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Published: November 11th 2009
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Although now November, as far as keeping up with things, I am still back in September, a month long gone but one full of significance for Chile. On Sept 11th, 1973 President Allende was deposed by the military coup. Somewhat ironically, just around the corner on the 18th is Fiestas Patrias, Chilean Independence Day. The 19th is Armed Forces Day, which for most is a day spent recovering from the excesses of ´Dieciocho´, the 18th.
Not surprisingly, the 11th doesn't really draw the country together. Down by the Moneda (Chilean White House), people lean red carnations against a statue of Allende under the nervous watch of green riot police. Many banks, McDonalds and other symbols of capitalism board windows up, but things are quieter now than before. Nevertheless, as night falls, the poorer parts of the city, i.e. those that lost the most by Allende´s fall and not only gained the least, but also felt the brunt of Pinochet, usually erupt: rock throwing, slogans, spray paint, riot police, and water cannons. Meanwhile, across town, the Pinochetistas in the gated communities of the greener eastern suburbs have asados (bbqs), drink their frothy Pisco Sours, and lament the passing of the good
old days.
Luckily, Independence Day comes directly on the heels of Overthrow Democracy Day, which may not be an official holiday. More importantly, Dieciocho necessitates a week of buildup, so once the 12th has dawned, people can store the anarchy signs and take up the banner of nationalism that Fiestas Patrias inspires. This takes the form of flags (mandatory to fly them), nostalgia for the countryside and cowboys, and lots of overtime work at the slaughterhouses. Dieciocho, like Independence Day in most countries, is about consuming vast quantities of barbecued meat and libations. This often happens in huge parties called ´fondas´, where consumption is inevitably accompanied by accordion driven traditional cueca music. The cueca involves a lot of floral print little-house-on-the-prairie dresses, Chilean cowboy attire, and twirling handkerchiefs. The inspiration for the dance is allegedly the mating ´dance´of the rooster. As you might suspect, Fiestas Patrias drips with patriotic zeal tinged by nostalgia for some completely romanticized past, presumably before dictators and the disappeared. According to Santiguianos, the proper wedding of these, can only truly be appreciated in the country, where the fonda is unadulterated. In the city, there are a multitude of fondas, including the cleverly named, but
perhaps less authentic, 'yein fonda'.
The week of Fiestas Patrias is capped off on the 19th with the awesomely named Day of the Glories of the Army. Though I will admit to being ignorant of the storied history of the Chilean armed forces, my strong impression is that it is mostly a celebration of kicking Peru and Bolivia´s asses in the War of the Pacific back in the late 1800s. The War of the Pacific landlocked Bolivia and gave Chile a chunk of southern Peru, so what’s not to like? Somewhat understandably, Bolivia and Peru and still upset about this, and there is currently a case at the Hague disputing some aspect of the 1884 treaty. Not surprisingly, Peru wants mineral rich desert and Bolivia wants a maritime corridor. Both are about as likely as Texas, Arizona, New Mexico and California being returned to Mexico. Anyway, the rumor is that there are lots of Prussian inspired military parades on the 19th, which I have never witnessed. Parades, in my reckoning, are almost universally terrible, especially when infused with flag waving militaristic jingoism.
Intent on avoiding the brunt of Fiestas Patrias, we went south to Pucon, a little city
on a shockingly blue lake with a smoking snow covered volcano looming above. Shortly after arriving, a pack of red, white, and blue ponchoed huasos (cowboys) with black hats, big black boots and gleaming silver spurs cantered down the street on horseback. The huasos and the general milling about of the populace about main street, suggested Fiestas Patrias parading was imminent. Soon, the locals would be fonda-ing and gorging themselves of cueca, chicha, and choripan (the much less alliterate dance, drink, and meat). Though tempting, the presence of an incredibly annoying jabba the hut looking American woman helped solidify the decision to flee the city. It is shocking how often sharing a language with a person seems to give the erronous impression that you have any interest in talking with them. We had, thankfully, rented a car online, so others had to bear the burden of the annoying American lady. The agency, consisting of one guy with one car, rented us a beat up Fiat that smelled faintly of old people. We suspected that it was his car and planning on being drunk all weekend, he rented it to us. Nevertheless, despite its ugly ducking in the world of shiny
rent a cars status, it took us out of Pucon and over and through the rutted dirt roads spidering off the main highways.
For three days, we drove around admiring the omnipresent snow covered Volcan Villarica. Like many volcanoes in southern Chile, Villarica looks like a drawing from the imagination of a five year old. It is as quintessentially volcano looking as a volcano can or ought to be. Being a volcano, the area is lousy with hot springs. The most superlative of the lot is Termas Geometricas: 17 pools set in a narrow misty fern covered slot canyon with a waterfall fed river running through it. Decadent. The next day we went for a hike and a picnic in the Sanctuario el Cañi, a private reserve of old growth araucaria trees. Having hot springed and hiked, we assumed that our obligation to ‘do’ stuff had been met. Consequently, it was alarming to awake the final day to yet more sun. It always rains in the south, especially in the spring, and god made books because you will never ever have three consecutive clear days in Pucon. The clear weather was paralyzing. Everyone had mentally cozied up to the
idea of lounging aound the wood stove and reading. Now that perfectly fantastic idea would be considered ‘wasting’ our day. Begrudgingly (and grumpily in certain cases) everyone piled back into the Fiat. We lazily spent the day on the shore of the lake skipping rocks and watching the volcano appear and disappear behind the puffy white clouds. Later in the afternoon, we returned to town and had wine and meat and cheese on the beach while watching the kite flyers silhouetted in the setting sun. Not such a horrible way to spend the day, or the weekend for that matter, though life is better with choripan .
p.s. congratulations to Manu and Ben who were part of the 'we' in Pucon and recently got married.
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ed juda
non-member comment
immersion
It sounds like a great trip, and your comfort to both the culture and the language also sounds like it's increasing. We do, however, need to talk about your Toulouse Lautrec homage on your face. Enjoy Spring, Ed