This is the story of a lonely Christmas Eve, and Christmas day, in the mountains. I Left Pucon, a tourist hub, if you´ve been reading, a facade of chincy (sp.?) touristy outfits and expensive tours of things that make you feel hardcore, and bad coffee.
I hitched a ride to Temuco about a hundret km north with some mountain guides who, (small world) were good friends with my one contact in Pucon (a friend of a friend). I guess the world of alpine climbing is small. After another bus ride a wait in the rain and some more hitchhiking (a bit sketchy one of them) and a half hour trek up the mountain in the rain to arrive at a Ruka cabin, a small wood and mud cabin perched on the edge of a mountainside - river, wind, trees, cows... no electricity, no phone... just fields, trees and abundant firewood. I spent christmas eve day working in the field and then the two guys who live in the community (they are activists and have this commune where they share everything, grow their own stuff and accept volunteers, as well as rugged conscientious tourists). Suddenly they asked me what day it was, I told them the 24th and so they said they had an important meeting in Melipeuco, the nearest town. So we cooked up a big lunch on the ruka fire and then went out back and drank mate and talked about all sorts of things, then they left. I worked a bit longer in the fields, made myself a nice christmas eve dinner of cabbage, onion, garlic aji (a local hot pepper) oil and lemon salad on fire baked flour tortillas that I made. Then I broke out my stash of chocolate!!
The next day, christmas, I took my time preparing breakfast and after a cup of warm milk went to work in the fields until about 2...etc.
They told me they would be back by 12 on Christmas day. Today, the 26th, at 12 they were still not here, so, worried, lonely and clostrophobic, I packed my bags and started the long trek into town to find out what was going on, and if not, to leave. The first ride I got I thought I´d take - a big lumber truck driven by two old guys. I threw my stuff in the back with the lumber and jumped in - they locked the steel gated door behind me and we made our way into town. I got out, dusty, onto the main street and the first person I saw was Eric, one of the two guys from the community- having no phone there was no way they could contact me to tell me they would be coming two days later. We were going to go up tonight but instead we´ll go tomorrow morning as there is no bus and we don´t fancy hitchhiking...
Thats my brief, poorly told, christmas story!!
I must say though, today as the rain drove down and the clouds blew by like spectres until I couldn´t see anything, it was beautiful, but I had not prepared for so much solitude - I think its easier to confront when you mentally and emotionallly prepare for it. but as I was expecting company (and these guys are great!) I was extremely lonelyand thought a lot about my family, my friends, and really, how lucky I am to have such fantastic people in my life!!! Sounds cheesy I know, but its what I was thinking. Anyway im going back to the Trafkura house (the little hostel these guys have in town) to relax. The next days will bring lots of hard work, good chat, and great food. I hope to help out building the second Ruka house and the composting toilet (of which there are already 2 - very cool!! look it up).
I just remembered a whole bunch more stuff! I met a woman in Pucon my final night that has walked from California to Santiago Chile promoting sustainable living and the cesation of petroleum consumption!!! WOW - later I´ll post her link but i don´t have it with me.
anyway this has been the worst post by far but i had so much to say, so little time and I´m on a bit of a high, unfocussed...etc.
Thats all for now, the next post will a) be more coherent and b)be of a higher quality as it seems I have developed a reputation that I am currently not living up to!!!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, or the opposing realities of the western "traveller"
I sat down this afternoon in the only cafe in Pucón that makes a decent espresso, I got my pen and leatherbound notebook out and began to write - this is, with only a few minor modifications, what I wrote down.
In the past 5 to 7 years of my life I have become increasingly aware of what I believe to be the intrinsically schizophrenic nature of human beings, the double personality. Or perhaps of my own conscience. Yes, the divide exists within me and I am about to project it, by way of this page, (or screen if you will) onto the rest of humanity.
This schism I have realized, - after much thought, much distillation and separation of ideas, causes, effects, side effects and so on - revolves primarily around the existence of two separate human consciousness´(if thats a word). It belongs in the dual realization that I am me and I will exist for a short time on this planet - I am unique; and conversely that I am merely a small peice of the infinite puzzle that is life and existance. I am only a piece and as such play an important role ie. I have distinct moral and ethical responsibilities and duties.
To bring this back to earth a bit I shall explain how this manifests itself and has manifested itself in my thoughts over the years and most strongly in the time leading up to my trip here.
Travelling is, on the one hand a way of realizing growth (spiritual, mental, cultural), of learning, of enjoying - it should be the definition of the pursuit of all these things and many more, related to human growth. This sort of growth is important for me and indeed for anybody who wants to develop as a human being.
However on the other hand I/everyone has a responsibility to eachother and to the planet and I find myself asking if this pursuit of "happiness", "good", "growth", and "knowledge" is either sustainable or responsible in relation to the rest of the human population as well as plants, animals and the bzillions of systems and ecosystems of the planet. In the endI have decided that it is not sustainable or necesarily good in a utilitarian sense... I have also, predictably and selfishly, put myself before all else and continued in this ignoble pursuit anyway.
However, with some notable alterations to my actions and attitudes, in order to mitigate, at least mildly, the consequences of my actions. (or perhaps better said, to create the illusion, like catholic confession, of "absolving" myself of guilt). Instead of listing these changes, I shall describe the sort of "traveller" or "tourist" that makes me question the purported advantages and possibilities of spiritual/mental/emotional growth of my own endeavours.
Another negative factor remains that, while it is magnified even further here in Pucon, I feel that the majority of "tourists" or "travellers" are like this:
They leave their country looking to relax; not just physically but mentally and emotionally too. They come, as all the promotional posters say, to disconnect from their stressful lives and enjoy relaxing, flawless and stress-free "travel". The problem with this is that all of the burden and responsibility has to fall on somebody and the native populations of the "visited" countries have the misfortune of being recipient to this onslaught of ignorant post-modern epicureanists. The tourist unloads the responsibility of communication, cultural understanding and action upon the resident population. (Sure there is an industry involved here that profits from these people but that does not detract from the moral argument). Even in long stays this tourist does not bother to learn the language, which, while not everything, is extremely important. Indeed, comprehension of a language is absolutely essencial in the understanding of another culture as it sheds light on religion, culture, spirituality (as distinct from dogmatic religion), superstition, customs, culinary habits, cultural attitudes (as they relate to both human society and to our relationship with the earth).
It seems that all the concepts we had mentioned above like education, spiritual and cultural growth, knowledge, personal growth - they all fall away leaving one single goal - naked and unaccompanied this single goal is indicative of the ignorant and selfish culture in which we have grown and shows a complete disregard for the interconnectedness of humankind - everything is me, me, me! This single goal is pleasure! And travelling becomes a list: this is why people can rush around an entire continent in 2 months and say that they "did" South America.
With all else stripped away, this pursuit is not only destructive to the "visited" but is in its hollow form, destructive and sapping to the "visiter"- in effect they gleen a mere fraction of what they could from their spacial and temporal experiences. (they are not experiencing or living fully). This, I have to say, is an insular, selfish and ignorant attitude towar travel which cuts off the arteries that feed , to use a tired metaphor, the growth of the heart. (These last words sound judgemental but I promise that they are not, they are observational!)
Instead of feeling selfrighteous about the way in which I choose to travel, every time I see tourists like the above mentioned, I question and evaluate my own motives, actions, and form of travel. It is not that I must like or enjoy or love everything that happens or everything that I see, rather that I must live it, bad good beautiful sad sorry pleasing... etc. They are all bumps in the road!
That was heavy and long!!!
but thats all for now!!!
