“America is ungovernable; those who served the revolution
have plowed the sea.” - Simón Bolívar
Apologies in advance, a number of the photos below are not my own.There'll be more next time, I promise.
I haven't written anything in a while but, as I listen to yet another protest bulldozing its noisy way down my street the long and the short of it is: It's been good. Further details below.
Returning
to ride busses all over Santiago after a fantastic trip to Bolivia in July
proved fairly difficult at first, but the trip away helped solidify my love for
this city which has continued to grow in recent months. This may in fact be a
case of Stockholm Syndrome, but who knows. I have enjoyed it, even the busses
sometimes. Speaking of public transport, after all this time, I’ve learned how
to tame it. From where to stand, when to dodge, when to duck, when to jump.
Which person to swing an elbow at for no particular reason. I have also mastered
the appropriate breathing techniques for boarding a train at rush hour. The
trick is to hold your breath while sucking in your stomach and chest also (the
difficult part) otherwise you risk leaving bits outside to be taken by the
snapping doors. Rush hour is not for the overweight. With elections, difficult
anniversaries, and most importantly crucial football qualifiers bearing down on
Chile as the year draws to a close, the second semester so far has been
stressful, joyful, and enriching.
A very
loaded point on the Chilean calendar, the 11th of September is a
notoriously “difficult” day for Chile; and particularly so this year. The 11th
of September 2013 marked 40 years since General Augusto Pinochet launched his
coup d’état against the Socialist president who appointed him, Salvador
Allende, by bombing the Presidential Palace at La Moneda. The atmosphere in the
city leading up to this anniversary was electric. Electric in the “touch the
plug on the way out of the wall” sense. There was talk of burning city busses
en masse, public service announcements from the police kindly asking people to
throw Molotov cocktails at police cars rather than parked ones (in all
seriousness), and of course a slew of excellent documentaries on this period of
Chilean history. A few days previously Chileans had been dancing in the streets
celebrating a key victory over Venezuela, and now the country was divided
between left and right. A subplot which added more weight to this day was that
of the two main candidates running for the presidency in November, one had lost
a father to the coup while the other’s father figured prominently in the events
of the 11th of September on the other side of the narrative.
Taking
a walk around the city with my camera, I was struck by just how painful this
day truly is for many Chileans; making me feel tacky for stomping around
gringoly with my camera. Wreathes were laid out around the presidential complex,
the focal point of the drama of 1973, and the statue of Allende. In numerous
other spots flowers were laid by weeping relatives below photo after photo of
the despedidos, the missing,
accompanied by the phrase “¿Dónde están?”
(Where are they?). Since one popular technique of the Pinochet regime involved
dropping people out of an army helicopter over the Pacific, at this point the
bereaved will just never know. And the pain continues to be revisited time and
again as the scars on the individual and collective consciousness never seem to
truly heal. Seeing this first hand reminded me that, however flawed the process
and outcomes may have been of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South
Africa, at least it gave people the chance to know. Not knowing can wreak havoc
on the national and personal psyche and this was tragically evident on the
streets of Santiago that day.
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| Without justice, there is no apology. |
I
had planned to take a bus or a train home in the evening, stupidly forgetting
all of the warnings that there’d be problems across the city that night,
assuming I’d at least be able to take a train and the centre of the city would
be peaceful at least as all reported flareups* that day had been limited to the
poorer suburbs away from the expensive stuff. And peaceful it was. There were
no trains, busses, cars, pedestrians, even the dogs seemed to have taken an
early night, and so I began a surreal walk across what was essentially a ghost
town. The entire city had shut down. Except of course for a few criminals, two
of whom decided to rudely relieve me of my wallet, phone, and camera in a brief
mugging.
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| This sort of thing does not always happen. |
*A note on the violence that sadly follows many protests in Santiago: It is a complex issue, quite often those who perpetrate violence (as in burn things, not relieve gullible gringos of their possessions) are just there for the fun of burning, rather than strong ideological viewpoints. Disenfranchised, bored, angry, you name it.The protests are usually peaceful but if you see pictures of police and masked crusaders injuring each other with blunt objects while dogs bark and tear gas is sprayed over all, know that it isn't necessarily an ideological disagreement.
The
next week was set aside for Diez y Ocho (eighteen) celebrations. The whole
country displaying huge amounts of national pride in a week of mass
celebrations, parties, parades, and huge amounts of red meat being burned over
open fires. Needing the time off, me and three good friends hired a car and hit
the highway South with plans to camp in the mountains, hike, swim, and wine
taste for a few days after a busy few months in Santiago.
An interesting trip
was to be had. Feeling invincible inside a car not driven by a cabby, our sense
of freedom was quickly brought
back by being pulled over by a policeman to be
informed that the paper work and ownership documents of this car were incorrect
and could serve as grounds for arrest. 10 points to the rental agency. After
displaying genuine tourist ignorance at this the officer reluctantly sent us on
our way, but insisted we sort out the documentation before we come back this
way in case we get pulled over again and incarcerated for our heinous crimes.
