Stories from The Land of Long and Skinny

Afterword: U.S. +10

2009-01-03T11:16:00.000-08:00

My Year In Lists

Left in South America:

Camera

Rain jacket

Two dress shirts

Pocketknife

Harmonica

Brought back:

Gifts

Brown necktie

Compass

Rocks

Broken wristwatch

Books read:

Slaughterhouse Five

To Kill a Mockingbird

The Long Valley

Wuthering Heights

Guns, Germs and Steel

Nationalities of people met:

Chilean

Argentinean

Peruvian

Brazilian

Australian

Swedish

Danish

Norwegian

Irish

English

Canadian

Dutch

Israeli

Flemish Belgian

Spanish

French

"Thank You":

Dank-eu Flemish

Hvala Bosnian

Obrigado Portugese

Tack Swedish/Norwegian

Sulpayki Quechua

Swedish flirting tutoring session:

Ursäkta ushekta Excuse me

Tusen Tack toosen tak Thanks a million

Du är vacker doo ar VAHkel You are beautiful

Ska vi fika? skuh-vi fika Do you want to go on a date?

Jag älskar dig jahg elska day I love you

Skogshuggare skuhkshoogagre Lumberjack (I forget how this came up)

How do you bus to Machu Picchu?

San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

1 hr

Calama, Chile

9 hr

Arica, Chile

2 hr

Tacna, Peru

9 hr

Arequipa, Peru

5 hr

Puno, Peru

24 hr

Cuzco, Peru

6 hr (TRAIN)

Aguas Calientes

20 min.

Machu Picchu

"How would you like that done?" (Argentina)

Bien cocida Well done

Tres quatros Medium well

Cocida Medium

Un poco cruda Medium rare

Cruda Rare

Top Five best meals:

Beef asado - Las Tinajas, Mendoza, Argentina

Curanto - Kuranton, Ancud, Chile

Lamb asado - Hostal Magallanes, Puerto Natales, Chile

Antichucos - Casa Arevalo

Rocotos Rellenas - Diner in the bus station, Arequipa, Peru

Pastel de Papas:

Cebolla Onion

Tomate Tomato

Pollo hiervado Boiled chicken

Carne Beef

Aceitunas Olives

Huevos hiervado Boiled eggs

Pasas Raisins

Aji color Paprika

Oregano Oregano

Pure de papas Instant potatoes

Leche Milk

Soundtrack:

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town

Father & Son

Feed the Animals

What have we learned?

Chileans talk fast

Faster spiders are more harmful

So long, long and skinny.

Patagonia

2008-12-27T21:47:00.000-08:00

Rumor has it Magellan named Patagonia for the relatively tall natives inhabiting the land, after the giant Patagons of myths and stories. Even if the original occupants of the region have been killed off by Europeans and sundry, the geography of the place is enough to inspire the awe one might have in the presence of a colossus.

That is to say, the mountains are huge and scary.

Honestly, it's the holidays, school is over, and I think I've just about had it with all the rhapsodical rhetoric. I'll probably want to get mushy wrapping this whole experience up later, so I'm going to keep it pretty bare-bones here.

Guy, Jon, Murph and I flew to Punta Arenas on the Straits of Magellan. We met up with Gina and her brother Matt and took a bus north to Puerto Natales. There were lots of sheep. From Puerto Natales we took a day-long car tour into Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, the main tourist attraction of Patagonia, where hiking trails encircle a series of jagged peaks and glaciers. We came back to our hostel and shared an asado set up by the owners, a pair of rambunctious brothers who then stayed up all night with Guy and Murph. The next day, Gina, Matt, Murph and I went fishing. Murph caught a trout and fried it for lunch. We rented camping equipment. The next day we took a bus back into the park and began a three-day hike.

By the time the hike was finished, I was almost out of money. I spent the next four days laying low in Punta Arenas, walking around town taking in the sights and museums. I met an Australian, an Englishwoman and a Swiss fellow and we shared a hostel and had dinner together.

I flew home to Santiago, bought some last-minute gifts, met up with Guy, Jon and Murph at Basic Bar for a few farewell beers, then went back to Ñuñoa and stayed up all night with my host family drinking more beer and frying empanadas.

I went to bed at two and woke up at four to catch my cab to the airport. My final goodbyes to the Arevalos were a night of greasy fried food and tipsy cheerfulness, which I think is the best possible way to do it.

