Christmas in the south...



I'm having a hard time grasping the concept that 80 degree weather and shorts and tank tops is christmas time here. I really don't even realize that it's Christmas until one of the many little signs of the holidays pops up. For example...I was in the supermarket the day before thanksgiving and I heard a Barbara Streisand christmas song-- which is just wrong in itself since everyone knows you can't play Christmas songs until after thanksgiving...but still. Then there's the Christmas ornaments and garland scattered throughout various stores and stands. Today, I went to one of the smaller malls to buy some art supplies and I found that the outside of the mall had been decorated with white and red lights and tree shaped ornaments. And upon entering the mall, I saw a familiar sight...a small set up with Santa's house and a cutely dressed girl with a polaroid camera sitting next to a santa clause. Although their Santa here was not the Santa I'm used to...he was thin and had more of a blonde beard than white. And his clothes were trimmed in pretty patterned white fabric that I would expect to find as curtains in an old victorian house as opposed to the puffy, white fur we use back home. I would have to say that he was more of a Father Christmas than a Santa Claus...and in case you still don't quite understand the difference between the two, just listen to the names: Father Christmas and Santa Claus. Father Christmas is by far the more formal and proper of the two... I guess Chile has a proper Santa where as we have the more common and jolly santa...

But by far, my favorite Christmas reminder came as a complete shock. I was walking into the Plaza del Armas with my friend from home when I looked ahead through the crowd and saw the most enormous Christmas tree I had ever seen. There, towering over the post office, was a huge construction of green wires and garland, shaped to form a tree. They were still working on it, so I'm intrigued to see what it will look like upon completion and lit up at night... But as it was, I was speechless...and still am. I can't decide if it's hideous or gorgeous, but either way...it's astounding.



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And on a bit of a side note...today I made it through three straight hours of my art history lecture (without the usual break in the middle) and was able to pay attention and follow everything!!! It's taken me until my last official class...but I finally made it!!!

The city that never stops...













So I just sent my friend off to the airport after a short visit. We spent his last day here wandering around, visiting places such as Santa Lucia, a gorgeous piece of architecture set atop a green oasis in the middle of the city. The stairs are made of stone, winding through fountains and terraces from look out to look out. And at the top of each lookout, the view is the same...a massive expanse of buildings; a sea of concrete.



This city is such a blend of old and new, green and grey, crowds and deserted spaces. And you don't realize how big the place is until you get a view from the top... and what a view. A mix of styles, shapes, sizes, and colors. It's almost unreal to see such a large city in a country that some people think doesn't even have running water (which is about as far from the truth as you can get --unless you're in the desert that is).

I was riding the subway home from the bus station and I had a movie moment...or maybe it was a book moment. Either way, I was sitting on the subway, looking out the window, watching the people go by from station to station and I felt as though the world was flying by as I sat there in complete stillness, just watching. At one point, I looked to my right and watched the other trains fly by. Both stopped, then mine started, leaving the other behind. We arrived at the next stop to meet another train. Its doors closed, and a man waved to me as his train started, this time leaving mine behind. I spent half an hour just watching the trains and people pass, colors flying by in streams and stripes of colors.

I stepped out of the subway in a bit of a trance and proceeded home to my apartment. When I got to my door, I found myself putting my keys back in my bag and continuing down the street. I managed to wander to an area of the city I had not yet been, and found myself feeling like the tourist I thought I had left behind months ago. I walked with my head in the sky, staring at the buildings made of thousands of glass windows and balconies, covered in ivy and bright flowers. I was in awe once again. As I have said before, this city never ceases to amaze me. Actually...it never ceases at all...

Memories...already


So I only have three weeks left...where did the time go??? I'm suddenly finding myself trying to cram in as much as possible. And yet at the same time, I can only think of a few times when I wasn't already doing that...I've done so much since I arrived here, and somehow I still feel like I haven't done much of anything at all. But all I have to do is go through my photos and I can see how far I've come in just four short months...