In the past 5 to 7 years of my life I have become increasingly aware of what I believe to be the intrinsically schizophrenic nature of human beings, the double personality. Or perhaps of my own conscience. Yes, the divide exists within me and I am about to project it, by way of this page, (or screen if you will) onto the rest of humanity.
This schism I have realized, - after much thought, much distillation and separation of ideas, causes, effects, side effects and so on - revolves primarily around the existence of two separate human consciousness´(if thats a word). It belongs in the dual realization that I am me and I will exist for a short time on this planet - I am unique; and conversely that I am merely a small peice of the infinite puzzle that is life and existance. I am only a piece and as such play an important role ie. I have distinct moral and ethical responsibilities and duties.
To bring this back to earth a bit I shall explain how this manifests itself and has manifested itself in my thoughts over the years and most strongly in the time leading up to my trip here.
Travelling is, on the one hand a way of realizing growth (spiritual, mental, cultural), of learning, of enjoying - it should be the definition of the pursuit of all these things and many more, related to human growth. This sort of growth is important for me and indeed for anybody who wants to develop as a human being.
However on the other hand I/everyone has a responsibility to eachother and to the planet and I find myself asking if this pursuit of "happiness", "good", "growth", and "knowledge" is either sustainable or responsible in relation to the rest of the human population as well as plants, animals and the bzillions of systems and ecosystems of the planet. In the endI have decided that it is not sustainable or necesarily good in a utilitarian sense... I have also, predictably and selfishly, put myself before all else and continued in this ignoble pursuit anyway.
However, with some notable alterations to my actions and attitudes, in order to mitigate, at least mildly, the consequences of my actions. (or perhaps better said, to create the illusion, like catholic confession, of "absolving" myself of guilt). Instead of listing these changes, I shall describe the sort of "traveller" or "tourist" that makes me question the purported advantages and possibilities of spiritual/mental/emotional growth of my own endeavours.
Another negative factor remains that, while it is magnified even further here in Pucon, I feel that the majority of "tourists" or "travellers" are like this:
They leave their country looking to relax; not just physically but mentally and emotionally too. They come, as all the promotional posters say, to disconnect from their stressful lives and enjoy relaxing, flawless and stress-free "travel". The problem with this is that all of the burden and responsibility has to fall on somebody and the native populations of the "visited" countries have the misfortune of being recipient to this onslaught of ignorant post-modern epicureanists. The tourist unloads the responsibility of communication, cultural understanding and action upon the resident population. (Sure there is an industry involved here that profits from these people but that does not detract from the moral argument). Even in long stays this tourist does not bother to learn the language, which, while not everything, is extremely important. Indeed, comprehension of a language is absolutely essencial in the understanding of another culture as it sheds light on religion, culture, spirituality (as distinct from dogmatic religion), superstition, customs, culinary habits, cultural attitudes (as they relate to both human society and to our relationship with the earth).
It seems that all the concepts we had mentioned above like education, spiritual and cultural growth, knowledge, personal growth - they all fall away leaving one single goal - naked and unaccompanied this single goal is indicative of the ignorant and selfish culture in which we have grown and shows a complete disregard for the interconnectedness of humankind - everything is me, me, me! This single goal is pleasure! And travelling becomes a list: this is why people can rush around an entire continent in 2 months and say that they "did" South America.
With all else stripped away, this pursuit is not only destructive to the "visited" but is in its hollow form, destructive and sapping to the "visiter"- in effect they gleen a mere fraction of what they could from their spacial and temporal experiences. (they are not experiencing or living fully). This, I have to say, is an insular, selfish and ignorant attitude towar travel which cuts off the arteries that feed , to use a tired metaphor, the growth of the heart. (These last words sound judgemental but I promise that they are not, they are observational!)
Instead of feeling selfrighteous about the way in which I choose to travel, every time I see tourists like the above mentioned, I question and evaluate my own motives, actions, and form of travel. It is not that I must like or enjoy or love everything that happens or everything that I see, rather that I must live it, bad good beautiful sad sorry pleasing... etc. They are all bumps in the road!
That was heavy and long!!!
but thats all for now!!!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The Palestinian, the spaniard, the Eureka moment
One experience, one question, one realization.
I have just had the unfortunate opportunity to experience first hand, albeit in a more symbolic and pacific way, what it must feel like to be any person living in Palestine. I was there. Sitting on the rocks on the shore of Lake Villarica, in the shadow of a puffing, fuming white cone, the Volcan Villarica, I was quietly reading while eating plums in the sun and wind. From behind me came the gutteral sounds of a middle-eastern language. As the group of 5 or so approached I saw skull-caps and could see that they were of European extraction - Israelis. One sat next to me, actually touching me, and the rest sat all around me. The seemed to be laughing at me, as if it were a big joke. They asked me if I spoke english and I answered yes and where were they from... they laughed at me and continued shouting in Hebrew (or is it Yiddish... excuse my ignorance on the matter). I was not included in their conversations, nor were they conducted in a language I could understand. My space was invaded (by no means do I believe I owned that space but it is a matter of courtesy and observation I believe). They succeeded. I felt extremely uncomfortable in my own spot, my little home, unwelcome and invaded. So I got up and left the middle of a circle of Israelis empty.
On the street I met a waiter who had just arrived in Pucón from Barcelona. He spoke english, french, catalan, spanish, portuguese, and italian... Great man. We chatted, he and I and a native Puconian about all sorts of things, from the state of the Chilean military, the the suffocation of the people by tourists, to the obligatory architectural standards in Pucon (the buildings are all swiss/german style cozy stone and wood buildings - no boxy ugly messes), to the magnetic poles and the state of volcanoes and glaciers in Chile (the Puconian was a geologist of sorts). After at least 20 minutes of conversation the Puconian man asked where in Spain I was from!!! (thats just a little bit of blowing my own horn!!!)
I have decided this day, after going up to a glacial lake on a rented (and less than fully functional) mountain bike, and after strolling the streets and watching the tourists, that this is NOT, despite its self proclaimed status, an adrenaline junkie´s paradise. I´m sure it could be, I have no doubt. But 99% of the people who come here are monied european/north american tourists who want to feel like they are "adrenaline junkies" in a controlled environment. This would be better toted as the "pseudo-adventure-package-tour" capital of south america! Every tour agency, and there are literally hundreds in this town of barely 16,000, offers ziplining, climbing the volcano, rafting and horseback riding. The mountain biking, (I hate to be snobby and turn my nose up but...) was really a stroll on a narrow dirt road - a road. Though the scenery was beautiful from a technical standpoint I was left still hungry, or thirsty, so to speak - but this was "mountain biking". So thats my Eureka moment!
until next time
I have just had the unfortunate opportunity to experience first hand, albeit in a more symbolic and pacific way, what it must feel like to be any person living in Palestine. I was there. Sitting on the rocks on the shore of Lake Villarica, in the shadow of a puffing, fuming white cone, the Volcan Villarica, I was quietly reading while eating plums in the sun and wind. From behind me came the gutteral sounds of a middle-eastern language. As the group of 5 or so approached I saw skull-caps and could see that they were of European extraction - Israelis. One sat next to me, actually touching me, and the rest sat all around me. The seemed to be laughing at me, as if it were a big joke. They asked me if I spoke english and I answered yes and where were they from... they laughed at me and continued shouting in Hebrew (or is it Yiddish... excuse my ignorance on the matter). I was not included in their conversations, nor were they conducted in a language I could understand. My space was invaded (by no means do I believe I owned that space but it is a matter of courtesy and observation I believe). They succeeded. I felt extremely uncomfortable in my own spot, my little home, unwelcome and invaded. So I got up and left the middle of a circle of Israelis empty.
