Monday, June 18, 2012

Marcha Estudiantil - April 25th

Taylor, Brittany and I went to the first student march of the year on April 25th. It was a continuation of the protests, riots and demonstrations that shut down universities and high schools the year before. The masses demand an education system that is more accesible, not prejudiced by socio-economic background and more affordable. Essentially an overhaul of the system.

Heres some video I took of the march:


El Hoyo - May 13th

El Hoyo is a classic and awesome Chilean restaurant in the heart of Santiago.

http://www.elhoyo.cl/

and here's what Anthony Bourdain had to say about it (which is basically why I went):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PWpKLWs1tc&feature=player_embedded

El Hoyo celebrates its 100th anniversary this year


Tour: Center is a pernil (or the pig's leg), boiled potatoes, and a terremoto to drink (sweet white wine and pineapple ice cream)

Its the biggest and best piece of pork I've ever had.

We won.

The menu. Hope you like pork!

Chiloé Island, Puerto Montt, Puerto Varas Chile (April 26 - May 1)

Chiloé (See #41 on the NYT list) is an island off the coast of southern Chile as the landscape starts to turn into mountains...

More to come!

View of the bay from Puerto Montt


The ferry to Chiloé

Castro, Chiloé - regional capital

Stilt houses - Palafitos


the morning chimney smoke hangs over the city


That big white box is a mall... It's being built in the middle of town

Curanto - mussels, clams, sausage, potato, ham, chicken, delicious

Castor's UNESCO church

inside Castro's church

Church at Dalcahue

Church at Achao
Inside church at Achao - Oldest in Chiloé


Los Saltos de Petrohue

Chile's only man in space - and now owner of a hostel in Puerto Varas

Thursday, June 7, 2012

El Mordisco! A Chilean birthday tradition

I was surprised when I returned from my trip to San Pedro by my host mother and my neighbor. They presented to me some little gifts and a fresh pineapple and cream cake (delicious!). My neighbor then explained to me the "tradition" of el mordisco, where the birthday-er takes a bite of the cake without hands and is subject to a push from behind such that you face is also involved in taking a bite.





Either way, it was a welcome surprise and very kind of them.

San Pedro de Atacama: The Edge of Mars (April 19-22)

