tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55540617551117906022024-03-14T01:24:21.261-07:00Chile con VerdeObservations and musings from a recent expatriate living in Santiago-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-6017170032790540092012-07-03T22:20:00.000-07:002012-07-03T22:20:42.581-07:00The EndI'm sitting in an empty room, except for my bag and some luggage in the corner. Tomorrow, Nick and I take off for Buenos Aires, before continuing north through South America and eventually home to Minnesota. I am utterly and completely in shock that my time in Santiago has now come to an end. It feels like just yesterday that I arrived here at 5:00 AM, jobless and homeless.<br />
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As many (some) of you probably noticed, I've been pretty slow to post on here of late. The blogging definitely took a backseat in my daily list of priorities, and honestly I wasn't sure why. Maybe I tired of it, or maybe I couldn't find anything interesting to say. But what I think happened was, I found myself feeling less like a foreigner documenting his weird journey through a strange land, and more like a Chilean living the normal life of a 20-something guy down here. Things ceased to be strange, noteworthy, or blog-notes. I took less and less pictures, because things stood out less and less to me. This blog, created to keep me in touch with my friends and family back home, ended up being more of a tool for me to feel a connection to a world I knew. Blogging about the things I saw, activities I did, or experiences I had helped me maintain this connection to a world thousands of miles away, because I felt no connection to the place. But slowly, that connection grew and grew, until I suddenly no longer felt the need to pen my thoughts electronically. I had a world down here that I needed to maintain, and so my electronic world faded into the background.<br />
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This isn't to say I'm not excited to return to the US, and to live in a world I (more or less) completely understand. The US is, and always will be, my home. But I do feel now that my life has been split into two parts, and I have two countries I feel completely at peace in. I hope that I can take the lessons and perspective that I've acquired in this past year, and be a more complete and useful human being in the future.<br />
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Thank you, Chile. It's been a most enjoyable ride.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-51041087932608379242012-06-03T14:21:00.000-07:002012-06-03T14:21:00.126-07:00The Santiago Sky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">A major problem in Santiago is air pollution. The combination of a lot of industry, little regulation, and living inside a hole in the Andes Mountains has created a basin of fairly contaminated air. Often, I cannot even see the mountain ranges to the east of the city because of heavy smog. Here's a couple shots of what the sky looks like when it's particularly bad:</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1BI4MKL-o5A/T8vEGWY56WI/AAAAAAAAAzM/GvuY--0xDdQ/s1600/Santiago+Centro+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1BI4MKL-o5A/T8vEGWY56WI/AAAAAAAAAzM/GvuY--0xDdQ/s320/Santiago+Centro+038.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Usually it's not like this, but it's not uncommon to have a quite obscured view. But it's just something you get used to, and like all things that repeat, we become desensitized. <div>
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But now, we entered the rainy season. And with the rainy season comes...rain. Last week, there was a day where it was a light rain essentially all day. But after getting next to nothing for over 5 months, the streets were insanely slick, and most people ended up just staying home. On one hand, it was kind of miserable, but it was also really refreshing to get a little humidity in the air. I got one of my more satisfying night's rests that night. </div>
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And then the next day, the sky completely opened up. Clear skies, I could see for kilometers (miles) around Santiago, and I finally got a good view of the city I've been living in for over 10 months now. But really, the show was just beginning. I got home around 8 pm that day, and stepped out onto my balcony, and saw this:</div>
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Sadly, my camera didn't really capture the majesty of this view. The clouds were this spectacular golden hue, and the sky behind it was pure blue, and evolved into a faded pink in the distance. Watching the clouds roll by was otherwordly. Excited, I grabbed my camera and took to the streets.</div>
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Once down on the street, the sun had fallen further into the horizon, and the blue sky was giving way to red. Walking around my neighborhood, I was able to take some pretty amazing pictures.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jq9bo5UNTk/T8vQX8_3xZI/AAAAAAAAAz0/0dbevnSTY-Y/s1600/Santiago+sky+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jq9bo5UNTk/T8vQX8_3xZI/AAAAAAAAAz0/0dbevnSTY-Y/s320/Santiago+sky+008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Having your perspective jarred every now and then is a great experience. It reminds you that so many of the things we do aren't necessarily how they have to be, it's just how we've been doing them for so long. Routine desensitizes, and if you're not careful it bleeds into other aspects of your life. Mix it up. Do things that are not normal for you - scare yourself. You might just like what you find. </div>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-54660947707756255032012-05-06T11:59:00.001-07:002012-05-06T11:59:31.596-07:00ObservationsThis probably isn't the right place for an entry of this nature, but so be it. 'Observations and musings', right?<br />
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I have been in love exactly 3 times in my life. I have also had 3 girls who were confirmed to be in love with me. Sadly, those situations did not completely mirror each other. Life is a funny thing that way.<br />
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Love has never been something I've had a great handle on. Feelings like jealousy, anger, admiration, and embarrassment often work to subvert any deeper feelings which may underwrite a given situation, and it becomes easy to mistake the forest for the trees. Often it becomes easier to think about what just happened, rather than the big picture. Often it becomes easier to react to one specific action, rather than acknowledge the volatility of human emotion. People have good days, and people have bad days. And for those of us (almost everyone) who have trouble reading other people, miscommunications can often lead us down some very dark and undesired paths.<br />
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But as I've aged, and accumulated experiences and memories along the trail I've bivouacked, I've found that both the devil and the angels reside in the details. It is what you can notice when nobody thinks you're looking that give you the answers that you may be searching for. For your consideration, here are two examples.<br />
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Recently, I was seeing a fellow extranjera in Santiago. She was a sweet girl, a native English speaker with a flair for the sarcastic and biting. I was immediately drawn to her sense of humor and her intelligence. It also helped that we were both these islands, afloat in a sea of latin culture and looking for a sounding board for our inner dialogues. We immediately connected. But after a while, it became clear that our chemistry was largely based upon circumstance and superficialities, rather than a personal connection. I was able to notice things like this only rarely, but it became obvious that she would not internalize comments I made, just as I would forget things she would tell me about her situation or things that happened to her. Slowly we drifted apart, and things came to an unceremonious end.<br />
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Around the same time things were unraveling with my extranjera, I met a Chilean girl. She was incredibly reserved, quiet, and initially unimpressive. We ran in mutual circles, and over time we shared a few constipated conversations about mundane things. Things between us were always congenial, and her disposition was never short of saccharine. But things never seemed to click. We would dance together, smile, and share snippets of humor across the language barrier, but things seemed to stall out there. I was convinced that nothing could ever breach the wall set before us, and so things stayed. Then one day we had lunch together. And while the two of us ate, I picked up on something. When we talked in our constipated unnative dialects, there was something resonating beneath the surface. As she talked, I found myself drawn to every word she uttered, entranced by her mannerisms and expressions. And I noticed when I was talking, no matter how stupid the things exiting my brain were, she hung on every word. There was a look in her eyes - a look of admiration, affection, and (dare I say) love. The words almost seemed unimportant.<br />
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The moral of the story is, anybody can put a good foot forward. People can look you in the eyes and lie, people can tell you one thing and think another, and people can logically explain away almost anything. But nobody can be 'on' all the time. Over time, everybody flashes you a view of the cards they are holding, it's only up to you to look for them. It's when they think you are not looking that they tell you everything you need to know.<br />
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Funny, the things you learn thousands of miles from home.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-12924990620759379932012-04-29T13:41:00.003-07:002012-04-29T13:41:29.566-07:00Foods I look forward to eating/drinking upon returning to the US- All natural extra chunky peanut butter<br />
- Cooler Ranch Doritos<br />
- Mountain Dew<br />
- Taco Bell Gorditas<br />
- General Tso's chicken<br />
- Davanni's supreme pizza<br />
- Qdoba/Chipotle burrito<br />
- Arby's<br />
- Chicken tikka masala-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-49121226042300263972012-04-21T16:58:00.002-07:002012-04-21T16:58:38.064-07:00RodeoI've realized that by now, there is too much to write about in the past. I have done too many things at this point, and it has become daunting to have to put it all down in the blog so I've avoided it. Thus, I am starting anew here with present day activities. If you would like to ask me about Lollapalooza, Pablo Neruda's house, the rest of Torres del Paine, Ushuaia, Dad's visit, or other things I've done in the past couple months, please do and I will respond completely. Otherwise, these things are just going to trickle into the blog as I keep up with the more or less daily grind. It's for the best, I promise.<br />
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Anyway, today we went to a rodeo! It was on the outskirts of the city, just south of the really nice part of town. I met my German friends Andreas and Luisa there at about noon. The place itself was pretty wild, as we had to walk through a holding pen for public busses, and then into a little wooded area before we got to the gate for the rodeo.<br />
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Once inside, it was impossible to tell we were still in Santiago...<br />
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Not exactly what I've come to expect within our little hole in the mountains.<br />
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The rodeo had been underway since about 8 AM, when the sun was significantly weaker. Here, we 3 WASPs felt her in her full glory as we watched teams of Chilean cowboys mull around the rodeo ring.<br />
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It wasn't what I expected the rodeo to be. No ropes were used at all during the entire competition, the only way the cowboys would control the cow was with the bodies of their horses. Every so often they would have to turn the cow around 180 degrees, and they would then be given points according to some measurable degree of proficiency.<br />
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Here we see 2 of the cowboys going at it with the cow. It looked quite hard - I expect it takes a lot of training to get one's horse to perform this task proficiently.<br />
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From the left: Me, Luisa, Andres, 2 chumps.<br />
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For the intermission, we went over to the outdoor restaurant and had a couple cokes. Pisco was considered, but ultimately declined.<br />
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Horses penned up outside. It was like a scene from the wild west.<br />
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The lineup of cows waiting to play. They had 30+ cows in line, which seemed like overkill to me. Chileans do not know moderation when it comes to planning, it's either way too much, or not at all.<br />
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We moved over to the other side for the second half of the competition. Before being let loose in the big ring, the cows would run through this little mini-ring, presumably to burn off some of their pent-up energy.<br />
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Me, elated.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-26429266384583979492012-04-10T18:25:00.000-07:002012-04-10T18:25:27.020-07:00MN VisitAnybody who is in MN - come see me between April 12-17! I'll be back for a few days doing an orientation at the Carlson School of Management, and then spending a little time with the fam before returning to the far south.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-42149668009961268002012-04-10T18:23:00.000-07:002012-04-10T18:23:17.253-07:00AlgarroboPeople, I'm sorry for the intermittance of posting recently. Truth is, life has picked up its pace a little bit more of late, and the normal down time I had reserved for blogging has disappeared into the bowels of the metro and innards of classrooms and offices all over Santiago. So, I plan to continue with my daily trip postings from Patagonia, while also mixing in some daily anecdotes and other short-form posts which will help to cover more ground. Something's better than nothing, right?<br />
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This past weekend was a long one for us, thanks to Good Friday (here, it's called "semana santa", or holy week). Friday morning, we took off in the car with Felipe, Arturo, and Kelsey to Algarrobo, a city on the coast just south of Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. The drive out is one I know well at this point, but I still can't help but take pictures every time we go. The surrounding countryside is still otherworldly to me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCLS49xGg0A/T4M0K7zBeCI/AAAAAAAAApI/OqH1lwkJwg0/s1600/Algarrobo+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCLS49xGg0A/T4M0K7zBeCI/AAAAAAAAApI/OqH1lwkJwg0/s320/Algarrobo+008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The last picture is in Valle de casablanca, apparently one of the best places in the world to grow Chardonnay. Can't say I know the wine from there, but likely soon.<br />