On the street I met a waiter who had just arrived in Pucón from Barcelona. He spoke english, french, catalan, spanish, portuguese, and italian... Great man. We chatted, he and I and a native Puconian about all sorts of things, from the state of the Chilean military, the the suffocation of the people by tourists, to the obligatory architectural standards in Pucon (the buildings are all swiss/german style cozy stone and wood buildings - no boxy ugly messes), to the magnetic poles and the state of volcanoes and glaciers in Chile (the Puconian was a geologist of sorts). After at least 20 minutes of conversation the Puconian man asked where in Spain I was from!!! (thats just a little bit of blowing my own horn!!!)
I have decided this day, after going up to a glacial lake on a rented (and less than fully functional) mountain bike, and after strolling the streets and watching the tourists, that this is NOT, despite its self proclaimed status, an adrenaline junkie´s paradise. I´m sure it could be, I have no doubt. But 99% of the people who come here are monied european/north american tourists who want to feel like they are "adrenaline junkies" in a controlled environment. This would be better toted as the "pseudo-adventure-package-tour" capital of south america! Every tour agency, and there are literally hundreds in this town of barely 16,000, offers ziplining, climbing the volcano, rafting and horseback riding. The mountain biking, (I hate to be snobby and turn my nose up but...) was really a stroll on a narrow dirt road - a road. Though the scenery was beautiful from a technical standpoint I was left still hungry, or thirsty, so to speak - but this was "mountain biking". So thats my Eureka moment!
until next time
Friday, December 18, 2009
Attempt
This is named attempt because I can only hope to half capture what I have experienced in the past 10 days - so here I go:
I work hard, from eight in the morning until one pm every day at which time I eat a homecooked meal in the humble stone court. But this I have already said. Jobs were beginning to get monotonous and pointless - that is cutting grass and weeding herb gardens for hours on end one begins to feel pointless. But a few days ago we sent to as Ulises calls it "nature´s rock factory" to gather stones for the winepress and the rabbit pen that we are building - we got two pickuptrucks full. Another day I shovelled shit (litterally) all day - hard, hot, sweaty work. These past few days I have had the fantastic opportunity of learning how to build with stone. First we level the ground and drive stakes in, then we dig a trench where the foundation will go and then we begin laying stones and fitting them to meet the level string we have run around the perimiter of the stakes. then we pack it all with cement and... and today I left the farm. I left the misty hills and the neighing horses and barking dogs in the orange light. I left the stale bread and the fresh cows milk and yogurt. Left the wood fire and the twangy voices of local cowboys who treated me not as a tourist but as a person, one of the rest. I left the dark wood and the water gourds, the hanging pendents and the endless dust that whips up along the road.
Yesterday Orlando (an avid cyclist and boyfriend of the ex-WWOOFer accross the road from our farm) lent me his mountainbike so I went up and up and up, past small cabins viscious dogs and herds of cows and bulls being led down the dusty road. Up, until the pines started, until the clearcuts started, until the only machines were the cutting and dragging machines where the land was scarred, but out of view from people. from here the views are spectacular and the descent on the windy, sandy, dusty road was fast, scary, and slightly insane given the existence of logging trucks and the absence of a helmet!!
Today I broke up some bread into some fresh yogurt, poured a tablespoon of honey from the farm and broke my fast. I packed up, gave my best wishes to Ulises and said goodbye to Natasha (the ex-WWOOFer from Holland) and I walked out onto the dusty road and stuck out my thumb. I got a ride from two guys screaming down the road in a shell of a van from the sixties or seventies. I threw my belongings into the back and sat on the spare tire making sure not to step on the battery whose rusty exposed wires were in view.
On the bus trip from Linares to Pucon I had a moment of absolute awe that I thought I should share, no matter how bizarre it sounds. I was thinking of belonging (inspired from my conversations with Ulises), or rather, of being a part of another system, a bigger, greater system. And this is how it went: electron, atom, molecule, compounds...amino and fatty acids, cells, tissue, organs, body, society, human civilization, ecosystem, continent, planet earth, solar system, constelation, galaxy universe... and my jaw actually dropped. And I hope that no one goes through life absolutely lukewarm - that at some point the big and the small explode in space and time to reveal all the awe and all the connections. even if just for a moment. Within moments I lost this perspective and returned to the mundane thoughts that run through one´s head on any bus trip... "my bum hurts, I´m thirsty, are we there yet?..."
Now im in Pucon. Tourist central. On mainstreet, every second store is an adventure tourism shop - mountain bike, rafting, climbing, kayaking, trekking... They say this is the adrenaline capital of Chile, I can see why and I intend to find out starting tomorrow. Now I am staying at an eco-friendly hostal - more on this later.
I´m trying so hard to be a sponge and soak up all the colours and the smells and experience everything - but as I´ve said before this is sometimes hard but I´ll keep on trying.
until next time
I work hard, from eight in the morning until one pm every day at which time I eat a homecooked meal in the humble stone court. But this I have already said. Jobs were beginning to get monotonous and pointless - that is cutting grass and weeding herb gardens for hours on end one begins to feel pointless. But a few days ago we sent to as Ulises calls it "nature´s rock factory" to gather stones for the winepress and the rabbit pen that we are building - we got two pickuptrucks full. Another day I shovelled shit (litterally) all day - hard, hot, sweaty work. These past few days I have had the fantastic opportunity of learning how to build with stone. First we level the ground and drive stakes in, then we dig a trench where the foundation will go and then we begin laying stones and fitting them to meet the level string we have run around the perimiter of the stakes. then we pack it all with cement and... and today I left the farm. I left the misty hills and the neighing horses and barking dogs in the orange light. I left the stale bread and the fresh cows milk and yogurt. Left the wood fire and the twangy voices of local cowboys who treated me not as a tourist but as a person, one of the rest. I left the dark wood and the water gourds, the hanging pendents and the endless dust that whips up along the road.
Yesterday Orlando (an avid cyclist and boyfriend of the ex-WWOOFer accross the road from our farm) lent me his mountainbike so I went up and up and up, past small cabins viscious dogs and herds of cows and bulls being led down the dusty road. Up, until the pines started, until the clearcuts started, until the only machines were the cutting and dragging machines where the land was scarred, but out of view from people. from here the views are spectacular and the descent on the windy, sandy, dusty road was fast, scary, and slightly insane given the existence of logging trucks and the absence of a helmet!!
Today I broke up some bread into some fresh yogurt, poured a tablespoon of honey from the farm and broke my fast. I packed up, gave my best wishes to Ulises and said goodbye to Natasha (the ex-WWOOFer from Holland) and I walked out onto the dusty road and stuck out my thumb. I got a ride from two guys screaming down the road in a shell of a van from the sixties or seventies. I threw my belongings into the back and sat on the spare tire making sure not to step on the battery whose rusty exposed wires were in view.
On the bus trip from Linares to Pucon I had a moment of absolute awe that I thought I should share, no matter how bizarre it sounds. I was thinking of belonging (inspired from my conversations with Ulises), or rather, of being a part of another system, a bigger, greater system. And this is how it went: electron, atom, molecule, compounds...amino and fatty acids, cells, tissue, organs, body, society, human civilization, ecosystem, continent, planet earth, solar system, constelation, galaxy universe... and my jaw actually dropped. And I hope that no one goes through life absolutely lukewarm - that at some point the big and the small explode in space and time to reveal all the awe and all the connections. even if just for a moment. Within moments I lost this perspective and returned to the mundane thoughts that run through one´s head on any bus trip... "my bum hurts, I´m thirsty, are we there yet?..."