airport tarmac
      The nice part about having an abroad program with a budget for travel is that you can go on an official program trip and miss class for it. So we met on campus with our program director and our bags on an especially nice Thursday morning and headed to the airport on an expenses paid trip to Northern Chile. The flight transported us from the smoggy and urban-jungly Santiago to the middle of the driest desert on Earth (aside from the main ice cap of Antarctica). OR, as I like to call this part of Chile: Mars. The airport is actually in the town of Calama, which is known for really only one thing: copper and the largest open pit copper mine in the world: Chuquicamata (say that five times fast). Its an enormous mine, but we didn't get to see it. So our plane touched down on this dark black strip of asphalt, an island of civilization in the sea of red earth and sand that flows between 15,000 foot snow-capped volcanoes. This is the high desert of the Atacama. After collecting our belongings, we met our eccentric tour guide, Leo, and left for the tourist hub of San Pedro de Atacama, some 1.5 hours to the southeast. As the sun set over some of the most immense volcanoes I've ever seen, I soaked up the sights and what little oxygen there was in the air and relished the uniqueness of this place.
The very cool gate
     Friday came early indeed. Our accommodation, the Hotel Terrantai, was very nice, but fell short of preparing me for the 7:30am wake up call. Then, at 8:30am on the dot Leo the tour guide and now the most punctual person in Chile appeared at our breakfast buffet to usher us to the van for our day's touring. We drove out of town, back down the same road on which we had entered San Pedro, but turned off down a dirt road just outside of town. As the sun finally showed itself over the mountains, we were told our destination was the humble hamlet of Rio Grande. On the way, we encountered a large gateway erected over a small pass that then descended into the river valley that gave Rio Grande its misleading name. The gate, however, was spectacular. Adorned with two towering indigenous pan flute players at either side of the road, the structure welcomed us to the land beyond and encouraged us to make an offering at the altar to Pachamama (constructed at the side of the road, by the gate). So we offered a little water to the indigenous life giving god and headed down to Rio Grande. Evidently, the Rio is more like a stream and, in fact not grand or grande at all. Thus this poor town was a misnomer. The van pulled over at the local church, where we got out and took pictures of it - the church itself was closed. Well planned. The girls of the program decided to simultaneously head to the local bathroom, leaving me, the sole bearer of a Y-chromosome and a bladder larger than a golf ball, to fend for myself for fifteen minutes in this itty bitty town. I discovered there was nothing to do. Thankfully, we moved on soon after my revelation and drove back up the valley and out the cool gate. We then passed through a valley which apparently was only meant to show us the geologic formations of the area (if they weren't apparent already). The notable thing in this valley, whose name escapes me, was an enormous green rock outcropping. And thats about it. We wheezed our way back to the van and left. But, much to our ambivalence, there was a tourism center down the road where, of course, we stopped. The building is the guard house for the petroglyphs that are carved on the adjacent rock. So we observed llamas, foxes and flamingos carved into the sandstone. Little did we know that these glyphs are a mere 500 years old and have, in part, been defaced over the years. So, while the Europeans criss-crossed the Atlantic, the Atacaman people were etching pregnant llamas into large boulders. Interesting, but not as interesting as the smoked salmon and mushroom sandwiches we had for lunch that afternoon. Needless to say the van ride back to the hotel was a welcome endeavor, but not so much as the comfort of a bed and a toilet.
petroglyph
     That night we were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go on a star tour. San Pedro, and well, the whole Atacama Desert, is known for its lack of light and air pollution (and high altitude) that allow for ideal conditions to view the heavens. It was an incredible experience. The stars of the Milky Way are more brilliant and defined in the souther hemisphere and it was apparent. We were able to look through about a dozen telescopes that were pointed at various parts of the sky. The night was capped off with hot chocolate and a couple stories from the astronomer.
     Saturday was my favorite day of the weekend, by far. It was an early and cold morning as we left San Pedro. At 8:30am the sun still hadn't risen over the horizon of high mountains in the east. The van crossed the valley in the low light of the predawn morning and began to climb the slope of the mountain ridge on the other side. I, the genius of the group, has decided it would be a great idea to wear shorts because having a jacket would be enough to fend off the cold. I was wrong. We pulled over for our first stop just over the first mountain pass to look at a beautiful lagoon that was filled with deep blue water and green grasses and stood in stark contrast to the bright red mountain around it. But, much to my chagrin, the weather was a balmy REALLY COLD and the lagoon was in fact covered in a layer of ice. We continued on and I thawed a bit in the van. Following the road, the van zigzagged over hills and through valleys, behind these enormous volcanoes and other worldly landscapes. The altitude wasn't terribly pleasant. Giving everybody at least a throbbing headache, if not nausea, lightheadedness and dehydration, the van continued to climb into the sky. The guide announced that we had hit the highest point of the day (this news coming only a couple hours after we woke up, but still welcome news) at 4,830 meters or 15,850 feet above sea level. That was the highest elevation I had ever been to (higher than the elevation from which I went skydiving...).
     The van pressed on, though I'm sure many of our group wish it hadn't. Soon, we left the comforts of the paved road and tore across the open desert. Even though I wasn't driving, the freedom of driving without roads and restrictions across the desert was thrilling. Out the windows we could see herds of vicuñas (a relative of the llama) running in the distance or foraging for a scrap of vegetation. We had another opportunity to walk around and see some impressive geologic formations that looked like huge rock columns sticking straight out of the ground. I dared to venture off on my own, away from the group, to get a feel for what this place looks like without anyone else. Its beautiful. And silent. There was no wind, not a single bird, no noise at all. Just unadulterated silence. The kind of silence that is oppressive and intimidating. I was actually scared to make a sound that would disrupt it. Eerie, but very unforgettably cool. The van driver and guide later showed us pieces of volcanic glass (obsidian) that very hidden among the stones all over the desert floor. The day continued on and we drove and drove through the desert terrain. We reached an area called the Cathedrals which was a valley or a gulch that was lined on one side with towered rocks that, I suppose would look something like cathedrals. I don't know, maybe. This valley terminated in the final destination of the day: The Salar de Tara. It was an incredible landscape once again. The Sala de Tara is a large salt lake fed by a fresh water spring and sits below a volcano, providing a home for migrating flamingos and local vicuñas and llamas. We walked around the area, soaked in the sights, ate lunch and began the loooong ride back to San Pedro.
The Cathedrals
     That night, I was treated to a nice and lively birthday dinner at a local restaurant with the whole group and much food and drink. It was a great time and at the expense of WashU which made it all the better. I was given an interesting group of gifts most notably the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey and a carved wood penis bottle opener. A night worthy of a 21st birthday party I should think.
Sejar - Salt lake
      Sunday morning and the last morning of our trip to the desert was sunny and brisk. After breakfast, we departed for the final time with our guide Leo to see the ruins of a fortified town from the days of the Atacama people. It wasn't that interesting and the angle of the sun meant that the lighting was terrible to take pictures of the view. We climbed and descended the town, which was on a hill, and boarded that van once again. The second place of interest was less interesting than the first set of ruins. The van stopped at the ruins of a complex of indigenous houses that had been buried by the drifting desert sand and lost for centuries, only to be accidentally rediscovered. The narrow and newly constructed boardwalk afforded us great downward views of a few circular sets of stone walls and little else. Nonplussed for the second time that morning, we left for the final stop of the day: the salt lake (called Sejar, I think). I get the hype. Swimming in salt lakes is awesome. It wasn't the Dead Sea or the Great Salt Lake, but I was floating with my shoulders out of the water without even trying. The drawback is that every cut or laceration or even bug bite begins to burn and itch after a few minutes in the water. We had to cautiously wade out into the lake over basketball shaped mineral deposits to reach the center and deepest part of the lake. It was like reaching the edge of an abyss because the shallow two foot deep shore area just dropped off into a bottomless pool. It was obvious that nothing considerable could live in this salty environment, but you still had that lingering thought that some crazy Chilean high altitude salt lake monster might rear its ugly head from the depths of the water and swallow you whole. Didn't happen, but almost did. After we had sufficiently salted ourselves, we dried off and were left with a lovely white brine, everywhere. Still worth it.
    The van ride all the way to Calama was tired, salty and dehydrated. We were sad to be leaving, but just as happy to be headed back to Santiago where we wouldn't have nagging altitude headaches all the time.


