Touristing Valparaiso (with a cameo by Santiago)

I have my first visitors here in Chile....my lovely parents. On Friday night I pulled an accidental all-nighter and was on the first bus out of Valpo to pick them up at the airport at 7:30. We spent the day in Santiago, where we watched the changing of the guard at La Moneda, which seems to be based off the British ceremony with the addition of as much fanfare as possible (something that can be said for many things in Chile)

We also went to the Museo de Arte Precolumbino, wandered around the Plaza de Armas and the Mercado Central, and had a very nice lunch in Bellavista. At this point neither my parents, who had been on a plane all night, nor myself, who had been drinking tea and not planning ahead all night, were the least bit coherent. We grabbed their luggage out of storage and were back in Valpo by 6.

Today we set out to explore the city. They are staying in the very luxe Zero Hotel on Cerro Alegre, which I can say is a dream to freeload in (as I sit in an easy chair looking out across the bay). So to get started I decided we should take a look at the city from another angle.

We started out at the Sunday feria in Plaza O'Higgins, which is part flea market, part antique fair.

We poked through the spin-wheel sewing machines, cabinet record-players, brass doorknockers and ancient magazines until my father looked like he was going to fall asleep on his feet from boredom. We livened things up with a puppet show.



Afterwards we took a walk that merged on body-surfing through the Sunday feria on Avenida Argentina. This fair is approximately five blocks long and four stalls deep. Here you can buy just about everything imaginable: shaving cream, underwear, t-shirts, baseball caps (NY Yankees, but no Red Sox--unpardonable), masking tape, bolts, valentines, empanadas, chapstick, furniture, and pretty much anything else that someone managed to buy in bulk and lay out on a blanket. The place is thronged from mid-morning to mid-afternoon.



From there it was a very quick walk to the Ascensor Polanco, which opened in 1916. It is the only ascensor in Valparaiso that runs entirely vertically. It is accessed through a long stone tunnel, and it takes you to the top of a wooden tower with gorgeous views of the city.

You walk from the tower to Cerro Polanco by means of a long walkway, which is also an excellent place for flying kites, as a group of kids demonstrate below (not pictured: kite, as it was about a kilometer above us).

My parents brightening up the scenery.

Then we walked around the hill. Cerro Polanco is not in your guide book (if its any guidebook I've come across), but it should be. It is a quiet hill with small, colorful houses, corner markets, and great views. It's Valpo, in other words, but a particularly nice example of it that comes without the touristy feel of Cerros Alegre and Concepcion. Don't mistake me; I live on Cerro Alegre and I love the area. However I think the common practice of restricting tours of Valparaiso to those two hills, or even starting with them, is not the best way to see the city. Those hills should be loved for what they are, which is a great artistic enclave with some of the nicest (and most expensive) houses in town. They shouldn't, though, be taken as representative of, or the only interesting part of, the city. Every neighborhood has its own character and you don't need the mansions of shipping barons to enjoy a walk in Valparaiso. On Cerro Polanco, you'll find a very tranquilo jumble of color, parks, and stairways.

In the words of my mother, "It feels like a neighborhood. It feels like the kind of place where you could just walk down the street, knock on the door to see if anybody is home, and spend some time chatting on the stoop. There's sort of a peace to it, I guess, not frenetic. I loved all the kids running around just enjoying themselves, playing games, flying kites. Some places you go don't feel like a neighborhood--but on Cerro Polanco you see people walking around, beating rugs, just going about their business. It felt very villagy even though it wasn't that scale, because villages to me feel very community-focused in a way that the word 'town' or 'city' doesn't get across."

From Cerro Polanco we headed to the neighboring Cerro Baron, which can share in most of the descriptions of the former. The view from the top has great views back over the basin of the city, and down onto the plan. The houses opposite the Universidad Catolica reminded my mother of Dr. Seuss houses with trufula trees (reference: the Lorax).



On Cerro Baron we also found the alternative to Jumbo (a gigantic supermarket that might be compared to Wal-Mart, although it only sells food):



Just paces away: Jumbito!

More on Berry Breene, Mural Maven

So a while back I mentioned my friend Berry. Check her out on the ever-sophisticated local news from Erie, PA. In this clip you can see the gigantic mural that she just finished, and her fine self sounding very articulate. I used to think Berry was short, but watching this video I realized that she's just Chilean-sized.

Some more Valpo murals in her honor:

Spring: sprung.

Valparaiso, being an old city, a pre-car city, is built the way I like a city to be. That is, human proportioned. Small buildings leaning over small roads, tightly curled in upon itself like a knot of the strings that trail behind us as we live our lives. I could see this being a claustrophobic place for some. For me, though, it is a perfect mix of warm and cold. It is perched, practically falling into, the huge empty horizon line of the sea; a satisfyingly precarious openness. Against the strange and impersonal depths of the ocean, the city feels like a warm buzzing fortress of the quotidian.

