A thought

Although I love Chile, I'm finding that the longer I'm here the more of a patriot I am becoming. I love the United States. Just don't expect me to go off to a gun rally or anything...

I've added pics to the last few, btw...

Before you read, please go HERE and get in the mood... this song rocks, but is totally unconnected to my following story.

The Nameless Rockers

After the family graced me with a shower and food they took me to the best part of Calama to hitchhike from. It was wonderful that they did this for more than just the testament to their generosity; it was also really far away...

The day was still hot (somewhere near 26° C) with the sun beating down, I was still sporting the ridiculously inexpensive traveler's hat and had a bandana tied around my neck. Just about the time that I had fully put on my 60 SPF and was taking a few pictures I got picked up. It turned out to be a great ride, even though I was only able to take one pic of my headless body (very grandma of me) before they stopped.

I get into this huge Mac truck, not really sure what to expect. The driver seemed patient enough already as he had to escort me all the way to the end of his trailer (almost twice because I didn’t understand) to load my bag then brought me back. Getting into this "camion con acoplado" was a bit like climbing Mt. Major, not really that hard but with rocky steep parts. He climbed in first, I followed and was surprised to see a woman sitting on the bed behind the two seats.

She was of a similar age as the man (I never got either of their names), which is to say early 50s, still young. As we started off on the first of his 18 gears the man reached forward and pushed play on the stereo. Expecting some sort of Spanish classical guitar something I was pleasantly surprised when Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf came blasting out of the speakers.

There wasn’t too much that was spectacular or extremely out of the ordinary with these two, they were accommodating and (like everyone) patient with me. The man liked to honk his air horn at the shrines built on the sides of the highway in honor of futbol (uh... soccer) teams. They were well amused when I joined in the waiving, I think it helped bridge the language gap; the humor. The journey consisted of the WTHC (see previous post) and questions about music and such. They seemed impressed that I knew almost all the words to the classic rock radio tour they were trying to take me on.

Toward the end of the three hour trip to Antofagasta they started giving me tips on how to hitchhike. Smile. Use a sign. Stand where local traffic is less likely than long distance traffic. If the sign isn’t working, change the destination to "A Little South" or something similarly vague. Check out the driver first but don’t take too long or you'll lose your ride. Things like that. I really appreciated how warm they were, welcoming me into their lives for that little time and wishing me luck and care for the rest of my journey when they dropped me off by the docks.

Antofagasta is a sea port city that was once more bustling than it is now (similar with Valparaiso, falling under hard times after the Panama Canal cut down on all the ships who needed to travel the entire coast to reach the other side of the continent), and though there is some disrepair visible at the docks, the city seems to still be doing well. Looking away from port the buildings are the same with other cities, noting too grand or big but some nice sky scrapers. The mountains just a little inland are similar to those of Valparaiso where the sides of shipping crates were used to make homes, coloring the mountainsides brilliantly.

I found an internet café (impressing the bicyclist I asked for directions by understanding simple directions like 'right.' 'left' and 'straight' even though I was from the US - I love to break down international misconceptions) and started the search for a hostel. I found two or three, none having web sites, just listed in black and white on equally boring yellow-page type directories.

The Family Man

I got some help from one of the workers at the internet café with making reservations and finding the address. I set off with an hour to waste and some tasty 'dulces' from the bakery next door. I was sitting in a nearby park eating my treats when I heard drums and a band of Hindus singing praise in the Harri Krishna way walked by. I don't know exactly why, but hearing a familiar chant from the Ashram really made me feel more confident in this strange city. I smiled and nodded to the lead man, hand on my heart, and he responded with a beaming smile of understanding and grace. Cool stuff.

I eventually got to the hostel and misunderstood the guy there three or four times before I finally decided just to do what I wanted and wait outside for the proprietor to arrive. When she did I was promptly chastised for not waiting inside as (evidently) the guy with the incomprehensible accent had told me. I got signed in and then took a nap.