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After driving a while, we arrived in Algarrobo.<br />
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The neighborhood was surrounded by these large trees, which is something of an abnormality for Chile. I assume they were artificially planted there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A8NFX-9ITiQ/T4Ot7PkwZyI/AAAAAAAAArg/b2nPbngL1Xo/s1600/Algarrobo+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A8NFX-9ITiQ/T4Ot7PkwZyI/AAAAAAAAArg/b2nPbngL1Xo/s320/Algarrobo+016.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Me, in my hipster glasses, ready to party.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bw_H30XPbF4/T4OuHffzAUI/AAAAAAAAAro/6ZGtQhlVTxg/s1600/Algarrobo+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bw_H30XPbF4/T4OuHffzAUI/AAAAAAAAAro/6ZGtQhlVTxg/s320/Algarrobo+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Kelsey making a common salsa for barbecues here - a mix of chopped tomatoes, onions, cilantro, salt, lemon juice, and some veggie oil. It's delicious on chorizo and bread.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFqx8QL4RUw/T4OuQmeuWNI/AAAAAAAAArw/7-uALgXXKSY/s1600/Algarrobo+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFqx8QL4RUw/T4OuQmeuWNI/AAAAAAAAArw/7-uALgXXKSY/s320/Algarrobo+021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>For the night, we went to Arturo's friend's house, where we took some of his cornucopia of wood to fuel the fires for the weekend.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OUaTMCayc_0/T4Ouc8QDEoI/AAAAAAAAAr4/kOFxVq66DjY/s1600/Algarrobo+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OUaTMCayc_0/T4Ouc8QDEoI/AAAAAAAAAr4/kOFxVq66DjY/s320/Algarrobo+031.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Fresh meat, right off the grill. It got cold outside quickly by the coast, so we ended up eating inside.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WS4PLb0t4RQ/T4OusIr2fHI/AAAAAAAAAsA/xobc9uIfp5g/s1600/Algarrobo+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WS4PLb0t4RQ/T4OusIr2fHI/AAAAAAAAAsA/xobc9uIfp5g/s320/Algarrobo+048.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Relaxing the next morning with Micheladas - a mix of light beer, lemon juice, and salt. They are actually quite refreshing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W3ZX7P5Cm-4/T4Ou4zScXCI/AAAAAAAAAsI/7OeKHnBcdUA/s1600/Algarrobo+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W3ZX7P5Cm-4/T4Ou4zScXCI/AAAAAAAAAsI/7OeKHnBcdUA/s320/Algarrobo+049.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>A light lunch - ceviche and mariscos (whitefish with onions and citrus juice, and a mix of shellfish)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4HwhyVD2XuY/T4OvGjO208I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/vIxLqZEs-Gw/s1600/Algarrobo+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4HwhyVD2XuY/T4OvGjO208I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/vIxLqZEs-Gw/s320/Algarrobo+050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The beers started flowing much more quickly after lunch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bqb_e28yTnE/T4OvVuCerzI/AAAAAAAAAsY/aW1uA9Gxnp0/s1600/Algarrobo+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bqb_e28yTnE/T4OvVuCerzI/AAAAAAAAAsY/aW1uA9Gxnp0/s320/Algarrobo+062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Headed to the beach.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B8iPOtK6l3o/T4OvkNONXFI/AAAAAAAAAsg/KRt8krVl9_k/s1600/Algarrobo+066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B8iPOtK6l3o/T4OvkNONXFI/AAAAAAAAAsg/KRt8krVl9_k/s320/Algarrobo+066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The beach was a bit of a hike, but it was well worth the effort.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7Xy6D2qUS-I/T4O04tNwN3I/AAAAAAAAAso/AYvzBexyiZo/s1600/Algarrobo+068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7Xy6D2qUS-I/T4O04tNwN3I/AAAAAAAAAso/AYvzBexyiZo/s320/Algarrobo+068.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Felipe, aka the mountain goat, making his way down to the playa.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Z-9O_OjCXE/T4O1GJmdTXI/AAAAAAAAAsw/lbpxCM3Zwyc/s1600/Algarrobo+069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Z-9O_OjCXE/T4O1GJmdTXI/AAAAAAAAAsw/lbpxCM3Zwyc/s320/Algarrobo+069.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aMV9qliYlhQ/T4O1PQWM7jI/AAAAAAAAAs4/oUYkySIQsLE/s1600/Algarrobo+070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aMV9qliYlhQ/T4O1PQWM7jI/AAAAAAAAAs4/oUYkySIQsLE/s320/Algarrobo+070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After the day, we walked back along the coast until we were forced to hike up the hill. This was kind of a cool view we had as the sun was setting around the other side of the hill.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8JWK9daooJ8/T4O1eUZd-DI/AAAAAAAAAtA/m_L9eRSU-s0/s1600/Algarrobo+076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8JWK9daooJ8/T4O1eUZd-DI/AAAAAAAAAtA/m_L9eRSU-s0/s320/Algarrobo+076.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>It's difficult to see in this picture, but there is some fungus that completely ate away all the pine needles in this one section of tree, and covered it with a strange fuzzy substance. I've noticed some very nasty, aggressive fungi in the trees in my time down here.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eRuTkfN4xtg/T4O1sn4mL_I/AAAAAAAAAtI/xH5SE6wuo6I/s1600/Algarrobo+083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eRuTkfN4xtg/T4O1sn4mL_I/AAAAAAAAAtI/xH5SE6wuo6I/s320/Algarrobo+083.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Night 2 - the barbecue continues<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7RX_HsBb3cM/T4O133XgAfI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/iH5b4zAfL7c/s1600/Algarrobo+085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7RX_HsBb3cM/T4O133XgAfI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/iH5b4zAfL7c/s320/Algarrobo+085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>From the left: Wasi, me, Felipe, Arturo<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1gBJ4S9t4M/T4O2CsFicxI/AAAAAAAAAtY/RmAQoK6nH0U/s1600/Algarrobo+086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1gBJ4S9t4M/T4O2CsFicxI/AAAAAAAAAtY/RmAQoK6nH0U/s320/Algarrobo+086.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>All of us, with 2 of Arturo's friends for the barbecue.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bM-4PUJ9FJ8/T4O2PbFZawI/AAAAAAAAAtg/dHO0P3-_RvE/s1600/Algarrobo+089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bM-4PUJ9FJ8/T4O2PbFZawI/AAAAAAAAAtg/dHO0P3-_RvE/s320/Algarrobo+089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Pil pil - pork pieces cooked over the stove with spices, then spread over toasted bread. It was amazing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YekGTJo6aL4/T4O2dMzQ5II/AAAAAAAAAto/DsF_ThfuXV0/s1600/Algarrobo+094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YekGTJo6aL4/T4O2dMzQ5II/AAAAAAAAAto/DsF_ThfuXV0/s320/Algarrobo+094.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Our last meal, before taking off for home.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7MZjZ6EWP84/T4O2hrwKiqI/AAAAAAAAAtw/t2xQWa_SM6w/s1600/Algarrobo+098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7MZjZ6EWP84/T4O2hrwKiqI/AAAAAAAAAtw/t2xQWa_SM6w/s320/Algarrobo+098.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We found out that there was a huge traffic jam thanks to an accident very close to Santiago, so we took this back road that led us through the mountains over dirt roads and switchbacks galore. It took us 2 hours, but the traffic jam was taking people more than 4 hours to get back, so we ended up saving time while also seeing a cool, backcountry side of the outskirts of Santiago. This picture was taken from the top of one of the cordilleras we drove over, as we took a break to stretch our legs.<br />
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Happy belated Easter!<br />
<span id="goog_56868589"></span><span id="goog_56868590"></span>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-25521152170411798492012-03-26T20:01:00.001-07:002012-03-26T20:08:05.198-07:00Day 3: Up to the mirador, down to the lake***Posting has been delayed of late because Dad was in town, and classes have been in full effect. I'm making a conscious effort to get these up more regularly. This series is going to take a while though***<br />
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</div><div>Today started fairly early - just as the first glimmers of sunlight started to come into the camp. For some reason, I've never been very good at sleeping in while camping. I've narrowed it down to 3 options: sleeping on a wildly insufficient ground pad, every light molecule that hit my tent illuminated the inside like the 7th day of Hanukkah, or the fact that I was screamed at to wake up on every camping trip between the ages of 11 and 16. The answer lies somewhere in there. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Regardless, I was up relatively early to try and get a good look at the mirador. Supposedly the morning sun illuminates the towers in red, making for a spectacular sight. I left my tent and gear back in camp, and set out on the 45 min hike up to the mirador.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The way up was steeper than the initial part of the trail the day before, but not having my 50 lb pack on made a world of difference. I blew past a decent number of other hikers on this part of the trail, stopping only for a few photos and water breaks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ssIDgnJ84Y/T3ENVkWZCxI/AAAAAAAAAlY/W4pobWqveF4/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ssIDgnJ84Y/T3ENVkWZCxI/AAAAAAAAAlY/W4pobWqveF4/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> The goal, just beyond the cloud.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s0j98hglbiA/T3EOEbNK83I/AAAAAAAAAlg/fCubt_8Iass/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s0j98hglbiA/T3EOEbNK83I/AAAAAAAAAlg/fCubt_8Iass/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>A little closer to the top, still just within the treeline.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gcaSZs4fgE8/T3EObvW65pI/AAAAAAAAAlo/I0ssS8-gNro/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gcaSZs4fgE8/T3EObvW65pI/AAAAAAAAAlo/I0ssS8-gNro/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Self-timed magic.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rxLle1ORrM0/T3EPBxOMYJI/AAAAAAAAAlw/fqPLGO5r1_c/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rxLle1ORrM0/T3EPBxOMYJI/AAAAAAAAAlw/fqPLGO5r1_c/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+073.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>The final part of the trail - a switchbacking section over skree that ended at the mirador.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Once I got to the mirador, I realized what all the fuss was about. This is truly a natural wonder here on earth. These 3 stone towers rise over this serene aquamarine pool, decorated on all sides with a cavalcade of different rock formations garnishes with patches of stubborn snow. Truly a sight to behold; my camera felt wildly insufficient for the views all around.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3C8CGOI7--A/T3ESiFlnKZI/AAAAAAAAAl4/uh5MivMz2oc/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3C8CGOI7--A/T3ESiFlnKZI/AAAAAAAAAl4/uh5MivMz2oc/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+074.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rUuLn1FU-mM/T3EUKJobGgI/AAAAAAAAAmA/TLnnoAUFwCE/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rUuLn1FU-mM/T3EUKJobGgI/AAAAAAAAAmA/TLnnoAUFwCE/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lTI5bRKl-a0/T3EVexCjn_I/AAAAAAAAAmI/pO5GyysEX10/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lTI5bRKl-a0/T3EVexCjn_I/AAAAAAAAAmI/pO5GyysEX10/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>After spending some time at the mirador, I hopped back down the trail and broke down camp. My legs were feeling surprisingly fresh at this point, but that all changed within about 500 yards after the pack was back on. Stupid 3 man tent.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The descent out of the Torres run was actually quite lovely. A long stretch of the path was fairly level, so I was able to actually enjoy the magnificent view in front of me as I hiked down the hill. My toenails were also freshly cut, so there was nothing to hold me back (those who have backpacked before know exactly what I'm talking about).</div><div><br />