Now im in Pucon. Tourist central. On mainstreet, every second store is an adventure tourism shop - mountain bike, rafting, climbing, kayaking, trekking... They say this is the adrenaline capital of Chile, I can see why and I intend to find out starting tomorrow. Now I am staying at an eco-friendly hostal - more on this later.
I´m trying so hard to be a sponge and soak up all the colours and the smells and experience everything - but as I´ve said before this is sometimes hard but I´ll keep on trying.
until next time
photos fucked
someone has fucked with the photos on flickr, so i have changed the password and am going to find a way to publish them...sorry for the inconvenience ...
Friday, December 11, 2009
A day on the farm
I woke up yesterday morning and looked out my tent window to see the sun rising between a fjord in the distance. Fog rolled in between the cliffs, down toward my little yellow home in a farm field. I put my boots on, 7am and walked to the little wood house to start my day of work. Ulises, the father on the farm, and I prepared breakfast in silence - we ground wheat kernels and added water to make a dough, and we stepped outside of the quaint wood cabin into a stone and brick outdoor kitchen. Kneeding the dough we started a fire in the wood oven and rolled the dough into Chapati/tortilla type rounds and stuck them on the tope of the wood stove. Everyone rose, walking through the dewy fields to little cooking area. We spread small amounts of honey from the farm onto our hot bread, and drink tea and unpasturized cow´s milk from the farm next door.
Then we go to work, mixing compost and manure and laying it around each plant, weeding fields, feeding the chickens and the rabbits (permaculture). Around the small house there are engraved gourds and hanging trinkets, and just outside the stone tool room is a small hut for meditation and reading.
The sun is hot, and the nights are cool, and I can hear the neighing (sp?) of horses and the mooing of cows as well as the gurgle of water from the stream that irrigates the fields. We work until 1 and we have a big family meal, and then we eat stale (rockhard) bread and tea, and some fresh plums, for dinner.
After lunch we have a three hour break and then work in the afternoon is optional, something I have done the past two days. Yesterday as well, we went out to collect rocks to make a container for the wine press (grape vines hang about the house and the multitudes of gardens that scatter the surrounding area). We´ve talked much of the unsustainable, money-loving, nature destroying western culture and Ulises and I have also spoken of the damage that religion does, and we all questioned why the president of the most violent country in the world got the peace prize!!! (this is all to say that we seem to be on the same page!)
Today I came in on the bus to town, I have two hours - life seems frenetic and bustly even in this small city. I´ll go back to my farm now, don´t know how long I´ll be there!
until next time
Liam
Then we go to work, mixing compost and manure and laying it around each plant, weeding fields, feeding the chickens and the rabbits (permaculture). Around the small house there are engraved gourds and hanging trinkets, and just outside the stone tool room is a small hut for meditation and reading.
The sun is hot, and the nights are cool, and I can hear the neighing (sp?) of horses and the mooing of cows as well as the gurgle of water from the stream that irrigates the fields. We work until 1 and we have a big family meal, and then we eat stale (rockhard) bread and tea, and some fresh plums, for dinner.
After lunch we have a three hour break and then work in the afternoon is optional, something I have done the past two days. Yesterday as well, we went out to collect rocks to make a container for the wine press (grape vines hang about the house and the multitudes of gardens that scatter the surrounding area). We´ve talked much of the unsustainable, money-loving, nature destroying western culture and Ulises and I have also spoken of the damage that religion does, and we all questioned why the president of the most violent country in the world got the peace prize!!! (this is all to say that we seem to be on the same page!)
Today I came in on the bus to town, I have two hours - life seems frenetic and bustly even in this small city. I´ll go back to my farm now, don´t know how long I´ll be there!
until next time
Liam
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Photos
To look at the photos i have posted on Flickr go to www.flickr.com and click login -
the username is liamwalke@yahoo.com and the password is gdaytoyou
hope you like them - flickr only lets me put about 40 photos a month so i have to be selective (mercifully for those who are sifting through the photos!)
the username is liamwalke@yahoo.com and the password is gdaytoyou
hope you like them - flickr only lets me put about 40 photos a month so i have to be selective (mercifully for those who are sifting through the photos!)
Pichilmu
this will be short.
I left Casa Chueca two days ago to come to this beach town Pichilemu. The bus ride was far longer than it needed to be and it filled up with schoool children and families - 4.5hours of stopping every few hundred metres to drop people off at their doorsteps!
the sky was clear as we drove across the arid landscape to the sea - but as we climbed the coastal mountains we could see clouds on the lip of the range - and then suddenly we were in mist - we descended into an erie spectral haze that whisped and streaked the clouds amongst the trees and by our rushing bus.
Pichilemu is a small laid-back surf town - indeed, Chile´s surf capital. i would say that half the streets are unpaved and half the taxis are horsedrawn carriages (not complete necessity - more novelty but still!) - Yesterday i rented surf stuff and went out into the frigid bay to chatch some surf - beautiful but tiring and I have significant chaffing from the wetsuit to add to my blistered feet. So today, as much as i would love to surf again I am laying low so that i can be in good shape for my farm date in two days! (maybe I´ll surf tomorrow!)
The hostal is shaped mildly like a boat but from afar looks like a walled bastion - it is right on the beach overlooking the black sand and the crashing waves that buffet the massive rocks. If I had to choose between the sea and the mountains, I would choose the sea because it makes me feel oddly full of possibilities and gnerally very free! It is so easy to breath out all your tension here!! so thats what I´ll do!
until next time
I left Casa Chueca two days ago to come to this beach town Pichilemu. The bus ride was far longer than it needed to be and it filled up with schoool children and families - 4.5hours of stopping every few hundred metres to drop people off at their doorsteps!
the sky was clear as we drove across the arid landscape to the sea - but as we climbed the coastal mountains we could see clouds on the lip of the range - and then suddenly we were in mist - we descended into an erie spectral haze that whisped and streaked the clouds amongst the trees and by our rushing bus.
Pichilemu is a small laid-back surf town - indeed, Chile´s surf capital. i would say that half the streets are unpaved and half the taxis are horsedrawn carriages (not complete necessity - more novelty but still!) - Yesterday i rented surf stuff and went out into the frigid bay to chatch some surf - beautiful but tiring and I have significant chaffing from the wetsuit to add to my blistered feet. So today, as much as i would love to surf again I am laying low so that i can be in good shape for my farm date in two days! (maybe I´ll surf tomorrow!)
The hostal is shaped mildly like a boat but from afar looks like a walled bastion - it is right on the beach overlooking the black sand and the crashing waves that buffet the massive rocks. If I had to choose between the sea and the mountains, I would choose the sea because it makes me feel oddly full of possibilities and gnerally very free! It is so easy to breath out all your tension here!! so thats what I´ll do!
until next time
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Home II: A juxtaposition
Everything changes very quickly here. Two days ago I found myself at the end of my three day hiking trip up to the Volcan Descabezado (headless volcano) at 3830m(that’s the exact measurement). A friend remarked to me recently that he found my peace with my own solitude admirable. – that is that I just got up and went. However I would not want anyone to think that this was easy for me either emotionally or physically. Firstly, it was meant to be a 4 to 5 day hike – I did it in 3 long days, but I will come to that later. Even in the silence of other people´s company I have always found that the human energy drowns out some of our (or my) deeper thoughts from surfacing. I am not trying to be profound or to say that this experience has been life changing for me but as I sat there in my tent on a windy rock at the base of a volcano; thermal springs and some oddly green pasture below and the soaring white peaks jutting out all around me, I found I was only really enclosed physically – mentally and emotionally I was absolutely without defense but also without boundaries.
