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Published: September 8th 2010
Rotary Welcomes You
This is a sign right as you enter La Ligua! (I wasn't ready for this pic at all)*Note:Hahaha I apologize to all those “Anti Myley Cirus” people out there for the title of this blog.
Hey everybody! Soooo I think I’m going to abandon formality for this blog and write as I think (so I apologize for the vast numbers of parenthesis (and resulting chaos)) Also, this blog is going to be a two-day process, so I’ll be writing it as though it were Sunday the entire time (therefore if I say “yesterday” it means, Saturday, etc.)
This week has been very (wow THAT’s a boring adjective. How about “incredibly?”) interesting! Honestly, I thought that life would have started slowing down by now, but…not even close.
Okay here’s a quick overview for my own personal use so I don’t forget anything:
-Pulmahue
-Coro
-Jazz Fest
-Cueca
-Acompañero
-Copiapo
-El Rio
-Fútbol
-Fiestas Patrias/Nationalism
-Mantequilla mani (Peanut Butter!)
-Chocolate
-Aceitunas
-Pie
-Gringos expresivos
-“Colocolo” o “la U?”
Aaand…I think that covers it. For now.
Notice now I’m listing to myself in Spanish? It’s starting to set in. I’m thinking more in Spanish, and last night I even dreamt a little bit in Spanish. It was like half English and half Spanish. The
Start
A journy of a thousand steps begins with a destination in mind... only thing is that I don’t remember if the Spanish in the dream was real Spanish or not. I mean, it seemed like it was, but if it was, my subconscious is already fluent. Though maybe that’s how it works: your subconscious absorbs the information and then your conscious learns from the subconscious. Interesting thoughts anyway. Now on to my actual list!
The Climb
The single greatest experience so far was yesterday: I climbed Pulmahue, the largest mountain near La Ligua! Pulmahue (pooll-MA-way) isn’t snowcapped, but it’s
definitely bigger than anything we’ve got in Wisconsin! The highest pointin Wisconsin, Timms Hill, is a whopping 1,951 feet tall, or 595 meters. Pulmahue, on the other hand, is 1,550 meters, which is about 5,085 feet tall—about two and a half times taller!!!
I got up at about seven o’clock yesterday morning and it was FREEZING. I wore jeans, a t-shirt, a long sleeved shirt, and a fleece jacket, gloves, and a scarf. I packed an extra jacket and a hat because I figured hey, we’re going to be climbing a mountain so it’ll be colder the higher we get, right?
Boy was I wrong. I also packed an apple,
Herding Cattle
The cowboys we saw the morning of climbing Pullmahue. They made several appearances throughout the day. a pear, several granola bars, a peanut butter sandwich, a small pack of chips. It really wasn’t that much food, but we had been told that we would be provided lunch so I thought I’d be fine. Wrong. “Lunch” wasn’t until we got back down the mountain. I also packed 1.7 liters of water, thinking that since we had been advised to bring at least 1 liter of water, I’d be fine with nearly twice that. Again, I was wrong. In retrospect, at that point I had NO idea what I was getting myself into.
The group I was going with consisted of about forty students from the highschool: two cursos from the year below me, a handful of other 3° students, Kirsa, Olivia, and me. One of the school administrators, Marcos, would be leading us. We were supposed to meet in the plaza at 8 o’clock to take a bus to the base of the mountain so we could begin climbing by around 8:15. So, promptly at 8:01 (the usual Alex) I met Olivia and Kirsa and several other students in the plaza. Kirsa’s mom had gone a little overboard and packed her four sandwiches and an equal
Break!
Break time while climbing Pulmahue. Me and some of the fast group. number of water bottles, so she was a little worried about the weight, so I offered to help if she needed it. As it turned out, the extra food and water came in really handy for all three of us, though we didn’t know it at the time.
In typical Chilean fashion, our teacher didn’t show up until about 8:30, and it was another twenty minutes before the bus arrived. It took us to a rodeo arena at the base of the mountain that would be our start and end point. Just as we were about to leave a group of cowboys (consisting of four men, one young boy, and a dog) came by herding a group of cattle. Unfortunately, the bus scared the cows (one of which was a bull with horns), and they took off down a side street, with two of the cowboys in hot pursuit. They finally rounded up the cattle and continued moving them off down the road, but not before lobbing a few verbal grenades toward the bus driver. At this point I knew that it was destined to be a great day. Was I right? For the first time all day, YES.