</div><div>After getting out of the Torres valley, I walked through a grassy area lining the south side of the range. Here I ran into our first batch of wild horses on the trip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QIP0PTWQdyk/T3ElAgfjapI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/WdEyTPxLhF4/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QIP0PTWQdyk/T3ElAgfjapI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/WdEyTPxLhF4/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+104.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Taking the shortcut down from the towers. Instead of the 2 hour ascent from the day before, it was a 5+ hour slow descent, mixed with some gradual ascents over riverbeds.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DectDVCp2no/T3Elcd-boTI/AAAAAAAAAmY/qeQr-4JMPyU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DectDVCp2no/T3Elcd-boTI/AAAAAAAAAmY/qeQr-4JMPyU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+106.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> This horse was grazing right next to the trail, where a horde of Israeli trekkers were taking pics of him eating. As I walked by, he looked up and said hello to me. It's a blonde thing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vW1txkZ-hic/T3El17reZLI/AAAAAAAAAmg/pj9Mz_gJSkQ/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vW1txkZ-hic/T3El17reZLI/AAAAAAAAAmg/pj9Mz_gJSkQ/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+108.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>View of the ridgeline on my right side.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OlKh8lL5sdo/T3EmRWcjvLI/AAAAAAAAAmo/lF9GVZ9by_8/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OlKh8lL5sdo/T3EmRWcjvLI/AAAAAAAAAmo/lF9GVZ9by_8/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+110.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>One of these little birds (called ibis, I believe). They have comically long beaks, which they were using to poke around the soil for grubs or whatever it is they eat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KESiP14DFcU/T3Emlyku7SI/AAAAAAAAAmw/x6oq3gFHesU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KESiP14DFcU/T3Emlyku7SI/AAAAAAAAAmw/x6oq3gFHesU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Approaching the lake on which I'd spend the rest of the day walking around. Little streams kept coming down from the mountains, and had eaten out parts down to the rock beds. Outside of that though, it was a pretty lush land.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EHNaXbyCdFg/T3Em_PR1IxI/AAAAAAAAAm4/1e7ID2IOXL8/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EHNaXbyCdFg/T3Em_PR1IxI/AAAAAAAAAm4/1e7ID2IOXL8/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Some of the paths had been worn down pretty significantly into the earth...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBv95GjXTxM/T3EnUdsxRWI/AAAAAAAAAnA/PQUTw_n3XVw/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBv95GjXTxM/T3EnUdsxRWI/AAAAAAAAAnA/PQUTw_n3XVw/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+120.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> ...and some of it was just climbing over boulders.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XrytF_kuiN4/T3EnmnO1aVI/AAAAAAAAAnI/Z6K5fvSIb7E/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XrytF_kuiN4/T3EnmnO1aVI/AAAAAAAAAnI/Z6K5fvSIb7E/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+130.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Around to the other side of the ridgeline, it started to look a little more ominous.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bHlvYnNn2UI/T3En4RE2iWI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/SotYeS71s9M/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bHlvYnNn2UI/T3En4RE2iWI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/SotYeS71s9M/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+131.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Right about this point, I started to run out of steam. I originally planned to make it all the way to Campamento Italiano this night, but I had to call it about 2.5km short of the goal. After getting to camp, I checked the map for the day's distance. The final count was just shy of 19km total.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PpSwHdfuBAo/T3EoJQycfbI/AAAAAAAAAnY/FxVukg-Gqh0/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PpSwHdfuBAo/T3EoJQycfbI/AAAAAAAAAnY/FxVukg-Gqh0/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+134.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Plus the camp I walked up to had this view. I couldn't say no to a night here.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aAu1wbiSJx0/T3EogqUmb3I/AAAAAAAAAng/-TwFUxeHryM/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aAu1wbiSJx0/T3EogqUmb3I/AAAAAAAAAng/-TwFUxeHryM/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+135.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Notice 2 pairs of socks drying out. It was a long sweaty day for the feet.<br />
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At camp, I met Alex and Kelly from California. They were in the campsite next to me, and I watched them cook their tuna surprise while I went for my classic tuna un-surprise, with mustard and white bread. They told me about a great backside view of the Torres del Paine from a closed trail up French Valley. I thanked them, and mentally planned to make this run tomorrow (more on this next post). <br />
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Before the sun set, I walked down to the side of the lake to sit and think, and take a few pictures there as well. I saw one guy doing yoga down by the beach, which looked like a really, really good idea to me at the time. Having never done yoga though, I just opted to do some old football warm-up stretches and then find a comfortable place to sit. From that seat, I took pictures of what I thought were some of the most beautiful views I had the entire time in the park.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sx0gm6ejYGg/T3EoydelFLI/AAAAAAAAAno/ZnJmOdqOA1E/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sx0gm6ejYGg/T3EoydelFLI/AAAAAAAAAno/ZnJmOdqOA1E/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+138.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k46Nm5oI4hw/T3EpDV1X2jI/AAAAAAAAAnw/LHlcuX3X8TA/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k46Nm5oI4hw/T3EpDV1X2jI/AAAAAAAAAnw/LHlcuX3X8TA/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+139.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div>I don't think these pictures really do justice to how utterly awe-inspiring the area was. Sitting on the beach, exhausted, in the presence of this other-worldly beauty, my mind couldn't even come close to comprehending the views before me. The worldly and extra-worldly factors that had to come together just perfectly to create this scene are practically countless - a spot on Earth that won the geological Powerball. I would have stayed and sat on that beach forever, but it got pretty cold once the sun disappeared behind the mountains, so I went up to the refugio and played jenga with a Chilean family of 5 for a while. After that, I sat outside my tent for a while and stared at the stars until it was time to fall asleep.</div>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-57823848323337032512012-03-11T11:19:00.000-07:002012-03-11T11:19:07.705-07:00Day 2: Into Torres del PaineToday started semi-early, mostly because everybody else in the hostel got up early. Puerto Natales has a lot of day trips and things to do like whitewater rafting or ziplining in addition to Torres del Paine, so everybody starts pretty early in the hostels. Plus it's not exactly 5 star accommodations, so sleeping in isn't really a favorable option. I had a leisurely breakfast with a fellow hostel-mate, a Basque girl named Meri who was just leaving town. She had nothing but good things to say about Torres de Paine, which only further fueled my desire to get into the park. After that, I went to the supermarket to load up on food for the trail.<br />
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As I made the trip solo, I had to end up carrying the gear which would normally be shared between two people, like cooking equipment and a tent. Plus, the tent that I bought (from a Swedish guy moving back home) was a 3-person tent, less than ideal for backpacking. This meant that, in the name of my back, I would forefit the stove and all hot food during my time in TdP.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JElzufHucHM/T1voxkCkSlI/AAAAAAAAAh8/pk3IDyh3mBA/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JElzufHucHM/T1voxkCkSlI/AAAAAAAAAh8/pk3IDyh3mBA/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+129.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Trail lunch of champions.<br />
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My bus wasn't into TdP until 2:30 PM, so I spent the rest of the morning wandering around Puerto Natales. The city itself is clearly based upon tourism, every shop was either for outdoor adventures, internet cafes, or hostel.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ovW1_rLK_Q/T1vqFZ26x9I/AAAAAAAAAiE/mgXPx1wWu4A/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ovW1_rLK_Q/T1vqFZ26x9I/AAAAAAAAAiE/mgXPx1wWu4A/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is what most of "downtown" looked like.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-441yxV-s25I/T1vqj2intiI/AAAAAAAAAiM/qHIy8_S-Z2Q/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-441yxV-s25I/T1vqj2intiI/AAAAAAAAAiM/qHIy8_S-Z2Q/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I also saw this little guy, who looked awfully familiar...<br />
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On the edge of town, there's a little bay which separates the city from some magnificent landscapes in the distance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhcPnWYnep8/T1vsBsrgeNI/AAAAAAAAAiU/3vKXxYit2XE/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhcPnWYnep8/T1vsBsrgeNI/AAAAAAAAAiU/3vKXxYit2XE/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LataABUTFcQ/T1vsO_xzNbI/AAAAAAAAAic/5ll2zslpQsM/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LataABUTFcQ/T1vsO_xzNbI/AAAAAAAAAic/5ll2zslpQsM/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wHn2eR2ZM4I/T1vsc78ZevI/AAAAAAAAAik/EE9rBR2LC0Q/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wHn2eR2ZM4I/T1vsc78ZevI/AAAAAAAAAik/EE9rBR2LC0Q/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In case any of you (Dad) were interested in what our latitude was.<br />
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Back at the hostel, I grabbed my very full bag and hopped on the bus. It was a bit of a drive to get out there, but the landscape itself was so interesting that the time seemed to fly by. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hKMCaQYbkJU/T1vu3lzOCOI/AAAAAAAAAis/zuBdyoA5bvc/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hKMCaQYbkJU/T1vu3lzOCOI/AAAAAAAAAis/zuBdyoA5bvc/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7-bkgzIYS4/T1vvEa3hiwI/AAAAAAAAAi0/vEoC33uxLeU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7-bkgzIYS4/T1vvEa3hiwI/AAAAAAAAAi0/vEoC33uxLeU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DM9mxd8BLN0/T1vvPEuFJGI/AAAAAAAAAi8/R_ch0jqoM8M/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DM9mxd8BLN0/T1vvPEuFJGI/AAAAAAAAAi8/R_ch0jqoM8M/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MjRw04XTKbw/T1vveFKmRCI/AAAAAAAAAjE/fkw4Z1UK6zU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MjRw04XTKbw/T1vveFKmRCI/AAAAAAAAAjE/fkw4Z1UK6zU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Here we stopped so everybody on the bus could take a 10 min break to smoke cigarettes. In reality, we were probably there for 25 mins. Chilean time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrcVaaz7BJc/T1vvsmUhbcI/AAAAAAAAAjM/k3m-iuljlMg/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrcVaaz7BJc/T1vvsmUhbcI/AAAAAAAAAjM/k3m-iuljlMg/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+036.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These are creatures called guanacos, which are in the same family as llamas. We saw a decent number of them in the flatlands outside of the park.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally at about 4:30 PM, we got into the park. There were a few guides there to give us pointers and remind us to not start fires, but after that we all hopped into a slightly smaller bus, and took off on the trail.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Map of day 1 on the trail:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-MuLpL1GCU/T1ziKJM9k2I/AAAAAAAAAjc/uDEkiMP8n_4/s1600/Torres+del+Paine+day+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-MuLpL1GCU/T1ziKJM9k2I/AAAAAAAAAjc/uDEkiMP8n_4/s320/Torres+del+Paine+day+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first 1/3 of the blue line was covered by a minibus that bussed a bunch of us in. I rode in with a couple from Belgium, and Philip, a German superconductor engineer. He had a really nice digital camera, the first of many I saw which made me realize how inadequate my little brick was in capturing the majesty of this park. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DfSLQZSawZk/T1zhKw2_0vI/AAAAAAAAAjU/4AM_XEdPdK4/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DfSLQZSawZk/T1zhKw2_0vI/AAAAAAAAAjU/4AM_XEdPdK4/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+042.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Officially the last picture taken with fresh clothes and legs.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got started a little late (about 5 PM), so I had to move quickly if I was to make it to campamento Torres that night. Supposedly one of the best views of the park is the Mirador los Torres just after sunrise, and I wanted my morning hike the next day to be as quick as possible. So off I went.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aTTwey8ibT8/T1zkcxTO2gI/AAAAAAAAAjk/BmjbNnkKjxA/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aTTwey8ibT8/T1zkcxTO2gI/AAAAAAAAAjk/BmjbNnkKjxA/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+043.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Starting off on the trail - a nice gradual downhill. The next 2 hours were pure uphill.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7IDNhnTjJY/T1zks66-LbI/AAAAAAAAAjs/174LCrQ0zzM/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7IDNhnTjJY/T1zks66-LbI/AAAAAAAAAjs/174LCrQ0zzM/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+044.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> Crossing a little river over a rickety bridge with 25 kilos on my back. Every bad action movie I've ever seen flashed before my eyes with each step.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YiCUSYvfbuk/T1zk5ltV9yI/AAAAAAAAAj0/lcVq4E4MBbU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YiCUSYvfbuk/T1zk5ltV9yI/AAAAAAAAAj0/lcVq4E4MBbU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Finally getting over the 2 hour uphill, took a break before walking along the trail.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8H9hdZwqZs0/T1zlGeMGXaI/AAAAAAAAAj8/Gou7HXN1aeM/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8H9hdZwqZs0/T1zlGeMGXaI/AAAAAAAAAj8/Gou7HXN1aeM/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As you can probably see, my face is significantly redder than in that first picture. I was also wearing my Michigan Football t-shirt, in hopes of catching some fellow wolverines on the trail. The second guy I met was from Ohio State.<br />
(This was also the last day I wore any cotton)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h6UEvrSa6Pg/T1zlV_WARWI/AAAAAAAAAkE/kwwZmcRssK4/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h6UEvrSa6Pg/T1zlV_WARWI/AAAAAAAAAkE/kwwZmcRssK4/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+054.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Crossing the river again, right before Campamento Chileno.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ry3sUMEQUjk/T1zljAuQerI/AAAAAAAAAkM/b8H7g4dThXo/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ry3sUMEQUjk/T1zljAuQerI/AAAAAAAAAkM/b8H7g4dThXo/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+056.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>One of the ravines, cut into the hill over years of melting snow and earthquakes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46ZauPk-iiE/T1zltDllTaI/AAAAAAAAAkU/YMMKGokiyuU/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46ZauPk-iiE/T1zltDllTaI/AAAAAAAAAkU/YMMKGokiyuU/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+059.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Through the park, you could see the treeline fighting to climb each mountain. Some were easier for mother nature to scale than others.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c9g4RD1Tz34/T1zl4zysjOI/AAAAAAAAAkc/-1UAz3ixUW8/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c9g4RD1Tz34/T1zl4zysjOI/AAAAAAAAAkc/-1UAz3ixUW8/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+063.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Finally arrived at about 9:45 PM.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x_uXF9L-BnQ/T1zmGMGWAJI/AAAAAAAAAkk/mimRy8WSjX0/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x_uXF9L-BnQ/T1zmGMGWAJI/AAAAAAAAAkk/mimRy8WSjX0/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+065.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Note the jeans hanging on top of the tent. They were soon to be buried deep in my bag. I was exhausted by the end of the day, but still in awe of the surrounding landscape. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I was sitting outside my tent eating a tuna fish dinner, a little red fox scampered through the campsite. Nobody else noticed, but he came about 15 feet away from me and froze. We stared each other down for a couple seconds, then he darted off into the woods. A nice little bow on top of the first day in the park.</div>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-83859550817810626662012-03-08T19:29:00.000-08:002012-03-08T19:29:24.754-08:00Patagonia Day 1: Punta Arenas/Puerto NatalesSo, as my loyal followers may have noticed, I was in Patagonia for the past 10 days on one of the best trips I've ever taken. I saw so many cool and beautiful and otherworldly things that it doesn't seem possible to sum it up in a single post. Thus, I'm going to break it down by day, and give a more detailed account of what happened in the southermost areas of the Americas.<br />