I often found myself, in the three long days, pinching myself as I crossed the Rio Claro that wends its way in a deep valley forested up to 2000m and that continues up, effortlessly into the emerald sky. Am I here? All by myself? Is this real? Am I alive?These questions are I admit, decidedly unprofound but they return to a more primordial understanding (or should I say questioning) of self and existence. As a side note, apart from the volcano, this could easily have been the Rocky mountains.
Anyway I had some trying and frustrating moments. My feet blistered the first 11hour day of steep ascent and descent and not knowing how many times I would have to cross the clear snowfed rivers I would sit down for 10 minutes to change my footwear, sandals to wool socks and hiking boots, only to find that another hundred meters down the way I had to cross again. I also learned my lesson to tie my boots to my bag as I crossed in between towering and crumbling cliffs the Rio Blanquillo, as I dropped my boot into the water and had to walk the last 1.5hours in very wet footwear – I swore but the mountains did not reply.
The hike went as so: first day was entrance of the Reserva Nacional to the base of the volcano, second day was up the volcano and back and the third was back to my hostel Biota Maule. The last 4 hours of the first day were a steep ascent along a river, in between a ridge of mountains on one side and crumbling cliffs on the other. I emerged from this claustrophobic journey into an open field at probably 2500m(that’s a guess). This is unfriendly – vast, majestic but cold. But there in the middle of the white snow, and the white volcanic ash that covers almost everything, there is green pasture. I say pasture, because there are goats, sheep, cows and horses here, yes. Indeed one of the reasons the trail is so well marked is because the cowboys take their lifestock up here to feed, as, of course, it is free. You only have a painful 10-12hour journey to get there. I think that I have had the rare opportunity of stepping back in time as I think that the cowboys of the Midwestern united states probably had a similar practice – this is not a tourist attraction, this is their life.
Why the pasture? The pasture is fed by the thermal springs that are warmed in the bowels of the volcano. The second day I decided that this was not for me. After a very cold night I arose and began my ascent. In the cold morning, the snow is hard, packed, and slippery but it all but covered the “trail” so I made my way up by memory – a route the park ranger had given me. Ash of off white, pure white snow, blue sky, screaming wind. I felt like the mountain was telling me to go away, and I felt very uneasy.
Some of my close family members might be oddly happy to hear that I chickened out. I did not reach the summit of the volcano to pear into the icefilled crater that was, some time in geological history, blown off in an explosion. Indeed the last 250m of ascent were probably at 45-60%. The snow had softened a bit but not enough to feel very comfortable. All I had were hiking poles and boots – no crampons. So made it up to a ridge about 150m from the summit where the major rocks started and I made the executive decision that an accident here was not worth it – alone, high up, indeed, stray like the dogs of Santiago. Those dogs survive because they don´t jump out into moving traffic which may or may not stop for them. So I turned back, happy with my decision and left the mountain behind me to return to my valley with the cows.
The way back beautiful again, and this time I knew where to cross the river, and I didn´t get lost but I was in excruciating pain, and indeed these last few days I have bandaged my feet up and am hobbling around like an old man.
I left the peace and quite, I left the solitude and the birds, the loose scree and the mountain trails, to descend into a human reality. And now I arrive at something that is surprisingly un home-like.
I came with much difficulty out into the country to a hostal called Casa Chueca, run by a German-Austrian couple. I say with difficulty because the staff are german-speaking and were confused by my Spanish. We have managed to communicate in English… This place looks idyllic. Stucco/adobe houses, whitewash, with clay tile roofs and dark timber frames make up this estancia. Breakfast is hearty and swiss (!)and there is a swimming pool, trekking guides, bikes to rent…etc. Roses and palm trees are everywhere as well as the necessary herbs that the chef uses to cook dinner. This sounds idyllic, like home. But it is amazing how a feeling is everything. I feel far from home, unwelcome in a foreign language (English is the second language, Spanish is not spoken at all). But above all the owners seem more interested in themselves and their own stories, than anything or anyone else – indeed they have not even spoken to me or anyone else other than their employees, and there are photos them on their escapades as well as detailed information on how they started this hostal. They seem proud to have bought up some other established hostals in Chile – to me this is merely another indicator that money and ego are the important things here. Everything, down to the internet, camping supplies, bikes(whose quality leaves much to be desired) are of added, as well as inflated cost!
I will quit my complaining, the people here are great, I have met some great people, and relaxation and recuperation are always good, if costly. But what sprung to mind here was the juxtaposition between a natural place that is so raw that it is difficult to exist there, yet you feel at home and a place that to the eye, is homey beautiful, welcoming and wholesome yet moves you away from an understanding of spiritual, emotional and mental comfort.
These past few days have been wonderful and I am resting up before my first farm date on Dec 8. That’s it that’s all from this hemisphere.
Ciao for now
I often found myself, in the three long days, pinching myself as I crossed the Rio Claro that wends its way in a deep valley forested up to 2000m and that continues up, effortlessly into the emerald sky. Am I here? All by myself? Is this real? Am I alive?These questions are I admit, decidedly unprofound but they return to a more primordial understanding (or should I say questioning) of self and existence. As a side note, apart from the volcano, this could easily have been the Rocky mountains.
Anyway I had some trying and frustrating moments. My feet blistered the first 11hour day of steep ascent and descent and not knowing how many times I would have to cross the clear snowfed rivers I would sit down for 10 minutes to change my footwear, sandals to wool socks and hiking boots, only to find that another hundred meters down the way I had to cross again. I also learned my lesson to tie my boots to my bag as I crossed in between towering and crumbling cliffs the Rio Blanquillo, as I dropped my boot into the water and had to walk the last 1.5hours in very wet footwear – I swore but the mountains did not reply.
The hike went as so: first day was entrance of the Reserva Nacional to the base of the volcano, second day was up the volcano and back and the third was back to my hostel Biota Maule. The last 4 hours of the first day were a steep ascent along a river, in between a ridge of mountains on one side and crumbling cliffs on the other. I emerged from this claustrophobic journey into an open field at probably 2500m(that’s a guess). This is unfriendly – vast, majestic but cold. But there in the middle of the white snow, and the white volcanic ash that covers almost everything, there is green pasture. I say pasture, because there are goats, sheep, cows and horses here, yes. Indeed one of the reasons the trail is so well marked is because the cowboys take their lifestock up here to feed, as, of course, it is free. You only have a painful 10-12hour journey to get there. I think that I have had the rare opportunity of stepping back in time as I think that the cowboys of the Midwestern united states probably had a similar practice – this is not a tourist attraction, this is their life.
Why the pasture? The pasture is fed by the thermal springs that are warmed in the bowels of the volcano. The second day I decided that this was not for me. After a very cold night I arose and began my ascent. In the cold morning, the snow is hard, packed, and slippery but it all but covered the “trail” so I made my way up by memory – a route the park ranger had given me. Ash of off white, pure white snow, blue sky, screaming wind. I felt like the mountain was telling me to go away, and I felt very uneasy.