Me And My Best Friends
I like this picture. Not sure why. We started walking to a meeting place just over a kilometer away, and it was fairly level ground but still a surprisingly good warm up, and by the time we reached the meeting spot I had taken off both my jacket and long-sleeved shirt. When the entire group had assembled, Marcos told us a list of fairly important information (what to do if you fell, encountered some animals, etc.) that neither Kirsa nor Olivia nor I understood completely, and we were off. Naturally, the group divided itself into three groups: the fast-, medium-, and “relaxed”-speed groups. The three of us allocated ourselves near the front of the medium-speed group since we couldn’t keep up with the fast group, which was virtually sprinting up the mountainside. We hiked for about forty five minutes before stopping, at this point we were already tired and sweating.*
*Note: One thing I should mention about Chile (or at least this region in the winter/spring) is the wide temperature range one experiences over the course of a single day. In the morning and at night it easily drops down to 40 or 45°F, and at peak times at midday it could be 70°F. Of
Move Over For The Big Boy
How these horses navigate I'll never know. Note that this picture was taken at one of the wider parts of the upper trail. course, a 30° fluctuation would be a more extreme day, but 20° would be pretty normal. Of course, those are just estimates because I have yet to see a thermometer here, but I do know that in the morning one could very easily get hit by hypothermia if one was not dressed in sufficiently warm clothing, and around midday a t-shirt and shorts would be comfortable.
After the break, we hiked for another half an hour up progressively steeper and narrower paths. I left Kirsa and Olivia behind when Marcos passed us, and talked to him for a while. It turns out he grew up in Patagonia, and so he’s really big on outdoor sports—hiking, kayaking, horseback trail riding, mountain biking, river rafting, etc. Seeing my enthusiasm about all those types of activities he invited me to go on a mountain biking trip that he was organizing, and also on a trail riding trip (though I turned that one down for various reasons, one of which is that I’ve got virtually no experience riding horses). Hopefully I’ll be able to do a lot more hiking and such with him!
When we stopped for the second break, we were
Conquering Hero
...kinda. About two hundred meters from the top of the mountain. in what was to become the normal state: hot and perspiring. However, nearby off the main path was a small stream. Guess what? As it turns out mountain spring water really IS the best water on earth! I couldn’t believe how pure and clean the water was! I drank from the stream, and Kirsa filled up one of her already empty water bottles. After this break, we were told, was the last “easy” stretch before the difficult part started. The last “easy” part would still have been a black diamond, were it a ski hill, and we were forced into single file for most of it. At one point we had to get off the path to make room for the cowboys we had seen earlier (minus the cattle) and their horses. I have to say that I have a whole new respect for horses after seeing them navigate a path (while carrying a cowboy and all of his gear) that humans had to go single-file on, never mind that there was a sheer drop on one side. When we got to the next rest stop I decided to challenge myself and joined the “fast” group.
It was actually
The Final Stretch
The final stretch to the summit. a perfect fit for me. If any of you have been out hiking with me, you know how I go: I like to
move, jumping from rock to rock, careening along thin trails, up trees, etc. In the fast group (about 7 of us) we would walk and run in spurts up the trail to the next check point. Once we got there (usually about ten or fifteen minutes before the main group) we would pick the shady spots and wait for everyone else to arrive, wait with the rest of them until their break was up, and then head off again. Every time it was perfect because just as I was getting to the point where I thought my legs would give out we’d round a corner and
voila! the rest area would be directly in front of us.
The last two rest stops before the summit were the closest together—barely 5 minutes apart—but boy were they needed. At the top of the mountain the air was palpably thinner, and after just fifty feet of hiking your heart was pounding as though you had just finished swimming an Olympic 100 meter butterfly swim race. Being me, I was
Win
Olivia, Kirsa, and I on Pulmahue's summit. fascinated by the phenomenon of having less oxygen in the air rather than worried by it. I kept thinking about how my heart had to beat so much faster to get sufficient oxygen to my muscles and wondered if my blood would be darker because of the lack of oxygen and if the lower pressure affected the bonding of oxygen to hemoglobin and...* ahem *
Anyway, from the last check point on up there were only three of us still moving quickly, and we all supported each other and pushed each other to keep going to the top—it was really cool, actually, the moral support and teamwork involved. Not that the terrain was sheer, but when you get exhausted and your legs are burning and you can’t get enough oxygen after just fifty feet, and you have six hundred yards to go, someone saying “Come on, let’s go, almost there” really helps. We scrambled up toward the cluster of cell phone and radio towers, over rocks and thorny scrub and barbed wire (put there by the cowboys) and finally,
finally made it to the top, completely exhausted and gasping for breath after four hours of hiking.