The room was far from the worst I've slept in at this point, but then it was pretty bad. One light bulb hanging from the ceiling, a noisy TV that buzzed even when off (I promptly unplugged it), and three hard beds with less than pristine looking sheets. Funny enough, it was perfect. Shortly after my nap I got up and went to get some food. I asked for a good, cheap, place nearby and was escorted out the door to the company of a shrill whistle and some sort of yelling (he was telling some unknown people down the street that I was gonna come with them), and a light push on the shoulder in the direction of the others.

The four of us went to this dive that only had BBQ chicken and soup, but it was really cheap and the portions were good. We didn't do a whole lot of talking at the time, there was a soap opera on the TV (Tela Novelas are a big thing in all Latin American culture, by the way, NEVER get in the way of a Chilean's soaps!), but it was established that I would be leaving in the same fashion as I arrived very early the next morning and that I couldn't understand that same one guy who tried to help me out earlier. When I was finished with my food the gentle looking taller of the three men offered me some of his and after a (very) little protest I accepted, he was encouraging it as I had a big trip in the morning. On the way back to the hostel they all helped me find bread, tomatoes and avocado for breakfast.

We got back to the rooms and I remembered that the tall man had never been to San Pedro, so I invited him in to see some of the pictures I had taken. I didn't have many of scenery, mostly of friends so I showed him some of what I could and he took out his camera.

We probably sat there for two and a half hours talking. He showed me pictures of his whole family and gazed lovingly at his children as well as gave me a tour-from-a-distance of the whole south of Chile via my map and his stories of where he has worked and lived. He seemed sad through this conversation, though, and I was sorry to hear that it was with a little resentment that he heard of my travels. Asking what my plane ticket cost to get here to Chile he remarked that it was three months pay for him. He spoke of the Chilean dream as he saw it "El sueño chileano es tener una casa pequeña y un auto." All he could feasibly dream about was having a small house and a car that worked. "Trabajo por mi hijo." It was with such melancholy and pride that he said this. His purpose for life was to work that his son could have a better one than he had. I respect that fiercely. I asked if he was tired or sad, and he said he missed his children.

He left, wishing me luck and safety with a long handshake and a sad holding of eyes, and he went to bed. I never saw him again as I was away before he was awake the next morning.

Soon: The Talkative Teacher

I went for a run today (I haven't worked out in a few weeks and my body is upset with me) and headed to a playground Cristian showed me (cool rope-type-elements big enough for me to play on!) but when I got there there were far too many kids for me to have any fun... So I sort of sulked off to the side until I saw these two guys doing flips and jumps nearby. It reminded me of the Parcour and Free Running I am interested in, but here it was live and not just on some video online. I longed to go ask them about it but was shy, so I sat by and watched until I noticed that near to them were some little boys trying to do the same mix of martial arts, gymnastics and dancing.

I had had enough with being embarrassed; if little kids can have the gumption, so can I. I went up and asked them about what they were doing, how long they had been doing it and could I join. I was answered with nothing but enthusiasm and I spent the next two and a half hours practicing handstands, cartwheels, hand springs and front flips (I finally got the hand springs without killing myself, my longest handstand was probably for 15 seconds and I successfully did repeated front flips off the grass into the sandpit!). Once there were too many little kids around to be effective they left - taking me with them - to another place nearby to continue. I started practicing front flips on flat ground (never quite successfully) and got even better at my hand springs. I also started trying doing slow round off type things that rewinded back into regular standing (just picture me doing it forward then backward), and I started to do jump spins, like where I jump, spin parallel to the ground, and land on one foot upright again. I almost got those.

When I left they invited me to join them every Saturday and Sunday from 3:00 until night if I wanted. I don't know if I can commit to both days what with school and social obligations, but I will definitely join them for one of the days each week. How lucky, and cool people too.

Now that you have read this, to get you back into a specific mood, watch THIS. This is what I am now learning to do, and it’s called Tricks.