Speaking of memories, I thought this would be a good time to share something I wrote while in Chiloe. At a small restaurant in the city of Quemchi (recommended by my trusty guide book) Mark and I were asked to sign a sort of guest book during our visit. We were given a large notebook, almost completely filled with comments and stories from other travelers. Being as nosy as I am, I flipped through the book and read other entries before contributing myself. I wrote down a few of my favorites...enjoy the smattering of international humor...(I've left out the names just out of some weird respect that I feel I should have...)


Muchas thank you for the delicious food. Keep your secret sauce a secreto! ~canada


We're vegetarians. We had to pass on the 5 different types of fish, but the cheese empanadas and bowl of soup were more than we deserved at the hands of Andres, the Great Fellow! ~Toronto, Bridge, Canada


los tres B's
1 bueno
2 bonito
3 bundante
4 barato
~flo
**number four was added by a later traveler...


Buscando un sueno, el de la madre acumcaudome, llegare a la isla... Cuantos recuerdos pueden guardar los geues? Brujos y frutas exoticas formaron parte de mi alma...mariscos y paps formaron mi cuerpo...hijo de la isla us por nacimiento...por aucentro obvidador que vuelven a mi en suenos... ~la bruja bahamonde


5 cervezas, totos differentes y 1. 2. 3. 4. 5...6 empanadas y dos muy grande y bonito salmones. - muchas gracias por la ambiante muy bonita, antes de salir de esta isla verde! ~ francia, rouen et lille


"Yes! We have empanadas, we have empanadas today!" Except we didn't. We had salmon and chips. ~Egor


This was the best place ever. I loved the salmon and sea bass -and the pisco sours, of course. Here at the end of the world where the sky cuves down to the earth and plants are textured, formed and made by a perfectly impossible evolution completely indifferent to us and our concerns shaping by its temperatures, climate, and atmopshere, all living life and making real possible and minfest the unimagineable!



That last one will really test your english punctuation skills...they managed to not only forget to sign their entry, but they also forgot to put in any forms of punctuation...

For a bit of imagery to go with this entry, here's more of the pictures I took in the National Park...

Leaving the calm...


I've officially stepped outside of the eye of the storm and into the whirlwind that is the final month of my time here in Chile. The past few weeks have been nothing short of ridiculous. I returned from my week on the island of Chiloe to play catch up with my classes for a few days and then head out to a weekend camping trip with my painting class. I'm still sufferingg from a severe lack of sleep --I almost felt as if I were back at u of m, staying up to finish my projects--, so this will be a short post, but I wanted to get up some of my photos from my trip to Chiloe.





After a ferry ride from the northern city Puerto Montt, we arrived at the beautiful island. I'm not quite at a point where I can properly describe my experience, so I'll simply share with you some of my notes I made along the trip...I apologize for the improper grammarer and random train of thought --I jotted when I had a few seconds here and there to dig into my bag for my sketchbook.























The island is gorgeous and seems traditional; stuck back in time, but the nice shiny cars ruin it for me. The "micro" buses are really new and nice, and while I appreciate the luxury, it almost feels like cheating. Achao was particularly desolate and awkward. I felt like a real outsider and a major spectacle. People stared as if to say "What in the hell are you doing here???"









The wall treatment in our hostel room was fascinating. At fist I was particularly turned off to it, but I soon grew to like it in the few short hours I spent inside the room, waiting out an evening storm. The tiny room with its many imperfections was like a time machine. It's as if closing the heavy metal door reminiscent of a bomb shelter-- took us back to different time when you would hang out the window to see who's outside and have to sleep head and tail to fit in your tiny bed --which we did. The architecture of the city was not as interesting as I had expected, but the wooden shingles used to side the houses were interesting. The many different patterns and designs were rather inspiring. I'm thinking of using them as a starting point for a project...













