Where have all the Cowboys gone?

Last night a French friend, Vincent was throwing a house party for his girlfriend's birthday- I've met Vincent a few times but I've been asking Sylvain to hang out with him because he's our age and I had a good first impression. We got a bottle of wine, got lost, almost gave up, and found the shack of a house twenty minutes later. When we sat down Sylvain commented on the degradation of the house Vincent shared- he told me when I first told him my parents lived in a log cabin- he imagined something not unlike this place - a real hillbilly shack abandoned on a plot of land... 

The girls here were drinking beer mixed with Fanta- something I thought seemed disgusting, but felt compelled to try sometime. We talked to a roommate who played Flamenco guitar, and Vincent's girlfriend who we both found really charming - she and Vincent met picking apples in New Zealand, she's my age and I loved her for it. We discussed the kissing greeting- how whenever a foreigner meets an American they often get Karate chopped by a hand plunged into the space between as they go in for a kiss- so that if they advance any further, they get a hand stab. It was the first time I understood how cold that must feel- the sort of way Oprah hugs her guests where she grabs their hands and pushes them away instead going in for the real thing. We also determined more than one cheek was unnecessary, pretentious and outdated. 

I've noticed that I am struggling to speak Spanish in situations like this - I use it regularly with commercial transactions void of opinions and feelings; but here I have the opportunity to practice and all I want to do is communicate as accurately as I can- ask the questions I have and share my experiences- all of which are often too sophisticated for my basic level of Spanish... 

Non-Americans are always making cowboy references to me- as an American I feel about as culturally identified with cowboys as I do with eskimos. In the Rosetta Stone Spanish language program I'm using they identify an American hat as a sort of black Mexican cowboy hat which I don't understand at all- ask any American and they'll chose a baseball cap as an "American" hat beyond any other. Sylvain is really into this cowboy identity stuff- and last night walking home he said this:

Sylvain: "Babe, you know the spirit of the cowboy?"

Me: "If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that."

Do we as American's have a cultural connection to cowboys? Because I have no idea what the spirit of the cowboy is- Sylvain had some explanation but I wasn't listening, because every time he mentions cowboys I wonder why foreigners assume Americans even understand this cowboy concept- if we do I doubt it's very developed. I have this feeling Europeans are writing 400 page Masters thesis' on American identity and the spirit of the Cowboy. I have one cowboy reference which is simply playing cowboys and indians- of which I never did, but I think maybe they did once on a Brady Bunch episode I saw. 

More death... and bills

Last night I went to yoga for the 4th time and with yet another teacher... On the way home I needed to break a large bill in order to give Sylvain some change. Conveniently, I also needed some tampons and so I went into a pharmacy - all products whether their pharmaceutical or not, are behind the counter here and you have to ask. So I am approached by a man and he says the spanish version of how can I help you- I tell him I need some Tampax (universal brand for tampons- like Band-Aid or Kleenex), and he gets a female coworker to assist me; even though they are directly behind him- she explains to me how many are in the box (duh) and other insignificant information (its not a car I'm buying, its tampons) and then charges me $4.50 for 8 tampons. There is no way the average Chilean could buy tampons at this price- it must be a gringo import.

I head home, wave to the old guy who works in the tailors- we've become waving friends- pet the kitten that looks like Manny and when I get home I run into Sarah at the door. She's sort of upset looking- as if she's been crying. I ask her if everything is ok- she says I have no idea what your saying and I repeat todo es bueno? She responds with a long diatribe of which I catch Papa- and I think maybe her dad has died (Sarah is about 40 years old)- since I have no idea whether this is the case, or just something bad, I say lo siento twice in a heartfelt way. She is my roommate but we are not close; we don't understand each other most of the time- I speak the kind of spanish she never understands, and I understand about every fifth word she speaks- she doesn't speak a word of English... I tell this to Sylvain- both of us seem to think her dad was recently diagnosed with cancer. 