It is, perhaps, the most detailed city I have ever seen. This is difficult to explain sight unseen, so I will relay my typical parable on this topic. A month or two ago, a friend had a picture on her camera of this little piece of awesome:



"That is," I said, predictably, "awesome! Where is it?"

"Almironte Montt," she told me, with a 'what is your deal' look....fairly, because Almironte Montt is a street that I walk down, on average, 3 times daily.

So I kept my eyes open the next time. And...I didn't see it. I was actively looking for a 4 foot high stack of televisions with a command printed on them (shut off the television, live your life...I'm sure you figured it out without my brilliant translation aid). Anyhow, not what every average person has in their front patio. Nonetheless, I could not find it. I actually had to call my friend and ask where exactly I could find the televisions on this 4 block stretch of the road that I walk. Why? Because there is just so. much. to look at.

"Did you ever notice," said a Chilean who has lived here for years, "that the upper windows in Plaza Victoria are painted? I never noticed before." And this doesn't make this person spacy. This is just Valparaiso. Every day I notice something that I have been blind to for months simply because I was always distracted by something else just as attention-absorbing (if you happen to prefer trees to forests..although I'll say that the forest here is perfectly worthy of its trees).

So. Going back to the build of the city. In a mostly cement, brick and mortar world, one wouldn't expect too much of a big deal for spring. Furthermore, the winter here is the equivalent of a chilly September day in New England. Having lived in Northwestern Pennsylvania, where spring explodes in a way that makes you fall backwards into a nearby chair (before fading within a week into unbreathing summer), I can say that it's certainly not a fireworks show here. Nonetheless, though, it is an unmistakeable change in the atmosphere of the city that swept in with unexpected force.

The first hint was two weeks ago, when I met friends for dinner and Emma stopped for a minute. "I smell flowers," she said, and we all sniffed around, shrugged, and went off for a jug of fruit wine.

Then, a few days later, all of the cherry trees bloomed. It must have happened overnight. And it didn't knock me over like a NWPA spring does. But it made me catch my breath. Because spring here, like everything else seems to be, is a slow creeping in of details, a subtle colored pencil taken to the edges of the pen and ink sketch.

It's still chilly. And there was a downpour last Friday. But spring is here, and it is brightening the already bright city.

For those who are concerned about me personally, and are noting the timestamp yet again, I can explain that the reason that I am blogging at 2:30 in the morning is because I need a break from this:

Yes, being a Professional English Speaker is not always as glamorous as you never assumed it was. Sometimes I get to stay up all night plotting grids that by all rights ought to be designed by a computer-person, all so that I can ask strangers earnestly if there are any "large changes going on in their life that might be affecting their skin."

Thanks to begrudgingly generous friend Matt for providing me with a surface on which it is possible to do work, and a tasteful environment in which to do so.

About the only thing tasteful about this particular project....

Sign Language

There are two semi-new poster campaigns around town. This one is intriguing:

("What matters to you?") I don't know what this is about, yet, but I'll be keeping my eyes open.

And this one is an anti-domestic violence campaign and is just fabulous:


("Caution! Male chauvinism kills!")

Unfortunately domestic violence is still semi-tolerated in Chile, from what people tell me. Mariticide is certainly very common in the news; this of course is also true in the states, as sensational crimes sell papers. So I have nothing but word of mouth to back this up....perhaps I'll get some after I take a closer look at this campaign.

In an absoluely unrelated matter that is not meant in the least to trivialize the subject, while double-checking the word "matricide" just now I discovered the following interesting vocabulary words:

muscacide: killing of flies

perdricide: killing of partridges

Who knew?

In a more sign-related point, last week I was walking to work a bit late and so I reached a certain point on Avenida Errazuriz at, let's say, 8:02 am. Normally I would be hitting this site at perhaps 7:57 am, to use a nice round number. Because of my delay, I had a most incredible discovery:

I cannot entirely describe just why this was so wonderful to me. I have a bit of a thing for bus signs--as you may know, I often ride buses just based on a particularly intriguing sign. And so, sleepy, late, running, I discovered this absolutely tiny closet, The Place Where The Bus Signs Come From. I've been walking past it every day without even knowing there was a store there, because it was always shuttered....until 8am, opening time. Absolute magic.

Deep Breath: De-Stressing in Chile

So, this week has been a bit of a headache. For the last 48 hours I was paralyzed by the very real concern that I was going to get fired for the first time since my 14-year-old bagel store job (an instance that still makes me cringe); then yesterday my Not-Only-But-Let's-Say-Essential-Friend became an illegal immigrant for a window of about 24 hours. When you have a friend circle the size of mine, having one of the people you see most frequently deported is not something that can be taken lightly.

In the end, I was met with a surprisingly warm reception at my meeting with my boss, and no one was deported. So everything turned out just fine. However, I am operating under a very intense stress-hangover right now. After foolishly thinking that I could go to lunch with actual people and be social, I discovered that all that I was capable of doing was stirring my chicken like a madwoman and forgetting every bit of Spanish I have learned.

