¡Yo Dejé los Tennis en el Piso, Weon!

Over the past month the students of many high schools and universities have taken over the facilities, stopping all activity. This action is an effort to combat the current education system which is very much a free market system, making free education almost impossible. 

This week the congress is voting on a new law to improve the system, but many people believe it does not go far enough. Because of this there are currently protests going on in Plaza Italia, located in the center of the city.

My friend and I just so happened to walk through there today, and ended up stopping on the side of the road to watch everything that was going on. The students would chant and jump together, then the police would shoot tear-gas and spray them with water. The students would run, then return and the same would happen.

At the time that we were there there were two locations where this was occurring, one to our east and one to our south. Unfortunately the police decided to push the protest in the east towards us. At this point we decided to leave (about 5 minutes to late). We had to run from the water throwing truck, which we managed to escape. But then from the north came about 25 officers in riot gear who practice the policy of, "Beat the shit out of first, ask questions later". Obviously we ran as fast as possible into Parque Forestral. At this point they sent in officers on dirt bikes after us, so we sprinted across the street, hopped the fence to stop people from doing what we had just done and ran down a small side street.

If anyone in the United States thinks that the police are all fascist, they have no idea. Here they will hit you just because they can. They need no provocation to hit you with the water hose either. You're lucky if they only hit you with tear-gas. I think I know where George Lucas got his idea for the Clone Troopers (don't sue me George, I don't make any money for this).

I'm still catching my breath.

La Piojera

I have recently discovered the greatest place on earth. It is called La Piojera. Yes, it is a bar; sorry mom. La Piojera is Chile. It is filled with students playing folk music, street bands earning a living, and even blind guys singing hilarious versions of your favorite songs.

The drink of choice at La Piojera is the Terremoto, or earthquake. Why you ask? Because after two you are totally cagado. I think thats what makes panhandling so easy in there; everything sounds good. The Terremoto is the deadly combination of an unprocessed white wine, with pineapple ice cream and a liqueur of which I can never remember the name. In order to decide whether or not you like it you have to finish one, at that point you have to have another because you like it. Number three is optional but highly recommended for those of you who like to stumble home.

La Piojera grasped my heart upon my first visit, but when I really fell in love was last night. While we were ordering our drinks two Carabinieros came in to use the bathroom. They were greeted by shouts, whistles and cat calls an indication of good things to come.

Once we had our drinks we were witness to a classic battle. La Piojera has a family of cats that roam around the bar, which often attracts dogs. Today a dog happened to chase a cat into the vine trellis, and was unknowingly being taunted by that cat as it was obviously in no danger.

The blind "singer" that I have already mentioned came in a bit after this and thrilled the entire bar. But the highlight of the night was the encounter my friend and I had with a table of four girls.

The stakes were high, we somehow had to find a way to be charming and command attention not only in spanish, but highly outnumbered. The ratio was two to one, great odds if you ask me, yet we still felt like Leonidas and his Spartans.

Unlike Leonidas we survived, they then invited us to the U.S. Embassy (McDonalds) to eat and continue the conversation. We were promised salsa dancing next week.

La Visita de los Viejos

Two weeks ago my parents came to visit me and experience a bit of the non sequitur that is Latin America. The journey was a whirlwind, with its high points and the obligatory low ones but overall great.

We started the day with a "climb" up Cerro San Cristobal. The morning was clear and smogless, a rarity here. At the top of the hill we could see the city juxtaposed with the Andes, and the smog rolling in. We took that as our cue to head down and get some lunch at Cafe Patagonia where we had a traditional Patagonian grill consisting of various beef parts. We also indulged in the micro-brews that are very common here in Chile due to the large population of German immigrants.

We finished the day with dinner at my house here in Santiago. I played translator between me two sets of parents and it went quite well. We had a traditional pastel de choclo, which was a bit undercooked so my host father called it; quite fittingly, sopa de choclo.

The next day we went to the aforementioned rugby match, but I believe the best part of the day were the completos at Feunte Alemania. A completo is a beef hot dog with avocado, tomato, and practically a jar of mayonnaise. I believe it is then essential to put mustard and aji (Hot sauce) on top, an opinion carefully formed after many experiences.