Later Sarah comes in to tell us she's leaving for Santiago because her dad died of pancreatic cancer. She'll be gone for a week and that we should pay her rent at the end of the week and gives us her bank details. Whenever Sarah comes in I always stop what I'm doing and pretend to listen because I feel like I should, but I never understand more than what they are talking about- but none of the specifics- when Sylvain got up to hug her and give her a kiss when she explained what was happening, I knew her dad had probably passed- when she started saying banco a million times and writing down a number, I knew rent was due, but beyond that I'm ignorant to the specifics. This time I knew something was expensive- because Sylvain (whom, I can understand in Spanish) said wow that's way more expensive than France or New York... So, it turns out we had to pay $60 each for gas and electric every month... 

We are considering moving- Sarah doesn't seem to pay rent- between what we pay and what our other roommate pays that would more than cover what this apartment should cost... this sort of practice happens in New York, but what feels worse than getting screwed... On top of that the bills are insane... We have a nice apartment but it's nicer than we really need... So, we'll see if there's anything out there worth moving for...

Death, Incarceration, Art, and Marriage

I've had my sights set on visiting this cemetery here in Valpo for weeks now. It's the main view outside our kitchen table and every time I sit down to a bowl of cereal my curiosity is piqued. It's gated with a stone wall but from a distance the headstones seem worth taking a closer look. Yesterday morning Sylvain suggested we go have a look. We asked an abuela to point us in the right direction and she did, we found it in no time as it wasn't really too far from where we lived, but you have to go down the hill and then back up a different route. The cemetery close up was disappointing, it had not been kept up, and there were empty plastic bottles on the ground and general decay; besides us there were just 3 other American tourists taking photos. We walked around for a few minutes and then left. I could see from our kitchen window there was a lot of street art on the stone walls around this area and I was keen to have a look so I suggested we walk home another way, but as soon as we turned the corner we ran into an ex-prison Cerro Carcel. It closed in 1999 and the turned the space into an art park- it's walls are now full of colorful graffiti and you can walk in the yards and peek in the detention center and the rooms used for solitary confinement. After watching 3 seasons of the Wire and reading about Pinochet, this experience was more than a stop on the tourist trail... Sylvain told me this space is used to host art openings, theater and music concerts all of which I imagine would be that much more powerful considering the loaded implications of the space. 

A few years ago I worked for this woman Lois as a tutor for a summer school program, she was sort of retired but worked with funding from NYU to have a place inside supporting writing at Marta Valle middle school- we had both worked at Seward Park and knew a lot of the same people. She was a huge supporter of the arts, had tons of energy and was fun to talk to. After the summer program ended I was working at what had been the Seward Park annex and was now University Neighborhood High School, it was only a stones throw from Marta Valle, and we would meet once and a while for lunch at Schiller's- they gave us a teacher's discount and the food was good. Lately Lois has been on the hunt for street art which has taken her all over New York and around the world- most recently Bogota. She posts her findings on Flickr and her library of images is probably one of the most exhaustive sites available- if I can I will post her page: Lois in Wonderland.

Sylvain and I were discussing what broke up more marriages- finances or sexual issues and decided to do some online research. Anyway we found incomplete data on the subject, but most research concluded communication problems were a root factor. I mentioned that a lot of my family and friends had had to do a survey- pre-marriage questionnaire- during marriage counseling to facilitate full-disclosure and support open communication between the couple... It was easy to find one of these questionnaires online and so we decided to take it. We have been living together for more than 6 months at this point and so most of the questions we had long since discussed and we both wondered how anyone could get to the point of marrying someone without these questions having come up in regular conversation- much less the responsible discussions people ought to have when they get to the serious point of marrying another person. I posted the link on the right for anyone curious. 

After witnessing first-hand what is always a debacle, the planning of weddings- I have been largely turned off by marriage- despite the fact  that in practice I have enjoyed helping friends plan theirs- I have never witnessed anything as ridiculous as wedding planning and the merging/compromises between daughters, mothers and mother-in-laws. Watching my friends go through it has been amusing, frustrating, and a compassionate experience. Moreover, I've watched as my society and television have turned straight marriage into a punch-line while all the while telling gay people marriage is such an important rite of passage their unions may not be sanctified- it's no wonder I have my reservations.  