Awesome trip overall and great birthday weekend. 


More pictures in the Just Pictures section!

Monday, May 21, 2012

SKYDIVING -- April 15th, 2012



Yes, I did go ahead and fulfill one of the most notorious and stereotypical study abroad activities of all time - skydiving. The experience began with an interesting exchange of emails. Here is a copy of the directions sent to me by the Skydiveandes employee:


Deben tomar un bus interurbano con dirección a Melipilla en Estación Central: El bus se llama Ruta 78 y es de color Blanco. Una ves en el bus deben indicarle al conductor que su bajada es en el restaurante Barbarela. Cuando lleguen a Barbarela seguir la siguiente indicaciones:

1.- Cruzar con mucha precaución la autopista.
2.- Se encontraran con un árbol, deben bajar por el lado derecho del árbol.
3.- Encontraran un camino de tierra deben seguir ese camino que los llevara al medio de la pista de aterrizaje.
4.- Son 15 minutos de camina hasta llegar al hangar.

The instructions begin by telling us (Brittany and me) to leave Santiago on an intercity bus to Melipilla, but to advise the driver to let us off, alongside the freeway, at the Barbarela restaurant. Easy enough, right? Hop off on the side of the road and follow some easy directions: 1. Be very careful crossing the freeway; 2. You will come to a tree, you should go to the right of it; 3. You will then find a path (after passing said tree) and follow it until you reach the airstrip; 4. Its about a 15 minute walk to the hangar. 

Umm, you want us to do what?

I wanted to very clearly express to him that Skydiving in South America is considered to be dangerous enough by most people, much less crossing a freeway and finding a tree and then walking through farms to the hangar. Well... we did just that.

So, we travelled over hill and dale, farm and freeway, agricultural runoff ditch and airstrip to arrive at the hangar. We were greeted by smiling faces, who I'm sure were all in on the huge joke that we just followed those stupid directions and now were about to pay an ungodly sum of money to hurl ourselves at the ground. Hahaha very funny. Walking into the shady office was a welcome relief if the wording of the liability release form wasn't. After initialing paragraph after paragraph that prevented me from suing them for anything from drunkenness to a faulty parachute, I encountered my favorite passage and one that made me laugh out loud.  Here it is:

14) Experimental Airplane
I am aware that SkydiveAndes Club airplane is an amateur-built experimental Comp Air 8, and that the airplane does not comply with standard safety regulations for certified aircraft.
                                                                     Initial to indicate agreement (____________)

Its a WHAT? At that point, I probably wouldn't have been surprised if paragraph 15 said: "You will be dropped from genetically modified pigeons from an altitude of 12,000 feet. Initial to indicate agreement (_____)" Thankfully it didn't. BUT STILL. 

After laughing, nervously, and maybe peeing a little, we initialed and handed over a large wad of blue chilean bank notes to complete the transaction. We then waited and waited and waited. For around 4 hours in total. Then I went skydiving. Then Brittany waited for another hour. Then she went. 

Here are a couple videos.