Some of my close family members might be oddly happy to hear that I chickened out. I did not reach the summit of the volcano to pear into the icefilled crater that was, some time in geological history, blown off in an explosion. Indeed the last 250m of ascent were probably at 45-60%. The snow had softened a bit but not enough to feel very comfortable. All I had were hiking poles and boots – no crampons. So made it up to a ridge about 150m from the summit where the major rocks started and I made the executive decision that an accident here was not worth it – alone, high up, indeed, stray like the dogs of Santiago. Those dogs survive because they don´t jump out into moving traffic which may or may not stop for them. So I turned back, happy with my decision and left the mountain behind me to return to my valley with the cows.
The way back beautiful again, and this time I knew where to cross the river, and I didn´t get lost but I was in excruciating pain, and indeed these last few days I have bandaged my feet up and am hobbling around like an old man.
I left the peace and quite, I left the solitude and the birds, the loose scree and the mountain trails, to descend into a human reality. And now I arrive at something that is surprisingly un home-like.
I came with much difficulty out into the country to a hostal called Casa Chueca, run by a German-Austrian couple. I say with difficulty because the staff are german-speaking and were confused by my Spanish. We have managed to communicate in English… This place looks idyllic. Stucco/adobe houses, whitewash, with clay tile roofs and dark timber frames make up this estancia. Breakfast is hearty and swiss (!)and there is a swimming pool, trekking guides, bikes to rent…etc. Roses and palm trees are everywhere as well as the necessary herbs that the chef uses to cook dinner. This sounds idyllic, like home. But it is amazing how a feeling is everything. I feel far from home, unwelcome in a foreign language (English is the second language, Spanish is not spoken at all). But above all the owners seem more interested in themselves and their own stories, than anything or anyone else – indeed they have not even spoken to me or anyone else other than their employees, and there are photos them on their escapades as well as detailed information on how they started this hostal. They seem proud to have bought up some other established hostals in Chile – to me this is merely another indicator that money and ego are the important things here. Everything, down to the internet, camping supplies, bikes(whose quality leaves much to be desired) are of added, as well as inflated cost!
I will quit my complaining, the people here are great, I have met some great people, and relaxation and recuperation are always good, if costly. But what sprung to mind here was the juxtaposition between a natural place that is so raw that it is difficult to exist there, yet you feel at home and a place that to the eye, is homey beautiful, welcoming and wholesome yet moves you away from an understanding of spiritual, emotional and mental comfort.
These past few days have been wonderful and I am resting up before my first farm date on Dec 8. That’s it that’s all from this hemisphere.
Ciao for now
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Musings on bus trip and a hike
I have two diary entries that I want to essentially copy into the blog but i don`t think I shall have time, so i will give the first one if I can.
This is what i signed up for. I left (on the 26) from Biota Maule, an ecoreserve hostel sor of thing, and headed up to Cerro Peine (2450m). Biota Maule is located in Vilches Alto, about 2km from the entrance to Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay. I am the only person here in this huge wood replica of a church in Chiloe (an island in patagonia), aside from the guy who works here, Camilo. They treat their water naturally, compost and are generally very conscious of the environment.
So I left just before 10am with trekking poles and some food and water as well as a few layers. the trail wound up through the different types of forest - one temporate and the other, located in the river valley, more jungle like. At the first lookout the lush forest was already below me, flanked by rocky, snowy peaks. As I looked straight out, the trees met the clouds and were smothered. Beyond that far below the clouds stretched until i could no longer see them - an ocean of white-grey out of which came small peaks of hazy hills, like islands emerging from the neverending blanket of clouds. I continued on and even the stout shrubbery dropped away among the hundreds of switchbacks. At a certain point the rocks marking the sketchy path blended in so much that I lost my way. I scrambled upwards several 100 meters until I hit the path again - only a few short moments of panic. Eventuallyl I passed a plateau of white crumbly rock that pointed my steep ascent to the summit. I stopped many times to both find my way and orent myself as I steped over black (volcanic?), red and green rock. I crossed some massive snowfields, that vertically stretched more than 50 feet. When I got to the summit - or just wshort of it I looked over the other sid and could see a small lake surrounded by massive majestic snoy mountains - the snow came all the way to the shores of the lak. Black, white, blue. The view from here is panoramic. I climbed higher and stood on a giant snowdrift and turned from the black and white, I turned 180 degrees to see the contrasting soft curves of the trees, green. I looked to the misty hills, to see the rivers winding through the deep forests. Two extremes and I inbetween. - white cold snow on frigid black lifeless rock; lush green brimming with life, forest. But the meltfrom the frigid apparently dead mountain snow is what gives life to the green on the other side of this frontier. on my descent, I skied on my boots, down snowfields, for fun and to cut down on the pounding of the descent.
Before I arrived in Vilches Alto I went to Talca. I sat in the bus station and got talked at by a street vendor. the first 15 minutes centred around the glory and prowess of the chilean military and the second 15 minutes, ironically was an elaborate attempt to make me believe in god!!! I tried not to get bitter but it was pretty frustrating - i didn`t bother arguing, i just smiled and said that i thought war was bad...
The bus from Santiago was better than a greyhound, took three hours and cost the equivalent of 6 canadian dollars. In contrast the bus from Talca to Vilches was a rickety old job, but comfortable nonetheless. Both busdrivers let street vendors come on the bus at stops and while loading, selling anything from icecream to crafts to tomatoes.
The rickety bus took 1.5 hours and picked up anything from old men to schol children. It is the only public transport that goes to the remote community - this was made obvious by the fact that everybody knew everybody else. As we laboured upward the paved road turned to a red mud, embedded with rocks and the driver dropped people right at their houses - permanent wood shacks, sometimes in groups, with corrugated metal roofs slapped on, surrounded by small gardens.
Well thats time for there is a whole lot more to say but it will have to wait until i come down from the volcano!
This is what i signed up for. I left (on the 26) from Biota Maule, an ecoreserve hostel sor of thing, and headed up to Cerro Peine (2450m). Biota Maule is located in Vilches Alto, about 2km from the entrance to Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay. I am the only person here in this huge wood replica of a church in Chiloe (an island in patagonia), aside from the guy who works here, Camilo. They treat their water naturally, compost and are generally very conscious of the environment.
So I left just before 10am with trekking poles and some food and water as well as a few layers. the trail wound up through the different types of forest - one temporate and the other, located in the river valley, more jungle like. At the first lookout the lush forest was already below me, flanked by rocky, snowy peaks. As I looked straight out, the trees met the clouds and were smothered. Beyond that far below the clouds stretched until i could no longer see them - an ocean of white-grey out of which came small peaks of hazy hills, like islands emerging from the neverending blanket of clouds. I continued on and even the stout shrubbery dropped away among the hundreds of switchbacks. At a certain point the rocks marking the sketchy path blended in so much that I lost my way. I scrambled upwards several 100 meters until I hit the path again - only a few short moments of panic. Eventuallyl I passed a plateau of white crumbly rock that pointed my steep ascent to the summit. I stopped many times to both find my way and orent myself as I steped over black (volcanic?), red and green rock. I crossed some massive snowfields, that vertically stretched more than 50 feet. When I got to the summit - or just wshort of it I looked over the other sid and could see a small lake surrounded by massive majestic snoy mountains - the snow came all the way to the shores of the lak. Black, white, blue. The view from here is panoramic. I climbed higher and stood on a giant snowdrift and turned from the black and white, I turned 180 degrees to see the contrasting soft curves of the trees, green. I looked to the misty hills, to see the rivers winding through the deep forests. Two extremes and I inbetween. - white cold snow on frigid black lifeless rock; lush green brimming with life, forest. But the meltfrom the frigid apparently dead mountain snow is what gives life to the green on the other side of this frontier. on my descent, I skied on my boots, down snowfields, for fun and to cut down on the pounding of the descent.