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Day 1 started in Santiago. My flight left at the crack of noon, so I got up early. Real early, like 9:00 AM early. Packed up, I threw my backpack on and started to walk to the subway. It was funny, as soon as I started walking through the streets of Santiago like that, I went from a perceived "possibly a local" to "GD tourist". I felt a few strange looks, people wouldn't hand me flyers, and gift-sellers pursued me harder than usual. All in the 3 blocks to the metro station.<br />
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Once at the airport, I picked myself up a little light reading for the flight.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-beAgfeMagYU/T1lo9gX9e-I/AAAAAAAAAhc/pfbO4_qWOVE/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-beAgfeMagYU/T1lo9gX9e-I/AAAAAAAAAhc/pfbO4_qWOVE/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+003.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Surprisingly, this turned out to be a great tool for tweaking my Spanish. The pictures help determine the context, so its relatively easy to figure out what any unknown words mean. Also, since they all end with a "joke" (signified by the appearance of "Plop!"), it usually indicates a double entendre. So really, reading comic books makes me smarter. Take that, teachers.<br />
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Also, the security for national flights in Chile was about as airtight as a screen door. Here's a shot after getting through security:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NpO76CS54do/T1lqbl7nQUI/AAAAAAAAAhk/3aGXm1E8iFw/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NpO76CS54do/T1lqbl7nQUI/AAAAAAAAAhk/3aGXm1E8iFw/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The security rivaled the strictest of public libraries. But they have no terrorism problems, so why bother? Everybody kept their shoes on, photo IDs were not checked, and the X-ray machine conveyor belt was set to "overdrive". It was great, I haven't felt so unmolested at an airport in a long time.<br />
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Even the flight down was very enjoyable. The trip was 4 hours in total, broken up by a 15 min layover in Puerto Montt (approx halfway to Punta Arenas). It sounds like it would be annoying to have a layover on a flight like this, but it sort of kept things changing and interesting. We ascended, got an in-flight meal, had another 30 mins, descended, then repeated it again after the layover.<br />
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Now, I know what you're thinking. "Sure, you repeated the cycle, but no way you got a second in-flight meal, right?"<br />
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WRONG. TWO in-flight meals. And they weren't just some peanuts and a plastic grin. These were full meals.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_9eupBvXkvQ/T1lu1YrhsrI/AAAAAAAAAhs/quL69ln3Rq0/s1600/TdP+&+Ushuaia+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_9eupBvXkvQ/T1lu1YrhsrI/AAAAAAAAAhs/quL69ln3Rq0/s320/TdP+&+Ushuaia+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I took a picture of the first, but I didn't feel comfortable taking a picture of the second. The guy next to me was clearly surprised when I took a picture of this meal, and I didn't want to come off any more asian than I already did.<br />
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Anyway, once we arrived in Punta Arenas, I decided to try and get a bus right away to Puerto Natales so I could get into Torres del Paine the next day. I was able to get a 7:30 PM bus out, so I had about 90 mins to kill in the city. Punta Arenas is right on the Straits of Magellan, so I hiked down and got a look.<br />
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The town seemed unique, albeit a little vanilla. I would spend a little more time here at the end of the trip, so I wasn't worried about exploring much further.<br />
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Puerto Natales was about 3 hours away by bus, and by the time we got there it was about 11:00 PM. It was cold and windy, especially compared to the last 3 months of Santiago summer nights. I ducked into the first hostel I saw, bought bus tickets into Torres del Paine the next day, and relaxed a bit. There were 3 girls who had just finished their time in the Israeli army, and were traveling around South America for a year. They had this method of trimming stray mustache hairs by twisting up a piece of strong threat, and using it like scissors on each other. We spoke for a little while, and then called it a night. I slept that night with images of enormous mountains and lush forests splayed through my dreams.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-89004727455413920252012-02-22T18:52:00.001-08:002012-02-22T19:11:20.802-08:00Cousino Macul Wine TastingBefore I get to the meat of this blog, a quick bit of advance news: I will be going to Patagonia tomorrow through March 3rd! I'm very excited for this, a trip to Torres del Paine was one of the main reasons I decided to come to Chile. Now that I'm finally all packed up, please consider this blog post your holdover until my glorious return from the southernmost part of the Americas...<br />
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One of my longtime private students has taken a 3 week vacation from his job. In this time, he told me he wants to "focus on building English", so we've been meeting in the afternoons to practice English. In our last class, he invited me to join him and his sister on a tour at Chile's oldest vineyard, the Cousino Macul winery. I met them at a metro stop, which turned out to be a little bit of a hassle. There were 3 different entrances to the metro, and we showed up to different entrances. And then when we realized there were other entrances, we both walked to different entrances again. A few more phone calls back and forth, and we were able to figure out what was going on. After our little scooby-doo chase scene homage, we drove about 20 minutes to the compound.<br />
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Upon arriving, we spent a good 5 minutes waiting for the doddering old man behind the gate to confirm us as guests for a tour. The majority of the time spent waiting was watching us watch the old man shuffle papers around in his little booth, until it looked like he finally thought to himself "ah f*ck it" and raised the gate.<br />
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We entered the park 10 minutes late for the tour, so we tried to park in the closest lots that we saw. However, at each lot an old man would come up to the side of our car and tell us we couldn't park there. Finally we came up to the side of one of the loading bays for large trucks, parked the car, and quickly exited before anybody could tell us we didn't belong there. The tour had already started, and we walked in to the middle of the man describing the grapes to us.<br />
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...in Portugese. So, instead of understanding my normal 80% of the discussion, I was relegated to about 40% once again. It felt like September all over again. Fortunately Luis and his sister were able to help fill in some of the blanks for me - Portugese is similar enough to Spanish where a native-speaker can understand significantly more of it than a gringo such as yours truly.<br />
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The crazy thing about these grapes was their relative size. Here's a shot of one in my hand:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9e_W_6CjPqo/T0WhP75tYpI/AAAAAAAAAf4/NRDORR-AuK0/s1600/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9e_W_6CjPqo/T0WhP75tYpI/AAAAAAAAAf4/NRDORR-AuK0/s320/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I felt like a giant eating them. I would have eaten more, but there were about 2-3 large seeds inside each of them. The juice was not worth the squeeze, so to speak.<br />
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After the fields, we went into one of the large barrack-like structures. Built in 1887, these buildings were constructed of large bricks and a mortar made of cement, sand, and eggs. The guy said about 70,000 eggs were used in making the mortar for each of the buildings. Inside the buildings were huge barrels where the wine used to ferment back in the day.<br />
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Nowadays, they use metal containers to ferment and refine the wine. These new containers reduce the fermentation time from 3-4 months to 1 month. These particular containers below are where Cousino Macul produces the majority of their high-end wines.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u0h3gH6277w/T0WjD6NA5aI/AAAAAAAAAgI/xDIujOiOrLk/s1600/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u0h3gH6277w/T0WjD6NA5aI/AAAAAAAAAgI/xDIujOiOrLk/s320/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>They were all empty when we arrived though, so we did not get to sample any of the raw high-end goods.<br />
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We were then taken down into the basement of the main warehouse, where we got to see where the wine is aged in barrels until it is ready to be bottled.<br />
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At one point, the lights went out for about 5 seconds. I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but it was pretty harrowing. It was then that I was reminded that Chile gets tremors every month, and occasional bonafide earthquakes too. I called upon everything I'd ever learned from action movies to ensure my survival. So I quickly sided up to the most attractive single girl on the tour, knowing that if anything happened, we'd be the last to die.<br />
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One other interesting thing at the end of this death hall - there was a caged off room with some apparent goodies inside it:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ttJEwDcpw8g/T0Wk-lWQzgI/AAAAAAAAAgY/2It0bocMVu8/s1600/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ttJEwDcpw8g/T0Wk-lWQzgI/AAAAAAAAAgY/2It0bocMVu8/s320/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> 1937 Cabernet Sauvignon, anybody?<br />
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I asked the tour guide what the deal was with the wine in there. He told me that it was actually ruined at this point. It sounded like it had been left to sit for too long, and it had broken down to a point where it had lost all flavor. Either that, or it was a bad batch to begin with.<br />
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(Sort of related note - I've found that now, if I ask relatively short questions, I come across as enough of a speaker to where the other assumes I can follow them speaking normally. It's a compliment, really, but it leads to long-winded diatribes on the other's part, and I lose track of what they're saying about halfway through. I need to start asking longer, more complicated questions so they realize I'm still just a gringo in Chilean clothing.)<br />
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Upstairs, they showed off some of the old equipment used to bottle wine. It looked like the tank from of one of those ancient fire engines with a little hand pump and hose attached. <br />
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It looked like a pretty ingenious invention for the time, really. Right next to the old bottling machine hung an old picture from the vineyard of all its employees and a full season's harvest.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_U5czxykm-A/T0Wn49UXQsI/AAAAAAAAAgo/-cTqINbWjEM/s1600/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_U5czxykm-A/T0Wn49UXQsI/AAAAAAAAAgo/-cTqINbWjEM/s320/Cousino+Wine+Tasting+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>That year amounted to about 400 bottles. It was a record crop at whatever time it was (somewhere in the 1920s, I think).<br />
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After that we got to try 3 types of Cousino Macul wine - a blush, a cabernet, and another unknown heavy red that wasn't bad. I don't think I'll be adding any of them to my regular wine rotation (even though it's a thin roster), but they were still pretty good. It's funny, every beer or wine tastes a little better after you take a tour of how it's made. <br />
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See you all in March!-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-85288694375229389252012-02-20T20:35:00.000-08:002012-02-20T20:35:42.170-08:00ZoologicoWandering through the Bellavista barrio this past week, I stumbled upon a sign for the Zoo in Cerro San Cristobal. "Why not?" I thought to myself, checking my pocket for my camera. (One of the joys of working a rigorous 7 pm to 9 pm daily schedule is I'm able to squeeze in little side journeys like this.) <br />
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Ugh. I already hate the start to this blog. Let's just plow ahead.<br />
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The zoo at the base of Cerro San Cristobal is not your typical American zoo. In fact, this is actually one of the places where it was most obvious to me we weren't in a first world country. Normally, when I'm on the street, it is largely difficult to say that we're in a 3rd world country. There are more street vendors than you might normally see, and the buildings aren't as tall as in the US, but the place is kept quite clean, and the people wandering around Providencia generally look like they have money. But at the zoo...<br />