That night we had an excellent dinner of traditional Chilean sea food, most notable the shark and conger eel with a Pinot Noir that even my mother liked.

The next day we went out to Valparaiso, a port city about two hours from Santiago in car. There we saw one of the three houses of Pablo Neruda and climbed a gradient that put us in poor spirits. Clearly a phenomenal lunch was necessary to follow such an exhausting ascent.

Valparaiso is littered with elevators to bring people up and down the many hills, most of which were constructed in the 1800's. The one we took to find our excellent lunch would have made OSHA close down and admit defeat.

Our lunch consisted once again of the finest sea food that Chile has to offer. The dish that stood out the most was a calamari lasagna made with a squid-ink pasta. A close second was the octopus carpaccio. A good sauvignon blanc recommendation from Chile would be Montes or Montes Alpha, screw cap but good stuff Hilts.

On Monday night we had another great meal with several of my friends at a traditional Chilean restaurant. One of Santiago's real strong points is the gastronomic scene; the price to quality ratio is phenomenal, just be cautious when ordering meat as it tends to be overcooked.

On Tuesday we hit every possible museum you could possible imagine. I lead the march with my parents somewhat lagging behind, but they made it. We saw every important thing there is to see in Santiago and then some. Finishing in a very historic restaurant which was built by Salvador Allende as a place to hold state dinners. 

On Wednesday we simply had a casual lunch and walked around for a bit. That night we had our final dinner together along with the two directors of my program.

Thursday was a fitting goodbye with completos and some last minute tasks. I also gifted a full suitcase to my parents for them to take home.  

Que Ganemos

One of the first things I did when I got to Chile was look for a rugby team. I asked around at the Universidad de Chile but found that all the teams have schedules that did not work for me. Then one day while playing soccer in the park a rugby team came over to do some pre-season training. I approached the coach, asked if I could play and started training with them.

I had to fill out an information sheet and obviously pay dues. The assistant coach told me that dues were 20.000 pesos (40 USD) a number that seemed legit. The assistant coach then called me and told me he needed 20.000 pesos more for the registration fee; a blip appeared on my bullshit radar, but being a new guy and the number now only being 20 USD more than S.U. dues, I payed.

A few days later I was bar-hopping with a fellow rugger and somehow the topic of dues came up, when I told him how much I paid he said, "[the assistant coach] es un concha su madre". I'll let you all translate that, as my mother reads this. 

Our conversation lead to the first meetings between a group of high-ranking players advocating for the forced withdrawal of the concha su madre. I call it the golpe del equipo or coup of the team.

When we confronted the concha su madre and asked him about the money, he of course said that everything was legitimate. When we asked the director of the Institute, a letter demanding resignation was sent the next day.

Once that slight issue was handled we could play some rugby, which brings me to a report of our last game.

My parents (who happened to be visiting at the time) and I arrived to the field only to find that it was in the shadow of the snow-covered Andes. My team; Inacap, or Incapaz as we are sometimes called was rather unimpressed with the view. I can understand, the dome doesn't really do much for me anymore.

I entered the game as a starting second row and the jumper in first pod. The game was going reasonably well for our capabilities. The scrum was going quite well and we weren't throwing the ball away too much. Furthermore, I was enjoying myself.

Then our hooker; yes that is a real position, decided to engage too early in the scrum. Why this is a problem deserves a bit of an explanation. As a second row player, my head is wedged between the prop's ass and the hooker's ass. Normally all of the force that I experience is dispersed through my shoulders and back, but when the hooker leaves too early it gets absorbed by my neck. I decided to leave the ground after my neck made a sound like someone was stepping on a bag of lays.

We went on to lose gloriously, but played hard.

Villa Grimaldi

On Friday the 9th of May our group made a trip to Villa Grimaldi. A former detention and torture center of the Pinochet regime.

Our guide, a former detainee and torture victim painted a very vivid picture of the experience at the Villa.