But it
was worth it.
The view from the top was absolutely spectacular. We could literally see across the entire country! On one side we could see the snowcapped Andes, including Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in South America (which, incidentally, I also saw from the plane). On the other side we could see all the way to the Pacific Ocean—incredible. I cannot accurately describe the sheer immensity of being on top of the mountain, looking down and out across miles and miles of empty space at other mountains, looking at my tiny city, and at the mountains hundreds of miles away that rose yet higher still—and to be there, a
part of that vast space. The sky was a pure, clean blue. That’s the only way I can describe it: clean. I’ve never seen a sky quite like it.
On a slightly less happy note, here’s my environmentalist clip for the week: I’ve experienced firsthand the effects of not having sufficient UV protection from the atmosphere. Though the sky was beautiful an clear and clean, it was also just the tiniest bit sinister. It was one of the most bizarre feelings I have ever felt, sitting in the sun on
Pacific Side
(though the ocean's actually left of the frame) top of the mountain. It was like my skin was very very slowly being microwaved—a minute tingling sensation so slight I would have thought I was making it up of others hadn’t mentioned it themselves. It wasn’t painful, but “instinctively uncomfortable” is the best way I can describe it. We didn’t want to be in the direct sun for more than ten or fifteen minutes, because we would get too hot, but in the shade we would start shivering if we didn’t get back out in the sun. We had been advised to wear sunscreen, but, naturally, I didn’t. Thankfully I didn’t get burned, but I did get an excellent tan.
We stayed up on the top of the mountain for about an hour and a half, finishing all of our supplies except for the last of our water—I was dangerously low, and Kirsa only had one bottle left. Olivia was out. It was fun though, talking, laughing, taking pictures, and above all wondering at the place we were at. One boy caught a small lizard, and another took a nap under a bush. The time there was a great reward for reaching the top.
The way back
Aconcagua
(I hope that's spelled right) down can be summed up in four words: “adrenaline,” breakneck speed,” and “luck.” The only way to go down the mountain was to be practically running, jumping from rock to rock to path to rock and so on, single file, tightly packed together. I was intensely glad to be ahead with the fast group for this descent, because we were separated from the main group. If anyone had fallen in the larger group there would have been an extremely dangerous pileup of bodies—
not the most fun way to end a trip. I would have preferred to take it slower, but the steepness of the hill and gravity dictated our speed, and at times our legs were just trying desperately not to let the rest of our body crash into the rocks—essentially directing a freefall away from the ground. But at the same time…it was immensely fun, and the adrenaline was completely invigorating—far better than a horror movie or rollercoaster (neither of which I like much anyway, but you get the point).
We finally got back to terrain that I recognized—the first rest stop, the road where the cowboys had been herding their cattle, and when I saw the wooden
rodeo arena an enormous smile split my face. We’d made it.
________________________________________________________________________________
Well, that was an awfully nice conclusion to the story, wasn’t it? I think Mrs. Doyle would be proud of that one. Anyhoo, moving on with this blog.
I also experienced a bit of the impoverished side of La Ligua this week. Maxi and Nickolas (my host brother who’s on exchange in Germany right now) were a part of Rotarac (Rotarec? I’m not sure how to spell it because I’ve only heard it mentioned verbally, never written (though it’s awfully hard to hear something written)) and they helped a poor man whose house and barn both burned down, and he lost the majority of his livestock in the fire—all but one horse and several chickens. Maxi and Nicko kept in touch with him after they finished building him a house, and so when Kirsa and Olivia wanted to ride horse, Maxi suggested we ask the man if we could use his horse. The way to where the man lived was on the outskirts of town, and, I’m told, the worst part of La Ligua. There used to be a river the flowed there, but it has
Break From The Descent
The grass broke my fall (haha, get it? Break as in...okay I apologize for that one) since dried up, and for several years was an unofficial dump. There is a distinct air of permanent disrepair and poverty throughout the area, and I’m sure the citizens of La Ligua are not proud of it.