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At the zoo, it was clear that this country's PETA chapter was either A) lazy or B) nonexistent. The smaller animals all had quite small cages, with glass windows smudged over by countless little hands and noses pressed up against them. The bigger animals had it a bit better, but it still wasn't up to US standards in terms of artificial environment. For example, the elephant pen:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrsqV84sLDk/T0MXGfwjOCI/AAAAAAAAAe8/30dncilCEds/s1600/Zoo+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrsqV84sLDk/T0MXGfwjOCI/AAAAAAAAAe8/30dncilCEds/s320/Zoo+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>They had a oscillating sprinkler running in the background, and that's about it. The elephants themselves were pretty majestic though, it's been a while since I've seen one of them in person.<br />
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Next up on the tour was the tiger cage. It was further up the hill, and thus better shaded from the public. The tigers themselves were hiding from sight, so I took the opportunity to evaluate the cage in which they were held. This is the "extra tight, dangerous animal inside" fence employed by the park:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qk0-FwpFyTk/T0MadRrpFBI/AAAAAAAAAfE/5O7DZMIEATI/s1600/Zoo+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qk0-FwpFyTk/T0MadRrpFBI/AAAAAAAAAfE/5O7DZMIEATI/s320/Zoo+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Really? This is your "Death Machine" level of preparedness? Thank goodness any animal would have to pass 2 major highways, a river, and tens of hot dog stands before they made it to my building.<br />
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After this part, there was a walk-in aviary which was pretty cool. They had a light sprinkle running inside nonstop, so it was a welcome reprieve from the sun's assault. There were a couple spots where people gathered to look at birds, but I quickly realized that only the laziest and most uninteresting birds were leaving themselves in the public eye like that. I picked out a couple out of the way spots on the path and caught sight of a couple interesting (and rarely seen, I imagine) birds who bolted as soon as they noticed me.<br />
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This one, however, came up right next to me on the path as I was walking by.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IxNbZSHKsEI/T0McVBlmHaI/AAAAAAAAAfM/KYPHWv0kC0g/s1600/Zoo+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IxNbZSHKsEI/T0McVBlmHaI/AAAAAAAAAfM/KYPHWv0kC0g/s320/Zoo+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Showoff. As soon as he came up, I quickly became boxed in by swarms of little screaming kids and parents following with empty strollers. Being both gracious and annoyed, I stepped to the back and let the kids check out nature's version of Liberace.<br />
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As I got out of the Aviary, this was the scene right outside:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w-0QwduPBIs/T0MdTwqFeDI/AAAAAAAAAfU/w3zG1C8Ci-8/s1600/Zoo+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w-0QwduPBIs/T0MdTwqFeDI/AAAAAAAAAfU/w3zG1C8Ci-8/s320/Zoo+003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Wannabe.<br />
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I wasn't quite able to capture this next shot as best as I wanted - the Ostrich has one of the best views in Santiago. I wonder if he appreciates it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv_yieFh1Gs/T0MeAq6xIII/AAAAAAAAAfc/7g1OQmpKWqI/s1600/Zoo+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv_yieFh1Gs/T0MeAq6xIII/AAAAAAAAAfc/7g1OQmpKWqI/s320/Zoo+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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It was pretty fun wandering through a zoo though, I don't think I've been inside one since Berlin. <br />
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Last thing - you know how all zoos have those signs everywhere that read "Please don't feed the animals"?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5nQD2gpUTsE/T0Me4_x7-0I/AAAAAAAAAfk/C-aZp5U8OMg/s1600/Zoo+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5nQD2gpUTsE/T0Me4_x7-0I/AAAAAAAAAfk/C-aZp5U8OMg/s320/Zoo+007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Third world, baby. Third world.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-77262211261878745342012-02-09T19:23:00.000-08:002012-02-09T19:40:26.719-08:00Potpourri #9One of my favorite things about learning Chilean Spanish is every so often you come across crazy phrases or expressions that give me a good laugh. For example, here "Devil's advocate" is "abogado del diablo", or "Devil's lawyer". Another one is for a stingy/"tightfisted" person, you say they have "la mano de guagua", or "a baby's hand".<br />
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But I've found a new favorite phrase that takes the cake for me. I was walking along the street with some friends the other day, and the person who was talking wasn't paying attention to where they were going, and they stepped in dog crap. Upon noticing this, my buddy starts laughing heartily, points at him, and says "casaste con la reina, weon!"<br />
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I have no idea how you get "you married the queen!" from stepping in dog crap. Only in Chile.<br />
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The grandmother of my buddy Marco passed away this past week, and so I went to my first (and hopefully only) Chilean funeral last Tuesday. It was a Catholic ceremony, and for the most part quite similar to the few ceremonies I've attended in the US. Also, the priest spoke very clearly and slowly, so I was happily able to understand the majority of what he said to the congregation.<br />
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Afterwards, we went to the general cemetery in Chile to lay her to rest. It was interesting compared to the US cemeteries, as this one was much more of a concrete jungle. There was practically no grass inside the entire compound. I didn't take any pictures personally (poor taste in any country), but here are a few shots pulled from the internet:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MVLMCcU114/TpMFNHfTKZI/AAAAAAAABck/klQptcp05p4/s400/Cementerio+General+10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MVLMCcU114/TpMFNHfTKZI/AAAAAAAABck/klQptcp05p4/s320/Cementerio+General+10.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Of course, just because I was respectful doesn't mean everybody else was. There were street vendors selling flowers, cigarettes, and cookies and water throughout the cemetary, which seemed a bit out of place. Also, one of the uncles made a joke as we were leaving - we walked by a plastic trash dumpster, and he told me that was a "Peruvian mausoleum". (Peru is the Mexico to Chile's USA)<br />
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It was a pretty interesting cemetery though, all the erect structures inside were unique. Also, there is one Mausoleum inside that was about 10 stories taller than all the rest (for firefighters only). I wanted to take a different path out of the cemetery, but Felipe told me it was bad luck to leave a cemetery by a different route. Best not to anger any karma gods.<br />
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At this point, teaching has lost just about all of its novelty. Sure, I still have to figure things out as I go along, and there are occasionally those "OH!" moments where students make breakthroughs, but for the most part it's 90 minutes of guided struggle through workbook exercises, and I hammer a paycheck at the end of the month. But every so often, I find little moments of great joy that help to get me through weeks of teaching with a little smile on my face.<br />
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Last week, I sat in on a board exam with a fellow teacher, evaluating a higher-level group of students. (Side note: after 8 semesters of classes, it's blatantly obvious which students have been doing their homework, studying on their own, and practicing when they can, and which students have been copying, cheating, and coasting their way through classes. So we can always look forward to a large range of students in these exams.) The teacher who I was giving the board with was one of the many Chileans who I suspect is gay, but my lack of cultural calibration throws me off. <br />
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Before we started the exam, we made small talk about Chilean authors we liked, and other things of the sort. I said my favorite author was Pablo Neruda (total poser answer, it's like saying your favorite music group is the Beatles). He smiled, and then gushed for a good 5 minutes about a Chilean author named "Isabel Allende", and how she was the new pride of Chile, and her work was so cutting edge, and popular, and was really advancing the culture of the Chilean people. It was one of those conversations where he clearly felt that he was on the vanguard of culture, and it was people like him spreading the word of worthy artists to simpletons like me that advanced the human race. Normally I am very open to checking out new musicians/authors/artists, but our chat reeked of self-importance and condescension. I applied a stock smile to my face and said "She sounds very good, I'll have to look into her." He smiled, and then we began the exams.<br />
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The first two students were pretty forgettable - decent vocabulary, but Spanish grammar structures still lingered in their dialect. The 3rd student who came in was a very bubbly, energetic girl who clearly had been doing her homework for the past 8 semesters. She used great vocab words like "manifestation" and "imperatives", and save for a few grammatical gaffes, she spoke nearly flawlessly. My partner, clearly impressed, started probing her about her thoughts on the future of Chile, especially with respect to culture. She answered very clearly, and always with a smile on her face. Then he asked her what she thought about popular literature. And this is how she replied:<br />
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"I believe there are many good authors from Chile today, but there are many bad ones too. For example, Isabel Allende is a horrible representation of Chile. Her books are simple and uninteresting, and it is very clear to me that she is influenced by many corporate interests in her stories. She appeals to the lowest group, and that is how she sells books."<br />
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I snuck a sideways look at my fellow teacher. His face had turned beet red, the faint remains of an old smile forcibly retained on his face. He had puffed his chest out just a little bit, like a pigeon about to get into a pecking battle with an adversary. His hands were clenched under the table, out of the pupil's view. But there was nothing he could do - her English was immaculate, and we were not grading her on opinions. I restrained my mouth from forming a smile, but every other part of my body exuded pure satisfaction, I was a little child who just got everything he wanted for Christmas.<br />
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After she stepped out of the room, we gave her the quickest and quietest "95" of any student by far, and equally quickly moved on to student #4.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-8667175261457042382012-02-07T07:31:00.000-08:002012-02-07T07:37:54.343-08:00Watching the Super BowlI watched the Latin America broadcast of the Super Bowl on Sunday. It was entertaining, but mostly for reasons outside of the actual game.<br />
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To start, there were 3 announcers in the booth, and they all wore the same outfit - black suit, white shirt, diagonal striped red tie. The clothes were identical, down to the distance between the gray pinstripes in the black suitcoats, and shades of red in the tie. Watching this, I pictured some insane latina fashion advisor to the network demanding this outfit, and all of the men uncomfortably going along. And thanks to her, they looked like three middle-aged children who had to get dressed according to their mother's wishes before the yearly Christmas card photo.<br />
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Also, the camera was panned a little too far back in the booth, and we could see that one of the commentators was clearly much, much shorter than the rest of them (his seat was raised up a couple inches higher than the other 2). I will forever think of him as Latino Mike Tirico.<br />
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The pregame consisted mostly of highlights of the 2008 Super Bowl where the Pats and Giants...er rather, the "Patriotas y Gigantes" met before, and the Gigantes ruined the Patriotas perfect 19-0 season. I turned up the volume on my TV set during this part, expecting to hear the announcers drop some names of players who were still there from this game, or at least some sort of hacky soccer-esque analysis. However, once the volume was up high enough, I realized they were explaining the RULES of the game to the viewers #facepalm.<br />
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The game started, and it immediately became clear that the Latin American broadcast version was merely a formally pirated version of the American broadcast. Every time a play would end, we would be treated to about 0.5 seconds of a replay or player bio before the cameras cut away to the latin american announcers, or a shoddily produced segment of their own. At one point there was a "12 men on the field" call against the patriots, and the cameras went from a high-def picture of the field of play to a much lower-def picture, and Latino Mike Tirico quickly counted to 12 before moving on. Great analysis, LMT.<br />
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I've never been a huge fan of the commercials at the Super Bowl - a good commercial is still just a subversive message to buy Doritos or Bud Light. However, after I watched the same Spanish commercial for the Euro soccer league superfan TV package, I was dying for any sort of semi-intelligent 30 second spot. It was a sad statement on how few people must watch this game in South America - that Euro league TV broadcast company clearly got a "buy 1, get 30 spots free" deal from Fox Sports LA.<br />
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Truthfully, I found the game itself to be quite exciting. I thought both sides played exceptionally hard, and that the Giants were just a little bigger and tougher than the Patriots. Their WRs were able to separate from the Patriots CBs well, and aside from a few hard Patriot hits, they dominated the field of play. Manningham had a great catch for the Giants in the 4th quarter that reminded me of his Michigan years.<br />