When someone was detained by the DINA (Pinochet's secret police) they were put in the back of a truck, blind-folded, hog-tied, and beaten. They were driven in through the service entrance of the villa, untied and forced out of the truck.

Upon arrival the DINA would perform what they referred to as the "Bienvenido" or welcoming. This consisted of surrounding the detainee and beating he or she to a state of unconsciousness, they were then doused with freezing cold water and taken to the first torture chamber.

In the first torture chamber the detainees were forced to strip; if this was not done quickly they were beaten again. The detainee was then strapped to the "Parilla" or grill, which was basically metal bed-frame to allow the conduction of electricity through the body. The detainee was then tortured anywhere from one to three hours.

The detainees where kept in cells large enough to hold a bed and nothing more. They were given less than ample food, and were allowed to use the bathroom once a day. Obviously the conditions were horrible. They were generally taken for torture once a day, which could have been at any time.

If the first torture chamber was not substantial, the detainee was taken to another room which had a chair in which the detainee was strapped too and tortured using a technique called the telephone. The torturer would stand behind the detainee and slap his ears with open hands, causing immense damage and pain to the ears. This room also contained a double parilla in which the detainee would be put on the bottom and a friend or loved one would be tortured above him.

Another form of torture used at Villa Grimaldi was water boarding, something our government claims is not torture.

Our guide told us something very personal about his experience in Villa Grimaldi. At one point he was brought into a room of other prisoners and left to wait there. He supported himself on the door because he was having a hard time standing. Another prisoner approached him and offered him a cigarette. Because of this gesture of kindness our guide knew that this other prisoner was a DINA informant, it was the only way to get cigarettes.

The other prisoner asked our guide about himself, so our guide only told him what the DINA knew about him. The informant knew there was more information and he said the following to our guide, "Look, they tortured me the same as you, and I said nothing. They raped my wife in front of me, and I said nothing. Then they tortured my six month old child in front of me, and I broke. What would you have done if it had been you?" Our guide said that after this he could not judge anyone who was an informant because of that very question.

Santiago, te amo

Dear Santiago,

You have stolen my heart with your distinct culture and quaint smog. The way your transportation system literally brings people together is utterly charming.

Your university is something truly amazing. The students are not just university students, they are undeniably Universidad de Chile students. There is nothing quite like throwing a molotov cocktail just for the hell of it. I've heard the rush is better than coke(a cola).

Many cities have pollution issues, undoubtedly so do you, but it seems as though your methods of battling it are a bit unorthodox. Cliche Catholic schoolgirls making out with much older "pololos" in every public park will probably not clean the air, nor will the thousands of stray dogs. Perhaps a protest could stop it?

I love your double standards. We can't have the morning after pill because that would cause the teenagers to have rampant irresponsible sex in the metro stations, but we can have sex on television after 10pm. Oh, and if you want some "sweet and low-cut" with your coffee, there is always cafe con piernas.

I must confess to thee, Santiago, my love. I have been a bit cynical of you in the past few paragraphs, but I honestly do love your idiosyncrasies.

As far as the arts are concerned, you are incredible. Politically and economically, you cut off your nose to spite your face. It takes great effort to create true change with you. It is never easy to be ahead of your time anywhere, but for some reason you drive those who are to death.

I know we can make this work, but maybe you should get some therapy.

Un asado chileno

I had my first ever cook out with my host-family this weekend. It was a bit different to say the least. 

The most entertaining part was starting the fire. First we had to fill the bottom of the grill with dirt, because you can't put hot coals directly on the metal; fair enough. We then made newspaper rings, covered them with coals and lit them. I felt this was a substantial way to get the fire going; wrong. We needed more "combustible" so my host-father proceeded to "clean out" old work papers. We burned more papers than Nixon. After about an hour or so of "cleaning", the fire was ready.

We started with hot dogs and chorizo, and finished with chicken and steak. The chicken and steak had enough salt on them that I thought they had fallen into the dead sea, but the chorizo more than made up for it.

After dinner we went to the house of a close friend of my host brother, who is almost like another brother in the family. Lucas is going down south to work for a year; putting his studies on hold. The entire family sang him a goodbye song. I've never seen two families so close like that.