Things that I do in Valparaiso when that sort of thing happens:

Overindulge:

Wear silly hats and drink beer (featuring Elisa):

Make friends with stray animals (also featuring Elisa):

Look at pelicans:

Make Allie feed me, even if we can't find a can opener and have to bludgeon the coconut milk out of the can:

Hang out with giant pirate puppets:

La Campana

So, I did in fact go hiking on Saturday, to Cerro La Campana (excuse my anglophone keyboard). The weather looked threatening, but luckily there was no rain. Having not been outside the city in ages, the trip was a very welcome change from my slowly emerging routine.

It should be noted that a car is not necessary for this trip. It's actually quite simple by public transit, although, of course, longer than your own transport would take. However, for those of us without the option, you can still be on the trail within 2 hours. To get there, take the metro to the last stop, Limache (a pleasant excursion in and of itself). At the station, go outside and wait for a #1 bus. Double check that it is going all the way to the park. Assuming it is, hop on, and the last stop before it turns around is the park. Walk up the trail, where you pay a small entrance fee (a couple luca, I don't recall exactly because in Chile, the invited party pays for nothing---something which is rather uncomfortable for a gringa, but rather nice once I started ignoring it and just enjoyed the free ride). And you're off.

My co-hiker, who was a student of mine this past semester, wanted to walk up the dirt road used for cars. I vetoed this on the grounds that walking on a road is not a hike. So we took the trail proper. It was a good work-out--a steady incline of a not-negligible grade. Due to this, I was obliged to strike a deal that we would take the road down.

Unfortunately, the ranger was not allowing hikers to go to the summit due to the possibility of rain and fog. The views from the top are apparently very nice. I will be heading back on a nicer day to see for myself. Nonetheless, despite the clouds and the fact that we had to stop about two thirds of the way up, the views were calming and beautiful.

The coastal cordillera:

Atmospheric, eh?

I may have missed out on the summit, but I did get to do quite a bit of "flora and fauna contemplation." I couldn't practice Spanish with these friends, but I appreciated their company. They, in turn, enjoyed the idea that they might get some of my peanuts (they were not successful).

The walk down on the road was much less intense, as well as being much longer, but was more condusive to conversation. I finally learned the details of about a million things which have been confusing me, such as the exact controversy over the public education system, and the business structure of the city's micros (buses). Information which I shall share when I am not tired and looking forward to turning off my computer.

The fog closed in, and we walked down into it; by the end I was essentially walking through a cloud. It was incredibly peaceful, after the detail-crammed landscape of Valparaiso, to spend some time in a white-out. And when I got off of the train back in the city, I loved the complications even more.

Overall, a very successful day. I have, in fact, been very well occupied lately, and have quite a few things to write about. So keep checking in for more of la vida Valparaiso.

Vanishing city

These two pictures were taken from the same mirador. The fog has crept in lately. This is winter in Valparaiso. Growing up in Boston, I was always the wimpy one who couldn't take the cold. Here I'm perceived as incredibly hardy and/or crazy. Apparently wearing a skirt on a foggy damp day is very hardcore. I'm glad that my toughness is finally getting the recognition it deserves.

Bellas Artes

Last night I received a real, gen-u-ine paper letter from a certain Berry Breene (take note, other friends, the bar's been raised). Ms. Breene and I met as unmotivated freshman. We were unsuccessful roommates our sophomore year. We almost missed the last train home in Koln, Germany, because I managed to deposit my wallet under a chair at a bar half a mile away. We went to Amsterdam and enjoyed the sights, and pretended not to speak English on the train to avoid backpackers. She showed up in New Zealand and we climbed a very large hill, then had to run down so we wouldn't get trapped in the woods at night with the dangerous kiwi bird about. We even survived a down-under chicken attack together:

I think they wanted their eggs back. Anyhow.

We also lived together rather successfully our senior year, most likely due to the fact that we were both in solitary confinement working on our undergraduate theses, known 'round Allegheny as the Comp. Please note, English teachers, that this can be used as a verb and adjective as well as a noun, as in: "I'm comping this semester," or "Guess who's de-comped!"

I digress. In this amazingly tangible paper letter of mine there is a photocopy of a page in the Village Voice. In said photocopy, one can see the reproduction of my girl Berry Breene's painting Viva la Revolution of my boy Sam Breene with a PBR and his hand down his pants:


Congratulations Ms. Breene, you are a bona fide artist. Check her out.

Now Berry has been working for oh, forever, on a gigantic mural that will be put up back in Meadville, our college town (which I have heard is going to be the film site for the movie version of Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which is set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. No joke. Can someone verify or disprove this?) Here she is doing her thing:


Very soon she will be packing off, prospector-style for the west, bringing her muralistic stylings to Portland, Oregon. I am told that Kate Ickes will keep her from misplacing her bills, clients, head, and what not. Bueno suerte, chicas, I expect to see Portland covered in Berry-art whenever I manage to visit.

And so, finally, as a toast to Berry, I offer up a few of the many, many murals that cover just about every surface in this city. Maybe I'll make it a series: The Berry Breene Commemorative Mural Exhibition Series. Catchy.