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After the game, the Latin American crew on the field had the cameras on them the majority of the time, and it was high comedy to me watching them run around trying to get interviews. Obviously, the big networks in the US garnered all the high-profile stars of the night's game, but the Latin American crews were just looking for anybody who spoke Spanish. They found one on the Giants, Victor Cruz, but he had too big of a game to speak with them for more than 30 seconds. They also found Justin Tuck, but he brushed them off within 10 seconds by saying "I need to find my daddy." Their biggest get of the night was the white D-lineman from the Giants who intercepted Tom Brady in the first half. He talked about his family and Jesus for a while, completely ignoring the questions from the reporter. Clearly he was just happy to have a camera on him.<br />
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Also, did you see the halftime show?<br />
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Ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the show I was treated to for the other 4 hours.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-77128951710278512832012-01-29T10:56:00.000-08:002012-01-29T10:56:23.360-08:00Potpourri #8A friend of my dad came through town in mid January with a tour group that was going through Peru, Chile, and Argentina. (Their trip is over now, but you can see their exploits at http://oursouthamericantrip.blogspot.com) I met up with them for a really nice dinner in a high-class section of Providencia. It was a lot of fun seeing a group of Americans like that, and getting a good meal out of it was icing on the cake.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_NxgfrLn1Ss/TyWNGsvOMQI/AAAAAAAAAek/gzWJTdZAbig/s1600/Erik+Conzemius+dinner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_NxgfrLn1Ss/TyWNGsvOMQI/AAAAAAAAAek/gzWJTdZAbig/s320/Erik+Conzemius+dinner.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>For the first time in 6 months, I felt short and brown-haired once again.<br />
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Anyway, from the dinner he gave me a remote-controlled helicopter. My dad's been raving about them since Christmastime, so I was excited to get this one up and running. The next day, I went to my local pharmacy to pick up some batteries for the helicopter. After walking into the store though, I realized I had no idea what the Spanish word for "battery" is. Oh well, I thought. I'll wing it.<br />
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I walked up to the counter and noticed a couple different boxes of Duracell batteries behind the pharmacist. One box had 4 double-As, and one box had 2. "Disculpe," I started, "dame 2 cajas de Duracell". The lady behind the counter gave me a timid grin (odd, I thought), and asked me if I wanted a box of 6, or of 3. I furrowed my brow, clearly seeing boxes of 2 and 4 behind her. "No, please, I'd like a box of 4, and of 2".<br />
"That's not possible," she replied. "6 or 3?" Mildly annoyed at this point, I asked for a box of 6. <br />
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She nodded, and then reached under the counter and handed me a six-pack of Durex condoms.<br />
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"No, Duracells!" I responded with a laugh, pointing to the packages behind her head on the wall. She turned around, and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.<br />
"Pilas." She said to me, as she grabbed one box of 4, and one of 2 off the wall rack.<br />
"Gracias. Pilas." I smiled, and quickly exited the store.<br />
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*******************<br />
<br />
My morning classes with teenagers just ended last Thursday. It was a fun class to teach, but it galvanized my belief that I never want to teach in a traditional school. With the exception of a few girls who actually wanted to learn, most of them had the attention span of butterflies. I had a couple kids skateboard inside the classroom, and if I ever left the whiteboard marker out while assisting students, I would turn around to find pictures of ducks smoking joints.<br />
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I came back from break on the last day to find a page from one of their notebooks which just said "Teacher te amo teacher rico me encanta teacher..." etc etc over and over again. It was pretty adorable, but I didn't feel comfortable taking a picture of it. Best to leave that sort of potentially indicting evidence undocumented.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YgeGk7qsnL0/TyWUL9f2rUI/AAAAAAAAAes/LF5USXzZF8g/s1600/ICN+summer+class.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YgeGk7qsnL0/TyWUL9f2rUI/AAAAAAAAAes/LF5USXzZF8g/s320/ICN+summer+class.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Top row: Camila, Matias, Tamara, Valentina, Carla, Valentina, Joaquin, Cristobal, Catherine, Alejandro, Valentina, Oriana. Bottom row: Kenji, me, Panchito, Samir-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-80296047495916744652012-01-23T19:23:00.000-08:002012-01-23T19:37:30.549-08:00Surfing in the PacificI spent this past weekend with my buddies Felipe and Wasi out on the coast. There's a string of cities along the coast just outside Santiago that are very popular during the summer months. Everybody wants to get out of the heat created by the walls of mountains encircling Santiago, and the cities of San Sebastian, Isla Negra, Algarrobo, Vina del Mar, Valparaiso, and others are right on the Pacific Ocean about 30 mins away; the perfect weekend escape.<br />
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The high point of the weekend were the surfing lessons that Felipe and I took. A friend gave us the name of a local who informally taught surf lessons out of a little lagoon close to Isla Negra. We set up an appointment for Friday evening, and made the trek out to the coast.<br />
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Following the directions the instructor gave us, we turned off the main highway into a little residential neighborhood. The roads twisted and turned around in such a way that it was extremely difficult to tell if we were still on the correct road (one of the annoying things about driving in Chile - the streets are practically never labeled) or not. We flagged down a couple families walking along the sidewalks and asked if they knew where our beach was located. Every one of them looked at the rest of the people in their group, and gave us a shrugging "no". It was not the most reassuring of responses.<br />
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After bobbing and weaving through the streets in our truck, we finally reached the dead end described to us by the instructor. It was a small extension on a dirt road with an end railing made out of large debarked tree sections. We parked, and walked through the pine forest in front of us. Upon coming out the other side, we found ourselves atop a steep cliff, overlooking a large touristy beach on our right, and our surfing lagoon directly in front of us.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0XpB5cyzmg/Tx3LrqceqhI/AAAAAAAAAcU/2APiKH_rEZM/s1600/Costa+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0XpB5cyzmg/Tx3LrqceqhI/AAAAAAAAAcU/2APiKH_rEZM/s320/Costa+044.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GGtPNSB2ta4/Tx3MEQLP-WI/AAAAAAAAAcc/rUaJOHrlD68/s1600/Costa+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GGtPNSB2ta4/Tx3MEQLP-WI/AAAAAAAAAcc/rUaJOHrlD68/s320/Costa+045.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This was the lagoon in which we'd be surfing. The two sides acted as a funnel for waves that came in, and amplified them enough to surf even on calmer days (like the one we were there for). After walking down to the shore, we met our surf instructor, Gabriel. He'd been surfing for 15 years, and had all the mannerisms and attitude one would expect of a surf instructor. It never ceases to amaze me how certain activities translate themselves to certain personalities, regardless of language, culture, or location.<br />
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We started with some basic stretching. The pictures will do a better job of explaining the stretches than I could.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7wQe0zFtAQU/Tx4T03-LmWI/AAAAAAAAAc8/77HSzBpq6zw/s1600/Costa+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7wQe0zFtAQU/Tx4T03-LmWI/AAAAAAAAAc8/77HSzBpq6zw/s320/Costa+048.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-twVZXLsdCKA/Tx4UD6WWC4I/AAAAAAAAAdE/Os_aeDde8JI/s1600/Costa+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-twVZXLsdCKA/Tx4UD6WWC4I/AAAAAAAAAdE/Os_aeDde8JI/s320/Costa+049.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rm_napMuSLA/Tx4US67razI/AAAAAAAAAdM/WBTlq1LMXpA/s1600/Costa+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rm_napMuSLA/Tx4US67razI/AAAAAAAAAdM/WBTlq1LMXpA/s320/Costa+050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTzVJLLJ5pg/Tx4UiOzEH-I/AAAAAAAAAdU/72CLuqBHx7A/s1600/Costa+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTzVJLLJ5pg/Tx4UiOzEH-I/AAAAAAAAAdU/72CLuqBHx7A/s320/Costa+052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As you can see, the stretches Gabriel had us do ranged from the mildly useful to the clinically insane. Doggy paddling on dry land isn't exactly how I'd plan to warm up for surfing. After getting through our retarded gauntlet, Gabriel decided it was time for us to get out into the ocean. We strapped into the boards, and headed into the lagoon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--z26VNmHA-c/Tx4aK-hh6JI/AAAAAAAAAdc/kVzcfv_2NqY/s1600/Costa+057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--z26VNmHA-c/Tx4aK-hh6JI/AAAAAAAAAdc/kVzcfv_2NqY/s320/Costa+057.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Sadly there aren't any good pictures of us up on the boards (that's a 16 year old kid whose out there every day swimming. I was able to stand a couple times, but it was too short-lived and not really glamorous enough to have any pictures taken. Despite that, it was magnificent being out on the ocean. The lagoon was beautiful, and every so often a flock of sea birds would fly overhead. We would know when a wave was worth surfing, as it built itself up at the mouth of the lagoon, and slowly roll into the shore building steam. It felt like slowly ascending the first hill the front car of a roller coaster, until the ride was finally upon you. At this point, it's safe to say I've been bit by the bug. I look forward to my next trip out.<br />
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As we were leaving, the sun was setting over the lagoon. A fitting ending to such a day.<br />
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<span id="goog_481997053"></span><span id="goog_481997054"></span>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-10544340333396620762012-01-16T13:28:00.000-08:002012-01-16T13:28:16.834-08:00Dunkin Donuts in ChileI've recently started teaching English to a CEO of a local university. Classes are held at her house in Los Dominicos, an upscale neighborhood in Western Santiago. She's a total Spanish type-A personality, always interrupting and interjecting her ideas when I'm trying to explain a rule or a concept. We've had about 6 classes now, and I have yet to reach a verbal period on any sentence.<br />
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However, hanging out in the upscale part of town does have its benefits. As I was wandering back to the bus stop one day, look what I found!<br />
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One of the funny things about living in a foreign country is you get excited about seeing common super-chain restaurants from the US. And one of the funny things about seeing Dunkin Donuts down here was what was on the menu. Or rather, what wasn't.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ny-7n-KNhAs/TxSR5RGqK1I/AAAAAAAAAbw/0MDkNs4jZv4/s1600/DD+plus+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ny-7n-KNhAs/TxSR5RGqK1I/AAAAAAAAAbw/0MDkNs4jZv4/s320/DD+plus+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I always get a kick out of seeing menus like this, because they use the same symbol for the Chilean Peso as they do for the US Dollar. I picture some ignorant tourist coming in and going "1,280 dollars for a latte? So overpriced!" But I digress. Take a close look at the menu, with respect to the "Cafe" section. I'll give you a clue, "cafe" is Spanish for "coffee".<br />
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That's right. There is no coffee. Dunkin Donuts in Chile does not sell coffee. They have lattes, expressos, and every other kind of fruity, saccharine monstrosity that 14 year old girls love to pretend is coffee EXCEPT for the backbone of Dunkin Donuts. The universe is clearly playing some cruel joke on me.<br />
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I asked the lady behind the desk about it, who seemed thoroughly confused that I could possibly want a coffee from Dunkin Donuts. She went and asked her manager, who said that all she had to do was water down an espresso, and it would be the same thing. I wanted to smack both of their heads together like a 3 stooges episode.<br />
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Anyway, I ended up getting my "coffee", and it turned out to be pretty good. At least, it was as bad as a normal Dunkin Donuts coffee in the states. A little burned taste of home.<br />
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Also interesting down there was the selection of Donuts. They had some of the same ones as the US, but many donuts were different than their Bostonian counterparts.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6C2WM23gOY/TxSU2nHLMTI/AAAAAAAAAcA/HeiaGOq1SHI/s1600/DD+plus+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6C2WM23gOY/TxSU2nHLMTI/AAAAAAAAAcA/HeiaGOq1SHI/s320/DD+plus+017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This one in particular seemed quite Chilean to me - the "Chocolate Volcano"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HSZ97O1T158/TxSV6wPabRI/AAAAAAAAAcI/ZEq7QhzIA5c/s1600/DD+plus+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HSZ97O1T158/TxSV6wPabRI/AAAAAAAAAcI/ZEq7QhzIA5c/s320/DD+plus+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Sadly, no Boston Creme Pie donuts. Once my Spanish is up to snuff, the owner of this branch can expect to receive a VERY strongly worded letter from a frustrated patron.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-88258465702695871072012-01-12T09:14:00.000-08:002012-01-12T09:14:31.984-08:00On the horizonSorry for the lack of posts recently - I'm trying to get grad school applications in. I promise to start again strong in a week or so.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-77176509107850428642012-01-02T16:26:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:26:47.508-08:00OverthinkingOne thing Chileans love to do is use salt on everything. Anything that goes on the grill, it is salted to the point where you can see the white stuff piling up on top of the meat itself. I've seen a man sitting on a park bench with an apple in one hand, and a saltshaker in the other. Before each bite, he would dust up the meat of his apple, and then sink his teeth in. I watched him eat about half the apple this way before my stomach demanded I move along.<br />