Castro is more what I expected from the island --men in rubber fishing boots, people stopping on the streets to talk to you, travelers taking photographs in front of churches, beached fishing boats, people saying hello to eachother as they pass, etc. Walking down the shore is almost surreal. I could spend the whole day just walking along, seashells crunching underfoot, taking photographs and reflecting on the world around me. The houses --"palafitos"-- are gorgeous, perched precariously on their wooden stilts. Everything about the city is a bit off balance. Walls are leaning ever so slightly --and sometimes more than slightly-- fences are crooked, shingles are missing, curtains are miss-matched; and for someone who normally has to have everything in its right place in good, clean condition, I love it here. The imperfections are what make it perfect. The dusty roads, the seemingly garbage covered shore, the uneven stairs and sidewalks; it's all amazing...better than I had hoped. I really think I could live here if given the chance.









The national park was something from a story book. There were very few people to be found and the only other sign of life was thoccasionalal chirp heard over the ever-present wind. The trail we followed seemed trapped in another reality; made of logs and surrounded by a twisting wall of moss-covered trees, creating a completely different universe.



A small sign at the end of the trail promises an "artisania" after a 10 minute walk. After about 20 minutes of jumping from log to stone to grassy patch over a water soaked terrain, we arrived at a house where a small, practically toothless woman showed us to a tiny wooden shed. Inside we found wooden mugs, spoons, and buckets alongside wool socks and hats and hand woven baskets --needless to say, I now own a pair of wool socks.

Up in Smoke...

My final project for my general projects course is turning out to be rather interesting... The entire course in itself has been rather interesting, but this final project is sending me deep into contemplation; far deeper than I would have thought.

Our first project was one reflecting on the city in which we live --in this case, where I am currently living: Santiago. We were sent out into a particular area of the city and asked to find something inspiring. The second project was a self-portrait through the use of your body. This last piece is supposed to be a portrait of everyone else through the use of objects. Basically, we were asked to think about "Que es 'un otro' para mi?" --What is 'an other' for me??? What separates everyone else in the world from me??? Normally when one thinks about this topic, it's in the sense of "What makes ME different from everyone else?", as in a self-portrait, but my professor has asked us to do the opposite and think of what defines everyone else.

Yet again, this project takes on a different context for me since I'm an obvious outsider here, and everyone really is different from me. At first, I foolishly thought that this would make the project easier, seeing as how everyone is so different from me. But I quickly realized that because there was so much that was different, it was extremely hard to pinpoint one thing to work with that would encompass everything; not to mention the fact that I've never been given the restriction of working with actual objects --we're talking in the ready-made sense...think duchamp (I know, I know...Duchamp has followed me all the way down here...I can't seem to get away from the man).

So I thought, and thought, and thought, and had nothing as of the night before class. And then on the bus home from class that night, it hit me: cigarettes. Everyone here smokes; everyone. It doesn't particularly bother me, but I have, at times, felt a bit out of place, being the only person in a group of people smoking. And smoking here isn't just something people do, it's a part of their lives, a part of who they are. There are numerous students who have done projects involving cigarettes, such as a photo documentation of everything one does in the morning from getting out of bed until the first cigarette of the day. So I decided to use cigarettes in a project of my own. I am no currently investigating the burning and ashing patterns of cigarettes...odd, I know. I'm going out buying packs of cigarettes (which are notably cheaper here), and simply lighting them and watching them burn in different positions and patterns. I've never been a fan of cigarettes, but now that I've sat and watched them burning, in a weird way, I like them. There's something about that thin line of suspension and tension between the ashes and the cigarette itself just before they fall and scatter on the ground below.

When I bought the first pack of cigarettes the other morning, I was expecting your typical box filled with rows of tightly packed cigarettes, but what I found, was as a particularly interesting advertisement on the seemingly normal box... Here's what I found:



A rather startling and disturbing image. The text translates to: "Don Miguel, Chilean, smoked for 20 years. Lost his larynx to cancer." The other side of the box was almost as surprising...