Before I arrived in Vilches Alto I went to Talca. I sat in the bus station and got talked at by a street vendor. the first 15 minutes centred around the glory and prowess of the chilean military and the second 15 minutes, ironically was an elaborate attempt to make me believe in god!!! I tried not to get bitter but it was pretty frustrating - i didn`t bother arguing, i just smiled and said that i thought war was bad...
The bus from Santiago was better than a greyhound, took three hours and cost the equivalent of 6 canadian dollars. In contrast the bus from Talca to Vilches was a rickety old job, but comfortable nonetheless. Both busdrivers let street vendors come on the bus at stops and while loading, selling anything from icecream to crafts to tomatoes.
The rickety bus took 1.5 hours and picked up anything from old men to schol children. It is the only public transport that goes to the remote community - this was made obvious by the fact that everybody knew everybody else. As we laboured upward the paved road turned to a red mud, embedded with rocks and the driver dropped people right at their houses - permanent wood shacks, sometimes in groups, with corrugated metal roofs slapped on, surrounded by small gardens.
Well thats time for there is a whole lot more to say but it will have to wait until i come down from the volcano!
Monday, November 23, 2009
a footnote
as a continuation of my poor post (quantity not quality) I have something else to say, which I forgot. There is an old custom here related to Yerba Mate, which is a sort of tea. While we were up in el Cajon de Maipo. The three of us as well as some other climbers that were there, sat about on breaks and while belaying, and poured hot water from a thermos into the gourd full of tea leaves. The gourd is packed with the leaves and there is a metal straw that sticks in it that you suck on. You pour the hot water in, offer it to someone and they take one draw of the bitter, sharp tea until all the water is gone. You then fill it up again and pass it to the next person (hope nobody had communicable diseases!!)
I just arrived back from a little post dinner stroll about the neighbourhood. As I meandered about the tree-lined floorlit streets in this bohemian hideout I heard the sound of beautiful singing voices coming from a little house. I talked to some local girls who were standing outside and they invited me in to watch a dress rehearsal of Jesucristu Superestrella (Jesus Christ Superstar). They were apparently professionals from musical theatre school... It did not turn out however, to be particularly great, but it was a neat experience!
I just arrived back from a little post dinner stroll about the neighbourhood. As I meandered about the tree-lined floorlit streets in this bohemian hideout I heard the sound of beautiful singing voices coming from a little house. I talked to some local girls who were standing outside and they invited me in to watch a dress rehearsal of Jesucristu Superestrella (Jesus Christ Superstar). They were apparently professionals from musical theatre school... It did not turn out however, to be particularly great, but it was a neat experience!
This is Chile
I had the opportunity to wind my way out of the smog-settled city to the mountains that always sit there in the background like a painting. I drove up into el Cajon del Maipo (Maipo is a river that tumbles and turns its way from the high Andes close by). Two guys that i met at a climbing store drove me up. I shall just say that the trad climbing that we did was not half as dangerous as Armandos driving skills. We screamed along the river valley, winding our way on narrow roads at 90-100km/h and passing lines of cars on tight corners.
As I am sure is true for most urban centres in the world, Santiagos downtown core could be any big city, although it has its own flavour and peculiarities, it is nonetheless an aglomeration of large buildings, small buildings, an almost perfect grid of one-way streets wandered each day with purpose by working chileans (both blue-collar workers and government/corporate officials). Chile has the strongest economy in Latin America as well as probably the highest standard of living. However as we distanced ourselves from the centre of what the tourist sees and the image of a developed Chile that is exported to the masses I found along the road delapitated ramshackle homesteads, frames with tediously affixed corrugated metal roofs and walls, whole families sitting by a fire that burned in their open home. All seemed to have a trade of sorts, that is they sell something to the public whether it be food or crafts, but the only thing that is certain for them, it seems, is that nothing is certain.
I fear I have been too melodramatic: this is not Bangkok slums by any stretch but it does show a side of the country, a decidedly bitter alternative to the apparently very "developed" nation (I am well aware of the baggage that this term carries but I will use it nonetheless!)
In other news two nights ago I went with six Brasilian girls to a salsa bar closeby: they all have rhythm in their blood and so did everyone at the bar. I have taken a few salsa lessons in my day but the prospect of leading, that is throwing a girl around in front of a few hundred sultry sweating dancers, brought me to a standstill, a cold sweat. But eventually I said to myself that there was nothing to lose - so I danced... for hours... I was not the greatest but my claim to fame was that I did not stand out and I did not step on anybody.
All of my Brasilian friends have left now, as well as a few Australians that I had gotten close to...that is to say that a wave has come and almost gone at the Hostel as well as in my own trajectory, my own adventure. So tomorrow I shall leave by bus for Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay about 5 hours south of Santiago. There I plan to trek for two weeks in the Andes - I just need to buy gas for my stove (which surprisingly I cannot find). Later I will head to my first small organic farm on Dec 8 to work for two weeks with the Spanish family in the foothills of the Andes.
My climbing experience as well as a free classical piano concert I went to in Plaza de Armas (the main, Europeanesque, leafy central square) have I think rounded off my stay here in Santiago and I feel ready to leave.
Until next time...
As I am sure is true for most urban centres in the world, Santiagos downtown core could be any big city, although it has its own flavour and peculiarities, it is nonetheless an aglomeration of large buildings, small buildings, an almost perfect grid of one-way streets wandered each day with purpose by working chileans (both blue-collar workers and government/corporate officials). Chile has the strongest economy in Latin America as well as probably the highest standard of living. However as we distanced ourselves from the centre of what the tourist sees and the image of a developed Chile that is exported to the masses I found along the road delapitated ramshackle homesteads, frames with tediously affixed corrugated metal roofs and walls, whole families sitting by a fire that burned in their open home. All seemed to have a trade of sorts, that is they sell something to the public whether it be food or crafts, but the only thing that is certain for them, it seems, is that nothing is certain.
I fear I have been too melodramatic: this is not Bangkok slums by any stretch but it does show a side of the country, a decidedly bitter alternative to the apparently very "developed" nation (I am well aware of the baggage that this term carries but I will use it nonetheless!)
In other news two nights ago I went with six Brasilian girls to a salsa bar closeby: they all have rhythm in their blood and so did everyone at the bar. I have taken a few salsa lessons in my day but the prospect of leading, that is throwing a girl around in front of a few hundred sultry sweating dancers, brought me to a standstill, a cold sweat. But eventually I said to myself that there was nothing to lose - so I danced... for hours... I was not the greatest but my claim to fame was that I did not stand out and I did not step on anybody.
All of my Brasilian friends have left now, as well as a few Australians that I had gotten close to...that is to say that a wave has come and almost gone at the Hostel as well as in my own trajectory, my own adventure. So tomorrow I shall leave by bus for Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay about 5 hours south of Santiago. There I plan to trek for two weeks in the Andes - I just need to buy gas for my stove (which surprisingly I cannot find). Later I will head to my first small organic farm on Dec 8 to work for two weeks with the Spanish family in the foothills of the Andes.
My climbing experience as well as a free classical piano concert I went to in Plaza de Armas (the main, Europeanesque, leafy central square) have I think rounded off my stay here in Santiago and I feel ready to leave.
Until next time...
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Splitting up home
Home is a relative term. Anyone who has ever been on the move knows this well. I have found time and again that relationships with human beings accelerate as we accelerate - the more we move the faster we become close to other people.