This morning I got up 'early' and went jogging- I brought money to stop at Lider on my way home because we were out of milk and bread. Sport of any kind as far as Sylvain and I can figure is completely foreign to the Chilean's. They have a world class tennis player in Fernando Gonzalez and football of course is their national sport- but look for anyone doing anything resembling exercise and look in vain. In the Bronx I would get plenty attention walking down the street where I worked, like every woman was accustom to- here the same thing happens because I'm jogging. It never bothered me to get cat calls in the Bronx because it was a cultural norm to "appreciate women" but as I told Sylvain the other day, I don't like being attended to simply because I am jogging, and I hate that it draws attention when in New York jogging was as unremarkable as walking down the street and smoking.

At least once a week Sylvain comes home frustrated because he woke up and went to class and the professor didn't show up. The same thing happened to me Wednesday when I went to yoga and was told class was pushed back 30 minutes. It seems to be the status quo that timetables are either subject to change without notice, or not adhered to much. Yoga on Wednesday night was the same routine I went through with Pedro Aguilera but with a young woman about my age and 5 other women. Three of them stayed in the back row and were pushed to their personal limits on more than one occasion often sitting out the difficult task of arm circles and a set of 7 sit-ups. Still, despite the lack of any chance of breaking a sweat, I liked her as a teacher, and will return for my last class. Since my teacher was also dressed in white flowing pants and a white sweater, I'm guessing that, this is simply la mode for yoga in South America, black lycra hasn't seemed to have made it's way to Chile yet- not that I blame them- the yoga here isn't athletic enough to require it- I've had a couple hippie teachers in nyc that wear the baggy hammer style pants when teaching, but I generally found having leggings and fitted clothing is easier to work in- but there is something about the white gauzy material that is growing on me. Anyway, Sylvain's friend Saw (pronounced So, short for Sausane) said I could go to the yoga classes at their university and after next week I will check them start going to them- apparently it's mostly American's who show up anyway. Surprise surprise.

Thursday I am going to an art opening with the woman from the artist in residence program in Vina...

Little Earthquakes

We've had 5 or 6 earthquakes since I arrive about a month ago. While I was in my senior year at Smith I woke up one morning to an earthquake around 7am. It shook my bed and woke me but I turned around and went back to sleep- not computing what had just happened. At breakfast when I had heard what I had failed to recognize as an earthquake, I was disappointed in myself for not being cognizant enough to notice what I had experienced- I could now tick the earthquake box, but I had no idea what even the minor rumble had felt like. I know now...

I realized what was happening the first time here- Sylvain and I looked at each other and thought aloud, what was that? The second time, the next night, it felt like it came from the roof down, like some corrugated metal house of cards built on the roof had toppled- we exchanged looks again, wondering aloud what that was, and moved on with our lives. After that we've had several small earthquakes that have felt like some big hand was jiggling our building. We had a couple today and Sylvain decided if we had a big one, we weren't well situated. Apparently, this area is about due for another big one, the last being about 20 years ago. I told him relative to the situation in the Northern Hemisphere with Swine Flu, we were relatively safe.

Yesterday on my trip to Vina I bought some yarn and today I started making a scarf. I had a bit of a misadventure in Vina and after successfully purchasing the yarn I asked the woman how to get to one of the Universities in town, she told me to take a yellow collectivo just outside the shop. I did, and as excited as I was to take my first collectivo with a sweet abuela sitting next to me, I wasn't very excited when he charged me well over what I should have paid and dropped me off what wouldn't have taken me more than 10 minutes to walk- I find it really irritating here when people act like walking a mere 10 minutes is far to long to go on foot- I have found this to be the case more often than I can comprehend... The university wasn't a campus, it was an administration building and so that was even more disappointing... I couldn't post any fliers either because it was gated. So instead I walked around posting them of telephone polls. On my way home from Vina I got on the bus and said Vaparaiso por favor. It took me about 5 minutes to realize I was headed the opposite way from Valpo and although I was angry with the bus driver for not bothering to tell me he wasn't headed to Valpo, I stayed on the bus a bit longer to see the coast. Sylvain and I visited my friend Mike in San Fran in April and we spent a day driving up the coast in a zip car; the views were stunning, and the coast here reminded me somewhat of that drive, but far less breathtaking.... Eventually I got off and put myself in the direction towards home, but not without giving the bus driver a piece of my mind.

