brought me until Tuesday.
*hungover
*pregame
* national dance of Chile
Monday, September 20, 2010
From Snow to Surf
Less than three weeks after heading up into the Andes for the snow, I headed down to the beach town of Pichilemu for the surf. My friends Mike and Caren, Stoddie, who was visiting me for the week, and I, rented a cabaña right on the beach where some of the best surfing in Chile goes down. The town of Pichilemu was all but dead, it being mid-week and the off-season, but the surf school down the road was ready and waiting for us. We slipped (or rather, struggled) into our necessary but unflattering wetsuits and headed first to the sand, where we learned the technique, and then the icy cold and rough water. The 10 mil peso ($20) surf lesson was well worth it; if it weren't for our instructor Pablo pushing my board when a wave came up I doubt I would have been able to get up. But, as long as I didn't have to do the hard part--the paddling--I was able to ride a few. I think my experience with yoga helped a lot with the movement and stance, though doing a spin-off of warrior pose is a lot tougher while balancing on a moving piece of fiber glass. It was a lot of fun, though by the end of our hour in the water I was completely beat from struggling with the waves.
We unwound with an asado (cookout) of choripan, Chile's (more delicious) version of a hotdog, and some vino and watched the sunset from our deck.
In Pichilemu, I became more aware than ever of what Pablo, our surf teacher summed up as "Santiago no es Chile" (Santiago isn't Chile). It's amazing how different the lifestyle and feel is in this little beach town than in the capital city. The people are more friendly, there's less U.S. influence, and the pace of life seems slowed by about three times (and that means about 5 times slower than what we're used to in the States). Granted, it's a tourist town, and we were visiting in the equivalent of March, but even so, there just wasn't that much to the city. It made me think of the beaches at home, like Bethany and Rehoboth, but what I imagine they were like fifty years ago. It's an awesome place to spend a weekend, and its chill atmosphere kind of draws you in--after two days I wasn't to stoked to head back to bustling Santiago.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
My Chilean TV Debut--Finally Found it
A couple months ago I posted about being interviewed for a Chilean news documentary about the earthquake. I had looked for the clip and was unable to find it...until now. Here's the link. My part is right around minute seven, but, if you know Spanish, the entire segment is really worth watching. But uff, it's tough to listen to my gringa accent in the midst of all these Chilenos. This clip might be just the incentive I need going into the second half of my time here to intensify my Spanish-improvement efforts.
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