In La Chimba, the hostel I am staying in, there is a great group of people (or was). I wont get into details but some brazilian friends that i met left yesterday. It felt like we had been friends for ages- bonds form so quickly. The concept of home shifts so often in this world of jetsetters that it is like jumping on an iceflow: you perceive something solid under your feet but the medium on which it rests is a dynamic entity that flows. The solid footing is the friendship and water is movement. That is how I think of it - not bad or good just flowing. It is something that makes me appreciate the moment so much better than almost any other situation.
One final note on shifting homes is that someone here commented that these friendships that form, solidify and then melt apart with the movement of people, are void of baggage. You can never really reach a point where you are in a rut. Nothing is ever stale. sometimes it is bitter, often it is sweet but it is never stale, always interesting and new. I think ultimately that is what people search for when they travel.
On another note, I went with a guy from the hostel to the indoor climbing gym and we climbed for a few hours! the bouldering was FUCKIN hard but we climbed a bunch of routes. I talked to Bojans friend and he gave me the names of some good climbers in Santiago so im going bouldering (maybe embarrassing myself) in a few hours with them. FINALLY, some LOCALS!!
Thats it from me here today...
ciao
In La Chimba, the hostel I am staying in, there is a great group of people (or was). I wont get into details but some brazilian friends that i met left yesterday. It felt like we had been friends for ages- bonds form so quickly. The concept of home shifts so often in this world of jetsetters that it is like jumping on an iceflow: you perceive something solid under your feet but the medium on which it rests is a dynamic entity that flows. The solid footing is the friendship and water is movement. That is how I think of it - not bad or good just flowing. It is something that makes me appreciate the moment so much better than almost any other situation.
One final note on shifting homes is that someone here commented that these friendships that form, solidify and then melt apart with the movement of people, are void of baggage. You can never really reach a point where you are in a rut. Nothing is ever stale. sometimes it is bitter, often it is sweet but it is never stale, always interesting and new. I think ultimately that is what people search for when they travel.
On another note, I went with a guy from the hostel to the indoor climbing gym and we climbed for a few hours! the bouldering was FUCKIN hard but we climbed a bunch of routes. I talked to Bojans friend and he gave me the names of some good climbers in Santiago so im going bouldering (maybe embarrassing myself) in a few hours with them. FINALLY, some LOCALS!!
Thats it from me here today...
ciao
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sensory overload...
I´m just going to have to attempt this. I took a walk yesterday through the streets of a huge outdoor market called La Vega Central. Here there are thousands of people heaving like ant colonies, moving absolutely randomly and without direction, while at the same time maintaining purpose and flow. Its curious. The smells that come from street vendors that line the walkway/road (there is only really a virtual boarder between the two) float up from the juices of rotten vegetables and slaughtered meat that flows into the streets from warehouses and ramshackle trucks. Trucks full of onions, full of apples... wooden crates and pallettes are blocking the crawling traffic and human beings weave like willing water through and around these obstacles.
The section where artisans and clothing vendors petal their wares is like nothing i´ve ever seen - steel frames support low, slanting corrugated metal slabs that seem to be precariously perched and tied down to these frames. underneath are all manner of things. In the mess of smells and sounds and catcalls that escape into the air, boundless, there are beggars and cripples, and it is true, many smiling faces. Its really only the human spirit that allows for this to go on without complete violence and mayhem. Among the colourful fabrics that hang here and there the shrouded and sunlit faces of the haggling shoppers can be seen. Really, this is a mural of humanity and it is too much to take in...
Last night a bunch of us from the hostal went out on the town - not much to write home about, party like any other party. I finally got to sleep, after some drama with falling sick drunk people in my dorm, at about 5am. Today was a day of rest and tomorrow, well, I will write about it when it happens. Only to say that i have met many people and more than half are Brasilians.
Well thats all for now, until next time...
The section where artisans and clothing vendors petal their wares is like nothing i´ve ever seen - steel frames support low, slanting corrugated metal slabs that seem to be precariously perched and tied down to these frames. underneath are all manner of things. In the mess of smells and sounds and catcalls that escape into the air, boundless, there are beggars and cripples, and it is true, many smiling faces. Its really only the human spirit that allows for this to go on without complete violence and mayhem. Among the colourful fabrics that hang here and there the shrouded and sunlit faces of the haggling shoppers can be seen. Really, this is a mural of humanity and it is too much to take in...
Last night a bunch of us from the hostal went out on the town - not much to write home about, party like any other party. I finally got to sleep, after some drama with falling sick drunk people in my dorm, at about 5am. Today was a day of rest and tomorrow, well, I will write about it when it happens. Only to say that i have met many people and more than half are Brasilians.
Well thats all for now, until next time...
Friday, November 13, 2009
Strays...
I must start by explaining why i named this blog hacia la colmena. In spanish colmena is a beehive but it is also the title of a novel by spanish nobel laureate Camilo Jose Cela. It refers to the place where everything is happening, where all the world is centred for a small group of people. And dont worry, im not saying that this is the centre of the world, it is only the centre of my world for the next 8 months. Which brings me to the word hacia which means toward in spanish. So this blog is essentially an effort to bring whoever wants to go, toward what is at the centre of my world.
There are strays everywhere here...dogs, cats, people. The dilapitated buildings and the slummy sections of town that I watched go by as I was shuttled to my hostel in a van, are like memories of a painful time, but they somehow dont seem so painful now. Everything is dwarfed by the towering andes which I wont say "loom large" because thats cheesy, but they are enormous and snowy, and form a bulwark that separates this city and this country from the rest of the continent. They rise up, hazy, from the riverbed that runs into Santiago. I just returned from a walk in which i ventured down to the artsy neighborouhood. I crossed the river and looked up (it is fastflowing and very low volume, as well as very murky, likely due to all the turbulence) Through the towering highrises and the river that splits them in two, the brown and white of the arid mountains reaches far above everything, making both people and circumstances feel very small indeed.
When the girl at customs asked me if I was a climber and couldnt wipe the smile off her face, wishing me happy travels, I didnt take it as a good omen, merely a little event that make my day.
I think the dogs will be perpetually lost among these buildings and mountains, but they seem to be faring ok, scrounging whatever they can from about the streets. One final thought: Santiago feels small, and that may, in retrospect be a product of its habitat, its place of birth.
Im soaking up everything i can - (even the tap water that im drinking!)
hasta la proxima
Liam
There are strays everywhere here...dogs, cats, people. The dilapitated buildings and the slummy sections of town that I watched go by as I was shuttled to my hostel in a van, are like memories of a painful time, but they somehow dont seem so painful now. Everything is dwarfed by the towering andes which I wont say "loom large" because thats cheesy, but they are enormous and snowy, and form a bulwark that separates this city and this country from the rest of the continent. They rise up, hazy, from the riverbed that runs into Santiago. I just returned from a walk in which i ventured down to the artsy neighborouhood. I crossed the river and looked up (it is fastflowing and very low volume, as well as very murky, likely due to all the turbulence) Through the towering highrises and the river that splits them in two, the brown and white of the arid mountains reaches far above everything, making both people and circumstances feel very small indeed.
When the girl at customs asked me if I was a climber and couldnt wipe the smile off her face, wishing me happy travels, I didnt take it as a good omen, merely a little event that make my day.
I think the dogs will be perpetually lost among these buildings and mountains, but they seem to be faring ok, scrounging whatever they can from about the streets. One final thought: Santiago feels small, and that may, in retrospect be a product of its habitat, its place of birth.
Im soaking up everything i can - (even the tap water that im drinking!)
hasta la proxima
Liam
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