"Careful! These cigarettes are killing you"

I spoke with my professor about this and was informed that this is a relatively new step that's being taken in order to help lower the number of smokers in the country. Apparently Brazil already has a similar campaign as well. Definitely an interesting approach. I'm also rather shocked that the cigarette companies aren't fighting to keep these images off of the boxes. These cigarettes are from America, so are the photographs being put on boxes sold back home in the states as well??? And equally surprising was the reaction of the students in my class. One girl asked if she could have one of the cigarettes --which I obliged since I wasn't able to fit them all back in the box as it was-- and when she picked up the box and saw the picture, she immediately cringed and flipped the box over, replacing it on the table with the photograph side down. Maybe this will be effective... Although she did still take the cigarette...so maybe not.

Today I realized how much I'm going to miss the fruit markets when I return to the United States. I've always been a fruit lover, and the markets here are a little slice of heaven. You can buy a giant bag of strawberries for two dollars, or a bag of kiwis for the same. And the pineapple...oh the pineapple. At home, I've always been content to buy the precut cylinders from the supermarket since it was just easier. But since coming here, I prefer to buy a fresh pineapple and cut it myself. I've gotten to the point where I can walk up to the counter and pick out the perfect pineapple based on its smell. I relish the act of cutting a fresh pineapple. And I also am fascinated with the tops. I don't know if it was growing up watching cartoons of girls dancing with fruit baskets on their heads, always topped with a pineapple top, but I have always loved pineapple tops. I almost find it hard to throw them away...as odd as that sounds...

To switch to a completely different topic, have you ever noticed how many forms of identification we have these days??? I recently received my student bus pas --which allows me to take the bus for less than half the price of everyone else (about 25cents in comparison to about 75cents) --and it made me stop and think about just how many pieces of identification I have. This is what I found...



And that's just what I have here...granted I've got most of my important ID cards here --including my u of m card...I couldn't seem to bring myself to leave it at home-- but I still have about four high school IDs, a Hospice Center ID, and lord only knows what else. Doesn't that seem a bit ridiculous to everyone else??? I guess it just goes to show how high our security has to be these days. But if you look at some of the photographs we have on our IDs, they all seem a bit different. Take for example one of the guys I live with. He has just about the same number of IDs as I do, and in every one, he looks completely different. And I'm not talking just a haircut and a different shirt...he looks like a different person. I actually thought he had a nose job at first--which he didn't--but that just proves my point. When he went to use his bus pass one day, the bus driver almost refused him because she didn't believe that it was him in his picture. And the photo was taken only about a month ago!!! So I guess where I'm going with this is the thought of photographs and identifications capturing different personalities...or something like that. I recall I reading I did for one of my art history classes that talked about photographs capturing and stealing your soul. I'm not so sure I believe that, but I do think that photographs seem to take something from each of us. Not necessarily a part of our souls, but possibly part of our identities. The photographs on all of our identifications seem to represent the many the different faces we wear throughout life today. If you compare my school photographs to my photograph on my Hospice ID, I appear far more refined and put-together in the latter (aside from my u of m ID which is a senior picture). Does this represent who I am at Hospice compared to school??? Of course I look different and dress nicer at Hospice, but do I change my personality and my entire identification to become who I should be when I'm at hospice??? Probably... I would like to think I'm relatively the same, but I do change bits and pieces to fit the mold of where I am.

So to get back to the photographs in all of our IDs...over the years, the number of IDs we have has increased, and I think the number of faces we wear has increased as well. It's almost as if we all have dozens of fake identifications and personalities, and the photographs on the IDs are housing them until we pull out that ID to use. --Any of this making any sense???-- So maybe I was wrong and the photographs aren't taking something from us, but adding something to us when we use them. They really are a kind of mask housed in a small piece of plastic that can be opened and used when needed...

Hmmm...good luck deciphering all of that...Here's a picture of my bus pass to end things...I look quite stearn...which I normally do when I'm on the bus --the crowded morning busses aren't exactly pleasant--...so maybe that helps prove my point...