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Published: September 30th 2008
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So the week before last was the holidays, which might explain why I didn’t write as much as I should have. I didn’t have classes, but there were orientation types of meetings and then a lot of hanging out and exploring the city and hills. The city is situated next to the coast, but I have yet to go to the beach. There is the Parque Ecuador to the south, which is proportionally the same as chile - very long and very thin. Behind the park there are green hills that seem to have been made for a nice quick - yet steep - hike. They remind me much of the hills and fire trails of Berkeley and are ripe with towering trees and faint hints of old and crumbling stone buildings. At the right time of the day, one can find all sorts of teenage smokers and lovers, trying to escape from prying adultish eyes. To the west of these hills there is a poorer neighborhood than in the center of the city, but I love it for its colorful houses, hang-out-to-dry clothes, and variety of size and shape. Near this area is the University, with its grand entranceway, supersized
central lawn and fountain, and bustling students. You can tell it is the most legitimate university around for miles by the antiquity and knowledge that floats in the air and is muraled on the buildings. The center of town is where I live, which is perfect for me to not have to worry about bus schedules and going home for lunch. I live a mere eight blocks from school and probably about the same from every other place worth going to in the city. There are no skyscrapers here, nor a metro system. But there are many offices in the middle of the city all the same, and the sidewalks are crawling with workers and students at about eight in the morning, then again at two when everyone goes home for lunch. At this time there are so many high school students in their uniforms, eating enormous ice cream cones and standing in groups with their friends in the plaza and on street corners. There are also other neighborhoods in which many of my friends live, but I haven’t yet visited due to the distance (they are across the river and a bus is necessary).
But perhaps there were
even more people out last week due to the holidays. Referred to as “El dieciocho,” it’s the celebration of Chile’s independence from Spain, on September 18, 1810. On Wednesday everyone got off work and school early, soon after connected with family and friends, then started cooking and buying copious amounts of alcohol. In fact, when I went out with Vero to her friend’s house that night, we first stopped at a liquor store, only to discover that there was a line down the street and it took her an hour to get a bottle of wine. No one gets home till the morning.
After coming home I slept for a few hours and woke up to celebrate the true dieciocho, a day completely dedicated to family craziness. I thought our thanksgiving celebrations at home were wild, but this might just be some competition. At about one oclock (we were supposed to leave at noon but everyone was running around and Jano was late in picking us up), we all piled in the truck to go to my abuelito’s (mom’s dad’s) house, about a 45 minute drive away. Throughout the ride mamá would point out and describe the different barrios
(neighborhoods), Vero and Jano sang along to the Folklórico music on the radio, and Lore described how she was born on the bridge we were crossing, with her Tío driving and her Papá birthing her. Meanwhile papá just laughed at everything.
When we arrived at the house - that my abuelos built themselves when mamá was little - I saw one of the cutest, smallest and funniest little men I’d ever seen, who just so happened to be my abuelito. Then there were also multitudes of cousins and friends, aunts and uncles to meet. The house is a large two-story building, with a big patio in the back that’s shaded by sheets of tin held up by poles and strings. There is also a small gate that leads into the backyard, more of a grand messy garden of fruit trees and flowers than anything else. The whole house is full of paintings by a cousin, Pablo, who’s 21 years old and an excellent artist (he is also very attractive).
This day at my abuelito’s was devoted to two primary things: food and music. Right when I walked out back I smelled the barbecue full of “longaniza” - a
ridiculously long Chilean sausage - and other forms of meats and fish. All the men stood around the barbecue being men, talking and cooking meat. Meanwhile the radio blasted traditional folklórico music and the cueca, while Jano and his tía danced the traditional dance on the patio. We then sat down to eat a few courses, which consisted of salads, breads, of course meat, and dessert. But I must also mention the wine, which is excellent and was constantly in everyone’s glass. Then much of the family went inside. Jano picked up a guitar, Pablo another one, Lore started singing. Then Vero would play the flute, a cousin a clarinet, another cousin the piano. Then after awhile they’d all switch. Perhaps you get a feel for how musically inclined they all are. But it was wonderful to just sit there and listen for a few hours. Of course they made me sing something, but mostly I just enjoyed listening to songs I don’t understand but certainly wish I did. There was also a lot of ping pong and playing with dogs (there were three of them), talking and always more drinking. Later all the women in the family (my mamá,
tías and abuelita) showed me around the garden, pointing out all the different fruit trees and meanwhile playing catch with the dogs. At about six or seven we all sat down around the dining table for “onces,” which is the Chilean word for tea time. Abuela of course had prepared even more food - desserts upon desserts - and of course I had to eat all of them. There was also tea, toast, avocado, coffee, and other things I don’t remember or was too full to eat. Around the table we all talked and talked, or, more precisely, everyone else was talking all at the same time while my head tried to not explode. They talked about the history of the day, the country, the native Mapuche people, their families, and many other things besides. They made jokes which went right over my head, laughed a lot, jumped up and down and got into some heated arguments. But in the end we were all tired and full of food and drink. Personally my head was spinning, and that’s when I realized that it’s exhausting to try to even listen in another language for that long. It was about nine thirty
when we left, and I was sad to leave such a fun place, and even more so because the family was going to return the next day, but I would be gone for a weekend trip with some friends....
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