After 36 hours on five planes in five countries, I got to Milwaukee International at two in the afternoon, caught up with my mom, and we drove home. We met up with friends and drank cider with brandy and played liar's dice.

Christmas morning, I woke up early to wrap gifts which were quickly unwrapped. I shaved my beard and my mom cut my hair. The family came over and we exchanged yet more gifts, and stayed up late singing and drinking.

Behold:

Wreckage on the Straits of Magellan in Punta Arenas

The asado at the hostel in Puerto Natales

Peaks in the Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

Glacier Grey in Torres del Paine

Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

52 Pick-up

2008-12-05T16:42:00.000-08:00

USAC was good enough to take us out for a cena de despartido last night. I suggested we make it a semi-formal affair (why not?), and the results were mixed. It was a hell of a time.

Take a look for yourself if you don't believe me.

There are worse things in life than living in a bustling foreign capital with fifty-ish like-minded, adventurous, and friendly kids.

The truth of it is, I'm starting to wonder if there's anything better.

Today I'm finally taking the bus west to Casablanca to visit Orlando, a friend of my father's from his California days. After that, a long weekend of worrying about finals, followed by finals, followed by Patagonia. On Tuesday the 23rd I'll board a flight from Santiago to Milwaukee by way of Peru, Ecuador, Miami, and Charlotte, awkwardly and hesitantly closing the Chile chapter of my life.

I guess readers can expect posts to be infrequent from here on out, if present at all. I hope this has been as enjoyable to read as it was to write, but fat chance enjoying it as much as actually being here. I am a little curious who's been following, so if you feel like it, post your name in a comment. I think my first-grade teacher might have gotten ahold of the URL, so, if you're out there Mrs. Chrisman, hello.

I'm sure I'll post some phenomenal, stunningly enlightened finale, probably on Christmas day.

Chiloé

2008-12-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

Time is getting a little tighter with final exams looming in the coming week, so the entry on Chile's southern island of Chiloé will be a direct transcription from my notebook. A few things to know: Chiloé is at the top of Patagonia. The largest island in Chile, it struck me as almost the polar opposite of San Pedro de Atacama- small, perpetually cloudy, drizzly, misty, with rolling hills and colorful houses. The island is reached by ferry from mainland Chile. One guidebook remarks that the currents in the surrounding waters are too strong to submerge electric lines in, so they're suspended from towers across the channel. The isolation of the island is said to have fostered the strong mythologies present there. A brotherhood of male witches, a ghost ship, goddesses and other creatures are omni-present in restaurant names and street kitsch stands. Curanto, a hodge-podge of seafood, is the signature dish of the island.

11/22/08

9:00 a.m.

On the bus through Puerto Montt

5-year-old Amari asks the woman sitting next to me if I am her son, and she replies yes- my name is Filipe. When the woman leaves, Amari's attention turns to me. We don't get far before she realizes, with the help of her mother, that I speak "malo." She gives me a kiss on the cheek, pulls off my glasses, hands them to me, then turns to her mother and says, "vamos!" Gabriela may be right about Chilotes. Gabriela's mantra for travel anywhere in Chile: "cuidado!" She repeated it when I told her about my Chiloé trip plan, but then corrected herself. "Actually," she added, "you don't have to worry too much in Chiloé. The people there are very friendly." We pass a storefront with a pile of anchor chain amassed in a corner. The buildings are low, shallow-roofed, colorful. The vegetation is dewy and lush, nurtured by the precipitous overcast. Birds of prey cut wide aimless swaths from the sky. Amari is back and tells me her (surprisingly anatomically correct) doll is named "Bebe." 79 kilometers to Ancud.

The coasts of Chiloé

10:30

Across the ferry, on the Island of Chiloé

Browns, greens, yellows meld together like a painters pallet, rich with the moist fog. Dead trees bloom with moss and lichens. The surf is a smokey dull green.

12:30

Ancud

Ancud smells like a spent shotgun shell. This is the result of the widespread use of wood-burning stoves for heat. A model with holes for cooking on top was for sale at the hardware store where I bought my poncho. An unwelcoming, driving rain relented an hour after my arrival. Misty's hostel recommendation and a very unfriendly tourist assistant have said there are no cars to be rented in the city, so I'm off to Castry where a brochure advertises a 2-door Chevrolet Corsa "Swing" for $20.000 a day. If I can rent it with my debit card, I think I will.

Castro's "Palafitos", houses on stilts