We arrived at the man’s house (I never got his name), and we got the horse—the same one that had survived the fire. The horse (“Caramela”) had a foal (“Lucito,” I think), and was pregnant with another. I don’t know all that much about horses, but I don’t think that she should have been carrying a person on her back. Also, compared to the horses I’ve seen here she was in sad shape. I felt very bad for the poor thing. However…we took her out, and Kirsa and Olivia and Maxi took turns riding her up and down a road a ways, and then we headed back. This was my first experience with true poverty, and it really opened my eyes. Maybe my pictures can convey what my words cannot.
As I mentioned in the last blog, I participated in a choir competition in Viña del Mar on Thursday of this week. But not JUST Thursday—we progressed to the next round and
Pobre Sancho
Someday an archeologist is going to find this rock and make millions. went back on Friday to compete in the final round!
We left class at about 10:30 on Thursday morning to warm up and rehearse. This may sound like an absurdly large amount of time to do so, but since choir only practices twice a week, and our director had been home sick on the day of our final rehearsal, it was needed. We warmed up and hammered out the final wrinkles in the piece and then boarded the bus.
Let me tell you, the school trip buses in Chile are
quite peculiar. Actually, that’s not the right word at all, I just wanted to use that quote. Behavior of students on the bus is what’s different, really. The coach buses are the same, if a bit outdated. But the students are free to walk up and down the aisle and sit on the armrests and play guitar and sing at the top of their voices—and that’s exactly what they did! They were probably the noisiest, disorganized, and most fun bus trips I’ve ever been on! There were no fewer than two guitars on board, and at least 75%!o(MISSING)f the students knew how to play guitar, and everyone
Did You Feel That?
Possibly tremor-made rift next to the road. knew a ton of songs! In the two hours back on the second day we played and sang the entire way, including during the single rest stop, without repeating a single song (actually we did repeat ONE song, and that was by request of the majority).
When we arrived our director checked in and the rest of us waited for the competition to start. Eventually we did a quick warm up before filing into an auditorium (quick note on the auditorium: it was very wide and relatively short, whereas most I’ve seen the U.S. are longer than they are wide. Whether this is the norm here or not I don’t know—it’s just an interesting observation). We sat down, and all the other choirs joined us shortly thereafter. The competition started, and the judges were introduced, and then the lights dimmed and one by one the choirs performed and returned to their seats. There were several choirs that were very good, and others that, well, left much to be desired. The very first group I
have to tell about: it was a group of six- and seven-year olds who sang incredibly. To be completely honest they sang a treble piece
Pretty...
Several flower varieties on the road to the rodeo arena that was more difficult than anything we ever did in high school, and the performance was worthy of the WSMA State Honors Choir that I participated in last year.
We were the last group to go, and I was very nervous—I had only finished memorizing the words that morning. However, I needn’t have been worried. We sang very well, and when we finished we had a bounce in our step. As it turned out, we had good reason to feel proud of our performance: we were awarded first place for our division and were invited back the next day to compete in the second level of competition.
The next day went similarly: left early, warmed up, and waited for the competition to start. During the second round, all of the first-place winners sang and performed…and WOW, what a difference in the level of competition! There was one all-girl group in particular that sang nearly acappella (except for one African drum) that absolutely blew my mind, and another group with a soloist that should (and probably will) go pro. As it turned out, those two groups beat us, but we still got third place, winning our school 100,000 pesos
Pad
Artistic picture in the rodeo area. (something like $200, if I did the math right) to use toward the choir.
The ride back was awesomely fun! I made a list of the songs we sang, and….yeah. I’m really liking the acoustic Chilean music! For those of you who are interested in the musical aspect of Chile (*coughBrucecough*), here’re a couple particularly good songs/bands: “Reik” (artist), “Sin Banderas” (artist), “No Puedo Dejarte de Amar” (song by Kalimba, feat. Reik), “Noviembre Sin Ti” (song by Reik), “Mientes” (song by Camila), “Antes” (song by Obie Bermudiz), “Rayando El Sol” (song), and “Solo Por Un Beso” (song by Aventura). Also, be warned: the majority of songs I’ve heard down here are sung by tenors. Just a warning to any basses out there.
Okay next on the list is the Jazz Festival that my class is organizing…I don’t really understand what all is going on, but this Thursday and Friday there is a two-night Jazz Festival that I’m looking forward to. It’s a formal do, so I’ll get to wear my suit (always a joy :D) for the first time. Glad I’m actually going to get some use out of it…ANYhoo, it should be like a collection of groups
Home
A frightened dog looks back at us as we pass from around La Ligua that perform for the audience, and there may be or hors d'oeuvres as well (YES, I’m guilty of using spell check on that one (I know SOMEONE was wondering about that)).