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I made pasta the other night, and while reading the directions (in Spanish), they recommended I bring a pot of heavily salted water to boil before adding the noodles. Feeling crazy, I followed their directions. As I was waiting for the water to boil (not watching it, for obvious reasons), I started thinking about how this would change the makeup of my pasta. My reasoning went something like this: adding a substrate like salt would increase the boiling temperature of the water. Increasing the boiling temperature of the water would cause the water to cook the pasta quicker, thus the noodles would be a little softer after the allotted time of 7 minutes. Interested to see if my hypothesis was correct, I took a couple noodles out after 6 minutes, and a few at 7 to see if there was any noticible difference in the texture of the noodles.<br />
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With my first bite, I thought "This tastes...salty."<br />
<br />
It never even crossed my mind that the pasta would taste salty. Forest: missed for trees.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-48915317016804902462011-12-31T14:43:00.000-08:002011-12-31T14:46:28.141-08:00Santiago Summer (A Tribute to George Orwell)Thick yellow curtains cover the window to the patio. Sunlight defies them, seeping in around the edges while also illuminating the curtains in a pallid hue. It is mid-afternoon, but an air of drowsiness and sloth resonates through our small 4th floor apartment. Visitors from France arrived late yesterday, and their internal clocks are still recalibrating. <br />
<br />
The heat in Santiago is nearly unbearable at this time of day. The temperature is high, but more troublesome than the thermometer is the sun itself. Here the sun strikes all it sees with a ferocity unequaled by any other place I know. During the summer, even clouds dare not pass over our city for fear of catching its yellow wrath. People walk the streets hugging the buildings to hide in the thin sliver of concrete jungle shade. Wherever there is a patch of grass, chances are a scorched man in a city-crested florescent jumpsuit is watering it, or just watered it. Grass must be watered multiple times daily, or it quickly turns brown, and then disappears into the dirt.<br />
<br />
A chorizo on the stove hisses and spits in the background. It hates the heat as much as we do, but it only complains by ejecting fat and oil. Lucky for it, its suffering is nearly over. Ours has months to go.<br />
<br />
It is time to escape. I step into the hallway, and am immediately bathed in slightly cooler air. The apartment door slams itself behind me, and now the only light is white fluorescence coating the already white walls and doors. The elevator is waiting for me when I get there, and within a few moments I am crossing the lobby. I wave to the security guard as I pass, and we exchange a pair of muddled "buenos dias" as I push open the glass door. <br />
<br />
The blacktop on the 3-lane one way is fighting back against the sun as best as it can. My calves take the brunt of it as I half-jog across the street to the shady side. Once on the sidewalk, my eyes turn to search for a taxi. Not 30 seconds pass before a familiar black car with yellow roof flicks its hazard lights, and stops with rear passenger door right in front of me. "Pedro con Grecia" I say, gently closing the door behind me. No more words are uttered, and the driver takes off. <br />
<br />
We pass intersection after intersection, all of which are spotted with people standing in the shade. I check every face I can as we drive along, not a smile to be seen. Everyone sports the identical look of someone who just received their 3rd parking ticket this month. If only one or two people looked like this, I would wonder about the source of their misfortune. But when everybody outside shares the same facial expression, the source of their discomfort is obvious. I look back out the windshield, but my head remains close to the open window.<br />
<br />
The taxi pulls through the intersection of Pedro de Valdivia and Grecia. The red digital ticker reads "2050", so I hand the driver three 1000 peso bills. He hands one back, and smiles at me through the rear view mirror. I can feel sweat beads gathering around my forehead and temples, but somehow his face is bone dry. I smile back, and once again find myself hurrying a "buenos dias" as I open a door to the outside. The driver had pulled close to the sidewalk, and this time I avoid crossfire in the constant battle between sun and blacktop. The off-white sidewalk had long given up, and there is an extra spring in my step as I walk up to the white apartment gate. The security man looks out, and a moment later the metal gate announces my entry with a grating buzz. I walk past the security guard, who nods with a thin grin before returning to the small TV I hear in the booth. With one look, he knows why I am here.<br />
<br />
The joyful yelps of kids and the muted conversations of adults betray their presence before I can see them. I round the final corner of a white stucco apartment to see the pool, shining a brilliant aqua blue. Children are splashing and jumping and diving, and the surface of the water dances in turn. Adults line the sides of the pool, but not one of them is dry. Water beads run down their shoulders and back, giving their bare skin a much needed reprieve. My friends are on the shade's edge, ten feet from the pool itself. None of them are dry either. Saying a quick hello, I drop my bag and take off my shirt. It is time. <br />
<br />
The kids avoid one corner of the pool as if they have anticipated my arrival. With my big toes hanging over the edge, I pause for a second to admire the artificial sea before me. This is going to feel incredible. The sun shines even harder on my back for a moment, pushing me in from 93 million miles away. I need no further motivation. My lungs fill with a little extra air, my leg muscles tense, and I thrust myself forward.<br />
<br />
Bliss.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-45693448903521754792011-12-26T09:24:00.000-08:002011-12-26T09:45:12.956-08:00Christmas Festivities in ChileThis may come as a shock (to newer readers), but Christmas in Chile is pretty different than how it's normally celebrated in the US. I spent the majority of the past two weeks fielding questions about what a traditional American Christmas is like, and after a while my responses boiled down to "it's just like the movies, with snow and everything". The responses varied from a smiling "I knew it!" to a muffled "wow." to a nod and request to pass the beer. Now, let me describe the other side of the coin for those of you living in the states.<br />
<br />
The celebrating starts on Christmas Eve, around dinnertime. I went to my friend Marco's house, where we had a large Christmas dinner with prime rib, chorizo, pork, Chilean salad (lettuce, tomato, and avocado pieces dressed with lemon juice), corn, and french fry-like mini potato balls. We were all quite full afterwards, so we moved to the balcony and sipped champagne for a while.<br />
<br />
Marco lives in a fairly large complex of apartment buildings, and from his balcony we can see the communal area/pool and entrances to many other apartments. At about 11:30, I noticed that there were suddenly a lot of little children with their parents wandering around the common area of the complex, talking and playing with each other. "Why are there so many kids out now?" I asked Marco.<br />
<br />
"Because man, in Chile, Santa Claus comes by midnight. At midnight, all the kids go back to their homes and unwrap their gifts. The kids outside are the ones that still believe in Santa," he replied. As he mentioned it, I looked down to the pavement and noticed that many of the kids were intently staring upward, scanning the sky for a sleigh and 8-9 reindeer. I smiled, remembering my own childhood when I also scoured the Christmas Eve sky for the same thing.<br />
<br />
At 12:00, the kids all went back inside. Marco and his family each got each other one thing, so their exchange lasted all of 10 minutes. Afterwards, we sat on their balcony drinking wine and talking to the neighbors and their families who came to the complex for the night. It was quite pleasent.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I spent the majority of the day skyping with the family and watching the NBA kickoff. Around 2:00, I had a traditional Christmas lunch of Chinese food. Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7P_mXWhV3Jg/TvitgfJWrYI/AAAAAAAAAbY/H64fhwhOaKk/s1600/santa+facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7P_mXWhV3Jg/TvitgfJWrYI/AAAAAAAAAbY/H64fhwhOaKk/s320/santa+facebook.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-40448617976275644132011-12-25T08:23:00.001-08:002011-12-25T08:23:46.258-08:00Merry ChristmasMerry Christmas everyone!-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-23949126706130227072011-12-24T09:55:00.000-08:002011-12-24T09:55:47.734-08:00Los Tetas ConcertThis past Wednesday, I went to the reunion show of one of the biggest Chilean groups of the 90s, Los Tetas. They were big in Chile in the 90s, but had broken up in 2004 and hadn't played together since then. My friend Wasi is a big fan of theirs, so when he heard they were coming he told me we had to go. I listened to a few songs like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/gLXl7U-l2Cw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>...and I was in. I hadn't bought a ticket yet, but Wasi assured me I could get one at the theater. So I said "sounds good", and made plans to see the reunion show of Los Tetas<br />
<br />
I arrived at the theater about 90 minutes before showtime so I had ample time to buy a ticket. From the outside, "Teatro Caupolican" is a classic concert theater, with a white with red letters marquee and light bulbs everywhere. It felt a little out of place in this fairly native Chilean neighborhood. There was barely any line for the box office, which surprised me a little. The lines to get into the concert were already wrapping around the corner of the block. As I approached the box office, I saw a sign which said all the tickets were sold out. I cursed silently, and wondered how I could go about hunting down a scalper. <br />
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It ended up being much easier than I thought. Before I even got back out onto the sidewalk, a small Chilean lady walked up to me and said, "Comprai boletas?"<br />
<br />
"Sipo." I replied, "la Tenis?"<br />
"Claro. Tengo un boleta por la platea, 20 luga"<br />
"Ahhh quiero cancha."<br />
"Ah ya, esta bien." She reached into her shirt by her bra and unveiled another single ticket for the GA floor (cancha) <br />
I smiled. "Buena, cuanto es?"<br />
"25 luga." She said with a stone face. Game on.<br />
"Bahh por la cancha? Te doy 20."<br />
"No hay mas boletas, si quieres, el precio es 25 luga"<br />
"Esa es real?" I said, trying to undercut her argument.<br />
"Claropo, quieres pregunta la securidad?" She starts to walk towards a man in a flourescent jacket.<br />
"No, te creo te creo." I responded. I pulled 20,000 pesos out of my pocket. "Aca, toma. 20 luga por la."<br />
"No... necesito 25."<br />
"Oka, chao." And then I started to walk away from her.<br />
"Esperate, joven. 24 luga."<br />
I stopped. "Te doy 21."<br />
She paused a second before responding "23?"<br />
"Puedo pagar 22." I said, with a note of finality.<br />
"Buena, 22 luga. Dame"<br />
<br />
I secretly smiled to myself as I took an additional 2000 pesos out of my wallet, and passed it to her. A minor victory for my wallet, a major victory for my Spanish.<br />
<br />
Wasi showed up a couple minutes later, and we headed across the street to a bar. It was 8:00, and the opening act didn't even go on until 9. There was a little hole in the wall bar in full view of the theater, so we decided to camp out there and wait on the rest of our friends to show up. The place was pretty busy, so we took a booth that still had 2 empty glasses sitting there. The waitress came by a couple seconds later, and we ordered 2 beers. She nodded, and picked up the empty glasses. I started to tell the story of my haggling for my ticket, and before I even got to the part where I met the lady, the waitress dropped off two full beers, and quickly walked away. The glasses looked quite familiar. In fact, they were the exact same glasses that had been sitting on the table not 45 seconds earlier. Wasi and I looked at each other for a second, we shrugged, and raised the glasses in a toast. "A Los Tetas!"<br />
<br />
A beer or 2 later (we asked for "otros vasos" the second time, so the lady rinsed out the same glasses and brought them back to us.), the rest of our crew showed up. We talked briefly about Los Tetas, and some favorite songs from the group. It struck me halfway through the conversation that this was the band these guys grew up with. These were the rock stars of their adolescence. To them, Los Tetas were the same as Rage Against the Machine or the Red Hot Chili Peppers to me and countless other Americans my age. This was the music that defined a very memorable time in their lives. I became a little more excited for the concert - this was going to be a window into the past for many of my friends down here.<br />
<br />
We headed across the street, and got in line for the security pat down. The frisking was pretty light, I easily could have snuck things by her had I been so inclined. But being the honest gringo that I am, I took everything out of my pockets before the pat down started. I had a pen in my pocket, and the lady told me that I had to throw it out because it was considered a weapon. I started to throw it into the nearby trash can, but my friend behind me said "He's from the US, he doesn't understand what you're saying." So the lady just shrugged and let me in go in with my pen. The security down here is nothing if not mildly apathetic.<br />
<br />
Inside the theater, the concert was very similar to its US counterparts. There was a big circular floor space, and 2 levels of raised seats surrounding the stage. The opening act was midway into their set when we got there, and it didn't sound like we missed much. The old percussionist from Cypress Hill was playing with them which was kind of cool, but the music wasn't anything to remember. The concert atmosphere reminded me a lot of the shows I used to go to in the early 2000s, back when people could still smoke inside. Looking out at the floor, it's a sea of heads and shoulders packed in tight, with plumes of smoke shooting into the air from the various smokers not wanting to exhale directly onto the people around them. A little haze forms over the audience, which makes the stage lights a little more vivid and intense. Here though, I detected that pot smoke constituted a larger portion of that concert haze. I guess thats what happens at a funk concert.<br />
<br />