Of course, yes, we’ll get all the paperwork for this hired car in the mountains
pronto. Yes sir.
After
some wonderfully fun navigating and driving experiences (I myself could not
drive due to the loss of the licence in the previous week) we found our way to
our first night’s stay, the remote Reserva
Nacional Rio Los Cipreses. And it was truly stunning. I didn’t have a
camera so I was careful to deposit every spectacular view into the memory bank.
Nestled in a deep valley, the park had an empty campsite located below a
towering pile of granite which turned pink as the evening wore on. Feeling once
again invincible, albeit coldly so, we took a quick hike to see more of the
Andean valley which felt truly timeless. There were even huge flocks of parrots
which nested in the cliffs below, which was a first for me.
The
next morning the keys to the hired car were gone. This was highly inconvenient
as we had planned to visit another nature reserve a few hours away that day. Of
course, we must’ve locked them in the car. So with the aid of a couple of
bemused park rangers we spent nearly two hours jiggling, poking, and wriggling
things until the lock of the door made a glorious *pop* and we immediately celebrated
like South Africa and the United States had simultaneously won the World Cup. A
perfect moment of jubilation ruined only by the realisation that the keys were
not in the car anyway. And so a 10 hour search began.
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| These are car keys. |
Spirits
were low, voices were raised with accusations, and for a moment I really
thought things were just going to go all Lord
of the Flies and I had better find a stick sharpened at both ends.
Thankfully, we were all better than that and decided to be utterly despondent
instead. Having scoured an area some 50m in every direction, some outlandish
theories were proposed: 1.) Somebody else in the camp who “just hates gringos”
decided to walk past our camp, pick up the keys off the table, and hurl them
into the woods. 2.) Somebody stole the keys for their monetary value because
the immoboliser must be worth something. 3.) One of us sleep walked and just
threw the keys into the bushes for no reason. 4.) [My personal favourite] A
parrot or a passing squirrel made off with the keys because they were shiny.
The search ended as night fell and we were forced to call the rental agency to
concede defeat. Having planned to buy more food on this day, we were forced to
dine off of chocolate and biscuits for the night. The next morning a tow-truck
and a second car were due to arrive at 10am, for an undisclosed fee that was
estimated to be somewhere around half a month’s paycheque for each of us. A low
point.
Sitting
alone in the motionless car, I had the opportunity to reflect upon the past
week, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Thankfully, a curious fox turned up and
tip-toed through our empty campsite which more or less made a very bad day.
Check off another first. Of course after a moment I got over my awe of seeing a
fox close up and immediately thought “Bet that furry bastard took the keys.”
And genuinely suspected it and posed it as a theory later.
Snow
fell during the night and we woke up on a freezing misty morning to a park
ranger asking “Are these your keys?” and they were. We sped away from the park
so very relieved, phoning ahead to see if we could take a wine tour that
afternoon that we had booked earlier. Hilariously, we noticed on the highway
that there was smoke emanating from the back of the car and the tyre had blown
out in spectacular fashion. 10 more points for the rental agency. We would
later be billed an additional R1000 for this to put an insulting little cherry
on the cake of disappointment. The wine tasting was truly lovely, though,
another reminder of just how well this country does wine.
Not
wanting to miss out on the spectacular orgy of patriotism that is the 18th
itself, we returned to Santiago in time to take in the celebrations at a local
park turned rodeo (with traditional dancing of course). Chilean beverages were
consumed, Chilean cows were eaten (although it is quite possible they were in
fact Uruguayan), and Chilean music was listened to by all and sundry. There was
also some wrestling but that was a gringo-only affair and not in fitting with
the occasion at all.
And
so ended a rather eventful week.
In-between
some teaching, walking, sunny hikes, and finding different things to eat around
Santiago, we got to return to the most important thing of all, football. I had
the privilege of going to watch Chile versus Uruguay in their final
qualification match of the campaign to play in Brazil 2014 in good company. The
game wasn’t a complete dead rubber either. Due to some hilariously bad
decision-making and defending, Chile had managed to blow a 3-0 lead against
Columbia a few nights previously, trying their hardest to snatch defeat from
the jaws of victory. This meant that they had not yet qualified ahead of the
Ecuador game which added a little excitement to the evening (although they
really needed to lose badly in order to miss out on qualification). We joined
in the sea of chanting red and enjoyed a glorious night as Chile celebrated the
right to spend the next 7 months dreaming about winning the greatest trophy in
sport. An experience arguably better than playing in the tournament itself
which is a much tougher prospect grounded in harsh sporting reality. It being a
week-night and all, we decided to skip some of the post-match rioting although
the streets were still a wonderful place to soak in the joy of the whole
country. Things got awfully loud. Ecuador qualified too, despite losing 2-1, so
everybody left the stadium happy together and no violence was required.
Football can be quite nice sometimes.