Okay, we’re almost done, guys. Just hold out a little longer—the next bits of the list oughta go quickly.
I’ll get to see a Chilean Homecoming coronation and dance and activities during this week, and even participate. In fact…I may even be crowned myself (I got asked to be the partner of one of the candidates for Queen, so if she wins I’ll automatically be crowned myself (it’s an all-girls school (the one my host mom works at), so it’s kind of by default)). How Chilean (or at least this school) homecomings (called “aniversarios”) work are a lot like in the U.S.: there are many fun activities for students during the week leading up to the dance/party. For example, there is a competition where students form teams to make a dress as complicated as possible, there is a competition to make the largest food item of a set kind (example: last year there was apparently twenty-some foot empanada. AWESOME.), races, and skits about
Chilean and school history. It sounds like a very exciting time! Tomorrow after classes I will be going to watch the competitions, so I’ll be able to give more detail about it in the future.
The next bit stems nicely off of that: nationalism. Chileans as a whole are intensely proud of their country, and proud of being Chilean. Chile’s Independence Day is September 18th—next Saturday. There are always huge parties and a strong sense of nationalism in Chile, but this year is particularly festive because this is Chile’s bicentennial!!! Already I’m seeing cars with not one but two or three Chilean flags sticking out of the windows, hood, or bumpers! There are sales like crazy in the stores, and in every store and street corner are people selling clothing for the cueca! Men wear a poncho-type garment, a flat-brimmed sombrero, another red, blue, and white sash-type thing that I don’t know the name of. Women wear…well, I’m not actually sure since I won’t be wearing the same thing as them, but I believe it’s a traditional dress. The cueca is a paired dance, and both partners use a handkerchief as a prop. I’ll put pictures and video up
And Yet There Is Hope
A single wild rose in a bush near the Rio once I get a decent recording of it :D
Despite Chile’s great sense of nationalism, there
is one thing that has the nation firmly divided: soccer. Or fútbol, as we call it here (which, come on, makes way more sense than “soccer” in the US—how often do the Packers’ players kick the ball?). There are apparently two major teams that the majority of people follow: La Universidad de Chile (or simply “La U”) and Colocolo. I’ve been asked at least once a day since I got here which team I’m for, and have yet to choose a side. My reasoning is that I haven’t seen a game yet, but…that’ll only last so long. I’m a little loathe to choose a side, but I’m leaning toward La U…ah well. Interesting aspect of Chile.
OTHER random interesting tidbits of Chile:
I think Chilean chocolate gives German and Swiss chocolate a run for its money—seriously! When you get bars of chocolate its AMAZING!
Chileans call peanut butter “mantequilla mani,” and…so far I have yet to find someone who likes it much. But AT LEAST THEY HAVE IT!!! Skippy, even. No JIF though. Ah well :P
Olives! Those of you who know
Home Sweet Home
Maxi at the poor man's house. me well know that I’ll eat just about anything, but olives are the one flavor I can’t take. However, the olives here are delicious! They’re not preserved in vinegar, so they taste…well, good!
Pie here in Chile is known as…pie!
Finally, there’s one last little cultural bit I’ve to add. I was at a friend’s house last week, and his older brother started joking with me about how expressive gringos are. I didn’t understand what he meant, but he explained to me that all the gringos he’s met have been a lot more expressive than Chileans. From what I could gather, Chileans are kind of like the Minnesotan stereotype, in that an entire conversation could consist of “yup” and other such monosyllabic utterances; and in which “hmm, pretty good” is considered extravagant praise. Soooo naturally they thought my reactions to things such as a phone ringing, the smell and taste of excellent tea (black tea with cinnamon, cloves, vanilla, and sugar—tea drinkers: try it! It’s the best I’ve ever had!!! (the three exclamation points are a lovely illustration of me being…well, me)), and interest in learning how to frost cakes properly.
SO…that’s all for now! Thanks for bearing
Someday...
I like this picture. On our way back we met a cowboy with a magnificent horse, and this was just a lucky capture. with me for all…what, ten pages? Something like that. Anyway, take care everyone, and thank you so much for all you interest and support! Chau!
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Jim Dorrance
non-member comment
Sounds like a terrific adventure. Enjoy, for the time will go fast. Some really nice pictures. A beautiful country. JD is doing well in Madison. A little worried about calc 11. First home football game on Saturday. He is meeting many new people. I'm sure he would like to be with you on all of your travels. Take care and stay safe.