My Addiction

A couple years ago my British friend Dave started telling me about this American tv program called the Wire. I'd never hear of it, and figured if it was any good, there would have been a buzz- there probably was, but I didn't really watch tv in the first place and never had cable so I may not have been in the right circles. I ignored him. A few months later we met in Istanbul for a holiday and he brought it up again, making me promise I would go home and watch it. That promise remained an empty one. Four months later he's back in New York and we're on our way to our friend Peter's wedding in Minnesota. Again with the Wire... I go home and make no adjustments whatsoever on my Netflix queue; I don't even google it. Regular emails come, and Dave continues to pitch how great this show is- but I've just discovered Mad Men, Dexter, and Weeds, The Wire is going to have to stay shelved for the moment.

Dave comes to New York this July and we go on a road trip out west and of course he brings up the Wire. Finally, I can say, I knew you were coming so I put it in my Netflix queue just for you... I get the first season as I'm leaving for Africa I watch one DVD before I leave and I bring the other 2 DVD's with me to watch in the airport. In the Delta lounge at JFK I'm already hooked. But when I return from Africa, season 2 is listed as a "long wait" and I don't get to watch anymore before I leave for Chile. Hulu doesn't work outside the country, and so I end up looking on Surf the Channel and voila, all 5 seasons at my finger tips. The problem is, I'm addicted. I watch an episode in the morning, and at least a couple sometimes 3 at night, and I can't really see myself breaking the habit until I've exhausted the entire series- at this rate of course, it will only take me another week.  I do feel gross, I wish I could pace myself to an episode or two a day, but I haven't been able to... 

Dave used to go into this diatribe about why and how the show was so good- he was right, but it never made me want to watch it. All I will say is this: it takes place in Baltimore, MD, and I love the Omar character. 

Survey says...

The answer to this weeks survey: having to put the toilet tissue in the bin, and flushing with minimal water pressure...

I've been looking for day hikes within a bus ride distance from Valpo- in doing so I ran across a website of a young married couple whom I think are from Chicagoland. They spent a year traveling through Central and South America. I added the link because I find Lonely Planet guides to be a little dry. Well, a lot dry. I mean, everyone who goes anywhere goes to Barnes and Nobles and looks at what they might see and do and where they might stay when they get there, but they're cold, and the industry is known for recycling material and not being exhaustive in their research. Bessie and Kyle probably spent a lot of time looking through these guides, so I assume in their travels they covered the important stuff, and instead of reading them for yourself you can see a first hand account with pictures and what-not. 

Today I decided there were 2 things I miss about my homeland. One is being able to flush the toilet with paper in it, and the other is being able to run outside with varying terrain. There is basically one long boulevard ending at the Paris store, but there and back is only about 30 min, it's completely flat and really monotonous; my only other option is to scramble around streets but it's not the kind of jog where you get in a grove and zone into your jogging, it's awkward, difficult footing because of dog poop and deep and uneven crevices and broken steps, and it's easy to get sort of but not really lost.  The day before I left I stayed at my aunt Nancy's in the Chicago suburbs; they have a young golden retriever who is well-trained and I took her on a jog the night before I left. They live in a nice suburb and we jogged on the sidewalk and through a nearby park; I hadn't done anything like that since I was in high school when I trained for track and cross country navigating icy footing and hot summer nights in the neighborhood I grew up in. I loved running with a dog, and in some ways the familiarity of those suburban blocks (because all suburban blocks are cut of the same cloth, are they not?) and the companionship of a golden retriever were more welcome than I had expected.  Maybe it's that my parent's home is no longer the one I grew up in and hasn't been for a longtime, so I actually never really "go home" and there's part of me I guess, that sometimes wishes I could...