Pre skydive:
Explanation of the videos: As I put the harness on, my heart instantly took residence in my throat and began to beat very fast. I was soon acquainted with the amateur aircraft, both inside and out. On the way up, I sat between the legs of the professional jumper and stared at the back of the plane. I inspected the inside of the aircraft: it was stripped to its bones of the normal plastic and padding that would normally be there and instead was a military-patterned kevlar looking material. I had to think to myself: why does military camouflage always end up being associated with extreme sports? I tried to avoid looking at the thin sliding plastic door that would be my escape from this amateur aircraft (which, of all things, had a sticker that read: "No Farting"). The view out the windows actually turned out to be incredibly peaceful: To the right I looked a hundreds of miles of snow-capped Andes mountains that rose above the Santiago smog and stretched up and down the backbone of the continent. To the left was a shimmering blue Pacific Ocean. How cool is that? I was seeing the width of Chile. And it was gorgeous. 

TWO MINUTES

What? Oh right, I'm about to fall out of a plane. I forgot. WAIT WHAT? TWO MINUTES? And just like that the heart beating and the air breathing went into overdrive. Well, until I saw the first guy nonchalantly fall to his right out the open hole in the side of the plane, then I started losing it. But, we inched towards the door and I waved at the camera and we fell. See below.

The official video I paid to have made:

Yeah. It was awesome. Intense. However many adjectives that you want to add but that all fail to capture what its like. Especially because there is one HUGE problem with skydiving. During the whole process of going up and falling, you become so inflated with adrenaline that when its all over and you are back on the ground, everything feels lame. All you want to do when you land is keep the feeling going. My initial thoughts were: shoot guns, run really fast and far, chop down trees and drive a rally car really fast. Essentially the skydiver wastes an incredible amount of adrenaline in the time after the jump is over. They should just have you hop in a boxing ring right after you land. It would definitely be appreciated, at least by me, if not by many.

Thanks for reading.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Makin' Pigs in Pomaire -- April 14th

      A sunny Saturday in mid-April, we all piled into the van at our designated meeting spot to drive about an hour and a half outside of Santiago to enjoy the artisan town of Pomaire. Follow the link for more information about the town. The trip was exciting even before we left Santiago as one of our group members had just recently returned from a Chilean wedding the night before. While that might seem innocuous, but in fact the party had danced its way until 6am with the help of many a pisco sour apparently. Needless to say her enthusiasm at 9:30am was unmatched up until the point she passed out in the back row of the van.
     So we departed and a quick nap later we arrived. Pomaire, as we saw it, was a dusty little town with overgrown trees and a surplus of pottery shops. The van bumped up a long driveway to a large and gaudy house. The hosts warmly welcomed us and quickly showed us to the outdoor oven where they were preparing fresh bread for us to eat with our unexpected breakfast. AWESOME. Food surprises are some of the best, especially on a sleep-deprived Saturday morning. Breakfast consisted of fresh baked bread, with fresh eggs from the property or fig jam and a steaming hot cup of coffee. The meal gave us a chance to look around the house, which they say had been built ten years earlier. It was filled with everything. I mean everything. There was an 80s KISS themed pinball machine (which quickly became the object of all my envy). There was a circe 1950s baby blue beauty salon hair dryer being used as a coat rack. A large collection od locks and keys hung from a wall. An old radio was mounted to another wall whose dial was the light switch. I can't even attempt to name everything, but it was very cool.
     Filled with hot and delicious food, we were given a brief talk about the history of the town. A notable tidbit that came from this talk was that the families in Pomaire refer to the other families by their respective specialties in pottery. Comical, especially when she admitted that most people don't even know the real names of their neighbors. So we tucked that in our cap and set off down the road to play with clay at a workshop. At some nameless, signless, storefront-less garage, we encountered a stout man who was touted as being member of one of the original families of this artisan town (and thus, by extension, famous and very good at making clay crafts). After we gaped at the sheer volume of clay pots and candle holders and vases and umbrella holders, we turned our attention to a demonstration, lead by the man of the hour. We were going to be making piggy banks! Thankfully the body of the pig had already been made into a perfect round shape and we only had to tack on the features that make a football look like a pig. Ten piggy banks later and we were sitting behind a spinning wheel shaping the soft wet clay into bowls (or something that should have resembled a bowl).
The workshop
Piggy bank couple
My pig 
Makin' a bowl
     After everyone had a turn at making a bowl, we headed back to the house to be stuffed with food once more. Plates and plates of food were set in front of us. It was nauseatingly good. So, logically, after I decided to dip my toes in the pool on the grounds of this house (everyone else scoffed at such an activity... their loss). Well because that didn't last long, we headed back into town to try our hand at buying the clay artifacts.  Given that we were buying directly from the craftsmen, prices were rock bottom.  I figured that, if you didn't mind having all earthen-colored kitchenware, you could probably completely supply a kitchen of everything from bowls and cups to utensils and baking dishes for around $50. Pretty impressive. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to test that theory. Maybe next time. I came away from cheap pottery with only a few items: a coffee mug, a pitcher and three cups, setting me back a total of $7.