The concert itself was great. The whole crowd had a great energy to it; you could tell a lot of the audience knew the lyrics to every song. Los Tetas played for a solid 2 hours, and trotted out a ton of guest performers, backup musicians, and human beatboxers to keep things interesting. Over the course of the show, the performers each had a musical solo, all of which were pretty impressive. After the show, a guy came on stage to tell everybody that there was a party here after the show, so everyone should stay. I think about 1/4 of the people ended up sticking around, but most of the people on the floor left. None of us really felt like dancing more after the show.<br />
<br />
Another cool thing down here - everybody can take video/pictures of a concert, and it doesn't matter. Internet piracy is a crime treated with the same respect as littering, or cursing in public. I just checked youtube, and there are a ton of videos from the show. Here's a few of my favorites:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/L2J99WEePcY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/IUIf9IHdgeQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/oPTchfbajWs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Good times. Viva Los Tetas!-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-10554532463252598912011-12-21T09:57:00.000-08:002011-12-23T05:20:41.994-08:00The MAVIOne of the things I really like about Santiago is that every Sunday, all museums in the city are free to the public. And when you work at an institute that goes 2 months between paychecks, free activities are quite difficult to pass up. Eventually, I will cross off all the museums in the Greater Santiago Area, and then be able to talk to Chilean grandparents for years.<br />
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This past Sunday, I went to the MAVI (http://www.mavi.cl), or Museo de Artes Visuales. It's squirreled away in a small corner of the barrio Santa Lucia, a very cool little neighborhood which has the hill from which the main blog picture was taken. A couple blocks from the Metro stop, we came up to this little side street:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xQjGmehk0aM/TvIRD0bTrGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/Xura8n8a1bg/s1600/museums+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xQjGmehk0aM/TvIRD0bTrGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/Xura8n8a1bg/s320/museums+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Leading up to the MAVI, there was actually a book sale going on. I searched high and low for a book of Pablo Neruda's poetry, and left still wanting. However, I did find a few "gems" like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sepwd-sq2mk/TvIRt5YR1eI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/toFSQ3tKEEA/s1600/museums+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sepwd-sq2mk/TvIRt5YR1eI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/toFSQ3tKEEA/s320/museums+027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The English print copy of 1984: 368 pages. The Spanish print copy of 1984: 226 pages. I'm willing to bet something has been lost in translation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qw6E2RvUP_E/TvISVnB3tvI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/iiSb4_6qpAM/s1600/museums+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qw6E2RvUP_E/TvISVnB3tvI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/iiSb4_6qpAM/s320/museums+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Out in front of the MAVI, there was a little ethnic festival of some kind (judging by the outfits, I'd guess Peru). They had a lot of little trays of food and trinkets set out. It was unclear whether you needed to pay for the trinkets and food or not (there was a cash register, but people seemed to be just picking stuff up and walking around), so we browsed a little bit and then headed into the museum. <br />
<br />
Inside the museum was very cool. The floor level of each room was half a floor below the next level, and the walls between floors and rooms were all glass. It gave the impression that the whole place was very open.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PEGT1ODlA8/TvIUmnNlquI/AAAAAAAAAaE/abo78kitRkI/s1600/museums+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PEGT1ODlA8/TvIUmnNlquI/AAAAAAAAAaE/abo78kitRkI/s320/museums+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
One of the things I've noticed about the art in Chile is that there is a much larger range of quality (IMO). There are some truly great pieces in every museum, but every museum also has a couple of pieces that you'll look at and go, "...huh?" Whenever I see a piece like that, I like to think that it was a piece made by an untalented daughter of one of the Chilean Godfathers. He helped some struggling artist to open a gallery, and in return his little "angel" gets to throw some putty and paint at a canvas, and then tell everybody that she's a professional artist.<br />
<br />
Alright, let's get on to some of the pieces, shall we? I'll start at the top floor of the museum. These two paintings were pretty large, at least 6'x8'.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46QQJwmMX-0/TvIWqGE6iPI/AAAAAAAAAaM/G7fRnrAYK7c/s1600/museums+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46QQJwmMX-0/TvIWqGE6iPI/AAAAAAAAAaM/G7fRnrAYK7c/s320/museums+023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjkTN48YcIc/TvIYKVMO80I/AAAAAAAAAaU/FWvhD1hSzp4/s1600/museums+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjkTN48YcIc/TvIYKVMO80I/AAAAAAAAAaU/FWvhD1hSzp4/s320/museums+021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This one in particular I really liked. It looks to me like the artists interpretation of what he sees in the constellations at night. I'm not really sure if there's a story in progress here, but I liked the blending between the real and fable worlds. (None of these paintings had any description next to them, so it leaves the viewer to come up with their own interpretation of the picture.) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g-OOL6hzFmU/TvIZvEcvUbI/AAAAAAAAAak/xOn0f6Kt46Y/s1600/museums+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g-OOL6hzFmU/TvIZvEcvUbI/AAAAAAAAAak/xOn0f6Kt46Y/s320/museums+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The partner picture looked like it was sort of a similar medium, but perhaps what the guy saw was through cave paintings or something. The color scheme this artist uses is quite interesting. Personally, I'd like a touch more clarity in this picture, but I'm not the artist. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fp0X9h4pcks/TvIYy02mQpI/AAAAAAAAAac/OxgsZb2QTqo/s1600/museums+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fp0X9h4pcks/TvIYy02mQpI/AAAAAAAAAac/OxgsZb2QTqo/s320/museums+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Here, I think the artist is envisioning a future where people live in little colorful pods, and there is an overabundance of ceiling fans.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yMuk4JWmniE/TvIbnaBwxLI/AAAAAAAAAas/KecDAvHrDqE/s1600/museums+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yMuk4JWmniE/TvIbnaBwxLI/AAAAAAAAAas/KecDAvHrDqE/s320/museums+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In the painting, I liked the artists sparing use of color. It really made a couple ideas in the painting pop. This little elephant, however, is a decent example of some sub-par craftsmanship shining through in the museum. Hopefully for this sculptor's dignity, he lived back in the day when owning art meant you owned more food than you could eat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLSDsMuqpGU/TvIcSgcJweI/AAAAAAAAAa0/DMztFB2tTNI/s1600/museums+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLSDsMuqpGU/TvIcSgcJweI/AAAAAAAAAa0/DMztFB2tTNI/s320/museums+009.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>This is one of those classic modern art, "I'm trying to confuse you" pieces that really means nothing. It photographs well though.<br />
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The other rooms had some interesting pieces, but nothing really worth photographing/interpreting. Here's a few shots of the other rooms.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0XakuKcyNJ8/TvIdT65TGHI/AAAAAAAAAa8/biMhUmNdd48/s1600/museums+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0XakuKcyNJ8/TvIdT65TGHI/AAAAAAAAAa8/biMhUmNdd48/s320/museums+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b5phvIOuHig/TvIddZV06tI/AAAAAAAAAbE/9GckMFeS7EI/s1600/museums+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b5phvIOuHig/TvIddZV06tI/AAAAAAAAAbE/9GckMFeS7EI/s320/museums+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pMnydkzmulk/TvIdmDRoCpI/AAAAAAAAAbM/r7o9mtcQWoo/s1600/museums+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pMnydkzmulk/TvIdmDRoCpI/AAAAAAAAAbM/r7o9mtcQWoo/s320/museums+014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I ended up donating a couple pesos on the way out the door. It's a great museum, come visit me down here sometime and I'll take you.-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5554061755111790602.post-54216477113908481212011-12-20T10:06:00.000-08:002011-12-20T10:06:01.323-08:00Despedida de RenataOne of my friends Renata moved to Sao Paulo, Brazil on Sunday. To celebrate her last day here, our friends met at her house for a barbecue and party. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this was to be a barbecue to end all barbecues. Take a journey with me, won't you?<br />
<br />
We started by arriving at her house around 5:00. Planning ahead, I had an early lunch to account for the dinner time barbecue, so I arrived a little hungry to begin. Some other friends were already there, and were drinking cheap beer (Escudo, the Miller Lite of Chile) mixed with a little Fanta. I have to admit, I was pretty intrigued by the proposition of a delightful orange soda to cut the taste of a bad beer. Sounds like a good idea, right?<br />
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It wasn't. It tastes absolutely disgusting. Escudo and Fanta together tastes like you added a couple packets of old Splenda and a teaspoon of red number 5 and yellow number 40 to an already bad beer. The opposing flavors of sweet and bitter wage war within your mouth, and your poor tongue is left to clean up the spoils after. I choked it down in 4 well-spaced out slugs, and then settled in with a plain Escudo to sip on for the rest of the afternoon.<br />
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Some more friends trickled into the house over the next couple hours. Eventually at about 8, Wasi looks at me and says "Time to go get the stuff, man". I nod, expecting to be lead into the kitchen to grab the barbecue meats and charcoal. Nope. Instead, we end up collecting money from everybody, and then jump in his car to hit multiple grocery stores and little tiendas to get all the necessary items for the barbecue.<br />
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Once we got back, it was almost fully dark outside. Some of the people were still sitting around, while some were preparing the tables and grill. The music playing was a playlist from one of the guys computers, and it oscillated between American hip hop, and Chilean funk and hip hop. They meshed together surprisingly well.<br />
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Finally, it was time to start the barbecue. This one was to be a little different than your average on-the-grill experience. They called this a "discada", but I think a more appropriate term would be "a middle finger to all vegetarians". We started with a couple onions and garlic...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-faTcEyknZGw/TvDJ98MHDsI/AAAAAAAAAY0/DZQLgwbjxZs/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-faTcEyknZGw/TvDJ98MHDsI/AAAAAAAAAY0/DZQLgwbjxZs/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+026.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Then we added some little chicken wings, and white wine to cook them in...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWtiOgMu5zI/TvDK0GTx90I/AAAAAAAAAY8/erx6c1VJxNw/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWtiOgMu5zI/TvDK0GTx90I/AAAAAAAAAY8/erx6c1VJxNw/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+028.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>And then, we threw in some boneless pork ribs...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_0qnP1grz1g/TvDLLh6Oc4I/AAAAAAAAAZE/fsmOnj1j024/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_0qnP1grz1g/TvDLLh6Oc4I/AAAAAAAAAZE/fsmOnj1j024/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+030.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>You might be thinking to yourself, "Erik, I thought you said pork. That looks like just good old-fashioned steak in his hand." To which I would reply "Sharp eyes, dear reader. But if you look closely, you can see that the pork has already been added to the discada. The beef is simply waiting in line."<br />
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So yes, the beef came next. After a couple minutes, the discada looked something like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I2e5aWPNUJo/TvDMEKeyPPI/AAAAAAAAAZM/ApX_fL2v1UQ/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I2e5aWPNUJo/TvDMEKeyPPI/AAAAAAAAAZM/ApX_fL2v1UQ/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+033.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Looking pretty good, right? At this point, I'd say the vegetarians would be pretty up in arms.<br />
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But let's stick it to them a little harder. Mariscos!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--IUhH7eve6Q/TvDMs-2qMnI/AAAAAAAAAZU/JmtgLKoydvs/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--IUhH7eve6Q/TvDMs-2qMnI/AAAAAAAAAZU/JmtgLKoydvs/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+034.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>So for those of you keeping track, we currently have a barbecue dish which contains chicken, pork, beef, and two different types of clams. Your move, tree huggers.<br />
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And afterwards, we made more. Only with the next couple, there was even more meat, sausage, and chorizo in them thanks to a few people who showed up late.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONLTYSk0JOU/TvDODvpkEGI/AAAAAAAAAZc/QxyaCecZDUg/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONLTYSk0JOU/TvDODvpkEGI/AAAAAAAAAZc/QxyaCecZDUg/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+039.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> Even though we didn't actually start eating until well after midnight, it was worth the wait. Good times.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ntUzWKSJJJU/TvDONCzKI0I/AAAAAAAAAZk/jJ0uRbFowmE/s1600/Despedida+de+Renata+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ntUzWKSJJJU/TvDONCzKI0I/AAAAAAAAAZk/jJ0uRbFowmE/s320/Despedida+de+Renata+042.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We'll miss you, Renata!-Erikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331060231988151572noreply@blogger.com0